#i DID hear queer used as slur against me. i DID get bullied with it. i DID hear a lot of shit said | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lambourngb · 4 years

Text

This Hard Lie

Fic prompt: “Just trust me.”

THIS HARD LIE follows THIS HARD TOWN an AU that explores what Michael’s life might change if Alex hadn’t joined the Air Force. It’s not necessarily an easy rosy life . This part includes the following warnings : Kyle/Michael, sexual content, a homophobic slur directed at Michael by an OC, Michael’s cynicism about the US military and some more plot musings. This is finished in full on AO3.

***

[UNDER the cut because it starts NSFW]

There was something intensely meditative about sucking cock for Michael.

Opening his mouth wide past comfort into an ache of effort, the firm press on his palate mixing with the surge of salt on his tongue, the mess of saliva and pre-cum smearing sloppily over his face as he dropped into a state where listening to his partner’s enjoyment was the only thing that registered. The world slipped away as he took measured breaths, his mind finally quiet, until all that was left was Michael being good.

Michael could just be a vessel to fill with pleasure instead of pain.

Normally skating his hand down to gently squeeze and massage his partner’s testicles was enough to get that hitched-curse and uncontrolled jerk in his mouth that signaled an impending orgasm. The draw and shiver of warm pliant skin before the warm, thick release in his mouth, except that was not happening.

After a firm swipe of his tongue against the slit, rubbing against the edge of the frenulum, another foolproof trick in his experience that garnered nothing more than a sigh and an absent clutch of the hand on the back of his neck, Michael pulled away abruptly to stare up at Kyle Valenti’s face.

“Wait, why’d you stop?”

Michael wiped his mouth with the back of his hand rocking back on his heels, his voice rough from his activities, “‘Cause you don’t seem to be into this? Which I gotta admit, that’s a mood killer for me and slightly hurtful to my pride.”

Instead of arguing with Michael over his observation, Kyle sighed guilty and shifted to pull up his lightweight shorts over his erection, signalling the close of the encounter. “Sorry, you know you’re great at that, it’s me. My brain,” he gestured to his head with a twirling motion with his long-skilled surgeon hands.

Michael couldn’t help but follow the motion with interest, he had always been a sucker for a set of strong, confident hands.

Alex had hands like that.

Fuck, Michael pushed that thought away like he did every time it slipped in uninvited and collapsed next to Kyle on his expensive leather couch. It’s been two years since Michael’s last glimpse of Alex, no contact from him outside of the impersonal birthday and holiday cards that had begun after Michael mailed his ‘I’m sorry I dropped in your life’ letter. They’ve officially been apart longer than they were together and still Michael couldn’t stop thinking of Alex daily.

Perhaps Kyle wasn’t the only one distracted tonight.

“Listen, I won’t bore you with the details and break our agreement here,” Kyle continued, knocking his shoulder against Michael’s. “I can still do you here-”

“‘Do me’, so romantic, Valenti. I think I’ll pass on getting a disinterested handjob, thanks.” Michael rolled his eyes at the offer and reached for the bottle of water from the coffee table to swish around his mouth before swallowing for effect.

It was Kyle’s turn to roll his eyes but fondly. “I could give you an absent-minded blowjob instead?”

Their eyes met. Kyle lifted his well-groomed eyebrow as Michael pretended to be seriously tempted with a stroke of his stubbled jaw in turn before they both broke and started to laugh helplessly.

If someone had told a seventeen-year-old Michael that one day he would be laughing with Kyle Valenti in his high-end, ultra modern condo after a failed conclusion to a ‘U up?’ text, well he probably would have been interested in the type of pharmaceutical high that would have made that possible. Hell, the Michael of a year ago wouldn’t have believed it either but that was before he met the post-med school Kyle that returned home to Roswell.

It had started one night at the Wild Pony, where Michael frequented more and more for the scraps of news about Alex from Maria. A practice she did her best to discourage, repeating her policy of ‘I don’t play messenger between exes’, which had given Michael hope that maybe Alex had asked about him. He had been one beer in, contemplating a second when Jake Frederick’s sneer had interrupted.

“I hear they’re finally opening a place that caters just for the fags in town.”

That word, not unfamiliar to Michael in Roswell, brought his shoulders up to his ears. Its ugliness brought back so many memories of how it was whispered, spat, scrawled, or just strongly implied whenever Michael and Alex had ventured outside the safety zone of the Crashdown or their own four walls. The Wild Pony once Maria had bought it was eventually added to the list, though some patrons still thought otherwise.

On cue, Maria’s voice barked from behind the bar, “Jake, you use that word again in here and you’re banned for life!”

There was a titter of amusement as Jake’s crowd of admirers teased him for the call out, before an artificial apology was offered in return. After a moment though, Michael could hear him perfectly well pick up his conversation, “it’ll be wall to wall fake wigs and limp wrists there, probably playing nothin’ but Alex Manes’s shitty music.”

The laughter echoed, and Michael started to reach for his wallet to pay for his beer. It was clear that tonight’s entertainment was focused on Michael. He thought at this point, without Jesse Manes drumming up hate for his son, that these bullies would finally move on to something new. Unimaginative pricks.

“Hey Guerin, you off to join your people at that gay bar?” Jake called, noticing Michael’s departure. “Gonna find yourself someone new to ruin now that your boy left you?”

Closing his eyes as he swept his hat over his curls, Michael said a silent apology to 17-year-old Alex for breaking his promise on violence. He turned, noting a few new faces gathered at the table, probably guys from the base with their short haircuts, along with a silent Wyatt Long. For all of Wyatt’s racist blustering, Michael knew he had a queer cousin in Austin. Still, Michael pasted a bright and fake smile, “those are my people at Planet 7, Jake, but how many times do I have to tell you? I’m not gay.”

“My mistake, buddy. Must have been all the cocksucking you do that threw me off.”

Michael laughed harshly, ignoring the movement in his peripheral, and stepped closer, his smile growing darker, “I’m bisexual, which means, not only will I feed you my dick, Jakey, but I’ll give it to your sister too. Just not at the same time. Unless you’re into that sort of thing? You look like your parents were into it…”

The slam of chairs falling backward as Jake jumped to his feet at the insult. After that it was more blurs of movement, jostling, and chaos as Maria shouted in the background about the police while Michael traded punches indiscriminately. At one point he realized he had help against his back, as the fight spilled outside into the cold, raw New Mexico night.

Dark spiked hair, a nice set of shoulders that gave Michael an inch or two of height advantage was all he could register in the melee. It wasn’t until the breaking of glass that was shortly echoed by the boom of a shotgun that the fight dropped into stillness and Michael recognized his unsolicited ally as Kyle Valenti.

Maria stood next to the door of the Wild Pony as a lone siren picked up in the background, “All right you assholes, you’re all out of here. Drop your weapons and fucking leave before I have the sheriff lock all of you up!”

“Gotta admit, you’re kind of the last person I expected to be fighting a bigot,” Michael commented, dabbing at a fiercely bleeding cut on his eyebrow. “Kinda remember it the other way around in high school.”

Kyle smiled humorlessly as he caught his breath, grabbing Michael’s shoulder to pull him away from the bar toward the parking lot as the sirens picked up volume. “Well, I remember you as being some sort of secret genius in high school. Taking on five guys seems kind of dumb.”

“It was just four guys, Wyatt wasn’t gonna involve himself or else Maria would have called his uncle and aunt on him.”

“Oh well, if it was just four guys, I should have stayed at the bar, I wasn’t finished with my drink yet,” Kyle quipped sarcastically, as he kept pulling Michael through the parked cars. “You’re welcome by the way.”

“Fuck off, I didn’t ask for help-” He shook off Kyle’s hand, his previous pliancy in following Kyle at an end as he bristled with indignation. Whatever strange amnesia over what a dick Kyle Valenti was in general and to Alex in particular passed at the prod for gratitude. “And my damn truck is over there-”

“Can you even see out of that eye? Yeah, I didn’t think so,” Kyle answered for him and dug out a pair of keys from his pocket as an expensive sounding unlocking chirp echoed. Of course. The dark blue BMW in the sea of modest pick up trucks and domestic sedans was his. At least it wasn’t the bright red Camaro from graduation, that car had too many associations with it for Michael. The hatch popped open on the X1, Kyle leaned in to pull out a towel to toss to Michael. “I’ve got my bag here and I could use the practice in sutures, so?”

Normally the idea of a doctor touching him at all was enough to instill a mix of dread and panic, but Michael didn’t see anything in Kyle’s face other than genuine concern mixed with exasperation. The open air of the parking lot with police on the way seemed like a bad idea. “All right, free medical care is hard to turn down, but I don’t want your dad arresting me, so can we-”

“Your place, it is.” And then as they drove in silence, with Michael still holding the towel against his cut, Kyle spoke gently in the dark. “I was a dick in high school, I was even a dick in college. But then some things changed for me, um, so I’m glad Roswell is getting a gay bar.”

“No, no, high school homophobe does not come out as gay, not happening, no way-”

“No not gay,” Kyle cut his eyes over to the passenger seat, giving Michael a quick up-and-down appraisal. “Just learned the package isn’t really that important to me. I like sex. Med school was a small pool of sleep-deprived, competitive people and I stopped caring if they had a dick or not. I also learned a lot about anatomy.”

The appraising look, the hint of good-natured humor in Kyle’s eyes, and his suggestive words were all enough to push Michael to grunt, “changed my mind, your place instead.” He never took anyone back to his Airstream as a rule.

And that was the beginning of Michael’s almost-friends, only-benefits relationship with Kyle Valenti. It revolved around those unsaid rules from the first night, only at Kyle’s condo, and rarely did they engage in anything more substantive than talk about sports or the general stupidity of Roswell. The sex was easy, the conversation stayed light enough to fill the gaps of loneliness, and if Michael had been a different species, he might have considered it the start of something more permanent.

If only Max had been wrong. If only Michael hadn’t fallen in love with Alex as a teenager. The first year after Alex left had been devoted to trying to make it on his own financially and getting the down payment together for the Airstream. The next year he had tortured himself with believing that now that Alex was successful, he’d come back to Roswell, to him. Then after Isobel’s wedding and that trip east, Michael had to accept the truth.

Dating in the years since, women and the occasional out man, had changed nothing for Michael. It was still Alex filling his every odd thought, and especially his fantasies at night. Doomed indeed as Max warned him, to drift through life enjoying the surface companionship of others but never anything more.

The reminder of what he did have currently, good sex and the ability to laugh with someone, loosened some of the private rules that Michael had had kept to with Kyle. “So, I mean, you don’t have to, but if you want to talk about what’s on your mind, you can.” Michael tipped his head back against the couch to meet Kyle’s surprised expression. “It would make me feel better about my sexual prowess, okay? You nodding off during a blowjob hurts man.”

“Well, as long as it makes you feel better,” Kyle teased sarcastically before accepting the offer made. “I was thinking about my dad.”

“Kinky, but gross, dude.”

“Ha ha, funny.”

“Sorry, sorry, that was wide open.” Michael nudged his shoulder more seriously, “what about your dad?”

“He’s been acting weird lately. I actually thought he was drinking again,” Kyle waived his hand restlessly, “it’s an open secret my dad has been on and off the wagon. Most cops have a close relationship with booze.”

The Roswell circle of repeated gossipry was wide enough to reach Sanders, customers often needing to make some sort of conversation as they waited, so Michael was pretty familiar with the rumors about Jim Valenti. Most of them he ignored, like the infidelity whispers, because he could still remember the man showing up to Mimi Deluca’s house to offer Alex that first steady job in the face of Jesse’s smear campaign. An act that Jesse had retaliated by sponsoring a challenger to the next year’s sheriff’s race.

For a police officer, Michael cut Jim Valenti some slack in the character department. He also wasn’t a bad boss according to Max, though his brother’s opinion didn’t sway Michael as far as Jim’s act of kindness to Alex had.

“You said you thought he was drinking again, but he’s not?”

“Well, my other suspicion was he was cheating on my mom.” Kyle met Michael’s concerned glance with a tired, dark smile. “Yeah, not a great thought to have, but he’s been disappearing a lot. Acting paranoid too, he always carries but I noticed he kept his sidearm on him during Sunday dinner. Like he’s afraid someone is going to show up and attack him.”

“You think he was cheating with someone else who was married?”

“I can’t really figure out what’s going on with him, other than he’s lying. But I followed him today, and he didn’t go to work, he drove a hundred miles north.”

Michael blinked in reluctant admiration, “I guess you pick up stuff with two cops as parents.” He racked his brain for something more to say, but his conversational skills had never been gifted to begin with outside of charming someone into bed. “Um, in my experience, cheaters stay close to home. Like coworker, favorite waitress, etc. it’s definitely weird for your dad to drive that far for a little something on the side.”

“That’s the thing, he’s all secretive but it's over something nostalgic. I followed him to some old prison my grandfather worked at in the 60s called Caulfield. It’s been shut down for years. I can’t figure it out, and short of asking him directly I doubt I will.” Kyle shook his head again before inching closer to Michael on the couch, with a slow growing knowing smile, “So now you know where my head was when-“

“When I was trying to give you head?” Michael snarked playfully, picking up the change in mood easily. Apparently talking it out loud had released whatever mental block Kyle had been struggling with before. The moment reminded him of how he used to hold Alex at night, listening to him vent over the various customers in his day before he was able to wind down enough to enjoy any intimate touch.

Fuck. He was thinking about Alex again.

This time he let Kyle pulling him into a kiss distract him fully from the renewed spiral of remembrance. His body warmed slowly as Michael shut down his brain from wandering east again to Nashville.

***

“Your soul and your heart have been in such opposition,” Mimi murmured, holding Michael’s palm between hers as she gave him a reading at the Wild Pony. It was his way of distracting her while Maria gently soothed two customers that had received a deep lecture about the sins on their souls from her mother. To be fair, Michael could tell from their demeanor and close cut hair that each of them had served or were actively serving in the military, so Mimi Deluca probably wasn’t too far wrong from the mark with her lecture. “I know you’re a traveler, child, but this pull north and east could tear you in two.”

“My heart hasn’t been mine for a while,” Michael replied truthfully. Once he and Alex had moved in with one another, the small family of outcasts with Alex, Maria and Mimi had expanded to include him for a while. And once upon a time it had boasted more members like Rosa and Liz, but his sister’s actions had trimmed those branches in one way or another.

“That’s the east, and while it travels ever closer to you, you’ll never get that back. But north though, if you follow that path, perhaps your soul will find peace.”

“Not sure what I’d do with peace.”

“Maybe pay your bar tab once in a while?” Maria injected as she moved back behind the bar with a gentle hand on her mother’s shoulder. “And not starting a fight in my bar would also be a good start.”

“Come on, Deluca, I have been a very good boy since that last go-around Jake. I swear that kid is a closet case with how badly he seems to want me to lay hands on him,” Michael protested weakly. Truly he had only bent his old promise to Alex a handful of times in the last year and all of them because the Fredrickson kid had brought up Alex in some way. The comments about his job, clothes, and cheap taste in booze could all be ignored, but one word about Alex’s music or success and the gloves came off.

“Maria! Don’t be so mean to Michael, his people aren’t designed to live like this, divided in two.”

Despite the chill from Mimi’s words, Michael knew that Maria didn’t take her mother’s talk too seriously with how often she peppered her premonitions with nineties alien blockbuster movies. She always interpreted her mother’s words as being a romantic metaphor about a lost love.

Suddenly Mimi straightened, looking over Michael’s shoulder. “I guess good can come from evil dying.”

In the mirror over the bar, he caught sight of what Mimi saw. A grip closed over his heart, squeezing it until the fluttering motion ceased under the force as he watched Alex Manes move confidently through the crowd toward the front where Michael was with Maria. His head was shaved close up the back of his head, leaving a long, silky dark fringe over one eye and his face was bare of makeup and piercings. The black shirt sporting long sleeves made of crisscrossed fabric over a pair of tight black jeans looked more at home on Rodeo Drive than Roswell but the completely indifferent look on Alex’s face showed he didn’t care about fitting in to the locals bar.

Fuck it was so quintessentially Alex’s attitude from high school, before the shed, that Michael was having trouble remembering it had been at least six years.

“Alex Manes, in my bar!” Maria squealed, vaulting herself over the bar in one smooth motion to cross the distance to throw herself into his arms.

Michael’s mouth was dry as he picked up his drink to take a sip, feeling awkward and out of place. Should he offer his hand to shake? A hug? Could he pretend to be European and kiss Alex’s cheeks? What were the rules on an ex that he traded Hallmark cards with now?

A soft cool touch pulling him back from his spiraling thoughts to look up into Mimi Deluca’s clear and focused gaze, “he sings in the wrong key every night, but you know his song. You’re a good boy, you’re not rotten inside like your sister.”

Before he could do more than blink, Alex was suddenly next to them, looking at Mimi’s hand covering his curiously before smiling at Michael. “I would have thought you’d be tired of this place, after all those nights waiting for me to finish my shift?”

“Alex,” Michael took a deep breath, floundering for something more than the obvious, “you’re here. In Roswell.”

“It wasn’t really my idea,” Alex admitted gently, before taking a seat next to him. He reached smoothly for Michael’s glass to steal a drink from before making a face. “Oh man, it’s been a long time since I’ve had Crown Royal.” He fished out an expensive wallet to pull a crisp hundred dollar bill from a stack to lay on the bar, “Maria, please rescue him from this with some good tequila.”

Mimi gave Michael a significant look of encouragement before interjecting, “Maria, honey you should let these two get reacquainted, Alex isn’t going anywhere for a while. Jesse is dying, but he’s not dying today or even tomorrow.”

Michael jerked his head toward Alex, “that’s why you’re here? It’s your dad?”

A small smile of satisfaction twitched over Alex’s mouth before he nodded in confirmation, “Brain tumor. Doctor says he might have a month, maybe less. I’m only here because my brother threatened to go to the press if I didn’t show and my agent is worried about how that would look.”

“Oh.” Michael picked up his fresh drink, a high end alcohol he could have never dreamed of ordering for himself, out of a need to do something with his hands to keep from reaching out to touch Alex. “If I said that sucks for you that he’s dying, I’d be lying, but I’m glad you’re here.”

“Yeah, it’s good to see you too, Michael.” Alex clinked his glass against Michael’s softly, “I’ve been back for a couple of days, this was the first time I could get away actually. The movies all lied you know, cancer isn’t this quiet death. My dad is ranting and raving all night long, about aliens, about being murdered, about all sorts of random shit about Roswell and the crash and hands that kill. Your name has kept coming up too. I should record it and put it on youtube, make him famous too.”

***

#guerinweek20 #mgweek20 #malex #malex fic #guerenti #the lost decade #au after the shed #there will be a happy ending #angst first #pining idiots in love #roswell new mexico

60 notes · View notes

writing-hound · 4 years

Photo

Tiniest glint of Hope:

Reading: Daddy!Protective!Pansexual!Hamish Duke X Little!Trans!Reader (FTM)

Warnings: Hard/Soft Core Fluff | Profanity | Soft Violence | Slurs (Fag, Queer, Etc.) |

Summary: Hamish and Y/N Have never met before in their life. Maybe in class, but that doesn't really count considering he is your professor. You liked Professor Duke in a way that isn't appropriate for school. But who's to judge you? As the weeks went by, A few male students have been picking on you; they were hearing rumors that you were a girl and now wanting to be a guy. What happens when they get too physical?

Word Count: 2443 words

Abbreviations: Y/N = Your Name | Y/E/C = Your Eye Color | E/C Eye Color | Y/L/N = Your Last Name

A/N: If you want more content, comment below! I love to hear from you guys!! I might make another part to this, so watch out for it in the near future!!

I have been in this class for a while now. This was Ethics, one of the classes I just got signed up for because I had some free room in my schedule. And boy was it the best decision of my life. The only problem was that there were a couple of boys in the class who liked to harass me. One time they even tried lifting up my shirt to see if I had tits. Which I don't, since my parents saved up for me to have top surgery.

Best day of my life.

Now, I sit in Ethics, listening to Professor Duke talk about things I don't really understand, but I jot down the notes anyways. When The professor turned around to write something on the white-board, something was thrown at me. It hit me on the left side of my head and I gave a very low, very quiet growl out of reaction.

What was their problem? I thought as I picked up the waded piece of paper and read it.

Dear Loser, You will never be a guy. Signed, real guys.

I rolled my eyes and crumpled it up again, glaring at the small group of boys that are a few tables away. That made them all laugh.

"Ms.- er, Mr. Y/L/N? Something you want to share with the class?" Professor Duke asked, his face showing mild curiosity and concern. I shook my head. "No," I said in a quiet voice. I never liked being called on, especially in class.

Professor Duke gave a shrug, and resumed his lecture. I sulked in my seat until the bell rang for class to be over. As soon as it did, I was up and out of my seat and heading for the door. When I reached the hallway, I looked around to see if anyone was there.

Coast being clear, I leaned against the wall for physical and emotional support. I wanted to cry. It was too much. The paper was still clutched in my shaking hand as I thought about it. And the more I thought about it, the more angrier and pissed off I got.

Suddenly, hands were on me. Boisterous laughter carried through the halls as I was dragged into the boys bathroom and shoved up against one of the walls. Whoever it was had ahold of my shirt and my glasses were knocked off, making the figures fuzzy.

But I can only imagine who it could be, based on drowning in cheap cologne and testosterone. I tried to scream, but a hand was over my mouth.

"Scream and you'll get hurt," One said gruffly.

"Hey, boys, shall we see if this 'man' has tits?" The one holding me asked the others. I began to cry as I tried to kick at my captor. I bit the boys' hand, and he gave a yelp as he drew it back out of reaction. This gave me enough time to give out a scream before the boy popped me in the face with his palm. When he did that, I felt my nose bleed, it running down my 'Doctor Who' shirt. By this time I was hyperventilating, my lungs refusing to bring in air.

I needed my inhaler.

"What did I fucking tell you, you fag?" the boy hissed in my ear. "Fucking queers thinking they can do whatever they want, and whoever they want-" The boy raised his fist this time, intending on hitting me, but was stopped as the bathroom door opened. I didn't see anything except a blurry figure, but the voice sounded so familiar.

"What's going on in here, boys?" Professor Duke asked. "I really hope you're not picking on Y/N."

The boy holding me dropped me real fast. "No, we were just showing this fa- I mean, we were talking to Y/N ," He said. I took a deep breath as they backed away and past the Professor.

As they left the bathroom, Professor Duke rushed over to me where I was heavily leaning on the wall trying to bring air into my lungs. I fumbled for my backpack, trying to get my inhaler out, but my hands were shaking too hard for me to grab ahold of anything. My shallow breaths quickened as I tried to breath, fear taking hold of me and making my breathing worse.

I'm gonna die.

