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1engele · 4 years ago

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daybreak | sal fisher x fem!reader - 4. questions

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[warnings: cursing, smoking, death mention, sexual discussion, drug mention]

"every mile further, there's a part of me that slips away."

—

At lunch, you and Sal eventually locate the group's spot in the cafeteria. It felt almost like a walk of shame as the two of you approached and cautiously sat down at the table.

Todd, Ashley, and Larry all turn their heads toward you both. Normally, they'd most likely greet you as if nothing was wrong—which, to their knowledge, nothing was—but this time they were hesitant in saying anything. You could only guess they'd caught the wave as soon as you'd both sat down.

Larry looked calmer than he did in the car. You hoped Ashley and Todd talked him down.

"Alright, something's weird," Ashley's suspicious eyes flitted between you and Sal. "What happened?"

Sal looked you in the eye, before returning his gaze to Ash. "Nothing, we-"

You should have let Sal lie about it, but the fact he still wanted to be selfless and keep the peace made you angry on his behalf and was enough to make you cut in. "Something happened in class that pissed Travis off. In the hall, he fucking cuffed Sal in the face."

Larry jerks forward in his seat. You take advantage of his shock to keep speaking. "His shirt had blood all over it. That's why I gave him my sweater."

"What the fuck?" Ashley's eyes were wide, her entire expression forming into something furious. "We need to report him."

"No, we don't," Sal shakes his head. "It makes things worse. It wasn't even that bad. The blood was superficial. It didn't even take more than a minute for her-" he looks to you, clears his throat, and corrects himself. You guess he doesn't want any questions being asked about what happened in the girl's bathroom. "-for me to clean it up."

Todd swallows a bite of his sandwich and speaks up. "Sal may be right. It would make things worse. That doesn't mean it's justified, though—no matter what Travis is going through at home."

"You know what is justified?" Larry is seething in his spot. "Him getting his shit beat. When the day's over, I'm taking him behind the school and knocking the lights out of his fucking head."

Sal inhales beside you.

"Yeah—that's not going to do anything," you breathe. You feel the blue-haired boy shift beside you—like he'd turned his head your way. "I actually spoke to him on the first day of school."

Ashley's eyebrows fly up. "What? What did he say?"

"We were all in the hallway," you began to explain, slowly and steadily. "I'd seen him giving Sal weird looks earlier in class—and at that moment, he seemed off, too—just standing there at the far end of the hall."

You paused. "I don't know. I've seen it before. It was like he was gearing himself up to walk over and say something. So I took it upon myself to beat him to it. I went over, asked him what he was planning on doing—told him to pick his battles. He almost went over anyway, but I put my hand on him and told him how that wouldn't end well."

You swallowed and glanced around anxiously. "He looked at me, scoffed, and walked away."

Your hand raises to your neck. You absentmindedly drag your knuckles over your throat—a nervous habit. "I hope I didn't make things worse. If I'd known that maybe that was the reason he was pissed off today I wouldn't have done anything."

Sal hadn't looked away from you the entire time you'd been speaking. Carefully, he shifts in his seat to face you and starts: "No," he shakes his head. "He would have hit me anyway. What you said didn't make him do that. It's about what happened in class."

He glanced over the table before meeting your eyes again. "He's jealous. I think he wishes he had something like we- he wishes he had a friend. That's all. So don't blame yourself for Travis' actions like you caused them when all you were trying to do was defend me."

Tears form but you blink them away quickly. Something flashes behind Sal's eyes and he looks as if he's going to say something to console you but someone's speaking before he can. You look away first, settling your eyes on the table.

"What happened in class?" Ashley asks, slowly reaching for her bag of chips.

Sal's eyebrows twitch downward. "Nothing. I tried giving Y/N another answer and Mrs. Packerton gave us detention. That made Travis mad, for some reason."

Larry lets out a bittersweet laugh. "As funny as Mrs. Packerton giving you detention is-"

Sal rolls his eyes in your peripheral vision.

"-why would that make Travis mad? It's not like he's a goody-two-shoes. He barely gets by in school."

Sal shrugs. "Who knows. I really don't care what he thinks, anyway."

Larry is beside himself with frustration. You can tell it. He's tense and his jaw is hard. You know he's ready to get up and talk to the other side of the cafeteria and beat the fuck out of Travis but he knows he can't—because Sal doesn't want that.

"If I were you, I would have killed him already," Larry mutters. "Don't know how you do it, dude. I don't think you aren't capable of it."

The boy beside you falters. "I don't care about what he says to me. It's really about what he says to other people. When he started saying shit to Y/N—I, uh- I'll admit, I did sort of feel like hurting him."

Your heart skips a beat. Immediately after this happens, you feel like slapping yourself in the face for letting your hormones get the better of you.

You watch the rest of the table exchange glances you would've missed—had you blinked—before Ashley speaks. "Whatever. I just don't get why he lets his anger out on somebody who's done nothing to him."

After that, the conversation steadily drifts into something more lighthearted. Larry makes fun of you and Sal for getting detention for something you nearly got caught for the previous day. Todd recites facts about medieval times and Ashley for some reason thinks that it's hilarious and laughs.

You enjoy the rest of lunch, despite the earlier topic.

You've come to realize this school absolutely does not give a shit. You and Sal are accepted into detention without any further notice for your parents. As far as you know, the faculty hadn't contacted nor your mother or Sal's parents.

"Let me call my dad," Sal mumbles, as you both approach the door to detention. "When I'm not home in time he always thinks something bad's happened to me, haha."

He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and flips it open.

"I'd call my mom, but I don't think she'd care," you laugh. It isn't bitter, really—you just couldn't care less. "From how you turned out, I bet your mom is really cool."

Sal looks up from his phone. "Thank you. Uh, yeah. She was good to me."

You falter at the 'was' and ask a question even though you shouldn't have. "Are your parents separated, Sal?"

He falters, waves the phone in his hand a little. "My mother, ah- is dead, Y/N."

Dread plunges to the bottom of your gut like a heavy rock and weighs your insides down. You feel like the biggest idiot known to the world—and you feel even stupider now that you can't muster the words up to apologize to him.

Eventually, you collect yourself—only to spiral yourself downward into further shame.

"Sal, I am so sorry," you breathe. "I should have caught on sooner."

He seems almost surprised concerning your sincerity, eyebrows raising and his eyes widening. Sal quickly raises his hands and waves them, his demeanor appearing distraught. "No! No, don't feel bad. There's no way you could've known. I don't talk about family much."

You breathe in slowly. "I'm such a horrible person. Here I am, complaining about calling my mother, and.."

He blinks down at you sincerely, glances both ways down the hall, and returns his gaze to you, and speaks: "Do you want to just get out of here?"

Your head jerks upward. You swallow the saliva that had pooled in your mouth and fumble for a response. "What do you mean?"

Sal breathily laughs. "We'll get in a lot of trouble for this—but you only live once, right?" He shifts his weight and takes a step closer to you. "Let's just ditch the detention. Me and you."

Your heart jumps. "Don't you have really good grades? Sal, what if-"

"That doesn't matter," he blurts. You meet his eyes. The blue in them cast something familiar onto you—exhaustion. Numbness. The want to feel, the want to be exhilarated.

You don't know this boy very well—but you see something of yourself in him. A person who's kept between the lives most of their life, but they're just itching to break through that wall.

Sal is bored. He's sad. And he wants the thrill.

"Let's do it."

You and Sal both escape the school in a matter of a few minutes. Leaving involved a lot of unnecessary running and giggling and navigating through halls—but you make it out and breathe in the crisp, autumn air. It further dries your parched throat and rustles your hair.

"Wow," Sal breathes, beside you, as you both stand with feet firmly planted on the concrete. You're a few yards away from the school, enough distance between you and the building to where you can feel comfortable. "Never done anything like that before."

You laugh. "We ditched detention, Sal. We didn't run from the law."

"To my standards, we may as well have." He meets your eyes, the breeze blowing past his blue hair. "What do you want to do next?"

You take Sal to a playground. It takes a little while of absentminded walking and searching for something to appear, but eventually your eyes catch on that swing set and you can't resist.

"Come on!" You grin and run towards it.

He laughs behind you, and follows you a little less excitedly, taking his time with walking.

You sit side by side. You dig the toe of your shoe into the ground and push yourself into a steady rock, back and forth. The chains squeak which each movement of the swing.

"Hey, Sal?"

He looks over at you, his hair rustling with the autumn breeze. The more you look at it, the more jarring the contrast becomes—the blue against the backdrop of orange and red trees and the dull sky. "Yeah?"

"Wanna play 20 questions?"

Sal blinks toward you. He brings his hands up to grip the chains attached to his swing. "Sure."

"Okay. Just one rule-"

"Don't ask for your bra size?"

You laugh. "No. If you really want to know, it's-"

He waves a hand hurriedly. You notice the strain in his voice when he replies. "I was just kidding. What's the rule?"

"No boring questions. That's it."

Sal chuckles. "I'm a boring person, so I can't really promise that."

No, you're not, you thought.

"Prove me wrong. You go first."

"Favorite color?"

You chuckle, kicking dirt up from the ground as you push yourself into a steady rock, back and forth. "Wow. What a question. Uh... I don't know. There's a lot of great colors." You glance toward him, shivering as a gust of wind brushes your clothed shoulders. "Blue."

He inclines his head toward you. "It's your turn, now."

You pause. "I'll ask you the same thing. What's your favorite color?"

"Yellow. If you could choose a way to die, how would you? Old age or something peaceful doesn't count."

The abruptness of the shift in topic makes you laugh. "I'd like to be struck by lightning."

He peers at you curiously. "Why?"

"Does that count as one of your questions?"

Sal fingers at the chains of his swing. "Yeah, sure."

You shrug your shoulders, sucking your front teeth behind your lips. "I don't know, honestly. I'd like to know how it feels. It would probably just feel like fire, and it would fucking hurt—but wouldn't it be kind of cool? Have you seen a photo of someone after being struck by lightning?"

He giggles, lifts a foot and presses the bottom of his shoe against the other one. "Does that count as one of your questions?"

"Shut up. Have you?"

"No. What's it look like?"

You grin. "It's like.. tree roots. Or a branch with leaves on it—but it's a scar. You'd have to see it to understand."

Sal looks as though he's about to say something else—probably tease you for your strange fixation on lightning strike victims—but you beat him to the punch. "My turn. What's your favorite song?"

"Memories and Dreams, Sanity's Fall."

You raise your eyebrows. "Metal? Well, now that I think about it, you seem the type."

"Larry actually introduced me to it. I didn't really listen to anything before I met him. Alright, I'll ask you the same question. Favorite song?"

"Wonderwall, Oasis."

"That one's pretty recent," he hums, pauses, and thinks about it. "Yeah. That sounds like you. I like it."

You smile shyly. "It's not metal, sorry. Can we still be friends?"

Sal exhales through his nose amusedly. "No. You don't like the same music genre as me. Friendship over."

You laugh. "Well, I never said I didn't like metal. Anyway, my question is.. when's your birthday?"

"December 20th."

Your eyebrows raise. "Holy shit. You're nearly a Jesus baby."

Sal chuckles. "I'm far from being the second coming. It's 5 days off, anyway."

That makes him a Sagittarius. You're pretty familiar with the general traits of the zodiac signs—personality traits, physical traits, sexual tendencies—like a lot of teenagers nowadays.

Well, if he's true to the zodiac, he has a high sex drive.

Your face feels hot. You're a creep, your brain says.

A few questions pass by. He asks about your birthday, you ask him his favorite movie, etc. You're nearing the end of the game, and it's been a decent amount of time. It feels almost too soon when the sun begins to drift down in the sky.

"Alright, my turn," you say after you've answered the question Sal had just asked you.

"Shoot."

"Are you a virgin?"

A tense moment passes, and you seriously regret asking. All you can hear is your heart thrumming in your ears and your blood rushing towards it and through all of you.

He meets your eyes evenly. "Yeah. Obviously."

"I don't believe you," you reply, immediately.

His eyebrows raise. "Why not?"

You hope he can't hear your pulse. "Because. You answered that way too smoothly."

"That makes no sense. If I were lying, I wouldn't have been as cool about it."

You narrow your eyes. "That's not just it, though. Why hasn't someone fucked you?"

If the abruptness of your question shocked you, it certainly shocked him. Sal laughed loudly like he was in disbelief—swaying his head away from you. His knuckles grow white around the swing chains.

His head turns back and his eyes meet yours straight on. "What are you trying to say?"

"Oh my god," you slapped a hand over your mouth. "I sounded so ignorant just now. Sorry. I'm not shaming you—that would make me a hypocrite. I'm a virgin too."

Sal huffs out another laugh, breathily this time. "No, I didn't think you were being ignorant. That's not what I was asking you."

You pause. "Then.." You plant your feet on the ground and stop the sway the swing is in. The sun continues to drop further down in the sky, and it's golden light warms your face.

You look away from him, your heart beating against your ribs. "Hey, I have an idea."

When you turned your head Sal's way, his attention was already on you. "Yeah?"

"You said that you drive, right?"

"Yeah. Not legally. But I can drive. Why do you ask?"

You grin.

By the time you've arrived at the apartments, the sun has fully dropped out of the sky and the heavens were completely black—save for the full moon and the speckles of bright stars. This is one of the things you love about Nockfell—it's so far out. The lack of air pollution and chemicals below the clouds made the celestial bodies out there so much clearer.

"My dad's going to kill me," Sal muttered, as he forced his personal key into the door to his apartment.

"Hey, Sal, you know we don't have to-"

His head turns to you. "I never said that. I want to."

Sal pulls the key out and slowly turns the knob beneath his long fingers. Instead of easing the door at a steady pace, he holds on tighter to the knob and pushes it open quickly. For a moment, you almost scolded him for his recklessness—until you realized he'd done this so the door wouldn't whine on its hinges.

"Have you snuck in or out before?" You ask him, voice low as you watch him lean down to take his shoes off before he enters the apartment. "Why are you doing that?"

"These floorboards are shit. They creak under the carpet. Wait here."

He leaves his cornflower blue sneakers at the foot of the door and walks inside. You watch the back of his head as his figure disappears into the darkness of the room. Sure enough, he was right. His feet only emanate soft pats against the carpet and don't disturb the wood beneath—because he's only wearing socks. You hear the sound of keys before he returns to you.

"You didn't answer my question," you murmur with a teasing lilt, as he slides the door back into its place in the frame. He locks it back and turns to you.

"Not like this. I especially haven't stolen his car."

You laugh. "I hope I'm not becoming a bad influence on you. We've already ditched detention today.."

"Yeah, but that was my idea," he reminds you.

"I guess you're right. Do you think your dad will be mad at you?"

You loom over him as he forces his feet back into his sneakers. "Honestly? Probably. I've never done anything like that before. Getting detention is one thing, but leaving the school before actually attending it is something else entirely."

The both of you enter the elevator instead of going down the stairs. It's late, this complex is shit, and the stairwell wouldn't be lit.

Somehow, it hadn't crossed either of your minds that taking this elevator so late wouldn't be exactly wise either, but you'd stepped inside of the compartment anyways.

You stepped to Sal's left and watched him press the button for the first floor with his knuckle. As soon as he'd done that, and the elevator doors had slid closed, the singular light that illuminated the compartment flicked off and the both of you stood in abrupt darkness.

"Holy shit!" You exclaimed, jutting yourself into Sal's side and grasping the material of your sweater that he wore. "I'm sorry, but what the fuck? Did it just break?"

"No," he laughed, shifting his weight towards you. "It always does that in the night. I think it's to conserve power so the elevator doesn't break altogether."

You let go of him, embarrassment fluttering in your gut. You weren't sure whether to feel relief as you felt the elevator make it's descent downward. "I mean.. shouldn't there be a sign? I don't know.. that says something like.."

"'You aren't about to plummet to your death, the building's just really old?'" Sal finished your sentence for you and chuckled. "Yeah. If someone had a heart attack, they could sue. But the guy that runs this place is really old and doesn't really have family—so that would just be sad."

You're close enough to him to where you can feel him shrug. "There's an awful lot about this place that's rundown and weird and honestly sketchy, but Addison doesn't care. For instance, the college kids that live in 301? They spend all of their free time doing coke and heroin."

Your eyebrows raise into your hairline as you listen along.

"They're super nice people, and I don't mean to be rude at all, but god, you can smell the body rot inside of that apartment. It's really sad."

You look to him. "You've.. been inside of there," It wasn't a question—more of a statement.

"Yeah. I did coke with them once or twice."

You get whiplash, that's how fast your head whips toward him. "Sal," you breathe. "I don't mean to sound overbearing, but please don't do that. Ever again."

He huffs, but not of frustration. It's of resignation and understanding and shame. "I.. I'll admit it to you, Y/N, that shit is a lot more addictive than it's made out to be. I'm not going to tell you how I felt because I don't want to make it out to be enticing—but I can understand why they're addicts. I'd only done it a few times and it felt like any time I wasn't doing it I itched for it. Eventually, I got busier with school and other things—so after a while, I.. guess I sort of forgot."

You hear him turn his head to look at you. You barely make out his prosthetic face in the black. "I'll smoke cigarettes with you, Y/N, but I'll never introduce you to something like cocaine. By the way you reacted when I told you I'd done it, I hope you won't do it yourself."

You meet his eyes amidst the darkness. "You know, Sal," your gaze wanders to the elevator doors. The compartment shutters as it reaches its destination on the ground floor. Your fingers brush his with purpose. "I know of a lot better feelings that don't come from drugs."

Your heartbeat sounds like gushing blood in your ears. You feel his burning blue eyes on the back of your head.

At the same time as you're stepping out of the elevator, you've stepped into something else.

#sally face #sally face x reader #sal fisher x reader

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platypanthewriter · 4 years ago

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The Devil Looks After His Own (Ch.1)

Little Steve Harrington is so lonely he tries summoning a demon with a ritual advertised on TV--but luckily, it doesn't work, and a buff, non-human nanny hired by his mom shows up minutes later. Years later, they're best friends, and Steve still doesn't know the truth. For @magniloquent-raven!

When his dad finally locked him out of the office, Steve spent the morning sitting in the hallway playing with his Legos. When his stomach growled, he knocked quietly, and his dad’s voice on the phone continued, so he went in the kitchen to forage. He found Cheez-its, and olives, and a tightly wrapped triangle of gooey cheese that tasted good in the middle, but had gross, chalky skin, so he licked the middle out and stuffed the rest down the side of the garbage.

He walked back into the front room and flipped the TV on, just to make some noise. “In the future,” came the syrupy voice of the man on the screen, “—we’ll have robots to be our helper-friends!” He chuckled to himself, leaning back in his leather chair, and folding his arms on his huge wooden desk. “But that doesn’t work for us now, I hear you say.”

The camera zoomed out, and he waved to a woman with curly hair and long fangs, sitting on the edge of his desk. She was wearing way less clothes than the man was, and Steve frowned, wondering whether she was cold. “Our summoning spells are assembled by real lawyers, and airtight!” the man said, and the woman nodded, smiling, and holding up a picture with a lot of numbers and lines. Steve squinted at it guiltily—he’d seen the man’s ads before, and he mostly remembered the picture, probably.

The helper-friend lady looked nice, he thought.

“Too good to be true? We even include offerings! Bat eyes, tears of the innocent—” he said, smiling and holding up jars, as ‘ethically sourced from internment facilities’ scrolled across the screen.

Steve frowned around, and then grabbed his LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28, the most complex set he owned.

“Honey,” the man told the woman on screen, and she opened a can of soda, and poured it over her own head, still smiling. “Perfectly compliant,” he said. “And just wait, there’s more! Any purchase comes with a matching, complimentary summoning sigil for a protective home guardian! Just drip a drop of fluid—” he winked at the camera, and it showed something red splashing across the page, as his voice suddenly screamed “Augh-no! Don’t—”

Steve had already grabbed the remote and hit the fifteen-second replay, and began drawing out the picture. He hit it again and again, coloring in different colors, and wishing people in commercials didn’t always yell. He drew the circle carefully with a piece of thread from the long fringe on a throw-blanket he wasn’t allowed to mess up, then folded it carefully again, grimacing. He colored in the crosses with a different color so it looked nicer, and drew the little castle wall-looking-bit. He added a horse.

When it came time to drip fluid on it, he clicked the TV off, and got a juice box from the fridge, figuring apple juice was way less gross than blood, and it wouldn’t ruin his picture.

Steve stared at the picture, holding the juice box, and thinking. He imagined not eating alone. He imagined the nice lady smiling at his Legos—maybe she’d like the castle set, he thought, like in her picture. He’d just summon her for a little, he thought—just a few minutes, enough to make them both a PB&J.

His stomach growled—again—and he frowned at his dad’s office door, sighed, plonked the Camaro in the middle of the picture, and squeezed the juice box to spray over it all.

Nothing happened. Steve stared at the picture for a long moment, his eyes welling up with tears, and then kicked the couch. It felt like his foot broke from the impact, and he spun around in a circle, muttering a lot of words he wasn’t allowed to say in the house. He hopped into the kitchen, sniffling, and got out the peanut butter, jam, and a spoon—but instead of getting the bread, he sat on the floor in front of the sink.

He felt a sinking sensation of guilt as he stuck the spoon right into first the jam, and then the peanut butter, sticking the whole spoonful straight in his mouth and licking it off. Once he’d licked the spoon, he stuck it back in the jar, his heart pounding. The peanut butter was crunchy and salty, and the strawberry jam was stickily sweet. He wondered whether his mom would check the bread and know, and cried harder as he chewed, hugging his knees.

The floor in the front room creaked, and he startled so hard the spoon jabbed hard between his upper molars. He scrambled to his feet, fumbling the lids back on the jam and the peanut butter and shoving them under the sink, his heart thudding in his chest, but nobody came in.

The couch squeaked softly, and Steve edged to the doorway, the big spoon hanging forgotten from his mouth, to see a tall man with horns and no clothes at all lying across the couch, right up against the forbidden throw blanket. He raised his eyebrows—they had shiny jewelry in them—and breathed out smoke, indoors, as he looked up at Steve.

He then yelped and scrambled to fall with a thud over the back of the couch. “The fff—what are you doing here, kid,” came his voice, from behind the couch. “Where the—where on earth are your parents?!”

“Unhm,” said Steve, who hadn’t ever seen a man wear so much jewelry before, and wondered how much it hurt to have jewelry in your dick. He took the spoon out of his mouth. “Uh. Dad—dad is—in there,” he pointed vaguely toward his dad’s office, his eyes still fixed on the horns sticking up past the back of the couch. “Do...do you want me to...get him?”

The naked man popped up behind the couch again, looking kind of mad, and Steve stepped further back, watching the golden chains and jewels glint in the light from the window. “...you look very pretty,” Steve said politely, and the man groaned, grabbing the blanket as he stood, and wrapping it around his waist like a towel.

“Why the—why are you here,” he hissed, and Steve swallowed.

“I’ll go in my room,” he tried to say, but it came out kind of a weird whisper, and he realized he was starting to cry again, so he turned away, and the man scrambled from behind the couch.

“Wait! Kid,” he said, and Steve stopped to see him step and spin kind of gracefully around the glass coffee table without catching the blanket on it. All his nails were pointed, and painted black. “I’m sorry—” he cut off, staring down at Steve’s picture, and the LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28.

“...what’s this,” he asked, like maybe he was mad again, and Steve wondered, suddenly, whether his mom had forgotten to lock the door, and the man was a naked burglar, looking for clothes to steal.

“I wanted to meet the TV lady,” Steve admitted, trying to take it, but the man snatched it up. “Um, are you—are you a burglar?”

“Am I—” the man glared at him—his eyes looked like fire, weirdly, the blue fire on the stove—but he didn’t look mad at Steve, yet, so Steve just bit his lips together. “...you drew this?” the horny man asked, more quietly, and Steve nodded. “Why?” he asked, and Steve knew he was in trouble—even if the man wasn’t supposed to be there, grownups always told each other when Steve did something dumb, like steal the TV man’s picture, which was the point Steve realized he was a stealer, a thief, like on TV. America’s Most Wanted, he thought, his heart pounding.

“Why draw this?” the man asked softly, crouching down, and Steve sniffled again, wiping his eyes.

