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Who's Who in London Hooligans - Sean Bean

Bean's Journal

Sean Bean likes to think of himself as a simple fellow. In truth, he is very complex.

He was one of those lads who "always knew" himself. Made no apologies for his nature. Not even once. His candor often led to scorn and fisticuffs, which he eagerly met blow for blow. By the age of 16, the epithets of his rural English village were whispered when he was well out of earshot. Those who dared judge knew they were unwise to shout their judgement to his face.

He was the only child of a brutal and cold-hearted minister and an adoring housewife mother. His father hated him. Not merely hated things about him. Truly hated him. He was a flinty man to live with, even before he made the grave mistake of admitting he wanted "fuck all to do with girls." His life became a nightmare of hypocrisy and violence until he ran.

His mother was never strong enough to get between her fair haired boy and the man she tried valiantly to love. She could only watch the beatings in horror. She could only turn a deaf eye to her husband's nightly forays into her son's room, and a deaf ear to the noises from behind his bedroom door. She only washed the stains of her husband's sins from her son's stained and bloodied clothes and bedsheets and suffered in silence. It was only when her husband came home with a pistol, pacing and muttering about "God's judgement," that she intervened.

She packed her son's things, including all her pin money and her "villainous" husband's newly bought pistol, and begged him to chart a course away from home. He didn't need much convincing. When he left his village, he left with a knapsack of belongings and the well-kept secrets of it's finest upstanding men. Excellent tutors one and all.
The road proved to be a brutal place, but it appealed to his brutal nature. He also managed to find a bit of company here and there as well. His circuitous route to nowhere led him to London. The steaming, bustling city creeped into his blood like a fever. He liked the liquor, the loudness and a group of lads that called themselves "rent-boys"

"Why give it away Sean?" They said. "You could make a lovely living from the company of wealthy men."

His name was Viggo, and this hard hearted country boy had never seen *anything* more beautiful. He schooled him in the ways of the London streets, calmed his raging nature, and taught him how to love someone. Viggo was his world, but Sean struggled with the need for casual sex. It started "innocently" enough, or so he told himself, and the list of lies got longer:
"It was only a blowjob and I didn't even catch the kid's name."
"I didn't finish."
"I didn't fancy that boy."
"If he hadn't had that row with me I never would have slipped this time."

Viggo was at his wits end with his shenanigans, but Sean begged his way back into his good graces and SWORE he would behave. Three days later, Orlando approached him.

Orlando...he curses the day he ever looked into those dark brown eyes. Curses the day he ever heard his voice. Curses the day he...

Now he's scrambling to get Viggo back. He knows he's BEYOND forgiveness and *should* be cast away. Viggo is all he knows of true love and feels lost without him.

In a fit of despair, loneliness and a bit too much drink, he went to a rival gang's hideout for a bit of company. Lij was a doe-eyed vision of boyish loveliness, but was not to be had that night. It was then he saw Sean Astin. A sturdy and sweet-faced lad who cut a fine figure in his own right. His sheepishness was endearing. His kindness tugged at his heart. He knew he shouldn't even have been there, but he needed...Viggo... but Viggo wasn't there. Viggo didn't want to be with him. "How can a man teach love and then take it away?" he agonized.

"It's like starving someone to death."

He expects only a bit of physical release from Sean, but he remembers what LOVE making feels like and can't bear to use the boy. He pleasures him, and gathers him into his arms and wishes every ugly thing that was done to him, and that he has done, would go away. He presses his body into the boy, buries his face into the boy's sweet smelling curls and drifts into fitful sleep... The last bit of peace he would feel for a very long time.

Word of this assignation reaches Viggo, and the agony on his love's face is very real. He tries all the old tricks, to no avail. When he put his father's pistol to his head he thought "Let my father's vengeful God's will be done. What am I without this man?" but Elijah pushed the pistol away. His deepest fear may be real: Viggo may not only be tired of his behavior.

He may have fallen out of love with him.

He is lost.

Original Sinner

from a pamphlet against sin, 1842
" beware the snares of foxes who are skilled and practised at representing evil things under the appearance of the good. "

Sean Mark Bean was born April 17, 1859 in Sheffield, Yorkshire into the family of the Right Reverend Joshua Bean and his aptly-named wife Patience.

They were for all intents and purposes, a family in name only.

Joshua Bean was a tall, wiry man of 6 feet, strikingly beautiful with curly, blonde hair, ice blue eyes and a rugged jaw. When he returned from theological college as Reverend Bean in 1856, his prospects were good and by the standards of his day, the future seemed bright. The sparkling package was a carefully crafted lie. A lie whose ugly truth would be played out upon his family for beneath the sanctity of Joshua Bean lay a tortured soul.

He was a well-spoken and attractive man who had the pick of the young ladies from the drawing rooms of Sheffield which made the collective dropping of jaws almost audible when he started courting the "homely" Patience Dalrymple. Patience was...ordinary. A tedious bore of a girl who never had a thought in her head that wasn't put there by her stern and brutal father or her pious and pompous mother.
She was small and sickly. Five feet tall with sad, brown eyes and dull black hair that she always wore in a waistlength plait.
She was mousy, unintelligent and seemed positively destined for spinsterhood.

Their whirlwind courtship was the talk of Sheffield.
Outwardly, the doting and smitten Reverend Bean lavished every courtly attention and tenderness on his intended.
Privately, she was the bargaining chip in an agreement between arsehole father and arsehole husband-to-be.
The only thing missing from the sordid conversation was a gavel and an auction block.

"Well, my sweet boy. Let's cut to the chase. I have an empty headed, unattractive daughter that I have no intentions of supporting for the rest of her useless life and you are a sodomite that needs a reason not to be carted off to gaol. "

"Well, my former 'friend' and dry fuck, I'll marry the creature. As part of this agreement you will provide an ample dowry and I will only fuck her as long as it takes to produce a child."

Poor, smitten, unaware Patience floated down the aisle on her wedding day. She stood at the altar of her husband's new chapel and pledged her life to a man who planned to take her brutally that night and leave her in tears as he flew to the arms of the man he loved.
Her marriage would cover her life in an elaborate web of darkness, lies and hypocrisy until the day she found out she was with child.

The clouds of her life parted. At least for a while.
"When he sees the babe, he'll come round," she said hopefully.

Her hopes would soon be dashed.