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keelywolfe · 5 years

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FIC: An Equal Serving (baon)

Summary: Coffee isn't exactly an inalienable right, but it should be.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Prejudice Against Monsters, Angst, Comfort

Notes: Erm, this wasn’t on the list of things I was supposed to try to work on today. It came to me at like, 2 am when I couldn’t sleep, and thus, I needed it. So here we are.

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

Read it here!

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The bell above the door jangled cheerily as Edge pushed it open, stepping inside The Beanery. As always, there were plenty of patrons, either sitting at a table with their coffees or waiting patiently in the line, staring at their phones as they shuffled forward until it was time to place their order.

In a corner at one of the booths, Stretch was settled in like he’d been there for hours. He probably had. The chalkboard had a new time recorded on it, a sign he’d ordered some horrific monstrosity when he’d arrived. Around his open laptop was a scattering of cups around him, a sign that he’d already drunk more than his fair share caffeine for the day. That was another good indicator that they were busy; normally Debbie would have cleared them away for Stretch in an attempt to help him hide exactly how many he’d had.

Considering that Stretch usually paid with their shared debit card, it was less than successful, but Edge was both exasperated and amused by the attempt.

He’d been exasperated enough when Stretch texted him he was going to the coffee shop. After what had happened with Jeff, Edge was leery of Stretch going into Ebott on his own, at least until things settled down again. Not that he’d ever demand anything of the sort from him; for one, it was a surefire way to get his obstinate love to do the exact opposite and his twitter would likely be filled with pointed comments about where in the city he was going that day, all by himself like a big boy, and if anyone in particular doesn’t like it, he could tell him where to stuff it up their pelvic cavity.

Not that Edge knew from experience.

That he stopped at The Beanery a couple times a week himself made his argument even thinner and wouldn’t, couldn’t, tell Stretch where he was allowed to go.

But oh, there were days he wished that brilliance of Stretch’s included a healthier amount of self-preservation. Even with the local news siding firmly with Monsters, to the point there had been protesters outside the Ebott Police Station, there was enough online malcontents spreading falsehoods to be worrisome. It wasn’t strictly his job to keep track of anti-monster blogs and online rumors, there was an entire department at the Embassy dedicated to it, but Edge got reports on it daily.

It was a constant balancing act and his husband always somehow managed to be in the middle of it.

The line was moving steadily forward, and Edge was nearly at the counter when it happened. A Human stopped by Stretch’s table, a tall male without a cup or a pastry in hand. Stretch smiled up at him automatically and Edge couldn’t hear what was said, but that smile faded quickly, his eye lights shrinking.

Afraid or angry, most likely a combination of both, and the visceral reminder he’d had outside the Chinese restaurant that Stretch was more than capable of handling himself was a distant thought as Edge automatically started forward.

Only for Debbie to beat him to it. She all but ran from behind the counter, her blonde ponytail bobbing, and she inserted herself between Stretch and the Human fearlessly.

The Human’s words didn’t carry through the bustling noise of the shop, but Debbie’s did, loud enough to send a hush through the shop. “You need to leave, right now!”

Debbie was perhaps five feet tall, if she was wearing shoes. It was always a point of amusement to see her next to Stretch, the way he had to lean down to hug her while she stood on her toes. Her height didn’t keep her from glaring up at the Man, quivering with all the ferocity her tiny form could contain.

The hush allowed the Human’s next shout to carry, echoing into the silence, as he leaned in too close to her to sneer, “It’s cunts like you keeping the government from sending these things back underground where they belong!”

That started Edge forward again, his own vision tinting to crimson. He nearly lashed out at a light touch on his arm, barely catching himself. But it withdrew quickly, and he turned to see the other barista, Hussain, standing next to him.

“Edge,” he whispered urgently, “don’t get yourself in trouble over that asshole, we all saw how the cops were. Let me back her up.”

“You’re here on a work visa,” Edge hissed back. It was true and he knew it, knew all the workers here, either from his own questions or from Stretch chatting happily about them. He knew Hussain, knew Daniel and Alisha and Jennie, and every one of them knew him, always offered him his usual.

This was not the usual.

Hussain only smiled crookedly. “It expires soon, anyway.”

With that, he walked quickly over to where Debbie was arguing with the Man. He said nothing, only stood at her shoulder glaring, and he wasn’t as tall as Stretch, but he still made for an intimidating presence. All the other baristas quickly joined him, and then a few patrons were standing by them, all of them glaring, allowing Debbie to scold and shoo him back like a stray dog until he finally stormed out the door with a few last snarled insults, the bell jangling in his wake.

The smattering of cheers and claps were incongruous as Debbie walked back to Stretch. Her face was reddened, and she scrabbled a tissue from her apron pocket, wiping away angry tears as she sat herself in the booth with Stretch.

The other baristas returned to the counter, smiling and serving as the line slowly shuffled back into place.

Edge stayed where he was, kept his distance for the moment as he listened.