Professor Duke's hands found mine as he looked at me. "Hey, it's okay," He said quietly, taking my bag and sifting through it to find my inhaler. Once he found it he helped me use it, taking two deep breaths.

"T-thank you, Professor D-Duke," I stuttered out, my heart beginning to stop racing in panic. The professor gave a shrug. "It was nothing," He said, giving a sweet smile. "Did you need me to walk you to. . . somewhere?" He asked.

"No, i-it's fine-" I cut myself off as I heard the bathroom door open. I jumped at the sudden noise, flinching. Professor Duke noticed and faced the person who was there, standing in front of me protectively.

"Oh, hey Hamish," The person said. He was tall, had dark, short hair, and had that goofy aura around him. Other than that, he was a blur without my glasses. This person obviously knew him well enough to be on a first name basis.

What if he's gay? The thought came fully formed in my head, and I pondered it.

"Hey, Randall," Professor Duke said, which I almost missed. "What are you doing in the bathroom?" Randall asked. "Isn't it a bit too, unsavvy for your taste?" He joked.

Obviously Randall hadn't seen me yet, considering how small I am compared to Professor Duke. "Um, I was helping out Y/N. Some guys took her- I mean, them in here to do... I don't know what," He replied, stepping out of the way so this Randall person could see me. Randall's eyes widened as they saw me.

"Dude, you gotta wash your face," Randall said, stating the obvious.

"Thanks, Sherlock," I mumbled sarcastically. "Anyone seen my glasses? They were knocked off and I can't really see without them," I asked the two. Both guys started to look. Professor Duke found them outside of the bathroom on the ground. "Here," he said gently, holding them up for me to take the gold blurry shape I knew was my glasses. My glasses looked like those ones my grandparents wore, and when I saw them in gold, I had to take them. I didn't care how I looked, I loved them that much.

Finally being able to see, I looked at both my Professor and his friend Randall. Randall was kind of cute, in that goofy, puppy sort of way.

I turned around and began to clean myself up. I first did my nose, which didn't take long, and then I started to wipe the blood off of my shirt.

"You guys don't have to be here," I said, not looking at them, but through the mirror. "Thank you for coming to my aide, Profe-" I was cut off by Professor Duke. "Please, call me Hamish," he said.

"Okay, Hamish, thanks for coming to my aide, but you don't have to be here puppy guarding me." I finished, not looking up and focusing on my shirt.

Hamish and Randall both gave a laugh. Once it had died down, Randall said, "Let Ham take you home, it will be much safer for you,"

Hamish gave Randall a look of 'why did you do that?' and looked back at me. I could have sworn there was a glitter off hope in his eyes.

I gave it some thought. I want him to walk me home, but at the same time it would be a big waste of time for him...

"Ah, what the hell," I finally said. "You can walk me home, I guess," I almost didn't catch the smirk that Randall gave Hamish, and in return, Hamish's glare. I gave it no thought as I grabbed my bag, tossing my inhaler into it, and walked out of the bathroom with both boys in tow behind me.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

On the walk to my housing, things were quiet.

"If you don't want to walk me home, I get it, you can leave," I said, anxious thoughts making me think I am a waste of time. Hamish stopped, causing me to stop as well. I looked over at him.

"Hey, I want to do this. If I didn't, trust me, you'll know," Hamish said. We continued walking in silence, until this time, he broke it.

"Do you always get bullied like that?" Hamish asked.

"Yeah, most times though it's notes, rude comments, or drawings. It was never like that, though." I responded. "That was a first," I joked uneasily.

"What kind of notes? Like the one today you were reading in class?" He asked, this time there was a hint of a growl. Weird.

"Yeah, I still have it for some reason-" I pulled out the wade of paper and handed it to Hamish, our hands brushing for a moment. He read it and as he did, his hands curled into fists. "Fucking idiots," he seemed to growl.

I saw his eyes flash a light blue, then back to his regular blue-grey. I think I'm smoking too much weed, I thought as I quickly looked away. "How long has this been going on?" Hamish asked, crumpling the paper in his fists.

"For a few weeks now. It was whenever those morons heard that I had gotten top surgery-" I cut myself off. "I don't think you really want to hear about it," I mumbled, looking away and picking up my pace.

Hamish easily caught up to me, his long legs eating up the distance fairly easy. "No, I asked. What's 'top surgery'?" He asked, genuinely curious.

"Well, uh, top surgery is when a, um, girl like myself doesn't want breasts anymore-" I gave a sigh. "I'm bad at explaining things," I said. "It's like... reconstructing your chest to accommodate for what you want," I said, looking down at my shoes.

"I think I got it," Hamish said. "You don't want to be a girl anymore, right?" He asked. I gave him a nod. "Yeah. It never really felt right," I said, giving a smile. "I don't really care what people call me really, if they knew me as a girl before, and they slip up and call me 'her' or 'she', I wouldn't care. It's just how people disrespect me, like those boys, that bothers me," I said.

Hamish looked at me with soft eyes. "I promise that it will never happen again," I scoffed. "What will you do? Walk me everywhere?" I asked, jokingly. "I don't think that would be wise, considering that you are a teacher and all, kids will start talking,"

"Let them talk then," Hamish said, strolling to a stop. I stopped in front of him. "Why do you care so much about me anyways?"

Hamish seemed torn in telling me something. He finally gave a sigh, opening his mouth. "Well," He started slowly. "What if-" He cut himself off and rethought what he was gonna say. "What if I liked you?"

"Are we speaking hypothetically? Or reality?" I asked. "Cause I highly doubt reality," I scoffed. Hamish didn't laugh. "Oh, you're actually serious-" I sat down on a nearby picnic table, looking at the guy in front of me. "What makes you like me? Hypothetically speaking, of course," I added.

"Well," Hamish said, sitting beside me on the picnic table. "I like your quirkiness," he said. "I also like that you are a lover and put people before yourself," I couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah?" I asked, looking at the blond boy sitting beside me.

Hamish gave a nod. "Yeah," he said, looking back at me. "You don't mind that I am trans?" I asked him, our faces inches away from each other.

"No," He whispered just as he closed the gap and kissed me. I was stunned for a minute, thinking that this might be just a dream and I'll wake up. Hamish seemed to notice my hesitance and began to pull away. I quickly pulled him closer and kissed him back. Hamish smiled and we moved our lips in sync with each other. After a moment, we pulled apart.

"Where did that come from?" I asked, not looking at Hamish. He didn't say anything as we both sat there, not knowing what to say, and if we did, not knowing how to say it.

"Would you like to go on a date with me?" Hamish asked. "Like, go out to dinner or get a drink?"

I looked at him with a smile. "Sure, why the fuck not, right?" I said, laughing. We both got up and continued to walk to my place. Halfway there, somehow, we ended up holding hands. As we reached the door, Hamish and I stopped. He faced me as I stood there, not wanting to go inside alone.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye," Hamish murmured softly. I shifted my weight from my right foot to my left awkwardly. "Yeah, I guess so," I said, looking down at my shoes once more.

I felt fingers lift my chin up so I could look Hamish in the eyes. "I also guess this is goodnight," He whispered. I only gave a nod, unable to trust my voice. Hamish bent down and placed his lips on mine softly. My breath hitched as he bit my bottom lip.

I stood there, with my Ethics professor, kissing him goodnight. What a wild thing to think about, I thought as I kissed him back. Pulling away, I looked into his blue-grey eyes as he looked into my Y/E/C eyes.

"I'll, uh, see you tomorrow, Hamish," I said, backing up and running into the wall with my back. I dug through my pocket and got out my keys. I swiftly got them in and unlocked the door while Hamish stood there watching with an amused look. I walked inside, but turned around and gave him a smile.

"Good night, Y/N," Hamish said in response as I looked at him. He turned and walked away, so I closed my door. I hit my back against it, sliding down the grain of the wood as I thought about today's events. Did I really kiss Hamish? I asked myself, touching my lips with the tips of my fingers.

I gave a squeal in delight as I sat there.

I kissed Hamish Duke.

It finally dawned on me that he might actually feel the same way as I feel about him.

#hamish duke #hamish #the order #theorder #the order netflix #love #transman #needmorehamish

11 notes · View notes

spooky-mister · 4 years

Text

Broken Memories - Kevin x Ian

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Hey-

So-

I wrote another thing lmao.

Don’t expect me to update this fast all the time - I just have a lot of inspiration right now, okay?

Anyways

Zzzoverthinkzzz gave me the idea of writing Kevin and Ian’s first kiss so I came up with this angst.

Enjoy-

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Broken Memories

Fandom: Final Destination 3

Paring: Kevin Fischer x Ian McKinley

Word count: 2,969

Plot: Ian remembers the first time he kissed a boy.

Potential triggers: Two uses of homophobic slurs, bullying.

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

Whenever Ian McKinley was by himself, his mind liked to wander. He had no real control over what he settled on - the things he'd read, school work, future plans - but least of all, old, broken memories. As soon as his past four years at the hellscape they called McKinley High School reared their ugly head, he would try to shut down into a different distraction as soon as possible. But not today.

As he sat with his hands taut and white-fisted against the steering wheel of his beaten, beige van, waiting for Wendy Christensen and Kevin Fischer to walk out of the McKinley Police Station, his mind was, in fact, starting to wander. It was almost welcome. After the trauma of losing his only friend in this entire world, he would have welcomed any embarrassing thought his brain could have pushed to the surface. Any thought but this one.

He blinked his eyes tight shut and he was there. In his bedroom four years ago. The room looked bigger without his current dark grey paint across the walls but posters still pealed from them. His black comforter was strewn diagonal and messy across his bed but his numerous books were stacked neat.

And he was there.

Kevin Fischer.

Kevin stood in Ian's room, reading the spines of the books and cautiously admiring the posters - pointing out in clear excitement when he saw something he recognised. Then the younger Kevin turned back to Ian in all of his sun-kissed, Hollywood heart-throb glory. And he smiled.

Oh, shit.

___________________________________

Ian's first week at McKinley High School had been less than ideal. Not only did he have to deal with his own name working against him when it came to childish name-calling and insults, but he stood out like a sore thumb - tight, black jeans and heavy, dark sweaters juxtaposing against the colour palette of blue jeans and tank tops the rest of the school seemed to sport. He didn't care too much. He would rather have a single independent thought through high school over conforming to the rest of the drones.

Still, his independence from the rest of the kids in his academic year didn't come without a share of ostracism directed at himself and Erin - the only other like-minded individual in the hive-mind. The social neglect ranged anywhere from apathy to targeted attacks. Lewis Romero shouldering him hard into lockers as he passed him in the hallway. Ashley and Ashlyn whispering and laughing about him and Erin in classes. Colourful insults such as 'Fag' and ‘Fucking Queer’ thrown at him as he sat in the courtyard or walked to class. The organised barrage seemed to come from all angles. Except for one.

Kevin Fischer was very popular and very well-liked. He looked like he had just walked out of an after-school special and girls seemed to gravitate to him. Still, he was surprisingly intelligent and considerate. He seemed above the repetitive drivel of high school despite having the sense of humour of a sleazy, late-night talk show host. Kevin never went out of his way to hurt Ian. He didn't join in or laugh at the name-calling. In contrast, sometimes he would even sit with Ian to the chagrin of the rest of Kevin's clique. They'd talk about movies and school work and hell, maybe Ian even saw Kevin as a friend. Perhaps that was why he felt comfortable enough to invite Kevin to his house.

It had felt like less of a good idea when Kevin was actually there.

Ian lingered in the corner of his bedroom as he watched Kevin explore his belongings, trying to repress his discomfort. He almost felt sick watching Kevin run his soft fingertips across the spines of his books. Nauseous. His head felt as if it had been stuffed up with cotton, muffling all logical thought. He didn't quite understand what was happening to him. Maybe he should send Kevin home and get some rest? No. For some reason that felt so much worse.

"Oh, have you read this?" Kevin's voice clawed him back to reality. The jock was holding a book he'd pulled away from Ian's shelf in one hand and presenting the cover to Ian with a smile. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Ian nodded absently. Of course he'd read it. "I have to read it this year for Ms. Brook's English class," Kevin explained, glancing down at the book and leafing through carefully. When Ian didn't respond, Kevin frowned and glanced back over to him. "...You okay, man?"

A quiet confirmation hitched in Ian's throat as he stared back at Kevin. The light spilling in through his open window hit Kevin almost perfectly - surreal as a dream. What was wrong with him? He didn't like boys. Sure, the kids at school would throw homophobic insults over him like confetti, but he wasn't actually into that crap. So... Why did Kevin look so good? Why did Kevin's voice make him feel like his feet weren't touching the floor?

"I'm fine," He finally managed, shifting back to perch on the edge of his bed. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight. "Just... A little nauseous. I'll be fine."

He noticed Kevin's expression crease with concern, glancing away when Kevin set the book back in place and walked over to him. No, don't come closer. Kevin was beside him now, moving to sit next to Ian on top of the sheets. Ian heard the bed creak at Kevin's weight - all muscle - and quickly caught himself as the change almost threw him against Kevin's bicep. Now that Kevin was so close, Ian could smell the axe body spray clinging to Kevin's hoodie. It wasn't doing anything to help clear his head.

"You sure about that?" Kevin soothed in a calm, kind voice, blue eyes searching Ian's pallid face. Ian did his best to avoid eye contact. "You're looking pretty pale, Ian. Maybe... Maybe you should get some rest. We can hang out another day."

"No," Ian spoke up a little too quickly, head turning up towards Kevin. He could see the fresh, startled expression on Kevin's face. He spoke again, calmer this time. "No. I mean it - I'm fine." Please don't go.

Kevin was silent for a moment before sighing and nodding slowly. "Okay. Okay, I'm staying. Just tell me if you think you're going to puke or something, okay?" A faint smirk emphasised Kevin's joke. Ian mustered the normality to roll his eyes, shoving Kevin as the taller boy laughed. Kevin let out a sigh, crashing back onto Ian's bed before propping himself up on his elbows. "So what do you do for fun?"

Kevin's question fell on deaf ears as Ian tried to stop his eyes exploring up and down Kevin's stretched out body. Damn hormones. Kevin was well-built for his age, muscle swelling on his biceps and abs at the effort to hold the posture. He closed his eyes, eliminating the distraction entirely. "I-I don't know." What kind of an answer was that? There was silence for a moment before the sound of rustling sheets as Kevin returned to his previous sitting position.

"Ian, what's up with you today?" Kevin asked, voice a little more forceful than it had been previously while maintaining its caring edge. Ian blinked his eyes open, turning his head to look across at Kevin. Kevin raised his eyebrows slightly. He'd never seen this look in Ian before. Was it fear? Anxiety? Whatever it was, Ian was definitely uncomfortable with something. He sighed, reaching over and resting a hand on one of Ian's forearms. "You know you can tell me. Right?"

Kevin's touch on his arm was electric. Ian felt himself tense up at the contact, mouth feeling far too dry and - was he shaking? He could have sworn his hands were shaking. His dark eyes connected with Kevin's blue as he edged closer.

And then it happened.

Ian's dry, bitten lips brushed against Kevin's - pink and smooth - gently at first. Barely there. His body edged closer to Kevin's and then they were together, lips tepidly connecting as Ian's eyes fluttered closed. He could feel Kevin's hand jolt away from his arm in shock, fingertips ghosting the skin. Kevin didn't kiss him back but Ian barely noticed, thoughts running wild. He was kissing a boy. He was kissing a boy and he was enjoying it. Was he gay? How long had he been gay? The hurricane swept the inside of his skull as he tilted his head slightly into the kiss, leaning forward as he slowly realised that Kevin was pulling back.

Shit.

Ian relented, breaking away and hesitating to let his eyes fall open. As soon as they did, Ian regretted it. Kevin looked mortified. The jock's eyes were wide and glassy, face pale and contrasting against his kiss-bruised lips. Ian started to wish that he could just melt down into the ground and let it swallow him whole. Kevin pulled his lingering hand back completely, sitting straight as a flagpole as words faltered in his throat.

"I-I'm not..." Kevin started, eyes flitting away from Ian and training down on his hands. "...Gay. I'm not gay, Ian. Sorry if I was... Sending off mixed signals. Or whatever." Ian wanted to die in that moment. Just disappear. Anything to get him out of the personal Hell he'd created in that moment. Kevin noticed the horror in Ian's face and sighed, slowly getting to his feet. "I should... I should probably get home. I'll see you on Monday, McKinley."

McKinley. Kevin didn't call him McKinley. Kevin knew how much he hated the name McKinley.

He glanced up, a cry for Kevin to wait dying on arrival as Kevin sped towards the door of Ian's room, closing it firmly on exit and leaving Ian in total silence. Ian stared at the white-painted wooden door, not daring to move off his bed. He could hear his own heartbeat amplified and rapid inside his ribcage. Without the announcement of even a single quiet sob, Ian felt a tear track slowly down his smooth skin. He didn't know what else to do, so he pulled his legs up onto his bed, curled into a ball, and let himself cry until his head ached and throbbed.

What the fuck had he done?

___________________________________

Released from the memory and back behind the wheel of his van, Ian reached a hand to his face to brush away threatening tears. That was a memory he hadn't visited for a long time and he was starting to remember why. Fuck, he'd been such an idiot. No wonder his friendship with Kevin had deteriorated so quickly. He would still feel that same nausea now when he watched Kevin during gym or when Kevin raised his voice to answer a question in class. It hadn't gotten any better and it had ruined them. He had ruined them.

As if on cue, Kevin Fischer shouldered his way out of the station, head down as he jogged down the front steps in his typical McKinley letterman jacket. Kevin lifted his head once he reached the bottom and glanced around, looking for someone. Ian shrank down in the seat of his van, adjusting the grip on his wheel. He knew that Kevin was likely searching for Wendy Christensen but he couldn't be too careful. He watched as Kevin sighed, the jock turning his attention back towards the front of the station as he made the silent decision to wait.

An annoyingly vocal part of Ian's brain insisted that this could be it. Considering his plans for the Tricentennial later, this could be his last opportunity to talk to Kevin alone. Maybe apologise if an apology was due. Did he want to? No. The reluctance didn't stop him from pulling the van door open and stepping out into the parking lot.

As Ian approached Kevin, hands in his pockets, he found his voice. "Hey," He called, tone measured and flat. "Fischer."

Kevin jumped slightly at the sudden greeting, turning on his heel and frowning when he set eyes on Ian. "McKinley?" Kevin questioned. The name cut deep but Ian doubted if Kevin even realised he was using it, stopping a few feet away from Kevin. He could see Kevin's hesitation. What do you say to someone you hate after they've been through something like this? "Hey... How are you holding up, man?"

Ian narrowed his eyes slightly. 'Man'. Of course Kevin would try to boil this down to some kind of normality. No. He closed his eyes to block the thoughts out. This wasn't about himself or about Erin. "Just drop it," Ian dismissed the conversation entirely. "That's not what I came to talk about." He looked back up to see Kevin's face contort in quiet confusion.

"Okay then," Kevin spoke after a moment of silence, folding his arms and settling into a comfortable posture. "Then what did you come here to talk about?" Was there a right way to phrase this? There was no turning back now and Ian had started to regret approaching Kevin at all. Ian shuffled slightly, drawing in a long breath before deciding to just go for it. What was the worst thing that could happen?

"I was thinking about our old friendship," He started, keeping his voice neutral to keep himself from freaking out. "About how it kind of fell apart... It was because I kissed you, right?" Ian fell quiet, watching discomfort edge onto Kevin's face at the mention of the memory. He had been right. Ian tilted his head with rising annoyance. "Well, I'm sorry if that's what you wanted to hear. Real fucking sorry. It was a mistake, sure, but you had no reason to be such a two-faced asshole about it. Okay? Real shitty move you played there."

Kevin looked over Ian's quiet frustration as he tried to formulate the correct response. This was not what he had expected, but he supposed it had been coming. He thought about that kiss all the time. "It wasn't a mistake," Kevin offered after a while, voice almost too quiet to hear but Ian's frown confirmed it was heard. "And I'm sorry too. You just... You freaked me out, man. You can't just kiss someone like that." He bit the inside of his cheek as Ian looked down, the goth's gaze fixed on the cracks in the stone. Kevin hesitated before reaching a hand out, fingers ghosting over Ian's shoulder as he encouraged the boy to look back at him. "Hey..."

Ian felt Kevin's touch and tensed up. It dragged him straight back into the memory, the same sickness bubbling up inside him. The electricity. He wanted to pull away but he didn't, forcing his gaze back to Kevin instead. "I'm not gay," He spoke, the regular authoritative edge in his voice broken down into something softer. "I'm not." He hesitated to continue, Kevin's gentle blue eyes encouraging the words. "You just make me feel things. Things I don't fully understand and I hate it. I hate not being able to understand."

"You don't have to understand," Kevin shrugged slightly. "I didn't understand it either. I still don't understand why I regretted pulling away from you. I mean, it's been four years. You'd think we'd get a clue by now." He let out a short, breathy laugh to try and lighten the situation but Ian's lack of a response quickly killed it. "But... I am sorry for leaving you like that. I really miss hanging out with you, McKinley."

"Please," Ian muttered, closing his eyes again. "Just... Call me Ian. You know I hate McKinley. I always have." He could feel emotion choking up his insides again, repressed tears threatening as his beaten down voice cracked into a tremble. This was all too much for him. "And I don't understand why you stopped calling me Ian. But you did and I noticed and it hurt and-"

Ian was cut off when Kevin gently cupped his face in warm, calloused hands, pulling him forward into a firm kiss. Kevin's lips were soft and caring against his own, smooth against his rough skin. Ian let his eyes fall closed, releasing a sigh and leaning into the kiss. It was intoxicating, logical thought falling from his brain like water. He felt Kevin's strong arms move to wrap around his waist, his own skinny counterparts finding their place around Kevin's thick neck. He let Kevin control the kiss, dizzy and helpless to stop him. Teeth grazed lightly across his bottom lip and Ian parted them to take things further only for Kevin to move away.

Ian's eyes slid open, glazed as he stared back at Kevin. His skin was hot and flushed, quiet, involuntary pants escaping his lips. He saw Kevin smile, the jock peppering one last kiss to Ian's trembling lips before letting go of him.

"I'm pretty sure I owed you that," Kevin spoke up as Ian slowly released his neck. "...Ian." Kevin watched as a plethora of emotions flickered across Ian's stunned features, his smirk growing into a grin as he pulled the goth close to his chest in a crushing hug. Ian didn't seem to mind, eyes closed as his face pressed against Kevin's firm, toned shoulder.

The door of the police station pushed open behind them, Wendy slipping out and making her way down a few of the long stone steps before seeing the boys and freezing in place. She didn't know what to say. What was she supposed to say?

Despite everything, she managed a smile. She dodged past them in silence and made her way to her car, pulling out her phone and texting for Kevin to call her later. She didn't have the heart to interrupt the boys now. This seemed long overdue.

