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munamania · 4 years

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the promise (ch. 1)

a/n: hi yes i wrote for the clown gays like a year ago and im deciding to post this now sjdghfg pls be kind

pair: richie tozier/eddie kaspbrak

word count: 8.5k

warnings: swearing, blood ment, homophobic slurs, abuse mentions, psychological trickery, richie’s parents start out a lil absent but they get better i promise

excerpt: “You’re gonna miss curfew, Rich,” Eddie mumbles, leaning out the window on his elbows. And Richie hears it: you’re alone, you know what could happen. Stay safe.

“I’m not afraid, Eds.” He means it. Richie can’t draw up what fear even feels like right then. With a flick of an eyebrow, he nods toward the door. “Mother is waiting.”

“I know.”

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No, it’s not that Richie is gay. It’s not like he daydreams about taking it up the ass all fucking day.

Henry Bowers and his dipshit crew might have a different opinion, but they can honestly, truly suck his dick (in the non-homo way - he has taste). The fact that they took joy in throwing him and his friends around, calling them names, and threatening their whole lives never mattered before; the losers took care of each other, and most of the time it was easy to forget about those other assholes.

Being called four-eyes when he needed glasses in the second grade never got to him that bad - they were saving him from having to see their ugly faces when they knocked them off, so really, he should have thanked them - and he didn’t care when they shoved him around for being short before his growth spurt, and it didn’t even bother him that much when they mocked his totally refined voices. He knew his own talent, and what he could do with it if he could just focus.

But the first time they singled him out as the fag of the group, well, it stung.

He never told the others about that day. He never told them how long he cried, how broken he felt sobbing on that park bench. He never worked up the nerve to tell them why he couldn’t face Paul Bunyan anymore, no, he simply breezed past without lifting his eyes, without missing a beat of conversation.

At least it got easier with time.

All things considered, his home life isn’t terrible.

Richie has his own room, a roof, and usually a decently-stocked fridge. Enough to get by.

He’s left alone a lot. His parents are always at work, and when they’re not, they take on the personalities of monotonous robots sitting in front of the TV, so he spends a lot of time skimming through comics or jacking off when he’s not running around with his friends.

But, that’s just the thing. Somehow, Richie, life of every conversation, King of Comedy, Trashmouth, funny-man Tozier, was born to the most boring people of all time. They never engage with his jokes; on a good day, he receives a breezy, “That’s nice, sweetie,” from his mom, or, “Okay, that’s enough, son,” from his dad. Blank stares. Pasty, purple-tinted white eyes. Never a hug, never much past a ‘goodnight.’ Not even a simple, “How was school?” when they got home.

Richie vividly remembers the day that he bounced in his seat at the end-of-the-year ceremony at school, a bustling bundle of nerves prepared to brag and boast to his parents about his awards in science and, surprisingly (his teacher hated him) English - he took to the dramatics of Shakespeare quite well. He practiced his entrance to them several times over in his head, perhaps overly, unconvincingly modest or Shakespeare wants what I have. Anything to get a laugh. A ruffle of his hair from his dad. A forehead kiss from his mom, like when he was little.

They didn’t show. He still doesn’t know where he went wrong.

In a stark, bubbling contrast to his parents, there’s this kid in his group of friends. He remembers one of the first times they met, the boy approaching him, all sweet apple-cheeked and neat polo and ironed khaki shorts; Richie had flicked an eyebrow upward, a not-so-subtle really?, because he never figured that clean-freak Eddie Kaspbrak would be able to handle more than three seconds in Trashmouth Tozier’s presence.

But boy, was he a lot of fun.

Eddie was loud and super easily wound-up, screaming about fucking UTIs and do not fucking push me man all the piss on the walls of this city could fill the lake and despite his good-boy appearance, he shot back with just as much fire as Richie threw at him.

And fuck, Richie loves it. He loves the ease with which they bounce back and forth. He loves the fury in the boy’s eyes when Richie pisses him off, the laughter that always comes about between them once they settle. The crossing arms and pouting Eddie, who he theorizes secretly loves it when Richie calls him pet names (not that he’d ever admit it); the loud and greatly-gesticulating Eddie who yells louder and pushes harder when Richie coos at him; the one who quietly accepts Richie’s affection, and offers it back in subtle ways: simply holding Richie’s arm when he slings his arms around Eddie’s neck from behind, allowing him to sit next to him thigh-to-thigh, and overall not completely cringing and pushing him off. He took it as a compliment, though they’d never mention it out loud.

On an unfortunate night, his comfortable little world comes crashing down.

His parents are out for some sort of conference weekend trip or whatever, and they’ve called in his deadbeat uncle to ‘watch over the house.’ Not necessarily him (probably because he isn’t home that much), but the house obviously can’t stand up by itself—and, well, maybe they didn’t trust Richie to not accidentally leave the door open, or leave the stove on, or some other stupidly irresponsible little thing. So, the crusty old guy shows up with his greasy, oiled hair and his lack of deodorant and his wilting knees. It makes Richie miss Eddie so, so much when they part, because a.) he smells a lot better, and b.) it would be fucking hilarious for him to see what Richie has to put up with. Like, he’s really not the most rodent-like of his family.

Anyway, Richie doesn’t remember what he says. Something slightly instigative, about the lack of any gourmet-level food in the house (he claimed calmly while wasting away on microwave tater tots and bread, even though his parents had left behind plenty of money to keep him alive), and then suddenly hands were on him.

It stings like a bitch.

His uncle gets up, with a quiet mumble that Richie makes out to be, “Well, let’s see…” and when he finally gets in the kitchen, facing Richie with eyes rung red and shaking fists, he grabs his nephew by a fistful of t-shirt and shoves him against the counter.

At that moment, he really wants his mom. Why the fuck did she and dad leave him with this guy?

“I don’t see you fucking working, or doing much of anything around here, kiddo.”

“Funny, I was gonna say the same to you.”

A blow to his mouth. Richie resists the urge to lift trembling fingers to the spot that he can feel swelling.

“Don’t talk to me like that, asshole! You think you’re so fucking funny, huh?” His uncle drags him forward and shoves him back with conviction, and this time Richie doesn’t answer.

He should have known to stay quiet when he saw his uncle drinking and smoking incessantly in the house, even though his mother had requested that he stay outside for that. It must have been a rough day at the bar, or wherever the fuck he spent his time.

“You need to learn when to be quiet, dipshit. Have some fucking respect.”

For the guy who ignored him for years, didn’t stay in touch, and wasted his existence away on the couch.

Right.

But Richie is snapped from his indignant, grounding thoughts when his uncle lowers his voice. “Do I make myself clear?”

Richie frowns in his face, utterly confused from the swell of attention, still limply holding a bag of bread in his left hand.

“Do I make myself clear?”

“Y-yes sir.”

The wretched man makes a point to push him into the corner of the cupboards with such a force that he collapses to his knees and can just feel the bruises forming. And he sits there for a minute, all sorts of betrayal and anger and sadness suffocating him.

But he stands up.

And with stinging eyes, a stuffy nose, and shaking hands, he makes himself a simple peanut butter sandwich.

And he stays upstairs for the remainder of the night

It’s a warm, soothing day outside; the sun glows and birds are chirping like some kind of fucking cartoon. In the tall grass the losers sit in frogs croak and crickets chirp and they make a mess of themselves in the circle they form.

“Damn, Rich, what happened to you?” comes Stan’s voice, concerned eyes flashing down to his now royally fucked-up mouth.

“Yeah, dude, what the fuck?” says Bev through a sandwich, truly a charmer.

Richie grins at Bev but answers to Stan, ignoring the sting in the corner of his lips. “Guess I’m a fighter at heart.”

“Richie—“

Bev chimes in once again, a bright, snarky grin on her face, “Richie, you can tell us if it was another accident, we won’t judge. Promise.”

Bev has a way about her; he knows she’s not genuinely the largest, most gaping asshole on earth, and that she actually cared a lot and cried over her friends in the darkest nights, but she also knew how to make light of something dark (even the worst). She probably knew. She probably just had his back in her own funny way, like taking the pressure off the reality.

“Bev, I’ve really, truly, always appreciated your charm, but as my dearest favorite person on earth, fuck off.”

“Richie,” Bill says, then hesitates. In that time, Bev flips Richie the bird, which he answers with an air kiss. “What really h-ah-happened?” He looks him over with a frown, clear blue eyes swallowing him in concern and maybe love.

Richie offers a simple smirk before settling against the trunk of a tree. “Don’t worry about it, Billiam. I’ve got it under control.”

“Whatever you say,” Bev says. She tosses a baggie over to him with his favorite sandwich.

Stan isn’t so easily convinced, eyeing Richie up carefully, but he sits with Bev on the boulder she’s settled on when Richie doesn’t falter in his casual disposition.

It takes a lot of work, as always.

Ben shows up moments later, with a calm and tender, “You alright, Rich?” and when Richie goes off on a stupid tough-guy spiel, he simply lays at the foot of the boulder and flicks open a book, meeting Richie with one of his melting smiles, a gentle invitation, a sweet If you ever need it, I’m there, but allowing him the space to go on as normal. Which is nice.

Richie knows they all care. He knows he could tell them, could pour all of the terror and tragedy he felt the night before into the air and they’d fill up the space; Mike would give him the tightest hug in the world, one to combat the most heinous of things; Stan would sit with him as long as he needed it, Bev would come through with a smoke and the best advice in the world, and Ben would tell him stories or just hang out with him until everything felt a bit lighter, and Bill would give him anything in the world because Richie would do it back. That’s the way they were.

But he can’t do it.

“Sorry I’m late guys,” comes a nasally voice, huffing and puffing, new pressure leaning against the tree, and Richie grins. Eddie.

“It’s okay, Eds,” he says, reaching over a few fingers to tickle Eddie’s knee, giggling when the boy smacks at his hand and doubles over with an exclamatory, Richie!

The others offer a few sleepy greetings, all soaked up in their own forms of entertainment for the quiet afternoon: Bev and Ben, heads close enough to share his walkman; Stan, reading some lengthy oath to birds or something; Mike snoozing lightly on Bill’s shoulder while Bill pores over some adventure map from a fantasy novel.

They had all agreed that it was too tiresome to go swimming today, as the previous night was spent out at Stan’s with a bonfire, and for a few of them, some stolen booze (not very much, but enough that they could pretend to be drunk and giggle profusely). But they still wanted to hang out, so this was the middle ground. An afternoon picnic in the shade.

Eddie quickly notices his lip and drops down to his side. “Richie, what happened to you? Was it Bowers again? I swear to god, I will fucking kill that guy--”

Richie smiles softly at the protective words, and tries to turn it into a smirk. “Eddie, baby, don’t worry,” he says. “It’s just a little bump.”

Surprisingly, Eddie sidles up next to him, using the pad of his thumb to press at the sides of Richie’s mouth, apparently assessing some sort of damage. “Don’t call me that.” He scowls. “What did you do? Did you ice it? Clean this cut at all? Cause you could get an infection, you know, you really should clean it.”

Richie bats his eyes. “Clean it for me, sweets?”

“Fuck off. Forget I cared.”

“Ah, come on, Spaghettio. I didn’t mean it.” He pulls Eddie down with a simple gesture, pressing his palm to the boy’s shoulder and dragging. The boy rests against the trunk, nestled in Richie’s side.

But that’s the complicated thing. He sorta wishes he could mean it. In a small, poking-at-the-back-of-his-head-always kind of way.

“Just—tell me what happened,” Eddie pipes up quietly from his side.

When Richie glances down, he takes to heart how disgruntled Eddie still looks, crossing his arms and almost pouting.

He shrugs. “Your mother was simply affronted by how good I am with my mouth, Eds, she couldn’t take it anymore.”

Eddie presses his mouth into a line, rolls his eyes at the stupid British voice Richie had developed, and busies himself with a thrilling edition of The Lancet

Later, as dusk settles in and pale purple skies replace the bright blue, and the club leaves with simple ‘goodbye’s and promises to do something fun tomorrow, Eddie shifts from his nap. He’d passed out with his head slammed back against Richie’s arm (he’d caught it just before he fell to the ground, avoiding a lengthy rant about potential concussions and medical bills), curled in the opposite direction from Richie’s abdomen. As he wakes, through, he rolls over, elbow digging into Richie’s side.

“Ah-ow,” Richie groans, sitting up from his cataconic state of reading Ben’s stolen comics and avoiding moving and waking Eddie. But he’d just dug the pointiest part of his entire firecracker body into Richie’s ribs, where Richie had attempted and failed to nurse a bruise he’d accrued from a vicious cupboard corner. It was at an awkward angle, and he refused to go down to get more ice packs once they melted, so he slept unsoundly and laid uncomfortably.

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbles, voice muddled with sleep. “Shit, it’s late. When did I fall asleep? My mom’s gonna kill me.”

Even in that gurgly, world upside-down state of post-nap consciousness, the boy freaks out about his mother. Richie sighs and rubs his shoulder.

“You’re all good, Eddie boy,” he attempts for a creaky, witchy voice, but it’s half-assed because he gets so tired of this lady. Not Eddie ranting, that was fine, and he knew the kid needed to get it out of his system; but he was fucking tired of Mrs. K hurting his boy. “You took your meds on time, fell asleep shortly after. Might need to amputate my arm now, though.”

His boy.

Eddie sits up, and Richie stares at his back, illuminated in the dusk, because he wore a fun yellow today, resting prettily against his tanned, freckled skin.

(Maybe Richie had looked over, amused, for a few moments, as Eddie snored and twitched his nose in his sleep; and he counted the freckles on Eddie’s arm, his cheek, whatever he could see for entertainment.)

Eddie glances back at him, and Richie distracts himself with his bag, shifting his eyes awkwardly from the boy’s gaze.

“Well, well, good sir, shall I walk you home on this fine night?”

Eddie’s brow furrows. “Richie, what’s that?”

His eyes are trained intently on the aforementioned bruise, and its cousins that pepper his hips, only exposed because he slipped and let his shirt ride up when he bent over.

He clears his throat, scrambling for some dumbass answer, wholeheartedly unprepared for the severity of this conversation. “You know how the ladies throw themselves—“

“Okay, you know what, fine.” Eddie stands quickly, stumbling slightly, and braces himself against the tree. “You don't have to fucking tell me. Just come home with me, okay?”

“A night with Eddie Kaspbrak? Why, you’re really a dream-come-true kind of guy.”

“Your lip is bleeding again,” he responds simply, apparently not one for fun at this very moment. “I can clean it.”

Richie pops up from the ground, feeling quite pip pip, tally ho about the whole thing. “Righty-o, Eddie boy.

That’s how he ends up sitting on the edge of Eddie’s porcelain-white bathtub, dirtying it with his messy jeans and dirt-coated nails.

It takes a lot of strategic planning, lots of sneaking past Mrs. K, and then sweet-talking and kisses from Eddie once she wakes up freaking out about how late he was. But, after about fifteen minutes of contest-worthy screeching from the woman, Eddie stomps up the stairs, slams the door with a very I’m gonna pull my hair out look, and has to take about three extra minutes to compose himself, ranting under his breath.

Richie just stares at his distorted reflection in the shining silvery faucet, the violet under his eyes and the renewed puffiness of his lip, Hawaiian pattern of his shirt disheveled in the odd mirror.

He knows not to engage unless Eddie actually speaks up to him, meaning this run-in was probably just overly grating and mentally draining, considering, well, how his mother is. He just needs a second to get it out, not any kind of heartfelt talk (which Richie sucks at anyway) or even a lighthearted joke. The boy paces and growls into a fist. Then, eventually, he breathes, “Okay.”

Eighteen minutes. Eighteen minutes of sitting around and waiting for Eddie, just for him to kneel in front of Richie, doe eyes clear and focused, dabbing so, so gently at his battered lip.

In a way, it’s heaven.

“I take it your mom can’t wait for me to buy dinner, eh?”

Eddie sighs. “Apparently this time I’m gonna contract malaria, Rich, didn’t you know? There’s an incredible outbreak this time of year and I’m obviously not prepared to avoid fucking mosquitoes, what with my fifteen bottles of bug spray and essential oils. I’ll probably die tomorrow!”

“I will make sure that your funeral is a fucking rager dude, don’t you worry. Booze on me.”

A ghost of a smile.

“Richie…” he breathes out in a long winded way, saying nothing and everything for way too long. “Why don’t you stay here tonight?”

Richie raises an eyebrow. “Man, I thought you were gonna back out on your previous offer, but I guess the call for a night with Richie Tozier is too much to back away from. I get it.” He smiles painfully at the way Eddie’s face crumples with something like boredom. “Christ, dude, what’s your poison?” He makes a face at the antiseptic substance that trickles into his mouth.

