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life-rewritten · 4 years ago

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OMG!! I just found your blog through a WBL fan sharing your post about WBL on Instagram, and I am SOOOOO happy to see that you noticed and appreciate the tutor and fighter couple from Why R U series too. If possible, please write an analysis about this couple, about any specific aspect you deem as most important or just generally, whatever you are okay with. I love reading your analysis and the insights it gives me, and I just finished binge reading all of your writings on my favorite bl (1)

Hi wow mindblown by this comment Thank you so much for letting me know that my stuff is being shared I really appreciate that and I am so grateful that you took time of your day to come speak to me. I adore Fighter and Tutor, like they’re my favourite couple ever. What happened when why r u was airing was I wasn’t yet analysing BLs at that time otherwise I would have been writing essays and essays about them. Because it’s been so long since I went back to watch them I’m going to let you see some of my drafts on how I would have broken their relationship into pieces and analysed. Because they are incredible and I really always feel sad when people see them as just like a se*ual couple when there’s more to them than that. So I will let you see the first drafts and my ideas on them through this ask and I hope that's okay for now. Maybe after my other shows I will like go back and rewatch them and start analysing more about them. If I do I’d probably do a youtube video about them because they’re so good.

Here’s some of the analysis for them that I wrote:

The theme for these two is the struggle with internalised homophobia and self-acceptance. They both had this obstacle in themselves as they fell for each other and tried hard to avoid and run away from what they felt. It’s been a long journey for them being into each other since the first time they met but not really realising what they felt. Fighter did but he went into extreme panic mode and tried to run away immediately he felt that. So he tried to stay by Tutor’s side through the teasing and bullying because Tutor made him feel great and happy always but then with pressure from his father and the path he was meant to take to keep on being seen as successful, he thought his feelings for Tutor were useless and wrong. Plus he didn’t know if it was reciprocated so that caused even more fear for him which is why he just stayed with teasing and finally kater in thinking Tutor likes Hwa he chose to pull her away from him by taking her attention but also he chose to keep what they have as enemies/haters that way and avoid being near Tutor. This is why they end up hating each other a lot by the beginning of Why R U which is like 3 years later or something after he chose to stay with Hwa.

Tutor didn’t understand fully why he got angry, jealous and annoyed, he had an inclination from the first year that Fighter liked men and he was actually hopeful about it because deep down he had feelings of wanting to also flirt with Fighter, wanting to stay with Fighter even when annoyed him and bullied him. He liked Fighter’s softness at times and he liked the way he felt even though he didn’t understand why he was so rifled and affected by Fighter’s presence when no one else has been able to do that to him before. But he became upset when Fighter chose to date Hwahwa because it was his automatic issue with IH that of course Fighter doesn’t like him but he likes girls, so he got jealous and sad and proceeded to also dislike Fighter because he had this effect on him whilst still trying to date his best friend who had feelings for Fighter.

They both have had unknowingly pent up feelings for each other, so once Fighter breaks the barrier by their first kiss, they both go into extreme panic and they both could no longer pretend any more with what they have. Which is why the first episodes they both keep struggling to keep their attraction with each other quiet because its been 3 years since they wanted each other that way. Fighter has so much pent up attraction and needs to give into his feelings that each time they have a chance to break that barrier it’s intense and crazy. Both have been longing, pining secretly for each other since the beginning of the show. What happens next is for Fighter he has to choose to finally accept that he cares a lot, a lot , a lot about Tutor, he finally starts to learn more about this person he loves and he starts to want to protect and keep Tutor happy and by his side. When it comes to finally choosing to let go of Hwa and choose to fight for Tutor and start knowing if he feels the same way. It’s a leap of faith he takes when he breaks up with Hwa. He realises he’s the one stopping his wishes from happening with Tutor because he keeps being in denial about what they are because he’s scared it’s only him that’s gay and has feelings for the other.

It’s only after tutor sister tells him that he’s holding back his feelings does he realise that it’s time to talk about their unstable relationship and Fighter at that moment had also come to terms with his break up with Hwa after making out with tutor revealed the truth, that’s why on the rooftop they do a test that ultimately breaks their walls down and choose to give in to their feelings no matter how scared they are about it being reciprocated. When Tutor looks away and loses the game it’s a symbol to Fighter that he’s also been the same as him from the start. Tutor looks away sadly thinking he’s the one who has the feelings but Fighter just loses it and lets him know its equal which is why I love that scene so much because for so long both of them because of IH has been avoiding thinking the other had the same feelings for them when they both from the start have felt love for a long time. And from then they go on a journey to learn about what this means, if it’s real feelings and not just attraction hence their beach vacation which is essentially them asking if they could love each other and be in a real relationship, and if they can take on their obstacles around them. The beach solidifies for them their feelings so they choose each other for life hence the earring and necklace. But it’s fast paced how they feel because it’s just confirmation, now Tutor starts to realise that Fighter is actually different than he thought he was and he falls so fast, he now realises how much he loves Fighter and how much Fighter made him want to fight for his happiness and life. Tutor has not had hope for happiness and ease in his life, because he’s always had to fight to survive on his own. So when Fighter shows up like a prince charming and constantly is connected to saving him time and time again, it’s exactly him realising there’s someone who does represent that hope that he’d be fine. Hence why the final obstacle is Tutor regressing and starting to think because of IH and society that he and Fighter are just a pipe dream.

They go back to face the world only for Fighters father to bring back all the fear, internalised homophobia and obstacles they had. Fighter panics and thinks he was right; the reason why he never told Tutor his feelings was because he was afraid the other would break his heart (was not gay, did not have feelings for him, would make fun of him etc) so when Tutor breaks up with him he loses his mind after trying hard to let go. When he sees that actually Tutor is taunting him and is still flirting with a guy, not him, he proceeds drunk and upset to try and get back moments from the beach scene/ past make out scenes to keep that spark alive but realises Tutor is not okay this time and he’s the one forcing it. He also acted out because with them the truth comes out each time they’re physical with other romantically. It’s a kiss that caused them to finally tell each other how they felt. That’s always been the way they break their walls down.

It’s what causes him to break down and finally reveal the truth he’s loved Tutor since he met him, he’s just been afraid of all that’s happening even if it’s happening he still wants to be with Tutor. Tutor however breaks his heart even more so he backs off. Tutor on the other hand is broken and mentally exhausted back to depression, back to having to fake being strong and deal with the futility of hope and joy in his life as he’s always been used to. He gets seen by Fighter and doesn’t have it on him to fight him away, so decides to stay in an idealistic fantasy, tells him to hold him and breaks his walls down again. Tutor is always having to fake being strong because it’s how he survives so whenever Fighter enters his world his vulnerability scares him, that’s why his sister gives him the image of a cactus. He’s tough and sharp or pretends to be with his demeanour but actually he’s just a boy who wants to be happy and be safe and survive. So when Fighter shows up at his weakest moments, as he struggles to deal with his mental exhaustion and heart break, he gives in because again Fighter represents to him that hope. He starts to waver and want to stay in that lie for a long time with Fighter. Hence when he wakes up and Fighter is gone he thinks its all over and he finally breaks down completely.

Only when Fighter goes he breaks down in anguish truly thinking he lost him. Fighter finally comes out to his dad and fights his views, And we end up back at the beach, a place which represented authenticity and truth for them, it’s their truest realest self, but it also was their escapism. So Fighter coming there and letting Tutor know there’s no more obstacles in their way makes them both finally equally start a stable relationship with no more fear or care about anything. These twos relationship is full of tension and they both feel the chemistry, like magnets their bodies are drawn together, every scene they’re in, it’s their love language physical touch not bl fan service. They just naturally want to be in contact with each other and also their pent up feelings leads to them constantly wanting to sleep together because of hormones and well because they enjoy their se*ual life, nothing bad about that it’s realistic for couples to be that horny, that needy and that touchy.

It’s people who don’t get the context of internalised homophobia and what being in the closet is like for people with this anxiety and self hate caused by how they think society views them and treats them if out, those are the people who think there was no plot. Every dialogue these two had, their flashbacks and their acting (eyes, facial gestures, touches) showed why Fighter liked teasing Tor, why he dated Hwa but never paid her attention, why we had the beach scenes, why the break up escalated, why Tutor gave in when ill, why the non/dubious consent scene happened, why they get back together and why they told each other I love you forever immediately after they got together. Every single part adds up. It really is insane to me how people don’t see their real story to this day or see them as such a great storyline for BL. I would never get it.

#fightertutor #saintzee #fighter x tutor #thai bl #bl series #bl drama #fvete #march #wrpup #asks #why r u

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105ttt · 4 years ago

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Hi sorry if this was already asked before but could you explain a little further abt the things devsis has done?? I haven’t heard abt a lot of the stuff you mentioned I don’t mean to sound rude or anything I’m just genuinely wondering

I can tell you mean it genuinely, it’s okay! I’m happy to answer because you want to know. I’ll go through everything I said.

The Valentine’s 2021 fanart video, posted on the official CR YouTube channel, is a compilation of fanart drawn for Valentine’s Day that fanartists submitted. Some of the art submitted was chosen BY DEVSISTERS and put in the video, but not all art made it in. Two pedophilic ships, Red Bean x Snow Sugar and Roguefort x Walnut, were featured in the video. Red Bean x Snow Sugar was featured TWICE. Snow Sugar and Walnut are confirmed to be children while Red Bean and Roguefort are HEAVILY implied to be adults. Devsisters allowed the pedophilic ships to be shown in a fanart video for a holiday primarily about romantic love, therefore putting their seal of approval on these pedophilic ships. Despite fans saying it should be taken down, the video is still up as of today.

Related to the video and Devsisters’ promotion of fanart on official Twitter accounts, they are known to promote fanart that whitewashes the Cookies. This applies to not only Cookies like Cocoa and Mint Choco, who are clearly black, but also Cookies that are tan, like Alchemist. This approval of whitewashing has been going on for literal years, and when an artist was called out for a piece that Devsisters promoted, Devsisters sided with the artist and claimed that they should be respected rather than made to understand why whitewashing is bad.

Both the Dreamy Cookie Land event and the 2021 April Fools GingerBrave Trial contain sections that are known to harm photosensitive people by either giving them seizures or seriously hurting their eyes and causing immense discomfort and pain. While Devsisters altered the maps in Dreamy Cookie Land to make them less likely to hurt these people, the 2021 April Fools Trial has not changed. Devsisters should have made sure these maps were safe BEFORE publishing them to thousands of people (or more).

Devsisters misgenders its own characters on official Twitter accounts and in game notifications. Squid Ink Cookie was referred to as “she” on a Puzzle World Twitter post, despite this Cookie never having pronouns anywhere in the game. Mocha Ray Cookie was referred to with “she” in a game notification despite having no pronouns listed anywhere in the game, including cutscenes. Devil Cookie was referred to with “he” in a Twitter post despite the game canonically using only “they/them” for them. In addition, a statement from the Thai branch of the Devsisters team claimed that you can use any pronouns for a Cookie since they are born sexless (and they conflated sex with gender). This gives transphobes the “right” to misgender canonically nonbinary characters. Lastly, before the Guild update and before OvenBreak, Dark Choco and Cinnamon had no pronouns. After the Guild update, Cookies referred to Dark Choco as “he”, and in OvenBreak, Cinnamon’s Story uses “he” for them. This erases two canonically nonbinary characters, as cis people will see “he” being used for them and assume they are male rather than he/they nonbinary people.

Devsisters is not subtle about their homophobia, as well as their goal of appealing to cishets who hate gay people. They show their homophobia in how straight ships are treated compared to gay ships. Firstly, in the Valentine’s fanart video, there were mostly straight ships. I believe I counted only 4 or so gay ships, and 3 of these were either selfcest or pedophilia. Despite the majority of the art being shown being heterosexual, many people who regularly follow the CR tag on Twitter and Instagram claim that there was a lot more gay ship art submitted compared to the proportion shown in the video. The gay ship art shown was also ambiguous enough that cishets who hate gay people wouldn’t get mad at Devsisters, while some of the heterosexual art was blatantly romantic. Secondly, the treatment of ships like RaspRose and PrincessKnight, popular straight ships, is much better than the treatment of popular gay ships by Devsisters. For example, RaspRose got a merchandise item in a set of cups that also featured a cup with Sea Fairy and Moonlight and Orange and Lime. The RaspRose art on the cup is explicitly romantic. The art on the Sea Fairy and Moonlight and Orange and Lime cups are ambiguous or platonic instead, despite both of these ships being historically far more plausible and popular than RaspRose. Finally, Devsisters has been gaybaiting with Madeleine Cookie and Espresso Cookie in Kingdom, but they refuse to make them canon because that would be gay. Gaybaiting is homophobic in itself for using gay people as a way to advertise something without fulfilling the promise of gay representation. It’s also worth mentioning that they once gaybaited with Milk and Purple Yam on Twitter, but the art shown was not romantic at all, and only the caption hinted at a ship (and the caption was vague enough to be interpreted as the Cookies merely appearing in an art piece together).

Multiple black CR fans have spoken out and said that Purple Yam Cookie is a racist caricature of black men, ESPECIALLY when he is juxtaposed with Milk, a white man. Indian and Middle Eastern CR fans have spoken out and said that Yogurt Cream Cookie and Lilac Cookie are caricatures of Indian and Middle Eastern people. These are not debatable. Google the history of the portrayal of black men in non-black media, and you’ll see what I mean for Purple Yam. The evidence that Yogurt Cream is a caricature comes from the very fact that people compare him to Aladdin, specifically Disney’s version of the tale, thereby showing that their only exposure to Indian and Middle Eastern people is stereotypes in white media. Note also that Dark Choco Cookie is the stereotype of a solemn, lonely, strong black person, and this has leaked into the fandom so much that people draw them unrealistically buff and mostly draw them suffering from angst instead of having any actual character.

There was an IRL sex crime in South Korea perpetrated by a club called the Burning Sun, and a certain Guild named itself after that club and changed their usernames to the names of the people who committed these crimes. They were only forced to change their names by Devsisters AFTER people protested. They were NOT forced to disband the Guild or banned from the game. Keep in mind that these people named themselves after a REAL-LIFE SEX CRIME that harmed REAL WOMEN AND GIRLS, and the only punishment they got was a forced name change. Fuck Devsisters.

Lastly, the trigger joke. Back when Ion Cookie Robot and Cyborg Cookie were new, the official CR Twitter account made a Tweet captioned as “triggered”, and below that caption was a GIF of Ion Cookie Robot becoming angry and shifting to their Red Dread Costume, thereby implying that Ion Cookie Robot was “triggered” and became unreasonably angry. This was posted during the time when ableists were using the term “triggered” as a “meme”, which harms people with PTSD. The Tweet was deleted, and another Tweet was made that apologized for the previous Tweet, but this was only after backlash from fans. However, notice that Purple Yam Cookie is also a trigger joke. He has PTSD from being burned alive in the Oven for so long, and as a result he is easily angered (anger is his stress response). The game treats this as a joke and minimizes his suffering just because other Cookies were in the Oven (before coming to life). His anger is treated as unreasonable and unwarranted, and it’s treated as a joke. Does that sound familiar? Now take into account that his anger is juxtaposed with Milk’s “kind”, “gentle” demeanor. Yikes.

BONUS ROUND:

DevSam, a worker at Devsisters, once said that GingerBrave had a Costume in LINE that was a “sexy cat costume”. GingerBrave is a minor, and the Costume was literally not sexy at all. Why did they refer to him as sexy if he’s a minor??

Images from an official CR account showed a person dressed as GingerBrave giving gifts to a person dressed as Pink Choco Cookie, a Cookie associated with romantic love. This can be easily interpreted as romantic and is therefore pedophilic because GingerBrave is a child and Pink Choco Cookie is an adult. Why post this at all??

Buttershell Fox referred to Maple Panda with a word that was VERY close to a slur against black people in the original text of the Secrets of the Hidden City cutscenes. This was only changed when a popular Twitter user let everyone know about it and asked people to email Devsisters about it.

I can provide links and screenshots for proof if needed, but please DM me or send an ask to ask for these. I’m definitely forgetting other things they’ve done that are bad, but this already should be enough to raise eyebrows.

#no stupid asks please!#they will be deleted!#same for stupid replies!#do not defend corporations they are not your friend!#respect minorities and listen to them!

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dooandpoo · 4 years ago

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Boo’s clown thoughts about Dan

I just re-watched the Heartthrob video from 2018. I have listened to Dan and Phil playing Heartthrob in 2021. I have watched compilations of Dan and Phil’s liveshows and ✨ gay moments ✨ throughout the years. I am officially qualified to make reaching assumptions about Dan’s psyche, and his taste in men 💅. (I am a clown.)

Dan hides many of his feelings under sarcasm. This essay is predicated on a combination of assuming many of his jokes are actually his real feelings, and also taking into account things he has said with sincerity.

First, he wants to fix people. His whole perspective of Bobby changes when the card “never been kissed” is added — Dan gets all soft and literally says “that’s a game changer”. Phil thinks the same, suggests that everything else of Bobby is bravado, to which Dan heartily agrees. Dan loves himself some 💪 meaty men 💪, but gravitates more to the men that seem soft or personable. “Never been kissed” is a big deal for a cool sexy rich guy in high school, and Dan just knows that he could take care of him. It brings Bobby back down to earth, makes him feel real, makes him someone that Dan could relate to. Dan is obsessed with cleaning, takes forever to plan things, gets worked up when things aren’t perfect, must be in control. But he’s drawn to the imperfect, knows that he can do something with it. Someone that’s already perfect isn’t interesting to Dan. But Bobby, who’s rich and sexy but never been kissed? That’s interesting to Dan, that’s someone he can work with.

Dan is a gold-digger 💷💰 (let me explain). Even before the kissing detail is learned about Bobby, Dan chose him to go to the party with just because he’s rich, because his house would be cool, and Dan could pretend to like him for a night of luxury. Dan is a minimalist, he enjoys things to be simple in his life (as stated in the pizza mukbang video), but he loves opulence .... but not for himself. This is fascinating — Dan doesn’t parade his current wealth around, actively works against it. But. He wants to go to a party at a fancy house with a pool, hang off the arm of some cool guy. He wants to have a “team of stylists” for red carpet events to choose his outfits and dress him up all pretty for the world to see. He loves his fancy trips to beautiful places. He gives his Sims elegant and gaudy accessories and furnishings, splurging in a way he never would in real life. This boy loves him some extravagance and attention, wants to parade around looking like a snack, even though most of the time he prefers being low-key.

