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carmenlire · 4 years

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Meddle About

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On the one hand--

But on the other.

Alec groans, rakes his hands over his face and leans back until he’s staring at the stars. The grass is cool on his back and it pokes through his shirt, dry and a little itchy. It’s a visceral feeling and it tethers him to earth, makes him feel like he’s sinking into the ground.

It’s a welcome feeling because Alec doesn’t feel like he belongs most days. The balmy air whispers through the trees and he shivers a little even though he’s warm. The ground is cool but comfortable and as he looks up, he feels small and insignificant. It’s not unpleasant.

If anything, it helps him feel like maybe it’s not a big deal if he’s broken, cold, a fucking robot--

No.

So maybe Alec’s head is a mess most days. He goes back and forth. It’s a running joke with Iz and Jace-- that he’s a robot, so cold as to verge on icy, and he humors them. He stares at them, unamused and stoic when they prank him, has no problem staring his bitch of a mother in the face as she berates him in full view of the servants, keeps mum as Jace ribs him goodnaturedly about his lack of a love life.

But then he goes to his bedroom after a long day where nothing seemed to go right and he feels like he’s suffocating as he chokes back a scream that would scrape his throat raw if he let it. He lays in bed for hours at night, mind going in circles, as he wonders what the fuck everyone else means when they say love.

Because sure, he loves Izzy and Jace and Max. He’d die for them without hesitation, and would only hesitate a little when they bug the shit out of him for the last salted caramel cookie that he’s been hoarding like a goddamn dragon.

He thinks he understands what it means to say he loves reading because when he loses himself in a good book, it almost feels like he’s somewhere else, somewhere free where he can be himself. There’s love in the pages of a novel where there are no pretenses, just earnest appreciation and a desperate kind of joy.

But that’s lowercase love, casual and informal and to everyone else-- lesser. There seems to be a difference between that and love with all caps, with fireworks, with a marching band playing the world’s sappiest, most cliche ballad.

And that’s what seems so foreign to him because when people say love in that voice they mean something Alec can’t put his finger on and it’s maddening, that the entire world just knows how it feels to be head over heels, to feel butterflies, to be in love.

It’s romantic love that makes him want to tear his goddamn hair out because that-- that he doesn’t understand.

He watches Jace make a fool of himself with over the top gestures and while he’s supportive and encouraging, privately he can’t understand why his brother would make such an ass out of himself because of an ephemeral feeling. He listens as Izzy goes on and on about someone in her class, talking about the way they fucking laugh and smile with their eyes or whatever the fuck and can’t help but feel like his sister-- his ever practical sister-- has lost her goddamn mind.

He can comprehend grand gestures and overwhelming fondness and while it’s a secret he likes to keep close to his vest, Alec is a bit of a hopeless romantic when it comes to media. He loves a good romcom and he has an entire shelf dedicated to romance novels in his bedroom.

But that’s fiction and in real life, he’s left wondering if everyone is playing some sort of elaborate joke on him because for a reasonably intelligent nineteen year old, he just can’t understand what people say when they say those words.

He made it through his entire high school career without a crush while his classmates seemed to fall for someone every other period. He’s never hooked up with anyone, never felt the need to lose himself in someone else.

And it’s those realizations-- noticing that he seems to be falling behind everyone else, that even if he doesn’t particular care that he hasn’t slept with anyone, that he’s never been on a date, everyone else has and because of that, something is missing in his life-- that make Alec feel like he’s going crazy sometimes.

He likes being single. He likes his life, but when the whole world is shouting that he needs to find his other half, it’s hard not to want to fall in line even as he balks at the very notion.

Phone vibrating in his back pocket, Alec’s thoughts break off as he reaches for it. He smiles a little as he sees the incoming text.

On my way and I have milkshakes.

Shaking his head a little to clear it even more, Alec shoots back a reply before letting his phone drop onto his stomach. He hears the rustle of leaves under him and closes his eyes.

Quietly, he thinks he could fall asleep like this. This is their park, halfway between their houses and it’s always deserted this time of night. It feels like he’s the only person in the world and that makes the hint of hollowness in his chest ease a little.

It’s hard to feel broken when there’s no one else to compare to. It’s easier to think that being a robot isn’t so bad as long as he’s not hurting anyone.

Because sometimes his siblings’ ribbing pierces clean through him. He’ll never admit it but there are times when he replays their words over and over and wonders if they’re right, if they’re true, if there’s something fundamentally wrong with him.

Because sometimes-- just sometimes because it’s all he can bear-- he wonders what’s the point. He’s come to terms with being gay even if there are only a few people he’s told. But when a voice whispers that if he doesn’t want to have sex and he doesn’t particularly want to be in love-- what’s the point. There’s nothing for him and he’s nothing for anyone else.

Sometimes he thinks he shouldn’t be here. Sometimes he wishes he wasn’t.

He’s not maudlin, not even really sad. It’s just that when he lets himself, he measures what everyone else values against what he can provide and it seems embarrassingly obvious that he’s lacking.

Everyone places such importance on romance and attraction and Love and it feels like he doesn’t fit in with his complete apathy and mild distaste for it all.

Alec’s thoughts fracture as something lands on his stomach. Huffing a little, he opens his eyes and he swears the moonlight makes his best friend glow.

“What the fuck,” he mutters and Magnus laughs a little before dropping down next to him on the same faded blanket they’ve been bringing to this park since they were in middle school.

“Now is that any way to greet someone who brought your favorite milkshake?”

Narrowing his eyes, all Alec shoots back is, “Cookies n Cream?”

Glaring at him, Magnus all but shoves the drink in his face before he fairly sneers, “Extra Oreo.”

The two of them stare at each other for a long moment before they break out into laughter and God, Alec thinks, as he snags the straw Magnus holds out, there’s nowhere he’d rather be than right here, alone with his best friend.

Sitting up and grabbing the bag that Magnus had tossed at him, Alec knows there’s no place better and it’s in these moments that he casts a giant fuck you to anyone who would tell him that this is less than a boyfriend.

This is all he needs, he thinks and is only a little embarrassed at how mushy he’s being, if only in his own head.

Even by moonlight, Alec sees the grease soaking through the bag and he grins as he opens it to reveal an extra large order of fries from the same diner Magnus bought the shakes.

“You know me too well,” he mutters as he snags a fry and pops it into his mouth before wincing as it burns his tongue.

Magnus tsks even as he shoves a few into his own mouth. “I was hungry,” he shrugs, “And figured you probably were too.”

Alec just echoes, “You know me too well,” and lets the silence settle between them.

It’s not a bad silence. It’s not oppressive and there’s no pressure to fill it. Alec’s long since learned that he can be himself with Magnus, whatever that means. Magnus deals with taciturn, abrasive Alec just as well as he does sleepy Alec with cracked walls and silly jokes, which is the same as when Alec’s knuckles are bruised and bloodied and there are tears that seem to leech from his damned soul.

Magnus has seen every side of Alec and he’s stayed through them all.

