#and got one that says 'fags bash back' on it

[buttsmasher]

Gage (Edited)

Been trying to go through my old stories and slowly re-upload them after I give them a review. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

Tags/Warnings: Fag bashing, face farting, willing victim turned to unwilling, asphyxiation by farts, fart torture

Gage is a grade A prick. You pretty much learned that the moment he moved into the house. Your other roommate literally moved out because he couldn’t stand him. The only reason you’ve stayed is because the rent is cheap and the landlord isn’t complete trash. The other reason is that you have a sort of hate crush on Gage.

You understand he’s a prick and he seems like a bit of a fag basher, but dude has a rockin bod. And he has no sense of other people’s personal boundaries. One time when you had friends over, he walked out of his room completely naked to get a beer out of the fridge. Which you didn’t mind too much because you got front row seats to watch his ass jiggle. Your lesbian friends were mortified of course. Especially when he started to shake his hips to make his dick flop around. After that, you’ve all decided to do movie night at their house now to avoid any more incidents.

The other thing about Gage is that he’s a literal gas bomb. The dude is constantly gassy and it may make your dick strain against your shorts when you’re both watching TV and he lifts a leg to let out a massive fart. And look, if you’re secretly there taking quiet inhales of his stinky gas then no one needs to know.

It all comes to a head today though. You keep a journal, and you may or may not have written all your dirty fantasies about Gage in them. Looking back at it, probably not the best idea, but too late to change that now. 

You’re in the kitchen making scrambled eggs when Gage comes into the kitchen. “Good morning.” You mumble to him, not fully expecting an answer. He opens the fridge and pours himself a glass of OJ as he plays on his phone. He laughs at something before walking towards the kitchen table. 

“Hey fart slut, what’s for breakfast?” You freeze. Did he really just say that? He snaps his fingers a couple of times. “Yo, fag, I’m talking to you.” You slowly turn to look at him.

“Uhm, Scr-scrambled eggs?” You don’t know why it came out as a question. 

“Cool, I want cheese on mine.” He doesn’t even look at you as he plays on his phone.

“Oh, uhhh, I didn’t make enough for the both of us.” You look at the pan and push it around. 

“It’s fine, just give me yours.” 

“What?” He locks eyes with you.

“Let me put it another way. Give me your breakfast and I don’t post your dirty fart fantasies online.” You try to stay calm but you’re freaking out. You turn back around fully and focus on finishing the eggs, throwing cheddar cheese on top right before you finish. Your hands are shaking as you plate the food and bring it over to Gage.

“Anything else?” You say nervously placing the food and a fork down in front of him.

“Tabasco.” He doesn’t look up from his phone, you just do as he says. “Sit.” He says as you go to make yourself more scrambled eggs. “I gotta say, you’re pretty nasty. I mean, to like that shit, you gotta have some serious problems.”

“Fuck off.”

“I mean, to want to get on your knees to sniff someone’s dirty ass. That’s some dog level shit.” You watch as he stuffs his mouth with eggs. “Tell me, how are you any better than a dog?”

“You’re an ass.” Your chair groans against the floor as you get up. 

“Sit back down.” Gage says firmly.

“No, fuck you. I don’t have to take this.”

PFFFFFBBRRRFFFFFF

You freeze as Gage rips a five second fart. The smell hits you from where you’re standing. You can hear Gage laughing from behind you and you can’t help the shame that wafts over you. “You’re pathetic. You get one whiff of my ass funk and you can’t walk away.” You take a deep breath and calmly begin to walk to your room. “I have more where that came from, you know?” You squeeze your eyes shut, wanting to ignore him. 

PFFFFFF

A high pitched fart hisses from his ass. “See? And they can be up your nose if you ask me nicely.” You’re not even looking at him and you can just see his cocky grin.

“What do you want?” You ask, knowing you’ve already lost.

“Heh, knew it.” You hear his chair scrape against the floor as he gets up. “You just need to beg.” He puts his hands on your shoulders. “Beg your daddy to fart up your nose.” He whispers in your ear.

“You’re an ass.”

“I know.” He turns you around and pushes you down onto your knees. “Beg doggy.” You lock eyes again, completely humiliated on the ground.

“Please, Gage, fart up my nose.” You say without enthusiasm. 

PFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTT

“Fuck, that was a big one you just missed out on. Beg.” You sigh.

“Please daddy, please make me your fart slut.” He laughs.

“Better.” He turns around giving you the view of his brief clad ass. “Get your face in it.” You do as he says, getting a whiff of the lingering scent of the last fart. “Just remember you wanted this.”

PFFFFFFFFFFFF PFFFFFFFFFFFF

Airy farts warm your face as your nose gets overwhelmed by the absolutely toxic smell. It’s not like anything you thought it’d be like. “Wait.” You manage to cough out. “Wait stop.” You go to pull away but he holds you firmly in place.

“You’re not going anywhere.” He hikes his leg up slightly.

PFFFFFFFFFFFBBRBRBFFFFFTTTTTT

“Oof, that one’s gonna be bad.” He wasn’t wrong. Your eyes are squeezed shut as you're forced to endure that blast of a ten second fart. It’s absolutely eggy, and your eyes are watering. “Definitely wouldn’t want to be down there. But you’re liking this right fag?” You frantically shake your head no, wanting to pull away. “Aww, I knew you’d love my ass. Here, I’ll blow you a kiss.”

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF PFFF

Another disgusting fart burns it’s way up your nose and down to your lungs. Your face is extremely warm and you can’t think straight. You strain to pull away from the toxic fumes constantly barraging your face but Gage’s hold is too strong.

PFFFFBRBRBRFFFFFFTTT

“Look, I know my brew is strong, but you’re the one who wanted this. And you begged oh so nicely for daddy to fart in your face. Who am I to get in your way of your dream?”

PFFFF PFF PFFFFFF PFFFFF

“It’s okay, I won’t judge you. Well maybe a little. Only cause you’re a fucked up a fag.” 

PFFBBRRRFFFTTT

It’s getting really hard to breathe down here. The only air you’re getting is Gage’s eggy farts. You’ve begun to uncontrollable cough and gag against his dirty briefs. 

“Man, imagine if I didn’t have these undies on. There’s no way you would survive that.” He laughs as he pulls his tight black briefs under his naked ass.

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF PFFFFFFFFFFFF PFFFFF

“Jesus, what did you put in those eggs? I bet you put in some extra fiber didn’t you?” 

“I know I’m a gassy guy, but damn, this is way worse than normal.” 

PFFFFFFFFBBBRRRRRRBRRRRR

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTT

Everything is spinning around you and you’re having a hard time staying conscious. 

“Is it everything you hoped for faggot?” 

PFFFFF PFFFFFFFF PFFFFTTT PFFFFF

You feel yourself slump further into his musky ass, no longer able to keep yourself upright. You can hear Gage laughing as everything fades to black. A final fart hits your nose as you finally lose consciousness. “Night night fag.” Gage lets your body hit the floor before leaving you there.

When you awake again, you’re still on the kitchen floor. The smell of Gage’s ass still lingering on you.

#face farting #willing victim turned to unwilling #asphyxiation by farts #fart torture

[gatheringbones]

[“Coming out was very lonely. I had very few friends. Most of the adult lesbians I knew were alcoholics, chronically unemployed, prone to violence, self-hating, apolitical, closeted, cliquish. Lesbians hated each other. If you found a lover you stopped going to the bar because you could not trust other lesbians; they would try to break up your relationship. My first woman lover went into the military, where she turned in other lesbians so she would not be exposed. One of my dyke friends got a job as a supervisor in a cabinet-making company and refused to hire lesbians because, she said, they were unreliable employees who were disliked by the other workers. The only thing that seemed worse to me than the apolitical lesbian community I came out in was the strangulation of pretending to be straight. I came out only because I could not go back; there was no place for me to stand in the het world. I was driven out.

Moving to San Francisco improved things somewhat. There was more public lesbian space there—six bars instead of one. But it did not alleviate the loathing with which my family viewed me. Nor was San Francisco in the early seventies any sort of gay utopia. We had no gay-rights law, queer bashing was a frequent event, and everyone had lost at least one job or been denied a place to live. It was a relief to be surrounded by other lesbian feminists, but only to a point. Bar dykes and feminists still had contempt for one another. Feminism rapidly became a way to reconstitute sexual prudery, to the point that it seemed to me that bar dykes were actually more accepting of and knowledgeable about the range of behavior that constituted lesbianism. In the bars or in the women’s movement, separatism was pretty much mandatory, if you didn’t want to get your ass kicked or be shunned. Separatism deteriorated into a rationalization for witch hunts in the lesbian community rather than a way for women to bond with one another and become more powerful activists. The lesbian community of that decade did terrible things to bi women, transgender people, butch/femme lesbians, bar dykes, dykes who were not antiporn, bisexual and lesbian sex workers, fag hags, and dykes who were perceived as being perverts rather than über-feminists. We were so guilty about being queer that only a rigid adherence to a puritanical party line could redeem us from the hateful stereotypes of mental illness and sexual debauchery.

What did I gain? I came a little closer to making my insides match my outsides, and that was no small blessing. The first time I met other dykes I recognized a part of myself in them, and knew I would have to let it out so I could see who I was. For a time, being a lesbian quieted my gender dysphoria because it made it possible for me to be a different kind of woman. That was an enormous relief.

For a long time, I hoped that by being strong, sexually adventurous, and sharpening my feminist consciousness, I could achieve a better fit between my body and the rest of me. Lesbianism was a platform from which I could develop a different sort of feminism, one that included a demand for sexual freedom and had room for women of all different erotic proclivities. I had a little good sex and discovered that I was not a cold person, I could love other people. It was as a lesbian that I began to find my voice as a writer, because in the early days of the women’s movement, we valued every woman’s experience. There was a powerful ethic around making it possible for every woman to speak out, to testify, to have her say. But there were always these other big pieces of my internal reality that lesbianism left no room for.

The first big piece of cognitive dissonance I had to deal with, in my second coming out, was S/M. I date my coming out as a leather dyke from two different decisions. One was a decision to write down one of my sexual fantasies, the short story that eventually became “Jessie.” At the time I wrote the rough draft of that story, I had never tied anybody up or done anything else kinky. I was terribly blocked as a writer. I kept beginning stories and poems that I would destroy. I have no idea if they were any good or not. My self-loathing was so intense, my inner critic so strong, that I could not evaluate my own work.

So I decided to write this one piece, under the condition that I never had to publish it or show it to another person. I just wanted to tell the truth about one thing. And I was badly in need of connecting with my own sexuality since I was in the middle of what would be a five-year relationship with a woman who insisted we be monogamous, but refused to have sex with me. So I wrote about dominance and submission, the things I fantasized about when I masturbated that upset me so much I became nauseated. Lightning did not strike. As I read and reread my own words, I thought some of them were beautiful. I dared show this story to a few other people. Some of them hated it. Some of them were titillated. Nobody had ever seen anything like it before. The story began to circulate in Xerox form, lesbian samizdat. I found the strength to defend my story when I was told it was unspeakable or wildly improbable.

In October of 1976, I attended a lesbian health conference in Los Angeles and went to a workshop there about S/M. In order to go to a workshop, you had to sign a registration sheet. I was harassed by dykes who were monitoring this space to see who dared sign up for that filthy workshop. On my way, I had to walk through a gauntlet of women who were booing and hissing, calling names, demanding that the workshop be canceled, threatening to storm the room and kick us all out of the conference. The body language and self-calming techniques I had learned when I had to deal with antigay harassment on the street came in very handy, but how odd it was to be using those defenses against the antagonism of other dykes. Their hatred felt like my mother’s hatred. I am so glad I did not let it stop me.

When I got home from that workshop, I knew that I was not the only one. Not only were there other lesbians who fantasized about sadomasochism, there were women who had done these things with each other. I decided to come out again. If there were other leather dykes in San Francisco, they had to be able to find me, so I had to make myself visible. This meant that I often did not get service at lesbian bars, or I was asked to leave women-only clubs and restaurants. I was called names, threatened, spit at. I got hate mail and crank calls. But I also found my tribe. And because I had already experienced my first coming out, I knew we were not going to be an ideal, happy family. I could be more patient with our dysfunctions, and see them as the result of being scared, marginalized, kicked around. Being a leather dyke took me another step closer to dealing with my gender issues. I could experiment with extreme femme and extreme butch drag; take on a male persona during sex play. I gave up separatism because I needed to take support from any place where it was available. Gay men already had a thriving leather culture, and I wanted to learn from them. I also wanted to have sex with them. It still wasn’t okay as far as lesbian feminism was concerned to be bisexual, to be transgendered, but I could bring those folks into my life and make alliances with them. I could defend them in print. There was even more good sex, and people who loved me and received my love despite the fact that it was dangerous for us to show ourselves to one another. I faced my sexual shadow, and she bowed to me and then danced beautifully in profile against the white walls of my consciousness. My writer’s voice was unlocked.”]

pat califa, from layers of the onion, spokes of the wheel, from a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories, 2000

#pat califa #bi literature #lesbian literature #trans literature #history stuff #gender stuff #terra preta

[madsworld15]

I Am Still Here Part 1

This fic is something that I came up with during conversations with @winderlylandchime about AU fic ideas. I am still working on Heal Me, Hold Me, Make Me, Know Me but I needed a break for a tick.

So, instead, I am writing an AU fic where Justin is 21 and Brian is 33, and they meet when their support groups have to combine one night due to a lack of group leaders. Justin has PTSD from a bashing 6 months prior. And Brian's cancer diagnosis isn't so cut and dry, so he is depressed about his odds. Anyway, here is part 1.

Word Count: 3,372

“So, what are you in for?” A bored yet sultry voice whispered from Justin’s left as he sat a bit back from the circle of people. 

He turned and almost lost his breath at the sight before him. At 21 Justin had been around the block a time or two when it came to dating men. He’d discovered his sexuality while still in high school and had run the gambit of one-night stands, quick, anonymous fucks, and boyfriends – both casual and serious. But, never before had he seen a man as gorgeous as the one speaking to him now. With a sharp jawline, a lean but still fit body, and bedroom eyes that could make even a monk forget his religious vows of celibacy, this man was the literal definition of sex on a stick.

“I’m sorry?” Justin asked, his brain had short-circuited and thus been unable to process what had been said.

“This,” The man motioned his arm to the room before them. “What brings you here? You don’t look like you have cancer. So it’s either grief or whatever the fuck the other one was they decided to throw into the pot today.”

Justin sucked his lips between his teeth to hide the chuckle that threatened to come out. He could already tell he was going to like this man. He had a laissez-faire attitude that harbored a level of no-bullshit Justin could get behind.

“PTSD.” Justin quirked his eyebrow. “Guess I’m lucky number three. I wondered why I hadn’t seen you here before. Then again, it’s only my second time coming.”

“And already you have decided to stay away from the class.” The man smirked, which somehow made him even hotter. 