Dan loves cultivating a specific image for himself. He spent much of his teenage and young adult life trying to fit in, making sure his hair is perfect, making sure his photos are from the perfect MySpace angle, not being “gay”. His Instagram is a wall of black, broken up by only a few things. This is partially because he doesn’t like choice, can’t commit to things when it’s his decision. He can’t choose something “wrong”. See the mukbang video where Phil suggests just picking different clothes from along the line in his closet, and Dan says “that’s how you get ensembles that look like this” indicating Phil’s absurd get-up. Dan can’t imagine just throwing things on willy-nilly, he must present a completely unified vision of himself to the world. In the Attitude shoot, he was devastated that he couldn’t wear the cool boots, that his hair was too long. He secretly wished that it was a nude or horny photoshoot, joking about this during their first Stereo, because he wants to be noticed in that way. He wants to be seen as sexy and cool, he loves it. He wants positive attention. His mid-2020 thirst post on Instagram is a perfect example of this, playing it off as silly when he clearly was really into it. He does this with most of his photos, needing to look a certain way so that the world sees him as cool and sexy even when he’s masking it behind sarcasm. He knows he’s cute, and flaunts it, even though “flaunting it” means he has to be in control of everything all the time.

Let’s go back to the 2018 Heartthrob. One of the boys’ personality traits is revealed to be “can’t wait to have kids”, and Dan is not having it. 🙅‍♂️ Now, Dan would describe that as his fear of commitment. But let’s look closer. Earlier that year, Dan and Phil met Louise’s newborn baby. Both boys go completely gooey the entire time, entranced by her. Dan gets this look in his eye when he hands Pearl to Phil. He watches Phil closely to make sure he’s holding her correctly, hovers and touches her, needing to protect and feel the inherent trust of a baby. He and Phil keep smiling, and then Dan — out of the blue — gets a far away look and comments that there will be phanfiction of him and Phil adopting a baby. Dan was thinking about having a baby with Phil. But he’s scared, because even though Dan would take care of his baby so well, he’d probably worry his ass off making sure the baby has everything. It’s not just the fear of commitment, it’s that he can’t trust himself to do it “correctly”. Even though he’s been with Phil for years, I think Dan second-guesses himself constantly. A baby, or even a dog, for that matter, would send his anxiety into overdrive, because he can’t be in complete control (even though he’d be the best dad and partner ever).

Time to think about thot Dan. In the end, Dan is horny. He visibly reacts to each of the Heartthrob boys that have their “guns out”, and doesn’t easily deny that he’s interested in Bobby for his arms. And Phil knows that. When Dan asks Phil why he thinks Dan chose Bobby ... Phil stalls. Phil does his best to justify his guess that Dan likes Bobby because of his random personality traits, because Dan would like being driven around in a nice car and to ask Bobby about his dream of being a secret agent, but Phil clearly thought Dan would choose Bobby because he knows Dan loves the meaty lads. Phil knows Dan well enough to know that this boy loves him some skin and some muscle showing. (Hmm, interesting that Dan likes his boys meaty 👀, and frequently refers to Phil as such, even at the beginning of this very Heartthrob video …. hmmmm ... says he’d like to receive a lapdance 💋 from Phil “for the spectacle” .... hmmmmmmmmm.)

Back to “commitment” 💍 issues. During a liveshow from the early danisnotonfire days, Dan is asked for relationship advice. Here, he is surprisingly honest and serious. He says to not stay in a relationship where you’re not happy. It seems simple, but Dan really digs deep here. Dan says that if you’re not going to marry a person, don’t stay with them for even a day longer. Dan said that. Dan is scared of trusting others, he is constantly sarcastic and talks about himself disparagingly, but he is self-aware enough to know that he wants commitment. He wants someone to love him forever, to be by his side. That’s why he says there’s no point in remaining in a relationship if you and the other person can’t see yourself together in 50 years. And Dan had been with Phil (in whatever way that means for them) for a few years at that point, completely comfortable with each other. They were already making huge decisions together, like living together and moving to London and starting a radio show and considering moving to New York together. Dan had committed to Phil at this point, knew that he could see himself still with Phil in 50 years. And Phil had committed to Dan, regardless of if Dan felt sure of that or not.

Even earlier than that, Dan had told a fan on formspring that he loves sleeping in the same bed as other people, not even in a sexual way. He loves human contact, sharing space 😌. We know this because he’s so open to hugs with his fans, wants people around to make him feel safe (by people I mean Phil), and is so exasperated by quarantine because he needs more touch and contact. (Tangent — Phil also loves physical touch, as stated in an old liveshow when he said he prefers cuddles to kisses, and is very handsy 👐 with Dan.)

This doesn’t end in physical touch though. He needs other people around. He wants a companion through life. He misses Phil when he’s gone because he’s scared of the house being empty, because Phil makes him feel safe. He wants another person in his bed because it feels nice to be with someone, knowing they’re there. He wants to have someone to work with, to connect with, to make music with, to share moments with. And now this boy has all of that. He has for the last ten-odd years. But this is scary. Dan isolated himself growing up, built barriers between himself and everybody else. He needs to be control of the situation at all times, embarrassed when he’s not. Dan uses self-deprecating language constantly, complains about his inability to connect with people. But he has Phil. Every day they’re together, I think Dan accepts just a little more that he can deserve happiness, that he won’t lose Phil, that Phil is not temporary. Phil shows him that he is worthy of affection, physical and otherwise, that Dan is allowed to reach out and it’s safe to do so. Dan doesn’t have to be alone anymore, he can reach out and Phil is there.

These nonsense ramblings are just to say that Dan has the perfect life partner in Phil. Phil balances him out, lets Dan be himself loudly and quietly, jokes when Dan is too serious. Phil will never leave him, proving that every day, making plans with Dan in mind. Phil is confident and self-assured where Dan is not. They ease each other’s anxieties, approach their fame in similar ways. They genuinely enjoy being together, not just in their personal life, but professionally as well. They are a perfect match, soulmates. 💕

#i refuse to tag this as d*n and ph*l in case those two lurkers see it #this is complete clownery #i know this and accept this #we can't know what's actually going on in these boys' lives and honestly that's a good thing #this is just for fun #and because it makes me feel soft #i relate hardcore to Dan #so I'm projecting sjkhhsdajfl #long post #mine #rambling

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dottiechan · 4 years ago

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Tempest (Pt. 1)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Read on AO3

Pairing: Ava Du Mortain x f!Detective

Wordcount: 1950

Warnings: gay pining, denial of romatic feelings none

Summary: Ava waits for the private detective to arrive while pondering their relationship. (1890s AU)

A/N: I am plagued by the late Victorian AU and Miss Du Mortain, so this happened. I wrote the detective as a female private detective, but other than that I have not specified any details about her. It also passes as a reader insert fic! (You can check out the full art here.)

Ava watches the grey sky as it persistently batters the window with rain, the small streaks on the glass pane casting lines on her handsome face that could be mistaken for tears by someone who doesn’t know her. Anyone who does know her knows that she’d sooner shed her blood than her tears. That is just the way she is. The way she likes to be thought of. The only way she is truly safe.

The heavens have let loose, and god is baring his teeth. And Ava just stands there, hands shoved in the pockets of her trousers, gazing out into the busy street as still and cold as the marble statues dotting the hallway. But only on the outside. Because inside of her, there is a storm to match the tempest that assails the city.

She is agitated the moment an image of her slips into her mind, and she begins chewing on the inside of her cheek when she realises that every minute the private detective isn’t in her sight, she is losing her mind. The nervous gesture is soon quelled by hundreds of years of self-discipline, and is replaced by her signature frown, lips pressed into a thin line, the muscles running along her jawbone tensing under her opaque skin. She is... mortal, she wants to think. Fragile. Unimportant. A job.

But she is also everything.

Which is why she must sever her ties to the woman before the job is over, otherwise the eternity to come will turn into hell on earth without her. Ava deserves hell, she knows that. Not that she believes in the devil, but the sharpness of his pitchfork and the heat of hellfire are sensations not unfamiliar to her. Eternal damnation is just guilt and anger and fear hiding in Satan’s clothing. But she can’t even begin to assign words to the kind of torture a world without her would mean. Ava’s ever so logical mind paralyses in terror at the thought of existing in a time when she isn’t.

She inhales sharply - even brushing the surface of the topic causes so much pain to course through her whole being that she needs to focus on something else - anything else - to continue functioning. So she listens to Nate’s soothing voice as he discusses myths with the professor down the hall. She registers the footsteps of people mulling about the museum on the floor below, the idle chatter of ladies clad in expensive dresses, the booming voices of three men arguing over the origin of a painting in the first hall. She turns her piercing attention on the street now, listening to the sounds of horses and vendors and street urchins, feeling thankful to the steady rain for considerably dulling the sharp tang of the muddy streets in her nostrils. She pulls out her pocket watch then, the ticking matching her now once more steady heartbeat.

The detective isn’t late yet, though she has a feeling that she will be, with the rain clogging the streets with carriages and hansoms as it usually does, especially at such a lively hour in the late morning. Ava wonders what she will wear, how her hair will be styled. She wants the rain to kiss her face, she wants the wind to rake its fingers through her tightly pinned up hair and loosen some strands from their captivity. She wants the warmth of the museum building to engulf her once she steps inside, bringing a rush of blood to her cold cheeks. She wants all this and more, for her own body must stay still for everyone’s sake, thus leaving her to live through the rain, and the wind, and the warmth of the radiators, her own fingers and lips and skin left yearning for a sensation she must deny herself.

Her daydreaming is cut short when two men pass her by, throwing her wide-eyed stares as they clutch their books to their chests and mutter quiet greetings to her. Students of the professor, no doubt, and shocked to their very core by the sight of a woman in trousers easily towering above them. It fills Ava with a savage sort of satisfaction before her insecurities - awakened by the private detective’s appearance in her life - creep up on her. It has never been particularly acceptable for a woman to wear men’s clothing throughout history, and 1896 is no exception. Then again, Ava has never been particularly bothered by this expectation, so it has all been well. Until now, when she begins to wonder if the detective likes this. She has commended her on her bravery before, and agreed with her choice of clothing because of its practicality, but that is hardly an admission of approval or attraction. And besides, she seems to favour dresses herself, even if she is nowhere nearly as extravagant or tightly laced as the dames of the decade. Admittedly, the detective’s pulse always picks up when they speak, especially alone, and her pupils are blown when she catches her staring but...

“I’ve got what we came for... and more,” Nate speaks with quiet excitement as he stalks up to her by the window, and Ava forces herself to look at her friend, hands balling into fists in her pockets. She had been so absorbed in thoughts of the private detective that she almost didn’t notice Nate at all until he reached her.

Pathetic. She needs to focus.

There’s a supernatural on the loose, murdering in the streets of London, and she is thinking about whether or not a mortal woman likes her choice of clothing. She takes the folder Nate hands her, and pries it open to reveal several new pages filled with his neat handwriting. At least their initial hunch has been correct - they’re definitely something corporeal that can pass off as a human, and now thanks to Nate’s research, they’re all but confirmed to have come from Scandinavia originally. And yet it doesn’t help her ease her mind that she knows what they could possibly be - after all, they’re out for the detective by the Agency’s estimate.

“Could it be a dark elf?” she mutters, blonde brows furrowed as she skims through the pages.

“Dökkálfar. My thought exactly,” her friend nods, pleased that Ava has come to the same conclusion.

“Haven’t seen one of those in... well, in a very long time.”

Nate’s shoulders sag a little as his initial enthusiasm ebbs. “I suppose we are about to face one again.”

She wants to reprimand Nate for forgetting the real objective of their mission - it’s protection, after all, not hunting down a rogue. But she thinks of the detective again, a woman so unique and individualistic in a world that tries so hard to oppress her along with her ambitions, and she knows she won’t be able to rest until the threat to her life is no more. It’s her duty, she reasons meekly against the swell of affection filling her chest and pushing against her skin, threatening to crack the solid marble of her stoic facade. But she knows a lie when she hears one. She suddenly thinks of last year, Paris, the Louvre. Nike of Samothrace. The statue of the Winged Victory. Headless, and yet still the symbol of triumph. She has lost her common sense ever since she started working with the detective, but she knows she must win as well, because if she fails... Well, she dare not even think about the consequences it would have on her.

And above all, she must remain as cold to the touch as that carefully carved block of marble.

“I wish we could tell her,” her friend presses on gently, concern and guilt marring the edges of the soft curve of his long lips.

“It’s better this way. Safer,” she croaks, hating the way her voice softens and breaks mid-sentence.

“Safer for whom, I wonder?” Nate sighs, taking the folder Ava hands him and closes it with delicate fingers before leaning against the wall next to her. She hasn’t even realised she sought to support of the wooden panelled hallway until Nate mimicked her movement absent-mindedly.

“What do you mean?”

“Safer for her...” he sighs before glancing at Ava with sad eyes, “or safer for us?”

She averts her eyes, her long ignored self-loathing clawing its way up from the deepest pits of her mind before she clenches her jaw. “For all parties involved.”

But mostly for me, she admits to herself inwardly. The lie obscures her true nature, and she revels in it for once. She doesn’t know what she’d do if the detective flinched away from her in fear instead of being drawn to her like a moth to a flame in the middle of a heavy summer night. For the past 800 years, she thought of herself as nothing but an agent, an element operating in the shadows, making the world a less dangerous place. She hunted her emotions and burned them at the stake, but this witch hunt can only go on for so long without consequences. She always thought of herself as a vampire first and foremost, her base nature being a bloodthirsty monster, but she was human before that. And she’s never felt more human than now. Probably not even when she actually was one.

And that is a terrifying thought to live with, especially when its source is so easily pinpointed. Her. It’s all on her.

“So we lie once more?” Nate sighs, breaking the silence and drawing her attention outwards once more.

“Yes,” she states firmly, the word feeling strangely sour in her mouth. “We tell her this was a dead end. She doesn’t need to know anything else. The Agency, on the other hand, needs to be brought up to speed. Will you do it?”

“I’ll brief them,” Nate nods, pushing himself away from the wall before straightening down his coat. “I suppose that leaves you with watching her?”

“Yes,” Ava speaks through gritted teeth, ignoring the heat crawling up her neck at the thought of being alone with the woman. Her reaction to the detective is unbearable, and yet she brings it upon herself like a masochist inviting the pain. She doesn’t understand why she does it, and yet she has no will to stop.

A nod, retreating footsteps, and Nate is no longer to be seen or heard, not even by her eyes and ears. She slips out her watch from her pocket once more and flips the silver lid open - she is late. Her heartbeat turns into a wild galloping crescendo when she hears a familiar voice on the street though, her heart’s rhythm no longer matching the steady ticking of the pocket watch as it did before.

Ava stares as she exits the hansom with a graceful ease that should be categorised as a criminal offence, wet pieces of stray hairs sticking to her delightful face as she rushes across the street with a purpose that almost leaves her breathless.

She wants to catch the killer, she tells herself. That’s all she wants and nothing more.

Yet as she moves swiftly towards the staircase, unable to wait for her in one place, and wanting, no, needing to see her as soon as possible, deep down Ava hopes the detective is just as eager to be with her as she is.

And then at the very last moment, right before they’re about to come face to face, she schools her features into a blank expression, a great lie of a tabula rasa, her face hardening like sculpted marble - commanding, ancient, beautiful, but so, so cold.

#dottiechan writes #ava du mortain x detective #a du mortain x detective #the wayhaven chronicles #twc fanfic #twc detective #ava du mortain #a du mortain #what the fuck is proof reading y'all #also it's been a hot minute since i last posted any writing

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eddiesasspbrak · 4 years ago

Text

Familiar

Eddie is dragged to a comedy show by his coworkers and something about the comedian is so...familiar.

Part of my “I’d rearrange the alphabet to put U and I together” series

Read on AO3

A B C D E

7k+ words

Minors DNI

Something about this man felt familiar.

When Eddie’s coworkers invited him out for a drink, he was inclined to say no. He wasn’t one for socializing outside of the workplace and drinking in front of them added the risk of getting drunk and saying or doing something stupid. The last thing he needed was a joke about his behavior going around the office for years because of the one night out he chose to let loose.

Then there was the Myra of it all. If she knew he was going out for a drink, she would harass him through text and phone calls until he came home. He knew she had an app that allowed her to track him via GPS and he couldn’t figure out how to turn it off. She could just as easily find out where he was and show up, ready to cry or scream to manipulate him into doing what she wanted. Of course, Eddie would let her because she was his wife and he’d chosen this life with her.

Still, there was a part of Eddie that wanted to be carefree for one night. As long as he limited himself to two drinks and stayed hydrated, he would be ok. He texted Myra and told her that the pub they were going to was run by a potential new client for his insurance firm and she believed him easily. He rarely lied to her, so it was easy to get away with it when he did. There were some bigger secrets he kept from her. Like how he wasn’t sure he loved her as more than a friend and how he realized he only liked men and often dreamed about reliving some college one-night stands with other men he’d met along the way. It wasn’t important for her to know.

A simple lie about where he was going and why was innocent enough. He wasn’t interested in any of his coworkers romantically or sexually, so it’s not like he’d have to lie any further to cover up an affair. He didn’t have it in him to cheat anyway. He may not have loved his wife romantically, but he’d be damned if he took the cowards way out. If he found someone else he wanted to be with, he’d end it with her first like a decent human being.

His coworkers were ecstatic when he agreed to go with them. He never wanted to go out with them. The club they were going to had special events that required tickets and one of them had acquired nine at a discounted cost thanks to a connection with the club owner. Eddie didn’t have much interest in the comedy act that would be going on around them and planned to stay focused on his level of intoxication instead. A night of freedom was just that and he was going to enjoy himself no matter what he had to do to accomplish that.

There was a line going down the street of people waiting for admission. Due to Harold’s connection, they were able to bypass the line, much to Eddie’s relief. Standing in a line in the heat for hours was not worth getting a few drinks. Inside was already bustling with people and Eddie’s attention went immediately to locating their waitress and flagging her down.