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

That’s it.

Hope you managed to enjoy it lmao

----- ----- ----- ----- -----

#Kevin fischer #ian mckinley #i can't stop #help #kevin x ian #ian x kevin #fd3 #final destination #kevian #fan fic #fan fiction #first kiss #angst #fluff #they're so cute #a h h #why do you write like you're running out of time?

18 notes · View notes

mitchsmarners · 5 years

Text

i took too many hit off this memory (i need to come down)

pairing: eddie kaspbrak/richie tozier [reddie] rating: explicit chapter warnings: q slur, internalized homophobia, sexual content, word count: 3,829 chapter count: 2 of ? summary: Eddie Kaspbrak doesn't remember much from his childhood. He doesn't really know he doesn't remember. He also doesn't know why he's so drawn this terrible comedian on tv, but when Eddie runs into him in a bar, and they spend the night together, Eddie's life is changed forever. It's finally back on track- and he doesn't know anything about it

read on ao3. moodboard by @ripeddiekaspbrak

perma taglist: @jwilliambyers, @eddiecare, @eddiekabsprak @ripeddiekaspbrak, @appojoos, @sloppybitchrich, @aizeninlefox, @chaotickaspbrak, @eddiefuckinkaspbrak, @purplepoisonedgem, @edstozler, @emgays, @anellope, @thorn-harvester-ven, @wheezyeds, @tozierpunks (also let me know if you want added!)

Eddie had to duck at the last moment to avoid hitting his head on the roof. (The ground? The roof? Whatever.) It seemed that Eddie had grown a lot more than he’d given himself credit for since the last time he’d been in here. It gave him a little thrill of pride- so much so that he almost forgot what he was doing down here after all these years.

Richie Tozier was laying in the hammock, a comic book held close to his face, though Eddie doubted he could read it in the near darkness underground. If Eddie had trouble not hitting his head as he’d come into the clubhouse, he supposed Richie must have had to fold himself in half to get down here. Being fifteen hadn’t been the best year for Richie; he’d shot up nearly a foot all in limbs, filling out absolutely nowhere else. Braces on his teeth, giant glasses taking up most of his face that clung stubbornly to his baby fat.

Eddie still thought he was pretty fucking cute, and he hated that fact about himself.

“What are you doing down here?” Eddie asked as he stepped further into their old hang out. “We haven’t been here since-”

-Ben Hanscom had moved away. Eddie knew he didn’t need to say it because Richie understood as well as he did. The last day they’d all come down here had been the day Ben moved away from Derry. After the summer of 1989, they’d come down here less and less but after Ben left it simply hadn’t felt right to be down here hanging out.

“I thought it would be the last place anyone would look for me,” Richie replied as he lowered the comic book and glared at Eddie. “I come here sometimes to be alone.”

Eddie cleared his throat awkwardly. He took a step closer, hands clenched at his side. “It was the last place I looked for you,” he admitted. “I checked the Quarry, the arcade...”

“Why were you looking?”

Eddie frowned. “I... We heard about what happened. With Jennifer and those stupid jocks.” Eddie stood at the end of the hammock and took in a deep breath before climbing in. He felt Richie stiffen beside him. “I’m so sorry, Rich. That was a terrible trick.”

Richie shrugged one shoulder, Eddie able to feel both their bodies move as the hammock swung. They had never really fit in this stupid thing and Eddie wasn’t sure why they’d ever started doing this. Though, deep down, he supposed he knew well enough.

“It’s alright, Eds,” Richie said quietly, “I don’t know what I expected. Nobody wants to go out with the local queer boy.”

Eddie sighed, letting his head drop against Richie’s shoulder and he seemed to sag under Eddie’s soft touch. Eddie—much like everybody else in Derry—had heard about the events at the arcade back in 1989. Just another thing that made life difficult for Richie—something Eddie had always kept himself away from. He never brought anything up or spoke about it. Best friend or not, Eddie just wasn’t comfortable talking about it.

“Oh, don’t worry, Eds,” Richie laughed and caused the hammock to give a soft swing, “I know you don’t want to talk about that kind of stuff. Nobody ever does. That’s why I come down here.”

Eddie scooted closer to Richie and wrapped his arms around Richie’s middle, head rested on Richie’s shoulder. He was able to feel Richie breathing quicken which made his own spike. “I’m sorry, Richie. I know you need somebody, I just-”

“It’s okay,” Richie broke out a deep, terrible British accent, “Don’t worry about it, mate. Everything is just fancy.”

“I don’t think you’re using those words right.” Eddie pressed his palm against Richie’s cheek and pulled Richie down to look at him, able to see Richie surprisingly well in the dark underground. It was like the world didn’t exist outside of them.

“I don’t ever use words right.”

Eddie choked out a laugh and gave Richie’s cheek a pat. He swallowed roughly, thinking of Richie surrounded by those bullies, running for his life from them with their terrible words in his head. Eddie’s heart clenched. He leaned in, he—

He woke up.

Eddie stirred in a big, spacious bed. He stretched his arm out, feeling the cold touch of the soft sheets as the lights were hitting his eyes all wrong.

“I know I promised.” He could hear a low, thick voice whisper from across the room. “I’m sorry, I really meant to... not. But you should see this guy, Auds, okay? He’s like every single one of my fantasies come true in one tiny, feisty little twink.”

Last night rushed back to Eddie suddenly and pushed all lingering memories of his weird dream from his mind. He smiled into the pillow and clenched his fist into the sheets. He was going to face a lot of consequences for his actions last night, but he somehow couldn’t stop the feeling of butterflies in his stomach.

“I know I’m putting my career in danger, but I don’t think he’s going to tell anybody.” Richie continued to whisper into his cell phone. Eddie raised his head slightly to peak at him and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of the larger man standing in only his underwear.

Even with his eyes half opened, Eddie could make out the scratches down Richie’s back. It made something hot and passionate bubble up in his stomach, until he realized that if Richie bore marks then Eddie would most likely be covered in them as well. Absolutely covered in a way that he would never have allowed another person do to him before. There was no hiding this, no going back now.

Eddie was gay. Very, very gay and Richie Tozier’s wide shoulders and scratched up back was a deep, arousing reminder of that fact. Eddie rolled over and flopped onto his face, prickles of arousal at the base of his spine which caused him to roll his hips against the mattress.

“I know you won’t believe me.” Richie’s voice lowered even more and now Eddie had to strain to hear him. “I think this is different. Really different. I’ve never... I don’t know, something just feels different. It’s like I know him, Audra.”

Eddie rolled back over onto his side and ran a hand across his stomach. Goosebumps rose up all over his skin, and Eddie bit his bottom lip. It was like something inside of him was reacting to this stupid, not funny comedian being in the same room.

Sure, he was a little sore but his heart raced and his palms were sticky, and his stomach was done up in knots at the sound of Richie’s scratchy voice.

“Yes, I know.” Richie continued to whisper. “I promise I’ll be careful. Yes, I know I’m an idiot. I love you too, call you later.”

Richie turned around, and scratched at his hair. He paused and grinned at the sight of Eddie laid out across his bed. Richie let out a low whistle and bit down on his bottom lip. “Well, well...” He clucked his tongue. “I must have died and gone to heaven to have such a hot piece of ass in my bed.”

Eddie rolled his hips and made sure the blankets dipped down to reveal his cock and hips. He grinned at how Richie’s face seemed to darken. “You are a lucky bastard. But I should probably get going now.”

Richie dropped onto the bed and tackled Eddie into the mattress, arms around his waist and face pressed into Eddie’s chest. “You’re not going anywhere. I could just eat you up. Swallow you whole.”

Eddie sighed shakily and rutted his hips upwards against Richie’s body. He felt himself begin to harden almost embarrassingly quickly. “You promise?” He whispered into Richie’s ear.

Richie groaned and trailed his hand down Eddie’s chest and stomach. The muscles twitched under Richie’s touch. “Twice in twelve hours? You sure about that, Eds...” Richie nipped little bites into Eddie’s pecks. “It’s a little ambitious.”

Eddie ran his fingers through Richie’s messy hair. It seemed almost curlier than it had the night before, and Eddie could only imagine what his was like now. Richie’s sharp bites began to turn into light kisses and Eddie grinned. He tugged on Richie’s curls and laughed at the rough groan he gave.

“What?” Eddie asked. “Aren’t you up for a challenge, Tozier?”

Richie’s gaze jerked up to look at Eddie and his eyes flashed. Before Eddie could so much as blink in reaction, Richie had dragged his teeth down his torso and taken Eddie’s cock into his mouth.

Eddie let out what was almost a squeak as his cock twitched and hardened completely as Richie’s mouth moved around him.

Eddie Kaspbrak had gotten blow jobs before. It was Myra’s go-to foreplay to get Eddie going, but nothing had ever compared to this.

Eddie bent his knees up, felt Richie’s hands slide along the back of Eddie’s thighs. He hitched Eddie’s legs over his shoulders, and worked at Eddie with his mouth until his body was trembling around Richie.

“Fuck, fuck, holy shit, fuck...” Eddie moaned. “You should change your act. Just get rid of all that shitty comedy and just - fuck - do this instead.”

Richie pulled off Eddie’s cock with a wet pop, a trail of spit connecting his mouth to Eddie. “Are you saying I should be a prostitute?”

Eddie leaned back and frowned up at the ceiling. “I guess so... Is that something you would be interested in?”

Richie cocked his brow and licked up the length of Eddie’s cock. “Is it something you think I’d be good at?” He asked as he stroked Eddie slowly and held his cock inches from his mouth.

Eddie whined and squeezed his eyes shut. “I just fucking said that didn’t I? Now I’m not so sure. Maybe if you shut the fuck up and make me come, we’d see how good you are.”

Richie laughed—fucking laughed—and sped up his hand to an almost painful pace. “Oh, I’m sorry? Have I not treated you well? Left you feeling a little unsatisfied baby?”

Eddie whined, thoughts stuck on how Richie had pressed him into the mattress last night and fucked him until he’d melted into nothing. He bucked up into Richie’s fist. “I’m going to come. I’m going to come.”

“Already?” Richie teased. He slowed his hand and loosened his grip. He dropped Eddie’s cock and let it slam wetly against Eddie’s stomach. “Why I’ve barely done anything. Are you that sensitive?”

Richie ran his fingers over Eddie’s thighs to tease the skin andEddie withered on the bed. Was he that sensitive? No, normally not. Normally Eddie would argue that he was very much not sensitive, usually struggling to give into any sort of pleasure. He was certain he could get Myra to finish two or three times before he’d get anywhere close, but Richie had him so close to coming with only a couple minutes of a blowjob.

“Please...” He cried as he tossed his arm over his eyes. “Don’t stop you stupid, fucking bad comedian fuck.”

Richie snorted with laughter as he leaned back on his knees. Eddie lowered his arm to get a look at Richie’s cock where it strained in his underwear. He knew it wouldn’t be smart to try to take it again just now, but he couldn’t help how his mouth watered.

“What do you want for breakfast?” Richie asked him as he pushed his hair away from his face and gave Eddie a huge grin.

Eddie blinked up at him. “Is this like.. an innuendo? You don’t need to hit on me, I’m already in your bed.”

Richie choked out a small laugh. “You know not everything I say is sexual. I’m just hungry, man.”

“Oh... oh.” Eddie flushed right up to the roots of his hair. “Pancakes sound good. With... with little breakfast sausages?”

“Those are the best kind of sausages.” Richie said enthusiastically. He bounced forward, pressed a soft kiss to Eddie’s cheek and tumbled off the bed. As he rushed over to the phone and Eddie flopped back onto the bed, smiling.

His cock was still hard, but he didn’t find himself too concerned with it. He was, however, suddenly stricken with a weird sense of panic. Eddie searched frantically with his eyes until he managed to locate sight of his pants. He scrambled over to them and yanked his cell phone out of his back pocket.

37 missed calls from Myra.

Eddie felt sick as he looked down at his chest and stomach, red and purple bruises covering his skin. He knew his neck and shoulders would only be worse. His chest felt tight and uncomfortable, and his stomach churned in the most terrible of ways.

Richie came back over, a big smile on his face. “I order extra sausages, just in case-”

“I have to go.” Eddie said quickly as he jumped into his pants. He grabbed a shirt off the floor and threw it on over his hickey covered body.

“But I-” Richie’s shoulder dropped. His face seemed to crumble, and Eddie’s heart fell into his stomach.

Eddie wheezed and clutched the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry, I have to go, I have to talk to my girlfriend.”

“Your what?”

Eddie froze up like a deer in headlights. His hands shook at his sides and he was pretty sure his breathing was dangerously fast now. “I’m breaking up with her, I’m breaking up with her, I’m-”

Richie pressed his lips together and turned away. “You were right. You should go.”

Eddie let out a broken whimper, grabbed his jacket from the floor and booked it from the hotel room without giving Richie a second glance.

Eddie was beyond sore by the time he got back to his apartment that he practically limped up the stairs. He was hopelessly praying that after almost forty missed calls to Eddie, she would have gotten some sort of hint to leave. That this joke of a relationship was over, if it had ever truly begun. He prayed that she accepted that on her own, without Eddie having to say a word to her.

Eddie knew better than that, of course. He knew without a single doubt that when he opened his front door, Myra would still be sitting on that couch as though she hadn’t moved a muscle since he’d walked out the afternoon before.

“EDDIE! EDDIE BEAR!” Myra scrambled to her feet and rushed over to him. She grabbed his arms and yanked him down to the couch. “Look at you! You’re so pale and sickly, Eddie! You should know better. Where did you get that horrific shirt, it’s hideous! And look at this-” Myra touched the marks on Eddie’s necks softly. “You’ve broken out in a rash, Eddie Bear. We need to see a doctor about this!!”

Eddie closed his eyes and shook his head. “Myra, it’s not a rash. You know what they are.”

Myra leaned back away from him, her eyes wide and rapidly filling up with tears. “Oh, Eddie... why are you trying to hurt me? You’re hurting me so bad, stop hurting me!”

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Myra.” Eddie said as he took hold of her hands. “I’m done trying to do things. Trying to be happy... trying to be straight.”

Myra jerked her hands back, eyes now tearless and almost wild. “What are you saying, Eddie? Don’t say things like that. Awful things.”

Eddie sighed. “I’m not just saying things, alright? Last night, after we fought, I went to the bar and I went back to a mans house and we had sex. This- us- is over. I’m gay.”

Myra stood up while shaking her head. “No. No, Eddie. You can’t do this to me. You’ve done this before, this...experimenting. We all know the stories about you in college and this will pass just like that did. And then you’ll need me, Eddie. You need somebody to take care of you.”

Eddie shook his head and stood to attempt to calm her. “Myra this is over. I don’t need you. I don’t want to be with you. I’m gay. I’m gay. You’ll find somebody someday who will want to be with you. That person isn’t me.”

Myra turned around and smacked Eddie on the cheek. It wasn’t a hard hit by any means, but it was jarring and forced Eddie to take several steps back. Eddie gaped at her, eyes wide as he pressed his hand to his tingling cheek.

“Oh my God, Eddie, baby, I am so sor-”

“Get out.”

Myra burst into loud, messy tears but Eddie kept his composure. Grim-faced and silent, he watched Myra pick up her purse and coat from the living room and rush towards the front door. She sobbed the whole way out and Eddie felt almost scared of himself at how little he cared about her tears.

As soon as the door slammed shut behind her, Eddie turned and moved through his apartment. He grabbed every single thing he could find that he believed belonged to his now ex-girlfriend and tossed them into a black garbage bag. He put the garbage bag by the front door and flopped himself onto the couch angrily.

He fished his phone out of his pocket, and stared in surprise at the notification in the middle of his lock screen.

Trashmouth Tozier started following you!

Eddie’s hands shook as he went to click on the profile but, before he got the chance, a work alert triggered on his phone. Eddie’s head throbbed at the thought of having to drive anywhere today, after everything that had happened. But he supposed he would be better off working than sitting at home dwelling on everything.

It was a simple job. Pick somebody up and take them to the airport. Hopefully the person wouldn’t even try to converse with him. He parked his car in front of the stupid hotel he’d just stumbled his ass out of—because the universe wouldn’t give him a break today—and tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he waited.

The back seat of the car opened andEddie’s stomach broke into somersaults as he caught sight of the passenger as they slipped in.

Richie looked up from his phone and made eye contact with Eddie in the rear view mirror. “Oh.” Richie said, voice cold and broken. Eddie bit his lip. “Your girlfriend lets you drive men who fucked you senseless to the airport the next day?”

Eddie cleared his throat. “Not my girlfriend anymore.“

“Oh,” Richie chuckled. “She didn’t like being cheated on?”

“No.” Eddie replied. “I realized I don’t like women and I’m actually gay as fuck.”

Richie let out a laugh that sounded almost genuine. “Well, good for you, man.”

Eddie pulled out of the parking lot and wondered if he should turn on the radio. He did with every other passenger he had, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Eddie cleared his throat, still awkwardly tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “How did you find me on Twitter?”

Richie coughed loudly, and Eddie could see the slight flush in his cheeks. “I just... searched you.”

“But I never told you my last name.”

Richie frowned, his hands went still on his phone. He looked up slowly at Eddie, brow furrowed. Eddie’s heart beat loudly in his ears. “I...” Richie cleared his throat. “I guessed.”

“You guessed?” Eddie challenged. “You guessed that my last name was Kaspbrak?”

“Well maybe you told me.” Richie shrugged. He turned back to his phone.

“I definitely didn’t.” Eddie grumbled. “Are you some sort of freaky stalker? Should I be scared?”

“Yes, Eddie.” Richie said coldly. “This has actually been a big plan to murder you. I’m about to pull over and murder you- oh wait, you’re the one driving!”

“Uh, excuse me!” Eddie cried. “Crimes against drivers like cab drivers and limo drivers are not to be joked about, asshole! Did you know that being a cab driver is one of the most dangerous jobs in New York City? Three to five cab drivers are killed per year, and thats not even counting how many commit suicide and-”

“Okay, calm down, bucko!” Richie said from the back seat. “Relax. You’re a little neurotic, aren’t you?”

“Don’t fucking call me neurotic, dickwad!“ Eddie snapped and nearly missed his turn off for the airport. “I’ve had a long fucking day, okay? I don’t need your small dick attitude and your dead cab driver jokes!”

“Small dick attitude?” Richie gasped as Eddie pulled their car to a stop at the drop off. “I’m hurt, Eds. You know perfectly well that it isn’t small, you were pretty enthusiastic last-”

“Shut up!” Eddie cried, face burning. “Go catch your stupid fucking plane.”

Richie frowned and yanked open the back seat door. He nearly fell out then slammed it shut. Eddie was about to gas it out of there when the passenger seat door opened and Richie dropped to sit beside him.

“Listen, Kaspbrak-”

“I’m not comfortable with you calling me that.” Eddie said. “I never told you that was my name and I’m not sure how you came across this information but I think it’s creepy and not at all-”

“Shut up.” Richie hissed as he grabbed Eddie’s face in his hands. “First of all, you don’t get to be pissed at me when you’re the one who fucked me while you had a girlfriend.”

“I’m sorry.” Eddie deflated visibly.

Richie shrugged. “Whatever. I’m over it.” He ran his thumb along Eddie’s jawline. “There’s obviously something here. Between us. This is real, and weird as fuck because I don’t even know you but I’m pretty sure that I do.”

Eddie sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. “What do you want me to do, Richie?”

“Ditch this car.” Richie said firmly. “Come to L.A with me.”

“You’re fucking crazy.” Eddie said breathlessly. He could hear his heart beat in his ears. “I don’t even fucking know you! I met you last night and we fucked and... I broke up with my girlfriend this morning! I have a job and apartment and I-”

“Okay, okay.” Richie dropped his hands from Eddie’s cheeks. “You have access to my Twitter DM’s. If you ever wanna get together, hit me up.”

Eddie’s mouth dropped, but he couldn’t make words come out before Richie had ducked out of the car. He sat wordlessly in the front seat while Richie got his things out of the truck and disappeared into the airport without looking back. Eddie kept sitting there until the cars behind him began to honk and he finally pulled out of the parking lot and drove back to his empty apartment to see what leftovers were stuck in his fridge.

#reddie #reddie fic #it fic #it fanfiction #richie x eddie #r + e #my writing #memories

96 notes · View notes

trickkombowerskru · 4 years

Text

Savior-Nolan Rayburn X Male!Reader Imagine

Request: No here is the 11th day of the 25 days of trickkombowerskru! which goes to @muppmeep and they wanted a Nolan imagine about him seeing this boy getting bullied and feels sorry for him because he likes him.

Warnings:Some generic dude bro being a homophobe using queer and gay as a slur

You try and speed up you're walking down the steps to avoid and confrontation. You just wanted to go about your own business and not deal with anything awful today. Of course with your luck, you got spotted by your resident douchebag Colton Stephenson.

He was a big deal around the college campus and for the life of you,you couldn't understand why.

Not only did he have practically 3 brain cells, but he was extremely ignorant being almost every phobe in the book.

"Hey gayface you going to blow your boyfriend?"

You should've bit your tongue, but you knew even if you said nothing it wouldn't end well. So despite your better judgement you opened your mouth.

"Why? You wanna go?"

He immediately gets in your face.

"The fuck you say to me?"

"N-Nothing."

Your face evident of the pain that is about to come your way.He punches you and then the rest of the beating begins.

"Hey!,"you hear someone yell.

You look over to see Nolan Rayburn, you didn't really know him well since he was a culinary student, you had just seen him around a bit, and shared one of your pre recs with him, but you still thought he was pretty cute.

"What are you gonna do about it Hot Topic? You a queer too? Gonna protect your boyfriend?," Colton asks.

Nolan walks up and leans back trying to look intimidating, which against Colton obviously didn't work.

He drops you and goes straight for Nolan's face, quickly retreating when his snake bites stabbed his large ass fist hard.

"What the fuck your piercings cute me freak!"

He shakes his hand in pain and walks away. You help Nolan up and he thanks you.

"No. Thank for stepping in."

"Um come on let's go get patched up."

You headed back to your dorm, it was in between classes so your roommate was out.He fixed you up and then you did the same, after wiping the blood off of him, you grab some ice for his eye.

"Thanks again for the heroics and all. No one ever steps in when he's a dick to me."

"Well that's fucked up."

"If you don't mind why did you step in?"

"I'm uh kinda new to this whole thing so I thought would be a good way to start talking to you."

"What whole thing?"

"This having a crush on a guy thing."

Your face is a mix of shock that he actually like you back.

"Wait Nolan are you....telling me you're....bi?"He swallows, looking away for a second.

"Uh yeah.......yeah I guess I am. You're like the only person who knows now so....."

The shock now switched to touched that he came out to you as far as you knew Nolan was pretty private about his sexuality.

Since you seen him with some girls you half just. assumed he was straight.