Justin finally took stock of his well-styled brunette hair. It was styled to look like the man actually didn’t give a shit about it, which left some strands at the front spiked up while the rest lay flat. Judging by his designer, albeit casual, attire, this man never let anyone see him without first spending an hour in the bathroom on his appearance.

Justin shrugged, “I don’t like groups.”

“I tried to say that to Lindsay. I told her, ‘Fuck Groups!’ and she replied with a quip about how she thought I did.” the man slid down in his chair, spreading his legs out in front of him. “Do you think they’ll notice if we just duck out?”

Justin silently wondered who Lindsay was. At first, he thought maybe the man was married to her or something, but then he made a sex joke about groups. Now, Justin was even more confused.

“Jessica is the group leader for my typical support group, and she has eyes like a hawk. If she feels you are itching to leave, she will force you to talk.” Justin whispered out of the side of his mouth, having noticed that Jessica’s eyes were now on him.

“Justin. You didn’t share much with us last week. Why not try again?” Jessica’s voice was that fake sweet that made Justin angry.

“What makes you think adding more people to the mix will make me more willing to share? Yes, more eyes to stare at the poor fag who got his ass beat so bad he’s scared of his own shadow.” Justin hadn’t realized he had clenched his hands into fists or that he was breathing heavily until the brunette man’s hand landed on top of his left fist.

Without a word, the brunette rubbed Justin’s knuckles until he released his grip. Then, shocking those in the group who must typically spend an hour once a week with the brunette, he decided to speak.

“I’m Brian. Today was my third dose of radiation. The doctor told me it wouldn’t be a picnic, but did he really have to act like he enjoyed it? I mean fuck, my balls are on fire, and my stomach makes me vomit almost every thirty minutes. And don’t get me started on how much my body just hurts.”

“Thank you for sharing, Brian.” Jessica’s saccharin voice floated out, causing Justin to look up. “Would anyone like to share words of encouragement with Brian?”

Brian coughed and abruptly stood up, dragging Justin up with him. “Yeah, nope. I’m out. I came, and not in the way I’d prefer. I shared. And now I’m leaving.”

Without another glance toward the rest of the people in attendance, Brian dragged Justin toward the door and out into the cool night air. The minute the doors were closed, Brian dropped Justin’s hand, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and lit one up. He inhaled and then handed it over to Justin, who shook his head.

“Don’t you have cancer?” Justin looked at the man incredulously.

“Yeah, but it’s in my balls, not my lungs.” Brian took another deep inhale as if to prove a point. Justin shook his head. He could already feel his heart falling for the older man named Brian.

“If you didn’t want support from others, then why do you go to a support group?” Justin stared at the man before him. There was an air of mystery about him. He was definitely older than Justin, but beyond that and his looks, Justin needed more.

“Trust me, it was the tidier of my two options.” Brian licked his lips and offered the cigarette to Justin once more. This time, he took it.

“According to my best friends and Debbie, I could either seek ‘help’ or face their unrelenting wrath.” Brian put quotations around the word help, further convincing Justin that he didn’t believe in therapy.

“If they are anything like my mother, I can completely understand why you’d opt to go somewhere you despise,” Justin commented, handing back the cigarette.

“You want to get out of here?” Brian stubbed out the cigarette and quirked his eyebrow at Justin. “I could use a drink.”

Justin knew he should hesitate; to not allow this perfect stranger to lead him to one of his unsafe spaces, but Brian’s eyes were convincing. So, instead, he motioned as if giving Brian permission to lead the way. As they walked, he pulled out his flip phone and saw a text message from Daphne.

From: Daphne 7:45 pm

Your mom told me about group. I’m proud of you. Come by after, we can drink and talk.

Justin shook his head and rolled his eyes. He would not be going by Daphne’s “after this” because it would be just like going to his goddamn psychiatrist. Daphne was studying psychiatry and felt the need to constantly practice on him. Or at least, she had for the past six months since that night. 

Brian must’ve noticed him pull out his phone because he slowed down his pace to get in line with him. Once they were side by side, the older man gently nudged Justin’s shoulder with his own.

“You have somewhere else you need to be?” Brian lifted an eyebrow in question.

Justin shoved his phone back into his pocket. “No. Daphne just wants to psychoanalyze me.”

Brian didn’t reply, but he did fix Justin with a questioning look. Justin went back and forth in his head for a bit before he decided he felt comfortable enough sharing with this man he barely knew.

“My best friend. She’s currently studying to be a psychiatrist. She offered for me to come over for drinks and a chat, but I know it’ll end up sounding more like therapy.” Justin stared at his feet as he scuffed them along the pavement, kicking a pebble of cement that had broken free.

Brian simply nodded and let the matter drop. Justin greatly appreciated that about him. They continued to walk. Justin didn’t realize where they were going until it was almost right upon them. One glance toward the bars of Liberty Avenue and Justin’s breath caught in his lungs. He leaned over, unable to take in anything more than short, shallow breaths. His vision started to swim when a firm hand landed gently on his shoulder.

Through the fog, sounding like he was underwater, a feeling Justin was extremely familiar with at this point, he heard Brian trying to talk to him.

“Justin. Take a deep breath. Can you walk?” 

Justin felt his chest tighten even more, and he shook his head. Or at least he thought he did. Based on the panic in Brian’s voice, he must not have moved at all.

“Justin. Please, just breathe. Close your eyes and think of your safe space. Once you are ready, we can leave.”

Justin’s brain felt like it had sand in it, but he could still hear each time Brian started his litany of reassurances over again. They must’ve stood there, with Brian’s hand barely on his shoulder, grounding him, for a good ten minutes before the panic in his chest subsided. Justin’s vision came back, and the first thing he noticed was the surly appearance of Brian had switched into one more vulnerable and freaked out.

“I’m sorry.” Justin stood up completely and shook out his limbs. After a panic attack, they always felt like lead for a few minutes after.

“Apologies are bullshit.” Brian shrugged, putting a wall back up. His face was stony once more, which oddly enough soothed Justin further. This man wasn’t about to baby him, and for that, he was grateful.

“I could really use a drink.” Justin released a breathy chuckle as he made eye contact with Brian.

“I know a place that is a little less scary than Liberty Avenue,” Brian suggested.

“Is it public?” Justin’s voice came out small and timid, which he could beat himself for, but with his body still recovering from his panic attack, he didn’t have the strength for it.

“Not exactly.” Brian drew out his words but immediately reassured Justin, “It’s my friend Emmett’s place. He hosts private parties there most nights, but he takes Thursdays off. I can always count on him for alcohol and a judgment-free zone.”

“If he takes Thursdays off, how do you know he will be there?” Justin questioned, still not entirely sure this option sounded any more safe.

Brian pulled out his phone, one of those fancy ones people with money had, and pushed a few buttons.

“Hey, Em. I need a drink. Can I swing by tonight?” Brian spoke into his device.

He must’ve heard what he wanted because a moment later, he pushed a button to end the call and looked at Justin with a smile on his face.

“We’re good. Let’s go.” Brian gently grabbed the lapel of Justin’s jacket and pulled him toward one of the side streets, away from Liberty Avenue.

A few minutes later, they arrived at a brick building. The lights of the first floor were all on and a sign over the door read: Milk and Honey. Justin glanced over at Brian, his eyebrow lifted in question. Brian smirked and shook his head. 

“Emmett is one of my closest friends and Pittsburgh’s greatest party planner.” Brian knocked on the door without any further preamble or explanation.

“Bri!” A tall, overly skinny man with auburn hair styled wildly opened the door with a grin that lit up the night street. “I was just about to close up when you called. Inventory day is no joke.”

“Hey, Em. This is Justin. We met at support group and then bailed on support group.” Brian shrugged and wrapped his friend up in a moment of intimacy Justin never would’ve expected based on what he’d learned about this man.

“I promise not to tell the mother hens.” Emmett kissed Brian on the cheek with a wink.

 “Hello, I’m Emmett Honeycutt.” the man turned toward Justin and put out his hand.

Justin bit his lip and gave a forced smile but didn’t take Emmett’s hand. He was still shaken from his panic attack, and his brain couldn’t handle even the slightest human touch right now unless it came from Brian, which was something he would need to unpack at a later time.

“Don’t take it personal, Honeycutt.” Brian cut in and wrapped his arm around Emmett’s shoulders. “He has PTSD and doesn’t let hardly anyone touch him.”

Emmett gave Justin a reassuring smile and then wrestled out of Brian’s embrace with a “Don’t call me Honeycutt!” that had no bite behind it. 

“I’m sorry.” Justin rubbed his hands together and gave Emmett a deeply apologetic look. “I just haven’t been the same since it happened.”

“Hey, what did I tell you? Apologies are bullshit.” Brian, who had somehow ended up across the room already, pulled out some glasses and held up the half-empty bottle of whiskey. “Who wants a shot?”

 Justin didn’t respond just moved closer to the bar setup and put his hand out for a tumbler. Emmett, on the other hand, squealed excitedly and clapped his hands as he bounced over to join the two.

Justin hugged his tumbler tight in the grip of his two hands and remained silent while Emmett and Brian started up a conversation. He sat on a stool and let his eyes observe the two best friends in their natural ease.

“So, support group still not your thing?” Emmett raised an eyebrow at Brian. “I don’t know why you go if you hate it so much.”

“It keeps Lindsay, Michael, and Debbie off my back.” Brian shrugged as he threw back the shot and hissed as it went down.

“You’ve never let them walk all over you before.” Emmett reached out to place his hand on Brian’s, which sat on the counter. Just as the man’s hand made contact though, Brian pulled away as if the touch was fire.

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly Brian anymore, am I?” Brian licked his lips and closed his eyes, leaning his weight onto his elbows on the counter.

Justin observed as the closed-off, staunch man he’d met at the support group not an hour prior suddenly wrapped in on himself and became a shell of a person. It kind of reminded Justin of what he was like when his depression really took hold.

“You know I don’t judge.” Emmett started to say, walking around the counter to stand directly next to Brian, who glared up at him. “However, I think you’re giving this too much power.”

Emmett didn’t say what this implied, but Justin could easily figure it out. Much like Brian, Emmett seemed to avoid putting the word to what Brian had: cancer. It was as if the two felt without labeling it they could pretend it wasn’t potentially life-threatening. Justin watched as Emmett silently ran his fingers through Brian’s hair, and Brian subtly leaned into the touch. Then, just as quickly, the moment was ruined by Brian cupping his hand in front of his mouth and rushing to the nearby sink. 

The sounds of vomiting permeated the room, but Justin ducked his head as if to show Brian he wasn’t paying attention to it. After he was done, the older man didn’t return to the counter right away. Instead, Justin heard a door behind him open and close, leaving him alone with Emmett.

“Sorry about that. The radiation really kicks his butt even if he tries to pretend it doesn’t.” Emmett smiled and shrugged, grabbing the glasses and putting them to the side to be washed later.

“If you knew it was going to make him sick, why’d you let him drink?” Justin was truly curious about this friendship dynamic.

“You just met him so you might not realize, but Brian doesn’t take too kindly to being told he can’t do something.” Emmett raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Besides, sometimes you just need a fucking drink.”

Justin raised his glass in agreement, “Amen.”

A silence fell between them. Justin took another sip of the whiskey and winched at the burn. He didn’t drink much, not because he wasn’t legally able to, but because he wasn’t really keen on the taste. For Justin, drinking had always been a social thing. He worried his bottom lip as his thoughts swam with visions of his attack and the support group and Brian rescuing him. Even six months out, Justin still had nightmares and day scares about the person who attacked him for kissing his boyfriend. The young man was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of Emmett speaking once again.

“You don’t have to tell me, but I’m a curious Kathy so what caused your PTSD?” Emmett’s spark was back and he animatedly leaned forward to cut the distance between him and Justin in half.

Justin bit down hard on the lip he’d been nervously worrying for the past ten minutes. He didn’t know Emmett, but he also didn’t want to seem like a weakling who couldn’t even talk about what had happened to him. He took a deep breath and was about to respond when the door behind him opened once more, and he heard Brian’s footsteps approach.

“I was bashed outside my boyfriend’s concert six months ago. We were kissing, and this guy jumped us. He had a bat.” Justin mumbled, his voice barely audible.

Brian stopped in his tracks, his presence evident despite still being behind Justin.

“Fuck.” Brian breathed out as Emmett’s hand flew to his mouth in shock.

“Just drop it. Okay.” Justin took the last swig of his whiskey and stood up. He needed to leave. This was getting too personal, and he wasn’t comfortable anymore.

“I should go.” He walked past Emmett and Brian, still frozen where they stood, and out the door onto the street.

Twenty minutes later, Justin paid the cab driver and walked up the driveway of his parents' home. They’d been fighting a lot lately, and he hoped tonight wasn’t one of them. It was bad enough that he was 21 and had to move back in with his parents because he couldn’t hack it in the dorms with his PTSD, but to also have to basically hide who he was from his dad was even worse.

Sure, his dad knew, in theory, that he’d been bashed for kissing another man. However, once Justin had been released and realized that even approaching PIFA’s campus gave him extreme anxiety, his father allowed him to move back in. Not another word was spoken about his sexuality, and considering Justin couldn’t stand being around other people right now, it hadn’t been an issue. Justin reached the front door and was about to turn the key when it flung open, and his angry father’s face greeted him.

“Where the fuck have you been? When you moved back in, I told you that you had to be back by 9. It is 9:30.” Criag’s voice was menacing, but Justin didn’t even flinch. He wasn’t afraid of his father, not anymore.

“Relax. I went to support group and then hung out with Brian for a few minutes after. Then I had to wait for a cab.” Justin shrugged and pushed past the elder man.

“Who the fuck is Brian. He’s not a pervert like the boy who caused you to become confused and then be attacked, is he?” Justin looked up at his father, finally seeing the man for who he was.

It hadn’t been that his father didn’t realize he was gay. It was he thought that by letting Justin move back in, he was saving his son from being manipulated and brainwashed. With a deep breath, Justin stood strong and addressed his father.

“I wasn’t confused. That ‘boy,’ as you stated, was my boyfriend. We were in love. I’m gay. Nothing can change that, not you and not some assholes with a bat.” Justin inhaled and then continued, “As for Brian, he’s just someone I connected with at the support group. He has cancer, and we got to talking. That’s it, not that it's any business of yours.”

Craig slapped Justin across the face without hesitation, “I won’t tolerate any smart-mouthing or sexual deviance in my house.”

Justin rubbed his cheek gingerly and then smirked, “Okay. I’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

With that he turned on his heel and walked up the stairs to his bedroom and shut the door.

