But wait, there's more
Oct. 20th, 2009 21:26![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sekritomg“But why?” Frank pressed.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Wendy agreed.
“Because I don’t want you publishing a study suggesting that it’s possible to end homosexuality, r-tard! And if you go ahead and publish it anyway, I will personally forward your department these materials.” Kyle pointed to Wendy’s STD test results. “So, yeah. Either you back down, or we humiliate you.”
“How do you think you could possibly humiliate me? This one little STD test isn’t going to convince anyone.” Frank pulled off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. “Okay, look. Kyle. I know you’re only 16—”
“I’ll be 17 next month, jackass.”
“—you’re only 16 right now, but you’re a pretty smart kid, so I’ll make you a deal: When I publish my paper, I’ll invite you to write a section cautioning against the misuse of the data, and I’ll credit you as my research assistant. Both of you. Sound good?”
“Sort of.”
“Wendy!”
“Sorry.”
“Look.” Kyle crossed his arms. “Wendy, help me out here.”
“Mr. Granger, it’s imperative that I get Eric to stop fooling around with this. Do you know how embarrassing it is for an entire school, let alone town, to see my boyfriend … ish … being trailed around by a flamboyantly gay boy in neon-colored pants? It’s ridiculous!”
“Well, I’m sorry, but I really don’t have any reason to take your word over his. … Even if he is a questionable source. No one else knows that.”
Wendy groaned. “Ugh, I was really hoping not to need this…” She stuck a hand into her bag. “Where the hell did I put this thing?”
“What’s she looking for?” Frank asked Kyle.
“No idea.”
“Found it!” Wendy pulled out a CD-ROM in a thin jewel case. “Here you go,” she said, handing it to Frank. “That might be convincing.”
Frank looked up at her. “What is it?”
“That, Mr. Granger, is a video Eric and I made. Of ourselves. … Having sex.” She coughed. “I may or may not be wearing a nurse’s uniform,” she added under her breath.
Kyle’s eyes bulged out. “Wendy!” he cried. “Jesus fucking Christ!”
“Well, he’s not going to listen to logic!”
“So what, you just pull out a video of you and Cartman fucking? … Oh my god, I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for how much I’ve discussed his sex life today, Jesus Christ.”
Frank was staring at the CD in his hands. “You’re … serious?” he asked.
“Dead serious.” She nodded. “Feel free to keep that one. Jerk off to it, for all I care. I’ve got back-ups and encryption and whatever. And despite the fact that it is utterly humiliating, and will probably ruin my chance at any kind of public service career, I’d be willing to forward that to whoever is backing your project. But, then, I suppose I wouldn’t show you that unless I was convinced it would get you to stop things.”
Frank moaned. “Kid, I don’t think you understand. You cannot just end a project with this much funding because it turns out your entire hypothesis was based on a town full of lunatics. You’re both lunatics, do you know that? It’s just not done in that academic community.”
“Well, done or not, Frank, you have three days to decide whether or not to incur our wrath,” Kyle said.
“Your wrath? You mean sending a sex tape to
Wendy smirked. “Three days, Mr. Granger.” She flipped some hair out of her eyes, and leaned in, putting her arms on Frank’s shoulders. “I’d think carefully if I were you. You do not want to fuck with Wendy Testaburger.” She withdrew, and straightened out her skirt. “Well, okay. I think you’re got a bit to think about. It was a pleasure meeting you. Come on, Kyle.”
She turned to walk out.
“Bye, Frank!” Kyle gave a sarcastic wave before following Wendy out the door.
~
The heat in Wendy’s old beater hissed as it seethed from the vents, her veinless, hairless hands spread in front of them, gathering heat. “Come on, come on,” she panted, legs trembling under her skirt. “I’m sorry, this thing is a piece of crap.”
“Why do you have the heat on anyway?” Kyle loosened the buttons of his peacoat, and made a feeble attempt to push the bulky sleeves up his forearms.
