(M x M) Soap Anyone?
- Locked due to inactivity on Mar 17, '17 3:54am
Thread Topic: (M x M) Soap Anyone?
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"his family thinks he's boring"
me too
aLSO rip me he is cute as f--- -
Hes me pretty much lol
Ikr omg I was sitting around looking through pictures of dudes for like twenty minutes like a weirdo -
Name: James Redfield
Age: 16
Sexuality: He's most definitely gay. He will deny it, but he is. So. Gay.
Personality: James takes pride in the fact that only a handful of people at his school know who he is. He tends to hang out in the back of classrooms, and he eats (or rather spends the period) lunch in the bathroom, just to avoid social confrontation. He doesn't speak unless spoken to, and it takes him a while to come out of his shell. He has a best friend who, sadly, is dual enrolled in college and hardly ever gets a chance to see him. (She's, like, at the top of their class. She used to let him cheat off of her during tests but now that she's taking college classes, he has to study.) All that said, he has a really sharp sense of humor and is actually very intelligent, despite what his grades say. (C's may be passing, but his parents are NOT impressed.)
Other: As said, only a handful of people actually know his name. Most just refer to him as Sage's brother, or as Coach/Preacher Redfield's son.
He's on the baseball team, simply because his parents INSISTED he did something after school, and it was that or football. (And Sage, his twin brother, not-so-gently forbid him from ever joining the team.)
Oh, it's not easy being gay and having a preacher for a dad, which is probably why James is so far in the closet that he might as well ride on Aslan's back. But, he makes do. He'll be fine, if he can just graduate high school and go live in Finland or something.
He likes sketching, reading, and drinking SCOLDING HOT TEA to try and melt his stone cold heart.
Appearance:
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ollie i don't think you're boring
Pinterest, my dude. It sounds stupid but... Pinterest and tumblr. -
CUTIE
Naaah im pretty boring actually haha
True true
Btw not it :):):):):) -
flails arms you're so mean to me why
James really, really hated his brother. He had won rock-paper-scissors to ride in the two-seat truck with their mother, fair and square. And all that had gotten was a blatant "I'm older, sucks for you" and a seat in between two squabbling preteen girls. He wondered if the Arby's drive through served bleach. His dad didn't seem to find his joke very funny when he asked if they did, and James sunk back into his seat and plugged his headphones in, praying that the next four hours went quickly.
They didn't, of course. He had read once that the Greek God of time, Kronos, was believed to speed up and slow down time to annoy mortals. James thinks that might be one good explanation as he watches the road in front of them stretch on and on for ages. When they actually arrive home, they're an hour behind Sage and his mother. Which means, James doesn't have to help take luggage inside. He waits for Anastasia to get out before he can, taking his back pack with him. Inside are two sketch books, both full with charcoal drawings of squirrels and trees and such. He can hardly wait to go through them and carefully tape his favorites up in the attic next door. He likes watching his portfolio slowly grow, covering the walls where he knows they're safe from his destructive siblings.
Sage, or maybe his dad, who is struggling to get Ryan out of his car-seat, yells something at him when he's half way up the stairs. He pauses for a moment, but turns the volume on his phone up louder and keeps going. His bedroom is exactly how he left it two weeks ago- Last minute clothing rejects tossed on his bed, three empty sketch books sitting on his desk, the top of his dresser colonized by careful boxes of drawing media. Sage's side of the room is still plastered in football posters, and one almost full-body length image of a bikini-clad volleyball player. James waves to her, an old, sarcastic habit, and pries his window open. He leans his torso over and opens the next door attic window, hardly noticing that he's far enough from the ground that if he fell, he'd probably get pretty hurt.
He tosses his backpack over first, and then follows slowly, with his front facing his house. He's done this a million times by now, he's sure, and he closes the window to his bedroom, and turns around.
Oh. -
They'd moved in just three days ago. Terry was more than just excited, they hadn't been to the house in person yet but the realtor had spewed all about how the house was old and interesting and had been empty for years after the last owners just left it as is. He was expecting to get to the house and find lots of old stuff, like old furniture and family heirlooms in the attic from people he never even knew. As he was bringing in the first box of his things up to the attic, he was honestly expecting cobwebs and dust and old boxes and spiders. What he'd found was the opposite.
