#I didn’t know that using queer was a bad word and I don’t like it that much tbh

[pedropascallme]

Crush

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: “The door opened and you turned toward it out of impulse. The man that was suddenly in front of you was Tess’s age, you guessed. Dark hair greying, sleeves of his denim button down rolled up to the elbows, face…mean. Joel Miller in the flesh.”

Warnings: Smut (18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT), age gap (reader is late 20s/early 30s, Joel is canon typical age), p in v sex, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), kinda mean!Joel, degradation, praise kink, orgasm denial/edging, I will sprinkle in queer Tess. If I missed anything please let me know!

Soundtrack: Crush by Ethel Cain

Joel had a problem with saying no.

He knew it made him seem soft, but he just couldn’t get it out. There was something about becoming a father that increased the negative connotation of the word; using it as a response meant hampering the needs of someone who trusted you. Or the wants. And it was always the wants he fell victim to. Sarah knew his weaknesses—she was his biggest one. A goldfish, extra dessert, a slumber party— “Sure, darlin’.”

Sarah was all he cared about, and he’d give her everything she ever wanted, even when it meant looking like a pushover.

But his window had passed; all will to live drained and replaced by pure survivalism. He pretended to get over it out of instinct, willing himself to push everything down in order to keep going.

He didn’t mind saying no anymore. He had nobody to say it to, anyway.

Maybe that made him a bad man.

~~~

You had befriended Tess by chance. She frequented the same spots you did—speakeasies and back allies, surrounded by men she wanted nothing to do with. 

At least you had that much in common with her.

Tess was older than you by maybe twenty years, and you knew nearly nothing about her. You knew her name, you knew what she did to get the extra rations she kept in her front pocket, and you knew she lived with Joel Miller. You had never pried about their relationship, and all you knew of Joel was that he was as gorgeous as his reputation was mean.

She had the tendency to be hot headed, there was no doubt that she could be rough, although you felt her fire was what drew you to her in the first place. Another person who had lost everything obviously wasn’t inaccessible, but it helped that she was one of the few women that you had seen around. When she had thrown a punch so hard it nearly shattered her hand, you grabbed her and walked her home while she stumbled along with you.

No matter how watered down the whiskey in the QZ was, enough of it would do the trick.

“You ok?” You grabbed her by the waist, catching her before she fell, distracted by the blood on her knuckles. You didn’t know if it was hers or the man whose bottom tooth she had loosened.

“Guys here are as bad as fucking raiders…” She mumbled, looking down at her feet. “Could’a walked home myself.” You knew she could’ve, but the thought of letting her stagger home by herself so close to curfew made you uneasy. 

Some things never change. 

“Didn’t want you to,” You kept walking, one stride ahead of her at all times. “Could’ve been dangerous.”

“They know not to fuck with me,” she was giggling now, and she looked almost girlish with her features softened. “Living with Miller has its perks.”

“Wouldn’t want your boyfriend having to exact revenge just cause I let you walk home drunk.”

“What?” Tess stopped walking.

“Aren’t—sorry, are you and Joel not—?”

Tess snorted, “Joel and I are not an item. I don’t, y’know. He’s not my type.” She had sobered almost instantly. “I like my partners…feminine.”

Oh. Oops.

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t be. We get it a lot. Easy living with each other cause we’re the only two that know how to empathize with the other.” She started walking again, leaving you with space to catch up. You didn’t inquire further about what she meant, it wasn’t something anybody wanted to discuss, ever. Loss and death were everywhere, there was no need to reflect on past experiences. Especially with someone like Tess who, in all honesty, intimidated you mightily. You just jogged to meet her pace. 

You followed her into the building, not that you could really explain why.

She had pushed the door open and motioned to you, silently telling you to come into what once could’ve been passed off as a $3,000/month studio apartment. She dropped her belongings on the kitchen table, getting two glasses and pouring watered-down sambuca into each one. You hated the taste, but appreciated that she seemed to genuinely want to spend time with you.

“You remember anything?” She prompted after finishing her drink.

“What?” You had barely touched yours. The anise flavored booze had a different burn than whiskey.

“Before.”

“I was little. I remember seeing Attack of the Clones. And that Scooby Doo movie.”

“I was in my thirties when those came out,” she laughed, “I fucking loved Scooby Doo.” You found yourself laughing along with her. She deadpanned after a moment, examining you.

“You’re still young. Not fair to you to have seen all that as a kid.”

“I guess. But I didn’t think episode two was all that bad.” You tried to laugh through the sudden solemnity. Tess rolled her eyes and smiled, shaking her head as she reached for the bottle to refill her glass.“But it’s not fair that anybody had to see any of that. Ever.” You could hardly call yourself eloquent, but she knew what you meant.

“What are you doing here?” She took smaller sips of her drink this time.

“Same thing as you.”

“Why?”

You didn’t know. “Gotta do something.” 

She nodded, “I want you with me.”

“Tess, I’m flattered—I am, but I don’t, I mean—”

“I want you to work with me.” She smiled into her glass, amused by your flustered response.

Oh. Oops.

“Oh. I...mean, ok. Yeah, ok.”

The door opened and you turned toward it out of impulse. The man that was suddenly in front of you was Tess’s age, you guessed. Dark hair greying, sleeves of his denim shirt rolled up to his elbows, face…mean.

Joel Miller in the flesh.

“Joel.” Tess was stern.

“What’s this?” Joel’s voice sent a shiver down your spine. You realized you had never spoken to him, never been spoken to by him. You’d only ever gawked from across the room. You felt yourself straighten your posture.

“Business. New teammate.” Tess took another sip from her glass.

Joel walked across the room, grabbing the liquor bottle and taking a swig from it before placing it back into a cabinet. He looked at you, giving you the up-and-down from where he stood at the counter.

“No.” He turned, walking into the bedroom.

Wide-eyed with concern and embarrassment, you looked at Tess. 

“Be here at nine tomorrow. PM.” She said, finishing her drink and getting up to take her place on the couch.

You let yourself out.

~~~

It was obvious when you arrived the following night that Joel was still irked by your presence. Also obvious was that Tess had made him swallow his pride. She gave you your instructions at the kitchen table while you nodded along. Joel was statuesque and showed no signs of emotion or consideration towards her words. 

And when Tess had explained that it would be you and Joel and only you and Joel, your brows furrowed and he still hadn’t budged. 

“I’ve gotta be here,” she dictated, words coming out slowly as though she was speaking to children, “Don’t need all of us gone, it’d be too much attention. I’ll cover.”

“I can cover.” You blurted out, suddenly nervous about being alone with Joel.

“No.” Joel spoke for the first time all night. You shrunk back into yourself and kept listening.

“—Into the sewer, out to the east, all we need is booze, maybe some pharmaceutical shit if you can grab any.”

You probed, “Pharmaceuticals?” 

“For us.” Tess had finished giving you the rundown, getting up from the table and walking into the bedroom, leaving you alone with Joel.

Saying nothing, he immediately started towards the door, leaving you to follow.

~~~

Contrary to popular belief, the sewers were not your ideal hang out. No matter how many times you went down there, it took days to scrub the feel and smell off of your body. If Joel cared about the dank surrounding, he didn’t show it.

When you popped the grate to crawl out, he moved to lift you slightly, but that was the only interaction you’d had on your journey. You wanted to get this over with, desperately wanted to be back in the company of anybody you could converse with. You made quick work of collecting what you needed and making your way back into tunnels below. Joel hadn’t said a word since he had objected to you taking watch, and you didn’t know why that bothered you so much; plenty of people didn’t speak to you, and you relished in it. You could walk around the QZ and not a soul would approach you—it was safer that way. Easier, too. But Joel’s silence made your head spin almost as much as his voice did. You kept looking at the way his biceps flexed under his shirt, the stern look on his face and the scar on his right temple. 

Despite his cold exterior, you felt at ease in his presence. Sure, his domineering attitude was somewhat troubling to you, but his lack of emotions made you feel less paranoid. You weren’t as preoccupied with looking over your shoulder as you would’ve been otherwise thanks to his presence, and the gun slung over his shoulder acted as additional reassurance. If anything were to happen, you doubted he’d have any trouble dealing with it.

Maybe the smell of the sewer was making you delirious. Or maybe you were experiencing a genuine attraction to him—not that you expected a man that wouldn’t speak to you to feel any sort carnal desire for you. Even so, you found your mind wandering on the route back to the QZ; you could imagine him smoking the cigarettes your grandfather used to buy, Marlboro reds that he kept in a silver case. The thought of a cigarette hanging between Joel’s lips made you shiver, though you tried to tell yourself you were just cold from the clammy tunnels. You tried to hide the curious looks you shot at him, the way you studied his hands and thought up reasons as to why they would be so calloused. It could’ve been from the work he did now, but the thought of him pre-outbreak, working with his hands in the heat, wiping the sweat that dripped down his forehead...

You heard a clang somewhere along the route. Looking up, you could make out a shadow growing larger, then smaller. An unmistakable clicking followed. 

Perhaps it was due to the unexpected encounter, or the daydreams still playing in the back of your head, but you found yourself frozen. If you could think straight, it would be embarrassing, but every noise was deafening, and you could feel your heartbeat in your skull. 

And then you were on the floor. Joel’s full weight pinning you down before he rose up again and two shots rang out. You tried your best to regain your composure, blinking rapidly and staring into nothing. Joel looked down at you, face painted with his routine grimace only inches away from your own.

“This,” he breathed heavily, voice frayed, “is why I said no.” 

But he waited for you to get up and brush yourself off before he kept walking.

“You’re a fuckin’ amateur.” He continued homewards.

~~~

You went with Tess after that. Nobody gave you an explanation—you didn’t need one. You had fucked up, made more apparent by the dismay painted on Joel’s face at your continued appearances in the apartment. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, let alone speak to him, maybe attempt to apologize. He didn’t want to hear it; you knew as much as he did. You couldn’t even crawl back like a guilty dog with your tail between your legs, because you knew you’d just get swatted by the morning paper. And, worse, despite the obvious friction, Joel was constantly on your mind. It was humiliating that a man who never spoke to you could be the focal point of your private moments. You thought of his hands entirely too often, his name slipping out between hushed gasps in the darkness of your bedroom.

Your breaking point was the night you walked into the apartment, opening the door to barking laughter that ceased on his end the moment you crossed the threshold. It was purposeful, the way he drew his mouth into a frown as soon as your line of sight had connected. Scowling, his eyes followed you. You felt heat rise in your face and pool in your stomach.

You scowled back. You wouldn’t endure his attitude anymore. 

It went on like that for weeks. You figured that if you got under his skin he’d crack, forcing him to interact with you on a higher level—even if it was shouting at you. 