Alec tells himself that this is different, though. He’s not told anyone, not even his best friend, not even Magnus, about these thoughts that make him sick, that make him feel angry and weird and other and less.

He doesn’t think Magnus would understand. Scoffing to himself as he brings his milkshake up for a long sip, Alec knows Magnus can’t understand what Alec himself is confused about.

Confused, terrified, and yet strangely uncaring under everything else. It’s all a tangled mess in his chest. It gives him a headache.

When Magnus speaks, it spooks him a little but Alec doesn’t look up from where he’s staring at a dandelion. This isn’t the first night one of them haven’t been in the mood to talk but Alec still feels like he should be better at compartmentalizing.

The thing is, there’s a niggling voice in his head and while he tells it to shut the fuck up, it whispers and insinuates and Alec doesn’t know what’s up from down.

Because sometimes he looks at Magnus and it’s his best friend. And then sometimes he looks at his best friend and wonders if this is what everyone else feels when they say they’re in love.

Because Magnus is beautiful, there’s no denying that. Magnus is perfect to Alec. Even with his ridiculous bedhead in the morning, and his tendency to bottle emotions up until they explode all over the place, even when he’s being a stubborn ass, he’s perfect, perfect for him.

Still. Alec thinks about what other people talk about when they say it’s love and he doesn’t want to sleep with Magnus. He doesn��t want to necessarily go on romantic dates and hold hands and wax poetic about Magnus’s goddamn hands.

He likes their weekly sleepovers and looks forward to rooming with him at NYU next month. He likes that Magnus makes him feel safe and accepted and that he can be himself with Magnus and that Magnus is one of the only people on earth he’d drop everything for, no hesitation. Some of his favorite afternoons have been hanging out at a nearby coffee shop working on homework or blatantly blowing it off. It’s a running joke between their friends and families that they’re joined at the hip, that where Magnus is, Alec is sure to be following. It’s been like that since they were kids.

They’re best friends and that’s enough but Alec doesn’t like that everyone else wouldn’t agree.

Izzy and Jace tease him about Magnus sometimes. In between telling them to go fuck themselves and rolling his eyes, he knows what it maybe, possibly looks like from the outside. It looks romantic, it looks closer than two friends should be, it looks different.

Alec doesn’t mind different, though. Not when it’s Magnus. Not when it’s them.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, darling?”

Alec still doesn’t look up, even though he feels Magnus lean into his shoulder, even when he wants nothing more than to pour his heart out and have Magnus tell him it’s okay, he’s okay, everything is going to be okay.

He shrugs into himself, scowls at the innocent flower and wishes he wasn’t himself. Maybe a stupid wish but a wish nonetheless. And because it’s midnight and dark and the person next to him is Magnus-- his best friend, his person-- Alec tells the truth.

“I wish I wasn’t me.”

Magnus’s voice is soft as he asks, “And why is that?”

And that’s why-- one of the hundred thousand million reasons why-- Alec loves Magnus. Magnus doesn’t tell him not to think like that, doesn’t give him weak if well-meaning platitudes. Magnus plays the game out and sometimes Alec wonders if Magnus doesn’t know him better than he knows himself.

Teeth digging into his bottom lip for a beat or two Alec tries to think of the best way to phrase his jumble of thoughts. It all boils down to one thing, though, that thing being, “I think I’m broken.”

His voice comes out a hoarse whisper, raw around the edges. That’s what it all comes down to-- Alec’s not like everyone else and if he’s not like everyone else then there’s something wrong with him, something not right.

Something wrong. Something broken.

The words might seem like a plea for help to others and Alec supposes he can’t fault them for that. Magnus gets it though because he gets Alec-- this is the root of his issue and at the end of it, he’s just confused. He just wants answers.

Leaning into the arm Magnus wraps around his shoulder, Alec keeps his gaze down as his best friend lets out a considering hum. “Why do you think you’re broken, Alexander?”

Taking a shuddering breath, Alec feels relief at not having his problem brushed away. His mind races and there are a dozen things that come to mind. He kind of wants to throw everything at Magnus and let someone else put the pieces together. There’s a sort of checklist in his head, All The Ways Alec Lightwood Doesn’t Fit In and included on that list is that while Alec likes the idea of marriage, he doesn’t see himself ever actually getting married.

He looks at relationships around him and they don’t make sense. They leave a sour taste in his mouth.

At the end of the day, he doesn’t know if he wants what everyone else has because they tell him he should want it of if his want is true, is real.

On the one hand, he likes the picture perfect idea. On the other, the thought of actually having it makes him queasy.

Swallowing hard, Alec looks up and meets Magnus’s eyes. His best friend is looking at him with the world’s patience and, even if Alec is hopeless at reading faces, a good amount of fondness seems to break through, too.

It’s just the two of them in the park as Alec finally lets his failing slip. Strangely, it’s not as scary as he’d thought it’d be, even moments ago.

“I don’t think I know what love is. I don’t think I know how to love.”

The words fall between them and it should sound absurd and a little pathetic. And it does because how does someone make it through high school, how do they become an adult and not know how to love or what love even is.

But that’s how it feels to Alec. He has familial love because he’s always had it. He can intuit his love of hobbies and other random inanimate objects because it’s what everyone else says and at the end of the day, it isn’t really that serious to exclaim that he loves the movie Pride and Prejudice.

He used to hesitate when it came to telling Magnus he loved him and the truth is, he still hesitates. Because to him, love seems unknowable and too meaningful and he didn’t want to lie to Magnus.

Still, Magnus told Alec that he loved him and didn’t seem to hold the same uncertainty or fear. Alec never wants Magnus to feel bad for loving him, so he said it back. He’s gotten better at saying it first because he likes the way Magnus smiles when he does and he likes making his best friend happy.

There’s a part of Alec that wonders if this isn’t love after all because he feels more towards Magnus than he does anyone else and if that’s all he’s capable of, then maybe it’s good enough to call it love. Maybe he’s not lying after all when he says it and wants to mean it.

If he wants to mean it, then maybe he does mean it. Maybe it’s enough that if he wants it to be true, it can be, it is.

Alec watches as Magnus smiles, just a little, just enough to see the twitch of his lips as he leans into Alec’s space like he's sharing a secret. “You are one of the most loving people I know, Alec.”

Startled, Alec blinks a little dumbly as he leans away to see Magnus better. Before he can open his mouth for a retort, Magnus is continuing.

“I’m serious,” Magnus says and Alec sees, from his eyes, that he is maybe the most serious Alec’s ever seen him. “You love without thinking, without hesitating. Isabelle, Jace, Max, that eccentric elderly woman that you help every Thursday evening with her correspondence, the underclassmen you tutor and treat to dinner even if you roll your eyes the entire time-- it might be quiet but it’s always there.”

Alec frowns as he notices, “You didn’t name yourself.”

Magnus shrugs and his expression is a little coy as he replies, “This isn’t about me, Alexander. It’s about you and letting you know that you love and are loved dearly.”

