#being a straight faggot is hard work but someone has to do it

[ash-and-starlight]

things i’m going crazay about today: the illustrations in the he who drowned the world illumicrate cover

(artist is glassbearer on ig)

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

hii! i love your casey x autistic!reader fics and i had a request. you know how in a lot of the episodes where the men get sa’d, they think it means they’re gay and they blow up in the interrogation room shouting slurs and everything? i’ve always wondered what it would be like for a queer detective to be in the room seeing someone say that in front of them. could you do something like that where a suspect gets defensive and starts spewing homophobic stuff in the interrogation room where detective!reader is interviewing them and casey is watching from behind the glass? pre-existing relationship if possible and maybe some fluff as well :)) these are just some ideas you can really do whatever you want - i give you full creative freedom 🙏

Hey, friend! Hope this is what you're looking for! Much love to you! 💕 –illdowhatiwantthanks

Interrogations

Casey Novak x autistic!fem!reader Warnings: homophobic comments, threats of sexual violence, autism times, police (duh), explicit language (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 1.2k

Summary: A threatening, homophobic outburst from a victim has you overstimulated and panicked. Casey is there to help calm you down. That is, if she can calm down herself.

“Sir, it’s in your best interest to be honest with us,” you said, rubbing your temples.

Round and round you’d gone with this man. This married man with 2.5 kids and a white picket fence. He’d been assaulted at a gay club, and the implications were clear. You sat down across from him. Your partner, Resendez, leaned against the back wall, letting you take the lead on this one. As the only out, queer detective working special victims, you were often the one they chose to interview queer victims or even suspects. There was a level of relatability; you were better than most at getting them to open up.

This man–clean cut, button-up, eye swollen shut, split lip–you felt sorry for him. You felt sorry for anyone who wasn’t out, wasn’t free to be themselves for whatever reason. It had taken you a long time to come to terms with your own sexuality, even longer to be comfortable in a relationship. But you knew the cognitive dissonance it took to lead a “straight” life while trying desperately hard not to be gay. He’d given you some bullshit story about being drugged and dragged to the gay club, but there had been no drugs found in his system. He was clearly just trying to come up with an excuse for being there.

“Mr. Berg,” you started again, softening your voice. “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying sex with men. We just need to know what really happened so we can catch the person who did this to you.”

Suddenly, he exploded, standing and throwing his chair against the wall. You nearly fell out of your seat as you backed toward the wall and Resendez surged forward to cuff him.

“I’m not a fucking faggot, you bitch!” he spat. “Maybe you like pussy, but that’s not my problem! You just need a dick in you! I could do it, too, I’m not a fucking fag!”

You kept your eyes fixed on a scratch on the wall, trying not to react. You were used to people saying ignorant things. You were used to perps saying all kinds of disgusting things to you, but this outburst had rattled you more than usual.

“Just go, Y/L/N,” Resendez said, nodding toward the door.

You didn’t need to be told twice. You let the door slam shut behind you, leaning against it and exhaling shakily.

“You okay?”

You jumped a bit, then calmed when you saw it was Casey. She’d been watching the interview.

You nodded, but your hands gave you away, shaking at your sides. Casey frowned and pressed one of your hands between hers, flattening it and attempting to massage the stress away. You were trying hard to stay calm, but Berg’s outburst–the force of it, the volume–had taken you off guard. Normally on the job, you went into situations expecting belligerence or violence, and your body and brain were primed for it ahead of time. But this had come so out of the blue. Your heartbeat was fast and loud in your ears, and you closed your eyes, the lights overhead too bright, too much.

You could feel yourself growing panicked, not because of what Berg had said, but because you knew you were getting overstimulated, and you couldn’t control it. Of course, your squad knew you were autistic. Huang evaluated you every six months to ensure you weren’t burnt out and were able to perform your duties. There were parts of solving a case that being autistic made you very good at, but there were also things it made hard for you. You hated for your squad to see you like this, to see the worst parts of being autistic. You wanted them to trust you, to believe that you were capable of doing your job and doing it well. But nobody else fell apart like this. Just you.

“Sorry,” you whispered to Casey as your breathing grew more rapid.

She wrapped her arm around your shoulder protectively. “It’s okay. Come here, come with me.”

She led you to the bullpen and knocked lightly on Cragen’s open door. Cragen looked up and was about to ask Casey what she needed when he noticed her gesture subtly toward you–hunched, eyes on the ground, fingers tapping the sides of your head as your body rocked back and forth.

Cragen gathered his papers and stood, squeezing Casey’s arm as he passed. “Take as long as you need,” he said quietly, leaving his office.

Casey pulled you into the office and shut the door behind you, turning off the overhead lights and shutting the blinds.

“Okay,” she sighed, wrapping her arms around your rocking body and squeezing you tightly. The longer she held you, the more your heartbeat slowed, the more even your breaths grew, until you were left shaky from the spent adrenaline, limp in her arms.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, lowering yourself into a chair and rubbing your eyes.

Casey sat next to you, taking your hand in hers again. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, honey.”

You disagreed, but you didn’t want to argue the point. Casey would win anyway. She was a lawyer, after all.

“I want to go in with you next time when you question Berg,” she added.

“Casey…” you protested.

“I don’t want him talking to you like that.”

You smiled softly at her and pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Casey. Honey. I’m a detective. People are gonna say shitty things to me.”

“Yeah, well,” she grumbled. “If he threatens you again, I’m slapping him with an assault charge.”

“He’s an assault victim, Case. It’s your job to protect him.”

“Maybe so,” she conceded, leaning forward to caress your cheek. “But my number one job is to protect you.”

You melted into her touch. Usually it was you protecting people. Your whole job was protecting people, and you were good at it. But Casey? Casey looked after you. Casey made you feel safe.

You leaned in to kiss her lips softly, making sure to meet her eyes when you pulled away, so she knew you were feeling better, less overstimulated.

“I’m okay, honey,” you whispered. “I promise.”

The rest of the squad made it a point to be extra normal when you and Casey emerged from Cragen’s office. Someone who didn’t know you might think you and Casey had been in there for less-than-professional reasons, but the squad knew the only reason you’d lock yourself in there was for you to regulate yourself. And they never wanted you to feel embarrassed about it.

You made your way back to the interrogation room where Berg now sat handcuffed. Resendez observed him through the two-way mirror.

“Want another crack, Y/N?” he asked. “I’m getting nothing.”

“Might try good cop, bad cop with Casey,” you told him. “Or, well, I guess it’d be bad cop, worse ADA who’s pissed you threatened her girlfriend.”

Resendez shrugged and grinned at you. “Worth a shot anyway.”

Casey squeezed your hand before following you into the interrogation room.

“Alright, Mr. Berg. Allow me introduce ADA Novak.”

[slamminslamminmcgill]

hiiiiiiiiiii :) do u have any soft lalo HCs? like do u think he ever says i love you? does he even believe in romantic love?? would he cry in front of u or let you help him with wounds or when he's too fucked up to function?? this man is so hard but like ugh baby boy...

(ps i've said this before but god i can't get enough of ur work ur massive brain kills me)

HIIIII im so glad you like my stuff!!!! i got some lalito thoughts for u but they're kinda sad 🥺 hope u like it

the elusive sfw post on SSM 😳 limited release imma sell this as an NFT

warning: homophobia, violence/blood, intoxication

does he say "i love you"?: yes

does he believe in romantic love?: absolutely

would he ever cry in front of you?: no! :) not a chance in hell. you would have to be mortally wounded for him to let a single teardrop out and even then he wouldn't want you to see it.

^ the reason for that is what we call trauma 😌 tío hector fucked his brain up immensely.

lalo is gay. im not even remotely sorry but look at him. he has no interest in women and he never did. that was probably a real blow to hector's ego. he was raising lalo (and the other cousins later on) to take over the business, to be strong, to be a man. and in his eyes, lalo's sexuality was a weakness, a weakness that had to be beaten.

and in the spirit of helping him beat his weakness, lalo probably got the shit beat out of him throughout his childhood anytime he did something fruity. it was to show him what strength is, what he was supposed to be.

obviously, his sexual orientation wasn't changing. you cannot beat the gay out of someone. but he changed in other ways.

if his sexuality was a flaw, a weakness, then he would have to compensate for it. he could not show weakness in any other aspect of his life. ever. he could not let anything hurt him. he trained himself not to cry. if someone called him a faggot, he'd say "damn right!" and laugh it off. anytime he felt fear or sadness, he'd mold it into anger instead.

i'd imagine that he spent most of his adolescence/young adulthood trying to prove he could be strong in spite of his orientation. and in the salamanca family, strong means ruthless, brutal. there was probably some incident where he proved himself to be just as vicious as anyone else, and that earned him his uncle's respect. he still wasn't thrilled that his nephew was gay, but he didn't resent him for it anymore. he accepted that was just how he was.

as lalo grew up, he grew more comfortable being soft in certain aspects. he would still never cry, but he let himself enjoy moments of vulnerability.

i think his love language would be acts of service. cooking for you, giving you gifts, little things he can do to show you how much he cares. he tends to be more of a giver, but he likes to get spoiled on occasion :3 he may be a brat about it first tho

him getting too fucked up to function? anon your MIND. mans hits the tequila too hard at a party and you have to be the one to take him home. he swears up and down that he's fine, but he can't even walk straight. lalo gimme your keys i'm driving you back.

he blows a raspberry at you and whines "whaaaaat?! nooo, you don't... you don't gotta do that for me. i can drive just fine." he fishes his keys out of his pocket and immediately drops them on the ground.

alright that's it get in the damn passenger seat you dummy. he's too sauced to buckle himself in so you have to do it for him. when you lean over him he pulls you in for a kiss and giggles to himself.

tending to his wounds. anon your big juicy throbbing pulsating MIND. definitely a case where he's forced to show some weakness. lil homie gay ass comes home with a gunshot wound in his arm and he's like "oh this? yeah, work today got a little heated. i'm okay, though. :)"

lalo there is a hole in your arm. you are not fine.

"no really, i am! see?" mans holds up the BULLET HE FISHED OUT OF HIS ARM AND SHOWS IT TO YOU 💀💀💀 "i got it out! :D"

okay, cool. there is still a hole in your arm. please let me stitch it up.

you take him into the bathroom and have him sit on the edge of the bathtub while you stitch him up. you weren't an expert, but the fifth or sixth time he tried to sleep off a stab wound had given you some decent practice.

he winces and sharply inhales when the needle goes in, but he's quick to cover his tracks with a joke. "carajo (damn), do you have to pull so hard? just shoot me again, why don't you!"

yes lalo i do there is a gaping fucking hole in your body let me fix it you freak

"okay, okay, do what you gotta. you're so good to me, baby. gonna fix me up and make me look nice and pretty, eh?"

in conclusion! this man needs so much therapy 🖤

[answersfromzestual]

I promised you all a reason why I do not use certain verbals.

Below are personal experiences, and some parts are violent.

Reason as to why I do not use words such as, "fag[got]", "queer", and "dyke" and idenitfying/calling someone "it".

I was always the weird kid, I didn't have much if any real friends growing up.

My own parents and siblings, to this day, call me names. I was a candle burning at both ends.

From an early age (as soon as i could dress myself), I dressed masculine, always wore boy clothes. Mother was okay when I was young because I was just a "tomboy." I had kids starting in first grade of all ages, asking me if I was a boy or a girl.I didn't have the answer. Everyone told me what I was, but I disagreed. I felt like a boy, but the world told me I was a girl... Having younger kids go get a teacher when they saw me in the bathroom, I would always shrug. It was embarrassing other children peeking in the stall... I was bullied into a feminine phase (dressing female, against what I really wanted, age 10-15). I needed to not be bullied as bad anymore. I wanted to push the feelings down and not stand out anymore... I just wanted to fit in and be like everyone else... I prayed to be normal or to leave.

High school was horrible...

I needed to go to the washroom at school during first period, which meant walking by the cafeteria... the seniors had their spare period, and i knew they sat in the cafe. They laughed as I walked by and one yelled "fucking dyke" at me, at the same time two teachers were walking by me the opposite way, talking. We were at the same place in the hall, they didn't say a word. They just kept walking, but they fell silent for a short time...

I had to walk home from school... there was two ways, one was longer and along a main road, where people would yell faggot, queer, dyke, fucking weirdo, out of their car windows at me, random adults and students from both schools in town. The other way was through the alley, faster and no one was around... I was always gambling if someone would jump me (attack me). I was just walking home after abuse from other students and teachers. And a group of guys following you saying "here, here little queer/dyke/faggot" whatever word they felt like using that day. I didn't have anyone to walk with on these days, it was band practice, I stayed later than my friends would...

I would run as fast as I could. They ran faster... Tackled me to the ground and beat me, fracturing a rib at one point. Being told I was worthless and they should kill me that would be doing the world a favor, as their boot hovered over my bloody face... That maybe I need a real man to fuck me to turn me (magically) a straight cis female. I never went to the hospital. My parents never saw the bruises all over my face. (My parents weren't the best). This was at least once a month.

I developed full-blown alcoholism and hard drug addiction by 15-16 years old, trying to numb the pain of everyone in the world rejecting me.

I worked at a fast food joint as a teen. An old man came up to my register, a look of confusion and disgust on his face. I greeted him, smiling. I had just come out to the first person at work, and she was awesome about it, probably half an hour earlier. He slid his empty cup across the counter and asked for a refill. While I was doing his refill, the girl I had just come out also asked if he needed help. He said in a big booming voice, throwing his hands up, "She,him, it, that thing there." *points at me* "has got my refill!" At this point, I no longer felt human. I felt like I was an unknown creature from another planet.

Those are some of the postable, less traumatic reasons why I don't like those words. I grew up, and they were all bad words to be or even be called. I lived in a small, very rural village, and it to this day, people aren't with the times.

These words have hurt me in many ways and I have no intention of the futile attempt to "take things back". Two things you can't take back, history and words. These words will always be hurtful to me, these wounds won't heal. These words are hate to me and always will be.

I do not want to take away your identity, I don't want you to feel negatively if you use them to identify. You are allowed to have your own vocabulary, views, and opinions. The rule is more of reasoning as to why I do not use them most of the time for identities.

If you can, please avoid using those words for me in asks? If you do, it's okay. If it happens too often, though, I may have an issue. I hope you understand and respect my point of view as I respect yours.

Respect the fact we all walk different paths, if you say to someone they have to "deal with it", while that person tip toes around your trauma. Please, respect is a two way street.

This also goes for any other people who have issues with the words, like my partner as well has trauma due to these words (she is part of the lgbtqai as well).

Thank you.

Tltr; I was verbally and physically abused, and the people would taunt me with those terms.

[queer-merm]

I try not to bring up too much discourse but I will just this once:

You may have noticed that this blog went from “yeah haha I am an inclus :) I guess I just support queers haha (refuses to elaborate, refuses to specify)” to “I am explicitly inclusive of all good faith identities including but not limited to ace and aro people, but also queer people, kinky people, polyam people, and bi lesbians, lesboys, turiagirls, trans people with “contradictory” sexualities, etc”.

When I went with the former, it was really out of fear of getting hate, but also cowardice.

And when it turned out someone close to me had one of those lesser known identities, I realized it’s not enough to be vaguely inclusive.

In the face of hatred, we /have/ to take a stand. It’s not enough to not hate, we have to show support to ALL queers. In the face of discourse, in the face of gay related things we don’t understand, it can be easy to forget that the people whose identities were ducking fighting about already face hate from the cisheteropatriarchy for /being a queer. Being a faggot. Being a dyke. Being a tranny./ These people are already vulnerable, how dare we not show support to people in our own communities?

Who cares if you don’t understand everything? Who cares if I don’t understand everything? It’s not about me, it’s not about you. It’s about standing together no matter our differences.

And you know what? I think I can empathize with people who don’t get /how/ easily one can identify as a lesbian. I remember when I first started identifying as one. After years of feeling pressured of being into men, only to realize no, actually, I don’t like men, it can feel liberating, and frustrating to know that it took years to unlearn that.

Then you turn around and see people seemingly going “I don’t care about what #society thinks. I’m gonna identify like I fucking want, lulz”.

If I learned about the concept of bi lesbian right after I came out, I think I would have had the same knee jerk reaction. “It’s not fair! /I/ WORKED HARD! I had to work for my label, and these people can just choose to do it? What the fuck?”