The jokes at his expense already began as his coworkers made comments about him letting loose. They’d never expected him to be a drinker. They thought for sure he’d sip on water and iced tea (not the long island kind) all night. When he ordered a shot and a beer (the shot was mostly ordered to shut them up), they quickly quieted down. Though he was actually a light weight from years of barely drinking at all because of Myra. He could tell they were trying to assess if they really knew the true Eddie Kaspbrak and he could easily answer that for them. No. Nobody knew the real Eddie. Not even Myra.

The room went dark, a spotlight trained on the stage and the crowd erupted in applause as the comedian for the night took the stage. Curious, Eddie followed suit and looked up the man. They had a relatively close table, able to see the guy perfectly from where they sat. Eddie immediately recognized him. He’d seen his shows on Comedy Central a few times. He used to think he was funny but in the last few years, his routine completely changed, and Eddie didn’t think he was good anymore. It was like someone else entirely was writing his material. Myra always hated him.

As he began his routine, a strange feeling struck Eddie. There was something oddly familiar about this man. He told himself it was just because he was familiar with his work, but it was more than that. He had this feeling, like a distant memory, that he had spoken to him before. He’d called out his name, touched his hands. Maybe it was a dream. After all, he wasn’t unattractive, and it wouldn’t be the first time Eddie had had a dream about a celebrity he was attracted to.

He barely listened to the jokes as he chased the fleeting memory, trying to figure out just what had happened in his dream. Hopefully, nothing too graphic as he was in public with the people he worked with and he didn’t need to get himself worked up. Especially given the actual man himself was on stage.

“Richie!” He heard his own, younger voice calling out in his head. If they were children in his dream, that opened another line of questions that he couldn’t quite answer.

Harold was laughing beside him and clapped a hand down on Eddie’s shoulder. “He’s funny, right?” He asked.

Eddie focused on what the guy was saying for a second, wondering if he’d reverted back to his actual funny jokes. He only heard the tail end of a joke, specifically, “try telling that to my girlfriend.” Eddie scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“That dude does not have a girlfriend. He’s full of shit.” He mumbled mostly to himself.

“Are you sure? Maybe he’s talking about an ex-girlfriend.”

Eddie wasn’t sure how he knew, but he believed with every ounce of himself that Richie Tozier did not and never did have a girlfriend. He didn’t know why. Richie had never once talked about being gay. No one really speculated that he was either. Other than the fans who shipped him with other comedians he was friends with and that was all fantasy. Part of him wondered if it was just his wishful thinking. Not that he would cheat on his wife and hook up with a random comedian if he were gay. And interested in Eddie.

The show went on and Eddie kept himself delightfully tipsy but not drunk. Enough to get through the painfully unfunny jokes but keep himself from making a fool of himself. His coworkers were laughing along with the rest of the crowd while Eddie quietly heckled. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself, but he just couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Usually something that only happened when he was comfortable with someone. His coworkers seemed to be enjoying this side of him but the people sitting at the table next to them, did not.

“Dude, shut the fuck up. I can’t hear the jokes.” The man sitting closest to him snapped.

“You’re welcome.” Eddie quipped and when he looked back toward the stage, Richie was looking right at their table.

Their eyes met and he stuttered his words, an unreadable expression passing over his face before he caught himself and picked back up where he’d messed up making a self-deprecating joke about forgetting his lines. Eddie sat frozen, a chill going through him. He’d felt something and he was sure Richie felt it too. For the brief second their eyes were locked it felt like he was looking up at an old friend. Part of him wanted to get up and leave with some lame excuse to his coworkers that his wife needed him home. He didn’t need this uncertainty of being drawn to someone he’d never met like he was a past lover. It was unfamiliar and made it hard to breathe.

A memory of a conversation with Myra clicked into his mind. She’d been talking about soulmates, saying that they always find one another from one life to the next and the connection is instantaneous. She was talking about the two of them and Eddie had just nodded along, not contributing because he knew she was wrong. If there was such a thing as soulmates, she was not his. The idea that Richie fucking Tozier could be his soulmate was ludicrous and he felt like a jackass for having that thought at all even if it was just a passing thought.

“I have to pee.” Eddie mumbled as he staggered to his feet and made his way through the tables toward the bathroom. As he pushed through the door, forgetting to use his elbow instead of his hand, he heard Richie on stage saying, “I’m Trashmouth Tozier, goodnight!” and he felt dizzy. Echoes of his own voice calling out “Trashmouth” filled his ears as he made his way to the sink, pressing his hands against the cold porcelain to support himself.

Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe he was drunker than he realized and that’s why his head was spinning. Either way, he felt like he was strapped to a chair, his eyes pried open being forced to watch images flash by on a screen. Images that were being crammed into his brain through his ear making his head throb, but he couldn’t actually see them. That distant dream you can vaguely remember when waking but it slowly fades away into oblivion again.

“You ok?” Eddie startled at the voice. He hadn’t even heard the door open.

“I’m fine.” He said, turning on the tap and splashing water in his face.

“Too much to drink?” Eddie didn’t respond this time. He just wanted to get out of there, go home and sleep. The intruder on his mini breakdown wasn’t taking his silence as a hint though. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

Eddie finally lifted his head, taking a look at the guy though the mirror. What he saw, had him whirling around, a bad choice with the way he was feeling. He stumbled back against the sink, catching himself and hitting his wrist against the edge of the sink. Richie was leaning against the side of the stall door, his hands in his pockets.

It took a second for Eddie’s brain to reconnect to the present situation. When it did, the first thing to tumble from his lips was, “that’s a really shitty pickup line.”

Richie cracked a smile. “All pickup lines are shitty. I’m being serious though. Do you come to my shows often?”

“No. First time.”

“Did you enjoy the show?”

“Not even a little bit.” Eddie hadn’t meant to say that. He’d intended to lie and say it was great, but something about this guy made him want to be honest. He wasn’t afraid to tell him the truth. That feeling of familiarity sat tugging at his mind.

“Yea, I kind of noticed. I didn’t see you laugh once.”

“That room was packed. No way you were paying attention to me. You’re attempts to hit on me are really lame.”

“I was, though. I was trying to place where I know you. And I always watch the crowd to see if everyone is laughing. It’s kind of a blow to my confidence when there’s someone out there who doesn’t find my jokes funny.”

“They aren’t funny. They’re full of shit. Your old stuff was better.”

Richie appeared shocked. “So, you’re familiar with my work then. I thought you said this was your first show.”

“First live show I guess. I used to watch your stuff online. Before you stopped being funny.”

“Let me get this straight…you’re a fan but you don’t want me to hit on you in a public bathroom?”

“I’m not a fan, there’s no way you could get anything straight and I’m technically married. So, no.”

“Technically married? Like, separated? Getting a divorce?”

“No…I’m…I guess I’m actually married.”

“Oh.”

Eddie felt sick again, the waves of nausea crashing down and making him want to puke. He sounded disappointed and Eddie hated that. Why did he get married? Oh yea, because he shoved himself in the closet and she was obsessed with him. He used her and that knowledge was a constant pit of guilt sitting solid in his gut on a daily basis. He’d been so freaked out on their wedding day he’d almost run away. Having sex the first few times was awkward, and he had to drink quite a bit at the reception to even get hard and then he thought about the guy he used to hook up with in college. Tall, broad shoulders, thick biceps and thighs. He could hold Eddie up against the wall while he fucked up into him hard and fast.

That was not a memory he needed in his head while standing alone in a bathroom with someone he was definitely attracted to. Immediately he was picturing Richie pushing him up against the bathroom door, fucking him while he held a hand over his mouth to keep anyone from hearing his loud, slutty moans. A shiver went down his spine and he had to look away.

“Well, if I were hitting on you that would suck.” Richie chuckled awkwardly.

“What do you mean if?” Now distracted by Richie’s bullshit, Eddie was back to treating this perfect stranger as if he’d known him for years and was close with him. Could he really blame it all on the alcohol and the feeling of familiarity? Was it because he was attracted to him and really wanted to feel those big hands on his skin? “You were clearly disappointed when I said I was married.”

“I…have a girlfriend. Didn’t you hear my jokes about her?”

“That was bullshit. You didn’t even write those jokes.”

Richie’s eyes widened as his genuine smile returned to his face. “Why are you so sure I didn’t write my jokes?”

“Because your jokes used to be funny and they aren’t now.”

“Maybe I used to have someone else write for me and I write for myself now.”

Eddie hadn’t actually thought about that being a possibility. He was just so sure that the old jokes were his own words. He was beginning to think maybe he insulted him by saying his new stuff is bad since he didn’t write it when Richie began to laugh. He tried to keep it together, but the way Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed together, and his lips dropped into a frown of concern was so cute he couldn’t contain it. Eddie’s eyes snapped back up to Richie’s face and all at once his expression changed to one of annoyance.

“More bullshit. I take it back, you’re not funny at all and never were. And you’re definitely at least bi.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I can tell.”

“Ah, I just kind of assumed you were married to a woman, but I guess I was wrong. Cause like, only fellow gay people can tell right?”

“What kind of dumbassery is that? And I am married to a woman.”

“Oh. Wow. I cannot read people at all. I really thought you were gay.”

“I am.” Eddie felt like his heart stopped. He’d said it out loud for the first time. He used to think he was bi but ever since realizing his truth, he’d never said it out loud. Why the fuck was he blurting it out to this man in the middle of a public bathroom where anyone could walk in? He just couldn’t understand what was making him feel like an old friend he could confide all his deepest darkest secrets to. This was dangerous and he needed to leave. “I have to go.”

Eddie made his way to the door but was stopped by Richie using his long legs to get in front of him. “Wait, you can’t go without telling me your name.”

“What? Why?”

“You know my name.”

“You’re a celebrity. Everyone here knows your name.” Richie made it clear he wasn’t going to move until he gave it up and Eddie sighed in annoyance. “Fine. I’m Eddie.”

“Eddie…?”

“Kaspbrak. Now can you please move? My coworkers definitely think I’m taking a massive shit or passed out on the floor.”

“Sure thing Eddie Kaspbrak.”

Richie stepped to the side and Eddie wasted no time crashing through the door back into the dim light of the club. Outside the door stood a big buff bodyguard and a line of men stood waiting to pee. He’d actually stopped anyone from entering the bathroom after him. He definitely intended to seduce Eddie into fucking in the bathroom stall. Ignoring this, he made his way back to the table and found his coworkers still there discussing the show.

“Hey, Eddie, we thought you ditched us.” Harold grinned.

“No, sorry, there was a line in the bathroom.” He kind of lied. There had been a line, he had just sort of been the cause of it. “I do have to go though. I’ll see you all at work Monday.”

They each said goodbye and then Eddie was off into the night before Richie decided to follow after him. He wasn’t sure he could ignore the desire to drag him back to this car and ride him in the backseat if he saw him again. Better to rush home before he made a mistake.

----

When Eddie arrived home, Myra was unsurprisingly still awake waiting for him. He told her the meeting went well but she should head to bed without him as he needed a shower to wash the smell of the club off of him. Really he just needed to be alone and it was the only option. He’d banned her from sneaking into the shower with him after she tried to use two in one shampoo and conditioner on him. That wasn’t a thing and he only used professional hypoallergenic products recommended by his stylist.

Once under the hot stream of water, he closed his eyes, resting one hand against the wall to help support himself. That night wasn’t the first night he’d been tempted to go home with a stranger, but this time was different. He hadn’t actually touched him, but he swore he could feel his hands on his body, his fingers in his hair. A shiver went down his spine, his skin tingling where imaginary fingers traced over his body. The sound of his name from Richie’s mouth filled his mind as if he were there, whispering it over and over.

Before Eddie could even think, his fingers were wrapping around his dick, already hard just from his own imagination. He closed his eyes, focusing on how his face looked so close and in person, the sound of his laugh, the way one side of his mouth lifted up higher than the other when he smiled. He let his mind run wild, imagining what would have happened if he’d given in and stayed in that filthy bathroom with Richie.

“Eddie…Eddie…” His voice echoed in his head, making him shiver. With the door blocked by his bodyguard, there was no need to cram into a tiny stall, he thought. Instead, Richie would bend him over one of the sinks, his hands gripping the cold porcelain, his bare belly pressed against the edge. He wondered what it would be like to be fucked by Richie. How big he was, how long he could hold out. Had he even been with a guy before and did he prefer to receive? It didn’t matter really, because this was his fantasy and in it, Richie was perfect and knew exactly what Eddie needed.

In real time, Eddie had his shoulder pressed hard against the shower wall, one hand still jacking himself off, the other knuckle deep inside him while in his head Richie was pounding into him. He was close and part of his brain told him to bite down on his lip to stay quiet, so he wasn’t heard. He told himself it was because they were in a public bathroom, but he knew the real reason, the one who was likely listening outside the door for any noise. She would barge in and say she thought he fell in the shower if she heard any unusual noise, so he bit down until it hurt because he didn’t want to think about that. Not when Richie was deep inside him, moaning out his name and Eddie was close, so close…

He took a sharp inhale, spilling over his fingers and onto the shower floor. He knew that wasn’t great for the pipes as it washed away, but just a little wasn’t so bad, right? His head was a muddled cloud of post orgasm bliss and while the fantasy was quickly fading, he could still hear Richie’s voice echoing his name in his head. Over and over while Eddie reaching around the shower curtain for toilet paper to clean off his hand, while he quickly washed himself up and let the water run cold to calm himself down before leaving the safety and privacy of the bathroom. It continued as he shut off the water and wrapped himself in a towel and then his robe, repeating as he wiped the fog from the mirror and stared into his still wide pupils. It wouldn’t stop, he couldn’t will his voice away and then… “Eds!” the voice was younger, but he was absolutely sure that it was Richie.

The shock caused him to gasp, that same dizzy feeling he’d felt in the club coming back to him. A knock came from the door a second later followed by Myra’s frantic voice. “Eddie? Are you ok? I thought I heard something!”

Trying to calm himself, he took a deep breath before responding. “I’m fine. Just thought I saw a spider. I’ll be out in a second.” He knew she’d been sitting there ever since she heard the water start up. She always did. He could hear her footsteps going back down the hall toward the bedroom and he knew if he didn’t hurry she’d just come right back and demand he open the door. Grabbing another towel, he dried his hair a bit before bringing out the dryer. His mom had told him at a young age that it was never good to go to bed with wet hair and Myra felt the same way.

Hair dry and head calmed, he left the bathroom and the fantasy of Richie Tozier behind.

----

SpaghettiMan: Is it cheating to masturbate to someone else?

Eddie sat at his desk at work a few days later, the guilt of his almost-but-not-really with Richie sitting in his stomach all weekend. He’d wanted to talk to his friend about it, but it wasn’t safe to communicate with her at home. He’d met her in an online support group a few months before. She was also in a bad, controlling marriage though her husband was violent toward her and constantly accused her of cheating. They didn’t know each other’s real names, it wasn’t allowed in the group, but they’d become close and had moved to a private room where they could talk just the two of them. He’d created a stupid username that had been stuck in his head for years without any explanation but definitely hid who he really was. Now, he waited for her to respond, chewing the inside of his lip.

WinterFire: I’m sorry…what?

SpaghettiMan: I had the opportunity to cheat and I didn’t! I’m a good man…but I did go home and masturbate while thinking about them.

WinterFire: Wow, um…ok. I guess it’s better than screwing your wife while thinking about them, maybe?

SpaghettiMan: Oh god…

WinterFire: Does your wife know?

SpaghettiMan: Of course not! I don’t even sleep with her anymore unless she gets me really, really drunk.

WinterFire: So…who was it?

SpaghettiMan: What?

WinterFire: The almost. Who was it?

SpaghettiMan: Is that important?

WinterFire: Absolutely. If you want me to judge you then I need all the details.

Eddie’s fingers hesitated over the keys. He hadn’t told her that he was gay. It was anonymous, but if he gave her the name of a celebrity thought to be straight, it would open a whole can of worms. He decided it was ok to tell her about himself, but he wouldn’t give away Richie’s name.

SpaghettiMan: It was…a guy.

WinterFire: Oh

His heart pounded in his chest as he watched the typing bubbles appear and disappear several times. Part of him had always been afraid that she was really Myra pretending to be someone else to get information out of him, though he didn’t know if she was actually capable of that. Finally, the chat chime came from his speakers.

WinterFire: So, you’re bi? Or pan?

SpaghettiMan: I’m gay

His fingers shook as he hit send. Twice now he’d admitted it in just a few short days. It was terrifying and liberating all at the same time. Like the weight of the world was lifted off of his shoulders for just a moment while laced with fear of the unknown. How would she react? Before she could, his fingers were flying over the keys.

SpaghettiMan: I thought I was bi for a long time. I slept with men in college but also some women.

SpaghettiMan: I met my wife and she loved me, and I thought I loved her, so we got married and then I realized.

SpaghettiMan: I didn’t want to hurt her but also she’s…well you know what she’s like from the stories I’ve told you. I don’t know if I could get away if I tried. She’s so manipulative, I don’t know what she’d do if I told her the truth and left.

WinterFires: Hey, it’s ok. You don’t have to defend yourself to me. Sexuality is a crazy thing.

WinterFires: I’ve for sure had more than one woman in my bed. Sometimes at the same time.

She added a little winking emoji after that, and Eddie felt himself calming down.

WinterFires: Maybe this is something you should tell the group. I want to help but I’m not really sure what to say. I don’t think what you did counts as cheating, but I do think you need to find a way to tell her the truth. She deserves a man who can handle her toxic ass and actually wants to sleep with her, and you deserve to be happy and live your truth.

He contemplated what she said for the rest of the day. She wasn’t wrong, but if it were that easy, he’d have done it already. Still, he trusted her and her opinion so the next meeting they had, he’d bring it up. He’d already said it twice, what was once more?

----

As the days went by, Eddie couldn’t get Richie out of his head. He haunted his dreams, sometimes they were younger and sometimes they were nightmares where they were running from…something. He could never fully remember the dreams all he knew was that Richie was there. Sometimes there were other people. Always five, always blurred so he couldn’t see them. Only one had any discernible features – red hair. Beyond that, it was as if he was looking at them through foggy glass.

One thing was certain, Richie Tozier had burrowed his way into Eddie’s brain and taken up permanent residence. He started watching his older routines again, finding clips online and on streaming services. Eventually he made it to his new stuff. And, while he still didn’t think the new stuff was funny, he couldn’t stop watching.