There were new things everywhere, it was clear that someone else had been in the house recently, and often. He didn't know what to do with it all, it really looked almost like it was being used. It was a little dusty, like maybe it had been a few weeks, but still, it was clearly someone else's stuff. And, honestly, Terry ended up reasoning with it all. He set his stuff up around the oher things, he did his best not to move anything and even when he did he gently set it aside elsewhere. There was a musty sleeping bag that he actually washed before rolling it up and setting it in the corner, and even after he was all moved in, he didn't take down any of the things on the walls, as they were pretty anyways.
Most of it conflicted with Terry's usual style, but he tried to make it work. Whoever had been using it before had tried to make it dark, what with the fairy lights and the shutters being closed. But Terry had a lot of plants, so he ended up opening the shutters and airing the place out. Otherwise, he didn't change much.
He was comfortable in his room one day, laying on his bed. It was opposite from the window that faced the other house, a full size mattress just on the floor with flannel quilts covering it. When, holy s---, the window was opening. And there was literally some kid coming in. Sure, for the past few days he'd known someone had been hanging out in what was now his room, but he forgot about it in that moment. He stared at the guy for a second, his eyes wide, and then sat up. "Oh my god," he breathed, standing up. "What are you doing?" -
James hadn't been expecting anyone to be in the attic. He might have almost pissed himself when he realized that someone was sitting on the bed, a bed that certainly hadn't been there just a few weeks ago. He feels all the blood drain from his face, and it's like a cold sweat materializes on his skin, because suddenly he's very, very cold. And a little bit scared, but mostly shocked. He clenches and unclenches his hands by his sides, opening and closing his mouth in the best imitation of a fish. The blood is returning now, burning his face scarlet. He feels like he's not getting enough air, like he might faint. He pulls his earbuds out, sucking in air.
"Why are you here?" It comes out angrier that he means it too, and he draws in a breath. "This is my-" But he stops, mid-sentence. The attic isn't his. Technically, it had been the property of the bank, just like the rest of the house. He tries to sort the sudden change of events out in his head. It doesn't work.
"No one lives here," He finishes lamely, glancing behind him. He realizes that his drawings are still taped up, and his books still sit in neat little stacks, hardly having been moved at all. He's really, really confused now, and lets his eyes drift back to the boy who is in his (not really) attic. He can't be much older than him, and he's really, really cute. James shoves that line of thought right out of his head.
"That's my stuff. I keep it here, and... And I live in the house next door," He gestures to the window, "We're on a rise, so the second floor is next to the attic, and I just, uhm. I've been using this place since I was, like, seven. I swear I'm not here to rob you. Please don't call the cops." -
Terry was clutching the front of his shirt, tensely pulling the fabric away from his chest like it was hard to breathe. He was going to panic, he thought, he would panic, and this guy would freaking murder him or something while he just lamely wheezed, and honestly that seemed like a very Terry way to go out. A boring, fightless death, caused because some other hobo kid lived in his attic.
He tried to calm down before he got to the wheezing, though. He stared at the guy, who was asking him why he was there, but Terry ended up not saying anything. He thought to himself, well, it is my bedroom, but then the words didn't come out and he just kept staring. He listened to the guy try to explain himself, and to be honest, it was logical, at least somewhat. And Terry was so gullible that he wouldn't say the guy was lying. He didn't really look like a hobo, either, he looked like a regular guy about his age, and he'd known that the house next door was occupied.
"Okay," he ended up squeaking, still clutching his shirt, but also not panicking. "I... I'm sorry, I didn't throw any of your stuff away, oh my god I'm so sorry, I totally knew there was someone hanging out in here because I mean, all your stuff was in here, but like it's my room now, so I just kind of worked around it, I guess..." He almost felt like he should offer to leave, forgetting that this was actually his bedroom, and if anyone should be leaving it should be this other guy. -
"Why are you apologizing? I'm the one breaking and entering," James pauses, examining the boy. He relaxes a bit, realizing the other kid seems just as freaked out as he is. "But I guess since you didn't wreck any of my stuff, I won't kidnap you and torture you in my murder dungeon."
