#literally hands made for holding a cigarette like the FAGGOT THAT HE IS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[mail-me-a-snail]

tf2 was so real for giving everyone but spy yaoi hands...........my final message (before snoozing)...... goodbye

[sallyf4ce]

wolves

chapter IV

-> sally face x f!reader

-> enemies? to lovers

-> previous | next

cw: drugs, cigarettes, violence, homophobia

*does not follow original plot of sally face*

summary: (y/n) and travis make up (ish), (y/n) gets hurt again (you really shouldn’t be surprised), larry gets a little moody (i don’t think he likes (y/n) very much), sal makes a move on (y/n) (although he doesn’t know he did)

“You’re (y/n), right? New kid?” Travis looks at you as you press the wet cloth to your nose. You nod.

“How’d you know?”

“Sal said it. he muttered. The disgusted look on his face was proven a facade by the blush on his cheeks.

“You’re in love, buddy.” you laugh.

“No i’m fucking not! You’re so fucking stupid, what the fuck? Who could love a faggot like Sally f-” you cut him off my shoving his head into the wall roughly. You don’t know what came over you, but being homophobic is still homophobic even if you’re in denial. You convinced yourself that it wasn’t about sally, it was just you being an ally. Way to kill the mood, travis.

“You pull that shit one more time and I'll leave you without teeth, blondie. Or would you rather i tell your dad that you hit girls?”

He squirms underneath your palm. “Sorry.” he looks at you with a pleading face.

You sigh and let him go. “S’fine. You need to learn how to control your anger, though, fuckface. You’re not gonna get anywhere with that attitude.” stuffing the bloody towel in your bag, you lead him out the door.

“I hate you.” Travis scoffs.

“What did i say?”

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

“Larry, she’s already closer to travis than she is to us and they just met. Travis is a full-on dick, and they’re being all friendly! I didnt even know that was possible!” Sal chucks his bag in his locker. He hasn’t known you for long, but longer than travis! Plus he’s way nicer, too! Why’d you have to go and get all friendly with his bully?

“I don’t fucking like it either, sally face. Maybe we should just stay away from them.” Larry crossed his arms and leaned against the lockers.

Sal didn’t want to stay away from you, though. You were sweet, he was sure, just a little distant. Plus you just sort of intrigued him. He wanted to know why you were like this, what happened to you, why you had a prosthetic. Maybe it was hypocritical of him, though. He's only told Larry and Ashley about what happened to him, so he shouldn’t be picking at your trauma. you’ll tell him when you feel comfortable with it, but you’d need to be comfortable with him for that. and right now, it seems like you’re pretty comfortable with his bully.

“let’s go, dude. class starts in 5.”

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><

After grabbing your schedule with Travis, you set your stuff in your new locker (which smelled pretty good, surprisingly.) and began walking to your first class, math. Travis laughed at you when you read your schedule outloud and you gave him a whack on the head. What an idiot. He headed off to his first class, english.

you opened the door to the classroom and coughed to get the attention of the teacher, Mrs. Packerton.

“Ah, lovely! Class, say hi to (y/n) (l/n)!” she smiles as you awkwardly wave.

“You’ll be sitting in the back, right beside Sal.” an inaudible groan leaves your cracked lips as you make your way towards him, trying not to make eye contact.

“uh, here.” he moves over. you plop yourself down next to him and open your notebook.

“we’re doing a test right now. i’m pretty sure you won’t have to do it, since it’s your first day and all.” his blue hair bounces as he looks over to you again. it looks fluffy.

“you wanna touch it?” he chuckles. you don’t want to come off creepy, but he’s offering, right?

you reach out your prosthetic hand but quickly pull it back and switch it, realizing you can’t actually feel with it. he chuckles at your mistake and leans in to your touch.

you were right. it felt like clouds, puffy but still silky. it wasn’t combed properly, though.

“Mr. Fisher and Mrs. (L/n), you little lovebirds. hands to yourselves, please.” Mrs. Packerton laughs a little. “Ah, young love.”

you quickly pull your hand back and flush.

“stupid old lady.” you mutter.

“Mrs. P’s nice, she’s just a little… enamoured in her students’ love lives.” sal laughs.

“stop, you’re making her sound like a pedophile!” you cover your mouth to suppress your laugh and sal’s face heats up even more. He made you laugh!

You both quieted down as Sal continued his test and you doodled in your sketchbook.

“are you okay? after travis, you know.” he hummed, a mix of concern and jealousy swirling in his eyes.

“uh, yeah. i’m fine.”

“You sure? Your lips look pretty busted.”

“It’s all good.”

“why do you hang out with him, anyway?” he turned his test upside down and faced you again.

“what do you mean?” you’re confused.

“he hit you in the face first thing in the morning. If i was you, i wouldn't really like him.” sal gripped his pencil.

“are you jealous?” you question, a smirk on your face.

“No.” his expression is hidden behind his mask. you look into his eyes, trying to make him blush.

the blue is a different blue than the one you saw yesterday. it’s lighter, almost like a porcelain blue.

“whatever you say, porcelain face.”

“porcelain face?”

“your mask, and your eyes, i guess. they’re like a porcelain doll’s.”

he hums.

“what are you then? metal hand? cyborg? fist of steel?”

“you forgot iron fist.”

“iron fist?”

“sure.” you grin. sal’s heart flutters again.

“Alright children, please hand in your tests and nicely file out the class. The bell will ring any moment.” Mrs. Packerton smiles sweetly and starts collecting tests. You grab your bag and leave the class.

Sal looked around the room for a bit, looking for you. A flash of (h/c) hair leaving the room catches his eyes. He tries running after you, but you’re already heading towards your next class.

•Lunch time•

“Shut the fuck up, Trav. I said she was stupid, not stupid hot. I don't know where you got hot from! I literally never said it.” You shoved his shoulder. He just snickered and continued teasing you.

“Hey, (y/n)! Come have lunch with us!” Sal saw you walking with travis. He waved you over from the cafeteria. Travis immediately stopped laughing and sneered. He quickly began walking over to sal, raising his fist.

“Leave us alone, fucking fag-” travis swung at sal but you stepped in front of them, raising your arm to cover sal’s face since he was taller.

Travis throws punches like a wrestler, You already knew that. Maybe you shouldn't have used your real hand to catch it.

His fist slammed into your forearm roughly and you flinched.

“Fuck- travis, go cool off. Now. Leave.” you hold onto your arm. It stings, but it's not broken. You’ll be fine.

“You’re all a bunch of-” he stops mid sentence as you give him a glare. It sort of said ‘you’re gay too, dumbass.’ he scrunched his eyebrows and walked off.

“Oh my fucking god!” a girl with brown hair ran over to you and lightly grabbed your arm.

“This her, sal? Are you (Y/n)?” she looked at you. She seemed very sweet. Kind of reminded you of your cousin.

“Uh- yeah- can you let go?”

She smiles in apology and lets go.

“You didn't have to do that, (y/n).” sal scratches the back of his head. You’ve gotten hurt twice because of him. How are you supposed to be friends if the only thing sal does is hurt you?

“I think maple might have an ice pack in her lunch. Can you come sit with us?” He hopes you say yes.

“Yeah, okay.” you needed the ice pack and travis was nowhere to be seen, so you didn’t really have a choice.

“Hey, (y/n).” Larry grumbles as you walk to their table. It seems he’s upset with you.

“I just saved your buddy from travis. Not to your liking or something?” you look up to him. If something’s wrong, he should just fucking say it. Not beat around the bush like a pussy.

“Yeah. you and travis seem to be getting along well.” he finally makes eye contact with you. Sal and the girl seem uncomfortable.

“We all got our issues, asshole. Some of us just know how to deal with them better than others.” You sneer. He’s allowed not to like Travis, but he’s not allowed to be a bitch to you because you actually understand his actions and choose to help him instead of ignoring him.

“Whatever.” he spits. You turn to sal.

“I’ll get my own ice.” you begin walking away. “Also, watch your dog.” you hear sal chuckle as larry groans. He walks up to you before you can leave, Larry throwing his arms up in the air in disbelief.

“Hey, uh, (y/n)? I’m sorry you got hurt. Could- could i make it up to you somehow?” his hand is on yours. It’s warm, he’s probably blushing hard under his mask.

“Sure, sally. How would you do that?” you spin around to face him. You can see his mask rise a little and his smile peaks through.

“Do you have a phone?” he pulls his cell out. It’s just a simple black flip-phone with a few paint splatters.

“I do, it’s in my locker. I dont have my number memorized, though. Stupid area codes.” you mumble. “You wanna come get it with me?”

Sal looks back to his friends. Ash is nodding frantically while Larry twirls a cigarette through his fingers, still mad.

