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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

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Okay well then!!!! I am very glad and excited to share my most recent idea I had while rereading Yeti Hunting again!! And the new Incubus one too!! They're almost exactly the same idea, just different flavors I suppose. Also Joe is trans in both the ideas but that's less to do with the ideas themself and more to do with just me projecting on him sgfjgsjfhsjdh

Okay so it's like a reverse au so Stern is some kind of cryptid, but as far as Barclay knows they're just two good human friends (but maybe they wanna be a little more than friends...). And then one day Joseph goes into heat and tells Barclay he's sick to try to keep him away, but Barclay being the sweetest man alive goes to his house with fresh soup to take care of him and Joe seems really panicked about Bar being there and tries to make him leave but he is CLEARLY unwell and Barclay is very stubborn when it comes to helping people he cares about and so he plants himself down on the couch and says he's not leaving until Joe tells him what's wrong and Stern tries to hold onto his human form but it's taking too much focus and energy and whoops Barclay finds out his friend not human and currently in distress and so horny it hurts and if he can help his friend and fuck him at the same time, well then that's just a win all around (bonus points if at the end Barclay is kinda sad because he thinks Joe just needed somone to fuck him, not nessacarry Barclay, but Joe frantically assures him that he is SUPER into him and if it were anyone else he would have kicked them the hell out and probably skipped town bc he couldn't trust anyone else with a secret like this).

Or!! (This is where the incubus part comes in) Joe is an incubus and currently hiding out in his human disguise at the Amnesty lodge and it's going fine for a while, but then he starts talking to and getting to know the really hot chef. And they slowly start growing closer and closer. And maybe in this world, the power an Incubus gets from sex depends just as much on their desires as it does the human's. And this has never been an issue for Stern before, but now he's falling for Barclay and wants him and no one else so he's getting less and less energy from his encounters and Barclay is worried about him because he doesn't seem like himself anymore. Almost as if he's... dulled? When Barclay looks at him the blue of his eyes seem muted and his general aura seems... gray. And it all comes to ahead when Joe finally stops insisting he's fine and after dinner one night he asks if he can speak to Barclay privately, and he comes clean about everything and Barclay, while a little shocked, rolls with it very well and cups Joe's face in his hands and kisses him softly and it like,,, you should have come to me sooner, I'd do anything for you,,, and yeah it's really tender,,,,

Okay that's it I'm sorry it's so long and probably incoherent. I tried to use at least little formatting to make it better but it's a tumblr mobile ask, I'm not sure even the new paragraphs will translate over. The general idea is that they're close friends and Stern is Not Human and Barclay finds out under less than ideal circumstances :3 I know these are far from original or unique but I just wanted to share my ideas with you bc you're the inspiration for a good 70% of my private writings, but if you like them enough and ever feel like doing something with them that'd be cool ;3

Here you go! I went with scenario one. Content Note: some “mating” talk and mild subdrop at the end (which is, of course, taken care of)

The two canvas bags are ready to burst. Barclay peers into them, contemplating the addition of another box of tea, in case Joseph doesn’t like the other two. Mama was cagey when he asked, he doesn’t know what’s ailing the other man, only that he’s sick.

Joseph manages Amnesty Lodge, where Barclays’ been a cook for the last six months. Barclay was initially wary of him; his cosmopolitan bearing and clean-cut appearance is so out of place in the rustic mountain town of Kepler that the logical explanation is he’s one of those city types who fell on hard times and got stuck here.

It took less than forty-eight hours for him to prove Barclay wrong. Polite and polished, efficient and stunningly good in a crisis, Joseph handles the day to day chaos of the lodge while Mama, the owner, took care of the big picture stuff. His friendly greetings and consistent compliments about Barclays cooking gradually turned to afternoons spent at a table with his work so they could talk during lulls in business.

When Joseph leaned against the counter, sleeves rolled up, laughing as he helped Barclay tidy the kitchen, the cook rushed headlong into his crush and never looked back. He regularly dreams of blue eyes and a movie-star face, finds his day doesn’t really start until Joseph pokes his head in to say good morning.

He’s been without that greeting for two days now. Joseph never misses work, and his sudden absence worried Barclay enough that he checked with Mama to be sure the manager was okay.

“Joe’s fine big fella, just under the weather is all.”

The one time Barclay got sick, Joseph brought him tea and soup himself, checked in on him every hour, and--if Barclay’s fever addled brain is to be trusted--fluffed his pillows. It’s the least Barclay can do to drop off snacks and be sure his friend is okay.

It’s a short drive to cabin Joseph calls home; he used to live at the Lodge, but as it got more crowded, he moved to his own space so those who needed a cheap, safe place to stay could have one.

His knock on the door is answered by a brisk, “Who is it?”

“Barclay. I, uh, I brought you a get-well gift.”

Joseph opens the door to the cabin and to an entire new universe of fantasies. His normally slicked-back hair falls, relaxed, across his forehead, his loosely tied blue robe shows a tantalizing V of skin, and the dreamy-sleepy expression makes his face even more kissable.

“Hi.” Joseph takes a step forward, taking the bags and bringing his face achingly close to Barclays’. Then he freezes, reversing into the house, “I, um, it was very sweet of you to bring all this. But you need to go.” He takes another step back, then doubles over with a groan.

Barclay hurries across the threshold, setting the bags on the floor and steadying him over to the couch.

“Fuck, do you need me to get you like a heat pack, or a puke bucket?”

“No, no I just need to lay down, and for you to g-” he shudders, curling in on himself and tipping sideways.

“Joseph, you’re really sick, I’m not gonna just leave you here. I mean, fuck, what if it’s your appendix or something?” He sits down next to the shaking man, rubbing his back comfortingly.

“It’s not, I promise. Oh lord” he whines, looks at Barclay with frantic eyes, “I hope you can keep a secret.”

“Of course I can. Whatever I can do to help, I want to.”

“Careful with those promises, big guy.” The nickname comes out in a growl as Joseph stands, undoing his wristwatch.

“Oh FUCK!” Barclay scrambles back, almost falling over the arm of the couch.

There’s a monster where Joseph just was. Years ago Barclay saw a Maned Wolf in a zoo, and he’d swear that’s what he’s looking at now were it not for several glaring issues. First, it’s standing comfortably on two legs. It’s paws are more like hands, able to hold the watch and adjust the collar of its shirt. And he’s never seen a wolf, maned or otherwise, with spines down its back and a whip-like tail.

