#probably not articulating myself very well right now. it is one thirty in the morning. i'll ramble more later.

[continuousmeowing]

i liked the ending! I thought it was sweet. I have a few gripes, but i think it was overall pretty good.

[intruality-overlord]

Why Are We (Best) Friends?

Warnings: excessive swearing, alcoholism, mentions of drugs, drug use, suggestive humor, implied sexual content (no smut), some gore descriptions. Generally, Remus stuff.

Taglist: @blogging-time @veraisnotfine @littlestr @jessibbb @broken-pens @hi-its-tutty @idkanameatall @moxiety--sanders101 @theyluna-womoon

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist! Updates every Wednesday/Thursday. Get ready for fighting...

Chapter Five: Fuck You

The Present.

“How much do you remember?” Remus nagged the next morning as Patton bustled around his room getting dressed.

“I wasn’t black out drunk!” Patton retaliated, “I remember everything.” Patton wasn’t, and he’ll say it again, not a lightweight. No. Not that the thought offended him in any way shape or form. “I mean, it’s fuzzy, but still,” he mumbled into his shirt as he pulled it off over his head.

“So… Logan knows and now probably the others…” Remus clutched the rumpled bed sheets, his eyes stretched wide to accommodate all his stress. Waiting for the floorboards to open their jaws and swallow him, chew and spit him out again, he stared at it expectantly. He’d rather bleed to death from splintery teeth than deal with this right now, and he wouldn’t have to if he resembled mashed potatoes. This fucking stress. This guilt.

“I’m over thirty years old! It’s normal, having a drink with a friend!” Patton dismissed with a wave of his hand, swatting Remus’s very real, very valid concerns away. Not entirely unusual. That is, if they were talking about something as trivial as why Mother Nature created hyenas the way she did. Poor things, childbirth was already messy enough.

“They shouldn’t be so shocked. Now where’s my—” Patton whisked around the room looking for a change of clothes, and Jesus, he needed to clean his room. He found his one clean polo wedged behind his wardrobe. Remus thought he was entirely too concerned about clothes when everything had been fundamentally fucked up yesterday. Clothes were overrated, anyway.

“Why did you…?” Remus couldn’t help but ask. Trying to make sense of things was a new hobby of his. He was still an amateur. Patton pulled his fresh polo on, and Remus tried to ask again hoping he’d succeed with one less distraction.

“Why did you admit we’re friends to Logan?”

Patton just looked at him like he was crazy. Crazier than he thought. “Because we are? I had just been talking about how I need to stop pretending we're not friends. Do you really think I’d go back on my word so quickly?” He said incredulously. “Hey, I think I left my hoodie under the bed again. Could you pass it?”

Remus did retrieve the garment from beneath the bed, checking there were no cobwebs or spiders on it. Then he held it, frozen. Remus rivalled Virgil when it came to thinking of worst case scenarios, only Remus wasn’t normally scared by them. Now… Remus knew he’d someday ruin everything for Patton. Ruin it like he ruins everything. That’s what happens when you’re the embodiment of bad ideas. It’s not fun anymore when he’s ruining something, someone, he actually cares about.

He just wanted Patton to be happy…

Hands rested on his shoulders, comforting and solid. “Look at me,” Patton hushed. Remus did.

Since when did his eyes twinkle like that?

“I don’t regret it, Remus,” Patton said sternly. “I can’t afford to spend every sober moment regretting everything.” Patton smiled. “I want good memories, however few.” His eyes crinkled in that simple, rare way you’d hope to see well worn into his skin one day. That private smile was for Remus.

Patton gently took the hoodie and wrapped it around his shoulders like a cape. “I’m gonna need some tequila for this.”

Oh god.

(}ï{)

Now how was Patton supposed to break the news? He chickened out at breakfast, and he chickened out at lunch, now it was dinner. There was chicken on the table and no room for more than one. God, it felt like coming out of the closet all over again. Think, what would Remus do?

“I’m not a virgin,” Patton blurted.

Oh yes, very subtle.

Cutlery clattered and clanged combined with collective choked coughing.

That didn’t quite come across how he had wanted it to. Perhaps Patton was drunker than he thought and he didn’t need that extra liquid courage right before dinner after all. He had been aiming for tipsy, like usual, when he had taken a few shots this morning.

(He didn’t know how to get through a whole day entirely sober anymore. Wake up, get dressed, have a couple shots, brush your teeth, have breakfast— it was routine. When sober, he hardly had the energy to maintain his act, but when tipsy, he was just delirious enough for his insanity to come across as jovial joy.

Yes, that did mean Patton was living with a constant hangover.

And no, he could not find the strength to care.)

Perhaps he had overshot it with his nerves making him lose count.

All well, it served the same purpose.

Last time, anyway, Patton had just blurted that he thought guys were attractive, and it turned out fine. (Which went something along the lines of:

“Boys are hot.”

“Duh.”

“They are indeed glorious creatures.”

“I can confirm that that is a factual statement.”)

Why should it work any different this time?

Wait, why is no one saying anything?

Patton looked around at his fellow sides, and they all looked like they saw a creepy crawly death dealer sitting comfortably on his head.

“Did you hear me?”

As their brains caught up, Virgil and Roman both spluttered, “What?!” There was another brief silence before the information caught up to Logan, and he too followed with a small, “What?”

Bewildered, Virgil and Roman’s heads snapped around at Logan. “You mean— you didn’t…?”

“No,” Logan said, eyebrows furrowed. “I thought I dreamt what I saw yesterday,” Logan eventually said. All of the colour was drained from him. “Yeah, I know, so surprising how articulate I can be when I’m drunk,” Patton half joked defensively.

