QAF fic: that fic about Prague, ch2
Some say Love, it is a River
by sakesushimaki and rinmonsterer
Genre: Total Crack fic, AU, Angst, Drama
Rating: PG-13 so far, R eventually
Word Count: ~1400
Beta: sakesushimaki
Summary: An epic story of self-discovery and finding love in the most unexpected places just when you thought--
A/N: That fic with Prague where nothing made sense? Now it's continued. It's collaborated, too.
Chapter 1 by sakesushimaki
chapter 2
It was a crisp day in Prague when Justin Taylor walked down the Karlova street and all the noise and the hurry didn’t seem to help lighten his dark mood. He heard the sounds of a gentle bossa nova coming from a pub nearby, but the music in his soul was blues and death metal through and through. Even glaring at street vendors didn’t give him the usual satisfaction.
Justin Taylor was a man of only eighteen, but he’d already had his share of sadness and disappointment in life. He had been barely thirteen when he realized that the unusual affinity to playing with his Easy-Cake Oven wasn’t the only thing that made him different from his peers, and wasn’t the only reason of his loneliness and feelings of not fitting in. In the fourteenth spring of his life, Justin suddenly started to notice new things about one of their bellboys, Mel, short for Melvin. Like the way the tight uniform trousers hugged Mel’s slender, boyish figure, or Mel’s gruff attitude and raunchy jokes that Justin started to find even funnier than before. It didn’t take him more than three months to realize he had a crush on Melvin. He struggled another five long months with his one-sided feelings, as well as with the weight of discovering his homosexuality. Finally, he decided to take a leap of faith and confess to Melvin.
Mel was very considerate listening to him and it filled Justin with relief and hope right until the moment when Mel let him down, explaining the reason why it couldn’t work out between them. The reason other than Justin’s age, that is.
He said to him, gently, “Honey, I’m a lesbian.”
Justin didn’t understand how a man could be a lesbian, but Mel explained patiently that he was in fact a woman, but worked a man’s job because she wanted to, as she put it, “Shove the misogynistic stereotypes down the patriarchal throats of the fucking sexist society.” Justin didn’t understand that one either, until he plodded back home and looked up all those words in a dictionary. That day he reassured himself that he was 111% gay and that women were downright scary and weird. But years later, he still harbored a kind of reserved fondness for Mel, because knowing the words misogynistic and patriarchal helped him score 1500 on his SATs.
However, his scholarly achievements and the significant wisdom he possessed despite his young age couldn’t protect him from suffering. And, ironically, that wisdom was the reason he found himself less and less capable of living in harmony with other people, who seemed idiotic and boring when observed from the sidelines. The fact that he was homosexual, though had little success pursuing romance and lived a sheltered life due to his parents’ excessive wealth and their constant presence in media, didn’t make things easier.
But all the loneliness and sense of rejection Justin experienced - and that was a lot - were nothing compared to what he felt when his parents refused to buy him a pony. They said it was because they didn’t own a stable, but Justin didn’t believe it was the true reason. That refusal was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. He felt as if his parents didn’t want him to be happy, either because he was gay, or simply because. He’d spent weeks crying over Lassie and rewatching Disney classics where people found the most loyal friends in animals. Many nights he dreamt of riding a beautiful horse across the moors and flowery meadows, feeling the wind in his hair and the tender embrace of freedom. After his parents let him down, he knew he couldn’t find all that in the US, where everyone was a slave to money and trivial desires. He had to travel to the Old Continent, where equestrianism originated from and where, as he imagined, you could smell the vast moors and freedom in the air. There were no moors in America.
Therefore, he boarded the next plane to Europe, setting out on a journey to find himself. The plane took him to Prague, the hometown of Franz Kafka, who knew very well what it felt like to be misunderstood, to be smothered by society and its cruel indifference.
But Justin had spent a week in Prague already and no epiphany came. People seemed to be almost as busy here as they were in the US and the only ones who struck up conversation with him were British tourists, but they all wanted to talk about God and Justin thought that God forsaken him. Justin hadn’t found happiness in Prague. Just yesterday he was trying to enter a gay club, Babylon, from which thumping music could be heard two hundred feet down the busy street. But the bouncer, who didn’t speak a word in English, just blocked Justin’s way and glared menacingly, saying something about documents in his native language. Justin showed him his passport, but it was shoved back in his face with some muttering in Czech. Justin stood there in confusion and tried to argue, even cursed a little and considered kicking the bouncer in the shin - he really wanted to dance that day - and he would probably still be standing there in the morning, if it weren’t for some helpful patron who stepped in and translated the bouncer’s words:
“Your passport is fake. Only people of 18 years or older can get in. I’m sorry, baby,” the patron said, patting Justin’s butt.
