#‘damn right I’m a faggot!’ <- words said by a man who doesn’t know what a faggot is

[faglaios]

i really can’t get over Harry Du Bois. He can die from getting called a faggot by a 12 year old child but he doesn’t even remember what homosexuality is. Does he know what faggot means? I don’t even think he does. If cuno called him a battery with the same amount of conviction he’d probably be just as insulted and die even faster.

#harry doesn’t know what gay is until homosexual underground and that’s AFTER getting called a fag for the first time #and I doubt Kim was like yeah that’s a slur for gay people detective #‘damn right I’m a faggot!’ <- words said by a man who doesn’t know what a faggot is #we’re really overestimating his abilities he didn’t know what a car was #disco elysium #harry du bois #shut up evan #f slur

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#391

“What? You think you are done faggot?  Get back into place.  I said, ‘Faggot, get back into place.’  No, no, no, you ain’t Kevin no more, not after I saw four men take turns spit roasting you.  You are Faggot from this point on.  Now it’s my turn to bust my nut….

“This changes everything between us.  About time it does.  I’m tired of hearing about Jesus.  When my right-wing cousin asked me to take the 20-year-old son of a friend of hers along with me to see if he would like truck driving, I was reluctant.  She told me you were a quiet boy who needed to come out of a shell.  I filled out all the paperwork with the company so you could ride with me. 

“Bend over the picnic table with your cunt pointing at that garbage can.

“When we met, I knew you were a faggot right away.  You followed me into the men’s room.  I started to get a boner right there.  I saw you glancing at my dick at the urinals.  I knew it was going to be a great two weeks together.  But not ten minutes in my cab, I was hearing how much you love Jesus, and I knew this was not going to be good.  And we hadn’t even started rolling.

“Now pull apart your cunt lips and push some jiz out. 

“So before we left, I called my cousin.  She told me that you are the son of her Baptist preacher and it would be a great favor to her to take you out and show you real America.  Now my cousin doesn’t know that I’m a total fag fucker.  So instead, I called two of my fellow drivers, Barry and Jimmy.  You just met them; Barry was the first and Jimmy was the third guy to spit roast you.  We drive for the same company on the same route on the same day.  As you are Barry’s type, he wanted you ASAP.  That’s why we are here at this rest area.  That and this spot has this picnic table out back away from the eyes of the casual traveler.

“Push some more out.  I want a good glob on my cock head.  Damn, this cunt has been used before.  And I’m not even talking about just today.  It’s obvious that you also have experience in servicing and serving men.  Your second fucker was this trucker that followed you and Barry back here.  And he was slapping your face when Barry was plowing your cunt.  And it wasn’t a love tap; it was a man properly using and abusing a faggot.  He even used a fistful of you your hair as a handle.  You seemed to take that roughness like it was nothing.

“So, I can reach over and pull you off the picnic table and push you on your knees….  Like that.  Faggot, this is natural for you, isn’t it?...  Where did you learn that you need to be treated like shit?... 

“…You met older men from those kink sites?...  …So I have a faggot to use as my personal cunt for the next few weeks?

“That face slap is for not addressing me with respect.  That’s ‘Yes Master.’  You refer to all men as ‘Sir.’  You got that faggot?...  I’m really going to like smacking you around. 

“See that glob of driver cum on my dick head?  Using only the tip of your tongue, scoop it in your mouth, but don’t swallow it.

“Now say, ‘I am a faggot whore whose only existence is to be abused by real men.  I live for cock and cum….’  …Say it again…. …Again…

“You got me leaking.  Turn your head to face the garbage can.  I want to wipe my pre-cum on your cheek.  Swallow that spunk and keep saying it.

“That’s good.  Mmmm.  Now say that you want to be abused without mercy….  And say that you don’t want to have a safe word….  So you do not want to have any say of what I plan on doing to you, and that your pleas to stop must be ignored….  Don’t look back at me; say it to the garbage can, cause that’s what you are, garbage.

“…Good that’s done.  Now suck on my dick.

“Listen up faggot.  I was talking with that second driver—the one that roughed you up while Barry was plowing your cunt.  He left back here and made a bee line to his cab.  When he came out, he looked pissed.  He had a belt already doubled up, and he was heading back here to beat the shit out of you. 

“I stopped him.  He was pissed at you.  He recognized you.  He showed me his phone.  It had a news article with a pic of you standing next to your father as your preacher father was going into the state’s senate to fights against gays.  Now I tend to stay out of politics, but even I know of your dad’s name. 

“I told him that you were being fucked by Jimmy and that random fourth guy that came out of nowhere.  He wondered how I knew the details of what was going on as this area isn’t seen from the parking lot….

“I told him to look at my phone.  Faggot, pull off my cock and look up.  Damn, you are one hungry cunt.  You don’t care about anything I have to say.  That would explain why you don’t seem interested in how I knew about everything and every guy you were doing back here.

“If you look at my phone you will see a faggot kneeling in front of a man, both next to a picnic table.  That faggot is you….  Yes, I have been watching you through my phone.  The camera is located inside the opening to the garbage can there.

“Now it’s hitting you.  Yeah, I told Barry to come up here and set it up.  He has a lot of cameras in his truck.  He streams his fuck sessions in his cab and makes a shit load of money on-line.  By default, he has a copy of the video and so do I.  So going after my phone won’t do you no good.  So get back on your knees.

“It’s interesting, I did this to blackmail you into being my total bitch the seventeen days you are with me and to get you to stop with the religious shit.  Barry was definitely game, as likes young fags like you.  Jimmy just likes to fuck.  This here was going to be a simple picnic table fuck.

“That all changed when Chuck—that would be the second driver—showed me his phone….

“…Don’t fucking say another word.  I will smack you again.  You are in a shitty spot here.  First, you are naked as a rest stop, loaded up by four men, soon to be five with mine.  Don’t bother looking for your clothes.  Barry picked up your shit and put it in his cab; you were oblivious being spit roasted. 

“When you leave this area, you will walk back to a row of semis buck naked.  After my fat hog fucks you, your gape will be more pronounced, so you will have jiz running down your legs like some goddamned whore.  Next, you were filmed doing and saying nasty things, things your Papa wouldn’t approve.  So doing something stupid like running away is not going to go well for you, as that video can be edited to hide us but showcase your talents.  Videos are easy to disseminate.  You are kinda stuck in this situation, subject to whatever sexual whims that should come to mind.

“You are going to be filmed doing nasty shit going forward, but doing one video will have the same as ten.  You understand your predicament?...  Good.  Good.

“Now get up and lean over the picnic table.  I need to drop my seed.

“…Fuck, you are sloppy back here.  The guys stretched you out enough, so you aren’t strangling my dick.  And cum lube is the best….  Oh yeah, clamp down like that.  We need to be very quick.  There’s a timetable that needs to be met.  We all are meeting up at a particular spot up ahead for our 10-hour DOT rest. 

“The things that are planned for you...,  I’m getting close just thinking about it.  You are going to be used by so many men these next two weeks.

“Damn your hair was made to be used as a handle.  Arch your back.  Try almost to stand. 

“Fuck that feels good.  You ready for my load?  Of course you are.  You are cum dump faggot who lives to take load after load.  You don’t give a shit who is fucking you, just as long as they breed you.  You fucking slut.  You whore.

“I’m gonna cum.  I’m going to flood your guts with more cum.  When I am done, you are to clean me off like a good faggot.

“Get ready.  Here it cums!  Here it cums!  Here it fucking cums!  Ahhhh Ahhhhh Ahh!... Fuck!  Goddamn, your cunt is just what I needed.

“…Atta boy.  Tastes nasty hunh?  That’s the flavor of four men’s loads.  Yeah you are a fucking pig.  I knew it. 

“…Let’s head on out.  Hold on.  Let me get that camera from the garbage can.  …OK, let’s go.

“No. No.  You are walking in front of me.  I want whoever is in the parking lot to see a naked cum whore faggot.  Walk slowly.  Better yet.  I got a fistful of your hair.  I’ll control the pacing.

“Damn.  Everyone’s gone except for me and Chuck.  Barry split and he has your clothes… and probably your phone too.  Don’t worry, you’ll get it back tonight.

“Let’s go over to Chuck’s cab. 

“Hey Chuck!...  I got the faggot here for ya!  Naked and loaded up!  Are they going to be there?...  Fucking awesome!

“OK faggot get on up.  You are riding with Chuck for the rest of today….  Awww shut the fuck up.  I don’t care what you have to say.  Chuck has arranged to have a gay biker gang join us tonight.  His condition for arranging this was he gets you tied up in his cab for the day.  Seems like a fair exchange….

“…I said for you to shut up.  Keep insisting you have something important to say, and I’ll do a lot more than slam your faggot face against his cab. 

“Listen here shithead.  I don’t give a shit about you, or what happens to you.  I don’t give a fuck about my right-wing nutjob cousin.  And I don’t have any sympathy for your father and his evil fucked up ministry.

“I control what happens to you.  And you are going in the cab of a fellow fag fucking driver, a man I just met, a man that has bondage equipment installed inside, a man that knows a biker gang.  And I’m fine with all of it.

“Chuck, get down here.  The faggot needs convincing getting up into your cab.  Bring your belt.  I can stick around to help you turn this sissy girl black and blue….

“Change your mind?  Good.  Get up there.

“He’s all yours Chuck.

“I hope to catch you later faggot…  “…Oh faggot!  I forgot to say, ‘Praise Jesus!’”

This story continues in Story #396.

[petitprincess1]

My Roommate’s a Demonic Deer Ch1 (Day 1)

AO3 Link Summary: Don’t you hate it when you accidentally summon a demon to fix a problem within your home, only to find out that they don’t do that, so now you’re stuck with a cannibalistic demon that constantly tracks blood onto the floor, brings other unholy beings into your apartment, and makes amazing jambalaya? It’s amazing insanity! (Radiodust) Words: 1,407 No, I am not abandoning Good Evening. This was just yet another chat post that I made that I just had to make into a fic. However, this will be more like oneshots and it doesn’t, exactly, have a story/finish. It’ll end when I run out of ideas and I have quite a bit of fun ones. ~~~ The moon rose shining light into an apartment’s windows as the person within drew a circle around a star. Lit candles made the atmosphere even more eerie as the man left to grab a small steak knife from within his kitchen. He looked at the book that he carried around and gave a small chuckle, grabbing a wine glass from nearby, “This is the dumbest shit that I’ve ever done and I ain’t even drunk or high for this mess, but whatever.”

He grabbed a knife from a drawer and held his hand over the wine glass. The man groaned as he brought the sharp point of the knife close to his skin, biting his lip in readiness. He hissed through his teeth as the jagged blade stuck into his skin and he felt the warmth of his blood run down his palm, dripping into the wine glass. He moved the knife away, almost practically tossing it as he squeezed his throbbing, burning wound to allow more blood to go into the glass.

After a few more seconds, he moved his hand away and quickly grabbed a paper towel to wrap up his cut, cursing underneath his breath at the burning pain. The man wished that he had a first aid kit or even just a band aid nearby. He was too used to getting his bruises or marks cleaned up at the studio or by his friends. 

After placing so many paper towels on his hand that he’s on the tree’s FBI Most Wanted list, he brought the wine glass filled with a swallow of blood into the center of the pentagram. He mumbled to himself, “What you’re doin’ is really fuckin’ stupid, Anthony, but it seemed like a funny idea, so fuck it.”

The man, Anthony, took the book from the kitchen counter and walked back over to the pentagram, making sure that he had marked everything accordingly to what he saw in the picture. He gave a small shrug as he sat down in front of the pentagram, looked over the odd language in the book, and read the words aloud. ….And nothing happened.

Anthony looked around for the slightest of changes. You know, the usual schtick: Burnt out candles, open windows, random wind, or blood dripping down walls. Anything like that. He tried reading the words again and…again…not even the smallest of change. He sighed as he tossed the book over his shoulder, muttering in dissatisfaction, “I bet if I was high or trippin’ on acid I would see some crazy shit. Welp, the landlord’s gonna be pissed!”

The man brushed back his poofy hair with his non-wounded hand and turned to go to bed. However, the moment he took a step he heard someone clear their throat. Anthony quickly whipped around to see a brownish-greyed skinned man wearing the most amount of red that he had ever seen on a person, while also having red hair that seemed to be shaped like ears…somehow. The man spoke, sounding as if he was speaking through some shitty receiver, “My apologies for the lack of fanfare and overall spooks, I had just finished making dinner before getting so rudely interrupted! Didn’t wish to cause any damage to the roast, so I decided to drop in. Although, the look of surprise never gets old~”

Anthony noticed the golden sharp teeth of the man and wondered how he was able to speak without biting off his tongue. Not only that, but he wondered if he secretly did take some ecstasy or slammed down a bottle of cough syrup. He looked around and asked, “Um, are ya-”

“The demon that you called? Well, I’m certainly not the mailman,” The demon chuckled. He watched the, unbelievably tall, man stand up and walk up to the wine glass, picking it up and swirling the thick liquid within as if it were actually wine. Anthony wasn’t sure what he expected the demon to do with the blood, but still seeing him drink it down caused the human to shiver. He started, “Uh, I’m-”

“Anthony Dust, 28, bit of a drug and alcohol addiction, sex worker, and you may want to watch some of those freckles on that easily tearable skin of yours. I am Alastor,” the demon spoke as he gave a polite bow. Anthony blinked at him in shock and questioned, “Uh, how do you-”

“Your blood tells me all that I need to know about you. Although, I will say that it wasn’t much, most people would give a whole pint to me.”

“Are ya evah gonna let me fin-”

Al interrupted with a grin, “Probably not! Now,” he summoned a microphone cane, spinning it around between his fingers, and finished, “what have you summoned me for~?”

The demon’s eyes glowed a slight crimson as his grin grew in excitement of what the mortal may bring or tell him. Anthony stared up at the tall demon and then made a noise at remembering what he called him for. He quickly ran into his bedroom, disappeared for a few seconds, and then came running out with a sparking, smoking radio. He placed it on a table nearby and slightly moved away from the radio, staring up at a confused Alastor, who was still smiling. The demon blinked and started, “Uh…what i-”

Anthony explained, “You’re the radio demon, right? So, like, can ya fix my radio? I don’t really got the money to buy a new one or get it fixed or…I don’t know, throw it inna river and risk pollutin’ it.”

Alastor blinked at him more and said, “Uh…no, I- no. No, I don’t…I’m not called  that because I fixed radios, you moron!”

The mortal stared at him with his mouth agape and shouted, “What the hell! Why are ya called “The Radio Demon” then!? I ain’t got anythin’ else that needs fixin’! What am I supposed ta do with this thing!?”

Anthony gestured to the now flaming radio behind him, not even noticing that it was on fire. Alastor’s eyes widened, as well as his smile, and he got out from the makeshift pentagram, going over to the radio. He snapped his fingers and a bucket of water appeared over it, splashing the radio’s flames. The human got shocked at seeing him leave the pentagram and questioned, “How the fuck didja get outta there!?”

Alastor swiftly turned to him and snapped, “Because that’s not even a proper pentagram, most would use their own blood or even something mixed with holy water! What was that? Some chalk and whatever else you used!? I’m surprised it even worked!”

The fluffy haired man scoffed as he muttered, “Merda ingrata. Non c'è bisogno di essere così fottutamente maleducato. Yes, I used chalk and tape. I’m sorry that I didn’t fucking go to my local pharmacy ta get some goddamn holy wa-”

He trailed off at seeing the demon’s eyes turn into radio dials as he practically towered over him, making Anthony shrink underneath his gaze and stop talking. Alastor took a deep breath and rubbed his temples. He growled, “Could you just make a deal with me so I can leave this sheer stupidity?”

Anthony rubbed the back of his neck as he looked around and saw a few dishes that were peeking out of the sink. He suggested, “Uh, you can clean some dishes.”

Al’s eye twitched as he snarled, “Are you serious? Is that it? No one you want killed? Nothin-”

A hard knock came on a wall nearby as a voice barked, “Hey, shut the fuck up, damn faggot!”

The demon’s eyes glowed as he snapped his fingers in that direction. A few seconds of silence came before the blood-curdling screams came from the neighbor, including visceral cracking sounds and what sounded like begging. The shrieking became more gurgled after a while before it finally became silent. 

Alastor’s eyes turned back to normal and he seemed to get small dark circles underneath his eyelids. He looked down at Anthony,who stared up at him with eyes as wide as dinner plates, with a tired grin and sighed, “I’m going to go eat your neighbor. We will talk about this more.”

He then suddenly disappeared and Antony was quick to lock the door, trying to pretend this didn’t just happen and ignore the terrifying growling and nauseating wet tearing sounds happening next door.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fic #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel angel dust #alastor the radio demon #alastor #angel dust #alastor x angel dust #angel dust x alastor #human angel dust #human au #hazbin hotel au #my writing #fanfiction #writers on tumblr #radiodust

[gallavictorious]

”You going out? I thought you weren't working tonight.”

Mickey looks up from his tie to see Ian leaning against the doorframe, in uniform and with his hair neatly slicked back.

”Nah, it isn't work. Well, not exactly,” he says, finishing the knot and taking a step back to admire the result in the mirror. He's getting pretty good at this. Lots of practice in the last few months, ever since he took the bodyguard gig officially on the road. Clients like it when he wears a tie. ”You know the chick I've been babysitting for the past few weeks, the one whose stalker I caught trying to climb in through the fucking window? She and her dad's taking me to some fancy place, uh... Piccolo something, to thank me. Since you're working the late shift, I thought – ”

Ian interrupts, straightening: ”Piccolo Sogno? Like, that really romantic place down in West Town? You telling me the girl who has a crush on you is taking you there?” He pauses, looking at Mickey with a cross between disbelief and bemusement. ”Are you going on a fucking date?”

Mickey stares at him. ”What the hell are you talking about?” he demands. Crush? Date? What?

---

The chick's name is Charlotte Eckerton.

He was supposed to call her Ms. Eckerton, she insisted he say Charlie, and what he actually went with was usually some classic television reference that she didn't get, or – when she's was being particularly annoying – ”hey, brat”. She was probably no worse than any other spoiled little North Side princess, but Mickey sure as hell didn't get why anyone, no matter how loony, would want to stalk her, because literally all she did was go to class, study, shop, and party with her equally irritating friends. Oh, and endlessly updating her Instagram stories with every last detail about her fascinating life, of course. He put a quick stop to that, because continually announcing your location to the public when a deranged psycho was stalking you was... well, let's face it, it was about as stupid as he expected from these people.

She threw a tantrum when he swapped her phone for one with restricted access to social media apps, and she tried to give him the slip at least twice a day for the first four days, going as far as paying some other goons to attack him while she made a run for it. She was not completely stupid, he had to give her that, and he was beginning to understand why her father had come to him rather than hire a more well-established firm. The girl was a complete nuisance, and occasionally quite clever about it. Clearly needed someone wise to all the tricks, and unafraid to rein her in and tell her in no uncertain terms when she was being an idiot.

Mr. Eckerton was loaded, having made his fortune doing some IT-shit or other, and for the kind of money he was offering, Mickey was prepared to put up with a quite a lot of hare-brained shenanigans, as well as hanging out at the Magnificent Mile afternoon after afternoon, and listening to the brat's endless babble about... hair? Make-up? Bands? Whatever. He didn't really pay attention; he'd have needed to be paid hell of a lot more than he was to do that.

After a week or so of thwarted escape attempts Charlotte had exchanged overt defiance for a more subtle approach, trying to throw him off his game by suddenly gifting him stuff, like a dark gray shirt ”that goes really well with your eyes”. He took the shirt, because it was pretty nice, as was the watch and the stupidly expensive hair-product she produced in the following days. He was a little insulted she thought he could be bought so easily, though; she'd have needed to double her father's money, at the very least – or gotten him a nice car. He had said as much to Ian, who had eyed the gifts with an unreadable expression on his face, and had failed to comment.

When bribery too proved a failed tactic she started asking a lot of personal question instead, fishing for weaknesses to exploit. Her strategy was pitifully obvious, however, and Mickey gave her nothing but monosyllabic responses. Finally, she resigned herself to being stuck with him for the time being, and mercifully stopped pestering him about letting her go to whatever concert or party was happening that night. She still dressed up and put on elaborate make-up every damned evening, though, even if it was just the two of them chilling at her place, but he supposed it was something for her to do. Fuck knew he could sympathize with the boredom of being locked up.  

So that was Charlotte, spoiled and stubborn and maybe a little bit clever underneath it all. Not the worst person he could imagine babysitting, not by a long shot, but not one he'd think back on either, now that the job was done. He probably wouldn't even have accepted her and her father's invitation to take him out for a meal, if it hadn't been for Ian's occasional insistence that he needed to be ”nicer to his clients” and ”cultivate professional contacts”. This only made his husband's reaction to the whole situation all the more annoying –

”It is not a date,” Mickey says flatly, irritation coloring his voice, because Ian is smiling at him in all too knowing way. ”I probably saved her fucking life, she wants to buy me dinner. That doesn't make this a – Listen, her fucking father is going to be there.”

”Yeah, sure he will.” Ian crosses his arms, still smirking like an asshole, but there's just a hint of an edge to the smile now. ”Does she even know you're gay?”

Mickey rolls his eyes. ”Of course she fucking knows, because I open every damned conversation with 'Hi, I'm Mickey and I love cocks' like a normal fucking faggot. Jesus. It hasn't come up. She knows I'm married.”

”Like that's gonna – ”

They're interrupted by the door to Liam's room opening, the boy stepping out to give them his very best judgemental look. ”Why are you yelling? I need to study.”

”Oh, it's nothing,” Ian says casually. ”Just Mickey having a date tonight. With a teenage girl.”

”She’s nineteen, and I am not – !”

Liam frowns. ”Is this like when he was fake-dating Byron to make you jealous? Are you going to go on a fake date too? With a girl?”  He pauses, frown deepening: ””Is there a Grindr for straight people?”

Ian's spared a reply as Lip comes up the stairs with Freddie in his arms. He pauses on the top step, brow furrowing as he takes in the scene: Mickey, dressed to the nines and with a scowl to match, Ian smiling with his arms crossed, and Liam wearing his trademark look, the one that says that everyone else is a bit of an idiot. ”What's going on here?”

”Mickey's going on a date with a woman.” Liam offers it readily, a true believer in the free dissemination of information. Probably something he picked up at private school.

Mickey gives a half-choked groan. ”It's not a – ! You know what, fuck you.” With one last glare and an extended middle finger, Mickey grabs his jacket and storms off.

Ian, Liam and Lip watch him go, nonplussed. Lip glances at Ian: ”Huh. Less than a year of marriage and you've already turned him off men.”

”Yeah, well. Have to admit I didn't see that one coming.”

---

The restaurant is fancy as hell, linen cloth and candlelight, one person to take his coat and another to show him to the table. Charlotte is already there, blonde hair pulled back in a strict ponytail, something expensive glittering around her neck and drawing attention to the generious helping of skin her lowcut black dress offers.

