#cw: discussion of homophobia

[intothedysphoria]

There was a boy who lived on the other side of town.

Hawkins was a small town but it had a pretty explicit wealth divide. There were a solid wall of three streets where people had three, even four story houses and their own pools. Walk beyond that line and it looked pretty grim. Well, his parents said it did. Steve privately thought the people who lived in those houses looked much happier.

Except for one house. The Hargrove’s.

The dad was ex Marines and was a fucking piece of work. He’d go on ranting about anyone and everyone in the mall, clutching his wife’s hand in a vice. She was quiet and didn’t really seem to do much apart from occasionally pushing her daughter into getting more dresses. The kids were far more interesting.

A red headed thirteen year old girl who trudged around with a skateboard and him. He looked like a movie star but he was constantly limping, like he was injured. Supposedly, he’d taken Steve’s arbitrarily assigned crown but he didn’t even talk to anyone. He just scowled and sometimes Steve saw him crying.

It was all really sad and Steve was going to do something about it. He wasn’t sure what but he was at least going to try.

Steve tried to talk to him once after class. Hargrove looked him up and down then promptly spat on his shoes. The nice ones he’d just got for Christmas.

He talked funny too. It wasn’t just because he was from California, Steve had watched enough tv to pinpoint that accent. He talked rough and gutteral, with a harshness to his voice that suggested he’d been smoking from the age of 10.

Hop arrested him for minor drug charges on Christmas Day. The news spread fast in a town like Hawkins. Not because he’d been smoking weed but because they’d had to carry him out on a stretcher.

The hospital bed was his cell. Steve sent flowers because it felt like the right thing to do given the circumstances. Poppies.

They were still on Hargrove’s bedside table when he left. Medical fees had been paid off by the town. Mr Harrington had even snuck a 100 dollar bill into the pot.

One day Billy approached him. There was a vulnerability to him, shoulders hunched as he asked if there was anywhere he could stay for the night. Neil Hargrove had kicked him out.

Billy was enamoured by Steve’s record player and ran to his own collection to shove them under the needle. Apparently Joy Division was what he played to everyone before he introduced them to the heavy stuff. Steve would have almost preferred Metallica or WASP to Love Will Tear Us Apart. There was something so incredibly bleak about the lyrics and Steve wondered if that was how Billy saw the world.

Steve had leftover pierogies and latkes in the fridge but Billy politely said he preferred to make his own food. He then made a soup with scotch bonnet peppers in which looked delicious but Steve knew he wouldn’t be able to handle.

Billy took the bed. Steve took the couch. There was a pile of porn mags buried under the pile of stuff and Steve knew he should’ve just left it. He was just curious and toed a page open.

There was a photo which looked like it had been taken behind an alleyway, of a large, bearded man in denim with another man in a suit on his knees. That magazine was shoved back down to the bottom of the pile.

Billy was queer. Steve had seen videos from New York, Los Angeles, London recently, of gaunt men on hospital beds, clinging to the hands of kind faced women. The news had said that was what happened if you were queer. Agony. Death. But Billy seemed fit and healthy.

Billy wasn’t going to die of that disease. Of AIDS. Steve wouldn’t let him.

The next morning, Billy used the shower for too long, ate nothing but a single slice of toast and left by 6AM. Steve watched him go and wondered if he would come back.

Come back he did, promptly that same evening. Billy made a grilled cheese, which of course had ghost chilli in it, and watched MTV. They had a long conversation about nuclear disarmament which Steve only half followed, then they both went to bed.

Things went on like that for several weeks. Billy would put on a wide variety of records and sometimes they would dance. Sometimes Steve would just watch Billy shake his head so hard, it may as well have fallen off.

They started sharing one meal for a change. Stir fry, steak with mashed potatoes, something Billy proudly proclaimed as toad in the hole, which was just battered sausage. All things his grandfather had taught him to cook.

The sleeping situation also got more complicated.

Due to the length of time that Billy was staying over now, there didn’t feel like there was any point in Steve staying indefinitely on the couch.

So they shared a bed. Steve listened to Billy taking long, deep breaths each night and wondered if he was a queer too.

That question was answered on New Years Eve.

Steve had drunk quite a lot. Billy had probably drunk more. Soft Cell was playing on the radio and Steve was humming along to the tune, making popping sounds with his mouth to the synths.

The song changed to a new track from Frankie Goes To Hollywood and Billy grabbed his arms, spinning them both across the room. It was fun, then Steve felt like he was going to be sick so they had to stop.

Billy was lying down on the floor next to him, giggling with flushed cheeks, then declared he hadn’t had a midnight kiss yet.

He was obviously joking but something in Steve’s chest took it deadly serious because he was climbing into Billy’s chest. They were breathing in the same air.

Billy blinked twice, eyelashes glowing and Steve decided to stop caring.

The kiss didn’t set him alight. It didn’t kill him. It didn’t even eject him from the house. All it did was send a warm tingly feeling down his back and towards his groin. The feeling was indescribable.

Billy asked if they could do that again.

Steve said yes.

For @shieldofiron @robthegoodfellow @dragonflylady77 @oopsiedaisiesbaby @harringroveobsessed @bigdumbbambieyes @thatgirlwithasquid for being so cool I hope you like it (I am genuinely so ill right now I probably won’t remember that I wrote this in like two hours)

[walkinroadkillz]

may i talk a bit about how i like to interpret Travis as a gay man

CW: homophobia

I just think it would sorta make sense. He was raised in a redneck southern family, where his younger brother who's a father and who had a wife is definitely the favorite child. So this already shows the values of the Hacketts pretty well, they are traditional as hell and this whole "family is the most important" thing.

And Travis is the black sheep of the family. From the scene with Constance, particularly Travis' reaction I believe it was *not* the first time she has gone off at him like that, seeing how he just basically stands there and takes it, like he's used to this. We don't know much about their life before the curse etc, but assuming she has treated him like this for a longer while, him being gay and therefore 'against the traditional family archetype' could be a possible reason for this treatment.

I don't wanna just say "he's single" as an argument because there are many reasons for people to be single, but I just wanna say that looking through this lense at it would also make sense. Once again, given his family background, it would make sense if he just gave up on romance altogether because he'd know his family would never accept it. And family is the most important.

And I also think he absolutely would not come out to them, especially Constance, but she *could* catch on at some point, which would build the distance we see between Travis and the rest of the Hacketts during the game. He still loves them, he covers for them and tries his best to fix their problems - but at the same time it looks like he's not as close with his family as in the past.

(I'd like to think Chris could actually be accepting of Travis if he ever did come out, seeing how he spends the most time with the youth where being LGBTQ+ is more normalized, so he definitely witnessed some non-heteronormative romance among the youngsters. Maybe even Ryan could be the one to come out to him, or at least talk about his sexuality as he's trying to figure himself out, given that Chris is a father figure to him. And from the small amount of knowledge we have, a pretty good one at that. But at the same time I do think Travis would be the type to keep this to himself, and just bottle it up alone rather than vocalizing the internal struggle about being different.)

Another thing. How many southern redneck cishet 56y/o men have the term "bestie" in their vocabulary.

I am in no way saying he's implied to be gay in the game, nothing of this sort, all I mean is that it's a perspective I kinda enjoy. For the additional angst or something, as if he doesn't have enough problems in his life.

I also enjoy calling Laura and Max lesbians so, I do enjoy joking about Laura and Travis forming a wlw+mlm solidarity. 💪

If anyone read that, thanks and I'd love to hear what you think, I love reading way too deep into fictional characters and having discussions about it ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

[revon-aurora-borealis]

so im trying to figure out a character dynamic and stuff and i cant fucking figure this out:

would reita be the type that thinks lesbians arent real and/or that some "good dick" can "fix" a lesbian and make her str8? would he dislike gay guys?

im aware that Japan has a better queer history than the west does, but ive noticed there is still some homophobia in japan, and typically if someone is a misogynist theyre also all the other ists and phobes to a certain degree

so uh, thoughts?

[professorcalculusstanaccount]

The final part for The House of Glass! Everyone has a lot to figure out, but progress takes time. Follows from this. This was my first ever complete comic from start to finish, I hope you guys enjoyed the journey!

If you've enjoyed this comic, please consider donating to Aya Yasser, a 19 year old university student from the University of Palestine. She had to pause her studies due to attacks on Gaza. Her 55 year old father is ill and she is trying to evacuate him and her brothers.

You can find her blog @samaagaza

It's like two in the morning right now so I might be a bit incoherent, cw for discussions of racism, homophobia, biphobia, sinophobia and classism

I've really wanted to write Chang as someone who's made to be a perpetual outsider. As a Chinese person born in the UK I've always been made to feel like a foreigner no matter where I go - obviously I am a foreigner abroad but I'm also treated as such in the very country I was born and raised in. I think a lot of east Asian people can relate to being treated as a strange exotic foreigner first and a person second.

As a working class orphan he would probably have been treated as disposable by society at large too. As soon as he's rescued by Tintin in the Blue Lotus he immediately asks why Tintin bothered saving him, and in his letter to Tintin in Tintin in Tibet he writes that he's unworthy of his uncle's hopsitality. We don't get much from Chang as he doesn't make many appearances but it seems he's internalised strong feelings of a lack of self worth. Tintin may have been the first person to recognise his humanity since Chang's birth family passed.

Being queer is also very isolating at first. You're not born into a culture you can reference or make sense of your experiences initially, it's something you have to seek out. I wanted to explore learning to love yourself through others. We're all weird to some degree, we're all in this together!

I genuinely have no clue how I'd follow this up, I have ideas for future stories but I'm not sure what would follow directly from here!

[samaspic31]

I don't understand how globally most of fandom has understood giving head wasn't a bottom or a sub thing (to the point where it's rare for me to find fics where it's even implied, and I've only had only one where it's the case it was addressed clearly as a sign o internalized homophobia ) but bottoming? Still considered by so many fucking writers that it's obviously the sexual role of the least traditionally masculine partner (who always gets headcanoned as trans more) and all the gender essentialist and sexist assumptions of submissiveness that goes with line of thought

Like you guys know that's the same rhetoric right. You know you guys sound like DJ Khaled right. You know switches are a thing right. Please tell me you know that. Please tell me you've done the most basic research about irl queer sexuality before you write about it

[starrywilliams]

guilty as sin? | abby anderson

“these fatal fantasies giving way to labored breath, taking all of me, we’ve already done it in my head”

warnings: masturbation, slight masochism, ruined orgasm, angst, perv!abby (a little), internalized homophobia (discussed in more detail below)

notes: no surprise my favourite ttpd song is the gayest one on the album, but guilty as sin? screams lesbian guilt i fear!!!! i’ve been writing this for over a month so i hope u guys like it 😭

cw: discussion of lesbian guilt & comphet - these are somewhat based on my own experiences with my sexuality and i absolutely!!! do not think a man can ‘cure’ a lesbian or anything similar to that. nor do i believe anyone should ever feel guilty for being gay. realising i’m a lesbian has been extremely freeing & dykes r the best x

wc: 1.8k

likes, comments + reblogs are greatly appreciated :)

the door slammed harshly behind abby as she stormed into her room. she pulled her jacket off desperately; her skin hot under its tight vice. she’d been in the gym, trying to work out her endless frustration of late, when you’d walked in.

you’d only said “hi" and smiled politely at her before setting your things down. but she felt her stomach churn, a black hole opening inside her. abby stood up, pulling the weights off the barbell and onto their rack. she grunted softly, glancing at you from the corner of her eye.

you’d started stretching, currently bent over as you touched your toes. her eyes drifted for an infinitesimal moment, locking onto the swell of your-. she looked away - wrongwrongwrong.

but then she looked back, her stare feasting on your body. she wondered whether you were doing this on purpose, trying to tempt her from across the room. she wondered if you knew her dirty little secret, abby picturing a smirk on your face as you mocked her for such indecent thoughts.

she didn’t want to feel this way. she didn’t want to feel the poison ivy swarming around her chest, getting tighter, tighter. the rash spread inside her; this invisible whip of lust lashing against her skin whenever your face appeared in her mind. well, had it been just your face maybe she wouldn’t feel like some depraved sinner.

now it wasn’t like abby believed in god, in a world where death and destruction infect every crevice you’d have to be mad to believe that any ‘god’ wanted its followers to suffer so greatly. but something inside her screamed every time she had these thoughts. these impure, twisted thoughts about you.

she didn’t know what made her feel like this. what made her resent you for simply existing; and what made her resent herself.

she recalled her teenage years, when manny had subtly suggested that owen liked her - so she was supposed to like him back, right? and she tried! she loved him even - but there was always that something, that feeling in her gut that told her that something was wrong, something about him that just would never sit right with her.

but all the other girls wanted a boyfriend too, and the jealousy was nice at first - she’d thought. after all, mel was the star student, a doctor in the making, her dad’s favourite; and nora was this freshly trained medical officer, and abby was- abby was just abby.

her dad began noticing her more too - previously too preoccupied with his firefly duties and his favourite student. now his little girl was slipping away from him, he finally began paying her the amount of attention she’d craved for so long.

before, their conversations had often drifted into talk of mel and her new achievements, or his hopes of a vaccine, or some animal he was tracking. never anything about his daughter’s life.

having a boyfriend made her interesting, it gave the other girls something to envy. which was a nice reversal, for a while. then her dad died, and she had become this object of pity. owen helped a bit, she supposed. he tried to distract her and keep her focused on their new role as soldiers, but she barely cared about him anymore. all she wanted was revenge, and with revenge, came you.

you were one of the gyms trainers, passionate about helping the members of the wlf stay fit and healthy! you’d helped her start lifting weights, squealed as she reached every milestone, and had remarked jokingly about just how much you loved her new physique.

it was innocent at first, the most being her brain going a little fuzzy when you’d bit your lip while spotting her; a slight blush when you’d hugged her a little too tight. then, once she and owen were finally broken up, these new pictures began hanging themselves on the walls of her mind. still, innocent, just slightly tainted with desire - the true nature of them still an avoidable matter for her back then.

when she could ignore the truth in her recent behaviour, abby loved spending time with you. after all, you were just really good friends! anyway, she’d had a boyfriend before so everyone knew she was normal, and absolutely not different, and she would never ever have to feel like an outsider.