#queer as folk #brian kinney #justin taylor #fanfiction #brian x justin #alternate universe #current wip #support group au

[trans-axolotl]

i got money from the govermnet and i spent it on slutty clothes :) 

#personal #living my best life i am #can't wait till i can wear the shirt i bought without anything underneath...top surgery my beloved #i mean if i cover my nips i could still wear this shirt in several situations but. top surgery would make it easier lol #also got a bunch of kickass t shirts #got one that's like a design based on vincent van gogh my beloved #got a weird collage one #got one that says queer on it and has a quote that i love #and got one that says 'fags bash back' on it #which i love :) #got two new pairs of earrings too #and [redacted] which im REALLY excited about

[damiano-mylove]

How you met them and what dating the members of Måneskin would be like

GN!reader, slight NSFW for Damiano *Masterlist*

Vic

You'd definitely meet Vic at the grocery store

She goes grocery shopping every Saturday at 10 am, and you don't know that because you're creepy, you know that because you do as well (being an adult and such)

Over time, you'd both start to notice seeing each other at the same times and places

Vic would eventually come over, after having traded more than a dozen looks with you

At first, she would give you a random complement (that made your heart soar for reasons unbeknownst to you at the time), and you would immediately compliment her back because there are so many things to complement about the unknown girl at the shops

Those random complements would soon turn into full blown conversations that you both looked forward to, every Saturday at 10 am

Conversations turned into doing your grocery shopping together

Vic would ask you to lunch after one of your grocery shopping adventures, which you gladly accepted given the beautiful woman had stolen your heart at first glance

Lunch would go absolutely swimmingly, and it became the new thing

Your relationship with Vic would evolve from doing your grocery shopping together, then having lunch, to basically spending every Saturday together, then seeing each other other days of the week

One night, having drinks at Vic's place, just the two of you, Vic would join your lips together in a sweet harmony that felt all too right

You brushed off the night as drunken kissing

But she held you hand at lunch that following Saturday, and asked to kiss you before you parted ways

The conversation was bound to happen, and it did. After that, you and Vic were officially an item

She introduced you to her friends, and you did the same - your group loving Vic, and her's loving you

Dating Vic would be full of gentle love bites on your tender neck, fruity red wine, painting your nails matching colours, and late nights

On those late nights, Vic would hold you close, a film playing softly in the back, while her attention laid on you

You, her person, her rock. You made Vic's heart go ablaze and she wouldn't trade you for the world

Nor would you for her

Thomas

Thomas gives off strong Boy-Next-Door vibes

One day, your interest was sparked by moving vans outside your window - someone was moving into the flat above you

It was a very loud day (furniture scraping the floors, heavy boxes being dropped, many feet with much too heavy footsteps) but you were baking

You had a function to attend to the following day, so your day was already planned as a day for baking your famous biscuits that literally everyone loved

Ingredients may have a price tag, but kindness does not. Once all the noise subsided, you brought a plate of cookies up to your new neighbour (hoping to at least buy their friendship so they wouldn't annoy you constantly)

When Thomas opened the door, your stomach immediately turned to static

He looked a little tired, no doubt from freshly moving in, but his beauty was still breathtaking

Thomas smiled at you sweetly and thanked you profusely for the biscuits - he told you about how his grandmother made the same type and he loved them

The next day, right after you'd come back from your function, Thomas brought you back the plate with a bashful smile - 'The biscuits were divine, better than grandmama's'

You giggled at his statement, then invited him in for tea and to finish off the biscuits that were "left over" (you'd actually saved them for yourself, but there was no one else you'd rather share them with)

Happily for the both of you, Thomas accepted the invitation, and he stayed in your flat, drinking tea with you and eating biscuits, till the wee hours of the next day

You and Thomas shared smiles from your balconies and the street below, but when you'd be walking the stairs together, it always turned into an invitation for a drink, or to watch a game, or just a chat

About a month and a half of friendship, Thomas asked you to the cinema

You gladly went with him

In the middle of the film, your hands bumped together, both reaching for the popcorn on your lap - resulting in heated faces and looking away

Thomas walked you back to your flat that night, leaving you with a kiss on the cheek and legs made of jelly

That next day, Thomas asked you to dinner

'Is this a date or just a hang out?'

'It can be whatever you'd like.'

To no one's surprise, you chose the former option

You never officially confirmed your dating status, but you'd figure Thomas introducing you to his family as his partner was confirmation enough

Dating Thomas would include him singing you mellow songs in the evenings, longing glances shared across rooms, lots of tea at all hours of the day, and extremely stupid jokes that turned sickeningly sweet

Those jokes would occupy your mind for days on end, cherishing every single joke shared

Ethan

As cliche as it sounds, you'd meet in a bar

There was a game on between Lazio and Milan - and you both were dragged there by your friends

People clamored around the bar and television screens, screaming and yelling, and everyone decked out in jerseys (the Lazio jerseys outnumbered the Milan jerseys 3:1)

Funnily enough, you met Ethan in the corridor for the toilets

'With a line this long, I might as well piss outside'

For a first impression, Ethan really did make an impression. One that made you laugh and his cheeks tint red at the knowledge that someone heard him say that

It sparked a conversation while you both waited in the long lines

You discovered that neither of you held too much of a love of football, which absolutely tickled you that someone was in the same boat as you

Ethan waited outside the washroom for you, then suggested you both go outside for a smoke

With a drunken smile (the only way to get through a football match is to drink, lets be real), you agreed and told the friends you came with where you'd be disappearing to

Outside, you and Ethan shared three fags each and lots of laughter and conversation

Surprisingly to Ethan's friends, when everyone came pouring out of the bar after the game finished, Ethan had you pressed against the wall in a heated kiss

While being the most shy member of the band, Ethan reacted the most prominently to liquid courage, which you were more than okay with

You traded information, and the next day, you woke up to a sweet text from Ethan, asking you to a cafe to get to know each other in a sober environment

No complaints, you went

Ethan was just as funny as he was last night, and neither of you stopped smiling the entire time you were together

You saw each other quite often after that; sharing the occasional kiss, but full of laughter and stupid faces in silent moments

Eventually, you got brave and asked for Ethan to be your boyfriend

His face and ears went bright red, and he immediately looked to his slender fingers, chuckling nervously - but he happily agreed

Dating Ethan would include a hell of a lot of cuddles, lots of reassurance, few kisses but very meaningful kisses, and more laughter than you've ever shared with anyone else

Ethan will make you one of the happiest people on Earth, and in exchange, he is the happiest, just to have you in his arms in the mornings (even if you drool on him in your sleep)

Damiano

Without a doubt, you'd meet Damiano at a bar

There wouldn't be a game one, it was just a Friday night, and you felt like cutting loose with your idiot friends, whom you very much loved

Damiano would spot you immediately

You, of course, had already spotted him, but your friends were drooling over him, and every single person in the bar was as well, so you just put him out of your mind

That is, until he swaggered right up to you while you were grabbing drinks for your friends who were all on the dance floor

His expensive scent intoxicated you better than any booze behind the bar, making your skin tingle immediately. Damiano radiated heat, but that could've just been how warm it was in the bar from all the people

As the bartender was mixing your drinks, Damiano asked you your name

'A beautiful name for a beautiful person'

You thought he was just looking for a one-night stand, which you were actually quite down for

However, the night was still young, and you still had drinks to deliver to your friends, so you thanked him for the compliment and sauntered off to your friends with the drinks in hand

They called you a myriad of names for you basically turning Damiano down to do what? To dance with people you'd known for years?

Fortunately, walking off hadn't deterred Damiano

His eyes were on you for the entire night, until you built enough nerve to approach him

It didn't take too long for him to offer to bring you back to his place - you didn't need more than a second to accept

That night didn't lead to sex, however. Damiano thought you to be drunk to give him any meaningful consent, so he just left you to sleep in his bed, while he took the couch

When you woke up, you wrote your number with the lipstick in your purse on his bathroom mirror, and you left without a sound to wake him up

He called you that same day and invited you to the bar again

The entire weekend was spent going to the bar, sleeping either with or at Damiano's, which suited you just fine

Unfortunately, you had an actual job that required you to go to work, so when he invited you out on Sunday, you had to decline, then again on Monday

Tuesday, however, you invited him to your place for a couple drinks and you ended up falling asleep on his shoulder on the couch

Damiano woke up with you for your job and stayed with you as you got ready that morning, smiling at you through the mirror of your bathroom

Soon enough, your nightly encounters turned into real dates that changed location and theme constantly

Damiano was spontaneous and you loved it

He'd call you the cutest pet names under the sun, and bring you everywhere you were willing to go with him

Damiano never called you his partner; you were his lover

When you'd be alone, he always referred to you as 'Y/n, the light of my life, the only flower in my field, the cream in my jeans'

Made you blush like mad, but that was Damiano's favourite part

Dating Damiano would include doing each other's eyeliner, lots of PDA, reading side by side on the couch with a record playing softly, never falling asleep alone

Sleeping beside Damiano was like sleeping next to a furnace, so blankets were never needed, but cuddling was required

if it sucks, y’all gotta tell me😩🙏

for @fairyth0rns , i hope you like it

#måneskin #maneskin #damiano david x reader #damiano #damiano maneskin #victoria di angelis x reader #victoria di angelis #victoria maneskin #thomas raggi #thomas raggi x reader #damiano david #thomas maneskin #ethan torchio #ethan torchio x reader #ethan maneskin #x reader #fanfic

[inu-yasha]

please don't reblog it, likes are fine

I come with you a small vent. I do this to cleanse myself of the negative emotions I have, and I keep it for years. I want to share with you my pain in my heart through InuKags. It's not that I want you to make feel sorry for me. It was just yesterday that I was forced to be tolerant again and to stop doing what I was doing, even though it that anon was not a fan. InuKag is the same style of action.

It all happened on Youtube. I fell in love with Kikyou and opened a channel about her. How to put it, I was "official Kikyou" I just wanted to have fun.

A few hours after opening the channel, I got spam from the salty InuKag / Kagome fans "Kikyou sucks and InuKik" I don't remember all the messages, it was so many that it was impossible to remember, and as a child of elementary school I felt very sorry. I didn't know why, I was new to the fandom.

Over time, I found out that Kikyou is the most hated character in the series. It didn't end with DM.

I created Kikyou / InuKik videos after which I got a lot of negative and hurtful comments from Kagome / InuKag fans, demeaning me and my ship.

It was really awful. They especially come to videos pro Kikyou and InuKik and bash Kikyou and InuKik very hard, with a lot of hatred. As a child, I worried about it, because words hurt too.

I wanted to change so much that I tried to like Kagome by creating accounts about her, forcing myself to like her.

Has it had an effect? As you can see no.On the contrary. They made me hate Kagome to core and InuKag.They was told me that Kikyou does not love Inuyasha, that Kagome is the only one and the most appropriate for Inuyasha (What they always say) Kagome is better at manga and other nonsense.

One of her female fans used it on me gaslight. She maniupted me to hate Sango. Effectively, and then she mocked me because I believed her and she then pretended nothing like that had happened, blamed it all on me.

I was a naive kid who didn't know much about such things, but quickly the toxic fans made me realize what kind of people they are.

It was something I couldn't forgive and I will not forgive !!! I will not forgive!!! Then I saw what kind of people and understood what kind of people I was dealing with.

I was more laid back, but not that much later either.

I remember being called "whore" in DM because I was an "official Kikyou" therefore she gave herself permission to offend me and Kikyou. Moreover, one Kagome / InuKag fan said that if I like Kikyou / InuKik then I'm a "fag" I remember it so well that I have not forgotten her username. YES I REMEBER HER USERNAME because it touched me a lot.

So much so that I took a break for several years. because I was already mentally exhausted.

I went back to Tumblr, there I got a question about Kagome or I like her then I was between "Like and don't like" because I had mixed feelings. I didn't want to hate Kagome, but I also knew their fandom would make me hate her more deeply if there is an opportunity to hate her more than core.

Obviously my answer became the start of a drama from KagKik shipper who had an amazing pain ass for my opinion. After her complaining, hating me and trying to manipulate me and tell me how "I'm bad because I hate the kagome and she has enough" I got a lot of anon-hate anons that insulted the kikyou and my ship. Then I got pissed off again, but I also laughed ironically seeing how in 2017 they were still the same.

Here was an own line, but you know? InuKags come and reblog my works and they was rude and hateful in tags and under my posts

I was forced to be tolerant many times. Personally, I've come to the conclusion that I will not interfere or speak. I did. I've been tolerant for many years, many years! Just because I was ignoring this shit doesn't mean it didn't make my blood boil. Tolerance has its limits! My tolerance has just ended.

Kikyou / InuKik fans are people too! PEOPLE who are entitled to an opinion. We have the right to express our opinion

Now I break the silence say what I want and add what the hell I want! This is my blog! My opinion! And I add whatever I want on it. Don't expect any sympathy from me or anything because you won't get it, I was compassionate and silent as much as I could. But it's over now. I've had enough. Kikyou / InUkik fans were as quiet as they could, but we're not gonna be quiet anymore! at least me.

I wrote little about the past, but it is difficult to remember everything after so many years.

#vent #personal

[crwndsprkzy]

How Could You.

Why would you shun a child for wanting to explore who they are? We actively teach children about their ancestry and tell the stories of the world, why can’t we teach them it’s OK to be an individual?

Gender is part of how someone sees themselves, just like their personality or music taste; it makes them happy and comfortable in who they are. How can we be one country when we have people so strongly believing that children who want to be something more than a vessel for their parents’ ideas are mentally deranged? What gives you the right to tell people to conform to your beliefs when they are their own person?

As a transgender teenager, I have experienced years of harassment and abuse from my peers, teachers, and those who I’ve met. Just because someone is different, is that really grounds to bully someone into hating themselves?

I was bullied off my school bus, the only way I could reliably get to school from my home in the middle of nowhere. Nobody in my family could drive me all the way into town, and suddenly they had to because people would hit me, harass me, even make explicit “jokes” about me. I would hurt my ears trying to drown out the barrage of insults thrown at me every day with music. My friends were turned against me, and I was even bullied through social media. Do you really think it’s OK after abusing someone so harshly with words to casually ask “what bathroom do you use by the way?”

I had a confrontation in front of almost the entire school lashing out at kids who had the nerve to call me by the name that is no longer on my birth certificate. I didn’t go back for a week and almost nothing was done about it. How can you leave a child to fend for themselves when faced with such sudden harassment with little reason behind it? This goes along with the countless times I’ve been catcalled, or even inappropriately touched on school grounds by people I’ve never met and never intend to.

I have been called a “faggot” a “tranny” a “fag-hag” and countless others I wont repeat. On school grounds. Often in class. In front of teachers and other students. How can you stay silent when someone is being hurt by people, if you are not enjoying it? How can you claim to preach love and nurturing if you allow abuse to happen within your walls and sight?

It truly shocks me how people can be so unkind to a living being, especially another human. Because in the end, that’s what we all are, humans. It is not in your nature to hate, nor is it to abuse, human nature involves helping and socialising. Free speech does not mean “I can say anything I want,” it means “I can say anything I want as long as it doesn’t seek to harm people.”

Why are the youth screaming in the streets for change if nothing is wrong? We are not “one person” that you need to please, we are a community of people who exist and are being mistreated. We are not trying to steal rights, we are trying to be treated as human beings, both in law and social situations.

How would you feel if your rights were being put up in the air every next week? How would you feel if you couldn’t hold hands with your lover for the fear of being bashed or killed? Why do we let youth, let alone anyone, live in the fear that their rights and lives could be taken away for being themselves?