The creature runs a clawed hand through the fur at the top of it’s head, the way Joseph does when he’s nervous, “So. I can’t tell you everything, at least not right now. What I can tell you is that this is the form I was born into, somewhere far away from earth.”

“Okay.” Barclays brain grinds like a broken ice machine as a familiar voice speaks to him from a fanged mouth.

“I, um, I’m what humans call a Chupacabra. To answer the usual questions: no, I’ve never been to Puerto Rico. No, I don’t eat goats. And no, I’m not going to eat you.”

“Okay.” His heart is still racing, but not from fear, which is the most confusing was this could have gone.

Pointed ears flick, worried, “Are you in shock?”

“Kinda, yeah.” He nods as Joseph sits next to him with a heavy sigh.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to find out this way. I took the next few days off to avoid this exact scenario. I figured I wouldn’t see you, but forgot how thoughtful and caring you are.” Claws gently stroke Barclays hair, “my wonderful Barclay.”

He’s about to bring his hand up, cup those strange fingers to his cheek and whisper “always”, when Joseph pulls away.

“I, I’m sorry. Again. I always get too handsy when I’m in heat. That’s the second worst side-effect, after the fact that being in my disguise is untenable when I’m in the thick of it. It’s like wearing a wet, wool sweater made of nausea.”

“....Hold on, you had to take time off work because you’re horny?”

“Almost. Heat doesn’t come that often for me, which means whenever it happens, it’s intense. I have a hard time eating or sleeping, I can’t focus, and I spend most of the week masturbating. Which is not as fun as it sounds; I’m not even at the height of the damn thing and last night I humped a pillow on the kitchen floor while dinner reheated.”

Barclay groans, tries to hide it when the ears swivel his way, “Uh, guess I’m glad I brought you lots of food so you remember to eat. Shoulda, uh, put some lube or something in there as well, huh?”

Joseph chuckles, “My nose tells me you put molasses cookies in there, so I’ll let it slide.”

“There anything else I can do to help?”

“Well…” he shakes his head, “never mind, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Do what?”

“My heat is more manageable when I have a partner. Fucking someone relieves things more effectively than masturbation does. But I can’t-”

“I can help with that.” The offer is out before his brain catches up with his mouth.

“Barclay, my kind have a very, um, involved mode of, um, well, I guess you foreplay. As, as much as I’d love for you to be my mate” he winces, “see, that’s what I mean. I say things like that, most of them not even possible given the fact you and I can’t reproduce.”

“Uh, does it help if I say hearing you call me that is really hot?”

Blue eyes widen, and a tail traces up Barclays leg, “Only if you mean it.”

“I do.”

A narrow, long tongue flicks into the air, “In that case, big guy, how about we have a little planning session over dinner?”

-------------------------------------------------

Barclay parks in the driveway, next to Josephs’ sedan. He heads past the house and down a short slope to a creek, the twilight sky casting the forest in eerie grey-blue. There’s a tire swing leftover from a previous resident, and he idly pushes it back and forth as he waits for the game to start.

“It’s like hide and seek” Joseph wipes his mouth, cleans cookie crumbs from the table, “We start outside, move inside, and you go as long as you can without me catching you. After all, I want a mate who can hold his own.”

He stuffs his hands in his jacket pocket to warm them. A yip bounces out from the trees behind him. When he turns, he quickly spots glinting eyes and bared fangs hidden in the undergrowth.

Sprinting towards the cabin, he realizes Joseph laid a trap for him from the start; by asking him to begin at the creek, he’s forcing him to run uphill to safety, slowing him down. He lets his lizard-brain, concerned only with the fact that something dangerous is chasing him, take over and drive his legs as fast as they’ll go. The back door is locked, he double-checked that on the way down, so he doesn’t waste his time trying it, races to the front of the cabin and slams the door shut just as something huge rounds the corner after him.

The nob jiggles, his pursuer testing the lock and discovering the thrown deadbolt. Barclay uses those few seconds to secure the windows on the first floor, throws his jacket down into the cellar as a failsafe, and bolts up to the bedroom. His hammering heart insists that locking that door is not enough, so he crawls into the closet and shuts himself up among the meticulously organized shirts and slacks. It’s not enough space for him to stand, so he tucks his knees to his chest and waits.

“What happens if I, like, completely outsmart you.”

A toothy smile, “I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you.”

Each of the downstairs windows rattle in turn. Then the scratching starts, claws on wood coming closer with each breath. Joseph is climbing the wall up to the bedroom window that Barclay knows for a motherfucking fact he did not secure.

A shuff as the window slides open, the cryptid landing with remarkable stealth on the bedroom floor. Barclay tracks him by the light coming under the closet door, his mouth covered so his breathing won’t give him away. The shadow pauses, sniffs, and then the bedroom door opens and shuts. Barclay’s not moving until he hears the front door do the same.

Just as his legs start to protest being smushed up against his chest, the door reopens. Snuffling signals Joseph closing in, and an instant later the only light coming in is from the far ends of the door. Slowly, his last line of defense rolls to the right, revealing the creature crouching on the other side.

“Not a bad effort, big guy. You actually confused me for a minute with the scent trail of your coat downstairs.” Joseph reaches for him and Barclay, remembering that he’s not supposed to give up until he’s pinned, leans away.

“That’s how my mate wants to play?”

“J-just following your instructions, babe.”

An intrigued purr, “I guess you are. All the more reason you’re the perfect partner for me.”

The words Barclays dreamed of hearing for months distract from the claws closing around his ankles. He lets out an undignified yelp when Joseph pulls his legs straight out and drags him out of the closet. Once he’s free of the forest of clothing, the cryptid picks him up and drops him on the bed. He moans and Joseph snickers, joining him on the bedspread.

“Fuck, Joseph, no one’s ever been able to do that before and it’s so, so fucking hot.” He arches his back and shifts his limbs to help Joseph undress him.

“It’s because you’re the perfect size; big and strong, large enough to give me a decent cuddle when I’m human, but still small enough to be an easily subdued mate.” He gets the humans’ jeans and boxers off, hesitates, and then tosses them on the floor with a pained expression, “I’ll fold those later.”