Justin didn’t bother to defend his passport’s very valid validity, feeling utterly misunderstood and rejected by humanity. It was as if no one here liked him, except those flamboyant men over thirty and old ladies who cooed at him in the dairy aisle.
So now, as he was walking down the Karlov Most and looking over the murky water with all its swans and lethargic kayakers afloat, Justin was filled with melancholy and frustration. He couldn’t find himself, no matter how intently he looked. He felt an overwhelming loneliness, for he’d never even had a pet except a goldfish named Flipper, because he was allergic to animal fur and never could have a dog. And at eighteen, Justin was still a virgin, the only relationship he’d ever had ended because his feelings for Ethan were purely platonic, which was actually Justin’s polite way of telling the violinist he didn’t find him sexually attractive. After that Justin tried to jump into the endless series of one night stands, but he found he didn’t want to just give his virtue away to any average man, he had been waiting for Mr. Right and, well… He was still waiting, it seemed, after two years of sneaking strangers into his beach house only to end up feigning a headache or just telling them to fuck off when his head really hurt.
Therefore, it wasn’t surprising that he felt as if something was preventing him from being happy, finding friendship and love, and that crisp day in Prague, he felt that it was something inherent in him.
“Is there something wrong with me?” Justin asked the murky river, staring down at it from the bridge.
But the river didn’t answer, perhaps it didn’t speak English. So Justin had to answer himself: “Yes, there is something wrong with me.” He climbed the stone barrier of the bridge to glare down at the river from bigger height and more threateningly, daring the water to deny his words. But it couldn’t deny, of course, because Justin was right. He was cursed by the fates and there was no joy left for him in this world. He’d never asked the fates for anything, but now, as he was standing proud and almost tall on the ledge, he only had one wish: to be able to finally end this streak of pain and loneliness that was his life.
If there was even a tiny, miniscule mercy the gods had left in their hearts for him, they would let him end his pitiful existence.
Saying his last goodbyes and apologies to his mother, sister, father, and Flipper, for he’d never see them again, although maybe his father didn’t care, Justin stepped off the bridge down into the dark river.
Chapter 3
A/N: The first paragraph was inspired by “Downtown” by Petula Clark, which gave me this special kick to start. Just creditin’.
P.S. You know I live feedback, don't you? I do.
by sakesushimaki and rinmonsterer
Genre: Total Crack fic, AU, Angst, Drama
Rating: PG-13 so far, R eventually
Word Count: ~1400
Beta: sakesushimaki
Summary: An epic story of self-discovery and finding love in the most unexpected places just when you thought--
A/N: That fic with Prague where nothing made sense? Now it's continued. It's collaborated, too.
Chapter 1 by sakesushimaki
chapter 2
It was a crisp day in Prague when Justin Taylor walked down the Karlova street and all the noise and the hurry didn’t seem to help lighten his dark mood. He heard the sounds of a gentle bossa nova coming from a pub nearby, but the music in his soul was blues and death metal through and through. Even glaring at street vendors didn’t give him the usual satisfaction.
Justin Taylor was a man of only eighteen, but he’d already had his share of sadness and disappointment in life. He had been barely thirteen when he realized that the unusual affinity to playing with his Easy-Cake Oven wasn’t the only thing that made him different from his peers, and wasn’t the only reason of his loneliness and feelings of not fitting in. In the fourteenth spring of his life, Justin suddenly started to notice new things about one of their bellboys, Mel, short for Melvin. Like the way the tight uniform trousers hugged Mel’s slender, boyish figure, or Mel’s gruff attitude and raunchy jokes that Justin started to find even funnier than before. It didn’t take him more than three months to realize he had a crush on Melvin. He struggled another five long months with his one-sided feelings, as well as with the weight of discovering his homosexuality. Finally, he decided to take a leap of faith and confess to Melvin.
Mel was very considerate listening to him and it filled Justin with relief and hope right until the moment when Mel let him down, explaining the reason why it couldn’t work out between them. The reason other than Justin’s age, that is.
He said to him, gently, “Honey, I’m a lesbian.”
Justin didn’t understand how a man could be a lesbian, but Mel explained patiently that he was in fact a woman, but worked a man’s job because she wanted to, as she put it, “Shove the misogynistic stereotypes down the patriarchal throats of the fucking sexist society.” Justin didn’t understand that one either, until he plodded back home and looked up all those words in a dictionary. That day he reassured himself that he was 111% gay and that women were downright scary and weird. But years later, he still harbored a kind of reserved fondness for Mel, because knowing the words misogynistic and patriarchal helped him score 1500 on his SATs.