“I don’t understand love, Magnus.” Alec’s voice is soft as he adds, “I’ve never been in love. I’m not sure I want to be, not really, not like everyone says I should.”

“And that’s okay,” Magnus immediately says. “As long as you’re happy, you can be anything you want.”

“What about us?”

Magnus raises a single brow and while ordinarily Alec would tell him how stupid he looks, he just stays silent as Magnus asks, “What do you mean, what about us?”

“I’m not in love with you.” Alec’s voice is barely a whisper and he wonders if he’s just said something wrong. He clears his throat. “You’re my favorite person and I-- I think I have to love you more than just about anyone else on the planet but that’s it.”

He twists his hands in his lap as he waits for Magnus’s reaction.

His best friend just smiles patiently. “And I’m telling you that’s okay.”

Frowning a little, Alec looks up. “Is it?”

Sighing, Magnus pulls Alec close until his chin is resting on top of Alec’s head. It’s a little cramped but Alec huddles just that little bit closer and thinks that there’s no place else he’d rather be.

“You’re my favorite person, too, darling. My best friend. I love you and I know you love me and that’s more than enough for us.” Magnus’s voice drops to a whisper as Alec swears he feels lips against his hair. “You’re perfect just as you are. I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”

The only sound around them is the distant thrum of New York as Alec focuses on his breathing, on taking in what Magnus just said. “Kind of seems like everyone else expects us to start dating or some shit.”

He feels more than hears Magnus start laughing. “Kind of seems like everyone else should mind their fucking business.”

There’s a pause before Magnus quietly asks, “Are you happy? With the way things are?”

Alec doesn’t hesitate as he replies, “Yeah, yes, of course. I love us.” He straightens up, though, making sure he’s looking Magnus in the eyes as he replies, “Are you?”

Magnus nods, grins a little. “I am,” he answers confidently. “I’m happy as long as it’s you, as long as it’s us. Whatever that means, however it happens. And to hell with what anyone else thinks.”

Alec stares hard at Magnus, can’t help but wonder if his best friend is lying to spare his feelings-- wonders if maybe Magnus is in love with him and trying to hide it, if maybe he doesn’t think Alec isn’t overreacting and is making a mountain out of a molehill.

But his best friend’s eyes are clear and bright and Alec might not be great at reading people but he knows Magnus better than most anyone else and this-- this is Magnus at his best, at his most happy and relaxed.

“Whatever that means,” he echoes.

He pulls Magnus into a hug and breathes in familiar shampoo. He decides that this is his favorite spot, right here with his best friend, and that maybe it’s okay not to have all the answers as long as he’s happy, as long as he’s not hurting anyone.

Maybe it’s okay to be different, as long as someone understands, as long as Magnus get it, gets him.

This is enough, Alec thinks. This is more than enough.

#my writing #meddle about #malec fic

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knjoodles · 4 years

Text

oneshot | hoseok x reader

finally finished it. for you, my babies! want to request? find them prompts here.

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: just a bunch of ANGST with a lil treat at the end ;)

word count: 2.8K

request: 12, 18. “tell me a story” + “i'm no good for you, baby. i'm not a good man."

lowercase intended

today was supposed to be your date night. note the wording. was.

you were alone in the house, the only thing accompanying you being the sound of pasta boiling next to you. it was a new recipe you’d decided to try, knowing how much hoseok loved pasta. scurrying across the kitchen, you prepped diligently, practically flying between the cupboard, stove, and dinner table. you wanted it to be perfect. you needed it to be perfect.

hoseok hadn’t been around lately. you understood that as a hiring consultant working for large-scale companies that his work was more often than not demanding, as he constantly needed to get on flights to fly across the world to assist separate firms, but his absences began to hang on to your daily mood. him being gone made you question your worth at times; you knew that the two of you were both equally important to each other and neither of you relied on each other for everything, but could you blame someone for missing their loved ones?

you had doubts. doubt clouded your mind like warm breath in a cold, winter morning. it grew slowly and collapsed on you all at once. you grew suspicious of hoseok — why would your boyfriend need two weeks to help someone hire someone else? what could possibly pull him away from you all the time for no reason? his late-night appearances, the way he’d drift through your shared spacious apartment like a translucent ghost, how it felt like he’d come and go like seconds on a clock… it didn’t make sense to you.

so here you are tonight, hastily plating the dishes you made for the two of you at the promise hoseok would be there. you found it kind of stupid, honestly. as a boyfriend, isn’t it his obligation to be here? placing the two dishes on either side of the table with a large bowl in the middle holding a couple more servings of pasta, you felt content with yourself. he had to enjoy something like this, he had to! the two of you hadn’t had a date night, hadn’t had sex in the longest time. nodding confidently, you promised yourself that would change into something fitting tonight. you left the dining room, glancing at the clock to see how much time you had to get ready. "hoseok said he’d be here in forty minutes.” you sighed, thinking aloud as you grabbed the black heels waiting for you in your closet. you foraged through your closet, moving shirts and blouses across the clothing rack until you finally found your sleek black dress, a matte style which fit snug against your body. slipping into it in your unlit bedroom, you shuffled into your master bathroom, the click of your heels louder than usual against the floor. you adjusted your hair, letting your fingers graze against your locks until it gracefully fell the way you wanted. applying some light makeup and eyeliner to match the black dress and shoes, you admired yourself in the mirror, a new feeling of confidence bursting through your chest. you looked sexy, and you knew it.

making your way back to your dining room, you heard the faint sound of heavy footsteps walking towards your front door, excitement flowing through your veins. this is it, you thought, adjusting your dress in anticipation. he’s finally here. you heard each of his keys jingle in the keyhole, the doorknob finally turning when he found the right one. hoseok’s form appeared before you, his hair and clothes damp from the rainy night outside. your eyes lit up, swiftly walking towards him, excited to finally see him after so long. “hoseok!” you beamed, your body electric with exhilaration, arms wide open to hold him after what felt like years.

he darted past your open arms, throwing his jacket onto the maroon couch and throwing his body against the wall, lightly panting, head thrown back, obviously exhausted from something. eyes glossed over, he stared at the ceiling for a moment before turning and scanning you from top to bottom, licking his lips. “hey,” he suspired, pushing himself off the side of the wall to walk towards you. he held your arms and kissed your forehead quickly, lips lingering over your skin. “i missed you.” you stood there together for a moment, his hands falling from holding your arms to loosely wrap around your waist. his warm breath contrasted from his cold body, the feel of his icy fingertips still fresh against your skin.

“i missed you, too,” you replied, pulling away from him to get a better look at his face. his face was more gaunt than when he’d left, which was only weeks ago. his skin appeared to have gotten paler, his eyes seemingly the most lively feature of his face, his nose still handsome and his lips chapped. “i made dinner. why don’t you sit down and eat and we can talk?” you suggested, taking his hand and leading him towards the dinner table, pulling back his chair for him to sit. once he was seated, you walked to the other side of the table, sitting in your own chair and crossing your legs comfortably.

