you are whipped my son


Pairing: Stenbrough with minor Reddie on the side

Word Count: 3,986

Prompt: Stan Uris moves to Derry, Maine following the death of his father and gets a job babysitting a little boy named Georgie who just so happens to have a very attractive older brother. (Modern High School AU)

Warnings: Mention of death, depression (not a major theme), anti-Semitism, struggles with faith

Link to part two:


Sometimes, Stanley Uris didn’t know what was up and what was down. Sometimes, it felt like the world was moving but he was stuck in the same position, day after day. And it sucked. His mother thought that a new start would be good for them, that it would help them move on.

Stan wanted to scream. He wanted to call bullshit on her logic. It wasn’t that he didn’t mind moving. He wasn’t exactly popular back at his old high school in Bangor ( once upon a time, his father had asked him if it was because of them being Jewish – but it wasn’t an anti-Semitic thing, aside from the occasional, always unfunny, holocaust joke, it was more so the depression thing and the OCD thing and the gay thing that drove people away) so it wasn’t like he was going to be all that missed. Even his Jewish friends didn’t seem like they were gonna miss him that much. And it bothered Stan how little he cared about it.

But after his dad died, everything just seemed so… pointless. His father, a man who had never smoked a day in his life, ended up dying of lung cancer. It made Stan furious. At the world. At God. At everything. After watching his father shrivel up into a shell of what he had once been, Stan’s already complicated relationship with religion had turned sour. It infuriated him that his father could be dying and still praising that almighty presence above. Stan wasn’t even sure if he believed anymore.

“Stanley,” his mother’s voice called. “Come on, you’re going to be late!”

Gulping, Stan gave himself a once over and straightened the collar of his shirt before grabbing his backpack. As he left his room and shut the door, he found himself cringing. So, he went back, turned the bedroom light on and then off before shutting his door. Stan repeated that three more times before he was satisfied. It made him feel sick, wrong.

“I think you should start going back to therapy,” his mother told him on the ride to school.


“No arguments, Stanley,” she said, her voice sharp like the cracking of a whip. “I know you, I know my son. You’re not okay, sweetheart. All I want is for you to be happy. I don’t want to send you off to college in two years with you…”

She trailed off and sighed. Stan could tell that if she hadn’t been driving she would’ve pressed a small kiss to the top of his forehead and hugged him tightly. Stan licked his lips and closed his eyes. He hated how unhappy his mother was. He despised that part of it was caused by him.

“I’ll see you tonight, yeah?” Andrea Uris said, looking at her pale, skinny son.

“Yeah,” Stan agreed, nodding.

“We can talk about you getting that job. How’s that sound?”

Stan smiled at that. Since his freshman year of high school, he had been begging for a job. He liked the idea of working – the responsibility, the experience, the money that he could save up to buy all the books he’d ever want to read. Stan just really wanted a job. He wanted something to do with his life.

And he also needed to start saving up for college. His father had been a Rabbi and his mother was a kindergarten teacher, so it wasn’t like there was a lot of money in either of those professions. If he didn’t want to leave college with an obscene amount of debt, Stan would have to save money while working his ass off for good grade.

“Hi, I’m Stan Uris,” Stan said in a quiet voice to the lady sitting at the receptionist desk.

“Oh, the new boy!” the receptionist said in a too-loud, too-cheerful voice.

Stan winced a little and smiled.

“Here’s your schedule, and your student guide will be down any minute to take you around!”

The receptionist had an odd accent that Stan wasn’t very fond of, and when she snapped her gum he thought his head might explode.

A minute later, a very clean cut looking black boy with broad shoulders, short hair, and a wide smile walked into the office.

“Hey, you must be Stan,” he said, walking straight over to Stan and offering his hand to shake. “I’m Mike.”

“Hi,” Stan said, shaking Mike’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

As it turned out, Stan and Mike had all the same classes which was why Mike was chosen to give Stan the school tour. Within five minutes, Stan had decided that he liked Mike a lot. Mike was soft spoken, intelligent, and kind. He might have looked like all the football players at Stan’s old school that gave him hell for being gay, but Mike was nothing like that.

So, maybe Derry wouldn’t be that bad.

At lunch, Mike led Stan past the table filled with boys wearing the same kind of jacket as Mike and towards a different table in the corner of the room. At that table sat a very pretty girl with freckles spattered across every bit of visible skin and short cropped red hair. Beside her was a broad boy with dark blonde hair and a shy smile. Another boy sat across from them, lanky and thinly muscled with thick glasses and rather gorgeous dark hair. His arm was slung around the shoulders of a shorter boy with neatly combed chocolate curls. It was a ragtag bunch, but as they greeted Mike with wide smiles Stan could tell that they all loved each other a lot.