“It’s freezing.”
“It’s spring. Christ, Wendy, it’s almost May.”
“It’s climate change,” she scoffed, banging on the dashboard over a sputtering grill choking out warm air. “Bitches like me driving cars like this are fucking up the planet.”
“It’s
“Too long, by any account.”
“Agreed.” Kyle wanted to roll down the window, to get some of the late-afternoon air into the cramped space he and Wendy shared, as he felt the skin under his right-handed grip moisten and the fingers of his left hand, tucked into his right armpit, cramped between the heaviness of his coat. But he shook his head and reconsidered it, fully aware that Wendy was cold. How could she be cold? She was too slim, too dainty, to have good circulation. Girl’s hearts probably pumped slowly, weakly, powering through very little. If Kyle was sure of nothing else, he was certain that no one’s heart beat as fiercely as his did. Under his weight he felt a plastic case in his back pocket groan, trapped underneath his assets. He shifted.
“What do you think of my last-minute improvisation?”
“You mean, that wasn’t a real movie?”
“No, it was.” She twisted the heating dial.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to do that?”
“Because what if he’d folded?” she asked. “I didn’t know where our conversation could have gone. That was my ace, you see. You don’t play the ace on the first hand.”
“You might if you want to end the game,” Kyle suggested.
“I think we both agree that playing the game is all of the fun.”
Kyle sighed. “A fucking film of you and Cartman fucking. I feel dirty just saying it.” He shuddered. “Fuck me, man. Fucking fuck it. … You don’t think he’ll actually watch it, do you?”
“No.” Wendy turned the heat down again incrementally. “I wouldn’t have done it if I thought he’d look at it. A man like that isn’t sexual enough to care. Academics rarely are. It’s all so … well, I think he’d be rather disturbed by two people who are clearly into each other having sex, like for real. For guys like that it’s all talk and no doing.”
“You think he’s asexual?”
“Maybe.”
“I never even thought about Frank Granger like that. I never even considered he might have his own … you know, feelings.”
“Exactly,” Wendy agreed. “That’s who he is. That’s how people like him are. He’s not, like, bad-looking, though. Do you think he’s a virgin?”
“So what if he is?” Kyle dropped his arms. “I’m a virgin!”
“Much to many a boy’s great annoyance.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means almost any boy in our class would die happy being the one to alleviate that little problem for you.”
“Problem?” Kyle’s cheeks reddened. Suddenly the car felt much more overheated than it had when Wendy had the heat cranked up full-blast. “Who says it’s a problem?”
“I didn’t say it was a problem; you did.”
“No I didn’t! In fact I said it should matter whether or not someone is, because for your information, Wendy, I could have had sex if I wanted to, and I didn’t!”
“All boys want to have sex,” Wendy said. “For that matter, so do all girls — it’s just that we have more to lose from it. Everyone likes sex, Kyle, unless they’re asexual, and I really don’t think you’re asexual.”
“I’m not, I’m just—”
“I just don’t know what you’re waiting for, is that I’m saying.”
“Who says I’m waiting for anything? By most people’s definition I’ve had plenty of sex, just not — just not in the Biblical sense, I guess.”
“What does the Bible have to do with it?” Wendy snapped the dial to the left, shutting it off completely.
“I don’t know.” Kyle shrugged. “All my life I’ve been raised in a family that does things by the book — you know, the book. My father practices law — I think I decided when I was bar mitzvah-ed that I didn’t want to be a lawyer. I have a fundamental problem with the law. Specifically, honoring my mother and father. They mean well, I know they do, but…” Kyle pressed his cheek against the damp window, his breaths clouding the glass. “But how can I honor the people whose decisions have made me so fucking unhappy? I don’t know what my mother thought was out there in the rest of the world, but I hate this fucking town, Wendy. I fucking hate it.”
“I think we all do.”