“Gonna hold you to that. Also, wanna point out that it wasn’t that easy to subdue me.”

Joseph nuzzles his cheek, claws caressing his thighs, “Barclay, I was jogging while you were sprinting.”

“You coulda caught me right awaAAy ohwhatthefuck.” Tingling heat glides down his throat as Joseph licks a stripe along the skin, “fuck, it, it feels like the time I tried hot wax.”

The cryptid sits up slightly to look at him, “Is that a...good thing?”

“Fuck yeah. I really fucking liked it but it was fucking murder with the chest hair.”

Joseph runs his claws through the hair in question, “I like it.”

“I know, I saw you eyeing me that one time I used the springs at the lodge.”

“You can’t prove anything.” Joseph leans back down, curling his tongue around Barclays left nipple. The sensation makes him buck his hips, which Joseph correctly takes as a signal for more. He moves to the other side, takes his time teasing it and licking down the sensitive center of Barclays chest. Noses his stomach, nips his sides, and slides the alien heat of his tongue into the crease of his thighs.

“Y’know I, ohfuck, I assumed from all that talk yesterday you’d get right to fucking me.”

Joseph kisses the inside of one thigh, “I, um, I thought about it, almost ripped your jeans to shreds and took you on the floor. But I wanted to be sure you were turned on. You’re not just a warm body, Barclay. You’re my mate. That means your pleasure matters as much as mine.” He licks up Barclays’ cock, hardened from rubbing against the soft fur of his belly, and sighs, “and what a mate.”

“Fuck” he squeezes his eyes closed because if we watches that mouth saying everything he wants to hear in between sucking his dick, he’ll cum in ten seconds flat.

A final lick to the tip and then Joseph hops off the bed, “Did you prep the way I told you?”

“Uhhuh.”

“Good.” Joseph returns, sets several items he can’t see by his feet, “that’ll make things easier. First things first” he produces a cock cage, sliding it into place, “these are a few things I smuggled over from my original home. This is enchanted, so it can go on an erect cock but still prevent the wearer from cumming until it’s removed.”

“That’s just cruel, babe.” He sits up on his elbows to kiss Josephs snout, earning him a pleased yip.

“If you cum too fast, I won’t be able to properly breed you.” He winces again, “sorry, I sound like one of Indrids romance novels.”

“Again, gorgeous, I find it really fucking hot.”

The spines on Joseph’s back ripple, “You think I’m gorgeous? Like this?”

“I do. Also kinda scary, but in a hot way.” Now it’s his turn to cringe, “see? I sound like cheap porn written by an eighth grader when I’m horny. The way you sound is fine.”

Joseph lovebites his ear, then retrieves the other two items from the end of the bed.

“And how does this look, big guy?”

“Like it’s either going to kill me or make me cum like a dozen times.” He furrows his brow at the strap-on. It’s narrower than the average human dick, with a pointed, slightly up-curved tip. What’s worrying him are the spikes.

The entire shaft is coated in short protrusions. They don’t end in points, thank god, but if they’re at all stiff this is going to be miserable.

“Here” Joseph waves him over, “touch it.” He guides his fingers along one side and the spines bend fluidly under his touch, and now all he wants to know is how they feel inside him. Joseph also moans, bucking his hips so the toy slides along Barclays palm.

“It’s, ohlord, also enchanted so that the wearer feels it as an extension of their body and can cum with it. Also, please decide in the next thirty seconds whether you want to be on your back or your stomach.” Amber pre-cum drips down Barclay’s fingers.

“Stomach is better for meWHOAH, ohfuck, okay we’re doing this.” Now flipped on his belly, he raises his ass. The cryptid kneads it appreciatively before holding it open and sliding his cock in with once, graceful thrust.

He bottoms out with a groan, which is more articulate than Barclay is managing to be as the spines rub and glide inside him, finding every patch of nerves, every angle to drag against in just the right way. Joseph hauls him onto his knees and then he’s off, growls and yips filling the as he fucks him. Barclay only just registers the bed banging into the wall so forcefully the headboard is cracking when claws sink into his hips and Joseph pulls him all the way onto his cock and pulses into him.

“Holy fuck that was fast.”

“I, I didn’t jack off once today. Didn’t want to waste it, wanted to save it all for my perfect mate.” He’s thrusting again, not as hard but twice as fast, “shit, you feel so good, big guy, please tell me Mama okayed your time off for tomorrow.”

“Wh-why are we talkingAHnnn, about this now?”

Hot breath tickles his ear, “Because now that I know what’s like to cum in you, I don’t plan on cumming anywhere else for the next day and a half.”

“Ohfuckme” Barclay groans happily into the pillows as Joseph empties into him, cries out when his tail whips across his calf.

“Shit, did that hurt?”

“No, no it felt good, fucking-A babe every fucking part of you is amazing.”

The cryptid whines, pleased, and wiggles his hips, giving Barclay an idea.

“That’s, uh, that’s why I want you for my mate, because you’re so fucking goo-mmph” his face presses harder into the pillows as Joseph pins his shoulders down and fucks into him, snarling “yes” over and over again. When he finishes this time he hunches over, nipping Barclay’ shoulders and neck.

“You catch on quick, big guy.”

“Thanks, babe. Uh, are we gonna switch it up at any point or am I staying like this until tomorrow night?”

“No, we can fuck however we want. After” a fuzzy hand rubs circles on Barclay’s abdomen, “I’ve cum in you enough times that I can feel it from out here.”

Barclay moans, tightening around him as his hips snap once more, already imagining being full and fucked out. Maybe it’ll take all night. He’ll be limp if it does, but right now nothing sounds better than melting into the bed while Joseph fucks his ass like it belongs to him.

After forty-five minutes, his cock is aching, his mind holds only thoughts of how good it feels to do as Joseph tells him, and he’s been cum in so many times that wet, obscene sounds accompany the cryptids thrusts. Said sounds pale in comparison to Josephs’ voice, which is spinning increasingly impossible scenarios the longer they’re in bed.

“I hope they take after you.” Joseph murmurs.

Barclay just manages to turn his head, “Who?”

A muzzle playfully nudges his cheek, “Our kids.”

His heart seizes and shakes at the words; they both know that’s not what will happen. Joseph warned him he might say things like this, said he could tell him to knock it off if need be.