“Hey guys,” Mike said, sitting down and gesturing at the empty chair for Stan. “This is Stan, he’s new. Stan, this is Bev, Ben, Eddie, and Richie— where’s Bill?”

“Out sick,” Richie, the boy with glasses, snorted, ducking his face into the crook of Eddie’s neck.

Richie’s body convulsed with laughter Stan didn’t really understand. He stayed silent and began unpacking his lunch.

“What did you do to him?” Mike sighed, looking towards Bev.

“Hey, he agreed to drink with us,” Bev said defensively.

“They’re ridiculous,” Mike murmured to Stan, drawing a small smile from the new boy. “Don’t hold them against me?”


“So, I found a job for you,” Andrea told Stan that night after setting out dinner.

“Yeah?” Stan asked.

He held his breath for a moment, unsure if he was willing to trust his mother’s judgement on this.

“Yes. A woman named Sharon at my work was saying how she needs a babysitter for her son Georgie on Thursdays and Fridays,” Andrea said, stabbing her fork into her salad.

“Babysitting?” Stan asked, trying his best to hide his annoyance. “Mom. I don’t want to babysit.”

“It’s fifteen dollars an hour, Stanley,” Andrea said. “Sharon said it would be for at least five hours each night, so that’s at least a hundred and fifty dollars every week.”

Stan quickly did the math. If he kept fifty dollars every week for himself ( though, he didn’t have friends or much of a social life so why would he really need fifty dollars a week to do things? Well, Mike and his friends had been welcoming enough… maybe he’d finally have some friends… ) he could put away a hundred bucks each week. If he kept that consistent for two years ( and who knew what this kid’s parents would need over school breaks and the summer ) Stan could have a significant amount of money saved when he needed to get to college.

Suddenly, babysitting didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

“So, when do I start?” Stan asked.

Andrea beamed at her son.

“I have her number written down. You can call her after dinner and ask.”


As it turned out, Sharon Denbrough needed Stan to start ASAP. And tomorrow was Friday, meaning that Stan would be babysitting ten-year-old Georgie from 5:00 to 11:00.

When Stan shuffled into school, head down, he went straight to his locker. The girl to his left and her friends shot him a weird look, though Stan wasn’t all that sure why. He wasn’t that weird looking.

“Stan!” Mike’s voice boomed cheerfully.

Stan looked up and smiled at the approaching boy. Mike was walking with Ben and a boy Stan didn’t meet yesterday. But, boy, did he wish he had. The stranger was tall ( probably a little over six-feet, which definitely didn’t make Stan a little weak in the knees — no siree! ) and had light brown hair combed and styled very neatly. And his eyes—they were the bluest blue Stan had ever seen.

“Hi Mike, Ben,” Stan said in his typical quiet fashion, quickly glancing at the other boy before shifting his eyes down to the textbook in his arms.

“Stan, this is Bill. He was sick yesterday,” Ben said. “Richie mentioned you and Bill was anxious to meet the new kid on the block.”

Both Bill and Mike snorted quietly as Ben’s mouth lifted into a small smirk. Stan didn’t get the joke.

“It’s nice to meet you, Stan,” Bill said.

His words were slow and deliberate, and Stan really liked that.

“You too, Bill,” Stan replied, hoping that he wasn’t blushing.

If he was, no one said anything.

At lunch time, Richie clapped Stan on the shoulder and loudly proclaimed that his algebra teacher was a homophobic piece of shit.

“Why is he homophobic, Rich?” Bev asked, smirking at the boy.

“He told me I would never accomplish anything in life and is making me serve detention on Monday! This is gay oppression!” Richie exclaimed, flabbergasted.

Stan chuckled quietly.

“So, Stan, do you want to see Kingsman with us tonight?”

Stan’s heart bloomed within his chest, filling him with a warmness he had never felt before. He sighed, silently cursing his need for a job.

“I can’t,” Stan said, scratching behind his ear. “I have to babysit tonight.”

The rest of the group shut up about the movies after that. Stan realized that they were doing it for him—so he wouldn’t feel bad about missing out. The thought made him smile.

As a matter of fact, he was still smiling about it as he walked to Georgie Denbrough’s house.

