#my “best friend” used to call me a Stupid Faggot because she thought it was funny

[americascomic]

Hello. I sat here for a good 30 minutes trying to think of best how to ask this question without giving the online version of an annoying exposition dump, so I hope this somewhat makes sense: I’ve found myself, increasingly, having conversations with the more tenderqueer-esque queers in my life surrounding slurs- specifically slurs like faggot and tranny. I’m a trans guy, and I was told by another trans guy of the genre of person i just mentioned that only gay men can reclaim the word faggot, and trans women can reclaim the word tranny. I thought this was a stupid and gatekeep-y idea, and told him so, but i have been genuinely wondering if this is just a manifestation of terminally online induced queer infighting or a form of ignorant transmisogyny on my part. Is tranny a slur directed at and only to be reclaimed by trans women? Or is it just another tick in the barrel of a long line of slur speciation discourse?

I think the short answer of who can say what slur is "this is terminally online bullshit"

And my second answer is "this is a conversation that mostly people under the age of 30 have, and people mostly online have." I think the age is important - it's feels like it's a developmental phase a lot of queers go through, where they negotiate their identity." So, like I'm patient (if a little irked) when I see it on my feed. Or hear some dipshit socially awkward t-femme at Bluestockings rudely chime in to a conversation I'm having with a friend.

and I sometimes put it as a hypothetical;

I'm telling you right now, as a trans woman, in my lived experience, people of your exact intersecting identities are only allowed to say the word "tranny" on a Tuesday and "faggot" on a Friday. If you forget, remember 'tranny' and 'Tuesday' starts with 'T' and 'faggot' and 'Friday' starts with 'F'

Like, that's absurd for me to ask. And so I think that kind of forces the thought that at the end of the day I'm the one asking it. There'll be no consensus on this issue.; you have to decide for yourself whatever or not to respect one point of view over the other.

We say "listen to black people" but I had this moment in my life where IRL I did a call-out of Nazis in my community and a Black friend told me that I was talking over people of color and another thanked me for speaking up in a way that they wouldn't be listened to. Who is right? Neither. Both. You have to decide for yourself and have a strong sense of race. Same with interacting with our own queer community.

Who can say what queer slur where and when is a thing that can never be litigated online. It's such an interpersonal person-to-person thing. There's no pundit square that can fit all slurs and all identities and all experiences.

in the case of the teen in the previous story who told me not to use the word "tranny," I immediately retorted that people say that word to me on the street and spit at me, which means they recognize it as a thing of power and so I will use that power. And I don't think she'd ever had copped to it, but I think changed her mind because she was saying "tranny" over the next months.

I think for some of this shit, us trans women policing who can say "tranny" is us just doing a proxy war for transmisogny. Like, we get transmisogny in our community, an AFAB person queer person of some type who could probably leverage their privilege against us says "tranny," I can see it irking some. But, have you met a trans woman? Everything irks us. We're reprehensible.

And, I think in terms of your conversation and your friend. I dunno, I think of who-gets-to-be-lesbian discourse. I see so many people online twist in the wind trying to justify to others that they're a trans masc lesbian, or a non-binary lesbian or a bisexual lesbian and I'm kinda sitting there on my ass wondering why they're trying so hard to get probably the dumbest people online to justify our identity. Like, we're hear, we're queer, get used to it. I sometimes feel of the matter that we're all a mass medium as one and just going about shit without apology as a way to force people to confront our humanity.

Iffen you want my personal feelings on the matter, you're just as impacted by the codified violence of the state that's imposed on us and so we're all faggots at the end of the day. But the t-girl sitting next to me might feel differently, and you have to negotiate with that. Sometimes times calls for moments of respect and sometimes it's a matter of saying "fuck it" and doing the thing you know how it is.

If you would like, I can draw you a card that says "Amber, a hot trans woman, says I can say 'faggot'"

Finally, I'll say I wrote a couple paragraphs for you so I'm going to force you to return the favor and just challenge you to sit on your ass and ask yourself in honest ways what the word means and what it means to you and what's beautiful and what's ugly about the word. That - an internal process - a lot more valuable thing worth to litigate then everybody in-community being cops to each other.

And then after that, I always like to challenge people to look beyond the debate. This post I made on the matter is about a dead trans teen. It's nice to debate words, but it's also nice to look out at our wonderful, annoying community, name problems we see that creates material struggle, and then imagine solutions.

#asks #slur discourse #tenderqueer #trans #queer slurs

[cph-dreaming]

# Jonathan’s life (Jonathan meets Philip)

“Maybe my nearly sixteen-year-old me would have thought more about being gay had he paid more attention to how he reacted to the many derogative synonyms to the word. I know they say that things have changed for the better over the last ten years but someone must have forgotten to hand out that memo to the boys at my school. Words like ‘stupid’ or ‘idiot’ or ‘moron’ were rarely a part of their vocabulary. Instead it was ‘wanker’ (ok, bad example, love that word), ‘homo’ (don’t go there), ‘cocksucker’ (definitely don’t go there), and ‘faggot’ (I’m gonna kill you). Until this day I don’t know why I reacted so strongly to those words but they were hateful, despicable, they were only there to hurt. And I was hurt when I was on the receiving end because I danced classical ballet, something I loved more than anything else, because ballet apparently is totally gay. At least the first ‘faggot’ thrown my way became the last.

I’ve never been scared of a fight. Sometimes I think I should have been when I looked at my face afterwards, but hey. Since I was eight my uncle has spared with me and trained me to hold my own and when I got older, he taught me more and more of the dirty little tricks that’ll give you the upper hand and win a fight, even when you’re the smaller and weaker part.

So, ‘faggot’ turned into a broken nose and a dislocated shoulder. And it wasn’t mine. Of course, I got into trouble. Of course, I got suspended. And of course, my mom didn’t talk to me for a week because she was so disappointed in me. Nothing made me feel sorry for the asshole who used the slur, though. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t seek out fights and I don’t enjoy them. But from early on I’ve understood that the choices we make have consequences and if someone choses to call me a ‘faggot’ I’ll make them pay, or at least try to.

After that day people stopped calling me names to my face because of my ‘gay’ dancing. They might have done so behind my back but that has never bothered me. Only small insignificant people talk about you behind your back and they’re not worth listening to. And I had shown everyone that I’m not a victim.

The best thing that happened that day, though, was that I met my best friend. Pip had witnessed the whole thing, not only the fight but he had also heard the homophobic slur used against me. (He was actually the reason I only got suspended and didn’t get into any more trouble with the school’s strict no violence policy because he went to the principal and witnessed on my behalf). When the fight was over and the asshole lay whimpering and crying on the ground, Pip stood behind me laughing and then he started to clap his hands. I was still high on adrenalin and didn’t realize what was happening and when Pip patted my shoulder, saying “Way to go, PrettyFace!” I was ready to smack him one as well. But when I turned around, I was met with largest smile, a smile I have loved ever since, and I couldn’t help smiling back at him. I had noticed Pip in the in the hallways before, he had transferred from another school a few months before the fight, but you know, only in that ‘there’s a new face, ok, registered’ kind of way and I had never talked to him. So I was rather taken back when he put his hands on my shoulder and proclaimed, “You’re a hero, thank you!” Then he took me by the hand and led me to the nearest bathroom where he helped me clean myself up. There was something strangely intimate about it when he held my hand under the running water and gently washed the blood of my knuckles. I was standing there, not really knowing what to do or say. I only stared at him in the mirror. Pip was still smiling. Eventually he found my eyes, laughed again and said, “All good, PrettyFace, dry your hands, we’re done.” Then he turned around and left the bathroom with a “See you later!” before the door closed behind him.

I’ve been loved. My father, my mother, my sis and my uncle. Yes, I have been loved. But that day in the bathroom was the first time I experienced the pure and simple act of compassion. From this strange and smiling boy. So when Pip waited at the gates after school and said “There you are, let’s grab a coffee” I wasn’t really surprised. I just nodded and followed him. I wasn’t a coffee guy at that time but I wasn’t there for the coffee, I went with him because I wanted to know more about this boy. But when we arrived at the coffee shop which wasn’t far away from our school I nearly forgot all about him. I was mesmerized. How had I not been to this place before? It wasn’t a combined bookstore and café but there were bookshelves everywhere, worn-out couches and arm chairs, and that indescribable feeling of dust from years gone by. It was a place I would end up visiting many times the next years.

We went to the counter and ordered our coffee. Pip went for a cortado and I asked for a large latte with as much milk as possible and we found two arm chairs by one of the windows. I looked fascinated around the place.

“You know you can take any book you want with you? As long as you bring another book to replace it with”, he told me.

“How is that possible? Don’t people just steal the books?” I asked.

“Some might. But most people here respect that books have to be treated with curtesy and reverence and the only way to do that here is to respect the system.” Then he smiled, “Besides, who wants to steal tattered Harry Potter books when everyone’s already got them at home.” I laughed.

“By the way, I know that you’re Jonathan but I don’t think you know my name.” I shook my head feeling a bit embarrassed that I didn’t when he knew mine. “I’m Philip”, and he reached out his hand. It took me a few seconds before I realized that he wanted me to shake it.

“So, you read?” I asked, trying not to show that he made me a little nervous.

“I do”, he simply said. The he looked at me in a surveying manner. “I can see that you do too.”

Of course, everyone in my family knew that I liked to read. Words are in my blood. The first eight years of my life my father read to me every evening before I went to bed. Ever since I have read almost any book I could get my hands on but it wasn’t something I shared with anyone. At school my grades were a testament to the fact that I could read but mostly my classmates thought it was down to the fact that my mother was this hotshot journalist, not my affinity for stories and knowledge. I don’t think that anybody knew that I actually loved reading more than anything. Except dancing.

“As a reader you will understand why today brought me so much joy”, Pip said.

I was blank. Reading and fighting didn’t really go hand in hand in my book, not unless you read about fights, that is. It must have been the confused look on my face that made Pip laugh again.

“Sorry, I’m not laughing at your bruised knuckles”, he smiled. “For a moment, try to see what happened today through my eyes. I have only seen you around the school from afar after I transferred but I have eyes and I’ve seen enough to find out your name. Here’s this young man, not only tall and handsome, but very, very pretty, who moves delicately as a dancer, who is a dancer, and when some douchebag has the audacity to call him that despicable name, instead of gracefully ignoring it, he transforms into a roaring Aragorn and cuts down the vile orc who thought he was home free by picking on someone he felt was inferior to him.”

Pip paused before he shouted, making everyone in the room turn their heads, “The irony, the comedy, the fairytale!”

“Glad I could entertain you”, I said. I didn’t really know what else to say. I wasn’t sure how I felt being reduced to some character in Pip’s story, even if I was the hero. Today wasn’t a story I was especially proud of writing.

“Hey now, don’t give me that face.” Pip looked at me again as if I was this new specimen he had to study. “I honestly think you’re fucking cool! From the outside you’re the prototype of a victim, well, apart from your height and your muscles, but a dancer with a captivatingly pretty face. You know what I mean. And then you show those fucking dickheads that they can forget all about messing with you ever again. And you know what? That brings a lot of hope to the rest of us schoolyard prey.”

The sincerity in Pip’s voice made me blush. It wasn’t only the words but also the pain imbedded in them.

“That’s some mighty praise there, Philip.” I smiled at him despite my burning cheeks.

“You deserve it, Jonathan.” He emptied his coffee before he smiled back at me. “Interesting, isn’t it, how a homophobic slur can lead to friendship.”

Normally I would have said something like ‘wow, body, stop right there, we’re not friends’ or ‘easy now, one day at a time’. But I didn’t. In fact I didn’t say anything at all. There was no need. Pip had said it all. Sometimes a faggot becomes a friend.”

#jonathansjournal #ya story #gay story

[rickywritesstuff]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bill stared at Ted, dumbfounded. "What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pictures of the two of them together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm not following, dude."

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

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

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

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

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

Bill laughed, too. "Good."

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

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

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

#ghqhdjf this was so fun to make even tho it did make me cry a bit lol💃🕺 #f slur tw #bill and ted #bnt #bill s preston esquire #ted theodore logan #bill and ted fan fic #bill and ted fanfiction #bill and ted fanfic

[fizzychocolatemilk]

You've Got a Friend in Me (You've Got Troubles. I've Got 'em too.) (A Bakudeku Tropetember Fic)

Another Tropetember thingy (this one is a little late though...oops). I classify this one as a fic because it surpassed 1K. This one is for day eight:  5+1 / 3+1 (Five Times + One Time). AO3 link is here. It’s slightly angsty...so beware of feels.

tw: use of the f slur, homophobia, unsupportive parents, bullying

(1.)

“You’ll always be nothing but some dumbass, lightning-bolt faggot! You should just pack up and quit the hero course now. You’re too stupid to ever make it further than some lowly sidekick position,” the boy finished his abuse before dissolving into obnoxious laughter. 

 Said boy was one of Denki’s middle school classmates. Denki had accidentally run into him because he was texting Eijirou. The boy had looked over his shoulder and seen Eiji’s name (along with a heart) and started making fun of him for being “a faggot”. Denki knew he shouldn’t take what some asshole said to heart, but the things that he said reminded Denki of other times when he had been put down similarly. Lots of people seemed to think he was an incompetent dumbass who could never do anything right unless he had help, and, while sure, he was a little slow in academics...he definitely had other skill sets that made him a kick-ass hero! That didn’t mean that it was easy to convince himself of that.

 “Denki-kun! Hi!” a voice broke Denki out of his spiral.

 Denki turned toward the voice and, low and behold, it was Izu-kun. Denki gave Izuku a weak smile and a wave as he stood tensely next to the bully.

 “Denki! Who’s this? A friend?” Izuku asked as he walked up to the two. His voice sounded dangerous, and Denki could hear the “or foe?” that came after his words. At 17, Class 3-A knew that Izuku was dangerously protective of his friends, and they all did their best not to provoke his fury in any way. Because a feral Izuku was terrifying. 

 The bully didn’t know this though, and he simply laughed before “greeting” Izuku, “Ah, guess we’ve got another faggot. Or did you not know that Lightning Dolt here was a twink?”

 Izuku’s aura darkened several degrees at the boy's statement but still he shot the boy a bright (but fake) smile, “I’ll give you three seconds to run before I fucking destroy you.”

 The boy’s face dropped and he blinked, “Uhhh...what?”

 Izuku continued to smile, “One.”

 The boy’s eyes widened in panic, “Wait, man!”

 “Two.”

 The boy started running, “We can talk about this!”

 “Three,” Izuku immediately gave chase—or he would have if Denki hadn’t given him a small shock and held him back. Izuku struggled for a second before sighing and turning to Denki, “Denki-kun, you are more than just a brainless idiot and more than just a...a...you know. You’re amazing and talented in your own right and I’m proud to call you my friend.”

 Denki blinked in surprise before blushing lightly, “Thanks, Izu. I really appreciate it.” He smiled genuinely at Izuku.

 (2.)

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Momo,” the dark-haired woman stared harshly down at her daughter, “You may feel like this now, but one day you’ll find a nice, upstanding gentleman that captures your heart. Not some...punk-rock freak-girl.”

 Momo stared down at her feet and sighed softly before replying, “Yes, mother.”

 However, as she turned to make her way into the dorms, and her mother turned to meet with the chauffeur, she heard a very familiar voice. “Excuse me, ma’am! Yaoyorozu-san! May I have a word with you?” Momo turned to see Izuku-kun coming down the dorm steps and speed walking down the lawn to meet with the two women. He had a slightly dangerous aura (someone outside of Class A wouldn’t even notice), but Momo stood rigid as her friend stood up to her mother, “Yaoyorozu-san. I think you should consider taking your daughter more seriously. 

 “You might not know me well personally, but Yaomomo-chan and I know each other very well and I would consider us good friends. She’s smart, resourceful, and talented, and I think we can both agree that she will make a fantastic hero. But Yaomomo-chan is also responsible and mature, definitely mature enough to make her own decisions about her relationship choices. 

 “My own mother is very protective of me too, but I think that part of being a parent means accepting and supporting children through their choices and the consequences of those choices (good or bad), even if they aren’t choices that you, yourself, would make. I hope that you can come to respect Yaomomo-chan’s decisions about her own future, and find comfort in the fact that I, and everyone else in Class A, will always offer her our full support. Thank you for your time.” Izuku bowed politely before turning to Momo. “Kacchan made dinner. You should come eat it before it gets cold,” he smiled before heading back inside.

 Momo’s mother looked surprised for a second before saying a quick goodbye and hurrying away. Momo smiled after her before whispering under her breath, “You are a marvelous friend, Izuku-kun.”

 (3.)

Hanta was in a rush to get to class. Usually he was pretty punctual, but today he missed his alarm so he wasn’t feeling the best. Anxious and rushed, he accidentally ran into the worst person reasonably possible.

 “Ahah, if it isn’t the plain-faced tape dispenser from Class A!” Monoma laughed, “Late to class, I see! Tsk, tsk, yet another reason Class B is superior! At the very least we’re punctual!”

 Hanta deadpanned at the slate-eyed boy, “You know you’re late too, right?”

 Monoma’s jaw dropped for a second before he regained his composure. He huffed and took another angle, “Well, at least I have a personality! You’re so boring that it’s a wonder anyone pays attention to you at all. You’re almost more invisible than the invisible girl in your class! Not to mention that you’ll probably never get a girlfriend, hah!”

 Hanta rolled his eyes, despite the pang in his heart, before maneuvering himself to speed-walk past Monoma. “I’m literally dating Shou. It’s been the hot gossip for the past few days, and you’re definitely shallow enough to keep up with the gossip mill.”

 Monoma guffawed, “How did a plain-faced peasant like you end up with someone as high class as Todoroki? It’s a wonder, isn’t it? But, of course, I’m sure you’ve been hearing that for the past few days, haven’t you?”

 Hanta knew that he shouldn’t take anything that Monoma says seriously, but he’d been hearing how “unworthy” he was of Shouto for the past few days (since their relationship became public knowledge). The scathing words got to him and it made him doubt himself a little. He sped off towards his classroom, ignoring Monoma’s jeers in the background.

 That day, during a joint training session, Izuku requested to be paired with Monoma...and maybe Izuku went a little harder than he usually did. Maybe Monoma ended up in the infirmary before class ended, but it was training so Izuku couldn’t really be blamed for accidentally injuring his classmate, could he?

 Hanta smiled as he now had an explanation for the flash of green he swore he saw out of the corner of his eye as he was rushing to class after the encounter.

 (+1.) 

Katsuki slapped Deku on the back after training. “What the fuck was that, nerd?! You fucking beat the hell outta the Copycat Freak! Why can’t you ever go that hard when we train?”

 Deku’s face flushed as he turned a blinding smile at Katsuki. Cute. Katsuki shook himself from his thoughts as Deku started talking to him. “I guess I just got really into the exercise, Kacchan!”

 Katsuki could tell that Izuku’s words weren’t the whole truth but he decided to gloss over it for now in favor of focusing on a topic that had been bugging him. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Mochi Head lately. Skimping on our training. Any specific reason, Deku?”

 Katsuki watched as Deku’s face flushed again, but this time it made a pit grow in his stomach. The pit grew as Deku stumbled over his words for a few minutes before answering, “We’ve just been helping each other study, Kacchan.” 