Joel Miller was a bad man, a mean man. You knew as well as anybody, and it pissed you off as much as it turned you on. 

~~~

You had let yourself into the apartment, flipping through an old magazine to pass the time you spent waiting for Tess.

When the door opened, your gaze met Joel’s. You turned back to skimming a story about Ewan McGregor, brows furrowed as you internally questioned what had happened to him in all this. 

You started the countdown for the game you were playing: Who would break first? You glanced up once or twice to see where Joel was, and he remained in the same spot in front of the doorway, dark eyes fixed on you. You crossed your legs.

“Tess isn’t here.” He spoke, and you stopped your countdown, congratulating yourself as tonight’s winner.

“I know.”

“She’s not coming.”

“I’m reading.” You turned the page, eager to read about who was dating who in August of 2000. 

Joel stayed in his spot by the door before making his way to the liquor cabinet—which you had discovered were most of the cabinets in this house. He put a glass in front of you and sat across, a glass of his own in his hand as he leaned forward to put his weight on the table.

“Jared Leto and Cameron Diaz.” You mused. Joel tipped back his glass, glaring at you. “Do you ever wonder if any of these people are still out there somewhere?”

“No.”

“Imagine killing some infected schmuck and realizing it was Ryan Gosling.” You smiled, enjoying your one-sided conversation. “I’d feel kinda bad…”

“’Least you’d be puttin’ him out of his misery.”

You looked up, surveying Joel, trying to find a trace of anything that could’ve prompted his sudden embrace of your goading. “Uhuh,” you raised an eyebrow, “just don’t think I could do it.”

“You scared?”

“Of you?”

“Of surviving.”

“No. Just of an infected Ryan Gosling.” You put down the magazine. “What’s your problem, Miller?”

“What’s yours?”

“I don’t have a problem.”

“Then neither do I.” He got up to refill his glass, and you had déjà vu, recalling how Tess had sat you down at the table months earlier to invite you into their professional lives. She had been much friendlier even then than Joel ever was. 

“You can’t fight for shit.” You turned to see Joel leaning against the counter, a bottle of whiskey in hand. You tried not to let your frustration at him show. “Hard to get good at this shit when you freeze at the first sign of trouble.”

“Shut up.” You brushed him off. You picked up the magazine again, trying to find your place.

“You know I’m right.” He drank from the bottle. For some reason you couldn’t stop yourself from standing up and facing him.

“What?” 

“Y’know you can’t fight for shit. Couldn’t to save your own life. You know that. I know that. Why’d’ya think Tess always goes with you?” He put the bottle down and crossed his arms. Wrath boiled in your chest; you wanted to rationalize, tell yourself that he was mad you were winning the game he made you start playing so he opted to hit below the belt; but, Jesus, he had gotten you where it hurt. You had long prided yourself in having the ability to survive, taking care of yourself and doing whatever it took for you to see the next day. For him to waltz into the space you had found some form of comfort in, where Tess drank with and felt for you, to imply that you were a failure—just some fucking kid with a knife?

You put as much weight behind the punch you threw towards him as you could muster, aiming at for his face in the hopes that a black eye might help him register your dedication to staying alive. He barely moved, grabbing your wrist to stop any real strength your blow might’ve had.

“You can do better.” Joel provoked you further. You were breathing hard but not heavy, staring into the eyes of the man you wished you could see for the evil everybody said he was. “Do better.” He continued. You grabbed him by the collar, nose to nose; you could smell the liquor on his breath, and you were sure he could smell it on yours. You were far from drunk, and the seething anger sobered you more than a cold shower ever could.

So you had no excuse for kissing him, which is probably why it was a quick peck, testing the waters and feeling as though you owed it to yourself as much as to him to see if this was one-sided. 

“That’s better.” He snaked an arm around your waist and cupped the opposite hand over the back of your head. You didn’t say a word, barely breathed at his response, before you attached yourself to him again. You forgot all about testing the waters and immediately dove in; you kissed him with an open mouth, tongue, teeth and all. He licked into you, pulling you in closer. He separated from you to speak.

“Bed.” Forever and always a man of few words. You stumbled over each other as he pulled you towards the bedroom, neither of you bothering to say anything else as you were pushed onto the bed. Joel straddled your chest, looking down at you and undoing his belt, brown eyes blown out with complete exasperation and lust. 

“Y’been botherin’ me since day one,” he pulled his cock from the confines of his jeans, “bad fuckin’ attitude.” He stroked himself, still looking at you.

“Doesn’t seem to be bothering you now.” You taunted him, reaching up to wrap both hands around him and sitting up as best you could to lick across the tip of his cock. He pushed his hips forward and you took the initiative to swallow as much of him as you could; no small feat, considering his size. You managed half before you gagged. He just laughed. 

“Gonna be quiet ‘round me, might as well put yourself to good use while you’re doin’ it.” He threw his head back as you licked circles over the head of his cock, hand working every inch you couldn’t push past your gag reflex. You made a noise in response to his words, though it was unclear if you meant it as an agreement or a rebuttal. You pulled yourself off of him, placing a kiss on the vein that ran up the underside of his cock. You looked up at Joel, content with your work, his breathing heavy. His hand came up to your jaw, prying your mouth open and sliding his thumb inside. You closed your lips around it and sucked, you heard him groan. He took his thumb out after a few more seconds.

“Open.” He placed his wet thumb on your chin. You opened wide, sticking out your tongue slightly, expecting him to give you his cock again. Instead, he spit directly into your mouth, before pressing on your lower jaw to force it closed. “Swallow.” You did as you were told. He shuffled himself further down your body, leaning down to kiss you, pushing his tongue between your lips before he continued moving downwards; he pulled the buttons of your flannel apart, kissing and sucking on the skin he revealed before licking over the burgeoning bruises. You thanked whatever God was out there that you had given up bras so long ago, as if it was all in anticipation of this moment. Joel’s mouth reached the waistband of your jeans, and he continued placing open mouthed kisses over your stomach as he undid your button and fly, pulling the fabric down your legs and revealing your panties. He bent forward into you, pressing his face into your clothed core, his nose and open mouth fanning hot breath across you. 

“Need a good lay.” You weren’t sure if he was talking about you or himself, though he answered your silent question soon after; “That’ll keep you from bitchin’ over everythin’.” He licked a straight line over your folds, tasting the tangy wet that seeped through the fabric of your underwear. You let out a shrill whine when his tongue danced over your clit, and reached down to shed yourself of the final layer of clothing that covered your bottom half. He caught your wrist and pushed it aside. “No,” He looked up at you as he licked over you again, “been playin’ your fuckin’ game for weeks. S’my turn. Don’t get greedy, now.”

You moaned when he released your wrist from his grasp, only to begin rubbing circles over you. “Pl—ease, Joel!” You arched your back, lifting yourself up to him in an attempt to gain more friction.

“Say it again.”

“Please,” it was barely audible, “please, Joel. Please, please…” Your eyes were hooded as you begged for more. Either he was satisfied by your attempt or took pity on you for coming undone over practically nothing, but he slid the panties down your thighs and threw them over his shoulder. He admired your naked cunt, ghosting a finger over your slit and collecting what you’d already released. He leaned back down and attached his lips to your clit, pushing his finger into you and bending it upwards. You gasped, grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugging, earning a satisfied grunt from him. He rhythmically sucked your clit in time with the movements of his finger, adding another slowly and then increasing the pace. Over and over, he brushed the spongey spot inside of you that made you clench around him, tugging his hair tighter. 

“Go—ing to, Joel, fuck! Joel—!” You were panting, fist gripping his hair.

“No.”

“Please!” You were trembling.

“No.” He was unforgiving, absolutely ruthless as he fucked his fingers into you faster, licking tight and fast over your clit. You were close to tears now, grabbing onto the pillow underneath you to stabilize yourself. You were sweating, and he was the one doing all the work, but, Christ, it took effort to hold off on cumming when he was knuckle deep in your pussy like that.

“Now.” He said, pushing up against the spot you needed him to touch most, sucking hard on your swollen clit. You all but yelled, body turning to jelly, your eyes screwed tight—all while Joel continued his ministrations. He stared at you open mouthed as you trembled. He slowed once you stopped shaking, sliding his fingers out of you and licking them clean. 

“Still gonna act like a bitch now?” He peppered kisses over your thighs.

“F…fuck y—ou, Joel Miller.” You wheezed out. He laughed, standing up to remove his shirt and trousers. 

“’F’I’d known you wanted it I’d’ve done it a month ago.” He crawled over you, pressing kisses into your neck.

“Fuck you.” You finally caught your breath, and he pushed himself up enough to meet you face to face. “You’re a bad person. Everybody in the QZ knows you’re a bad man.”

“Then why are you in my bed?” He was half sincere.

“You tell me.”

“Can see the way you look at me. Terrible at keepin’ secrets. ‘Nother reason you need someone to protect you out there.” He scoffed, and you pulled him down for a kiss. Though bruising in force, you were gentler with each other. Neither of you felt inclined to use teeth this time around.

Joel pushed himself up and onto his knees, sliding his cock over your clit and pushing his tip into you slightly. You whimpered, trying to wordlessly urge him to sink into you. 

“Ask me.”

“Please.”

“More.”

“Please, Joel, need it…”

“Need what, sweet thing?” You closed your eyes, savoring the nickname as it rolled off his tongue. 

“Need your cock. Joel, please, I need you to fu—” He cut you off with one sharp thrust, pushing his full length into you and bottoming out. You felt your eyes roll back in your head, and Joel brought a hand down to rest on the side of your face.

“Atta girl,” his mouth hung open as he began shallowly thrusting into you, “take it all, darlin’.”

You whined, hands scrambling to touch him wherever you could reach; his shoulders, his chest, his thigh if you stretched down a bit further. It only spurred him on.

“Fuckin’ pathetic.” He pushed his hips into yours, attempting to get even deeper inside of your warm, inviting pussy. “Been such a bitch with me ‘nd now you’re so eager, huh? Li’l slut, needed t’get fucked s’all?” All you could do was let out a wonton moan, loving how he stretched you. “Gonna be nice from now on?” You couldn’t respond, could only think the word no as he sped up, sliding all the way out and all the way back into your cunt. “Answer me, girl.”

“F—uck, n—no!” You stammered. 

He brought a hand down harsh on your clit, pulling out so just the tip of his cock was seated shallowly inside of you. You squeezed around it. “Don’t be a bitch,” he spanked your pussy again, “tell me the truth.”

Tears pricked your eyes in frustration, and you nodded your head yes.

“Words.”

“Yes! I’ll be good, I’ll be so good, wo—won’t give you attitude, Joel, I—I won’t be such a bitch, I pr—omise.”

“I like you a li’l bitchy,” he slid his cock back into you, resuming the punishing pace, punching up into you. “Like my pretty li’l bitch. Like this tight fuckin’ pussy.” He flattened himself on top of you, chest pressing into yours with every breath he took and every rough shove of his cock against your cervix. The slight pain was worth the abounding pleasure. He reached under your midriff, sliding his hands between the flannel you still half-wore to meet your skin, wrapping his arms around you and pressing you into him further. You wrapped your own arms around his waist, completely lost in him. 

“Y’needed this as much as I did,” he groaned into your ear, “tell me, sweet thing.”

“Needed—oh, fuck, I needed it.” You whispered against the skin of his shoulder. He managed to reach a hand down between you, fingers finding your clit. You buried your face into him, suddenly very aware of what was happening; your daydreams coming to fruition, winning the game in a manner leagues above what you had hoped for. The attention was staggering. The tears you had held back during his earlier taunting escaped, spilling over your cheeks and smudging into the sweat on Joel’s skin. It was overwhelming in the best way. Anxiety inducing in the worst. 

“So good, being so—so fuckin’ good, darlin’.” He was getting sloppy with his thrusts, rhythm failing as he neared his own high. He pulled away from you, shifting positions to hold you so that you could be face to face. You couldn’t count how many times today you had found yourself staring at Joel Miller. “You’re so good.” A fully earnest sentiment, punctuated by every inch of his cock. “Want you to cum, need you to cum for me again.” He was practically begging, words coming out in moaned whispers. He kissed the tear streaks over your cheek and down to your lips, the wiry hair of his short mustache rubbing against your top lip in a manner that made your skin instantly sore, but it felt too good to be connected to him like this to complain at all. He continued his movements, fingers running over your clit at a heightened pace and cock throbbing inside of you. You squeezed around his cock, arms squeezing his torso, and you felt yourself coming undone. 

“There you go. Feel you fuckin’ squeezin’ me. Gimme one more, sweetheart.” You were pushed over the edge, once again cumming for Joel Miller in a way you had only ever imagined. He held you tight, letting you wrap yourself around him while you came, whispering his name and tangling your fingers in his hair. He managed a few more deep thrusts before pulling out and spilling across your stomach, chanting your name. Your breathing was labored, and Joel admired how he had painted you with his spend.

He stood up, walking out of the room, and you felt the urge to cry again, feeling suddenly abandoned after something so new and intimate. But he walked back in with a threadbare towel, wiping down your stomach and the wet between your thighs. You were both silent as he finished cleaning you up. He exited once more to rid himself of the towel before reuniting with you in bed. He lay beside you for a moment before turning to hold you. You turned to face him.

“It’s a shame you wiped me clean. Wanted a taste.” You failed to keep your tone even and unbothered, the crack in your voice apparent as you tried your hand at humor.

“Next time.” You looked up to find him staring at you once again. His usual scowl replaced by something softer. You fell back into a semi-comfortable silence.

“I am a bad man.” He spread his fingers out between your shoulder blades.

“Joel—”

“I am,” the words came out harsher than he had meant them to, “I’ve done bad shit just to get by. It’s fuckin’ embarrassin’ to kill someone just to see another day of this. Bad’s an understatement.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “I’m hard on you cause I don’t want you gettin’ hurt. Don’t wanna be out with you if somethin’ happens. Don’t wanna be away from you if somethin’ happens. Wouldn’t be able to—”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know. S’fuckin’ awful. Shouldn’t have’ta fend for yourself.” He swallowed.

“Have to to survive, Joel. Made it this far.”

“No,” he countered, “shouldn’t have to survive. You should be livin’. Shouldn’t need’a run with a crowd like me ‘nd Tess.”

“Don’t you think we’re a little past that? I’d be doin’ the same thing even if I didn’t have you two to do it with.”

“I’ve seen how you freeze up.”

“I knew you’d be there.” You nearly snapped, astonished that after all this he was still hung up over the first run you did with him, despite the effortless shots he had taken. Even more astonished that he hadn’t realized that despite the external bitterness he had fashioned and the constant stream of “no” that left his mouth, you knew even then that he’d keep you protected. He looked away from you, and you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, trying to show him that for all your bite you were capable of being docile when the moment called for it.

“Shouldn’t wanna hang around bad people.” Joel’s eyes looked into the nothing of the distance as he muttered. “Shouldn’t have to risk everything just to do bad things.”

“Good men die, too, Joel,” You were firm, “I wanna be…” You trailed off. He looked back to you and traced a finger over your collar bone, admiring the marks that had formed from his kisses. “Wanna be around you. With you.” You saw a faint smile creep across his face.

“Not a good man?”

You scoffed, “Never a good man. Wouldn’t know how to handle me.” He laughed softly. You allowed his hands to roam over your body while you mirrored his movements, tracing your fingers over the scars that littered his chest. “Come with me on the next run.” You weren’t asking.

For the first time in 20-odd years, Joel was unable to say no.

[randombush3]

a sense of coming home

ona batlle x reader

summary: part two of this! ona and you are (frustratingly) still just friends

words: 6.5k (i have NO idea why i waffle so much but lets pls allow it)

warnings: there's like five secs of smut at the end

notes: this has been the most self-indulgent fic i've written because this is how i met my gf and so i am glad to show you a nice happy ending

again, the quote is from 'this side of paradise' (said gf's fav book - i don't recommend however because the protagonist is a twat)

also i didn't proofread bc i am exhausted and i am hungover and i am very ready to go to sleep (#globetrotting is not for the weak) x

There is something difficult about forcing oneself back to their toxic roots. Ona discovers as such as she presses her body into a temple of meaningless sex, but she does so because she is a driven person. Ona is determined to get over you, once and for all, except she’d quite like to stay friends (hence why she agreed when asked). She also thinks it would expose her to fall out because her feelings shouldn’t have existed anyway, so she technically shouldn’t be heartbroken? 

Anyway, Ona rampages through Manchester! They appreciate her accent – some even ask her to speak to them in Spanish when she is three fingers deep inside of them, to which she obliges with little fanfare – and it isn’t like the city lacks queer women. It is a super solid way to keep her busy, to tear her attention from hungrily checking your Instagram whenever possible. 

It’s also what lands her with coronavirus. She’s embarrassed to admit just how many people she has come into contact with when the club doctors ask her questions over the phone.

You send her a lovely message after hearing she is yet another fallen soldier. 

Ona is at home, isolating, and you are apparently trapped in Spain, unable to get into Italy. You haven’t quite made it to your parents’ house since your flight was supposed to depart from Madrid. “How come you’re not on the phone to one of your ‘connections’?” Ona asks suspiciously, wondering why this call has lasted longer than ten minutes. “Surely someone knows someone else and they can get you back home.” 

“I’m hardly out of my depth in my own country,” you remind her with a twinging sigh, pained that she has suppressed all memories of your childhood. “It’s not like I don’t speak Spanish.” 

“Didn’t you get rid of it in your head to make space for Italian and English? Oh, and French too, right? That’s where the fashion weeks are.” 

You laugh at her pride for knowing something about your job, but it is not to ridicule her. “I am speaking to you, aren’t I?” 

“In Catalan,” she points out. “Forget Spanish, but don’t forget Catalan.” 

“I can’t. It’s the language everyone uses to tell me about how fucked you’ve been lately.”  You take in a deep breath, uncomfortable with Ona’s silence but knowing your piece needs to be said. “Are you aware of what happened a few months ago? Why I missed the wedding?” One of your friends met her dream man and he whisked her off to Menorca for a small ceremony. Only the people she loved the most were invited, which included your childhood friend group. “We were in New York, a whole bunch of us. It was late but the show had been a big deal so we went out to celebrate, and… these ‘friends’, these people, they aren’t the same as you and me. Most of them are English, you know, and they come from very fancy schools where addiction is normal. Two of them ended up in the hospital that night – the bag hadn’t even made it round to me by the time they’d dropped. I know it seems far-fetched, but all I’m trying to say is that addiction has consequences. Bad consequences.” 

“So you’re not on my side?” Ona isn’t taking this too seriously. A few people have joked about her questionable new hobby, but no one has made it seem so dire that they have needed to get you involved. You who, of course, Ona will listen to. 

“I am always on your side.” 

That is her main take-away from the conversation, Ona chooses, when it ends an hour later. She swoons, meaning the last twenty women have been a waste of time, but she also tortures herself into ignoring the potential problem. Being a sex addict would be embarrassing, so she won’t be. 

Though your subtle shaming for her abundance of quick-fix flings is hypocritical, Ona would also hate for you to see her that way. You can avoid commitment all you like, but she is determined to be different to prove to you that she is a viable candidate, should you wish to stop stringing her along. It’s probably toxic; it probably means that you are both clinging onto a friendship that should either end or be labelled something else. It probably is the push and pull that has kept you interested, Ona thinks, because she knows that you like the chase. 

However, as much as she’d like to be freed of whatever game she is caught up in, she can’t seem to let you go like that.

… 

The next time Ona and you have a proper conversation about something other than how your love lives have been stunted or how people back home are not as successful as the two of you is when most of the restrictions have been lifted. 

You waited out the pandemic in Vilassar de Mar, much to your annoyance, but now that you can travel again, the first person on your mind to visit is your childhood best friend. You’re not as close as you used to be, having drifted further during even more years apart, but it does not dull your love for her, nor hers for you. 

Ona has changed her mind about Manchester and is forcing herself to like it. It works enough for a visit from you to be the last thing on her mind, and so she slows her response time down until the next arranged date to see each other in person is all set for the summer before the Euros in England.

You’re not quite home but you are in the country, and, with the pre-Euros camp in two days, Ona is spending the final few hours of calm left before the storm in the comforting presence of her mum and dad. 

And… you, apparently. 

“You weren’t supposed to be here yet,” is Ona’s greeting when she opens the front door. 

Your smile is wide and genuine, and you are holding a gift bag in one hand. There is a nice bottle of wine in the other. “Not even an ‘hola’?” When no reply comes, you swallow the emotions that have arisen; the ones that are maybe, just a little bit to do with how soft Ona looks with her hair down. And the slope of her jaw. And the ghosts of defined biceps that bulge even when she isn’t flexing her arms. “I’m dropping by to see your parents. I thought you were in Barcelona with your footballer friends.” 

“You visit my parents?” asks Ona curiously. 

“Of course.” 

With that, you side-step her and call out to her mother, announcing both your arrival and your desire to hand them their gifts. Dinner is just about to be served, and Ona is soon tasked with setting another place at the table for you as though the last ten years had never happened and your friendship hadn’t lost its innocence. 

Maybe it would be better for Ona to not know what it feels like to kiss you, to touch you, to – dare she think it – love you. It would certainly make things less painful, and would have saved her from catching at least one illness and spending a good amount of money on Ubers to escape from random apartments. It would make it easier to listen to you talk about your life in Milan, where you seem to exist in a bubble of incredibly attractive people who are desperate to hold hands and form a raft. 

“Modelling can be brutal,” you agree, nodding at Ona’s father as you follow on from his concerns about your career. He voices them regularly; whenever you see him. Ona realises you have spent a lot of time with her parents without her. “It gets quite competitive between the girls so I’ve been somewhat avoiding them. They’ve brought in someone new, scouted from Germany, I think, and I’m a little worried that I’ll have to switch agencies if they start prioritising her.” You glance at Ona, wanting to know if she is listening, hoping she is. You wish that she were as good at suppressing her feelings as you are. You wish she didn’t look at you like you hung the moon, because you know that you have to tell her you have hung it for someone else. “I’d move tomorrow, to be honest, but I’ve started seeing this guy and he’s convincing me to stay in Milan.” 

