#now back to our regular ACAB

[luaminesce]

I feel like Broadchurch could've been improved if Eillie Miller had gone full Dimitri "is this some kind of twisted joke" mode at the end of s1.

[perotovar]

bloody kisses — part one: less than zero

pairing: shane morrissey/tim rockford rating: E (18+) mdni word count: 5k content: vaguely takes place in the 00s, age gap (shane is 23, tim is 40), internalized homophobia, hurtful names (fairy boy, faggot, queer as a slur, etc), a gay porn magazine, lots of references to peter steele of type o negative (and his playgirl issue), male masturbation, acab, some angst, if i missed anything lmk! dividers: @saradika-graphics beta: @chronically-ghosted (ily ♥)

summary: shane has been in denial about himself for a while. newly single and with the help of one of his favorite singers, he opens his eyes to a new venture he could possibly take: the cop he sees on a semi-regular basis, detective tim rockford.

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The kid was a fucking regular at this point.

Tim just happened to be in the station every time the kid got caught. Maybe he was doing it on purpose, who knows. 

And God help him, Tim sorta liked the little shit.

“Don’t you ever get tired of coming here, Shane?”

“I told you, my name is–”

“I’m not calling you that and you know it,” Tim sighed exasperatedly, rubbing a large hand over his face. “Why did you steal the magazine?” Tim’s voice was almost bored when he asked.

Shane stayed quiet, picking at the chipped black nail polish on his fingernails. He was looking down, chains jingling from how quickly he was bouncing his leg. Was he nervous? Tim didn’t think the kid was ever nervous. Or, well. Acted like it, at least.

Shane Morrissey, twenty-three, twenty-four next month, was found at a convenience store stealing an issue of Playgirl Magazine. Tim wasn’t judging, but his reading on the kid veered off in, well, the other direction. He had the vibe that Shane could go either way; either aggressively straight, or trying to cover something up.

“Look, I really don’t care why, kid. I’m not going to… judge you, or something–”

“Whatever, old man,” Shane sneered, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away from him. “Can I just get my community service and go?”

Tim quirked a brow and crossed his own arms over his chest, standing tall behind the chair pushed into the interrogation table. Tim had asked Ron to turn the microphones in the room off. Tim knew the kid better than anyone here, and he knew Shane wouldn’t talk if he knew he was being recorded. Or he’d go off about aliens or “drones” or whatever other bullshit he came up with next.

Shane wasn’t an idiot, Tim knew that. Shane knew that. He just had a hell of a wall put up.

Tim sighed and pulled the chair out. He spun it around so he could sit on it backwards, arms perched on the top. “Kid,” Tim started. “Listen, I’m not going to do anything. It’s a fucking magazine and this is New York City. Your little theft is pretty far down the list of my priorities right now.”

Shane actually looked a little offended, looking at Tim incredulously.

“I’m going to let you off with a warning this time. And to be honest, I don’t want to see you back in here anytime soon, okay?”

“Aww, kicking me out? Thought you liked our little chats,” Shane batted his eyelashes, an exaggerated pout on his lips. He rolled his eyes after that and rested his chin in the palm of his hand, bored.

“I said I didn’t wanna see you back in here, Morrissey.”

Shane looked at him, big brown eyes squinted accusingly.

Tim reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, digging out a business card. He slid it across the table until it was next to one of Shane’s hands. He didn’t really know why he was offering this to Shane. Well, he did, but he couldn’t really say, ‘I see a lot of myself in you,’ without Shane taking it the wrong way. This wasn’t one of Shane’s normal petty crimes. Shane didn’t strike him as the type to steal this sort of thing. He’d vandalize the side of a building or go on joyrides. Things that were mostly just annoying. This magazine was… different.

Tim had his fair share of this sort of thing. He got into being a cop because he got caught when he was in his twenties. He was angry at the world because people didn’t accept him, so he lashed out. He got the feeling that Shane was the same way. Things were different in the 80s, so hiding this part of himself worked for Tim. He didn’t want Shane to feel like he had to.

“If you wanna talk, give me a call, okay?”

Shane rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to say something, but Tim held up a hand to cut him off. 

“I know, you don’t want to call a cop, but I promise I’ll be off duty. I’ll just be Tim when you call, not Detective Rockford.”

Shane blinked at him before a giggle bubbled out of his mouth. “Your first name is Tim?”

It was Tim’s turn to roll his eyes. He sighed heavily and got up, pushing the chair back in. “Or don’t call me, whatever, kid. I’m just saying, if you need someone to talk to about… anything, just. I’m all ears, alright?” He kept things vague on purpose. Once he was back at the interrogation room’s door, he turned back around. “Seriously, I don’t wanna see you back in here again, alright?”

Shane raised his eyebrows, eyes wide as a mocking facial expression crossed his features. “Whateverrr,” he sighed, standing from his own chair. He looked down at the business card on the table and picked it up as the door clicked shut. He rubbed his thumb over Tim’s name before stuffing it in the pocket of his leather duster.

He hastily left the interrogation room and made his way toward the exit, but was stopped by a secretary.

“Shane Morrissey?”

Shane cringed as he froze, staring at the older woman. He glared a little, but raised his arms in defeat. “Yeah? What?” He bit back at her.

“Detective Rockford said you had personal items,” she said sweetly, rolling her chair to the wall of lockers behind her.

Shane raised a brow. “I didn’t bring anything–”

“Here you go, sweetie. Don’t go getting into trouble now!”

Shane sighed and grabbed the black plastic bag from her. “What did this old man give me–?” He gasped as he looked inside the bag, cheeks burning. It was the magazine he’d stolen. The Playgirl magazine. He squeezed his eyes shut and got out of the station like a bat out of hell.