“You don’t hate it. You’re just sick of it. I fucking hate
“You’re not.” She reached for his arm; for once he did not shove her away. “It’s only another year, Kyle. You’ll make it.”
“But that’s the problem —I haven’t even thought about where I’m going to college. I always assumed I would go somewhere, but the thought of having to beg my parents for money to let me run away from them is traumatizing. It’s all her fault, you know. I’ve let that woman get away with telling me who I am for years now.”
“I’m pretty sure your parents want you to go to college.”
“I’m sure at, like, Brandeis.”
“That’s a good school. I might apply to Brandeis.”
“It’s pointless.” Kyle shook Wendy from his arm, and tugged down his sleeves. “I don’t even know what I’m upset about. Things actually seem like they might go my way for once. But if I’ve learned anything about living here it’s that when things seem like they might go your way, that’s the time to worry.”
Wendy smiled at him; it was the sort of indulgent smile a person gives to someone he pities. Kyle looked at her in the low, late-afternoon light; the aggressive curve of her painted lips bothered him. Kyle didn’t know why he was sharing things with Wendy, especially self-indulgent under-developed musings on his future, which was as unclear to him as why he was sitting in a girl’s car right now. He resented her, but respected her. She seemed so perfect, as if all of her decisions were golden, her promising fate sealed. Everything about her was calculated — even the pink grease smeared across her mouth was carefully applied with care and assurance. She left nothing to chance. Kyle thought about the guys in his life he called friends; they were never put-together, except for Craig, and even Craig carried as air of uncaring detachment, like the functions of the world meant nothing to him.
“I’m sorry about Stan,” Wendy said, perhaps out of nowhere. “I know it’s tough. I guess if you and I can be friends I won’t hook up with him anymore — I mean, I really don’t anymore. I think I’ve learned my lesson.”
Kyle shook his head. He didn’t want to chastise her, because he didn’t want to think about it, but he was also reluctant to take her bait. He sighed.
“I have to go,” he said, unbuckling his seatbelt.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“You don’t have a cassette player in this car, right?” Kyle asked, even though he could see that she didn’t.
“My parents had the stereo replaced with a CD-player when they gave it to me.”
“Well, I have to get somewhere.” He pulled up the lock on the passenger-side door. “It’s been great, Wendy.” Then he shook his head: “Well, no, it hasn’t. But thank you.”
“For what?” she asked.
“I’m so not really sure.”
She watched him crawl out of the front seat, and set off into
~
“What?” was the first thing Craig asked after answering the door. He had abandoned his hat. He was leaning against the doorframe, bare arms folded, eyebrows raised. Kyle tried to read Craig’s eyebrows: Were they defensive, inquisitive, resigned? He realized that he just couldn’t tell.
So he just cleared his throat, and croaked out a hoarse, “Hey.”
“What?” Craig asked again. He was very conspicuously not inviting Kyle in. Why wasn’t he wearing a hat? What was that all about? Like always, it was beautifully styled, loose pieces of jet-black hair glued in place with products, stapled with heat. Kyle remembered edging his nose under Craig’s hat just enough to smell a mixture of coconut and chemical. He missed that. He sighed.
“Hey.” He realized he was repeating himself, but it didn’t bother him. He shuffled his feet. “I, uh.” He coughed. Kyle looked up at Craig, and their eyes locked. “I sort of need your help with something.”
“My help?” Craig asked. Carefully, he took a step back, and the door moved with him. “What could you possibly need my help for?”
“Because.” Kyle reached into his pocket, and drew out the cassette. He held it up, hoping that Craig would see it in all its glory.
Craig’s eyes widened. “Who uses tapes anymore?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” Kyle shrugged. Then he said, “Well, Stan does. It’s from Stan. I mean, the tape is. I mean, I don’t know where he got the tape, I don’t think I’ve ever known him to be into tapes, or listening to tapes, or making tapes, but he made it. I know he made it ’cause he put it in my locker, for one thing, and I know that was him because no one else knows the combination to my locker. And he wrote his initials, see?” Kyle tapped the cassette box with his free hand, unsure of whether Craig could see, but whatever.