The table is set only for two. Mickey frowns as he takes his seat. ”Your father coming?”

”No.” The smile she gives him is very innocent. ”He got held up in a meeting, so he called to say he can't make it. He said to tell you sorry, and to thank you so much for your service.”

Listen to those alarm bells going off all at once... Mickey tries to mentally shake it off. It's nothing to worry about. Just Ian putting weird ideas into his head. ”Uh, yeah. Don't worry about it. Just doing my job.” He waves for the waiter to bring him a beer. He does need a drink, quite urgently.

Charlotte leans forward, looking up at him from under half-closed lids with a very intense expression on her perfectly moisturized face. ”You were so brave when Smithson attacked me. I don't know how I can ever thank you enough. You know, my father is paying for this meal, but if there was something else you wanted... ?”

And that's her grabbing the olive from her drink and very deliberately pushing it past her lips and that's... that's her foot, sans shoe, slowly sliding down his calf.

Oh. Fuck. This is a date. Inwardly groaning, Mickey rubs a tired hand over his face, before looking straight at Charlotte: ”You know I'm fucking gay, right? Like, married to a man?”  Jesus, Ian is never going to let him hear the end of this...

Charlotte reels back just a little, mouth falling slightly open. He's prepared for shock, disgust even – but instead a dreamy look appears on her face. ”Oh my god, that is sooo hot!”

What?

---

He feigns sleep when Ian returns home a quarter past midnight, but his husband isn't fooled. ”How was your date?” he murmurs as he slips in under the covers and wraps his arms around Mickey from behind.

”Shut the fuck up.”

A quiet laugh, a kiss pressed to his shoulder. ”I take it you're sticking with cocks for now then.”

And sure, there's a teasing edge to the words, and sure, he'll hear about this for-fucking-ever, but... Mickey turns around, facing Ian. ”I guess I am,” he agrees, reaching up to run his thumb over Ian's cheek.

Whatever mischief is there fades from Ian's eyes, from his voice: ”I'm glad,” he says simply, and pulls Mickey in for a kiss.

Yeah. So is he.

---

This one goes out to @starkcravingmad​  who suggested a teenage charge crushing on a clueless Mickey, in a reply to this post. I know you didn't ask me to write it, and I have no idea if this is even vaguely related to what you had in mind, but for better or worse you planted the seed, and here we are. Didn't intend for it to get this long, or this silly, but yeah.

#gallavich #maybe it somehow becomes a thing #charlotte taking both of them out for dinner #and of course they never ever do anything with her #they literally just have dinner at fancy places #ian continues to find the whole situation completely hilarious #and delights in being extra sweet and touchy with mickey #let's face it he has a long history of doing weird shit for gifts and money #and he kinda digs that someone else is as into mickey as he is #mickey is never not super grumpy #though of course he goes SOFT whenever Ian touches him #obviously he hasn't developed the tiniest soft spot for charlote #OBVIOUSLY #but the food is great so whatever #bodyguard mickey #oblivious mickey part II #fic #my stuff

[intelligent-zombie]

Of fistfights and fathers

Summary: Alfred’s parenting skills are put to the test

Word Count: 1042

Warnings: lgbt slur, fisticuffs

Notes: hi i don’t think ive ever posted a fic before god help me here we go

Bruce’s right hand is resting in a bowl of ice water. His left hand is being gently seen to, fresh gauze pressed down firmly to staunch the bleeding. The dirty strip of torn shirt he used as a temporary bandage lies on the table in front of him. It feels like evidence of a crime.

It’s too quiet. 

“Do you have a clean shirt to wear tomorrow?”

“I’m suspended.” 

“Do you have a clean shirt?”

He won’t meet his eyes, he can’t. Thomas Wayne has been in his grave barely a year and his son’s fists are bloodied in a schoolyard scrap. Not for the first time. Or the second. Definitely not the last.

“I do,” he mumbles.

“Bruce, look at me.”

He won’t. He studies the kitchen light on the water, the ice cubes jostling each other above his skin. He pulls his hand out the water, flexing cold fingers. Alfred hands him a soft towel, which he gladly buries his freezing hand in.

“Do you have a good reason?”

Reason, yes. Good? He isn’t sure.

“No.”

“So… your classes are that boring? You just hit him for fun?”

“No-” he hisses at the sting of alcohol on raw knuckles. 

“Then why?” Alfred presses.

But he’s not angry, he’s just sitting there, holding Bruce’s hand. 

“He called Jeremy a faggot,” he says it quietly, eyes unfocusing. 

He sees it, Derek’s laughter, his stupid pointy chin, narrow little mocking eyes- the mistake was hitting bone. Punching him, however- not a mistake.

“Calls him. Different things, all the time.”

Bruce speaks to a drop of water on the table, rather than look Alfred in the eye.

“He has two dads,” Bruce explains. “Derek said he should give me one, since he has two.”

Silence. It’s too quiet and it aches, worse than his hand, worse than anything. 

“Jeremy told him to shut up-”

‘Shut your fat stupid face, Derek!’

“And then he shoved him.”

Derek doesn’t let up on the barrage of insults, uses slurs as crude weapons. 

“He wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t let him get up.”

Jeremy, muddy and crying, and there’s just enough rain to hide the fact that Bruce is crying too. He won’t let them see that. He’ll never let them see that. 

“And then you hit him?”

“No,” Bruce shakes his head. He wiggles his fingers as Alfred expertly wraps bandages around his knuckles. “I mean. It just… it went wrong, really fast.”

“It usually does.” 

Soft tone, soft touch, and Bruce wishes Alfred would just yell. Putting it in words to him is harder. An angry scolding and being sent to a quiet room to be alone, that would be so much easier. 

“I told him to never touch Jeremy again.”

“Or?”

“Or I’d make him stop.”

There’s more to it than a physical threat. He knows what Derek’s afraid of, and it’s his father. A man who thinks violence alone is strength. 

“I’ll win, you’ll run away. And everyone will know you’re a coward.”

So the first swing isn’t his, which makes him feel more than a little justified when he plants his fist in Derek’s stupid face. There’s a spray of blood, a sickening squish, and Derek gets a botched nose job. 

And Bruce is right. The “fight” lasts just under a minute. And Derek runs. Derek runs like hell is behind him, and maybe it is, because the young Master Bruce has never felt so angry, never heard this roaring in his ears, never wanted to take someone apart and show them their own broken pieces.

So Derek runs. And maybe nobody sees, but Bruce had promised him, so he believes it. Everyone will know.

Alfred has been choosing his words carefully, but he’s spinning wheels now, and there’s no roadmap for this, no one to tell him this is the start of something, a spark, a seed, a dark beginning. There are two ghosts in his head, but they’re both silent. 

“Next time-”

“Next time?” Bruce stares at him, incredulous. 

“Next time you’re squaring off with a bully,” Alfred amends. “Don’t punch him in the face with your bare fists.”

“You’re supposed to tell me not to hit anyone at all,” Bruce can’t believe it.

 Alfred is violating the ancient code of grown-up-people. They wield time-outs and stern talking-to’s. They’re not supposed to be agreeable. 

“Right,” Alfred nods sternly. “Don’t hit anyone at all. But if you do-”

He pats the boy's bandaged hand, gentle, but it draws Bruce’s attention back to a throbbing hand. 

“Soft tissue, Master Bruce,” Alfred suggests. “Always soft tissue, never the skull.”

It’s solid advice. It doesn’t necessarily feel like the appropriate advice, but it’s practical.

“Are you trying to get me expelled?”

“I don’t know,” Alfred sighs, rubbing his temples. “There’s this new trend everyone’s talking about- homeschooling.”

“You want me to stop going to school?”

“Do you want to keep going?”

Bruce is learning: Alfred has an infuriating habit of believing in free will. Questions get answered with questions. There’s an expectation that you think, you don’t wait to be told what to do.

“Jeremy will still be there,” Bruce insists. “All my friends.”

Alfred looks away for a moment, eyes closed, trying not to betray a feeling. Not to be too proud, not too proud of this boy with bloodied knuckles, because ithis is not the kind of behavior you condone. Right? But damn he is proud and what’s he going to do? Hide it? Fat chance of that. He couldn’t hide it if he tried.

“Come here,” he reaches an arm out, beckoning, scooping Bruce into a hug. A small face burrows in his shoulder, anything but weak but he still seems so small, and Alfred holds him as tightly as he can. 

Then the tears come, and one day Alfred will realize it’s the last time Bruce lets himself cry. Maybe he forgets how. But today there’s no stopping it, the dam isn’t just breaking, it’s exploding, and there’s a year of pain and grief and anger spilling out in hot and stinging tears.

“Never stop,” Alfred leans back to look at Bruce. “We’ll never stop looking out for the Jeremy’s. And for the Derek’s, when they come around. When they need us.”

He holds him. There’s a soft rain outside, pattering on the tall windows of the manor. Speckled light filters through, dances on mahogany furniture, dances on oil portraits, refractions that make Thomas and Martha Wayne look like they’re crying. 

“Alright?”

“Alright.”

It’s not the moment, it’s not like the boy wakes the next morning and presents Alfred with a diorama on vigilantism. But there never is the moment; it’s not one singular defining event, it’s not death, it’s not a reaction to one crime, to one injustice, one terrible night. 

It’s a habit. It’s just a habit of standing in between people, refusing to be the bystander. It’s the habit of saying no, no more, this stops now. Of getting back up, no matter what. And never stopping. 

#alfred&bruce #batman #parenting skills #bad advice or great advice #fanfic #the & means it's plutonic and if you think otherwise i'll beat you with a spoon

[bruciewayne]

okboomer.jpeg

stevetony, steve & peter, troll/millennial steve rogers, 2k

-

Something many people forget, or rather, overlook, about Steve Rogers is that he’s not really 90 years old, not in terms of lived years, technically he’s barely thirty, technically he’s a millennial. And a fast learner.

All of this culminates into one, hour-long conversation with Peter and Harley (Tony’s never going to tell him to babysit them ever again (he blatantly ignores Rhodey’s jabs at his kids getting along with his boyfriend (they’re not like that, he swears))) which ends with Steve getting Instagram and Twitter. Which seems harmless initially, because it’s not like he’s going to get catfished, or groomed, or manage to buy into every pyramid scheme ever (Peter tells Tony that only Facebook has pyramid scheme ads and if, after that, he makes an active effort to be on the Stark Industries Twitter more, then no-one has to know), but it’s soon evident that memes, which appear to be entirely inconsequential fun, are in fact, not.

For whatever god-given purpose, Steve and Peter hang out a lot more than one would expect from a man from the Great Depression and a kid too young to remember 9/11, which means, as with most friendships, their vernacular somehow ends up merging, case and point, last week.

“So you and Cap are getting along pretty well,” Tony says, casually, as he walks into the kitchen around noon (he hates to admit it, but he’s getting to the age where his body will actively protest to any accidental fasting), and finds Peter waiting for his garlic bread to warm in the oven.

“Yeah! I know everyone thinks he’s hard-boiled, but he cooks with gas and he’s no chicken, so it’s all gucci in my book,” Peter replies, not taking his eyes off the oven door, completely oblivious to Tony attempting to translate everything he just said, because he’s fully fluent in six languages and what on earth just flew out of Peter’s mouth isn’t any of them.

Tony feels like he should be concerned, but Steve seems to be more comfortable in the century and Peter, from what he’s gathered, either thinks of him as an older brother or an eccentric uncle, so, despite his better instincts, he watches from afar as Peter (and some of his friends, and Harley) manage to incorporate more 1940s slang into their vocabulary than Steve had, and as Steve becomes almost worryingly invested in meme culture.

“I don’t really know,” he says simply, when Tony asks him why he took so easily to it. Tony pours out two cups of coffee and slides one over to Steve. It’s late enough that the very first rays of sunlight are just peaking across the horizon, and just about dark enough that they can pretend it’s still yesterday.

“They’re fun,” Steve says, after a moment, and Tony pretends to watch New York officially move into the next day, staring at Steve and the way the orange-pink light hits his face instead.

“I can’t say I understand it fully,” Tony starts, quietly, “but it’s nice to see you happy.”

Steve turns to face him. What feels like long ago Tony couldn’t bear the full, intense, focus of Steve’s gaze, but now, now that he’s not trying to intimidate him, he can’t help but feel almost comforted by it. 

“Thank you,” Steve says, after a moment, mouth, pretty and so, so pink, quirking up at the corner.

He doesn’t know who moved first, but one minute they’re just staring at each other, and the next, he’s in his lap and finally, finally, they’re going to bed.

“May I remind both you, Sir, and Captain Rogers, that you have the mandatory biannual Avengers press conference in two hours,” JARVIS says, after allowing Steve and Tony a few precious minutes of afterglow (in the space of three days, Tony’s discovered some fascinating things about Steve, one of which includes just how fast he can move his tongue).

Steve groans into his neck and wraps his arms around his waist, effectively pinning him to the bed, not that Tony’s complaining, but he was late for the first of these biannual conferences and after that Fury installed a rule (with the help of Pepper the traitor), that ends with Tony teaching a community college foundation maths class, so he nudges Steve gently, “Get up.”

“No,” he says, almost petulant, somehow attempting (and, bafflingly, succeeding) to move closer to him, despite starting out with no space whatsoever between them, not that, once again, Tony’s complaining, “don’ wanna,” he mumbles.

“We have to,” Tony says, trying to be the adult, whilst making no effort to push Steve off him.

“Nah,” Steve says, and Tony can feel him smiling, all soft and gentle against his skin, “‘m Captain ‘Merica, don’ gotta do nothing.” God.

“Double negative, darling.”

“You’re’a double negative,” Steve grumbles, but the supposed intended effect is entirely lost by the way he’s looking at Tony, like he hung the moon and the stars and created life and the earth itself (for what reason, is akin to Atlantis to Tony, but by God had Steve asked him for the moon, for the whole damn solar system, he would do anything in his power to give him it). He knows that the battle is completely lost when Steve starts spreading a series of incredibly distracting kissing down his chest, and who is he to disobey his captain’s orders?

“One more strike and you’re off to community college,” Fury growls as soon as he comes into the green room, followed by Steve.

“He was helping me with an emergency, sir,” Steve says, Tony notices that his voice had dropped into what he’s internally dubbed his ‘Captain Important Voice’, which makes everyone what to follow his exact words (and has the side effect of making Tony unimaginably horny, but now, just before he’s about to be on multiple live news channels, isn’t the time), and despite being at least two decades his senior, Fury just nods.

“You’re excused for now, Stark,” he mutters, quite possibly the closest he’s ever gotten to apologising.

Tony grins at Steve, “Have I finally corrupted America’s Golden Boy?”

Steve smiles back, small, but with an edge, teasing, “Don’t take all the credit, I’m pretty sure Arnie and Bucky had something to do with it, back in the day,” he says, and Tony’s vision absolutely does not turn greener than a copper fire at the prospect of Steve having sex with someone else, because he’s well aware that he’s not a virgin, therefore, by definition, has had sex with other people, and Tony’s definitely okay with that and doesn’t want to drag him into the janitor’s room and mark him up where the people ten feet away can and can’t see (amongst his discoveries, he’s found out that his thighs are delightfully sensitive) and then curses the serum for clearing up the marks so fast that it would be entirely futile (well… not entirely). Nope. Not him. 

He’s not bad at poker, but he knows from Steve’s expression that he’s given himself away, and then it dawns on him, maybe that was the end goal. 

“Bastard,” Tony mutters, under his breath, as they walk through the curtains to face the vultures, and Steve just grins wider, that little glint in his eye confirming what he thought. He really does live up to the title of ‘Master Tactician’, huh?

And now Tony’s horny in front of quite possibly the worst group of humans to possibly exist: reporters (not that he’d ever even mention that to Wayne, not if he liked having his balls attached as they originally are, and in the right place). On the bright side (and they do like unnecessarily using the flash) they, and the prospect of the questions sure to be flung his, and the team’s, way, manage to pretty much decimate his libido.

The conference goes as all conferences go, slowly, Tony finds himself creating JARVIS’ updates, SIOS updates, and, during a particularly dull exchange between a reporter and Thor, reciting the capital cities in reverse-alphabetical order, then, during the mandatory sexist-reporter-against-Natasha exchange, the elements of the periodic table, in order of most to least reactive.

He takes to staring at Steve after that, he’s not in uniform, but he doesn’t need to be, to be respected and regarded as ‘Captain America’, everything about his body language, his expression, the way he holds himself, he exudes power and control and Tony’s fascinated and bewitched entirely, even as Steve’s focused on the reporters.

He almost jolts when one of them addresses Steve.

“Captain, as a man from a time when homosexuality was considered a criminal offence, do you support the legalisation of same-sex marriage across all states?” 

Steve, if possible, sits up straighter, and says, “As a bisexual man growing up when I did, nothing would make me prouder for this nation. Everyone, regardless of race and gender, deserves to have the right for their love to be acknowledged by the state, withholding that right, just because it’s two grooms, doesn’t constitute American values of equality and freedom, and, if I may be crass, it’s long overdue.”

They don’t even get a chance to celebrate, or clap, because a white, balding reporter with quite possibly the worst shirt-tie combination Tony’s seen in a while, stands up, “I demand you resign, we can’t have a faggot represent America! You’ll be spreading your disease to impressionable young kids, then what would we be? A nation of fairies and bumboys? We’d be the laughing stock of the world!”

Steve gets that glint in his eye again, and smiles a little as he leans closer to the microphone, making direct eye-contact with the man, who’s squirming slightly, and up until this point, Tony’s almost forgotten about Steve and his fluency in modern memes, but he can see Peter grinning and he just knows what he’s going to say, a millisecond before it comes out of his mouth. 

“Ok, Boomer.”

And that’s when the room explodes with more laughter than Tony’s ever seen in all his years (and maybe, when Steve grins, all sunny and bright and so goddamn beautiful, that’s when he realises that he’s in love, but that’s for another time), and Maria has to take them off stage.

The next morning, Steve flicks through his phone to find his face plastered all over the internet, news sites and meme pages alike.

CAPTAIN AMERICA SHUTS DOWN HOMOPHOBE

-

my parents talkin abt how ‘art isn’t a career’:

me:

okboomer.jpeg

-

CAPTAIN AMERICA OR CAPTAIN DISRESPECT?

-

was anyone going to tell me that captain america is a millennial who’s aware of, and uses topical memes

or was i meant to watch him verbally decimate an incel on msncb myself???

-

STARS AND STRIPES? CAPTAIN AMERICA COMES OUT

-

anyways if captain ‘from the fucking 1940s gays are sin era’ america doesn’t have to “make a choice” neither do i ✌✌

“You’re a worldwide sensation,” Tony teases, nudging him.

Steve just shrugs, “It’ll go away by tomorrow,” he says, optimistically. He puts his phone on the bedside table and turns to Tony, all talk of memes leaving the room very fast.

It doesn’t. Not even when Ellen mentions it.

“Cap,” Peter says, jogging up to him, almost half a year after that damn conference, “I don’t think you understand, you’re gonna end up in the modern meme hall of fame.”

“Well, there are probably worse things to be known for.”

(It takes Tony an embarrassingly long time to realise that Steve was talking about his old sex tapes.)

((After that it takes him even longer to realise the implications: Steve’s watched those tapes.))

-

for ‘accidental meme’ on happy steve bingo

#steve rogers x tony stark #steve x tony #stevetony #steve rogers #tony stark #stony fic #this is so disjointed kjdfghlksdfjg #my fic #my writing

[jon-daddy-dominus]

Kitten's Collar

Chapter, 29

Turning her head to the side, to avoid his advance, Stacy repeated, in a whisper. "Clint... please don't."

"Why not?" He asked, quietly.

Turning her head slightly back towards him, she cut her eyes up to meet his. "Because it's not right."

"Why not?" He asked again.

"Because it isn't, Clint... You're only fourteen, and I'm twenty six. Not to mention, for the past couple of years, I've basically been your mom. Besides, I'm married." She said softly, still cutting her eyes up at him, with a sad look if panicked confusion.

"Is that it?"

Turning her head back, to face him straight on, Stacy's eyes softened, "Isn't that enough?"

"I guess it should be."

"Then why do you look like you're going to try to kiss me again?"

"Because you gave me all those reasons why "It's not right" but not one of them, was because, "you don't want me to".

"Clint..." she whispered, shaking her head apologetically.

"Forget everything else... Tell me you don't want me to." He whispered back.

Her eyes danced back, and forth as she searched her mind for excuses. "Clint... we just can't, okay?"

"Just look me in the eye, and tell me you don't want me to."

"Clint, you're just a kid. You don't understand."

Frustrated, he pushed himself up to a sitting position, and growled. "No! You don't understand, Stacy?"

Confused by his outburst, and sudden change in mood, Stacy quickly sat up. "Clint, what's going on, Sweetheart? What don't I understand?"

Clint tightened his jaw, lowered his eyes, and didn't say anything.

"Please, don't do that. Tell me what's wrong. What don't I understand?" Stacy asked, her concern clearly showing in her expression.

"You don't know what it's like... Nobody does." He grumbled, fighting back tears.

Taking his hand in hers, Stacy quieted her voice. "Clint, please talk to me Sweetie. Tell me what's wrong."

He sat there flexing his jaw, looking angry. "I feel like a fucking faggot, Stacy!" He yelled.

"What? Why?"

"I don't know, I just do."

Bending down, and lifting her head to meet his eyes. Cautiously, she asked. "Do you like boys?"

"Hell, no!" He snapped.

"Then why would you say, that you feel gay? I don't understand."

"Just forget it, okay?" He snapped again, pulling his hand away, and getting up.

Stacy jump to her feet, and grabbed his wrist, to keep him from walking away. "Is that why you kissed me? Because you're trying to figure out if you're gay, or not?"

Turning away from her, and staring at the wall, he grumbled. "No."

"Then why did you kiss me?"

"Because I don't want to feel fuckin gay anymore!"

"Sweetie, if you don't find men attractive, you're not gay." She paused for a second. "But if you do... that's okay too, you know." She stated, trying to comfort him.

"No, damn it! I'm not into dudes! I like women, okay?"

"Then why did you need to kiss me, to feel like you're straight?"

"Because I've never done anything with a girl before, and I thought it might make me feel less gay."

"I don't want to upset you, more than you already are, but... can I ask you something? "

"What?" He grumbled.

"Have you ever done anything with another guy?"

He clenched his jaw tightly, and scowled. "Not because I wanted to."

Stacy's heart sunk, the hurt, and shame that now covered his face was obvious. Imagined, images of what might have happened to him filled her mind, and a tear ran down her cheek.

Gently, she tugged on his arm, to pull him to her, but he resisted.

Still holding his wrist, she held him in place, and stepped in front of him, but he refused to look at her.

"Clint... look at me baby."

Keeping his head, facing to the side, he shook it a little.

Stacy could hear his shaky breaths, and quiet sniffles, as he struggled to pretend he wasn't crying.