“Maybe they’ll, ahnn, they’ll have big, beautiful brown eyes and bigger hearts, just like you.”

He doesn’t want him to stop. Every thrust hits deeper, every point where their skin meets buzzes brighter when he talks like this.

“H-hope at least one looks like you, blue eyes.”

A guttural whine, tingling heat as Joseph laps tenderly at the back of his neck, “We’ll just have to see, usually we’re born in threes so, soOH, oh I’m close, shitshit”

“That’s it babe, fill me up, c’mon, c’mon I want it so bad, Joseph, baby, please.”

There’s a howltrill as cum spurts into him, Joseph panting as he smooths his hand around Barclays side.

“There, that’s done it.”

Barclay whimpers as he pulls out, his mind and body pulled tight, certain that if he doesn’t cum soon he’ll propose marriage instead and that’ll be a fucking disaster.

Joseph carefully rolls him over and unlocks the cage, “Do you want to cum?”

“More than anything. Oh!” he’s unprepared for Joseph to sink down on his cock, “oh fuck, yeah, wanna cum so bad babe please, I’ll be so good, be such a good mate if you just let me cum in y-fuuuck” A trio of sensations levels him as he climaxes; his vision whites out, his hips jerk more violently than they ever have before, and a line of cum drips down his leg.

Somewhere far away, Joseph says, “I think we’ve earned a break.”

He nods, body limp as the cryptid climbs off him. Then he’s falling, spinning helplessly down in a pit of realizations.

Joseph didn’t mean any of those things he said. His friend needed a mate and Barclay, lovesick fool he is, was eager for a chance to play pretend that he didn’t think about what would happen when the game ended. Even if Joseph keeps him here through tomorrow, the next time they meet at the Lodge he’ll act like nothing happened.

Fuck, Barclay didn’t even get to kiss him during all this, and now he’ll never get the chance, never, nevernever-

“Shit, I should have put a towel or a spare blanket down. Now I’ll have to strip the bed before I can--Barclay? Oh, oh baby, what’s wrong?” A hand pets his face and he turns away from it, refusing to open his eyes. Joseph takes his hand instead, “it’s okay, I’m here, whatever you need I’ll-”

“Don’t. Don’t say that. You can’t give me what I need, it isn’t your fault I, I know I’m not really your partner and I, I…” he sniffles, wipes his palm under his eye.

“Barclay, look at me please.”

Reluctantly, he opens his eyes just in time to see Joseph dip down and kiss him. It’s awkward, their mouths not made to fit together, but he savors it all the same because it’s Joseph, his Joseph, kissing him like he hoped he would.

“My heat can make me say some ridiculous things. What it can’t do is make me feel affection where none exists. In fact, the reason I wasn’t able to keep my disguise on yesterday is because being near you meant being near the mate I wanted most in the world. I, um, suspected you might share my feelings, but I didn’t want our first interaction as boyfriend to be me asking if you wanted to spend a day or so with me while I was in a sex haze. But then you offered to help, and I wanted it so badly that I barreled ahead without making sure you understood that this was me declaring my feelings. I’m sorry.”

Barclay climbs into his lap, not caring about the mess he makes in the process. The cryptid laughs, hugs him close.

“I, I shoulda said something sooner too. Not that I regret how we spent our first date.” He kisses Josephs chin.

“Me neither, though I don’t think it quite counts.” He rubs their foreheads together, “can your boyfriend take you out to dinner on Friday?”

Barclay grins, looks into loving, blue eyes, “Yeah, he can.”

#agent stern/barclay #sternclay #reverse!AU #reverse AU #monster march

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xanderwithanx · 3 years

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Chloe does night-time diary posts on HER tumblr, so I'm going to start doing them here, sometimes. It would be nice if you read it, but, please, don't feel obligated! This is more for me to write.

(I got tired of my normal journal, I guess. It's full of bad poetry anyway. Besides, where's the thrill of losing anonymity in a physical notebook?)

I've basically been asleep and depressed for several days, because I had withdrawal after not being able to get my adhd meds. But, I got it today, and DID THINGS. (This is SO much better than before!)

Today, I went to a small café or restaurant (focused on tea) called Alice's Teacup that was Alice in Wonderland themed! My long-standing obsession with Alice in Wonderland knows no bounds. It was a really cute place. I got pumpkin pancakes, and some really good iced tea. Like... REALLY good iced tea.

Still, it seemed like the entire place was geared towards having a pot of tea and snacks with your friends, which left me a bit lonely. The person I asked couldn't come, and by the time I heard back, I was more than halfway there. Still, I read Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead and watched Monty Python on my phone, so I still had a good time!

I dressed pretty eccentricly and effeminately all day, but, with my facial hair, I was ALWAYS coded as a man, even by people on the street! Pastels, a stupid hat, a crop top, and facial hair was a winning combination.

On my way, I was stopped by some guys soliciting for charity. I don't make a habit of stopping for strangers on the streets of Manhattan. What if it's a scam? What if I'm being pressured to buy something? What if it's a strange political rant? But, I had already taken my earbuds off, I wasn't in a hurry, and I'm terminally polite. The first guy said he liked my energy, which seemed to come from a genuine place, because I liked his too!

They were asking for donations for a breast cancer charity, the United Breast Cancer Foundation. After a discussion, it seems like the charity helps pay medical debt, medical bills, and other practical needs, which is much better than *some* others I could name. I regretted not being able to give their minimum there, as it was pretty high, but told them I'd give what I could when I got on the website.

I... did not. Money is tight, because I'm bad and irresponsible with money, even though this is more than a worthy cause. I didn't NEED to go to that tea place, and I don't NEED to spend so much money on food. Sure, I can justify it: I wanted to go to that place for so long, and it was near the college anyway! But, if I was responsible with money, you KNOW my friends direct fundraising drives would go first, worthy charities second. Still, I feel bad about it.

Then, I went to the college library, to get books to start my thesis research. I have literally been unable to go to the college itself, aside from getting my ID, so this was great! There just wasn't a reason. It was... very empty. I went to the library stacks, which was deathly quiet and deeply haunted by the old books. I half expected something to pop out at me, as I turned the stacks, but I wasn't even paranoid or anxious. It was like I was in something else's house. I was welcome, but on thin ice.