He's trying to clear the anxiety bubbling up his throat with humor, just like he does any other time he gets cornered in situations that make him want to curl in on himself and die. A part of him is shattered, knowing that he's lost the one place he can escape to. James pushes this thought away, too.
He doesn't miss the way the other teen seems to be gasping for air, and wonders if maybe he really has frightened him enough to give him a heart attack, and now he's going to be charged with murder, and he's not sure if he'll be allowed to take his books to prison and- ...And he's getting a bit dramatic. He counts backwards from twenty to one in his head, eyes fluttering everywhere but the person who now lives in the room he's been using for what seems like forever.
"Do you have asthma?" He inquires, once he reaches one and realizes it's time to put his big-boy pants on and deal with this. He'll just gather up his stuff and leave. He can hide it under his bed. Maybe mow lawns and save up money for a safe. He'll figure something out. -
By the time he finished talking, Terry had started to calm down. He realized this guy wasn't going to hurt him, at worst he would take his things and leave, which didn't actually seem all that awful. Sure, he had started to like all of the decoration, the art was helping make his room look a little more interesting, he had even borrowed one of the books and was in the middle of reading it. But it was this guy's stuff, and he couldn't just keep it all.
He crossed his arms, hoping to look less like he was choking. "No, I'm fine," he said, shaking his head. "I just wasn't expecting that, I guess.. If you want you can just take all your stuff, I can help," he mumbled, and started looking around. He bent over, lifting a quilt on his bed, taking out a book. "I was borrowing this, sorry," he said, and added it to a stack of books that was already by the bed.
He looked at the walls, with all the tacked up papers and the lights, and rubbed the side of his arm. "I can leave for a minute if you just want to get your stuff together or something, I put the sleeping bag over there by the window," he said, pointing, "I washed it because it seemed a little musty, I thought it would be rude to leave it dirty in the corner." -
Brb bath
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kk
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I had to shave so that took longer than expected--
literally hate shaving?? so much
James watched silently as Terry sat the book with the rest, slowly calculating what he was going to say. He had once been scolded by a teacher for not reading social situations properly, whatever that meant. "You don't have to leave. It's your room," He began, pausing as he picked his bag up off the floor. He settled it on one of his shoulders, glancing towards a pastel drawing of Jen, his one and only friend. It was one of his favorites, despite the fact that it had a stain at the top where it had gotten wet, when he accidentally left his sketch book in the dugout once.
"In fact," He continues, feigning interest in the light yellow of the dress he had drawn her in, "If you don't mind, I could... Leave the books here. And maybe the drawings too," James finally turns back to face him. A soft sigh leaves his lips as he tries to figure out exactly how to word this.
"It's just, I can't put them in my room. I share a room with my brother, and he might ruin my stuff. I understand if you're not okay with that. I mean, obviously, I can't hang out in here anymore, but maybe I can just leave the stuff here? You can read the books. They're really good, and-" James stops himself from rambling, dropping his eyes to the floor. As a side thought, he adds, "By the way, my name is James." -
whAT you took less than half an hour I don't even shave and I always take like forty minutes how do you do that so fast ??
Terry shrugged, not sure what else to do. He couldn't help but think that he was the one invading the other's soace. He wasn't there first, he hadn't even been there for more than a few days. So he felt this space was still the other's. Worst of all, this guy probably thought he was really weird. Any normal person would have thrown away, or at least boxed away, all of the stranger's stuff. But Terry had literally moved his own things around to accomodate for the other's things.
But the other guy made a suggestion that made him blink, and then look up at him. "Oh... I mean, I don't really mind. Clearly." But he was secretly a little happy. Sure, he figured he wouldn't end up being friends with this guy. He was semi-famous on Youtube for not being friends with people so of course he didn't think he'd be finding one in this guy who apparently kept things in other people's attics.
"No, that's fine, it can stay here.." And he was thankful for that, honestly. Terry was weird, he liked the stuff, it was interesting and he liked the books and everything else. "I'm Terry," he said, swallowing.
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