I run my own LGBTIQA+ club at my school, in fact I founded it the year I got there. The children I see coming in have been harmed, bullied, and rejected by those around them, including their parents. How could any parent reject their children just because they are different than the normal? It hurts me to see countless kids choose me as their father figure over their parents and guardians. I am forever thankful my parents have accepted me, but always sad over the fact so many people like me aren’t as lucky. Even the fact that having loving parents is considered “lucky” within our community should be enough to prove how much words can do.

Look at all the people abused, harmed, and killed for being different and try to tell me that I should change. Try and tell me I am mentally ill. Try and tell me I’m wrong about who I am.

You are not any better than those who kill us. You are not any better than those who propose laws stripping our rights. You are not the hero you think you are for “silencing the wrongs.”

Look me in the eyes and tell me that I am the problem today. That I am the reason people like me get killed. That I am the reason your LGBTIQA+ child hates you. That I am the reason everything has changed.

I am not the reason this change has happened, it’s those like me who came before me.

Why am I, a child, responsible for your feelings of hatred towards anything that is not straight and cisgender?

#tw murder #tw homophobia #tw transphobia #tw queerphobia #tw abuse #lgbt #queer #transgender #bisexual #lgbtq community #activism #tw bullying #gay #lesbian #lgbtqia

[druidx]

Find the Word Tag Game

Tagged by @sleepyowlwrites, about this time last year

Thought I'd take these from Elowyn Investigations (another NaNoWriMo WIP) since I'm on a Fighting Fantasy World of Titan kick recently.

CW: a non-slur use of the word "fag" - it's a setting-appropriate term for a cigarette.

Cap

"Wait, why haven't we done that?" I asked. "The underground contacts thing." "Because you don't have any, and mine would see you coming a mile off and run the other direction," Farren said. I frowned. "I mean that as a compliment," he added hastily. "You're a good cop; proper straight and narrow type." I chewed my lip. "Maybe that's not what we need right now. " There was a wave from down the street as the blood wagon rolled into view. Farren took a last pull on his fag and stubbed it out on the wall. "Hey now," he said. "Don't go getting ideas. I heard what the Cap yelled at you: no heroics. Remember? What you're talking about sounds a lot like heroics to me." "All I'm saying is it's an option," I said, placatingly. "Maybe we can get a real name for our maid from her agency, maybe that'll make life easier. But if not, we've got a plan B. Where's the harm?" He pulled a face at me as the blood wagon rolled up. "No heroics."

Stem

I spent the morning helping out with the wreath making; twisting stems into a wire framework to make the garlands and so on. The feast was scheduled for the middle of the afternoon, so we had plenty of time. I chatted gaily with people I knew, swapped stories and caught up. Mid-morning we stopped for a small bite to eat, and I was passed fresh white bread with melting butter and a stick of cheese, sweet-sour lemonade to drink.

Root

"Listen, you," [the kitchen mistress] said to the Friar. "You need to take her back to the room you found her at so she can get changed properly. She can't dress here." "Why not?" the brother said, confused. "Little children dress often in front of your fire here." I flushed. "If it's all the same to you sir, as an adult I'd rather have the decorum afforded me, and find someplace more private to change." I looked to the kitchen mistress, wiping her hands on her pinafore, trying to stop the smirk from showing on her face. "However, living as I do in the barracks of a Watch-house, I don't need that much privacy. If I can commander a pantry for a moment or two?" "Of course dear," the kitchen mistress said. "Elsy!" A maid came scurrying at her mistress's call. "Elsy, kindly show Officer Elowyn to the root veg panty would you, and then keep an eye no one goes in for about ten minutes?" The maid bobbed a curtsy. "Yes miss," she said and looked at me. "This way Officer," she said and walked away. I followed her, not sure how to deal with the look of consternation and embarrassment on the Friar's face.

Spot

"I feel the need for a toast," Aveskamp said and raised his glass. I raised mine as well, putting off drinking the alleged booze in my cup. "To Elo's first proper night out. Here's hoping we get a little skull-bashing in tonight!" "To Elo! To skull bashing!" they cried, and I felt myself flush. I drank the drink to hide my colour, finding the concoction a pale imitation of the ale I was used to at home. "I think I'm gonna go bag myself a drunken fool," Ayton declared and vanished into the crush of people. Farren nodded. "I spot some folk I can hit up as well," he said. "Stay with Snips," he said to me and vanished. "Here, big fella," said a scrawny looking half-elf, climbing onto the table in front of Komens. "I bet you can't take my mate in the ring." "I bet you I can," Komens said, glancing over his shoulder at the half-elf's mate – a human who looked like maybe his mam had dalliances with an ogre. "How much do you wager?" "Forty silver," the half-elf said. "Easy money," Komens said, drowning his drink in two chugs. He picked me up suddenly and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "A kiss from a pretty girl for luck," he said grinning and set me down on the table. I flushed again, as he vanished towards a fighting ring, set into the floor at one side, surrounded by a chicken wire fence. I slid back onto my seat.

Wild

Tagging: @strosmkai-rum @spacetimewraithwrites @wildswrites @tetrodotoxincs @odysseywritings @ayzrules @morganwriteblr @my-writblr @bexminx @writingingraves @dreamwishing @aalinaaaaaa @wardenoftheabyss @pleaseloathemyveryexistence @jaguarthecat

Your words are: salad, sister, song and success

#writing #tag game #find the word game #fighting fantasy #titan fighting fantasy #oc Elowyn O'Toreguarde #oc Farren Breakwood #oc crispin aveskamp #oc Ingrid Ayton #oc Balfour Komens #wandering words #this has been in my drafts for so long #wip excerpt #wip 'Elowyn Investigations'

[likemosaic]

why are you acting insane and saying you’re gonna cut my throat? (you know what's up)

there will be blood (2007).

        " because i am insane and i am going to cut your throat. and then the maids are going to clean the blood off of the floor, carry your body out, and never say a thing about it to me again. " daniel chews his thumbnail, then stops abruptly as if he's been scolded by an invisible force. he's wearing a hefty amount of makeup, both eyes slightly darker shades of skin than the rest of him: underneath the green concealer and pearl toned foundation, he's got a black eye going, thumbprints pressed into his neck where jacob had put him vertical against the couch and nearly shook the life out of him. the marks are healing nicely, but too fast for his benefit; it's a credit to jacob's strength that they've lasted nearly a week, and a credit to daniel's state of mind that that disappoints him.

       he drops his signing pen without ceremony and sighs, resting his cheek on his knuckles and closing his eyes. emmanuelle had nearly cried when she'd seen him after, her little brows pinched up like a doll. my god, baby, what's happened to you! we need to take you to a hospital! he remembers catching her hands up in his, thinking how small and fragile they were, nails painted a nauseating, shining pink. emmy, emmy, i'm okay, i'm fine. i just fell in the bathroom, that's all. she hadn't been convinced (she may be his newest toy, but she's not a complete idiot), though she'd still helped him wash up, put the makeup on over it so they could go have a pseudo-romantic dinner. he wishes he knew how he got here, lying to everyone about everything and feeling nothing. sure, it'd been like that before, but at least it had been fun then.

returned to the present, daniel glances up, watching jacob do his customary lean against the wall, like he owns the place.

    " come back for round two? " he knows he'll never let it go. not the violence, because that had actually been quite sexy and not all that different than their old bedroom habits. no, not the actions, but the words. the hatred leaking out of jacob's mouth, the level of misunderstanding that he'd thought could only come from reporters and television late nights. yes, that had been the issue. i thought you'd understood me. i thought you were the only one. the bitter taste of being wrong, like blood in your mouth. of trusting and paying for it.

      it's strange, to feel something else crawl in alongside his love for jacob--not hate, he knows the stinking grip of hate too well to mistake it for anything else, but...something almost equally as foul. bitterness? resentment? he wishes it was something stronger, something that kept him from letting jacob roam the white house like a vengeful spirit.

      he clicks his tongue. " i can't promise you won't get arrested this time. i'm not just your baby boy anymore, remember? you're just lucky that room didn't have any cameras. then again, maybe a good bout of fag-bashing is just what you need. or, wait. i'm straight now, remember? like you said? so i guess it's just ... bashing. "

#biphobia cw #slurs cw #povvertaken #file : daniel trewhella. #answers. #v: multimuse; national anthem.

[221castiel]

Day 8 - Heartless

we’re going to pretend this isn’t a day late, and that it doesn’t completely suck

Sam glanced around the small group he stood with, gaze darting from one boy to the next as they passed around a cigarette, there were only four of them in total it wouldn’t be long till it got to him. He probably should say no, Dean would kill him if he smelt even a trace of smoke on Sam’s clothing. He probably should say no but he didn’t think he could. Maybe the school bell would ring first, though as Sam glanced over his shoulder it seemed the school was perfectly content with sitting in silence.

“Sam?” He turned at the sound of his name, giving a small hum in response.

“Do you want to go get some food with us?” The one boy, Mathew asked. 

Sam’s lips parted as his gaze darted across Mathew’s pale hair, and dark hair, before he looked to the next boy, Jason, and then the next Christian. He finally looked back to Mathew, still unsure how to reply. “What about class?” Sam finally mustered

“It’s just history.”

That was true, Sam was doing well in history, really well, he could afford to miss one day. More importantly he couldn’t disappoint his new friends, it was hard enough being the new kid, again, Sam usually ended up talking with whatever other kid didn’t have friends, but this time. These boys were cool.

Besides, it was just one day. 

Finally Sam gave a nod of his head, receiving a smile from the other boys. They liked him, he had to keep them liking him.

It was just one day.

That was all Sam could tell himself as he followed his friends, through the school parking lot. He was doing really well in the class, that thought continued as they walked down the street, the group laughing at some dumb joke. John wouldn’t find out, Sam would make sure of that. 

Sam stopped the moment the other boys did, his gaze going from the cement sidewalk and to the bar they now stood in front of. The building was old, much like the rest of the small town, built from chipping wood, with a sign hanging from the roof that looked on the verge of falling. 

“Are you sure we’re allowed in?” Sam asked as Christian- maybe his name was Kameron, pushed open the front door. 

The other boys laugh, Sam’s gaze immediately darting across them. Shit he messed. “It’s okay,” Mathew said. He rested a hand on Sam’s shoulder, leading him into the bar. “My parents own the place.”

Sam didn’t make another argument, instead allowing himself to be led to a small booth at the front of the building. 

“Did you see Cassidy today?” Jason asked as they all took a seat in the booth, Sam facing the front door. It didn’t help though as every time he heard it creak his gaze immediately went there as if John would be the next one to walk through. He’d left a few days before, there was no way he’d already be back. 

“Yah,” Christine? Kameron? Maybe it was Patrick. Replied. “She looked hot.”

Sam’s gaze went back to his friends, specifically Jason. One of his ears were pierced the black stud clear against his blond hair, would Dean let him get one probably not. Dean would probably kill him for even thinking about it. 

“She’s a slut.” Mathew said 

Jason rolled his eyes, “in a hot way.” 

Mathew opened his mouth to reply, though before he could a loud crash came from behind Sam, followed by men’s laughter. The once easy look that had rested across the others face was gone, now replaced by a clear annoyance. “He’s back.”

“Who-” Sam began as he turned his head, eyes immediately landing on the pool table at the far end of the bar, and then to Dean who was sat on the floor laughing. Shit.

One of the men was helping Dean up, Dean stumbling slightly, as he did, a cue stick in hand. Shit. Shit. Shit. Was all Sam could think as he watched his brother make a terrible attempt at hitting the white ball, instead his stick went flying out to the right allowing the other man to take his turn and win.

Sam turned back to his friends not needing to watch to know what would happen next. He’d seen it a few times before, Dean would beg for a rematch, raise his bet, then kick the other’s ass in no more than five minutes. 

“I don’t know what he’s doing here.” Mathew continued as Sam looked back to the other, teeth chewing at his bottom lip

Shit. 

“Or how in hell he can afford the alcohol,” Jason mumbled. 

Sam’s gaze dropped to his lap. It was easier to stare at his fiddling thumbs, over his friends. Though even still it didn’t stop the unsease in his stomach, something that didn’t seem to leave no matter how many times Sam reassured himself. 

“Sam,” He looked up at the sound of his name, to Christian, no, was it Kaleb, it was definitely Kaleb. “you good?”

“Uh yah, that’s just-” Sam raised a hand, scratching the back of his neck. “That’s my brother.” 

All at once the boys’ expressions dropped, all eyes on Sam. Shit, he messed up, again. He was going to lose them, he could see it across their tense posture, the way their lips sat in a tight line, unsure what to say. He was going to lose them. He couldn’t lose them. 

“You guys are right, he’s a fuckin’ alcoholic.” Sam quickly said, though it did nothing to relive the tense atmosphere. “He should be using his money to buy some clothing that actually fit.” That was a low blow, and Sam knew it. Dean had clothing that fit, though after Sam had grown, Dean had given it all to him, and instead took some of their father’s old clothing for himself. 

It was a low blow, though it did get a small laugh, some ease to the table. 

The continued jabs at his brother soon fell with ease, the other boys laughing along, all eyes on Sam as he poked snide comments at his brother; his lack of relationships both romantically and platonically, clothing, appearance, dedication to their father. It worked well, Sam kept his friends, and Dean would never know. It worked well, until Mathew offered to get them some food, and asked Sam for help. 

Slowly Sam stood, his gaze immediately darting to the pool table, where his brother was nowhere to be found. He had to be somewhere, though no table, or bar stool was vacated by Dean, he must be in some corner, with a girl underneath him.

“You comin?” Sam looked back to Mathew, who had an eyebrow raised. He could only force a nod as he hesitantly followed his friend across the bar and towards the kitchen, his breath caught in his throat the whole time. Heart hammering. 

He didn’t relax until they’d reached the kitchen's entrance where they stopped, the doorway giving them a bit of privacy from the rest of the room. 

Mathew was barely a foot away from Sam, so close he could see the rise and fall of the other boy's chest, feel his intense stare as the other’s eyes stayed locked on Sam’s. Why they weren’t moving, Sam couldn’t be sure, though there was an electricity to the air that made him too scared to ask.

“Is it true?” Mathew asked, in such an eerily low voice, Sam couldn't help but take the smallest step back. “Your brother, is he a faggot?” 

Sam’s lips parted his eyes locked on Mathew’s unable to look anywhere else. He couldn’t move. He could barely breathe, the tight doorway squeezing out any air that had once filled his lungs. 

Sam closed his mouth, before his lips immediately parted once again, unsure how to reply. 

Dean and him rarely had actual fights, though when they did there were certain things Sam knew he couldn’t mention. Their mom. John’s abuse. Dean’s struggle at school. This was more than joking about Dean’s sex addiction, or poor appearance, or even his drinking habits. This felt like crossing a line Sam knew he shouldn’t.  

“What,” Sam finally mustered, voice weak and uncertain. 

“I heard my sister talking with her friend,” Mathew explained. “She said he wouldn’t sleep with her cause he’s a fag.”