“Maybe if you kept your mouth shut for once, this wouldn’t be an issue.”

Richie beams, which just causes Eddie to huff even more.

“Please, just stay still!

“It was my uncle,” Richie finally says, forcing a bored expression onto his face as he flips through a rather dull magazine, sprawled on Eddie’s bed. “And it wasn’t a big deal.”

Panic flashes across Eddie’s face. His cheeks burn red, and his leg jitters anxiously against Richie’s, but his voice remains level, which Richie thanks dear lordy Jesus for. “Your uncle? He hit you?”

“Well,” Richie pauses. “Uh, kinda. He was just really drunk, Eds, and he got mad and I was in the way.”

“In the way?”

He shrugs, a small smile quirking his lip up. “Am I not usually?”

“Rich.” Eddie’s voice is really soft in that moment, gentler and quieter than anything Richie has heard from him in all the time he’s known his fellow loudmouth. It simultaneously terrifies and thrills him. Eds. Eddie brings his knees to his chest, leaning back against the headboard. “You say a lot of dumb shit, but that doesn’t mean you should be hurt.” He must notice Richie’s uncomfortable look, because he adds lightly, “Most of the time, anyway.”

“Woah, Eddie, don’t go overboard with the kindness or anything--”

“Damn it, Richie.” He casts his eyes downward. “I’m just trying to say - um - thanks for telling me. Sorry if that’s fucked up to say, but I know you didn’t want to, so, yeah. We don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

Richie swallows deeply with a slow nod, focusing his eyes on the blurry words in front of him. “Well, if there’s anyone I’d tell, it’s Dr. K. He’s gonna be the one to save my life, right?”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Right.” He kicks at Richie’s foot, a subtle way of telling him to move over so he can get under the covers.

“Night, toots.”

“Goodnight, Richie.

Richie thinks he knows everything possible about Eddie thus far.

He knows when he needs to take his meds, an internal clock he recently developed; he knows that the boy is not nearly as fragile as he sometimes seems, and if he really tried, he could pack a punch; he knows that he loves fervently and he’ll always take care of his friends, even if it’s in a way that would usually disgust him.

Case in point: he didn’t seem to freak out at Richie’s bleeding lip, even when a steady stream of blood started dripping down his chin from the contact of trying to clean it out, though he usually cringed if he got so much as a scratch from a twig. Somehow, some way, he simply held pressure on the wound and told Richie to hold some ice on it (“Ordering me around now, hot stuff? I can work with that,”), and washed his own hands thoroughly in the sink.

What he doesn’t know until that night, is that Eddie is a cuddler. At least, half-asleep, groggy Eddie is. Like, this kid must be more starved for affection than he is. Richie had curled himself in a ball toward the edge of the mattress, willing himself not to do so much as even press his back against Eddie’s, way too afraid of the ease with which two people can tangle themselves together in the night, terrified of what would happen if he woke up with Eddie’s hands on him, wrapped up in Eddie, Eddie’s terrible morning breath against his cheek, Eddie Eddie Eddie. But while Richie had stressed himself into falling halfway off the bed, Eddie had flopped over in his sleep, slung an arm across Richie’s waist and, seeming to sense that he had something to hold, pulled him in tight to his chest. Though Richie’s breath caught in his throat, he figured, well, no one could really see them then, so what was the harm in passing out like that? No one had to know. He could pass it off like he’d been sleeping the whole time.

But he cherishes every fucking minute of it

Richie wakes to the sound of something pounding, a steady beat, and in that state of slowly waking from a dream he thinks it’s some old drum, playing lowly in the corner by some restless figure. When he comes to, his eyes creaking open slowly, he sees the gentle orange-ish hue of the morning sky, the neat room around him, the scent of detergent and soothing fabric softener wafting near his face. And he realizes his head is tucked into Eddie’s side, the boy’s slowed heartbeat thumping softly against his ear.

Normally, he’d just let Eddie sleep, as he’s usually only the asshole waking everyone up when it’s the whole gang. He doesn’t mind spending a few hours by himself in the morning. In fact, he enjoys the opportunity to try to fall back asleep (even though he never does).

But with a sudden impulse, he lays a palm on Eddie’s ribcage and pushes himself up onto his elbows, then shakes the boy.

“Eddie.”

A muffled, “Mmph?”

“Eds, wake up.”

The boy drags a pillow over his ears for all of two seconds before Richie tickles his stomach. Then he crankily sits up and lets out a gruff, “What?”

Richie grins. “The sunrise, Eds! Look, it’s so pretty, you have to believe me.”

Eddie responds by laying his cheek on Richie’s shoulder blade, slumping forward with his eyes still closed. “You do know,” he breathes, “that if the sun is just rising, it’s like, six a.m.?”

“Hmm, 5:49, but close enough, I suppose.”

The most huffy breath that Eddie can manage at this hour tickles the hairs on the back of Richie’s neck. “Did you know that people who don’t sleep enough die a lot younger? There are serious health consequences.” It doesn’t come out in his usual fiery, punctuated tone; it’s soft and filled with a yawn and he’s pretty sure Eddie might fall back asleep just like that. “You can’t die early on me, Richie. And I don’t want to. Go back to sleep.” He peeks one eye open at the window, squinting at the glow of the sun. “It is pretty, though.” With that, he falls back against the pillow and curls into a ball against the wall.

And Richie’s pretty damn sure in that moment that he’s, like, in love

And, sure, that’s terrifying.

He has no one to talk to about it and nothing could convince him it’s normal, so he shrugs it off and pretends it isn’t there.

Cause that’s a good way to cope, right?

It doesn’t matter that Eddie is so easily comfortable with him—he’s a low-pressure person, is all. And no one had called out the way pet names rolled off Richie’s tongue so easily, because that was just a part of his joke. Normal. Easy.

Until it wasn’t

You see, there’s this bitch Pennywise. This idiot clown terrorizes his friends, kills people, haunts their nights and days, and fucks with their minds. Tries to turn them against each other. And they can’t even throw a jest back! It’s a sick system.

Well, anyway, the losers end up in some crickety, wooden, falling-apart-at-the-seams murder house on Neibolt, because Bill wants to find his brother and none of them are willing to abandon him. Instead, Richie gets to see himself dead, face off with a monstrous fucking clown, and hear heart-wrenching screams from Eddie that he can’t even help, because he can’t get out.

When he does, he reunites with Stan and Bill, using the few seconds he has to catch his breath.

Just as quickly, he loses it.

In front of him lies Eddie, arm twisted at the ugliest, most heinous angle, and not only is he probably in pain and freaking out about the arm, but a 7-foot tall clown is sauntering towards him with a stupid swaggering gait, like it knows that they can’t do anything to save Eddie.

Eddie.

The boy cowers against dust and fallen wood that must be itching to give him splinters; tears streak down his dirty face and his chest rises and falls rapidly, as Pennywise taunts him. Fucking horses around, making stupid noises and joking while Eddie falls apart, and Richie doesn’t know how to save him, even after everything Eddie’s done for him. Richie is vaguely aware of Stan grasping his shoulder, trying to ground him, and he silently thanks him as he glances around for fucking anything to use as a weapon, because he certainly can’t jump into this blindly--

Then Beverly busts into the room and stabs the bitch in the head, and Richie can’t think but his feet are moving and he lands in front of Eddie in the few seconds’ time he has to play catch-up. He reminds himself to remind Bev of just how much he loves her later.

For now, though, his focus is Eddie. His ears are ringing and he’s noted the commotion going on behind him, he even realizes that Bill ends up at his side, but his gaze is right on his Eds, grasping at his face, trying to do anything to help him.

“Eds. No, no, no! Look at me! It’s okay. Please be okay.” He steadies his voice and tries really hard not to think about how much he sucks as a caretaker, how he has no fucking clue what to do, but he’s scared and he desperately just wants to take Eddie from the room and keep him safe, forever and ever.

Terror-filled eyes find him as the clown continues toward the three of them, flexing horrendous claws; Richie kneels in front of Eddie and Bill’s at his back, and Richie knows Eddie acknowledges him but he’s whimpering and shaking and staring back at the clown. And Pennywise is thriving.

“Eds,” he says, louder, grabbing Eddie’s chin and forcing it in his direction. “Please just - fuck the clown, okay? Fuck everything. It’s me and you. I’ve got you.” And he’d probably be much more convincing if he weren’t shouting and clinging to Eddie’s shoulders like it means death.

But, he seems to capture the boy’s attention, as he keeps his eyes steadily on Richie and blinks a few times. “My arm!” he cries. “Fuck, I can’t fucking move. I’m gonna die. It hurts, Rich.”

“Hey, you’re not gonna die. I don’t die early on you, you don’t die early on me. That’s the deal.”

“Some deals are made to be broken.”

Eddie is just staring at him, blank eyes staring through him with a grin, a stark contrast to the screaming that was going on just moments before. A surge of panic rises in Richie’s chest, like a freezing wind knocking through his stupid little preteen body. He shakes his head in confusion.

“Eddie, shut up. It’s just your arm. You’re gonna be fine!”

A shrug. “Who’s to say?” And then he sits up, arm convulsing at his side like some dying snake, and Richie flinches and flies back into Bill’s chest. He can’t do this. He can’t help Eddie like he should, he can’t take care of him like he wants to. He’s a coward.

“Rich.” Bill is a million miles away.

Right here, right now, is that thing in Eddie’s place, body rattling like a rag doll. “They’ll find out.” Eddie’s voice is fucked up, scratchy, and his eyes are all wrong; the way he’s staring at him is fucking uncanny. “Get too touchy, Rich, and you know what’ll happen.”

“Stop, please, fucking stop!”

“Richie!” Bill is finally right there, shaking both of his shoulders from behind. “S-stop. You’re f-f-fine. It’s just fucking with your head.”

It takes a few deep breaths, but Richie turns to him and says a quick, ‘Thanks,’ before turning back to real-Eddie, who is now dry-heaving and wailing at the sight of his arm.

Eddie’s chest thrusts forward and back rapidly, and he keeps trying to back further from the bedlam in front of them. His face contorts into an absolutely heart-wrenching cry, and as he looks at Richie, gripping his hand with an iron fist, Richie’s heart splits in two. It’s hard, it’s way too hard not to say I love you, after all that. And it’s hard not to run.

“I don’t wanna die - ”

Richie crawls closer to cradle Eddie’s head. “Eddie, if you die I’ll kill you.” He wants to go home, he wants to cry, he wants to sleep for about three days and pretend this never happened. But he can’t. He has to be here for Eddie, as much as he wants to flee right now. “You’re not going to, you know that? I still owe you ice cream. And I’m gonna get you inside the arcade—“

“Fuck the arcade!”

Somehow, in all of the fuckery going on, Richie laughs. “That’s the spirit!” Eddie, in a scramble to back away from the startle of Pennywise running away, shifts into Richie’s lap. “Okay, Eddie, breathe.” Richie gulps down a breath himself. “I’m gonna snap your arm back into place.”

Eddie’s eyes light up, completely on fire, spitting poison at Richie. “Rich! Do not fucking touch me!”

Richie winces at the words but he hears Bev screaming, “Richie, his arm!” and uses the moment of yelling to just do it, to get Eddie’s arm back to a relatively normal shape, and then he’s screaming and it’s like he wants Richie to cry in front of everyone.

“Okay okay okay, it’s done. No more.” Richie, awkward and lost at what to do, brushes back sweaty hair from Eddie’s forehead, because he’s pretty sure the boy would hate how sticky everything had gotten, and if he could help even one thing, well, it’s something.

He wishes he could help carry Eddie home, sit with him in the hospital, anything to cheer him up.

But he doesn’t get the chance. Mrs. K is outside and snatches Eddie from the losers in the flash of an eye, talking like they broke his fucking arm or something.

That’s when it all goes downhill

Richie storms away from his stupid feud with Bill, the fucking dumbass who punched him in the face because he said he didn’t want a clown to kill him and his friends. He thinks it’s the most reasonable thing he’s ever said, objectively, but whatever. He doesn’t want to lose his friends. But in that moment, he doesn’t see many other options.

When he trudges back home after his third day alone at the arcade, following newly-formed muscle memory to avoid his uncle (close the door slowly, shift weight and run upstairs, wait at least twenty minutes to go back down for food in case he stirs), he notices another car. Immediately, Richie throws open the doors, calling out, “Mom!” and finds her in the kitchen, with his uncle.

“Hey sweetie, I just got home—“ she startles at the sight of him.

“Jeez, that bad?” he jokes, running a hand through his hair. “Just remember, mom, half of this is ‘cause of you.”

She approaches him quickly, summer blazer flowing behind her from the speed, and crouches down just slightly to be at eye-level. “Richie, honey, what did you do to your lip?” she asks. He doesn’t realize right away, but he tilts his head into her touch, and she strokes his cheek gently.

Richie had forgotten about the whole ordeal—his friends almost dying at the hands of a killer clown was pretty damn distracting from his low-life uncle—but now, he sets a spitting glare on the man leaning back and manspreading at their kitchen table.

“Uncle Alan had a few kind words to say over dinner the other night.”

Her tender touch to his face is lost when she whips around to face his uncle, and Richie feels like a little kid again, standing behind his mom and clutching at her coat while she takes care of everything.

“You hit him?” she says, her voice threatening in a low mumble, teeth clenched together. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You touched my kid?” She holds back a hand as though to shield Richie as she slams her other fist on the table.

“How do you know it wasn’t one of his faggy friends? Or maybe some other kid with common fucking sense?”

She leans down and takes him by the front of his shirt. “Don’t you dare, Alan. What the fuck were you thinking?”

Uncle Alan yells back in her face, spit flying, and Richie would jump forward to defend her if she weren’t holding him back so protectively (with one hand!). “Listen, Maggie, if he’s gonna act like that, I’m just preparing him for the real world.”

“You absolute shit! You don’t get to make that decision!” Richie has never, ever seen his mother so angry. “You battered a twelve year old boy! What, do you feel really big now, you pathetic piece of shit? Get the fuck out of my house!” At this point, she’s shaken him and thrown him back against the chair so he falls, catching himself just in time as it cascades to the ground.

“Fuck you, Maggie!”

She follows him down the hall.

“Fuck you!” Richie calls out at his retreating back, before his mother screams about pressing charges and slams the door behind him.

Richie’s mom rushes back into the kitchen to face him. She’s red in the face, eyes on fire, but she softens at the sight of him.

“Richie, sweetheart, I’m sorry we left you.” She cradles his face again. “Hey.” She holds him with both hands. “Listen. If anyone ever hurts you, you call me. If anyone ever so much as threatens you, Rich - ”

Richie, choked up, interjects, “I didn’t know the number, mom. I don’t know where the little paper you wrote it on is, I’m sorry—“

“It’s okay.” She looks at him for a few more moments, then swaddles him up in a big, mama bear hug. “I love you, kid. I hope you know that.”

“I love you too.”

For a few minutes, she just holds him, stroking his back while silent tears fall down his face and onto the chest of her shirt. She doesn’t seem to mind

It’s late. Richie doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he’s on top of the world.

He ends up at Eddie’s house, even though he knows they’re not talking and Eddie’s mom might kill him on sight, he has to see him. Mrs. K can go fuck herself.

Outside the boy’s bedroom window, he raps quietly with his knuckles, just about buzzing with a high, high feeling toward life. He can see Eddie lying in bed, struggling to prop up a book to read, lamplight cascading onto his skin - that is, until he hears Richie, and flies toward the window with a crazed look.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie asks, brows knitting together. “My mom will kill you if she hears you.”

That doesn’t matter so much to him at that moment. “Eddie!” He swings his legs over the banister and jumps into the room, adrenaline and something like love pushing him to lift Eddie to his chest and spin. “Eds, my mom came home early and she kicked that motherfucker out of my house!”

Eddie’s eyes are crazed from the spinning and he clings to Richie’s shoulder with his good hand; and he grins, a giggle caught in his lips. “That’s great, Richie. Fuck that guy.”

“Yeah, fuck him! And god Eddie, she - she protected me, and we just spent hours together, watching movies and making dinner like old times, and it was amazing, and - god, I know I sound like a dork, but I - ”

He pauses, mostly because he’s out of breath from machine-gunning a paragraph out of nowhere; but also because in his flustered state he didn’t register the sweet-cheeked smile that Eddie is currently melting him with.

But when he does, Richie thinks to himself: sure, blue eyes are great; they can be compared to the sky or the ocean or whatever other cheesy nature bit all goddamn day. But Eddie’s eyes - hell, he doesn’t care if he sounds like a cornball - they’re fucking amazing. They usurp all of that bullshit. He’s used to them when they’re blown wide in surprise, or holding him in a steely glare for some dumb joke, and he loves them then; but right now he catches a kind of tenderness hidden in the dark. Something that envelops him in warmth and pinks his cheeks.

