#the word faggot used to bother me when i was a teen | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mcl38 · 2 months

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Trigger warning for homophobia and hate. For your last ask….I also think there is a huge difference in where and when you grew up with how it comes to how you perceive these types of coded words. I grew up in the 80s and 90s in rural America when children in my elementary school played a playground game called “Smear the Queer” and said you would go to hell for being gay. I remember the death of Mathew Shepard at the hands of hateful people crying gay panic and being told if you were gay you would die from AIDS and that HIV was Gods punishment. I remember hearing the word queer and twink and faggot being said with hate and derision. I remember being told twink was short for “twinkee” because a twink was “young, dumb, and full of cum”. I remember a limp wrist gesture being a deadly insult to the boys in my school. It took me many many many years to even admit to myself I was gay. I still don’t talk about myself or my partner with the people I work with cause even now I just feel like you never know who is hateful. I can’t imagine someone openly yelling out a gay slur in the street anymore, but I can imagine not getting a promotion at work. I feel very disconnected from the current generation and their use of gay coded language which my whole childhood was used with such hurt. It’s like homophobia went from what I experienced in my youth of being open and in you face to being all these coded cutesy terms. It sure feels like all the same insinuations are all still there just coded differently. Or maybe I’m just old and out of touch and letting my experiences color how I see things now. It’s even hard for me today to accept the reclamation of the word queer by the lgbtq+ community so I know my experience color my perception of thing.

no i think ur absolutely right. its not that ur old and out of touch, i think its that the younger generation is naive and overly comfortable. i have not had an experience nearly as intense as you in my childhood but i think growing up in quite a heavily homophobic country like romania and then moving to the uk was still quite a big culture shock to me. i kind of had the idea as a teen that romania as a whole is a homophobic culture and the west just isn't to that level (mostly out of jealousy for the things i was seeing on the internet lmao) and that perception deffo changed since ive been living here. essentially what i realised was that (especially) men were almost as shitty to women and gay people in the uk as they were back home, just way more covertly, because they knew how to say all the right things. so the only consequence of this for me personally was just that in the uk i am more likely to be negatively surprised by someone who i thought was chill, whereas in romania i was more likely to b positively surprised by someone who seemed like theyd have a horrible reaction to me coming out. but as far as i can tell british people themselves dont clock this at all, and a lot of them will just assume that if theres no overt discrimination happening then theres no discrimination at all. which is kinda scary from my pov but again, like u, idk whether to feel like im just reacting to my own circumstances and projecting

so to bring this back to what u said anon, i too am just naturally suspicious of stuff that seems inocuous in current western pop culture, which is why i too am so weirdly bothered by this new 'mctwink' thing and the greater trend that the portmanteau is a part of. even in terms of the reclaiming of 'queer', which is such a hotly debated topic that its become associated with a lot of other lgbt in-fighting, having been on the internet and in academic spaces enough to witness the sanitisation of the word 'queer' has been quite jarring if im being honest. in an academic space to me it feels like a euphemism with the same vibe as 'differently abled' instead of disabled and 'fluffy / huggable' instead of fat, where the word is said by cishet ppl not out of a genuine care for the community its meant to represent but rather out of a fear of accidentally saying smth wrong by calling the thing what it is (in this case, gay). people are still so goddamn afraid of the word gay in super progressive english humanities academia and its actually quite funny like thats the ONE word no one minds u using but bc YOU have ur own biases to unpack u think its a bad word, ykwim? anyways. this is a lot of digressions

i think there is a point where we have to accept that language changes. im very anti prescriptivist in that i think we should embrace linguistic evolutions and neologisms and all that bc like at the end of the day we don't make the rules, the zeitgeist does. and i worry that holding on to certain meanings and connotations of words after the words kind of stop carrying them is dangerously close to ppl who insist on using slurs or derogatory language because 'when i was young it didnt used to be an insult'. like i used to treat the usage of 'queer' exclusively as derogatory because of its history but at some point i had to look within myself and accept that the ppl whose classes im taking and whose books im reading are NOT using the word as a slur so i should not assume that to be their intent. which ik is a hard pill to swallow - especially hard for someone like u, anon, who also has trauma surrounding those words. idk i think the lgbt & academic communities shouldve been a lot kinder in that specific transition but whats done is done now i guess

so yeah. now we reach the silly little fandom squabble that's really only a tiny fraction of this bigger cultural issue. but as discussed before i DO think people are using these new tiktok terms as well as the repopularisation of the word twink in a secretly kind of derogatory way, maybe even subconsciously. and i do think straight but maybe not entirely masculine people like lando and oscar are somehow the target of that homophobia, but they r not the victim of it. there just is a sort of fetishisation and derision that happens in the process of calling them twinks that has subtle but real repercussions in the wider cultural environment. and to real gay ppl. 🥴 fun stuff

and re: this i think again this is a complicated distinction to make. mostly because this website rly does host the lgbt community in the way that a tiktok algorithm thinking ur gay and shoving other random gay ppl in ur face just doesnt. but bc of the fact that this is a curated community AND bc of the relative decay of tumblr, we tend to think that our community is disconnected from the most, when time and time again 2 or 3 years later the discourse on this website ends up rehashed on more popular social media to varying degrees of bastardisation. so yes obviously part of the thin line ur talking abt is stuff like the idea of lando or oscar actually seeing the things ppl call them, but at the same time it's not like we get away scot free with doing whatever. in the way that in 2019 f1 shipping and rpf were an isolated niche thing and now the formula 1 twitter account is tweeting on main about 'lestappen' even using that specific portmanteau. see what i mean? which is y im complaining on here abt the twinklaren situation, even though on twitter it doesn't seem nearly as prevalent, because i know it's gonna catch up at some point

#thank u for sharing ur experiences! i think often the fear of being seen as old and bitter makes us mute our own instincts n common sense #anon #ask #meta #homophobia tw #justsayfag

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harringrovetrashrat · 4 years

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Two Bears, One Weasel

Jim was sipping his coffee, paper out in front of him, trying to pretend he didn’t have to leave in the next 30 minutes, when he heard yelling. He sighed, setting down his coffee and folding up the paper, leaving a hefty tip, before grabbing his hat and stepping outside. What he saw made his blood boil.

Neil Hargrove stood in front of his son, who stood in front of Steve Harrington. The man was shouting, shoving into his son’s space, and Steve looked murderous. The boy was close to making a mistake, Jim could see it in his eyes, and he walked towards the trio, Neil’s words becoming clearer as he approached.

“--I don’t give a shit what excuse you wanna make, Billy,” Neil snapped, grabbing Billy by the elbow and pulling him closer. The teen just turned his head, face set and grim. “Look at me,” Neil demanded. “I know what I saw and I warned you, you disgusting faggot--”

“Alright, Neil,” he said, looming as he approached. His anger simmered below his skin, just waiting for the chance to be let out. Neil spun around, almost lighting up when he saw Hopper. Like he thought he’d be on his side of whatever bull shit he spewed. “I need you to let go of your son.” Neil stepped back, running a hand over his hair, pretending he wasn’t just yelling abuse at his child.

“Sorry, Chief,” he said, placatingly. “My son and I were having a disagreement, it got a little out of hand.” He smiled, wide and fake, grabbing Billy’s shoulder roughly and pulling him away from Steve, who scoffed and switched between glaring daggers at Neil and giving Jim a look that said Do Something. Neil sent a sharp angry look towards Steve, but wiped it off in time to send Jim another slimy smile. “No worries, we’ll finish this at home. Sorry to bother.” Jim didn’t miss the way Billy flinched when Neil’s fingers clamped harder.

“Fuck that!” Steve burst out, unable to control himself. “A disagreement,” he scoffed again. “You lay a hand on him--” Jim placed his hand on Steve’s shoulder, sighing.

“Steve, go inside, please,” he said, giving the boy a warning look. Steve flushed, looked ready to fight. “Go. Inside.” Steve snarled quietly and stomped inside, slamming the door after him.

“What a disrespectful young man,” Neil said, but Jim could hear the disgust in his voice. Could see the dangerous glint in his eyes. It made Jim crack his knuckles unconsciously. Which brought Neil’s attention back to him. “We’ll be on our way. Billy,” he snapped, shoving him towards his truck. “Get in and wait while I talk to the Chief.” Billy looked like he wanted to do anything but.

“Billy,” Jim said, voice even, “Don’t you take another step. I wanna get your side of what happened here.” Neil bristled, anger sparking in his eyes. Billy looked between them, stock still.

“I said it was just a disagreement,” he pushed. Jim moved closer, looking down his nose at the weasley man.

“Do most disagreements end with you manhandling your son?” His voice was sharp, pointed, and he knew Neil was starting to get the message. The man crossed his arms, puffing himself up.

“You know my son,” he replied. “Sometimes he just needs a firm hand.”

“Is there a reason Steve Harrington is nearly breaking my plates with the force of cutting up his pancakes?” Jim turned when he heard Benny’s voice, letting out a frustrated sigh.

“Just having a talk with Mr. Hargrove here.” When he made eye contact, and Benny had that calm collected look, like a man who asked a question he knew the answer to, Jim let out a sigh. “Everything’s fine.” Benny ignored him, coming to stand next to him, arms crossed as he stared Neil down.

“You sure? I don’t like nonsense in my diner, Hop, you know that.” He flared his nostrils slightly.

“Benny--”

“If you don’t like nonsense in your diner, I’d suggest kicking that boy out,” Neil said, gesturing to where Steve was glaring out the window. Benny’s eye twitched and Hopper ran a hand over his face.

“And what does that mean?” Benny asked.

“I found him and my son,” his face twisted with disgust and fury, “Kissing, and you know what fags are like. Can’t help spreading their disease. Which is why,” he grabbed Billy again, trying to steer him towards the truck, “I’m taking my son home to have a talk.” Jim could feel the hot rage pouring off of Benny, could hear him breathing harshly through his nose, and he wondered if Neil was just dumb or distracted. “I’m sure you two can appreciate why,” he gave them a conspiratorial look.

“I don’t think I get what you mean,” Benny said, voice low and tense. Jim sucked his cheeks in, trying to remember he was still in uniform.

“Well,” Neil said, tugging Billy forward. The boy looked ready to cry, anger and fear making him shake. Jim saw red start to blur the edges of his vision. “You seem like men’s men. I’m sure you understand the need to stop queers before they spread.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Benny said, taking another step closer, his usual calm and friendly demeanor turning into something stormy and violent. If the way Neil’s brow furrowed was any indication, he was starting to understand things weren’t going the way he was thinking. “I’m supposed to understand your bullshit bigotry because I’m masculine?”

“Bullshit?” Neil hissed. “I know for a fact these boys have been fagging around--” Benny didn’t wait for him to finish, fire igniting as he landed a hard punch to Neil’s cheek. The man staggered, dropping Billy’s arm to catch himself.

“Billy, behind me,” Hopper barked. The boy did as he was told, Neil’s eyes now cold and furious as he watched Billy run. Hopper stared him down. “Now, here’s what’s going to happen, Mr. Hargrove. You’re gonna get in your truck. You’re gonna go home. And if I find out that you’ve laid a hand on your son? I’m going to make a home visit. Out of uniform.” Neil’s face was red and he stood up, pushing into Hopper’s face.

“Is that a threat?” Benny wrapped an arm around Billy’s shoulders, maneuvering him towards the diner.

“No,” Jim replied. “It’s a promise.” Neil blanched and took a step back. Benny stopped, jerking his head to send Billy all the way inside. Neil sniffed, trying to save face.

“Didn’t think two men like you would stand for having fairy scum in your town,” he said cruelly. Before Benny could make it all the way over, face thunderous, Jim finally snapped. He charged forward, grabbing Neil by the scruff of his neck. The man yelled in shock and pain as Hopper slammed him against the hood of his truck.

“Let me make one thing perfectly clear,” he hissed, slamming Neil again when the man struggled. “The only people I don’t want in my town, are the ones who think hitting their kids for something they can’t control is acceptable. And from what I hear, you fit that to a T.” He could feel Neil tremble under his hand. “So you’re gonna go home. And you’re never gonna lay a hand on your son again. You get that?” He gave Neil a good shake until the man nodded. Jim let him go and took a step back, crossing his arms. Neil faltered, shooting them a sneer.

“I can’t believe you’d take the side of some cocksucker.” Benny’s eyes darkened again and he moved forward, making Neil flinch.

“You best get moving, Neil,” Jim said, slow and dangerous. “Or these two cocksuckers as you so kindly put it, might have to do something about this bullshit you keep spewing.” Jim motioned to Benny and himself, giving Neil a grin that made him go white. “And trust me, we don’t take kindly to bein’ called names like that.”

“You--!!” His face went red and he yanked his truck open. He paused, one leg hitched up, sneering again.

“Yeah,” Jim called. “And if you think you’ll win this fight, go ahead. Continue it.” Neil blanched again, though the fury never fell from his face. His tires squeaked as he peeled out, Jim and Benny looming together in the parking lot.

Jim sighed and took off his hat, wiping his brow.

“You alright?” Benny gently laid a hand on Jim’s shoulder. His voice was soft, eyes even gentler, and Jim smiled, resting his hand atop his husband’s.

“You know it. I gotta get to work, Flo is gonna give me the tenth degree,” he said with a groan. Benny chuckled and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Jim’s lips. “Make sure those boys are okay, would ya?”

“Of course. We got that extra room still fitted up, right?” Jim let out a laugh mixed with a sigh.

“We do, and you can offer it, but I’m sure Billy would much rather stay with Steve than us.” Benny shrugged, giving Jim’s shoulder a squeeze and a rub.

“That may be, but I’m gonna make sure he knows he’s got a safe place with us.” His face turned dark once more, looking after where Neil’s truck had gone. “Do you think he’s gonna listen?”

“No,” Jim sighed. “Not if he’s anything like my father.” He put his hat back on, cupping Benny’s frowning face. “I’ve already pushed it, but, if you thought the inside of Neil’s truck needed some fish guts, maybe under the seat, I might just agree. In theory.”

“That so?” Benny smiled. “Funny, I was thinking the same thing.”

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #jim hopper #neil hargrove #homophobic language #f slur tw #benny hammond #hopperxbenny

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marvelslut16 · 4 years

Text

A helping hand

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x reader

Synopsis:(Y/N)’s younger sister is part of the party. so what happens when she witness’s Billy getting hit when she goes to pick Max up and then when he arrives bloody and bruised on her doorstep two days later? Will she help him and let him in on her life before Hawkins, or will her hatred for him make her turn him away? Takes place between seasons 2 and 3.

Word count: 2602

Warnings: First (and possibly only) time writing for Billy, so he’s pretty OOC. Swearing. Abuse. Neil being the grade a asshole that he is. Talk of domestic violence. Angst?

“Stay in the car, I’ll be back in a minute,” you turn around to face your little sister, Carol, who’s sitting in the back seat flipping through the pages of her seventeen magazine.

“Okay,” she glances up at you. “We’re supposed to be at the arcade in ten minutes, we can’t be late.”

She’s frantic that she’ll be late and upset Dustin. “Ah, young love,” you tease her as you step out of the car, catching the last seconds of her sticking her tongue out. Carol and Dustin had been friends their entire life, and she’s been in love with him for almost as long.

You make your way to the front door of the Hargrove house, you’re here to pick up Max and drop the two off at the arcade to meet up with the rest of the party. It was a cold and snowy January in Hawkins, so the kids obviously couldn’t ride their bikes or skateboards. As you get closer to the door, you swear you can hear the hushed tone of someone yelling at their kids. You ignore the uneasy feeling rising in your stomach and knock on the door.

Susan Hargrove answers the door with a fake smile plastered on her face. You’re about to greet her when you hear shouting coming from down the hall. “You’re just a worthless fucking faggot Billy,” you hear a male voice bellow, you make eye contact with Max over her mothers shoulder. She looks embarrassed, which makes a deep frown appear on your face. This must be normal. “You’re too busy staring at yourself in the mirror that you can’t drive your sister to the arcade, you make some girl come out of her way to get Maxine.” Billy and his father are now in your line of sight, but blocked from your sister's view because of your frame.

Before you can assure them that it’s no problem and that it was actually on the way Billy mumbles, “she’s not my sister.”

“We’ve already talked about this,” his father seethes. “You need to learn respect and responsibility.” As the last word leaves his lips the sound of flesh on flesh resonates in the air.

It takes you half a second to realize that Neil’s hand is in the air and Billy’s face is turned away from the door. The smack happened so fast that you almost missed it. A small gasp leaves your lips, reminding everyone that you just witnessed their dark secrets. Billy’s blue eyes snap to yours as they seem to glow in rage, but towards you and not his father. There’s also a sadness deep within those angry eyes, a sadness that only someone who can relate can see.

Max is frantically pulling on her red winter coat, trying to get out of the house as fast as humanly possible.

“I’ll have Max home by eight,” you give Susan a sad smile. “I have to go shopping, but then I’ll be at the arcade with the kids for the rest of the time. And really, it was no bother picking her up, Max and Carol get along great.”

“Bye mom,” Max mumbles as she pushes her way out the door and towards your car. Susan gives you one last sad smile, and your eye’s briefly flick to Billy who looks like he’s about to break something, before the front door closes.

As you walk away you can hear Neil’s voice pick back up, there’s a part of you that wants to cry for the poor broken boy on the other side of that door. But it’s Billy, the bully, the new king of Hawkins High. The Billy that goes around tormenting Steve, and the one that makes fun of the nerdy kids. No, you wouldn’t cry for him. He’s just as bad as his father.

Max and Carol talk and laugh the entire way to the arcade. Max pretending nothing happened, and Carol none the wiser to what goes on in the Hargrove house. Carol is impatient and practically jumps out to the car before it stops moving, five minutes late from when she promised Dustin she would be here. Max is slower, almost like she’s at war with herself on whether to say anything or not.

“Max,” you say as she slides a foot out the door. “If it’s ever too much and you need somewhere to stay for a night, our door is always open. No questions asked and no one has to know.”

“Thanks,” she says quietly before following your sister into the arcade.

When you drop Max off later that night Billy’s Camaro is nowhere to be seen.

At school the next morning you feel a tight grip around your wrist as you’re walking down the hall to first period. Before you can properly react you’re spun around and engulfed in the strong scent of cologne and cigarette smoke. You’re once again greeted by Billy’s angry blue eyes as he pulls you into a secluded corner.

“Let go of me,” you glare at him, yanking your wrist away from him. Taking a few steps back, wanting as much space between you and him as you could get. Billy looked angry, and you sure as hell didn’t want to be on the receiving side of that anger.

“I don’t want your pity and you best not say anything to anyone about what you saw yesterday (Y/L/N),” Billy threatens. Even though it’s the middle of January Billy still only has half of his shirt buttoned. His chest muscles visibly flexing with his erratic angry breathing.

“Why the hell would I say anything? Just so you can deny it before beating me to a pulp like you did to Steve? I’ll pass,” your eyes narrow at the bad boy. “And I sure as hell don’t fucking pity you. Yeah, you’re life sucks, Neil sucks. But you choose to be just like him. Abused or not, that’s no excuse to become the bully Hargrove. A bad life doesn’t give you the excuse to be a shit person. And you could try to be nicer to Max, while she may not be the one getting hit, living in a toxic home is just as terrible.”

Billy takes a step back, like you’ve burned him. His face holds a faint trace of sorrow, good. Maybe he’ll be knocked down a peg or two. Out of the corner of your eye you see Steve shoot you a weird look as his eyes land on you and his enemy.

“Harrington,” you call as Steve walks passed you and Billy. He stops and turns around, raising an eyebrow when his eyes flick to your company. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Studying for our calculus test,” he watches you intently as you step closer to him, still wondering why you were with Billy.

“The kids are coming over to watch the new Indiana Jones, do you want to join us? We can study after the movie, I love Harrison Ford too much to actually miss the movie,” you laugh softly. “Plus my parents left this morning, so I’m babysitting seven hormonal middle schoolers alone, please save me.”

“You’ll be fine,” Steve laughs at your over dramatic attitude.

“Half of them are dating each other, and then my sisters crush on Dustin, I can’t handle all that drama on my own,” you whine as you start to walk down the hall. “Plus it's free pizza, popcorn, and all the ice cream you can eat. And a new episode of Saturday Night Live when the kids fall asleep” You bat your eyelashes at your friend and co parent to the party.

“Fine,” he sighs reluctantly. “But Hargrove better not be there.”

“Like he’d ever show up,” you laugh as you run down the hall as the warning bell sounds.

Before you know it, it’s Saturday afternoon and you’re surrounded by kids. Susan dropped Max off first, and the poor woman couldn’t look you in the eyes. And that fact that Billy, who according to Max always takes her places, wasn’t the one dropping her off made you slightly worried.

You’re about twenty minutes into the movie and throwing popcorn at Steve when there’s a hesitant and irregular pounding on your front door. “Stay here,” you tell the kids. Steve follows a few steps behind you.