“You must be Stan,” a tall, handsome man said with a warm smile as he opened the door. “It’s nice to meet you, son. I’m Zack Denbrough, Georgie’s dad.”

“It’s nice to meet you as well, sir,” Stan said politely, shaking his hand.

“Georgie!” Zack yelled up the stairs. “Come down, please!”

Seconds later, a small boy was sprinting down the stairs with a manic smile on his face, laughing as a tall, slightly muscled, shirtless boy ( Georgie’s brother, Stan assumed ) chased after him. Stan froze when he saw that the boy was Bill from school.

“Georgie, g-give me my sh-shirt!” Bill yelled.

Georgie was laughing still, loudly. The laughter was echoing around the house. Georgie and Bill sprinted past Stan without sparing him a second glance. A moment later, there was a loud scream followed by laughter as Bill, while laughing, called Georgie a twerp.

“My sons are rather… hyperactive,” Zack told Stan with an apologetic glance. “Once Bill leaves, Georgie will calm down, though. The two rile each other up.”

Stan swallowed thickly and nodded. His throat felt very dry, and his hands were beginning to itch. Slowly and deliberately, he dragged his blunt nails up and down the material of jeans that covered the outside of his thighs.

“Georgie, come meet your babysitter,” Zack said, walking out of the entrance hall and into the kitchen. “And, Bill, for God’s sake, put on a shirt.”

After a second’s deliberation when Stan seriously considered booking it out of the Denbrough house, he made his way into the kitchen. He caught Bill’s eyes and gulped.

“Stan! Hey!” Bill exclaimed happily, pulling a black t-shirt over his head. “When you said you had to babysit, I didn’t realize you’d be babysitting Georgie. I thought you had a younger brother or sister.”

“No,” Stan said, shaking his head and trying to remember not to stare at Bill. “I’m an only child.”

“Ooh, I wish,” Bill chuckled, sticking his tongue out at Georgie who reciprocated the motion.

Stan laughed dryly.

It wasn’t long before Zack and Sharon left for their date night, letting Stan know that they left forty dollars on the counter for him to order food and that he was welcome to keep the change. Bill was still there when his parents left.

While Georgie was showering, Stan took his opportunity to talk to Bill.

“So, uh, why aren’t you babysitting your brother?” Stan asked.

Really, Stan?’ he thought to himself. ‘What a stupid fucking question.’

Bill’s face went a little pink and he began to rub the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I’m not really allowed to do that anymore,” Bill said, his words paired with an awkward laugh. “Last time I babysat Georgie, it was pouring r-ruh-rain and I let him go outside, and he ended up getting wicked sick. My p—parents were really angry with me.”

Stan hadn’t noticed Bill’s stutter earlier. He didn’t say anything about it, though. Instead, he merely smiled a little.

“Well, if I’m ever babysitting Georgie and it rains, I’ll make sure not to let him go out.”

Bill threw his head back and laughed loudly. As his laughter died down, he bumped his shoulder softly against Stan’s and bit down on his lip. Yet again, Stan was gulping because of Bill Denbrough.

“I should get going,” Bill said, a look of regret crossing over his face. He stood up and patted Stan on the shoulder, but his hand lingered for a moment. “I’ll catch you later, Stan. I’ll probably be home before my parents.”

Georgie was a cute kid, and very sweet. He made a lot of meme jokes, which he told Stan he had learned from Richie. One time this past summer, Georgie told Stan, he ran into Bill’s room and dabbed with two fidget spinners in his hands. When Bill found out that Richie had been the one to tell Georgie to do it, Bill didn’t speak to Richie for a day and blocked him on all forms of social media.

At 9:00, Stan had to put Georgie to bed. After that, he had two hours to spare before he got to leave. And considering he was in someone else’s home, he had no idea what to do. So, he just grabbed a book from his bag and sat down in their living room to read.

Bill came home at 9:30, and when he saw Stan curled up on his couch reading a book on birds ( of all things ), he couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“What?” Stan asked, a little defensively.

“Nothing,” Bill assured him, sitting down next to him on the couch. “It’s just— well, a book on birds?”

“I happen to like birds,” Stan said, eyes narrowed. “They’re interesting.”

“Yeah? How so?” Bill asked, genuinely curious.

And so, for the next hour and a half, Stan talked to Bill about all different kinds of birds and the best places in Maine to go bird watching. And Bill seemed really interested too, he was asking questions and just looked completely earnest. By the time Sharon and Zack came back home, Stan hadn’t even realized that it was 11:00.