Eddie takes the opportunity to pipe up. “Richie,” he says, “I’m really happy for you.”

He means it. Richie knows he means it, because for the last several days, he’s heard Eddie mumbling to himself somewhat privately about ‘that piece of shit,’ and right now he’s clutching Richie’s sleeve and smiling without a trace of mockery.

And he’s perfect.

His tousled hair that’s rustled from what looks to have been a constant stream of fingers, stressed over the book or his mom or god-knows-what; the oversized t-shirt he’s drowning in and short shorts and perfectly matched socks; and those shining eyes and friendly smile and soft fucking hands that hold all the electricity of Richie’s excitement - all perfect.

And Richie, Richie could just kiss him.

He doesn’t.

Mrs. K knocks at the door.

“Eddie bear, it’s time for your nighttime oils!”

Richie cracks a wise-ass smile. “Eddie bear, if I’d known you needed nighttime oils, well, I would have come prepared.”

“Get the fuck out,” Eddie says. The laughter catching on his lips tells another story.

Richie throws an utterly charming wink in his direction and crouches in the window, preparing to jump out and make his escape.

“Wait!” Eddie grabs the back of Richie’s t-shirt. “It’s cool that you stopped by. It’s - it’s been lonely in this hellhole. I might have gone insane if I thought you guys forgot about me.”

“Aw, I’d never forget you, cutie.” Richie, stomach twisting and turning, supports himself with his forearm on the outside of the window. “And, anyway, I gotta practice my Romeo somewhere, right?”

Eddie lets out a characteristic huff. “Whatever.”

It’s quiet, save for the distant tweeting crickets, and the scent wafting through the nighttime is intoxicating, and for the following moments the world reminds them to just breathe.

“You’re gonna miss curfew, Rich,” Eddie mumbles, leaning out the window on his elbows. And Richie hears it: you’re alone, you know what could happen. Stay safe.

“I’m not afraid, Eds.” He means it. Richie can’t draw up what fear even feels like right then. With a flick of an eyebrow, he nods toward the door. “Mother is waiting.”

“I know.” He smiles. “I’ll see you, Tozier.”

Richie, without any reservations (until he thinks back on it later), reaches out as though to pinch Eddie’s cheek, but instead, runs his thumb along Eddie’s cheekbone. “See ya, Eds.” He smiles. “I’m gonna get you out of here someday.”

Eddie shakes his head as Richie takes his hand away from Eddie’s newly red cheeks and makes his way back to the ground, muttering, “My hero.”

And Richie looks back with a grin at the silhouette of the dork in the window, saluting before taking off

It sucks when Beverly leaves.

It’s an early morning, red and orange hues breaking across the skyline like a cracked egg, and Richie, Stan, and Ben all gather around to watch her disappear off to the nearest airport, and then disappear from them forever. Though it’s not nearly as mopey and depressing as it could have been, it’s hard to watch her go; a warm energy follows her as she hugs them all goodbye, looking at them with her all-knowing, crooked little smile, rolling her eyes but expressing more love than any of them had ever known, and Richie knows she means every word of loving and missing that she says. And he knows he’ll miss her more than anything.

He does. Not much helps with the pain of missing someone, but as the days go by, pieces of her slowly slip from his mind, until finally she’s all gone

New Years offers promises of ‘new me’s and resolutions and maybe some kind of peace. And considering everything, it’s the saving grace Richie thinks he needs.

A chance to forget his uncle, the murderous clown that haunts his dreams, and his personal revelation that he loves Eddie Kaspbrak.

It didn’t ruin their friendship by any means, just made his cheeks flush and heart throb and his rebuttals come back stutter-y when Eddie merely smiled at him. It was stupid textbook puppy love. He never thought he’d fall for that.

And, he’s not gay. He can’t be, or he’ll have to pay the price.

It's just that Eddie is his best friend. They’re all best friends, but Eddie never really stopped engaging with his exhausting jokes like the others, when it was finally too much. Eddie always bickered back, he took the bait and bit back. Eddie took him home when he got hurt and cared for him and then went right back to fighting.

He loves Eddie the way he should love someone like Bev.

But it’s nothing.

The night is cutting, crisp with a fresh wintery bitterness, biting at Richie’s nose until it’s practically bleeding. To be fair, he’d opted to only wear one of his lighter jackets and some gloves, so it’s his own fault that his scalp is freezing over and he’s shaking on his way to the loser’s little spot in the meadow.

At least his friends are smart.

Stan sports a matching tartan hat and scarf, bundled up around his face so only the pinkish tip of his nose is poking out; Bill has a nice puffy coat and a hat with a bauble rested atop his head; Ben’s ushanka hat is wrapped tightly under his chin, and he waves at Richie with mittens keeping his hands warm; Mike is representing a lot of fleece, and he grins at Richie, shaking his head when he sees his lack of winter clothes; and then there’s Eddie, wearing a coat that has to be at least an extra large, and a knitted cap, bundled up so only his fussy eyes and nose are squinting out at Richie.

In Richie’s defense, he was running late, and he had sprouted a little bit in the last few months, so his previously comfortable winter coat was now tight and painful in the shoulders and chest. This jacket was his best option in the 30-second long window he had to get dressed and run out the door to attempt to be on time.

Stan levels a look at him, thoroughly appreciating his idiocy, and obviously not pitying his shaking form more than a quick flash of sympathy in his eyes; he cares, but Richie obviously brought this upon himself. The ensuing cold would be his own fault, and he’d call Stan to complain, just to grin quietly as the boy went on the calmest rant about how stupid he is and then hang up. It’s just how they worked.

Richie wonders if he’d tell a potential partner that they should have brought a coat to a date if they complained of the temperature. It’s beside the point, but amusing.

“C’mon man, you didn’t think about a scarf at least?” Mike says as a greeting, laughing a little bit as he removes his own and wraps it messily around Richie’s neck. In that moment, Richie would give up his life for this kid. The body heat/fleece combo immediately brings him back from the brink of a nosebleed.

“Richie doesn’t think, period.” Stan sticks his hands in his pockets and stares at him, ghosts of amusement playing on his cheeks.

Richie flashes his teeth in a big ol’ grin. “That’s pretty accurate, actually, I just wanted to be with you guys on time so badly, you know.”

Bill lets out a small, unenthused, “Aww.”

Richie simply chuckles and tries to wrap his fingers in Mike’s scarf to help with the inevitable hypothermia. Eddie winds up next to him in their gathering, sucking in a big breath through his nostrils and huffing out shortly.

He bumps Eddie’s arm with his elbow and says, “What’s up with you, Eds?”

Eddie nearly topples over from the size of the coat weighing him down, and he curses under his breath before standing back up and glaring at Richie. “You really didn’t wear a bigger coat, dumbass?”

“As you can see, no,” Richie chuckles.

Eddie presses his tongue into his cheek. “Well, you can share mine. It’s more than big enough.”

Oh.

Right, sharing a coat. That’s fine. No pressure or anything.

Richie aims for a cool response, some funny voice or smooth and subtle, and lands on, “Yeah, cool. Thanks.”

So, they share. And it’s pretty great.

Eddie unzips it and pulls Richie in, and they collaborate to pull it up and then Richie is pressed up against Eddie’s side, in public, already sweating even though he’s still cold because he doesn’t know if he can handle this.

Fortunately, they’re hidden by the dark, so maybe the boy or their friends won’t notice his red cheeks (or they’ll chalk it up to the cold) and the extra focus he has to place on acting normal. Because Eddie smells nicer than most boys their age, and he’s got a heart too big for his body, and Richie’s sure that Eddie loves him back in at least some way. It’s not just anyone that would get to be this close, squeezed into a coat with him.

Richie feels sick.

But the fireworks are starting, and they might be sparse and lackluster in the hell that is Derry, but each loser looks to the sky with love, with appreciation, in awe of the fact that something beautiful can apparently come from hell.

Barely, just barely, Eddie’s head falls against Richie’s shoulder as they gaze up into the inky black sky illuminated by cakes of fireworks, and he whispers, “Wow,” under his breath right next to Richie’s ear, and now Richie’s contemplating between the two possible causes of his death: he combusts, or he stops breathing - to be determined.

Richie begs the universe for advice in the ultimate predicament. And to his great relief, memories seep back into his brain; those of freckled cheeks, teeth balancing a cig as a mouth talks, and bundles of ginger curls bouncing as her head turns in his direction.

“Bev would love this.”

Riche catches the way Ben looks over at him pretty much immediately - at them, sharing body heat in Eddie’s coat - and then how the boy stares at the ground and mumbles a soft, “Yeah.” He looks back at Richie, holds his eye contact for a sweet, lingering moment, then gazes back at the sky, hopefully thinking of love as much as Richie is.

Bill, Mike, and Stan all follow, tearing their eyes away briefly to make quick eye contact with each other, and then Richie, and Eddie even shifts to look up at him, and they all smile wistfully as though the girl is there with them, snarky remarks and toothy smiles keeping them all afloat. Richie feels like he’s going to break open and cry enough to fill the whole universe, so he sniffles and looks back up at the sky, breaking the moment of magic.

But it remains with them.

It remains as they share this together, as they enter the new year together, promising hope for a happier future as long as they stick with each other.

And it remains as Eddie Kaspbrak takes his hand under the coat and murmurs, “Happy new year, Richie.”

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it 2017 #fanfiction #fluff #angst #sharing a bed #pining #new years #summer #mine #gosh i hope this isnt too dorky sfhdgjhsdfg

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pavlikovskaya · 4 years

Text

the secret history live blogged

forever mad that i got spoilered so much on this book.

anyway hello! and welcome to this … shit fest of the secret history by donna tartt aka the biggest letdown of my life

enjoy! i didn’t

ok whaatttt the fuck. he was walked over?? he was packed and squished under ice?? WHAT DID THIS BUNNY GUY DO TO MAKE Y’ALL SO MAD????? istg what the fuck. cruel cruel fate

four against one, i knew y’all were assholes. you sounded like assholes before i even knew what your names were.

i have to say, i’m not a very big fan on the beginning: hello, my name is richard, i am 28, this is my story. makes it sound like he’s in an AA meeting, but i’ll let this one slide.

years at home dispensable like a plastic cup? fictional history and upbringing tales? [*clears throat in relatable*]

my father was mean, my house ugly, my mum didn’t give me attention, must kill someone to cope and serve the aesthetic™ of rejected, unloved child, brooding and mad at the world. got it.

if richard, plain and poor is the one who kills the rich asshole bc he’s a rich asshole, i might relate to him more than i thought.

[*slams book shut*] okay. okay. am i gonna have to google every other phrase in this godforsaken history book or is donna gonna go easy on my ass?

sounds like a university i would love to go to. oh, pardon me, CoLlEgE.

wait, they’d pay him back for the plane if he GOT IN??? and if he didn’t well then what, soz dude, tough luck , such is life, see ya never? makes a lot of sense. should pay him back regardless imo but hey, i had to pay £50 six times to audition at universities who, all six times, rejected me, so.

three days on a bus and arrival at six in the morning? i cannot fathom a worse scenario.

this prof conducts his selection on a personal level rather than on an academic one, said with a note of sarcasm? is he … you know … ?

ahhhh these saucy saucy tea spilling french people, gotta love em. ‘listen, i know i’ve only met you three minutes ago, but i’m bout to spill some serious tea which i must ask you to keep to yourself and never mention for i have some formidable enemies in the literature division, yes, my very own department, but we all actually love each other. you know, in a very shakespearian ‘i shall murder you at the end of the play but for now, let’s make sweet love under the stars as a witch friend of mine who will later murder you watches’ way. all very platonic. but don’t say a word of it.’

who do you think was with morrow when richard came to see him in the lyceum and what were they talking about? GODDAMN IT, this french bastard put me in a gossipy mood.

bunny — short for edmund…….

god, i love a redhead.

richard and me being whipped by francis and his long, flapping black coats, love to see it.

‘pseudo-intellects and teenage decadents abounded and black clouting was de rigueur’ can I enrol ~now~????

francis talks to cats and bunny yells from his window down at the incest twins to stop snogging in the garden. i can’t wait to see which one am I at the end of the book

henry and julian driving off together? do i smell something…. gay?

THEY WRITE WITH FOUNTAIN PENS????? [*flashbacks from my childhood intensify*].

i do not understand most of these references or sentences and if the whole book is like this, i will throw myself out the window in attempted suicide even though i live on the ground floor.

i have absolutely no idea what they’re on about.

hwhat

francis in black cashmere and cigarette smoke brushed past him and almost touched his arm. how bloody delicious is this??

‘give him some flowers and he’ll enrol you.’ ok, julian is definitely the gay prof everyone falls for.

at this stage, i would rater have voted we kill henry, not bunny, but we’ll see.

‘i was tired of being poor.’ [*buys a tie with pictures of men hunting deer on it*] ‘that’s better.’

‘i believe that it is better to know one book intimately than a hundred superficially.’ donna tartt gave me the book and the reason both.

constantly chuckling at the way richard is so completely mesmerised and intimidated by francis to the point that he’ll duck into a doorway to let him pass even though they’re going to the same lesson.

I don’t know how a ‘bostonian voice’ is supposed to sound like so francis will be slightly british in my mind for the rest of the book.

cubitum eamus? cubitum. eamus? CUBITUM?? EAMUS????? OH! GOD! HELP ME! THE SWEET SWEET HOMOEROTIC FORESHADOWING OF IT ALL!!! throwback to when, in a much too similar vein, boris, upon being asked by theo to say something in russian for him, he said ‘fuck you up the ass’. my heart is racing with yearn. i can’t fucking believe i just read this. it’s time to bust out the annotation tabs again.

oh my gooooddd whAt is henry’s problem????? he reminds me slightly of number one from the umbrella academy, but in a meaner, more show-offy, bastardish way that’s supposed to showcase his superior intelligence over all mortals like fuck you, go read harry potter and chill.

‘meke (s.p.) you Wear it’? i take it meke is actually make but what on earth is (s.p.)? google gave me 238 possible definitions for that acronym and, needless to say, i didn’t bother.

i love how donna’s main characters are funny essentially bc they’re bitches towards other people they deem inferior to them in their internal monologues.

if you were drunk and ‘slam-dancing’ at a party, i don’t have to be stuck up or elitist to judge you and hate on you. even less so if you throw your beer in my face.

‘love that jacket, silk, isn’t it?’ ‘yep, my grandfather’s. totally not from that annoying girl in my dorm whose mate your mates beat up at a party last term for shoving camilla and throwing a beer in her face and who probably only gave me the jacket because she wants to fuck me, nope.’

‘let me get that door for you.’ that’s it, that’s the tweet.

when bunny said they should round up the ‘officious fags and burn them at the stake’ i yelled the loudest what the fuck i’ve ever yelled at a book. i can see now why they killed him. and i bet that’s only the tip of the iceberg.

okay, his true colours are starting to show. it’s even more unnerving when i think about the fact that like half of this stuff is supposed to be true.

called it, they’re boning.

i can’t wait until francis locks lips with richard. i am simply tingling for it. i hope he and camilla have a threesome with richard at this country house. oh wait no, they’re all here. eh, maybe another time.

oh, we finally get some juicy inside gossip

if francis and richard don’t fuck in that gorgeous immense library, i will riot.

okay, what’s henry’s deal? he’s nice now? and he’s oddly … interested in/caring towards richard? like who the fuck says ‘i hope you slept well’ without at least a little affection towards them.

AHAHAHAAHA, NOW I GET ALL THOSE MOON LANDING QUESTIONS ON THE TSH RELATED UQIZZES I STUPIDLY TOOK. I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS REAL. imagine them lot in present day completely bewildered and confused at the fact that the whole world is in lockdown for some weird fucking reason. this is the funniest shit ever, swear to god.

dogs get heart attacks?

wow they’re being dicks. that shady shit they’re doing’s so fucking rude aajksdhfkfh and to think i had initially thought richard was the ‘leader’ of their group...

okay, they’re either all into bdsm or they’re some odd breed of late vampires who don’t have much of the traits/qualities of ‘classic’ vampires as they have possibly diminished over the centuries as the species was becoming extinct. maybe witches. hm. or occultists. I REALLY DON’T KNOW!!

richard be like ‘what should I tell you?’ well—and this is merely a suggestion—, how about you start with what they’re actually doing when they’re not hanging out with you?????

i can’t wait for bunny to figure/find out richard’s not actually rich and be a dick about it.

two months??? what kind of bonkers winter vacation between terms is that???

is being constantly cold part of the dark academia aestehtic? cos it certainly seems to be.

what the fuck are these (sp)s bunny keeps putting in his letters??

i hope somebody (henry, or maybe francis? as something that would bring them together?) is fake rich too.

ouuuuu here comes the dark, mental stuff.

richard dropped out of drama to study the classics. if we were villains is a group of people studying shakespeare. coincidence? i think not. it is with dread that i think at the possibility that i might like the other more because so far, i can’t say i’m heavily impressed with tsh.

now i’m all for weird, fancy names, but marchbanks is really an odd one. who the fuck looks at their newborn baby and goes ben? nah. tom? no. MARCHBANKS! perfect.

henry winter saves richard from a piping cold winter. ah, don’t bother, i’ll do it myself [*jumps out the window*]

henry dislikes electric lights? smokes cigarettes without filter? reads milton translated into latin ‘just to see if a language with no noun cases could possibly support the structural order he attempts to impose’? can this dude be any more pretentious?