Two things to note:

-our goal /should/ be to make it that everyone has an easier time figuring themselves out. People saying “fuck cishets, I’m queer in my own way” is a good thing! (And, I’m saying this in the most gentle, kind way, but you being upset you had to work for your labels is not other people’s problem. Sorry.)

-honestly, it’s bold to assume people didn’t think this through. Honestly, they probably had very similar self doubts and thoughts than you did. I guarantee they chose their labels after thinking about it, just like you did. One word can have multiple meanings, and that’s okay.

(Also, no, bi lesbian (because I’m gonna guess this is the current big one that people are still pissed over) isn’t inherently transphobic, it wasn’t made by and for transphobes, it’s not from last year, and no one (no one) is forcing you to ever like a man or give up on your bi idetentity. come on yall we’ve been through this)

And look if you foam at the mouth reading about bad queer identities, and you refuse to ever tolerate people who use them, fine. I’m not here to change your mind. My goal with this blog and my posts isn’t to make you happy, it’s to make queer people feel safe and included. Cis straight people already want us gone, I won’t tolerate people feeling like they are not safe with fellow queers. We /have/ to support each other no matter what.

And look I don’t get fundamentally understand everything. I don’t /get/ how one can only be one gender in one way their own lives. I don’t understand people who are comfortable using certain labels when they are non-binary. I don’t understand people who find men attractive. But I understand I don’t need to understand everything, I just understand I need to be open minded and be kind even if I don’t always “get it”.

(If you’re not queer, if you don’t like the word queer, consider that this post isn’t for and about you and not everything revolves around you :) if you’re not queer you’re not included in this post dw)

[falsebooles123]

An Incredible Long Couple of Weeks. Diary of a Big Ole Gay.

Hey Whores, this is going to be a really long post because I may not have the energy to finish this this week.

So I guess I haven't done one of these in about two weeks and a lot of that is me being very busy. Last week of March I was working on like fifteen million different articles and videos and other content creation thingies and the first week of April literally started with my co-worker HAVING A MENTAL BREAK AND LEAVING TO THE OTHER SIDE OF THE LITERAL COUNTRY.

(i'm posting a funny GIF but I'm actually kinda pissed)

so instead of having a lot of great help to ease into running a full ass kitchen by myself doing 70 heads a day. I was doing this with exactly one other person doing the bare minimum to help me. It was a lot of hard work, and of course it went great. But I was extremly exhausted.

I also didn't watch that many queer films because of it.

but lets get into it.

Reflections in a Golden Eye (1967) dir. John Huston

OK so I don't remember a lot about any of these films because I watched this one in particular, *checks notes* the 27th of last month. Yeah theres a reason why theres no date on this one.

So this one I think is based on a book or something and features Marlon Brando being a CLOSET HOMOSEXUAL. oh also he stays right in that closet.

(god this gif is something else. so creepy)

Hes like yeah I'm going to spend this entire movie staring at this naked guys ass, (yeah I'm not going to explain the plot your'll either love this movie or hate it but you can't say it doesn't have a plot), but I ain't going to act on it. I'm just going to fight with my beautiful neglected wife who beats my ass for beating her horse.

See the relationship is super toxic but its liz taylor and Marlon Brando so its also the hottest thing ever.

anyway lot of repressed homos in the background of the entire rest of the plot. One of the more fun dramas I watched cause it was MESSY!

Flesh (1968) dir. Paul Morrissey

ok so Flesh is one of those weird cineme verite movies that Morrissey made and it is very artsy and very gay but there isn't actually any guy on guy stuff. The main actor spends most of his time naked, and some of that is like eroticized but also its kinda meant to desexualize nudity. Or rather the film is using casual nudity as a way to lampshade the way we objectify people because after we see this long scene were hes just laying in bed with his dick out (relatable), we get a 5 minutes scene of him starting his day buck ass naked feeding his 1 year old real daughter a muffin. they actually use that as one of the posters

so like yeah hes naked but hes clearly not erotised in that moment in fact even though the main character is a hustler he never actually has gay sex on screen. His only client is a man who wants to draw him for like classical sculpture. Hes someone whose literally objectified scene for his body and not as a living person.

OMFG am I a film critic or something.

anyway this is another pretty cool film and especially something gay people should watch even through there isn't that much PDA.

Funeral Parade of Roses (1969) dir. Toshio Matsumoto

ok first look at this iconic photo.

Pretty this follows a bunch of transwoman in like Tokyo just honestly vibing and being faggot punks. We love, we stan, we support.

theres a lot to enjoy about this film and honestly just iconic trans woman you need to watch this. oh also all these ladies are straight so theres no gay kissing.

My Hustler (1966) dir. Andy Warhol, Chuck Wein

NOTE: This is a clip from the 1961 SPORTS THRILLER "The Hustler" but also this is pretty good dupe to the experience of My Hustler

Yeah so My Hustler is the story of a rich gay bringing a gay whore for his vacation and then having his fag hag friend and then the hustler friend show up and they all get in to this contest about whos going to fuck him. So I guess more objectification of men through the queer lens. Noone actually fucks him and its a lot of naturalistic dialogue. Its warhol you get it.

The Children's Hour (1961) dir. William Wyler

Ok so Childrens Hour is about Audrey Hepburn and her GAL PAL Shirley McClaine who run a school together. They are in fact just roommates but doesn't stop snot nose little brats from spreading rumors that like she totally saw Mrs. Hepburn drowning in pussy. So yeah they have there lives ruined and there not even dykes da fuck. Its very Tea and Sympathy in that regard about how homophobia hurts those that arn't even faggots. Y'know the innocent. /s

except it turns out that Shirley McClaine is in fact like a totally LESBIAN HAROLD. and this was the push she needed to admit how fucking gay she is for audrey hepburn, (which like we get it girl it audrey), oh and then she fucking kills herself. Thanks I hate it.

The movie up to that points pretty good.

The Leather Boys (1964) dir. Sidney J. Furie

ok so this is another British New Wave movie and it manly follows this newly married couple. And like the wife Dot, is literally the worst fucking person. She spends all her money on her hair which 1. He doens't like and 2. Doesn't even look good on her. She doesn't have a job and she doesn't keep the house. And then she won't move into his mom's house after his dad fucking dies and his mom literally can't take care of herself which like sorry girl I get if you don't like your mother-in-law but um kinda a consequence of marrying someone at some point you kinda have to deal with there parents getting old and dying. Oh also shes cheating on him. SPOILERS.

Anyway so they spend most of the time seperated while this guy sleeps with his best friend.... in like the same bed. hahaha not like in a gay way that would be ..... gay.

Also I'm totally sure his best friend isn't like a faggot or something.

Yeah, basically this guy was sleeping next to a gay guy the whole time and everytime his friend was like "omg babe lets ditch your looser wife, (can confirm she sucks), and move to america together" that he meant it in like a gay way.

and so the dude just fucking leaves. Honestly I would try sucking dick just once if I was him. You guys have a great relationship and your wifes a bitch.

Advise & Consent (1962) dir. Otto Preminger

The Best Man (1964) dir. Franklin J. Schaffner

just going to throw these together. Basically there both about some future were the president wants to nominate some dude and people are like ew no. also some random other person is getting blackmailed for being a faggot in the war. Yeah both of these movies have like the same exact plot.

I like The Best Man a little bit more but there both kinda awful. Also Betty White is in the first one and SHES A SENATOR. yaaaas girl.

Manji (1964) dir. Yasuzo Masumura

THESE LESBIANS ARE TOXIC.

Like don't get me wrong they kiss, they suck, they fuck. Lot of Women absolutely just being the most, this is the most lesbian thing I've seen.

Oh also eventually they start a death cult it goes to some really weird places. Also theres like three remakes.

anyway whores, sorry that its taking so long for me to post this diary update. I'm going to draft the next post and try to get it out by the end of the month. Thanks love you.

[faggotrevolution]

conclusionless rant about andrew scott under the cut

why did andrew scott give such a terrible performance in Sherlock when he's obviously a good actor?

i've wondered this for over a decade now, ever since my drama teacher in 8th grade pointed out that all andrew scott is really doing in the pool scene is being loud, which isn't the same as being convincing.

is it moffat? he makes a really good scapegoat for most problems with BBC Sherlock. but he's the writer and producer, not the director, and even though i think it would be difficult to convincingly act lines like "Daddy's had enough now" and "I will burn the heart out of you" i still think the awkward, uncomfortable, overly loud performance can't be fully blamed on the writing.

so i look at gatiss, the director, the one who said that 'Moriarty has always been a sort of posh, dull villain' and that he wanted to have his Moriarty be 'genuinely frightening'. gatiss doesn't get half as much hate as moffat. while moffat was angrily replying to people's tweets about river song's bisexuality gatiss was getting interviewed and lauded as a folk hero of the fandom, someone nerdy and hard-working, truly invested in the enjoyment of the audience. but he's no different from moffat. he too enjoyed early success writing what some might call "darkly intellectual" doctor who episodes, and he worked on sherlock just as much. people love to call out moffat for queerbaiting and lying about Sherlock but like... gatiss was there too. and he's gay! i can expect betrayal from a straight man but a faggot?? it hurts!!

i think cumberbatch and freeman, reprehensible people that they are, give consistently good performances on Sherlock. but does that mean mark gatiss is good at directing them? i mean benedict cumberbatch was their prophesied 'sex symbol', the eponymous character, a nepotism hire with connections in the industry - and martin freeman was an established actor who is just playing the same type of guy he played on Bruiser. he probably didn't need too much direction.

but at the end of the day all i can really glean from this is imagining gatiss kept halfheartedly telling scott to 'ramp it up' with his performance of these terrible lines in an effort to make it stand out, while paying most of his attention to the star. which could very well have happened, but there's no proof.

[alyosiuscreightonward]

Dear Diary.

After working so many hours in the past few weeks, I’ve a moment to catch up.

I work at a store where it is absolutely amazing that the store remains open. People don’t follow the rules and literally run amok as employees, is mid boggling to me.

Some people actually steal shit. In the world of retail, if you open and consume a product before purchasing it then that’s considered stealing. I don’t give a flying fuck on a rolling doughnut that you can eventually pay for it, you did willingly with afore thought consumed said item and NOW YOU’RE GOING TO PAY FOR IT AFTER ITS GONE??!!

Then I had to fire three people. One was notorious for being a No Call No Show and then in a group text admitted that he was drunk and he had allegedly gone to hospital for an IV treatment for allegedly having alcohol poisoning.

Then there’s the problem child. He admits that he has been homeless for allegedly six years now. How his family abandoned him and kicked him out. I understand that he’s angry at the world but it’s also sad and obvious that he’s refusing to take responsibility and ownership for his actions.

I can speak to this. In the late 1970’s, 1978-1980, I was homeless because I was a junkie and I was actively using. A few people helped me but I eventually fucked it up due to my own personal reasons and I wanted to make it clear that I was there and that led me down a darker path. I ruined my own life and I also ruined their lives by telling their parents or whomever that I was a part of the problem. It didn’t matter what their families thought of them but I was just going to eradicate them. I poisoned them and myself no matter the consequences.

One example, a phone call. “Mrs. Blank, ever since your son, Blank, has been coming here to do this thing, he’s been having affairs with men and I’ve been one of them. I also know that he may have gotten some girl, Blank, pregnant since she told me she had an abortion.”

Then there’s my poison pen letters. I’d write them all down and go into excruciating detail about what I did wrong and how their child was in this situation. Don’t believe me? Then ask these people (names and numbers) who are in their lives. Some are friends and some are at the university.

I own my shit. I also know that I don’t flush Haagen Dazs French Vanilla. I don’t sleep on a bed of rose petals. I snore. I also have fits of rhinotillexomania when driving. I also have had a bout of flatulence at inappropriate times.

However the aforementioned problem child is playing the angry game of how he was wronged and the entire world is out to get him. When I went to the police station, I told them that I was sitting at home plotting to destroy his life even though I had only met a few weeks prior.

He rolled up on me on his scooter (everyone knows the sound it makes) and started hurling insults at me because that person hadn’t been fired even though they were selling drugs, involved in robbing the cradle (she’s in 50s and her boyfriend is 27) and stealing from the job. He called me retarded and I was a fucking faggot. He spewed a few more choice words and insults at me and then proceeded to leave.

I then promptly took to my narrow behind to the police and asked for a no trespass warrant. I added, I’m 64 years old and with out and about I do fear for my life.

Then after that, it went pretty much straight downhill from there and there I was at the job crying in front of customers.

Up to that point in time, I had been thinking I was doing a good job by being the acting manager (Meryl Streep acting manager) and with a few exceptions I had been working diligently and really hard on getting things done. It fell apart. As usual I eventually got it together and went through the remainder of the day. It had gotten ugly via text messages because no one was answering me. Some time later, I had gotten a text message from someone who knew I was going away to Palm Springs, if I was going to change my tickets and stick around to get it done.

FUCK YOU MOTHERFUCKER!! I PAID FOR THESE TICKETS BACK IN EARLY AUGUST AND I AM GOING TO FUCKING PALM SPRINGS YOU FECKLESS CUNT!!!

As I am writing this, I’m in the desert about a mile away from the actual town of Palm Springs but I’m here and they’re all flailing about.

The sun is shining. The wind is blowing. It’s currently 75 degrees. I’m now going to finish my coffee and have a cigarette and then I’m heading into the pool.

[sanddcontainerr]

One day I'm taking a piss in the restroom and one of the guys from the back (sulfi) asks me if I had a girlfriend. When I tell him no, he asks if I am gay. I mistakenly say "si" because I didn't know that the word for no in spanish was simply "no" then I try to take it back quickly, but from the expression on his face it is clear that he doesn't believe me.

A day later the other guy who worked in the kitchen touched me. He slapped me on the ass while I was cleaning the metal table at the kitchen of the restaurant. After it happened, I just looked at him, and he left, quickly. I didn't tell anyone about it, but I should have. My employers had cameras in the back, and they would have gotten the fucking footage and fired him if I had just FUCKING SAID SOMETHING. Nothing happened for about a year after that.

A year later, he just starts being an asshole. It started out with him just mocking the things I said, but he would always try to play it off. He was clearly making fun of me. Eventually it turned into him calling me a faggot (in spanish) or swearing at me in spanish (he does not know english). He walked into work one day, and said "[my name], bonita!" Just being an asshole. I don't know why he just decided to be an asshole one day. This continued for two fucking years without me doing anything. I would come into work and just have to deal with his bullshit for 5 hours.

One day I go into work sick. I was really cold, but because I was scared of being seen as lazy if I took a day off, I came in anyway with a hoodie on. We were wearing masks anyways bc of covid, and I still had my sense of smell, so I figured that I was ok. (my coworkers had come in sick before, and I figured that it was normal to come in with a slight cold, provided that you wash your hands frequently.) The guy just starts making fun of me really hard and I can't fucking take it. I say out loud "oh my god, I'm going to kill someone" out loud. It didn't seem like he liked that.

I tried to apologize to him the next time I see him, trying to explain that I was sick and not feeling well, using google translate. He nodded at me and we shook hands. I thought it was okay after that. It did not. A while later, I want to say a week or two, he went straight on back to saying my name, and making fun of me. Fucking laughing at me, walking in and saying some bullshit. This went on for another couple of months.

One day I just can't fucking take it anymore and I glare at him after he takes a poke at me. Suprising me at the time, it seems to work to make him back down a bit. He shut up for the rest of the day and stopped looking me in the face. I thought it was okay again.

The next day, when I show up to work, he points the cleaver that he uses to cut quesadillas at me and says some shit. I think that its the most pathetic thing ever. From that point on, whenever I had taken a sufficient amount of shit from him, I would try to glare at him to make it stop. It worked for the most part, but he would keep on doing the same shit the next day. I really don't understand what his fucking deal was. Whenever he pissed me off sufficiently he would back off like a scared fucking dog, then go straight on back to doing it the next day. But every time he did it I would think about how he touched me, and how pathetic he was, and it made me genuinely angry.

This goes on for another year. Just that fucking cycle. It made me so fucking angry.

One day before work I am filling my tires with air and I notice that my rear rightside wheel has a nail in it. I figure its just an accident. But after my shift ends I see that his brother is checking out the same tire that had a nail in it. I am convinced that he had put a fucking nail in my tire. I ask my manager if the cameras that point towards the parking lot work. She says that they don't

Eventually one day he throws a piece of noodle at me and I decide that I'm fucking done. I type in something along the lines of "do you remember when you touched me" into google translate, he reads it, and his expression changes to one of panic. I push him and he falls back towards the refrigerator. I try to grab at him, but he holds me by the shirt, just holding me back. I want to beat the shit out of him, but I don't. I am weary of what might happen if I end up hurting him. But I am yelling at this point. My coworker and manager come to the back of the restaurant to break it up. Carlos just keeps saying "loco" and making the coke motion with his finger. My manager decides not to fucking do anything about it. I find ANOTHER fucking nail in my tire.