“The minute he is your boyfriend, you bring him here,” commands Ona’s mother in a tone she hasn’t yet used on her actual daughter (said daughter has never mentioned anyone before). “Show us a picture of him! Is he a model like you?” 

He is, and if Ona holds her fork tighter after she sees the photo you pull up, that is her business. You secretly take in her clenched jaw and furrowed eyebrows, and this might be the worst thing you have ever had to do. To see her so defeated, so hopeless, is upsetting, especially since you are harbouring the same feelings. However, you are able to admit when it is time to throw the towel in, and you can no longer live like this. 

Ona is too perfect for you. She is driven, hard-working, and funny. She likes to nutmeg little children on the street, and she likes to buy them an ice-cream if they slip a goal past her, slotting the flat footballs into imaginary nets and celebrating as though they have just won the Champions League. She knows a lot, more than she thinks she does. She cares about people, but sometimes it manifests in anger, in frustration. 

Any aspect of her is an aspect that you could love, and that is reason enough not to. Because how can you allow yourself to taint such perfection? 

But, in this unspoken rejection, the compliment is obscured from the recipient’s view. All Ona sees when you gush about how he buys you flowers and takes you out to dinner, is a burning, bright question. It flashes red and yellow, both as a warning and cry for attention. How can she compete if you don’t even recognise her as a competitor? 

…

“--And then they proceeded to finish a film they were halfway through as if it were the most normal thing ever,” Ona rants the minute she hits the concrete of Las Rozas, walking into the facility with Aitana and the other girls who travelled with her from Barcelona. Only the midfielder has been gracious enough to listen to the entire monologue, but the others joke that that is because Ona’s emotional state has led her to spiral in her native language. It is forbidden for them to openly speak Catalan in the Spanish camp, according to Jorge Vilda, who loves to hurl a ‘we can send you back to where you came from in an instant’ their way if he so much as hears a ‘bon dia’. Naturally, Aitana doesn’t give a fuck about the rule, although Ona chooses to believe that she is listening because she cares.

“Are you done?” Aitana asks thoughtfully, sucking on her bottom lip as she tries to absorb her friend’s crisis and formulate a valid, sensible response. The two have known each other for a while now, and Aitana remembers a time when Ona was relentlessly teased by their older teammates for being in love with her best friend. It is clear to her that those feelings never ceased, though she has heard through the grapevine (Leila Ouahabi) that you are now a model and you live somewhere in Italy. You’re part Italian, is what Leila also claims, having professed your ethnicity to a small huddle of fellow gossipers one day in the gym at the Barça training facility. 

“No! Nothing is ever done with her. It’s viscous and it continues in a horrid cycle that has me flapping around in circles like some idiot. I am one of her boys.” Ona groans dramatically, the sound perhaps a little too loud. A few of the girls in front of them turn around to see why a cat seems to have been strangled, but they quickly lose interest when they see it is just Ona and her disastrous situation. “Do you know how fucking humiliating it is to be one of her guys? I am a professional footballer! I play for Manchester United, one of the most historic clubs in the world, and I am about to represent my country in a major tournament. I am successful, Aita, and yet I am still not enough for her.” 

“Maybe she only likes men.” 

“A man has never made her scream like I have,” she bites back. Aitana blushes, but Ona is too far gone in her rage to hear her crudeness nor preserve her friend’s sanity. “She’s been like this since she decided she was gay! Isn’t that hilarious? ‘Ona, I think I’m gay’, she said. I know lesbian breakups can be hard, but there is no way my cousin fucked her up to this extent.” 

“I can’t help you with this, Oni,” Aitana laments, sorry to have to confess this to her friend. “I think you need to talk to her about it. A proper conversation to fix long-term issues, not like the ones you obviously had when agreeing to stop having sex and things like that. Only she knows what she’s thinking.” It is definitely not the advice Ona wants to hear, but she cannot deny the midfielder’s wisdom. “But for now, we focus on winning.” 

…

You are more than a little confused. 

To start from the beginning, Ona’s cousin fucked you up. She broke your heart, and that first impression of dating girls was incredibly traumatising. With girls, you don’t just kiss and sleep with them, you get close – really close – and then when you break up, it is like you have lost both a girlfriend and a best friend. 

Men are a lot simpler. Men like you and they aren’t shy about it. They can sometimes be just as cruel, but you have never felt invested enough to care too much. 

Some nights, you don’t fall asleep, tossing and turning between your sexual identity, aware that you don’t need to label it but desperate to… discover yourself. If you don’t understand that part of you, how will someone else? How can you be loved? How do you even know who you want to love you? 

For as much as Milan is great, it definitely doesn’t help you with your crisis. Girls in Milan like to do what they want. It is not uncommon for the models to kiss each other in clubs, in front of appreciative male gazes or not, and then reveal their engagement to their future husband the very next day. It’s easy to be drawn into such a bubble, but the minute you step out of it, you are hit with the real world. 

It’s what makes the pandemic so distressing for you personally, because you are forced to live like normal people for some time. Your eyes are held open and the question is shoved down your throat, and it really doesn’t help that Ona’s cousin never moved out of Vilassar de Mar. 

She sees you one day, saying hello from a suitable distance as you pick up milk as per your mother’s request. “I heard you’re modelling?” she asks with no agenda, no seductive glint in her eye. You notice the ring on her finger, and she feels the heaviness of your staring. “Oh, I got married a year ago. Did Ona not tell you?” 

You realise that you and Ona try to avoid talking about anything other than the love interests you have. “No, she didn’t. Congratulations, though. She’s a lucky woman.” 

“You don’t have to pretend you’re happy for me,” laughs the woman opposite you, amused and somewhat apologetic. “Look, I’m really sorry for how I acted when we were younger. I was definitely not the most mature person out there, and I know I hurt you.” 

“I cried for months.” 

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. You suck in a deep breath, trying to hold the memories of your pain at bay. “The first breakup is usually the worst but at least it gets better, as you probably know.” 

She looks at you expectantly, awaiting your confirmation. It never comes. 

“I haven’t dated another girl since,” you tell her, sounding rather detached from yourself. 

Her eyebrows furrow and she is clearly frowning behind her facemask. “What about Ona? I thought you were together when you lived in Madrid. It takes more than a friendship to do what you did.” 

You were originally going to go to university in England. It was your dream, and Ona wasn’t entirely aware of the situation because you hadn’t wanted to tell her you were leaving. Then she was sent out on a professional contract to Madrid, and it wasn’t like you were the only one leaving. 

Ona’s cousin, years ago, had suggested that you go to Madrid if you wanted to get away from Vilassar de Mar. “You’ll be close enough to come home when you’d like, but not so close that you’ll feel as though nothing has changed,” she had said. 

No one had known about your offers in England aside from your parents. And Ona’s cousin, who’d only found out because you had called her, drunk on celebratory champagne, because you had to tell someone. 

“You gave up a dream for her because you didn’t want her to be alone.” 

“I moved to Milan. In the end, she was alone.” 

“You sound like you regret it,” she replies, nodding once at you to bid you farewell and then heading over to a woman who is standing with a puppy in her arms. You watch as she pulls down her mask and kisses her wife, her eyes shining with love and happiness, and your blood runs green with jealousy. 

You hate Ona’s cousin for devastating you once more. 

Do you regret it? 

It’s unclear. 

You try to make sense of it when you don’t hesitate to fly back to Italy the minute you can, going home to lick your wounds at Ona’s non-committal response to meeting you when you are in London the next month. It hurts that she is no longer at your beck-and-call, but you are somewhat happy for her. You know that lines have been crossed and that she has suffered for it. You know that you are probably the one at fault here. 

This time in Milan, you don’t fight it as much. You kiss other girls and let them go home to their boyfriends; you submit to the thing you had convinced yourself you would never become. 

As you drive yourself deeper and deeper into your stereotype, the thought of Ona gets pushed away and newer, more culturally-acceptable fantasies come to mind.

It takes a photoshoot for him to ask you out on a date. 

It takes returning home and gaining the approval of Ona’s parents (who are far more open than your own) for you to agree to be official. 

You don’t ask Ona what she thinks. She’s busy, you reason, because she is representing Spain at the Euros. She won’t care who you are dating and she certainly doesn’t need it rubbed in her face. 

There are many reasons why you go out with him. 

One is that you do like him; he’s nice, he’s funny, he treats you well. (He’s not Ona.) Another is that rent is going up and him sharing the load is helpful. (He’s not Ona.) There is also that he is very popular within the agency, and your chemistry on camera is enough to keep your jobs rolling in and casting directors satisfied. 

He’s not Ona. You know that. 

That's the whole point. 

If he were Ona, you’d be deeply in love with him. If he were Ona, you would never leave the house, never leave his embrace, never leave the little bubble created when it is just the two of you and no one else. If he were Ona, you would be excited about the conversations he gently guides you into; marriage, children, where you are going to live one day. You’d miss him more when he isn’t here. You’d care. 

But you just… don’t. 

Another year passes, more Ona-less than the last, and then she is suddenly coming back home to Barcelona, a medal around her neck and word of a relationship floating above her head. 

You could ask her about it if you wanted to because she is still one of your closest friends, but the truth is, you really, desperately don’t want to hear it. While Ona has been falling in love with someone else, you have been proving your stupid feelings to yourself. 

The act (your current relationship) lowers enough for you to go home for Christmas. You leave Milan as though fleeing from a hurricane, and you refuse to control the damage until you have entered the new year. Your parents aren’t entirely sure they want you moping about the house, confused how someone so successful can revert to a moody teenager the minute they are back in safe territory, and they heavily encourage you to accept an invite that was extended out to you a few months ago. 

Your friends are going skiing in Andorra, and they’d like for you to come with them. 

“Ona won’t be there,” one of them regretfully informs you. “She said she doesn’t want to make things weird. She has a girlfriend – or, I don’t know, a talking stage. She wants you to have fun.” 

“But Ona and I are friends,” you try to explain, feeling exposed by the look of pity she gives you; the same look someone receives when they find out their ex has gotten married or something similar. As a defensive mechanism, you hastily pull out your phone and dial her number. Everyone watches you, now uninterested in their food as you dine and plan your holiday. 

Ona picks up on the third ring, escaping her dinner with Lucy and rushing into the cool, nighttime air of Barcelona. 

“Hi?” she says – asks – with raised eyebrows, wondering if you’re in danger. 

“You’re coming skiing with us, aren’t you?” 

Your friends hide their laughs behind their hands, surprised by how firm your tone is. You do not need it for Ona, because she does anything you say regardless, but they enjoy seeing this side of you. This is someone who has had to fend for herself in a foreign country. 

Removing the phone from her ear for a moment, Ona sighs, disappointed in herself. 

“Yeah, of course. I’ve missed you, you know.” 

…

Skiing is not something Ona is really allowed to do. As a footballer, her legs are what pay her wage. Career-destroying planks of metal are not the best way to spend the dying embers of the year. She knows that. She does, she swears, but she is so eager to go that Jonatan cannot crush her dreams. He tells her, “if you get injured your contract will be reviewed, Ona Batlle,” and she promises him that it won’t happen. Nothing bad is going to happen. 

It will be the first time she has spent more than a day with her childhood friends, and she is unbelievably excited. 

Lucy finds it adorable and makes it known, helping her pack for her trip, versed in what to bring because her sister skis or something like that (Ona can’t really focus on her almost-girlfriend's monologue). Lucy likes Ona a lot, and it makes her stomach flutter when she thinks about Ona and her friends talking about them. She’s sure her feelings are reciprocated, and she cannot wait for Ona to return to her in the new year, all smiles and lingering hangovers, and ask her to be her girlfriend. Officially. 

Your friends convene in the centre of Vilassar de Mar with two cars between you. There are ten people coming. 

Someone, most-likely trying to keep the peace, instructs Ona into one vehicle and you into the other. The drive isn’t too long, but you suppose that the tension is uncomfortable for those who aren’t accustomed to maintaining a friendship despite the weight of it. 

It’s five days, and you are determined to have fun. 

Ona is naturally good at this, although she claims it is her first time. You, living in Milan, are just as advanced. 

By the third day, the both of you agree that going off together to do some of the harder runs will be harmless. Spending the day together won’t feel like a date or a romantic holiday. Watching Ona glide over the compacted snow won’t be attractive, watching her cocky smirk as she scales the bumps along the side of the piste won’t do anything. 

It won’t. (It does.) 

And it just has to be the third day that someone pulls out two bottles of tequila and a drinking game that is going to ensure every single one of you is off your face by midnight. 

In rooms opposite one another, you and Ona call your respective partners and tell them about how great a time you are having, actively avoiding telling them about who you spent the day with as though it counts as cheating. It doesn’t, technically. Nothing has happened. But, still, it feels intimate and secret; forbidden. 

Then, there is a shout that rings through the house. Everyone comes to the table; the party has begun. 

Ona finds out that she is absolutely terrible at drinking games, and loses in every way possible. 

You find out that she is still just as touchy when she is drunk. 

Your friends try not to comment on it, all having agreed upon yet another passive role in such an irritating situation. Their non-interference almost ceases by the time Ona climbs onto your lap, head turning as she whispers something into your drunk ears, making you laugh privately. In fact, someone has to hold someone else back before they shout at the two of you to make out or break up. 

But it’s not really necessary, their prompting, because it hits a certain hour and… nothing else matters anymore. 

Ona has been touching you the whole night and you have finally reached your limit. 

Boyfriend be damned, you lead her to your bedroom. 

She asks you many times if you still want this, and you cannot think of anything to say other than ‘yes’. 

You’re not as drunk as she is, and you both know that, but everything feels so perfect and right. 

When you wake up the next morning, your anger is more at yourself than the sleeping woman beside you, but she is an outward target for such a boiling emotion and it just makes things easier. 

“Ona.” You shake her awake, not caring for her hangover. “Ona, I can’t believe we’ve done this.” She rubs her eyes, dazed and confused for a moment but coming to her senses soon enough. “I have a boyfriend, Ona, and… I don’t like you like that.” 

It’s not true. 

It’s really, really, really not true, but the fact that you have said it is enough for Ona to leave your room with the intention of never seeing you again. 

She gets the train back to Barcelona, turning up at Lucy’s flat in floods of tears, and barrels straight into those strong arms with the intention of never mentioning what she has done. 

…

You break up with your boyfriend a month later. Or rather, he breaks up with you, tired of being messed around, tired of your hesitation to fully commit. 

The break-up is not the most upsetting thing you’ve been through, but your ego is a little bruised.

You try to make it look like you are having a great time in Milan, even though the agency has once again discarded your file and overlooked you for shoots you used to book in an instant. You try to seem like things aren’t falling apart, but it’s of no use when your father calls you and tells you that your mother is ill. 

It isn’t cancer but it’s similar, and you know that you need to come home.

You pack your bags and leave without a second thought, because maybe Madrid was far enough. Maybe there is a reason Ona signed for her home club again and most of your friends still live relatively close to their parents. 

Maybe you are not meant to be separated from those you love, because running away is futile if you are always going to end up together again. 

In Barcelona, a modelling agency eagerly draws up a contract with you. Although you are from there, your career being based in Milan previously creates an international allure about you (or so they say), and you are assured that work is going to rush towards you as though someone has just knocked down a dam. 

Your job is secured, your mother begins treatment, but there is something you cannot shake off. 

It hurts to think of Ona, to think of how you left things, but it helps, too. Seeing her face in your mind is comforting. You hear her voice as you drift off to sleep, and you let it soothe you in your dreams. 

“Ona has a girlfriend,” her mother tells you when you next visit them. Her frown is unexpected because all she has ever wanted is for her children to be happy and loved. “It’s not right, it doesn’t feel right.” You begin to shrug your shoulders and crawl into your shell, but she interrupts your thought process; “I think you should go see her.” 

“Why?” 

The woman rolls her eyes. “Just do what I say.” 

You nod because she is so scarily sure about it, and you… It’s hard to believe, but you call Ona. 

She picks up. 

“I was sorry to hear about your mum.” 

“Don’t worry. She’s fine.” 

“Are you back at home?” 

“Yeah, I am.” You pause. “Well, not quite. I’m living in Barcelona.” 

Something fizzes in the air; pops, crackles. 

“Need me to show you around the city?” 

And it’s Ona, so how could you say no? 

…

Your visit goes very well. 

She takes you out to dinner and shows you around her neighbourhood. She introduces you when she runs into people she knows, and she is insistent about dragging you to her football match on the weekend. 

Everything is seemingly forgiven and Ona is intent on integrating you back into her life. 

She wants you to feel at home, though she knows you should already, and she wants to lessen the stress of hospital appointments and death and, if not death, then a difficult recovery. 

You are sitting in her apartment – now devoid of all signs of Lucy – on her comfortable sofa, watching something together after a day of walking around and sealing up the cracks that formed in Andorra.

Sitting leads into cuddling and then into wandering hands that eagerly roam underneath layers of fabric.   

Ona’s breath hitches as you brush the hard lines of her abs, your hands particularly drawn to them and just how strong she has become. “You must have only felt them on men,” she offers as an explanation. “How many have you slept with in comparison to–?”

And your hands stop.

“Sorry,” Ona mumbles, seemingly upset at her outburst. “I’m just curious. I can’t work you out.” She can’t quite look you in the eye, mainly due to the logistics of your position, but she isn’t sure she wants to see the truth attached to her statement. 

You question if that’s a good thing, the fact she needs to ask; the fact that she has no choice but to communicate. It was going to happen sooner or later. “A few,” is what you settle on. Ona leaves it at that, carefully pulling the hair tie from your plait, unravelling it with one hand as the other rests against your stomach in an embrace. You smile. “You’re not going to ask who?” 

Her fingers stop for a moment. “No.” She speaks so quietly, her voice almost a whisper in your ear. “I don’t care about them.” You relax into her more, feeling her against your back, feeling the softness of the blanket against your feet as it hangs at the edge of the sofa. 

“Who do you care about, then?” 

“You.” 

Carefully, both her hands hold your hips and she sits you up, smiling as she does. You tell her she’s showing off, she replies that you are always showing off. To that, you brush those hands from your sides and lean down to kiss her, more decidedly for once; more in control. It’s a surprising feeling for both of you, the forcefulness. Urgency. Not unfamiliar, but unexpected for this time on this day. 

The last time you kissed Ona, you had a boyfriend. 

Your mouth goes to her neck as soon as she decides that she wants her hands back on your hips, pushing you down into her lap. It’s now a competition, you think. She’s quickly coming completely undone by your kissing and biting, but you are not ignoring the feeling as she makes you grind down, makes you need that friction. “Fuck,” you moan in her ear. She grips you tighter. 

You start to pull off her shirt having had enough of the grey between you, asking if it’s okay, if she’s sure she isn’t too tired. Her reply is, “take it off, god,” and then the removal of your clothes that get thrown just shy of the wine glasses set out on her coffee table. Leggings aren’t the most practical for impromptu sex, but she’s quick and smooth and someone who has definitely done that before. 

With your bare chest on display and almost nothing between Ona and you, she lifts you up for a moment with the intention of flipping the two of you, getting you on your back. You pause for a moment, trying to decide if she’s doing it because she wants to or because she thinks that’s the only way to do it, but her hands are moving now, up your sides, round the front of your chest and you relax. She laughs quietly, amused, because the tension dissipates, dissolving like sweet, sweet sugar in hot coffee as soon as your legs wrap around her back. 

Ona asks before she does it, picking you up and laying you back down without needing to part her lips from your own. You watch her as she sits up, body in between your thighs. “You’re going to just stay there?” She shakes her head. “I can top,” you tease, a stark contrast from how it was the last time you did this. Ona doesn’t like being told she can’t do something. However indirectly. 

“Yeah?” You nod, biting the smirk out of your lips. “I don’t care.” 

You are in the process of rolling your eyes when her cocky mouth is put to good use. Your underwear was taken off at some point earlier — you hadn’t realised. Ona’s head moves between your legs, up and down, your hand that isn’t holding onto the sofa in her hair, the soft waves lacing between your fingers. 

She’s good at it; thorough, practised. Her tongue circles your clit for a moment before dipping into your entrance. Something about the cockiness of her movements, her tongue, her hand rubbing between her own legs, makes everything more surreal, more blissful. She moans softly, lips kissing their way up your body, hands no longer focused on herself. Instead, they take the place of her mouth, two fingers inside you as quickly as it takes for her to ask if you are okay to carry on. Your reply (“yes”) is cut off quickly by her mouth on yours, tongue swiping at your bottom lip in another question of permission. You can taste yourself on her. 

At her command, you sit up, letting her pull you back onto her lap as she sucks at your neck. “Don’t leave any marks,” you warn as her teeth pull a whimper from your supposed stoicness. “I don’t want the makeup artists asking questions.” It comes out too late, because you feel her teeth graze your collarbone quickly, not painful, no, but something that feels so, so good. “Ona.” She sighs in disappointment and adjusts where you are in her lap, so your legs are either side of her thigh. 