 “You’re fucking lying, stupid Deku,” Katsuki scoffed as his heart started cracking, tiny pieces falling into the void. “But it’s fucking fine. If you’d rather waste time with your girlfriend like a dumbass then I’ll take the number one spot all the more easily,” he said, but the words felt ashy in his mouth, empty and non-fulfilling.

 He started walking away when there was a sharp tug on his wrist. “Kacchan!” It was Deku. It was always Deku. Katsuki stopped trying to pull away, but he didn’t turn around yet. “I love you! No one else! Ochako-chan has just been helping me work through my feelings for you! She has feelings for someone else!” Katsuki turned sharply to see Deku staring intensely at him. “You are my symbol of victory. My hero. My Kacchan. It’s only ever been you, so please. Please allow me to stand by your side!”

 Katsuki sniffled before completely breaking down in tears from the emotional taxation of the last few minutes. Being the empathetic crier he is, Deku broke down with him and they held each other and sobbed. After a couple more minutes, Katsuki had pulled himself together enough to respond, “Y-yeah, dumb Deku. Keep your eyes on me.”

 Katsuki stood and extended a hand to Izuku to help him up. Izuku stared at him fondly for a split second before taking his offer. They walked back to the dorms side-by-side and hand-in-hand.

#fizzy's fics #tropetember #bakudeku #bakudeku fics #bkdk #bkdk fic #seroroki #momojirou #kirikami #midoriya izuku #kaminari denki #yaoyorozu momo #sero hanta #bakugou katsuki #other mentioned characters #light angst #tw: homophobia #tw: bullying

[ontheblock]

BABE U WRITE FOR SALLY FACE?? Anything with Travis (male s/o with him obviously) or Sally please :O your writing is amazing!!

YES I DO !! i used to have a bunch of wips i still haven’t finished but i figured i can still add sf to my list since it was such a comfort game when it came out haha. as per usual, this isn’t beta read, i fucked the formatting up twice but just squint when you notice any errors- also thank you love <3 i‘d give you a free bologna sandwich for requesting trav ily. 100% beef obviously /winkwonk

fabric

•warning: abuse, religious guilt, homophobia and f-slur use, bad first kisses, badly written fluff, travis being travis

Travis was meant to live a life molded for him by his father. The pattern was already placed on the fabric when his first cry shook the hospital room at 6:33am. He was supposed to be cut from his father‘s mold but Travis‘ fabric was already old and frayed, the intertwining strings of muted tones that held him together felt lose by the time he could run. Sometimes he thought about the reason why he was incomplete. His fabric wasn‘t strong enough to hold his family name, not stretchy enough to bounce back from his father‘s reactions. Travis‘ mother patched him up every time there was another bruise on his back or face. She would cut parts out of her own fabric to cover the ripped strings her husband‘s belt left on their son. But she had only so much left when the beatings got worse.

Travis was in middle school, attending a christian summer camp a few hours away from Nockfell. He never noticed how different the air was at home but the sky was so murky compared to literally everywhere else. His father thought it was a good idea to let the boy out of town while he took care of the Ministry business which was code for something Travis shouldn‘t stick his nose into. He never asked but someone went missing while he was gone. Tragic.

Not as tragic as the camp counselor calling Travis home on their last day. The boy didn‘t know about that but they told his father about some inappropriate behavior his son showed with a fellow camper - a boy his age, Kenneth didn‘t care for the name or where he was from. All he needed to know was what his son did with that boy. The counselor tried to calm the angry parent on the phone but as soon as the information was exchanged the line went dead. He didn‘t want to hear the washed up excuses. His son was young and it was best to get these urges out of his system before they could even develop - dig for the deepest root you could find and rip it from the still fresh ground before it bloomed into something ugly, even if that meant that the garden would never bloom at all. Kenneth was a man of action after all.

That evening Travis came home clueless while his father already stood in the hallway with his wife behind him, holding onto his hand and uttering whispered quick prayers but his thick fingers already curled around the leather painfully hard. The strain it caused in his hand only fueled the need for a release as he charged for his son who didn‘t even have the chance to slip out of his worn sneakers.

That evening his mother didn‘t stay when Kenneth told her to go to bed early. Travis asked himself if it pained her the same way it pained him when his skin split under the force his father put in his first few strikes.

“You want to hold hands with boys now?“

“My son isn‘t a faggot, is that clear?“

“I gave you a place in this filthy town. You will appreciate it and live a proper life!“

“You will thank me when you don‘t burn for being dirty.“

It wasn‘t meant for Travis to answer because by the end of the night he would not even think about a boy‘s hand to be soft and warm anymore.

Travis was older now but he never found enough of anything to mend the damage his father did that night. Travis didn‘t try to explain that he held onto the boy because they figured that they wouldn’t slip on the wet mud that way. Instead he kept quiet about it ever happening and his father was content with this as long as he pulled his son from the devil‘s path to sodomy.

And Travis thought so too until a thread of blue fabric pulled together a gaping hole in his fabric. It stuck out like a sore thumb - too vibrant but warmer than any patch his mother gave to him and when he sat on the grimy bathroom floor in school after Sal Fisher of all people gave him a fucking pep talk, it felt nice. The warmth let his tears evaporate so he could pull himself together for the rest of the day.

But it was short lived. The warmth spread through him so fast he felt like burning up whenever he sat in class with Sal. He tried everything to get that blue thread out of his life but pulling on it only felt like strangling himself and he regretted ever letting his bully persona slip in that bathroom just because Sal fucking Fisher found the note he threw away - the note that was about him but Travis never had it in himself to tell him that. He regretted his promise to be less of an asshole because he knew he couldn‘t. Not even three days later the heat in his belly was so hot that he boiled over when he saw Fisher talking to that ginger nerd by the lockers. He ended up calling him a faggot because how dare he be openly gay in the same town Kenneth Phelps lived? How dare he be happy like this?

Sal tensed at the insult. Did he actually think Travis could be better? And why was his freakshow friend not hurt at the insult when it still burned in his throat to say it? Why did it feel like the slur wasn‘t meant for Todd at all? Travis swallowed hard as he fled the hallway in such a hurry that the three folded up pamphlets in his barely zipped up backpack fell on the muddy vinyl flooring.

“Fuck, Phleps. Just wait. Travis!“ The boy in question tucked at his collar as he turned a corner just to slip into another empty corridor. They had a free period right after gym class and Sal Fisher was determined to finally talk to the boy who relentlessly bullied him to now avoid him like it was the other way around. “Jesus, I‘m not gonna pry but if your dad-“ Sally harshly bumped into Travis as he whipped around, finally coming to a stop. Shame crawled up the taller teen‘s neck when he didn‘t find the prosthetic nose digging into his sweater uncomfortable.

“Shut up! God, just stop!“ Sal was surprised that he would use his Lord‘s name in vain like that and if the situation was anything but this he would‘ve laughed. “Travis, I don‘t know how you feel but-“, Sal tried again but Travis was at his limits this time. “You don‘t and you never will, Fisher. Your dad would accept you being a dirty faggot but mine doesn’t!“ He tried to fill his words with venom but it all bounced back on the guy‘s mask anyway with how much his voice actually trembled.

There was a moment of silence that made Travis want to literally get struck by his God‘s angry lightning. He couldn‘t even leave. It was like all the root his father dug out slowly crawled back to feed on his shame and ground him in front of Sal who still had to react and maybe Travis should just tell him to fuck off so he wouldn‘t have to find out what he wanted to say next.

“Travis...“ Sal lowered his voice in a fake moment of privacy. “Are you-?“ Travis already shut his eyes as he clenched his fists. He didn‘t like where this was going but there was no more fight in him. “Nevermind. You don‘t owe me shit but I saw your back.“ Travis exhaled through his mouth until there was nothing left in his lungs. He knew where that question was headed. Are you gay, Travis? Are you the faggot and that‘s why you‘re so angry? He was glad that Sal changed his approach because even Travis himself was too scared to find the answer.

“So what, Sally Face? You‘re sticking your nose somewhere it doesn’t belong. If you even have one under that stupid mask.“ Travis harshly pushed his index finger into the boys chest and the sharp inhale he made almost made him freeze up and apologize. But he couldn‘t. He was too deep to go soft now. The look in Sal‘s eyes was enough to make Travis finally stumble backwards and push past him.

He didn‘t follow him this time.

His verbal fights with Sal Fisher were like a damn wake up call for the teen. The rush of warmth it spread in his chest and the cold shiver in sent down his spine were shaking his body every time. He started noticing that Nockfell wasn‘t that murky. Travis used to really like yellow as a child because it reminded him of his mother’s favorite sunflower dress. She was a different woman now. The vibrant yellow was fading just like her hair. Maybe it was just Nockfell, maybe it was because of her suffocating husband draining her of her life and slowly unraveling her fabric. It didn‘t matter now but to make a depressing story short, Travis didn‘t have a favorite color anymore.

But the sky looked like a pretty shade of blue on some days. He never noticed but his bathroom tiles had blue specks in them. He always thought they were just a weird grey. There were tiny flowers blooming in the most vibrant blue behind the school and he wished that they were behind the church too but nothing ever grew around that building. But he would pluck them sometimes when he was skipping gym class. His last fight in the empty hallway was weeks ago and he hoped that Sal finally gave up on his savior complex. But why did his chest sting at that thought? His fingers slowly clutched his sweater as he stared at a withering flower by his foot. Travis jumped out of his thoughts when the metal door creaked open.

“Yo.“ Sal pushed the door closed with his shoe as he held up a hand to casually greet him. His face scrunched up. “What do you want?“ Travis lowered his head again. The boy obviously noticed the fresh shiner on his face already but facing him still felt like he exposed himself. “Just wanted to confirm that the church boy was skipping class.“ Uninvited, the teen sat beside Travis on the grass, with a healthy distance of course. “Shut up. My faith has fuck all to do with school“, Travis spoke lowly but his voice was tired. Sal just hummed in agreement before silence draped over them. Not uncomfortably like the usual strained void of reactions when one of them dropped something they weren‘t prepared for. It felt ok like this and it felt like a blanket. To Travis that blanket was soft and blue but before he could shake it off and stand up there were strings of the obnoxious fabric already weaving themself into his personal space.

“We don‘t have to fight all the time.“ Sal didn‘t look at him and neither did Travis. He really didn‘t have a reason to disagree. Not one that wouldn’t blow his cover at least.

“Maybe I could come to your little church and-“ Travis head snapped up. “Don‘t“, he blurted out a little louder than he meant. “It‘s a joke. I‘m not religious.“ Sal snorted, plucking a few pieces of grass. “Yeah, because you‘re a sinner in the eyes of the Lord. You f-“ Travis had to physically stop himself by biting his lip. Sal looked over at him and Travis wished he didn‘t. “Sorry“, Travis mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes, or eye since he was pretty sure his other eye never moved before. “I‘m trying to not call people that anymore.“ because all I hear is my father saying it.

“It‘s cool.“ It wasn‘t. “Why are you skipping?“ Travis huffed. It was weird to not let the conversation derail into verbal abuse. “I don‘t know. I fell. Hit my head on the door pretty bad. As you can see.“ Sal just hummed. “That‘s why you‘re limping, too?“ Travis blurted out a “yes“ a little too fast. Why was he nervous? His whole school life already revolved around cover up stories about the strange aches and bruises he got out of nowhere.

“Right.“ Sal let it slide, again. “You‘re acing algebra, Fisher.“ It wasn‘t a question so Sal didn‘t say anything. “Hmm.“ Travis cursed himself for never learning proper social skills but his father didn‘t like him bringing strangers into the house and his teen years were a constant feeling of push and pull of picking fights with boys that sparked an ugly tingle in his belly.

“You need a tutor?“ The silence seemed to be enough for Sal. Fuck him and his open fucking hand. “Maybe.“ Travis flicked a flower with his finger, dismissing the clear offer because his stomach ignited at the fact that Sal didn‘t hate him enough yet. “Maybe there is a tutor in Addisons Appartement, Room 402, who‘s free on the weekend.“ Sal couldn‘t help but smile under his mask as Travis huffed. “Fuck you, Fisher.“

Sal already forgot about his offer when lunch passed and his dad stood in the kitchen, washing their dishes, enjoying the background noise of his son watching TV with his cat. They were so engrossed in the VHS tape Sal put on that he didn‘t hear the door until his dad whistled from the kitchen. “Sally, door.“

“Huh? Oh. Yes, dad.“ He jumped to his feet, leaving Gizmo to the slasher movie he seemed to like. “Weird, Larry said he‘s busy“, Sal mumbled, opening the front door. “Oh.“ It was a knee jerk reaction from Sal because he expected everyone but Travis Phelps to knock at his door and truth be told, he looked like he‘d rather be anywhere else with the way his awkward greeting caught in his throat and died on his tongue as a huff. His eyes followed the way the blue strands hung over Sal‘s shoulders, the mask straps upsetting the smooth texture as a few chunks hung over the elastics. Travis hasn’t seen him with his hair down. He looked smaller in big sweatpants and a band shirt too.

“Travis?“ The boy‘s eyes snapped back to the mask in front of him. “So, algebra?“ Sal tilted his head a smidge. A small habit he picked up to better communicate what would otherwise be shown in his facial features. But it made Travis want to scream for a multitude of reasons as heat crept up his neck. “Obviously.“

Anyone else would‘ve told him to fix his tone or fuck off but Sal held open the door for him. It felt wrong but Travis took the invitation, rubbing his clammy hands on his pants. “Who is it?“, a deeper voice called and Travis almost jumped. He had to remind him this wasn‘t Kenneth. Mr Fisher wasn’t anything like his dad and he didn’t have to be on edge around the boy. “A friend“, Sal replied shortly, only getting an approving hum.

A friend. Did Sal see him as a friend? He couldn‘t dwell on it since he was pulled into the boy‘s bedroom that looked nothing like his. “Just sit anywhere.“ Sal wildly gestured into the room and Travis sat on the barely made bed as Sall dropped his books next to him.

Travis felt like there was something breathing down his neck the entire time they sat on Sal‘s bed. His shirt collar felt like it was about to cinch his neck closed, the dangling cross necklace he kept under his shirt felt hot to the touch like it burned the shape of Jesus into his chest with every sinful thought that crossed his mind as Sal explained the most bland and unerotic subject.

“Travis?“ The boy almost choked on his own spit.

“Romans 1:26-27.“ Travis stumbled over his own words but the verse was engraved into his head after writing and reciting it for a month straight under the stern eye of his father. There was a briefe silence for a moment.

“What?“ Sal looked up from the book in his lap.

“What?“ Travis felt breathless as he stared back at Sal. “Nothing“, he quickly added before Sal could even say anything else. “Explain that again?“ But he didn‘t. Instead, Sal pushed the book off his thigh, still staring the boy down. “Did you really come here for algebra, dude?“ No. “Yes.“ Travis fiddled with the hem of his shirt, not knowing if it was anxiety, anger or just bile scratching against his stomach lining to crawl out of him.

When Sal didn‘t say anything else Travis just reached over the boys lap to take the book himself but there was already a hand pressing against his shoulder. Travis hissed as he pulled his arm back, making Sal pull back just as fast. They stared at each other for a moment before Sal‘s gaze darted to his shoulder. “You fell pretty hard on that door.“ Travis clenched his jaw. “Shut up, Fisher, and back the fuck up.“

The boy shook his head, scooting away an inch. “Listen, you can say no because I would too but I can at least get you ointment for that.“ Sal gestured to his back and shoulder and something in Travis just crumbles as he lets his hands drop into his lap, staring them down to not look at Sal. “Ok. If it gets you off my back you parasite.“

Travis didn‘t plan this when he knocked on the apartment door. He expected to maybe stay 20 minutes before something would make him see red but all he saw was blue. Maybe he was cursed. All these years of plucking out the roots his father couldn’t reach were rendered worthless now that he sat on the rough carpet, holding his shirt up as Sal dug out the ointment.

How did he even get here? His heart beat in his throat when he felt a presence behind him. He felt the need to say something. He wanted to make it clear that this meant nothing to not make it weird but wouldn‘t that make it weirder? Wasn‘t this the same as his mother putting a bandaid on his cuts and whatever herbal mixture on his wounds? It wasn’t because he never felt the sick urge to kiss his mother.

“Ready?“, Sal asked, kneeling behind him with a glob of cool ointment on his index and middle finger. Fucking hell, why did he have to make it weird? He definitely had to say something now.

“It was my dad.“ Travis spoke fast enough to mutter his words but the long pause probably meant that Sal heard him anyway. He wanted to melt into the carpet, leave behind a stain on the boy‘s floor to annoy him just one last time. He didn‘t know what he expected him to say to that and he also didn‘t know why that was the thing he had to say. But Sal made it easy on him by just not answering at all. Instead, he dabbed the cream on the first bruise, making Travis inhale sharply but otherwise biting his tongue. Sal figured that Travis wanted to act tough by not showing that it hurt but actually, Travis didn‘t trust his voice under Sal‘s soft fingertips.

“Travis“, Sal spoke again. Travis wasn‘t sure if he hated the heavy silence more of the fact that Sal was the first to say something while he was rubbing little circles into his back. He didn‘t answer but that never held Sal back.

“Are you gay?“ His voice was so quiet that Travis wouldn‘t have heard it if they sat a little further apart but it had the same effect as screaming it for all of Nockfell to hear. Sal felt him tense up under his touch, already expecting him to jump up or at least yell at him. But neither of them did anything. Sal‘s fingers rested against the heating skin, feeling it rise with every ragged breath he managed to take. “Travis-“

“Fuck, Sal. What? Do you want me to tell you about the times my dad beat the gay out of me or do you prefer that time I wanted to kiss you in that gross fucking bathroom?“, the teen finally barked, letting his words sink in first before he hissed a quiet “shit“. The fingers on his back pulled away as Sal sat on his heels. “You wanted to kiss me?“, Sal repeated, slower than Travis but he just pressed the balls of his hands into his eyes until he saw shapes and felt like the pressure would crush his face. He heard Sal shuffle around the room, probably getting ready to throw him out like he should‘ve done a while ago. But the shuffling stopped in front of him and something told him not to look but cold hands were already on his wrists to peel his cramping hands from his face. Travis opened his eyes just in time to see that mask uncomfortably close but before he could say anything, there was an odd sensation on his lips with minimal pressure. Sal was kissing him and it snuffed the flame in his stomach for just a moment, allowing the torched butterflies to unfold their wings and fly high enough to even make his heart pump overtime. But the feeling was lost just as soon when Sal inched backwards, pulling his prosthetic back in place before Travis could even take any of this in.

“Sorry.“ Sal threw it into the room for Travis to interpret. But the gears in his head threatened to jump out of place already so he reached out to Sal who already flinched backwards, holding onto his mask. “You don‘t want that.“ Sal pushed his hand back a little. “How would you know?“ Travis furrowed his brows at him but he was thankful. He wasn‘t sure if he could take seeing the boy bare like that but he was craving that feeling his father tried to snuff so desperately.

Sal just shook his head as Travis inched closer. “I‘ll close my eyes.“ Now it was Sal‘s turn to hole up in silence, knowing that neither of them could handle the mask coming off. Something made him trust Travis‘ words as he opened the bottom clasp which was the cue for Travis to shut his eyes. He did and seconds later he felt Sal on him again. One hand clamping over his eyes just to make sure and the other fisting the front of his shirt.

This time Travis felt the cleft in Sal‘s lip and the scar tissue ripping up the soft skin. He leaned into the kiss. Where were his hands supposed to go? When Travis didn‘t find the answer his body moved on autopilot. One hand threaded through the surprisingly smooth strands as the other clung to the small of his back.