“so, how was your business trip?” you asked, serving some of the tagliatelle you’d made — a new recipe you’d found months ago and instantly thought of hoseok at the sight of it. you dug your fork into the pasta on your plate, mixing it with the sauce you’d half made, half bought. you could feel the atmosphere grow thicker just by asking that question, and you despised it. why is a conversation with your boyfriend this awkward? your boyfriend of three years, for that matter?

“it was fine,” he muttered, stirring the pasta on his plate as you did. as you questioned him more and more, trying to start some form of conversation, he grew more and more distant and vague. it was as though he was hiding something, or purposefully dodging your questions and trying to introduce new topics to distract you.

growing increasingly suspicious by the second, you scrutinized your boyfriend sitting in front of you, toying with his pasta. taking a closer look, you realized his overall body language spelled out ‘preoccupied’. from his repetitive foot tapping under the table to his eyes refusing to make eye contact with you, you understood very easily that he’d done something, and couldn’t bring himself to look at you because of it. studying what you could see of his torso and up, you noticed a bandage wrapped around him under his shirt sleeve and bruises scattered across his collar and chest, badly clouded with concealer.

feeling a lump grow in your throat, you understood what was going on. suddenly, everything clicked in your mind: the nervous body language, the so-called ‘bruises’ dotting his chest, the dismissive way he entered your apartment which now became how he’s talking to you. you didn’t know who they were and what business they had with your boyfriend, but the nearly month-long trips of little to no contact and the midnight disappearances suddenly started making sense. because you were so hellbent on believing your boyfriend was a good man who would never want to hurt his girlfriend, you completely disdained any possible evidence that he was cheating on you, even though it was all right in front of you.

“hoseok,” you shuddered, voice shaking from the fear that your thoughts held truth. “where have you been going on your business trips?” there was no more food on your plate to toy with. the attention you’d scattered to ignore the monster that was infidelity sitting right in front of you was all attached to hoseok. you had nowhere to run, and neither did he.

“i told you, already. it’s more than one place.” he groaned passively, chewing on the last bit of tagliatelle.

“what’s ‘more than one place’?” you asked, raising your voice and your elbows to rest on the table, rubbing your finger against the fabric of the dinner table. “what do you even do? who are you ‘consulting’? who are you ‘helping’?” you scoffed, finding it laughable that after all you’ve been through together, he couldn’t just grow some fucking balls and own up to his mistake. his irreversible mistake.

“why are you so interested in what i do?” his tone grew visibly more annoyed, his back slumping against the chair as he pushed the plate away, now finished. “how does it help you, anyway?”

“i just want to know what the hell kind of place needs you to take three fucking weeks away from your girlfriend and your personal life; what the hell kind of job doesn’t let you answer your phone calls when it’s late at night when i know damn well you’re awake? what fucking job makes you leave your bed at midnight and not return for days without warning?” you spat, dropping your fork passive-aggressively onto the tablecloth, the white fabric stained red from the remnants of sauce still on the utensil.

“what are you insinuating?” his eyes narrow, body leaning forwards as his jaw tightens. “what are you trying to fucking say, (y/n)?” he stands up, voice stern and angry, but not yelling.

“what i’m trying to fucking say,” you mocked, standing up, hands on the table. “is that it’s obvious that you’ve been cheating on me for the past, what? a fucking year?” you cackled, hysterical from his get up. “what do you think i am, hoseok? an idiot? a stupid bitch?” you rose completely, hands smacking the table in anger.

“are you fucking serious?” he cried, face twisting to a look of outrage and bewilderment. “you think i’m cheating on you?”

“have you ignored me for so long you’ve forgotten what i sound like when i'm angry?” you grit your teeth, fists balling in anger. “all i’ve ever done is love you, listen to you, comfort you, be there for you. and this?” you shrieked, voice cracking from the pain staining your heart and mind. “this, is what you’ve done to thank me?” tears began to pour down your cheeks, forming small puddles on the hardwood floor in between the two of you. “what have you done?” you howled, voice soaked in agony.

hoseok bit his lip, trying his hardest to stop salty tears from running down his face; he heard the misery in your voice and understood all the hidden heartache you’d been experiencing: he had barely talked to you for a year. “i can’t tell you what i’ve done.” he moaned, adam’s apple bobbing to try and swallow the lump forming in his throat. “i can’t tell you, i can’t fucking tell you—“

“why not?” you sobbed, shoulders falling. “what have you done, hoseok?” you walked weakly towards him, now just centimeters away from him. “just tell me what you’ve done. tell me what you’ve done so i don’t have to hurt like this anymore.” you wept, tears now falling on his leather shoes.

“i’m your boyfriend, (y/n), i didn’t do anything!” he whimpered, shaking his hands to motion to himself. “you have to believe me, i just can’t tell you what i’ve done—”

“ah, so you think this is a fairy tale!” you laughed painfully. you’d had enough. “a fucking fairy tale, where a man can fuck up as many things as he’d like, claim he’s a good man because he benefits in the long run, and women will run to him from every direction?” you waltzed over to the couch, throwing his jacket to the floor and collapsing against it. you’d physically had enough of all of this. all of the pain, all of the doubt, all of the silence. you were on the very edge.

“no, i don’t.” he turned, bending his knees and trying to reason with you. he followed you to the couch until you raised your hand, asking him to back away. he listened.

“great, i'm glad we’re on the same page.” you rubbed your face and pulled back your hair, noticing smudged eyeliner on your palm once you removed your hand. turning your head to him, you glanced, defeated. “then tell me the fucking story, hoseok. who she is, where you met her, where the fuck you’ve been for the past year. tell me a story.”

hoseok’s eyes, once filled with fiery anger, now showed emotions you’d barely even think to pair him with. regret, torment, fear.

hurt.

he crouched in front of you, swallowing and touching his hand to your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears cascading down your face. “i'm no good for you, baby.” he trembled, hand now shaking against your wet cheek. “i'm not a good man.”

“what do you mean?” you stammered, voice weak from the yelling and the intimacy of this moment, something you hadn’t had in a long time. tears began to fall down your face once more, hoseok now letting your tears roll over his fingertips instead of wiping them away.

he lowered his head, eyes staring at the wooden floors. “fuck, (y/n). i’m not a consultant. i’m,” he pauses, sighing deeply and taking another shaky breath. “i’m a drug dealer. i’ve been smuggling heroin internationally for five years now.”

“a drug dealer?” you gasped quietly, shocked. jung hoseok, your once innocent and loving boyfriend, had been consumed by his job of breaking the law, every single day whittling down to a weaker and weaker self.

he raised his head, eyes now locked with yours. “it started off as something small, but all of a sudden i got promoted, and now, this is my life.” he choked, shaking his head. “i didn’t want to hurt you, i didn’t want to get you involved, but while i was so caught up handling my life inside and outside my job, i completely neglected you.” he reached forwards to your sides to hold your hands, pulling them into your lap and squeezing them. “i'm not a good person, (y/n). people i work with have slaughtered, and i’ve just stood back and pretended it hasn’t happened for the sake of my own sanity. i'm a bad man.”

a moment of silence between you, the only sound being the cars outside finding their way home and the tick of the clock in the living room.