You find yourself rocking slowly, letting her savour your breasts between her hands and her mouth. She whispers that she wants to see you come, that you don’t need to hold back – not with her, not ever – so you start grinding down, harder, faster. Her hands drop back to your hips, guiding your movements, forcing you to slow down when she feels everything building up. Each time, you let out a “fuck” and attempt to go against her grip to get that friction. “Not just yet,” she mutters, no longer touching you anywhere other than where her hands meet your hips and her thigh presses between your legs. 

“Fuck off, Ona,” you breathe, frustrated. “When, then?” 

She slows the pace even more. “Can you last a little longer?” You look at her face, brushing away the strands of hair that have fallen over her eyes, ghosting your fingers along her cheek, running your thumb along her lips. She smiles again, eyes creasing slightly. 

As her hands drop to cup your face, you say, “you’re beautiful.” 

Ona blushes. 

You look down at her exposed cleavage, nipples pebbled against the sports bra that is unusually low-cut. It might border on intense staring as you begin to grind against her with the intention of actually getting off now. She laughs, saying her eyes are higher up than that, but going back to her trail of kisses along your jaw nevertheless. 

For what seems like longer than a few seconds, the build up finally stops, the tower toppling over in a rush of pleasure. Ona’s hands move your hips as your head drops to rest on her shoulder. She talks you through it, telling you that you look so pretty, telling you that she’s so turned on. 

And that’s when she whispers it. 

It has taken years to get to this moment, many of them filled with unnecessary suffering. 

It has taken years but it does not matter. 

Ona tells you that she loves you and that is when you have finally come home. 

[gayvampyr]

im sorry but this shit pisses me off. i don’t care if it’s a joke. where’s the punchline. even in 2022 gays still do not have equal rep in shows. the fact that only in the last couple years have we gotten actually semi-decent queer rep shows how much queer media is still needed. a lot of people still don’t even know what the word “bisexual” means, much less terms like “asexual” or “aromantic” or “nonbinary”. whether you’d like to admit it or not, it matters that a show actually has a bi character and explicitly says the word bisexual— a popular show at that. ik some of you guys have forgotten that the rest of the world isnt as acquainted with queerness as your online lgbt friend group, but a show on a major streaming platform saying “bisexual people exist” is important. it needs to be said, and it needs to keep being said until people stop forgetting and erasing bi people.

and yeah, the line “masculine guys can be gay” might seem like a stupid obvious thing, but a lot of people don’t consider masc guys to be gay at all, just like they don’t expect lesbians to be fem. i’ve been told several times that i don’t “look gay” and that i must be confused because i should like “boy stuff” and dress masculine if i really liked girls. people need to be reminded that anyone can be gay, as ridiculous as it sounds. we need to be seen as more than a stereotype and im sick of you “edgy” gays shitting on every piece of queer media like it’s twilight.

the show that these tags are in response to isn’t even adult media. honestly it’s hardly even YA. this show is for kids and teens who are discovering who they are. growing up, i never had ANY sort of representation. i didn’t grow up thinking it was okay to like girls, or that i could be interested in people other than boys, or that i even had the option to not like boys at all. queer representation is not only important, but it’s crucial. straight people get to see themselves everywhere, and never as comedic relief or the butt of a joke. queer kids grow up thinking that what they are is humiliating, that they should be ashamed of being those people who get laughed and made fun of on tv (and irl). in 99% of media, gay and trans people have been a laughing stock. the most representation a queer could get a decade ago was a white cis fem (but not TOO fem) gay man who was only a side character, was never shown with a partner, and served primarily as a clown, like queerness is a circus and cishets are the audience.

so i don’t CARE if young queer media is cringe. i don’t CARE if you don’t like it or if you think it’s forced or stupid or pointless or even if it’s just for a corporation to profit off our existence. the point isn’t why it was made or how bad you think the writing is, the point is that it exists and that there are now young queer people who can finally see themselves, not as a joke but as real people, on screen and go, “that. that’s what i am.” and im elated for this younger generation to be able to say that when i couldn’t. so i don’t care if you’d rather just be called a faggot again like in the good ol days when we were dropping like flies and everyone hated us. if cringey tv shows and bad writing is the price for queer kids to understand themselves better and for cishet people to get a better understanding of queer people, then it’s a small price to pay. shut the fuck up and let queer media exist

[queenofthedisneyverse]

Prowler!Miles x Black Male! Reader (angst to fluff)

TW; some cursing but not a lot

Word count: 2,803

You loved miles, ever since you were eight years old. But ever since his dad died things…have changed. The city has gotten worse, it was already bad but without Miles’s father, it’s gotten worse. Miles has changed more though, his once kind and funny nature turned cold, stoic, and nonchalant. You also changed but only to protect yourself, if you looked like a happy sunshine sunflower in the sin city that is new york you would have been jumped. 

So, you and Miles share the same look most of the time, and that look is usually resting b!tch face. You still yourself though, you like helping out where you can and being kind where kindness is needed. Crime is often in New york, so you prefer to only go straight to school, home, and/or Miles’s house. No going out at night whatsoever, that’s a given. But even getting the grocery list done seems like a life or death task because on any given day, it could be a life or death situation. So you mostly keep to yourself or chat with some friends or your bf Miles. 

He loves to spoil you and just loves you. Affection is there but you two are building up to it, hand holding, hugs, kisses on the cheek, etc. 

Your relationship with miles is pretty hidden, terrible cities birth terrible people and having people know you were queer was not a good idea. You love Miles but he can be a lot at times, he spends time with you one day and completely ignores you for the next three weeks. 

It was irritating but you stayed quiet, you wanted to give him some space since his dad died. But you can’t help but worry about him, especially about this job he and his uncle Aaron go to. What kind of job is he doing that pays him six thousand dollars worth of money? You know it’s not anything good with how you mostly see him scruffed up, but alas you didn’t say anything. 

You would ask if you two could go on dates but you would get hit with-

“Sorry querido, not now”

“Can’t today mi amor, maybe another time”

“I’m sorry babes, can’t tonight” 

After this kept happening you began to get more hurt and mad at this, you tried to be mature and understanding but it was getting harder…Today was the last straw. You have been texting and calling Miles everying few days and he hasn’t been answering. You couldn’t do this anymore, did he even love you? Of course he did…did he? You didn’t want these questions in your head but they kept circling and hurting you the more they circled. 

You stopped, you just stopped, you stopped calling him, you stopped texting, and you stopped leaving voicemails. F*ck him, so what if he doesn’t want to see you? You don’t care, you never cared. 

You were laying down in your bed, with some tears streaming down your face. 

I hate him, you thought, but you didn’t hate him. You still love him, you just don’t want to admit it. It was 9:30 and you’ve been trying to go to sleep since 9, obviously sleep wasn’t being your friend and allowed you to be tormented by your thoughts. 

Tap Tap Tap

It can’t be, you thought

Tap Tap Tap

It couldn’t be, you thought

You turn around and see your boyfriend Miles, looking as tired and stoic as ever, waving to you and gesturing to you to open the window. You look at him for a moment and think about how he has the audacity to show up at your window, you noticed he had a bloody nose and some scraps along his face. Not being a jerk, you allow him in and get the first aid kit from your dresser. 

“Hola Príncipe” 

That word, that lovely word that he always calls you when you're together. That lovely word he teases and praises you with, or used to anyway. Instead of sitting on your bed like he usually does, you had him sit in your desk chair. You weren’t ready to have him be comfortable when you weren’t. 

“Don’t call me that” is all you said

15 minutes went by as you (roughly) cleaned his injuries. Miles took notice and decided to speak on it. 

“Why are you so quiet babes?” 

You didn’t answer, you just cleaned his wounds, getting rougher as he spoke. 

“Ow! y/n!” he tightly grabbed your wrist, causing you to yank it back from him. 

“Can’t you just stop talkin’? That’s what you're good at ain't you? Not talkin’?” you snap, earning a confused face from Miles. 

“You ignore me for WEEKS on end and then all of a sudden you show up to my window and start talkin to me? Are you for real miles?” 

You aren’t prone to snapping, you never have. It just wasn’t in your nature to do things like that, sure you got mad, but never snapped. 

“Príncipe I-” 

“NO MILES’ of all people YOU don’t get to talk, for the past three years I’ve been trying so hard to make you happy. To make sure you’re loved and cared for man” You say, hot tears falling down your face. 

“All I tried to do is love you Miles, why can’t you do the same for me huh? Why is it so hard Miles? TELL ME, TELL ME WHY IT’S SO HARD TO LOVE ME” 

“...y/n please lower your tone and..I can’t tell you” 

“LOWER MY TONE? MILES YOU HURT ME! LOOK AT MY FACE MILES, LOOK AT WHAT YOU-....Just get out Miles, please” you give up, if you don’t stop yelling the neighbors will hear and tell your parents what they heard. People are nosey like that. You flop down on your bed and face away from him in a fetal position. 

“Just get out” you say as you choke out a sob

Miles sits there completely shocked but not surprised at the reaction. He’s shocked at how loud you got but not how you reacted. He planned on coming by and talking to you, but he just couldn’t get the words out…not like you let him either. 

Miles stood up from the chair and walked over to you

“Príncipe, look at me” he said softly, putting his hand on your shoulder

“GET TF OUT MILES” you yell at him, slapping his hand away.

Miles takes it upon his safe to literally turn you around to the point where your legs are hanging over the bed but you're still laying down. 

“WHAT THE F*CK! MILES LET ME GO!” you scream, trying to fight him off. But here’s the thing, Miles works out a lot more than you do…so you're losing this fight. Mile’s takes one of his hands and pins both of your arms down and covers your mouth with the other hand. 

“Listen, I’m sorry for ignoring you, I am but I’m only trying to protect you!” he tells you, you are still struggling under his grasp. 

“Y/n…stop, you know you aren’t going to win this” he blankly says 

You stop wiggling after a minute or so, you're tired and you really don’t want to deal with this any more. He lifts his hand from your mouth and lets you go, he knows that you look like you're tired or tuckered out. Your highschool gym class is a perfect example of that. 

“Please Miles, just leave me alone” you silently beg as you cry

“I can’t leave knowing you hate me amor, I love you- ” 

“No you don’t miles, please just go away please-”

Miles pulls you closer to him and passionately kisses you, you didn’t mean to but you instantly melted into the kiss, wrapping your arms around him. He wraps his arms around your waist pulling you in, as if you couldn’t be any closer. His lips were soft and warm, and so was his lanky but muscular body. He moved his hand up to your face, cupping your cheek and wiping away the remaining tears. 

Because you both have to live, you both pull away and breathe. 

“I’m sorry Príncipe, I really am but please give me another chance! Please” He began kissing your face all over, making you slightly giggle but not much. You're still very much still upset. 

“Please love me again mi amor, please” Miles begged as he cupped your face so gently as if you were glass. 

“...I never stopped loving you Miles, but your hurting me” 

“How do you expect me to react?” 

Miles saw the heartbreak in your eyes, it was tearing him apart inside and he hated it. 

“I promise I’ll make time for you colibrí, I promise” he told you, kissing your lips again. 

“Can you make time for me now? My parents don’t come back home till 12” 

“I-” Before he can say anything, his phone buzzes. You instantly panic and cling to him

“NO No no please Miles stay here, PLEASE miles…please” you pleaded as he reached for his phone. 

“ I have to see if it’s my mama at least y/n” 

“Please don’t leave me…” you whisper as a tear runs down your cheek

Those last words shattered Miles…but he had to check. He opened his phone and saw a text message from his mama, the text said that she’ll be working late. A small smile escaped Miles’ mouth. 

“I’m not going anywhere mi amor, mi mamas working late” he said as he cuddled you

You looked like you just won the lottery by the way you were smiling. You pull Miles into a passionate kiss. You could feel Miles smiling through the kiss as he melted into it. After a moment passed you both pulled away for air. 

“I see you got your hair braided” Miles said, touching a braid in on your head with his thumb. 

“I was hoping you would notice; I like matching with you” you muttered, blushing a bit. 

“How about I take you somewhere papi? My treat!” He said with a smile 

“Miles…I just want to be here with you” 

“Ok then, take out?”  he asked with an eyebrow up

“ My mom left some food for me, and I’m ok with sharing” 

So you and Miles made up over the night. You played video games, watched movies, and just cuddled through the evening. Near 11:30-ish you got tired and Miles took notice of it. You two were cuddled in bed and you were slowly and quickly drifting off to sleep.  He smiled and kissed your temple. 

You looked so peaceful when you were sleeping. You truly didn’t know how Miles felt about you, to him you were his light in the darkness of the new york city. You, his uncle, and Rio are the only people that are keeping him going these past 3 years. He couldn't be more appreciative of you, no matter how bad things got you still tried to make him smile. You still tried to make him laugh. You still tried to make him happy, He loved you more than life itself for that. 

You were fully asleep at this point but with a smile on your face. You held Miles tightly, because even in your sleep, you felt as if Miles was going to disappear. 

“I don’t deserve you y/n…but I’m gonna try to make you happy” 

It was 11:49 and Miles knew he had to go, so he slowly crept out of your bed and made sure to tuck you in. After that he turned off the movie and put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. Once that was all done, he went back into your room. Seeing your beautiful brown skin being highlighted with the purple city lights made his heart strongly flutter. 

You were the most gorgeous boy he ever laid eyes on, and from now on he would try to make you happy and feel appreciated. He walked over to your bed and kissed your four head,

“Goodnight Príncipe, I will make everything better for you. Starting tomorrow”

Your night was filled with beautiful dreams of you and miles as the night went on. When you woke up there was a note under your pillow. You only noticed because there was a necklace slightly hidden under it. The necklace was half a heart with what seemed to be your first name initial. 

When you took the necklace from under the pillow a note was attached to it, you opened it and read;

Good morning mi amor, I know I haven’t been the best boyfriend so I plan on making it up to you later today. Meet on the roof of your apartment building at eight pm sharp, I’ll have a few surprises for you up there. 

Your lover, Miles 

You smiled to yourself and held the necklace close to your chest, or to be more frank, your heart. 

God he makes me act like such a girl

-

It was 7:58 and you were dressed in some new clothes you bought with some of Miles’ money. That he left by your closet before he left. They were black jordan air’s with purple laces and purple tones. You had a black jacket with purple pants and shirt, and to make it even better you wore some tres leches perfume because Tres leches is Miles’ favorite dessert. 

You also had on some black gloves with the fingers cut off, you were going for a more punk aesthetic if you couldn’t tell. After you exploded at Miles the other night you wanted to wear his favorite colors and scents as a sorry. Even though you had nothing to be sorry about. 

Now at 7:59 you walk up the firescape steps to see your boyfriend. A part of you was saying he wasn’t there and that you were doing this for nothing but you pushed those thoughts away. And now at the top of the roof, you see Miles’ sitting there on a red checkerboard blanket with food and gifts on top of it. Your favorite song, hummingbird, was softly coming out of the radio next to him. Not to mention he was wearing your favorite color(s). 

Miles looks up at you and smiles, then he gets up and hugs you. Fully relaxing as you embrace him…and because of the tres leches perfume. He sniffs the crook of your neck, causing you to giggle. 

“You smell good” he chuckles and sniffs you more

“I know you like tres leches so I did a little something for ya, ya know” you say in between giggles. 

“Ok miles stop please-AGH!” Without warning, Miles picks you up bridal style and sits you on the picnic blanket and sits down next to you. 

The air was nice, the evening sun made the sky full of orange, yellow, and soft purple colors. You noticed how the colors compliment Miles’ features a lot. You were trying so hard not to smile…but you were falling. 

“Whatchu smilin ‘bout colibrí” Miles smirks, knowing full well why you were smiling. 

“Can’t I just smile bro? Dang!” you chuckle, scratching the back of your neck trying to look away. 

Miles gets closer to you, grabs your chin, and softly forces you to look at him. This causes you to smile even more and try to cover your face but Miles wasn’t having it. He got on his knees and kissed you. Once again, you melted into him and smiled as you did. 

Once you pulled away you cupped his face, staring into his beautiful hazel eyes. And he, staring into your beautiful e/c eyes. 

“Hey Miles’ I uh, I’m sorry for blowing up last night I should’ve -” Miles put his finger on your lips

“I’m gonna need you to hush for a moment, you have nothing to be sorry for. If anybody should be apologizing’ it should be me” He said sternly, never leaving your gaze. 

“I f*cked up as your boyfriend…and I’m really sorry for that colibrí. I’ll try my best to make sure you know I love you and..and all that. I love you more than anything y/n. I will move universes, I’ll kill for you…I will take a bullet for you in a heartbeat” he says, putting his forehead on yours. 

“ I will always protect you my príncipe, with my life” 

Tears were forming in your eyes, you knew Miles loved you but you never really knew what he was thinking and this…this is how he felt about you? This day couldn’t be anymore perfect. 

“You are the light of my life y/n. Always will be” 

You tightly hug Miles as you cry, he notices as you sniffle into his shoulder, 

“Colibrí?”

“I love you too Miles. I love you so much.” 

-

Translation

príncipe: prince

colibrí: hummingbird

[gothamdwellings]

How they are as exs! ~ Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Roy Harper, Kate Kane.

Warnings: Mature! Mentions of stalking- no smut but still 18+ as always! Infidelity? No gender is mentioned for reader, but it may be insinuated reader is afab. Reader is insinuated to be oblivious to the crime fighting career. Bad grammar bc I suck

Dick Grayson is the type of ex to plan things out. He wants to get back with you, he really does. He’s changed, he promises! To show you how much he changed he convinced Wally to invite you to the annual cookout and Barry’s. Bruce didn’t attend, but he sent Dick in his place, and it was the ideal excuse to get his arm around you again. You’d get there and huff, seeing the raven-haired man throwing his arm around your mutual red-haired best friend. You’d only say hi to Wally, even using his full name to indicate you were upset. Soon Barry would come to ease the tension, the man could read a room! After a few beers you’d be open enough to talk to Dick, and his honey-sweet words and charming gestures would overtake you. By the end of the night you were in his lap around the campfire, and he was casually kissing your lips.

Jason Todd will text you, every so often. You swore his number was blocked, you swore the last five numbers he used were blocked, but he’s simply smarter than that. Using texting apps to message you, keeping his messages to you hidden from the world. His text come at the worst time. You’re at work, focusing hard on your task. Then it pops up, on the phone next to you that is supposed to be in your personal bag. You just needed a calculator, and now your heart is racing with both anxiety and excitement! You couldn’t lie, you missed him. Your current boyfriend couldn’t touch you the same, whisper those sweet nothings that made you feel like a goddess before her lost loyal disciple. You responded with great enthusiasm, and he replied with the same energy. Slowly, though, guilt and memories of the past seep in. His immaturity, his mommy issues, his abandonment problems. How clingy, manipulative, and mean he could be- the illusion all comes crumpling down, and soon you find your fingers reaching for the block button. Don’t worry, in a few months you’ll get another message. It’s been two years since the breakup—

Roy Harper is more toxic than the other two. He uses dumb excuses to run into you, going to the same bank, grocery store, gas station. He knows your area, he knows your car and your friends homes. He stalks you, a little bit, but will never be caught. He’s too smart. He’ll tug on your heart strings, messaging you on social media to send you pictures of his cat. (I believe Roy is a cat man.) he’ll say something dumb like ‘we miss you, baby.’ Just reading those messages makes you putty. You’ll persist, and he likes that about you. He’ll send you a gift on your birthday or any holiday you celebrate. He’ll ask you to not block in in a card attached, and soon he’ll be able to see your status again.

Kate Kane and you met at a friend’s party. Having been circling the same group of friends, running into the red haired woman was rather common. Bonding over childhood trauma and her father’s crazy wife. It was fun to meet someone who understood the struggles you went through. When Kate cheated on you, and it was plastered in the front page of all the queer gossips magazines and other social medias. You learned from one of your mutual friends, but the evidence still hurt. You blocked her, and washed your hands clean. Months later she is at your apartment door, stumbling over her words. Her makeup is smeared from crying, and the urge to shut the door in her face is overwhelming. She sobs about how she loved you, and it was a publicity stunt to cover up her father’s own cheating scandal. It’s hard to believe, but when she reaches to kiss you, you don’t stop her.

[writers-potion]

Hi, I am trying to write a homosexual book that takes place in the 20s. I am unsure where to start and how bad the 20s was for homosexuality so if you have any tips it would be appreciated. Thank you for reading.

Homosexuality in Historical Fiction

I'm going to answer this in two parts: (1) Tips for writing queer historical fiction, and (2) the 1920 gay culture.

Get Your Language Right

Vocabulary is key to capturing how homsexual people identified themselves and interacted with one another at the time. Consider:

The kind of language/code used at the time. For example, gay men in the 1950-60s would have spoken Polari to skirt UK’s strict anti-homosexuality laws. This might mean your characters say seemingly ridiculous things like, “Bona to vada your dolly old eek!” (good to see your nice face)

Authenticity vs. Sensitivity. We don’t need to perpetuate old slurs just because they were used “at the time”. Would the readers of today (your target audience) be accepting towards use of such language? 

Is it really necessary? Just like in the case of foreign languages and dialects, it may be better to just refer to the code/secret language being spoken rather than overdoing it in dialogue. Also, does your character identify themselves as a part of this community at all?

Balance Between Struggle and Hope

Often in historical LQBTQ+ fiction, if the conflict is badly written, the readers are just going to feel angry and frustrated. Because:

Even the likable, otherwise reasonable characters won't be able to accept homosexuality easily, often opposing it downright.

Homosexual characters may be confused, struggle with self-doubt and self-hatred (which can't be fun to read, obviously)

The norms of the time make any “resolution” rather disappointing (compared to modern times).

Your goal is to juggle between these strong negative emotions to convey the central message and let hope shine through. Linger too much on negativity and your novel will be dark, but treating these themes 'lightly' will make you sound shallow.

So, treat oppression just as you would write a physical antagonist. It's powerful and a possible life-threatening opposition to the Lead, but it has flaws, loopholes and needs time to regroup before it hits our Lead again with increased force.

