#homophobic language cw

[fictionkinfessions]

Hey MPC, pinned post says pomes instead of poems. Just letting you know.

Narrows eyes, the way my phone will let me type any old thing and not say a damn word!! What is even a pome? Searching...

OH MY GOD A FRUIT? MY KEYBOARD CALL ME FRUIT?

Well! It's fixed in any case! And thank you!

Mod party cat!

[vulto-cor-de-rosa]

Update on the whole Deram vs Gumball thing, Dream just tweeted this video

Because yes, this guy saying slurs and just being an asshole while drunk is the true crime here compared to the hole, you know, Grooming allegations that Dream is facing rn

[deluxewhump]

Ethan Byrne

Synopsis/setup: Just after his high school graduation, Cameron gets jumped and robbed while attempting to sell a fair amount of drugs for a local dealer. He now is without the product or any money to cover the losses. Having already been beaten up and threatened that worse is coming by one of the drug dealer’s goons, Cam contacts his estranged half brothers Ethan Byrne and Edmund “Lou” Lewis to see if he can go visit them and hide out while he figures out what to do. He has no idea what Ethan is.

CW: Cam has recently turned 19 in this. abusive, incestuous overtones, mocking talk of incest, Ethan Byrne is vile, human furniture, homophobic language, misogynistic language, slurs (including the f word), black eye and bruised ribs, bystander does not intervene, abuse, creepy intimate whump, noncon vibes (but no noncon), crying

—

Edmund “Lou” Lewis had always been concerned with the way people saw him. It was important to him. He was always watching himself in the eyes of others, to the detriment of seeing anything but his own reflection. It was a weakness.

His half- brother Ethan had no such weakness. Unlike Lou, Ethan didn't give a single thought to what anyone else thought of him. Lou envied it sometimes. Ethan was a demon in highschool, getting into fights with anyone and everyone, with guys from the next town over and getting one of his teeth knocked out so they had to screw in a fake one. He set fire to the guy’s car the following week with a Molotov cocktail. He went to juvie once, but that was it. Nothing ever stuck to Ethan. At twenty-four, he had a clean record.

Ethan and Lou had a different mothers, and they were raised in different homes. Ethan was only a few months younger than Lou. Their father wasn’t exactly a faithful man, and only by virtue of small town gossip did they know they shared one. Lou’s mother had not given her son his father’s surname, but Ethan’s had.

When Ethan was twelve, he’d crashed his four wheeler into a tree. Everyone said he was different after that. Like he’d bumped his head hard enough to undergo some structural personality change. Lou didn’t think so. Ethan just came into his own around then, but it was always coming. When they were fourteen, Ethan carved ten inch-long tally marks into another boy’s arm because he wouldn’t pay up on the ten bucks he owed him. Everyone on their schoolbus called him Tally after that. When he’d been suspended for it, the principal kept asking for the knife. It had been done with a broken ruler.

When their dad left town, he never came back. Lou and Ethan knew they had a third half-brother, a kid five or six years younger than them who lived a couple hours down the interstate with their father. They’d never met him, never spoken to him. When he called and said he was in trouble, Lou hung up on him. The kid made the mistake of calling Ethan next. Ethan gave him his address, and he got on the next bus north.

Lanky and full of nervous energy, Cameron spent the first two days trying to impress them without letting on that he was trying to impress them. It was only a little pathetic, and mostly just sad. He had no idea Ethan was sizing him up, a skill he’d always had an uncanny knack for. Lou watched it like a familiar TV rerun. He knew Ethan’s every move. He considered warning Cameron, but decided to wait. Ethan might hold back for their own flesh and blood. He might be tamer, less wolfish. Who knew. It was uncharted territory. But that very night, the third night since Cameron’s arrival, there was a clear tension stirring between them.

Lou watched from the living room sofa with a mixture of apathy and resignation as Ethan prepared to do what he did best— probe the weak spots he’d mapped and observed.

“What’s so special about you, do you think?” Ethan asked when the conversation turned to their shared father. “Why did he stay for you?”

Cameron grew visibly uncomfortable. He shrugged under Ethan’s steady gaze. “You’re not missing much.”

“That so? Is he a dick?”

“Lately,” Cameron muttered. His black eye had gone down since he first showed up, not so much swollen now as just discolored. He’d been jumped by some drug dealer’s lackey, beaten up in his own living room. His lashes brushed his cheeks as he dropped his eyes.

Ethan lifted his chin to force him to look at him. “He hasn’t so much as called me or Lou since we were five.”

“I’m sorry,” Cameron said, clearly unsettled by the sudden physical contact. He looked down his nose at Ethan’s hand on his chin and pulled away slowly.

Ethan laughed under his breath. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. Does daddy know you’re the local dealer’s bitch now?”

“I’m not,” Cameron said, anger flashing in his eyes. “I’m not anybody’s bitch.”

“I think if those guys that are after you caught up to you, they wouldn’t kill you at all. I think they’d see an opportunity. Pass you around like a truck stop whore.” He raised his eyebrows as if he’d had an epiphany. “Like your mother! You must look like her, because we don’t look a thing alike. She give you these green eyes? These freckles?”

Ethan cupped Cameron’s face, running his thumb over his cheek just under his bruised eye. Cameron tried to draw his head back but Ethan followed him, cupping his cheek with force. “I think they know you’re a little whore. I think they can smell it on you. I can.”

“Fuck off,” Cameron said with considerable venom, but Lou could hear the tremor in his voice. That was blood in the water to a thing like Ethan. Ethan’s violence was different than Lou’s own latent tendencies. It was calculated like a laser beam, where Lou’s had always been scattershot. Ethan was tireless. Ruthless.

He lowered his voice so that Lou almost missed his next words to Cameron. “So. Does daddy know you’re a faggot?”

Cameron looked over at Lou, his eyes questioning, desperate. What is this? they said. Get him off me.

“Must run in the family, Tally,” Lou called. Ethan ignored him in favor of his new victim.

“Why did you really leave? Did our daddy yell at you? He hit you, Cam? You can tell me.”

“No.”

“You wish he would just love you again, don't you? Like he did when you were little. Why’d he stop, you think?”

“Stop it,” Cameron said. Lou could hear tight, angry tears in his throat. But there was fear, just beneath it. He finally sensed the danger all at once, like being in the middle of a frozen lake when you hear the crack.

“Did you offer to take mommy’s place when she left?” Ethan pushed. “He turn you down?”

“You’re fucking sick,” Cameron hissed. “There’s something wrong with you.” He attempted to shove Ethan away. Undeterred, Ethan grabbed his face, hard. Cameron grunted and tried to pull away, only succeeding in pressing himself against the wall behind him. His cheeks and mouth were squished in Ethan’s hand in an undignified, fishlike way.

“You’re right,” Ethan said. “I’m sorry. That’s too fucked, even for a budding little freak like you. You’d take it from me, though, I can tell. We’re only half, right? You don't even know me. Maybe we’re not even related. Maybe daddy lied, or someone’s mother did. It’s all kind of messy, isn’t it. Who’s to say?”

Cameron tried to push past him, but Ethan used his grip on his face to slam him back into the wall. “Sh-sh-sh. No. Relax. It’s just us.” With his other hand, he ran a finger along the waistband of Cameron’s pants, lifting his shirt so Lou could see his skinny waist trembling beneath it.

“Ethan,” said Lou. “I will come over there and break your fucking hand if you put it in his pants.”

“Chill out, Lou,” Ethan said. He traced an exploratory fingertip along Cameron’s lower belly so he twitched away. “I wouldn’t dream of it. He might, though. C'mere, Cameron.”

The fear and hatred in Cameron’s eyes was further pronounced by the tears still standing in them. He’d been so adoring of Ethan the past three days, too. Especially Ethan. Ethan wasn’t the one who’d hung up on him.

“It’s okay. Come on.”

Ethan started backing up. “Cmon,” he called, as if to a particularly dumb puppy. Reluctantly, Cameron took a step to follow him.

“Good. Keep coming.”

Ethan took another step back, hands at his sides, palms-up. Cameron took another shuffling step closer, looking like he half expected Ethan to switch tactics and hit him at any moment. Ethan backed up until he reached the sofa and sat down next to Lou. He pointed at his feet. “Right here.”

Cameron stood in front of him. This close, Lou could see that his whole body was trembling visibly.

“On your hands and knees.”

Cameron’s eyes snapped to Ethan’s.

“I’m not gonna hurt you. Hands and knees.”

Lou watched as Cameron obeyed, going to his knees first and then putting his hands out as if blind until he was on all fours. Ethan put his booted feet onto his back. “Good. Just like that.” He turned on the television, settling into the sofa with Cameron as his footrest.

After a moment, he lifted his right boot and nudged it into Cameron’s bruised ribs. He yelped and flinched, but hung his head and squeezed his eyes shut. Taking it. Lou wasn’t surprised. He’d watched Ethan in action his entire life. Still, it had been rather fast with Cameron. He almost felt bad for him. He was only nineteen, and clearly Ethan had zeroed in on something.

“Stay still,” Ethan cooed, grinding the toe of his boot in cruel little circles on Cameron’s ribs. “That’s it. I know you want to please, deep down, Cameron. That’s why you told us about those good grades you got in AP math. No one patted you on the head for that, did they? Well, I will. I’m gonna show you how to give in to it. What’re long lost big brothers for, huh puppy dog?”

Cameron sobbed through gritted teeth, his arms shaking with the effort of keeping still with the grinding boot in his damaged ribs.

“Shh.” Ethan removed his boot and set it back on the tabletop of Cameron’s back. “You’re okay.”

[toxicanonymity]

List 5 songs you like to listen to

ty for the tags @slutsoutgutsout @milla-frenchy @evolnoomym @sheepdogchick3 and @arcanefox207 ty! im tagging.... @ellasinnombre @dark-scape @burntheedges @vulnerableparts @selfproclaimed-moviecritic @cuntdestroyer3000 @slutforstabbings @secretelephanttattoo @megangovier @missannwinchester

anyone who wants to play, plz consider this your tag.

[intothedysphoria]

Billy at 32 wasn’t the man Steve thought he’d be. Certainly not the man he thought would be his life partner.

Billy was still what his mom would call an individualistic soul. He’d grown out a bright blue mohawk after spending some years threatening to get his hair like Keith Flint from The Prodigy. His piercings were numerous, his language filthy and he had a trampstamp of a hellhound. Steve still loathed to be on the road with him and couldn’t make heads or tails of what a Dr Martin lace code actually meant.

And yet, with age, he’d mellowed so much.

The Billy Hargrove Steve had first met, had fallen in love with, was brash and vulgar to the point of aggravation. He’d kneed Steve in the delicates once simply for trying to hug him.

Billy as an adult actively sought out touch. Well, with Steve at least. He was always trailing around for cuddles or kisses, not expecting anything more than a gentle hand. Far gone were the days where fucking was fine but holding hands was faggot behaviour.

He liked dogs and gardening shows and wearing a dressing gown even in July. Pink was his third favourite colour and he was no longer afraid to wear it. He adored kids, especially Max’s.

People tended to make assumptions about Billy, cross the road when they passed him by. Just because of how he dressed and the music he liked. He acted like he didn’t give a shit but Steve knew he really cared, deeply.

He’d tell anyone that questioned clean cut Steve Harrington being in a relationship with such an “obvious mean delinquent” that Billy was just a big teddy bear.

Nothing to be scared of at all.

[afewproblems]

Part Two of my Mean!Eddie Misunderstandings WIP

You can read Part One Here

CW: The F-slur is used in this once, and it will show up in part three once. It's use is treated with a lot of negative weight with the context of how it is used and who used it (an atagonist that does not physically appear in this story) I do apologize if this language is upsetting to read - it was certainly upsetting to write.