“you’re not a bad man.” you whispered, letting go of his hands to cup his face. “you’re a good man who’s found himself in a bad place.”

“(y/n),” he cried, letting heavy, previously held back tears run down his face. “please, i understand if you want to leave me, but you’re the only person, the only thing in my life i know i have. i feel as though my life is a game of russian roulette.”

“i—“ you sighed, not knowing what to say. “hoseok, look at me.” you ordered, rubbing his eyes to dry them of tears. “you’re right, this is a risky game. will i be safe?”

“i promise you, (y/n). you have the world’s strongest and smartest men and women protecting you. you’ll be in no danger, you’ll be no one’s target.” he ensured you. “you don’t know how much i fucking love you.”

you looked down, trying to make a decision that you knew would change your life forever. now hearing hoseok’s side, you recognized his intentions have been the same all along: to protect you and shelter you from any pain. even though he didn’t quite get it right, even though you’ve heard his voice shake at any doubt, you never heard any uncertainty when he said those three small words with a meaning bigger than any celestial body you could find: i love you. “i’m in.” you decided, voice firm and clear. “but you have to promise me, no more secrets, no more lies. we’re a team.”

“i promise.” he replied, bringing his lips so close to yours, you could feel his breath scatter across your cheeks, drying what was left of your tears. “can i, can i please—“ you cut him off, connecting your lips and clutching the fabric of his collar. he slowly rose, arms snaking around your hips and patting, asking you to straddle him standing. you jumped, wrapping your legs around his torso, lips still connected, hoseok’s hands feeling up and down your back as he made his way towards the bedroom.

he lay you on the bed, the two of you quickly undressing to nothing but your underwear. he crawled towards you, his form dominating yours and shading your nearly naked form from the bedroom lights. “love me hoseok, please,” you begged, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him towards you. “make love tonight. i want you to love me.”

he dipped his lips towards you, kissing you briskly. “i already have, (y/n). i have for a long, long time."

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purpleflamingosarelife · 6 years

Text

Dear Shawn. [2]

I sat behind the old, rotting building with nothing. Nothing but my thoughts. Hell, I wasn’t even wearing my own clothes.

When Tony, my double, walked into the room, I’d... I’d made him take my place as a dead body. It was to throw them off my scent, and I’d already hired someone with Shawn’s looks to go and do the same thing. Shawn just didn’t know it.

I didn’t like it, but I had to do it. I had to keep us alive. I found it funny, though, that I was risking my ass for a kid I barely even knew.

Seriously, though, fuck killing people. I knew it wouldn’t be the last time I had to do it, either.

I’d liked to have stopped thinking about it.

A twig snapped. I looked at the direction of where the sound came from as I pulled my gun, taking cover behind part of a wall.

“H-hello? Rod?” A timid voice called out. “It’s Shawn... fuck, I hope he’s here.” I stepped out from behind the wall and immediately pointed my gun at him.

“Hands up, I’m searching you.”

“Why?”

“Because I can. And I need to make sure you’re not a decoy like fuckin’... I dunno... To Catch a Predator or something.” I quickly frisked him and searched his pockets before looking closely at his face. I even counted the number of freckles that he had. Twenty-three to be exact. Good. He gave me a weird look.

“Are you... Wait. Are you the kind of person that...” I shoved the gun in his face.

“Are you insinuating that I’m a predator? I don’t like kids. They’re annoying as fuck.”

“N-no,” he quietly said. “You- you don’t seem like a predator, Rod. Listen-- what the hell’s going on?” I tucked my gun into Tony’s gross ass jeans and pulled Shawn into an old, rotting hotel room. I, looking like a paranoid freak, periodically peered out of the broken window as we spoke.

“Ok, so you read the letter, correct?”

“Y--”

“And, and. Did you-- did you bring it with you. Did you bring it with you, or did you leave it in your dorm like an idiot?”

“Well--”

“Yes or no, Shawn. I don’t have all damn day.”

“Yes. I brought it along so they wouldn’t find it. Here,” he shakily stated as he pulled out a worn piece of paper, handing it to me. It looked like he’d read over it a million times. I would have too. It was awful, what we’d gone through.

“Great. Ok. So what we need to do is, first of all, we need to get out of the state. Within the next twenty-four hours. We--”

“Ok, but you said you’d explain more when I arrived.” I exhaled through my nose.

To be honest, I didn’t know. Just thinking about it brought back the headache from my hangover. How in the actual hell did people have the ability to do shit like this-- to manipulate time and space, to toy with reality. It couldn’t be truth. Maybe I was on a drug trip. Maybe this was all just a bad dream. I looked back over at Shawn.

He was about average height with honey blonde hair, accompanied by a square-ish face covered in a thick, neatly trimmed beard. He looked like a real nice kid.

“Listen. I don’t really fucking know, Shawn. I know just as much as your class-failing, Thor imitating fucking Ross Lynch, Jeffrey Dahmer lookin’ ass does. So why don’t you quit pressuring me like I’m the head of the Illuminati?” I snapped, picking up an empty beer bottle and throwing it across the room. “Listen, all I know is that someone knows about us, and they set up a trap for us to try and... capture us? I don’t know why. I don’t know how. I know that they sent out an invitation e-mail to whoever they wanted to target, which happened to be us. I don’t know how they know about our powers, I don’t know how they found us-- I don’t even know if you know your power. All I know is that they’re going to kill us if they find us and we need to run.”

He had a face of disbelief. Almost like he was angry, confused, sad and wanted to cry all at once. I mean, so did I, but I was more concerned with getting the hell out and getting things figured the fuck out.

“Listen. It’s all over. Our lives are over. You aren’t Shawn Davis anymore, I’m not Rod Shears anymore. We’re both fucked if we can’t accept that.”

There was a long silence. We just sat next to each other, staring at the filthy ground of the abandoned hotel room, thinking. Not talking to each other.

I had this all planned out. You know, I’d been given a plan for disappearance. Being a big celebrity, I had to. And Now I was using that plan with minor tweaks. We were disappearing, and we were disappearing now.

It was dark by the time either of us had spoken.

Shawn was the first to break the silence.

“So... Um... Which do you...” He sighed. I could hear him rubbing his forehead as he swore under his breath. “Which one can you control?”

I kept my eyes on the nasty converses that I’d stolen from Tony when I’d made him shoot himself and burned him. My shoulders were still heavy with guilt.

It had to have been at least thirty seconds before I responded. The word stuck to my tongue like molasses.

“Time,�� I choked out. The word itself carried as much guilt as my murdering Tony. “You?”