“He said a friend would come,” he admitted, wondering whether kids had their own jail, or whether he’d be in the one with all the guys from movies, who chased teenagers with chainsaws and knives.

“You wanted a friend?” the man asked, but even softer, and Steve nodded, clenching his fingers in the sides of his pants.

“I didn’t mean to steal it,” he whispered. “I won’t do it again.”

“...okay,” the man said. “Don’t—don’t cry, it’s okay, are—are you okay?” he held his hands up like he was gonna touch Steve’s shoulders, then crossed his arms, frowning.

“I’m okay,” Steve nodded, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “...are, um,” he asked, cautiously, “—are you supposed to be...in here?”

“Uhhh,” said the man. “Definitely not naked, right?” he laughed, kinda nervously, Steve thought, and he snapped his fingers. The throw blanket turned into shiny fringed pants.

“Ohhh,” Steve whispered, impressed. “How’d you do that?”

“Oh,” the man said, grimacing. “Um, let’s talk about you summoning demons, okay?”

“...okay,” Steve nodded, sighing, but then a thought occurred to him. “Uh, do you want a PB&J?”

As they ate, the man spread Steve’s picture on the table, with the LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28.

“So this is a circle to summon the demon Belial,” he said, low but kind of intense, like Steve was in trouble, but mostly he looked sort of worried.

Steve swallowed his bite of sandwich. “...it’s not exactly the same,” he pointed out, a little sulkily. “I added a horse.”

“...so you did,” said the man, turning it to look. “...look, summoning demons is very dangerous—”

“My dad says there aren’t bad demon summoners,” Steve told him. “He says there are bad plumbers, and bad strippers, but if you’re talking to somebody, and they summoned a demon, they must be good at it, because you’re talking to them, and—and he was on TV—”

“Strippers,” said the man weakly, and Steve realized he was being rude to his guest.

“I’m Steve,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“...Bel,” said the man, then, hurriedly, “Bill?”

“My mom likes Billy Idol. And Billy Joel,” Steve suggested, and the man nodded.

“That’s a normal name that I definitely have,” he nodded, grimacing, “—Billy, I’m Billy.”

Steve considered this.

“Are you listening, though? About demon-summoning? Even a lot of adults have a hard time with it—” Billy started again, holding Steve’s LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28 to his chest like it was a present for him.

“The guy on TV said it was for a helper friend,” Steve told him, feeling a little guilty, but really not too much, since it hadn’t even worked.

“Steve,” Billy said, pressing his hands together over his mouth. The chain hooking his earring to the ring in his lip swayed and made a bell sound, and Steve stared at it, then remembered to nod. “Okay,” Billy said. “Could you promise me you won’t try to summon any more demons?”

“My dad says—” Steve started, again, but he cut off guiltily as Billy slumped back in his chair, groaning.

“Look,” Billy tried again, rubbing his face. “Summoning demons isn’t like inviting somebody over, okay? They have to come. Now imagine if someone called you up to—” he frowned down at himself, biting his lips with pointed teeth, and cleared his throat. “Uh,” he said, swallowing, and snapped his fingers with both hands—and all the jewelry vanished. Even his cool horns were gone, Steve realized, and he had clothes on, a little tiny black shirt that showed his belly button, and shiny plastic-y silver pants.

It was disappointing, but Steve looked into Billy’s flameless eyes and blunt-toothed smile and politely said “...you still look nice...I guess.” Billy snorted a laugh. “...I’ve never seen pants like that,” Steve offered, and Billy frowned down.

“What’s wrong with them?” he asked, then shook his head. “No, wait. Okay. What if you don’t want to go somewhere—”

“People make me go places all the time,” Steve said darkly, remembering the week before, when his mom had drug him in for a haircut that made him look like G.I. Joe. He rubbed his still-fuzzy head, glowering.

“Uh,” Billy said, trying not to smile, but spinning the tires on the LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28, and Steve was a little proud that he liked it so much. “Okay, a stranger. What if a stranger makes you go somewhere you don’t want to go?”

“That’s kidnapping,” Steve said, breathlessly, his eyes huge, and Billy pointed the LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28 at him.

“Yes. When you summon a demon, you’re kidnapping them, okay? And they can’t leave unless you let them go.”

“But the man on the TV said—” Steve whispered, then stopped, remembering how he’d made the almost-naked woman pour soda on her own head. Steve covered his mouth, suddenly realizing she might not have wanted to be almost-naked, maybe the man had taken her clothes off, like Steve with a doll. “Oh no,” he whispered. “I’m so glad it didn’t work!”

“Ah, yeeeah,” Billy said, grimacing.

“Um,” said Steve, reaching a hand over to retrieve his prize LEGO kit, and Billy snatched it back. Steve narrowed his eyes. “You were looking for my parents, but my dad didn’t say you were coming over, are you my mom’s friend?”

Billy winced, grimacing. “Where is she?”

“She’s at work,” Steve told him. “Daycare is too expensive, so over the summer I have to be good.”

“Wait, are there any grownups here?!” Billy asked, looking horrified, and Steve nodded, pointing down the hall again.

“My dad. He locks the door.”

“...What if you drown in the bathtub, or try to eat your own fingers, or something,” Billy breathed, and Steve glared at him.

“I’m not little,” he hissed, sliding forward in his chair a little, so his toes reached the floor. “I’m not a baby.”

“You don’t need a friend, you need a nanny,” said the recently smoking, horned, pierced and tattooed man before him. “And that’s, uh, that’s why your mom sent me.”

“...did she really send you?” Steve asked, narrowing his eyes, and Billy crossed his arms on the table, hugging Steve’s LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28 against his chest.

“Yeah. Yeah, she did,” he said defiantly, and Steve relaxed a little, because Billy sounded like a teenager, just a bigger kid, really. “She said to put less peanut butter and jelly in your sandwiches,” he pointed to Steve’s overflowing PB&J-bread-burrito, looking smug, “—and just make another sandwich.”

Steve gasped, staring at him, and feeling absolutely betrayed. “You tricked me! Why’d you let me make it!”

“It’s okay, I won’t tell,” Billy said, and Steve’s heart was won.

Billy won it further when he scooted his plate aside to admire the LEGO 1969 Chevrolet Camaro Z/28, and Steve drug him back to his room to show him the kits he had. “Come on,” he said, excited and rude, and Billy slowed way down, grimacing, and flickering back to his pretty bejeweled self, with horns.

“How about you ask if I wanna do things,” he said stiffly, slowing almost to a stop, and smoking more around the eyes.

“Oh, yeah,” Steve nodded. “Sorry. Can I show you my room?”

“Or maybe, ‘Hey, Billy, want to see my room,’” Billy suggested, taking a deep breath.

“Okay,” Steve nodded. “Want to see my room?”

“Sure,” Billy nodded, relaxing like it was some big relief.

It occurred to Steve maybe it was. “Sorry,” he said quickly. “I’ll be polite, I won’t get you fired.”

“Um, yeah,” Billy laughed, shaking his head. “Maybe don’t, uh, order me around.”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, thinking hard about it, so he’d remember. “I won’t say ‘Billy, pick me upOOF—” he wheezed, as Billy yanked him into the air with one arm around his waist. “Sorry,” Steve wheezed, his feet kicking. “I-I’ll say Billy would you, sorry—”

“Shit! Damn it, I mean, uh, sorry,” Billy said, grimacing, and sat Steve back on his feet, straightening his clothes.

“I’ll remember,” Steve told him, wide-eyed, and then, because Billy looked guilty, “It’s okay.”

He tried hard to remember, and he usually did, because Billy got all tense and weird if Steve forgot, like he was trying to move underwater, and Steve had to yell “If you want! If you want!” as Billy grimly bit into the crunchy, burned eggs Steve had made.

“That was disgusting,” Billy told him, that time, and Steve couldn’t stop laughing, waving his hands.

“Okay, okay, can I—can I just tell you you can ignore me? I won’t tell, you can just—just do things if you want to—”

“...you sure about that?” Billy asked, snorting softly, like Steve might be kidding, and Steve nodded frantically.

“Yeah! Yes! Don’t, um, don’t eat any more eggshells, I’m sorry!”

“...okay,” Billy said, smiling down at him. “When am I not supposed to listen?”

“Uh,” said Steve, blinking at him. “I mean. You should—you should always listen—”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Billy said, rolling his eyes.

“No, you should!” Steve told him, grabbing Billy’s hand and tugging it. “What if something’s gonna hit you in the head? You should listen,” he nodded, thinking about it. “But once you listen, you should decide what you want to do.”

“What if I wanted to...eat you?” Billy asked him, reaching down to tickle Steve’s stomach, and Steve yelped, giggling.

“You won’t eat me,” Steve told him, leaning into Billy, to give him a hug. “You’re nice.”

Billy sighed, and hugged him back, tightly.

Billy was better at some things than other people, like clothes, Steve thought, because Billy was always pointing people’s outfits out, and explaining how they weren’t as good at picking them. He wasn’t as good at other things, though. Steve sat down one night to heated-up pasta sauce over Cheerios, and he didn’t want to say anything, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t right. Billy gave Steve’s mom a glass of water that was completely frozen because she said she wanted it iced, and when Steve’s dad told Billy to make burgers, Billy didn’t buy buns, or tomatoes, or anything, and he threw the meat in the pan until it caught fire.

Steve was pretty sure none of it was a joke, because Billy frowned between the glass and Steve’s mom, and grimaced over the burgers after Steve’s dad stomped away, and Steve caught him whispering into the phone to the neighbor, hiding half in the fridge like nobody was gonna notice it was open.

“Billy,” he whispered, and Billy jumped, as Steve crouched down next to him. The breeze from the inside of the fridge was nice, but it hardened all Steve’s suspicions, because no grown-up had ever left the fridge open, he was pretty sure.

“Yeah,” Billy muttered back, guiltily.

“...how old’re you,” Steve asked, and Billy flinched.

“Older than you,” he shot back, and that Steve was willing to give him, because Billy wasn’t human, and some things lived different amounts of time, like trees.

“Are you a kid too?” Steve asked, and Billy glared at him.

“No,” he said defiantly, and Steve nodded slowly, raising his eyebrows, until Billy groaned, deflating, sitting against the edge of the fridge and letting his legs sprawl out across the floor. “Look, I’m trying—”

“I won’t tell,” Steve said, reaching out and squeezing Billy’s hand. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“...teenager...maybe,” Billy admitted, grimacing.

“Okay,” Steve said, nodding. “Billy,” he said, trying to sound like a parent, or a teacher, and Billy’s shoulders hunched. “You need to tell me you need help,” Steve said, putting his hands on his hips. “I can help with things like human food.”

“You are human food,” Billy said, fondly, yanking Steve into a hug.

Most of the people that did magic like Billy ate kids occasionally, Steve found out, as he was reading his Dictionary of the Magic Realms that night under the covers, by flashlight. Maybe they were mean kids, Steve thought, or maybe Billy was just way nicer. “Are you a fairy?” he asked the next morning, and Billy laughed.

“Depends on what you mean,” he said, grinning over. “Is that slang for—”

“Can you fly,” Steve interrupted, because that seemed the most important, and Billy cocked his head.

“...actually, I probably could,” he said, considering. “Not like you mean, though. I don’t have secret butterfly wings, or anything.”

“Oh,” Steve said, because he'd been privately imagining Billy as they’d first met, with the jewelry and the horns and wings, and it seemed to fit.

“...do you want me to have wings?” Billy asked, sitting aside the dish he was drying, and bending down sideways to try and meet Steve’s eyes. “I can change form—”

“No!” Steve told him, waving his hands. “No, I know you like looking like...that.”

“...that,” Billy said, raising his eyebrows as he looked down at himself. “You saying I need to do better?”

“You’re just—normal,” Steve said quickly. “Instead of pretty.”

“Instead of,” Billy growled.

“I mean,” Steve yelped, waving his hands. “Pretty with all the jewelry! And the horns.”

“I was gonna say,” Billy said, reddening. “If you’re saying I’m not pretty—”

“Of course you’re pretty,” Steve said, rolling his eyes and sighing, but grinning, too. He patted Billy’s shoulder.

“Well,” Billy said, clearing his throat, and turning back to the dishes. “All right, then.”

A few days later, Billy was moving the kettle off the flame for hot chocolate, and a big gout of steam belched up over his arm, which shimmered into all over scales. Steve yelped and grabbed him, yanking him over to the sink, and ran water over it, all the while panicking.

“Billy, are you a mermaid?!” he asked, spraying Billy’s arm, and trying not to cry. “Are you a mermaid, are you okay, are hot things bad for mermaids—”

“I’m okay,” Billy told him, turning off the water, and hugging him close. “I’m not a mermaid, Stevie, I’m not hurt.”

“O-okay,” Steve gasped, grabbing Billy’s arm to run his fingers over it. “You—you’re okay,” he whispered, leaning into Billy’s hugs. “...are you a...lizard? Or a snake?”

“Nope, not exactly,” Billy said, snorting a laugh, and Steve groaned.

The rest of my Harringrove works

#Harringrove #Demon!Billy #Summoner!Steve #Unintentionally??#Kind of?!#BFFs #Kid!fic #Comedy

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alias-b · 5 years ago

Text

sins of my youth. 007

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

A/N: New Year and school is back in session after winter break. Billy starts the grovelling process and observes some new things about Evie. TW: PICA-it's worse. Vomiting. Animal death mention. Student/Teacher relationship in the background. School bullies. Taglist open!!!

Chapter 7: One Bad Kiss Constellation

The first day back to school was uglier than Evie pictured. Fall of snow didn't get them out of classes.

Her stomach was already in knots, but that could have been the shiny things she’d eaten the night before.

Felt like a game. What would pass. What would tie her stomach up. These little trinkets she actually dug for, cleaned with bleach, and stacked on that empty shelf. Organized each item. Admired her display of will and control. Mostly keys and buttons. Couple nuts from a toolbox in their garage.

So far, everything came out. So far. Evie wondered what her insides would look like and tried to slow. Tried despite all the noise.

Calculus was first. Thankfully, she shared it with Heather who was all smiles. Chattering about her surprise mini trip with her parents.

They had it with Tommy and Carol too. All the fucking grins and looks Evie got burned. Tommy peering then shifting to Carol’s ear so she could giggle.

Evie’s pencil snapped within her fist so Heather glanced aside to see the pieces roll away.

“Okay, muscles.” She chuckled, passing a freshly sharpened one over.

“Thanks.”

“So, what’d you do for New Years?” All the scratching of lead on paper was driving Evie insane. Grating like an out of tune orchestra of vibrating strings.

“Just some lame party, the usual.” Evie was rubbing the back of her neck. Eyes glued to the page.

Carol giggled again. Fingernails sunk into the skin of Evie's hairline.

“Don’t know what her problem is.” Heather remarked to herself.

Evie shook her head. Lips pressing with no sound. Trying to focus on the problems along the page and not the ones fizzling in her life. Her desk was pressed into the far right wall next to all the campy posters teachers loved to decorate their rooms in.

About how there's always a silver lining and chase the morning.

Evie rolled her eyes at the thought. Caught sight of a sleek thumbtack there sticking out. Shiny and chrome. Lungs pulsed and she wondered about the weight on her tongue.

Strange how her mouth watered for it.

Two fingers subtly snatched it from the wall when the bell rang.

Second period was usually what she was excited about. English with Bowers and the sly smiles they beamed at each other across the room. Carol always looked between them. Jealous she wasn’t the hot teacher’s pet. She noticed a great deal there.

Evie shared the class with Steve also. And Billy who sat in the next row over just behind her. He stared at Evie, trying to read every twitch and shift of her body. A note hit her desk from Steve.

Brown eyes peered up as if to ask who it was being passed to, but he cocked his chin at her.

Fredrick sat quietly at his desk as they worked separately today. He didn’t see her unfold it.

What’s up with Hargrove? Looks like he’s trying to vaporize you with his laser eyes.

Evie hitched to stop herself from laughing at a picture with a stick figure and a mullet. Lasers blasting out of the eyes. She added some comically large muscles. Cleared her throat and wrote back.

He’s a creep.

Steve quirked a darling smile at her.

Billy saw a flash of stark, bloody red. Harrington made her grin without force.

“Okay, class, let’s see who read the material. Pass your papers up.” Fredrick stood to collect. “I’ll be reading these tonight and- Ah, Mr. Hargrove. Thank you for the scribbling of your Camaro. I hope the essay question is as detailed.”

“Been thinking about upgrading my girl, sir. Say, what do you drive?” Billy tapped his pencil, lazy as can be. “Cool guy, I bet.”

“Just a Plymouth. We muscle cars have to stick together.” Fredrick was pulling stacks of papers from the front. Billy didn’t drop it.

“That orange one? Yeah. I’ve seen it around.” Blue eyes drew to Evie at that. She felt a chill and peered back with a stony expression. “Bet the girlies all line up.”

A few classmates chuckled for their glorious king.

“It gets me from point A to B. That’s all I ask for.” Bowers only laughed.

"I'm sure it does." Billy mused coolly, fingers twisting his ring which caught the light.

The bell blared.

“Alright, class. We’re starting a new unit tomorrow. I hope you all have your Shakespeare hats ready.”

A collective groan sounded.

Evie rushed out to Yearbook with Jonathan, Nancy, and Heather. Only class she had where Seniors and Juniors mixed. Besides lunch if that counted. Got lost in dark rooms so the world couldn’t see her hands shaking.

"Here." Jonathan caught her trying to clip some photos up, fumbling with a stack.

"Thanks," Evie sighed, "too many pages for our losing sports teams, right?"

He chuckled at that.

"My thoughts exactly."

Jonathan went to help Nancy order some drafted pages when Heather crossed over. Eyes on Evie working.

"Something the matter?"

"Bourbon's not doing well. I expected it, but...he's just been with me through all of it. You know?" A frown etched. She didn't want to cry. Heather paused to hug Evie from behind.

"He's our little prince still. I'm sorry."

Her friend shifted out, pressed a smile and went back to work in silence. Groaned because Billy was in half these basketball photos. Alight and intense.

“Hey, I’m going to the library for lunch.” Evie spoke after that bell rang. “I’ll scarf my sandwich on the way.”

Heather observed her again. Watched how Evie avoided her eyes.

“Was...something else going on? I feel like I-”

“No, just missing the break.” Evie flashed her teeth to make it convincing.

She did manage to get half the sandwich down and tossed the rest out. Patted cold water on her cheeks once she was alone in the bathroom as everyone went to lunch. The hallway got quieter and Evie looked at her flushed face. Shuddered and reached for the pin in her pocket. Small. Deft. Dainty.

Stark point. Catching the light.

She washed it with soap. Opened her mouth to stick her tongue out. Cradled it there. Chrome and out of place against pink flesh. Lips closed. The point pressed down into her tongue. Evie winced. Tried to swallow and choked it back into her hand. Saliva dripping.

A spot of red welled. Loud and obscene and horrible. Tasting metal. Shame. Tears pooled.

So she pushed it back in like she’d done with the key to drown the noise out. Evie Fenny wasn’t a fucking quitter.

Swallow. Swallow. Swallow.

It scratched going down. Working around clenching muscles. Pangs fluttered. Fingers grasped the sink to bite a groan back.

Evie thought she heard the little plink of it hitting her stomach. Gasped to breathe. There wasn’t shame anymore, only pride. She powered through it. Had utter control.

Eyes locked with the mirror. Calm. Collected. Not in this body. Rust turned to sweet strawberries and rose petals.

Imagine stabbing something several times until it was beautiful.

Exhale.

** ** **

Carol and her gaggle still kept the laughter up in the cafeteria. She sat upon the table with Tommy next to her. Animated stories kept them hanging upon dripping syllables. Heather couldn’t stand it anymore. Pushed up to cross right over.

“What’s your problem today?” She cocked her hip.

“Oooh.” Carol clicked her glittery nails on the table. “So touchy, sweet pea.”

“What’s your problem with Evie, she didn’t do anything to you?”

“Other than her being a tart for Bowers. Nothing to me. In fact, she provides us with hours of entertainment. Had a hot date with the Keg King.” Carol nodded toward Billy across the way, sitting alone and clicking his lighter. Annoyed, he got up and went to sneak his usual lunch smoke.

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Uh, isn’t Fenny your BFF?” Tina chimed in. “Shouldn’t you know?”

“Aw, that’s so cute, she didn’t tell you.” Tommy added with his crooked smile. “Must be so embarrassed. Poor girl.”

“You have five seconds-”

“I’m gonna tell you.” Carol decided. Finger curling to bring Heather in. “Only because it’s just too good.”

** ** **

Billy got one puff in before Princess Heather Holloway was smacking the cigarette from his fingers. Snarling and bright red to match the cute bow in her hair.

“Hey!”

“Hey yourself, what the fuck?” She pushed Billy clear into the brick wall. Chilled him more than the breeze. A new flutter of snow began to fall with no peace in sight. Her face was flushed cherry with anger. “I know about your little Skirt Safari bullshit! You tricked Evie! You hurt my friend...you’re an asshole.”

Billy just sagged at her. Reached to pluck up his cigarette and got it slapped again. Heather crushed it with her expensive shoe for good measure.

“You had no right to do something so disgusting! Carol and Tommy filled me in.”

His brow lifted.

“...Evie didn’t tell you?”

“The last thing Evie wants is for people to see her in pain, so I know you hurt her bad.” Her arms crossed. “Well?” A cold breath puffed.

“It wasn’t supposed to-”

“You mean, she wasn’t supposed to find out about the bet. You’re so selfish. You’re a selfish little prick. Stay the hell away from my friend.”

She turned and a hand snatched her wrist.

“Heath-”

“What?” She shrugged with some extra ire. Eyes flickering like flames. “I think you’ve done enough.”

Billy let her go, looked elsewhere. No syllables to make her stop fuming. Heather huffed at him and marched back inside to find Evie at her locker. Shoulders dropped.

“Hey…” Heather’s slow approach still gave Evie a fright. Huge doe eyes looking far too somber.

A sigh.

“Who told you?”

“Carol and those jerks.” Heather pressed her lips. “Just scared Hargrove shitless, I think. I’m sorry, I wish you told me. You said you'd tell me things.”

“This thing... It doesn’t matter. He tricked me, whatever.” Evie’s arms went out then dropped. She faced her locker. Toyed with the handle and pressed her book closer. “It was all stupid. For a moment, I thought he… I thought a boy might-”

“He’s a little prick.” Heather turned her friend around.

“We had fun. We danced. I kissed him first. Did Carol tell you that part?” Evie sucked in some air.

"Oh?"

“Yeah, I kissed him and I was going to screw him too. I was gonna go to a motel with Billy Hargrove for New Years and, you know, I...I wanted to. I really wanted him... But, it doesn’t matter. They can talk about it all they like.” She moved to go, slamming her locker shut. “I don’t care. It won’t bother me. It's stupid. All of it.”

“Evie, don’t shut down, please.”

“I’m fine.” Sneakers skidded when Heather stepped in front of her. "Boys like Billy Hargrove don't go for girls like me. He doesn't want me. That's not news."

Evie remembered all the hot bodies jumping around. The crowds and fireworks blasting along with a musical beat. Moments where she'd felt incandescently delighted next to Billy and the lingering of their starry eyes. Like they'd been meant to find each other all this time.

"Getting mad about this is the same as being upset about the pattern of stars. It's pointless." Evie swallowed a thicker lump down.

No, that's what ached. Billy made her believe they could be rewritten. Made her want to defy the stars.

“Let’s hang out this weekend. A no boys party for both of us.” Heather smiled, taking Evie's hand. “He’s not even a boy, Eve, he’s a little prick. Let’s just have some fun. Friday? Sleepover. You pick the first movie.”

“I’m fine, Heath,” the words sounded funny now, “but okay. Sleepover.”

“Good.” A brighter smile crossed so Evie matched it. She let Heather hug her and managed to make it through classes all the way to her free period avoiding Billy’s eyes on her skull. Sneaking out was an art form she’d perfected. Quick steps to her locker and toward the door. Stopping only to see into the theater when stage lights turned rose red.

Evie peeked in. Beamed.

“Mr. B.” She shuffled inside after checking the hallway. "Fredrick."

“I’m alone, Evie, come sit with me.” He patted the table next to the lightboard he was working on. The glow changed to a softer pink. Made it all less menacing. Bathed in blush, she crossed the illumination and scooted up onto the cool surface. Skirt shifting over black tights. “Bad day?”