“Kyle,” Craig said. “You’re rambling.”
Kyle blushed. “Sorry.”
“Well.” Craig stepped away from the door, crooking a finger. “Why don’t you step inside?” When Kyle was in, he whispered his thanks, and Craig crossed his arms again. “So, you have a little tape from your crush,” he said. Kyle could hear the acid in his voice, but for some reason, it wasn’t all spite — Craig sounded a little sad, too. “What do you think it means?”
“Well, that’s why I came to you,” Kyle explained. “You have a tape deck, don’t you?”
Craig nodded. “But every asshole I know has a tape deck. I mean, you have one in your car. For that matter, Kenny has one. Why didn’t you go ask Kenny?”
Kyle looked down. “I don’t think me and Kenny are talking these days.”
“I know.”
Kyle looked back up at Craig. For a moment, Craig smiled. Then he shook his head and said, “Well, come on. Your stupid tape’s not gonna listen to itself.”
As they walked up the stairs, Craig asked, “Why didn’t you listen in your car?”
“Oh.” Kyle waited until they were in front of the door to Craig’s bedroom to answer. He blushed again, which he felt somewhat self-conscious about, as it seemed to him he’d been doing it a lot lately. “My parents took my keys,” he confessed.
Craig snorted. “What’d you do?”
“I don’t fucking know.”
“Well, how’d you get here?”
Kyle rolled his eyes. “I walked, dude. It’s like, a five-minute walk. I was at Harbucks with Wendy and Frank Granger.”
“Yeah, she told me you were back to plotting.”
“About that.” Kyle cleared his throat. “I had no idea you and Wendy, like, talked.”
“We watch Degrassi together and get crunk and bitch about guys,” Craig explained.
“I never remember you guys doing that.”
“I never did it while we were dating because there was nothing to bitch about.” Craig grasped the tape from Kyle’s hands. “Okay, let’s see here.” The plastic casing slid right into Craig’s cassette player. “Anything could be on this tape, you know.”
Kyle shrugged. “I know. It’s just … I’d like to have anything right now, you know? I feel like I haven’t had anything for a while.”
“I understand.”
Kyle held his breath, and Craig hit play.
~
They stood holding hands as the tape looped through its recording, raspy and crackling, more distorted than a well-mastered CD track but less static than a badly ripped digital file. Craig fidgeted, wanting to sit down, but Kyle was frozen — enrapt. He didn’t move. Even as the tape rolled over onto its second side, Kyle was tense and sweating. As it coasted to a buzzing finish two songs into side B, he shivered and let go of Craig’s hand.
“Well?” Kyle asked.
“I think it’s over.” Craig stroked his tape deck, and hit stop/eject twice. He handed Kyle back his tape.
“Well?” Kyle asked.
“Well what?”
“Well, what does that mean?”
“What do you mean, what does that mean? Didn’t you listen to it?”
Kyle just shrugged.
“Kyle, I love you.” Craig sighed. “But you’re hopelessly retarded. No guy makes you a fucking mixtape with a heart on it with all these songs by Marvin Gaye and I want to fuck you like an animal and whatever just for the hell of it.”
“Well, okay, so what does I want to fuck you like animal mean?”
“It means he wants to fuck you. Probably like an animal. But I’m no rocket scientist. Don’t quote me there.”
“No. No way.” Kyle shook his head. His cheeks felt hot. “Stan wouldn’t … he doesn’t, um … Stan is straight, Craig.”
“Oh yeah?” Craig uncrossed his arms, shifted his weight. “Why are you so sure?”
“Because he has sex with women.”
“I’ve had sex with women.”
