#i will ignore how dad just joked we should have named her (slur) because of her two faces

[monimolimnion]

she has important Business to attend to (become covered in cobwebs)

[bisexualpositivity]

If you're out of the closet to one person or more, are/were they supportive of you and your identity? (If so, how have they shown support?)

"They were supportive, but in kind of a non-issue way that felt strange for how big this felt for me."

"A lot of my friends are very supportive about it (one of them often forgets my sexuality, but I remind her about it when she does.) My sister loves telling some people that I’m aroace (which i find silly and cute because she’s awesome!)"

"My friends are very supportive of me, and use the names and pronouns I ask them to refer to me by on certain days."

"The few people that know are supportive. One of my closest friends and I will joke about our queerness together. Honestly that's one of the most validating things I experience sometimes. Too frequently aroace people have their existence denied so just to have someone who acknowledges it and can have fun with it just like any other identity is amazing."

"The rest of [my] family are not as receptive as my friends or parents, and I often have to lie and say that I'm a lesbian."

"My grandmother is homophobic and used the French slur for lesbians a lot against me... [my family] said that if I wanted her to understand, I needed to talk to her one on one and explain, and honestly F that. We should not have to explain to anyone why we deserve basic human decency and we are not here to teach you not to say slurs. In this day and age, it's very easy to educate yourself, being a stubborn ignorant twat is a choice."

"I've tried telling my parents I'm asexual, didn't go well. My father keeps saying I'm just traumatized (I did have a bad first time but I already felt like this before then), and sometimes he'll say I just haven't had a good sexual experience yet."

"I just don't mention my asexuality anymore, and ignore them when they make fun of my reactions to explicit stuff. It used to hurt, but these people don't matter to me as much as my found family, another reason why community is important."

"Some are, some aren't. Most people are pretty cool about it-- my dad's side of the family especially. My mom just pretends that I haven't changed anything, as in she hasn't told me she's unsupportive but still uses my deadname and the wrong pronouns. It is what it is."

"Sadly, my mom doesn’t seem to understand my choices. She wants me to get in a “normal” relationship and become a housewife. My dad understands me though. He supports any choices I make basically."

"They don't really understand and often misgender me, but it gets better since they now get used to my new name and pronouns."

"Most people are supportive. My family is not very educated on trans issues, but they still try their best to support me. My brother and my friends are very supportive. They always make sure to use the right pronouns. I know it's a pretty small thing but it makes me really happy to know people are putting in the effort. I look really feminine so the imposter syndrome is real."

— Multiple anonymous users, Pride 2024: Who We Are 🌈(survey)

[babygirl-diaz]

You're Cute Enough to Fuck With Me Tonight (AU)

Going to a club when you’re in your late 30s is not the best way to spend your Saturday nights, but Steve and Natasha insisted, so Sam ended up giving in to the peer pressure. Natasha got them to bypass the queue outside because she apparently knew the owner. The nightclub turned out different from what Sam was expecting. It was an elite club with its own fancy VIP lounge. Natasha got them a VIP booth and the three of them did whiskey shots to celebrate the successful first season of their tv show.

They were talking and laughing and well into their third beer when Natasha said, “Sam, don’t look now, but cokehead over there is eating you up with his eyes.”

“Huh?” Sam asked, and turned around to see who she was talking about when he found a white dude with short dark hair and a face full of facial hair, looking at Sam like he was starving and Sam was a buffet. There was a line of cocaine in front of the guy and he leaned down to snort it before coming up to wave at Sam. Sam ignored him.

“I tell him not to look and what does he do… he looks,” Natasha said sarcastically. “The guy’s hot, though. I think you should go for it.” She leaned back against Steve, who absently stroked her arm.

“The guy looks like trouble to me,” Steve pointed out. “I think you should stay away.”

“Wow, thanks, Dad,” Sam huffed.

“I love this song!” Natasha announced when the strings of a familiar song played. Before Sam could say anything, he was being pulled onto the dance floor by his friends despite his protests. “Call Me By Your Name, really?” Sam asks

“What? It’s a nice song!” Steve said, almost offended.

“You’re so whipped!” Sam laughed and slapped him on the back.

He moved his hips and ass along with the music and let out a frustrated groan when Natasha and Steve started grinding up against each other and got lost in one another. Sam knew this would happen. He’d end up as the third wheel and that’s why he wasn’t keen on coming tonight.

Sam lets out a surprised sound when he felt hands on his waist. Whoever had their hands on him spun him around, and Sam immediately came face to face with a pair of bright blue eyes, rimmed red. It was that cokehead from earlier. Sam wanted to pull away but got hypnotized by the look the guy was giving him.

The guy leaned in close to Sam’s ear and sang completely out of tune. “Romantic talkin'? You don't even have to try. You're cute enough to fuck with me tonight.” His voice was rough and despite the bad singing, it ran a shiver down Sam’s spine.

“I’m Bucky,” the guy introduced himself and pulled Sam even closer to move their hips together. “And you’re hot.” His voice was slightly slurred.

“Well, lucky for me, my name is Sam and not Hot.” Sam wrapped his arms around the guy’s neck and pressed their chests together.

“Sam…” Bucky said as if testing out his name. “Beautiful name for a beautiful guy.”

“You’re just saying that to get into my pants,” Sam smirked.

“Is it working?” Bucky pouted

“Nah, you gotta try harder.”

“God, you’re so hot,” Bucky said into Sam’s ear and took his earlobe between his teeth and pulled on it, making Sam moan. “I want you so bad,” he continued to say and squeezed Sam’s ass. Maybe the alcohol made him do it, but Sam surged forward and kissed him. He darted out his tongue and licked Bucky’s upper lip before taking it between his own lips. He then tilted his head to the side and kissed the edge of Bucky’s lips. Bucky opened his mouth and Sam’s tongue slid inside and he let himself explore Bucky’s mouth. The kiss got intense and heated. Sam felt Bucky’s cock press against his and he moaned into Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky swallowed up the sound. The song ended and they pull apart but stay close. “Let’s get out of here,” Sam said over the next song.

“Okay,” said Bucky and took Sam’s hand, leading him out of the club. But when they got outside, a small group gathered around them and asked Sam for autographs and photos. Sam felt himself strain in his jeans and he hoped no one noticed it as he took photos and signed autographs. Once the crowd dispersed, Sam found Bucky giving him a curious look. “You some kinda big shot?” He asked.

“I’m an actor,” Sam replied. “Ever heard of the show Captain America and the Winter Soldier? I’m the Captain America part of it. My friend Steve is the Winter Soldier.”

“I don’t watch tv. Don’t get the time,” Bucky shrugged. “But I get to fuck someone famous. That’s one thing off my bucket list.”

“So that’s why you wanna fuck me?” Sam asked faking offense. “And hey, who said you get to fuck me?”

Bucky got closer to Sam and kissed him again. “Oh, you’re so gonna let me fuck you, doll.” The way Bucky says doll makes Sam shiver and bite his lips.

“You wanna come back to my place?” Sam asked.

“Nah, I can’t wait that long but I know just the place.”

Bucky took Sam’s hand and led him towards the parking garage. Sam raised an eyebrow when they got to Bucky’s vehicle. “You some kinda soccer mom?” He asked looking at the Jeep SUV.

“It’s nondescript. Works well for my line of work,” Bucky shrugged. “Besides, you’re gonna thank me in a bit.”

“Your line of work? Fuck, you’re not a stay-at-home dad, are you? I don’t do married men.”

Bucky threw his head back and laughed as he got into the SUV. Sam followed him. “I am not a stay-at-home dad or married,” Bucky replied.

Bucky was on him, kissing him, the second they got in.

Sam pulled away briefly to ask, “What do you do then?”

Bucky looked him right in the eyes. The red rim around his eyes was gone and his eyes turned dark as he replied. “I’m an assassin. I was at the club to kill one of my targets.”

Sam blinked at him before he burst out laughing. “Wow, I’m the actor, but you’re the one with the vivid imagination.”

A smirked twitched along Bucky’s lips. “What can I say? I have a boring ass job. So I’m just trying to make myself sound interesting.”

“So what do you actually do?” Sam asked. “No. Wait. Lemme guess.”

“Be my guest.”

Sam’s eyes trailed down Bucky’s body. “You’re an investment banker.”

Bucky’s eyebrow shot up at that. “So damn close… I’m a stockbroker. How did you--”

“I’m just that good.” Sam winked at him. But then a smile broke across his face and he shook his head. “I saw you with those Wall Street folks earlier. Wasn’t that hard to figure out what you did for a living.”

Bucky leaned in close and kissed Sam once again. “So smart,” he said in between the kisses. “Just the way I like ‘em. Get in the backseat.”

Sam didn’t need to be told twice. He made his way onto the backseat and took off his clothes. He tossed them onto the front seat and felt his cheeks heat when he noticed the way Bucky was looking at him. Bucky’s blue eyes dilated, and he licked his lips while once again staring at Sam like he was a buffet. Bucky pulled out a condom and single-use lube from his wallet and Sam raised an eyebrow at him. “You were waiting to get lucky tonight, weren’t you?”

“I just like being prepared,” Bucky replied as he got into the backseat as well. He took off his own clothes and threw them onto the driver’s seat and pulled Sam closer to ravish his lips.

Bucky was right. Sam was thankful for the fact that the vehicle was an SUV. They had enough space to fuck in the back.

When they finished, it left Sam breathless and sore, but in a good way. Bucky drove him home, and the two cuddled up naked on Sam’s bed.

“Didn’t think you’d be a cuddler…” Sam commented.

“Oh, I love to cuddle,” Bucky replied, and tightened his grip around Sam’s middle.

Sam made his head more comfortable on Bucky’s chest and kissed his pecs. “You’re gorgeous, you know that.”

“So I’ve been told,” Bucky chuckled.

Sam frowned at that. “How many guys do you pick up at the club?”

“Is that jealousy I hear in your voice?” Bucky teased and kissed the top of Sam’s head. “If it’s any consolation, you’re the best I’ve ever had.”

“You’re just saying that cause I let you fuck me,” Sam huffed.

Bucky got on top of Sam and pressed their lips together again. “Nope, I’m only saying that so that you’d let me fuck you again.” His hand moved down on the sheets and groped Sam’s ass, making him gasp.

“You asshole,” Sam said, with no heat behind his words. “Lube and condoms are in the side drawer.”

“How many guys do you bring around here?” Bucky asked, narrowing his eyes.

Sam smirked at that. “If it’s any consolation, you’re the best I’ve ever had.”

***

Sam woke up the next morning to a cold and lonely bed. Bucky had snuck out during the night without even saying goodbye. That made Sam hurt a little. Just a little. Huffing, Sam threw the sheets over himself and fell back asleep. He didn’t know how long he slept, but the ringing of his doorbell woke him up. Sam wanted to ignore it and go back to sleep, but the person on the other end of the door was relentless.

Groaning, Sam got out of the bed and put on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt before making his way to the door. He threw it open and found Natasha and Steve standing there, looking equally worried.

“Oh thank god,” Steve pushed past Natasha and hugged Sam tightly.

The guy was built like a tank, and Sam struggled in his embrace. “Let me go! You’re crushing me!” Sam complained and pulled away from his friend to catch a breath. “What is wrong with you, man?”

“You disappeared last night! And then this morning there was news that someone at the club died and you wouldn’t answer your phone… we were scared!”

“What?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, your leering cokehead friend, one of his friends OD’d at the club last night.”

“Shit,” Sam hissed.

I’m an assassin. I was at the club to kill one of my targets. Bucky’s words rang in his ears and for a moment, Sam entertained the thought that maybe Bucky wasn’t joking after all. But he shook his head and got rid of the thought as soon as it entered his mind. There was no way Bucky was responsible for some guy overdosing. Sam was being ridiculous.

“Where did you go last night?” Natasha asked, throwing an arm around his shoulders.

“The leering cokehead… I brought him home,” Sam replied.

“What?!” Steve screeched. “Why would you do that?”

Both Natasha and Sam gave him an exasperated look, and he threw his hands up.

“So how was he?” Natasha asked.

“The best I’ve ever had,” Sam replied.

[rickywritesstuff]

less than a friend - bill s preston esq x ted theodore logan

warnings: mentions of homophobia, mentions of abuse, f slur

desc: Ted is acting strange, and Bill intends to find out why, but Ted won't even look at him. When Ted finally talks to Bill, he reveals he doesn't want to be friends anymore.

The first couple of times, Bill had convinced himself Ted simply hadn't heard him. He grew more concerned, however, when he noticed Ted look at him and still avoid him. Had he done something? Ted would tell him if he did, right?

When Bill saw Ted getting things from his locker, he fully intended to keep on walking; he was clearly too occupied to talk to Bill, and if he wanted to talk to him, he would do so. That was the plan until he caught a clear glimpse of a bruise on Ted's arm.

"Ted?" Ted flinched, clearly able to hear Bill, but didn't move in his direction. "Please don't ignore me, Ted." He spoke quietly. He noticed Ted's busted lip, which wasn't noticable earlier because Ted's face had been hidden behind his hair. "Did you get hurt, Ted?"

The halls had begun to clear out as the bell rang. Ted took a breath. He didn't want to do this. But he had to for the both of them, right?

"We should talk, Bill," Ted stated in a way that told Bill something was very, very wrong.

Bill nodded, waiting for Ted to continue. When he didn't, Bill asked, "What is it, Ted?"

Ted hid his face behind his hair again. He could feel how fast his heart was beating. He didn't want to do this. He wished he didn't have to. But his dad would kill him if he didn't.

"Bill, I don't-" Ted could feel the tears threatening to come up, heard his voice crack, and cleared his throat. "I-I think we sh-should- stop being, uh- stop being friends." He paused to let the both of them process what he had just said. "The bands over, too, Bill. I'll come over later to get my stuff."

Bill stared at Ted, dumbfounded. "What?"

"I'm sorry, Bill. It's not your fault, I just- it's better this way, y'know?" Ted half-lied. He really wasn't sure if this was better or worse.

"Y-you- Ted-" Bill fought back the tears he knew would come up sooner or later. He felt his heart sink. Was he joking? He didn't look like he was joking. Ted wouldn't make this kind of joke, anyways. Bill wished he could get one single coherent thought out of his mouth.

"I'm sorry, Bill. It's not your fault, really." Ted began to turn around, stopping and turning his head to face Bill again, giving him a sad smile. "You were a good friend, Bill. Please don't forget that."

With that, Ted left Bill standing alone in the hallway, his mind reeling. It wasn't his fault. Ted had said that, and he wouldn't lie to him. But something inside him told him he had done something wrong, something so bad that Ted didn't want to talk to him ever again.

And then it hit him. He was alone. He was completely and utterly alone, with not even Ted to comfort him. He always had Ted, no matter what, that's just how it had been since they were little kids. They had never had anyone but each other, and now they didn't even have that.

Bill ran to the bathroom, locking himself in one of the stalls. He began sobbing without checking if anyone was in the bathroom with him. He didn't give a shit if anyone heard him, anyways. His best friend didn't want anything more to do with him, he should be allowed to cry as much as he wanted.

As Bill sobbed loudly, his shoulders shaking rhythmically with each sob, only one thought came and went through his head; today, after school, would be his last chance ever to talk to Ted.

—————

Neither Bill nor Ted said anything on the ride back to Bill's house. Missy had no idea what was going on, and the boys' peculiar behavior only made her increasingly concerned with every passing second.

"I won't be home for a while, I've got some errands to run. Have fun, boys," Missy called out with a smile as they approached the Preston residence and the boys got out of the car.

"Yeah," Bill muttered, kicking a pebble in front of his foot.

Ted gave as convincing a smile as he could. "Bye, Mrs. Preston."

Missy waved, smiling, too. "Bye, Ted." And with that, she drove off.

The two stood there for a few moments, but to them it felt like forever. "So- I- I think you've got a few things in my room. I don't know. We can start there."

Ted shrugged. "You can keep whatever's in your room, dude. I just need whatever's in the garage."

Bill's heart ached. He really didn't want to keep any of Ted's stuff. He thought it would hurt too much. He nodded, anyway. "Okay. Garage it is, then, duder." He tried to keep his voice from cracking or shaking. He didn't think he was very good at it.

Bill pushed past Ted, doing his best to avoid any eye contact with him. He didn't want to see whatever emotion Ted was feeling right now. He opened the garage, faced with their instruments and small stage. The instruments and stage he would most likely never use again.

Ted pointed to the right of the garage. "I'll start there, I guess."

Bill nodded. "Oh, wait- don't you-" He could feel his voice start to crack. He hated this. He just wished he could fix whatever was going on between him and Ted. "Don't you want your guitar, dude? I think you should get that first, so you don't forget it."

Ted looked at his guitar sadly. It was leaned against the wall next to Bill's. "No, you should keep it. My dad would totally kill me if I had that thing in the house." He laughed slightly, like everything happening was just a joke to him. Bill didn't know if it pissed him off or made him even sadder. "I'm sure you'll find some other bodacious dude to start a band with, and you can give them my guitar."

Bill's heart sank deeper. He didn't think that was possible. It hadn't even occurred to him that he might continue Wyld Stallyns without Ted. He didn't plan on it. But Ted moved on, he would have to move on eventually, too. "Yeah, maybe," Bill mumbled, dragging his feet as he walked to a small table set by the stage. He took a breath. "Y'know no one's gonna be as bodacious as you, though, Ted," he said quietly, unsure of how he would respond.

Ted chuckled. "Yeah. You- you too, Bill."

Bill wanted to cry again. But he couldn't, not right in front of Ted. He sucked in his breath, holding it for a few seconds before releasing again and grabbing a box below the table. It had a collection of random things pertaining to the band, merchandise they had hand made, a few scrapped song lyrics.

Pictures of the two of them together.

Bill reluctantly grabbed a photograph of the two. It was a picture of them Ted had taken; behind them, the beginning of their band set up. This photo was from a few years before, when they had first started their band. They seemed so happy. He wondered if he would be able to go back in time, to experience it all again. Probably not.

Bill let out a shaky breath, a low sob-like noise. Ted turned around. "Dude? What's up?"

Bill sniffed. "Nothing, Ted, sorry. Just- uh, nothing."

Ted crouched down on the floor with Bill, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Bill, it's okay, really. Whatever it is, you can talk to me about it. I promise." He smiled reassuringly. "Just because we won't be hanging out anymore doesn't mean you can't talk to me about- y'know, your problems and stuff."

Bill let out a loud sob, letting go of the photo and setting his head in his hands. "I'm sorry, Ted, I just- I know you said it's not my fault, and I trust you on that, but- I just- I know there's some reason, that something obviously happened between us, and whatever it is I'm sorry- and- I- I don't know. I just can't move on as fast as you, Ted. I'm sorry."

Ted was quiet, and Bill didn't realize he was crying, too, until he started talking. "Dude," he said quietly, his voice cracking. "I don't want to stop being friends with you-"

"Then why!?" Bill yelled, breaking down into sobs once more. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I don't want to yell. Just-" He took a breath, lifting his head to look at Ted. "Why?"

Ted stared at him, obvious sadness in his expression. "I can't explain it, Bill. We- we just can't be friends anymore. I don't-" He took a breath. "I don't think I could handle it. And my dad wouldn't like it much, either."

"Screw your dad, Ted!" Bill paused. "I- wh- what the hell do you mean you can't handle being friends with me? Did- did I do something?" His expression turned into that of fear as he searched his brain for anything and everything he'd ever done wrong.

"No, Bill, of course not. I don't think you can do anything wrong, really." Ted stared at Bill for a minute, then sighed. "I can't explain more, Bill, I'm sorry. I don't want you getting more mad at me than you already are."

"Mad? Ted, I'm not mad. I've only ever gotten, like, slightly annoyed with you, like, twice for totally stupid reasons. Just tell me, Ted. I won't get mad." Bill was confused, but he knew if he continued pressing he would get at least a slight explanation as to why his best friend completely left him.

Ted sighed. He stared at nothing for a few minutes, contemplating whether he should even say anything. He felt like just being here would send his dad some sort of distress signal or something. "Bill, I-" He let out a breathy sob. "I'm a total faggot. And- and my dad found out and he thinks if I spend any more time with you it'll only get worse, and honestly, I think I agree with him."

Bill's face scrunched up in thought. "Dude, I don't care if you like dudes. Shit, is it because I called you a fag? I-"

"No, Bill, it's not about that. I mean, kinda, but- it's more about what dude I like. And how my dad found out." Ted didn't want to say it. He hoped Bill would fill in the blanks.

"I'm not following, dude."

Ted swallowed. "Okay, so, I- I was working on a song for this really bodacious dude I know, and my dad found out and- he found out who it's about- I mean, his name is in the song, y'know? So, yeah, he-" Ted turned to face Bill again, who was looking at him with wide, seemingly hopeful eyes. "Bill, why do you think I can't talk to you anymore, dude?"

Bill stared at Ted. "Dude." He lifted his hand to Ted's cheek, letting gentle tears flow from his eyes. His voice was shaky and squeaky as he said quietly, "I love you so much." He pulled Ted into a quick kiss, laughing happily. "And your dad's a major dickweed. You can stay here as long as you need, dude."

Ted smiled weakly. "My dad would totally kill me, Bill, you know that."

Bill was quiet for a moment. Reluctantly, he said quietly, "Y'know, I never said you had to leave anytime." He squeezed Ted's hand. "I would love to hear that song sometime, though."

Ted laughed, squeezing Bill's hand back. "I'll totally play it for you soon, dude." He was quiet. "Y'know, I think you're right. My dad is a total dickweed. I think I will stay here for a while."

Bill laughed, too. "Good."

They were quiet again, still in the same position they had been in. Then, Ted adjusted himself, touching his forehead with Bill's. "I'm sorry, dude. It was most uncool of me to completely avoid you all day. I love you."

Bill felt butterflies in his stomach. As much as it was totally uncool to ignore him all day, he understood. "It's okay, Ted. You're here now, that's all that really matters, I think." He paused. "I love you, too."

He loved being able to say that to Ted. It felt real, because he really did love him, and he felt like breaking into sobs all over again, because here he was, holding the hand of his best friend since kindergarten. He would be more than content if they stayed like that forever, never leaving each other's arms.