Honestly, the only reason he’d stolen it was because Peter Steele was on the cover. He was in that convenience store for a pack of smokes and saw the frontman’s face on the cover, bare chest on full display, with a large hand cupping the cock in his underwear.

He’d been staring at the cover for a few minutes too long, because the convenience store clerk waved his hands in front of his face. “You gonna buy somethin’, man?” The clerk’s name tag said “Dante” and he looked very bored. 

Shane shook himself out of it and looked up, the bright red of the magazine piercing the corner of his eye. “Uh, yeah,” he cleared his throat, digging into his baggy pants to pull out his wallet. “I’ll get a pack of reds,” he mumbled, pulling out a couple greasy bills.

Dante didn’t bother asking for his ID and just turned around, digging into a drawer below the case of cigarettes for the key to open it.

Shane’s eyes were like a magnet, pulling directly back to the magazine. He looked at Dante’s back for a second, and quickly rolled up and stuffed the magazine into one of the deep pockets of his leather duster. 

Dante pulled out the pack of cigarettes and locked the case shut again. He sighed as he tossed the pack onto the counter. “That’ll be ten bucks,” he said, voice monotone.

Shane handed him a ten dollar bill and turned to leave.

“Hey!”

He turned back, standing in the doorway just as the bell dinged above him, and saw Dante’s bored face now looking angry. “The fuck you doin’, man? Put that back!”

Shane raised his brows and looked down, the magazine poking out of his pocket. He looked back up at Dante’s face and booked it, running as fast as his legs would take him. 

His lungs burned as heavy boots thundered along the concrete, chains and jewelry clanging against each other. He turned down an alley and gasped for air, leaning against a dirty wall with his hands on his knees. He waited until his breathing was back to normal and checked his surroundings. When he figured the coast was clear, he took a step out of the alley. 

“‘Scuse me.”

Shane whipped his head around and saw a cop standing there. “What?” He frowned, voice having a little more bite than was probably necessary, but well, Shane hated cops.

“You just come from a convenience store down the road?” The cop pointed his thumb in the direction behind himself.

“No. Can I go back to what I was doing?”

“What were you doin’?”

“None of your business, pig,” Shane rolled his eyes and turned to leave, but the cop grabbed his arm and cuffed him. “Hey! Fuck off!”

“No can do, kid. Clerk called about a kid matching your description with a, uh… well, an interesting magazine in his pocket,” the cop grumbled, tugging on the Playgirl poking out of Shane’s pocket.

Shane’s cheeks burned in embarrassment and shame, eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck.”

“C’mon, fairy boy.”

“I’m not–!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Before Shane knew it, he was in the back of a cruiser and was headed toward the station.

He couldn’t even look at the magazine now. Shane laid in his bed, in the middle of his messy bedroom, and stared at the ceiling. The bright red of the magazine cover was just out of sight. The heavy guitars and vocals from his shitty speakers pierced the silence of his room, soothing his anxious thoughts. His mind drifted off to Detective Rockford. Or Tim, he guessed. He leaned over his bed and dug through the pile of clothes he’d discarded when he got home.

Tim’s business card now in hand, he laid his head back against the pillow and stared at the embossed text. The first thing that came to mind was Tim’s gravelly voice saying, “If you wanna talk, give me a call, okay?”  

What would he even say to someone like Tim? Tim was a cop. He wasn’t exactly Shane’s first pick in literally any scenario.

Shane sighed and tossed the card onto the pile of clothes. He looked over to his left at the magazine laying next to him on his wrinkled sheets. Peter Steele’s come hither facial expression stared back at him. 

He’d had these… thoughts for a while now. Feelings he had no answers for. He wasn’t gay. He couldn’t be. Shane liked women, he liked pussy. He did.

Did he?

He picked up the magazine and started looking through it. Of course, there were photos that went along with the cover, of The Green Man standing in front of a mirror without a shirt. He stuck his large hand down the front of his pants, lips parted and eyes closed. Shane adjusted how he was laying, feeling a minor stirring in his pelvis. Obviously Shane was looking at the woman Peter was heavily making out with on the next page.

The photos started to get a little more risqué as he went. They started out pretty tasteful, with Peter laying on a bed, fully clothed, and a hand gripped around his cock through his jeans. But they quickly became… less tasteful.

Shane stared at a photo of the singer sitting in a chair, completely naked, with a large hand wrapped around an equally large, hard cock. Shane’s own cock twitched in his boxers as he felt a light sheen of sweat at his hairline.

“What the fuck,” he whispered to himself. He slammed the magazine onto his sheets and stared at his tented underwear. There was a small wet spot where there was precum already gathering. He started to breathe unevenly and worriedly looked up at his ceiling. He couldn’t even hear the music in his room from the rushing of blood in his ears.

He leaned over his bed and frantically searched for Tim’s business card. He didn’t even know what he was thinking, but he was terrified. He grabbed the landline on his nightstand and stared at the bland text on the white background.

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He couldn’t call Rockford when he had a fucking boner.

An image of Tim’s face flashed behind his eyelids and he gasped, cock twitching in interest. His eyes snapped open and he frowned. “What the fuck?”

He looked down the tent in his boxers and felt betrayed. It was bad enough that he was hard when thinking about a man, but a cop? He couldn’t fucking believe it.

“This is bullshit,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. He refused to entertain his dick at all.

But his dick wasn’t listening, hard and starting to throb underneath the thin material.

He sighed in defeat and looked up at the ceiling of his bedroom. “One time,” he breathed. “I’m doing this one time. No one ever has to know.”