yet it took a mere three months before she gave up on this foolish lie. she liked you, and as long as nobody ever found out, it wouldn’t matter.

but as her mind grew dark and twisted - joel a constant topic in her head as she obsessed over finally getting to enact revenge - her thoughts got worse in turn. she wanted you - filthily and desperately.

every gym session ended with another cold shower, a desperate plea for her body to stop and let her focus on the task at hand; a hopeless attempt to bury this ache into the ground; an endless endeavour to escape these urges for just one second.

but then she came back changed, every hair on her body endlessly erected with guilt. the way she’d killed him so mercilessly, the way it had done nothing to ease the pain, and the way you had tormented her mind ceaselessly throughout the entire trip.

maybe, had she never met you, she could’ve just killed him and been satisfied. maybe had you never offered to train her personally, she could’ve just stayed comfortable in that stuffy closet. maybe if she found the right man she’d stop feeling this way.

abby deemed such ideas unfathomable now.

owen made her feel nothing. being with him was like an eternal thursday, an endless wait for the week’s end and its pleasure to turn up at her door. every day she’d wait for some spark to arrive, the routine only becoming more and more tedious by the minute. but he helped her get people’s attention, which was enough when she was just abby.

but then she was abby anderson, top scar killer and isaac’s favourite. she got attention on her own, she was praised for her own accomplishments: people worshipped the fucking ground she walked on. but they didn’t know who she really was.

they didn’t know she liked girls the way she was supposed to like boys. she’d seen it in enough of those wlf movie nights - cruel jokes about anyone who even thought about being different. she’d heard the way people gossiped, “did you hear that they’re moving lesbians into the family unit? what a joke.”

they said it like it was something dirty, something egregious, something that she had to hate about herself. so she did.

but as long as she kept it secret, kept it locked away in her mind, maybe she’d be okay. after all, only your actions talk: it was the age old question really, if a tree falls in a forest and no one else hears it, does it make a sound?

abby fell back against her bed sheets, calloused hands pushing her cargos down to her ankles as she replayed the sight of you in her mind. bent over - she felt like you were trying to tempt her on purpose.

she felt like a heathen; staring, fantasizing, worshipping. her mind was bursting with the idea of every possible position she could put you in; head a chorus of every little noise she wanted to hear you make; eyes screwed shut as depravity filled her every sense.

she shoved her bralette up her chest roughly, fingertips dragging over her nipples with little mercy. she pinched them, the peach skin stinging underneath her touch.

she wanted it to hurt; wanted it to feel like some sort of punishment for her thoughts. but as her hips bucked into the air, a long whine dragging from her clenched jaw, she realised it needed to hurt more.

she imagined you, finding her like this. disgust burnt into your features - what the fuck was she doing? repeating your name like some subverted prayer, fingers harshly scratching along her stomach as she tried to make the pleasure feel more like pain, trying to induce some connection between the two.

if it hurt enough, would she stop? force herself to forget? could she torture this part of herself until it surrendered?

her hand slipped over the top of her boxers, a finger running tentatively over her clit through the now darkened fabric. she bit down on her lip, groaning against it as she pushed down harder and harder, attempting to break through the skin.

another finger pressed down, beginning to draw circles down on the throbbing bud. she jolted against her own touch, your head between her legs burning into her mind. your hands, trailing along her flesh - groping at her with little tenderness; tongue, swiping at her pussy with no intent of fulfillment: she wanted you to make her weep, smoke out her lungs with shame, deny her from gratification until all she could feel was regret.

she pulled away, only to cover her fingertips with her spit - diving under her boxers to continue with her corruption. abby let out a strangled sigh, hips grinding against her fingers as they toyed with her clit.

she moved a hand to her hair, knuckles stretching against her scalp as she began to pull her braid. she grunted, yanking even harder. she whispered your name: pained, hopeless.

she sped up her assault against her pussy, feeling that pit in the bottom of her stomach begin to grow. “pleasepleaseplease” her voice cracked as she begged, unsure what she was pleading for.

she wanted to stop, but she needed to try and make this feeling go away. she knew it would come back, it always did - but even five minutes free from your torment on her mind might save her.

her fingers kept going, drawing desperate circles against her weeping pussy relentlessly. the void was growing, almost consuming her entirely at this point. she thought of you laughing at her current state: a crying mess, pussy wet with perversion.

it was sick, really - how the idea of you hating her for this made her need even worse. you’d probably think it appalling: someone who was supposed to be your friend, now sat here burning at the thought of you.

a part of her wished that you shared this sickness. that you too let yourself be overwhelmed by the thought of sin. maybe you didn’t let the guilt swallow you whole - she hoped so.

but there was no point lingering in the what-ifs, they were far too fleeting.

her deft fingers quickened their pace, the ache all consuming. the climb began - a desperate jump towards oblivion. closer, closer. the flames scorched her bedsheets as her breathing hastened.

fuck, she hissed before reaching the apex with a scream of your name. a scream? a whisper? a thought? it didn’t make her actions any less deplorable.

her conscience grabbed pleasure by the throat as she ripped her fingers away, putting out the blaze on her hips like a cigarette crushed on the ground.

the desire imploded within the walls of her torso; scratching against her insides in the vengeance of her denial.

it was wrong; she had to stop it. yet still, the guilt poured into her lungs with no chance of resolve. she was a fool for thinking it would fix her. maybe next time it would work. maybe next time the exorcism would finally purify her.

until next time.

[m-ilkiee]

Monsters: Manjiro "Mikey" Sano x Reader x Izana Kurokawa

“He ate my heart”

Pairings: Manjiro ‘Mikey’ Sano x female reader, Izana Kurokawa x female reader

Series summary: Your grievous sin was Emma standing up for you to her brothers. And now you’re going to pay the heavy price for destroying their perfect family dynamic.

Content warning generally: DARK CONTENT, Tokyo revengers AU, female reader, virgin reader, heavy smut, polyamory, Dark Impulse Mikey, Manipulative Izana, inaccurate/inconsistent university terminology, heavy angst with little comfort, betrayal, misogyny and sexism, emotional, physical and mental abuse, mental break, manipulation, gaslighting, sexual harrassment, dubious consent, noncon, drug, alcohol and substance misuse/abuse, extreme violence, use of weapons, Torture, criminal activities, PTSD, paranoia, emotional incest, power imbalance, character death(s) (not reader), anal penetration, mention of self-harm, religious guilt and trauma, religious themes, Vouyeurism, gangbang, masochism, sadism, hard kinks, strangulation (non sexual), psychological horror (more warnings to be added soon)

{main masterlist} {taglist link} {playlist} [available on a03 + extra chapters and wattpad]

Chapter 1: Warning Signals

chapter summary: Being friends with Emma Sano is nice, until you get on the wrong side of the Sano brothers.

cw: DARK CONTENT, NSFW, misogyny, alcohol/drug use, brief mention of violence, religious and purity culture themes, classism, slutshaming, p*rn mention, sexual assault, noncon, public initimacy, fingering (fem recieving), dacryphilia, gaslighting, manipulation, mention of vomitting, victim blaming.

wc: 10.1k

chapter summary: Izana Kurokawa demands your attention and he doesn’t take no for an answer. Not even when his demands are outrageous.

Chapter 2: Shots Fired

cw: DARK CONTENT, MISOGYNY, NSFW, r*pe mention, religious guilt, depictions of PTSD and CPTSD, emotional incest, abandoment issues, violence, revenge porn, depression, filming without consent, drugging, victim blaming, blackmailing, manipulation, gaslighting, mind break, psychological torture, use of firearms

wc: 11.6k

Chapter 3: The Lesser of Two Devils

chapter summary: Emma has a suspicion that both her brothers are into you when you all go shopping. She couldn’t be farther from the truth.

cw: DARK CONTENT, MISOGYNY, NSFW, smut (character x character), dubcon, noncon, depressive thoughts, victim blaming, sucidial ideation, religious guilt & discussion (very brief), gaslighting, power imbalance, manipulation, abuse (domestic, verbal, sexual, finanical), love bombing, violence (physical, mental, sexual), slut shaming, peer pressure, dry humping, attempted rape, nonconsensual filming.

wc: 13.3k

Chapter 4: The Calm

chapter summary: Everything comes crashing down right before your very eyes when something horrible from your past resurfaces

cw: DARK CONTENT, NSFW, angst PTSD, bullying, victim blaming, attempted rape mention(s), implied sexual intercourse (character x character), implied masturbation (m.), public sex, violence, misogyny, betrayal, parental abuse amd neglect, religious trauma, implied past homophobia, dark impulse Mikey, homelessness etc

wc: 12.2k

Chapter 5: Act on Dark Impulses

chapter summary: You knew better than to trust Mikey and Izana. Yet you fall for their plan hook, line and sinker and live through the worst night of your life.

cw: coming soon

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Chapter 6: The Closest you’ll ever get to being in Love

chapter summary: Things get sicker and twisted with the two brothers and Emma is none the wiser.

cw: coming soon

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Chapter 7: Trials and Tribulations

chapter summary: You learn the hard way what happens when you refuse to be their stress relief because of your important exams.

cw: coming soon

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Chapter 8: Divine Intervention

chapter summary: You are called home to bury your mother and learn that nothing has changed since you left.

cw: coming soon

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Chapter 9: Lead me not into Temptation

chapter summary: Emma notices that something isn’t right with you when you come visit her in the Sano residence.

cw: coming soon

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Chapter 10: Deliver Me from All Evil

chapter summary: You’ve finally broken the cycle, but at what cost?

cw: coming soon

wc:

authors notes: updates are irregular, depending on when i have time. some chapters have been re-written to fit the original storyline. don't pressure me to update and please don't be rude to me. I do not condone any negative actions done on this fic. comments, reblogs and asks are very much appreciated. if you are a minor, please refrain from interracting with this series.

taglist (please turn on your mentions in 'settings' before filling the form.): @officiallyjaehyuns @haikyuusboringassmanager @ilybbg @merrymerrykiss @cockonoi @Rindou24689 @short-cxke @kokoch4n3l @GenAwi @ryuguji-sana @nuyoo @getonite @anxious-chick @reiners-milkbiddies @kiwixpi @gh0stgirl333 @brisssaaa009 @fushiqruo @kawaiikoalagarden @damidamimongalam @raven-nevra

[seethestarsalittlecloser]

So I’ve been thinking about Bruce, Clark, superbat, and queerness and how sexuality would have interacted with their various identities depending on the time period.

(cw: discussions of homophobia)

These days, I’ve seen a lot of fics where Brucie Wayne has always styled himself as a bisexual disaster and leaned into that aspect of his identity to sell the brucie wayne persona and sometimes it’s super fun! I love that for him! But I’m in the process of writing a fic where superbat have a summer romance in their late teens/early 20s pre-capes and then meet up years later and there’s angst and one-sided identity shenanigans as bruce realises that Superman is the One That Got Away, etc, (and also how much the way he left clark back then fucked clark up real good).

So I was doing the maths to figure out when that actually would have been, using that Tim Drake Robin comic run that was set in 2007 as a baseline and combining that with basic info/generally accepted facts/fanon on how far apart the bat kids are in age etc. And I worked out that Bruce was probably born (in that continuity) around 1967 I assumed that Clark was maybe slightly younger for the sake of the fic so lets say he’s born in 1969 (also. I think it would be funny for clark to be the same age as the Moon Landing). Which means superbat would have both grown up and started figuring out sexuality stuff in the eighties.

Even if you set aside how traumatic it was to be a queer person in that time period, that means that Dick would have been orphaned in 1993 or ‘94 (give or take) and Jason would have come along in approximately 2002. Idc how rich he is, a single, openly queer man would not have been given custody of children in the 90s or 00s. For such a high-profile openly queer man, even trying would have been a disaster - not only potentially for Bruce and Dick as individuals, but for Wayne Enterprises (and Batman, indirectly) by association.

And even if Bruce and Clark are in their early forties in 2025, that still means they would have been coming of age in the early 00s. Basically, if we wanna be historically accurate about it (and totally chill if you don’t! I also enjoy escapism sometimes!) Brucie Wayne had way too much to lose (mostly his kids) to be openly Bi for most of his life. Maybe if he’d never adopted Dick as his ward or Jason as his sons it wouldn’t matter so much.

Idk as a queer who remembers how homophobic things were in the 2000s, I’m compelled by the idea of this being another thing Bruce has to sacrifice for his family and his mission, another point of difference between the man and the Brucie Wayne persona.

[red5cars]

all that remains, pt.2

simon x soapsdaughter!reader | past ghoap

cw: discussions of death, soap is dead, alcohol/drinking mentions, brief instances of homophobia (not from simon nor reader)

prev | next

synopsis: after going no contact for nearly two decades, simon riley gets the closure he's always needed with his sergeant. except its through his daughter.

simon can count the funerals he’s been to on one hand.

the first was his gran's, a distant woman whose more memory than material. despite that, he can still make out the many lines on her face, the portrait that they used, and the way his mother squeezed his hand, the other half resting on her protruding belly.

second funeral, which he's unsure if he should count it, comes a year after his gran's. the year 4 class pet, findleton fishgerald, was found belly up upon walking into mrs.barett's room. playtime was instead used as a period for mourning, him and his fellow classmates listening to their teacher give a speech about the poor goldfish.

(now that he thinks about it, fish looked more like a corpse each passing day. it was only matter of time before the little guy kicked the bucket. well, swam out of it)

the third funeral was for multiple people, but they were mourned and packed into an urn on the same day so it counts as one. the contents of said urn include his mother, brother, sister-in-law, and his nephew.

it sticks with simon. his nephew in particular. he died when he was four, his first (and last) encounter with death beating simon's.

the few days after were a blur, but he can still taste the aftermath of his carnage, as well as the whiskey he drank following it.

now, he's attending his fourth funeral. johnny's.

well, 'attend' is an overstatement. stalking is a better describes simon. sitting in the shitty rental he got, parked in the second lot over of the cemetery, away from everyone who claims to love johnny.

bet they didn't love him like he did.

if he wanted too, he could walk over to the gas port, remove the cigarette from his chapped lips and toss it in there. last thing he sees would be this rusty pick-up, his soul barreling towards damnation.

he won't, knowing the muppets that come across his remains will leave him here, too close and yet too far from his johnny.

to others, it may be difficult seeing the gathering, but a trained eye like simon sees everything. he can make out gaz and price from the crowd, as well as johnny's mum.

age has not done her any favors, looking as bitchy as the day he met her. still, she was an important person to johnny.

if only she accepted he was too.

briefly, he thinks about getting out of his car, walking towards what would be a scandalous, bittersweet reunion. sure, price and gaz'll be there to defend him if things get ugly, but blood is thicker than water. even if the string binding johnny and him was red.