[gremlin-writes-angst]

The Life of an Ackerman: Chapter 1

Jean Kristen X FTM!reader

3k words

My longest chapter so far ( I think)

Trigger warning: Transphobia( No slurs or deadnaming, just ignoring new name) mentions torture and death ( no death or torture but the words are used)

Let me know if I missed a trigger or if you spot any spelling mistakes.

Feedback is encouraged!!

I haven't said happy pride month so happy pride month and I thought it was fitting to say here because this is both gay and trans.

Click here if you want to see more of my work and follow me for more!

Being born an Ackerman wasn’t easy, especially when your father was Kenny the ripper. Your father never had much restraint, for booze or women, when the two mixed Kenny had no problem, most of the time the booze amplified his pleaser. It was no different the night you were conceived, Kenny had his booze and women who worked at the bar. They didn’t love each other, they might not even like each other. You could describe their relationship as a drunk flirt and a waitress who was tired of it, and knowing the best way to get rid of the man was to do what he wanted. She was partially right, because, after one night together, Kenny left her alone, and which was exactly what she wanted. Then three months later she discovered she was pregnant, and Kenny was nowhere to be found. While she was pregnant she investigated Kenny and where he could have gone, and by the time you were born your mother knew where Kenny lived and she had no problem doing the same thing Kenny did to her, she disappeared.

Kenny wasn’t thrilled to find a baby at his door, with a note claiming it was his own. Though he wasn’t the best person, he wasn’t going to leave his own infant, so he raised you, more like trained you. You learned how to protect yourself and others, how to hurt and kill people at the age of 10, you never killed, you just knew how. You missed the innocence of only knowing how to kill because you couldn’t go about life as Kenny the Ripper’s child without killing someone.

At twelve you started to change, you had discovered why you felt so disconnected from your body. You slowly began to change your appearance to be more like the boy you were, even if your body was a constant reminder that you weren’t. You told your father about these feelings when he questioned the change in your appearance. You know he would catch your lies if you tried, so you told him the truth. Telling him that you wanted to go by Y/n instead of the name your mother gave you, you wanted to be called he/him like the rest of the men instead of she/her that you’d been for the past twelve years. He never called you by your old name again, but he also never called you y/n, he called you a nickname which is how he addresses most people. To him, you were now ‘kick’ short for sidekick cause that’s all you were to him.

Being his son and being trained since you were a child, you became a member of the Anti-personnel control squad. Even though you didn’t agree with his stance, you were still forced to work for him. He had told you almost everything about Reiss family and the Ackerman family, and what he hadn’t told you, drunk Kenny told you. So you knew more than most and you formed your own opinion. All for nothing though because you were still forced to work for him and against the scouts. Though being his son and learning the skills of Kenny the Ripper, and being forced to work with him, brought you to working with the scouts, so how angry can you be.

After Kenny died, you grieved and then healed rather quickly, it was important to be able to get over people, you learned that from your dad. After healing you came up with a plan, you hunted down Levi Ackerman, a man that your dad had mentioned more than once. He was an Ackerman along with the captain of the survey corps, you need to meet him. There was a lot your late father had taught you, like manipulation, or blackmail, and because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut you had enough information on Levi to do what you were taught. Though your plan underestimated Levi and fell to pieces when the man caught you.

You were sneaking around the survey corps base, when you felt someone pull you back along with the feeling of a knife against your neck, you knew it was him when he spoke.

“You have three seconds. Who are you and why are you here?”

“ I’m y/n Ackerman”

“Bullshit.”

He pressed the blade further into your neck, it reminded you of your father’s signature move.

“It’s not. I’m the son of Kenny Ackerman, your uncle. Making me your cousin.”

Even with the information which should be shocking to him, I can’t feel any changes in his heartbeat or the pressure his knife has on my throat.

“What proof do you have?”

“I know you are from the underground. I know your mother’s name, Kuchel. I know about your mother’s job.”

You could have continued but Levi didn’t seem to like what you already said and stopped you.

“How do you know that information?”

It was a stupid question, you expected a smarter man. But it must run in the family cause calling him stupid out loud is just as dumb as his question.

“That’s a stupid question, Kenny Ackerman, my dad told me.”

You now felt a change in pressure of the knife on your neck, shockingly it didn’t press deeper but released just a little.

“Did you just call me stupid?”

It was a rhetorical question, and the tone sent chills down your spine. If he hadn’t moved the knife away you would except he was going to murder you. After seconds of torturous silence and stillness, Levi fully removes the knife from your neck. You weren’t free though, he still had the knife ready, now aimed at your back instead of your neck. You weren’t so stupid to try and move, you would be dead in a second if you did such a thing.

“Smart cookie arent you.”

He was testing you, he wanted you to move so that he could strike. But since you didn’t he had no reason to believe you would later.

“Move forward, and don’t make any movement that I don’t instruct you to.”

You start to move down the corridor, trying to determine the right speed knowing that if you move too fast or too slow you’ll be in trouble.

“You are going to turn and enter the next door on your left. Then you’ll turn right and wait by the door.”

His voice was more demanding than before. You spotted the door he talked about, and when you reached it you turned left then right, stopped, and waited at the door as instructed. Levi was right behind you as you entered the room, but he now stood to your left, right in front of the doorway.

You were afraid to make too much movement cause his eyes and kife were still trained on you. Without moving anything but your eye you survived the room, noticing that multiple scouts were cleaning the room.

“Connie and Jean come here.”

Levi yelled into the room, two men approached him. The short one with almost no hair, stood in front of Levi ready for instructions. Then the taller one with brown hair and a long flattish face, stood slouched as if his sergeant wasn’t in front of him. The shorter one hit the taller one, who then straighten his posture. It was funny in an attractive way. Levi turned to the short one and began to give him instruction.

“Connie, go inform Hange that we have an intruder in custody who may be lying about their identity, they’ll know what to do.”

Connie left as soon as Levi was done talking and had now turned to the taller one, and by process of elimination you figured out that he was Jean.

“Jean I need you to find something to confined this intruder with, rope would probably work best.”

Jean moved to a cabinet right next to you and pulled at some rope.

“Good thing we just organized sir or else it would have taken me ages to find this.”

It wasn’t a super finny joke but it was funnier than what you had heard in the past month, and a laugh passed right through you. The was quick shuffling and you realized everyone’s eyes were on you. They all know how strict Levi was and that you laughing wasn’t something Levi instructed. When they realized Levi wasn’t going to do anything they got back to work.

“Jean tie this man’s arms behind his back.”

You had never been called a man and once again your emotions slipped through and a smile reached your lips.

Jean approached you and put his hand on your shoulder, turning your body so you were facing the cabinet the rope came from. He began to tie your arms, tight enough to restrict your movement but not the blood flow. While he works he talks, whispering so only you hear.

“Thanks for laughing at my joke, no one does, it also takes balls to laugh at one of my jokes when your under Levi’s knife.”

Ironic. His hands finish tying yours and he guided you back to Levi.

“Sir I’ve tied the intruder, where should I take him.”

“That won’t be necessary, I got him for now. Everyone finishes cleaning this room, it better be spotless when I return from the torture chamber.”

He takes me from Jean and pushes me out of the room, and toward what I can only assume will be my death or wish for death.

“See you soon, or maybe not.”

“Jean!!”

Jean calls out from behind followed by others yelling at him for the insensitive joke. I smile even if it is a joke at my possible death.

You know sat on the floor of what you assume is a torture chamber, it’s dirty, which isn’t a shock. Suddenly the door opens and Levi walks in and behind him comes a taller person with glasses and a determined face. They seemed to be at the end of a conversation.

“Oh another Ackerman, exiting!”

The taller one practically jumps closer to you.

“We don’t know if it’s true. That what you are here for.”

Levi closed the door behind the two of them still trying to take away your last name.

“Oh come on, what would a poor thing like this lie. Especially lie about being related to you.”

The person stood over you, staring at you intensely, but they talked as if you weren’t there.

“I don’t know, but I do know that Kenny isn’t the father type.”

“I can’t argue with that. I never claimed he was the father type.”

You laughed at the idea of your father acting like a father to you.

“Pipe down brat. Only talk when we ask you a question.”

Levi silenced you.

“Wow, no kick to the stomach. Have you gotten soft?

The person mocked Levi, they also started to investigate you, but never touched you.

“Non-sense.”

That’s all Levi said in defense of the person’s accusations of his emotional strength. You found it Ackerman-like, Ackermans don’t need to defend them selfs over stupid accusations.

“You’re pretty good at spotting lies. So I want you to tell me when the little twerp lies.”

“So no torture, why bring him here then? I think I was right, you’ve gone soft. But no complaints here.”

The person finally addresses you.

“Hello I’m Hange, and it might be your lucky day, As long as you don’t lie, we won’t touch or harm you.”

You weren’t sure if you were allowed to nod so you stay still, Hange continued.

“So you claim that your and Ackerman, to be specific y/n Ackerman. Are you sticking by your original statement?”

You were tired of the constant questioning of your true identity.

“Yes, I am y/n Ackerman!”

You snapped a little.

“Feisty, that’s the Ackerman attitude!”

They turn back to Levi.

“I don’t think they’re lying but I’ll continue.”

They turn back to me.

“Is your father Kenny the Ripper, also known a Kenny Ackerman?”

It was only the second question but you were already sick of the interrogation.

“Yes.”

Hange turned back and walked to Levi.

“Still no lie detected, I don’t have any more questions, because you won’t tell me the rest of the story.”

They nudged Levi with their whole body.

“So you believe he’s an Ackerman. Their little proof of what he says”

When Levi finished, Hange added to what he was saying.

“And less against it.”

They sounded smug.

The two of them left, you were left in the gross dark room. You were also left dark in the sense that you had no clue what they were discussing you knew that what they decide will be your future.

Eventually, the door opened and Hange came in, more excited than they should be.

“A new friend!”

They grabbed you and lifted you onto your feet and began pulling you out of the room.

“Oh sorry, I was supposed to ask before touching you.”

Even though they sounded sincere, they continued to pull you around.

“The cadets and others always tell me that I should respect others space”

They continue to pull you until you arrived at a room, they opened the door and pulled you in, then sat you on the bed.

“Welcome to your new room, it took some convincing but we agreed that at the very least we should keep you in our sight. So your kind of trapped here now, but I promise it won’t feel that way!”

They left and closed the door, but before you could relax they rushed back in.

“Whoops, guess I should undo those restraints.”

You had forgotten about the restraints, they had been on practically all day. You stood up from the bed and turned around so that Hange could undo the rope. You thought back to the person who did the restraints, you thought about his face and his hands and his voice, his laugh that was caused by his own joke. You tried to remember his name, it rhymed with bean, and started with J.

“Jean!”

When you remembered his name, it slipped out, not quietly.

“Yeah, that’s what I said,”

Luckily for you, Hange was talking about the very person you were thinking about. Either way, you became embarrassed. Soon enough Hange left, and you were alone with your thoughts.

You stayed cooped up in the room you were given. There was one door, zero windows, one bed one dresser, and a mirror. There wasn’t much for you to do, the only clothes you had were what you were wearing. You had no reason to leave, no birds to watch and you didn’t even consider looking in the mirror. The boredom had finally reached you, and you couldn’t think of a way to cure it. Luckily for you, someone came to the rescue.

The door open and as it opened Jean came into sight. He had a towel slung across his shoulder and a bucket in hand. He scanned the room and upon seeing you he froze, then coughed a little, while a blush crept up his cheeks.

“Sorry, I thought this room was empty.”

He didn’t make any movement to leave or enter, he stood there staring at you.

“Well, now you know. So are you going to leave or come in, or have you become a statute?”

He started to move inside your room, you had expected him to leave. He must have noticed the confused look on your face, deciding to explain himself.

“Levi’s strict about the cleanliness, so either you clean this room or let me.”

He has a stupid smile on his face as he offers the bucket and pulls the rag off his shoulder, also offering it to you.

“I’m not cleaning, so have fun.”

“That’s what I expected.”

He started to clean the room, but he eventually became tired of the awkwardness of being watched in silence.

“So you have no worries that I’ll snoop on you or steal from you?”

You changed your position on your bed, now sitting legs crossed.

“Yeah cause the man who makes terrible jokes is going to steal something from me. No, I just don’t have anything for you to steal or snoop.”

You responded sarcastically but also felt there was no reason to hide the truth so you told him, in the end, to clear up any confusion.

“Oh so you think that I wouldn’t be able to steal from you, you must be confident. You are you that you are so confident.”

He was joking with you, your glad a strict scout wasn’t the one who was cleaning your room.

“Someone who you restrained less than five hours ago.”

You thought it was weird that he was acting so normal around someone that was labeled as an intruder.

“You’re clearly not much of a threat if they let you in such a nice room.”

You laughed at his detective skills.

“Real though who are you, intruder.”

Without knowing your name, he only knew you as the intruder and decided to use it as a nickname.

“I’m y/n!”

He waited for you to continue but you never did. You didn’t think Levi would want you exposing yourself as an Ackerman.

“No last name?”

He questioned, but you’ve been here before and always answer with something that shuts most people down.

“Lots of people don’t.”

He took your answer, as most people did.

“Yeah, I guess you right.”

The room went quiet again as he continues to clean. Every once and a while one of you would strike up a conversation. You need to stretch your legs, got up, and walked to the door and back, which earned you an earful from Jean about making the floor dirty when he just cleaned it.

Eventually, he was done and had to leave. He opened the door about to leave but stopped when he heard your voice.

“Before you go, can I have my sock back?”

He turned around with a slight shock on his face.

“I guess you have a right to be confident. And you really did have nothing else for me to steal.”

He dropped the sock next to your shoes. He grabbed the door handle and began to close it while saying goodbye.

“See you around, Intruder.”

You assumed that this was going to be a countenance thing, and you don’t mind.

[jjmaybanksblog]

Magic Touch- JJ Maybank

(Not my gif, credit to the owner!)

Summary: After JJ finds out a secret you've been keeping for a long time, he's right by your side to help take care of you. 

Word count: 1,822

Warnings: verbal and physical abuse/violence, mentions of blood, cursing.

You tiptoed through your bedroom window, not trying to attract your mother as you packed your bag to spend the week at John B's. Your mother was just like JJ's father, always smuggling or doing drugs, drinking until they're unconscious, or just passed out on the couch for days on end.

Your mother was never supportive of you, you worked everyday and your mother didn't even have a job. She would take her anger out on you everytime she remembered your dad wasn't in the picture. If you said or did something she didn't like, she would verbally and physically tell you how she felt about it.

No one in the Pogue friend group knew about your struggles at home. Every time you showed up with a new cut or bruise, you always managed to find a new excuse on what happened. You figured you would have to tell them at some point, you just didn't know it would have to be so soon.

You snuck around in your room, packing bathing suits and clothes. Bagging some more essentials you would need just in case. Scanning your room, you quietly zipped your bag shut before opening and closing your bedroom door. Turning around you froze in your tracks to see your mother standing there with her arms crossed.

"Are you staying at that Josh B's house?" Her mother slurred, nearly falling over from just standing there. "His name is John B, and yes I am." You stated, your tone firm even though your legs were shaking. You threw your backpack over your shoulders and walked by your mom

"Is that JJ boy going to be there too?" You ignored her question as you kept your focus on the front door. You had your hand on the doorknob before she shouted at you, "he's just gonna use you!"

Your jaw clenched as you bit your tongue. Turning around to face her you felt anger bubbling from the center of your chest. "JJ is not going to 'use' me. You don't even know him so keep his name out of your mouth." You stepped back after you spoke, not knowing just how harsh your tone sounded.

"Your father would be ashamed of you," she started, "you look just like him. And I fucking hate that, you know why? Because he should be here, and not you. Everytime I look at you, you make me wanna scream!" She spat, her voice was laced with venom and pure hatred.

"I wish you were the one who left and not him." You raised your voice back at your mother whose eyes were widened with fury. Before you could even process what happened, your mother grabbed the nearest empty beer bottle and chucked it at you.

You let out a cry of pain as you felt a sharp blow right above your right eyebrow. You stood there in fear as your fingers reached up to touch the area that had been hit. You lowered your hand to see a small drop of blood on your finger. You flicked the drop of blood away as you quickly swung the front door open. The moment you stepped out of the house, you slammed the door shut and just ran as fast as you could to John B's

Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, feeling mentally drained from those 5 minutes near your mother. You were tired, tired of both the physical and emotional pain every time you were in that house. You wanted to get as far away from there as possible. Your wound went numb as the summer breeze hit it. You were too focused on your legs running to focus on the pain.

Finally running up the driveway to John B's house, you stopped at the front door as you bent over to catch your breath. Calming yourself down, you walked inside to find it was empty. You threw your bag onto the couch and headed into the backyard to see your friends fishing. "Hi guys!" You greeted them with a forced smile as you walked up to them.

"Hey Y/N! Wait, what happened?" Kie asked from the spot she was sitting in. You immediately turned back around and headed back into the house, only to be followed by JJ who dropped his fishing rod. You picked up your pace, knowing he was following you to find out what happened. You ran into the bathroom with him close behind you. Closing the bathroom door on him, you took a look at the small gash on your face.

"Y/N, if you don't open this door right now I will break it down, and you know I will." JJ demanded from the other side of the door. You sighed as you slowly opened the door, watching his face drop in horror and sadness as he saw the wound. "Y/N…" he stepped forward, entering the bathroom with you.

He quickly closed the door behind them as you stared at the cut in the mirror once more. A mixture of sadness and anger bubbled in his veins as he took in the sight of your wound, along with the look of sadness on your face. "Let's get you cleaned up, buttercup." JJ said, pushing his feelings away as to not upset you anymore then you already were. 

Before you could protest, he easily picked you up by the waist and sat you down on the sink counter. He stood between your legs, his arm reaching behind your head to grab a washcloth and a bar of soap.

Your eyes watched his hands as he lathered the washcloth with soap and water before carefully rubbing the cut. You flinched at the painful tingling sensation, backing away from his hand for a moment. "I know, I know, I'm sorry." JJ whispered, his heart aching as she held onto his non busy hand. 

"Who did this to you?" He knew the answer since you had explained to him that you had to go home, but he didn't want to believe it. You took a deep breath, your eyes focused on the bathroom floor. "It was your mom, wasn't it?" He whispered after a moment of silence. You flickered your eyes up to meet his, and that's when he knew his assumptions were correct.

"Y/N, princess… How long has this been going on for?" He asked, tucking a piece of loose hair behind your ear. "Pretty much since we moved here. After my dad just left, she always got mad and constantly told me I reminded her of him. How she wants him here instead of me. It started out verbal but then things just kind of… escalated." You opened up, your voice just above a whisper.

"Why didn't you tell us sooner? Why didn't you tell me?" He was hurt that you had known him your entire life, but never told him about it. "I don't want people thinking I'm asking for attention or lying. And I didn't want to be a burden, I mean you guys have your own issues to deal with, I didn't want to add onto it."

 

He gently held the bottom of your chin in between his thumb and index finger. "Princess, listen to me. You aren't and never will be a burden or any of us, and you never will be. Especially with stuff like this. I mean, I would've let you stay over more often if I knew. I know for a fucking fact John B or Kie would. And Pope will always be there for you, whether a shoulder to cry on or someone who will make you laugh. We're your family, Y/n, we're here for you." JJ couldn't help but feel like a hypocrite for saying these words when he was going through the same things with his father.

"I don't want to talk about it with them right now, especially with John B's dad still possibly out there. I just want us to focus on him." You bit down on your bottom lip, trying to control your shaky breath.

You had always been a tough girl in JJ's eyes. You could take a joke, you weren't afraid to fight your own battles, you knew how to stand up for yourself and your friends. It broke his heart to see you so beaten up, both mentally and physically.

JJ entangled his hand through your hair and pulled you towards him, resting your head on his chest. You inhaled deeply before breaking down into tears, your body trembling against his. His other hand held your back, tracing small shapes onto your skin in an attempt to calm you down.

"Shh. It's okay baby, I got you. You're safe with us." He softly hummed a soft tune in your ear as you clutched onto the fabric of his shirt. "You're okay. I'm right here." He held you tightly in his arms as he heard you slowly calm down. You slowly pulled away from him, wiping your nose with a tissue.

"There we go, princess." He held your face in his hands and gently wiped away the trails of tears with his thumbs. You placed your hands on top of his and held them in their position. His eyes trailed down to your lips, wondering what they would feel like pressed against his.

He softly cleared his throat, his eyes dropping to the ground as he released you. "Let's get you patched up." Your cheeks turned a light pink as you shyly grinned as his back was turned. He reached behind you again to grab a box of bandaids. He quickly ripped one open and placed it on your wound, gently pressing the sides down to make it stay in place. He leaned forward and pressed a delicate kiss to the covered up wound, pulling back to see a soft grin on your lips.

You hopped off the counter and stood on your tiptoes, one hand using his shoulder to keep balance the other placed on the side of his cheek. You pressed a kiss to the left cheek, both of their heartbeats picking up speed. You got back onto your feet, your face warming up as he returned the kind gesture to you. 

As he pulled away, you two made eye contact realizing both of you wanted the same thing. "Can I-" he started, "kiss me." You mumbled. His hands snaked their way around your waist as yours wrapped around his neck. His lips gently and carefully danced with yours, as if you were a glass doll and one wrong move would break you.

Pulling back, he rested his forehead against yours. "It feels better already." You grinned, pressing your lips against his one more time. He opened the bathroom door, his arm still around your waist. "I got the magic touch. That's not the only thing I could touch though."

"JJ."

[imonthinice]

The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 11/?

Word Count: 2.5k

Author's Note:  Y/N- your Name.

Warnings: Description of Injury, Description of the court system, gets fucking heated again, Swearing, no beta bitch we die like Jason Todd

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20)

Monday morning came and she knew that Jason wasn’t going to go to class and she had to go meet up with him after school to give him notes. She started to dress a lot nicer today, since she was probably going to unintentionally meet some of Jason’s family today. 

Here’s another outfit because I do what I want<3

I really like being in control here lmao also just imagine it’s paired with black or beige heels because why the fuck not, right? Fashion.