You’re greeted by Billy’s bruised face when you open the door. He has a bruised and swollen eye that pairs with his split lip. Dried blood on his chin and drops on his white shirt.

“Oh my God, Billy,” you breathe. Your body works without your brains help, and you gently grab his wrist and pull him into your house.

“I know you said the door was always open for Max,” his voice hoarse, almost like he was in a screaming match earlier. His right arm wrapped tightly around his torso. “Do ya think you can make an exception for me?” Max joins the three teens when she hears Billy’s voice, her face falls slightly at the sight of his condition.

“Steve, Max, why don’t you guys go back to the movie. Billy, let’s go get you cleaned up,” you grab his hand and gently pull him towards the stairs. Steve goes to protest, but Max pulls him away with her.

“What happened?” you ask after you shut the bedroom door behind you, running to the bathroom to get a wet washcloth. Billy remains silent as he watches your concentration face as you lightly dab at his split lip.

“I was working out too loudly, then I accidently spilled his beer,” Billy won’t look you in the eyes.

“We graduate in a few months and then you’ll be free,” you interject optimistically.

“You know I’ll never change, right?” Billy says as he thinks back to what you said to him school.

“I think you can,” you sigh, grabbing some aspirin. “You just choose not to.”

“What do you know?” he snaps, blue eyes murderous.

“More than you would think,” you deadpan, lifting his shirt to rest under his pecs. Boy was it hard not to just rip it off completely.

“If you wanted me shirtless you just had to ask sweetheart,” Billy winks and seductively licks his lips. You inhale sharply, trying to ignore the rush of heat you feel throughout your body. Sure he’s hot, bet he’s a manwhore and an asshole. Don’t fall for it. Instead of verbally responding, you push on his ribs without warning and it’s his turn to inhale. “Shit!”

“They don’t feel broken or fractured,” you stare at the splotchy blue and purple bruises forming over his rib cage.

“How would you know?” he asks through clenched teeth.

“I have years of practice,” you hand him the aspirin and wait to talk until he swallowed the tablets. Were you really going to tell him this? “My dad, my birth one, used to toss me around like a rag doll. Carol got lucky, he liked her so he would never hurt her. But when he was mad at something she did he would just take it out on me twice as hard. I had to clean myself up when my mom would shut down, and I’d have to fight through the pain to check to see if anything was broken. One night it was so bad that I was unconscious on our kitchen floor when my mom and Carol got home. That’s the day my mom decided to leave him.”

“How old were you?” Billy’s face a mix of sadness and anger.

“Younger than Carol and Max. We moved around a bit before finally landing in Hawkins,” you’re afraid to look in Billy’s eyes. Afraid to find that pity he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of. “I know you have a distaste for the town, I did too when I moved here my freshman year, but it’s the first place we stayed. It’s where my mom met my amazing stepdad, it’s home to some of us.”

“That’s why you offered Max a place to stay when it gets bad,” his voice softens as he stares at the side of your face.

“I had nowhere to go. Carol had nowhere to go,” you sigh. “I couldn’t let Max suffer through the same life we did.”

“I didn’t know,” he reaches forward and rest his fingers on top of yours.

“No one did, you’re the only one,” you pull your fingers away from his to wipe a single tear away. “Carol doesn’t even know, the doctors say she’s blocking out the memories, that it was so painful her brain refuses to remember it.”

“I want to be better,” he refuses to look you in the eye, opting to pick at the corner of your comforter instead.

“And you can be, one step at a time Billy,” you gently place your hand on his shoulder He finally looks up at you, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “It’s why I said you could change, be better. I’m nothing like my father, and I know you're strong enough to be better than yours.”

“Will you help me?” he sounds so vulnerable and defeated. So broken.

“Of course, as long as you’re actually trying.”

Thank you,” he lays down on your bed, pulling the sheets up over him.

“Do you like Saturday Night Live?” you ask as you walk to your door,

“I love it,” he gives you a lopsided smile you’ve never seen before.

“Cool. Get some sleep, and you can join Steve and me when it’s on tonight.”

“Anything for you sweetheart,” he shoots you a lazy wink.

“And Billy? You owe me big time,” you put on a fake scowl as you look into Billy’s tired blue eyes. “You made me miss shirtless Harrison Ford.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything. He’s too caught up in the way the bed smells like your floral perfume, and the strawberry shampoo that you use. He takes a deep breath, deeply inhaling your scent, trying to memorize it. To memorize the smell of safety and home. His eyelids grow heavy and he drifts off to sleep, wondering what changing would mean for the two of you.

“Where is he?” Steve immediately jumps up from the couch when you walk back into the living room.

“Upstairs sleeping off some pain meds,” you send hi a warning look. “Now how much did I miss?”

“Harrison is making out with the blonde chick,” Lucas says through a mouthful of popcorn.

“Well that narrows it down,” you laugh lightly.

“They’re giving the stone back to the village,” Carol adds. You let out a long sigh as you realize you missed almost the entire movie. You give Max a small smile, hoping that it conveys to her that Billy is alright.

“When’s Hargrove leaving?” Steve asks annoyed.

“He’s actually gonna watch SNL with us tonight,” you meet Steve’s angry eyes. “He promised to help make french toast in the morning.” That may have been a lie, but Steve doesn't need to know that. But something tells you that you’ll be able to convince him to help.

“So when are we gonna order pizza?” Carol cuts in, wanting to cut the tension.

“In a little,” you promise, as you sit down to enjoy the last few moments of Harrison Ford.

An hour and a half later, when the pizza’s on it’s way, you go upstairs to wake up Billy. “Don’t let me down Billy,” you whisper to his sleeping form as you lean against your door frame.

Part 2: Too much

Forever tags: @crimson-knuckled-queen @rexorangecouny

#dacre montgomery #billy stranger things #billy x you #billy x y/n #billy x reader #billy hargove x reader #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x you #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things season 2 #stranger things season 3 #stranger things x reader

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loserslibrary · 4 years

Text

pairing: Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak [Reddie] written by: Amy rating: Teen word count: 2,214 prompt: “Richie (scholar) and Eddie (track star) end up in detention together.”

Even though it was pretty clear that Eddie had a free pass in High School due to his place on the track team, not to mention his countless gold medals from competitions, it didn’t mean that he was a dick to those who were further down on the social scale. He always smiled at Betty Rispsom, and shared his calculus notes with Edward Corcoran. His acts of ‘kindness’ as the other track team members called it, earned him weird looks from the other popular kids at school, but Eddie was a big boy and could walk away from those bothering him.

He liked to think that he was friends, or at least on speaking terms, with almost everyone in the school and in his year. Yes, there were certain people, like Henry Bowers and his gang, that Eddie knew to stay clear of, but other than them he had no real issue with anyone.

Certainly not with Richie Tozier, even though he couldn’t say the same for Richie himself.

Richie was probably the smartest student that Derry High had ever had. Ever since he was a kid, his brain was always one step ahead of everyone else and by the time he was in middle school, he could probably take exams meant for college seniors. Eddie could remember when they were freshmen in High School and Richie had been interviewed by specialists from different Ivy League colleges, and was even offered a place, but he turned them down. According to his best friend, Stan, it was because he didn’t want to grow above his means.

Back before cliques became a thing and Eddie was accepted to the track team, Richie and he used to be friends. Close friends even. Richie’s dad was still best friends with Eddie’s dad, and sometimes Eddie would overhear them discussing why their son’s weren’t friends anymore. Eddie wished that he knew the answer to that one too. Of course, he had asked Richie a few times, but the other boy just shook his head and turned in the other direction. Now, Eddie can’t even say hello without Richie running away from him.

Eventually, Eddie stopped trying. If Richie wanted to speak to him, then he could approach Eddie. He was done being the one trying.

About a month after Eddie had made that decision, the worst thing that could possibly happen...happened. Just after fourth period, Eddie was making his way to the lunch hall when he overheard the dulcet tones of Henry Bowers and his gang of fuckwits. He rolled his eyes, planning on walking past them and avoiding any confrontation, when Richie’s voice cut through and Eddie froze in his place.

“Wait, hold on, just...give me that back.” Eddie rounded the corner and surveyed the scene. Richie was up against one of the lockers, held there by Patrick, and Henry was flicking through what was obviously Richie’s science project book from the stickers plastered all over it.

Henry pursed his lips, flicking through the book with no interest whatsoever. “I mean, you are a smarty pants, Tozier, shouldn’t you be able to whip up another one of these bad boys in a few hours or so? Or are you not as smart as you make out to me? Have you been lying to everyone this whole time?” He laughed and slowly ripped a page out of the book, letting it float to the floor.

“No! Please!” Richie shook his head as he tried to get out of Patrick’s grip, but the bully was too strong against his gangly form. The sight made Eddie sick to his stomach. “It’s not that easy, I’ve been working on it for months, it’s not easily re-created.”

As Henry rolled his eyes, Eddie decided that it was time to make himself known, before the bully did in fact, ruin all of Richie’s hard work. “Don’t you have anything better to do, Bowers? Like fucking graduate?” It was a low blow, but also no secret that Henry was two years older than his pack of goons, having been held back for two years due to not being able to graduate. “Just fuck off.”

“This is none of your business, Kaspbrak. Just because your dad is the chief of police doesn’t mean I won’t beat your ass.” Henry growled, dropping the book and storming over to Eddie, glaring down at him.

Eddie had to hold back the urge to laugh. Even though he was on the smaller scale height wise, he made up for it with his self defense ability and his unexpected strength. He was also super fast, which was why he was the best track member on the team. “I think you’re confused about me beating your ass Bowers, do you really want a repeat of Halloween Sophomore year?”

Behind them, Victor snorted and Eddie let himself smirk. It was clear that no-one had forgotten about the time Eddie broke Henry’s nose for mouthing off his dad in Sophomore year. Good, he didn’t want anyone to forget that he wasn’t scared of the resident bully. Unfortunately, Henry didn’t seem to share the all round amusement, and raised his fist, swinging it in for a punch, which Eddie dodged with ease. His height did come in handy sometimes.

“You fucking faggot!” Henry snapped, turning and lunging for Eddie, sending them both barreling backwards onto the tile floor. With the wind knocked out of him, Eddie lost his bearings for a moment, long enough for Henry to get a punch in, but not long enough for anything else. Quickly, Eddie rolled out of the way and as Henry made another move, Eddie raised his knee, hitting Bower’s straight in the groin. The bully fell to the floor, groaning and Eddie got to his feet, brushing himself off.

“Next time pick on someone your own size,” Eddie snapped, reaching down to pick up RIchie’s discarded project book, handing it back to him with a smile. “Here. Sorry about them, they are assholes.”

Richie snatched the book from him, holding it close and pushing his glasses back up his face. “I had it under control, you didn’t need to step in like some hero.” He rolled his eyes. “You just made things so much worse, they’re going to actively seek me out now because of you.”

“Richie I was just- I just wanted to help…” Eddie stammered, losing his confidence just a little. It was always the same when he was around Richie, ever since they were fifteen. Even though they weren’t as close, or even friends at all, it didn’t just mean that the feelings Eddie felt for him would disappear like magic. They were still there, sitting under the surface with every accidental eye-lock or brush of shoulders in the hallways.

“I didn’t need your help!” Richie snapped and was just about to walk away when a teacher rounded the corner. Bowers was still on the ground, clutching his groin like a five year old and his cronies were nowhere to be seen. Eddie looked up, hoping it would be his Coach, or another teacher that he got on well with, but it seemed that his luck had run out. It was Mr Black, the strict and intolerable English Teacher who seemed to have it out for every student at Derry High.

He stormed over to the three of them, his arms crossed and eyes dark. “What is going on here? As Seniors, you should all be aware of the ‘No Fighting’ rule. Especially in the hallways.” Mr Black’s voice was cold and harsh, but Eddie still attempted to explain. “I don’t want to hear it. All three of you, detention after school.” With that, he walked off, muttering under his breath.

“See what you did?” Richie groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Detention! I’ve never had detention before in my life!” He shook his head and without another word, disappeared down the hall, leaving Eddie alone by the lockers.

For the rest of the day, Eddie wondered how he was going to get through the hour of after school detention with Bowers and Richie, both who were not on his side at that moment. Before lunch period ended, Eddie sent a quick message to his dad, explaining what had gone on and why he would be home late. Of course, he was disappointed that Eddie had gotten into a fight, but proud that he was standing up for himself and his friends.

Never let anyone push you around. They hit you? Hit them back.

When the final bell of the day rang, Eddie packed up his bag and made his way to Mr Black’s classroom. When he arrived, Richie was already there, head down and scribbling in a book and Henry was nowhere to be seen. “Take a seat Mr Kaspbrak. It will just be you and Mr Tozier this afternoon, as Mr Bowers is serving his detention with another teacher.” Mr Black grunted before making his way to the door. “I have a teacher meeting, but you both better still be here when I get back or there will be more time added and I know you both don’t want that.”

As soon as Mr Black was gone, Eddie slumped into a seat and pulled out a few of his books. He might as well get some studying in, since he couldn’t practice in detention. However, the need to talk to Richie, to finally get some answers was eating away at him and becoming unbearable to ignore. He slammed his book closed and out of the corner of his eye, Richie jumped a little.

“Richie, please can we talk like adults? I can’t take this anymore!” Eddie made his way over to Richie and pulled up a chair so the was facing him on the other side of the desk. “You can’t run away from me here, and Mr Black won’t be back until four so we have time to talk. Please? I just want to talk.”

Richie looked at Eddie, his eyes wide behind his glasses, “What is there to talk about Eddie? You’re you and I’m me. That’s all there is to it. Just because our dads are friends, doesn’t mean we need to be too.”

That took Eddie by surprise and he blinked a few times, “Richie- what are you talking about? You don’t really think I only want to be friends with you because our dads are friends do you? Even if our dads weren’t friends, I’d still want to be friends with you. You’re pretty amazing.” As those words left his lips, a blush rose up on Eddie’s cheeks and he bit his lip. “I mean, you’re cool and all.”

“But- you’re a jock and I’m a nerd. You shouldn’t want to be my friend. That’s not how High School works,” Richie shook his head and Eddie barked out a laugh. He had clearly been watching too many teen romantic comedies in his spare time. “Why are you laughing? What’s so funny?”

Eddie smiled, a smile that was reserved only for the people in his life that he really cared about and trusted. “You are. Richie- since when have I ever cared about the social norms of High School? I’m not on the track team because I want to be popular and have lots of friends. I'm on the track team because I like to run. I enjoy the sport. I also know that you aren’t a ‘nerd’ by choice, you are just exceptionally smart and absolutely brilliant!” He shook his head again. “Is that why you stopped talking to me? Because you thought it would bring my popularity status down?”

Now it was Richie’s time to flush and he let out a groan, “I’m an idiot aren’t I?” He asked and Eddie nodded his head just a little. “Though...that wasn’t the only reason I was ignoring you and cut you off back in freshman year.” Richie was looking away at this point, which only stemmed Eddie’s curiosity.

“What?”

“I- may or may not have had a little crush on you when I was younger, and I didn’t want it to ruin anything if I told you. It became harder to be around you though because those feelings never really...went away?” Richie explained and Eddie’s jaw dropped open a little. “Have I said too much?”

Eddie shook his head faster, “No- fuck...no. Richie...the reason why I never stopped trying to be your friend for so long was because I felt the same and I didn’t want you to not be in my life, even if it was just as a friend.” He was grinning now, from ear to ear and he reached out to cover a hand over Richie’s.

“Holy shit,” Richie laughed. “We really are a pair of angsty teenage idiots, aren’t we?” He asked and Eddie nodded, his own laugh bubbling past his lips. “What- what happens now?”

At that, Eddie ginned, “Well, if you don’t mind. I would love to take you out on a date. If that’s something you would like to do? With me?” God, Eddie was bad at this.

Richie grinned and turned his wrist so their palms were touching and he leaned closer. “Absolutely.”

#reddie #reddie fic #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #ours #by amy #ours: reddie #high school au #getting together

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byler-n-harringrove · 5 years

Text

Broken fingers || Byler Au

I felt so compelled to this amazing prompt - please feel free to send in your own requests because personally I don’t have many ideas atm haha, I need a little help!! I am also a little rusty with my byler writing, so plz bare with me!! Thank you guys so much xx I love you all!!

Prompt: Do you do requests?? Cause I was thinking of a story where Lonnie comes over to the Byers residence in a drunk rage and slams the door on Will’s fingers breaking one of them. So he either goes to Mike’s or Mike comes over and they just cuddle and cry 😭😭😭

Warnings: violence, swearing (bigotry)

______

It had all been a blur in the beginning.

Pain did that, blurred your other 4 senses as your mind became foggy with the shooting of pain through your blood - like some type of rabid disease with no intention of stopping. The pain grasped to Will’s fragile frame, claws digging in with no surrender in sight.

He was sure they were broken, the way the bones sat pointed and tilted outwards in odd directions didn't look normal. But there hadn't been much the teen could do at the time then run away, blinded by haste and poker-hot pain. How Lonnie, his oh so lovely father, had gotten into his family's beloved house was beyond him, and the youngest Byers was lucky enough to walk in - alone - to a rather red faced and staggering man who had a bone to pick.

Will had been trying to close his bedroom door ( it was his natural reaction when anything threatened him - to go into his room and shut the door), but Lonnie had followed him, hitting multiple walls along the way. There was a squabble, and Will really wasn't the strongest of children.

The crunching of his fingers as the door sandwiched the violently made Will want to throw up.

Pain destoryed the next moments - he had cried out, Lonnie has backed off and left him finally, muttering about how his son was a faggot and so - and all Will knew in that moment he needed to run. Run away, get to somewhere safe. But where was that? It was second nature, though, to answer that thought with one name.

Mike’s house.

The frail and pale boy’s heart shook at the idea. He had always felt safe in that cosy basement, curled up diligently beside his one and only crush - Mike Wheeler. It was close to hero worship at this point, he would blindly follow Mike to the end of time if it meant that Mike would give him a smile and let him hold his hand.

The bike ride over was what Will felt hell would feel like - he didn't trust himself to use one hand to ride - and he found himself hoping that Mike even had the smallest amount of knowledge on first aid. The sun had finally made the hill its grave, the crappy pee yellow street lights on the main roads the only guide he had.

He had to push through - to get to Mike, to feel safe, to feel loved.

The milenia it took to get to Mike’s house finally reached its end as he flung his bike to the ground unforgivingly in his pained haste. The noise of the bike meeting the grass made him cringe, but the reminder of his broken fingers only brought more pain.

He didn't know where his face began and his tears started as he knocked erratically on the Wheeler’s front door. Will didn't have to wait long, luckily, before the eccentric wooden door was heaved open by a familiar mop of dark brunette hair - those beautiful caramel eyes instantly made Will want to crumple in his arms and sob.

And that's what he did.

“Hey Will- Ahh! What's wrong!?” the spangly teenager squeaked awkwardly as Will flung himself into his arms with blatant disregard.

“Who's at the door Mike!?” “It's just Will! We’re going downstairs, don't bother us!” Mike didn't know what was wrong, but seeing Will cry so freely made his stomach drop and his heart stutter with fear.

What the fuck had happened?

Will sniffled and whimpered as they descended the stairs into their lair, the basement. Wills second home - besides castle Byers, but that was different - was already starting to have an effect on his nerves. Lonnie wasn't here, he wasn't going to get to him and sure as hell wasn't going to be breaking anymore of his ‘girly’ fingers.

“Are you going to tell my whats wrong?’ Mike asked, doing his best to sound sympathetic - of course he was, but the anxiety of not knowing things often made him sound snappy and impatient.

The smaller teen was unable to meet Mike’s eyes now, and wordlessly extended his hand that had been cradled to his chest. The fingers were distorted awkwardly - Will didn't want to look at them again or he felt like he was actually going to throw up or pass out. They were his fingers - his father had done this to him. His. Father.

“S-Shit!” Mike cursed loudly, eyes wide.

Without another word, he quickly darted off to the small toilet off the basement. He ripped the rickedy medicine cabinet open and quickly grabbed the first aid kit they used for emergencies. Fuck - this was more then a emergency. This was Will, his Will.

When he returned, Mike quickly guided the other teen towards their sofa. Will’s cheeks were red and blotchy, eyes slightly swollen as he sniffled and whined at the pain of his fingers. The taller teen broke out the bandages and something to make some splints from (his parents had forced him to take a first aid course - not that he would tell anyone that) and hesitantly inspected the 3 fingers.

“Who did this?” Mikes voice almost struck fear in Will.

“U-umm… L-lonnie..” He was too tired to be berraded by Mike until he finally told him - it was easier to give up now.

The next 10 minutes were in silent besides the quiet cries of Mike moving his bones to try and set them ( yes, he wasn't a doctor - but Will repeatedly told him they couldn't go. There were already too many issues surrounding his family as it was) and Mike muttering soft praises and encouragements to keep him conscious and as calm as possible.