(is it severed because he's dead? or does it go deeper? six feet under and unfrayed)

he decides to let them mourn without his interference. the last thing he needs is that hag telling him this is all his fault, with his agendas and whatever the fuck they rant about at churches now.

without sparing a glance, he starts the rental. a small part of him is thankful for parking so far away, the obnoxious rumble of the engine would reveal his location if he were a few feet closer.

he backs out of the spot before heading south, vowing to come back later. only johnny and him.

and the groundskeeper, if his unlucky streak continues.

——————————————————————————

it continues.

shouldn't have. he came back in the middle of the night, the witching hour. while he isn't into the paranormal, a foolish part of him thought johnny's spirit might say some parting words. unless he already left the plane. bastard.

if anything, he was prepared for an intimate moment with the scot, say what he's wanted to say, or at least attempt to. the only feeling he can properly communicate is anger, this aching sadness an unwelcomed yet familiar weight on simon.

that's what he was ready for.

he wasn't ready to find a woman dressed in pajamas and an arm sling kneeling in front of johnny's gravestone.

while he can still see quite far, the night obscures more than it used too, only clocking her when he's a few feet away.

strange, he doesn't recognize her from the funeral crowd. then again, he didn't care for anyone else besides the corpse.

he thinks about retreating, would probably be best to visit when the sun's up, rather than lurk like some ghoul.

simon's begun to turn on his heel when a scream pierces through the air.

he turns back around to find the girl, hunched over the tombstone, clutching it with her free arm. her screams are alarming, like a siren going off in the middle of the night. it might just be a loon, having escaped the bin and is hugging stranger's tombstones because they aren't sane (neither is simon, but he has a semblance of common decency).

it's another sign he needs to go, do a 180 and come back in the morn. though, he pauses upon hearing the girl let out a strangled cry that vaguely resembles "dad.."

no, that can't be right. he knows the crash didn't just involve johnny, his whole family too (unfortunately not his mom).

he knows for certain johnny's wife didn't make it, but the daughter.. the daughter..

he turns back around, zeroing in on her like she's a target. it's hard to see her features, and from what he can see she looks nothing like johnny.

but she is injured. and a girl. and she keeps crying for her mom and dad rather loudly and-

fuck.

there's no denying that before him is johnny's kid. johnny’s daughter.

a mess of a woman, snot and tears running down her face, her skin stretching after she lets out another sob, curved lines surrounding her anguish.

he has to retreat now. simon has, and wants, no business with any of the other mactavish's. if she's anything like the rest of them, he's sure the girl hates him, will damn him to an eternity in hell if he so much as approaches her.

so for the third time that night, simon begins to turn, set on leaving this cemetery and never coming back. what's another twenty years without johnny? he's lived his life in constant pain, won't stop now.

he's taken about three more steps when something rustles underneath him. simon looks down, his foot landing on a pile of leaves. it isn't loud, but it's loud enough to get johnny's daughter (whose cries have quieted down by a few decibels) attention.

"..hello?" it comes out just as tear-filled as her other proclamations have. his back remains turned. if he can't see her, she's not there. this is all some fucked night terror, and he's going to wake up in his johnny's arms in 3, 2, 1-

"i said hello," her voice is a bit more firm, as if she's fully materialized into a person rather than some grief-stricken thing. reluctantly, simon turns , the girl now standing before him. the soft light of the moon illuminates her tear-stained face, the knees of her pants dirtied from kneeling over her parents' grave.

to think, his johnny would have a kid without saying anything. it might be low, but given how simon reacted to their split, he can't blame the man.

the silence continues to stretch on between them. poor kid, probably waiting on simon to break it. he's surprised her first instinct isn't to run or scream for help, but people in mourning tend to forget themselves in their grief.

simon knows firsthand.

a frown stretches across her face when she realizes simon isn't going to say anything. she sighs, wiping her damp face with the back of her hand.

"look, i'm not on anything, and- and i was here earlier for a funeral i just..," she takes in a shuddering breath, her whole body becoming loose as she exhales, "i need more time with my folks," a pause, "alone."

it's a sentiment simon knows all too well, having lost many people. even the damned fish, he wished he was able to spend more time with it.

and simon's ready to oblige, bid her 'goodbye' wordlessly, make her think he was just some hallucination her sorrow conjured up. be nothing more than strangers in an awkward situation.

although, this isn't just a stranger. this is johnny. well, his daughter. and even if she's annoyed at him, its not for the reasons he thought it be.

in another universe, he's already left. hell, he hasn't even shown up in the first place. but in this one, he doesn't do any of that.

instead, simon does the unthinkable;

“pint for your troubles?”

he offers her a drink.

[adventures-in-mangaland]

More Dead Boy Detectives Fic Recs

Since my last fic rec post got a great response and I've read some excellent fic in the meantime, here is a new list with more recs!

The Case of Richard Rowland by RB (BlueflowersandWings)

Charles' dad hires the Dead Boy Detectives to solve his murder. It's. Traumatic. The writing and characterisation are excellent and heartbreaking and the case is intriguing. I have many theories! Cw for domestic abuse, child abuse and homophobia.

we all have a hunger (series) by Anonymous

I couldn't choose! They're both so good! The first is from Crystal's PoV as she tries to figure out what happened to Niko. It also features some wonderful Crystal & Edwin bonding, an absolutely gut-wrenching speech from the latter and The Sandman cameos. The second in the series is an Edwin-centric (so angsty!) case fic featuring Accidental Child Acquisition, greek gods, the Cat King and a happy ending. Superlative writing in both.

Terrible, Horrible, No Good and Very Bad by hibye

Feelings realisation as Charles pines for Edwin and tries not to show it because he has to be sure he's in love. Terrific, very funny writing and Charles is a precious himbo. Excellent payoff too.

Oh, Lonely Bones, Have You Forgotten? by DontOffendTheBees

Charles and Edwin investigate a mystery at St Hilarion's and discover a gut-wrenching secret. Compelling and brilliantly written.

I'll let you go if you kiss me goodbye by shadowquill17

Idiots in Love meets Friends with Benefits and Misunderstandings. Edwin breaking his own heart for no reason is very accurate and Charles gets a cool queer mentor.

the spooky thing about penis ouija by skadii

College AU! Everyone's alive and Charles and Edwin have been besties since middle school. This is another Oblivious!Charles fic; he's like a well-meaning golden retriever trampling Monty in his clueless wake. Also, the gang perform a seance and Edwin is a ghost-sceptic, which is hilarious.

after the insects have laid their claim by lolotr

Charles finds out that Edwin's body was never found and will not let that stand. Has a kind of gothic romanticism I really love and a nice in-universe explanation for the "Charles and Edwin can only feel each other" trope.

The author has written lots of other great fic, including a very cute librarian!Edwin and single dad!Charles human AU with bonus Crystal/Niko.

A Form of Genius by Neous (Greyality)

Charles shows off for Edwin. Crystal Suffers. Idk, it's just cute.

the taste in your mouth by greenaerie

When Esther hurts Charles, Edwin decides to take up the Cat King on his original offer. Interesting exploration of dubious consent, shame and guilt. The author is fairly sympathetic to the Cat King, while also exploring Edwin's complicated feelings, including the impact of his upbringing, general repression and, yes, coercion on his first time. It's not exactly explicit, but take care if those are tough themes for you!

The Manuscript of Real People by paraph

Slow burn Boarding School AU where they're both alive and it's also the 70s. And they were roommates! I have been longing for a fic like this. All the jock/nerd romance tropes, complicated by discussions of bullying and Charles' (perceived) proximity to Edwin's bullies. Edwin is an orphaned scholarship student, so it's also a kind of role reversal and touches on themes of class and poverty. Minor cw for sexual harassment as the Cat King/Thomas is also there (sorry catwin fans).

When We Walk Together We Tend to Walk Alone by UneducatedAuthor

Charles meets Death and gets to say goodbye to his mum. A sweet concept and it's nice to see Death of the Endless getting some love!

Marriage is a Payne by Ace_of_Turtles

Arranged Marriage and Omegaverse AU featuring the boys agreeing to get married to spite/escape their awful parents. Not explicit and fairly light on the a/b/o details, in case that's a squick for anyone.

job officially jobbed by vernesatlas

Charles decides the answer to the handjob question requires a practical demonstration. Very funny and well written and the title is excellent. All the kudos.

Try, Try Again by Asidian

Alterative ending to episode four. After the Night Nurse, Edwin makes a second attempt to comfort Charles. Heartwarming and sad.

The Risk and Rewards of Communication by Opossum_Subatomic

Another alternative ending to episode four featuring Edwin coming clean about the Cat King. So well written. I feel like this is going to be a fandom classic.

take your chances (win or lose her) by ObsessedWithFandom

Charles decides to check in on his mum. Some very sweet established relationship fluff followed by discussions of domestic abuse and family feels. The ending opened up some amazing possibilities for future fics! Highly recommended.

The same author has also written the ghost of the past that you live in, which is an excellent in-depth exploration of Charles' bisexual awakening and trauma-related repression.

Anyway, I'm going to try to make this a regular thing, so please send me more recs!

[girlgenius1111]

no one should be alone on christmas

barca femeni x reader

changed from the request slightly because i've read a couple fics where r tries to hide that she's gonna be alone for the holidays, and thought i'd take a slightly different approach, so as not to copy anyone :) but pinky promise there is tons of angst and fluff!

cw; mention of bad relationship with parents... implied homophobia i guess? not really discussed much though. angst, fluff, :)

The look on your teammates face when you told them you didn't have any plans for the holiday were almost comical; every one of them looked completely horrified. Sure, they knew your relationship with your parents was rocky, but they hadn't realized you didn't speak, didn't see them at all. What was almost worse was that you didn't even seem to understand why they were so appalled by you spending Christmas alone.

You knew, as soon as you left the locker room after your declaration and the room erupted into loud conversations, that your teammates would begin scheming.

Your problem was that you didn't really want to celebrate Christmas. Obviously, it was a big deal back home in England, and you'd grown up celebrating it, but those weren't the happiest of memories. For the first years of your life, Christmas had been fun. As you aged, and your parents started fighting, it didn't stay fun. Your parents had gone off the rails when you were a teenager; they were incredibly religious people, and when they felt you slipping away from this, they tightened their grasp, until it was suffocating.

Maybe the holidays wouldn't be so awful if they weren't such a stark reminder of what you no longer had, of the rift between you and your parents. Christmas 2 years ago had been the worst of your life. You'd fought with your parents all day, until a screaming match left you packing your bags. They'd had too much to drink, said things about you it was clear they were always thinking, but never vocalized. When you confirmed their suspicions in a fit of anger, they became more aggravated than you'd ever seen them.

You lived with friends for a while, once being at home became unbearable, until finally you got your first contract. You lived with teammates, then, and managed to avoid all conversations about the holidays. Since the Christmas fight, you'd sworn off the day, preferring to hibernate in your house, and actively try not to think about your parents. You missed who they were, and hated who they'd become, which made for a very confusing breakdown every year.

This was your first year at Barcelona, though, and your new team was not content to let you sit alone as you normally did. Especially not when you were only 19, and especially not when a lot of them had taken to acting like concerned mothers with you.

You didn't want to celebrate though, you couldn't. In the days following your locker room chat, you noticed your teammates being slightly odd around you; they weren't very subtle, and they were clearly planning something. Whether it was a Christmas kidnapping or a team party, you weren't sure. All you knew was that you wanted no part of it.

Telling the entire team this, though, didn't seem like something you wanted to do. So instead, you went to the only people you knew had the power to stop whatever horrifying red and green themed atrocity was being planned.

You weren't used to this, really, needing to talk to your captains about anything serious. You'd decided to pull Alexia aside after practice, and tried to be as normal as possible so as not to worry anyone. It didn't seem to work.

"What's up, y/n?" Alexia asked, once you were alone in the hall.

"Could we talk once everyone's gone? I just... there's something I need to talk to you about." You internally winced at how poorly you'd phrased that. Alexia's previously relaxed face was now one of worry as she scrutinized you.

"Of course. Just me?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically warm. She'd clearly picked up on the anxiety oozing off your body.

"Um... maybe Mapi too?" you asked. Again, your teammates weren't subtle individuals, Mapi least of all. It had become obvious that she was the instigator of whatever plan was in motion.

"Si, I'll tell her." Alexia stated, before giving you a reassuring smile and leading you into the locker room.

-----

Alexia had directed you to an empty office, shuffling in with Mapi behind you. You sat in one of the chairs facing the desk, as they both perched on the edge of the desk. You felt ridiculously like a kid in trouble at school, as your leg tapped nervously, and the girls both looked down at you. They weren't angry, though, and you weren't in trouble.

"I know you guys are planning to do something with me for Christmas," you blurted, not really sure where to start. Mapi got a sky grin on her face, but Alexia's expression remained unchanged, the unease on your face making her heart clench.

"No, what would give you that idea, pequeña?" Mapi questioned teasingly.

"Please don't. I don't like Christmas, I don't want to celebrate. I know you guys feel bad, but I really, really just prefer doing my own thing." You responded, going with the sentences you'd practiced in your head on the way to practice this morning.

Mapi's face had fallen, and you felt guilty despite knowing that you were just doing what you needed to do.

"Why don't you like Christmas?" Alexia asked, brow furrowed.

"I just don't," you replied, biting tone making Alexia and Mapi exchange looks. You weren't normally so serious, or so defensive. You were staring hard at the ground, as though you wished it would swallow you up.

Mapi extended her foot, poking it against yours softly until you rolled your eyes and looked up at her.

"Why don't you like Christmas?" They weren't letting you out of this one easily. You took a big breath, fixing your gaze back down at your feet, before you spoke.