“Alright.”

taglist: @purelydarling @deadpoetsandhoney @ghostfacefricker6969 @percyyzz @whatsurgamertag @kiillian @potatochic2003 @beingaweebishell @glitterydonutangel @izzydrawsandwrites @angellicbitch @elebeleb @dream-of-eros @mr-bombastic

[beepbeeprichiellc]

I need part 3 of the hockey au to survive. Honestly? Your writing is amazing and would be a great fanfic

Sure thing! Part 1, Part 2

The night was fair, given the lateness of the evening. There was a starless sky, the moon having no companion except for the puffy grey clouds that circled the city. Richie kept the pace quick, his cigarette creating a trail of smoke that floated up from between his lips. There was no conversation, and that made for a very long and drawn out walk. Somewhere else in the city his two best friends were definitely getting laid while he was forced to take a stroll with some goon who had started a bar fight. 

He took a quick and curious glance to his escort, surprised that he was even still following after Richie had been so shitty. Eddie was a very different out of his gear, much shorter and smaller in stature than his bulky padding lead to believe. He had soft features, a button nose and freckles that dusted along his face. His chocolate curls hung just below his ears, bouncing along with each step. Richie hadn’t realized that he was staring until Eddie said, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” 

Richie missed a step, stumbling forward, barely avoiding a tumble by awkwardly waving his arms. It caused his heart to leap into his throat and his cigarette to take a head first dive to the asphalt. “Fucking christ.” He cursed, stopping so that he could correct himself. 

This made Eddie laughed, the sound echoing in the empty street. “You aren’t very graceful are you?” He shot, shaking his head and turning so that he was walking backwards. “Lanky and kinda awkward.” 

“Oh yeah?” Richie challenged, “And what you are so graceful?”

“I was a figure skater before I was a hockey player.” Eddie shrugged, turning back the right way with a shit eating grin. “So yeah, I’d consider myself graceful.” 

“That’s gay.” He mocked, unsure why he even concerned that an insult when he himself was usually in the company of men. 

“Yeah, I am.” Eddie shot right back without missing a beat. “You have a problem with that too?” 

For the first time in his life, Richie was at a loss for words. He gaped at the man beside him, unable to fathom what had just been said. Sure, there were gay hockey players-Mike and his ex came to mind-but those were far and inbetween which up till right now he considered a good thing. Richie thought Eddie was just an alley-a supporter of his friends but it seemed that there was more to the goon than meets the eye. “No, uh-I didn’t mean-I-uh-fuck.” 

Eddie looked upset, his face turning downward into a deep frown. “I mean I knew you had something against hockey players but considering you are friends with Stan I thought you wouldn’t mind if I was-”

“I don’t!” Richie assured in a rush of guilt. “No I don’t care about that, I’m sorry that I said-I’m bis-I mean I’m into guys too so-”

“So using homophobic slurs are okay then? Because you like dudes?” Eddie challenged, stopping and turning to face Richie full on. “You know I offered to walk with you because I thought ‘yeah this guy is an ass but give him a chance,’ I thought for Mike’s sake I would try and be civil but if you are going to pull that kind of bullshit then I’m just gonna-” 

“Look, I’m sorry okay?” Richie blurted in a mess of embarrassment. “I didn’t mean any offense by it, sometimes when I’m upset I say things without thinking and I had no idea you were actually gay. I’m not that kind of guy, I swear!” 

Eddie stared at him, right into his eyes with his expression hard and cold. He must have saw something there because after a few seconds his body relaxed, turning and continuing along their path. Stunned, Richie followed as if Eddie was leading him somewhere important. Unable to handle the tension Richie blurted, “I am sorry you know, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine.” Eddie cut, holding up his hand to stop the inevitable word vomit that was sure to ensue. “Just drop it.” 

And so Richie did just that, falling into step with Eddie. It took a total of two seconds before Richie felt the need to fill the silence. “A figure skater huh? Were you any good.” 

Eddie looked up to him, obviously debating his answer. “Amiture at my best, I have a much better taste for hockey.” 

“I’ll say.” Richie agreed, “You sure can take down people twice your size.” 

“Yup.” 

“Has that always been a talent of yours?” 

“You know you don’t have to pretend to be interested in me.” Eddie muttered, “Just because Mike and Stan are dating doesn’t mean we have to be friends.” 

But Richie wasn’t pretending, he was actually curious and was a little taken aback by Eddie’s curt tone. “No I generally want to know.” And he did because there was something about this goon that drew him in and he found himself falling deeper and deeper into the pit that was Eddie what the fuck ever his last name was. 

Eddie again shot him a cautious look and it took a few steps before he answered. “No, most of my life I was too afraid to even scrape my knee.” 

“No shit?” Richie sputtered in surprise. “What were you like some kind of neat freak like Stan was or something?” 

“Germaphobe.” Eddie corrected, “My mom she uh-she had me believe that I was fragile when I was a child so I inherited her bad habits, it wasn’t until Mike introduced me to hockey that I realized I had a talent as a goon.” 

“A hell of a talent.” Richie praised, whistling. “The best I’ve ever known.” 

“You’ve known a lot have you?” 

Richie slowed down then, rubbing his chin at Eddie’s question. “No, just you and my ex I guess.” 

“Ah.” Eddie nodded, simmering his pace down so that it matched Richie’s. “So that’s you you are such a jerk towards hockey players. Did he break your heart or something.” 

Richie frowned, “Or something.” 

“My condolences.” There was a gentle nudge in Eddie’s tone, like he was comforting Richie the only way he knew how. “I guess us goons do have a reputation, it’s too bad that you got caught up in all that.” 

“It is what it is.” Richie said, his heart scraping against the asphalt as it dragged behind him. “I shouldn't take my shit out on you guys though, it’s not your fault.” 

“No it’s not,” Eddie agreed but with a shrug he added, “but I get it.” 

“Honestly, I wasn’t expecting you to be such a stand up guy.” Richie admitted, feeling his chest become a little lighter. “I mean the way you punched that guy out for calling Stan a faggot really had me impresed.” 

“It was nothing.” 

“That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.” 

“And that was a shitty sentiment if I’ve ever heard one.” There was a bit of a tease in Eddie’s words, kind of a come and get me thing that trailed after his words. “You surprisingly aren’t as much as a dick as I thought.” 

“Thanks.” Richie grinned, “I think.” 

Eddie only hummed, “So do you even live around here because I have no idea where I’m going.” 

“Uh yeah, about a block and a half.” He pointed down the street to where his cold one bedroom that awaited for him. It seemed selfish but he wanted to diverge from their path just so he didn’t have to be alone even if it was with someone who he had insulted multiple times that night. “You uh-live close by?” 

“No, other side of town actually.” 

“Then why are you walking me?” 

“Because you looked so sad standing besides your two friends who were obviously about two seconds from ripping off their clothes.” Eddie admitted, “Didn’t think Beverly was going to take to Ben that fast but it’ll be good for him, he’s too into his work and needs a distraction.” 

“Yeah, although who can blame her? Your boy looks like all the Europian soccer players rolled into one.” 

“Funny because he used to be fat.” 

“Shut up.” 

Eddie puffed out his cheeks and hovered his hands about a foot from his waist to simulate beefyiness. This made Richie laugh, actually laugh sending a warmth to his stomach. “Yeah, got real into situps in the tenth grade. While I couldn’t even lift my backpack he was running three miles a day.” 

“Man, I’m walking with the wrong friends.” There was a shove against his shoulders and again he began to laugh. “Naw, I’m just messing. You’re good company..” 

“Not too bad yourself.” Richie stopped in front of his building, pondering the thought of just walking past but the jig was up when Eddie asked, “Is this you?” 

“Yeah.” Richie mumbled, staring up to his cold apartment. “It is.” 

“Alright, it’s been real and it’s been fun but it hasn’t been real fun.” Eddie jested, giving Richie a two finger salute and stepping backwards. “Have a good night.” 

“Do you want to go and get a drink?” Richie blurted, unable to catch the words as they took a nosedive onto the street. 

“We were literally just at a bar.”

“No I mean-fuck-” he was rusty at this and it show as he attempted to backtrack, “I mean sometime. Do you want to go and get a drink sometime?” Eddie chewed on his lip, narrowing his eyes as he pondered the question. Without a single word he stepped forward and planted a wet and messy kiss onto Richie’s lips leaving the trashmouth gasping in surprise. “What the fuck was-”

“Goodnight Richie.” Eddie smiled, licking his lips thus sending shivers all though the dumbfounded man before him. “I’ll see you around.” 

Richie stalled out for a second before his brain caught up and he shouted after Eddie, “No wait, do you want to come in and-” Eddie cut him off with a wave and one final word before cutting across the street. 

“Goodnight!”

[dngrdyke]

Kid Valentine Part 2

Dyke and Faggot waited an hour before they heard the Trans AM approaching.