I picked up an irrelevant psychology book on the "schizophrenia problem" from the 1930s, out of morbid fascination, and quickly put it down when it threatened to shatter in my hands.

Some students walked past (which was a suprise in those monastic basement library stacks), and I added something to their conversation, in a totally natural and casual way. But, omg the poor girls, I made them jump! Luckily, I'm the least threatening person on earth, and we laughed it off.

After a lot of hunting, I got 5 out of my 10 books (for the most part)! (The rest are, sadly, online. I like to read physical copies.) Strangely, I only came in with a list to get 3 books out of 6.

Most of the books I got are about art in the AIDS crisis, which is the core of my thesis, I think, all with different value. One about exhibitions, one about the larger narrative of those gay artists, and another contradicting the larger narrative.

I also got a book about "Art and Homosexuality". Just, the parallel construction of both "art" and "homosexuality" across cultures and times, from earliest history to the modern age. It wasn't on my initial list, but I'm really excited to read it.

Finally, I got a book called "The Thief, the Cross and the Wheel", about the pain and spectacle of punishment in Medieval and Renaissance European art. I'm mainly interested in Italian Renaissance art of the crucifixion--and its masochism--for the second quarter of my thesis.

The rest are online, and Should mostly focus on Bacchus in the Italian Renaissance (especially through art) and what I call the art of "gay liberation", concurrent with the AIDS crisis (i.e. The Cockettes). These two topics make up the last half of my thesis.

I'm SO excited to get started!!

I even got to cross the college's sky-bridges! (The college is a few skyscrapers.) Still, the loneliness and novelty were kind of the same thought. Imagine if I had been here before COVID, or, if COVID hadn't happened. Who would I have been able to meet? What would the college buildings mean to me? Because, for now, they're just buildings. But, I got to see the street from above, and that was amazing!

Just walking through New York--the Upper East Side--on a cool, sunny day was beautiful. It takes 20-30 minutes to get from my place to the college (and the tea place), but it was great being able to listen to my music (a lot of They Might Be Giants on the playlist today) and see the city. You know, people, super cool old architecture being pushed out by terrible new architecture, and pigeons.

Oh my god, the pigeons. I took pictures, but none of them are good. I kept thinking about how pigeons and doves are functionally the same. We domesticated pigeons, which is why they're here, and no one is stopping to notice them? Even the ones that were splotched with pure white, like doves? There's only so many pigeons you can take until they're just white noise and a nuisance, I know, so don't think I'm blaming anyone! But it's so hard to look away from these quirky little birds.

Also, at one point my walk, I was vaping very strategicly. The mental task of searching through library stacks will do that to you, when you already have an addiction to nicotine. I made sure no one was around, and no one would be affected. I stopped on a corner next to an old, ornate Catholic church while the traffic light changed, and I almost juuled right next to a priest! I'm glad I stopped. I don't believe in Hell, but, I would have walked down there myself had I vaped at a priest. Still, the church advertised itself as LGBT+ friendly, so maybe they aren't so trigger happy on the damnation. Either way, I DIDN'T vape at a priest today, which is good.

Once I got back, I spent a few hours watching things with my amazing girlfriend Chloe, who you may know here as @cisphobiccommunistopinions. She is so beautiful, and I love her more every day, every time I see her. God, it's almost been 5 years!

I just wish I could spend more time with her. She's in Virginia, and I'm in New York. Like she said to me earlier, I'm flighty at the best of times, and, with my lack of object permanence for the digital world, I find myself not giving her the attention I deserve, or, the full connection I long to have with her. We used to live together. Luckily, someday we will live together again! All these problems won't be forever, and we can live together again.

We watched a lot of things, but we're pretty deep into Serial Experiments Lain right now. It's a postmodern anime from the 90s, and, wow, do I have no idea what's going on in it. It's about the internet, and potentially schizophrenia as well. However, I'm obsessed! One day I'll be able to crack this artistic code, and it's unreality, thematic knots, and double-meanings. I will probably understand it better on the second watch. I don't see myself in Lain, but I see my 14 year old self in her, when I had just developed schizophrenia. Her cyberpunk fate seems like it's railroaded towards tragedy, but I want to save her, even if it's silly and irrational.

I told Chloe that I was scared about spilling apple cider on my library books, and she referred to it as "The Great Apple Juice Disaster of September 11, 2021." To which I said that it was the second worst thing to happen in New York on that date. It was funnier if you were there, and also were in my brain at the time.

Anyway, tomorrow I'm meeting some online acquaintances from the college's "Queer Srudent Union" at a Japanese Culture Fair in a park. (I do not know which park.) It emphasizes "fun"! I don't know them very well, but they're friends with the one person I know irl, so it should be good.

Tomorrow night, I should Probably head downtown to check out a gallery show by MFA (masters of fine arts) students at Hunter! After all, I was in a group project with one of them, and they're absolutely brilliant. I missed the Thursday gallery opening by a landslide, because of the aforementioned lack of adhd meds and Being Asleep, which I infinitely regret. I could have listened to all the artists and curators talk about their art and exhibition! Maybe I could have even talked with the artists and curators. But, it's best for me to go sooner, rather than later, so I don't forget. And, I REALLY want to go.

It's "This dialogue which happened to be present in all other dialogues" at the Alyssa Davis Gallery. From the email I got, "Each of these works observes a threshold of transition. [...] [These] intimations [are] of a frame of mind shared by the artists. These works perform, record, access, engage, document, and entrap, embalming the viewer within the gallery space."

sgp is a really good artist, by the way. Their work is just next-level. Be sure to check out their art, if you have a chance. Let me link their portfolio: https://saragracepowell.com/

(I highly suspect spg and the other member of my group project ghosted me afterwards, but I understand. I was really in over my head. Still, they're both really sweet and kind people, don't get it twisted!)

I ALSO really want to see The Cake Boys. They're performing at the 3 Dollar Bill in Brooklyn on September 26th. (It's only $15!) They're the only all drag king collective in NYC! (Are... there any Other all drag king collectives out there?) Other than the fact that a lot of them are trans or nonbinary, which I love, this show is a totally non-judgmental competition for over 40 drag kings! I've heard their shows are hilarious and unique.

I just have to wait until I have $15 to spare. I... didn't eat dinner tonight, because I'm irresponsible with my money and don't want to ask my parents for money... again. Don't worry, it's literally fine, and I don't make a habit of doing this!