+ General Tips

Beware of giving your characters hindsight. As a writer, we know what happened both before and after the time period the characters live through, but they don't! The characters not being able to predict what comes can be a good tragic element.

The word “homosexual” wasn’t coined until 1869, and didn’t become common parlance until the early 20th century. From at least the very early 17th till the mid-19th century, the most common term for women was “tribade,” referring to the act of tribadism (scissoring). Some people used the term “fricatrice.” In the 18th century, “lesbian” and “Sapphist” started to become more common terminology. Men were called sodomites and pederasts (a word which didn’t have the paedophilic connotation it does today). The word “homophile” was coined in 1924 and was most commonly used by gay men and lesbians in the 1950s and 1960s.

“Gay” didn’t take on the almost exclusive meaning of homosexual until the 1960s, and even then, it was still used in the old sense of “merry” more than a few times. Only in the 1970s did it finally emerge as the most popular, mainstream word.

Less suspicions were aroused by a lesbian couple living together for decades than a gay male couple. Many people assumed they were just two very close spinster friends, not that it was a Boston marriage. There were many more questions about why two men would want to live together.

To avoid the very real risk of jail, lobotomy, conversion “therapy,” or the loonybin, sometimes a gay and lesbian couple would enter a ménage à quatre. Though it appeared on the surface as though two straight couples lived in the same duplex or right next door, they were actually just lavender cover marriages. Some had children (through various means) and co-parented.

Photo booths were seen as a safe space where a same-sex couple could kiss, cuddle, and embrace without fear of arrest or public suspicion.

Some lesbian couples were able to adopt children as single women, in jurisdictions which permitted that. More daring couples underwent artificial insemination and then went abroad to give birth, coming home with “adopted babies.”

Similar to the handkerchief code in the BDSM community, some gay men signalled to one another with red neckties and green carnations. Parisienne lesbians signalled to one another with violets in their hair.

There’s a long history of gay bathhouses, dating back centuries. Since male homosexuality was illegal and severely punished, a bathhouse was among the few places it was safe to meet potential partners and engage in sexual activity. Even the very real fear of police raids didn’t deter patrons. Manhattan, Paris, and London were home to many famous (and luxurious) gay baths, but there were plenty of lesser-known ones in other cities.

While not everyone was lucky enough to have a lavender ménage à quatre, many people had individual lavender marriages. Sometimes the spouse knew s/he was serving as a cover, sometimes not.

There were also more “traditional” ménage à trois marriages, composed of the lavender couple plus the true same-sex partner all living together. Sometimes these arrangements were composed of a bisexual plus a partner of each sex.

People did NOT casually out themselves! They could only confide their secret to other confirmed friends of Dorothy and extremely radical allies who had proven they could be trusted and wouldn’t turn on them.

You don’t have to make your straight characters raging, violent homophobes, but it’s completely unrealistic and historically inaccurate to show them all immediately, unquestioningly, lovingly accepting their friends’ homosexuality if the secret comes out. They might agree to not let anyone else know, but the friendship would probably be over. Other people, a bit more open-minded, might eventually reconcile but never be able to completely shake the belief that their sexual orientation is unnatural, strange, or wrong. Some people might only come around after decades of estrangement and realising gays and lesbians are just like everyone else.

To avoid discovery, some lesbians called one another by male names in their letters. Some liked those nicknames so much they continued using them in real life.

1920 Gay Culture

The United States - The Roaring Twenties 

As the United States entered an era of unprecedented economic growth and prosperity in the years after World War I, cultural mores loosened and a new spirit of sexual freedom reigned.

Harlem’s famous drag balls were part of a flourishing, highly visible LGBTQ nightlife

"Pansy Craze”: gay, lesbian and transgender performers graced the stages of nightspots in cities

lesbian and gay characters were being featured in a slew of popular “pulp” novels, in songs and on Broadway stages (including the controversial 1926 play The Captive) and in Hollywood—at least prior to 1934, when the motion picture industry began enforcing censorship guidelines, known as the Hays Code. Heap cites Clara Bow’s 1932 film Call Her Savage, in which a short scene features a pair of “campy male entertainers” in a Greenwich Village-like nightspot. On the radio, songs including "Masculine Women, Feminine Men" and "Let’s All Be Fairies" were popular.

On a Friday night in February 1926, a crowd of some 1,500 packed the Renaissance Casino in New York City’s Harlem neighborhood for the 58th masquerade and civil ball of Hamilton Lodge.

Nearly half of those attending the event, reported the New York Age, appeared to be “men of the class generally known as ‘fairies,’ and many Bohemians from the Greenwich Village section who...in their gorgeous evening gowns, wigs and powdered faces were hard to distinguish from many of the women.”

The tradition of masquerade and civil balls, more commonly known as drag balls, had begun back in 1869 within Hamilton Lodge, a black fraternal organization in Harlem. By the mid-1920s, at the height of the Prohibition era, they were attracting as many as 7,000 people of various races and social classes—gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender and straight alike.

London - Balls and Adverts

Like other large cities at the time, London was home to many drag balls and nightclubs where the gay community could express themselves. 

"Lady Austin's Camp Boys" (1933): At a private ballroom in Holland Park Avenue, west London, 60 men were arrested in a police raid after undercover officers had watched them dancing, kissing and having sex in make-up and women's clothes. But despite facing a lengthy prison term and disgrace, the organiser, "Lady Austin", told officers: "There is nothing wrong [in who we are]. You call us nancies and bum boys but before long our cult will be allowed in the country."

Other gay men found partners through personal advertisements, which could be an equally risky strategy. 

In 1920 the publisher of a magazine called the Link and three gay subscribers were each sentenced to two years of hard labor on charges of indecency and conspiring to corrupt public morals.

Some adverts even appeared in the national press, such as the Daily Express, although they were not quite so blatant. People would ask for 'chums' of their own sex and offer to take people on holiday.

One man responding to an advert in the Link wrote that he was "very fond of artistic surroundings, beautiful colours in furniture and curtains, and softly shaded lamps and all those beautiful things which appeal to the refined tastes of an artistic mind". He added: "All my love is for my own sex", and wrote that he longed to give his love "in the most intimate way".

Gay adverts often had references to Edward Carpenter, Oscar Wilde and Walt Whitman, or would say 'I have an unusual temperament'.

Berlin - The Weimar Republic

The Weimar Republic, Germany’s first parliamentary democracy lasted from 1918 until 1933 and was a time of progressive cultural renaissance from cinema, theater and music, to sexual liberation and a flourishing LGBTQ scene.

Berlin was home to around 40 known queer bars, a number which had doubled by 1925. The cabaret bars and clubs like Eldorado were packed to the brim with lust, tassels, glitter and flamboyance.

Drag shows were the norm and stars like Marlene Dietrich (a Berlin-native) and Josephine Baker who were icons for the queer community, performed regularly in Berlin’s lavish halls.

Kiosks sold an array of well known queer publications like Die Hoffnung (The Hope), Blätter für Menschenrecht (Leaflets for Human Rights), Frauenliebe (Woman Love), and Das dritte Geschlecht (The Third Sex).

As homosexuality was still illegal, Berlin’s Tiergarten and other parks, Nollendorferplatz as well as train stations and the infamous octagonal public bathrooms

Underground spaces flourished.

Here's a list of books with an LGBTQ+ POV character, set at least partly in the 1920s:

Self-Made Boys: A Great Gatsby Remix

Dead Dead Girls (Harlem Renaissance Mystery, #1)

In the Field

The Lady Adventurers Club

Last Call at the Nightingale (Nightingale Mysteries, #1)

A Good Year

The Last Nude

The Sleeping Car Porter

Once a Rogue (Roaring Twenties Magic, #2)

Slippery Creatures (The Will Darling Adventures, #1)

Crazy Pavements

References

https://www.bbc.com/culture/article/20180212-polari-the-code-language-gay-men-used-to-survive

https://www.theguardian.com/uk/2004/jul/03/gayrights.world

https://www.history.com/news/gay-culture-roaring-twenties-prohibition

[ninadove]

In defense of Huntlow

A love letter to Dana and the Owl Crew

Recently, I have been witnessing an increase in anti-Huntlow rhetoric on Tumblr, which I originally ignored, knowing how intense shipping wars can be.

Earlier today, however, I came across a very inflammatory post accusing Dana and the crew of bad - if not intentionally hurtful - writing for seemingly leaning towards making the ship canon.

As an ace, demiromantic lesbian who deeply cares about queer representation in media, I decided to share some thoughts on the matter, by addressing and hopefully debunking the main accusations I have seen out there.

I. A deliberate jab at the aspec community

Due to the dreadful lack of representation in mainstream media, many aspec viewers, myself included, headcanon Hunter as being somewhere on the spectrum.

Some erroneously believe that Hunter’s obvious crush on Willow invalidates this understanding of his character, and have even gone as far as to imply that the writing team deliberately deprived them of representation - ignoring the fact that Hunter’s arc was most likely fully fleshed out long before he was introduced to the fandom.

The thing is, we do get canon representation in the form of Lilith, who might be willing to boogy down to history town, but definitely isn’t willing to boogy down with you or anyone else for that matter. And let me tell you, she is *great* representation - a complex character who is in no way demonised or infantilised.

Additionally, and perhaps even more importantly, Hunter’s crush does *not* negate his belonging to the spectrum - key word here being *spectrum*. He might not fit the specific label you had in mind, but that’s alright - remember we come in all shapes and sizes!

II. Pushing a queer ship out of the spotlight

The argument here is that Huntlow has been distracting both the audience and the narrative itself from Lumity, an explicitely queer relationship that has been providing groundbreaking representation in the otherwise desperately heteronormative world of kids’ television.

I’ll be honest - I don’t really understand where this comes from. Huntlow might have been getting more fanart and fanfic lately due to the novelty factor, but in no way does this pose a credible threat to Lumity, which absolutely remains the main focus on the show as well as the most popular ship in the fandom ( in fact, most TOH artists seem to ship both pairings! ).

As of now, Huntlow is nothing more than a one-sided teenage crush, while Lumity has been getting in-depth development throughout season 2, culminating in their iconic kiss - I’m sure the team had to fight very hard for this scene to stay in, so let’s show some appreciation!

Interestingly, Raeda also benefited from the novelty factor when it was first introduced, and didn’t receive *nearly* as much backlash. The reason for this difference in treatment? Raeda is an explicitly queer ship.

And the thing is, in a series with so much representation, Huntlow might very well turn out to be as well ( cf point 1 ) ! There is a longstanding bias in the LGBTQIA community against « straight-passing » relationships and people who do not look « queer enough ». In all likeliness, we won’t get any confirmed labels for these two ( which is *fine* - they are kids! ), but it would be very interesting if the show actually took us down that road and forced us to confront our own biases.

( Also, people are allowed to be cishet. But that is not my point here. )

III. Underdevelopment and « bad writing »

As a RWBY veteran, I have grown used to Bumbleby-antis claiming the ship overtook the plot while paradoxically getting no development. This flawed logic seems to be repeated here, so let’s explore a couple of possibilities.

Personally, I would prefer Hunter and Willow’s relationship to stay as it is as of the end of season 2 - celebrating the important role first crushes can play in shaping one’s identity, even though they might never lead to any concrete romantic fulfillement. But, in the very likely occurrence that something *will* happen between these two, there is plenty of material to back them up.

A. Lumity parallels or the tomato syndrome

Some argue that Huntlow lacks development because all we’ve seen so far is one-sided blushing on Hunter’s part - completely overlooking the fact that this is exactly how Lumity started out!

The parallels do not stop there, however, as many excellent posts have pointed out. Both Amity and Hunter grew up in physically and emotionally abusive households, and connecting with their respective crushes helped them gain a new understanding of the world. In his « Captain », Hunter has found a person he can experience healthy admiration for, something that is also significant for Willow who has a history of being overlooked and underestimated.

In fact, one might even argue that Amity predicted Hunter’s crush - remember that one scene in Eclipse Lake? This is great foreshadowing!

B. Caleb parallels or the radical act of love

Now that we know more about Belos’ backstory, a key theme of the show is starting to emerge: love as a vector of rebellion, freedom and systemic change - a message that the LGBTQIA community as a whole is very familiar with.

While Hunter and the previous Golden Guards are all unique individuals with a mind and heart of their own, the fact that every single one of them ultimately chose to rebel against Belos is a strong sign that Caleb’s influence has persisted throughout the centuries. And what was Caleb’s biggest crime, exactly?

Falling in love with a witch.

The point here is not that Hunter is condemned to fall in love with a witch himself by virtue of being a clone with no agency of his own. It’s that Caleb’s hardships and bravery in the face of bigotry opened the door for him to proclaim his own independence through the radical act of embracing a form of love that the powers in place deem demonic and unnatural.

And what an amazing message to send out to a young audience.

IV. But… But the age gap is predatory!!!

I might be gay, but I can still do Maths. So let’s do just that.

Hunter is canonically 16. I don’t believe Willow’s age is ever outright stated in the series, but I assume she is around Luz’s age. Had it not been for Disney being, you know, Disney, our girl would have celebrated her quinceañera in season 3, so we can extrapolate that at this point in the story, Willow is around 15 as well.

That’s a one-year difference. Come on, guys.

Final thoughts: maybe stop being mad about everything all the time

Look guys, I get it, I really do. We have all been starving for queer content our entire lives, so when we finally get it, we expect it to match every single one of the expectations we’ve been desperately holding on for so long.

But the thing is, harassing a queer creator who is fighting tooth and nail to provide kids with life-changing ( and potentially life-saving ) representation is only going to hurt us further.

Use this energy to write fanfic, draw fanart, create a story that will inspire others the way this show does for so many of us. Campaign for more representation in media. Question your own biases and be a little kinder to one another.

And, most importantly - watch The Owl House!

[ladykailitha]

The Subtleties of Steve Harrington Part 1

I do have the next part of “Can Anybody Hear Me?” ready but I wanted to start putting this one out. So it’ll be every other day posting between the two fics. And my muse has latched on to the soulmate genre and I’m working on that one too. So when this one is finished, I’ll start posting that one too.

This will have four parts. And the format is a little different. Anything labelled “After” is after Steve and Eddie get together. And anything labeled “Before” happens before they get together.

Summary: Steve has a problem. One he really doesn’t understand. The people closest to him think he’s straight. Well, there are few exceptions. He just wasn’t expecting Eddie and Robin to be in Camp Straight Steve. In a series of vignettes about the people closest to Steve and Eddie finding out that maybe Steve is subtler than they thought.

*

The Morning After

Steve was in the kitchen making breakfast when Eddie stumbled in, all groggy and bleary eyed. He threw himself into a bar stool and groaned. Steve slid over a cup of coffee and the sugar.

Eddie dumped in half the sugar and stirred vigorously. He took a long grateful sip and then looked over at Steve who was trying not to smile over his cup of coffee.

“What the hell happened last night?” he asked Steve.

Steve’s shoulders slumped. “Oh. Um...I didn’t think you were that drunk. I should tell you, but I would prefer if you could remember. So why don’t you finish your coffee and get a shower and if you still don’t remember I promise I’ll‒”

Eddie hurried around the counter to cut him off by putting his finger to his lips. “That’s not what I meant, sweetheart. I worded it badly. Of course I remember. It just came out of left field for me, okay?” He moved to kiss Steve but Steve jumped on to the counter, dodging the kiss.

Eddie frowned. “Steve?”

“I don’t know why everyone says that me liking guys comes out from nowhere,” Steve muttered darkly. “Yeah, I’m not as overt with guys as I am with girls, but I can’t be, can I?”

Eddie gulped. Okay, Steve had a point. “How long have you known you like boys?”

Steve hung his head and sighed. “I’ve know I liked boys before I knew I liked girls.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide. “Come again?”

“I was like eight,” Steve explained. “There was this boy. Candy Andy they called him. Because he always had a big bag of hard candy every day. He used to save a strawberry candy. You know the ones with the jelly centers?” Eddie nodded. “I didn’t particularly like them, but I liked him so I ate it anyway.”

“Awww,” Eddie cooed. “Baby Steve was a sweetheart.”

Steve blushed. “One day after school, I asked him why. He said that he liked how the jelly made my lips pucker.”

“Smooth little fucker,” Eddie said with a grin.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “And then he kissed me.”

“So cute,” Eddie said. “Whatever happened to Candy Andy?”

Steve sighed. “He got outed half way through my seventh grade year and got bullied so bad, his parents were forced to move.”

Eddie frowned. “His last name wouldn’t have been Costello would it?”

Steve reared his head back. “Yeah, it was. Why?”

Eddie chuckled. “It appears that we had the same first boyfriend.”

Steve’s eyes went wide and he tilted his head forward. “Excuse me?”

“You know how Tommy would call me fag and queer all the time?” Eddie asked, biting his lips.

“Sure,” Steve said. “It was his favorite insult.”

“Well,” Eddie slowly, “with me it wasn’t just an insult. I was the one he caught making out with Andy under the bleachers.”

“Oh, shit,” Steve breathed. “How were you not bullied to hell?”

“Oh they tried,” Eddie said with a grin. “But I would flirt right back. It made them uncomfortable enough that they stopped.”

Steve giggled. “I think we got off the topic.”

Eddie’s smile faltered. “A bit. I’m sorry, sweetheart. That was a stupid thing for me to say. Because you’re right, you have to be subtle. Especially someone like you with your parents and sports and all that other bullshit I didn’t have to deal with.” He cupped Steve’s cheek. “It’s just...Christ, Steve. You were known as the ladies’ man. You could have any girl you wanted with the crook of your finger.”

Steve sighed. “I know but I’ve had loads of crushes on boys.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes. “Like who?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Look, let’s just say with boys, I have a very particular type.”

Eddie leaned back and eyed him. “I’m listening.”

Steve threw his arms in the air. “This is so bad. Tommy H.”

Eddie chuckled. “Saw that one coming. Who else?”

“This one is so horrible,” Steve said with a small whine, “and if you tell Max, I swear to God, no one will find your body.”

Eddie’s eyebrows went up. “Billy Hargrove? Are you serious?”

“Not my proudest moment, to be sure,” Steve said, ducking his head. “He was a racist bastard. But fucking hell he was hot.” He went on to list a couple other guys and they all had one thing in common. They were considered ‘bad boys’.

“You including me in that list, darlin’?” Eddie asked with a wink.

Steve blushed deeply. “Drug dealer, metalhead, in a band...”

“Wanted for murder...”

Steve shoved at him playfully. “Innocent as a new born deer.”

Eddie chuckled. “You forgive me?”

Steve nodded.

Eddie leaned forward and kissed him. Steve opened his legs, allowing Eddie to slot himself in between them, bringing them closer together. Eddie put one hand on Steve’s waist and the other slid into his hair, deepening the kiss. 

Steve sighed happily.

*

Two Months Ago

Steve had assumed that he hadn’t needed to come out as bisexual. He flirted with guys as easily as he flirted with girls.

So it came as a bit of shock when he came out to Robin that maybe he was subtler than he thought. Either that or everyone else was more dense than he expected.

“Hey, Robs,” he said, one day at work. “Can we talk?”

She turned around and smiled at him. “Sure, dingus. What’s up?”

“I think I have a crush on Eddie...” he whispered.

She pushed him playfully. “Come on, man. Don’t joke about that stuff.”

Steve frowned. “Why would I joke about that?” He ticked off reasons on his fingers. “I think about him all the time. I want to spend every hour of every day in his company. I get butterflies when he walks into a room. I can’t stop smiling when we’re together. Maybe you’ve got a different explanation for all that, because it certainly feels like a crush to me.”

She blinked at him owlishly. “So why didn’t you say something when I told you I was gay? We were both hyped up on truth serum.”

Steve sighed. “I knew that if I started talking about it, I wouldn’t be able to stop. You are so vibrant and outgoing and free. Being gay for you is just adding another sparkle to who you are.”

“And you think being gay or bi or whatever isn’t a good look for you?” Robin asked, incredulous.

Steve hung his head. “You think I don’t know my reputation. You think I don’t know what would happen to me if people found out I like boys?”

She blinked for a moment. “Every girl you’ve ever dated would suddenly freak out on you for being ‘fake’.”

Steve nodded, fighting back tears. “I know I don’t show that side of me often but...”

Robin sighed heavily. “You were hoping I had a functioning gaydar?”

He ducked his head and turned away.

“Oh, Steve...” she murmured and gave him the biggest hug. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I should have at least noticed how differently you treat Eddie to everyone else. Because yeah, now that you’ve mentioned it, I can see it.”

“I love him so much,” he whispered into her shoulder. “But I don’t know how to show people this is a part of me.”

“Holy shit,” she said suddenly sitting up. “‘And more.’ That’s what you said.  You like both. I’m sorry I wasn’t listening to you. Because you listened to me. I feel like a bad best friend.”

He held her close. “Just tell me how to come out everyone else and I’ll forgive you.”

She laughed. “Not even I know how to do that. Like the only people besides you that knows I like girls are Nancy because she figured it out and Jonathan who has a strangely functioning gaydar.”

Steve had a pretty good idea why, but he didn’t know for sure.

A customer came in and the moment as gone.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

[unclewaynemunson]

Wingman Wayne AU pt4 is here! | AO3 link

Eddie comes back home from his not-a-date with Steve much later than planned; the two of them ended up spending the whole afternoon at the cafe together, sharing stories, getting to know each other, laughing at weird passersby... Eddie hadn't even noticed how much time had passed until it was already getting dark outside.

Wayne is about ready to head out for his night shift when Eddie gets to the trailer, and shoots him a way too smug look.

'So your date went well, huh?'

Eddie makes a face at him. ‘Don’t jump to conclusions too quickly, old man,’ he says. ‘In all honesty, I do have to admit that Steve’s actually a good guy - but that’s the only credit you’ll be gettin’ here. We merely had a fun time bonding over some queer stuff. I can assure you that there was completely no attraction whatsoever.’

Wayne's face drops. 'That's too bad, Ed.'

'No, it's not,' Eddie replies. 'I'm perfectly happy being single, you do know that, right?'

'Yeah, of course.' But it doesn't quite sound like he means it.