“Bad start to the year.”

"Classmates? I can always fail them for you." He'd joked.

She smiled, head shaking so he continued.

“They’re intimidated by you, Evie, because you’re too ahead and mature for them. Soon, you'll be out in the world and they'll be left stumbling.” He peeked up behind a pair of glasses. This was old times. Encouragement. Nurturing. “Much like the director of the winter show who asked me to fix this damn thing last minute.”

She giggled then, touching her lips.

“You look pretty in this light. You should wear pink more often, instead of red.” He remarked and she crossed her ankles. Hands gripping the edge.

“Red makes me look and feel older.” Evie asserted herself.

“What about that wet gloss you used to wear in class?” His finger brushed her knee before he was picking up a screwdriver.

“Thought you didn’t like to kiss me with gloss on, you said it was too sticky.”

“I appreciate it more now that I’ve lost it. Just like you, Evie. You were there for me. It's something special to have a person. Don't you think?” He winked. Fredrick Bowers made her laugh and smile. Listened to her and gave back. Most days.

All she longed for was to impress him. Please him. Be enough for someone.

"It's not fair that I cannot kiss you here." He uttered. "Now. I'd like to."

"Just kiss me?" Evie flicked some curls, drew her fingers across her collar so he fixated there.

Played this version of herself that came out around him. This woman in red with cool words. Always game. She bit her lip and he paused to see her again. A smile crossed before they were interrupted.

Evie looked up as the door opened and Carol stood there. A glare already on her pouty face. Fredrick scooted a good few inches from Evie. Quickly.

“Sorry, I just had some questions about the reading. Mr. B.” Carol flashed a smile.

"Of course, Carol. My door is always open. Evie, thank you for the inquires. I'll be getting back with you. Soon."

Evie perked and got up.

“I'll hold you to that... We just finished. Thanks, Mr. B. For all the help.” She seemed all too chipper at Carol going green with envy. The redhead knocked into her shoulder passing, but Evie gripped her bag and went out. Frowned at the snow piling because she’d ridden her bike in.

Still, Evie was stubborn, so she got on and pedaled down the street. Sleet making it more difficult when a fucking Camaro revved down the way behind her. Billy honked once and got ignored. Pulled up in front of her and skidded over which sent Evie into a pile of frosty, dead leaves. Tumbling.

“Hell.” She just laid there until Billy Hargrove was in the line of sight. Craning to see her and utterly stunning against the opal skies. “What’s it going to take for you to leave me alone, huh? Three hundred bucks?” She untwisted from her bike and Billy yanked her up, brushing snow aside until he got smacked off with two heated expressions penetrating.

“You’re screwing Bowers, aren’t you?” He’d hissed it.

Oof.

“You’re delusional.” Evie charged past him. Legs aching as she pushed her bike.

“Max saw you in his car. He’s always looking at you. Is that where you go when you sneak out your window three times a week?”

“No!” Evie swiveled. Breath ghosting.

“But, you’re still fucking him.” Billy slid in front, hands on the bike handles to stop her again. There was a struggle. Her cheeks puffing as she feebly tried to push him back. Teeth clenched.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Will you just move?” Her entire face scrunched together. All daggers. Slowing, Evie spelled it out for him. Drew closer. “And no one will ever believe you.”

“You think I’m trying to make your life worse, Angel? I just want you to admit it.”

"Admit, what? You have major issues? Fine! Easy! Now move!" She barely got a few inches forward with his muscles buldging. Two immovable objects.

"Open those pretty lips and say it. You're fucking our teacher. I wanna hear it from that mouth." Billy paused, chest shuddering. "You went to him after what I did. I should have stayed with you."

“I don’t owe you any of this. You're obsessed!” She shoved into him. No budging, the boy was made of steel.

“He’s a fucking pedophile. We had those in California too, chica. Maybe they don’t like the term round these parts. You think he's making you feel good, but he's setting you on fire to warm himself. That fuse is creeping, babe.” Billy pushed back until she was sliding toward his car. Slush wetting their shoes.

"You're unbelievable!"

“I’m not looking to tell anyone, got that?" Billy caught her gaze in the teetering. Held it. "I’m just saying you don’t have to do it. Anyone ever tell you that you don't have to do something, Evangeline?"

Evie stopped pushing to stare with bigger eyes as he continued. Expression crestfallen because something resonated.

"Being a good girl has a cost, you do everything people tell you to do until your organs start spilling.”

“I'm not the only one with a front. Fuck you!”

A beat.

“You almost did that night.” Billy cocked his head. "I would have made you moan so pretty. I wanted to." Evie’s mouth dropped before she shoved him into the snow. Bike falling away. He looked thrilled. About to pitch a fucking denim tent. “There you are. I would have fucked you so hard and so good, babe. Bet you even taste like heaven and stardust. Yeah? Fucking hit me.”

“Hit you?” Evie stilled over him. “You’re just trying to make yourself feel better. Fuck off, Billy.” She yanked at her bike again. He puffed there, chest sinking before he shot back up. Newfound vigor.

Growled.

“I’m sorry.”

Even the snow stilled with him. She swerved and saw him crack.

“Evie, I’m fucking sorry, okay? I’m shit at this and I‘m sorry. I’m sorry I took you to that stupid dance and screwed you over. I'm sorry you got hurt. I am sorry, got it!”

“You’re sorry that you got caught.” She pointed.

“I’m not leaving you alone.”

“Listen, Billy,” Evie spun and dropped her bike, “I don’t need anything from you. Nothing. Okay? Just let it go, I really don’t know why you can’t. Be sorry somewhere else. The stars are where they are. Life goes on.”

“Fuck the stars! They're too far away to stop us. I kissed you after midnight. I gave the fucking money away. I wanted out of it and I fucked up. I did. I'd change that, but I wouldn't change the night with you. Hear me? I didn't lie about that much." He strained to catch those brown eyes.

She opened her mouth and closed it quicker. Almost softened.

"I didn't fake that and I was shitty to take you to that place. That fucker Tannen used me to get back at you and I’m fucking sorry about it.” Billy seemed to rage the thoughts out. “You liked it too. The kiss. Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

"If you call that a kiss." Sarcasm seeped out.

"Yeah, I recall us sharing a couple." Billy laughed. Dry and disbelieving. "I was drunk, but I remember every damn second of how you felt."

“You’re not fooling me again.” Evie crushed in on herself, pressed onward. Skidding to go away from Billy Hargrove. What the hell could he possibly want out of this?

“I’ll leave you alone,” Billy sprang forward and grabbed her back wheel, “if you kiss me again and tell me it’s nothing. Just one more. Redo it. Yeah? To hell with the stars, we'll change them.”

She looked in awe at him. Shoulders dropped.

"It wasn't even that good of a kiss."

"Then, what do you have to lose over another bad one?" Billy's head tilted up. Wild as can be. Evie matched it. Both of their curls moving up against the sweep of cold winds. Hungry looks about them. Billy undid her with a damning utter. "Prove me wrong, Angel."

He fucking triple dog dared her.

Evie practically kicked her bike aside, stomped toward him, and grabbed his face to smash their lips together. Billy pounced back with a barely there sound. Shoved Evie into the side of his car.

Another vehicle honked and went around them. Probably too shocked to do much else with teenagers unable to control their hormones in the middle of the road.

Moaning like he was in a porno, Billy made this one count. Hands palmed at her ass, bringing Evie up a few inches. Tongue down her throat near ready to prick himself on the pin she'd swallowed.

She hitched as he pulled her hair to see lush hooded eyes again. But, briefly.

"Yeah?" He twisted those curls around, both of them moaned. Challenge dancing. You like that, Angel? Evie's fingers were clutching at his jacket. A nod followed. She let him trail his tongue against her lips and opened her mouth for it again. Tasted spearmint.

Drunken bodies kept moving and smacking back into his car. Billy even tried to pull her shirt up out of her skirt to touch the flesh underneath. Evie jolted out from him, having not been ravished like that by a boy so unafraid to touch her.

And she shuddered apart. Kept her eyes closed so Billy did too.

It was the only way to prolong this. A softer kiss where their noses brushed after. Foreheads pressing together. Ardent and lovely. Total silence was a thrill. Billy nuzzled his nose into her own again, pulling her body into his. Fingers crept barely under her shirt. Caressed the tender skin. Lungs and hearts needy beyond repair.

Constellations twisting together until a single question dawned. Can I keep you?

Evie quaked for air and saw him. Lashes long and too beautiful. Freckles. Snow falling like confetti. An ache flooded back. The pin pricks in her tongue jabbed. Arms pushed up at him. Felt the thumping in his chest.

Holding his jaw steady, lipstick smeared to damn them both.

“Do you always kiss the same way a thirsty dog laps at water?” She shoved him backwards. A spit trail left their mouths. Red glistened on Billy’s lips and chin. A sleazy grin cracked, tongue wiggling out to taste her still on him. Neither could breathe right.

“Haven’t had complaints.” He gasped for air. “Are you judging my technique?”

“Yeah, it sucks.” Evie puffed with more force. “And I felt nothing. Got it? Nothing. Leave me alone now.”

“You’re a shitty liar.” He watched her swerve.

“And you’re a shitty person!” She wiped her mouth. Billy stopped dead, dropped everything he was feeling to let that pierce him. “I felt nothing! Leave me alone.”

“No.” Billy decided as she plucked her bike up.

“No?"

"You heard me." A child. "No. Nope. Nada."

"But, you just said-”

“I fucking lied and now you know how it’s done.” He went around his car. “Maybe I’m a shitty person, but at least I don’t hate myself enough to lie and screw-”

“Spare me!” Evie screamed over him. Chilling. She got onto her bike and went down a dirt path so Billy couldn’t follow her.

“Fuck.” Billy slammed his car door getting back in. Revved up again, hitting the wheel. “Fuck!”

He’d made it worse.

** ** **

Billy made an attempt to leave Evie Fenny alone. Sorta. Didn’t even stare at her in school. Didn’t bring up Bowers. Pretended he didn’t hear her sneaking out to wherever.

He even tried screwing other girls. Drinking and partying to forget.

Another problem came with that.

He couldn’t keep his shit up. Tried everything. Got into bed with two girls and stayed soft. Pretended he was just too smashed.

All he saw was Evie Fenny looking at him with her huge, sad eyes. It made him furious and he tried to hate her. Tried to jerk himself off and only thought of her lipstick smearing his skin. Her amber perfume drowning his senses. Her body flush against his.

Then, he was coming.

He felt like shit about all of it and that turned to rage. No hate came, it just burnt.

Meanwhile, Evie was lining pins and screws up for her collection. She wrote down every little thing she ate and what came out.

It was supposed to all come out eventually and she'd be there to control it.

She thought of the amethyst gemstone sparkling inside her and wondered how such a thing could make her feel so happy and alive.

Even when her stomach began to ache with little pricks through the day. Even when her appetite was often ruined. Even with she tried again at times to stop it for good. The cravings undid her.

She smiled through the pain just like she was taught. A woman's disposition.

I am fine. This is fine.

Something collided distantly. Two arrows through the same heart. Spitting blood everywhere.

One night, Evie wasn’t sneaking out.

Billy still heard her scratching around the side of the house. Couldn’t help peeking to see her dragging a shovel. Holding a painted square under one arm. She set a decorated shoe box aside and started digging a hole just at the back corner of her house. Struggling to break ice and snow. Head bowed so wet curls covered her chilled face.

He opened his window.

“Hey.”

“Go away.” She sniffled. Crying.

Billy hadn’t heard or seen her cry. Not even over him and what he did. Not for anything. The sound jarred him, he thought she might have been holding in laughter.

Blue eyes drew to the box again and he realized it. Bourbon. The strange cat hadn’t been spying on him lately.

“Please,” she turned her neck to barely peer at him through red rimmed eyes, “just go away.” Evie wiped her nose and let a fresh sprinkling of snow melt on her cheeks. She still looked pretty there, utterly fatigued. Wispy, wet curls framing her splotchy expression.

"You took good care of him." Was all he said. Evie turned back. Shoulders lifting.

Billy did the only thing he could do for once.

He left Evie alone.

Listened to her hum and dig to bury the beloved cat. Billy didn’t see Evie stuff a handful of soil into her pocket and go back inside to her empty house because her mother was always out with friends or working. She went to the phone in her bedroom. Luckily, Evie got her own line two Christmases ago. She dialed.

“Hello?” Her prince.

“Can I come over?” Evie sniffled. “Bourbon died.”

“Who?”

“My cat.” Dark eyes narrowed before she started to pick at some peeling wallpaper. “You remember?” She talked about the little ball of fuzz all the time.

“Oh, that’s unfortunate, Evie.” Fredrick sighed for her. “I’m not sure after what happened last weekend. I still think you need time.”

She spazzed out as the teenagers say.

“I just...wasn’t comfortable doing that. The ropes freaked me out, I can’t explain it.” She shook her head. "I can try again, can I come over?"

"So, now I'm just pushing you into it? Don't make me the bad guy, Evie, I won't be that. I'm here for you, but I want to go at your pace. You know that."

"No, no, you're not pushing," came the protest, "I can do it. I'll try. I just wanna see you. I need to be touched." That sentiment got her welling again.

“Evie, it’s like you don’t trust me to look after you.” He replied in a clinical sort of way. “I’m risking everything to be with you."

"I know."

He said it often.

"You couldn't stop crying," he sniffled like he might weep over it, "you make me feel so helpless at times. Do you realize that?"

"I"m sorry..." Evie crushed into the phone as he made it about him. His needs. His inability to keep her happy. That was her fault.

"Too often, I think your head is just up in the clouds. These nightmares you have and the way you press into the wall when you sleep. Like you don't want me to touch you. And last week, dear, you just...wouldn't stop crying."

"I promise I won't cry anymore." She's promised her mother that as well in silence. "I swear. I'll stop."

"This fixation on your little poems. We used to have adult conversations about the future. It's like a part of you is locked away. You don't want me to touch it. What’s the matter with you?”

“Songs.” Evie replied flatter.

“What?”

“They’re songs, not poems.”

“I just mean, you should be more practical."

"I don't know what's wrong with me." Evie decided at last. Clutching the phone cord in her shaken fist. Haunted. "I can't stop."

She didn't know if she wanted to. This cycle that was eating her.

"I got back into this because I wanted you. I see a future with us. Do you want me just as bad? Think on it. I'll give you the time. When you're ready, I'm here.” Bowers advised. He wanted her to want him so bad. “We’ll talk another day. Next weekend maybe.”

"Fredrick, please-"

The line cut.

She'd been too needy, he like that on his terms. Liked when she crawled and when she needed him so bad. When she gave into everything he desired without a fuss. Fredrick wanted Evie, but he wanted a specific version of Evie. The bouncy girls on television game for anything, who had every answer. Fizzling emotions unsettled him. They were childish. But, he wanted her lips to be glossy and pink. Wanted her to be an adult woman in a spring breaking teen's body.

You'd think he was still married to his uptight wife and fucking the damn babysitter.

Evie set the phone down. Stuffed a handful of dirt into her lips. Smothered herself with it. Gritty, it stuck to her teeth like an Oreo cookie. Tiny stones shifted as she tried to swallow too much at once. She got another handful in before her gag reflex choked her. Feet scrambled to puke brown and bile into the toilet.

The Lego she ate earlier came up too. Found it helping Claudia and Dustin clear their basement. Shiny and blue.

Her stomach curdled. A few tears squeezed before she was scooping that up. Slippery with acidic bile. Pushing it back into her mouth. With her throat raw, it hurt worse the second time but it went down.

Control. She was in total control. That’s what she told herself. Curled up next to the toilet. Scalp heating while her lips hung slack.

“Nothing is the matter with me.” Evie told herself because stopping meant that thudding ache in her chest would glow all neon and rose red.

** ** **

Billy wasn’t going to leave Evie alone. He decided that after a wet dream one morning. These things were not to be taken lightly by teenage boys.

I’m sorry. It didn't cut it. Actions, that’s what Susan advised, not that he’d admit prying advice from his chirpy stepmother. Vague as can be, Billy hung out in the kitchen doorway dropping rough hints.

Maxine was more blunt when Susan asked her later.

“Oh, yeah, he’s totally crushing on Evie and he messed it all up.” She said between the lazy crunching of salty chips.

“That’s what I thought.” Susan sighed. An hour of Billy barking and hiding around the doorway told Susan that much. She was young once.

“But, he did something. She’s mad at him.”

“Well, Neil works late tomorrow, I asked Billy if he’d take me to Mona’s salon. She wanted me to go out with her friends. A dessert and wine thing she likes to host.”

“Did you tell Neil?” Max was fixing a wheel on her skateboard and snacking. Poor thing wasn't getting use with all the snow fall. Susan only smiled.

“Would you like to go get your hair done?”

“Ick.” Max cringed at the thought of those huge rollers and hairspray.

“Max.” Susan replied carefully. “Evie works tomorrow, doesn’t she? Saturday.”

She got the idea with her eyes lighting up.

“Oh!” Max blew air out her lips. “Just this once, then.”

“That’s my girl.” Susan figured if Billy was convinced it was all her idea, the day would go smoother.

** ** **

Something else Billy Hargrove learned about Mona was her hair changed with the seasons. Locks big and bold but now a strawberry blonde. A head start for spring despite it still being January.

Evie peered up at reception and noticeably, her face fell.

Susan figured whatever happened had to be bad. She’d never seen such a reaction from a teenage girl to her drop dead gorgeous stepson. Hell, Billy Hargrove could bat his lashes and have eggs dropping in every uterus within a fifty mile radius.

Might have been why Neil preferred to lock him in his room like he was the dirty tomcat about to impregnate all the neighborhood strays. Although, Neil had a list of reasons for how he treated Billy. None of them valid.

Mona went right for Max. Squished her cheeks in smelling of lavender hand cream.

“I’m so glad y’all are here! Maxie, I promise I won’t shock you. Just a wash and freshen. Make your hair nice and bouncy. It’ll shine. I always say: the higher the hair, the closer to God.” Mona took Susan’s hand. “C’mon over here. My new girl, Shelby, will get you started too. Little pampering does everyone good.”

“Hey.” Evie piped up, twirling a pen around. She’d eaten the cap an hour ago. Not much for chewing. Always up to the task of swallowing whole because she was a big girl.

Big girls sucked it up and swallowed.

Billy thought to go back to his car. Swayed on his feet there looking around at all the plants.

Actions.

They speak louder than words. Billy was a screamer.

“Miss Mona, I was thinking we could… Uh, for me.”

“You want a wash too, Billy?” She perked, hair bobbing as her little platforms clicked excitedly. “Come, come, sit down. Evie can get you shampooed to start.”

Evie’s entire body locked. Billy smirked at her, but noticed an opportunity reach her eyes. The pen stabbed back into a cup. Lips spread in a devious way. He saw horns spring out of her big curls.

Fuck, she looked hot though.

It drove him wild. Evie with a fire behind her eyes. All plush curves and lingering allure. That amber perfume melted him.

“I’d be so happy to help.” She gripped Billy’s leather bomber and jerked him into a chair. He had a semi at this point. "Get comfy."

Hell, the girl was plotting a murder with that smoldering expression. Still, Billy was game because she was giving him attention. His tongue swept pink lips. Peachy skin glowing.

There was something off about Evie too. This sunken manner like her energy had been sapped. The slightest dark circles under brown eyes. Skirt Safari was barely three weeks ago. He removed his jacket when Mona reached for it to hang it with Max’s and Susan’s.

Dead boy walking.

Max snickered from her chair across the way. She and Susan sat with little floral capes, already getting their pampering. Evie moved Billy’s hair and pulled a lilac cape around his neck.

“Ack!”

“Oh? Too tight. My bad.” She snapped a button. “Put your head back. Into the sink now.”

Billy thought to pray for mercy, tilted back into the porcelain. He asked for this. The sink went on. Ice.

“Too cold?”

“Nope.” Teeth chattered. Evie had that devilish look still. Decided to make it warmer. Lifted the nozzle and hit his face.

And Billy took it. Sputtering.

“Oh, so sorry…” Her tongue clicked. Didn’t even try to sound sincere.

“Just a little water. No big deal.”

Her bottom lip pouted. She sprayed his face again. Billy snickered through the coughing, fists held the chair tight.

“You’re fucking waterboarding me, Fenny.” He'd spat, blinking rapidly.

“What?” Evie paused then kept spraying him as he tried to reply.

“You’re-”

“I’m, what?” She came off and Billy snorted before the water splashed again.

“Ngh-ffff- ”

“Can’t hear you, Billy.” Evie caught Max losing it across the way.

The boy took all the torment like a champ so she let up. He didn’t even snap when she pulled his hair shampooing it.

“I like it rough, Angel.” Billy hissed at her fingers pulling so she sprayed him again. Made him buck like a mad feline. He seemed to almost love it. This was foreplay to him.

“Creep. Don’t pitch a tent in that cape.” Evie stuffed a towel in his face. Smiled cheerfully. All syrup. “We're done, mommy.”

“Let’s see what I can do for these curls, Billy.” Mona let Claudia work on Susan while her new hire took over for Maxine. “I hope Evie gave you a good start.”

She certainly revved his motor, but he wasn't going to tell her mother that.

“So nice. I feel even more relaxed now.” Billy twitched a stressed smile. Earned himself a few good boy points.

Evie cracked a grin at him, arms crossing before she went back to reception. Unbelievable.

Mona had Billy chattering about his car and school and how he'd just turned eighteen in December. Life was coming his way. Evie took to doodling song lyrics in no order and tapped her pen. Mona either talked Billy into hair curlers or just started doing it. Which was another bout of amusement.

And Billy stared at Evie the entire time. Even when she made it a point to face away. Sat on the stool with her legs crossed, leaning forward to jot her little lyrics down. Susan swept her eyes between them.

Both relentlessly stubborn.

“Mona, I’ve been wanting to repay you back for the dinner this month. How about tomorrow? Our place this time.” Came her voice when a hair dryer shut off.

“We’ll bring the dessert.” Fingers played with Billy’s curls. Reminded him of his mother. Fluffed some life into them. He decided this salon was better than the places he used to go.

Music played, songs changing as time continued. Evie decided her luck couldn’t get any worse when Carol’s red hair appeared in her line of sight. Walking with her little friend group without Tommy. Likely headed to the nail place down the block.

Carol spotted Evie behind glass and whispered something that had her friends howling before they went.

“Bitches.” Billy sauntered up behind her. Golden hair sparkling.

“As if you had nothing to do with that.” Evie smacked her notebook shut. Sat straighter as he shook his locks out. Curls shining with lift. Like the sun just kissed them.

“How do I look?” One brow rose. Teasing.

“The same.” Gorgeous.

“Lunch?”

“Already ate.” Evie’s lips pressed when she said that. They spoke out of earshot under the music. Not noticing the glances on them.

“Guess I’ll still be seeing you for dinner tomorrow.” Billy counted some bills out. Snatched a pen and scribbled a note on a single. Dropped the money on the counter and pushed the one he’d written on into her pocket. She lifted an arm and glared, but let him. “We'll do this again some time. The back and forth. I pull your hair and you pull mine."

"Unlikely."

"Hm. Invest in waterproof red lipstick. Don't they have waterproof makeup now? Looks better on you than on me." His voice dropped.

"Wow. Cocky now, are you?"

"I just think it'll take us a lot of tries to get to a bad kiss. Don't you, Evie?" He replied pointedly, leaning over to speak in that low baritone. Pure amber honey.

"I think you're in denial, Billy. Gotta put pride aside." Evie bit her tongue and turned away. Loathed the blush glittering her cheeks.

"Takes one to know. I’ll wait for Max in the car. Need a smoke. See you around, Angel.” Billy swayed off after grabbing his coat. Out into the cold.

Evie put his money in their register and plucked the dollar out.

“Sorry. -A shithead.”

Billy had even gone out of his way to draw a little frowny face with a tear. Evie caught him looking at her from his car and rolled her eyes, stuffing the bill away.

Tried not to smile. Failed.

“Billy doesn’t do this kind of thing.” Max appeared a bit later. Glowy and red. Vibrant. “Just...so you know.”

“It shows.” Evie sighed out her nose. Watched Max say bye to her mother since she was staying with Mona before hurrying out into the Camaro. One rev and it skidded off. Snow flurries falling in its wake.

