| Domestic Dispute, 1/1, R, J2 |
[Jan. 5th, 2010|11:34 am] |
Title: Domestic Dispute
Author:Vamphile
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: R
Word Count: 2800 +/-
Warnings/Notes Mentions of domestic violence, not To or By the boys. Appearance by Danneel, in which she is kind, understanding and again, a saint.
Summary Meg and her boyfriend have a fight. Jared is a big brother.
Thanks to: ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) passing_through and raeschae
Graphics by: brianslave68
( “I came to you because; well, because you’re you. You can’t tell Jeff, or Daddy, and please,” her voice goes low and quiet. “I’ve had enough violence today.”
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 5th, 2010|11:40 am] |
Back to work today *sigh* I was just getting used to being on holiday as well.
Does anyone know how long abandoned LJs sit there before they're expired? Or is there no set timeframe, just a crean up of old accounts whenever LJ feel it's due? I have so many old users who have not posted in years still llisting my LJ as a friend, and it just makes things untidy. Some of them I know haven't used their journals in 5 years at least.
 people have commented on this post at stepps.dreamwidth.org. Please comment there using OpenID. |
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| World's Forgotten Boys, Chapter 13/? - (Sam/Dean, Sam/Dean/OMC - R) |
[Jan. 4th, 2010|06:29 pm] |
Fic title: World's Forgotten Boys (link to the full verse)
Chapter: 13/?
Pairing: Sam/Dean, Dean/OMC, Sam/OMC, Sam/Dean/OMC
Rating: R
Word Count: 8577
Summary: Season 1 AU. Ross Christopher Winchester knows three things to be true: that his father, John, is a hero, that he's going to be the best hunter in the goddamn world, and that his two older brothers are in love with each other. An AU-version of Season 1 where The Winchester Boys mean Dean and Sam and Ross, where John is still missing, where Mary and Jess are still crispy-fried, and where Dean and Sam are still obsessed with one another...
A/N Tons of thanks to andreth47 for her awesome beta skills on this one. I'm sure you'll see the difference!
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1
( Chapter 13 ) |
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| Driveby recs: happy 2010! |
[Jan. 4th, 2010|05:14 pm] |
I have not recced in so long that I have forgotten to add my *torec tag to fics once I've read them! Almost 2 months, unacceptable. I've felt kind of distant from Bandom for a few months now, almost reverting back to lurking, which I do not want to do. New year, new habits. Also, new music, new concerts, photoshoots, videos, interviews, tweets, and other shanans. Bring on the Bandom Revival!
sl1 k2tog psso (Bob/Frank/Jamia, NC17, AU, +9k, carleton97)
Wednesday shop hours: 10-6 4pm - 6pm: men's stitch & bitch
Bob owns a knitting shop and has this massive crush on the couple who own the gender empowering sex shop. So cut and funny and hot.
Chasing Starlight (Bob/Mikey, PG13, AU, +32k, seimaisin)
Space opera AU! Bob is a cargo pilot on a secret mission. Mikey is an escaped prisoner with no memory of who he is or where he came from. Together, they travel the galaxy in search of Mikey's identity ... but perhaps identity is less what you remember and more what you do when your back's against the wall.
Drama in outer space! Fun and interesting and entertaining.
I Was Your Silver Lining (Frank/Gerard, NC17, AU, +52k, showemaster and theopteryx)
"So what do you do?"
"I wait."
"You wait? Like, what, tables?"
"I wait for you."
Werewolves, Gypsy magic, soul mates, reincarnation and Gerard being a creeper.
This fic is so very interesting, with a lot of back story and a totally new twist on the werewolf trope. Great read.