'Seriously, don't worry about me. I'm fine,’ Eddie says. He gives Wayne an affectionate pat on his near-bald head. ‘And you should go to work now, before they fire you for being a sentimental old man.'

As soon as Wayne’s truck drives off, Eddie finds himself at the phone, the gross note with Steve's number on it clenched in his hand again.

'Hey, um, just wanted to let you know that uncle was very disappointed there was no spark between us,' Eddie reports when Steve picks up the phone.

'Well, let's hope he finally learned his lesson not to mingle in your love life, then,' Steve answers with a light chuckle.

'He's the worst,' Eddie says, but then immediately feels bad about it, so he adds, 'He actually means well. I think he worries. Not that he needs to, I decided I'm better off single anyway.'

'Really?' Steve sounds surprised.

'Yeah, I guess I'm not exactly a relationship type of guy, you know.'

'You've never been in a relationship?' There's no judgment behind the question, only curiosity.

'Uhh...' Eddie hesitates. But Steve's queer too, he'd understand, right?

'I don't know,' he settles on saying. 'I mean, I've been someone's dirty secret a couple times. Turns out that my definition of a relationship doesn't always align with that of closeted Chads. So that’s why I decided I'm better off alone.'

There's a silence at the other end of the line, and Eddie wonders if he overshared again. He knows he shouldn't do that, but sometimes he just can't help himself. He had been so excited about having met a fellow queer guy, someone who'd understand him... Maybe he misjudged Steve after all.

'You do know there are options out there that aren't closeted Chads, right?' Steve finally says. It sounds genuinely empathetic, putting a halt to Eddie's spiraling thoughts and reminding him that he doesn't need to worry, that Steve's a good guy, that he indeed understands.

Eddie laughs. 'Sorry, Stevie, you're still not my type.'

'I'm not – that's wasn't – I didn't mean it like that,' Steve splutters at the other end of the line. 'I just meant, you know, it’s not completely impossible that there could be someone out there for you. Someone who won't treat you like some dirty secret, who will love you as much as you deserve, you know?'

Eddie feels his cheeks heat up at those words. He clears his throat, suddenly feeling nervous but not exactly knowing why. 'You're starting to sound like my uncle,' he tries to joke.

Steve chuckles. 'Maybe your uncle is wiser than you give him credit for.'

'Are you calling yourself wise, Steve?'

'No, I'm calling your uncle wise. You should probably listen to him more.'

'If I listened to him more, we'd be going on another date tomorrow and get married this summer. Is that what you want, Stevie?'

'Well, the getting married this summer sounds a bit rushed,' Steve says, 'but I wouldn't mind seeing you again.'

Eddie's heart drops to his stomach. 'Steve...' he starts, all the jokey undertones having disappeared from his voice. 'I told you that it's not like that, for me.' He thought he had been more than clear about that right from the start, in fact.

'No! Oh, God, no, I didn't mean it like that,' Steve immediately says. 'I just meant, like, if you ever wanna hang out or something... As friends, you know. It's um – it'd be nice to have a – another queer friend.'

Eddie releases a relieved breath. 'Okay, got it,' he says. 'Good. Perfect. Yeah, we should definitely hang out another time. As friends.'

Pt5

Jesus H Christ I’m honestly blown away by the response to this silly au, it means so much to me <333 I’m reading all your lovely comments and hilarious tags with the biggest smile on my face, makes me sooo happy!!

(Update: apparently there was something wrong with the taglist but I think I fixed it, sorry!! Please lemme know if the tags are still not coming through)

Taglist: @phantypurple @love-kurdt @eddiemunsonswife @mackdaddyofheimlichcountyy @swimmingbirdrunningrock @paintsplatteredandimperfect @stevesbipanic @momotonescreaming @yourebuckingkiddingme @th3-r4t-k1ng @messrs-weasley @moonshadows-13 @im-sam-fucking-winchester @xjessicafaithx @yournowheregirl @henderdads @lwhoscribbles @courtjestermunson @steveisabicon @rainydays35  @cassaloopa @skeliiix @thesuninyaface @silversnaffles @jestyzesty @4nemo1egend @ace-of-foxes @harringtonsgother @thegingervulcan @snapshotmaestro @thereindeerlady @jillfriend @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @gamerdano @spectrum-spectre @zerokrox-blog @00biscuit @mixsethaddams @steve-the-hairrington @episcogoth @caligularib @gaydrieeen @winterbuckwild @bookbinderbitch @daysarestranger @nonbinary-eddie-munson @fangirltofangod @solalasoforth @obsessivlyme @slit-wrist @fxndom-hoe @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @joruni @roastingdragon @lenore1232 @princessstevemunson @cuips-not-cute @munsonsuccubus @justalittlefungi @cherrycolas-things @nitrilexam @thepainisspicy @hopefulslothcollecter @whatisreggieshortfor @doctorqueensanatomy @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @sadcanadianwinter @iamsotiredman @orangeandthefairroadkill @anything-thats-rock-and-roll @b-icetea @freddykicksasses @faery-god @poleaxed-aloe @mamaclownhunter @paperbackribs @blvckwidow @mightbeasleep @butuglypeoplefucktoo @lolawon @angryavocadofrog @iwouldsail @livelaughlexa @magpiemuseum @shushuac  @ravnlinn @homohomohoe @kissaphobic-kas @cmackz93 @your-greatest-queen @alltheweirdkidsinoneplace @soulsofstarsliveinyourveins @ceaselessly-watching @anaibis @enchantedlandcoffee @fluffy-alpaca-of-darkness @nelotegreitic @mollymawkwrites @evix-syne666 @redfreckledwolf @ajamlessbaby @connected-dots @nothisisntmyname @steddieassheg0es @anxiouseds

[joonggphilia]

☼Boy like You☼ (L. Minho)

———————————————————————

☼pairing: Lee Minho x Male reader ☼genre: fluff, borderline…almost…but not quite smut. ☼prompt: “Are you- what the fuck is that?” ☼CW: Lovey Lee Know, some spicy make out in a public restroom, nothing horrible. ☼a/n: Sorry it’s so short 😭😭😭😭

Read jaemmphilia’s version hereeeee!

———————————————————————

Lee Know owed promised you lunch and a good time because of the incident where he accidentally broke your favorite lip gloss and mirror, but you didn’t expect him to take the good time part as far as he did. You knew that he was an eager and impatient guy, but you didn’t know he’d snap at you. Lunch was going fine until you dropped your handbag, all the regular machinery a queer man would carry in your purse, spilling out onto the floor. You forgot about the lube and condoms in your purse from the night before, in case you ran into anyone at the club. Lee know got up abruptly, walking over to help you clean your spill items. “Are you- what the fuck is that?” He chuckled, recognizing the items immediately with a surprise smile on his face. “Minho, it’s not what you think.” You mustered out, getting red and hurriedly grabbing everything and shoving it into the purse. He only raised an eyebrow at your answer, doubt clear in his eyes. “Oh, don’t lie to me. I know what you want.” Lee know laughed, grabbing you by your wrist and heading to the bathroom. You gasped as your friend pushed you up against the stall door, air leaving your lungs. “Sorry M/n/n, but have I ever told you how pretty you are. How much I’ve wanted a boy like you?” Lee know smiled, leaning in to tuck his face in your neck. “M-Minho, I want you too.” You managed out, gettting flustered as his lips touched your neck. “But honestly M/n, you’re so amazing, sweet, kind, and my god your body.” He rasped, kissing lower down your neck and across your exposed collar. His light kisses drove you crazy, fleeting touches drawing sharp breaths from your chest. Lee know smiles up at you, “can I keep going?” He was still smiling, quite amused by your reactions and responses to his actions. You lightly nodded, not wanting to mess up the moment by saying the wrong thing. “Just use your words~” he cooed into your ear, his breath warm and comforting. After a moment you responded quietly “Please do.” not skipping a beat. His lips slammed into yours, heat spreading between the two of you. Lee know kissed like a starved man, like he’d never been shown affection ever. He was desperate, using teeth, tongue, and sweet words with every breath. The feeling of his tongue on yours was insane, almost unreal, feeling as if the butterflies from your stomach were coming out. He slowly parted his lips from yours smirking. “Shall we continue?” His hands slid up your button down. This was a bad idea…..yet it felt….so right.

———————————————————————

[theheraldsrest]

I didn't realize it had gone through as a submission my bad 😂

Inquisition LIs reaction to hearing their Inquisitor through a door saying things like "you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, you are a gift from the Maker, I love you, I'd die for you, etc.", thinking they're with someone else and running in, just to find out the Inq. is talking to a baby nug/Mabari pup they snuck into Skyhold?

“Romanced Companions reacting to Secret Baby Nug/Mabari Pup”

Here you go and thank you again, @queer-edmundpevensie for the ask! Also, more jokes!

When the Inquisitor asked Bull if he had a spare plug they could use, he said “Sorry, I don’t have any Chargers.” (Maybe a little sorry)

-Lord Lex

Cullen

”I- Honestly, I can’t even blame you for your choice of words. He is handsome.”

-Was split between being upset and feeling remorse. If indeed you had found someone else, you would most definitely deserve someone better than him but you could have at least told him. Pleasantly surprised to find the nug/mabari. Maker forbid if it’s a mabari because he will dote on that thing, saying how your “true love” is a very good boy.

Josephine

“Love, who are you talking to-? Oh! Aren’t they just the sweetest!”

-Didn’t doubt you for a second. She knows that if there was something wrong with you two, you’d tell her. Also, your wording was a little strange for if you were talking to someone else. Suggests on getting it a collar. You actually might be the jealous one when you find her cuddling it more than you.

Solas

“...”

-What was he expecting? Not this. But he has full fate in you to know you wouldn’t go behind his back if your feelings had changed. Honestly a little jealous of the mabari/nug. It’s actually kinda cute- wait, how did you even get it into Skyhold? Oh well. He’ll also tell you about how, in old tales, different animals used to run through Skyhold so having it here just makes sense.

If they go missing, it’s because they started following Solas around. No, he doesn’t know why.

Cassandra

“Inquisitor, I-!...How did you manage to get that here?”

-Yes, she was a little irked that you might be with someone behind her back. And yes, she does feel horrible that she’d assume the worst. She’ll admit what she was thinking was going on and apologize. Cassandra, to most people’s surprise, is a big softie when it comes to animals so her confusion and irritation is put on hold when your chosen creature looks at her with them big ol’ eyes.

The Iron Bull

“Well, Varric owes me money.”

-He knew from the beginning that you snuck it in. But hearing you talk in such a way to it did make him pause. If you two are only fooling around right now, he doesn’t mind and doesn’t care who you sleep with. Now, if you’re his kadan, might be a different story. But, again, he knew you had the creature somewhere and that certainly sounds like how you’d baby an animal. Lo and behold, he was right and Varric has less pocket gold. Also, if you don’t stop him, he’ll carry the animal around like a baby.

Dorian

“Dearest. Amatus. Love of my life. My chosen partner….What the fuck.”

-One of the only people who puts up with your shit anymore. He’ll be one of the people who is severely split. Yes, you deserve better than him, knowing his history and how he can act sometimes. But also how dare you go behind his back when he has given you his heart? He has to pause to let his heart settle after walking in on you cuddling the thing before he very irritable tells you to watch your wording.

Sera

“Alright, what the fuck! Who are you talking-? Wait, that’s not a person.”

-Fully thought it was someone else and wanted to rain hell on them. So it was a little shocking to see your door kicked open and Sera holding a jar of bees at the ready. If you choose a mabari over a nug, she’ll put the bees away and start petting it, acting like nothing happened. Now, if you choose a nug, she’ll make a disgusted face and back away. Not very fond of nugs, but fond of you.

Blackwall

“I’m gonna admit it, I thought there was someone else in here. Glad to see I was both wrong and right.”

-Same boat as Cullen, he kinda expected you to find someone else by now. Hurt his feelings a bit to know that you might have a secret admirer other than him. Does not find it funny (ok, maybe a little) if you name the beast after him. It’s even more funny to see him try to watch his step around it, especially a nug, as he would not like to step on the creature that has your affection.

[apomaro-mellow]

 Part Two of the Newly Wed Game

A/N: includes some slight homophobia via Mike in the first scene and has a bonus deleted scene at the end!

They managed to catch Mike before he blabbed anything and explained to him that at the time, they had not been a couple. Mike was skeptical.

“Dude, I swear. Eddie and I didn’t start being a thing until like, that night”, Steve said.

“Okay...”, Mike finally relented. He was sitting on Eddie’s couch while the older boys stood in front of him.

“So listen Mike”, Eddie started. “I probably don’t have to say this but it’s really important you keep this a secret.”

“What? Why? If anything, everyone should know. Half of us are wondering when you’re gonna get back with my sister and the other half are rooting for Robin. This is finally going to end the debate.”

“Mike, people can’t know about us”, Steve said.

He still looked confused and Eddie rubbed his face in his hands. “Us. As in two guys.”

“Oh. Oh! But you guys aren’t-I mean you aren’t like-You guys aren’t gay, you can’t be.”

They looked at him like he was an idiot but Mike was right. Gay people weren’t like Steve or Eddie they were...well, Mike never had to describe it but...bad. They were the people on the news, not people in his town. And certainly not people he knew.

“Mike Wheeler. Listen to me when I say this cause I’m only saying this once”, Eddie said. “I’m a queer. Have been, always will be. Steve is a pretty new development but if this is gonna be a problem for you-”

“It’s just-! A lot”, Mike said. “I never thought you....Either of you...” He looked down at his lap, suddenly contemplative. “It could be anyone, right?”

“Yes”, Steve said before smiling at Eddie. “But the people we trust can’t be just anyone.”

Mike rolled his eyes. “We’ve been keeping government secrets for years. I’m not about to blab about your love life.”

“Well apparently you have been!” Steve threw up his arms, still frustrated that people wanted him back with Nancy.

“Your secret’s safe with me”, Mike promised. “But can I ask one thing?”

Eddie was prepared for all sorts of salacious things to come out of Mike’s mouth about their sex lives but of course, the kid had to surprise him again.

“Why Steve?”

--------------------------------

True to his word, Mike kept the secret. He didn’t even act all that different around them, which was also great. What did shock them and the rest of the group was when he and El broke up.

“What are the odds”, Steve brought up one day while detangling Eddie’s hair. “That he tries to be gay because of you?”

“I think you’re overexaggerating Mike’s admiration of me.”

“Eddie, I’m starting to fear one day he’s gonna steal your skin.”

Mike had already been growing his hair out longer and longer. These days he was resembling Eddie more than Nancy or Holly.

“I think Mike might be as straight as they come, Steve.”

“Oh like you’re so good at telling.”

“I-!” Eddie paused. “....was blinded by denial. And you?”

Steve’s hands stopped moving and Eddie tilted his head back to look at him.

“I uh...yeah I didn’t really...think about it, I guess....”

“You didn’t think about it? About me being into dudes or not? And yet you were grinding in my lap in the back of my van?”

“I wasn’t grinding you!”, Steve blushed. Although it was certainly a moot point considering what they’d done since then. “I guess I just thought, I don’t know that even if you weren’t into guys, you’d be into me. 

Eddie turned completely at that, the springs of his mattress squeaking with the movement. “Stevie, baby, sweetheart, darlin’.”

“Oh god.” Steve covered his face with his hands. Right now he was wishing it was as long as Eddie’s so he could hide in it.

“Did you think your hotness was so mighty that it could transcend sexuality~?”

“Dude, I know how it sounds but-!”

“God I gotta tell Rob. Wait ‘til she h-” Eddie stopped and began to sober up. Because he couldn’t tell Robin.

Steve uncovered his face. “Eddie...I gotta tell Robin about us. Is that okay?”

“I was gonna ask you the same thing. Is it okay with you?” From Eddie’s perspective, Steve had more to lose. He was already the town pariah.

“Robin is safe”, Steve said. “Remember when we were drugged up by the Russians? She confided in me that she’s a supporter.”

“Hell of a thing to confess.”

“Yeah, well we talked about stupid shit too.”

“So you’re telling Robin?”, Eddie brought it back to the subject.

Steve nodded. He couldn’t believe he’d gone this long without telling her. And she was sure to give him hell when she found out.

And as it turned out, Hell: Presented by Robin Buckley turned out to be a full blown rant about how Steve just completely bypassed his sexuality crisis and jumped right into dating his soulmate while she was still chronically single. Anytime Steve tried to pipe up for any sort of argument, she jabbed a finger in his face and he shut up right quick.

“I mean, I knew the odds of me kissing a girl before you again were slim to none, but I wasn’t betting on boy. Jesus, I always found a way out of it for plays but you just go and lay one on Eddie like it’s nothing!”

With a final breath, she flopped against Steve and laid her head on his lap, exhausted from speaking non-stop for half an hour. Eddie was sitting next to Steve on the couch in the Harrington home, but was quickly getting jealous of Robin’s position.

“So you guys are serious?”

Steve beamed at Eddie. “Like a concussion.”

“Well, confetti for you two”, Robin said, fluttering her hands between their faces to simulate confetti and to also be annoying.

After that, it was a slow trickle of people finding out. First Steve absolutely had to tell Dustin. “The kid’s like my brother. And we told Mike, the douchiest of the bunch. Dustin will light my ass on fire if I don’t tell him.”

Eddie had to tell Wayne. “He already knows about me and he definitely told me to lock you down somehow.”

“I gotta tell Lucas. He’s a Cubs fan and that makes us blood.”

“Jeff saw me through my crisis and he thinks I might be relapsing into pining for guys outta my league. I gotta let him know there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Erica’s the only one of the Russian task force who doesn’t know. And I think we can trust that girl with anything.”

“Argyle and I were smokin’ and shootin’ the shit and he’s got some hunches about Will and I think maybe we should talk to him?”

Call it trust or call it being so in love you couldn’t help talking about the other person. But eventually everyone of their friends knew.

“Alright”, Mike started as the group cleaned up their D&D things so that they could set the table. “Now that everyone knows, can we talk about how weird it is?”

“How weird what is?”, Lucas asked.

“Steve and Eddie.”

“What’s wrong with Steve and Eddie?”, Dustin and Erica said in unison.

“Not like that! Jesus!”

“There’s kinda no other way to take it, man”, Lucas said.

“Don’t mind him”, Steve said, entering the room. “I’m just not up to his impossibly high standards to be dating Eddie.” He rounded to table to where his boyfriend was sitting at the head and set an open beer next to him.

“Well Steve, you may have been the king, but I am still the master.”

Steve leaned in close and whispered something and it only took the slightest change in Eddie’s expression for the kids to start groaning.

“Steve should be dating someone like...like Chris Hinkman”, Mike said.

Steve stood up straight. “Hinkman? That suck up in your bio class? I don’t date minors.”

Eddie couldn’t help the smile at the fact that Steve knew exactly who they were talking about, despite it being a freshman who he couldn’t have possibly known. He was just that attentive. “No, you’re just into dirty old men.”

While eating dinner, Dustin, ever the shit-stirrer, couldn’t help stirring up shit.

“I’m kinda curious now. Who do you think knows more about Steve? Robin or Eddie?”

There was a jumbled chorus of ‘Robin’s and ‘Eddie’s and the two in question issued challenging looks to each other.

“I’d say we probably contain...different knowledge on Steve”, Eddie said diplomatically.

“Is that your way of saying sex?”, Dustin asked.

“There are children present!”, Robin gestured to Erica.

“Yeah and she’d like to keep her appetite.”

Steve waved his fork at Eddie and Robin. “These two are like my left hand and my right hand. I don’t think I could be without either of them.”

Dustin pouted. “And what am I? Chopped liver?”

“Liver’s pretty appropriate, actually.”

Dustin threw his hands up. “You know what, I’ll take it.”

The dinner continued as usual. But a seed had been planted. One that would take root and grow until the final game to end all games.

Deleted scene A/N: This is during the bedroom scene and is kind of a fluffier more humorous scene before I remembered I wanted it to turn to them telling Robin and being a lil more serious. But I couldn’t get this scene outta my mind so here ya go!

Eddie turned completely at that, the springs of his mattress squeaking with the movement. “Stevie, baby, sweetheart, darlin’.”

“Oh god.” Steve covered his face with his hands. Right now he was wishing it was as long as Eddie’s so he could hide in it.

“Did you think your hotness was so mighty that it could transcend sexuality~?”

“I told you I only flirted with people who are into me. I just....” Steve dropped his hands and smiled at him. “I just knew somehow.”

“Somehow?”, Eddie grinned.

Steve’s embarrassment turned to something else as he smirked.

“Yeah. Like how I know you like listening to music when plotting your nerdy campaigns.” Steve tucked some hair behind Eddie’s ear. “Or how you have a special spot you like being scratched”, he said while doling out attention to that special spot on Eddie’s scalp.

Playing it up, Eddie thumped his foot like a spoiled pet.

“I think I know a few special spots of yours too”, he said before pushing Steve down onto the bed.

Part 4 END

Tag Team

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[florallylly]

my PERSONAL OPINION on ro//nance: 

so a disclaimer: feel free to ship whoever you want to ship. these are just my thoughts and my perspective on the explosion of ro//nance since season 4. it’s not my intention to condemn or tell anyone to stop producing their content, i just want to scream into the void before it festers. 

your wish fulfillment is valid, but so is my opinion. so if that’s not smth you want to see feel free to skip !! 

diving straight in… i wanna talk about nancy wheeler. 

to be clear: i don’t hate nancy. i think she is headstrong and determined and knows what she wants. she sticks to her guns and definitely has the potential to be a truly good person. that being said, she is extremely selfish in canon. 

from season 1, my interpretation of her is that she’s infatuated with the concept of steve harrington and the status that he could bring. he’s a fantasy that’s suddenly become attainable to the nerdy miss wheeler. of COURSE she’s going to relish his attention. 

note: i actually don’t think anyone else except barb, mike, and steve himself, ever called steve an asshole. so . do with that what you will. 

anyway, nancy and jonathan act like steve suspecting that nancy is cheating is SO unreasonable. which honestly? it’s not. catching your girlfriend alone in her bedroom with a guy who TOOK NONCONSENSUAL ILLICIT PHOTOS OF TWO UNDERAGE TEENAGERS… that’s suspicious. perhaps his reaction wasn’t the best, but he’s also like 17 years old and protecting himself the way he knows how to. and of course his friends aren’t going to take that laying down either. 

i don’t know if any of the supporters of ro//nance have ever been cheated on, but it’s not just heartbreaking… it’s HUMILIATING. and such a hit to the self esteem. and i don’t care what the circumstance is, unless it’s nonconsensual. cheating is cheating and i firmly believe that a cheater will always be a cheater. 

in this case, it’s also reasonable for nancy to be pissed when she sees the movie theater because she didn’t actually cheat at that time. both of them had bad reactions but they also both had good reasoning behind their actions. 

YES steve called jonathan a queer, but keep in mind it’s a common insult in the 80s, especially with the AIDS epidemic going on. don’t use modern standards to condemn him, but also don’t excuse his behavior. YES he was wrong, but he grew (obviously what with his friendship with robin). and do you really think he’s not going to go for the throat when he thinks that jonathan slept with his girlfriend? 

it’s a classic case of everyone’s the asshole but everyone’s not the asshole. 

moving onto season 2. BULLSHIT. nancy was projecting. like she felt so guilty about barb and associated that night with the first time she had sex with steve, so she associated steve with barb’s disappearance/death. she was processing her trauma which is totally fine, but also not an excuse to treat steve like that. to be fair, drunk words drunk words. 

