It became clear what Dylan was really like, when nobody else was around: pathetic, down, interested in nothing but his misery and his reunion in death with an imaginary soulmate — not even the shooting mattered to him. It is this side that he kept hidden from Eric. His monstrosity was an act — it was showing off, begging for acceptance, the price he had to pay for his ticket to the halcyon. He misled Eric.
Eric and Dylan seem to have trusted one another until the very end. Nowhere in their journals do they have doubts about whether the other person will want to go through with it, or do they say something unfavourable about the other. But they were deceiving each other.
“According to the folks who knew him best, seventeen-year-old Dylan Klebold was pretty much like most other high school kids, only nicer.
A friendly kid who was born into a loving, affluent home and who joined the Boy Scouts and played Little League during his younger years, Klebold had attended Columbine’s prom three nights before the shooting, telling his friends that he hoped they wouldn’t lose touch with each other when they all went off to college that fall.
There were subtle signs that not everything was as placid as it seemed. Klebold, whose mother was Jewish, sometimes surprised his bowling buddies when, after rolling a ball down the lane, would say, “Heil Hitler!” They thought he was joking.”
-Rachel’s Tears, by Beth Nimmo and Darrell Scott, with Steve Rabey
I feel like this lil cinnamon bun doesn’t get enough appreciation. A volleyball player, a friend, a daughter, a sister, a valedictorian, and a lover of wildlife. I hope you’re studying animals in heaven. :)
( i added photos that i love of Lauren. like these are my favorite photos).
“Im stuck in humanity. maybe going “NBK” (gawd) w. eric is the way to break free. i hate this.“
Not only does it mark the first time, eight months after Eric and he decided on their earthshaking mass murder, that he says something about it in his journal; he also speaks guilelessly about the way he sees Eric.
The ‘gawd’ indicates horror that this is the way it’s going to be — he had dreamed about an NBK with Her. It is almost as if he recoils from using that ‘magical phrase’ NBK in combination with Eric Harris — as though it is sacrilegious to go on and do something so intimate as killing and dying together with him. Eric may be, without knowing it, busy to arrange the halcyon-journey for Dylan, but on this journey itself he is an unwelcome companion.
He wasn’t cool, he wasn’t smooth. He was awkward. Insecure. Not adorably - like badly. Not funny, just playing at it. Both of them. And angry. Neither were Tarantino characters except in their head. Instead, they were more like Napoleon Dynamite. Without the dancing. Or humor.
Convincing Eric to let you put makeup on him by offering sex afterwards 😏 @reb-and-wrath
you whined. You were trying to convince Eric to let you put makeup on him. It
first started off as a joke but the more Eric rejected the more you became determined
to actually do it. You had tried almost every trick in the book and Eric still
hadn’t budged. You gave him the most pleading puppy eyes hoping it would work.
Eric sat on your bed, arms crossed, shaking his head, “Y/n, I said no. It’s not
going to happen!” You had one last trick up your sleeve. You uncrossed Eric’s
arms and climbed on his lap. You grab Eric’s hands forcing them on your ass.
You slowly grinded on him. “Please, Baby. I’ll let you do whatever you want to
me” you say in your most seductive voice. Eric’s looking at you with lust in
his eyes. You start rubbing his dick through his jeans. “Fuck” Eric says in a
strained voice. You start nibbling and sucking on his neck as Eric starts
rubbing and squeezing your ass. When you reach his sweet spot he lets out a
soft moan. Eric starts putting his hand up your shirt wanting to squeeze your
breast. You slap his hand away, “Na-a, only if you let me.” He lets out a loud
frustrated groan. You can tell he’s almost giving in, “I’ll let you take me
from behind. I know how much you love to fuck me that way” you whisper over his
lips. Eric’s eyes widen as he licks his lips. You smirk knowing you had gotten what
you wanted. “Just eyeliner, babe. That’s it!” You jumped up from Eric’s lap
giggling. You grabbed the eyeliner walking back to Eric, “Alright, Reb. Hold
still I don’t want to poke your eyeball.”
dear fucking columbiners: do you need a hug? therapy? i’ll personally pay for it. if i ever see your nasty ass smut fanfics and flower edits of dylan & eric in the true crime tags again, i’ll lose my shit. sincerely, a sane person.