"Baby... If someone did something to you, that you didn't want, it's not your fault, and it certainly doesn't make you gay."

Clint still didn't respond. Taking a deep breath, he raised his face toward the ceiling, and blew out hard.

"Clint... Look at me." Stacy whispered softly.

Shaking his head again, he wiped his face in his sleeve, but still wouldn't look at her.

She placed her hand on his cheek, and gently turned his head toward her, but he kept his eyes firmly on the floor.

"It's not your fault, Sweetheart. You're not gay." Stacy reassured him.

"What did I do, to make God hate me so much?" He whimpered.

"Clint, God doesn't hate you."

"Then why is my life so fucked up?"

"I'm not going to lie. Life has been very cruel to you... but no one's life is easy, Sweetheart. You can't allow the bad things that have happened to you, control who you are as a person."

Unable to hold back anymore, his knees gave out, and he sank to the floor weeping uncontrollably.

Quickly, Stacy dropped down next to him, and wrapped him in a tight, loving hug. "It's okay, baby. I promise things will get better. You're a wonderful person. You're smart, good looking, kind, talented, and one day, things are going to be better. You've just got to hang in there, okay?"

"My Maw Maw's dead, my Daddy's dead, I murdered my Uncle to keep him from beatin me to death! My own momma doesn't even love me! She walked away like I was nothin! All the kids at school are scared of me, and talk shit about me! I don't have any friends, or a girlfriend! I feel like a faggot, cause I've never even kissed a girl, but I've had a man's dick in my mouth, and ass!" He sobbed into Stacy's shoulder, as she tried desperately, to hug his pain away.

"I'm so sorry baby... you didn't deserve all that... no one does, but especially not you." Stacy cried, squeezing him tighter.

Pulling away from her embrace, he calmed himself, as he wiped his face clean.

"Yeah? Then how come, when I finally get the guts to kiss you... the one person in my life that I care about, you rejected me like everybody else?"

"Clint, that's not fair."

"How is it not fair? You say you love me, but I'm not good enough for you either."

"I do love you, Sweetheart, but I already told you, we can't, it's not right."

"Yeah, I know. Cause of our age difference, right? But if I was twenty four, and you were thirty six, it wouldn't be an issue. And, yeah, you're my foster mom, but you're not my real mom, so basically you're just a girl that cares about me. Kinda like a girlfriend, right? And yeah, I know you're married, but you and Ryan's relationship is a joke anyway. Y'all don't hold hands, or kiss, or anything. And y'all might sleep together, but I know y'all don't do nothin, cause the whole time I've lived with y'all, I ain't never seen the bedroom door closed... Not even once! So, since none of that stuff is really a problem, the only other thing it could be, is I'm not good enough for you, and you don't want me."

In complete shock, Stacy sat there staring at him with her mouth hanging open, and shaking her head in disbelief. Her eyes danced in circles, as she searched the corners of her mind, struggling to find the words to combat his argument.

After a few seconds of silence, she softly replied. "What'dya want me to say, Clint? You're right, the age difference between us, is little more than a mathematical opinion, and because we're not biologically related... If I felt as strongly about someone else, as I do you? I suppose the idea of myself, and that person being in a romantic relationship, would definitely be a possibility. And... you're also right about my marriage to Ryan. It's been love-less for a very long time."

She looked down at the floor, drew a long breath, and looked back up at him. "The truth is Clint... I do care about you. Alot. And it's been sooo long since someone has looked at me, the way you did, and for the first time, in a very long time... I felt like someone wanted me... like someone wanted to be with me. I felt loved. And when you kissed me...? It felt sooo good, and if I'm being completely honest? I really didn't want you to stop. But the fact is, you've had a really tough life, and I know, with all of the things that have happened to you? You have to be an emotional train wreck, and as much as I wanted you to keep going, I felt like I would have been taking advantage of your emotional, confusion. That's why I told you to stop."

"I know my head's fucked up, but I'm not stupid. I know what I want, and what I don't. Pretty much, everything that's ever happened in my life, has been shit that I didn't want to happen, but this ain't one of them."

"I know, you think you want this, and I know I do too, but I don't want to jeopardize the relationship we've built. I don't want you to wake up tomorrow, and regret it, and resent me for it. You've suffered enough already, I'd never forgive myself if I hurt you too."

"Stacy, I love you, and I know you love me, but I'm not saying I want to marry you. I'm just saying that, because of the stuff that's happened to me, I feel like something's wrong with me... I feel like I'm gay. I feel like I need to have sex with a girl, to make sure I'm not... or to remind me I'm not, I don't really know how to say it... But I've never done anything with a girl before, and I don't know what's gonna happen. What if I can't? What if don't like it? What if I mess up, and start cryin, or somethin? That's why, I wanna do it with somebody that cares about me... Somebody that's not gonna laugh, or make fun of me, if it doesn't work." Clint explained.

Stacy peered deep into his eyes. She could tell he wasn't making it up. His facial expression was sad, and nervous, but genuine all the same. She thought about all the horrible things that had happened in his life, and how, through all of it, he still managed to be this loving, polite, respectful young man, that she had grown to care so much for. How could she deny him something, that he seemed to need so badly? But at the same time, what if she was wrong? What if, it was just his teenage hormones driving his request, and what if, what she was considering, would only add to the confusion of his emotional state? What if she gave in to his plea, and it destroyed the trust, and relationship they'd built?

"I wanna help you. I really do, but I don't think this is a good idea."

His eyes soft, and begging, he whispered. "Please, Stacy. I don't wanna feel like this anymore..."

With a long, sympathetic sigh, she shook her head, and softly replied, "I think it's time for bed." as she grabbed the shot glasses, and nearly empty tequila bottle, and headed to the kitchen.

Clint got up, and made his way down the hallway, to his room. Laying across his bed, he stared at the posters on his ceiling for a few minutes, as he began to consider how awkward things were going to be in the morning, before reaching over, and clicking off his lamp.

He was angry at himself for opening up so much. Why didn't he just accept her offer to order some porn on pay per view, and leave it at that? Why did he tell her everything? He gritted his teeth, and shoved the back of his head into his pillow, as hard as he could, grumbling. "Why am I so stupid?"

CLICK. His lamp came back on. "You're not stupid, Clint... slide over." Stacy whispered, climbing into bed next to him.

"Are you sure, this is what you want?" She asked softly.

"Yeah." He replied, nervously.

"Then, what are you waiting for?"

Clint rolled to his side, and kissed her passionately, running his hand from her hip, to her shoulder. Frantically tugging, he tried to pull her tank top off, and scrambled to his knees, to climb between her legs.

He managed to expose her breast, and gave up on removing her shirt, and instead began pulling at her panties, as he kissed her.

Putting her hands on his chest, Stacy pushed him back, and whispered. "Sweetie, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but slow down, okay? Most girls don't like that."

"Don't like what?"

"You're going too fast. I get it, you're excited. But if you keep going like this, you're going to cum before you ever get started. Girls want a guy to be passionate, and intense, but it takes us a little longer to get ready. And believe me, no woman wants a selfish lover. Those are the guys that, kiss her for a few seconds, hurry across her boobs, then rush to get in, and cum before the girl even gets wet. Don't be that guy. Right now, how would you feel, if I told you I already came, and I was done, and going to sleep?"

"Like, right now?"

"Yeah, right this second."

"Did you?"

"No." She laughed. "But I'm asking you, how you would feel, if I just stopped, right now, because I was done?"

"I guess I'd be kinda mad."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't get to go yet."

She made her eyes big, and raised her eyebrows. "See what I'm getting at? That's not fun for us either. We like to orgasm just as much as you guys do, it just takes us a little longer. So, no matter who the girl is, slow down, take your time, and make sure she go's at least once, before you do. Okay?"

"Okay." He agreed, as he cupped her breast, and resumed kissing her.

She reached down, and pulled his shirt up to his shoulders. Clint leaned up, and pulled it the rest of the way off, before lowering himself back down to take her nipple into his mouth.

He pressed his teeth into the sensitive skin on her breast, making her jump a little. "Ump. Easy babe. You can use your teeth a little, just don't bite too hard."

"How am I supposed to know if it's too hard?"

"Well, if you hurt her bad, she's going to yell, or say ouch, or something, but you could always just ask her. Either way, you should start gently, and pay really close attention to her. Feel her body movements, and gradually increase the pressure. If she jumps, or jerks away? Back off."

"Okay." He agreed.

He kissed, sucked, and massaged her breast for a while, before he began kissing, and licking his way down her stomach.

When he reached her sex, he made long, ineffective, licks across the outter part of her vagina.

Not wanting to criticize his efforts, she reached down, and spread herself open for him, tapping her clit with her finger. "You're doing good, but right here, is where it feels best."

Following her instructions, he placed his tongue on her, and started flicking, and swirling.

"Mmm... that feels good." She moaned, moving her hands out of the way, now that he'd found his target.

Her sexy moans of encouragement, filled him with a desire to please her, and he buried his face in her, with a new found passion.

His technique may have been inexperienced, and a bit awkward, but his enthusiasm to gain her approval, was unrivalled by any of her past lovers.

She squeezed her thighs against the sides of his face, and rolled her hips into him, as she inched closer to climaxing.

Not knowing, and thinking he'd made a mistake, he lifted his head to ask what was wrong. But before he could say anything, she placed her hand on the back of his head, and guided him back down. "Please, don't stop. You're going to make me cum!"

Like throwing gasoline on a flame, her words enraged his passion, and he gripped tightly to her thighs, as he pressed his face into her, flicking, licking, and sucking wildly.

Running her fingers through his hair, she took a long, deep, breath, and quivered, as the euphoric release overtook her body. As it hit her, she threw her head back, and squealed loudly, flinging her head side, to side. Her thighs clench down around his head, and she rubbed herself against his still flicking tongue, as she screamed. "Umm... yes! Yes! That feels so good!"

Releasing her legs from around him, she cupped his face in her hands, and pulled him to her mouth. They kissed passionately, as she reached down, to guide him inside.

As he pushed himself inside, his eyes widened, and his heart pounded, from the intensity of the warm, silky, and wet sensation her body offered.

When he was all the way in, Stacy grabbed his face, and softly said. "I know you said this was your first time, so you're probably not going to last very long. But that's okay, because I've already gone. Just take your time, and enjoy it. Okay?"

Clint nodded, and slowly worked his way in, and out of her. This new sensation was more than he'd ever imagined, and he loved it. He lost himself in her... The way she felt, wrapped around him, the heat emanating from her body, the sweet smell of her hair, the softness of her lips, the smoothness of her skin, the sweet, but salty taste of her sex... everything. But most of all, it was the look in her eyes. It was the passion, desire, and lust that penetrated his soul, as she stared down at him during her orgasm. He couldn't get the image out of his mind... he wanted to see it again, he needed it, he craved it.

He carved her image into his memory, as he stared down into her face, and his pace increased. Before he knew what was happening, he was struggling to catch his breath, as he began to tremble deep inside. He went completely numb for a second, then instantly began to tingle all over, immediately followed by the purest feeling of joy, happiness, and ecstasy, all rolled into one. It was better than any alcohol he'd ever had. Better than the high he'd gotten from the weed he smoked, with one of the seniors, under the bleachers. It was better than all his favorite foods combine. As far as he was concerned, this was as close as a person could ever get to heaven, without actually dying.

He collapsed on top of her, feeling drained, and weak.

Stacy kissed his forehead, and lay there, running her fingers through his hair, as he panted to catch his breath.

"Well?" Stacy whispered.

"Huh?" Clint asked, not hearing her over his own panting.

"Did it help?"

Pushing himself up on one elbow, he smiled. "Yeah. I definitely don't feel gay, anymore."

Smiling back, she chuckled. "That's good. I'm glad you know for sure. Now, you can stop stressing about it."

[artificialqueens]

Hot as Hell and No A/C, Chapter 9 (Branjie) - Blackhighheels

(7593 words - it got a bit out of hand and too long)

(Read on AO3)

Nine

Jose glances over at the man in his passenger’s seat and gives him a smile. He still can’t really believe all that has happened since last night. It feels like a dream.

Not only has Brock finally talked with him, but told him he loves him, wants to be with him as his boyfriend and now even wants to come out to his parents.

Jose’s not sure how he feels about the last part because the only way he can see this going is really badly. He’s very nervous about it. He’s also scared for Brock’s safety, because he doesn’t trust his asshole father one bit.

Jose’s own coming out had been unnerving and stressful, but all he had to worry about was getting beat up at school or mocked by his relatives. Getting shot by his mother or father had never been one of his worries, not that the rest hadn’t been horrible enough for a sixteen year old. But he’d been in love back then, with his first boyfriend and he’d wanted to hold his hand and kiss him. Sneaking around wasn’t as much fun as it sounded, and at some point he just got scared that the rumours would get to his mother before he had a chance to talk to her. She hadn’t been surprised at all, but had still managed to make the whole thing horrible, by sitting him down and giving him a very detailed talk about sex - gay sex. It had come in helpful about a six months later, but at the time he’d thought he’d die out of embarrassment.

He’s worried about Brock, about all of it being too much too fast. Of course, he wants him in L.A. with him and he doesn’t want to hide him or sneak around. If Brock asked him to however, he would do it. He’d drive to this fucking stupid yeehaw-town every week if he had to, just to go and see his man in secret – that’s how crazy he is about him, literally.

A kiss placed on the back of his hand brings him out of his head.

”You’re ok?” Brock asks him.

”Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Brock chuckles and keeps his hand in his. ”Take a right behind that barn and park the car there. I can go in through the back and the car can’t be seen from the house.”

Jose parks the car as instructed and turns the engine off. ”You sure you wanna do this? You know you don’t have to.”

”Yes.” Brock sounds absolutely sure and weirdly calm.

”And you sure you don’t want me to come in with ya?”

”Absolutely. You stay here. The second you’d come in, it would be a fight.”

”If you not back in thirty minutes or give me some kind of sign you alive, I’m coming in with the troops to get ya,” Jose vows.

”What kind of troops?”

”Me and the twenty people living in my head.” Brock guffaws and pulls him into another kiss. When he pulls back, Jose wraps his arms around his neck to keep him close.

”You’re crazy.” Brock says it so lovingly that Jose doesn’t even protest, but instead kisses him again.

”You been warned now. No complaining when you stuck with my crazy ass.”

”I’d love to be stuck with your crazy ass. And I won’t regret doing his, don’t worry. No matter the outcome, I can’t see things being worse than just a week ago.”  Jose is surprised that Brock picked up on his worries even though he didn’t voice them out loud. ”Just… be here when I get back. Don’t leave, ok?”

”Never. My gay ass won’t leave this car or this place or you, promise. You got thirty minutes.”

”Ok,” Brock takes a deep breath and seems to steel himself for what’s coming. Before he leaves, he leans back into the car and pecks Jose’s lips a couple of times. ”For luck.” He winks at him and then is gone, has walked into the large barn. Jose takes his phone out and starts the 30 minute countdown, nervous about how this is going to go and his worries grow with every second that ticks down.

***

Brock takes another deep breath before he opens the backdoor to the house. He knows his parents will be sitting in the kitchen having breakfast. He wants to surprise them, so they won’t see him come. As quietly as possible he slips inside and can hear the usual breakfast sounds from the kitchen: the clatter of  the dishes and cutlery, his mother hurrying through the kitchen getting things for his father and his father flipping through the newspaper.

”Good morning,” he greets them, very aware that he is still wearing the same clothes as yesterday.

”Brock!” His mother sounds either relieved or worried, he can’t really tell, but she puts her fork down and looks at him.

”Where the hell have you been? I had to do all the work in the stable and barn on my own this morning. You gonna do the hay on ya own later,” his father barks and only shortly looks up from his newspaper.

”I’m gonna get you some coffee and make you something to eat,” his mother makes a move to stand up, but Brock stops her.

”No, I already had breakfast, thank you,” he says politely.

”I don’t care about your breakfast. I asked you a question!” His father puts his newspaper down and glares at him.

”I have to talk to you,” Brock says instead.

”You got the hussy pregnant, whoever she is?”

Brock ignores his fathers comment, leans against the counter and crosses his arms in front of his chest. He feels his heart beat away in his chest, much faster than usual, but he’s not scared. He knows that no matter what happens Jose is waiting in the car behind the barn and Ada will be on his side. He won’t be alone, he won’t be homeless and he will be loved; maybe even more than he’s ever been here in this house.

”I didn’t get anyone pregnant and I didn’t spent last night with a woman.” He just wants to go on when his mother interrupts him.

”Then where have you been? It’s not right being gone all night, no one knowing where ya at. Then you show up here in yesterday’s clothes. It’s not right, son.”

”Before I can tell you where I’ve been, there’s something else I need to tell you first. I… like… I know you’re gonna be disappointed and probably hate me, but… I can’t go on like this anymore. Things need to change.”

”You wanna bail on us again and leave us with the work, so you can go to some fancy school no one needs?”

”No, dad.” Brock shakes his head, but there’s a glimmer of hope in his chest that one day he will be able to do exactly that and study what he always wanted to study. ”But, like, it’s gonna depend on you, if I keep working on the farm or not. Because…. I’m gay.”

There, he’s said it.

He’s come out to his parents and they stare at him with wide eyes. The silence is very loud.

”What?” His father is so shocked that his voice is weirdly soft for once and Brock wonders when he has last heard it like this.

”I’m gay.” He says it louder, nearly proudly.

”But…no. No!” His mother shakes her head and presses her hand to her mouth. Brock feels the sadness and disappointment radiating off of her. It hurts, it does, but he’s still bracing himself for the explosion he knows is going to happen with his father.

”No son of mine is gay! I made sure of that!” He mumbles the words, which is weird.

”You surely tried beating it out of me, but it didn’t work.”

”You’re no faggot!” There it is, the yelling he has been waiting for. His father’s fists  slam down on the kitchen table.

”I spent last night with a man, so I’m pretty sure I am.” Brock ignores the slurs and tries to stay calm. A broken sob makes him look to his mother who has started to cry.

”Get the fuck out of my house! You disgust me! You no son of mine! My son’s no faggot!”

Brock takes a deep breath as more and more homophobic insults fly his way, that are getting cruder by the second. ”You sure you want me to leave? What about the farm and the work?”

”I’d rather burn the damn thing to the ground than have a faggot working and sleeping here. It’s damn time Dan takes over and starts working on the land he’s gonna inherit anyway, while you’ll burn in hell. And now fuck off before I shoot ya!”

”I’m gonna pack my things and leave. You won’t have to see me no more,” Brock replies, looking his father straight in the eyes. There’s so much he wants to say to him, tell him what an awful joke of a man and he is, but he knows it’s not worth it. This man doesn’t even deserve his anger. It’s not like he expected anything else. ”Mom? That’s what you want, too? You want me to leave?” He needs to ask though, because he still has hope. But she simply looks down to the table, like she can’t bear to even look at him anymore. ”Alright,” he nods, knowing that’s it.

He grabs his suitcase from under his bed and first puts his clothes in, then the few other things he wants to take: Photos, a couple of books, his bible, his old laptop, his photo camera and his phone charger. He also adds the small wooden chess game his grandmother bought him a long time ago and a small wooden chest he carved himself.

”Brock?” his mother is standing in the doorway, a tissue clasped tightly in her hand. He stops checking the room for forgotten things for a second and gives her his full attention.

”Mom?”

”Don’t… just say you didn’t mean it. We can like… the reverend can get you help and your dad will calm down and… we just gonna forget it all. If you take it back…” She’s still crying.

”I can’t, mom. I’ve tried conversion therapy when I went away to College and it didn’t work.”

”You knew back then that you’re…. that you’re thinking like that?”

”I’ve always known mom. And I tried to fight it and I tried to change and lie, even to myself, because I thought it was wrong and a sin and… everything y’all always told me. But I can’t do it no more. I’ve felt like shit for so long and I thought about killing myself a couple of times…” Another sob escapes his mother. ”And now, for the first time I’m in love. I love him, mom, so much. I tried to forget about him and continue living a lie, but I just can’t do it. You saw me lying in this bed, depressed and sick to my stomach. You know I’ve been unhappy. I just… I choose to be me this time and I choose to be happy. And I’d rather do it with you than without you, but you give me no choice.”

”Who is he?” her question is quiet and lacks emotion.

”His name is Jose. You’ve met him. ‘Vanjie’, he was Rachel’s dance teacher and drove us to the hospital when Dan fell. That’s kind of how we met.”

She nods and doesn’t look surprised. ”You take care of yourself.” She looks at him and he can’t see any hate or disgust in her eyes. Brock wants to step forward and hug her goodbye, but she quickly turns around before he can do so and leaves the room. This stings a lot more than his father’s screamed insults.

He quickly finishes packing, then grabs the suitcase and a sports bag and leaves the way he has come.

Outside he takes a deep breath. He’s finally free.

When he walks through the barn, Henry shows up and greets him like he usually does. Brock scratches his head and wants to keep walking, but Henry jumps on him and clings to his leg.

”You wanna come?” he asks him and picks him up. Suddenly he knows he can’t leave him. ”Let’s hope Jose’s ok with you.”

With Henry on his arm he suddenly feels euphoric. He did it! He’s come out to his parents, no one got shot and now he gets to finally live his life without hiding who he is or who he loves.

Jose jumps out of the car as soon as he sees him, runs towards him and hugs him so tightly he nearly makes him tumble to the ground and squish the cat.

”I was so worried. There’s only eleven minutes left.”

”I’m ok,” he assures him and laughs. Nothing feels better than being in Jose’s arms again. Jose grabs the sports bag from him and puts it in the back seat while Brock puts the suitcase in the trunk.

”And who’s this?” Jose the asks when he spots Henry.

”That’s my kitten Henry.”

”Kitten? That’s one huge ass cat,” Jose laughs. ”He coming with us, Tiger King?”

”If you’ll have him.”

”We can’t leave your baby behind.” Jose shrugs and suddenly wrinkles his forehead. There’s a weird sound coming from behind Brock. It’s coming from the barn and is getting louder and louder. ”And what the fuck is this?” Jose points to the ground.

Brock laughs when he sees what he means. ”That’s Henry’s brother Apollo.  He sounds like a broken lawn-mower when he tries to meow.”

”He ain’t no brother! They look nothing alike! You lying!”

”I’m not. Same litter, but he has a different father, obviously.”

”Oh, their mama’s one of those…” Jose nods knowingly and makes Brock chuckle again. ”What we gonna do with him? He looks pressed.”

”Apollo can’t be bothered by me or any other humans, but I guess he likes Henry.”

”That true? You hate us hoomans?” Jose crouches down and holds out his hand. To Brock’s biggest surprise the grey cat walks over to him and bumps his head against it and starts purring. ”Guess Thacks gonna have two new step brothers, ‘cause I got myself a mans,” Jose smirks up at him. The warmth that spreads from his heart through his whole body, reminds Brock again why he just did what he did. Jose’s certainly all worth it and so much more.