"My parents were really difficult. Not always, but for a while. I left home on Christmas 2 years ago. I haven't seen them since. It's not a very fun day for me," you explained, working hard to keep your voice from shaking.

Alexia and Mapi were silent, and you chanced a look up at them. Both were deep in thought, frowns etched across their faces.

"It's really not a big deal. I just don't do Christmas, I don't want to do Christmas. So whatever you're plotting, please don't," you said, desperate for them to understand.

"I'm sorry, I'm not trying to be rude," you started, suddenly alarmed that you'd seem ungrateful, but you were interrupted.

"No, don't apologize. Never apologize for telling us when you don't like something we're doing," Alexia said firmly, seeming to know what to say for the first time in minutes. "If you don't want to do Christmas, we don't make you." Mapi nodded her head rapidly in agreement.

"You were supposed to spend Christmas Eve with Marta and Caro, Christmas with me, and then go to Mapi's for a couple days, but we don't have to do any of that," Alexia continued, and you felt a wave of an unknown emotion wash over you.

You'd expected they'd been planning something, but not that they'd had you delegated somewhere every day of the break. It wasn't an overall bad feeling, just one you weren't used to.

"Thank you," you stated quietly, not really sure what else to say.

"The offers stand, though, pequeña. If you change your mind," Mapi insisted. "Also, ... it's possible that I rigged the secret santa and multiple people have you, and there isn't really anything I can do about that. So you'll get your gifts but you can be alone," she continued, biting her lip. She looked worried, as if you would be mad. Alexia looked slightly annoyed that Mapi had rigged the gift exchange, but much too preoccupied with you to yell at her then.

"Mapi," you groaned, allowing a small smile to form on your face, assuring her that you weren't mad. The gifts, you didn't mind. You could pretend they weren't Christmas related, and they'd be a good distraction.

Mapi launched into an animated story of how she managed to rig the exchange, [she'd just ended up giving more people presents to make up for all the people getting you things,]. The tricky part was, apparently, doing it behind Ingrid's back; this, you didn't doubt.

They walked you to your car, sensing that you didn't really want to talk any more about it, but leaving you with unusually tight hugs. You appreciated them a lot, even if they were too overbearing sometimes.

-----

When Mapi told you she'd messed with the Secret Santa, you assumed she meant that 2 people had you. Maybe 3. You were wrong.

First up at your apartment the first day of break, before everyone departed for their respective homes, was Ona. She'd managed to get you your favorite sweets from England, an entire box full. She stayed and chatted with you for a while, insisting that she didn't have anywhere to be until later. She was quite successful at getting your mind off things, and had you laughing with her after a bit. When she left, you made sure to tell her to thank Lucy for helping her with the gift, and she stammered out an agreement, a deep blush coating her cheeks.

Aitana showed up next, her gift amusedly from both her and Keira, as the ginger had helped her pick it out. It was a new washbag, not unlike Alexia's. They must have noticed you eyeing it appreciatively. Aitana also brought a mass amount of Christmas cookies, making you eat three before she left.

Patri and Claudia showed up next, pushing past you into your apartment as soon as you opened the door. They'd gotten you approximately 8 new games for your switch, and insisted on trying all of them with you. It left you wondering who the gift was really for, considering they often came over to play on the switch with you. Regardless, they stayed late into the evening, despite both having to get up early to head home the next morning.

Mapi and Ingrid arrived, bringing chaos with them. More Mapi than Ingrid. The Norwegian had gotten you a set of light blue ceramic mugs that matched your kitchen perfectly. You'd barely had time to admire them before Mapi was taking them out of your hands, and dragging you over to her absurdly large present. It was perfectly wrapped, like Ingrid's had been, and her cheeky smile told you that she wasn't as innocent as she'd like you to believe. You opened the box, finding it weirdly light. The inside was completely empty, and you looked at the girls in confusion. The doorbell rang then, and your confusion only grew, as Mapi had said she'd be the last to stop by.

You opened the door to reveal Alexia, holding a squirming puppy in her arms, with a bow haphazardly placed on it's head. Your jaw dropped. You'd mentioned wanting a dog a few times, but you'd wanted to wait until you settled in more.

"Is that... mine?" you asked, and all 3 girls laughed at your astonishment.

"Si!!" Mapi shouted, so overcome with excitement that she was practically bouncing up and down next to you. Alexia handed you the dog, and you noted that she was smiling wider than you'd ever seen her. Alexia and dogs.

He was a little thing, a mini long haired dachshund, light brown in color. His tail was wagging furiously, and he snuggled up to you right away, licking your face eagerly. You were completely speechless, almost moved to tears.

"Thank you," you said looking around at your teammates. You really didn't know what else to say; they'd gone so above and beyond, so out of their way to make these days slightly easier for you, to make sure you weren't alone, even if you wouldn't let them be there with you.

You handed the dog to Ingrid, before all but tackling Mapi in a hug.

"Te gusta?" she asked triumphantly, already knowing the answer. You nodded into her embrace, taking a second to pull yourself together, before hugging Alexia and Ingrid in turn. You hoped the hugs would convey what words could not.

They stayed for a bit, helping you get the dog settled, and watching him when you ran to the store to get puppy supplies. When they left, you could tell they seemed slightly sad; everything they'd done, and they still didn't feel like it was enough.

As Alexia hugged you goodbye, she spoke softly into the top of your head. "I'm around, y/n, if you're having a rough time, or you need someone to talk to. Call me, text me. Anytime. Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, I don't care."

You nodded in response, entirely sure that you wouldn't take her up on that; she'd done enough already.

-----

The days leading up were fine, fun even, especially with a puppy to take care of. You didn't think the day would hit you as hard this year, which maybe was naive. It hid you harder than it ever had. For the first time in a while, you were experiencing love and care in the way you used to from your parents. It made you miss the old versions of them. This, in turn, had you furious at them for becoming the people they'd become, so vile, so cruel. It was like there were two versions of them in your head; the smiling, blurry figures from your childhood. The angry, mean, much more vivid memories from your teenage years.

You wished that they hadn't hate a part of to the point that they might as well have just hated you as a whole. You were poisoned to them, for something you couldn't control.

You were in the midst of what was becoming your annual breakdown, this time trying to keep your sobs quiet as your puppy was passed out on the couch next to you, when your phone rang. It was Mapi calling. You picked up before you could stop yourself, desperate to hear a kind voice.

"Hola pequeña! Just wanted to check in," Mapi sang over the phone.

"Hola Mapi," you responded softly, not really sure how to disguise how upset you were, now that you'd picked up.

"Are you okay y/n?" she asked, her voice much quieter.

"Yeah. Today just isn't very much fun."

"I'm sorry, pequeña. Is there anything I can do?" she asked, and this was what broke you. She'd done so much, yet she was still so desperate to make it better. It didn't make sense to you, why this person cared more about you and your happiness than your parents had.

You tried to keep your sobs muffled, not wanting to alarm Mapi, but she could tell what was going on. She didn't seem to know what to say or what to do, and you felt embarrassment flood your body at the fact that you were openly sobbing on the phone to your older teammate. You bit your lip, hard, forcing yourself to steady your breaths so you could speak.

"Fuck, I'm sorry Mapi. I'm fine, don't worry. Enjoy your Christmas.

"No, y/n, wait,"

You hung up. You fell apart again, burying your face in the soft couch cushions. Your phone buzzed under you again and again, no doubt Mapi calling you back. Time was a blur as you cried, and you really couldn't have said how much time passed before there was a frantic knock at your door. Your puppy barked, launching himself across the room towards the door.

You knew who it was before you even got up, cursing yourself for not answering one of Mapi's calls to assure her you were really fine. You should have known she'd call Alexia panicking.

Sure enough, when you opened your door, you got a quick glimpse of her face, outfit, hair, all telling you she had left some celebration to come to you, before she was smashing into you, pulling you into her arms. You were crying again, or maybe you'd never stopped, and Alexia pulled back to look down at your face, frantically checking to see if you were physically okay. Mapi's call must have been really panicked, then, if she hadn't explained well enough what had happened on your own phone call.

"What happened?" Alexia asked. You shrugged through your tears, which seemed to be enough to convince Alexia that you hadn't broken any bones. She led you back to your couch, tucking you into her side as she called Mapi back. She spoke quietly to her teammate, letting you feel what you needed to feel, and assuring Mapi that she had you, and that you'd be alright. It was reassuring to you, too, really.

Alexia's presence was unwavering, arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders, every so often wiping tears off your face. When you were done crying, finally, she handed you your water, instructing you to drink. You did, placing the water back down on the table, and scooping up your puppy back onto your lap.

"Sorry you had to come," You rasped eventually, running your fingers through the dogs fur, soothing him as well as yourself.

"Don't be. I'm glad Mapi called me. I'm glad she called you, you shouldn't have to be alone when you're upset."

"Your family-"

"-all understood that I needed to be here," she finished, gaze fixed steadily on you.

"Thank you for coming," you said, pausing. "I'm not really used to this. All these people caring."

"Well, you better get used to it, because we all care about you, a lot. And we're always going to make sure you're okay, even when you tell us you are. You're not always very believable when you say you're fine."

Her words hit hard, and you sat in silence for a bit, until your puppy got bored, and attempted to gnaw on Alexia's hand. You both laughed, watching as he got distracted again, this time by your foot sticking out of a blanket.

"Come on, get dressed. We'll take him to go meet my family. Get some of that energy out."

Alexia presented this as a statement, but her face held a question, and you knew she would stay here with you, if that's what you wanted. You were surprised to find that it wasn't. You took her outstretched hand, and she smiled triumphantly. You smiled too. When you'd moved here, you hadn't smiled much. You found yourself smiling a lot more now; because of your teammates mostly. They had changed your life, when you hadn't realized you'd needed it to be changed. It was really amazing, what a little love could do for someone who was hurting.

-----

that was so much longer than i intended!!!! got a tad carried away. also mapi didn't tear her meniscus in this because i said so.

[runraerun]

-> Part 2

**NOW WITH ART!

(Everyone go shower @stervrucht with love & reblogs because she is a treasure to this fandom and her generosity knows no bounds🖤thank-you bestie!)

AO3 | WC: 7.8k | Rated: E | CW: Internalized homophobia, references to the death of a parent, lots of swearing and general vulgarity from the both of them. Drug usage. Discussions of trading sex acts for drugs. Billy being an asshole but hey what’s new. | Tags: ADHD Eddie Munson, Semi-closeted Eddie, Fully-closeted Billy, One-Sided Steddie (or is it? We don’t know because of unreliable narrator reasons) Bully Billy Hargrove, Bullied Eddie Munson, Coming In Pants, Dry Humping, Eddie calls Billy ‘m’lord’ in here god help him, Happy Ending, some angst sprinkled throughout, but overall quite fluffy.

(Title is inspired by a song of the same name by Chromeo.)

Summary:

“I’ll cut you a deal, Munson,” Billy says, his icy-pop blue eyes and dark lashes illuminated by the end of his stolen cigarette. “I’ll let you have something. Y’know, as payment.”

But pretty as Billy is, Eddie’s no sucker. “I don’t do trades either.”

“You’re gonna wanna hear this trade.” Billy exhales a cloud of white smoke between them.

Eddie doubts it, but the sooner he hears it the sooner he can shoot it down. “Spit it out then.”

Billy Hargrove stands there, half-smirk on his face, hips tilted forward. Like he’s God’s fucking gift. “I’ll let you suck my dick.”

And that.

Well.

Eddie isn’t exactly sure what he was expecting but it sure as hell isn’t that. 

Or, Billy tries to pay for drugs by offering to let Eddie blow him.

Of all the mugs Eddie expects to see in his neck of the woods, the one attached to Billy Hargrove, resident bad boy slash heartthrob with a notoriously short fuse and a mean right hook, is not one of ‘em.

The fact that he’s alone isn’t much of a comfort, but it’s… well, it’s something. It means if Billy’s planning on jumping him and stealing his stash, then at least Eddie’s got a shot at running and actually getting away with all his teeth intact.

Eddie sucks back on his cigarette, grateful he has something to do with his fidgeting hands as he eyes Hargrove’s approach. Tries his best to keep still—something he’s always been absolute dog shit at. Even as a little kid. They tossed words at him like Attention Deficit Disorder and Hyperactivity ’til the cows came home. Never changed anything, though. Mom always just called it ants in his pants. For Uncle Wayne, it was worms up his butt. All said in love, of course. Eddie was ant and worm-free, far as he knew. Just had a lot of energy is all. And a lot to say too. That isn’t a crime! But right now, under Billy Hargrove’s slow approach, he tries his damndest to get all his ants and his worms to settle down. No sudden moves in front of ticking time bombs.

“You’re Munson, right?” Hargrove asks in a low, slightly nasally voice. He’s stopped a few feet from the picnic table that Eddie’s perched on, his canister of goodies sitting unassumingly beside him.

Eddie fights his nerves—bulldozes over them, more like, and smiles wide, holding out his arms in a display of showmanship. “The one and only.”

Billy scoffs as his eyes travel around the clearing. Doesn’t seem too impressed by the ol’ Munson razzle-dazzle. “You alone out here?” he asks, eyes finally returning to Eddie’s.

Eddie shifts, leaning forward slightly—literally on edge. Why the hell did he have to say that so fucking ominously? “I was ‘til you showed up,” Eddie answers.

Billy hums noncommittally and doesn’t even try to hide the way he’s looking Eddie up and down. Sizing him up. Double-checking to make sure Eddie’s not a threat, maybe. Eddie fights the urge to duck his head and pull his shoulders in to assure Billy that he isn’t one. He’s a lover, not a fighter. In theory, anyway.

“Now what can I do for you on this fine evening, Mr. Hargrove? I don’t keep everything on me…“ Eddie trails off before he continues, “But I got anything you’d want.”

Billy snorts, “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

“You’re from Cali, right? I got weed from there. Stuff that tastes like blueberries,” Eddie leans forward and bounces his brows, “I got some shrooms from the coast too that could even knock someone like you on your ass. So, what’re you into, Hargrove? What’s your poison?”

Billy’s got an amused look on his face. He’s smirking, but no part of it’s warm or welcoming. It sets Eddie even further on edge than he already had been. “You sure know a lot about me.”