***

"What the fuck Eddie," Mike snarls, he stands up so abruptly his chair nearly topples over.

Dustin is also on his feet the second Harrington disappears into the kitchen, he looks at Eddie once, his expression stormy, before following through the doorway.

Silence has spread over the room, slowly oozing around to fill each nook and cranny, it makes his skin itch as Eddie shifts, he goes to cross his arms over his chest but stops with a roll of his shoulders, he’s cool, a regular fucking cucumber right?

Except Will won't look him in the eyes and Lucas won't stop, he glares at Eddie with open disappointment.

Jeff clears his throat, he meets Eddie's gaze and tilts his head towards the door, as though trying to beam the thought directly into Eddie’s mind, ‘let’s get the fuck out of here before our welcome wears out’.

Eddie nods and both men turn to Gareth, considering he’s their ride it all kind of hinges on him.

Gareth stares straight ahead, pointedly ignoring everyone at the table, he wipes his face roughly with the hand not holding onto his character mini and drops it roughly onto the table.

"Oh what?" Eddie bites out, his chest suddenly fills with hot shame that smothers his heart, "I didn't say anything that wasn't true". 

Eddie wants to snatch the words out of the air as soon as they escape, banish them from existence, but they seem to hang in the dining room between him and the kids.

Gareth shakes his head and stands up from his seat, he starts to silently clean up the table, collecting the miniatures and his own papers, Will moves to help while Mike seethes in the corner or the room, his head swivels back and forth from glaring at Eddie and back to the door that Dustin disappeared behind.

"You've been weird all night man," Lucas says harshly, he stands up and makes his way towards the kitchen door which bursts open to reveal a furious Dustin who stomps back into the room and begins collecting his things, haphazardly throwing sheets of notepaper and dice into his backpack --not even bothering to put his dice in the little drawstring cloth bag his mom made him. 

"Woah woah woah," Eddie says sharply, he stands, knocking back his chair which scapes loudly against the hardwood floor "what the fuck are you doing Henderson?" 

Dustin ignores him and continues packing, he reaches for the miniature that Gareth moved onto the table and stops as Eddie snatches  it away from his hand.

Dustin meets Eddie’s gaze, wearing a matching mutinous glare. 

“Give it back,” Will interjects with a soft but firm voice, his gaze is unwavering as he stands up and moves towards Dustin’s side of the table. He also has his backpack slung over his shoulder --when the hell did that happen?

“But you--”

“EDDIE,” Gareth shouts, his eyes are wide, face pinched into a grimace. 

Gareth takes a second to breathe after the outburst and swallows harshly, ignoring the eyes on him, "I think it's safe to say we aren’t playing tonight man". 

The whole night is unraveling around him, everything he planned for the evening, the meticulous character beats he mapped out based on the backstories everyone crafted, the NPC’s he researched at the library -dodging Mrs. Depencier between the stacks before she could try to kick him out.

The homebrew monster, the final boss he had mashed together out of three different beasts in his well worn copy of the monster manual. 

He had prepped all of it for tonight, he'd been excited, ready to show off his skills in a new environment, maybe show off a little bit for--

Oh. 

Oh fucking hell. 

Eddie wants to kick himself. Hard. Repeatedly. 

Eddie wanted to see what Steve would think, this was going to be the performance of a lifetime and he had catapulted himself directly into the sun without hesitation. 

Tonight had been ruined, mostly by himself --not Steve. 

An oily thought creeps in and whispers in his ear, 'so what? It isn't as though King-Steve hadn't ruined plenty of things for you before, your first two senior years were dog shit before people started to forget about the whole--' 

Eddie shakes his head harshly and scrubs both hands over his face, the rings catch lightly in his hair and tug as he bring them down. 

"I'll call my mom to come get us, I'm sure she'll be happy it's so early," Lucas mumbles before he gets up from his seat and slowly makes his way towards the kitchen door to use the landline. The door swings softly shut with a quiet snick.

The silence in the room is heavy, only punctuated by Mike muttering under his breath to Will and Dustin as he snatches several things from the table and the floor. Lucas eventually reenters the dining room and Mike shoves an armful of note papers and Lucas's Human Cleric character sheet -which has become creased and wrinkled in Mike's frenzy, towards Lucas and Dustin.

"Figure out whose is whose later, let's just go if we're done, I'd rather walk," Mike snarls as he looks over his shoulder at Eddie, Gareth, and Jeff. 

"Jesus Mike," Lucas mutters, "gonna have to rewrite this whole thing out now," he pauses as he looks Eddie up and down with narrow eyes, "maybe".

Lucas shakes his head, "anyway, mom is on her way, she's happy to come get us early so she'll drop you guys off, she's taking the van".  

Mike nods, the perpetual sneer on his face deepens as he walks towards the hall leading to the front entryway, "I'm waiting outside, are you guys coming or not?"

The kids file out through the hallway, one by one without looking back, leaving Eddie, Jeff,and Gareth standing around the empty dining room table.

They freeze at the sight of a long, deep, scratch in the center of the wood. 

Had that been there before?

A pit begins to form in Eddie's stomach, cavernous and deep, he sweats at the sight of it. 

"Shit," he whispers, mostly to himself, but Jeff catches it. 

"That was there before man," Jeff murmurs, though the conviction isn't quite there, he stares at the table before raising his eyes to look at Gareth, "right?"

"I don't fucking know man," Gareth hisses, he also has his messenger bag now slung across his shoulder.

"I'm not sticking around to get blamed for trashing Harringtons table," Jeff says lowly, he's already backing up towards the hallway leading to the front entrance, "I’m not afraid to take your car Gar, hurry it up," he says before turning on his heel and walking down the hall, Eddie flinches at the sound of the door slamming shut behind them. 

Gareth curses under his breath and steps away from the table, “Well,” he huffs, “are you happy?”

Eddie's jaw drops as the words hit him square in the chest, "What? Gar--"

"No," Gareth says sharply, the volume steadily rising as he steps closer to Eddie and jabs a rigid finger into his chest, "are you happy with how this went? Does this finally make you feel better?" 

"Cuz, we don't care if you're friends with him or if you hate the guy," Gareth shakes his head once and steps back, away from Eddie's space, "Maybe Jeff does a little bit, but he's just being protective I think". 

Gareth waves his arms as though to clear the tangent away, "it doesn't matter, the point is, you're acting like it's still highschool and this," Gareth gestures towards the table, "is fucking mean man". 

A car horn beeps from outside startling both of them; Gareth sighs and shrugs the strap on his bag higher up his shoulder as he turns towards the hallway, "so if you want to hate the guy, stop stringing him along, it's bullshit".

Stop stringing him along.

Stringing him along?

The words echo again and again in his head, Eddie feels his chest tighten and grow cold as the words sink in, what the hell was Gareth talking about?

"If you don't want to be his friend just tell the guy, I don't understand what you're doing Ed?" Gareth says with a sigh.

The horn beeps again outside, Gareths eyebrow twitches once and his expression slowly twists from an irritated scowl to something close to murderous.

"Whatever," he huffs angrilly, "are you coming or not? It sounds like Jeff's about two seconds away from grand theft auto, and if he beeps the horn one more time I can't be held responsible for my actions". 

Eddie swallows harshly and nods, he steps back from the table, his legs sluggish in their response as he slowly trudges after Gareth. 

As Eddie moves through the hall, passing large framed art pieces and not a single family picture, he catches a whiff of something from the kitchen, warm pastry? Something savory he imagines. 

Eddie ignores the queasy lurch in his gut at the thought that whatever Steve had made that night didn't even make it past the kitchen. 

***

If you had asked Eddie back in highschool to give you his opinion on the social hierarchy of Hawkins High he would give you a fairly general answer.

You had your standard Asshole Jocks, your Narcissist Beauty Queen Cheerleaders, your Nerds with the smaller subsections of Band Geeks and Weirdos - everyone’s seen The Breakfast Club, it’s a no brainer really. 

Eddie was quite content to sneer and jeer with the best of them, focusing his ire on the very top, the Asshole Jocks that made it their mission to ruin the lives of anyone they deemed lower than themselves. Billy Hargrove and Tommy Hagan were the original worst of these with Jason Carver following close behind, but Harrington? King-Steve? He was a bit harder to pin down.

For Steve-the-Hair-Harrington, it would be a firm comparison to the grime in between Eddie’s toes after ten laps around the gym in socks he’d worn for three days.

Eddie could admit, if only to himself, that Harrington was certainly aesthetically attractive, with his tanned golden skin dotted with a constellation of moles that Eddie desperately wanted to play Connect the Dots with. The athletics uniform was criminally short, accentuating his long legs and strong thighs. More than once did Eddie ditch gym just to avoid making direct eye-contact with the outline of Harrington’s dick in that green scrap of fabric. 

Sue him, man was hot, but he was also a huge asshole.

Harrington was mean, whispering cruel things under his breath to Hagan and Perkins, snickering to himself when he made a particularly cruel observation about Joey MacDonald and his resemblance to a certain fast food clown - it wasn’t even clever given that it was only the kid’s last name, but the nickname followed that boy till he graduated along with the smell of old french fries that people would stuff in his locker between classes. And well, there was one other rumor he started, not that Eddie let it remotely bother him.

Fuck, Highschool kids were the worst.

But, then all of a sudden, here comes Harrington in his junior year with his usually handsome face beaten in and a haunted slump in his shoulders. And whoever had done it pulled no punches. Word around school was that Byers was the one that cleaned Harrington’s clock, over Nancy Wheeler of all people. And not only that, but King-Steve had been dumped by his two best friends, thrown away like an old piece of trash. 

Now again, Eddie never really gave much credence to rumors, especially the ones about himself, and given the way Hawkins High seemed to churn out a new rumor every other day this was more than likely an exaggeration. But with Hagan and Perkins giving Harrington a wide berth, and trading off glaring while hiding their kicked puppy expressions in their school books; the whole school watched as they were slowly replaced by Wheeler and Byers who encircled King-Steve, Ex-King now, with equally haunted expressions. It was even harder to argue with the evidence starring Eddie in the face.

They made absolutely no sense together, especially Byers; the three of them sitting at lunch in their own little world, with Harrington slowly slipping down the rungs and onto the bottom of the social ladder.

What on earth did Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers even have in common with someone like Steve Harrington? 

Eddie hardly ever saw Harrington around school after that, if he did he was mostly alone or followed around by a gaggle of children from the Junior High down the street that followed him around like puppies. To think of Harrington and kids in the same sentence, that the former King had lowered himself to the likes of babysitting a bunch of brats - it was…weird to say the least. 

Especially given how Eddie knew who Steve was. Harrington wasn’t soft, he wasn’t kind, he was a bully and a thug with a glass jaw, the worst kind of pathetic that ever graced their shitty highschool halls and Fuck Him for doing the one thing that Eddie couldn’t even do.

Eddie would be repeating his senior year while the Ex-King asshole left it all behind him.

God dammit.

It wasn’t really until Chrissy Cunninham died in his uncle’s trailer that cool March evening all of four months ago that he even had an excuse to be in the same room as the ousted monarch - if you could count pressing a jagged bottle to Steve’s pretty throat and pressing his lithe frame into the corrugated aluminum wall of Rick’s boathouse. 

And Steve? Rumor spreading, ex-King, Asshole Jock, Steve Harrington, was not all that bad as it turned out? Eddie couldn’t really keep the thread of his arguments about Harrinton as Eddie was carried out through the last remaining portal out of the Upside Down, nestled safely in Steve’s arms.

The son of a bitch.