“I... Reality. I think. I think I can bounce back and forth between realities. And it’s just really complicated and it... It hurts. To do it.” There was a pause. “If I do it too much.” I nodded through the darkness.

“I get sick if I travel too much. Like, nausea and nosebleeds and migraines and whatnot. But I can’t... I can’t just travel all willy-fuckin’-nilly either. I don’t think I can go too far into the past, and the longer back I go, the more energy it takes. And the more painful it is. Think of it as kind of going on a run. Back to the night that the Titanic sank is like running a mile, but running a 5K would get me to... I’d say... 1580. Like, a long ass time ago. And it’s the same way going into the future. But it’s also the same way in the fact that the more I do it, the better I get at it. Not to mention the fact that I’ve recently been able to choose where I travel to as well. But I can’t do it when I’m stressed. Or terribly injured. Or if I’m in contact with too much radiation at once. I dunno. It’s just weird.” I felt almost out of breath explaining it. I just chose not to question it so much.

I suddenly realized the gross stiffness of my now two day old hair gel. I hadn’t done anything but focus on getting myself out of this mess since the sting operation happened. And Tony’s clothes smelled like too much cologne mixed with that smell that your clothes get when you wear them three times without washing them. It made me want to puke.

“We really need to go. We can’t stay here, someone might come along and do something bad,” I said in a raspy voice. “First, I need beer. Then, we need a place to crash, and we’ll figure something out tomorrow as far as make-overs go. Sorry, but Beard McGee needs to scram.” He scoffed before sighing as we climbed out of the broken window and began walking down the long, outstretched road.

“I swear, if you’re a serial killer, I’m gonna fuck you up,” Shawn joked.

“Ok. Whatever.” I replied before looking in the distance at some lights. “Oh, shit, a gas station. We can get some food there, probably. And beer.”

“How are you going to buy beer? You don’t have your ID.”

“I’m a fucking celebrity, Shawn. I have an alternate ID that nobody knows about. We’re fuckin’ buying an assload of beer tonight. Don’t forget-- I also have all of my cash on me, so we’re not going to be going hungry.”

Once we reached the small, vacant gas station, we both pulled on our caps and entered. I headed immediately for the back where the beer was before grabbing two six packs of Budweiser and a pack of Heineken. I also loaded up with some other snacks as well.

“Hello, boys,” the old man behind the counter greeted as I set everything on the counter. “Can I see your ID?”

I handed him my ID before gesturing at Shawn. “He left his at home. This is all for a friend, anyways.” The old man chuckled in response before taking my cash, giving me my change and sending us on our way.

It was going to be a long walk, but until I could get us a car, our legs were our only option. I had some plans for tomorrow anyways, such as us getting new IDs, new clothes, a ride and a decently safe place to go. I had an inside source who could help me out. I knew of a crappy motel near by that would let us crash there without question, because my source owned it. We ended up catching a ride from some middle aged guy that smelled like weed.

The place was actually pretty nice. At least, what I called the ‘VIP’ hallway was. It was where people in close relation to my ‘source’ stayed. It was as nice as a five-star hotel, being owned by who it was, and it had its own staff and everything. It was, you could say, comparable to the Bellagio.

“Hello,” the young girl at the front desk greeted politely. “How can I help you?”

“We need one of the Luco rooms, please.” There was a long silence in which she blushed nervously and immediately began sweating. She motioned for us to join her in a small room behind the desk, a standard procedure just to make sure we weren’t heard.

“O- of course, sir- of course,” she obliged as we entered the room. “Um, um, what... what, what’s the password?” she timidly responded. She knew to fear anyone who’d asked for the Luco rooms. Even someone as pretty as her could easily be caught up in the mess that surrounded my uncle.

“PADSin.” I could feel the questioning look from Shawn.

“Sir? Could you please confirm what that means?” Of course. The security question.

“Presley, Anka, Dean, Sinatra,” I flawlessly said, crossing my arms. “Capital ‘P’, capital ‘A’, capital ‘D’, capital ‘S’, lowercase ‘I’ and ‘N’.”

“And may I ask, how- how you’re related to Mr. Luco?”

“I’m his nephew, related by blood.”

“Name?”

“Rod Aaron Michael Christopher Shears.” We watched intently as she checked a list of names, those belonging to people who had access to the Luco rooms.

“Alright, gentlemen, welcome to the Luco rooms. My name is Maria, please call if you need anything,” she politely stated as she opened a pair of mahogany doors, handing me a room key. “Please do enjoy your stay.”

Shawn and I walked down the red carpeted hallway. The lower half of the walls were a dark wood paneling, the upper half a lovely white paint. Every door was made of mahogany. I led him to room six, sliding the card into the electronic lock before pushing the heavy door open to reveal a large room with a full kitchen, two king sized beds and a full bathroom. I immediately threw the beer into the fridge and raided the wine cabinet. I threw a bottle to Shawn before hurrying over to the closet to see what was in there.

This being my designated room, I knew there had to be clothes in that damn closet. Hell, I’d had the place stocked with everything I’d need for it to be a home, right down to the Cheetos and the books on the shelf. I tore the closet door open to find a ton of my clothes within. That felt good.

“Well, Shawn, you can keep your beard for one more night. We both just need to sleep for now. Maybe get drunk as fuck. I don’t know,” I yawned as I pointed to his nightstand. “And, uh, there’s a sock, a tablet and some lotion in that nightstand if you need to--”

“Oh my fucking god. I barely even know you, Rod. I’m not watching-- ew. You’re a sick fuck, you know that?”

“I’ve known that for,” I laughed as I plopped down onto my bed. “I’ve known that for a long time.”

Our shared moment of laughter almost made me forget about what was going on.

We were safe here, no doubt, but safe didn’t mean what it used to.

Danger meant death at this point.

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notesfromthepen · 5 years

Text

The Chronicles of the king of Richmond

I came across some shit today that I had to share. Something too funny, dark, and ridiculous to keep to myself. But I had to figure out a way to first, get my hands on the material, and then how to give the context needed for it to be fully appreciated.

First I should start with the characters involved. We are a trio. Me, Joe, and the 'king'. I'll refer to him as the 'king' (with a lowercase 'k') because he wanted to remain anonymous, for several reasons, that should become clear later.

Joe is, by far, my best friend in here and we've been pretty much inseparable for years now, (we were bunkies twice at another facility). Some of you may have read previous posts about him. We are very different people, which is often the case with really good friends. But there is no doubt that our bond is, almost entirely, built on our shared sense of humor. A sarcastic, brutally honest, self deprecating, anything for a laugh, sense of humor.

A sense of humor developed since childhood surrounded by witty, smart-assed, assholish mentors and peers. It can be a harsh environment to grow up in, but there is a purity to be found there. An accountability and brutal honesty that is humbling and real. There are no aires allowed to survive amongst friends with no fear of giving offense. No bullshit is left uncalled, no lies left un-confronted, and no opinions restrained. Nothing is sacred and everything is mined for a laugh.

Basically we talk a lot of shit.