Faggot was dozing on the ground under her jacket when the Killjoys pulled up. She bent down and shook his shoulder gently.

"They're here."

He opened his eyes groggily and stood up.

Poison got out and leaned against the car. He was wearing his mask.

"I didn't think you'd ever actually come," Dyke said.

"I wasn't gonna. I'm only here 'cause Jet made me. I see you kept my hair."

"It was an uncoordinated decision, Poison. I see you kept my jacket."

He opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by the car door slamming and Jet Star coming around to stand beside him.

"As much fun as we're having listen to you two trade barbed witticisms, you set off the flare," he said, elbowing Poison. "What's wrong?"

"Blind think we're Killjoys," Faggot blurted out. He was leaning heavily on Dyke and his eyelids were heavy. He'd never gone this long without a catnap.

"They sent a Scarecrow after us," Dyke confirmed, holding onto him tightly. "We got rid of her, but we're fucked now."

The Kobra Kid and Fun Ghoul got out of the car then.

"The kid looks tired," Ghoul said.

"I'm not a fuckin' kid, Fun Ghoul," Faggot said, letting go of Dyke and swaying slightly. He took his bat off his back. "I'll fuck you up." He swung it in a would-be menacing way, had he not fallen back onto Dyke. She took the bat from him and put it back.

"He's tired. We rode all day."

"Let him go in the car. We'll go to one of the settlements and talk about this in the morning," Jet said. Dyke nodded.

"C'mon, kid, into the car you go. I'll be right behind you. Party Pee-head's not gonna hurt you."

Poison looked ready to kill her. Ghoul cackled.

"Party Pee-head! Fucking hell! This almost makes up for my missing tooth."

Kobra opened the door and gestured inside.

"M'lady," he grinned.

"Well aren't you a fine specimen of man," Faggot smiled with his eyes closed as Dyke helped him into the car. He leaned into Kobra when he got to the door. "If I wasn't tired-"

Dyke pushed him inside. "Ignore him. He's repressed." She closed the door behind him. "Don't humour him, whatever you do."

"We're not all gonna fit in here. It's a squeeze with the Girl, but this guy? Not even Ghoul would fit between him and Kobra," Poison said.

"So someone can come on the bike with me. Any takers?"

"Poison, you go. You two need to sort your shit before we help you," Jet said. "I'll drive. Kobra can take shotgun, then Ghoul and the kid in the back."

"I'm not a kid," Faggot mumbled from the back seat.

Poison still didn't look happy, but he didn't argue. He might have been the leader, but when Jet said something, you did it.

"You know where you're going," Dyke said and waved at Faggot through the window. He was completely passed out. "We'll see you at the settlement."

Poison rolled his eyes and tapped his foot impatiently. Dyke deliberately didn't look at him.

"Miss Prissy is getting tired," she said. "Go, before he shoots me. I can see his trigger finger itching."

Jet smiled before climbing in the driver's seat and starting the engine. The rest of the Killjoys got in as well, except Poison, who stepped away from the car and over towards the motorbike. Dyke gave them a two-fingered salute as they drove off, then went over to where Poison was waiting.

"Alone at last," she said, lighting a cigarette. "You want a soda?"

"What do you want?"

"Well that's not very polite," she said, blowing out smoke.

"Dyke, we haven't spoken in years. Not directly. And definitely not alone."

She sighed. "I know. Not since Carla."

His face softened slightly behind his mask, but his tone remained cold.

"You know you can't blame me for that."

"I don't."

"And you can't blame yourself either. She knew what she was doing. She knew the consequences."

"That doesn't make 'em any fuckin' easier to deal with, Poison!"

He put up his hands. "I know, I know. I'm sorry for being harsh."

"It's okay."

The two were silent for a few minutes, before Poison spoke again.

"Hey, do you remember that gig we ran back in Bat City? When you met Carla?"

Dyke laughed. "How could I forget? You looked like a rat and she looked like an angel. You were posing as her husband."

"You took one look at her and you lost it. You were like a little puppy, following her around the place."

Dyke nodded, grinning, and took another drag of her cigarette.

"Oh- and- do you remember the time that Porno Droid tried to get you to rent her?"

Poison laughed. "Man, that was something else. Are they even programmed to do that?"

"You tell me, asshole!"

The two laughed together. This wasn't the perfect resolution to their past. The two were hurt. They had wounds to heal and bruises in their pride to nurse. But it was a start. It was a foundation on which to start rebuilding their lives together. That's what the Killjoys and the Desert in the whole was about: rebuilding. Starting fresh. Time would heal all wounds.

"Let's go. They'll be wondering where we are," Dyke said, wiping her eye and stubbing out her cigarette under her foot. She swung a leg over her bike and waited for Poison to climb on as well. He looked uncertain.

"Oh, c'mon, Poison, we used to ride all the time- you remember when we used have Carla in front of me and you behind?"

"Yeah, but-"

"No buts, man. Let's party!"

Reluctantly, he climbed on and put his arms gingerly around Dyke's waist. She grinned and revved the engine. His grip tightened.

She sped off and laughed as Poison clung to her like a baby koala.

"You havin' fun back there?" she shouted.

"Fuck you!"

Dyke laughed again and sped up.

As soon as they reached the settlement, the party ended. Literally.

It wasn't their fault. Everyone was just tired and wanted to pass out on the ground. Dyke parked her bike up beside the Trans AM and Poison let go of her waist as soon as the kickstand went on.

"I," he said menacingly. "Am going to kill you."

"Do it tomorrow dummy," she answered and ruffled his hair. "Right now I got two things on my mind: finding Faggot and sleeping."

"The kid's fine. Leave him sleep."

"He's got my jacket and I'm cold."

Poison unzipped his own blue jacket and held it out for her to take.

"I'm not cold. And I can sleep in the Trans AM. You're out under the stars."

Dyke took it, albeit grudgingly. "You know you don't have to do this," she said.

"I know."

She put it on and zipped it up, burying her face down into the collar.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"What was that?"

"I'm sorry," Dyke said louder. "About the things I said. I was angry and hurt and upset and I know it wasn't your fault but it was just so easy to blame someone and-"

"Hey," Poison said, placing his two hands on her shoulders. Dyke flinched slightly and he drew them back, but she put a hand up to his face. He laid his over it.

"I'm sorry too. I was a dick. I never even thought about what you were going through. It was selfish of me. I forgive you, but can you forgive me?"

"We'll have to see, Poison," she said and took her hand down.

"Friends?" he asked tentatively.

"Friends," Dyke smiled. "I'll see you in the morning, asshole."

[not-a-statement]

Chasing ghosts. Chapter 3

Sorry friends for overdosing your dashboards with this stuff, but I’m too excited to hold it back anymore. 

This chapter really did kill me while writing. I somehow tried to reflect my own feelings in it as well as to put observation of my friend who has currently lived through a very messy situation.

Anyway, chapter under the cut, critics and suggestions are always appreciated.

Welp, it’s time to go to dead.

New York, NY, October 7-11, 2024

Nights seemed to be the hardest to live through. Not literally - in a physical way - but maybe a little bit in that way too. Just a bit…

Every morning he felt numb. No such things as work, clothes or breakfast were present in his area of interest. And it seemed that those things were long gone for a while then. Only his memories, smells from the past and lingering sensations of light touches that were unlikely to happen again were orbiting him every day from the moment of awakening…

Unlikely to happen again? Light touches? Ding-fucking-Dong, you bloody idiot. Stop thinking of it like you’ve been married for a lifetime and then your wife moved to her gram-gram’s place at the “Fluffy Clouds Acres”...

Yeah, you have other suggestions about how to live on with a giant hole instead of heart?..

He wanted to feel himself a victim. Longed for sympathizers of all kinds queuing up to his bed, big baskets full with fruits in their hands, “Get well soon” cards, soothing phrases on their tongues - that he was every right to feel what he felt, that he deserved her and she made a very big mistake picking that bastard to be her husband…

You know what would be more honest? If somebody brought you some poison instead.

Or at least whiskey…

Would you knock it off already? Where’s your smart part when it comes to distinguishing seeds from chaff? Do you honestly think that all your feelings are of a value? Don’t be ridiculous - your own sister? For real? You actually expected everything to work out?   

Shut up…

It was Monday morning, Dipper had to get prepared to leave for work - he’s finally got a position. Kind of. Same duties, another ton or two plus to his salary - at least it was something, right? At least an excuse not to spend all of his time in this god forsaken flat all day long.

But he was still laying in his sister’s bed, inhaling her scent that somehow managed to stay in the pillow. What a pathetic view it was…

Not as pathetic as his kitchen exterior though. The day prior - as for all other days - there was loads of booze and Dipper was too lazy to bother himself with throwing out the garbage so there was lots of empty bottles laying and standing here and there, empty cigarettes packs, Chinese food boxes - a perfect decorations for a hopeless bachelor’s place.