“She seemed mad,” Max had said in the car, “but, maybe less mad.”

“It was a big fuck up. She’ll be mad a long time.”

“And that bothers you.”

“No.” Billy flicked his cigarette out the window. Watched his sister’s lips press before he scoffed. “Max, I did something evil. You understand? Evie wants fuck all to do with me.”

And he couldn't throw her from his thoughts.

“What did you do?” Max leaned in to press the subject. “Just tell me.”

The gist of it came out by the time they parked at Cherry Lane.

Max just blinked at him. Flared. Billy cut the engine and paused, glancing at her.

“Why do boys do this to girls?” She asked, fists clenched in her lap. Rigid and puffy. “I don’t understand. Are my friends going to be like you when they get older?”

“No, Max, they’re not. I’m a piece of shit.” His shoulders came up.

“And you didn’t have to be… Keep groveling, you owe Evie that much.” She slammed the door when she got out. Expected to get barked at and slowed because he made no move. Just flicked his lighter open and closed there. Blue eyes on the steering wheel.

Exhaling into the frost, Max came around the car and jerked Billy’s door open.

“You suck at this. She doesn’t want you to do this self-deprecating game where you play the asshole victim. She wants a real apology.”

“I don’t know what the fuck she wants me to say anymore.”

“Maybe you don’t have to say anything to her.” Max paused. “Those girls and people at school, they’re mean to her. Aren't they? You’re the Keg King. Are you really going to let that happen?”

“They’re just fucking assholes, ignore them.”

“Easy for you to say being popular. What happened to Evie during the dance has been happening to her through all of high school. Don’t you see that? If you really cared, you’d do something to stop it.” The door shut on Billy before he could reply.