“Here - this'll help the pain” Mike had fetched some water from upstairs - no mum, we don't need any food. yes mum, he's fine - and offered Will (who had finally stopped crying) some panadol to help.

Will sniffled again, taking the water and panadol before muttering a soft thank-you as Mike sat down beside him. The couch was warm - their bodies sat close together as Will was finally starting to calm down from the rush of emotions and adrenaline that ran through is small body. It was too much, and it had honestly tired him out.

“Your staying tonight, by the way. Before you say anything, my mum says its fine and she’ll call your mum. We can watch movies - your choice of course” Mike all but ordered his friend, standing again without a moment's notice to get some of the spare blankets and pillows from the corner of the room.

The smallest teen could only muster a nod - muttering something about the 2nd Star Wars movie - and found himself curling his knees into his chest. Will just wanted, no he need, some hugs. He needed to be held - loved, smothered until he was no longer the touch starved teen he was now.

Mike - who Will was sure was his guardian angel - finally settle back down on the couch and layered the cozy blankets around them along with some comfy pillows. It was like a mother making a nest for its young - and Will seemed all but oblivious to Mike’s reddening cheeks as he slipped into the warmth besides him, their sides touching with soft zaps of passionate electricity.

“C-can…” Wil stuttered, capturing Mike's undivided attention “Can we hug?” If Will could get and redder they would never know, but the question honestly made him want the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

It was silent for a moment before Mike stuttered out a small “Y-yea,” before wrapping his spindily limbs arounder Wills slightly shaking frame and holding him close.

Will was in euphoria.

As the movie started, Will felt the panadol slowly starting to kick in - seeping into his bloodstream and numbing the throbbing pain within his fingers. The small teen slowly found himself leaning his head on Mike’s shoulder, eyes drooping as he focused on Mike’s radiating warmth and the small circles he rubbed on Will’s upper arm.

“I won't let anyone ever hurt you again, Will. Never” Mike promised Will with sheer determination in his voice as the youngest finally slipped off into sleep - finally feeling safe and secure wrapped in blankets, in the arms of the person he loved most.

#byeler #byers #byler fanfic #byler fanfiction #byler fic #mike wheeler #stranger things #stranger things fandom #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #will byers #mike x will fanfic #will x mike fanfic #will byers x mike wheeler #mike wheeler x will byers

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godzillamendoza · 5 years

Text

My story of abuse and trying to overcome it

I talked about her before. Said some fake name. Avoided details. I’m ready now to tell the whole story. Maybe sharing it will help me get better. Because I can’t keep living like this. This is the story of how I was abused. And how I’ve tried to recover from it.

It’s 2015. I am 16 years old going on 17. I go to a small private school. Everyone’s either there because their parents keep them sheltered or they were kicked out of somewhere else for being a shitty student. She was the latter. I was the former.

She was really into sex for her age. Guys lined up around the block to ask her for a go. She had been at our school for less than 4 months and had already dated 2 other guys for a bit. I should have seen that as the first warning sign. I sat behind her in history class. I think she noticed one day that I just didn't pay attention to her the same way the other guys would. I just trained myself not to stare. To be polite and keep my feelings to myself after having so many girls treat me badly in middle school. I think she saw me as a challenge because I wasn’t an easy target.

So she started talking to me more. She got my phone number from one of my friends instead of just asking me for it. That should have been the next warning. I talked to her and developed a little crush, but I still had my reservations. She was so abrasive and crude. She cussed like a sailor, smoked behind the school at lunch, and showed up to class buzzed at times. She was set on partying and causing chaos. I was quiet and shy. Back then I had barely said the word "fuck" 3 times in my life.

Eventually she asked out another guy, and he said no. So she texted me about it. By that time I was in her friend zone and I was comfortable there. I assured her that this guy didn't know what he was missing and she'd find someone better. She asked me if I was someone better. She asked me to go out with her. I shut her down and said she was just in the rebound after a rejection and not thinking clearly. We stayed friends after that though.

So she asked again while we were talking one night. And I still said no. I told her I didn't want it to affect our friendship. I think half of it was my fear of her lifestyle and the other half was just not being used to those kinds of interactions. I wasn't ready to be in a relationship yet. Aside from some one-off dates with 2 girls prior that didn't go far, I had never had a girlfriend before.

One day she and a friend of hers called me on Skype while I was play Gmod with my friend Jackson. At first it was just 4 friends hanging out, but she kept steering the conversation, and her friend helped. Both girls kept saying I would be a great match for her, and that we'd be really cute as a couple. She kept insisting and the peer pressure of 2 other people being there made me say yes. She changed our relationship status on Facebook immediately to dating. My family and friends saw it. They were excited for me. A friend of hers named Lexie absolutely hated it and had an angry meltdown in the comments on that post. At first I thought she was being protective of her friend and thinking I wasn't good enough since I wasn't really part of their clique. Those girls dated soccer players or popular kids. I was the quiet guy that no one knew.

The next day was awkward at school. I didn't know how to be a boyfriend so I just acted how I always did. Nervous and always trying to make a joke. I figured if I could make her laugh I was at least doing something right. Her friends gave us nasty looks at lunch and in math class. Lexie was very disapproving and angry, and I thought it was at me for the longest time. I talked with Lexie again recently. She confided in me some very personal things and revealed she was angry about my relationship because she knew her friend was "going to eat you alive, Xavier." She was right. I forgive her for being angry now, because I understand it wasn’t at me.

At the end of that first day I tried to walk home but she grabbed my arm and asked if I was forgetting something. I had my first kiss. Her friends stood around us watching. Judging. Waiting for me to walk away do they could laugh and giggle like teen girls do. I felt terrible because I wanted my first kiss to be more romantic and intimate. Not this awkward, rushed, public thing.

We dated for around 5 months at first. We only got to hang out outside of school twice. The first was a somewhat pleasant date for Valentine's day. It was embarrassing how my mom had to drive us around because I hadn't gotten my drivers permit yet. But otherwise it was okay. We took pictures in a photo booth and hugged and kissed and played games. At the end when I dropped her off, I met her mom. Her mom intentionally spilled hot soup on one of her previous boyfriends, but she liked me. She thought I was charming and smart. She said dating someone like me would be good for her daughter. I really was different from all the guys she had been around. That's my last happy memory with her.

After that, our interactions would sour. She would tell me to stop sitting with my friends at lunch and just stay with her group, who all hated me and didn't talk when I was around. She'd force me to talk with her on Skype for hours while she did boring things like browse tumblr or text her friends. She would guilt trip me if I tried to leave to do anything else.

After 2 weeks, Lexie asked us in the hallway a very forward question. "Have you had sex with her yet?" Lexie seemed baffled when I said no. The girl seemed angry and disappointed. That was a turning point.

She would start being more provocative, more flirtatious. Sending me photos of her in her underwear, slipping her nipple out of her shirt while we talked on Skype. Asking me to send her shirtless pictures. I played along as well as I could but I never took the bait. I never fully gave in and it frustrated her. She started getting more aggressive in asking me and saying sexual things. I could tell she hated how little I reciprocated, but I just wasn't built for it. I didn't know how to do that and I wasn't ready.

I found out she sent pictures of me undressing to her friends. She showed me their reactions like I was supposed to be excited that they complimented my body, but that was a major breach of privacy and trust. One of the girls said "face ain't that great, but the abs are *thumbs up emoji*" or something and it really hit my self esteem. I stopped undressing for her a d taking those pictures. I just cut off from all of that part of our relationship. She hated it.

One day it snowed. Snowed harder than it has in a long time. The sky was just a white void. The ground was covered in fog and blizzard. It looked like Antarctica in our back yards for a day. But the school didn't cancel class.

After school ended, a student veered off the parking lot and hit a post. It caused a lot of chaos as the staff tried to help him and other students put on their parkas and gauked. She took it as an opportunity. She took me to a part of the school where no one went. An isolated little antechamber between the halls and the outside. My grandpa used to drive me home from school because my parents had to work. He called me and said he was outside waiting. She told me to tell him to wait. I made up a lie that I was finishing an assignment. I hung up and she started to kiss me. She got on top of me. I didn't like what was happening. I was frozen and timid. She grabbed my hands and made me touch her because I was too afraid to. I could taste the cigarettes in her mouth. Her braces scratched my lips. I just stopped being in that moment and looked outside at the snow falling. Her hands were cold and I felt this awful shivering in my bones while she touched me in ways I wasn’t comfortable with. It kept escalating and my phone kept ringing over and over. Eventually I found my courage and pushed her off me and told her I needed to leave. She was disappointed and angry that things didn't go any farther. That she didn't get what she wanted again. I felt so violated and sick and disgusting. I went outside in the snow. I couldn't even feel how cold it was. I got to my grandpa's car and he yelled at me for making him wait 40 minutes. I just apologized and asked to go home. He passed away earlier this year in 2020, and he never knew why I was so quiet on that ride home from school. I never told him why I was so afraid and sad on the ride TO school every day after that.

She was angry then. She said hurtful things all the time. Told me sex stories about her previous boyfriends to maybe make me jealous or change my mind. Some days she'd corner me with her friends and they'd make jokes and pressure me to do things with her while they watched. One of her friends tried to pull my shirt off. She called me a faggot. The girl just laughed with them. She didn't see how much it was bothering me. Feeling pressured and watched and all those hands grabbing me and touching me. She just thought it was funny like the rest of them.

She started talking about going to hang out with another guy she met on snap chat. Some guy named Patrick. I said I was worried something would happen between them and she made me feel guilty. Said I was being controlling. I backed off and acted complacent. I was well trained by that point. She didn't hurt me when I just gave her what she wanted. The day after she saw him, she was unusually mean. Calling me names and acting sick of me. I asked her what I did to deserve it and. She broke and told me she felt guilty because something did happen with her and Patrick. For once I decided to stand up for myself. I demanded to have his number. I texted him and asked what had happened. He gave me details while she just stood there, staring at me and looking guilty. He said they had been intimate. That he could give her what I couldn't. He said she complained about me all the time and he would have her by the end of the week. She said he was lying and she loved me, but I knew better. I felt the first panic attack of my life. I started shaking uncontrollably. I couldn't breathe. I was trying not to tear my hair out and cry. I was so panicked that after I was done calling her I just laid on the floor of my room and hyperventilated.

She did the last nice thing she ever did to me. She was so worried about my mental health that she told me to call my mom and tell her I was having anxiety attacks and needed some help. I think she did this out of guilt for me and someone else she had hurt. She told me a story about another guy she had dated. This guy took a bunch of pills one night and killed himself in the bathroom of his home. His mom called her the next day to tell her what happened. To this day I don't know if that story was true, or just a fearful prophetic vision she wanted to avoid me fulfilling. I completely ignored the cheating and just latched onto that lone act of kindness since they had been so rare. I tried to talk myself down and pretend I forgave her and loved her.

After that it was weeks of uneasy normalcy. She stopped asking for sex and nudes. She talked to me a little less. One day I overheard her tell a story to one of her friends about how she lost her virginity at a party when she was 14... To a 25 year old. She told the story with pride like it was a fun romp, and not something disgusting and wrong. I understand now why she struggled with the concept of consent. She was a victim too, but didn't even know it. Or maybe just didn't care anymore.

The second time we hung out outside of school was a fashion show she was a part of at school for some art class. Her and her friend (the one who tried to pull my shirt off) drove me to school. They bragged to each other about guys they had slept with and which ones had the biggest dicks. She knew I could hear them. I think she wanted to spite me with it. Or worse, she just didn't care about me being able to hear it. The show was stressful. Behind the stage I saw her put on her dress while acting cold. Wanting nothing to do with me. After the show we all went to the store. I bought her flowers to help her mood change, but she acted annoyed. She said she didn't have anywhere to put them. They dropped me off at home. Even though she was the one being cruel and spiteful, I was still the one who apologized to her. Like always. I thought about killing myself that night.

Instead I started working on this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t-ypqagJNXY&feature=youtu.be

I showed it to her after it was done some time later. She said it was too nerdy and didn't watch past the first 30 seconds.

Days after the fashion show, she told me she just didn't feel like she was in a good place to be in a relationship. That she needed time to be single again, but she still loved me. I started sitting further away from her in class. I finally got to be around my friends again. I think I was more quiet at school than I was even before her.

She started posting pictures of herself and some girl holding hands on Facebook. I asked her why she lied about not being ready for a relationship. She just wanted to finally officially date this girl she had been cheating on me with for a few weeks (since apparently Patrick couldn't quite "measure up") I told her I didn't want to see her again. She begged me not to go and said she had gotten so used to me being in her life. I was her longest relationship by that point. As usual, I conceded and just forgave her. She and this other girl broke up maybe a week later. We then spent these awkward few weeks doing finals and avoiding eye contact. She told me one day she was transferring schools. Maybe because she was too guilty to stay and see me every day. Knowing what she did to me. Maybe she realized how fucked her reputation was at that school because none of her old friends talked to her anymore. Maybe she just wanted to get out and find a new hunting ground since guys here knew she was bad news. Maybe she wanted to transfer to help her chances of graduating because she had bad grades in every class except the one with a teacher who wanted to fuck her (And might have, I don't know. He was like 25, seemed really annoyed seeing me with her, ate lunch alone with her some days, and gave her A+ grades on assignments she didn't turn in) The last day of school came around and I knew it would probably be the last time I saw her in person. She was wearing one of my old jackets she had taken. A Batman hoodie that was too big for me, so it looked like a trench coat on her skinny body. I heard the bell ring and we both stood up. And I stared at her. I couldn't think of anything to say. So I just hugged her. And then I walked away. I never saw that hoodie again.

For a few months I was alone again. Burying the trauma and heartache. I was so disgusted by my own body I stopped looking at myself in the mirror. Stopped looking down while taking a shower. Some days I would just lay on the floor in the bathroom feeling this empty hole in my chest grow bigger. I never lied to myself and pretended it was all because I missed her. I felt relieved to be away from her. But I felt worthless and unloved.

Comic Con came again that summer. I was having fun. I was happy. I was finally starting to get back to normal. Then she messaged me... Told me she was there too. Asked me to come meet her. I was in a Deadpool costume having fun with my friend Jackson, who I made a Rorschach cosplay for since Watchmen was his favorite comic. I didn't want her to ruin it. So I gave her bad directions so she couldn't find me. I was eager to get to the hotel and change out of the costume so it would be harder for her to spot me.

Later we went to the hotel and she texted me, saying she was sorry for how things went and that that she missed me. She asked if we could try again. The thing about abusive relationships, is that even when you don't want to, even when it hurts you, you give the other person what they want. It's like being hypnotized. You just can't see them sad. Even if deep down you hate them. Even if you wish they'd die, you just say yes to them. It doesn’t make sense until you live through it yourself. Remember that next time you judge someone for giving in to someone who hurts them repeatedly. They can’t help it.

When we were dating the first time, she never went inside my house. She always had an excuse for why she had to skip dinner and meeting my family. I cleaned my whole house top to bottom 4 times because she promised to visit me 4 times. It took me a whole day each time. The 5th time I didn't do anything. I left my room a mess because I knew any minute I'd get that text saying "sorry I can't make it..." I knew that would happen again. A few days after comic con, I asked her if we could meet up. I was tired of being in a long distance relationship with someone who lived 20 minutes away. I told her to come to my cousin's graduation party.she swore she could make it. Then she didn't. And i told her I was tired of being let down. I wanted to just stay friends. She said she missed the party because a fight with her mom and she refused to just be friends with "someone she was still in love with" She told me she was in love with me. After everything that had happened. Everything she had done.

Time goes by. She texts me out of the blue again. She's now started dating another guy, and they're having problems. He wants to have sex in the first few weeks and she's stonewalling him. She says she's reevaluating why her relationships keep falling. Why they only last 3 weeks maximum. And she remembers we dated on and off for close to 7 months. Something was different about me. She says it was because I was the only one who never pressured her or asked. I keep my distance and wish her well. By that point I was too busy working on Spider-Man retrospective part 3. Sometimes it’s hard playing Web of Shadows now because I associate certain parts of the game with pausing to text her and what she was saying at the time.

More time passes. More failed relationships. She keeps failing to hook anyone. She talks to me again. Says she missed me. She's in a new relationship with a new guy ALSO named Xavier. I don’t even know how to interpret that. She keeps acting like she can't stand him and I was “the one that got away.” She very much wants to rekindle things with me once again. She asks me to meet up for my birthday that was coming soon on July 4th. In the same stupid subservient trance, I say yes. I know she won't be there.

The night we were supposed to meet, she says she got too busy and we'll try again some other time. Then on Facebook she posts a picture of her and the other Xavier kissing with fireworks in the background. I connect the dots that she only talked to me when she was mad at him. I was the new Patrick.

I write her a text. A long, angry, paragraph of hate for her behavior towards me. Her friends text me the next day asking "what did you say to her? She's been crying all day. You're such an asshole." Her boyfriend texts me. He asks what's going on, so i tell him "I know you're trying to defend her honor but she made plans to cheat on you with me. She's not good for you. She'll just hurt you." He tells me to go fuck myself. Makes a joke about me being a ginger. Clearly what i said bothered him. They break up shortly after.

In that long message to her, I never once brought up the sexual abuse. I still hadn't even accepted it happened. I just ignored it and yelled at her for everything else. A few bad relationships happen over the next 2 years. One with a girl I didn’t have feelings for, but I felt safe with because she was too afraid to even mention sex. The other with another girl that was just as verbally abusive and emotionally distant as the first one. These are just more weights on me.

Then i met Anna. This was when my life changed. I fell in love with Anna almost immediately after we started talking. I had dated other girls after the first one, but I was never this... at peace. I never felt like they understood me or cared for me like Anna did. She was different. She had also been abused by her exes, but in different ways. One day while dating Anna, I start breaking down crying. I tell her everything that happened to me. I cry for maybe 5 straight hours. Anna cried with me. Both over what happened to me and her own traumas. She promises she'll never force me or hurt me. But now Anna realizes why we had been dating for weeks and I never brought up sex. Why I just completely avoided it. After that night we started getting more intimate. She wanted me to feel safe so she eased me through it. It started to feel fun to send pictures or flirt. She taught me how to do everything step by step. She was amazing. In the time since writing this initial post I’ve visited Anna in the Philippines. Being with her physically was freeing and felt different from everything I experienced before. I always felt safe with her and never afraid when we were intimate in person. I know she’s the girl for me, and we plan to get married later this year.

I wrote the first girl one last message. Saying goodbye. I talked about the sexual abuse. How it made me feel. How it ruined me. How it gave me nightmares. I told her I wanted to make peace and move on And let go of the hate. She laughed at me and insulted Anna. And that was the last time I ever talked to her.

I still have nightmares about her. Trying my hardest to forgive her. My natural defense mechanism of just being her pet. I keep dreaming of meeting her and trying my hardest to be nice, even though I'm so afraid I'm shaking. A year after we stopped dating I had a dream about marrying her and being terrified. I have dreams have her touching me again and I wake up. Some days the first thing I say when I open my eyes is a panicked "don't touch me." I developed a twitch in my neck from her. When people touch me unexpectedly, or when I'm stressed, or when the weather gets cold and the snow reminds me of that day. Just recently I woke up covered in sweat and hyperventilating just because I heard a voice in my sleep saying “we need to talk about__________” and saying her name. That’s all it takes sometimes apparently. Just hearing her name.

I still have a hard time with physical contact. I push people off if the hug me for too long. I feel my skin crawl when I think of her. I get these panic attacks where I feel her cold hands again. It feels like they're inside me. Feeling my skin from inside. Squeezing my ribs and lungs. It feels like there are ants on on my body and I want to claw out of my skin. Just tear it all off.

I hate how I owe all my current life to her. She made me so depressed and sad that I spent nights awake writing my novel. I wrote whenever I was sad, and she made me finish all 250 pages of it. When I ran out of book to write, I made that YouTube video. I was considering suicide every day and i made part 1 of the Spider-Man Games Retrospective to distract myself from thoughts of self harm. I think it makes sense in retrospect. There's jokes about self harm in there. An overly shocking joke about how awful it is to think Spider-Man wasn't there to stop someone from being raped because he was too busy catching balloons. I guess at the time I was angry no one tried to save me. Feeling like all the role models in my life were just out catching balloons.

If she hadn't made me that fucking depressed, I never would have made these videos. I wouldn't have the success of the channel. I wouldn't have met the scores of friends I have now. I wouldn't have Anna.

Everything good I have in life now is because of the awful thing she did. And it all feels a little tainted by that fact sometimes.