Before he knew it, his boxers were thrown onto the messy pile on his floor and his hand was curled around his cock. He moaned at the relief he felt, thumbing the head teasingly. He shut his eyes, Tim’s face appearing behind his eyelids again. He groaned. Whether from frustration or arousal, he couldn’t tell and honestly didn’t care at this point.

He slowly built up a rhythm, stroking himself steadily. He bit his lip and sunk further into his sheets, feet planted flat on the bed. He started fucking his fist, lifting his hips off the bed. The cool air coming in through the window gave him goosebumps all over and made him whine weakly. He was thankful the music was turned up enough that he couldn’t hear himself.

“Good boy.”

Tim’s voice whispered in his ear. His imagination started to run wild, imagining Tim sitting on his bed and watching him. 

“Show me how you get yourself off, baby.”

Shane groaned, the steady beat of his fist on his cock speeding up. The cool metal of the jewelry he wore on his hands had grown warm, giving him a delicious friction. It grounded him, telling him it wasn’t actually possible for it to be Tim’s hand around him. 

“Want me to touch you?”

Shane nodded to himself, eyes shut in bliss. “Please,” he whispered. He slowly removed his hand and gripped himself with his left hand. It was a little awkward, but it was enough for him to imagine that it was someone else. That it was Tim. 

“Fuck,” he huffed, rubbing the head with his thumb. “Gonna–”

“Come for me, Shane.”

Shane nodded to himself and sped up his left hand. Precum dribbled out of the tip, easing the way as he fucked his fist. It felt like only a few seconds had passed, completely lost in his own world. And maybe it had been only a few seconds.

“F-fuck!” He whimpered, balls drawing up. He groaned, stroking himself through it as he came hard, thick white cream covering his hand. 

He came down slowly, panting hard as he kept his eyes closed. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked down at his chest. He was completely covered in his own spend and he felt heavy. That was probably the most intense orgasm he’d ever had alone.

He picked up Tim’s business card and shut his eyes in defeat.

“Fuck.”

One Week Later

Shane had no idea how he got to this point. He was laying on the concrete outside of a club downtown. His face was throbbing and he was exhausted. The faint sounds of people shouting kept him conscious as he rolled onto his back. His vision was blurred and the buildings towering over him started to spin.

“Hey! Get the fuck back up! I ain’t done with you.”

Shane groaned and tried to look up at whoever was yelling at him, but his body felt too heavy. That didn’t last for long, though, because the next thing he knew, he was being hauled up by a man twice his size.

“You gonna try that shit again, faggot? Huh?” The brute’s breath smelled like shit as he spat in Shane’s face. Shane twisted his face in disgust, his head pounding even more with all the yelling.

“Nah,” Shane smirked, eyes barely open. “I’ll suck your cock before I do that again.”

The brute squawked in disgust and punched Shane square in the jaw. Shane laughed shakily, suddenly feeling more alive than dead. He was past the point of feeling any of the pain.

“Aww, c’mon, you don’t like it when someone sucks your cock?” He taunted.

“Alright, break it up, you two,” the bouncer for the club barked, pulling the brute off of Shane. Shane sagged against the wall he was pressed up against, head hanging low. “You okay, kid?”

Shane snapped his head up, but groaned in pain before he could react. He could’ve sworn that it was someone else’s voice for a second… 

“Kid?” The bouncer shook his shoulders and handed him a plastic water bottle. “I said, are you okay? You got somewhere to go? Someone you can call?”

Shane drank from the bottle with shaking hands and looked at the bouncer, eyes half-lidded. The man was big, had dark skin, a beard, and thick ropes of hair cascading down his back. He was really handsome, in Shane’s opinion. He didn’t have the energy to fight with himself about it right now.

“Y-yeah. There a phone nearby?” He croaked, licking his dry lips. The bouncer nodded and hauled Shane up onto his feet. Shane lost his footing at first and fell into him, gripping onto the man’s thick waist.

“C’mon, man,” the man grunted, basically carrying him to the club’s phone. Thankfully, the bouncer brought him to a quieter area of the club. “Can you call them yourself?”

Shane’s throbbing head moved to look up at the bouncer. He nodded slowly, opening and closing his eyes like a cat falling asleep.

“I’ll be in the hall if you need me, okay? I’ll get you another water.”

Shane hummed and picked up the club’s phone, gently pressing it to his ear. He dug into his duster pocket and pulled out Tim’s business card. It was all rumpled up and dirty, but he could still read the numbers, surprisingly. He’s pretty sure it takes him far too long to dial the numbers, but the faint sound of the phone ringing tells him he actually did it.

Tim picks up on the third ring.

“This is Rockford.”

A shiver travels down Shane’s spine at the familiar gravelly voice.

“Th-thought you were ‘just Tim’ with me,” he says weakly, a faint smile on his face.

“Morrissey? Didn’t think you’d actually call me, shit. Are you okay?”

“Peachy,” he grunted. His voice sounded pinched when he said it, his face curled up in pain again. He’s pretty sure the brute split his lip because that’s throbbing now too.

“Where are you, Shane? I hear music.”

“C-club downtown. Got–” he paused, swallowing around a lump of pain in his throat. “Pissed someone off.”

“Shit, kid. Do you need me to come get you?”

Shane groaned in pain as an answer and nodded, even though Tim couldn't see him. The bouncer came back, putting another plastic water bottle in front of him. Shane made eye contact with him and nodded in thanks. “Can you–” He gestured to the water bottle, asking for the large man to open it for him.

“Is someone there? Give them the phone, kid.”

Shane didn’t answer and just handed the phone to the bouncer. He didn’t hear the one-sided conversation and just laid back in the swiveling office chair, the now opened bottle in his hand.