“You were right it was a good way to start."

"I mean....I don't get a black eye for just anyone," he jokes.

You laugh and once silence fills the room,Nolan leans over and kisses you, taking you off guard.He pulls away and flushes red.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have. This whole thing was a dumb idea."

"No it really wasn't I promise. I appreciate it so much and.....I've had a crush on you for so long. I just thought we'd never have a chance, but the whole thing was brave including now being comfortable to confess to me and come out. And in my book bravery is always rewarded."

It's now your turn to initiate the kiss, you get a small moan out of Nolan as he melts into it, and damn if both of your faces weren't severely fucked up at the minute, fuck it would've definitely gone further.

You pull away and smile at him

."So.....do you wanna hang out."

"It's a date. A pain recovering date," he quips.

You continue to hang out in your dorm, just talking, kissing, and laughing. There was even some cuddling, and by the end of the night as Nolan went back to his room, he had a huge smile on his face.

The grin being because before he left, you had planned a real date where he would cook dinner for the two of you and everything.

#bloodline #nolan rayburn #nolan rayburn imagine #nolan rayburn x reader #owen teague

29 notes · View notes

sonicrainicorn · 4 years

Text

In My Life

Part of the Berry Done AU

Words: 10618 Desc.: Patton always lived under the assumption that blood was thicker than water. But if a patient needs type B- you can’t give them A+. So if there’s family that isn’t the blood type you need... why risk a fatal reaction? TW: Transphobia, homophobic language, queer used as a slur, general bullying, suicide (mention), minor character death (mention), brief discussion of sex, bad coming out experiences

///

Patton didn’t remember being an only child. He was two years old when Damien was born and three years old when Alexandria was born. His earliest memories have always been filled with siblings.

Supposedly, when Patton held both his siblings for the first time, he fell in love with them. He didn’t say anything, but he held them close and stared at them like they were the most fascinating things he had ever seen.

And that’s how it had always been.

Patton loved both of his siblings more than anything — he loved his family. By the time he was five, he decided to give as much love to his family as he could. Every day he would say that he loved them. Before leaving for school, he’d hug his parents and give his siblings each a kiss on their foreheads. Alexandria always giggled and babbled at him while Damien made a face as if he was unimpressed with it. (But he’d get mad if Patton tried to leave without giving him one.)

It was normal. Easy. Typical. There was nothing special about his upbringing. He lived a picture-perfect life with a nuclear family. That was the American dream, wasn’t it? That’s what many people tried to achieve. And he had it right from birth. Looking back on it as an adult, he was rather… privileged. He didn’t realize it growing up. Not everyone had a life like he did. Not everyone was as lucky.

That's what his grandma tried to teach him.

"Patton, sometimes things are difficult for other people," she would always say. "You have to stand up for them whenever they need it. Help them when you can. Everyone listens to people like us. Use it for good."

His mom didn't like the way she talked sometimes. He overheard her once, berating her own mother of trying to raise her children to be anarchists.

When he learned what that word meant, he didn't think it was accurate.

He liked his grandma a lot. She was kind and full of lessons and stories. Plus, she was really good at baking. That was a great trait in any grandmother — any person, even.

But sometimes his parents fought with his grandma. Only sometimes. They had arguments about the way she saw the world and the way she tried to teach it to Patton and his siblings. He didn't understand why they couldn't both be right. Parents were always right. And all his grandma ever said was to be nice to people no matter how "strange" they may seem. That seemed right, too.

Still, they didn't get to see their grandma that often.

And it wasn't until middle school that her views on the world started to make sense to Patton.

There was a boy in his grade named Seth. He was shy and didn't have many friends, but he was nice. Patton had two classes with him. He never gave him much thought, though. Not until he saw some other boys picking on him. It was what his dad referred to as "harmless fun", so he didn't say anything at first. He watched from the sidelines as things turned less harmless and less fun. He didn't step in until they pushed him over.

He wasn't much of a fighter. He was a runner. Literally. He was on the cross country team. These boys could snap him in half without breaking a sweat. That didn't stop him from standing in. He was scared and nervous, but he stood between Seth and the other boys. “Leave him alone,” he said in the strongest voice he could muster. “He hasn’t done anything to you.”

The boys were surprised. They looked between each other, unsure of what to do. No one had ever stopped them before. One of them tried to make a move but was halted by the leader. At least, Patton assumed he was the leader. “Sure,” he said, annoyed. “We were done.” Then they left.

Patton didn’t sigh in relief until they were out of sight. All of his limbs were trembling and his heart hammered in his ears. He wasn’t sure what they’d do, but he was glad they were gone. “Are you okay?” He turned to Seth.

Seth stared up at him in shock. “You helped me.”

“Uh, yeah. It looked like you needed it.” He extended a hand.

Seth continued to stare at him. Slowly, he accepted the offer. “Thank you.”

They became friends after that.

It was a gradual thing. After helping him, Patton became more aware of Seth’s presence. He sent him smiles in class, stayed with him after school in the time before practice, stood up for him. Seth was wary of it at first. No one had ever helped him out before. But Patton assured him that he didn’t have an ulterior motive. He was doing it just to be nice, but he didn’t want to overstep any boundaries so he kept it to a minimum.

Seth was rather friendly once passed the anxious and shy walls. He was soft-spoken. Gentle. He avoided confrontation as much as possible. But he had passions. He was a very good artist. He loved animals. He liked hearing stories.

Patton enjoyed his presence. He didn’t understand why other people picked on him. They just didn’t know him.

Maybe the thing was they thought they did.

He heard what his friends said. Their mean whispers based on speculation. Patton was never one for rumors. But everyone thought Seth was odd. A weirdo. A pansy. There were a lot of adjectives thrown around about him that everyone was convinced were fact. The thing about rumors, however, is everyone is convinced their version of the story is correct.

"What?" Patton looked at his friend incredulously.

"Yeah," he nodded. "I heard it from Jaime. He likes guys."

"Well, I like you guys." Sometimes.

"Not like that." Ryan stepped in. "As in like them. Like," he leaned over and made kissy faces at Samson.

"Gross! Get out of here!" He tried to push him back.

Patton rolled his eyes at their shenanigans. He didn’t understand the big deal. His grandma had an old picture of her kissing a girl when she was younger. She put it up in the hallway of her house to make his dad angry. He saw it every time they went over. It was a normal thing.

Still, Patton decided to ask his parents about it.

His dad’s reaction was to be expected. “It’s wrong. Two men shouldn’t be together like that. It isn’t natural. If God wanted two men to be together, he would have made one for Adam.”

“But —” If God didn’t want men to be together, he wouldn’t have made some people that way. And didn’t God make everyone a certain way? Isn’t that what you said? — “Mom?”

Mom sighed softly. She was mending one of Alexandria’s dresses. “Listen to your father, sweetheart.”

~~~

As the cross country season switched over to track and field, Patton and Seth became closer friends. There were still rumors and name-calling, but they tried to ignore it as best as they could. Patton stood up for Seth whenever he needed to. A lot of people started calling Patton things as well. They didn’t understand why he continued to hang out with Seth Summers of all people.

He was a good friend, that’s why.

Recently, he started waiting after school for Patton to finish practice. He said it was so he could do homework in peace and then get a ride home. Patton saw the reasoning in that. He had been to Seth’s house. He knew how chaotic it got with all those siblings.

Turned out Seth was also the oldest. But he had one more sister than Patton did. She was only a few months old, and Seth loved her to death. Besides all the kids, there was also Mrs. Summers and her parents. Patton never asked about Mr. Summers, and Seth never told him. Nevertheless, it was a lot of bodies in a tiny house. It would make sense to want to spend time out of that.

And Patton’s mom liked Seth, so it was no issue taking him home.

It became a routine. Every day after school, Seth would walk with Patton up to the track and then sit in the bleachers and do homework until it was time to leave. Mondays and Wednesdays Alexandria had band practice, so she was always in the car by that time. Tuesdays and Thursdays Damien had baseball practice, so he also had a spot on the car before them. Fridays were the only days where it was just the two of them in the backseat. Sometimes Seth came over on those days.

“Isn’t it weird to be the only boy?” Damien asked as he readied to swing the bat. They were in the backyard since Dad said Damien needed more practice.

“Not really.” Seth was sitting on the porch. “It is what it is. Plus, Marianna is more of a boy than I am. She likes football and getting dirty. All those types of things.” He followed the baseball with his eyes.

Alexandria caught it in her mitt. “Is there anything wrong with that?” She handed it back to Patton.

“No.”

Patton kept the ball in his hand. They had been at this for a while already. He could tell both Alexandria and Damien were getting tired of it.

To prove his point, Damien let out a pitiful sound and slumped his shoulders. “I have a game tomorrow. How long does Dad expect us to do this?”

Alexandria plopped down on the grass to give herself a break from chasing the ball. “We’ve been doing it forever.”

Before Patton could agree and say they should head inside, their dad poked his head out. "Alexandria, if you're going to sit on the ground sit like a lady." She huffed and sat properly. "Why are you using your brother's glove? Let Patton do the catching."

"But I suck at catching," Patton whined.

Damien leaned against his bat. "Yeah, he sucks at catching. Al is a lot better at it."

"Baseball isn't for girls," Dad said pointedly. "Come inside Alex. Let the boys play."

"But I —"

"Now."

Alexandria sighed and threw off the glove. She trudged in the house without looking up at anyone.

"You two,” he pointed between his sons, “start catching."

"But —" Damien tried to interject.

"No buts. The only way to improve is to practice." He went back inside.

"That seemed a little harsh," Seth muttered after a moment.

Damien huffed and picked up his glove from where Alexandria threw it. "Dads are just like that."

Patton frowned at the baseball.

The next week started their routine all over again. Same days. Same things. Except on Thursday, there was a slight break in their established schedule. Patton walked out of the locker room, expecting to see Seth waiting nearby, but that didn't happen. Seth wasn't there.

Surprised, Patton looked all around the building. Nothing. This was a first. Patton decided to go back up to the track to see if he was still there. He didn't know where else to look.

As he walked up, he spotted someone under the bleachers. They seemed about the right size and shape for Seth.

“Hey, what are you doing up here?” Patton ducked under. “My mom’s gonna come by soon.” He wasn’t met with a response. “Seth?”

There was a pause. Then Seth turned to face him, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Patton froze.

"Everyone hates me, Pat.” He wiped his eyes. “They all think I’m weird, or gross or — or whatever it is they say about me.” He put his face in his hands. “No matter what I do it’s never going to change.”

“I…” Patton didn’t know how to respond. “I think it can change.”

Seth dropped his hands, partially glaring at Patton. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re Patton Calon. Everyone loves you. You have a perfect life — you’re perfect.” He slumped to the floor. “Straight A student, star athlete, handsome, funny. You’re great at everything. I don’t understand why you hang out with me.”

“I can’t bake.”

Seth looked up at him. “What?”

“I’m not good at baking.” Patton sat beside him. “It always ends up burnt or tasting weird no matter what I do. And I’m bad at drawing. I don’t know how to read sheet music. I’m not much of a catcher. My handwriting is terrible.” He shrugged. “We’re all bad at something as much as we’re good at other things. And I like hanging out with you. You’re fun, and nice, and interesting. I wouldn’t trade any moment I’ve spent with you for anything else.”

Before Patton could even blink, Seth’s lips crashed into his. His eyes widened and a surprised squeak remained caught in the back of his throat. He didn’t know how to respond. Yet as quickly as it started, it was over. Seth pulled back as a slow realization crossed his face.

“Oh my God,” he uttered in horror. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. I’m sorry. I —”

Patton did the only thing he could think to do to stop Seth’s rambling. He connected their lips together. It was messy and clumsy, but it got its point across. “Come on,” Patton said after. “My mom will be here soon.” He extended a hand to help Seth up.

Seth didn’t do anything other than stare at him. Slowly, he gave a soft smile. “Alright.” He took Patton’s hand.

They didn’t let go until they saw the car.

~~~

One day, there was an incident.

Patton and Seth walked together into school, as was their habit, and talked between themselves. Ever since their kiss, something shifted. Spending time together was different. Sharing glances was different. Sometimes it felt like they were in their own little world.

They didn’t notice something was off until they got to Seth’s locker.

A group of students was around it, whispering — some snickering. Patton made his way through them to help Seth to his own locker. When he got there he stopped in his tracks. Seth crashed into his back at the sudden stop and moved around to see what was wrong. He didn’t show anything but surprise at first.

All of their lockers were light blue. It was one of the school’s colors, so it made sense. But it only made the thick, black marks stand out more. They curled into five messy letters. Harmless on their own, but together they implied something cruel. An assumption. Queer.

At the time, it was still used mostly as an insult. Patton didn’t understand why it was. As a word by itself, it wasn’t very mean or unpleasant sounding. When people gave it a meaning, that’s where all the hate came from. He heard it once in passing. Not to him or anyone he knew, but to a man wearing a dress. He didn’t ask what it meant. The person that said it sounded angry so he assumed it was a bad word. The man didn’t seem upset by it; he just ignored the person and waited for his bus.

His grandma was with him. She was taking him and Damien and Alexandria somewhere. He didn’t remember. He had a feeling if they weren’t there she would have said something. Instead, she grumbled, “Damn hick town.” and kept walking, tugging Damien and Alexandria along a little faster.

“Grams, what’s wrong with wearing a dress?” Alexandria asked before Patton could ask something similar. She was only five.

“Nothing,” Grams responded. “Anyone can wear whatever they want no matter who they are.”

“Even boys in dresses?” Damien questioned in his quiet voice.

“Yes, even them.”

Since then, it was the only time Patton heard the word. But now, here it was written on his friend’s locker. He couldn’t help but remember the way that person said it. Hateful. Full of anger and venom. That’s the way someone wrote it. That’s how they wanted it to be seen. They succeeded.

Seth turned and ran, pushing himself through the crowd. Patton remained frozen for a moment before regaining control of his body and following after him. The kids around them whispered even louder.

He followed him into the restroom, not making it in time to stop one of the stalls from shutting. The bell rang for the start of the school day. Patton ignored it. “Seth?” He gently knocked on the stall door. “Are you okay?”

“I told you,” Seth sobbed. “I told you it wouldn’t change. You’re better off without me.”

“I…” Patton didn’t know what to say. “I like you. I like hanging out with you. You’re — you’re nice.”

“Just go to class. You shouldn’t be late because of me.”

He idled. What was he supposed to do if Seth didn’t want to listen to him? “Um, o-okay, um, I’ll see you later then.” He still hesitated. “I can stay —”

“Don’t.”

Patton winced. “Okay. I-I’ll, um, I’ll go. You know where to find me.”

But Seth didn’t go to find him. He stayed hiding the rest of the day. Somewhere not even Patton could find. And Patton looked everywhere when he found the restroom empty. He was gone. Maybe moving spots like some horrible game of hide-and-seek. Eventually, Patton was forced to give up. He had to go home. If he were given a choice, he would have kept searching.

The next day Seth didn't show up for school. Or the next. Or the next after that. Patton started to wonder what was going on; Seth had never missed so much school before. He was another missed day from going over to his house to see what happened.

He didn't have to.

He walked into school that morning, alone again. He noticed a group of students around his locker. Annoyed and aggravated by the mystery of his friend, Patton pushed through the group without so much as a sorry. He wished he didn't.

In that same black permanent marker was a word. A similar word to the one on Seth's, except this one was… meaner. Patton realized he heard his father say it a few times. Maybe this person heard it the same way. It was ugly from all angles. There wasn’t any way to make it seem innocent. It was obvious this was meant to hurt. It was mean and awful. Not a word kids say unless their parents say it first.

Damn hick town, indeed.

Patton couldn't look away from it. He was sure this would be seared into his brain forever. It looked burned into his locker. He reached out and touched it, swiping his finger along all six letters, but it didn't do a thing. It had dried long ago. There was nothing to do but scrub it off. He didn't want to do that, though. He would rather take the door off its hinges and throw it as far as he could. He'd rather break it to pieces. But he knew if he did that then he'd get into more trouble than the person who wrote the word. So the door stayed where it was. The word stayed where it was. No one said anything.

The bell rang.

That was the thing that snapped Patton out of his trance. He didn't touch his locker. He left to go to class before the other kids even moved.

Class announcements always started in first period at the same exact time every day without fail. Except for today. Today they were late. Not by much, but enough to notice that they were missing. When the familiar sound to begin announcements finally turned on, all the students in class settled down one by one. There was a single announcement made.

Seth Summers passed away yesterday afternoon.

The room went eerily quiet. It didn’t even sound like anyone breathed.

Patton sure as hell didn’t. All the air had been stolen from him like he landed flat on his back. He stared at the empty chair two seats away from him.

The announcement continued, stating rather vaguely that he killed himself. Of course, it was said as politely as such a tragedy can be said. Though it still felt pretty blunt to Patton. He looked for Seth everywhere. He should have stayed with him in the bathroom. He should have decided to go over sooner. He should have done something but instead, he sat around and waited. And now it was too late.

There was a moment of silence to end the announcement. Even when it was over no one uttered a word.

While Patton sat there in the tense, blanket of quiet, he promised that he would never let this happen again to anyone. If he didn’t make this promise, he’d fear it would happen again. He felt it was up to him to stop it. He didn’t want anyone he cared about reaching their breaking point. Whether it meant standing up for them or talking them off the edge, he’d do it. Whatever it took.

~~~

When Alexandria was thirteen she told Patton she had an issue. And Patton, being her older brother, seemed like the best person to go to. Well, other than Grams. Grams was always the number one choice for the siblings whenever the option arose. But they hadn't seen her recently so she went to Patton.

She walked into his room while he was doing homework. Before he could even acknowledge her, she started speaking, "Do you ever feel like… your clothes are wrong?"

Patton stared at her. She was twisting the end of her shirt in her hands, avoiding his gaze while her cheeks turned bright red. "Uh, what do you mean by that?"

"I-I just mean like — like you don't think they're right. There's something wrong with… how they look."

"I can't say that I know the feeling." Patton set his pencil down. He could finish later. "I rather like my clothes. I think they suit me."

"Y-yeah, well, um, that's the thing. I… I don't…" She balled her shirt in her hands. "I don't think my clothes suit me."

"I'm sure Mom will take you shopping."

She cringed at that. "I don't like going shopping with Mom. She only picks out what she wants me to wear."

"Well, Dad doesn't like shopping at all."

"And even if he did, he'd probably choose whatever he thinks I should be wearing."

Patton frowned a bit. "We could ask Grams."

"I feel like maybe she'd be the only one to get it." She dropped her shirt. "I-I'll ask her when we see her." She turned to leave.

"Alex, wait."

She hesitantly turned back to him.

He could tell something was off, but he couldn't place what. Alexandria was normally an eccentric person; she wasn't a wallflower by any means. She liked being loud and went in with a hundred percent confidence with everything. She goofed off, often causing mischief with Damien, and loved with every inch of her heart. "Is that really all you wanted to say?"

"No, but…" She hesitated again before taking a seat on his bed. “I don’t know if this will make any sense to you. I-it’s not only that my clothes look wrong, it’s that — it’s like they don’t fit right, either.”

Patton sat beside her. “Why don’t they?”

“I don’t know.” She hugged her knees. “It's like they’re too small. It's uncomfortable and I hate it, but everyone else is acting like it's normal. I want to wear something that I fit in. Something that feels right. But everyone — Mom, Dad — they're all handing me clothes too small and forcing me to wear them. They're shoving it in my face and I — I just —” She buried her face in her knees. “I just want to be normal.”

He didn’t know what to say for a moment. He had no idea what she was going through. “Let’s talk to Grams.” He stood up.

She looked up at him in surprise. “What?”

“We both know she has all the answers all the time. Let’s go see her.”

“But, but Mom —”

“She’s not here.”

That was true. She searched for another excuse. “W-well, you don’t even have a license.”

“Well, I know how to drive.”

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“Not if you don’t get caught.” He mussed up her hair, pushing some strands in her face. “C’mon. There’s only so much time Dad can handle pretending to pick out groceries.” He pulled her to her feet.

She didn’t have anymore protests as he took her down the stairs. Damien was by the kitchen with his hand in a box of Cheez-It crackers. “What are you guys up to?” He took out a handful of tasty orange squares.

“We’re gonna see Grams,” Patton answered, already opening the door.

Damien tossed the box back on the dining table. “And you weren’t going to tell me? Unbelievable.” He followed them out and offered some of his Cheez-Its to Alexandria.

~~~

No one could make a choice for Alexandria. They could only present her with options. It wasn’t anyone’s decision but her own.

Once he chose what to do it became rather hard to switch over.

Not that no one tried — they did. But once you know someone one way for nearly fourteen years, it’s hard to break a habit. Still, they tried. Damien, Patton, and Grams. They were the only ones he told. There was no one else he trusted as much as them. Which was heartwarming, really, but that was only three people out of everyone he knew. He didn’t even trust his friends enough to tell them.

In a town like this, it wasn’t too far off to assume everyone would be against it.

But despite that, he seemed happy to finally have a name to put to what he felt. He wasn't alone. There were other people like him.

Grams, predictably, was a big help. She didn't have an answer at first — hadn't had experience with it before — but she worked tirelessly to figure one out. Both she and Alexandria spent a lot of time together doing research. (Most of it behind parents' backs.) It meant a lot to Alexandria to have someone help him out through all the confusion. Patton and Damien were always there, but they didn't partake in any research. They felt odd doing it. Like they were intruding somehow.

Which made sense when Grams — Rosie Picani — came out to them as agender.

Looking through all the answers made her realize that not everyone felt the way that she did. What she was had a different name. In her case, it wasn't that the clothes fit wrong, it was that she was tailoring them herself the whole time and assumed everyone did the same. Apparently, it was never too late to discover new things about yourself.

With identities out of the way, there was still an issue of what to be called. In Alexandria's case anyway. Grams was fine with still being Rosie. She was fine with still being referred to as "she" — it wasn't as if she had much of a preference to begin with. But Alexandria wasn't sure if he wanted to keep his name. Not that he was called that every day or anything. Normally it was Alex. Sometimes Al in the case of Patton and Damien. He was only ever called Alexandria when he was in trouble.

"Names can be special," Grams said once. Their parents were there so she kept it vague. Played it off like some old-age wisdom. "Every one has a meaning. Some grand. Some small. But we have them for a reason. Perhaps you can say there are certain names we were always meant to have. Whether we choose them or not.”

And, once again, no one could make the choice for Alexandria. It was up to him to decide.

So as much as Patton wanted to be an overbearing older brother, he wouldn’t. Or rather, he couldn’t. It wasn’t his life to live — it wouldn’t be right to step in. He and Damien had been in the background every step of the way, and they would continue to do so. They were only there for support — not to meddle.

When he came into Patton’s room one day, telling him his preferred name, Patton just smiled. He messed with his hair the same way he always did, and said, “Sure thing, Emile.”

