#these gay people got me listening to we go together from GREASE . what the fuck

[unluckyprime]

we go together!!🎶 ⚡️❤️

#these gay people got me listening to we go together from GREASE . what the fuck #they also made me draw a car. literally criminal #added the green to hermies ascot last minute cuz #without any green it just DIDNT look like my boy #dndads #dungeons and daddies #oakworthy #normal oak #hermie the unworthy #hermie unworthy #digital art #grease

[dehydratedpool]

hello again!! it’s the beginning of a new month, meaning a new fic rec post!! here are some fics that i read this month that are just... exquisite and deserve all the love and attention <3 

there aren’t as many as last time unfortunately, since i was quite busy this past month, but i promise next month won’t fall short! ((fics that i’ve reread this month are indicated with a **))

Foolishly Laying Our Hearts On The Table [11k] by runaway_train @runaway-train-works 

“You think Harry wants that?”

“Dunno. Maybe. Wanna make him happy.” Harry takes advantage of the red light he’s pulled up to turn and look properly at Louis’ face. He’s not even looking in Harry’s direction though, focused instead on something out of his side window, head drooped, mindlessly playing with the string of his hoodie between his fingers, lost in his own world somewhere. For some reason, it makes Harry’s spine straighten.

“Because he’s your best mate?” Harry questions carefully.

“He’s my boyfriend.”

He couldn’t have heard him right. “What?”

Louis releases a deep breath, still not turning around. Harry wonders who he thinks he’s talking to right now. “He’s so pretty. Want to kiss him all day long. And buy him a big house and give him presents and marry him.”

Or; The one where Harry is in love with his best friend Louis but doesn't think he stands a chance until some wisdom teeth and a rather unusual confession might just change his mind.

--> this is a new comfort fic for me tbh. i got rec’d this after louis tweeted about getting his wisdom teeth removed, and i’m so SO glad i decided to give it a read. it’s so precious and lovely and personally, i found it to be a quick read. it’s the kind of fic that makes me both warm and fuzzy inside but also highly upset that i’m single and will surely be alone forever

Just Let Me [14k] by HelloAmHere 

The party was going well. So well, Niall had already sworn undying love to one multi-tiered chocolate cake, two friendly corgi-poodle mixes, Zayn’s hair, and the entire population of Los Angeles. So well, Zayn had only laughed and ruffled Niall’s hair and not even twitched towards a cigarette. So well, nearly everyone had spilled far past the boundaries of the night’s original plans, extracting bottles of vodka from the cabinets and losing a lot of clothes. Harry had proclaimed that he was finally going to throw a small and very grownup dinner party and of course here they were three hours later, fifty people half-naked in the pool. Soon to be full-naked, if Louis had to guess. Everybody in LA loved a heated pool. Everybody loved Harry.

--> ok LISTEN. as some of you know, i just recently got into reading a/b/o fics and this one is definitely at the top of my fave a/b/o fics out there. it’s an interesting take on the trope, almost a bit more realistic in my opinion, and to quote the author’s note, “’what if a/b/o but less biological determinism?’”. i believe i found this one through a masterpost of “touch-deprivation fics”, so if that’s your thing, give this one a chance!

my ugly mouth kept running [4k] by theankletattoo @hadestyles

Another seed, another try except they know what caused the first wilt. They will be careful, they will be kind and together they will nurture it to life.

sometimes second chances are more important than the first.

--> rori, the author, never fails to disappoint when it comes to all of her works. i’ve said it once and i’ll say it again, she’s so incredibly fucking talented it’s unreal. her imagery is so vivid and real it leaves simultaneously everything and nothing to the imagination. as usual, h and l’s dynamic in this is an addicting portion to this fic that has you anticipating how their dynamic will shift and grow up until the end. if you’ve yet to read any of rori’s work, i suggest you add that to your to-do list for the month, and get a head start to her collection with this one!

**As Wicked As Anything Could Be [21k] by whoknows @crazyupsetter

It starts when Louis decides that he wants to lose his cherry and announces that he thinks the best way to do that is by going to a gay club. Naturally, Harry can’t let him go alone, so he tags along and spends the night rating guys with Louis until someone finally catches Louis’s eye.

Harry shoves him out to dance with the guy, and he can already tell that it’s going to be a quick and dirty hook up, so he’s not surprised that Louis and the guy disappear into the bathroom ten minutes later.

It is a surprise when Louis comes out not even two minutes later, pale and clammy, grabs Harry by the hand and drags him right out the door.

Somehow Harry comes to the decision that it would be a good idea for him to be in the room with Louis while Louis gets laid.

It’s a stupid fucking decision.

--> i discovered this fic a while ago on a whim and i have zero regrets. this is absolutely on my top ten fave fics list (that has yet to exist but perhaps i’ll post it one day). whoknows is a well known author within the fandom, so i’m sure i don’t have to say much about their immense talent, but SERIOUSLY, their plot progression, even their use of dialogue is wonderful in every way. as a writer, i envy them lmao. this fic takes me on a rollercoaster every time i read it, it’s yet another comfort fic of mine and never fails to disappoint every time i pick it up again. please, do yourselves a favor this april and read this.

Keeping The Flame Alive [19k] by whoknows @crazyupsetter 

Recording with One Direction never felt like this. There’s a couple reasons for that, Harry thinks. One is that they did most of their recording on the road, rushed and in busses and hotel rooms, never in one place long enough to really get an argument going. The other, larger and more important one, is that back then he had the sweetest, meanest little omega around to distract him from all of that frustration.

The first time around, when he’d been recording his debut solo album, it hit him pretty hard. He likes to think he’s better adjusted to it now, but frustration is warring under his skin nonetheless. He doesn’t want to be told what to do most of the time, and he especially doesn’t want to be told what to do when it comes to his music.

What he does want right now is that sweet, mean little omega right in front of him with his mouth on Harry’s cock. Unfortunately, the best he’s got is his own hand and a shared toilet. So. That’s really not going to work.

--> yes, for the first time in dehydratedpoolfics history of fic recs even tho i’ve only been doing this for a month i am rec’ing the same author twice, but seriously, how could i not??? this fic took me on a literal journey like... wtf. i have no words. seriously, i have none, i’m just that blown away, go read it for yourself .

**a trail of honey through it all [27k] by bruisedhoney @yvesaintlourent 

The boy in front of him, well really, the man in front of him, was like something out of a confusing wet dream. Built, tall, tan and muscular, his skin glistened with sweat after a long day of working outdoors with his hands. He was wearing a cut up old American football shirt, the bottom hem was torn and the sleeves were cut off to the point where the t-shirt was really just a loose tank top. The shorts he had on had clearly been full length jeans at one point, and were now just crudely cut off above the knee. His white socks were pulled up too high on his calves, and the brown work boots he had on were old as fuck, the leather peeling along the edges of the soles. Curly brown hair stuck out from the edges of his backwards snapback, and there was a smudge of grease wiped along his brow bone. The smattering of hair along his jaw proved that he hadn’t shaved in a week or two, the hair growing in thicker across his upper lip and around his chin. His sinfully bowed mouth was pink and plump, and Louis was suddenly hyper-focused on the way that he chewed at the toothpick stuck between his lips. He looked like he needed a shower. Louis wanted to lick him.

Or, the TPH fic we’ve all been waiting for.

--> okay look. i may or may not have a slight obsession with this fic. i reread it constantly, mostly for the iconic line, “are we fuckin’ or fightin’?”, because how can i not scream over that?? ((also patiently waiting for the sequel)) this is a literary masterpiece, one that defines an entire generation of this fandom i stg. but in all seriousness, hayley, the author, does such a wonderful job of giving the reader a vivid look into “nowhere, georgia”, and as a southern gal myself, i absolutely adore the itty bitty pieces of southern culture embedded into this, the tiny quirks that make this fic authentic. i could probably go on forever on why this fic is so iconic, but perhaps you should read it for yourself instead *wink* *wink*

SO. that’s all for this month!! if you read any of these, first of all, be sure to read the tags and author’s note (if any) before starting, AND please don’t forget to leave a quick kudos or comment, it means more than you may ever know <3

#fic recs #fic rec #yourlarrysource #hlcreators #hljournal #harry styles #louis tomlinson #larry stylinson #fanfiction #writing #march 2021 fic recs

[ineverlookavvay]

bisexual-aliens-in-arms

Isobel drags Michael to Planet 7 for pride night. It goes far better than expected.

Bi Visibility Day - Day 7 of Michael Guerin Week 2020

cw: alcohol, referenced child abuse, internalized homophobia

Read it on Ao3

“No, “ Michael said, aiming for firm.  “I don’t have time, Iz.”

Isobel scoffed.  “What, are you going to be working on cars all night long?”

There was actually a fairly big backlog of cars to work on, and Michael found he needed the distraction more often than not recently.  Life was complicated, increasingly so, and cars were simple, designed to be a certain way and logically never stray from that.  People sucked a lot more than cars, objectively.  

“Maybe I am.”

“Michael.”  Isobel leaned down onto the hood of the car he was trying to work on, annoyingly in his way.  She was giving him her ‘cut the bullshit’ look, which he was historically not very good at escaping.  “It’s one night, and it’s important to me.  Please come out?”

“I don’t do theme nights.”

Isobel scoffed again, rolling her eyes and trodding directly onto his ego.  “Come on, Michael.  This is my first pride month and you’re supposed to be my bisexual-alien-in-arms.”  She changed tactic abruptly, making the most irritating pouty face he’d ever seen.  “You’re not really going to make me go alone, are you?”

Michael sighed, wiping grease off his hands onto his jeans.  Fucking hell.  “Fine, but you gotta leave me alone for at least a few hours, okay?”  Isobel clapped gleefully.  “You know, some of us work.”

“Let me know if any of those people want a job,” Sanders cut in, ducking in on his way out, looking at Michael’s progress skeptically and ignoring Michael’s scowl.  “Do some damn work.”

“Hell does it look like I’m doing?” Michael called out as Sanders left, still scowling.  Michael fixed a tight smile on Isobel.  “Later, okay?”

She shrugged.  “Fine, but be ready to go at eight.  And try not to look so…” she waved her hand at his general appearance, “mechanic-y.”

Michael wanted to protest that he always looked ‘mechanic-y’ on account of he was a damn mechanic, and besides, the grungy blue-collar cowboy look was still popular as far as he could tell; but seeing as he’d already caved, he would certainly end up losing this argument, too.  So instead, he turned his attention back to the cars.  Michael liked working with his hands, he liked fixing things.  Sure, he might fuck up every relationship he’d ever had, he might break the things in his life constantly, but he could take a broken car and make it a working car, and that was something.  

He was not so secretly dreading the evening, though.  He let himself drift far enough into his work that he wasn’t actively panicking about going to a damn pride night at the local gay bar, which he’d never actually been to, no matter how many times Isobel tried to convince him how great it was.  It’s not that Michael was ashamed, he really wasn’t—but he’d experienced enough bigots and assholes in his life to know that he didn’t need to paint an extra target on his back, either.  

Who he fucked was his own business, and that was how he preferred to keep it.  Isobel was reveling in her newfound sexuality, and he wasn’t about to ruin that for her, but he also knew that a rich white woman was a lot less of a target than a trailer trash cowboy.  He also had an existential dread of any place that resulted in Isobel leaving at the end of the night dripping in glitter.    

Michael didn’t do glitter, and he didn’t do pride month—or at least he hadn’t—and he’d much rather just spend a night with Isobel at the Wild Pony celebrating themselves quietly with a drink that didn’t have anything in it besides the liquor.  Hell, they could go there and celebrate themselves raucously, as long as no one had to know the reason for the celebrating.  

His attempt to distract himself resulted in successfully losing track of time, which meant Isobel was already standing in the junkyard tapping her foot when he went inside to shower and change.  

“You don’t have anything cuter than that?” she asked skeptically when he emerged, clean and dressed in a black button-down.  Isobel was wearing a purplish iridescent crop top that probably came out of her closet circa 2010 and incredibly tight dark blue jeans, with multiple strings of shiny necklaces around her neck.  

“Sorry, I don’t own anything that shiny.”  

That got him a smile at least.  “Listen, Michael, the whole point of pride is to look hot,” he was pretty sure that wasn’t true, “get laid,” he was sure that one was wrong, “and be out and proud while doing it.”  She looked so proud of herself right then that Michael didn’t have the heart to argue.  “Plus, the bi flag has really nice colors.”

Michael smiled in spite of himself.  “Iz, you got me to go with you, you really want to jeopardize that by shit talking my clothing?”

Frowning slightly, she shrugged.  “Fine, but this is why no one thinks you’re the fun alien.” 

“Hey!  I am definitely the fun one,” he argued, striding towards her car and settling in for an inane but companionable argument.

Michael liked bars, in general.  He liked the dark corners and the dirty floors and the smell of alcohol and the down home music and the bluster of it all.  He liked sitting at a bar nursing a drink and feeling like a part of something just by virtue of drinking beside other people.  But Michael hated Planet 7. 

First of all, the whole damn place was trying too hard.  It had far too many lights, all of them overly complicated and flashing stupid colors.  It had a DJ instead of a jukebox, which Isobel implied was something special, that he should be pleased to be experiencing, much to his chagrin.  It had more glitter and confetti littering the floor and on the bar and on the tables than Michael had ever hoped to see in one place.  All the drinks were obscured by ridiculous garnishes.  There was someone sitting at the end of the bar stenciling with face paint on people’s faces, another thing Isobel assured him was a fun and exciting theme night thing.  But most of all, it didn’t make Michael feel safe, or comfortable, or known; this wasn’t his place.

Isobel looked like she’d just walked into her surprise birthday party, though, grinning and strutting in like she owned the place.  “Come on, I’ve been dreaming about their drinks,” she said, beaming, and Michael reluctantly followed her over to the bar.  Michael realized quickly that she hadn’t been dreaming about the drink so much as the bartender.  Which, fair enough. 

Michael let her talk and flirt and took the time to look around again, hoping to find something to be complimentary about so Isobel wouldn’t feel she had to prove how great it all was to him.  It was his own fault then, when he accidentally saw Alex across the room, leaning against a wall, deep in conversation with someone that looked suspiciously like Kyle.  Michael’s stomach did a flip and he turned quickly away, back to Isobel and the bar, half hoping Alex hadn’t seen him.  Michael knew that Alex was single again, or at least that was the last he’d heard, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be caught staring outright. 

“Here,” Isobel thrust a drink into his hand that had a little light-up rainbow color-changing cube masquerading as an ice cube at the bottom of it.  Michael rolled his eyes.  “So what are you feeling?  Wanna dance?  Or I think they’re painting pride flags on people’s faces?”  She sounded giddy, her cheeks flushed and her hair already covered in a ridiculous amount of glitter.  

Michael didn’t have the heart to let her down by telling her he’d rather eat sand than dance or get his face painted without at least a few drinks in his system.  “Whatever you want.” 

Isobel beamed at him.  “See, I knew this would be fun.” 

“Yep,” Michael said, plastering a smile on his fast as she led him over to the person doing the face paint, “cause I’m the fun one.”

By the time he was sitting on a bar stool with someone striping color across his face, Michael was on his second drink, and Isobel's face was already a melty palette of pink, blue, and purple. 

“Isn’t this great?” Isobel said, standing over him and dancing to some unbearable pop song, shaking glitter out of her own hair all over Michael’s head and shoulders.  He could feel it falling onto him like tiny raindrops, securing itself to his shirt and hair and skin with some invisible, terrible glitter power.  He wondered idly how many showers it was going to take until he could walk around without constantly catching the glint of it out of the corner of his eye.  

“Yeah,” Michael agreed, standing up as the face painter proclaimed he was done.  His cheek felt strange, stiff and cold, and he couldn’t get the last of the alcohol out of his glass around the giant fake ice cube.    

“Hey, we have to take a picture,” Isobel said, grinning wider and pulling out her phone while she dragged their faces close enough together to fit into the selfie frame.  She pulled back to look at the picture, nodding with happy satisfaction.  “We are hot,” she proclaimed, “and proud.  Two badass bisexuals.” 

Michael nodded distractedly.  He needed another drink, or maybe just some fresh air, or for the DJ to turn down the goddamned bass, or something.  He hated the feeling of the face paint, and he hated the selfie, he hated how unlike himself he looked, glittery and colorful and trying to smile in a crowd.  Michael stumbled backwards, turning around to face the bar in what he hoped was a mostly intentional-looking maneuver.  He needed another drink.  

The bartender nodded at him and Isobel, bringing over two more glasses of whatever they were drinking.  “Lookin’ good,” she said, and Michael’s chest felt tight. 

It was too loud, and too warm, and Isobel was talking but he couldn’t make out what she was saying.  He drank almost frantically, trying to get enough alcohol into his system that he stopped caring about any of this shit.  Michael glanced around the bar, at all of the people laughing and smiling and looking like they fit in perfectly, and Michael had never felt more like an alien.   He needed to get out, just for a moment, just to catch his breath.  

“I’m, uh, I’m gonna find the bathroom,” he said, coherently enough, and pushed past Isobel towards the back hallway.   

The bathroom was thankfully empty, and quiet as the door swung shut behind him, the music that was so pervasive in the bar just a tinny echo.  Michael braced himself on one of the sinks, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the scratched mirror.  It was just all so much, and it should have been easy, and the fact that it wasn’t was creating a cacophony of different feelings in his mind, all of it blending together into something like panic.  Michael opened his eyes, willing himself to stay in control.  

He looked at himself in the mirror, and he hated the frantic look in his eyes, hated the smear of color across his cheek like a brand, hated that he could be so comfortable with himself and yet so shaken.  He could feel the urge to push it all away, violently, to shove and shake and break—the only way he had now to make the noise in his head stop.  Michael gripped the sink and thought about tearing the room apart.  He could see it, sinks and toilets tearing out of the wall, tiles slamming against one another into dust, the mirrors cracking and shattering.  The vision of destruction filled his mind, and he was in the middle of it, silent in the eye of the storm, caught in the tornado of his own making—

The door to the bathroom swung open, and Alex stepped through it, looking concerned.  “Are you okay?” 

The vision dropped away from Michael’s eyes, leaving him with only himself, standing in a public bathroom feeling terrified and self-destructive.  He watched in the mirror as Alex twisted the lock on the door and took another cautious step forward. 

“Are you okay?” Alex repeated. “Because you looked not okay.”

“I’m fine,” Michael said, even though his voice sounded thin and shaken.  Alex stepped towards him again and Michael pressed himself forward, closer to the sink, like he could climb into the mirror and avoid this interaction.  It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to Alex, because he did, badly, but he didn’t want Alex to see him in a moment where he felt weak.  “You didn’t have to follow me.”

Alex shrugged, the cracks in the mirror keeping Michael from seeing the nuances of his expression.  “I wanted to see if you were okay.” 

It was meant kindly, but somehow it made Michael feel worse.  Michael stopped watching Alex and focused on his own face, frowning when he saw the painted colors again, loosening his grip on the sink to press uneasily on the skin of his cheek.  He swallowed and dropped his hand quickly, lowering his eyes to the stained white porcelain of the sink.  “I think this paint might be toxic,” he said wryly.  He could tell from Alex’s silence that he saw through the remark. 

“It looks good,” Alex said quietly.  “You look good.”

Michael looked up sharply at Alex’s reflection again.  Alex had his own face painted, a rainbow of stripes adorning his cheek.  “You do, too,” Michael said, meaning it.  Alex did look good—happy and proud and like he wasn’t constantly looking over his shoulder.  It made Michael feel boundlessly happy and endlessly sad, knowing that they’d spent their time together hiding, that they could both be here on this stupid pride night—with Alex looking secure and hot and comfortable—and yet not be together.  Usually Michael would fight or fuck those maudlin feelings away, but that wasn’t really an option tonight.  He sighed.  “But I just don’t…maybe this isn’t my scene.”

Alex was close enough to put a hand on Michael’s shoulder, and he did so cautiously, like he wasn’t sure if Michael would let him.  Michael hoped that someday Alex would be able to touch him without worrying.  He let Alex turn him away from the mirror.  

“Maybe,” Alex said, carefully.  “Or maybe you grew up with assholes telling you this part of you was wrong, that it should be shuttered if you can’t destroy it.” 

Michael’s instinct was to argue that he was fine, and none of his shitty foster parents had gotten to him like that, but he wasn’t sure it was entirely true, and he wasn’t sure that Alex wasn’t saying it for his own benefit as much as for Michael’s.  Alex’s hand was still resting on Michael’s shoulder, and it felt grounding; Michael felt stable under Alex’s hand, under Alex’s unwavering gaze.  He took a deep breath, and as he let it out, Alex seemed to visibly relax, too.  

“You can wash it off, if you want,” Alex said, “and it wouldn’t mean anything.”

Michael shook his head slowly.  “Isobel—” he started.

“We didn’t get the same ‘strong woman, love yourself’ stuff that Isobel did,” Alex interrupted, reaching around Michael to snag a paper towel from the wall dispenser.  “It’s okay.” 

“Isobel would be disappointed,” Michael said numbly, his chest tight with unspoken gratitude, but he didn’t take the paper towel.  Then more quietly:  “Everyone’s always disappointed.”

Alex looked at Michael for a moment, and then shrugged and smiled, like he didn’t know what Michael was talking about, like he wasn’t one of the people Michael kept disappointing.  “This whole thing is supposed to be about celebrating yourself the way you want to, so fuck ‘em.”

Michael smiled back weakly, his hand tracing lightly over the stiff lines of the face paint on his cheek.  He so badly wanted to want to leave it there. 

“It looks better on you,” Michael said, impulsively, reaching out as if to touch Alex’s cheek, and then drawing his hand back at the last moment.  He held his breath as Alex met his eyes and stepped carefully forward, bringing his cheek to Michael’s hand, leaning into his touch far too easily.  “You’ve always looked good with stuff like this.”  He was thinking of Alex as a teenager, with liner painted across his eyelids, and it made Michael ache with nostalgia.  He wanted this—he wanted to be able to tell Alex how the only good memories from that summer were of Alex, to be able to say all the stupid, romantic things he had never gotten the chance to say, to be able to dance with Alex at pride night and have neither of them care who saw.  

“I wish I’d been able to be this with you,” Alex said, his voice raw and quiet.

Michael let out a breath that was almost a laugh, running his fingertips lightly across Alex’s rainbow cheek.  “You’re here now,” he said without thinking about it.  Now was enough.  Michael thought that if he leaned forward and kissed Alex, Alex might let him, that it would be okay if it only existed here, in this moment.  But they owed each other more than that—more than a secret kiss in a bathroom, more than rushing in without talking, without taking enough care that neither of them got hurt, this time.  God, but Michael wanted there to be a ‘this time.’

“So are you,” Alex said pointedly, licking his lips absently in a way that sent Michael’s entire internal equilibrium shifting, like his body was trying to tip him towards Alex.  

The door clattered as someone tried to get into the bathroom, and both of them laughed awkwardly, aware again of their surroundings.  It steadied Michael, kept him from crashing towards Alex the way he desperately wanted to.  Waiting would be smarter; dropping his hand, pulling away and swallowing everything he was feeling, putting on a smile and walking out of the bathroom would be smarter, but he hesitated.

Alex met Michael’s eyes and slowly lifted his own hand and pressed his fingers lightly to the paint on Michael’s cheek, almost exploratory, a gentle caress.  Michael felt his breath coming far too quickly, his earlier discomfort nearly forgotten under the soft way Alex was touching him.  

“You really do look good, Guerin.” Alex said quietly.  “And this place?  This bar?  It’s not my favorite either.  And it—it isn’t home, but it’s safe.  You know?” 

“Where’s home?” Michael asked, somewhat facetiously, his fingertips still barely brushing Alex’s cheek, leaning his cheek into Alex’s touch, unable to stop himself.  Michael knew both of them had been facing the same thing recently—the growing sense that all of the places that had felt comfortable or familiar didn’t feel that way any more, the fear of what it would take to find the places that would feel that way in the future.  

Alex met Michael’s eyes, meaningfully, like he was trying to get Michael to understand something without saying it.  “I think I’ve almost got that figured out,” Alex said finally, and Michael was hit by the realization that Alex wasn’t talking about the bars or the city or the buildings they lived in, but something entirely different.  He thought back to every time he’d ever heard Alex say the word home, with something like longing and questions laid into it, and wondered if maybe he’d been talking about them the whole time.    

Michael was trying to form a response that wouldn’t feel like a deflection, that would convince Alex to actually say what he was saying, when someone banged loudly on the door and Alex pulled away abruptly, leaving Michael’s fingers caressing only air.  Alex smiled apologetically and dropped his hand away from Michael’s cheek.  “You shouldn’t spend the whole night in the bathroom,” Alex said, starting to move towards the door.  “I’ll save you a dance.”

“Didn’t see you dancing before,” Michael said, to take focus from the fact that the image of Alex dancing, and happy, was enough to make every bit of him openly ache with wanting.    

“I wasn’t.”  Alex said, raising an eyebrow.  “But I will with you.”  

Michael exhaled heavily, his voice stolen by the casual way Alex said it, like they’d already decided.  Then again, what was there even to decide?  

Alex licked his lips, hesitating between Michael and the door, then abruptly turned back and crossed to where Michael was standing.  Alex pressed himself into Michael’s space, his hands cradling Michael’s cheeks as he brought their lips together in a quick but searing kiss.  Michael let out a sound halfway between surprise and a moan and kissed Alex back fiercely.  He’d barely gotten his bearings before Alex was pulling away.

Smiling with satisfaction, Alex unlocked the door and slipped through into the noise of the bar.  Michael side-stepped out of the way as someone rushed past him to one of the stalls, watching the door like Alex might come back. 

When he didn’t, Michael turned back to the mirror, staring at himself skeptically for a few minutes, trying to see himself the same way he saw Alex, like someone who was strong enough not to feel foolish, but proud.  He shook his head at his reflection—it was too much, too much to ask of himself at that moment, but he realized that he still didn’t want to leave the bar.  Not when Isobel wanted him there, not when Alex wanted him there.  