“I noticed you didn’t drive here,” Bill said, sneaking up on Stan as he put his coat and shoes on. “D-do you want me to drive you h-h-home?”

Stan almost protested, but he was feeling selfish. He wanted to spend more time with Bill, even if it was only for a ten-minute car ride.

“Thanks, Bill,” Stan murmured once Bill pulled into his driveway. “I’ll see you Monday.”

“Wait,” Bill exclaimed, grabbing Stan’s wrist. “Give me your number.”

Bill wiggled his phone in front of Stan’s face, blue eyes wide. Stan thought his face was going to split in two from how big his smile was. Eagerly ( maybe a little too eagerly, but Stan didn’t know much about this kind of thing ), Stan punched his number into Bill’s phone. If he was a more confident kid, he might have put some kind of witty, suggestive emoji next to his contact name… but Stan wasn’t like that.

“So, who’s the boy?” Andrea asked with a coy smirk on her face, watching as her blushing son stumbled his way backwards into the house, waving goodbye to the boy who was sitting in his car.

“There— there’s no boy. What are you talking about?” Stan blustered.

Andrea rolled her eyes.

“Stan, I’m your mother. You’re supposed to tell me these things.”

Stan sighed and relented, rolling his eyes.

“His name’s Bill,” Stan said.

“Do you like him?”

“I met him this morning, Mom!”

“Okay. So, what?”

Stan groaned, rubbing his eyes.

“He’s Georgie’s older brother and offered to drive me home because I don’t have a car. That’s all.”

Andrea hummed suspiciously, but didn’t press Stan further.


“My brother thinks you’re hot.”

Georgie’s statement was so bluntly presented that Stan choked on the slice of pizza he was eating.

“I heard him talking with Bev and Mike about it the other day,” Georgie added, grinning at Stan.

“Oh,” Stan said in a high, uneven voice. “That’s nice.”

“Do you think he’s hot?”

Stan’s face was burning.


“What?” Georgie asked, putting on his best angel face.

“I’m not talking about your brother with you,” Stan snorted. “And you’re ten, which is just— no.”

“I’m gonna be eleven next month,” Georgie whined.

Stan wasn’t amused.

“Eat your pizza, Georgie.”


“Do you think he’s hot yet?”

“Georgie, you need to go to bed!” Stan exclaimed, trying his best not to laugh at Georgie’s persistence.

All night, he had been pestering Stan about his thoughts on Bill. Like, yeah, Stan thought Bill was hot. But he wasn’t about to tell Georgie that. If he said anything, Georgie would definitely repeat it back to Bill ( Stan wasn’t ignorant to Georgie’s hero-worship of his brother ) and then Bill would think Stan was weird. Though, Georgie did say that Bill thought he was hot.

“Did he really say— agh! Never mind! Go to bed!”

Stan seriously considered throwing himself in front of a bus then and there. Was he seriously just about to ask a ten-year old about that? UGH!

Georgie laughed.

Bill arrived home not long after that, grinning. Georgie shut his mouth about Stan finding Bill hot.


Three weeks after Georgie asked Stan if he thought Bill was hot, Stan had the weekend off. Bill’s parents were going away for a few nights for their anniversary and Georgie was going to stay with Sharon’s sister in the next town over. That meant Bill had the house to himself.

If Bill was a different kid, he would’ve been instantly sending out invites to a party. But Bill was Bill, and he wasn’t like that. Instead, he invited Stan over for a movie night.

Andrea drove Stan over to Bill’s house and quickly lectured Stan on practicing safe sex. Stan wanted to die.

“Mom! Holy, crap!” Stan exclaimed, his face beet red. “It’s not— we’re not— no! Anyways, the rest of our friends are gonna be there!”

The rest of their friends ( ‘The Losers Club’ they were often referred to by a senior named Henry Bowers and his gang of asshole friends, but Stan didn’t pay them much attention ) were, in fact, not there.

“I didn’t realize it would be just us,” Stan muttered, glancing around Bill’s dark house.

“Oh,” Bill said, rubbing his neck. “I didn’t— are you upset?”

“No,” Stan said, smiling. “I just thought— you know what? It’s not important.”

Bill smiled that breathtaking smile of his and Stan found himself wishing for a puff of Eddie’s inhaler.

“Richie was saying I should throw a party this weekend,” Bill snorted. “And Bev was saying we should utilize my empty house and my father’s never ending liquor supply and get drunk.”

Stan didn’t think that sounded too awful. Well, the getting drunk part at least… so long it was only their group of seven. He wouldn’t want other people around. Just the seven of them… ‘the lucky seven’ had Mike called them a couple weeks ago. The thought made Stan smile a bit.