This class, they discussed how circumstantial evidence affected the psychological profile of the attackers. For example, circumstantial evidence is when the entire amount of circumstances are stacked towards each other and it becomes less likely that it’s all a coincidence. The Professor had said, So when the case is circumstantial, it’s likely a crime of passion and having a criminal profile for the attacker is unlikely. He continued.

It was fascinating. She assumed it was a case that forensics would be heavily involved in and that the criminal psych crew wouldn’t handle. She was right. More likely than not, they wouldn’t handle a circumstantial case because of the fact that it’s not calculated, for the most of the time.

Her notes were a mess again. Barely legible, she’d have to use Jason’s computer to print and get them to be able to be read, which was fine. She was expecting to have to do that either way, legible or not, because he needs a copy and she does too.

The things I’ll do for the weird pretty boy in my criminal psych class, she thought, worth it. 

She would end up texting Jason once class ended, they had already been texting most of the morning, anyway. 

Hey, just finished class, are you busy?

Nope, siblings are at work. Dad’s still in Metropolis.

And your grandfather?

Do not know. He’s nice, I swear.

Be there soon x.

That was the first time that she had even sent him an x, which is a kiss, but she felt like it was right, so she did it. What a flirt I am, she joked with herself, It’s a fucking x, I need to shut up. She laughed at herself.

She got into the car and drove the way to Wayne Manor, a trip she knew all-too-well at this point, however, the press was bombarding the entrance, so she couldn’t pull into the driveway and had to pay for parking at the nearby park. She paid for a day’s worth of parking and began to walk to the Manor. With her bag in tow.

Of course, the press noticed her. Why wouldn’t they? And they were down her throat.

“Why are you out here if you don’t speak English and are known to be close to the family?” one said in a downplaying tone to her, she tried to sneak past, knowing she was live on national TV and not exactly feeling like starting a fight.

“Hello? We’re talking to you, Ma’am!” one yelled at her, she started shielding her face from the flashing lights and the cameras.

She would make it 2, maybe 3 steps before a camera was shoved in her face. Then, she started running. She was quick, and she would dodge between them all before the security snatched her into the gates of the Manor. She breathed a quick sigh of relief once she was in. 

The press didn’t like this, and they would keep yelling at her as she stood in the driveway, trying to catch her breath from her escapade of running through the vultures.

“Just tell us your name!” one yelled.

“Tell us what you like doing on the weekends!” another yelled, and she got an idea, before someone could answer she screamed,

“I like doing your mum on the weekends, bitch!” before flipping off the press and running to the door while the press started talking about her.

She really had to catch her breath this time, she was so out of shape and the fact that she was lugging her notes around made it worse. When a friendly looking English butler came out onto the step with her, hand outstretched to shake hers, “Hello there, Y/N, I’m Alfred, Jason’s grandfather.”

She was taken aback by this and slightly jumped when he greeted her, but she took his hand and shook it, “Hi Alfred, please tell me you didn’t hear that,” she laughed.

“I heard that, that’s how I knew you were here. Jason was right, you’re as crazy as he is,” he said.

“Oh lord, I’m sorry,” she laughed again, “I swear I didn’t mean for you to hear me and my childish insults.”

“Child listen, I’ve been dealing with the press for years, I promise you, they deserve the insults, childish or not,” Alfred reassured her, “Do you wish to come inside, or are you still out of breath, Y/N?” he asked.

“I’ll come inside. I’ve given the press enough content for one day,” she joked/

“It’s been nice, Y/N, really. Thank you for the entertainment, but I have work to do.”

“Anytime, Alfred.”

And they parted ways, Y/N went to Jason’s room, knocking. When he groaned, she cracked the door open and stuck her head in,

“You dead?”

“No.”

“Good. Hi,” she said as she entered his room and walked to his desk to drop her bag and pull out his desk chair to put it beside his bed again, “How are you, still in pain?” she asked when she sat down.

“Hi,” he whined.

“Hi,” she repeated to him.

“Hi.”

She leant in to his face and rested her forehead against his, she didn’t know if this was the comfort he needed, but she did it anyway, when he wrapped his arms around her back, though, she knew she was doing something right.

“Hi, Jason.”

“Mhm,” he whispered.

She stopped leaning against his forehead, much to his dismay, as he groaned at her moving, but she had other ideas.

She leant and moved in closer to his lips, putting her hand on his cheek, and then leaning in for a kiss. It was a lot like their first kiss, small and passionate, but enough to prove that she was just trying to make sure he was okay. When she pulled away again, he groaned again.

“Now, will you tell me how you are, sir?”

“In pain,” he managed to say.

“Have you been walking around? You should.”

“You told... me to rest,” his speech wasn’t slurred, but it was slower than normal.

“You still need to move your joints, Jay. Just sparingly so you don’t hurt yourself. too much time off of your feet will make walking again harder on you,” she said.

“Mhm,” he groaned.

“Okay fine, but when you need more physical therapy don’t come crying to me, Jay.”

“Is this... our first... fight?”

“No, you goon. I’m giving you medical advice and you’re being stubborn, it’s advice and I can’t force you.”

“Remember... that... when I get... hurt fighting.”

“Is this an often occurrence?”

“Not... often.”

“Well I can live with it being a once-in-a-blue moon event, since you clearly have security.”

“Special... edition because... of my... injuries,” he groaned.

“Damn. Still, better than nothing. Anyway, I have notes to write, so I’m going to move you laptop over here, alright?” she asked.

“Mhm,” he said, very sleepy-sounding.

“You can sleep, Jay,” she said as she unplugged his laptop and walked back to her chair, she put it on the chair and moved her bag to beside the chair, sat down, opened the laptop, and began typing. Jason would put one of his hands on one of her knees.

“Do you need something, Jay?”

“You,” he whispered out.

“Jay, I need to write these notes, you need them,” she said.

He groaned and moved to try to turn his back to her, forgetting he was injured and taking a massive breath in when he tried to.

“God, don’t move, Jason,” she said, placing a hand on his abdomen, “You can be upset that I’m not in the bed holding you, but you shouldn’t turn around, baby.”

He stared at her when she called him ‘baby’, which prompted her to blush a lot, but she tried to ignore him to pretend that he wasn’t piercing her soul with his staring to get her to cuddle with him. She kept trying to type out the notes, the class was the same amount of length as it should have been, so there was a lot of notes.

She wanted to cuddle with him, she knew she did. But she told him she’d get him the notes he wanted for class, and that was something she promised she’d do. But then she remembered something.

“Oh, I’ve been forgetting to ask, how’s your best friend?”

“Will? He’s... he’s okay... why?”

“Because he got injured too, remember?”

“Oh... yeah he... did.”

“Mhm! So I asked if you knew anything, Jay. Are you forgetting stuff because of the pain or something?” she asked.

“Just... drowsy.”

“Yeah? Well good thing I’m almost done.”

“Hurry... up” he laughed, his laugh was pained, but he did laugh.

She knew him forgetting his best friend was injured was weird, but she didn’t think anything of it. She just kept typing the notes out till she was done, at which point, she hooked the laptop up to his printer on the other side of his room, much to his dismay that she had to leave him, and printed the notes.

She put them in order on top of his desk, plugged his laptop back in, put his chair back and put her notes back in her bag before taking off her jacket and slinging it on the chair she had been sitting on.

He groaned as he watched her walk around his room, he was in pain, it had been two days since the incident and he was still struggling. Dick told him that he’d be in a lot less pain the closer it got to his stitches being taken out. He hoped it was true.

When she went and sat on his bedside, leaning her forehead to his and cupping his face with her hands. She kissed him again. He kissed her back, wrapping his hands along her lower back and gently adding pressure as she sat with her legs off the bed. 

He parted his lips and she did the same as they danced with their tongues. Not assertion of dominance, but trying to be on top on the other when her hands found their way into his hair. She ended up on top of him, with one of her hands used to stabilize herself as they made out. He was able to put a hand on her ass and just grab it. There was some movement, because there had to be, but the only touching was his hand and her hand. 

Because they couldn’t go further. The two of them were cock-blocked to touch closer by his injuries. When they broke lips, she sighed because she couldn’t get closer to him. 

But she laid to his left like they had done the night before, and she cuddled on him when he would bury his face into her hair.

Again, the moments they shared were always the slowest and calmest moments that they adored. She wanted to go back on dates with him like they did before the events of his injuries. She wanted to have the adventure of running away from the press, not just running into his house. 

She didn’t know when he was going to heal from his injuries, but she swore she would take him on a crazy and worthwhile date when he got better. She didn’t know when that was going to be, but it was going to be.

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

They ended up falling asleep until the next morning. And Y/N’s car? It got towed. Y/N had class? Yeah, she did. Was all of his siblings home? Yes, yes they were. So, how was she going to make it out of the house before they noticed? Well, it was 4am. She and Jason awoke when she realized the time, freaked out, and kissed him ‘bye’. At least she thought it was bye, he clearly had a way to pull her into conversation whenever he wanted.

“Don’t go,” he said, his speech seeming to have recovered.

“Jay! I have to go, you know this, I have class, I have notes to write, I’m wearing the exact same clothes that I did yesterday,” she said, panicked.

“Can I see you tonight?”

“Tonight? Yeah of course. Why? Will you miss me?”

“What if I do?”

“You have my number, Jay,” she said.

“What if that’s not enough?” he asked.

“Then you’ll see me tonight, but I have to warn you, I have another class tomorrow so we can’t spend all day in your bed.”

“That’s a shame. I think it’s been like 3 days since I got injured though, so if all goes well,” he winked, while propping himself in a sitting position for the first time since he got injured and grabbed her waist to pull her on him, she was sitting in his lap, “If all goes well,” he whispered, “Maybe we won’t have to stop,” he spoke in her ear as if he was begging her to stay until he could move again.

“We aren’t supposed to speed run our way into a relationship, Jason,” she purred.

“No one needs to know how serious we are but us,” he said. He was captivating her in every was possible, blowing on her neck with every word he said.

If they hadn’t had their own lives they needed to attend to, lord knows what the two of them would be doing.

She tried to fix her appearance to the best of her abilities before she had to go outside and see the world, she didn’t exactly want the rest of them to think she was blowing Jason in his room after he had been stabbed in an attack.

But if the tabloids ran their mouths, lord knows what she’d say to fight back against them.

She checked her appearance one last time before going over to Jason and kissing him bye and see you later. She wanted to kiss him for a longer period of time, but before she knew it she was running out of the house and down the streets, she was going to have to walk home that night.

Had Jason known that she was going to walk home, he wouldn’t have let her go that day. but it was around 4am, the sun was going to rise and she’d be in broad daylight, she thought she was going to be fine and to be fair, she didn’t have reason to think she wouldn’t be okay. She always ended up okay in Metropolis, so why wouldn’t it b the same in Gotham. Gotham had many more heroes compared to Metropolis anyway.

  I mean, what’s the worst that could happen, she thought, Wait no, don’t say that.

[thepunkbug]

Okay, so there’s a lot going on right now to do with Brendon Urie from Panic! At The Disco, and I figured I’d give my take on it.

Before I start, I should say I got most of my information from other people on social media - YouTube, Twitter, Tik Tok, and I read some articles. Because of where I got most of my information, I won’t be able to link anything, so I implore you to do your own research as well. That being said, here’s a brief rundown of what happened, with my opinion at the end.

First and foremost, Brendon has been called out for being racist. There’s a Vine of him mouthing along to the n-word, and while he didn’t outright say it, he did still mouth along to it. Being white, he had no business doing that, and he should’ve censored the word out entirely, but he didn’t. He’s since apologized and been a supporter of BLM, even going onto Twitch when George Floyd was killed, and making a post on his Instagram about how white privilege affects him, all of which can be found on YouTube or Instagram.

Secondly, he was accused of being transphobic. Most of you are probably confused because he is pansexual himself, and he wrote a song about bisexuality, and he can be found decked out in pride flags at concerts. However, there is a video of him at an interview saying the transphobic slur, and since he’s cisgender, he has no right using that word. From what I know, he was explaining his sexuality when someone asked him about it, and he quoted what someone had said to him, which included the transphobic slur. He’s since apologized on Periscope (I’m not sure if there’s a YouTube video of that or not), and as we all know, he’s been a huge advocate for LGBTQ+ rights ever since.

There’s also a video of Brendon joking about raping fans at a concert. You can find this on YouTube, where he says something along the lines of “If I see you after the show, I’m gonna fuck you. I don’t care if you want it - I care more if you don’t!” If the video isn’t edited shorter, you can also hear Dallon Weekes say “And I’m gonna watch,” though no one ever mentions that. This isn’t me trying to get Dallon cancelled. Quite frankly, I don’t like cancel culture and I think people are way too trigger happy to destroy someone’s career. My only reason for interjecting this is if you’re gonna get mad at Brendon for making that joke, then get mad at Dallon for adding onto it, too.

More recently, he’s been accused of sexually assaulting a fan. Someone on Twitter by the name of Kam retold a story of being a minor when he met Brendon, and Brendon was kissing and touching him inappropriately despite knowing he was a minor. There were also other accounts saying similar things happened to them. However, from what I know, the whole Kam thing was actually a Wattpad self-insert fanfiction that someone stole the plot of, and the multiple different accounts were actually one person, and they were lying, so there’s absolutely no evidence of Brendon sexually assaulting a minor or behaving inappropriately in that way whatsoever.

Lots of people also get upset with the Zack Hall thing. Zack Hall was Brendon’s bodyguard for a long time, and Breezy Weekes recently came out and said that Zack Hall basically sexually harassed her the entire time Dallon was in Panic!. Other people came out and said they had similar encounters with Zack Hall, and he’s now fired from Panic!. Similarly, when Kenny Harris was accused of sexually harassing/assaulting minors, he was also fired. People are upset because Brendon is remaining friends with Zack Hall, though I really don’t think that’s any of our business. As far as I see it, they’ve been close friends for years, and it’s hard to just drop that, even if they do something you disagree with. Also, Zack was fired, which is what people wanted. I think it’s dumb to hold Brendon to a friend’s actions, especially when he already fired him and removed him from fans, like everyone was asking him to do.

Also (and I’m not as well informed with this as other topics), there’s an interview somewhere of Ryan Ross being uncomfortable with Brendon’s stage gay. I’m not sure how many times they had that conversation or how often Ryan asked Brendon to not touch him or do the stage gay routine with him, or how many times Brendon disregarded that once they were onstage. Brendon should’ve respected Ryan’s wishes and not touched him the first time he was asked, but again, I don’t know the specifics here, so this is all I can comment on here.

[Edit: I had someone reach out to me in regards to the above information, and I decided to keep everything I originally wrote as context. According to them, there isn’t an interview of Ryan saying he’s uncomfortable with the stage gay, and it was all in fact scripted between the two of them. It sounds like people basically made up Ryan being uncomfortable with the act, in which case, these accusations also appear to be entirely false.] 

As we all know, Brendon struggled with drug and alcohol addiction, which literally impairs judgment and makes you do things you normally wouldn’t do. This includes saying things you shouldn’t (making rape jokes to a supposedly 18+ audience while likely drunk, high, or both) and doing things you shouldn’t (the stage gay routine). I’d also like to point out that a lot of the stuff he said at shows was probably to entertain, particularly the stage gay stuff, and there’s no way in hell you can convince me the audience didn’t eat that shit up. I wouldn’t be surprised if he did those things to get a reaction, and you know he fucking got one, so while I disapprove of him making Ryan uncomfortable, I also understand the audience there, expecting it, probably didn’t help either.

I think that’s everything. As you can see, it’s a lot of stuff, but I don’t think any of it is as bad as people say. Mouthing the n-word once doesn’t make a person racist. Saying a transphobic slur once doesn’t make a person transphobic. He especially isn’t either of these things when you take into account how he’s since apologized and shown incredible support for BLM and the LGBTQ+ community, which I think says a lot about him as a person.

This is going off track a little bit, but I think it’ll make a point. My dad grew up in the seventies, in a time where homophobia was rampant and racism was common. My dad grew up homophobic and racist, and he used homophobic slurs all the time as a teenager and a young adult. To this day, my dad has prejudiced views about race and sexuality, but he’s obviously changed his opinion since then, with education and understanding. He never apologized for the things he said back then, mostly because he isn’t famous and no one has called him out for it.

The point is, if people held my dad responsible for things he said in high school and college, when he was the most ignorant, the most sheltered, the least exposed to other people and cultures, then he’d be labeled racist and homophobic now (which he technically is, simply by virtue of being white and straight, but that’s a conversation for another time). We need to give people room to grow, give them resources to educate themselves and combat their ignorance. Brendon Urie has DONE that, multiple times! He’s never been accused of racism aside from mouthing the n-word in a Vine, which, should I remind you how old Vine is? He’s never been accused of being transphobic aside from that one time he used a slur, when he wasn’t even using his own words.

I’m not trying to excuse what he’s done. Using those slurs, making Ryan uncomfortable [edit: probably not true], joking about rape, none of those things are okay, and that’s pretty damn obvious to everyone, I think. However, it’s also evident he’s changed since then. As far as I know, he’s never used a slur since then. He’s an advocate for BLM and the LGBTQ+ community. He’s struggled with addiction, which isn’t easy for anyone, and he’s been able to grow and become a better person since then. I absolutely agree with holding him accountable for what he said and did, especially the things we don’t agree with. He’s a public figure, and he has to be aware of what he says and how his actions have consequences. That’s just how it works when you’re in the public eye.

Do I think Brendon Urie deserves to be cancelled? Absolutely not. He’s human, and all humans change. I’m not the same person I was ten years ago, and ten years from now, I’ll be someone else entirely. If someone held me responsible for every mistake I ever made and completely disregarded my progress and personal growth, I’d look like a horrible person. Why aren’t we keeping that energy for Brendon? Hold him accountable. Keep him responsible for what he did. And allow him to improve. Allow him to educate himself. Allow him to better himself. Allow him to be fucking human, for fuck’s sake.

So, there’s my take. I’m still a Panic! At The Disco fan, and I’m still a huge fan of Brendon Urie himself. Unless he regresses completely and becomes Kanye West or some shit, I will continue to support him. He’s not even as problematic as some other people’s faves, so I’m not even gonna feel bad for continuing to support him. I’m acknowledging his shortcomings and recognizing his progress, because I understand that this isn’t black and white or two dimensional.

If his actions aren’t exuseable for you, then that’s fine. If you can’t be a fan of him of Panic! anymore, then that’s your decision. For me personally, I think his growth says a lot about his character, and I’m gonna continue to stick it out with him. You don’t have to like him, but quit being so close-minded about the good he’s done in all of this. It makes you look excited to destroy a person’s career, and quite frankly, I’m tired of trigger-happy, cancel culture junkies. Take it elsewhere.

[therosevest]

the promise (ch. 1)

a/n: hi yes i wrote for the clown gays like a year ago and im deciding to post this now sjdghfg pls be kind

pair: richie tozier/eddie kaspbrak

word count: 8.5k

warnings: swearing, blood ment, homophobic slurs, abuse mentions, psychological trickery, richie’s parents start out a lil absent but they get better i promise

excerpt:   “You’re gonna miss curfew, Rich,” Eddie mumbles, leaning out the window on his elbows. And Richie hears it: you’re alone, you know what could happen. Stay safe.

“I’m not afraid, Eds.” He means it. Richie can’t draw up what fear even feels like right then. With a flick of an eyebrow, he nods toward the door. “Mother is waiting.” 

“I know.”

read on ao3

 No, it’s not that Richie is gay. It’s not like he daydreams about taking it up the ass all fucking day.

 Henry Bowers and his dipshit crew might have a different opinion, but they can honestly, truly suck his dick (in the non-homo way - he has taste). The fact that they took joy in throwing him and his friends around, calling them names, and threatening their whole lives never mattered before; the losers took care of each other, and most of the time it was easy to forget about those other assholes.

 Being called four-eyes when he needed glasses in the second grade never got to him that bad - they were saving him from having to see their ugly faces when they knocked them off, so really, he should have thanked them - and he didn’t care when they shoved him around for being short before his growth spurt, and it didn’t even bother him that much when they mocked his totally refined voices. He knew his own talent, and what he could do with it if he could just focus.

 But the first time they singled him out as the fag of the group, well, it stung.

 He never told the others about that day. He never told them how long he cried, how broken he felt sobbing on that park bench. He never worked up the nerve to tell them why he couldn’t face Paul Bunyan anymore, no, he simply breezed past without lifting his eyes, without missing a beat of conversation.

 At least it got easier with time.

 All things considered, his home life isn’t terrible.

 Richie has his own room, a roof, and usually a decently-stocked fridge. Enough to get by.

 He’s left alone a lot. His parents are always at work, and when they’re not, they take on the personalities of monotonous robots sitting in front of the TV, so he spends a lot of time skimming through comics or jacking off when he’s not running around with his friends.

 But, that’s just the thing. Somehow, Richie, life of every conversation, King of Comedy, Trashmouth, funny-man Tozier, was born to the most boring people of all time. They never engage with his jokes; on a good day, he receives a breezy, “That’s nice, sweetie,” from his mom, or, “Okay, that’s enough, son,” from his dad. Blank stares. Pasty, purple-tinted white eyes. Never a hug, never much past a ‘goodnight.’ Not even a simple, “How was school?” when they got home.

 Richie vividly remembers the day that he bounced in his seat at the end-of-the-year ceremony at school, a bustling bundle of nerves prepared to brag and boast to his parents about his awards in science and, surprisingly (his teacher hated him) English - he took to the dramatics of Shakespeare quite well. He practiced his entrance to them several times over in his head, perhaps overly, unconvincingly modest or Shakespeare wants what I have. Anything to get a laugh. A ruffle of his hair from his dad. A forehead kiss from his mom, like when he was little.

 They didn’t show. He still doesn’t know where he went wrong.

 In a stark, bubbling contrast to his parents, there’s this kid in his group of friends. He remembers one of the first times they met, the boy approaching him, all sweet apple-cheeked and neat polo and ironed khaki shorts; Richie had flicked an eyebrow upward, a not-so-subtle really?, because he never figured that clean-freak Eddie Kaspbrak would be able to handle more than three seconds in Trashmouth Tozier’s presence.