It was Alex’s voice, Alex’s smile, in Michael’s head as he decided not to wash the face paint off.   As he decided not to listen to the words in the back of his mind that he tried to pretend he’d forgotten, to brush off with bravado, the ones that came from the screaming foster parents who carried bibles and belts, the ones who told him he was nothing before he was old enough to know anything about himself.  Alex didn’t see Michael that way, any more than Michael saw Alex as any of the things his asshole father had thought of him.  Alex wanted to dance with Michael, wanted to kiss him, and that was reason enough to stop thinking about the colors on his face and leave the bathroom. 

This bar was never going to be Michael’s place, it was never going to be less annoyingly loud and glittery, and it was never going to serve drinks that didn’t make him roll his eyes.  But it could be the first place he’d let Isobel drag him to a pride event, it could be the first place he’d kissed Alex, that Alex had kissed him, since they’d tried to ignore how they would always feel.  It could be that, and that could be enough, even if he hated the damn face paint.

Taking a breath, Michael left the bathroom with his breathing almost back to normal.  He found Isobel quickly, dancing on the edge of a throng of people, and she brightened as soon as he appeared, beckoning him over.

“Thought you might have left,” she said close to his ear when he reached her, almost yelling to be heard above the music.    

“Almost did,” Michael replied distractedly.  He scanned the room, which had gotten significantly more crowded in the short time he’d been gone, until he found Alex, leaning against a wall, clearly watching Michael, too.  He tilted his head, gesturing Alex over, and saw him nod and push slowly away from the wall, 

“What did you say?”  Isobel yelled, and Michael flipped his attention back to her, grinning.  She looked happy, and tipsy, and like she actually wanted him there, and all at once Michael felt lighter. 

“I said fuck you,” he said stridently, louder and closer to her ear.  “Bisexuals-in-arms, right?”

Isobel’s answering smile was brilliant, and Michael realized he hadn’t made a mistake by coming here just for her, because she’d asked him, intentionally, to be there.  And there wasn’t anything wrong with staying for Alex, because neither of them would usually be caught dead in a place like this, and there was something about just showing up that mattered.  

Alex came up beside them, putting a hand gently on Michael’s elbow, just enough to let Michael know he was there.  It felt like a lot more than that, though.  

“Alex!”  Isobel was clearly at the drunk stage where she was friends with everyone.  “Look, we match!”  She gestured happily between her face and Michael’s, and Michael hated that it made him feel even a tiny bit better about the stupid face paint. 

Alex grinned.  “It’s great,” he said and Isobel beamed.  The song changed fluidly to something new, and Alex slid his hand down Michael’s arm until their fingers were clasped together.  Michael couldn’t think of a time he and Alex had held hands in public, not ever.  It felt nice.    

Isobel danced next to them with abandon and Michael let himself sway awkwardly with Alex, trying to actually loosen his grip on his control instead of just slipping into the comfortable persona of someone who didn’t care.  He did care.  He cared that Isobel wanted them to have this connection—something that she and Max didn’t have—even if her way of celebrating it wasn’t entirely in line with his ideal evening.  He cared that Alex wanted to dance with him, that he was holding Michael’s hand in public, even if it was under the guise of dancing, that he cared enough to follow him into the bathroom and knew him well enough to lock the door.    

Isobel paused her dancing to give Michael a very obvious and unsubtle thumbs-up, and Michael didn’t even resent it when Alex laughed.  Michael grinned up at her sparkling, painted face, his hand tightly knit with Alex’s, and let himself enjoy being part of something loudly, even if it was just for the night.  Maybe, Michael reflected, this was what Alex meant by home.  

#mgweek20 #guerinweek20 #malex #michael guerin #alex manes #isobel evans #my writing #happy bi visibility day!!! #this is so sappy but here it is #getting together #just a little bit of hurt mostly comfort

[artificialqueens]

Tree House Kisses, Chapter 25 (Adorney) - Scorpio and Veronica

A/N: Click here for previous chapters. xoxo!

Chapter Summary: Grease finishes its illustrious run, and we end the school year with Prom and a group trip to the movies.

TW: homophobia

Chapter 25: Hopelessly Devoted To You

Despite their opening night drama, the rest of the weekend’s performances of Grease went off without a hitch. The principal agreed to beef up security and they kept would-be protestors far away from the theatre - so after 2 days they got bored and stopped showing up.

And, possibly because of all the controversy, ticket sales soared, and they ended up getting a write-up in the Arts section of a big San Gabriel Valley newspaper.

Alyssa was so jazzed by the extra attention that she began to ham it up even more than she had during rehearsals. One night, during the drive-in scene, she hit Roy so hard one night that he had a bruise the next day.

“Where are the fucking protesters for THAT?!” Roy whined, as he got ready that night.

“I mean, you were trying to date rape her,” Courtney reasoned.

“NO I WASN’T!” Roy screeched. “My character was! Why should I get a bruise for something he does?! This is reverse sexism!”

“Awwww…” Courtney soothed, climbing into his lap. “Poor baby…”

“Reverse sexism,” Darienne chuckled to herself, “Like that’s a thing.”

“It is!” Roy insisted.

Courtney kissed his cheek, teasingly saying, “I know, it’s so hard to be a sensitive male these days.”

“It really is,” he whimpered, resting his head on her chest.

“Oh, BOO HOO!” Alyssa crowed from nearby. “Listen, you just watch out the next time Danny tries to touch my girl without consent. I’ll break your goddamn fingers!”

“Alyssa…” Darienne laughed, shaking her head. “I think you’re going off book, here.”

“I think she’s going off the fucking deep end!” Roy said. “Anyone got a straightjacket?”

Alyssa grinned devilishly at him, making some punching motions in the air.

Roy nuzzled against Courtney’s neck. “You’re still her understudy, right? Can we have her killed?”

-

ADORE: You coming to the diner?

PEARL: Yeah, I just have to finish up here first. Order me some fries?

ADORE: You got it.

Pearl tucked her phone back into her pocket, turning her attention to the backdrops. She had to stay a little longer than the cast after the show was over to help reset all the set pieces for the next night. Most of the cast and crew had left, waiting for their rides or making their way to a nearby diner for post-show bonding.

Pearl unlocked the wheels of the drive-in set, pulling the backdrop behind her as she headed to the wings, accidentally running over her own foot in the process.

“Motherfucker,” Pearl groaned, reaching down to rub her throbbing foot.

“Need some help?” Shea appeared from behind the backdrop, catching Pearl by surprise.

“Shea? Hey! Uh, yeah I could use some help,” Pearl nodded, the pain in her foot completely forgotten.

“We're gonna leave it right here,” Pearl guided, nodding to the other backdrop already tucked away.

“Here?”

“Yep, now just lock the wheel on that side. I'll do this one.” Pearl quickly locked the wheel then glanced up to see Shea bent over, face scrunched in confusion. “It’s… it’s right there.”

Pearl walked over to her and bent down, showing her how to lock the wheel.

“You just… and it’s locked,” she smiled.

“Oh,” Shea nodded, gazing up into her eyes before clearing her throat. “Easier than it looked.”

She straightened up, then followed Pearl back to the stage to grab some of the Burger Palace pieces.

“Mhm,” Pearl nodded, gesturing to the booth that they needed to move. “This one slides pretty easily.”

Shea helped her work, biting her lip every time they locked eyes.  

“The show’s been going well,” Shea said finally, looking at Pearl with earnest brown eyes.

“Yeah, people wanted to see what all the hoopla was about after the first night,” Pearl shrugged, brushing her hands off and looking around to see if anything else needed to be moved before tomorrow.

“Hoopla?” Shea brows furrowed in confusion before letting a laugh escape her.

“Yeah, you know, all the commotion, the hoopla.” Pearl’s hand swirled in the air nonchalantly, but the moment Shea burst in laughter, Pearl found herself giggling along.

“Who actually uses the word ‘hoopla' besides someone's grandpa?” Shea shook her head, following Pearl towards the exit, shoulders brushing together as they walked.

“I don't know, I don't know… I watched Spongebob the other day. Really, I've never used that word until now,” Pearl said, turning towards Shea as they approached the big double doors.

“Wow, Hoopla. I should start using that word. It's fun to say,” Shea giggled.

“It is,” Pearl chuckled, then bit down on her bottom lip, her gaze moving to Shea’s full lips.

Shea noticed, her own laughter fading off.

Pearl’s heart leaped to her throat as the silence between them filled with an energy she'd only encountered a few times before. She put one hand on the heavy door, and Shea did the same, their fingers bumping.

Eyes snapped to each other, gauging the other’s reaction. Pearl’s tongue darted across her lip as she leaned towards Shea, eyes flickering between glossed lips and wide eyes.

“Shea!”

The sound of Sasha’s voice had Shea stumbling back, right into a rack of costumes, a small gasp leaving her lips.

Pearl frowned, reaching to help her, but when her hands were swatted away, she backed up letting Shea have her space.

“Shea, you back here? Shea?” Sasha rounded the curtain, footsteps stuttering when she saw Pearl running her fingers through her thick blonde hair, looking at Shea with nervous eyes, while Shea hurriedly righted the wardrobe rack, re-hanging the pieces that had fallen off the hangers.

-

In a bizarre compromise with her mother, Darienne had been allowed to stay in the show despite the “evil pro-gay message” but not participate in any of the fun stuff, like going to the diner after the performances with the rest of the cast and crew.

Courtney had just been texting her a sympathetic message when she looked up. Bob was in the middle of an animated story, while Roy interjected with corrections and insults, as per usual. But what Courtney noticed wasn’t the boys, but how Adore sat in a booth nearby, staring into space.

She decided to take advantage of this rare moment while Raja was distracted at the jukebox with Raven, and squeezed her bestie on the shoulder to grab her attention.

“Hey...”

“What’s up?” Adore asked, giving her a half-smile, biting down on a fry.

“You were great tonight. I mean, you’re always great, but…” Courtney gave her a bright smile.

Adore swallowed. “Thanks. Um, you too.”

Courtney slid into the booth beside her, wrapping her arms around her waist and looking up at her with loving eyes.

“You’re so beautiful…”

“Alright, who gave you weed?” Adore scoffed. “Willam? Pearl?”

“Nobody! I’m totally sober. You’re just pretty, that’s all.”

“Well...thanks,” Adore bit her lip.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” Courtney asked, lashes fluttering.

“Uh. Of course. You’re stunning. Gorgeous. A living doll.” Adore glanced around helplessly. Where was Raja? Where was Roy?

Courtney giggled and nuzzled her cheek.

“What’s going on over here?” Raja asked, strolling up.

Before Adore could open her mouth, Courtney piped up, “Not much, I was just molesting your girlfriend.” She smiled coyly, head still on Adore’s shoulder.

“Oh yeah?” Raja sat down. “Seems reasonable.”

“Courtney, knock it off!” Adore said, shrugging her off.

Raja snickered, saying, “Oh yeah, you looked like you were really suffering there.”

Adore folded her arms crossly.

“Dory, don’t be mad…” Courtney pouted.

“Yeah Dory, don’t be mad.” Raja reached over to steal a French fry, brow arched suggestively.

“Ugh, you both suck!” Adore said, getting up and stomping over to the counter.

Courtney opened her mouth, eyes wide and innocent. “What?!”

Raja laughed, shaking her head. “Just let her sulk. Have some fries.”

-

After closing night, there was a wrap party at Pearl’s house, complete with Karaoke machine, mini strobe lights, and sundae bar. Or as Willam lovingly dubbed it, “the ultimate nerd fest.”

Pearl sat on top of her kitchen counter, nodding her head to the beat of the music, watching the party around her as she sipped from her cup of punch.

“Pearl!” Sasha smiled as she entered the kitchen to get some snacks, pulling the blonde’s attention away from Shangela and Alyssa’s karaoke performance.

“Sup,” she nodded.

“What’re you doing in here by yourself?” Sasha asked, crumbling a handful of potato chips over her chocolate ice cream, then topped the whole thing with caramel sauce.

“Just chilling,” Pearl shrugged, then gestured to Sasha’s sundae. “That’s genius.”

“Salty and sweet,” Sasha nodded and the two girls went silent for a moment as she dug in.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?” Pearl leaned forward, elbows on her knees.

“Sure.” Sasha nodded.

“Um…I’m usually a pretty good judge of when I like, vibe with a girl. And…and I really like Shea, and sometimes it seems like she likes me back. But then…I don’t know, sometimes I feel like I’m totally barking up the wrong tree. Am I crazy?”

“Well…” Sasha took a small bite of her ice cream, head titled thoughtfully. “We haven’t talked about it. And if we had, I wouldn’t tell you, because, you know, BFF trust.”

“Of course.”

“But, just from what I’ve seen…I don’t think you’re crazy.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. The thing is…” Sasha paused. “She's not like you. I mean, she’s still probably figuring some things out.”

Pearl nodded knowingly; Shea wouldn't be the first confused (or closeted) girl she had a crush on.

“So as long as you get that she’s in a different place, and you’re careful of her feelings…I don’t think you’re barking up the wrong tree. I just think you might need to be extra patient. You know?”

“Yeah.” Pearl nodded, taking another sip of her drink. “Thanks.”

“No problem. And, in case you’re wondering, she’s out by the pool. Last I saw, she was talking to Carmen and Laganja.

“Awesome.” Pearl flashed a smile, hopping off the counter.

-

“Adore, you wanna do ‘Bidi Bidi Bom Bom,’ or ‘No Me Queda Más’?” April asked, flipping through the karaoke book.

“Uhhh…” Adore paused, eyeing Courtney and Roy on the sofa before looking back at April to suggest, “What about ‘Dreaming of You’?”

April scoffed. “Omigod, you’re so basic! That’s her whitest song, you fuckin’ gringa!”

“Well, I don’t really speak Spanish, dude, sorry!” Adore defended herself with a shrug. “You know that.”

“Okay, fine, ‘Dreaming of You.’ But will you at least try ‘No Me Queda Más’?”

“I’ll do my best.”

April nodded, writing down the track numbers and handing them to Bob, who was lording over the rented karaoke machine with an iron fist. “Sir, please?”

While Adore waited for their turn, her attention drifted back to Courtney, curled in Roy’s lap, feeding him her ice cream sundae. They’d been sickeningly sweet all night, and while Adore was trying to ignore their nauseatingly adorable antics, it was proving harder and harder.

“I have no idea why I’m eating this,” Roy murmured, licking a drip off Courtney’s finger. “I don’t even like vanilla.”

“That’s funny, ‘cause I think a vanilla sundae is the perfect metaphor for you two dweebs,” Willam called from across the room, causing Bob to snicker and high five him.

“Fuck off!” Courtney shouted back. “I put rainbow sprinkles on it. And this cherry.” She lifted the maraschino cherry out by the stem, twirling it on her tongue.

“Give me that…” Roy said.

“Oh, you want this?” Courtney teased, batting her lashes. She glanced over to see if Adore was watching, feeling a rush of adrenaline from the other girl’s eyes on her.

“Yes. Please baby, give me your cherry…”

Courtney giggled, dangling it in front of him tauntingly. “Say please again, tell me how much you want it…” she breathed.

Unable to take it anymore, Adore got up, utterly disgusted, and stalked outside.

“Adore! Come back, we’re up next!” April called.

“Raincheck,” Adore grumbled, slamming the sliding glass door behind her.

Courtney paused, holding the cherry mid-air, wondering if she’d gone too far. She wanted Adore’s attention, but not to piss her off.

“Babyyy,” Roy whimpered.

“Here,” Courtney said, shoving the cherry into his mouth and letting out a disappointed sigh.

-

Adore found Raja out on the patio with Jinkx, smoking and drinking. She went up to Raja and demanded a cigarette.

“You don’t smoke,” the older girl told her breezily.

“I do tonight,” she insisted.

Raja handed Adore her lit cigarette and lit another for herself, watching her carefully. Adore looked over at Jinkx, holding a bottle of Jack Daniels, and snatched it out of her hands, taking a long slug, then another.

“You okay there, tiger?” Jinkx asked.

Adore wiped her mouth, shrugging. Pearl and Shea were sitting on top of a retaining wall, just a few feet away. Adore looked over at them just as Shea whispered something to Pearl, both laughing softly. Adore narrowed her eyes, irritated.

“What’s with you two?” she asked hoarsely. “Are you like, fucking now?”

Shea’s eyes widened in shock.

“Adore!” Pearl cried, horrified.

“Um, I have to...I should probably get going...it’s late and I need...uh…” Shea stammered, sliding down and backing away.

“Shea, I’m sorry, you don’t have to go, you can-” Pearl protested.

“No, it’s fine, I should have left earlier anyway, but...I’ll see you around, okay?” She turned around, hurrying from the yard through the side gate.

Pearl turned towards Adore, irritated, as shrieking laughter sounded from the pool.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Pearl began.

Nearby, Raven’s voice called out, “Raja! Come here!!”

Raja looked over to the pool, where Raven was fooling around with a bunch of kids and some massive flotation devices, then back at Adore. She took Jinkx by the hand and dragged her over to the pool, leaving Adore and Pearl alone on the patio.

Adore sighed, pulling her flannel tighter around herself. Despite it being May, there was a chill in the air.

Pearl watched her for a few moments before saying, “Alright. Out with it. What’s going on?”

“What?” Adore asked defensively.

“There’s only one thing that puts you in this kind of mood, so what? They do some gross hetero promise ring bullshit? He banging her out in one of the back bedrooms? Tell me.”

Adore sighed. “No, they’re just...eating an ice cream sundae.”

“Oh yeah,” Pearl nodded. “I can see why that would send you over the edge.”

“You weren’t there.”

“True.”

“It was really...too much.” Adore sighed again, taking another drag of the cigarette.

“Have you ever considered just telling her how you feel?”

“About as much as I’ve considered putting this cigarette out in my own eye,” Adore replied.

“Gotcha.”

“This is disgusting, by the way.”

Pearl nodded. “Yeah, it’s awful. Takes years off your life, too.”

“Ugh. Fuck this whole fucking night, man.”

Pearl moved closer to her, put a hand on her shoulder.

“Listen. I’m sorry you’re having a rough night. And you know, I really love you, and I’m always here if you want to talk. But...if you ever fuck up my game again, I will punch you in the face.”

Adore laughed and covered her eyes. “Shit. Sorry.”

Pearl kissed her forehead. “It’s alright. You get one pass.”

-

Adore sat on the retaining wall, holding the empty bottle of Jack, feeling slightly dizzy and more than a little sick. Her downcast eyes were dull with regret.

“So…fun party, huh?”

She looked up to see Raja standing there, with that typical, aloof expression, and her body tensed up, tears filling her eyes.

“Raja, don’t. I don’t want to talk about it, okay? I just, I can’t, I can’t explain, I don’t-”

“Hey, hey, I’m not asking you to explain anything.” Raja stepped forward, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Adore sniffled, guilt filling her chest. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m also not asking you to apologize. We all have shitty days. It’s fine. Yesterday I kicked over a trash can and called Raven a cow.”

“Seriously?” Adore laughed, amused in spite of her shitty mood.

“It’s fine, she deserved it.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Adore wiped her eyes.

Raja smiled. “You wanna get out of here?”

“God, yes.”

“Cool.” She took her fingers and gently tilted Adore’s chin up, placing a soft, sweet kiss on her lips. “You really are so beautiful, you know that?”

Adore sighed. “Sure you’re not just looking at your own reflection in my eyeballs?”

Raja grasped both of her cheeks and looked closer at her face. “Holy shit! How have I never seen my own reflection before?”

Adore giggled.

“Hold still! Oh my god, she is stunning!”

“Stop it.”

Raja helped her down and led them towards the gate, an arm slung around Adore’s shoulders.

“Seriously, I don’t know how you manage to concentrate on anything with all this staggering beauty in front of you…”

-

Courtney stood at the stove, stirring a pot of tomato sauce, as Adore perched on the counter. They were discussing prom—or rather, Raja’s prom, which Adore was having second thoughts about attending.

“Don’t you think that she should understand how you feel? I mean you were basically hate-crimed on stage,” Courtney said.  

“Well. I think she does understand, but on the other hand…it’s her prom. And I said I’d go, like a month ago,” Adore reasoned.

“But that was a month ago,” Courtney said. “Come here, taste this.”

Adore jumped down, sighing, and walked over to her.

“I don’t know. I mean, yeah, it was a month ago. But…”

Courtney blew on the wooden spoon, cupping Adore’s chin gently in her hand. She fed her a small taste of the sauce, eyes watching her carefully.

“Do you think it’s too spicy?” she whispered.

Closing her eyes for a moment as Courtney’s fingers brushed against her cheek, a thrill rippling through her at the contact, Adore shook her head.

“No, it...it’s good.” She cleared her throat and took a few steps back. “Um, maybe a pinch more salt?”

“Thanks.” Courtney nodded and went back to the stove, humming slightly. “I think you should do whatever you feel comfortable with. She may be a little bummed if you decide not to go, but Raja doesn’t seem like the type to make a huge deal over prom anyway. Right?”

“Yeah, I...I mean that’s what I thought, but...I dunno.” Adore sighed again, sitting down heavily at the table. “I just really don’t want to make this a big fucking thing.”

Courtney sat down beside her. “So don’t.”

“But isn’t that selling out? Letting the bigots win?” Adore’s voice broke, remembering the heated conversation with Raja earlier that day.

Courtney scooted her chair closer, biting her lip, a slight guilt washing over her. She knew that if she didn’t have ambivalent feelings about Raja, about Adore’s moony-eyed puppy love, the was a chance she might be saying something slightly different. Maybe. But ulterior motives aside, she didn’t like to see her friend so torn up inside. She reached out and took Adore’s hand.

“Listen. Will you have to stand up to these kind of assholes someday? Yeah, probably. And when you do, I’ll stand up with you. But does it have to be over someone else’s prom? This week? Not unless you want. It’s still your life. You are the only one who can make that decision.”

Adore nodded. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” Courtney brushed a lock of hair off of Adore’s face

-

ADORE: Well. Turns out I was being a total pissbaby drama queen. It was just a fucking dance, no one said a word.

ADORE: Like, literally, nothing happened and I feel like a complete asshole.

COURTNEY: So you had fun?

ADORE: Yeah. I mean, you know. It was a school dance. It wasn’t life-changing or anything. Lol. But sure, it was fun.

ADORE: I might just not be a school dance type. I don’t have a lot of...like...spirit.

COURTNEY: Well, yeah, duh. ;P

ADORE: lol

COURTNEY: <3

ADORE: I’m gonna sleep now but wanna hang out later?

COURTNEY: Sure. Text me when you wake up.

ADORE: Ok. XO

COURTNEY: XO

-

Adore wasn’t positive why she agreed to this. Granted, she always used to be part of the group movie night expeditions with the neighborhood crew, but ever since she’d branched off and started to hang out with Violet’s group, she’d found one excuse or another to say no. But for some reason, today, she found herself in the local multiplex with Courtney, Roy, Darienne, Thorgy, Bob, April, Alyssa, and Jamin - who she supposed was off probation now that Darienne could stand to be around him again. To make matters worse, they had collectively decided on the most basic of all basic movies - some superhero action nonsense starring Christian Bale and Joey from Dawson’s Creek, who was way less cool when stripped of her Joey vocabulary words.

Adore sighed, sipping her swimming pool sized soda. At least Roy, in a show of macho bravado, had offered to pay for her and Courtney’s snacks. So she had gigantic popcorn, 2 Kit Kat bars, Junior Mints, Twizzlers, Sour Patch Kids, and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups to help her get through the experience. It cost her some side-eye, but whatever. If he was dumb enough to make that offer, then he should be prepared to handle the consequences.

It would have been nice if Raja could have made it, but as usual, she was working. It seemed like lately, the only time they had together was super late at night after CeCe’s closed down. She couldn’t blame her girlfriend - she knew that Raja was saving up to get her own place. But still, it was a little annoying to be sandwiched between April and Bob on one side (who she was pretty sure were engaging in some kind of gross hand job action under Bob’s letterman jacket), and Courtney and Roy on the other, cuddling and making Adore want to vomit, as usual.

Courtney turned towards Adore, a contented smile on her face.

“I am totally not following the plot of this movie,” she whispered, giggling.

Adore rolled her eyes. “It’s not that deep. He’s afraid of bats. He becomes a bat. Joey Potter loves him for some inexplicable reason.”

“Right. I keep thinking there must be more to it though?”

“Nope.”

Courtney inched closer to Adore.

“This theatre is freezing. Share your jacket with me.” She gazed over with a pouty face, fluttering her lashes.

Adore shrugged her off. It was one thing when they were alone, but when she pulled this kind of stuff in front of other people, it always made Adore extremely self-conscious. It was a total lose-lose for her. If she reacted too eagerly, it would be totally obvious to everyone and their mother how hard she was crushing on her best friend, but when she pushed her away, she had to deal with those hurt puppy eyes.

“Get off, bitch…”

“Please, Dory. I’ll be your best friend forever and-”

“SHHH!” Bob hissed.

“How are you not more relaxed right now?” Adore challenged, gesturing to his lap. April’s eyes went wide in embarrassment. Adore smirked and sat back in her seat.

“Babe, come here. You can wear my jacket.”

Courtney snuggled up to Roy, lovingly placing a piece of popcorn in his mouth. What was it with Courtney and feedinghim? Was that like a kink thing? Adore shook her head. Sick. She sighed again, shifting uncomfortably. It was possible that the largest size soda wasn’t the best idea.

On the screen, Joey Potter was reaching towards Christian Bale, drawing him towards her.

Courtney inhaled sharply, and reached over, instinctively grasping for Adore’s hand in the dark, holding on tight while the actors’ lips met in a slow kiss, the music soaring. Adore’s heart pounded. She knew that this was just Courtney, it didn’t really mean anything, but it didn’t change how it made her feel. How it made her palms sweat and her pulse race, to be here in the dark, fingers intertwined and slippery with fake butter.