The bouncer hung up the phone and chuckled down at Shane. “You got friends in places I didn’t think you would, man.”

Shane smiled, eyes shut. “We’ve got history,” he said vaguely.

“I’m sure you do. He’ll be here soon.”

Shane had no idea how much time passed, but the sound of Tim’s low, soft voice in his ear woke him up. When he opened his eyes, Tim’s tired, handsome face greeted him, making him smile softly. 

“You came,” he said softly, genuinely a little surprised, and tried to stand on wobbly legs.

“‘Course I came, kid. Said I’d help you out. You okay coming back to my place?” 

Shane hummed and wrapped an arm around Tim’s broad torso, fingers fiddling with the tank top’s material. He was wearing one underneath a button-up. He probably just got off work.

“Take that as a yes,” Tim sighed. He looked to the bouncer, and nodded in thanks. He led Shane out to his Caprice and buckled him into the passenger seat. “Keep drinking that water, okay?”

Shane mumbled in response and lolled his head against the back of the seat.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, kid, Jesus.”

“Hit ya real hard, didn’t he?” Tim grunted, pressing a wet washcloth against the cut on Shane’s cheekbone.

“More of a lovetap.”

Tim sighed and cupped Shane’s face in a large hand to hold him steady. Shane held his breath, eyes glued to the focused expression on Tim’s face. He studied every detail, never getting a chance to be so close to him before.

“Why were you at the club, Shane?”

Shane sighed and looked down at Tim’s broad chest underneath the tank top. He’d taken off the dress shirt when they walked in the door of Tim’s apartment. They were sitting at the bar in Tim’s kitchen, Shane’s chunky boots on the bar of the stool Tim was sitting on. He looked at the slacks pulling at Tim’s thick thighs and forced himself to look elsewhere, inadvertently giving Tim room to clean up the blood on his split lip.

He hissed in pain at the sting and mumbled, “Wanted to get out of my apartment.”

Tim gave him a look that said, ‘That’s not what I meant and you know it.’

Shane rolled his eyes and shrugged. “I dunno,” he sighed. 

“That was a part of downtown I didn’t think I’d find you in, to be honest,” Tim said softly. He picked up another damp washcloth and cleaned up some of the dirt on Shane’s neck. “Couple more blocks and you’d be in the… more colorful side of town.”

Shane froze, eyes wide. “What are you saying?” He asked defensively, eyebrows furrowed.

“‘M not saying anything, kid. Just making an observation,” Tim shrugged back. He removed his hands slowly and nudged Shane’s chin with the knuckle on his index finger. “There ya go. Lookin’ good.”

Shane blushed a little and looked away. He crossed his arms over his chest and mumbled, “Thanks for getting me.”

Tim smiled softly. “Sure, kid. You got anyone to let them know where you are?”

Shane shook his head and didn’t say anything.

Tim nodded and didn’t press any further. “Well, I’ve got a couch if you want somewhere to sleep for the night. Sorta late now.”

Shane turned up his nose at first, but deflated, too tired to keep the mask on. He didn’t say anything else and just walked over to Tim’s couch. He laid down on his side, facing the back of the couch and hugged himself.

Tim’s eyebrows turned down in concern, but he left it alone for now. He got up and took his shoes off, quietly making his way into the kitchen. He got Shane some water and left it on the coffee table.

Tim looked at Shane’s sleeping form one last time before he turned and went to bed.

Shane’s entire body ached. He turned his head and groaned in pain.

“Awake?”

Shane opened his eyes and immediately shut them, the light from the window blinding him. He tried again, looking over at Tim standing in his kitchen. He was wearing that same white tank top from the night before and some plaid pajama pants. His normally put-together hair was ruffled and starting to curl.  Shane’s heart pounded at the sight.

“Sorry, I know it’s bright. Want something to eat?” Tim asked gently, holding up a pan and spatula.

Shane turned his body but couldn’t, legs getting all tangled in a blanket. When did he get that? He looked down and noticed his jacket and boots were off. He looked up at Tim and raised a brow.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t want you getting dirt on my couch,” Tim grumbled, turning back to his cooking. 

Shane felt… something in his stomach. Were those butterflies? He didn’t get butterflies in his stomach. Least of all for a cop.

“You like eggs?”

Shane looked up again and nodded.

“Think this is the quietest you’ve ever been around me, kid,” Tim chuckled, cracking an egg into the pan. 

“Sorry,” he croaked, voice still scratchy from sleep.

“Don’t be, it’s alright,” Tim hummed. He transferred the eggs onto a plate and grabbed a fork, bringing it over to Shane. He sat on the edge of his coffee table and handed the younger man the plate. “Eat, please.”

Shane looked at the plate of scrambled eggs and almost cried. He couldn’t remember the last time someone did something like this for him. He took the plate and started eating quietly.

“How you feeling?” Tim asked softly, taking a drink of his coffee. He held the mug in both hands between his thighs, Shane’s eyes glued to the sight.

“‘M alright. Sore,” Shane mumbled around the eggs.

“I’m sure you are,” Tim snorted. “I mean how are you feeling, kid.”

Shane shrugged, chewing silently. “Fine.”

Tim sighed and got up, walking back to his kitchen. Shane frowned to himself as he finished off his eggs. He set the plate down on the coffee table and stood up. He really was sore, but pushed through it as he walked into Tim’s kitchen.

“You wanna know why I was at that club?” 

Tim froze at his opened refrigerator and slowly turned toward the younger man. He shut the fridge door and gave Shane his attention, leaning against the counter to the bar.