 But boy, was he a lot of fun.

 Eddie was loud and super easily wound-up, screaming about fucking UTIs and do not fucking push me man all the piss on the walls of this city could fill the lake and despite his good-boy appearance, he shot back with just as much fire as Richie threw at him.

 And fuck, Richie loves it. He loves the ease with which they bounce back and forth. He loves the fury in the boy’s eyes when Richie pisses him off, the laughter that always comes about between them once they settle. The crossing arms and pouting Eddie, who he theorizes secretly loves it when Richie calls him pet names (not that he’d ever admit it); the loud and greatly-gesticulating Eddie who yells louder and pushes harder when Richie coos at him; the one who quietly accepts Richie’s affection, and offers it back in subtle ways: simply holding Richie’s arm when he slings his arms around Eddie’s neck from behind, allowing him to sit next to him thigh-to-thigh, and overall not completely cringing and pushing him off. He took it as a compliment, though they’d never mention it out loud.

 On an unfortunate night, his comfortable little world comes crashing down.

 His parents are out for some sort of conference weekend trip or whatever, and they’ve called in his deadbeat uncle to ‘watch over the house.’ Not necessarily him (probably because he isn’t home that much), but the house obviously can’t stand up by itself—and, well, maybe they didn’t trust Richie to not accidentally leave the door open, or leave the stove on, or some other stupidly irresponsible little thing. So, the crusty old guy shows up with his greasy, oiled hair and his lack of deodorant and his wilting knees. It makes Richie miss Eddie so, so much when they part, because a.) he smells a lot better, and b.) it would be fucking hilarious for him to see what Richie has to put up with. Like, he’s really not the most rodent-like of his family.

 Anyway, Richie doesn’t remember what he says. Something slightly instigative, about the lack of any gourmet-level food in the house (he claimed calmly while wasting away on microwave tater tots and bread, even though his parents had left behind plenty of money to keep him alive), and then suddenly hands were on him.

 It stings like a bitch.

 His uncle gets up, with a quiet mumble that Richie makes out to be, “Well, let’s see…” and when he finally gets in the kitchen, facing Richie with eyes rung red and shaking fists, he grabs his nephew by a fistful of t-shirt and shoves him against the counter.

 At that moment, he really wants his mom. Why the fuck did she and dad leave him with this guy?

 “I don’t see you fucking working, or doing much of anything around here, kiddo.”

 “Funny, I was gonna say the same to you.”

 A blow to his mouth. Richie resists the urge to lift trembling fingers to the spot that he can feel swelling.

 “Don’t talk to me like that, asshole! You think you’re so fucking funny, huh?” His uncle drags him forward and shoves him back with conviction, and this time Richie doesn’t answer.

 He should have known to stay quiet when he saw his uncle drinking and smoking incessantly in the house, even though his mother had requested that he stay outside for that. It must have been a rough day at the bar, or wherever the fuck he spent his time.

 “You need to learn when to be quiet, dipshit. Have some fucking respect.”

 For the guy who ignored him for years, didn’t stay in touch, and wasted his existence away on the couch.

 Right.

 But Richie is snapped from his indignant, grounding thoughts when his uncle lowers his voice. “Do I make myself clear?”

 Richie frowns in his face, utterly confused from the swell of attention, still limply holding a bag of bread in his left hand.

 “Do I make myself clear?”

 “Y-yes sir.”

 The wretched man makes a point to push him into the corner of the cupboards with such a force that he collapses to his knees and can just feel the bruises forming. And he sits there for a minute, all sorts of betrayal and anger and sadness suffocating him.

 But he stands up.

 And with stinging eyes, a stuffy nose, and shaking hands, he makes himself a simple peanut butter sandwich.

 And he stays upstairs for the remainder of the night

 It’s a warm, soothing day outside; the sun glows and birds are chirping like some kind of fucking cartoon. In the tall grass the losers sit in frogs croak and crickets chirp and they make a mess of themselves in the circle they form.

 “Damn, Rich, what happened to you?” comes Stan’s voice, concerned eyes flashing down to his now royally fucked-up mouth.

 “Yeah, dude, what the fuck?” says Bev through a sandwich, truly a charmer.

 Richie grins at Bev but answers to Stan, ignoring the sting in the corner of his lips. “Guess I’m a fighter at heart.”

 “Richie—“

 Bev chimes in once again, a bright, snarky grin on her face, “Richie, you can tell us if it was another accident, we won’t judge. Promise.”

 Bev has a way about her; he knows she’s not genuinely the largest, most gaping asshole on earth, and that she actually cared a lot and cried over her friends in the darkest nights, but she also knew how to make light of something dark (even the worst). She probably knew. She probably just had his back in her own funny way, like taking the pressure off the reality.

 “Bev, I’ve really, truly, always appreciated your charm, but as my dearest favorite person on earth, fuck off.”

 “Richie,” Bill says, then hesitates. In that time, Bev flips Richie the bird, which he answers with an air kiss. “What really h-ah-happened?” He looks him over with a frown, clear blue eyes swallowing him in concern and maybe love.

 Richie offers a simple smirk before settling against the trunk of a tree. “Don’t worry about it, Billiam. I’ve got it under control.”

 “Whatever you say,” Bev says. She tosses a baggie over to him with his favorite sandwich.

 Stan isn’t so easily convinced, eyeing Richie up carefully, but he sits with Bev on the boulder she’s settled on when Richie doesn’t falter in his casual disposition.

 It takes a lot of work, as always.

 Ben shows up moments later, with a calm and tender, “You alright, Rich?” and when Richie goes off on a stupid tough-guy spiel, he simply lays at the foot of the boulder and flicks open a book, meeting Richie with one of his melting smiles, a gentle invitation, a sweet If you ever need it, I’m there, but allowing him the space to go on as normal. Which is nice.

 Richie knows they all care. He knows he could tell them, could pour all of the terror and tragedy he felt the night before into the air and they’d fill up the space; Mike would give him the tightest hug in the world, one to combat the most heinous of things; Stan would sit with him as long as he needed it, Bev would come through with a smoke and the best advice in the world, and Ben would tell him stories or just hang out with him until everything felt a bit lighter, and Bill would give him anything in the world because Richie would do it back. That’s the way they were.

 But he can’t do it.

 “Sorry I’m late guys,” comes a nasally voice, huffing and puffing, new pressure leaning against the tree, and Richie grins. Eddie.

 “It’s okay, Eds,” he says, reaching over a few fingers to tickle Eddie’s knee, giggling when the boy smacks at his hand and doubles over with an exclamatory, Richie!  

 The others offer a few sleepy greetings, all soaked up in their own forms of entertainment for the quiet afternoon: Bev and Ben, heads close enough to share his walkman; Stan, reading some lengthy oath to birds or something; Mike snoozing lightly on Bill’s shoulder while Bill pores over some adventure map from a fantasy novel.

 They had all agreed that it was too tiresome to go swimming today, as the previous night was spent out at Stan’s with a bonfire, and for a few of them, some stolen booze (not very much, but enough that they could pretend to be drunk and giggle profusely). But they still wanted to hang out, so this was the middle ground. An afternoon picnic in the shade.

 Eddie quickly notices his lip and drops down to his side. “Richie, what happened to you? Was it Bowers again? I swear to god, I will fucking kill that guy--”

 Richie smiles softly at the protective words, and tries to turn it into a smirk. “Eddie, baby, don’t worry,” he says. “It’s just a little bump.”

 Surprisingly, Eddie sidles up next to him, using the pad of his thumb to press at the sides of Richie’s mouth, apparently assessing some sort of damage. “Don’t call me that.” He scowls. “What did you do? Did you ice it? Clean this cut at all? Cause you could get an infection, you know, you really should clean it.”

 Richie bats his eyes. “Clean it for me, sweets?”

 “Fuck off. Forget I cared.”

 “Ah, come on, Spaghettio. I didn’t mean it.” He pulls Eddie down with a simple gesture, pressing his palm to the boy’s shoulder and dragging. The boy rests against the trunk, nestled in Richie’s side.

 But that’s the complicated thing. He sorta wishes he could mean it. In a small, poking-at-the-back-of-his-head-always kind of way.

 “Just—tell me what happened,” Eddie pipes up quietly from his side.

 When Richie glances down, he takes to heart how disgruntled Eddie still looks, crossing his arms and almost pouting.

 He shrugs. “Your mother was simply affronted by how good I am with my mouth, Eds, she couldn’t take it anymore.”

 Eddie presses his mouth into a line, rolls his eyes at the stupid British voice Richie had developed, and busies himself with a thrilling edition of The Lancet

 Later, as dusk settles in and pale purple skies replace the bright blue, and the club leaves with simple ‘goodbye’s and promises to do something fun tomorrow, Eddie shifts from his nap. He’d passed out with his head slammed back against Richie’s arm (he’d caught it just before he fell to the ground, avoiding a lengthy rant about potential concussions and medical bills), curled in the opposite direction from Richie’s abdomen. As he wakes, through, he rolls over, elbow digging into Richie’s side.

 “Ah-ow,” Richie groans, sitting up from his cataconic state of reading Ben’s stolen comics and avoiding moving and waking Eddie. But he’d just dug the pointiest part of his entire firecracker body into Richie’s ribs, where Richie had attempted and failed to nurse a bruise he’d accrued from a vicious cupboard corner. It was at an awkward angle, and he refused to go down to get more ice packs once they melted, so he slept unsoundly and laid uncomfortably.

 “Sorry,” Eddie mumbles, voice muddled with sleep. “Shit, it’s late. When did I fall asleep? My mom’s gonna kill me.”

 Even in that gurgly, world upside-down state of post-nap consciousness, the boy freaks out about his mother. Richie sighs and rubs his shoulder.

 “You’re all good, Eddie boy,” he attempts for a creaky, witchy voice, but it’s half-assed because he gets so tired of this lady. Not Eddie ranting, that was fine, and he knew the kid needed to get it out of his system; but he was fucking tired of Mrs. K hurting his boy. “You took your meds on time, fell asleep shortly after. Might need to amputate my arm now, though.”

His boy.

 Eddie sits up, and Richie stares at his back, illuminated in the dusk, because he wore a fun yellow today, resting prettily against his tanned, freckled skin.

 (Maybe Richie had looked over, amused, for a few moments, as Eddie snored and twitched his nose in his sleep; and he counted the freckles on Eddie’s arm, his cheek, whatever he could see for entertainment.)

 Eddie glances back at him, and Richie distracts himself with his bag, shifting his eyes awkwardly from the boy’s gaze.

 “Well, well, good sir, shall I walk you home on this fine night?”

 Eddie’s brow furrows. “Richie, what’s that?”

 His eyes are trained intently on the aforementioned bruise, and its cousins that pepper his hips, only exposed because he slipped and let his shirt ride up when he bent over.

 He clears his throat, scrambling for some dumbass answer, wholeheartedly unprepared for the severity of this conversation. “You know how the ladies throw themselves—“

 “Okay, you know what, fine.” Eddie stands quickly, stumbling slightly, and braces himself against the tree. “You don't have to fucking tell me. Just come home with me, okay?”

 “A night with Eddie Kaspbrak? Why, you’re really a dream-come-true kind of guy.”

 “Your lip is bleeding again,” he responds simply, apparently not one for      fun    at this very moment. “I can clean it.”

 Richie pops up from the ground, feeling quite pip pip, tally ho about the whole thing. “Righty-o, Eddie boy.

 That’s how he ends up sitting on the edge of Eddie’s porcelain-white bathtub, dirtying it with his messy jeans and dirt-coated nails.

 It takes a lot of strategic planning, lots of sneaking past Mrs. K, and then sweet-talking and kisses from Eddie once she wakes up freaking out about how late he was. But, after about fifteen minutes of contest-worthy screeching from the woman, Eddie stomps up the stairs, slams the door with a very I’m gonna pull my hair out look, and has to take about three extra minutes to compose himself, ranting under his breath.

 Richie just stares at his distorted reflection in the shining silvery faucet, the violet under his eyes and the renewed puffiness of his lip, Hawaiian pattern of his shirt disheveled in the odd mirror.

 He knows not to engage unless Eddie actually speaks up to him, meaning this run-in was probably just overly grating and mentally draining, considering, well, how his mother is. He just needs a second to get it out, not any kind of heartfelt talk (which Richie sucks at anyway) or even a lighthearted joke. The boy paces and growls into a fist. Then, eventually, he breathes, “Okay.”

 Eighteen minutes. Eighteen minutes of sitting around and waiting for Eddie, just for him to kneel in front of Richie, doe eyes clear and focused, dabbing so, so gently at his battered lip.

 In a way, it’s heaven.

 “I take it your mom can’t wait for me to buy dinner, eh?”

 Eddie sighs. “Apparently this time I’m gonna contract malaria, Rich, didn’t you know? There’s an incredible outbreak this time of year and I’m obviously not prepared to avoid fucking mosquitoes, what with my fifteen bottles of bug spray and essential oils. I’ll probably die tomorrow!”

 “I will make sure that your funeral is a fucking rager dude, don’t you worry. Booze on me.”

 A ghost of a smile.

 “Richie…” he breathes out in a long winded way, saying nothing and everything for way too long. “Why don’t you stay here tonight?”

 Richie raises an eyebrow. “Man, I thought you were gonna back out on your previous offer, but I guess the call for a night with Richie Tozier is too much to back away from. I get it.” He smiles painfully at the way Eddie’s face crumples with something like boredom. “Christ, dude, what’s your poison?” He makes a face at the antiseptic substance that trickles into his mouth.

 “Maybe if you kept your mouth shut for once, this wouldn’t be an issue.”

 Richie beams, which just causes Eddie to huff even more.

 “Please, just stay still!

 “It was my uncle,” Richie finally says, forcing a bored expression onto his face as he flips through a rather dull magazine, sprawled on Eddie’s bed. “And it wasn’t a big deal.”

 Panic flashes across Eddie’s face. His cheeks burn red, and his leg jitters anxiously against Richie’s, but his voice remains level, which Richie thanks dear lordy Jesus for. “Your uncle? He hit you?”

 “Well,” Richie pauses. “Uh, kinda. He was just really drunk, Eds, and he got mad and I was in the way.”

 “In the way?”

 He shrugs, a small smile quirking his lip up. “Am I not usually?”

 “Rich.” Eddie’s voice is really soft in that moment, gentler and quieter than anything Richie has heard from him in all the time he’s known his fellow loudmouth. It simultaneously terrifies and thrills him. Eds. Eddie brings his knees to his chest, leaning back against the headboard. “You say a lot of dumb shit, but that doesn’t mean you should be hurt.” He must notice Richie’s uncomfortable look, because he adds lightly, “Most of the time, anyway.”

 “Woah, Eddie, don’t go overboard with the kindness or anything--”

 “Damn it, Richie.” He casts his eyes downward. “I’m just trying to say - um - thanks for telling me. Sorry if that’s fucked up to say, but I know you didn’t want to, so, yeah. We don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

 Richie swallows deeply with a slow nod, focusing his eyes on the blurry words in front of him. “Well, if there’s anyone I’d tell, it’s Dr. K. He’s gonna be the one to save my life, right?”

 Eddie rolls his eyes. “Right.” He kicks at Richie’s foot, a subtle way of telling him to move over so he can get under the covers.

 “Night, toots.”

 “Goodnight, Richie.

 Richie thinks he knows everything possible about Eddie thus far.

 He knows when he needs to take his meds, an internal clock he recently developed; he knows that the boy is not nearly as fragile as he sometimes seems, and if he really tried, he could pack a punch; he knows that he loves fervently and he’ll always take care of his friends, even if it’s in a way that would usually disgust him.

 Case in point: he didn’t seem to freak out at Richie’s bleeding lip, even when a steady stream of blood started dripping down his chin from the contact of trying to clean it out, though he usually cringed if he got so much as a scratch from a twig. Somehow, some way, he simply held pressure on the wound and told Richie to hold some ice on it (“Ordering me around now, hot stuff? I can work with that,”), and washed his own hands thoroughly in the sink.

 What he doesn’t know until that night, is that Eddie is a cuddler. At least, half-asleep, groggy Eddie is. Like, this kid must be more starved for affection than he is. Richie had curled himself in a ball toward the edge of the mattress, willing himself not to do so much as even press his back against Eddie’s, way too afraid of the ease with which two people can tangle themselves together in the night, terrified of what would happen if he woke up with Eddie’s hands on him, wrapped up in Eddie, Eddie’s terrible morning breath against his cheek, Eddie Eddie Eddie. But while Richie had stressed himself into falling halfway off the bed, Eddie had flopped over in his sleep, slung an arm across Richie’s waist and, seeming to sense that he had something to hold, pulled him in tight to his chest. Though Richie’s breath caught in his throat, he figured, well, no one could really see them then, so what was the harm in passing out like that? No one had to know. He could pass it off like he’d been sleeping the whole time.

 But he cherishes every fucking minute of it

 Richie wakes to the sound of something pounding, a steady beat, and in that state of slowly waking from a dream he thinks it’s some old drum, playing lowly in the corner by some restless figure. When he comes to, his eyes creaking open slowly, he sees the gentle orange-ish hue of the morning sky, the neat room around him, the scent of detergent and soothing fabric softener wafting near his face. And he realizes his head is tucked into Eddie’s side, the boy’s slowed heartbeat thumping softly against his ear.

 Normally, he’d just let Eddie sleep, as he’s usually only the asshole waking everyone up when it’s the whole gang. He doesn’t mind spending a few hours by himself in the morning. In fact, he enjoys the opportunity to try to fall back asleep (even though he never does).

 But with a sudden impulse, he lays a palm on Eddie’s ribcage and pushes himself up onto his elbows, then shakes the boy.

 “Eddie.”

 A muffled, “Mmph?”

 “Eds, wake up.”

 The boy drags a pillow over his ears for all of two seconds before Richie tickles his stomach. Then he crankily sits up and lets out a gruff, “What?”

 Richie grins. “The sunrise, Eds! Look, it’s so pretty, you have to believe me.”

 Eddie responds by laying his cheek on Richie’s shoulder blade, slumping forward with his eyes still closed. “You do know,” he breathes, “that if the sun is just rising, it’s like, six a.m.?”

 “Hmm, 5:49, but close enough, I suppose.”

 The most huffy breath that Eddie can manage at this hour tickles the hairs on the back of Richie’s neck. “Did you know that people who don’t sleep enough die a lot younger? There are serious health consequences.” It doesn’t come out in his usual fiery, punctuated tone; it’s soft and filled with a yawn and he’s pretty sure Eddie might fall back asleep just like that. “You can’t die early on me, Richie. And I don’t want to. Go back to sleep.” He peeks one eye open at the window, squinting at the glow of the sun. “It is pretty, though.” With that, he falls back against the pillow and curls into a ball against the wall.

 And Richie’s pretty damn sure in that moment that he’s, like, in love

 And, sure, that’s terrifying.

 He has no one to talk to about it and nothing could convince him it’s normal, so he shrugs it off and pretends it isn’t there.

 Cause that’s a good way to cope, right?

 It doesn’t matter that Eddie is so easily comfortable with him—he’s a low-pressure person, is all. And no one had called out the way pet names rolled off Richie’s tongue so easily, because that was just a part of his joke. Normal. Easy.

 Until it wasn’t

 You see, there’s this bitch Pennywise. This idiot clown terrorizes his friends, kills people, haunts their nights and days, and fucks with their minds. Tries to turn them against each other. And they can’t even throw a jest back! It’s a sick system.

 Well, anyway, the losers end up in some crickety, wooden, falling-apart-at-the-seams murder house on Neibolt, because Bill wants to find his brother and none of them are willing to abandon him. Instead, Richie gets to see himself dead, face off with a monstrous fucking clown, and hear heart-wrenching screams from Eddie that he can’t even help, because he can’t get out.

 When he does, he reunites with Stan and Bill, using the few seconds he has to catch his breath.

 Just as quickly, he loses it.

 In front of him lies Eddie, arm twisted at the ugliest, most heinous angle, and not only is he probably in pain and freaking out about the arm, but a 7-foot tall clown is sauntering towards him with a stupid swaggering gait, like it knows that they can’t do anything to save Eddie.

Eddie.

 The boy cowers against dust and fallen wood that must be itching to give him splinters; tears streak down his dirty face and his chest rises and falls rapidly, as Pennywise taunts him. Fucking horses around, making stupid noises and joking while Eddie falls apart, and Richie doesn’t know how to save him, even after everything Eddie’s done for him. Richie is vaguely aware of Stan grasping his shoulder, trying to ground him, and he silently thanks him as he glances around for fucking anything to use as a weapon, because he certainly can’t jump into this blindly--

 Then Beverly busts into the room and stabs the bitch in the head, and Richie can’t think but his feet are moving and he lands in front of Eddie in the few seconds’ time he has to play catch-up. He reminds himself to remind Bev of just how much he loves her later.

 For now, though, his focus is Eddie. His ears are ringing and he’s noted the commotion going on behind him, he even realizes that Bill ends up at his side, but his gaze is right on his Eds, grasping at his face, trying to do anything to help him.

 “Eds. No, no, no! Look at me! It’s okay. Please be okay.” He steadies his voice and tries really hard not to think about how much he sucks as a caretaker, how he has no fucking clue what to do, but he’s scared and he desperately just wants to take Eddie from the room and keep him safe, forever and ever.

 Terror-filled eyes find him as the clown continues toward the three of them, flexing horrendous claws; Richie kneels in front of Eddie and Bill’s at his back, and Richie knows Eddie acknowledges him but he’s whimpering and shaking and staring back at the clown. And Pennywise is thriving.

 “Eds,” he says, louder, grabbing Eddie’s chin and forcing it in his direction. “Please just - fuck the clown, okay? Fuck everything. It’s me and you. I’ve got you.” And he’d probably be much more convincing if he weren’t shouting and clinging to Eddie’s shoulders like it means death.

But, he seems to capture the boy’s attention, as he keeps his eyes steadily on Richie and blinks a few times. “My arm!” he cries. “Fuck, I can’t fucking move. I’m gonna die. It hurts, Rich.”