Debbie took Stretch’s hand gently, squeezing. “You okay, sweetie?”

His smile was tremulous but warm, “yeah, but damn, you didn’t have to do that, deb, he could’ve hurt you!”

She lifted her chin, blue eyes flashing. “This is my shop,” she sniffed, “so I decide who stays and goes. I would have called the police but—"

Stretch’s mouth twisted wryly, “yeah, i’m good on that. well, damn, i can’t even post about this on my twitter; when I say everyone clapped, no one will believe me.”

It was a good attempt, but one thing Edge knew was that Debbie was not easily distracted. She looked at him sadly, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry, Stretch. You’re supposed to be safe here. Safe from bastards like that who think they’re so precious to the world when they’re really a waste of oxygen.”

“i am safe,” Stretch assured her, gently. He squeezed her hand, long bony fingers against her fleshy ones. It would be so easy for her to hurt him; with his HP, it would only take the Intent. “i’m safe as houses, deb.”

The feel of a presence beside him made Edge reluctantly look away to see Hussain joining him again. He gave Edge a thumbs up and a wry smile as he leaned in to whisper loudly, “See, she took care of it. No one messes with the badass coffee mama.”

“I heard that!” Debbie called and the laughter that followed eased the last of the tension.

Before Hussain could step back behind the counter to help the others, Edge said his name, stopping him. “If you’re not interested in leaving Ebott to go back overseas, you may wish to apply at the Embassy. Working there would override the limitations of your visa.”

He blinked, considering, and the hope in his dark eyes was palpable. “You really think they’d hire me?”

Yes. “We accept all sorts of qualified applicants for a variety of positions. Apply. You can use me for a reference.”

With that, he finally gave in to the agitated urge in his soul and went over to his husband. Debbie gave over her seat to him with a murmured greeting, pausing to drop a light kiss atop Stretch’s skull before she hurried back behind the counter to help the others.

“hey, babe,” Stretch said, softly. His pale eye lights were gentle, both his hands taking hold of one of Edge’s and it took him entirely too long to realize Stretch was trying to comfort him. How must he look if Stretch was worried for him? His control was taking a battering lately and Edge inhaled slowly, let it out, and worked to school his expression to impassivity. Whether or not he was successful, it wouldn’t fool Stretch, he knew that, and instead, he tangled their fingers together, his gloved ones sliding alongside those slender, delicate bones.

“Hey, love,” he murmured. He drew their joined hands up to his mouth, brushing a kiss across their knuckles. “Do you want to go home?”

“nah,” Stretch’s grin turned lopsided, “ain’t calling this game on account of a little rain.”

“Is that happening often?” Edge asked, low. He glanced around the shop. No one else was paying them any attention; their focus was on their laptops or their companions. There was another group of Monsters sitting opposite them, a few that he recognized, but it was no surprise that the wretched Human would attack Stretch. He was known, popular on the internet and in the city.

That his husband was a target was not a new thought. It was always a painful one.

“nope, first time.” And at Edge’s silent stare, Stretch sighed, “okay, first time since everything went down with andy. i promise. happy?”

“Not really,” Edge said dryly. He kept his hold on Stretch’s hand. “I’d rather you promise to tell me if it happens again.”

To his surprise, Stretch nodded readily. “okay. and you can put the shock away, i get it. you guys need to know about this stuff. even if i can handle myself and shortcut away, not everyone else can.” He tipped his head towards the other group of Monsters. They were young and if they’d been subdued during the shouting, neither had they left and now they were grinning and chatting happily.

Debbie walking up cut them off from view. She set a plate at Stretch’s elbow with several lemon bars and cup at Edge’s, hot and fragrant. She was away again with a smile and a whirl of her blonde ponytail, back to the counter. Edge freed one hand to take his cup and that first sip was familiar and warming, as was watching Stretch happily eat his lemon bars.

Safe as houses, Stretch claimed, and perhaps it wasn’t entirely true, but they were trying.

-finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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tenacious-clockwork-blog · 7 years

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Alright, you gorgeous fucknuts. I’m gettin’ real sick and tired of seeing and hearing people talk dirty ass shit about cats and how they don’t love their humans. How they view us anthropomorphic folk as nothing more than “slaves”. So I actually acquiesced, came to the dark side, and made a goddamn Tumblr just to post this.

Now, before I go any further... Let me inform you boobs that I am not a cat or a dog person (the keyword here being “or”), as I am a human mommy to both species, and love cats and dogs equally. But since so many of you fucktwats are screeching your goddamn vexatious vocal cords into imbecilic fucklick sentences and typing equally daft shit from your overused and probably sticky keyboards (you know why it’s sticky, you below-the-belt-line-touching noodles), I’m gonna ask you to gather round, shut the fuck up, sit the fuck down (who am I kidding, most of you idgits are sitting on your pretty little asses as you read this), and pay the fuck attention. You can handle that, can’t you? Yes, yes you can, because despite my frivolous, no-ill-intention name calling, you fine ass dolts should read what I’m about to riddle you.