Travis should‘ve been grossed out by the drool pooling out of Sal‘s torn lip but he wasn‘t. He should be grossed out by Sal being a boy but he wasn‘t. When Sal pulled back he kept his hand over Travis‘ eyes while the other wiped the spit off his chin. The kiss alone was enough to patch up his murky fabric with bright blue strings that dominated the colors his father painted him in. Travis didn‘t know what would happen after high school. Hell, he didn‘t even know what would be tomorrow. But he didn‘t want the bright fibers to unravel him again.

A knock on the door startled both of them, making Sal pull his arm away and Travis rapidly blinking. He didn‘t notice the mangled face first as the unruly blue caught his eye. His hand did that. His heart beat in his throat again as he overheard Sal‘s father say something and Sal shooting a hum of agreement back. His prosthetic was already on his face again before Travis could catch anything besides the scar tissue crawling up his jaw and chin before splitting his lips and exposing teeth and gum.

Maybe blue was his favorite color.

#tw toxic family #tw abuse #tw religious trauma #tw slurs #sally face #travis phelps #sal fisher #travis phelps x sal fisher #travis phelps x sally face

[achliegh]

Bronze

Alright, I had this wonderful idea come into my head about Clayton, honestly he deserves his own fic. So here is his version of events! Lots will tie together with Golden so I recommend you read that as well. But you don’t have to of course.

Explaining:

Before Letter is the present.

Letter is updating the lives of the people back home, of whoever wrote it mostly.

After Letter is memory.

The first few letters will be very awkward because writing letters and not being sure what to talk about and what not to talk about is hard and confusing. Stick with me! Yes, this prologue is just a letter.

TW/CW: Discussions of death, miliatry training, smut, cringy jokes, underage drinking, dumb choices, swearing, and more later on.

Beta: @walking-crisis

Some Characters belong to @lumosinlove

Chapter 2:

For You

Chicken Fried

It was silent besides the radio humming faintly over the walkie attached to his vest. Every breath he took in filled his lungs with dust.

Nothing felt real.

The mission was to take out a target. Clay left it at that because he hasn’t been in the military long enough to be able to consider targets… people. He felt sick anytime he put the two together but he knew this is what he signed up for. This target has taken many lives and he was watching through his scope, gun pointed at the door of the building where the target operated.

He had to put himself in the headspace where he couldn’t think about anything other than the trigger where his finger flinched whenever the door opened.

He didn’t have the signal so he didn’t shoot.

His partner sat next to him, completely relaxed tapping his thigh to the beat of the music. Every hit of his thigh almost made Clay flinch. This wasn’t his first mission where he had to take a target out, but this was the first where he didn’t see them actively doing something horrendous. The slight breeze felt like it could push him over with just the right amount of pressure. Everything was sensitive… yet he felt numb.

The door opened for the fifth time in the last hour and an old woman waddled out of the building, she smiled at a small group of children who ran past. She has aged with stress from the lines of her wrinkles. Her baggy clothes looked homemade.

She was sweet, reminding him of his own mother.

He relaxed when he saw her, knowing she couldn’t be the target. Watching her talk to a man on the street he hears the signal. His partner rolls over to lay next to him and takes out his binoculars to look at the woman and gives Clay the signal to get ready.

Two Fingers Pointed Up: Get ready.

Two Fingers Pointed Out: Shoot.

Hesitating for a moment, his partner notices and gives him a look to get his shit together. Swallowing his hesitation. He takes the safety off his gun and ready's himself for the shot.

One he would hear forever.

Dear Honey Bee,

How's my baby doing? Making friends I hope, that’s the one thing you always amaze me with. The way you make friends so easily. I could never, shy little thing like myself. I was terrible at breaking out of my shell. Your daddy always convinced me to go out though.

Which reminds me! You remember Miss Bell down the road? She is pregnant with triplets, and no one knows who the father is. How scandalous! I always thought she would end up with that farmer Micheal across the river but she never liked him much.

Your lovers stopped by last week and Little Miss… what do you call her? Sparky or something. She was absolutely glowing when we gave her a photo album of you and Leo from when you were in middle school. The hunk you managed to catch had hour long conversations with your daddy about the latest sports which I didn’t understand so I did what you always tell me to do.

Smile and Nod.

It’s odd writing letters to you, I remember writing to my family when I first moved in with your Daddy because we didn’t have the email or the phones. But I am so used to writing to you over the phone that writing on paper is odd. I hope you’re getting these letters, everyone has said you haven’t responded but I remember when Wyatt was in the military and Eloise was a mess, long before you and Leo were around. So, I’m not too worried.

I am sending you and your Team the best wishes for safety. Praying y’all all get home safe and make lots of babies. We need more kids, I want grandbabies and I made sure your lovers know that.

Now, on a more serious note. Your Daddy is still upset with you for just leaving like that. He wishes he could have convinced you to stay because he wants you safe. I want you safe too but I know this is something you need to do. From the calls I've had with Leo he is also still angry with you.

I keep trying to convince your Daddy to write but he says it hurts too much. So know that He sends his best anytime I write to you. Anytime you think of us.

We love you so much Clayton London Bruss. Now get some rest, I know you’re tired.

Love,

Your Mama

He knocks on the window of Leo’s truck, horny fuck can’t control himself. Clay doesn’t mind it much though, walking over to Ashley who hands him his phone that she was routinely checking.

“Find anything interesting?” He takes his phone and puts it in his back pocket, putting an arm around her shoulders.

“Nothing besides your terribly gay nudes.” She rolls her eyes. “Just because Leo is a faggot doesn’t mean you have to sink that low.” Clay furrows his brows and is about to say something back when Finn walks over to them, looking like he just had a great make out. Clay smiles.

“How was the truck?”

“Warm, I forgot how hot it gets in the south.” Finn pulls his shirt to get some airflow and Clay nods while Ashley scowls a little at the redhead in front of them. The music starts to play over the speakers. Logan joins them after a couple of minutes.

Clay has gotten a few… interesting vibes from Logan when Leo isn’t looking. He notices the hesitation that Leo can’t see. He sees the way Logan wants to tell Leo to back off and to pull him closer at the same time.

Leo doesn’t deserve that.

Clay likes Finn better because Finn definitely likes Leo, and Logan probably to a point where it's bad for himself. But Finn is someone who cares with all or nothing.

Leo does deserve that.

They start heading over to where Leo has parked, a Bronco in between their trucks, Clay notices Logan hesitate reaching for Finn’s hand. So, it wasn’t only a Leo thing. Lots of people think Clay is an oblivious idiot but that would be sort of wrong. He is very observant when it comes to people, maybe not so much when it comes to safety.

“CLAY!” He looks upt just in time to see Leo chuck a BudLight, yuck, at him. Obviously needing to get rid of it, he pulls out his keys and punches a whole to shotgun it.

Way to start off the night.

Lot’s of drinks later, one of his favorite songs came on over the speaker. Chicken Fried by The Zac Brown Band, it's a great song. Casually singing the lyrics he turns to Ashley who is on her phone, he shrugs not caring and runs over to Leo and jumps on his back. Hopping off after Leo lightly elbows him in the ribs, Leo turns around and joins him in singing the lyrics.

Dancing like idiots he looks at Leo’s infatuations and sees them with sappy looks on their faces but he knows Leo won’t notice them.

As the night goes on they do more stupid shit, crawling into the passenger side of his truck he let’s Ashley drive him home. The blind trust he puts in her is something he will regret later. About 20 miles from his house they see flashing red and blue lights behind the truck. Ashley pulls over and sighs annoyed, crossing her arms.

Clays anxiety is off the charts, he knows he isn’t sober and underage. If this is who he thinks it is then there is a 100% chance he will be taken down to the station. Of course, they would get pulled over when Ashley’s dad knew she would be at a bonfire with her “degenerate” boyfriend.

“Hi Daddy” Ashley smiles a little at the officer as he shines a flashlight into the cab of the truck right into Clay’s eyes.

“Sir, I’m going to need you to step out of the vehicle. Hi Ash, can you drive your car home after you drop his truck off? I’m gonna book him down at the station.” Clay gets out and about falls over and neither Ashley or her dad is impressed.

Getting thrown into the back of a cop car after an aggressive handcuffing and pat down is not how he wanted to spend his night. He honestly just wanted to go to bed.

Having been arrested for no reason so many times he knows the process by heart now. So well in fact that the officers don’t even have to tell him what to do. He just does it and goes to sit in his favorite cell. Where he can throw pieces of paper at the Sheriff’s desk.

He calls his mom with his one phone call and tells her what happened. She is out of town with his dad for a conference about cattle prices in the south this year so Clay gets to spend the night in the cell. Great.

Just what he wanted.

#leo knut #clayton bruss #finn o'hara #logan tremblay #thomas walker #noelle tremblay #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #sweater weather #lumo

[sillyseasame]

TODOMOMO WEEK 2021

DAY 5: CONFIDENCE

(Yes, I know I skipped Day 4, I ran out of time.)

Yaoyorozu couldn’t let him see her like this. Not today.

Right now she was crying in her apartment, ignoring all the calls from her worried friends.

They had recently worked together to defeat a villain, and there was lots of news coverage. After the battle, she stumbled to check on Todoroki, who had a sprained ankle, but was otherwise unharmed. The media caught this, and assumed the worst. Most people thought it was “cute young love” ( ‘Despite them having a very platonic relationship’ Yaoyrozu said to herself.)

Sadly, by this time, Todoroki had gained a multitude of fangirls, and many of them had not-so-nice things to say about the matter.

“Ugh, I can’t believe she came to ‘check in’ on him in her slutty hero outfit.”

“She’s so young and getting distracted so easily?”

“Focus on hero work, you little slut!”

“Jerk”

“Faggot”

“Disgusting little bitch!”

Yaoyorozu sobbed even louder. She couldn’t beilive it. She had done nothing wrong, just went to check on a friend. Well, yes she had a small crush on him back in their school days, but who didn’t? And she hid it well, no one knew except for the Class A girls. The point was, her small little crush did no one any harm. And yet, this comes back to bite her.

A few minutes later, her doorbell rang. She ignored it, guessing that it might be one of her friends, but not wanting to talk to them right now.

She buried her head into her pillow. Was she really so pathetic she couldn’t even face her own friends?

She then heard a knock on the door. Her bedroom door? She shot up and quickly materialized a metal bat. How had someone gotten in. With no hesitation, she opened the door and swung, but the bat was stopped by a thick layer of ice.

“T-Todoroki-san? How did you get in?”

He held up a pair of silver keys.

“You made us keys to your apartment?In case of emergencies. And I’m pretty sure this counts as an emergency.”

She smiled softly, then realized the current situation they were in.

“Todorki-san, nobody saw you come in? Or followed you?”

“No. Bakugo helped me distract the press long enough so we could talk.”

Momo looked up at him, tears welling up in her eyes.

“You shouldn’t be-”

“Remember our final exams for our first year?”

She looked at him in confusion.

“You lost your confidence after the sports festival, and the only reason you were so unsure at first is because I didn’t try to encourage you until the end. I’m not going to make that mistake again.”

He takes a deep breath and continues.

“Momo Yaoyorozu, you are one of the greatest pro hero’s out there. I don’t care what a bunch of stupid girls on the internet say, you are capable of anything and everything, and you are one of the greatest people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. Promise me you won’t let anyone try to tell you otherwise. Okay.”

Yaoyorozu was crying so much at this point. “Ok.”

He smiled. “So, I assumed that maybe you hadn’t eaten yet, and I know sweets replenish you quicker than most other foods, and there was a bakery downtown with-”

He was cut by a sudden hug from the dark-haired girl and a swift peck on the cheek.

“Thank You, Todoroki-san.”

He smiled and hugged her back.

“No problem.”

(I think this might be my best one yet!)

#todomomo week 2021 #todomomo

[captain-azoren]

I have a bit of a confession to make.

I have a very close connection to the Avatar franchise. I was a fan of it since season 1 first aired. More than that, I knew the people who created AvatarSpirit.net before it was made. I wrote content for the site. I was a mod on the forums for a time. I met my wife through ASN while we wrote transcripts. I used to make AMVs, and I even edited a few episodes of Avatar Abridged, if you can believe that.

My time as an Avatar fan wasn’t exactly a happy period for me though. Before ASN was founded, I screwed up. Big time. I was a teenager who didn’t have any friends in my real life. Moving from town to town makes it hard to make friends, so I sought them online, on forums and fan communities. They made a poor substitute. 

I was naive and passionate, I said a lot and did a lot of stupid things, because I was desperate for acceptance. Problem was, I fell into a group that didn’t tolerate that kind of behavior. Eventually, they had enough, and they stripped me down, cut me out. It was the lowest I ever felt, being ostracized by people I thought were my friends.

I know better looking back now. These people were assholes, and I was too desperate to realize it. Not all, but some. Several became fans of Avatar, and wanted to start up their own site and forums. I saw this as a chance for redemption, to prove I was a good person, that I could work hard and fit in, so I volunteered to help. This did not go over well. One person did stick up for me though, and I wish I had appreciated their help more. One of the founders ended up quitting over it though…someone I trusted.

I moved on though, and I tried my best to make ASN a good place for fans…but really, everything I did was for acceptance. I wanted to feel like an important part of the group. I met good people there, people I still trust. I met my wife. Still, I could never shake the feeling that my desperation was being taken advantage of. 

There was a problem though; as much as I wanted acceptance, I could never turn a blind eye to when I thought the forum members were being treated unfairly, because I could sympathize with them. I fought hard to defend members that had made mistakes in anger, to talk to them and help them deal with their issues. I had to fight for one member to earn credit for an idea they suggested when the admins wanted to steal their idea. This did not make me popular, but I had to do it. It made me physically ill not to.

This came to a head when I discovered what the person who quit said about me behind my back…and I lost it. I lashed out at them, and I lost my position. Even after they quit, even after I worked so hard to prove myself, I would never have that acceptance.

It hurt, a lot, and I regret the way I handled it, but I think in the end I needed to let go of trying to gain acceptance, to feel like I was important to the fan community. I had found the woman I loved. What I did hurt her too, but she stayed with me, and I’ll always be grateful for that.

I remember when Zuko sided with Azula in the Crossroads of Destiny…it hurt me really bad, because I identified with Zuko. His struggle felt like my struggle, and when he turned to evil, I felt like I had no hope. Now though, I can see how similar his growth was to mine, the realization that I was seeking acceptance from the wrong people.

As for Azula…when I first saw her, I didn’t like her. She reminded me too much of the people that had bullied me, had called me an attention whoring emo faggot, had turned into their punching bag. I’m never going to forgive those people, even if I have learned to move on. It was only after The Beach and he Finale that my opinion of her softened.

It wouldn’t be until much later, after reading the analyses of the Azula fans on Tumblr and elsewhere, that I truly came to love Azula as a character…and I realize that the betrayal she felt, the loneliness…is exactly how I felt all those years ago. When I felt only fear and trusted no one. When it felt like everyone else had love and friendship, but never for me.

I’ve never been malicious or lacking in empathy like Azula. I’ve always tried to do what I thought was right even at the expense of my own social standing. That didn’t stop me from being hurt, betrayed, and twisted up like she did. No matter what horrible things Azula might have done, I’m never going to turn my back on her or anyone who is suffering in loneliness.

That kind of pain is what really turns you into a monster. The pain that comes from the loss of hope that you’ll ever feel loved. For so much of my childhood and especially my teenage years, I was so angry at the world, I wanted to hurt others, to make them feel my pain, to make them pay for hurting me. Only my conscience stopped me from doing the worst, and I still had my parents when I needed them the most.

When I look at Azula, or anyone else like her, I’m forced to give her compassion, because my heart won’t let me abandon her. It won’t let me abandon the last shred of humanity she has left, the humanity that makes us cry out for the love they feel deprived of. 

All humans need love to survive. Without it, they starve, they die, and a heartless monster is born in their place. I don’t want anyone to become a monster. When you turn your back on someone in need, when you ignore someone’s cries of pain, a piece of your own humanity dies, and then, you  become a monster too. 

Receiving love is pointless if you can’t give it too. It takes heart to give compassion to your enemies. You don’t have to like them, you don’t have to excuse their misdeeds, but that does not excuse you from doing what’s right and helping them when they NEED it. It’s what Aang would do. It’s what heroes do. It’s what my wife did for me.

#real talk #Azula #Avatar #Avatar The Last Airbender #atla #pathik #guru pathik

[rankdisasster]

obstacle 1

Billy Hargrove x fem reader

“24 & 41 w some soft billy 🤧” requested by anonymous.

#24: “You’re trembling.”

#41: “I feel like I can’t breathe.” from dialogue prompts

warning(s): slurs, violence, panic attacks

a/n: angst but it gets better I promise!! title of the fic comes from a fucking phenomenal Interpol song. also beware if you send me a number from a prompt list there’s no way I know how to make it short like a drabble, I only know how to draw it out pretty much haha.

—

“What the fuck is the matter with you? Huh?”

Billy’s back had been shoved up against the wall, his lip trembling and eyes red rimmed with unshed tears. His father’s fingers are tightly clutched around his jacket, ugly nostrils widely flared, looking down at his own son as if he were a mistake; as if he were the scum of the fucking earth. And Billy knows that that’s true, too.

“I had to get a call from the sheriff, at—” his father breaks eye contact for a split second to eye the clock that hangs on his son’s bedroom wall, “three-thirty in the goddamn morning, only to be told that my gracious son has been caught stealing chocolate bars from the drugstore, like some fucking delinquent. How do you think this makes me feel, William? As your own flesh and blood,” his father sighs and pats his own chest, pretending like he’s hurt because Billy made a fool of himself and embarrassed his family. Of course, only his father would be making all this about himself yet again and not seeing with his blind dumb eyes that it’s a cry for attention and help.

It was impulsive and stupid, Billy can admit that at least.

He was hungry, he felt like acting out, and there just so happened to be a drugstore nearby and thought it’d be kinda funny. Billy assumed that the security would be shit, and he also assumed he’d be smooth enough to not get caught. He played the part pretty well, at least what he considered to be convincing. Whistling and peeking at his surroundings as he casually stuffed around twelve, maybe even more chocolate bars down his pants and coat pockets and then sprinting like a bat out of hell to the parking lot.

He swore he was in the clear, and would eventually get to enjoy the candy bars and have a funny story to tell you later. Have a happy ending to one of his shenanigans for once, instead of ending in tears and blood. That is until the way-too-beefy-for-this-job clerk behind the counter saw him and called him out before chasing him down, slamming his entire front into the concrete. Holding him there until the boys in blue show up and handcuff his hands behind his back before shoving him in the backseat. The bruises from the comfy cement came out nice and big, Billy already checked them out in the bathroom mirror at the station. Seriously, he’d never seen a guy get that protective over Kit-Kat bars since he was in grade school.

After fucking begging the officers to just let him off the hook and promising it’ll never happen again, that it was just a silly fluke; they had betrayed him, and unsurprisingly at that. Like all authoritative figures have done to him his entire eighteen years of living. The pricks really did it, they really called his dad on him, and now here we are.

“Answer me this instant!”

Billy flinched at the deafening tone his father used to screamed right into his face. Their noses are practically touching. He can even smell his father’s alcohol consumption through his breath, and it’s so fucking grotesque that Billy wants to throw everything he ate that day up.