In sickness and in health (Bob/Frank/Jamia, NC17, AU, +16k, mwestbelle)
Frank and Jamia get married right before Frank goes off and gets killed in the war. Bob is wounded trying to save him and gets sent home. Jamia is pregnant, and Bob promised Frank he'd take care of her if anything happened to Frank, and they end up getting married. It's totally a ~marriage of convenience~ at first, but over time, they fall in love and it is slow and shy and full of guilty longing. BUT THEN it turns out Frank hadn't died, he'd been taken prisoner, and he's released when the war's over. He's starved and beaten and sick, and Jamia and Bob nurse him back to health, and there is stoic pining and people worried about honor and duty and thinking they're the fifth wheel. AND THEN A HAPPY THREESOME ENDING. *cough*
Written for the h/c prompt thinger, and sort of based on my WWII prompt. Angst and UST and goodness.
dark/cold (Spencer/Bob, R, AU, +17k, stele3)
Someone (Spencer) is kidnapped and held for ransom, and someone (Bob) is hired to infiltrate the kidnapping group. Of course sie can't break hir cover but sie tries to protect the kidnap victim in little ways while figuring out a way to get them both out alive. But what happens when the victim develops what appears to be a strong case of Stockholm syndrome towards hir kidnapper-cum-secret rescuer?
Oh Stele does brilliant angst, and this fic is no exception. Also for the h/c prompt challenge, all that long while ago.
How Brendon Urie Saved the New Year (Brendon/Spencer, PG, +4k, moku_youbi)
Brendon thought about it for a moment, wondered if there was any resolution worth actually writing down—not, apparently, that it would mean anything to this crowd. After a moment’s deliberation, though, he just wrote down, get my best friends to stop being such dickheads to each other. Z gave him a soft little smile and Jon promptly ignored it, looking a little trapped. Ryan, though, he just stared at it with this thoughtful expression on his face, until Alex snorted and said, “So, do you want I go ahead and erase that one now?” Brendon hated. His face.
Divorce fic with a difference: Spencer and Ryan are the ones fighting. Sweet and happy ending.
(Used to Be) Love-Drunk (Brendon/Spencer, NC17, +7k, reni_days)
Brendon keeps his eyes closed very tight, desperately pretends he doesn't recognize the sound of that sleepy rumble--he really cannot think about that right now--rearranges his head into a slightly less painful position, and prays for sleep or death. He can deal with...everything else later. Right now all he wants is sleep. Or death. Yeah, death. Death is definitely the best plan. Under Brendon's cheek, Spencer's chest rumbles quietly again, and Brendon breathes in, slow and shaky, and lets himself drift back to sleep.
Drunken accidental sex missunderstanding shanigating!
Merely to Touch (Brendon/Spencer, G, AU, +11k, teaforbryony)
It’s not that Spencer doesn’t want things to change; it’s just that he doesn’t want to risk losing what he already has.
A fic where they don't actually get together.
Hand Me Down (Spencer/Brendon, PG13, AU, +15k, reni_days)
Brendon doesn't have much. But what he does have, he's willing to share.
Homelessness and friendship and love *heartseyes*
This Paint-By-Numbers Life (Brendon/Spencer, R, AU, +11k, jocondite)
Spencer's not in the habit of taking advice from Ryan Ross these days. When it comes to music, though, Ryan still knows his shit, and Spencer's still inclined to listen; when Ryan scrawls something on his Facebook wall one day (Hey buddy long time no see. Heads up, a band I think are going to be big are playing a gig in Vegas next week, you should catch them while they're in town) Spencer checks the link out in another tab, listens to a couple of their songs on Myspace, then writes back Yea I might check them out, thanks for the tip.
A sweet little fic where they get together despite life not turning out right. Throw in a bit of coming out angst too!
Paper Chase (Jon/Spencer, R, AU, +17k, foxxcub)
He texted Ryan on his way back to the dorm, knowing Ryan was still in his Advanced Comp class. 'I'm now officially a Christmas Correspondent for Walker's charity.' A minute later he got back: 'lolololol' A college AU where Spencer is a journalism major and Jon is the guy who made his life hell in high school.
Cute fic about failboats in college.
Snips and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails (Brendon/Spencer, PG13, AU, +28k, justthismorning)
Maybe Pete didn’t always know, or maybe he had, but when Brendon first told him, he hadn’t acted surprised and he didn’t treat Brendon any differently. He still blew on his face with morning breath before Brendon had had a chance to wake up, and still poked the bottoms of his feet when he fell asleep watching a movie. He still pinched him and gave him beer when Patrick wasn’t looking. He did ask what Brendon’s parents had named him. Brendon had stared at his hands and said, “Brenda, actually. Lame, I know. But it was easier than picking something totally new.”