Not that there will be any real riddling involved, rest assured you beautiful fried-brained shitwits. I just felt like saying (and typing) riddle. So, sue me.

Before I can express to you luscious twat monkeys the true awesomeness that is contained within the eight pound frame of my furry feline child, you need to understand a few things about myself first. About a week before my fifteenth birthday, yours truly was half-witted enough to not be wearing a bloody, goddamn seatbelt. You know what happened? A fucking car accident, that’s what happened. You know what happens when you’re not wearing your safety belt and you get into a car accident? Well, for you numbnuts too brain dead from hours of internet surfing to put two and two together, bad shit happens. The bad shit I happened to come face-to-face with, quite mother fucking literally, was the goddamn windshield. Mother fuckin’ OUCH. This shit has fucked me up every minute, of every hour, of every day, of every month, of every year, since. I’m gonna be turning twenty-eight here at the end of March; you bewitching little shitheads can do the math on how many moments of pained fucked-up-ness that is. I’m not your mommy, you did not come out of my womb nor did I adopt you, I’m not gonna hold your Cheeto laced eatin’ hands through this whole fuckin’ post.

To make a ridiculously long story as short as possible for you ravishing thunderfucks, this car accident, that I was monstrously unprepared for, has shot my nerves. For those of you out there who don’t know what nerves are, they’re the wee little bastards in your body that send signals from your brain to the rest of your body. That hairy left nut you just got done touching, that bean you just stopped flicking, that twitch in your eye you try to hide every time some fucknut talks to you before your second cup of coffee - all that shit’s possible (along with a multitude of other things, I’m sure - I’m not a fucking medical professional) because of the signals sent from your brain to your nerves that tell your stunningly gorgeous body to do all sorts of amazing and wondrous things. Nerves also send pain signals to your brain when you do something moronically ill-advised, like trying to pull a sheet of cookies out of the 350ºF (≈176ºC) oven with your barehands. I know, I know - you wanted those delicious discs of gooey sweetness in your rumblin’ belly fuckin’ yesterday, but it’s not worth the shame of having to explain to a medical professional exactly why is it you have second-degree burns on those little love mittens of yours, so grab a bloody oven mitt or some shit before you hurt yourselves further.

For those of you beautiful creatures not in the know, one of the reasons we feel pain is because it’s our body’s way of telling us, “You stupid cockjuggling thundercunt! DON’T. DO. THAT. It could be dangerous or even fatal to us.” Since that centerfold worthy wrinkly brain of yours has no way of knowing that that toe you just accidentally slammed into the corner of your dresser isn’t any real danger to you or it, it’s going to needlessly holler at you while the war cry of your people unexpectedly rips across your vocal cords, informing every creature with able-bodied ears in a ten mile radius of your agonizing affliction.

(If I’m getting any of this medical shit wrong, I apologize. Again, I’m not a medical professional)

Now as I mentioned earlier, the rather massive knock to my noggin that I received after getting full-on facially acquainted with the car’s windshield, fucked up the nerves in my body. While most of you drop dead gorgeous mother fuckers are fortunate enough to only have pain signals sent to your brain when you hurt yourselves, I just so happen to have pain signals that are sent to my brain every moment of every day. The signals are constantly shrieking to my brain, “You’re in pain! You’re in pain! YOU’RE IN PAIN!”, despite the fact that there’s no external or internal damage to my body. This shit never ceases, it never goes away, and there’s no “fixing” it. Oh, that summer breeze that just blew threw your luscious locks? That plump finger your lover just traced down your spine? The weather pressure changing like it’s going out of goddamn style, because you live butts-to-nuts with the Rocky Mountains (oh no, wait... That’s me that lives there), where one day it’s literally 80ºF (≈26ºC) and the next day it’s 32ºF (0ºC) and fucking snowing down some omnipotent being’s dandruff? All of the above can be so appallingly painful for me that I feel it all the way down into my mischief-makin’, yodelin’, bitch ass soul.

Wear your goddamn safety belt, you dazzling fucklicks. It would honestly break my heart if something like this happened to you, or worse.

Now that you have the most basic understanding of my predicament, enter Loki; the eight pound ball of black fluff that came mewling into my undeserving, but incredibly thankful, life three years ago. As many of you are aware, animals are sensitive to the emotions of humans. Loki is no different in this. If anything, he’s not only aware of my every undulating emotion, but of anything related to me in the slightest. I’m unaware if this is simply who he is or if it’s more along the lines that he’s come to some understanding that because something is “wrong” with me (not that there’s anything wrong with people who experience chronic pain), he’s trained himself to become hyperaware of anything Aryka-centric. (In case you delectable lovemuffins couldn’t figure out how to work a connect-the-dot picture in your formative years and are currently tilting your head in confusion, I’m the “Aryka” aforementioned) He has become so hyperaware of me, that the moment I sit up in bed in the morning, he’s at the bedroom door yowling to be let in to check on me. Should I ignore his worried pleas, a little fluffy black paw can be seen under the doorframe moments later, shaking the door to be let in. The second the knob is turned and the door opened, I get an armful of purring eight-pound glossy gossamer fur all up in my barely conscious face, wee little arms wrapped about my stiff and aching neck, cold nose worriedly inspecting me for anything abnormal. Should he deem me “well” (as in, I’m coping with my pain acceptably), he will crawl up onto my shoulders to ride around while I do my morning routine. Should he believe that I am “unwell” (when my pain is spiked and difficult for me to deal with), he will insist I sit down with him so that he may comfort me in the best way he knows.