Which reminds me! For my birthday, my parents gave me a gift card to Lush! I'm definitely going to Lush tomorrow, which will be great. I would describe my personality as "Lush store employee acosting you about a bath bomb demonstration", so I'll fit right in.

I also made a transition timeline, to show how much I've changed on testosterone. For the better, I hope! I really believe I'm becoming, if not Have Become, the man I was always meant to be. It's so strange to look back at who I was not too long ago, and to know the absolute pain I was in. It's also strange, in a good way, to see the man looking back at me in the selfies. I'm so much happier now! Much more candid in my pictures, at least. But, I know that I'm so much more comfortable as myself than I was even 6 months ago. It's strange. Sometimes I think to myself, "I don't pass yet; I'm not who I Need To Be yet." Then, I look at my selfie from today, and... I'm THERE. My mind just hasn't caught up with my amazing, natural, normal reality.

The end. I have to get ready for bed, (even though I could be partying on a Saturday night in the city. I'm lame.) If you actually read this, I am kissing you on the mouth right now. I hope it made you calm down tonight, like a terrible bedtime story. If you didn't read it and just skipped to the end, don't worry: you did the rational thing.

#long post #diary entry

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anotherkindofmindpod · 4 years

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I just read both interviews, Part 1 and 2 of Jann Wenner's Rolling Stone Interview of 1971. It sounds as though John and the other Beatles DID have a realistic gripe about Paul taking over, directly projects, handing out musical assignments, etc., etc. and I'm sure he had the ego by this point to match! I would probably have become irritated by Paul as well. And no hints or even reading between the lines of John being emotionally hurt by Paul with regard to loss of intimate relationship.

Hello and thanks for writing in, Listener!First, I’d like to point out that we haven’t reached the Lennon Remembers portion of our Break-up Series, and will dig into it much more thoroughly in a future episode (stay tuned!).

Presumably this ask isn’t in response to anything we’ve actually discussed on the podcast, in which case I feel that I should explain that what we do on our show is reevaluate conventional wisdom and contextualize public statements within the realities of actual behaviors. In other words, not taking things like Lennon Remembers at face value is AKOM 101.

If what we were doing on this podcast was as easy as simply reading the most infamous interview John Lennon ever gave (the one upon which the conventional story of the Beatles break-up is founded), it wouldn’t be much of a podcast or a very groundbreaking analysis, would it?

Second, I’d like to mention that listeners/readers can hear the entire (3.5 hours!) interview on You Tube. Very evocative with audio! Wenner’s editing in the print versions often make John sound more coherent and less vitriolic towards everyone but Paul than the audio reveals (i.e. the shitty comments about Paul are always printed but the ones about George, Brian, etc often aren’t).

Next, we’d like to state the usual disclaimer (which everyone is probably already aware of but is a good reminder anyway!): John later disavowed this interview. In fact, he was so angry at Jann Wenner for publishing it as a book, it apparently created a permanent rift between the two. You may choose to view/value this interview as John being super honest, but please consider that in this allegedly “truthful” book/interview, John:

claims George is musically/creatively inferior to John

declares the McCartney album “rubbish”

reveals his belief that he and Paul’s confidence levels are intrinsically, inversely related to one another

says George was so aggressively rude to Yoko that John wished he would’ve punched him over it

proudly admits that he “maneuvered” the other Beatles to get Klein in as manager

bemoans the fact that everyone says Brian Epstein was so great “just because he’s dead” and that Brian cheated and robbed the Beatles

makes derisive comments about “fags” at least five times in the printed version alone and calls Lee Eastman “a wasp Jew, man, that’s the worst kind of person on earth.”

admits to lying in interviews and deflects accountability on the basis of being “just a guy” who mouths off about stuff

As for Paul, John is admittedly all over the place, swinging fairly wildly from nostalgic (reminiscing about having “a good mind like Paul’s” on his side and co-writing with their “fingers in each others’ pies”) to bitter (”Paul thought he was the Beatles,” etc).

As for the accusations that Paul was tyrannical, we’ve addressed these before (particularly in Break-Up Episode 2). Just as Geoff Emerick, Michael Lindsay Hogg and Doug Sulpy (and even John, when he was feeling more generous) have articulated, we too feel that Paul stepped up and led the band in a time of need and deserves unequivocal credit for that. We believe much of the subsequent complaining from the other Beatles is akin to the kind of griping one directs at a colleague who gets promoted (“who died and made you king!?”) and while some of it was likely based in genuine irritation at Paul’s communication style, much of it was probably petty. This is why we are looking at the situation from all angles, to get a better sense of what is reality v. spin. In any case, we don’t dispute that there were power struggles within the band.Any reader is free to choose John’s side in any/all of these battles. But our overall takeaway from this particular interview is that John was unloading a lot of pent-up rage; against teachers, fans, Aunt Mimi, his mum, critics, Paul and anyone else who didn’t properly recognize his genius and praise him for it.

“That’s what makes me what I am. It comes out, the people I meet have to say it themselves, because we get fuckin’ kicked. Nobody says it, so you scream it: look at me, a genius, for fuck’s sake! What do I have to do to prove to you son-of-a-bitches what I can do, and who I am? Don’t dare, don’t you dare fuckin’ dare criticize my work like that. You, who don’t know anything about it.”

Based solely on Lennon Remembers, one could reasonably believe John didn’t like anyone but Yoko and Allen Klein (of whom he also speaks with reverence). Fortunately, John gave a million other interviews in his lifetime, so even though this one is given a disproportionate amount of weight (probably b/c it is the most inflammatory and “raw”) we can compare John’s comments, behavior and art over a broad spectrum of time. We feel this gives us a better, more thorough and more authentic portrait of John’s POV. This is a good idea with ANY public figure, but especially important in John’s case, since, by his own admission he has a tendency to say what he feels in the moment and doesn’t necessarily stand by his own statements afterwards.

John in 1976: “I get a bit absolute in my statements. [laughs] Which sometimes get me into deep water, and sometimes into the shallow.”

To your other point, our overall impressions about John’s feelings regarding “loss of an intimate relationship” with Paul certainly do not hinge on Lennon Remembers, nor have we ever suggested they do. In fact, LR is commonly used as the primary proof-point by McCartney detractors and Lennon/McCartney deniers (those who willfully and sometimes passionately ignore and/or deny the deep love between John and Paul, as described by John and Paul themselves and everyone in their lives) that Paul was a tyrant who destroyed the Beatles with his massive ego.