Max went up into the house, left him to stew on that until he followed her inside. Away from the snow and Evie’s penetrating eyes that were beginning to haunt him.

~~~~

Tensions are just shooting all directions with these two dorks. Thank you all so much for reading! Feel free to chat or ask about the taglist!!

TAGGED: @80sbxtch @nottherightseason @orxhidshavana @alagalaska @alongcamedolly @kellyk-chan @billy--hargroves

#billy hargrove #Billy hargrove x oc #Billy Hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove fanfic #Stranger things #mine #writing #somy #billy x angel

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repeating-sounds · 4 years ago

Text

Stark Raving, inspired by Allen Ginsberg

I watch as the greatest spirits of my generation are broken by designer politics, raving angry misinformed, festering on message boards and back alley chatrooms with less information than ever before, swallowing facts and figures like roughage and unable to choke out a meaning or pathway from here to there, angelheaded progressives with ideals as unattainable as a babbling tower, scratching the midnight sky from the safety of their apartment cosigned by mom and dad who don’t know their stick and pokes and secret revolutions, revolted by violence and yet unseeing of it, coming of age in a time where agelessness is the mode and the means of destruction soak into the membranes of all people, chanting:

burn, loot, dismember, destroy, defund, detox, decry and defame,

contorted cancellations of fortunes and freedom and Most Importantly voices silenced by the swinging hammers of the Dorsey-Zuckerburg Ministry of Truth,

Who wanted to speak and be heard on campuses and in classrooms,

Who wanted to hold the noses of the police and the politicians to their dirty words and sinfulness,

Who wanted to wage war against the class above them,

Shooting pop guns at armored men in all directions, stray bullets whizzing by babies and bastards and Bumbling Fools,

Smug smiles from the Trumps and the Biden’s and the AOC’s of the world, teeth gleaming with the blood of their respective constituencies.

A progressive votes for a pair writhing in racist policy and wretched money politics who prop up prisons and evade environmental change,

A conservative votes for a conspiratory conman with hands in All the Wrong Places grabbing money from Peoples Parties and Pussy from Prostitutes and Pagent Participants

Marijuana smoke daydreams in the bathroom between classes or a bong rip in a living room of a friend who hasn’t left the house in days, wondering and wandering through three am streets after a light night fuck with a stranger singing the same tune in a bar just past the new highway that wasn’t meant to go through town until a time or two ago, streetlights raging and skaters sending skateboards under the wheels of the suburban masses, Karens clucking cancer towards those of different

skin color ethnicity race nationality background upbringing

these things mean nothing and everything in 2021 where the fighting is about what’s outside and not in am i a man am i a rapist am i a member of progressivity. Is it bad to be a democrat, i know its bad to be a republican, thank God and Allah and Set and Charon that im neither, though Independent just means Industrial Idiot whose centrism or cynicism or simplicity makes it hard to talk tough politics

Where radicalness is next to Godliness, even though God swings from a telephone pole Gadaffi’d and bleeding and starving as churches with broken windows look like Capital Buildings, aflame with bullets and bravado and turmoil and tumult that somersaults my stomach like a bad egg sandwich chunking on the floor,

Where Long Island Rail hums to life in the morning with masked marauders who come to gentrify the great streets of places where gangs used to meet and terrify townsfolk living in a glorified garbage dump, an island at sea afloat in the misery to broke to B . I . E because to them buying means dying and renting means relenting from the slant that is the Cycle of Poverty, which is harder to break than the chains of an enslaved mistress or a rolling Sisyphus, syphilitic rantings of a man Stark Raving Mad at the thought of bending the knee to the great capitalist tree that branches out, directing and subjecting and protecting me from being

Me, free, smiling and open and poor and landless and cold in the snow

Thank you Authoritarian pigs you keep me safe at night though i still lock my doors,

And the two stocks rising fastest are bullets and schedule one substances that still get millions of minorities locked up to lift fingers for free and labor for laughs only to be released decades later,

Stark Raving Cold to the world and unaccepting of the place they left and the palace they returned to, full of shine and electric crackling under the skin of an iphone,

Our poor eyes, we’ll all need glasses from the constant screen time i feel sick writing this staring at the cruel white eggshell colors on my Personal Home Computer complete with a home theater and a home office and games and brochures and books and madness and music and if we inundate ourselves enough maybe we wont scream maybe we wont faint maybe we wont remember that this was all sold to us and we ate every bite and smiled and said “more please” and that maybe our kids wont hate us for being As Irresponsible as the Baby Boom we sought to destroy by not having kids, by saving the failed marriages our parents murdered by not saying Vows Of Matrimony but if we kill the jobs and we kill the families and we kill the hope then what’s left?

#poetry #poem #writing #prose #allen ginsberg #culture #today #society #amwriting #thoughts

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eddiesasspbrak · 5 years ago

Text

“About what you said back there...”

Prompt inspired by one line of dialogue. Warning for homophobic language and bullying.

Also on AO3

Eddie is targeted by bullies and Richie steps in to save him.

3k+ words. Oneshot

Once again, Eddie Kaspbrak found himself cornered by a group of bullies who were determined to ruin his day. Not that his day was going great to begin with. He’d forgotten his homework on his desk in his room. For every single class. Endlessly he was lectured about not having his homework, class after class, hour after hour. He’d stayed up late the night before to get it all done too so he was exhausted. He’d dozed off in algebra only to have Bill throw at eraser at his head before the teacher saw.

He’d decided to spend his lunch napping in the only place he was likely not to be disturbed. There was a corner under the bleachers, not far from where the smokers hid, where it was shadowed from the sun. It was the perfect dark place when the weather was nice. That’s where Eddie went, hoping to get a bit of sleep before his afternoon classes. Of course, as soon as he settled into the corner against the cold chain-link fence, he was met with unwanted company.

“Well, look who it is.”

Eddie’s eyes shot open at the sound of the voice. He knew this voice. Luke, football player, stereotypical bully rich guy jock. Pathetic really. He acted like he’d stepped out of an actual teen movie from the 80s and it was almost embarrassing to watch. Small guys like Eddie were just the kind of person he enjoyed pushing around. His goons, Rob and Steve, are standing behind him, smiling like assholes.

“Afternoon fellas. What can I do for you?” Eddie hoped they just called him a loser and moved along. He really didn’t have the energy for this right now.

“You’re in our spot.” Luke said, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to look menacing.

Ok, that was bullshit. Eddie and his friends napped there all the time and never once saw them around. They didn’t smoke either so it’s not like they were hanging out farther down and saw them. Eddie wondered why they’d chosen to claim this spot, which had been theirs for so long. He had to really weigh whether or not he wanted to argue with them and potentially get his ass kicked in the process. If he did get beat up, his mom would come get him and that would be great, but then she’d take him to the hospital so not so great. Not worth the trouble.

“Sorry. Wasn’t aware this was your spot.” He said flatly, standing up and grabbing his bag off the ground. “Guess I’ll go fuck myself. Assholes.” He said under his breath. They were really not meant to hear that.

“What was that?” Luke asked, taking a step closer.

“Nothing.” Eddie said quickly, trying to walk past them.

Before he made it, Rob and Steve stepped in his path. Eddie stopped in his tracks before crashing into them and sighed. He really didn’t need this. Why couldn’t he just bite his tongue and walk away? He didn’t tell any of his friends where he was going either. One of the dumbest choices he’d made that day.

“Sounded like he called us a mean name.” Steve said, backing Eddie back against the fence.

“That’s what I heard.” Rob agreed.

“Look, I just wanted a place to nap. I’ll leave, you can have the spot and I won’t come back.” Eddie said, putting his hands up.

Rob pulled his backpack from his fingers and threw it into the dirt a few feet away. Steve’s hand came down heavy on his shoulder, making him jump and also cringe because his hands were probably filthy. Luke came to stand between them, in front of Eddie.

“I think you owe us an apology.” Luke said.

“I’m sorry.” Eddie really hated them, but he also didn’t want to get hurt.

Luke twisted his fist in the front of Eddie’s shirt and lifted him up with it, the cold metal of the fence scraping against his exposed lower back. Eddie prayed to whoever was listening that they’d just threaten him, scare him, and then leave him alone. He kept his mouth shut, hoping he wouldn’t antagonize them any further.

“I didn’t hear you.” Luke said, close to this face.

“I-I’m sorry.” Eddie gripped Luke’s wrist tightly as he dangled there. God, why did he have to be so little?

“I don’t think I believe you.”

Eddie knew that he wasn’t going to get out of this anytime soon. Why did he even get out of bed this morning? He could have played sick and his mom would have immediately called the school and let him stay home to rest. He wondered what they were going to do to him, going to make him do. In the past they’d taped him to a wall, his friends finding him later and carefully ripping all the tape off to get him down. They’d made him eat a sandwich they first rubbed in the dirt. It was disgusting and gritty and he for sure puked afterward with Bill rubbing his back. He’d been socked in the stomach more times then he could count, given wedgies that literally ripped his underwear and locked in lockers at least once a week.

He was ready to accept his fate when he heard what, at the moment, was the equivalent of an angel’s choir. His name, loud and clear and enough to take the attention off of Eddie for a second.

“Eddie. You ok?” Richie asked as he approached.

“Hey, Rich. I’m not doing so great.” He said with a half smile.

“I can see why. You’ve got some trash stuck to the front of your shirt.”

Luke released Eddie, dropping him into the dirt. Eddie landed on his butt, groaning at the sharp pain that radiated up his spine. The attention of the three bullies was now on Richie.

“What the fuck did you say, Tozier?” Luke asked, angry.

“I think I said you’re human garbage. Though the human part may be a bit of a stretch.” Richie grinned, his hands in his pockets, relaxed like they were having a casual conversation.

“You think you’re funny?” Luke left Eddie on the ground and walked toward Richie with Steve at his side. Rob stayed behind with Eddie, ready to beat him at Luke’s signal.

Richie shrugged. “Yea. I do. So does Eddie.”

Eddie’s smile immediately fell when Rob looked down at him. Of course, he was smiling at Richie’s words. His self-appointed protector always made him laugh and smile, especially when he was coming to his defense and putting down assholes. The fact that he was in love with him was only part of it.

“I was just going to kick your boyfriend’s ass, but I guess I’ll have to kick yours too.” Luke said, grabbing one side of Richie’s open button up shirt.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Eddie chimed in, on reflex.

“You’re not laying a hand on him.” Richie said at the same time.

“Yea, how are you going to stop me?”

“I’d fight until I’m bloody and dying on the street before I’d let you hurt him.” Richie said defiantly, leaning in close to Luke’s face. “You’re the human equivalent of dog shit. Pathetic. You think you’re some big shot football star who’s going places. You’re going to live in this town the rest of your life, a future gas station attendant waiting to happen.”

“I’m going to pound your ass into the ground, Tozier.”

Richie’s face split into a crooked grin. “Kinky.” He said just before Luke’s fist collided with the side of his face.

Richie lurched to the side with the force, falling to the ground. Luke followed him down and landed another punch along his jaw. Eddie tried to stand and go to his friend, but Rob put a hand to his chest and shoved him back down against the fence. He could only watch in horror as Richie was punch for a third time, his hands on Luke’s shoulders trying to push him off.

As if answering Eddie’s prayers, the cheerleading coach, who’d been walking nearby, heard him yell out and saw what was unfolding under the bleachers. She called out to them, told them to stop as she made her way to opening a few feet away. Steve grabbed Luke by the back of his shirt and pulled him up.

“We gotta go, man.” He said. Cliché as ever.

Luke stood and looked down at Richie. “Fucking fag.” He said before motioning for his friends to follow him as they rushed off.

Richie flipped them off, remaining on the ground. Eddie scrambled on his hands and knees over to Richie, not caring that he was getting dirty in the process. His glasses had fallen off, his left eye already swelling, a cut along his cheekbone. His nose was bleeding though didn’t seem to be broken and his lip was split. Eddie didn’t think three of four hits could do so much damage. He grabbed Richie’s glasses, glad to find they hadn’t been broken, and handed them to him.

“Shit, Richie. Are you alright?” Eddie asked, instinctively reaching to touch his face but stopping himself.

“I feel like my head is about to split open but otherwise ok.” Richie laughed before wincing, the act of smiling pulling at his split lip.

The cheerleading coach had gone after the three bullies and Eddie hoped that she saw their faces. Eddie stood, offering a hand to Richie to help him to his feet. His face was a bloody mess and he needed to put ice on his eye to help with the swelling. Eddie looked like he was close to crying and Richie didn’t want him to get to that point.

“I’m ok, Eds. Chicks like scars, right?” He asked with a small smile, careful of his lip this time.

“I think they’re more impressed when you actually fight back.” Eddie said, sniffling.

Richie’s smile widened as he reached out and ruffled Eddie’s hair. “I could probably use some of your expert care, Dr. K. Want to fix me up?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, shoving his hand away and grabbing his backpack, which was now filthy. “Anyone at your house right now?”

“No. Why? Are you planning to skip?”

“Might as well. I don’t feel like being here anyway.”

“Picking fights with bullies, skipping class, what’s happened to my innocent little spaghetti?”

“Shut the fuck up. Do you want me to fix you up or not?”

Richie wiped the blood dripping from his nose with the back of his hand and followed after Eddie. His house wasn’t far by bike and they were there in less than ten minutes, Richie unlocking the door for them. He called out into the empty house, just to be sure that both of his parents were out. He got no response, so they ventured in.

“Where is your first aid kit?” Eddie asked, going straight to the kitchen.

“Uh…bathroom maybe?” Richie guessed.

He headed to the bathroom while Eddie rifled through the freezer. Richie was sure he’d seen a first aid kit somewhere before, he just wasn’t sure where his mom kept it. Looking under the sink, he found a small white box with a red cross on it near the very back.

“How do you not have an icepack in here?” Eddie called from the kitchen.

“I don’t think we’ve ever really used one.” Richie said, entering the room behind him with the first aid kit.

“This will have to do.” Eddie said, grabbing a small bag of frozen vegetable and turning to face Richie. His eyes fell to the small box in Richie’s hand. “You’re kidding right? That’s your first aid kit? It’s tiny. There’s no way it’s going to have everything we need.”

“I mean, don’t we just need some bandages?”

Eddie rolled his eyes and scoffed. “You don’t know anything.” He grabbed a dish towel from a drawer and wet the corner of it in the sink before instructing Richie to sit at the kitchen table.

Eddie pulled a chair up in front of Richie and sat, opening the small box and sighing at the contents. Inside was a box of bandages, a roll of gauze, and thankfully some antiseptic spray. Richie took his glasses off and set them on the table, pressing the bag of frozen veggies to this left eye. Eddie set to work using the wet towel to clean the dirt and drying blood from his face. Richie could barely see him, but he could still make out the way his tongue poked out of his mouth while he focused.

When he was satisfied that everything was clean enough, Eddie grabbed the antiseptic spray and sprayed it onto a clean corner of the towel, not wanting to spray it that close to Richie’s eye. He dabbed the cut on his cheek with the towel and Richie hissed at the sting.

“Don’t be such a baby.” Eddie said softly.

“Your bedside manner is terrible, Dr. K.” Richie responded with a small smile.

“Shut up.” Eddie said as he very lightly dabbed Richie’s lip where it was split. He couldn’t do much for it, but he could disinfect it. He tried not to focus too much on the fact that he was touching Richie’s lips. They’d never had any problem being close to one another, Richie had for sure kissed his cheeks before. It was no wonder everyone thought they were dating. Eddie denied it whenever it was brought up because it wasn’t true, but that didn’t mean he didn’t wish it were. Richie didn’t even bother denying it anymore.

“Alright, it’s not perfect. It would have been better if you’d had some butterfly closures, but this Flintstones bandage will have to do instead.” Eddie said, sticking the bandage to his cheek.

“Feels better already.” Richie slumped back against his chair, still holding the veggie bag to his eye.

Eddie began cleaning up, standing to throw the garbage away. Richie watched the blurry blob of color that was Eddie as he moved around the room.

“They didn’t hurt you, right?” Richie asked.

“No. They didn’t get the chance before you showed up.” Eddie said, keeping his back to Richie as he washed his hands at the sink.

“Good.”

“You shouldn’t have intervened. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt if you’d stayed out of it.”

“Better me than you.”

Eddie’s cheeks warmed at that and he was suddenly glad that Richie still had his glasses off. Of course he was glad that Richie had shown up when he did, but he couldn’t help but feel responsible for his injuries. He only said what he did in his quest to keep Eddie safe. He loved him for it, but he wanted to keep him safe too.

“Hey…about what you said back there…” Eddie said, finally turning back to look at him.

“Which part?” Richie grinned. “I say so much it’s hard for me to keep track. They don’t call me Trashmouth for nothing.”

“When you said…you would fight until you were dying in the street to protect me. Did you mean that?”

Richie’s smile grew soft, trembled a bit at the corners of his mouth like he was struggling to hold it in place. “Yea. I meant it.”

“Why? Why do you always put my safety above your own?”

“I’d die if anything happened to you, so it’s better to die making sure nothing does.”

Eddie didn’t know what to say to that. He’d never felt so loved as he did in that moment and he wanted nothing more than to let him know how he felt. Emotion welled up in his chest, up his throat and to his lips before he could even think about it.

“Don’t be stupid. I’d die if anything happened to you too.” He said, tears in his eyes. “I love you, Richie.”

Richie’s smile returned. “I know, Eds. I love you too.” He set the bag of veggies aside and slid his glasses onto his face. As soon as he could see, he was met with the sight of Eddie, covering his mouth with one hand, tears spilling down his cheeks, his other hand tangled in the bottom of his shirt.

He opened his arms, signaling without words for the other boy to come to him. Eddie crossed the room quickly, collapsing against Richie and wrapping his arms around his shoulders in a hug. Richie’s arms came down around his middle as he pulled him down onto his lap.

“How about, next time we fight together and neither of us has to die?” Richie suggested.

Eddie nodded against his shoulder. “We need a better first aid kit though.” He sniffled.

Richie breathed out a laugh. “Sure thing, Dr. K.”

Eddie leaned back and cupped Richie’s face with one hand, his thumb bumping the Flintstones bandage. He was so stupidly perfect, even with his face all banged up and bruised. Pushing his glasses up, Eddie planted a kiss to the side of his eye where the bruise was starting to form.

“I told you, scars are hot.” Richie grinned.

“It’s a bruise. Not a scar. Dumbass.”

“Just as effective.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Richie’s mouth snapped shut, the dopey grin gone. “Yea. Yes. Absolutely.”

“What about your lip?” Eddie asked, nudging the corner of Richie’s mouth with his thumb near where it was split.

“It’s fine. Kisses are supposed to make injuries better, right?”

Eddie smile and rolled his eyes, leaning down to connect their mouths. The kiss was innocent, soft, just testing the waters. Eddie let his hands rest against Richie’s chest, the other’s hands holding tight to his hips, keeping him on his lap. Not that Eddie was planning to go anywhere any time soon. Feeling more comfortable now, they decided to experiment, their lips moving together. Richie winced, making Eddie pull away.

“Did that hurt?” Eddie asked, eyeing his lip.

“Worth it.” Richie said with a grin, pulling Eddie back in for a hug.

#Reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #It #it (2017)#it (2019)#Ro writes

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mdelpin · 5 years ago

Text

Unwinding

Winter Holiday Event 2020 Prompt(s): First and Feast Pairing(s): Mafuyama, pre-slash Akiharu AO3

Summary: Mafuyu notices the tension between Akihiko and Haruki and tries to help them resolve it by planning an outing for the band at the park.

It had been a beautiful sunny day when they had left the studio, the kind that made you want to stop at a convenience store for snacks and then head to the nearest park for a picnic. A warm breeze was blowing, and Mafuyu was reasonably sure he could talk Ritsuka into coming, but he wasn’t quite sure how to convince Akihiko and Haruki to join them.

Mafuyu didn’t know what had happened between Haruki and Akihiko to cause the tension he’d seen for the last few days. But it was becoming more pronounced with every passing day. Since Haruki had shown up with his new haircut, he and Akihiko’s sound just wouldn’t sync up at all, and although Mafuyu didn’t want to bring attention to the situation, it was making him nervous.

He knew something was wrong, but not what, and that feeling made him uneasy. Ever since Yuuki had died, his own feelings had become muted and confusing, but he had become hyper-aware of everyone else’s, and any pronounced change made him anxious.

It was something he had to work on for himself. Not every argument was going to be the final one, but the pain was still fresh, and the fear that it might happen again was overwhelming.

Just as he was getting ready to suggest the outing, some kids walked by holding kites in their hands, talking excitedly about going to the park. When Mafuyu looked back at his friends, half expecting to find Akihiko making a snide comment, he saw something unexpected.

Ritsuka was staring after the kids, the longing in his eyes unmistakable, and that gave Mafuyu an even better idea. “Would you like to fly kites too?”

Ritsuka pretended not to care, it was almost cute how hard he tried to seem unaffected by the question, but Mafuyu could still see the yearning, and he wanted nothing more than to give him this one simple thing. Before he could say anything, Akihiko immediately began to tease his boyfriend.

“Don’t tell me Uecchi never learned how.”

“My parents both worked. They didn’t have time to teach us stuff like that,” Ritsuka scowled, and his jaw tightened, “Besides, it’s not like I even care.”

Mafuyu could not believe his luck when Haruki spoke up, “I used to love flying kites as a kid, I can’t even remember the last time I did something like that. We should go, there are usually vendors at the park.’

He smiled at Ritsuka and patted him on his shoulder, “Come on, Uenoyama, I will not only buy you one, but I’ll also teach you how to fly it.”

“Should we stop at the convenience store and get some food?” Mafuyu asked.

Ritsuka immediately perked up at the mention of food, and so Mafuyu’s plan came together with barely any effort on his part. It took them about ten minutes to buy enough food and drinks for a small army, and off they went, Haruki explaining to Ritsuka what they were going to be doing while Mafuyu hung back in silence with Akihiko.

Haruki ended up buying Mafuyu a kite as well, leaving Akihiko with all the food and instructions to find them a spot for their picnic. To Mafuyu’s surprise, he accepted without complaint. They spent a fun afternoon flying kites, laughing when Ritsuka managed to tangle his in a tree. He looked so sad both Mafuyu and Haruki offered theirs as a replacement.

Ritsuka was actually smiling, and Mafuyu couldn’t help but feel its effect. It was so rare to see his boyfriend relax and enjoy something that wasn’t directly related to music. And he realized with a start that he had managed to do a first with his boyfriend, something he had only ever managed with Yuuki. Although if he thought about it, they had already shared a few firsts.

Soon Haruki hung back smoking one of his cigarettes, content to watch them but making no move to join Akihiko.

Ritsuka turned to him, his smile still as full as before, “Thank you for this, it was really fun.”

“You should thank Haruki, he’s the one who bought it for you,” Mafuyu reminded him.

“Should we go find Akihiko? I’m kind of hungry.”

Mafuyu agreed, looking at Haruki out of the corner of his eye to see how he reacted to the suggestion, but the bassist said nothing. He walked back to Ritsuka to teach him how to bring down the kite without ripping it. After a few scoldings from Haruki about being gentler, they were on their way.

They found Akihiko sprawled on the ground, having fallen asleep as he waited. They sat around him and began opening cans of soda, the noise waking up Akihiko.

“Did you enjoy yourselves?” Akihiko asked as he took out food items and passed them out.

“Mhmm,” Ritsuka managed as he took a gigantic bite from his sandwich.

There was an awkward silence after that. It was Haruki who always chattered, and without his example to follow, they sat quietly. Mafuyu began to feel anxious again, and before he even thought about what he was doing, he threw a chip at Ritsuka.

His boyfriend scowled at him, and Mafuyu threw the next one at Haruki, curious to see his reaction. Haruki began to lecture him about making a mess until a piece of fruit smacked his chest. They both looked to see who had thrown it, only to see Ritsuka smirking at them.

This created a chain reaction, with Akihiko joining in before long until even Haruki was taking part in the impromptu food fight. Food went everywhere they could get it. Soon they had escalated, shaking their cans and spraying each other with their drinks. Their laughs rang loud and true, and Mafuyu found he could breathe easier.

It wasn’t a fix by any means, but at least for now, a small chink had been made. The rest of the work would have to come from Akihiko and Haruki.

A/N: I came up with this after reading @cloverdreams entry this morning. Thanks for the inspiration!

#given #fanfiction #mafuyama #winter2020 #holiday event #givenfanfics #prompt: first #prompt: feast #sort of akiharu

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kileyrose-2003 · 5 years ago

Text

Dan Torrance x Fem! Reader

This smutty request was submitted by @oneirnaut Might be a little different then you imagined but I hope u enjoy.

You always knew you were different from the time you were little. You could tell the future and have conversations entirely in your head with people if you wanted to but you couldn't. You never met anyone who had the same abilities as you and nobody understood you.

Your siblings would make remarks as to how you were weird or your parents would just ignore you because they were afraid for you. Or of you. Sometimes you couldn't tell.

It was a lonely gift another person until you met Dan seven years ago. He certainly wasn't in a good spot when you met him but it didn't matter to you. It was the first time you met someone didn't make you feel lonely or question your sanity.

At first he was confused to how you figured it out but it wasn't hard for you to put two and two together between the things he did at the hospice while you were at work to the first time you went to his apartment and seen the little blackboard messages on his wall.

It was an unorthodox friendship that your parents didn't approve of but their opinion didn't matter to you. You helped him heal and you healed from him and to you, that was a beautiful thing.

Overtime you grew closer to him. Hell, you loved the man but that was something you told yourself you'd never express verbally or through your shine and he told himself the same thing.

While you were a woman, you still were much younger than him and he never thought it would work out between your family and your age gap.

It was your day off and you and Dan were at a local place pizza place getting dinner together at an off time. He was acting like himself but today he just felt..different.

"So how's your little pen pal?" You asked quietly, holding a forkful of pasta up to your lips. "She's alright. She tried explaining this RWBY stuff to me I don't get. The one girl has blue hair or something."

You giggled and shook your head. "It's an anime, Dan. I think it came out a little after or before I graduated nursing school."

"Because I remember what happened so clearly 5 or 6 years ago. I don't know. When I was growing up it Bugs Bunny. All simple stuff."

You rolled your eyes. "Okay gramps." You joked and Dan rolled his eyes. "Gramps? Next thing I know you're going to be calling me as Abra calls it, a boomer. Does that mean I get the respect you would give to your elders?"

"Dan, stop it." You smacked the back of his hand playfully. "If I didn't like you, I wouldn't tease you."

"Well could you like me a little less than?" Knowing Dan, you knew he was kidding but his words came off semi snappy.

"Maybe I will." You mused and ate in silence for a few moments. "Good." He wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Okay snippy." You snapped.

(Well if you seen what I did, you'd be snippy too.)

You over heard the thought and Dan cringed. Yep, definitely wasn't supposed to hear that one.

"What's bothering you?" He narrowed his brows. "Nothing..I'm fine. Just a long day at work the past few night."

"Don't give me that bullshit, Dan. You and I both knew it was a semi easy night and I know what you're trying to do with that look on your face."

"It's not exactly something I can talk about in public." He wouldn't meet your eye.

(I know you want your privacy and I respect that but just know I'm here for you.)

"I know it's just..I can't drag you into this." Dan rubbed his face. "Is it something with family or-"

"No..well..maybe..Damn it Y/n! Can't you just it go?" He actually yelled at you and people stared.

You blushed out of embarrassment and looked at the people in the restaurant. "Hi! Take a picture. It might last longer."

"Y/n." He scolded. "Don't you Y/n me. You started it." You knew you sounded like a child but he was being pissy.

"You're being ridiculous." He whispered venomously. "No, you are. It's seven years ans you won't talk to me about somethings and all I want to do is help you."

Your waiter came over to your table. "Is everything okay?" You nodded and handed her a wad of cash. "I was just getting to go. This is for the check. Any change is yours."

You stood up from the table and Dan sighed. "Y/n come on..Y/n, I'm sorry." You started to walk away. "Don't talk to me Dan, please. I need some space."

"But Y/n I didn't mean it like that." He chased you outside to your car. "It's too late for that. I'll see you tomorrow." You got in your car and slammed the door in Dan's face.

"Y/n.." You ignored him and pulled away. Dan sighed ran his fingers through his hair. "Damn me."

Meanwhile as you were driving down the road you felt a presence in the back of your car. "You know, Doc might not be the best at expressing emotions but he does care about you."

You tensed and looked into your back seats and found a woman sitting back there. "..you're Dan's mom aren't you?"

She nodded and smiled. "I'm Wendy. It's nice to finally meet you Y/n." Her voice was soft and gentle. It reminded you of being a little girl all over again and having your own mother speak to you before she realized your "phase" was not going away.

"Nice to meet you too Wendy." You felt a rush of cold air go through you as she ran her fingers through the back of your hair. "Oh yes..I approve. You have a heart of gold."

You gave a tight lipped smile. "Oh no..Dan and I don't have a relationship like that." Wendy just grinned. "Not yet at least."

"Look, I'm not trying to be rude but why are you here?" Wendy lost her smile. "Because you're my only path of communication to him. Danny doesn't think about me anymore. It pains him too."

You thought back to the death flies you seen inside Dan's head and seen them in a flash over Wendy's face. You gripped the steering wheel tighter.

"You got to keep him away from the woman in the hat, honey doll. She's bad news. You're the only one who can keep him from going. He'll listen to you but not to me or even Dick."

"The woman in the hat?" You were so confused. "What hat woman?!" You felt your heart begin to race. "The one who killed that little boy. You know Abra?"

You thought back to Dan's little pen pal and your car began to slant up in the air. "Wendy!" You screamed as the road began to float away from you. The word Redrum was broken into the pavement. "It's okay sweetie..soon you'll see just what exactly I mean." The ground began to vortex and you were flung inside the swirling black hole.