“No way. … Unless you mean Butters,” Kyle added quickly. “Stan definitely is not interested in men. He’s interested in girls. I would know, he’s my best friend, and I’m completely in love with him. I think it’s kind of cruel that he’d so pointedly try to upset me with this, but we’ve been fighting lately, so I guess I deserve. On some level. I’m sure. Or, or — or this could be some sick joke of Cartman’s. He probably hassled Stan for the combination to my locker, made Stan label a mixtape for me so Stan’s shitty handwriting would be all over it— ”
“You’re overcomplicating this. That” — Craig pointed at the tape clutched in Kyle’s sweaty hands — “is a come-on. Either you can stand here trying to talk me into going along with your dumb reasoning, pretending that the guy you’d rather have sex with than me didn’t just make you a total old-school crush tape, or you can accept it, and go do whatever you want about it. Knowing you, he’ll have to club you over the head with a mallet and drag you back to his cave before you get that far, but whichever. We broke up, so it’s none of my business.”
“He’s straight.”
“Sure, the kind of straight man who wants to bone another man.”
“Stop arguing with me! I know him, and you don’t! He doesn’t like me the way I like him and I have to get over it!”
“Kyle!” Craig grabbed him by the shoulders. “We’re going downstairs. You need to leave now.”
The Tucker household always seemed abandoned. Kyle hated it. He felt like he wasn’t allowed to say anything in their carpeted hallways, or stumbling down their walnut stairs. If Craig ever mentioned that his family would be around, Kyle made a point to avoid them. The father was a fat loudmouth, the mother had never said anything he could recall, and he’d never even seen the sister. Kyle wondered if Craig had similar feelings about his family. Now obviously wasn’t the time to discuss it.
The door swung open to reveal the desolate front yard in twilight. “Well?” Craig asked. “Aren’t you going to get going?”
Standing still, Kyle asked, “But what if you’re wrong? If I risk everything and go tell him how I feel, and it turns out he doesn’t want me — or worse yet, what if it turns out he does want me? What if even if he’s someone I could be with, he’s not the person I should be with?” Kyle lowered his voice, and approached Craig, laying a hand on the other boy’s hip. “If I just threw this stupid tape away, and told you I wanted to go upstairs with you and — and pretend like nothing since that stupid dance ever happened…”
“What sort of man would I be if I stood between my ex-boyfriend and his best friend getting together?” Craig asked. He shut his eyes tightly.
Kyle threw his hands up. “I don’t know!” he exclaimed. “I’m giving you a chance here! I don’t know—”
Craig grabbed Kyle by the lapels of his pea coat. “A fucking bad one,” Craig informed Kyle in his sultriest tone. Then, predictably — or perhaps not, considering Kyle hadn’t seen it coming — he drew their mouths together, and was not stingy with the tongue. Not sure what to do, Kyle closed his eyes. He opened his mouth wider, and began to get into it. In a way, kissing Craig was like riding a bicycle — you never really forgot how to do it. Or you always secretly sort of wished you were still doing it. Or you liked it more when you hadn’t done it for a while. Or you got hard while you were doing it. Or all of those. Or none of those. Kyle didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He wasn’t thinking about pulling away; he was just enjoying himself. Of course, that was when Craig decided to stop, letting go of Kyle’s lapels and pushing him backward by the chest.
“I’m a horrible, terrible man,” Craig said with a smirk. “Go get that boy. You want him, and he’s apparently hot for you.” Craig wiped his lips with his wrist.
“But—”
“Run, Kyle! Run like the wind!” He slammed the door shut.
“What the fuck!” Kyle exclaimed. He stuck the tape back in his pocket, and did just what Craig had told him to do.