Sloppily cooked breakfast, coffee as dark as New York’s midnight sky - state’s one. The city itself was living 24 hours so the illumination was enough to make a barrier between nighttime dreamers and traces of light casted by long gone celestial giants billions of human lives away from our sinful rotten asteroid.

Perhaps it was the other way around in New City. Probably the view was breathtaking with all the stars in the sky to count, crispy countryside air to bath in…

Warm and gentle hand of beloved woman to squeeze, cascades of her hazel hair to admire and fiddle with…

Dipper stumbled upon the battalion of empty bottles causing some of them fall clinking resentfully. The sound was enough to make his head ache and cast a grimace of displeasure on his face.

So that’s the plan, huh? Drink until you find a ball of snot instead of your liver?

Pffft...as if

Oh, I get it. Not your problem, right? It’s ten-years-later-Dipper’s problem…

He had to take control over the situation - find a better job, start doing some kind of sport to get fit, maybe find a woman. Anything that will help him get over his misery and make this voice nagging at the back of his mind go…

That’s a great plan - so many details. Hey, why don’t you get a job in NASA? With your ability to make plans like that we will land on Mars twenty years earlier than estimated.

Or at least by then he had a simpler task to tackle - get dressed and step out of this flat to start a new day that’s unlikely to be any different from the day before. Only task he could possibly do without failing.

As for making detailed plans - that’s an important concept, Dipper had to admit. All this abstract thoughts and ideas about new job and sport - they’re important nevertheless. But if one just postulates such things they’re unable to lead anywhere. Dipper as one who used to be the master of bajillion steps checklists for any occasion - to win Wendy’s heart for example - knew for sure that if he wanted to make any progress he needed to think and plan deeper than that.

What Mabel used to tease him about pretty often was a very useful ability. Staying organized, understanding each step and possible alternative breakpoints and handling possible exceptions. For an average person this way of thinking could play good if they keep it in balance with other aspects of their life. But Dipper was no average person.

He was...Dipper. And that meant that balance was off the table.

Good or bad, Dipper and Mabel complemented each other in so many things that one of them wasn’t whole without the other. And that same balance in Dipper’s vigorous activity of his brain was introduced by his sister, with her emphasis on feelings, emotions, and her own particular angle of view.

But when he found himself alone he started to crumble. His brain was acting like a locomotive rushing at maximum speed risking to go off the rail at any moment. Nerves gone acute and at the same time emotions gone blank.

He tried - God knows he did - to live on his own, to give way to his emotions, tried to find that different point of view, based on feelings, yet to no big avail. Every attempt ended at the start point, all theories were in contradiction with one another and ended up crumbled.

The only thing that helped in letting all go was alcohol.

Only having drunk a glass or two of bourbon he used to start looking at all what was happening differently. After half of bottle he used to start feeling.

He was feeling pure pain caused by disappearance of his most beloved person, his second half from his life. Of the girl, who somehow managed to make him falling for her so hard casting thousands of butterflies in his stomach, sending shivers down his spine when she laughed and making him completely numb when she cried. Mabel Pines, that one and only girl in the world for whom he was ready to jump off the cliff on a gigantic robot with nothing but his bare hands, for whom he was ready to endure any level of his own pain just to keep her safe and protect her. He’s never loved anybody as much as he loved her. And never will.

He was feeling anger. What did this smug douchebag know about Mabel? Was it him who lived with her for the whole life? What he can possibly give her? I don’t remember him breaking through Bill’s traps to set her free from that bubble prison. Not to say he wasn’t one who crawled through SWAT squad to clear Stan’s name. Heck, I bet he couldn’t even handle gnomes - probably would shit himself and bail with his tail tucked. And is he ready to cover her with his body in case something threatening her? Is he capable of doing anything that slick faggot from Wall Street?! Who is he to separate us?!

He was feeling fear. Mabel is alone out there. Where will you be when she needs you, huh? You saw what world could have in store twelve years ago. Do you think anything changed? Do you think that Bill won’t return? Or even if he won’t who said that he’s the only one? You’ve been thinking about it for quite a while, haven’t you?

On Tuesday that fear dimmed his eyes to almost unbearable level. What’s the matter? Why your hand with a lighter clenched in it shakes so hard?

Shut up…

On Wednesday he took an illness day off. He was feeling rather bad physically but that wasn’t the matter - he was just really scared to leave his flat. For the whole day he kept wandering within it - from his sister’s bedroom to the kitchen and back - rushing constantly to his computer typing request after request or scribbling some incomprehensible gibberish in his journal - the same that Mabel gave him as a birthday present. Yet another bottle was opened not long after lunch time, because he couldn’t bear that day staying sober.

The next day - on Thursday - in the early morning he woke up at pretty much the same spot he ended falling the night prior - behind the sofa in the living room. His face felt swelling, knees and elbows were harshly scratched at various places - perhaps he would find some furniture items at same poor condition. His journal was lying on the sofa, its first dozen pages or so covered with all kind of theory snippets or logical fact chains - anything he could come up with in order to keep his brain working consistently and not having it exploded. Some of his notes made no sense at all, others reeked with insanity. He had to keep working, had to grasp that tiny bits of his mind floating on the surface of the blindingly dark ocean consisting of repelling visions, predator’s muzzles and never ending sound of some woman crying.

Also there was one more thing swirling through that ocean - a phrase carelessly spoken by Zach on Saturday.

On Friday night the week before Mabel was bombarding her brother’s phone with invitations for him to come over to Turner’s and have a dinner together. He missed her beloved brother and probably was acknowledging the fact that in such conditions a modest family dinner was the only option for them to spend some quality time together instead of nights full of movie marathons and pizza. It’s what people do, don’t they? When they become adults…

But if Mabel was feeling a bit melancholic because of that blunt bogus of an activity, it came to no comparison with what Dipper might’ve felt that exact second he appeared at Zach’s door. He either would leave within an hour tops or get drunk as swine. So it was better not to come at all to prevent such bad consequences.

But having to turn his sister down over a phone for yet another time wasn’t any less painful. Hearing her voice changing from cheerful one to upset, because of whatever excuse he could come up with - working late, having an extra task, needing to stay up until late night home because of an important article he had to finish. Or hearing her playful teasings about him having a secret date with ladies and reminders to leave a tie on the knob which would make him laugh uncontrollably adding more more pain. He couldn’t stand it. That’s why he decided to take a decisive action.

He turned off his cell phone. And spent a long time sitting on a bench near to Brooklyn bridge with a bottle of whiskey in a paper bag, staring at his device’s black lifless screen as if trying to soak its void up.

Void and darkness. What are they? The absence of life, light, benignancy. Absence of everything - only vast and pure nothingness. Why can’t I adapt it? To feel nothing, to throw this piece of plastic into the river, to come home today, grab my bag and jump on the first flight to Oregon. Cut all ties with Mabel, simply disappear from her horizon. Wouldn’t that be better?

It sure would’ve been easier.

But the only response the phone’s screen could give the reflection of the autumn afternoon sky with glimpses of upcoming dusk rather than comply with Dipper’s inner desires. So only thing he was left with was whiskey again.

Its taste was already a rock solid number one in his rating of favorite tastes. In mixture with tobacco smoke. Nevertheless that blend taken in serious doses were casting an instant portal to the morning after.

And what it had in store were regrets and sorrowful thoughts about what he’d done and what a jackass of a brother he was. So the phone was turned on, Mabel’s number typed his thumb hovering over the green button was given an order to hold it back no more.

There was a beep. And then another. And another.

After 6 beeps Dipper started having second thoughts about how 9 pm on Saturday might’ve been not the best time for late apologies but then his phone slightly buzzed and he heard someone’s deep morning breathing on the other end.

“Hi, Mabes, I...um...” he started timidly trying to soften his hoarse hang over voice “About yesterday...I’m really sorry I couldn’t call you back...my battery died and I had to stay late so I walked home and hit the hay the moment I entered...”

He let out a clumsy chuckle scratching the back of his head.  

Telling lies, are we?

Shut up.

“So...yeah...I’m sorry I couldn’t make it yesterday to your place...um...maybe will try the next Friday? Mabes?”

He heard a male voice giggling through the receiver that sent cold wave to his abdomen.

“Oh, sorry, man. Didn’t want to interrupt your monologue.”

Zach. That bastard…

“Oh...hey, Zach...” he wasn’t ready to stumble upon Zach in such condition. “Um...would you mind passing phone to Mabel?”

“I wish, bro, i wish” Dipper clenched his fist hard enough to make his knuckles go white “But Mrs. Turner is still watching whatever bright and pleasant dream she’s watching”

Was that scoffing? Mrs Turner? As if he won her and now showing it off. Fuck, as if he thinks he took my wife…

Wouldn’t be much of a fallacy, huh?