Sam’s mouth opened again. He’d seen Mathew’s sister, tanned skin, curves, big breasted, wavy dark hair. She was definitely Dean’s type, though most girls were. “Uh-” Sam began his friend staring back with a raised eyebrow. Shit, Sam really needed to say something. “Yes?”

“Yah.” Sam repeated this time his voice steadier, more confident. Despite that his stomach still twisted, the distance feeling of guilt, that he was doing something wrong. Maybe he shouldn’t be bashing Dean so hard, but his friends bashed their siblings, he was just having fun. It was just for fun. 

Mathew’s gaze dropped down Sam, before once again meeting his eyes. “That explains a lot.”

“What?”

“The alcoholism, the no friends thing,” Sam could only dumbly nod along, as his friend listed back everything that Sam had told them about his brother. He couldn’t listen to it any longer, maybe he’d admitted too much about Dean. 

“It’s really weird,” Sam interrupted, mind buzzing. He didn't know what else to say. “The whole faggot thing.”    

Mathew nodded, “my dad thinks they should all die.”

Sam couldn’t find his voice to say that his dad thought the same thing.

There was a moment of awkward silence, Sam shifting slightly, glancing back to the booth they’d walked from, while Mathew stared back at him. “I’ll order us some drinks and food,” Mathew finally began, much to Sam’s relief, he didn’t know how much more of the silence he could take. “Then you can help me carry it back?”

“Sure.”

Once Mathew had walked into the kitchen, Sam’s gaze dropped to his boots trying to keep his thoughts distracted from the other things that pestered at the back of his mind. The guilt. The dread. The fabric of his shoes brought none of those things.

They were hand-me-downs from Dean, and it was obvious, with a hole forming on one boot, the laces now in strings, the soles falling apart, Dean had always been rough on his shoes. It bothered Sam he couldn’t have his own pair, ones he could keep nice, and clean.

From his right, over the low chatter of people, he could hear the sound of footsteps approaching, though his gaze stayed on his boots until an all to familiar voice spoke. 

“Sam,” he instantly looked up as his name was spat, heart stopping at the sight of Dean in front of him. Dean who was clearly furious. “Out.” His brother spat, voice so harsh Sam couldn’t find the words to reply. “Now.”

When Sam didn’t as much as move, Dean grabbed his wrist, dragging him out the bar, stopping once they’d gotten to the sidewalk.

Sam’s heart hadn’t calmened, though he couldn’t quite figure out what he should be most panicked about. Dean finding him skipping class, Dean finding him skipping class in a bar, Dean making a scene in said bar, Dean possibly hearing what Sam had said. Sam hoped, to any god there may be, Dean hadn’t heard        

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Dean spat looking down with a harsh glare, Sam only glaring back, though with Dean a few inches taller it didn’t exactly give the effect he’d hoped for. Fuckin’ Dean and his fuckin’ height. “You’re supposed to be in school, not at some bar.”

“I was trying to have some fun,” Sam defended.

That didn’t seem to calm Dean if anything he seemed even more annoyed, his jaw clenched, and eyes narrowed, a crease forming between his eyebrows. Sam’s own fists clenched. “You’re fifteen you should be at school.” 

“You dropped out at sixteen!” 

 “You’re supposed to be smarter than me.” Dean replied, his voice, though harsh, steady, something that only made Sam’s blood boil. Why did Dean have to be so controlling, Sam was fifteen he could make his own decisions.. 

“You’re right!” Sam snapped. “I am smarter then you so I should deserve a day with my friends.”

There was a second where Dean’s features faltered, where his angered expression dropped into pain? Hurt? Sam didn’t know, though it was gone just as fast as it had come, and soon Dean was once again glaring. “You’re right, have fun with your friends.” Dean said as he stepped back. “Don’t let this faggot stop you.”

Shit.

Shit. 

“Dean,” Sam began as the other turned away. “Wait!” 

He jogged to catch up with Dean, who had made no attempt to slow his pace. “Dean,” Sam continued, trying to get the other’s attention. He looked up to his brother, who’s gaze stayed forward. “It was just a joke, you know? I didn’t mean it.”

No reply, Dean’s jaw staying firmly clenched.

“Dean please.”

Again no reply.

That’s how it stayed for the rest of the walk to the motel, Dean looking forward, not speaking a word, while Sam had to practically jog next to him to keep up. Even once they’d reached the motel Dean’s silent treatment continued as he took a seat in front of the tv not moving until a few hours later. 

Dean finally stood walking in silence to the kitchen, Sam watching from the one motel bed. He’d spent the past hours anxiously glancing between his book and Dean. His stomach twisting the whole time, threatening to throw up whatever he’d eaten, keeping his muscles tense. He felt nothing short of sick. 

Utterly horrified.

Ridden with guilt. 

Slowly he placed his book on the bedside table before he followed Dean to the motel's small kitchen, taking a seat at the table. For a moment Sam only watched his brother grab a beer from the fridge, taking a sip as he got out a pot and the pasta.

“School was good,” Sam finally said, in an attempt to lighten the stif atmosphere, talk the way they always did when Dean made dinner. Dean would ask how school had gone. He’d tease Sam for being a nerd when he said good, and then ask what he’d learned about. Only to then tease Sam more.

Despite the teasing Sam was almost sure Dean enjoyed hearing about the things he'd learned. Always asking questions, urging Sam to further explain certain things, seeming just as interested as Sam himself. Of course he’d never suggest that to his brother, if Sam was right Dean wouldn’t admit it. 

“You went for an hour,” Dean mumbled. 

The harshness in Dean’s voice made Sam pause, his gaze glancing across his brother, though he could only see Dean’s back. John’s old leather jacket hung loosely around his thin frame. “I stayed for chemistry.” 

No reply. 

“We’re doing formula balancing,” He continued, “It’s kinda hard but I think I’ve figured it out.” Sam paused again. He hated the silence, the way it made the guilt weigh further on his chest, ringing through his head, every breath seeming too loud, every shift echoing, the wood of the seat he sat on creaking. It was uncomfortable, especially when Dean was usually so loud. “Maybe,” Sam began slowly, the uncertainty in his voice clear even to himself. “Maybe I could show you after dinner, I have a few worksheets in my bag that-”

Before Sam could continue Dean had turned around. He walked over to the table, Sam’s muscles tense as a bowl of pasta was placed in front of him.

Sam’s gaze stayed locked on his brother’s face. He hated how Dean’s features sat, emotionless, unreadable, lips pressed in a tight line, and jaw locked. His shoulders back in a stiff, perfect posture, a similar stance to when their dad was around. 

“Aren’t you eating with me?” Sam asked, when instead of sitting across from him Dean walked off to his duffle bag that sat on the pull couch where he was sleeping. 

“I’m goin’ to the bar.”

Sam took a shaken breath, his heart weighed down, still heavy with guilt. He wanted to make things better, though Dean was stubborn, and nothing Sam could say would change that. “Maybe when you get back we could watch a movie,” Sam suggested, “we could rent Star Trek, or something with cowboys!”

Dean didn’t reply, instead walking back to his duffle bag. 

“I said I was sorry.” Sam insisted. He couldn’t think of anything else but pleading for his brother’s forgiveness. “Dean,” Sam continued, his voice raising with each word, becoming more frantic, and shaken. “I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Sure,” Dean mumbled. Sam could feel the burning at his nose as his brother grabbed a handgun from his bag, placing it on the couches arm rest. “Don’t open the door for anyone, I have a key. If anything comes, shoot. You know where the holy water is. Salt the door when I leave.”

“Dean, please,” Sam pleaded. The guilt was weighing down, squeezing the air from his lungs, making every inch of his body burn, the fire licking through his veins, from his fingertips to his heart.

“Look Sammy,” Dean walked to the door, stopping just as he opened it. He turned back to Sam, their gaze meeting for the first time since they’d returned from the bar. “I get it, you have some fuckin’ reputation or some shit. Don’t let me ruin it on you.”

“Dean-” Before Sam could continue the Dean had stopped out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.  

Sam had been left alone before, rarely, but he had been. It had never bothered him, until now. The whole room seeming to weigh in silence, still thick with the tension of him and Dean's argument, laced with guilt, dread, a mix of emotions that seemed to spiral. He didn’t know what to do, should he follow Dean.

What should he do, he tried apologizing.

Again.

And again.

And again.

If Dean didn’t want to talk he wouldn’t, hell even if he did want to he wouldn't.

The thought’s continued to spiral through Sam’s head as he ate his food, then finished his homework, then got ready for bed.

He didn’t sleep much that night, his stomach twisting as he layed in bed.

The silence weighing around him.

The loneliness of the room burning. 

What could he do to fix.

Beer?

Girls?

Food?

Pie.

~

It was seven in the morning sharp when Sam left the motel, walking the short distance to the small town's library, where he found a pie recipe. From there he made his way to the grocery store, buying the ingredients, before he went back to the motel.

“Okay,” Sam said to himself as he placed the ingredients onto the counter top, a large bag of flour, baking soda, apples, sugar, and anything else he could remember the recipe recommended. “Where should I start.”

He glanced across the counter, before his eyes landed on the stove, preheat the oven. Now how does he do that? It couldn’t be that hard he’d seen Dean do it over, and over, just twist one of the nobs, or did he press the buttons?

Sam pressed one of the stoves buttons getting a high pitched beep in response. After another button responded in the same way, Sam decided to instead twist each of the four knobs on.

“Now what,” He looked back to the ingredients he’d gotten, and the pot he’d taken out to use as a misshaped bowl. Maybe he should have written the recipe out. “Crust.” 

He moved the bag of flour onto the stove top, before opening the bag of sugar and baking powder. From there it became a guessing game, Sam pouring in the ingredients, attempting to get what he could remember from the recipe. A lot of flour, a dash of sugar, baking powder, more sugar, some vanilla, and more sugar. 

It wasn’t going bad, Sam was in fact proud of himself as he mixed the ingredients, a beige coloured dough beginning to form. Things were actually going well, that was until the bag of flour burst into flames.

“Shit!” Sam screamed, stumbling back from the eat.

He could hear nothing but the ringing in his ear, his eyes locked on the flames, feet staying firmly in place no matter how much of his body screamed for him to run. Shit. Shit. Shit.

His heart hammered in his chest, the heat practically burning his cheeks. Shit. He should move. Run. Do something other than stand petrified in fear. 

Shit.

“Sam!” 

He looked to his left just in time to see Dean step in front of him, and blow out the fire with an extinguisher. Despite the fire being out, Sam’s heart didn’t calm and it was obvious that Dean’s heart was the same, the panic clear across his face.

“Are you okay,” Dean almost demanded, eyes locked on Sam’s. 

Sam could only nod in response, voice lost. What was he supposed to say, he didn’t know, his mind still buzzing with adrenaline, with the moment the bag had burst into flames. 

“Are you sure?”

Sam gave another small nod. “I’m sorry,” he finally whispered. 

He could almost see the sigh that left Dean’s lips, as the other looked over his shoulder at the mess, the panic that had once controlled his features, now exhaustion, or maybe defeat. “It’s fine,” Dean replied, voice almost monotone. “Just go sit down while I clean this up.”

Without an argument Sam slowly made his way to the couch, staying silent as he took a seat on the old furniture. The panic he’d felt had died out, his heart that once raised, replaced by the twisting of his stomach that had become almost permanent since him and Dean’s fight at the bar.

Sam continued to sit in silence, as he watched Dean clean. Throwing away the now black bag of flour, cleaning off the counters, and then the floor. He didn’t acknowledge Sam the whole time. Sam didn’t blame him. He was in fact almost disappointed when Dean had finished, and walked over to him, so he stood in front of where Sam sat.

“Do you wanna tell me why you decided to light the kitchen on fuckin fire or why you aren’t at school again?” Dean asked, glare locked on Sam, though Sam himself quickly looked down, instead to his socked feet. They were mix matched, one a white, the other a black, with a hole next to his big toe. Neither were that interesting, though it was better than looking at Dean.

“I was trying to make pie,” Sam mumbled, keeping his gaze locked on his socks hole. 

“What?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Sam said in the same low mumble.

“Sam you’re goin’ ta have to speak up.

A shaken breath filled his lungs, before he finally looked up to Dean, vision hazy, his next breath stuck in his throat. “I was trying to make you a pie,” Sam finally replied, not caring to stop the way his voice shook. “To apologies for yesterday.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “That was a pie?”

“I was trying your hardest.”

“Well you’re hardest fuckin sucks.”

Sam couldn’t stop the smallest smile that spread across his own lips, his gaze dropping back to his feet, then going back to Dean. He knew he had to get the words out, though they seemed stuck, refusing to come no matter how hard he tried. “I’m-” He began barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry. I was being an ass.”

“Yah you’re right.” Dean agreed “you’re a fucking dumb ass, but lucky for you I’m still a little tipsy, and starving so how ‘bout we head down to the diner and grab some pie that wasn’t made by a snotty kid.”

“I'm not a kid.” Despite his defensive words, it felt good to have Dean teasing him, it felt normal, that's how it was supposed to be. Dean teased, Sam teased back, they didn’t fight, they were brother’s. 

“You’re fifteen, you aren’t exactly the definition of manhood.”

Sam rolled his eyes, though still grinned, taking Dean’s offered hand. He followed the other to the front door, his fingers playing with the sleeve of his sweater as he could still feel the unease in his stomach. It was something he didn’t think would be going away anytime soon.

“Dean-” Sam began just as the other had opened the door, stopping Dean in his tracks. “I really am sorry.”

“Dude,” Dean replied, an easy grin spreading across his face, though there was something about it that didn’t seem right. “It was yesterday, I'm over it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Bridge over water, or whatever that fuckin’ saying is.” Dean stepped out the door, nodding his head in the direction of the diner. “Now can we get some pie.”

Sam wasn’t sure if he should mention that it was in fact water under a bridge, not bridge over water.

The same way he wasn’t sure if he should mention the finger like bruising around Dean’s wrist that wasn’t there the day before.

Or the hickey that he’d seen just below the collar of Dean’s t-shirt.

Or the way Dean now had the slightest limp to is step, almost unnoticeable if Sam hadn’t been paying attention .

He wasn’t sure if he should mention any of it, so he didn’t, instead giving a small nod of his head. “Yah, let’s go.”

#suptober20 #Sam and dean fic #sam and dean #Sam Winchester #dean winchester

[definetlynotgab]

it’s the kiss of death (you took me by surprise)

Dave's not easily surprised - unless Klaus is involved

ao3

David Katz thought he was a pretty mellow guy – except for when he was around Klaus Hargreeves. 

Dave was twelve years old when he came to the conclusion that he liked boys in the way he was supposed to like girls. He kept this realisation to himself but wasn’t all that bothered about it – he was more concerned for his parents if people found out that their only child was a fag. When his parents died, he was sad, sure, but not surprised. Dave’s old man was getting on in years and when his mother died months later, it wouldn’t take much to convince Dave it was from heartbreak. He was twenty-nine when he went to ‘Nam. It wasn’t unexpected given the circumstances – he was young and had no family left. No one would miss him if he died.