“Would getting drunk be that bad?” Stan asked Bill, a smile on his face.

“Not if it was just the two of us,” Bill replied easily in his slow deliberate voice.

The voice that made Stan’s knees go weak and stomach tie in knots.

Not if it was just the two of us… Stan flushed a deep red.

“So, I ordered us pizza,” Bill said, gesturing to a box on the table. “Normally I go with pepperoni or barbeque chicken, but I know it’s not kosher for Jewish people to eat pig or meat and cheese — that’s the right word, right? Kosher?”

Stan had barely thought about his faith in months. It had seemed so insignificant, so unreal for him after his dad died. And when it came to eating kosher— well, that had been the way he lived his life for the past sixteen years so he never even really thought about it. But Bill had thought about it.

Stan suddenly felt the urge to kiss Bill, but he had enough will power to stop himself.

“Is regular cheese fine?”

Bill was being so casual, acting as if nothing was wrong. Well, not that anything was wrong… but he had just made a significant impact on Stan and was acting as if nothing had happened.

“Cheese is perfect,” Stan said softly.

Bill beamed and Stan felt like his heart was going to explode out of his chest.

Stan really wanted to kiss Bill. But he didn’t.

After they ate their pizza, Bill suggested they watch something. And by something, Stan knew that Bill meant Game of Thrones. Bill was a die-hard Thrones fan and nearly had an aneurism when he found out that Stan didn’t watch it. Last week, he finally convinced Stan to start watching it. Stan was already on season three.

Bill sat down next to Stan, but in an unnecessarily close way. Stan sat curled against the arm of the couch and Bill sat right down beside him. There was only a small inch or so of space between them. Stan said nothing because he didn’t want Bill to move away.

“You know, I feel bad for Theon,” Stan confessed.

Bill didn’t say anything.

“I mean, I understand why he did what he did. He just wanted his father’s approval. I don’t agree with his actions, but I understand the motive. You know? And, wow, he really does not deserve… that.”

“You’re cute.”

Stan’s eyes went wide, and so did Bill’s. From how red Bill’s face was, Stan could tell he most definitely did not mean to say that out loud.

“Thanks,” Stan found himself saying. “You too.”

And then he kissed Bill. Holy shit. He was kissing Bill. And Bill was kissing him back.


Even for a first kiss, it was pretty awesome. Stan had no idea what he was doing with his mouth, but Bill seemed to have some experience so he took charge. His right hand went around the back of Stan’s neck, while the other propped himself up against the arm of the couch that Stan’s back was pressed against.

Stan was in paradise, his hands wrapped around Bill and digging into Bill’s soft hair.

When Bill pulled away, they were both panting, gasping for air. Bill’s eyes were peering into Stan’s, and both boys smiled before Stan pulled Bill’s face down, crushing his lips to Bill’s once more.


anonymous asked:

28 hamliza or johnsnavi

(Hamliza 28) “I found you–panicking, our child about to be delivered”

We won!

We Won!


“Alexander” George rode by on his horse, the men gathered by the docks as they watched the last fleet of  British soldiers retreat back to their vessels and shove off. Alexander surrounded by his friends, the harrowing spy Hercules. The champion of Chesapeake Bay, Lafayette, and in the south, oh if Laurens was here to see this Hamilton knew the win would only have tasted sweeter.

His eyes tore away from the near tear jerking sight of victory fleeing back to the their former oppressor. “General, come to partake in the…” He began but George’s face was stilled. There was no sign of a war hero General. Alexander couldn’t examine his face for long. He was still riding the high of his war fame. It was he that led that mighty last push against the British, surely George was proud. Surely…yet he felt his face grow cold.

“It’s a letter for you, its from New York.” He handed Alexander the letter, “Its from your wife, she’s due any day now…”

Alexander looked down at the letter, he didn’t need to read it. He needed to leave. “Eliza…my…Eliza!” He tucked the letter away into his jacket and bounded for the nearest horse.

“Alex, you need to take provisions with you! It’s a week travel back North to New York.” George bellowed from his horse as Alex readjusted himself. He pulled with him his knapsack with a sole canteen of water, a stale loaf of bread and his traveling desk with some writing tools. “Alex!”