When the weekend rolled around once more, he felt like a teenager who hadn’t seen their crush all week. So, against his better judgement, he approached Harold with an invitation to go back to the club for drinks. Harold had definitely been surprised but had agreed and invited along a group of their coworkers to join, making a night of it. Eddie told Myra they had to go back to the club to go over some paperwork with the owner. This time, the lie made him feel guilty. He wasn’t lying to enjoy a night of relaxation; he was lying so he could attempt to see the man he was interested in. This definitely counted as cheating, right?

The line wasn’t as bad this time as there were no big-name comedians performing, so they’d waited their turn to be allowed inside. His coworkers chatted happily while Eddie felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin from nervous energy. Where were the odds he was even there? He’d only been at the club last weekend because he had a show. He was paid to be there. This was stupid. He was stupid. He should just fake illness and go home to his wife. But then they were at the front, paying admission to see a band he didn’t know, and he didn’t stop.

The inside was the same as before, but this time a band occupied the stage playing a song he’d never heard before. They claimed a table and Eddie’s eyes scanned the room for a familiar face. There was no sign of him, or his big bodyguard. Of course, he wasn’t there. Eddie was just a one time attempted pick up and he hadn’t thought of him since. Anything Eddie had imagined was just that…imaginary.

“You ok Kaspbrak?” Harold asked.

“Yea, I’m fine. I just suddenly feel really tired. I think going out today was actually a bad idea.” He felt so sad and then felt stupid for feeling sad.

“What? Really? You created this night out and now you’re tapping out just as it’s getting started?” Harold looked disappointed.

“I’m really sorry. Maybe I’m coming down with something. We can try again next week, ok?”

He didn’t wait for a response as he stood and headed for the door. As he exited onto the nearly dark street, he wondered what he was doing. He was married, what was he planning to do? What if Richie had been there? It wouldn’t make a difference or change his circumstances. If he wanted to pursue hot guys in clubs, he needed to first get a divorce. He was acting on impulse and it was time to reign it in.

Part of his mind kept telling him to go back. Just because he wasn’t there, didn’t mean he wouldn’t show up. That was precisely the kind of thought he was trying to remove, so he ignored it and kept walking.

----

The rest of the weekend, Eddie stayed home and watched things that had absolutely nothing to do with a certain comedian. He had lunch and dinner with Myra and on Sunday, over a dinner of all her favorite foods, he told her.

“What are you talking about? Don’t be silly, Eddie.” She said with a wave of her hand, dismissing what he’d just said.

“I’m serious, Myra. When we met and got married I thought I liked women too and maybe on some small level I do, but I want to be with a man. I want a divorce.”

She slammed her glass down on the table, her face turning red. “Who? Who is this man you want to be with?”

“There isn’t anyone specific. I just think it’s time I find someone.”

“You already have someone! Me!”

“You know what I mean, Myra. And you deserve to find someone too.”

“You’re just being ridiculous. You’ve got a fever and are delirious. I’ll call your doctor in the morning.”

“I’m not sick, I’m not delirious. This has been on my mind for a long time. I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, but it’s time.”

“I won’t hear anymore of this!” She stood from the table. “I’m going to have a nice hot bath and then I’m going to bed. In the morning we’ll both be thinking a lot clearer and you’ll see that this was just foolishness.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, she left the room. A moment later, Eddie could hear the water running in the bathtub. Sighing, he cleared the table, loaded the dishwasher and put away all of the leftovers. With her still in the bath, he went to the room they shared and packed a bag with pajamas, toiletries and a suit for work. He was in his car and headed to a hotel before she emerged from the bathroom.

----

Eddie was sat at his desk the next day, chat window opened on his screen and feeing exhausted. He’d tossed and turned all night, anxiety about how difficult things were about to become plaguing his mind. He’d checked out of the hotel that morning, his things in the trunk of his car, but he figured he’d be back there or at another hotel that night.

SpaghettiMan: I did it. I told her everything (mostly) and slept in a hotel last night.

WinterFires: Holy crap! Good for you, dude! I’m proud of you.

SpaghettiMan: Thanks. It was pretty awful. I actually left when she was bathing, and my phone has been turned off, so I have no idea what she’s doing or thinking right now.

“Hey, Eddie.” He turned in his chair to see one of the assistants standing close by. “You’ve got a visitor. They said to meet them out in the parking lot.”

“What?” He looked toward the front entrance and saw no one standing there.

“Yea, it’s kind of weird. Do you need me to call the police or…?”

“No, it’s ok. I’ll handle it.”

SpaghettiMan: She may have just shown up at my work. I have a visitor waiting in the parking lot. If I’m not back in ten minutes, I’m probably dead.

WinterFires: Oh shit, be careful ok?

Eddie’s stomach twisted in knots as he road the elevator down to the ground floor. He tried to see who it was through the front windows but there were several people outside and he didn’t know who it was waiting for him. He went to the desk in the lobby and approached the security guard.

“Hi, so I’m Edward Kaspbrak, I work upstairs. I’m about to go meet some stranger out in the parking lot. I’m sure it’s nothing, but if you see anything go down can you…interfere?” He felt so stupid.

“Do you…want me to go out there with you?” The guy looked out into the parking lot out of curiosity.

“No, that might be bad. Just…if a woman tries to force me into a car, call the police and tell them it was my wife.”

“Right. Ok.” The guard seemed confused and maybe a little amused, but he watched as Eddie exited the building and stood close to the window to observe.

Eddie stayed close to the building and scanned his surroundings. He didn’t see Myra, but then a tall figure with a hood and sunglasses waved in his direction. So, not Myra. A hitman maybe? Or someone hired to kidnap him and take him home? Either way, he looked back to the security guard in the window and then made his way through the parked cars to where the person was standing.

“Before you say anything, I’m guessing my wife sent you. I don’t know what she’s paying you or what she told you to do but know that I’m planning to leave her enough money in the divorce to be comfortable for a few years. Also, there’s a security guard watching us, and I’ve instructed him to call the police if you try anything.” He tried to sound confident, but his voice squeaked on the last bit.

The person smiled and removed their glasses. Richie.

“You’re a hard man to find Mr. Kaspbrak.” He grinned, tucking the glasses into his jacket pocket.

“Why are you here?” That might have sounded harsher than he intended.

“I’ve been looking for you since that night we met. I went back to that club a few times, figured it was a place you frequented. I saw the people you were with last time, but you were nowhere in sight.”

“I…was there. I just left. I was sick.”

“Well, I talked to them anyway and they told me you all worked together and after a few rounds they told me exactly where to find you.”

“Are you stalking me?” Eddie ignored the flutter in his chest and his quickly increasing heartrate.

“Flat answer, yes. I wanted to see you again. I haven’t been able to get you out of my head and I needed to find out why.”

“I…me too. What the fuck is happening?” Eddie took a step back, suddenly feeling breathless.

“Fate?”

“No, I keep having these dreams where we’re kids, and I’ve never seen you as a kid but I know it’s you and there are five others but they’re all…”

“Blurry?”

“How did you know that?”

“I’ve had the same dreams. And there’s this thing that’s trying to kill us. I think. I just know we’re scared of it.”

“You’re lying. You’re full of shit. You’ve been talking to someone. Winter…you’ve talked to her. You are her, aren’t you?”

“Who? I haven’t talked to anyone. I swear, I’m telling the truth. It’s been going on ever since I saw you that night.”

Eddie felt sick, a panic attack creeping up on him as it became harder to breathe. “Whoa, shit, you ok?” Richie asked, stepping forward. “Do you have your inhaler?”

“How?” Eddie asked between shaky breaths. “How did you know I use an inhaler?”

“Uh…lucky guess?”

Eddie shook his head and took a deep breath, holding it for ten seconds and letting it go then repeating. Richie stood close by and watched, concern in his eyes.

“Look, people are starting to stare and if I get recognized it could be a whole thing so why don’t we go get lunch somewhere and I’ll tell you everything that’s happened to me since we met, ok?”

Eddie nodded, letting out his breath in one long blow, finally feeling himself begin to calm down. “Fine, but you’re paying.”

----

Two weeks later and they weren’t any closer to finding out what their dreams meant or why they knew strange facts about each other they shouldn’t know. However, dinners and drinks and long nights talking until the sun rose, and they didn’t care anymore. Maybe it was fate bringing them together. Some cosmic thing that can’t quite be explained.

They agreed that they wouldn’t pursue a relationship until Eddie’s divorce was final, which would probably take a while with all the fits Myra was throwing. He couldn’t take care of himself, he needed her, she might be pregnant, etc. Eddie would listen to her and then make it clear that he was going forward with the divorce. Getting her to sign would be another obstacle all together but Richie put him in touch with a good lawyer, so he was hopeful.

He was driving back to his hotel afterwork, stuck on yet another call with Myra, her begging him to reconsider. This time she had decided that it was ok if he kept male lovers behind closed doors as long as they stayed together, and he gave her a baby. She was planning it all out when another call came in. The ID read “Derry, Maine” and a chill went through him. He told Myra to hold on and switched over.

“Eddie? It’s Mike.”

Oh.

----

So maybe Eddie had an entire life that he couldn’t even remember. Filled with friends he’d known since childhood. And Richie. That’s what was happening with them. Why they seemed to know each other. It was because they did. Intimately. They were friends for years and then in the 8th grade, they started dating. They dated all the way until they each left Derry and then…nothing. They both just, forgot. As did the others.

Eddie was frantic as he stood outside Richie’s door, knocking rapidly until his knuckles began to hurt. When Richie opened the door, he had his phone pressed to his ears, his eyes wide as saucers.

“Yea, I’m gonna have to call you back.” He said, dropping the phone to his side.

“Was that Mike?”

“No, Mike called just before. That was my manager wanting to know why I’m canceling my shows to go back to my hometown I didn’t even know existed until fifteen minutes ago.”

“Do you remember?”

“What, that we were in love and ready to start our adult lives together and then we completely forgot each other?”

“Yea…that.”

Without missing another beat, both surged forward and wrapped each other up in their arms. Richie stepped back into the apartment, pulling Eddie with him and shutting the door.

“I can’t believe you married a woman.” Richie laughed.

“Fuck you.” Eddie’s voice was muffled by Richie’s shoulder, but the message got across. “I cheated on you. A lot.”

“Hey, me too. Forget about it. It was…another life.”

Eddie pulled out of Richie’s embrace but stood close, looking up at him. “I still can’t do anything until I’m divorced. I just…can’t.”

“I got it. But I feel nineteen again like we haven’t lost anything when we really lost like twenty years.”

“I don’t want to think about that. I can’t.” Eddie shook his head as if willing the thought away. “So…are we going to Derry?”

“Our friends need us. Don’t we have to?”

“What if we forget again…”

“I guess we’ll just have to rely on fate to bring us together again.”

“So, back to Derry.”

“Back to Derry.”

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

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piduai · 4 years ago

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I’ve always been bad at articulating my thoughts, so your responses, like the one on enjoying villains, are cathartic in how well-worded they are. If I may ask, why do you find people indulging in certain types of p*rn disgusting, specifically if it’s fictional? To be clear I also despise them myself, but I’m not sure if this is just a visceral reaction on our part or what.

p*rn creates addiction, it rots your brain in ways incredibly difficult to unlearn, it destroys people's relationships with their own sexualities and bodies, creates a false and unrealistic image of sex and expectations about sex, seeps into people's everyday behavior, vocabulary and the way they interact with others. it has a negative effect on EVERYONE; conditions men to see women as fuck toys, seek more violent and violent encounters, and contributes to early erectile dysfunction. conditions women to dehumanize themselves, not prioritize their own pleasure, hate their own bodies, and makes them terrified of sex altogether OR seek harmful sexual encounters. you already see how people are shamed for liking "vanilla" sex and wanting to be respected, loved and pleasured in bed is a bad thing somehow - but choking, drowning and beating your partner is a-okay. it gives gay people very, very, very unrealistic and harmful ideas about what gay sex is supposed to be, and creates a culture where homosexuality is fetishized by straights.

these are issues and a million more are wide within the p*rn industry in general, fictional p*rn is only a facet of it, doesn't mean it's not disgusting - it does all of that, except it's drawn, for the better or the worse. sure, no real people are harmed in the making, but it being artificially created is also a freeway of enacting ideas that are hard to execute in real life - which they do get executed eventually btw, tentacle rape also started as drawings but now they put real actresses through that, as well as putting bees and maggots on or inside their genitalia. just peachy. p*rn industry is inherently harmful to women, and i simply do not think that women should suffer just so coomers can get their daily wank. i also have a healthy relationship with my sexuality and consider sex a good, rewarding, intimate thing that should stay between you and your partners.

as for online coomerism, i actually really do not want to read about jotaro licking the oozing stinking cum out of rohan's swollen prolapsed asshole, like it just doesn't do it for me, you feel? 10 years ago it was considered in very poor taste to talk like this in public, you kept that stuff to yourself, now it's all over twitter search from op with the handle daddy joseph's cum rag or whatever (using jojo here bc i read the jotaro and rohan thing word for word and it stuck with me for some reason). if you can't be normal in public and don't have a filter about what's ok and not ok to say, if you're going to be vulgar for the sake of it, if you're going to be unable to shut your mouth about your kinks once in a while and interject them in every discussion with complete strangers it's your freedom, of course, but i'm going to avoid you because you sound like an insufferable person who has no respect for boundaries. why do i have to read that garbage unprompted. why do i have to see drawn cp, incest and beastiality everywhere just because it isn't illegal. if this makes me a stuck-up prude so be it, keep wanking off to deranged p*rn while being terrified of actual human touch and intimacy, i hope you heal soon.

#like the amount of fujos i've seen and even talked to who felt mighty comfortable talking about their piss kink in their yaoiz #while admitting to never dating and hating themselves and being afraid of sex is staggering lol #i feel sorry for those women but i'm not the one to preach to them and help them #anon

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ramon-balaguer · 4 years ago

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As reflect on my recent prayer post from a married friend on the download or closeted homosexual or bisexual if you will… praying against his homosexual temptations and thoughts to be a true husband and father to their children…

I believe more needs to be discussed, revealed and taught on sexual sins. Not just for their benefit but for ours, as The Church to extend love, grace and mercy.

And though this is focused on same sex stuff like lesbians and homosexuals, it really can be applied to ANY sexual sin, even in the heterosexual sphere, so let’s dig in and see what God has to say, that unfortunately so many see as Hate talk or speech:

What Does the Bible Say about Homosexuality?

Few subjects are more controversial today in the church than this: What does the Bible say about homosexuality?

If one regards the Bible as God-breathed and authoritative, then one must respect whatever the Lord says about every topic.

What we say and think about the LGBT+ (#LHBTTABCDFIGMPPQZ) community should be derived from Scripture, including the ways in which we are to treat one another.

Bible Verses about Homosexuality

Christians must always start with the Bible in order to hear God’s Word on any subject. His commands are not optional, and he states clearly, “You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination” (Leviticus 18:22).

Neither the sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor men who practice homosexuality, nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God (1 Corinthians 6:9-11).

For this reason God gave them up to dishonorable passions. For their women exchanged natural relations for those that are contrary to nature; and the men likewise gave up natural relations with women and were consumed with passion for one another, men committing shameless acts with men and receiving in themselves the due penalty for their error (Romans 1:26).

Some Christians suggest that a progressive God would overturn his own commands in a certain social climate, but God does not progress in his thinking; his thoughts and commandments are always right.

We know that God does not change his mind. That he is always the same; and this is foundational to our hope and our faith in his Kingdom purposes.

God was, is, and always will be against sexual sin in all of its forms, which include lust for a person who is not one’s spouse, sexual affairs, and even emotional affairs.

One must not single out someone who identifies as gay or transgender as a “sinner” but instead look inward. Ignoring one’s own sin by way of deflection does not fool God.

Modern Arguments about Etymology

There is an argument that Scripture does not contain the word “homosexuality” and that God is not opposed to men or women having sex with consenting members of the same sex. The word “zakar” in Hebrew can refer to any male, including human and animal, but also to boys.

But Strong’s concordance indicates that “zakar,” as used in Leviticus 18:22 above, refers to sodomy, a term not reserved for acts of child sexual abuse or rape but also consensual acts between adults.

“Arsenokoitai” is Greek for “men having sex with other men. And there is no real other interpretation that makes the best sense of the evidence both in the early Christian literature and especially in the Old Testament.”

Kevin DeYoung explains that Paul, a scholar and former Pharisee, coined the term. If Paul had been referring to men forcing boys to have sex, then he could have used the word “biazó” for “violent force” to denote a difference between consensual and non-consensual sex. He did not.

Positive Commands about Sex

Sex is a gift. “Before the fall — before sin — sex was part of the created order. It was good — VERY GOOD,” wrote Paul Carter. “In fact, contrary to cultural ideas about sex propounded during the first century AD, “Christianity taught that sex within a marriage should be free, generous and reciprocal.”

But God never depicted coital relationships between two men or two women in a positive way. When God made Eve, Adam said “this at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called Woman” (Genesis 23).

Marriage is represented frequently in Scripture. We have the examples of Abraham and Sarah, Isaac, and Rebekah, Ruth and Boaz; Mary and Joseph; and several more. None of these couples was perfect, but each is an example of heterosexual marriage.

Jesus' Relationships

When it comes to how society treats individuals who engage in homosexual relationships, Jesus’ attitude is the benchmark. The gospels illustrate how Jesus wants us to treat a person who has been marginalized by society on the basis of gender by highlighting several encounters Jesus had with women.

He called out their sin but offered something better. He allowed Mary Magdalene to serve him by washing his feet with her hair. The Messiah saved an adulterous woman from stoning. The Samaritan woman depicted in John 4 had been married five times and was with a sixth man.

He sat and talked with her when the rest of her community shunned the woman. Each of these women was guilty, but so were the Pharisees and other members of society who scorned or condemned them, and the men who used them.

Instead of judging these women, Jesus invited them to be part of his mission. The Samaritan woman was one of his first apostles. Mary was among his devoted followers.

Jesus gave these women a new identity so that they could freely choose to follow him, relieved of shame, and make him the focus of their lives. Everyone needs God’s mercy, but 1 Corinthians 6:9-11 is often taken out of context so that the emphasis lands on homosexuality.