And then, of course, she saw Roy’s eyes, just for a moment, when the screen flashed white. Glaring at her. Did he know? Was Adore that transparent? Or was he just peeved that Courtney was grabbing Adore’s hand and not his? Anxiety filled Adore’s chest and she wrenched her hand away.

Courtney, oblivious as always, leaned her head on Roy’s shoulder and continued to watch the movie while Adore gripped the arms of the seat, her knuckles turning white. She got up and bolted for the exit, muttering about the bathroom.

Courtney turned her head and watched as Adore raced up the aisle, then turned back to the screen, biting her lip. A lump formed in her throat. She was so tired of this endless loop they were in - Courtney reaching out, taking the smallest baby steps, only to have Adore push her away. Maybe it was useless. Maybe Violet was right all those months ago when she said that Adore would never like her back. She sighed.

Roy kissed the top of her head. “Bored, baby?”

“Uh, no, just...sorry, my mind wandered a little. This movie is so dark. I think I need more color to hold my attention.”

Roy laughed, pressing his lips to her temple. “You’re the fucking cutest, you know that?”

Courtney smiled up at him. “How about after the movie, you can tell me all about how cute I am?” She kissed him lightly, sliding a hand up his thigh.

“Deal.”

#rpdr fanfiction #tree house kisses #scorpio #veronica #adorney #adore delano #courtney act #bitney #rajadore #pearl x shea #bianca del rio #raja gemini #pearl liaison #shea coulee #sasha velour #alyssa edwards #darienne lake #lesbian au #high school au #angst #fluff #tw homophobia

[brooding-daydreaminggay]

Answer all the numbers 👀

1, 6 songs I listen to most: Jackson Wang- On the Rocks, Got7-Poison, Stray Kids-God’s Menu, Jake Miller- Blame it on You, Jessie J-Do it like a Dude, Thriving Ivory- Angels on the moon

2. If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?: Jackson Wang or Harry Styles.(celeb wise) Or my crush! 

3. Grab book, turn to page 23, line 17: I figure there’s hope for my father, no matter how bad he may have gotten. 

4. What do you think about most? My future. 

5. What does your lastest text message from someone else say? That is personal but You know what it says..about my mom convo. 

6. Do you sleep with or without clothes on? It all depends on my mood. 

7. What’s your strangest talent? LMAO hmmm it could be this thing I do with my tongue and lips or it could be the way my fingers bend. 

8. Girls...(finish the sentence) Boys...(finish the sentence): Girls are more powerful. Boys are just dumb. 

9. Ever had a poem or song written about you? -Not that I know of. 

10. When is the last time you played the air guitar? -Just last night actually. 

11. Do you have any strange phobias? -I don’t think so. I don’t really like being touched. 

12. Ever stuck a foreign object up your nose? -Unfortunately, yes.

13. What is your religion? -I believe in all things. 

14. If you are outside, what are you most likely doing? -Taking the dog out. 

15. Do you prefer to be behind the camera or in front? -Behind 

16. Simple but extremely complex. Favorite band? -The Fray 

17. What was the last lie you told? -I’m fine. 

18. Do you believe in karma? -FUCK YES

19. What does your URL mean? -That i am gay!

20. WHat is your greatest weakness: your greatest strength? -Being loyal

21. Who is your celeb crush? -Not really sure anymore. I don’t get into that stuff much. 

22. Have you ever gone skinny dipping? No

23. How do you vent your anger? -I punch stuff or I take it out on myself. 

24. Do you have a collection of anything? Yes 

25. Do you prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online? Video chatting 

26. Are you happy with person you’ve become? Kind of 

27. Sound I hate, sound I love? Sound I hate probably ringing noises. Sound I love, my mom’s voice. 

28. What’s your biggest ‘what if”? WHAT IF WE SUDDENLY GO INTO A BLACK HOLE! 

29. Do you believe in ghosts? How about aliens? Yes and yes. 

30. Stick your right arm out, what do you touch first? Same with left. Right: power cord. Left: book 

31. Smell the air. WHat do you smell? Lavender

32. What’s the worst place you have ever been to? My aunt’s house for christmas 

33. East or West coast? East for right now 

34. Most attractive singer of your opposite gender? FUUUUCK Jackson or Harry

35. To you, what is the meaning of life? Meaning of life is to slow down and smell the flowers, be kind to yourself and others, be aware, speak up for those who need help, and making sure the people you love are took care of. 

36. Define Art? Art is how you see beyond what is there. 

37. Do you believe in luck? Yes 

38. What’s the weather like right now? HOT and HUMID 

39. What time is it? 2:55pm 

40. Do you Drive? No and I use to but I didn’t crash 

41. What was the last book you read? After We Fell 

42. Do you like the smell of gasoline? No gives me a headache 

43. Do you have any nicknames? cina 

44. What was the last film you saw? 365 DNI 

45. What is the worst injury you’ve ever had? Grease burn 

46. Have you ever caught a butterfly? They usually catch me 

47. Do you have any obsessions right now? My crush  

48. What is your sexual orientation? Gay 

49. Ever had a rumor spread about you? Yes 

50. Do you believe in magic? Yes 

51. Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong? I use to. 

52. What is your astrological sign? Leo.....I get this shit mixed up sometimes 

53. Do you save money or spend it? I usually save until I really need it 

54. What’s the last thing you purchased? A song 

55. Love or lust? LOVE 

56. IN a relationship? Trying to be 

57. HOw many relationships have you had? 4

58. Can you touch your nose with your tongue? No 

59. Where were you yesterday? Home 

60. Is there anything pink within 10 feet of you? MY hair 

61: Are you wearing socks right now? No 

62: What’s your favourite animal? Elephant 

63: What is your secret weapon to get someone to like you? I flirt a lot 

64: Where is your best friend? Nashville 

65: Give me your top 5 favourite blogs on Tumblr. @pearlchu and I don’t have others really 

66: What is your heritage? German Mexican 

67: What were you doing last night at 12AM? Talking to my crush 

68: What do you think is Satan’s last name? Morningstar 

69: Be honest. Ever gotten yourself off? YES

70: Are you the kind of friend you would want to have as a friend? I hope so

71: You are walking down the street on your way to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. Your boss has told you if you are late one more time you get fired. What do you do? Save the dog 

72: You are at the doctor’s office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. a) Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? b) What do you do with your remaining days? c) Would you be afraid? A: I tell people B: I fucking live it up C: Kind of 

73: You can only have one of these things; trust or love. Trust 

74: What’s a song that always makes you happy when you hear it? Right now God’s Menu 

75: What are the last four digits in your cell phone number? 2150

76: In your opinion, what makes a great relationship? Communication and being goofy together 

77: How can I win your heart? Just by being yourself

78: Can insanity bring on more creativity? Yes

79: What is the single best decision you have made in your life so far? Stop drinking alcohol 

80: What size shoes do you wear? 10

81: What would you want to be written on your tombstone? Here lies Jescina, daughter, friend, mother, wife; who gave love to so many. 

82: What is your favourite word? FUck 

83: Give me the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word; heart. Attack 

84: What is a saying you say a lot? Fuck a duck 

85: What’s the last song you listened to? Something by fall out boy...What a catch donnie 

86: Basic question; what’s your favourite colour/colours? Black, purple, gray, blue

87: What is your current desktop picture? Harry styles 

88: If you could press a button and make anyone in the world instantaneously explode, who would it be? Uhhhhh....I plead the fifth 

89: What would be a question you’d be afraid to tell the truth on? None

90: One night you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by MUMMIES. The mummies aren’t really doing anything, they’re just standing around your bed. What do you do? First I would be mad being woke up and then I would probably get up and get them the fuck out of my room 

91: You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What is that power? Telaport or however you fucking spell it 

92: You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time-span can only be a half-hour, though. What half-hour of your past would you like to experience again? Ooo tough..probably spending time with my uncle 

93: You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be? That is personal but if you text me, I will tell you. But on here I will say seeing my dead uncle 

94: You have the opportunity to sleep with the music-celebrity of your choice. Who would it be? Oof...I am not sure. 

95: You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go? Korea!!!

96: Do you have any relatives in jail? Not that I know of..anymore 

97: Have you ever thrown up in the car? Yes 

98: Ever been on a plane? No

99: If the whole world were listening to you right now, what would you say? Life is too short to hate. To be afraid. You have to go out and live your life and not care what anyone else thinks. You have to treat those around you with love and care. Don’t be scared of what you don’t have an understanding of. Learn and be patient. Learn about the things that make you afraid. Only then will you stop being afraid. We only have this one life. You can either spend it being afraid and miserable. Or you can spend it being loved and love those around you; making every day a day you want to wake up to. 

Thank you for coming to my ted talk! lol :) 

#lesbian #gay girl #wlw #gwlg #gay girls #tumblr #girls who like girls #girlswholikegirls #girls looking for girls #sapphic #answers #questions #thank you for the ask!

[agentmarymargaretskitz]

I Know, You Know

Happy birthday to @areyouscarletcold!!!!! For your gift, I brought our IT AU to life in the form of the first of the Yang trilogy! Hope you enjoy it!

AO3

              A rare sunny day in Derry was something to be enjoyed. After three days of fog and rain, it seemed that everyone wanted to do the same thing. People were walking around on the streets and on the beach. Getting a table in the restaurant was just as hard, but Richie had managed to secure him and Ben one in the end.

“Any idea of what you’re going to get?” Ben asked him a few minutes after they’d picked up their menus.

Richie grinned, having known since he arrived at the table. “Breakfast.”

“It’s 12:30, Richie.”

“Yes, but I didn’t have breakfast, the most important meal of the day. Aren’t you one of the people always telling me to eat breakfast?”

“Yes, except you eat it in the morning!”

“So why do people eat breakfast for dinner? You’ve done that, Benny Boy. Are you telling me that you’re wrong eating breakfast for dinner?”

Anyone else might have been pissed off at Richie for that, but Ben was one of the people who’d known him long enough to understand it was all in jest.

“You two decided what to eat yet?” a waiter asked them as he came over to the table.

              Richie smiled at the handsome man and looked him over. His hair was gelled up enough so his blond hair would look stylish. There was the barest hint of black eyeliner gracing his lids. No ring on his finger, slight limp as he shuffled a little closer in his work boots with a smear of grease on the outer right sole. Calloused hands and green eyes that definitely lingered on Ben ever so briefly, not that Richie could blame him.

Ben sighed and handed over his menu. “The eggs benedict with fruit. I’ll be right back.”

The waiter scribbled down the order as Ben headed off in the direction of the bathroom. “Great. How about you?”

“Let me see…” Richie leaned back in his seat and grinned. “Oh, and don’t mind my friend. He’s been cranky the last few days. Please, tell me what you would recommend?”

“All the sandwiches are really great-”

“I have to stop you, I’m so sorry,” Richie held up a finger for emphasis. “But I have not eaten breakfast yet, my best friend claimed it was the most important meal of the day, and I think it’s vital I should have that. Also, because he’s my best friend, I want to needle him just a little bit with some part of it.”

“How about…chocolate banana pancakes with a side of smoked salmon?”

“He’d hate that,” Richie grinned. “That’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

“Not sure about that.”

“You’re a man who clearly has a passion for cars, probably classic? What are you working on, a Chevy and listening to Queen?”

“A Volkswagen actually,” the waiter corrected. “Not wrong about Queen.”

“You can never go wrong with Queen.”

“Has he ordered yet?” Ben asked as he returned to his seat. “And please tell me you weren’t gross.”

“I ordered things normal people get for breakfast,” Richie promised, which wasn’t a complete lie. “He can vouch for me.”

“I’ll get these orders going, but he did.”

As their waiter left, Ben turned back to Richie. “You flirted with him, didn’t you?”

“Noooo.”

“You turn on the Tozier charm every time you meet a gay man, Trashmouth.”

“He’s gay? I had no idea! How did you know?”

“Richie, I saw how he looked at you and me, he’s gay,” Ben screwed up his face and put a hand to his temple. “Did you do this?”

Richie knew Ben was baiting him, but he was Trashmouth supreme and would make this game his. “Take a shit in the chair? That’s unsanitary, Ben!”

As predicted, Ben dropped the act immediately. “I meant being psychic.”

“No, you know that is for the police department and cases,” Richie lectured. “And for getting free drinks in the bar.”

“That was once.”

“Still worked out well for us. And it’s because of this that we get paid by Stan.”

“I have a job, Richie,” Ben reminded him. “But I know he’s going to leave you his phone number on the bill, right? And you’ll leave him hanging because you struggle with commitment.”

“I struggle with commitment?” Richie laughed, even though Ben had struck dead on. But it did give him pause…and made him think about a certain someone from his high school reunion. “Then watch this.”

Richie pulled his phone out of his pocket, selected a number, and showed the screen to Ben.

“If he says yes, you have to go on the date,” Ben told him.

“And I will!” Richie hissed. “Commitment issues? Nope. I just took a leap of faith while you still pine for the lovely Detective Marsh.”

Ben raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything else as the call connected.  

~~~

“Bill, you want me to order the-” Mike stopped as his husband strode past him, white as a sheet. “Bill, what’s wrong?”

              Bill didn’t stop walking, heading right for Stan’s office. Mike followed his husband to the chief’s office, noticing an evidence bag with a manila envelope inside in his hand. When they entered, Stan was on the phone with Patty. Once he saw Bill’s face, he told his wife he had to go and hung up.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Bill set the bag on Stan’s desk. “This just got dropped off at the desk.”

Mike leaned over his shoulder to get a better look at it. On the back was the decal of a clown with a sinister smile. His heart sank as he remembered how he’d seen it on the news when he was younger. Stan swallowed, looking a lot more concerned than he had a moment ago. The chief of police had recognized the decal too.

“Who did he choose this time?”

~~~

“Could this not be a more perfect day?” Richie announced as they walked up the stairs to the precinct. “The sun is shining, I’ve eaten a breakfast, I have a date, and Stan the Man has just called us about a case.”

“You still have to actually go on the date,” Ben reminded him. “So what do you think this is going to be about?”

“No clue, but I will definitely be using this?” Richie made his psychic face at Ben. “My moneymaker is going to be in action.”

“Whatever you say,” Ben shrugged as they saw almost everyone in the precinct assembled in the bullpen. “This looks serious though.”

“You made it.”

              Both men turned around to see Detective Beverly Marsh walking towards them. Richie didn’t miss the way that Ben’s face lit up when he saw her. Ever since they’d started Psych and started working with the police department, his best friend had been pining hard for the detective. Richie approved of Bev not just because she believed he was psychic, but because she was tough, smart, and had laughed at his jokes a few times. Also, she tended to be with-

“Edster!” Richie waved at Bev’s partner as she led them over to the rest of the crowd. “How are you?”

“Not the time, Tozier,” Detective Edward Kaspbrak snapped. “This is serious shit happening.”

“Ooookay, duly noted. I’ve missed you too.”

Eddie rolled his eyes but didn’t get a chance to say anything else before Stanley Uris, chief of the Derry Police, called everyone’s attention to a message made of magazine clippings on the projector.

“This letter was delivered to us about an hour ago,” Stan announced. “It’s confirmed to be from the Clown Killer. Detective Kaspbrak, if you will?”

Eddie stepped up. “Hey everybody, I’m back and back for one night only. I’m going to kill somebody tonight? Guess who? Guess where? Guess how? We’re going to have so much fun. Signed, the Clown.”

“The Clown Killer always demands a challenger when he commits his crimes,” Stan continued. “It’s what he does- makes someone follow clues to figure out what his plan is and see if they can stop it in time. The Clown Killer has made it clear who he wants his opponent to be already. Denbrough?”

Officer Bill Denbrough clicked to the next slide. Richie felt like someone had put an ice cube down his back as he read the next magazine letter message.

“P.S…Bring your psychic along,” Bev read aloud as everyone turned towards Richie.

Richie grinned at the crowd. “Okay, but I’m not the first psychic who’s worked with the police. Remember that FBI guy who had a psychic with him?”

“She was in on a counterfeiting scheme,” Ben mumbled next to him.

Stan looked sympathetic. “Mr. Tozier, I’m sorry but he’s made it clear that he wants it to be you.”

“How could he-”

Stan clicked to the next slide. The ice cube now felt like a bucked of ice water going down his shirt when he saw his picture on the screen. It had been the one from when he and Ben had discovered the dinosaur (even though Ben said they had technically re-discovered it after finding the dead paleontologist). There was a stamp of a clown at the bottom of the picture.

“Oh fuck,” he said softly. Someone actually wanted to play a game with him.

Ben stepped forward to stand at his side. “Do you have description on him? Something we can use to track him down?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Stan shook his head. “There’s never been anything to indicate age or ethnicity. Not even a physical description.”

“There isn’t even consistency with the manner in which he kills,” Mike Hanlon, the coroner and medical examiner, added. “I’ve reviewed the files. Neither Bill nor I have been able to find a pattern.”

“He’s right,” Stan nodded. “We’re pawns in his game and we just have to play along with it.”

“Because it’s worked out so well in the past?” Richie countered, his eye catching someone in the corner of the room. “Wait, wait, wait, I’m getting something. I am having a vision of the killer!”

Bev went rigid. “What? Already?”

“Yes, Detective, I am.”

Richie marched across the room, Ben shadowing him, and pointed to a man with a ballcap sitting at a desk. He seemed tuned out to the whole ordeal. “Him. Right here. This is the Clown Killer.”

The man didn’t even pay attention to him, but Bev let out a small groan and Eddie ran a hand down his face. Stan was looking pissed off, then even more so when Bill whispered something in his ear and they retreated to his office.

“Tozier, this is…” Eddie pressed his lips together briefly, barely holding back frustration. “Belch Huggins. He’s a profiler who’s come in because he has identified patterns in the Clown Killer’s murders and is an expert on him. Even more so than Bill and Mike, which is saying something.”

“Are you sure he’s not the killer?”

Ben elbowed him from behind. “Play nice.”

Bev had caught up them now. “Uh, Belch, this is-”

“Richard Tozier, in the flesh,” Belch finished, rising from the chair and adjusting his ballcap.

Richie turned to Ben and raised his eyebrow. Ben gave him a subtle headshake. He was right. Pissing off a potential serial killer was a bad idea, even for him.

“Hold on, you know Tozier?”

“I’ve done my research, Detective Kaspbrak. Not to mention he’s in the papers frequently for the work he’s done for you. No doubt the Clown Killer saw him and decided to select him to be the next player.”

“I’m more of a Street Fighter guy, but beggars can’t be choosers,” Richie told him, stepping aside for Ben. “This is my partner, Leonard Snuffleupagus.”

Belch held out a limp hand that Ben shook politely. “Hello.”

“So you are Benjamin Hanscom,” Belch smiled. “It was harder to find stuff on you with all the names your partner’s given-”

“So why Belch?” Richie interrupted. “You have a gas problem or something.”

“Tozier, please,” Eddie practically begged. “We’re all introduced now. Mr. Huggins, can you tell us more about what’s going on?”

“But answer the Belch question too.”

Belch took a deep breath. “The Clown Killer is the most notorious and mysterious killer in all of Derry. He first started in 1988 with five kills and has resurfaced three times with a single victim in each of those instances. This is his fourth appearance since the 1988 spree. The only times he comes out of hiding are when he feels there is a worthy opponent, Richie in this case. He challenges his opponents to save the victim in a set amount of time by solving riddles he creates.”

Richie raised his hand. “I have a question.”

“My given name is Reginald, my father was named Reginald, his father before him was named Reginald, and his father before him was named Mary. I find the name stuffy; I refuse to go by Reggie because of Archie Comics, and Belch was a childhood nickname.”

Richie lowered his hand. Mystery solved, at least the easy one.

“Okay, you said there are riddles we have to solve?” Ben asked. “Has anything come in yet?”

Bev nodded. “One got delivered with the note announcing his return. Belch?”

Belch walked over to the projector and moved to the next slide. A picture of a telegram message was on the screen, a nice change of pace from the creepy magazine letters.

“He serves the general well today, whose soldiers wait to die. In a white river they shall pay, for them he will not cry. Who is he?”

Richie studied the riddle as Belch pulled a stopwatch out of his jacket. “This stopwatch was also inside the envelope, already running. This is typical of the Clown Killer and we only have an hour and ten minutes left on it."

"Generals and soldiers...could it be military?” Eddie asked, scratching his head.

“Perhaps,” Belch shrugged. “But he wants to play with the psychic. The riddle will be something personally connected to him.”

Richie closed his eyes for a moment. Eddie’s question on the military was still hanging onto him. Generals, soldiers, ranking. Private. Corporal. Lieutenant. Captain. Colonel. But white rivers…a battle? Mike knew some military history, could he know of any battles? But this was for him, this was his clue…

“Any thoughts so far?” Eddie asked.

“He’s been planning this a while or he’s just a lazy poet,” Richie suggested, trying to remember high school history class.

“Richard!”

Fuck, his dad had arrived. Ben was giving him a deer in the headlights look. Richie could tell by the look on the old man’s face that he was not pleased.

“A moment, please,” he said to his friends and Belch before running over to where his father was standing. “What are you doing here?”

“You can’t work with this case, Richard,” Wentworth Tozier scolded his son. “I forbid you to be a part of this.”

“Forbid me…what? No, I am a grown ass adult, Dad. I’m taking the case.”

“Don’t. I was around the last time this sick bastard challenged a cop. Your mother can tell you all about his psychological evaluation. Not only does he know about you, but also about everyone you care about. If you don’t catch him…Richie, you’ll never sleep again.”

His father rarely called him by his nickname. That meant he really wanted Richie to listen to him.

“Dad, I can handle this. I promise you. Just go home, and I’ll give you a call tomorrow, relive the greatest hits. Besides, that clock is counting down so I kinda gotta go and save someone’s life.”

Wentworth didn’t look pleased. “Don’t fuck this up.”

“And I shall try my hardest not to,” Richie snarked back before turning around and heading back to the others.

Eddie was arguing about past cases with Mike and Belch when Richie made it back to the group. Bev and Ben were watching and whispering to each other. Richie looked at the riddle again. He still couldn’t think of anything. What was the Clown Killer trying to tell him?

“The first one is always a gimme,” Belch was telling them. “Richie, you need to think about the last twenty-four hours.”

Staying inside with the rain. Watching Netflix. Arranging a meal with Ben. Breakfast for lunch at the restaurant. He’d run out of cereal so that’s why he’d…

“Oh!” he shouted. “Ben, I know! I got it! It’s Mills!”

His best friend looked at him with confusion. Bev and Eddie exchanged a similar expression. Belch looked intrigued.

“General Mills,” Richie said. “Cereal. The white river is milk, soldiers are the little bits of cereal, and he’s talking about breakfast.”

“Great, we have the general, but who is he?”

Eddie’s question made Richie think back again. The riddle had referred to someone serving the General. Someone serving breakfast…

“Shit.”

~~~

              Eddie made remarkable time getting them all back to where Richie had been eating breakfast with Ben. Once they were there, Richie didn’t even wait for the car to park before tumbling out while Eddie shrieked at him to wait. There was no time to wait though with the timer counting down. The hostess told them when they all barreled in that the waiter had gone on break in the back. Richie barely even let her show them the way, running off in the direction she pointed with Eddie and Ben on his heels.

Outside of the restaurant, there was no waiter in sight. Unfortunately, there was a clown decal plastered on a locker below a stopwatch. The cold feeling he’d gotten earlier was back.

“How well did you all know this guy?” Bev asked, but her voice sounded fuzzy.

“He just served us lunch.”

“Breakfast…for lunch,” Richie corrected. “It was barely anything.”

“Doesn’t matter with the Clown Killer,” Belch said simply, like he was telling a child the sun went down at night. “He’ll find anyone you interact with.”

Bev was yanking on a pair of gloves and opening the locker. No dead body fell out thankfully. There was another message inside, except it was made with glued on cereal.

“Oh rats, Richie,” Bev read. “Oh, so close! Shame he has to die, but how? And when and where? Don’t ask me why.”

“That’s not a riddle,” commented Belch. “He owes us one still.”

“Richie, think you can sense anything from it?” Bev asked him.

Richie tried to look for something, but the waiter was still on his mind. “Clearly he went to a lot of work to pick out the letters from the cereal. For a guy who rhymes like a sixth grader, he had to be planning this. Like he was waiting for me for breakfast. He should have used those little alphabet letters that people put in soup. Why do they call it alphabet soup anyways? There’s fucking numbers in that stuff! Why don’t you calling it fucking letters and numbers soup? It makes more sense!”

Ben nudged him. “I have to go show you something over there.”

“You can just tell me.”

“I want to show you something,” Ben jerked his head towards a flower box. “This will be a quick second.”

Eddie nodded in understanding before going back to checking over the locker with Bev. Richie groaned and ran his hands down his face. “What?”

“Richie, what are you doing?”

“Trying to solve a case, like we always do.

“There’s a man’s life at stake and you’re making jokes?” Ben whispered. “Richie, you are my best friend, I love you, and I support you. But you have to take this one seriously. It’s a serial killer who is going after you!”

“You think I don’t know that? Ben, I’m scared out of my mind. We heard about those cases growing up, my dad knew people who faced this guy, my mother did their psych evals. I have to work like this because if this clown gets into my head, then it’s all over. I’ll lose it. I have to do my thing and make jokes to diffuse the tension of this situation or I’m going to actually start freaking out more. I can’t show weakness by stopping and showing that this weirdo has gotten into my head!”

Ben stared at him for a long minute. “What if I made the jokes?”

“Come again?”

“You have to focus on these riddles, not creating jokes,” Ben told him. “Let me try and be the funny guy. I’m no you, but…I can try.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“I said I’d try. That clock’s running out though. Let’s do this, Trashmouth.”

Richie grinned. “You’re the Trashmouth now.”

“Guess, I am.”

“If you’re both done with your powwow now, I found the other poem,” Eddie shouted, holding up a receipt.

Richie walked over, peering over Eddie’s shoulder. “Little League is over, you just became a pro. Score a run, we’ll have some fun. Make sure you beat the throw.”

Ben peeked over Eddie’s other shoulder. “Wow, and he didn’t leave a tip. What a jackass.”

“He wants you to go to the next location,” Belch said before letting out a burp.

“And we have seventeen minutes,” Eddie held up the watch. “Tozier, would you please get off my shoulder? Where do we need to go?”

Richie cringed and started to think. Oh god, where did this guy want him now?

Ben glanced over at him and nodded. He picked up a soda can and started playing hacky sack with it. After a while, he started to whistle Happy Birthday. Belch looked fascinated. Bev raised an eyebrow at his antics. Then she clapped her hands together.

“Make sure you beat the throw is a close play! I had a coach once who told us that constantly. You have to get to one of the bases or home plate.”

“Yes!” Richie saw where she was going. “He said score a run. I sucked at Little League, but I know you have to touch home plate to score. Home plate is the police station, it’s where this started.”

“Good, good, good,” Eddie said quickly, fumbling a little as he pulled out his keys. “Now let’s go!”