Suddenly, Steve is everywhere, chauffeuring the kids to the arcade, visiting Eddie in the hospital, bringing Wayne food to the trailer --because of course he likes to cook apparently? And Wayne just loves him, won’t shut up about, ‘that Harrington boy and his thoughtful casserole’, and ‘when’s the next time you’re going to bring that Harrington kid by?’

Then it’s movie nights with the kids, and Nancy, Jonathan, Robin, and Argyle, smoke sessions in the Byers backyard, pool days when the weather finally warms enough for the kids to jump in. God help him, Harrington is showing off even more skin than Eddie would like during these pool days, his little moles spread over the planes of his back and legs. Steve has more scars than Eddie remembers from the highschool Varsity swim meets but he’s not complaining. 

Stupid handsome jock.

Eddie feels like he’s gone crazy, like he’s the only one that feels this way, as if he’d been dropped into an alternate universe where everything was the same except for Steve Harrington. 

And given the fact that alternate dimensions actually exist, well, this theory is not actually that outlandish.

Especially because Steve was…nice okay? He was nice. Eddie had it right the first time when they were walking around that creepy Upside Down forrest, even if he hadn't fully believed it at the time, the words were apparently true.

Well they were true now anyway.

Steve was sweet, he was funny, he cared so so much, the kids loved him, and Eddie couldn't quite get the sound of Steve's musical laugh out of his head, or the way his hazel eyes crinkled in the corners when he smiled--

Fuck.

Steve was also best friends with Robin --someone Eddie knows that Steve would never have given the time of day back in highschool and the two are practically soulmates now. 

Eddie was fairly certain they weren’t dating because he’s also fairly certain he clocked Robin the same way she had clocked him after their second shared joint a few months back. 

She hasn't said anything but there was no mistaking the way her eyes trailed to the bandana in his back pocket and the way his own eyes landed on the little homemade pink triangle patch on her messenger bag.

And the way she had smiled at him after, it was small but the understanding and the feeling of being seen left him warm in a way he hadn't felt around a lot of people other than Wayne, Gareth, and Jeff. 

And then, of course, Steve had to go and ruin everything, offering up his own home for the next Hellfire club meeting. 

If it hadn’t meant Steve actually spending more than five minutes in passing with Jeff and Gareth it probably wouldn’t have been so stressful. 

And like the proverbial cherry on top, it had all blown up in his face.

The kids were actively avoiding him now, dodging his calls and making excuses about why they were busy, ranging from Will needing to help Jane with some kind of project she'd been working on, or Lucas citing babysitting duty for Erica --after having met Lady Applejack this was not as believable but Eddie let it go. 

Mike would grumble, clearly going off a script of some sort to keep his friends appeased, but with the lazy excuse of just being 'busy'. And, Mike being Mike, he'd follow it up with an ever so kind, 'get your head out of your asshole man, Will was our DM before and he'd have no problem picking up where we left off'.  

And didn't that sting just a bit? 

Dustin just refused to engage with Eddie, repeating the phrase, 'if you have a problem with Steve then you have one with me,' or the more eloquent, 'get bent'. 

Gareth wasn't much better. The last time Eddie was able to get him on the phone he’d told him to call when ‘his personal shit stopped interfering with Hellfire,’ and to, ‘get his head out of his ass sometime’. 

He and Mike needed to hang out more apparently.

It sucked, especially with how icy the kids have been towards him. Even Max, who must had heard about it all from Lucas, had taken it upon herself to avenge their babysitter, smearing mud on the front window of his van and writing, DICK, in bright red lipstick letters on every single side window. Eddie would be impressed if he wasn’t the one that had to clean it up. 

Jeff has been fairly tight lipped about it all, not really siding with Gareth or the kids, he and Eddie would still jam together but it wasn’t the same without their drummer. 

Without Hellfire or his band to practice with, Eddie is bored, which is never a good thing in his experience, and has time and time again led him to disaster. 

Which is how Eddie finds himself outside Family Video.

Eddie sits in his van for nearly twenty minutes before he ventures inside, scanning the windows relentlessly for any sign of Harrington or Buckley. It's the middle of the day on Tuesday, Keith is usually in on weekdays so he should be fine, what are the chances that the source of his recent frustrations would be working today of all days. 

Apparently pretty high.

The bell dings above Eddie as he swings the door open and the smell of stale popcorn hits him in the face as he steps over the threshold, there's no one at the counter --not a great sign since Keith usually posts up with a comic or a magazine up front so he can still look busy while watching for shoplifters. 

But it's fine, there's absolutely no sign of either of the Wonder Twins, it's fine.

Eddie takes another step and sees Jonathan and Argyle just behind the New Releases shelf, they've each got a tape in hand and seem to be arguing about which one they should go with.

Argyle spies Eddie first and waves jovially from their spot behind the shelf, Jonathan's gaze follows Argyle's and he lifts his hand in a half hearted wave, and jeez, tell a guy how you really feel, Eddie thinks to himself.

"What's up brochacho, how's it hangin'?" Argyle calls out as Eddie makes his way over with a smile, he ignores the stiffness in Jonathan’s posture and tries to focus on Argyle’s friendly grin.

"Eh," Eddie hums, throwing his hands in his back pockets, "can't complain too much, when you've literally been to Hell it puts things into perspective". 

Argyle nods and opens his mouth to say something when another voice joins them from behind Eddie. 

"If you're here to rent something, hurry up and get out," Robin growls nearly in his ear. 

Eddie flinches and turns around to face her, he almost stumbles backwards at the furious expression on her freckled face. Robin's blue eyes flash and pierce his own, her mouth stretches into a blunt line across her face. Robin's arms cross over her chest, covering her name tag and the 'Ask me for Help' button, she seems to stand taller than her actual height and Eddie feels as though he's somehow managed to shrink down to two inches tall.

"Hey hey miss Birdy, got any recommendations for a Friday night smoke sesh?" Argyle says warmly, if he's aware of the tension in the room he doesn't show it. 

"Monty Python, two rows over on the left," Robin mutters, her eyes never once leaving Eddie's face. 

"Choice pick, we got our movie man," Argyle crows to Jonathan as he puts back the Ferris Bueller tape and makes his way down the stacks. 

Jonathan's eyes flick between Eddie and Robin, he hesitates for just a moment before following after Argyle and leaving Eddie to his fate. 

"Okay listen--"

"No you listen," Robin snarls, stepping into his space and shoving a rigid pointer finger into his chest, "I don't know what you're problem is but if you're going to be an asshole, you can show yourself out before I do it for you". 

Eddie bristles slightly and lifts his hand to push hers away, "you talk to all of your customers like this Buckley?" 

Robin scoffs and steps back, as though reminded that they are in fact in public, "rent something then or get out," she bites out, turning on her heel and walking away to meet Argyle and Jonathan at the checkout.

Eddie feels his face twist into a fierce frown, he can't even rent movies in peace now without this thing hanging over his head, he hadn't even said anything that bad, this was getting ridiculous. 

The bell dings as Argyle and Jonathan leave, Argyle waves again, which Eddie returns unenthusiastically before stalking into the horror section in three strides. He snatches Children of the Corn off the shelf and stomps up to the desk. Robin's scowl matches his own as he reaches back to grab his wallet from the back pocket and --its not there. 

Eddies stomach plummets into the bottom of his shoes, he can see if in his minds eye on the desk in his bedroom, it's not even in the van where he could easily run and grab it, Shit.

"What?" Robin grumbles as Eddie opens and closes his mouth silently, cursing his own stupidity and the rapid flush creeping up his own neck. 

"Robin, I organized the back room, I still don't think that was really on the list but --oh!" Steve says as he walks towards them from the back of the store, a half door swings back and forth in his wake below a tiny hand written Employee's Only sign above the doorway.

Steve looks between the two of them, his face jumping through several expressions before settling on something carefully neutral, blank in a way Eddie hates.

"Hey Eddie," Steve says in that phoney cheerful customer service voice he made fun of just a few short weeks ago, Eddie remembers leaning over the counter and teasing Steve about it just to watch his ears turn pink.

But now they're here, and Steve is actually giving him the customer voice, like that's all he is now. 

Fuck.

"I uh," Eddie mumbles, hating the way he can feel his own face heat up, he wants the floor to swallow him up, banish him to the Underdark, "I was going to grab this, but I forgot my wallet, forget it". 

Robin smiles, almost triumphantly, and moves to lean against the front of the counter. Her left leg kicks out to cross in front of her right leg at the ankle, looking like the proverbial cat that caught the canary, Eddie hates her for just a moment.

"Its fine man," Steve hums, he takes the tape gently from Eddie's hands and walks around the counter to get to the computer, he starts typing and scans the movie before sliding it across the counter towards Eddie. Robin frowns and nearly stumbles in her attempt to move around to where Steve is standing.

"Steve," Robin hisses at him when she sees the computer screen, worry lines etch deep across her forehead and her mouth does this weird little wobble before creasing into a frown.

"Uh, seriously dude," Eddie mumbles, "I don't have my wallet and I don't have any change on me--" 

"Don't worry about it," Steve says smoothly without missing a beat, "Rob and I get free rentals once a month, just take mine". 

Eddies eyebrows rise slowly into the wispy bangs covering his forehead as Robin tisks loudly from beside Steve,

"What, just like that?" he says slowly, the words stick to his tongue which all of a sudden feels as though it's three times too big for his own mouth. Why the fuck was Harrington being so nice to him, like the other night didn't matter at all. 

"Yup," Steve says simply, he doesn't pop the 'p' like he used to, and his face is so neutral and smooth. It's not back to their normal after all, but what was he expecting, nothing was.

"Anything else we can do? I gotta get back to rewinding the tapes," Steve says as he jerks his thumb towards the back room again. 

Steve hesitates for a second, he's still facing Eddie and looks as though he's on the verge of saying something, his large hazel eyes dart back and forth between Eddies own for a moment, before he lifts his right hand to roughly pinch at the bridge of his nose once before the hand sweeps into his hair, pushing it away from his face. 

Robin, who had been watching them like a far more predatory bird than her namesake, steps closer and knocks into Steve's shoulder gently.

"Remember, they are organized and outnumber us like 200 to one," she barks, saluting him with her left hand, "don't rewind till you see the whites of their tape cases".

Steve's blank expression cracks with a small smile, he reaches up to switch out her left hand with her right and then draws himself up to his full height. 

Steve squares his shoulders, "if the tapes claim me, don't be a hero Buckley, remember me fondly".

She snorts and shakes her head as he brushes past her, Steve looks over his shoulder once at Eddie before disappearing into the back once more. 

Eddie watches him leave, the Children of the Corn clutched in his hands so tightly he's almost worried the plastic will warp, he misses Robin silently siddle up next to him and nearly jumps a foot in the air as she speaks.

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out," Robin growls softly before she sweeps over to the push cart filled with returns and walks it over to the closest shelf, pointedly ignoring him.

Eddie huffs out an irritated sigh but feels his shoulders slowly deflate on their own as he trudges back towards the entrance, the bell rings once again as he steps outside into the mid afternoon sun.

Gravel crunches underneath Eddie's ratty chucks as he heads towards the van, stopping in his tracks when he spots Jonathan leaning against the driver's side door. 

"Uh, hey Byers?" 

Jonathan waves again before crossing his arms, he's glaring at the ground as though it personally offended him. Eddie looks around, letting his eyes trail over the other cars in the lot. 

"Where's your partner in crime?" Eddie asks carefully, he knows Argyle wouldn't have just left without Jonathan.

Jonathan waves his hand towards the convenience store at the end of the parking lot, "he's grabbing snacks, he should be back soon," Jonathan shugs and settles back against the van.

It's awkward, Eddie can count the number of times he and Jonathan have hung out on one hand, he's seen Argyle way more, sharing trade secrets and sampling some grade A California Kush while he's at it.