I don't remember how long he kept working there after that. I wanna say that he got fired a couple of months or so later for talking back at one of my managers. The day that he left I remember my Boss saying something like "but every day? every single day" or something like that. I didn't see him walk out. My other manager tells us that he said something about how he said "Speak spanish, or don't speak to me" or something. Apparently THAT was the last straw.

I hate myself for putting up with it for so long. I hate my managers for perpetuating it. I don't think they even tried to tell him to quit his behaviour or anything. I wasn't the only one he was picking on. The entire serving staff thought he was an asshole, After I started glaring back at him he started picking on me harder than he picked on my coworkers. He only got fired/walked out once he pissed off my manager.

His brother still works there. I am scared that he blames getting fired on me for saying that he touched me. I'm scared that he's telling his family and community that I made up a lie to get him fired, which chances are, he is actually doing. I'm scared that he's trying to get a bunch of people to beat me up with the belief that I lied about him touching me. I had heard that a server at another restaurant in town was beaten after work by immigrants for some stupid shit before, and I would not put that behind the guy who put nails in my tire. I fucking hate myself for not speaking up about it when he touched me.

Today I was in my front yard when I saw a white truck slowly drive past my house from the left. It stopped for a bit, then started driving by again. Slowly. I was outside in broad daylight, and my car was too. I watched the truck drive up the hill at the exit of my street, stop before the stop sign, then make a left turn again. That route makes no fucking sense as an actual route, because you are essentially going in a loop, back towards the way you came. And the truck was driving so slowly. I was already heading out, so I tried to drive up behind the truck to get its plate number. When I looked it up, I didn't get any results. I'm not sure if I remembered the number correctly, or if it was a fake plate. But I am scared that it was somehow related to the guy who touched me. And if it was, then he would know where I live. I am scared that me or my family will end up getting hurt because of some stupid shit that I did not start. I do not care if he catches me outside of work, but I don't want some dumb shit to happen to my house or my family. I gotta tell my dad and ask him about setting up cameras. This would not have been an issue if I had just spoken up about it immediately when he touched me, when my job still had working cameras. I fucking hate myself for it. I'm so paranoid.

If something happens it would be so fucking unfair because I only reacted in response to his bullshit. His brother, who still works at the same job, clearly doesn't like me, and I think that he's telling things to the new hire too.

Thinking about this is keeping me awake. I am so worried.

[omegawolverine]

Plesse tell me about queerness in the get down!!

okay okay queerness in the get down let's fuckn goooo

disclaimer: I havent watched this show in full for like 5 months at least, probably gonna get something wrong and/or forget some more important bits. also this wasnt proof read I just word vomited

tws: period typical homophobia, abuse mention, f slur use, bury your gays trope, overdose mention, mention of a creepy possible age gap (the age gap hasnt been confirmed so that's why its possible), cops

going from least to most prominent queer characters, let's start with mylene cruz!

so, from the beginning of this show she has an established romantic relationship with ezekiel (although the status of their actual relationship changes frequently throughout the show) and though this was a relationship she was hesitant to pursue, it is clear that she does have romantic feelings for him and if not for them both having growing careers in very different music genres (zeke specifically working in a genre that she repeatedly labels as bad because she thinks they're ruining records + that it isnt real music because they're using someone elses piece and rapping over it, that's not really important here tho lol) they probably wouldve had a much healthier, smooth sailing romance. that being said theres a few things that happen in the show that, while not explicitly clear, or even really good coding at that—to the point where you wont catch if you really arent looking for it (and trust me, I always look for coding, hers was just so little that it flew over my head until I saw someone else mention it)—are still cool to think about!

so, for starters, I wanna mention the toy box performance, which was performed by mylene and regina, who are best friends. that's all cool and shit, and you dont really think much about it...until you hear about the fact that the show runners purposely colored a lot of the scenes in that performance with the bi colors. like. the writers after the show ended basically said "oh yeah there was plans to make her coding more explicit, but our shit got cancelled soooo" and then dropped the fact that she was gonna be bi (or at least implies bi) in the series, which puts a new twist on a few things.

now, besides the bi coloring in the background of the toy box performance (which was mostly on scenes with her and regina, which involved a lot of uh,, lowkey lewd dancing. with each other. in very revealing outfits. wooooo), there's her music! I dont tend to read too much into this one bc, like I said before, her coding is fucking light and the writers themselves said they didnt really get to do much with it, but I think some stuff with her music is interesting. specifically how her, yolanda and regina's song set me free blew up because dizzee, resident (lowkey enby coded) bicon, got their song played in a queer club. also that the song was majorly important to dizzee and started playing literally right as he kissed a boy for the first time and realized "oh shit I like boys that's bonkers". also that the song can be taken in a gay way since literally the entire thing is about becoming your true self, fully and unapologetically, which is what both dizzee and mylene's entire character arcs are about. dizzee (and a lot of other queer people, apparently), heard this song about being set free and it resonated with them so much that they got that shit most of its popularity.

speaking of dizzee and mylene, they parallel each other a lot in the way that their arcs are about them realizing who they are, coming into themselves and no longer just letting people treat them like shit in a sense (dizzee starting to tell people essentially that they can call him weird all they want, they can make fun of how he acts, what he likes, how he dresses, etc. but he likes how he is and quite literally saying "it's okay to be an alien" as he has consistently compared himself to one throughout the show vs mylene learning that if she wants to be a disco singer she needs to put her foot down, not let anyone, not even the love of her life, not even her abusive father, stop her from achieving her dreams, etc. and continuing to pursue her career with or without their support). one more little parallel that I think is interesting is during I think s2 towards the end of the show is when dizzee and thor are shown together having fun with each other, painting all over the building and each other and are basically just being happy and in love together and then they have these clips of them being interspersed with clips of mylene at a party where she is starting to realize that if she wants to get anywhere she needs to be her own main priority and that she needs to put her career and her dream, which is what makes her the happiest, above all else if she wants to succeed. idk I just think how the show made these two into a weird parallel, accidental or not, is neat. maybe not an explicitly queer parallel, but I think at least how her music and whatnot helped dizzee, the main queer character in this show, blossom, is important.

moving on we got shaolin fantastic also known as "oh no your internalized homophobia is showing-"

so, heres a quick list of...interesting shao facts:

Consistently referred to as fag/faggot (shaolin fanfaggot is my personal favorite); he gets really defensive about this despite nobody actually thinking he's queer, it's just people being assholes to be assholes, and he is the only character consistently referred to using a slur, especially a homophobic one, especially for a "straight" character. dizzee, a canonically queer character, is called a fag less than shaolin is even though dizzee actively goes to gay clubs, has a not so secret dude he "hangs out with" and wont let anyone properly meet, paints his nails, wears less than straight clothes even by the 70s standards and is just all around the definition of fucking queer (and I mean like in the weird way, not the gay way). in fact theres only like once I can remember him being called a fag and it had nothing to do with him actually being gay it was literally just like thrown out there the same way you would call someone a bitch.

Has only shown sexual interest in women, yet refuses to have deeper relationships with women in general (possibly because of trauma but who knows) but takes his relationships with his "brothers", specifically zeke, very seriously

Tells zeke and zeke ONLY his real name when zeke was planning to stop being his friend bc shao more or less got boo boo, a like 14 year old black kid, arrested for selling hard drugs; he was clearly scared and trying to do anything to keep zeke around, literally chasing him down the street and hounding him until he got zeke to stop and argue with him

Kept threatening to beat up zeke in the end but couldn't actually bring himself to do so, instead saying that zeke is "fucking lucky" before walking away

Let's zeke get away with things that nobody else can, in general just has a weird soft spot for ezekiel that he shows with nobody else

when shao found dizzee with thor in a vaguely compromising situation (like they were just shirtless covered in paint sleeping next to each other but shao had also seen everything they painted on the walls ((which some of it was sus)), it was clear they had painted on each others bodies and dizzee had been routinely disappearing with this guy for weeks now yet not producing nearly as much art, at least, as far as we audience members know) he didnt judge him but instead, waited for him to get cleaned up and then told him something along the lines of "theres a reason why im so secretive blah blah blah [not everyone needs to know everything about me]", which, in context, kinda implies that he might be a lil. a lil homiesexual. jus a lil.

whenever even the possibility of zeke leaving him comes up he absolutely loses it. he has literally cost ezekiel life changing opportunities because he thought zeke would just up and leave him for them. this could be abandonment issues bc he's a severely traumatized character, and that probably does contribute to it, but it also is just not a reaction he has to any of their other friends just randomly dipping in and out of his life soooooo

generally speaking, this mfer has got either bisexual with a big hard on for zeke coding or homosexual with terrible internalized homophobia and still a hard on for zeke coding. either fucking way, that nigga gay. he gay as hell. gay as fuck man. there wasn't really much to analyze here tbh bc the coding is just so fucking obvious if you look for it or you are/have been a gay person who's dealt with at least a little bit of internalized homophobia.

also, just a sidenote, idk how fucking old shao, but I'm praying hes like at max 19 bc I'm pretty sure zeke is a minor in this show and shao definetly is not so the whole him being heavily implied to have a crush on ezekiel thing is kinda. oof. not oof if zeke is like 17 but any younger than that? OOF.

edit: apparently the characters are only supposed to be a year apart in age but i had no clue about that before writing this post and since shaos age was never actually stated in the show i naturally assumed he was an adult since his actor Looks Like An Adult. this is definetly on me to a certain extent, but i also never saw anything about this when trying to find our their ages so 🤷‍♀️ maybe i just didnt look deep enough, sorry!

now moving on to the main event...marcus dizzee kipling :]

so, first things first, let's talk enby coding bc him being bisexual was already confirmed!

um, to start off, I just wanna say I dont think this enby coding was intentional or even really coding, it's just moreso me being a dizzee kin on main and knowing as a transmasc enby he has very transmasc enby vibes. for example:

cool, gender neutral nickname that everyone calls him

paints nails various different colors

the whole wardrobe is just a transmasc enby heaven...fishnet shirts, jean overalls, jackets and cuffed pants galore, the big colorful pins, etc

gender neutral hairstyle (when I had my fro it was very sexy and made it easy to transition between hyper masc and vaguely fem, which is pog)

comparing himself to/representing himself consistently with an alien character (though this is meant to represent his sexuality, it could also double as a gender thing too, not neccesarily bc of the whole nonbinary alien trope but bc an enby who likes aliens might heavily identify or compare themselves to whatever their idea of an alien is, whether that just be a genderless entity or a motherfucker with fly style and no need to be perceived as anything other Wacky As Hell)

moving on from there, let's talk about how his queerness is presented to us and how, while it may be a really good piece of representation, especially coming from netflix, it still lacks in A Lot of places.

so, let's start with good things!

i personally really like the get down's queer rep with dizzee bc it's (for the most part) nonsexualized and very very soft, about dizzee figuring himself out and realizing there is a place where he fits in, and about two teenagers in the 70s falling in love over their shared passion for street art. it also features an interracial couple where both boys challenge stereotypes both about queer men and men of color, which is epic poggers and very sexy. this piece of rep specifically is very important to me bc I am a queer black person and even tho interracial relationships are mostly normalized now, I've still had people give me shit for primarily dating white people in a town that is...primarily white lol

mm anyways, I can also appreciate how in the get down, dizzee being represented by rumi the alien is not a thing specifically related to gender (as it often is) and instead is about his sexuality and just in general weirdness and how it has led to him being alienated amongst his peers, poc or otherwise. him seeing himself as an alien is not about just his queerness, which is important, it is about him being a queer black man who talks different, acts different, dresses different and is "soft"—he isnt a walking black male stereotype and he wouldnt have been seen as masculine back in the 70s by any stretch of the imagination. this can be relatable to a wide spectrum of queer poc, from queer black men currently who still have to deal with this shit or to people like myself who are afab neurodivergent mixed race enbies that have always been signaled out as weird and alienated for it. dizzee is god rep bc while he has a small part in this show, his parts are very impactful, hard hitting and show queer poc of all ages that they arent alone and that it's okay to "weird", you just need to embrace it because somebody will love you for you, as thor did for dizzee.

that being said theres um. some minor problemas here,,,

namely:

dizzee and thors first kiss

the lack of development this pairing got

the way dizzee was confirmed bisexual off screen, he never said the words himself, just showed interest in both genders

the way dizzee and thor were never even confirmed boyfriends or just fwb so most of the fandom just calls them boyfriends bc Why Not

dizzee was implied fucking DEAD??? AT THE END OF THE SERIES?????? AND THOR WAS IMPLIED ARRESTED?????????????

now, these might have been things that wouldve been fine had the show been given it's full run but it wasnt which is why we are now left with probelms.

so, from the top, let's go over these: dizzee and thor's first (and only "on screen") kiss was one that was shown in a montage of other queer people making over and doing other vaguely romantic/sexual things, one of those things being a whole ass naked titty being mouthed at, but the actual kiss...was just not shown? like they really did just say "yes they kissed <3 you know this from the context clues of it being in a montage with kissing, hickey giving and titty sucking <3 but no we will not show it <3" LIKE HELLO? I SAW A NAKED BOOBIE BUT NOT TWO MEN KISS??? HUH????????

also, dizzee and thor were both fucking high as hell during this bit like this isnt a terrible thing but it's also like sometimes you do shit when you're high that you wouldnt do sober and they just never kissed again on screen so like?? like idk that's not that bad but it does kinda irk me since they deadass got no other on screen intimacy after that unless you including painting on eacher other or sleeping next to each other on a shitty mattress but not touching at all during it bc they were both at opposite ends of the mattress like half way off it

so yeah, that was trash. then we got lack of development, which kinda goes with the "dizzee being a bisexual but he never says it in canon" thing cause like...okay dizzee was already sort of a side character from the get go like he wasnt the mc by any means, but he became way more of a background character as things continued until we basically only saw him for performances or when he was with thor, yet they got no fucking development as a pairing other than "dizzee realize he gay, he like thor, he and thor spend time together and ig probably do some gay stuff but we dont really know bc we only ever see them do graffiti together now" like?? tf am I supposed to do with that shit. answer. quickly. and then theres dizzee not being confirmed bisexual, which is just a running problem with shows literally doing everything to say a character is bi except for having the character just...say they're bi? which would be so easy? like a good way dizzee and thor couldve had some development is by thor teaching dizzee things about the queer community that he didnt even know existed, thor couldve helped him understand what being bi meant and helped him label himself and whatnot but instead we got an off screen confirmation that the writers had bisexual in mind when writing him. which is garbagé.

the whole thor and dizzee never having a confirmed relationship status is also a development problem cause like literally nobody knows if they were just friends who made out, maybe fucked, who knows, or if they were dating bc dizzee does give a love confession but a love confession doesn't mean there is a relationship, especially since thor didn't say he was in love either (as far as I remember, I could be wrong, plus whether or not that really happened or was apart of dizzee literally overdosing during a performance is unclear so 🤪)

and now for the biggest issue...bury your gays trope.

during the season 2 finale, dizzee and thor are chased by cops after they are found doing graffiti, one of the cops is able to catch thor while the other chases dizzee into a train tunnel and there is a train seen headed straight for him before the show cuts to black on a train horn. the show writers claim that if they had gotten another season, dizzee wouldve been alive but since they didnt and since that's essentially super fan trivia knowledge, most people dont fucking know that and instead had to watch a black queer teenager chose death over being fucking arrested by a white cop. on top of that, thor didnt see any of that shit because he was caught and the cop started hauling him off while dizzee was still being chased so thor literally has no clue where his friend/possible boyfriend fucking is or that he's likely dead in a goddamn tunnel all alone, unless you count the fucking pig that chased him in there who wouldve died too. this shows rep was so fucking good as far as most shows go on not having major fucking problems, on not being toxic and over sexualized, etc, etc. and then they just. killed a black queer teenager for no fucking reason. like it was literally the last episode ever, it would add nothing to the plot, it would just devastate fans and devastate it fucking did. I dont cry easy but seeing a character I identified with, who I had hyperfixated on, die because he'd rather that than be arrested is terrible. it fucking sucked.

so yeah. that's my all too extensive thoughts/analysis on the get down's queerness. theres definitely stuff I missed, or misinterpreted, or looked too much into, etc, etc., but this was a fun thing to spend time writing sooo yeah!! thanks for the ask anon, sorry this was just a big rambley info dump, but hopefully you get some enjoyment out of it since it took like 3 hours at least 😭😭 feel free to ask clarifying questions lol

[needweaponneedhugto]

Im not going to be the party pooper here but guys can you please STOP stereotyping people based of what they look like or their sexuality or their star sign or gender even skin colour still. I'm not saying this happens on Tumblr but I know alot of people are on this app and awareness of this subject needs to be spread.