BUNNY! IT’S BUNNY! HE’S FAKE RICH THE BASTARD! ALL THAT ‘oops, forgot my wallet’ BULLSHIT, I THOUGHT IT WAS A TEST FOR RICHARD OR JUST RICH PEOPLE LEECHING OFF OTHERS (why spend yours when you can spend theirs?) BUT NOOOO, HE’S BROOOOKE! AND AN ASSHOLE! WHAT AN ASSHOLE!!! serves him right, the asshole (that gay people being burnt at the stake comment really bothered me despite the fact that i laughed). and not only is he broke and leeching off of henry, he leeches in the most shameless, greedy, extravagant and ignorant way, ordering the most expensive thing on the menu fuck out of here.

ha! he got fat the bastard. found some sugar daddy to sustain you during your last month in italy or what?

this rabbit dude sure has some big balls for a broke ass bitch.

‘let me see your head wound.’ vs ‘your arm.’

‘that sort of tension which i, being rather more disinclined that way than not, am quick to pick up on. i had caught a strong breath of it from francis, a whiff of it at times from julian (…)’ sounds like we got another one boys, a straight dude with the best gaydar in the world. that being said, julian is the fakest bitch in the book so far.

this secrecy is killing the ever-loving shit out of me. argentina one way?? whY

lol if you’re gonna steal his book with the intention of having him come back to the apartment and see all that shit, at least don’t put it in such an obvious place where he couldn’t have possibly missed it. for such a smart guy, you sure are dumb, dude.

francis’ mother be like ‘give that bad boy a kiss from me’ and i’m like HE BETTER.

richard the worst liar. just say your mum called for fuck’s sake! you could get your boyfriend in trouble!

cheesecake cover: ‘please do not steal this, i am on financial aid.’ bunny: [*steals it*] the cheesecake: [*sucks*] me: serves you fucking right, pig.

THINKING ABOUT HIS HANDICAP. I’M YELLING. funniest thing donna tartt ever wrote.

i bet they’re all there sat at the table like nothing happened and weren’t supposed to leave anywhere at all.

called it! motherfuckers.

what the hell is going on. are they a gang of assassins or something?

richard: ‘you killed somebody, didn’t you?’ henry: [*laughs as if it was the most ridiculous idea in the world and how could you possibly suggest such a thing*] yep

bunny: gays are weirdly obsessed with food, don’t you think? also bunny: [*gets excluded from the bacchanal because he couldn’t stop eating*]

okay. i can see now why this book started the whole dark academia aesthetic

aight, that’s all good and great (far from it) but WHERE IS MY FRANCIS CONTENT????

going through the motions of hating and liking henry every other chapter.

everybody: [*burning clothes, cleaning the car, running this way and that to get rid of evidence*] francis: aight y’all imma take a power nap real quick cool? cool

there is hardly anything in the world i hate more than loose-of-tongues. bunny and that bitch ass hely from the little friend. god, i want to sock each and every single one of them in their stupid bloody loud mouths.

i want to know, i really want to know if there are any bunny apologists or … s…. s… [*grits teeth*] stans out there. don’t worry, nothing will happen to you, i just wanna talk.

if it’s henry and richard and not francis and richard,,,,, i will riot.

boy this henry guy smokes a lot…. more than me in my prime.

as if this dude reenacted the murder he wasn’t even present at in the lobby of a hotel just to torture henry. i can’t believe this character is still alive and has been for so long.

FINALLY! one francis moment that indicated there will be no more francis moments…. .

funny that, reading the secret history put something into perspective about the goldfinch for me.

i love how richard just casually throws it in there whenever he happens to mention camilla that he loves her and wants to kiss her and that she’s so beautiful and blah blah blah and then it’s never brought up again ever because he’s constantly going on and on about henry.

wait, don’t tell me it’s happening now, in the middle of the book! that would be most unexpected as there’s a whole entire book following.

henry is such a stone cold bitch, i wonder where they put his heart when they made him, in his ass?

don’t tell me henry went boxer dogs on JULIAN?!?!?! he wouldn’t. … would he?

i don’t know. i get it, obviously, the gravity of the situation, but going as far as killing him to silence him is a bit … extreme in my opinion.

thank you, charles, for being the only voice of reason in this madness.

okay, i understand it’s in richard’s best interest not to be involved, but they called him there to what, make him listen to all this and then send him on his merry way?

charles: well, if you wake up intending to murder someone at two o’clock, you hardly think of what you’re going to feed the copse for dinner. [*crickets*] francis: hey, how about asparagus?

henry: someone’s coming. quick! act normal! richard: [*turns to inspect the trunk of a tree*] [*footsteps approach*] richard: [*inspection of tree intensifies!!*]

you’re a bit late, bunny, just saying.

and now what the fuck is the rest of the book about? what do we do, let’s run, let’s stay, let’s go to the police, what do we do with him?

i love how richard describes himself as part of the process: we dwelt on it, we convinced ourselves, we devised plans when in reality, he was only there as an attaché, he wasn’t included much, almost at all in the actual planning process of it other than to give his insight on the poison route because henry thought it was his area of expertise so to speak when, really, it wasn’t and then was told about the other plan because they simply thought he should know. even then henry tells him ‘you can go now, if you like’ because there wasn’t anything they sort of needed him for anymore since he wasn’t going to be there, he was just a pair of ears. i like to think he was there in hopes to maybe dissuade them, try to stop them, tell them how mad it is, tell them there’s another way, but he didn’t do much of that either (not that I think he would’ve succeeded anyway, had he tried, henry’s one stubborn motherfucker). he didn’t come up with shit, he wasn’t supposed to even be there, i think, much less contribute in any way. had bunny not told him about the bacchanal, richard would have probably found out about it after it was already done, he was only included for the fucks of it and yet, he talks as if he was right there in the room with them, brainstorming ideas how to kill him. and i get how it only comes from a sense of obvious guilt because he knew about it, he was there and didn’t do anything to stop it, but he’s by far not one to have agreed to the whole thing or condoned it in any way from what he’s told us in book one. he himself says in the very same paragraph that he only watched. he’s very much a dark academia nick carraway type of character and i hate it. because i like him. he deserves better.

i’m pretty sure that the reason that serial killer autobiography you picked up in an airport was bereft of details is because no publishing house would allow such lurid specifications that might shock, disgust, enrage or give ideas to the reader in their book, not because the author is shy, richard, but ok, let’s move on. actually no, let’s not. you can’t expect the autobiography of a killer to only tell you about the murders, especially since in this particular instance, he was caught and went to prison. of course he’s going to tell you more about that than the killings, have you any idea what prison life is like? how much it eats away at your soul? how it crushes your spirit if you have one and how hard it is to get over? the time he spent in jail is going to haunt him forever and after such a long time in there, however long it was, you hardly think about your crime as anything but a huge mistake that was not worth the torment if you’re not a downright psychopath which, since he came out and wrote a book about it, doesn’t seem to be the case here but i guess you’ll find out all about it soon enough.

OH! a francis moment???? could this be it? please dear god may this be it.

it wasn’t, but there’s another one!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

‘it’s fun, i promise you.’ [*dies*]

if this is it, if that’s all, i am not forgiving this book.

‘i tried to pull him out but it was no good; his head lolled back uselessly’ YEAH. BECAUSE HE’S DEAD, RICHARD. [*scoffs*] ‘uselessly’

i wish i held any of my teachers and professors in at least half the high regard henry holds julian. i also wish they were half as competent and passionate about teaching as julian.

I DON’T BELIEVE ‘HE WAS JUST THERE’. IT’S BORIS AND THEO AT 6 AM IN THAT NEW YORK BAR ALL OVER AGAIN. HE’S ONLY SAYING THAT BECAUSE RICHARD WENT ALL ‘YOU’RE NOT HOT’ ON HIS ASS AND I REFUSE TO BELIEVE OTHERWISE. if they don’t kiss again—

i can’t help but admire the way they communicate sensitive information to each other in ancient greek, they sound like characters from jane austen novels while talking about drugs and saving face from tabloids and gossip, it’s rather amazing.

quite pointless to go through all that trouble to hide the cigarettes and deny having been smoking when the smell will be there no matter what and she’ll know for sure. i swear, all these seemingly smart ass people are actually idiots

my question is why would anyone, drunk or not, for any reason, leave the top down in the rain? why? what possible pleasure could one get from driving in the middle of the rain with rain actually pouring down on them?

isn’t linoleum a bit tacky for a house that looks like it’s been in architectural digest?

why is charles so on edge? why are they all always hiding??? camilla and her late night 3 am phone calls, her secret phone code with henry, charles mysteriously going out for cigarettes so brusquely without a word in the middle of the night and refusing to talk about it, what are they all always hiding?! nobody trusts one another with anything, it’s very annoying, to be honest. aren’t they supposed to be super best friends? you’d think that after a bacchanal and a double homicide, you wouldn’t keep secrets from one another, but i guess not.

ah, shame. was kind of hoping for some sneaky richard/francis basement action, but alas. what’s their ship name anyway, richis?

i just spoilered myself again, twice, by going through the tsh tag on tumblr and then looking for francis/richard fanfics on ao3 and finding out that francis marries? gets with? a girl who’s apparently called fucking priscilla. donna tartt really has a knack for weird fancy names, huh? i’m here for it tbh

richard you fucking snitch! you had one job!!!!!!

why the fuck are they still keeping him in the dark about shit? henry and charles quarrelled and charles is in jail and henry still won’t tell him what’s so bad about it and why he wants richard to handle all this shit instead of him and why bunny’s murder still matters and why why just why are they still using him as their pawn??

seriously, this exchange was about the worst they’ve had so far. he himself knows it: ‘there was a silence during which I felt acutely the hopelessness of ever trying to get to the bottom of anything with henry. he was like a propagandist, routinely withholding information, leaking it only when it served his purposes.’ THEN WALK AWAY. SAY NO. PUT YOUR FOOT DOWN. FUCKING—UGH!!!!!!!

they’re all so shamelessly using him… i can’t read. it’ll kill him, one way or another.

these ungrateful little shits i swear to god. richard bails him out, he’s all thankful and sweet when he wants him to do ‘this one little favour’ of taking him to his francis’ house so he can break in and when richard’s like i don’t have a car, he immediately turns sour and passive aggressive like you know what?! richard hasn’t slept all night and all morning waiting for your ass to go to court cos you were a drunken idiot and decided YET AGAIN that driving in that state is a great idea so he can bail you out and when you are finally out, you start being fussy and then it’s all ‘right. thanks a lot’??? richard doesn’t fucking need this shit! y’all are horrible friends. he’s not your bloody servant. how about you take that stick and privilege out of your asses and start treating him a bit more kindly, huh???

‘henry made me swear not to tell.’ WHAT. WHAT. BITCH, GET THE FUCK OUT.

this is by far the most toxic friendship i’ve ever heard of.

oh wow that kiss was hot. i thought it was just a speculation that they were incestuous with each other, but i-i guess not.

FINALLY it gets interesting. Mr Abernathy spilling some piping hot tea mmm

he literally just said i’d sleep with you if you got drunk enough to let me. oh dear god help me.

oh fuck it got sad. It’s patrick and brad all over again ugh always happens to the best of gays

finally richard my boy starts hating them, as he should. except francis, you’re a dick in that respect. he’s only joking for fuck’s sake, don’t get all butthurt, jesus. sensitive much?

uuuuuu tunts Tunts TUNTS! shit is hitting the fan. henry, henry, henry, our ‘golden boy’. nothing but a crook himself, the motherfucker. i’ve been waiting for this reveal since the beginning of the fucking book. if they gang up on him and kill him, i will never stop laughing.

it’s as if he’s begging to be excluded and hated, i swear. why is he being such a prick? does he love her? is that it? then there are a BILLION other ways to go about it, he doesn’t have to be such a shady bitch!! besides, wasn’t he in cahoots with julian?

‘i was depressed, i thought if i slept here it might make me feel better.’ that’s so precious tho….. funny, but precious. such child-like innocence in this grown ass intoxicated man, i melt.

clever, luring him out of the playground under the false pretext of a drink when he’s had plenty. think like a drunk

the only consistent, recurring and ever-present elements in donna tartt’s books are the hors d’oeuvres.

it’s so cute how charles needs him, i—

girls be like: watching a film, listening to a podcast, talking on the phone, having dinner, figure painting, filing nails, writing an essay and doing their makeup all at the same time

this so called love he feels for camilla is so unfounded and feeble and just … it seems so out of the fucking blue every single time he mentions it, i can’t read this shit. IT’S SO SEE-THROUGH!!

okay WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK DID I JUST READ. WHAT. THE ACTUAL. MOTHERFUCKING. FUCK. one second he’s ‘i love her so much’ the next he wants to strangle and rape her?????????????? i have zero goddamn words. i am fucking speechless. i don’t think i have ever been this confused at something since i watched the turning. i don’t think you realise quite how done i am with this fucking book at this point.

i think i do hate henry more than bunny and i’m afraid i’ll like if we were villains better.

richard: [*takes sleeping pills*] also richard: [*surprised he can’t keep up with the film he started watching after taking sleeping pills*]

‘look,’ said francis. ‘let’s just go, if we leave now we can be in montreal by dark. nobody will ever find us.’ vs ‘well, i’m not going,’ said boris serenely. ‘fuck that, i’m running away. do you want to come?’

this henry bitch is the most difficult piece of shit i’ve ever fucking encountered. ‘you mean, it’s something you need to tell me in private?’ oh FUCK OFF AND STEP OUTSIDE, FOR FUCK’S SAKE. IT’S ONE THING I ASK OF YOU, YOU TWAT.

huh, i thought he was doing this shit on purpose, leaving the page face down on the table so that julian could see it, i thought it was some sick twisted plan of his.

lmao called it. everybody saw through julian’s façade except richard and the others and i completely understand. in a fashion much like julian’s, i think he knew that, he saw it, but just chose to ignore it because the image he posed and richard himself constructed of him in his mind was much more favourable to what he really was. i mean, fuck, who the fuck says ‘i hope we are all ready to leave the phenomenal world and enter into the sublime’ with their whole chest and mean it?

if you think he’s not coming, why sit in silence staring out the window, ignoring everyone and wasting everybody’s time instead of telling them from the very start this piece of information you have on hand that could save everybody a lot of trouble, time and overthinking? why be all mysterious and enigmatic about it? just tell them from the start, you’re not in a film for fuck’s sake……..

charles, one of the four of them (henry, camilla, julian and himself) might be the one i despise the least, almost like had he not been so brutal towards camilla,,,, but i don’t know if i can trust her, that whole scene seemed … staged somehow. i don’t know. i don’t know

didn’t expect henry would turn on julian too though. first real thing he’s done all book.

agatha

christie

writes

good

mysteries.

richard does seem like the type of fellow who would grow up in a household where his dad would strike his mum for no fucking reason.

okay so did henry punch him for that comment or not? what was all that father beating mother bit for?

#boysweekendinthecountry! 🤪 #partytime! #ignoringourproblems! #woooo!!!

oh my fucking god chARLES!!!

yes, henry, great, brilliant, fucking splendid idea to antagonise the man pointing a gun at you.

MY PAUL SMITH SHIRT!!!!!!!!! AHAHAHASFSHDGFDK

i love how absolutely nobody noticed fucking richard BLEEDING RIGHT NEXT TO THEM

‘expected everyone to stop and look at me. no one did.’ and they never will. that’s your whole friendship summed up in two lines. you don’t matter to them, you never did, you’re absolutely unimportant. just a tool, a pawn, a nobody. sorry you had to get shot to realise that.