This narrow-mindedness overlooks thievery, greed, drunkenness, abuse, and fraud which are also listed. Paul does not exclude anyone, even classifying himself as the chief of sinners. (1 Timothy 1:15)

Intimacy, Identity, and Culture

You may have heard of the famous South Carolinian Gospel singer, actor and Minister of the Gospel Donald “Donnie” Andrew McClurkin, Jr. I greatly admire him for his many gifts and talent, but especially his complete uncompromised commitment to our God despite his struggle with his sinful fleshly and worldly desires of homosexuality that started with being sexually abused by two uncles and ended being ostracized and blacklisted by Barack Hussein Obama for his opposing views on Same-Sex Marriage… Likewise Sam Allberry, a same-sex pastor from England, confronts the pain of being alone, even by choice, on the grounds of obedience to God. Celibacy is made more difficult by the elevation of marital intimacy to a lofty position above all other forms, including friendship.

Allberry’s fear is that “if someone’s only choice in life seems to be either unbiblical intimacy or no intimacy, they’re going to end up choosing unbiblical intimacy. And if that’s the case, I think the wider church shares responsibility for that.”

As Allberry asserts, people within the LGBT+ (#LHBTTABCDFIGMPPQZ) and the entire #SinSickSocialistLyingLeftistLiberal community are being denied access to this kind of intimacy, so even those who are keen to follow God’s commands and to please Him by their faithful obedience are drawn to other sources for belonging and acceptance.

Jesus never taught his disciples to deny friendship and familial love to anyone. “Whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother” (Matthew 12:50).

He also promoted mutually uplifting, godly friendship. “Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). The word friend, philos in the Greek, means “beloved” or “dear.” “I have called you friends,” Jesus said to his disciples (John 15:15).

Not everyone accepts forgiveness through Jesus; but he offers dignity, love, and truth to everyone. When a Gospel-Believing person highlights Sin in a person’s life, the purpose should always be to point that person to Jesus and His Saving grace and mercies.

Admitting and repenting of Sin, turning to Christ for Salvation, restores a person to peace and wholeness with God. Many so-called Christians, however, point fingers and exalt themselves by knocking down anyone whose lifestyle does not line up with their own.

A Merciful Love

“Judge not, that you be not judged. For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you” (Matthew 7:1-2).

A big problem in the church right now is the attitude that because someone identifies as homosexual, lesbian (or gay as they now prefer to be called), transgender, pedophile, etc., that they should not be welcomed into the church.

This is wrong for a few reasons:

1. We are all sinners. To suggest otherwise is to ignore the plank sticking out of one’s eye while examining the speck in someone else’s (Matthew 7:3-5).

2. We are commanded not to judge others. If we treat other people as though they are not as valuable to God as we are, then we risk incurring his judgment on ourselves (Matthew 7:1-2).

3. Jesus hung out with everyone. He ate with sinners. That’s why the Pharisees were so scandalized. He offered the gift of his presence and the offer of salvation without prejudice.

4. Jesus says, “Come to me all you who are weary.” This is not an invitation to particular individuals who qualify on the basis of their behavior or lifestyle but to anyone who is tired (Matthew 11:28).

Given the obstacles and even dangers the LGBQT+ community faces, added to the ordinary strains of life in general, one might imagine they are very weary, indeed.

What’s Next for the Church

Everyone was made in God’s image, but not all people embrace Christ’s message of Hope, Peace, Love, Holiness, Grace, Mercy, and Justice.

One reason for this is religious arrogance (Not much has changed in over 2,000 years, sadly) — Christians who act as though they are in a position to condemn or pardon.

But if churches shut their doors to those who defy God’s commands about sexual intimacy, the doors would be shut to everyone. The duty and privilege of Christ’s disciples are to offer all who will listen to the message of salvation and the promise of a love greater than anything.

His Love and Justice go together, but all who call on Christ’s name for Salvation are covered by His Blood. Believe it or not, that includes same-sex folks and all the rest… Each of us is a work in progress.

We can teach His inerrant Word but must always do so without judging or persecuting anyone, and with love and kindness.

If churches shut their doors to those who defy God’s commands about sexual intimacy, the doors would be shut to everyone. The smokers and drunkards, the liars and gossipers, the thieves and robbers, the cheaters and beaters…

The duty and privilege of Christ’s disciples are to offer all who will listen to the message of Salvation, Restoration and the promise of a love greater than anything.

I have way too many friends and family who’ve dibbled and dabbled or live out any of these lifestyles the same way others do with alcohol, marijuana, porn or other addictive drugs… but I Love them all and would support and do anything for them that I’d do for anyone else within the Word of God. :) #REBTD

My God and Father, how great is Your Love and Mercy… Thank You for Saving me from me and my poor choices in this life. Thank You for Saving my wife, sons and Godsons and so many family and friends from the Devil’s deceptions that lead to addictive behaviors. My Lord, bless and increase their Faith and Hope in You to continually walk with You that they won’t lose the precious Gift of Salvation from when they first Believed. Last but not least, let the lost find You and takeaway any thought or desire to sin and come to You with a repentant heart to give themselves to You. In Jesus’ Saving name, Amen.

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lilsherlockian1975 · 5 years ago

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The Nose Knows

A little soulmates AU, mostly fluff. Here’s part one. This is NOT beta’d, sorry for any mistakes. Huge thanks to @mel-loves-all for helping out with editing the images since I’m an ignorant goose penis when it comes to all that business. Blame me for the quality of the pics... it’s what I picked out for her. ~LiL~

-o-o-o-o-

He catches it on a breeze. It hits him like a physical blow and he instantly knows what he’s smelling, if not... who.

He and his cousin Daven are sitting on one of the few available benches on the Quad. Addam, his best friend since childhood, is talking about some girl he’d met at a sorority mixer the night before but as soon as the scent drifts his way, Jaime pretty much tunes out the sordid tale of sloppy, near-anonymous sex. It’s a gorgeous Spring day, not a cloud in the sky and no hint of rain for the first time in at least two weeks. This fact alone has driven most of the student population out of doors, making it almost impossible for him to quickly assign the scent to its owner.

Jaime is instantly ill at ease, which is unfortunate as moments ago he’d felt entirely in his element. He and his twin sister had celebrated their twenty-second name day the weekend before and prior to the scent, he’d been feeling at the very top of his game. Now he’s... confused and excited and anxious all at once.

Less than two months and he will be finished with this gods’ forsaken town and its massive university. He’s already been accepted at Crakehall School of Art & Design for his post-grad, which is, incidentally, where he originally had planned to study. His father’d had different ideas, forcing Jaime into the business programme at KLU. Thankfully, he had managed to slip a minor in Architecture into his degree by selling Tywin a load of shit about wanting to ‘propel Castlery Corp. into the modern era’. The minor had added a full year to Jaime’s studies and without a major in his chosen field, he will have to take supplementary classes at CSAD but he’s certain it will be worth it in the end.

None of that matters now. Tywin Lannister had died of a massive stroke seven months ago. Jaime supposes he should feel worse about that; should feel some kind of loss or sadness, and maybe he does, though not for the reasons most sons would for the death of a parent. But the old man was never a real father. He’d been indifferent toward Tyrion, dismissive toward Cersei - though he could occasionally be somewhat warmer to his only female child - and constantly demanding that Jaime ‘live up to the Lannister name’. Jaime can feel sympathy for their mother, of course, she did love the old bastard, but neither he nor his sister are overly damaged by the old man’s death. Oddly enough, their father’s death seems to be affecting his little brother the most.

The scent assails him again and this time he stands, walking towards it, leaving Addam sputtering objections and calling him names. Jaime doesn’t care. The only thing he cares about is the originator of that smell.

He passes small groups of fellow students, all equally excited about the respite from the spring rains. The Quad is packed, of course, so it’s no easy task. Not to mention that he probably looks like some kind of weirdo, walking around, nose first and… sniffing. But he’s being driven by something entirely out of his control.

Though he’s never really given much thought to the idea of soulmates, he knows they exist - his Uncle Gerion and Aunt Briony are soulmates, for instance, but it’s rarely talked about within the family, almost as if it is some dirty secret. Actually, for some unknown reason, talking about soulmates seems to be taboo in ‘polite society’. Uncle Gerion - his favourite uncle - however, is quite outspoken against Lannister Family tradition and societal norms. The phenomenon, as far as he knows, is very rare these days and Jaime has never once even considered the possibility for himself.

Now… Now there's no doubt. He can smell her - them? - whoever! Jaime’s never been attracted to men, but somehow he knows that if the gods have seen it fit to match him with a man… so be it!

Shaking himself, he chuckles as he moves to another group of students. It won’t be a man, he thinks. Surely the gods would have given him some kind of inclination towards his own sex if… Suddenly, he’s engulfed with the scent. They’re close, they must be! He turns, following his nose like a damn toucan.

The crowd thins a bit; it’s the top of the hour and people are rushing off to class. Jaime’s eyes and, yes, his nose, zero in on his target. Shit! It is a dude! He’s taller than Jaime by maybe an inch or so with short, straw-like blond hair, broad shoulders and… He’s just about to resign himself to a future that he’d never even considered (okay, so he’s maybe had the odd thought here and there about other guys - everyone has, right?! Right?) when they turn around and…

“You’re a girl,” he says without thinking.

She (oh, thank the gods she’s a she!) narrows her eyes, straightens her spine and glares. “Yes, I am. And you’re not very original, I’m afraid,” she says coldly before stalking past him.

What?! No! She’s… she’s supposed to know. She’s supposed to smell him too. What in the seven hells is going on?! “Wait!” Jaime calls out but she doesn’t stop. He can’t give up, he just can’t. Sprinting to catch up, he reaches out for her, wanting to stop her, to talk to her. He doesn’t make it that far, though. Just before he touches her arm, she jerks back - maybe she saw him in her peripheral vision, maybe it’s some strange side effect of their connection, he doesn’t know - but when he sees the look in her unbelievably blue eyes, he’s the one flinching away.

“I don’t know who you think you are,” she practically growls, “but you can’t just go around insulting people, chasing after them then touching them as if it’s your right!”

“But it is,” he replies lamely because... how doesn’t she know?

Her responding laugh is mocking and he can’t deny that it hurts him in a way he never imagined being hurt. Shaking her head, she sneers as she looks him up and down. “Guys like you are all the same…”

There are no guys like me, he thinks but luckily, this time he holds his tongue.

“I know I’m an easy target - hard to miss, low hanging fruit and whatnot - I’m just not in the mood for this nonsense today.”

Jaime knows he should give up, regroup and try again later, but patience has never been his strong suit. “I wasn’t… It wasn’t an insult. I was…” ‘Surprised’ sounds insulting and really, how does she still not know? His mind scrambles for a word to properly describe his condition. Finally, he settles on, “Confused?” though it unintentionally comes out as a question.

This seems to only further enrage the girl. She takes a step back, draws a deep breath and, once again, shakes her head. “Find someone else to help you figure out your sexuality!”

Okay, there’s a story there, Jaime’s sure of it but he doesn’t have time to ask. “No-no, you’re misunderstanding me. I know I’m not gay.” Although the fact that he considered it for thirty seconds or so is something he’ll deal with later! “I’m saying that…”

“I really don’t care what you’re saying.” Again, her eyes travel over him and Jaime has never felt so judged in his entire life. “It’s nothing new, it’s nothing I’ve not heard before. Do you really think you’re the first prick to want to screw with me? I’m guessing it’s another bet. Who put you up to this? Red? Bushy? If it was Hyle, I swear to the Seven...”

“None of them! I don’t even know who you’re talking about!” When he thinks about her words, an intense feeling of protectiveness overcomes him. “What bet? What did they do?”

Her pale, freckle-covered cheeks turn an interesting shade of pink as she hitches her messenger bag higher on her shoulder before crossing her arms over her chest. “Nothing. Never mind. Just… Just leave me alone. Please.” The last word comes out softly, pleadingly and it just about breaks Jaime’s heart. Turning, she starts to go.

“I’m not a creep!” he calls out, managing to stop her escape. Looking around, he notices that, miraculously, the Quad has pretty much cleared out. If their fellow students hadn’t been in such a rush to return to class he and the angry girl would have surely drawn a crowd. He takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself before continuing, “And I’m not a prick. I am sort of an arsehole, but not - I think, not like those guys you mentioned. Whatever they did... hurt you enough to make you make that face…”

She whips around. “What about my face?”

With a sigh, he says, “It looks sad. Too sad. It’s not supposed to.” And what does that even mean? he wonders as the words leave his mouth.

She’s surprised for a split second, then all emotion seems to drain from her features. “I don’t know why you’re doing this but please just… leave me alone.”

So he does. For now.

-o-o-o-o-

There is a very good reason that Brienne doesn’t know ‘who’ Jaime is. This is just the first part, I’m working on the next bit. Please let me know what you think. Thanks ~Lil~

#jaime x brienne #jaime lannister #brienne of tarth #uni AU #modern AU #game of thrones

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soulvomit · 4 years ago

Text

Because of how I was brought up with regard to emotions, I had very, very poor emotional regulation for a lot of my early life. I was also basically just left to emotionally fend for myself in a lot of ways. My parents basically couldn’t deal with emotions, and didn’t teach me to deal with them, and my going from this school to that school to homeschool to that other school to homeschool again didn’t help, because I didn’t really get to practice this stuff with other kids, either.

Basically I was taught that I had to internalize all of my feelings, so I had two modes, Vulcan and Tornado (when the emotions couldn’t be internalized anymore). The problem is, by the time the emotions hit, they were just a seemingly unprovoked rage tantrum or a cry fest, sometimes triggered by some emotional content in a movie, or something weird that my brain had latched onto that didn’t even make sense to me. There was a period when I was 8 where pictures of orchids would set off crying jags. I don’t understand why. I didn’t understand why then, either.

I just had all of these random emotions that I didn’t understand, I didn’t even know what they connected to, and because I couldn’t make sense of my feelings - I couldn’t even tell you what I wanted, because I was conditioned to just name off practical considerations or “logical” reasons I SHOULD want a particular thing. (And it’s for this reason that I stayed in shitty relationships, or even stayed with people I didn’t love. I didn’t like my ex husband that much, but I couldn’t even admit this to myself. I had all kinds of rationalizations for why I should marry him anyway just because HE was interested. But tbh, I didn’t like him that much, and I never did.)

When I started questioning my sexuality, the biggest reason my mom couldn’t wrap her mind around this is because of her mindset that personal fulfillment is NOT WHY WOMEN GET MARRIED. And the problem is - sexuality and gender identity are ALL ABOUT YOUR PERSONAL FEELINGS. And in her mind, this was a reason that gay and trans people were actually invalid. I tried to talk to her about my feelings for other women, but what came up was, “feelings aren’t why people get married.”

And when I questioned my gender, she also couldn’t wrap her mind around that, either. “But ALL women have those feelings!” You just perform whatever role has been assigned to you, PERIOD, that’s how you are a good person, or you are letting multiple people down. And your gender isn’t just your identity, it also comes bundled with specific DUTIES. (The irony is that I would not have been able to be with my fiance if I had not learned to accept that People Partner Because FEELINGS. I had to go through “wait... it’s okay to be gay” to unravel that tangled mess. Identifying as gay for as long as I did, was partly about making a stand that MY PERSONAL FEELINGS MATTER. And once I acknowledged that same sex relationships - which exist largely because of FEELINGS - were okay... eventually, I fell in love with a man who was not someone my mother would have picked out for me. But this was only possible because of my having internalized the idea that MARRYING FOR LOVE was okay in the first place.)

So basically, this is the soup I was swimming in when I was struggling to learn emotions. It doesn’t help that I grew up in a household where the whole idea of feelings, was basically disregarded. (I wonder if it’s this way with other people whose parents are poor, or in survivor mode, or who are from more traditionalist/”old world” families). I was expected to put my feelings aside and expected to have the emotional skills of an adult. And also, my mom has a lot of deep-seated stuff about how personal growth and fulfillment are ONLY FOR MEN. (She actually has a lot of resentment over this.) She believes most advice about being happy as an individual, or how to succeed in the world, only applies to men. But she also internalizes the Judging Voice of ancestors who believed this or that was women’s duties and that doing anything else, for a woman, meant shirking her primary assigned duties. It’s about half unconscious but sometimes she will blurt out something that actually indicates that she believes this.

I learned to control my emotions via directly manipulating my brain chemistry. This is how I stopped being a “crybaby” - there are a couple of different methods. In the short term, I dealt with overwhelm and feeling the tears or rage coming on in public, by doing a particular exercise that I made up. When I was 12, I had taken a brief class in t’ai chi, and we did breathing stuff and “glowing green ball” visualization. Inspired by that and by the Vulcan people from Star Trek, I made up an exercise to suppress my emotions where I would do breathing exercises then steeple all my fingertips together like Mr. Spock and imagine a glowing green ball in my hands. All of my emotions would go into the ball. My thoughts would slow down and I would return to an emotionless space. The other thing I did, had to do with my maladaptive daydreaming. I would project my emotions onto fictional characters - often unconsciously (I didn’t know WHY I was drawn to particular images, I just was). I would replay scenarios in my head that took place between fictional characters. I was especially addicted to romantic scenarios and imagery. Being obsessed with romantic couples felt like a deeply shameworthy hidden “kink” and the less I could talk about it openly (believe it or not, it’s fanfic culture that brought this out into the open), the more obsessed I was.

One of the problems I had was how much I was used to using my maladaptive daydreaming scripts to cope with shit going on in my real world instead of just... fixing that shit. The funny thing is that my school psychologists recognized that this was what my daydreaming was, when I was a child, but my parents didn’t really acknowledge it; I was actually rewarded for both my obsessive interests and my daydreaming as a child, because both of them meant that I was being undemanding. I was coached, however, not to talk about these things with other people. They were okay to do at home.

I also had trichotillomania, and when I was in a period of doing lots of group therapy in my early 30s - I discovered what my “trigger” was, I discovered that it related to feeling abandoned and empty. And just like that, that’s when I finally stopped doing it - I learned to recognize the feelings that triggered my trich, instead of jumping right into doing the trich things. I had been learning how to just sit with my feelings. And at some point, I started using my “centering” method (the breathing thing with the glowing ball) to quiet my mind down and sit with my emotions, and to reduce my stress levels, instead of using it to suppress my emotions. My emotional landscape was like this... “I don’t know how I’m feeling. All I know is that I’m pulling my hair a lot and daydreaming a lot. Also, I had a meltdown at work but I don’t know why. Also, I got irrationally angry at so-and-so because they offended me personally.” (And my offense was connected, generally, to my emotionality being triggered.) But over time, and with lots of learning and new skills, I learned... that the fact that I wanted to do a particular unproductive or self-destructive thing, was indication that I was feeling something. And this meant that I was not to act out, but that I was to sit with my feelings and ask myself what I was feeling.