“Do you know what virgin even means, Patton?” Roman asked slowly, hoping this was one of Patton’s hilarious misunderstandings. Patton sighed. “It means someone who hasn’t had sex before. And I have. So I’m not,” he said, beginning to curl in on himself. He felt trapped like an insect enveloped in a water droplet, not strong enough to break the surface tension.

“With you always expecting me to be honest I wouldn’t have thought you’d be so surprised when I actually am,” Patton observed bitterly. Something about the mention of truthfulness struck a nerve in Virgil, resulting in a false epiphany. “Deceit?” Virgil said sceptically. The glare pressing on Patton made him feel like he nearly lost his footing despite not moving an inch.

“Wha— no, I'm not Janus!” Patton said incredulously. “Not that being Janus is a bad thing,” he added under his breath. Patton wouldn’t be offended to be compared to Janus under normal circumstances. However in this situation, he was put off by the negative connotations Virgil was associating with Janus.

“That sounds like something Deceit would say,” Roman mused.

“Oh, you want proof? Fine! Janus!” Patton summoned. A very discombobulated Janus appeared, much to the others’ surprise. “I know exactly what’s going on,” he lied.

“You are Janus, I am Patton, correct?” Patton snapped. “...No?” Janus said, utterly confused. Slightly scared too.

“See?” Patton pleaded. Meanwhile, Janus glanced around at everyone else’s faces screwed up in confusion and some other indecipherable glob of emotions Janus deemed safe to assume as anger. “Jesus, good luck,” he muttered to Patton, and he promptly sank out.

“We just never thought— you always were so pure—”

“Because that’s what was expected from me!” Patton heaved a breath, pushing back his tears. “I committed adultery! There! I said it— and no, I don’t mean adulthood,” he announced. Those words felt like screaming in a claustrophobic space. Stretching, stuffed into a suitcase, and feeling the unforgiving, unrelenting walls. It felt like breathing in the vacuum of space.

“I knew as soon as I broke that perfect, innocent image of me you have, you wouldn’t react well. And guess what? You’re acting exactly like I expected you to!” He screamed. With another sharp, trembly breath, he vented all his frustrations out to people other than Remus for the first time.

He lost it.

“You’ve always treated me like a fucking child even though I’m the oldest. Telling me to shut up and let the adults talk, and this is a grown up conversation, or oh, you wouldn’t get it Patton even. Always sheltering, patronising me as if I’m not over thirty fucking years old,” a lump formed in his throat. “I’m Thomas’s heart. Where do you think his feelings of lust come from?!” Miserable strings of choked back words wound up like a ball of yarn into an incomprehensible howl that tumbled out of Patton.

“When I learnt what repression means, it sounded like something that perhaps wasn’t the best thing for me to keep doing, an-and I thought you’d want me to stop. That you’d be happy for me if I did,” he whimpered.

“W-we did! We are!” Roman quickly jumped in. “It’s just… just not— you… um, listen Padre, uh we,” he faltered. Looking to Logan for guidance, they just found him lost in his head, eyebrows scrunched, grimacing.

“Hold on, if it wasn’t us then it had to have been a dark side,” Virgil finally realised. Roman gasped, and Logan grimaced harder.

“I’m also an alcoholic?” Patton said in an attempt to quickly distract. It distracted them alright, only their reactions were just as bad or worse. It sent them all into a senseless squabble.

“So there was no consent then?” Virgil spoke up, mildly horrified.

What the fuck did he just hear?

Jaw slacked, breath fumbling, all Patton could hear for a moment was his thudding heart before a feeble, “Of course there was,” escaped him. “I can think for myself I-I-I’m not a child I…” And he looked like he'd just been stabbed, they saw. Between his ribs, the knife twisted, locking the blade in and exuding pressure. Because no, they’re not letting his blood spill. Can’t have carpet stains now, can they?

“He must have been manipulating you. Making you valuable with— with drinking and taking advantage of you,” Virgil said, seeming almost concerned for him. “He’s a dark side, he can’t genuinely care about you. It’s the only explanation,” Roman agreed rather bluntly.

His ears must be broken.

Patton’s eyes glistened. “How could you say that?” The watery wimper scraped his throat. “He’s my friend.” Patton wouldn’t let a tear fall; he refused. Only his true friends were allowed to see him that valuable.

“This— this isn’t— please just listen, please! I just wanted to be more honest with you all, an-and I was hoping yo-you’d accept our friendship…” Patton finished lamely.

“He is a dark side, Patton,” they said. “We are your friends,” they said. “We are the ones who really care about you,” they said. Lying was wrong, they had said. Hypocrites.

Mouth helplessly clamped shut, his thoughts ricketed around his skull like a brick in a washing machine. He wouldn’t have had to resort to alcoholism if they hadn’t made him bottle his feelings. Remus would never hurt him, he’s a good friend! Patton has been by his side when Remus was so fucking high, he didn’t even recognise him, and not for one moment did he even consider hurting him in any way! Remus cares. Maybe this whole thing was one big mistake. Patton always belonged with the others, not Virgil. And if Virgil had already made the switch over, then it was his turn. Patton had thought, hey, maybe I’m wrong. They’re my friends; they love me. But he was wrong. Stupid, nieve Patton being wrong, who knew.

Remus wouldn’t treat him like this.

Reverting to his last resort, Patton pleaded, “How can Thomas love himself if he can’t accept himself? If you can’t accept us?”

Completely unmoved, they held up their hands to address him as a scared, dumb animal. Their voice tweaked into a tone used for gently scorning a toddler, “It’s okay, Patton. It’s not your fault he’s manipulated you. We can help. He doesn’t have to use you anymore, we can do this together—”

“F-fuck you. Fuck. You. Bastards.”

As he sunk down, Patton called back one last thing, “By the way, Roman.

I fucked your brother.”

(}ï{)

Why? Why, why, why, why, why— It’s all Logan could think the whole time. It just didn’t compute, no matter how valiantly he tried to understand. Why why why why why?!