But Eddie and Jonathan, he's got nothing.

"Sooo," Eddie hums, dragging out the syllable as he steps towards Jonathan and leans against the van beside him, "you here to yell at me too?" 

Jonathan scoffs and shakes his head, but his arms do tighten a fraction around his midsection, hah, gotcha.

"No, but honestly dude, if Nancy and I have to hear the kids bitch and moan one more time about whatever the hell is going on between you and Harrington," he shakes his head and snorts.

Eddie bristles slightly but nods, "Yeah Mike's got a mouth on him huh?"

"So," Jonathan starts and immediately shuts his mouth with a snap and a grimace. He seems to steady himself before meeting Eddie's gaze, it's unnerving.

"Fuck it, look," Jonathan snaps, he turns to face Eddie, "I'm not the biggest fan of Harrington myself, but we’re not going out of our way to see each other and if you're going to do this kind of thing I'd prefer if Will wasn't in the same room," Jonathan scrubs a tired hand over his face, "he was pretty upset the other night, said you were a prick to Dustin too". 

And that Eddie can't even defend, he bites the inside if his cheek and nods again, letting his arms wrap around himself tightly, it's such little comfort that it leaves him feeling cold despite the midafternoon heat and glaring sunshine. 

"What's going on man?" Jonathan says softly this time, he's still facing Eddie but has leaned back slightly.

"You remember how shitty Hawkins high was right?" Eddie says after a beat, the words barely escape between his teeth, but someone else needs to know.

Jonathan doesn't say anything but he nods once, a dark look crosses over his face momentarily before disappearing.

"And I'm sure you heard some of the rumours that were going around about me," Eddie rubs his hand across his nose, "that whole place was a fucking gossip factory, I know most -if not all of it was bullshit, but".

Fuck.

He doesn't even know how to say it. 

"Harrington told everyone I was a," he swallows roughly, the word catches in his throat as though covered in barbs, "a…fag, and that my parents kicked me out after my dad tried to kill me, that was the reason I was living with Wayne".

Eddie stares, unseeing, at the ground, he hears a sharp intake of breath but keeps going.

"And now," he breathes out, hating the way it catches slightly in his throat, "I don't know how to feel about him, I'm so fucking angry about it, but he's so God Damn nice now, it's like whiplash".

"The worst part is," Eddie continues, breathing deeply through his nose, his eyes start to burn, fuck, he doesn't want to do this here, "I don't even know if he remembers, that's what makes me so angry". 

Eddie barks out a wet laugh, "that it made me a target, and for him it was nothing". 

Jonathan is quiet for a moment, staring past Eddie with a pensive expression, "when did this happen?" he says softly.

"I don't know man," Eddie sighs, he brings a hand up to press into his eyes until stars explode across his vision, they come away wet.

"It was one of my senior years, the first go around, why?" 

"Because," Jonathan urges, his voice uncharacteristically harsh, "I heard Billy Hargrove say that, like word for word, at Tina's Halloween party, and that was like two years ago". 

Eddie remembers Billy Hargrove. Though Billy and Tommy were both assholes, Billy was the actual scary one of the pair.

Eddie remembers that party too. He had made some decent money that night, posting up in the backyard, letting his drunk classmates come to him. Eddie had even wandered inside a few times to grab a beer or two before leaving, no one had really bothered him that night, granted it seemed hard to shake that Mullet wearing psychos flinty gaze, but if he thinks hard about it enough, everything changed after that night.

Eddie stops breathing, it takes almost a full minute for him to really catch up to what Jonathan is saying, "but, but I thought for sure…" he stammers, voice tight.

"Eddie," Jonathan says, the gentle tone back as looks him in the eye, "Steve spent that whole night babysitting Nancy. It was a whole thing, he left early too because they had a big fight".

Jonathan takes a deep breath, and blows it slowly through his nose, it releases the rigid line of tension in Byers shoulders. His dark eyes scan Eddie's face before he sighs again and stuffs his hands into his pockets.

"I'm not trying to defend the guy, he was a prick in high school, but if you've been blaming him for spreading that shit around, I think you have the wrong guy".

Eddie's is racing, he feels as though he's underwater and sinking deeper, his vision narrowing to a single point of light just above him. His lungs shudder as he tries to catch his breath.

"Hey, slow down and breathe man," Jonathan murmurs, a worried grimace pulls at his mouth as his head swivels to and fro, scanning the parking lot. Jonathan reaches to put a warm hand on Eddie's shoulder, "you're going to make yourself pass out".

"I'm good man, I'm fine," Eddie bites out. He shifts and straightens his back, stepping away from Jonathan and the van, he nearly stumbles in his efforts to move.

Jonathan leans back with both hands raised in front of him in, ready to steady the metal-head if needed, his eyes dart across Eddie's face with wary concern.

"Relax Byers," Eddie breathes out as he takes another step away. He looks back towards the Family Video, in case they've drawn an audience by now. 

He can see Steve and Robin through the window, they're both at the counter, their backs are turned--thankfully.

Robin has one hand on Steve's back as she gestures emphatically away from herself with the other, he's nodding but his whole posture has drooped, wilted like an old flower. 

Eddie feels his heart clench again at the sight. Fuck.

"Hey man, mind getting off my van? I have to make a call". 

***

Eddie races home, the old breaks squeal and the engine shudders as he turns abruptly into the gravel drive just ahead of their new government issued trailer. 

Though it didn't have the same feel as their old trailer, the notches on the bathroom doorway to track his height over the years replaced by pristine white paint, the spaghetti stain on the ceiling from Eddies first ambitious attempts to make Wayne dinner replaced by the same stark whiteness. Wayne was able to save some of their photos and Eddie's favorite Dio poster, it helped a little bit remind them of their former home, but it wasn’t quite the same.

For all it lacked, at least the ceilings were whole, with no sign of the horrific death Eddie had witnessed just a few short months ago.

Eddie turns off the engine and unbuckles himself as he opens the door and steps out of the van. The feel of gravel and grass under his feet is grounding, but he still feels as though he might fly apart at any moment. 

His uncle's pickup is still out front; Eddie winces at his own park job and considers getting back in the van to try again --his uncle will have to swing wide just to get around him for work at this point, but there's an itch in Eddie's brain. He has to talk to Gareth, make sense of this.

Eddie makes his way inside, Wayne isn't in the living room or kitchen based on his quick scan, he barely manages to close the front door behind him in his haste to get to the phone. 

Eddie hears the main bathroom fan and Wayne humming tunelessly to himself, he figures he probably has at least half an hour to use the phone undisturbed.

Eddie snatches the phone off the base hung on the wall beside their Kit-Cat Klock, he immediately wraps his fingers in the cord and dials Gareths number. It rings again and again, fuck.

"Hello?" 

"Gareth, don't hang up!" Eddie struggles to keep the shout out of his voice, he wraps and unwraps his hands in the phone cord, tangling his fingers nervously as a long sigh crackles over the line. 

"What man?" Gareth huffs, impatience saturates the words and Eddie can't keep his own bottled up for even a moment longer.

"I fucked up," Eddie whispers, "I fucked up Gar," he untagles his one hand long enough to sweep it up into his hair, pulling it away from his face.

He can hear the rustle of cloth and movement over the handset as Gareth breathes out a soft and confused, 'what,' on the other side but once the words start Eddie can't seem to contain them any longer. 

"I don't know what to do," he says, his voice pitched in a low whine, "I spent so long absolutely convinced that Harrington was the one who put that target on my back in highschool, that he was the one who spread all those rumors". 

Eddie begins to pace, two steps forward, and two steps back, he's too caught up in the phone cord to move much further around the kitchen but he feels the need to channel his frenetic energy somewhere.

"But he didn't, I just," Eddie swallows and removes his hand from his hair to press roughly into his eyes once more, "I just assumed".

Gareth says nothing, the only reason Eddie knows he's still there is the fact that the call hasn't cut out to a dial tone.

"I think, I think ruined it Gar, I don't know how to fix this, i think we could have been friends…"

A scoff bursts over the line and Eddie flinches at the sudden sound.

"Sorry, but Eddie, this is exactly what I was talking about". 

Gareth sighs loudly and shifts again, "don't think it was just Jeff that was confused and maybe even a little angry that you started hanging out with the guy, but we thought, 'well, if Eddie forgave him, and wants to be his friend then we can deal,'" Gareth hesitates for a beat before speaking slowly, choosing his words carefully.

"If he did or didn't do it wasn't the issue Ed, you can't have it both ways. You can't try and be with the guy, lead him on like that, and hang on to this grudge, you'd just be hurting yourself and Steve more".

Eddie feels himself pale as he freezes in the middle of his pacing, he swallows hard but manages to keep his grip on the phone steady. 

"I dont--you keep saying that--" he stutters, ignoring the cold feeling that settles in his gut.

"Eddie, come on, we have eyes in our heads, we didn't care that you liked guys, we don't care that you have a thing for Harrington -well I mean, Jeff might but he'd get over it if you asked him to".

Eddie feels his heart climb into his throat and nods once before remembering Gareth isn't actually there in person, he cradles the phone to his cheek and whispers, "I know".

"So fix it," Gareth says softly, "I don't know why you're talking to me, it sounds like you already know what you have to do". 

"For what it's worth," Gareth says with a sigh and Eddie can hear the small smile in his voice this time, "I do think he's changed since highschool, and I am glad that he wasn't the one who said those things about you, it'll make my shovel talk a little easier anyway". 

Eddie barks out a laugh that comes out a little wet, "thanks man," he mumbles into the receiver.

"Anytime, now get off the line, I gotta break the news to Jeff, he'll need time to digest". 

Eddie laughs and hangs up the phone after a soft, 'goodbye you dick,' and turns to see Wayne leaning against the entrance to the kitchen watching him with a raised eyebrow and a stern expression. 

"So, you finally gonna fix what's had you moping around here for the last couple o' days?" Wayne asks, his voice is casual but there's a glint in his brown eyes, so like Eddie's own, that puts him on edge. 

Eddie winces and runs his hand through his curls towards the back to cradle his head, he hesitates as Wayne tilts his head slightly, waiting for his normally talkative nephew to speak.

After another beat Wayne sighs and pushes himself off the doorway, he steps into the kitchen and makes his way to the cupboard to pull out his favorite Indiana Pacers mug. Wayne busies himself with the kettle, while Eddie sweats by the phone.

"Uh, how much did you hear of that?" Eddie says eventually, he picks at the skin on his fingers and shifts his weight from foot to foot. 

Wayne tilts his head to the side to look over his shoulder at Eddie as he adds two scoops of instant coffee into the empty mug while the water starts to boil. 

"Well, it sounds like you and Harrington had something of a misunderstanding, that why he hasn't been 'round here with that famous lasagna of his?"

Eddie huffs out a laugh and rolls his eyes, "I guess you could say that," he chews on his lip roughly for a moment before releasing it, "I just don't know how to even start Wayne". 

His uncle hums at that, flicking the stove burner off just as the kettle begins to hiss and whine, he pulls it off the metal coils and pours a helping of water into his awaiting mug before putting the kettle on the farthest burner to cool back down. He picks up the spoon he had used to scoop the instant coffee and stirs thoughtfully, allowing the metal to clink and clang against the chipped ceramic. 

"Have you thought to just talk to him? Harrington seems like a good kid, I doubt he's holding a grudge--"

"I was mean Wayne, I was a dick in front of the kids," Eddies breathing picks up as he continues to speak, "they all hate me right now, they won't talk to me, and I kind of hate me a little bit right now and--" 

Eddie stops talking as Wayne crosses the kitchen and pulls him into a fierce hug. He lets himself sink into it. 