”What did I do to deserve you?” Brock speaks his thoughts out loud, and expresses the wonder that he feels.

”You cute, you been a good christian white boy all your life and you gonna fuck me real good when we get home, that’s what.” With a sassy smile Jose picks up Apollo and places him in the car, before he gets back into the driver’s seat. Brock can only laugh and follows him into the car.

***

By the time they’re back at Jose’s apartment, Brock’s euphoria is gone and reality has settled in. The short drive gave him time to think and once the stress is over, the sadness settles in. Brock kept petting Henry, who was sitting on his lap, while Apollo jumped all over the interior of the car during the short drive.

”Let’s go upstairs,” Jose nudges him gently when they have arrived and manages to catch Apollo, while Brock keeps Henry in his arms.

”Where we gonna put them?” he wonders, because he knows they can’t just let them run round in the same space as Thackery, or it’d end up in war.

”The bathroom for now. We gonna think of something later,” Jose decides. After the two cats are in there, Jose sits down on the sofa and opens his arms. ”And now come here, boo, so I can give ya a hug.” Brock is more than ready for that hug at this point and falls into his arms.

For a while they are both silent, even though Brock knows Jose wants to know what exactly happened. But he needs a moment to sort his thoughts and analyse his own emotions, as he goes over the talk with his parents again and again, different feelings bubbling up.

”My dad reacted like expected. But my mom, she, like, she let me go, didn’t even fight for me. I mean, she like came after me to my room and asked me to take it all back, but she wouldn’t accept me, now that I’m finally being myself. She’d rather have me be fucking unhappy and lying, than gay. How fucked up is that?”

”Real fucked up.” Jose is running his fingers through Brock’s hair and it’s the most relaxing thing ever. ”Did she like throw you out? Your dad did, right?”

”My dad did. She just said I should take care of myself. No goodbye, no ‘I love you’, nothing. Aren’t your parents supposed to love you unconditionally? What happened to that? But, like, they never did anyway, not even my mom. All this crap about family and how we all there for each other and have each others back and love… it’s all just bullshit.”

”Dunno if it helps, but I love you.” Jose sounds timid and it makes Brock look up at him.

”It does. It helps a lot. And I love you, too.” Jose smiles and pecks his lips, which instantly makes Brock feel a whole lot better. ”Is it always like this when you’re in a relationship? That you feel so much so quickly?” He snuggles even more up to Jose, not caring that he’s taler than him. He just needs to be held right now.

”I don’t think so. It ain’t ever been like this for me before. That how I know you special. I couldn’t forget ya.”

”I had like crushes before, but… when I saw you the first time, like… I had to pray extra hard that night.”

”What did you pray for?”

”Salvation? Forgiveness for my sins, because I thought about how beautiful you are and how cute and like…”

”And how hot and sexy and how you was ogling my gay ass and wanted a piece of it?” Jose’s teasing is not too far away from the truth.

”Pretty much,” Brock admits with an embarrassed chuckle.

”Haaa! Babe!” Jose screeches, laughs and hugs him so tightly Brock has trouble breathing.

”I wanted to jump your bones the first time I saw you. You was so fucking hot when you was sleeping in the studio. I kept staring at ya for like ten minutes before I woke you up.”

”You were ogling me?” Brock smiles.

”Hey, bitch, you were ogling me too. Don’t play!” They both have to laugh.

”I’m so glad you came back,” Brock admits after another minute of silence, during which Brock just listens to Jose’s breathing, his head against his chest.

”Me too.”

”And now you’re stuck with taking me back to L.A. with you, paying for everything until I find a job and on top you have two more cats to take care of.” It’s meant to be a flippant and funny comment, but once he speaks the words, Brock realises that he’s scared; Scared that Jose will realised some day soon what he got himself into and will throw him out as well. If his parents don’t want him around, then why should he?

”Now listen….” Jose actually grabs his curls to make him look at him, when Brock doesn’t react to the nudges he gives him before. Once Brock is looking at him, he continues. ”I told you I want you in L.A. with me. If living together gets too much, we can find another solution, but bitch, if you thinking you too much… ya better wait until you realise how crazy I can get. I want my man with me and I want a future. I don’t like playing around and wandering eyes and all that shit. I want to think about a future and long term and I want exclusive. If I hear ”open relationship” from one of these L.A. hos one more time, Imma lose my fucking mind. I’m jealous and all my exes say I’m clingy and I might get too extra sometimes. But… what I wanna say is, we both not perfect and it’s not gonna be all perfect and sexy all the time, but, like, I love you a whole lot and I wanna make this work.”

Brock kisses him softly before he replies. ”Same. And I don’t even know what an open relationship is, but… I’ve never been in any relationship, so…we’ll learn together?” He shrugs. ”And I think… if there’s some way, I really wanna study photography. And I need a job, because I can’t just sit around all day. I’ll do some research later.”

”See, you already making plans. And maybe, you know, you should look into a therapist while you at it. I’m crazy enough for the two of us.” Jose smiles again when Brock chuckles.

”You’re not that crazy.” Brock slowly sits up and adjusts his position, so he is resting against the back of the couch, when his neck starts to hurt. Not being close to Jose is unacceptable, so he pulls him against him this time.

”What else do you wanna do in the future?”

”Someday, I want to go on a vacation. And I want to go to the beach and see the sea. I’ve never been to a real beach.”

”Like never ever?”

”Never ever.”

”Our house is not that far from the beach in L.A., just a ten minute drive. We’ll go, first thing when we get there.”

”And I want to buy a real car, one that doesn’t break down all the time. And one day, I think I want to get married.”

”You wanna have kids too?”

”I’m not sure. Do I have to decide now?” Brock wonders.

”Nah, I’m not sure either. Just… it’s good to know you on the same page in general. Like, I wanna get married, too. And I want someone loyal and faithful and… I wanna be enough.”

”How could you not be enough?” Brock really doesn’t get it.

”Ask my ex. He’s the one who cheated all the time.”

”I’m sorry,” Brock feels bad for him, but he also can’t understand how anyone could cheat on Jose.

”Just… if you ever get sick of me… don’t cheat, k? Just talk to me.”

”Same. If you ever want me gone, talk to me.”

”Deal.” Jose puckers his lips and they kiss to seal the deal.  ”How’bout we go back to bed and take a nap. This day’s already been a lot and some crazy motherfucker woke me up way too early and didn’t even let me go back to sleep after we done and did the dirty.” A wide yawn accompanies Jose’s words.

”Weren’t you the one who wanted the dirty? I just wanted to fix the AC.”

Jose snorts and slaps Brock’s shoulder before he sits up. ”Sure, asshole. That why you nearly fucked me again on the kitchen counter.” He holds out his hand to Brock. ”Come on. I need my beauty sleep, before I can come up with a plan for the cats and all the other crazy shit.”

They both just take their pants and shoes off, push Thackery aside and are asleep in no time, even though it’s not even noon yet.

***

Because of their long nap around noon, they are both still up around midnight. Brock knows it’s not that unusual for Jose, but for him it’s certainly past his usual bedtime. However he’s not even tired yet. They’ve done not much in the afternoon, just talked to Jason and had dinner together in the evening. Then Jose had made him watch another movie he insisted Brock absolutely needed to watch. He couldn’t even tell you what it was about, since they spent nearly the whole time making out like teenagers.

”It finally a bit cooler,” Jose remarks when he comes back from the bathroom, where he took care of the cats. Brock has opened the windows and enjoys the gentle breeze that comes in from outside.

”It’s nice outside.” He looks out the window and sees the fields around them illuminated by the moonlight.

”Mmh.” Jose wraps his arms around Brock’s waist from behind and leans his cheeks against his shoulder. ”In L.A. when it’s this nice out at night, I sometimes drive out to the beach and hang out with my friends.”

This gives Brock an idea. He lifts his arm and brings Jose around to his front. ”You up for going for a short drive? I think I know a place you might like.”

”Now?”

”Now.” Brock confirms and softly kisses his man. ”You got a blanket? I get the beer from the fridge.”

”Oooh, we going for a picnic?” Jose seems excited by the prospect and hurries off.

”One without food maybe,” Brock chuckles.

”I still got cold pizza in the fridge from yesterday. We could take it.”

”I hate cold pizza.” Brock actually shudders.

”You one weird motherfucker, boo.” Jose comes back with a woolen blanket and has changed from his sweats into shorts.

”Why did you change?”

”‘Cause we going out and not to the dance studio?”

”You know that everybody but us is asleep in this town?”

”So? You taking me out on our kinda first date and I gotta look good.”

The explanation is so much like Jose, that it makes Brock laugh. ”You always look good,” he kisses him again. ”But this is not a date. When we’re in L.A. and once I got some money, I’m going to take you out on a real date, I promise.”

Jose just smiles brightly and they leave. To his biggest surprise Jose just hands him the car keys, because he says it’s easier that way. He’s right of course, bur Brock is still a bit intimidated by the expensive car. It’s amazing to drive and Jose keeps watching him like one proud mother.

Brock pulls off the main road quickly and takes the small paths he’s known all his life. They are in the middle of endless corn fields, that are so high even the car can’t be seen from outside. When he reaches the clearing, he parks the car.

”Who that is?” Jose points to the oak tree, that is the reason why they are here.

”That’s a swing I put here for Rachel. The land belongs to my mom, but no one ever comes out here but me and so I made this Rachel’s secret hideaway. My dad’s always wanted to chop up the tree, but he never got to it,” Brock explains and gets out of he car. In the middle of the field is a small patch of grass and a huge oak tree that has a wooden swing hanging off one of the branches.

”You made that? How the fuck did you get up there?” Jose asks and walks closer to the swing.

”Just threw the ropes over the branch,” Brock shrugs.

”That safe?”

”I sometimes come here at night when I can’t sleep, just to sit on the swing and pretend I’m the only person in the world.” He pulls Jose close by wrapping an arm around his shoulders. ”I just thought, like, you’d like to see this place before we leave and like… I wanted you to see it.”

”You better stop with this romantic shit, asshole, or I’m gonna cry,” Jose hugs him around the middle and presses a kiss to his upper arm.

”You wanna try out the swing?”

”Kinky,” Jose winks at him, but then jumps on the swing.  At first Brock pushes him, but then Jose is flying high and higher, his usual enthusiasm taking over. Brock keeps an eye on him as he spreads out the blanket and grabs the beer from the car. Jose whoops and laughs as he flies through the air and Brock snaps a couple of pictures of him with his phone. He’s lucky he’s just filming a video of him, when Jose lets go of the ropes and jumps off the swing.

”Jo!” Brock yelps, scared he might hurt himself, but Jose lands perfectly and smiles proudly.

”Calm down, mami. I’m a dancer, we do shit like that on the regular. You not going on the swing?” He walks over to where Brock is sitting and sits down next to him.

”Nah, not right now. I had fun watching you.” He hands him a beer.

”And you say this ain’t a date. Most romantic shit I’ve ever been on.” Jose comments and leans back on his elbows.

”I always thought dates involve going out for dinner or a movie or something.”

”A date can be whatever you want. And if you asking me, like, it don’t need to be some huge ass production, you know. Like presents don’t have to be expensive. I don’t need someone to spend a shitload of money on some shit I don’t need or want. But, you know, if people put some thought into it…. Other things are important.”

”Mmh… you might want to remember that when I make you something for each anniversary, Christmas and birthday, because I don’t have any money.” Brock smiles, meaning it as a joke, but Jose remains thoughtful.

”I take this here and having time with you over roses or some shit.” Jose takes another sip of beer, then places the bottle on the ground next to him. ”Time’s gonna be a problem. I have to travel a lot for work and then you’re gonna be on your own in L.A.” He rolls towards Brock, who pulls him the rest of the way on top of him.

”I’m gonna miss you then.” He says lightly and kisses him. It doesn’t take long until Jose deepens the kiss and Brock opens his legs, so he can lie between them. Surrounded by corn fields and with the moon shining above them, they soon lose their shirts and pants, but they don’t change their positions. There’s no one nearby to hear their moans as they move, and Brock is surprised by how much he likes Jose’s weight on top of him, as they rut and grind against each other. Sometimes Jose’s dicks slips down between his butt cheeks, bumps against his sphincter and makes him groan even louder. Gasping into Jose’s mouth, Brock comes all over his stomach and chest, when Jose brings his hand between them and wraps it around their dicks, as they keep moving.

”That why you really brought me here?” Jose asks him with a smirk, after he’s followed him over the edge a while later.

”Not really. Or I would have brought condoms and lube,” Brock laughs and gives him a kiss.

”True dat,” Jose nods and looks down between them. ”Your shirt or mine?” he asks then and wrinkles his nose, seeing the mess they made.

”Just use the edge of the blanket. We need to wash it anyway.” Jose does just that and wipes them both clean with it, before he resumes his position on top of Brock again. Brock runs his hands up and down his back and enjoys the feeling of his smooth, warm skin. ”Hey Jo?”

”Huh?”

Brock is nervous and wonders if he should really say something. This is all so new and he’s never been in a relationship, so he has no reference for what’s ok or not. But… it’s what he feels and Jose asked him to speak his mind a couple of times. And he’d rather do it here in the semi-dark than in bright daylight at some later point.

”You know the first time… you said that you wouldn’t mind if… like… I really like you on top of me like this and, like….” Brock rambles and tries to find the right way to say it. Jose stops him with a kiss.

”You wanna bottom sometime, that it?”

”I’ve never done it before.”

”We’ll try it and see if you like it, ok?”

”Does it hurt?”

”Not of you prepped right. Imma make sure you gonna be ok,” Jose vows and suddenly the nervousness is gone. ”We gonna start slow and take our time. Paris wasn’t built in a day.”

Brock guffaws, he can’t help it. He strongly suspects that Jose messes up on purpose to make him laugh, because he always has that little smile on his face when he botches another saying. It’s like it’s a challenge.

”Rome, you goof.”

”Bitch, what? You ain’t gonna tell me Paris was built in a day!” Now they’re both cackling.

***

”Brock! Your phone! It’s Ada,” Jose calls the next morning when he stumbles out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, where Brock is sitting in front of his laptop with a cup of coffee.

”Thanks.” He quickly gives him a kiss good morning before he answers the call, as he watches Jose trudge into the bathroom. ”Hey Ada.”

”Hey, little brother. Mom stopped by this morning and told me you came out to them yesterday. Something you wanna tell me?” the tone of her voice makes it clear she knows the main things already anyway.

”Jose and I are together now.”

”Oh my god!” Ada’s loud and excited scream keeps Brock from continuing. ”Oh my god! I’m so happy for you! I knew it!”

”Speaking of which… Jose tells me you kind of talked him into coming back here. Anything you wanna add?”

”Uhm… not really. I don’t feel sorry, but I can say it if you wanna hear it,” she giggles.

”Nah… I guess I have to say thank you,” Brock chuckles.

”So, you’re happy?”

”Very.”

”Aww, my brother’s in love. Finally! How about the two of you come over for dinner today and tell me all about it and your coming-out and what you gonna do next?”

”Uhm… let me just check with Jose real quick.” Brock gets up and walks into the bathroom where the shower is running. ”Jo?”

”Yes, you can come in, but only if you wash my hair again.” He still sounds like he’s half asleep, which makes Brock laugh.

”I don’t wanna shower with you. Ada’s asking, if we wanna come over for dinner tonight.”

”Cool. What should we bring?”

”Jose asks if we should bring something.” Brock tells his sister.

”Just some wine of you want some, because I only have kid friendly drinks in the house.”

”Alright, then see you tonight,” Brock tells her.

”See you later. Enjoy your ‘shower’,” Ada laughs before she hangs up. For a second Brock stares disbelievingly at the phone.

”What, why you looking at the phone like that?” Jose’s head pops around the shower curtain.

”Ada just made a sexual reference or joke.” Brock tells him.

”Bitch, that lady has seven kids! Don’t tell me you think the stork brought them, or we having some serious issues here,” Jose rolls his eyes and disappears back behind the curtain. Brock just laughs, places his phone on the shelf and quickly steps out of his clothes.

”Give me that.” He gently takes the shampoo bottle from Jose when he sees into the shower, and starts washing his hair as requested. His boyfriend moans obscenely as he massages his skull.

”You gotta do that every day from now on.” His eyes are closed as he enjoys Brock’s touches.

”That what you had in mind when you talked about making me your sex slave?”

”When you suck my cock after this, we might be getting close,” the bratty answer comes, which makes Brock chuckle.

”My mom told Ada about me coming out to them. So I guess Dan knows too at this point.”

”How do you think he’ll react?”

”I don’t know. Honesty, I don’t think Dan on his own would care too much, but my sister in law will surely have something to say about it.”

”She one of those stuck up bit…women?”

”You can say it, she really is a bitch. Always has been,” Brock laughs.

”My mama’ gonna whoop your ass, if you ever talk about a women like that when she’s present.”

”Speaking of which… does your family know anything about this?” He grabs the shower head and rinses Jose’s hair out.

”Who do you think let me cry in her arms when I got back? And I told her I was coming back here and I might have texted her last night, when we was driving to the swing and let her know I got myself a man.” He smiles proudly.

”And what does she think about this? Me?” Now Brock is scared, because he knows how much his mother means to Jose. If she doesn’t like him or what she knows about him, it might be a deal breaker.

”She’s happy I’m happy and she wants to meet you soon. I think she’ll just show up as soon as we tell her we back in L.A.”

”She doesn’t have a problem with you bringing back a poor hillbilly?”

”My ma?” Jose guffaws. ”I showed her your picture and she only asked if you got a single older brother, ‘cause you hot as fuck.”

”Come on! No way your mother said that! ‘Hot as fuck’, no way!” Brock laughs.

”You better believe it, child, or you in for a shock when you meet my ma. She even crazier than I am. A warning: Don’t ever drink with her, ‘cause she’ll win and you’ll be dead the next day.”

”She sounds nothing like my mother.” Brock tries to picture her, but he can’t. Jose’s description sounds like no mother he’s ever met around here.

”Nope. Think J.Lo really being from the block.”

”Who’s J.Lo?”

Jose’s loud groan echoes through the bathroom. ”We got so much work to do, so much motherfucking work.” Then his kisses Brock and ends the discussion for the next two hours, because they have better things to do.

***

Ada is so excited she’s basically dancing through the house when they get there. Rachel, Jonathan and Ruthie are still up as well, while the other four are already in bed. To Brock’s surprise Joe, Ada’s husband, is also home and he greets him like always, with a pat on the back and not many words. He’s nice to Jose though, offers him something to drink and tries to stop Ruthie from climbing all over him. Ada hugs Brock tightly and he thinks she might even be crying a little.

”I’m just so glad and happy,” she says when he looks at her questioningly. ”Rachel, Jonathan can you go and wash your hands? Joe can you take Ruthie to bed? She said she’d go once she saw Vanjie.”

”Sure,” Joe agrees and plucks Ruthie off Jose’s back, not that he seems to mind her climbing all over him while he chats with Rachel.

”Rachel showed her videos of you and pictures and now she says she’s your biggest fan,” Ada explains to Jose, when he joins them in the kitchen.

”That’s real cute. Imma send her one of my shirts when we back home in LaLaland.”

”We? You’re really going to L.A. with him?” Ada asks Brock.

”Yes,” he nods and smiles at Jose, who wraps an arm around his waist. ”I’m going back to school for photography. We already signed me up for classes this afternoon and I can start right away. We also found me a therapist and I’ll start that two weeks from now. All I got to do now is find a job,” Brock tells his sister. He is so excited that they managed to get all that done in just one afternoon, but with Jose’s help it wasn’t a problem at all. He’s seen on google maps where he’s going to live and they found a school that’s in the area and both affordable and offers a good program. Jose took care of the therapist by asking around with his friends… it all just fell into place.

”That can wait. You gonna be busy with school and therapy and the house and three kitty cats. You know I won’t be around much for the first month or so.” Jose reminds him. It’s a bit nerve wrecking to think about being alone in a big city and find his way, but he knows he’ll manage and it’s not like Jose won’t be home at all. He just has a lot of rehearsals for a video shoot.

”You gonna move to L.A.?” Rachel’s voice comes from behind and she sounds less than happy.

”Yes, I’m going to L.A.” Brock confirms and both he and Jose turn around, their arms still wrapped around each other.

”But what about me? You can’t leave!” Rachel bursts into tears.

”Oh, honey,” Brock rushes over to her and picks her up. He knows she’s too old for that with her nearly eleven years, but at the moment it feels right and he has to console her.

”Why you leaving me?” She sobs. ”You’re my best friend.”

”And I’ll always be your best friend, Rache’.” He tries to wipe her tears away but they keep falling. Jose comes up behind them and rubs her back.

”You can always come and visit us. There’s a guest room that’s gonna be yours whenever you want it,” Jose vows.

”You gonna live together?” Rachel’s eyes widen.

”Yes. You know that I’m gay, right? You know I like men?” Brock asks her and sits down on the sofa in the living room with her, Jose sitting down on the other side of her.

”Momma told me.”

”I think you kind of knew before, didn’t you?” Brock smiles.

”Kinda,” she confirms, smiles and sniffs one last time before she wipes her own tears away.

”And I love Jose a  lot and we want to be together, but we can’t do that here. Jose has no work here and grandma and grandpa don’t want me living at their house anymore. That’s why I’m going to Los Angeles with Jose.”

”You not gonna be happy here without him and no work and no house.” Rachel nods her head.

”Yeah.”

”You gonna be nice to him, right? He’s my best friend! Or I’ll kick your ass!” She suddenly warns Jose. He’s the one who screeches and screams with laughter, while Brock’s mouth just hangs open.

”Rachel! That’s one dollar for the swearing jar,” Ada speaks up, even though she’s looking really amused as well.

Jose takes a ten dollar bill out of his jeans pocket and hands it to the girl. ”Here. The rest’s bribe money,” he tells her.

”Accepted,” she smirks and wanders off to pay her bill.

”You go and spoil her like that, Jose, and I’ll send her your way to set her straight when she enters the teen years.” Ada warns him and starts putting food on the table.

”She cute, clever and sassy. I like her.”

”Sounds like someone else I know,” Brock points out. First a large smile blossoms on Jose’s face, before he pulls him close for another kiss.

”Seeing you together, it might really be better you’re moving to the big city. You can’t keep your hands off each other,” Ada laughs and makes Brock blush.

”Hey, don’t play shy now! You the one who won’t give my hand back,” Jose teases and looks pointedly to their linked fingers. ”Miss Ada, watch him later. As soon as I’m gonna be done eating, he  be holding my hand again, or touching my shoulder. He always been this touchy feely?” Jose gives his hand a squeeze that Ada can’t see.

”My brother was very tactile and affectionate as a child but then it stopped. Seems you bring it back out of him.”

”Can you two stop talking about me? I’m sitting right here.” Brock finally complaints when his ears are so hot and red he fears they might falls off soon.

Ada laughs. ”So when are you two going to L.A.?”