Next Chapter:

[qvet]

so my favorite way to deal with someone that I am frustrated with is to basically unpack it all with someone I know/trust that will listen and also possibly add more fuel to the fire.  petty, I know, but doing so is truly cathartic for me and then after that I can almost always face aforementioned frustrating person more easily, or at least without EXPLODING.  I usually feel pretty safe about doing this but this time it’s my housemates that I want to complain about.  I feel like talking to someone who knows all of us might be helpful, but at the same time I’m always worried my shit talking will go back to them, and it’d be ESPECIALLY bad if it’s with people I live with.  so, human journal, I’m gonna complain here.

((also, I know that these pale in comparison to other roommate horror stories and that I am pretty lucky comparatively but…….I want to complain ok)

so to begin with I knew I was the “third wheel” of the house, as in the other two housemates are best friends and I am more secondary which is totally fine.  sometimes I feel a little sad because they click more with each other than I ever will click with either of them but that’s fine because I honestly don’t consider them my very favorite/best friends here, and that’s ok.  just made me feel a little sad at first.  things that they really enjoy like online shopping, makeup, Taylor Swift, I just can’t put my heart into and that is 100% fine for them to like!!!  I just can’t/don’t participate and feel really different from them is all.  anyways.  not a big deal.  then the stuff became bigger, like the “oh just gonna skip class” mentality that they both have from time to time.  which……I never understood because…..if you are mentally and physically able to go our parents are paying SO much money for this + literally what better things do we have to do than going to class????????  but again, minor.  extremely minor.

but then……….I started feeling some things were off.  with one housemate, she’s not even home half of the time because she’s at her boyfriend’s house ~30-40 minutes away (which I think takes away from her experience at college here but w/e it’s not my business and she seems happy) but other times he comes here.  he’s usually not a big problem but again, when he’s here she only spends time with him.  my only legit gripe with him is that when he’s here in the morning he takes a shower before leaving which…………I mean, ok, I get that you have to go to work but………..I have class to go to and I LIVE here?????????  could you please wake up earlier if you are going to do this????????  in my home??????  I expected to share the bathroom with two people, not three.  anyways, then for the housemate herself, she’s a perfectly nice person, but I have realized that our senses of humor are not on the same wavelength and I feel like I really have to put on an act for her to really click with me at all (not her fault, mine, but still something that bothers me).  my legit gripe with her is how passive aggressive she is with like asking us to clean stuff around the house…..like she’ll say something kind of serious and then after I say “oh ok sure I’ll do it tonight” or whatnot she’ll talk in this babyish kind of voice as if we were trying to confront her about something??????  I don’t know how to describe it but it makes me uncomfortable.  also, ok, not her fault, but she is from a pretty well off family and she is obsessive about like nickle-and-diming everything which I don’t know…..also annoys me?  like it always has to be EXACT with tax included which is like…..ok….that’s valid to a degree but you’re getting ONE DOLLAR more ????!?!!!!  whatever.  I think I’m just annoyed at how she just talks in a babyish way to us as if she is trying to avoid conflict when she asks us about things like mopping the floor?????  I don’t think I’m articulating this right but something about her demeanor is off-putting.  we’re also a part of this club together and she often puts her boyfriend/staying in bed over going to social interactions with the club which I mean is fine, it’s her choice, but it makes me kind of sad that she doesn’t really spend a lot of time with anyone other than him????  I don’t know anyways I’m not really super annoyed with her in particular.  usually I just need an hour break from her and we’re good again

it is the other one that I am kind of more fed up with……so first of all, they’re both kind of flaky about going to things, which is a HUGE pet peeve of mine because like…….how HARD is it to just DO something that you said you were going to do……..I mean ok if you’re sick sure, but like if you have a midterm two days later and we made the plan a week ago and agreed to it……you FUCKIN KNEW that it was going to happen so don’t cancel on me because you’re irresponsible!!!!! own up to your mistake!!!!!  whatever, anyways she just flakes out/cancels on plans all the time, almost always because of an academic thing she forgot about or LITERALLY just because she is tired…..and same thing with her and not going to social events for the club we’re in together.  I don’t know, I feel like it sends the message that her time/herself is more important than an agreement she made with someone.  like in the first two months of living with her she cancelled on me FIVE times.  and what makes it worse is that she does it so flippantly like…..I said “oh, yea, we have our dinner with friend x tonight!!” and she said “oh, yeah, that’s not happening” really casually in favor of staying in bed and I don’t know it really made me upset.  she also takes twenty minutes to shower which doesn’t sound like a lot but when you share a bathroom with others in the morning it is a TIME CRUNCH !!!!!!  two more things: one, the people that live above us used to have pretty frequent parties, and yeah, they were kind of loud but I at least never thought they were egregious (i.e. I could fall asleep).  this housemate is a pretty light sleeper so for the first few weeks of school when they were having parties she’d be like “can we call the cops” and I’d always be like “oh um I mean I’m ok with the noise for now but if you want to call them you can” just because I wanted to have a good relationship with the upstairs people just in case but I wasn’t super super opposed to filing a complaint.  but anyways this went on and on and she’d always ask ME to do it and I was like YOU ARE THE ONE that wants to call them, YOU be a big girl and do it.  eventually she got my other housemate + her boyfriend to call one night, which I was fine with, and I thought the ordeal was over.  but then one day on her birthday when we had a couple of friends over we were talking about it and in front of everyone she accuses me of not letting her call them!!!!!!!!!  like!!!!!! bitch!!!!!!! I fucking TOLD YOU YOU COULD I JUST WAS NOT GOING TO DO IT FOR YOU!!!!!!  AND YOU DIDN’T EVEN DO IT IN THE END!!!!!!!!!  I was just so annoyed that she would tell such a blatant lie in front of people/embarrass me in front of close friends.  but the latest thing that got to me was related to her light sleeping habit.  so basically I had a few of my favorite friends from college over at TEN on a Saturday night (tonight)…there were six of us total and we were pretty much just staying in my room, door closed, just snacks, no drinks.  anyways…..at ten thirty she says were are being TOO loud, she is trying to sleep, and ASKS US IF WE CAN GO TO SOMEONE ELSE’S HOUSE.  this just bothered me on SO many levels……..first of all, ?????  am I not allowed to have…..my friends over…..on a Saturday night after 9pm??????  then……you want me to….invite myself over at someone else’s house?????  I took a deep ass breath and just said we’d try to keep it down ((((I didn’t think we were really loud but reasoned ok we were watching videos on my projector and maybe we were laughing too loud, whatever, we’ll just talk)))) so we just talked.  we were just talking…..the six of us……and then at eleven thirty she comes into my room, pulls me aside, and basically tells me to kick them out and ask someone to host us.  but because I am just a people pleaser/weenie I just said yes to get her out of the way and told my friends.  my one source of validation was that one of them, my favorite friend in college, said that it wasn’t cool of her to do that to me since I lived here and it was before midnight on a Saturday which made me think……um yeah?????  and I was happy for the validation but I didn’t know what to do about it.  anyways I just told him I’d address in the morning even though I have no idea what I’d say to her and know I’m not going to say anything to her.  it just annoys me because she said she wanted to go to sleep because she had a “really late night” yesterday (read: she went out drinking) and I wanted to ask WHOSE FAULT THAT WAS and that basically she has a monopoly on all my nights here by just going to sleep and using her light sleeper excuse.  god.  I don’t hate her or anything I’m just very annoyed.  I think I’m just sad because I’m realizing our personalities aren’t as naturally compatible for friendship/I have to put on an act for both of them for things to run smoothly between us and all plus I am growing annoyed at their small quirks. 