Later, when Dave a few months shy of thirty, a stranger appeared in the middle of the night in Vietnam with a flash of blue light, clutching a briefcase and wearing nothing but a towel Dave was, understandably, shocked (it might have had something to do with how ridiculously beautiful the man was, but it was mostly the other stuff… probably). The man looked up at Dave with an expression of wonder that did nothing to deter the shock – though it did make Dave feel a little self-conscious. He’s pretty sure he went bright red.

When the man (Klaus. What a fab name) had casually asked for the date, including the year, Dave was a little freaked out but did his best to appear unbothered by the question. It became a little harder when, upon asking if he was ok, Klaus barked out a laugh and lied through his teeth (it wasn’t hard for Dave to tell that Klaus was definitely not ok, and it seemed to have very little to do with being in a war zone).

Almost a month later after watching Klaus have conversations with members of the troop who had died weeks ago (honestly, it wasn’t the most crank thing that Dave had ever seen a guy do), Dave was convinced that nothing that nothing else the beautiful man could throw at him could faze him. Klaus had surprised them all, leading the boys around landmines and away from hidden enemy troops, and at first Dave found it all a little daunting. He got used to it.

The next time he was surprised by Klaus, it wasn’t so much what he did, more what looking at him in through the haze of smoke in the crowded disco made Dave do. It was during R&R and Klaus was wearing a tight yellow shirt that left a tantalizing strip of pale skin showing. In that moment, Dave knew with absolute certainty that no one had ever looked more gorgeous.

And so, Dave took a depth breathe and slowly walked Klaus over to a dark corner of the room and kissed him. Slowly and sweetly. Klaus’s lips were soft and when they let out a low moan of pleasure, Dave just about floated up to Cloud Nine.

Over the following weeks and months, Dave’s residence on Cloud Nine became permanent, even in the face of war. The only time that was ever in question was when Klaus told him, well, everything. About his horrible childhood, his warden a twisted and cruel man, about how the drugs were the only thing that made the ghosts quiet until he met Dave (Klaus said that the way Dave went all bashful and red upon hearing that, was fucking adorable). Dave even learnt what exactly the briefcase is, and in the quiet of the tent Klaus whispered to him that he didn’t want to go back, and that, if Dave would let him, Klaus would live out the rest of his days by his side. Dave realised then and there that there would never be anything else in the world that he could ever want more than that.

Eight months After The Kiss (Dave has found most things have become sorted in his mind to Before and After Klaus, Before and After The Kiss) was the first time in a long time that Klaus shocked him. The bloody Cong were raining down hell around them, the air filled with screams of terror and Dave was really fucking scared for the first time in a long time. He was scared for himself, but also for Klaus who he knew had to be struggling based on the sheer amount of bodies that lined the wall of the trench. Dave glanced to his left where Klaus was pressed up against him. At the same time Klaus looked at him and gave a tight smile. Dave opened his mouth to say something, anything to reassure his lover (and himself) that would all be ok – it has to be ok – but was cut off by the commander’s sharp voice.

“Go, men, go! Come on you skirts! Go, go, go!”

Tearing his eyes from Klaus, Dave took a breath and thrust himself up, turning to face the enemy.

And fuck that hurt.

Dave staggered back down. He was vaguely aware of Klaus grasping him to sit him up against the wall of the trench. The noise of war faded into the background as Dave looked up into Klaus’ eyes (such pretty, pretty, green eyes. Like the trees in spring), and oh no, Klaus was crying, why was he cryin– oh. Dave had a whole in his chest. That must be why.

Dave forced a smile, needing to reassure Klaus that it would be fine, he would be fine cause Dave loves him and the war would be over soon and then they could go home, move to the country and get a dog (kids would be nice but who in their right mind is gonna allow that).

Klaus was looking around wildly, screaming… something. Dave was having a little trouble hearing.

Klaus looked back down to Dave and Dave reached his hand up to him wanting to touch him. Klaus must’ve seen his hand twitch cause he lent down pressing their foreheads together (Klaus just got Dave, even without Dave saying a word and that was one of the many things he loved about Klaus – and Dave hasn’t told him that, has he? He’d have to remember to tell him).

Dave could feel Klaus’ tears against his cheek. That was simply unacceptable. Klaus wasn’t allowed to cry, ‘specially not over Dave. Dave mustered his strength and lifted his head just enough to press a soft kiss to Klaus’s lips. That seemed to flick a switch in Klaus’ brain. Suddenly Klaus was pressing his lips against Dave’s with a ferocity that was unlike anything Dave had seen from his sweet, gentle (occasionally a tad crazy) Klaus.

The world slowly faded away until it felt all that was tying him to the world was Klaus (klausklausohgodklausklausiloveyouklausklauspleasebeokklaus).

And then, just as suddenly as Klaus came into his life, the world came back into focus. With a sharp gasp, Dave sat straight up, unintentionally throwing Klaus off him.

They looked at each other for a moment, dumbfounded. By all rights, Dave should’ve been dead (and boy, was that weird to think about – just moments ago he was fading away, now he felt like his head had been dunk in water).

Klaus was staring at him in much the same way the night they had met – equal parts shock, confusion and awe. Then the moment was over as Dave threw himself at Klaus, arms tightening around his lover’s neck. Turning his head, he pressed his mouth against Klaus’, savouring the moment that almost never was. Klaus kissed back, slow and soft, tongue tracing Dave’s bottom lip. Dave could feel Klaus grin against his lips and Dave grinned right back, lips parting to let Klaus in.

Dave pulled back, and though the moment wasn’t perfect (they were still in the middle of a war, covered in mud, people shouting and dying all around them), Dave couldn’t wait any longer.

“I love you.”

Klaus, somehow, managed to grin even wider. “I love you, too, Davey. More than anything.”

(Now Dave understood how Klaus was stretching his mouth that wide)

The moment that had carved out for themselves was ruined by the commander’s thundering voice. “Katz, Hargreeves! Stop pussyfooting around, get out there!”

They both let out an instinctive “yes, sir” (even just thinking about why Klaus fell so easily into the military lifestyle, when it took Dave months, he felt hacked) as the commander raced past them.

Klaus looked over at Dave with terror in his eyes, hand gripping Dave’s in a death lock (not that Dave could say he himself was doing any less), croaking “Dave” in that soft voice that usually made Dave so happy. Dave nodded and said firmly, “Let’s get the fuck out of here. You got that magic box of yours?”

#language warning #tua #the umbrella academy #klaus hargreeves #dave #david katz #dave dies #then he doesn't! #yay! #Klaus deserves to be happy for once in his life #secret super power #klaus x dave #slash fic #fanfic

[thevioletjones]

10 & 59 for the fic prompt meme!

This is the longest ficlet yet. Lol. It’s also combined with similar requests from @yellowcerulean & @tarantula-teeth for an added 34 & 8. So I give you...

Criminal AU / I didn’t mean to turn you on / Mutual pining / Detective AU

Mickey shook his leg and bit his thumbnail, his agitation overwhelming all his senses. It felt like he was trapped beneath a tsunami and was never going to be able to breathe again. He was totally and completely fucked.

At least he wasn’t handcuffed at the moment, which was kind of strange, but he wasn’t about to question it. He just wished one of them detective dickheads would come question him already so he could ask for a lawyer, get charged, and be on his way to jail. Sitting around here in the interrogation room was too nerve-wracking. They all knew how this was gonna end, so he resented all the wasted time.

According to the clock on the wall, he’d been sitting there staring at the blank wall for 45 fucking minutes now. He knew they did that shit on purpose… like antsiness was supposed to loosen tongues. Really, it just made people more pissed off. Being held against one’s will already sucked enough.

Finally, some dude walked into the room, his red head down as he read a case file. The door closed heavily behind him as he took a seat across the table from Mickey, still not making eye contact.

“Mickey Milkovich. Long time, no see. How’s your sister?”

Mickey’s eyebrows shot up. “Huh?”

The cop looked up at him then, a lopsided smirk on his fuzzy face. “Mandy. I haven’t seen her in ages. She doing alright?”

Mickey shrugged. “Yeah, she’s fine. Why do you give a shit, pig?”

The ginger-beard just snickered. “Guess you don’t remember me then.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I was a lot scrawnier then, rounder face, kinda goofy looking, couldn’t sprout a whisker to save my life…”

Mickey just stared at him like he couldn’t give a fuck less.

“I’m Ian. Gallagher. Detective Gallagher, if you’re nasty.”

That made his mouth drop open in surprise. Holy shit. Gallagher? He definitely remembered the teen version. Him and Mandy had been attached at the hip for years back in high school. Mickey never talked to him much, but he was around their house an annoying amount of the time. He looked… very grown up. Too bad he was a fucking cop. And straight to boot.

“Yeah, whatever. I remember you. Can we get this shit over with? Makin’ me sit here all goddamn night is fuckin’ bullshit.”

“Fair enough,” said Ian, folding his hands together on top of the file. “You wanna give me your side of the story before I start asking specific questions?”

“Ain’t it pretty self-explanatory, man?”

“Not necessarily. You were caught in the raid, in flagrante, but there seems to be some confusion as to the extent of your involvement in the prostitution ring.”

“What the fuck does that mean? I ain’t a part of shit!”

“Look, we’re aware of the hand-whore brothel your dad used to run out of the Alibi some years back, as well as the connection between Terry and the Bartkowicz brothers running this ring. Obviously, we have your prior arrest records, which coincidentally all seem to be related to dear old dad, so… you see why we have questions now?”

Mickey slammed both his fist down on the tabletop and stood brusquely, knocking his metal chair to the floor. “This is fuckin’ bullshit! You can’t pin this shit on me!”

Ian stood tall and menacing. “Sit down, Mickey.”

“Fuck you! I ain't listenin’ to anymore of this!”

He tried to march straight to the door, but found himself running into a wall of built redheaded dick. Before he could think better of it, he pushed Ian forcefully, then suddenly found himself knocked sideways into the wall, and in no time he was pressed against it chest first, arm twisted painfully behind him, with a forearm against his neck.

“I’m gonna give you one more chance to sit here without the fucking cuffs on and answer my questions. You try something again, and I’ll get one of the bruisers that likes to bust heads in here to put ‘em on your hands and your feet. Got it?”

Shit. The only thing Mickey was getting was a damn killer of an erection. That would be the worst thing to let on given the circumstances, so he nodded vigorously as best he could.

“Yeah, yeah, man. Sorry.”

Ian's body moved away, and Mickey felt cold at the loss, turning around slowly with his hands up. Gallagher pointed at him, then to the chair he’d previously occupied, eyeing Mickey apprehensively.  Once he was seated again, the detective sat back down as well.

“Believe it or not, I’m trying to help you. For Mandy’s sake. I won’t be able to if you pull stunts like that. I know you wouldn’t rather be dealing with one of the other guys on the task force.”

Mickey sighed and sagged in his chair. “Whatever, man. I don’t know anything. And I ain’t actually just sayin’ that. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. That’s it. I don't work for my piece of shit father anymore.”

Ian gave him an incredulous look, then re-opened the file on the table, thumbing through a few pages deep. Mickey watched as he read whatever the fuck was written there, and the way those orange eyebrows suddenly shot up, and Ian sent him a stunned look.

“What?” asked Mickey.

Ian cleared his throat and looked back at the page. “It says here that you weren’t busted with a woman.” Mickey gulped. “You were busted with a man.”

Mickey struggled to keep his cool, but quickly schooled his features. “So?”

“You’re gay?” Ian asked bluntly.

“Nah, I just like havin’ another guy’s dick in my ass.”

Ian’s mouth slowly lifted into an unreadable kind of smile. “Wait here.”

And just like that, Ian was gone, and Mickey was most definitely totally fucked. No way South Side cops were gonna go easy on the fag criminal son of a dude they all fuckin’ despised with a fiery passion. Gallagher had probably gone to get a whole squad to bash on him until they transferred him into gen pop.

He went back to shaking a leg and biting his nails, and it felt like fucking forever before Ian returned.

He was still alone, and he stood in the middle of the room for a moment and just stared at Mickey. After the dramatic pause, he said, “You’re free to go.”

Mickey’s jaw dropped yet again. He knew for a fact he’d been looking at about 30 days jail time, or at the very least, some hefty-ass fine for solicitation.

“What the fuck you mean I’m free to go?”

“Exactly what I said. You’re free to go.”

“How?” Mickey shouldn’t be glued to this fucking hot seat asking questions, but he couldn’t help it. It was like the damn Twilight Zone.

Ian shrugged. “I took care of it. From one queer on the DL to another.”

Mickey gasped. “You fuckin’ serious? Didn’t you used to date my sister?”

“I did. In a sense. She knew who I was from the beginning. Did me a favor. We protected each other. This is just an extension of that. Besides, I always kinda had a crush on your dirty, crude, thug ass. Even though you were always an asshole and never looked at me twice.”

If Ian kept shocking Mickey like this, he was gonna need a defibrillator to get his heartbeat back on the proper wavelength. What the actual fuck?

“Oh, I looked twice, Gallagher,” he replied, rising, “you just never caught me.”

Ian laughed. “Until now apparently.”

Mickey flipped him off and followed Ian out of the room. For some reason, he was escorted all the way to the station door.

“Stay outta trouble, Milkovich,” Ian called to him as he walked into the night.

Mickey smirked and turned around as he kept walking. “You know where I live if you got a problem, Gallagher.”

Seeing Ian’s reciprocal smile, he turned back around and pulled his cigarettes out. Definitely not how this night was supposed to go, but maybe Red would come see about him sometime.

#ficlet #trope challenge #ian x mickey #gallavich

[damiano-mylove]

Come Home With Me pt.2

Pairing: Thomas Raggi x GN!reader

Wc: 1.1k

Cw(s): Lil bit of swearing, smoking, repetitive bullshit

Summary: The day after.

Part 1

Masterlist

Light funneled in through a gap in the curtains, washing over both you and the man beside you. Soft snores fell from Thomas in even, warm breaths that tickled the top of your head. Your head rested just under his and your arms around each other, giving the appearance of you having been tangled in embrace at some point during the night. Warmth enveloped you but did not overpower you.

A hangover pounded your skull at the slightest movement, so you just avoided moving. The only movement you truly allowed yourself was to bury yourself further into your new friend's body, to protect your sensitive eyes from the sunlight of the morning.

But you had woken Thomas up with your slight movements. He hummed lowly, "Morning."

"How'd you sleep?" You smiled, leaning your body back to look into Thomas' eyes. You hadn't noticed the night before, but his eyes were absolutely captivating. They were green, with browns and even the tiniest flecks of gold. Thomas' eyes were only further beautified by the sunlight that invaded the room

"Alright, you?" Thomas smiled back, returning to a bashful but kind demeanour.

"Alright."