 “Hey, you’re not gonna die. I don’t die early on you, you don’t die early on me. That’s the deal.”

 “Some deals are made to be broken.”

 Eddie is just staring at him, blank eyes staring through him with a grin, a stark contrast to the screaming that was going on just moments before. A surge of panic rises in Richie’s chest, like a freezing wind knocking through his stupid little preteen body. He shakes his head in confusion.

 “Eddie, shut up. It’s just your arm. You’re gonna be fine!”

 A shrug. “Who’s to say?” And then he sits up, arm convulsing at his side like some dying snake, and Richie flinches and flies back into Bill’s chest. He can’t do this. He can’t help Eddie like he should, he can’t take care of him like he wants to. He’s a coward.

 “Rich.” Bill is a million miles away.

 Right here, right now, is that thing in Eddie’s place, body rattling like a rag doll. “They’ll find out.” Eddie’s voice is fucked up, scratchy, and his eyes are all wrong; the way he’s staring at him is fucking uncanny. “Get too touchy, Rich, and you know what’ll happen.”

 “Stop, please, fucking stop!”

 “Richie!” Bill is finally right there, shaking both of his shoulders from behind. “S-stop. You’re f-f-fine. It’s just fucking with your head.”

 It takes a few deep breaths, but Richie turns to him and says a quick, ‘Thanks,’ before turning back to real-Eddie, who is now dry-heaving and wailing at the sight of his arm.

 Eddie’s chest thrusts forward and back rapidly, and he keeps trying to back further from the bedlam in front of them. His face contorts into an absolutely heart-wrenching cry, and as he looks at Richie, gripping his hand with an iron fist, Richie’s heart splits in two. It’s hard, it’s way too hard not to say I love you, after all that. And it’s hard not to run.

 “I don’t wanna die - ”

 Richie crawls closer to cradle Eddie’s head. “Eddie, if you die I’ll kill you.” He wants to go home, he wants to cry, he wants to sleep for about three days and pretend this never happened. But he can’t. He has to be here for Eddie, as much as he wants to flee right now. “You’re not going to, you know that? I still owe you ice cream. And I’m gonna get you inside the arcade—“

 “Fuck the arcade!”

 Somehow, in all of the fuckery going on, Richie laughs. “That’s the spirit!” Eddie, in a scramble to back away from the startle of Pennywise running away, shifts into Richie’s lap. “Okay, Eddie, breathe.” Richie gulps down a breath himself. “I’m gonna snap your arm back into place.”

Eddie’s eyes light up, completely on fire, spitting poison at Richie. “Rich! Do not fucking touch me!”

 Richie winces at the words but he hears Bev screaming, “Richie, his arm!” and uses the moment of yelling to just do it, to get Eddie’s arm back to a relatively normal shape, and then he’s screaming and it’s like he wants Richie to cry in front of everyone.

 “Okay okay okay, it’s done. No more.” Richie, awkward and lost at what to do, brushes back sweaty hair from Eddie’s forehead, because he’s pretty sure the boy would hate how sticky everything had gotten, and if he could help even one thing, well, it’s something.

 He wishes he could help carry Eddie home, sit with him in the hospital, anything to cheer him up.

 But he doesn’t get the chance. Mrs. K is outside and snatches Eddie from the losers in the flash of an eye, talking like they broke his fucking arm or something.

 That’s when it all goes downhill

 Richie storms away from his stupid feud with Bill, the fucking dumbass who punched him in the face because he said he didn’t want a clown to kill him and his friends. He thinks it’s the most reasonable thing he’s ever said, objectively, but whatever. He doesn’t want to lose his friends. But in that moment, he doesn’t see many other options.

 When he trudges back home after his third day alone at the arcade, following newly-formed muscle memory to avoid his uncle (close the door slowly, shift weight and run upstairs, wait at least twenty minutes to go back down for food in case he stirs), he notices another car. Immediately, Richie throws open the doors, calling out, “Mom!” and finds her in the kitchen, with his uncle.

 “Hey sweetie, I just got home—“ she startles at the sight of him.

 “Jeez, that bad?” he jokes, running a hand through his hair. “Just remember, mom, half of this is ‘cause of you.”

 She approaches him quickly, summer blazer flowing behind her from the speed, and crouches down just slightly to be at eye-level. “Richie, honey, what did you do to your lip?” she asks. He doesn’t realize right away, but he tilts his head into her touch, and she strokes his cheek gently.

 Richie had forgotten about the whole ordeal—his friends almost dying at the hands of a killer clown was pretty damn distracting from his low-life uncle—but now, he sets a spitting glare on the man leaning back and manspreading at their kitchen table.

 “Uncle Alan had a few kind words to say over dinner the other night.”

 Her tender touch to his face is lost when she whips around to face his uncle, and Richie feels like a little kid again, standing behind his mom and clutching at her coat while she takes care of everything.

 “You hit him?” she says, her voice threatening in a low mumble, teeth clenched together. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You touched my kid?” She holds back a hand as though to shield Richie as she slams her other fist on the table.

 “How do you know it wasn’t one of his faggy friends? Or maybe some other kid with common fucking sense?”

 She leans down and takes him by the front of his shirt. “Don’t you dare, Alan. What the fuck were you thinking?”

 Uncle Alan yells back in her face, spit flying, and Richie would jump forward to defend her if she weren’t holding him back so protectively (with one hand!). “Listen, Maggie, if he’s gonna act like that, I’m just preparing him for the real world.”

 “You absolute shit! You don’t get to make that decision!” Richie has never, ever seen his mother so angry. “You battered a twelve year old boy! What, do you feel really big now, you pathetic piece of shit? Get the fuck out of my house!” At this point, she’s shaken him and thrown him back against the chair so he falls, catching himself just in time as it cascades to the ground.

 “Fuck you, Maggie!”

 She follows him down the hall.

 “Fuck you!” Richie calls out at his retreating back, before his mother screams about pressing charges and slams the door behind him.

 Richie’s mom rushes back into the kitchen to face him. She’s red in the face, eyes on fire, but she softens at the sight of him.

 “Richie, sweetheart, I’m sorry we left you.” She cradles his face again. “Hey.” She holds him with both hands. “Listen. If anyone ever hurts you, you call me. If anyone ever so much as threatens you, Rich - ”

 Richie, choked up, interjects, “I didn’t know the number, mom. I don’t know where the little paper you wrote it on is, I’m sorry—“

 “It’s okay.” She looks at him for a few more moments, then swaddles him up in a big, mama bear hug. “I love you, kid. I hope you know that.”

 “I love you too.”

 For a few minutes, she just holds him, stroking his back while silent tears fall down his face and onto the chest of her shirt. She doesn’t seem to mind

 It’s late. Richie doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he’s on top of the world.

 He ends up at Eddie’s house, even though he knows they’re not talking and Eddie’s mom might kill him on sight, he has to see him. Mrs. K can go fuck herself.

 Outside the boy’s bedroom window, he raps quietly with his knuckles, just about buzzing with a high, high feeling toward life. He can see Eddie lying in bed, struggling to prop up a book to read, lamplight cascading onto his skin - that is, until he hears Richie, and flies toward the window with a crazed look.

 “What are you doing here?” Eddie asks, brows knitting together. “My mom will kill you if she hears you.”

 That doesn’t matter so much to him at that moment. “Eddie!” He swings his legs over the banister and jumps into the room, adrenaline and something like love pushing him to lift Eddie to his chest and spin. “Eds, my mom came home early and she kicked that motherfucker out of my house!”

 Eddie’s eyes are crazed from the spinning and he clings to Richie’s shoulder with his good hand; and he grins, a giggle caught in his lips. “That’s great, Richie. Fuck that guy.”

 “Yeah, fuck him! And god Eddie, she - she protected me, and we just spent hours together, watching movies and making dinner like old times, and it was amazing, and - god, I know I sound like a dork, but I - ”

 He pauses, mostly because he’s out of breath from machine-gunning a paragraph out of nowhere; but also because in his flustered state he didn’t register the sweet-cheeked smile that Eddie is currently melting him with.

 But when he does, Richie thinks to himself: sure, blue eyes are great; they can be compared to the sky or the ocean or whatever other cheesy nature bit all goddamn day. But Eddie’s eyes - hell, he doesn’t care if he sounds like a cornball - they’re fucking amazing. They usurp all of that bullshit. He’s used to them when they’re blown wide in surprise, or holding him in a steely glare for some dumb joke, and he loves them then; but right now he catches a kind of tenderness hidden in the dark. Something that envelops him in warmth and pinks his cheeks.

 Eddie takes the opportunity to pipe up. “Richie,” he says, “I’m really happy for you.”

 He means it. Richie knows he means it, because for the last several days, he’s heard Eddie mumbling to himself somewhat privately about ‘that piece of shit,’ and right now he’s clutching Richie’s sleeve and smiling without a trace of mockery.

 And he’s perfect.

 His tousled hair that’s rustled from what looks to have been a constant stream of fingers, stressed over the book or his mom or god-knows-what; the oversized t-shirt he’s drowning in and short shorts and perfectly matched socks; and those shining eyes and friendly smile and soft fucking hands that hold all the electricity of Richie’s excitement - all perfect.

 And Richie, Richie could just kiss him.

 He doesn’t.

 Mrs. K knocks at the door.

 “Eddie bear, it’s time for your nighttime oils!”

 Richie cracks a wise-ass smile. “Eddie bear, if I’d known you needed      nighttime oils, well, I would have come prepared.”

 “Get the fuck out,” Eddie says. The laughter catching on his lips tells another story.

 Richie throws an utterly charming wink in his direction and crouches in the window, preparing to jump out and make his escape.

 “Wait!” Eddie grabs the back of Richie’s t-shirt. “It’s cool that you stopped by. It’s - it’s been lonely in this hellhole. I might have gone insane if I thought you guys forgot about me.”

 “Aw, I’d never forget you, cutie.” Richie, stomach twisting and turning, supports himself with his forearm on the outside of the window. “And, anyway, I gotta practice my Romeo somewhere, right?”

 Eddie lets out a characteristic huff. “Whatever.”

 It’s quiet, save for the distant tweeting crickets, and the scent wafting through the nighttime is intoxicating, and for the following moments the world reminds them to just breathe.

 “You’re gonna miss curfew, Rich,” Eddie mumbles, leaning out the window on his elbows. And Richie hears it: you’re alone, you know what could happen. Stay safe.

 “I’m not afraid, Eds.” He means it. Richie can’t draw up what fear even feels like right then. With a flick of an eyebrow, he nods toward the door. “Mother is waiting.”

 “I know.” He smiles. “I’ll see you, Tozier.”

 Richie, without any reservations (until he thinks back on it later), reaches out as though to pinch Eddie’s cheek, but instead, runs his thumb along Eddie’s cheekbone. “See ya, Eds.” He smiles. “I’m gonna get you out of here someday.”

 Eddie shakes his head as Richie takes his hand away from Eddie’s newly red cheeks and makes his way back to the ground, muttering, “My hero.”

 And Richie looks back with a grin at the silhouette of the dork in the window, saluting before taking off

 It sucks when Beverly leaves.

 It’s an early morning, red and orange hues breaking across the skyline like a cracked egg, and Richie, Stan, and Ben all gather around to watch her disappear off to the nearest airport, and then disappear from them forever. Though it’s not nearly as mopey and depressing as it could have been, it’s hard to watch her go; a warm energy follows her as she hugs them all goodbye, looking at them with her all-knowing, crooked little smile, rolling her eyes but expressing more love than any of them had ever known, and Richie knows she means every word of loving and missing that she says. And he knows he’ll miss her more than anything.

 He does. Not much helps with the pain of missing someone, but as the days go by, pieces of her slowly slip from his mind, until finally she’s all gone

 New Years offers promises of ‘new me’s and resolutions and maybe some kind of peace. And considering everything, it’s the saving grace Richie thinks he needs.

 A chance to forget his uncle, the murderous clown that haunts his dreams, and his personal revelation that he loves Eddie Kaspbrak.

 It didn’t ruin their friendship by any means, just made his cheeks flush and heart throb and his rebuttals come back stutter-y when Eddie merely smiled at him. It was stupid textbook puppy love. He never thought he’d fall for that.

 And, he’s not gay. He can’t be, or he’ll have to pay the price.

 It's just that Eddie is his best friend. They’re all best friends, but Eddie never really stopped engaging with his exhausting jokes like the others, when it was finally too much. Eddie always bickered back, he took the bait and bit back. Eddie took him home when he got hurt and cared for him and then went right back to fighting.

 He loves Eddie the way he should love someone like Bev.

 But it’s nothing.

 The night is cutting, crisp with a fresh wintery bitterness, biting at Richie’s nose until it’s practically bleeding. To be fair, he’d opted to only wear one of his lighter jackets and some gloves, so it’s his own fault that his scalp is freezing over and he’s shaking on his way to the loser’s little spot in the meadow.

 At least his friends are smart.

 Stan sports a matching tartan hat and scarf, bundled up around his face so only the pinkish tip of his nose is poking out; Bill has a nice puffy coat and a hat with a bauble rested atop his head; Ben’s ushanka hat is wrapped tightly under his chin, and he waves at Richie with mittens keeping his hands warm; Mike is representing a lot of fleece, and he grins at Richie, shaking his head when he sees his lack of winter clothes; and then there’s Eddie, wearing a coat that has to be at least an extra large, and a knitted cap, bundled up so only his fussy eyes and nose are squinting out at Richie.

 In Richie’s defense, he was running late, and he had sprouted a little bit in the last few months, so his previously comfortable winter coat was now tight and painful in the shoulders and chest. This jacket was his best option in the 30-second long window he had to get dressed and run out the door to attempt to be on time.

 Stan levels a look at him, thoroughly appreciating his idiocy, and obviously not pitying his shaking form more than a quick flash of sympathy in his eyes; he cares, but Richie obviously brought this upon himself. The ensuing cold would be his own fault, and he’d call Stan to complain, just to grin quietly as the boy went on the calmest rant about how stupid he is and then hang up. It’s just how they worked.

 Richie wonders if he’d tell a potential partner that they should have brought a coat to a date if they complained of the temperature. It’s beside the point, but amusing.

 “C’mon man, you didn’t think about a scarf at least?” Mike says as a greeting, laughing a little bit as he removes his own and wraps it messily around Richie’s neck. In that moment, Richie would give up his life for this kid. The body heat/fleece combo immediately brings him back from the brink of a nosebleed.

 “Richie doesn’t think, period.” Stan sticks his hands in his pockets and stares at him, ghosts of amusement playing on his cheeks.

 Richie flashes his teeth in a big ol’ grin. “That’s pretty accurate, actually, I just wanted to be with you guys on time so badly, you know.”

 Bill lets out a small, unenthused, “Aww.”

 Richie simply chuckles and tries to wrap his fingers in Mike’s scarf to help with the inevitable hypothermia. Eddie winds up next to him in their gathering, sucking in a big breath through his nostrils and huffing out shortly.

 He bumps Eddie’s arm with his elbow and says, “What’s up with you, Eds?”

 Eddie nearly topples over from the size of the coat weighing him down, and he curses under his breath before standing back up and glaring at Richie. “You really didn’t wear a bigger coat, dumbass?”

 “As you can see, no,” Richie chuckles.

 Eddie presses his tongue into his cheek. “Well, you can share mine. It’s more than big enough.”

 Oh.

 Right, sharing a coat. That’s fine. No pressure or anything.

 Richie aims for a cool response, some funny voice or smooth and subtle, and lands on, “Yeah, cool. Thanks.”

 So, they share. And it’s pretty great.

 Eddie unzips it and pulls Richie in, and they collaborate to pull it up and then Richie is pressed up against Eddie’s side, in public, already sweating even though he’s still cold because he doesn’t know if he can handle this.

 Fortunately, they’re hidden by the dark, so maybe the boy or their friends won’t notice his red cheeks (or they’ll chalk it up to the cold) and the extra focus he has to place on acting normal. Because Eddie smells nicer than most boys their age, and he’s got a heart too big for his body, and Richie’s sure that Eddie loves him back in at least some way. It’s not just anyone that would get to be this close, squeezed into a coat with him.

 Richie feels sick.

 But the fireworks are starting, and they might be sparse and lackluster in the hell that is Derry, but each loser looks to the sky with love, with appreciation, in awe of the fact that something beautiful can apparently come from hell.

 Barely, just barely, Eddie’s head falls against Richie’s shoulder as they gaze up into the inky black sky illuminated by cakes of fireworks, and he whispers, “Wow,” under his breath right next to Richie’s ear, and now Richie’s contemplating between the two possible causes of his death: he combusts, or he stops breathing - to be determined.

 Richie begs the universe for advice in the ultimate predicament. And to his great relief, memories seep back into his brain; those of freckled cheeks, teeth balancing a cig as a mouth talks, and bundles of ginger curls bouncing as her head turns in his direction.

 “Bev would love this.”

 Riche catches the way Ben looks over at him pretty much immediately - at them, sharing body heat in Eddie’s coat - and then how the boy stares at the ground and mumbles a soft, “Yeah.” He looks back at Richie, holds his eye contact for a sweet, lingering moment, then gazes back at the sky, hopefully thinking of love as much as Richie is.

 Bill, Mike, and Stan all follow, tearing their eyes away briefly to make quick eye contact with each other, and then Richie, and Eddie even shifts to look up at him, and they all smile wistfully as though the girl is there with them, snarky remarks and toothy smiles keeping them all afloat. Richie feels like he’s going to break open and cry enough to fill the whole universe, so he sniffles and looks back up at the sky, breaking the moment of magic.

 But it remains with them.

 It remains as they share this together, as they enter the new year together, promising hope for a happier future as long as they stick with each other.

 And it remains as Eddie Kaspbrak takes his hand under the coat and murmurs, “Happy new year, Richie.”

[justatiredghost]

Living for the Moment Ch8 A series of glimpses at Klaus’ life if he’d met Dave in his mid 20s. His life isn’t magically transformed, love can’t fix either of them when they’re both homeless and in a bad place. They’re not even really ready for a relationship yet. But maybe a supportive friendship can set them on a better path, the two of them inspiring each other to take care of themselves. It’s going to be a long and bumpy ride, and the question is, when will they actually admit to themselves that they have feelings for each other? (Trigger warnings for this chapter: overdoses, nonconsensual drug use, references to sexual assault. This chapter deals with some pretty heavy topics and Klaus is not a reliable narrator and does his best not to care what happens to him. I tried to handle it all respectfully to avoid getting across the wrong message, but I’m open to constructive criticism if anyone has any.)

“You don’t have to do this, Klaus,” Ben said half heartedly, like he knew there was no chance he’d listen.

“What are you talking about, dear brother of mine?” Klaus said, glancing back at him as he made his way down the dark empty streets. “This is all I do, right? Fuck everyone over just to have a good time?”

“You know that’s not really what Vanya meant,” Ben said, but he didn’t sound so sure.

“Come on, Ben,” Klaus said. “You know this is what I’m best at, it’s where I’m meant to be, just accept it. I certainly have!” 

Vanya’s book. It came out while Klaus was in rehab. Thankfully he’d been able to get his hands on a copy so he could read what the world was learning about him and their family. He supposed he couldn’t blame her for it, dear old dad fucked them all over; good for her, finding a way to get back at him. 

And she’d been right about him, too. He was selfish and cruel, attention seeking and destructive to everyone around him. That’s why he was here, completely alone and living on the streets, after all; why he’d been headed for this life since he was twelve years old at least, probably younger. This was what he deserved, where he belonged. 

All he’d ever wanted was to have a good time and leave any hurt far behind, no matter the cost to anyone else. Why fight it when this was who he would always be, deep down? It was why he’d gone out and gotten high the moment he’d gotten out of rehab. Now, he just needed to find someone willing to buy him a drink or five. Time to ascend into oblivion because fuck everyone else, right? 

He wasn’t sure when Ben disappeared, but by the time he reached the bar, he was alone.

It took him no time at all to find a group of guys willing to buy him drinks. He even kindly offered to pick up the next round from the bar. See? He could be nice every once in a while. He grabbed one as the bartender filled up a tray for him, but he almost spit it out when he heard a familiar voice.

“Klaus?” Dave was there, heading over to him, and he had a huge smile on his face. “Hey, it’s so good to see you. I hadn’t seen you in a while, I was a bit worried.”

“Yeah, no, all good,” Klaus said. He was suddenly hit with how much he’d missed him, but this was the last thing he needed right now. “You know how it is. Got arrested for trying to steal snacks from a convenience store, got sent to rehab, the usual.”

“Oh!” Dave said in surprise. “Does that mean you’re--”

“Sober?” Klaus laughed. “Christ, no. I hit the town the moment I got out. How could I give up all of this?” he gestured with the drink in his hand, encompassing the entire room and beyond.

“You sure you’re doing okay?” Dave asked, because of course he did. He always was much too perceptive. 

“Are you kidding? Look at me. Never better,” Klaus exclaimed, smacking his shoulder. “In fact, I’ve already got a prior engagement I really should get back to.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Dave said, glancing at the tray the bartender had just finished filling. “I’ll let you get back to it, then. Hit me up some time. It was really great seeing you. Glad to have you back.”

It was much too tempting to abandon his plans and follow Dave instead. But he needed to get wasted until he forgot his own name, with people who didn’t know or care about him. He needed the danger and the excitement, and he needed to be selfish. He deserved this sort of happiness. Or, well, numbness. The closest he ever really got. He’d almost forgotten, hanging out with Dave so much, but this was where he belonged. It was better alone, his only responsibility was to himself. 

Things never seemed to work out for him, thought, so of course he realized too late that one of the guys had spiked his drink. Usually, he wouldn’t really care. He’d downed spiked drinks before when he was low on drugs and desperate enough for anything that might chase the ghosts away, but he’d already taken too much. He was tempted to ignore it, it didn’t really matter what happened after all, but somehow he found himself seeking out Dave instead.

“Dave! Hey, buddy, old pal,” Klaus slurred, stumbling into him on the dance floor.

“Klaus,” Dave exclaimed, but his smile immediately turned to concern as he reached out to steady him. “Are you okay?”