what she forgot was that steve also experienced the same thing. maybe not the grief and loss that she felt, but it’s HIS house. he has to stare out at that pool every night and know that it’s a murder scene and a grave site. he may be processing his trauma by trying to forget and be a “normal kid.” and that’s fine. 

and to be SO clear: they didn’t technically break up. you could say that they did, or take that as your interpretation, but in my opinion they’re not broken up until they have a conversation explicitly discussing ending things. couples fight all of the time. it’s not uncommon to want a little space afterwards before apologizing/making up. 

so yes. nancy cheated. and she never thought about the consequences of her actions, especially regarding steve. imagine how he felt. in season 3, he admitted to being IN LOVE with her. and she called him bullshit and cheated on him. be so real, if this happened in real life, you wouldn’t be as kind as steve. he stayed friendly with BOTH nancy and jonathan, and continued to babysit their brothers. 

steve called himself a bad boyfriend, but did we ever see evidence of that? he was constantly wooing her and romancing her. like if she didn’t want that, she could have communicated that throughout the YEAR they were together. the only possible way that steve could be a bad boyfriend was regarding their difference in trauma response. which is not being Bad. it’s having different personalities and perspectives. so ??? just a gripe. 

SEASON 3…. so YEAH nancy is selfish. her and jonathan’s job at the hawkins post … like YES fight misogyny and feel infuriated because of your treatment. however, don’t strong-arm jonathan into supporting you when he NEEDS that job. unlike miss picket fence upper middle class nancy wheeler, the byers don’t have a lot of money. they’re living on a single income and jonathan works too. like he doesn’t have the ability to just drop the job. of course, he follows her in the end though. honestly, that only validates nancy’s perspective that she’s always right and her crusade for whatever is righteous. 

but she doesn’t care about collateral damage. she never took into account jonathan’s feelings. she never took into account the effect this could have on future jobs. employers DO check references sometimes fyi. (also i KNOW that it was due to a lot of misogyny, but irl new hires are often the company mule. like she could have tried to work her way up. she hasn’t even been working there that long, and she a high school student expects to be published within months?? just be a little realistic here) 

i honestly commend her because she’s bold and she’s brave. she makes a GREAT reporter. but she makes a bad friend and a bad girlfriend. from what i observe, she takes things for granted and gives too much credit to herself. these are just character flaws and that’s human to have flaws. it’s possible to be a good person and also do bad things. i actually like nancy a lot, but it has to be acknowledged that she rarely faces consequences for her actions, and has never been confronted with the fact that she constantly puts herself first with no regard for other people. 

just a quick note for season 4 bc this is getting SO long: when nancy told steve he “almost deserved” to get shot in the face. okay bitch. now i’m mad. bc? what did he do? and like. tbh WHO deserves to get shot in the face. i don’t care if it was supposed to be a flirty statement, it was SO out of pocket. 

it’s also clear that nancy takes credit for steve’s “transformation.” if i’m being honest, the only thing she really pushed him to do was to drop tommy and carol. STEVE made the decision to run back in to fight the demogorgon. STEVE made the decision to help dustin and fight the demo dogs. STEVE made the decision to stay behind to watch the kids while they stormed the lab. show me one instance where nancy influences his actions, and i’ll acknowledge it, but i just don’t see it. and i think she gives herself way too much credit. because she wasn’t there by his side working through it with him. she was dealing with her own problems (which is okay), but she can’t act like she completely transformed him and made him a heroic babysitter. think on that. 

into my thoughts on ro//nance: 

robin is steve’s best friend. she’s not JUST his best friend. he’s her platonic soulmate. when they were conceived, they were a being with four arms and four legs. but they were Too Cunt and Powerful so they had to be separated. they are literally two parts of one soul. 

now imagine: ur best friend admits he’s IN LOVE/HAS BEEN IN LOVE with his ex. and she broke his heart. that in itself already has me livid, but if i found out about the “bullshit” spiel, i would have to start throwing punches. 

i believe in season 4 that the reason why robin is so curious about nancy is because she wants to know what type of girl steve fell in love with. like what’s so appealing about nancy that she’s the only one he said he fell in love with? and i also believe she didn’t know about the cheating at this time because NO WAY would she have been nice to nancy if she knew. 

maybe you guys can forgive cheating, but i sure can’t. and especially when it happens to my best friend… it’s over. like sorry i treasure my best friend…. 

reiterating that nancy isn’t a bad person, but she just Doesn’t work with robin. putting aside robin’s opinions, nancy fucking hates her LMFAO. like she is So cold to robin out of? jealousy (a cheater is a cheater is a cheater). so it only really proves me right that nancy doesn’t actually care about the people she’s with. does she think that flirting with steve is okay after playing around with his heart before? has she ever taken into account the fact that steve may have been healing or emotionally unavailable? did she ever consider how steve felt after they broke up? 

robin did. and she’s ride or die. 

and a rebuttal to a post i’ve definitely seen before: yes, lesbians do tend to have a small dating pool which leads to a lot of friends dating exes. (i, a lesbian, have experience with this). HOWEVER, a cheater is different. because you have to acknowledge that a lot of lesbians stay friends with their exes. steve and nancy are AT BEST friendly in canon. if you would date someone who cheated on their friend, FULL OFFENSE, you’re not a good friend. that’s just a fact. 

you’re not only completely disregarding their experience, but you’re also forcing them to be in the same space as someone who betrayed them. and that’s more of a betrayal than the actual cheating imo. sorry but IN MY OPINION, i’d never want to be friends with anyone who ships ro//nance lol. it just shows me that you don’t care about your friends’ feelings like that. 

this is kind of a rant and totally nonsensical, but i have to yell about this bc i feel like it’s not even talked about. nancy is always characterized as a perfect girl, but she’s not. and that’s OKAY! but you can’t erase her history just to have two cute girls kiss. 

it’s also completely ignoring CANON love interests (vickie). which i get because she didn’t get a lot of screen time, but god can’t we find another alternative. 

and be honest: a lot of people ship ro//nance so that jonathan/argyle can get together too. or they act like it’s okay bc steddie get together and steve is happy now. 

THOUGH steve would approve of the relationship bc he’s a GOOD guy and KIND, i think that robin would have rejected it. she’d defend that man to the DEATH. 

so when you ship ro//nance, you’re erasing stobin. because robin would want someone who loves steve just as much as she does. someone who understands that he’s her soulmate and she can’t live without him. and nancy just isn’t that person. their history and nancy’s perception of steve just stand in the way of that kind of relationship. 

not to mention that steve and robin are One. like this is more conjecture but they are Literally the Same Person. and if steve wasn’t compatible with nancy, what makes you think that robin would be?  honestly, the whole concept of ro//nance just completely bamboozles me. i’m confused and i’m irritated. because it’s almost like none of you have actually had a REAL relationship. or YOU don’t care about other people’s feelings. nancy kin i guess. 

again again, my personal opinion. i choose not to consume ro//nance content, but somehow it keeps cropping up so i do have to put in my two cents. by all means, keep shipping and supporting them, but it would be nice if you read through this and thought about the characterization. 

[threewaywithdelusion]

Steve & Robin Bodyswap AU

I'm probably never going to finish this fic because I struggle with follow-through on long fics, but I enjoy this section so I thought I'd post it. At this point, it's September 1986 and Steve and Robin have been body-swapping for about a month (they can't control when it happens). Trigger warnings for homophobia and use of the word queer as a slur.

When the dizzy feeling passed, Robin was in Steve’s body, looking into his bathroom mirror. She was almost naked, only a towel around her waist, and it looked like Steve had been halfway through his hair routine. Robin sighed and picked up Steve’s hairspray and a comb, trying to finish creating Steve’s famous hairstyle. It was harder than Steve made it look, and when she finished it looked a little off-center somehow, like it had melted a little to the side. Was his hair longer than before? Whatever. This was as good as she could get it, so Steve would have to live with it. 

The phone rang as Robin returned to the bedroom. 

“Hello?” Robin answered. 

“Hey,” Steve said. “Do you remember where you’re going tonight?”

“No,” Robin said. “I was planning on doing my English paper and then repainting my nails. I didn’t think we’d switch so late in the day.”

Steve sighed. “Me neither. That’s why I scheduled a date.”

“A date!” Robin shrieked. 

She couldn’t go on a date. With a girl. As Steve Harrington. 

“Yeah,” Steve said, sounding guilty. “Listen. Her name is Jenny and you’re supposed to pick her up at seven. Her address is written on a post-it on the kitchen table.”

“Steve,” Robin said. “I can’t go on this date.”

“Why not?”

“Why not? Because I’m not you! Because she wants to go on a date with Mr. Cool and not some band nerd who rambles when she’s nervous, like, I don’t know, when she’s in front of a pretty girl. I can’t go on my first date with a girl in your body! And I can’t drive! I’ll crash the car and kill us both.”

“You’re not so bad anymore,” Steve said. “At worst, you’ll get into a fender-bender.”

“And what about all the other reasons this is a terrible idea?” Robin demanded. 

“Do you actually mind?” Steve asked, voice small. “Going on your first date with a girl in my body?”

She knew if she said yes, he would let her cancel. But there was something vulnerable in his voice and that made her stop and think. 

Did she mind? For the past three years, Robin had been dreaming of going on a date with a girl. She’d imagined what it would be like to hold a door open for a girl, to hold hands under the table, to giggle at her jokes and maybe even get a kiss at the end of the night. And she’d imagined doing all that in her own body, with someone who was into her. 

Part of her wanted that. Part of her was holding onto that dream of an ideal first date, the way some girls dreamed of a perfect first time. 

But also, Robin had never gone on a date with a girl because she lived in Hawkins. She probably wouldn’t get to go on a date until after she graduated and moved away. Maybe this was her chance to go on a date with a girl. It might not fully count, but it would still be her on the date. Her and this girl. It could at least be good practice for her real first date.

“I don’t mind,” Robin said. “But Steve, I’m going to ruin this.”

“You’re not going to ruin anything,” Steve said. “Just be yourself. Or, well, maybe not yourself, cause you’re supposed to be me. But you’ll be fine!”

Robin groaned. “Steeeeve.”

“It’ll be fine!”

“You won’t be mad at me if I totally tank your date, right?”

“No,” Steve said. “You’re going on a date for me. That’s like, really nice, even if it goes wrong. No one’s ever done that for me before.”

Robin snorted. “Well I would hope not, Dingus. If you’d been bodyswapping with someone else and you hadn’t brought it up by now, I’d be pissed.”

Steve laughed. “Nah, no other bodyswappers. I still think it was the Russian drugs.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t the drugs!”

“It totally was!”

Robin eyed the clock on Steve’s bedside table. “I have to go if I’m going to make it to your date on time.” Especially if she drove at Robin-speed to pick the girl up. 

“Okay,” Steve said. “Remember, her name is Jenny and her address is on the kitchen table. I’ll start the rough draft of your essay and then you can fix it tomorrow.”

Robin winced. Steve seemed to be enjoying school more now that he was in her body and his dyslexia didn’t get in the way, but he was still a terrible essay writer. There probably wouldn’t be much usable material in whatever he wrote, but she appreciated that he was trying to take the burden of half her schoolwork. 

“Thanks,” she said. “Maybe just do an outline?”

Steve paused for a moment. When he spoke again, there was something off about his voice. “Yeah, okay.”

Robin wanted to push, but she really didn’t have time and her stomach was already starting to churn with nerves at the idea of going on a date. She said her goodbyes and hung up the phone before going to Steve’s closet. She didn’t know how to dress for a date, especially as a boy, but presumably Jenny wanted to go out with Steve, so Robin pulled out jeans and a polo. She winced as she looked in the mirror, King Steve staring back. Swoopy hair, pretentious polo, and handsome face – all looking horribly out of place with Robin in his body, shoulders slumping in uncomfortably. 

Robin looked away. 

She found the post-in on the kitchen and Steve’s keys on the hook by the front door before sliding nervously behind the wheel of Steve’s car. She took a deep breath and slid the key into the ignition, backing painfully slowly out of the driveway. Her nerves increased as she drove, building like a knot in her stomach. It was so odd how Steve’s body handled nervousness. In her own body, Robin would be bouncing, or pacing, or flapping her hands, anything to expel this nervous energy. When Robin was anxious, she needed to move, to babble, to get it all out. 

Steve’s body held onto anxiety, using it to twist his insides tighter and tighter. His shoulders ached from the tension he held and his heart started pounding and the idea of moving didn’t feel helpful, not to the body Robin was in. 

But she wanted to move, and the mixed signals just added to the confused anxiety in her body. 

When she arrived at Jenny’s house, she had to knock at the door. Luckily, a girl opened it, dressed nicely and looking the right age to be Steve’s date.

This was confirmed when the girl smiled and said, “Hi, Steve.”

“Hi,” Robin said. Way to go Steve! Jenny was pretty, long blonde curls and big blue eyes. She was wearing a sundress with a square neckline that drew attention to the line of her collarbones, and a short skirt that revealed long, smooth legs, tan from the summer sun. Her hands, fiddling with the hem of her dress, were decorated by thin gold rings on each finger. 

“Like what you see?”

Robin flinched before she registered Jenny’s teasing tone. 

Jenny was flirting. She thought she was being eyed by Steve Harrington and she liked it, so she was teasing him for staring.

But it wasn’t Steve. It was Robin, admiring a pretty girl. Robin, who lived in fear of being caught staring and being chased out of town by an angry mob with pitchforks and crosses and Save the Children posters. 

Robin managed a shaky smile for Jenny. “You look really pretty.”

Jenny looked pleased. She called a goodbye into the house and followed Robin to the car. Robin took a deep breath as she slid behind the wheel again. 

“How was your day?” Jenny asked. 

“Good,” Robin said. She’d gone to work this morning as Steve, then finished the afternoon at school as herself. She’d gone to band practice, where they had started a new song. But that wasn’t what Steve had done with his day. Or, well, it wouldn’t have been if they weren’t swapping bodies. Steve had graduated. “I had work.”

“What made you want to work at Family Video?” Jenny asked. 

Robin couldn’t answer for a moment, focused on making a left turn. Then there was a pothole to swerve and a stop sign to navigate. By the time Robin thought of Jenny’s question again, the silence was awkward and heavy. 

“Uh, movies?” Robin said. “Yeah, I, uh, like movies. Big movie fan.”

She wished she could see Jenny’s expression, but Robin had to watch the road. 

“Okay,” Jenny said slowly, sounding skeptical. “What movies do you like?”

“Grease,” Robin said, naming one of Steve’s favorites. “

“Oh I love Grease!” Jenny said. “It’s so romantic, isn’t it?”

Robin hated Grease. She thought it was patriarchal and ridiculous and taught women that they should change to win the love of men who treated them badly. Sure, Sandy looked hot at the end, but it came at the cost of her personality and autonomy and self-expression. Robin hated the idea that a girl was supposed to conform to what a guy wanted of her. Why couldn’t Danny be the one to change?

“Yeah, it’s romantic,” Robin said. 

They hit a curb as she took a turn and Jenny let out a little yelp. Robin refocused on the road. 

“Sorry,” she said. “I, uh, ran out of contacts? And lost my glasses? I don’t think I can talk and drive right now.”

“Oh,” Jenny said, sounding nervous and unimpressed. That was fair. Robin wouldn’t like it if the guy driving her around said he couldn’t see shit.  “Yeah, sure.”

They drove in silence until they got to the diner. 

[Jenny asks about basketball and robin fumbles her way through answers]

[They kiss goodnight on Jenny’s doorstep]

As soon as Jenny entered her house, Robin felt her face crumple. She retreated to the car and drove back to Steve’s house, shaking a little. She wanted to cry, but Steve’s body wouldn’t. There was a lump in her throat and an ache in her chest, but her eyes were dry. 

She hated this. She hated that the date had gone so badly. She hated that her first kiss had been stolen. That it hadn’t been her Jenny had wanted to kiss and it hadn’t been her lips that had been kissed. She hated that Steve had sent her on this date. She hated that she’d agreed. She hated Steve’s stupid body, which wasn’t hers and was foreign and masculine and wouldn’t even fucking cry when she wanted it to. 

Robin parked and stormed into Steve’s house. She slammed the door behind her, which felt good, so she did it a few more times. Slam. Slam. Slam. When she felt out of breath, she collapsed against the entryway wall. 

Steve’s reflection stared back at her from the mirror above the key hooks. 

She couldn’t take it. She ran up the stairs, bypassing Steve’s bedroom and entering his parents’ room. She’d never been in here before because Steve acted like it was forbidden, but she didn’t care right now. She found Mrs. Harrington’s vanity and started ripping the drawers open, upending makeup and hair supplies until she found several bottles of nail polish. 

They were all boring pinks and reds, exactly what a housewife would wear, but Robin grabbed the darkest red and took it downstairs. She grabbed a David Bowie record and blasted it, propping her hands on her thighs and starting to paint her nails. Her hands were shaking, but she stubbornly pushed through, trying to paint a neat maroon coat onto Steve’s nails. 

She stopped and stared after she finished the first hand. 

It was Steve’s hand still, broad and square-fingered, but it felt better with the nail polish. A bit more feminine. 

Robin had spent so long in her own body trying to express herself without femininity. She didn’t like dresses or skirts or long hair. Her makeup was smudgy and her jewelry chunky and she liked to look good but not in a girly-girl way. 

In Steve’s body though, she felt like she had to compensate for its masculinity. She was still a girl, even if she wasn’t a girly one, and seeing a man staring back at her in the mirror was uncomfortable. She wanted to put Steve’s body in a dress and grow out his hair and do his makeup. But that all felt like a violation of Steve’s will for what he wanted to do with his body. She was just a guest here – she couldn’t change anything he couldn’t quickly change back. Even if she spent a solid half of her waking hours in this body. 

Steve’s hand looked good in maroon nail polish. It felt a bit more like hers. 

***

Steve woke up in his own body, which was rare these days. 

He was in his bed and he had a headache, which wasn’t that unusual. But it wasn’t a spike of pain in his skull, no oncoming migraine. This felt like a headache from crying. 

Steve went to the bathroom mirror and squinted at his reflection. Maybe Robin had a point and Steve should get glasses. His bad eyesight was much more noticeable and annoying when he spent half his time looking at the world through Robin’s 20/20 eyes. 

With just a little squinting though, Steve found that he was right; his eyes were red. Robin had been crying. 

Steve’s heart sank. He’d thought Robin would call after the date yesterday, but he hadn’t heard from her. He hadn’t heard from her, and she had cried herself to sleep. What had happened?

He’d been kind of happy when Robin hadn’t called, which he felt bad about. But she hadn’t wanted him to write a draft of her paper, just an outline. It was stupid to be upset about that. But for the first time in his life, Steve was following what was happening in Robin’s English and history classes. They were way more interesting when he could read without getting frustrated, and he’d wanted to write the paper to help Robin but also to see what he could do when he actually understood the book. 

But Robin didn’t think he was smart enough to write her essay. 

Which was fine, obviously, Steve knew that Robin was way smarter than him. He shouldn’t be upset just because Robin knew that too. 

It was fine. The problem was that something had made Robin cry. 

He was picking her up for school, so he would ask on the drive. 

Steve started getting ready, brushing his teeth and doing his hair. There was too much hairspray in it, the way there usually was when Robin had been the last one to style it, so he brushed it through a bit extra to try to get some of the stiffness out. 

There was also nail polish on his fingers. 

Steve stopped for a long moment to stare. The nail polish was pretty, a dark red color and super smooth. Steve had tried to paint Robin’s nails last night and he’d done a much worse job, getting nail polish all over her skin and accidentally making it lumpy and full of bubbles. 

But on Steve’s hands, the polish was neat and smooth and elegant. Steve had never had his nails painted before, but it was pretty. He liked it. 

Maybe Steve shouldn’t have painted Robin’s nails. He’d been under the impression that Robin hated the process of painting her nails – always complaining about having to sit still while they dried. But if she liked it enough to do it in Steve’s body, maybe he should have let her paint her own. 

Steve grabbed his work vest and a granola bar and drove to Robin’s house. She came out the door in a hurry, jacket half-on, shouting something back at her parents. But she was quiet as she got in the car. She barely said hello before busying herself looking through Steve’s tapes. 

Steve frowned. “Robin? Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Robin said. “I’m fine. Just tired, you know?”

Steve had gone to bed early last night, which meant Robin’s body shouldn’t be tired. He didn’t say that. 

“How did the date go?”

Robin froze, only for a second, but it was noticeable given how she was always in motion. “It was okay. She said you should call her.”

“That sounds pretty good,” Steve said tentatively. 

“Yeah,” Robin said. She put in a tape and turned the volume up. 

Dread started to grow in Steve’s stomach. He waited until he’d pulled into Dustin’s driveway and honked to turn down the music. Dustin always took a minute to come out. 

“Did I overstep?” Steve asked quietly. 

“What do you mean?” Robin asked. She was fiddling with her bracelets, and Steve suddenly realized she hadn’t even looked at him since getting in the car. 

“When I asked you to go on the date for me. Was that too much?”

Robin still didn’t look at him. “Steve-”

“Hey!” Dustin said loudly, climbing into the backseat. “You won’t believe what happened in our campaign last night. So we were in this forest, right, and then Eddie had this really suspicious looking dwarf show up-”

Dustin kept babbling about his campaign all the way to the school and Steve tried to react in the appropriate places. He had no idea what was happening in the story because Dustin used way too many words that Steve was pretty sure didn’t exist. But he’d already hurt Robin somehow; he didn’t want to hurt Dustin as well. 

Steve dropped them both at school — Robin leaving with a little “bye” and Dustin still rambling on his way out of the car — and went to work. He was the only one working until Robin got on in the afternoon, so it was pretty boring. A few housewives came in, but mostly Steve rewound and reshelved tapes. He contemplated actually cleaning, but decided he wasn’t bored enough to do that and ended up tapping his fingers idly on the counter as he half-paid attention to the children’s movie that was playing on the tv. 

Today, of all days, Steve didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. 

What had gone so wrong? He’d asked Robin if she was okay with going on the date and she had said yes. But she hadn’t called and she couldn’t even look at him this morning. That had never happened before. They had bickered back when they’d been getting to know each other at Scoops Ahoy, but they’d never had a real fight. 

All Steve could think of was Nancy. Nancy, pulling away because Steve couldn’t be what she needed. Nancy, who Steve had hurt without even realizing it. Nancy, who Steve had loved and who he had lost because he was bullshit. 