I've never really written it all out like this in this amount of detail before. It feels good to just lay it all out. But at the same time it makes me feel sick. I do think things have gotten better. With the help of a loving and amazing fiancee, and more friends than I think I deserve-- it’s gotten better. The nightmares are less frequent. I can handle being with someone now, and I want to be with Anna for the rest of my life. For whoever you are, if you know what it’s like to deal with this, and you’re afraid that people will judge you... I promise you that you’re valid and people will care and accept you. It does get better. Being open and trusting about what happened makes it easier, because you no longer have to deal with it alone.

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artificialqueens · 5 years

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New Kid on the Block chapter 2 (Pearl + Adore)

After the final bell rings, Danny wastes no time gathering his things at his locker before rushing out of the doors. Just last week, he had a great deal of misfortune when it came to running into his bullies on his walk home. As he all but sprinted through the grass, he could only hope that today he would be able to pass them without being detected.

“Hey, faggot.”

Danny groans, wanting nothing more than to sink into the ground itself and disappear. Three boys, why’d there have to be three of them? “H-hi.”

“H-h-hi,” one of the teens mocks, eliciting laughter from his friends. “You really talk like a queer, you know that?”

Instead of asking what it means to talk like a queer, Danny tries to steady his racing pulse, telling, “I guess so.” He’s then shoved to the ground, falling back on his ass harshly. He inches back against the dirt, pleading, “Leave me alone, okay? I won’t bother you.”

“Your face bothers me, spic,” another tells. Danny cringes at the word, quite honestly taking more offense at being called a spic than a faggot. He grabs Danny by the shirt, ordering, “Fucking stand up.”

Danny goes limp in his arms, trying to use his weight against the larger teen. All he can think is, “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Hey!” someone calls.

The kid’s head jerks back in the voice’s direction, still holding onto Danny by the front of his shirt. “What?”

“Is there a problem?” the person asks. He’s a boy who looks to be about Danny’s age with messy blonde hair and a septum ring.

“Beat it, Lent,” one of them barks. “Unless you want to get your ass kicked, too.”

The kid raises an eyebrow, asking, “Oh?” He withdraws a taser from his pocket, holding it out in the group’s direction and sparking it up. “Party! Who wants to get lit up?”

The kid manhandling Danny immediately shoves the smaller teen back to the ground, cursing, “You’re a pussy, Matt. Let’s go, guys.” And just like that, the trio is on their way, heads ducked low to the ground as their shoes scrape against the pavement.

Breathless, Danny asks, “So, you’re Matt?”

The boy cracks a smile, returning the taser to his pocket before stepping to Danny, offering a hand. “Yep. You’re Danny, right?”

Danny gratefully accepts the hand. As he’s pulled back to his feet, he asks,“How did you know?”

Flapping his hand, Matt explains, “We have first period together.” Gesturing to the group of retreating teens, he asks, “What the hell was that about?”

Danny shrugs. “Oh, those are just the guys that beat me up and call me tranny. It’s whatever.”

Matt’s eyes double in size as he asks incredulously, “They treat you like that?”

Danny’s green eyes drift to the ground as he mumbles, “It’s not a big deal, really.”

Matt’s eyes remain fixed on the boy, asking, “Do you want me to walk you home? Make sure that they don’t come back?”

Danny finally cracks a smile, nodding. “I would like that.”

Matt steps towards Danny, gesturing as he prompts, “Lead the way.”

Danny steps forward, Matt in tow. The two boys walk in silence for a while before Matt asks, “So, you’re new, right?”

Danny nods. “Yeah, this is only like my second week here.”

“Do you like it here so far?”

Danny shrugs, admitting, “People are kinda assholes, but that’s a universal thing, not a Buffalo thing.”

“What’s those guys’ deal?” Matt asks. When Danny seems taken aback, he stammers, “I-I mean you don’t have to tell me; it’s really not my business.”

Danny shakes his head, saying, “No, it’s fine. I have gym with a couple of them and… I don’t know, we just don’t get along.”

“I’m sorry,” Matt offers.

Danny looks over to him. “It’s not your fault.”

Silence, again. “So, are you a freshman?”

“I’m a sophomore,” Danny answers. “You?”

“Sophomore,” Matt shares. “If you want, I can introduce you to my friends sometime; they’re pretty cool.”

Danny can’t help but grimace just a little. “Yeah, maybe.”

“I just feel bad because you don’t have any friends,” Matt admits. Uh-oh. Foot in mouth disease.

Only, Danny isn’t mad, merely bobbing his head as he agrees, “I guess I’m just shy. It’s weird not knowing anyone, but I feel like everybody’s all in such close groups and I’m just an outsider.”

“I never had to move anywhere, so… I don’t really know what that’s like,” Matt tells honestly.

“We’re almost there,” Danny says. He’s quiet for a moment, before adding timidly, “Thank you, by the way. For walking me home and stuff.”

“No problem,” Matt assures. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Let me know if I’m asking too much, but would you mind walking me home every day? I just can’t seem to get away from those guys no matter what I do,” Danny confesses.

Matt’s heart flutters a bit at the prospect of spending that little sliver of time each afternoon with Danny. “Yeah, it’s no problem. Your house is actually on the way to mine, so it’s no big deal.”

Danny cracks a grin. “Party.”

“Maybe you should get a taser, too,” Matt suggests. “Mine always makes me feel safer; you never know what might happen.”

Danny shakes his head vehemently. “I don’t trust myself in close hand combat; I’m too clumsy for that shit. I’d need something more like pepper spray, I think. It’d be hard for even me to mess that up.”

Matt laughs, telling, “You know, with your luck it’d be facing the wrong way around and you would not only have an attacker on your hands but a face full of mace as well.”

Danny giggles. “You know what? You’re probably right. I think the best precaution is to never leave my house again. Ever.”

“It’s the only way,” Matt agrees.

“Listen, let me know if this is weird but, do you maybe want to hang out sometime?” Danny asks. “You know, since I don’t have any friends.”

Matt blushes a little, stammering, I-uh yeah, that’d be great. I really only have one friend so, more are always welcome.”

Danny withdraws his cellphone from his pocket and tosses it to Matt without a warning, making the other boy squeak as he tries not to fumble it. “Put your number in and I’ll text you.”

Typing in his number, Matt replies, “Yeah, great.” He jogs a little to catch up to Danny, handing his phone back wordlessly.

The two don’t walk much further before Danny says, “Well, this is me.” He turns to Matt, telling, “Thanks again, for walking me home. That was really sweet of you.”

Matt shrugs. “Hey it’s no prob-” he’s cut off as Danny wraps him into a hug, then turning and skipping into his home.

Matt sighs, finishing his walk home by himself, already missing the boy who had shared the space next to him.

#rpdr fanfiction #adore delano #pearl liaison #high school au #new kid on the block #thehotinpsychotic #tw gay slurs #tw bullying #m/m au #adore x pearl

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grungeswift · 7 years

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Drunk In Love - Richie Tozier/Eddie Kaspbrak

Summary: Richie Tozier is very drunk and goes up against Henry Bowers when he insults his boyfriend, Eddie Kaspbrak.

Warnings: Bullying, gay slurs, drunkenness, and angst

Word Count: 1068

A/N: So, this is my first Reddie au, and I would love it if you all left some comments or reactions & shit? Thanks so much, enjoy the fic!

Okay, okay. So Richie had told his boyfriend they would go right home after the party. How was he supposed to know that people were going to offer him more beer as Eddie went to get his coat?

Now, he was outside in Greta Keene’s backyard, shivering himself because he too had left his coat somewhere inside. But unlike Eddie, who had tried to tell him to hang it up properly, he had thrown it onto one piece of furniture and now had no literal fuck where it was.

He sighed, turning back towards the back door and knowing he had to go in there and look for it or Eddie would start running his mouth about how “he was going to catch a motherfucking cold.”

“Kaspbrak is such a faggot. Little asthma gay boy!”

Richie heard the insane drunk laughter of Henry Bowers and the rest of his gang, consisting of Patrick Hockstetter, Belch Huggins, and Victor Criss, and froze.

“Tomorrow we’ll get him, and pound his queer ass so motherfucking hard!”

More shouts of laughter came from the drunk teens, and Richie slowly turned around, anger boiling in his chest.

Barely aware of what he was doing, he had stormed across the grass towards Bowers and his gang.

When he was inches from them, he interrupted them loudly by saying, “Shut the fuck up!”

Bowers turned, his dark eyes glittering maliciously as he caught sight of Richie.

“What the fuck did you just say, fag?”

“I said,” Richie repeated, his tone murderous. “Shut the fuck up about my boyfriend, Bowers, before I do it for you.”

Bowers took a threatening step towards him. “Where is your faggot boyfriend, Tozier? Off sucking some other guy’s dick?”

Richie shoved him, his eyes filled with fury. “Shut the fuck up! SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

Before he knew what was happening, Bowers had swung and socked him in the face, making Richie stumble backwards, clutching his jaw in his hand.

“Alright, Trash Ass, you asked for it. And now you’re gonna-”

But Richie had kicked him again before Bowers could complete his sentence, screaming, “Say that about Eds one more fucking time I dare you!”

“Richie!”

Richie turned at the sound of his name and saw Eddie running towards him, both of their coats in his hand, and Bowers took this momentary distraction to grab Richie by the hair, making Richie let out a yell.

He threw him to the grass, climbing on top of him and started to punch, the rest of his gang egging him on as Richie tried to struggle free.

“Fucking- goddamn- faggot!”

Richie’s face was bloody and he was seeing stars, trying with all his strength to get away.

He heard Eddie’s screams like they were underwater:

“You’re going to fucking kill him! Get the fuck off of him!”

And then, Richie felt Bowers heave off of him and he covered his face with his shaking hands.

“Don’t ever fucking insult me again or I’ll do the same thing- and to your precious little boyfriend.”

Richie didn’t answer, his fingers blurring over his eyes as he heard Bowers leave, followed by the rest of his group.

He cautiously peeked through his hands as he felt someone grip his arm.

“Eds?” He slurred, and Eddie said icily, “Get the hell up. We’re leaving.”

Richie shakily stood, and felt his coat being shoved into his hands as Eddie firmly seized his wrist and dragged him back into the house, weaving though the crowd and yanking open the front door.

Once they were safely away from the party, Eddie let go of him, unzipping his fanny pack and digging out his inhaler, taking a few puffs.

Richie, wanting to break the silence, said hesitantly, “Pretty cool, huh? Me getting all bloodied up defending your honor.”

Eddie whipped around, his hair disheveled and his eyes wild. “Cool? You fucking think this is cool? Is everything a goddamn joke with you? I can’t turn my back for one goddamn second without you getting into trouble everywhere you go!”

Richie reached out and touched his shoulder. “Eds, I’m really-”

Eddie jerked away from his touch as if it were poison. “Don’t you fucking- don’t you dare-”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” Richie said quickly, and Eddie snorted.

“How many times have I heard those words come out of your mouth? ‘I’m so sorry, Eds, it won’t happen again!’ Yeah fucking right.”

He shook his head, snarling, ”Just don’t even bother. I can fight my own battles, Tozier, I don’t need your protection.”

Now Richie was beginning to feel annoyed. “Look, I just got my ass beaten in there for you-”

“Really? Because if you were sober this wouldn’t have happened. Flirting with every guy there, drunk out of you mind-”

“Eddie, stop!” Richie burst out, glaring at him. “You were imagining shit! I wasn’t flirting with anyone, I was thinking about you!”

“If you were thinking about me, then why couldn’t we leave? Why did I have to stay and babysit you!? You know how much I hate parties- you fucking know it!”

“Because I want to do everything with you! I-I fucking love you, you dipshit!” Richie bellowed.

Eddie stopped in his tracks, frozen, and slowly turned to face his boyfriend, who’s face had gone as red as a cherry.

“What?”

Richie opened his mouth, and then closed it again. He opened it again, and then squeaked, “I’m so fucking in love with you, Eds. I want to take you to parties so everyone sees us and knows your mine. I want to lose my coat so you can find it and bring it to me and I can hug you and say thanks without looking like a total idiot. And I want to stick up for you and fight for you because I love you so much I can’t even think straight half the time!”

Eddie stared at him, and then leaned in and kissed him hard on the mouth, his fingers intertwining around Richie’s as he pulled gently away.

“I love you too, Rich.”

Richie grinned, and Eddie continued, tugging him along the sidewalk, “Just never try to fight for me drunk again.”

#reddie #reddie imagine #reddie au #reddie angst #reddie fluff #it 2017 #it imagine #losers club #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #henry bowers #richie tozier fluff #richie tozier angst #eddie kaspbrak fluff #eddie kaspbrak angst #richie/eddie

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xpyladeivre · 6 years

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Title: Give My Regards to Bill Denbrough Ship: Stenbrough (background Reddie, Benverly, Mike/Surprise Character) Word Count: 4,335 Inspo: @grownups-are-the-real-monsters gave me the song No More Lonely Nights by Paul McCartney and this is the product of that!

ALSO READ ON AO3

It’s prom night and Stanley Uris is home alone, nose buried in a book and the TV playing some infomercial about a new kitchen gadget. After re-reading the same paragraph for the umpteenth time, he sighs and slides the bookmark back in place before setting it down next to him.

He wasn’t left by himself deliberately. But Ben had asked Bev, Richie asked Eddie, Mike asked his lab partner (a pretty nice guy named Will), and Bill got asked by some girl in his English class.

All of them had dates. He didn’t. It only made sense that he wouldn’t bother spending money on a dance where his friends would be too busy enjoying the night with other people.

So, on the biggest night of a teen’s high school life, Stanley Uris lay sprawled on his couch, counting the ticks of the clock’s second hand or going through the list of birds he’d seen that month. It wasn’t the most exciting thing to do, but it kept his mind occupied and that was all he needed.

It’s when the ticking becomes maddening and the list ends that his thoughts wander to dangerous territory.

Stan thinks back to the beginning of the night. He thinks about Bill’s fumbling with his tie before Stan laughed at him and took the matter into his own hands. He thinks about how his fingers trembled the slightest bit as he tied the black silk because the proximity was too much; he could smell cologne and something indescribable but distinctly Bill.

He stubbornly tries to avoid thoughts about how handsome Bill looked in his suit or the blinding smile he’d given him before driving off to pick up his date.

“Nice one, Stanley. Crushing on your straight best friend,” he says aloud to himself to drown out the sound of his heart breaking all over again. It was ridiculous, harboring a three-year unrequited love for someone so important to him and never doing a single thing about it. But they were graduating soon and that was where their paths diverted.

Bill would find success in his writing because he was passionate and talented and Stan loves hearing the stories he weaves out of thin air.

Stan would stick to the expectations his parents set for him because plans kept him sane, made him feel secure, and he knew he could easily get caught up in Bill’s whirlwind of a presence.

It scared him a little bit.

The thought of not having Bill as a constant in his life anymore brings tears to his eyes and before he knows it, his cheeks are wet. His body is shaking with choked back sobs as his hands cover his face. The intensity of his emotions buzz in his ears so loudly that he doesn’t hear the knocking on his front door until it becomes louder and more persistent.

“Stan!”

He sits up, still sniffling, and stares at the door. Great, he’s hallucinating Bill’s voice now. Using his sleeves to wipe away his tears and, with slight hesitation, the snot dripping from his nose, he freezes when he hears Bill shout again.

“Stan! Are you home?”

He scrubs at his face again as if it would magically erase any evidence of his breakdown and tries to calm his breathing. It takes a few seconds before he decides that he’s strong enough to face whatever’s banging on his door.

(Because he refuses to believe it’s Bill. Stupidly beautiful Bill who’s having the time of his life at prom with a pretty girl that’s nothing like him.)

His red-rimmed eyes lock with Bill’s concerned gaze and he quickly looks away, unable to deal with the way his emotions flare up whenever he’s reminded of how much Bill does care for him.

(Because he knows that Bill cares and that Bill loves him, but not in the way Stan did and he wasn’t sure if that hurt more than Bill not caring at all.)

“Are yuh-you o-okay, Stuh-Stan?”

“What are you doing here, Bill? Did your date get tired of the dance?” He pointedly ignores the question and falls a little bit more in love when Bill doesn’t push for him to answer.

“N-no. S-Stacy’s still duh-dancing. But s-suh-something felt wr-wruh-wrong and I w-w-wuh-wanted to make sure yuh-you w-w-weren’t hurt.”

Stan listens patiently as Bill stumbles over the W’s and fights back the blush threatening to color his cheeks at the fact that Bill left the dance for him. He left his date behind because what? Fate decided to play a cruel joke and tell Bill that he was hurting? That he was aching for the chance to be in Stacy’s place, in Bill’s arms as they swayed to the beat of some song he didn’t know but Bill probably did because he was more attentive to music than Stan was.

“Thanks for the concern, Billiam, but I’m fine. Just numbing my mind with some pointless TV,” he jokes, hoping his small smile doesn’t look as forced as it feels.

He waits for Bill to bring up the remnants of dried up tears or to leave now that Stan’s gave him some kind of reassurance.

What he doesn’t expect to happen is for Bill pull him out onto the porch and, oh, how the hell did he not notice the music softly playing from the boom box by Bill’s feet?

Bill, with one hand still holding onto Stan’s wrist, reaches down to move the boom box so it’s not taking up as much space. Stan’s skin is burning, not just where Bill is touching, and the heat seems to have dried his throat because he can’t speak, only watch Bill turn up the volume.

No more lonely nights No more lonely nights

He didn’t recognize the song, of course, but he could vaguely pinpoint the singer. It was one that he knew Bill liked listening to on more than one occasion.

“Bill, wha-“

He can’t finish his sentence because suddenly Bill’s holding onto both of Stan’s wrists and placing them gingerly on his shoulders. His hands settle on Stan’s waist and Stan unconsciously laces his fingers behind Bill’s head.

He knows that his face must be aflame and he’s awkward as he tries to concentrate on moving with Bill. It becomes impossible to think straight because he’s hit again with that indescribable scent and how warm he is despite the cool breeze that’s ruffles their hair. So he lets Bill lead, swaying and spinning to the beat.

You’re my guiding light Day or night I’m always there

“What are you doing, Bill?” Stan asks, voice barely above a whisper. He’s afraid of the answer he’s going to get, but he needs to know before he digs himself into a deeper hole.

“I don’t know,” Stan’s breath hitches as Bill leans forward, foreheads pressed together and lips mere inches apart, “B-buh-but it f-fuh-feels… right.”

Sparks don’t fly, electricity to shock his system, but when Stan finally dives into the pool of want he’d been dipping his toes into for three years, he feels complete.

They don’t tell the others. Not because they don’t trust them, but Because Bill’s never felt this strongly for someone before and Stan still can’t believe he can cuddle up with the man of his dreams every night.

He’s also not as bold as Richie and Eddie or as strong as Mike. They can stand up to the homophobic slurs and fight back when someone decides to push them around. Stan, on the other hand, flinches when he sees someone from school or when he hears faggot yelled across the street. On those days, it takes lying in bed wrapped around Bill and exchanging lazy kisses to ease the tension from his shoulders.

(Bill doesn’t comment on Stan’s methodic tapping against his chest or how he mumbles incoherently under his breath when he closes his eyes because eventually warm brown looks up at him through long eyelashes and he tightens his arms around his boyfriend.)

They’re pretty sure the others catch on though because after prom night they’re attached at the hip, more so than what they were all used to. When they walk up to their friends huddled up at their booth in Derry’s only diner, they’re openly showing support through bright smiles and twinkling eyes. It throws Stan off kilter for a second and he can feel the familiar claws of insecurity scratching up his back before it’s replaced by the soothing pressure of Bill’s hand.

He relaxes, unknowingly leaning against Bill because he can’t help but gravitate towards his boyfriend, and enjoys the company of his friends.

It’s the best summer he’s had in a while.

And then it all comes crashing down.

Bev got into a college in Chicago and Ben got into one in Wisconsin. They’d already left to settle into their dorms after a teary goodbye from Ben and a good luck punch on the shoulder from Bev. They all got hugs from the both of them.

Richie and Eddie decided to take a gap year. They were going to see what the rest of America had to offer and left in the same manner as Ben and Bev. Eddie wasn’t even reluctant with his hugs. Sure, it was quick but also strong and Stan could still feel the overwhelming platonic love that Eddie never verbally shared.

Mike went with Will to see his family in Indiana before they came back to Derry for college. Stan found them to be a sickeningly sweet couple and the way Will hesitated before Stan pulled him into a hug only accentuated that fact.

With all their friends now out of Maine, Stan’s the only one at the airport to see Bill off. He still had a few days before he needed to head down to Atlanta.

“Don’t let the jetlag hit you too bad and please don’t come back with an accent. Stuttering Bill’s going to become British Bill when Richie gets wind of it. And—“

Bill cuts him off with a soft, closed mouth kiss. He smiles into it and can feel Bill’s lips curling up in response.

“Rambling again?” Stan asks when Bill pulls back, his hands still cupping Stan’s face and his thumb gently swiping across his cheek.