‘’he shot me.’ somehow, this remark did not elicit the dramatic response i expected. before i had the chance to elaborate—’ ELABORATE WHAT? ELABORATE WHAT?! THAT’S ALL YOU NEED TO SAY!! GOD, this hurts to read. this angers me beyond words, but it also fucking hurts so bad…

nothing, not even getting shot can make richard lose his wit

disGUSTING henry and camilla moment. I HATE THEM

oh shit. did not see that coming. well, glad that’s over.

ugh, time to read how francis got hetero married :\

[*chokes*] DUE TO THE VERY EXCELLENT EXCUSE OF HAVING A GUNSHOT WOUND IN THE STOMACH I DIDN’T TAKE MY FRENCH EXAM YAY!!! god, i fucking love Richard.

the thing is, right, i read that line, ‘i managed to get out of taking my french exams the next week’ about three or four times and somehow, the following line or even the words ‘gunshot wound’ never made it to my eyes! i don’t understand how! but i’m completely happy about that given the fact that i spoiler myself on every single book i read by reading ahead like an idiot..

how much do you want to bet that it was the inn keep who called the ambulance and not those fuckers? because of course henry, dead henry’s more important than slowly dying, almost dead but not quite richard.

despite everything, it sounds like he had a nice summer in brooklyn. good for him. god knows he deserved it, the poor guy.

yeah no, fuck henry’s post-mortem hero narrrative.

lol, at least he got a nice car out of it. this book shows me once again that things happen just the way they should happen.

OH MY FUCKING GOD NO. NO. NO. NO. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! I CANNOT READ. I DO NOT SEE. I REFUSE TO COMPREHEND THIS PIECE OF INFORMATION.

i will not say a WORD on this, much less his letter. i am hurt, i am wounded, i am grieving, my head is full of thots and i cannot speak. i died on this bed.

ugh [*rolls eyes*] this fucking guy again with his sudden, out of my ass declarations of love towards camilla. JUST GIVE IT UP ALREADYYYYYYYY!!! TELL IT TO SOMEONE WHO CARES!!! (francis) i wouldn’t be surprised if she was married or engaged and just didn’t bother to mention it ‘because he never asked’ or some bullshit excuse like that.

I HATE HENRY I HATE HENRY I HATE HENRY I HATE HENRY [*deep breath*] I FUCKING HATE HENRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

he’s telling me about all these people and where they ended up after graduation but not only do i not give a single solitary fuck, i actually don’t know who the fuck he’s talking about?? like who the fuck is bram guernesnesnica? rooney wayne? what the fuck do i care what jack jud and frank did?

the only people i do remotely care about are the professors (the saucy french teacher and the boring, senile dude who wouldn’t shut up and who kept referring to richard as ‘jerry’ in his grad school recommendations letter ahahah that is the content i signed up for, not dumb and dumber’s bar or whatever) and the cat charles left at francis’ country house who lives in a ten fucking room apartment in boston.

love how ionic the whole marion storyline turned out to be. marred another corcoran who looked just like bunny and had a daughter who, despite having her and his mother’s name ended up being nicknamed also bunny. i’m sorry, i just—i have to laugh.

[*slams fists on the table*] THE AGENTS??? YOU’RE GONNA TELL ME ABOUT THE BLOODY FBI AGENTS???!!!!!! CAN THIS BOOK PLEASE JUST FUCKING END ALREADY??????!!!!!!!!

a dream. a dream. if it’s a dream of henry i will personally shoot you and make sure i aim a little higher than your abdomen this time.

[*shoots the book*]

oh, you died and suddenly you have a sense of humour?

‘that information is classified’ [*shoots a torpedo at the book*]

‘are you happy?’ / ‘not very.’ vs ‘are you happy here?’ / ‘not particularly.’

okay. so. final thoughts: fuck this book.

good night

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ucflibrary · 4 years

Photo

Ready to fly your flag?

Pride Month has arrived! While every day is a time to be proud of your identity and orientation, June is that extra special time for boldly celebrating with and for the LGBTQIA community (yes, there are more than lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender in the queer community). June was chosen to honor the Stonewall Riots which happened in 1969. Like other celebratory months, LGBT Pride Month started as a weeklong series of events and expanded into a full month of festivities.

In honor of Pride Month, UCF Library faculty and staff suggested books from the UCF collection that represent a wide array of queer authors and characters. Click on the read more link below to see the full list, descriptions, and catalog links.

With the Libraries’ on remote resource access, the usual extended physical display isn’t available so we have created a list of ebooks and streaming videos that you can access from the comfort of your home.

A Wild and Precious Life: a memoir by Edie Windsor A lively, intimate memoir from an icon of the gay rights movement, describing gay life in 1950s and 60s New York City and her longtime activism which opened the door for marriage equality. Edie Windsor became internationally famous when she sued the US government, seeking federal recognition for her marriage to Thea Spyer, her partner of more than four decades. The Supreme Court ruled in Edie's favor, a landmark victory that set the stage for full marriage equality in the US. Beloved by the LGBTQ community, Edie embraced her new role as an icon; she had already been living an extraordinary and groundbreaking life for decades. Suggested by Kelly Young, Administration

How We Fight for Our Lives: a memoir by Saeed Jones Haunted and haunting, Jones's memoir tells the story of a young, black, gay man from the South as he fights to carve out a place for himself, within his family, within his country, within his own hopes, desires, and fears. Through a series of vignettes that chart a course across the American landscape, Jones draws readers into his boyhood and adolescence--into tumultuous relationships with his mother and grandmother, into passing flings with lovers, friends and strangers. Each piece builds into a larger examination of race and queerness, power and vulnerability, love and grief: a portrait of what we all do for one another--and to one another--as we fight to become ourselves. Suggested by Sandy Avila, Research & Information Services

How to Write an Autobiographical Novel: essays by Alexander Chee Chee’s manifesto on the entangling of life, literature, and politics, and how the lessons learned from a life spent reading and writing fiction have changed him. In these essays, he grows from student to teacher, reader to writer, and reckons with his identities as a son, a gay man, a Korean American, an artist, an activist, a lover, and a friend. He examines some of the most formative experiences of his life and the nation's history, including his father's death, the AIDS crisis, 9/11, the jobs that supported his writing--Tarot-reading, bookselling, cater-waiting for William F. Buckley—the writing of his first novel, Edinburgh, and the election of Donald Trump. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

Juliet Takes a Breath by Gabby Rivera Juliet Milagros Palante is leaving the Bronx and headed to Portland, Oregon. She just came out to her family and isn't sure if her mom will ever speak to her again. But Juliet has a plan, sort of, one that's going to help her figure out this whole "Puerto Rican lesbian" thing. She's interning with the author of her favorite book: Harlowe Brisbane, the ultimate authority on feminism, women's bodies, and other gay-sounding stuff. With more questions than answers, Juliet takes on Portland, Harlowe, and most importantly, herself. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

No Tea, No Shade: new writings in Black queer studies edited by E. Patrick Johnson This book brings together nineteen essays from the next generation of black queer studies scholars, activists, and community leaders who build on the foundational work of black queer studies, pushing the field in new and exciting directions. Suggested by Jada Reyes, Research & Information Services

Over the Top: a raw journey to self-love by Jonathan Van Ness Before he stole our hearts as the grooming and self-care expert on Netflix’s hit show Queer Eye, Jonathan was growing up in a small Midwestern town that didn’t understand why he was so…over the top. From choreographed carpet figure skating routines to the unavoidable fact that he was Just. So. Gay., Jonathan was an easy target and endured years of judgement, ridicule and trauma—yet none of it crushed his uniquely effervescent spirit. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, and you’ll come away knowing that no matter how broken or lost you may be, you’re a Kelly Clarkson song, you’re strong, and you’ve got this. Suggested by Kelly Young, Administration

Queer, Trans, and Intersectional Theory in Educational Practice: student, teacher, and community experiences edited by Cris Mayo and Mollie V. Blackburn Queer theory, trans theory, and intersectional theory have all sought to describe, create, and foster a sense of complex subjectivity and community, insisting on relationality and complexity as concepts and communities shift and change. This collection brings these crucial theories together to inform pedagogies across a wide array of contexts of formal education and community-based educational settings. Suggested by Anna Dvorecky, Cataloging

Real Queer America: LGBT stories from red states by Samantha Allen Allen takes us on a cross-country road-trip stretching all the way from Provo, Utah to the Rio Grande Valley to the Bible Belt to the Deep South. Her motto for the trip: "Something gay every day." Making pit stops at drag shows, political rallies, and hubs of queer life across the heartland, she introduces us to scores of extraordinary LGBT people working for change, from the first openly transgender mayor in Texas history to the manager of the only queer night club in Bloomington, Indiana, and many more. Suggested by Sandy Avila, Research & Information Services

Shakesqueer: a queer companion to the complete works of Shakespeare edited by Madhavi Menon Exploring what is odd, eccentric, and unexpected in the Bard’s plays and poems, these theorists highlight not only the many ways that Shakespeare can be queered but also the many ways that Shakespeare can enrich queer theory. This innovative anthology reveals an early modern playwright insistently returning to questions of language, identity, and temporality, themes central to contemporary queer theory. Chasing all manner of stray desires through every one of Shakespeare’s plays and poems, the contributors cross temporal, animal, theoretical, and sexual boundaries with abandon. Together they expand the reach of queerness and queer critique across chronologies, methodologies, and bodies. Suggested by Megan Haught, Teaching & Engagement/Research & Information Services

Sister Outsider: essays and speeches by Audre Lorde In this charged collection of fifteen essays and speeches, Lorde takes on sexism, racism, ageism, homophobia, and class, and propounds social difference as a vehicle for action and change. Her prose is incisive, unflinching, and lyrical, reflecting struggle but ultimately offering messages of hope. This commemorative edition includes a new foreword by Lorde-scholar and poet Cheryl Clarke, who celebrates the ways in which Lorde's philosophies resonate more than twenty years after they were first published. Suggested by Jada Reyes, Research & Information Services

Stories I Told Myself: a memoir by Brian D. Crimmins (UCF Thesis) Stories I Told Myself: A Memoir explores the experience of growing up gay in the 1980s. It is one boy's journey toward self-acceptance set against the conservative backdrop of a rural community on California's central coast. The story illuminates the hunger for a life different than the one being lived, and the ever-present sense of being different exacerbated by bullying and unrequited love. It is a narrative of evolving identity, and includes cultural insights and societal context of the time period. The author poses a fundamental question, "How did I make it out of the 80's alive?" and he explores the answer with poignant humor and self-examination. Suggested by Megan Haught, Teaching & Engagement/Research & Information Services

The Book of Pride: LGBTQ heroes who changed the world by Mason Funk Captures the true story of the LGBTQ civil rights movement from the 1960s to the present through richly detailed, stunning interviews with the leaders, activists, and ordinary people who witnessed the revolution and made it happen. Suggested by Megan Haught, Teaching & Engagement/Research & Information Services

The Crimson Letter: Harvard, homosexuality, and the shaping of American culture by Douglas Shand-Tucci Historian Douglass Shand-Tucci explores the nature and expression of sexual identity at America's oldest university during the years of its greatest influence. The Crimson Letter follows the gay experience at Harvard in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, focusing upon students, faculty, alumni, and hangers-on who struggled to find their place within the confines of Harvard Yard and in the society outside. Suggested by Pat Tiberii, Interlibrary Loan & Document Delivery Services

Time is the Thing a Body Moves Through by T Fleischmann Sebald meets Maggie Nelson in this autobiographical narrative of embodiment, visual art, history, and loss. T Fleischmann uses Felix Gonzales-Torres's artworks--piles of candy, stacks of paper, puzzles--as a path through questions of love and loss, violence and rejuvenation, gender and sexuality. From the back porches of Buffalo, to the galleries of New York and L.A., to farmhouses of rural Tennessee, the artworks act as still points, sites for reflection situated in lived experience. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

Trauma, Violence, and Lesbian Agency in Croatia and Serbia: building better times by Bojan Bilić This book uncovers some of the major moments in the fragile and still poorly known herstory of feminist lesbian engagement in Serbia and Croatia. By treating the trauma of war, homophobia, and neoliberal capitalism as a verbally impenetrable experience that longs to be narrated, this monograph explores the ways in which feminist lesbian language has repeatedly emerged in the context of strong patriarchal silencing that has surrounded the armed conflicts of the Yugoslav succession. The book renders visible a surprising diversity of activist initiatives and the resilience of transnational affective ties, which testify to the creativity of lesbian activist mobilizations in the ambivalent semi-peripheral space that used to be Yugoslavia. Suggested by Anna Dvorecky, Cataloging

We Are Everywhere: protest, power, and pride in the history of Queer Liberation by Matthew Riemer and Leighton Brown Have pride in history. Through the lenses of protest, power, and pride, this is an essential overview -- and a visual record -- of the history of the Queer Liberation Movement in the United States. With exhaustively researched narrative and hundreds of stunning photographs, this sweeping book traces queer activism from its roots in the late-nineteenth-century -- long before the pivotal Stonewall Riots of 1969 -- to today, casting new light on many of the movement's trailblazing activists and organizations. Suggested by Christina Wray, Student Learning & Engagement

#ucflibrary #featured bookshelf #reading #booklr #lgbtqia+ pride #queer

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og-danny-dorito · 5 years

Text

Spock Headcanons (There's No Reason This Time I Swear)

S F W:

- I don't even know why I like him so much I just do, but my dumb gay ass just loves this man. seriously no kidding

- spock is a child of two worlds; an outcast but a familiar part of both systems in their actuality, residing as the cross section between Vulcan and human that was frowned upon for so long. his intelligence was left unconsidered as he passed all of his classes with excellence, being known as not the intelligent Vulcan boy but as the dysfunctional human hybrid of a being

- so obviously he's probably got some insecurities

- they're not bad, but he tends to be a bit self deprecating sometimes when referring to capability of things. for instance if you ask him if he can say uhhh.... if he can draw something for example. he’ll most likely state that he has no talent or not enough skill or his previous artwork was terrible so he doesn't suggest asking him for it.

- he knows what he logically isn't and is capable of, but the human doubt still crawls in the back of his mind like a parasite. he still feels emotions, just less outwardly, he's definitely capable of feeling and if you are observant enough you'll notice that he expresses himself through very very small gestures

- when he quirks a brow at something he either finds it surprising or he's being sarcastic, two things which don't happen often (except the latter)

- he's very private, obviously, but is still open to conversation about his interests. mostly he says that he just reads and works in his spare time, but that's not exactly the truth

- when he has nothing else to do, spock finds interest in cat videos and cat videos only. seriously, he'll watch them for hours if he's not got nothing to do, just staring at the screen in silence as he watches cats do stupid cute things like they're the most interesting beings in the world

- he secretly would like a cat as a pet, but yknow it's not really easy to keep pets on Starfleet considering he doesn't want to deprive the animal of connectivity with nature

- can and will debate you about whether cats or dogs are better. sulu once said he thought cats were problematic in spock’s general area of 10 feet in diameter and there was a very heated debate that went on for a good hour or so before sulu got frustrated and decided to just let him win

- spock also likes weird and exotic plants considering that their chemical composition is interesting. he finds it fascinating that different planets use the plants around them for food or medical treatment or a number of other things, so he finds that a way to start off with a culture study is to study the biotany of the planet first

- had NEVER seen a cactus before coming to earth, and now has like 10 of them just sitting in his quarters. he'll never tell anyone but they're named after the constellations that can be seen from Vulcan. he's just a nerd I swear

- Shakespeare nerd, although that's fact not a headcanon

- romantically I think he'd have fairly bad self worth issues. a lot of the time he views himself as unworthy of his partner, and he'll have trouble with physical contact the first few times mainly because he doesn't exactly know what to do with himself

- not much for pda at all. he says it's because it's indecent, but it's really because he gets all flustered when you kiss his cheek or snake your fingers around his in public where there are people all around. he gets super embarrassed and it's cUTE

- wouldn't have a favorite part of his partner physically; he's genuinely only attracted to the mind. male or female or not even using that gender binary, if you fit whatever standard he holds for intelligence and actually love him he doesn't care what you physically are

- vulcans bond through souls so appearance basically doesn't matter. this doesn't mean he doesn't find you attractive, it just means he wouldn't care if you weren't. he loves everything about you anyway, beautiful or not to the world around you both

- you could call him pansexual and I feel like he prefers someone with a more feminine or elegant way of handling themselves. someone that generally is elegant and cunning seriously catches his attention, and on top of that someone who can and will openly challenge him genuinely makes him intrigued and enrapt with you

- he does kindof have a taste for people who can be reckless (cough Jim cough) due to impulse or bravery, seeing as he admires the fact that the person is willing to take a risk