You screamed and eventually landed face first in an old hotel. There were signs on the walls. BLUEBELL CAMPGROUND and OVERLOOK you could clearly see. 'Good old western hospitality.' You noted mentally as the first thing that came to mind and took in the smell of the place of grimaced. You knew it well. Funeral parlor and sickness. 'Like that time I accidentally walked in when Dan was helping Fred Langston cross over and-'

You only had a few more seconds to take in the scenery before you felt a small thud against the top of her head. Then whatever the substance was ran down to your nose. You wiped it off and stared at it. 'Blood.' You had a single second to think before the floor began to shake and what looked like red smoke or some sort of..steam rolled in. It had a face and by God it was horrifying.

You covered your face for a moment and dropped to floor, attempting to shield herself from the scene but then something strong pushed back her hands. Forcing you to look up.

The hardwood began to crack and there was a single word scrawled upon it.

Redrum

"Oh fuck.." Ghostie faces covered in blood flashed in front of your face and you began to cry. The world began to slide again and you fell through the set of floorboards and this time awoke at a wooded area.

We are The True Knot

'Breath Y/n..Breath. It's a just nightmare.'

Or worse. You immediately shut that little voice out of your head and stepped forward. You wanted to go back to her body. Wake up in your bed or your car, screaming bloody murder. At least Dan would be close to you then even if he wasn't physically present. You knew he'd protect you. That was or if you did ever wake up. Because there always was that chance you wouldn't and you'd get stuck here.

What is tied may mever be untied

But something kept pulling you forward. You followed the voices through the dark woods. The smell of embers and smoke entering your nostrils.

We Endure

It all looked so familiar. There were tables everywhere. Almost like the ones in the park you went to when you were little. Except without the chipped paint you were afraid would give you splinters or get into the homemade sandwiches you brought with you so you didn't have to stop at the local gas station to get food.

Your made your way down the beaten path and what was there horrified you. A group of people stood their. Like a chain of paper dolls or snowflakes chanting in some sort of foreign language. Hebrew based maybe?

Either way, it didn't matter to you. The worse part was the body on the green grass. The boy on the ground was 13 to 14 years old. Maybe the same age as Abra.

A cloud of what you thought was campfire smoke was above the group. Next to the body was a woman in a hat. Her hands like bloody gloves and a man with intense eyes. Like a Crow. They all turned to stare at you.

Redrum indeed

Fear coursed through your veins. You wanted to run. Sprint. As far a way as she could but you stood there. Completely frozen. Not able to speak or move.

You would never know which one of them it was that knew your name and called it but that was all it took for you to start running. You could hear some of them laughing. It was sick.They were killers and they certainly weren't people either. They were monsters.

"Wendy! Wendy!" You screeched, hoping either of them could hear you. She sent you to this damn place. She should be able to get you out. Unless it was something else..pulling and dragging you there. You made it half way down the path before you felt a tug on your knotted tresses.

You screamed and immediately fell to your knees. It was the hat woman and you were terrified. She scooped you up in her arms and laughed. You were fucked.

"Let me go!" You kicked at her but she was strong. "Oh no sweetie..no, I won't." Her hand connected with the back of your head and you seen yourself laying on the ground. Blood all over you and the steam floating out of your mouth and Dan in the hotel with fire burning around him, blood running all over his legs.

(GET OUT OF MY HEAD!)

The hat woman blasted away from you and you were flung back to your car, screaming and kicking the whole way.

You felt Wendy's hand running through your hair as you crashed back into your seat and you started sobbing. "Shhh..it's okay. She's gone. You're alright."

"How do I-how do I stop this?" You wiped the tears away from your eyes. "Go to him and tell him what you seen. He'll listen to you. I can't protect him anymore. I leave it to you."

"But what-" Wendy shushed you. "Just go to him." Before you could even respond Wendy was already gone and you were alone. One way or another you had to save him. Whether he liked the way you were going to do it or not.

Later on that night you sat with a very sleep deprived and cranky Dan Torrance. "Are you crazy?!!" He held his hands up defensively. "No, I'm not Y/n. Believe me I don't want to do this as much as you don't want me to."

"If what you're telling me is true, these people are going to fucking kill you. I'm not saying that out of assumption. I'm saying it because I see it. You know too much Dan. They see you at that gravesite with a shovel in your hand, you're fucked."

"I know..I know but Y/n, Abra's right. We can't just let the kids body just sit there and if she's right about all this then I have to protect her from these things. Whatever the fuck they are." Dan rubbed his face.

"Then I'm going with you!" He shook his head. "Like hell you are. Just like you said, they see me and I'm fucked. I'm not dragging you into this whole mess too. You've still got a life to live and time left."

"But how am I supposed to enjoy it when you're not here?" Dan's face went flat. "What?" You ran your fingers through your hair frustratedly. "For God's sakes Dan, I love you."

For a moment there was silence. "Y-you do?" The words were barely a whisper. "Yes! I've loved you since I started my job at the hospice doing clinicals and that was almost 7 years ago. You were a little skittish with me at first but I don't mind because I know you went through alot, even if you won't tell me what it."

The silence continued for a long stretch. "Dan, please just saying something." You begged. "I-i love you too..I didn't think you would reciprocate the feeling though because you're younger than me."

"Dan, I'm 3 years away from being 30 and you're 40. Your age doesn't matter to me. Or your past. I love you for you." You wrapped your arms around his neck and he pulled you close to him, cupping the one side as he leaned forward to kiss you on the lips. His lips felt soft like silk and you melted into his warmth.

"I love you..so so much." He ran his hands up and down your sides. "I love you more." You gasped as he picked you up in his arms and laid you down on his bed.

Dan leaned over top of you and continued to kiss you all over. You ran your fingers through his hair as he made his way down past your chest.

"You're so beautiful." He hummed softly as he examined every inch of you. "I think you're perfect."

He crawled up your body, leaving his face inches away from yours. You caressed his cheek and smiled. "And you're so handsome." He smiled and smashed his lips passionately against yours. It felt like an eternity when he finally pulled away.

"Dan?" You were panting like you ran a marathon afterwards. "Yeah Y/n?" You forced him to look at you. "I want you."

"You're sure this is what you want?" You nodded and he worked his way down your body. You could feel his scarred but soft skinned his hands caressing your stomach as he pulled down your pants.

"Such a gentle man." You murmured softly and ran your hands down his still clothed back, gripping onto his shirt tight as you felt his fingers beginning to move around down there.

"D-dan!" You could hear him grunting from beneath you. "Is that okay?" You nodded feverishly. "It feels so good! Fuck! Faster Dan!"

He began to quicken up the pace. "God you're so tight. I can feel you clamping around my fingers."

"S-sorry." You blushed a little bit and he smiled. "It's fine, babe." He continued to work his magic and you squirmed in pleasure. "Dan I think I'm gonna..gonna cum!"

"Then cum for me." You arched your back as you felt the jolt from the orgasm take over your body. It felt euphoric and you never wanted the sensation to end.

Dan pulled his fingers out from inside you and straddled you. "That felt amazing." You panted as you slowly released your grip on his sheet and took of his shirt.

"I try." He was blushing a little bit, which brought out some of his features more, and you thought it was adorable. He bent down and peppered kisses all over your neck while and you did the same to him.

"I'll be as gentle as possible." He whispered in your ear as he moved painstakingly slow down to your lower area and began to plunge himself inside of you at a steady pace.

You whined and dug your nails into his back. "M-more Dan..Faster! Please!" You begged. He did as you asked hesitantly, making his whole way inside you and you moaned. "Fuck! You feel so good." Dan grunted in reply and moved around inside you. "So tight. Saving yourself for me?"

"Maybe." You tone was lower and raspy. It drove Dan mad. "God you're gorgeous." He quickened his pace. "The most beautiful woman you've ever seen?" You pulled at his hair and kissed him all over. "Fuck yes."

"You're mine, Y/n. I want everyone to know it from now on." Dan's tip hit your spot and you thrust yourself up onto him more. "Yes! Right there Danny. Don't stop!"

"Tell me you'll be mine." He was begging and you took such joy from it, knowing you had him wrapped around your finger. "Only yours, Dan. I swear!" You screamed.

You rode each other for a couple more minutes and you both were getting near the finish point. "Should I pull out?"

You shook your head and nuzzled closely to him, the layers of sweat on the both of you interlacing. "N-no..go for it."

You tensed as you felt his seed entering you and you both came simultaneously. Dan pulled out of you and flopped down next to you on his bed. Holding you tight in his arms as you both attempted to regain control of your breathing.

"I love you so much." You cupped the sides of his face. "I love you too." Dan pressed a kiss to your forehead. Never wanting to ever let you go. "I mean what I said before when I said you're mine."

You smiled softly and nuzzled closely to him. "I'm not letting you go either." You tightened your grip on him, thinking back to everything about Dan everything that Dan told you about the baseball boy.

"I'm afraid for you." You started to tear up. "Because I know it's not going to pleasant and I just got you now and I-i don't want to lose you."

He laced his fingers through your hair. "We go on, Y/n. It might be scary but I'll be okay in the end. It might not be my first choice on how we'd be together forever-" Dan attempted to joke and you glared. "But know that I'd never truly leave you."

You smiled despite the tears in your eyes and clear despair. "Yeah...I guess I wouldn't be." He held your face. "We'll figure it out together, okay? As long as we have each other we'll be fine."

"Okay..I love you, Dan." You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him. "I love you too, Y/n..I love you so much."

#danny torrance #dan torrance #doctor sleep #dr sleep #imagine #x reader #smut #true knot #the true knot #the shining #answered

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bynkii · 7 years ago

Text

It’s all right there

(originally published on 18 Nov. 2015)

If only you’d look to the side once in a while

Somewhat odd fact: I’ve never been really anywhere outside of the U.S. Not that I’m anti-travel, it just seemed to never work out. I mean, I’ve been to Toronto, spent a summer in Mississauga with my cousin Diane and her family, and technically went near Nassau on a night-time cruise, but I was so obliterated that I don’t know if I left the boat.

I was in the Air Force, but at a B-1B base in the mid-80s to early-90s, and so we didn’t really even start going overseas for air shows and exercises until I was fixing to separate. Then came a marriage and a kid and it kind of just never happened. Which I do think is a shame, but I can’t say I’ve not done anything cool, I just did it all…here.

This came up because I was talking to a good friend of mine, N., who is much smarter and well-traveled than I, (and for a Cali transplant, still understands why Waffle House is amazing.) I was commenting how a mutal acquaintance, who is my age, seems to have just woken up to the reality that non-honkies in the U.S. have very different lives than honkies do. I said I didn’t get how someone could be as well-traveled as he is, (he has literally traveled the globe) and still be so…blind…to the world outside of his somewhat narrow set of interests. This legitimately puzzled me until N. explained it.

She said, (paraphrased) that if you’re traveling on business, to a conference or on a book tour or what have you, that it’s easy. You get off the plane and go to the hotel. Which is probably a Marriot or other chain, and where the club sandwich in Tokyo is exactly like the club sandwich in Des Moines. You are driven to where you need to be when you need to be there, you go out after to a restaurant, maybe a bar that is tourist-friendly, and then back to the hotel. After a few days, home you go. Maybe you take a day for being a tourist, but you’re going to do fairly standard stuff.

You do that enough, and there’s no difference between anywhere.

I can’t argue her point, I literally don’t know, but it struck me as sad. To be somewhere totally different, but wrap yourself in a cocoon of home, like some kind of odd warp bubble.

Because while I’ve never really left the U.S., there’s always been this “walkabout” impulse. I probably got it from my mom, who as a single woman, lived in Tokyo immediately following WWII for some years, (and evidently spent enough time near Hiroshima to come home rather sick for more than a few months), and then in the 50s and 60s, literally traveled everywhere in this country where a train would go. I’ve pictures of her in D.C., at Gettysburg, Monticello, San Francisco, you name it.

In an era where being an independent woman was somewhat frowned upon, she was independent. Mind you, she never learned to drive. This was all public transit and trains.

My dad helped too, he’d been in Japan & Korea in the early 50s, trying not to die during a war, and getting into marvelous trouble in Japan on leaves and furloughs.

One of his better stories, one that fascinated me was about how he and his friends would go to a restaurant in either country, and just blindly order. Whoever got the ugliest dish paid. He thought he was safe when a friend got the squid. Until a WHOLE OCTOPUS, eyes and all, broiled in its own ink was placed in front of him.

That always seemed like the coolest thing: go to a restaurant you’ve never been and just order something. How cool a way to learn new food? Sometimes, you get the octopus, sometimes you get amazing malaysian food. Amazing wins over OMG WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT more than you might think. Food is a great introduction to different cultures.

As I’ve mentioned, I grew up in Miami. My family moved down in 1970, and I didn’t really leave until 1986, when I joined the Air Force. I was there for some shit. Mariel, Liberty City, Murder Capital of the world, Cocaine Cowboys, (I still can’t really watch “Scarface”. Because too much of that movie isn’t some gorefest story, it’s what was happening in my world. There’s not a lot of exaggeration there), all of it.

It’s easy to fall into the tropes. Miami’s a pit, it’s a crimefest, it’s nothing but Cubans. But that’s the saddest way to look at it. Because Miami showed me so many things. ¿Qué Pasa USA? Pastelitos. Pecadillo. A properly made Cuban sangwich. The smell of the wall of ovens baking Cuban bread in an Imperial Supermarket just off 8th Street and Salzedo. The bizarre joy that was the Bed Race. Goombay, where I discovered a host of carribean food and music. Tito Puente. Gloria Estefan before she was Gloria Estefan. Guava. Flan. Materva. The Red Room. The Kitchen. Coconut Grove when there were still more hippies than hipsters. The Friday night Hare Krishna Drum Party in Coconut Grove, where you’d have a hundred people dancing along with the Krishnas and they would just play their asses off. The guy who sold small crabs and palmetto bugs dipped in gold.

It’s actually hard for me to talk about Cuban Culture like it’s some separate thing, because I grew up in it. I’m not Cuban, not even close, but that culture was a part of my youth and my adolescence. It’s not “other people’s” culture. It’s a part of me as much as it can be. You grow up in Miami, your first concert is P-Funk, it’s hard to live in The Honkie Zone™.

Here’s an example of how it affected me. One day, after I’d gotten out of the Air Force, my boss takes me to a Cuban place in Pinellas Park, La Terecita. (AmazingCuban food, BTW.) The waitress seats us, sees we’re a table of superhonkies, and gives us menus. With the food in english. I literally had no idea what any of it was, because you order Cuban food in spanish. What the fuck other language even makes sense? So I ask the waitress, when she returns, “Is there a spanish menu? I don’t know what any of this is in English.”

She looks at me and asks “Where you from?” I tell her Miami, she laughs and says “Okay baby, let me get you the menu.” (If you know what a Cuban accent sounds like, then you get more of the picture.) She comes back with a Spanish one, aka a real one, and at last, I can order my Picadillo y maduros y Materva. Fuck me, english, what use is that?

You also never understand why people are puzzled at children drinking coffee, because you start kids on cafe con leche as soon as they’re off the tit. I mean it. Non-Miamians don’t really get how central Cuban coffee is to life down there. Water is minor, cafecitos are critical.

As a kid in Miami, this was my “community pool”, Venetian Pool. It’s an old limestone quarry converted to a pool. To be able to use the diving boards, you had to swim across the pool without stopping, watched by the lifeguards. That was what turned you from a little kid to a big kid. Swimming is a necessity, because half your elementary school field trips are to the beach. Yeah, yeah, education, starfish, the stingray shuffle. I’m still convinced it was how the teachers wangled free midday beach time. As they should.

Some places brag about how you can watch the sun rise and set over the ocean by just walking a few miles. In Miami, on the highway out to Key Biscayne, you could do that just by turning around. Then there’s Stiltsville, and a not-long drive away, things like Pennekamp and Key West. Along with treasures now gone, like Ocean World, and Miami Marine Stadium, where you could see unlimited hydroplanes, and watch concerts with the stoners on rafts in the middle.

I was also there for https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hurricane_Andrew. My biggest memory of that is just after the hurricane, when shit is still fucked up and Gloria Estefan, who unlike most celebrities, grew up in Miami, and is a hometown girl, holding a benefit in the Orange Bowl, to raise money to help folks out. It’s kind of fucked up, power is still wonky, she is a bit of a sweaty mess, (we all were), and yet there she is, singing “Coming Out of the Dark”, and somehow, everything was going to be okay. Gloria Estefan will always be okay in my book for that.

I don’t think you can grow up with my parents in that town and not look to the side every so often. Or all the time. And it helped me see, not just the bloody obvious truth, like the lives lived different of non-honkies in this country, but all the things.

Like driving between base and town in Grand Forks on highway 2, happy to be off early, (at 2am) and it’s one of those snowstorms where it’s not a blizzard, but the flakes are coming down big, wet and noisy. You can actually hear them hit, and as I come around a curve, there’s this explosion of light, and two two trucks pulling a semi out of the ditch. As Toccata & Fuge in D Minor is blasting in my Civic. Pipe organ version, of course. There is something perfect about that, along with Bach at 2am during another snowfall in the middle of nowhere.

Or another night, same highway, same time of day, only it’s summer, and there’s this flash of light and a roar I only hear because my windows are down, and as I look up, I see a metor blasting through the sky overhead, on fire, big trail of smoke. I pull right the fuck over because if it hits, fuck yeah, i’m gonna get a piece. (No, the obvious downsides didn’t occur to me, because ROCK FROM SPACE.) It burned up completely before it hit, but I got to see it.

You look to the side, and you find things. Like malaysian restuarants in Kansas City. Or how, in Biloxi, just outside of Keesler AFB, if you and your friends go to the same Chinese place enough, and keep ordering “something with beef, something with pork, something with chicken, and surprise us” enough, eventually the family that runs it starts making you the non-gweilo versions of things. Or that there’s a fantastic Dim Sum place not a half-block from the Moscone in S.F., an amazing cajun place in Knob Knoster, MO, and one of the best southern restaurants ever is near Binghampton, NY, (THEO’S4LYFE!)

You see things that other folks miss. Like a tango club performance in Union square, where the guy in his 70s is shaming all the younger men. Because he may be old and slow everywhere else, but he is the Tango grandmaster and the youngin’s best just step back, this is his show.

Walden Pond. It’s not just where Thoreau lived, (with lots of help from his friends. He may have wrote about self-reliance, but he was not so good at practicing it) it’s a place. It’s a swimmin’ hole. Kind of cold, but very beautiful, and a great place to take slow walks with friends. The whaling museum in Peabody. Realizing that on multiple occasions, a pre-fame/pre-Gaiman Amanda Palmer made you milkshakes and sundaes (and she was very good at it.)

You become best friends with everyone in a ten-meter radius at a crawfish festival, because you just can’t suck head, and so you give away heaping plates full of the nasty things to anyone within reach. For this, you get a lot of free beer. Some years later, at Bad Medicine Lake in MN, you gorge on the biggest crawfish you’ve ever seen, (LOBSTER-SIZED) because people up there think they’re gross, and the bottom of the lake is covered with them. It is totally worth the hypothermia you risk, and pissing off a plethora of plastered, pulchritudinous sorority sisters because if they reject crawdads, they can’t be worth your time.

You meet people who aren’t like you, and learn at a young age, just how full of shit you are, and maybe you should fix that. You pick up foul words in multiple languages, (profanity starts both fights and friendships. Often simultaneously.) You learn that the “stripper paying her way through college” isn’t just a trope, and she amazes you both with her pole work and her analysis of pre-Revolutionary War America.

You discover, if you’re open to it, that there are amazing people everywhere in all walks of life, doing all kinds of jobs you aren’t, and they are just fascinating. That there are former adult stars on Twitter who build amazing models of Star Wars ships from metal because that’s what they do, when they aren’t losing their minds over the San Jose Sharks or making beautiful art. They talk about their work too, and that’s even neat because you learn about the behind the scenes stuff. “Inside baseball” is fucking fascinating when it’s about porn. (Ed. note: this person checked out a few years ago. I genuinely miss her, and presence on Twitter.)

You learn that two authors you admire who have become friends have forgotten more about food and culture than you’ll ever know. You learn the history of Switzerland that’s about just how terrifying the Swiss are, “…I’m from Northern Ireland, I don’t do well with unannounced gunfire.”, and that a description of dinner eating between two members of old Russian Royalty can be far, far more…intense than any non-porn writing has a right to. (Seriously, hie thee to wherever you can find them, and read all of “Tales of Old Russia” by Peter Morwood. DESCRIPTIONS OF DINNER SHOULD NOT HAVE THAT EFFECT ON PEOPLE.)

Actually, if you see anything with either Peter or Diane Duane as authors or co-authors, just read it. Trust me on this.

It’s not hard to see the world as it is, good and bad, awesome and terrifying. You don’t even have to leave the country. You just have to look around every so often.

#movedoverfrommedium

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yuckitup-jwd · 5 years ago

Text

Fulldeckisms Part 3

One shot short of a chain. (Shot is a section of anchor chain.)

One shot short of a locker. (Shot is ammunition; a locker iswhere it's stored.)

One shrimp short of a barbie.

One side short of a pentagon.

One signature short of a book.

One slate short of a full roof.

One sleeve/button short of a shirt.

One snowflake short of a ski slope.

One sock short of a pair.

One song short of a musical.

One span short of a bridge.

One spoon short of a full set.

One steering wheel / bolt short of a Yugo.

One step short of the attic.

One stick short of a bundle.

One straw short of a bale.

One strawberry short of a quart.

One strike past being called out.

One sub short of a party platter.

One taco/enchilada/chalupa short of a combination/Mexican plate.

One teabag short of a pot.

One tilde short of a full URL.

One tile missing from his space shuttle.

One tile short of a successful re-entry.

One too many lights out in his Christmas tree.

One too many rides on the Zipper.

One tower short of a castle.

One tree short of a hammock.

One vine short of the tree. (For Tarzan types.)

One volt below threshold.

One weight short of a shipwreck.

One word short of a.

One yard short of the hole.

Only occasionally wets himself under pressure.

Only one oar in the water.

Only opens his mouth to change feet.

Only playing with 51 cards.

Only playing with the jokers.

Operating in stand-by mode.

Organizationally impaired.

Ought to have a warning label on his forehead.

Out of his depth in a parking lot puddle.

Out there where the buses don't run.

Outlet isn't grounded.

Over the rainbow.

Overdue for reincarnation.

Overruns above 110 baud.

Paged/swapped out.

Parallel mind, serial world.

Parallel world, serial mind.

Paralyzed from the neck up.

Parents beat him with an ugly stick.

Parked his head and forgot where he left it.

Pedaling real fast, but not getting anywhere.

People around her are at risk of second hand idiocy.

Perfect chassis, bad driver.

Perfect face for Halloween.

Perfect percussionist for an acapella group (duh, duh, duh...)

Perfect training subject for apprentice hypnotists.

Permanently out to lunch.

Permanently rotated 90 degrees from the rest of us.

Phototrophic on a better day.

Pins 2 and 3 (RS-232) permanently connected to ground.

Playing an endgame with a king and no other pieces.

Playing baseball with a rubber bat.

Playing hockey with a warped puck.

Playing Scrabble, but we can't figure out what words he's building.

Plays pinochle with a poker deck.

Plays solitaire... For cash.

Plays tennis with no net and finds it challenging.

Plenty of myelin but not enough neurons.

Plenty of salt in the shaker, but no holes in the cap.

Posts empty articles to the Net, and enjoys rereading them later.

Prefers three left turns to one right turn.

Pressure's up, but there's a slow leak somewhere.

Pretty as 20 miles of bad road.

Produces a zero-length core dump.

Programmed into an infinite loop.

Proud of his lawn mower.

Psycho pneumatic. (Crazy air head.)

Put a lens in each ear and you've got a telescope.

Put on Earth to be an oxygen converter.

Puts a finger in his ear so the draft through his head isn't annoying.

Putting his brain on the edge of a razor blade would be likeputting a pea on a six lane highway.

Qualifies for the mental express line -- five thoughts orless. -- MacNelly

Quotes entire letters/articles as responses and hides her oneline of wisdom in the middle.

Racing fifty yards with a pregnant woman, he'd come in third.

Radio's playing but nobody's listening.

Reading from an empty/blank/unformatted disk.

Reads her newspaper back-to-front.

Reads Homer in the original Greek, but doesn't know Greek.

Ready to check in at the HaHa Hilton.

Ready to join the Anti-Mensa Society.

Receiver is off the hook.

Relatively three-dimensional, as fictional characters go.

Renewable energy source for hot air balloons.

Reposts this list when someone asks for it, but it's an old copy.

Requires retraining after every coffee break.

Reset line is glitching.

Result of a first cousin marriage.

Result of God's experiments to see if humans can functionwithout a brain.

Room for rent, unfurnished.

Roving target for a surface-to-idiot missile.

RS232C brain with a DIN connector.

Running at 300 baud.

Running lights are on but no one's at the helm.

Running on a 286.

Running open. (Old mechanical teletype term.)

Running U.S. appliances on British current.

Runs squares around the competition.

Rusty springs in the mousetrap.

S p a c e d o u t .

Sailboat fuel for brains.

Sailing with a short seabag / a few skivvies short of a seabag.(Contains all of a sailor's possessions including underwear.)

Sat under the ozone hole too long.

Says profound things but no one listens and no harm is done.

Seen it all, done it all, can't remember most of it.

Sending back packets, but the checksums are wrong.

Serving donuts on another planet.

Settled some during shipping and handling.

Seven cans short of a six-pack.

Seven seconds behind, and built to stay that way.

Several nuts over fruitcake minimum.

Sharp, like stone in river. Swift, like tree through forest.

She believes the three great lies.

She can piss standing up, but not much else.

She doesn't suffer from insanity; she enjoys every minute of it.

She fears success, but really has nothing to worry about. -- Thaves

She has reached rock bottom, and has started to dig.

She looks virtually real today.

She only packed half a sandwich.

She only schedules zombie processes.

She put the ding in dingbat.

She runs the gamut of emotions from A to B. -- Dorothy Parker

She sets low personal standards and then consistently fails them.

She sounds reasonable... Must be time to up my medication.

She stopped to think and forgot to start again.

She wears a pony tail to cover up the valve stem.

She worries about the calories licking stamps and envelopes.

She'll be just fine as soon as virtual reality arrives.

She's a screensaver. (Looks good, but useless.)

She's all thumbs.

She's as daft as a brush. (British)

She's running real fast, but toward the wrong goal line.

Shedding a little too much black light.

Short a few cards.

Short-circuited between the earphones.

Should be the poster child for family planning.

Should go far -- and the sooner he starts, the better.

Should have kept his helmet on while riding/playing.

Shouldn't be allowed to breed.

Shouldn't eat nuts -- for her, it's practically cannibalism.

Single-sided, low density.

Sings along with elevator music.

Sinking with a deck full of people; her brain cells can'tfind the lifeboats.

Sitting in the right pew, but the wrong church.

Six-packed seven times. (Volleyball slang: "Six-pack" is tospike someone in the head with a volleyball.)

Skating on the wrong side of the ice.

Skylight leaks a little.

Slept too close to his radium-dial watch.

Slinky's kinked.

Sloppy as a soup sandwich.

Slow as molasses in January.

Slow out of the gate.

Slower than a herd of turtles stampeding through peanut butter.

Smarter than the average bear.

Smoke doesn't make it to the top of his chimney.

So boring, his dreams have Muzak.

So clueless, he could BE God and still be an atheist.

So dim, his psychic carries a flashlight.

So dumb, blondes tell jokes about him.

So dumb, he faxes face up.

So dumb, he puts postage stamps on outgoing faxes.

So dumb, his dog teaches him tricks.

So far gone, hard drugs push him closer to normal.

So fat, people jump over him rather than go around.

So slow, he has to speed up to stop.

So slow, we drive stakes in the ground to measure his progress.

So stupid, he tries to drown fish.

So stupid, mind readers charge her half price.

So stupid, she doesn't go further than Thursday.

So thick, he sticks to pasta.

So ugly, robbers give him their masks to wear.

Sold his car for gas money.

Solid concrete from the eyebrows backwards.

Some Assembly Required.

Some bugs in his software.

Some drink from the fountain of knowledge, but he just gargled.

Some of her inodes have nodded off.

Some pages missing.

Somebody lend her a quarter to buy a clue.

Somebody put a stop payment order on his reality check.

Someday when she's younger, she'll ________.

Someone blew out his pilot light.

Someone else is doing the driving for that boy.

Someone forgot to plant the seed for his brain stem.

Someone let the air out of her lock.

Someone Reverend Spooner would have identified as a shining wit.

Sort of like an inverse Einstein.

Source code is missing a few lines.

Speaks math/FORTRAN better than English.

Spent a decade on the leading edge of drug experimentation.

Stares at frozen juice cans because they say, "concentrate".

Still boots to DOS.

Still sending messages with his secret decoder ring.

Still struggling up the evolutionary ladder.

Still traumatized from the forest fire in "Bambi".

Still trying to figure out opposable thumbs.

Stocksy-babes. (A truly vile British-slang insult.)

Strolling through life with one shoelace untied.

Strong, like bull. Smart, like tractor. Beautiful, like KV-2.(A WWII era Russian tank.)

Stuck on the down escalator of life.

Studied for a blood test -- and failed.

Stumped by anything child-proof.

Subtle as a well-thrown brick.

Subtle as a wet tongue in the ear / kiss from a cow.

Suffers from Clue Deficit Disorder.

Suffers from excessive headspace.

Suffers from link rot. (The process by which hypertext linksbecome obsolete as their sites change or die.)

Suffers from Paralysis by Analysis.

Suffers from permanent rapture of the deep. (Nitrogen narcosis.)

Supports nativist theories that man is formed from clay.

Surfing in Nebraska.

Surfing the Web with a hard-copy terminal. (Does anyoneremember those?)

Suspend switch is jumpered.

Swimming on a cold shot. (Inadequate ejection force for a torpedo.)

Switch is on, but no one's receiving.

Takes her 1.5 hours to watch "60 Minutes".