“Ruh-rambling again, b-babe. Besides, I d-don’t th-thu-think an accent and st-stuh-stutter mix.”

“I don’t know, might sound kind of cute.”

He knows it’s a cheesy thing to say but the chuckle that it elicits from Bill is worth it. The PA system crackles to life as a voice announces the boarding of Bill’s plane. Stan mimics Bill’s stance, bringing his hands up to grab his boyfriend’s face and pull him into a fierce kiss.

He closes his eyes and hopes it’ll stop the tears threatening to fall. When he moves back, forehead pressed against Bill’s and eyes wide open, he can’t help but let out a watery laugh.

“Don’t cry, please. I’m going to start crying.”

Bill, with tears clinging onto his eyelashes and lips quivering, simply smiles and leans in. Before their lips could touch, the PA system booms and they both know it’s time to let go. Bill drops his hands and holds onto the handle of his suitcase, his other hand hiking his carry-on higher onto his shoulder. Stan drops his hands seconds after and hides them behind his back so Bill doesn’t see the crescent shapes he’s carving into his palm.

(The sting helps him control the wave of sadness washing over him and he knows Bill would be on his ass about it. It’d ruin their goodbye, taint the moment that would get him through months without waking up next to Bill, so of course he hides it.)

He watches Bill walk away and it hurts seeing the silhouette of his boyfriend starting to fade. The shout escapes his throat before he even realizes it.

“Bill!”

Bill turns slightly, looking over at his shoulder, and Stan doesn’t need to be able to see him clearly to know that he’s got a questioning eyebrow raised.

“I—“ love you gets caught between his teeth and Stan doesn’t think he can choke it out. They’d never said those three words to each other, not even before they were dating, because they just knew. They felt the pleasant platonic love when they’d become best friends and they’d felt the burning romantic love when they’d kiss for the umpteenth time.

It’s the next step for them. But something’s tugging at the back of Stan’s mind and telling him that that step’s not meant to be taken when Bill’s about to spend years an ocean away from him.

So he doesn’t say it.

“Call me when you land!”

It’s enough.

---

On his way back to his car, he feels his phone vibrate in his back pocket. He pulls out, still walking and only half aware of his surroundings. It would suck if a car decided to come zooming towards him now.

From Billiam: check ur glove compartment

Stan practically flies into his car after he reads the text. He tosses his phone into the passenger before he fumbles with opening the glove compartment. It’s stuck, the gear stick is jabbing into his side, and he’s muttering curses when finally, it opens and something falls out onto the floor.

He quickly leans down to grab it and comfortably settles into the driver seat before properly looking at it.

The object nearly drops to the floor yet again when Stan’s hands start to shake.

It’s a cassette with Bill’s messy scrawl on the label.

“For when you miss me,” Stan reads it aloud, voice soft with awe and raw with varying emotions. It doesn’t take him long to slam the car door shut and shove the cassette into the player. There’s static for a moment before the music starts and the Stan’s so surprised he forgets how to breath.

I can wait another day Until I call you

It’s their song. From prom night. And Bill’s singing. There’s no stutter, his voice is silvery and smooth. Stan is melting into his seat; the tears he’d been holding back before now freely flowing. It’s hard to send a text as his vision is blurred, but he manages to send two.

To Billiam: Thanks for the warning asshole. To Billiam: I miss you already.

Stan sets his phone back in the passenger seat. No need to anxiously wait for a reply, the plane would’ve taken off by then.

Instead he closes his eyes and dreams of lithe arms around him as they swayed to the beat.

Long distance proves to be as difficult as Stan thought it would be.

They manage to last for two years.

Two years of continuous calls and texts and, in the very early stages of their long distance relationship, visits from Bill or vice versa. After that, the calls stop and the texts are sparse or filled with sorry, can’t talk right now.

Stan knows it’s because Bill’s busy with school and having a breakthrough with the novel he’s been working on. He knows because that was Bill’s reason for missing a call or texting late. Stan can’t even blame him. He’s been busy trying to stay at the top of his classes and doing his duties as both president of the bird watching club (they often went on little expeditions out of state) and vice president of the student union.

He listens to the cassette religiously, often falling asleep to Bill’s voice as if it were a personalized lullaby (perhaps it was). But then there’s two months of little contact that turns into six months and then Stan’s phone is on the ground because it slipped from his hands. There’s a haunted expression on his face.

We're sorry; you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again.

That’s it. He had no other way to contact Bill except through letters and he didn’t have time in his schedule to send those anymore. He stares blankly at the wall, body numb and a sour taste in his mouth. He wants to scream, break things, cry until his eyes dried out.

But most of all, he wanted Bill and of course, even with his heart shattered it still yearned for the best person he ever had the pleasure of knowing.

He doesn’t know what to do, so his brain does a factory reset.

He follows the plan laid out by his parents.

And he keeps the cassette hidden away in the back of his closet.

DERRY HIGH SCHOOL REUNION CLASS OF ‘93

Stan looks up at the banner with scrutiny. These things are supposed to happen in ten years, but Derry’s always been an odd, little town. It doesn’t surprise him that they’ve decided to hold it five years later instead.

What was he doing here?

Dances weren’t his thing. The reminder makes him want to turn around, ready to go back to his hotel and finish his book, when an arm is thrown around his shoulder.

“Stan the man! Is that a mustache?” Before he knows it, Richie Tozier is in front of him, fingers wiggling in front of his face. Stan scoffs and slaps his hand away, the corners of his lips curling up in a fond smile. He hadn’t really kept in touch with any of his friends. Sometimes he’d get a postcard from Richie and Eddie about their latest hot spot or a letter from Ben about what him and Bev were up to. Mike and Will liked to call from time to time.

But it wasn’t consistent and with Richie in his arms, giving him a hug reminiscent of when they’d split all those years ago, the longing to be with his friends again hit him like a train wreck. It hurt and he’s grateful that Richie keeps his mouth shut when Stan clutches a little too tightly to his shirt.

They eventually break apart and Richie’s tugging at his arm.

“C’mon, Stanny, gotta get this show on the road! My darling Eddie spaghetti’s waiting for me inside.”

“If Eddie’s inside, what are you doing out here? I don’t think I saw him walk passed me?”

“Smoke break.”

Stan rolls his eyes and he opens his mouth to tell him how bad smoking is when someone else steals the words right from him.

“Smoking kills, Rich, and I’m pretty sure that doesn’t go together with Eddie’s asthma.”

He knows that voice. He used to follow it blindly, wake up to it, fall asleep to it. But there’s no stutter, so maybe he’s wrong.

He focuses on the way Richie exaggeratingly squints before throwing his hands up in the air and his suspicions are confirmed.

“Billy Bob my boy! Good to see ya partner,” he says in a thick, southern accent and tipping an imaginary hat, “Eds’ free of asthma now so I can puff ‘til I’m coughing my lungs up.”

Stan can’t bring himself to turn around and he hopes Richie doesn’t notice the way he tenses up when Bill’s laughter rings in his ears. It’s as he remembered it only deeper, more mature, and that drives a knife into his heart.

It’s been two years since that fateful day in his dorm room. He still hears the robotic voice telling him the number was disconnected, he remembers all the lovers he left after a few days because they didn’t trace patterns on the back of his hand when he was feeling especially anxious or they didn’t stumble over W’s and S’s.

He’d learned to stop comparing everyone to Bill but with the man only a few feet behind him, the wound fresh. As if it was just yesterday that he’d been cut off by someone who he could’ve called the love of his life.

He’s so lost in memories that he doesn’t notice Richie leaving and Bill taking his place.

“Stan?”

Bill places a hand on his shoulder and Stan immediately pulls away, putting distance between them. Hurt flashes across Bill’s face and crescent moons are kissing his palms because he can feel anger bubbling within him. What right does Bill have to be hurt when he was the one to cut ties?

“Don’t. You don’t get to touch me, Bill Denbrough.”

“Stan, I—I’m sorry. I got so caught up with finishing my novel without falling behind in my classes and then it got published and there were appearances, interviews, it was overwhelming.” Bill’s talking rapidly, a tactic he found to be sort of useful in not stumbling over letters.

“So overwhelming that you had to disconnect your phone? So overwhelming that you couldn’t be bothered to try contacting me again?” Stan’s dripping venom and it takes all his willpower to not spit out something he knew he’d regret later.

Even now, he aches for Bill to hold him and tell him everything’s okay. But he’s been pissed off for two years and it’s hard to temper it down.

He can see the guilt clear as day in Bill’s eyes and it’s all the answer he needs.

“This conversation is over.”

Stan stomps towards the high school’s front doors, bumping Bill’s shoulder when he does. He ignores Bill’s cries for him to stop and makes it to the top of the steps before there’s a hand wrapped around his wrist.

“Stan, w-w-wuh-wait. Please, j-just, l-luh-listen to m-me.”

He curses his damn weakness for Bill’s stutter when he yanks his arm out of Bill’s grip and instead of storming away he turns around, arms dramatically folded across his chest.

Bill gets the hint that he doesn’t want to be touched, but still steps forward, leaving a small amount of distance between him.

“I never st-stuh-stopped th-thinking about y-yuh-you. I—I tried to c-cuh-calling for m-muh-months a-and w-w-wuh-when no one a-answered I knew I sc-scruh-screwed up. I d-duh-didn’t w-wah-want to l-lose you.”

Stan watches as Bill’s face scrunches up and he knows that it’s because Bill’s annoyed with himself, with his stutter, and he softens up a little because this was still his best friend. It always got bad to the point of frustration when he was overly emotional and if Bill was at the same intensity as Stan at the moment, he needed all the reassurance.

Uncrossing his arms, Stan reaches out and places his hands over Bill’s. Just like it was habit for Stan to carve crescents into his skin, Bill would create fists as if he could figuratively punch the words out of his throat.

“I should’ve tried harder too. I was just so upset and heartbroken, I hid away my phone and got a new one along with a new number. Dramatic, I know,” he adds the last part because he can feel Bill’s urge to laugh at his ridiculousness.

“You w-w-were al-wuh-ways a drama queen.”

Stan snorts and let’s go of Bill’s hand to lightly punch him in the shoulder.

“Watch it, Denbrough, or you’re not getting a dance from me.”

There’s still unease in the pit of stomach. He’s afraid for what’ll happen after the night ends. He had just gotten a steady job back in Atlanta and Bill no doubt had a life of his own in London. He knows he won’t be able to handle losing Bill a second time.

But then Bill’s fingers are interlocked with his and he’s smiling that special smile that Stan only ever saw in the comfort of closed doors.

He lets himself be led into Derry High School.

---

The reunion’s in full swing when they get to the gym. Old classmates are mingling, old flames are making out in dark corners, and suddenly Stan feels seventeen again. He feels young, rejuvenated, and scared to death about being beat up for holding his boyfriend’s hand.

(and when did he come to think of Bill as his boyfriend again?)

He’s on the verge of hyperventilating when the song changes to something familiar and there are lips pressed up against his ear, softly singing the lyrics. Once again, he lets Bill place his hands on his shoulders and turn his awkward shuffling into on-beat swaying.

Stan tries to calm down by focusing on the lilt of Bill’s voice.

May I never miss the thrill of being near you And if takes a couple of years To turn your tears to laughter I will do what I feel to be right

He’s only slightly shorter than Bill, but he still leans his head forward so that he was practically snuggling into the crook of Bill’s neck. He’s much more relaxed than he was at the beginning of the night and there’s a tender smile stuck on his face.

“What are we doing, Bill?” He asks and beneath the nostalgia of the question, there’s a seriousness that conveys their obvious need to talk about it.

Bill squeezes Stan’s waist briefly and he understands the silent later that accompanies the gesture.

“I don’t know, but it feels right.”

Tilting his head back up, Stan does a quick scan of the room. Mike’s in charge of music with Will tucked into his side whilst Ben and Bev as well as Richie and Eddie are also on the dance floor, oblivious to anyone but their significant other.

When Stan locks eyes with Bill’s, he knows the feeling.

“You know when you left for London and I said to call me when you land? That’s not what I wanted to say.”

“I figured. I would’ve called without you telling me.”

The song’s coming to an end and their swaying slows down a bit.

Stan stops a breath away from Bill’s lips, their eyes not breaking contact once and Stan questions for a moment why he feared getting lost in them.

“I love you.”

He kisses the I love you too out of Bill’s mouth.

And he’s home.

#stenbrough #stan uris x bill denbrough #stenbrough fic #stenbrough fanfic #arach's writing #stanley uris #bill denbrough #otp: a love that was more than love #i have another stenbrough fic coming @ y'all so look out for that #THIS IS LONGER THAN I EXPECTED W O A H

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warmbeebosoftbeebo · 7 years

Text

What Happens in Hawaii...

I'm meh about the title; open to suggestions. A messager on tumblr requested a smut fic with a heavy, curvy woman of colour reader. And I managed to write some damn not smutty plot instead for the first 1500 or so words. Part 1 is the set up, and the plottiest I've been in imagines. The current bf/ex bf is abusive, but it doesn't go into it in depth. I’m thinking this is late 08/early 09 timewise.

ummm... @sinning-urie @prettyoddfiction anyone else wanna get tagged when i post? @kinkybden ?

-----

You're on vacation with your boyfriend when you meet him. You're on a walk, cooling off from the upteenth fight you and asshat have had lately, wondering why the hell you thought shit would get better if only you'd go together to Hawaii to "reconnect." You'd rather reconnect the door with the door frame as you left, slamming it shut. You go to the beach, calming down as you watch the sunset, sun still keeping you so warm, covering your brown eyes with your hand. You forgot your damn sunglasses. Prick.

You hear a man and a woman, realizing they are a couple as their whisper-shouting argument gets clearer as they come closer; she almost shouting, him far quieter. "Brendon, I can't believe... I thought those were jokes!... You can't seriously expect me to be ok with that." You're instinctively on her side--he probably fucked up big time, pulled some entitled male bullshit and hurt her seriously.

But as they come closer, you can hear him, too. "I've never lied... Remember that....I told you then...last year."

"Come the fuck off it. I mean, maybe it'd be one thing if it were just in your early teens, but you... last month?!? You can't expect me to be ok with you being a faggot." With that word, the sympathy you had for her largely drains away, replaced with a slowly bubbling anger towards her instead. It sounds like he cheated, which obviously is not ok, but it seems like that's not really what she's upset about: the homosexuality or bisexuality is.

She shouts, he talks a bit more, but you're too busy thinking to pick up on it all, and besides, you're feeling like an...auditory voyeur. You don't want to hear his humiliation, and you wonder if she'll regret her words later, or feel righteous. You breathe a sigh of relief as she storms off, unsure if you should just pretend you heard nothing, or give him a concilliatory smile, or what.

You see him on the verge, then he tips over into it, and ok, you should try to help: it looks like he's having a full on panic attack. You pull the hairband off your wrist, pulling your black hair into a ponytail as you walk over to him. "H-hey, you ok?" you say awkardly; he sure doesn't seem so, that's why you're coming over, and you feel like a bit of a dunce. He looks too white to be native, but you wonder if there's some Hawaiian heritage there when you get close enough to see the flower tattoos on his arm, and take in his features, the wide nose and...whoa, those lips. Those are way too plump for a white boy.

He gets even more flustered, embarrassed, which just sets his anxiety of more. "Hey, B--" you cut yourself off from saying his name, worried that the knowledge you heard a lot will just make it worse for him. Your heart hurts when you see how hard he's trying not to cry. "Let it out, but try to breathe, nice and slow, ok?"

"Shitshitshit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bother you--"

"Honey, it's no bother, why don't you just breathe with me. Would that help?" He nods, back of his hand wiping away tears, and you breathe deep and slow, wanting to take his hand but worried that that would be too weird.

You want to hug him as he calms down, gulping for breath slowing to almost normal, shaking leaving him, a few tears flowing over, but stemming. He seems so tough and frail at the same time; it's strange. He's not a short guy, average height, but slim, and his state makes him seem smaller. Once he's relatively calm, he seems vaguely familiar, but you can't place why. He's a gorgeous boy, a really beautiful young man, at any rate, and the thought makes your cheeks heat up.

"Well, that was an awkward first meeting, huh?" you joke, smiling shyly at him.

He nods. "I feel like a dick."

You shake your head. "Don't worry about it. I was feeling peckish, if you wanted some company still?" You nod towards the nearby cafes and restaurants lining the street.

"Yeah, sure. I'm Brendon."

"Y/n."

"Where'd you want to go?"

"This is my first time here. Is it yours?" He shakes his head. "Do you have any recommendations?"

"I know a few places we can try."

He points out a couple and you go with his second suggestion, and sit inside by the window.

"Those are Hawaiian flowers."

"Yeah. Hibiscus and plumeria."

"Are you part-Hawaiian?"

"Yeah, my mom's side is half-Polynesian. She was born in Hawaii. I'm mostly white though."

"Can I?" you ask, bringing your hand near his arm. He assents, holding his arm out, scooting closer to the table, and you reach out, stroking.

"They're so vibrant for a tattoo. They're really beautiful, Brendon." He beams at that. "My parents are both biracial," you add. "My mom is white--Scottish, and Carribean, and my dad is Jamaican and Japanese."

He smiles, looking over you again, as if your skin and features make sense now, but it doesn't feel weird.

You also run over the piano keys after looking back at him for the ok, getting a smile in return, that you give back twofold. You tell him you used to play as a kid. He did too, and still does, he says, in a band in the states, but they've toured a lot of places.

It finally clicks. "Panic at the disco, right? I thought you seemed familiar. That closing the goddamn door song?"

You look again at his tattoos, thinking about what you'd get to show your backround if you got tattoos yourself, as he starts humming the song, and you join in. You don't know it well enough to sing the words, but you know the tune, and remember the video. He was so campy in it. His fingers start drumming on the table, and you follow him for a bit, then brave placing your hand over his. His hand feels way too soft for a musician--you think guitarists would have tough hands. He gives a sly smile, entwining your hands, and you start to feel warm, fluttery.

Your phone rings, and you figure you should answer it when you see it's your boyfriend. It's late, and he'll just get more pissy if you don't. You try for a cheery "Hey, Dan-" but he cuts you off.

"Don't you 'oh hey, Daniel' me when I can see you all over that guy, y/n."

"What the fuck Daniel, are you spying on me? And I'm not all over him, we're just talking." You're not one to be a doormat, and you hate how he's the guy to try to make you one, but he had gotten close to getting away with it before tonight.

"Not spying, I'm *concerned* about my girlfriend. Who, apparently, is too busy slutting it up--"

You hang up before he can finish. "Brendon, can we get out of here. Like, now?" Now it's your turn to feel anxious. You so don't want to deal with dickhead's shit anymore, and you're worried about where he is. You want to grab Brendon's hand again, but you don't want to start anything, when he could be anywhere, in any mood.

"Yeah, sure. What's wrong?"

"Ummm...my ex, he's here, and I want to get the fuck away from here."

He looks concerned. "Yeah, sure...has he--nevermind, we barely know each other. You don't have to tell me."

Has he hurt you? Yes. Not in the way most people would get: he's never hit you in the face, punched you, used a weapon, or anything like that. But his words, attitude, possessiveness, and how he treated you in bed--but you can't tell Brendon any of that. You don't want to lay it on him, let alone feel like telling it to a near stranger. Your best friend didn't get it, didn't see the problem, when you tried to tell her, so what was the point?

You're wondering about Brendon, as he hails down a taxi, about the fight you overheard between him and the woman who probably is an ex now, hopefully, for his sake if nothing else. He seems...he really puts you at ease. It's hard to put your finger on it--he seemed almost absentmindedly flirty with you at the cafe, and he'd come here with a girlfriend, but apparently... You think he'd come across as gay to a lot of people, but he seemed to swing both ways.

PART 2 https://warmbeebosoftbeebo.tumblr.com/post/165590339240/including-boyfriend-talk-filthy-thoughts

#brendon urie smut #brendon urie imagine #plot--wtf?#not-yet-smut #abusive ex #bisexual brendon #cheating #arguably #homophobia #anxious baby boy #hawaii fic

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theoddcatlady · 7 years

Text

Mismatched

I have heterochromia.

My mom has it too, only hers is sectoral heterochromia. A part of her left eye is brown while most of it is blue. Mine’s complete. My right eye is brown, the left is blue. As a kid I’d get the most excited reaction out of the adults-

“His eyes are so beautiful!”

“Wow, they’re different colors!”

“How stunning!”

I’d like to say that my eyes are only one part of myself, that it’s just a slice of the pie that makes up me. But really, the only fascinating part of myself is the heterochromia. I’m average in grades. Height. Strength. IQ. Not much stunning charisma either- I tend to stick to myself.

But in the end, it’s my eyes that saved my life. And maybe the lives of a few others.

The killings started my sophomore year. A young couple going out to smooch in their car was found dead, mangled by some wild beast. Their faces had been eaten off, their tongues ripped out, and their eyes completely gone.