While running, Kyle internalized a couple of things. One, he was still out of shape. Not fat, of course, but he deeply felt that running should not be this unpleasant. Two, it was time to stop wearing his winter coat. Three, he should not run with things in his pockets. Four, a couple is two, and he was now cognizant of four things, total. It didn’t matter. The streets were wet with the melting chunks of leftover snow, all of which was gray and flecked with bits of dead grass. Every so often, he had to jump over an obstacle — a pile of snow on the sidewalk or a something. It didn’t matter; his mind was focused. He knew where the boys scrimmaged, a vacant lot behind the liquor store that Kenny’s older brother worked at. It didn’t matter how small this town was; he felt like he’d been running forever.
He didn’t know why he was running. Was it the sense of urgency he felt? The idea that running toward your true love was romantic? Did all people who ran have questions like this? He had to dodge an old lady with a cart of groceries on
It was now or never, Kyle figured. So he straightened up, took a deep breath, and charged.
Tackling Stan only came easily because Kyle had done it from behind, unexpected, and Kyle knew this. He couldn’t put any faith in his own strength. He just knew that Stan was under him, and perhaps other high school boys, including Cartman, were looking at them -- but in the heat of the moment he didn’t have any other ideas. He wished he’d asked Craig what to do once he tracked down Stan. With his thoughts scrambled and his heart in his throat, he pressed a kiss to Stan’s mouth.
Stan responded, and for an all-too-brief moment things were okay. Then Stan’s lips stilled, the screech of traffic in downtown
Kyle looked up to Cartman to glare at him.
“Eric, bro, that’s not cool,” some boy with a scraggly beard said.
“Sorry,” Cartman scoffed. “Didn’t know you guys ran around just kissing each other all willy-nilly in
“Only on special occasions,” the Middle Parker joked.
“Fags.”
Stan pinched his nose and shut his eyes, shaking his head, but he didn’t push Kyle off, which made everything in the world seem right by Kyle.
“Do you need a minute, Marsh?” the bearded boy from
Stan helped Kyle to his feet after pushing himself up; mud painted Stan’s jeans from the back pockets to the cuffs, halting only where his knees hadn’t actually hit the ground. “Yeah,” Stan said deliberately, brushing his sleeves, which weren’t dirty at all. “We’ll just be a few.”
“Okay,” said Bearded Middle Parker, before he yelled for a needless timeout to the group, making a perpendicular hand gesture.
Stan and Kyle did not go behind the liquor store, exactly, as they were already behind it on the makeshift scrimmage field. But Stan led Kyle around to the side of the building — not before tossing the football to the ground — glancing around a bit to ensure no one was looking in on them. Other than Cartman, Kyle did not much mind if anyone did; in fact, he might have preferred that Cartman did look on, if only to see the look on his old frenemy’s face when Stan had to admit that he’d made Kyle a pretty gay mixtape. Still, Kyle’s heart was beating furiously, elevating him beyond the reality of the situation. He hated how collected Stan seemed through this, unruffled as always, less embarrassed than just barely annoyed.
“
“I don’t know what to say.” Stan coughed into his fist. He still seemed pretty level. “I was wondering if you got my tape. I guess you did?”
Kyle grinned at the way Stan’s voice kicked up at the end of the sentence.
“Yeah, I did. I listened to it.”
“Okay.”
Stan was leaning on the side of the liquor store, a painted-brick structure (with the yellow paint peeling away to reveal the previous color, turquoise) with a stream of dirty snow melting off the gutters of the building, dribbling down the yellow bricks. His arms were crossed, he looked aloof, but his voice gave more away than Kyle had previously thought. He knew Stan, and he had to remind himself of it.
“Why did the second side stop two songs in?”
“Oh.” Stan scratched the back of his neck. “I ran out of songs.”
“You’ve known me since you were months old and you can’t fill two entire sides of a cassette tape with songs about me?”
“Who said that tape was about you?”
Counting this as a setback, Kyle asked, “Where’d you find all those dopey songs, anyway?”
“My dad. He, like, has a bunch of old records. He showed me how to dub things. And I got the Nine Inch Nails off the radio.”
“Since when do you listen to the radio?”