“I got popped for stealing chocolate, s’not the worst thing I’ve done,” he weakly murmurs, cursing himself internally because he felt a tear bust out of his left eye. He can’t cry in front of this monster, he fucking can’t.

Why can’t this be over with already? Why not just a slap on the wrist, one and done? This shouldn’t be as bad as the time he got caught tripping on acid in the woods that his weird ass classmate Mike gave to him. Yet he’s still here, spitting on Billy’s face and gripping him tighter, voice thundering louder. Susan doesn’t ever give a fuck about what’s happening to her step son, so why would Billy be foolishly praying that she would save the day this time? The helpless boy even imagines a scenario ending with his little step sibling Max stepping in and calling the cops. But all that’s just wishful thinking. Those things only happen to people who are cared about, and nobody gives a rats ass for Billy’s well-being in this household. Not even the cops would throw his nutcase of a father in jail and swallow the key.

The cops only care about petty misdemeanors, such as teenagers stealing candy bars from drugstores. They wouldn’t bat an eye at seeing a troublemaker like Billy with bruises and scabs scattered all over his face. They don’t care. None of them do, and none of them listen either.

“Yeah yeah, sure. It’s just a couple candy bars, right? But here’s how thieves work,” Neil starts his lesson, looking down his nose and pointing a finger at Billy’s face accusingly. “First, it’s just a candy bar. No big deal, right? You’re just having a little fun. Then, it gets bigger. You get away with that, then one day, you think you can get away with stealing a car,” he takes Billy’s jaw in one hand to keep him in place before giving his cheek a quick sharp slap, leaving it stinging and flushing red. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

The first punch is always a shock, and has the teen holding his breath waiting for what the next one will feel like.

“You are a fucking disgrace, a worthless juvenile with nothing better to do,” his father winds up for round two, even grinning like a sadistic bastard. He grins even wider when he sees his son’s face leak with more tears, and hissing when he wipes his own face too hard from brushing the evidence of the blow with his finger. More insults are thrown at him, like “faggot” or “disappointment”. He’s heard it all before, but it’s seeping further into his skull now, right along with his dear old dad’s fist. Cutting deep, deeper than it ever has, and not just in his face.

And Billy, paralyzed and hopless while lying on the ground, realizes that his father had to have been right all along.

Throughout his teens he consciously wondered if he actually was the reason Mom left, or if that’s just his dad fucking with his head. Which usually happens to be the case. But now, Billy is petrified that he’s telling the truth, and he’s giving it to him raw, like a sick reminder of his utter worthlessness. Maybe he will grow up to be no good, just another bum and a thief, getting caught doing more stupid shit. Billy wonders if this is really a sign that he should wise up before it’s too late.

His dad has finally stopped knocking his head into the wall and sucker punching his nose and cheeks, now seemingly satisfied with the work of art done to the boy’s face. With blood pouring from the boy’s nose like a faucet, he scrambles to plug it up and hug himself while bracing for a potential next hit. To Billy’s relief, his dad up and leaves at that, slamming the door behind him with a scoff and more damaging insults murmured under his breath. As soon as the door is shut, the boy fumbles to shove open his window, rushing to crawl the fuck out and nicking his injuries on the way out. He can’t fucking take this anymore.

By the time he’s out in his driveway, tears are still flooding out of his fucked up purple eyes and he rips open his Camaro door. While starting up the engine, he shakes his head before speeding to the only safe place he knows.

Your room.

—

When Billy makes it to your house, still just as hot of a mess as he was when he was being beaten and screamed at, the way up to your room was no picnic. He skinned his knee on the way down, falling three or four times before finally making it. His strength isn’t at it’s best at the moment. He carelessly shoves your window open and stumbles as he climbs through, landing directly on the floor. His back is to your door, and he adjusts himself to sitting with his legs crossed as he waits for your return. You’re probably downstairs, or in the bathroom. He doesn’t fucking know, but he wouldn’t doubt that you’d leave him too, like everyone else had when they discovered how much of a burden all his issues really are. History often repeats itself, and maybe it’s a mistake unveiling his mask and shitting all over you with his fucked up problems, but he doesn’t know where else to go.

Yours and Billy’s relationship strictly consisted of fun. Just joking around without any drama, maybe once in a while getting up to no good together. When you two would drink heavily in your room on weekends, sometimes he’d kiss you but you wouldn’t talk about it in the morning. Because that’d be just too much to deal with, and the packaged guarentee he got with you was that you weren’t anything to deal with. You were the most laid back, good time he’d had in this town. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d snuck up to your window and crawled in, however, it will be the first time he ever showed up this vulnerable and seeking comfort. Your comfort, specifically.

Billy’s back is still facing the door when you finally arrive, and you let out a squeal in fear before recognizing it’s him. You’d know that mullet, that jacket, and those tight blue jeans absolutely anywhere. It was your good friend Billy sitting on your floor.

“Holy shit man, you scared the Jesus outta me. Gimme a warning next time, ay?” you laugh, holding your chest to slow your quick heart down. It’s pretty late, and it’s a typical Saturday. You’re in your pajamas with a rejuvenating green face mask smothered all over your skin, as well as a bowl of cookie dough icecream in your grasp. It almost went flying when Billy had frightened you, and that would’ve been a bitch to clean off the carpet.

“I have some cookie dough icecream here. I could get you your own bowl too, if you want,” you offer, not yet hearing a peep from the boy seated on the ground. He’s eerily quiet, but you’re still oblivious to it all. “I heard this gossip around town, and oh my god, it totally reminded me of you. Some dipshit got caught stealing a bunch of Kit-Kat bars from the store right by your place,” you chuckle, then worry a bit as he remains unresponsive.

“Billy?” you tread lightly as you tip toe closer to him, then observe his shoulders shaking, and then his entire body too as if it were freezing in here or something.

“You’re trembling,” you notice, now terrified of knowing what happened to this boy to make him this freakishly twitchy. You hastily put your hand on Billy’s shoulder before the ice finally breaks. He turns his head to you , finally exposing the dried blood that’s still down his nose, as well as the black and blue all over his face. His tears were falling silently at first until he steadily starts to sob violently, letting you cradle him in your arms and shush him soothingly.

“I’m— I, I didn’t mean to, it was just s’pposted to be a joke, but I messed up so bad, he got so mad at me this time, and—“

“Who? Who got mad at you?”

Billy’s vision is blurring rapidly, to the point of barely seeing any shapes or colors. His chest is heaving up and down way too fast to be normal, and he thinks he’s about to have a fucking heart attack. His dad would probably throw a parade if his son moved into a hospital instead.

“I feel like I can’t breathe,” he panics, whole body still trembling while holding you tight enough to hurt as his salty tears land on your shirt. You could give a fuck about your mask that’s still on your face and getting slightly ruined. Little bits of it is now smothering Billy’s hair, and that makes you want to smile, but this is no time to be smiling.

“Do you want some water? Fuck, I think I have a water bottle in my bag—“

“Please don’t leave me,” he implored, halting you from getting up by burying his beaten face into your chest.

“You got it! I’m staying right here, I swear. Um, I might remember the steps to doing mouth-to-mouth, if you need that?” your eyes are wide and apprehensive, praying to whatever God in the sky that Billy doesn’t die in your arms tonight. That seemed to get him to crack a smile, a weak one, but small progress is still progress. “I’m serious! I might be wishing I payed more attention in class when they talked about this stuff, but I’m here for you. I’m practically PhD certified,” you assure him, sounding less than convincing. Your ignorance is working it’s magic though, humoring Billy and making him finally take deep breaths at a normal rate, instead of the hyperventilating he’d been doing a second ago.

“Pfft. Sure, yeah, I can tell I’m in real good hands here. You got any a’ that cookie dough left, Doc?” he sniffles and licks his lips, staring at the bowl that still has a decent amount of scoops of the dessert left unmelted.

“Hell yeah, and there’s more where that came from. In fact, when you leave tonight, or tomorrow— whatever, you can stay as long as you want— I expect you to gain at least five pounds from this,” you hand the bowl over to his grabby hands, smiling sweetly as he scarfs it down. He suddenly stops for a moment and shrieks when he eats too much too fast, giving himself brain freeze. “You eat faster than my dog.”

“I’ll take the win on that challenge, actually,” he grins, inhaling more of the creamy dessert, letting out occasional hums when he gets an especially good bite of the sugary cookie dough.

After a beat of silence, you decide to get up and put a record on your record player, sticking with a classic Tom Petty album, setting it on low so that there’s some background. You know Billy favors it too, remembering all the drives you’d go on together with Petty playing through his speakers. You head to the bathroom which is only a small distance of five steps away, you grab a washcloth and wet it with warm water to clean Billy’s gross bloody face. You’ve never seen a guy look as fucked up as he did right now in real life. Only in the movies had you seen blood oozing from somebody’s face, or splotchy bruises like polka dots sitting on somebody’s face. Basically, you had no idea how to help him, but you were gonna try. He came to you after all, he trusted you enough to let you see this side of him.

“Is this the part where you give me that line, shit, what is it? Oh yeah, ‘you should have seen the other guy’?” you ask as you go up to him, making sure you’re as gentle as a feather while dabbing the damp lukewarm cloth on his battered cheekbones as he continues to eat.

“Nah, the other guy is just fine if you ask him,” Billy scoffs, finishing the bowl and putting it down next to him. He zips up his jacket further up his neck, then shoves his hands in his pockets as you tend to his wounds.

“You cold?”

“Eh, kinda. Not really though,” he answers, but you’re able to read between the lines at his body language then reach behind you to your bed, dragging a blanket over. Ignoring his protests about not needing to be babied this hard, you wrap it around him. He just shuts up and nods his thanks, holding it tighter by proving you right about how chilly he felt.

“I’m sorry about all this, by the way. I probably freaked you out, and I’m kinda wishing I hadn’t done that,” he sighs, in hindsight realizing how humiliating his meltdown was.

“Don’t apologize for showing emotion. That’s a fucked up male habit,” you scold, the boy nodding vigorously.

“It was me, you know,” he says , resulting in you raising your brows at the questionable ambiguity. He rolls his eyes at having to explain himself then goes on. “I did it. I uh, stole all those Kit-Kats from the store.”

You pause your cleansing his face then can’t hold in your giggles anymore at the fact that you were fucking right, of course Billy would be the one to do a thing like that.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up Y/N,” he claps his hands, sarcastically urging you on.

“C’mon, that’s some priceless shit!”

“At least someone found it funny,” he grumbles, staring down at his hands and the soft blanket keeping him warm.

“What’s the matter with you?” you ask playfully, covering your mouth muffle your boisterous laughter.

That stiffens the boy up, thinking back to his father’s words, “What the fuck is the matter with you, huh?”

“Holy shit, you should’ve called me! I so would’ve been there to like, cause a distraction, maybe flirt with the cashier so that you could take a pack of those expensive cigarettes you’ve always wanted to try,” you laugh, then take his silence into account and find him shutting down again. You don’t know what you said, but you had to make it right.

“Hey, hey now. Don’t get all emo on me again, we were just starting to have some fun,” you peek his undamaged chin up, looking at him in the eyes and trying to stay positive, or better yet keep him distracted from his demons that won’t quit.

“Do, um. You don’t think I’m gonna grow up a low life asshole, do you?” he asks, wanting to hear it from somebody that he’s doing a good job. Making somebody on this earth proud, because pleasing his dad is a lost cause, and getting back his mom is about as likely.

“No. Why? Is it that you think you will?”

“Kinda, yeah. That’s what everyone drills into my head anyways,” he laughs, but you refuse to because that isn’t funny.

“Well if you give me all their names, I’ll go to wherever they’re at and sock them in the face. I don’t care if they’re bigger than me, I’m fucking doing it. Let’s go, come on. What are their names?” you assert without an ounce of humor. Billy’s lips curl into a smile, huddling further into the soft blanket you had given him. He isn’t at all in control of how fucking wide his lips get when he grins, all from the fact that his short stack best friend would do all that just for him. He suddenly wants to rub it in his sad sack of a father’s face that somebody really cares about him.

And he wants to really kiss that somebody right now.

“Think it’s time you wash that uh, whatever that is,” he gestures to the face mask that’s since dried when he came, “Off your face. I could come with you, if you want.”

Your blush is hidden under the green goo, and you nod your head in confirmation before grabbing his hand to lead you two to the bathroom.

“What is it even for, anyway?”

“Oh. For like, exfoliating, and... honestly, I don’t know. It could be complete bullshit, I just threw it on hoping something might happen,” you give up trying to explain your attempt at keeping up with personal hygiene, then Billy just shushes you and points to the sink to hurry you on washing it off.

With a good three minutes of Billy staring intently at you splashing your face with water, you self consciously look away and grab a towel to dry off. He looks you down once more, shakes his head, then leans in and caresses your cheeks with both his hands. His kiss is long and makes you feel so warm and tingly everywhere, but you’re mostly worried about fucking up his face doing this. As if on cue, your nose bonks his, making him moan.

“I’m so so sorry, did that— that hurt you, didn’t it?” you ask with dread, before he shuts you up with another kiss, not letting what his dad had done to him stop him from enjoying you. After making out by the sink for as long as he could hold out for, the two of you pull back and take a breather, still panting and smiling so happily. He pets your perfect cheeks that rest in his palms, and he hums in thought before speaking.

“Your skin’s real soft,” he observes.

“Yeah? Thanks, I um. Guess the face mask isn’t total bull after all,” you laugh, most of it coming from the nerves.

“Huh. I could try it sometime, yunno, only if you keep your mouth shut about it,” he playfully threats, poking you in your stomach as you continue laughing from how it tickled you.

Billy decides to stay the night at yours, playing the little spoon in your arms tonight. Tom Petty is still quietly singing from your record player, the empty bowl that was once filled with cookie dough icecream still sitting on the floor. The boy’s face hasn’t gotten much better, and he knows he’ll have to deal with his dad again tomorrow. It’s inevitable, really. But he knows now that you’re by his side, ready and willing to even whoop his dad’s ass if he gets him hurt again. And that’s more than enough for Billy to feel like he can really pull through.

—

happier about how this one turned out:) thank you all so much for being so kind and patient and everything. the people who write on here are wonderful, the people who read on here are wonderful, everybody is so amazing and I can’t express how grateful I am!!

I really wanted to write the reader as being kinda clueless about what to do with taking care of him, cause I’ll be honest, I have no idea what I’d do if a guy like him ever came to me looking super fucked up😂

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #stranger things #stranger things fanfic

[softest-cinnamon-roll]

HOW DARE YOU I NEED A PART 3 PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LET EDDIE CONFESS HIS FEELINGS

So many requests for this second part! I just couldn’t let you all down!!! (there was another 5 on top of this but I couldn’t have them all screenshotted!)

My bribe for you Amelia. I filled my half of the deal, now it’s time for yours!

Warning for homophobic slurs and Sonia K’s A+ parenting!

Part One || Part Two 

Read on AO3

* * * * *

It was loud screaming that woke Eddie up from his light sleep the following morning. He had managed to fall asleep at around midnight to the sound of Richie’s voice on the other end of the phone. Over the course of their conversation, Eddie had many chances to admit to Richie how he felt, how much he had missed him, but he didn’t. In truth, he wanted to wait until they were face to face to do it.

Now though, now he had a screaming mother down the stairs, being fended off by both Maggie and Went. With a quick look at the clock, Eddie sighed as he realised it was just after eleven in the morning. He rolled out of bed and crept to the door, pressing his ear to the wood as he listened to what was going on down the stairs.

“You lied to him Sonia!” Maggie snapped and Eddie could imagine her crossing her arms and glaring at her. “You lied to him and said he wasn’t accepted into any colleges! How could a mother do that?”

He heard his mother scoff. “You listen to me, little miss perfect. Even back in High School I hated your guts. Always acting high and mighty with your perfect hair and your slim body. You don’t get to tell me how to raise my son. He needs me! He needs to stay here in Maine, and be with his mother!”

It was Went who spoke up next, his voice low and dangerous. It took Eddie by surprise, as Went was always so calm and kind spoken. “Excuse me, Sonia, but I don’t appreciate you talking to my wife like that. Eddie came to us. We didn’t sneak into your home and steal him from you. He chose to come here.”

His mother laughed, “This is ridiculous, as if my son would choose to come anywhere near you and your faggot of a son.”

Eddie couldn’t take it anymore of his mothers insults and he pulled open the door, rushing down the stairs to the scene. Went was staring at his mother with wide eyes and Maggie had a hand over her mouth. “Mom!” Eddie snapped. “What the fuck!”

“Oh there you are, Eddie bear!” His mom breathed and tried to step into the house, to get to him, but Went was in the way. “Come on darling, let’s get you away from these people.”

He shook his head, “Away from these people? These people are my family more than you have ever been! Ma, you lied to me to keep me in Derry! I thought no college wanted me because I was stupid, but in fact it was because you were scared of me leaving you!”

His mother blinked at him, at his outburst, and her eyes narrowed, “Now Edward, that is no way to speak to your mother. You come here right now, we are going home and you’re going to call that college in California and tell them you’re not going.”

“No.” Eddie shook his head, crossing his arms and staying firm. “No Ma, I’m staying right here with Maggie and Went, and then in a few days I’m going to catch a bus to California and I’m going to go to UCLA. I am done being stuck here with you, I’m done being treated like a weak innocent child. I’m not weak, I’m not sick. I’m pretty damn amazing if you ask me!”

Eddie felt a hand on his shoulder and he looked up to see Went smiling at him, that strong supportive smile that he had seen him give Richie all through their years of friendship. His mother didn’t like this, and tried to step into the house again, but this time Maggie stopped her.

“You’re not coming into my house. Not after you insulted my son, and my husband. Never mind myself and Eddie.” Maggie snapped. “I think it’s in everyone’s best interests that you leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere!” His mother hissed, stomping her foot on the porch and Eddie had to physically hold back a shiver of embarrassment. “This is all your fault! You and that- that son of yours! He’s twisted and warped my Eddie bears mind! I never should have let them be friends, look what he’s caused!”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed and he finally moved down the remaining steps, getting closer to his poor excuse of a mother. “That’s my best friend you’re talking about, and he didn’t do anything to me! In fact he’s the one who makes me strong! I love him! I’m in love with him! I’m gay ma!”

It was the first time he had ever said that he loved Richie out loud. All of the other losers had just...guess and he had simply agreed. To finally speak it out loud, even if it wasn’t to Richie himself, was somewhat...empowering. His mother was staring at him with eyes so wide he was scared they’d pop out of her sockets.

Just as she was about to say something though, a new voice cut through all the squawking she was making, causing Eddie to freeze up on the spot.

“You love me?”

There, standing about five feet behind his mother in the front porch. Was Richie himself. He looked bone tired, and was holding an overnight back. Eddie was sure he was hallucinating because Richie was meant to be in LA right now...not in his front garden in Derry, Maine.

“Richie?” Eddie croaked and his best friend smiled softly, that smile that was only ever reserved for him. “Oh my god, Richie!” He stumbled forward, pushing past his mother as he rushed down the lawn and all but threw himself into Richie’s arms, legs wrapped around his waist.

Richie laughed, his hands moving under his thighs so he could support his weight and holding onto him tightly, “Jeez, Eddie Spaghetti, did you really miss me that much?” He asked through his chuckle and Eddie just clung to him that little bit tighter, tears in his eyes.

God he had missed Richie and his stupid comments.