“Three days…” He muttered grabbing the reigns of the horse even tighter. “I’ll make it in Three Days George!” He smiled his eyes still wild from the battle. The battle had not been over, he had one more feat to conquer. “When you come to New York, come visit me and my son!” Hamilton whipped at the horse’s reigns and commanded the animal to move. Washington couldn’t stop him even if he shot him in the back right there and then. He could only pray Alexander would make it back to New York in one piece, at least for his wife’s sake.

The chill of January was setting in over the Northeast. “Close the windows, Mrs. Hamilton shouldn’t be exposed to such chill.” One of the midwives muttered as she rushed to close a few more windows. As Alexander promised they did get a small place in Harlem, a quaint apartment up a few cobbled stoned streets from where Angelica was staying. Though no one would have known, to anyone outside of the family they would have guessed Angelica lived with her sister. She doted on her hand and foot, watching as labor evaded her as the days came. The delay made Angelica worry…but Eliza hoped this was a sign. A sign that the Lord was buying her Alexander more time to make it.

Eliza released a small whimper, hoping to go unnoticed by the midwives. Though it did, it did not miss the ears of Angelica who was standing by the door. She walked into the bedroom and placed a hand on her sister’s forehead. “You’re holding it in.” she accused.

“N-No it was just a small pain n-nothing at all.” Eliza began to grind her teeth together.

“Eliza its going to be time soon…I’ve helped in many of birthing, you are ready. What are you waiting for…”

“My husband…” She muttered softly, “Angie I can’t do this alone…I need him here…he said he’d be here…”

“Alexander is a great man who is capable of great feats but I do not think that he can –“ she was cut off by the neighs of a horse. Then that sound was cut off by a slightly louder whine from Eliza as she hunched her body against the growing discomfort. “I’ll get the midwives.” She whispered placing a small kiss on the top of her sister’s head. Angelica flurried out of the room and to the front door where Alexander was stripping out of his winter clothes. He was pale, lips purple, eyes half lidded nearly ready to drop. He managed to pull a smile when he caught sight of his beloved sister in law. “…A miracle.” She shook her head. “…How long did you ride for?”

“Four days straight, I was off by one. I would have made it if I didn’t take the river path, trying to cut through the fields. No matter.” Alexander rubbed his hands together. “Tell me I’ve come in time…”

Angelica didn’t have to answer, from the bedroom and down the hall a scream carried through the home. Alexander’s smirk fell, his tired face unable to form a mask to hide the clear worry that was sent through him. That scream was like a shot through the heart. And there were many more shots to come. Slowly Angelica led him to the bedroom where the midwives had begun to prep. Alexander stood at the door, his eyes wildly flickering between the women at the end of his bed and his wife, his beloved he hadn’t seen in weeks, months, sprawled. Her legs twisting in pain, her face twitching and beading with sweat, she opened her eyes and stared at him.

They were both panicked, their child was about to be delivered. Soon, their lives would change their marriage. “Alex…” Eliza’s chapped lips curled into a smile, finding some courage now that her husband was here, at last, safe. Alexander the war hero, the right hand to the greatest General of their century, knelt down by his wife and looked so small. “So…what news do you bring for me, my solider?”

“Our child is going to be born in a free nation…” He smiled as if he was presenting Eliza with a gift. “He…will be born…” He gulped staring down at the large stomach that housed their son. “He…”

“He has been waiting for you…we both have…” Eliza wouldn’t indulge his guilt, she wouldn’t tell him how she had been in pain for days, holding and refusing nature’s call for labor. Not without Hamilton. “I hope you are ready for one last battle.” She held out her small, clammy hand.

Alexander held her hand, holding her with the same certainty as he did a weapon, that only a few days ago as he stared down the enemy. With steely eyes, framed with exhaustion he nodded once. “I came to win one more fight, let’s meet our son.”

She nodded, fueled by his strength she looked up at Angelica and the midwife. “I’m ready.” She smiled, squeezing Alex’s hand. A fire flooded her, pain no longer worried her. She was eager now, eager to have Alexander be a part of her greatest triumph. “Let’s meet Philip.”

For Asgard (Chapter 9/?)

You awaken after a long deserved sleep against Loki’s chest. You have no clue how long you have been in this horrid prison cell. It’s most likely been days but you’re praying it’s only been hours. The pair of you lay cozy in a lounge chair (one he didn’t get around to destroying in his fit of rage). You’re curled up into him while he reads a book, and for once, you feel at peace (oddly enough in imprisonment). The past couple of days have been one wild ride and you are glad that time has now allowed you to catch your breath.