“I never listen to the radio. I just called them and asked them to play that song, and when I came on I recorded it. It wasn’t hard; it wasn’t like a lot of effort.”
Somehow, this made it seem to Kyle like a lot of effort. “This all sounds so sweetly antiquated. I just, um.” He shrugged. “Help me out,
“Me?”
Kyle nodded.
“Well, I don’t know, I sort of have to get back to football practice…”
“Dude, I—”
“Look.” Stan shut his eyes. “Ugh, sorry, I’m bad at planning this shit out. I’m sorry, I’m taking Kenny’s advice, and he’s got a preponderance of ideas on big sweeping romantic gestures culminating in multiple climaxes, and how it might be beneficial if I videotaped it, but to be honestly, I’m not … really sure … I don’t know what I want.”
“Well, I don’t fucking know what you want!” Kyle yelled. Now he had half a mind to slap Stan across the face. Ugh, no, that was way too girly. He had half a mind to slug Stan in the gut. “I’m not a fucking mind-reader,
“Sorry.” Stan clasped his hands. “It’s not like they’re chasing after you with torches. Besides, I’m the one who got kissed. I never told you to sack me in the middle of a scrimmage.”
“When was I supposed to do it?” Kyle was shaking. “Fucking do something,
“Take what?”
“Ask me out or something, dickbag!”
“Oh.” Stan grabbed on of Kyle’s wrists, fist unclenching, and Stan slid their hands together. Kyle could feel mud and calluses on Stan’s fingers. “Kyle, do you want to go out to dinner tomorrow night? Maybe we can talk, or something.”
“Okay,” Kyle agreed. “But I don’t want pizza. I just don’t put out for any old crap.”
“Yes, that’s right, I have to get you drunk first.”
Their hands unlinked, and for a moment they said nothing — Kyle scowled, and Stan pecked him on the cheek before returning to practice.
“Tomorrow,” Stan repeated to Kyle as he walked away. “I’ll pick you up at 7.”
“I’m grounded,” Kyle replied.
“So—”
“So I guess I’ll just have to sneak out. Again.”
“Whatever you have to do.”
Soon Kyle heard the shouting of the football practice resume from the other side of the liquor store. He felt numb, but he also believed that he had the strength to weather his parents — well, really his mother — when he got back to the house. He was sure she had left dozens of messages on the phone that was sitting on his nightstand — that is, if she’d realized at all that he’d left. Perhaps she hadn’t. At long last, Kyle dared to hope.
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Date: 2009-10-21 23:11 (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-22 01:29 (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-23 00:05 (UTC)awesome, as always.
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Date: 2009-10-23 01:32 (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-23 22:42 (UTC)The mental image of Kyle running through town with stuff falling out of his flapping peacoat really stuck with me for some reason. Lolz.
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Date: 2009-10-24 21:24 (UTC)I really like this little take on Kyle I've invented. He's a complete fucking asshole who has no idea how hapless he is. Ha ha, comedy goldmine.
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Date: 2009-10-25 22:28 (UTC)I hope you had a good weekend, sekrit,
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Date: 2009-10-26 00:35 (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-26 09:21 (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-26 19:29 (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-24 01:48 (UTC)He hoped he wasn’t missing breakfast day, because that was his favorite.
Breakfast day was my favorite school lunch, too! Hivemind, Stan, hivemind.
I know I told you this a million times before, but I think the Christophe/Kenny relationship in this fic is fucking awesome. I think, overall, it’s my favorite pairing within the story, even though there’s obviously something unique and beautiful about all of them, particularly the early stages of Craig/Kyle. I enjoyed how the conversation between Christophe and Stan at the beginning serves a purpose for both Christophe’s relationship with Kenny and the apprehension Stan is facing concerning his feelings for Kyle.