Nothing bonds me to another person more instantly than a similar sense of humor. Since coming to this new prison Joe and I have found a fellow, flawed, degenerate asshole, willing to laugh at himself and judge others for the sake humor.

This, is the so called 'king of Richmond.' His majesty is a large guy, about 6'1 and 240 lbs. of slightly chubby, bearded, man beef. He's well kept and neat in appearance (aside from his portly build). He's got some charisma and charm at his disposal and makes decent use of it when needed.

The king, however, has a glaring flaw, as do most of us. He's a raging addict, whose life is lived for, and run by, an incessant need for opiates. This adds an interesting but constantly problematic dimension to his life behind bars. The perpetual need to produce the money for his lifestyle is a constant story line. Most of his fundraising is done over the phone. Preferably through manipulation, but he's not above blatant begging from people in the free-world. Family members, friends, exes, and a sugar momma round out his fundraising Rolodex.

A few days ago, Joe borrowed his Majesty's tablet to listen to his music, and being the stand up friends we are, we wasted no time before invading his privacy. We opened his 'sent email' files and struck gold. Dark, hilarious, sad, revealing gold. What we found was email after email of mental and emotional manipulation in a quest to fund his lifestyle. That's the sad part. The hilarious part is witnessing the level of shameless groveling, damage control, and clumsy begging, our friend is willing to stoop to.

After an intervention filled with embarrassment, ridicule, and some tear inducing laughs from all parties, I gained the 'kings' permission to post some of the gems.

But first a disclaimer: If any form of self-respect or sense of shame is something you're expecting, then prepare yourself, because you will find neither in these emails. Also, I wanted to maintain the "purity" of the emails as they were originally written, so I left the misspellings and incorrect grammar. However, for the sake of read-ability, I added some commas and periods here and there. Other than that they are all original text, with the exception of my commentary, which will be in [brackets].

So without further adieu, I now present to you: The Chronicles Of The king Of Richmond.

Sugar Momma

The following correspondence was sent to the kings sugar momma. As her title would imply she is his main source of income. His "Go-To". She works at McDonalds and has had the unfortunate luck to be in "love" with the king for roughly a year now. This letter is the most recent and well into the travesty that is their "relationship". This email is more focused on making excuses for begging than actual begging, but stay tuned they get worse.

His words are in "quotes" and my commentary is in [brackets]. Some are comments and some are translations of his bullshit, what he really means.

KOR 11/24 “listen, I wasn't insinuating you were fat, and honestly I wasn't trying to hurt your feelings. [he definitely was] I was giving you an example of how you could save a few bucks, so maybe out of the kindness of your heart [or from my incessant guilt laden begging] you could send me a few. Belive it or not, its rough in here, and sometimes I need money to survive in here. [Let's make one thing clear: The constant stress of his habit and the debts he accrues makes his time infinitely more difficult than it needs to be. So more money isn't the solution. It’s the problem.] That's what I was saying. I've been down for 5yrs Jenn and pretty much aint had much help, except from a few. [Just a little context. I get 50$ a month. This jackass spends 300$ a week]. We were together a long time. we broke up when I was in here, so yeah its a little different than if you were just some ex. I shouldn't exspect [too bad they don't give out money for misspelled words] it, but I would hope”.

“I guess I wasn't who I thought I was to you. [what a word-smith]. I might have put you through a lot of shit, but you sought me out. Remember that. You knew who I was. [Yeah, so you deserve everything I put you through.] Everyone did. I was the king of that town [AND THERE IT IS! The self proclaimed king of Richmond...Oh I can't tell you how embarrassed for him, angered at him, and ashamed to call him my friend I was when I read this!] not to try and sound conceited but I was, [OK. You can't say you’re not being conceited and then double down on your brag. BTW Richmond has a population smaller than most elementary schools. So it was a small 'kingdom' to say the least] and now no one has my back. it sucks, out of everyone, I hoped that you would have, but no!! [I hope he had a neck brace on when he wrote this. This guy can go from bragging to groveling so fast that it causes whiplash]. When we broke up I wanted you to be happy and get married and do what ever. [He ran out of ideas! That's his limit of things he could conjure up that would make her happy: 2] I just wanted you to still be there for me [AKA: support my habit] and if roles were reversed Jenn, you would have 50 every month and my family would probaly even send you money and that's the proven truth. [From probably to proven truth in half a sentence?] And you know it, so that shit hurts me, let's just remember who's the one locked up!! I'm the old me again [king?] and I'll remember all my real friends, that were there for me, when I get out in 3 in a half years.[Yeah but will they remember you?] Not long at all. And the thing with frank, [Oh yes! Thankgod he's back on the whole Frank thing! I wish I knew his address I'd send him a bottle of whisky!] belive me, I heard stories, a few. [Yeah and they haunt his dreams] but regardless, I love you, just wish you were kinder to me. ...The king”

[That's his cleanup? Someone get him a neck brace]

KOR 12/6 [Damage control] “baby, funny you say sober honestly, but no i totally understand. im sorry if it feels like sometimes I take you for granted.[by sometimes he means 'all the time'] let me try to explain [please do], in here if you don't get in a constant routine and try to make things repetitive, the time will do you, not you do the time. [A vague prison saying he heard someone say in here once and thought it sounded cool] if that makes sense [it doesn't.], its not my intentions to make it carry over into our relationship [but if it does I'm willing to live with it] I'm sorry [that I have to do this song and dance to get money]. and I fully intend to check myself and let you know how special you truly are to me [and by 'check myself' I mean I'll continue doing the exact same amount of drugs, if not more. and I'll show you how special you are by kindly taking your minimum wage paycheck]. The money you send me is for me to live comfortably in here [get high], that means getting things done that I need to get done while I'm here [I mean, these drugs aren't gonna do themselves.] and 90%, is the food and shit i need to survive [but mostly drugs]. We are already at a disadvantage because I only get 75% of what you send, which sucks [it would be much more efficient if I could put 100% of what you send me up my nose]. And they rip us off on prices on the food as it is. So I'm sorry, but i want you to fully understand you are my baby girl [creepy] and when i get out, roles will reverse and I'll be the provider and you'll live real comfortable [said with his fingers crossed], except when I come home every night and blow that back out bitch!!!! [and theres that winning charm I mentioned! what a smooth operator] I love you. [He doesn't] I got to go to the doctor at 9:30 [Ironically its 'his' back that's blown out] so I'll call you after count [to beg for more $]. I love you [again he doesn't]. if that eases your mind [It shouldn't] I love you!!! [and one final lie to cap off this masterpiece.]

Ex-Girlfriend

These next three are to his ex-girlfriend. She's somewhere down the list of reliable donors, but desperate times call for desperate measures and being a dope fiend in prison means, constant desperate times.