~~~

              When they got back to the police station, Maggie Tozier was waiting there. Eddie watched as Richie went off to go and talk to her. He thought about shouting at him briefly to just come along, but he knew about Richie’s relationship with his parents. It had been the total opposite of him and his mother. They’d buried themselves in their work and weren’t there for Richie when he needed them. When Maggie had evaluated him a few months ago, she’d mentioned it was a regret of hers that she was actively trying to fix.

“Kaspbrak, Marsh!” Stan came out of the conference room. “In here!”

“Is it a surprise party?” Ben asked.

Bev frowned at him. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Cool as a cucumber.”

Eddie rolled his eyes as they walked inside. Mike and Bill were with Stan, staring at a massive box on the table.

“Again, is it a surprise party?”

Mike shook his head. “I found this outside the file room. Checked in with Bill to see who’d brought it in. He told me no one signed for it.”

“It was inside the precinct?!” Stan stared at the two of them. “Are you kidding me? That is the last place someone should be dropping clues. Both of you, go tell everyone to keep their eyes open, not until they catch this guy. I’ve let you people watch my child, come on!”

“Sorry about that,” Richie made his way into the conference room, looking more determined than he had a few moments ago. “And Chief, I was told to tell you there was a reporter on the phone in your office. Something about a statement.”

“Oh, he’s getting a statement,” Stan sighed. “Please solve this, Mr. Tozier. Please.”

Eddie watched him leave, not envious of the position his boss was in. Belch began to unwrap the package on the table now that Richie was there. The guy gave Eddie the creeps, but he seemed to know what he was doing. Richie hand his arms crossed, but his fingers were dancing out a melody on his elbows. More than even, Eddie hoped he’d crack this case. He’d heard others broke before after failing and he didn’t want that to happen to Richie.

“What the fuck is that?” he screeched when the wrapping paper came off to reveal a cage with vermin and a time hanging from the wire.

“It’s a mouse, Edster,” Richie deadpanned. “I had one as a kid for a while.”

“He’s taped the clue on top,” Belch interrupted, pulling off a laminated sheet. “Another riddle for you, Richie.”

“Is he using alphabet noodles?” Ben asked.

Belch showed them the paper. “Mouse food. It’s a photograph. Meet my little buddy Gus. Pitter patter is your hint. If you can’t remember when, just read the fine print.”

“How much time do I have for this one?”

Eddie looked at the dangling watch, scrunching up his nose at the mouth. “Fifty-nine minutes.”

“Richie, is there a way you can speak to it?” Bev asked.

Eddie scoffed. Three years and she was still buying he was psychic. Yes, it was freaky but there had to be some explanation for how Tozier did his thing. “He can’t.”

“Yes, he can,” Ben countered. “He’s the psychic.”

“He is standing right here and all of you are bringing in a lot of negative energy,” Richie yawned. “Just give me a minute.”

“Whatever, Doctor Doolittle,” Eddie muttered.

Richie smirked. “Eddie, I know you can do better than that.”

~~~

              Richie stared at the mouse, trying to figure out what the clue meant. It was hard with everyone staring at him again and the beeping of the timer. Thankfully, Ben came to his aide and started doing his best audition for the Ministry of Silly Walks. While they were watching him make a fool of himself, it gave Richie the time to think. Still, nothing was coming to him.

“Pitter patter is the clue,” Belch said, leaning down on the other side of the table to meet Richie’s face. “Maybe you’re not supposed to speak to the mouse. What if it’s supposed to speak to you?”

Weird advice, but then again, he was working with a man called Belch. Richie sighed and watched Gus the mouse scurry around. His feet dislodged the little flakes, exposing part of a newspaper and its text.

Fine print.

“Oh, this little fucker,” Richie chuckled, pulling the top of the cage off. “Eddie, take the mouse.”

“Do you know how many diseases that thing could be carrying?”

“I got him,” Belch scooped up Gus. “Hello there, my little furry friend.”

Richie let Belch keep cooing to the mouse as he pulled up the newspaper liner. “He was walking on the fine print.”

“Then the next clue is there,” Bev stopped when she saw the page Richie had pulled out. “In the Classifieds. This could be a while.”

“But you have a psychic to read the energy of the printed names and find the important ones,” Richie countered, holding the paper up and putting a hand to his head. “Oh hey, Ben! Betty Ripsom seeks Lenjamin Handsome to love her tender. Your ex made it!”

“Not going down that road again.”

“Don Hagarty selling black snake, will go fast…”

“Those are people from your past cases,” Belch said, the mouse running along his shoulder now. “I did tell you I did my research.”

“I will not doubt you again, my good man,” Richie nodded and then looked back through the paper, scanning all the ads. “Snarky psychic seeks ferroequinologist for help with killer smile. Really? Of all the words to call me, he’s picking snarky? Lame.”

“Ferroequinologist,” Eddie murmured. “A ferroquinologist is a train enthusiast.”

Ben whipped his head towards him. “How do you know that?”

“I happen to be one actually.”

“No kidding,” Ben pointed to himself. “Same.”

“And I as well,” Belch added.

Richie had no idea what was going on, but these three clearly knew what was going on. At least he and Bev were both confused as hell with these two.

“The ‘love her tender’…tender is a small fuel car.”

Belch nodded. “Black snake is slang for coal train.”

“And there is a coal train that runs through Derry,” Ben finished.

They had their next location.

~~~

“You should have told me that we were running!” Richie shouted as he and Ben chased the coal train.

“We ran out of the station before I remembered!” Ben shouted back. “I forgot it was a pull through.”

“Dammit, Ben! But hey, look at us. We get to live out a hobo fantasy!”

Ben laughed a little. “Hey, your phone is ringing!”

              Richie pulled it out, slowing his run a little so he didn’t drop the phone. It was Carter calling about their date tonight. He was thrilled about it even though it was bad timing. Unfortunately, Carter still hadn’t forgotten how Richie had chickened out of taking him to homecoming and was suspecting he was being stood up. He was right about them chasing a serial killer, even if it did come out sarcastic.

“Ben can vouch for me! Ben, tell Carter what’s happening!”

Ben grabbed the phone Richie held out. “Hey, Carter. It’s Ben. We’re chasing a train like hobos.”

They gained a little more ground on the train before he pushed the phone back to Richie. “He wants to talk to you.”

              Carter thought it was another excuse that Richie was doing. He confessed that he was worried about high school happening again. Richie promised to call him back, and that it wasn’t a repeat of the past just as they reached an open car. Ben managed to hoist himself up first, then outstretched a hand to help Richie on.

“Your hobo fantasy sucks,” Ben coughed as they crawled inside and found the envelope and timer. “What does this dick want us to do now?”

Richie cracked open the yellow envelope and pulled out a piece of paper. The letters were white and blue this time. There were some red smears on the paper as well that made his stomach turn.

“A moving picture is worth a thousand words, so read the story and follow the birds? Once you’re there, you’ll hear a phone. You have eight rings to pick up or the girl is dead. Shame on me, that didn’t even rhyme.”

“I hope that’s just jam,” Ben groaned as he pulled out a packet of pictures from inside the envelope. “He’s given you these this time too. We have twenty-seven minutes to get this one right.”

“Great, no pressure,” he muttered, placing out all the photos to try and find a pattern. But nothing stood out.

“Anything?”

“No…wait,” Richie crawled over and peeked out the open door. “Actually, yes. Come see this.”

Ben peered his head out and saw Belch jogging beside the train, sweaty and panting. “I can’t believe this.”

~~~

              Richie figured out that the clue was leading them to the pier. The Clown Killer had taken a picture of Ben throwing away a wrapper just after lunch right by it. They had been walking to Ben’s car and this fuckwad had been watching them. So they all loaded in Eddie’s car again once they all hopped off the train to get there. The man must have broken half a dozen laws to get them there. Richie had never loved him more.

              Again, he bolted out of the car before Eddie had even parked and was running with Ben towards the pier. People were all about, enjoying the sunshine. The timer had seven minutes left on it by the time they reached the midpoint. A phone had started to ring then, which Richie finally located to be under a bench. He nearly answered it on the fifth ring but stopped.

Why had it started ringing as soon as he got there?

So he threw the damn thing into the water, drawing horrified looks out of everyone.

“You better hope that man is still alive or you’re an accessory to murder,” Eddie said blankly.

Richie could barely hear him over the pounding of his heart. He really hoped he hadn’t fucked this up. But he was getting tired of this game, especially if someone was watching him.

“Richie?” Bev’s voice was filled with quiet anger. “Why the hell would you do that?”

“Because he’s watching us, Bev!” he snapped. “This thing wasn’t even ringing until I was five fucking feet away from…”

He could see the Psych office all the way from where he stood. It was far, but not too far away that he could miss the movement behind the glass.

“It,” he finished. “Ben, he’s in the office.”

“Richie- what?”

              He didn’t even wait for his best friend or try to explain before he started running again. Richie only looked back once to make sure that they were on his tail. His mother had told him earlier that the Clown Killer knew how to push someone’s buttons and hit people and things close to him. Up until now, it had been aggravating. Breaking and entering into Psych was making it more personal.

              Bev and Eddie caught up to him and kicked in the door. Guns out, they swept the place in search of the Clown Killer. However, he had slipped away from them. The binoculars by the window Richie had been looking at earlier were enough confirmation that he had been there. He had been watching and waiting so he could make that damn call.

“Richie, don’t touch a thing! He could have left prints!” Eddie called out after he slammed the binoculars in the trash.

“You won’t find any,” Belch murmured dreamily. “He’s too good for prints. But he probably touched everything in here to get to you.”

“You have way too much admiration for this psycho,” Bev snapped at him.

“You haven’t seen anything yet. He’s just getting warmed up.”

Richie covered his face, pushing his glasses up. He hated this, he hated this, he hated-

Ben patted his shoulder. Then Richie heard “Hey, everyone. Look how huge I am compared to this little Stormtrooper. He’s so tiny!”

“Will you get your shit together!” Eddie yelled. “What the hell, Hanscom?

Richie winked at him. “You gotta pull yourself together, man.”

Ben winked back.

“Oh, god,” Bev pulled down a photo above the one of him and Ben as children. “He was here. Is this the guy who served you this morning?”

Richie nodded as he saw the man who had served this morning tied to a chair with a gag in his mouth.

“Thank you,” Belch grabbed the frame and smashed it on Ben’s desk.

              Ben was about to shout at him, but a timer started beeping. Bev, who was closest to his desk, started owning up drawers and digging through them. Ben started helping her and Richie felt like he should help too. But it was like his feet were rooted to the ground. He just stood there, watching as Bev finally pulled it out and shut it off.

“He’s left another clue,” Belch turned the picture over, showing Richie the gagged waiter as he read. “You are a naught naughty boy. Since when did you decide to play coy? But back to the station, you get another shot. But mess with me again and-”

“STOP!” Richie shouted. “Just…stop it. I’m done.”

“Richie-” Bev tried.

“Don’t. I’m sick and tired of him running us all around. I’m out. I did all this shit for him, and I’m done. Finished. Finito.”

“Because no one has ever gotten this far with him. He’s keeping the game going a sign of respect.”

“Then you can tell him to stick it where the sun doesn’t shine, Belch! After all, it’s not like we can win. You were the one who said he’s too good!”

Richie dropped into one of the chairs by the window. “We never had a shot, did we? He’s just going to kill that guy, isn’t he?”

“Tozier…” Eddie started, then paused. “Richie, you don’t just give up.”

“He’s not calling you out personally,” Richie hissed. “He is not coming into your life and picking up all these little pieces of things you thought were in the past and taunting you with them. He’s coming for me. So just…don’t right now. I’m done. Get out.”

“What?”

“I said get out!” Richie screamed. “You three! Ben stays, but all of you get out! Now!”

Bev glared at him. “Screw you, Tozier. You want to quit now, fine! We’ll still find him.”

“And good luck with that!” he shouted as she marched out with Belch, leaving Eddie staring at him with sad eyes.

“Maybe I don’t believe you’re psychic, but I believed you could solve this,” Eddie told him. “Guess I was wrong about believing in you.”

With that, he headed out the door. Richie sank back into his seat. He was exhausted.

“So now what?” Ben asked. “Are we really out?”

Richie shrugged. “I don’t know. I just…he’s the one in control right now. Everyone who plays by his rules loses. The only chance we have now is to change the rules on him, and I tried to do that. He could have killed the waiter, but he didn’t. He still wants to play and he gave us another try. If we’re out, then he’s not watching us anymore.”

Ben grinned. “Smart. I thought you were really pissed off at them.”

“I kinda was. This psycho is awful, but he’s not watching us. So let’s do what we do- go off the book to investigate.”

“Sounds like a plan. Hey, was I too much with the Stormtrooper?”

Richie cackled for what felt like the first time in hours. “Your best work ever. Now let’s go. We’ve gotten through the hard part. It can’t get any worse.”

~~~

It could, in fact, get worse.

              An hour after he’d ‘quit’ the game, Richie got a phone call from Bev telling them to come to the Derry Inn. Apparently, they’d found the waiter’s car parked outside just as Richie talked with the staff and found out the car was missing. Eddie, Bev, and Belch were already waiting by the time Ben drove him there. Richie was barely able to ask what had happened before they started leading him upstairs. Bev explained on the way that the next clue had been directed towards Eddie and he’d managed to figure it out the location and room number of the next clue.

Inside the room was the waiter, tied to a chair with his head slack.

Bev rushed over and placed her fingers on his neck. “Still breathing. Get that gag out of his mouth.”

“It’s paper,” Eddie grimaced as he extracted it. “It’s the next clue. Richie no longer wants to play. Are my stakes too low to make you stay?”

Richie was confused and he started looking around the room. There was a creepy clown portrait on a closet door made with items that probably came from a woman’s purse. Said purse was lying on the table next to the television. The cold ice feeling was back as Richie remembered seeing that bag with his mother when she came to try and talk him out of the case.

The Clown Killer had upped the stakes and taken his mom.

“No,” he uttered. “He took my mom, Ben.”

Ben covered his mouth for a moment before dropping his hand down to his side. “That son of a bitch.”

“He took my mom,” Richie repeated, sinking into a chair. He’d spend most of his life resenting her for being so absorbed in her work. She’d been making the steps to be better, actually have a relationship with him. And now this son of a bitch had taken her.

Stan was now entering the room. “I just checked down at the front desk, where’s Mr. Tozier?”

“He knows already,” Eddie spoke up. “The killer took his mother.”

The other man’s face sank. “Richie, we’re going to find her.”

“We have to,” Richie ran his hands down his face. “He upped the game to bring me back in.”

“Richie,” Bev stuck her head out of the bathroom. “You need to get in here.”

“Coming.”

Stan patted Richie on the shoulder. “I’m sending some officers to keep an eye on your father. Anyone else we should know about who could be in danger?”

“Everyone I care about is here,” Richie mumbled as Eddie walked past him. “But…Carter Han. I have a date with him tonight. If the Clown Killer goes for him-”

“We won’t let him.”

“Yeah,” Richie nodded, entering the bathroom to find Eddie, Ben, Bev, and Belch already inside. “Thought it was only girls who traveled to the bathroom in packs, guys?”

“Richie,” Ben began, pointing to the mirror with a message written on it in red.

Oh no…

“It’s lipstick,” Eddie said quickly beside him. “Your mother’s fine. He just decided to get creative.”

“You should be moving, as most people do,” Belch read. “But instead you sit and enjoy the Vu. P.S. Mommy says hi and bye. Just in case.”

Eddie was shaking, holding a clenched fist. Richie half suspected he’d smash the mirror. Bad luck could suck it.

“Any of you happen to know what V-U would be?” Stan asked them.

“We solved a case for a spelling bee once after a kid with that surname passed out,” Ben told him. “But he’s from Michigan.”

              Richie inhaled and closed his eyes, thinking back over the day. The clown stickers on all the envelopes. Gus the mouse. The classifieds. There had been an ad for a drive-in movie place. Cinema Vue, but the e had been crossed out.

“Well, thank god he’s not going to ruin the arcade for me,” Richie sighed. “But I know where he is. Was there a timer anywhere?”

Bev and Eddie shook their heads.

“Then we need to hurry,” Belch said. “He set no timer. The sun’s going down. I think he’s ready for the endgame.”

~~~

              It was dark by the time the group arrived at the drive-in lot. Mike and Bill had joined the party, along with Richie’s father. Richie had managed to remember the keys from his mother’s purse when he spoke to earlier to identify the car, so they at least had that. But that was their only clue.

              He must have spent five minutes running through the rows and jumping on cars before he finally found the car. Slowly, Richie approached it, spotting his mother in the side mirror. There was tape over Maggie Tozier’s mouth and she looked remarkably calm. As he approached the open window, he saw a sign around her neck.

“Mama says pretty please, don’t squeeze!”

Richie stepped back and got a better look. The back headrest was gone and there was a red dot on the back of her neck.

“Richard?”

“Dad,” Richie didn’t take his eyes off his mom. “Be quiet and get down.”

For once in his life, his father actually seemed to listen and not argue with the instruction. “What’s going on?”

Bev and Eddie were hurrying towards them along the row, but Richie pointed to the red dot. It traced all the way back to the house where the movie was rolling. The two detectives set off in search of that, but this felt too easy for the Clown Killer. But he needed to talk to his mother to see if there was more.

“Mom, I’m going to take the tape off now,” he told her. “Hold still.”

Once it was off, she didn’t look at him. “That one’s a decoy.”

“I figured, but-” Richie processed her words. “What do you mean that one?”

Her eyes trailed down to the box of popcorn on her lap. Richie followed her gaze. Buried in the kernels was something blinking and red.

“Richard!” his father hissed. “What’s happening?”

Richie exhaled slowly. “She’s strapped to a bomb.”

Wentworth’s shoulders sank. “Oh god, no, Richie.”

“I’m going to fix this,” he promised, then looked back to his mother. “Mom, is he here?”

She nodded, her eyes moving to the left. Richie stood up and looked in that direction. There was a space for cars to drive up, but just past that was a car with open windows and a man with a mullet seated in the driver’s seat. As if he could feel Richie watching him, he turned and smiled. He waved a small remote back and forth tauntingly, then beckoned Richie towards the car.

~~~

The car was cleaner than Richie has expected from a serial killer once he got inside.

“Hello, Richie,” the Clown Killer greeted. “I see you finally solved all of my clues.”

Richie didn’t show any expression, even though he wanted to throttle the shit out of him for putting him through that all day. “I won. I beat you. Now let my mother go.”

The man chuckled. “Most people introduce themselves first. I’m Henry Bowers. Nice to meet you.”

Richie glared at him.

“You’ve really been something,” Bowers told him. “I think you might be my most admirable foe. Then again, I knew you would be. I’ve been reading the papers, Mr. Psychic.”

“Great, glad to know I set a record in the most fucked up game ever,” Richie fired back. “But this is your last game, dipshit. This whole place is surrounded with SWAT. There is no way you’re making an escape.”

Bowers snorted. “I’ll admit the game is at an end. But I’m not done yet.”

“Why not? You about to give me some Hannibal Lecter bullshit?”

“I can try and drop something,” Bowers pointed at the movie. “You know what’s great about this movie? It has a solid resolution. These days, everyone always wants a sequel, always wants to know more. But the best movies are the ones that tie up all the loose ends. I’m like that.”

“You’re a serial killer. What does that have to do with movies?”

“Maybe I am a killer. But I also complete things. That’s what everyone wants- completion. Now the story we’ve made, you versus me, is going to end. The question is how.”

Richie spotted Eddie in the mirror. He wanted so bad for this all to end, but Bowers still had the remote that could kill his mother. He gave the barest shake of his head and hoped Eddie could see it. Thankfully, he did and motioned for SWAT to stand down.

“I know how it ends,” Richie told Bowers. “You in a cell with white walls. Or out in a blaze of glory. A serial killer cliché either way.”

Bowers laughed. “You do realize I could have killed Mommy Dearest hours ago, Richie. This switch has such a light touch. It’s like a house of cards. One touch and BOOM!”

Richie jerked back, making the killer laugh.

“Now how much fun would that be to see? It’s been so hard not to flick it, I just want to see it so badly. But then you would have been furious with me. And I can’t have that because we’ll see each other again.”

“No fucking way,” Richie shook his head. “Enjoy your last breaths of fresh air because you and your ugly-ass mullet are going right into a padded cell after all this. That’s the end.”

“Of the beginning,” Bowers grinned. “I think I’ll write a book about this. It’ll be a bestseller. You want to write a foreword.”

“Fuck no.”

Bowers shrugged. “Too bad. But keep it in mind on your date later. If you can still do it after me.”

He passed the switch to Richie. Game over.

              Richie wasted no time in bolting out of the car and shouting for them to take the Clown Killer. Henry Bowers smiled calmly as the police and SWAT came rushing in. Richie watched his father pull his mother out of the car and handed the switch over. He handed the switch over to Stan before Ben came running over.

“Richie, I-oof!”

Ben stumbled back at the force of the hug Richie tackled with before hugging him back. “Hey, man. You did it.”

“I did it,” Richie repeated. “He had a fucking mullet.”

“A mullet? Really? I saw a guy with one of those earlier today. It’s the twenty-first century.”

              As the police lead Henry to a car, Richie thought back on the day. He had seen him before. Behind a newspaper at the restaurant. Sitting behind a desk in the precinct. Walking past them in the Derry Inn’s lobby. Taking pictures as they’d been walking past the pier. All day long, he’d been following them.

“He was watching us all day…”

Richie staggered a little, but Ben grabbed hold of his shoulders.

“Richie, breathe. You got him. He’s going away. We’re okay now.”

“Congratulations, Richie,” Belch said, strolling up beside them. “You outsmarted the Clown Killer.”

“Go me,” he muttered.

“I’ve spent the last thirteen years of my life with this person. He was my whole purpose. Now I need to find a new one.”

Ben looked over at him. “Have you considered squash?”

Belch shook his head.

“Give it a shot. I’ll pay a game with you sometime.”

“Thank you, Ben. I’ll see you around.”

“Until next time then,” he said, offering them a limp handshake and adjusted his baseball cap before walking off.

“I hope he’s wrong,” Richie shuddered. “I don’t want to touch this case again.”

“Me neither. But you got through it. You’re stronger than you think, man.”

~~~

“So do I get an explanation for why you were acting like a jackass today?”

Ben snorted as he approached Bev sitting on the hood of Eddie’s car. “I was kind of a jackass, huh?”

“Big time.”

Ben chuckled as he walked over to her. “I don’t know if this will do any good, but I was doing it to help Richie. Be the humor so he could focus on the case.”

“Ahhhh,” Bev nodded, smiling in understanding. “You were being a good friend.”

“A good best friend, and I try to be.”

“Well, you were there for him today. He really needed someone. I can’t imagine going through that…having a serial killer taunt me. Dangling the life of someone I love right in front of me.”

A horrific scenario that would never happen flashed before Ben’s eyes. “Me neither.”

“But the Clown Killer’s gone now,” Bev sighed, sliding off the hood and grinding a cigarette butt under her heel.

“He is. Hey, can I get a ride back with you and Eddie?”

“What about your car?”

“Richie has a date and he intends to see it through.”

Bev gaped. “He has a date?”

“Yup.”

“Well, you can absolutely ride back with us,” Bev told him. “Eddie’s just inside. Said something about having to go to the bathroom, but I bet he’s talking to Richie. He hates bathrooms in movie theaters.”

“It’s a drive-in.”

“Which counts as a movie theater.”

“Ooo and there’s where we have to disagree, Detective Marsh.”

“Oh really?” Bev grinned. “Now I have to hear your reasons for why a drive-in is different than a move theater.”

~~~

“Richie?”

Richie looked up from the tray of goodies he’d gotten for his and Carter’s date. He had been worried that Carter was going to not come, but apparently the Clown Killer story had broken the news and Carter had called to see that he was okay. He also apologized for thinking Richie was trying to cancel on him, so that helped. It would be another few minutes before he was set to arrive, but Richie wanted things to be perfect.

And now Eddie was here, dressed in civilian clothes and looked nervous.

“Eddie?” Richie nearly speared his hand with a straw. “Hey, what are you doing here? Thought you and Bev were going to go Hannibal Lecter his ass. Straightjacket? Grilled face mask? Rent of one of those dollies for transport and all.”

Eddie snorted. “There’s an entire precinct fighting for that job. I’ll take the next one.”

“Cool, cool, cool. So…you’re here because…?”

Eddie walked a little closer. “I wanted to tell you that you were…really great today. Incredible, actually. I couldn’t even imagine functioning like that, especially with your mom’s life on the line like that. I know things are rocky with you too and I’m proud of you for that.”

“Probably a good thing he didn’t go after your mom,” Richie shrugged. “Or your ex.”

“Ha ha,” Eddie laughed sarcastically. “Look, I know this is probably the worst timing that I can have for this. But I was thinking after Bowers got taken away about how I could have lost you if we didn’t win. That scared me a lot. I know we butt heads and banter, but I really like spending time with you. Both on the clock and off it. Like when you tried to help Bev throw me a birthday party.”

