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Richard Rider
Goodreads Author
Born
in The United Kingdom
Website
Twitter
Genre
Member Since
March 2011
URL
https://www.goodreads.com/richardrider
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Stockholm Syndrome (Stockholm Syndrome, #1)
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published
2009
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4 editions
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17 Black and 29 Red (Stockholm Syndrome, #2)
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published
2009
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3 editions
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No Beginning, No End (Stockholm Syndrome, #3)
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published
2010
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3 editions
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Captured Shadows
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published
2014
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4 editions
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We're All Mad Here (Stockholm Syndrome, #4)
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published
2012
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A Sort of Rigor Mortis
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Day By Day (Stockholm Syndrome, #5)
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As Requested
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What will you do now
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STOCKHOLM SYNDROME
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The Trojan Project
Read more of this blog post »Written by John T. Fuller (When the Music Stops) and Richard Rider (the Stockholm Syndrome trilogy and Captured Shadows), The Trojan Project is a collection of twelve original stories of gay romance.
A couple move into a new home with that unsettling feeling of being watched; a young man who rescues an antique mannequin from a skip gets more than he bargained for; a lonely camp
“You were always saying you were gonna shoot him," he mutters, but it's kind of half-hearted. "Stupid fucking little tit, he needs a bullet in his head. What do you keep him round for, anyway?"
Because he makes me laugh. Because, fuck knows why, he adores me. Because he needs somebody to look after him and nobody else knows how. Because everything about us is wrong and I never ever want to be right. Because I wake up in the morning and see him sleeping next to me with his stupid dyed hair and his stupid painted nails and his stupid toy monkey and I remember I love him so much I don't know what to do, I love him I love him I LOVE HIM.”
― Stockholm Syndrome
Because he makes me laugh. Because, fuck knows why, he adores me. Because he needs somebody to look after him and nobody else knows how. Because everything about us is wrong and I never ever want to be right. Because I wake up in the morning and see him sleeping next to me with his stupid dyed hair and his stupid painted nails and his stupid toy monkey and I remember I love him so much I don't know what to do, I love him I love him I LOVE HIM.”
― Stockholm Syndrome
“Valentine clears his throat. "So. Why can't you just say it?"
"Say what?"
"You know what."
"It's hardly the time or place."
"It is if you're dying."
"I can't."
"You're a dick. Just fucking say it!"
"I can't! I'm... English."
"What am I, a Martian? I say it all the time. I know you love me, why can't you say it?"
"If you know, then why do I have to?"
"You're missing the point a bit."
"I took your bullet, you little twat, don't you dare question whether I love you."
"Yeah, but you could say it."
The throb of the gunshots is pounding all down his arm and body. The pain's so bad he wants to cry, like he's five and he's skinned his knee coming off his bike.
"Je t'aime," he says, through gritted teeth, to shut the kid up. "Je ne sais pas pourquoi. Tu es... complètement bête, tu t'habilles comme une pute travestie, je hais ta musique, tu es fou, tu me rends fou, mais je suis fou de toi et je pense à toi tout le temps et je t'aime, oui. Tu comprends? Je t'aime. Seulement... pas en anglais. Je ne peux pas."
Valentine's shifting about like he's uncomfortable. "I ain't got no idea what you just said but I think I need to change my pants."
"Maintenant, ta gueule.”
― Stockholm Syndrome
"Say what?"
"You know what."
"It's hardly the time or place."
"It is if you're dying."
"I can't."
"You're a dick. Just fucking say it!"
"I can't! I'm... English."
"What am I, a Martian? I say it all the time. I know you love me, why can't you say it?"
"If you know, then why do I have to?"
"You're missing the point a bit."
"I took your bullet, you little twat, don't you dare question whether I love you."
"Yeah, but you could say it."
The throb of the gunshots is pounding all down his arm and body. The pain's so bad he wants to cry, like he's five and he's skinned his knee coming off his bike.
"Je t'aime," he says, through gritted teeth, to shut the kid up. "Je ne sais pas pourquoi. Tu es... complètement bête, tu t'habilles comme une pute travestie, je hais ta musique, tu es fou, tu me rends fou, mais je suis fou de toi et je pense à toi tout le temps et je t'aime, oui. Tu comprends? Je t'aime. Seulement... pas en anglais. Je ne peux pas."
Valentine's shifting about like he's uncomfortable. "I ain't got no idea what you just said but I think I need to change my pants."
"Maintenant, ta gueule.”
― Stockholm Syndrome
“Real-time creeps back in, and Lindsay realises the kid's on his knees beside him, saying his name over and over and over.
"What?"
"Oh, thank fuck... Jesus, you're bleeding like hell."
"Thanks, Sherlock."
"Can you see a bright white light?"
"Yeah."