When I say he insists that I sit down with him, what I really mean is he will huff and glare at me, his ears flicked to the side, tail twitching with annoyance, until I sit my rosy ass-cheeks down. Should I continue to go about my daily business when he deems me “unwell”, I can expect to either get a nip to the neck or even accidentally tripped as he weaves in and out of my legs, attempting to get my attention and keep me from going about my day. In the end, it means a hell of a lot more to him to fawn over me for a short while than it means for me to worry the ever loving daylights out of him and soldier about my day. Plus, I won’t be dealing with a petulant feline for the remainder of the day. Win-mother-fuckin’-win.

To be honest with you, there are many days that my pain is so bad it takes incredible effort to get out of bed to piss, let alone function like a normal human being. On days like this, Loki is even more vigilant in his care of me. Should my neck and shoulders be the main cause of my misery that day, he can be found curled up on my chest purring, nose tucked gently into the crook of my neck as he runs his tiny piddle-paw-toebeans down my cheek continuously in a stroking motion as if to say, “It’s okay, momma. It’s okay. I got you. I’m here for you, it’s okay.” Should my pain not be localized to any one spot, but rather the whole of my body, this wee little furry child of mine knows. He spreads his body out as long as possible to cover the entire length of my torso and starts purring up a storm. Now, if you’re anything like my smart ass of a fiancé (I love you, bumblebee), you’ll jest that he’s simply relishing the fact that I’m in pain. How wrong you are, you fine ass mother fucking shit stains. A simple Google search (or Bing... I don’t judge) will give you links to a multitude of sites that a cat’s purr actually has healing properties to it. It has been scientifically proven that vibrations of different frequencies have various healing effects on the body. Some levels can increase the production of a body’s anti-inflammatory agents, thereby helping to diminish swelling and even joint pain. Other vibration frequencies have been known to help coax bone regeneration and even growth. After doing a quick search myself, it seems that most house cats purr at a frequency of 20 to 150-ish Hertz, though the average is closer to the 25 to 50 Hertz range. It is in the 20 to 50 Hertz range that allows for increases in bone density, the healing of muscles/tendons, and even pain relief. Aside from this, I’m sure many of you are aware that petting your four-legged loved one can also reduce blood pressure, stress levels, and even help to heal infections.

While my furry feline cuddlefucks may not be consciously aware of any of this, some part of him must be (subconsciously) aware that his purring is beneficial to not only himself, but me as well. So what does he do? He plants his fine little ass down on me where I’m hurting the most and goes to town on purring like the end of the world is coming five minutes from yesterday. This is also true for when my stress levels are high and I’m suffocating with anxiety. Loki knows. He will hunt me down and insist on cuddling with me. This often translates into me hugging the ever loving hell out of him as I stain his soft fluff with my tears, and what does he do? Cuddles in closer and purrs with all of his might, licking the tears from my face.

So to all of you out there who say cats don’t care about their humans, I respectfully say,

Fuck. You.

This hopefully informative clash of cuss-filled love has been brought to you by me. Have a fantastic rest of your day, you gorgeous fucklicks.

#cats #animals #pets #love #healing #chronic panic #illness #chronic illness #first post #howdoitumblr #augh #shit i hope i know what i'm doing #nervous

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ebonysheet · 7 years

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Facts about Me

• Hi

• For now you can call me Kaz or Kazumi. It's my internet name and mainly then I'd say I prefer my true name to be a mystery to the world of tumblr.

• I love, many, manyyyy shows and movies and books and games and animes and manga and stories in general. *AGRESSIVELY CLEARING THROAT*

- Kuroshitsuji

- Boku no Hero Academia

- The Vampire Diaries

- The Originals

- Sherlock

- Attack on Titan

- Stranger Things

- Riverdale (both from arcs and show)

- Mhm you bet Harry Potter

- Jessica Jones

- Tokyo Ghoul

- Daredevil

- The Flash

- Owari No Seraph

- Arrow

- Kingdom Hearts

- Legend of Zelda

- ANY CRIME SHOW I SWEAR

- Before I fall

- Arrival

- My Neighbor Totoro

- Pulp Fiction (screwed me up I swear)

- The Outsiders

- Mean Girls (hell yuh)

- The Heathers

- IT (we aren't strangers now are we)

- Assassin's Creed

- Halo

- MANY OTHER THINGs

Okay moving on

• My favorite color can range from blue to red but mostly blue.