I didn’t know them, they went to the private school. All the same, the stories started up about the Gosbecks Knoll Beast.

My mom laughed when I told her about it. Apparently the ‘Beast’ was around in her highschool days too, two people turned up dead before it stopped. Conveniently, at the same time a bear was brought down in the area. She told me just not to go smooching any girls around there and I’d be fine.

Of course this is when I corrected her and said ‘boys’ but this really didn’t take her by surprise. Mom’s good like that.

However, this time, The Beast wasn’t content just to gnaw on the faces of horny teens on our Lover’s Lane.

When I’d gotten to school about a week after the first incident I knew something was wrong. Everyone was quiet, and a lot of people were crying. I found my friend Trent and asked him what was up. He criticized me for not checking my Facebook before he told me.

Douglas Stafford. Better known as Doug. Senior. Everyone loved him. He was a nice guy. Heck, even to lil ole wallflower me. I’d gotten lost my first day of freshman year and he pointed me in the right direction. Even offered to walk me there. I never talked to him again, but damn. I felt like I’d been punched in the gut.

He’d turned up dead in his parent’s garage. His face gnawed on just like the pair from earlier.

The next day there was a school assembly where the principal even teared up a bit and told us that it was okay if we were upset and if necessary we could take an absence from class to talk to the school counselor. Doug’s girlfriend Cathy was in the front row bawling. They’d dated since their little freshman years, and it was pretty obvious they would’ve one day gotten a house with a white picket fence and a dog.

Cathy was the last casualty of the school year, a few months later she was found dead in the forest. The Beast hadn’t been the one to kill her though- she’d hung herself and apparently Beastie helped himself, at least according to the rumors.

During the summer everything went quiet, and soon the talks of dead teens faded into the background. I think Doug’s parents started up a fund for depressed youth. I spent ninety percent of the summer in my bedroom playing way too many video games.

I also came out on Facebook. I got a lot of approval. A lot of ‘you’re perfect the way you are’. And a lot of ‘dude it was OBVIOUS.’

However, Trent didn’t see it as most people did. He unfriended me almost immediately and when I got back to school he’d apparently been badmouthing me to our mutual friends, none of them wanted anything to do with me anymore.

It hurt. I won’t lie, it hurt a lot. But I chose to ignore it for the most part. So I lost all my close friends. Big deal. I could get new ones.

Yeah, no, not happening.

Like I said, my social skills suck. The only reason Trent and I were friends in the first place was because we were assigned to be project partners in the fourth grade. We got a B. And now whenever he talked to me every other sentence had the word ‘fag’ or ‘queer’ thrown in someplace. Shows how little I knew about my best friend right?

But this is when the murders REALLY picked up the pace.

The first victim of junior year was Camille Dunn. She’d missed her bus home and decided to walk. The next morning a dogwalker found her stretched out on the sidewalk. Eyes gone and face eaten off. The Beast was back.

Clearly there was some madman or wild animal on the loose and everyone put up their guard. But now I think this is when the Beast got really cocky. He realized he could get away with this shit.

The next victims were in their damn house. An elderly couple, John and Beatrice. They lived across the street from me. When I woke up the next morning to sirens, my heart sank. I thought Beatrice’s heart finally gave out on her.

Noooo, the Beast just decided to up his game by ripping out said heart. It was the same thing though- ate the faces and the eyes. It got into the house through the back window, judging by the bloody prints. Kids whispered about how supposedly the prints looked like a humans but clawed. Sightings of The Beast grew in number. A freak that had fangs and glowing eyes, his only desire being to hunt and kill.

Of course my mom immediately kicked in a curfew and kept the house secure. At night I’d hear her wake up and walk around, as if to make sure we were safe.

I believed in the Beast when she saw it too.

I woke up to hear her scream and I ran to the source. My mom was white as a ghost, her hand on her heart as she stared out the now empty window.

“It… it was there. I don’t know what it was, but- fuck, fuck, call the police, call the police right now!”

My mom doesn’t cuss. She’s a classy lady like that. I grabbed the junior baseball bat I used as a kid and called 911. Cops showed up surprisingly fast and mom told them what happened while her eyes still darted to the window on occasion.

She’d gone down because she couldn’t sleep and it was at the window. Its shape was vaguely humanoid but its eyes did in fact glow. That’s when she screamed. It must’ve not expected her to see it as it took off running. And sure enough, when I went into the backyard the next morning, its feet were indeed clawed. I didn’t bother collecting evidence as I’m sure everyone would’ve thought I faked it, but I knew the Beast was real.

Two days later I got kidnapped by my so called ‘friend’.

I was walking home from school when Trent ran up behind me, acting all buddy buddy until he got close. Then I felt a switchblade press against my side. Trent was still smiling, but it was cold, dark.

“Start walking, you fucking queer.”

The biggest ‘well shit’ moment of my life.

I didn’t try to be the hero and get the knife, Trent was bigger than me and I didn’t have a prayer. We walked until we got to his car, where he pushed me into the backseat and he duct-taped my hands and feet together.

He drove us out of town to this abandoned old shed. Two other guys I didn’t know were waiting there, and I saw more knives. I was close to pissing myself while still being neck deep in denial. Surely this had to be a joke though. Just a prank to scare me.

Trent dragged me inside and slammed the door.

It was dark and I couldn’t see a thing. I got whacked in the stomach and the air whooshed out of my lungs.

“You fucking fag. How many times did you touch me when I slept over, huh?” I could hear the sneer in Trent’s voice.

I groaned as I was shoved to my knees. “Never, Trent. You’re not exactly my type,” I said as I struggled against the tape.

I got kicked across the face and I hit the floor. I felt one of my teeth come loose and blood start to pool in my gums.

Trent squatted down next to me. I could barely make out his silhouette in the cracks in the shed.

“Fucking liar. You’re a freak. And now you’re gonna be another victim of the Gosbecks Knoll Beast, old buddy.”

I felt the blade press right beneath my blue eye.

“Hope your mommy doesn’t miss your creepy ass eyes, faggot!”

I wanted to shut my eyes. Hoped that he’d drive the knife right into my brain so I didn’t have to feel it. Instead I felt my eyes stay wide open as the blade glinted, and I suddenly made out Trent and his three goonies…

Yeah. Three goonies. There were only two outside the shed.

Guess the Beast really doesn’t care for copycats.

I heard the scream before the tallest of the figures slammed the other two heads together. When standing straight up he almost reached the ceiling. Trent whipped around and the blade nicked below my eye.

“What the fuck-“

Another whack and Trent was on the ground. I heard him choking and realized I smelled blood.

The figure moved onto me and he hoisted me up to his level. I felt claws tear my shirt. I was certain I’d be dead.

Then I felt the monster pause.

“… Eyes?”

I passed out.

When I came to, it was now dark outside, and we were no longer in the shed. Now we were in a cabin, lit by a lantern.

And I saw the Beast in his entirety.

He looked vaguely human, wearing what looked like a loincloth, had pale skin and black stringy hair that hung down his back. His skin was occasionally broken up by patches of scales, and his fingers looked like a tiny blade stuck out of each. His spine was lined with thin bristles that would rise and fall with each breath.

Trent was hung up in the corner by a hook, awake and filled with terror. I could smell more blood. The Beast examined Trent’s face thoughtfully before his middle finger carved through his cheek.

I shut my eyes tight when I heard Trent scream.

The Beast made almost no sound at all, other than a soft hum as he worked on carving off Trent’s face. When I took a peek, I saw the gleaming white of Trent’s cheekbones.

My eyes shut again.

Finally when the screams went quiet, I heard footsteps approach. Felt his huge presence kneel over me. His hair smelled like pond weeds.

“… Open. Open your eyes.”

I did, although I’m not sure why.

His face was kinda human. Had a strong nose and gaunt features. But it was his eyes that caught me.

They glowed all right. But the left one was yellow, and the right eye was violet.

The Beast inhaled sharply before his hand reached up to my face. I flinched and tilted my head away but he only hushed me as he lightly caressed my cheek. His claws didn’t even break skin.

“… Eyes. They don’t… match.”

I swallowed. “N… neither do yours,” I pointed out.

The Beast grinned, his crooked teeth flecked with blood. “No. No they don’t,” He said, almost if he was trying not to laugh.

I don’t know what possessed me to do this, but I reached up to touch his face too. His skin was oily, it almost reminded me of a fish. “They uh, look good though?” I offered. Play nice with the monster, maybe you can go home.

This comment struck him, he looked shocked. Then he pulled me into the most uncomfortable hug of my life.

“… Only one. Thought I was the only one,” He sobbed, I felt his greasy tears hit the top of my head.

Really not sure of how to handle this, I patted his back, careful to avoid the spines. God knew they were probably poisonous. Thankfully the Beast seemed to appreciate this.

I’m really not sure how I fell asleep with a giant stinky monster practically spooning me, but when I woke up, the police were there. According to them, someone called 911 from my phone and told them where to find me.

Trent’s body was found strung up in the other room with the other two guys. They’d been almost entirely butchered. It was a miracle I was alive, according to the police.

I attended Trent’s funeral. I don’t know why but I did. His sister apologized for all the bullshit he did to me. I saved her the knowledge of the fact he was going to murder me and make it look like the Beast did it.

When I got home late that night I found mussel shells on my windowsill. I took them inside and let them rest on my dresser.

Top of my dresser’s covered with little ‘gifts’ now, from snake skins to smooth rocks to glass beads. I haven’t seen him since that night but sometimes I catch a glimpse of those mismatched eyes, glowing from my backyard.

#horror stories #scary stories #creative writing #monsters #sixpenceee stories #my stories

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tnp4tbowm · 7 years

Text

THOTS & PRAYERS FOR THE BROTHERHOOD OF WHITE MEN

is what I’m gonna call this mess

since we’re the demo that does them best

if thots and prayers mean acting less

or voting against marginalized groups with minority stress… as if women at conference tables… and brown folks in dorms… need white guys subtracting more… and I know we use categories for making sense… and giving names to groups we haven’t met

but no

WHY DO YOU HATE WHITE MEN THAT’S LIKE ME SAYING I HATE FAGGOTS AND LATINAS

my brother

on the phone while I’m at an intersection

but what about flesh in the grass and women in ironworking and los trumpistas in southern california and pixie boys in kootenai county and ill-eagles fireworks on the skokomish reservation and mothers nursing children in rocking chairs at spokane international airport… and steer ropers staring in horses’ eyes… and words so strong they become actions like “guilty” and “I hereby pronounce you”

I want to say

it comes down to

while animals aim for physical victory bc they’re rewarded by evolutionary gain… my brother aims for high-volume sucker-punching bc… well same

no no no I reassure myself… I’ve prepared for this moment… covering my bedroom walls with butcher paper and definitions for agápē and wisdom and grace

the light turns green

in seattle where my boyfriend and I saw a band named “boyfriends”… consisting of three guys some with girlfriends maybe play-acting “gay”

not the faggot town I grew up in

did I say faggot town

flipped my thoughts

I live with faggots now

bc of course I moved away

from where I was raised… where ladies in subdivisions filled rusted bathtubs with dahlias… and re-arranged living room sectionals and side tables… and guys in trailer parks worked on TVs in their yards

I never smeared deer blood on my face after a kill… and neither did my brother

we never paintballed stop signs… or climbed trees to catch squirrels (the unofficial after-school workout of the wrestling team)… or nailed the bloody skins to the weight room wall… or chilled in the parking lot with the tenth-grade science teacher slash security guard

where I grew up

white trash was designated white as opposed to other dodgy colors

wonder if the cafeteria table at school still says derek smith is a fag… I see blocky letters behind my eyes… nirvana on the lawn… holding a stick next to a praying mantis… hoping she’ll crawl on

live in the same place long enough and the frogs will be gone

each year I bike a block further

find certainty in school

lay around and think about what's true

leave cleats books water bottles in the living room

train for x-country in july and august… dream of anthropology and art history in college… parents fill out FAFSA forms

unconscious

at the intersection of my privs

square jaw wide grip

I give in

I say to my brother

driving by the gaybucks

are you serious? I ask... you want to do this rn? you think I hate white men? you didn’t show much interest in my self-hatred when we were teens

we were raised to read widely on top of doing our homework for English class… stories about white men unable to find work or shelter… I stayed awake by reading one chapter in the basement of our three-story home and another chapter in the bath… and another chapter in the basement… and another in the bath

it was 1997 and everyone was wearing ck jeans and eternity cologne and disappearing into the wood paneling of their basements

not everyone wrote a 5-paragraph paper on why abortion was wrong

but I did

most people ate the pro-life sundaes at youth group

as the tin man in our high school production of “The Wizard of Oz”… I dreamed of a fabulous life in the emerald city… while listening to conservatives in the community complain about the presence of witches and pagan values in the play… a few token liberals described how the Wicked Witch’s green skin and Glinda’s button nose… equated virtue with appearance

I worked on a farm for $

hi-ho the derrrrrrrrry-o

faggot on the farm

flesh in the grass

telling stories and pulling weeds as I acknowledged “weed” was a human category… for life distinct from other forms of life… standing out in color and shape… budding out of place

when I got home I studied Zanie’s backwoods dialect in Zora Neale Hurston’s “Their Eyes Were Watching God”

four years later

ash-covered New Yorkers crossed the Brooklyn Bridge with their hands on their faces

I picked blueberries on Mount Rainier… asked if subalpine flowers should smell like dryer sheets… if lakes should be toilet tab blue

¾” threaded galvanized pipe two chain links eye bolts flag

supplies list from the guy at the rest-stop on the way home… old glory should stand up to a 96 mile trip up to 70 mph

I went to work folding taco wrappers into triangles like nothing had happened… and made food with beef that showed up in boxes marked “fit for human consumption”… staging mexi-fries under heat lamps in groups of two or three

while boy george (w.) signed the Providing Appropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism act

after work I slept in self-inflicted poverty in a house full of guys who did backyard enemas and drank jars of pee and kept mushroom journals… and changed my opinion about property ownership… bc why bother storing up treasure when human possession is an illusion… and condoleeza rice has a chevron tanker named after her

we argued about earth history and theological precepts like pre-destination

but agreed

god’s complacent

should be more like the hippie guy in the volkswagen van… with Eden Before The Fall painted one side… and Eden After The Fall on the other… and a nice patch of grass growing on top

textbooks copied screens

fireplaces provided intimacy w/o heat

virtual experiences dominated references in speech

green-tongued goats on forest service roads licked antifreeze

we asked if the phone was real or surround sound prestige... did the spin instructor in the windowless gym want sixty percent on hills or ninety percent on streets… is the norway maple transplanted to the front lawn of the new house conveying a line of aristocratic family wealth

an old-growth tree

the entrepreneur in an education workshop talked about “products” metaphorically

a patriot/explorer on a mustang/bronco went on an expedition/excursion to the frontier/tundra… passing through the winnebago tribe saying

srry bout it

the kids on the makah reservation don’t want whale sandwiches

wal-mart got blue and target red

white wonder bread

happy meals

j. christ

c.e.o.

5 lb cereal

4 brown ghosts

the speaker at the commencement ceremony joked, “what’s the difference between Pullman and a cup of yogurt?”

the cup of yogurt has more culture

zuckerberg’s hoodie went from “disregard for convention” to “purity of intention”… for someone too focused to worry about clothes… monastic gray was helping folks

now we’re here

we’re here

at the mindfulness weight loss retreat… three raisins… six almonds… the right herbal tincture… twenty minutes in the redwoods

dragging

the past in front of us bc it happened

we’re at home eating pancakes with butter and syrup and powdered sugar… but the sugar is crushed-up hydroxycut

city buildings capture sun for the 20%

hey shadows

and data-mining companies have been adding my places of employment and the mesh shorts I almost bought… and the dreams I deferred and the shows I watch… to their digital dossier of me… and I guess the gazing goes one way but not the other… like church… where predictive analytics play upon thirsts… and hunt me down like unicorn shirts

what’s next

trees drop plastic fruits

domesticated deer eat out of troughs

stunt-double bears rent suits in parking lots

forest rangers lasso the last of the orioles and roll up the sky

we learn

the last time I had a long island iced was... the last time I had a long island iced tea

seeeeeeeeeeeeeee

bro

I’m doing better

you’re like me

except I’m a busybody

with no kids

wish: “pc lecture with moral authoritarian tone by urban elite who reflexively rejects critiques of globalization”… reads “fearless inventory in a world where ‘quinoa empanadas’ are a thing… and platters of deviled eggs watch the horizon”

so even as I call your baby’s bedroom view of the skyline from your island home

privilege bestowed

I call out myself

for lavender cookies and oatmeal soap

never noticing appropriation in cartoon indian smokes

white peace pipe under a red sun on a yellow box

database of ruin snapshots

you know how I spent those years teaching high school in gig harbor… what you don’t know is I had two Hispanic sisters… Maria and Paula… spend a quarter translating children’s books on sticky notes

they

smiled

yawned

bored

I was their teacher and offered “support”

(but if you need more… in 2009 I was plucking spraying spiking shaving shoving… like the guys on jersey shore… watched every episode and called it my reward… for getting through two president bushes)

the founding fathers designed our branches of government to withstand the likes of King George

(also: granted love to gather more of it, shirked a wrong but lorded over it)

psychologically spiraling… debating if I should share the video of the first lady in the blue dress staring at her feet during inaugural prayer… wondering if I’m feeling personal irritability or existential despair… if I have “compassion fatigue” from doing “emotional labor” in my newsfeed

why someone hasn’t invented a female-friendly pee trough between the knees… why menopausal sensuality gets teased… why testosterone means feeling confident about incorrect answers

have the decency to feel guilty

living off the massive retail workforce stocking big-box brick-and-mortar stores and online fulfillment centers

what did we expect

detaching personal accountability from global effects

what did you think

watching nature documentaries frame lions as villains… positing giraffes as victims… when we know aggression isn’t something “we get out of our systems”

but confessing rings wrong

I say to my brother

pulling up to my apartment home

ear hot from the phone

how’s the kid

peeing blood

good… he’s got a kitchen set with a stove and dishwasher… he cooks plastic things while he toot-toots… farts on command... he says

I hope he’s reading “Radical American Women A-Z” and “The Adventures of Toni the Tampon”… I say… and playing with the nine new ken dolls with ethnically ambiguous face-sculpts… developing new play patterns… bc brown kids asked to play with “the good doll” choose the white doll… and still grow up overly disciplined at school… by administrators analyzing “racial predictability and dis-proportionality in achievement categories”… without saying the word “racist”

I like body positive post-holiday ken his paunch

also our white immigrant ancestors got rich enslaving Blacks

(the rest of the starter kit for understanding institutional injustice can be found online @ www.google.com)

(intermediate: people of color fight against constructed realities… internally and externally… and the racial imaginary overlaps with the gay imaginary bc invisible people need some space to practice their fkn moves… but what about time and place… whose ear does the hearing… which mouth translates)

o say can I… being me… understand how corporate restructuring shows one face and sublimates others… contributes to oppression where double consciousness affects women and people of color

o say can I hear the oppressors’ voices renegotiate my thoughts decolonize space

where do I fit in? will there be room for me? how do I make room for others?

my brother suddenly has to go asks if you’ll be him on the phone

yes

it's complicated

but yes

(if you're not my brother and the request is nbd bc you've always heard the voices of white men… I invite you to continue… if you’d rather not… peace be with you… let’s hang soon… I love you)

and right there did you feel that [ [ [ [

in actual life we aren’t there yet… I hung up the phone after “faggots and Latinas”... bc my hands were shaking so hard I could barely steer

typical of you to back out of conversation before we say the hurtful things you say

before we say the hurtful things? before? I ask

1) well at least I finally have the upper hand with you thinking you can threaten broken bonds 2) I’ve never seen two belief systems more perfectly in line 3) I guess you stand for democratic values most of the time

we’ll never know what’s depraved and what's divine… I can’t read hearts and I can’t read minds

already I had escaped into the televised self-help seminar in my head… where I am the host rolling up my sleeves… ready to hear from household cleaner huffing sisters… and visualize problems worse than mine

after the commercial break I engage the girls in patient-therapist interactions... mixing hard-hitting realism and hypersensitive dialogue… as intolerable and inauthentic as my wife’s bouffant

basically I’m dr. phil… but also… if it’s okay with you… I’d love to try being the girls… who haven’t seen their father since they were two

and later during the re-tape… the visiting expert with a new self-help book… explains the “colorization of the soul”… saying “I think it makes sense to nurture the ‘daily me’ before skimming the news… look here… on the color rubric… reds before blues”

red apples picked by farm workers with multiple SSNs

blue mechanics in overalls twirling ballpoint pens

white eggshell enamel over pink or saccharine

symbols up for grabs… by anyone… bc that’s what I was told growing up and believed… I can be anyone I wanna be

hope the same for Muslim girls wearing spandex hijabs in P.E.