This fic is just lovely. Brendon is transgender, and Pete is as he is, and Jon is as well. Wonderful story.
I'm Yours (Brendon/Spencer, R, +4k, reni_days)
So there's this thing where Spencer is a werewolf.
Short and sweet.
And I'd Be Your Memory (Brendon/Spencer, PG, +8k, tigs)
And somehow, midway through the tour, the postcard collecting becomes known as Brendon’s thing.
Bittersweet, post-Divorce.
Accidentally In Love (Brendon/Spencer, PG13, AU, +9k, reni_days)
Brendon is gay. Spencer...isn't?
LOL, of cause he is.
The Weather Outside (Brendon/Spencer, PG, +3k, takkatakkatakka)
Someone takes Spencer’s heart except it isn’t someone, it’s Brendon, and that complicates things. Brendon takes Spencer’s heart out of his chest while they’re eating breakfast, reaching in and pinching it between two fingers, easy as pie. He holds it up triumphantly, raising an eyebrow at Spencer and dangling it in front of him, teasing. It’s a small, angry little thing, deep dark red and ferocious looking. “Give it back,” Spencer says, frowning at Brendon, but his voice is flat because it’s eight in the morning and he’s not in the mood, and because Brendon does this all the time.
Dreamlike and strange, but very interesting.
Oh Baby Yeah (Brendon/Spencer, PG13, +3k, airgiodslv)
Nearly anyone who knows them would say Panic! at the Disco is a tighter-knit band than most. Even the split hadn’t changed that, not really. It had gotten awkward, sure, but there isn’t much that can keep Spencer apart from Jon for long, much less Ryan.
Here at the Right Time (Brendon/Spencer, NC17, +52k, sunsetmog)
How had he managed to get this far in life without realizing exactly what it was that turned him on? Notes: Contain D/s themes, collars, leashes, and two boys who don't really know what they're doing, and don't always get it right.
I love Bandom for many things. One of them is boys messing about with BDSM and sometimes fucking it up.
A Field Guide to Ryan Rosses, by Spencer J. Smith, Esq. (Spencer/Brendon, PG13, +9k, manipulant)
Passing a torch that you're not tired of yet really sucks, Spencer decides. Alex Greenwald can’t deal with the bizarre moodswings of Ryan Ross, and must enlist a professional.
Another bittersweet post-Divorce fic about friendship.
 people have commented on this post at stepps.dreamwidth.org. Please comment there using OpenID. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 4th, 2010|04:36 pm] |
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To the most awesome person who gave me paid time on Dw: YOU ARE TOO KIND AND I AM UNDESERVING! THANK YOU!!!
 people have commented on this post at stepps.dreamwidth.org. Please comment there using OpenID. |
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| Love letters to girls |
[Jan. 2nd, 2010|09:54 pm] |
I made $20 off a drunken army boy in a dive bar on New Year's eve. And no—it's not what you're thinking. I wrote a love letter to a girl for him. Yes, a girl. And he paid me for it.
She's back in Alabama or Louisiana or somewhere, her name is Suzanne, and he's in love with her. He wants to marry her. The problem is she's engaged to some other guy and she told my soldier boy not to come around any more because he's trouble. My soldier boy (I like calling him that) is really good at shooting things and not getting shot by things and carrying things and looking fantASStic (yes I went there) in camo, but he is not so good at spelling, grammar, and all the components of a good love letter. So I wrote it for him.
I was kind of drunk and so was he, but I think I did a good job. I was very persuasive and I talked about my feelings a lot, because I hear girls like that. (Who am I lying to, I'm probably girlier than Marilyn Monroe.) Soldier Boy proof-read my draft, and then we discussed the contents of the letter over another round of shots.
Soldier Boy: This shit is tight, bro.
Me: Thank you.
Soldier Boy: What's this word?
Me: "Pervasive."
Soldier Boy: Like penetrasive?
Me: That's not—No—well kind of.
Soldier Boy: Because if you talkin dirty to my girl, I will fuck you up.