Shane shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He kept his eyes downcast as he spoke, staring at the hole in his sock. “I was at that club because I wanted to… I dunno, see more people like… like that.”

Tim crossed his arms over his chest, listening intently. “Like what?”

“Like–” Shane sighed in frustration. “Gay people,” he mumbled. “Got the address mixed up, so, this–” he gestured to his face. “Was the result.”

Tim smiled internally. There it was.

“I felt– I’ve been,” he paused, looking for the words. “I don’t really know. I don’t,” he sighed in defeat.

Tim hummed in response, unsure if Shane wanted his advice or not.

“If you’re gonna be a dick, I can just leave. I don’t wanna hear what you have to say,” Shane frowned, looking up at Tim with a hard expression on his face.

“How do you know what I was gonna say?” Tim replied, shrugging easily. Shane stared at Tim’s bulging biceps, the tank top revealing more skin than he’d ever seen.

“Well–! You’re,” Shane frowned, cheeks warm. “You’re a cop. You guys are always saying shitty things to guys like me.”

“Sure, some–”

“Don’t ‘not all cops’ me, Tim.” 

Tim’s eyes widened at the response. Not necessarily the words, but the fact that Shane actually called him by his name. “Alright, I get it,” he said softly. “I know you’ve had a lot of bad experiences with cops, I’m sorry.”

Shane huffed in response, but didn’t retort. 

“I mean it, though. I wasn’t going to judge you, Shane,” Tim said, stepping closer to him. 

Shane’s breathing picked up, looking at Tim’s large hand on the bar’s countertop. “You weren’t?” He asked shakily.

“No, kid,” Tim chuckled. He cupped Shane’s face and gently rubbed the pad of his thumb along the split in his lip. “You can’t keep getting into trouble over this sort of thing. There are other ways.”

The air left Shane’s lungs, big brown eyes staring at Tim’s handsome face. He was so close now, Shane had no idea what to do. “L-like what?” He breathed shakily. He stared at Tim’s lips, subconsciously licking his own.

Tim looked over Shane’s face, trying to read his body language. Not yet. He took his hand away and grabbed a glass, filling it with water. “Talking about it, for one,” he said quietly.

Shane exhaled a heavy breath and looked down. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest he thought he was going to pass out. Was Tim about to kiss him? He looked at the back of Tim’s head, eyes looking over the curls intently.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Shane said quietly. “Not right now anyway.”

Tim turned around, face unreadable, and handed Shane the water. “What do you want to do now, then?” He asked, leaning against the bar’s countertop again.

Shane set the glass down and stepped closer into Tim’s space, eyes glued to the older man’s lips. He looked up at his eyes, then back down at his lips. He surged forward and pressed his mouth to Tim’s, kissing him roughly.

Tim grunted into it, arms raised at his sides. It took a second for his brain to kick in and he pulled back, turning his head to the side slightly. 

Shane’s cheeks burned and he felt like an idiot. He turned away and grabbed his jacket that was hanging over the back of one of Tim’s dining room chairs.

“Shane, wait,” Tim started, but Shane ignored him, roughly pulling his chunky boots on.

“Don’t,” Shane snapped. “I’ll be out of your hair.” His face was hard and left no room for argument. He stormed over to the door of Tim’s apartment, heavy boots thundering loudly across the hardwood flooring. 

The last thing Tim saw was Shane’s retreating form and the sound of his front door slamming, the sound echoing throughout the apartment.

[eirinstiva]

Eye of the tigress

What ho! Bertie Wooster sent a letter and now we know that Heloise Pringle, the woman who looks a lot like Honoria Glossop is her cousin. HER COUSIN!

Even at the moment, something about that look had struck me as oddly familiar, and now I suddenly saw why. It had been the identical look which I had observed in the eye of Honoria Glossop in the days immediately preceding our engagement⁠—the look of a tigress that has marked down its prey.

Another smart and strong woman choose Bertie Sippy has her prey. Why are this kind of women so attracted to this kind of man?

“I mean to say, I know perfectly well that I’ve got, roughly speaking, half the amount of brain a normal bloke ought to possess. And when a girl comes along who has about twice the regular allowance she too often makes a beeline for me with the love-light in her eyes. I don’t know how to account for it, but it is so.” “It may be Nature’s provision for maintaining the balance of the species, sir.”

It took some time to Bertie to recognise the signals of attraction from the tigress Heloise, but something he learnt from his engagement to Honoria and now he's ready to save his and Sippy's arses. Time to ask for Jeeves' help!

“Do you know Bertie Wooster?” And then I saw that my name was scrawled right across the titlepage, and my heart did three back somersaults. “Oh⁠—er⁠—well⁠—that is to say⁠—well, slightly.” “He must be a perfect horror. I’m surprised that you can make a friend of him. Apart from anything else, the man is practically an imbecile. He was engaged to my cousin Honoria at one time, and it was broken off because he was next door to insane. You should hear my Uncle Roderick talk about him.”

Would his fame help him? I'm sure not. And having Sir Roderick as the one who discovered the true behing Bertie is the cherry on top of this story. Thanks, Jeeves for the suggestion of running away. The truth will set you free!

“Well, he seemed depressed, don’t you know, and rightly or wrongly I thought it might cheer him up if he stepped across the street and collared a policeman’s helmet. He thought it a good idea, too, so he started doing it, and the man made a fuss, and Oliver sloshed him.” “Sloshed him?” “Biffed him⁠—smote him a blow⁠—in the stomach.” “My nephew Oliver hit a policeman in the stomach?” “Absolutely in the stomach. And next morning the beak sent him to the Bastille for thirty days without the option.”

Mr. Wooster, I really admire the strength you had to say this.