After that, Patton thought it would be over. Everything was settled, wasn’t it? Yes, there were accidents — slips of the tongue that were difficult to overcome — but soon everything locked into place. That should have been the end, right? Emile with his proper name and pronouns. A happy ending.

It wasn't that simple.

Many years later, a month before Patton left for college, he heard shouting down the hall. Angered shouting. He ended the call with his friend and opened his door. The shouting hit him full force. It was his dad. That shouldn't have been surprising to him. Whenever there was yelling, most of the time it was his dad.

He followed it to Damien's room but didn't walk in. He stayed next to the doorway. Out of sight, but still able to hear. If there was one thing he learned from all his years, it was to never interrupt Dad while he was in the middle of a rant. No matter how horrible it was.

"You are my daughter. Start acting like it."

Damien tried to protest.

"Don't defend her. You shouldn't even be lending her your clothes, anyway."

Patton waited. He let his dad scream at his little brothers without stepping in. Without saying a word. He waited until his dad left. He didn't talk to him. They both pretended the other wasn't there. Only when he was down the stairs did Patton look into the room. Damien scowled at the ground. Emile tried not to let his tears go. He didn't succeed. He threw himself at Damien and cried into his shoulder. Damien hugged him without a word. He spotted Patton, giving him a glare that said, "Why didn't you do anything?"

But Patton didn't have a response. All he could think was that he'd be leaving them soon. It wasn't his choice, really. He didn't want to go to a university, but his parents insisted. He tried to tell them that going to a four-year school for an associate's degree was a waste of money, but they didn't listen. They were hoping he'd change his mind about his career choice. They wanted him to do something "better". So, in the middle of being annoyed and wanting to be away from his parents, he chose a school in the farthest state he could get to.

He didn't think about what that might mean for his brothers.

~~~

University life was not at all what Patton was prepared for. Not that he was prepared for much. He was just a dumb country boy from a small town. That's everything he had ever known for eighteen years. Most people there didn't even think about college. But here he was. A new place. A new state.

No family.

At all.

For the first time in his life, he was completely alone. No brothers right down the hall. No parents arguing in the kitchen. No grandmothers a few streets away. He was on his own. He was somewhere where new faces were common and you were lucky to see anyone more than once. He couldn't name everyone he saw. He didn't know what they did or what their parents did or how long they had lived here. He was surrounded by strangers.

It was scary and new, and… he got used to it.

The first few weeks were rough, but once he settled in, he really settled in. This was the type of place he belonged to. New people, new places, new experiences — he had no idea life could be this way. There was so much to do and see, but not enough time to do and see them. He still had to go to school, after all. But he made the most of it. Out of everything. He stayed on top of his classes while also going out with friends every other night. It was the most organized he had ever been in his life.

He met so many people in his first year alone; not all of them remained friends. Now, he didn't want to say he slept around, but… he didn't exactly say no to very many advances. Men, women, both — on occasion. Whoever. Whenever. If they were willing, so was he. Though, he did have a few actual relationships that continued longer than a night (or two). Some didn't last long. Others lasted a while. There was one with a girl that lasted half a year. That was certainly a fun time for both of them. He started to get a bit of a reputation as a playboy, though. Never, in his entire life, did he think that would be applied to him.

He didn't consider himself one. He just enjoyed being with people. He's sure he's fallen in love a little bit with everyone he's ever met. But not everyone was like that. Some people only give their hearts to those they truly love. Patton left a piece of his heart with everyone. Not a lot of people understood that.

Regardless, college life was something he never knew he needed and he rather enjoyed it.

But at the start of his second year, something came up. His phone started to ring in the middle of the night. He opened his eyes to a vaguely familiar room and groped around for his phone so he could shut it up. The bright light blinded him for a moment, but he was able to make out the caller ID.

"Emile?" He stared at it in confusion. The body beside him grumbled and shifted. He finally answered it. "Em? It's already passed midnight." Well, for Patton at least. There was an hour difference between them.

"I-I'm sorry, I just —"

"Are you okay?" He sat up, feeling more awake by the second. "What's wrong?"

He stifled a sob. “I, I tried to make them understand. M-Mom just — she just stood there. She, she didn’t s-say anything to stop Dad. I only wanted them to understand. I c-couldn’t — I-I didn’t want —” He was near hysterics. He kept sabotaging his own sentences and rambling.

“Em. Emi, breathe. What are you talking about? What happened?”

“I came out.”

Patton paused. He didn’t know what to think, or what to say. He’s heard horrible coming out stories before. He never thought he'd hear one from his own brother. "How… where are you? Where's D?"

"I, I'm going to Grams. I'm walking. They — Dad kicked me out. I-I don't know where D is. He must have snuck out before I told them."

Of course. Damien always did have terrible timing. "Just — just stay with Grams, okay? I'll try to be there as soon as possible." He threw the blankets off, startling the person beside him. He needed to start looking for a plane ticket.

~~~

So Patton dropped out.

His parents were disappointed, but he didn’t tell them why when they asked. Or at least, he didn’t tell them the real reason. He made something up. He needed a break or couldn’t handle it or something along those lines — they believed him. He hated how they made him a good liar.

The real reason was for Emile.

Patton caught the soonest flight home he could find. He didn’t tell his parents. He stayed with Grams while they figured out what to do next. Damien stopped by a few times. He didn’t say it, but Patton could tell he was guilty for not being there. Damien and Emile were practically best friends. Patton sometimes joked that they were twins. With only a year separating them, it was hard not to act so similarly. But the one night Emile needed him the most, he wasn’t there.

In the end, they decided that the best thing for Emile was to get him far away. He would stay with Patton in Florida. Unfortunately, his apartment was one bedroom. But there was no way in hell he was letting that stop him. He wasn’t going to let Emile stay in this damn hick town any longer than he had to. He had half a mind to take Damien, too, but he didn’t want to risk anything.

“Will you keep an eye on Damien for me?” Patton asked before they left.

“Of course,” Grams responded with a smile. “I’m his grandmother.”

It was a little over two months later when Damien showed up at Patton’s apartment. Patton wasn’t anticipating him. Neither he nor Grams called. Still, Damien walked in as if he was expected without a word. The only thing he brought with him was his backpack and whatever was in it. He didn’t say anything for the rest of the day. Not until that night. Patton heard him talking to Emile about what happened. He made a joke about their parents not being able to lie about Patton being the favorite now.

Patton didn’t know how to feel about that.

He let them talk between themselves. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t try to step in. He let them have their moment. When it was late in the night, he decided to check on them. They were fast asleep, curled up on the bed. The only bed. In the only bedroom.

A steady stream of air left Patton’s mouth. “We’re gonna need a bigger place,” he muttered to himself.

So he continued school at a community college — like he originally intended — made friends, started a new job, made more friends, got invited to a party once, and… a cute boy crashed into him. A cute boy with dark eyes like the night sky and faint freckles dancing along his nose.

“S-sorry.” The most gorgeous blush bloomed on his cheeks. “I suppose I didn’t see where I was going.”

Patton grinned, already knowing what he should say next.

~~~

Logan was different.

At first, Patton was planning to just have another fling, which was wrong and a bit unfair, but Logan didn’t show to have any interest in that. At all. And that was fine, of course, Patton wouldn’t force him into anything. But it was a first in a long while.

One of the earliest things he noticed was that Logan was sort of… timid. The same way a kitten is when dropped in a new place. Which is to say, suspicious of everything. Timid was a nice word for it, though. And much like a kitten, trust had to be built up slowly and over time. Patton wanted to be his friend. Except sometimes over-excited puppies and nervous kitties don’t always get along. So Patton made a conscious effort to take notes of what did and did not make Logan nervous when interacting with him.

For example, Logan didn’t like it when someone got too loud. He didn’t say anything about it, (he never did. Not about any of the things Patton noticed bothered him.) and if Patton didn’t pay half as much attention to people as he did, he probably wouldn’t have even realized it. It was a subtle thing. Whenever someone raised their voice — specifically to him — for whatever reason, he made himself smaller. He avoided their gaze. Replied non-verbally. Stayed like a coiled spring until the person diverted their attention elsewhere or relaxed.

He also didn't like being snuck up on. Patton did it once on accident and he was tense throughout the whole interaction.

Over time, Patton got better at avoiding the things Logan didn't like. He couldn't say why he was putting so much effort into this. Most people wouldn't pay as much attention or, because Logan never said anything, just ignore that their actions were harmful. But Patton wasn't doing that. He was trying. Maybe it was because Logan reminded him of someone. Or maybe it was because he saw that Logan was lonely. And maybe, somewhere deep down, Patton was lonely too.

~~~

The brothers had just moved into a new house when Logan came over to study. For as smart as Logan was, he was awful at studying. He didn't do it in a helpful way, and Patton was somewhat convinced he was doing it to torture himself. So Patton offered to help him study more constructively. At first, Logan was hesitant, but he eventually decided that doing it his way for four different classes wasn't going to cut it. Since then, they always studied together before quizzes or exams.

Emile was out at that time, going with a "friend" to the movies. Patton had a slight suspicion that there was a bit more than friendship going on, but he never mentioned it because, well, there was his own issue of giving Logan heart eyes every two seconds. He couldn't confront his brother about romantic feelings when he could barely confront his own.

Regardless, the only ones in the house were Patton, Logan, and Damien. Logan and Damien got along pretty okay for the most part. They were the same age, so they found things in common. One of the things they shared was sarcasm and wit. Their sole interactions were often a combination of the two, much to Patton's simultaneous amusement and dismay.

It wasn't much of a surprise when, seeing that Logan was over, Damien started with their banter right off the bat. Patton tried to shoo him away — studying was meant to happen — but he played the annoying younger brother card and refused to cooperate.

"If he stays he might stand to learn something," Logan quipped, taking out his notebooks. "There's only so much knowledge one can get when their sources are online conspiracy theories instead of going to class."

Damien laid across the armchair with his legs dangling. He studied his nails with interest. "Sorry, I can't hear you over the evidence of the Earth being flat."

"I'm going to pretend those words didn't come out of your mouth."

Much to Patton's surprise, Logan was able to squabble with Damien while retaining information at the same time. He could provide a counterpoint to their argument while giving Patton the definition of a genome in the same breath. It was rather impressive.

After a while, Patton started to tune out their part of the conversation. He caught snippets of things while he worked on transferring his own notes, but nothing that made him feel he had to step in. Until he noticed it. One of Logan's tells for when something is making him uncomfortable. Not wanting to make a big deal of it, Patton sighed, "D, please stop." to make it seem like he was annoyed with his brother.

But it wasn't enough. Like the spiteful booger he is, he continued. Louder. Not shouting, but enough to notice that he raised his voice. Then Logan flinched.

That was it.

"Damien," Patton snapped before he could stop himself.

Damien stopped out of pure surprise. Patton never called him by his full name.

All of the color drained out of Logan's face. He sat rigid and small, staring at the table as if it would come alive at any moment. "I should go." He shot up from the floor.

"Logan, wait —" the door was already closing before Patton could stand up. The room fell to complete silence. He looked at Logan's spot; he didn't take a single thing with him.

"I… I didn't mean to…" Damien seemed appalled by his own actions.

Patton sighed. "We'll talk about it later." He chased after Logan. He moved fast for such tiny legs. "Logan, wait a second."

"I'm going home." Logan's voice wavered with fragile confidence. A little kid who wants to be taken seriously.

"Wait —" on instinct, Patton grabbed his arm. Logan froze, looking up at him with fearful eyes. He immediately let go. "I'm sorry." He never wanted Logan to look at him like that again. "I… Please let me take you home."

Logan avoided his gaze. "I can walk."

Patton frowned. "That's a far distance to walk."

"I've ran it before," he muttered under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing." He made himself smaller. "I-it's fine. I can walk."

"But —"

"Patton, I really want to be alone right now."

Patton stopped. It looked like he was about to fall apart any second. "Okay. Just — please text me when you get there."

Logan nodded and went on his way.

He let out a steady stream of air through his mouth. He needed to have a talk with his brother about boundaries.

~~~

Logan had a weird relationship with touch. When they first met, Patton noticed that Logan didn't want anyone touching him at any point. But it changed over time. Slowly. It shifted to "touch me and I'll have a panic attack" to "ask first" to "if you touch me while I can't see who you are, I'm going to hit you with my textbook".

It was one of the hardest things for Patton to keep in line. He was a touchy person. He liked hugs, and cuddling, and hand-holding, and… other things. But he held it all back for Logan. (Though, if Damien and Emile got extra bone-crushing hugs, they didn't point it out.) It was even harder when they started dating, yet Patton remained in control of himself.

"He's just so cute," Patton squealed. He was squishing Emile's cheeks to express his emotions. "I just want to kiss him, and squeeze him, and hold him forever."

"Why don't you?" Emile asked as best as he could.

Patton sighed and fell back against the couch, at last releasing Emile from his hold. "I can't. He's not comfortable with that stuff yet."

"Will he ever be?"

"Maybe." He sat up. "He's been getting better at not freaking out when I ask to hold his hand."

Emile made a face. "Is there a reason he's so sensitive to that stuff?"

Patton had a pretty big suspicion of one reason, but he never brought it up. And Logan never mentioned it. So it hung in the air between them, waiting for someone to break their silence on it. "I don't know."

The wheels seemed to be turning in Emile's head, no doubt analyzing every interaction he's ever had with Logan. Before Patton could distract him with something else, he snapped himself out of it. "Oh! I have to get ready." He stood up.

"Ready for what?"

"For his date," Damien chirped in a sing-song tone as he strolled into the kitchen.

Emile's cheeks turned pink. "It's not a date."

Damien snorted.

"With who?" Patton cut in.

"It's not a —" Emile huffed, giving up that fight — "I'm going with Remy."

"Remy? Is that who you've been going on dates with already?"

"Yes — no!" His face continued to get red. “They’re not — I’ve never —” He covered his face with his hands. "Oh my gosh."

"How is it that, out of all of us, you're the worst liar?" Damien swirled around the bottle of lemonade he took from the fridge.

"I've never needed to. I'm the baby. Everyone believes what I say."

There was no argument there. “None of us should be good liars,” Patton pointed out.

“Says the best liar,” Damien muttered before taking a long sip of lemonade.

Patton’s jaw dropped. An offended noise left his mouth. “I am — I don’t — I am not the best liar. Emi, tell him I’m not.”

“Well…”

Patton couldn’t help but feel betrayed.

Emile gave him a sheepish smile. “Mom and Dad do still think I’m staying with Grams and that you’re going back to UF.”

Damn.

“Best liar.” Damien lifted his lemonade in a toast before going back to his room. “If anyone can keep up an act for over a year, it’s you.”

Damn.

“Woah, look at the time,” Emile glanced at his bare wrist, “I gotta get ready.” He took off toward his room.

~~~

“I’ll pick you up after work, okay?” Patton said as Logan prepared to leave the car. “Don’t even think about trying to do homework or studying or anything. Free day today.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

“Logan Sanders, I am serious. You deserve a break.”

Logan paused. He turned to Patton with a small smile. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Patton watched him go. They were approaching their second year of being together. The longest relationship Patton’s ever had. He didn’t want to mess it up. He liked Logan a lot — more than a lot. Maybe it was the early relationship buzz, but he couldn’t imagine his life without Logan in it. Well, at least everything was going well so far.

Sighing, Patton drove off to work.

After completing his associate’s, he was lucky enough to find a job at one of the nearby animal hospitals. He was happy to be able to work at his dream job. Unfortunately, he had a cat allergy, so he wasn’t allowed to touch any kitties unless there was a shortage of hands. On the bright side, antihistamines existed. Still — more for the hospital’s benefit than Patton’s — he wasn’t allowed to regularly check up on cats. It was a shame. Patton loved cats.

Sometime after lunch, Patton got a call. He had an instant bad feeling enter the pit of his stomach. No one ever called his phone. Sometimes his brothers sent texts, but they never called him. Ever. When he looked at his phone, he saw it wasn’t either of his brothers at all. It was Logan. Luckily, he was between patients, so he answered the call no problem.

He hoped nothing was wrong. “Hello?” He was met with silence. Then there was a soft hiccup. Like he had been crying. “Logan? Are you alright? Is something wrong?”

Logan hung up.

Patton was already moving before he even had time to think through his actions. On his way out, he told a nearby co-worker there was an emergency that needed to be taken care of. He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t wait for questions. He just left. He needed to get to Logan.

A million different things were running through his head at once. Was he hurt? Did something happen to him? Was something happening to him right now? He knew Logan's schedule. He would be between classes at this time. That only opened up possibilities. It didn't ease any of his anxiety at all.

In fact, it increased when he got to campus and realized one thing: he had no idea where Logan was. It was a community college, so it wasn't that big, but a college campus is still a college campus. He could be anywhere. Patton had no idea where to look. There were too many places to hide or be alone — there was a chance Logan wasn't even on campus anymore. God, Patton hoped that wasn't the case. He didn't want to be too late. He couldn't.

He started running, asking a few people if they had seen someone matching Logan's description. No such luck. He must have looked crazy; some random person running around in scrubs asking for a student. But he didn't care. He had to find Logan. He wouldn't leave this damn school without him.

After an eternity, Patton found him. He was sitting in a patch of grass with a girl underneath a tree. She was talking to him, but he didn't seem up for replying. He looked like a mess.

"Logan?"

They both turned to him in alarm. He saw the girl quickly ask Logan questions (to which he nodded to), which led her to stand up and meet Patton halfway. He was kind of confused, but let it play out.

"Um, I don't really know how I should put this," she started. "I, uh, I saw your friend getting harassed earlier. By a man. I didn't recognize him, personally, but I think your friend might have." She shifted from foot to foot. "I called campus security and they said they would take care of it. I've been sitting with him since."

Patton didn’t know how to process that. Who would want to do something like that to Logan? “Thank you, uh…”

“Dahlia.”

“Dahlia,” Patton repeated with a small smile. “It was very nice of you to do those things.”

She mirrored his smile. “I’ll get out of your hair, then. I assume you can take it from here?”

“Yes. Thank you, again.”

She walked back to Logan and handed him a slip of paper. She gave him a smile, eyed Patton one last time, then left with her bag slung over her shoulder.

Patton took a seat beside him. He moved as if he didn’t want to startle a frightened animal. “You doing okay?”

“Fine.” Logan stared at the paper in his hands.

“Did you know him?”

“Just someone I met in class once.”

Patton could tell it was a lie. Logan wasn’t good at lying no matter how hard he tried to be. But Patton didn’t understand why he would need to lie about this. What was the point? He decided not to pry. “Do you want a hug?”

Logan looked up at him in surprise but hesitated to answer. “It’s alright.” He looked back down at the paper.

“I’m only going to ask again because I want a yes or no answer. If you say yes then that’s fine. If you say no, that’s okay too. I’m not inconvenienced by either. I just want you to know that you have a say in this. You shouldn't have to worry about bothering me or giving me an answer you think I want to hear. Give me an honest answer. So I’ll ask again — do you want a hug?”

Logan leaned into his side.

In response, Patton adjusted himself so that his arms could wrap around Logan. He was trembling. Neither of them said anything.

~~~

In the days following the incident, Logan seemed a little… off. Patton didn't mention it — pretended he didn't see how jumpy he had gotten. He figured Logan was still shaken up over it. And that was okay. Logan could take as long as he needed. But it didn't seem to get any better.

They were in his room when it happened. Thomas was out at work so it was just the two of them.

It was such a small thing. It shouldn't have mattered so much. Yet it seemed to be the straw that broke the camel's back.

Logan tipped Patton’s cup of water over. Accidentally. He was getting off the bed and forgot it was on the floor. He was already apologizing and running to get the paper towels before Patton even realized what was happening.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he rushed out as he cleaned the mess. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Patton said softly. He didn’t understand why this was making Logan so frazzled. “Logan —”

“Please, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do it.”

Patton moved to the edge of the bed. “Logan —”

“I swear it was an accident. I wouldn’t ever do this on purpose. I’m sorry. Please. I’m so sorry. I ruin everything —”

“Stop, Logan.”

Logan froze.

Patton lowered himself to the floor beside Logan. He made sure his actions could be read clearly. “Logan, honey, it’s okay. I know it was an accident. I wouldn’t ever think you did it on purpose. What’s going on? Are you alright?”

“I…” His eyes shined with unshed tears. “I’m… I was… He… I-I used to be…” He sighed, turning his eyes toward the ground. “I’m a mess, aren’t I? I just screw everything up eventually. Maybe, maybe you’re better off without me.”

Patton’s blood ran cold. He was immediately hit with mean words burned on lockers, crying in the bathroom, searching and searching for someone that wasn’t there. “No!” Before he could stop himself, he grabbed Logan’s hands with his own. He just — he needed a physical reminder that Logan wouldn’t vanish. They were a little cold and wet from cleaning up the water.

“Please don’t say that. I love being with you. You’re smart and pretty and wonderful. I like seeing your smile, I love being able to make you laugh. I enjoy spending time with you, even if we’re just sitting around doing nothing. There’s nothing more beautiful than the way you look when you’re reading, by the way.” He smiled just thinking about it. “My life has changed in the best ways since I met you. I want to keep having you in it.”

Logan stared at him. “I love you,” he blurted out.

Patton blinked in surprise. Well. That certainly was unexpected.

Realization hit Logan in an instant. He gasped and threw his hands over his mouth, his whole face turning bright red in the process. “Oh my God. I didn’t — I mean I did but —”

Patton couldn’t help but laugh. “I love you, too, bumblebee.”

Logan lowered his hands and gave him a hesitant, relieved smile.

~~~

The day Patton married Logan was the best day of his life. It was a small affair, with neither of them having very many people to invite in the first place, but it was lovely all the same. Patton sent an invitation to his parents — just as an act of goodwill — but it was sent straight back to him without a response. His mother was at least kind enough to send congratulations and “money toward making a family of your own”. It was sort of unfortunate that they wouldn’t be there, but Patton figured it was for the best. He wouldn’t want to subject Logan to his parents’ scrutiny.

But there was one member of his family (besides his brothers) that didn’t turn him down.

“Grams!” Patton pulled her into a hug. It had been so long since he last saw her. “It’s so good to see you.”

She laughed. “The feeling is mutual, my dear. Now,” she pulled herself away with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, “can I finally meet this boy you’ve never been able to stop talking about?”

“I didn’t talk about him that much.”

“Sweetheart, he was in every single letter you sent me from the moment you met him.”

Oh gosh, really? That was a lot, then. “Fine, I’ll get him. Logan!” He walked around the table to drag his husband away from his debate with Damien. Huh. Husband. He liked the sound of that. “Logan, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

“Rosie Picani.” She stuck her hand out before Patton could open his mouth again. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Likewise.” Logan shook her hand. “Patton’s told me so much about you.”