Me: OK, first of all this is YOU talking dirty to her. Right? This is YOUR letter. OK and also, it's not dirty. "Pervasive longing" is like—um—longing that won't go away. Ever. No matter what you do. It's like everywhere inside you.
Soldier Boy: Hey! Yeah! That's like kinda how I feel!
Me: You see?
Soldier Boy: Maybe you should mention her rack.
Me: ...I'm sorry?
Soldier Boy: She got a great rack. Double-Ds. You should mention it, girls like to hear about their racks.
Me: ...They do?
I managed to talk him out of telling Suzanne about her rack. Although, who knows, maybe she would have enjoyed it. The soldier's man-buddies showed up partway through our third round of shots, and they looked exactly like the kind of guys who used to beat me the fuck up when I was skinny and fourteen and even faggier-looking than I am now. (Back then I hadn't figured out that frosted tips = closet homo, and frosted tips + eyeliner = desperate homo who longs to emerge from closet but doesn't have the guts.) Anyway, homeboy introduces me to his wolfpack as his friend "the writer."
"Yeah?" says Bruiser. "What does he write?"
"Advice columns for women," says my soldier friend, who isn't actually fucking with his friends, he's just drunk and confused.
"Fuck," says Bruiser, impressed, and before I know what to do, he and the others are arranged around me in a semicircle. They have questions. There's things they want to know. For example, Bruiser keeps fucking this chick, she's not like his girlfriend or anything, but every time he fucks her, she cries. And it's not like it's BAD. I mean, he thinks it's pretty GOOD. She gets wet and everything. So how come the bitch is crying?
Everybody is silent, waiting on my wisdom. I don't know how come the bitch is crying, but if I were getting fucked by Bruiser, you can bet I'd be crying too. What I say is, "Maybe she's feeling emotionally neglected."
Bruiser and his buddies look really impressed. "Yeah," they say, "shit, yeah, fuckin emotionally neglected."
"So whadda I DO about that?" Bruiser wants to know.
"You should tell her nice things about herself," I say, like I know what's up. "Tell her she's pretty, don't just plough her. Appreciate her BEFORE you plough her."
Bruiser is practically taking notes on a bar napkin. "If I tell her she's pretty, you think she'll suck my nuts?"
"Your nuts," I echo.
"Yeah, she won't suck my nuts. She thinks it's gross. You think if she don't feel, uh, emotionally whatever, maybe she'll put her mouth to the metal?"
I consider this. All of Bruiser's friends are holding their breaths, eager to find out if his girl will suck his nuts. I swear to god sometimes straight guys are gayer than the gays.
"That might be an emotional boundary for her," I say gravely. "But she'll probably be more willing to explore her boundaries if she feels comfortable with you. And she'll probably feel more comfortable if she feels emotionally nurtured."
"Shit," Bruiser says, impressed. To his friend, my Soldier Boy, "This fuckin dude is fuckin THE SHIT." To the bar-tender, "Hey! Get Doc a drink!"
So I spend my New Year's Eve getting shitfaced with a pack of meaty hetero killaz. I'd planned for a New Year's Eve kiss, but since it would've come with some New Year's Eve broken teeth, I decided to change the plan. We parted around four am, and Soldier Boy gave me one of those super-hetero manhugs, where you crush the shit out of your opponent while banging him on the back.
"I'm gonna invite you to my WEDDING," he pronounced. "Me and Suzanne, we gonna have you at the WEDDING."
"That's great," I said—and then in my head, As long as you don't come to me for advice on the wedding night." |
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| The End of 2009! |
[Jan. 2nd, 2010|11:46 pm] |
'The end of 2009 already happened' you may justifiably and accusingly say unto me. True!
But the end of 2009 was exceedingly busy, so I only have the chance to tell you about it now.
Not busy in a GLAMOROUS way, let me hasten to assure you. Being glamorous is not really my style. I have just had piles of stuff to do! Also there was the Christmas Day Disaster.
So I awoke on Christmas Day alone in the Cherry Bomb, as my housemates Jennet Wilde the DJ and the Durham Lass the Dead Bodies and Old Stuff Specialist were at their homes over Christmas.