I had to learn to start validating myself, and seeing my own feelings as valid. The funny thing is, I parsed to lots of people as being unemotional. I could not have emotional conversations with my partners; stuff about emotions made me dissociate or check out. I felt horribly confronted whenever asked about my feelings. (Honestly, this is a big reason I had begun preferring male friends. We didn’t talk overmuch about feelings.) This comes from a background in which I was often shamed for my feelings.

The turning point for a lot of this was in my early 30s.

This is about the time when I was doing Landmark Forum, when I was in group therapy, when I was going to Adult Children of Alcoholics (to try to repair my relationship with my dad, who is an Adult Child; alcoholic-adjacent coping mechanisms can persist generations after the last alcoholic in the family has died.) I was in a shit ton of therapy for years. I was in a bunch of support groups, but most importantly, they weren’t 100% filled with peers who validated me 100% of the time. In fact - looking for “safe spaces” full of only my own peers, had been what had held me back. What was actually beneficial to me was being in spaces that had people who were older and further along in their recovery than me, people who had better coping skills than I did, and learning to be present when people bitched me out instead of just automatically “shields up” and spacing out when I got confronted about stuff.

I also was doing a SHIT TON of journaling and blogging and writing in spaces such as message forums and mailing lists (Tumblr sort of picked up where the forums left off.)

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magpiemorality · 5 years ago

Text

Bring It On, Moceit/Moremus, 5/5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 AO3

We’re here; the final part. The happy ending, hopefully…

Huge thanks to @littlestr for the original prompts! And thank you all for following along with this fun weekend jaunt, I have come to adore these boys and they’ve outgrown the little prompt oneshot they were supposed to exist in, constantly yelling at me for more attention until now we’re here. There’s even art HERE by @sometimeswritingsometimesdying go look at it!!!!

Without further ado; please enjoy.

Warnings: dismissal of polyamory (character doesn’t believe it’s real/feasible), swearing

Patton Sanders was the prettiest boy in the whole college...

***

Patton Sanders was the prettiest boy in the whole college. He wasn’t being vain or anything; there had once been an online poll on the college gossip blog and he’d won hands down. It was just fact at this point.

He was also currently (in his own internal poll) the saddest. Everything had been going so great (shut up Remy it had) and then it had taken a turn towards the endgame and then-

Well, what had happened with Remus? Patton still wasn’t sure, and Remus was ignoring his texts so he had no clues to go on apart from the fact that one minute the boy was giving him some very upmarket salmon filets and pulling off a classing hair-behind-the-ear move that would have possibly even led to a kiss- and then nothing. Remus had suddenly… changed his mind? He’d freaked out for some reason anyway, and had just run off.

Since then nothing, nada, total radio silence (yeah so it had only been two days so what Remy shh) and Patton was falling into despair. There had to have been a vital signal he’d missed somewhere that would have turned the whole thing around.

Maybe the fish was a clue?

He and Remy had spent a full evening poring over the fish. Was it a secret message? Symbolic in some way? Was there something written on it? Patton had drawn the line at trying to open it up and check the inside because he still very much wanted to save it to cook for Remus some day, so it had been rehomed in the freezer after a careful perusal of storage methods on Google.

And there was a whole other problem now too- Dex was avoiding him. Over text, on campus, in the cafe; everywhere Patton could think of to try and run into his second paramour turned out to be a bust, and the only way (again, two days was ages Remy don’t be a bitch) he could have avoided even accidentally bumping into Dex for that long was if the other boy was actively staying away.

Those texts went unanswered too.

(Remy was starting to lose patience.)

“But I just don’t-”

“Oh my god gurl please don’t finish that sentence!” Patton’s very best friend and emotional support gay snapped, slamming his Starbucks cup down on the table (situated outside the cafe, so they could be seen by as many people as possible, of course). “I literally can not with you.”

Patton’s nose wrinkled. “My tutor Logan says we shouldn’t say literally when it’s not grammatically accurate.”

“Your tutor Logan can literally suck my dick. No seriously; he’s hot, get me his number and I will consider literally forgiving you.”

“But-”

“Baby, sugarplum, Patty-cake- for the love of all things caffeine; just take a chill pill okay? Boys will come and go in your life and if they’re worth anything at all then they’ll be back. Besides, they’re probably just duking it out over you somewhere. Maybe shirtless. Maybe there’s baby oil…” Remy trailed off with unfocused eyes, sipping his drink absently and Patton sighed, because even that nice (very nice, saved for later) image not enough to dispel his melancholy.

He checked his phone again for the millionth time that day. Spring break was coming up and the cheer squad Whatsapp was going wild with anticipation, but Patton wasn’t in the mood. He’d foolishly hoped that one of his handsome men was going to sweep him off his feet and away to somewhere spectacular for the holiday, but that hope had tanked dramatically in light of recent developments. Normally that would’ve just made him shift his hopes towards prom, but it wasn’t enough of a big deal as it had always been in high school, and it was really more of a friends’ night out situation. Not the sort of time to be expecting big dramatic declarations of love, you know or whatever.

No, the universe seemed to be spelling out ‘Patton Sanders is going to die alone’ pretty hard, even if Remy wasn’t in agreement.

“Who are you texting, anyway?” Patton asked, picking at his nail polish with a pout. “Let me at least live vicariously through you until I waste away, a tragic damsel whose beauty was lost to time…"

Remy looked up, talking around the straw in his mouth. “Jesus you’ve got it bad. And it’s none of your business, P, I’ll tell you when you aren’t moping.” The way Patton visibly and genuinely sagged seemed to revive Remy’s best friend sympathy instincts, because he quickly finished his drink, took Patton by the hands and pulled him up. “Come on cupcake, it’s the weekend and we’re going shopping. Because no matter what happens with your boys- it’s nearly Spring Break and we are gonna look hot to trot!”

And who was Patton to disagree with such flawless logic?

***

Maybe there was something to be said for the mystical powers of retail therapy, because when Patton flopped down on his bed that evening there was a text notification from a blocked number on his phone that made his heart beat wildly.

It contained an invitation, to meet the following weekend at a destination that would be sent in a future text, and it was signed ‘from your not-so-secret admirer’.

The week went by horribly slowly. Even practice seemed to drag, and yet…

Suddenly Dex was meeting him every day with his tea again, no word of explanation but a soft smirk always hovering around his lips, lighting up his usually serious face.

Suddenly Remus was watching and winking at him from across the gym- not approaching this time round but offering little shy waves and offering help when he could, putting away the gym equipment or offering a protein bar on the way out just as Patton’s stomach started to rumble.

Something was up, and Patton’s head was in a spin, but it was oddly perfect.

Even Remy couldn’t believe the change.

“You’re totally one hundred percent sure they’re not on drugs?” Patton shot him a look. “Okay just double checking. Joined a cult? Kidnapped by aliens and replaced by pod people? Serial killers planning on luring you in an-”

“God, Remy, no!” He hit his friend with his pillow, laughing at the offended noises Remy made before he joined Patton in giggling on the bed. “No I think they just… sorted something out. It’s weird though, right? Like there’s something weird happening? Not bad weird, but…”

Remy mirrored his shrug. “You’ll have to wait and see what happens with your ‘not so secret admirer’,” he said, singing the name. “Do you have any clue which one of them it is?”

“Well no. But surely it’s Dex? I mean, he’s Dexter, he can sort out a blocked number. It’s… Remus is a total carebear but he’s not exactly James Bond, you know? It’s got to be Dex. But he’d just out and say it, I know he would, so I don’t- I can’t be sure. Remus is the dramatic one…” Round and round in circles they went but never came any closer to solving the puzzle.

Friday came and went and at long last it was time to head out for the grand reveal. Remy had helped him get dressed (cute but weather appropriate and with good running shoes, just in case) and they were waiting in the living room for the address to come through.

His phone buzzed.

Once they’d stopped shrieking in excitement they googled and found the address was of the same cafe he’d spent so much time in with Dexter over Winter break, which- it was probably not a good thing that his heart had sunk over ruling out the possibility this was Remus all along, right? It had simultaneously skipped a beat at the confirmation that it was Dex, so… You win some, you lose some he supposed.

Crunch time.

He hurried along the streets- glad for the tiny size of their college town and for the lack of rain on the crisp February morning- and slipped into the cafe. Only to see not Dexter O’Reilly sat inside waiting for him, but-

“Remus?!”

***

Let it be known that Remus Duke was not the prettiest boy in the whole college, far from it. Nor was he the most intelligent, nor the richest nor the most popular. However what Remus Duke had in spades was earnest charm. It was lethal in a one on one situation, and he made sparing use of it so as not to abuse his power.

Let it also be known that Dexter O’Reilly was far from immune to said charm, especially when it was turned on him from a few feet across a brightly coloured, messy, but shockingly cosy room in a frat house on Greek Row. If Dexter was the Slytherin here then Remus was almost certainly the Hufflepuff who would drive said Slytherin to world domination.

In this case, of course, world domination was replaced by Patton Sanders, and the prospect of getting to date him. The concept was the same though, and the intense level of detail required to get the plan exactly right was too.

In fact, Dex had stayed way later that night than either of them had expected, as they’d plotted and planned and discussed various ways of making their dreams reality. What Remus lacked in book smarts, he made up for with an innate talent for asking exactly the right questions to fix any inefficiencies or problems before they ever arose, and you bet Dex had made a mental note of that for future reference.

What neither of them had really considered, was the exact reaction Patton would have when he walked in the cafe door on Saturday morning to find not just Remus, but-

***

“And Dex!” Patton’s eyes were big and round as they switched back and forth and back and forth between the two young men. He clutched his phone in his hand like a lifeline, wondering if this was going to turn out to be the worst day of his life so far, rather than the tentative best he’d pencilled it in as…

“Hey,” Remus smiled hopefully at him, standing up and awkwardly trying to gesture Patton to his seat like a magician’s glamorous assistant or something. Patton took pity on him and did in fact sit, still mostly set to ????? and !!!!!! and only just managing to process what was happening.

Opposite him, Dexter crossed one long leg over the other, and Remus perched on the edge of the third chair like he was physically restraining himself from getting up to go be closer to Patton. Which wasn’t entirely untrue, as it happened.

“Guys, what’s going on?” Patton asked weakly, looking to Dex for guidance, but it was Remus who replied.

“Well,” he started, twisting his hands around nervously. “We ended up having a bit of a chat, last week. I um, I- oh fuck what was I supposed to say?!” Dexter snorted softly and Remus pouted at him. “You’re no help, we said we’d do this together!”

You could’ve knocked Patton over with a feather. His mouth actually fell open at the display of camraderie. Suddenly the serial killer theory had merit.

“Patton. Through a convoluted set of circumstances we ended up discussing our possible futures… with you. It’s fairly clear you’re struggling to choose between the two of us, right?” He waited until Patton nodded slowly. “So we thought… why choose?”

“My brother Roman told me about this class he took last semester see, about like, changing identities or something. People, basically, and he heard about all these different things they never taught us in school! And one of them was-”

“Wait,” Patton interjected, holding a hand out because he was ninety percent sure he knew where this was going, but- “That’s real? Having… sharing partners is real? It actually works?”

“Hey how’d you know what I was going to s-”

“Yes, darling, yes to all of that. If the people involved are honest and open and willing to work on it,” Dexter interrupted, smiling at Patton. Remus was also looking at him, nearly bouncing in his seat with excitement, overflowing with energy like always. Gosh Patton loved his energy, his enthusiasm for life, his potential, ahem, stamina…

He turned back to Dex, only to be filled with warmth at the look he was getting, because he loved the way Dex gave him special smiles he gave no one else. He loved his soft, clever words, and his gentleness.

Oh.

“Oh.” There was quiet for a moment before the two hopefuls shared a concerned glance.

“Patton?” Dexter prompted. “Is that… a good ‘oh’ or a bad one? We uh, we know it’s kinda not what you were expecting, probably?”

“And you can take your time to think about it!”

“Thank you Remus, yes. You can take your time, darling. But we would like to try this with you. However you like. And if we want to change things down the road… we can talk about that too.”

Patton was the prettiest boy in the whole college. Seemed like today he was the luckiest, too. “Yes!” He shouted, leaping out of his seat to grab them both in a hug, dragging them together forcefully. “Oh gosh, goodness, yes, that sounds perfect!” He gave them each a kiss on the nearest cheek and sat back down, cheeks red but smile bright, holding his hands out for them to take one each.

“This is going to be so cool!” Remus crowed, and Dex chuckled softly at his exuberance, squeezing Patton’s fingers, his eyes betraying his own quiet excitement.

Yeah, Patton thought. It really was.

Bonus 1 | Bonus 2 | Bonus 3 | Bonus 4

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eelsfeelgross · 4 years ago

Text

Conclusions: Trans Activism v. Radical Feminism, a first-hand account

This is current stance after a lot of direct investigation on both radfems online and trans activists online. No group is judged based on the observations, rhetoric, or propaganda of any outside group, but from my own first-hand observations in combination with objective knowable facts such as actions known to be committed in public record by the likes of criminals or celebrities. However, the bulk of this is based on what I have seen, what I know to be true because it’s been done before my own eyes. While my conclusion may lack information on the more nitpicked aspects of things, I believe their overall impressions still hold true with the amount of experience I’ve had. Keep in mind: this is not my only account. I have dipped into the radfem community before, each time from a different perspective, at a different time, and with open eyes ready to receive whatever I was given. The same is true of the trans community.

Trans Activism

I want to make clear that these conclusions were mainly drawn from my direct experience with the trans community from within. I am not relying on critics of the trans ideology to tell me any of this, though they often echo the same concerns and observations.

The trans community has a serious problem with misogyny, homophobia, and sex denial. They employ magical thinking and emotional pleas to justify their conclusions and commit to arguments of definition that are ultimately lacking substance. However, while lacking rational, they are abundant with emotional reasoning and can be incredibly powerful rhetorical tools in convincing others to believe them without the necessary evidence of anything claimed.

This is especially prevalent when discussing sexual biology and sexual orientation. They consider self-harm to be the fault of other people, even in adults, and use this as a manipulation tactic to make it seem as if they’re being killed at higher rates than their general demographics. This plays hand in hand with the appropriation of statistics around things like racial violence or violence against sex workers to make it appear trans people, particularly white heterosexual (attracted to the opposite sex) trans women from the middle class of Amerca who aren’t victims of prostitution, are under much more persecution than their lived experiences actually reflects.

This has grown into a political ideology not dissimilar to a religion, but without the usual trappings we associate with a religious group. It requires blind faith in the concept of gender and the “life saving” virtues of expensive hormone treatments and plastic surgeries without proper regard for the risks and consequences of these procedures. Challenging the dogma or asking critical questions is considered a sin itself, even when done with excessive caution for other’s feelings. Violence towards known dissenting groups is considered not just ok, but admirable. Expressions of this desire for violence against the out-group is seen as virtuous to the point that doing it too much will be taken as virtue signalling rather than a sign of deep-seeded anger issues as it would for any other situation. Self-identity is their belief system, and public shame are their tools of punishment to control those within the belief system. Due to sex denial, females suffer especially in this paradigm no matter how they identify or what presentations they choose.

However,

Radical Feminism

Once again, I want to make clear that these conclusions were mainly drawn from my direct experience with the radfem community from within. I am not relying on critics of the radical feminist ideology to tell me any of this, though they may echo similar observations.

Radical feminism, as it exists today in action and not in theories from the 1990s, has a huge problem with transphobia, homophobia, and racism. The focus has shifted almost entirely from protecting women to attacking trans women, understandable on some level but counter-productive to all but the individual ego. There is a preoccupation with what women are “allowed” to do, rather than whether their actions and the consequences of those actions actually benefit the cause of anti-sexism. People feel entitled to be nasty, hurtful and even downright transphobic and homophobic if it means hurting their “enemies” somehow. I’m not sure if they fail to see the big picture or have just given up on caring, but it makes all their pleas for compassion and an end to the trans community’s homophobia seem pretty disingenuous.

This focus on “women deserve more as reparations”, when self-applied to the individual, does nothing to combat sexism as these self serving actions often do little to stop sexism and everything to benefit the individual currently existing within a sexist system. It totally ignores the vital role women play in perpetrating sexism through the generations, from mother to daughter or sister or sister or peer to peer through an intricate web of social pressures.Its not totally ignored mind you, but it is conveniently unaddressed whenever addressing it would prevent them from acting aggressive and toxic toward someone else. However others in the community who aren’t personally benefitting from this at the time will notice, thus leading to endless pointless arguments as the egos clash.

This hypocrisy undermines all attempts at broadening their reach to a new generation of women. Similarly, this toxic attitude undermines all opportunity for organization and real activism which requires a certain level of tolerance and the ability to give basic respect to those you don’t like or agree with. All those who do not tolerate such behavior will simply assume radical feminism must be a hate movement because all they see is vitriol and toxicity, no matter how justified the perpetrator feels about it or the underlying motivators. They will not take the time to read theory because they’ve already seen the practice and they have the sense to know it’s bad. Then when these newcomers see this bad behavior for what it is, they’re belittled or deprived of their agency for their decision to turn away from your movement, called things like “handmaidens” and accused of being either selfishly misogynistic or plainly brainwashed, driving them ever further away. The refusal to take responsibility for your own image and the consequences of your behavior under some false impression of ideological purity justifying it only further cements this takeaway outsiders have.

The most egregious example that comes to mind is the “queers” issue. Radfems are adamant about queer being slur, and they’re right. I myself grew up having queer flung at me by violent straight men and I’m not even that old. I feel no joy in the sanitation and generalization of the term. That is not reclamation, that is erasure and appropriation of pain. Most radfems agree on this wholeheartedly. That is, until you decide to spell it “kweer” and start flinging it at trans people who fit a particular homophobic stereotype: strange appearances, unorthodox body modifications like piercing and colored hair, unwashed, perverted to the point of being predatory, self important children who are just playing pretend to be different. All these qualities call back to the stereotype of queers, gays, and it is deeply intrenched in homophobia going back generations. And yet, while radfems would condemn the trans community for the appropriation of queer and its homophobic implications, they have no problem employing it as a slur when it suits their own toxic impulses.