our country is not exempt… when campaign rallies look like nests… but I know I’m like… eighty-two percent spoon-fed/tone-deaf

tomorrow

is a child’s flying drone-wish… where native plants have extraordinary ability visas like the biebs… germinate round-up ready soft white wheat… and facial recognition software on my self-driving truck beeps… bc I’m not wearing guyliner… and lack ethereum cryptocurrency

so I walk into a bar and borrow liquid pencil

apply it in the mirror by the urinal

remembrance of things pabst

love comes in spurts

the worst

hasn’t

hap-

pened

be around

thanks

I’ll be a morel mushroom full of vitamin d in the dark

an emerald city queer in the shadow of Rainier where bark is bark

mist from the Nisqually River rolls above the fast part

torrent > P2P file sharing

a robot hands me a warm towel after yoga… scans my sweat for communicable diseases

construction workers buy baguettes out of a wheelbarrow… from my kids

paid in no-nuance knockoff dramatized black lady gifs

blood on their faces hunting feral pigs

allahu akbar… on the fortieth click… means more than the first search results about jihadist battle cries… jihad… means more than the first search results about holy wars

as-salaam aleikum… peace be unto you

saw-lahm

all-lay-koooooooom

while keeping an eye on the horizon

for crowd estimation software in weather balloons

across the un-crossable Puget Sound

not really

we live in western wash.

what I’m saying is… I’m not traveling down Tolkien’s path… climbing Silverstein’s precipice… crossing a toothpick pier… or boarding a balsa wood boat… for a “dialogue event”… when I see you across this metaphorical inlet

not everything overlaps… smoke + fog = smog… marionette + puppet = muppet… enchilada + burrito = enchurrito… intermingling > provinciality…but apple slices on guacamole is white people saying to Mexicans we want your food and want to “touch” it too

eww

I want the queer bar full of queers… and that’s true of any gathering place… the identity shifts with who’s there and who stays… for physical touch and feeling safe... and cultural intensification... we congregate

I could never hate feminist separatists reading sappho by lyre

agrarian nationalists and queer energy collectives disappear

cross the cascades… to north idaho… passport in hand to show agents at the skin of the bubble… preparing for my cousin the welder… who can’t get out of his trailer… and my dad who says seat belts and metric measurements are communist and has a legal pad with instructions for working the computer

the girl on the greyhound says she didn’t go to college for four years to sit on her ass and bake cookies

been awhile

a few days later I ride in the back of our uncle’s truck to the parade… where grandma reminds me to keep my beer tabs so kristy will get a party for her class… as we set up folding chairs on the sidewalk… to watch shriners on little cars… and wave at hooters girls on the make-a-wish float… the mayor… always pooping in other people’s pants… grandma says… as we find ourselves standing and clapping for the coeur d’alene tribe

after mayor and police go by

later help grandma make tater tot hot dish... wrap the pan in a bath towel she pulls from a cabinet full of towels stacked vertically like pizza boxes

small talk

fawn over the s’mores pie with graham cracker crumbs on bottom and top… especially the marshmallowy middle

oh oops

did I go there

pre-prayer

here’s the thing… the alliances we need to overcome the monster are never what we think they are… and seeing anti-american sentiment in the firmament… and indicator species’ temperaments… reminds us the world collects… and/or usurps the throne… the debt is more than we think we owe… there won’t be polite knocking or ceremonial drumming… by so-called “others” we didn’t see coming

solution… testing limits… and I don’t mean excusing myself to get the wings by the jumper cables in the trunk… walking back in and telling everyone angel gabriel is here… saying… oh I guess this isn’t… is this not the sexy jesus party with a crucifix selfie station?

omg that hoe over there

our arguments are basically light divisions… internal-only obstacles where I go back and forth debating

I know

this makes you wanna scream into the phone

well

here’s a semi-autobiographical lyric novella in the form of an epic poem

typical passive progressiveness… I can’t even talk to you face-to-face… when you wanna chill by the water tank… I communicate via popsicle stick messages in the gutter / everyone on tumblr

one thing’s for sure… we’re giving up some things... s’mores pie is on the table… but it’s not on the table… of sacrifices I’ll be making… bc I love s’mores pie

we don’t wanna give up anything but we have to try

our lives are characterized by conveniences with steep costs

like celery and bell peppers and onions already chopped

people with invisibility powers can’t be stopped

rowing outside San Diego and the Gulf

above cracked pipes and pvc

clouds of oil

grass and reeds

dragonflies and damselflies with heavy wings

on multi-generational round-trips without breaks to breathe in juniper trees

addition: we had a seed vault… a plan b food bank… to take care of us... in case a plague trapped in siberian ice destroyed our crops… but ten years went by without permafrost… and car-less urbanites with mileage plans... shrugged and said there was nothing they could do

a collapsed ice shelf is another place for cargo ships to pass through

our ecosystems depend on conversations among interlocking interdependent parts… more than mermaid toast or zombie shows… or mother nature wish-fulfillment fantasies… where we ask quail and cranes in the forest… to come out of the trees and lift us away by our shoulder pads

our second eye watches the ground… as we pace sidewalks disrupted by roots… thank inchworms for decompositions…. trace the paths of ants on the side… turn our ears like ferris wheels on the sly

inner vision attuned

wilderness survival guide

I do not have superior autobiographical memory like my faggot boyfriend does… brother… but if I remember right you beat up the guy who peed on my backpack in ninth grade… bc the next passing period… he apologized

I’m in bed rn… thinking about how I hate your muscular public practice… but needed it… srry for being confused

the word is not the thing

the menu is not the food

the plan

after I’ve figured out what I can give up

is to invite people to a park

grand theft auto fans

promote

slacktivist slash accent coach

mom in dallas… cashier cleric caregiver… competing for section 8 vouchers

developer counting kickbacks and calories... at a housing tax credit industry gathering

middle-aged man afraid to lose… leaving Buenavista for Baton Rouge… parents of dead black kids don’t know what to do… Saudi women barred from carpools… El Salvadoran sugarcane harvesters… closeted Egyptian police officers… Filipino nannies tinikling to Lil’ Wayne… trans women fighting the state… Miss Texas 1988… Harlotte O’Scara Hellen Tragedy… snake handler crab trapper… adjunct professor qualitative researcher… world’s most prolific fortune cookie writer… Bible Jim… shirtless guy next to him in briefs and “This man gave me a blowjob” sharpied on his chest

salmon in gasoline

up the bank across the street

pipeline burst on whatcom creek

hyper-empathic hatchimal colleggtor

trained to serve but not hit back

except in tennis lessons

the male coach

flips that

srry

gay hater cake maker cradle labeler

homo-plausible bi-logical

floral arranger

retain it or give it away

intellectual property is three chords

and the person with less power says you're not allowed

your brother

it’ll be the opposite of when I showed up at your house after my wife left me… and you opened the door… and I collapsed in your arms in the hallway… and bc you’re a few inches taller than me… and my knees wouldn’t work… you saw the nail marks on the walls of my subconscious

we’ll play a game… where we introduce ourselves

recall times in our lives with less repetition more repair

describing versions of ourselves adding post-scripts unaware

listing words we never use: farce, fatuous, machination, myopic, subterfuge

sorting beliefs by size date modified proof

discuss satire-less south park

duraflame start

galvanize flake n rust

behave spontaneously n not combust

help hippielandia hostel in flames

learn ancient proto-langs

repeat shit we wanna forget

like, has anyone checked on the family in the nuclear train car yet

we’ll discuss what should change… what should stay the same… believe ourselves capable of restraint… revive the practice of communal processing… where townspeople gather side by side… to watch events from the day reenacted in light

practice… on a page

like in a play

oceans and lands… dna strands… airspace… electromagnetic spectrums… gridded and privatized… but the public square

ACT I

CURTAINS OPEN ON PARK/SQUARE. TOWNSPEOPLE GATHER IN HALF-CIRCLE. MISSILE, WEATHER BALLOON, AND RED SUN HANG OVERHEAD

NICO: “I’ve been thinking about how I might convey my progressive morals in a way that sounds wholesome to my family.”

ISSA: “I’m done with that. I spend ten dollars on tampons at the store and my husband gets a bowlful of condoms every time he orders a jaeger shot. Then if I mention the disparity he blames ‘red tide.’ When I needed postnatal care to stop my fourth trimester pants-pissing, my doctor’s visit wasn’t covered. Society isn’t family friendly. I spend forty-minutes on the couch organizing housework and childcare each week, and regardless of what society says, that’s project management.”

JASLENE: “Last year my teacher gave everyone two bathroom passes and if you didn’t use them they were worth extra credit, so I left bloody circles on the chair para mostrarle que esto es lo que sucedería.”

CROWD SILENCES. BOY IN “WANNA LIFT?” SHIRT LEAVES. DARLENE STEPS TO THE MIDDLE.

DARLENE (to vacated space, then to group): “We’ll miss you… Every manifestation of good and evil has part of the answer, but also, immovable people will not be moved. We will show civil inattention by giving him the space he needs.”

MARK: “I’ll never represent my beliefs adequately since I have trouble telling the barber how I want my hair without the assistance of visual aids, but I’m here to talk anyway.”

JAMES: “We're standing on varying levels of culturally constructed oppressive frames and the only way to deconstruct the artifice as it exists is to stand on the ones that are more entrenched and take apart the ones that are less entrenched.”

SOFÍA: “I’m so confused by the fact that I’m not supposed to feel shame, except for all the things I’m supposed to feel shameful about, which aren’t the things I thought were shameful. Am I supposed to know what a ‘gender illusionist’ is? I thought liking men made my nephew gay.”

CURTAINS CLOSE

overheard in audience:

they’re not connecting… just waiting turns and expressing

let’s not underestimate the hard work of avoiding moral outrage

dismayed at the repetition of “but” while conversation disintegrates

hang on

looking up cognac insta chef’s recipe for caramel-drizzled hennessy cupcakes

unwilling to listen generously… while aiming for an ending other than intensifying favoritism is like nailing jelly to a tree

using a chainsaw to cut butter

jumping from flower to flower in a fern gulley type situation

pragmatism is a dangerous alternative to conviction

ACT II

CURTAINS OPEN. CHARACTER ‘YOU’ GAZES OUT OF HOUSE WINDOW ON AN ISLAND, STAGE LEFT. CHARACTER ‘ME’ LOOKS OUT APARTMENT WINDOW IN A CITY, STAGE RIGHT

In unison: I promise me: to fight for-profit prisons, schools, and kidney-dialysis centers. you: [ [ [ [

In unison: I think I can give up me: the scholarship I got in college and give it to someone who needs it. But don’t touch the s’mores pie. you: [ [ [ [

In unison: I’ve been thinking about me: what you shared with me about China building artificial land around the Spratly Islands. And how prison construction companies look at standardized test data from second grade children of color. you: [ [ [ [

In unison: I believe I am owed me: a reply. Not long, but something. you: [ [ [ [

In unison: I care about me: how Ryan and Jesse’s mom used to put Carl Budding lunchmeat with mayonnaise and mustard in a blender… set it on ‘mash’ for a game of Duck Hunt… scoop it into Tupperware… and smear it on white bread throughout the week. I would eat that over apples on guacamole. The real globaloney. you: [ [ [ [

In unison: I hope me: we find space to show real love to kenyan baboons in garbage dumps and dioxin babies walking like spiders with red septic skin and people in apartments named after species they’ve displaced and women planning the clean-up of their suicides. you: [ [ [ [

CURTAINS CLOSE: INTERMISSION

overheard in lobby:

coming up with a formula for interacting in common space

himalayan crystals from the mystic utilikit dude

maybe we’ll see them agree… or calm down… or point towards partial truth… or connect idealism to privilege

not youth

we know old folks are idealistic

planting seeds without expecting fruits

going to target and payless shoes

ACTS III+

CURTAINS OPEN ON PARK/SQUARE. TOWNSPEOPLE HUDDLE AROUND A RADIO, AS IF IN A SNOWSTORM.

RADIO: ... let it be that great strong land of love… where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme… that any man be crushed by one above…

DARLENE: “Starting sentences with ‘I’ is a good place to begin, but feelings of belonging go deeper. Shift responses bring the attention to ourselves. Support responses ask for more. Let’s be more than cannibals with knives and forks.”

MARK: “Food metaphors. We want to think about asking better questions. ‘What place most inspires you?’ instead of ‘Where have you traveled?’ ‘What work are you passionate about?’ instead of ‘What do you do?’”

JASLENE: “What's your weightiest belief? What's your most potent fear?”

RADIO: … clutching the hope I seek… and finding only the same old stupid plan… of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak… it never was America to me…

ISSA: “The desperate search for an ethic, a specter.”

JASON: “I am willing to give up my authority but don't touch my autonomy.”

RADIO: ... say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? and who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

YOU: [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [

EPILOGUE

Before sharing my brother’s response, I want to say I wrote “Thots & Prayers” because women get fewer obituaries than men in newspapers. Because the Baltimore Orioles lost way back when they had no tree canopy in which to land. Because trauma squats in the valley and anxiety raps her knuckles on the hill. Because Taco Bell spent 10 years and $15 mill developing stretchy cheese. Because men look at other men working in daycare centers and think they’re dumb for frittering away perks that should have been theirs from birth. Because my older brother yelled about faggots and Latinas after visiting the site of the Orlando Pulse shooting.

I am not looking to be comforted or assuaged.

White men need to educate each other. It’s not anyone else's job. We need to listen to the cultural conversation, see connections, and act on behalf of people who aren't seen. We need to be friendly in crowded places, and pull each other aside and be bridges.

I hope my family understands how many things will break if we don’t accommodate fragility. I’m not a metaphysician and don’t know about quantum mechanics or particle physics, but I know the phrase “I hope” is a glimmer of light living outside my rage. “I hope” signals my privilege. I hope to understand more about “I hope” in the context of everyday life in coming days.

As a beneficiary of entrenched systems, I work for everyone to have equal voice and access. I work for what’s best in my neighborhood and nation, on this striking and stunning and astoundingly polluted planet. I avoid asteroid-bashing. I avoid the ossification of stalemate. I avoid co-opting languages of the oppressed. I save room for warmth and time for children. I learn about neuro-diversity in the workplace and nutrient density in school lunches, and communicate generously about these issues and other issues, like the shared struggle for justice.

Mantras I’m saying and acting upon.

What’s mine is yours.

We do not need all the parts of the old society to create a new one.

If you feel inspired, please comment. I’d love to hear your weightiest belief, most potent fear, frustrations, considerations, qualifications, corrections, assessments, and agreements. No presh. I get nervous sharing my feelings, and words impact and behave differently for different people. The spaces between known grains of wood make wood strong.

I wasn’t sure if my brother would be a grain or a space. He’s the first person to admit he doesn’t read much and would rather talk on the phone or hash things out in person. Before sharing this, I called him up and said, “I’m about to send you a piece of writing. You don’t have to read the whole thing. You can always ‘Ctl. F’ and look for ‘brother.’”

Here’s what he wrote:

FYI, I don't really like you writing somewhat rude things about me and my house (which I take as jabs towards my wife and kids), etc. I don't do that towards you. I know there was some nice stuff too… I am communicating by e-mail as I know email is your preferred method, but at some point you need to realize I have feelings and opinions too, and don’t share them with everyone.

Right now I’m looking at 40+ people smoking joints outside the subsidized housing across the street. Wish I had that option. I wonder if their chronic drug use is helping out the health care system – I know they're not paying into it? I was up at 4:05 a.m. today to keep working toward losing that 20 lbs. so I'm not a burden on the system in the future. Learned that from Mom and Dad. I guess sometimes I feel ripped off. Need to get back to work now as I need to pay bills.

I’m sorry about the hate stuff that one day, you know I don't feel that way.

On another note, is hydroxycut good stuff?

He attached a document where he continued the conversation.

I promise to… take care of my kids and not cheat on my wife.

I’ve been thinking about… how to lose 20 more lbs. so I’m not dead when my kids are 40.

I feel like I am owed… nothing. I don’t feel I’m owed anything. Everyone chooses how to spend their money.

... and gave me prompts of my own.

In unison: I’ve been busy me: working about 12 hours per day if I count commuting and working on my house. you: [

In unison: I save my money for me: the future. I think I’m responsible for taking care of my own problems instead of hoping someone will help me out if something happens. you: [

In unison: I feel I’m privileged because me: I had a good Mom, Dad, and brothers growing up. I was never given any money, but having someone in your corner is more valuable. I am in your corner if you are in a pinch, and I know Mom and Dad are too. you: [

Working for a great strong land of love,

COLOPHON

Published on tumblr on Thursday, Aug. 10, “Thots & Prayers” is a phone transcript, visual essay, poem, and interactive self-help manual. I edited my brother’s written response for clarity. My mom took the pictures of my brother and me. My friend Jonathan Ursin took the pictures of me kneeling on the amphitheater stage and laying in the grass with rosary beads. I took the rest. Spanish phrases were proofed by Alè Barrientos. Radio broadcast lines are excerpted from Langston Hughes’ “Let America Be America Again.” Endorsement by Seattle performer Nico Pecans (they/them) / Miss Texas 1988 (she/her) is available. Lines from “James” and “Jason” are from interviews with James and Jason. PDF with original formatting shared upon request.

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ravenhowl-in-shipland · 7 years

Text

[In]telorant - Yuriyuu

Rating = T

Pairing = Yuuri x Yuri

Summary = They love each other but not everyone agree with their relationship and express their disagreement through harsh words and disrespectful comments.

Note = This is something I write after receiving a lot of complaining about my OTP : Yuriyuu Enjoy !

——————————————————————

A miaowing sound echoed in the quiet bedroom, scratching noises coming from the door to ask someone to open it, pulling one of the two persons that was living here out of her peaceful sleep, hiding from the cold atmosphere of the early winter under the black cover on the king sized bed, and the blonde groaned in annoyance as he woke up slowly to the whining of their hungry kitten. He opened his eyelids, shutting them four times in a row to adjust to the sunlight that could get through the half closed curtains, and was greeted by the sight of his lover’s neck and naked back, the faint smell of his favorite shampoo still hanging in the air. Yurio loved to see the beautiful man first thing in the morning, his relaxed muscles showing up a bit, his shoulder and side moving up and down to match his breathing, black hair falling on the pillow, and the young skater just wanted to pull him into a gentle hug, but restrained himself to avoid waking him up. So, he just let him rest a bit more, the night before having been a succession of stressful interviews for another sports magazine, and tried to get up without making the slats crack under his weight, to go and open the door for Būta, their Bengal cat, which was waiting impatiently to eat its breakfast. The little feline rubbed himself against his master’s legs to let him know that he was happy and ran toward the kitchen when the blonde set him free, jumping here and there like a little gazelle. Smiling fondly at their companion, the teen joined it into the room and poured some food in its plate, earning a purr from the little cat, before going back into the bedroom to lay down again.

Beside him, the other man stirred in his sleep, yawning silently, and pulled the blanket over his shoulder to keep himself warm, sighing through his parted lips. Finding it adorable, the seventeen years old boy decided to spoon him from behind, tangling their feet together, his arms encircling the eldest’s torso, caressing the appealing abs, and peppered the crook of his neck with loving kisses. At first, the black haired skater didn’t say anything, maybe still half asleep, but then, he moaned in satisfaction, one hand covering the fingers on his abdomen, and leaned into the touch of his boyfriend, longing for the warmth of his body. Glad that he was enjoying the kind gesture, Yuri began to suck the skin of his shoulder, leaving a red mark on his flesh, and licked his earlobe with a playful grin on his face.

“That tickles Yura !” The Japanese man said while chuckling a bit.

“It’s your fault for seducing me …”

At that, Yuuri turned around to face his lover, locking his brown eyes with the light green ones in front of him, and bent forward to seal their mouth together, melting into the kiss like it was the first they were sharing. Fingers were going through undisciplined hair, hips bucking against the other’s and caresses given in a light touch. The youngster wanted to go further, intertwining their tongues into a heated dance, but the eldest of the couple preferred to end it there and placed a lock behind his ear to see his beautiful figure, even though he had a disappointed look on it.

The Russian wasn’t as shy as he had been the first time he had confessed to his crush and he needed a little more physical contact, that he couldn’t receive because he was still a minor. He knew that his Katsudon was quite respectful about these rules and didn’t wish to ruin Yuri’s career because of their relationship, now that he had reached such a level. But the latter couldn’t accept that, growling like an upset dog when the other would refuse to hold him in public to avoid any scandal, and tried to push him to his limits so he would be the one to make the first move, knowing that he was quite weak against his charms. After all, he had been waiting for it since a long time now. It bothered him a lot to think that laws were restraining them from doing what they liked and he just wished he could change it without moving a finger.

“Why don’t you want to do it with me ?” The cat lover blurted out without thinking.

“You know why … I can’t lay a finger on you for now, not until you are eighteen …”

“But I’m almost eighteen … We can do it right ?”