“Psh, yeah, totally,” Klaus said, waving a hand dismissively even as he swayed on his feet. “I was hoping to ask a teensy favor of you, is all.”

“Of course, anything,” Dave said much too readily, his hand on his arm comforting and Klaus couldn’t help but lean into it. But that was probably just because he was really drunk.

“Well, you see, it’s actually a pretty funny story,” Klaus forced a laugh. “I was having a drink with those guys over in the corner there. You see them? Never mind, it doesn’t matter. But I’m pretty sure they slipped me something.”

“They what?” Dave demanded and Klaus could hear the anger in his voice.

“No, no, it’s totally cool, really,” Klaus hurried to reassure him, unsure why he looked so grim. “Normally it wouldn’t be that big of a deal, but considering everything else I’ve taken tonight, I am just a little bit worried about what sort of reaction it might have.”

“What else did you take?” Dave asked urgently. Klaus’ vision was already blurring, his attention wavering, and Dave put a hand on his shoulder to try to get him to focus again. “Klaus? What did you take?”

“I wish I knew,” Klaus laughed. “So, anyway, if you could just call me an ambulance, or something, that’d be great.”

“Yeah, come on, let’s get you out of here,” Dave said, putting his arm around his waists to support him as they made their way to the exit.

“This is nice,” Klaus said, probably leaning a little too heavily against him, letting him practically carry him along. His limbs were just suddenly so heavy. “We should do this more often.”

But Dave didn’t say anything, he didn’t even joke back. He seemed too focused on moving forward, getting through the crowd. As they pushed through the back doors into the night, he was about to get his attention, to try to lighten the mood or at least get Dave to stop looking so serious, but suddenly Ben was at his side.

“Klaus,” he said urgently. “Klaus, they’re coming.”

“Who?” Klaus asked, before realization hit him. “Oh, shit, look out behind—”

He was cut off before he could finish his warning to Dave. They must have been hit from behind, because Klaus fell heavily to the ground and he had a dazed moment where all he could think about was how nice the cool pavement felt against his cheek. And then everything went dark.

-

Klaus woke with a pounding headache and a pain in his gut. He groaned and brought a hand up to press against his forehead as if that might keep his brain from breaking out of his skull.

“Musta been a wild night, huh, Ben?” Klaus said into the silence.

“Klaus?”

But that wasn’t Ben’s voice. And now that he was paying attention, there was an irritating beeping coming from nearby. A heart monitor. He forced his eyes open and looked around the room in confusion. He was in a hospital, and that alone would have been enough to make him feel sick with dread, but then he spotted Dave sitting in a chair next to his bed. He looked absolutely exhausted and had a black eye and a bloody lip.

“Damn,” Klaus said. “What the hell happened to you?” 

“You’re the one in the hospital bed,” Dave chuckled, but it sounded fragile, like he was barely keeping it together.

“Those guys who drugged you,” Ben said, suddenly standing behind Dave. “They jumped him when he tried to get you out of there.”

“Shit,” Klaus said, scrubbing his hands over his face. “You weren’t supposed to get involved.”

“Of course I’m gonna get involved,” Dave said and there was a little too much passion behind his words. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, fine. Yeah, great,” Klaus said quickly.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. I definitely owe you one. If you want, I could--”

“That’s not what I meant,” Dave interrupted. “I didn’t help you because I wanted you to owe me. I’m just worried about you. You acted like it was no big deal that those guys drugged you. Does this sort of thing happen often?”

“Um,” Klaus said, glanced around the room as if it might hold the answer to what he was supposed to say. He even glanced to Ben who was no help as usual. He just couldn’t figure Dave out so he didn’t know what answer he was looking for. It was so much easier with Diego to find the right words to get him off his back, make him uncomfortable, but with Dave, he just didn’t know what to expect. He always seemed to be able to sidestep his distractions and see through his dismissiveness. 

“Look,” Dave said when it was clear he was struggling to reply. “It’s fine, you don’t have to talk about it, but you shouldn’t have to go through that, either.”

“It’s no big deal,” Klaus groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. 

“Yes, it is,” Dave persisted. “I know it’s a dangerous world out there, but you don’t have to do this alone. If you want a wing man, or something, you can let me know. Like tonight. We go to a lot of the same parties anyway. Let me help you.”

He wanted to point out that he’d planned on going home with those guys anyway, that they didn’t need to drug him. He wasn’t even really sure why he’d gone to Dave in the first place. He’d made worse decisions in the past, after all. He wasn’t an idiot, he knew how to survive on the streets, but he also didn’t care about consequences. This was what he did with his life, how little disregard he had for his own wellbeing. He was a coward and a disappointment and Dave really should have seen that by now. 

And yet he was still here, still trying to help him for some reason. And suddenly Klaus was just too tired to push the issue. He didn’t want to admit all that to Dave, to see him look at him with disappointment like everyone else. This was the life he was meant to live, but he didn’t want that for Dave. He didn’t want to hurt him of all people. He wish he knew why Dave was different, why he cared.

“You’re making yourself such an easy mark, you know that?” Klaus said, because, as usual, joking was so much easier.

“Only for you, babe,” Dave said and, fuck, did he have any idea what that smile did to him?

He didn’t know how to deal with this. He didn’t know how to deal with any of it. This man was too good, too kind. He shouldn’t have to put up with someone like Klaus. And to top it all off, Dave even helped him sneak out of the hospital. 

[prettyboy-parker]

starker abo: homecoming

warnings: emotional and physical abuse (nothing explicit!), smut at the end, implied thorki, mentioned sambucky

words: 3.7k

“Jesus, he’s such a fuckin’ crybaby. I feel bad for Quentin.”

Everyone turns to look at the table across the cafeteria. Peter Parker, the world’s snootiest omega, is perched on top of the navy lunch table and bawling his eyes out. Loki, a lithe snarky omega, is patting under Peter’s eyes with tissues. His usual posse huddles around him, cooing at and petting him.

“I don’t. His performance in bed probably outweighs his attitude, if you catch my drift.” Sam snickers and Bucky punches him in the arm. The alpha lets out a whine and rubs at his shoulder. “Hey! What was that for?” He snaps at his boyfriend. Bucky just narrows his eyes. Tony finds himself looking at Peter again. He seems to have calmed down a little. His friends usher him out of the cafeteria, no doubt to help him fix his makeup. Tony could gag at how fucking prissy the omega is.

“You okay, Tony? You look a little pale.” Steve says, and Tony can’t believe he’s actually concerned.

“Jeez, Steve, I’m fine. Your motherly instincts take over?”

The table howls with laughter.

“Good one, Stark!” Thor booms and Steve rolls his eyes. Tony sends a wink at Steve, a group of girls heading towards their table emerging in the corner of his eye.

“Steven,” Peggy, the beta exchange student from England, pipes up. A few of her friends giggle behind her. “Would you come with me? I have to talk to you.”

Steve nods wordlessly, trailing behind her like a lost puppy.

“He’s smitten, I tell ya’.” Bucky slurs, tossing a crumpled napkin at Sam.

“Idiot. I’ve got to piss, see you in Calc.”

Sam groans and Rhodey shouts “TMI!” Tony passes a table of girls on his way out, and they all call his name. He shoots them a wink, opening the double doors to the hallway. It’s actually quiet in the hallway, aside from his combat boots thunking on the linoleum floors. He fishes through his leather jacket’s pocket, looking for his cigs, when-

“Watch where you’re fucking going!”

Tony stumbles back as he knocks into, well, none other than Peter Parker. He looks like he’s going to cry again as Loki lifts him off of the floor. The tan-skinned beta flips him a bird as they walk away.

Great.

✨👑✨

He can’t believe Quent would ever say that to him. For one, he’s not a slut. He’d never cheat on Quentin, he knows that, so why did he say it? Two, Quentin’s lucky no one was around to see Peter’s tears.

What he can’t get over is how Quentin touched him like that.

He’s heard of alphas hitting their omegas, but it’s always been an old wive’s tale, or whatever. He guesses that Quentin’s just stressed. He didn’t do so hot on his Pre-Calc test, so maybe he has some pent up anger.

Peter needs to send him some flowers.

By the time he gets back to his apartment, he’s already tried calling Quentin three times to apologize, but the alpha never picked up. He drops his Vera Bradley book bag on the floor with a heavy sigh.

“Hey, Peter! How was school?” Uncle Ben asks from where he’s seated at the kitchen island.

Peter breaks down into tears.

Uncle Ben takes him in his arms, holding him close. That’s the thing about his uncle, whenever he’s upset he just lets Peter cry it out, never asking for an explanation. Peter appreciates when his aunt gives him advice, he really does, but sometimes it’s nicer just to be held.

“I’ve got Halotop ice cream that’s calling your name.”

Peter giggles softly as Uncle Ben ruffles his hair.

Soon enough he’s cuddled under his silk sheets, a carton of peanut butter cup ice cream in his hands. In the midst of watching Cady and Janis mix together foot cream, his phone rings.  “Quentin 💕💕” lights up on the screen over a very flattering picture of his boyfriend.

“Hi,” Peter answers quietly.

“Hi honey, I just-um-wanted to say I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean any of it.”

“It’s okay Quent, I was a bitch too. I’m sorry.” Peter responds quietly, stabbing his ice cream with his spoon.

“You kind of were. I’ll catch you tomorrow, okay?”

“Bye, love you.”

“Bye.”

Peter hangs up the phone, feeling emptier than before.

✨👑✨

“Anthony, you are not wearing that.”

Tony smirks and adjusts the collar of his leather jacket.

“Don’t worry, dad. I know Peter. It’s all good.” He replies, running a hand through his hand. Howard clenches his jaw.

“Come on, boys. We don’t want to be late.” His mother calls, ushering the two to the car. Howard still looks pissed as he climbs into the driver's seat, Tony scrolling through Instagram as they drive to the Parker’s. A picture of Peter appears, the omega posing on the hood of a cherry red ‘65 Thunderbird. His long, milky legs are displayed by his tiny red running shorts. A sliver of his toned stomach is exposed by his cream Coca Cola crop top. His almond hair looks like it’s blowing in the wind. Red heart-shaped glasses frame his face perfectly. The caption reads “Taste the Feeling! ♥️♥️”.

A small part of Tony wants to taste him.

He ignores that part.

“Now you behave, Anthony. This deal is important, we’re paying Benjamin a lot of money for his program.” Howard reminds him.

“Yeah yeah,” Tony replies, rolling his eyes and itching for a smoke. They pull up to one of the apartment complexes in the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Tony begrudgingly follows his parents, the elevator operator nervously pressing the buttons.  The elevator brings them directly to Peter’s penthouse because of course, the Parkers have a penthouse.

“Oh, hello!” A voice exclaims from the kitchen. He stands awkwardly until Mrs. Parker emerges from the other room. “Welcome, all of you!” She exclaims, giving his mom a hug.

“Oh, Anthony, I remember when you were just a baby. Your mother came to me for a dress for a gala, and she brought you along. You’ve grown into such a handsome alpha.”

Tony flushes, embarrassed. His mom laughs loudly and pinches his cheeks.

“Peter should be down soon, he always takes forever to get ready.” Mrs. Parker complains, pushing her glasses farther up her nose. “Benjamin is picking some whiskey from the cellar. Why don’t you come sit down?”

Mrs. Parker leads them to the living room, where the couches are covered with blankets and the fireplace roars. Tony sinks into the knitted blanket, sighing heavily.

“Oh, goodness, I’m sorry I’m late!”

Peter Parker is at the top of the steps, in a tight, glittery maroon dress, looking like an absolute vision.

“Come down, Pete.” His aunt calls with a smile. The omega’s heels click on the hardwood staircase as he comes downstairs. He’s prettier up close, a silver glittery barrette holding his curls out of his face. Gold glitter is swept over his cheeks and eyelids.

“Anthony,” He says, scrunching up his button nose. Tony winks at him. The only empty seat is next to the alpha, so Peter daintily sits down on the couch. He smells divine, like expensive floral perfume mixed with the sweet scent of omega.

“You can call me Tony, you know.” The alpha purrs under the voices of his parents and Mrs. Parker. Peter rolls his eyes.

“Dully noted.” He snaps back, but Tony just laughs.

Dinner goes on slowly and Tony keeps his mouth shut. Peter’s definitely checking him out (or maybe that’s just Tony’s ego.) During the meal of lamb and beef, Tony notices a bruise blooming under the hem of his dress.

The omega gives him a glare and adjusts his collar.

✨👑✨

“Did you hear? We’re being assigned partners this time.”

“Ugh, gag,” Peter grumbles, tapping his pink pen on his pink notebook.

“I know,” Loki responds, eyes glancing to the back of the room. “I hope I get paired up with Thor, though.”

Peter smiles and picks at his cuticle.

“He better ask you to homecoming. I’m blackmailing him if he doesn’t by Friday.” He says nonchalantly, eyeing the burly blonde in the back of the room. He’s laughing about something with Anthony.

“Peter. I’ll beat you to it, you know that.” Loki jokes. Peter nudges him in the shoulder of his dark green sweater. The class quiets down when Ms. Hill steps into the room.

“Good afternoon, everyone. As you may have heard from the other classes, we’re starting our quarter project.” She announces. “I’ll be assigning you into partners, and you’ll be researching the impact and achievements of a Chinese dynasty.”  

The glass groans, a few pairs of eyes flicking around nervously.

“Calm down. It’s senior year, you should all know each other by now. I’ve already have your partners, so listen up...”

Peter studies his French manicure as Ms. Hill calls out their names. He gives Loki a wink when the teacher pairs Thor with him for the Tang Dynasty. It’s getting to the end of the list, and Peter’s worried that Ms. Hill might have forgotten him, then-

“Tony and Peter. Song Dynasty.”

The omega dies a little inside.

“Alright, get to work! Rubrics are on my desk, get brainstorming!”

The class disperses into a flurry of noise and movement. Tony slowly stalks over to him like the douchebag he is.

“How about you get the rubric?” Peter suggests, but it’s more of an order than anything. Tony smirks and places his pencil on the desk next to Peter.

“Anything for you, princess.” He teases, causing the omega to flush a bright red. Peter doodles in his notebook until Tony gets back with two rubrics.

“Song Dynasty. I’m fuckin’ pumped.”

This actually makes Peter giggle a little bit.

“Calm down, Anthony.” He quips back, a small smile on his face.

It turns out the two work together pretty well.

Tony’s definitely not a slacker, and had avid ideas that Peter wrote down. They settled on a comedy-style presentation. (Which Peter would neverdo, but who can say no to Tony’s puppy dog eyes?)

When the bell rings, Tony walks him to his next class, like a...gentleman.

Who knew?

✨👑✨

“Good morning Midtown! I’m Peter Parker, your SGA President.”

Tony turns his attention to the T.V in the hallway. Peter sits at the newscaster desk, in a navy and white tennis polo, a matching headband pushing back his curls, and two big pearls adorning his ears. Tony could purr, but he pinches himself. There’s no way he can be falling for Peter Parker.

No way.

The entire hallway goes silent, in awe of their queen on the screen.

“A quick reminder-next week is spirit week! The days are posted on our Instagram and around the school. Don’t forget to buy your homecoming tickets. They’re being sold all week in the cafeteria. Thanks, and have a wonderful day!”

Everyone resumes their conversation.

Tony slams his locker shut.

✨👑✨

“Oh god, you are not making me ride that.”

Tony laughs loudly and tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

Peter stands with his arms crossed over his baby blue Chanel sweater. His pink lips are turned down into a frown, button nose scrunched like it always is.

“I am. Unless you want to walk?” Tony coos, handing his helmet to the omega. His honey eyes glance down at the black helmet, then back up to Tony.

“You’ll keep me safe?” Peter asks quietly, his bitchy facade dropping. Tony’s eyes widen.

“Oh, of course, Pete. I’d never let anything happen to you.” The alpha responds, genuine care in his voice.

“Well, then let’s go, slowpoke.” Peter huffs, placing the ill-fitting helmet on top of his curls. Tony chuckles and straddles the bike, waiting as Peter slowly wraps his arms around his torso, resting his cheek on his back.

“Hold on!” Tony calls as he starts the bike, causing the tiny omega to yelp. They leave school, weaving through the cars and students. Peter shouts directions to his house in Tony’s ear, the alpha smiling as the wind whips behind him. They eventually arrive at Peter’s apartment complex, parking his motorcycle in the garage for the occupants.

“That sucked,” Peter grumbles, but-Tony sniffs the air.

Peter’s turned on.

He’s about to crack a joke, but stops himself. Peter looks at the ground, embarrassed.

“Sorry. Didn’t bring my car.”

Peter tries to hide his smile.

The omega brings him up to his penthouse, heading to the kitchen to grab something to eat.

“Do you want anything, Tony? I’ve got...quite a lot.” Peter asks, grabbing some wheat crackers and spread from the fridge. Tony shucks off his leather jacket, placing it over the back of the chair. He runs his hand over the cool marble counter.

“I’m good, but thank you.” He responds, pulling his notebook out of his bag. Peter shrugs, grabbing his book bag.

“Suit yourself. Let’s go upstairs, my aunt will be home soon.” He tells Tony, not sparing him a second glance before heading to the staircase. The alpha rushes behind him, narrowly avoiding an expensive looking vase. They turn right down the hallway, pictures of Peter at all stages of his life on the walls. One catches Tony’s eyes, a little baby Peter with a big blue bow on his head, smiling as he plays in a pile of leaves.

“Please don’t touch anything, Anthony.” Peter sniffs when they reach his room, pink exploding in Tony’s vision. His room is huge, perfectly cleaned and organized. There are pictures everywhere, Peter smiling with his friends. A king-sized canopy bed sits in the middle of the room, expensive silk pillows arranged with care. Peter plops himself on the ground, spreading out his papers.

”Your room is...nice.” Tony comments, sitting on the ground next to Peter. He's still overwhelmed by the omegan aroma filling the room.

”Thank you.” Peter says softly, clearly pleased.

”Should we get started? I had some ideas about how we should present the civil service exam.”

They get a big chunk of their work done but end up talking about everything butthe Song Dynasty. Peter’s actually really fucking smart, wanting to study biological engineering in college. He's down to earth and an absolute sweetheart when he's not surrounded by the student body.

And he's really fucking pretty.

”I know! Fury is such a hardass!” Peter exclaims through giggles, tears coming out of his big doe eyes. His curls are a mess, splayed underneath his head.

Tony isn’t thinking when he reaches over and thumbs away Peter’s happy tears.

The omega blinks in surprise, but-

sucks Tony’s thumb into his mouth.

Tony growls loudly, removing his thumb from Peter’s mouth with a pop, leaning down, and pressing his lips to the other’s. The omega is everything Tony thought he would be. Sweet like sugar, with the remnants of the crackers on his tongue. He hums happily as Tony picks him up, pulling the smaller into his lap.

“Tony-“

“I fucking like you, Parker.”

“Tony,” Peter whispers as the alpha lightly drags his fingers over his bare thighs. “Tony, I have a boyfriend.”

“He doesn’t deserve to be your boyfriend, Peter.” Tony says, almost frantically. “He-He fucking hurts you.”

Peter flinches at his word choice.

“He doesn’t. It’s none of your business.” The omega breathes, avoiding Tony’s gaze.

“Peter, please tell someone. Or break up with him, I don’t care.” The alpha pleads, taking Peter’s hands in his. The omega rips them away.

“He loves me. Please drop it.”

Tony bites his tongue.

✨👑✨

“Loki, your bow is crooked.”

Loki rolls his eyes and spins around.

“Then fix it, Peter.”

Peter laughs and straightens the blue bow that holds his black, silky hair out of his face. It’s Class Colors Friday, the seniors getting their rightful color of blue. Harley takes a bite of his sandwich, looking over Peter’s shoulder.

“Uh, Pete? Quentin’s coming over here, and he looks mad.”

Peter turns around, seeing his boyfriend heading towards him with a scowl on his face. Peter pretends to light up, giving him a small wave. Before he can greet the alpha, he’s grabbing Peter by his cheerleading jacket.

“You fucking slut,” He growls, blue eyes narrowed. “You sleeping around with Stark now?”

Peter whimpers as his breathing picks up.

“Quent, you’re making a scene.” He whispers, tugging at the alpha’s sleeve gently. Quentin grins menacingly.

“Am I, now?” He chuckles, pressing a kiss to Peter’s cheek. “That’s high praise coming from a drama queen like yourself. Have fun finding another homecoming date.”

With that, Quentin pushes him back, and storms out of the cafeteria. Peter follows him, ignoring the shouts from his friends.

“Quentin, baby, wait!” The omega calls out once they get into the hallway, causing the alpha to spin around.

“Is it true? You made out with Stark?”

Peter’s bottom lip quivers as he stays silent. Quentin sighs exasperatedly, clenching his fists tightly.

“You deserve everything I did to you, Peter. And I hope you fucking know it.”

Peter doesn’t see his, well, ex-boyfriend, leave through his tears. He shuffles off to the omega restroom, trying to keep his mascara from running. He sifts through his purse for his little packet of tissues, dabbing at his eyes frantically. The door swings open, and Peter expects Loki and Harley, but the smell of smoke and musky alpha fills the room.

“Shit, Peter, I’m so fucking sorry,” Tony says quickly. Peter just whimpers and cuddles into the alpha’s torso.

“You were right,” He cries, breathing in deep breaths of Tony’s scent. The other boy strokes his curls, shushing him. “And now I don’t have a homecoming date, and all my friends do, and senior year is just going to suck.”

Tony sighs deeply from above him.

“I can go with you, if you want.”

Peter looks up into Tony’s deep brown eyes.

“Are you asking me out, Anthony?” He teases, poking the alpha’s cheek. His eyes widen in surprised.

“No! Not at all. I’m just saying, if you wanted to, I’d be willing to go with you.”

Peter laughs and kisses him.

✨👑✨

Tony’s so fucking nervous.

His hands shake as he grips the stupid plastic corsage box in one, ringing the doorbell with the other.

Mrs. Parker opens the door.

“Tony. Come on in. Peter will be down in a second.” She says with a glint in her eyes. Tony follows her into the apartment, perfectly clean, like always.