“Yes I missed you, you idiot,” Eddie mumbled into his neck, completely ignoring the audience they had in the form of Richie’s parents and his, still angry, mother. “You- you heard what I said.”

“Did you mean it?” Richie asked and Eddie let himself drop down from Richie’s hold, still keeping his arms around his neck and their faces close together. Too close. “Did you, Eds?”

Eddie nodded his head, biting his lip as his stomach flipped, the nagging fear of rejection rising to the surface. “I meant it Richie. I- I’m hopelessly in love with you.”

Instead of replying to Eddie’s confession of love, Richie cupped both of his cheeks and leaned down, closing the distance between them. Eddie gasped, not expecting the kiss, but it was definitely not unwelcome. The feeling of Richie’s lips on his, soft and slightly chapped, was more than any dream or image Eddie could have come up with. It was short, as they did still have onlookers, but as they pulled away Richie’s eyes screamed that this was not over.

“Get your filthy hands off of my son!” His mother screamed, having finally found her voice and Eddie struggled not to roll his eyes so hard Stanley would be proud of him.

Richie just laughed and wrapped an arm around Eddie’s waist. “I’m so sorry, Mrs K, but I’m afraid our affair will have to come to its end. You see, I am very much in love with your son, and there is only enough room for one Kaspbrak in my life.” He put a hand over his heart. “I know this may hurt you, but I have made my choice, and you’re just going to have to deal with it.” As his mother stood there in shock, Richie started to lead Eddie back into the house. “Come on, Spaghetti.”

“Please don’t call me that,” Eddie muttered, rolling his eyes. All thoughts of his mother were forgotten as they stepped back inside the Tozier household. He didn’t even give her a second glance back. She didn’t deserve that much.

“Oh you can’t lie to me, Eds,” Richie cooed, ready to close the door. “You love me.”

And he did.

* * * * * 

perma-taglist

@richietoaster @tozier-boy @eds-trashmouth   @fucking-reddie @strange-reddie-loser @eds-kas @propertyofthelosersclub @its-stranger-than-you-think @yes-dillman-yes @totaltozier @reddietofall @reddietofight @reddie-to-fight   @reddie-eddie-spaghettie @bitchbrak @reddieways @maximusfraker @jem-carstairs-is-perfection @thejadeazalea @reddie-eddie-spaghetti @halfway-happy353 @ellomello16 @liliemm @tinyarmedtrex @cacti-cool @inthebreadbinwrites @kat-ships-everything @takeourpure @lo-v-ers @mrs-vh @studpuffin @s-s-georgie @reddie-for-anything  @trashmouthtozierr @richietoizer   @girasol-eddie @bi-bi-richie @honeybeehanlon @mars-14 @reddiesetandgo @marsisaplanetyall @xandertheundead @sedanleystanley @hawkinsbabe @beepbeeprichiellc @stellarbisexual @oldguybones @ripeddiekaspbrak @captainbartholomew @purplepoisonedgem @reddie-to-cryy @pink-psychic @violetreddie @fuzzylogik @queen-sock @appojoos  @moonlightrichie @rreddies @disneyfan567 @annxmatron @lifesucksheres20bucks @anellope @roobarrtrashmouth @are-you-reddie-for-it

#reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #writing tag

[artificialqueens]

Hot as Hell and No A/C, Chapter 3 (Branjie)- Blackhighheels

(Read at AO3)

Three

Jose knows it might not be the best idea to come to this run down bar, but he is bored and he needs a drink. Since he left Los Angeles he hasn’t been to any clubs or bars and this shack is the only thing nearby in the middle of motherfucking nowhere.

The offer is somewhat limited and so he orders a whiskey, since that seems to be the only thing they have beside shots and beer. He remains sitting at the bar and the woman behind it, Lindsey, is a hoot and he likes talking to her. From what she’s telling him she used to be the queen bee around here, about forty years ago, until she got pregnant too young and out of wedlock and found herself working in this bar to keep a roof over her head and care for her son.

He’s so engrossed in Lindsey’s stories that it takes him a while to realise that a couple of guys by the pool table are talking about him. The words ”Faggot”, ”Gay” and ”cocksucker” are a dead give away and he doesn’t think they’d say that about anyone but him around here.

”Hey, assholes! Got a problem with my gay ass?” He yells at them. It might be the alcohol or simply his frustration about the town and what it does to people, but he isn’t willing to just take it and keep him mouth shut. And he’s not afraid of them. He’s had his share of fights in his life, both because of the area he grew up in and also because of him being so obviously gay.

The four men, or boys, come closer and he can already smell the cloud of beer that surrounds them.

”Did you faggot just call us assholes?”

”If you’re the assholes who just talked smack about me, then yeah, I did.” He turns around in his bar stool and is glad that it gives him a bit of a height advantage.

”You better watch your mouth you filthy cocksucker.”

”Mmmh…. Sucking dick’s only filthy when it’s done right. You ever tried it?”

Jose expects a punch or kick, maybe something thrown his way. He doesn’t expect one of the guys spitting right into his face.

”Guys like you are dirt and god will take care of you,” the smallest one says. He seems to be believer amongst them.

Jose doesn’t want to talk anymore though. They just spit at him. He’s done talking. Before the god-fearing idiot has even finished speaking, Jose smacks the fucker who spit at him right across the face with the back of his hand.

”Imma end you, you motherfuckers. No one spits at me, bitch! You got hands, show me! Show me!” he yells, as blood drips from the drunken teenager’s nose.

”Hey!” Lindsey grabs him from behind. ”No fights in my bar. House rule. If you really wanna beat each other up, take it outside. But I’d advise all of y’all to just leave it. You four shouldn’t even be in here or drinking, and you,” she turns to Jose ”better not make more enemies than necessary while ya here. This is a small town.” Jose looks at the four teenagers in front of him, then throws a couple of dollars on the bar and leaves. So much for grabbing a drink and enjoying a night out.

***

Brock walks out of the stable when he hears a voice he would recognise everywhere. He also knows the car parked in their driveway.

”Fuck,” he curses quietly and hurries towards the house, wiping his hands on an old rag as panic settles in his stomach. This can’t be happening! Also, he is painfully aware that his hair is a mess, he is sweaty, dirty and his clothes are stained. Usually when he sees Jose, he at least gets a chance to shower beforehand.

For the last two weeks Jose has driven Rachel and him home after each dance practise. Sometimes they stop for ice cream or food on the way back. Brock is aware that Jose only makes little bets with Rachel, bets he always loses, and then has to invite them to whatever it is he promised her. Brock wouldn’t be able to buy ice-cream and take-out three or four times a week for three people.

The time he spends with Jose and Rachel has become the highlight of his life. He doesn’t mind walking half an hour to a dance studio and then watch for nearly two hours in the overheated studio as his niece prances around the room with other girls. The short drive back with Jose makes it all worth while.

He is the funniest and kindest guy Brock’s ever met. It feels a bit like having a friend, a real friend for once, and Jose is probably the only person he can really be himself with. He can giggle when he feels like it, talk with his hands and even admit that he likes colourful sprinkles on top of his ice-cream.

However, none of it explains why Jose is here now, parked in front of his parents’ house. It’s already too late, Brock realises when he makes his way around the front-porch and find both his mother and father standing on the porch talking to Jose.

”Aw, that’s too bad you can’t tell me. Thought I’d save them the long walk, now that I’m in town anyway.”

”Sorry, we can’t help ya,” his father says in a brusk tone.

”Ok, never mind. Thanks anyway,” Jose turns around to leave. That’s when he spots Brock. Immediately Jose’s face lights up. He is looking really good today, wearing a white wife-beater, a short black and red flannel shirt and tiny black  shorts. ”Hey Brock!”

”Hello,” Brock replies as neutral as possible and it takes a lot not to return the smile. He is very aware that his parents are watching their interaction with stony expressions. ”What are you doing here?”

”Thought I’d ask you and Rachel if I should drive you to dance practice today. I have to take care of some shit here in town and could take you back with me. Don’t think ya got your car fixed yet, huh?” Jose still smiles and casually leans against his Porsche. He looks like someone straight out of an ad or a tv show. Already Brock’s stomach tightens because he knows what he has to do.

”I’m sorry Sir, but that’s not necessary. Rachel and I can manage on our own. Thank you for the kind offer though,” he declines and watches the smile melt off Jose’s face when the icy tone of Brock’s voice registers with him.

”Brock! You know him?” His mother asks. She sounds surprised. What did she think? That some stranger would just show up and offer driving him and Rachel?

”This is Jose. He is Rachel’s dance teacher for the next couple of weeks. Jason hurt himself.” He informs both of his parents.

”You done with the hay?” His father stops any further explanation.

”No, not yet. I just heard voices and thought I’d check on ya.”

”I don’t need ya checking, that’s what we got guns for. I need ya working!” His father barks.

”I better get going,” Jose says quietly and his eyes appear to be so large and defeated that Brock nearly drowns in them.

”Thank you again for the offer but we can manage,” he says and softens his tone. He doesn’t want to decline. If he had a choice, he’d gladly drive around in Jose’s car all day and talk to him about everything and nothing. But it’s not an option he has.

He can’t move, he can’t do anything when he watches Jose get into the car and then drive off, leaving dust and a hint of cologne in the air.

”Don’t ya have work to do?!” his father asks him from the porch and snaps him out of his daze. Quickly he hurries back to the stable to work, to hide and to hopefully forget about the scene he was just a part of. He swallows a couple of times to keep the tears inside that his stupid overly emotional heart wants him to cry for how he just treated Jose.

***

”Care to tell us what that guy wanted today?” Brock’s father asks as soon as he sits down at the table for lunch.

”I told you, he’s Rachel’s dance teacher and I know nothing more than you do. He wanted to drive us to her dance class.”

”How’d he know your car’s broken?”

”We were late a couple of times,” Brock sighs and takes a piece of bread, rips a piece off and stuffs it in his mouth so the words he really wants to speak won’t burst out.

”I don’t like ya hanging with that folk! It’s bad enough that Ada allows Rachel to take dance lessons at that place. You being around these faggots a couple o’times a week… ya know what the people in town gonna say if they see this gay guy here? Ya know what the minister’s gonna say? You stay away from them, ya hear me!” His father is basically yelling at this point.

”I take Rachel to dance class because no one else has the time to do so, not because I wanna hang out there. I don’t know this guy any better than I know Jason, so what’s the big deal? He is a good teacher and Rachel likes him.”

”Stop eating before we said grace!” His father slaps the bread out of his hand, which drops to the floor. ”And Rachel shouldn’t be anywhere around these faggots, this music or these whore dance moves! It’s not right! Their lifestyle and everything they do’s offensive to the lord and every god fearing Christian. They don’t belong here and I want none of my family have anything to do with them. If you wanna hang out with these sinners you get your ass out of my house and better never come back.” Now his father is really yelling.

”How else is Rachel supposed to get there? By the time the lessons are done it’s dark out. It’s too far for her to go on her own. It’s not safe!”

”If I had a say in it she wouldn’t go there at all! But ya sister is letting her kids do whatever! If she lets them run with the wrong crowd, they should know what’s waiting for them!”

It’s nothing Brock hasn’t heard before. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen or felt before. He knows if he speaks another word now the fight will most likely become physical. Brock has never raised a hand against his father, but for a while now he’s taken to defending himself and his mother when the beer gets to his father’s head again.

He hates how he judges Jose without even knowing him. He even hates him for judging Jason. For a split second he wants to scream at him that he’s a sinner himself, gay like them and that even all the beatings he got as a child and teenager didn’t take it out of him.

Then he glances at his mother and her wide, scared eyes let him bite his tongue and lower his head. ”I’ll tell Ada I can’t take Rachel anymore.” He leans over and picks the bread up off the floor and uses the second to wipe his face clean of any emotion. Fury is still burning in his gut, nearly making him sick as he swallows it down and nearly chokes on it.

This is not the time though, not the time to risk it all for nothing. Jose will be gone again in about three weeks and their tentative friendship will become only a memory. What does it matter if he stops it all now, goes back to life how it was before Jose got here and starts living his harsh reality again three weeks earlier? His father probably just saved him a lot of pain and heartache. Brock knows that Jose and his friendships means too much already and he’s gotten too used to it.

”Good. Brock, can you say grace?” His mother ends the discussion with a grateful look and Brock knows he’s made the right decision.

***

”Hey, uncle Brock,” Rachel greets him after the mass on Sunday, when they are all still standing in front of the church.

”Hey honey,” he smiles.

”Can you take a look at my bike? The breaks’ not working and mommy can’t fix it,” she asks him and of course Brock follows her to her bike on the other side of the lawn. He doesn’t care that his good pants get dirty as he kneels down beside the small bike. It’s more important that his niece has a functioning bike, now that she has to ride it to dance practise and back. Brock doesn’t like it. He worries about her constantly, but there is nothing he can do.

”It’s just a bit loose, honey, that’s easily fixed,” he assures her.

”Thank you!”

”Do your lights work? I don’t like you riding your bike in the dark after practise, so we have to make sure at least these are working.”

”Can I tell you a secret?” Rachel whispers after checking that they are alone.

”Always.”

”I’m not driving back on my bike. Vanjie takes me until we reach our house and then waits with the lights turned off until he knows I’m safely inside.”

Brock feels a warmth spreading through him that nearly knocks him on his ass. He grasps the bike to keep his balance. He should have known Jose would make sure Rachel is safe. It’s so much like him that Brock feels like weeping. It’s only been three days, but he already misses their talks so much and hearing about how he cares for his niece only makes him miss Jose more. If only he could just talk to him sometimes.

”That’s very nice of Vanjie. He’s a very good guy,” Brock tells her just as quietly as she told him her secret.

”Then why do you hate him?”

”What? What makes you think I hate him?” he asks surprised and slowly gets up.

”Vanjie asked why you not taking me anymore and if you’re sick or something. I told him ‘bout the stuff grandpa said and that you can’t take me ‘cause they’re offensive and sinners and you don’t wanna be around him and can’t be his friend.”

Brock nearly crumbles to the ground for real this time. ”Rachel, how do you know about that talk?”

”I wanted to see you but then I heard the yelling through the open window and ran off. I don’t like grandpa when he’s mean like that.”

He takes a deep breath and runs his hands through his curls. There are so many things wrong with what Rachel just said and what she overheard. But there are also things he can maybe fix.

”Honey, I don’t agree with grandpa. Vanjie is a very good and nice guy and don’t let anyone tell you anything else about him or Jason, ok? ” Rachel nods her head. ”The only reason why I’m not taking you anymore is because grandpa gets very upset about these things and he’s scared that people will say mean things about me in town.”

”Like the things they say about Jason?”

”Yeah, like that. And he doesn’t want that for me or any of us. And I don’t want to make grandpa angry.”

”Uncle Brock? I like Jason and Vanjie.”

”That’s good. Make sure you tell them. They sure need to hear it.” He strokes his hand over Rachel’s strawberry blond hair.

”Will you tell them, too? Vanjie was really sad that you not there anymore. He said, he thought you was his friend.”

”I’ll tell him,” Brock agrees.

”Promise?” Rachel goes in for the kill.

”Promise,” he says and knows he now really doesn’t have choice but to talk to Jose. Rachel will know.

***

He waits until his parents are in bed and then sneaks outside to the orchard behind their house. It’s far enough so he won’t be overheard, dark enough so he won’t be seen and close enough to the cellphone tower so he’ll have reception.

Jose has given him his phone number the first week, but he has never used it and he hasn’t given him his own. It simply hadn’t been necessary. Jose said to use the number if he needed a ride or if Rachel couldn’t come to practise. Brock had no such excuse for giving him his number.

He takes a couple of deep breaths and then finally brings his thumb down on the dial button.

”Hello?” Jose picks up after only a couple of rings.

”Hey, uhm, it’s me, Brock,” he stutters and feels stupid already.

”What’d ya want, Sir?” Jose’s tone is snide and Brock knows he deserves it.

”Rachel told me she talked to you and I think I need to clear some things up.”

”You made it more than crystal yourself what you really think about me. Ya don’t need to drag Rachel into this.”

”I’m not! I just think, like… it’s not what it seems.”

”So you not avoiding me like the plague ‘cause your father’s a bigot asshole who thinks just talking to me will sully your reputation?” Jose is yelling at him through the phone, then he suddenly stops. When he continues his voice carries the hurt he must be feeling. ”God, I hate this motherfucking town and all of y’all religious lying assholes.”

”I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry. You’re so nice to Rachel and to me and helped us out so much and just…I’m sorry.”

”If you’re really sorry you’d have come here and told me this shit in person like a man. But I guess you just as much of a weaselly liar as the rest of these fucked up wanna be cowboys in this town. Grow up, start thinking for ya’self and learn how to make an apology real.”  Jose hangs up on him and Brock stares disbelievingly at his phone.

At first he is shocked and sad. He’s just lost the only friend who really knew him. Not only that, but he also thinks badly about him now. How can he think that Brock agrees with his father? He must know that he doesn’t have a choice, right? He thought Jose knows… That’s when Brock gets angry himself. He is so sick of all of these people and their opinions about him and his life and what he is supposed to do and to think. He’s used to it from his family and the town and the parish. But Jose? How dare he!

Before he really knows what he is doing, he has run inside, grabbed his mother’s car keys and is on the way to the dance studio. Jose wants him to talk to him in person? He can have it!

***

Brock bangs on the front-door and his hand is still in the air when the door is ripped open.

”What the fuck are you doing here, bitch?”

”You told me to talk to you in person, didn’t you?” Brock raises his voice as well.

”Aaaah and of course the good little christian boy always does what he is told,” Jose sneers. For a second Brock wants to punch him. Instead he pushes past him into the apartment. Jason or whoever else is around, really doesn’t need to hear this conversation.

Jose lets the door falls shut and crosses his arms over his chest. ” Say what you gotta say, then leave.”

”Why are you acting like this?”

”Acting? Acting bitch! Imma show you who’s acting! You lucky I’m not kicking your ass right now for pretending to be my friend, acting all nice and cute while we eating ice cream and then you suddenly stabbing me in the back, pretending you don’t fucking know me and stop talking to me without any explanation. I don’t need any more backstabbing hoes in my life.”

”Do you have any idea what my father would have done, if he knew we were hanging out after dance practice? If he knew we were so much as talking on the regular? I don’t know who he would have shot first, you or me!”

“I’m not scared of your asshole father. I don’t give a shit about him! But I give a shit about loyalty. And you not who I thought you were! You not fucking loyal! If you’d been at that fucking bar last week, you’d have spat on me too and tried to beat me up, just ‘cause you scared of your father. You pathetic!” Jose is full on screaming at him now.

”So you got a taste of what it’s like to live here for one night? Do you know what it’s like to live here every fucking day of your fucking life? When they beat me up as a kid ‘cause I was too girly, my dad beat me up again when I got home. They threw rocks at me, spat at me and slapped me all the way through school. I couldn’t tell my parents, the teachers didn’t care and I didn’t even understand what the fuck was wrong with me!” Brock starts pacing in the small living room.

”You’re the only person who knows. The only person who knows that I’m…” he can barely get the word over his lips. ”…that I’m gay.” There, he’s said it out loud for the first time in his life. Well, yelled it at Jose. ”And you know what happens when that gets out? When only a rumour will spread? What you experienced at the bar will be my life every fucking day and worse. My parents will kick me out, I’ll lose all of my family and I’ll have nothing, NOTHING left. Maybe that’s what I deserve for being that way, maybe that’s really god’s way of punishment. But I’d rather live a lie every day for the rest of my fucking life than to lose the little I have left.” Tears are dripping from Brock’s chin by the end of his confession. He’s laid it all out now to Jose, a guy he barely knows and just because he’s the first one who has shown him any kindness. Fuck! What if… what if he tells people? What if he is so angry he will take revenge and..