I know I should probably just like tell them that I’m annoyed about these things but I don’t know how to do confrontation in non-professional/academic settings so I’m just going to have to SUFFER !!!!!!!!!  thanks for being here though, tumblr, I do feel at least a little better.

edit: I remembered something else about the first housemate!!!  like three weeks ago our wifi went out randomly and I was trying to communicate with her via text about it since she was at her boyfriend’s house.  I understand that it’s stressful to deal with but she was very evasive about doing anything and said “sorry I don’t have a lot of time to deal with this I have 2 midterms this week” which I mean is somewhat warranted but she didn’t ask/take into consideration me who also had two midterms that week????  like, we’re in college, we’re all having midterms.  but the other housemate was like ahhhh technology can’t do this sorry!!! (she is fairly inept with electronics) so I just sucked it up and called customer service/dealt with mailing it back to get a new one because I knew it’d just resolve it faster.  I wish I spoke up for myself more but just think it’s better to avoid conflict and do what I have to do to just resolve things faster.  but now I feel this way lmao so maybe not Update: LMAO I was such a drama queen about this what tf the fuck ????!!! .

[seraphichan]

Protean/Indigenous

(also on ao3)

~~~~~

It was one of those small, backwater towns where if you weren’t born there you stood out like a sore thumb.

Levi tended to stand out like a sore thumb anyway, so he was doubly damned as he drove through the square in his black hybrid, designer sunglasses on his face, Vivaldi blasting out of his speakers.

He probably could have done a better job of blending in - picked up a Garth Brooks album, wore camo, learned to spit, practiced saying the word “y’all” - but he refused to swap his pretty and posh style for poor and podunk just so he could blend in for the short time he would be there.

Levi parked his car in front of a squat brick building that was squeezed between the general store and the barber shop. The sign out front simply read Smith’s in large, golden letters, but there was other writing embossed on the windows detailing the business. It was a combination notary, attorney office, and - Levi squinted to make sure he was reading it right - home of the Arsene County Knitting Club.

That was...interesting.

Levi ran his hand through his hair and adjusted the knot of his scarf before he got out of his car and wandered inside. There was no one around when he entered, but the bell that rang above his head was sure to bring them eventually, so Levi passed the time inspecting one of the very intricate quilts that hung framed on the wall.

“Hello,” said a voice and Levi turned.

To find a fucking giant.

“I’m Erwin,” he said, holding out his hand. “You must be Levi.”

“Is it that obvious?” Levi asked after a moment, taking the man’s hand and shaking it, trying not to stare at his eyebrows.

“We don’t get much variety here, so I just assumed.”

“Well, you assumed right.”

Erwin smiled.

“My apologies for the wait. I was organizing some files in the back. I’ve been meaning to do it for ages,” he chuckled. “Anyway, I have your paperwork ready for review if you’d like to have a seat.”

He gestured to a plush chair in front of one of the desks. Levi sat and Erwin did the same on the other side, pulled a folder from a drawer, and opened it up.

“You were related to the late Mr. Ackerman through your mother?”

“Yeah.”

In fact his mother was the only reason he was here. Levi didn’t have many mementos of her, only a few photos and an embroidered handkerchief. Levi was hoping that Kenny might have something more - the man may have been a royal asshole, but he loved his sister - and decided he would take some time off to dig through Kenny’s things before putting it all up for auction.

“He was her brother. My uncle.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Levi nodded and shrugged, not really sure how to respond. Erwin seemed to pick up on this, dipping his head in apology and clearing his throat before delving into the rest of the information before him.

After what seemed like the longest hour of Levi’s life, and the beginning of carpal tunnel from all the papers he had to sign, they were finished. Erwin took a few moments to collect everything back into the folder before sliding it back into the desk.

“And that is that,” he sighed. “Now that we’ve gotten all the technical stuff out of the way, we can visit the house.”

We?

“It’s fine, I can go myself. I have the address.”

Erwin’s gaze flicked outside briefly to look at Levi’s car. “As capable as I’m sure your mode of transportation is, I would advise against using it. The road’s a bit...rough.”

Understatement of the fucking century.

Levi would have bottomed out his car in the very first pothole. Erwin’s truck sat higher and was much better suited for traversing this shit fest that he called a road. Still, Levi had to hold onto the door with one hand and the seat with the other to keep himself from rocking back and forth too violently and cracking his head open on the window. He also had to keep himself from accidentally biting his tongue off because Erwin insisted on making small talk as they plodded along.

“What do you do for work, Levi?”

“I’m a broker.”

“Oh? Do you like it?”

“It’s boring, but it pays.”

Erwin hummed. There was a short stretch of silence and then he asked

“How long do you plan on staying?”

“Two weeks. At most.”

“That’s a shame...Ah, here we are.”

They rounded a bend in the road, the house coming into view, and Levi grimaced.

It looked like a steaming pile of shit. The flowerbeds were overgrown, the roof desperately needed patched, all of the windows of the second floor were broken and boarded up, and the greenhouse - which would have been a redeeming addition to the property - was being used as a storage shed.

Of course, Levi imagined it was actually much nicer on the inside. Kenny was the kind of guy that would keep his house in ruins on the outside to throw people off. No one was going to attempt to rob an old man that lived in a dilapidated shack.

Erwin climbed the front porch stairs, Levi lingering back in case the creaking wood couldn’t hold both their weight at the same time, and opened the screen door.