Society should have long since moved on from the 'girls like this and boys like that' okay? Im mad that this still exists! Why should there be toys, outfits and just things in general labeled with a gender. People like different things and each person is their own, not all boys will like the things assigned to their gender and that's okay vice versa. Stop teaching generations of children that certain have a certain gender. Although this is improving it is still being seen. For example places in toy stores labeled for certain genders or clothes labeled as a boys or lableled as a girls. Nothing needs a gender assigned to them it doesn't and shouldn't matter at all.

The people in the LBGT+ community aren't any different to straight people. Is that so hard to wrap thoughts around? It really shouldnt because guess what! They are just like everyone else! Why should it matter who others love? Why is it a problem when someone decides they want to change their gender or if they don't want one! They haven't done something wrong, if anything all they've done is be themselves, why is that a problem? Now why does a whole load of people think that in being gay means they are suddenly just like girls and like painting their nails and they have homophobic parents and going to be kicked out, although this does represent some gay men not everyone is like that. In being a Lesbian your suddenly a Tomboy and have a crush on your best friend? No! Not everyone is like that, you see one person like this and automatically their like this? Everyone is special and their sexuality is just another addition to that person it doesnt automatically change their personality and what they like to do.

Skin colour. Why does this matter? Black lives matter have been a massive movement in teaching idiots on how to be less inhuman and making sure the hate stops. However it can work in other ways as well. Do NOT look at a black person and immediately assume thibgs about them as well as white people to. Your skin colour doesnt matter! No should feel upset or pressured because of the skin they were born into. Black people are just as important as the white we do NOT discriminate against them. Parents and teachers siblings anyone, educate this generation and the next and for as long as you can live through that Black people do matter and racists are just being silly. Don't sugarcoat your skin colour. But Racism works in many different ways, do NOT automatically see a white and assume that they hate black people. Not everyone is a racist fool. Everyone matters no matter what skin colour they are! Society is working hard to make this even but you cant change what others think, the only way is to mould this generations children to think correctly to stand up for what they believe in amd understand that no one is more inprtant than someone else.

Before this ends Im coming back to gender because there is one situation that I do not see adressed very often. So we all know how girls are generally the subject of this form of discrimination but what about all of the boys. Everyone is so quick to defend the girls but when a boy has a problem we hardly ever notice it. Im especially annoyed about this. Why does no one realise that sometimes boys have to fight just as hard as girls do? When someone finds out a girl is in an abuse relationship then everyone is jumping to defend the girl because feminism but boys? I don't see people jumping to check boys aren't in a abusive relationship. Feminism isn't a bad thing, its making sure women have more freedom and a voice that wont be drowned out but there is still a long way to go before all genders are equal. Every time I hear someone teaching a girl they say 'Girls you are just as important as the men you can beat them in what you do! They wont steal your credit!' what we should be teaching is 'Everyone is equal and no one is more important than the other regardless of what gender you are!' Similarly girls in some countries still have a long way to go before they are equal with the men but I want to see that people arent teaching this onesidedly. I don't see a day to celebrate males. I see national women's day but why don't a see one for men. Feel free to correct me. Its good in fact its vital that people are letting girls rise up now giving them chances to walk their own path amd create the life they want to live instead of living the shadows of men but we need to be careful that we don't tread down the men's dream in order to let the women rise.

Remember this:

Women are NOT toys

Men are NOT wallets

Black people do NOT have less rights than the white.

White people are NOT all racist and have no respect for others

Gay people are NOT faggots or sinners

Straight people are NOT all homophobic idiots who don't support gay pride.

EVERYONE IS EQUAL!

thank you for reading.

[chastitybottomtoy]

Chastity Dreams: Day 23

I woke up this morning to the dull throb of my dick trying to force it's way out of it's tight steel cage. From the very moment my groggy eyes opened, my brain has been bombarding my sexual psyche with fantasies of the person I am going to become.

I imagined how good it would feel to wake up with a metal collar locked securely around my neck. I'm in a cage with steel bars. I have enough room that I can turn over comfortably. I realize as I awaken that not only have I been collared, but there is a thick chain locked around my waist. Metal shackles are on my wrists. I realize suddenly that the cage I'm confined in is underneath a bed.

As I lay there trying to figure out how I got there, I heard footsteps approaching. Obviously I was very nervous. I do not remember anything about last night. All I did was go to a gay bar to play pool and have a few drinks, and maybe find someone with a tasty cock that i could feed from.

Suddenly the door opens, and I see three sets of boots, all of them black latex with at least six inch heels. A weak moan escapes my lips as I realize my big cock is turning purple, trying so hard...in vain...to have an erection. I should be scared.

I am scared. But I'm excited too. Excited enough that my caged dick is beginning to trickle a tiny drop of cum. I dab it with my finger and apply it to my lips like an expensive gloss. I do know know how it does it, or why...but none of that matters...cum makes me go insane.

Insane enough that I don't realize there is someone opening the cage door the whole time I was painting my lips with my cum. It is a woman...but there is something different about her. Different...but exquisite.

"Come out," she beckoned me. "When you approach me, it will be on your hands and knees, and you will keep your head down."

She stood back up, and inexplicably I do exactly as she directed, crawling out of the cage, to the middle of the room, with my nose to the floor. I stop when i reach the three pairs of boots that were standing outside the cage. I do not dare to look up. My balls are throbbing from the cock cage.

"Kiss my boots, slave." I'm told by the woman in the center, the same one who opened my cage. I lean down to kiss her shiny black latex boot. The moment my lips touch it, I hear a quick whooshing sound as a leather flogger impacts soundly against my round white ass. My body jerks violently, but I take it with a quiet grunt.

"Look up and face me."

As I raised up, I found myself face to face with a beautiful cock, not hard, but rather slightly engorged with blood so that it was thick, and dark in color. It looked like it could get a lot bigger.

I feel like I'm on drugs, but it is just the fear and anticipation of what is to come. It is better than any drug I could ever imagine. My mouth opened automatically, as if I was programmed from infancy to be a cocksucker.

My lips just barely touched her mouth-watering cock when I received another stinging rebuke from a leather flogger...this time from the other side. As my head snapped back from the pain, I saw a shiny black latex-gloved hand approach rapidly and and slap me hard across my face. I groaned outloud. I wanted that cock so bad.

My head snapped to the right, where I was surprised by the sight of another thick half-hard cock. My mouth dropped open and l lunge towards it because I need it in my mouth. Once again I am denied as flogger rains down 3 hard blows on my ass.

I snap back up, straight on my knees, and as I turn back to the woman in the middle, I see another woman on her left, with a cock every bit as beautiful as the others. I stupidly try to lunge for it, because cock makes me so crazy, and as expected, the flogger strikes hard, this time five times, from the woman on the right, and a hard slap to each side of the face from the woman in the middle.

"You have a lot to learn."

I slowly look up, and I see the underside of a set of large latex-covered breasts, riding atop an under-breast corset. I lean back and see the face of a beautiful woman, a woman like I've never seen...beautiful in a way beyond the normal beauty of women. I'm starting to wonder if this is what it feels like to be a bitch.

I cannot tell you what the women at her sides looked like, except that they wore Matte Black latex catsuits. They obviously took being women very seriously, because there is no way those big breasts in those suits could be natural. Their faces were concealed by latex masks, and both of them wore dark Fuschia lipstick. They both had leather floggers in hand.

"You signed the contract last night. All obligations were laid out perfectly clear. You still have the opportunity to back out, or you can show us your cock-worshipping skills right now, and accept the terms permanently."

I am definitely not in my right mind. I have cock intoxication. I've never really ever done anything gay, and suddenly here I am. And what contract? Did someone spike my drink lastnight? I literally have no idea where I even am. Only a brainless sissy bimbo would take this deal.

All of that thinking only took about half a second before I scooped up the lady's half hard cock in my mouth, sealing my lips halfway down it before I started feeling it grow rapidly, forcing my lips apart. I can't even think!

My hands reach out to the sides and I grip the two Rubberdoll's growing cocks in each hand and begin to jerk them off, all the while moving my mouth up and down the thick length of flesh that is now poking the back of my throat.

I resist gagging as her fucking the back of my throat works up a bunch of saliva. I pull my mouth off her cock and lick it up and down on top, the sides, and up and down the big beautiful pronounced vein that will eventually deliver my hot reward. I spit on the bulging head, and tightly jerking the other two, I lunge forward and plunge her massive dick down my throat.

I can feel my throat stretched tight from her huge girth. No air can get in. I cannot breathe at all. I can feel myself trying to gag, but she pulls my collar chain tight and holds my head down firmly with her other hand.

My body starts quaking. The rubberdolls on both sides start flogging my delicious ass over and over without mercy. I'm being suffocated with cock. This lady is fucking my throat mercilessly. I suddenly feel her cock expand even more. She holds my head down and cries out.

The last thing I remember is my weak hands losing their grip on the cocks, and a violent quaking in my throat as I became the recipient of a very large gushing hot load of cum deposited directly into my stomach. Then just blackness.

When I awoke, I realized i was strapped down tightly on my back, to the bed with thick cargo tiedowns, with just my head hanging off the side.

"Now that you're awake, we can resume. Ladies..."

That was followed by a harsh slap across the face and suddenly, two latex -covered hands pushed my head down, and a thick pre-lubed girl cock forced it's entire length down my throat.

All I can do is lie there on my back and take it. They immobilized me and turned me into a toy for throatfucking. One of them would fuck my mouth hard for about a minute or two, then they would switch. They'd let me breathe just enough to keep me conscious.

They kept at it like that for at least twenty or thirty minutes...the longest twenty or thirty minutes of my life. But somehow I felt nothing but happiness and fulfillment.

Suddenly all motion stopped. I couldn't breathe anymore. This time it was the rubberdoll with her cock quivering and exploding deep in my throat directly into my stomach. My eyes rolled back and I tried to moan as the other Rubberdoll cried out loudly and began spraying my face with her hot cum.

The first one pulled out of my throat and I gasped desperately for air. I could feel the warm cum running down my face, some of it into my eyes and mouth. My eyes burned and my tongue licked around ravenously, trying to save all the cum I could.

"I am satisfied." The Rubberdolls looked at her and nodded in agreement. "You can lie here restrained till all the cum on your face dries. Think about what you just did. Think about who you really are. Think about who we are going to help you become. Then maybe you'd like to look at the contract you signed. There is no backing out now, faggot."

I lie there for probably an hour. I would have been shaking if it were not for the straps. Fear, excitement, anticipation...arousal. I was in system overload. All I know is that I kept hearing the words "sissy cumslut" over and over in my head. The weirdest thing I felt was a complete sense of satisfaction.

The door opened. In walked the three women. They were in normal clothes now. Sexy as hell though. I love their micro mini skirts. It is hard to believe these women are so domineering. They unstrapped me and led me by my collar to a chair and table. Then they secured my shackles to the chair.

In front of me was the contract. I was surprised at how long it was. I was even more surprised by the title - "Four Party Agreement for the Ownership, Submission, Confinement, Sissification, and Bimbofication of Isaac C."

Holy shit. I am in deep. But I've never been so aroused. I cannot believe this actually happened. I'm never going to be the same. Bring it on. And still all I can think about is cock.

I started scanning the contract. It is pretty much an agreement on a roadmap for a new life.

1. You shall refer to your Masters as Owners One, Two, and Three respectively.

2. Your chastity cage is permanent. It will NEVER come off, with the exception of medical purposes, when under strict supervision, and/or when you've been restrained in a manner which inhibits any ability to touch yourself.

DO NOT asked to be let out, or punishment and conditioning will ensue.

3. You will never be allowed an orgasm through penile stimulation. The only orgasm you are permitted to experience is if you are being ass-fucked. Any orgasm will cause for punishment.

DO NOT request to be allowed an orgasm, or punishment and conditioning will ensue.

4. You will not leave the house without direct supervision. Anytime you are out of the house, you will be plugged anally.

5. You will undergo intense conditioning to enable you to reach your full potential as broken sissy cumslut slave.

Being a true sissy bimbo takes work.

6. You will submit to all forms of bondage asked of you.

7. You will eagerly worship every cock with your mouth, and be fucked anally by any and all we choose, no matter how great the number.

8. You will not waste cum, or you will be punished.

9. You'll be feminized through use of drugs and hypnosis.

10. You will always wear slutty clothes befitting a cumslut.

11. Your body will be kept smooth and waxed at all times.

12. You will keep your body fit to please us.

13. You will be trained for the purpose of being a Bimbo Rubberdoll party favor. You will be rented out for trusted customers.

14. You hold us free of liability for any physical or mental changes that may occur.

15. You are required to become a Sissy Bimbo. You will wear massive bimbo breast forms adhered to your chest.

16. When and only when we have determined you are worthy, you will be implanted with freaky big bimbo breast implants. When that day arrives, you will have truly earned your life of sexual enslavement.

I was overwhelmed. This is really happening...and I love it!

My owners restrained my hands, stuffed a ball bag in my mouth and put me back in my cage.

"Get some sleep. Tomorrow is indoctrination day. Your going to need all your strength to make it through. It will be a jumpstart on your sissification." I lay there quietly (no choice being gagged) as they climbed on the bed and went to sleep. What will tomorrow bring?

I woke up to my cage being opened. My owners led me to a dark room. In the middle was a bondage device. It was metal and leather. A frame. Designed for me to kneel on my hands and knees in. They strapped my arms and legs tightly to the base. A leather strap and metal bar held my hips tight, and a fixed metal collar was closed and locked around my neck. I was shaking from anticipation.

As I knelt there, aroused to a crazy extent by my vulnerablity, Owner One forced wireless headphones in my ears. They were playing on a long playlist of sissy/bimbo/cocksucker hypno. This was going to be my initial programming.

Owner Two slipped a blindfold over my eyes. Lights out. They were serious. Sensory deprivation programming. If I could have seen or heard anything, I would have known that my owners had opened the door, and in had walked a long string of men...and some shemales. Ten to be exact, not counting my three owners.

Little did I know that my daily training ran nine to five. So indoctrination day was going to be eight long hours of being gangbanged by a room full of thirteen horny cocks. Nobody ever told me they all took viagra so they could keep me under continuous programming for the whole eight hours.

I was listening to the voice in my ears telling me what a nasty cocksucker I am, when I felt a thick, hot, lubed dick force it's way in my ass. It hurt bad. But the pain washed away fast.

I was groaning loudly. I could feel the orgasm building quickly in my ass. Never had I ever thought anyone alive could ever feel this slutty. Is this what a girl feels? I do not know. I do not care.

I started shaking violently and straining hard against my bonds. I'll never be the same after this. This is the ONLY way I ever want to cum again. I am destined to be an anal slut.

I could not contain it anymore, the loud cry began to escape from my throat...but was quickly stifled by an unknown large cock, which began fucking my mouth vigorously. I was in heaven!!!

For eight long torturously beautiful hours it lasted. I really do not know how long it felt like. Just darkness, and various throbbing cocks, smashing my body together from both ends, as the voices tell me what a slutty bitch I am.

I think I even passed out a couple times. I remember feeling hot cum hitting my body, from every angle, and feeling load after load of hot gushing cum fill my holes full.

Thirteen people on Viagra is a lot of loads. They must have filled and covered me with at least forty to fifty shots.

Suddenly it stopped. Everyone left. loads. I was stuck there. Shivering from being covered in cum. So that is what a bukakke gangbang is like.

As I lie there pondering everything, I fell asleep mentally giving in to the fact that I am now cumslut, and this will be my life. Bathed in cum. Slave to cock.

[the-shiftshop]

Hey Diary - Part 2

PART 1 of the Hey Diary Series

Monday came and I can finally experience my new life at school. It’s been about 3 days since my transformation from a total nerd into this campus crush, and my last usage of that Diary App in this phone. My heart is beating fast at the thought of how people would think of me in this new body. I’m super excited yet nervous of what may happen.