"Oh fuck. Fuck! Okay, listen to me, don't go near it, okay?"
"What?"
"Stay away from the light."
"What are you talking about?"
"That's death, innit? Don't go near it, promise me."
"I mean I can see the electric lights on the ceiling, you berk."
"You berk! You knob, I thought you were dying."
"You didn't specify what kind of bright light, you just said bright light,
you might've been testing my eyesight."
"I ain't fighting with you when you've been shot.”
― Stockholm Syndrome
"What?"
"Oh, thank fuck... Jesus, you're bleeding like hell."
"Thanks, Sherlock."
"Can you see a bright white light?"
"Yeah."
"Oh fuck. Fuck! Okay, listen to me, don't go near it, okay?"
"What?"
"Stay away from the light."
"What are you talking about?"
"That's death, innit? Don't go near it, promise me."
"I mean I can see the electric lights on the ceiling, you berk."
"You berk! You knob, I thought you were dying."
"You didn't specify what kind of bright light, you just said bright light,
you might've been testing my eyesight."
"I ain't fighting with you when you've been shot.”
― Stockholm Syndrome
“Archer tries not to think of his own state of purity, physically unsullied, yet now spiritually beyond redemption, his thoughts plagued by lithe limbs and brilliant blue eyes. Doctor Archer has never really understood women, nor has he ever had time for courtship; this is a sacrifice he has willingly made for his career. He thought - believed - for most of his adult life that his vocation was to tend the sick of mind. Romance was a frivolity, carnal urges something he successfully sublimated, resisting the drive to spoil himself. Now, in the overbearing loneliness of his 4am bed he touches himself in secret, panting and hungry and stunned by shame”
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“Hello." The doctor speaks softly, nervously. Mr White doesn't respond, not even the slightest change of expression. Dr Archer has been thinking. Mulling it over in his head, endlessly, driving himself more insane he thinks than any unfortunate in his care, crazy with this longing. He is afraid of spiders, he watches the clouds, he held up two fingers; he is lucid. He came to me of his own free will; he shares these terrible feelings.”
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“You know this is wrong."
It isn't a question. When he turns, White is still wrapped snug in the counterpane, motionless, just his gaze pursuing the doctor about the room. "I am wrong to do this." The doctor says it as if instructing himself. White says nothing. With a sigh, Archer sits on the edge of the bed, smoothing White's curls back from his forehead. "Do you know what we did last night?" To admit it, to speak out loud, seems in itself a terrible affront. It might be his imagination, but the doctor fancies he sees a slight lowering of black lashes, the tiniest quirk of a shy smile. He says, wearily but not without affection, "No, I don't suppose you do.”
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It isn't a question. When he turns, White is still wrapped snug in the counterpane, motionless, just his gaze pursuing the doctor about the room. "I am wrong to do this." The doctor says it as if instructing himself. White says nothing. With a sigh, Archer sits on the edge of the bed, smoothing White's curls back from his forehead. "Do you know what we did last night?" To admit it, to speak out loud, seems in itself a terrible affront. It might be his imagination, but the doctor fancies he sees a slight lowering of black lashes, the tiniest quirk of a shy smile. He says, wearily but not without affection, "No, I don't suppose you do.”
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“Long hair will make thee look dreafully to thine enemies, and manly to thy
friends: it is, in peace, an ornament; in war, a strong helmet; it...
deadens the leaden thump of a bullet: in winter, it is a warm nightcap; in summer,
a cooling fan of feathers.”
― The guls horne-booke, 1609
friends: it is, in peace, an ornament; in war, a strong helmet; it...
deadens the leaden thump of a bullet: in winter, it is a warm nightcap; in summer,
a cooling fan of feathers.”
― The guls horne-booke, 1609
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No one can right about proper love like you can, no one else would get it so perfectly right starting with Pip and Lindsay. Thankyou so much for them and their story , I hope it never ends
I just really miss Pip and Lindsay! I dont have my books with me so I have nothing to read every night before bed! All im saying is thank god there are these short stories here ! And i really really hope the fourth book is super super long!
I love your work to death ! XX
Thank you so much for accepting my friend invite. You're brilliant! And I completely agree with Anita. I'll read about Pip and Lindsay until they're old and grey. They'll be the hottest couple in the retirement home. ;)
Thank you! I'd write all this stuff even if nobody was interested, but it's a brilliant bonus that other people are having fun with it too. Not sure if/when another full length book will happen (SO BUSY!), but there's a ton of short stories in my writing section above if you've not seen them. Thanks for the comment, you made me smile :)
You are now at the top of my favorite authors and favorite books! I just finished Stockholm Syndromeand I am starting the second book. I love these characters and their story! You have a rabid fan now! I am thrilled to know that you can't stop writing about these two. I want to read about them forever! ;)