I told you to shut up.

He needed to somehow play it cool. Put aside his own twisted feelings and think of what’s better for Mabel - if she found out about his hostility towards her husband and linked it with his constant denials to come for dinner that would be really bad.

“Okay, ahem...” he cleared his throat before continuing “Can you maybe ask her to call me back when she’s awake then?”

“No problem at all. But, you know, I can tell her myself...”

“No no no, better if I tell her what I wanted to tell, thanks. Um...okay, b..”

“Oh, how things are going on your side, Mason? Haven’t heard from you for ages.”

Oh, son of a...why by name?

“Good, good. Yeah, so...”

“Heard you’ve got promoted. Got a position?”

“Well...um...not exactly, but...I’m working on it. Yeah, sorry for early ca...”

“And how’s the money? Do they pay you enough?”

Oh you impudent chuffed fuck.

Tell him.

“Enough for me, thanks. Well, okay I...”

“Look, we have a vacant position at stock exchange. Consultants are paid good and respected, so I thought maybe...”

“I’m not keen on idea of selling people something I don’t personally believe in, thank you.”

Shit, that was bad. Didn’t mean to sound so harshly.

He started it.

Shut up.

He heard Zach laughing on the other end. Damn, even insults are not working for him. He’s got his walls built solid.

“Why so determined? Believe me, after first salary when you start buying yourself some big men toys like cars you won’t say such immature things.”

Yeah, yeah. Teach me how to live my life, bitch.

“Well, if I were you I would think about it, Mason. I’d take it as an honor to help my family member.”

“Yeah, okay, cool. Um...” Come on, say something polite to end this “Have a nice day, Zach.”

“No it is? Okay, whatever you say. You’re a good man but you’re sometimes being silly, Pinetree.”

Dipper’s heart skipped a beat and he felt thunderstruck. All his muscles tightened. Given he was slouching, it seemed that his body’s fulcrum had shifted slightly above the rib cage.

“What did you call me?” asked Dipper his voice hardly above whispering.

“What? Old mocking nickname? Sorry, didn’t mean to...”

“What. Did. You. Call. Me?” repeated Dipper louder.

“Oh, c’mon, man. I’m sorry, for real, I...”

Can it be?..

I can’t see why not

No, that’s impossible. No, no..

Well, he told you she was sleeping, but do you trust him?

Mabel…

“Where is she?”

“Who? Mabel? Man, I told you she is leisuring...”

“Pass her the phone”

“Look, she’s really not ready to talk to anybody right now, you how she is. Man, like for real - I’m sorry if that upsets you, it wasn’t my inten...”

“Shut the fuck up, Zach!!!” Dipper growled, he could feel himself drowning in unimaginable paralyzing horor. “Where is my sister?!”

“Hey! Watch the language, pal!”

“Where is my sister?!”

“Piss off!”

“Where is Mabel?!!” Dipper broke into shouting. His breathing was heavy and ragged, he could feel his blood rushing to his head almost setting tips of his ears on fire. His face also grew unbearably hot.

“You know the address, you mental piece of human garbage!!! Come over and see where it leads you!!!”

His mind was rushing billion miles per hour. The boiler in his locomotive of a brain was about to blow up. Blood was pounding in his ears, he could literally feel his blood vessels filling up with pure adrenaline, he tasted metal in his mouth and there was something more with that taste. It was...was it?..

Wait, what does sulfur taste like?

He wasn’t listening to Zach’s shoutings on the other end of line anymore. He was paralyzed by that unaccountable fear. He couldn’t say anything, he couldn’t move - every tiny little cell of his body wasn’t answering his commands. It was a trap, he knew that. A blurred burning trap with spurts of flame dancing before him, licking his calves sending anguishing sensations to his muscles and to his brain. There were lizard’s eyes with narrow pupils everywhere, he couldn’t see them, but he was feeling watched by them. He could feel their glares cutting him like it was a straight razor, he could feel cold fingers digging through his head, twining around his eyeballs. And there was a voice - a woman was shouting his name. It was familiar but nontheless it was demanding razor to push deeper and deeper! Cutting him in two, then in four, then…

Deeper!

Deeper!

“DIPPER!!!”

In a heartbeat he was back into Mabel’s room in their Brooklyn flat; her was dragged him out of that horrifying vision. He was kneeling before the bed, clenching bedcover with his right hand and his cellphone with his left. He was breathing through gritted teeth loudly and heavily.

What was real out of all that?..

The only thing - her voice. A concerned voice of Mabel still calling his name, in which he could hear that she was on the verge of breaking into tears. She was scared - perhaps he and Zach woke her up with their banter and scared her a lot. And his heavy breathing distorted by the transmitter apparently wasn’t helping at all.

Keep it together, Pines, keep it together! Shake off this nightmare and tell her that you’re safe, that you’re fine.

Are you, though?

Yes! I’m fine, I’m totally fine!

But what about B…

He’s dead!!! He’s long gone!!! Mabel’s safe, she’s not dragged away from me into another dimension! She’s here, she’s actually relatively close.

I need to catch my breath. Okay, one in and one out...here we go…

“Dipper, please! Say something! Say something to me!” he could practically see the first teardrop rolling down her tender rosy cheek. “Dipper, I’m begging you!”

“Mabes, I...” at least the voice is...yep, it’s mine “I...my battery...it died so I had to walk home and...”

“Bro-bro, what are talking about?”

“I was staying late...so s’why I couldn’t...couldn’t come to dinner...yeah...I’m sorry. I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Please tell me you’re okay, Dipper. Please tell me that.”

“Yeah, I am...Totally, Mabes, totally...”

“Are you sure?”

He gulped nervously listening to his unsteady breathing.

Telling lies again? Way to g…

“Yes, Mabel, everything’s well I swear” he tried to sound as calm as he could “I...s-sorry for waking you up.”

And he ended the call.

Splendid, my man.

Is that so hard to do? I said shut the fuck up. I need a drink.

***

On Friday he finally made it to work. Dressed in a black hoodie covered in stains of various food and sauces, worn out unwashed trousers of same color he was kind of a ghost to everyone else in the editorial office - no one would bother themselves waving him hello or even noticing him. He was sitting at his small desk in the open space surrounded by stacks of papers and office supplies. Obviously he forgot to take his laptop with him as well as his wallet. For some reason only valuable thing he had then was the most inappropriate one - his driver’s license, which was laying on the desk with his cellphone with already cracked screen.

Time was approaching lunch but food wasn’t even in top ten of his priorities. Frankly he could hardly remember when was the last time he actually consumed something apart from alcohol and cigarettes. Was it that morning? Or the morning before? And does a peanut butter and jelly toast count as food?

All that was in the background of his mind at that moment. The main screen of his mind was displaying various footage soaked with anxiety; each minute a bunch of viewers were collectively advising the main character on the white screen to take right turn or left or to head straight. And footages were constantly changing.

For the first time fear and pain started blending. Only one component was left…

“Pines!” a familiar voice called out for him. At least someone noticed his presence.

Paul Hempstead - the chief editor of essays department - was slowly approaching his desk, scanning through a stack of papers in his hands slowly.

“Good to see you again. Caught a bad cold?” he switched his attention from papers to his employee.

“My god” he gasped “What happened to your face?”

“I fell” Dipper said with colorless voice not even raising his eyes to look at editor.

“Right, you fell” as if taking a hint responded Paul “Okay, I won’t ask. I have a job for you. Are you going to lunch? I’ll explain while eating.”

“No, I’m not going” Dipper’s voice still wasn’t displaying any emotions.

Looking bewildered Paul stared at him as if thinking of whether or not he’s likely to ask any other questions about reasons. Dipper stayed motionless looking right before him into the void.

“Yeah, you’re right. Better right here” the editor fished a paper out of stack in his hands and laid it before Dipper. “A letter from a concerned mother. Her son’s getting oppressed by his scholl mates - he’s part of a certain subculture so his mother wants us to make it sound to the society. The letter is for gist, I wanted you to go there and find all the details. I assigned a photographer to them - he will be going on Monday. Your task is for today so we have our fresh essay on Tuesday. It’s in Huntington - you’ll be done in 3 or 4 hours.”

“Okay” followed a similarly lifeless answer.

Hempstead was expecting for something more verbose.

“Ho-o-ka-y” he slowly echoed stretching syllables “There are bus routes but car is easier. Works for you?”

He waved his hand at Dipper’s driving license.

“I don’t have a car”

“Oh. That’s wise, probably - such a big busy city...You can take a shared car. There’re lots of them on every corner. What do you say? Besides that way you’ll clear your evening.”

“I forgot my wallet home.”

Paul started losing hope.