Later I was picked up and brought to my family homestead for dinner by my uncle, who is an opera-fan piano-playing diplomat, and my aunt, who lives in Australia among oranges and silversmiths. We had a most delightful Christmas Day, and then it was time to return to the Cherry Bomb. I cannot stay at the family homestead, as they have turned my room into a gym.
This is not the act of wanton, daughter-hating cruelty it might appear at first: the gym still has my bed and books in it. But waking in the dead of night, I find it very disquieting to have gym equipment strewn about the room. They are dark menacing shapes.
SARAH (waking confused): Oh God what is that looming over my bed? Is it a wildebeest?
SARAH (calming): No, it is an exercycle.
SARAH (collapsing back on the bed): I would prefer a wildebeest.
So home I went, shivering in my crimson party frock, to a dark chilly house. Immediately I turned on both lights and kettle.
Then I was plunged into dark and bitter cold.
SARAH (calls the Durham Lass): The curse has fallen upon me.
DURHAM LASS: Explain with real people speech.
SARAH: Where do we keep our fuse box?
DURHAM LASS: Up... high... somewhere. In the hall.
SARAH: OKAY. I'm going to climb up on a chair.
DURHAM LASS: Stay on the phone, you have to stay on the phone! What if you fall off the chair and bump your noggin and we find you four days later? DEAD.
SARAH: OKAY. I'm going to stay on the phone. Oh, oh, going over sideways - feeling for box. Oh no, going over sideways.
DURHAM LASS: Why do you keep falling down?
SARAH: This isn't easy to do in the dark and high heels.
DURHAM LASS: Why are you still wearing your heels?
SARAH: ... I have a perfectly good reason for that.
DURHAM LASS: What is it?
SARAH (with dignity): I cannot tell you that at this time.
Fumbling and flailing in the night, I eventually got the lights back on. Then I tottered over to the kettle.
It had stopped working.
I gestured with my kettle, a kettle of despair and not tea. Then I trailed sadly to my bed, where I created a fort of blankets. I succumbed to illness and stayed in the blanket fort for many days.
Until it was time to get on a flight to Boston! The grumpy Frenchman on the plane seat beside me seemed annoyed by how sickly I was
When I arrived, I overcame illness by force of will! And then there was a party with rhinestone eyepatches, bald cats in tuxedoes, and assorted weaponry. I wore my crimson party dress and a pink wig. I am so tasteful. Tasteful like a disco ball.
The next day 2010 started off with a bang. I was in the cellar helping sweep up.
HOLLY: Sarah, come up here.
SARAH: No, I wish to help! There is glitter everywhere Holly - it is like a vampire exploded down here.
HOLLY: Sarah COME HERE.
SARAH: I am here.
HOLLY: Congratulations. You are a Cybils finalist!
Every year a community of bloggers puts out a list of finalists for Cybils awards, awards given out for lit'rary merit! I am extremely complimented to be a finalist, and to be a finalist in such great company!
Now as you may all know (because I never stop talking about it!) 2009 is the year my first book came out.
Having a book out, it is the weirdest thing! For of course I have spent years and years and yeeeeears (nineteen years, to be precise) writing books, hoping one day people would read them and tell me what they thought about them and hopefully they would like them and and and...
It makes one a Crazy Person, as I have often mentioned, and perhaps too often given practical demonstrations of. For you are now obsessively anxious about whether people will read this book, and what they will think.
And then things like starred reviews, and the Carnegie nomination, and now being a Cybils finalist happen, and it is glorious. Because you did what you always wanted to do, and other people saw what you were doing, and said that you did it well.
Fame, you glittering bauble, now you are mine!
... Oh, not really? Oh, well.
2009 was both glorious and incredibly nerve-wracking for me. Lots of unpleasant stuff happened which I am truly glad to have over with. Lots of truly amazing things happened, and all my favourites had to do with my book: the book came out, I got to meet lots of you blog readers, Scott Westerfeld and I travelled about America facing fiery and icy danger, my first anthology The Eternal Kiss came out, I dyed my hair pink and... wait, that was a terrible thing. With a story attached to it that one day I will tell you.
In 2010 the paperback of Demon's Lexicon will come out in the US (meaning with luck: more people reading it!) and Demon's Covenant will come out. (Also, at least one other anthology.) Second books, so nerve-wracking! Will people like it as well as the first? Will I wear my pink wig to events? So many QUESTIONS!
