remember when u used to go over to ur friends house and youd go down to the ‘computer room’ to the dads old shitty desktop computer and sit on the giant black leather computer chair and ur friend would show u charlie the unicorn and epic rap battles of history type stuff on youtube while thier younger siblings bugged you for a turn to use the computer
shoutout to all those folks who were about to identify with this post and then suddenly felt super old
shoutout to the computer room dwellers glued to pre-internet computers
shoutout to misspent youth wasted on Zork and Kings Quest and Commander Keen
shoutout to that friend with Wolfenstein and Leisure Suit Larry
shoutout to coupler modems and MUDs and usenet
shoutout to beige computers and particle board “computer desks” and 3.5 floppies and 5.25 floppies and color monitors
shoutout to the dawn of the information age, which you spent mostly just playing Lemmings or shouting down the hallway “DON’T ANSWER THE PHONE!”
You have blond hair, he has brown hair. You always have blond hair, he always has brown hair. You dye your hair brown, but suddenly his hair is blond, and you feel as though maybe you are him, and he is you, and you have blond hair again, and he has brown hair.
His gaze is impossibly fond, his eyes are impossibly blue, he pulls you impossibly closer, your heart beats impossibly fast, the bulge in his pants is impossibly hard, he should maybe get that checked out.
You don’t remember ever working out and yet you look down and see you have a six pack. When you next see yourself in the mirror you have an eight pack. When he takes of your shirt you have ten, twelve abs. You’re scared to look again in case there are more.
His eyes change colour depending on his moods. At first you thought it was a trick of the light, but now you’re not so sure. They switch between blue, green and grey. Once you thought you saw a flicker of red. You make sure to kiss with your eyes closed now.
You’re white, and so is he. Sometimes he’s your enemy, but you still love him, don’t you? Of course, it makes sense. You’re not sure what you like about him, exactly, but there must be something, right? There’s this intangible thing between you, isn’t there? You feel like you may have more chemistry with your non-white friend, but that can’t be right.
You don’t remember taking your clothes off but you’re naked now. Well, all you remember is toeing out of your shoes. You always toe out of them, although you don’t quite know what that means.
Your pronouns mix into a blur and you no longer know where you end and he begins… You reach out your hand to his hand on his arm… your arm… his… You are sitting and he straddles you but is facing away… There are hands everywhere…
THE ACCURACY HURTS.
You smell like sandlewood. You don’t know what sandlewood even IS.
Once your shoes are off, you pad everywhere. You try to walk, but you can’t, your feet don’t comply. Your only option if you want to get from room to room is to pad.
Your tongues battle for dominance. There can be only one victor. One tongue is not walking away from this battle. Will it be yours?
He tastes like smoke and wine, whatever he had for dinner, and something distinctly him. You don’t know what that taste is or where it comes from… only that it is distinctly…him…
Is he The Smaller Man? Or The Larger Man? Are you The Pale Man? Are you The Slender Man? The Blond Man? You no longer have a name… you are just an epithet.
You thought you were about the same size, but, the clothes come off… and he’s The Larger Man. So large. He’s got six inches on you. You can tuck your head under his chin. Ten inches now… is he growing? Are you shrinking?
Bomfris would be flabbergasted. She lost to Laerophen in their little contest, after all. “Oi, didn’t you say your brother was better than you at archery?”
Laerophen would be staring at Legolas in puzzlement. “He is. I mean. Was?”
“He’s a finer shot even than I,” Laindawar would say, slowly. “Has the south sapped your skills, honeg nin?”
“He’s a bonny fighter!” Gimli would protest, ready to defend Legolas against anyone and anything. Naturally, it’s not a helpful thing to say. Legolas avoids looking at his brothers, tips his head away, mumbles something incomprehensible about Uruk-Hai and knife-work and explosives.
Thranduil would probably take one glance between the mortified, tongue-tied Legolas and the totally oblivious confused vaguely-defensive Gimli. Realisation dawns. It is followed by a GIANT SIGH OF RESIGNATION.
Meanwhile Gloin is prouder than punch. MY LAD BEAT THE ELF AT ORC-KILLING HELL YAH OF FUCKING COURSE HE DID DWARVES RULE ELVES DROOL *high fives Dwalin*
Bilbo: *before the quest* I’m just gonna chill here and be respectable
Bilbo: *after the quest* I’m not leaving town until I can gather everyone in the Shire for a huge fuckin party just so I can tell them that they’re losers and disappear right in front of their fuckin faces.
Aw Yiss 