“That’s a misfortune...Look, you can go to accountants and ask them for a prepayment. In fact...” He fished his wallet out of his trousers pocket and laid three 100 dollars bills before Dipper “Here, you’ll return on a payday. Just take your time to prepare, you know - go home, take a nap, change and all...”

Dipper lowered his eyes to look at the money and nodded slightly.

“Thank you Mr Hempstead” and added after second or two: “Can I go now?”

“For sure, Pines, for sure. Just don’t forget - deadline’s on Tuesday”

Not waiting for a response Paul rushed further down the aisle.

Dipper gave that money a look one more time, then grabbed it and his belongings from his desk and headed for exit.

When he was already at the door his phone buzzed. Even not looking at the screen he was already imagining her cute face, how she bit down her bottom lip waiting for him answer and twisting on of her locks.

This time he decided not to make the same mistake twice. He took his phone out of pocket, cleared his throat and tapped the green button.

***

He was standing naked and wet after taking a shower before the mirror in his bathroom examining his reflection. His cheeks started sinking, right cheekbone was bruised after he met wooden floor with it. He stopped caring about his hair long ago, there were scattered spots of messy stubble here and there. His shoulders were hunched even more than he remembered.

For the past two months Dipper got used to an idea that he wouldn’t see anything good in his reflection but every time it was really important to him to examine his appearance carefully. He still harboured some hope that eventually an alarm in his brain would break out he would start working on at least the simplest plan for recovery.

Not to say it wasn’t happening any time.

He was still feeling saturated after eating some fried eggs with bacon as soon as he came home from work. Even 6 hours of sleep he plunged into as soon as he laid down didn’t manage to drain that feeling but regained his somewhat mental and physical forces a bit.

He’s already failed Paul’s task, cause it was 9 in the evening and there’s no point to drive anywhere. That meant that he was in need to find some distraction to prevent his mind from once again spiralling down into anxiety and crimson blur.

Maybe I can use some fresh air. Like go to Central Park or cinema - anything but once again play ghost at the river’s embankment.

A vision appeared before his eyes - that one, that refused to go away for almost two months then. He was with her, hand in hand slowly moving across the park paths, he gently squeezes her hand, then lets it go only to hug her shoulders with it, she smiles, lays her head on his shoulder, their steps become slower, more relaxed…

Dipper downed a full glass of whiskey. The amber liquid started warming his chest, his stomach. It was such a false warmth that if he closed his eyes he could feel it as a light breeze, stuck between tree trunks in the heart of the park. He could feel it as her warm and gentle hands caressing his chest, so tiny and tender compared to sizes of her sweater…

Not exactly registering he downed another glass.

This is insane. You are! You can take her back, you can’t explain her anything! You can’t give her anything but your warmth!

Wouldn’t that be enough? Is there anybody who can give it to her?

No. NO!

No one can do that! No one will protect her but me!

Another glass downed.

Only I know her that much! Only I saw what this unfair world full of violences can do to her!

Another glass.

I fought demon for her! And I won! I saved my Mabel! My sweet, lovely Mabel.

Another.

What if he lives?

Impossible. He perished.

Yeah, but what if he survived?

He started drinking straight from the bottle.

What’s the matter? Are you scared? Oh, you should be. What were you thinking - you’ve jumped from that cliff once and that’s it? So you can sit around, having your time?

Shut up…

He knew there’s a car outside. And he’s got the keys. Also he knows what lies in his bottom drawer covered with kitchen blankets.

No, you shut up and listen. You abandoned her. Left her so that clown now can do whatever he wants. Do you know who he is? Have you spent a spare second studying what kind of man he is?

Shut up.

He tried to walk steadily and failed. A brass knuckles in his right pocket - a gift from Gruncle Stan - and bottle of whiskey in left hand weren’t helping in balancing at all. He got into a shared vehicle. If only he could start the engine…

Bravo! Just perfect, my boy! Guess what - you’ve got fooled! How hilarious is that?

Shut up.

He turned the engine but the impulse died instantly.

Our Big Master Dipper - a threat to all monsters and demons…

Shut up!

Another turn. And one more...Come on!

…a famous mysteries solver got fooled by some pathetic equilateral one-eyed…

SHUT UP!!!

PINETREE!!!

The engine roared coming to life. Dipper accelerated steering the car to the north-west away from the city - to a small countryside place in suburbs called New City.

[multifarrious]

Reputation | Richie Tozier | Part 2

rating: t (for language and minor suggestive adult themes) pairing: richie tozier x fem!reader a/n: because multiple people requested for a part 2 part 1

part 3

You sucked the smoke deep into your lungs as if nothing had ever been so sweet, remembering all the warnings but not caring. You held it there trapped, thinking how your lungs must hate you now; having so little regard for them, they must be screaming at you at the top of their lungs–you refused to smile– those poor dying little cells that only wanted you well; how could you do this to them? You craved oxygen now, but it wasn’t until you stubbed the cigarette with an act of effort, anger laced within it as you watched the small flame disappear, did you exhale and allow a large amount of fresh air to enter your system.

You stared at the cigarette between your fingers. It had been almost short enough to burn you. In fact, you’d been here for so long, thinking about too much, you were certain you could crush the remains of the cigar by rubbing your index finger and thumb together. So you did. And you watched it crumble into nothing onto the grass.

A sudden crunch in the grass behind you made you jump, more than it should have, as your shoulders tensed and breath hitched in your throat. Instinctively you turned around, your immediate shock disappearing like it hadn’t even existed in the first place as your gaze locked on Bill. Sighing softly, you should of known he’d find you here. “You scared me, squirt-” Though you cut yourself off, noticing the look on your younger brother’s face. You furrowed your eyebrows together in confusion and there was a deafening silence before he finally spoke:

“It has Beverly.”

Henry stands inches away from your face, his breath laced with the smell of cigarette smoke and mint from his chewing gum. A smell that not long ago made you weak to your knees, but now it makes you want to gag. His stare is strong and not once falters from you, even when Richie begins to make rude remarks and comments about him. Henry spares a subtle and hardly noticeable quick glance towards Richie, before his eyes flicker back to you, a hint of anger and jealously mixed together in his eyes.

“So you’re fucking the faggot with glasses now?”

Your once calm, unyielding demenor dripped slowly from your face and onto the grass, your face contorting in an all - consuming anger; your nostrils flaring, your eyes flashing darkly, your hands clenched into fists as you watched Henry’s eyes look you up and down, his tongue sweeping his bottom lip, “I’m not fucking him.” You were quick to answer, your voice stern yet quiet, well aware of the others standing around you-- majority of the reason you were dreading what Henry would do next. 

He chuckles, raising one eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “Right, of course not. Is that cause you know he’ll never make you feel the way I did?” 

He’s smiling now. A malicious grin plastered on his lips.

“Fuck off, Henry.” You practically spit, as your eyes thin into a deadly glare. Your comment falling unnoticed, Henry breaks the small space between the two of you, and from the corner of your eye you notice Richie flinch. “No wonder you’ve kept your legs shut for this long.” His hand is suddenly grasped tightly around your wrist, and you flinch as he pulls you towards him. 

“Hey!” Bill’s voice rings through your ears, a reminder everybody was still here, listening to all of this. Henry lets you go, his attention finally drawn away from you and towards the others. “Why do you all look so surprised?” He asked, referring to the losers. “You all know, don’t you? How all I had to do was throw some nice words at her and she was all over me. Literally.”

You opened your mouth, but were beat to it as Henry lets his eyes fall on you once again. “You're such a sucker for sweet talk that you'd lie with every scumbag who comes your way, slut.” 

You couldn’t move. Your entire body went into shut down and for the first time in your life, you had no idea what to do. You could feel everyones eyes on you. More specifically, Bill’s. You didn’t dare look at him. Instead you let your gaze remain on Bowers, as you shook your head slightly, tears forming around the brim of your eyes, threatening to fall but you were too stubborn to let them. 

You’d never punched anyone before, so you were incredibly suprised at the pain that blazed up your arm as your fist connected with his jaw.

“What the fuck?!” Richie yelled, as Henry stumbled back with a groan, holding onto his jaw. All you could do was stand there, completely still, your brain still processing what you’d just done. You just punched Henry Bowers in the face. And watching him spit onto the grass, blood and salvia mixed together, you knew you’d punched him good too. Before the older boy was able to regain himself, a hand grabbed at your wrist, trying to pull you in the opposite direction and you quickly complied. 

You weren’t sure how long all of you ran, but you swore you could have passed out the second all of you hid behind a bush. 

“Holy shit!” Richie said for the hundredth time, completely out of breath. “You just punched Henry Bowers in his fucking face.”

“I know, Richie.” You sighed, clearly becoming impatient with his constant comments about the whole thing.

“You made the motherfucker bleed!”

“I know, Richie.”

“Do you know how hot that shit was?”