Takes her an hour to cook minute rice.

Takes his imagination out for a walk and ends up being draggedaround the block by it.

Talking with her is a career-limiting move.

Talking with him is a waste of good bandwidth.

Talks to plants on their own level.

Tall as a post and just as smart.

Team player... No chance he'll develop a personality on his own.

Technically sound, but socially impossible.

Teflon brain -- nothing sticks. -- Lilly Tomlin

Ten to the dozen.

The aliens forget to remove his anal probe.

The bark on her family tree actually involves canines.

The best part of him ran down his mother's legs. -- Jackie Gleason

The butter slipped off his noodle.

The cheese slid off his cracker.

The definitive answer is: Her glass is half empty.

The fan is working but the freon's leaked out.

The fire is going well, but the flue is closed.

The going got weird, and he turned pro.

The heater's plugged in but the rheostat's shot.

The march of his intellect is like that of a crab, backward.-- Peacock

The most rock-hard argument can crash through his airy head andcause only the slightest disturbance in the air currentsthat surround the void that comprises his knowledge.

The only place she's ever invited is outside.

The perfect personality to write software manuals.

The recesses of his mind are always in recess.

The result of years of careful inbreeding.

The sharpest thing he's allowed to play with is a red rubber ball.

The space between his ears powers vacuum pumps.

The spit valve's fallen off his trumpet again.

The twinkle in his eyes is actually the sun shining between his ears.

The two put together have an IQ over 150.

The wheel's spinning but the hamster's dead.

The world's foremost collector of ignorance.

Their family tree is a tumbleweed.

There are great people in the world, but she's not one of them.

There she sits, Finite State Automation at its best.

There's no ice cubes in THAT tray. -- Second City comedy troupe

There's nothing wrong with you that couldn't be cured witha little Prozac and a polo mallet. -- Woody Allen

They had to burn down the school to get her out of third grade.

They must have done a clean boot on him.

They never shut up on his planet.

Thick as a brick / whale omelette.

Thick as pig dung and twice as smelly.

Thinks "Private Enterprise" means owning a personal starship.

Thinks a permutation is a medical procedure.

Thinks at 5 baud.

Thinks cellular phones are carbon-based life forms.

Thinks Cheerios are doughnut seeds.

Thinks E=MC^2 is a rap star.

Thinks everyone else is entitled to his opinion, like it or not.

thinks in lower case & types accordingly

Thinks like a boar hog looks at a wristwatch.

Thinks male zebras are the ones with the black stripes.

Thinks Moby Dick is a kind of venereal disease.

Thinks Taco Bell is where you pay for your phone calls to Mexico.

Thirteen short of a dozen.

Three sigma off the norm.

Three-bag/coyote ugly. (Ask your mommy to explain.)

Throws his rod and reel off the bridge when casting.(I resemble that remark. -- editor)

Tight / waterproof as a fish's sphincter.

Tight as a bull's arse in fly season.

To make him laugh on Saturday, tell him a joke on Wednesday.

Tone arm is down but no music is playing.

Too dumb to be bothered when publicly displaying her ignorance.

Too dumb to know when you're getting smart / playing dumb with him.

Too many bad drugs, not enough good drugs.

Too many birds on her antenna.

Too many jokers and not enough aces in his deck.

Too many stop bits in his transmissions.

Too much yardage between the goal posts.

Too pointless to even be called a pinhead.

Top paddock is full of rocks.

Toys in the attic.

Train of thought derailed / still boarding at thestation / has no caboose.

Traveling faster than light, but left his sneakers behind.

Traveling without a passport/towel.

Tried welding two 2x4s together and burned down his house.

Tries to forward this list to some friends, but instead shipssix copies of it to the editor (groan).

Trips over cordless phones.

Truck can't haul a full load.

Truly believes "neural network" is a new Ted Turner enterprise.

Trying out for the javelin retrieval team.

Tuning in shortwave with a TV antenna.

Two bits short of a word/dollar.

Two degrees off square.

Two inches taller than spherical.

Types 120 words a minute but her keyboard isn't plugged in.

Uglier than a hat full of assholes. (Whatever that means.)

Ugly as a warthog and half as smart.

Unclear which of Newton's three laws of motion keeps his ears apart.

Understands English as well as any parrot.

Used to have a handle on life, but it broke.

Useful as dinosaur repellent.

Useful as passing gas in a spacesuit.

Useful as piss on a forest fire.

Useful as tits on a bullfrog / bull / boar-hog.

Uses all three functional neurons for his best work.

Uses AOL.

Uses his head best for rolling Easter eggs.

Uses his head to keep the rain out of his neck.

Uses thumbtacks to post notes -- on his refrigerator.

Uses two hands to eat with chopsticks.

Using a 1S-2D floppy for brains in a world of hard disks.

Vacancy on the top floor.

Vacuuming linoleum using a deep-pile setting. (Not pickingup anything.)

Vaginally challenged, and preoccupied with the problem.

Validates my inherent mistrust of strangers.

Vegitatum davenportae. (Couch potato.)

Vertically-fornicated mind.

Views mold as a higher life form.

Vowel-buyer. (As on the TV show Wheel of Fortune, when thesolution is already obvious.)

Waiting on a toaster that's not plugged in.

Warning: Objects in her mirror are dumber than they appear.

Warranty expired.

Was assimilated by the Borg.

Was born an acrobat but landed on his head.

Was born when the planets were misaligned.

Was first in line for brains, but ended up holding the door open.

Was left on the Tilt-A-Whirl a bit too long as a baby.

Was napping in the nut pile the day God was cracking nuts.

Wasn't abused as a child, but should have been.

Wasn't fully debugged before being released.

Wasn't strapped in during launch.

Watches "Beavis and Butthead" to learn vocabulary.

Watching programs not listed in TV Guide.

We're all missing cards from our decks -- and different cards, too.

We're all refreshed and challenged by her unique point of view.

Went in for repairs but wasn't tightened with a torque wrench.

Went to the dentist to have his cranial cavity filled.

Whatever kind of look she was going for, she missed.

When a thought crosses her mind, it's a long and lonely journey.

When God said, "Come forth for brains," he came fifth.

When he collects his thoughts, they fit in a verysmall container. -- Bob Thaves

When he was compiled they forgot to #include<smarts.h>/<iq.h>/<charm.h>.

When her window of opportunity opened, she had the shade drawn.

When opportunity knocked, she refused to open the door.

When she dances, she makes the band skip.

When she hauls ass, she has to make two trips.

When she puts on her lipstick, it keeps backing down the tube.-- Kevin Wilson

When she was born the doctor tried to kill her / slapped her mother.

When they handed out brains he got the short end of the stick / wasat the end of the line.

When they said "drain", he thought they said "brain".

Where it says, "Sign here", she writes, "Pisces".

While he was not dumber than an ox, he wasn't any smarter. -- Thurber

Whole lotta choppin', but no chips a flyin'.

Will never get a ticket for speeding.

Wise as the world is flat.

With one more neuron he'd have a synapse.

Won't eat eggs because he believes the "This is your brain" ads.

Works well when under constant supervision and corneredlike a rat in a trap.

Would make an excellent illustration in a proctology textbook.

Would need help to drool.

Would starve to death in a grocery store.

Wouldn't know a tram was up him if the conductor rang hisbell. (Australian)

Wouldn't know ore if it jumped out of the stope and bithim on the ass. (Said of mineral prospectors.)

Wouldn't make any sense if she ever made sense.

Wouldn't recognize a clue if he saw one / you showed himone (labelled "clue").

Wouldn't shout if a shark bit him. (Australianism meaning hewon't buy a round of drinks (shout) in turn.)

You can hardly tell that he's a simulation.

Zero K memory.

#fulldeckisms #nerdjokes #personalityjokes

0 notes

tnp4tbowm · 8 years ago

Text

THOTS & PRAYERS FOR THE BROTHERHOOD OF WHITE MEN

is what I’m gonna call this mess

since we’re the demo that does them best

if thots and prayers mean acting less

or voting against marginalized groups with minority stress… as if women at conference tables… and brown folks in dorms… need white guys subtracting more… and I know we use categories for making sense… and giving names to groups we haven’t met

but no

WHY DO YOU HATE WHITE MEN THAT’S LIKE ME SAYING I HATE FAGGOTS AND LATINAS

my brother

on the phone while I’m at an intersection

but what about flesh in the grass and women in ironworking and los trumpistas in southern california and pixie boys in kootenai county and ill-eagles fireworks on the skokomish reservation and mothers nursing children in rocking chairs at spokane international airport… and steer ropers staring in horses’ eyes… and words so strong they become actions like “guilty” and “I hereby pronounce you”

I want to say

it comes down to

while animals aim for physical victory bc they’re rewarded by evolutionary gain… my brother aims for high-volume sucker-punching bc… well same

no no no I reassure myself… I’ve prepared for this moment… covering my bedroom walls with butcher paper and definitions for agápē and wisdom and grace

the light turns green

in seattle where my boyfriend and I saw a band named “boyfriends”… consisting of three guys some with girlfriends maybe play-acting “gay”

not the faggot town I grew up in

did I say faggot town

flipped my thoughts

I live with faggots now

bc of course I moved away

from where I was raised… where ladies in subdivisions filled rusted bathtubs with dahlias… and re-arranged living room sectionals and side tables… and guys in trailer parks worked on TVs in their yards

I never smeared deer blood on my face after a kill… and neither did my brother

we never paintballed stop signs… or climbed trees to catch squirrels (the unofficial after-school workout of the wrestling team)… or nailed the bloody skins to the weight room wall… or chilled in the parking lot with the tenth-grade science teacher slash security guard

where I grew up

white trash was designated white as opposed to other dodgy colors

wonder if the cafeteria table at school still says derek smith is a fag… I see blocky letters behind my eyes… nirvana on the lawn… holding a stick next to a praying mantis… hoping she’ll crawl on

live in the same place long enough and the frogs will be gone

each year I bike a block further

find certainty in school

lay around and think about what's true

leave cleats books water bottles in the living room

train for x-country in july and august… dream of anthropology and art history in college… parents fill out FAFSA forms

unconscious

at the intersection of my privs

square jaw wide grip

I give in

I say to my brother

driving by the gaybucks

are you serious? I ask... you want to do this rn? you think I hate white men? you didn’t show much interest in my self-hatred when we were teens

we were raised to read widely on top of doing our homework for English class… stories about white men unable to find work or shelter… I stayed awake by reading one chapter in the basement of our three-story home and another chapter in the bath… and another chapter in the basement… and another in the bath

it was 1997 and everyone was wearing ck jeans and eternity cologne and disappearing into the wood paneling of their basements

not everyone wrote a 5-paragraph paper on why abortion was wrong

but I did

most people ate the pro-life sundaes at youth group

as the tin man in our high school production of “The Wizard of Oz”… I dreamed of a fabulous life in the emerald city… while listening to conservatives in the community complain about the presence of witches and pagan values in the play… a few token liberals described how the Wicked Witch’s green skin and Glinda’s button nose… equated virtue with appearance

I worked on a farm for $

hi-ho the derrrrrrrrry-o

faggot on the farm

flesh in the grass

telling stories and pulling weeds as I acknowledged “weed” was a human category… for life distinct from other forms of life… standing out in color and shape… budding out of place

when I got home I studied Zanie’s backwoods dialect in Zora Neale Hurston’s “Their Eyes Were Watching God”

four years later

ash-covered New Yorkers crossed the Brooklyn Bridge with their hands on their faces

I picked blueberries on Mount Rainier… asked if subalpine flowers should smell like dryer sheets… if lakes should be toilet tab blue

¾” threaded galvanized pipe two chain links eye bolts flag

supplies list from the guy at the rest-stop on the way home… old glory should stand up to a 96 mile trip up to 70 mph

I went to work folding taco wrappers into triangles like nothing had happened… and made food with beef that showed up in boxes marked “fit for human consumption”… staging mexi-fries under heat lamps in groups of two or three

while boy george (w.) signed the Providing Appropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism act

after work I slept in self-inflicted poverty in a house full of guys who did backyard enemas and drank jars of pee and kept mushroom journals… and changed my opinion about property ownership… bc why bother storing up treasure when human possession is an illusion… and condoleeza rice has a chevron tanker named after her

we argued about earth history and theological precepts like pre-destination

but agreed

god’s complacent

should be more like the hippie guy in the volkswagen van… with Eden Before The Fall painted one side… and Eden After The Fall on the other… and a nice patch of grass growing on top

textbooks copied screens

fireplaces provided intimacy w/o heat

virtual experiences dominated references in speech

green-tongued goats on forest service roads licked antifreeze

we asked if the phone was real or surround sound prestige... did the spin instructor in the windowless gym want sixty percent on hills or ninety percent on streets… is the norway maple transplanted to the front lawn of the new house conveying a line of aristocratic family wealth

an old-growth tree

the entrepreneur in an education workshop talked about “products” metaphorically

a patriot/explorer on a mustang/bronco went on an expedition/excursion to the frontier/tundra… passing through the winnebago tribe saying

srry bout it

the kids on the makah reservation don’t want whale sandwiches

wal-mart got blue and target red

white wonder bread

happy meals

j. christ

c.e.o.

5 lb cereal

4 brown ghosts

the speaker at the commencement ceremony joked, “what’s the difference between Pullman and a cup of yogurt?”

the cup of yogurt has more culture

zuckerberg’s hoodie went from “disregard for convention” to “purity of intention”… for someone too focused to worry about clothes… monastic gray was helping folks

now we’re here

we’re here

at the mindfulness weight loss retreat… three raisins… six almonds… the right herbal tincture… twenty minutes in the redwoods

dragging

the past in front of us bc it happened

we’re at home eating pancakes with butter and syrup and powdered sugar… but the sugar is crushed-up hydroxycut

city buildings capture sun for the 20%

hey shadows

and data-mining companies have been adding my places of employment and the mesh shorts I almost bought… and the dreams I deferred and the shows I watch… to their digital dossier of me… and I guess the gazing goes one way but not the other… like church… where predictive analytics play upon thirsts… and hunt me down like unicorn shirts

what’s next

trees drop plastic fruits

domesticated deer eat out of troughs

stunt-double bears rent suits in parking lots

forest rangers lasso the last of the orioles and roll up the sky

we learn

the last time I had a long island iced was... the last time I had a long island iced tea

seeeeeeeeeeeeeee

bro

I’m doing better

you’re like me

except I’m a busybody

with no kids

wish: “pc lecture with moral authoritarian tone by urban elite who reflexively rejects critiques of globalization”… reads “fearless inventory in a world where ‘quinoa empanadas’ are a thing… and platters of deviled eggs watch the horizon”

so even as I call your baby’s bedroom view of the skyline from your island home

privilege bestowed

I call out myself

for lavender cookies and oatmeal soap

never noticing appropriation in cartoon indian smokes

white peace pipe under a red sun on a yellow box

database of ruin snapshots

you know how I spent those years teaching high school in gig harbor… what you don’t know is I had two Hispanic sisters… Maria and Paula… spend a quarter translating children’s books on sticky notes

they

smiled

yawned

bored

I was their teacher and offered “support”

(but if you need more… in 2009 I was plucking spraying spiking shaving shoving… like the guys on jersey shore… watched every episode and called it my reward… for getting through two president bushes)

the founding fathers designed our branches of government to withstand the likes of King George

(also: granted love to gather more of it, shirked a wrong but lorded over it)

psychologically spiraling… debating if I should share the video of the first lady in the blue dress staring at her feet during inaugural prayer… wondering if I’m feeling personal irritability or existential despair… if I have “compassion fatigue” from doing “emotional labor” in my newsfeed

why someone hasn’t invented a female-friendly pee trough between the knees… why menopausal sensuality gets teased… why testosterone means feeling confident about incorrect answers

have the decency to feel guilty

living off the massive retail workforce stocking big-box brick-and-mortar stores and online fulfillment centers

what did we expect

detaching personal accountability from global effects

what did you think

watching nature documentaries frame lions as villains… positing giraffes as victims… when we know aggression isn’t something “we get out of our systems”

but confessing rings wrong

I say to my brother

pulling up to my apartment home

ear hot from the phone

how’s the kid

peeing blood

good… he’s got a kitchen set with a stove and dishwasher… he cooks plastic things while he toot-toots… farts on command... he says

I hope he’s reading “Radical American Women A-Z” and “The Adventures of Toni the Tampon”… I say… and playing with the nine new ken dolls with ethnically ambiguous face-sculpts… developing new play patterns… bc brown kids asked to play with “the good doll” choose the white doll… and still grow up overly disciplined at school… by administrators analyzing “racial predictability and dis-proportionality in achievement categories”… without saying the word “racist”

I like body positive post-holiday ken his paunch

also our white immigrant ancestors got rich enslaving Blacks

(the rest of the starter kit for understanding institutional injustice can be found online @ www.google.com)

(intermediate: people of color fight against constructed realities… internally and externally… and the racial imaginary overlaps with the gay imaginary bc invisible people need some space to practice their fkn moves… but what about time and place… whose ear does the hearing… which mouth translates)

o say can I… being me… understand how corporate restructuring shows one face and sublimates others… contributes to oppression where double consciousness affects women and people of color

o say can I hear the oppressors’ voices renegotiate my thoughts decolonize space

where do I fit in? will there be room for me? how do I make room for others?

my brother suddenly has to go asks if you’ll be him on the phone

yes

it's complicated

but yes

(if you're not my brother and the request is nbd bc you've always heard the voices of white men… I invite you to continue… if you’d rather not… peace be with you… let’s hang soon… I love you)

and right there did you feel that [ [ [ [

in actual life we aren’t there yet… I hung up the phone after ��faggots and Latinas”... bc my hands were shaking so hard I could barely steer

typical of you to back out of conversation before we say the hurtful things you say

before we say the hurtful things? before? I ask

1) well at least I finally have the upper hand with you thinking you can threaten broken bonds 2) I’ve never seen two belief systems more perfectly in line 3) I guess you stand for democratic values most of the time

we’ll never know what’s depraved and what's divine… I can’t read hearts and I can’t read minds

already I had escaped into the televised self-help seminar in my head… where I am the host rolling up my sleeves… ready to hear from household cleaner huffing sisters… and visualize problems worse than mine

after the commercial break I engage the girls in patient-therapist interactions... mixing hard-hitting realism and hypersensitive dialogue… as intolerable and inauthentic as my wife’s bouffant

basically I’m dr. phil… but also… if it’s okay with you… I’d love to try being the girls… who haven’t seen their father since they were two

and later during the re-tape… the visiting expert with a new self-help book… explains the “colorization of the soul”… saying “I think it makes sense to nurture the ‘daily me’ before skimming the news… look here… on the color rubric… reds before blues”

red apples picked by farm workers with multiple SSNs

blue mechanics in overalls twirling ballpoint pens

white eggshell enamel over pink or saccharine

symbols up for grabs… by anyone… bc that’s what I was told growing up and believed… I can be anyone I wanna be

hope the same for Muslim girls wearing spandex hijabs in P.E.

our country is not exempt… when campaign rallies look like nests… but I know I’m like… eighty-two percent spoon-fed/tone-deaf

tomorrow

is a child’s flying drone-wish… where native plants have extraordinary ability visas like the biebs… germinate round-up ready soft white wheat… and facial recognition software on my self-driving truck beeps… bc I’m not wearing guyliner… and lack ethereum cryptocurrency

so I walk into a bar and borrow liquid pencil

apply it in the mirror by the urinal

remembrance of things pabst

love comes in spurts

the worst

hasn’t

hap-

pened

be around

thanks

I’ll be a morel mushroom full of vitamin d in the dark

an emerald city queer in the shadow of Rainier where bark is bark

mist from the Nisqually River rolls above the fast part

torrent > P2P file sharing

a robot hands me a warm towel after yoga… scans my sweat for communicable diseases

construction workers buy baguettes out of a wheelbarrow… from my kids

paid in no-nuance knockoff dramatized black lady gifs

blood on their faces hunting feral pigs

allahu akbar… on the fortieth click… means more than the first search results about jihadist battle cries… jihad… means more than the first search results about holy wars

as-salaam aleikum… peace be unto you

saw-lahm

all-lay-koooooooom

while keeping an eye on the horizon

for crowd estimation software in weather balloons

across the un-crossable Puget Sound

not really

we live in western wash.

what I’m saying is… I’m not traveling down Tolkien’s path… climbing Silverstein’s precipice… crossing a toothpick pier… or boarding a balsa wood boat… for a “dialogue event”… when I see you across this metaphorical inlet

not everything overlaps… smoke + fog = smog… marionette + puppet = muppet… enchilada + burrito = enchurrito… intermingling > provinciality…but apple slices on guacamole is white people saying to Mexicans we want your food and want to “touch” it too

eww

I want the queer bar full of queers… and that’s true of any gathering place… the identity shifts with who’s there and who stays… for physical touch and feeling safe... and cultural intensification... we congregate

I could never hate feminist separatists reading sappho by lyre

agrarian nationalists and queer energy collectives disappear

cross the cascades… to north idaho… passport in hand to show agents at the skin of the bubble… preparing for my cousin the welder… who can’t get out of his trailer… and my dad who says seat belts and metric measurements are communist and has a legal pad with instructions for working the computer

the girl on the greyhound says she didn’t go to college for four years to sit on her ass and bake cookies

been awhile

a few days later I ride in the back of our uncle’s truck to the parade… where grandma reminds me to keep my beer tabs so kristy will get a party for her class… as we set up folding chairs on the sidewalk… to watch shriners on little cars… and wave at hooters girls on the make-a-wish float… the mayor… always pooping in other people’s pants… grandma says… as we find ourselves standing and clapping for the coeur d’alene tribe

after mayor and police go by

later help grandma make tater tot hot dish... wrap the pan in a bath towel she pulls from a cabinet full of towels stacked vertically like pizza boxes

small talk

fawn over the s’mores pie with graham cracker crumbs on bottom and top… especially the marshmallowy middle

oh oops

did I go there

pre-prayer

here’s the thing… the alliances we need to overcome the monster are never what we think they are… and seeing anti-american sentiment in the firmament… and indicator species’ temperaments… reminds us the world collects… and/or usurps the throne… the debt is more than we think we owe… there won’t be polite knocking or ceremonial drumming… by so-called “others” we didn’t see coming

solution… testing limits… and I don’t mean excusing myself to get the wings by the jumper cables in the trunk… walking back in and telling everyone angel gabriel is here… saying… oh I guess this isn’t… is this not the sexy jesus party with a crucifix selfie station?

omg that hoe over there

our arguments are basically light divisions… internal-only obstacles where I go back and forth debating

I know

this makes you wanna scream into the phone

well

here’s a semi-autobiographical lyric novella in the form of an epic poem

typical passive progressiveness… I can’t even talk to you face-to-face… when you wanna chill by the water tank… I communicate via popsicle stick messages in the gutter / everyone on tumblr

one thing’s for sure… we’re giving up some things... s’mores pie is on the table… but it’s not on the table… of sacrifices I’ll be making… bc I love s’mores pie

we don’t wanna give up anything but we have to try

our lives are characterized by conveniences with steep costs

like celery and bell peppers and onions already chopped

people with invisibility powers can’t be stopped

rowing outside San Diego and the Gulf

above cracked pipes and pvc

clouds of oil

grass and reeds

dragonflies and damselflies with heavy wings

on multi-generational round-trips without breaks to breathe in juniper trees

addition: we had a seed vault… a plan b food bank… to take care of us... in case a plague trapped in siberian ice destroyed our crops… but ten years went by without permafrost… and car-less urbanites with mileage plans... shrugged and said there was nothing they could do

a collapsed ice shelf is another place for cargo ships to pass through

our ecosystems depend on conversations among interlocking interdependent parts… more than mermaid toast or zombie shows… or mother nature wish-fulfillment fantasies… where we ask quail and cranes in the forest… to come out of the trees and lift us away by our shoulder pads

our second eye watches the ground… as we pace sidewalks disrupted by roots… thank inchworms for decompositions…. trace the paths of ants on the side… turn our ears like ferris wheels on the sly

inner vision attuned

wilderness survival guide

I do not have superior autobiographical memory like my faggot boyfriend does… brother… but if I remember right you beat up the guy who peed on my backpack in ninth grade… bc the next passing period… he apologized

I’m in bed rn… thinking about how I hate your muscular public practice… but needed it… srry for being confused

the word is not the thing

the menu is not the food

the plan

after I’ve figured out what I can give up

is to invite people to a park

grand theft auto fans

promote

slacktivist slash accent coach

mom in dallas… cashier cleric caregiver… competing for section 8 vouchers

developer counting kickbacks and calories... at a housing tax credit industry gathering

middle-aged man afraid to lose… leaving Buenavista for Baton Rouge… parents of dead black kids don’t know what to do… Saudi women barred from carpools… El Salvadoran sugarcane harvesters… closeted Egyptian police officers… Filipino nannies tinikling to Lil’ Wayne… trans women fighting the state… Miss Texas 1988… Harlotte O’Scara Hellen Tragedy… snake handler crab trapper… adjunct professor qualitative researcher… world’s most prolific fortune cookie writer… Bible Jim… shirtless guy next to him in briefs and “This man gave me a blowjob” sharpied on his chest

salmon in gasoline

up the bank across the street

pipeline burst on whatcom creek

hyper-empathic hatchimal colleggtor

trained to serve but not hit back

except in tennis lessons

the male coach

flips that

srry

gay hater cake maker cradle labeler

homo-plausible bi-logical

floral arranger

retain it or give it away

intellectual property is three chords

and the person with less power says you're not allowed

your brother

it’ll be the opposite of when I showed up at your house after my wife left me… and you opened the door… and I collapsed in your arms in the hallway… and bc you’re a few inches taller than me… and my knees wouldn’t work… you saw the nail marks on the walls of my subconscious

we’ll play a game… where we introduce ourselves

recall times in our lives with less repetition more repair

describing versions of ourselves adding post-scripts unaware

listing words we never use: farce, fatuous, machination, myopic, subterfuge

sorting beliefs by size date modified proof

discuss satire-less south park

duraflame start

galvanize flake n rust

behave spontaneously n not combust

help hippielandia hostel in flames

learn ancient proto-langs

repeat shit we wanna forget

like, has anyone checked on the family in the nuclear train car yet

we’ll discuss what should change… what should stay the same… believe ourselves capable of restraint… revive the practice of communal processing… where townspeople gather side by side… to watch events from the day reenacted in light

practice… on a page

like in a play

oceans and lands… dna strands… airspace… electromagnetic spectrums… gridded and privatized… but the public square

ACT I

CURTAINS OPEN ON PARK/SQUARE. TOWNSPEOPLE GATHER IN HALF-CIRCLE. MISSILE, WEATHER BALLOON, AND RED SUN HANG OVERHEAD

NICO: “I’ve been thinking about how I might convey my progressive morals in a way that sounds wholesome to my family.”

ISSA: “I’m done with that. I spend ten dollars on tampons at the store and my husband gets a bowlful of condoms every time he orders a jaeger shot. Then if I mention the disparity he blames ‘red tide.’ When I needed postnatal care to stop my fourth trimester pants-pissing, my doctor’s visit wasn’t covered. Society isn’t family friendly. I spend forty-minutes on the couch organizing housework and childcare each week, and regardless of what society says, that’s project management.”

JASLENE: “Last year my teacher gave everyone two bathroom passes and if you didn’t use them they were worth extra credit, so I left bloody circles on the chair para mostrarle que esto es lo que sucedería.”

CROWD SILENCES. BOY IN “WANNA LIFT?” SHIRT LEAVES. DARLENE STEPS TO THE MIDDLE.

DARLENE (to vacated space, then to group): “We’ll miss you… Every manifestation of good and evil has part of the answer, but also, immovable people will not be moved. We will show civil inattention by giving him the space he needs.”

MARK: “I’ll never represent my beliefs adequately since I have trouble telling the barber how I want my hair without the assistance of visual aids, but I’m here to talk anyway.”

JAMES: “We're standing on varying levels of culturally constructed oppressive frames and the only way to deconstruct the artifice as it exists is to stand on the ones that are more entrenched and take apart the ones that are less entrenched.”

SOFÍA: “I’m so confused by the fact that I’m not supposed to feel shame, except for all the things I’m supposed to feel shameful about, which aren’t the things I thought were shameful. Am I supposed to know what a ‘gender illusionist’ is? I thought liking men made my nephew gay.”

CURTAINS CLOSE

overheard in audience:

they’re not connecting… just waiting turns and expressing

let’s not underestimate the hard work of avoiding moral outrage

dismayed at the repetition of “but” while conversation disintegrates

hang on

looking up cognac insta chef’s recipe for caramel-drizzled hennessy cupcakes

unwilling to listen generously… while aiming for an ending other than intensifying favoritism is like nailing jelly to a tree

using a chainsaw to cut butter

jumping from flower to flower in a fern gulley type situation

pragmatism is a dangerous alternative to conviction

ACT II

CURTAINS OPEN. CHARACTER ‘YOU’ GAZES OUT OF HOUSE WINDOW ON AN ISLAND, STAGE LEFT. CHARACTER ‘ME’ LOOKS OUT APARTMENT WINDOW IN A CITY, STAGE RIGHT

In unison: I promise me: to fight for-profit prisons, schools, and kidney-dialysis centers. you: [ [ [ [

In unison: I think I can give up me: the scholarship I got in college and give it to someone who needs it. But don’t touch the s’mores pie. you: [ [ [ [

In unison: I’ve been thinking about me: what you shared with me about China building artificial land around the Spratly Islands. And how prison construction companies look at standardized test data from second grade children of color. you: [ [ [ [

In unison: I believe I am owed me: a reply. Not long, but something. you: [ [ [ [

In unison: I care about me: how Ryan and Jesse’s mom used to put Carl Budding lunchmeat with mayonnaise and mustard in a blender… set it on ‘mash’ for a game of Duck Hunt… scoop it into Tupperware… and smear it on white bread throughout the week. I would eat that over apples on guacamole. The real globaloney. you: [ [ [ [

In unison: I hope me: we find space to show real love to kenyan baboons in garbage dumps and dioxin babies walking like spiders with red septic skin and people in apartments named after species they’ve displaced and women planning the clean-up of their suicides. you: [ [ [ [

CURTAINS CLOSE: INTERMISSION

overheard in lobby:

coming up with a formula for interacting in common space

himalayan crystals from the mystic utilikit dude

maybe we’ll see them agree… or calm down… or point towards partial truth… or connect idealism to privilege

not youth