“That was still your fault for keeping that book.”

“A lot of cops keep books like that,” Eddie shot back. “But you’re getting me off track. You still showed you cared about me in a way that I’m not used to. A really healthy way. Thinking about losing that and you tonight made me think a lot. Because I am scared about losing you. I know you and Ben are probably about to see a movie, but…can I take you to dinner instead?”

Richie felt his heart sink. “Detective Kaspbrak, are you asking me out on a date?”

“That was the intention.”

“Oh, Eddie,” Richie sighed. “I cannot believe this. You really do have the worst timing.”

Eddie looked freaked out. “What?”

“I can’t go on a date with you…because I’m about to go on one.”

“You’re-what?”

As if on cue, Carter walked into the lobby. Richie and Eddie turned to look at him, then back at each other.

“Then- then you can forget everything I just said,” Eddie backed up. “I had no idea, I’m sorry. I’ll…I’ll see you tomorrow, Tozier.”

“See you…” Richie tried to say, but Eddie was already speed walking out of the lobby, nearly running into Carter on the way.

“Whoa, he is in a hurry!” Carter remarked as he reached Richie. “Hey, how are you?”

Richie watched Eddie run out of the doors and towards his car. Ben and Bev were standing by it, and Richie could imagine Eddie yelling at Bev to get off the hood.

“Richie?” Carter asked. “Are you okay?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I thought I was going to be the one stood up this time.”

#it #psych #au #areyouscarletcold #fanfiction #richie tozier #ben hanscom #eddie kaspbrak #beverly marsh #stanley uris #bill denbrough #mike hanlon #happy birthday

[sluttingforcarlos]

Study Session

Jon was already prepping for Summer in his mind. They were halfway to the semester and he had kept showing up to his classes by doing the bare minimum, so he knew he was going to pass easily. He didn’t need the extra work when he could spend it planning the frat’s latest party. He didn’t care enough for a group project. So when he got stuck paired in an assignment, he told the nerd to just meet him in his dorm room one day to get it over with. Thing was, he forgot all about it until he open the door in his boxers. “Oh, right. You. That… thing we gotta do. Just come in. I’ll wash my face and we can get started.”

Daniel wasn���t exactly happy about the arrangements of this assignment – he barely knew the guy that he was paired with, just that he barely showed up to class. He was one of those frat guys and Daniel knew what that meant; he was going to be the one stuck doing all the work. He was stood outside of the guy’s dorm room, waiting for him to answer the door. He was taken aback when it finally opened and he saw his classmate standing there in just his boxers. “Oh. Um…” Daniel mumbled, trying to look away but unable to tear his gaze from the other’s body, a hint of a blush on his cheeks. He stepped into the dorm room, still feeling slightly flustered from the nice sight that he’d just received.

“Dude? Hello?” Jon waved his hand over the other’s face when he failed to form any actual words. “Please don’t tell me i got stuck with a dumb nerd and not a smart one.” He groans in annoyance before Daniel finally makes his way in and Jon closes the door behind him. “Make yourself at home, bro.” Jon waves around to the slight clutter around his room as he throws himself back on the bed, legs sprawled open and scratching at his crotch. “So, what do we got to do for this assignment again?”

For a moment, all Daniel could do was stare in astonishment – he’d seen muscular guys before, but this guy took the cake. His new partner was hot. Annoyingly hot. The remark about his intelligence brought him back to reality. “I’m the total opposite of a dumb nerd. I’ve got a 4.0 GPA, thank you very much.” He shot back – though it wasn’t in a snappy way, and said more matter-of-factly. He found a space in amongst the clutter and took a seat, his eyes followed Jon, and watched as the man spread his legs and scratched at his crotch – not the classiest move, but something about it was hot. “We just have to do a presentation on a chosen subject and present it to the class. It’s simple enough.” He remarked as he reached for his bag, pulling his laptop out as he attempted to avoid looking at the other, but every so often his eyes drifted upwards.

“Awesome! Then this project shall be a breeze for you!” Jon had little interest in spending any effort on this project. He went to class on most days, did the readings, and took exams. He didn’t need to do any extra group project work. Daniel seemed to have it together, so it would be easier to just let him do the work instead of going back and forth. “Cool. Any plans or ideas on the subject?” Jon asked as he stretched over to his desk to chug an already opened beer can. “You want anything, by the way?”

“Um… no. We’re doing this project together.” It would probably be easier for Daniel to do it himself – it’d be easier on the both of them. At least he wouldn’t have Jon’s interference which meant that he would probably ace it, but he wasn’t letting the other get away with pushing all of the work onto him. “Either we both do it, or neither of us do and we both fail. It’s up to you.” He started up his laptop as he rested it on his lap, and glanced up as the other grabbed a beer and started chugging it. “I’ll take a beer, I guess.” He was going to need one to get through this study session.

“Sure, sure…” Jon could help voicing his ideas and whatever, but he wasn’t going to actually put any elbow grease of effort into the project. Why have two people take turns writing stuff if Daniel was the expert in it. “Right! Like a nerd like you would risk messing up his GPA and fail.” He bounced up off the bed and walked over to the mini fridge in his room. “Besides, I’m too stupid to write this shit. I’d do a worse job of it if I wrote something.” He walked over to Daniel and offered him the beer, which due to him standing and Daniel sitting, was at level with his groin. “Here.”

Daniel knew that this wasn’t going to go well, it was like pulling teeth with the guy, and even when Jon seemed to agree he didn’t sound sincere at all. “I might be proud of my GPA but I’m not carrying this project by myself. I’m not doing all the work and letting you get an amazing grade for doing absolutely nothing.” He was tempted to agree that it probably wouldn’t be so great if Jon tried to write it too, but they could always rework it later. He glanced up from his laptop as soon as Jon stepped up to hand him the beer, and he found himself facing the man’s groin. “Oh…” He was distracted by the crotch in his face, and he could feel his cock growing in his pants. As much as the guy irritated him, all he wanted to do right now was yank down his boxers and blow him. He hated that Jon was so hot. He finally managed to draw his focus away from the man’s crotch and took the beer from him, just as an idea formed in his head. “So… maybe I’ll do this project for us, but only on one condition. If you’re interested…?”

“Hey, I’m doing my part! I’m keeping you hydrated, and I can tell you when you’re idea sucks or if its good. I’m a team player.” Jon reasoned. If anything, he could help Daniel with motivational support, but he just didn’t want to waste time sitting up on a computer typing when he could be getting laid. He waits for Daniel to take the beer, still doubting if the guy’s all there, until he takes it. “What did you have in mind, man?” He asks as he sits back on the bed with his legs spread out and a beer in his hands.

Despite Jon trying to reason with him, Daniel wasn’t buying it – even if he did all that, it still wasn’t a huge contribution to the project. He took the beer off of Jon and immediately took a swig from it, needing something to try and help him find the courage to do this. He was sure that Jon was going to shoot him down right away, but why not try? “I’ll do the project if you… fuck me.” He wasn’t sure if Jon was even gay, but the guy was hot, and Daniel had to get something good out of this. Seeing the other sat back on the bed, legs spread with a beer in hand was turning Daniel on.

Jon waited to see what Daniel came up with, but he wasn’t expecting… that. “Umm… what?” Jon thought Daniel was joking for a second, until he realized all those pauses he was doing were because he was busy staring at Jon’s junk. “Dude, I don’t have anything with gay dudes, but I’m not homo. I’m only into sweet pussy here.” Jon stated as he flexed his arms, as if that would confirm his heterosexual statement.

Daniel wasn’t shocked by Jon’s response, especially given that he was a jock, it wasn’t a surprise when the ‘no homo’ started coming out. “You know that this deal doesn’t make you gay, right? I mean, yeah, you’re fucking me, but it’s only purely in exchange for me doing all the work.” The flex of his arms almost had Daniel rolling his eyes. “It’s not like I’m going to run around campus telling everyone how you fucked me. And, by the way, fucking ass is so much better than pussy.” He got to his feet and stepped over to the bed, and he made a daring move by sliding onto the other’s lap. Jon could easily beat him up, but Daniel was willing to bet that he wouldn’t. “Frankly, it’s a good deal for you. I do all the work and you also get to bust a nut.”

Jon had heard all about the rumours about gay guys being good at giving head, and how they had tight asses as good as cunt, but he didn’t pay attention to them. He especially didn’t pay any attention to the ones about how you could fuck guys bareback because you didn’t have to worry about knocking them up. “Is it really?” Jon said trying to sound sarcastic, but there was the hint of genuine curiosity in his voice. It also didn’t help his case that his hands fell onto Daniel’s ass ass soon as he made his way on his lap. “Whoa. You got a nice ass, bro.” He mutters as he feels himself chubbing up. “You’ll do the entire work? No bitching about any of it?”

Daniel knew the reputation of frat boys: generally they were looking for a good time and to get laid, so he assumed that Jon would be no different. Sure, it wasn’t the usual kind of hole he was fucking but his ass was better than any pussy, and he’d happily let the guy shoot his load inside of him. He settled himself on the other’s lap, and as soon as he felt Jon’s hands on his ass, he knew that he had the frat boy exactly where he wanted him. “I’ll do all the work with no bitching, promise.” He ran his hands over the man’s impressive chest, smirking down at Jon. Daniel may be a total nerd, but he knew how to get what he wanted.

Jon was starting to chub up as Daniel stayed planted on his lap. His cock knew a good ass when it felt it, even if it was a guy’s ass. He kept his hold on it and squeezed it as he kept listening to Daniel and his offer. Jon even let out a smirk as the guy explored the curves of his chest. “… Fine. But I want an APLUS paper. I want that professor to weep when he reads it.” Jon gave A+ dicking skills, so it was only fair that was what they got. “So, you wanna bend over and do it now?”

A smirk played on Daniel’s lips as he felt Jon squeezing at his ass, glad that he’d managed to rope Jon in so easily. He may have been straight, but there was no underestimating the other’s desire to get laid and get an easy grade. “With me doing it, you’re guaranteed an A-plus. Let’s hope you give me an A-plus fucking.” Daniel had high expectations for Jon, so he was hoping that he’d meet them. “Now is a good a time as any.” He climbed off of the other’s lap, fingers moving to unbutton his pants, letting them fall down to his ankles as he spun around to let Jon get a look at his fat ass.

“Dude, I always give A-plus fucking. If they gave out a GPA for fucking, mine would be 10.0.” Jon never disappointed, especially when he had a reputation for being hung and a heavy shooter. Daniel might be a dude and a nerd, but he wasn’t going to let this guy ruin that rep he’d built. Since they were doing this, Jon fished his cock out of the hole in his boxers and stroked himself hard as Daniel bent over to pull off his pants. “Wow. Those don’t do you justice.” Daniel had a nice, thick ass on him, almost like a girl’s. He reached out and lifted a cheek just to see it wobble. “So, do you just wanna sit on it and ride, or how do you want this?”

“Then prove it.” Jon seemed confident enough, so he hoped that he lived up to it – he’d met confident guys in the past who seemed like they’d be good, but ended up disappointing him. “Yeah? Guess I’d better get better pants to show it off more.” He smirked proudly at the comment, it gave him a rush given that it was a straight guy complimenting him. He was surprised when he felt the straight guy reached out and played with his cheek, making it jiggle for him. “Riding you sounds fun.” He turned back around to face Jon, and his eyes widened for a moment as he saw the other’s cock, taking in the sight. “Wow, I’ve seen some big dicks before but… that’s impressive. It’s like a third leg.” He chuckled, moving to climb back onto the other’s lap, looking down at the frat boy as he pressed his fat ass against the other’s cock teasingly.

“I’ll prove it right now, bro. If you were a chick, I’d have you gushing down your legs by now.” Dude or not, there was no way Daniel was going to doubt his dicking skills after this. It wasn’t gay if he was just doing it to show prove himself, after all. Sure, he thought Daniel had a nice ass, but that didn’t mean he was ready to go full homo. Jon waves his cock around for Daniel to see how heavy it slaps against this own thighs even while erect. “You’re welcome to back out and just do the project yourself if you’re scared of it.” Jon jokes. He does, however, let out a hard groan as he feels the other’s pucker rubbing over his head. He grabs onto one of Daniel’s hips and starts pushing him down so his cock head can penetrate him. “Got plenty of you to work with here.”

“Well, you’ve got me hard and leaking pre, so… close enough?” Jon’s dick was big, bigger than Daniel would have imagined, and whilst somewhat intimidated by it, he wasn’t letting it put him off – if anything it only made him more determined to take it. “Nope. No way I’m backing out. I’m taking your dick.” Jon may have been confident, but Daniel was also confident in his ability to take a dick and make guys feel good, as evidenced by the groan that Jon let out. “Fuck,” He muttered as he felt the head of Jon’s cock penetrating his tight hole. “And I have plenty of you to work with.” This time, he took more control, and began to sink down on Jon’s cock. It was huge, but he was determined to take all of it quickly, just to impress the other and wipe the cocky smirk off his face.

“Riiiight. Guess it’ll do.” Jon tried not to focus so much on Daniel’s cock, since that was gay and Jon was not gay at all. He just wanted to avoid doing any work and he could use a free fuck. Jon’s eyes fluttered as Daniel took his time going down on his cock. “Wow, you’re fucking tight.” He laughs as he feels his body tight inside of Daniel. It’s much better than any pussy he’s ever had, but he’s not gonna tell Daniel that. “You’re the most experienced sexual nerd I’ve ever met.” Jon spread his hands on the bed to lean back and watch Daniel just make his way on him. “It’s not bad.”

Daniel watched the expressions on Jon’s face as he sank further down on his huge dick, hands moving to grip the other’s chest to steady himself, and a smirk played on his lips as he heard Jon’s remark about how tight he was. “Yeah? Most guys say it better than most pussy they’ve had.” Jon’s cock was big, and Daniel was taking him time sinking down on it, but mostly because he wanted to squeeze every second of enjoyment out of this. “I’m taking that as a compliment.” Soon enough, Jon was balls-deep inside of him, bottoming out inside of his ass. “Just wait, you haven’t started fucking me yet.” He rested for a second, just to get used to the other’s large length, before he began to move, working his tight ass on Jon’s cock.

Jon let out a satisfied grunt as Daniel gripped his solid chest. He found his pecs were often a sign of arousal for him, but most chicks were too busy moaning on his cock to even notice their erect nature. “You’re up there, alright.” Jon tried to play it down, but the grin and open mouthed smile on his face told Daniel he was living for every second of it. Once he finally bottomed out, Jon let out a shaky moan and thought he was going to bust his nut right there. “It is.” Jon opens his eyes to see Daniel’s smirk and cocky look. He had direct eye contact as Daniel started to work his cock, making Jon’s face melt with lust. “Fuck fuck fuck that’s fucking good.” He licked his lips and fell back in bed, overcome with the new sensation. 

Daniel heard the grunt from Jon as he gripped at his chest, which he found to be an interesting reaction, and he wondered if the guy enjoyed having someone play with his pecs, so he decided to go to town on them – squeezing his tits and pinching at his nipples. It was kind of cute how Jon tried to play down how much he enjoyed Daniel’s ass, but it was clear from the expression on his face that he loved it. “Whoever thought you’d be complimenting a nerd like me?” Daniel was surprised when Jon made direct eye contact with him – he figured that the guy wouldn’t pay attention to him during this, but that wasn’t the case. This was only meant to be a bit of fun, so he could get a thrill out of having a hot straight guy like Jon fuck him, but it seemed like there could be more to it than that. Maybe he could have some fun with this. “Yeah? You like that? Better than any pussy you’ve had, right?” It didn’t take long for Daniel to pick up a regular pace, and he was slamming himself down on the frat boy’s cock, moaning out in delight and throwing his head back in pleasure.

Jon seethed as Daniel went from grabbing his pecs to pinching his nipples. “Watch it, man.” He growls in response to the pinching, but it only makes him groan louder and make his nipples erect. “I can compliment a good effort fuck when I see it.” Jon felt his face grow light red as he was suddenly trapped in eye contact with Daniel; it felt weird to be looking at the guy head on as he rode his cock, but he couldn’t stop himself from looking. Jon scoffed at the question. “Dude, I’ve had pussy in the double digits, almost to three digits. Do you really think you can top all of them?” Jon muttered. Daniel was damn close to reaching his top ten already. Jon’s hands wrapped around Daniel as he threw his head back, which he told himself was to avoid him from falling off his cock, but he just wanted to see more of Daniel’s reactions. “Tiring yourself out already?”

The other’s reaction to Daniel playing with his nipples caused a smirk on the nerd’s face, and he certainly didn’t stop despite Jon telling him to watch it, and the other’s groans didn’t help to deter him either. If anything, it only encouraged him – watching Jon pretending to dislike the nerd playing with his chest whilst moaning the whole time amused Daniel to no end. “Yes, I think I can. Or place within the top three, at least.” Daniel was confident, if only by how the other was reluctantly enjoying this, especially going by the moans he was making. He felt Jon’s hands wrapping around him, which was another curious development, along with the fact that Jon hadn’t actively tried to break eye contact with Daniel. “No way. I can ride a cock for days. Might experience that for yourself if you’re lucky.” He reached for the other’s hands, moving them so that they were firmly cupping his ass, letting Jon get a handful of his fat cheeks as he bounced on the man’s cock.

Jon let out another loud moan as Daniel kept playing with his nipples. It made his hips jerk up against Daniel’s ass and throw his own head back in satisfaction. “You go ahead and try. I welcome the challenge.” He said sincerely. He wanted Daniel doing his best because it gave Jon an excuse as to why he was getting off on it so quickly. There was simply no way this was how all gay sex felt; it was just Daniel was really good at it, he told himself. “Get through that report first, and then we’ll see about you going on an all day ride.” Jon let the other guide his hands to his ass, which he gave a possessive squeeze. Jon fell back into the bed and brought Daniel on top of him. “Don’t stop, bro. It’s all you right now.” He encouraged as he gave the Daniel’s ass a slap and guided it up and down his shaft.

It was hot how responsive Jon was to having his chest and nipples played with, and the way that he was moaning and jerking his hips up there was no way that he could deny that he was enjoying it. “Something tells me it won’t be difficult.” Not that he was saying that the girls Jon had slept with had been bad… he just knew that he was talented at taking dick and making guys feel good. If this turned out to be a one-off, he was going to make sure that it left a lasting impression on Jon – no matter what pussy the man got from now on, it would never be as good as Daniel’s. “You’re saying you’d do this again? Well… maybe we should do it to celebrate our inevitable A-plus.” As Jon fell back against the bed, Daniel found himself on top of him, pressing his own body against Jon’s more muscular form. Daniel wasn’t planning on stopping any time soon, but the slap to his ass only encouraged him on even more so. “Fuck yeah, slap my ass again, bro.”

Jon would have probably stopped and made a point to keep Daniel from touching his pecs if he were a chick. It just wasn’t very dude of him to get off on them being teased and played with, but since Daniel was probably used to this stuff, he figured it was okay. And Jon chalked it up to making sure busted out an A+ paper for them. “I’m saying you better give us an A-plus paper or else I’m gonna demand a refund.” Jon didn’t think of the implications of his comment. He obviously wasn’t interested in another, future fuck with Daniel. He just wanted this one to be worth getting the grade he’s paying for. He just reveled in the sight of Daniel riding his cock on top of him and how he reacted to the slap. “You liked that, huh?” He brought his hand down again in a harder slap, and then added another to the other cheek. “Told ya. I know how to please a bitch. Guess gay guys are just as easy to please.”

Frankly, Daniel was surprised that Jon was letting him get away with playing with his pecs – sure, the guy was obviously enjoying it, but Daniel figured that Jon would want to protect his rep as a total straight guy, and letting a gay guy playing with his tits wasn’t the straightest thing to do. Still, Daniel was having fun in trying to push the other’s limits to see how much he could get away with. “Just as long as I get this A-plus fucking that I was promised, you’ll get an A-plus paper. Speaking of which… I seem to be the one doing all the work. Where’s this A-plus fucking you promised?” That wasn’t to say Daniel wasn’t enjoying riding Jon’s cock, because he really was – he could ride it for days – but he wanted to see what the frat guy had in him. A groan left Daniel’s lips as Jon slapped his ass again but harder this time as well as smacking his other cheek too, causing them both to shake in response. “No wonder I’ve heard such good things about your bedroom skills. But that’s me, easy to please. Your huge dick helps too, though.”

“Hey, you’re the one that went straight to my dick and rode it. I’m just letting you warm up before I really get us off.” Jon could have just let Daniel ride him and let that work until he came and paid for his grade, but it wouldn’t be Jon quality fucking. Jon never fucked a girl right unless she couldn’t speak, couldn’t walk, or lost the ability to do both. Sure, Daniel might be sore tomorrow after this, but he needed to put him to bed for his goals. He gave Daniel a few more slaps before he pushed him down on his cock and made him take every inch in place. “Move to your hands and knees. Time to show you what makes me the best fuck on campus.”

“This is just a warm-up, huh? Now I’m even more eager to see what you’ve got.” Riding Jon’s dick was fun, but he wanted to see the other’s moves – and frankly, he was the one doing the paper, so he wasn’t going to be the one putting all his effort into the fucking too. He let out happy grunts with each slap to his ass, and he found himself being forced to take every inch of Jon’s cock, causing the smaller man to let out a loud moan, his cock leaking an insane amount of precum. “Yes, sir.” He teased with a grin. He shifted positions, moving off of the other and onto the bed, settling on his hands and knees, wiggling his fat ass at Jon. “Come on. Show me what you’ve got, stud.”

“Get ready to be educated in the Art of Fucking, Jon style.” Jon was always one to boast about his fucking skills, and having Daniel to actually show them too only boosted his ego. He didn’t even have to worry about Daniel being competition for him since he wasn’t even into girls. “The problem with most guys is they go straight to it and full speed.” Jon starts as he makes his way behind Daniel on all fours and slaps his cock to his open hole. “How can a girl notice you’re hung as a horse if you’re just speeding through them?” He angles his cock in and pushes into his pucker. He takes his time as Daniel’s ass tightens to every inch he forces in. “You gotta have her appreciate the fact she’s taking thirteen fat inches in her, to the point she should be proud of it.” Jon took his time penetrating Daniel, until he finally had his hips to his, and his knees here in between the other’s on the bed.

“Too much telling. Not enough showing.” It was cute how confident Jon was in his skills, but right now it was all talk. He needed more than that. Of course, he wasn’t doubting that Jon had talents – he clearly did from what Daniel had experienced so far, but he wanted Jon to take control. “Yeah? Gonna make sure I feel every inch of that huge cock of yours?” The guy really was as hung as a horse, and Daniel loved it. He groans out loudly as he felt the man pushing his fat cock inside of him, clearly making sure to take his time so that Daniel could really feel it and appreciate every single inch of him. The nerd clenched his ass around Jon’s hung cock, so that the other could experience just how tight his hole was around his dick. “Fuck, fill me up, dude,” he grunted out, enjoying the way that Jon’s cock filled him perfectly. “God, thirteen fuckin’ inches. Gotta say that I’m feeling proud of it.”

Jon planned on fucking any doubt Daniel might have left on his dick skills. If he failed to see how good Jon was after this, he was either lying to himself or didn’t recognize a good fuck when he had it. “Yep. You’re the one who says he wants the whole thing. I can’t disappoint now.” He rutted his hips against Daniel’s ass and groaned into his ear as he let the boy experience him on all fours. He might have been able to ride Jon’s cock, but he was in a whole new ball game now. “You should be. Most girls squirt themselves before I even make it to the tenth inch. But that’s only step one. You see, while the girl’s busy reeling from my cock, that’s when I bring step two.” He put his hands on Daniel’s hips. Then, he pulled his cock out except the tip, and proceeded to ram it back in. “Now she knows she can take it, my next move is to fuck her with it.” He kept doing this removal and quick thrust into Daniel’s ass. Every thrust made Daniel’s ass clench around his cock, and left his ass gaping when he pulled out.

Hearing the man groan into his ear sent a shudder through the smaller male’s body, and his dick dripped precum against the mattress below him as Jon rutted his hips against his ass. Riding Jon was one thing, letting him take control and fuck him in this way was something else completely. He was ready for the man to wreck his ass with his thirteen-inch dick – if this was going to be the only time this happened, it was going to be memorable. “Most girls aren’t me.” Before he could even ask what step two was, he felt Jon’s hands on his hips and the man pulling his cock almost all the way out of his ass, only leaving the tip inside of him, before he slammed right back into his hole. “Fuck!” Daniel didn’t care if anyone heard him – being rammed with every inch of Jon’s cock meant that he was unable to keep quiet. “Oh, fuck me,” he moaned out, reaching back to wrap an arm around Jon’s neck, keeping him close as the frat guy thrust into his ass. His hole was left gaping each time Jon pulled out of him, showing off just how much Jon’s big cock had stretched him open. “Give it to me. Fuck me like you’re fucking one of your slutty cunts.”

“They certainly are not. I’ll give you that one.” Jon might not be gay, but he could easily see why Daniel would be competition to other guys. He had an ass and an attitude that wouldn’t quit. He didn’t even care when he started to moan out loud, where other people in the hall way could hear them. People were used to noises coming from Jon’s bedroom that they would think it was some girl or something else unrelated to him. “You like that, huh? It’s a Jon signature move.” He was surprised when Daniel grabbed him and wrapped his arm around his neck. It kept Jon held down against his back, but he didn’t stop it. He just switched from long thrusts to short and quick thrusts and placed himself over Daniel completely. “Yeah, just like them. I gotta pull out for cunts though. Don’t wanna knock a girl up.” He states casually as if waiting to see what Daniel responds.