Everybody turned their attention to both you and Richie, a little surprised when your mouth twitched, as you tried fighting a smile.

“Will you hurry up? I’m dying.”

Rolling your eyes, you continued shuffling through the contents in your bathroom, trying to find a bandage. When you finally found what you needed, you smiled to yourself, entering your kitchen where Richie was sitting dramatically on a chair. “Will you stop being such a pussy? It’s literally a scratch.” You told him, sending the boy a look when he had opened his mouth to reply. 

You squatted down, making it easier to tend to his hand. There was a silence between the two of you. Not awkward, but comforting. “You know, I always thought you’d end up on your knees in front of me. Though when I imagined it, you were doing something else.”

You were use to Richie’s inappropriate remarks, and pretty much the only one who thought they were pure gold, but even this shocked you. So much so that you swore your jaw hit the ground. Did Richie Tozier just make you blush? Usually it was the other way round. “Close your mouth, Y/N. Looks like you’re sucking a dick.”

“Only if it’s yours.” You were fast to answer and this time it was his turn to blush; heat rising to his cheeks as he pushed up his glasses, his finger rubbing on the lens, creating yet another fingerprint smudge. 

Once again the silence accompanied the both of you, as you concentrated on cleaning his cut, before Richie broke it again.

“I could kiss you.”

Your eyes widened slightly before they wandered up from his hand to look at him, who was already staring directly at you. “Do it then.” You challenged, catching him off guard, your voice lower than a whisper, as the boy looked down at you. When standing you were slightly taller than him, but since you were kneeling in front of him he towered over you. So, when he was caught so much off guard to even move you pulled the collar of his shirt down, connecting his slightly chapped lips with your own.

As much as the boy boasted about such things, you knew this was his first kiss. Evidence of how tense he was, how he didn’t know where to put his hands so instead he didn’t move them, and how you could feel the heat radiating of his cheeks. It made your lips twitch into a smile during the kiss, before you pulled apart so the both of you could breathe.  

“Holy shit.”

[burtfurlong]

A Dame to Fist For - part one

Forky sat with his feet on his desk. He was smoking a cigar and reading the newest issue of Hog Shooters, a magazine about murdering wild pigs. He was drinking scotch even though it was early in the afternoon. People like Forky drank scotch all the time, because they were detectives. Forky was a detective. Just then a dame walked in. Her name was Valma and her boobs were good. Valma came in and said, “Hey, you’re a detective, right?”

To which Forky replied, “You see the scotch, don’tcha darling?”

Valma threw herself dramatically on Forky’s desk, her real big cleavage deliberately bulging out of her dress, “You gotta help me Mr. Forky! Please! I’ve been kicked out of every precinct and investigator's office in the metro area! Oh, Mr. Forky! I’ve got nowhere else to turn!”

“Alright kid, stuff your udders back in your top and quit crying on my desk,” snapped Forky

“I’m as gay as the day is long and there’s nothing I like more than a bunch of dicks and cocks in my butthole and mouth shooting jizz everywhere, ya understand?”

Valma gathered her tremendous boobs back into her dress and wiped her eyes. Dejected, she turned to leave.

“Hold on kid!” called Forky, “Just because I like sucking dicks more than tits don’t mean I won’t hear ya out. Christ I’m a faggot, not a monster.”

“Oh, thank you Mr. Forky! Thank you, sir! I can’t thank you enough!” Valma was near hysterics.

“Calm down sister, I said I’d hear you out. Whether I take the case or not depends. Now what’s the scoop? out with it.”

Valma composed herself, “Is that scotch Mr. Forky?”

“The names Forky, private eye, you can drop the Mister. And that’s right, this is scotch. Gay scotch.” He picked up the bottle of gay scotch and poured two glasses, sliding one over to Valma. “Now try to relax kid, and tell me about the case.”

“Gay scotch Mr. Fork? I mean, Forky.”

“Relax kid, it won’t turn you gay. Now, the case.”

Valma took a sip of the scotch and set herself down in one of the offices leather seats. “I’m not even sure where to begin.” she said

“Start from the top kid. I’m gonna need every last detail before I decide if I’m gonna help you or not.”

“Okay sir.”

“Forky!” he snapped

“Okay Forky, but it’s might take me a while.”

“I’m all ears sister.”

“It’s my uncle,” Valma began, “He’s gone missing, it's like he just disappeared without a trace,” She said lighting a slim dainty cigarette. “I’m all he’s got. He doesn’t have any other family or children and he’s not married. When I ask people to help me Forky, some of them act like they never even heard of my uncle! like he never existed! Mr. Forky you gotta help me!”

Forky took a sip of gay scotch and leaned back in his seat. “What's your name kid?” he asked trimming the tip of a cigar.

“Valma.”

Forky lit his cigar, exhaled, and took another sip of gay scotch, ”what's your uncle’s name Valma”

“Tommy Kielbasi.”

Forky shot up in his seat, “Ya don’t say? What's your uncle do for a living Valma?”

“Well, I’m not sure really. I just know that he works for NecroCorp ltd. As a junior senior investment manager, but I don’t know what that means Mr. Forky”

“Means you’re gonna have to give me a hell of a good reason to take this case kid. A junior senior investor from NecroCorp goes missing, and you're telling me the police are acting like he never existed?” Forky stood up and began to refresh the ice in their glasses. Valma was pale and looked stressed. She waited to see what Forky would say next.

“It’s no secret that the cops are in cahoots with every crime family and shady syndicate in the metro, so if they're acting like this guy ain’t ringing a bell. Well let's just put it this way kid, I like literal dicks up my asshole, not metaphorical ones.”

Valma’s eyes began to swell with tears. She bit her lip and stared at the ground. Forky stepped over to the chair Valma was sitting in and handed her a glass of gay scotch. “Now let’s hear it Valma, the part you’re not telling me.”

Valma began to kick her crossed leg nervously.

“Come on kid!” Forky exclaimed, “you got a learning disability or something? Unless you’re a dame with a giant cock hiding under that dress of yours you can drop the damsel in distress act and cut to the chase! Nothings free in this city. I got bills ya understand! I already told you, I’m gonna need allthe details before I take the case, if I take it.”

Valma began to cry, and the crying gave way to abject sobbing.

Forky had seen a lot in his career. He’d seen dozens of dames slide into his office thinking 12 inches of juicy cleavage was going to get them a free ride, and Forky was gonna drop his issue of Hog Shooters magazine without marking the page and hurry off to go snooping on the hypotenuse of a love triangle, no questions asked. The way Valma had begun to sob however, was proof enough for Forky of the girl’s genuine concern for her uncle. Whether she was naive or not didn’t change the fact. Like Forky had said, He was a faggot, not a monster. There was a time when Forky was a young police cadet, eager to uphold the law and protect the regular people of the city. While that may have been a lifetime ago, the code Forky lived by was still the same. Valma was a regular girl, and while she might have an uncle who was a junior senior exec at NecroCorp ltd. she was just a regular girl concerned about a missing family member. It didn’t matter how naive that meant she was.

The whole situation pleaded with Forky’s sense of justice, “You really don’t know anything else, do ya kid?” he asked.

“Honestly sir! That’s all I know! Oh, please sir! I have nowhere else to turn!”

Forky sighed and sat back in his chair. He flipped out a notepad, “Where did you see your uncle Tommy last Valma?”

“I last saw him at his hotdog cart four days ago. You see Mr. Forky, he was a vegetarian, so he didn’t eat hotdogs. So every day I would visit him at around noon while he was at work and bring him a vegetarian lunch, and ask him how his day had been.”

Forky took off his hat and rubbed his temples, “Kid, I thought you said your uncle was junior senior investment manager, Tommy Kielbasi. Whether you know it or not your uncle Tommy is a notorious white-collar criminal in the metro area. You ever hear of the Scungilli heist? Sure, he’s been under the radar for a while now, but that don’t change the fact that he’s a junior exec on the NecroCorp payroll. He ain’t selling hotdogs from a cart kid, and he sure as hell ain’t no senior citizen,”

Valma rose up. Her demeanor suddenly exhibiting more confidence, “Thats not true Mr. Forky! I swear! My uncle is an old man who worked at that hot dog cart for 60 years! It’s just that the Necrocorp building in the uptown area bought out all the vendors that worked within a ten-block radius of their building. He told me that people from NecroCorp made him sign papers saying he was selling his hotdog stand and accepting a position as junior senior investment manager. I know that my uncle didn’t like it, but he never wanted to discuss things he didn’t like with me. All he said was that he had no choice. He couldn’t really make sense of any of it, but the people at NecroCorp told him not to worry. They said nothing would change and that he could keep selling hotdogs; and now he’s gone missing and nobody knows a thing!”

“You telling me NecroCorp bought out a hotdog vendor with an offer he couldn’t refuse, or understand, just to let the guy keep peddling wieners? You saying It’s just a coincidence that he’s got the same name as a known corporate exec? So they just decided to give him a matching job title? You expect me to believe that?”