”I have to be back on Thursday for rehearsal and we thought some days to show Brock around town might be nice.” Jose starts the explanation.

”Monday,” Brock finally tells his sister.

”So soon? That’s just two days from now.”

”I know.” Brock takes a deep breath to stop himself from bursting into tears. He’s going to miss his sister so much. ”We thought we could maybe do something tomorrow, because we know you all got church on Sunday.”

”Sounds good. Joe has to leave tomorrow morning, but we can come up with something.”

”We could all go swimming,” Rachel suggests as she walks back into the room with her father.

”That sounds great, Miss Rachel,” Jose nods. ”And this looks amazing.” He compliments the food.

”Then let’s eat,” Ada says, and that’s what they do.

It turns out Jose is wrong about the touching. He’s barely finished his salad when he feels Brock’s free hand on his thigh. Only Ada’s pointed look makes Brock realise what he’s doing, but he just shrugs, smiles and places a kiss on Jose’s cheek that makes Jonathan gag, Rachel squeal and Ada sigh happily.

TBC

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #m/m au #slow burn #romance #smut #angst #hot as hell and no ac #blackhighheels #tw religion #tw internalized homophobia

[beepbeeprichiellc]

Could we maybe get a sequel to the hockey player au? Like maybe they meet at an after party?

Sure can! Part one

Hard as Ice

Richie was astonished with the lack of subtly in Stan’s pursuit of his crush. First he comes to the game-practically drooling on the sidelines-and now he insisted that they hang around the locker room so that he could ‘accidentally’ bump into Mike. Richie sure hoped this meat head was worth the amount of shit Stan was going to get from him and Beverly for all of this. Every time the locker room opened Stan nearly pissed his pants with excitement. If Richie wasn’t having such a horrible time, he would have enjoyed the sight but the green monster on his back gnawed at his skin mercilessly. 

“Holy shit Stan, this guy better put out after all this trouble.” Beverly jested, nudging Richie in an eager attempt for him to chime in. When the trashmouth snorted she rolled her eyes and added, “I hope he looks better without all the padding than with.” 

“He does.” Stan replied with a grin, making Beverly laugh and Richie scoff. Eventually, Stan got what he wanted as Mike and another player exited a few seconds later, their hands full of bagged gear and hair wet from what could only be assumed to be from a much needed shower. Mike smiled brightly, waving at them before saying something unheard to his team mate and strolling over. Stan bounced with excitement, his eyes wide with intense attraction. “Oh hey, we were just heading out. Fancy meeting bumping into you.” 

“Yeah, no it’s not.” Beverly said under her breath, earning a sharp elbow to the breast. 

Mike laughed, “Oh guys this is my friend Eddie.” He politely introduced, nodding to the short brunette beside him. “You know Stan already, this is his friends Beverly and Richie.” 

“Nice to meet you.” Eddie said with a kind smile, extending his hand out to which Beverly accepted instantly. When their hands dropped he moved to Richie, and the trashmouth was tempted to accept it-with the boy’s doe eyes and freckled face making his heart skip-but his bad attitude got the best of him and instead he turned his head and scoffed-actually scoffed which surprised even himself. 

Eddie withdrew his hand as if he had been burned, his lips turning downward into a scowl. Stan came to Richie’s aid, insisting that he just had a bad day but Eddie looked unconvinced as he replied with “Right, well as fun as that was…” He looked at Mike with annoyance. “You ready to go?” 

“Oh yeah right, hey the team is going to a bar for a little celebration, you guys should come!” Mike offered enthasically, his kindness like a blinding light that only pissed Richie off even more. “Sadie’s Bar down on Third Street. It’s not the nicest but it has cheap beer and good music.” 

“I love both of those things.” Stan blurted. 

“You hate both of those things.” Richie corrected. 

“We will be there.” Beverly assured, shooting daggers in Richie’s direction. “Thanks for the invitation.” 

Mike nodded, saying that he would see them there. As he walked away, Eddie lingered as if he was going to say something. His eyes were on Richie, his face still and breath even. Richie felt as if he should apologize, it wasn’t Eddie’s fault that he was so bitter-it was an unrelated meat heads but the words refused to take the plunge. Eddie’s face scrunched up as he left, and Richie felt even worse that he did before but there was a bit of himself that still burned.  

And it kept burning all the way to the bar. 

—-

“Let me buy you guys the first round.” 

It was really hard to dislike Mike, Richie had decided. He was perfect for their little Stan. Gentle, soft spoken and very, very kind. The total opposite to Stan in every way-which is why Beverly had decided they were soulmates. For whatever reason, this made Richie’s mood worsen. It had been over six months since his last relationship, if that could even be called a relationship. All they had done was fucked, she was good in bed but that was all. If Richie lingered long enough, he would feel loneliness nip at his heels but he refused to do so. Instead he focused on spending his time griping and bothering those closest to him. 

“He’s great, isn’t he great?” Stan gushed, watching Mike walk to the bar. 

“Yes, he is great.” Beverly replied, smirking to her friend. “The best one yet.” 

“He’s alright.” Richie chirped, bitter and flat. “Kind of seems fake to me.” 

“Shut your hole trashmouth.” Stan growled, rolling his eyes. “Mike is amazing and you’re just pissy because you are still hung up on that shit head that treated you so badly.” 

“Stan!” Beverly hissed. 

Richie felt like he had been slapped in the face, the sting off his past relationship now becoming painfully apparent. It wasn’t like Stan was wrong, per say, but it had been a nonverbal agreement that the past would not be spoken of until Richie was over it all and yet here they were mentioning the only man he had ever loved. Like a scar that just wouldn’t fade, his lover had damned him to all hell. When Richie went to reply to his friends harsh remark, there was no time as Mike sat down four beers as well as four shots. 

“Thought we could start the night off right, bourbon is good for the soul I hear.” Mike said with a friendly smirk. “Beer is the chaser of course.” 

There was only a second between Mikes words and Richie’s eagerness to down the shot without warning. It burned-just as it always did-and it felt better than the ache in his chest. If Mike had judgment on his tongue he didn’t show. “Hey Mike!” A voice rang out from across the bar, making the player look up and grin. 

“Excuse me but it looks like my boy Ben just made it. You wouldn’t mind if I just-”

“Go head.” Stan replied, grazing the top of Mike’s hand with such fondness that Richie wanted to upchuck the liquor. “I know you’ve been waiting for him.” As Mike left Stan filled them in. “Ben’s his and Eddie’s old friend, he’s been in France for six months designing their new amphitheater. He’s only in for the night before heading to London for another contract.” 

“Busy man.” Beverly whistled, craning her head to get a glimpse of the interaction. 

“Should be, you don’t get named in People’s Magazine’s 30 under 30 without being busy.” 

“No shit?” She sounded impressive, and Richie himself would even have to admit that it was impressive. “Think Mike will introduce us?” 

“Ofcourse.” Stan said knowingly. 

Richie couldn’t help but put his grumpy two cents in, “Surprised those meatheads are friends with someone so smart.” 

He could feel Stan vibrate beside him, “I’ll have you know that Mike has a masters in Ancient Civilization and is currently working on his dissertation for his masters.” Richie opened his mouth to retort but was cut short with, “And Eddie has his Medical Degree form Duke, just because your ex was an idiot doesn’t mean anyone with skates is.” 

Baffled, Richie sipped his beer instead of replying. Maybe running his mouth wasn’t the appropriate thing to do tonight, even if it was the only thing to hide his burning aggression. They sat there for a bit, in comfortable silence as Beverly asked about the mystery man that just arrived and Stan joked about her finally getting laid. It wasn’t long till they caught the attention of another guest, although this one wasn’t a friendly one. 

They stood at the end of the table, bumping it slightly so that the three would give them their undivided attention. Hockey players-that they definitely were-but they were none of the ones that had been on the ice with Mike earlier. These two-they were meatheads if Richie had ever seen them. Rotten to the core with scowls for days. “Look, we don’t want to be ‘those people’ but I am obligated to let you know that your kind isn’t welcome at this bar.” 

Beverly raised a defining eyebrow, “Excuse me?” 

The bigger boy snickered, “I’m sorry but we are talking to the fairy here, not you okay? So go be a good little girl and get us some beers eh?” 

Richie felt himself stand before his mind could register, being a spitfire he had always been ready to fight but there wasn’t a need because there was someone there to defend his friends. “Is there a problem here?” 

It was the goon. 

Eddie. 

“Nothing that you have to worry about it.” One of the two replied calmly, holding up their hands in defense. “Go back to your friends, we don't’ want trouble.” 

“These are my friends.” Eddie shot back immediately. “Whatever problem you have with them-you have with me.” He was squared up, a good defensive stance that Richie recognized. The trashmouth expected him to glance at them, to decide if they were worth the effort but he didn’t-apparently having already decided. 

“Alright then, we didn’t know they were with you Eddie.” The same player replied, taking a step back. They were scared of the man who was nearly half their size. It amazed Ricihe, astonished him that such a spitfire could earn a reaction like this. “We apologize, isn’t that right Patrick?” 

The bigger one narrowed his eyes, as if he was about ready to disagree and the tension it left was sour and unwelcoming. But this passed, and the man also took a sizable step back. Still so, Eddie kept his shoulders firm. The smaller one turned to leave but as soon as he took a step away the Pactrick guy muttered something under his breath that only the four of them could hear. “Fucking faggots.” 

Eddie chuckled-actually fucking chuckled which made Richie reere back in suprise. Shaking his head he grabbed Mike’s shot, doing it before reaching for Beverly’s and doing the exact same. “That word, you know I hate that word right? Such a dirty word.” Eddie straightened up, pulling at his shirt and wiping his lips. “Right then…” 

The punch was unexpected, quick and so fucking hard that Richie himself could hear the cracking of bone. It was painfully clear that Eddie had done this before, the way it was one hit and done, sending Pactrick sprawled out on the floor-out cold. Bouncing back he was ready for the other friend, who bounced onto him right after. This started a bar fight, members of Eddie’s team coming to his aid. 

Richie, Beverly and Stan all stood up from their seats and staggered back as the table they were at became a landing spot for some guy and the one who was pounding on him. “Fuck!” Beverly cursed, pulling Stan just in time to save him from a flying beer bottle. 

“Hey, come on. This way!” A voice called from behind them, and without really thinking about it Richie followed-dragging his friends along with him. They were sent through the back and spilled out into the alley where the air was crisp and the night was young. “Bill is going to kill Eddie for this one.” It came out as a raspy laugh, and it was then Richie got a good look at their savior-Ben. 

“Whose Bill?” Stan asked, looking back at the door with a slight pinch of worry. 

Ben smiled. “The owner, one of our childhood friends. That’s why they come here-to support him. Not that he likes owning a bar, he’d much rather be writing somewhere.” When he noticed the three of them staring at him with disbelief, Ben backtracked quite a bit. “Ben Hanscom by the way. Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself and that’s bad manners.” 

“Beverly Marsh.” She introduced herself, a smile growing around her lips. “This is Richie Tozier and Stan Uris.” 

“It’s nice to finally meet you Stan, Mike talks about you all the time.” Ben said, nodding in the direction of the man who refused to pay attention-being that it was all caught up in the loud commotion coming from inside. “And I’m sorry I’m not meeting you guys on better terms but Eddie can be a bit hot headed when it comes to defending his friends.” 

“We aren’t his friends.” Richie corrected, feeling the need for clarification even if it burned his throat. Eddie had defended Stan, a person who Richie was sure he had met only a handful of times. Who in the hell did that?

“Well, you might not think so but I’ve got some news for you.” Ben replied, a slight knowing tone in his voice. “Eddie doesn’t do this shit for just anyone. Either you guys are his friends or he sure as hell has changed in the six months I’ve been gone.” 

The shouting seemed to calm down from the bar and soon Mike stumbled out with a sideways smirk on his face. He was a little disheveled, and worse for wear but alive nonetheless. “Hey, sorry about all that.” There was a pinch of sorrow behind his tone, making Richie wish he was anywhere else as Mike strolled towards Stan, placing gentle hands on his shoulders. “I had no idea those guys were going to say that stuff to you. Bill runs a no shit shift, I don’t even know how they got in. I swear he doesn’t speak for anyone on my team and I-”

“Mike.” Stan cooed, cradling the man’s face in his hands and sighing. This silenced the rambling, and Richie knew that in that moment, the world had faded away from them. “It’s okay, as long as you aren’t hurt I couldn’t care less what those idiots say.” 

Mike leaned in and caught Stan right on the lips. It was a soft and chaste but it lingered long enough to make everyone around turn away in embarrassment. Richie wanted to let go of the bile in his throat but refrained and instead took a very strong interest in the brick wall. This ended when Eddie burst through the door laughing, a fresh shiner yellowing up from under his left cheek. He looked content with himself, even if his shirt was covered in stale beer. 

“Yeah, we are banned for the month, Bill is pretty pissed. I haven’t heard him yell like that since we accidentally ran his car into the lake senior year.” Lifting his hand he wiped away a stray line of blood from his lips. Looking between all of them he asked, “You guys okay? I didn’t see where you went after Victor jumped on my back.” 

“We are fine.” Beverly hummed, “Ben came to our rescue, isn’t that right?” Richie knew she was laying it on thick, he had seen it before. She wanted in Ben’s pants, which was weird because she typically went for stupid jocks. “My savior.” She cooed, tugging on his sleeve. 

“Oh well I don’t know-I just kind of-uh-” Ben sputtered, his face turning red. 

“Well, the party is over.” Eddie said, “I guess we better just head home and try this whole getting to know each other next time.” 

“I’ll walk you home Stan.” Mike offered immediately, to which was eagerly received. 

“Well if Stan gets to have a big strong man walk him home I should too.” Richie nearly laughed at the way she patted her eyes up at Ben. “I mean what if we run into one of those guys again?” Beverly was a black belt in jiu jitsu, she had literally beat the shit of a guy last week for calling her baby. 

Ben sputtered, “I can walk you home, although I’m not really as strong as Mike and don’t know-”

“Oh thank you Ben. That’s so thoughtful of you.” 

“Wow.” Richie whistled, “That’s just great, what that just leaves me all alone then?” 

“I’ll walk you home you big baby.” Eddie said in an exasperated voice. 

“No I don’t want you to-” 

“Come on before the four of these start taking their clothes off and doing it in the alley.” Eddie cut rolling his eyes and walking past his friends who were way too engrossed in one another. “I’ve got literally nothing better to do.” 

“Great.” Richie groaned as he followed.

#reddie #it #it au #jasmine writes #moodboards #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #slight benverly #slight stanlon #it 2017 #it 2019 #hockeyplayer!eddie #bitter!richie

[crimson25]

Mickeys horror picture show

By Pamcake21

Ian X Mickey

 Notes: Hey guys I know I don’t make fan fiction often but this one literally popped in my head. I wasn’t even thinking about Rocky Horror Picture Show or shameless. I really love this one. It might be my favorite. Hope you like it. Sorry its soooo long but the ending is worth it.

Summary: Ian gets a call from an old friend, inviting him and Mickey to a party. Ian doesn’t think Mickey will go to this kind of party, but with just the right wording mickey goes and boy is he in for a wild night.

 Enjoy ;)

             Ian and Mickey were relaxing on the couch in the Gallagher house. It was the first time in a while they had the same day off. It was nice. They were watching an old action movie (It didn’t matter which one.) When Ian’s phone rang

“Hello. Hey how are you? Yeah I’m good.” Mickey looked over and mouthed

“Who is it?” Ian looked over.

“It’s one of my old coworkers.”

“Oh.” Mickey didn’t really like Ian’s coworkers. They made him feel weird.

“What? No we’re not doing anything tonight. Uuuuuummmm, hang on.” Ian got up from the couch and went to the Kitchen. Mickey watched Ian then went back to the movie. Moments later Ian came back.

“Hey one of my friends from the fairytale Justin, is having a party tonight, wanna go?”

“What kind of party?”

“It’s a movie costume party. You know, everyone dresses up as the characters in the movie. Justin said theirs even going to be a costume contest.” Mickey looked hesitant.

“What movie?” That was a tough question to answer. Ian wanted Mickey to go but he wasn’t sure he would if he Knew what it was. He took a breath.

“It’s the Rocky Horror Picture Show.” Mickey thought for a moment.

“Sure.”

“Really?” Ian was surprised.

“Yeah I like horror movies.” It suddenly dawned on Ian that Mickey had no idea what this movie was about……... This could work to his advantage. “What’s it about?” Ian thought for a moment. He had to word this just right.

“It’s about……a couple that get trapped in an evil scientists’ house where he is creating life and the couple get horribly mixed in with all of it.” Technically Ian wasn’t lying. That was the basis of the movie.

“Oh you mean like Frankenstein?”

“Yes exactly” Ian said Happily. Mickey looked at Ian suspiciously.

“Is there something you’re not fucking telling about this movie.” Ian froze.

“Should I tell him? Damn I want him to go so bad. We never do anything like this together. Uuuuhhhhgggg.” He thought.

“Yeah sorry. It’s kind of a B movie. It’s really cheesy.” He started to sweat a little.

“Hey that’s ok. It can still be fun.” Mickey said. He could tell Ian really wanted to go to this, and if that meant he had to sit through a shitty movie and an even shitty-er party in a dumb costume to make his boyfriend happy, then so be it.

“Really?” He said excitedly

“Yeah, sounds like fun.” Ian looked like he was going to explode with excitement.

“Great. I’ll tell Justin we’re going.” He said texting.

“So what should I dress up as?” Ian froze “oh shit.”

“Uuuuummm you… can go as… Eddie. He’s the tough badass biker.” Mickey still onboard. “Ok. I guess I could do that. What about you?”

“Oh I’m going to be the experiment.”

“Cool. What time?”

“Around 8. Don’t worry I’ll get your costume together. You just stand there and look sexy.”

Mickey chuckled “I always do.”

………

7:12pm Mickey came down the stairs in a great Eddie costume. He even had the cut on his forehead.

“Ian hurry up.” He yelled up the stairs.

Lip walked in through the kitchen and stopped when he saw Mickey.

“What’s with the outfit?”

“Ian and I are going to some movie costume party thing at one of Ian’s faggot friend’s House.”

“Oh yeah, what movie?”

“I don’t know some weird horror movie. I don’t remember the name. Rocky Picture Horror something.” Lip paused for a moment

“Rocky horror picture show?”

“That’s it. Have you seen it? Ian says its good but I’ve never heard of it.” Lip had to hold back so much laughter and stop the shit eating grin that was begging to spread across his face. This was going to be really funny.

“Yeah it’s a great movie. I think you’ll really like it. Do you know where Ian is, I need to ask him something.”  Lip had to get the low down from Ian. This was just too good.

“He’s upstairs. Can you tell him to hurry the fuck up?”

“Yup.” Lip walked up the stairs. He found Ian, who was dressed up as Rocky all wrapped up.

“Hey does Mickey not know what kind of movie party you guys are going to?”

“No and don’t say anything.”

“Oh I wouldn’t dream of it.” He said laughing. Ian smiled and punched Lip in the arm. They walked down stairs to an impatient Mickey. He looked Ian up and down

“You look good.” Mickey said wanting to unwrap him.

“same to you. You ready?”

“Yeah let’s go. See you later lip.”

“Bye.” Ian and mickey left. “Oh I wish I could be there.” Lip said to himself.

…………

 They both walked down the hallway of the apartment complex. Mickey was preparing himself for a couple of hours of feeling out of place. He never really felt right around Ian’s friends. They were so different from the people he normally hung out with. His friends made him feel comfortable, but these people made him feel like white trash. It was weird how nervous he was.

“Do I look ok?” Mickey asked.

“You look great.” Ian said surprised. Mickey wasn’t one to care about his appearance. “26B. We’re here. Ian knocked. Justin opened the door…...in doctor franks outfit.

“Hello.” He said excited to see them both. Mickeys eyes went wide.

“What the fuck.” He said so confused.

“Oh I know don’t I look great. You two look amazing. I love the Eddie costume. You pull it off so well. And Ian, can’t wait to unwrap you.” Justin said leading them into the apartment. Mickey looked around. There were a few people dressed in suits and party Hats. A tall skinny red head dressed as Columbia in her gold outfit and tap shoes. A girl dressed as magenta. She was talking to a couple dressed as brad and Janet. He looked around and saw more people dressed as the iconic cast. Then he looked at Ian who was talking to Justin. Mickey gave him a look that said “We need to talk.” They both walked over to a semi privet area.

“What the fuck Ian?!” Mickey said sternly. He was not happy.

“Ok I’m sorry. I should have told you. The movies a little different.”

“A little different!? Ian look at what that fucking freak is wearing, and you expect me to be ok with this? No I want to go home.”

“Oh come on Mickey, we just got here. I really want to stay. Please? Please? Pleeeeeeeeease?” Mickey stared at Ian. God he had such a cute puppy dog face that Mickey just couldn’t resist. He let out a huge sigh

“Fine but I’m drinking…... a lot, where’s the booze?”

“Over on the table but they only have wine.” Ian said pointing at the table. Mickey made a disgusted face.

“Ok everyone the movie is going to start soon so find a seat.” Justin said as he set a big bowl of popcorn on the table. Mickey sat down on the end of the couch. Ian sat next to him and put his hand on Mickeys leg. Mickey jerked it away. He was mad. Ian felt kind of bad.

The movie started.

“Let’s see those big red lips.” Someone said. Mickey was confused. That’s when the most famous pair of red lips appeared on the screen and began to sing.

Michael Rennie was ill

The day

The earth stood still

But he told us where

We stand

“What the fuck.” Mickey said a little too loud

“Ssssssshhhhhhh” said a few people.  Mickeys anger started to boil.

Mickey whispered to Ian angrily “You didn’t tell me this was a fucking musical.”

“It’s really not that bad I promise. Please just stay?” Ian pleaded. Damn his sexy eyes.

“alright alright.” Mickey look at the glass of wine in Ian’s hand, took it and downed the whole thing in one gulp. The movie played on.

To mickeys surprise, the movie was… tolerable. He didn’t get up and dance like everyone else when “the time warp” came on though. Ian’s eyes couldn’t make him do that, but all in all it wasn’t that bad… That was going to change. The time warp had just ended and Brad and Janet were backing away towards the elevator.

Janet: Look I’m cold, I’m wet and I’m just plain scared.

Brad: I’m here there’s nothing to worry about.

Janet: (screams)

Dr. frank: How do you do

Mickey looked over at Justin. “Wow” he thought “That’s pretty accurate makeup.” He thought.

Ian looked over at Mickey. He wasn’t sure how he was going to react to this next part.

Dr. Frank: (takes off cloak) I’m just a sweet transvestite from transsexual Transylvanian.

Mickey angry whispered to Ian again. “I want to go.”

“Mickey come on.”

“I want to go NOW! He said through gritted teeth

“Please mickey? I promise when we get home ill make it up to you. I’ll do whatever you want me to do, please stay.” Ian was feeling really bad. This was really different for mickey.