“Yurio please, I don’t want to talk about it … Just, I really want to give you what you want. Really. However, it wouldn’t be right for now.”

“But who cares ? No one can prove that we had sex and there won’t be any paparazzi in the room while we will do it !”

Yurio hadn’t realized that he was actually yelling at his boyfriend, clenching his fists against the sheets, and the half scared expression on Yuuri’s face was what brought him back to reality. He slapped himself mentally the moment he saw it. Plus, he knew how much the pork cutlet lover could feel anxious over nothing and start to hyperventilate when the stress was too much. So, as quickly as possible, he apologized and took the older man in his arms to appease his arising fear.

“I’m sorry Katsudon. I didn’t mean to blame you or yell at you … it’s just that I … I really want to prove you how much I love you and that I can support the media’s curiosity, even if they are a pain in the ass …”

“I am the one who should apologize … I’m just running away because I’m afraid about what other could think of me … us.”

“Why do you focus on their opinion ? It’s not like they were actually throwing insult at us ?” The blonde explained while standing up in a sitting position.

As if something snapped inside the ravenette, he got out of the couch, showing his bare and hairless legs, only covered with a pair of boxers, and went to his desk in the corner of the room to grab something the other couldn’t see because it was too small. Then, with an angry grimace, he tossed it to the blonde who caught it before it lands on the blanket, and mumbled in a weak and wavering voice.

“I’m sorry for being a coward …”

After that, Yuuri took the large sweater that the Russian had bought him two months ago for their one year birthday as a couple, which had a cute piglet on it and said I’m an awesome piglet to look at, and exited the bedroom to go in the living room. The teen didn’t understand what had just happened. It wasn’t like the black haired man to get mad at something so futile. Usually, he would just brush it off and wear a defeated smile, making Yurio apologize over and over again for being so hot headed. Maybe he had gone too far this time. But what did he want to show him ? Between his fingers, there was the black phone of the Japanese skater and the screen was unlocked, turned on with the Twitter account of his Katsudon opened. That was the first clue he understood. Something was going on and it seemed to be heavy to bear. While scrolling down the multiple tweets he had received from Viktor and Phichit, he could hear the oldest making breakfast, the smell of eggs and bacon for their occidental meal tickling his nose, and the broken words he was whispering to Būta, made his heart ache a bit. Suddenly, something caught his attention.

A single tweet that wasn’t from neither of them, who didn’t know that they were a thing, seemed to have been commented and seen by a lot of their fans, especially the tiger’s groupies. As he opened it, a picture of the two men appeared at the top, showing them during one of their secret date, the blonde having one of his arm around the other’s shoulder, and he discovered why his adorable Katsudon was afraid of crossing the limits. There, he could read a lot of rumors that were spreading like the dust in a storm because of the photograph, and a bunch of them were disrespectful toward the owner of the account, if not worse.

“Did you see that picture ? That’s Yuuri Katsuki right ? With Yuri Plisetsky ?”

“I thought that they didn’t like each other ? Why is Katsuki with our tiger ?”

“Fuck!ng gross ! Are they together ? I thought that the Japanese Yuuri was with Viktor Nikiforov ?”

“Stay away from him !”

“Go back with Viktor. I thought you were going to marry !”

“Don’t lay a hand on him dirty pig !”

“Faggot ! Don’t turn our little angel into one of your kind !”

“Isn’t that kind of relationship called pedophilia ?”

“I’m sure that Yuri is blackmailed by Katsuki ! That bastard !”

The teenager couldn’t continue to read those things. Putting a hand over his mouth, he didn’t know if he should cry or scream at those people who didn’t understand anything. Of course amongst the most horrible ones, there were some that tried to defend him or protect their privacy by reporting their comments, but it was no use, and one person was still trying to stop those these bastards, only receiving insults in return. Bitting his bottom lip, the young skater squeezed the phone between his fingers, his knuckles becoming as white as the snow which was falling outside, and he suppressed the urge to take his own account to answer to them, shutting them up with his russian curses. However, a sob broke the angry atmosphere around him and he didn’t waste a second to go in the living room to comfort his lover. Yuri arrived in his jogging pants, tall and well-built, and saw the smaller man curled up on the couch, face against his knees, shoulders shaken by a fit of sobs, a panic attack showing the tip of its nose.

Approaching slowly the scared piggy, the youngster took a sit beside him and rubbed his back, up and down, in a soothing way. It had been a long time since he had seen the older man in such a state, always smiling and laughing and blushing at everything, and if he remembered well, the last time was when he had learn his best friend had broken his ankle after landing a jump the wrong way, eight months ago. At that time, the blonde had to tell him over and over again that Phichit would be okay and that it was just a broken bone. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as easy this time. He didn’t find the right words to reassure him and it began to make him feel anxious too.

No. He had to stay strong for Yuuri.

“Hey Katsudon …” he murmured in a gentle tone “Look at me, please …”

The ravenette didn’t answer or obey to his command, and continued to cry his eyes out, tightening his grip on his legs. The Russian tried again.

“Please, I want you to look at me when I’ll …”

“Do you think I’m gross ?”

“Huh ?” He said, a bit surprised by the sudden intervention.

“Am I that kind of person ? That’s how people see me ? Am I just some pedophile ?”

At that, Yuri took a hold of the Japanese’s shoulders, forcing him to straighten his back so he could see his red face and puffy eyes, and tried to stay as calm as possible to help him through this. But, beyond his glasses, the pork cutlet lover didn’t seem ready to hear what his boyfriend had to say and kept saying what he wanted for another ten minutes, his eyes blank and mind unreachable. The taller one couldn’t help but watch the show before him, feeling totally useless, and the words which were leaving his mouth, hurt him more than he would have thought. Yuuri’s breathing became erratic when he talked about the fact that he was dating a minor, that he should have accepted Viktor’s proposal like everyone wanted him to do, that everything was just a mistake that he made, and he started to hyperventilate badly. At this rate, it will just end the wrong way. Snapping out of it, the blonde attempted to persuade him with all his might.

“Stop talking nonsense ! You’re nothing of what they say … They don’t even know the real you ! They are just jealous of the two of us because we are happy together … Please Katsudon, I love you and I know what I mean. You didn’t force me into anything !”

The second man had a lot of difficulties to breath and was holding the sweater just above his heart, showing how much he was suffering at the moment. Tears were still streaming down his face and were falling onto his bare legs, making him look like a pet lost in the rain. Sweat appeared on the side of his face, eyes wide in shock like he had seen an horrible thing, and he trembled like a leaf in the forceful wind. So, the Russian did the only thing he thought was right to stop all of this. He grabbed his cheeks, wiped the droplets with his thumbs, and shut him up with his lips, smothering his doubts and fears. The kiss wasn’t like the ones they would exchange normally. It was rushed, clumsy and in a way, kind of painful. But, it was still filled with all the love and passion that the youngster felt toward his eldest, and he hoped that it would help him a little. When they had to separate to take deep breaths, Yuri was relieved to see that his lover was feeling better, his panic attack decreasing because of the kiss, and the other seemed to have been brought back to reality. It was the moment to knock some sense in him.

“You’re the most beautiful, kind, adorable and delicious person I’ve ever met. No one is as cute and precious as you in this whole world to me ! Even that stupid Viktor had the intelligence to see that in you …”

“Yurio …” he muttered, sniffling a bit.

“Those people are just blind and jealous. They will badmouth us until they understand that it’s useless, because humans are like that, and when they’ll stop to spread rumors about us, they will find someone else to bully because they have nothing else to do …”

Yuri paused in his sentence to look at his lover’s face, pleased to see that he was actually listening, and hugged him hard enough to let him feel his strong heartbeat, but not too much so he wouldn’t hurt him, before finishing his long speech.

“I can’t change what people think of us but remember that there are still some of them that support us so, you have to focus on what those persons say ! And don’t forget that I am the one who made a move on you. I may still be a minor but I can think by myself and have an opinion on what I choose … Hell, I have the sexual majority so why do they care ? You’re not in the wrong here and if there is anyone who need to be blamed for something, then it’s me because I couldn’t help to fall in love with a man nine years older than me.”

“What I am trying to say is that I love you more than my own life and that I could sacrifice my career for you if it means that I can stay by your side. You’re my everything Yuuri …”

An heavy silence came after that and Yurio waited anxiously for an answer, holding onto the sweater as if his life was depending on it, burying his tomato red face in the crook of the Japanese’s neck. After what felt like an eternity, the older male responded to him through a warm hug, struggling to keep his tears at bay, in vain. The blonde almost sighed in relief and put the palm of his right hand on top of the black hair, soothing the broken heart with comforting words, pushing him to let it all out. That was what he did for more than twenty two minutes, sobbing and crying, searching for his lover through their innocent embrace, and when he couldn’t spill a tear anymore, he broke away to wipe his eyes beyond his glasses and smiled fondly at the man of his life. It wasn’t those he had showed him since the beginning but a true one, and it made the blonde feel like he had completely succeeded to help the other believe in him.

“Thanks for being there for me Yura. You’re the best thing that had happened to me in this life and I’m always thinking that I don’t deserve …”

Knowing what was coming, the Russian sealed those words at the back of his throat and kissed him passionately until he couldn’t think about anything else, pulling him onto his torso as he was laying down on the sofa. The ravenette placed his hand on his chest to keep some stability, and pressed their lips a bit more together, letting the tongue of his lover enter his wet cave. A moan escaped Yuuri when the fingers of his partner went down to his butt cheeks, and he wanted to complain but it looked like he was enjoying it too much to struggle. However, the cat lover wasn’t the king of person who didn’t respect his promises and he took his hand away, caressing his back with the tip of his fingers. They parted for oxygen and stared at each other with a loving expression, the Japanese’s eyes still puffy from all the crying, lips all red because of their heated passion. Exhausted, the ravenette put the side of his face on his beloved’s torso, looking toward the TV on its furniture, Būta sleeping next to it in its basket, and relaxed into the peaceful atmosphere, the sun continuing its course in the sky, illuminating the living room with its magnificent light. While the eldest was fighting fiercely to not fall asleep, the other played with a dark lock, intertwining it around his index, humming a song he knew really well, and enjoyed the moment as if it was the last he would share with the broken man.

“I’m falling in love with you again Yuratchka …” Yuuri whispered as he let himself fall into a half sleep, forgetting completely about their breakfast and the fact that it was already 10:14 AM. “You are the only one … that can make me happy …”

“I should be the one saying that, silly ! Hey ! Are you going to go back to sleep just like that ?”

“Hmm … but you’re so comfortable to sleep on …”

“No Katsudon wait ! What about …” He cut himself when he understood that all of these emotions had drained his energy and that he needed to rest for an hour or two. “Nevermind. Sleep well Yuuri, моя любовь*”

Yuri kissed the top of his head and removed his glasses so it wouldn’t bother him, freeing his adorable flush face. At the sight of his peaceful expression, the blonde thought it would be a good thing to immortalize the moment and take a selfie, so he could show to the world that the man was his. And he did it. Taking his phone out of the pocket of his pants, he snapped a picture and with one hand, the other too busy to pet the other’s hair, he wrote a tweet on his Twitter account to answer to the haters in a pacific manner. When he concluded that the message was strong enough without being too harsh, he posted it, smiling for himself, and locked the screen to put it on the small table in front of the couch.

As the buzzing sound echoed in the room to tell that people were reacting to his comment, he ignored it and wrapped his arms around Yuuri’s hips, imprisoning him in a protective embrace.

Nothing will tear them apart.

Never.

[моя любовь = my love]

#yuriyuu #bakayuri #yuuri katsuki #yuri plisetsky #hurt and comfort #angst #happy ending #anxiety #mywriting #kissing #yoi #yuri on ice

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loserslibrary · 4 years

Text

pairing: Stanley Uris/Richie Tozier [Stozier] warnings: illusions to major character death/canon compliant written by: Amy rating: Teen word count: 2,059 prompt: “may i get some stozier? maybe richie or Stan coming out to the other for the first time angsts with happy ending”

Richie wasn’t sure how, but at some point throughout his years growing up in Derry, Maine, he had acquired a habit of climbing in his friends bedroom windows instead of using the door. Maybe it was because of Eddie’s mother, and the fact that she hated his guts, so he had to use the window there, but he couldn’t be sure. This was how he found himself climbing into his best friend, Stan’s, bedroom which was thankfully on the first floor of his home.

“Staniel, thank goodness you’re awake!” Richie crowed as he pushed himself inside, closing the frame behind him and flopping down onto the bed next to Stan. A deep sigh came from his friend and Richie looked up to see him watching him over the top of the book he was reading. “Am I interrupting something?”

Stan shook his head, “Not necessarily, but I was in the middle of a really good part of the book so I suppose in a way, yes you are. What brings you here at...ten in the evening on a school night?” Stan was staring at him fully now, the book cast aside on the bed. He crossed his arms. “Everything okay?”

Richie chewed on his bottom lip, the reason for him barging in so late on his friend’s quiet time still fresh in his mind. He had been at the arcade, as he normally was when trying to avoid homework. The place still left a bitter taste in his mouth since the summer of 1989, but over time he had fallen back into his same old routine. That is, until that night, when the past came to bite him in the ass. He was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t even hear Stan repeat his name. “Huh?”

“What’s going on?” Stan asked, his expression a little softer this time as he moved closer to Richie, a hand settling on his knee. At the action, Richie jumped a little and groaned internally, and Stan’s frown deepened. “Rich?”

There were a few reasons that Richie had chosen Stan out of all the losers to confide in about his internal problem. Not only was Stan a fantastic listener, but he was also honest and honesty was something Richie really needed at that moment. There was also the fact that Richie had a little bit more of a connection with Stan than he did with the rest of his friends, even though he loved them all dearly.

“Henry’s cousin is back in town,” Richie finally muttered, looking down at his lap. Stan had removed his hand from his knee and it was sitting on the bed a few inches away. Richie tried to ignore the way he wanted it to be back on his leg, grounding him. “Connor.”

“Okay?” Stan prompted, waiting for Richie to continue. When it was clear that it was going to take a little more than that, he sighed. “What about him? Did he bother you or something?”

Richie looked up then, his eyes wide behind his large glasses and shook his head, “No- No he didn’t bother me or anything.” He ran a hand through his hair. “He uh- he kissed me actually. Out back when I was having a smoke.” He looked down after the confession and then back up at Stan’s somewhat shocked expression. Yet, Richie wasn’t done. “He kissed me and…and I liked it.”

As he spoke, his thoughts drifted back to that moment an hour ago outside the arcade. He had seen Connor come in to the arcade, but had focused on his round of Street Fighter instead, trying not to bring any unwanted attention to himself, especially after what happened the last time. However, fate hadn’t been on his side, as Connor had approached him, starting up a casual conversation, asking him how he had been. Not wanting to be rude, Richie had replied and they ended up talking about a lot of things.

Then Richie had excused himself to go for a smoke, and a few minutes later before he had even lit up his cigarette, Connor was outside with him and they were kissing. It wasn’t even a gentle kiss at that, it was tongue, teeth and rather dirty, the two of them grinding against one another in the back of the alleyway outside the arcade.

To Richie, it felt good.

The only reason they parted was because of the sound of voices coming from inside the arcade, and the last thing they wanted was to be caught in a tryst with each other as Richie already had a reputation of being a faggot. If this got back to Henry about Connor being with Richie, the reactions would not be most welcome.

“Say something, Stan…” Richie whispered as the silence became too much to ignore. “I need you to say something, or do something because this silence is killing me.”

Stan blinked and ran a hand through his hair, “Is this your way of telling me you like boys?” He asked. “Because if you are then, Richie, it’s completely fine. You know that neither I nor anyone else would judge you for being gay or even bisexual.”

At the second word, Richie tilted his head to the side in confusion, “Bisexual?”

“You know, when someone likes both girls and boys? Bisexual. Bill’s uncle is bisexual, even though he’s with a man right now.” Stan explained and Richie’s jaw dropped a little. Everyone knew about Bill’s uncle James and how he had chosen to settle down with another man even though they couldn’t legally get married. Richie had no idea that he liked women too. “You didn’t know that was a thing?”

Slowly, Richie shook his head negative, “I- I didn’t know that was a thing; but Stan…I don’t think I’m attracted to women. In fact, I am definitely not attracted to women. I am very much attracted to men and I feel, fuck I don’t know how I feel.”

“Scared?” Stan offered, this time placing his hand over the top of Richie’s and immediately Richie felt a calmness wash over him and he relaxed into the bed. He felt a little pathetic being a seventeen year old boy, soothed by the touch of his closest, best friend. At that, Richie’s brain came to a halt and his heart made a little jump in his chest.

Oh. Oh fuck. He liked Stan.

“Yeah,” Richie croaked eventually, the realisation settling in his brain, making his normal strong voice weak and small. “Yeah, I’m scared Stan. Absolutely terrified.”

And Richie was.

* * * * *

It had been a week since Richie had come out to Stan, and at the same time realised that he had feelings for his best friend. In that week, Richie had not only avoided Stan, but the rest of the losers as well, which left everyone talking. For the most part, Richie managed to ignore it, but even he had to admit that he missed his friends….he missed Stan.

So a week after his confession, Richie found himself alone at the kissing bridge, legs dangling over the edge as he rested his chin on the wood. He held his dad’s pocket knife in his hand as he debated on whether or not to do what he had come all the way out here for. Before he could think about it further though, there was a new presence next to him.

Richie turned his head to the side and smiled a little as he realised it was Stan. “Hey,” he whispered, breaking the silence and Stan turned his head to face Richie, his eyebrow raised.

“Why have you been avoiding us?” Stan asked. He mentioned the other losers in his question, but Richie was no fool, he knew that Stan really wanted to know why Richie was avoiding him. “Is it because of what you told me last week? Because I told you Richie, that I don’t care who you like, you’ll always be my friend.”

At the word, Richie winced a little but nodded his head. “It’s not because of that, Stan. I mean- it kind of is but I haven’t been avoiding you because I think you think any less of me. I know you would be honest with me, which is one of the reasons why I came to you in the first place. That, and you’re my best friend.”

Stan smiled at that and they fell into a somewhat comfortable silence. The kissing bridge was a little far from town, so only occasionally a car would drive past. No-one really batted an eyelid at them though, since everyone knew that Richie and Stan were the best of friends.

“You know, what you did last week, telling me about Connor? That was really mature and brave of you Richie,” Stan whispered after a few more moments of silence. “I never thought I’d say that to you, but I mean it. I’m glad you told me.” Richie turned to look at Stan, sensing that there was something else his friend had to say. “I wanted to say this last week, but I’m not as brave as you so I chickened out.”

Richie raised his eyebrows in surprise and curiosity, tilting his head to the side, “What is it Stan the Man? Open up, tell me all your woes.”

“I like boys too,” Stan spoke quietly, his cheeks a little red. “I have known for a while though, but I was too scared to tell anyone. Until now. I guess I’m feeding off of your new found courage to speak the truth.”

Out of all the things that Richie thought Stan would say, this was not one of them. His jaw dropped a little and he stared at him, trying to figure out how he hadn’t realised before now. “You- you do?”

Stan nodded his head once and in another unexpected move, he reached over and laced his fingers with Richie’s, a bashful smile on his lips. Richie felt his cheeks heat up and he turned his head to look down at the water flowing under the bridge, trying to will himself to calm down. “We can’t do anything about this now, not while we’re still in Derry. If anyone finds out, we’ll both be dead.” Stan stopped and cleared his throat. “After we leave though, if you still feel the same, then maybe we can try?”

All Richie could do was nod his head. If need be, he’d wait a lifetime for Stanley Uris.

* * * * *

A choked sob escaped forty-year old Richie Tozier’s lips as he approached the kissing bridge, his body now free of the blood and grime that had covered him when he was down in the Sewers. They had done it, they had finally defeated the evil clown that had hunted them as children. They had defeated it and saved so many lives…but at what cost?

The cost of both Eddie Kaspbrak and Stanley Uris’ lives. A big price to pay, Richie would add bitterly.

Now that he was back in the cursed town he had grown up in, all the memories that had been covered over with a veil were now back at the front of his mind, making his chest and heart ache more that it had ever done in his whole life. How he remembered telling Stan he was gay, and then how Stan had told him he had feelings for him- in a very Stan way, of course.

How they had promised they would try once they’d gotten the hell out of Derry. Yet the second they both crossed the town lines, in completely different directions, all the memories of that promise had gone with the wind, trapped in the town of Derry. Now Richie had nothing but the distant memory of his best friend, etched as best as he could in the back of his mind. Another bitter thought entered Richie’s mind right at that moment. He never got to see what Stan looked like as an adult.

It was then, for the first time since he had given up in 1996, that Richie Tozier needed a cigarette.

#stozier #stozier fic #stanley uris #richie tozier #ours #by amy #ours: stozier #canon compliant #angst #coming out

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