Wayne had always been somewhat easy going with affection, doling out hugs and pats on the back, but ever since Eddie had been discharged from the hospital Wayne seemed hyper aware of the need for comfort without being asked.

"If you're sorry then tell him, and if he doesn't want to hear it then you let him be, either he'll forgive you or he won't," Wayne's voice rumbles through his chest, he feels the hug begin to loosen as Wayne leans away to catch his eye once more, "sounds like the kids might be owed their own apology but you can do that after Harrington, what do we do when make mistakes?" 

"We fix em," Eddie whispers, he feels lighter, lighter than he has since Gareth drove him and Jeff home in stony silence that fateful night. 

"Damn right, now go on, if I have to miss another one of those damn casseroles you're gonna owe me an apology".

***

The drive isn't long but waiting for the approximate time that he figured Steve would be home was absolute torture, he even let Wayne fix him his own cup of instant coffee -how his uncle could drink that stuff was beyond Eddie but the warmth of the cup was grounding as time ticked by. 

Eddie waited until six, figuring that would be the safest bet after a day shift, worst case scenario he'd go home and try again tomorrow if the house was empty. 

A small anxious part of him hoped it would be. 

The lights are on when he pulls up to the house, and Steve's beemer is in the driveway. 

Okay, he could do this, all he had to do was go up to the door. 

Eddie shuts the engine off, tapping out a nervous rhythm on the steering wheel as he grabs his keys and pops open his van door. 

Eddie breathes in deeply through his nose and releases it slowly through mouth as he steps onto the walkway to the front door. The porch light is on despite the sun sitting high in the sky. 

Eddie hesitates as he reaches the dark red double doors, all he has to do is raise his hand to ring the bell or knock, but he's frozen suddenly, his heart beats a wild staccato in his chest and that feeling of slowly sinking under water from earlier is back.

Eddie shakes his head, he faced down feral demon bats, and trudged through a poisonous forest to help hunt down Vecna, he could do this!

The door in front of him suddenly opens of its own accord revealing Steve’s frantic and confused face.

Shit. 

***

Thank you everyone! There will be a part three that will finally have some comfort for all this whump and angst!! (I PROMISE!)

Taglist: @zerokrox-blog @samcoxramblings @thosemessyvibes @liketheocean @vampireinthesun @themostunoriginalpersonever @merricatty

(I hope these tags work and if I missed you I'm so sorry!!)

Continue with Part Three Here

[dreamwatch]

For the Spotify fic challenge: Steddie, and lucky #13! ❤️

I got this ask on December the 3rd!! It took me forever to come up with something for this, but I got there! I don't think this is as heavy as the tags make it seem, but please heed them @thisapplepielife thank you so much for the ask, it really got the old brain box working!

Spotify Prompt: Free Fallin' by Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers (yes, Tom Petty again!)

Word Count: 3623 | Rating: T | CW: Period typical homophobia, homophobic language, chronic pain, internalised ableism, brief mention of AIDS crisis | Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington and His Parents | Tags: Protective Eddie Munson, Disabled Eddie Munson, Established Relationship, Meeting The Parents, Steve's Parents Are Trying, Not Beta Read

--

Eddie works fucking hard all week and he just wants to kick back on a Saturday, and do nothing. Feet up on the table, beer in one hand, pizza in the other. Maybe catch a film. Maybe watch a game with Steve. Whatever. It’s his time, he gets to choose how he spends it.

Instead, they’re sitting in the car outside the Harrington’s house, and Steve looks like he’s about to be fed to the wolves. Eddie’s never been brought home to meet the parents before. Usually, he’s never brought home at all. This is as hard for Eddie as it is for Steve. He’s deeply suspicious of Steve’s parents, of their suddenly wanting to meet the guy he’s shacked up with. To get a closer look at the guy who stole Steve’s chance for a good ol’ fashioned midwestern life, white picket fence, sweet wife, a couple of kids, briefcase and tie, trade in the bimmer for a Volvo. All that shit. All that shit that Eddie has no experience with, no desire for. 

Two years together, and this is the first time he’s been summoned. Steve says it’s because they finally believe him. They thought it was a joke at first. They stopped laughing, eventually.

Eddie doesn’t really know what to expect. Robin says his mom is sweet, his dad is nice enough but tough on Steve and there’s still tension there even though Steve’s in his twenties now. Dustin thinks his dad is a hoot, and somehow the idea of Dustin bonding with Mr Harrington feels like a betrayal. But Dustin doesn’t have the full picture, so. There’s that.

“We better go in,” Steve says, not looking at Eddie. Not really looking at anything. And that doesn’t really instil confidence in Eddie, about how all this shit is going to go down, because Steve has been telling him all week not to worry about it, it will be fine. But he’s sitting here looking like the world is about to end. And maybe it is. Maybe that’s exactly what’s about to happen, Steve’s world, that complex relationship with his parents that they cultivated with such tender hands, will just shatter once the reality of everything Steve has been telling them for the last couple of years manifests in their dining room.

Eddie might not have done this before, but he knows his part. Turn up, be polite, play nice. And above all things don’t bite if the other kids don’t play nice. Because Eddie will always be the one that gets the blame. 

He checks his hair in the rearview mirror one last time. It’s tied back, the tiniest bit of hairspray to tame it and stop any unruly hairs from escaping mid canapés. How uncouth. Picking clothes was a whole thing. ‘It’s not a formal dinner’, Steve said, no need to get gussied up, ‘I want you to look like yourself, to be comfortable.’ And Steve probably did mean that, truly, but it didn’t matter how many teeshirts and jeans combos Eddie tried on, none of them seemed to be the ‘Eddie’ that Steve was hoping to bring home to his parents. What followed was an argument, ‘You fucking choose then’, slammed doors, eased over with a kiss and ‘What about these?’ So now he’s in the Harrington’s driveway wearing a pair of clean black jeans, knees neatly hidden behind denim, and a long sleeve (always long sleeves) plaid shirt, which could almost pass for one of Wayne’s if it weren’t for the tiny little polo player embroidered on the pocket. He’s been permitted to wear a pair of Doc Martens he found in a thrift store in Indy, they’re clean and smart enough and they’re fucking comfortable and he needs that. Just one bit of comfort, one bit of him.

They stand on the doorstep and Steve knocks and it strikes Eddie as weird. He moved out of Wayne’s a while ago, but he still has his key, and if he knocked on the front door Wayne would ask Eddie what his last doorman died of. But he forgets sometimes that his upbringing is not the norm, that not every kid got saved from foster care by their uncle because their dad is in jail. 

Mrs Harrington answers the door, and Eddie’s seen pictures of her, he’s been in this house before (he’s done things to her son in this house that would definitely lower its market value) but she’s shorter than he imagined, and Steve bends over to hug her. It’s cute. 

Mr Harrington looms behind her and makes eye contact with Eddie briefly before moving to his son. Another hug, stiffer, with a manly clap on the back. But it’s not nothing, and some of that tension from before has already dispersed from Steve, he has some of his lightness back. A smile back on his beautiful face. Eddie’s not ready to let his guard down yet, he is after all the main course at this particular feast, and he’s just waiting for the cleaver to fall, the teeth to take hold (not teeth, not teeth, not teeth).

“Mom, Dad, this is…” Steve looks at him. Pleading. Loving. Accepting. Scared. “Eddie.”

“Eddie!” says Mrs Harrington, like she actually wants him standing in her hallway, god love her for trying. “It’s lovely to finally meet you.”

Oh God, he’s on now, isn’t he? Steve’s thrown him the ball and he needs to not fumble the catch, or something, he’s watched enough games now that some of it should be sinking in. 

“Mr and Mrs Harrington, it’s lovely to meet you both. Uh, thank you. For inviting me.”

“Amanda, please,” says Mrs Harrington, “and this is David,” and it’s pointed, a little spiky. Eddie likes that. David’s giving Amanda the evil eye and Eddie is trying not to smile about it.

“Eddie. Good to meet you,” the poor guy manages to spit out. And Jesus fuck, he holds his hand out to shake it, and Eddie has to resist the temptation to wipe his hands down the front of his jeans. He’s clean, every inch of him scrubbed and moisturised and cologned. Eddie doesn’t know why he’s sweating on this particular social norm, both Al and Wayne taught him the art of the handshake as a young boy. ‘Shake from the elbow, firm hand, and match their grip’ said Wayne. ‘Ain’t nothin’ worse than a weak handshake’ said Al. 

Amanda offers him the grand tour before Steve reminds her that Eddie’s been here before, only not when they were around. David bristles and walks away and that’s probably for the best all things considered.

They all walk through to the massive kitchen, and Amanda offers him a beer and he nearly breaks his fucking neck with the speed he takes it. 

“Dad thought because it’s such a lovely day we’d grill outdoors. How does that sound for a change?” Steve’s mom rests her hand on Steve’s back, and Eddie sees the movement, the slow comforting strokes. 

There’s a cough from the patio, and David Harrington looms in the doorway. “Why don’t you give me a hand, son.” Huh. Divide and conquer, and so early into the afternoon. Steve looks at Eddie and what is Eddie going to say? How dare you leave me to your mother so that you can bond with Daddy? I haven’t seen mine in years, hasn’t done me any harm. He’s a good boyfriend, so he nods and smiles, hoping that it conveys what he really means. We can leave whenever you need to. Just say the word. I love you.

Amanda bustles around in their kitchen, dicing cucumbers and tomatoes, making herself busy, keeping herself away from him. He’s propped on a stool at their breakfast bar because he needs to get the weight off his leg and he didn’t bring his cane because ‘I’m fine Steve, I don’t need it’, not because he didn’t want the Harrington’s to think he was weak or incapable of working, mooching off their son. Definitely not that.

“So, um, what do you like in your salad? Anything I should leave out? Steve didn’t really give me much to go on. I promise I asked.” She sounds like she cares whether he eats zucchini or not (not, decidedly fucking not).

“Ah, I’m not fussy, honestly. Just, you know whatever you guys usually have is fine.”

She looks over her shoulder, a little conspiratorially. “Not a big salad guy, huh? Don’t worry, neither is David. I know when I’m fighting a losing battle.”

Eddie returns the smile. He keeps throwing furtive glances outside, hoping he can just summon Steve to save him. He should be glad, to be honest, that Steve is still out there with his dad. If it was going badly he’d likely have returned by now.

Amanda keeps up the inane chatter, the small talk grating on him. This is so alien to him, so bizarre. He’s doing his best to keep up with her, though, because this isn’t about him. If they never accept him, never want to see him again, he’s fucking fine with it. But Steve loves them, and despite things being tense over the last couple of years Eddie’s pretty certain they love him.

Eddie’s sipping at his beer when he hears the knife slam against the marble countertop. 

Amanda spins to face him.“Look. I’m as uncomfortable as you, okay? So why don’t we just cut the shit.”

He puts his beer down, sits up and draws his shoulders back, ready for battle. He’s been waiting for this. Unfortunately, his leg decides to spasm painfully at the same time, kind of killing the image. He hisses, clutching his thigh and doing his best to massage the pain away as if that’s all it would take. He hates this, fucking hates that it happens in front of this woman of all people.

“Are you… are you okay?” Amanda makes her way closer, and she looks like she wants to reach out to him but can’t quite bring herself to do it.

Eddie takes a deep, calming breath. “It’s fine. I’m fine. It just… it happens. Sometimes. It’s fine.” It’s not even close to fine but he’ll be fucked if he’s telling her that. About his constant pain, about losing one job because he couldn’t keep up with the rest of the crew, about being shit scared he’s going to lose his current job for the same reason. About how he’s pushing himself so that Steve doesn’t have to carry the load. The Harrington’s don’t get to know any of that.