Which promptly fell off of the frame leaving Erwin to stand there and awkwardly hold it upright by the handle.

“It seems,” he said as he propped it against the house, “that the hinges have rusted.”

Levi snorted. Another thing that Kenny most likely did on purpose. The back door would probably be a better entry point. Levi was about to suggest they try it when he heard a rustle and turned his head in time to watch a man taller than Erwin - were all people born in the sticks this huge? - emerge from the woods.

“Who the fuck?” Levi blurted.

At Levi’s question Erwin turned from his inspection of the door and made a noise of recognition.

“Mike? What brings you here?”

“Tracking that coon that’s been in our bins.”

“Any luck?”

Mike held up a burlap sack and grinned. “Yup.”

Oh my god.

Erwin smiled at him and came down the porch, Mike meeting him halfway and giving him a kiss. Levi’s eyebrows shot up. Maybe this town wasn’t as behind the times as he thought it was going to be, not that it erased the awkwardness of watching two people he didn’t know smooch a mere two feet away from him.

Mike nodded at Levi when they parted. “Who’s this?”

“Oh! Mike, Levi. Levi, Mike,” Erwin said, pointing between the two in way of introduction. “This is the person I mentioned the other night.”

“The only living relative you could find to take over that Kenny guy’s estate?”

“The very same.”

Mike gave Levi a quick once-over. “Nice scarf.”

Levi narrowed his eyes at Mike. Was this fucker making fun of him?

“I can’t pull one off.”

“They make him look like Freddy from Scooby-Doo,” Erwin added jovially.

Mike nudged him in the leg with the dead raccoon. “Looks good on you, though,” he said to Levi.

“It does,” Erwin agreed.

“Thanks?”

Levi’s mind was reeling. This was all so fucking weird. If it wasn’t for the still steady throbbing of his wrist he would swear he was having an out-of-body experience.

“Should we get back to looking at the house?” Erwin asked.

“Actually,” Levi began, “I’m kind of tired. From the drive.” And the headache that was developing from this entire situation. “Is there a place I can stay?”

Levi had looked for lodging beforehand. The closest place was thirty minutes out of town, some motel that probably should have been demolished in the 80s. He was hoping that there was something else, though, a local secret of sorts, not listed on the internet.

“We don’t have anything in town,” Mike said.

Fucking great.

“There’s that motel down the road,” Erwin chimed in, “but it’s a half an hour drive one way. To make that trip in the morning and then back at night after all the days of hard work you’ll be doing…”

Levi shrugged. “It is what it is.”

“Nonsense.” He paused for a moment. “I know. Why don’t you stay with us?”

That caught Levi off-guard. “Uh,” he articulated.

“What do you think?” Erwin asked Mike.

“Sure. We’ve got the spare room.”

“Wonderful.” Erwin clapped his hands together, effectively ending the short, very one-sided conversation. “So what would you like for dinner?”

They both looked at Levi expectantly.

“Uh,” he repeated.

“What about this?” Mike asked, holding up the sack.

“There’s an idea. I haven’t had coon in a while,” Erwin said.

Wait, were they serious? How did you even eat a raccoon? Could you even eat one? Levi was beginning to feel sick just thinking about it.

“Soup or saute?” Mike asked.

“It’s still fairly early. I think there’s time for it to stew.”

Levi was in a daze as he followed them back to Erwin’s truck. They all climbed in, sandwiching Levi in the middle with the dead raccoon, and then they were bumping back down the road, Levi wondering what sort of fucked up Twilight Zone shit he had just gotten himself into.

[rueur]

Morning Pages #25 (02.01.2017)

Thursday 2nd Feb - 9:56 a.m.

Second-year undergraduate registration opens today at 10 a.m., so in a couple of minutes I’ll be taking a long break from today’s pages, just to sort out the last day of my timetable. I am crossing my fingers for a Thursday afternoon tutorial time, because then Thursdays won’t have a massive five hour break in the middle of the day where I can’t really do anything. I mean, if I had someone to share that break with it might not feel so long, but what are the chances of organising something like that anyway? Ikaros is working too, all morning on Thursdays now, and he gets back home around half past two, at which point my break is pretty much over anyway. Actually, I don’t know if I really want to see him much for a while.

We had a pretty upsetting phone call last night. I couldn’t help but remember what my Lunar Zodiac horoscope warned me about this year: that I give too much power to words, so much so that I allow them to impact my relationships. But Ikaros said something callous. Wait, it’s thirty seconds to 10 a.m. now, I feel like I should stop typing and refresh this open tab. Ten seconds to 10 a.m.! I am playing with fire here. Okay, all sorted. I managed to bring my five hour break down to a three hour break! Who knows, I’ll probably just end up watching The Lord of The Rings trilogy four times over during the semester. I’ll watch one movie every Thursday afternoon or something.

Anyway, the phone call last night. I remember writing yesterday morning that Ikaros has been insistent lately that I stay over at his again, and twice I’ve said no to him about this. Twice this week. I’ve been feeling a little guilty about that, a little bad because he’s obviously keen to spend time with me and because of the nature of our relationship now it’s just not possible to spend that much time over at his house. My parents can’t know that I’m over at his house as well. Anyway, I raised the question of whether or not we could organise something for this weekend, EVEN THOUGH I am really actually quite excited to see Evan this weekend, if he gets in touch with me. He hasn’t gotten in touch with me since Sunday and I don’t know, I’m just nervous he’s not as excited about me as I am about him. I just can’t forget somebody who I danced with for four hours that easily, I just...I feel like we had some real chemistry. And we have so much in common! And he seems so much more caring than Ikaros does, and for goodness sake so much more caring than Ben. Essentially, I feel like if anything happens with Evan he’ll be perhaps the first KIND boyfriend I’ve had since Marcus and Marcus and I were literal children. I just want him to call me today, I feel like I’ve been checking my phone nervously for the past couple of days now.