You see, I may have gained this heavenly figure and this new reality, but I did not get any memories for it. I have no idea who my new friends are. Still, I need to get to school and I should at least try and keep an act until I know what the heck is supposed to happen, but before that, I need to keep my online fans updated. I took a snap of myself in the mirror and posted it on my feed, then I went straight to school.

Stepping into the gate already gave a new feeling. Everyone was looking at me and every time I look back, they would shy away. There were other people who waved at me but I have no idea who they were.

I went to my locker to grab my stuffs for our first class. As I do so, I saw Keith on the other end with his friends, Peter and Tom, glaring back at me.

He have my phone in his hand. It’s still the same bully but without his daily routine of pushing my face to my locker door.  He walked pass me taunting me with my phone, then proceeded into our room.

I bit my lips in annoyance. Guess, I still have to deal with this guy.

“Heeeeeeey, Felix.”

Someone tapped my shoulder and I jumped on my place. “Ah-” I almost screamed.

“A little jumpy today, aren’t we?” The guy asked as I turned around.

I was kinda expecting it was Keith but when I looked, It was Alex, my new friend. Well actually, he’s supposed to be my friend since the first day in this school, but in this new reality. I remembered his name because he was the one who kept bugging me last Saturday night in my DMs. He has a bit stocky body, but its not that bad. He wears thick square glasses that enlarges his deep black eyes. If I could comment, I’d say he’s almost the same level as my old body but that’s only basing on his looks. As for what I saw in his timeline, he’s not really that kind of a nerd. He barely even studies and complains on his feed too much. He’s a very friendly guy in my class, actually, but that didn’t make him an easy target for Keith.

He smiled at me and was sucking in air as if he’s trying to pull some question out his chest.

“You’re bout to ask something?” I raised my eyebrows and he nodded.

“Well... Apparently there’s this thing online... It’s uh...” He kept cutting his words, hesitating to ask me something.

I guess I know what it was. I gritted my teeth and looked away.

“Lemme guess. There’s a rumor spreading about me, right?” I said.

“Well... Yeah...”

“Damn, dude. Whatever that may be, do you think I’ll do that?” I said. My body cringing when I tried to act cool and say “dude”. “Anyway. Let’s just get in class”

We started walking to our classroom door. He kept on talking to me, mostly about trying to workout to get rid of his belly. I also learned that he happened to befriend me because he thought I could give him a few advice in working out.

When we entered the room, everyone was also looking at me. Not with disgust but admiration. Everyone said hi to me except Keith and his crew who were laughing to themselves.

“Yo faggot.” Keith called me. “Did you get your morning suck today?”

He and his crew laughed louder. Where did they get that from? I never wrote that in my old phone? I furrowed my eyebrows at that thought. They’re probably just making things up without really basing on my old diary.

“Hey idiot. Do you think anyone’s gonna believe that?” A girl raised her voice at Keith.

“Well, I don’t know. Why don’t you ask Felix himself if what I’m saying ain’t true.” Keith laughed, making everyone look more annoyed than myself.

I sat down to my chair with Alex now sitting beside me. Our first professor went in and began his lectures. As for me, I was busy tinkering with the Diary App. If the Diary App helped me last time, I bet it can help me more today.

With my eyebrows still furrowed, I began to stealthily type without the teacher noticing.

Monday

Hey Diary,

I wish whatever that thing about me that Keith and his crew tried to spread would backfire to them.

I tried to save this in hope that the changes would happen immediately, but a pop up appeared.

ALERT: Input too short

I tried to type again but this time, I tried to lengthen my sentence. Still, the alert kept appearing.

I heard our professor clear his throat and my attention jumped to him. He caught me using my phone. I smiled and chuckled.

“Phone.” He said, pointing to me.

“Yeah, I’m sorry Mr. Dew. I-”

“Put it back to your bag, now.” He ordered and I quickly followed.

I was lucky enough that it didn’t get confiscated. I put my attention back to his lectures and jotted down notes.

Why wont my log work though? What does it mean by “Input too short”? Whatever it is, I might need to fix that when I have free time. I shouldn’t go back to that in class or I might lost my new phone too.

--

Lunch break. I was with Alex in the cafeteria. Some other girls wanted to sit with me but Alex kept on telling them that he seats are taken. He would eventually chuckled at me and ask if I never get tired of people following me anywhere I go. I would just laugh back, remembering that this is my first day in this new life. As I tried to take a bite on my food, I saw Keith his friends across the cafeteria. He was still looking at me. Glaring at me. I then looked away, showing a bit of annoyance again. I then pulled my phone out my pocket and came back to my Diary App.

Input too short, huh? Well let’s put all our hearts in this log.

Monday

Hey Diary,

Keith and his friends are spreading fake news about me again, although I have no idea on what that is about. They might’ve been spreading news about me being gay or a cocksucker. Whatever that may be I don’t think I can’t stand them this time. I’d be fine if they spread something real about me, something I’d be too guilty to fight back, but if they spread something I never did, I might not get a grip of myself.

I wish whatever they told everyone would backfire to them. I wish Keith and his friends would live the rumor they had spread.

I clicked saved and went back to my food, but as soon as I try to bite, my vision started to blur once more. Alex seemed to notice what’s wrong and tried to shake my shoulders while calling my name in panic. I tried to shake my head and blink fast but it made me lost my sight much faster. Soon, I blacked out once more.

--

I groggily opened my eyes and rose up where I was lying. Then I realized I was back in my bedroom. It was night time and my lights were dim. I looked to my right and saw dad sitting on my chair.

“Dad?” I called.

“Oh you’re awake! This friend of yours called me to school telling me you passed out. The nurse said you probably ate something bad and passed out. You were puking hard in the clinic this afternoon and I was super worried. I thought I’m gonna lose you too...”

“Dad. I’m okay. Don’t worry.” I tried to comfort him.

“I’m glad you are...” He came to me and gave me a hug.

“Is Alex still here?” I asked.

“Alex? Oh, well... It wasn’t Alex who helped you. He probably coward out when you fainted and-”

“Wait? Then who-”

Before I ended my question, someone entered the room.

“Keith?” I looked at him with confusion. He was carrying a glass of milk and some cookies which were probably from my dad.

He looked at me back with this dumb grin on his face and put his glass on my table. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m just gonna leave you two be. Enjoy that cookie, Keith.” Dad went out my room, leaving me and Keith alone together.

My eyes widened at the sight of Keith. Out of all people, Keith was the one to help me? I puffed out air in disagreement. I just looked away from him as he munch on his cookie. He then pulled a chair and dragged it near my bed. He first finished his food before he talked to me.

“Dude. I just can’t leave you dying there. I saw everyone just standing around you. Admiring you instead of actually helping you.”

“Like I should believe you. Alex could’ve tried to help me.”

“Alex? Dude was so paranoid he can’t even dial your dad.”

We were silent for a while as I try to ignore him. I grabbed a schoolbook from my nightstand and pretended to read, wishing him to go away.

“Felix. I know I did a LOT of bad things that not only affected your physically, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t help you when you need it.” I noticed that his tone was a lot different than how he used to talk to me. “And... I just wanna say I’m sorry.”

I closed my book hard at those words. He’s actually apologizing...? He grabbed my arm and shook it slowly.

“Could you take my apology?” I pleaded.

“What do you want? Is this some sort of a prank? What? Are you trying to film me and use this for blackmail? Where’s your camera?”

“Felix can you just listen to me? Do you think I’ll go this far just to bully you?”

“Yeah? Why not? Just tell me what you want and let me go for fuck’s sake.”

“Let me suck your dick.”

My eyes widened. Bigger than what I did when I saw Keith enter my room. Did he just ask me to let him suck me off? I whipped my arm to make him let go. I looked at him with my face clenching. What he said just made me mad.

“Fuck off Keith. I’m not gonna be a part of your show. Get rid of your camera and get out.”

He shook his head and laughed. His laugh isn’t those typical sinister sounding one that you’ll hear when villains get exposed for their crimes. It was more of a sad chuckle when someone gets rejected. He reached for something in his jacket’s right pocket. From there he pulled out my old phone and gave it to me.

“If there was a hidden camera here, what would I use it for? To stain my reputation too? I’m sucking you off then what? Tell everyone that: Hey guys! Felix let me suck his dick! Dude... I'm the one desperate here.” He tried to convince me. His eyes looked different from before. There were stars in his them. There’s seriously something wrong. “Do you still think I’ll go this far just to ruin you more? I’m sorry if I spread false rumor about you. I’m really sorry... Now if you still can’t accept my apology, I guess this would make you feel much... much... much better.”

Before I knew it, he was already grabbing my crotch as he tried to unzip my jeans with his other hand. I moaned and my cock is already hard. He unbuttoned my jeans and proceeded to caress my pole. His eyes are locked with mine. He was so close and I can feel his hot breath on my cheeks. He’s too near and it looks like he’s about to kiss me. He pulled the garter of my boxer and without any second thoughts, he pulled my rock hard cock out and started jerking it off. I realized that I wasn’t stopping him at all. I then moved my hands to his arm, trying to get it off.

“Keith... Stop.” I moaned when he squeezed it hard. My back tried to arch forward but he pushed me back by diving his lips onto mine. He removed his jacket off, probably because he was in heat.

Keith moved on top of me. My legs in between his. His right hand was still stroking my shaft while his left hand is under my shirt, moving it from my abs up to my chest. When he reached my chest, he pinched my right nipple which made me open my mouth. He took the chance to push his tongue in my mouth, trying to intertwine with mine.

My hands are still trying to stop him, but this time I placed them on his chest. I tried to push him away but he’s too strong. That’s when I noticed how muscular his body was. By some chance, my body was moving on its own. My left hand slowly moved down to his abs, feeling his cobblestone collection. My body start to relax as he continued to kiss me. There’s something therapeutic about what Keith’s doing to me. I can’t stop him anymore. My body already gave in as if it wants Keith without my own accord. Before I knew it, I was already kissing back with my tongue, although a second after that, he broke our kiss and proceeded to stripping my shirt off. He started worshiping my body. Giving each muscle a peck from my neck, to my arms, to my chest, to my abs, then finally to my crotch. Without any hesitation, Keith placed my cock on his mouth and started sucking me off. My hips responded by thrusting into his mouth. My hands on his shoulder. My breath became heavy. My arousal skyrocketed. Every time my cock grinds on the wall of his mouth was euphoric. This made me realize that my body is very sensitive. Every time he pulled and dove back down made my body twitch in every direction.

“Faster.” I can’t believe I’m saying this. My body is enjoying Keith so much. I can feel my balls starting to churn.

“I’m near.” I whispered. My hands migrated to his hair, pulling it as my body tensed.

“I’m gonna cum.” I said.

I released my load into Keith’s mouth. I came with what seems like a much bigger load than what I can originally do. He then swallowed them all and took a a big exhale as if he just took a soda. He smiled at me and placed my softening cock back in my pants. He zipped my jeans back up and buttoned it. He left me topless, recovering from my euphoric phase.

He gave me one last kiss and I kissed back. He chuckled and moved back.

“Guess you forgive me now?”

He then got off me and picked his jacket from the floor. He walked back to the door and grabbed his glass of milk.

“Thanks for the milk. See you tomorrow.” He opened my door. “Oh and... Can we still go back to me being your bully? But I guess this time... We can call ourselves frenemies.”

With that, he went out my room. He didn’t grab anything else. That means he meant that... He meant that!?

My new phone suddenly pinged. I grabbed it and saw the notification from the Diary App once more.

Wish was completed. Please take a picture and attach to the log to confirm change and to keep the new reality.

I didn’t know what to do aside from standing up, going out my balcony and aiming my camera to Keith who was already walking away from home, but I wasn’t able to take a picture of him since he was already too far to be seen.

Maybe tomorrow, unless this all reset when I sleep. This might be a problem.

[writersfailure]

Overdramatic

My parents liked to call me overdramatic. I don’t quite think they’re right when they do so, but theyre the parents. I’m the child. What would I know?

Is it overdramatic when a eight year old asks her mother why she has trouble being happy? Why she feels like crying all the time over the silliest things?

Is it overdramatic when a daughter tries to tell her parents that kids are giving her a hard time in school and the teacher isn’t doing anything? Or is it just another reason For her parents to say “Shut up?”

Is it overdramatic when I go to a new school and get bullied? Am I overdramatic for going with several other kids to the principal about it? And yet selfish, for making my parents look like idiots when the other kids’ parents tell them what’s going on and find out that my parents didn’t have single clue?

After all, why would their overdramatic daughter tell them?

Is it overdramatic when a teenage girl cries as she tells her mother that she isn’t straight? After hearing dozens of horror stories and hearing her own father once say that he’d shoot his own children if they were gay?

Is it overdramatic for me to cry when I beg my father to let my girlfriend at the time stay with us because she had nowhere else to go? Is it overdramatic for me to yell at my brother when he calls me a faggot?

Or am I supposed to stay quiet? Because apparently I was selfish in “choosing” to be bi and made his life harder?

Am I overdramatic when I try to tell you that the thoughts in my head won’t stop? That the voices won’t stop telling me how easy it would be to pick up that gun and pull the trigger, how quick it’d be if I jerk the steering wheel towards the edge, how fast I’ll bleed out if I take the glass cup and smash it into my own forehead?

Am I overdramatic for trying to ask for some help? A therapist? Someone to talk to who would be able to help? Yes it would be overdramatic. I don’t need a shrink.

I need to shut up. I need to realize that that costs money. I need to get over it. I need to realize that everyone feels like that. I need to stop being a selfish brat. I need to start being normal.

Thats okay. It’s not like I could ever do it anyway. It’d hurt too much. The voices already tell me im a burden, a waste. A waste of space, of money, of time, of existence.

Its the guilt of all that that makes me want to do it. But it’s the guilt that’s stopping me too. The guilt of knowing how much money you’d waste to have a funeral, how much it would hurt all of you, how much time and money you’d miss from work. The guilt of knowing that you’d have to clean up my mess down here. The guilt of knowing that my death would probably be what makes my friends go to theirs.

Is that selfish of me? To stay while still being a burden? Because i think I’m more of a burden if I’m dead. So i consider that selfless.

But one day I’ll be selfish. One day I’ll be too overdramatic for my own good. And we’ll see what happens

[joshslater]

Russian Dolt

Another Hank collab. Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

I was just about ready to give up and head back to the hotel. I’ve spent 16 years being a sales representative across Southeast Asia, and I know all the regional variations on the prostitutes fairly well. Here in Manila, a Russian girl would go for at least twice the price of a local. A Malay girl would go for a discount. But too much of the same old thing grows boring, and that’s why I was out in the bars tonight instead of just calling an escort to the hotel for a “massage”.

I wasn’t sure what I was after, to be honest, which was part of the problem. Maybe a threesome? A gymnastics girl doing tricks for me – and on me? I’ve heard that in some countries the Olympic teams even earn some side money in brothels. I’ve never found it myself, but that would be something different at least. So far nothing I had found had really turned my crank. I was polishing off a mediocre whiskey when I was approached at the bar by the man.

The guy was younger than me, maybe 25, and looked very Russian. Buzzed hair, tank top, tight jeans, flip flops, cheap tats and the don’t give a fuck attitude that their entire nation has adopted since they lost the Cold War. He smelled of smoke and cheap cologne. He looked to be in great shape. I didn’t want anything to do with him.

“I overheard you speaking of freak sex, yes?”

The accent was heavily Russian as well. This could be exactly what I was after, but it could also end up with me robbed and dead in a ditch.

“What’s it to you?”

“We have proposal. Have you had sex as not you?”

Despite the hot and wet climate, I could feel a wall of heat radiating on my other side as one real furnace of a man stepped closer to me. I turned my head and looked right into a black tank top. It was filled with a huge pile of meat. I looked up at his face and he made a silent nod. Perhaps not as stereotypically Russian, but still very much old Soviet stock, and presumably lots of old Soviet hormones, not all his. His muscles seemed to have muscles.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Sex as not me?”

“We have a thing that lets you do sex as if someone else. Understand? You could be me?”

“I could be you? Who would you be?”

“I would be you, for short time. Very short. Then you as me do any things, dangerous things. Nasty things. But safe for you. When finished, you are you and I am I.”

I was thinking really hard on how this scam worked. Was this just going to trick me out of 5000 pesos, or was the end goal to take me for all I was worth? The setup was intriguing. Performing sex as someone else… I’d certainly never tried that before. I didn’t want to let fear hold me back, in part because I knew, loathe as I’d be to admit it, that it often did.