You make a small noise. The kind you make when you are comfortable beyond belief. Loki plays with your hair which causes you to repeat that noise, seemingly much to his pleasure.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

The brothers son and SO do a slap cam on them, including rose scented shaving cream mixed with whip cream. How would the brothers react?


Originally posted by harleysworldofmadness

Is the most startled because they somehow manage to sneak up on him during meditation. He lets out a yelp when the shaving cream hits his face, quickly covering it and staring at his SO and son before calmly rising and chasing them around the lair.

“You DARE slap cam prank the leader of the Hamato Clan??”


Originally posted by ksunshinek

He’s borderline pissed, borderline annoyed, making for a very offstandish Raphael. Says nothing, just glares at the two of them until they back off, and then plots his own revenge later that day.


Originally posted by atravelgirl

He’s a bit miffed at first by the shaving cream now covering his face, but… his son’s giving him that big smile of his, and his SO’s giving that little giggle with the small snort that makes him chuckle… and pretty soon he’s laughing along.

“Yeah, that was funny… but if you got whipped cream on my laptop, you’re dead.”


Originally posted by haidaspicciare

Congratulations, SO and Son, you’ve officially beat Mikey at his own game, and he’s cracking up. He’ll sit there for a few minutes, laughing to the point of tears along with his SO and son, complimenting their prank tactics.

“Couldn’t have done it better myself! Well done, my dudette and little dude!”

  • JLaur: Why is Alex shaking
  • JLaur: like, more than usual,
  • Laffie-Taffe: look up in the group chat
  • JLaur: holy fuck
  • Hercthemerc: I didn’t do anything he didn’t deserve
  • JLaur: brutal man
  • Laffie-Taffie: someone give alexander a hug
  • JLaur: done and done his heart is beating really fast
  • Hercthemerc: i’ll apologize when I get there to pick him up
  • Laffie-Taffie: s l ay e d
My Boys...Part 9

For those of you waiting for the reader to rip into Spencer…here’s your chapter!  I hope that you enjoy how it’s written, because here it is, comin’ ‘atcha!

(Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 10  Part 11  Part 12  Part 13  Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Epilogue)

As Spencer opens his car door, Morgan still in the process of slowing down the vehicle, he quickly unlocks his seat-belt and goes barreling towards the house, with Hotch quickly at his side as his boss shoves his cell phone back in his pocket.

“Garcia?” he asks him breathlessly as he draws his weapon, his foot raising up as he kicks the front door in.

“FBI!” Hotch roars into the house as he clicks on his flashlight.

“Yes,” Hotch says in a lowered tone of voice.

“W-wh…wel,l what did she say!?” Spencer harshly whispers at his boss as Morgan flies up behind them, gun drawn as he moves to the right, clearing the rest of the downstairs rooms.

“Garcia thinks their in the basement,” Hotch says as he eyes a door hanging open.

“FBI!” Hotch roars again as he shines his flashlight down the stairs.

But when Spencer quickly descends the stairs, his eyes settling on the sight of you poised, ready to bash this man’s head in, he aims his weapon not at him…but at you.

“Ma!” DeShawn shrieks again as his father groans at your feet.

“Ma…don’t be like him…” DeShawn begs.

All of the words…words of love and comfort…words of devotion and reassurance…they were all replaced with spit-fire words of fury and fear.

“He took you two…from your beds…” you glower.

“Y/N…?” Spencer asks lightly, his gun trained on you as you slowly pan your head towards your colleague.

“Really, Reid?  You hate me so much you’re willing to kill me over him?” you ask, nodding your head to the man at your feet.

“I don’t hate you…” he says desperately, shaking his head as Hotch stays in the shadows, training his gun on DeShawn’s father in case he makes a move for any one of his teammates.

Or your sons.

“Save your heroic speech for someone who cares,” you lull, turning your head back to the man at your feet.

“I won’t let you kill him,” Spencer says as he takes another step down the stairs.

“But you were willing to let him kill my sons, right?” you ask, whipping your head back towards a blind-sided Spencer.

“You were willing to place your tender, broken heart in front of the well-being of my boys.  Right!?” you ask, your voice getting louder as Wilder groans again in the background.

“You were willing to place your selfish, hurt little feelings in front of figuring out how to save my sons’ lives…right!?” you bellow.

“And now!?” you shriek as you turn your entire body towards him, your thought process scattering itself across the continents of your mind as you slowly lower the crowbar from above your head.

Now you’re willing to shoot me instead of the serial killer who has ripped apart 7 different families!  All in the name of trying to get his back!”