“Oh, I’m glad to know it went both ways.”

“Stop.” Patton hid his face in his hands. “Oh my gosh.”

"If you don't mind me asking," she directed to Logan after smirking at Patton. "Where is your family?"

Logan grinned. A proper, genuine grin. "Right over there." He motioned to the table where Thomas and his friends were sitting. They were all engaged in an animated conversation, oblivious to the discussion about them. "I grew up with nearly everyone at that table."

Grams smiled. The corner of her eyes crinkled. "What a wonderful family."

Logan's broad grin turned to a shy and bashful smile. "Thank you."

~~~

Patton typically got home at around five o’clock. Sometimes later. Sometimes earlier. It depended on the day. Five o’clock was just the average. Usually, at that time things were settled down in the house. The twins would be in their room playing a game, and Logan would be grading papers or getting started on dinner. Except today, apparently.

When Patton walked through the door, he was greeted with… a sight. Logan had Roman over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and Virgil under his arm like a very disgruntled cat. The living room looked as if someone turned it upside down and shook it.

“Oh, Patton,” Logan said, out of breath. The twins squirmed in his arms. “How was work?”

“It was good,” he responded slowly. “Tried to tell a woman her dog was overweight and she insisted he wasn’t even though he looked like a sausage. You know how it is. Uh, what, um, what went down here? If I may ask?”

“Well —”

“It was Virgil’s fault,” Roman interjected loudly.

“What? No, it wasn’t!” Virgil tried to get out of Logan’s grip. “Roman ruined my project.”

“I did not! It was already ruined before I got there. You’re the one that ruined my project.” He wriggled around.

“Because you did it first!”

They started yelling over each other and tried to break free.

“Okay! Stop, both of you,” Logan snapped. “It happened. Fighting over who did what and when isn’t going to change that. Will it make you feel better if I help both of you recreate your projects exactly how they were?”

“Yes,” they answered grumpily.

“Great.” He set them down. “If you two start fighting again I’m going to find a room far away and throw you both in it and take the key with me. Now go get your projects.”

They raced each other to their room.

“So it was an eventful day?” Patton opened his arms up for a hug. They had been together long enough that he didn’t have to use his words to ask permission. That’s not to say that he stopped asking — he always asked. He just did it a silent way.

“You have no idea,” Logan sighed. He collapsed in Patton’s arms as if he had been waiting for it all day. “Work always gets hectic at the end of the school year. And then the twins started fighting almost as soon as we got home.”

Patton rubbed his back. “Hm. I’ll handle dinner today, then — and cleaning up the living room. You just worry about helping the boys.” He paused. “The project is due tomorrow, isn’t it?”

“Yup.”

“I’ll make breakfast, too.”

Later that night, long after Patton got ready for bed, he poked his head into the living room to see how his three favorite boys were doing. They were fast asleep, two completed projects in front of them. Logan had his back against the couch with Roman and Virgil’s heads in his lap. Roman still had an open glue stick in his hand.

Patton smiled. He was going to have to wake them up so they could sleep in their beds, but at this second, he just took in the sight. He loved them all so much. He always hoped to have a family like this one day. And here it was. He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

~~~

Patton sat at the edge of the tub, messing with the ring on his finger. He ran out of tears a while ago, and yet it still felt like a new round could begin any second.

The house was so silent. It hadn’t been that way in years. Some days he begged for it to be quiet again. Right now he wanted nothing more than the noise. He wanted to hear Roman and Virgil teasing each other or running around playing a game. He wanted to hear the Doctor Who theme from the living room or Logan berating the twins. But they weren’t here.

He sighed and put his face in his hands.

He messed up.

#it's about damn time #sanders sides #patton sanders #deceit sanders #emile picani #logan sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #sibling prinxiety #logicality #transphobia tw #homophobia tw #suicide tw #minor character death #excessive use of the word damn #like wow #i used it a lot #berry done au

10 notes · View notes

reddeadrevival · 5 years

Note

I have an idea with Bill and a male reader! Reader is interested in Bill but is too nervous to say anything to them until a drunk night at camp or in a bar. Bill pushes them away because he is confused and doesn't know how to feel. Micah finds out the reader is into guys and bullies him, Bill coming to protect reader. Bill will kiss them after, apologising and letting them know he is nervous about this. You can smut or not, I dont mind either! Lpve your work!

Please check if the ask box is open AND read my “What I write” post before sending in an ask. Thank you.

YES, a million times YES

Okay, there’s a bit of angst in this but don’t worry. I might make a second part that’s smut cause this got kinda long…whoops…

Warning: Micah using homophobic slurs and being… well, Micah

You couldn’t help the way you felt about him

People around camp would joke about Bill in a way that gave you a sort of confidence about your feelings

But then his reactions would dash that confidence quick

You swore to yourself that you’d keep it to yourself

No good would come of telling him

…

It was the night of Sean’s return party

Everyone was celebrating, everyone was happy, everyone was drinking

There’s a reason why they call it liquid courage

After a few bottles you had no fear

Which is never a good thing

You saw him getting another drink from the crate near Pearson’s wagon

You stumbled over and gave him a big smile

Bill, also having had quite a few, returned the smile

“Help me carry these to the table, would ya?” he asked as he loaded his arms full

“Bill, could I talk to you a moment?”

“Sure!”

In the back of your mind you hoped that if this went bad, he would’ve been to drunk to remember this

But things don’t always work out the way we want them too

A great example of that was his reaction to you touching his arm and simply saying

“I…I like you, Bill.”

At first BIll continued to grin

He had heard you

He was happy to hear that from you

But as you moved your hand down to his

His eyes widened and he pushed your arm away before he stumbled back from you

“The hell are you doin’?!”

Your hand snapped back to your side and you felt like you couldn’t breath

Your stomach was twisting and knotting painfully as he looked at you

The expression on his face

He was angry, he was confused, he was sad, he was… he didn’t know what

Feeling like you wanted to crawl in a hole… you ran

You ran from him

His hand twitched, as if it wanted to reach out to you

He watched you run out of sight, behind one of the tents, before he grabbed a bottle and nearly downed the entire thing

…

The next morning his head would be pounding but he would remember

He’d remember the look on your face for the rest of his life

The hurt, the fear, the sadness, the shame

After getting himself a cup of coffee he scanned the camp for you

He didn’t see you at first but heard Micah

“Can’t get a woman so you gotta suck cock instead?”

Fear hit Bill like a train as he saw Micah push you to the ground and stand over you, sneering

There were tears in your eyes as you held your arms up to block your head

Bill dropped his cup and without thinking stormed over

Micah was in the middle of laughing out a “fucking queer"

A hard shove and the blond is on the ground beside you

An unintentionally rough hand pulls you up

Bill pushes you behind him and takes a step closer to Micah, pointing down at him

“Ya better shut yer damn mouth!“

Micah just laughs, the stupid lil snort laugh he does

Before you can blink Bill is pulling you away from the chuckling man

You don’t get a chance to talk as he pulls you out of sight from everyone else behind the girl’s wagon

As soon as you stop he turns to you and his face is already red beneath his beard

He’s struggling to find words to say

you don’t dare try to say anything and wait for him to figure out what he wanted to say

He doesn’t

Instead he grabs you by the upper arms

And suddenly his lips are against yours

It’s blunt and a bit sloppy

He pulls away and suddenly you’re speechless

"I’m sorry!” he blurts

“For…the kiss?”

“No! Fer last night… pushin’ ya away like I did…”

“You don’t have to apologize… you’re not… you don’t like me-”

“But I do!"

He cleared his throat as he shuffled his feet.

"I’ve never…” he’s again at a loss for words “I’ve never really done this before…with a guy…”

“Oh…well… wait, does this mean…"

He does his best to avoid your eyes until you move into his line of sight, a hopeful smile that makes his heart swell

"I don’t know,” he admitted “B-but I wanna try…”

“Try?”

Your eyebrows go up at the implications (that he probably doesn’t mean to imply)

“You- Being with you-! Together-! As a couple!” he kept clarifying

“Are you sure… you saw how Micah-”

“Fuck Micah.”

“Well, I mean, I hope you don’t.” you joke trying to get a smile out of him

You get a nervous chuckle

“We’re outlaws, we don’ follow the rules of the world.” he says

“Meaning?”

“Meaning…” he lets out a huff, trying to build his confidence “Meaning I wouldn’t mind… kissin’ ya again.” he finishes in a mutter

The grin on your face makes his heart flip

“Then do it.”

THAT GOT LONG AND I’M SORRY I hope this is what you wanted ^_^

(Master List)

#Anon #RedDeadRevival #bill williamson x reader #Bill Williamson #male reader #rdr2 headcanons #rdr2 x reader #red dead redemption 2

84 notes · View notes

sanderssidesfanfiction · 5 years

Text

We’ll Carry On - Chapter Twenty Five

We’ll Carry On Tag

General Content Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Substance Abuse, Abandonment, Minor Character Death, Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociation, Bullying, Homophobia

September 30th, 2017

It was all Virgil could hear his mother whispering about anymore. He’s gay, they’re gay, she’s sinning, Patton is going to wind up just like them and then she wouldn’t be able to protect him. Charles would offer to whip Patton into shape, which his mother always refused. Charles would scoff and say, “Don’t say I didn’t try to stop him from being a queer.”

Virgil never said anything if his mother brought it up. Sometimes Patton would ask him why he got quiet, and Virgil never had the heart to tell him it was because he had overhead Mom and Charles. He didn’t want Patton worrying about people talking about him, especially if what they were saying had no proof.

Though Virgil knew one thing for certain. He could never admit to his mother that he had gotten a crush on the new boy at school.

May 22nd, 2019

Virgil was nursing a black eye and trying his hardest not to cry in the principal’s office, failing miserably. He was snivelling as the principal called Dad and Ami. He would have sat outside the principal’s office, by the secretary, but when he had sat there, the other kid he was sitting by, Rick, had split his lip wide open. Of course, he had pinned it on Virgil, so now instead of being in trouble once, he was in trouble two times over. Both for things he didn’t do.

The principal looked at him with apathy. “Stop crying, Mister Picani. Crocodile tears won’t work with me.”

Virgil hiccuped, continuing to hold the ice pack to his eye and blotting his lip with a tissue. “I didn’t do it, sir. I really didn’t.”

The principal shook his head. “We’ll figure out who did what when Rick’s parents and yours come in.”

Virgil cried harder. He was terrified. Not because his secret was out, no, but because if he was blamed for what he didn’t do and Dad and Ami believed the principal, he’d be in such big trouble he doubted he’d be able to sit for a month. Dad and Ami had never spanked him before, but he was pretty sure being accused of kissing another student without consent would do the trick.

The time in between when the principal called Dad and Ami and when they showed up felt like an eternity and the blink of an eye at once. Virgil wondered if this was what dissociating was like, and resolved to give Roman a huge hug if it was, because he would never wish this on anyone.

When Dad and Ami walked in, Virgil almost sobbed. Ami immediately came over to his side and asked, “Virgil, are you all right?! What happened?!”

The principal cleared his throat. “Mister Picani,” he said neutrally.

Ami stood and glared at the principal. “Mister Gardener. Have you managed to find accommodations for our youngest yet in between meetings?”

The principal leveled Ami with a stare. “No, he has not yet gotten a translator for summer school. He can speak, he doesn’t need one. And that is not why I have called you in here today.”

“Yeah, I can see Virgil here,” Ami growled. “Who gave him the black eye and split lip and what are you going to do about it?”

A woman strolled in with Rick clinging to her hand and crying, pointing at Virgil. “He did it, Mom! He’s the one!”

“Of course he is,” the woman spat. “Remy. Emile.”

“Brenda,” Ami said, voice as cold as liquid nitrogen. “What brings you here?”

“Your delinquent son kissed my poor Rick.”

Ami blinked and said nothing. Dad just looked shocked. The principal cleared his throat. “Misses Jackson, Misters Picani, please, have a seat.”

“I demand an apology be made! Rick was traumatized!” Brenda’s shrill voice accused.

Virgil cried harder as Rick glared at him. “I didn’t do it!” Virgil said. He felt like his heart had shattered into a million pieces, and Ami and Dad hadn’t even given him the disappointed look at him yet.

“He did!” Rick exclaimed. “He’s lying, he kissed me!”

“No I didn’t!” Virgil exclaimed.

“Virgil, deep breaths,” Dad reminded him. “Can you explain what happened?”

Virgil took a couple deep breaths but shuddered out a, “I’m not sure what happened.” At Brenda’s laugh, he exclaimed. “I’m not! One minute I’m talking to Rick and the next he punched me in the eye and called me names!”

The principal looked nonplussed. “Well, what did you say to him?”

“It was personal,” Virgil said, looking at the floor, and feeling his cheeks flaming red.

“If you won’t admit what you did, Virgil, then I’m afraid you will have to be suspended,” the principal said.

“Hey, now, hang on a minute!” Dad exclaimed. “You haven’t even heard his side of the story! I’m sure you listened to Rick’s in great detail! Did you not listen to Virgil’s because Remy and I are fighting against you to get Dee accommodations? Are you just bitter at us? Or is there something more sinister at play here? Do you just not care for your students?!”

“Of course I care about the students!” the principal exclaimed.

“Then let Virgil share his side of the story!” Dad bellowed. “And don’t suspend him until you’ve gotten all the facts!”

Virgil was shaking and crying more and Dad turned to him, apologetic. “I’m sorry, Virgil. I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I know you may not want to share, but what did you say to Rick before he hit you and called you names?”

With shaking hands removing the ice pack from his black eye, Virgil said, “I said I had a crush on him, okay?” He scuffed his shoes on the floor. “I figured it was almost summer, so if he didn’t like me back it was no big deal, and by fall he would forget. But he started yelling at me, saying I was gross and going to hell and...and he punched me in the eye before saying...”

“Saying what?” Ami asked, turning his icy glare onto Rick.

“Before saying I was a filthy queer,” Virgil whispered, starting to cry again, softer. “That’s when a teacher came over and Rick claimed I kissed him and he was trying to get me away, and he sent us both here.”

“That doesn’t explain your split lip,” Ami said.

Virgil shifted. “When the secretary left for a minute to talk to the nurse about what happened, Rick punched me again, and when I yelled, he claimed I hit him in the stomach first.”

“My angel would do nothing of the sort!” Brenda screeched. “You’re a liar, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself!”

Virgil cried, “I’m telling the truth! I just had a crush on him! I didn’t want to kiss him, I didn’t kiss him! I just wanted to tell him, because I thought he was cool!”

Rick scrunched his face up and Virgil was really starting to wish he had punched Rick, because there was no way he could do it now but he really wanted to. “You’re gross!” Rick exclaimed. “I don’t want you near me ever again!”

Dad looked angry, and Ami looked completely calm, which is how Virgil knew someone wasn’t making it through the day alive and well. “Mister Gardener, how many times has Rick been called into the office for violence against another student?” Ami asked.

“I hardly see how that’s re—”

“How. Many. Times?” Ami demanded.

Mister Gardener stared down Ami and lost as his eyes drifted away and he muttered, “A handful.”

“Now. How many times has Virgil been called into this office, for any sort of infraction?” Ami continued.

“Never before today,” Mister Gardener said. “But he has been called down here for—”

“For abuse perpetuated by his mother and stepfather before my husband and I gained custody, I know,” Ami dismissed. “That’s irrelevant to this.”

Mister Gardener sputtered in indignation, but shut up as soon as Ami leveled him with a glare that would make Charles cry.

“Now, let’s see. A boy with a history of violence against other kids, as well as, I’m sure, insulting others, belittling them, and behaving much like your average schoolyard bully, tells you that the quiet kid who never comes out of his shell and never gets in trouble beyond occasionally talking to his brother for too long hits him because he was allegedly kissed, and you believe him? Over said quiet kid who not only hasn’t gotten in trouble, but also has a story behind what happened? Beyond ‘he came up to me and kissed me’? Are you really that stupid? Every kid has a reason for doing what they do. Not to mention that Rick doesn’t have a scratch on him and Virgil has some bruises that aren’t going away for at least a couple days. Do you want to allow violence in your school?”

“Mister Jackson will be punished as well for retaliating—”

“No,” Ami said, voice deadly, dripping with venom. “There is no ‘as well’ in this situation. Virgil is telling the truth. Ask the other kids on the playground, I’m sure they’ll tell you exactly what Virgil told us. Virgil doesn’t go up to random kids to kiss them. Especially not boys he likes. He has anxiety which makes it hard for him to raise his hand in class, let alone telling his crush he likes him. Kissing his crush is completely out of the question. You are trying to punish my son for simply liking another boy, and I will not have it!”

Virgil watched in awe as Mister Gardener actually got nervous. He fiddled with the cuffs on his shirt and swallowed a couple times before saying, “I can’t just let him get off scot-free.”

“He did nothing wrong!” Ami exclaimed. “He told a boy he liked him! And then that boy hit him, twice, and called him slurs! Don’t you think that is ‘punishment’ enough? Now, you either get the full story from the other students and see how you were wrong, or I’ll be taking this to your superiors, who I’m sure won’t be as forgiving as I am!”

Mister Gardener paled. “I will talk to the other students, but until the full story is uncovered, both boys will not be allowed to return to class.”

“If you’re suspending Virgil, we’ll be sure to give him some time off at home, let him watch his favorite cartoons, and make sure he knows he’s not in trouble. Because he did nothing wrong,” Dad threatened. “And if by next year you are still trying to get our boys in trouble for something they didn’t do, well, I’m afraid you’ll be dealing with us a lot more than you’d like.”

Dad and Ami led Virgil out, and he could see Dee waiting outside the office on a bench. The four of them went home and Virgil sat listlessly on the couch for two hours, until he heard the door slam shut and Logan, Roman, and Patton walk in.

He looked up as they approached him. Logan and Roman were looking at him with concern, but Patton just looked hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me you were gay, Virge?” Patton asked.

Virgil shrugged. “I was embarrassed, I guess. It’s hard to tell your twin brother you’re gay when he thinks it’s a bad thing, and even after that, I just...thought crushing on Rick was embarrassing. And clearly he didn’t feel the same way,” he weakly laughed at the end.

Patton climbed on the couch and hugged Virgil tight. “I don’t care that you’re gay, Virge,” he said. “I just wish you would have told me. I could have helped you.”

Virgil hugged him back, and sniffled. “He called me names the second I told him...” he admitted. “My heart hurts, and the principal didn’t believe me when I told him I didn’t kiss Rick, and definitely didn’t kiss him without him saying yes.”

Patton just hugged him tighter. “It’s gonna be okay,” he murmured. “You’re gonna be okay.”

Virgil wrenched out a sob and started to cry into Patton’s shoulder. Logan and Roman offered their comforts as well and Virgil realized something. Even if his crush didn’t like him back, his family would always love him. No matter if he liked guys, girls, or no one. No matter if he cried during movies, or laughed too loud at a good joke. His family would be here for him. No matter what.

Patton held Virgil close as Logan talked about his experiences with crushes and Roman laughed at the escapades Logan got into. Virgil smiled despite himself. His family would be there for him through this, through all of it. He didn’t even get a disappointed look. His family was there for him through this.

He was the luckiest kid alive.

#we'll carry on #sanders sides fanfiction #virgil sanders #emile picani #remy sanders #our creations #danger gays