“What kind of nasty things?” I finally answered.

“Many different things. You chose. How about fucked by wrestler?”

He gestured towards the pillar of meat on my other side. That surprised me. Back home where I grew up there was a lot of "God hates fags" and crude gay jokes, but I always thought it was a bit obsessive. It's a free country so they can do whatever they want, as long as they keep me out of it. I’d never had sex with a man before, obviously. Never even considered it. I was about to protest how I wasn’t a fag, when a small little voice at the back of my head pointedly said “Damn straight, but apparently he is one.” Well, if I was going to be someone else, then why not go for something truly wild and different? Something I would never put my own body through.

“How does it work? How do we do it?”

“We put your body somewhere safe. To keep your mind off it. Then we swap. When you are done, we swap again. 3000 pesos per hour.”

Twenty minutes later, if even that, the three of us were standing in my hotel room. The lobby was deserted, save for the night manager who gave us a disapproving look on our way to the elevator. On the way up, I made a quick estimate of what everything I brought was worth. I only had my carry on, some clothes, my laptop, cell phone and travel wallet. If I was completely cleared out by these guys, I could stay an extra day, have the cards blocked and reissued, use insurance to buy replacements, and be on my way. Not much to lose, really.

The big hunk of meat was Boris, because of course he’d be a Boris. He didn’t speak any English. The sleazy guy in the wifebeater was Mikhail, and he was now explaining the details of how he proposed we do this. He had a handcuff with a really long chain, so I could be cuffed to the bathroom water pipe and still make it to the bed. This would allow Mikhail, in my body, to stay securely in the room, watch TV, use the bathroom and such and such while I was out in his body. I was full of doubt. Step one really can’t be that I chain myself with handcuffs to the bathroom pipes? Mikhail saw my hesitation without me saying anything.

“You want to see first, yes?”

“Please.”

From his pocket he pulled out two thumb rings. They were plain iron rings with no inlays, but with engraved symbols running around them, which gave them a brutish look. He gave me one.

“Sit down. Put it on, right hand.”

I did as I was told, and nothing happened. He sat down next to me on the bed and unceremoniously slipped on his ring. Instantly, everything shifted a few feet to the side, and I suddenly looked out of his eyes instead of mine. It worked. It felt amazing.

His body was in such great shape. I ran my hand over the buzz cut stubble on my head, feeling the prickliness of it against my palm. Then, swiftly, just as quickly as I had jumped into his body, I was back in mine, looking at my hand. Mikhail had just removed the ring.

“You can see it works. You want to continue, yes?”

I sure did. I could scarcely believe this technology was legit. Perhaps it was magic. I know, magic isn't real, but then neither are body swaps. I put the ring back on, and wow, the rush. I was back in Mikhail’s body.

Mikhail patted me and got up. It was so trippy to see my body moving next to me. He quickly locked the handcuff to to his left wrist and then stepped into the bathroom to attach the other end of the cuff. He then stepped out again and gave me the key.

“Here, keep this safe. My suggestion would be to put it in the room safe, so you don’t lose it in the excitement.”

To my shock, he was talking fluent English now, without any accent.

“I will do,” I answered, immediately laughing a dumb Russian laugh. Wow, how stupid my own voice sounded. I sounded just like Mikhail in voice, accent and whacked English.

I immediately realized that whatever these rings did wasn't simply placing my brain inside Mikhail's body. That would just change the voice. But to also changed my accent and even words and grammar, which hinted at something more complex. It somehow both frightened and excited me, and I felt a stir in my pants. I wondered what else would be different, what else this body I now inhabited might be made of.

I put the key and my wallet in the safe, and locked it with 7478. Same code as my old phone, based on the Boeing 747-8 plane. As an international businessman I've had many trips on those. Boris started moving and ushered me out of the room, almost impatiently. As the room door clicked shut, I realized that I’m standing outside of my room with no key, no ID, a different body, and next to this oversized hunk of meat. I reminded myself that I can, at any moment, just remove the ring and appear back in the room. I could then open the safe, grab the key, unlock the shackles on my own body, and pretend like nothing had happened. As long as I have my hand free to remove the ring, there is no need for a safe word tonight. I chuckled with Mikhail’s voice at my own internal pun.

The feeling was amazing, getting accustomed to the body. I could tell my first thought was spot on: this bod was in great shape. It was lithe, almost sprightly compared to where I was at normally. Toned and packed with just enough firm muscle to have a bit of a swagger, it seemed. As we strode out of the hotel and into one of the waiting taxis, I ran a hand through my buzzed hair once more, feeling the spike of the flat cut against my palm. I tugged a little and played with the studs in my ear lobes.

Is this how fags felt, I wondered? Are these sort of bodies part of where their pride and sex drive comes from? I hadn’t given any thought before to the idea that men who are attracted to men might find their own bodies hot, too. I looked down at my forearms, noticing the fit power in them, the veins lightly popping. It did look good to me. I could feel queer thoughts, but I wasn’t ashamed or repulsed by them. This wasn’t me, but I could tell it could be very hot to play the gay. And looking at my arms, I felt an erotic buzz. I was starting plump up a little. I was legitimately turned on.

“In Soviet Russia, you not find faggot. Faggot find you!” I said out loud, laughing, thinking that I sounded even dumber than Mikhail did in this voice. One of my favorite jokes finally had a body worthy of it. Both Boris and the driver ignored me.

I suppose Russians didn’t usually make such a classic Russian joke, did they? Or did they? This really was the most out-of-body experience I’ve ever had, quite literally. Talk about risk versus reward payoff. I had to do it again.

“In Soviet Russia, big dick find you!” I found myself slurring, stupidly, and just hearing the ridiculous accent come out of Mikhail’s mouth, a mouth that was mine for the time being, made me snort with laughter again. I didn’t expect that the first few things I’d be doing in this body would be laughing my ass off. It was truly surreal. But it was hilarious, I mean, wow. Maybe it was my way of trying to find my sea legs after such radical change.

We arrived at a different hotel only 15 minutes away from mine, but looking at it they couldn't be further apart. If Mikhail and Boris looked seedy in the lobby of my hotel, they would appear posh in this neighborhood. I was still not used to this body, and wobbled a bit getting out of the taxi. Boris stopped and waited by the hotel entrance while I made a few jumps to test that everything is fine.

“Boris,” I say, my voice reminding me of some squirrel and moose thing – Natasha – Rocky and Bullwinkle – I can’t get over this accent –

“Boris, where is room?”

I find that I almost have a feel for the way the Russkies talk, I think, and that if I just roll with it, I’ll be able to work with it almost effortlessly. Boris started leading me into the hotel and down a hall. He stopped by a door and opened it, with a real key. Not one of those card reader doors. He entered the room and I followed.

First thing I did was to swagger on over to the mirror. I didn't get a good look while in my room before Boris ushered me out. Yeah, I pretty much looked amazing. This body, or whatever sense of sexual desire was in this bod, recognizes male beauty in a way that wasn’t apparent to me at all as a straight guy. This body is fit, it is toned, it is more tanned than I would have expected from a Russian guy. He must have been in The Philippines for a while now, I figured. The tats, which I thought looked like cheap pieces of shit from a budget tattoo parlor before, looked masculine, tough, and sleazy.

I looked like the mirror image of a guy who lived to fuck, drink, smoke and party, I thought- And I could feel that I was craving a smoke, too. But man, that mirror… I was boned, totally erect over a man for the first time in my life, even if it just was myself, in a way.

Mikhail had been wearing that rich brand of underwear to try to act like he was worth something, I suppose. What’s the name of it? I can’t even remember, not being an underwear type myself. To me, despite whatever he must have spent, the briefs and tats all just made him look cheap and trashy. But I liked it. It’d be perfect for tonight. I fully intended to take advantage of it all, go out for a while, have fun and bring someone back tonight. If things stayed chill, I was ready to fuck. Boris looked bored, and wasn’t even really watching me, so I was guessing things were cool.

I recalled Mikhail had blurted something out earlier about “Fuck Wrestler,” which I presumed meant Boris. And I had been thinking maybe I’d do that, initially, not really being sure what I’d do. But now that I was attracted to men, apparently, I really just didn’t think Boris was my type. Or this body’s type. Or whatever. He didn’t seem to be into me, either. I like the look of Mikhail’s body for sure, and it’s almost mesmerizing to me. Breaking away from the mirror is a bit of a challenge, I notice, as I put my tank top back on. Maybe the old line about Narcissus isn’t so far from the truth after all.

“Boris, I want to go to bar,” I said. “Gay bar. You know where?” “да,” the oaf answered.

I understood it as "Yes", of course, but I understood it in a fluid way. Could I speak it, too?

“Вы можете общаться со мной на русском языке?” I blurted to see if he could understand me. My own words sound like something an insect would come up with. They buzzed. They sounded slushy, and they sounded like shit. I really don’t know how folks can speak such an ugly language, how anything could evolve in such a strange way.

“да.” he said again, without any emotion.

There’s some male jewelry on the counter, I noticed as I started to turn out the lights. Dog tags, a pendant. I picked them up and put em on. Looks good- Wonder if Mikhail walked around with that, normally. The whole walk to the bar, I couldn’t help but to act cocky, shifting my posture, feeling playful with this body. Boris, as I found out by trying to chat him up, despite him being a man of few words, did have a pack of cigarettes to help me out with. Soon I’m bumming a couple off of him, and as soon as I could get away with it outside of the lobby, I light up.

The guys walking around Manila that we passed – some are kind of, I don’t know how to put it…not ugly, but not really attractive. I wasn’t really drawn to the girls, I noticed, but not the guys either, all that much. Some of them caught my eye a little more than others. I hoped when we got to the bar that I would find one of the Russians I was expecting to be there. Was that what my genes were hunting for, or was that what I just was expecting to find? A Russian? Would I be attracted to a German, a Frenchman or an American if I ran into any? Good luck picking one up with this voice, I thought to myself. But this is a sexy body. I bet I could pick up a lot of different kinds of guys. Gays aren’t really known for being particular, I thought. At least they’re known to do a lot of depraved shit with anyone. They aren’t like women. They have it easy, so I should too.

The thought of trying to hit on a guy, though I had no clue how to do it, seemed amusing. I felt a tinge of nervousness, but then I remembered this isn’t my real body. I could say anything. There’s a wallet in these jeans and I flipped through it. Was that arranged? There’s enough cash in there, 400 pesos, to drink for a while depending on the prices. I wonder if Boris would loan me more, but how smashed would I really gonna get? It should be more than enough.

Soon we were in the bar. I eyed the field. I spotted my prey almost instantly. Dark beard, full, thick. Bomber sunglasses tank top, twists of tribal tattoo down one arm. I wondered what sort of guy wears glasses in a bar, and I was thinking, fag guys do. And that’s you too, fag boy, so hop to it. And it was alluring, even as I knew it was done for affect. I didn’t care. He was hot.

I didn’t sit down by him right away, though. Boris and I took a spot at the corner, by the entrance. Soon enough, though, I wink at him on his way to take a piss. Why not? Nothing to lose, man.

Once he was out of sight Boris stood up, and surprised I asked him if he was going to leave. I kind of expected he would stick around to make sure I didn't do anything too stupid with Mikhail's body. He smiled for the first time, patted me too hard in the back, responded "Ты справишься" and left. And with that I was on my own.

Well, that’s all fine with me, because I was worried these guys might think I already scored Boris or something. Didn’t want that crimping my game. I was totally comfortable on my own, too. Fuck, it’s not my body. Still can’t get over how liberating it was to just know it.

The night got rolling, more folks were trickling into the club, and Bomber Glasses and I were talking, finally. He is German, but does speak some English. This body did the work for me, I thought. He was into me. I couldn’t help but be fixated at his beard, man, and the chest hair that foofed out of the top of his tank. He has a dog tag of his own around his neck. It’s all so sleazy and fucked up. It’s weird, knowing that what once would have repulsed now allured.

Soon he was buying me a drink. I wondered if I was attracted to powerful guys, as this was the first one who caught my eye out of the bunch, not that there were many to choose from. He was at least a good three inches taller than me. Darker complexion. Thicker hair, and of course that beard. That chest. Mine’s got just a little fuzz. I started to wonder if Russians were a hairy people compared to Germans. I didn’t think they really were, but some definitely are. The train of thoughts caught me by surprise. I’ve never before considered how hairy guys are. Must be the fag in me for sure. Wondered what mixing with this body for the night is gonna do to my mind, long-term. You know, like what if it’s like the long-term effects of a powerful dose of shrooms? That might not be good, depending. It felt OK in the trial swap we did earlier, so clearly it reverts without any seeming issues, but then that was just after a few seconds.

No time to be nervous, though. I wanted to get my money’s worth.

Now the guy’s looking at me, intensely, right in the eyes over drinks, and I was feeling like maybe the gays have a point about wanting their public display of affection. I was feeling like if this guy wanted to fuck out in the streets of Manila with me, I’d do it, despite the filth and chaos. By the time he was kissing me, right in the bar, and I was feeling his thick beard press into my jaw, and we’re speaking our stupid, malformed English to each other, all I could think about was the hard cock that might end up in my ass tonight if this kept going well. I wantws this guy to come back to the hotel with me.

“You and I,” I said, between kisses. “Go wild, with sex, you make sex with me. Hot as sex,” I went, fascinated by the chest hair he was got spilling out of the neckline, rubbing it with my fingers, playing with it, all as best as I could. He was trying to slobber on my earlobe stud and probe my tongue with his ear. We’re making a scene in the bar. I couldn’t care less. He stripped my shirt off right then and there in the bar so he could see my chest. He was playing with my pecs, rubbing the muscle, slapping my firm belly, my firm biceps. “Flex for me,” he commands. I've never done that in my life before, and don't really know how, but somehow I manage to make some tight abs for him. He is lost in admiration, I could see.

We walked out the backdoor of the club, his fingers in the back pocket of one of my jeans, not just kinda steering me, as I’m rather sloshed, but claiming me. Showing who is the top. He squeezed an ass cheek through the denim, and I loved it. He leaned in for another kiss. It’s a steamy night. I needed a smoke, so I lit one up, buzzed up, feeling dreamy as hell, wondering what "nasty things” would actually going to be like. A cock up my ass? I could take one, fuck if I care. Sounded glorious right then. I wondered if I could feel that desire in my ass that they supposedly get? Not yet, I thought, searching my thoughts to see if I felt anything, and decided that maybe it’s because I haven’t tried it, yet. I wanted to try it. This German guy, a man, had me feeling like a creature of beauty. I felt beautiful in a way no woman had ever made me feel before.

I can scarcely remember the walk back to the hotel, for all the alcohol, hormones and groping. I remember wanting to be rather cautious the whole while. Manila is just loaded with chaos, deep pits and potholes you can step into, nothing in the way of sidewalks, not to mention motobikes and jeepneys. The hotel was much too close to bother with a cab.

I remember thinking that the longer I stayed in this body, the more risk I was taking, but I’d come this far tonight and intended to finish it. We didn’t set a time limit. “When you are done” was the deal. That made sense, as they got paid by the hour. They’d want to give me time to fuck until I’m sick of it, presumably by dawn at the latest, and I would obviously want my body back. This set of jeans didn’t even come with ID, and most of my few bucks had already been spent at the bar.

As for the sex, this guy was experienced. I figured as much, but found it out fast once we were in the bedroom together. I mean, I had barely latched the door behind me when he really flaunted his power, flipping me right around, pressing my back up against the door, passionately taking my jaw in his big hands and kissing me, licking me, tenderly and firmly, all at the same time. It’s hard to describe. He was even licking up my neck in broad strokes like I’m a fruit that’s ripe on the vine. It was hot. I suppose I must be a fruit, at least for tonight, haha. I could smell the alcohol on his breath, on my breath. I wanted to hear my dumb, hot, sexy Russian voice again. I was fumbling to get him out of his tank, which should have been an easy move, but I was too drunk.

“Chest, man,” I said. “You hairy, man. You are hairy. It’s hot.” I sounded like an idiot, I know, but it’s hot to hear my voice, too, my slurring, Russian voice.

”Yeah, boy,” he went, feeling up my pecs. I liked being called boy by this guy. Made me feel young, sexy, which I am. And I knew it.

He was practically ripping me out of my briefs and threw me on the bed. He got me naked, and he has got coke. It’s not my body, I think. I knew what to do, believe it or not. I've been to the bars around Wall street and seen what happens in the men's room. So I snorted up a line off the glass counter, walked over, naked, lit up a cigarette right in the room. Didn’t see any non-smoking signs, at least. This isn't the kind of hotel that bothers with smoke detectors. He slapped me on the ass and I couldn’t believe this was me, just hanging out casually, naked with a guy who’s occasionally slobbering all over my lower jaw.