We have never disputed the existence of Paul’s ego. But consider this: John refers to himself as an egomaniac REPEATEDLY throughout this interview. Why is there a loud faction of people who consider John being an avowed egomaniac perfectly reasonable (sexy even!), but find it unforgivable that Paul is the same way? Consider these excerpts from Lennon Remembers:

Do you think you will record together again?

I record with Yoko, but I’m not going to record with another egomaniac. There is only room for one on an album nowadays.

How would you assess George’s talents?

[…] Maybe it was hard for him sometimes, because Paul and I are such egomaniacs, but that’s the game.

Who do you think is good today? In any arts…

The unfortunate thing about egomaniacs is that they don’t take much attention of other people’s work. I only assess people on whether they are a danger to me or my work or not.

[Tangential]

But the Beatles were artists, and all artists have fucking’ big egos, whether they like to admit it or not […]

Yes, John rants repeatedly about Paul’s ego during this interview- while he simultaneously declares his own genius and artistic superiority over others. We find it mind-boggling how this irony continues to evade some people, but there it is.

George Harrison has repeatedly complained about BOTH John & Paul’s egos (and their shared ego IRT “Lennon/McCartney”), but again, this is often ignored in favor of singling out Paul as the villain.

Furthermore, it’s helpful to bear in mind when consuming Lennon Remembers that John and Yoko had received training in media-messaging by this point and were very savvy at Public Relations. We know from people close to them that they drafted their stories in advance before offering them to the public. This fact, combined with Lennon’s tendency to “mouth off” means we have the right and responsibility to question and examine John’s claims rather than simply parrot them mindlessly.

If you are genuinely interested in our take, we recommend our Break-Up Series. We think you will find it well-researched and thoughtful, even if you disagree with some of our conclusions.

Or if you simply dislike McCartney and find him “irritating,” that’s fine too. Not everyone has to like everyone!

For additional discussion/analysis of Lennon Remembers, I recommend any of several threads on Erin Torkelson Weber’s site, the Historian and the Beatles.

the flawed lens of Lennon v. McCartney

Jann Wenner’s bio

how Rolling Stone shaped the breakup

discussing a podcast appearance

Thank you so much for this ask! It is always a pleasure to share information. Have a wonderful day.-The AKOM crew

#Lennon Remembers #John and Paul #jann wenner #anotherkindofmind podcast #Beatles #HAPPY VALENTINES DAY

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 6 years

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Kara raging at Lena and Alex. Because honestly? She gets blamed for everything. She kept herself secret to protect Lena and Alex is kinda responsible for her being Supergirl in the first place. "If making Kryptonite is okay if it's for a good cause then why not me keeping my identity secret? Killing my aunt, Alex, was okay as long as it was for a good cause, but I'm a monster if I so much as twist someone's arm too hard!"

Kara ignores the knock on her door.

Alex lets herself in anyway.

She meets Kara’s unhappy gaze, takes in the suit she still wears, and offers a grim smile. “Didn’t go well, then.”

“She hates me,” her sister mutters thickly. Her eyes are dry but her voice is thick from recent tears. Alex joins her on the couch, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. Kara leans against her, shrugging helplessly. “She didn’t even let me explain, Alex.”

A moment later, Kara pulls away, vibrating with anxious energy. “What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t tell her! She made Kryptonite for Rao’s sake. Which, was I supposed to thank her for making the one substance on Earth designed to hurt me?”

Kara gestures sharply, then falls still, waiting for Alex to chime in. When she doesn’t, Kara’s eyes narrow.

“What?”

“You don’t agree with her, do you?” Kara accuses. Again, Alex hesitates. “Alex!”

“Maybe I’m not the right person to weigh in on this,” Alex hedges.

“You’re my sister! You’re the only one who gets to weigh in!”

Alex shrugs. “What do you want me to say Kara? Last year I had Kryptonite armor! And it worked!”

Kara scoffs, shoving to her feet to start pacing. “Unbelievable.”

“Kara…”

“You defended me in the dark forest. So, what– were you lying?”

“You’re my sister, Kara, of course I defended you. And I didn’t lie– it is personal. I just don’t know if there’s one right or wrong answer here.”

“No,” Kara argues, “there is, because Kryptonite– it kills me!”

Alex pushes to her feet. “I understand that, believe me. But just a few years ago you were training under Kryptonite radiation, sparring with me. It helped you learn how to fight. And since then, we’ve faced multiple threats who could only be stopped by Kryptonite–”

“Yeah, I remember!” Kara cuts in sharply, voice lifting in rage. “I was there! I was there when they pumped my aunt full of Kryptonite to torture information out of her. I heard her scream for hours as it burned her from the inside. I remember when you put a kryptonite blade through her heart!”

Kara’s shout rings in the silence that follows. Alex freezes– she can hardly breathe for the reminder of the heartache she caused Kara. For the loss that nearly drove them apart. She thought they’d moved past it– days of working towards a new normal and countless nights spent talking for hours, trying to heal. Maybe they did heal. But Kara will never forget.

“It’s not just a tool, anymore,” Kara continues, reduced to a whisper. “It never was. It was the DEO’s reminder that I answer to them. My reminder that they could end me if I ever stepped out of line.”

Alex shakes her head. “No, it was never–”

“And now my best friend has found a way to not only make it, but make it more deadly, and all you have to say is that maybe she has a point?”

The air suddenly feels thick around Alex, pressing close against her. Her throat locks tight, and she has to swallow several times before she can summon her voice.

“Kara, I–”

“You should go,” Kara says flatly. She folds her arms around herself, suddenly small under her cape.

“Kara.”

“Either you go, or I will.”

Alex presses her eyes shut. She nods. “Okay.”

She collects her purse and lets herself out without another word.

Kara knocks her fist against the door and freezes between a grimace and a giggle when it splinters with a crack. It opens a moment later to an angry Lena, who glares at her warily.

“Sorry,” she says. “I’ll– I’ll replace that.”

She staggers inside, belatedly spotting the gun in Lena’s hand. Oops. She turns to offer reassurance that she isn’t going to hurt anyone, but loses track of that thought when she nearly unbalances.