”Hey, it’s ok. I understand,” Jose is suddenly standing in front of him and places his hands on his upper arms. That’s when Brock realises he’s shaking. ”It’s ok.” Jose tries to wipe his tears away with the back of his hands, but they fall faster than he can wipe them off. ”Come here, boo, sit down. You still shaking like a fucking tree,” he says. Brock has to laugh about the mishap.

”Leaf,” he corrects through his tears and hiccups.

”Smart ass. Imma get you some water,” Jose smiles and disappears for a moment, before he comes back with a bottle of water and some tissues. Brock takes the water and drinks it down, before he accepts the tissues and dries his face and his eyes.

He feels stupid now for getting so upset, for crying, for yelling all of his secrets at Jose and for coming here in the first place. ”I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…” he starts but Jose stops him.

”You know what, boo? You look like you need a hug. That ok?” Jose asks him with a tender and worried look.

”I’m not good at hugging,” Brock shrugs self-deprecatingly and looks down.

”You lucky, ‘cause I’m the best at giving hugs.” A moment later Jose slowly pulls him in his arms and hugs him tightly. It’s a strange feeling for Brock and he can’t remember when he has ever hugged anyone other than his sister or his nieces and nephews. Then however, he slowly relaxes against Jose’s warm body and lets the last couple of tears fall.

So this is what it feels like, he thinks. It’s nice and soothing, comfortable and exciting. He feels safe and cared for. Jose starts running his hands up and down his back and if Brock could, he would start purring like his favorite kitten. He closes his eyes and enjoys the feeling.

After a while, he turns his head, his nose bumps against Jose’s neck and the scent of cologne gets stronger. Jose’s hand slides up his neck and into his hair. When Brock looks up and their eyes meet, it only takes a split second and then Jose brushes his lips against his. It’s not even a peck, more like a butterfly like touch, but Brock wants more. He stops thinking as he leans up and captures Jose’s mouth in a soft kiss.

When he pulls back his brain suddenly starts working again and he jumps back. ”Oh my god!” he covers his tingling lips with his hand and stares at Jose.

”Please tell me that’s not been your first kiss,” Jose begs, equally wide eyed.

”No! But.. Like… we can’t do this. I can’t..not… here… I’m…”

”It’s ok, Brock. It don’t gotta mean nothing. You can go back to ignoring me now. I get it, I promise. No hard feelings.” The hurt in Jose’s voice tells Brock something else though.

”I don’t wanna ignore you.” He tells him honestly. ”But I can’t… do this here. It’s too risky.”

”Alright. Friends then?” Jose smiles.

”Friends,” Brock nods. ”Just… no one can know.”

”‘Cause I’m too fucking gay for this town, I know, Miss Thing. Then you better get your secretly gay ass outta here, before anyone sees you.” The words are harsh, but the smirk on Jose’s face and the hug he gives him, let Brock know he really means it.

”We could get ice cream again some time?” Brock suggests when he is already halfway out the door.

”Text me tomorrow if you still feeling that typa way and we can do that.” They smile at each other for a moment and if Brock wasn’t such a coward he’d kiss him again. Instead he quickly leaves and vows to himself that he will text Jose in the morning and make sure he won’t lose the only friend who now really knows all of his dirty secrets and still likes him. Despite it all. Maybe because of it.

TBC

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #m/m au #slow burn #romance #angst #hot as hell and no ac #blackhighheels #tw religion #tw internalized homophobia

[ashfountainfanfics]

It’s weird to be squatting in the Byers’ empty house. It feels too big and hollow. Steve hadn’t been in it often enough to remember the layout but there’s the ghosts of furniture past etched into the carpet. It’s weird to think that a family lived here; that they had normal Christmases and birthdays. That they ate breakfasts and played music. Now there’s nothing but indents and faded spots.

 Steve and Billy mostly stay in the living room camped out in a nest of stray blankets and a couple pillows. It feels the least invasive of their options. A cooler sits nearby but Steve already knows that the sodas and snacks in it are probably lukewarm by now.

Steve rolls over to his left to look at Billy. The poor guy has a sheen of sweat across his whole body and his hair is flat. Still, Steve fights the urge to curl up with him. It’s impossible to keep physical contact up in this heat and Hawkins won’t really cool down until mid October. Not that they can stay here much longer.

Steve hears movements in the other room. He quickly scrambles to put some distance between himself and Billy. The rug scratches at his knees and he briefly says a prayer that Billy isn’t naked under that sheet he’s wrapped himself in.

Dustin appears in the living room through one of the bedroom doors. The sound from earlier had been him climbing into the window and hauling snacks and other provisions with him. Steve mentally berates himself again for breaking Joyce’s window a few days ago but he wasn’t entirely sure of where else to go.

“Henderson,” Steve attempts a greeting but his throat is dry.

Dustin picks up on this and pulls out a large thermos. Steve tries not to guzzle down all of the cold water in one go but half ends up sacrificed to his thirst.

“It’s okay,” Dustin lets him know quietly, “I brought another one for... him.”

Dustin doesn’t seem too pleased about bringing anything for Billy if the avoidance of his name is any indication. Billy snores a little and flips onto his back. Steve doesn’t realize that he’s smiling until he notices that Dustin’s caught him.

“You don’t have to do that,” Dustin says, irritated, as he turns to pack food and drinks into the cooler.

Steve feels a flush come up to his cheeks and it’s not just the morning heat. It’s not possible that Dustin knows right? El swore to secrecy and Steve hadn’t even hinted at anything. It’s not that he doesn’t want to tell Dustin or maybe it is. It’s not reassuring to come out to anyone about this when Steve’s own parents gave him the boot over it.

“Do what?” Steve asks, immediately regretting it.

Dustin closes the lid on the cooler and looks Steve square in the eye. His lip line is tight, still irritated. Steve feels like he’s about to lose a friend, a sibling even. Dustin’s the little brother he never had and to have that family reject him too somehow hurts more. He chose Dustin and Steve’s praying that Dustin chooses him back right now.

“You two sleep together. In summer. You’re staying together and he’s not hurt anymore. You look at him like you looked at Nancy and even Robin sometimes. I’m not dumb! Stop treating me like I’m dumb!”

Billy stirs a bit at the outburst but manages to quickly fall back asleep. Dustin’s not really yelling so much as raising his voice a bit. Steve feels like Dustin is yelling, feels like he’s screaming.

“You’re not dumb,” Steve is talking in a panic, no filter, “you are the smartest kid- smartest person I’ve ever known.”

“Then why are you trying to hide it?”

“Because- because people might-“

“From me! Why are you trying to hide it from me?!”

Billy does wake up this time. He peers sleepily at Steve and Dustin. He groans and sits up on the floor.

“I’m guessing curly top figured us out?” Billy asks Steve while Steve still sits five feet away and dumbstruck.

“Days ago,” Dustin says through gritted teeth, “and my name is Dustin.”

Billy’s eyebrow ticks up in consideration of this child and how he’s holding his ground. Steve feels like he should intervene but there aren’t any words in his mouth. He’s just sitting on the floor completely stupid and silent.

“You got a problem then?” Billy challenges.

“Yeah I do.”

Steve braces himself for the worst. He can hear Dustin’s voice in his head saying terrible things; calling him a faggot and a queer. He tries to shield himself against the thought of cutting ties, of never seeing little mop top Henderson again. Briefly he debates saying this is all a joke and he’s not gay or anything but Dustin’s not stupid. Lying would make it worse. He’s going to make his choice and Steve is going to have to deal with losing someone important.

“Why you?” Dustin asks, “You tried to hurt us way before The Mind Flayer got to you. Your sister had to beat the snot out of you just to get you away from us! You’re a jerk and an asshole and you’re one of the bad guys!”

Dustin directs himself to Steve not allowing Billy the opportunity to defend himself.

“You’re one of the good guys!” Dustin says, his voice cracking, “You’re my friend and you save people. This guy beat you up, remember? He tried to kill us! Good guys don’t date assholes!”

Steve tries to process to the best of his ability but given the expectations he had it isn’t easy. He notices that Billy looks amused at all this but that doesn’t help. Steve stands to his feet.

“Wait… wait so-“ Steve’s brain posits his conclusion, “your problem is that Billy’s an asshole?”

“Yeah!”

“Not because he’s...a guy?”

“No!”

Dustin looks like he wants to throw something at Steve because he’s being stupid but he doesn’t. Steve starts to laugh and mutters the word ‘unbelievable’ to himself. The laughter suddenly turns into crying and Steve can’t stop it.

Billy’s at Steve’s side now and he notices that he’s not naked as he had feared earlier and thank God for that. Steve hides his face behind his hands because crying is embarrassing. He didn’t realize how mortifying it is to cry like this.

“Hey, hey no,” Billy says firmly and pulls his hands down.

Billy cradles Steve’s face and wipes away the tears with his thumbs. He rests his head against Steve’s. His attempts to speak soothingly come out as more of a gruff, hushed tone. It’s still works for Steve though and he leans into being comforted.

“It’s my turn, okay?” Billy reassures him as best as he can, “Don’t hold back. Fuck it.”

“Steve?” Dustin asks quietly.

“Hey you did enough you little-“ Billy turns, teeth bared and ready to fight a child.

“No,” Steve stops Billy from turning his fury on Dustin, “it’s happy crying. It’s good. I’m fine. I didn’t know happy crying exists but I’m- I’m good.”

Steve takes a deep breath and gives Billy’s hand a squeeze before stepping back. He smiles at Dustin cautiously.

“So the being a queer part,” he clarified, “it doesn't bother you?”

Dustin smiles.

“Do you know how many times me and my friends have been called queer? Or toothless or fat or dorky? If I thought any of those things were bad those assholes would have gotten to me. I told you; high school shit is stupid.”

“You really are the smartest person I know.” 

Steve crosses the room and gives Dustin a hug. He pats his back and Dustin pats in return. Steve’s can’t believe how brilliant and caring this kid is. He pulls back and chuckles.

“We’re family,” Dustin says before glancing quickly at Billy, “I still think he’s an asshole though.”

“He’s working on it. I used to be the asshole boyfriend remember? Now look at me.”

“You look like you need a tissue.”

Steve laughs and wipes his nose with the collar of his shirt. He then ruffles Dustin’s hair and Dustin grimaces.

“You smell like you need a shower,” Dustin points out, backing away.

“We’re, uh, kind of camping so,” Steve shrugs.

“We’re squatting,” Billy corrects him.

“Either way,” Steve sends minor eye daggers to Billy, “it doesn’t come with showers. Think you could help us find one?”

—-

Steve quietly thanks God for the cool air blasting in the video store. He’s also thankful that Mrs Henderson attends Bible study on Tuesday mornings because her convenient absence allowed for Steve and Billy some much needed hygiene at her home.

Steve’s also grateful his parents let him take one of the cars. Of course they wanted him off the property as quickly as possible so it made sense to gift him a getaway vehicle. That night was tough and Steve doesn’t like to think about it too much. He can still remember when his dad came too and his mother sobbing that they smelled like sex. It’s a good thing Billy had knocked out Steve’s father already because the man looked like he was ready to kill Steve right then and there if Billy wasn’t there to stop him.

“Hey dingus,” Robin calls out affectionately, “you feel like having a scary movie night sometime soon? I’m sure my dad would be thrilled to see me bring a boy home.”

She’s been caught up already. Steve had called her that night before heading out. The last thing he wanted was for her to show up for a pre work swim and have to confront the very irate Mr and Mrs Harrington. Steve knows that the movie offer is more a means to give him temporary refuge than a social call but he appreciates the effort.

“How would your dad feel about bringing home two boys?” Steve asks flatly.

Robin’s shelving tapes while Steve mans the front but other than the two of them there isn’t a soul in sight.

“Right,” she says, “can’t forget about your grumpy other half.”

It puts Steve on edge to talk about it in public spaces despite knowing they’re in the clear. He checks the store over just in case and then rests his gaze on the door. There’s a bell on it so really the staring isn’t necessary but Steve’s not taking any chances.

“He’s not grumpy he’s-“

“Stoic? Reserved?” Robin offers as she audibly rummages through her box of tapes, “Butch?”

Steve rolls his eyes and doesn’t give her the satisfaction of an answer. She comes around the counter and hops up to take a seat.

“Relax,” Robin stretches her arms up high, “I like your boy toy. I swear.”

“Shouldn’t you finish off that box?”

“You know the manager and I are cool. Besides I can always blame you.”

She lays backwards and dangles her torso off the counter. Her back pops and Steve shudders.

“Okay, enough,” he leaves the counter and heads for the box of tapes, “I’ll do it. And stop dicking around on the counter, you’ll get hurt.”

“Sure thing, dad,” Robin hops down and follows Steve, “Are you okay? Seriously. You seem like you’re having a bad day.”

It shouldn’t be a bad day. Steve got a shower and a Snickers for breakfast. Dustin accepts him in his newfound gay identity. Billy has an interview down at the garage. This is a good day, isn’t it?

“I’m sorry,” Steve sighs, “I guess I’m not looking forward to going back to that sweat box I’m squatting at. No power, no water. It’s awful.”

Robin gets unnaturally quiet but Steve doesn’t stop going through the second half of the box. He comes across a copy of Star Wars: Return of the Jedi. It’s a movie he’s never actually seen and he doubts Billy has either. It looks like it would be right up Dustin’s alley and it’s probably something Robin’s seen. He rummages for any other titles starting with an ‘s’.

“What are you and Billy going to do?” Robin asks solemnly as Steve makes his way to the right shelf with a stack of video tapes.

“I… I don’t know.”

There’s a greater context to that and Steve is horrified as he slowly sinks into it. This is what they’re doing now but where will they go next? For how long? It’s not common to see two guys living together and really what would be their excuse? They couldn’t pass for brothers and the mere thought of posing as such makes Steve feel a bit grossed out. They’re boyfriends not relatives but they can’t get caught.

“I think I know why I’m having a bad day,” Steve shoves the rest of the tapes on the shelf, damning any sense of alphabetical order.

Steve walks past the box, past the counter and Robin, and right up to the door. He doesn’t understand what he’s doing but can’t stop. Robin looks bewildered as Steve holds open the door to the afternoon heat. He pauses there and lets the warm air graze his cheeks. He breathes it in and it’s almost suffocating.

“Steve?”

“I’m sorry. I have to- I’m sorry,” Steve manages to apologize before taking off down the street at a brisk pace. The heat immediately clings to his body and it makes him move faster. He’s headed toward the center of town but his mind has no true destination. It’s as if his body thinks that if he keeps moving then eventually everything will feel lighter.

“Wait! Steve! Steve!”

Robin sidles up to Steve’s pace after a minute or two. The keys to the video rental store are jingling her hand. He glances at her in utter confusion but doesn’t stop. He isn’t exactly expecting a copilot on this miniature breakdown.

“I am a band nerd, you ass, we don’t run!” She berates him with a light slap on the shoulder.

This doesn’t phase him and he continues his walk at the same speed. They’ve gone about a block and a half away from the store. Out in the day to day of Hawkins only the elderly, a few housewives, and a pack of kids ditching are running about. None of them have the slightest idea of what’s going on in Steve’s head and he supposes that means he’s in good company. They move quickly and quietly out of his way.

“Where are we going?” Robin demands fiercely.

“I don’t know!” Steve shouts back at her and breaks his stride, “I don’t know where I’m going and where we are going or where anything is going! I don’t know!”

Steve’s breathing is rapid and heavy. He looks down at his hands and sees that they’re shaking. It’s not fear or anger that’s fueling him. He can’t name what it is but it feels a lot like when you’re squaring off against a monster or running for your life. Robin looks him over with a sense of unease plainly on her face. She takes one of his shaking hands and laces her fingers into it.

“Whaaa-”

But Steve doesn’t get to finish his question because Robin starts walking again. She pulls him behind her but Steve quickly adjusts and starts moving with her. His hands aren’t shaking now and his heartbeat starts to even out. He tries to question Robin again. 

“Where are we-“

“You’ll find out.”

“What about the store?”

“I’ve abandoned a job before, haven’t you?” Robin is teasing but her voice stays serious and she keeps moving.

It occurs to Steve that they’ve got a perfectly good car waiting for them back at their job but it’s too late now. Robin’s in charge of this break down and she leads him to Hawkins high and then past Hawkins high to where the trees start up again. Steve still can’t tell where this journey is going but he respectfully follows in silence. Robin takes very determined steps through the grass and small patches of fallen leaves until they come upon a massive tree and she stops. She lets go of Steve’s hand and looks at the tree with a sense of reverence.

“Climb,” she instructs Steve.

“What? Climb? Seriously?”

Robin doesn’t offer any further explanation as she’s already pulling herself up on the branches. She moves in a way that can only be described as precise. Steve mimicks her movements as best as he can but tree climbing doesn’t come naturally to him. He lags behind by a minute and pulls himself onto a large branch adjacent to the one Robin’s selected as her perch.

“Okay, I climbed, now what the fuck are we doing?”

Steve tries not to awkwardly straddle the branch. He attempts to bring both legs to one side almost like riding side saddle but decides there’s more dignity in straddling. He presses his back to the trunk of the tree. The bark is itchy but the shade keeps everything cool.

“All settled?” Robin asks sarcastically.

“As I’ll ever be,” Steve laments.

“Good, now just shut up and listen, okay?”

Robin takes a deep breath to prepare herself. Steve feels like maybe he shouldn’t be looking at her. The mood seems rather intimate and it isn’t like when she came out about herself before. There were drugs and blood then. The situation deemed a sense of vulnerability but here things feel more personal, more deliberate. Steve looks out over the town of Hawkins and really takes in the view he’s been gifted. Robin stares out as well and speaks softly, just barely loud enough to be heard by Steve.

“Tammy never loved me and she was never going to love me no matter how in love with her I was but that didn’t stop me from dreaming. I used to come up here and think about how beautiful things looked if you could just manage to put yourself above all the bull shit.

I liked to pretend that someday I’d bring her up here and then she’d understand almost like it was magic and she’d kiss me and I’d kiss her. It could all fall in place if I could just have a sign, if I could only be that brave.

But it didn’t.

And the more time I spent here the more I realized that even if Tammy felt the same way as I did, what the fuck would that mean for us? I could never take her to the movies or go to dinner. I couldn’t take her to prom. Do you know how beautiful she was at junior prom? I saw her in passing; she was getting into Kevin Laney’s car and- God, I never thought I’d ever want to be my neighbor Kevin Laney but I would have sold my soul to switch places with him for just that night, even just for a minute, so I could tell her that she’s beautiful.

I don’t have anywhere to go either whether I ever have someone or not-”

“You will,” Steve interrupts, “Robin, you are the most amazing girl in the world. If we weren’t- you know I’d-”

“I know. It’s not about that though. You’re lucky in a way; you found someone who’s like you and, sure, he’s kind of emotionally stunted and prickly but he loves you. That doesn’t make the logistics of being this way any easier. You’re actually way more likely to get found out but at least… at least you’re not alone.”