KOR 11/23 "So happy thanksgiving! [Now that the pleasantries are out of the way] So I havnt had any money lately, so no stamps but I just got some anyways [2nd sentence in and already caught in a lie. Clearly if he sent this, he has stamps]. Yeah I heard all about you and Carol's argument, and Dan and Josh messaging, and you jumping in on their message, and Dan cutting into you about being a shitty ex (/friend) [OK, I have to translate. First of all, this email seems to be sponsored by unnecessary commas. I guess some people were attacking her on Facebook for not sending the 'king' an adequate amount of money] Most I agree with. [Especially the money part] You havnt been there for me Jennifer [how dare you!]. I belive you have kinda done me wrong [how do you sleep at night?] and other people believe that too [so there!]. Im not saying your wrong for living your life [but you are] and going and being with someone new [because there's no way he's cooler than me]. but you can look out for the man [I use the term man loosely] that looked out for you since you were just a baby! [???? what???? creepy! actually I need to go ask him about this one.. OK he said he meant when she was 18] When I have asked for money in the past, you deny me [who the fuck do you think you are an ex?]. Hell, I'm broke right now [and that's your responsibility]. I can't get money. [But regardless I incessantly ask for it? Blatant lie no.2] uncle only sends me 50 a month and that ain't shit, that's hygiene a month. [Who calls their uncle uncle and not my uncle? What is he an orphan from the 1800's?] You don't keep money on the phone Jenn. I don't care who your new man is [again, not cooler than me], if you truly love me, you can talk to me. And 50 dollars, every couple of months ain't shit Jenn [trust me its nothing! I blow through it in no time]. So I and everyone else just think your wrong for that [OK, now he's literally speaking for everyone. Which is strange because I don't remember giving him my opinion on how much money his ex should be spending on his habit]. I will always have love for you. I just wish you would treat me with the respect I deserve [but have in no way earned]. I've been down 5 yrs and havnt got no more than 100 dollars from you. i basicaly took the rap and I get no respect. [Now he's doing his Rodney Dangerfield impression? what's next, Dr Vinnie Boombatz? (look it up)] That's fucked up!!!!! well I thought, since I finally got some stamps I can finally reply. I wish you would start respecting me as someone you love!!!

'The King of Richmond' (The realest you've ever known!)” [That last part is 100% real. I almost died laughing when I read this! The realest? No comment I can muster will be adequate at dealing with the ridiculousness of this sign off. What a heavy handed attempt to sound like a cool guy. Remember, this is to an ex-girlfriend! No way does playing the cool guy ever work on an ex. She's been in the bathroom after you. She's smelled your shit. Also remember that the whole point of this email is to beg for money! Oh I'm so glad I'm friends with this silly degenerate!]

KOR 11/24 “what? really I thought we just made it through everything; [Im going to say we and then make you feel bad for a bunch of shit you needed] your rent to your sister, the presents for the babies, your phone you needed [you know, the trivial shit]. I thought we got through it baby? [You mean to tell me the babies got my drug money?] I owe a 100$ and I don't even got a noodle right now. Thank god for you, because my brother doesn't give a fuck if I rot in here [because be knows the real me] and everyone else apparently don't care. [Possibly the most poorly crafted sentence in the history of writing, and now down to business] We can do 100 and then 50. [Tell the babies and your sister to fuck off! I have needs.] So I can eat off the 35 from the 50 for the rest of this month [hope I confused her with all the numbers and poor grammar] cause the only thing I have is 2 soaps [just to be sure, one more number]. so work with me on this and I will make that last to the first OK! [In no world, was he able to make it last until the 1st]

[And now back to the unwarranted guilt trip:] I thought you were done with all the present buying and rent.You even had a b-day!! [So there's really no excuse for not feeding my addiction. What are you selfish? Use your b-day money!] Which I think you needed to let loose a little anyways. [You really earned it, putting up with my begging and whatnot] I love you babe. I'll call you after count were supposed to have a blizzard today F U N!!!!!” [Bringing it all together with a little sarcastic humor? NICE!]

KOR 12/5 "Really Jenn? Don't think you can shame me for [well, anything but specifically] expecting a little money every once in a while” [you should know by now that shame is not a factor!] "Its not hard to skip going out to eat or buying that extra shirt, [extra shirt?Clearly he could only think of one good example to save money.] to throw me a little extra dough. [yeah, just go hungry and topless] I didn't bring Josh or Dan into this. [This whole exchange is about his friends and sugar mamma shaming Jenn for not sending home enough money] They did that on their own. They told me the conversation they had with you. I just agreed. I also didn't tell Carol to do that. She did that after her and Josh had a conversation about what had happened. Another thing is Jenn, don't kid yourself, I blew through a 35,000 dollar [insurance] check taking care of us, making sure we had a good time and 2 to 3 thousand every month up until i did that year in county (jail) [Yeah, I was a great provider until I got arrested! And by provider I mean cashing an insurance check]. So don't cry to me about a couple hundo [that's right, he's too cool to say hundred] and your fucking Ford Contour. I think your being rude, and you tried your damnest to fuck frank. [OK this is where it goes off the rails. He couldn't wait to mention the whole frank thing so he just shoehorned it in the conversation] I heard. [I'm confused, was she successful in her 'dam nest' attempt to fuck ole Frank?] That's funny [is it?], not that I care [well, I'm convinced. Nothing screams 'I care and it hurts so much' like saying I 'don't care'], cause I do have a good girl (a ride or die bitch I wish I always had) who does take care of me and keeps money on the phone and keeps me in touch with everyone [but only when I beg and grovel]. I'm in prison still pulling bitches [WOW!!! first of all he's definitely not and more importantly that's the most pathetic attempt at intended jealousy]. my point really isn't to brag, that's not what im trying to do. [It is] I'm just saying, its possible to still have a life and support someone in prison. even a little. you have just made NO effort at all and that piss people off and me. cause McDonald's checks weren't supporting our sort of lifestyle sweetie!!!!!! so I guess I wish you would change, but I doubt it. Anyways, happy to hear your grand ma is doing good. and next time you write, attach a stamp.” [OK, he's always good for a ridiculous ending but this one takes the cake. Let's examine: He spends 90% of this letter guilt tripping, berating, talking shit to, and begging for money. Then, literally in the 2nd to last sentence, he mentions her sick grandma's recovery? I have ask him how he carries around such big balls without a limp! And if you're still naive enough to think that he's done, you clearly don't know the ‘king’.]

[Our royal highness still has enough balls, and not enough shame, to ask this poor girl to attach a return stamp so she can continue this charming and fulfilling correspondence with her incarcerated ex-boyfriend. And now its clear how he became the king of Richmond: By sheer clumsy manipulation, a ruthless disregard for self respect, the freedom of movement that a spineless body provides and a fortitude willing to stoop to any low to accomplish his goal to get inebriated. The same way presidents get elected in this country. At any cost he would take the crown and he did. Without ever being to Richmond, I can say this with confidence: Anyone who would make him king and pay tribute to his court, truly deserves his rule. What a spectacular asshole the king is and I count him as a flawed degenerate of the worst degree. But I also count him as a friend…]

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