Eddie shrugs, feigning innocence. He takes another pull from his cigarette. “It’s a small town; people talk. Especially around people like me. Y’know, the kinda people who don’t matter in the grand scheme of things. And you, Billy Hargrove, you’re, well…”

Eddie bites his tongue before he continues to embarrass himself. Clears his throat instead, tries to think of something not entirely stupid to say, but the words rush around his noggin so quickly that he can’t seem to catch and pin down any one of ‘em.

The forest floor crunches under the sole of Billy’s heavy black boots as he takes a slow, purposeful step forward. “I’m what, freak?”

Eddie swallows. Feels the hair on the back of his neck stand. Jesus, does this guy ever blink? Fucking blue-eyed people and their zombie stares…

He smiles despite his nerves. Then, with a tilt of his head, he answers. “You’re hard to miss.”

It’s grounds to get punched, Eddie knows. Innocent as the comment is, Eddie’s been hit for less. Shit, he got shoved into a locker for looking too long that one time in middle school. Spent the whole fucking lunch break with no one but his ripe gym socks to keep him company. So yeah, maybe Eddie’s a little jumpy around jocks like Billy Hargrove who look like they could fold Eddie into a pretzel without breaking a sweat.

Billy doesn’t look like he’s gearing up to punch Eddie, though. Not yet anyway. He just looks sort of… amused.

It’s getting late. The sun’s low in the sky, and every few seconds it catches on Billy’s earring or his chain, both temporarily blinding him. Eddie doesn’t let his eyes wander, though. He’s got enough self-discipline for that at least.

“I’ll take some of that blueberry kush,” Billy finally says, checking over his shoulder one last time before he flicks his head towards Eddie. “But I don’t got any money. Not until Monday. I’ll have to owe you.”

“Sorry pal,” Eddie leans back, palms against the flat of the picnic tabletop. He blows the smoke from his cigarette up towards the sky. “I don’t do I.O.U’s.”

The air shifts between them. Eddie can feel it. The blue-eyed zombie stare darkens, and Billy takes another step forward until his hip nearly knocks up against one of Eddie’s bent legs. “What? You don’t think I’m good for it, pal?”

“I don’t know you, man,” Eddie mutters around his cigarette, shifting uncomfortably. He always hates this part of the job. He’s been a punching bag on and off for most of his life, but that doesn’t mean he’s gotta like it.

“You just went on and on about how you did.” Billy spits, and Eddie flinches as it hits his cheek. He doesn’t dare raise a hand to swipe it off though, lest it be interpreted as a move to strike.

“Look, I can hold it for you until Monday, but that’s the best I can do.” Eddie offers, but it’s not enough. He knows it’s not even close to enough. Guys like Hargrove aren’t used to being told no.

“C’mon man, there’s gotta be some deal you can cut me. I just wanna have a good fucking night. You can understand that, can’t you, Munson?” Billy asks, his voice going soft. Smooth. Breathy.

And even though his insides are fucking liquifying in real time as he does it, Eddie shakes his head, his long hair curtaining his face as he does. “Can’t do it, man.”

“Well, maybe I’ll just beat the shit out of you and take your shit anyway, huh? How about that?” Billy asks, his bottom lip caught between especially sharp-looking teeth. Eddie looks up, his dark eyes lock onto Billy’s salt-water blue ones. Stormy fucking seas. Eddie sure as hell doesn’t want to get beat up tonight, but if he starts cutting deals and giving special treatment to everyone who threatens him he’d be intimidated right out of business. And he needs the cash. Can’t leave all the bills to Uncle Wayne.

Before Eddie can think up a clever answer, Billy’s got his head thrown back, and he’s cackling. “Shit, I’m fucking with you, dude. Put that face away. I swear, no one in this fucking town can take a goddamn joke.”

Eddie doesn’t bother defending himself, just takes his cigarette from his mouth, knocks off the ash and gives a shaky exhale before putting it back between his lips. He barely starts in on his next inhale when the damn thing is plucked out of his mouth.

Lightening fast. Eddie hadn’t even seen his hands—but there was his cigarette, half-smoked, between Billy’s lips. Eddie feels his face heat at the idea of Billy’s mouth being where his own was, just a second before.

“Ha ha,” Eddie mutters, his eyes narrowing. He’s feeling somewhat brave, despite feeling distinctly like a mouse that’s being battered by a cat's paw. “Very cute.”

Billy tips his head, accepting the comment as if it were a compliment. He doesn’t give Eddie his dart back though—the guy just keeps smoking it with a swarmy fucking grin on his tanned, well-proportioned face.

Because the truth is that Billy is easy on the eyes. Nice to look at. It’s entirely counteracted by the fact that the longer you look at that aforementioned face the higher your chances are of getting a knuckle sandwich sent hurtling your way… but Eddie’s still got functioning eyeballs. He can see that Billy’s… well. Beautiful.

In a weird way, though. Like how Eddie pictures the elves from Middle Earth might look.

Fucking ethereal and shit.

“I’ll cut you a deal, Munson,” Billy says, blue eyes and dark lashes illuminated by the cherry of that stolen cigarette. “I’ll let you have something. Y’know, as payment.”

But pretty as Billy is, Eddie’s no sucker. “I don’t do trades either.”

“You’re gonna wanna hear this trade.” Billy exhales a cloud of white between them.

Eddie doubts it, but the sooner he hears it the sooner he can shoot it down. “Spit it out then.” He sighs.

But Billy doesn’t ‘spit it out’. Instead, he shifts weight from foot to foot, looking suddenly agitated again. Billy sniffs and scratches his nose with the nail of his thumb. Like he’s tweaking. Eddie waits him out. Curiosity officially piqued.

Finally, after doing his little dance, Billy leans forward, wetting his bottom lip with his tongue. “I’ll let you suck my dick.”

And that.

Well.

Eddie wasn’t exactly sure what he was expecting but it sure as hell wasn’t that.

The shock is written all over Eddie’s face, he’s sure. He’s never been good at concealing his emotions—an open book, his mom called him. Shit liar, is what his dad called him. Either way, he knows the surprise of what Billy’s offered up plays across his face by the way Billy’s eyes dance around it, looking pleased.

“What?” Eddie squeaks out, face suddenly on fire.

“You heard me,” Billy snaps, “I ain’t sayin’ it again.”

Eddie blinks, looks away from Billy Hargrove’s icey freeze-pop eyes. It’s no easy task. “You’ll let me…?”

Eddie motions towards the crotch of Billy’s exceptionally tight jeans. Jeans that leave very little to the imagination, Eddie might add.

Billy grins, his pink tongue caught between his teeth as he leans back, jutting his hips out a little.

“I’ll let you,” he confirms. Standing there like he’s God’s fucking gift.

Though he’s got very little air left in his lungs, Eddie gives a weak scoff. “Shouldn’t this be the other way around?”

And for the first time tonight, Eddie does feel at risk of being sucker punched. Billy’s eyes flare, and just like that his beauty melts into something ugly. Like a spell is cast over him—beauty to beast. “I’m no cock-sucker.” He spits out.

In a show of surrender, Eddie raises his hands. “I didn’t say you were. I just—usually when someone is offering sexual favors it’s… Y’know what? Whatever. Doesn’t matter. I’m not—I don’t trade in pleasures of the flesh, ‘kay? That’s not what I’m doing here, Hargrove. It’s cash only.”

But Billy’s either got a hearing problem or a comprehension problem because he rolls his eyes and just keeps on bartering. “Fine, I’ll give you a handjob. After my blow job.”

Now. Eddie isn’t a prude. In fact, he’s probably something of a pervert if his porno of choice is any indication of that, but this—with Billy?

Eddie’s spent this entire interaction scared fucking stiff, and now Billy’s offering to go and get him into an even more vulnerable position—with Eddie’s pants literally around his ankles?

“No.” Eddie aggressively shakes his head, sending his curls in motion. No no no. Fuck no. As hot as Billy is—no. The decision is final. Take it or leave it, Eddie thinks stubbornly. Heels successfully dug in.

Billy sighs through his nose, takes a step back and chuckles dryly to himself. “I know you’re a queer, Munson. Don’t—!” Billy snaps, pointing a finger in Eddie’s face when he dares open his mouth to deny it, “don’t fucking lie to me.

Eddie swallows, promptly shutting the fuck up.

Is he really that obvious…?

Billy continues, “I know you’re a queer. I saw the way you used to look at Harrington, back when we were all in school together. Gym class,” Billy leans forward, back in Eddie’s space, their shared cigarette bouncing between them as he speaks, “the showers. Remember?”

It’s been a year since Hargrove and Harrington both leap-frogged him out of Hawkins High, diplomas in tow. A full year, but apparently Billy’s got a fucking photographic memory. Eddie feels his t-shirt stick to his back, slick with sweat. “Whatever, man. It’s not a crime to look.”

“It is in this shit hole of a town,” Billy chuckles, dark and humourless, “so you get it now? I know you like dick. And I like pot. So, let’s work something out, here, Munson.”

Billy claps his hands together between them, loud and jarring. “Time’s a’wastin’, amigo!”

Jesus this guy…

“Even if I did like dick,” Eddie tilts his head and scrunches his nose, “it doesn’t mean I want your dick, Hargrove.”

“A dick’s a dick, man. And trust me, I got a nice, big fat one for you to choke on, trust me, you’ll love it,” Billy laughs as he speaks, watching in amusement as Eddie rubs a hand over his heated, blotchy face. “C’mon, you’ve sucked cock before, right?”

The simple answer is yeah, a couple of times. Every time it ended pretty much the same though. With him being shoved off after they’d finished. Being told they weren’t gay, that if Eddie were to ever tell anyone about the encounter they would deny it, call Eddie a liar, or worse, beat the shit out of him.

He’s not a dummy; Eddie knows being queer in Hawkins is a risk, so it made sense to want to keep it hush-hush. Eddie’s the rumoured gay kid, so if you’re gonna experiment with someone, why not let it be with him? But after a handful of times being treated like trash—something people needed to wash their hands in Javex from after simply touching him—he stopped. It didn’t feel good.

“You don’t gotta answer. I already know you have.” Billy mutters, smug. “Mouth like that.”

There’s no way Billy knows, but Eddie ducks his head, tired of how this entire fucking conversation has him feeling like he wants to crawl out of his skin. Tired of how the darker the sky gets, the brighter Billy’s eyes seem to turn.

And what the fuck’s wrong with Eddie’s mouth..?

“Cash only,” Eddie repeats. Monotone. Suddenly overstimulated as fuck.

Billy finally pulls the last bit that he can from the cigarette, down to the butt, before he flicks the remains of it into the grass. He gives one final, frustrated exhale of smoke. “Fine. Jesus, Munson, you drive one hell of a bargain. But I’ll sweeten the deal for you, alright?”

“Jesus, Hargrove, are your ears not working? Or did you get hit one too many times with the basketball during your jock days? I said I’m not interested. In your cock or your hand or whatever else you try and offer up.” Eddie exclaims, voice going high with strain.

But it’s like the more worked up Eddie gets, the more Billy wags his fucking tail. He’s all lit up, shiny white teeth built for puncturing. He gets back to crowding Eddie—Eddie, who’s one hair’s breadth away from raising his hands and shoving this smug asshole away from him, not caring if he gets his ass kicked as a consequence, but then Billy’s talking again. And Eddie… Eddie’s listening.

“We could kiss a little,” Billy drawls out, angling his mouth towards Eddie’s ear. He lets his voice drop to a low rumble, his words vibrating in that wide chest of his. It sends a chill down Eddie’s spine. “Y’know, make out. You got a van, right? Nice and private. You’d like that.”

Eddie turns his head towards Billy, so close they’re nearly touching each other. His mouth hangs open, slack, but Eddie can’t get a fucking word out. His whole fucking life, all he’s ever heard is ‘Jesus, does this kid have an off switch?’ ‘Eddie, give mommy’s ears a break, please,’ ‘Eddie is very disruptive in class with his constant chatting’. And now he can’t make a single goddamn sound!

Billy, on the other hand, seems entirely pleased at rendering the great motor-mouth-Munson to a mute. “I’m a good kisser, too.” He adds, eyes dropping down to Eddie’s mouth. Like he’s gonna do it right here and now. Eddie’s throat clicks when he swallows.

The embarrassing part is that, well—Except his Mom and his Meemaw and his weird cousin that one time, he’s never… y’know. Been kissed.

Sucked cock? Sure, yeah. That ship has sailed. Sayo-fuckin’-nara.

But kissing? On the mouth? Romantically? It hasn’t happened for Eddie yet. Not that any of what Billy’s propositioning here is in any way romantic, of course, but…

Eddie watches as Billy darts a pink tongue out between his lips, wetting them so that they glisten. Jesus Christ. How can he say no to that? Rules or no, Eddie’s only fucking human. Does he not bleed if he’s cut? Does he not get hard if he’s presented with an absolute fucking smoke show like Billy Hargrove offering to make out with him? All for the low low price of his dignity and a couple of ounces?

“You… actually want to?” Eddie frowns, counter to the nervous smile that’s pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Billy clicks his tongue and shrugs a shoulder, eyes scanning the horizon for like, the hundredth time. “What I want is for you to cut me a deal. That’s enough, ain’t it?”

No, is Eddie’s knee-jerk answer. It’s not enough. Not even close. But, maybe the first kiss fantasy he’s got built up in his head wasn’t ever gonna happen. Especially not for someone like Eddie. He’s probably lucky. Billy’s hot. Willing. And Eddie’s… well, there’s not exactly anyone lining up at Eddie’s front door for the pleasure of his company, let’s just say that.

He feels himself nodding before his brain has even had a chance to catch up. “Yeah. Fine. Okay.”

“Yeah?” Billy grins, canines flashing, “Guess I should’ve started with the chick stuff first, huh?”

Chick stuff? Eddie makes a face. Suddenly emboldened, he shoves a hand against Billy’s shoulder, which just makes him laugh harder. “Don’t be a shithead, Hargrove, or deal’s off. Got it? I’ll walk, I swear to Christ!”