He couldn’t be bullshit with Robin. He’d thought he was safe from ruining this because they were friends and they’d felt mind-melded even before the body swapping had started. 

But Steve had clearly done something wrong. He had to figure out what it was and fix it before he lost Robin. 

A man came in, dressed in a suit, clearly on his lunch break. Steve tracked him as he wandered the shelves, but the man didn’t seem to need any help, quickly finding a movie and bringing it up to the counter. 

It was [romance movie]. 

“It’s for my wife,” the man said, as if he thought Steve was judging him. 

“That’s romantic,” Steve said. “Can I get your name?” 

“Johnny Richards,” the man said. “My wife’s upset I had to work late the past month. It’s not my fault! I work for the mayor’s office and we’re still dealing with the fallout of that fucking mall fire.”

Steve’s customer service smile turned even more frozen. He mechanically pulled up the man’s profile. Johnny Richards’ account had a few action movies, some chick flicks, and a lot of pornography. 

Steve tried to change the topic to Johnny’s wife again. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate a movie date night. This one’s a good choice.”

He flashed Johnny Richards another customer service smile as he scanned the movie, but Johnny wasn’t looking at his face. He was watching Steve’s hands. 

“That’ll be three dollars,” Steve said.

Johnny’s eyes flashed to his, lips curled back in a sneer. “You a queer?”

Steve blinked in confusion. “What?”

“You. A. Queer?” Johnny repeated. 

Steve’s muscles locked at the word and at the tone the man was using. He automatically looked for Robin, trying to make sure he was between her and the threat, before he remembered that she was at school. 

“No?” Steve said. He didn’t sound confident, which he knew was a mistake, but he was really confused.

“No?” The man mocked. “Then why are you painting your nails like one?”

Oh. Steve glanced down at his hands, at the red color on his nails. He’d kept it on when he’d left the house because he liked it and because Robin had been the one to paint them, but he’d been too preoccupied to think his decision through. 

He should have known better than to wear nail polish in Hawkins, Indiana. 

“I didn’t paint them,” Steve said. “My friend did. She, um, wanted to practice.”

Johnny gave Steve a disdainful look. “Acting like a pussy isn’t going to get you any girls. If she’s painting your nails, you’re stuck in the friend zone — you don’t have to give her your dignity as well. Have some self-respect and stop looking like a goddamn queer.”

“I’m not a queer,” Steve protested. 

“Just some friendly advice,” Johnny said. “Better you hear it from me, than someone who wouldn’t be so nice.”

It sounded so much like something Steve’s father would say that he gave an automatic, “Yes, sir.”

Johnny Richards nodded, like that was the reaction he’d been hoping for. He slapped three dollars on the counter, far from Steve’s hand as if he didn’t want to touch him, then grabbed the tape and walked out. 

Steve felt hot all over, shame and embarrassment and something else filling him. He felt dirty, like he shouldn’t have liked having his nails done. 

He was a boy. He wasn’t supposed to like girly things. Even if he was a girl half the time, when he was in Robin’s body and she was in his. 

He didn’t mind being in Robin’s body. He didn’t mind her longer hair, or her painted nails, or her makeup, even when it was on him. He liked wearing her clothes, even though most of it wasn’t his style and he wished he could get some nice blouses and skirts. 

But that was all when he was in Robin’s body. He was allowed to like those things when he was a girl. He had been stupid to think he could get away with painted nails as a boy. 

Steve was still shaking. He felt awful, like he’d been through something worse than a few mean comments from a stranger. The kind of comments he himself had made in the past. 

If this was how everyone he had bullied had felt, maybe he deserved to feel this way. 

Steve kept his fingers curled as he helped the next few customers, hiding his nails from sight. 

By the time Robin showed up for her afternoon shift, Steve was able to act sufficiently normal. Robin was still half-avoiding him, but it was Friday afternoon and they were ridiculously busy trying to rent out movies for the weekend. 

Steve waited until they were alone in the store, closing up, to say “Can you please come over? I want to talk.”

“Okay,” Robin said to the ground. But she got in the car with him and let him drive her to his house. 

They took their shoes off by the entryway and made their way to the kitchen, moving seamlessly to make dinner. They were both comfortable moving around Steve’s kitchen as if they lived there, because they both lived there. 

Steve almost added peas to his own plate before he remembered that he hated peas. They only tasted good when he was Robin. 

When they were both picking at their reheated lasagne, Steve said, “I’m sorry.”

Robin’s head jerked up, a bewildered look on her face. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve repeated. He hadn’t said those words much the first sixteen years of his life. But he’d say them a million times now if that’s what it took to get Robin to forgive him. 

“For what?” Robin asked. 

Was this a test? Steve’s mother did that sometimes, made him explain what he was apologizing for so she could scoff in his face and tell him that wasn’t why she was mad and to try again. 

“For asking you to go on that date for me?” Steve guessed. 

Robin didn’t look happy with that answer. 

“I don’t know,” Steve quickly admitted. Sometimes it was better to just get it over with. She could explain how he’d fucked up and then she could yell and then he could apologize and hopefully they would be okay. “I’m sorry for being so stupid that I don’t know what I did, I guess. But I didn’t mean you make you mad. Or sad? And I’m really sorry.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Robin said, sounding angry. 

Steve hesitated. This felt like a bad idea, but “You seem mad.”

“I am, but not at you.”

“Then why haven’t you looked at me all day?”

Robin growled and got to her feet, starting to pace. “It’s complicated, okay? I’m mad at your stupid body, and you’re in it right now. And I’m mad at this whole situation. It fucking sucks, okay?”

Steve didn’t know how to fix the situation. They had hit a dead end with everything they had tried, and unless El got her powers back, their only possible next step was to trust the government scientists. Call Steve crazy, but even before the Russians he hadn’t trusted government scientists, especially ones who had experimented on a little girl for her powers. 

So he focused on the part he maybe could fix. “Why are you mad at my body?”

Robin spun on her heel, still pacing, arm flying as she tried to explain. “It just feels all… off. Wrong. Like, I’m a girl and I hate being trapped in a boy’s body. I hate being perceived as a man. Don’t you feel the same when you’re in my body? Like it’s wrong being a girl?”

No, Steve didn’t. But that probably wasn’t helpful to say right now. And it was weird. Shameful. 

If Robin didn’t like boy stuff when she was in Steve’s body, why did he like girl stuff when he was in hers?

“I guess I didn’t think about it so much,” Steve lied. 

“It’s just… ugh! It makes my skin crawl,” Robin said. “And I hate that we switch so much and we can’t control it. I feel like I’m missing my life. I missed my first day of senior year. I barely ever see my parents anymore, and I miss them. They’re threatening to kick me out of band because I’ve missed so many rehearsals, but you can’t play the trumpet so I don’t know what else we’re supposed to do. And I hate never being able to make plans with anyone but the kids because no one else knows about the body-swapping and I can’t ever guarantee I’m going to be in my own body.”

That was a lot. Steve had no idea how to fix any of that. He hadn’t really been bothered by the switching — his only friends all knew about the Upside Down, so if he showed up in Robin’s body to plans he’d made as Steve, no one batted an eye. 

But Robin was different. Robin had a life outside of him and the kids. She had friends and school and band and parents who loved her. 

Of course she would feel like she was missing out on her life. 

“And!” Robin continued, still pacing. “I fucking hated that date. I didn’t know how to drive and I didn’t know what to say. She kept expecting me to be you, and she kept looking all awkward and put-off whenever I answered something like me. And I don’t know a thing about basketball and I hate Grease!”

“Why would you hate-”

“And she kissed me,” Robin said. 

Steve went quiet. 

There were tears in Robin’s eyes. 

“It was the end of the date and she just kissed me, even though the date sucked. Even though she hated every part of me that was actually me. And I’ve never kissed anyone before. It was my first kiss, and it was with a girl, but I was a boy and I was you and she didn’t even like me.”

Robin started crying. 

Steve didn’t know what else to do, so he pulled her into a hug and let her sob into his shoulder. 

“I never thought I’d get to kiss a girl,” Robin said hoarsely. “Or at least not while I was in Hawkins. And then I did and it was all wrong.”

There was so much pain in her voice and it was all Steve’s fault. He never should have asked her to go on that stupid date. He could have just rescheduled instead of putting her in that position. 

She’d said she wasn’t mad at him, but maybe she had just been lying to spare Steve’s feelings. This was all his fault. 

He would have to find a way to fix it. He wasn’t sure how yet, but he would do it. 

Eventually, Robin stopped crying. She pulled out of Steve’s hug, grabbing his hands instead and swinging them between them, looking down so she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. 

Then she froze, lifting Steve’s hands to her face. Steve tensed for a moment, thinking of the man from Family Video, before he remembered that this was Robin. She wasn’t going to judge him. She was the one who’d painted his nails in the first place. 

“You kept it on,” Robin said. 

“Yeah,” Steve said. 

“You didn’t have to,” Robin said. “Why would you do that?”

Steve shrugged. 

“You can take it off, if you want,” Robin said. “I didn’t mean to stick you with it after we switched back. I just needed to do something to make your body feel more like me.”

Because Robin hated being in Steve’s body. He understood that much, at least. His body came with headaches and a deaf ear and blurry eyesight and dyslexia. And maleness, which Steve hadn’t realized would be strange for Robin.

“I can keep it on,” Steve said. “If it makes you more comfortable when we switch.”

Robin bit her lip, looking hesitant. “It’s still your body, Steve. I don’t want to make it comfortable for me by making it uncomfortable for you.”

Steve was all twisted up inside. He didn’t know how he felt about the nail polish. “I don’t mind it. I can keep it on.”

Robin still hesitated. “People might be… mean. If you keep it on.”

Steve felt hot all over again. Off-balance. 

But what could he say? He couldn’t complain to Robin of all people that he’d gotten called a queer today at work. He would sound like a whiny, self-centered dick. He knew Robin had gotten called slurs before. And it was worse, because for her they were actually true. 

He was just being a baby about this. He had to toughen up and get over it. 

“Please,” he said forcing a smile. “Nobody’s going to say anything to Steve Harrington.”

Robin scanned his face, like she was checking if he was sure, and he gave her his best over-confident smirk, a look he hadn’t really pulled out since the King Steve days. 

Maybe it was because he’d never used this expression on Robin before, but she seemed to believe it. She smiled back at him and he could see that it was real. 

“Thanks, Steve,” she said. “We should get more bottles though. I’m not sure maroon is really your color.”

Steve pretended to be offended. “But I want to match my baby.”

“Your baby?” Robin asked, eyebrows up. 

“My car,” Steve said. 

Robin moaned. “Ugh. It’s bad enough you have a picture of a car hanging in your room. You are not allowed to start calling your car your baby, Steve. I will disown you.”

“You can’t disown me! You literally are me half the time.”

“I can and will disown you,” Robin countered. “I’ll be disowning you as a person, not your body, so I’ll just ignore you. Unless you act normal about cars. No calling them baby, or calling yourself their daddy. That might have been the most traumatizing part of Starcourt, really.”

“That was the most traumatizing part of Starcourt,” Steve repeated incredulously, putting his hands on his hips. 

“Yep,” Robin said, nodding firmly. “That was the most traumatizing part.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I’ll think about acting normal. You staying over?”

“I guess I should, at this point,” Robin said. “Let me just call my parents.”

Steve caught Robin’s arm as she moved to the phone. “You don’t have to stay. If you miss your parents and you want to see them, you should go home.”

It hurt to say. Steve didn’t want Robin to go. He didn’t want to be alone in his house after being alone at the store all day. 

Maybe Robin could see that, because her expression softened. “No,” she said. “I’ll stay.”

They fell asleep together, Steve finding it much easier to keep the nightmares at bay when he knew Robin was by his side, safe from Russians and monsters. 

He woke up in Robin’s body, wrapped in his own arms. 

***

Steve and Robin spent the weekend together. 

Robin felt terrible about making Steve feel bad. She hadn’t meant to take her anger out on him — she was mad at him, but he hadn’t done anything wrong. He never would have pushed her to go on the stupid date if she’d said no and it wasn’t his fault they were swapping bodies. 

But it was Robin’s fault that Steve had had that look on his face — fearful and desperate and apologetic, like he was afraid that he had irreparably damaged their friendship. 

Sometimes Robin forgot that Steve was as desperate to keep her as she was to keep him. Sometimes a mean little voice in her brain whispered that he was Steve Harrington, that he’d been cool and popular and he had known how to get people to like him. That even now, he was worshipped by a pack of feral children and he was generous and selfless and funny and interesting and that anyone would be lucky to be his friend. He didn’t have to settle for Robin, who couldn’t read social cues and rambled way too much and had never had a real friend before Steve. 

She hated that voice in her head. It was a liar and it was mean to both him and her. Steve might have been popular, but he had never had a close friend before Robin (or maybe Dustin) either. He might be adored by his kids, but he had no friends his own age. And he was incredible in a million ways, but he also thought Robin was incredible and he told her all the time, calling her funny and brave and smart like he didn’t care that she was a socially inept nerd.

She hadn’t meant to hurt him. She hadn’t realized that quietly seething — at him, a little, but also at the injustice of this whole situation — would hurt him more than outright telling him she was upset. 

She should have known better. She knew what had happened in his relationship with Nancy, and while she was nothing like Nancy Wheeler and she definitely wasn’t dating Steve, she knew Steve had a fear of being unintentionally terrible to the people he loved.

He had never been terrible to her, not even once, not even when she’d rejected him or come out to him or made him suffer through period cramps in her body. 

But Robin had been terrible to Steve, on purpose at first when she’d been forced to work with King Steve at Scoops Ahoy and then unintentionally a few times, like yesterday, when she hadn’t taken enough care with Steve’s emotions.

Robin decided to make it up to him. On Saturday morning they cooked breakfast together, making blueberry pancakes and coffee. Then Robin helped Steve re-do the nails he’d painted on her body, showing him how to get the air bubbles out and how to paint it in coats so it could dry in between. Steve watched attentively and held Robin’s hands up proudly when he was done. 

They hung out with the gremlins Saturday afternoon. Back in their own bodies, Steve taught Lucas how to shoot hoops while Robin played a vicious game of Monopoly against Dustin and Mike. 

“How come your nails are red?” Dustin asked Steve when Steve and Lucas came in from the driveway, sweaty and panting. 

“I painted them,” Robin said. Mike landed on Park Place and Robin grinned as she charged him an exorbitant amount of money. Capitalism was so fun when it was fictional and she was winning.

“Isn’t that weird though?” Mike asked. “Having your nails painted?”

Steve tensed. Robin had been waiting for the moment he gave up on the painted nails as too feminine or too gay, and apparently Mike’s question was that moment. Robin had honestly thought he would last until at least Monday. 

“Munson has his nails painted,” Steve said cattily, which wasn’t what Robin had expected at all.

Mike rolled his eyes. “Yeah, cause it’s metal. You’re too preppy to pull off painted nails.”

Steve looked a little dumbfounded and Robin hid a grin. Apparently the kids’ problem wasn’t with a man having his nails painted, it was with Steve doing it. 

“Steve’s metal,” Lucas said. 

Mike scoffed. “How?”

“He has a bat full of nails,” Lucas said reasonably. “That’s pretty metal.”

“See, Wheeler?” Steve boasted. “I’m metal enough to paint my nails.”

Mike scowled. “I’m more metal than you are.”

They all looked at Mike, scrawny as a beanpole and dressed in horrifically mismatched clothing. Robin felt a bit blinded by the bright colors he was wearing. 

Dustin was the first one to start laughing, but they all eventually joined in. 

Mike grumbled, crossing his arms defensively. “Will would’ve agreed with me.”

“You mean he would have lied to spare your feelings,” Dustin teased. 

Mike yelped and launched a pillow at Dustin, who threw one back, and then they were all engaged in a pillow fight with Steve’s mom’s fancy throw pillows. Robin used to opportunity to whack at Mike and Dustin, who were objectively the most annoying of the children. She was about to get Dustin from behind when all of a sudden she was looming over Lucas, all the way across the room. 

Robin lost her balance and fell, straight onto Lucas, who let out a high-pitched yelp as her elbows and knees hit him. 

“Sorry,” Robin gasped, rolling off him. “I didn’t know Steve was doing fucking acrobatics during a pillow fight.”

Lucas’s head jerked sharply. “Woah. Robin?”

Robin nodded. 

Lucas smiled and lifted a pillow, smacking it across Robin’s face. As Robin sputtered, he said “that’s for using illegal weapons in a pillow fight. No elbows!”

“Oh, you’re on, Sinclair.”

As Robin tried to murder Lucas with a pillow, she thought that this was what she was missing in the rest of her life; people who watched her switch bodies with Steve and then just kept going like it was normal. She hated dropping into her body in the middle of a customer interaction at Family Video, when the customer would get mad at having to repeat the name of the movie they were looking for. She hated dropping into her body mid-conversation with Kate, unsure what the hell they were talking about and getting weird looks for babbling more off-topic than usual. She hated her inability to know where she was going to be at any given minute, or who she was going to be. 

But with Steve’s kids, who’d been to hell and back and didn’t think a bit of body-swapping was the weirdest thing they’d ever seen, she almost felt normal. 

“Let’s get Steve,” Robin whispered to Lucas. They crept up behind Steve — which was so weird, watching the back of her own head as Steve used her body to fight off Dustin and Mike — and jumped at him, whacking him with pillows. 

Steve shrieked — high-pitched with Robin’s vocal cords — and spun, narrowing his eyes at Robin in his body. 

“Oh, it’s on, Buckley.”

[lokiiied]

thinking about loki’s 400 year long stare at mobius when he says, “it’s about who”

and then how he looks at sylvie and says, “i can rewrite the story” and how she has her own story - without romance. how she told him to “write his own story” and how he’s now canonically god of stories/storytelling.

thinking about how if they make lokius canon, marvel’s first major canonically queer character will have “rewritten” the cishet centred narrative that a major audience is expecting and just how powerful that would be.

because, as much as i like the bisexual “confirmation” scene - it was very easy to look over if you’re a homophobic viewer or don’t know what bisexuality is. because they never had either of them say the words, “i am bisexual”. that and how they “dealt” with loki’s genderfluidity.

but a major gay couple?? with the healthiest and most intimate relationship i’ve EVER seen marvel write?? that would not be so easy to ignore. especially when you go back and see that it’s been there the whole time. if you knew what to look for. which, is honestly probably the queer vision in a nutshell. because cishets will be blind to anything if they see a man + woman option. they need “undeniable” proof. marvel knows that & it’s why they’ve gotten away with this. why they’re still “safe” for most of their anti-queer audience.

but just imagine, if loki fixes all this, get his friends back, and shows mobius know how he really feels and basically says “this has been the love story the whole time” THAT will be his legacy. in all the glorious i’m a god and i’ve been bad and i’m good and i’m queer and i have inherent worth just like everybody else and i don’t give a fuck loki fashion. and i hope to gods we get to see that.

that’s the story i want to see.

because if they turn around and give us sylki — (and in doing so say here’s a perfect example of a healthy gay relationship but instead we’re gonna give you a toxic genderbent selfcest romance) regardless of the fact we know they are both queer — that is not what a homophobic audience is going to see. they’re going to be satisfied that they didn’t see two men kissing on their screen and call it another win. and marvel would be continuing to encourage the idea that us queer fans are delusional - despite the clearly intentional writing.

not to mention the exhausting, intrinsically homophobic harassment & clowning lokius shippers have endured would actually not be for nothing if lokius were canon and marvel were to decide btw queer people are real and so are their stories and so is their love.

if the show about the genderfluid bisexual god of stories can’t accomplish that after all this character development then. idk.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for cutting contact with my friend who had a threat on their life?

🦋🐌🪱 (for me to find post later)

Sounds bad I know. Please hear me out. TW for transphobia and threats of violence.

I (25X) had a friend we’ll call Jay (25transM). Jay and I never were very close. We met as a friend of a friend situation. Prior to when this story begins, we had probably hung out about 9 times over a course of 4 years.

Jay has a bad habit of getting involved in tumultuous relationships. After about 3 years of knowing each other, he suddenly got engaged and moved across the country. We figured there was something majorly wrong, but didn’t know details. About a year and a half later, Jay moved back and told us about the abusive situation.

I felt genuinely bad for Jay. He immediately began dating again and introduced me to his partner, who we’ll call A (late20s, gender-fluid). We went out for drinks once, and they seemed nice enough. I thought Jay was moving a bit fast, but was happy to see this person seemed nice.

About four months after that initial introduction, I end up getting a call out of the blue from Jay begging me to help A. A had moved into a group home several cities away from me. A member of the group him found out A was trans and was physically attacking him. The lady running the group home called A the t slur and was not doing anything to help.

I borrowed my family car and drove to A’s group home, got him checked out of there, and then drove him another 50 miles to get a hotel room near the group home where Jay was staying. A didn’t have any money so I paid for the room for a few days. It was a few hundred which was a lot but manageable for me at the time. A and Jay both thanked me, and I went home.

Months go by, no word from A or Jay. Sudden call from Jay again, this time saying they’ve had to move again and could I please help.

By this time I’d stopped being friend with N, our mutual friend who was the reason we met. I didn’t really expect to hear more from A or Jay. But I wanted to help because we’re both trans here and I was worried for their safety.

I once again put them up in a hotel room for a few days. My financial situation was a bit worse now so this was a big strain, but I would still be able to make my rent so I decided to help. I gave them some links to trans resource centers in the city and left.

Jay and A contacted me a few times after that, but I began to decline their calls. I was worried they would ask me for more money, which I didn’t have to give. On top of this, I felt really emotionally exhausted by the conversations we would have when I’d see them. Family members would call to yell at them (and me) for moving out. Relationship issues. Psychiatric problems and the like.

I feel mostly at peace with not talking to them anymore. Is/was it an asshole move to cut them off, since they didn’t have any other support network of family or other queer people. I gave them the link to the trans resource centers, if that’s any consolations. I still get random messages every now and then saying “hi,” but I don’t reply.

AITA?

What are these acronyms?