- cannot be with someone closed off and cold, it just won't work cause he himself is basically a block of ice. he does feel but like barely, and even then he doesn't really show it

- one good way to tell the emotion is to look into his eyes. they speak more than he ever would about his feelings to anyone out loud

- writes poetry to give as presents to those he cares about; most commonly to lovers or his mom (at least he used to write for his mom, until she died). he writes actually very well, although his poetry is more structured than eloquent in a sense of interpretation and imaginativeness. he writes about things that he likes about you, which ends up describing all of you with very specific details you probably didn't realize until you read the lines

- appreciates art in all forms, although he's fairly certain he'd be bad at it. if you write stories or draw he's always open to helping you interpret characters or figure out a good way to express your own feeling through the ar if you're having trouble. encourages you to try new things with pretty much everything, but mostly art

- VERY very good at giving advice, he's basically the Strict Mom of the whole crew (I say strict mom because there are multiple different people who take the mom title, such as Leonard “Bones” McCoy; Stressed Mom). for instance if you're injured or being faced with mentally stressing conditions he'll most likely tell you to take breaks more often or suggest speaking about them to either your peers or to someone you trust. usually people go to him when they don't know what to do and he calculates the probabilities of each and suggest they put aside most emotional matters to think through it more clearly

- his ideal date would probably be like going to a museum or something, but all he’ll do is stay in a section with all the cool rocks and taxidermy animals while asking your opinion and knowledge on them curiously. he may know about pretty much everything in there but he doesn't care, he likes to watch you marvel at all the cool things in there

- 100% does buy the stuffed animals and figurines that are supposed to be models of stuff. yes, he knows that he can find that rock from that one planet practically anywhere but he still WANTS it because it GLOWS in the DARK

- probably would not think you're like seriously dating until the second month or so, mainly to calculate stability between you two

- is open to a marriage if he's been courting someone for a particularly long time, being at least three years or so. he's very very plan-oriented and organized and so he expects you to be lacking impulsiveness when making life-changing decisions

- bonding with his partner means the most to him in all honesty, though. it hold s such a high regard in his heart and soul that he genuinely feel s very very seriously and passionately about it. it's something he doesn't take with a grain of salt, mostly because he wants to be with the one he loves forever. you mean the world to him, and he wants to keep you as close as possible for as long as possible

- down to have kids, maybe a girl that he'd name Amanda, after his mother, or a boy named Grayson or some Vulcan name that you wouldn't be able to pronounce correctly without extensive practicing

- just thinks kids are nice, although he'd probably be a little hesitant and VERY protective

- OH and before I finish this is completely unrelated but I feel like he likes summer more than any other season since it reminds him of his homeland so much. that and he also likes that everything grows up nicely during this time

- his favorite flower is either the notch-leaf phacelia or the harvestbell mainly because he likes the colors and structure of them; he just thinks they look neat

- he'll get them for you whenever, most likely organize the flowers specifically himself for you, combining yours and his favorite flowers to look beautiful even though the could be completely different

- denies that he's a hopeless romantic, merely stating that he just wants you to know that he loves you by giving you poems and flowers

- but we all know The Truth

- tbh he just cares a lot, although he's bad a thing showing emotions. Spock is calm and collected, but inside a whirlpool of thoughts flood his head daily. be patient with him and he'll open up over time, letting you see into the depths of the mind you'll come to cherish so deeply

#spock #spock headcanons #spock headcanon #spock imagine #spock imagines #star trek: the original series #star trek: the motion picture #star trek headcanons #Star Trek headcanon #Star Trek imagine #star trek imagines #star trek beyond #star trek #Star Trek tos #tos

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j2badwolfclevergirl · 4 years

Text

Dear you,

I know today isn't actually my birthday, but it's still close enough that it doesn't feel wrong to write this.

I remember the last time I wrote a letter to myself was when I was eighteen. Wow. That was four years ago now. Hey. It's me. You.

You were such a different person back then.

Still raw and broken, trying to find something, anything to hang onto. Your life was falling apart.

Friends were growing up and leaving. You were growing up and it fucking terrified you. You were so scared and insecure that you closed in on yourself, all long sleeves and sweaters. You couldn't bare your arms because all your pain was written on them.

You were losing your religion, your faith.

You had no fucking clue who you were or what you wanted. Well, you thought you knew what you wanted but now you're not as sure.

Do you remember those walks on the beach with Evan, how happy and yet how miserable you were?

You remember thinking "these are the memories I'll treasure."

And you were right. But you were also wrong.

Because those memories couldn't compare to some of the ones that came later.

You, at eighteen, would never have even imagined who you would become.

At nineteen, things finally started to heal. You cut off all your hair and you fucking loved it. You left religion in your rearview with all the trauma it had caused you. Ok, maybe not all of it. Some of it you still carry deep in your chest and you're still trying to pry all the sharp-edged, heavy pieces out.

You went to England, for a whole month all by yourself. You literally got on an international plane and flew for seven hours and were awake for almost twenty four hours straight and then

you were there. In England.

That "someday" dream actually became a reality. You got to see Shakespeare's birthplace and visit Jane Austen's house.

You went out to a pub for the first time and drank for the first time. You even got kinda drunk. You tried a hand-rolled cigarette. You felt free and a little terrified by it.

You went for walks by that river, beautiful and a little haunting.

You were pretty lonely for most of that month, but you don't really regret a second of it.

It showed you that you were capable of so much more than you thought and that maybe some of your dreams could acutally come true.

Then you started college. For real this time. Moving away from home, leaving behind your remaining two friends and your dear, crazy family.

You remember how scared you were that drive down? How you had your headphones on and were trying to drown out the frantic voices in your head, the twisting vines in your chest and stomach? How your fingers kept knotting in your lap as you tried to wring the anxiety out of them?

Remember that first night in the dorm room? Scared but also kind of excited. College was a place to start fresh, to try and figure out who you were now.

That first semester was a bit of a mixed bag. You made some friends but being around them made you anxious, insecure. Casper died and you cried more than you thought you would.

And then there was that night with your friends, playing drinking games and drinking wine out of a red solo cup with a twisty straw. They went out to smoke and you thought, "Why not?" And then you came inside and everything shattered. You were on the floor, in someone's lap, crying and trying to breathe. You couldn't stop saying sorry. Four and a half hours you just kept gasping "sorry" over and over and over, begging for forgiveness for being weak, being a burden, for ruining everyone's night. And that was the night everything started to crack again.

The long sleeves came back. It got hard to breathe more often. You couldn't spend time with your friends because your brain wouldn't shut up about how they didn't really like you, how you were a burden, how they judged you for being weak, how they wouldn't miss you and how they would even be better off without you. And so you hid. You stopped going to dinner. You unfollowed and avoided. You cut them off and shut them out because you couldn't make the voices stop. You started to break again.

But then summer came and it was almost a relief. Home was the same, except it wasn't. The twins had started to get boobs, James was in high school and everyone was fucking growing still. It felt good to be home but it was also hard to see that everything had continued while you were gone, that your little siblings were growing up when you weren't there to see.

The second year was a little better, a little easier. I honestly don't remember much of it off the top of my head. You started to tentatively make some new friends. Just aquaintence level really but it was a start. You kept learning, kept struggling a bit but you didn't break again.

You had your first kiss at 20 years old with the first girl you ever liked. Oh yeah, that's right. Somewhere before college you figured out you liked girls. In fact, you really like girls. It was scary and, like the nerd you are, you turned to google. You spent hours researching, taking quizes like

"am i gay?"

"is it a crush or a girl crush?"

"do i really like her?"

You watched dozens and dozens of videos just trying to get used to two girls kissing. You imagined what it would be like to kiss a girl. And you didn't hate the idea.

It took months before you decided you were bi. You didn't tell anyone for a long time. But when you did, no one made it a big deal. But you couldn't tell Gammy. You still haven't told Gammy. You're too scared. You don't think your relationship with her will survive.

You also went on your first date at 20. It went ok but she told you she wasn't interested after the second date. That seems to be your lot. You still haven't made it past the second date.

21 was when things really started to get better. You made some real new friends. They aren't perfect and sometimes you still struggle with insecurity but you're learning that it's ok and that often they are just as nervous and insecure as you.

You could finally legally drink! The first time you go to the liquor store they don't even card you and you think it's pretty funny.

You started trying to love yourself. It wasn't easy. It still isn't. You also started to let loose, take more risks, try to go with the flow a little more. You went on more dates but nothing ever panned out. You also started smoking weed. You really fucking love weed now.

You spent more time with Emma and found out you actually have a lot in common. She became your fun-friend, the friend who would drink with you on a weekday, smoke with you when-fucking-ever and who encouraged you to let loose. You were each other's cheerleader and each other's encouragement to live like the young 20 year olds you were. Remember that night you went out drinking on a Wednesday afternoon before class? You had drinks and then two shots. I don't think anyone noticed though. Two weeks later, you were back at the bar before class again and you both split a pitcher of mimosas in celebration of the ending semester. Those were two of the best nights you ever had. But they weren't nearly as fun as the days you would go over to Emma's apartment to "study." Those afternoons and evenings spent drinking, smoking and talking. Sometimes playing a game, sometimes watching a TV show, but always having so much fun.

Now, here you are. 22 years old. Four years ago, you were on suicide watch and feeling like life would never get any better. Now, you're thinking about teaching abroad after you graduate.

You still aren't in a relationship but for the first time in your life, you are genuinely okay with that.

You don't have a lot of friends but the ones you have you wouldn't trade for anyone else.

You're still trying to find the balance between responsibility and living life to the fullest but you're getting better at it everyday.

You also started practicing witchcraft, which is kinda cool.

You feel more confident in yourself and you are having fun experimenting with your style.

You shaved your head and it makes you look kinda badass. (It is also so much easier to deal with and let's be honest that is really why you love it.)

You smile so much more than you used to. You laugh more and cry a little easier. You're finally starting to let yourself really feel again. You're trying not to be so afraid of feeling, trying to stop numbing yourself when you feel overwhelmed. You're trying to sit with your emotions more and let them pass rather than ignoring them because you're scared you'll fall back into the dark place. You're growing.

You have changed so much.

You still think being an adult sucks, but you're starting to notice and take advantage of more of the perks

You have transformed from a scared, broken, bleeding teen into a confident, curious, and free-spirited adult.

The future isn't as scary now. I mean, there are definitely still days where it terrifies you and your chest aches for everything you've lost with time. There are still days where you relive a memory and long to go back to when things were simpler.

But there are also days where you remember that the future promises more of those good times and memories.

You're doing what makes you happy more. You're letting yourself be happy without guilt.

You're finding the pleasure and joy where you can and learning to enjoy it as it washes over you, instead of trying to grab it and hold on.

You're letting yourself make mistakes and trying not to feel as embarrassed or ashamed of them as you used to.

I am so proud of you. I am so proud of who you're still becoming, of who you won't ever stop becoming.

Keep growing, keep learning, keep taking risks and making mistakes.

Be brave.

Be curious.

Be tender.

Because you're alive and that's all that matters.

Love,

You at 22

#personal #personal writing #letter to me #poetry #original poem #22 #life in your 20s #open letter #my thoughts

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terramythos · 5 years

Text

My liveblog/commentary on October Daye #11 "The Brightest Fell" or "Friendship ended with Sylvester Torquill. Now SIMON Torquill is my best friend"

God if you told me that's a sentence I'd write when I read book 1 I'd call you fucking insane. We had this whole Cain and Abel thing going and Seanan McGuire had to go be a GOOD WRITER and make them COMPLEX CHARACTERS and shit.

Also featuring a "Resurrect Your Gays" novella at the end so.. that's nice

-Wow, this opens with a story so far section and everything 👀

-who would be like "gee the October daye series sounds interesting. Let's start with book 11"

-omfg The Luidaeg singing Poor Unfortunate Souls. Fucking hell yes.

*stares at my vampire crack theory* *stares at that line* *stares at the camera*

-(To be fair, it does parallel when Simon showed up in book 8, which is probably the actual intent, but uhhh)

-then AGAIN, half the foreshadowing lines in this series had double meanings in context

-Amandine calling Simon "your father" oh oof.

-oh my god Amandine is AWFUL. Jesus christ. Insults everyone in the room then kidnaps 2 people and just strolls out. This puts Tybalt, one of the more OP allies, out of commission for like the whole book lol

-Definitely Impossible Quest: find this character that disappeared over 100 years ago who Simon spent the last century committing misc atrocities to find

-This does lead me to wonder what motivated Amandine to show up suddenly and force October to find August. Is she just unstable/crazy as has been implied, or is it something more?

GOD shes awful!

-So oh boy we are actually waking up Simon! I'm glad we are getting more development for him cause holy crap he's an interesting gray morality character.

-Sylvester using the same binding spell Evening used on October in book 1, but this time to keep Simon from hurting October, sure draws some.. uh.. interesting parallels.

👀

-Amandine shows up again and is just fucking AWFUL. I'm trying to figure out if she has any real sympathetic traits. This is the first book she really shows up as a character out of flashbacks and the trippy shit in book 4.

- "Oh yeah Toby the reason I abused you and twisted your blood human as a kid was I wanted to mourn the daughter who disappeared and then let you die asap" like. Yikes

-Simon, established as an Arch Villain just being an awkward dad (at least toward October) is interesting. I'm kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

-oh hey saving the pixies in book 5 actually set up a Thing in this one. Huh.

-Surprise that random pixie you saved in book 5 is relevant and a full fledged character now.

-The Luidaeg is a sympathetic character and a consistent ally in the series but BOY does she have her moments. Egads. (Quentin, who adores her, was NOT amused. We'll see how that shakes out...)

The Luidaeg just.. resurrecting an extinct race here. No big deal. I'm sure this has zero future implications.

-oh fuck the Babylon Road is back. Oh shit book 3 vibes. Oh shit

-lmao they literally end up in Blind Michael's lands. Just fuck me up

-ok theres a line that basically implies Blind Michael wasn't even that bad of a guy at one point, that he did The Ride with the best of intentions and for the life of me I am trying to figure out what they mean by that

-also intentional parallel between Blind Michael and Simon with the whole "best of intentions" thing.. Simon started as like, the arch villain. And now look where we are. So what is that implying about Blind Michael? 🤔

-I mean Blind Michael is the closest this series has come to a Dark Lord character. He was fucking awful. I'm interested to see if we are going to explore from a different angle?

-Goddamn world tour here showing up in Annwn.

-Oh duchess Riordan.. she's so pleasant. I'm glad we get to see what the fuck she's been up to since being trapped there

-Oh fuck they found Officer Thornton. He is not Well. I remember speculating what we were going to do with that plot thread lol

Are you FUCKING kidding me

-That was book SEVEN. I fucking REMEMBER that part. August was a fucking throwaway background character??? Chekhov's missing sibling?

-And it was intentional because of the door thing! She was described in a weird amount of detail for a background character! What the fuck!

-AAAND we found August. And the first thing she did was attack and basically turn October almost human. Whoops.

-And she doesn't recognize Simon. Her father. Because the Luidaeg's price was her way "home". Which includes Simon. Yikes

-omg Simon's magic finally smells like it does in flashbacks before he got corrupted. Smoke and mulled cider. Maybe I'm kinda sappy but I like that that paralleled the whole redemption arc thing

;____; FUCK dude

-October accidentally makes herself almost entirely human to save Simon. Whoopsie daisy!

FUCK DUDE ;______; full redemption arc shit there I'm gonna cry

-OK so I'm inserting this after finishing the book. And I realize this sounds like a MAJOR "not as much of an asshole as you could have been" award. But Simon had NO reason to treat Toby well. And he certainly did not in the brief glance of him in the book 1 prologue. That's changed by his second appearance (book 8). She's a changeling (always seen as inferior in Fae society) and she's the bastard child of his wife. He has every reason to treat her like shit. Yet he doesn't. He seems to want to be a father figure for her, even though she isn't really his blood related daughter, and this book reinforces that attitude. He even gives up things he wants--on multiple occasions--in order to save October, simply because he wants to. Compare him to his wife, October's actual biological mother, someone who literally created her as an expendable coping mechanism and resents the fact she's still alive? Despite everything he is WAY more of a parent to her. Found family sure is a thing in this series, huh.

-i like how instead of going all emo that she turned basically human October's just like "oh yeah I was raised in a street gang" and beats the absolute SHIT out of August

-Simon: uh excuse me did you just hit my daughter in the back of the head with a CLUB

October: she'll be fine

Well SHIT. The other shoe dropped, but not how I expected it.

-Like Simon genuinely redeemed himself, saving both August AND October despite everything. And he just sacrificed all of it. That was the final price of redemption for him. Yikes. YIKES. Like I knew it wouldn't be that easy, but this SUCKS.