Kyle’s interactions with each character are pretty noteworthy, too. I still adore the way you write Wendy, especially when it comes to her jealousy about the situation with Cartman and Butters. I also like that Kyle went to Craig, of all people, to listen to the tape. It allows some nice closure for their relationship while also transitioning the focus to Stan/Kyle.
It’s almost been two years (holyfuckingchrist) since you started this story, and I know, from what you’ve said, that your enthusiasm has sort of deflated for the project. At least, that’s what I’m interpreting. Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong. That said, I don’t know how much planning ahead you did for this fic, but I do think everything is tying together nicely. Admittedly, I do feel a little thrown off by the suddenness of Stan’s confession to Kyle, but this could just be the fact I haven’t read the previous chapters in quite some time, so I’m most likely forgetting a lot of the buildup. Regardless, the last scene in this chapter is pretty much amazing to me. It’s not over-the-top and it’s not too restrained. It’s has a perfect middle grounding, and I like the simplicity of Stan and Kyle’s exchange at the end, like they’re already dating.
This is probably a really crappy excuse for feedback, but I haven’t read a fanfic in fucking months, and this is honestly my first attempt at writing anything constructive since then. But, this was fantastic, per usual, and I’m excited to see how everything wraps up in the final chapter.
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Date: 2009-10-26 01:08 (UTC)I fucking hated breakfast day in school Granted, lunch at my elementary school was spectacularly bad.
I'm actually really proud of myself for the Kenny/Christophe in this story, mostly because I think I managed to write Chris without making myself vomit. (I probably made someone else vomit, though.) And yeah, I'm kind of nostalgic for how much I enjoyed writing the Craig/Kyle at the beginning. Goddammit, you're making me hate this story less.
It seems in some ways like way less than two years, actually, which is weird. But honestly, yeah, I'm pretty much over this idea. I guess that happens with anything you start writing the day after you get into a fandom. I'm sure I'll wax nostalgic about this when I actually finish it (only one more installment, yay!). I actually did tons of planning -- I wrote out 15 pages of notes. But that was so long ago. UGH, I don't even know why I'm talking.
This was not crappy feedback! Honestly, it makes me feel like less of an idiot for pressing on with this. I'm sure if I'd never intended to finish it no one would have blinked an eye, but you appreciating it makes it worth it. I'm also sorry you're less interested in fan fic in general, because some of what's floating around out there isn't too bad these days. (Bordering on good, even!)
I'm so happy you enjoyed it; I hope I don't disappoint you with the final part. I have a feeling, though, that avoiding that's going to be kind of difficult...
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Date: 2009-10-26 02:51 (UTC)Lunches back in the day were deliciously unhealthy and other times pathetic. I remember for lunch in my elementary school, we sometimes would get one slice of garlic bread and a side of marinara sauce. Like, that was it. As a whole meal. It was hilarious.
I'm sure the final part will be amazing. Don't think too much about what your readers will think or even want, otherwise you'll just exhaust yourself and never be satisfied. Write what you want, bitch.
Also, I'm already feeling nostalgic about this story. OH THE MEMORIES.
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Date: 2009-10-26 06:48 (UTC)Hahaha, oh man. That sounds like a pretty horrible lunch. Granted, there were many school lunches when I only ate garlic bread because it was the only option I was sure wouldn't kill me.
Your advice is sound for all other stories, but I'm basically finishing this one a) for readers I presume will enjoy it, and b) because I think I can finish it. Isn't that messed up ... ish?
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Date: 2010-01-01 07:42 (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-06-20 04:13 (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-09 14:06 (UTC)I have really enjoyed this awesome fic, thoroughly engaged by what's going on with Kenny, and kind of charmed by Craig (and his hair). I'd love to read the conclusion.
Mind if i friend you for the SP goodness?
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Date: 2011-09-09 14:25 (UTC)Thanks for reading. Feel free to friend!
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Date: 2011-09-09 15:07 (UTC)I will friend forthwith!
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Date: 2011-09-09 20:12 (UTC)