Some even seem to believe that misspelling the word or being homosexual themselves absolves this. It does not. Anybody without the blinders of radfem internal rhetoric will quickly see past this nonsense. If the trans community came back and started calling radfems “diques” and associating the term with severely lesbophobic stereotypes like being unwashed or too ugly to get a man or any of the other countless stereotypes around the slur “dyke”, radfems would be rightly livid. Making a point to only target straight radfems with this insult would not make it any different. But addressing these kinds of hypocritical positions has become a taboo within the radfem community, yet another spark to relight the fires of senseless infighting.

This is the worst example I’ve personally seen, but it is not the only one. There’s also the tendency for radfems, desperate for others who are gender critical to connect with, to make alliances with right wing conservatives despite their racism and homophobia simply because they’re also transphobic but for completely different reasons. And also a tendency to be much more forgiving of misogyny coming from these new “allies” that will glady destroy you too once trans people are out of the way. But I will not labor my point any further by bringing up everything all at once. Regardless, for those who harp on and on about getting to the root of the problem, the moment anyone suggests you try getting to the root of your own problems, taking accountability and making changes, all that self-righteous posturing seems to go out the window just like it does in the trans community. You’ve become a reflection of what you hate in an attempt to combat it, and it will be the death of your movement if you don’t make a serious effort to reform these behaviors and distance yourself from those who employ these forms of rhetoric.

It’s a harsh fact, but the world at large does not care what you deserve, just like sexual biology doesn’t care about your personal feelings about your sex. It just doesn’t. That’s why patriarchy exists in the first place. It is your job as a social movement to use your words and actions to convince them to care. That is what the trans community has managed to do successfully, in my opinion often for the wrong reasons but successfully nonetheless, but such things do not stroke the ego of the individual radfem and therefore simply doesn’t happen in an organized, ideology-wide manner. Small islands of rational stand isolated in a sea of this pointless vitriol, and alone they are hopeless against the attacks against radical feminism born from the trans community and their sex denial that leads to egregious misogyny.

Conclusion

When it comes to the underlying theory, the ideological core, I find that radical feminism has the best chance of growing to become a social movement for genuinely good change in the world, particularly for women and women-loving-women specifically. Trans ideology, in my opinion, is inherently flawed as its core tenants require faith in what one cannot prove and a rejection of science that doesn’t support said faith.

Trans ideology as it exists in 2020 is more akin to religion than science, and has proven its capability to do harm through its use of magical thinking and distorted points of view that constantly shift and change to make space for the core trans ideology to be “correct”. Core ideas such as: sex is either fake or less relevant than gender, that gender is an objective fact of the human psyche, that others failing to fix your own poor mental health are responsible for your harm or death, that transition is always a good idea if someone wants it and no gatekeeping should be performed regarding using plastic surgery to treat mental discomforts, and so on. Remove all these ideas, and the whole thing falls apart.

Meanwhile, removing the toxicity of the radfem community as it exists now will not destroy its underlying core beliefs. Its just that the current people who advertise themselves as radfems and take up that mantle do not actually follow the core ideology of their own movement when it doesn’t benefit them. It has been infiltrated and run amok with bad faith actors who abuse the movement for personal gain, whether they are aware of it or not. And with their combination of being excessively vocal and lacking any shame for their misdeeds, more and more are drawn into their toxic games to the point that the ones who actually speak to the spirit of the core theory get drowned out or attacked to the point none will associate with them openly. The ones who actually know the theory and practice it end up effectively shunned from a community that widely hasn’t even read the theory and thinks hating trans people and thinking pussy = superior makes them a radfem. And thus, by allowing this, that is what radical feminism has become in practice. No amount of appealing to that core philosophy will matter if the actual people don’t apply that theory properly.

So my conclusion? Radical feminism has the greatest potential for good, but it is grossly unrealized and will remain that way without radical internal changes. However, if anyone is equipped to get to the root of the problem and make a radical change it should be radfems. Or at least, the good faith radfems who aren’t abusing the movement, of which I’m convinced have become the minority of radfems in the present day. Perhaps it is time for feminism to once again branch off, not to try returning to the 2nd wave but to set the stage for a true 4th wave as many have talked about. A 4th wave that is based on the foundations set by 2nd wave feminist thinkers, but forward thinking, self-critiquing, and not limited by the hangups of the last wave. I guess only time will tell what radfems value more: their egos in attachment to the idea of identifying as a radfem, or the effective dis-empowerment of patriarchy through organized effort at the expense of satisfying your personal vendettas against all men.

#radfem #radical feminism #trans activism #terf safe #terfs do touch #guilt tripping or baseless accusations = ignored #who am i kidding nobody is going to read this #nuance is dead and im wasting my time #RIP feminism i guess

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shireviews · 4 years ago

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“painter of the night” (야화첩)

by byeonduck

“Na-kyum is a young painter with an exceptional talent: creating erotic images of men. Though he has published a few collections under a pseudonym, he has decided to quit painting. Then Seungho, a young nobleman, barges into his life. A hell-raiser notorious for his insatiable lust, Seungho forces Na-kyum to become his private painter. However, the nights that await Na-kyum are beyond anything he could have imagined.”

status: ongoing

warnings⚠️: kidnapping, rape

this is literally like every asian historical drama ever but 50 shades of GAY

tldr

✨the plot✨

one night, our resident orphaned, high-functional alcoholic, nakyum is given a job offer by our resident sodomy-loving lord seungho for his UNIQUE ability to paint hentai erotica that ERECTS SEUNGHOS LOINS! however, nakyum declines, makes excuses, and gets a guy killed all because he is a ･ﾟ✧*changed*✧･ﾟ man and does not paint that absurdity anymore.

does seungho listen? of course not, this is a yaoi.

so lo and behold, nakyum is kidnapped and forced to watch and paint seungho and his plus one jihwa get it on. but when nakyums refusal to paint becomes a problem for seungho and his ding-a-ling, mega-nerd jung inhun is introduced as leverage. why? because softboi nakyum adores inhun and would do anything to see his teacher’s political career pop off; even paint seungho and his mega schlong.

however! more! drama! ensues! when we learn that inhun is the reason nakyum stopped painting. but if stop painting he remains, then undoubtedly would inhuns non-existent career be ruined by seungho, and nakyum loves his teacher way too much for that to happen.

the painting sessions then begin to involve NAKYUM ON SEUNGHO action which threatens and angers seunghos plus one jihwa cough irrelevant cough enough to put out a hit on nakyum. so yeah season 1 ends with an assassin coming 4 nakyums a$$ and inhun finding out and calling nakyum a prostitute.

hooray for season 2

✨the character development✨

yoon seungho

this man went from pegging 5+ men in one night theres a reason ho is in his name to ONLY pegging nakyum on the reg if thats not character dev idk what is

at least theres consent in season 2

baek na-kyum

he cries so damn much but i mean given his circumstances it could be worse. idek what to say about character development for nakyum like the only thing that develops is his endurance to seunghos bullshit so i mean theres that

it’ll come to me later i swear

jihwa

hoe

jung in-hun

he was a tolerable character but gradually got worse and worse if they dont bury this silly mofo in season 2

he couldnt take the hint for like 90% of season 1 and when he finally did, had the audacity to call nakyum a prostitute like homie that is not the move -- he is the whole reason why your literature and career is even being CONSIDERED atm and you go and call him a whore great work

✨the porn✨

censoring system: light sabers

first smut scene: chapter 1 they said yall wanna see sum real speed

favorite smut scene: chapter 45 the consent is immaculate

least favorite smut scene: they were all okay

i will now proceed to summarize my analysis of every single smut scene in this yaoi

meat and ren can suck it

🔞 = major smut scenes

chapter 1 + 2:

sudden, not an actual smut tbh u just see images of seungho blowing/pegging his plus one

chapter 3 + 4:

first scene!

pegging galore god

multiple rounds seungho said STAMINA

imagine getting that horny from a bunch of pictures cant relate

chapter 8:

orgy gone wrong

chapter 9:

orgy gone right

nakyum beats his meat

chapter 13 + 14 + 15:

nipples, blowjobs, fingering, multiple positions

plus one gets jealous lmfao

chapter 16:

nakyum x seungho omg periodt pooh

🔞chapter 20 + 21:

NAKYUM X SEUNGHO PERIODT

technically rape since nakyum thinks hes doing it with inhun learned sir poor babe

hes enjoying it (???)

lord

he remembers NOTHING LMFAOAOAO

🔞chapter 25 + 26:

we’re border lining killing stalking rape god this is not how you recover memory loss seungho

hes enjoying it (???^#!!#$^&&%%$)

we all hate seungho whats new

chapter 27 + 28:

follow up blowjob but dont get caught by inhun wowza

this is oral rape oh my god

🔞chapter 31 + 32:

nakyum x seungho development we love to see it

less rape more noncon

they’re enjoying it

multiple rounds and positions they said FLEXIBILITY AND STAMINA

SEUNGHOS MASSIVE HORSE SCHLONG SENT NAKYUM INTO A FEVER LMFAOAOAOAO

chapter 36 + 37:

less rapey blowjob for NAKYUM THIS TIME LESGOO

squishy seungho cheeks and not the ass cheeks

chapter 39:

the ancient version of public sex

🔞chapter 42:

nakyum initiated it this time omg what he did get slapped tho

yea nakyum is a sex crier

fin.

✨the v✨

this was the second yaoi i read and although better than killing stalking imo, it still retains that rapey energy so uh

i first read this in april and as of writing this in late july, out of all the yaois ive read in those three months, painter of the night still remains one of my favorite art styles. literally nothing drawn in this style can be ugly.

also fun fact, i binge read the first season of painter of the night in like a day and the ENTIRE time i was listening to mayday by crush ft. joy and now i cannot listen to that song without associating it with seungho and his horse sized manhood good day and good night

🦋 make your puthy throb percentage: 96%

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trickstump · 5 years ago

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homeroom angel

eddie kaspbrak/richie tozier rated e 5.5k

thank you to @eddiekissbrak for beta’ing and cheerleading me through this journey. migz, you’re a real one.

(read it HERE on AO3)

Richie’s not looking for it.

Of course Richie’s not fucking looking for it, though; to look for it, he’d have to have had any idea that it existed, and the idea of Eddie doing anything like this was beyond unfathomable. It was a whole other level of this could never happen that even Richie fantasies couldn’t have predicted it- and he’d had some pretty wild ones.

But. Here the fuck it was, skipping floors two through two hundred on the Wonkavtor and busting through the top of Richie’s head, staring back at him from the page of the magazine he’d picked up.

Eddie.

It’d been- there were so many fucking steps, really, to them even getting here in the first place. Richie had to have found this fucking magazine when he was in colleg- not this issue, god, not this issue; if Richie had picked up this fucking issue in college, he was sure his mind would’ve exploded. But, he had to pick up this magazine in the first place in college, furtive, snatching it off the rack at the drugstore and not bothering to pay because holy shit, he couldn’t stand the idea of looking the dude in the counter in the eye and paying for a porno magazine that shouted Boys! Boys! Boys!

So. He had to pick up this magazine, and then, in a drunken fit just after his first few paid shows, he had to buy a subscription to this magazine- fake name, correct address- meticulously updated every time he moved so that it could be delivered right to his door packaged in a discreet envelope, and occasionally shoved into the bottom of his suitcase while he was on the road, because he liked to have the company of Mr. January 2016 on cold nights in decent hotel rooms.

And, then, he had to be subscribed at just the right time, because he’d really been about to cancel his subscription entirely when the throwback issue came out. It was getting fucking dangerous, having his porn hand delivered to him like some kind of creepy old man, when Eddie had just moved in after trekking out to LA as a part of his post-Derry, post-divorce midlife crisis. There’d been an incident last month when Eddie’s found mail with the fake name that had lead to Richie having to sneak back out to the mailbox in the dead of night to do some recon before Eddie’s neat little “return to sender; does not live at this address” got his jerk-off material for the month taken away. It was the modern era; he should just make the jump and start going digital, anyway.

So. Petty theft, years of furtively waiting for his monthly fix of scantily clad men to arrive via the US Postal service, and someone somewhere’s visonary idea of “let’s just reuse some fucking old pictures this time; these dipshits’ll crank it to anything, I’m sure” culminated to this:

Eddie.

Not Eddie, now- obviously, not Eddie, now. That’d be fucking insane, and Richie would be losing more of his mind than he’d already lost. He’d just been flipping through the issue, admiring this and that, and- he’d almost skipped the pages on his first thumb-through, absentminded and half hard, free hand resting on his leg, when he saw the flash of a leg and flipped back.

And then, there was Eddie.

Younger- a few decades younger, the little white Times New Roman in the corner told him; Eddie, November 1999. November, Eddie’s birth month- happy fucking birthday to him. He only caught it the second time he looked at the picture, flipping the page and then flipping back to make sure his mind wasn’t just projecting the image of a younger Eddie onto the pages.

It wasn’t.

It was Eddie- his Eddie, flushed a little pink in the way he got when he was flustered, doe-eyeing the camera. His mouth was just as pink as his cheeks and hanging open just a bit, and Richie spent so much time looking at his face, he almost forgot to look at the rest of him- all of the rest of him, most of all of the rest of him, because thank god, this was not where he was seeing Eddie’s dick for the first time. Narrow avoidance, though, only because of the artful drapery of the fugly pink fur- rug? blanket?- monstrosity they had barely draped over the area, which let Richie see everything except his dick.

God. He couldn’t even fucking think about Eddie’s dick right now. Not that he let himself think about Eddie’s dick too much, anyway. He’d think about being in love with Eddie all day long, and maybe about the fucking phenomenal sex they could be having every so often, mostly when he was lonely on the road, because there was a weird line when it came to being in love with your childhood friend, and that line was drawn exactly on the other side of “jerking off thinking about him while he’s sharing an apartment with you.”

Speaking of, Richie’s dick went from being passively interested in the goings on to standing at attention like a goddamn car lot flag pole the second he had enough brain cells to process what he was seeing. He was achingly hard, now, and at the same time frozen in place, free hand now gripping his leg so hard he was going to leave a bruise. He couldn’t do anything but stare, heart racing like he was running a marathon.

It was the best thing he’d ever fucking seen, and he needed to stop seeing it.

“Hey, Richie?”

Eddie’s voice outside his door jumped him into action, and Richie dropped the magazine like it was burning him. “Uh- yeah?” His voice broke on ‘yeah’, and he really, really sounded like a kid whose mom was two seconds from walking in on him jerking it.

Eddie, for his part, didn’t seem to pick up on it- or, more likely, he was just fucking polite enough not to call him out. “You coming out so we can go eat or what, dude?”

Fuck. Richie had been so caught up in a past where Edward fucking Kaspbrak, world’s stuffiest man and love of his life, had posed for a gay porn magazine that he had forgotten about the present where said childhood sweetheart was expect him to get dinner. “Oh, for sure.” He’d managed to get control of his voice, because he was a goddamn professional. “Just give me a second, man, I’m not decent.”

“You’ve never been decent in your life,” Eddie huffed. “But, fine. Be out in, like, five minutes or I’m gonna eat without you.”

Richie waited until he heard Eddie’s footsteps disappear to exhale, and then it was just him and- well, him and Eddie again, still staring up at him from the centerfold with a look that Richie had barely ever even dared to imagine he could pull off.

Fuck.

He gave himself a few moments to breathe, eyes squeezed shut least the air he was just getting back into his lungs be stolen again, and he flipped the magazine closed before he opened them again. This was- definitely crossing the line he’d drawn for himself, and he should probably just throw the whole thing out before he jumped over the line and directly into something dangerous.

But.

But, he couldn’t bring himself to- for a lot of reasons, really, chief among them the fact that he knew having a missing issue in his back catalogue would drive him absolutely fucking insane, and totally, totally, not because he couldn’t imagine ever getting rid of the only proof he had of the divine fact that Eddie could have “fuck me” eyes. Totally.

So, instead of the trash can, or the back of his closet in a box where the rest of the issues went, Richie played into the full fantasy of being in college again and shoved the magazine under his mattress, resolving to deal with this later. The rest of his five minutes was spent trying to will his dick to sit back down by any means necessary- mostly by thinking about Eddie’s mom, which was an irony that Richie was too wired to appreciate in the moment.

Thank fucking god they weren’t going out or anything. Eddie had just picked up cooking in his quest for independence, and liked to show off whenever Richie was home, which Richie didn’t mind in the slightest. He’d survived the last several decades on his own on Hot Pockets and takeout whenever he was home, and room service or fast food when he wasn’t.

Eddie cooked, and Richie did the dishes. It was disgustingly domestic, and thinking about the concept rather than the action actually made Richie happy to do it, instead of mildly irritated. Love was a hell of a drug.

He couldn’t really focus on the food tonight, though, because every time he looked up across the table- because Eddie made them eat at the table, like what the fuck was that?- he was faced with Eddie, who hadn’t changed enough in twenty years for Richie to be able to not see flashes of his pink lips and flushed cheeks every time he saw him.

It was like being haunted by a sexy, sexy ghost.

“And I- Jesus, dude, are you even listening to me?” Richie blinked when Eddie waved a hand in front of his face. “Earth to Richie; you look like an idiot, man. What’s up with you, is there something on my face?”

“Uh,” Richie said, trying to say anything but ‘hey, you used to be, like. Hot, in college or whatever’, but obviously not reacting fast enough for Eddie’s tastes.

“I already got the fucking mole checked, it isn’t cancer,” he said, and that was Richie’s Eddie, vision snapping back into focus.

“I’m not staring at your fucking mole, dude,” Richie said, rolling his eyes. “Also, aren’t they only like… cancerous if they have hair in them, or something?”

“No,” Eddie said, and sucked in a breath, and that launched them into a conversation- well. A tirade from Eddie with color commentary from Richie, really, and that was more like their normal dinner conversations, enough that Richie could phase out his lust for past Eddie and focus on the warm fuzzies that having this Eddie in his life gave him.

Dinner and dishes done and conversation still rolling, though they’d cycled past about twenty different topics now, they moved on to the post dinner ritual of turning on the TV and not-watching Wheel of Fortune in favor of not-cuddling on the same couch, even though there was definitely a perfectly fine recliner in the room. This was the kind of thing that made Richie think that maybe, just maybe he had a chance in hell in all this- but, fuck if he was going to make the first move, so he just sat there with his arm flung over the back of the couch, hand dangling just so it brushed Eddie’s shoulder, and pretended he gave a shit about whatever Pat Sajak was saying, and wasn’t just watching Eddie.