• I love chocolate. Point blank.

• I am fully okay with any individual with any sexuality, any gender identity, any opinions, any religions, any part of them that they feel they shouldn't have to hide away from the depths of society. As long as you are respectful of me and know your moral points despite all our hilarious jokes made together about killing our least favorite characters, then we could go on and eat our cotton candy and just... chilllllllaaaaxxxxxx (and eat more chocolate)

• I don't know about you but I freaking love sour, spicy, salty foods—any snack with this intense flavor is also a snack I'm down for. I don't know why. Unless it's like, too much fabulousness for me to handle then yeah, yep I could, I could handle some.

• I don't have a favorite genre of music. I love any type. If my ears like it, if I'm humming along to the tune, if the beat is emotionally tearing me apart, if the glorious souls of the music lords are bestowing upon me the blessing of another song to add to my list you know I'm down for it.

• I love Ciel Phantomhive. He's an adorable handsome little child who needs to be protected and treated with love even though he'll probably order the bastard hottie demon man to kill everyone who touches him.

• I don't hate Elizabeth Midford. She needs to be protected and loved as well. HER LOVe IS GENIUNe OH MA GERSH.

• Let's get this straight. Another nun scene and I'll slap someone.

• Izuku in the first episode of the first season of Boku no Hero Academia is me when it's 12:00 A.M. and I'm contemplating life as I rock myself on a chair and sadistically (if that's even a word) smile at the floor.

• :)

• Touka is beautiful.

• Oh and I forgot about how this post was supposed to be about me. WELP

• I have two dogs, one, a Labrador, Rover, and another one, a red nose pitbull that looks like a skinny teenager with the mind of a three-month old puppy (glaring at King)

• Damn well yes I love my children (dogs)

• If you go on Quotev and search up Kazumithefearless, that's my queue to tell you that that, is my account! I make stories and there are some stories in the making so if you want you could check up on that.

• I know every side to tumblr and do not question me about it.

- Food side of tumblr

- Aesthetic side of Tumblr

- Cute, goals side of Tumblr

- Quotes and Love Poems side of Tumblr

- Science side of Tumblr

- Meme side of Tumblr

- PURE meme side of Tumblr (nope shhh don't ask)

- Emo side of Tumblr

- Anime side of Tumblr

- Manga side of Tumblr (there's a tiny bit of a difference)

- Do not forget the Fandom side of Tumblr

- The celebrity crush side of Tumblr

- The controversial side of Tumblr

- The inspiring side of Tumblr

- The vlog-blog side of Tumblr

- the mish-mashy marshmallow whole of every side of Tumblr stuffed into this one side consisting of everything and anything you can possibly imagine.

- My side. lol I dunno

• I love my family

• I love ramen

• Yeah

• And of course, I love cheese pizza.

Many other facts, I will let you know. XD but enjoy these for now.

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wellmeaningshutin · 7 years

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Short Story #84: Freedom.

Written: 4/2/2017

Frank had a problem that he didn’t know how to deal with: he was an unbearable asshole. It didn’t help that he wasn’t very attractive, either, because, to him, that seemed like the easiest way to solve the problem, people would be more willing to deal with or reason away his shitty behavior, and that would be that. However, he would often complain to people about this, saying, “Its not fair that I have to be treated worse because I’m not attractive, girls should be lining up to hook up with us ugly guys, its just not fair” or “I bet those pretty boys couldn’t, they couldn’t beat me in a fight, I would show them what for, they couldn’t handle me”, and these would often turn into rants that would piss off whoever he was talking about, whether they were close friends, family members, local bar flies, homeless people, cashiers, delivery men, or girls that he had somehow been trying to hit on. When these people would inevitably walk away or tell him to fuck off, he would just accuse them of only hating him because he was ugly, then he would saunter off somewhere, thinking that he was better than all of the people who thought he was an asshole.

The confidence only appeared in public. In private, he hated himself for always seeming to say the wrong thing, for driving people away, a self loathing that would lead to him looking in the mirror and berating his reflection until it had become late enough for him to drink without any guilt about it. He always drank alone, because he was terrified that people would really hate him if they had to deal with a drunk Frank, who he thought was the biggest asshole on the planet.