-And this basically states that he wont be back to normal until fucking Oberon returns. I know the series has been leading up to that but... when the fuck. That seems like it would be the endgame.

-this is somehow worse than killing him off. How the fuck.

-August might have some redeeming traits. Shes an asshole but she is genuinely distressed when she realizes what Amandine did to October. Amandine? I'm pretty sure theres nothing to redeem her at this point. Shes fucking terrible.

-Jazz and Tybalt come back.. completely traumatized. Yeah. Ok. This entire last third is just complete despair I guess.

And award for "bleakest ending in the series" goes to...

-i think "The Brightest Fell" is the most fitting title in the series. It works on so many levels and for multiple characters. Especially in the context of the Shakespeare quote.

-i have.. thoughts. I think I'm going to do a compilation of said thoughts when I finish the next book and am officially caught up.

For now, there is also a novella @ the end so I will read that!

-"Of Things Unknown" (the novella) can basically be summarized by:

It's cool to get April's perspective! And some good old fashioned "resurrect your gays" on top of it.

-The Luidaeg: hey toby you know how you brought me back to life? You probably should not have been able to do that. You probably should not make a habit of raising the dead.

Toby: *resurrects like 5 characters who got killed off in book 2*

The Luidaeg: *breaking down the door* What the FUCK did I just say

-I am sure that January (a fucking month name) being resurrected has absolutely no future implications whatsoever :')

-Oh god theres one book left then I'm caught up. At least the novella softened the gut punch that was this book a little bit.

#well THAT was traumatizing #ONE BOOK LEFT BAYBEY #then i'm.. caught up.. cause there's another one coming out this year

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believerindaydreams · 6 years

Text

listing to port

did anyone want an author’s commentary for my fic “The List”?

well, here’s one anyway. MacGyver and FL comments below.

(notes short enough to be readable. I did try keeping notes for Fulgent Engineering, but those are scarily long now.)

The thought process was simple enough: I'd already written "A little honest extortion", where Jack figures out he's heading for the Neath, and I'd done the introduction to "Vertere", where he meets up with MacGyver. All I had to do here was get from one to the other.

I've always been very fond of "Brian's Return," and Jack is a materialist; the concept meshed very nicely with his character. He doesn't know much about the Neath, isn't specifically aware that he's going to be trapped in a whole different century, but he does know that what he brings along might be the last he'll ever see of Surface culture. With the additional complication of making purchases for a friend/fellow spy/something-or-other who he rightly suspects to have left his old life behind with nothing more than a couple of good knives and an extra shirt.

(I have not yet settled on a Correspondence shorthand for "Fulgent Engineering", but a sigil for "the understood loss; and a price beyond" is a strong candidate. The state of the Tireless Mechanic's Surface jacket in "Alike in Dignity" was a precisely considered detail.)

SAKs

Well, yeah. The folks on MacGyver Online, anti-slash though they may be, have done a terrific job of cataloguing minor details in the series; I'd have had to find another and less specific way of writing this scene if they hadn't listed all the SAK statistics for the Informed Clerk to spout off.

Jack's got the gant-coloured knife. Which is initially mistaken for a Spartan (because that's what they used while shooting "Serenity"), but as per the Parabola sequences in "Fulgent Engineering", is actually a genuine 19th century article. Or a dreamed-up version of the real thing, at least. Wonder what happens when Mac- or his Reflection- gets it back.

When Jack started thinking of people in Adjective-Noun formation...I don't know. I suspect, though, that it's a little more common in the Fallen London universe than just in the Neath.

Camping Gear

It just tickled me to suggest that Jack's reaction to safety gear is to say "Safety? Who needs safety?" I'm tempted to write the Doomed Camping Trip in which all of Mac's improvisations happen entirely because Jack's a cheapskate and everything he buys is broken.

Guitar

Over in Tanista's Neath stories, Penny Parker is playing Lois Lane on "The New Adventures of Lois and Clark". This is a sound suggestion and I went with it.

Jack's taste in bad newspapers, aside from setting up the later punchline, is probably something that'll be relevant either in "Deep Romantic" or "Vertere" in good time. Even if it's only as a joke.

Watches

Pete doesn't know nearly as much as he could about the Neath (and almost none of what he does know made it to MacGyver; Pete, much to his regret, was hoping it'd be a case of 'least said, soonest mended'). But he is, at minimum, aware that there's an Underzee.

Which is more that Jack did, but he can take a hint.

Tape deck

Heh. I went to a lot of trouble chewing over which one would be best.

Jack is being an optimistic idiot, of course; you can't recharge the Sony WM-F107 without several hours of sunlight. Of course, you can also carry sunlight in a box in the Neath, so he's lucked out there. (It also has a battery hookup, which Mac will no doubt be able to sort out.)

Making Jack a draft dodger seemed an obvious opposition, once I'd had the idea to bring in Toberman (he's from the MacGyver episode "The Spoilers": seemed the most likely candidate among Mac's friends to give a crafting hobby to.) And it seems to work pretty well for his character anyway.

Cassettes

And the Grateful Dead backstory let me set up Jack as someone who's been involved in bootlegs for ages (the tales of bootlegger Grateful Dead fans are something epic).

I've listened to all of these musicians at one point or another while writing "Ecstasy". Helps me get into the mood for writing these two. The epic-length "Brothers in Arms" tape will be immediately understandable to anyone who has ever seen that episode of Miami Vice with Bruce in it.

Clothing

More borrows from the official forums again. Plus a chance to follow up on Cynthia (several stories). I like Cynthia.

Another fic concept for some later date, Mac going on the run. I know I already did that a bit with my non-Ecstasy story "here is a memory", but that was more an exercise in how far it's possible to push my protagonist before he ceases to be recognisable.

Come to think of it, perhaps I could combine it with the Camping Trip From Hell as per above.

Guitar redux

Penny writes herself. I just put it to keyboard.

Books

So. Desert Island Discs stipulation: no one gets to pick the Bible or Shakespeare for their one book, because that'd be dull.

Plus my awareness of Tolstoy's opinion of the Bard (as mentioned in a very entertaining essay by Orwell), plus the idea of Murdoc implementing a plan that would have terrified Mac but hardly fazes Jack...the chain of thought here was pretty smooth.

Chow

For the record: I am completely unable to imagine Jack as a Seeker in any way, shape, or form. Besides, the rhythm of the fic worked better when I underplayed something.

Also, there's some character development happening. Not that Jack's exactly pleased about this.

Gemstones

Nikki Carpenter's adventure as a gemstone expert was from her first story, "Fire and Ice". Easy thought process. And she gets to point out all the practical concerns Jack ought to be considering, which I'm not on the grounds of being too dull to include. Writing is also about knowing what *not* to write.

Plane

Jack Dalton flies planes. This is as integral to the character as engineering for the Innocent Spy. Therefore: ouch.

He has an...unusual relationship with Kate (see "Rock the Cradle" for the details on this- even if you're a Failbetter fan and ignoring all these MacGyver continuity comments, watch it anyway, because it's hilarious. Lots of banter, the Innocent Spy commits atrocities with duck tape. And despite the plot hinging on Jack's heterosexual shagging, it also manages to be very gay.

Like, very gay.)

Duck tape

Natural bookend, if you're starting with the SAKs.

Another scene inspired by the "Deep Romantic" plotting with Tanista; Jack has a mum, we had to dispose of the mum to get him down to the Neath, how shall we get rid of her? Witness protection! (Consistent with the MacGyver episode that she was in: "Ma Dalton," funnily enough).

I think this scene was about the right note of sentiment and a mutual acknowledgement that, deep down, both of them are pretty selfish so-and-sos who just aren't interested in the other's life. Like mother, like son. Also, Nikki's pretty smart.

Spent ages agonising over the ending. I may yet rewrite it. But the quiet shift of emphasis, from the stuff he's been accumulating all story to who he's expecting to find?

I confess, I am rather proud of that part...

#macgyver #fallen london #fic

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asfaltics · 4 years

Text

broken, disjoint d, and mix’d

keepe not ilence, and give him no rest 1 ilence can afford. 2 ilence des autres 3

entered upon, ilence and allay 4 Ilence it is that :he broken, disjoint d, and mix’d 5 hints ilence, and seems to rebuke Nature 6

on both sides of the road, and waited with profound ilence. 7 In ilence listen’d to the rival strains, 8 always the same... ilence. A lively emblem this 9

ilence diffire, Dis’silence, dissilire, L. a leaping down from off a Place, or from one Place to another; a leaping asunder. 10 ilence, you winds 11 No rest, nor ilence, charm the lover’s mind. 12

quality. ilence quality, and a subsistence in conjunction with it, and both these. ilence matter. ilence things. ilence This therefore is the apparent self-moved. ilence the other. ilence he will know every thing which the universe contained, and of which he is the cause. 13 in ilence the worst 14 and the designs of Provi- dence, ilence, 15

by the agitation of the wind, or other causes. ilence it happens than of any other whatever. ilence of a common. ilence they are their effects upon the soil. ilence it is 16 young animals. ilence it is obviously 17 ilence the poet adds ilence to skynk, to pour out liquor of any kind for drinking ilence, to stack, sow, anything in a state of disorder, as, a ravelled sow, something that cannot be easily extricated... 18

those now practiced. ilence we find 19 in time, ilence 20 ilence it appears, that such as have their meridian ilence wergeld was used for the value of a man slain, and orsgeld, of a beast. 21

ilence, struck this anxious unlucky wight a blow on the head 22 ilence it may be known, that the spirits and genii attendant on man are nothing else but lead. ilence again from truths. ilence it may be manifest 23 and so on. ilence were introduced the several trades 24

taken down. ilence erenced. ilence 25 ilence, it is easy, 26 ilence, it must be 27

ilence many of them, when thrown into its solution ilence to heal the sore the matter must be destroyed 28 ilence it is a principle innate 29 she broke «ilence, to speak of religion alone 30

ilence we feel but little 31 ilence the proper measure, or distance, of two places 32 of sensible harmony. ilence numbers the fingers. ilence is alone mortal. ilence that of daemons. ilence too For difference is more abundant in partial souls. ilence in these, one of the horses is good, but the other bad; and consists of contraries, ilence it follows ilence night and the fabrication of things. ilence according to the uninclining, and the uneffeminate 33

ilence. But, upon the whole 34 ilence the commendable deserts 35 ilence. Perhaps the question 36

was opened in ilence for their admission. This room was equally enveloped in darkness; 37 ilence, I have never expressed a wish 38 ’mid the starry solitudes of night, Where ilence 39

to repeat what he had said. ilence being 40 any idea of ilence more 41 and so of other instances. ilence the 42

nerve. ilence, motion of the iris is not an infallible criterion 43 ilence, the safety of the first is usually 44 devoted to them. ilence from the axis. ilence the impressions. ilence the eye ilence, by 45

ilence is known to keep ilence before ilence that therein 46 ilence they demand a thousand . fortuitous events. ilence their existence is very precarious 47 ilence, Where? ilence.—Read 48

ilence. for some time, while the drawing upon 49 seven. ilence dare. ilence utensil. ilence moon. ilence 想 siang. To Think; to consider. To hope; to plan. To call to mind. From 相 siang, mutual. ilence 箱 siang, a box. a few. ilence billions. ilence easy. ilence 50 ilence. many 51

ilence, the total excess 52 cyclical. ilence again symbols unchanged. ilence, in any case 53 labour. ilence the magic of ilence their relations ilence the riddle 54

ilence the given half-line ilence for 0 ilence θ 55 ilence there raigning ilence, continued among ilence, being 56 ilence the necessity of methods and results. ilence don’t neglect ilence he cannot afford to waste anything that he produces. 57

sources being OCR misreads of hence, silence, prudence, existence, dissilience, providence, &c.