Amanda nods and creeps closer to him, finally pulling out a stool and sitting at the breakfast bar with him. 

“This is difficult for us. Steve and...” She gestures loosely at him, and he does his best not to tense up at that. “God I need a drink. Do you want another beer?”

He’s maxed out on his pain meds today, for all the good it did, so he really shouldn’t. Steve is particularly strict about that kind of thing. But Steve’s not here. So he nods and watches Steve’s mom pour herself a large glass of wine before returning with another beer for him. She knocks the whole thing back in under a minute.

“Steven’s my pride and joy. He was just such a gorgeous child. Kind, would scream with laughter, just so much happiness in him.” She plays with the rim of her wine glass, and swipes at the lipstick she’s left behind. “From the moment you find out you’re pregnant you think about the person they’ll grow up to be. You hope you’ll be a good parent, that you’ll do right by them. I had a life planned for Steve, in my head. He would come home with a beautiful girl one day and tell me she was the one. They’d get married, and have babies of their own. We’d have grandchildren to spoil.” Amanda smiles wistfully, watching Steve and his Dad through the kitchen window. Eddie hopes he’s okay, hopes Steve’s doing better than he is, anyway. It feels like there’s cement lining his stomach. 

“Mrs Harrington—”

“No,” she says, harshly. “I’m talking now, and you’re going to listen to everything I have to say.

“I thought, Nancy Wheeler, you know her?” He nods, silently. “Nice girl. He brought her home and I could see it in his eyes, you know? Just this… light. He was happy. I thought she was the one.”

“So did Steve,” he says before he can stop himself.

“When it didn’t work out, I felt sad for him, but my boys a catch. It’s not like he was going to be alone for long. But that spark, it just fizzled out of him. He carried this… I don’t know, sadness. He’d smile, and he’d laugh, but it was always there under the surface. And then he started getting into fights, vicious ones. The Hargrove boy put him in the hospital, did you know that?”

He did know that. Eddie had spent many a night lamenting the fact he’d never get the chance to punch Billy’s smug fucking face. He doesn’t tell Amanda Harrington that, though, just scowls and nods.

She tops her wine up again. Eddie just wishes she’d get to the part where she calls him a dirty queer and cuts him a cheque if he’ll leave Steve. He wonders how many pieces he could tear it into before throwing it all over her stone floor.

“When Steve didn’t get into college, David told him to get a job. We didn’t make him pay rent, but if he wanted money he was going to have to earn it. And he did. He got that stupid job at Starcourt, got up early every day, worked the weekends. We were both so proud of him.

“And then there was the fire…” Her voice shakes, and she looks genuinely upset, and, maybe for the first time today, he feels sorry for Amanda Harrington. “We were in Indy that day, having dinner with friends. We didn’t know what had happened. We got home late and he wasn’t here, but he was eighteen years old, you know? We thought he was out with friends. We weren’t worried.”

She takes a large breath, and let’s it out slowly. “We got a call at three in the morning to tell us our son was in the hospital. And when we saw him…” Her voice catches before she looks up at Eddie. “You’re not a parent, Eddie. So you can’t know what it feels like. You don’t know fear until you nearly lose your child. And we kind of did, a little. He was never the same after that,” she says softly. She gives a sour laugh. “And then it happened again.”

“Spring break,” Eddie says. She nods sadly.

Amanda pauses and swirls what’s left of her wine in its glass. “A few months after the earthquake, or whatever it was, he walked in the door one night and he just… He had that light back in his eyes and suddenly my Steve was home. And I knew he was in love.” She smiles, and Eddie sees Steve in his mother, just how alike they are. “It was like Nancy times a hundred. He was glowing. I was so happy to see him like that. And I asked him ‘When are you bringing this mystery girl home to meet us?’ and he’d be coy, get all shy. I asked him outright if he was in love and he didn’t hesitate, just said yes with a huge smile plastered across his face, and yet he wouldn’t bring her home to us.

“And then one day he sits us down and tells us that this girl who he has fallen so deeply in love with is… is a boy.” She looks accusingly at him, and he refuses to shrink under her glare. “And suddenly everything you thought about your child, everything you had planned for them, it’s gone,” she snaps her fingers, “overnight. Now I’m not worrying about teenage pregnancy, I’m worrying about AIDS—”

“That’s not—”

“No, let me finish! Let me get this out, for Christ’s sake.” She knocks back the last of her wine. “He’s explained, all of that to us. And how you’re being… responsible. But we’re old-fashioned. Traditional. Our son coming home and declaring he’s bi — whatever it is —”

“ — sexual.”

“Whatever it is,” she glares at him, “it’s hard for us. But here’s the thing. I haven’t seen him that happy in so long. Maybe ever. You gave him his light back. You. You with your long hair and your tattoos, and your bad reputation… ” She runs out of steam, and blows out a huge puff of air. “He says you talked him into going to college.”

Eddie nods. “He’s smart,” he says, fiercely proud. “Smarter than people give him credit for.”

“He is. I’m glad someone else sees it.” She gives him a ghost of a smile and he feels wrongfooted all of a sudden, no longer sure what they’re doing. The fight he thought he was gearing up for seemingly off the cards.

“We’re getting there, Eddie. And we’ll keep trying. He loves you. And we love him. You do love him, don’t you?”

Eddie’s throat tightens and he swallows hard. “So much it hurts,” he croaks.

She smiles, a tentative thing. Fragile. “Good. We’re on a journey, David and I. I’m a little further along… but he’s getting there. We’re both getting there. I hope you’ll allow us the time to catch up.”

And what can he say to that? His own father told him he was a dirty little freak and tried to beat the gay out of him. Steve’s parents just want more time. They can give them that. Eddie can give them that.

“If it’s okay with Steve, then it’s okay with me.”

Eddie watches the tension in Amanda’s shoulders melt away, the worried frown smooths. “Good. And… thank you. For your patience. And for looking after him. All I ever wanted was for someone to love him and look after him.”

“I will always love him.” And he means it, knows in his heart that whatever might happen in the future, whatever gets thrown their way, he will always love Steve Harrington “How could I not?” 

Amanda offers a shy smile and Eddie thinks maybe he’s done his job. Maybe, at the very least, she will accept them now, and try not to fight it.

She’s still smiling when she looks at the kitchen counter, at the mess of vegetables in various states of being chopped and washed. “You know what?” She gets up and grabs the vegetables, throwing them in the refrigerator with a slam of the door. She turns back to look at him, hands on hips, and Eddie bites back a smile. “Fuck the salad.” He’s open mouthed as she gestures out to the garden. “Dave doesn’t like it, Steve doesn’t like it and I’m not going to make you choke it down out of politeness.”

Amanda crosses the kitchen to him and offers her arm. “We have steps out there. If you fall Steve will kill me.”

Eddie wonders just what exactly Steve has been telling them, how infirm Steve seems to think he is and he’d be lying if it didn’t rankle him, but at the same time his mom is trying to do something nice. She thinks she’s helping. So he’s going to let her.

They walk out into the sunlight, arm in arm, and he sees Steve laughing with his Dad, they both look relaxed and happy and that’s all Eddie wanted from today. They look up as Amanda and Eddie approach, Steve locking eyes with Eddie, eyebrows raised in a silent question. Eddie smiles and nods and Steve visibly relaxes as he goes back to arguing about the best way to grill a steak.

The rest of the afternoon goes smoothly, and while it’s Steve’s Mom who does all the heavy lifting, his Dad isn’t exactly a silent partner. It feels so normal, family in-jokes and laughter and he can see how much Steve has missed this.

When they leave Amanda hugs him, giving him a warm smile, and David shakes his hand, a little longer and a little softer than the first one.

Steve starts the engine, the radio springs to life, and they head out of the driveway, back to their own home. Steve reaches across and takes Eddie’s hand in his. “Thank you,” he says, glancing away from the road for a second.

Eddie squeezes his hand. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“No, I do. I was a dick. The clothes, your hair… I’m sorry, okay? I was just…”

“Scared,” Eddie finishes for him.

Steve nods. “Scared.”

“They love you, Steve. Whatever happens. They love you, okay?”

Steve sighs, finally unburdened. "I know."

They pull up to a stop light, Tom Petty playing on the radio. Steve runs his hand through his hair, finally relaxed enough to muss it up. “Uh, Dad asked if you’d like to bring Wayne.” Steve glances across at him quickly, and then back at the stop light. “Next time?”

He’s not exactly sure what Wayne would say to an invitation to the Harringtons. But he does know that Wayne thinks the sun shines out of Steve’s ass, and there’s not much that he’d say no to if Steve was the one doing the asking.

“Sure,” Eddie says, and he reaches across to this boy, this man, that he loves so fiercely, and pulls him in for a kiss. “Next time.”

[what-yadoking-likes]

Dumb WolfHox AU Part 6

[Link to Part 5 here]

"Your kind are not welcome on my property."

Wolf feels the corner of his mouth curl. He takes his time flicking the excess ash from the end of his cigarette onto immaculately maintained lawns.

"You'll have to be more specific. Do you mean Swedish people?"

"You," Jeremy continues, seething so hard spittle sprays the side of Wolf's cheek, "have humiliated me in front of my family and friends with your - your - performance back there with my son."

Wolf continues to take his time, inhaling deeply and blowing a rough smoke circle when eh was done. "I thought they were quite entertained."

In the corner of his eye, Wolf sees Hoxton's father draw himself up to his full height - which isn't much, he realises with a smirk.

"I expect you to be gone before noon tomorrow. Am I clear? Faggots are not welcome in my home."

At the slur Wolf actually looks the man in the eye. He gazes at him - sees how anger and drink has blotched his face a violent red - how his jowls quiver - and how his curled fists shake.

"You'll need to repeat that. It's hard to hear when you're all the way down there."

Jeremy's face purples. He makes a noise like a wounded animal, and Wolf sidesteps his clumsy punch with ease. He turns, pivoting on one foot, and gives the man a good, hard shove into the shrubbery.

"Good fucking riddance," he says under his breath.

[carousel-crows]

WIP Wednesday

ok this au has been eating me alive—

basically a "ice and mav got caught and got dishonorably discharged" au but officially called my "Cherry Wine au"

————

⚠️TW/CW: THERE IS THE USE OF THE F SLUR AND SOME HOMOPHOBIA, ITS THE 90'S⚠️

They had been caught.

They had been foolish enough to think it would be okay.

They would face dishonorable discharge. There was no doubt. They had been careless. They knew the risks, the consequences.

And yet, they had been sloppy, unguarded. 

They lost their wings. The Navy had kicked them to the curb, penniless and destroyed. Homeless, broke, and lost. Left with nothing. 

The crazy part of Tom didn't regret it. He loved Pete, and nothing could change that. He would've taken the blame for Pete without hesitation if it could've saved him. 

The rest of him was disgusted. He had nowhere to go, no money, no college education, nothing. His family had disowned him for being “a fag”, and part of him felt like he deserved it. 

————

this is gonna be the angstiest thing i've ever written, and i still haven't decided on how it should end.

[stevesbipanic]

@steddieangstyaugust Day 6: "Who did this?"

Cw: homophobic language used (f word, not used by main characters)

Steve was late.

He was never late which is why Eddie had spent the last twenty minutes pacing around the trailer. Since Spring Break and Eddie's release from the hospital Saturdays had been movie night for the two older boys. A movie night that became date night a couple months ago when Steve smiled so softly at him and Eddie couldn't help but risk it all and kiss him. Steve never was late, but especially not on Saturdays.

Eddie knew Steve had a closing shift, solo because Robin had finally gotten the courage to ask out Vickie. Sometimes closing took longer alone but Steve always would call to let Eddie know. Eddie had already tried ringing the store multiple times but got nothing but voicemail.