“Are you drunk?” Lena asks. Her brow knits with reluctant curiosity. “Your metabolism–”

“I can with Aldebaran Rum,” Kara tells her stoutly, “and guess what? The corner market carries it now. We’re coming up in the world.”

Lena’s jaw tightens. “You should leave.”

“No, you should leave.” Kara pauses. “Actually, don’t. You should sit. We need– to talk.”

“I’m not interested in talking.”

“Then don’t! You can listen, like I did when you called me fucked up.” Kara waits, but Lena doesn’t move. “I’ll yell at you standing up if you want.” Lena still doesn’t move. “Okay, fine. I’m fighting with my best friend and my sister– why would this be even a little easy?”

She paces unsteadily, wading through murky, sluggish thoughts. Her cheeks feel a little numb but this time it’s not from smiling. It just is. It’d be easy to drink just a little more, and let that numbness spread to the anguish roiling around in her guts.

But not yet.

She needs that anger.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” Kara declares.

Lena only rolls her eyes. “Yes, we’ve already established that humans are unaccustomed to the pain of near-invincibility–”

“No!” Kara shouts, whirling to face her. “No, you made me sit there and take everything you said. Now it’s your turn to listen.”

Lena’s eyes widen, then narrow. But she remains silent.

Good.

“You don’t know what it’s like, to have to hide who you are. You project all of yourself into the world, for better or worse, and whether they love you or hate you, it’s you. Do you remember what you said to me? The day you met Supergirl? You said, we can’t live in fear. Well, I do! I live in fear. Every day, I’m afraid that someone will learn who I am and use it against me– that they’ll use it to target my friends, my family! I’ve been so afraid that my best friend will find out, and that I’ll lose her too.”

Lena scoffs. “You distrust me that much–”

“Oh, don’t even!– try to lecture me about distrust!”

“I have always been open with you–”

“Yeah, I remember! You were so proud to show off your fancy new alien detection device last year.” Lena freezes, and Kara feels a small trill of triumph. “Yeah, don’t think I’ve forgotten how gleefully you explained it to me, completely unconcerned that it would ruin lives. So long as you turned a profit, you were happy.”

Green eyes sour at the accusation, but she doesn’t say a word. Suddenly, Kara deflates, losing some of her righteous anger as hurt crept in around the edges.

“Did you?” she asks, plaintively. “Did you really think I’d forget that my best friend created a device that would allow businesses to deny me service? To kick me out of my apartment and leave me homeless?”

This time, Lena has the decency to look away, cheeks reddening under the criticism. Instead of fueling her fury, Kara blinks away tears.

“What would you have done? If I hadn’t damaged it? If it confirmed I was an alien?” Kara’s throat closes painfully. “Would you have turned me out right then and there? Would you have requested a different reporter the next time CatCo asked for an interview?”

She blinks, and the wavy figure of her best friend sharpens as her tears fall free. Maybe she imagines it, but she swears Lena’s eyes are shining too.

“Would you have ended the best friendship I’ve ever had, before it even started?”

Lena inhales sharply. “Maybe, I could swallow the secret identity easier,” she grates out, “if it didn’t mean that my best friend treated me like a villain for daring to create the one tool that was able to stop a Worldkiller.”

But Kara shakes her head no. “You didn’t make the Kryptonite for Reign, Lena. We both know it.”

For a long moment, the truth hangs heavy between them. Quiet lingers, before Lena finally takes a shaking breath.

“The threat is there, Kara,” she says. “Whether you want to admit it or not. Less than a year ago, Superman was ready to kill, even if it meant leveling the city to do it. And you– you threw Cat Grant off a balcony. Maybe you weren’t in control, but you still did it. Are we just supposed to sit back and pray you’ll take mercy on us the next time it happens?”

Kara stares at her. Then she laughs. It starts slow, bubbling in her throat before spilling out of her. Soon she’s doubled over, guffawing so hard her sides start to ache. Lena looks truly unsettled, and only that serves to curb her mirth.

“Sorry,” Kara wheezes, still grinning as she wipes her eyes. She flops onto Lena’s couch, breathless. “Whew!”

Lena swallows. “Good to know you find that part of my concerns hilarious.”

“Oh, pfft. Don’t be stupid. What’s funny is that both those examples you mentioned? The two times Supers have been a danger to humanity in the decades since my cousin started protecting the planet?”

She pauses, meeting Lena’s gaze as a fresh giggle tickles her throat.

“Was because of kryptonite! Because Maxwell Lord tried making Kryptonite, screwed up, and turned me into a monster, and because Queen Bitch Rhea waved some silver Kryptonite to turn my cousin into her personal attack dog. And your solution is to add more Kryptonite to the mix. That’s what’s funny.”

Instead of looking cowed, Lena’s jaw tightens. “And why did Max need to make Kryptonite in the first place?”

Kara sobers in an instant. The face of her aunt flashes across her vision, green-veined and twisted in agony. Then Reign’s face, chased by the phantom image of the dark priestess.

“Are you and Superman the only Kryptonians left?” Lena asks.

Lena knows they’re not. She knows about Argo, has given them the means to survive.

“Are you and Superman even the only Kryptonians on Earth?”

A lump forms in Kara’s throat. “No.”

“And can you guarantee that none of the other Kryptonians on Earth or elsewhere will never try to harm humanity?”

She doesn’t think they will. Those on Earth have spent decades hiding, even when Clark became Superman and their refuge planet fell under attack by alien threats. But she can’t guarantee it. She can’t.

“No.”

“Then I have a responsibility to ensure humanity has the means to defend themselves if the need arises,” Lena tells her. Her voice is calm, devoid of the emotion that gave Kara hope they could salvage even a small fragment of their friendship. “If you can’t understand that, then… I don’t think there’s anything left to say.”

Kara stares at her. Her heart throbs in her chest, like the space around it suddenly turned hollow. Words– the very thing she’s supposed to be good at– fail her, leaving her throat painfully dry.

Finally, she slowly pushes to her feet, struggling not to stagger as she pulls her puse onto her shoulder. She licks suddenly dry lips, grits her teeth, and meets Lena’s gaze.

“Fine,” she says stiffly. “Nice knowing you.”

Kara pushes past her, and escapes into the safety of the night.

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