“You aren’t annoyed?” I said. “Annoyed?” She chuckled happily. “I’ve never heard such a splendid thing in my life.”

So this aunt is slightly acab and Jeeves used this information on Bertie and Sippy's favour... That's an amazing idea!

Poor Bertie, he was almost captured (and kissed!) by Heloise Pringle, he has another encounter with Sir Roderick and had to run away. At least Miss Sipperley enjoyed the adventure of his nephew Oliver and Bertie had quality time with a cat.

[eolewyn1010]

Charité, season 4 - episode 2

Onward and upward, or maybe downward. Abandon all unspoileredness, ye who enter here.

Everyone's whining about wanting to go to the beaches. It's 2049; have you looked at the ozone layer? Just stay home in your bathtub, you're safer there.

Love how they depict demonstrators who fight for social equity as rude, nonsensically pushy, and prone to verbal abuse. Kiss my red proletarian ass and ACAB.

Enter Discount Daniel Sträßer. Gotta love his style; they make him look like a gay stereotype all while he's eyeing up Marlene. Can't get too queer here.

You know, for people who have been in a locked-in state for months or years, they all look remarkably physically fit.

Now Seda is snippy to Julia, too? Why does everyone snap at her?

Cool, an ancient disease from the ice. I remember a Stargate SG-1 episode with the same plot point.

"You talk like a politician" - yeah, perhaps because you're trying to load a politician's responsibility on her.

Discount Daniel Sträßer really thinks a discreet lil' tiara is such a bad fashion statement that it makes a more risky treatment of his epilepsy preferable? Whatevs, honey. If anyone ever wants to implant a chip into my head, I'll riot.

Why is everyone so awkward? Don't they have good actors or is the script so bad that they didn't feel like putting some life into it?

Accidentally pouring stuff over her bacteria? Woo. I can hear Alexander Fleming roll his eyes at the subtle reference.

I just realized that Timur Işık doesn't actually have a scar on his cheek. Why did they add one? Does that serve a purpose for his character? Does it belong to the "jumped from a rock into the sea" story? Because that doesn't sound so much like an accident as a suicide attempt.

Maral and Julia still don't look natural when they kiss.

She accuses him of not taking socially and financially disadvantaged people into regard, and he quotes Margaret Thatcher at her? LMAO

Heh. Seda may be self-righteous and difficult to talk to, but I like her passive-aggression against Minister Blowhard.

Yet another scene of people taking Julia's friendliness weirdly. Is everyone autistic in 25 years?

Aw, I like Marlene and Discount Daniel Sträßer together (yes, the character's name is Lou, who cares). Perhaps because I'm desperate for a little actual chemistry and people not being awkward to each other all the time.

If this wing of the hospital isn't even in use anymore, why are the lights on everywhere?

The bad horror movie of last year called; it wants its walk alone through an abandoned hospital hallway scene back.

Seda has some serious balls, but just tossing Marlene into her shenanigans without asking is less than ideal.

"Operating with outdated machinery" - chill out; haven't you watched the earlier seasons? They've operated people with a dirty knife, some curses and prayers, in candlelight, and with no clean water, and yet they lived on to make mediocre TV.

Ok, so this is neat and all, but couldn't they have managed working through that with regular psychotherapy? He's not even a psychologist; he's a neurologist, isn't he?

Also. I re-checked the scene. I thought the girl just spoke with her mother's accent since it's not the father's - but the mother doesn't have that accent either. So where did the kid pick it up? Do the children of the 2040s not learn speaking from their parents?

We have yet another parent unloading their issues on their kid. Hurray. Dude, good parenting is definitely not forbidding your daughter to grieve just because you can't handle it.

"Shooting people more precisely will make it all more safely, and so I shall bring peace." I hate this kid. Are we going to back to war is cool again? And Julia is presented as an unreasonable nag for being opposed to it. Fuck this.

Real cool of Maral to fuck off from an argument with her wife to go be a workaholic. God forbid we communicate about our discrepancies. Nah, talk to some bacteria instead.

When you only have 6 episodes at your disposal, it's really not good form to wait with introducing major players up until episode 2. I know Ferhat already showed up in episode 1, but only to be inexplicably rude to Julia for a few seconds. And Discount Daniel Sträßer is entirely new to the bunch. Even if I'm biased against the premise, I think this could have been done better.

[counciloftheelite]

I’m back in the fucking building again!

Hello All!

Welcome to Shit Show!

So this is not my first tumblr but a new one!

I deleted the app after the first few major updates and didn’t want to come back till now. I wanted to have a place to talk again. Even if no one is listening.

And of course shit post. My Hazbin Hotel fix is not getting enough traffic on there.

So, a little bit about me:

I’m Ae. My pronouns are They/He and I am 29 years old. I’m nonbinary and trans masc. I am T4T so if you are Cis please keep moving.

I started HRT 05/17.

I am so excited to document those changes somewhere again.

I haven’t felt the need/want to in a while.

I am married and Non-monogamous.

Yes, both of us.

We date separately and if you think you are brave enough I’m taking applications for a hot, vampire, anime-esc trans guy.

I am on the beautiful PNW coast and am working as a private caregiver.

I have been a caregiver for 10+ years and I love it.

I live with my husband, our roommates and our collective 5 dogs, 4 cats, and one regular garden snail.

Spiritually:

I am a witch and I currently work with Loki.

I want to eventually work with Hades and Persephone.

Mental Health:

I have ADHD, Autism, and am currently figuring out a 3rd thing with the love and support of my friends.