Billy doesn’t agree nor does he disagree, he just leers after Eddie like a fucking bonafied weirdo. And as someone who’s all but cornered the market on being a bonafide weirdo, that’s saying something. He hops off the picnic table, scooping up his lunch box of goodies as he does, not daring to turn his back on Hargrove. “I’m parked just through here.”

Eddie starts towards his van, stealing glances over at Billy as he trudges on after him, only a step behind. Just enough to make Eddie nervous. “Don’t you have like, a job?”

“Two of ‘em, actually.” Billy answers, hands stuffed into his pockets. “Why?”

“How do you not have any cash on you?” Eddie asks, blunt as always.

Billy stiffens, just a little. “That’s none of your business, Munson.”

Eddie raises his hands in yet another mock surrender, “sure, whatever. Remain a man of mystery, I don’t care.”

Just seems stupid, is all. Billy must be fucking terrible with money. Probably spends it all on his obnoxiously loud car. Eddie doesn’t voice any of his many theories though. Billy’s covered in live wires, and Eddie’s not overly eager to start touching and testing ‘em.

The woods aren’t especially dense, but it’s new growth—the old forest chopped down a few decades back and left to grow back all weedy and skinny. There’s lots of branches to duck under along with dirt holes to roll your ankles in. Eddie knows his pathway like the back of his hand by this point, but Billy; not so much. There’s a bundle of eye level branches that always used to smack Eddie in the face when he was focused on his footing, so he makes sure to turn and holds the offending branches back for Billy so he doesn’t totally eat it.

Thinking back, maybe it’s a weird thing to do for another guy, but Eddie’s radar for what’s weird and what isn’t has been busted since he first got cut out of his mom. Always difficult, even back then.

So yeah, Eddie doesn’t get a thank you, or whatever—instead Billy just eyes him with an air of suspicion as he ducks under Eddie’s arm. Like he’s waiting for Eddie to let the branches go or something. Who knows.

Either way, it’s the last great hurdle before they’re back at Eddie’s van, which is right where he left her; parked in the middle of the small gravel lot behind the watershed. Nobody came back here, especially not at night.

His hands shake when he takes out his keys, feeling Billy’s eyes on him. Briefly wonders what kind of mess was waiting for them in the back, but whatever. It’s not like Billy’s expecting The Ritz.

He gets the doors unlocked, and because he’s a gentleman, he holds the door open for his hook-up.

Despite his nerves rattling around under his skin, Eddie gives a little flourish for good measure, holding out an arm for Billy to take. “After you, m’lord.”

Billy scoffs, blue eyes rolling back in his head. And as dim as the light is, Eddie swears he can see two pink spots form on the apples of Billy’s cheeks. He counts it for a win.

“You’re so fuckin’ weird.” Billy mutters as he crawls into the back of Eddie’s van, pointedly ignoring Eddie’s offered arm, the whole thing shifting with the heft of him.

“Wow, y’know what, Hargrove, I had never heard that one before.” Eddie says, hot on Billy’s heels. He swings the door shut behind him.

The back of Eddie’s van is pretty spartan, but only because he’d just finished using it to lug a shit ton of gear to and from a Corroded Coffin gig. What’s left behind is a couple of ratty blankets, some old sweaters, a scattering of sheet music and some candy bar wrappers. It could be neater, but overall it’s not terrible.

Billy sits with his back to one side of the van, his legs spread, knees bent. He sits like a man. One used to taking up room and not apologizing for it. Eddie backs himself up against the opposite wall of the van’s interior, knees bent to his chest, legs crossing at his ankles. There’s not much light back here, but Eddie’s eyes adjust quickly to spot Billy’s agitated-looking face.

“Well?” Mr. California barks, one of his legs begins bouncing restlessly. It shakes the whole van.

Eddie swallows, “well?”

“Where’s the weed?” Billy asks.

Oh.

Right. Wake up, Munson.

Eddie scrambles to get his feet back under him before he squeezes his upper half into the front of the van, reaching into the glove box to grab a baggie.

“Here y’go.” Eddie winces as he pulls himself back through. He sits on bent legs, closer to Billy now. He bestows upon him the sacred sandwich baggy of goods. “Premium blueberry kush, 100% indica. So it’ll mellow you right out. Not that you need to chill out, of course, but, y’know. It should, in theory, help with that scary vein you get in your forehead sometimes.”

Billy glares at Eddie as he swipes the bag out of his hands, the scary vein threatening to make an appearance right there and now. He turns that glare toward the bundles of dried herbs.

“You got a bong or a pipe or somethin’?” Billy mumbles.

“Duh,” Eddie scoffs, breathing entirely too hard, “Why?”

“What’d’ya mean, ‘why?’ To smoke this shit with.” Billy gives the baggy a few vicious shakes in front of Eddie’s face.

Eddie feels his eyes cross as he follows the weed. “Right now?”

“Unless you feel like rollin’ it.” Billy shrugs, sounding like his already thin patience is beginning to wear even thinner.

“No—uh, I just thought you’d wanna smoke at home or whatever.” Not with Eddie.

A crease forms between Billy’s eyebrows as he frowns. “What, you don’t wanna smoke with me, Munson?”

Eddie snorts, shakes his head, “hey, I’ll smoke with anyone—“

“Then shut the fuck up and get the bong already!” Billy shouts, fuse burnt down to the quick.

And if there’s one thing about Eddie, is he responds well to yelling. Or, not well, per se, but shouting always seems to snap him out of whatever fog he’s in. It works on him. So, yeah, he responds. Jumps to attention. His mom used to have to snap her fingers in front of his face to ‘bring him back’, she said. No one else seems to bother with that sort of gentle touch with Eddie though, except Uncle Wayne, but he usually just gives Eddie’s hair a tussle instead of a snap.

So back to the front he goes, sliding the keys into the ignition and starting the old girl up while he’s there so that they’ve got some music to fill the silence. And if memory serves him correctly, Billy’s got pretty decent taste, music-wise.

When he sits back down, bong in hand.

“Ta-da!” Eddie sings, holding the contraption up by the neck to Billy in victory, careful not to tip it over. Billy looks entirely unimpressed as he grabs it out of Eddie’s hand and slots it between his thighs.

Lucky bong.

Billy starts grinding up some pieces between his fingers and packing the bowl with a familiarity that Eddie can respect.

Technically, it’s still Eddie’s weed that Billy’s prepping, since he hasn’t exactly gotten payment for the pot yet, but… maybe Billy needs the vapour courage before he can face the idea of kissing another dude. Of kissing Eddie.

Eddie watches from behind the hair he’d let fall in his face as Billy lights the bowl, inhales, and takes a hit. It’s sort of pretty, the way he slowly exhales the smoke out of the side of his mouth. Away from Eddie.

Then the bong is being pressed into his hands. Eddie’s turn.

He takes a rip, then another one once Billy’s taken another hit of his own, and that’s all it takes for the both of ‘em to get laid out on their asses. They end up flat on their backs, the round part of their shoulders touching, both staring up at the ceiling of the van, with rolled-up sweaters and blankets under their heads in the way of makeshift pillows. They’re the kind of high where time feels like it’s barely moving. Something made up. A concept. Like there’s a very real possibility that Eddie and Billy have been lying here for an eternity, and then some.

And Eddie still hasn’t gotten any kisses from Billy.

But he also hasn’t gotten any punches by Billy either, so there’s that…

“You ever seen the ocean, Munson?” Billy murmurs in a voice that’s gone a little rough thanks to all the smoke still floating around the van. Now successfully hot-boxed. Drawing out their high.

Eddie’s arms feel heavy. “No.”

Billy turns his neck to look at Eddie like he’s re-evaluating his idea of him paired with this new, disappointing information. Eddie turns his head away from Billy, just a little, feeling weirdly embarrassed. “Never even left the state.”

Small town, trailer trash… that’s probably what Billy thinks of him. Billy, who’s been everywhere. Especially compared to Eddie. He expects to get laughed at, but Billy keeps surprising Eddie. He just looks… bummed out.

“You’d probably hate it,” Billy states, sure of himself, eyes dancing across Eddie’s face. “You’d burn right fuckin’ quick. Get sand all up in your shorts. D’you even know how to swim?”

“A little.” Eddie means to say defensively, but it comes out as little more than a sigh.

“Not in waves, though, I bet. You’d end up swallowing your weight in seawater before I hauled your ass out,” Billy’s smiling at the strange little fantasy where Eddie’s tormented by the elements. Eddie’s giggling along too, though he’s entirely unsure as to why.

“A crab might even,” lighting fast, Billy reaches over to punch the barely-there roll on Eddie’s stomach, “get’chya.”

Eddie yelps—or maybe he squeals. He can’t be sure. Either way, whatever sound he lets out isn’t in any way charming or cute. Which; no surprise there. Instinctually, his hand’s gone and encircled itself around Billy’s wrist, but he’s too fucking blitzed out to do more than just squeeze it, trying to appear threatening. Sort of tough when you can’t stop fucking giggling. “Stop, stop—I’m gonna piss myself, dude.”

Billy’s got his tongue caught between his teeth, laughing along, low and rough in his throat, but to his credit (and probably a desire not to be covered in piss) he releases his hold on Eddie’s stomach.

They settle back on their backs, one Metallica track leading into another. It’s the only way Eddie can be sure the clocks haven’t all stopped entirely. Proof the passage of time is still in working order. He exhales in relief, staring at Billy’s profile.

For someone so fucking scary, he’s got deceptively cute features. An honest-to-Christ button nose, along with some ridiculously long eyelashes. Golden ringlets fall around his face. Freckles too, all over his cheeks. Even a Cupid’s bow. When Billy fell from heaven, he didn’t hit like, a single ugly branch on his way down.

Eddie blinks before his brain catches up with what he’s looking at; Billy, staring back at him. When did Billy turn his head? How long have their eyes been locked? A second? A year? Time’s fucking with him so hard, Jesus…

“M’not really an outdoorsy kinda guy.” Eddie admits, unable to keep from smiling.

Because of the weed.

Billy gives a lazy snort as if what Eddie had just said was the understatement of the year. “That’s weird, because you kinda look like a bug.”

It shouldn’t make him laugh as hard as it does, but Eddie feels the rumble of it in his chest, and he can’t help but let out a series of very unflattering sounding laughs. Billy’s not laughing along, but he seems entirely entertained by Eddie’s fucking display.

When he finally catches his breath, Eddie indignantly squeaks out, “How do I look like a bug?”

“Because,” Billy flicks his chin towards Eddie’s face, teasing half-smile still firmly in place, “you got them big buggy eyes.”

Eddie blows a low-energy strawberry, rolling his eyes before they land back on Billy. Can’t seem to take his eyes off of him for long. “I’ll have you know that my ‘big buggy eyes’ are my best feature.”

Billy narrows his eyes, clearly amused. “You think so?”

“I know so. It’s what everyone tells me.” Eddie widens his eyes to drive the point home.

Everyone being his mom when she was still alive, and… well, just his mom. But she was a real smart lady. And like, super pretty. A total knock-out. She knew about this sort of thing. He remembers how she used to go on and on about his big brown puppy-dog eyes, about how they’d break hearts one day. And no one, especially not Billy Hargrove, can take that away from him. Even if it is something all moms say to their funny-looking kids.

“Well, everyone’s lying to you,” Billy says, in that casually cruel way of his.

Eddie drops his jaw in an exaggerated show of the offense. “Is that so?”

“Yep,” Billy confirms, smug. A true blue asshole; through and through. “Your best feature’s your lips, no question.”

And. Well, no one’s ever said anything about his lips before. Not his mom, not his hook-ups—no one.

They’re just… lips. Not especially big or small. Kind of right in the middle. They’re even kinda chapped right now.

“Gee, thanks.” He murmurs, from lips that Billy Hargrove apparently approves of. Maybe even likes. His fingers twitch at his sides, palms growing sweaty.

Billy just looks away, like Eddie’s caught him doing something wrong. Caught him being nice. Guess it probably hurts the ol’ bad boy image to compliment other boy’s lips. Eddie resists the urge to raise one of his hands and feel along the ridges of his mouth, to map ‘em out. Try and figure out what Billy likes about them enough to say it out loud. He’s buzzing with the compliment.

“So, you still want… y’know, payment or whatever?” Billy asks, keeping his words to little more than a low murmur between them.

The song playing through the speakers stops—a brief pause before it leads into the next one. It’s deathly quiet in those tense few seconds.

Eddie doesn’t answer Billy right away. He can’t. So instead, he just… lets the questions hang between them. Because the thing is, God help him, he does. And yeah, maybe he didn’t plan on his first kiss being with big bad Billy Hargrove—maybe instead of golden curls and freckles Eddie had envisioned dark, fluffy hair and a splattering of moles. Big brown bedroom eyes instead of sharp, icy blue ones. Either way, he’s way out of his depth. Out of his league. In fact, Eddie should be on his hands and knees thanking Billy for even considering sucking face with a guy like him. He should be psyched. And he is!

Fuck, this weed is making it hard to keep his thoughts linear. He stares back at Billy, realizing suddenly that he’s been waiting for an answer to his question.

“Nothing is ever free, Hargrove,” Eddie answers, cryptic, even to his own ears, “you should know that.”

Because it’s the truth, isn’t it? Nobody just does shit out of the goodness of their hearts. Everyone expects something in return. Everyone’s gotta pay the piper. And if something seems too good to be true, then it probably is. So yeah, Eddie gives what he can, but he also takes what he can get. Same as Billy, Eddie suspects.

Billy’s got a real perplexed sort of look on his face. Golden and tan, even in the cold, sterile light of night. His eyes momentarily dart to Eddie’s lips, just for a split second. But split second or no, Eddie’d caught it. The tiny motion sends his beat-up little dime-store heart all a’flutter. Billy likes these lips.

“Close your eyes,” Billy tells him, voice cigarette rough.

Eddie does it, trying to keep his breathing even. Shallow, so he doesn’t puff hot air in Billy’s face when he approaches. His hands lay limply by his sides, with his hair splayed around his like some expanding ink blot on the floor of his van.

He has the sudden and quite frankly embarrassing image of Snow White lying dead in her glass coffin, pale-skinned and raven-haired, waiting for a kiss of her own.

It’s so stupid that he ends up snorting.

“What? You think this is funny, Munson?” Billy growls, voice sounding like it’s still to the right of him, but that he’s propped up on an elbow or something.