Because Eddie was double his age at heart, Wheel of Fortune faded into Jeopardy, and when Jeopardy faded into whatever the fuck came after, right on cue, Eddie yawned. “I’m going to bed,” he said, and Richie nodded.

“I’ll probably turn in, too,” he said, and they both just sat there for a few seconds after Richie turned off the TV, something- something- lingering between them. This part, too, was part of the norm; there was something one of them wanted to say, needed to do, but Richie was too chicken shit to be the one to do it, and Eddie was- well, Richie wasn’t sure what Eddie was, scared, nervous, too freshly out of an intensely shitty relationship, but what it boiled down to was Eddie yawning in again, breaking the moment, and saying “g’night, Richie,” as he got up, and went to his room.

Normally, Richie’d just sit there for a few moments and stew in the moment he let pass again, but tonight, he only had to sit there for a second before he remembered what he’d been trying to get out of his head since dinner.

He felt like a burglar in his own home, tiptoeing back to his room and closing the door. He thought about keeping the light off, for a second, but flipped it on at the last second. If he was going to be crossing the fucking line like this, he may as well be able to fucking see it in its full glory.

He settled onto the bed and pulled the magazine out from under his mattress in one smooth move, flipping it open to the page without having to search, like the universe knew exactly what kind of self destruction he was looking to do. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and when he looked down on the exhale, Eddie was staring back at him, legs splayed and back arched artfully, like he’d just been waiting for him this whole time.

“Hey there,” Richie said to an empty fucking room, and too much brainpower had already switched to dick power for him to be embarrassed about it. It didn’t take too long for him to get fully hard again- because it was fucking Eddie, of course it didn’t, and Richie wasn’t in the business of teasing himself when it came to jerking off, so he inelegantly wriggled out of his sweatpants and boxers, kicking them to the bottom of the bed.

It was a little awkward, balancing the magazine in one hand while he had the other on his dick, but Richie was a pro at it, at this point. Normally, though, he’d only look at the magazine for a bit before he let it fall aside, letting his mind do the rest of the work. Tonight, he couldn’t make himself put it down, though, because putting it down would mean he wouldn’t see how fucking right Eddie looked, laying back on that stupid, ugly pink fur, arms draped above his head and legs spread wide.

“Fuck.” He didn’t say it very loud, but Richie felt like he could hear it echo through the empty room. This was going to be the shortest fucking jerk off session he’d had in maybe his entire life, but, that should really be expected, considering the circumstances, and-

“Hey, Richie, do you think I should get this mole checked again, because I really-”

The world stopped.

Eddie- real Eddie, now Eddie- was standing in the doorway. Fuck, normally, he’d knock, but Richie guessed the mole thing was really fucking bothering him, because he’s just slammed it open and given Richie no time to react. They both froze, when they locked eyes, and Eddie realized what was going on, and his face skipped right past the pretty pink Richie’d just been looking at to bright fucking red. “Oh. You’re- busy.”

“Yeah.” Richie’s hand had not moved from his dick, nor had he moved to put the magazine down, or cover himself up, or anything a normal fucking person would do. Instead, his gaze flicked from Eddie, down the magazine, and back. “I, uh- sorry.”

“Oh my fucking god,” Eddie said, and Richie felt his heart jump into his throat for a second as Eddie started moving towards him, and- laughing? “Dude, is that a fucking magazine? What is it, the fucking sixties?”

“Fuck you!” Richie was finally moving, now, but it was mostly to jerk the magazine out of Eddie’s reach when he reached for it. Eddie didn’t seem to care that his fucking dick was out, so Richie was gonna ignore it for the time being, and hope it went away. “It’s artful, man.”

“You’re such a grandpa,” Eddie snorted, managing to snatch the magazine away from Richie and dance just out of reach before he could snatch it back, flipping through the pages. “Is this fucking vintage magazine porn? Richie, you’ve got to be fucking kidding m-”

The last part of the sentence died on Eddie’s tongue as he reached the centerfold, and he went pale as a ghost. “I, uh-”

“You looked, like... Really fucking good.” That was the wrong thing to say, the stupidest thing Richie could’ve possibly said, but he spoke before he thought.

“It- college, man.” Eddie didn’t seem like he was entirely in himself as he spoke, still staring down at the page. “I… I wanted to feel hot. So.”

Eddie’s voice was so fucking small when he said it, it made Richie’s chest ache. “Wanted to feel hot?” he asked, sitting up a bit. “Dude. Eds, you are hot.”

“I mean, I used to look pretty good- I worked out and shit.” Eddie shrugged, finally putting the magazine down, setting it on Richie’s bedside table.

“I didn’t say ‘used to’,” Richie said, using his single ounce of courage for the rest of the year. “I said you are hot.”

“Present tense?” Eddie’s gaze snapped from the carpet to Richie’s face, brow furrowed, seemingly searching it for... something. Richie wasn’t sure if he found it or not. “You think so?”

“I’ve always thought so,” he said, because he had, and if he was being honest, he may as well go the whole way with it. Fuck the line.

“Fuck, Richie.” The two words left Eddie’s mouth in one gust of breath, and before Richie could add anything onto his confession, Eddie had surged forward, and kissed him, hands on either side of Richie’s face, holding him like he was something precious . It was honestly a very sweet kiss, for how inelegant it was, and the fact that Richie’s dick was still out, several decades worth of longing and things unsaid pushed from both sides.

When they pulled away, they were breathless, and Eddie’s forehead was resting against Richie’s. “You were really gonna sit here and jerk off to my fucking picture while I was a room away, huh?” he teased, and even if Richie knew it for what it was, guilt wormed its way into the pit of his stomach.

“The fuck else was I supposed to do?” he shot back. “Knock on your door and go, ‘hey, Spaghetti-O, I know you’re in the process of doing your old lady skin care routine so that you can pass out by ten like some kind of retiree, but I need you to know that I found your ancient nudes, and they dredged up every fantasy I’ve ever had about you and then some. Thoughts?’”

“Yes,” Eddie said, and then, “You’ve had a lot of fantasies about me?”

“You’re the only person I’ve ever fantasized about,” Richie said, and he hated how fucking honest he was being about that. “Even when I didn’t know it was you, it was always- the shape of you, the flash.”

“You’re not allowed to be that romantic when your fucking hard on is digging into my hip, man,” Eddie huffed, and then he kissed Richie again. This time, there was nothing sweet about it, all heat, biting and sucking, and when Eddie pulled away to kiss down Richie’s neck, there was nothing he could do but bite back a moan. “And, yeah, you should’ve fucking come to me. You don’t need the fucking magazine when you have the real thing.”

“Have I got it?” Richie asked, and he wasn’t even sure what he was asking, but Eddie stopped pawing at his shirt for a second to give him the answer that he needed, anyway.

“Richie,” he said, deadly serious and flushed the same shade of pink he’d been in the picture, now. “You’ve always had me. Now, take your fucking shirt off.”

Richie didn’t have to be told twice, and by the time he got the rest of the way undressed and retrieved his glasses from where he’d flung them across the bed in the process, he was treated to Eddie having done the same, stepping out of his sleep pants, silky, stupid, monogramed button down hanging off his shoulders. “God.” He couldn’t help the outburst, and it made Eddie look over to him with a smile- no, a fucking smirk, crawling back onto the bed like some kind of stupid sex kitten from an eighties porno and letting the shirt drop to the floor in the same move.

“Like what you see?”

“You already know I do, asshole,” Richie said, rolling his eyes at the line and running his hands down Eddie’s sides and back up again in the same motion. “You’re fucking hot, Eddie.”

“I like hearing you say it,” Eddie said, surging to kiss him again. He’d settled on Richie’s lap, sort of, straddling his hips, and it was fucking rewarding to feel that he was just as turned on as Richie was, even if Richie couldn’t bring himself to look down at his dick yet. That was a shade too far; he wasn’t sure he’d be able to recover.

“You’re fucking hot,” he said again, sort of mumbled into Eddie’s shoulder as he pressed a kiss there, and started working his way down. “I’ll keep saying it, then.”

“You’re- shit, Richie, we’re not fucking kids, you can’t just go giving me hickies all ove- oh, you’re probably the only person I’ve heard it from in, like- a decade,” Eddie’s head was tipped back, eyes fluttering shut, and it was such a pretty scene Richie almost didn’t process what he’d heard.

“No one’s told you you were hot in ten fucking years?” It sounded so impossible to Richie; who the fuck could miss all this, even with the not at all provocative polos and button downs Eddie usually wore- or. Well, Richie found them provocative, but he found everything about Eddie appealing in one way or another.

“I- fuck- was married,” Eddie said. “And we weren’t, like… that kinda couple.”

“Her loss,” Richie said. “My gain. You’re so fucking hot.”

“Your gain,” Eddie echoed, and he was smiling, so fucking gentle that Richie forgot how to breathe, and also the fact that he was supposed to be ravishing him. “Do you, uh. Wanna fuck me?”

Richie’s brain stopped working. “Do I want to fuck you? Eddie. Eddie, I think if I don’t fuck you, I’ll die.”

“You won’t die,” Eddie huffed, even though Richie wanted to protest when he removed himself from his lap. “Do you have, like. Lube and shit?”

“First drawer on the left.” Richie made a vague gesture towards his dresser, and readjusted to give Eddie more room on the bed when he came back.

“I haven’t fucking done this in years,” Eddie when he found what he was looking for, tossing the bottle at Richie. “So, you’re gonna have to, like. Be patient.”

“I’m so patient,” Richie said, fumbling to catch it and then fucking up his first few attempts at getting the cap open in his haste, undercutting his whole statement. “I’m like fucking Buddha, man. Did you- want to grab a condom?”

“I checked, yours are expired,” Eddie said, settling back onto the bed. “Which tells me, like, how little sex you’ve been having. We can, like… make a run, if you really want one? But- I’m clean, and I… if you are, then.”

“I am,” Richie said, maybe a bit too quickly, because the idea of raw dogging Eddie was the closest he’d had to a religious epiphany in his whole life. “I- am.”

“Good,” Eddie said, the word coming out like a sigh as Richie repositioned himself once more, looming over him to steal a kiss. “Then, do you wanna do this part, or should I?”

“Can I?” Richie was getting gift after gift tonight, feeling like Christmas goddamn Day when Eddie nodded. He shifted down again, getting probably too sloppy with the lube as he coated his fingers. Whatever, he’d change his sheets later.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of Eddie’s face as he pushed his first finger in- slow, so fucking slow, because he was being patient, and gentle. The pink was back in his cheeks, and his eyes were half lidded, eyelashes fluttering every time Richie’s finger moved, small noises Richie wasn’t even sure he knew he was making falling from his lips. “Fuck, Richie.”

“You good?” Richie was breathless- he’d been breathless a lot in this; maybe he should ask if Eddie had any of his old inhalers lying around.

“Am I good?” Eddie almost sounded like he was going to laugh, but Richie must’ve hit something good before he could, because the noise turned into a drawn out moan. “Jesus, Richie. Another- another, and harder, and fucking do that again.”

“You’re so bossy,” Richie snorted, but he did what he was told because he kinda liked that Eddie was bossy.

Two more fingers and several minutes later, Eddie’s eyes looked like they had almost rolled back in his head, and he was tugging Richie’s hair. “Okay, you’ve- you’ve gotta fuck me now, or I think I’m gonna lose it.”

“Losing it is the point,” Richie said, even as he drew his fingers back. The whimper Eddie let out when he did was intoxicating.

“Not before I’ve had your dick in me,” he countered. “I’ve waited way too fucking long for this, and I’m not gonna be waiting until I get it up again because I came like a fucking college kid before we got the main event.”

“Then here comes the show, baby,” Richie said, shifting once again. He had to manhandle Eddie a little bit so that they were both positioned properly, handing him a pillow to put under his hips because neither of them were fucking twenty somethings anymore, and he was realistic about the level of crazy they could be getting here.

Eddie rolled his eyes as he readjusted himself. “Don’t call your dick ‘the show,’” he said. “Even if it’s- Jesus, Richie, where do you even fucking put that thing?”

“I’ve never exaggerated a big dick joke in my life,” Richie said, a little smug because fuck yeah, finally, some respect.

“I guess not,” Eddie said. “But, having a big dick doesn’t mean you know how to fucking use it.”

Richie’s eyes narrowed. “That a challenge, Eds?”

“Just an observation,” Eddie shot back, laying back on the bed and looking up at Richie with a smile that was definitely a challenge. “Prove me wrong.”

Richie took that as his cue to do exactly that, lining up and pushing in- just a bit, at first, small thrusts of his hip before Eddie kicked- literally, fucking kicked, the asshole- him into action. “We just spent twenty fucking minutes working me up to this, Richie,” he said. “Fuck me like you mean it, now.”

“I’m trying to be a gentleman, so you can sit pretty in your desk chair tomorrow,” Richie said.

“You can be a gentleman next time,” Eddie said- and, holy shit, next time. “This time- fuck me like you mean it.”

Richie didn’t have to be told twice. He was really, really considering maybe starting going to church again, with all the religious experience he was having this night, but he could mull that thought after he finished processing how fucking good Eddie looked, gripping Richie’s sheets as he rocked into him, slow at first and then building. “Jesus Christ, you’re fucking phenomenal.”

“Stop using words with more than three syllables,” Eddie said, eyes fluttering shut and then open again, locking with Richie’s and not moving. “Your dick is turning off my brain.”

“Phenomenal,” Richie said. “Effervescent. Show stopping, beautiful, an absolute fucking knock-out-”

“Shut up,” Eddie moaned, tugging Richie down and kissing him. “You’re already fucking me, you don’t have to flatter me.”

“It’s not flattery if you’re fucking everything,” Richie said, and that got Eddie’s eyes to widen.

“Everything?” he asked, and his voice was way, way too gentle for the moment. It seemed like an important question, for being only one word.

“Everything,” he echoed, sure, more sure than he’d ever been about anything in his life. “Always been, Eds.”

“You can’t just say that shit, Richie,” Eddie said, but he kissed Richie again, and when he pulled away, added: “Say it again, anyway.”

“You’re everything,” Richie repeated, and it became a mantra. “You’re everything, Eds,” like he was trying to burrow the idea so deep in Eddie’s mind he’d never fucking doubt it again, for better or for worse. They were fucking clinging to each other, now, and Richie wasn’t sure when this had turned from fucking to romance novel love making, but he wasn’t about to stop it. There was no way he could detach his feelings from this, if any of the shit he’d been saying didn’t make that obvious on its own.

It only took a few more minutes of everything, you’re fucking everything, you’ve always been everything for Eddie to tighten around Richie, whole body curling like a spring when he came between them. “Richie, Richie, holy fucking shit-”

“I’ve got you,” Richie said, sounding wrecked, because he was fucking close, too- he’d been close before Eddie’d come in, it was a wonder he hadn’t already blown it like a virgin- and he needed Eddie to know it. “I got you, I got you.”

“Richie.” Eddie sounded just as wrecked, and it just took one look at his face- pink lips, pink cheeks, doe eyes blown wide under his lashes- to push him over the edge, coming with Eddie’s name on his lips.

“Fuck.” His arms gave out, as he came down, and he flopped on top of Eddie. “Fuck, I think I’m dying.”

“Don’t die with your dick still in me, idiot,” Eddie huffed, nudging him until he shifted and hissing as Richie pulled out. “God, I forgot this part.”

“The afterglow?” Richie flopped on the other side of the bed now, and was pleased when Eddie shifted and followed, tucking himself against Richie’s side.

“The part where I need to fucking shower,” Eddie said, making no move to get up.

“Do it later,” Richie said. “I’ll hop in with you, save water.”

“If you hop in with me, neither of us are getting clean,” Eddie snorted, and god, if Richie hadn’t just came, that would’ve done some shit to him.

“All the more reason,” he said, tucking Eddie a bit more securely into his side and dropping a kiss to the top of his head, getting a little bold.

“Did you mean all that stuff?” Eddie asked after a beat of silence. “About-”

“You’re everything,” Richie said, and he could feel Eddie’s breth hitching without even looking at him, because he wasn’t brave enough to do that right now. “Always been. It’s… yeah.”

“Always?” Eddie sounded like he couldn’t believe it, which was stupid, because of course it was true.

“Which part of that did you miss, Eds?” Richie asked. “The part earlier where I told you you were the only guy I’d ever fantasized about, or the way I used to follow you around like a puppy when we were kids, or-”

“Shut up,” Eddie said. “It’s- you were my everything, Richie, so please, give me a damn minute to adjust to the reality that I haven’t been stupid for thinking that maybe you felt a little the same the whole time.”

“Take a minute, then,” Richie said, because, oh, he didn’t know what to do with that, so he probably needed a minute, too. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Neither am I,” Eddie said, and that made Richie relax a little bit. “I’m staying here, tonight, by the way. I’m not sure my legs work.”

“That good?” Richie hummed, smug, and Eddie didn’t answer, but the kiss he pressed to Richie’s shoulder did for him. “Told you, I’m fucking good.”

“One time doesn't count,” Eddie said. “You’re gonna have to give a repeat performance.”

“Oh, I’m gonna,” Richie said. “A few- later. Probably not tonight.”

“Probably not tonight,” Eddie agreed. “But- soon.”

“I’ll fuck you every night I’m home if you let me, Eds,” Richie said, and sounded a lot more lovesick than he intended.

“You’re taking me to dinner, first,” Eddie said. “Nice dinner, that I’m not cooking.”

“Deal,” Richie said. “It’s a date.”

“A date.” He turned to look at Eddie, then, and he was grinning like Richie had just done something amazing. “Good.”

Richie had to kiss him for that. “I’m getting that picture framed, by the way,” he said as they both tucked in for the night. “We can hang it in the living room.”

“We have people over, Richie,” Eddie said. “You’re not putting my nudes in the fucking living room.”

“They’re tasteful!” Richie protested. “And, like. That wasn’t a no on the framing.”

“It’s a good picture,” Eddie said. “But, not in the living room.”

“My office it is, then,” Richie said. “I’ll hang it right behind me, so when I do Skype interviews, it’s there.”

“You’re the absolute worst,” Eddie groaned, but he kissed Richie again, so Richie decided he was gonna take that as ‘maybe.’

#reddie #jack's shit #jack writes #please clap i wrote this in 6 hours

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