Now, twenty minutes later, he couldn't wait any longer. He grabbed his keys and tried to keep his panic under control as he drove to the store, hoping that maybe he'd pass Steve on the way and it would all be a misunderstanding.

His relief at seeing Steve's car parked outside Family Video was short lived. The lights in the store were off, doors shut, no Steve. He parked quickly, jumping out, that's when he saw the real state of Steve's car. The tyres were slashed, headlights and a couple windows smashed and as he rounded the side looking for Steve he saw in bright red spray paint "faggot".

"Shit," Eddie whispered, "Steve!?" he called out desperately. Against all odds he heard a whimper from behind the store. He quickly ran around, his eyes catching on a crumpled figure curled up on the ground. "Steve? Baby, sweetheart, are you ok? Who did this? What hurts, love?" Eddie rambles crouching down towards him, brushing his fingers gently on his face which thankfully looks unharmed, Steve couldn't get another concussion.

"Ankle," Steve whimpers out, Eddie sees that it's red and swollen, he hopes it's just a sprain since it looks ok otherwise. "Stevie, what happened baby?"

"Can we go home first please?" Home had been the trailer for awhile now, Steve rarely went back to Loch Nora these days. "Of course, sweetheart, where are your keys, Wayne and I will come deal with your car later."

Steve whimpered again, "They're on the roof, I fell trying to get them back." Eddie sighed, running a comforting hand down Steve's side, "That's ok, sunshine, we'll deal with that tomorrow too, c'mon I've got you just lean on me." Eddie looped an arm under Steve helping him limp back to the van, Steve pointedly didn't look at his car. The drive home was quiet but thankfully not tense, more tired.

Eddie set Steve up on the couch, a pack of frozen peas on his ankle, he'd get Wayne to look at it when he got home later. He gingerly sits beside him, trying not to jostle Steve's foot too much. Steve immediately leans against his side, the weight of the night seeping out of him.

"I'm sorry."

Steve looked up quickly, "Why are you sorry?"

"You wouldn't have gotten hurt, whichever assholes that did that wouldn't have done it to you if it wasn't for me, Steve."

Steve sighed, "Eds, look at me." Eddie lifted his eyes to meet Steve's hazel ones wondering how much longer he'd get the privilege of being close enough to see the flecks of green in them. "I faced monsters worse than some homophobic assholes to get the honour of loving you, Eddie."

Eddie's breath caught in his throat at Steve's words but he continued, "I don't care what they call or do to me as long as you're always there to come get me, that I always get to come home to you, that's all that matters to me, not the car, not words, just you and me, ok?"

"Ok," Eddie whispered, he thinks he'd start crying if he tried to respond anymore. Steve nodded, satisfied, "Good, I love you, Eds, now can we please watch a movie. We were supposed to finish the trilogy tonight and if I see Dustin on Monday and can't answer his questions he'll pick you as his favourite and that won't do."

Eddie giggled at that, even when faced with danger and hate, Steve could make him smile, "Of course, sunshine." As the text began to scroll on the screen he wrapped an arm around Steve's shoulders, "Love you too, baby, thank you for giving me the honour." Just him and Steve, against the world, upside down or otherwise.

[wheneverfeasible]

Confession

wc: 3k || rating: T+ || AO3 || cw: referenced homophobia, homophobic language || summary: Eddie comes out to Wayne

Eddie Munson was bi.

Bisexual, meaning liking boys and girls and anything in-between.

What. The. Fuck.

It was all stupid Harrington’s fault. Steve. God, why did it have to be a preppy jock? There were plenty of other guys that could have snapped that realization on him, but no, he had to watch Steve Harrington spit out demobat blood (if it could be called that) after ripping its fucking spine out that made Eddie realize ‘huh, I think I like guys.’

It wasn’t like Steve was the only guy he was attracted to, he was shocked to realize. No, now that he knew that it was a possibility, his obsession with some of the musicians of bands whose music he wasn’t even that fond of started making a lot more sense, as well as how he’d reacted to some of the guys he’d gone to school with, or who had bought from him, and Jesus H. Christ, that guy at The Hideout had been hitting on him, hadn’t he?

So yeah, Eddie was dealing with a little bit of shock at his attraction to his friend, as well as the fact that that attraction was also apparently becoming a legitimate crush. Because that was healthy and safe to do. Especially when last he knew, Steve was still hung up on Nancy. And in a weird codependent relationship with Robin. Seriously, if he had to listen to Dustin complaining about why Steve wouldn’t just date Robin one more time, he was going to pull his hair out.

But so Eddie was bisexual. That was fine. Once he’d had his little crisis—and he’d been given plenty of time to think about it while recovering from being the main course at the all-you-can-eat Eddie Munson buffet—he’d done a little bit of research into the topic. Which was how he’d discovered that he had unintentionally been telling every gay man (if he came across any) that he apparently liked to top and was into inflicting pain with his sexual partners (suddenly the guy at The Hideout made more sense).

And…okay, maybe Eddie left the bandana there. He didn’t know, but the idea of it wasn’t too bad. Maybe. Maybe he should look into getting other bandana colors too, just in case.

It didn’t matter. He was still inexperienced, had only been with chicks before, and even then there had only been three of them. Two of them had only slept with him for the story, and the third one…well, everyone needed a little heartbreak in their life he supposed. Maybe he and Steve could compare notes.

The idea of sleeping with a guy, however, was not…unpleasant. It took him by surprise, sure, but he thought he could be down to trying some things out.

That wasn’t the issue on hand, however. It wasn’t what was eating him up inside, making him nauseous as he gnawed at his cuticles, pacing back and forth in the new double wide trailer the government had bought for them after Forest Hills was repaired. (R.I.P. to his uncle’s mug and hat collection.)

And there it was. The issue. His uncle.

Eddie could keep it a secret, sure. Could stay firmly inside the closet he hadn’t even known he’d been in, sitting safe and secret. But…that went against Eddie stood for. Sure, he knew he couldn’t shout it from the rooftop that he maybe sometimes thought about what it would feel like to have one of his best friends’ dicks in his mouth, but this was his uncle, man. This was Wayne.

Christ, he wished he had Ronnie, his former best friend, here to talk with her about all this. (He had also discovered another identity he hadn’t known about, asexuality, which he thought was right up Ronnie’s alley and wished he could tell her, but that was impossible now. She’d left Hawkins behind for a fresh start and he couldn’t blame her.)

But that meant that he was all alone. He loved the new friends he had, loved his band, but…well, this was something a little more complicated. And he wanted to tell his uncle. But…

Eddie gulped, every crunch of gravel outside the trailer sending an electric current through him as his anxiety spiked. His uncle should be home from work soon. Eddie paced a small circuit, knowing he needed a cigarette but also not wanting to go outside. His uncle had declared the new trailer a smoke-free zone. He doubted it would remain that way after this conversation.

He’d like to think his uncle would be supportive. After all, this was Wayne. His uncle loved him, had been there for him even when his own father hadn’t, and had stood by his side even when the whole town thought he was some psycho satanic serial killer. Hell, Wayne had walked in to Chrissy’s mangled corpse in his trailer and hadn’t once suspected Eddie of being guilty.

But having a queer for a nephew?

His uncle was progressive, but that didn’t mean he’d feel as complacent about his nephew being…what he was. His uncle had taken him in after he’d already grown and never expected him to help with the rent money, though Eddie did anyways with the money he got from dealing. But so Eddie was an adult, had a GED to his name, and didn’t need his uncle’s charity anymore.

Gravel crunched outside, the familiar sound of a truck engine rumbling along, and Eddie knew his uncle was home. Fuck. He hoped he didn’t leave this encounter with a black eye. Or worse. Hell, there were some people in this town that if he told this secret to, he wouldn’t leave the encounter at all. Not alive at least.

He knows his uncle isn’t like they though. He knows. Still, the fear persists. He’d always known he’d be too much for his uncle eventually. Would this be the final straw?

Wayne’s footsteps sounded on the porch.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!

Eddie had, in case he had to leave quickly, already packed a duffel. He wanted to trust his uncle, and he did, really, but…but there was that sickness going around, and Reagan, and Hawkins was such a conservative town, and Eddie just couldn’t know, not for certain. Not with something like this.

“Heya kid,” Wayne said with a gruffness to his voice that spoke of long hours at the plant, though there was the small relieved smile that curled his lips when he got home and saw Eddie there. Like Eddie’s presence was a reassurance now. Eddie hated that he was about to ruin that all.

Because sure, there was a possibility that Wayne would accept him, or at least not kick him out, but Eddie had seen too much shit to think that things would ever be easy for him. It was the Munson Curse.

“Hey Uncle Wayne,” Eddie said, and maybe it was the title, maybe it was the way his words warbled in his throat, but Wayne immediately stopped from where he was moving to pour the morning’s coffee into a generic mug and turned to face Eddie with a furrowed expression.

“Everything all right, Eds?” he asked quietly, hesitantly, and took a large stride over to where Eddie was hovering by the coffee table. He froze, however, eyes widening, when Eddie flinched. Wayne swallowed, his gaze darting over Eddie as though looking for an injury. “Eddie?”

He could do this. His uncle deserved to know he had a fucking fairy living under his roof. Maybe he wouldn’t care, or maybe he’d be fine with it as long as Eddie never acted on it, or maybe…maybe…

Eddie thickly swallowed against the rising burn of bile in the back of his throat. He wanted his uncle to know because this was a part of who he was and it was important to be honest with himself and with his only family member still alive that genuinely loved him, just…he hoped he didn’t lose that love with his confession. But he wanted Wayne to know. Even if it hurt.

“U-Uncle…” Eddie wrapped his arms tightly around himself, his tone almost pleading. He blinked back the burn behind his eyes next, willing the words to come out of his mouth. As soon as he’d fully realized the truth, fully known what it meant, he knew that he’d tell Wayne. No matter what, he wanted his uncle to know this about him.

Wayne’s face grew slightly panicked at Eddie’s response, the way he held himself, the tone of his voice, and Eddie could tell the older man wanted to reach out for him but was taken aback by Eddie’s earlier flinch. Christ, would Wayne still want to hug him after this? Touch him? Be in the same room as him? Breathe the same air?

Would he tell Eddie that Alan Munson had been right all these years when he’d continually abandoned Eddie because he’d somehow known his own son wasn’t worth sticking around for?

Wayne took another step closer and Eddie panicked.

“I’m bi!” he exclaimed suddenly, wincing as he withdrew into himself, squeezing his eyes shut as he subconsciously braced for some sort of physical attack. “I’m bisexual,” he whispered, his words shaking.

There was silence, stillness.

Eddie drew in a shaky breath and risked opening his eyes to look at Wayne, expecting disgust, revulsion, perhaps even anger. Instead, all he got was…confusion?

“What?” Wayne asked, his expression full of his lack of understanding what Eddie had just said.

Eddie swallowed again. “I…I’m bi? I like…both girls and boys,” he clarified carefully, though there was a touch of confusion in his own words, his brows furrowing as they only seemed to stump Wayne further. Eddie frowned, figuring he was as clear as could be.

“Did…” Wayne began frowning a little himself, still looking confused. “Okay? But you’re lookin’ like you wanted t’ tell me somethin’.”

Eddie blinked.

“I’m bi,” he repeated pointedly, his arms dropping to his side.

Wayne rolled his eyes to look at the ceiling for a moment in mild exasperation before looking at Eddie again. “Son, did someone say somethin’ ‘bout it?” His lips twisted into a small scowl. “Did that Harrington boy say anything?”

“What? Jesus, no!” Eddie exclaimed, because why the hell was his uncle bringing up Steve when he’d just come out to him? His insides still warmed at being called ‘son,’ however. “Wayne I’m…I…” The panic started up again despite everything and he swallowed nervously. “I like boys, Wayne. I’m a queer.”