Mickey thought about it for a moment.

“Fine but you owe me big time and I mean it.”

“Thank you so much. I love you.” He said planting a kiss on his cheek.

……….

Ian was shocked. Mickey sat through it all. He sat through the “I can make you a man,” The weird dinner scene and the pool scene, and that wasn’t all. He stayed quiet when two of the guests unwrapped Ian all the way down to his gold booty shorts. He didn’t make a scene when the guy dressed as Columbia tried to dance with him during the scene with Eddie. (Surprisingly mickey didn’t mind his character. Eddie was kind of a badass. A lot cooler than the rest of the characters.) He even accepted the prize for most character likeness. He won a $25 gift card to Starbucks.

“great another thing I can carry around in my wallet and never use.” He said to himself. Mickey stayed quiet for the rest of the night.

It was finally time to leave. They both said bye and walked out. As they got outside, mickey started to walk down the sidewalk instead of to the car.

“Where are you going?” Ian called out as he went after Mickey.

“Home.”

“I’m sorry I-”

“YOU FUCKING LIED TO ME! You let me go in there blind.”

“HEY I DIDN’T LIE. I just gave you a very vague explanation and left out some really important details. Besides if I told you what was really going to happen you never would have come.”

“I would so.”

“No you wouldn’t have. You would have said something like “fuck that queer shit. I’m not going.” And then you would’ve made me stay home and we would’ve missed out on a fun party. tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong I-”

“You do this to me all the time, we never do anything I want to do and it-”

“I WOULD HAVE FUCKING GONE IF YOU FUCKING ASKED ME!” Mickey yelled

“What?”

“You’re right you know. We don’t do a lot of the things you want to do and I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to be more open to your shit. I was going to say yes to the party no matter what. You looked so happy and I just couldn’t say no. I wanted to do something nice for you. I… I wanted… I wanted to please you. God that sounded so fucking gay.” They both stared at each other under the light of the street lamp. Ian felt horrible, he knew Mickey was being sincere.

“I’m sorry.” Ian said. “Thanks for staying, I know it probably wasn’t easy for you. I’m really sorry.” He said walking over to him. Mickey walked back and put his arm around Ian.

“It’s ok, but you still owe me big time and not just a blowjob either.” Mickey said smiling finally.

Ian laughed “You got it.”

………..

 “They walked through the front door.

“I’m gunna get a beer, you want one?” Mickey asked heading towards the kitchen.

“Yeah. I’ll meet you upstairs.” Ian said heading up the stairs.

Lip walked into the living room.

“Hey how was the party.” Mickey looked at him. His rage immediately shot up.

“YOU!” He shouted bolting towards lip ready to kick the shit out of him. Lip didn’t need a second to wonder why Mickey was mad, he knew he had to get away as fast as he could.

“YOU MOTHER FUCKER YOU KNEW! YOU KNEW AND YOU STILL LET ME GO TO THAT SHITSHOW. WHY!” Mickey chased him up the stairs. Lip was laughing.

“Cause if I told you what the movie was really about, it wouldn’t of been this funny.” Lip ran into his room and locked to door. Mickey pounded on the door.

“GALLAGER GET THE FUCK OUT HERE.”

“Not a chance.” He said with the biggest smile on his face.

“You gotta leave sometime bitch.” He said heading to Ian’s room.

Three days later

Ian walked home. It was 2 in the afternoon. His job let him go home early. He was excited. He thought about taking Mickey out to lunch. He walked through the front door.

“Hey Mickey, I’m home.” Mickey would be the only one home. Everyone else would be at work or doing something. “where you at sexy.” He called out. He walked through the living room, his eyes found him, and what he saw melted his heart and made him smile so much, his face would split in two.

Mickey was in the kitchen making a sandwich, listening to music and slightly dancing, but it was what he was listening to that made Ian smile. Mickey was singing.

“My saxophone was blowing on a rockin’ roll show. You climbed in the back seat, really had a good time!” His voice went higher and he started to head bang. Ian could barely hold back laughter.

“Hot patootie bless my soul, I really love that rock and roll” He was really getting into it now. His hips were moving and his head was banging with the music. He turned around to go to the couch only to see Ian Dying of laughter. It startled him. He quickly stopped singing, paused his music, and took out his earbuds.

“Jesus you almost gave me a Fucking heart attack.” He said trying to steer the conversation away from the obvious. Ian was still laughing.

“Oh my god you liked the movie didn’t you?” Ian said with a shit eating grin.

“No that is not what thi-”

“MICKEY LIKES ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW, MICKEY LIKES ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW.” Ian shouted

“Motherfucker.” Mickey said as he charged at him. Ian didn’t need a second to think he just bolted up the stairs. He continued to yell. Mickey couldn’t help but smile. It was kind of funny

“YOU HEARD IT HEAR FOLKS, MICKEY MILKOVICH LOVES ROCKEY PICTURE SHOW, HE LO- GAK” Ian tripped and landed on the floor. He tried to get up quickly but mickey was already on top of him. He wrapped his legs around Ian’s legs so he couldn’t get away, and his arms around his waist. Then he dug his fingers into Ian’s sides and ribs. Ian’s laughter burst out.

“AHAHAHAHAHAH MICKEY STOHOHOHOHOP!” Ian tried to squirm away but Mickey had a tight hold on him.

“Oh no way. You deserve this you little shit.” Mickey said with a smile. “Plus this is way to fun to stop.”

“MICKEY QUIHIHIHIHIHIHIT!” Ian squealed.

“Hey ill make you a deal, I’ll stop if you say you’re my bitch.”

“FUHUHUHUCK OFF MICKEY AHAHAHAHA!” Mickeys fingers were driving him crazy. Going in between each rib and squeezing his side. He thought he was going to die.

“Come on say it.” Mickey was having way too much fun. He loved touching Ian. His body was warm and soft.

“DROHOHOHOHOP DEAD!”

“Oh that’s not very nice. I’ll give you one last chance. Say you’re my bitch or else.” He got real close to his ear. “come on fire crotch say it.” His teasing voice tickled Ian’s ear witch made his laughter get higher.

“AHAHAHAHAHA NEVER!” Ian knew what he was getting into but he didn’t care.

“Oh tough guy huh? Well you asked for this.” His left hand moved down to Ian’s thigh and started to squeeze and his right went up to his armpit. Ian’s laughter exploded when Mickey squeezed his thigh. He tried desperately to get away.

“OK OK OK OK STOHOHOHOHOP!” Mickey slowed his tickle onslaught.

“Say it Fire crotch.”

“IHIHIHIHI’M YOUR BITCH!” Mickey stopped. He let go and stood up feeling triumphant, still smiling at his giggly mess of a boyfriend.

“And don’t you forget it bitch.” He stared to walk away. “If you’re lucky I’ll let you suck my dick later.”

Ian stood up and stared at mickey. He liked this playful side of him……. And he wanted more.

“Hey Milkovich.” Mickey turned. “I want a rematch.” Ian said with a mischievous smile and ran after him. Mickey bolted down the stairs not wanting to get caught. He knew if Ian caught him he would be done for.

For the rest of the day, the Gallagher house was filled with laughter and empty threats.

The end.

#shameless #Ian Gallagher #mickey milkovich #Tickling #tickle #ticklish #tickling ian #tickling mickey #tickle fic #tickle fight #fluff

[mokutonprince]

Love me slowly

Part 3 Part 2 Part 1

“C’mon, Parker, buck up.”

Peter just groaned, curling into the top of the cafeteria table while attempting to hide his very being under his arms. 

“It’s not that bad. He likes you.”

That just made the boy groan all the louder, seemingly more wounded than before. Ned finally just reached over to pat his back before returning to his lunch.

“Yeah, Peter. He seems like a nice guy.”

A nice guy, yeah. The most charming and breathtaking Man.

Loki is a God. A God who had reeked havoc on New York, which, by the way, he know’s it wasn’t his fault. Mr. Stark may not have told him much about what happened that day besides the obvious, but Karen was rather helpful. And if FRI  told his mentor what he was getting into, no one said anything.

He had been so excited to finally get introduced to Thor, but he was sorely unprepared when he had met his brother. 

Unworthy in his own right. 

Forget Mjolnir. Peter felt unworthy to even be in his presence. Loki just had that..what do they call it?

“That, je ne sais quoi.”

“Learning French, now, Penis?” came an unwanted sneer, Peter didn’t even have to look up to know who it was.

“Oh piss off, Flash.” MJ fired back, “You wouldn’t be able to understand a beautiful language.”

The wannabe jock just sneered even harder, glare moving from the female brunette and to Ned at Peter’s side when he heard him whisper, “He can’t when he broke too many mirrors-”

MJ barked out a laugh, palm slapping the table. Even Peter’s shoulders were shaking from his giggles.

“Fuckin’ faggots.” Flash mumbled before storming off, his little posse of friends trotting after their leader like some lost ducks. Sad, really.

Peter sighed and lifted his head when he knew they were gone, leaving him and his friends in solitude once again. 

“You look lovesick, Parker.” was MJ’s way to gain his attention. Which worked when he choked on the air in his throat, causing his two best friends to laugh at his expense. 

“Ugh.”

The rest of the day passed quickly, leaving him dreading the weekend with the fresh pile of homework stuffed in his bag. Ned was at his side, making their way out of the building, and spouting about Chemistry when a hand suddenly grabbed and squeezed his bicep.

“Ned what-” Peter jerked his head up, looking around to what spooked his friend.

“Is that?” 

Staring at his friends wide eyes stare with a confused pout, he followed his gaze and his heart jumped to his stomach then up into his throat.

The long black hair was gone, a handsome lighter cut only making his features stand out even more and “Oh my god..”

Loki seemed to have heard what he said, because he just smirked and those now light eyes are laughing at him.

The dark pinstripe suit looks so good, the entire outfit making him think if Mr. Stark or better yet, if Pepper made sure he had dressed properly. He looks so different, but he knows do he is. He can feel it.

“Peter?” 

Fuck, how long was he staring.

Tearing his eyes away from the man that made his stomach twist and flutter at the same time (does anyone else say that anymore?) he looks at his excited yet nervous best friend. “Is that him?”

Poor Peter could just nod, swallowing before he could respond with a little croaked out, “YEah.”

Ned grinned, shaking his  shoulder, “Go! He must have come to meet you. Probably for a mission?”

He wanted to laugh, or scoff, but Ned looked so excited and honestly...he doesn’t even know why the God of mischief himself was here to begin with.

“Y-Yeah, I think so. I’ll call you later-”

“Don’t worry about it!” Ned rushed, grin splitting his face as he got behind his slightly taller frame and began to nudge him forward towards the gates where Loki stood waiting.

“Just give me all the deets later!”

They got about half way across the yard before the insistent pushing stopped and he was left alone with a white knuckle grip on his backpack straps. Bunch of traitorous friends lately. 

Slowly, he continued his way forward, just now noticing the small fan base the God had gathered to gaze at the beautiful man. He looked like a celebrity, from his clothes to his stance, but that damn charming smile he sent to those girls made a tiny spark of unease and jealousy curl in his stomach and he pushed that aside so fast-

He opened his mouth to call out to him as he had gotten closer, but then those now light blue eyes locked on him and the smile was blinding and charming at the same time. “Peter.”

Oh thank the heavens, his voice was the same, his knees weakening at the smooth tone.

A few dozen pairs of eyes turned to him in surprise and confusion, mixed with heated jealousy and anger that made the boy start to curl in on himself. Definitely not what he expected.

Seeing the unease, Loki stepped away from where he been leaning and carefully yet politely moved through the small crowd until he was standing a mere couple feet from the smaller boy and swallowing his pleased purr when those honeyed brown eyes grew wide.

“I hope my presence here has not caused you any ill consequence, Peter.”

Said boy shook his head, gulping down the access saliva on his tongue, “N-never. I’m just, surprised. I didn’t think your brother would have let you out of his sight.”

Loki just laughed, and Peter wanted to hear it again.  All the time.

“Well, you’re correct. But I managed to persuade both he and your impossible mentor. But ah,” Taking a quick glance around at their curious crowd then back to his adorable little spider, he cocked an eyebrow in show and Peter had to take a second for his brain to function properly before he nodded with a small breathy chuckle.

“Mr. Stark send you here to pick me up?”

“Well. I may have made the suggestion.”

At Peter’s clear confusion, Loki took a careful step back just to add a little room between the two of them. His smile turned a bit cautious, shy even as he reached both hands behind his back before returning just as quickly, except with one of the most beautiful flower bouquet in his hands.

“I was hoping you would accompany me, for dinner.”

The crowd of nosy students and a few curious teachers suddenly erupted, but Loki only had his eyes for the stunned silent boy in front of him.

Granted, he was rather rusty when it came to trying to court someone and with his blasted Midgardian disguise he had to wear while out, he felt more out of place than he did on Asgard. 

Peter felt his entire body erupt if heat, it was a miracle he hadn’t combusted into flames. His lips parted in surprise, a question on his tongue but as his eyes went from the flowers to the shy yet sincere eyes of the God, he could of sworn he saw some green in that blue.

“Yes.”

The pink flowers smell just as good as they look, having reached for them and held them to his nose. No one has ever gotten him flowers, his being a boy always meant he was the one who had to get a girl the gifts, but this...this felt nice. 

It wasn’t until he heard the word Faggots! being yelled but a familiar voice, did he realize that he just got asked out by a man. Outside. Of his school. With a very loud and nosy crowd of his fellow students and a few curious onlookers. 

Oh no.

Seeing the out right fear contort Peters face, removing the most gorgeous smile he had on his face, Loki made sure he remember that boys face who caused it. 

“Come, Peter. Stark has been waiting for you.” 

Peter didn’t hesitate to curl into Loki’s side, allowing himself to be ushered off school grounds and away from the judging eyes. The arm around his shoulders was warm, comforting, but he leaned even further into the man when that hand moved down to his waist. It felt like it belonged there, his smile and pleased blush hiding behind the pink bouquet.

Loki’s long legs ushered them down the sidewalk at an easy pace, making sure they were a good distance away from the school. He was quiet, lips pursed in a thin line as his eyes darted from each side every few moments; as though watching for something.

“Um..” Peter finally began to muster, “L-Loki..sir?”

Blue eyes were immediately on him, “Yes, Peter?”

The arm snug around his waist never wavered, becoming warm and almost heavy, but Peter stayed close. Comfortable.

“I was just wondering- I mean, you look amazing. Not that I didn’t think you did before, you still do. Just that you’re different. A good different. But you still looked handsome as you did- I just-”

The God just laughed, an amused light thing that held no traces of sarcasm.

“Well, since you noticed. Yes, I do have a different appearance. Too many remember what happened then..when I attacked-” 

They both had come to a stop near an alley, the shadow of the building giving the comfort of being semi-secluded, so Peter felt the courage to lift a hand and give a comforting squeeze to Loki’s bicep in a way to show his support; that he understood.

Loki just smiled. “I had to change my outer appearance so blend in. Stark had pushed it, stating that if I were to walk among the city I would be noticed and cause a panic. Which...I agree. I do not wish to cause more harm or to bring the people of Midgard into mass-hysteria. Changing my look was the only option.”

Taking a small step back away from the smaller boy, he looked down at himself with a small hum and a critical eye. “I do hope it is passable. Nothing noticeable.” 

Peter held firmly onto the flowers, careful not to crush them against his body. “You-you are very handsome. Loki.” he squeaked out, feeling utterly embarrassed but strangely proud of himself for actually saying it. “In every way.”

With a smile Loki took the others empty hand, fingers carefully curled so he could place a kiss to soft knuckles, “And you, my darling,” he purred, soft gentle blue finding honeyed warm brown as his lips then found the sweet skin of Peters palm in a fairy light kiss, “are absolutely breathtaking.”

Peter stops breathing, eyes wide in shock because what the fuck. There is no way he just..he’s not..

Warm breath puffed across Peters hand, a small airy chuckle leaving the God’s lips that stayed against the boy’s palm, “Please do not lie to yourself.” 

Peter quickly dropped his head, lips pressed together and eyes breaking their contact when he realized that he accidentally said that out loud. But a hand to his chin to lift his head, didn’t allow his avoidance for long. “Don’t hide from me..I wish to see all of you.”

Peter couldn’t help but smile, leaning into the touch that shifted to his cheek, but it took him a moment for him to regain the confidence to find eye contact. “I’ll try.”

“Wonderful.”

Then they just stood, silent and watching the other and waiting for either one of them to move. Their hands stayed together, held up and against the God’s chest like a precious gem and the hand on his cheek was warm, comforting. 

It was slow at first, neither one of them realizing who had moved but then they were so close. Peter could see how his eyelashes were still black, gorgeously long and curved just right. And Loki noticed the specs of gold decorating those honeyed eyes, the small almost unnoticeable tiny freckles that painted the top of his cheeks, one side to the other. 

A moment they were frozen, the next, there was a sharp intake of breath from both as their lips met in a barely there kiss. Loki watched Peter’s eyes widen, saw how they seemed to go into shock before calming down until they closed with a sweet little hum. 

Then they were lost.

Peter moved closer in instinct, the hand on his cheek slipping to cradle the back of his head, using the careful grip to angle both their head just so. 

It was nothing more than a slow movement of lips, Peter getting a little too eager that showed his inexperience and Loki gently slowing him down and showing just what to do. The boy was a quick learner, growing more confident in his own skin, going so far as to swipe the tip of his tongue across the bottom lip that was captured between his own. 

The moan or hum that answered it shocked the both of them, causing the younger of the two to pull back with wide eyes, dark pink slightly swollen lips parted in shock, cause what the hell-

Loki just grinned, keeping the boy close as he let him calm down and let what just happen to settle in, his thumb caressing just under Peter’s ear helping him breathe.

“wow..”

“Very ‘wow’ indeed.”

Peter didn’t know what to say, feeling like a fool for saying the dumbest thing he possibly could. Brown eyes dropped, finding focus on the well worn concrete walkway they stood on that led into the alley, the knowledge of their seclusion making it easier.

“I um..I’ve never..” he stopped with a huff, a small pout on his lips as he tried to say what he needed, like he needed to explain himself. But Loki was quiet, patient as he gathered his thoughts.

“That was my first kiss..” Peter finally admitted, shame filling every part of his body, the pleasant buzz he had being chased away by his self doubt and sudden anxiety. What if he hated it? hated him? He was a God for fucks sake..he was worth more than a virgin hormonal teenage boy with watching porn as his only experience.

But to his surprise, Loki just tucked a stray curl behind his burning ear and smiled. Not that condescending smirk that Flash does when he’s making fun of him; but a loving sweet curve of lips that made his chest tighten, because no one has ever looked at him like that..not even Aunt May.

“I do not care of your experience, Peter. Even if you were to have been with a thousand men and women, I would not care. I have been alive for many millennia, too many if you ask me, having seen countless skies, cultures and a multitude of beings, But none of them are you. And I so wish, that you will give me the chance to properly court you, to show you... To make you mine.”

Peter just stared. Unable to have even a single thought besides the sudden question of what that floated around like the DVD movie logo on the rested screen. He must have been quiet for far too long, because the hand in his hair moved to pull away and everything just restarted.

“Yes!” he shouted, probably too loud because a few random pedestrians that were passing by stopped to stare. 

“I mean ah. Yes. I would..very much like to be courted. By you...please.” 

And Loki suddenly looked years longer then, a smile lighting up his face with utter joy before he surged forward for another kiss. One that Peter couldn’t help but giggle into as he swung his arms around to hold onto the taller man’s neck, longer and strong arms circling around his lithe waist. It was just a little more effort when Peter had to push up onto his toes to feel closer.

It was just a shame they neither of them noticed the fuming famous Tony Stark that stood on the other side of the street, one second away from gearing up and making his way over. Lucky for them, a blond big brother was able to hold him back. 

#im sorry it took me so long #but here it is #love me slowly #part 3 #it took me forever to figure this out #i will work on part 4 soon #i promise #Loki Laufeyson #loki x spiderman #peter parker #spiderfrost #frostspider #loki x peter parker #peter parker x loki #much gay #soft fluffy gay #its cute alright #i tried my best

[chiseler]

The next to last MOVE

[The release of Delbert Africa after 42 years in prison has lit me up like fireworks. Most of what's below was written several years ago, so this is a minor update. But goddamn am I glad he's out. It doesn't put the end to anything – one other MOVE member is still languishing – but it lends the closing bracket on a time and place that's long, long been central to my life. I never talked to Delbert, but I was never less than monumentally impressed by him, even though I thought MOVE was basically off its nut. See what you think.]

In the summer of 1978, my wife Linda and I had fun towing her little red wagon full of rocks through the police line during the first confrontation between the city of Philadelphia and MOVE.

Never heard of MOVE, or only recently with an odd revival of interest? I'm not surprised. Only in Philadelphia could the record of summer-long martial law effectively... vanish for decades.

Back then, MOVE was often called a "back to nature" and/or "anti-technology" outfit: A back-to-nature-anti-technology outfit that used bullhorns, lived in the middle of a city of 1.5 million inhabitants and organized protests of Jane Fonda and Buckminster Fuller. Demonstrating against the then-82-year-old champion of the geodesic dome – who would do such a thing, why?

Only MOVE, only in our itty-bitty liberal enclave of Powelton Village, and I think no one will ever know exactly why. They followed the teachings of Vincent Leaphart, whose rambling treatise made little sense to anyone beyond his small band of raucous believers. "MOVE" wasn't an acronym, just a word, but always capitalized. Leaphart changed his name to John Africa and insisted his followers all take the last name of Africa.

Powelton, a ten-square-block Victorian snippet of West Philadelphia north of Drexel University and the University of Pennsylvania, began as the city nabobs' summer-retreat in the late 19th century, just across the Schuylkill River from Center City. By the late 1960s it had attracted a loose rattle of quiet leftists and inoffensive layabouts who were tolerant of most anybody but Drexel, which was determined to devour as much of the community as it could ladle down (and has now debased the area with overpriced apartments for its students.)

During the late '70s, Powelton's squishy acceptance allowed MOVE to occupy a pair of brick twins at 33rd and Pearl Sts., no more than a block from our commune, where they nailed together huge, ramshackle ramparts, kept a pack of half-feral dogs, ate raw meat and tossed their garbage in the yard. An all-black group (except for one scrawny white woman), they were dreadlocked and more physically fit than any health poster.

For income, they washed cars on 33rd St. (and did a damned fine job of it). On no particular provocation, they would mount the ramparts, pick up a bullhorn and harangue the world. It made a hell of a racket. They could also explode into sudden violence, especially against the police, though I regularly walked past their house and was never harassed.

The city, citing housing and sanitation regulations, declared them pests and obtained a court order telling them they had to go. The order set off one of the strangest confrontations in modern American history.