However, his scholarly achievements and the significant wisdom he possessed despite his young age couldn’t protect him from suffering. And, ironically, that wisdom was the reason he found himself less and less capable of living in harmony with other people, who seemed idiotic and boring when observed from the sidelines. The fact that he was homosexual, though had little success pursuing romance and lived a sheltered life due to his parents’ excessive wealth and their constant presence in media, didn’t make things easier.
But all the loneliness and sense of rejection Justin experienced - and that was a lot - were nothing compared to what he felt when his parents refused to buy him a pony. They said it was because they didn’t own a stable, but Justin didn’t believe it was the true reason. That refusal was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. He felt as if his parents didn’t want him to be happy, either because he was gay, or simply because. He’d spent weeks crying over Lassie and rewatching Disney classics where people found the most loyal friends in animals. Many nights he dreamt of riding a beautiful horse across the moors and flowery meadows, feeling the wind in his hair and the tender embrace of freedom. After his parents let him down, he knew he couldn’t find all that in the US, where everyone was a slave to money and trivial desires. He had to travel to the Old Continent, where equestrianism originated from and where, as he imagined, you could smell the vast moors and freedom in the air. There were no moors in America.
Therefore, he boarded the next plane to Europe, setting out on a journey to find himself. The plane took him to Prague, the hometown of Franz Kafka, who knew very well what it felt like to be misunderstood, to be smothered by society and its cruel indifference.
But Justin had spent a week in Prague already and no epiphany came. People seemed to be almost as busy here as they were in the US and the only ones who struck up conversation with him were British tourists, but they all wanted to talk about God and Justin thought that God forsaken him. Justin hadn’t found happiness in Prague. Just yesterday he was trying to enter a gay club, Babylon, from which thumping music could be heard two hundred feet down the busy street. But the bouncer, who didn’t speak a word in English, just blocked Justin’s way and glared menacingly, saying something about documents in his native language. Justin showed him his passport, but it was shoved back in his face with some muttering in Czech. Justin stood there in confusion and tried to argue, even cursed a little and considered kicking the bouncer in the shin - he really wanted to dance that day - and he would probably still be standing there in the morning, if it weren’t for some helpful patron who stepped in and translated the bouncer’s words:
“Your passport is fake. Only people of 18 years or older can get in. I’m sorry, baby,” the patron said, patting Justin’s butt.
Justin didn’t bother to defend his passport’s very valid validity, feeling utterly misunderstood and rejected by humanity. It was as if no one here liked him, except those flamboyant men over thirty and old ladies who cooed at him in the dairy aisle.
So now, as he was walking down the Karlov Most and looking over the murky water with all its swans and lethargic kayakers afloat, Justin was filled with melancholy and frustration. He couldn’t find himself, no matter how intently he looked. He felt an overwhelming loneliness, for he’d never even had a pet except a goldfish named Flipper, because he was allergic to animal fur and never could have a dog. And at eighteen, Justin was still a virgin, the only relationship he’d ever had ended because his feelings for Ethan were purely platonic, which was actually Justin’s polite way of telling the violinist he didn’t find him sexually attractive. After that Justin tried to jump into the endless series of one night stands, but he found he didn’t want to just give his virtue away to any average man, he had been waiting for Mr. Right and, well… He was still waiting, it seemed, after two years of sneaking strangers into his beach house only to end up feigning a headache or just telling them to fuck off when his head really hurt.
Therefore, it wasn’t surprising that he felt as if something was preventing him from being happy, finding friendship and love, and that crisp day in Prague, he felt that it was something inherent in him.
“Is there something wrong with me?” Justin asked the murky river, staring down at it from the bridge.
But the river didn’t answer, perhaps it didn’t speak English. So Justin had to answer himself: “Yes, there is something wrong with me.” He climbed the stone barrier of the bridge to glare down at the river from bigger height and more threateningly, daring the water to deny his words. But it couldn’t deny, of course, because Justin was right. He was cursed by the fates and there was no joy left for him in this world. He’d never asked the fates for anything, but now, as he was standing proud and almost tall on the ledge, he only had one wish: to be able to finally end this streak of pain and loneliness that was his life.
If there was even a tiny, miniscule mercy the gods had left in their hearts for him, they would let him end his pitiful existence.
Saying his last goodbyes and apologies to his mother, sister, father, and Flipper, for he’d never see them again, although maybe his father didn’t care, Justin stepped off the bridge down into the dark river.
Chapter 3
A/N: The first paragraph was inspired by “Downtown” by Petula Clark, which gave me this special kick to start. Just creditin’.
P.S. You know I live feedback, don't you? I do.