“Let me see,” Mrs. Parker smiles, leaning over to look at the corsage in the box. “He’ll love it.”

Speaking of him-

Peter Parker appears at the top of the steps.

Tony’s mouth parts subconsciously. Peter looks-Peter looks stunning. His dress is a cherry red that matches his lipstick, all lace and off the shoulder. He walks down slowly, smoothing the skirt of his dress.

“Peter, oh my god, you look beautiful.” Tony sputters as Peter gives him a peck on the cheek.

“And you look handsome,” The omega responds, thin fingers adjusting Tony’s tie. “You bought a corsage!”

Tony laughs, opening the box and picking up the white rose. He adjusts it on Peter’s wrist as the other boy pins a white boutonniere to Tony’s lapel.

“Perfect,” He coos, pressing another kiss to Tony’s jaw.

Mrs. Parker gives him a quick, threatening talk as Peter uses the bathroom. Peter fake swoons when Tony opens the passenger door to his Audi.

They’re the perfect pair.

They take pictures and dance and kiss and it’s everything Tony could ever dream of. Peter wins homecoming queen, as he should. He looks divine on stage, sparkling tiara on his curls and smiling wide.

“Alpha,” Peter whines, 30 minutes before the dance ends, making Tony’s heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, baby?” Tony responds, grinding his hips forward against Peter’s ass, a quiet ‘oof’ falling from his lips.

“Can-Can we go back to your place? If your parents aren’t home-“

“Fuck yes.”

The car is thick with the scent of arousal, the mixing of their pheromones making Tony crazy. They’re on top of each other once they make it inside.

“Tony, where’s your room?” Peter moans as Tony nibbles on his neck. The alpha doesn’t respond, instead lifts the smaller into his arms. Tony rushes upstairs, making sure he doesn’t drop Peter. They collapse onto the bed, Tony pressing his lips to Peter’s. He tastes delicious, as always, and Tony can’t help but moan. He pulls off of Peter, shucking off his suit jacket as Peter stands up.

“Alpha, can you help undo my dress?”

That phrase sends a jolt of arousal to Tony’s dick.

He obeys, thick fingers tugging the silver zipper down. Peter steps out of the dress, his freckled back on full display, as well as his delectable ass that’s barely covered by white panties. In awe, Tony runs his fingers over the pale stretch marks littering his flesh.

“Is that- are they too gross? Quentin always said t-they were ugly.”

Tony’s speechless.

“No, no, baby,” He coos, spinning Peter around so he can see his face. His doe eyes shine with oncoming tears. “You’re fucking beautiful, you know that? You’re the sexiest goddamn thing I’ve ever seen.”

Peter giggles shyly, flushed.

“Fuck Quentin. He’s a pussy, not a real alpha. He never deserved you. You’re perfect, my little omega.”

They make love.

There’s nothing else to call it-not fucking, not sex. Peter rides him for everything he’s worth, tiny cock leaking against his stomach as his thick thighs straddle Tony’s. The tiara stays on, his curls becoming damp with sweat. Tony doesn’t last long, he pops his knot too early, but he doesn’t mind, since Peter is right behind him.

“Tony?” The omega whispers after Tony slipped out of him and cleaned them up.

“Yeah?” The alpha responds, breath hitting the back of Peter’s neck.

“I fucking like you, Stark.”

Tony laughs, pulls Peter closer under the covers, and kisses him.

[theliterateape]

How Zero Tolerance Policies in the 1990's Caused Our Modern Puritanism

by Don Hall

The notice was posted on all four doors entering the school. On pink (or maybe fuchsia) paper, in block letters big enough to read from the curb was the headline: ZERO TOLERANCE POLICY.

Underneath this draconian bark was a list of behaviors by students that would now result in immediate suspension. The list included everything from chewing gum in class to bullying other students. It was a laundry list of control. The policy took away any teacher discretion when dealing with kids who might need a bit and aped the attitude if not the specific policies of President Clinton's recently passed omnibus bill known as the "Violent Crime Control and Law Enforcement Act."

The school was now officially tough on crime.

Except most of the list of offenses hardly felt like crimes. Most were venial sins at best. I knew the gum chewing thing was from our librarian. She was a nasty woman who had, over a career that lasted thirty years or so, learned to love books but hate children. And, man, did she hate them. Every faculty meeting she brought up the gum chewing, the gum stuck under the desks, under the chairs, in the pages of the dictionary. She was a woman obsessed.

Effectively, the jackboot of authoritarian rule had descended upon the necks of children.

At the next faculty meeting, I argued that this was not going to solve the problems we had but make them worse.

“The kids who are already following most of the rules will continue to. The kids who break them will now only break them more.”

“Just because that’s how you would react doesn’t mean the children will,” replied Mrs. Johnson, a math teacher who ran her classroom like Mussolini ran his trains.

She was right about me—I bent and broke rules like it was my personal creed. Somewhere along the line of two-year old baby cussing his mother out in a grocery store—

The story is somewhat legendary in my family but the gist of it was that my then seventeen-year old mother took me to the store. She set me in the cart like you do with babies. As we rounded a corner, my little monkey hands grabbed a bag of Pinto beans. She put them back.

“We don’t need beans.”

“I want those fucking beans!” I screamed.

“We don’t need the motherfucking beans!”

“Gimme the FUCKING BEANS!”

All the while, the spectacle of a toddler cursing like a veteran about Pinto Beans and his child-mother cursing right back at him likely caused many adults in the place some measure of dismay

—and being hired to teach seventh graders about music, my compass was almost always pointed a bit west, a bit east, but rarely due north.

Mrs. Johnson was wrong about the kids.

Just as I thought, the students who were already prone to chewing gum, tagging the bathrooms with markers, gathering in loud packs in the hallways, and picking on the smaller kids flaunted the fact that ZERO TOLERANCE just meant they were suspended and sent home more often. The students who were on the rule-following side got angry. They tattled more often. 

“Jerome was tagging the boy’s locker room!” “Tanya is chewing gum!” “Billy Hash flipped me off and called me a fag!”

The school had just north of 1,500 students and two security officers. These two were hopelessly outnumbered. This meant that it was up to the teachers to enforce this new policy while also trying to, you know, teach.

The librarian loved the policy and her new role. In her opinion, less kids in the library was a good thing and certainly less work. Mrs. Johnson suddenly found herself in the hallways more than her classroom and started complaining that we needed more security officers on school grounds. I, typically, decided to ignore the policy and, as I had before the notices, use discipline as a series of teachable moments.

Granted, my discipline was creative.

Billy Hash spent a day with wooden popsicle sticks and packing tape on his hands affixing his ‘fuck you’ fingers up and saluting for a day to teach him to avoid flipping others off in school. Instead of suspending Jerome, he spent the day washing off tagging all over the school with brill-o and soap. I solved the gum chewing thing (at least on my floor) by creating a ‘gum sculpture’ that any kid caught chewing was required to contribute their mastication object upon.

What I expected was that either I’d get written up for ignoring the policy or that the policy would fade away as so many of these sorts of policies do. When the work involved in policing a thousand+ students becomes more than the benefits usually it just goes to background.

What I didn’t expect was that my rule-following students would add me to list of offenders.

“Mr. Hall didn’t suspend Javier for pushing Gabriel in the hallway!” “Mr. Hall let Maria call Julia a bitch!” “Mr. Hall was supposed to kick Billy Hash out of class instead of just talk to him!”

I wasn’t the only teacher in the building trying to use these moments to educate the monkeys on how people behave in civilization so I wasn’t the only teacher tattled on but I was the one most targeted because I had spoken up against the policy in the first place.

Soon it wasn’t just the kids calling me out. It was their parents, too.

“I understand that ‘wetback’ is a racial slur and that Billy Hash should never use it. I also think Billy is thirteen-years old and is not so far gone that he can’t be taught that rather than instantly punished for it.”

“That’s bullshit! My daughter will not be called names at school. That Hash kid is a fucking monster and should be in a prison instead of a middle school!”

“I hear you. Did you know that Billy’s uncle is in prison right now? And that his dad just got out? I’d like to hope that with a bit of education and compassion, we could help him avoid the same fate.”

“Fuck that! Isabella doesn’t feel safe in class! This school has a zero tolerance policy and we expect you to follow it!”

Isabella would be roughly thirty-six years old now and would classify as a Millennial. Her kids are the protocol-typical Gen Z crowd. Both she and her kids seem to operate still with this zero tolerance policy in mind. They have become the hall monitors for their collegiate experience, the snitches of social media, and the ‘Karens’ of every Walmart and Starbucks in America.

It’s our fault they’re like this.

We taught them with our zero tolerance policies to forego context or nuance and call for maximum punishment for even the slightest of mistakes. We taught them that the only teachable moment is expulsion, the only appropriate response to insult is absolute exile, and that one should always ‘call the manager’ before accepting any sort of slight.

They are the children of Purell, the offspring requiring helmets and knee-pads, the progeny who, because we didn’t want them to feel pain or discomfort, feel it in every interaction.

Billy Hash was suspended after multiple infractions. Mrs. Johnson was thrilled as was our librarian. They couldn’t stand Billy. Sure enough, a few years later, Billy dropped out of school and graduated into a cell in Joliet, Illinois. Carrying on the family tradition as it was set out for him.

We let Billy down. We let Isabella down.

Now they come for us. They grew up believing in the Puritanical resistance to redemption and no second chances for mistakes. They grew up believing in zero tolerance. Go ahead. Make a joke about George Floyd or rape or climate change. You will reap the whirlwind of what we were sewing.

You will be met with zero tolerance perhaps even written on pink (or fuchsia) paper.

[louuieferrignojr]

missing puzzle piece

summary: tk gets sick

ao3 link 

“TK, you alright?” Owen asked his son, looking at him as he washed one of the trucks. TK had been looking pale all morning, and trying not to look like he wasn’t breaking out into sweats.

“I’m fine Cap. Don’t you have chemo soon?” His son questioned back. 

Rolling his eyes, he gave his son an unimpressed look. “Not for another three hours, but nice try.”

“I’m perfectly capable of washing the truck. It’s just hot in here,” TK responded, ignoring the fact that no one else was sweating through their uniforms like he was.

“Well then, I expect that truck to be done soon and then you can help me make lunch for the team.”

“Are you sure you want him to help make food Cap? The last time he tried to make grilled cheese sandwiches for everyone, he burned them all,” Judd joked. 

“Dad?” Owen looked over at his son, who suddenly looked very out of it and confused.

“TK?” He quickly walked over to his son, but not before TK’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed to the floor so quickly that no one could catch him. The rag he was using to clean the truck now on the floor next to him.

“I got him boss!” Judd exclaimed leaning over the younger man. He felt TK’s head and swore. 

“He’s burning up, we need Michelle.” He lifted TK up from under his back and knees and carried him over to the bunk room. 

“I’ll get her Cap,” Marjan stated, running over to the locker room where she knew Michelle was. Just as quickly as she left, she came running back with the EMT captain in tow and Michelle looked at TK with concern. 

Using the smelling salts she had on hand, she put them under TK’s nose to try and wake up. He groaned, opening his eyes but before he could say anything, his eyes widened and he turned to the side of the bed and threw up. The team winced and Paul went to get a mop and bucket for the mess. Mateo, Marjan and Judd went back to their duties, knowing that TK wouldn’t want them all around him. 

He felt himself being gently pushed back onto the pillow and he looked up at his dad through tired eyes.

“Wha’ happened?” 

“You passed out. You sir, seem have a stomach virus and need to go home,” Michelle stated.

“But -”

“Hey guys,” a new voice startled the three of them and Michelle and Owen turned around to see Carlos. His facial expression would have been hilarious as he went from looking happy to confused as they looked at him. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked tentatively, before Michele and Owen moved away from the bed to show TK looking like a ghost. From how pale he was, he could give Casper a run for his money.

“This one,” Owen pointed to his son, “has a stomach virus and needs to go home. Our shift isn’t over and I have chemotherapy in a few hours, so I can’t watch him.”

“I’m fine dad,” TK mumbled from the bed before he leaned over the bed again and lost more contents of his stomach.

Paul having just come in with the mop and bucket groaned at the bigger mess, “Really, man?” 

“M’sorry,” TK apologized tiredly. 

“I can do it. Watch him, I mean. I had an early shift so I’m done for the rest of the day. I can bring him to my place,” Carlos suggested. 

“Perfect. He just needs some ginger ale, some saltines and water. He needs to stay hydrated. Make sure you get him something from a pharmacy that’s over the counter that will help an upset stomach,” Michele stated, before turning to TK. 

“You need to rest. You should be better in a few days. In the meantime, stay home,” she said sternly, but gave the younger man a gentle smile.

“What am I gonna do with you kid?” Owen said, ruffling TK’s hair.

“You’d be lost without me,” his son said, smiling softly before he let out another groan.

Carlos moved towards the bed, helping TK up and towards his car. 

With how slow TK was moving, it took them twice as long just to get to the car and he let out a breath of relief as he was situated in the passenger seat. 

“Here,” Carlos grabbed a paper bag from the backseat and handed it to TK, “in case you get sick again.” 

“Thanks,” he responded softly before closing his eyes and leaning against the headrest. 

Carlos closed the door gently and walked to the driver’s side. Getting in, he looked over at TK and smirked. He was already asleep, soft snores coming from him. 

He made a mid stop at the local pharmacy getting the medicine that would settle his stomach, and grabbed a bottle from ginger ale and a box of saltines from a nearby bodega. Throughout the entire trip back to his apartment, TK slept. 

TK was in such a deep sleep by the time they got into his driveway, he didn’t even wake up at Carlos accidentally slamming his door loudly.

He went to the passenger side and opened the door, gently shaking TK awake.

“Wha’?” TK asked, his voice laced with sleep. 

“We’re at my apartment. Come on,” Carlos said softly, helping TK out of the car and letting him lean on him as he got him inside his apartment. TK was more asleep than awake, but as long as he could walk, Carlos didn’t mind being his support. 

Before helping him get settled in the bed, he went about the task of helping TK take off his uniform, only leaving him in his t-shirt underneath. He went back to his car to get the medicine, crackers and ginger ale and came back to see TK getting sick into the garbage can near the bed.

“Here. I have some medicine for you to take,” Carlos said, moving towards the bed and handed TK the liquid medicine. TK groaned at the taste, but leaned back onto the pillow.

“I’m s’rry,” he slurred. Carlos raised an eyebrow at the apology.

“It’s not your fault you’re sick,” he reminded him.

“No. For walking out.”

“TK, it’s fine.” Their last hook up was two weeks ago and it had been radio silent between them and neither knew how to navigate whatever semblance of a friendship that may have still had.

“It’s really not, and I’m really not fine and I didn’t want to tell you because the only person who knows is my dad and I didn’t want to be a burden to anyone else.”

“What are you talking about TK?”

TK pushed himself up, and tiredly looked up at the older man.

“Before we came here - in New York - I had a boyfriend, Alex. We hadn’t been together long, but I went all in with the relationship and thought we should take the next step. In the back of my mind, I knew I was going in too fast, but I thought when you know, you know right?” Carlos could only nod, trying to follow where this was going.

TK let out a wet laugh and Carlos looked at him in concern, “What happened?”

“I had a date planned and I was going to propose. Except, he was apparently in love with someone else.,” He let out a hollow laugh, “when you made the comment about the dinner not being a proposal, it took me back to that night…” He swallowed before he continued, “the night I almost killed myself.” 

It went so quiet in the apartment, you could hear a pin drop and Carlos could only look at TK with worry and concern.

“Killed yourself?”

“A few years ago, I got in with a bad group of guys in college and did some things I’m not proud of - alcohol, drugs, you name it. I had been clean for years, but I couldn’t handle Alex’s rejection and I went to find a dealer I knew from college and I took a bunch of pills. My dad found me, or my dad and our entire team did. I’ve been going to AA meetings since I got here, but I’m a mess Carlos.”

“A beautiful mess,” Carlos responded, taking TK’s hand in his own. 

“I’m damaged,” he said bitterly, trying to pull his hand out of Carlos’ grasp.

But Carlos wouldn’t let him, “You’re a puzzle TK. A puzzle who is missing some pieces, but I’ll be there when you find them and I’ll pick you up again when you may fall apart. Just as friends or as something more. Whatever you want. The ball is in your court.”

“Can...can you hold me?” TK asked, suddenly very nervous. Now he didn’t know if he was sweating from this conversation or his illness. 

“Of course, but let me get you a glass of ginger ale first to help your stomach some more. We can cuddle and you can sleep.” Carlos all but ran from the room, leaving a flustered TK behind in bed. As he waited for the other man to return, he went back to his thoughts.

He never imagined telling Carlos about his addiction, but he was glad he let someone other than his dad in. If Carlos could help him in any way, he appreciated it.

Carlos came back into the room two minutes later with ginger ale and a small box of saltines. 

“Here you go,” Carlos offered the glass to TK and TK took it gratefully. His stomach felt a bit better with the ginger ale and he took a saltine out of the box and took small bites of it before settling in bed.

“You coming?” TK asked, smirking as he lifted the covers to let Carlos into the bed. The other man let himself smile, before getting into the bed. 

“Scoot over,” he said, waiting for TK to make room, “come here,” he continued, before letting TK lean on his chest.

“M’comfy,” TK mumbled, and Carlos let out a laugh.

“Sleep TK.” 

The only response he got was a soft snore and he smiled to himself.

What a beautiful puzzle TK was and he couldn’t wait to find his missing puzzle pieces. Little did he know that TK already found one of his in him.

[forcedsense]

People always get so offended when I tell them that I’m allowed to call myself an idiot/dumb/whatever but theyre not allowed to call me that and then get mad at me if i call them out on it while playing games oe whatever (not abt the rpc this is abt the rl ex friend lol) and im just like;;; we might share autism but heres the thing, I’m allowed to call myself an idiot bc i live with myself. You’re not allowed to insult me because a: its rude, and b: you’re literally calling me an idiot due to my not having a sense of direction and play styles due to my disabilities.

The very fact people STILL dont understand why insulting someone for their disabilities, or flat out saying ‘your lack of attention just proves youre the worse xx player ever!!’ is literally just ableism and offensive is why i have trust issues and am tired of other people. I am allowed to joke about my problems because I have to live with them, and in manyways yes I am just an idiot, like how I was an idiot for not realizing that a grown ass man one month younger than me always relying on me to pay for shit to do w him, guilting me out of things i want to do because he decided it was stupid, insulting half the shit i liked saying it and anyone who enjoys it is stupid, regularly using the R-slur when something dumb is done/happens (ableism aGAIN), refusing to get a license because he ‘doesnt feel like it’, doesnt even try to get a job anymore after a few rejections (which, I’ve applied hundreds of places and never even received a rejection, so im starting to wonder the validity of those statements too) and saying its because his mother wants to force him into one, abusing his siblings by screaming at them and gaslighting them constantly, but I’m the idiot and the asshole because I’m disabled, or I don’t always think first before soing things (which has led to my doing shitty or stupid things, but I have the remarkable capability of admitting when I was wrong unlike these fuckheads who, when you flat out explain in detail what they did wrong, claim youre gaslighting and abusing them when youre telling them its inappropriate and wrong to guilt trip, be ableist, insult others intelligence, and ignoring when people ask you to stop, and all the times he joined my streams and would use my birth name after I asked him not to and to use my pen/alias, always accounting it to ‘forgetting’ but after 30+ times of being told, its no longer forgetting, like thats just putting unnecessary risk and ignoring personal preferences. I won’t even go into all the bitchfits about ‘gender discussion’ or anything because it still makes me sick and gave me severe imposter syndrome for my body dysmorphia.

Respect the disableds wishes, We should not have to explain this to you. Basic human decency should just be a given, and someone telling you in detail why what youre doing is wrong, and ignoring it and repeating it again (I’ve told him before that insulting me, calling me names, and otherwise hurt my feelings and I don’t want to risk any relapses. He ignored these and continued, he’d screencap my making mistakes and putting bad things in the wrong chat, and when I would apologize for what I did when I was wrong, he’d still hold it over my head and claim I suicide baited when I didn’t. I say whats happening and assume its fine since i was always there for him when he needed me, even after he actualy suicide baited me by claiming my using a joke on him he repeatedly used on me made him suicidal and that i owed him an apology, ive literally been walking on eggshells for years and finally not having him in my life has actuallybeen so much more freeing than I ever thought it would be. )

Disabled people are very often the centerfold of abusive relationships because we’re so used to the mistreatment that its almost a fucked up comfort, we feel like our complaining about mistreatment is us ‘overreacting’ because the able bodied constantly convince us it is. That we’re always the problem whether we make mistakes or do something bad and that our apologies are always fake and wrong, but when people do horrible things to us we’re not owed an apology, rather we always owe them. It’s fucked up and wrong, and honestly exhausting. We’re not punching bags to make the able bodied feel better about themselves. Whats fucked up is hes also autistic, and should know better, but is so self possessed that all the friendships hes lost and regained over the years have never been his fault, he was always ‘being abused’ by everyone, everyone somehow is always in love with him and gaslighting him, and ive come to terms with the fact its a mental fuck up of a self centered individual so narcissistic that he cant handle the idea hes ever in the wrong.

If I talkedabout this to people, they would claim I was in the wrong for not worrying about his feeings more or ‘putting up with it because it helps him feel better, he goes through a lot at home’. Being treated shittily doesnt give you a free pass to abuse your supposed friends. His dads a piece of shit and his mom (who honestly was an amazing person as far as I saw and his siblings would talk about. but he personally always claimed she’d turn into a monster randomly for saying he should get a job or try to succeed in life, and for applying for jobs for him that e purposefully failed the interviews for. These are the exact reasons he’d bitch about her, and occasionally because he’d overhear hee claiming he was wasting his life, which is horrible to hear but still does not excuse insulting your friends, belittling their success, insulting them for their disabilities, and going through your friends for supply and then dumping them and ‘accepting them back after they apologize’ whenever you need more validation. My family life is fucked to high heaven and I still try to be kind to people, I still try to educate people, and I still do my best even if I fuck up. And when I fuck up, I own up to it and apologize. Something people always ignore and pretend never happened, because to them the disabled are incapable of apologies.