Eddie shakes his head, keeping his eyes closed. A smile tugs at one of the corners of his mouth, totally beyond his control. “No, no, it’s stupid. I. Just—fuck. Sorry. Forget I did that.”

“If you think this is stupid, then I can go. I don’t need this shit—“

”No! Stop—“ Eddie reaches out and grabs the front of Billy’s shirt, his eyes popping open in panic. “You’re not stupid—I’m… shit, you’re gonna laugh.”

“Just tell me, shithead.” Billy snaps, face getting more and more red as his temper rises.

“Fine. Jesus.” Eddie squirms under the intensity of Billy’s gaze. All hard edges and intimidation now. Eddie’s only had the Billy that tickles him and tells him nice things about his lips for a fucking millisecond, but he already misses him.

“I’ve never kissed anyone before, alright?” He blurts out, quick like a bandaid.

And with that, Billy’s eyes go a little funny. The icey shards in his eyes melt back to tumultuous waters. “Seriously?”

“No, dude, I’m lying about being a total loser with no game.” Eddie snorts, emboldened by his buzzing high.

Billy frowns, “Aren’t you like, two years older than me?”

“Look, I had opportunities, okay? But mostly… It was, y’know. With girls. Pretty ones, too!” his brows shoot up, attempting to emphasize the point, “but I just… I never wanted to.”

Billy’s stone-still while he listens. Looking like he’s hanging off every word that Eddie’s stumbling over.

“So, you can’t even fake it?” He asks.

Eddie blinks, suddenly lost. “Fake what?”

“Liking chicks.” He answers quickly.

“Nah,” Eddie huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, “I’m a shitty liar.”

“Poor bastard.” Billy mumbles, mostly to himself. Then he clicks his tongue, “That’s a real tough break, amigo.”

Eddie’s shoulders twitch. “I get by.”

A corner of Billy’s mouth turns down and he tilts his head like he’s allowing Eddie some small, indiscernible mercy.

“I just feel bad,” Billy says, low and smooth, “you starting at the very top like this. Everyone else after me is gonna feel like a major fuckin’ letdown.”

Eddie snorts, looking up at Billy, who’s got himself propped up on an elbow and is sort of hovering above him. “Big talk, Hargrove.”

Canines flash. “Well I got a big game, Munson.”

“You’re a real cocky b—” Eddie’s words are smushed back into his mouth when Billy suddenly leans forward and presses his lips against Eddie’s.

Billy’s got a hand against Eddie’s neck, the pad of his thumb against the edge of his jaw, tilting his face up just so. Eddie can hear his heart thundering in his chest, white noise overtaking For Whom the Bell Tolls.

His first kiss.

It’s warm and soft. Drier than he expected it would be. The stubble of Billy’s moustache scrapes against his upper lip, sending shockwaves up and down Eddie’s spine. Billy smells like cologne. Or maybe that’s aftershave—he can’t tell. Eddie fills his lungs with it, breathing deeply through his nose.

The thumb resting against Eddie’s jaw begins stroking along his cheek. Delicately. Like Eddie’s something fragile. Precious, even. He’s gone all tingly everywhere Billy touches him—like magic.

It’s about this time that Billy parts his lips, sliding a tongue along the seam of Eddie’s mouth, gentle prodding—like he’s looking for a weak point. Somewhere to gain entry.

Or maybe he just wanted to taste Eddie’s lips.

Hey, can’t a guy dream?

Billy shifts his weight, further encroaching into Eddie’s personal space, his broad shoulders caging over top of Eddie’s narrower ones. Then Billy raises a leg and swings it over before letting his hips drop over top of Eddie’s own. It’s like touching a fucking live wire. He can’t help the way he reflexively gasps and bucks up into the solid bulk above him. And sweet Jesus Mary and Joseph… he’s rock fucking hard in his jeans. When did that happen?

Flood gates open. Billy—clearly emboldened by the discovery of what he’s doing to Eddie’s body—deepens their kiss by sticking his tongue down Eddie’s throat. The sensation is weird as hell—Eddie’s only ever had his own tongue in his mouth, but there Billy’s is, swirling around, dipping in and out as the sound of their smacking lips fills the van, harmonizing with Hammett‘s insane, face-melting guitar solo.

There are teeth involved now too; Billy’s biting Eddie’s lower lip and pulling, stopping right before it gets painful. It brings sounds out of Eddie that he’d never heard himself make before. Didn’t even know that he could make. All breathy and moany. Maybe he should be embarrassed about how loud he’s progressively getting, but it’s hard to think straight when Billy’s slowly grinding his hips down against his. And Billy’s—fuck, Billy’s hard too. That’s gotta be what that is, right? Jesus H. Christ…

Their hips move in tandem now, the same way their tongues seem to. It’s like Eddie’s body just knows what to do. It’s fucking incredible. He’s never been naturally good at anything in his life. Nothing comes easily to Eddie Munson. Every talent he’s got has been hard-fought, earned through blood, sweat and tears.

But this… Eddie might actually be kinda good at this.

Or maybe Billy’s just a really good teacher.

He’s a cocky asshole, but Eddie fears he might have been serious about everyone else being a letdown after him. Because how the hell is anyone else going to compare to this? To Billy Hargrove. Mr. California King. Eddie could swear he’s glowing right now—like Billy’s spent so much time laid out in the sunlight that a couple of rays got trapped just underneath his skin. Dude can’t help but shine.

Yeah, he’ll be a tough act to follow.

But that’s another Eddie’s problem. Future Eddie. Meanwhile, the here and now Eddie, is getting kissed. He’s got Billy’s big arms wrapped around him, like Eddie’s somehow worth something to someone like him.

Down south, there’s just the right amount of pressure on his denim-trapped dick. He can feel the line of Billy’s own cock bump against his own when he pushes hard enough. He could fucking weep. It’s almost too much—too good. Too perfect. What’s he gonna do with himself now that he knows he could be doing this? God, how’s he ever gonna jerk off when this—when Billy… oh fuck-!

His orgasm hits him like a goddamn freight train. The switch on his brain had gone off and it didn’t even have the courtesy of letting him know!

Eddie’s jaw drops open, mid-kiss, and he pants—moans—into Billy’s mouth. His hips go stiff, stuck in its lifted position, trying to drive upwards into Billy as hard as he can. He can feel himself shake all over as the waves crash over him, one after the other in quick succession, nearly whiting out his vision. He shuts his eyes as he finally comes down on the other side of it, releasing a choked-sounding exhale.

He goes limp. Boneless. Buzzing and tingling and vibrating all over. Waits for the feeling of mortification to overtake him. It should be here in 3… 2…

“Did you just…?” Billy asks, lifting his own hips to examine the scene of the crime. Eddie imagines the wet spot steadily growing on the front of his jeans, a little off to the left, is pretty hard to miss.

“Holy shit, you did,” Billy chuckles, slightly awed sounding, “you just creamed your fuckin’ pants.”

Eddie whimpers. The sharp contrast of absolute bone-deep humiliation paired with the fluttery, intensely content feeling he's still got working its way through his nervous system is enough to make his head spin.

“Sorry.” Eddie blinks his eyes open.

Eddie didn’t think it was possible for Billy to look any more smug than he did before, but somehow, he’s achieving the impossible.

“Don’t be,” Billy insists, a chuckle still at the edge of his words. He grunts a little as he rolls off of Eddie and drops down onto his back. Taking up his previous position of laying shoulder to shoulder next to each other. “I take it as a compliment.”

It’s kinda sweet of him. Because what happened was embarrassing. No two ways about it. Shooting off like that, like Eddie’s some horn dog who can’t control himself?

But, well, if the boot fits…

Billy reaches down and roughly adjusts himself before sitting up. Gentle touches all used up for Eddie, apparently. Then he lifts his ass just enough that he can slide a hand behind him to retrieve a crumpled-looking box of Marlboro reds. Shakily, Eddie sits up too, engaging muscles that still feel jello-like.

Billy knocks out a cigarette and puts it between his lips. Then he knocks out a second one, and without asking, puts it in Eddie’s mouth. Billy leans forward, and Eddie mirrors him—still just trying to keep up—moving until the ends of their cigarettes line up. Billy ignites his lighter, temporarily blinding them both, but he holds it in front of them, and they inhale in tandem.

Smoke fills Eddie’s lungs. The familiar, soothing burn in his throat makes him feel a little more solid. Present. It makes what just happened all the more bewildering.

They smoke in silence.

Well, except for the music from his cassette still humming from the speakers. Billy mumbles something about loving a certain drum solo, but other than that, it’s crickets. It goes on like this until their cigarettes are half their original size and Eddie finally grows a pair.

“What about you?” He murmurs around his dart.

Billy exhales a stream of smoke out of his nose, looking like a sick ass dragon before he answers, “What about me?”

Eddie flicks his chin towards Billy’s general direction. “You wanna get off too?”

Billy just snorts and shakes his head, like Eddie had said something prosperous. “Nah.”

A pit forms in the center of Eddie’s gut. Souring any of the leftover post-nut happy chemicals that were still rolling around his noggin. That sting of rejection. The knowledge that Billy doesn’t actually want someone like Eddie touching him. Like Billy’s itching to go take a shower and wash all the Eddie-cooties off of him, before heading back to his actual life. Like being with Eddie is something embarrassing. It’s a sinking fucking feeling, one he knows no post-high buzz or cigarette is going to touch. Sometimes Eddie forgets that he’s just a detour. Never anyone’s destination point.

“Maybe next time.” Billy mumbles, so low that Eddie almost misses it entirely. He finishes his cigarette before stuffing the butt of it into one of the many makeshift ashtrays Eddie’s got kicking around back here. Then he starts making his way to the back doors, slipping out into the Indiana night.

Next time.

The words echo in Eddie’s head. Bounce off the walls, does couple of cartwheels, spins. The letters get all scrambled up before he’s able to make sense of them.

Next time.

“Pleasure doing business with you, California.” Eddie hollers out a split second before Billy can close the door.

A half-smile forms on that Cupid’s bow-tipped mouth. Pretty as a picture. How did Eddie never notice before? And how’s he supposed to think about anything else?

“See you around, Eddie.” He purrs, knows exactly what he’s doing, Eddie’s sure of it—then slams the door shut between them. He’s engulfed in darkness again. His eyes are back to their unadjusted state, while specks of nothing flit across his blackened vision. He gnaws on his bottom lip to keep the laugh that’s threatening to bubble up from his chest at bay.

Next time.

—

Permanent Tag List: (dm me if you’d like to be added or removed—OR if you’d only like to be tagged for specific ships. ie, ONLY Steddie or ONLY Harringrove, etc.)

@stervrucht @dame-zoom-a-lot @lawrencebshoggoth @morallyundefined @thepossummoldypasta @wheneverfeasible @sanctumdemunson @chaotic-waffle @bookworm0690 @lifelessstar

[rocknrollsalad]

rating: gen cw: drinking/getting drunk, high society expectations, cranky steve and robin, period typical homophobia tags: no upside down au, rich kid steve au, steddie and Buckingham double date, chirstmas parties, Eddie learns whats in eggnog word count: 2412

-

written for the steddiemas prompt "eggnog" but it's a good week late, another victim of the plague I caught lol

“You better go collect your man,” Robin whispered, having appeared out of nowhere.

Steve hissed, “Stop calling him that.”

His eyes darted around the room, both to make sure he wasn’t heard. Robin was right, he hadn’t seen his boyfriend (who was definitely not his date tonight) in a while. Probably not a good sign.

“Well he is,” she scoffed.

“You are supposed to be my date, that’s the cover story. For you and for me. Doesn’t really work if you go around talking about how I really brought Eddie.”

It shut Robin up for a second, just long enough for Steve to enjoy the victory, before she said, “Tell your parents to stop being so uptight.”

Except the counter to that was the same as it always was. “And yours are so cool about it.”

Probably not the round and round Robin wanted when she walked up here on some high horse. One she had no business climbing on. She knew Steve was always a little extra stressed at these stupid dinner parties and that tonight was going to be worse. Instead of being supportive, it was almost like she was trying to sabotage things.

They could talk about it later. Right now, Steve apparently had to go find Eddie because there was no way Robin was saying that for fun. He was doing something. Probably making a run for it…which was smart. Steve could, at least, show him the best escape routes and let him know he didn’t take it personally.

Especially because it was a lot harder for Steve to make that run for it anymore. Ever since they’d brought him in from the kiddie room (which was actually the garage), his moves were tracked. Sure he wasn’t sharing one sad, toppingless pizza with a bunch of kids he didn’t know anymore but at what cost? At least the garage had video games…and no one talking about investments or how he should have gone to college.

Steve went off to find out what was going on with Eddie. Robin, in her endless helpfulness, decided to stay put and give no direction. It left Steve to go from room to room, asking everyone he could. No one had seen him. Something that was maybe a good thing? This meant he wasn’t standing on expensive furniture telling some amazing and elaborate story that would be wasted on these stuffy assholes.

Things got so desperate, Steve asked his mom if she’d seen Eddie. She always knew everything that was happening at these parties. Yet she hadn’t seen him. It seemed unlikely and a quick segue into tired reminders to not cause a scene. This one came with the bonus lecture of not ignoring his date because “no respectable woman is sidelined for a friend, dear.”

And nothing proved more that Steve’s mom didn’t see everything. Not only would he and Robin stick by each other through anything, she wasn’t even his actual date. Though, Steve did have to admit the only people in the world who believed they weren’t dating were them. Probably Chrissy and Eddie but sometimes Steve wasn’t so sure.

Moving on from his mom before he got roped into some mind-numbingly boring discussion, Steve ran into Chrissy. She was Eddie’s date who was really Robin’s date and had been folded into the group shenanigans. Which meant Steve was so ready to drag her into this quest. If he couldn’t have Robin, he could at least have help.

“We’ve lost your date,” Steve sighed, trying not to freak out yet.

“What do you mean?” she asked, instantly jumping to freaking out.

Steve linked their arms together and continued walking on, trying to think of where else he’d hide out. “Robin came up to me and told me to go collect my man. I thought he was doing something embarrassing but, like, I can’t find him. Do you think he’d leave?”