The phone call with Ikaros, anyway (I seem to say anyway a lot during these pages. I’ve noticed both ‘anyway’, and ‘honestly’ I say quite a bit), was extremely callous. I tried not even compromising with him, just straight up giving him what he’s been pestering me for. And he says ‘I’ll have to check with Ronny to see if she’s free’. Then I asked what he’s going to do if Ronny’s free, and he said that he’d be spending time with Ronny instead. Bastard. He makes such a big deal about spending time with me during the week, but if one of his friends is free during the weekend he’d rather see them. I offered him the opportunity to see me (an opportunity which is becoming increasingly rare and dangerous) and he acts like it’s nothing. THEN he has the gall to say that he’s lonely too (after I tell him that I’d been feeling lonely last night), and that he’s sure it’s harder for me. ALL THE TIME, honestly since our first break-up in October, he’s made sure to enunciate how aware he is that certain shared situations are HARDER ON ME THAN THEY ARE ON HIM. How the hell does he even know what I’m feeling in relation to himself? He’s just assuming that I’m wrought up over everything rather than think that maybe I’m totally fine. Maybe I was lonely, but I was at least still excited, still hopeful. I was really looking forward to going to bed last night at a reasonable hour and waking up at a reasonable hour, and I DID. I was really looking forward to fixing my Thursday gap and I DID. I was really looking forward to getting a start on reading Daphne du Maurier’s ‘The Progress of Julius’ and I started it last night and so far, it’s a beautiful book that I’ve been excited to read since I bought it before Christmas at a secondhand bookshop in Northcote. I’m a third year undergraduate university student, for crying out loud. I have so much to look forward to in my future. My life is very much on the right track! And he has the gall to say that he knows I’m worse off than he was over one lonely night? Fuck him. Fuck him for belittling me and my achievements all the time. I try to be there for him, I try to make him feel loved because I love him and I care for him, but fuck if he’s never really, truly appreciated that. I have had to deal with his consistent dismissal of me for so long, and every time I try to draw away from him he suddenly amps up the affection and the attention that he shows me and tries to act like he’s reformed, like ‘this is the way things are going to be from now on, my love’, FUCK HIM.

I’m hurt, I am. I have been for quite some time, and it seems like the longer I’ve known him and the longer I’ve known him intimately at that, the more opportunities I’ve given him and he’s given himself, to make a total ass of himself. He’s callous and ignorant and honestly, very arrogant in regards to his exterior. On the inside, he’s sensitive and insecure and ashamed of who he is, but god forbid anybody see that side of him. In fact, every time I try and draw it out and assist him in bettering himself in the ways that he most definitely cares about (because they affect him so so much), he gets mad at me. He gets infinitesimally mad at me, makes me feel like a villain rather than a friend or ally, and turns it into a massive argument that totally shuns the whole idea of him bettering himself. Nothing ever gets done, really.

I just want the companionship of somebody who just shares my priorities, someone with empathy too; somebody who considers how their actions and how their words can impact the lives of others. This doesn’t come naturally to Ikaros. The way he phrases his apologies sometimes, it feels like he’s justifying what he’s said rather than apologising. It also often feels like he’s walking on eggshells around me at certain points, regarding certain topics. It’s infuriating, being treated like I’m a bomb that’s about to go off or something. It’s rather sexist too. He has said some questionable things about women in the past. Every time I’ve tried to talk to him about his grandfather leaving his grandmother a couple of years back now, he always tries to justify his grandfather’s hedonistic behaviour. And every time his grandmother calls their home in her loneliness (on a daily basis), Connor and Paul and Ikaros all make fun of her and speak about her like she’s a burden. They’re all the same and I saw it months ago but I never let myself actually see it till now. They use women.

Paul got back together with Anna, the poor woman he broke up with over text a couple of months ago? The woman who’s never been married and thus, in her now middle age, would like to marry him. The woman who Paul rejected on the sole basis that she asks him to go out with her all the time, and Paul is a massive stickler with his money, like ridiculously conservative with his money, like he asks his own casual-working and part-time working sons to pay bills on their own so that all of his earnings can go towards paying off HIS mortgage so that he can sell HIS house when he is good and ready with zero regard for when his sons want to move out (which is NOW for Connor, and Ikaros...I have no clue). I’ve spoken to Ikaros about moving out with me and there were periods of time where he was all for it and then there were periods of time where he starts using his dad as an excuse, perhaps. That’s what I always half-considered, in my mind. I’ve never articulated this before. He says that the day he moves out is the day his dad will decide to just sell the house entirely because what good is an empty room to him in a three-bedroom house. And then Connor will be homeless and it’ll all be Ikaros’ fault for moving out with me. I always thought it was ridiculous, secretly, I mean I never saw that becoming a reality. If Ikaros moved out, Paul would not allow his first-born son to become homeless. Connor’s already been on the street once before, of his own volition, and he has no intention of going back, nor do I think Paul wants to send him there himself. Ikaros is just not driven enough to move out with me. That’s the reality of it. I need to stop seeing him, I do. He doesn’t care about me, nor really does he care about himself in the ways that it counts. He’s so caught up in working out now, he’s using it all as a massive distraction to stop him from bettering himself in the ways that count. I don’t need to list them here, all I will say is that I have to get my books back from him soon. I tried, okay. I’ve been trying for so long now, I’m just tired at this point and I feel like I’ve been neglecting myself in trying to empower him.