I am an AVID supporter/ believer of:

Free Palestine

BLM

ACAB

Land Back

Trans Rights

Disability Rights

Supporting our Sex Workers (I still do light sex work)

No to Autism Speaks

Self Diagnosis is Valid

Social Anarchism

Mental Health Awareness

DID Awareness

I choose the Bear

If you agree with anything on that list or anything adjacent to it give me a follow cause we should be friends.

Kink wise:

Mainly Sub but venturing into verse stuff.

Looks like a Dom but will cry if yelled at.

Blood kink

Vampire kink

Manipulation kink (not quite hypno)

Thing that are okay to call me:

Good boy

Slut/Whore (in a masc way)

Boytoy

Toy

Babyboy

Things that are not okay to call me:

ANYTHING FEMININE.

I don’t really like being called pretty or beautiful until you know me irl.

Anything derogatory unless there is a prior relationship there.

“Your” anything. I have a Dom and it’s not you.

Do not interact if you are:

Republican

Pro trump

Pro establishment

Anti trans rights

Pro cop

TERF

Anti POC

Pro colonization (yes, that means your friends who go on missions to different countries)

Honestly we are just here to have a good time and find friends.

If you know me IRL no you don’t.

[vizthedatum]

Dear Angela Davis (2023)

Dear Angela Davis, what would you do,

With all your years of philosophy and experience,

If your queer, black spouse abused you?

Your words stream through my consciousness

and yes, please, let's dismantle the prison industrial complex

and disappear it from our collective concomitance.



But please, tell me, what would you do

to seek personal justice in a situation 

where you simply cannot break through.



You see, we loved each other 

and, in our shared queerness, 

questioned the systemic violence that made us both shudder.

We would talk on end of the systems in place

that uphold the power of the global minority

while diminishing the power of the global majority - most of the human race.



But while their ideals may be noble and true,

they emotionally and psychologically abused me, and

their physical actions and words were self-serving: lowly and undue.



So, Angela Davis, what would you do

when your therapist asks you

"what kind of justice would serve you?"



What would you do

When you’re both ACAB

And you do not even understand if the abuse is true.

It hurts to know that they think they were right

In asserting that I wasn’t allowed to have boundaries

While they played with my mind as part of their regular rite.

They screamed at the police, that I begrudgingly asked to escort

That I was the abuser!

When I was homeless attempting to play their sick sport.

That was the day I knew for sure

My spouse had no empathy for me, and I thought:

“If only narcissism had a well-established cure.”

Dear Angela Davis, you are right, you know,

our system doesn't serve our victims,

let alone address the roots of our social disorders we undergo.

I am not opposed to finding the humanity in my perpetrator,

And make way for restorative justice.

But at what point am I being my own personal traitor?



Our system propels us into darkness, 

And I found myself walking into a scary government building,

Wondering, “Am I heartless?”

I needed help, and I was scared.

I didn’t know if they would actually come after me,

But I needed my abuse acknowledged and declared.

I wanted my things, my sanity, a divorce.

I wanted them to stay away from me forever.

And maybe for them to go to therapy in remorse.

I do not believe in our justice system,

and I did not want to press charges.

I could not ruin their life... but I was the victim.



I wanted to say, "It's over. 

We don't have a life anymore. 

Please get help so I can get some closure.” 

I wanted to yell: “I love you!

But I can't let you hurt and drain me anymore,

Filling up the wounds of your own trauma, like glue.”

But still, as I grieve and attempt to give myself some slack,

I ask, “What would you do differently?”

A protection from abuse order? And not look back?

I suppose we are all a byproduct of what we know,

And despite it all, we must protect ourselves, 

doing the best we can with what our systems have to show.

Dear Angela Davis, so, what would you do?

Did I do the right thing? Does it matter?

I’m free now, and I continue to push through.

[frogprincessmack]

So, I love learning about how teenagers lived in the past as a teen in the early 2020s myself. I thought it might be fun to try explore and "romanticize" what my public school life is like! Maybe one day this could be used as some historic document or something, lol.

Let me know if there's anything I should add, as I am one person who goes to a crappy school in Florida.

-Crocs. So so soooo many Crocs. -Upperclassmen tend to come into school in their pajamas. This is meant to be a show of disrespect, as we have spent 10-12 YEARS in schooling only to prepare us for a world that will likely drain all of our energy and soul out of us. It also shows how schooling these days is basically being thrown into a glorified daycare, as all the good teachers tend to quit due to lack of funding. (PAY OUR TEACHERS, PLEASE!!) If you are a younger grade that comes in pajamas though, it's seen as if you're trying too hard to be cool, which you aren't. -It's very rare you'll see assignments given on paper, unless it's group work or if you're teacher is very old. Everything is on a school issued laptop. In my school, you're not even allowed to leave the bathroom without making a DIGITAL HALLPASS!! -Many students care heavily about environmental issues. You are encouraged to VOTE VOTE VOTE as soon as you turn eighteen, as politics is WILD at the moment and the more people who can represent the voices of the younger generation the better. -I think this may just be a weird thing at my school...but athletic students in teams such as Football or Basketball will come to school bringing entire jugs of water. Not a bottle. a JUG. A gallon of water they carry around for the entire day. -I don't see this displayed much on tv, but we don't smoke (of course there's some of us that do, it just isn't as common). We vape. Electronic Cigarettes are the thing, it's rare you'll enter a bathroom without a group of four or more teens vaping together. -There was a trend on the platform Tiktok known as Devious Licks. The goal was to steal the weirdest things you could get your hands on, but it got crazy our of hand. Full sinks, toilets, toilet stalls, cafeteria tables, and MORE got stolen from public institutes. -Many people are reverting back to wearing 90s fashion. -Crop Tops and sweatpants are IN for those that are feminine presenting. It's much harder to come across someone wearing a regular t-shirt, unless a crop top doesn't fit their figure as well. -Social media is a huge part of daily life for everyone. Instagram, Tiktok, YouTube, and Twitter is what is most commonly used. Discord is used as well as a platform to chat with others. Every single one of the clubs in my school have their own Instagram pages to post updates on, I believe it is a requirement to make one if you want to have a club nowadays. -Movements such as ACAB, Black Lives Matter, Free Palestine, and more are running rampant. -Abortions got banned :( -Due to the pop culture phenomenon that was the Barbie Movie, many girls are reclaiming their femininity and connecting with each other!! Pink is IN, babes! -Personally my favorite artist right now is Laufey.

[aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaoldretired]

making a tag for the mobster!dr au also throwing in some general thoughts that might change idk. if anyone hs thoughts. please comment or message whatever. also this is gonna be a chapter fic instead of a series of one-offs i hate the format i chose for this one, its clogging up my feed, i might see if i can reedit it rn tbh

basic breakdown i got rn. i honestly kinda wanna keep it to the hope/despair arc, and especially between thh and dr2. with some reference to the anime. but yall know what i mean. uh. 

plot is gonna be whipping between (the rivalry between the crazy diamonds and kuzuryuu clan) and (an office of detectives working on investigating crime mostly comprising of the big three from thh) and (a newspaper run by mahiru doing investigative work/leaking stories/maybe corrupt) and (corrupt mayor izuru and starlet junko are just fucking shit up by using the power of informants to complete throw everything out of control.) and there’ll be side references

THH folks:

detective’s office: byakuya, kirigiri, makoto. makoto and kirigiri are an investigative team while byakuya oversees internal affairs.

taka and sakura are both detectives. they work with the office but are not part of it. sakura and aoi are in love. taka uhhhh ill get there

aoi works at the deli under the detective’s office. and is definitely dating sakura. brings coffee and donuts every day.

celeste is still a gambler, and occasionally a useful informant.

chihiro and hifumi work at a stock broker’s office, and chihiro is sometimes called in as a specialist for financial investigations or just when they need to crunch numbers.

toko and komaru are phone operators and also in love. toko uses her information from work for her murder sprees.

sayaka is a famous vaudeville singer, currently working her way through the circuits. makoto desperately has a crush on her but she doesn’t really know he exists

leon is a famous baseball player but constantly in the newspaper for his run-ins with the law. in and out of jail, a bit of a bad boy, gets mixed up with the crazy diamonds and now has to do all sorts of informant duties and favors. 

hagakure is fully just leaching off of his friends while he tries to capture the public’s fascination with the occult. gets in deep with the crazy diamonds too. 

junko is famous on the vaudeville circuit, but she’s also known as an informant about town. little do most know she’s pulling the strings to make everything go haywire. she generally likes to push other’s buttons and see the world fall apart. 

mukuro works a secretary/receptionist to mayor kamukara by day but is secretly his body guard and assassin (not that he needs it.) generally unsure about how she feels.

mondo is obviously. leader of the crazy diamonds. took over when daiya died in a freak accident. junko, using her informant powers, spreads a rumor that it wasn’t an accident but it was actually an assassination by the kuzuryuu clan. instead of owning up to his sins mondo rolls with it, but not without pissing off his biggest rival. he is in WAY too deep. 

also he and taka are in love and have some crazy tension but taka is so heckin conflicted but keeps going back to mondo. izuru finds out and is gonna BLACKMAIL THE SHIT out of our faithful police officer. cops are corrupt. acab. 

GOODBYE DESPAIR FOLKS

mayor izuru kamukara was once a faithful mayor. consistently reelected and on the surface implementing good policy, izuru began to wonder how much control over the city he really had. he’s pulling the strings to watch his city fall apart because he knows, if he really wanted to, he can always put it back together. besides - even if people found out, who could stop him?

newspaper staff: mahiru, hajime, akane. its a failing newspaper. its got three staff members. oh lord somebody help them. mahiru will pretty much publish anything she can to get syndication up, but is pretty conflicted. hajime is the twin brother to mayor kamukara and lives in his shadow. akane is a sports writer.

uh how he met nagito and they are in heavy flirting with hajime having a conflicted crush

at one point hajime will figure out what’s going on here but izuru has him trapped and is gonna start manipulating HIM. makes him way more tense with nagito/izuru but also allows him to interact with nagito more and the tension ges much higher

nagito is the personal assistant to mayor kamukara, and, like junko, is an informant. while junko spreads rumors of the underworld and entertainment business, nagito is tasked with manipulating the government sector.

twogami is a scam artist, but otherwise a genuinely nice guy

hiyoko and ibuki are also part of the vaudeville circuit. they are friendly enough with sayaka and junko. 

mikan is a nurse still, and is called upon for expert medical advice for cases. will help pretty much anyone, though she’s known for being an open book.

sonia and gundham are fabulously rich (sonia’s money) and human rights activists. sometimes come off as disconnected but genuinely trying to do better. both are regular customers of hagakure. 

teruteru is a pos who runs a speakeasy and cannot seem to bootleg without getting caught. 

nekumaru is a famous bodybuilder, occasionally taking part of the vaudeville circuit. pretty good friends with leon.

kazuichi is a mechanic but also acts as fuyuhiko’s personal chauffeur. he lowkey has a crush on fuyuhiko but there’s no way he could act on it. is probably the world’s worst get away driver bc he hates going fast, fuyuhiko has had to take the wheel from him before.

fuyuhiko and peko are pretty much themselves, but this time....in the 1920s with jazz. 

ahahaha