And I have lots of things to work on: Demon's Talisman to finish, short stories to write, a new book to write, a couple of secret things to write! I have my December book to give away, which I will do very shortly. And I have many more adventures to have.
Every day of 2010 so far, I have had good news! I wish you all the same. |
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| Can someone explain me Photobucket? |
[Jan. 2nd, 2010|01:37 pm] |
I have sporadically used Photobucket to park images I needed to link to when the LJ photo gallery wasn't the right option. Lately I've been seeing other people's images showing a message from Photobucket that so-and-so's account has been inactive for 90 days, so the image is not being displayed.
I can't possibly recall where I have linked to Photobucket images to know if that's the case with mine somewhere.
Does anyone have the scoop on this? Does it mean you just have to log into your acount once every 90 days? Or do you have to upload something? Or... well, what DOES it mean?
Plz help a fangirl out. Thank you!
Xie |
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| Another Rage the Kitten story |
[Jan. 1st, 2010|09:52 pm] |
For those following the adventures of Rage the Kitten as told by my dog Rebel (now transmitting his fic to me psychically from heaven), there is a new Christmas series called "Rage the Kitten Grows Up" that was just completed tonight. It is a story about the holidays, and heroes.
The story begins here and links to each subsequent part are at the end of each installment.
I miss my Rebel but am happy he is able to write even in heaven, and I hope you enjoy his story! Happy New Year from me, and from Rebel in heaven! |
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| 10 year breakdown. |
[Jan. 1st, 2010|10:43 am] |
2000 - my last year of high school. The worst year of high school. Friends left school all along, some not telling me they where going. I was a weepy ball of angst over my BFF and how she did not love me and instead slept with boys who treated her like shit. I chose to run away to Germany.
2001 - I ran away to Germany on AFS exchange. Hardest and most rewarding year of my life. Made some of my best friends, and a new family. Read HP and Diana Gabaldon for the first time. Went to Rome and Berlin.
2002 - Was lost and unsure. Worked my first Real Job. Began messing around with HP fandom.
2003 - Ran away to Brisbane for a few months, but came back tired and broke. Got deeper into HP fandom. Met my first Online friends.
2004 - Tried studying to be a teacher. Had a huge crush on a friend at university. Decided I did not want to be a teacher. Decided I wanted to run away again.
2005 - Ran away to Germany for the second time! Another hugely challenging and hugely rewarding year. Went to London for HP book 6 release.
2006 - Got my job at current workplace. Decided I was wasting my life, and to study graphic design. Moved in with The Married Couple (at the time not married), Bro2 and Arsehole Flatmate.
2007 - Studied graphic design, until I burnt out in Aug/Sept. Cried about how hard it all was. Found Bandom through a HP friend, and began my love affair with MCR and FOB. Played The Black Parade loudly may times. Fought with AF a lot. Saw U2, and FOB in concert.
2008 - The Married Couple got married. Moved into Winter street with them. Became BFF with Kez. Enjoyed my job and was content for the first time in probably 10 years. Found out dad needed a new kidney. Came out about Bandom and fandom for the first time. Made lots of masterlists. Saw MCR, Panic, The Academy and Cobras in concert.
2009 - Went on the Euro trip with TMC. Still enjoyed my job. Leaned more about dad's disease and treatment. Didn't make lists ore update the old ones. Got robbed. Moved again to Powells Rd with TMC, ![[personal profile]](http://s.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png) plumebee, and AJ. Saw Green Day in concert.
2009 has not been the most evenful year, but it wasn't the most shit in the last decade either. I have vague plans for 2010. Hope you all have a good one!
 people have commented on this post at stepps.dreamwidth.org. Please comment there using OpenID. |
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| Obstreperousness or Three Ways Not to Leave Your Lover |
[Dec. 31st, 2009|11:38 am] |
Title: Obstreperousness or Three Ways Not to Leave Your Lover
Author: arctic_grey
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: 3rd, switches
Summary: Ryan and Brendon aren’t dating because they hate each other. Really.
Disclaimer: Not real. Never happened.