Evan was on Facebook a couple of minutes ago. I’m actually disgusted with myself. Why am I developing such strong, hopeful feelings for somebody else so quickly? I mean, actually, this hasn’t really been quick at all. Ikaros and I have been disintegrating since October, really. This has just been the most drawn out break-up ever. We’re both just afraid, I think. I can’t think about this anymore, I’ve been too honest about this for one day at least. That, and I’m nearing the end of my third page and I have no desire to keep typing anyway. I’ll just leave it at this. I feel something with Evan. I hope he calls me today. I really really hope he does, because I want to see him this weekend.

[womanonthe111]

Moira's Meeting

 It was the day conference that was held at the old Rising Hill School in Islington, as a celebration of International Women’s Day that really decided me. Women from all over England came, with all shades of political opinion, although dungarees and silver earrings (with the women’s symbol on)  were  in predominance.

I wore my tight black leather trousers and Patrick’s old leather biking jacket, which was a mistake, because I looked trendy Islington, instead of a committed feminist. Little Seamus was in the baby sling round my neck, at least he gave me some authenticity.

I wondered round the main hall looking at the stalls and buying books. There were workshops in the afternoon, and I had to choose one out of the many that I fancied. I decided on A.1.D . (Artificial Insemination by Donor) because of my job as a midwife. I imagined a group of women, ageing primagravidas, desperately unhappy in their marriages, because their husbands had low sperm counts and were unable to produce the goods. Of course I was completely wrong, not being knowledgeable in feminist circles. I was to find myself in a seminar geared to women, mostly lesbians, who would rather not touch a real man.

I’d been in the room about ten minutes before I realised I was probably the only women in the room who’d had sex with a man recently.  Seamus was getting heavy and I nearly dropped him, trying to   lay him flat on one of the desks, without waking him or showing anyone the all too evident wedding ring on my finger.

I sat at the back and covered my left hand with my right.  I felt thrilled to be there, listening to the   talk of these women, who seemed so confident and articulate. I remembered I’d made love that morning and hadn’t had a wash, because the old geyser in the bathroom was broken again.  I crossed my legs in case anyone could smell the tell-tale signs. It seemed like treason in that room somehow.

After the workshops, we all collected in the big hall and listened to some powerful speeches. I decided then and there to form a women’s group in Islington, and learn to be like these women.

When I got home, I immediately put an ad in Spare Rib, suggesting that anyone who wanted to form a conscious raising group, and lived in the area, should come to my house at 8pm on Wednesday of the next month

I was terrified. I was frightened nobody would turn up, and panicked in case they did. I bought some plastic cups and some wine, and worried in case I should buy some food

I put some dungarees on this time, with a tee shirt and running shoes. Seamus, bless him, behaved well He went to bed at seven and didn’t wake up.

Patrick, my husband, was difficult. Feminists frightened the hell out of him. He said all the usual crap, about them being ugly and no man wanting to fuck them. He screamed about it being his house, and threatened to bring some real men back, to have a party. Eventually he went to the pub across the road and got drunk as usual.

I’d invited some friends to come, as well as the women who had replied to the ad. I suppose they were moral support for me; as it turned out they nearly sabotaged the whole thing.

Eight o'clock came and the first one arrived. Jill was about forty, middle class, with Wallis clothes on. She wasn’t the type of woman I was expecting. Making her feel comfortable and giving her a glass of wine, I didn’t notice the rest of the troops  arriving.

Suddenly the house was full. There were about thirty women in the room; what the hell was I going to do with them all and my mind went blank. As always in large groups, any confidence I might have mustered disintegrated. A large abrasive type asked who had arranged the meeting and what we proposed to do. I sat up on my knees from where I’d been hiding next to the big green armchair.

 "I think we ought to go round the room and tell each other who we are, and what we expect from the group.“ This was a ruse I’d learnt in Paris. I used to teach English to  French business  men,  and when  I couldn’t think of  anything to do with them , I’d go round the class room with this game. It usually got me through to the bell.

"I’ll start” I said, feeling myself going red. “My name is Moira, I’m thirty, a midwife,” (nods of approval) thank god I don’t work in Pro .Nuptia. “I went to the conference at Rising Hill School a few weeks ago, and …er….l decided I wanted to join a women’s group. I put an advert in Spare Rib and….er….here we are. I never mentioned my married state. I didn’t have the courage to admit so gross an error. I smiled quickly and looked at my neighbour apprehensively. .

She was a short stocky woman, about twenty eight, with short hair and think heavy shoes. She was wearing army and navy dungarees (not the stylish ones from Top Shop that I’d put on) and she had the regulation women’s symbol, silver earrings, hanging from her ears.

"I’m a radical lesbian feminist, I’m on the social, and run a workshop on self-defense in Hackney Tech. I’m interested in radical action to achieve a separatist class free society.” No smile. I don’t know how everybody else looked, but my eyes were definitely on the floor. This was the stuff that frightened Patrick. Thank god I had taken my wedding ring off.