On a quiet summer evening, the MOVErs mounted the ramparts carrying rifles and dressed in camo fatigues. You'd think the police would act. Well, they did: They blocked traffic on 33rd St. That was it. They never approached the MOVE house. During the protest, Delbert Africa, their chief spokesman (one of the most beautiful human beings who ever existed) issued this statement, part haiku, part tautology, that has always defined MOVE for me:

"Any motherfucker

tries to take away my motherfuckin' rights,

that man is a motherfucker."

I doubt their guns were loaded (they have since claimed they were not). For one thing, they were pointed straight up, for show. For another, the fatigues still had folds in them – the protestors had bought them that afternoon, probably at I. Goldberg's, a decades-old army-navy surplus store.

The city's mayor was Frank Rizzo, former police commissioner from South Philly, idolized by the Italian community, hated by the gays and blacks he had hounded throughout a career of sneering, swaggering machismo (my favorite quote: "I'll make Attila the Hun look like a faggot").

Rizzo's response to MOVE was incomprehensible and ultimately ruinous for the city.  Rather than clear the house of this rabble on outstanding charges of health and safety violations, he directed the police department to place a cordon around our neighborhood and wait for MOVE to capitulate. (If China had suggested starving out a bunch of dissidents, the U.S. would have been mightily upset.) Worse, he announced his plans a couple weeks in advance, giving MOVE's supporters ample time to haul in truckloads of supplies, including a skid of dog food.

For the next roughly six weeks, Powelton was occupied by up to 2,000 police and support personnel. I still find it hard to grasp that a judge blithely approved a state of martial law to enforce health regulations. And that his ruling was never seriously challenged or overturned.

To those familiar with MOVE, the result was foreordained—they simply hunkered down and refused to... move. Us Poweltonians, meanwhile, had to show identification to enter our own streets. The local activists, in their vocal but placid way, formed so many committees to discuss the situation – roughly equal pro- and anti-MOVE – that a higher committee coalesced to coordinate them all.

About then, Linda was moving back to the commune where I'd met her and where I still lived. We had no "transportation" beyond a battered wire shopping cart and her little red wagon. Back and forth we clumped from her apartment, the wagon loaded with books, kitchen equipment and the big garden rocks she'd brought from her home in Kansas. After awhile, even the cops found it ridiculous to keep asking for our IDs. They'd grin lightly, look bemused, then stand aside.

The immense police presence was absurdly ineffective. They exempted the street behind us from the cordon, and since our block had no internal fences, I would walk Pearl, our exuberant St. Bernard, down our front steps and half way around the block, then in the back way, without a single police challenge. The neighborhood also experienced a marked increase in breaking and entering – I guess it heightened the crooks' street cred to thumb their noses at the Man.

Across the city, the police force was in a shambles from diverting 20% of its resources to a pointless, static operation. (Once the blockade was lifted, they found that MOVE had moled a tunnel through to Powelton Ave., sneaking in supplies during the entire occupation.)

As I hazily recall it, the city and MOVE reached an agreement that if the police lifted their blockade, MOVE would hand over their guns. The police lifted the blockade, and –surprise! – MOVE handed them a bellylaugh.

Then one morning Linda and I were awakened by a short, intense rattle of gunfire. It hit like a mallet: "My god, they're killing them all." As it turned out, one police officer, James Ramp, was killed but no MOVE members. Despite conflicting forensic evidence on where the shot had come from, nine MOVErs were convicted of third-degree murder and for decades were regularly denied parole.

When I returned from work that afternoon, the street in front of our house was scored with caterpillar treads. I followed them around the corner to 33rd St. The MOVE houses were gone – three-story brick Victorian twins evaporated, the ground a smooth expanse of Philadelphia's yellow-brown clay. As Linda's young son Ben said, "At least they didn't salt the earth."

The occupation and confrontation were big news in city media back then, but they never caught national attention. Why? Can you name another example of weeks-long, uncontested martial law in a major American city?

That wrapped up MOVE for Powelton, but not for the city. Seven years later, on May 12-13, 1985, under Mayor W. Wilson Goode, the local government again lost its ability to think like adults in response to MOVE. The remaining group had moved to Osage Ave. on the city's western edge and again erected ramparts, but the local population was less willing than the loosey-goosey Poweltonians to accept such disruption.

This time, the city cut corners and turned to direct confrontation. The result was an armed standoff that ended when a collective of official imbeciles OKd dropping a parcel of C4 explosive onto MOVE's roof bunker. As the resulting fire spread, rather than endanger the firemen standing ready (or so read the official rationale), it was left to go its merry way.

The entire square block of over 60 rowhouses burned flat. When the smoke had cleared and the flames died out, 11 members of MOVE were found incinerated, including John Africa and five children. There were only two known survivors, Ramona Africa and nine-year-old Birdie Africa, who was permanently disfigured.

A footnote: Ramona, along with Birdie's relatives, were paid millions in damages. Ramona bought a house in the city's Kingsessing neighborhood, where she and MOVE remnants live a relatively quiet life. After hemming and hawing, the city agreed to rebuild the houses destroyed through its asinine incompetence. As a monument to shoddy, graft-infested contracting, the replacement homes proved uninhabitable, the contractors faced criminal charges, and the bedraggled homeowners were once again evicted while their "new" homes were razed and replaced.

by Derek Davis

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#246

“Here boy. I know who and what you are. Do you know who I am?… Liar. You’re a faggot liar. Yes you do. You have been drooling over me for weeks now. Follow me. I got us a room at the motel next door….

“The regulars here at the diner don’t care that I prefer fucking faggots like you over broads. I just don’t broadcast it like you do. I’ve seen you talking to some of the boys I have fucked. You know I have a big dick and that I pile drive boy cunt.

“I’ve seen you in the parking lot. You watch the guys like me going into the bookstore across the lot. You want to follow them in, but the bookstore won’t let you. They know you’re underage. Until today. Now you are legal to fuck. Yeah, I know your 18th birthday is today. I know a lot of things about you. I know you cruise the bookstore, and the bathroom the bar shares with the diner. I know you are finishing up at high school.

“Here’s our room. I fuck the owner and he let’s me use a secluded empty room whenever I need. So, you can scream when I tear up your cunt. Having a big dick has many many many advantages. I need to let off some steam from a long day on the farm. Get naked, I’m gonna get the ropes out. My reputation is well known that I am a twisted fucker. Hell my conquests told you the such, and yet you came with me here.

“Always remember this, I am always in control of everything. Right now, that includes you. Naked. And then get on your knees and face me. See, it’s natural for you to follow orders. And where’s your phone?… Hand it to me…. Continue stripping. Well,… You’re kinda scrawny. You’ve never worked a hard day at anything, and it shows. Damn your pecker is tiny. That’s the way I like it. My cock is fucking huge, and you need to realize your place is on your knees in front of real men. You will never be a real man. You do know that, right?…

“You know what I want you to do. I want you to beg me to fuck you. I want you to beg me to brutalize your cunt. And while you are begging me and degrading and humiliating yourself, I will be jacking off to you. Having a big dick requires a little extra tugging to get hard. I know you wouldn’t know anything about that. You are too focused on your cunt. And call it a cunt a number of times, especially when you are fingering it. I want you to tell me that you need for me to rape you. Your goal is to degrade yourself. Tell me how much of a faggot you are. And focus on your tiny clit there. Tell me how you envy any real man with a real sized dick. And the thing I need for you to beg me to rape you—not have sex, not make love—rape. Use that word often.

“Here look up at me, at your phone. Thanks for letting me use your face to unlock it. I will be recording this on your phone. I want you to have a record of how low you are. I want you to watch this every morning as you are about to jack off at home. Speaking of jacking off, I should take my cock out for you. Damn, even totally limp, it’s way bigger than yours hard.

“You have three minutes to fully degrade yourself. Go!…

“…That’s time. Ok. See how big you got me? The full nine and a half inch dick, ready to rape the hell out of you. Crawl over here and blow me, but first put on this blindfold. I don’t want you to see anything. Good, now show me how good you are as a faggot cocksucker. Throat me to the nut. Put as much spit on it as you can. That’s pretty much the lube I will be using to tear your cunt up. Maybe if you are good, I will use some spit on the cunt. Take your time, but throat me. Get into it faggot. I’m gonna chill here… Open that fucking throat… Gag on that monster….

“You really are pathetic. Get your ass on the bed, face down. Need to tie you down. What? Now you want out? Aww hell the fuck no. I said on the fucking bed. Ok. You really want this to be a rape don’t you? Look I know my way around ropes and tying up livestock. I do work in a farm, and I am a part of the local rodeo. Calling out for help ain’t going to help.

“And, I sent myself a copy of that video where you are begging me to rape you and to show you no mercy. Nobody will believe you. Just a few more seconds, and there! You ain’t going nowhere now. You are going to be in that position for some time. Your cunt is on display, ready to be mounted.

“But first, I’m going to fuckin’ welt you up. I got my son’s belt here; mine doesn’t move through the air as nicely as his, and besides I’m still wearing mine. You don’t even deserve me stripping for you. When it comes to whipping, I don’t stop to let you recover.

“Being your birthday, It’s eighteen strokes in a row. Start your fucking screaming now. One, two, three,… louder fucker, you deserve every one of these strokes… Eight, nine, ten,… I can already see the welts forming. Oh yeah, bright red cheeks get me leaking. When I hit number twenty-five, I’m going right to the root whether or not you are ready. And it’s not going to take me very long to nut in you. Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, and… eighteen.

“Quit your crying faggot. Here, bite down on my son’s belt. You really have me leaking here. And… all the way in. Fuck yes! This cunt hasn’t been fucked much, has it? Stop your screaming, I asked you a fucking question. You get fucked much?… No?… Wait, that was a cherry pop? Oh fuck yeah. I’m close to giving you some cream to go on your cherry pie. Oh yeah. Fuck. Take it bitch. Feel my load fill you up. Faggot.

“That’s what you have to look forward to for the next few days. Oh man, fuck. I’m gonna lay here for a while. Watch your head, my cigar is only an inch or two from your cheek. I don’t want to brand you,… well at least not yet. Let go of the belt. Holy shit. You really did bite down hard. I can’t wait to give this back to him and tell him how the teethmarks came about.

“Oh yeah, he knows I’m gay. He doesn’t care. He’s totally straight, and I mean totally straight. Now just lay there; you ain’t going anywhere. But I want you to hear this. Yeah, I kept my sex life away from him until one day when he walked in on me fisting his math teacher, Mr. Gunter.

“Oh yeah, he goes to the same high school as you. He too is ready to graduate. You know him, oh yes you do. You’ve been texting him all year, ever since he transferred to your school. You were not very nice to him. In fact, you and a few of your friends beat him up. And what reason did you have for giving him a black eye?… Don’t remember? You called him a faggot. You told your friends that he hit on you in gym class. Talk about projecting.

“When he came home suspended for fighting and with a black eye, I wanted details. He gave me your name and showed me your pic in the yearbook. And wouldn’t you know, I recognized you from your attempted bookstore runs. A week later you start hanging around the diner. You couldn’t get into the bar area, but you sat every Friday afternoon in that same spot in my line of vision, pretending to read that book while groping yourself. So subtle.

“I had your background run by a this cop I regularly fuck. He told me a shitload about you. He’s the one that informed the bookstore across the street that you were underage. There’s a boy—a year older than you—that I fuck who is a Facebook friend of yours showed me your wall. I got to go through every word you wrote while he was giving me head. And unlike you, he knows how to deep throat. Again, having a big dick has its advantages.

“And about that time, you and my son were suspended, you posted a viral video of a bullied kid getting revenge on the bully by sleeping with the bully’s mom. And your comment was something like, ‘Best served cold.’

“Funny thing is, I’m out. While I don’t broadcast it in this tiny town, but I don’t hide it. My son and ex-wife know. The ranch I work at knows. Hell, the main reason how I got the job was that I fucked the owner and told him that I was looking for a job. The guys at the bar all know. So how were you going to humiliate my son? He probably would say, ‘He fucked you? You ain’t the first, you won’t be the last.’ or something like that.

“So, what’s happening next for you? Certainly not humiliating my son. No, for you, I have plans. I’m gonna fuck you again. I’ll leave you tied up. The motel is going to get full later on tonight, mostly truckers. I’ve let the motel owner and the guy that works the bookstore that you are here ready for all horny truckers.

“Tomorrow, I’m going to pass you over to this biker club one of my friends is a member of. He already set up something really nasty for you. The gang already knows what a piece of shit you are. They can’t wait to get their hands on you, and I can’t wait to hear all about it. By the end of the weekend, your cunt will be destroyed. I will give you two black eyes to make up for the one you gave my boy. Most likely your hair will be removed. You are going to be beaten. Hell, my cop buddy is a former boxer. He’s going to string you up and use you as a punching bag.

“And in the end,… I will decide if you keep your balls. Wow. That’s the first time you have flinched while lying under me. Aw, shut up. I work with livestock every day. I know how to castrate a bull. I haven’t decided about you. Just keep that in mind throughout the weekend. You complain or resist, your balls will be in jeopardy.

“You probably won’t see much of me. But I will you. I have it arranged to have it all filmed for me. I expect to see a cum hungry faggot whore knowing his place of being used by real men. Your balls will depend on it. For me, I’m going to be with my son doing dad things.

“And I don’t plan on letting him in to the fact that you are a faggot whore lookin to get raped seeing, he already knows. How do I know? I text him, while you were trying to give me head. I wrote, from your phone, ‘I have to get this off my chest. I am a faggot whore. I can’t live in the closet anymore. Please share this video.’

“Then I sent him your video. While you are going to be in a living hell for the next four days, you won’t be able to stop him or anyone from finding out. This is how I want it. As I said before, I am always in control of everything. Oh, and happy birthday.”

[flying-elliska]

S3 Rewatch - Episode 3 

The next three clips are just...not fun so I’m going to do them together and rather quickly. We’re in the thick of Lucas’ self-denial and internalized homophobia and it’s pretty damn brutal. 

Mercredi 21:05 “L’échelle de Kinsey”

Starts with a shot of Lucas from above on his bed with his computer and this angle makes him look small, caged in. Coupled with the look on his face, it feels claustrophobic. The “sexual orientation/Kinsey scale” test he does is much more medical than in the OG ; he basically lies by saying he’s attracted to the other sex in all questions, barely hesitating. He’s 0.6 point above the hetero line (where does that 0.6 come from hmmm...). It doesn’t help. The next thing he googles is “how to make sure nobody knows you are gay.” And then he gets this horrible advice : being agressive and disgusted towards openly gay people, using girls and vulgar language.... Isak’s “gay test” was about him not fitting stereotypes and being confused and it was kind of darkly funny, this clip is just violent and awful, especially right after the last one and Alexia’s wise words. The difference can be explained by 1) the fact that Eliott kissing Lucille was much more of a betrayal seen as how they were openly flirting and Eliott hid it from Lucas (which Even didn’t so it was more about Isak feeling like he’d misinterpreted) 2) He probably thinks that he exposed himself with the girls and said offensive stuff to Alexia, isolating himself from that support 3) he is just terrified of facing the depth of his feelings. So he isn’t able to even acknowledge his attraction in an online test, he only sort of uses the g-word in a paranoid, self loathing google search to avoid being found out. And the fact that it’s Lucas’ voice reading the comment makes it feel like he’s really internalizing them. Yikes. 

Jeudi 12h40 “Balance ton porc”

It’s great to see Alexia dance, she seems very happy and confident and badass and as a plus size girl who hated sports in high school...feels healing. The rest of the clip tho ? Gross. Taken out of context, I would have hated Lucas in this clip, and even his friends (who are like...also very much staring at girls dancing and objectifying them) remarks on his comments being violent and wonder if there’s something wrong with him. His “are you faggots or what ?” question doesn’t land quite as intended, since Arthur comments it’s a very “repressed gay” question. (The fact that homophobes are secretely gay is also a cliché, yikes). But it shows that this is out of character for Lucas. Basile meanwhile is....Basile, socially oblivious and generally unfortunate, and Lucas’s “we’re watching hot girls” comment is just gross - the particular words he uses “de la bonne meuf” makes it sounds as if he’s talking about meat (’de la’ is generally used about quantities of things you can consume, like food). They’re just pathetic in this whole clip. Arthur and Yann are somewhat more self-aware but they’re still participating. The use of “Balance ton porc” which is a movement against sexual harassment in the style of #metoo makes the whole thing more confusing - Basile bringing it up shows he’s at least somewhat aware of misogyny being bad, and yet he doesn’t know how to put that in practice and handle his horny desperation. It’s the whole ‘society pushes hella mixed messages on teenage boys” aspect. You kinda feel sorry for them, but in a “what a bunch of morons” kind of way. 

Jeudi 16h50 “Nobody” 

...and the real kicker. This clip is just brutal, man. It brings to light the reason Lucas is behaving like he does. Lucas pulls out all the stops, declares his love for Chloé to get it back. And his words and eyes are so heartfelt and emotional,  it feels real but it’s instantly obvious his feelings are about Eliott, not Chloé - and this is the first time we get how bad Lucas has it : it’s never happened to him before, he didn’t expect it, he can’t deal, he thinks about it when he wakes up and when he goes to bed, and so he does stupid shit. He looks so overwhelmed. And yet by saying that to the wrong person, he puts himself in even deeper trouble than before. The boys’ admirative faces are so funny though, especially Basile’s, especially with Basile’s posts on insta, it almost looks like he considers him some sort of pick-up guru - and Lucas starting to give him advice, so full of shit, and then Eliott arrives and bam! all gone. The way it’s filmed is brilliant, we see Eliott arrive in the background before Lucas does, there is this anticipation, Lucas turns and we see the look of panic on his face but the boys don’t, it’s all a perception game. Eliott is smiling, the boys seem to think he’s cool, and yet Lucas is all ‘I don’t know who he is, he has no friends, he’s a stalker...” Like, that’s just so mean. And he’s overexplaining in a super suspicious way. I wonder if, down the line, after he came out and got with Eliott, any of his friends ever remembered shit like this and roasted him a little or at least ...said like...yeah we could have noticed bc you were not subtle...And the way he looks after Eliott, a throw back to him seeking Eliott in the courtyard the week before, feels so sad, like they just keep missing each other. 

In a way this was France’s first mini-hellweek. Lucas never tries quite that hard to take on the macho player asshole persona after that, thank god. This is though, a very striking portrayal of what internalized prejudice can turn you into out of fear and shame. It’s not fun, but I think it was necessary to show that Lucas can be that asshole and he has to make a conscious choice not to be. 

Previous clip 

#skam france #s3 rewatch #it's overinterpretation time !!!

[firegrilled]

Mommas’ Boys - Part 3

@erejeanweek2k19 Prompt: Danger

Part 1 | Part 4

Summary: Jean takes it upon himself to show his whole school that he’s turned a new leaf, but he didn’t expect his and Eren’s moms to bear witness to the rather embarrassing moment.

 Glancing at her watch, Celine smiled.

“Thirty minutes to spare,” she mumbled to herself as she walked around the corner of the city block, her heels clacking with each step. Her eyes honed in on the cozy little café at the end of the block. “Carla should be proud of me this week.”

Celine was barely inside the building before she noticed her lunch date already sitting in a corner, typing furiously at a computer. Her mouth fell into a frown when she noticed Carla’s frazzled appearance. While Mrs. Jaeger was hardly the picture of business, a wrinkled shirt and barely combed hair were unusual even for her.

Rather than order a coffee she walked over to her friend, pulling up a chair.

“Someone is here early,” Celine commented, spooking Carla.

Her friend jumped in her seat, placing a hand over her chest. “Celine! I wasn’t expecting you for another hour… Wait, you’re early today!”

“Perks of managing one of the smaller branches. Same pay but much less hours and work.”

Celine rested her purse on the table as she took a seat.

“Oh I’m so glad to hear. I’m sure Jean must love that,” Carla smiled. “After being away for so long…”

Dark bags drooped under Carla’s eyes but Celine remained silent.

“Yeah, a summer turned into a year abroad but it did him a lot of good. My maman always had a firm hand. Can you believe Jean actually does the dishes and is so incredibly polite? And I haven’t heard from Erwin at all this first semester.”

“Really?” Astonishment evident in Carla’s voice. “Eren has mentioned he’s better behaved even if he’s still hanging with those same hooligans from middle school.”

Sighing, Celine nodded. “I’d heard that but he doesn’t see them after school anymore. I pick him up straight from track. He might’ve been way out of line but he was right, I wasn’t there for him so now I’m going to make sure I am.”

Carla placed her hand over Celine’s, grasping it.

“I’m so proud of you, both of you.”

“Thanks, dear. But that doesn’t explain why you’re here so early, and on a laptop no less. What’s going on?”

At that question the light behind Carla’s eyes faded. She pulled her hand back and reached into her pocket to pull out a tissue. Water formed at the edges of her eyes but she dabbed them away before they fell.

“I suppose it was only a matter of time before you found out, but Grisha… the world learned he faked the results of some of his papers. He’s lost all credibility in the scientific world and the hospital fired him for academic dishonesty. He left home a week ago and never returned,” Carla answered in a hushed tone, sorrow hanging over her words.

“Oh honey, that was his lab in the news?”

“Yes. I thought he just needed some time to clear his head but today he reached out to me. He doesn’t know when he’s coming back and he withdrew most of our savings, his savings. Now we need to move before the end of the month and I need to find a job to provide for Eren and Mikasa.”

A sob escaped Carla causing her to hunch over. She wiped away the tears as they came but she kept her voice steady.

Déjà vu hit Celine like a ton of bricks, unearthing long repressed memories. She trembled thinking about Carla’s situation but soon regained her composure. Placing a firm hand on Carla’s shoulder, she looked her right in the eyes.

“You will get through this, Carla. It’ll be long and it won’t be easy but you’ll do this. Even though it feels like your entire world was wrenched away from you, you’re gonna pull it right back and continue being the best damn mom to those kids. I’ve been in your shoes before and I’ll help you as best I can.”

Sniffing, Carla tilted her head in confusion. “You have?”

“Yes, many years ago. Jean’s dad passed away when he was just a baby and he left me with the most wonderful child to raise by myself. I know it hurts so much and you feel defeated but it’s temporary. The world won’t stop turning because he’s gone. And Eren and Mikasa won’t stop needing you. Just focus on one step at a time and everything will slowly come back into place.”

“One step at a time… I need to find a home. We at least have enough for that and a little while longer,” Carla tried to clear her mind. She took long and deep breaths until she regained her composure.

“Right, and then we can work on finding a date for you to start your new job.”

Carla snorted gracelessly at that remark.

“Start my new job? I need to find a place that’ll take a resume of ‘housewife and mother – sixteen years’.”

“Not a problem, we have an opening at my branch that I’ll hold for you,” Celine offered.

Carla’s jaw dropped.

“R-really? You’d do that for me?”

“Of course! Just focus on the other important things like your kids. They need you.”

For the first time during their conversation, Carla’s expression relaxed and the life returned to her eyes.

“Thank you so much!”

As if on cue, Celine’s phone rang. The two women glanced down to see Erwin’s picture flash across the screen, wearing his usual stern expression.