One night, when Frank was drunkenly dicking around on the internet, he stumbled upon a news story about a celebrity who had recently gotten cancer, and he was surprised by all of the sympathy the man was receiving. The man had been notorious for being a gigantic asshole, the drunken kind that would get into fights, tell fans to fuck off, drive his car into gas stations, etc, and was almost like a soap opera villain, since it seemed like everybody had loved to hate the guy, hating him so much that he would always be relevant, because people had to hear more stories about him being the worst kind of person, just so they could hate him, pat themselves on the back, and think that they were superior to the man whose bad actions they had rewarded, due to their addiction to toxic emotions. And all of the sudden people loved the now-bald-bastard for dying (even if everyone is dying, and can die at any time, it is somehow a sad thing to know a rough estimate of when you’re going to die, instead of having to wander from day to day, not knowing which will be your last), it was like they wanted to hoist him up on their shoulders, parade him through the streets, there was comment article after article, comment after comment, trying to explain why the guy was misunderstood, why he was actually misunderstood and should be treated sympathetically, why society was wrong for trying to shame a man who had been trying to get his life together. The kicker, to Frank, was that the man wasn’t attractive in any way, his face looked like somebody had stepped on it when he was an infant, it was sort of squashed inward, but people still loved him even as he still beat strippers, yelled at random dogs on the streets, pissed on the floors of public restrooms, and was a general dick to waiters, who he also didn’t tip, and Frank took it as a sign, a message from the big man in cloud city.

Frank knew that he should try to get cancer.

Before he decided to do research on his new goal, the thing that would make him likable, he decided to leave a comment one of the articles, which was: “Bald bitch”.

His first attempt at becoming terminally ill was to place his microwave on the floor, remove his pants and underwear, straddle the microwave with his legs, making sure that his scrotum was hugging the glass door that allowed you to watch your meal move around in circles, and he just kind of let it run for a while, hoping the radiation would do its job. The attempt ended with him polishing off a bottle of bum wine, and then falling asleep as he hugged the machine and cried, his tears pooling on the top, because he had to resort to such desperate measures, because the world was such a cold and unloving place for people like him. Not once did he consider changing his personality, trying to become a better and more likable person, because his parents always told him to be himself, and to never change that for nobody.

When he woke up in the morning, he saw that the microwave had become unplugged at some point, possibly during his pity party, and he figured that the plan would never work anyways, it wasn’t worth bothering with. So, after lying, pantsless, on his living room floor, watching the morning news until it was time to show up for work, he saw a very annoying ant-smoking commercial, and suddenly got his next idea, which was to smoke his way to cancer. It made him feel like a bigger asshole, just because he hadn’t thought of it before. All he had to do was spend most of his extra money on cigarettes, and try to smoke as much as he could, until one day he would cough up blood, have to lose all of his hair, and could finally find his place in society, so he could finally be loved and accepted, something that he desperately needed. ———————————————————————————————————

In his adolescence, Frank was often thought of as the golden child in his family. His parents spent most of their time doting over him, praising him for every little thing, always telling him that he was perfect, that if anyone didn’t like him it wasn’t his fault, that they were just probably jealous or it was societies fault, that he should always be true to who he was. Sure, when he got halfway through college he realized that there was something fundamentally wrong with who he was, especially after an incident where he had claimed that a rape victim was “asking for it”, right to her face, during a women’s studies class, and he was almost expelled from the school, and instead just transferred, claiming that they begged him to stay, even though the feeling of exile had stuck with him for some time. When he came home for Thanksgiving, and had to explain the situation to his loving parents, they just told him that he had done nothing wrong, and it was the way the system had been rigged against him. He was just a free spirit, society was just against that, and he shouldn’t change because he was living in a backwards country, because he might as well have been a Jew in Nazi Germany (their words). Even though he still felt like he might have been a problem, no matter what he said, he knew that he would always be loved by his parents, that they would do everything they could to keep loving him, and as long as he had that support, it was easy to keep going through life, because, to him, the only people who mattered were the ones that loved you.

Around the time he had graduated from college, Frank had received the news that his parents had both killed themselves, and were found in their garage, spooning in the back seat of their car, with the engine running and a rubber hose had one end attached to the exhaust, and the other end had been placed in the crack of a car window, filling the inside with deadly gasses. The only note that they had left had been for Frank, and it never served any explanation to why they had chosen to end their lives, which had remained a mystery (until there was nobody to remember them, or wonder why they had done so, causing them to have become forgotten and uncared about, one of time’s favorite jokes), and their note had read:

Dear Franklyn,

This doesn’t mean that we have stopped loving you.

Love, Your Loving Parents

Frank had kept the letter in his wallet, folding it up until it was just a tiny square, and kept it as a reminder that somebody out there loved him, although after a year it started to become a reminder that the only people who could have loved him were dead, had abandoned him, and he was all alone in the world, with no chance for anyone to care about him. He made several attempts to join religions, just so that he could believe that his parents were living on in some sort of way, but every attempt would just make him angry, causing him to leaved, flustered, yelling, “This is just fucking nonsense. You fuckers wasted my time, this is a scam! I hope you become brain dead, and have to live life eating through some tube, I hope rats eat you you fuckers.” That was also his response to his first AA meeting, and the same response he had whenever he was asked to donate to charity.