11 notes · View notes

tree4life25 · 6 years

Text

Deadnames/Birth names

So. Deadnames. Those are a thing. When I first learned what that meant, just like with homosexuality, I kinda just shrugged it off, thinking it was something that would never apply to me. I wasn't against it, I would be completely supportive of anyone that it did apply to, but I never thought it would apply to me. And yet, here we are. And yes, when I first learned what homosexuality was, in any form, (gay, lesbian, bi, pan, etc.) I honestly didn't think I was anything but straight and now I just laugh at my younger self. Anyways, back to what I originally wanted to talk about. For those of you that don't know, a deadname, also referred to as birth name, is the name that someone was given at birth or the name that they were called growing up but for whatever reason, they did not want to be referred to by that name anymore. There are a lot of reasons why someone might change their name, whether they just really really don't like their birth name, or they have bad memories attached to that name, etc. Another reason why someone might change their name is because of their gender. A lot of people that are part of the lgbtqa+ community change their name, and that would most likely be attributed to the t, q, and + part of the community. Once again, to anyone that doesn't know, the t stands for transgender, the q for queer/questioning (I apologize to those that see queer as a slur for the lgbtqa+ community, I don't mean to offend anyone. I know that the lgbtqa+ community is doing everything we can to reclaim that word and use it in a positive way but unfortunately not everyone feels comfortable with using it as such yet. I am someone who does use it in a positive way, as an umbrella term for the community and I'm sorry if I've offended anyone.) And the + is for every gender identity and sexuality that is not represented through a letter already here, like pansexual and non binary, etc. I don't think it's very hard to understand why someone who is transgender might want to change their name. If someone is a transgender man, it wouldn't exactly be comfortable for him to be called the feminine name that he was given at birth. Same for a trans girl, she wouldn't want to be called a guys name. There's also the non binary part of the community, someone who is non binary might not want to be called a name that is very feminine or very masculine. Depending on how they feel, they might want a gender neutral name, like Jessy or Robin. There's people like me who would rather have a shortened name that is technically gender neutral but could stand for anything. My name is Will, it could stand for William or Willow, you'll never know. There's a lot of gender neutral names like that, Alex, Max, Sam, Chris, Charlie, etc. Someone who is nonbinary doesn't have to have a gender neutral name though, they can have a feminine or masculine name if they'd like, it really depends on the person. I have a non binary friend named Michael. Not a very gender neutral name but then again, it's their life so they can do whatever the fuck they want. (I'm a bit defensive of them, I love my friends and I will not have anyone say anything bad about them) There are many different reasons for someone wanting to change their name. One thing that I don't think is discussed too much, at least that I've seen, is deadnames and the relationship someone might have with their deadname. From what I've seen and heard and read, there are a few different kinds of relationships that people can have with their deadnames. Now, before you start saying "relationship? It's a name, you can't have any kind of relationship with a name!" Take a second and think. I know for some that might be hard, as you don't do it too often, (those people that leave anons telling others to kill themselves or are just generally hateful in any way) but just really try. In fact, think about the relationship that you have with your name. You are you. Your name is a name. There is a 99% chance that someone else on earth either has the same name as you or that someone in history had the same name as you. It's just a general name. The relationship you have with that name is that it is yours. Think about your best friends name. The relationship you have with that name is that it's the name of your best friend. Whenever you hear that name again, you will think of your best friend. Sometimes there will be a name that you have no relationship with. That is because you don't know anyone with that name. It is a new name to you. Sometimes these relationships are great, like your best friends name or your favorite actors name. Sometimes these relationships are bad, the name of your least favorite teacher or of someone that hurt you in some way. Some are neutral, like the name of that girl that sits in front of you in class that you've never spoken to. You don't know her, you don't really have any opinion of her, that's neutral. You don't have any positive or negative connotations with that name. I've found that a lot of people unfortunately have very bad relationships with their deadnames. They hear that name, even if it's not in reference to them, and they get very upset. If referred to by their deadname, they get triggered and very anxious or depressed, maybe both.That is a bad relationship with a deadname, when someone gets upset by just the mention of it. Some people probably have a good reason for that, such as it might be the name that they were called by an abuser or where bullied for, but it's still something that can be worked through. It's important to work through any negative connotations that you might have with a certain name, whether it's because it's your deadname or even if it's just the name of someone you didn't like, because you might find yourself one day faced with a situation where someone in your life has that name and you can't afford to get so upset. For example, a boss or a coworker might be named the same name that you were named at birth, your deadname and you can't afford to be so upset by that name anymore. No one is saying you have to love that name, no one is saying you have to get over it right now, but if you or someone you know gets very easily upset by just the mention of their deadname, it is something that needs to be worked on. I am personally not upset by my deadname at all. My birth name is illana. I think it's a beautiful name and the meaning behind it is great and the reason I was named that at birth is an amazing reason. I hold no animosity towards my birth name, I never have and I never will. I don't get upset when people that know my name is Will accidentally call me illana. Depending on the situation, I just politely correct them and move on, although if my anxiety is bad, I just don't say anything because anxiety. I know that my family is never going to refer to me as anything other than illana even when I get a legal name change and I'm fine with that. And it's not something that I'm ever going to lose either, that part of me that is illana. I don't like to say deadname when I'm referring to myself and the name illana because it's not a part of me that I'm ashamed of or that I want dead. I prefer to say birth name. For a long time, I was illana. That's who I was. And that time in my life is never going to change, it's never going to be any different than it was because it's the past and when it happened, I was illana, not Will. There are parts of my time as illana that I love and I never want to forget but ultimately, that's not me anymore and I'm fine with that. This is who I am now and it's very different to who I was back then. Illana and Will are two different parts of me from different times in my life but they are both still me and I wouldn't change that even if I had the option. I'm not ashamed of illana and I never will be. At one point, I was. I was ashamed of everything I was, everything I did. I was ashamed of being illana, I hated hearing my own name because it reminded me of everything wrong I'd ever done and it hurt so much to think about. I wanted to be someone else. I wanted a new start. And I can be someone else, but that doesn't mean I have to start from scratch. I can be Will, someone I've always wanted to be and have thought about for so long but that doesn't mean I have to cut out any and all parts of illana. And I haven't. I have become the person I wanted to be for so long, that I never thought I could be, while still managing to keep almost all the parts of my life that I love and never wanted to lose, even when I was ashamed to be me. I don't have a negative relationship with my birth name. I don't get upset when I hear it, I don't push that part of me away, I don't bury it so far down so that no one can ever find it. I'm not illana anymore but that doesn't mean I resent the part of my life when I was. It's a part of me, that's never going to change and I don't want it to because without that part of my life, I wouldn't be where I am now and I honestly love where I am right now with myself. I'm by no means ok, I still have a lot of things to work through, but when I think of where I am now compared to where I was just a year ago, I am so happy with my progress and a big part of that progress was learning to not be so ashamed of who I was in the past. That was me then, this is me now and I don't know what I'll be like in the future but I am working hard to make sure that I am never ashamed of any part of me, including who I was when I was illana. Whether you call it a deadname, a birth name, or whatever, it's not something to ever be ashamed of. It's not something you have to be afraid of. It's not the easiest thing in the world, it's probably a lot harder for some people to have a good relationship with their deadname than others but it's important to try. It's important to have a good relationship with yourself and your past. And if you don't know where to start, you don't know how to get over the fear of your deadname and all the negative emotions that you hold for that name, I can give you a start, a little push. A motto. Your new motto, for every time you hear that name and you start spiraling down that hole of shame and fear. That's not you anymore. When you hear that name or read it or anything and you start to feel all those bad feelings, just tell yourself over and over, that's not me. I am not that person. That is not my name. I am not the same person now as I was when I had that name. It no longer applies to me. That is not me anymore. And even if people do still call you by that name, if there are people that will never call you any thing but that name, you just keep telling yourself, that is not me. They can call me that but I know better. I know me and that's not me. It once was but not anymore. Find some people that you feel comfortable with and maybe tell them. I know that it really helps me to have people calling me Will even though some people still call me illana. Even when only one person knew me as Will and called me Will, it still helped so much. And now, I have a lot of people calling me Will. My internet friends were the first people and then when I finally talked to my school counselor and my teachers, they started calling me Will too and it makes me so happy that they do. At home, I'm still illana and I always will be but I know that doesn't mean that's who I am. Please, for your own happiness and mental health, try to do this. Find someone you trust and even if you can't, you don't want anyone to know yet, just tell yourself that that is not you anymore. It may seem small and stupid even, but that's not true. You have a right to be called by the name you want to be called and if the people in your life currently aren't willing to call you that and you can't find anyone who is, then you have to do it yourself. Be your own support until you can find someone to help. It can be hard, ridiculously hard at times, but it is so worth it in the end, I promise. And if you don't have anyone, I'll do it. Send me a message or an ask with your name, the name you want to be called but can't due to circumstances and I will call you that name. I will answer your messages with that name, I will answer your asks with that name (if you prefer to remain on anon sign off with an emoji so I know who it is), I will do everything I can to help you feel comfortable with who you are. I will try to help you feel comfortable with your name, I will try to help you not feel ashamed or upset with your deadname and I will support you through every time you feel invalidated because of your name. It's your life, your name, and you deserve to be proud of who you are. Ps, I'm really not the best with tagging so if you feel there is something that hasn't been tagged that should be, please let me know what it is and how you think it would be best to tag it. I never want to trigger anyone in any way. Thank you!

#Deadnames. deadname. Birth names. Birth name Queer abuse Lgbtqa+

24 notes · View notes

whisker-biscuit · 6 years

Text

Harley Quinn is Not A Good Role Model: Chapter 10

Rated T-M for language and graphic descriptions of violence

Pairing: Dr. Flug/Black Hat

Summary: Dr. Flug Slys is a successful psychiatrist working at one of the world’s most respected mental institutes for the criminally insane. But this new patient is unlike anything he’s ever encountered. Flug is determined to help him, nonetheless.

Black Hat has other ideas.

Chapter 10: Icarus

Warning: This chapter contains references to graphic violence and derogatory homophobic slurs and prejudice. Please tread with caution.

After the whole ‘moving 505 to his new room and trying to keep Black Hat from killing us both’ fiasco, Flug was entirely prepared to sit in the security room watching security feed of the two most secure cells for the rest of the night, sleep be damned. He’d already set himself up in one of the desk chairs, with paperwork, a decent neck pillow and at least 1,500 grams of nonperishable foods. This was mostly thanks to his sudden, bizarre camaraderie with Lucas – and Ben, to a lesser extent – who gave him access to the screens and got the other guards off his back.

He had finally gotten comfortable in the swivel chair, armed with a granola bar and a formal request for time off for that EPPA convention in a month, with his legs propped up and his bag snugly fit against the pillow, when one of his phones buzzed. It was the one in his left coat pocket, which signaled a personal message instead of a work one from the phone stuck in his right. Flug grumbled to himself and shifted to reach for it, and found an email for the arrival of an order of cosmetics from the website recommended to him from the nurse.

That order had been fairly expensive, and the last thing he needed was for it to sit unguarded at the local post office for who knew how long.

Despite his severe misgivings, the psychiatrist was forced out of his vigilant post and away from the security feeds, taking his provisions with him. He knocked on the doorframe to get the closest guard’s attention, explaining the situation and asking for a temporary fill-in while he went to retrieve his package.

“Don’t worry, Doc,” she batted her lashes at him, “I’ll do anything for you.”

It didn’t really make him feel better.

On the way out of the lobby, Flug was so stuck in his worries that he nearly collided with a nurse carrying a large bundle of standard patient uniforms. Clothes fluttered to the ground in heaps and left the poor girl with only a single pair of pants in her grasp.

“Oh, I’m s-so sorry, I’m so,” he crouched at the same time she did and they collided heads, causing both to fall back on their butts and rub their new respective bumps. “Owww…”

“Nnngh,” the nurse’s eyes were barely visible past her dreadlocks, which cascaded down to her chest. She lifted her head to look up at him and recognized his face at the same time he read her nametag.

It was Susie, the quiet nurse he had given 505’s prescription to nearly a week ago. It felt like much, much longer. They sat awkwardly across from each other with large eyes, then simultaneously realized the uniforms were still on the floor. The girl hastily made to pick them up and Flug wasted no time in joining her, grateful for something else to distract him.

“I’m – I’m really sorry about that.” He offered meekly, keeping his head down and away from her. If he’d looked up he would have noticed she was doing the same.

“No, no it’s no trouble,” Susie mumbled, embarrassment present in the red flush across her dark warm cheeks. “I should have watched where I was going.”

“Ah, m-me too.” They got all the fallen clothes together and began the tedious process of folding and stacking each pair. Flug was painfully aware of the large metal clock ticking away above the entrance. As soon as the last shirt was placed on top of the pile he scrambled to his feet, sneakers squeaking against the marble floor.

“Thank you,” the nurse carefully hefted the uniforms as she stood up, putting one hand on top to keep it steady. She looked more closely at him. “I haven’t seen you in a few days, Dr. Slys. Are – are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’ve been j-just great,” the psychiatrist resisted the childish urge to tap his foot. “A lot on my plate with a new p-patient, that’s all. Everything’s great.”

“That’s good.” Susie shuffled, a bit more relaxed now. “We’ve all been worried about you, Doctor. That crim – that new inmate, Black Hat, all the nurses avoid his room and I don’t know how you can do it. How are you so brave?”

“I’m not, um, I’m not brave. Not that brave. It’s just my job.” Flug brushed out his lab coat, head ducked. “I appreciate your c-concern, really, but I’m fine. Nothing I can’t survive – handle! Nothing I can’t handle,” he amended quickly at her pinched face.

“Okay…” the nurse bit her lip. “That’s…good to hear, Dr. Slys. But we’re here to help – the nurses. If you need anything. Please don’t be afraid to ask.”

“I won’t,” the words were sincere. “Thank you and…” he gestured jerkily at the clothing, “I’m so sorry about that.”

Susie shook her head, grateful smile dimpling her face. “No, it happens. They’re dirty anyway.”

They parted ways a little less awkwardly than they had met, and Flug felt relatively happy until he caught a glimpse of the clock and nearly had an aneurysm. Sprinting down the building steps and into the parking lot, the psychiatrist reached his reserved parking space in the span of fifteen seconds and had to take a quick breather against his car.

It was a silver Chevrolet Cobalt, modeled in 2008 and in good condition. Wasn’t fancy, wasn’t what most of his staff had, but it got the job done and he was going to use it for all it was worth before getting anything else. Besides, no one suspected someone of his occupation drove anything like this. Better for avoiding media after a press conference or whatever else.

Better for keeping a low profile. It kept him safe.

The post office was almost completely void of people, thank god, and Flug waited as patiently as he could while the postal worker checked through his ID and verified the transaction. The package wasn’t too big to fit in his arms, but the skewed weight had him juggling it clumsily as he strode briskly back to his car. He stuck it in the passenger seat and buckled it up for good measure. Safety first and all that.

Instead of taking it back to his apartment, he made an executive decision to just drop it off in his office before resuming his watch of 505’s situation. That decision was regretted quite a bit when he was halfway down the hall and turned the corner only to stare at the barrel chest of Dr. Bautista.

His luck really sucked sometimes.

The other psychiatrist looked down his nose as if the doctor wasn’t worth his head turn, but then his eyes lighted on the box in Flug’s hands and did a double take.

“Make-up? You bought make-up?” He sneered in a way that had Flug gritting his teeth. “I didn’t know you were that kind, Dr. Slys.”

“Excuse me,” the psychiatrist tried to walk around, but Bautista matched his step backwards and folded his arms, making it nearly impossible to move forward without brushing into him. “Please, Doctor, I really need to get through.”

“Is that why you had me kicked off the inmate’s case? Scared I’d see this?” The larger man stabbed an angry finger into the package, almost knocking Flug off balance with the force of the tap. “Is this what’s under that dumb bag? Shit like this?”

“I d-don’t need to explain anything to you. A-And I asked you to move.” He tried to shove past but was stopped again. The box creaked a little under his grip. “Dr. Bautista, please, I talked to the director a-and she approved my request, th-that’s all there is to it. She wants us t-to work out our differences and I can’t do that if you won’t let me through!”

There was a tense moment of standoff, but Flug was sick of this day and sick of bullies with names of the letter B and he refused to be the first to crack. His coworker’s hard gaze trailed down to the box again, a defeat hidden behind contempt.

“Is this why you wanted my intern, too? Gonna make him dress up like those freaks on TV? Turn him into a queer, like you?”

‘you’re German, aren’t you? Why you gotta be a fuckin’ queer?’

Flug sucked in a breath and Bautista realized in that instance what he’d said, what he was doing. The bigger man metaphorically backpedaled and looked nervously around for any sign of other employees.

“Forget it, forget what I said. Do whatever the hell you want, he’s your intern now anyway, he’s not worth my time. And neither are you.” The psychiatrist pivoted on his heel and stalked away, eyeing nearby closed doors apprehensively as he went.

Left behind was a psychiatrist struggling to keep himself from falling apart right there in the hall.

He booked it for his office, hands shaking so much that the box’s contents rattled haphazardly. The moment he reached his little sanctuary and the door was shut Flug collapsed to his knees, hunched over the package and headwear pressed into its top.

This was not supposed to happen. He was supposed to have moved past this, give or take a paper bag and some shaky stuttering. He had moved past it, hadn’t had such a bad episode since before the Institute, before restraining scary inmates and psycho patients and dealing with…whatever Black Hat was.

But the memory bubbled up in familiar sickness and the doctor had just enough sense to reach up and lock the handle above him, fingers trembling with the effort. His hand dropped, boneless in his lap, and Flug stared in horrified awe as the yellow glove disappeared, the white lab coat disappeared. In its place was exposed pale skin, with the red overcoat clashing terribly with the icy ground and the snowy air. He couldn’t feel the cold, but it was right there, right there and he was back he was –

A cough made him look up.

It was a group of five men, all their heads shaved to the bone and with near-matching tattoos right at the nape of their necks – barely visible from the high-collared heavy blue jackets they shared. He was not one of them, had never seen them before and hoped never to again, but a job was a job and he wasn’t going to complain, especially not here. They were mostly ignoring him anyway, grumbling to themselves about the frigid wind as they all waited behind that warehouse.

Their hit wouldn’t be there for another ten minutes at least, however, and he could sense their restlessness even as he pulled and twitched at his coat. He hadn’t had the chance to do his good-luck straighten-up routine when he’d left this morning, and it was filling him with irrational, irritating dread.

One of the smaller skinheads finally got bored enough to look his way, and he bit his tongue and kept his expression carefully neutral as the man approached.

“So you’re, like, really the guy helpin’ us out here?” It was said nonchalantly, in the tone of someone who very literally had nothing else better to do.

“That’s right,” he replied, eyes landing somewhere just under the other’s gaze. Directness was dangerous, was seen as challenge, but avoiding the face altogether was often seen as an insult. He’d toed this beam plenty of times and was well-versed in the physical whisperings of others.

The man scrubbed at the thick line of stubble under his jaw, itchy and miserable from the cold. “So what’s your deal, then? She said you were German, like honest to god bloodline and everything.”

He stilled the movements of his hands. “Yes, I am. My name was on the contract, if I remember right.”

“Oh, yeah,” more scratching, “that’s right, I saw your name, yeah. That really was German, huh. You ever think about joinin’ one of us ‘stead of her? Less rules and shit.”

“Ah, I don’t know,” he glanced over at the rest. One or two were starting to pay attention. “It’s really good pay, I guess. And she lets me use her lab, I can build whatever I want, whenever I want. It’s hard to leave a setup like that, you know?”

“Sure,” the skinhead reached a scarred hand to his neck and rubbed aggressively at the inflamed skin under his swastika. It was very recent, possibly within the last few days if his math was right.

“Stop fuckin’ with it,” gruffed one of the largest members, who stood and stretched before stepping heavily to join the two. “It’ll get infected and then you’re gonna cry like a bitch for weeks.”

“I ain’t gonna cry like no bitch,” the obvious newbie snarled, agitated by the cold and the teasing. “Only bitches here are all of you, huddled together over there for warmth. It’s pathetic.”

“Mm,” the older, larger man looked over the non-member with a skeptical look to his eye. “You’re kinda scrawny for your age, aren’t you? For your work?”

He kept his face clear, going for a simple shrug of shoulders and a slight fiddle of his coat zipper. It wasn’t the first time hearing this question doubting his appearance, but he had come prepared and equipped and demonstration would persuade these men much more than words. If only the damn target would show up.

“He kinda looks like a queer.”

The suggestion was much more unexpected and he stiffened up, eyes moving very slowly to look at the newbie, who sneered and stared at him with newfound amusement.

“Izzat true? You a queer?”

“No,” he said, firm and strong and leaving no room for suspicion. “I’m a scientist.”

The bigger, older man gave a few deep, rumbling chuckles and nudged his irritated companion. “That was a good one, come on.”

“Wasn’t nothing,” the younger one responded, shadowed face getting darker every second. “It wasn’t even an answer. I thought he’d at least give me an answer. You afraid of something, kid? Got something to hide?”

“Don’t call him kid, you’re barely growing pubes, idiot.”

The two skinheads started slinging insults at each other, and the rest of the gang was perking up at the sight. In the meantime he edged away, very slowly and as quiet as he could be in the snow. His sense for danger was always reliable and it was telling him that if their hit didn’t arrive soon, something was going to happen.

Something very, very bad.

Of course, he was only about a meter further from the verbal brawl before the newbie turned angrily back to him and spat at the ground.

“Just answer the fucking’ question, Aryan. You gay or not?”

“I’m not gay,” he insisted, but this question was not one he had mastered a safe answer to, had never had to before, and something must have shown on his face, in his voice, in his words maybe – because the larger, older man straightened up abruptly with practiced ease. The gaze of the young new one became sharp and predatory and hovered somewhere between eagerness and loathing.

It wasn’t until all five began to circle him that he realized he was hitting the cold back of the warehouse.

“Repeat that for me,” said the older, larger skinhead, and he was starting to think this one was the leader, the way he seemed to tower above them all and demanded respect, and an honest answer.

“I’m not – gay!” He insisted again, words slipping only because of the sudden closeness of one man to his right. It startled him into a voice crack and that was all the prompting they needed. He was pinned to the wall by three different pairs of hands and his head smacked painfully against the metal.

“Hang on, hang on guys,” hissed a voice belonging to one pair of grasping hands. “We gotta do the job first, right? She’s not gonna pay us if we don’t do the job.”

“I’m not working with a fucking fag,” hissed another. “Got enough of that shit in the world already, it doesn’t belong here with real people. It’ll taint us all if we don’t stop it.”

“But I’m not – I’m not…!” He tried to cry out just as a gloved hand slapped him hard and stung worse than the cold ever could.

“Shut up.” It was the newbie, eyes blazing and manic. “You’re German, aren’t you? Why you gotta be a fuckin’ queer? Bet you’ve been wanting to fuck all of us this whole time, huh. Bet it really gets you off bein’ around real men for once.”

“What should we do with him?” Asked the hesitant one again. “You know she’ll put a hit out on us if we kill him, you – you guys know that.”

“I know,” rumbled the larger, older man quietly. He was standing behind them all, overseeing as was his position, but his gaze had landed on the back of the newbie’s neck. Something passed his visage, and for one moment there was no white in his eyes. “Pin him to the ground, on his back.”

They complied eagerly and he fought for every centimeter of height lost until someone got impatient and punched him hard in the stomach. He collapsed immediately, gasping for breath even as they stretched his arms out and sat on his legs.

“Chase, give me your cigarette.”

“What?! Why the hell –”

“Just fucking give it to me!” The tone left no room for argument and he watched in stuck terror as a half-used cigarette traded hands to the older, larger skinhead, who walked around and crouched right above his head.

He stared, pleading and cold and hurting and asking for a single shred of mercy. But they had both played this game for a long while and thus both knew there would be none.

“I think,” the soulless black look was back. “The best way to do this,” a giant, meaty hand gripped painfully in his hair and stilled his shaking head. “Is to show our employer exactly what we think of little creatures like you poisoning our perfect race.”

The burning tip hovered a millimeter from his wet right cheek.

“You said you’re German. I think it’s time to embrace your roots.”

The tip came down.

And Flug cried silently into his square paper mask.

Hey guys, this one was a heavy one and I apologize for it. If it triggered or upset anyone, please let me know and I’ll give more warning in the beginning of the chapter. Please keep in mind that this story as a whole will continue to deal with heavy topics like this, but it isn’t my intention to sugarcoat these things or paint them as insignificant.

Thanks for listening. Last chapter is tomorrow and then we’ll be all caught up. Hope you all have a good one.

#villainous #villainous au #asylum au #dr flug #black hat #paperhat

76 notes · View notes

jjohnsonwriter · 4 years

Text

“The Children are Our Future”

“When is this going to stop!?” Elizabeth Psomas checked the volume of her bullhorn. “Sarah Cohn, a transgender classmate, was murdered; found dead in a ditch, and neither the police, nor this school’s administration have done anything about it!” The crowd forming around Elizabeth on Appian Way kept growing, and they listened in rapt attention. “It’s up to us; the student body, to police ourselves and create a safe space; an environment where we can all learn and thrive! Right now, every man, woman, and child on this campus, be they cisgender, trans, queer, gender non-binary, agender, genderfluid, or native American two-spirit, should feel unsafe!”

Her friend Sasha Stilton-Brown asked her, “Elizabeth, is it OK if I put down this soap box for you to stand on?” Elizabeth nodded, and Sasha replied, “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to provide explicit verbal consent before I can put this soap box down in front of you, Elizabeth.”

“Thank you for asking for consent Sasha. And yes, it’s OK for you to put down the box.” She placed the REI™ pre-distressed, limited edition Soap-Box™ on the brick walkway. Elizabeth stepped up on the box to address the swelling crowd. “My fellow students, for too long have our transgender, gender non-binary, non-hetero, and other genderqueer classmates been bullied, harassed, assaulted, and now murdered!” The crowd started to cheer and shout in a mindless rabble of positive reinforcement. Some of the passing students kept on walking, while others joined the growing throng.

“I’m calling for justice against this horrendous murder; an end to the harassment and abuse, and a campus where we can all learn and work knowing the end of our journey through this institution will be graduation, not subjugation and death!” They cheered Elizabeth on, and she felt the will to effect change; to expand the rights of her peers, and to increase tolerance in society. She was not trans, but having grown up a cisgendered woman, she knew the struggle of inequality and being told what was and wasn’t your place. The dozens of students now gathered around Elizabeth cheered her on.