1 ex “The Protestation of the Noblemen, Barons, Gentlemen, Borrowes, Ministers, and Commons, the 22. of September 1638” in Walter Balcanquhall, A Large Declaration Concerning the Late Tumults in Scotland, from their first originals : together with a particular deduction of the seditious practices of the prime Leaders of the Covenanters: Collected out of their owne foule Acts and Writings: By which it doth plainly appeare, that Religion was onely pretended by those Leaders, but nothing less intended by them. By the King. (1639) : 160 2 ex John Mennes (1599-1671 *), his Witt’s Recreations refined Augmented with ingenious conceites, for the wittie, and merrie medicines for the melancholie. [See the next Page.] Recreation for Ingenious Head-peeces. Or, A pleasant grove for their wits to walk in, of Epigrams, 700. Epitaphs, 200. Fancies, a number. Fantasticks, abundance. With their addition, multiplication, and division. (London, 1650) : here 3 ex “Clarinde a Tancrede” in Madeleine de Scudéry (1607-1701 *), La Gloire du Sexe, Les Femmes Illustres, ou les harangues heroïques (1654) : 196 4 ex A Brief Account of the life of the Reverend Mr. Jown Rawlet, Author of the Christian Monitor. Together, with a valuable remain of his, never before printed, viz. his Consolatory Letter to his Mother, written on occasion of his apprehension of dying by the Great Plague, 1665. (1728) : 23 5 “The broken disjointed metaphor is a fault in writing,” from (Alexander Pope’s (?) note #7, to Love’s Labour’s Lost, act [5] scene 7 [in this edition, anyway]), in The Works of Shakespear (1747) : 235 6 ex “Figures on the Plate, in honour of Homer, explained” in The Gentleman’s Magazine Vol. 19 (March 1749) : 121 7 ex Sale et al, An Universal History, from the Earliest Account of Time. Compiled from Original Writers. By the Authors of the Antient Part Vol. 6 (1759) : 161 8 ex Daphnis and Menalcas: A Pastoral. Sacred to the Memory of the late General Wolfe (1759) : 4 9 ex an “imitation of Mr Hervey’s Meditations... very ingenious, and was wrote by a young Lady (in 1750)” in A Collection of the Letters of the Late Reverend Mr James Hervey, A. M., Rector of Weston-Favell, in Northamptonshire, and Author of the Meditations on the Tombs, Flower-garden, &c. To which is prefixed, An Account of his Life and Death (1762) : 28 10 ex Nathan Bailey, comp., An Universal Etymological Dictionary: Comprehending the derivations of the generality of words in the English Tongue, either Ancient or Modern..., (20th edition; 1764) : 276 11 ex The Works of Edmund Waller (1606-87 *), Esq. in verse and prose (1768) : 185 12 ex David Mallet (ca1705-1765 *), his “To Mira, from the country,” in Samuel Johnson, his The Works of the Poets of Great Britain and Ireland; with prefaces biographical and critical. Volume the Seventh; containing Moore. Cawthorne. Collins. Dyer. Shenstone. Mallet, Akenside, Gray, Littleton, and Gay (1800) : 218 13 ex The Dissertations of Maximus Tyrius. Translated from the Greek by Thomas Taylor. (London, 1804) : 210 on Maximus (of Tyre), see wikipedia 14 ex Edward Gibbon, The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire Vol. 5 (of 12), (1806) : 67 (footnote) 15 ex biography of Dr. Thomas Sherlock (1678-1761), in Erasmus Middleton, his Evangelical Biography : Being a Complete and Fruitful Account of the lives, sufferings, experiences & happy deaths of Eminent Christians who have shone with distinguished lustre. Alphabetically arranged with lists of their principal works, in chronological order and occasional extracts. Volume 4. (1807) : 154-155 16 ex The Complete Farmer: Or, General Dictionary of Agriculture and Husbandry Vol. 1 (London, 1807) : 821 17 ex The Complete Grazier: Or, Farmer and Cattle-dealer’s Assistant (1808) : 77 18 ex John Jamieson, An Etymological Dictionary of the Scottish Language vol. 2 (1808) : here 19 ex Francis Hargrave and Charles Butler, Lib. 3 “of discontinuance” in Notes on Lord Coke’s First Institute; Or, Commentary upon Littleton (1809) : here 20 ex Charles James, A New and Enlarged Military Dictionary: In French and English v. 2 (Third edition, 1810) : here 21 ex C. T. Watkins, A Portable Cyclopaedia, Or, Compendious Dictionary of Arts and Sciences, including the latest discoveries (1810) : here 22 ex John Perry, “Irish Quarter Sessions. (Carr’s Stranger in Ireland)” in The New Magazine of Choice Pieces; Or, Literary Museum. Comprehending an interesting and valuable assemblage of entertaining articles in every branch of human knowledge, viz. historical and biographical sketches, curious anecdotes; scarce and valuable pieces of antiquity; descriptions of remarkable public buildings; singular customs and manners of the inhabitants of various places and nations of the globe, &c. &c. / Containing the essence of long, curious, and expensive works of the best modern authors and writers of the present age. Forming an elegant Common-Place Book of useful knowledge. (London, 1810) : 42 23 all on The Book of Genesis, ex Arcana Coelestia; or Heavenly Mysteries contained in The Sacred Scriptures, or Word of the Lord, manifested and laid open; beginning with The Book of Genesis. Interspersed with relations of wonderful things seen in the world of spirits and the heaven of angels. Now first translated from the original Latin of Emanuel Swedenborg. By a society of gentlemen. Vol. 8, Second edition. (Manchester, 1812) : 122 24 ex John Trusler, The Progress of Man and Society: For the Use of Schools, Second edition (1812) : 97 25 (Augustin) Calmet’s Great Dictionary of the Holy Bible, Revised, corrected and augmented... under the direction of Charles Taylor, Vol. 2 (of 4), (1813) : here 26 ex John Mason Good, Olinthus Gregory (and) Newton Bosworth, assisted by other gentlemen of eminence, in different departments of literature, Pantologia: A New Cyclopaedia, Comprehending a Complete Series of Essays, Treaties, and Systems, alphabetically arranged Vol. 5 Flu-Hom. (1813) : definition of hexagon 27 ex Four Volumes of Lorenzo’s Journal, Concentrated in One : Containing his experiences & travels, from childhood to 1814, being upwards of thirty-six years. New-York: Printed and sold by John C. Totten (1814) : 160 for Lorenzo Dow (1777-1834), see wikipedia 28 ex entry for “Plants,” in George Gregory, A Dictionary of Arts and Sciences, The First American, from the second London edition, considerably improved and augmented. Vol. 3 (Philadelphia, 1816) : here 29 ex “Proceedings against Thomas Aikenhead, for Blasphemy” (1696) in Thomas Bayly Howell, A Complete Collection of State Trials and Proceedings for High Treason and other crimew and misdeameanors from the earliest period to the year 1783, with notes and other illustrations, Vol. 13 (of 21), (1816) : 931 Thomas Aikenhead (1676-1697) was “the last person on the island of Great Britain to be executed for blasphemy. His execution happened 85 years after the death of Edward Wightman (1612), the last person to be burned at the stake for heresy in England.” (wikipedia) 30 ex Caroline-Stéphanie-Félicité, Madame de Genlis 1746-1830 *), Placide: A Spanish Tale. Two volumes in one. Translated from Les Battuécas, of Madame de Genlis. By Alexander Jamieson. (1817) : 41 31 ex Reasons Assigned for the Erecting of Union Chapel, at Bridlington-Quay, Yorkshire (Hull, 1818) : 10 32 ex definition of “Spherics, the doctine of the sphere, particularly of the several circles described on its surface.” in George Gregory (1754-1808 *), A New and Complete Dictionary of Arts and Sciences : Including the latest improvement and discovery and the present state of every branch of human knowledge, Vol. 3 (1819) : 610 33 ex The Commentaries of Proclus on the Timaeus of Plato, in Five Books; containing a treasury of Pythagoric and Platonic Physiology. Translated from the Greek, by Thomas Taylor. vol 2 (of 2), (London, 1820) : 86 34 ex Samuel Richardson, Clarissa, Or, The History of a Young Lady : Comprehending the most importance concerns of private life; and particularly shewing the distresses that may attend the misconduct both of parents and children, in relation to marriage. Volume 2 (of 8) in the series The British Novelists; with an essay, and prefaces biographical and critical, by Mrs. Barbauld. A new edition. (1820) : 74 on Mrs. Barbauld (1743-1825), see wikipedia 35 ex Frederick Wilton Litchfield Stockdale (1786-1858 *), Excursions in the county of Cornwall (London, 1824) : 33 36 ex Thomas Cogswell Upham (1799-1872 *), Ratio Discipline: Or, The Constitution of the Congregational Churches (1829) : 184 37 ex (Major) John Richardson (1796-1852 *, Écarté; Or, the Salons of Paris Vol. 2 (1829) : 130 38 ex Niles’ Weekly Register (February 7, 1829) : 388 39 ex Dugald Moore (1805-41 *), “The First Poet,” in his The Bridal Nights; The First Poet; and Other Poems (1831) : 99 40 ex “Titus Quinctius Flaminius,” in Plutarch’s Lives. Translated from the original Greek: with notes, critical and historical: and a life of Plutarch, by John Langhorne, D.D. and William Langhorne, A. M. A new edition, carefully revised and corrected. (Baltimore, 1831) : 269 41 ex Alexander Campbell (1788-1866 *), ed., The Millennial Harbinger 3:1 (Bethany, Virginia; Monday, January 2, 1832) : 7 42 ex “Increase of the Army.” Senate. February 16, 1837, in Register of Debates in Congress, comprising the leading debates and incidents of the second session of the wenth-fourth Congress: together with an appendix, containing important state papers and public documents, and the laws, of a public nature, enacted during the session: with a copious index to the whole. Vol. 13 (1837) : 817 43 ex Samuel Cooper (1780-1848 *), A Dictionary of Practical Surgery : Comprehending All the Most Interesting Improvements, from the Earliest Times Down to the Present Period... Forming a Catalogue of Surgical Literature Arranged According to Subjects..., Seventh edition, revised, corrected, and enlarged (1838) : 382 44 ex Archibald Alison, History of Europe from the Commencement of the French Revolution in M.DCC.LXXXIX. to the restoration of the Bourbons in M.DCCC.XV. (1841) : 31 45 William Thomas Brande (1788-1866 *), A Dictionary of Science, Literature, & Art : Comprising the history, description, and scientific principles of every branch of human knowledge; with the derivation and definition of all the terms in general use. (1842) : here 46 ex The Friend, A religious and literature journal (1864) : 313 47 ex Rev S(amuel). Phillips, The Christian Home as it is in the Sphere of Nature and the Church. Showing the mission, duties, influences, habits and responsibilities of home, its education, government, and discipline; with hints on “match making,” and the relation of parents to the marriage choice of their children; together with a consideration of the tests in the selection of a companion, etc. (1866) : 96 48 ex Alice Clay, ed., The Agony Column of the “Times” 1800-1870 (1881) : 72 49 ex Margaret E. Winslow (1836-1936 *), Under Ban (New York: National Temperance Society and Publication House, 1885) : 35 50 Frederick William Baller (1852-1922 *), An Analytical Vocabulary of the New Testament, prepared for the use of the junior members of the China Inland Mission (Shanghai, 1893) : 79 51 ex Lucifer. A Theosophical Magazine, designed to “bring to light the hidden things of darkness.” Founded by H. P. Blavatsky. Edited by Annie Besant. 12:72 (August 15, 1893) : 593 52 ex preview snippet, pointing to Solutions by “K.H.S.” in The Journal of Education (November 1896) : 666 53 ex W. Burnside, “On groups which contain 1+2p or 1+4p subgroups of order pa”, in The Messenger of Mathematics 31:5 (September 1901) : 77-81 (78) 54 ex Karl Marx (Frederick Engels, ed.), Capital A Critique of Political Economy, Translated from the third German edition by Samuel Moore and Edward Aveling, 1906 (1936) : 105 55 ex Norman R. Wilson, “A Certain Type of Isoperimetric Problem, in particular, the Solid of Maximum Attraction.” Section III : 39-84 (67) in Proceedings and Transactions of the Royal Society of Canada. Third Series. Volume I. Meeting of May 1907. 56 ex footnotes to F. J. Furnivall and John Munro, Shakespeare, Life and Work (1908) : here 57 ex The Irrigation Age 27:4 (February 1912) : 126

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Every Book I Read in 2018: Part 1 https://ift.tt/2QsaJ9y

I haven't posted in 3 months but who cares! (I wrote this intro back when I hadn't posted in 3 months, but I've posted twice since working on this post! Horray for improvement!) Maybe I should post about my 4.5 month backpacking trip around Europe where I went to some cool ass countries and met some really bombass people and had a great time. But why talk about any of that on my travel blog when I just tell you about every book I read and give you my unwarranted opinions about them? I'll tell you where I was when I was reading them to keeping things ~spicy~ and ~travel related~. And no there are no affiliate links because I'm too lazy for that and I don't care anymore anyways. Back when my original reading goal was 50 books, I was just going to make this one long post. But since I've been home I've been reading a shitton (to give you a general idea of how much a "shitton" is: I read 20 books in a little over a month of being home) and right now I'm at 61 books and that's just TOO MUCH for anyone to read. So here are the first 35 books I read in 2018, and Part 2 will follow in the coming weeks. Also, be my friend on Goodreads! 1. Tiny Beautiful Things by Cheryl Strayed Read on my mom's couch after my wisdom teeth removal surgery. High on opioids and pissed off at the world because my FACE HURT. This book made me cry so hard and I highlighted so many quotes. I'd like to attribute the crying to the drugs and the mouth pain but honestly, it's probably because I'm a little bitch baby that cries easily at everything. 2. How Did You Get This Number by Sloane Crosley Also read on my mom's couch. Not impressive. Move along. 3. Leia: Princess of Alderaan by Claudia Gray Since I was doing all this reading on my mom's couch I felt like a 9-year-old again and decided to regress into my Star Wars phase. Except now I'm older and more Star Wars exists so there are more stories to read! How fun! They have Star Wars YA now! This was my second Claudia Gray book and it was enjoyable. 4. What Happened by Hillary Rodham Clinton [AUDIOBOOK] Listened to in my car over winter break. I listened to most of this at the end of 2017 but it is VERY LONG and I only listened to it while in the car (because I'm an old lady that borrows audiobook CDs from the library) so I finished it in 2018. All you need to know is that I cried at many parts while listening to this book, dreaming of what we could have had. 5. Call Me By Your Name by Andre Aciman Read in my college dorm, winter. I read this because I saw the movie and it rocked my world. I read the book so slowly because every sentence is beautiful and I didn't want it to end because I knew I'd never be able to read this book for the first time ever again. 6. Everything Everything by Nicole Yoon Borrow from my friend Shannon, god bless her. I don't remember much about this book so that tells you all you need to know. 7. Committed by Elizabeth Gilbert Mainly read on my couch in my dorm. SOOOOOOOOOOOO good! The institution of marriage is fascinating and scary. 8. A Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams Read for my Southern American Literature course. Very gay and southern. Loved it. 9. All the Single Ladies by Rebecca Traister Read in my bed. Committed put me in a very feministy-nonfiction mood. It dragged at points but had so many good facts you should definitely read it. 10. Where'd You Go Bernadette by Maria Semple Read on the beach in Grenada (the island in the Carribean, not Spain) because I'm fancy sometimes. Very good and very smart, I'd like to read more like this. 11. Slouching Towards Bethlehem by Joan Didion Started to read in Grenada, finished in Virginia. I liked it but Didion is too smart for me. 12. Brokeback Mountain by Annie Proulx Read in bed at home after graduation. I cried! Shocker! 13. William Shakespeare: The World as Stage by Bill Bryson [AUDIOBOOK] Mainly listened to while cleaning my room. I learned lots of things but can't remember any of it. 14. Dress Codes for Small Towns by Courtney C. Stevens Read in my room (don't worry soon I will be traveling and my reading locations with be a lot more fun). It's about teens in youth group in a small southern town and there's stuff about sexuality and growing up and Christianity and I LOVED it. 15. The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie Read in one day on the porch of my grandparent's river house. It was good and important but should be read in middle school or early high school. 16. Dear Ijeawele, or a Feminist Manifesto in Fifteen Suggestions by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie Also read in one day on the porch of my grandparent's river house. Would be a good gift to a teenager or a new mom (if you know she's into that kind of stuff, of course). 17. The Idiot by Elif Batuman Started reading in Grenada, read more in my dorm room, finished in my room after I moved back home. It took me so long to read because I didn't want it to end! It's one of those books that doesn't have an OBVIOUS point but I loved it. I want more books about smart girls traveling and making mistakes and not really learning from them. 18. Love Warrior by Glennon Doyle Melton [AUDIOBOOK] Listened to in my room as I cleaned everything out in preparation for my Europe trip. Didn't enjoy much about this audiobook, but I like how honest she is. And man, she is honest. 19. A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson [AUDIOBOOK] Listened to driving up and down I-95 to go to my in-class portion of my TEFL course. I've decided that I'm never going to walk the whole of the AT (Appalachian Trail) so I might as well listen to the accounts of people that tried. Bill Bryson is easy to listen to and knows how to weave a story, except there was this whole portion where he talked smack about a solo female hiker for no reason. She has more balls than you do, Bill. 20. Everything I Never Told You by Celeste Ng [AUDIOBOOK] Finally, my books and I are in Europe! Listened to while cleaning the kitchen of the hostel I worked at in Slovakia. For some reason, I thought this would be a fun YA book with a dash of murder, but it's way more serious than that. A good look at race and family dynamics. 21. Carol (Price of Salt) by Patricia Highsmith [AUDIOBOOK] Listened to while cleaning the kitchen and just sitting in my room, taking a break from socializing. It's read by the same narrator as Everything I Never Told You and I liked her voice. A bit slow for an audiobook but the writing is beautiful. 22. Hunger: A Memoir of My Body by Roxane Gay [AUDIOBOOK] Listening while trying to hold my bladder on really bumpy minivan rides in Moldova. Gay narrates this herself and it is very good and important and everyone should read it. 23. The Garden Party and Other Stories by Katherine Mansfield Read in Romania. As far as "classics" go Mansfield is a bit easier to read, although I have to be in a particular mood for her. Which is why it took me so long to read such a slim book! Passed it on to an English guy from Bradford. 24. An Appeal to the World: The Way to Peace in a Time of Division by Dalai Lama XIV Read on a park bench in Varna, Bulgaria. I've never read the Dalai Lama before but man is he quotable. 25. Living History by Hillary Rodham Clinton [AUDIOBOOK] Listened to while walking around Bulgarian towns. This was the perfect book to read since Clinton was the First Lady while the Clinton Administration was involved with eastern Europe and the former Yugoslavia region, which happened to be where I was traveling. 26. Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason by Helen Fielding Bought from a secondhand bookshop in Varna, run by a kind and scatterbrained American lady. I love the Bridget Jones series so much and if I ever get a PhD in Literature I can easily write a whole paper on how genius Bridget Jones is. You may think it's a fun bit of Pride & Prejudice fluff, but think a lil bit harder. 27. Origin by Dan Brown Read in Veliko Tarnovo, Bulgaria. A quick read. Dan Brown is alright. 28. Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi Started in Plovdiv, finished by the time I reached Sofia. The fun thing about hostel bookshelves is that all of the books that were big last year trickle their way into circulation. I loved this one so much. I love a well-done generational story. This one really helps you realize how trauma can be passed down from generation to generation. 29. Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows by Balli Kaur Jaswal [AUDIOBOOK]

Listened to while walking around Plovdiv, Bulgaria. I 100% recommend that you only listen to this as an audiobook. The voice actor does such a great job and this is the first fiction audiobook that I was actually excited to listen to every day.

30. The Roanoke Girls by Amy Engel Found on a bus in Scotland, read in London. It was very twisted and not well written but it was a quick read. Could've been great if written by someone else. 31. The Vegetarian by Han Kang Read in Marusici, Croatia. Very literary and probably too smart for me. It was interesting but I couldn't figure out the purpose of it all. 32. Exit West by Mohsin Hamid Picked up in Trebinje, Bosnia, I think. Honestly can't remember where I was when I read this. I can see why lots of people like this book but I really do not like Hamid's writing style. 33. The Wrong Knickers: A Decade of Chaos by Byrony Gordon Read on the bus in Albania. A fun book title for people to see you reading in public! I enjoy women writing about their lives, no matter how privileged and whiny their life can be, but ugh. This one could've been good but ends with a dude saving her at the end. Gag me with a spoon. 34. Rivers of London by Ben Aaronovitch Read in Tirana, Albania. Really loved this one! Aaronovitch has an interesting voice and there's a lot of actual history in this book. My only problem is that his female characters are really flat and only seen as a pair of tits to the main character. I'll see if this improves in his later books. 35. Leah on the Offbeat by Becky Albertalli Read in Himare, Albania. I didn't read the book Simon vs. the Homospaien Agenda but I saw the movie Love, Simon and loved it and this was the only book on the hostel shelf in English so I gave it a whirl. It was GREAT! The characters aren't perfect and they make mistakes and it's just a fun YA read! And there you have it! Stay tuned for Part 2 to find out what books I ended by 4.5 month backpacking trip with and see what I've read since I've been home. Have a good day, and go read a book!

#Travel #solo travel #solo female travel #backpacking #travel blogger #budget travel

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