“No,” she cooed. “He’s been so worried about this night, there’s no way he’d leave you. He wouldn’t.”

Something that would have been so much more flattering if Steve had any fucking clue where the guy was.

“The garage!” Steve said, realizing the one place he hadn’t looked.

Chrissy didn’t say anything, just picked up her pace and they sped off toward the kiddie party. Of course. it was in the detached garage. Heaven forbid the kids breathed in the others, dad’s cars would lower in value at the mere thought.

So they barged through the door and onto the familiar path, still arm and arm, laser-focused on the only place it made sense for Eddie to be.

Before the door closed behind them, the soft exclamation of “Steve” was sung out and Chrissy and Steve both leaped into the grass, barely holding back screams as the voice startled them.

Steve easily moved Chrissy behind him as they both looked for the source of the voice, rather than some creepy old guy or party crasher, it was the exact person they were looking for. Both of them let out a matching, but quiet, exclamation for finding Eddie.

He was sat on a stone bench, leaning against the house, and smoking. Not only was he well hidden by shrubbery but Steve had expected to find him indoors. He needed that last glimmer of hope that Eddie was still at the party. And he hadn’t exactly left so that was…something?

“Hey man,” Eddie drawled out.

Steve’s eyes narrowed but he turned to make sure Chrissy was stable and had recovered from the little fright neither of them was going to speak about.

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Chrissy said.

Resigning to her point, Steve nodded and went for the “what she said” shrug.

“I’ve been ri-ight here, baby.”

“He’s drunk,” Chrissy and Steve whispered to each other.

“Oh no!” Eddie cried out, dropping his head back. “Who told you?”

“I think you did, champ,” Chrissy laughed.

This probably wasn’t great. Steve went into panic mode immediately, ideas on what to do next sped through his mind followed by the consequences of each. A drunk Eddie was less likely to keep up the ruse, one he and Robin had organized so carefully.

It wasn’t time to come out, yet. Steve knew that time was rapidly approaching. Each and every day he had to lie about who he was with or what he was doing was another stab in the chest but at The Harrington Christmas Soiree? That was not the time. If they could just get into the new year, Steve would come clean, and probably get disowned, but at least it wouldn’t go down for “trying to steal the spotlight”.

Chrissy rubbed her hand between Steve’s shoulder blades. He had to be thinking awfully loudly right now. Where was Robin when he really needed her?

“I didn’t mean to,” Eddie pouted.

Steve watched Eddie pat around the bench and his own clothes, looking for his lighter. It was such a distinct move but it brought in this creeping feeling of normalcy with it. They’d done this before. Both drunk and sober.

As he had many times before, Steve reached into his pocket and got his lighter. Once he was close enough, he shielded the flame so Eddie could re-light his cigarette. Which he did with ease. The smoke billowed from Eddie and cleared both of their heads.

“How’s that work, though?” Steve asked. He then turned to Chrissy and leaned in a bit. “Could you go find Robin, remind her not to gloat, and maybe get a glass of water? In that order of importance.”

“She’s not going to gloat,” Chrissy said but it’s already an apology. They both know the truth. It’s part of Robin’s charm but it’s always extra annoying in moments like these.

“That’s the spirit, let's hope for Christmas miracles.”

They share a giggle that they’ve earned by being as close to Robin as they are and Chrissy disappeared back inside. Steve sat down next to Eddie and moved his hand so Steve could take a quick drag off the cigarette. He’s going to need it…or some of whatever Eddie had.

“Alright, what’s the story then?”

“Have you ever had eggnog,” Eddie asked. A question that feels wildly off topic but, again, he’s a little drunk so a coherent sentence is a great start.

“Yeah, it’s disgusting.”

“No-ooooooooo. No. Look, listen, I mean. It’s not. You’re wrong. Wayne makes it all the time,” Eddie leaned in closer, a hand cupped over his mouth as he whispered. “Every year.”

“Yeah, my parents do too. It’s nasty. The one in the punch bowl is the one you want.”

“Au contraire, that one has alcohol in it and I’m supposed to behave,” Eddie has his finger raised, wagging in the air like a cartoon teaching valuable life lessons.

“And so’s the eggnog.”

“Mmmmmm, no. I think I’d know that.”

“I…actually, yeah. I’d have thought you knew that too. Wait, so how– you know you’re drunk now, right?”

“Yeah but, ya know, we’re not telling Steve. He’s going to make me sleep on the couch for a whole week.”

“Sure,” Steve pressed his lips together and nodded. This was ridiculous and he kind of wished Eddie was just giving some rambunctious nerd speech. “But how’d you get drunk then?”

“Sabotage, obviously. The Harrington’s don’t want the heir to their throne with a commoner like me.”

“So they spiked your drink?”

“Totally.”

“Somehow complimentary you think they’d waste liquor on that,” Steve shrugged and he snatched Eddie’s pack of cigarettes to light one for himself.

“So it was Robin!”

“More believable actually. No, it was the eggnog.”

“There’s not alcohol in eggnog, Wayne wouldn’t give me it if there was.”

“Because you have to put it in, which my parents do.”

In a different situation, this would be funny. Steve might even find a way to laugh about it later but the guilt simmering in his chest for not teaching Eddie about which drinks had liquor is too strong to enjoy the laughable way his boyfriend accidentally got drunk.

All the solutions Steve had run through didn’t fit the situation anymore. They were likely both going to have to leave. Or worse, Eddie and Chrissy were and that’d ruin so many people’s nights.

Before he could think of a way to save everyone’s good time, Chrissy returned. Robin right behind her. Steve quickly stamped out the cigarette like Robin wouldn’t see and stood to talk to them.

He filled them in on the whole eggnog situation. It earned the appropriate level of laughter but once it subsided, they started trying to actually solve the problem. Eddie sat content on the bench, watching them adoringly as they worked out his fate. Steve had to give it to him, he was a very happy drunk.

“Hey, psst, hey. Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,” Eddie said as they were finalizing some plans to get him upstairs to Steve’s room and full of coffee.

“Oh my god,” Robin said, trying to shut him up.

Steve walked over, leaning into his space so he wasn’t towering over him. “Yeah, man. What’s up?”

“I just need you to know-”

“Oh boy.”

“I came in with a smoking hot blonde but she’s not really my date.”

With all the patience in his body, Steve let out a sigh that was every bitchy comeback he had rolled into one sound, and said “Yup.”

“You’re way better.”

“You didn’t even commit to that. At least hit on me. Ugh. Can you just be cool for like two more minutes?”

“Cool? Yeah? Yeah! I can be cool for so many minutes. Two, ten, six, eighty. I’m good at it.”

“You’re not, so we better do something quick.”

“We should fool around is what we should do. This place has to have so many rooms. I didn’t even peek in half of them.”

Steve turned around and looked at the girls, “I think we gotta leave.”

“You can’t leave your own family Christmas party,” Robin said.

“I’ve done it so many times. Chrissy and Eddie have to go because Eddie’s sick. You and me can work something else out.”

Eddie stood up and leaned on Steve. “You should have some of that eggnog. I guess they make it with alcohol here.”

“Will you stop acting like we don’t know each other!” Steve scrubbed his hand over his face.

Robin sucked her teeth, “Might be for the best, he won’t blow anyone’s cover that way.”

“But he’s being so obnoxious about it,” Steve groaned.

“Good thing he’s the only one being obnoxious,” Robin said, crossing her arms over her chest.

A pose Steve mirrored, “What do you suggest then?”

“Let him sleep it off. He’s right, there’s plenty of rooms here and all we have to do is tell the truth for once. He didn’t know there was alcohol in the eggnog.”

“I didn’t know. I gotta tell Wayne though, it’s way better this way.”

“Who doesn’t know,” Steve groaned. Not frustrated at Eddie for not knowing, not really, but stressed out by the situation and that had to go somewhere.

“What if,” Chrissy said with her shoulders pulled up to her ears. The meek injection spoke to her nervousness but she got everyone’s attention. “We joined Eddie?”

Eddie, who was draped on Steve’s back with an arm over his shoulder and idly rubbing Steve’s chest, hummed in approval. The comfort of Eddie’s weight had Steve forgetting everything they were supposed to be hiding as he melted into the comfort and contact.

Still, he and Robin voiced matching sounds of confusion.

“It’s not embarrassing if the ‘kids’ got drunk. It’s our first time here, they almost expect us to overdo it so…let’s overdo it. Eddie won’t be the one who didn’t know this or that, we’ll all just be young adults doing what’s expected of us.”

Steve pondered the plan. “We couldn’t go wild.”

“It’s not a frat house,” Robin said for Chrissy.

Eddie gave a soft “Yeah” that Steve knew was meant to mock Robin but came out like agreement.

“It could work.”

“It could be fun!” Chrissy cooed, jumping up and down a few times. Maybe they all needed to take the edge off here.

The hand that was on Steve’s chest now held his cheek as Eddie kissed the other one.

“Alright, alright. Let’s go have some fun,” Steve groaned, doing his best to act like he hated this.

“Finally!”

[baenxietydad]

@davidhatter

“I hope you still feel that way when I drag you through Korea and you spend approximately two to two and a half weeks with mostly just me to communicate with.” Mu-yeol joked.

He himself was slightly squirmy about receiving verbal praise— well. With his clothes on.

“Though maybe you’ll like that. You can literally just turn your brain off, no thoughts, only chilling.” Ah, to be able to do that.

Unfortunately he spoke English and Korean and Japanese, and increasingly Vietnamese, and survival travel Chinese, so his brain would be on all cylinders.

“I feel so lucky to have you, and to be able to show you where I’m from. It’s like— I’ve lived in your hometown for almost twenty years now. I know what it’s like. But you’ll get to see mins. Sort of. Humans can’t go to Hollows but I can take you to Korea, take you on the hiking trail up the mountain the Hollow is on, show you around Seoul and Daegu…” he trailed off, looking off in the distance all wistful before looking back at him.

He leaned in to kiss him, carding his fingers through his hair as he did.

“I’m going to miss getting to kiss you publicly though.” Mu-yeol frowned. “Human Korea is very homophobic, as a society. We absolutely can’t kiss in public.”

Not that they did more than a little goodbye peck in Swynlake but that’s the point, not even that.

“But casual physical affection between male friends is normal there. So you don’t have to worry about absolutely not showing any affection, just. The obviously —” and he made air quotes “— ‘gay stuff’, privately.”

I WILL Bring Out A Notebook || Hatfish

[vexwerewolf]

hey, I saw a post reblogged around hating the whole idea of no kink at pride and wanted to understand why that was, but noticed the comments were turned off, so I'm asking here. for reference I dont know very much about the subject and had the general idea that pride should be an all ages space, BUT (the but is very important) since I dont have much knowledge on the subject and can see you are very opinionated around it, id like to know why that is your stance from, well, someone who actually holds that stance.

No pressure to answer I simply want to understand why others hold this stance, the potential history behind it and if I am looking at things the wrong way, a chance to change my opinion

I hope all of this comes across correctly because im not trying to start internet discourse, just learn and have a well rounded understanding of a subject before taking a more solid stance

CW: discussion of sex, homophobia, kink, common anti-kink lies

Okay so if you're not read up on queer history, you have to understand that "deviant," "indecent" or "degenerate" sexuality is an accusation that's been used to repress queer people for pretty much as long as the concept has existed. It has often extended so far as to encompass any form of sex that isn't missionary cishet boning for the purpose of procreation, but it has always and by definition encompassed any and all ways that queer people have sex.

Now, I want to be clear that the LGBTQ+ community is not entirely about sex. Our community touches love, passion, art, gaming, basically every sphere of human experience, but it also includes sex. A lot of queer people like to have sex! Queer people, however, are judged for having and enjoying sex in a way that straight people simply aren't.

It's important to note that the concept of "degeneracy" is a vital component to white supremacist repression of queer people, because it inserts the necessary moral proposition that allows sex between two consenting adults to be labelled as harmful. As cynical as I am about the general public, it's actually pretty difficult to convince the average person that gay sex is something the government needs to repress in and of itself; any argument to this effect needs to come packaged with an additional, vaguely credible concern about social corrosion.

This is much easier to do with kinksters, because kinksters are weirder-looking than shirt-and-slacks queers (who, to be clear, are equally valid). But it's still difficult to make the average member of the public balk, because they'll say "well that sure is freaky but so long as they're doing it in private, who gives a shit?" So long as the people you're trying to stir up hate against aren't doing anything illegal, the average member of the public is gonna think you're the weird one for digging into other peoples' private sex lives.

Thus, the easiest avenue of attack is Pride, where it isn't in private. But it's a fucking deceitful canard. Straight people never have to answer for public displays of their sexuality, which are often far more gratuitous than some dude walking around in a pup mask.

[goodomensafterdark]

Writers Guild Presents - Tethered - Ch 9 - Hallowe'en

Written by NegotiationReal6508 on our subreddit!

Chapter 9 of work in progress

TW/CW: Angst, discussion of attempted suicide, implied character death, internalized homophobia, discussion of conversion treatment

Summary:

Crowley wakes up in a mental hospital with no memory of how he got there. Without his demonic powers, neither the doctors, nor the people who claim to be his family will believe he is who he says he is. With the evidence against him mounting, his only lifeline to the real world is a cryptic note left by an unseen messenger. The longer he stays in this hospital, the harder it becomes to recall for sure, is Crowley really a demon of Hell? Or has his entire existence been nothing more than a delusion conjured by a grieving mind?

Excerpt:

It had been more than twenty years since Crowley had watched his best friend walk out of his life. Many times since then, he would see a head of short blond curls and hold out hope that he'd see that beautiful, angelic face beneath it. Bowties and libraries and bandstands conjured up bittersweet memories of a bygone life.

But frequent exposure to certain stimuli dampens the physiological response, and eventually Crowley stopped noticing things like that. The boy he knew so well was gone, and by all accounts, he would not be coming back.

Which is why it was such a shock to walk into the pub one Hallowe’en and see a halo of curls and ridiculous bowtie, that unmistakable nose and the warmest eyes he had ever known. He almost walked back out the doors, but for one thing.

Continue reading on AO3

Or start from chapter 1 - Dies Lunae

Special thanks to my beautiful betas: u/KotiasCamorra, u/Paperclip_Ninja, and u/blackjeans93

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