Valma’s eyes began to shimmer with welling tears.

“Look I’m sorry kid, it’s just a hell of a coincidence,” The more details Forky heard about the case, the less things seemed to add up, “where did your uncle live Valma?”

“Not far from here Mr. Forky. 25 Far West End.”

“Thats just a few blocks west. You stayed with your uncle?”

“No Forky, I have an apartment in the mega-complex on the east side, 44,019 Cherry Tower.”

Forky put his hat back on and started to get up, “I’ll tell you what kid, I can’t say I ain’t curious. How about I go take a look around your uncle's place and see what I can find.”

Valma shot up and threw herself on the desk again, instinctively squeezing her cleavage towards Forky with urgency, “You will sir?!”

“Keep your shirt on sister. I told you I’m sucking cocks for the opposite team. Let's just say you got my curiosity piqued. I’m gonna tell you right now, this case starts leading me in a hot direction and things get too dicey, I’m dropping it like a limp cock outta my stretched-out anus, no ifs ands or buts.” Valma stared at Forky like a worried puppy, “That being said, this ain’t how I usually like to do business, so I'm taking the case pro bono.”

“Thank you, Mr. Forky sir! Thank you so much! Oh, Thank you!” Valma sprang up and wrapped her arms around Forky’s neck as he tucked his revolver into his underarm holster, “Say! watch it when I’m handling the iron, sweetheart! I may be taking this case pro bono but a job’s a job, and when I go to work it ain’t funny business, ya understand? Now scram! You'll hear from me when I got news.” Valma thanked Forky profusely and left his office.

”25 Far West End. that’s by the docks,” Forky pulled on his trench coat. “Call me a grade-A circus clown dope, but when I used to suck Tommy Kielbasi’s cock he wasn’t no old-fogey. The guy always wanted to shove a hotdog up my ass though, every time. There’s gotta be some connection.”

[peachykeenage-blog]

I Hate August

Chapter Two:

Yep. That's right. My mom shot herself in the upstairs bedroom across from the bathroom. The bedroom with the yellow and blue fighter planes dazzling from the ceiling. The bedroom with the Ohio State banner as a shield over the window, deflecting the sun's burning gaze. The bedroom with the exaggerated blue carpet that always tickled my feet when I walked over it. It was my bedroom. My mother shot herself in my bedroom. Down in the garage, my father and I were about to work on the car together. I pulled off my august-orange t shirt that read “GO OHIO GO!” in big white letters. The rush of “oh my gosh, my father is going to let me touch his Model A” hit me like a truck.

“Screwdriver.” My father had a way of mumbling and i had a way of not understanding tools.

“Huh?”

My father pointed annoyingly, as if already regretting his decision of letting me help him.

“Dad, could you just-”

My father threw down his grease stained towel and cursed my way.

“Dammit, son. Are you some kind of queer? Why don't you know what a screwdriver is? Have I taught you anything?” He whipped the sweat from his almost bald dripping head in overwhelmed anger. My father had never called me queer before. He always talked about “the sins of homosexuals” and what a world with “queers” meant for our future. For all I knew in my ten year old mind “queers should be killed.” My father called me queer. Should I be killed?

My father walked impatiently to the toolbox, snatching the screwdriver up and shoving it into my hands. “This...is a screwdriver. You use it for screws, son. Got it?” His voice sounded so passive aggressive that it scared me. Maybe this had something to do with our talk earlier or maybe it had something to do with my mother in general. Her usual fits and spurs. Maybe it wasn't even the fact that I asked but the time that I asked. He was having a good time in his garage alone, his own thoughts, his own life and I just happened to break his time by asking about my mom. Overall, I hope he knows I'm sorry and if he ever reads this I hope he’s happy with all that I've done for him. Anyway, enough with the sappy background.

My mother shot herself. That's the main idea. The summary of this whole story. Maybe that's what started this all. When my father heard the gunshot he was in the middle of explaining how a wrench worked and what to do with it. The sound echoes our entire house still to this day. Even after we moved out. Maybe even the whole world heard it but it had no relevancy to anyone but my dad and I so no one paid attention. I remember my dad having the strangest expression on his face when he heard it. Almost like a “there it is” kind of thing. It was like he had been waiting for that sound, that moment, since a year ago when I was nine years old. When my mother’s memories and personality fell off the face of the earth. 

My father didn't even flinch. He didn't run upstairs and scream until sundown because his wife had just shot herself. He didn't do anything except look at what with that stupid look and set down the wrench. “Son…” was all he said at first. We both walked up the wide wooden steps of our garage and into the house. He and I walked around the house and up the stairwell. He was grasping the right handle of our staircase as if trying to stop himself from going up there. His body was fighting himself. He knew what he was about to see but he kept walking. This goes on the list of: “reasons I hate my dad and love him so much.”

He loved my mom.

I followed him up those stairs, not understanding my fate, innocence blinding me in all directions. My blond curls covered my eyes as if to warn me not to look at what my mother had done to herself but instead I pushed them aside and slumped over those stairs. My father looked into the bathroom first, pushing the door wide open as if ripping the band aid right off only to be surprised by the idea of there never been a band aid there at all. He next checked their bedroom. My mother must have just gotten up from one of her naps because she had left the door wide open. My dad and I stayed quiet in respect for the moment. My father obviously knew more about what was going on than I did so I respected that and stayed silent. He seemed so scared but so calm. As if he were just glad he didn't have to keep waiting anymore.

He finally swung open my bedroom. I'm not going to go into too much detail of what I saw but I do know that my exaggerated blue rug was now a warm and wet metal scented purple. Her blond hair had been colored with blood red streaks. She didn't resemble my mother anymore. I remember wondering where a large portion of her skull went. My eyes opened wide in alertness and I tumbled backwards. I couldn't even scream. Where was my mother? Where was my father. They were both right here but missing pieces of them, my mother quiet literally. Why my bedroom? I won't ever know for sure.

My father held his hand over his still mouth as if to stop himself from an abrupt vomit. He looked at me for a second. For a few months I lost him too.

“I’ll go call the police.” He stood there for a few more seconds before running to the bathroom and throwing up all he could into our toilet. I stared at her lifeless body and for a few hours while sitting on the floor beside her. After the third hour I was holding her hand. The police still hadn't come because they had something they were doing I guess and because she was already long dead they said to call the hospital or something. I began to run my fingers through her bloody hair. A few times my fingers brushed her skull and I turned to my side and threw up each time.

“Mommy?” I whispered into her ear. Her blue eyes were open still but I liked it that way because she had the prettiest eyes in the world. “Where did you go?”

She didn't answer of course but something told me that she wasn't gone. Something inside my head told me I would run into her again. Do you see where this is going? If not, that's alright too. I’ll keep going.

By the time my father had come back into the room he had someone come in with him. The ambulance man was here to “collect my mother” as if she were a fucking baseball card. The man was whispering furiously at my father while he stayed silent. I didn't turn around to face this man or the argument but I overheard pieces of the confrontation.

“...let him see this...bad for him...what kind of a father...abuse…” I almost threw up again. That wasn't the first time I had heard the word “abuse”. In first grade the school counselor asked where my parents were all the time and why I came in with cigarette burns on my forearms. I always told them that I was being bad but they never believed me.

 My father stopped doing that when I was eight because before then he used to drink. He always apologized the night after for anything he did while he was drunk. He stopped touching me when I was seventeen but after that he started calling me things like “faggot” and “pussy”. I brought that up with my social worker, Francie, recently and she said that she was very sorry for making me talk about this but I didn't see what was wrong.

At the funeral it was different than other family funerals that we went to. Not even because it was my mother but because of other factors.

1. No one was there except my father, my mother's gynecologist, and I.

2. No one said a eulogy or had anything but the original “your mother was so young” and “I'm sorry for your loss.”

3. The priest didn't even pray for the family or my mother.

4. There was a small tombstone next to my mother's.

Yeah, weird, huh? My innocent ten year old mind never comprehended the idea that something small might be in the small tombstone. Something small? Like a stillborn baby. Oh yeah, that.

It all clicked later when I was thinking about all the times my mother called me her daughter or why she wanted me to wear dresses. I never thought…

I grew up knowing it wasn't my fault. I grew up knowing that if anything it was my father's fault. My mother's gynecologist pulled me aside at the funeral to tell me that my father was an enabler. He told me that my father didn't help her and that's why this happened. He cursed my father's name and made me promise to never grow up like him. I promised. I didn't even know that man but something made me believe that he was right. If my father had just done something for my mother maybe she wouldn’t be dead right now. After that brief conversation I never saw that man again. I wonder if he would be proud of me now. Seeing where I’ve come and how I have gotten here.