And it was then, at your weakest and most vulnerable, that DeShawn’s father made a move for you.

Flying up faster than anyone would have assumed possible for a man his size, he hits you in your stomach, causing you to gasp for air as DeShawn yells in the background, his voice growing hoarse as he begs his father to let you go.

And just as your head made contact with the solid wall, you hear multiple gunshots ring out, your body hitting the ground with a thud as you feel the warm, thick blood that you were so intent on drawing just moments before of your own volition trickling up under your legs as you pan your gaze over to the source.

DeShawn’s father, his eyes wide open and his jaw unhinged, his lifeless stare wildly accusing you of taking his son from him as your emotions finally begin to regulate themselves.


You almost became a murderer.

Scurrying to your feet as you fly to your boys, you make quick use of your hands, your tears blurring your vision as Morgan finally finds a working light, the illuminating presence flooding the room as realization hits your mind.


He can’t see his father like that.

Ripping the last of Wilder’s bonds away, you stand up quickly, ready to throw your body in front of his line of sight until your eyes take in Spencer’s body fluttering a blanket he had found quickly over the dead, bleeding form.

“I’ve got it,” he says comfortingly, looking at you as his eyes glisten.

Hearing the paramedics traipse down the stairs, tears stream from your wide eyes as you help Wilder into their arms, the medics working with an IV and some pain medication as they try to discern all of the pain that has been inflicted upon him.

Your son.

Your little baby boy…

“Ma…” DeShawn croaks.

Whipping your head around, you drop to your knees as you begin to work at his bindings, freeing his appendages one by one before taking his face in your hands and planting a long, deep kiss upon his forehead.

“Hey there, sweet cheeks,” you whisper, your breath quivering as you try to swallow your sobs.

“Ma…” he croaks, throwing his weakened arms around you as you pull him close, your legs straddling his wide form (that he apparently gets from his father) as you rock slowly side-to-side, your 17 year old son sobbing into the crook of your neck as the blood dripping from his face begins to soak up in the fabric of your shirt.

“My big, sweet boy,” you tremble, pressing another kiss to the side of his head as you feel a hand come down on your shoulder.

“The medics are here for him,” Spencer coos, squeezing your shoulder lightly as you nod against your son’s head.

“He kept insisting, Ma…” DeShawn whines.

“Who kept insisting what, sweetheart?” you breathe as Hotch appears behind your son, dipping into your line of sight as he puts his hand on DeShawn’s back.


Furrowing your brow, you pull back as you cup your son’s face, lifting his bruised, swollen, bloodied face to yours.

“He kept insisting what?” you implore lightly.

“To hurt him.  He-…he kept telling m-…my dad-”

“That man is not your dad,” you say sternly, “…your father, yes.  But most certainly not your dad.”

DeShawn’s good eye finally peeled open, flickering up to you as you get off of his lap, standing in front of him as the paramedics begin to help you get him off of the chair.

“He kept telling my father to hurt him instead,” DeShawn says, your sobs finally wracking your body as the audible sounds of pain and fear finally begin to waft from your throat.

“Ma?” DeShawn asks as they begin to set him an IV.

“Ma!?” he says a bit louder as they begin to move his gurney.

“I’m right here,” you soothe, reaching out and grasping his hand as your tears begin to drip down your neck.

“I’m right here, and I’m following the two of you to the hospital.”

“You can ride with us, Mom, if you want,” the paramedic tells you.

“Please, Ma…” DeShawn asks weakly.

“Alright, baby boy.  Alright,” you say, turning your head to look back at Hotch as he nods for you to go.

And just as everyone was emerging from the house, the team watching you as you hop up into the ambulance behind your son, J.J. grasps Spencer’s arm as she yanks him over to the SUV you had driven here, the trunk door open as she holds the recording device in her hand.

“What, J.J.?” Spencer asks, slightly annoyed.

“You need to listen to this,” she urges, holding it out for him as the team begins to gather around.

“What’s this?” he asks as he takes the device in his hands.

“A lot of things,” she breathes as she tentatively looks over at Rossi standing beside her.

“But mostly?” Rossi interjects just before Spencer presses the play button, “it’s how she feels about you.”

And with a deeply furrowed brow, Spencer looks down at the device as he presses play, your voice wafting through the small speaker on the side as you begin speaking.

“I, Y/F/N Y/L/N, being of sound mind and body, do hereby give full and complete guidance and medical decisions of my two songs, Wilder Y/L/N and DeShawn Y/L/N, over to Dr. Spencer Reid of the BAU…”