Negating the hangover, you sat up with every fiber of will in your body. In a second, the pack of cigarettes that resided on your bedside table were in the palm of your hand. They were prerolls, but that didn't matter right now. Your lighter was inside of the pack, waiting to be used and you thanked your sober-self for thinking ahead for times like these. The fag was lit and between your lips - though you didn't actually inhale the first drag because it's always the worst drag.

Just as the fag left your fingers, to be laid into Thomas', he sat up as well. His posture was horrible, but his smile and messy hair made up for it tenfold. He then stated, "I met you last night."

"Yes, you did," you chortled lightly. Thomas grinned as he took a drag off the fag, then looked to his slender fingers.

You shared the fag with him in that same inexplicable, comfortable silence. His words stuck with you, however. Thomas didn't say it as if he was appalled that he woke up in the same bed as someone he met not even a few hours ago, no disappointment clung to his words. It was pure delight; the same way you would reflect on something too good to be true. You thought it was Thomas being sappy, but he was just basking in one of the best things that had happened to him lately.

After the fag, you climbed out of bed to get some paracetamol and a tea. Thomas lay back down in your bedsheets, not wanting to leave his newfound Heaven so soon. While he relaxed, you put the kettle on and got the bottle of pills from your cabinet above the stove.

"How about a date?" Thomas asked, leaning on the framework of the kitchen door. You smiled at him, leaning against the counter with your arms crossed,

"I thought we were going to get married."

Thomas' cheeks went red and warm, along with the tops of his ears. His smile was true but coy. "Even married people go on dates."

The kettle clicked behind you, making you turn your back on Thomas. You looked back over you shoulder so match his smile. "Fair enough. Are we going skydiving or to dinner?"

"I was thinking lunch, but skydiving sounds like fun," Thomas laughed while you poured the water into cups with tea bags inside.

You began to tell each other about the dreams you had during the night as you were both on your own to prepare your teas. Thomas made it almost the exact same way as you did, which both tickled you and only made your smile wider and wider. Even sober, you worked like two well oiled gears together.

Breakfast was just toast that you made, and which you and Thomas ate on your balcony, looking over the nearly noon sky. It was a bright blue, which clouds, that looked akin to the ones Bob Ross would paint, whisped around here and there. There was a peaceful feeling that coated every word, every movement, every breath. And neither of you ever wanted it to stop. Not in this lifetime.

"My friends are probably wondering where I am," Thomas sighed as you put the toast dishes in the sink. You frowned.

"They definitely are," you answered. Thomas smiled before pulling you into a hug. You hugged him back, with a chuckle, "Jesus, neither of us are dying, Man."

"I'll call you," Thomas told you, ignoring your previous statement. You nodded, letting him go, though you really did not want to do that. It was the last thing you wanted to do right now, but the only thing you could do.

You walked Thomas to your door where he pulled on his very nice boots and slung his coat over his arm. He kissed your cheek, making every inch of you heat up. Goodbyes were shared as Thomas left your flat. You lived alone, but the flat suddenly felt as empty as it ever had. A somber empty, an empty that you absolutely did not enjoy.

Later on in the day, your phone began ringing. "Hello?"

"What're you doing right now?" Thomas asked quickly. You smiled, that cold, empty feeling washing away with just his voice in your ear.

"Sweet fuck all. Why?"

"Come down to Luca's as soon as you can," he told you.

"Give me 5."

"For you, I'll give 6."

Thomas hung up so you began to get dressed. You washed your face, you brushed your hair. It was a very nothing day once Thomas left, but this gave you the motivation to actually do things. When you left you flat, you looked amazing.

When you got to the patio at Luca's, Thomas was sitting at the third table at the furthest left point. He immediately spotted you and immediately began beaming . His feet were immediately on the ground as he stood up to take your hand in his. Thomas placed a soft kiss to the top of your knuckles, making you blush, before you took your seats on opposite sides of the table.

"It isn't skydiving, but I figured dinner might be nice," Thomas told you after a server took your drink orders.

You couldn't help your heart inflating at his comment. "It'll be just as memorable, surely."

In a flash of bliss and laughter, dinner went by smoother than water. Your cheeks hurt from grinning, your heart was more full than it had been in a long time. As every moment with Thomas was, you never wanted it to end.

And it didn't. You went back to his place that night, where you met his roommates who doubled as bandmates. You had an actual conversation with the man with the long hair, whose name was Ethan.  He was sweet, but not as sweet as Thomas.

#måneskin #maneskin #thomas raggi #thomas raggi x reader #thomas raggi fanfiction #thomas maneskin #x reader #one shot #oneshot #enjoy

[flirtingwitharson]

Prompt: Sirius wakes up with a bad hangover (he can’t hold his drink!) and Remus makes him feel better 😉???

dear @blitheringmcgonagall : i am so sorry i never got round to this! it’s a very cute prompt that i saved on purpose, but i’m so terribly bad at consistent writing so unfortunately it was left unwritten. here it is now, though, and hopefully things will continue to get written in a timely manner from now on :))

Alcohol, Sirius mused, was a bloody good metaphor for life. When it had you up, times were absolutely brilliant, but as for the come down...well, the good things couldn’t last forever.

That said, Sirius had mused this at a much more previous (and thus more sober) time, for right now he wasn’t sure that his brain was capable of such coherent thoughts through the dull yet blinding pain it was enduring. He opened his eyes, and immediately regretted it. This would be the first in a long list of regrets that morning, or so he gathered from his rather piss-poor state.

“Christ, hello,” Remus tutted softly at him, turning his head to take in the sight of the sad sack lain in bed next to him. Remus was sat upright against the headboard, reading a book in the dim morning light as he was wont to do. One of his (very long) legs was bent at the knee, and his unoccupied hand was loosely tangled in the sheaths of black hair pillowed around Sirius’ head. His momentary surprise had of course faded into a soft little smile, and Sirius cursed him inwardly for being able to manage it after a night out like the one previous.

“M’head,” Sirius mumbled dumbly. He immediately shut his eyes again but reached out grabbed for purchase in Remus’ sweater, almost as if Remus were a cliff and Sirius was holding on for dear life. “Hurts, Moony.”

“How eloquent you sound when hungover, love. I must say, if you keep speaking like that, I’ll have no other choice but to care for you in your moment of need.”

Ignoring Remus’ self-indulgent sarcasm, Sirius simply groaned and rolled over onto his stomach, hoping that Remus would maybe pity him and take this dire situation far more seriously.

As Remus pat him on the head and got up to do merlin-knows-what, Sirius deliberated on what had caused such a terrible, unbearable hangover. The night had started out as James’ Stag Do—they’d be lying to themselves if they didn’t milk that joke for all it was worth—and though he was a bit blurry on the details, he knew far too much fire whiskey and maybe a shot or ten had taken place throughout the evening. They started out at the pub, eventually making their way through various bars on a route carefully hand picked by Remus and Sirius to assure nothing would get too out of hand. Thinking this hard made the dull ache in his head level up to a rather annoying buzzing, so he promptly shoved his pillow over his face and fell back asleep.

The second time he came to, the savory scents of bacon and coffee intertwined and cascaded through the air. Remus was sat beside him once more, only this time with an ornately transfigured tray wielding greasy, delightful hangover food in his hands.

“Feeling any better?” He asked Sirius with a smirk, knowing full well that Sirius was terrible at holding his drink and very smugly lording the fact that his wolfy metabolism made it virtually impossible for him to get plastered over him.

“A saint, Remus. I live with a saint, and it’s you, fucking hell,” Sirius praised his knight in jumper-and-sweatpants as he eased himself into a sitting position in order to sip at the coffee.

“You’re bloody well right you do,” Remus scoffed. “Not many would be willing to cater to your sorry arse after you drank far more than you could stomach.”

Sirius seemed to decide that this didn’t dignify a reply and instead swallowed down the ibuprofen Remus set aside for him before picking at his breakfast.

Remus opened his mouth for a piece of the bacon Sirius was eating, only to roll his eyes and close it at the following daggers that Sirius glared his way. “How much do you remember of last night anyways, Padfoot?” He wondered aloud, kind enough to at least gave let Sirius wake up a little bit.

“Not much, Moony. Thinking hurts, couldn’t do it if I tried.”

“Well, you never have, so you might as well continue to postpone your journey into rational thought. Do you really not remember anything?”

Sirius looked up at him then, suddenly worried he’d gone and done something quite embarrassing. He made a silent vow to never drink again—or, at least, never to that capacity. Often. “Did I, er, do something worth remembering?” He asked weakly, the ‘I-know-something-that-you-don’t’ look splayed upon Remus’ face not easing his worries one bit.

“Well, I should say so,” Remus replied vaguely. If there was a hint of mirth in his voice at Sirius’ expense, well, who could blame him?

Sirius groaned. He sipped more of his coffee—really, he owed Remus a blowjob and a thousand thank yous later—and deliberated, racking his brains for anything that might’ve stood out the night prior. Coming up with jack shit, he looked to Remus and asked for an recap.

Remus smiled wider now, enjoying every second of his retelling. He told of the contest of who could down more shots in less than a minute, which was quickly followed by a drunken speech about “refusing to let Lily take James’ manhood and cause him to grow a vagina”, and after more stupid mishaps landed on the shining moment of the evening. “There is one last thing that you did last night, Sirius. Are you ready, or do you need a moment?”

“Christ, Moons,” Sirius groaned. “I didn’t start a bar fight, did I? That one at Marlene’s birthday when that arsehole called you a fag was already bad enough.”

Laughing, Remus replied, “you didn’t exactly defend my honor, Sirius. Would you like a drumroll, or should I just get on with it?”

Sirius flicked his wand and the drumsticks strewn on the floor of his closet tapped out the weak drumroll Remus so obviously wanted.

“You, Sirius Black, got right up on the stage of the last bar for the evening, sang karaoke to Baby I’m Yours by the Arctic Monkeys, and got on one knee and so hilariously, so drunkenly asked for my hand in marriage.” Sirius couldn’t begin to comprehend why Remus was beaming at what might have been the lowest moment of his adult life—that he couldn’t even remember, thank you very much.

“Fuck, Moony!” Sirius wailed, burying his face in his hands. “Shite, I’m so sorry, ugh.”

“What could you possibly be sorry for? James convinced the bartender to give us free drinks on our so-called engagement and I now have blackmail fodder for the reat of your life.”

“No, Remus,” his boyfriend insisted remorsefully. “I had this whole goddamn plan, too, and it was going to be lovely and romantic and now I just went and screwed it all up!”

Suddenly, Remus’ laughing stopped. “You mean that wasn’t just a drunken lark? There was actual, coherent planning that went into all that?”

“Yes, Moony, of course I was going to bloody ask you soon, it’s been three fucking years since we got together and there’s nothing I’d want more, but apparently drunken Sirius is an impatient bastard. Please tell me I didn’t have the ring on me, I might actually have to go find a nice window to hop out of if I did—“

“Ring?” Remus interrupted. He was blushing, a bashful and pleasantly surprised smile dancing across his lips. “You’ve a ring already?”

“Well, that answers that, then.” Sirius smiled up at him with a furrowed brow, angry at himself for bollocksing it all up. He placed the tray on the nightstand, feeling much better than when he had opened his eyes the first time. Leaning forward to kiss Remus and cuddle up against him, Sirius mumbled, “just forget it happened, Moony. You deserve a better go, I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

After a few moments of silence, Remus spoke aloud once more. “I said yes, you know. When you fake-asked me last night. I don’t care if you would have asked me on a morning like this where I’m nursing you through your hangover, the answer would be yes, Sirius. It will always be yes.”

#this got longer than i intended #it’s kinda just babbling #i hope this is what you were looking for #idk how it got so soppy #marauders #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter #peter pettigrew #lily evans #moony #wormtail #padfoot #prongs #mwpp #wolfstar #sirius x remus #remus x sirius #wolfstar fic #wolfstar drabble #harry potter

[kaypeace21]

Mike Wheeler and other queer subtext

How come no one ever talks about how just changing one word in his speech  makes what Mike said to Will sound like a marriage proposal?

“And I asked you to be my {friend} and you said yes ... you said yes. It was the best thing I’ve ever done”.

Is it just me? I mean think about all those speeches in the shed. Jonathan talks about the day their dad left (the same guy who called Will homophobic slurs) and lets be honest him thinking his son might be queer, may have been one of the reasons he left. Jonathan even mentions that ‘castle Byers’ was built after their homophobic dad left, the place where Will felt the most safe while in the upside down as he sang ‘should I stay or should I go’ was that place. He sings the same song Jonathan played for him when Lonnie didn’t show up for visitation and Jonathan told Will “He’s trying to force you to like normal things. And you shouldn’t like things because people tell you you’re supposed to ... especially not him.”

What makes Will feel safe is the antithesis of his father.Lonnie left when Jonathan was 10 so will was about 7 or 6 (maybe)? And it was on Jonathan’s 10th birthday when he was first taught how to use a gun, and was traumatized because he was forced to kill/shoot a rabbit to be “more of a man”. SO why does Will know how to shoot a gun when Lonnie wasn’t in his life at 10 years old ?! Can you imagine how much more shit he forced Will through (compared to Jonathan) if he thought he was queer and was forcing him to ‘man-up’?! 

So then, what Joyce says before Jonathan’s speech about his “rainbow ship” and “being proud” isn’t just an overt hey look Will’s lgbt+ ! Its makes narrative sense given what the family knows and we’re supposed to put 2 in 2 together.

So the fact that Mike’s speech about how they first met, is RIGHT AFTER Jonathan’s speech about their dad leaving is interesting? So let’s think about this ; WHY does Lonnie think Will is queer? Speaking from personal experience , to most straight people if you aren’t an ‘over the top stereotype’ (nothing wrong with that, by the way) no on believes you even if you say it to their face (although that may be more of a queer women problem, but I digress.) My point is Mike met Will at age 5, BEFORE Lonnie left. And I sort of gather that Will & Mike were probably very close (especially because they probably weren’t taught yet what was considered normal-friendship behavior), and Lonnie got suspicious about how close they were. In other words, Mike was the literal catalyst for Lonnie leaving! I mean if as teens, they are still more affectionate than what the 80s  deemed ‘acceptable’ who knows how they acted before being conditioned to be told what was considered ‘wrong’ and ‘not wrong’.

Essentially these stories tell us a chronological order of events: Mike and Will meet. Lonnie gets suspicious of their bond and his abuse escalates as he tries to ‘fix his’ “queer, fag” son, but he eventually gives up and leaves . Joyce even says  “You never cared about him” (because he wasn’t straight), when she learns Lonnie wasn’t mourning for Will’s death but simply using him to make a quick buck. However, Will  feels safer and happier without such a toxic individual in his life and his mom does everything to make up for the damage he’s caused- as she tries to support her son’s sexuality  .

Will and Mike being ‘suspiciously’ close actually makes a lot of sense if you look at what other characters say about the 2 in season 1. When Will went missing in s1 , Mike’s mom said “ What’s been going on with Will, I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you. I just ... want you to feel like you can talk to me. I never want you to feel like you have to HIDE anything from me” (she even emphasizes the word ‘hide” it’s so heavily queer-coded and it makes me feel like she suspects something because she was around to see the interactions between the 2 we never did).