More compliments from Jon – Daniel certainly was feeling flattered right now, and a part of him was hoping that gay sex was growing on him, given that he was so complimentary about everything so far. As soon as he let out that moan, Daniel had expected the other to clamp a hand over his mouth or tell him to shut up, but nothing of the sort came, and Daniel decided that he could be as loud as he liked. “Love it, dude. Got any more signature moves up your sleeve?” He kept Jon pressed against him, enjoying the feeling of the man’s toned body held against his own. “You’d better not pull out of me. You don’t need to worry about knocking me up, and I’m a cumslut, so you’d better fill my ass with every drop of your cum.” He couldn’t help but rock his hips back to meet Jon’s thrusts.

Jon actually found Daniel’s moans hot.They didn’t sound as fake or frustrating as when girls were overwhelmed by his cock. He could tell Daniel was at the perfect moment of getting off on his length in his ass. “This not enough for you? I’m giving you my exclusive tricks.” Jon wrapped an arm around Daniel and drilled his cock in him at a faster pace while keeping himself up with the other. He had his forehead pressed to Daniel’s as he openly grunted and enjoyed his pucker. “Ah, a cumslut? No wonder you’re such a pro at this.” He lets out another genuine moan when he feels Daniel backing up at him. It throws him off his pacing and just reels in the feeling. “So close, man.” He blurts out. “You keep doing that and you’re gonna have every drop like you want from me.”

“Oh, it’s good. Amazing, even. But I want to experience all the tricks in your book.” If they were only doing this once, he wanted everything that Jon had – he wasn’t going to settle for anything less. He smirked as he felt Jon slip an arm around him, just as the man began to pound his ass at a faster pace, eliciting more moans to fall from Daniel’s lips. “That’s it, fuck. Just like that.” He grunted out, panting as their foreheads were pressed together, and he couldn’t help but look into Jon’s eyes as his hole was being wrecked by him. “What can I say? I’m good at getting what I want.” The moan that Jon let out as he worked his ass back on his cock had him doing it more fervently, wanting to draw more of those moans from him. A part of him was a little disappointed that Jon was close, given that Daniel could happily let the man fuck him for hours, but he was desperate to be filled with Jon’s load, and simply knowing that he was so close to what he desired was driving him closer to his own orgasm. “I’m so close too, man. Need you to fill me with your cum, I’m gagging for it.”

Jon wasn’t even thinking about his paper anymore. All he wanted was to keep Daniel riding his cock and to know what it would feel to shoot his load uninterrupted. He gripped the other tighter as they moaned at each other, the sound of their hips slapping against each other the only other noise. “So am I. Good thing we’re both getting what we want out of this.” Jon laughed at the thought and licked his lips. He frantically bucked into Daniel’s hips until he finally was ready to blow. “Fuck, here it comes!” He shouts as he shoots balls deep inside of Daniel. The sensation throws Jon and Daniel onto the bed with Jon on top of him. He still makes sure to give Daniel what he wants and keeps rutting his hips forward so he gets every drop of come in him.

The way that Jon was tightly gripping at his hips and slamming into him, Daniel knew that the other was close, and knowing that along with the sound of their skin slapping together was turning him on and bringing him even closer to his own orgasm. “Fuck yeah. Totally fuckin’ worth it.” Daniel was on the edge himself, and as soon as he felt the first shot of Jon’s load in his ass, that was it for him. “Fuck!” He grunted out, his cum shooting from his own cock, painting the bed beneath him in his seed. The pair of them collapsed on the bed, and Daniel’s load was nothing compared to Jon’s: the guy’s cock was like a fountain. Jon really was giving him every last drop, and he could feel his stomach bulging with how much cum the guy had dumped inside of him. “Holy fuck, that’s a big load. Christ, if I was a chick I’d definitely be pregnant by now.”

Jon had come before inside of girls, but he had a condom on that pretty much contained the reaction and the mess. Now, he could feel Daniel’s pucker milking him and clenching around his naked cock as it shot all over inside of the man. He’d never felt so good while coming. He clung tight to Daniel as he refused to let go of the feeling. “Fuck your ass feels so good right now.” He blurts out as he humps his hips forward to prolong the moment as long as possible. Even after he finally unloads and begins to breath again, he wiggles his hips to let Daniel’s ass clench around him. “Yeah, good thing you’re not a chick.” He laughs as he doesn’t think how he’s admitting he’s glad he’s fucking a guy and not a girl.

Plenty of guys had shot their loads inside of him before – he was a self-proclaimed cumslut – but feeling Jon emptying inside of him was a completely different feeling. He’d never felt so full with cum before. Daniel moaned out as Jon continued to fuck into him, helping him to ride out his orgasm, his hole clenching tightly around the man’s cock. “Fuck, that was definitely an A-plus fucking.” Despite the fact that they’d both shot their loads, Jon didn’t seem to be in a rush to pull out of Daniel yet, and Daniel himself was happy to stay full of the man’s big cock for a little while longer. “So… did I make the top 10?”

Jon usually had to give up his post-enjoyment fuck to offer the girl a towel to wipe down from. Even if he didn’t come in a girl, he made sure to shower her in his load so she never forgot the experience. Now he was able to just rock his hips into Daniel and enjoy his pucker until it eventually pushed him out. “Yeah, so I better expect an A-plus paper.” Jon reminds Daniel with a hearty slap to his ass. Jon didn’t respond his answer right away. This was one of the best, if not the best, fuck Jon had ever had. But he couldn’t exactly tell this guy that; it would sound homo. Instead he switched topics as he noticed the mess under them. “Dude, did you piss yourself on my bed?”

Daniel just let the man continue to rock into his hole, figuring that the guy didn’t get to fuck girls raw often or shoot inside of them, so he was going to let Jon enjoy it – and Daniel wasn’t expecting to have a round two any time soon, so he was appreciating the way that Jon was dragging this out. “Yeah, yeah, you’ll get your A-plus paper.” He smirked as soon as he felt the slap to his ass. The fact that Jon didn’t answer was telling enough, and it proved to Daniel that he’d made the top 10 – at least, maybe even the top 3. “No, I didn’t piss myself. Your big cock made me shoot without even needing to touch my own dick. So, congratulations on that feat.”

Jon was downright cuddling with Daniel at this point. He didn’t need to stay on top of him, or inside of him, or even to keep his arm around him. But there he was, lazily moving his hips and enjoying the warmth of his ass tight around his cock. “Good. Then I guess I don’t need to beat you up.” He was worried he was going to have to wash his sheets or deal with the smell of piss for a week. Daniel’s explanation surprised him, and it was obvious that Jon was pleased with the response. “So, I made you come without  needing to touch your cock?” Jon said with a condescending tone. “Guess that means I deserve a double A-plus paper, right?”

Daniel had noticed that they were essentially cuddling right now, and Daniel wasn’t rushing to point that out to him – it wasn’t often that he got to cuddle with a hot straight guy, so he just appreciated the fact that it was happening. “Like you’d beat me up.” Jon may have been a cocky frat guy, but he seemed like a softie below it all. A part of Daniel had been reluctant to answer the question, given that he could tell what Jon’s reaction was going to be, but the guy would’ve figured out that he hadn’t pissed the bed. The cocky response from the guy made Daniel roll his eyes – just as expected, but if anything, it was somewhat endearing, and Jon at least had reason to be so confident. “Yeah, yeah. You’re that amazing that you made me shoot without even touching myself. But, yeah, that probably deserves a double A-plus paper. Guess I’ll have to put in extra effort just for you.”

“I could and I would if you push me to it.” Jon stated, but he had no actual threat behind it. Jon defended himself and could knock a guy out if he was pushed to fight, but he preferred to just relax and enjoy college life as the eternal party it was. Why bicker when you could get bombed on tequila? “Damn straight.” He wiggled his hips in a show off attempt to fuck Daniel with his limp cock, but all it did was help it finally slide out of him. He let out a relaxed groan and laid back for a second. Once he was finally out of Daniel, Jon felt this was all getting too homo for him, so he got up. “Let me get you a towel for that mess.” He walks over to his bathroom and brings back a towel and Daniel’s beer. “Here.” He offers them while Jon gets his own beer again and sits back on the bed.

Daniel knew that Jon wouldn’t do anything to him unless he pushed him to do it, and Daniel definitely wasn’t going to test it out. He knew that the guy could hold his own, and despite being a nerd Daniel wasn’t easily knocked down – not as easy as most nerds, that is – but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to best Jon. “It’s too bad that you’re so straight. If you weren’t so worried about this being super homo I could go around and brag to everyone how good you are in the bedroom and improve your rep even more so.” Daniel relaxed back on the bed as Jon moved to get a towel for him, and as soon as it was handed to him, he began to wipe down Jon’s bed, cleaning up his load. As soon as it was cleaned up, Daniel sat back and took a quick sip from his beer. “Okay, gonna finish this and then I’ll start working on the paper.”

“I wouldn’t need your help getting dudes if I wanted them.  know guys would kill to suck my balls,  let alone the chance to ride this bad boy.” Daniel wasn’t the first gay guy to hit on him. Jon loved the fact that he was a stud everyone wanted, but he always politely turned them down out of respect. He only had to ever get physical once, when a guy wouldn’t take no for an answer. Jon drank his beer and let Daniel get comfortable in his bed. The dude took his cock up the ass, so he wasn’t really worried about sitting in bed together naked and drinking beers. “Just what I like to hear. I’m just gonna take a nap while you work. I can trust you won’t get too distracted by my rocking bod, will you?”

If anything was to be said about Jon, it was that the guy was confident, but understandably so. Daniel was sure that he wasn’t the first gay guy to have tried it on with him, and he knew that he wouldn’t be the last. “Yeah, I know you don’t need my help. Doesn’t hurt to have someone praising how good you are in bed, though.” Despite the fact that they’d just fucked, Daniel couldn’t quite believe that he was sitting there naked with Jon and drinking a beer with him. “I mean… it’ll be hard not to be distracted by your bod, so I might have to take a quick glance sometimes, but I’m sure I can handle it, stud.”

#010

[karterh-blog]

Levi 1

Levi 

This is stupid.

What am I doing?

Nothing odd.

Just a tall teen, buying packaged cookies.

And that’s it. 

Watching that movie was a bad idea. Why did I let Nic talk me into watching it? They were so persistent. The movie was good. It made me feel less alien. The worst part was the partial I got from the watching the kiss at the end. I had to hide it behind my letterman’s jacket when we left the theater.

Maybe it’s a good thing. No other on-screen romance has gotten that much of a rise out of me. Fuck. Even my thoughts are getting corny.

“Young man register 15 is available,” the yellow-vested Walmart employee startled me out of my inner turmoil. I looked up at her, she looked tired, unkempt, as my mother would say. She gave me an impatient nod to herd me along to the self-checkout kiosk.

I quickly scanned my purchase and selected the pay option. Fumbling with my wallet I tried to rush the machine into taking my five-dollar bill. The stubborn thing spat it back at me. Infuriatingly, I snatched it back, worked out a barely bent corner and forced the note back into the payment slot. This argument went on for a few more rounds. I felt the stares of the moms waiting in the line. Believe me ladies, I want to get out of here as much as you do. After a fifth attempt it finally accepts my payment and spits my change and receipt at me. I shove it into my jeans pocket, grab my purchase and head for the doors.

“I need to see your receipt, young man,” drawls the exasperated looking man at the greeter post.

I attempt to extract it from my pocket without showering my feet with pennies and dimes. I failed.

“It’s a new policy.”

“It’s fine,” I say and as I hand him the small slip, I see that my hands are shaking.

My hands don’t shake. I scored the winning net in or hockey game against Gillette Saturday night. They’re our biggest competition this season, not to mention our biggest rival. “What is wrong with me.”

“Thank you, have a nice night,” he utters in monotone. he so doesn’t care.

I’m in the clear. Not even close, Pearson.

I make it to the second set of doors and forget how hard it’s snowing. I hate driving around town in snow. I’m not a terrible driver for a 17-year-old. I get carried away after a big win on the ice or a movie with good chase scenes, but generally I keep it in my pants. But other people act like they haven’t lived here for decades and either slide through the intersections or drive half the speed limit. 

Crap, am I really doing this?

At the beginning of Christmas break Nic begged me to go see a movie about some gay kid. It didn’t play here in Sheridan. There is no way it would play here. It might turn us impressionable youths into the gays!! Too late. Anyway, Nic convinced my mom that she would likely get a better present if I were allowed to drive up to Billings, Montana to do my holiday shopping. Nic is basically an only child. They know how to manipulate parents. They are my best friend, but I wouldn’t say that to the guys on the team. The guys already give me a hard time for hanging out with them and some of their “freaky” friends. I just feel so comfortable around them.

Unlike now. My socks are wet from slopping to my car. Chucks are not good winter shoes. I jam the key into the door handle to unlock the car. No fancy fob for this ride. Hell, it doesn’t even have cruise control. Gotta love hand-me-downs. Now that Jess is working a job and going to school (Sheridan College, fancy) he was able to buy a better vehicle. So, I get the old Honda my parents bought used ten years ago. The hinges creak as I open the door and slouch into the driver’s seat.

After shoving my backpack into the floor, I set the package of Oreos on the passenger seat. They’re the holiday ones with the red filling. Not really like the movie said, but close.

The car squeals to life with a good forceful turn of the ignition. I should get my friend Joey to change that belt. It’s getting really bad. I carefully make my way out of the packed parking lot as my phone buzzes in my hoodie pocket. I know it’s Nic, so I don’t even look.

“Hi.”

“Hey babe?” They sound unsure. Great.

“Why do you call me that? Don’t you’ll make me more nervous?”

“Lee, it’s going to be great! I’m so excited for you. I wish I could watch from your backseat.” Nic ignored my question. Typical. 

“God you’re creepy.”

“Yeah. But you love me.”

“Uhhh....” I let silence hang in the chilly air. 

“Levi Pearson, you go give that boy his cookies and make his year!”

“How are you cockier than me? Do you think he’ll even get the reference? This is pretty out there.”

“I know he saw the movie, Sarah Riley showed me his secret Instagram post about seeing it and then journaling at City Brew for hours afterward!”

“How do you know it was actually his post?”

“Babe, the freaks know all the best gossip.”

“Seriously? The babe thing?”

“What about it?”

“Even your friends think we’re together!”

“That’s impossible Lee. They all know I’m a demi/panromantic asexual genderqueer!”

“Nic. No one in this county knows what that means, except for you.”

“You’re totally not my type.”

“You mean you’re not my type?”

“Right. Not everyone can be born with genitalia that you are disturbingly focused on. But you are so stoic that no one knows what your type is, other than maybe cheerleader or volleyball player. I’m the only one who sees you. Well until tonight. Then Patrick will see you. Hopefully more of you than I’ve seen.”

“Hey.” I listen to Nic’s peeling cackle for two traffic lights.

“Holy shit. Aren’t you almost there?”

“Just turning off 5th street.”

“Ok. Ok. Ok. I love you! You’ve got this!” With that she hangs up.

I shift into park and look up at the brick house. The lights in the living room shine through the curtains. A big pine tree blocks the only other window facing the street. That’s probably his parents’ room though. That’s how I remember the house when Brad Warren lived there. We used to hang out in grade school, and we’ve been on the same hockey team for two years. I’d ride my bike over here when mom and dad were both at work in the summer.

God. My thoughts are all over the place. I’m mostly just trying to not picture and also hope for the opportunity to see Patrick’s smile. I think a lot about that smile. I didn’t really notice it until he got his braces off last year. It seemed like he smiled for weeks. He was unfortunately outed by some football players in a pretty brutal manner. He hasn't smiled much since then. Nic says he’s been out to his friends for years, which makes us the only two queer guys in the 11th grade, as far as I can tell.

A shadow passes by the window and I jump. Crap. I probably look like a stalker sitting out here.

I grab my backpack off the floor and chuck a couple of textbooks out, so I can fit in the treat I have for Patrick.

The characters in the movie bond over Oreos. And I figured if I showed up and offered them to him, it could be easier than walking up to him at school and saying something dreadfully embarrassing for both of us.

Pearson. You got this.

I wrench my door open and trudge to the Williams’ front door. I can tell by the blue light that the tv is on and I can faintly hear the sounds of Wheel of Fortune. That show is banned in our house. We watch Jeopardy! and no other game shows.

The chime of the doorbell makes me jump. Breathe. In. Out. Hurried little footsteps come toward me. This must be his little brother. I’ve seen him at school functions with his parents. The knob jiggles as he attempts to open the heavy door.

“No! I got it!” The small voice protests. And lights blind me for a second as he stares up at me. I’m already six-one. He must think I’m a giant, as he stands there with his mouth open and his eye wide before squinting at me. “Who are you? Are you Thor?”

“Uhhh, Levi Pearson?” Wow Pearson intimidated by a juvenile.

“Who’s at the door, Alex?” His voice is clear and sharp and makes shiver run down my spine. And then he fills the crack in the doorway standing behind the shorter version of the same person. His bristly dark blonde curls are cropped short. And his light blue eyes look into my soul.

“Levi?”

“Uhh, hey.”

“Why are you at my house?”

“Can we talk?”

“This couldn’t wait until school in the morning?”

“Please?”

“We won’t get very far if you keep answering questions with questions.”

“Boys, shut the door! You’re letting all the heat out.” Their dad has an intimidating presence. He’s big and muscular, and always has a shadow of coal and grease on his skin. 

Patrick eyes me wearily.

“Well come in.”

“Thanks.”

The front door leads straight into the living room. They must have painted when they bought the house. It looks totally different. Wow. How does anyone really think I am hetero? I choose to blame my mother and her HGTV habit.

“Can I help you?”

“Oh sorry. Ummm. Did you get Speiker’s assignment from yesterday? I didn’t have a chance to see him before we left for the game.” He glares at me. This was a stretch. We have one class together. Algebra II. I’m decent at it. I mean I’m holding steady to my A-, but I can play dumb.

He looks unconvinced.

“You have friends in that class, why ask me?”

I’ve got to bullshit fast. Mini-Patrick has grown bored of me and now that the door is shut their dad is back in a recliner studying the next word puzzle.

“Well, I was on my way home, and your place is on the way–”

“Are you stalking me?”

“What!?” I try to wipe my now sweaty shaking hands on front of my hoodie. It’s wetter than my hands. This is going great!

“How do you know where I live?” He looks nervous and skeptical.

���Oh. Uhh. Brad used to live here before you.”

“Ooookaaay.”

“Anyway. Your place was on my way home and I need to keep my B in Algebra to stay on the active hockey roster.

“Boys, quit flapping your gums or get out of the living room, you’re interrupting the puzzle,” his dad said while waving us to the kitchen or some other part of the house.

“Fine. Come with me.”

Patrick lead me into the house, cautiously monitoring my every move.

“Patrick. Tell your friend shoes stay at the door.” I was so busy watching Patrick watch me that I didn’t even notice his mom perched at the kitchen counter. She scrutinized me over the top of red-framed reading glasses like a mean librarian, if librarians wore paint splotched bibs. She likes to call herself an artist, but Mom says she’s just crafty with too much free time. I don’t really know what that means but I’ve seen her name on fundraiser auction items.

Patrick clears his throat to get my attention.

“Oh god,” I jump, “sorry.” I dig my toe into the heal of my right shoe popping it off and then do the same with the left. I pick up my sneakers and trudge them back to the front door and take a big deep breath before rejoining Patrick in the kitchen. He leads me down a set of stairs into another living area. It’s basically just an older version of the one upstairs. The couch is more worn, and the recliner looks nonfunctional, but cozy.

“Wait here” he leaves me in the comfy room and my eyes wonder to a wall covered in family photos. I resist the urge to memorize every one of them. Geez. I am a stalker. To calm my fidgeting, I perch on the arm of the couch and stare at the ceiling. I slide my backpack off my shoulders and hold it by the loop at the top.

“Do you have your book with you?” I look down and he’s standing in front of me, still glaring.

“Oh, uh, I don’t really need the homework. I got it from Nic. I just–”

“Dude. What’s going on here? Why the fuck are you at my house then?” His voice is icy and cuts through my small shred of confidence.

“Pat. Calm down.”

“It’s Patrick.”

“Sorry. Patrick.”

“Is this some sort of hazing, jock bet? Infiltrate to home of the homo?”

My stomach had been trying to climb out of my chest and these words drop it to the floor. I slump forward and look at my wet pack and socks. The zipper is partially open, and I can see the bright blue package. I don’t know what to say to him. Of course, that is what this looks like.

“I just wanted to give you something.” I reach into my bag and wrestle to cookie package free. I drop it onto the seat of the battered chair and head quickly back up the stairs. I jam my soggy feet into my shoes, shoulder my bad and leave the warm house without looking at any of the Williams family.

Back in the Civic, I see that I have missed 10 calls and 20 texts. I have one voicemail from home. I opt for that first knowing that all the other communications are from Nic. Mom says dinner is ready and mine will be cold by 7. I check the phone’s screen. It’s just after 7. I’ll make something up. It’ll be fine.

Nic texts again as I close the voicemail window.

Nic: Tell me. Tell me. Tell me.

Nic: <3 <3 <3 <3

Instead of trying to type out my humiliation, I opt for a call instead. I hold the phone with my shoulder as I make a U-turn and drive the five blocks home. It doesn’t take that long for me to spew my rejection and humiliation. I park behind Dad’s old beat up truck and rest my head on my steering wheel as Nic attempts to construct further plans. They seem way more invested in my love life than I am right now. I’m half listening to Nic and half listening to my stomach growling. Tall athletes should not miss meals. But despite its protests I don’t think I can keep anything down.

“Lee!”

“Huh?”

“Are you listening to me or wallowing?”

“Definitely wallowing,” I huff. My breath is starting to fog up my windows.

“Babe, remember when you tripped on your own stick while skating toward the undefended goal in the game against Casper?”

“Wow. As if I didn’t feel shitty enough, thanks Nic.”

“Did you give up hockey after that game?”

“No, but that’s different.”

“You’re right it’s a different kind of match between boys playing with stick.”

“Cute.”

“The cutest enby you know.”

“You’re the only enbee I know.”

“Babe, I can hear you shivering. Go inside. Can me later.”

“Sure.”

I lift my head and realize I have sat here long enough for the snow to coat it windshield. And I think my socks are starting to freeze to my shoes.

#lgbtya #writingprocess #early draft

[eggscelsior]

A Brief History Of Andrew’s Protective Streak

Andrew learned to do stick-and-poke tattoos during juvie. Nothing fancy; he had always been good at sketching, so his line art was crisp, and he could do shading easily enough by filling in the design with less passes of ink. It was amazing how much cooler a pubescent teen thought he looked with a dragon jabbed under his skin in blue ballpoint ink, instead of just doodled on top. That was, in fact, one of the top requests. Andrew considered it distastefully ironic - Dragon, Draco, Drake.

He was amused by the idea of stabbing “Drake” hundreds of times in black and blue. But why would anyone want that permanently etched into their body? Andrew had given himself enough marks to remind himself of the opposite: that Drake was temporary, that he could be outlasted. Andrew’s marks were carved as a distraction, dulling one kind of pain by making a fresher, sharper, controlled version. They were for endurance, not aesthetic. He covered his marks with black armbands, not filled them with ink. They were necessary but nothing to be proud of. Andrew had no urge to give himself a tattoo. But the favors he garnered in trade for his skill were invaluable.

~~~

No one had ever kept a promise to Andrew (Cass had maybe tried), and with a lack of any real thing worth living for, he’d decided to create his own value by keeping promises to others, as long as he gained something from it. Andrew made a business out of promising tattoos and following through. He was good at them. And he was good at protecting his goal, because it got him out of the juvie facility one Friday a month for “away” games.

And he might be good at protecting people, if they were people he decided mattered, and that felt…slightly more worthwhile than anything else. There was something in the concept of being needed that made living a bit more tolerable, a bit less boring. He'd hated the idea of a carbon copy brother that had been needed by the woman that birthed them in a way that she hadn't needed Andrew. He'd wanted no part of that shit. He had Cass. Aaron was not his problem. Aaron did not matter.

But then Drake had gotten interested. "Let him visit." "I want to meet him too." "All three of us will be brothers." "Twins are every man's fantasy, AJ. "You'll look so perfect in my bed together.” And suddenly Aaron needed Andrew, even if he didn't know it. Andrew was shocked how vehemently this hit him, how important a priority it immediately presented itself as. The first person who genuinely needed him. It was up to Andrew to keep the carbon copy cleaner than the original. No one deserved Drake, and this was something only he could be relied upon to protect against.

The only way to prevent Drake from eventually convincing Cass to have Aaron come visit, with or without Andrew’s approval, was to remove himself as well. He was used to being hurt, and to hurting himself, so he could handle this loss. Cass wanted to keep him but she didn't need him, like Aaron. So he did what he had to do and landed himself in juvie.

Then he actually met Aaron. Aaron’s mouth listed off the name of some girlfriend – his identical twin was straight? Huh. – and the name of a high school and a position as backliner on the school Exy team, blah blah blah small talk, but Andrew took one glance at the long sleeves and jeans during California summer – there was the edge of a bruise at the collarbone – and the posture – defeated – and the behavior – jittery, twitchy, he’d seen too many inmates crashing to not know Aaron was on drugs that were both addictive and strong enough to kill – and he decided that this carbon copy needed continued protection, lest he end up as marked up as Andrew after all, just by someone else's hand than Drake's.

“Uncle” Luther wanted to help “save” him from juvie, but wanted to send him back to Cass. He needed to go where Aaron was, so he shared a truth that he’d never wanted to voice out loud. Luther did not believe him, immediately marking himself off Andrew’s list of people who had a chance to matter due to blood proximity. Instead he guilted a promise out of the minister to keep other children out of Drake’s reach “in case they’re as incapable as me at ‘judging brotherly affection’ and would come out just as traumatized” and drummed up a cavalry march in Luther’s meddling missionary heart to bring Andrew “home” to his “mother” and brother.

Then he called in a lot of hoarded favors from his tattoo business: “accidental” conversations held within earshot of wardens that painted him in a good light, or at least, in a bad light with the bad crowds. A staged fight that he broke up peacefully, with sharp words and sharper stares, instead of with the fists the wardens knew he was so good with and the shivs he’d only ever been suspected of having. He even had a couple of recommendations from guards that had been impressed enough with his art to get inked by him themselves.

Pristine behavior, a winning streak for the Exy team, and his list of favors wouldn’t take too long to rattle up a parole hearing.