“I think I might’ve jinxed myself,” Celine sighed, ignoring her friend’s chuckling. She swiped a finger across the screen and took the call. “Hello Erwin.”

“Hi, Celine-”

“Jean again?”

“-yes. We’ve had a rather awkward situation develop and I’d like you to come down.��

Rolling her eyes, Celine gave Carla a dull stare. “Should I bring Carla? We’re currently having lunch together.”

“Ah, give her my regards. Yes, please bring her too.”

Carla cocked an eyebrow until Celina nodded at her, causing her to hang her head. “Oh, Eren…”

“Alright, we’ll be right over,” Celine confirmed. Hanging the phone up, she gestured to the door. “I’ll drive.”

The two women paid the bill and left in a rush. Much to Celine’s surprise, Carla pointed out a quicker route to the school that she was unaware of and beat her personal best time. As they pulled up to park, they saw Erwin waiting at the doors to the school.

“I hope they didn’t get in a fight again,” Celine sighed. Her son was so close to making it one semester without trouble. So damn close.

“Here’s to hoping,” Carla shook her head, unbuckling her belt.

They carefully shut the doors to the Honda Civic before joining Erwin on the sidewalk.

“Carla, Celine, I hope today has treated you well… Or at least as best as the circumstances allow,” Erwin greeted, his eyes focusing on Carla for the latter part of his statement.

“It was,” Celine said. “What happened? What did they fight about this time?”

Erwin frowned, shaking his head. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple. Good news is that the boys didn’t fight each other for once.”

Celine flinched at those words. “Come again?”

“From what I’ve gathered the boys didn’t fight each other. In fact, Jean defended Eren this morning from his friends.”

“Jean defended Eren? From what?” Celine interrogated the man, disbelief in her voice.

Eren wasn’t a boy that needed defending.

“Mr. Wagner and his little group were harassing Eren about his father,” Erwin started, pausing when Carla’s mood instantly soured. “Jean took exception to this and verbally lambasted them.”

“Oh he didn’t throw a punch, thank goodness,” Celine released a held breath, wiping her forehead she smiled.

“Correct, but he might as well have. His so-called friends saw fit to tape these to every locker in the building.”

Erwin pulled a neatly folded paper from his breast pocket, extending it to Celine. She quickly unfurled it, nearly dropping it when she saw the contents: a grainy picture of her son with large words underneath it.

“’Jean Kirschtein is a faggot’?” Celine read aloud, her blood freezing in her veins. “His friends did this?”

“Yes, we have them on camera. We currently have Jean in the office to shield him from harassment. Eren is also present since he took it upon himself to avenge Jean’s honor,” Erwin informed the mothers. He gestured to the building, “If you’d follow me we can go see them.”

Carla shook her head at the news.

Just as the three stepped towards the building, the doors swung open to reveal Levi dressed in a custodial outfit. “Erwin, get to the office. Now!”

“What?” Erwin tilted his head in confusion as they walked to the building. He quickly realized something was off when he heard the school’s PA echoing in the halls.

“…and the time we thought Connie shat himself on the bus to DC? That was Mina after she ate Taco Bell for the first time. Totally just blamed him and everyone bought it. Oh and she cheated on you Connie with Thomas. And then cheated on him with Franz who then cheated on her with Hannah,” Jean’s distinct voice announced.

Celine placed a hand over her mouth as the color drained from her face. While she listened to her son’s speech she noticed the posters lining the halls. Every locker with a picture of her son’s face with those nasty words underneath them.

“Let’s go, now,” Erwin stated, immediately power-walking for the office. He didn’t miss the smirk on Levi’s face as the janitor listened to the juicy gossip.

“But Thomas, you hypocrite, you’re the one that made out with Franz when you were both tipsy. And I just love how you told everyone you lost your virginity already. News flash, you fucked your stuffed bear Mr. Tinkles and pretended it was a big deal,” Jean continued. Repeated dull thuds could be heard in the background but Jean seemingly ignored it.

Celine kept her mouth bolted shut as she heard her son using such brazen language.

“And what about Franz? You really haven’t done too much. Besides the fact you like to pick your nose and eat the boogers. And that you wet your bed until like three years ago.”

The three adults were almost at a jogging pace when they could faintly hear someone shout, “Liar!”

“Call me what you want but I’m not a pants shitter, a toy fucker, or a cheater. Or a toy fucker. Poor Mr. Tinkles. In conclusion, fuck you three.”

Erwin and the mothers arrived at the principal’s office in time to see Hanji shoulder-checking the door. Each attempt was in vain as the wood held strong.

“Hanji, where are the keys?” Erwin asked, leading Carla and Celine inside.

Turning to reveal crooked glasses, Hanji raised a finger and opened their mouth but no words came out.

“Oh, right. Those,” Hanji eventually spoke.

Quickly retrieving the keys from their pants pocket, Hanji unlocked the door to reveal Jean sitting in Erwin’s chair facing the window with a sorrowful look while Eren was on the floor wheezing. Eren grabbed his sides while laughter wracked his body.

“Jean Alexandre Kirschtein, what have you done?” Celine asked, catching the attention of both the boys.

Jean spun around in the chair, his expression now akin to a deer in the headlights.

“Maman-!”

Carla’s eyes fell to her son who struggled to regain his composure. With a concerted effort Eren managed to stifle his laughter.

“He just straight up murdered Thomas Wagner, Mina Carolina, and Franz Kefka. Good riddance,” Eren explained, wiping a tear from his eyes. “Oh this is the best day of my life.”

Carla covered her mouth with her hand at her son’s reaction. It wasn’t disappointment or anger that kept her silent, but awe. Jean managed to bring a wide smile to her son’s face.

Erwin crossed his arms as he stepped into the room, clearing his throat. “My chair?”

Not needing to be told twice, Jean scampered away from the leather chair and into one of the plush chairs on the side. “Sorry, sir.”

“Why, Jean? They would’ve been disciplined and punished accordingly,” Erwin wondered as he pulled a pink sheet from his desk. He started scribbling on it, looking at the calendar on his desk for the date.

“No offense, sir, but they wouldn’t have learned their lesson. I know them. They’ve never known what lines shouldn’t be crossed and a suspension wouldn’t do anything. Now they know what happens when you go after low hanging fruit.”

Celine pursed her lips, processing her son’s explanation. While she didn’t know what to make of her son’s very public stunt, she was moderately impressed by his reasoning. Not that she’d ever tell him that.

“Ms. Kirschtein, you know the drill. Please sign here that you understand the reason for his detention,” Erwin said as he slipped the pink paper across the desk.

“Only a detention?” She asked.

Even Jean perked up at that news.

“Yes, he’ll be in detention Monday morning for using the intercom inappropriately and slandering students. He’ll be joined by his friends of course but this is no reason for suspension,” Erwin explained.

“Of course, thank you,” Celine nodded as she signed the line.

“You may take him home early today, I don’t wish for any further disturbances to our educational environment.”

“Okay, thank you.” Celine turned for the door when she noticed Carla. Before she could respond Carla held up her hand.

“It’s ok, I’ll get a ride with Levi. His shift should be ending soon and he was due to clean our house today. Go home Celine.”

Smiling, Celine replied. “Okay. We’ll talk about the other thing later. Please don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything else. Now, come along Jean.”

Carla nodded.

Jean got to his feet, shoving his hands in his pocket and keeping his eyes to the ground. Before he got too far, Eren called out to him.

“Hey, Jean. Thanks,” Eren grinned at him.

Jean returned a tiny smile and shrugged. “No problem.”

Celine almost tripped upon hearing those words but thankfully caught herself. Today was really full of surprises.

To Be Continued

#fic: Mommas' Boys #erejean #Eren Jaeger #Jean Kirschtein #jean kirstein #jean's mom #carla jaeger #erejeanweek2k19 #enemies to lovers #friends to lovers #jean and eren finally make peace #shingeki no kyojin #snk #side eruri

[relatablyreid]

Breaking Boundaries - LA & SR

Even if this suggestion had sat on his mind for the past month that he’d known his collegue Spencer, didn’t mean he wanted to act on it. To ask out Spencer, even within the building would be weird because on public work grounds he’s looking for love or even a one night exclusive with his work partner. If he asks for his number, he’ll be asked why. Asking Garcia to quite literally confidentially slip it to him isn’t as sly as he desires because then on a need to know basis, he’ll have to explain himself to her. No one around would he be able to ask for advice on the pressing matter because everyone in the Behavioral Analysis Unit would pry, and that’s not only because of their internal curiosity but more so because that’s their job and how they make money. It also wouldn’t be something to let slid under the door when the newbie is asking for information on a long timer of the unit, suspiciously so. Today’s self set mission was to figure out the simplest and easiest way to ask his current work partner, and friend to go out with him to a little restaurant near his own home. Why? Probably because the only thing he ever really smiled at was making others smile, but Spencer’s was one he longed to see again and more often. So as he sat in his box within the bullpen, he scribbled ideas on his yellow standard notepad and hoped no one was looking over his shoulder. It didn’t seem like they would though, deep in argument over some of Cher’s best music. One voice he hadn’t heard speak up too much was his daydream partner Spencer, and he didn’t know where to assume he’d been. Possibly filling out his paperwork, then, considering socially popular music and media didn’t interest him too much. He knew so much about Spencer, and he just wished he could share it to him or tell someone. He had to go somewhere. All this nervous energy, all these bad memories behind his anticipation was killing him. It seemed like it was creating real pressure up in his forehead and-

“Luke? Are you alright?” Spencer asked, and he had been concerningly looking down at his face. It seemed as though if the nature was meant to be mocking to Luke, as if he was rising from the floor in the playground. There he was again, on the the concrete as his nose bled as rapidly as it was onto the cold under his rear end. People were staring, it wasn’t just Spencer. He was being pointed at, and laughed at. Faintly the taunting was audible to him, the random and sporadic way the others were throwing around the words ‘loser’ and ‘faggot’ at him. It was bleeding right into the scene, all around Spencer. Frozen in the scene, Luke stared at Spencer and practically gawked.

“Something’s wrong with him.” Spencer said softly, and he turned his head and looked around. “JJ! Something’s wrong with Luke!” Spencer shouted, and he kept an eye on the man in the chair. This accidentally brought attention to Luke from Prentiss and Rossi. There was now an unintentionally formed crowd around him.

To Luke, it looked so bizarre. His collegues and other students from his classes yelling cuss words at him and rude slang for what they presumed he would fit in regards to common social grouping and clique terms. On the random punch thrown to his face in his flashback, he snaps out of it all.

“I’m not a faggot, I’m not, I-I, just leave me alone please, I’m not a fag, I..” Luke blinked a bit then furiously rubbed at his eyes and then cupped his ears a moment to stop the repeating and echoing of his childhood trauma on the park grounds. “I’m not, I’ll be back, I’m just..” Luke failed to fix what possible mess he’d just made now. “Sorry.” Standing promptly, he made his way to the bahroom. He had a lot to explain and nowhere near any reasonable explanations. The only one he knew was a logical and acceptable explanation or excuse to use to defend his very recent actions would be to tell the truth. Yet, this wasn’t exactly something he’d felt the most comfortable with sharing to all of his collegues. It wasn’t something he’d like to have to say in front of Spencer, that’s for sure. Embarrass himself right in front of his first true love interest, and then probably never fully have a real conversation the same way again afterwards. He made his slow feet take steps towards the main sink in the bathroom, and he turned the cool water on. If he’s being completely honest, this began about two nights ago when in the comfort and as presumed safety of his home, he had fallen asleep on the couch watching some sort of animal planet video and he had woken up shaking and crying over his nightmare. Not necessarily how he’d planned for his evening to go, but certainly and depressingly how it’d ended. He hadn’t even been able to process the possibility of attempting to go back to sleep after that dream. As neatly as possible, he splashed at his face with water right over the sink. Then reached for the towels to dry his dampened face. He needed to talk to someone, he wanted to talk to someone about this. He stared down at his now half dry hands and he sighed. The trip back to the bullpen would be weird, because of what he damn near practically yelled to the whole room.

“Prentiss? How much spanish would you say you know?” Was the first thing he was able to ask once he stepped back into the room beside her and the group. The goal was to get himself in the room alone with Prentiss, in order to confide in her and then make his way back to his desk to sit alone. He intended upon just focusing on her until he got to talk to her, and relax.

“Suficiente para hablar. Que esta mal. ¿Mi oficina o fuera?” Prentiss replied, and Luke raised a brow.* Reminded him to never take the abilities of his little behavioral analysis family for granted.

“Sí, señora, ¿podemos ir a la oficina? Fuera de los libros. Por favor.” Luke requested, and he cleared his throat a bit.* She lead the way right into her room as the other agents glanced around beyond unknowledgable to what sort of route the conversation had taken. All that way easy to read was the yes, and office. On easy assumptions and putting two and two together, you could tell why they’d walked away.

Once he stepped inside the office and heard the door finalize the choice, he exhaled. Now he had to speak his peace, prove his sanity and hope Prentiss didn’t kick him off the team or have him turn his badge and gun in to take a trip of his own to the psychiatric ward down the block.

“Speak fast, they think you’ve really lost it, Luke.” Prentiss suggested, and she sat down at her desk. “Contrary to that popularly believed assumption, I don’t think so though. Speak fast if you’re guilty.”

“I had a flashback.” Luke was fragmenting to prevent throwing himself back into a whirlwind of traumatic memories and terror. It separated who he was talking to now from something that happened in the past. It helped him lay things out in reality as they were and are, not as one lump together.

“Flashback about what? Was it from your time in the Army?” Prentiss asked, making sure she thoroughly got the truth. He wasn’t one to lie and that she knew, but she didn’t know why her teammate had yelled an offensive slang word for homosexual at the top of his lungs in the middle of the professional workspace also known as the bullpen. She doubted that any of that had been for fun.

“When I was a kid. Not from the army.” Luke cleared his throat again, and he kept his eyes from nearing Emily’s desk or belongings. He didn’t want to have to face her after that, afraid that she was feeling embarrassed or ashamed.

“What happened in the flashback?” Emily had to pry a bit more to get the lid of this coffin open.

“Haz las preguntas más sí y no, por favor.“ Luke urged of her, hoping she would apply it so that he could have an easier time answering. “Hasta que me sienta cómodo. Por favor.”*

“Of course. Did you get yelled at in the flashback?” Emily had been narrowing it now, on request of Luke. She just wanted him to feel comfortable for now so she could piece together what just really happened.

“Yes, a lot.” Luke mumbled, realizing how shameful he ought to be for sharing this story with his boss and teammate. Someone he’d have to see on the daily for quite a long time after this.

“By who? Was it by your parents?” Emily thought for a moment that it could have been his parents due to how little he’d ever spoken about them.

“No, by all my classmates.” Luke began to anxiously bounce his left foot on the toes. It didn’t make his shoes obnoxiously squeak when he did so.

“How many kids, Luke?” Emily wanted to understand if it was the crowding of them all that scared him.

“Twenty two.” His eyes glanced around the room a bit scaling upwards in sense of direction. Vertical and right to left, but also from the floor to the ceiling and passing back and forth between Emily a few times. She didn’t look mad. In fact, she looked so gentle that it was incredibly hard to believe.

“What were they yelling?” Maybe they were the ones calling him a faggot. For kids to yell such obscenities to another child made a lot more sense.

“F-Faggot. I held hands with Ethan when I wanted to go to get lunch.” Luke confessed, and he bit his bottom lip briefly and let it slide through his teeth to be free again.

“Now you don’t have to answer, but has this happened again recently in a different yet still root wise similar form?” Emily had to be careful not to break the gained comfortability that Luke built up for the conversation.

“I want to ask someone on a date. My head doesn’t allow me to try, because it’s not right. I’ve been taught that it’s not. I’m not allowed to like him the way I do.” Luke chopped the sentences so he didn’t cry that time around. It was hard to keep a neutral to calmer facial expression when talking about something like that.

“You can love whoever you want, nobody set any rules against it. No one here in the BAU will judge you, Luke.” Emily tried to help out Luke, assure him in ways that a mother would. “Is there more to the flashback?”

“Yes. It’s stupid, though.” Luke’s eyes flashed up at Emily’s to see if she was still calm or reassuring. He didn’t want to upset her, because then he knew that he would be panicking.

“Nothing you say is stupid, Luke. If you didn’t share your feelings or opinions as they come most of the time, then we wouldn’t have saved as many people as we have.” Emily tried to praise him, hoping to coax the rest of the situation out of him but also make sure he knew he was heard and often times a valid component to the conversation.

“I got punched. Went home, my mother didn’t like it either, said I may have deserved it after all.” Luke had admitted to the most heartbreaking part of his story, and he teared up a bit. “I deserved it. It’s not right for me to like boys.” He repeated, as if he was reminding himself now.

“Luke, I hope you know that it’s really common nowadays for people to like the same sex or the same and the opposite. I also want you to know how legally and truthfully non-judgemental the bureau is. If anyone and I mean anyone in our unit decided to treat you different for whatever reason it may be, I’d certainly take care of it. It’s not a sin, or a crime, Luke. You know this. Love is love, and it’s not under your choice or mine. You love whoever it is you do, and that’s perfectly fine by me and the rest of the team. I shouldn’t be saying this regardless of it being off the books or not, but I like girls and I like guys. It’s like how the body is full of water, it-it’s just a part of me. Doesn’t make me bad, or a sinner.” Emily spoke from her heart, truly understanding and just trying to console the man beside her. No one really deserved to feel guilty for the one they decide to love, or date, whatever it may be. Girl, guy or anything in between, it wasn’t her place to judge. As long as the relationship was healthy, she couldn’t care less as to who Luke would prefer dating.

“Thank you, thank you really, Emily.” Luke swallowed his saliva and he cleared his throat a bit. “Thank you. I’m going to go back to my desk. I’m sure you can say something, not too uh, revealing.” Luke nodded a bit, standing and making his way to the door.

“Should I say it was a prompted panic attack, or prompted anxiety attack?” Emily asked before Luke had opened the door. “Puedo mentir, confia en mi Cualquier cosa por su seguridad y confianza.”* In hopes to keep him assured that this was off the books, not for anyone beside the two of them to know.

“Uhm, whichever will bring the least amount of questions. Graciás, señora.” Luke gives a small wave and a small smile to the woman before he makes his way to his desk. He did feel better, surprisingly so. He’d never really spoken about deep rooted traumatic events like that before, not with anyone.

Sitting down at his desk, he flips through and tries to file out his paperwork so that towards the end of his day, he’ll have twenty minutes of free time to use to his advantage. He planned on using that time to just ask the question. If not now, then truly never. No shame was supposed to be behind it, he had to remind himself. No shame behind who he loved, and no shame behind who’s hand he wanted to hold.

After finishing up his last folder, he closed it slowly and he let out a long sigh. Reassuring himself would take a quarter of the time he had out of the twenty minutes, but it’d make this a lot smoother.

Successfully, he makes his way over to Spencer’s corner and he knocks on the framing of it to the right side of the squared off office.

“Hey, Luke. How are you feeling? Emily told me it was a small anxiety attack, but I mean, it looked much like that of a different sort of panic attack. It looked like you were seeing a flashback, and you looked quite upset so I’m assuming it’s safely none of my business but I figured I’d check on you around now anyways.” Spencer had rambled slightly so, not having anyone to talk to for the past thirty minutes.

“I’m alright Spence. I’ll be okay. I got a real serious question for you, okay?” Luke set himself up perfectly now. All he had to do was spit it out.

“Anything. Anything at all, I’ll hope I know the answer to it and try to help you if I can.” Spencer turned to face Luke, except he didn’t have the strength to look him in the eyes directly or consistently.

“Do.. you want to go on a date with me? I was thinking that I could possibly make you some sort of food, I’m not too awful with a skillet and some veggies and noodles. If you don’t like pad thai, then I could always take you to a restaurant in town somewhere. Anywhere you like, really.” Luke finally found the courage and pushed the words out, and topped it with a smile. He had tried his best to look like he wasn’t sort of stressed for an answer.

“Pad thai is alright, I like it with the sweeter soy marinade rather than a soy sauce. I’ll pick some up on my way over there. If you send me your address now, I can rush home and get on something nicer to wear and then pick up a marinade, and be there for eight.” Spencer hadn’t said no. He didn’t disagree, or yell, or hurt him. In fact, he didn’t seem opposed to the idea in even the slightest aspect of things.

“You mean yes? As in yes, you’ll go on a date with me?” Luke asked, and he looked at Spencer in awe. Both of their faces coated in a bright red color, the excitement and realization of what was happening had filled their cheeks nicely with blush.

From her office, Emily had carefully peered through the slit of the blinds to spectate her collegues, brimming eyes over Spencer and Luke. Smiling, she realized who exactly Luke had mentioned when he spoke about liking someone and wanting to ask them out for a date. It was Spencer. Someone reasonable to be anxious towards asking out, in Emily’s personal opinion.

“Yes, Luke Alvez. I’d be pleased to go on a date with you.” Spencer smiled, and he looked up at Luke and into his eyes for a moment. The way his eyes expressed how joyful he was had filled Spencer’s heart, and he smiled a bit brighter just realizing how happy he’d made Luke. He decided to even add to the enjoyment. “Do you want to walk out, together?” He asked, a bit anxious because he was generally scared but newer to the romantic scene than he’d realized.

“Oh, sure, that’ll be cool, that, yeah! Alright!” Much like a school boy would, Luke stammered about as he basked in his excitement and overhwelming positive shock. He went to his desk and grabbed his bag, placing his pens in there and he flipped the overhang cover back where it did it’s job. He closed his drawers all the same, and moved his chair in once he was done. Then ripped out the yellow notebook page he’d used to write about how was going to ask Spencer out. It was all his braindumping, all his sorting out.

Little did he know, he wouldn’t have needed it anyways. Spencer planned on saying yes no matter how the event was presented to him.

Beside Spencer now and leading towards the exit, after holding open the front doors, he’d offered his hand to Spencer. “I’ll save you the fare and drop you home.”

Spencer smiled at the gentle offer, and he took Luke’s hand and nodded. “Two fifty isn’t much, but it is two fifty saved for this evening.” He was very happy to feel Luke’s thumb rubbing small circles into the back of Spencer’s hand. It put stars around his head and had him mentally drooling over how sweet and kind Luke was. It was exactly as he’d expect for Luke. It was perfect for the moment, and it was going to be even nicer to seem him relaxed and in a better mood for tonight. Luke probably didn’t know it, but Spencer adored his smile just as spassionately.

————————

* Emily says; Sufficiently enough to talk. Not too bad. My office or outside?

* Luke says; Yes ma’am, can we go to your office? Off the books, please.

* Luke requests; Ask me questions that are yes and no, please. It will help me feel comfortable. Please.

* Emily assures; I can lie, trust me. Anything for your safety and trust.

#luke alvez #spencer reid #ralvez #this one i wrote to show a more anxious side to luke #and a less anxious side to spencer #something more open to new ideas