His loneliness and desperation to be loved could have caused him to change his ways, but he wanted to honor his parents death, so he stuck with some of their teachings, and didn’t change for nobody. ———————————————————————————————————

After getting off of work, Frank went straight to the smoke shop, bought as many cartons as cigarettes as he could carry, brought them to his car, put them in the trunk, and then, being too exited to waste any time, he sat in the trunk, and began to chain smoke. At first he decided to only do one at a time, mainly because the smoke didn’t go down very smooth and it left him coughing, drooling, and generally uncomfortable, but after his third one he had started to get used to the feeling and decided to smoke two at once, one cigarette in each hand, taking a puff of the left one and then a puff of the right, as if he were lifting weights. As this went on, he saw people giving him dirty looks, and he started to believe that he had looked cool as he smoked in the parking lot, he wanted to believe that he had looked like the classic bad boy, so he started to believe that as he tried to fill his lungs with enough smoke to mark him for death, out of desperation to be loved. In that moment, he wished that he had sunglasses, he considered buying a denim jacket.

As he transformed that section of the parking lot into a cloud of smoke and littered it with cigarette butts, a large man had angrily approached him, holding up a rag to his face, and started yelling, muffled, “What the hell are you doing over here?”

After trying to respond cooly, and then coughing for twenty-three seconds, Frank replied, hoarsely, “Smoking dick-head, what does it look like I’m doing? There aint’ no laws against smoking.”

“That shit will give you cancer, it will rot out your lungs, why would you do that to yourself? Don’t you know the risks you’re taking with that, are you fucking insane.”

“If being hip is insane,” tearing up from smoke in his eyes, “then you better lock me up buddy, because I’m 51/50.”

“Yeah, no shit you are, that shit is going to kill you, and any person who walks within a miles radius of this area. You’re worse than a fucking coal factory with those things, with all of the air pollution you’re giving off.” Frank tried to flick his finished cigarette away from him, to show that he didn’t give a shit about anything, but he dropped it on himself and freaked out to make sure he didn’t light on fire, leaving him with a burn hole in his button up shirt. “What if a child walks by, how about that buddy, what if you gave some child second hand smoke.”

Patting himself out, Frank thought about that, “That would be a shitty thing to do, wouldn’t it?”

“No fucking shit.”

“So what you’re saying, is, it wouldn’t be okay if I gave other people cancer? People would hate me if I did that?”

“I’m saying that you shouldn’t give anyone cancer, you fucking lunatic.”

“Fuck off, don’t tell me what to do! You don’t know what I’ve been through,” tapping his chest with the filter end of a cigarette, dropping ash onto his lap, “You don’t know the struggles I’ve been through, you fucking, who the hell are you to talk to me? You know how much trouble I have to deal with, with people like you, always calling me an asshole? I can’t get my fucking views across, because everyone thinks its alright to reject me, to not want to have a discussion with me, to not say my fill. Societies going in the toilet buddy, and you’ve got your hand right on the, what’s it called, the part where you press down and it flushes the toilet.”

“What are you talking-”

“LET ME FINISH. I have a thing that backs me up, its called the FIRST AMENDMENT. Ever heard of it, pal? You fucking swamp creature, you fucking look like if two bigfoots committed incest, had a baby, and then you came out, you fucking shit man.” This confused the large man, who was generally hairless, but for some reason the insult crossed a line, even if it didn’t apply to him. So, he let the asshole have his speech, he waited to show the guy what was what. “God damned, you look like a possum was put in a sock and then bashed against a tree. First amendment buddy. Lots of people can’t understand what that is, so they think its alright to call me an asshole, they think its alright to get at the words I say, or walk away from a discussion, when really the constitution protects everything I have to say.”

“You know how many people call me a piece of shit, just for thinking that some women should be entitled to sleep with me? And what’s wrong with thinking that? They never give me an answer, they just refuse to talk to me, and its because they can’t think of anything good to say, I just know that. They know that I have it hard, and I should be comforted, but they don’t want to accept it, because society has to be politically correct or whatever, its all a bunch of bullshit, they’re all a bunch of stuck up bitches.” He tried not to show it, but he was just happy that the stranger was still listening to him, “And with you, you see me taking advantage of my rights, trying to smoke my way to cancer, but you’re to dumb shit stupid to realize that I have a point, I have a right, and if I want to smoke my way to terminal illness, I should, and you’re whats wrong with America because you’re unhappy that I choose to live my life this way. So what,” blowing smoke into the man’s face, “So what if I get some kid cancer, why should people hate me if I did that, huh? The kid could have just walked around my smoke or whatever, its not like I’m doing it on purpose,” a family, nearby, was trying to load in their groceries, coughing from the smoke cloud, “they could just not come to this parking lot if they don’t want to risk cancer. Fucking retards.”

“So tell me, why is it so bad that I want to smoke myself to becoming terminally ill, what is it about me that makes people like you hate me? Because I know you’re going to talk about how I’m doing harm to others, or whatever, but you’re trying to take my rights away in the process. You just claim that its about the dangers of smoking, but I know that first its the cigarettes, and then they take away our right to free press, and then next thing you know we’re basically in Nazi Germany, because you fuckers want to control everything, that’s what this is all about. You can’t stand to see that people like me, real Americans, have the rights to live our lives in the bad ass and free way that we do, because you want to control everything.” Closing his eyes, trying to smile while holding back a nasty cough, “So tell me, why shouldn’t I smoke, why am I wrong? Why is it okay for you to steal my rights and give them to others? Why do you hate America?”