Author Notes: This is a sequel to Relearning How to Breathe, which I recommend reading to understand the context. This is also a prequel to the actual Ry/Bren mpreg story that is to follow sometime in the unknown future. Consider this an interval! In a way! An introduction to the foundations of Ryan and Brendon’s unrelationship. Betaed by the wonderful uqangela, thank you!
On behalf of everyone at BN Inc., happy New Year! <3
( Brendon has a list. ) |
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| A story from the past 365 |
[Dec. 30th, 2009|02:20 am] |
I'm throwing up in the grungy hostel bathroom when I hear Karl come in. I don't look up. I'm as sick as I can get, I've been throwing up my guts for what seems like hours. It's about five am now, would be my guess. My eyes feel like somebody rubbed them raw with sandpaper.
Karl stands in the doorway. After a minute, he walks into the bathroom. I want to tell him to fuck off, but my whole body is otherwise occupied and words would be a bit of a stretch. I hear the tap running, and then he kneels down next to me on the filthy bathroom tiles. He offers me a solo cup with water in it.
I take it, drink. Expect him to go away, but he's still kneeling there, like he's waiting for something.
"Thanks," I say. My voice sounds raw even to me.
"What if you stopped drinking?" Karl asks.
It's a genuine question, and so, oddly, it doesn't piss me off.
"I don't know."
"You're fucked up a lot, dude. You know?"
"I know."
Karl hesitates. I put down the solo cup and he picks it back up and offers it to me.
"You need to keep up the water, bro. You're gonna be shit hungover in the morning."
"It is the morning," I say. "And I don't get hungover."
But I take the water and drink the rest of it, and when I'm done, Karl refills the solo cup. He sits next to me on that filthy gray floor while I drink water. Sometimes I throw up all the water, and then he just gets me more.
After a little while he says, "How come you drink so much?"
"I don't know."
"Yeah, you do though. I mean, I know why I smoke weed. I know why I get mad and start shit up."
"You?" I'm briefly amazed. I can't imagine Karl ruffled. "You start shit?"
"Yeah. I used to just see red and go for guys, I beat up this guy once, he said like two words and they weren't even to me. But I didn't like how he was looking at me."
"How was he looking at you?"
Karl grins, that weird laid-back gap-tooth grin. "I dunno, he probably wasn't."
I don't know why I say this, then. I really don't. I don't even think it's because I'm drunk.
"Hey...Karl?"
"Yeah."
"You know I fuck boys?"
Karl nods.
"How come you know?"
"Whenever you're piss-drunk you talk about them."
"I do?"
Karl nods again.
"Does that make you feel weird?"
Karl shakes his head.
"How come?"
"I dunno. It's not like you're trying to fuck me."
"Would you, like, beat me up and shit? If I made a play at you?"
Karl grins. "Drink your water, kid."
"No but seriously, would you beat me up?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because," Karl sighs, "I think you're okay. You're an okay dude."
"I don't feel okay," I say.
And I think, what the fuck, this is more than I've ever said to Bin in what was probably the healthiest, stablest, safest relationship of my life. And it's not that I want to get with Karl—although he's not a bad-looking guy, and I'm not the most discriminating one. I don't know what it is. He makes me feel weirdly safe. Probably because he's so fucking calm.
"You mean you don't feel okay 'cause you're drunk?" he asks.
"No. I mean all the time. Most of the time. I don't think I'm okay."
Karl hesitates, and then he kind of pats me on the head. "I think you're okay," he says. "Kind of deeply fucked up, but sincerely okay. Now drink your water."
This is what I think about later. When I'm out of Mexico, when I'm back in California, then after that, when I'm back in New York. When I'm sitting outside the bar where I first tried to hustle Bin, and I can't go inside even though I know he's not there. That one night when I sleep in the NYC subway, and the homeless guys shuffle past all night, and this black dude wakes me up by banging me in the shoulder, all excited, going, "Did you see Elvis? You see Elvis? He was right here!" I think about that whole conversation, I run it again and again in my head. The part where Karl says what he says, he looks so sincere—more than that, so sure. Kind of deeply fucked up, but sincerely okay. I think: That alone was worth it. |
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