Steve doesn’t have anything to say to that. His experience in being interested in the same sex is so different from Robin’s to the point that there isn’t much to relate to. Steve’s realization was sudden and surprising whereas Robin’s was a secret she’s been sitting on for God knows how long. Steve’s in a relationship and has been in other relationships and Robin’s never been in one at all, gay or otherwise. Even the sexuality itself is different; Robin only likes women and Steve likes, well, Steve likes women and Billy and that’s all he knows right now.

“I’d give anything not to feel alone,” Robin swipes her the back of her hand across her nose to stifle a sniffle.

“You’re not alone,” Steve replies quietly, “I know I’m not- I know I can’t change how things are but we’re friends and I won’t leave you. Okay? Does that help?”

“Sure, dingus.”

She smiles at him and tosses a leaf. It floats down to the ground slowly and when Robin looks back up the light through the trees hits her features just right. Steve knows that he’d die for her because she’s beautiful and smart and brave. More than that, he’ll find a way to help her be happy because if anyone deserves to be happy it’s her.

“Y’know, there has to be other girls who like girls,” Steve says.

“Well they’re not in Hawkins that’s for sure.”

“So then let’s leave Hawkins.”

Robin rolls her eyes.

“Oh yeah, sure, let’s just leave!”

Steve listens to his own throw away comment and he lights up. His body seems to jolt with new energy, good energy.

“Why not? Yeah. Let’s leave! There has got to be somewhere out there where Billy and I can be ourselves and where you can find a girlfriend! I mean what’s the gayest place you can think of?”

“Steve, I don’t think that’s advertised in a travel brochure.”

“Okay but there has to be somewhere where it’s easier. We just have to think! And you, you’re good at research and stuff! We’ll just leave! You and me and Billy! You pick a place and Billy and I will save the money and we’ll go!”

Robin turns to face her whole body toward Steve. Her hand on the trunk keeps her steady. Steve is smiling and so satisfied with his idea. It’s so simple he wonders why he hadn’t thought of it earlier.

“You really mean it.”

“Hell yeah! Who says we have to stay in Hawkins? Let’s go.”

Robin is quiet while she thinks it over. A short distance away, Steve can hear the sound of his former high school. Technically Robin has another year there but she’s so far ahead in her classes that her senior year mostly consists of like three classes and band if Steve remembers right. He could save loads of money in a single school year and with Billy saving too they could probably buy a house in this idealized version of Gay, USA. Granted there’s still the matter of where to stay in the meantime but that’s small potatoes as far as Steve’s concerned. He has a plan and it’ll work. It has to work.

“Okay,” Robin says, “After I graduate, I’ll go. We’ll all go.”

“Yes!” Steve throws a fist in the air and loses his balance.

It isn’t until Steve hits the ground that he realizes that the same hand he’d just gestured with is now broken.

#harringrove #sthhch5 #stranger things have happened ff #short chapter

[violetnuisance]

A Spark

The Pure Attract The Toxic - Chapter 2

a/n: I-I finally did it. Things start to get explicit in this one. Here’s the link if you’d rather read it on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20988461/chapters/49910162

I dunno if my “read more” is working on mobile, but let’s pray

[[MORE]]

Travis could feel his pulse pounding in his ears as his hands tightened their grip around the strap of his messenger bag. Despite the dread filling his lungs, his eyes narrowed on his target. The mane of frizzy brown hair towered over the other students who sat at their respective tables eating lunch, making it easy to spot Larry from a mile away. The blond marched onwards, forgoing his own lunch. His stomach had been in turmoil all day, too nervous to digest anything. It wasn't until brown eyes snapped up to meet his that Travis paused for a second, losing his bravery.

Larry’s eyes narrowed as they caught Travis’s, and the blond swallowed. The look of intense displeasure crossing the brunet’s face was a stark contrast to the chaotic energy he exuded just the day prior. As Larry looked away from Travis for a second and excused himself from his lunch table, the blond could all but feel the annoyance radiating from the other. He continued to stand still, waiting for his death sentence as Larry approached him. The taller male’s hands were dug in his pockets and shoulders hunched as he glared down Travis.

“Come on,” Larry barked out as he grabbed Travis’s arm. The blond stumbled backwards, balance briefly knocked, causing Larry to only tighten his grip. “Without making a fucking scene.”

“You’re the one dragging me out of the cafeteria,” Travis huffed, letting him be pulled through the double doors and back out into the hallway. Larry’s bruising grip on him only lessened when the brunet scanned the area and found no wandering students.

“I wouldn’t have to drag you anywhere if you’d just stay away from me and my friends,” Larry retaliated. Travis felt his face redden as his temper rose. He jerked his arm completely out of the other’s hand, earning a huff from the metalhead.

“If I recall correctly, you were the one following me around yesterday,” the blond seethed. Larry’s gaze darkened and a snarky laugh pushed its way up his throat. Travis felt his temper drop to be replaced by fear as the taller male took a step towards him. Mouth suddenly feeling too dry, Travis took a step back.

“Don’t get so full of yourself,” Larry chastised, voice dropping to a low growl. The deep octave made the hair on the back of Travis’s neck stand up. “Just because I wanted to toy with you yesterday doesn’t mean we’re buddies or that I want you anywhere near my friends.”

Travis’s mouth worked for a second, trying to push words out, but his brain failed to find a snappy comeback quick enough. Larry rolled his eyes as the awkward silence grew between them until the blond wished it would have the mercy to suffocate him. He found himself staring dumbly at the taller male’s chest, feeling akin to a toddler who had just gotten chastised. No, he never would’ve considered him and Larry friends, but he didn't think it’d be quite this difficult to get the other’s acquaintanceship at least.

“Trust me, the feeling’s mutual,” Travis chose to say. Larry crossed his arms over his chest and shifted his weight to a side, obviously not believing the admission. “I was just going to invite you to a church service.”

“Why in the absolute fuck would I want to go to your church?” As if they were in a comic or animated show, Travis swore he could see Larry’s eyes visibly twitching, ready to deck the blond.Travis felt himself become hyper aware of how his hands clutched his messenger bag strap for dear life once more, too used to getting his lights knocked out by others to process that Larry didn’t have any true intentions of hitting him.

“I mean, I was just thinking-“

“Whatever you were thinking, you were wrong,” Larry deadpanned, eyes narrowing. Travis’s own eyes dropped down to stare at Larry’s shoes. He really wished he could call upon his usual venom, but he felt stupefied. Everything moved a bit too slow for him to process it fast enough to put on a facade. “And from now on, only talk to me when I approach you.”

Travis didn’t utter a word as he watched Larry walk away, long hair bouncing with every angry stomp.

/ / /

The lackluster interaction between them had left Travis feeling disgruntled. He never envisioned that he’d be able to conquer the wild beast that was Larry Johnson in his first rodeo, but he had been hopeful to at least make a millimeter of headway. Instead, the stony brown eyes of the other had shot him down on sight, refusing Travis before he even had the chance to open his mouth. Despite the blond’s overwhelming negativity with the situation, he realized that maybe not everything had crumbled to ashes like it appeared when he made his way to his trusty bicycle after the final bell had rung.

Mirroring the day before, Larry stood against the chain link fence by his bike. This time, the brunet held a lit cigarette between his lips, and Travis watched as the smoke billowed against the “No Smoking!” sign attached to the fence. He did his best to swallow the anxiety that Larry was just there to scold him more and held his chin up as he approached his own bike, determined to let the metalhead know that he had absolutely no control over him.

“Hey angel,” Larry cooed, taking the cigarette from his mouth. “Seems like you have a little more ‘pep in your step’ now.”

Just like that, Travis could feel his temporary control snatched from him by a mere pet name. A wolfish grin covered Larry’s lips as the brunet averted his gaze to let out a low chuckle while Travis stood in front of him, frozen. “What’d you call me?”

“Angel,” Larry answered, pushing himself off of the fence. Travis took a step back as Larry became a step closer to him. “I can call you something else if you’d like. Kitten rolls off the tongue easily, but maybe you’d prefer baby boy?”

“I’d prefer my name.” The words came through Travis’s gritted teeth. As soon as his surprise at the name had dissipated, his stomach had done a weird flip flop, but then utter annoyance took place. The male in front of him had no place to be referring to him so fondly, how one should refer to their girlfriend, not another boy-

“Earth to Travis, yoo-hoo!” The cigarette was back in Larry’s mouth, and the taller male had leaned in closer to Travis, waving a hand in front of his face. From this new, much closer, proximity the blond was overwhelmed by the reek of the nicotine. One again, he took a step back, this time quickly looking over his shoulder. It just sank in that Larry could get them both in trouble for smoking on school premises. “What were you fantasizing about so hard that you didn’t even offer me a nod when I said that I’d go to your stupid church?”

“Wait,” Travis’s head whipped back to Larry, “You’ll go?” The blond couldn’t keep the excitement and eagerness out of his voice. If he could just get Larry to go to service, he was sure it’d change the brunet for the better and maybe help cease some of the feelings going through Travis’s own mind when he caught himself staring at Larry.

“I’ll go to one meeting,”Larry corrected, holding up a single finger. Travis would take what he could get.

“That’s great-“

“But only if you let me drive you to my place tonight,” Larry interrupted, smile broadening as Travis’s own shrank. That wasn’t so great.

“Why?” It seemed that Larry’s grin only continued to grow, his insufferable tooth gap making an appearance now. The brunet drew his eyebrows together and shrugged his shoulders as if to exaggerate how “hard” he was thinking about the answer to Travis’s question.

“I dunno, thought we could have a little bonding experience before I show up at the Phelps Ministry, y’know?” Travis didn’t know. He didn’t know why they needed to bond before the Wednesday night service. Larry rested his hand on Travis’s shoulder, and the blond felt like he was being smothered. He swore his knees started to buckle when the bastard started to rub slow circles into his skin with his thumb.

“What about my bike? I can’t leave it here, didn’t bring my chain today,” Travis got out, thanking God for the excuse.

“Let’s throw’er into the back of my pickup truck. I have some cords that I can tie her down with if you want to be sure she’s safe,” Larry assured, a glint in his eyes that made Travis feel cold. The blond hugged his arms to his chest, heaved in a breath of air, and slowly sighed before nodding.

“If there’s a single scratch on the bike from the bed of your pickup truck, you’re dead faggot,” Travis snapped, surprising them both at the sudden shift in tone. Larry snorted, shaking his head.

“There you are. There’s the Travis I know and love to hate,” Larry deadpanned. The brunet’s own sweet facade fell at Travis’s words, and he jutted a thumb in the direction of his truck. “Go ahead and get in while I grab the bike.”

/ / /

Travis sat stiff, as if the tiniest movement from him would make the vehicle’s alarm go off, as he waited for Larry to tie his bicycle down. The truck was the kind that only had a row of front seats, no back ones. At the moment, Travis would’ve killed to have been able to sit in the back, farther away from the gremlin of a brunet.

“Alright,” Larry began as he swung himself into the driver’s seat. The whole truck heaved to the side under the offending weight, and the blond was duly reminded of how much the other had bulked up since freshman year. “Next stop: casa de Larry.”

“You live in an apartment, not an actual house. Wouldn’t it be ‘piso de Larry?’” Travis asked the question half because he was an ass and half because he had a Spanish exam next week. Larry shook his head and turned the key in the ignition. As the engine roared to life, Travis felt himself cave in even more.

“Maybe if my mom was from Spain or some shit. We never use that form,” Larry gritted, eyes no longer focused on Travis as he tried to maneuver the truck around an assortment of sloppy student parking jobs. In the silence, Travis noted that Larry no longer had his cigarette, must’ve stubbed it out before climbing in. He was thankful for that, not really wanting to be trapped in a small space with the obnoxious smell of a cig. The odor was already present enough on Larry’s clothes. “So why, exactly, am I going to your church? And don’t bullshit me Phelps. I know there has to be more of a reason than it being a good experience.”

“I dunno Larry. Why am I being abducted to your apartment? There has to be a better reason than bonding,” Travis echoed back, his sarcasm slowly but surely firing up again. Larry’s glare whipped towards him, frown pressed into his face before he let out a dry chuckle.

“Like I told you, it’s just bonding. I wanna get to see the big, bad Travis Phelps in a new light,” Larry replied. His eyes darted back to the road to make sure they weren’t going to crash before he looked back at Travis, gaze traveling up and down his body. The Christian felt like he was being undressed.

“What if I don’t want to ‘bond’ with you?” Travis sneered. Larry couldn’t help the smile that broke out across his face, and Travis couldn’t help but cross his arms back over his chest, trying not to completely ruin his front. They both knew Travis would be putty in Larry’s hands.

A touch against his neck made him snap his attention back to Larry. The brunet’s own eyes flit back and forth from the road to Travis as his free hand traced patterns on the side of the blond’s neck. The shorter male roughly swallowed, disconcerted by the weird yet soft interaction. “Don’t worry angel, we’ll only do whatever you want to,” Larry purred, fingers dipping down to trace the base of Travis’s neck before lightly tugging at his sweater’s neckline. “But something tells me that you’re going to want to do a lot.”

Just as the gentle touches started, they stopped, leaving Travis alight. He tried to blame his longing for the caresses on the lack of positive physical affection in his own household, but that debate came up short in his own mind. He didn’t have to mull over the reason for long however because Larry’s hand suddenly rested on his thigh. Travis looked to the other, to see what game he was playing, but the metalhead was focused on the road, signaling their conversation was over for now. At first, the hand didn’t bother Travis too terribly much. He grew accustomed to its weight and warmth, could almost pretend it wasn’t there. However, when Larry started driving on back roads and subconsciously squeezing the boy under him at every dip in the road, the blond began to mind the hand very much. He knew the other, for once, wasn’t trying to get a rouse from Travis, but this might’ve been the best show Travis put on for him yet.

While Larry’s hand was resting on top his outer thigh, his fingers were curled against his inner. And while the placement was nowhere near his crotch, it still made Travis’s head spin. Right now, he was sat up stiff and straight, legs almost completely shut together. If he actually relaxed, slouched a bit, and let his legs spread to a more comfortable position, the hand would surely rest a lot higher on him. Travis wasn’t a fan of how much the idea excited him, but another part of him certainly was. The Christian could’ve screamed bloody murder when he realized he was starting to sport a hard on from just having a hand on his thigh, Larry’s hand no less. Instead, he looked out the passenger seats window and steeled himself, trying to calm down.

However, as fate would have it, the bastard beside him started to rub circles against him, fingertips curving all too pleasantly against Travis’s leg through his shorts. The blond knew in the back of his mind that it simply wasn’t normal for even a less disciplined man than himself to get hard from a hand on their leg, but Travis felt like he was positively burning. He looked like he was burning too. In the window, he could see his faint reflection, and a vicious blush dusted his features.

“Only about fifteen minutes away from the apartment complex,” Larry stated, casting a glance over to Travis. His eyebrows immediately furrowed at the sight. “Jesus, do you have a fever? My mom just got over the flu, can't be bringing any more illnesses into the house.”

“No! No, I’m fine,” Travis replied, words tumbling out quick. He ripped his gaze from the window to face Larry, offering a nerve stricken smile. Larry stared at him intently, eyes searching his face before they suddenly dropped down to his crotch.

“Oh my god,” Larry began, grip on Travis’s leg tightening.

“Fuck you,” Travis spat, jerking his leg away from Larry. His whole body shifted from the brunet, legs clamped together, but it was still easy to notice the tent in his pants.

“Apparently you really want to,” the brunet mused. His hand hovered in the air, as if he wanted to pry the other’s legs apart and see how much damage he had done, but he thought better of it. His thumbs drummed against the steering well as he grabbed it with both hands.

“Only in your wet dreams, Johnson,” Travis growled, and Larry really wanted to go into a hysteria of laughing. Only the blondie sat beside him would deny his attraction while there was a raging boner in his lap. Instead, he slowed the truck as he pulled off to the side of the road. He never cut the engine, just let it purr gently as the vehicle came to a halt. The change in pace startled Travis, and he felt his heart start to race. At this point, he didn’t know if it was from anxiety or anticipation. “What are you doing? Why are we stopped?”

Larry shifted in his seat to fully face Travis now that he wasn’t driving. The coy smirk that seemed to be ever present on his face broadened as he once again looked Travis up and down. The Christian could feel the blood rushing in his ears as Larry bit at his own finger for a second, seeming to decide something in his head. “Say Travis, have you ever heard of road head?”

#feel free to reblog #sally face #larry johnson #travis phelps #laravis #larvis #trarry #larry x travis #larry johnson x travis phelps #sally face fanfiction #sally face fanfic #steve gabry #portable moose

[prorevenge]

Touchdown.

As I recall this story, I’m aware that some of the comments said by the perpetrators below will seem a bit straw-man in their delivery, but keep in mind that this was in an area considered very extremist.

So, this took place back in high school. This was 8 years ago in the Midwest. I’m 25 now, and While I don’t cherish all that lead to this, I do fondly remember its conclusion.

When I was in 11th grade, I went to a school that had a really heavy emphasis on School Spirit. And honestly, that part was great. It didn’t just focus on sports and other clubs like it, but also celebrated AV, Debate, Dance, etc. We had a pretty good football team and My boyfriend at the time was a first string running back. I wasn’t on the cheerleading squad, but I often helped with choreography for them, Dance and Flag teams. Mostly because I didn’t want the stigma of being the only boy on the cheerleading squad.

I wasn’t often bullied myself. I mean, there was the occasional slur tossed at me in the hall by your run-of-the-mill homophobes. But as far as anything extreme went, it didn’t happen to me. I figured it was mostly due to the fact that I was pretty important to 3 school squads.

However, my boyfriend, when he finally came out and started dating me, did not get the same treatment from everyone. Maybe it was because he was supposed to be Masculine, tough guy, football star but things got a lot tougher for him really quick.

His family and close friends were pretty cool with it all, but school was a different story.

His teammates were the first to turn their backs on him. Treating him like dirt where a week before he was their ‘best friend.’ Obviously not all of them were like this, but enough of them were and they outshined the good players who didn’t mind.

He seemed to take most of it in stride, as he knew what he was getting into when he came out. He told me a little name calling wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle and ‘if being honest with them changed their attitudes so much, then they never really were his friends.’

However, this is @prorevenge. Things never really stop there.

Apparently, this change in attitude didn’t just stop at his teammates. His coach wasn’t a big fan of having a ‘fairy boy’ on his team, and began pushing my boyfriend to the absolute limit.

He had to do twice as much work as everyone else for no good reason. And then, he’d get benched for ‘slacking off’ during practice. This was clearly taking its toll on him and it was hard for me to sit by. I wanted to confront them, and to figure out how his personal life had any connection with his ability to play. But, I was 5’8”. The shortest guy on the team was 5’11”. They were 20 in total. I was 1, maybe more than that if I could convince some friends to back me up. They lifted weights, ate steel and shat bullets. I was a dancer, ate normally and shat healthily. The point is, I wouldn’t have stood a chance in a confrontation with these guys. So, for the moment, I let it go and made the most of BFs time with me.

However, one day, he showed up to my practice, bruised and sporting a swollen eye. Aka, a very frequent black eye. He sits next to me and before I can even ask what’s wrong, he cries for what was the only time I ever saw him crack. I was furious and asked him to tell me what the actual fuck happened and told me something that still makes me queasy to this day.