Hands shaking, seemingly calm, the large man asked, “Are you done?”

“Yeah”, nodding slowly, pausing to cough, “And I would love to hear whatever propaganda you have to spew, just so that I could point out how wrong you are.”

The patient man replied by punching Frank in the mouth with enough force to cause him to swallow his cigarette, and then the man walked away, without a word. After trying to make himself throw the cancer stick up, since it felt hot in his stomach, Frank had wanted to pat himself on the back for having one upped that guy, for proving how right he was and how other people can’t handle the truth. Yet, when he got home, he cried to himself and considered calling the police about the man who had assaulted him, he just couldn’t understand why somebody would be so mean to him, how society had become so barbaric. First, he considered looking up the guy online, but then he realized that he had no information on the man, and hadn’t even seen his face.

Eventually, Frank slumped around in his couch, and thought about killing himself, just like his parents did. This world just wasn’t made for him, it couldn’t handle people like him, the system was rigged against him. Yet, when he got bored and flipped through the news channels, and he finally found a speech that had caught his eye, he realized something that he had never realized before: politics could make any asshole likable. He had been looking at the situation all wrong, he wasn’t an asshole at all, society wasn’t completely rigged against him, he was just dealing with the wrong people. He thought of this as he watched the presidential debates, as he watched one opponent childishly yell over the other as they tried to talk, and then, when he had the chance, accuse his opponent of being childish, and Frank had found his hero, this was the type of person he had aspired to be. Then, while surfing around the internet, it was easy to find people who were just as like minded as him, people whose entire careers were built around being shitty people, around saying things just to make people angry, people who yelled and yelled and refused to listen to what others had to say, people who believed that when other’s were given equal rights, it was somehow unfair to them, people who believed that they could say as many racial slurs as they wanted, and it was the other people who were the real racists, and Frank saw all of this and cried for the second time that day.

Wasting no time, Frank decided to film himself with his cell phone camera, he had to do what he must have been born to do, he must follow his destiny. “Today,” looking into the camera, “I had been minding my own rights, smoking a cigarette in my car after a hard days of work, and some asshole came up to me and punched me for smoking. I tried to tell him that I was smoking peacefully, but he wouldn’t listen to me, he just kept screaming over me and told me that I shouldn’t have any freedom, that I was what’s wrong with America, but I want to say something, I’m what’s right with America. There’s this little thing called freedom, and that allows me to chose to smoke myself to death if I want to, and nobody has a say about it. I should be able to say what I have to say without people shitting down my throat every time I challenge their fragile little views. Those fucktards shouldn’t be able to call me an asshole whenever I state a fact, like how 99% of women are entitled bitches, and shouldn’t vote, or how” it just went on and one, becoming more confused and hateful, until he decided that he had said enough, and posted it on several political forums, where he would probably become an over night celebrity.

When he tried to sleep that night, he could only think about how he was finally going to have the love and adoration that had been missing for so long, how he was going to also get cancer, and would mix the two together, making himself a god damned hero, how he would go down as a legend. When he woke up in the morning, he ignored his morning piss and danced around as he tried to get his laptop up and running, desperate to see what the reactions to his video had been. As it booted up, he could only think about all of the comments that would inspire him to go tell the truth, he considered going into non-smoking areas and exercising his rights by blowing smoke into people’s faces, he thought about all of the girls that would probably want to bang him, he thought about the nods he would probably get from some of the biggest members of the movement, becoming a front page story, a cause that like minded people would rally around, a new force in the political climate, but when he finally saw the reaction, he was shattered.

Apparently nobody had even bothered to watch it, they just saw the thumbnail and talked about how ugly and fat he looked, and how he should have been punched a second time. Once again, he felt that if he was attractive, the situation wouldn’t have been different, people wouldn’t say things like “You’re the reason I believe in eugenics” or “Why didn’t your mother leave you in the woods, or is that where you crawled out from” or “Look at this whale cry about ‘muh politics’, go eat a gallon of bleach”. He had felt trapped, had felt that no matter what he would do, people would hate him no matter what, that he just couldn’t get by in this world of his. He couldn’t survive with normal people, because he wasn’t one of their kind, and he couldn’t survive with the assholes, because he was too low down on the food chain to be able to survive. For a second he considered trying to make himself more liked with the assholes on the other side of the issue, but the video of his was already out there, it was clear that he was a different kind than them, and he could never live it down.

In the end, he wasn’t upset, he was just tired of all of it. He realized that he didn’t have the right to be loved, there was nobody in the world who would ever give him that privilege, and why would they? Pulling the note out of his wallet, unfolding it, he felt that he should just be with the only people who could love him.

#Free Write #Short Story #Writers on Tumblr #Preachy #Politics

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