Even his dad jokes “Absolutely not” *turns to wife* “our son with a girl?”. If you rewatch the scene Karen doesn’t make eye contact and literally freezes at the comment and blinks rapidly (She’s clearly uncomfortable). Bisexuality wasn’t really something people believed in so it’d be kind of funny to think Mike’s parents thought he would turn out to be gay the whole time because of his interactions with Will.

Also, how come no one talk about that binder? You know the binder (from s1) that Mike keeps, filled with 100s of Will’s drawings. Think about that! Will has been giving his drawings to Mike for years! And Mike not only accepts them but treasures them so much he keeps every single picture Will’s ever given him . When Will is believed to be dead, we see Mike look through the whole binder, he even gently strokes the drawing of the cleric, probably thinking he’ll never get another pic from Will again. Also when Will ‘dies’, “we can be heroes” by David bowie (a bisexual singer) plays,  there’s no romantic lyrics in the song except one lyric “And we kiss as though nothing could fall and the shame” and this is the lyric that plays when Mike returns to his house and cries in his mother’s arms over the ‘death’ of Will. Do I have to explain how ‘kissing and shame’ are queer-coded XD

Hell, even when Lucas makes fun of his crush on EL, Lucas gets down on one knee  and says “ I love you so much, will you marry me?” and literally 1s later, we’re introduced to the bullies and the idea that will is ‘gay’, and Mike is in the forefront of the scene and unlike his friends he is physically assaulted (like a gay-bashing) . It’s supposed to subconsciously hint he has feelings for both of them. The first interaction with the bullies, they mention Will being ‘gay’ right after they mention Mike’s crush on androgynous El , Mike says to “ignore them” but is assaulted anyways. And when asked what happed he doesn’t want to tell El the details cause he’s ashamed . 2nd time the bullies talk about Will, Mike is once again in the forefront , as his friends are in the background , and the bullies say Will is “flying in fairyland with all the other little fairies”. Mike was literally on the verge or tears at this comment (despite being happy a few moments earlier telling the others to ‘act sad’ because they’d look suspicious other wise). But this is the comment where Mike snaps and pushes Troy back (because he took it personally) and El protects him in the end. Then the last time the bullies appear , Mike jumps off the cliff and “flies like a fairy” thanks to El saving him . Nancy even says says “I thought you were acting weird, but I thought it was because of Will” And Mike responds “I thought you were acting weird too I thought it was because of Steve ... Do you like Jonathan now”?” Nancy: “No, do you like Eleven?”. They literally compared the explicit love triangle between Steve/Nancy/Jonathan to the Will-Mike-El dynamic!

And since this devolved into me talking about the Duffers making Mike bi since the very beginning. Lets not forget when El was in her wig , he called her “pretty” and she looks at the mirror happily restating the word “pretty”. And after she lost her wig and broke Troy’s arm, at the police station he says “ Her head’s shaved she doesn’t even look like a girl”. And in the same episode, El looks in the mirror sadly and asks Mike “Still pretty?” And he say “Yeah, pretty, really pretty.” And they almost kiss! Note that 3 separate characters said El looked like a boy, but Mike doesn’t care he still wanted to kiss her! Even one of the men thought El might be the missing ‘Byers boy’. I’m not saying Mike has a thing for quiet-brunettes with super powers, and daddy-issues but ... wait that’s exactly what I’m saying. XD

I mean in season 1 when El asks him the difference between friends and crushes, Mike literally uses gender inclusive pronouns by using the word “someone” (3 times), and embarrasses himself because he can’t articulate the difference. When he could of simply given the 80s heteronormative  answer of ‘when a boy likes a girl’. 

Mike: “ you go to school dances with someone. You know someone that you like”

 El: “a friend?”

Mike: ‘not a friend uh ... uh someone like a” (gives up and kisses her)

And I mean the dance- we’d be here all day with all the hints! But, Will’s first instinct when asked to dance with a girl (who’s wearing a rainbow hairclip)  is to look at mike and say “I.. uh, don't”, and then after Mike forces him you literally see Mike’s shocked expression like  ‘what. why’d I do that ?’ After this, they show Dustin looking sad about Max/Lucas dancing and then they have Mike get into the frame (next to Dustin) and look sad when Will/girl are dancing in the same exact frame as Max/Lucas. They have 2 scenes of Mike moping - one where he's moping about El (and she shows up immediately to convey he was thinking about her) and another moping scene of him just looking at Will dancing with a girl.

Sorry for the rant but there’s just SO much subtext, a lot of which I didn’t even mention (like all the scenes that directly parallel byler and mileven ) and I’m really curious about what will happen between the 3 in later seasons, I want it to be July and until we get a teaser or something I’m going to bother people with content 😂  

#byler #byeler #Mike x Will #bi mike wheeler #stranger things #Mileven #milevill #stranger things theory #stranger things meta

[broadwaycantdie]

Protests - Newsies (Pride) Month . Day 18

( angst ) + ( javid ) + ( modern-era )

a/n: i know, i know...i’m late, but it just took some time for inspiration to strike and i hope y’all can appreciate that // also i don’t know why i enjoy writing Davey fighting back against his family but idk it’s just something i like so sorry i do it a lot // also also no one reads the background so i took that shit out, it just kinda wastes space :/

warnings: MAJOR TRIGGER WARNINGS

mentions of blood, violence, injury, death, police brutality, etc. and use of slurs, derogatory terms, and cussing

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“Respect existence or expect resistance!”

“Gay rights are human rights!”

“Silence is violence! We will not stay quiet!”

Davey heard the shouts and chants of protesters on the street. He looked out his window and couldn’t help but smile. These people were fighting for what they wanted and were willing to risk everything to get that. He was inspired by them.

He wasn’t shy to the idea of a protest. He had joined the newsies and helped run the strike against the newspaper industry.

But this was different.

This wasn’t kids fighting against one person.

This was people of all race, ethnicity, religion, age, and situation coming together to fight against people who have no right to hate them. They were fighting for their lives most of the time.

Davey couldn’t stand to just watch.

He wanted to be in that crowd. He wanted to make signs and chant and fight back on all who have wronged him for something he couldn’t change.

But his family would never let him leave. Not after the strike.

Although the strike ended well, that doesn’t mean it was a smooth ride to the top. There were fights, a lot of them. The boys were lucky to come out without a broken bone. Some didn’t even come out at all.

People lost their lives fighting for equal pay.

And Davey—looking out his window to see that people are still fighting for equality—felt like what they did didn’t matter. Of course it mattered, but the fight was far from over. According to the leaders, equality was not a right, but a privilege we had to fight for. Davey couldn’t stand it anymore.

He lost brothers—both blood and not. He temporarily lost mobility in one of his arms. He lost teeth. He lost more blood than healthy. He lost faith in humanity.

But he didn’t care. He couldn’t stop fighting. Not until everyone was equal. And if that meant he would fight for the rest of his life, then so be it.

He packed a bag quietly. He couldn’t have his parents finding out, they already forbid him from fighting any more.

He tried to pick a time he could leave. But his mother almost never left the house. He just had to be quick and sneaky. He didn’t have time to wait.

Davey headed for the door. As soon as he opened it, he saw his father there. He had gotten off early from work.

“Where are you going, David?” His father asked in a stern tone.

Thoughts rushed through his head as his face turned red. He could easily lie and say he was just going to the store. Or he could tell the truth and stand up to his father. He didn’t like to lie, but the truth would’ve been even more painful. Before he could come up with a solid plan, his mouth started moving.

“To stand up for myself.”

That was a good way to put it.

“Excuse me?” His father asked, pushing David back into the house and closing the door behind him.

“You can’t ignore the protesters out there, father. They fight for the same things we did—equality! And the fight is far from over. I can’t just stand around and watch!”

“You can and you will. I will not lose another son. I almost lost you once, David. I can’t take that chance again, not after your brother.“

“But father if you just lis—“

“No, David. You will stay in this house. You have nothing to fight for out there. Those fags just want people to give them attention. They think that’s what God wanted for them. Maybe if they actually picked up the Torah, they could learn something about how it’s supposed to be!”

“But they—“

“Don’t try to defend them, David. You know I’m right. They just want to waste everyone’s time and block up the streets. Serves them right, they’re nothing but glittery street rats anyway. Put them back in the gutter where they belong—”

“STOP IT!”

Davey screamed. He never screamed at his father like that before. But he couldn’t take it.

His body shook. Involuntary tears streamed from his eyes. His working hand covered his ear. He was filled with more anger than sadness. He was done. He couldn’t take it anymore. He had to get out.

He yelled through chokes of tears and voice cracks.

“The people out there are fighting for rights! They want to be treated equally and not be hated for no reason. It’s people like you who they are protesting against! You have no reason to hate them! You actually have every reason to love them. One of them lives in your house. Or at least used to. I can’t stay here anymore if you’re just going to hate and disrespect who I am. I’m going to fight for my rights, and if you have a problem with that, then you are the problem.”

Davey walked back towards the door but his dad grabbed his arm. They looked at each other in the eyes. They had similar looks of sadness and anger but for different reasons.

From the corner of his eye, Davey saw his mother.

She heard the whole thing.

His father looked over and loosened his grip enough for Davey to shake out of it.

He turned his head and walked out the door, slamming it shut as he left.

His father opened it back up to shout but Davey had already run between the crowds of people. He was lost in the group before his father could catch him.

He needed to get to the lodging house as quickly as possible. Hoping to catch the boys before they left for the protest. He remembered Jack saying they were putting their full support and energy into this fight.

God, he loved that. Davey adored how much Jack put into everything. He wanted to fight every battle headfirst. Jack’s determination was admirable and God, did he admire him. He was walking chaos and Davey was drawn to him.

Jack was ready to fight at any second and was prepared to do whatever it took to win. That part scared Davey. He couldn’t lose Jack the same way he lost others. But he knew he couldn’t hold him back either. He just made sure to be by his side no matter what happened.

He got to the lodging house and saw Jack in the main room getting ready to head out.

“Hey, babe! What’re you doing here? I thought you weren’t allowed to leave anymore?” Jack asked.

“Well...uh...now I have the opposite problem.”

Jack looked confused, so Davey continued.

“I’m not allowed back.”

Jack’s eyes grew wide with concern.

“I finally stood up to my dad. Told him what he needed to hear. He said the fight didn’t matter and that we were just ‘fags who wanted attention’ and ‘glittery street rats’. Well fuck him, right? Fuck him. I don’t need him.”

Davey smiled through tears. Trying to keep a positive outlook on a situation he didn’t think through. He knew he wanted to leave but he didn’t realize what he’d done until now.

A bit of his heart ached. Although his father didn’t mean anything to him anymore, he couldn’t help but feel guilty. He put food on his table, a roof over his head, clothes on his back. And Davey just left. But he couldn’t think about that now. Every positive thing his father had done came with a negative aspect. Davey was right. He didn’t need him anymore.

Jack walked over and held Davey in a tight hug. A hug that told him he was right and that it would be okay.

He finally felt okay.

The other boys walked into the room after hearing all the noise.

Davey saw their injuries and permanent damage. He also couldn’t help but notice who wasn’t there.

Brothers who had lost their lives to the cause.

Davey cried even harder into the crevice of Jack’s neck. Jack just held him tighter.

After the mini-reunion, it was back to the plan.

Jack explained what they were going to do.

Basically, their plan was to join the protest and make their way to the front, where the real change would happen. They had made signs for whoever wanted one. And after the protest they would all meet back up at the house to make sure everyone was okay incase they got lost.

They made their way out to the crowds and—following Jack’s instruction—made their way all the way to the front. Some of them stayed behind in the safer parts of the crowd and Jack was okay with that.

Jack and Davey—along with other boys—stood right at the front.

Their bodies pushed up against a wall of police trying to push them back with shields.

“We will not stay silent!”

“You can’t deny human rights to humans!”

“We aren’t any different from you!”

Jack lead the chants. He was a born leader and knew how to control a crowd.

Others joined in and more police were called.

From far behind the first row, a rock was thrown, hitting a police officer in the head. From that point, all hell broke loose.

After that it wasn’t a peaceful protest.

It was a riot.

The police began pushing even harder to get the people back, knocking people to the ground for them to be trampled on. Batons were used to bash in heads, and innocent people were beat.

Everyone tried to run from what was happening but cop cars pulled up on every corner and the police were trying to take back control.

Jack and Davey were split up, trying to protect their lives as well as getting away from police.

Davey frantically looked around for Jack. He knew he wouldn’t stop. He just couldn’t bare to lose him. Davey was his only sense of control and he needed it more than ever now.

He was in his sights.

“Jack!” Davey yelled out.

They started to run towards each other but an officer pulled Davey back.

They were arresting everyone they could find in the riots.

“Jack! Help!”

Jack pushed back through the police. Every second he was being grabbed or pushed or beaten. But he couldn’t give up.

If there was one thing he believed in more than a revolution, it was Davey.

Davey pushed back against the police but to no use. The officer beat him down to the ground and continuously kicked him until he stopped fighting. He coughed out blood and shook against the pavement. He officer forced him back up but he wouldn’t move.

Before Davey could react, Jack was there.

Police chased him down through the crowds but the remaining people put up a fight. Not everyone would go down so easy.

Jack threw a punch at the officer beating Davey.

He didn’t care what happened now. He needed to protect who he cared about. And he wasn’t going to stand for being beat for no reason.

He jumped at the officer who quickly threw him to the ground. He tried to beat Jack, but he was too quick. Jack knew his way around a fight and could dodge a punch like no one’s business.

He got up and tried to help Davey while avoiding a beating from the police.

“Let me help him!” Jack shouted at the officer.

He put his hands up and the officer stopped.

“Let me help him and you can take me. No more fighting.”

“No! Jack!” Davey coughed out, his voice barely registering.

Tears ran down his face.

Before the officer could decide. A gunshot rang out.

“NO!” Davey screamed.

Everyone who was left standing ran.

More gunshots filled the air and bodies dropped like flies.

Jack’s knees buckled as he fell to the ground.

He looked down at his chest. He put his fingers over the bleeding hole. More tears came out as his eyes met Davey’s.

“Davey...I-I’m sorry. I...l-love...you.”

Jack fell face down on the ground.

His blood poured out onto the street.

The officer that beat Davey had remorse in his eyes.

He had a job to do, but he couldn’t stand for what was happening. He didn’t want it to end like this. This boy needed medical help. He couldn’t live with the death of a young boy on his conscious. He tried to pick up Davey but he refused.

“Sir! We need to get you help!”

“No! Leave me here to die! Isn’t that what you all want?”

Davey coughed out more blood and tears.

His breathing shallowed and slowly came to a stop.

Another officer came and ushered everyone away. They had to keep up with the job and not be distracted.

The two boys laid there on the street.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

They were supposed to win the fight.

They were supposed to be equally and fairly treated.

They were supposed to be together.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

They weren’t supposed to lose.

They weren’t supposed to make things worse.

They weren’t supposed to die.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

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