The mob clambered over one another to hear Elizabeth’s words over their shouts and cheers, “Let’s march down to the student senate, and demand action!” She shouted and raising her bullhorn into the air, the mob followed her down in Appian Way to the Curia, where the student senate met

In seconds the Elizabethan mob filled the Curia’s atrium past its maximum fire marshal regulated capacity of 75 occupants, and Elizabeth’s consigliere, Sasha Stilton-Brown asked her: “Elizabeth, may I knock on the door to the student senate’s office on your behalf?”

“Yes Sasha, please do that. Thank you so much!” She said with great mirth.

Sasha Stilton-Brown politely knocked on the door three times, waited a few seconds, and knocked again. “I don’t think anybody’s here right now.” She told her friend and LGBTQIA+ inclusive, intersectional feminist ally.

Elizabeth scratched her head. “Um, I’m just wondering, if maybe it wouldn’t upset anyone too much here, or trigger them, if we broke the door down?”

A young man from the crowd came forward and said “No, I wouldn’t be offended.”, but he was white, and from the looks of it cisgender, so they checked with some of the African-American kids, but they said that ‘African-American’ felt patronizing, and if you had to be so crass as to address their race directly, you should call them ‘black’, and that if you were going to write down the outdated and frankly somewhat racist historical phrase, then you wouldn’t use a hyphen, and that you would write it: ‘African American’, because a hyphen would actually imply that the person was someone born in Africa who had also gained American citizenship.

Feeling the room had reached a consensus, Elizabeth decided that they should all take turns running at the door, then kicking the handle in an attempt to break the door down. They agreed they had a right to do break down the door because without doing so they would feel more threatened by not addressing the campus’s social climate in the wake of the potential hate-crime murder of their transgender classmate.

They broke down the door to find the room where the student senate held their meetings completely empty. “Elizabeth?” Sasha asked her, with the 112 members of the mob standing behind them. “Um… I’m kind of getting the feeling like that maybe the student senate isn’t here right now?” She said, raising the pitch of her voice at the end of the sentence so everybody would know it was a question, and nobody would feel like, threatened, or like, triggered, because it was kind of a tense situation anyway, and they were all feeling a bit ‘on-edge’, which was the term they agreed to use rather than going straight to labeling themselves ‘triggered’, because they were worried that with tensions running so high one person labeling themselves as ‘triggered’ might cause a massive wave of them all labeling themselves as triggered, and they all decided mutually, as like a co-equal-partnership-type-thing, that they didn’t want to put a ‘label’ on it because they knew that some of the group might not want to be labeled, and they didn’t want to make anyone feel they had been ‘Othered’, especially in such a big group, with so much like, ‘revolutionary steam’ built up.

“Right, I’m also thinking that student senate might not be here right now.” Elizabeth said, and one of the nameless, faceless, and totally coequal and valid mob came forward holding a piece of paper which had been taped to the door they were trying to break down.

A cis white girl wearing a black dress approached Elizabeth and Sasha. “Hey guys, I just wanted to show you that there’s this sign that says the student senate is actually out for the day, do you think maybe it would be OK if we agreed to meet another day, and like, maybe table this whole ‘revolution’ thing until the student senate, or some body of representatives we can actually talk to that might actually want to listen to us-”

Then the mob realized a white, cisgender, heteronormatively gender-affirming dressed girl was making the point, so they started shouting the nameless, faceless cis white girl down, the angriest and most aggressive of which were actually white cis females themselves, and the totally co-equal mob stoned her with their epithets: “White Privilege!”, “Cis-Privilege Must Die!”, and the absolutely fatal: “Heteronormativity is Patriarchy!” The mob heaped more castigations, one on top of another until their words blended together in a meaningless avalanche of anti-slurs, and Elizabeth and Sasha realized that they had lost all control over their once unified and somewhat cohesive group. The two friends pressed their way through to the exit and narrowly escaped being trampled by the mob.

They had escaped to the relative safety of their dorm, and although neither of them were trans, or even gender non-binary, or anything other than like, totally cisnormative in their look, appearance, and the rest of their overall outward gender-expression, Elizabeth and Sasha weren’t taking any chances given what had already happened to Leah Smith: their trans classmate who had been murdered. Leah had been found buried in a shallow grave off the I-80; her genitals and eyes stabbed over 50 times before the attackers had set fire to her corpse.

“We can’t let this stand; we’ve gotta do something!” Elizabeth said as she cracked into a bag of seaweed chips.

Sasha Stilton-Brown had never felt really unsafe before in her life, but now her rights had to have been violated, she thought. She wasn’t sure exactly what rights had been violated, because come to think of it, she couldn’t really think of what all her rights were exactly, but she definitely got the feeling that somehow, somewhere along the line, they’d been violated. So she did the only thing she knew how to do. “Liz, I got it!”

Elizabeth chewed the wad of granola to the inside of one cheek before clearing her throat and saying: “Well first of all, please don’t abbreviate my name, because it makes me feel like, less than, or ‘Other’,” Elizabeth used finger quotes when she said ‘Other’, “but yeah, go ahead, what did you want to say?”

Sasha cleared her throat before speaking again; “Actually, please don’t presume to give me like, permission to speak, because it makes me feel like I’m being managed, but yeah, what if we started our own student senate!?” Elizabeth narrowed her eyes at the insinuation she was managing Sasha, but then Elizabeth’s expression lit up when she realized the implication of all the things she (which she immediately corrected herself in her head to ‘we’) could do with all that power to affect change!

“Sasha, you’re a genius!”

Sasha cleared her throat. “Actually, Elizabeth, please don’t use the term ‘genius’ because it’s rife with patriarchal implications, and my brother actually has an IEP, so I’d appreciate it if you could just, like, not.” Her brother’s IEP was a stunt he pulled so that he could listen to music in study hall and he didn’t actually have any learning disability except the paralyzing fear of spiders and dodgeballs, and aforementioned desire to listen to music.

Elizabeth immediately began to feel a flood of remorse, and tears welled up in her eyes, which she could barely contain. “OMG, I’m soooo sorry Sasha. I had no idea!”

Sasha fluffed her pillow and sat up in bed, working on her American Civ essay on personal freedom and the Bill of Rights. “But you know, you’re right: we need to make our own student senate. We need something which can fight for our rights on campus!”

Four days later, in the hours preceding the next student senate meeting, Elizabeth and Sasha stood outside to gather another group of students to aid in their cause. They marched into the student senate meeting with their posse of like-minded, freethinking individuals in tow.

An official looking white cisgender female stood at the lectern wearing a Bernie Sanders button on her blazer, and spoke into the microphone: “As class president, it’s my responsibility now to open up the floor to public comment regarding the matter at hand: the senate’s vote on whether we should replace tofu in the cafeteria with soy-free seitan or tempeh.”

A thin young man (really more of a boy) wearing a gray cotton shirt with two interlocking triangles, one pink, the other purple, stood up and addressed the president of the senate, the delegation, and the room. “Hello, the LGBTQIAPK (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgener, Queer, Pansexual, Intersexed, Asexual, Pansexual, Kink) Delegation of Students Living on Campus for Safer Spaces and Healthier Eating Options (LGBTQIAPK-DSLCSSHEO) would like to posit that we only offer quinoa, almonds, and lentils as the cafeteria’s protein options, in light of the fact that seitan and tempeh are grown more internationally, and that we can’t be sure that we’re keeping our institutional carbon footprint at acceptable levels if we import seitan and tempeh.”

The class president scoffed and said: “Excuse me, but last week’s referendum was on precisely this issue, and we voted it down, 5-4 against.” She adjusted her glasses and brushed back her hair behind her ear with one finger.

Sensing either a lull in the conversation, or that if she didn’t butt in now the issue would never be heard, Elizabeth stood up and raised one hand, to which every member of the senate, the LGBTQIAPK+-DSLCSSHEO, the local DSA (Democratic Socialists of America) student union, the student Democratic Party, and the HHWOIB (Hula-Hoopers Without Ideological Boundaries), and the rest of the student body in attendance of the meeting who wasn’t part of Elizabeth and Sasha’s mob, or any other affiliated group, all scoffed at the very notion of something as childish as raising one’s hand, because anyone without a social life (which they assumed was everyone present, seeing as how they each assumed everyone else in the room, given that it was thursday at 5:35 PM, and most students on campus didn’t have classes on friday, which made it the university’s campus wide ‘Thursty [sic] Thursday’) was enough of a nerd, geek, or an outright Poindexter to know the basics of parliamentary procedure re. the fact that one never ever actually does something so blatant, obvious, and childish as raise one’s hand, but rather, intimates through a precise and scheming series of influence building tactics and other machiavellianisms to simply ‘make it known’ that one’s intention at present was to speak, and somehow simply command the attention of the room via psychic will towards one’s self and simply begin to speak. But Elizabeth was about to turn everything these coddled prep-school snowflake cucks had ever known about being a coddled prep-school snowflake cuck on its egg-shaped head.

“Excuse me.” Elizabeth said, raising her hand higher in that ‘I have to pee and I am a small child’ foot stepping pattern many people grow out of very shortly after they hit middle school. “Excuse me!” she shouted.

Class president Harper Graves leaned forward, smiled, and said into the microphone: “Yassss?” At which point the rest of student senate, the LGBTQIAPK-DSLCSSHEO, the local DSA, the student Democratic Party, and the HHWOIB started laughing, although a large contingent of those laughing were actually ‘whoop-whoop’ing, and the HHWOIB were laughing so hard that their internal somatic rhythms had taken over, and they’d started to swing their hips in the circular motions they subconsciously made after months of continuous daily ideology-free 8-hour-marathon-hula-hoop sessions. The only people in the room not laughing were Elizabeth, Sasha Stilton-Brown, and the 99 pissed off students they came in with standing behind them. In fact, Elizabeth and her mob stood stone faced and silent with their arms crossed.

“A student was murdered, and you’re all standing here arguing over tofu!?” Elizabeth shouted over the din. Some of the students were still wiping the tears of laughter from their eyes over Elizabeth’s ignorance of parliamentary procedure politics, but by the time they’d made sense of her words and understood what she was actually saying, the jollity of the room’s atmosphere had come to a grinding halt. “A trans woman’s mutilated corpse was found in a ditch, and we’ve done NOTHING to make this a more inclusive, just, and ultimately safer space in the aftermath of this tragedy!” Her words pierced their bleeding hearts and shot straight through. They all considered themselves trans allies, but in that moment of shining didacticism on the hill, the kids had just been forced to put their money where their ideological mouths were.

Senate president Harper Graves sighed. “If you want to raise the issue, file a motion, and we’ll vote on it at the next week’s meeting.”

Elizabeth walked up to the row of desks to the side of the podium and addressed president Harper Graves. “God damnit!” She shouted, slamming her fist down onto the desk, “We don’t have time to wait until the next meeting! Something needs to be done right now, and we need action!”

There was a clamorous chatter of speculation which broke out about the room: voices conferred with one another in private spaces as to what should be done, and Elizabeth’s spine snapped to attention. She realized that this was her moment, so standing at the head of the room, she climbed up onto the table where four of the nine senate members were sitting, and kicked a pile of papers into the air. A black curtain of silence fell over the room, and all eyes were on her.

Had Elizabeth known what the consequences of her actions would be, she might not have been so bold: so hasty: so… courageous! “All in favor of suspending this farce of the student senate, and transfering all the rights and powers of the governing body to a single leader…” She asked the room, looked directly into senate president Harper’s eyes and said: “raise your hand.”

Sasha Stilton-Brown was the first to raise her hand, but she looked around the room first, and did it slowly. Elizabeth thought she was doing this not to appear like a blind follower, but Sasha understood well the gravity of the situation. Then, more and more hands started crawling up towards the ceiling, until a forest of men and women’s hands interspersed with different colors of nail polish (on both sexes, genders, and every combination of both) shot up about the room like a treetop canopy with pit-stained roots unifying every race, expression of gender, sexual orientation, and all variety of college campus liberalism

“Those in favor of immediately electing a new leader: keep your hands raised.” Elizabeth said, and nobody moved a muscle. It was parliamentary insurrection, and you could hear individual drops of sweat hit the floor.

Elizabeth looked around the room. Drenched in flop sweat, her hair frizzy in the heat. Harper Graves scrambled back up onto her podium and announced: “I nominate myself!”

“All who second the motion?” Elizabeth asked the room, and everyone looked around as if to check that there were no other aspersions: that they had all made the right choice. None of them cast a single vote for sweaty Harper Graves, not even her co-senators. Caesar’s murder was being committed right before their eyes, and everyone in the packed house just sat back and watched.

Knowing to quit when she was ahead, Elizabeth surveyed the room and savored the moment. “Motion passed. The chair recognizes Elizabeth Psomas as new Senate President. Meeting Adjourned. We’ll be holding the next meeting on Tuesday in the quadrangle.”

Some brave, slack jawed moron with an IQ of 120 (which wasn’t really a fair measure of intellect, they all acknowledged, given that the IQ test is notoriously biased towards white European males, but it was the closest thing they had for an intellectual yardstick, aside from SAT scores, which were their own sociopolitical minefield) had the balls (or whatever passed for ‘balls’ around these people) to ask: “What’s a quadrangle?”

“The fucking quad!” Sasha Stilton-Brown shouted, and they all left the room, shaking their heads at their compatriot’s ignorance: a sign of what was to come.

On Tuesday at 8:00 PM, just after the dining commons had closed they gathered on the quad. All the walkways and public areas had been brightly lit at night ever since the series of sexual assaults and brutal rapes had plagued the campus almost a decade ago. The Dean had managed to keep all incidents out of the papers, which was the only reason the college was still standing. But everything was about to change.

“Friends, Romans, country-people of varying ethnicities and gender identities: take back your campus. Take back your safety. Take back your rights!” Elizabeth shouted into the bullhorn, and the hundreds of students all holding hand-painted signs and their smartphones like torches in the night roared.

Dean Whimple was watching from his office. He called the head of campus security: ‘officer’ (although he held no legal position whatsoever) Erik Goon. “Goon! We’ve got an insurrection!” The dean said, sweating into his suit as he listened in on the other end of the line. “It means get the fuck down here and break this shit up, god dammit! If we don’t get in there soon it’ll be all our asses!” He pinched the bridge of his nose and heaved a sigh. “And Goon: for the love of god, don’t use force! The last thing we want is some legacy kid getting pepper sprayed, or god forbid, tazed, then they record it on their phone and it’s all over cable news for the next month!” Dean Whimple hung up to call the national guard, but then thought better of it. ‘No, Goon can handle it, and if Goon can’t fix it I may as well just resign right now!’

The Goon Squad reached the quad as fast as their Segways could carry them, and although they had been instructed explicitly by Dean Whimple to show restraint, they all had itchy trigger fingers, which a constant schedule of working out and mentally preparing oneself to beat the living shit out of some stuck-up rich kid who was just about to go off and make at least five, probably more like ten times your annual salary tends to do. Living their lives in a constant state of preparing for war had made the Goon squad ready to use deadly force, not to mention the pent-up homosexuality of spotting each other for all those sweaty, grunting reps in the weight room and the way the students segregated them in their own space, treating the campus security like some sort of crew-cut gestapo, or neon jerseyed SS.

Erik Goon screeched his segway to a halting stop in front of the quad and addressed the mob. “Disperse! Leave the premises and go back to your dorms!”

Elizabeth had worked too hard, and fought too long (since last Tuesday) to give in now. She commanded her army with the implicit epithet she knew would set their revolutionary blood ablaze: “No Nazis, No KKK, No Fascist USA!” She shouted from the center of the mob into her bullhorn, and they all started chanting the words in unison. Each of her acolytes’ warm bodies formed a protective cocoon to guard Elizabeth against campus security. She knew that if the authorities could cut off the head, then her movement would die, but if all they could do was to wound the flesh, then she could survive any challenge the administration had to offer. Sasha was right there with her, and she enticed the crowd to fervor, repeating Elizabeth’s chant: “No Nazis, No KKK, No Fascist USA!”. They locked arms around the edge of the mob so that even if a student on the outer ring should be tazed (which they were), or pepper-sprayed (which they were), a student being held up by all the social justice warriors around them would have no choice but to remain ramrod still and endure the abuse.

The crowd started to chant “We Shall Overcome” when the tasers and pepper spray started to become too much, and they seemed newly resolved, and to Goon’s eyes, totally impenetrable. Then a nameless voice shouted out from the back: “Fuck the fascists: resist!”

They broke ranks and started to overrun campus security. The mob was armed with lighters and cans of air-duster they turned into blowtorches, and students on the outside stood with three ring binders they held onto as shields interlocking in a phalanx, while their compatriots stood behind them and swung down on the Goon Squad using socks with locks in them.

Assistant head of security Mike Felcher turned to Officer Goon and said: “We’re fucked! Let’s go.” and Goon tried to marshal his troops but it was futile, and they all hopped on their Segways and rode away as fast as possible, fearing what might happen if the mob were to overpower them.

The revolutionaries stayed on the quad all through the night, and feeling a strong sense of comradery the next morning everybody went to breakfast together, commandeering an entire section of the cafeteria for themselves. Elizabeth and Sasha at this point saw fit to expand the rights and privileges of the student senate to overtake the position of the actual administration of the college, in the name of protecting the student body, which was the whole reason they’d started this thing in the first place: to make sure that none of them would ever again be made into a Sarah Cohn, or abused, offended, or upset in any other way, even if it was just the lack of a trigger warning or exposed to an idea which they felt triggered them in some way.

“We’ve got to strike while the iron’s hot!” Elizabeth said to Sasha, who this point was not lost on.

“Do you realize, that if we’d been in this position in our parent’s generation, we’d be looked at either as revolutionaries or radicals?” Sasha said, and Elizabeth thought she had a good point.

Elizabeth drank her coffee with a snowflake pattern stenciled in milk on the surface out of an avocado, and as she drank from the avocado, watching the snowflake slowly melt into the coffee, then dissolve into nothing, an enormous dam of rage that had been building up inside her finally burst. She stood up from the table realizing she just couldn’t take the oppression anymore.

“AAAHHHHHHHHH-TRIGGERRR-WARRR-NINGGGGGGG!!!” She screamed, and flipped her tray all over some freshman, covering him in a green slurry of avocado mixed with scalding hot coffee. He ran out of the cafeteria screaming, and covered with third degree burns, but nobody got up to help him or even gave it a second thought, because they thought he was a white, cisgendered male, but was in reality a somewhat butchy African American lesbian with albinism.

“Are you OK!?” Sasha asked her, terrified of what had happened to her best friend.

Elizabeth turned to her, and shouted: “STOP TRYING TO GASLIGHT ME: I’M NOT CRAZY, AND I’LL ASK FOR HELP WHEN I NEED IT!” And upon hearing this the acolytes descended on Sasha and dragged her off to some gulag of their own invention, because Elizabeth couldn’t be bothered to keep track of these things and she realized it was better not to ask such questions.

“I’m calling an emergency meeting to order in the student senate right now!” Elizabeth shouted as she stormed up Appian Way to the Curia with her mob following closely behind her. They filed one by one in a purposefully random order into the student senate room so that nobody could say any one race, gender, gender identity, or sexual preference was privileged above another.

Once inside the student senate room everyone was too terrified of Elizabeth to address her directly, and much more afraid of each other should any one of them be seen to speak out of turn or break ranks, so they all just stayed, inspecting one another for any sort of ideological deficiencies, making sure to complement each other on anything they could determine as sufficiently breaking with traditional gender roles, racial stereotypes, and the like. All the cisgender white men had started wearing dresses over their jeans, painting their nails, and smearing so much makeup all over their faces that they looked like clowns.

“We’re going down to the dean’s office with our list of demands!” Elizabeth shouted. None of them had taken the time to write anything down or hash any of their ideas out, but they knew what they all wanted in a general way: something about some transgender-something, or something-something. It didn’t matter anymore.

Dean Whimple watched as the mob stormed up Appian Way towards his office, and they could swear they saw his Adam’s apple expand and contract in a very visible ‘gulp’ motion from outside the building on street level. The mob took to the stairs, seeing as how only a small platoon among their swelling ranks would fit into an elevator, and Elizabeth said that if they just showed up one elevator load at a time it didn’t have the same impact, not in a ‘revolutionary-change-type-way’, so they took the stairs. By the time they reached the eighth floor where the Dean’s office was, Elizabeth and the mob had become wily and primal. Something essentially human had left them and whatever was left of them when they got to the eighth floor was just animalistic urge and the bloodlust that drove them forward.

Finally she could see it. All of her sacrifice and effort since last Tuesday: nine long days of oppression in the free-wifi-all-you-can-eat-three-times-a-day-with-two-snacks-in-between gulag, and the constant threat that if she happened to be trans (which she wasn’t, but that was besides the point) that she could be murdered at any point in time was all worth it! Elizabeth approached the door with the words: “RICHARD WHIMPLE, DEAN OF STUDENTS”, stenciled on the pebbled glass. Elizabeth inched closer and closer to the door; justice, honor, and most importantly safety was finally within arm’s reach! Never again would anything bad ever happen to her or any of her beloved classmates. The world would truly be a Utopia, if only the rest of the world could enjoy the same unending rights and infinite privileges that she would soon secure for herself and the rest of the student body! But this was only the first stop! First ----- University, then: The World! Elizabeth reached out to touch the handle of the Dean’s office, but something was terribly wrong! There were shadowy figures looming behind the door’s translucent glass, and something much more dangerous than just one more cisgendered patriarchal male oppressor was lying in wait behind that door.

Then the face Elizabeth thought she’d never see again appeared before her: the best friend, closest ally, and dark confidant: Sasha Stilton-Brown, appeared before her. Confused, terrified, and trembling away from the door, Elizabeth was thrust back into the blinding light of her ex-best-friend’s glare. The subtle manipulations, the Stalinist realpolitik, it was all a clever plot to undermine Elizabeth’s authority, and transfer all of her power, bit by bit, one pernicious deed after the next, until her ‘best friend’s’ authority had finally eroded out from underneath her, leaving her dangling from a precarious ledge, and this was the final push over the cliff’s edge.

“You knew it was going to end like this.” Sasha said as she opened the door, pushed Elizabeth into the dean’s office, and slammed the door shut behind her.

Elizabeth screamed: “TRIGGER WARNING!” as Sasha Stilton-Brown and her classmates stood outside the room, and saw the muzzle flashes light up the dean’s office. They smelled the burnt air of the gunfire. They all pressed their backs to the wall opposite, blood running out from under the door to the dean’s office and into the hallway.

#fiction #literary #literary fiction #read #long reads #free reads #igger #writers #writers on tumblr

0 notes