Next was Sarah, a friend, who’d had her hair done at the ridiculously expensive   hairdressers at the corner of Chapel market that afternoon, especially for the meeting.  We’d met in hospital, after   the birth of our children. We used to talk to each other in the day room, sitting on rubber rings to avoid the pain of our stitches. We smoked cigarettes to the annoyance of the staff, who suspected we’d be bad mothers.   She was the perfect middle class wife, of an up and coming   executive.

Coming was probably the right word, as he’d been coming with his secretary during the whole of Sarah’s pregnancy.

The day after Sarah’s baby was born, in their seventh year of marriage, he came to visit her in hospital. “I think it’s a good idea if you go to your parents’ house in Yorkshire, when you leave the hospital Sarah.” “Why darling I want to be at home with you. Don’t worry about meals and the flat or anything…..I’ll manage, the baby sleeps most of the time, she won’t affect you.

"Well it’s not that exactly…lt’s just that I want the flat” he said looking at the woman in the next bed. “ Well, …you might as well know. I’d like Michelle to move in; we’re in love with each other actually.  You’ll be much better at home with your mother; she’ll help you with the baby and things. You don’t want to stay in that big flat by yourself do you? “

Anyway Sarah the docile middle class wife, who’d been to a Swiss finishing school, to learn to be a perfect  mate, was eventually  to become the  most radical lesbian feminist  I’d ever met.

Rebecca followed Sarah, she was another friend I’d persuaded to come along, even though I knew she didn’t approve of feminists. She was a single parent, mother of two daughters . She designed clothes and made them up for a living. If anyone should hate men it was Rebecca.  Both the fathers of her children had been shits. The second one hadn’t even the courage to outstay the actual labour. He went out of the room, telling the midwife he was going for a packet of fags, and Rebecca never saw him again. She wanted to go back to college to learn fashion designing, but she couldn’t get a grant. She would have managed on the dole, being very clever with money, but social security wouldn’t give her any, if she was a full time student. She wouldn’t be eligible for work they said. So she worked from home, doing the market at Camden Lock. She took the kids with her most of the time. She took them and the clothes there and back in a taxi. She couldn’t afford a car or a babysitter. She was a real survivor and she never complained.

“I don’t believe in feminism” was her opening gambit.     I knew she felt like this , but I’d told her to keep her mouth shut. "I survive very well with two small children. It’s useless to blame men all the time.  Women can survive on their own, if they so choose, without them, I do.  I’m a fashion   designer and I love my job.

Oh God! I thought.  I shouldn’t have persuaded  her to come along.  I’m sure fashion was a big no   in feminist circles. She went on and on for ages, about how she was an independent ‘lady’, but would like eventually to settle down with the right man, who hopefully was involved in art in some way. "That’s how we all feel, deep down if only we would admit it” she concluded. I looked at the floor again.

Mary was a catholic girl from Liverpool. Leaving Oxford, after three brilliant terms, she’d gone to India on the hippy trail, but came back after having caught hepatitis. After a few casual jobs, she decided on high class prostitution in Mayfair. Being an insomniac, she said it suited her well, as it was night work.

 Bernadotte was a tall strong statuesque woman, the only black woman in the group.  She came from Guyana, but had been brought up by left wing veggies, who lived in an alternative commune in   Somerset.

She said she had been completely fucked up by her foster parents, who were both counsellors in transactional analysis at the local therapy center.

 Everybody had a story to tell except Jane. When it was her turn to speak, she blushed bright red from her neck upwards and muttered something inaudible into her armpit.

The group was whittled down in the succeeding weeks. About twelve of us used to meet regularly once a week then once a fortnight  over  a period of a few  years.

We’ve all gone our separate ways now, as groups do. Jill joined the staff of a feminist magazine.  Lucy went to live off the coast of Denmark on some all-woman island.  Bernadette had a baby from   a travelling Australian who never suspected he’d been used as a walking sperm bank.  She chose him for his physical strength and beauty, and then gave him an intelligence test from a form she’d stolen from the psychology department of the North London Polytechnic. She waved him off at the airport, on his journey back to the kangaroos.   Rebecca caught pelvic inflammatory disease, looking for the right man. Her body reacted so violently to the constant infections in a terrible way. Her skin, all over her body, erupted in septic postures, which took months to heal. She still has the scars today, ugly marks all over face and body, marring that beautiful milky white skin, that used to  be one of her startling features.  Mary entered a convent of the Sisters of Mercy somewhere in   Mayo, on the west  coast of Ireland.  Jane went mad and now lives in a private clinic   in Wales.

The radical lesbian feminist never came to the group again, but I saw her once more, on the never to be March for international woman’s day a year   later.

Sarah and i had just crept out of a taxi (creeping because it should have been a bus) with the two push chairs ready to join the march at Hyde Park Corner. Not having the regulation short hair and silver jewelry, the policeman took us for housewives and began being polite. Once he found out what we wanted, he told us curtly, that the March had been cancelled, due to the unlawful    assembly statute rushed through parliament that week.

He then began a tirade against us and the kids for being perverts and bad mothers, even going so far as to shake the pushchairs, waking Seamus. Suddenly in the midst of his abuse and Seamus crying, our friendly neighborhood radical lesbian feminist , came tearing round the corner. She hurled an empty Guinness bottle at the policeman, which just managed to knock his helmet off,     and then turned off Park Lane into a side street screaming obscenities at him. We thanked the policeman very politely as he picked up his helmet and fumbled with his walky-talky.   Smiling at   each other we turned the pushchairs round and started to look for the bus to Islington.