we know old folks are idealistic

planting seeds without expecting fruits

going to target and payless shoes

ACTS III+

CURTAINS OPEN ON PARK/SQUARE. TOWNSPEOPLE HUDDLE AROUND A RADIO, AS IF IN A SNOWSTORM.

RADIO: ... let it be that great strong land of love… where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme… that any man be crushed by one above…

DARLENE: “Starting sentences with ‘I’ is a good place to begin, but feelings of belonging go deeper. Shift responses bring the attention to ourselves. Support responses ask for more. Let’s be more than cannibals with knives and forks.”

MARK: “Food metaphors. We want to think about asking better questions. ‘What place most inspires you?’ instead of ‘Where have you traveled?’ ‘What work are you passionate about?’ instead of ‘What do you do?’”

JASLENE: “What's your weightiest belief? What's your most potent fear?”

RADIO: … clutching the hope I seek… and finding only the same old stupid plan… of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak… it never was America to me…

ISSA: “The desperate search for an ethic, a specter.”

JASON: “I am willing to give up my authority but don't touch my autonomy.”

RADIO: ... say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? and who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

YOU: [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [

EPILOGUE

Before sharing my brother’s response, I want to say I wrote “Thots & Prayers” because women get fewer obituaries than men in newspapers. Because the Baltimore Orioles lost way back when they had no tree canopy in which to land. Because trauma squats in the valley and anxiety raps her knuckles on the hill. Because Taco Bell spent 10 years and $15 mill developing stretchy cheese. Because men look at other men working in daycare centers and think they’re dumb for frittering away perks that should have been theirs from birth. Because my older brother yelled about faggots and Latinas after visiting the site of the Orlando Pulse shooting.

I am not looking to be comforted or assuaged.

White men need to educate each other. It’s not anyone else's job. We need to listen to the cultural conversation, see connections, and act on behalf of people who aren't seen. We need to be friendly in crowded places, and pull each other aside and be bridges.

I hope my family understands how many things will break if we don’t accommodate fragility. I’m not a metaphysician and don’t know about quantum mechanics or particle physics, but I know the phrase “I hope” is a glimmer of light living outside my rage. “I hope” signals my privilege. I hope to understand more about “I hope” in the context of everyday life in coming days.

As a beneficiary of entrenched systems, I work for everyone to have equal voice and access. I work for what’s best in my neighborhood and nation, on this striking and stunning and astoundingly polluted planet. I avoid asteroid-bashing. I avoid the ossification of stalemate. I avoid co-opting languages of the oppressed. I save room for warmth and time for children. I learn about neuro-diversity in the workplace and nutrient density in school lunches, and communicate generously about these issues and other issues, like the shared struggle for justice.

Mantras I’m saying and acting upon.

What’s mine is yours.

We do not need all the parts of the old society to create a new one.

If you feel inspired, please comment. I’d love to hear your weightiest belief, most potent fear, frustrations, considerations, qualifications, corrections, assessments, and agreements. No presh. I get nervous sharing my feelings, and words impact and behave differently for different people. The spaces between known grains of wood make wood strong.

I wasn’t sure if my brother would be a grain or a space. He’s the first person to admit he doesn’t read much and would rather talk on the phone or hash things out in person. Before sharing this, I called him up and said, “I’m about to send you a piece of writing. You don’t have to read the whole thing. You can always ‘Ctl. F’ and look for ‘brother.’”

Here’s what he wrote:

FYI, I don't really like you writing somewhat rude things about me and my house (which I take as jabs towards my wife and kids), etc. I don't do that towards you. I know there was some nice stuff too… I am communicating by e-mail as I know email is your preferred method, but at some point you need to realize I have feelings and opinions too, and don’t share them with everyone.

Right now I’m looking at 40+ people smoking joints outside the subsidized housing across the street. Wish I had that option. I wonder if their chronic drug use is helping out the health care system – I know they're not paying into it? I was up at 4:05 a.m. today to keep working toward losing that 20 lbs. so I'm not a burden on the system in the future. Learned that from Mom and Dad. I guess sometimes I feel ripped off. Need to get back to work now as I need to pay bills.

I’m sorry about the hate stuff that one day, you know I don't feel that way.

On another note, is hydroxycut good stuff?

He attached a document where he continued the conversation.

I promise to… take care of my kids and not cheat on my wife.

I’ve been thinking about… how to lose 20 more lbs. so I’m not dead when my kids are 40.

I feel like I am owed… nothing. I don’t feel I’m owed anything. Everyone chooses how to spend their money.

... and gave me prompts of my own.

In unison: I’ve been busy me: working about 12 hours per day if I count commuting and working on my house. you: [

In unison: I save my money for me: the future. I think I’m responsible for taking care of my own problems instead of hoping someone will help me out if something happens. you: [

In unison: I feel I’m privileged because me: I had a good Mom, Dad, and brothers growing up. I was never given any money, but having someone in your corner is more valuable. I am in your corner if you are in a pinch, and I know Mom and Dad are too. you: [

Working for a great strong land of love,

COLOPHON

Published on tumblr on Thursday, Aug. 10, “Thots & Prayers” is a phone transcript, visual essay, poem, and interactive self-help manual. I edited my brother’s written response for clarity. My mom took the pictures of my brother and me. My friend Jonathan Ursin took the pictures of me kneeling on the amphitheater stage and laying in the grass with rosary beads. I took the rest. Spanish phrases were proofed by Alè Barrientos. Radio broadcast lines are excerpted from Langston Hughes’ “Let America Be America Again.” Endorsement by Seattle performer Nico Pecans (they/them) / Miss Texas 1988 (she/her) is available. Lines from “James” and “Jason” are from interviews with James and Jason. PDF with original formatting shared upon request.

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alicescripts · 8 years ago

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Part 2, Chapter 4: Chain

A strip mall off the turnpike in New Jersey. Looking for lunch. From where I stand by my truck, this could be anywhere.

We must have decided this, right, at some point? That we wanted it all to look the same? And I can understand that decision. We all like to feel somewhere familiar. Now we can have that feeling wherever we are. No matter the climate or geography, you come inside the chain and you are exactly where you were before, like there was a magic door to the city you feel most comfortable in. It’s a positive that can’t be denied.

But we have paid a price for this.

Sylvia laughed and pulled my arm. “I know,” she said. “You’re thinkin’ your big thoughts so you can have something profound to say on the radio later, but I am starvin’!” “Can’t a lady have thoughts in peace occasionally? I said. “A lady spends all her time on her ass thinkin’ and right now it’s lunchtime,” she said. “Ooh, burgers!”

In between a Chipotle and a Quiznos was a store front that twisted my guts. I tried to process what I was seeing. “Let’s eat there,” Sylvia said, already walking toward it.

The design of the place was as clean and interchangeable as any other restaurant in the strip mall. But there was the sign in the shape of a burger. The sign said, “PRAXIS”.

The inside was a simple counter and a couple tables with plastic chairs. The wall was papered in comic book covers, although I didn’t recognize any of the characters. “Tiptoe Woman”, one was called. Another called “The Incredible Man who Cries.” “I might get a chicken sandwich,” Sylvia said. “Is that weird, getting chicken at a burger place?”

I forgot how alone I was til I wasn’t anymore. Having Sylvia here has been nice. And maybe I feel guilty about that, because she’s still a teenager, and she should be living in a stable home, going to school and being a kid, not circling this country with me. But I’m not the one that murdered Sylvia’s mother and left her with the same obsession I have.

She came to me for a specific reason, but first I have routes I need to run, and she’s content to run them with me. Bay and Creek is unlikely to fire me, but I have been flat out ignoring delivery schedules and I think I need to actually drive a truck for work occasionally.

“What can I get you?” The guy behind the counter had thinning hair under a little paper cap. The cap said “PRAXIS”. “Uh, what’s good?” I said. “Burger’s OK.” I ordered a burger and Sylvia, after some vacillation, did the same. He wrote up the order on a slip and pushed it to the woman at the grill without looking at her. “Two burgers up in a moment!” she said. The man did not acknowledge this. “What’s your name?” said Sylvia. “Ramon,” he said. “And I’m Donna!” said the woman in the kitchen, as she slapped a fistful of ground meat on the flat top and smashed it with a spatula. “He won’t introduce me, he doesn’t talk to me.” “Why not?” I asked. “I’ll have burgers out to you in a moment,” Ramon said. “We’ve been running this business together for five years,” said Donna, “and he has never spoken to me.” “Is that true?” Sylvia asked Ramon. He scowled. “Our parents died,” Donna said. Ramon furiously cleaned the spotless counter with a rug. “They left us everything equally. Soon after their death, I sold their house, the house we grew up in. I didn’t have time to consult with him, and he hasn’t talked to me since. Order up!” Ramon carried them over. “Is it OK if I tell you something?” I asked. “Doubt I could stop you,” he said. “Someone hurt me, “ is aid, “betrayed me. And that has defined what my life has been for every second of every day after. And it has sucked. If I had any other choice I’d take it. if you have any other choice besides being defined by a feeling of betrayal, you should jump for it. jump for it like dry land to the drowned.” Ramon’s eyes softened. “You gotta forgive her some time, dude,” Sylvia said through a mouthful of burger. “This is really good, by the way.” [chewing noise]

He grunted, returning to the counter. The paper napkins all had the word “PRAXIS” on them. Sylvia took one and did a sketch of Ramon, holding a burger and giving a stone-faced thumbs up to the viewer. On our way out, she presented it to him. He said nothing as he accepted, but his lip twitched upwards. “Bye now!” said Donna from the kitchen. Ramon’s frown returned.

An hour later back on the road, I slapped the steering wheel, waking Sylvia up. “Christ, what?” she said. “Are we in danger?” “Ugh! I left my scarf at the burger place,” I said. [sighs] “Oh well. I guess that scarf belongs to them now.”

It’s hard to tell regions apart just by looking at the buildings now. A CVS is a CVS, a Starbucks is a Starbucks. I’m not here to moralize, I’m just telling you what it is to be a traveler now.

Every place is built like every place, and so the only thing that tells you that you’re moving is the nature that’s been allowed to stay.

As you head north, the trees shift from broad leafy canopies to the narrow spurs of conifers. And the mountains turn from big hills to great structures of rock, topped with vast slopes of untouched snow. Or , on another drive, the hills dot themselves away into nothing. And you realize you haven’t seen elevaton in hours, nor many trees, just a lot of grass and a lot of road. Or you leave behind a wetter, greener climate, and you see the world around you fade from grass to kindling, to dirt and rocks and then, like a sign marking a border you didn’t know you were crossing, the first great cactus, harbinger of the waiting desert.

It’s up to nature to tell us we’re moving. Otherwise, each Kmart sign looks like each Kmart sign. Every Subway sandwich tastes the same.

A few days later, somewhere north of Madison, near Devil’s Lake. There was this big stretch of hotels with indoor water parks, for when the Wisconsin weather with the Wisconsin vacation. Near the hotel was a cluster of shopping centers, movie theaters, all the things you ned if your camping trip is forced indoors. We were scanning for somewhere to eat and Sylvia was of course the first one who saw it. “I guess they’re a chain,” she said. A burger-shaped sign. “PRAXIS”. “Mm, last one was good. Shall we?” Something in me was afraid, but something in me is always afraid, and I’ve gotten very good at quieting that part of me. So I led the way in.

“You forgot your scarf,” said Ramon. Donna waved at us from the kitchen. Sylvia and I froze, but Ramon was already bringing over my scarf, and Donna was indicating a table in the corner. “Wh- What are you doing here?” was the best I could manage. “Well, we hardly ever leave the business,” Donna said. “Lots to do,” Ramon said, folding up my scarf and putting it by me. “Same as last time?” “Uh, sure,” Sylvia said. “Weren’t you-“ She didn’t seem to know if this was a subject she wanted to look at too closely, but she went for it anyway. “Weren’t y’all in New Jersey last time we saw you?” Donna shrugged, splatting our patties on the grill. “We don’t get out much,” Ramon said, and then “Thanks,” said absently as Donna gave him the burgers. She stopped, hand still on one of the plates. “Did you just talk to me?” she said. “Well, like those two were saying,” he said not looking at her, “have to forgive sometime.” “Forgive?” Donna started laughing. “Oh ho ho honey, OK, I’m glad we’re talking now because we have some shit needs talking about.” We sat at the table not knowing what to do, caught between the mundanely awkward and the existentially impossible. “When they died, you just gave up!” Donna said. “You refused to talk through the choices we needed to make. So all that was left up to me. I was on my own, and I was scared, but scared isn’t any kind of excuse so I did what needed to be done. I settled the estate, I sold the house to pay the bills, because there were bills, you know. Medical bills, cemetery bills and all of the debt. And then once all of those choices were made, there you were to tell me I had done them wrong. And you just stopped talking to me, punishing me for the choices that you couldn’t make! And now, excuse me, now you fucking forgive me?!” Or something to that effect. “I didn’t do anything?” Ramon said. “Who was busy arranging the funeral?” “OH, the funeral!” said Donna. “Of course, forget all the bills and the estate, you planned an evening!”

Sylvia pulled my sleeve and we left them shouting at each other, burgers unserved and uneaten. Behind the shouting figure of Ramon, I could see Sylvia’s drawing tacked up on the wall next to the cash register.

Stopped at a Dunkin’ Donuts that had a drive-thru window. And visible to the costumers, there was a huge screen tracking the percentage the employees were hitting of their “productivity target”. It was at 67 per cent. This per cent is 67 per cent of what they’re supposed to be. We are 33 per cent disappointed.

It’s terrifying what we’ve allowed them to do to us, so we could get coffee a few seconds faster. It’s a trade we all made, but we were never given time to think through the ramifications.

On the highway between Houston and New Orleans, a stretch of bayou and of absolutely nothing else. Pulled off for gas and decided to get lunch too.

We both saw it, between an empty storefront with a half-collapsed banner saying “we buy gold” and a nail salon with only one employee, who was on a smoke break outside, staring up with unfocused eyes at he sky.

We didn’t even comment on it, we just went in past the sign that sais “PRAXIS”. “Hey,” Ramon said. “Hi there honeys!” said Donna. “You two seem happier,” said Sylvia. “We worked things out,” Donna said. “Maybe we both had to forgive and both be forgiven,” said Ramon. “It’s nice that you’re back. You’ll be one of our last customers.” Donna put two patties on the flat top without waiting for our order. “Oh, you’re uh.. closing up this place?” I said. “Running the business that our parents ran,” said Donna. “It was holding us back, keeping us in the same place mentally. We need to live our own lives. Thanks for visiting us along your travels!” “This restaurant has been in a different city every time we visited, “I said, wanting to confront it directly if this was my last chance. Ramon shrugged. “These things happen,” he said. “Do they?” said Sylvia. “What is Praxis?” I said. Donna smiled at me. “Oh honey, if you don’t know that yet, don’t worry. You’ll find out when it’s time.” She assembled the burgers and rang the little bell, even if Ramon was right there, his hands already out. “Thanks again for your business!”

Sylvia’s sketch was still tacked to the wall, but it had faded, and the edges of the napkin had gone brittle.

At a Bay and Creek center near Buffalo, I asked about the delivery I did last year to a factory in Florida. “Praxis”, the name on the factory had said. “What is Praxis?” I asked. The shift supervisor, who had been looking over her papers (and the days at) tedium, went stiff. “Where did you hear that name?” she said. “You assigned me a route for them last year.” “We certainly did not. You need to tell me everything, but hold on.” She got up, reached for a phone. “Not me, I don’t want to hear a word of this. I’ll call someone in here, and you are going to tell them everything you know about Praxis.” She started dialing and I got up and walked away. She shouted at me to wait, but I was most certainly not going to do that.

What is Praxis, and why did the name upset my Bay and Creek supervisor so much?

Hm. Another mystery for another day. It’s time to help Sylvia with what she came to me for.

I leave the truck, switch to a rented car. Sylvia sleeps in the back. Whew, that girl can sleep! Me, I have trouble sleeping in the best of situations. And I haven’t been in the best of situations in… well, years now probably.

We drive for hours through New York until we reach the Hudson river. In Kingston, on the western shore, there is this huge area of chain restaurants and box stores and strip malls. It looks like they kept the rest of the area picturesque by jamming all of that into a couple of square miles, which is a pretty good plan.

I drive around, looking for something specific. And I find it, next to a half-vacant mall anchored by a Target and what used to be a JC Pennies. There is a line of fast food franchises, and there is only one empty storefront.

We get out, and I ran my hand over the glass where the outline of the word “PRAXIS” is still visible. The inside is empty, all the furniture and fixtures removed. “Guess they really did move on,” Sylvia said. “How was that possible?” I asked. “We of all people are not in the position to go round asking those questions,” she said. “We start thinking about that, we’re liable to go off the deep end. Good Lord!”

And so we get back in the car and cross the river. I head to the Taconic Parkway, passing a few Christmas tree farms and a number of horses wearing jackets. The Taconic is beautiful but narrow. Finally, we reach a gas station on the southern edge of Duchess County and I wake Sylvia up. When she has regained the world, she takes on a look of determined sorrow. “Yeah,” she said. “This is where my mother was murdered.” “What now?” I said. “Now… We’re going to figure out who really murdered her.”

[right speaker] Knock knock. [left speaker] Who’s there? [right] I think you know. [left] I do. [right] Can I come in? [left] I don’t think so. [right] Come on. [left] I need you to leave! [right] That was never an option. Knock knock. Knock knock. Knock knock. [sighs] OK well, OK.

#alice isn't dead #alice isn't dead transcripts #episode 2 chapter 4 #chain

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ecotone99 · 6 years ago

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[NF] Good neighbors are worth a lot

I grew up on a central Wisconsin dairy farm. We were smaller than most. Many times machines or tractors got loaned to neighbors when the need arose. We were careful with our machinery. Many of our neighbors were not as careful, and sometimes loaned out machines came back with some damage. I would complain to Dad that he should charge for repairs, but he always said, "Good neighbors are worth a lot". I never understood that and thought he was being taken advantage of. But it was his farm, so I would just curse under my breath as I welded cracked frames, beat bent sheet metal back in place or replaced bearings burned out for lack of grease. And vow things would be different when the farm was mine.

But one day I learned what he meant. On The day retailers in the US now refer to as 'Black Friday'.

We had just lost a my cousin to a traffic accident. His funeral had been the day before Thanksgiving. His parents, Melvin and Tanya, always had the big family Thanksgiving gathering at their farm. My parents and all of my Aunts and Uncles pleaded with them to be allowed to move the gathering elsewhere to make it easier on them. But they would not hear of it. In spite of it all, they insisted that the annual gathering be held there as always. Simply saying that it was too late to change plans now.

The gathering was always the same. People would begin showing up around 11AM to visit. The big meal was about 12:30. After witch everyone visited and enjoyed each others company. About 4 PM there would be a serving of coffee and more pie. Then everyone went home to their own farms for evening chores.

To say this Thanksgiving dinner was 'subdued' would be an understatement. Almost no one talked during dinner. After the table was cleared, some of my uncles had a card game (sheepshead) on the side table. The women chatted in the living room. The men watched a game on the TV in the corner of the finished basement. My twin cousins, Pete and Paul (about 13 years old at the time) had a rolling pool game going on in the corner by the pool table and younger cousins joined it from time to time. Younger children drifted in and out of the corner table area playing various board games.

I noticed my Dad approaching Uncles individually to talk quietly with them, but I did not hear what he said, I just remember seeing them nod in agreement. After the coffee and pie, everyone left quietly.

Friday morning dawned overcast with temperatures hovering just below freezing. But it was predicted to warm and clear up later in the day. When I came down the stairs, Dad was at the kitchen table and told me to get a bowl of cereal. This meant that we would not be stopping for breakfast. A clear sign that a long day was planned.

As soon as we had the cows fed, he had me milk alone while he cleaned the out and fed the young stock and calves. he then cleaned the dairy barn and bedded the cows while they stood in their stalls. They would not get out for exercise that day. We rolled their manger full of Hay for the day and were done in the barn before 9 am.

He had me hitch the Farmall M on the saw rig and pull it up to the shop so he could mount the saw blade and sharpen it. This confused me as we had no wood piled for cutting with this saw and had I assumed that all of our firewood this year would be made with the chainsaws and put directly into the basement. ( we had been experiencing a wet fall and no one had yet made firewood). But I knew we were busy and I knew better than to question him.

I then checked the oil in the Oldsmobile and pulled it up to the gas barrel to fuel it up. Mom and my little sister had a long planned shopping trip. They, along with my grandmother, Aunt (mom's sister) and two cousins were going the 60 miles to Eau Claire to the latest thing in our area, A SHOPPING MALL. The new London Square mall had just opened and to boasted you could do all of your shopping in comfort without going from store to store all over town in cold, snowy weather.

After my Aunt, Grandma and cousins arrived, and they all piled into the Olds and left, Dad had me put the belt pully on the M and gas it up. He then told me to load all of the woodcutting tools into the back of the pickup and hitch it to a wagon. Then he and my little brother, Tom (about 9 at the time), got in the pickup and he said, "follow me". He headed out the driveway and up the road to Melvin's place with me on the M pulling the saw rig following.

Within minutes of arriving at Melvin's place, all of my other Uncles on my fathers side of the family arrived with Pete and Paul and a host of younger cousins, along with the two brothers of Tanya. Melvin and the family were not there. Tanya's mother and a sister had flown for the for the funeral, And they would be gone for the day taking them to the airport in Minneapolis.

We went into Melvin's machine shed and got out and gassed up his Farmall M and 300 utility. We took the upright muffler off of the M to make it get around in the woods better. We then took all of the trucks, tractors and wagons down the lane to Melvin's biggest woodlot.

The woodlot was nearly 40 acres with a small clearing in one corner where a homestead had been 100 years before. Dad showed me where to park the saw rig, on the edge of the clearing near the brush pile. We staked it down and belted our M on to it. I hated the saw rig. The exposed blade was a grave danger. It emitted an almost evil whine at speed and could cut through 8 inches of hardwood in less than 2 seconds. It could take off a finger or a whole arm even faster. I was never so happy as the day better and lighter chainsaws relegated this thing to the scrap iron pile.

I assumed, if cutting wood, my job would be 'bucker', the person who grabbed the wood as it is cut off and throws it on the wagon, as that had always been my job. But Dad took me to the tailgate of the pickup and gave me my assignment. I was to walk through the woods, find and cut down dead trees. I would need to cut the larger ones between the trunk and the top so the tractors could pull them out. When I had enough cut, they would let me know. It was a job I had done, but I was far from comfortable with it yet. I was given 'Old Blue'. Our oldest and most decrepit, and there fore our most expendable saw for this somewhat dangerous job.(several saws 'bought the farm' at this job over the years when trees went the wrong way when felling). Armed with the saw, A small screwdriver to adjust the fuel settings on Old Blue, as he was in constant need of adjustment, a can of gas, an old pint glass whiskey bottle full of chain oil in my hip pocket. felling wedges and a single bitted ax to drive them, I walked over a small rise and into the woods.

As I entered the woods, I was suddenly in a world all my own, insulated from the activity at the clearing and punctuated only by the visits of Pete and Paul, driving the wood skidding tractors. The first tree to fall to my saw was a big old maple. followed by a white oak. After that they were falling so fast that I only took note if they were hardwoods.

Soon two more tractors joined the fray. A International 460 diesel utility and a 165 Massey Ferguson. that I did not recognize. They came in no recognizable order, but always driven by Pete and Paul.

When I was not keeping up, my twin cousins would double back and collect larger limbs that had broken off of tops during skidding or collect up windfalls.

Sometime around noon, a turkey sandwich wrapped in wax paper and a pint jar of lemonade was thrust at me. I wolfed it down as quickly as I could and returned to cutting.

I didn't realize it at the time, but something, for lack of a better phrase 'magical' happened that day. Not once did a tree pinch the saw. Every tree fell cleanly as I intended it to. Not once did one hang up on another tree. Even the normally cantankerous Old Blue happily gurgled all day long, sans any form of adjustment, and never emitted so much as a hiccup.

Sometime around 2, Pete leaned over the back of the M and pointing at the tree I had just cut, yelled 'LAST ONE ", over the din of the unmuffled engine. I put the axe on the platform and hung the gas can on the PTO lever, then hitched his chain to the log. After he pulled out I hitched Paul to the tree top. Then I trudged out of the woods behind them.

I rounded a patch of brush and toped a little rise as the sun finally defeated the clouds for good. The sight I beheld in the clearing froze me in my tracks and Old Blue slipped from my startled grasp to plop into the slush at my feet. The little clearing was overflowing with men, boys and woodworking tools!. It had been turned into an efficient woodcutting operation! Treetops would be pulled up to the brush pile, that now had grown to a massive size. Pete or Paul would leap from the seat and younger tractor handlers took their place. Then men and boys with small chainsaws and axes attacked the top removing the small brush and throwing it on the pile. Then it was pulled over to where my Dad and Uncles were running the saw rig and more men would cut it into pieces small enough to be placed on the saw rig. My dad was cutting the wood into pieces faster than I have ever seen that saw used. My uncle was Bucker, and my little brother was in charge of a crew of boys about his age piling the wood up on the edges of the wagon rack to form a fence to get more wood on the wagon. The trunks bypassed this completely, they were taken to an area where they were cut by chainsaws into furnace length pieces and split to fit the furnace. The tractor handlers then returned the tractors to the brush pile where my cousins then took them back over.

That's the first time I saw a powered wood splitter. It was a home made smoke belching bemouth with a engine and hydraulic pump scavenged form a wrecked combine and a ram from an end loader. It was capable of reducing the most stubborn piece of hardwood to toothpicks.

I collected my wits and my saw and entered the clearing. I was determined to help, but by that time the saws were falling silent and the saw rig was shut down. I was only able to help pack up the rig.

An Uncles pickup appeared with cases of beer in the back. The men, and some of the older boys with their fathers permission partook. My father and uncles made a point to thank everyone. As I sat on the tailgate of the pickup heading up the lane for the farmyard, I remembered I had left the oil bottle on the last stump. Not a big deal. We would replace it, but I made a mental note to retrieve it the next time I came to Uncle Melvin's woods.

I could see the wagon tires squat and the bed pieces bow under load as we pulled them into the farmyard. There was another crew here as well. They had long since filled the wood racks in the basement. 8 rows of wood piled as high as a man could reach were along the back side of the house. 10 more were full width if the end of the machine shed. The old hog barn, unused for decades was filled to the ceiling. Weather by happenstance or design, the last 3 loads were on Melvin's wagons. One was covered with a tarp behind the machine shed. The other two were pushed into the upstairs barn bay.

More beer arrived for this crew, and another round of thank you's from my Dad and uncles. Then we replaced the M's muffler and put Melvin's tractors back in the shed and everyone unceremoniously packed up their tools and went home.

By the time we had everything put away, it was time for evening chores. We worked straight through and had our meal later. When we were done and got back in the house, Mom and everyone else was back. They had brought roasted chicken and we had I nice meal together. Mom and Grandma, and my aunt and cousins could not stop talking about their experience. Mom asked Dad, "how did your day go?". Dad just said, "Alright".

I suddenly realized how tired I was and excused myself, and headed up to bed. As I drifted off to sleep, I suddenly realized that I now understood what Dad meant when he has said, "Good neighbors are worth a lot". It is something I would go on to see many more times in my career as a farmer.

I later learned that Mom had stopped at a store in town to get some treats for the long road trip for my sister and cousins. She ran into a neighbor lady in the store and mentioned what was going on at Melvin's place that day. Well, that neighbor must have burned up the old telephone wires getting the news out. in about a half hour, every single neighbor within a 3 mile radius, and a significant number outside of that, upon hearing the news, individually and of their own volition chose to forgo their own work for the day and help out.

Melvin and Tanya did not get home until later, everyone was gone by then. No one ever admitted to being there (no one wanted him to feel obligated). But I am sure her had his suspicions.

With his only son gone, Melvin dropped out of our hunting circle. With the daughters growing up and getting outside interests, he enjoyed the farm less and less. When the youngest daughter started high school he sold the farm and bought a house in town and got work in a feed mill. But all the time he was on that farm he never had to cut another stick of firewood. And some was even sold on his auction.

Melvin's oldest daughter got a job in south Florida. She loved it so much down there that the other 3 girls followed her after graduation. Melvin and Tanya soon followed. Melvin's wide range of experiences made him a valuable employee at a home improvement center and he developed a interest in golf, a respectable tan and an absolute love of deep sea fishing. He also developed a bad habit of calling to discus Florida weather whenever we had a major cold or snow event.

Dad even spent a winter in his retirement there, but found the crowds to be too much for him. But Melvin never returned to Wisconsin, except for a visit or two in the summer.

I never did make it back to retrieve that oil bottle. I sometimes imagined over the years, some poor kid or hunter finding it and, thinking they had found something good to imbibe, took a big swig, only to get a mouth full of heavy oil. But most likely it was knocked into the grass and destroyed by wildlife or livestock.

And on a snowy winter night, my Father passed away quietly in his sleep, in the same room he had been born in, nearly 100 years before.

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