Stop talking over us, stop treating us like shit, and stop purposefully hurting us, our feelings, insulting us, and using us to make you fee better. We are not punching bags, we are real people with real issues and all your shitty behavior does is add to it.

[polygamyff]

58. Part 6

I have found Nalah, now I have found one person within this building, but I don’t know where Maurice is “isn’t it boring not being able to party right?” Nalah said, pulling the chair out “trust me I know. I feel like I am boring” sitting next to Nalah, I don’t think I am boring, but I have a lot to think of. I have a lot on my mind, good and bad “stop it, we are pregnant buddies. You could be me, ducking from my baby father too” she added, she got a point. I am still searching for Maurice in the crowd, I mean he can’t have gone far “Nalah..” I drifted off “you think things have changed for me after today?” this is a serious question because I feel the difference, the looks and glares. My phone is blowing up, just a whole mess I don’t know “probably not the same no, I mean you are now more exposed and connected to the company more then ever before. I mean yes you are doing your own thing, but you have the likes of Jay Z working with you, you telling me people are going to see you as normal? You have Bey hugging you, the Saudi prince shaking your hand with the utmost respect. The pictures are all there, and then you have my brother praising you and showing you off. Honestly, shit won’t be the same, Robyn I couldn’t find a decent man! They were with me for the name, not me. I always struggled, even now. My life is not normal, they also didn’t like the power I held, they found me to be dominant, but my dad bought me up like that, and then when they met my family Maurice would scare them. So, I ended up with Shawn and even he is useless. It’s hard Robyn, and I would be lying to you if I said that life would be the same, no it won’t. It’s something Maurice needs to help you with, from being a normal girl to having your name known, it’s annoying. And with you, they want to use you for modelling, people find you beautiful and you are. But also, they find it a mystery on how you got this jerk to be so in love. My brother was a jerk. But don’t worry about it, take it a day at a time, you are strong” I cooed out, I didn’t think Nalah saw me as that “I am slightly scared, I feel like people hate me when I did nothing?” it’s crazy “you married a billionaire out of nowhere, if they hating and they are girls, then they wanted him” nodding my head slowly.

“Bingo” I said to myself, I found the man himself “hello ladies” oh god no, why is his mom here. She really hates me, harassing me to the death. Joy sat down with us “I thought you went home with dad?” Nalah said “he can snore on his own tonight; I am here to party with my son. Look how happy he is, he’s always happy when he’s intoxicated” glaring at her “I mean who would find that a good thing?” I had to say it “yeah mom, that is weird. He is simply happy” Nalah agreed with me “oh you piped up, since she is around she has nothing but broke this family apart” my eyes bulged out “me!? Your family was broken anyways, you broke this family when you fucked Marquis’ brother!” I shouted, Joy’ eyes widened in shock “oh god, please not now” Joy is not uttering a word “I am sick of you coming to me, telling me about me and how I should be careful. Bitch I think you need to be careful; I fucking think you need to take that money you got and run! You run as fast you can, we all know about Malik. If you were such a good mother then what happened to Malik, Nalah this has to be done. You don’t fucking speak on my man like that again. He is having fun; you are jealous of your own kids!” I pointed, Nalah grabbed my hands “Robyn, please let’s not do this now” Joy got up from the chair, she needs to be scared “get of my face” I am so angry right now.

Joy stormed off “I am sorry Nalah, your mom has been chasing me and harassing me telling me that your family are going to kill me, I need to be careful. She is trying to plant seeds in my mind, trying to scare telling me this is just the start. She thinks I am her; I am not here for the money. I feel bad because that is your mother though” Nalah sighed out “I am not close to my mother at all, she is there. But I can imagine she has been doing that, she finds you a threat. I know she does. She sees that you came in, you have made a point when she has been struggling for that. You have no prenup and that annoys her, she said it to me and has been telling my dad to tell Maurice off. When I was sat there she said that Maurice is making a mistake, she will bleed the company dry she is a nobody but my dad said so were you, just that I didn’t want to do that with you” Nalah drifted off looking behind me “oh god, she is harassing Maurice now” looking behind me “oh god” quickly getting up, Nalah ran ahead of me but in these heels I am not running for anything, knowing my clumsy ass I will fall. Seeing Matt running over “no, leave it. Just don’t make it worse, it’s just a disagreement!” I shouted over to Matt, when there are too many people then it just gets worse “ask her! She is right there!” Joy shouted, Maurice looked at me and this man is sure as hell intoxicated “saying I enjoy being intoxicated” he slurred out, my mouth fell open looking at Joy “you are a fucking liar” I lunged pointing at her “Robyn! Robyn, no stop it” Nalah grabbed my hands “Maurice that is untrue, mom you lied. You said it about Maurice now please can we just calm down. We look crazy” moving back looking at Maurice “you believe that?” grabbing his arm, he is so out of it “no, what!? Look I don’t know, I just want to party” frowning at him “I said the same thing but she said you are a concern, she came at me earlier too Maurice” Joy said, I want to kill this bitch “Maurice, listen to me. Listen” grabbing his arm “she has been telling me that your family will kill me, she is threatening me, she is manipulating us. She is" oh god, now I am going to cry “why you crying? What the fuck, why you crying” this is too much, he is out of it and now I look like a liar “because your bitch of a mother is lying and you stood there staring at me like a fucking fool. Get rid of her now” Maurice groaned out “y’all niggas are annoying, leave me alone” Maurice walked off not before he near tripped over himself “mom go, this was not nice at all. You lied, I saw it” staring at Joy “next time shut your mouth” she smiled at me saying “ignore her Robyn, we all do” walking off, ignore her she is a fucking maniac and they are out here just saying ignore her. She is running wicked in this place.

Drying off my hands “my niece not tired yet” looking in the mirror, I forgot about my auntie “you are still here?” throwing the paper towel in the trash “yes, I never left. I rubbed shoulders with Jay Z, I shall not wash this dress, I tried to bag myself an Arab man too. What a life to live Robyn!” I sniggered “not exactly” another cubicle door opened, I didn’t want to say much “oh hi” the white lady said “hi” I breathed out “I am Marquis’ sister in law” letting out an oh “you look so sweet, I love the dress” she complimented me “thank you” smiling at her “I am Robyn’ auntie” here she goes, she should come with a business card “I can tell, you all look so beautiful” moving to the side to let her get a paper towel “do you live in Texas?” I asked “I do, it’s lovely there. I mean I do love coming to Cali, but Texas is my home” nodding my head “is it a big family? The Davenport family” she dried off her hands slowly not saying a word “it’s a big family yes, I have been married to Freeman for twenty seven years now, we were young when I met him. There has been a lot of trouble but what do you expect with such a big family right. We like to keep things close to us, I heard you are getting married though, welcome to the family. It’s nice to have a new face to the family, we all lose a little normality when you enter this family” nodding my head slowly “we heard that you are very headstrong with a beautiful heart, that is what Marquis said, must be nice to be that headstrong and have an opinion in this family” I smiled faintly “he is a sweetheart, but it was nice to meet you” let me not dig into the family too much, this is something Maurice should just tell me.

I really want to go, but with Maurice. I just went outside to get some air but I will now try to get Maurice to leave with me this time around. Making my way back inside, oh great that stupid cousin of his, he smiled at me as we walked by each other “oh, hold up” he said, turning around “I just wanted to say, I love the length of your legs. I understand Maurice’ pleasure in wanting you” my face dropped “what crack do you family members smoke, that is rude as fuck” I said in utter shock, he laughed “it’s a joke, come on. But if Maurice ends up dying early, I can take his place also” am I in a nightmare because if I am, I need to wake up “don’t look so shocked now” he laughed as he proceeded to walk off, I need to get out of here because what the fuck is this, is his family all out to fuck each other over and make sure things are a mess. Yes, I am done, I need to go. Applying lip gloss on my lips as I made my way back into the hall, I don’t care if he is half wanting to stay here he is coming back with me. Placing my lip gloss in my bag and looked around me “Robyn! Girl, the party is amazing. Congratulations to you also” Ally raised her glass to me “thank you, where is Maurice?” she may know something “not my problem, out of office hours” she danced away from me, it’s like I am living in this nightmare and everyone is nonchalant towards this “hey” I jumped “Jay” I breathed out “just come back from your mothers home, everything ok here?” he asked “no, I need to find Maurice. I need to leave with him, there is a lot of backstabbing and shit floating around, it just seems like I have been ditched and I have his family members getting at me and he is there getting drunk” Jay placed his hands on my shoulders “I am here now, it’s ok. We will get this dealt with” I thank god for Jay “where is Lenny? He was supposed to be with you” Jay asked “I said I was ok, he left. Not his fault” I should have kept him close “I am going now Robyn, but it’s been nice” Shawn said as he was walking by “hey! Shawn!” I shouted; he knows this family more than me.

We stepped outside to the reception area with Jay “I know you and Maurice aren’t speaking much but you know this family more than I do, I have been harassed!” I spat “yeah, I saw that they were celebrating with Maurice, I mean celebrating in quotation marks. They don’t like dude but bought drinks for him, shots to celebrate. They got him drunk, one was ok but then it kept coming. Doesn’t shock me that they harassed you, it could be a ploy to get at you, that wouldn’t shock me. Nothing really shocks me with that family to be honest. I mean first of all; this is full of them. I have never been to an event where every single person in that family all came. I mean in someway they need to ruin his day or even him” Shawn shrugged “Joy has been starting on me the worst, she lied on me too to Maurice and it was like he just didn’t care, like he questioned me when I said I didn’t. Joy and I have been going at it anyways. This can’t be normal Shawn” he laughed “keep your man close to you Robyn, get him home. I wish I could say they are normal, they not. The rich are the most fucked up people, get him home. Sober him up, get to business. Jay keep her safe though, just go home now” Shawn walked off.

Jay pointed “he’s there” he is sat down, is he done from partying now “thank god” I said under my breath, I want to beat his ass while he’s at it though. Walking around the tables, his head is bobbing around so much, he is very drunk then “Maurice, hey” lifting his head up with my hands “wow, where you been Bon?” he laughed lazily “let’s go home, come on. Jay help him up” Maurice laughed “I like this song! I’m still in love with you” he sang, Jay held him up. His shirt is all untucked, tucking his shirt in “do you have your mobile with you? You got everything” I am not even sure if he will be even able to walk, putting my hands in his pockets. He has his phone and some paper, pulling the paper out from his pocket “hey, hey. Who is this beautiful girl?” Maurice slurred out laughing “wait, who are you?” seeing the note, frowning at the mobile number and a love heart. Looking up at Maurice, he is slapping Jay’ face laughing “get me her number” he said and near fell forward but Jay got him, folding the paper back up “come on” I am not taking this literal at all because it could be anything, but I would like to know who puts love hearts on a number. Maurice is laughing looking at me “ah, it’s wife. One, one. Two” he touched his chest “good, can we go now” I just want him asleep and back to normal.

[somebridgesburn]

almost is never enough

2,383 words

loosely inspired by “Details” by the extremely talented Maisie Peters and the mess that apparently is my life

warnings: lots of alcohol, slight mentions of adult content, Shawn kinda being a dick

***

„We might not be something but we sure as hell aren`t nothing“

***

Shawn’s a Grammy – nominee now. Not a Grammy – winner but a nominee nether less.

And he can’t lie, he does feel a little proud when they announce him like that.

She can’t help but raise her eyebrows at him, sitting on the couch with his eyes glued to the TV, grinning to himself. Nerd.

„Feeling a little proud, don’t you?“

He looks startled for a moment when he sees her but then he gives her that big Shawn grin. (and she tries to ignore that thing in her chest, she really does)

He opens his mouth, searching for a cocky reply when another arm slings around Aspen‘s tiny shoulder and whips her into a big bear hug.

„Jo, Aspen! Good to see you, dude!“

He watches Brian and Aspen exchange pleasantries, catch up with a small smile before turning back to the TV.

***

Shawn`s brought a girl.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary, really.

He meets someone, they talk, he brings her along a couple times until he doesn’t.

Aspen figures she doesn’t like this week`s girl. Her hair‘s a little too bleached and her laugh‘s a little too loud. Especially when everyone knows that Shawn’s dad jokes aren’t a tad bit funny.

So she doesn’t understand, she really, really doesn’t, when he doesn’t drop that girl after a week, or a month even.

He actually seems to quite like her.

„Probably just because he finally found someone who laughs at his lame jokes.“

Aspen doesn‘t like the way her voice is laced with bitterness, too, and she‘s relived too see that Ian, who is sitting next to her in the small nook of the bar, either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

***

They’re hanging out at Brian‘s and they are talking girls. Aspen doesn‘t mind it too much. Being in a friend group that mainly consists of boys, it’s only a matter of time until they start talking about who got laid, when, where, by whom

As I said, she doesn’t mind it. It`s gross but entertaining nether less and she loves to tease the boys with it. She doesn’t mind it until they start talking about Shawn.

“Our boy`s pretty happy these days, eh?”, Ian comes up from behind and shakes Shawn`s shoulders.

“No wonder, man. He`s finally getting laid again!”

The guys are laughing as Shawn blushes.

“It`s not like that!”

“C`mon dude, you really wanna tell me you guys haven’t fucked?”, Brian chimes in, “Cause I´m pretty sure I heard you last Saturday.”

More laughter, more blushing. Aspen should take this as her cue to flee into the kitchen. She doesn`t.

“It`s like, yeah, but-”

“See! That`s what I thought, man.”

“We`re not just fucking, man. It`s, she`s... different. She`s something, I guess.

“Yeah, we`ll see about that in a week.”

Ian shakes his head, grinning and Aspen silently prays he`s right for once.

***

He’s not really her ex -boyfriend.

They almost dated in sophomore year but then there was Lauren and then the whole world knew his name and he knew Taylor fucking Swift personally.

So no, he isn’t her ex-boyfriend he just a big, unnerving almost.

***

She likes to watch him, always has. Not in a creepy way but in a way that she notices when his eyes wander around the room, not matching the big grin on his face.

At least she doesn’t have to feel as stupid anymore, now that millions of teenage girls seem to love to do the same thing. Or maybe she feels even more stupid for being the same as those obnoxious fan girls.

She shakes her head, no, she’s not. She doesn’t treat Shawn like some kind of god or follows his every move over Twitter. She just sometimes wishes she could feel his lips on hers again.

***

They’ve kissed a couple times. At some of the house parties they had had, when the guests started to clear out and only they’re close friend group was left, all of them sitting outside, cuddled up in each other.

Or when they were in the club with the bass rattling and sweaty bodies on bodies and tequila being downed like water. All hands, all lips, all over.

Or a lot of other times. (Aspen could name every single one, she’s sure Shawn couldn’t)

***

She is sitting on her bed, eyes glued to the screen in her hands, thumb hovering over that blue button on Shawn’s girl Instagram account. Her name‘s Kendall,  which is just as cliché as her description. She tells herself it’s no big deal, they’re acquaintances after all. Only that Aspen hasn’t exchanged a single word with her, not even when Shawn introduced them.

Still, she knows her favourite brand of cigarettes and what kind of music she listens to and that she thinks self-tan is gross because Shawn can’t shut the fuck up. She hates it, she really does. She also thought about getting him duct tape for Christmas as a warning that the next time he can’t keep his mouth shut himself, she’ll literally tape it shut.

The next time they’re at his place and he tells them Kendall forgot her hair brush there three times in a row, she regrets she didn’t.

She turns off the phone lets herself fall backward in to the mattress. She closes her eyes. Then she sits up again and presses the follow button.

***

Once, they all met up in Toronto. Aspen could smell the summer air and the liquor and Shawn’s jacket on her shoulders as they were roaming through the streets. They were bar hopping or whatever but ended up in a park anyways. Now, they were passing vodka bottles on a playground and Brian and Ian had a competition who could swing higher. Shawn and her had a bet which one would throw up first.

“They stars are pretty.”, she says as she leaned back, feeling the soft grass on her skin.

She was that nice kind of drunk where she was a bit more than tipsy but not completely hammered either.

She didn’t know about Shawn but he doesn’t look as if he’d throw up any time soon either when he laid down beside her with his arm around her.

“You’re pretty”

Before she had time for a sassy reply his lips found hers. It was sloppy and a bit lazy and felt somehow different than the other kisses before. She couldn’t quite put a finger on it yet.

She doesn’t remember how long they had laid there, on that fucking playground, wrapped up in each other and stealing kisses.

She does remember laying in bed, retracing every single kiss, every single moment moment than once.

***

They were at the bar again. It`s nearby and it`s cosy and it`s got a karaoke machine. It doesn’t happen often that all of them get together, with Shawn being an international pop star and the majority of the others going to college all over the country.

College starts again soon and Aspen is stressed as ever but right here, right now, sitting with her friends in that grubby nook, laughing, it`s perfect.

That one waiter with gelled hair and obviously whitened teeth makes his way to their table again to bring them yet another round of shots, not without giving Aspen a lopsided smirk that made her stomach twist a bit like he had all night.

And then he does something Aspen hasn’t expected for sure. He leans on the table and drapes his arm around the back of her chair. He`s close enough for her to smell his cologne.

„So um, I get off in five. Wanna grab a drink or something?“

He is so desperately trying to look cool, Aspen has to control the urge to laugh, or roll her eyes.

“Nah, thanks, i‘m good actually.”

She doesn´t even really smile at him like she usually would, trying to make it obvious that he should just take the hint. And he does.

The waiter opens and closes his mouth for a moment before giving in, leaving without a word in the end.

“Eyyy, Aspen! Come ON! That waiter was, like, really cute.”

She flincheds when Brian roughly slings an arm around her.

“Really cute, eh?”

“Yeah, dude, like hot, like, really hot, like, you should get his number, man! He was totally flirting with you the whole evening.”

She watches her friend drunkenly gesture with an amused grin.

“Well, if he’s that hot, maybe you should get his number!”

The guys breake out into roaring laughter as Brian openes and closes his mouth, just like the waiter earlier, before raising his hands in surrender.

Aspen laughs with the guys when she meets Shawn’s stare. For the first time in a while, she can’t read his expression.

***

There’s that one Friday night. They were at a club and the ground under her had been spinning for a while now when she pushed open the door to the ladies` restroom. She gripped the sink with her hands. The mirror above her was shattered, she wouldn`t have dare to look into it anyways.

Brooke found her there, head hung over the sink, shallow breaths echoing from the tiles. She pulled her hair back before she realised that no, Aspen wasn’t trying not to throw up, she was trying not to fall apart.

It took Brooke one and a half hours and two bottles of water to figure out that it’s Shawn. Shawn and some blonde he‘d been making out with under the lights.

And usually, it wouldn’t matter, really, Aspen assured her. But maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was the fact that last Friday he cradled her in his arm with millions of stars glistening above them and she almost hoped. (she keeps that part to herself though)

She went - Brooke dragged her - home then without saying goodbye and emptied her insides over the toilet bowl until she didn’t feel quite as sick anymore at the thought of Shawn.

She’s said a lot of stupid things that night, half-lying on the dirty tiles. She doesn’t remember a lot but she does remember slurring we might not be something but we’re sure as hell aren’t nothing over and over and over again.

She’s shocked to find she’s never said anything more true.

***

He hasn’t written a song about her, ever. Sometimes she wishes he would, so she could at least have something, a piece of him, a piece of his mind, so she‘d know he thinks about them, too, even a little bit. But he doesn’t.

So she stands and watches him sing about his one night stand to the Rogers Centre, full of screaming girls.

It’s fascinating, really. Most of the time, when she isn’t reminded by the amount of girls he attracts wherever they go or his ridiculously large condo, she forgets that Shawn, the boy who had the same blue pencil case all through Middle- and Highschool and copied her chemistry homework every Tuesday, is actually a pop sensation.

Looking at him now, standing on stage, guitar in his large hands, sweat dripping off his forhead, it’s hard to imagine he ever does anything else.

He kisses Kendall, first thing, when he comes off stage, laughing and sweating, and she hates her a little bit for it.

It’s kind of intoxicating when he hugs her. Her heads spinning, chest’s clenching, cheek‘s are burning. She pulls away, wants to say he’s amazing, she’s never seen anything like that, she’s proud, she -

„You stink.“, she says instead.

He laughs and her head spins a little more.

***

They’re at Ian‘s this time and Aspen is just getting Brooke and herself a refill, when she feels something warm against the small of her back for a moment. She turns around to see Shawn laughing with their friends a few foot away.

She knows this game. It starts with their fingers, hands, shoulders lightly brushing against each other, seemingly accidental. A few shots later, he‘d wrap an arm around her waist, shoulder, hand gripping her hip. He‘d pull her into his lap then, first chance he got, and nuzzle his head into her neck. And then it was only a matter of time until her back was pressed against a wall with his hands on her ass and her tongue in his mouth.

It’s not different tonight and she already feels his breath against her neck and his arm locked around her waist like he‘d actually keep her. And she lets him.

He takes her hand, interlocks their fingers and pulls her with him.

She lets him until she feels a wall against her back and hands behind her neck and lips on hers. Then she pulls away.

“You’ve got a girlfriend.” She`s a little breathless already and she loves and hates it at the same time.

“No, I don’t. Me and Kendall, we’re not like, dating or anything.”

She flinches at the sound of her name.

“But you`re something.”

He hangs his head and she knows she’s won. She doesn’t now if she actually liked to win. It`d be so easy to just give in to him, revel in the feeling of his lips against her neck, it`d be be so, so easy. Okay, no, she doesn’t, not at all, not even a little bit.

But it’s the right thing to do, so she licks her lips and tosses her hair and lifts her gaze to meet his, a strand of his thick curls falling into his face.

„We can’t do this as long as you’ve got someone“

„I know“

But he looks like he really doesn’t.

He doesn’t tell her he’s gonna call it off, whatever he’s got with Kendall, and she knows he won‘t.

For a moment, she wants to tell him, word vomit all of these feelings, these fucking feelings that aren’t even really feelings, that she’s kept, bottled up for far too long but she doesn’t.

She watches him leave, walk through the door, raising the beer in his hand and laughing with their friends as she leans against the wall of the hall, embracing the coolness, focusing on her breathing.

They might be something but they won’t ever be enough anyways.