I snorted another line. I felt amped, like coffee, only crazier. I took more at once. With a cross-fade like this, I know it’s more dangerous. Not my body, not my problem.

He was wrestling me down. I loved the feel of my muscles pushing back against his, and I loved trying to toss him, to pin him down, but he was stronger. We wrestled a lot that night, playful. I was so drunk it didn’t really hurt even when he threw me to the floor and body slammed me. It’s just fucking fun, don’t know how to put it, that state when you’ve got adrenaline and passion and lust and a few drugs pumping through your veins.

Man, his cock was a thick one. At one point I remember him shoving his hand in my ass, licking and slobbering all up in my crack, and I’m just on hands and knees, drooling, playing with my own dick as it flopped around and dangled down, making slimy fish line circles of pre-cum in the carpet. Although most dicks in the world are uncut, it somehow felt wrong  that my dick now was one of them. Like peeing with boxers on. I was on my haunches, and he was fucking the living shit out of me. It hurt and I yelped out, but guy knew what he was doing, I told myself.

At one point, I half cum, forcing myself to hold it back, not wanting the experience to end so soon. “Try,” I said to him, stopping, getting up off my knees. “Try not to cum,” I said. I had pulled back, hard, using my groin muscles to stop it so I could save my load. A minute later I was good to go again. He put a cock ring on me, telling me that will shut the dick up. I don't know if he brought it or if he found it in the room. Everything was a blur. “You are my pet now”, he told me. He was pushing me down, going for my armpits, slobbering and licking all over them. I had no idea men did that. I was shocked, but it felt great.

There were other surprises. I didn’t expect to be gagging on his thick cock, or expect that he’d seemed to want to pleasure in making me choke on it. But I sure as hell did choke on it. “Spit on it,” he ordered, so I did. “Lick,” he said, so I did, licking my own spit on his cock. I was slobbering up his cock as much as I could with my tongue, thinking that must be what he wanted. It felt good to do. I mean, what an iron rod, what a maypole. This was better than eating pussy, I thought, for sure. I wondered if I’d feel that way tomorrow, realizing I wouldn’t, so I’d better make the most of it now. This would have just seemed sick to me yesterday.

“Fuck me, fuck hard, fuck my ass,” I said to him. My ass had almost started to throb after getting fucked for a while, and it was starting to feel almost empty when it wasn’t getting fucked. Crazy but true, like I wanted him in there. I wondered if this was the prostrate being activated. I could feel it, almost like a heartbeat or something, inside my ass. “Put it in,” I said, wanting him to fuck me more, wanting to understand these sensations better. My ass was sore and yet it just felt so good. Fuck the pain away, and why not?

We took a breather and it was hard to even keep my hands off him for a little while. I wanted to at least massage his shoulders, wrap my arms around him, stroke his legs. If I didn’t have a life of my own, a successful, straight life, I could almost love this guy. The feelings were just so intense, drunk as I was. Probably the alcohol was causing the feelings, but did it matter? He was so beautiful to me. He made me feel sexy. We knew what to do with each other, even as new and awkward as I surely was. The dumb Russian voice Mikhail had was awkward, so fuck if it would matter if my technique was, too. This was all for my excitement, not for the sake of the performance, I remembered.

How long did we fuck? It must have been hours. Time passes at such strange rates when you’ve been partying. I remember my cock being sore, the skin rubbed raw, the thing just aching from the weight of the cock ring, swollen up, but not wanting to stop. I wasn’t sure if I could even get the ring off at this point, drunk as I was. Fuck the pain. “Harder,” I grunted at one part. “Fuck me harder. Deutschland!” I shouted, playful, in lust, this German sex king… my own command sounded like a woof. I really was his pet. But he was also mine.

I didn’t just pass out, I blacked out. I blacked out hard.

I was utterly confused when I woke up in a hotel bed, but then memories started trickle in. The body swap. I clearly was still in Mikhail’s body, I knew, because I could feel it. I felt sore. Wait, why was I still in Mikhail’s body? Looking around I could see I was in the bed in his shitty hotel room, no German to be found. I got up while the whole body was screaming in agony. The bed sheets were pretty much ruined with semen and other fluids. What a mess. My head throbbed with a hangover worse than I have ever experienced before. I stumbled over to the mirror.

Young, muscled, and well-hung were the bright side of what I saw. Everything else I saw in the mirror disgusted me, even more now than when I swapped into it yesterday. I was naked except for the thumb ring and a cock ring. The dick and balls looked bruised, a dangerously purple color. I tentatively touched the dick and pleasure tinged pain shot through my body. It was swollen and had a dull ache, but a small part of me even wanted to play with this dick some more, as I was still horny as fuck. I didn't remember cumming. I didn't even dare to think about the agony it would be to remove that cock ring. I needed to recoup.

I knew Boris and Mikhail were basically showboating a lot of this from the get-go, but after all that, I was really tired of this immersive experience shit. I didn’t know where the German went. I didn’t know if he even kissed me goodbye, and I tell myself it doesn’t matter. This was the wildest trip I’ve ever been on, and definitely worth it. But I didn’t want to deal with this body. I didn’t want to be a fag any longer. I reached to remove the thumb ring when a sudden fear came over me, like I needed to think this through. I paused.

When I remove the ring, where would I end up? Strapped to a cross in a BDSM dungeon? In a Filipino jail? Who knew what sort of Willy Wonka arrangement these guys had in store for me? Hopefully this is just part of the game, or it’s something else that I’m not thinking of. I was trying not to panic. I was not feeling amused anymore. I just wanted out.

I was hungry, thirsty, sore, emotionally drained, horny, and I had a godawful craving for a smoke. Whatever they’ve done to my real body, it couldn’t be any worse than this.

I removed the ring.

Nothing happened.

I screamed. I punched the wall. I screamed ‘fuuuuuuck!’ until I was sobbing on the filthy bed. I was reduced to a crying mess, not surprisingly.

This is my body now. A trashy fag’s body, with an unrelenting sex drive, a smoking habit, a drinking habit, and I no doubt more addictions waiting to be discovered. No surprise he was eager to ditch it. I'm sure my hotel room was cleared out by now, the credit cards emptied to the limit. What would I do with the stuff there anyway? Clothes that doesn't fit and a passport I can't use. This is who I am now, and there is no way to even begin to explain it to anyone, without seeming like a madman.

I really needed a smoke.

[jovialjudgebonkalmond]

Inevitable, Ch 2

Once again, obvious disclaimer, I don’t own the characters or universe in which the story takes place - yes internet I am that old, thank you.

Summary: Monty is alive, in jail. A recounting of his experiences and memories and basically all those flashbacks we weren’t given in season 4 that I am butthurt about. It is AU in the sense that he is still alive whilst Clay & Co are attempting to frame him for Bryce’s murder. Obvious spoiler alerts if you haven’t seen season 4.

Pairings will be Monty x Winston mainly. So far this is all from Monty’s POV but that may change down the line.

Warnings include violence, sex, drug use, rape, murder, and basically everything graphic and bad you can imagine. Will absolutely contain smut. Oh, and swearing. This chapter has the added benefit of mention’s of suicide (but given the show’s content I’m sure you saw this coming?), and also domestic abuse/child abuse. Oh and homophobic slurs.

Obligatory reminder: This is from Monty’s point of view. Clearly he didn’t view his actions with the totality of how devastatingly monsterous they were. I condemn his actions, he’s a rapist and deserved jail time. As we saw in s3 and in snippets of s4 he didn’t share that point of view. I think Monty is a dynamic character that’s interesting and I relate a lot to his back story. That’s why I was motivated to write this.

Ch 2 word count: 5,554 words (sorry not sorry guys)

Monty braced his hands on the edges of the tiny stainless steel sink, squinting as he gazed into the grimy sheet of metal bolted to the wall that was supposed to function as a mirror. He could see a blur of his skin, and the orange of his  shirt...and that was it. His face was throbbing and he couldn't eat his breakfast. "Fuck." He muttered to himself, inhaling deeply and closing his eyes. He held his breath, his aching ribs adding to the cacophony of pain of his head and hand. His hand was swollen across his knuckles and stiff, the muscles in his right arm trembling just with the effort of hanging on to the sink. He reached up with his left hand and ran it over his jaw. It, too, was swollen. He opened his mouth as wide as he could, gripping his molars with his fingers and placing his thumbs at the base of his jaw. His body shuddered and his stomach growled loudly.

I know, we're gonna fix this.

He jerked his jaw down, over, and then up in a swift, fluid motion. It made a sickeningly loud pop and Monty held back a retch, his body going from hot to cold as he felt his adrenaline pounding through his veins uncontrolled. He took a few choking, deep breaths and began to pace in a small circle, breathing hard through his nose. He dropped to the floor gracefully into a plank position as he had a thousand times for football drills, braced himself on his hands while his broken knuckles screamed at him. He lowered himself to the floor and sucked in a deep breath, his nose almost grazing the concrete. He exhaled and pushed up, hearing his ribs crack loudly as they shifted. They felt wrong inside of him, like they didn't fit where they belonged and it made it hard to breathe. He inhaled and lowered himself again, pushing through the pain. He felt powerless. He carried on, not counting reps as he picked up a smooth and even pace.  He was lost inside himself, no concept of time passing. There were no clocks, save for the one on the microwave in the common room and he wasn't there right now. 

"Your mother, she hasn't stopped crying since they pick you up." His father stated with a heavy accent.He felt a pang of shame in his chest and closed his eyes for a moment, the shackles hanging like a dead weight off his wrists. He swallowed hard, his throat feeling suddenly dry and tight.

"I'm sorry." he said thickly, his back stiff. His fear felt alive inside of him, like it had a mind of its own. He avoided eye contact with his father. He could feel the rage radiating off of him and he felt the all too familiar dread sinking in.

"I bust my ass for this family, and this is what you do?" His father continued, leaning forward. Monty hazarded a glance at him from the corner of his eye, not daring to breathe. He blinked, feeling his mind beginning to reel.

"Answer me!"

Monty jumped and blinked again, feeling stupid and cornered. His heart was racing.

"What? What answer do you want?" He hated hearing the sound of his own desperation in his voice, the way it broke at the end.

"Is it true? What they're saying?"

Monty felt his body stiffen even more, if that was at all possible. He tried to shrug it off, blinking again.

"What are- what are they saying?" He stammered. It felt as though there was a fist clamped around his throat.

"You damn well know."

Monty stared straight ahead of him, feeling the all too familiar sensation of  his blood pounding in his ears and through his veins. He clenched his jaw and stayed silent.

"They're saying that you assaulted a kid. That you sexually assaulted a kid. A boy! That true?" He couldn't help but notice the tone his father's voice took on at the word 'boy'.

"It wasn't sexual assault. I was just...messin' with him." Monty said, shifting his shoulders as though his shuffling could make his actions go away, like an irritating fly tickling his skin.

"You were messing with him?" His dad blinked, his eyes darkening, "The way they said? Why would you do that shit? To a boy? Are you some kind of faggot?!" The disgust in his voice was palpable, but it wasn't the fact that he was being charged with sexual assault that disgusted him so, that much was glaringly clear.

Monty's body felt hot all over, his eyes beginning to well with tears. He clenched his jaw again and stole his resolve.

"What if I was dad? What if I was?" He locked his gaze on his father's dark, furious eyes. The rage and contempt the look he was met with took his breath away.

"You're going to prison. You know what they do to guys like you in there?" He scanned him up and down quickly, as though sizing him up.

"And what do they do? Describe it." He mumbled defiantly, squaring his chin.

"You're going to get beat to shit. At the minimum. They will beat you down."

Monty leaned back, unable to stop himself. What the fuck did it matter now anyway.

"Yeah, well, at least none of them will be my dad."

He could see the storm in his father's eyes, and he was suddenly grateful he was in jail. The chair scraped on the concrete as his dad stood, towering over him with the blackest eyes he had ever seen. Mr. de la Cruz was staring at him as though he had known it all along.

"Are you a faggot?" He asked, with a tone that suggested he already had the answer.

Fuck it, he thought, and fuck you.

He looked up and locked eyes with the man whom he had feared, loathed, worshiped... his whole life.

"Sure."

The moment could have lasted an eternity. His father stared at him in disgusted silence before spitting in his face and walking out, leaving him sitting there alone in his shackles. It hurt more than a fist. He closed his eyes, feeling as though his heart was shattering in his chest. The spit was hot and sticky, burning his left eye it landed on. He clenched his jaw again, his eyebrows furrowing as he fought back his tears. He tried to wipe the spit off of his face but his shackles stopped him from being able to reach. He rubbed the side of his face on his shoulder as though he could wipe away his shame with it, his breathing ragged.

"Hey inmate."

Monty jumped, the voice knocking him back to reality. He stood carefully, his body aching at his lack of forgiveness to it, and looked at the C.O.

"Yes sir?"

"You have an appointment with your lawyer. Come on."

He blinked slowly, following the guard out of his cell. I don't have a lawyer..? 

The guard marched him to a set of doors where he was pat down and shackled once more. They took him down a hallway he had never been down before, the shackles making his strides short and awkward, forcing him to hunch forward. It made him look small. The hall had rooms with windows that opened to the hallway. The guard opened one of the doors and Monty followed him inside.

There was a woman sitting at a large table with several file folders. Her black hair was up in a bun and she was wearing a pantsuit with a blouse. It was jarring, seeing someone outside of uniform or the orange jumpsuit. He shuffled toward the table and she glanced up at him, surveying him quietly with blue eyes he couldn't read. He sat down across from her and tried to shuffle his chair closer to the table with little success.

 The guard stepped in and closed the door. The woman turned her attention from him to the guard.

"You can wait outside." She dismissed him. He looked as though he was going to argue with her but then thought better of it and left. Monty could see him watching them through the glass.

"Hello Mr. de la Cruz." She said, opening one of the files and glancing at it before looking back at him. "I am Eva Guerrero. I am a defense attorney and I work for a non-profit organization, and we were forwarded your case and I am here to offer you legal representation for your trial, if you choose to have one. I have spent some time reviewing your case and I have a few thoughts, and a few questions."

Monty sat there, staring at her for awhile. He blinked while he waited for his brain to catch up. It didn't.

"Okay." He said curtly, instantly on the defensive.

"You presently have two charges filed against you. That is correct? The sexual assault of Tyler Down and the murder of Bryce Walker..?"

Monty stood in the dim light of his bedroom, one of the bulbs in the ceiling was burnt out. It cast long shadows up the dark beige walls. It made the hole he punched in his white door look cavernous. He gazed at his reflection in the mirror, his breathing steady and calm...resolute. Tears trickled silently down his face, pooling on the wooden surface of his dresser. They slipped off the chips and dings in the surface and flowed off of the edge. His arm trembled as it held the cold steel of the gun, pressing into the side of his temple. His finger curled around the trigger, his other hand pressed on the top of the dresser to brace himself. There was only one bullet in the chamber, but he only needed one.

"Where are you, you son of a bitch!" His father roared, bursting into the room and yanking him from his thoughts. His blood pounded in his ears and he rounded on the taller man, not even feeling human anymore.

"You wanna go old man?!" Monty yelled, taking the gun away from his own face and leveling it at the chest of his father, finger still poised on the trigger. The man staggered back, clearly intoxicated. His face flashed shock for a moment before he began to laugh, contempt replacing his former fearful expression as though it had never existed. Monty's heart was hammering in his chest like it was going to explode. His body was moving outside of his control, his desperation having a mind of its own and an appetite for destruction.

"You going to shoot me?" The older man laughed again and muttered derisively in Spanish before closing the space between them, leaning into the gun. "Do it then. You're the man now."

Monty locked eyes with his monster, his boogeyman, and felt his resolve begin to crumble just as he always crumbled under his father's fists and rage. He lowered the gun and made to shove passed him to get through the door but his dad grabbed him roughly around his abdomen and chucked him into it. He heard it crack under his weight and his lungs strained as the wind was knocked out of him. He choked and gasped for a moment, in a heap on the ground still holding the gun.

"You're just a coward." His dad hissed, booting him hard in the ribs. He hated himself for not being able to hold back his whimper at the pain. "Were you fucking crying? Crying like a lady-boy? Like a faggot?!"