~~~

He was out of juvie, and he was busy. He had joined Aaron’s high school Exy team to keep an eye on him; it was still difficult to pin down all the times Aaron managed to pop pills, so he required observation. Andrew had made a very pointed promise to Aaron’s mother and was arranging to keep his promise because she wouldn’t fucking listen.

~~~

Tilda was dead, finally. It had been ruled an accident, as planned. Aaron was no longer attempting to speak to him, which was fine. He did not require his brother’s approval, just his dependence, and Andrew had fulfilled the promise to protect him. Aaron’s unexpected grief over his waste-of-oxygen mother was annoying, so Aaron glowering from across the room was better than Aaron grieving loudly.

Now was a good a time as any to get Aaron sober. It wasn’t like his twin could fill any more of Tilda’s prescriptions now that she was dead, and Andrew didn’t intend to let him go questing for more sources. So Andrew locked him in a bathroom with canned food – he tossed in Spaghetti-O’s along with the soups and green beans because he wasn’t a monster – and a pillow and waited for sixteen days.

He met with the lawyer in the meantime and signed off for the life insurance payout - A. Minyard. Not a lie. He bought the cheapest cremation possible and tossed the urn on Luther's front lawn for the bastard to make funeral plans around. He bought a car to replace the one he'd made Tilda wreck and put the car’s insurance policy in his own full name. He left Aaron's off. Aaron could depend on him to drive them.

Aaron emerged silent, sober, and craving grease. Andrew drove them to Sweetie's. His twin said nothing about the car, and Andrew didn't offer the spare key of a ninety grand vehicle to a just-barely-ex-drug-addict. There was no point bolstering temptation with means and opportunity.

Then Nicky showed up from Germany. Interesting, that his brother somehow turned out straight but his newfound cousin had managed to worm a gay gene out of Luther and Maria’s chromosomes. Less interesting was Nicky being a fucking chatterbox, making up for Aaron’s blessed silence in a way that no one asked for, as well as Nicky’s complete inability to defend himself even as he assumed guardianship of the twins.

Andrew did not have time to exchange a promise with Nicky in advance, he was too busy beating these four men who’d dared hurt his cousin like they were every man who had ever laid a hand on Andrew without consent. There were a lot of those. That meant a lot of beating. He nearly lost himself in the all-consuming violence tearing out of his core, and came out of the incident with a string of therapists and a bottle of literal happy pills.

They fractured his emotions from his rationality. He spent days with his eyes opened to how amusing and engaging the world could truly be, and then slowly he started to recognize the sick feeling in his gut and the constant edge of a headache throbbing in the base of his skull to the tune of but why is it funny? It’s not. It’s not funny. Stop it. Stop laughing. Stop laughing. STOP.

He became the dead hollow space rotting out the inside of a laughing shell. Why was he living, again? Oh. Promises. Protection. That was about all his brain could hold onto firmly while he was trying to scrape the corners of his ill-fitting smile off his own face with his fingernails. Weeks of practice tamed the giggles down to silent, hard-edged smiles. He could hear the world around his own laughter again.

God, who wouldn’t he kill to stop taking this medication? His brother. He needed to be needed. His cousin too, apparently. The promise was silent but he’d already paid out, so Nicky was his now. The rest of the world could fucking burn.

Aaron was edging away, though, drowning in the misplaced grief he refused to get over. But then Aaron’s girlfriend slapped him, yelled at him for not paying enough attention to her, grabbed his wrist too hard and bruised it. Aaron’s eyes said he couldn’t hit a woman. Andrew didn’t care if it was moral or a psychological remnant of Aaron’s mother’s abuse. A new promise was forged. Aaron was cemented at Andrew’s side through graduation. Andrew broke the girl’s arm and delivered the same promise he’d made Aaron’s mother. The girl quit school.

There were several other girls. Andrew struck preemptively at each. Aaron was his now, he had promised. His to protect. Something to continue living for. Women were nothing but trouble. They turned Aaron into a useless victim. Aaron hated him for his proactive violence, but Andrew only needed dependence to give him a purpose in life, after all.

~~~

And then the fucking Sons of Exy showed up and delivered a grand invite to join the Ravens after graduation.

First of all, it was laughable that they thought he’d leave the brother he was protecting behind to play a worthless sport.

Second of all, he was solidly unimpressed by Riko and Kevin. They were obsessed with Exy, and Exy to him had started as a literal temporary escape from prison and ended up a babysitting gig for his beat up strung out brother. 

And third, their tattoos were tacky, unstylized computer font numbers, and unreflective of each boy’s potential in their chosen field. He informed Kevin of this quite pointedly, detailing his lack of interest in someone determined to make a career of coming in second, and the flash of fear in Kevin’s eyes at the implication of holding himself back to second place was…not quite amusing, and only vaguely interesting. It was not his problem. Kevin did not matter.

~~~

When graduation approached, Andrew paid attention. Nicky wanted to go back to Germany. Andrew hadn’t met and didn’t trust Erik, and wanted to delay that as long as possible. Worse, Aaron wanted to run off to college and be a doctor. Lofty goals for someone with shit grades after putting the high in high school several dozen times too many. He’d still try, though. He’d end up in a community college God knows where, no longer bound to Andrew’s side via their promise.

Andrew would not survive his medication without someone to protect.

When Wymack came knocking, Andrew seized the chance and reaped profit all around. Wymack agreed to let him bring his not-great-but-at-least-experienced family along on academic scholarship, and quietly agreed to let Andrew off his drugs for games. He’d seen tapes of Andrew before and after being assigned the pills, so he knew it was to his mutual benefit.

Aaron would get into college, shit GPA or no. The promise was reinstated another four years. Hopefully he’d learned his lesson on the last set of girls.

Andrew called in the favor for protecting his cousin and waited to see if Nicky would disappoint. Nicky waffled, he called his boyfriend-fiancé-whatever to get advice, and he finally caved and agreed a business degree would be good for him.

The drugs would wear off in two years. His promises would hold a little longer. Andrew had no fucking clue what he was going to do after that, but thinking about the future was a waste of time when he spent every spare minute keeping the Joker-laugh restricted to his face and out of his sane mind.

~~~

When Kevin showed up at Palmetto at the beginning of the spring semester with a shattered hand, looking as hollow as Andrew’s own chuckling corpse, he became a thing that mattered.

He promised Andrew a love of Exy – not feasible, but if protecting his goal could magically become a worthwhile purpose, then at least he’d have something to live for after his cousin and brother abandoned ship – and Andrew promised to keep him. Kevin’s life story was vaguely interesting, and Andrew wouldn’t mind breaking some parts of Riko permanently. He didn’t like abusers of his possessions. He stole Kevin’s phone, called up the prick, and made him some promises that involved ending up as bruised and bloody as his school colors. He hoped Riko wouldn’t listen.

~~~

When Neil Josten actually showed up at Palmetto after all promises otherwise, Andrew paid attention. Neil very quickly went from something pretty and mouthy that Andrew wanted to break for something akin to fun, to something he wanted to break to keep his protective promise to Kevin, and finally to something Andrew was going to keep for himself.

Neil's lies were aggravating. Trying to pick the truths out of the lies was interesting enough to keep him engaged. They made a game out of it. Neil was cheating; half the truths he said were not 100% truth. Picking those out was even more difficult. The idea of pushing Neil into full honesty – or at least approaching the asymptote, as one could only know another human being so well – was actually…more entertaining than he wanted another person to be. It felt like power over him.

He liked his foibles to be predictable: cigarettes, 20 to a pack, consumed at a speed he dictated. Crackers, consumed per the quantity that he ordered. Not Neil, who he always seemed to want more out of. More what, he didn’t know yet. He just knew that he gave away far too much information and far too much ground to this half-lie and what he got in return was not enough.

~~~

He was starting to understand what he wanted from Neil. He wanted another Roland. Lithe body, quick wit, good for occasional sexual impulses.

Except Neil didn’t swing, so that was out. It was a good thing Neil was holding Kevin anchored in Palmetto, or he wouldn’t be worth keeping, Andrew told himself.

And yet somehow Neil kept working more out of Andrew than he’d rightfully earned. An extra secret, on credit. Allowing Neil within closer-than-typically-acceptable proximity because he liked breathing Andrew’s smoke. Halloween with the upperclassmen. Dinner with Nicky’s worthless parents.

What the fuck was he giving so much away for?

The answer danced between them for a breath at Exites. He smacked a hand over Neil’s mouth and wasn’t quite sure which of them he was censoring, but the result was the same.

~~~

Drake. DRAKE.

He wasn’t even sure he was conscious. Everything was black, but that might have been a pillow? It was hard to breathe?

There, there was the old familiar pain. He was laughing. He watched his body react irrationally from the inside out. His hollow innards were infinite, pushing out against a heaving, giggling shell that was cracking.

~~~

Aaron. He hadn’t protected Aaron. There was blood on Aaron.

Aaron wasn’t hurt? Why was Aaron touching him. Why was he being touched? 

Luther. He made his speech to Luther. Words years in the making. 

The fucking drugs were sucking the vindication out of his voice, replacing it with a kind of sick, casual conversational pitch mixed with inane glee.

Sirens. He took off his knives. He already felt so exposed, and it had been only seconds.

Neil was touching him. Why?

No, the scars were personal. Neil hadn’t shared his, why the fuck should he be touching Andrew’s? A promise was delivered. Neil listened and let go. 

Huh.

People were talking and his head was going to split open. The drugs were winding down and he was retaining snatches of the hospital room that he didn’t want to keep. A rape kit. Why? Drake was caught in the act AND dead. Intrusive. No. He punched the orderly. He was cuffed to the bed.

Outside he grinned at the expressions on the faces of this group of men he’d kept. He wanted to wipe them all off. His. Theirs. Fuck his chemical smile. Fuck their pity. Men didn’t depend on someone they pitied, and that was all Andrew had to live for. Fuck the drugs.

Bee wanted him off the drugs. He knew there was a reason he kept her around. But…he had promises to keep, and that took precedence. He was used to pain.  

Abram. He challenged it just to be sure, but it felt true. He liked truth.

Oh. Neil let Andrew touch his scars, and wow. He’d survived a fair bit, it felt like. Those were true, too. Neil promised to keep Kevin alive, even though he was so prone to running himself, and Andrew thought of the way Neil had actually let go of his arm when Andrew told him to. It was just enough to make him trust, but only barely. Only temporarily. Only in the absence of any other viable solution.

It was time to get clean. Finally.

~~~

He fell back into old survival habits under Proust's hands. In the moments Proust “worked” on him, he distanced himself, like watching something bad happen to a stranger. He couldn't look away, but it wasn't happening to him. Afterward, he reiterated the promises Proust had ignored.

He spent group sessions silent and planning how to keep those promises. He spent individual sessions talking just enough to show them he was making progress towards release. He stole the absurdly heavy tungsten paperweight off the desk of the doctor weaning his drug dosage to aid the exercises he did in his room.

He got clean.

~~~

God. Fuck. The blue eyes were one thing, the hair was criminal. This was going to be a problem. Neil was still here, and he was pretty bruised up, so apparently he’d kept his promise against something without running away. Andrew was content with that. That story would probably be more interesting than a status report on the rest of the outside world, so he put it off till last and commanded Nicky to fill him in on everything else.

~~~

Neil had gone to Evermore. If he hadn’t outright broken his promise to stay by Kevin’s side and protect him, then he’d bent it over backward and fucked it with a rusted fork. Kevin had only been safe from Riko because Riko had been too busy with Neil.

Neil had marks from his past that he’d pressed Andrew’s fingers to, marks Andrew had considered intriguing but dismissed readily enough because it was before his time, before his promise. But this. He smashed the band-aid back against Neil’s cheek, unable to look at the tattoo any longer without needing to punch something, and Neil had been punched enough in the last two weeks to account for several lifetimes.

Andrew hadn’t protected Neil from this tattoo. Andrew couldn’t, because he was getting unfucked in the head and Neil had been a stupid fucking martyr. Proust. Neil had gotten this mark for Andrew, because of Andrew.

Neil had a tattoo that Andrew hadn’t put there. Riko had touched something that belonged to Andrew. Andrew hadn’t protected what was his.

Andrew scaled back the gaping chasm of rage. He wanted to slide out one of his newly-returned knives and carve the fucking tattoo off of Neil’s face. Neil looked like he wouldn’t mind. He scaled further back. He wanted to tattoo over it. Neil probably wouldn’t mind. He scaled further back. He would not do anything to Neil’s face right now because it would cause an adverse reaction from the shitstain roosting in Evermore.

Andrew was a creature that endured. He had patience. He’d kill Riko for this, eventually. For now he needed to focus on what was in front of him. He needed to focus on Neil, on making Neil promise to at least not purposely counteract his own safety.

“If it means losing you, then no.”

Damn the boy. He threw Neil’s keys off the roof and nearly threw himself off two minutes later when Neil wrapped his lips around Andrew’s cigarette filter. Andrew didn’t want a few of his skin cells touching Neil’s mouth, he wanted his tongue between Neil’s lips instead of that cigarette.

Neil’s auburn hair glinted in the sunlight and Andrew was not happy to realize that this was going to be different from Roland, if it was anything at all.

And it wasn't anything. How many times had Neil reinforced that he didn't swing? Neil wasn't flirting with that move. It meant nothing.

~~~

Abram, thought Andrew the first time he felt like touching himself after... everything that had happened in rehab. Abram. Cute old fashioned Christian name. Neil was probably circumcised. He wondered if Neil’s pubic hair had any of that pretty auburn tinge or if it was darker. He thought about Neil's lithe runner’s body and flat stomach and he pictured touching Neil's scars in a way that would make the boy shiver with desire instead of disgust. He wanted to see them.

He wondered how many practices he would get away with sabotaging before someone thought to try sending Neil on court to bargain with him.

Two, it turned out. He didn't hesitate to make his demand. Neil barely hesitated before agreeing.

~~~

He liked touching Neil’s marks of survival, but made sure to keep his touch impersonal. Andrew wondered which of them had more scars in total. Neil’s were obviously larger, and he found himself interested in their stories. The words leaving Neil's mouth were carefully measured and haunted, but they rang true. Andrew didn't feel like he was giving away more than he was getting, this time. He was getting closer to Neil's asymptote and it felt rewarding.

~~~

After admitting his physical attraction to the walking Exy disaster he’d been idiotic enough to keep - the miniature one, to clarify between the two - Andrew went through five cigarettes and spent Roland’s thirty-minute “lunch” break in the back room making out with and then blowing Roland close enough to heaven to yank out one of God’s omnipotent fucking leg hairs, and by the time he was done he had to admit to himself that he was picturing Neil the whole fucking time.

Neil was just a shiny new toy that he was being deprived of blowing. This was nothing.

~~~

It was probably nothing, anyway. At least the one kiss was nice, before Neil had a panic attack.

~~~

The kisses were very nice, actually, and touching Neil’s cock was very nice, and Neil’s orgasm face was actually kind of attractive, and Neil didn’t touch what he wasn’t supposed to. And when Andrew finally got bored, he could always go back to effortless, no-strings Roland.

~~~

This was nothing. This would never be a this.

~~~

“Anything,” Neil promised in return for something as silly as actual effort from Andrew at Exy. He could decide what he’d tattoo over Neil’s number after they won. He had a goal to shut down.

~~~

This would never be a this because Neil was gone, Neil was fucking gone, Neil was a hollow shell saying “thank you” but meaning “goodbye” and then HE WAS FUCKING GONE—

~~~

Neil’s tattoo was gone. Andrew wanted to vomit. Andrew also almost wanted to smile. Riko’s mark was gone from his property, his Neil. Fuck everything, Neil was alive, he could think later. For now, he had to keep the FBI’s filthy hands off his Neil and take him home.

~~~

