#maybe this wasn't all just a waste of fucking time and impotent rage

[ironykins]

Pat the Bunny, Not My Revolution (2004-2007)

Pat the Bunny, Fuck Shit Up (2008)

Pat the Bunny, From Here Till Utopia (2011)

Pat the Bunny, I'm Going Home (2014)

Pat the Bunny, $titche$ (2016)

[terrence-silver]

Could you write something for Terry with the prompt : “ thank you for seeing all the good in me” maybe after their first argument or disagreement?? Or whoever you wish to use the prompt. much love xx

Sociopath.

Addict.

Maniac.

Those were some of the few milder epithets Terry juggled throughout his life, unfettered. He mostly wore them as a badge of honor in the 80's, laughing it off with impossible nonchalance. Everything's easy when you're young. Everything's a laugh. A riot. And it was. It was unbelievably funny to watch people in their feelings around him, especially in the negative sense. He'd lie if he said that it didn't amuse him. Entertain him like an elaborate circus act. In his later years, he took to masking himself. There was therapy and then there was pretense, and the two weren't mutually exclusive to him --- meds numbed whatever proclivity he had for the darker aspects of himself. Violence. Wrath. Vices. The rest was his own self control. His own discipline. Self-maintance. Sometimes, an unspoken fact of life was that no matter how many times people repeated the age old fortune cookie mantra that you should just be yourself and let everyone accept you for who you are, flaws and all, it was all a pile of bullshit. No they wouldn't, Terry thought. Not with the type of fatal flaws Terry had anyway --- even though he didn't consider them as such, living inside and outside of himself. Biggest lie invented by society since taxing the poor. He couldn't even tell most people he served in Vietnam or that he was a Karate blackbelt most of the times without raising eyebrows, so he didn't. Be the snake and the grass it hides in.

Except, you were the odd one out.

A bit of a freak yourself, endearingly enough.

Terry's told you everything, right off the bat, going into the other end of the extreme, utilizing what his therapist called oversharing or trauma dumping during their sessions in the past. Terry supposed he hoped to deliberately scare you off. Disgust you tactically. Take perverted pleasure in watching your pretty little face twist in a mask of mistrust and anxiety as he regals you with some lovely anecdotes from his past and present. All innocence gone from your expression, so he'd have an excuse to be angry at you and hurt you in retaliation, pestered and invigorated in his rage by your hapless excuses while your tone of voice concealed true dread. Except, you never did and his desire for revenge against someone, anyone, stood there impotent, useless. Terry told you about his penchant for aggressive outburst, cocaine addiction which he treated, problems with alcohol, the dabbling of his toxic waste disposal business and a barrage of other things he'd hoped would be a mood killer. He'd even tell you about the war. How he nearly died, alongside everyone else, in that cage in the jungle, not withstanding all the countless other times he nearly got offed unrelated to that one instant and he would've if it wasn't for John. You offered to draw him a bath, after all of that. Make him a warm beverage. Help him relax.

He's told you about the horrors of his life and you were offering him a drink?

A...warm beverage?

A warm beverage.

He stares at it.

If there was a dosage of cyanide in there, he'd call it a blessing.

-“Thank you for seeing all the good in me.”-

Terry whispers into his own distorted reflection in the deep, brown liquor of a tea cup after approximately five minutes of mutual silence, his voice feeling even more gravely in his throat than it usually does, the quietude total all around you two --- not the uncomfortable kind, but silence is silence nonetheless. He feels on guard and yet not. Maybe the fact that he wasn't on his guard ironically put him on his guard because he couldn't comprehend why this felt so natural. He can't believe he's said that either --- thank you for seeing the good in me --- what the actual fuck!? Cursing himself internally, seated on a couch, legs crossed, feeling like a cretin. He's been having this thing with you for a while now and somehow, in a short amount of time, he's opened up to you more then he would've have to people he's known double the amount --- he's been accepted by you with more thoroughness out of the blue as well, than most people he's kept in his circles. Emphasis on the kept, past tense, seeing as how they were mercifully no longer in it. He looks up at you, holding the tea and there you are, smiling. Not a mocking smile. Not a fake smile. Not a rehearsed smile. A gleeful, cold smile. A genuine, true, gentle smile. Terry knows the differences like he knows the palm of his own hand. He tries the tea too, taking a tentative sip. He had a private chef fixing him up his deals and drinks, but this was...well, it was delightful. So were you. His wide-eyed little idealist.

Terry wants you.

But, he finds he wants you to see the good in only him.

Nobody else.