He sucked in a ragged breath and dragged himself to his feet, running haphazardly  through the hallway. He needed to get the fuck out of here before this ended in regret. His dad pursued him, hot on his tail, stopping momentarily to grab a bottle of liquor off of the counter.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going you little shit?!"

"I'm getting the fuck out of here!" Monty yelled, opening the front door. His dad grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and yanked him backwards, slamming him against the wall and backhanded him. He tasted blood. He shoved his dad as hard as he could, away from him and ran out the door without looking back. His dad staggered drunkenly and fell over. It didn't stop him for long, just slowed him down momentarily, Monty heard his drunken shuffling footsteps chasing him out the door.

"Come back here you coward!" He yelled, chucking the bottle at Monty. It shattered beside his feet and he stepped on the glass. It crunched under the soles of his shoes, gritty on the gravel driveway. The alcohol splashed up his pants, staining and stinking. He fumbled for his keys, hands shaking and jerking as adrenaline sent his nerves haywire. He popped the safety back on the gun and tossed it in the back storage compartment. He started the Jeep and threw it in reverse, slamming his foot on the gas and gunning it down the driveway. His tires screeched shrilly on the pavement and the SUV lurched with his sudden movements.

He put the Jeep into drive and stomped on the gas, not knowing where he was going. There was nothing but the sound of his engine, the tires rumbling on the pavement noisily and his suspension rattling every so often as he went over a bump or pothole in the road. And his seemingly-endless-blood pounding in his ears-level rage. His vision blurred with tears, the road and lights melted blurs whipping passed him with no recognition. He sobbed, unable to catch his breath. His chest felt empty, like a gaping wound raw and shredded on the edges. Minutes turned into hours and became nothing. Eventually he had no energy left to sob, no tears left to cry.

He eased off of the gas pedal and soaked in the emptiness that consumed him. The air around him was cold and light, the stars dancing above him and the moon hung over it all like a fucking spotlight for his shit show.

He slowed and stopped, realizing he recognized the house he was in front of. His heart skipped a beat. He shouldn't be here. He put the Jeep in park and pushed the door open, stepping out of the vehicle. He left the door open as he walked ponderously along the curb. The house was like a mansion, towering on top of a small expensively landscaped hill. With a huge, wall-like cement fence with wrought iron details on top. Four pillars boarded each edge of the horse-shoe shaped driveway, one of those fancy ones that you can drive in and out of in a  half circle. The pillars had lamps on top made out of matching wrought iron that bathed him in golden light, like a caricature of an angel.

He didn't belong here.

He stood at the mouth of the driveway, his arms hanging limply at his sides. He sighed, turning to go when he saw a figure approaching him. The tall, slender, dark haired young man stepped into the light. His dark, brown eyes were muddied with confusion. He wore a light coat thrown over a grey cable knit sweater and olive coloured slacks, lacking his usual carefully chosen attire. It was evident he just threw it on in a hurry to run outside. His heavy brows furrowed, his expression flipping rapidly from confusion to concern.

"Monty- what are you doing here? My parents are actually home...you probably don't want to- why are you bleeding? Are you ok?!" He stumbled his words in a rush.

Monty stood there with his arms limp at his side for a few moments, trying to feel anything other than the brokenness that consumed him. He knew the desperation showed on his face like an open book and he loathed himself for it. He could never hide it, not in front of Winston. The other boy had a way of running his fingers over his spine and cracking him open like a dam waiting to flood the world. And tonight, he was nothing if not an open wound.

"Monty?!" Winston insisted, taking another step towards him.

"Bryce is dead." He said hollowly.

Winston blinked, glancing back to the house and then back to Monty. He closed the space between them, Monty's heart leaping into his throat. Winston took his hand and ran his fingers over his knuckles and palm with an aching tenderness.

"Okay, let's get out of here then." He said calmly. Damn him. Winston gave his hand a gentle squeeze and tilted his face to lock his warm eyes with Monty's avoidant gaze. Monty looked back at him knowing he wasn't able to hide his pain behind his mask anymore. He returned the gentle squeeze before walking back to the Jeep and climbing in, his heart racing once more. Winston climbed in the passenger seat, doing a double take at the gun in the back.

"Is that a gun?! What are you doing with a gun?! How did you even get a gun?!?!"

Monty clenched his jaw, starting the Jeep with a stuttering rumble. It was an old Jeep, and its age was showing. Monty couldn't help but feel uncomfortable having the boy who was used to so much luxury in his piece of shit SUV. 

Although if Winston had any opinions, he kept them to himself. Monty glanced at the gun in the corner of his eye, barely tilting his face before looking at Winston for a moment and putting the vehicle in drive.

"It was a gift." He muttered, nonchalantly. Winston looked taken aback but didn't ask anymore questions as Monty drove off. Monty turned up the music, indicating he didn't want to talk anymore. Winston reached over and  held Monty's hand that was resting in his lap. Monty didn't fight it or pull away, allowing the other boy to gently stroke his fingers. He felt the pounding rage and anxiety, poised for the attack, slowly recede under Winston's unfairly soft touch.

"They found him in the water...by the docks." Monty said thickly, the dam threatening to break again. "They say he was shot...he was murdered."

"Murdered?! Holy fuck..." Winston gasped, sucking in a quick breath. It was clear he was rattled. "Who would do that?"

"Oh I think I know." Monty said, a clearly menacing tone to his voice. "Cops hauled me in for questioning. Cuffed me and chucked my ass in the back seat and everything. What a fucking show."

Winston looked taken aback.

"But Bryce was your friend?! Why would they think you killed him?!" Winston asked, despite the gun sitting in the back of the Jeep like a verifiable elephant in the room.

"We had a fight before he was killed." Monty grumbled, stepping on the gas a little. "He was killed homecoming night."

Winston took a deep breath, surveying Monty carefully.

"While you were with me?"

"If I was fuckin' there he wouldn't be fuckin' dead right now!" Monty yelled. "I should have been there. I could have stopped it. Someone beat the shit out of him and shot him and threw him in the fuckin' water and I was off getting laid!"

Winston stayed silent for a few moments, gazing at the scenery as it whipped by. If his outburst or speeding bothered him, Monty couldn't tell. He seemed surprisingly unruffled by his rage. After more time passed Monty's resolve and anger subsided, having nothing to feed off of. He took a deep, tremulous breath.

"I'm sorry." He muttered, "I don't blame you. It wasn't your fault I wasn't there for him. It's mine-"

"Monty, don't blame yourself for this either." Winston cut him off. "There was nothing you could have done. You couldn't have known that would have happened and if you had tried to stop it they very likely would have killed you too. It would have taken someone incredibly dangerous to have done this. I didn't know Bryce very well, but he wouldn't have gone down without a fight."

Monty flinched, gripping the steering wheel tightly with one hand and his other hand trembled in Winston's. He drew in a shivering breath and shook his head, his brows furrowing deeply.

"If I had died too so be it. I should have been there, protecting him. I always protected him... he died alone."

His lip quivered as his eyes welled with tears once more. He wanted to punch himself in his own god damned face. He blinked rapidly, pushing his emotions back down and swallowed hard, flipping his turn signal on.

"That's not a road?" Winston said in confusion.

"That's the point." Monty said, his words catching when the Jeep thumped in and out of a rut jerking both boys around inside.

"I've never done this before." Winston said with a small laugh, "Gone off roading."

"What?! Are you fucking kidding me?!" Monty shook his head, putting the Jeep into 4x4 and glancing at the other boy. "Rich kids." He muttered incredulously. Winston shrugged and flopped around, his shoulder bumping into Monty's as the Jeep thrashed from side to side over the uneven ground. He laughed helplessly, shaking his head. He was knocked backwards as the SUV lurched upwards and then once again bumped into Monty and then the side of the door as it landed roughly, the suspension audibly creaking.

"Jesus can this thing even handle this?!" Winston wondered.

"It was built for this." Monty chuckled, easily matching his body's movements with the jerking of the Jeep, "How about you, pretty boy, can you handle it?" He almost purred, quirking an eyebrow teasingly. Winston shot him a half exasperated dirty look and shifted his weight surreptitiously and then he smirked, meeting the other boy's challenge.

"I think we both know I like being tossed around a little."

Monty responded by gunning the SUV over a ditch in the dirt road, and Winston grabbed the handle over his head to maintain his balance and ride out the bucking of the vehicle. The two shared a look and Monty grinned devilishly. He pressed the accelerator down slowly and evenly, the Jeep's tires kicking up sand that billowed around them like an angry cloud. He adjusted the steering wheel and pulled the SUV into a tight turn, the force tossing Winston to one side as he held the tires in a rotation. He sped up as the Jeep spun in a circle, the sand flying around them like debris in an explosion. The lights of the city and the moon over the ocean melted together, becoming a ribbon of colours swirling dizzyingly around them.

Monty wasn't watching where the Jeep was going, he didn't have to. He had perfect control of the vehicle's movements, he had done this countless times with the guys. He was watching Winston, couldn't take his eyes off of him if he had even tried. He watched the way his chest moved when he breathed, the way his expressions changed and the way his eyes were just so damned alive. Monty loved the way he would laugh or yelp, and knew exactly how to get each reaction. The thrill of it made his face feel flushed, his blood pounding for an altogether different reason. He bit his lip and closed his eyes for a moment before pulling the Jeep out of the doughnut turn and slamming on the brakes. Winston let out a little shriek as he was once again tossed from side to side, and then also back and forth with his long legs tangling like a clumsy giraffe.

"If I knew it was that easy to make you scream I would have done this a long time ago." Monty laughed, cutting the engine and smirking at Winston, his heart fluttering in his chest. Winston glanced at him through the dark lengths of his eyelashes and moistened his lips. His cheeks were flushed and his breathing was a little ragged after being thrashed around like a rag-doll mercilessly for the last god-only-knows how long.

"I could think of a few other ways you could make me scream." He said breathily. 

Monty yanked his seat belt off and practically dove at him, his hands grabbing the other boy's wavy hair as their lips crashed together. Monty had one leg on his centre console, the other was in between Winston's legs. Winston's fingertips dug into his back as he kissed back, his bruising lips meeting Monty's furious hunger with a relishing eagerness. Monty kissed him and pawed at him like he wanted to devour him and Winston's hands flew to his pants and popped the button with ease and unzipped them, running his hand over the other boy's obvious erection. He wanted to be devoured, consumed, destroyed. Monty gasped and made a soft, strangled sound as he broke their kiss.

"Fucking hell." He hissed grinding his hips into Winston's hand, "I want you." he added, his voice catching. And I shouldn't, he thought, I can't... this is going to be the death of me.

Winston laughed lowly, continuing to run his hand up and down Monty's rock hard length. He kissed him again, biting his bottom lip lightly as he pulled away.

"Take me home." He said flatly, his hand still rubbing Monty's achingly hard cock. 

Monty blinked rapidly, his train of thought thrashing around not unlike Winston was being thrashed around moments ago.

"W...what?" He stuttered, gasping quietly and suppressing a moan with limited success.

"Take me home, Montgomery," Winston said, staring into Monty's eyes as he massaged his balls, "And fuck me properly."

"I don't think I can drive like this." Monty groaned as Winston's hand slipped away, tucking his throbbing cock back into his pants and zipping them back up with some difficulty.

"You're going to." Winston smirked, kissing him deeply and then pushing him away as he adjusted his own bulge in his pants.

Monty swallowed and looked at the lawyer before him. He had declined the legal aide appointed by the court, and he had assumed it was left at that. That he'd be deemed guilty and just rot or die where he fucking belonged.

"I didn't kill Bryce." He said coldly.

"I am aware. We've been contacted by someone who has compelling evidence for your innocence."

"Charlie?" Monty asked, meeting her eyes carefully. He already knew the answer to that question he realized with sickening dread.

"No, Charlie went to the police shortly after you were apprehended and confessed to lying to them to cover for you and that he had no idea of your true whereabouts that night. A boy named Winston Williams... contacted us seeking legal aide on your behalf," The lawyer said, reaching for one of the folders. "He can place you at his house at the time of the murder. He said you made some texts and the cell phone towers would be able to confirm your location which would be quite far from the location where Bryce was killed. He also has an article of your clothing that would possibly be useful, if people can confirm you wore it that night and haven't since."

Monty swallowed hard  against the lump in his throat, willing his face to remain stagnant and leaned back, shaking his head. The betrayal by Charlie stung like the weight of a sword to the hilt of his spine. And then there was the Winston of it all.

"He just doesn't fucking give up, does he?" He muttered with an agonized hitch in his voice despite his best efforts.

"I mean, if I knew someone was innocent of a crime, I would want to speak out."

"Did he tell you I beat the shit out of him the night we met and I called him a fucking faggot?" Monty lashed out, he would have crossed his arms but his shackles prevented him from doing it so he just squared his shoulders and jaw and stared coldly at the woman in front of him who only wanted to help him. But he didn't want her fucking help, or Winston's for that matter.

The woman held his gaze, completely unfazed by his demeanor.

"He did, in fact, tell me that." She said with a quirked eyebrow. Monty was taken aback but tried to do his best not to let that show.

"So why the fuck would he want to help me." He said hollowly. The lawyer shrugged.

"Does that really matter? You're looking at life in jail or worse, right now with these charges."

"Maybe I fuckin' deserve it." Monty said, tilting his head challengingly.

"Maybe you do." She agreed calmly. "But I don't think you do. I think that's an easy way out. I think you're fucking giving up, throwing it away because its easier than facing the person you are and the problems you have. Its easier than admitting your life isn't going where you wanted it to, and that you regret the things you've done." 

She tossed a file in his direction.

"I think life has been unreasonably hard on you, Montgomery, and I think the people and systems that were supposed to protect you and keep you safe didn't. I think you had a violent upbringing, and that you survived for a long time by yourself. I think the fact that you'd rather go to jail for a crime you didn't commit than willingly admit out loud that you spent the night with a boy who's only crime was maybe to love you enough to want to save you is cowardly. I think you feel like you don't deserve his concern, or his love for that matter, so you're running scared from that too. I think you've been scared for your whole life. And I think its time you fucking let that go. Because the people who've helped you become the young man standing before me would love to see you sitting here wallowing in your self pity. They'd love to see you disappear like another fucking statistic. I would like to think that someone who has survived as long as you have, someone who's fought as hard as you have would take all that anger and tell them to fuck themselves and build a real life for himself, and be fucking happy to spite them, in spite of them."

Monty felt his pulse tick in his neck and looked away before fixing her with a glare. That hit a nerve.

"I think you fucking think too much." He snarked, and smirked with a cocky lift of his eyebrow. "What would you know about it anyway."

She smiled calmly, and met his arrogance with her own ego.

"I had a bad childhood." She said flatly, not knowing she was using his own words against him, "I did eight years in federal for armed carjacking."

Monty sat there numbly, dumbfounded for a moment.

"And they let you be a lawyer?" He asked incredulously, "That explains a lot..."

"It wasn't easy, Montgomery, it took me almost twelve years after my sentence to even begin rebuilding my life. They said I would never amount to more than my crime. But I fucking did it and they can suck my dick." She began to collect the folders he hadn't even looked at yet, leaving one in front of him as she stood up.

"You're a lawyer, you're not supposed to talk like that." He mumbled, feeling panic flutter in his chest as his lifeline was packing up and leaving and it was all his own fault for pushing her away.

"Not in front of a judge anyway." She countered, snapping her briefcase shut. 

"Think about what I said. I won't close your case yet, but don't waste anymore of my fucking time. Keep that, and read it." She warned as she walked away. She opened the door where the guard was waiting and he heard the sound of his boots as he came to fetch him.

His mind was reeling, spinning out of control as he shuffled behind the C.O. awkwardly holding his file.

"You have some mail." The C.O. said offhandedly. Monty blinked, wondering what it was. Was it a court summons? Was it Winston? Was it his family..? They stopped at the doors and the man uncuffed him around the wrists and ankles. 

He handed Monty the letter, his expression unreadable.

"It came in awhile ago...but sometimes things here get lost on purpose."

"Why are you being nice to me?" Monty asked, suspicious as he took the letter.

"You're a human being. And I'd like to believe we can help people in here... sometimes."

"You must be new." Monty sighed. He walked back to his cell without a backwards glance. None of the other three inmates he shared a cell had returned yet, they must be at lunch. Monty's stomach growled insistently but he ripped open the letter instead, wanting the privacy to absorb the blow that was about to come. The paper was a file printed from the jails website, someone was requesting the right to visit him and it required his approval or denial.

Charles St. George.