~~~

~~~

Neil lay on his back in their bed in Columbia almost a year later. Andrew smoked by the window, watching contentedly as Neil drew lazy patterns against his own shirt.

“I’ve been thinking a lot…about getting a tattoo,” Neil said suddenly, but quietly, like it was a confession. It was almost a question. Andrew’s opinion obviously mattered, though Neil should be perfectly aware by now that Andrew’s interest would not be swayed by the quantity or type of marks marring his skin.

Andrew arched an eyebrow to indicate he should continue.

"I thought I'd never want one after Riko's, but the more I’ve considered it, the more I want to memorialize certain things on my skin. Marks I choose for myself, for once."

Memorialize. So help him, if Neil wanted his mother's name they were going to have a fight. Another useless, abusive female, surprise surprise. And people wondered why he didn't trust them as a rule.

“…A pair of crossed keys. The house key and…I haven’t decided which of the car keys yet, actually. The GS was “first” first, but the Maserati was the first one you trusted to me alone.”

Oh. Andrew exhaled a long stream of smoke in Neil’s direction as he considered this, watching it dissipate as it crossed the room. “Cars and houses change. The basic shape of the two key types don’t. Don’t be so specific. How badly do you want this?”

Neil thought about it seriously. “I’d get it today if I didn’t have one major problem: I’m not going to trust some random tattoo artist to look at my chest, and I want it here.” He touched himself to indicate.

Dead over his heart. Fucking romantic. Andrew sat up from where he leaned against the window, stubbed out his cigarette, and grabbed his laptop. He pulled up a YouTube video demonstrating stick-and-poke tattoos so that his skittish boyfriend wouldn’t bolt, and then walked out of the room to gather the supplies.

Neil was wide-eyed when he made it back to the room with a bucket of gathered up equipment and pulled out a new sewing needle, a pencil, thread, tape, and ink, along with sterilizing supplies. "You're not seriously suggesting I get an amateur tattoo with pen ink and a needle."

"Tattoo ink." Andrew shook the bottle at him, and then set it down to swab his desk off with a paper towel soaked in rubbing alcohol. "Much better than ballpoint, and I've done plenty of good tattoos in ballpoint. You're not getting an amateur tattoo."

Neil scooted over to the end of the bed by the desk as Andrew lined up his supplies. “You have no tattoos.” Neil had earned the privilege of seeing Andrew fully naked about seven months after moving into Andrew’s room.

“I did it ‘professionally’ in juvie, and I was good enough that some of the guards even wanted a free tattoo done, so they got me real tattoo ink. This is a sealed bottle,” he assured Neil, tapping the lid.

Neil considered all of this. “You don’t do anything for free.”

“No. But favors go a long way in a prison.”

Neil nodded and obediently took his shirt off when Andrew flicked his fingers. He lay back down again, but tensed when Andrew disinfected the skin with brisk scrubs of an alcohol-soaked cotton ball.

"Relax," Andrew ordered. "I've done hundreds of tattoos." He could feel Neil's pulse thumping rapidly against his fingertips. He uncapped a blue marker and Neil wordlessly dug in his pocket for keys to trace. Andrew shook his head, though, and Neil went still. He'd meant it: they would share more than one car and more than one house in their lives. Neil was memorializing a concept, not specific key teeth. He freehanded a hardware store house key and an unbranded car key in an X over Neil's hammering pulse. “I’m planning black ink with bold lines and some minimal shading. Unless you want something different.”

Neil craned his head up from where he was laying to look. His expression was pleased.

"Any changes?"

Neil thought a moment, then dug in his pocket again. He selected the key to the Foxhole Court and laid it vertically between the other outlines. This one was specific, so Andrew traced the teeth carefully. It was also a hardware store copy like the house key, so he thought a moment, and then drew a fox paw on the head. Neil smiled, wide and soft.

Fuck. He'd had to stop counting months ago. The percentage was getting too ridiculously high. He hated... He hated how Neil made him feel out of control. For years his reason for living had been curating others' dependence on him. Having his own needs and emotions depend so heavily on another person was terrifying, but he'd resigned himself to it. 

And it was Neil. He could trust Neil.

“Can we make the paw orange?”

Andrew shook himself out of his own mind. “I’ll get some orange ink online. We’ll fill that in when it arrives.” He rubbed the design down with another alcohol swab followed by petroleum jelly, and then uncapped the bottle of black ink.

Neil froze again when he picked up the needle and sterilized it. He shot his boyfriend an unimpressed stare as he methodically wrapped thread around the tip, and tipped his chin sharply at a scar two inches north of his design. "You've literally been shot, Neil."

"Once. This is a lot of punctures, okay." Neil took a slow, steadying breath.

"It is not a big deal. I've tattooed twelve year olds that handled this with more grace."

"Then why don't you have any, if it's no big deal?" Neil shot back. "I've never even seen a tattoo artist with no tattoos."

Because I've never had anything worth inking, Andrew wanted to argue. But that wasn't entirely true. He'd had a few passing thoughts about the short list of things important enough to keep with him for the rest of his life. The things he was building his life on. Truth. And Neil.

Neil was actually quaking in their bed. He wanted this so much but was so irrationally afraid.

Andrew silently sat in the desk chair and lifted his left arm, propping his elbow on the desk. He gave his inner wrist a swipe with an alcohol swab, just above the arm band, drew what he wanted carefully, and then dipped his needle in ink and began.

It had been a long time, and it was an eye opening experience, marrying together the familiar resistance and yield of skin under the pressure of the needle with the small, sharp pierces that throbbed with his heartbeat in his wrist. On the whole, pricks hurt less than slices. It hurt, but it didn't bleed or linger beyond a raw throb. Neil would be fine. He saw Neil sit up in his peripheral vision, but Neil wasn’t watching the design, he was watching the angle of the needle. Andrew was done stippling the first layer in about five minutes.

“It’s shallower than I thought,” Neil commented when it was safe to speak without distracting Andrew.

“Deep enough to hold the ink, not deep enough to hit blood vessels or let the ink feather over the muscle.” He went over it again, making it darker.

Eventually Neil piped up again. “How did you learn? I thought tattoo artists generally practiced on themselves to figure it out. Who else would let them?”

Andrew kept his eyes on his work, dipping for fresh ink and falling back into the rhythm. Like riding a bike. He’d always been quite efficient and quick with his work. “You don’t learn on skin. You learn on fruit, like bananas and oranges. The peel has skin-like firmness.”

“And…does it hurt?”

Andrew stopped to wipe off the excess ink again, sending Niel a bored look. “Immensely. I am writhing in pain.” Neil shot him a look in return. “It’s just shallow pinpricks, idiot.”

After a third pass and wipe, he eyed it critically. "Yours will take a good deal longer than fifteen minutes because of the size and shading, but.” He twisted his wrist for Neil to see. “Nothing to it."

Copying was easy for him, with his memory. 'Abram' was written in Neil's handwriting.

There was not 'nothing' on Neil's face. Neil's breath hitched, and the sheer emotion in those pretty blue eyes threatened to drown them both.

Andrew covered Neil's eyes when he couldn't stand it anymore, but he bent forward for a lingering kiss at the same time. "Your turn," he murmured against Neil's lips, pressing his palm to Neil's design. Neil's heart was still pounding, though Andrew didn't think it was due to fear anymore. Good enough.

Neil shuddered under his touch and cupped a hand around his wrist, squeezing gently. Andrew let him, and didn't flinch, but he made a note not to touch Neil's tattoo when it was done.

He kissed Neil one more time, then patted his tattoo down with mild soap water, sealed it over with Neosporin and saran wrap. He re-sterilized and threaded his needle, and Neil let him begin to work.

#andreil #aftg #fanfic #up on ao3 if you prefer to read there

[msmovingforward]

A For Effort

Wow! Tiffany may just be the biggest evil genius the entire Housewives universe has ever seen! You mean to tell me you graduated Cornell at 19, graduated medical school at 23, and you didn’t see the irony in serving cricket pizza in order to trigger someone who was infamously called a “chirpy little Mexcian?” (LeeAnne’s words, not mine). Tiffany knows exactly what she’s doing. You don’t have advanced scientific degrees and your own wine label, but need Pancho the chef to explain to everyone what salami is. Though I’m not falling for her “I never had girlfriends” sob story, I’m loving the deliciousness with which she is playing the victim to our faces while riling these southern belles up like swinging piñatas. Sorry I had to get these thoughts out before they escaped me. Onto the recap proper!

We open with Mr. and Mrs. Moon discussing the aforementioned pizza soiree. Tiffany really does have everyone in her life on a delicate thread. She masterfully guilts her husband into doing EVERYTHING to set up this party (decorating, making pizza dough-which is a frickin’ process in case you’ve never attempted it) by saying she’s extremely stressed about fitting in with her new friends. (Will they accept her for two seasons in a row?!) Tiffany knows this is her time to do something BIG in order to really brand her name on the cattle that is the Dallas Housewives, and that thing is using her $15,000 pizza oven for a group of friends that includes two women who probably don’t eat. (The last time I remember a pizza oven being mentioned as a centerpiece for a party was when Camille Grammer invited everyone to her house to drink vodka out of fishbowls and find out when they were going to die and lose their legs, but I’m digressing). Tiffany makes an Excel Spreadsheet, and the two clink to pizza parties.

D’Andra heads over to her Shaman’s house. This guy is just a gay with a lot of feelings in a robe, and you know what?! Good for him! You get that money! He had to do something with all that left over spirit gum from the community theater production of Fiddler that shut down due to COVID, and what better use than fake sideburns to convince sad rich women you’re a spiritual guru?! We learn that D’Andra has developed a twitch from all the trauma of fighting with Kari in Grapevine last week. The shaman asks what D’Andra thinks she might be projecting to invite negative energy, and we’re shown flashbacks of D’Andra mom shaming Kari in last week’s episode, screaming, “I don't even care because you were my fucking friend! ... You have three kids that are grown. One child home that is under your care.” With a completely blank stare on her face, D’Andra says, “I don’t know the answer to that honestly.” The shaman tries to get D’Andra to see the bigger picture, telling her that in life there will always be people saying things she doesn’t like, but D’Andra just blames Kari yet again, saying that Kari is just jealous of her. The shaman advises D’Andra to always come from a place of love, so no one can accuse her of having negative intentions, which I’m sure D’Andra will misinterpret in episodes to come, and then he has her lie on the floor as he spreads rose pedals on her, so she can receive the gifts of Mother Earth. I’m in the wrong area of work, clearly. How much is this dude charging for this? I tell women they’re queens and listen to them bitch all day, and I don’t get paid for it!

Kameron is with her dog and her daughter in their living room in preparation for Brad the hot dog trainer to pay a house call. It’s hard for me to tell whose name I hate more, Fanci, her dog, or Hilton, her daughter. Is she named after Paris or the hotel chain itself? Gag! Court enters and informs the two small children and the dog as well as Kameron that an interested couple had just toured their home for a third time, and they have decided not to buy. I really hate Court. Why would he tell the six year old children and the dog this? Kameron is clearly not listening. At first, I felt bad for Kameron because I thought she wasn’t being given a chance to have a say in this, but then I realized this is 20 fucking 20, and she doesn’t need permission to be strong and independent. God, Kameron! What is with the Dallas women in particular and playing victims? If you want to sell the house for more then get in there and hustle, girl! Kameron informs the audience via her confessional that “[My dream house] could sell, then it could be off the market. Then Guess what! I don't have another house that I'm obsessed with!” Some women have jobs, Kameron. Even Kari is pretending to make jewelry! Some women actually take their dogs outside to walk them! Then again, I am watching this show because this is where the humor lies. Court really is the worst kind of man, though. He openly mocks Kameron’s feelings to his six year old daughter’s face, joking that if she gets hysterical about the house selling for too low, the two of them have a contract not to tell Kameron. Again, though, this IS the life Kameron is choosing. I wonder what the shaman would have to say about THIS?!

Brad comes in and informs them that letting Fanci just have a bone all the time to keep her occupied is the same as giving your kids an iPad at church. Kameron says without even a hint of irony that that is what they do with their kids at church. Brad informs the family that they’re doing a C+ job at training Fanci. Kameron, who’s never probably gotten a grade above C- in her life is thrilled, saying, “At least we got a letter!” Kameron informs us in her testimonial that she needs to feel control over training Fanci because there’s so little in her life right now she does have control over, including COVID and her home selling for too little, making her unable to afford a bigger version of her current home. ACTUALLY IF YOU DID ANYTHING EXCEPT STRAP YOUR DOG TO A TREADMILL, YOU MIGHT FIND YOU DO HAVE SOME AGENCY HERE, KAMERON. Ugh...

Stephanie is diligently working on receiving her Nobel Peace Prize by setting up her office space so that she can spend Travis’s money to give public schools luxury locker rooms. She’s heroically painted her office the same shade of off white that she’s going to have someone else paint one of the locker rooms to make sure she likes it. The pressure is really mounting, though, because if she doesn’t finish her office in time, she’s made a bet that she will have to touch Travis. No one wants that! He’s hairy! Travis comes into the unfinished office with flowers, and informs Stephanie that she’s already over budget. (Her budget, for which she did absolutely no research before setting, is $100,000, but the lockers alone are costing $70,000). Stephanie jokes that she’s going to have to prostitute herself to afford these renovations. Travis says she’s probably not good enough in bed to raise that much money. Healthy.

We are shown vignettes of the women trying to figure out what to wear to a chic pizza party. I’m confused because I’m pretty sure chic pizza party isn’t much different from chic square dance, which is what I imagine most of Dallas’s social events to look like. Kari is getting her makeup done, and she shares a text with her makeup artist that reads, “Just to set expectations: I'll probably be wrapping up the party at like 10:30, because I have a meeting tomorrow and I want to be fresh for it. Can't wait to see you all tonight.” Kari informs us that she’s NEVER gotten a text like that before in her life. Stephanie and Kameron are riding together to Tiffany’s, and Stephanie says she’s always in bed by 10, so she doesn’t have a problem with it. (Me too, Stephanie!) Kameron informs us that proper etiquette would have been to send out printed invitations with a set end time. I think Tiffany knew exactly what she was starting when she sent out this text. D’Andra arrives to the party with a container of some sort of deli salad topped with a white bow, and Tiffany freaks out that D’Andra needs to put on shoe covers. I wonder if she and Mary Cosby use the same brand. Stephanie and Kameron arrive right behind D’Andra with a piñata they forgot to give Kari at her 50th birthday party. Tiffany shows off her closet filled with easily a million dollars’ worth of Birkin bags. I do have to say, Tiffany’s closet easily outshines both Lisa Vanderpump’s and Bethany Frankel’s. I just hope TIffany has proper safeguards against moths.

The last to arrive are Kari and Brandi. In the car, Kari informs Brandi that she’s essentially over trying to make a real friendship work with D’Andra, but they can be superficial friends, and Kari will just keep D’Andra at arm’s length. So basically how it probably was all along. This story line sucks, Kari.

The two arrive just in time for Tiffany to tell everyone there’s going to be a contest to see who makes the best pizza. She also lays down some ground rules, saying, “You just have to be honest. I know that's really hard in this group ... The number two rule is no fighting. (Kari looks pissed about this rule). On your first infraction, you shall receive a verbal warning. The second time, you get pizza flour thrown in your face. (Kameron nods like she understands). Like 'Stop fighting!' And rule number three is have fun!” Brandi makes a fair point that having fun is the point of a party, and this was Tiffany’s last rule.

It isn’t until this point that I realize lackluster friend of the wives Jen is in attendance. You know it’s bad when the friend of is being outshined by the Shaman.

The women bust open Kari’s piñata, which contains a riddle: “What's wet, long, thin, hot, and down south?” Somehow this means the women will be taking a cast trip to Austin to further drag out Kari’s birthday party.

The gals make and eat their pizzas. Kameron informs us that dabbing the grease off the pizza takes away 250 calories. After the very stupid pizza contest winner is determined Tiffany reveals that they all just ate crickets, which she hid in her pizza toppings. Needless to say, Kari is PISSED. The only thing it’s appropriate to pour down someone’s throat is tequila! Brandi has to run inside to throw up, but not before she puts shoe covers on! Tiffany had intended to win Brandi over because Brandi’s love language is pranks, but this clearly has backfired. D’Andra starts meditating, and then Kameron’s alarm goes off to inform everyone they only have 8 minutes before 10:30, so they’d better scram. Not even Tiffany could have predicted these women would be so humorless. It looks like she’s going to really have to step it up if she wants to be in this clique! Tiffany informs us that the party probably got a B-, which to a tiger mom like her is basically an F. Didn’t Tiffany say she never came home with less than an A? Rough!

Will Tiffany recover from this horrible prank gone awry? Will Stephanie be able to help high school athletic departments? Will Jen ever say anything? How does she know these women? One thing is for sure; we are definitely going to long, thin, hot, wet, southern... Austin? next week!

#RealHousewives #RealHousewivesOfDallas #Bravo #Reality #RealityTV #RealityTelevision #Television #TV #AndyCohen #Housewives #Dallas #Pizza #Birkin #TiffanyMoon #ThreeMoons #Fanci

[tevotbegotnaught]

I grew up in a factory town:paper,turbines,cement,feed,cables and caskets. Whistles blew punctually as church bells, even in the deepest night. Plants slung their keening blades past our windows and echoing off the surrounding hills. Beneath each arc, men and women lived and worked. As a boy, I played and dreamed under my own protective warp.

Scully lived with his mom, a deputy sheriff and matron in the women’s prison. She worked long hours and lots of night shifts. When I went to his place before school, she was just getting home. She’d let me in, then shout up stairs to his third floor bedroom. A woman who wore a sidearm and regularly broke up fights between violent and sociopathic prisoners couldn’t get her sixteen year-old son out of bed most mornings. When she tired of yelling, I had to go wake him up for my ride or make the thirty-minute walk alone.

In Scully’s room, mostly a bed and pair of huge dressers, the only seats were a bean bag between the heavy pieces and a windowsill. I sat on the paneled sill and talked to him. Chemically, he needed nicotine to get moving. Emotionally, he was frustrated by the way she shouted at him. His mom, newly single, now a disciplinarian, his dad suddenly the good cop. Scully’s dad actually was a cop, a detective. He solved some tough cases and brought in some real evildoers. A big guy, he beat his son for any perceived weakness.

After his all his dad’s ass whippings, Scully didn’t fear fights. He stepped up. Between us, when tension built up, he just shoved me, hard. I learned to give it right back and we usually crashed to the ground. His attic bedroom had a drop ceiling, the kind with dozens of squishy panels in an aluminum grid. During a particularly exhausting grapple, our tangled arms shot up and through the supports, spilling three or four panels.

"Bitch, look what the fuck you did! Mom’s gonna fuckin’ kill me now."

The fallen panels crumpled under our weight. Thrown clear, a legal size manila envelope. Scully carefully unfolded the metal prongs and dumped it out on the bed.

"No...fuckin’...shit!"

There were nude Polaroids of a woman.

"Dam. That’s ‘Aunt Janie’! Dad always told me to call her aunt."

Under a paperclip, a sheaf of black-and-white 8x10s, his dad and a buxom woman walking on the street or dining out, all taken from oblique angles, surveillance-style.

We examined the Polaroids closely.

"That’s fuckin’ crazy. No wonder. Mom busted his ass, and good!"

Scully seemed impressed, by his father’s voyeurism and taste in women and his mother’s vituperation.

By the time I met Scully, his dad had moved out and was dating a much younger lady from the south end of town. They got a place together in a big development newly built on prime south-county farmland. Scully and his sister saw their dad weekends. He reported back about his new family and the suburban kids. It was different there-the same teen ennui and angst, but indulged with lots more money and unchecked by close-knit family or neighbors. I knew guys from that end of town, but my new neighborhood was revealing its own fascinating topography.

We usually bought weed from Mike down the street. Scully had the connection. I was third wheel. Eventually, I had to go myself. Mike lived with his grandmother in the top two floors of a big house. His bedroom, a teenage boy’s dream: top floor, skylight, tons of posters, black light, an electric guitar, and bitchin’ stereo system with tower speakers.

You entered from the alley, through their back yard and up a metal outer staircase to a landing. Just inside, a kitchen. His grandmother was usually cooking or watching TV. She was a Noman Rockwell, white folks’ gramma: hair bun, glasses on a chain, apron over full skirts. She also knew exactly what Mikey was selling to nervous teenagers lifting her snowman door knocker.

"Yesssss" she said, standing in the enveloping smell of hot skillets, grease and cabbage.

"Mike ‘ere?" I mumbled. Mike’s door behind, she breathed sharply through her nose and bared her teeth.

" Mike! Mikey!" Her voice harsh and directed into me. Jaw levering like a nutcracker on each word "Your...friend...is....here."

She blocked me. "What’s your name?"

"Chris"

"What?"

"Chris"

"You live around here?"

"Yes. I do..I"

Mike’s buddy Chauncey opened the 4th floor door and leaned out.

Gramma stepped back, turning, walking toward the stove. Back to us, she shouted into the bubbling pots "JUST GET YOUR REEFER, THEN. GO AHEAD."

and mocked my solicitude, "IS MIKE HEEEEERE?"

"MIKE AND ALL HIS FRIENDS. DAM YOU."

Chauncey blinked and nodded. I ran up the stairs behind him, closing the door. Downstairs, gramma loosed a winding, wordless scream.

"Don’t listen to her. She’s fucking crazy."

"Yeah. But, jeeez man..."

Upstairs, Mike lay under bed covers. He swiveled his head toward me, eyes sunken and rhuemy.

"Hey. Hey, man. You’re Scully’s friend. Yeah. Cool." He turned away, sighing. Chauncey looked in my eyes. "Lotta people been coming by who don’t even know Mike. It’s fucked, you know." Chauncey was a precocious 70’s teenager-openly gay, wise far beyond our geography and spoke hushed, confessionally.

"They want all different kind of shit. Mike doesn’t like it. He’s been shooting speed."

My face must have showed surprise at that non-sequitur

"I shoot him up." He said in tenderest voice.

"It’s easier and he trusts me. He just likes the airplanes, you know, when you shoot it."

Mike moaned. Bathed in the skylight, we were a Rembrandt. I just wanted to buy a bag and split.

"Chaunce, ask him what he wants." Mike shivered and the bed rattled.

Chauncey made the deal. "It’s fuckin’ killer. I took a couple hits like two hours ago. I’m still fuckin’ wasted." In gentler days, Scully and I would have hung out and partied with them. Scully calling Chauncey a "fucking faggot" and Chauncey spitting back "pizza face". We handed off and I prepared to cross the Scylla and Charbodis. Mike didn’t say goodbye.

I pushed the door until it juddered open. Gramma sat in the adjoining room, crocheted blanket over her legs, TV blaring. I thumb-wrestled with the deadbolt and let myself out, stepping fast down the stairs.

When I told Scully about it, he calculated. "She’s a fuckin’ trip. Mike’s fuckin’ stupid, too. Firing that shit? Better not fuckin’ get us busted". There were two or three police families on each block. After a year in the neighborhood, I was learning that. We needed purchases simple and low-key. Scully had law enforcement on his literal doorstep.

His step-mom had a couple sisters around our age. In a bizarre one-off, he ended up hooking up with one of them; incest minus the c’est. Through her, he found a new connect, Russ. No geriatric kneecappers or teen vampires with Russ. I can’t remember the first bag we got from him. In those days greenish Mexican was it for regular guys. Despite his "higher than median income" school district, Russ enthusiastically promoted that product as "oh-ox-ican". I looked that name up in my Funk and Wagnalls. It was oh-kay.

We got the second bag a week after Halloween. He called it "gold". It definitely looked different. Examined under the car’s dome light, the crushed leaves looked metallic bronze, possibly from an aerosol can. We went up to Scully’s room to twist one up. It was a school night and his mom was at work. Maybe "Houses of the Holy" was playing. That was always my choice at his place. Right away, the smell was funny: an overheated voltage transformer or plastic cutlery melting in a charcoal grill. We took a few hits and put it out.

The house lights went down.

First, the overture:

"tastes fuckin’ weird"

"Like plastic, right?"

"Not smoking that shit anymore"

"Fuck, no"

The show began:

I became an amoeba, gushy on the inside, cilia paddling madly outside. Sinking into the bed, through its frame and down, down. When I opened my eyes, Scully was unwrapping Hershey’s miniatures, flicking them in his mouth, digging for more. With both hands, he offered the candy bag.

"ere..."

My insides jiggled as I waved him off.

Shadows frayed and dissolved. The record played again. Dali’s clocks oozed.

Scully lifted something to his chest, mouth flared. Black lava poured out, disappearing below. Intermittent splattering. Gutteral sounds. Lips opening and closing, an aquarium fish feeding.

I bounced off the bed, high-tide stomach and pincushion eyes.

"You’re sick. Get you cleaned up."

Lava bearded Scully’s chin. Lips gobbing, he handed me the heavy, sloshing trash can. Laughter. I put it on the sill. Down steep steps. At bottom, a hairpin turn. Scully tumbles. I pick him up. Armpits and chest. Funhouse mirror walk. The bathroom. Damp air. Washcloths under the faucet. He pulls his shirt up from the waist, trapping both arms inside. I yank it off violently.

Somewhere below, a door slams. A woman’s voice:

"I’m home. Where are ya?"

Scully looks at me, eyes spilling glue.

"Mom’s home" His voice drops two octaves between words.

She calls out again.

He unfolds an index finger.

"Shhhhh"

The voice gets closer.

I lurch toward the doorway, his mom appears before I can get out.

"Scully’s sick" I say in my serious voice.

She looks at my face,

"You’re wasted"

and pushes past me.

Then she sees her son.

"HO-LEE HELL, WHAT DID YUZ DO?"

"Nothin`, mom" he says cheerfully.

I look away. She grunts, struggling to sit him down on the toilet. He speaks to her in singsong. Her windbreaker rustles. She’s alongside me. Turning my torso with her hands, pushing me down and pinning me to the paneled wall. I smell sweat, perfume and stale smoke. She’s barely five feet tall, but her mouth is level with mine.

"WHAT DID YUZ DO? WHAT’D YUZ TAKE?"

"We drank whiskey. A bottle."

"WHISKEY DOESN’T DO THAT. YUZ TOOK SOMETHING"

"No, we didn’t take..."

"YUZ TOOK SOMETHING. WHAT’D YUZ TAKE"

Her forearm grinds into my sternum. I squirm, then exhale. My body deflates and begins to slide down. She pulls me up.

"YOU KNOW YOU COULD DIE? YUZ BOTH COULD DIE. BOTH OF YUZ."

My lips open, cool air rushes inside-inverted speech.

"GO HOME. I OUGHTA TELL YOUR PARENTS. GOD…DAM…STUPID….KIDS"

She lifts her forearm off my chest and returns to bathroom. I’m very warm. My face, in particular. The steps to the first floor tilt into utter darkness. I guide myself down, palms out, shoulder height.

Outside, cold wind knifes through a deep cleft in my skull. My walk home, one block of paved alley. Each footfall jars my spine, reverberating through my aqueous body and into my gaping head. Step by step, tottering toward our back gate. From the yard, beyond a blinding porch light, I see my mother moving in the kitchen. When I open the door, my body worms away from her.

“Hi, honey. How are you?”

“I’m tired. Gonna go to bed.”

“Your voice sounds funny. You getting a cold? Come here. Let me check you for fever.”

My throat grips and I stride through the doorway.

“I’m just tired, mom. Gonna sleep. I need it"

“Ok, honey. Sleep tight.”

When I reach my room, nauseous and staggering, I fall on the bed. The ceiling light whirls while my body liquefies. As I float, wind howls, and the city calls its third shift to work.

[theliterateape]

Revisiting Culture Through a New Set of (political) Glasses

By Don Hall

In high school, I was definitely a nerd. My friends were nerds. We did things like debate, forensics, band, choir, theater. We were in the middle of Kansas and we were artsy-types. There was, as there always seems to be, a disparity of power — the jocks and cheerleaders had it, the nerds did not.

I’ve told the story of the nerds rising up and nominating one of their own as Homecoming King (You can read it in my newest book, Belief is a Sledgehammer available now on Amazon) but three years earlier, we hadn’t managed that kind of solidarity.

My freshman year was filled with me getting beat up in the parking lot. Beat up in the bathroom. Beat up in the library. Stuffed into lockers only to be let out by teachers who looked at me with disdain at my inability to fend off seniors twice my size. Part of the issue was that I was an incredible smartass (let’s be fair, I never was a smartass, I am and continue to be for my span on Earth.) The other part was that I was one of the bigger (in physical size) nerds. My friends were mostly smaller and so I often was the one the bullying turds had to go through first. I fought back, but not well.

The year before high school, I found my muse. After seeing Meatballs with Bill Murray, I knew how to conduct myself in social situations. The rule breaking wise-ass. The take-nothing-too-seriously sarcastic guy. The cat above it all with the Fuck ’Em attitude.

One of the teachers who seemed to dislike me the most was Coach Strong (No, I’m not changing his name for effect. That was his name.) He exacerbated the animus between the jocks and nerds whenever he could. In gym class, required for all freshmen, it was often a nightmare. Most of the time, he would have us line-up, choose teams and play dodgeball or “touch” football. We nerds generally resigned to take 50 minutes of brutality three times a week.

But then it came time to give us grades. And Strong’s plan was to grade us on our ability to dribble a basketball around 30 orange cones. 

“You didn’t teach us how to do that, how can you give us a grade on it?” I asked with my trademarked smirk.

“Get back in line, Hall, and start dribbling.”

I refused. I failed gym.

And it pissed me off.

I went to my debate teacher and asked him what to do. He suggested that I ask to be scheduled for the next school board meeting and make my case. I spent hours typing up the unfairness of basing a grade on a skill not taught in the class and requested either a change in the grades of the full class (including the jocks) or an adequate test to grade us on.

I presented to the school board and they recommended that the entire class receive A’s for the semester with a reprimand to the coach. He quit at the end of the year.

I thought the culture within the school would change. I believed by tearing down the unfairness I experienced, the drama kids and debate kids would gain respect because we had demanded it. That the band geeks would be seen in a different light.

It was a true blue win for the nerds and yet nothing really changed in the culture of the school. I got beat up less but, aside from that, the jocks ruled things and the nerds scattered in the hallways. That’s because the imbalance was not in equal protection or fairness but in power. They had it, we wanted it.

We watched the movies that demonstrated our desire for more. More respect. More dignity. More power.

Stripes

Either a story about two guys at the end of their ropes in life deciding to join the army and finding themselves in a unit full of other misfits in need of some affirmation and power, and transforming them into a better version of themselves. Taking on the power structure and winning. or A story of two white men gaming the system so they could get laid and using the most harassing techniques to do so.

Porky’s

Either a story of a group of hapless losers taking on a maniacal local tyrant and, through humor and guts, bring him down. or A story of a bunch of rapey creeps spying on women in showers.

Weird Science

Either a story of two lonely geeks using their knowledge of technology to create what they think is the perfect woman who teaches them to stand up for themselves and gain confidence. or A story of two white guys whose only reference to the feminine is porn and they create a synthetic woman to fulfill their intel fantasies.

Revenge of the Nerds

You get the idea.

We were inspired by these stories. Stories that pitted the outcasts against the status quo and won. Did we realize that they were all cultural contributors to the continued stereotyping of minorities and the centuries long marginalization of women? Of course not — we were outcasts looking for heroes. We were white kids in Central Kansas. Yet the jocks at our school stayed in exactly the same place: popular, respected and in control.

The only thing that would change that power dynamic would be if we had managed to erase the sports programs completely from the school. And even then, it would take a long fucking wait before the culture changed. Because we didn’t want to share the power. We wanted it all having been denied it for all of our school careers.

I’m no longer in high school but when I look out to a tiny but vocal minority of those seeking to shift the balance of power from the White Patriarchy, sometimes it feels like I never left.

Part of the method of resting control of the power to drive decisions in the world is the erasure of culture. The question becomes whether context can eradicate the culture of yesterday and whether it should. Take, for instance, the erasure of Native Americans from history books read by eighth graders: this painting over both their contributions and defense of themselves creates a false impression of who they were and, even worse, eliminates their very vital contribution of our understanding of the world. Men have been doing this for as long as they could. 

Is it better to provide context for Eddie Murphy’s retrograde and dismissive take on homosexuals yet still marvel at the performance of a young black comic at his prime or simply erase the existence of RAW altogether?

How about Gone With the Wind? Better to just do away with it, with it’s racist portrayals and misogynist undertones or watch a film, known to be one of the 100 greatest films ever made, and contextually understand the time period it was filmed in?

Grease? Holy shit...there’s a lyric in Summer Nights that asks, “Did she put up a fight?” Now, my wife would say burn all the copies of every frame because she hates Grease but really?

The transphobic villain in Silence of the Lambs erases Hannibal Lecter?

The crows in Dumbo?

The fact that Rocky Balboa keeps at Adrian until she finally gives in, bordering on what most would call sexual harassment from a much more powerful man?

In listening to a recent pops concert of the music of Lerner and Loewe, it hit me that in a list of musicals that included Paint Your Wagon, Brigadoon, Camelot, Gigi and My Fair Lady, if going by the standards set by #MeToo, we need to torch all of them. Each is a study in patriarchy at work and women reduced to an object.

I’ve come to the conclusion that it is pop culture that changes the culture more than activism. The grudging acceptance of the vast middle for the rights of gay men and women came from Ellen and Philadelphia and Will & Grace — seeing gay men and women, not as a punchline, but as human beings with the same basic problems that they do in their living rooms and streaming online every day. Proximity breeds familiarity and that window we watch is like a window into our backyard. Suddenly people who had never met a gay person before (at least not an out one) felt friendship and closeness to a lesbian with a talk show, felt empathy for a dying gay man, laughed together about the trials of gay men navigating the planet.

It changed their minds in subtle but important ways. It changed the culture.

Back to Circle H.S. for a beat. Over the three years after the victory over Coach Strong, the culture did shift some. We never got rid of the football program but we did manage to pack houses with plays and musicals. The basketball team continued to play but the debate team eventually got state and national titles. The cheerleaders continued choosing looks and thinness over talent but the band and choir racked up accolades throughout the state.

We didn’t take power, we made it for ourselves. We didn’t push anyone out of the way for room, we made more room for ourselves. We endured the backwards teachers and thrived under those with a genuine belief in our right to succeed on our own terms.

When it comes to redefining the culture, it’s relatively easy to cherry pick those moments in cherished songs and films and plays and declare them forbidden due to problematic themes. It’s practically what the internet has been built for. What is harder but ultimately more effective is to ignore the jocks in the place and make room for ourselves. You don’t have to erase the indelibly racist and sexist Revenge of the Nerds in order to create Black Panther. You just have to create Black Panther. Get Out didn’t come around because of activism; it happened because Jordon Peele refused to give up on being excellent as a writer and director and comedian and eventually he had the clout to be nominated for Homecoming King.

Stealing power from those we saw and see as our oppressors is fucking ridiculous. It’s in the view that the guy standing in the doorway, blocking your entrance while talking on his phone, is oppressing you. Sometimes all it takes is to focus on the work you’ve got to do and slide past, take your part of the room and just assume the guy in the doorway was just a rude asshole rather than a Member of a Group Hellbent on Your Oppression.

I’ll confess, with the lens of today, I can’t really watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s anymore. I have a hard time getting past the anti-gay and sexist jokes in Caddyshack. But no one will ever convince me that Stripes isn’t hysterical and that Rocky isn’t a wonderful story of redemption and grit. It’s all OK. Millennials don’t get Seinfeld and I don’t care for the Marx Brothers and that’s how culture works. It’s a marathon, not a sprint.

#Meatballs #Stripes #Porky's #Rocky #Weird Science #Revenge of the Nerds #high school #redefining the culture