Apparently it was weight room training day for the team. That room with all the weights and treadmills and such. And as usual, my boyfriend was told to run twice as much and lift twice as much as everyone else. Apparently Coach was having a shit day and decided to push him the hardest he’d ever been pushed. He couldn’t take it and passed out temporarily when he stopped. He said he was only out for a few seconds (thank god.) but when he came to, his coach was looking down on him both physically and metaphorically. He apparently told him that he wasn’t even fit to be on the team if he couldn’t even run without passing out like a ‘sissy’.

Then my boyfriend told me he shared a look with the other team members and left the room. And then several other members started taking turns wailing on him, kicking him and spitting on him. It didn’t go on for long before a few of the good teammates got them to cut it out and he finally managed to get out of the weight room and find me.

I consoled him, but I felt my blood burn from the rage I felt. I know people bullshit all the time about ‘blacking out’ and going all primal on a bitch, but I felt that feeling. Like all reason was gonna flood out of my brain and I was gonna find a bat and crack knees. But my boyfriend practically pleaded with me to not say anything. He said he didn’t want it to get worse, and picking a fight wouldn’t make it better. So I sucked it up but felt the wheels in my head start turning. Something needed to be done.

I couldn’t let this go on. So I started thinking and I figured out a way to get these bastards. To pin them with all of their shit and get some justice for my boyfriend.

I had quite a few friends all across the school. Cheerleading, Dance, Flag and, most importantly, AV Club (Since they recorded most performances for Dance and Show Choir.)

I got a few of my cheerleader friends in on my scheme and convinced our coach to let us practice near the team that day. It was almost playoff season so it wasn’t a hard push. Furthermore, I asked if my AV club friend, Ciara, could record our routines so we could review them so I could see if anyone needed work. She was a really chill coach and said yes to that too. Obviously we hoped to catch these guys on film, and use it as evidence against them... and hope something came of it. Honestly, it wasn’t the best plan but it was what I came up with.

When we got to the field that day, I began running through the steps of a routine we came up with while our plan was put into motion.

And it was a nightmare for me. I heard the coach and saw his treatment first hand. Screaming at my boyfriend to work harder, run faster. And his teammates heckled and pushed him around in their all-to-subtle ways. ‘Accidentally’ throwing passes at his head. Shoulder checking him when they lined up for Defensive Drills.

But I knew I couldn’t say anything yet. He’d be upset if I stepped in and the tormenting wouldn’t get better. So I bit my lip and endured.

I was beginning to think we weren’t going to get anything. If we showed our principal or administration what we’d seen, the Coach or the players could just spin it as harmless heckling and ‘seeing the potential in him’ as an excuse to push him harder.

But luck finally got on our side, and another pass came flying towards BF and hit him square in his black eye.

I flinched when I saw it. He fell to his knees and cried out. I ran over to check on him and see if he was okay. He said he was fine but I could see his ‘good’ shining with tears. It clearly hurt a lot. I heard them laughing. The coach chuckling and those assholes who hurt him in the first place.

I just couldn’t hold my tongue anymore. I wasn’t known for shouting or cussing but I turned, my nastiest snarl on my face and screamed “What the actual fuck is wrong with your asses?”

The football twats started ‘Oooh’ing at us and the coach shook his head. “What? Does he need his boyfriend to fight his battles now?” He said.

I told him that he and his stupid team was the reason he was hurt in the first place. This didn’t deter him. I don’t remember his exact words, but he said something to the effect of “You should be happy I’m even letting this faggot on my team.” And told me that he’d speak with the coach about my position with the Other teams. Get me kicked off so I had nothing.

I looked back at Ciara. Thank God she had the wherewithal to bring her camera closer to watch him. I stood up, taking BFs hand and leaving the field, middle finger raised as I left. When I finally met up with Ciara, she told me she got the whole thing. I still wasn’t happy, but I was relieved we finally had something on these bastards. She told me she’d have a friend get it ready and we’d go to the Principal that week.

We went to her a couple of days later with our evidence and she was almost as furious as I was. She informed us that she was almost ready to call my boyfriend into the office to ban him from the team because his grades had slipped drastically over the past few months. From honor roll to Cs and Ds. Now she knew the reason. She called in the Coach and had us stick by to corroborate our story. When she asked the question, he did exactly what I thought he would do. He spun it like it was some ‘great potential’ he saw in my boyfriend, but that if it was costing him his grades, he’d inform him that he’d need to get them up or be barred.

I almost grinned like a Cheshire Cat when she turned her monitor around and showed him the footage of him insulting and threatening me and my boyfriend. He was stunned silent, and I was on Cloud 9 with a grin only the fucking sun could hope to match. She asked us to go to class for the day and we did, and awaited the fallout.

And oh my God was it sweet. First and foremost, BF was offered a chance to complete his missing work, no penalties. His grades got back to their previous state. But the best part was the Coach’s immediate firing for ‘Blatent Discrimination and Encouraging violence on a student.’ He wasn’t a teacher so finding a replacement wasn’t difficult. The Principal sent out emails to various schools and the Superintendent of our district and explained the situation. No way was he getting any more jobs in this area.

Furthermore, the jerks who actually committed the act faced not only suspension, but also were kicked off of the team. Most of them had to spend their Senior Year watching Sophomores and Second String players win their playoff game. They didn’t win the Championship but they did make it into the top 10.

But most importantly, my boyfriend was able to resume a relatively normal life.

We broke up after high school. I moved across country for School and he went to our State College. But we maintain a healthy friendship to this day. We try to talk at least twice a year. And we saw each other at our 5 year reunion. He’s happily married to a new guy and I’m in a great relationship and we all hit it off.

I never knew what happened to those guys or the Coach after High School. But I like to think that losing out on what they did may have taught them a lesson. And if not... well may God have mercy on their hateful asses. I certainly won’t.

(source) story by (/u/Kayden_Pauser)

#prorevenge #by /u/Kayden_Pauser #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

[justanultrastressedwriter]

Aw Hell No - Ch I

Next          Masterlist

TW: Homophobia (slurs), Violence, Swearing. Let me know if I should tag anything else

“Uh, DJ! Can’t you believe it?” the bouncy redhead squealed to her tall, curly-haired best friend with excitement.

“Can’t believe what? That you could somehow reach super supersonic levels this early in the morning?” the guy standing next to her muttered, frowning down at his best friend.

“Don’t be a dick, Daniel. Can’t you at least pretend to be excited? It’s the first day of our senior year! This is the home stretch, baby!” the short imp said, with an excited grin on her face.

“Charlotte Elizabeth Thomas. It's barely even 8 am, I’ve only had one cup coffee because you, for some ungodly reason, wanted to get to school ridiculously early, you have been shrieking in my ear for the last half hour, and I have the first period with the teacher who hates me the most because he’s the most bigoted person on the face of the Earth. What the hell do I have to be excited about?” Daniel James frowned at her, glaring. He was nowhere near being a morning person like his best friend was. Daniel could barely function before 9 am without numerous cups of coffee.

“Well, Mr. Grumpy Gills, for starters you have little old me. I’m taking the time out of my busy life to grace you with my perfect existence. My mere presence should make you ecstatic, you utter peasant.” she said cheekily, tilting her head to the side and raising her chin arrogantly. Daniel couldn’t help but crack a smile at her.

“Charlie, I have no fucking idea how I have managed to be your best friend. Your massive ego should be your best friend instead of me, you annoying little twerp.” Daniel teased.

“But, I’m your annoying little twerp and you can’t help but love me,” Charlie said with a reckless grin and a quirked eyebrow.

Daniel was about to respond with one of his famous witty one-liners when his thoughts were interrupted by a strong force against his back, shoving his face into the cool metal of the lockers he had been leaning on. He knew that at least one bruise would appear there the next day.

“Happy first day of school, faggot.” a voice hissed from behind him. He could hear the sneer and disdain in the person’s voice, which helped him recognize the voice. It made his muscles tense as he turned to face the biggest prick in the entire school.

Connor Smith; the popular jock that had been tormenting Daniel since they were in preschool. It had started back then with small childish antics: the breaking of crayons and toys, blaming Daniel for everything - which made all of their teachers peg him as a troublemaker and hate him, despite being one of the quietest and most polite kids in school - and a long list of other things that didn’t really matter in the long run.

Ever since Daniel had been forced out of the closet in their freshman year, though, Connor Smith and the entire school had gotten worse. Connor had inspired the football team on numerous occasions to jump Daniel in the school parking lot after school or to tie him to the goalposts naked, they all constantly shoved Daniel in the halls and into lockers, made him spill his lunch all over himself, broke into his locker to ruin his textbooks or his schoolwork and notes, but those were just things the sport teams did. The entire school would simply trip him or call him cute pet names, ‘useless queer’, ‘faggot’, or Daniel’s favorite ‘dirty little cocksucker’.

Of course, no one ever did anything about Daniel’s predicament. The best people would turn the other cheek to everything going on. Daniel’s mom had gone to the school boards countless times, even a few teachers had gone to the administrations on his behalf, but nothing happened. Either it was because “they were just boys being boys”, “that there wasn’t enough evidence”, or that Daniel brought this upon himself either by not sticking up for himself but Daniel knew what they really meant.

“Hey, Meathead! Leave him alone! He’s done nothing to you!” Charlie yelled, getting as fiery as her red hair and glaring up at the jock. Standing at 5’3”, Charlie yelling at Connor, who stood at a whopping 6' 3”, looked like David challenging Goliath. It could have been considered comical by an outside party.

Connor smirked as if he were amused, but then his favorite lackey spoke up, with a lustrous look. “You wanna dance, Red? I can make sure you have a great time. I can think of so many ways to make you scream.”

Charlie’s cheeks turned red at the implications and she began to struggle for words. Daniel felt a fire of anger ignite up within his chest. He knew exactly how uncomfortable his best friend was about anything sexual. She hadn’t even kissed anyone for fucks’ sake. So Daniel came to her rescue, standing up to his full height to look the jerk in the eyes and shield his best friend from the pair of Neanderthals. “Leave her alone, Tyler. She has nothing to do with this, you know that. Your problem is with me.”

Tyler Roberts. Daniel’s second-biggest tormentor and Connor’s best friend/lackey. He was also known for being the biggest man-whore around having slept his way through at least half of the town.

“Or what, fag?” Tyler said, his voice filled with scorn and disgust, making Daniel flinch at the word.

“Or we’ll take our problem to the cops, jackass,” Daniel said, glaring at the other boy. “You are eighteen, right? How does jail sound to you? And if not, oh well. I’ll just settle for getting you kicked off the football team. That will lead you to have a problem with the rest of the football team and Coach Jamison- aren’t y’all expected to go to the playoffs this year? I don’t think the team will make it without their starting lineman, huh? Not to mention all of the colleges that are willing to offer you sports scholarships. The rest of the world is pretty damn liberal these days, I don’t think they’ll take too kindly to you being charged with a hate crime against a poor innocent gay kid, now would they? But by all means, if you want to risk it all by beating me to a pulp - then bring it on, asshole. I’ve been through worse and I’ve got nothing to lose.”

Daniel raised his arms out to his sides in a challenge. He’d rather get his ass kicked a dozen times over than watch those goons touch his best friend again. He watched as the larger Neanderthal’s brain worked through the concept that actions do have consequences.

Apparently, Connor’s brain worked a lot quicker than his counterpart, because he clasped a hand onto Tyler’s shoulder as if to calm him.

“Danny-boy’s right, man. There’s too much at stake for us.” Connor turned back to Daniel with a glare, “We’re not finished here, faggot.”

As the two jocks walked away, Daniel and Charlie shared a look and a sigh of relief, “You okay, Char?”

“I should be asking you the same thing, sweetie. They barely even looked at me.” Charlie said, looking at her best friend with concern.

Daniel shrugged, rubbing his forehead. “I’m just so tired of this shit, Charlie. These giant jackasses thinking that I’m dirt just because I’m gay. It’s so fucking stupid. But, I mean, are they right? Am I less than they are because I’m a faggot?”

Standing at 5 foot ten, with curly black hair that was constantly hanging in his light grey eyes framed by the pair of round glasses that rested on his freckle covered nose, Daniel James was gay.

After coming out to his two best friends at the time Charlie and one of their former friends Grace, he was forced out of the closet. Grace had panicked after hearing the news and she told her parents who then told the entire town and because they lived in a small-ass town in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere of the deep South. That made Daniel a social pariah.

Charlie pulled her best friend into a tight hug, “Oh, honey, no. You are not less than them. If anything, you’re so much more. You don’t have to put other people down to make yourself feel big. All of these ignorantly homophobic assholes are piles of shit compared to you.”

Daniel felt himself be slightly comforted by his friend’s words, but he couldn’t stop the negative thoughts and self-disgust running through his head. The bell for the first period rang, causing the two to pull apart. Daniel grimaced, knowing what that bell meant. For the next fifty minutes, he would be at the will and mercy of the most bigoted teacher on the small campus. “Wish me luck.”

“Oh, yeah. You’ve got P.E. with Coach Jamison, huh? Hell, yeah. I wish you all the luck in the world. You’re gonna need it.” Charlie said with a playful grin.

“Don’t remind me,” Daniel said, rolling his eyes and walking towards the boy’s locker room to change into the required gym uniform. Hopefully, if he got there early enough, Daniel could change in peace and hurry into the gym to get this torture over with.

Daniel found the locker to be empty and he quickly changed out of his flannel and T-shirt, then entered the gymnasium where Coach Jamison glared at him as if Daniel was a piece of dirt on his shoe. It made Daniel’s throat clench.

Daniel hung his head in shame and waited patiently for everyone else to show up in silence. Daniel only looked up after the door opened and he could feel someone’s eyes on him and what he saw made beads of sweat appear on his brow and his throat clench. It was Connor Smith, wearing a grin that sent chills down Daniel’s spine. He thought, ‘This class just somehow got even worse. Fuck me.’

#tw homophobia #my writing #soulmate au #aw hell no

[channyperkinsuniverse]

I Won’t Tell

That his father never noticed the change was typical. He never noticed anything. Once when he returned home after he’d been missing for two days, the only thing Howie knew was that dinner hadn’t been cooked, and he’d gone hungry. Nolan knew about his fathers’ important work, and how he’d stay for hours in his work shed. Sometimes he’d sleep out there, so Nolan was used to being alone. But this wasn’t the loneliness again. This was different. All Nolan’s emotions were gone. He didn’t feel a thing. One minute he ran and locked his bedroom door, and the next he was laying on his bed and everything in him drained out. If he were asked to explain the feeling he would say, “If emotions were blood I unknowingly opened an artery. They just poured out. And then I felt... empty.” Because Nolan wasn’t exactly the dramatic kind. He never even cried until that day when Anthony Duncan hit him in the face with a tree branch used like a baseball bat. Anthony was a coward, but that hurt. Nolan washed the blood off his face in the bathroom. It didn’t cause that much damage. His chin was scraped. His jaw that was fragile and thin hurt though. It felt like he couldn’t open his mouth. The blood on his teeth must have come from his split lip. The boys were always hanging out at the corner. Anthony hated him because, not only was he a year younger at fifteen and Anthony could get away with picking fights with him, but his friends accepted the abuse simply out of the fact that Nolan was fragile. “Where you going faggot?” Anthony stayed right beside him as if he wanted an answer. Nolan just kept walking, a little bit into Maude’s rose bushes to get around him. Of course, Howie didn’t notice. Not at dinner. He didn’t even look up from his plate as he shoveled food with his spoon. Nolan thought of telling him about the fight, but as soon as he opened his mouth he shut it again. No. It was best. He didn’t want to have to tell his dad what the kids at school said about him. Now, he laid in his bed and thought about the whole thing. Feeling... Nothing. As he said, it all drained out of him. He stared at the ceiling and thought some more. Getting hit in the face was just the beginning. Just Anthony getting a taste and then running... Two days. They were the worst two days of his life. How does a dad not call the police, or even know when his son’s gone? It happened in the morning. Nolan was on his way to school. He walked down past Maude’s house, and her rose bushes. Her usually crabby thing to say was “Don’t you go messing up my roses. I saw where you came from, and I won’t hesitate to pay a visit to your parents.” Nolan has always denied it. That morning, though, he said, “You don’t have to worry. After today, you’ll never see me again.” See, Nolan thought about it. He thought about it a lot. He also thought of leaving this place behind and never coming back. Who’d miss him? The only worse thing in the world would be they wouldn’t notice him even where he was going. If he went on forever and no one ever noticed him, that would truly be unfortunate. Nolan wanted them to notice. He wanted them all to notice. And remember. He waited for the bus, and that’s when it happened. His hood went over his face. He couldn’t see a thing, but he could feel someone pull him against them. Right down the street, Howie was still in the work shed. No one heard Nolan screaming. It went from the airy morning outside to a confined quiet inside. That’s when he knew he was in someone’s house. That someone had him by the elbows, pulling them back. Out the bottom of his hood he saw exposed floor planks, and they were down a hall. Whoever it was, they knew they were alone because Nolan’s voice in the house didn’t seem to bother him. “Who are you? Please let me go. I need to go to school.” He shoved Nolan in the closet with all the laundry put in nice neat bags. Falling over them, his hood flipped back, but Nolan only saw the door close out the light. Now, in his room, sitting up in his bed, Nolan couldn’t lie to himself. He always knew there was something about Anthony. Something familiar. He thought about it more after it happened because then he still had to see Anthony Duncan every single day. The same stupid grin like he knew he’d gotten away with it. Telling the same stupid friends that “Nolan’s a faggot!” He had to know that Nolan would be too humiliated to tell. Who would believe Nolan, anyway? “Yeah, keep walking, creep!” Anthony yelled. Nolan didn’t want to be the way he was. In the house, Anthony wanted to know if he had girl parts, and if he wore girls’ underwear. That was all people thought being gay was. Being a freak. But, you say, someone else should’ve known Nolan was gone. Where’s his mother? Oh her. Don’t ask. She’s long gone. Just Nolan and his dad now. Nolan guesses it’s because she couldn’t handle her child being a freak. He really hated himself for that. Howie tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault. Once. On the day she left. But that was it. No explanation or further encouragement. “It’s not your fault, boy.” And then he walked back to the work shed. Now, it was getting late. The room was turning a shade of blue. It was time for dinner, but Nolan wasn’t making dinner tonight. First, he went to the work shed. Howie was... experimental. Put in Nolan’s own words, he said, “Dad taught me the most. Especially, that he never gave up. I respect that more than he’ll ever know.” He took a walk right after. It was dinner time in other neighbors’ houses, too. At Maude’s house, no crass warnings about her roses. That was a good thing. For her. Then, down the street where he took the bus, the place where someone pulled the hood over his head, and the place where he used to be afraid. He didn’t feel afraid anymore. No, that’s not true. He was about to never feel afraid again. He saw Anthony Duncan out by his trash can. He was looking cautiously back at the lighted house like he was hiding. They obviously didn’t know he vaped... raped... abused innocent boys... When Nolan got closer, Anthony almost saw him. He was pretty sure he recognized him as Nolan pulled the gardeners’ wire. The detective who interviewed Nolan asked, “What’d you do with Anthony Duncan? We know you killed your father, and we have witnesses who saw you taking a walk the night Anthony went missing. Make this easy on yourself, and tell us where he is.” Nolan smiled. There was one feeling that survived... Nostalgia. He said, “Don’t you go messing up her rose bushes. She doesn’t like it.” Rose bushes! Rose bushes! He heard the detective yelling orders to search the neighborhood for houses with rose bushes as he ran out of the room. Finally! Someone noticed. © Chandra Perkins 10/26/2019

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