Wayne just blinked at him, his scowl turning once more into a confused frown. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because it’s the truth!” Eddie exploded, not having expected his uncle to think he was making it up or lying. Jesus, and what a thing to lie about.

“Obviously,” Wayne snorted in answer, crossing his arms over his chest as he let his gaze roam over Eddie as if looking for an answer. “But I need to know what this prelude is for.”

Eddie felt lost. He stared at his uncle in confusion, his earlier fear and anxiety slowly draining away as he tried to make sense of what was happening. His uncle sounded…sounded like he already…

“You knew?” he asked, voice soft and fragile.

Wayne’s brows lowered, and Eddie felt a little offended that Wayne was looking at him like he was an idiot. “Eddie…I’ve known since you were twelve years old and told me you thought Big Bill Broonzy was pretty after lookin’ through your mom’s old records with the biggest blush on your face.”

Eddie gaped. He vaguely recalled something like that, but that wasn’t…he hadn’t…Jesus fucking H. Christ.

“And you didn’t tell me?” Eddie huffed in sudden annoyance.

“I thought you knew!” Wayne protested, throwing his hands up and looking like he was losing what this conversation was even about. “Wait, you mean to tell me that you’ve been makin’ moonin’ eyes at the Harrington boy and you didn’t even know you liked him?”

Eddie’s blush now could rival any he made when he was twelve. He stuttered, gaped, and dragged a whole handful of hair to cover his face in his embarrassment. “I know that,” he whined. “God, have I have been that obvious?”

Wayne snorted, rolling his eyes as he moved to finish pouring himself that cup of coffee. “Had me worried he finally said somethin’,” he muttered to himself. He turned to point the plain white mug at Eddie. “If he or any of the others do, you let me know, Edster, you got that?”

Eddie softly groaned, burying his face in his hands next as he stumbled back to drop onto the sofa. No wonder Robin had started giving him those looks. He gulped. And…and Steve. Steve had been smiling at him more often, was…was lightly touching him with lingering fingers, had even used that voice on him that he’d use on the pretty girls that stopped by Family Video…

Steve hadn’t been using that voice on any pretty girls that stopped by Family Video recently.

Gulping, realizing that that was not something he had the ability to think about right now, he focused on the truly important thing. He lifted his head to stare at his uncle with wide, shining eyes, his heart fluttering so madly in his ribcage he’d almost thought he’d trapped a bird in there. He licked his lips, eyeing his uncle with wary hope.

“You…you don’t mind?” he asked, needing to clarify, needing to know. “You don’t mind I like boys too?”

Wayne snorted, reaching for another mug and pouring it half full, leaving enough space for him to pour a godawful amount of sugar and a splash of milk in it, just like his nephew liked it, before taking it over to Eddie. He sat down on the sofa next to him, hanging it over. Eddie was grateful for it, even if it was room temperature now.

“Son, I know you ain’t lived here with me long, and I know your father…well, Al’s always had his faults. But we’re family, kid. I’ve loved you since the moment Elizabeth told me she was pregnant with you. Nothing is ever gonna change that, you hear?” He sniffed, taking a sip of his coffee. “‘Sides, ain’t nothin’ wrong with love. You just got lucky, and your chances for love have doubled now.”

Eddie glanced over at his uncle with a shy smile, relief and affection for the older man coursing through him. He cradled his own mug between his hands, drawing in a shaky breath. Wayne knew. Wayne knew and he still loved him. A small, tearful chuckle escaped him and he hastily wiped away one of the tears that fell down his cheek.

“Eddie…” Wayne sighed, sounding regretful as he set his mug on the coffee table and turned to properly face his nephew. “I am deeply sorry if I have ever made you feel like I wouldn’t accept you, like my love for you was conditional.”

Eddie hastily shook his head, setting his own mug down to mirror Wayne’s position, curling one knee halfway on the couch. “You didn’t,” he reassured. “You didn’t, I just…I…” He felt bad now for doubting Wayne. For packing a bag like he was going to get tossed out at any moment. For thinking even just for a second that his uncle would ever hit him.

Wayne studied Eddie’s face before letting out a soft sigh and a small nod. “I understand. It’s not safe out there right now, especially not with everything.” And Wayne didn’t even know everything. He couldn’t, not with all the papers Eddie’d been forced to sign while being patched up after everything. But he knew that he didn’t know, so there was at least that.

“I shouldn’t have doubted you,” Eddie murmured. “I trust you, Wayne. That’s why I wanted you to know. As soon as I was sure, I wanted you to know.” He huffed. “Meanwhile, you knew before even I did.”

Wayne grinned then, reaching out to clap Eddie on the shoulder, making the younger man grin back. “Here I thought it was just some unspoken understanding between us. Guess I know why you always seemed confused when I bought more mugs with rainbows on them.”

“Oh my god,” Eddie moaned, slapping a hand to his face. “I am such an idiot.”

Throwing his head back with a laugh, Wayne relaxed against the sofa, making Eddie chuckle and do the same. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, boy. Just know that you’re safe here, and so is whoever you bring around.” He huffed. “Even if it is the Harrington boy.”

Eddie quickly shook his head again, his hair fanning around him at the force of it, a nervous laugh escaping him. “Oh no, Wayne. Absolutely not. Steve is as straight as they come.” He smiled a little ruefully at that, and though Steve had been smiling at him like that, it was just because they were friends. Expecting anything else would just lead to more heartbreak.

Wayne gave him a disbelieving quirk of his brows. “Whatever you say, kid.”

Eddie rolled his eyes in response. “You thought he had said something homophobic earlier.”

Reaching for his mug, Wayne gave a one shouldered shrug. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone projected anger at themselves outwards.” He eyed Eddie. “They good to you though? Your friends. You feel…safe with them?”

Eddie thought about that. He trusted them, with his life actually, and not just in the figurative way. They’d proven that they’d save him, time and again. He even had his very own brand new walkie-talkie and call sign to show for it. He was part of something bigger now, something real, which was just what he had always wanted. Even if it was all over, their little group was a forever sort of thing.

Smiling, Eddie nodded. “Yeah, I think so.” He glanced over at Wayne with a soft look. “But no matter what, I know have you to back me up so…yeah, I feel safe because I know at the end of the day, I won’t be alone.” He had needed to tell Wayne first, but maybe…maybe he could tell the others too. Eventually.

Wayne gave a short nod. He seemed content with that answer. “Just remember to use protection when you bring your boy over.”

“Wayne!” Eddie screeched scandalized, but his uncle only laughed.

Of course, it still took several months to get there, but when Wayne came home early one day to find Eddie and Steve shirtless and making out on the sofa, all Eddie could do was give his uncle a sheepish smile.

When the next day Wayne came home and chucked a new pack of condoms at his head, Eddie just gave another scandalized screech while Steve, once again next to him, flushed a bright cherry tomato red.

They’d use them, of course, but it was the principle of the matter.

[rememberwren]

A Dichotomy of Thought || 10

Prior and future chapters here.

A visitor in the park.

CW: domestic violence, rape, ableist language, homophobic slurs (f-word), internalized ableism, suicidal ideation.

-

It seems cruel that such terrible things must happen at moments when you are your happiest. There’s logic in it, sure—there can be no joy without pain, and happiness is bracketed on either side by sadness—but logic and cruelty don’t have to live apart from each other. In fact, you would often say they are married. 

Your boyfriend stands over you, blotting out the sun like a raincloud come to pour down on the briefest moment of peace you have felt in the last several days. Everything about him is innocuous: his clothes, his posture, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he stares down at you with unspeakable fondness in his eyes. 

“Hi honey,” he says. “How was work?” 

Johnny goes to stand, but your boyfriend is quicker, banging his shin violently against Johnny’s knee. Johnny sucks in a breath as the pain winds him, body bowing over to protect his most vulnerable areas. 

“Don’t stand on my account,” your boyfriend says to his crumpled figure. “Did I get the right knee? I did, didn’t I? I wasn’t sure if it was the right or the left—“

“Hey!” you bellow, the volume of your own voice surprising you. You stand between them, put both hands against your boyfriend’s chest, and push. He nearly goes sprawling on the sidewalk, only barely managing to get his feet under him in time. You point a shaking finger in his face. “You don’t fucking touch him!”

“An accident,” he laughs, lifting his hands. “I stumbled into him. It could have happened to anybody.” 

“Yer a fucking cunt,” Johnny groans, both hands gripping his thigh above his knee, knuckles pale. “And so’s yer mother. Syphilis-infected-cocksucking bitch.”

“Not nice,” your boyfriend says mildly, shoving his hands back into his pocket. “Do you kiss my fiancé with that mouth?” 

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about,” you hiss. All three of you quiet down as an older couple inches by, hand in weathered hand. When they are a safe distance away, you ask: “How did you know I was here? Were you following me?”

“I can’t reveal all my secrets,” he says, lowering his voice to a dangerous timber, one that promises violence. “The same way you’re not willing to give up all of yours. You thought I wouldn’t notice you coming home late all the time? Do I look stupid?” 

Johnny makes a sound, some kind of wounded laugh that only serves to put you on edge even more. You can imagine his answer—but he doesn’t know your boyfriend. He doesn’t know the kind of grim, intelligent cruelty that is wielded against you every day. Johnny is hot headed and craving violence, but he’s in no condition to experience it. 

You have to protect him. 

“We can talk about it at home,” you mutter, making sure to keep between the two men who seem eager for each other’s blood. Your boyfriend tongues his cheek, eyeing Johnny, weighing his options. 

“Come on,” you say, louder. Reaching out, you grip his arm, nails digging into his skin. He doesn’t even flinch. But after an endless moment of waiting for further provocation from Johnny, he decides Johnny isn’t worth his time. He laces his fingers in yours and pulls you along, further away from the bench, from Johnny, from the sunlight. 

“Get in the car,” he says, walking to the driver’s side. 

“You’re not supposed to drive.” 

“I won’t say it again.” 

He won’t, either. You know him. So instead you slip into the passenger seat. There’s no worse feeling than being in an enclosed space with him. The air feels heavy and oppressive, weighing you down. At the same time, your body buzzes with adrenalin, preparing for pain. You numbly buckle your seatbelt while he starts the car. 

“How long have you been cheating on me with that cripple next door?” he asks calmly. 

“I’m not.”

The calm snaps, nothing but a thin sheet of icy veneer over a deep, dark lake of fury. 

“Don’t—lie—to—me,” he says through his teeth. He holds out a hand and wiggles his fingers. “Phone. Hand it over. You’ve lost your privileges.” 

“I don’t have it,” you lie. “It’s at work.” 

“You really do,” he says, staring at you with borderline awe. “You think I’m a fucking idiot, don’t you? Oh, baby. Oh, honey. You’re in for it. How do you think I fucking found you? Give me the goddamn phone.” 

You shake your head. You can’t give it up. Not when it’s the only safe way for Simon to contact you. 

He reaches for your hand. The two of you struggle as you try to avoid his touch, briefly banging your knuckles on the car window, but then he has your hand in his grasp, and he takes your smallest finger and wrenches it back, back—you feel the pop, pain lancing through your hand all the way to your wrist. 

You screech. 

“Give me the phone,” he says, letting you cradle the misshapen hand against your breast. You grit your teeth, tears dripping off your chin. When he reaches for your hand again, you break and turn out your pockets, handing over your last lifeline. He takes the phone and beats it against the dashboard, again and again and again until the screen is a spider’s web of cracks, glass littering your knees. 

He hands you back the broken phone. 

“You broke my fucking finger,” you cry, voice warbling embarrassingly. 

“You broke your own finger by not listening to me the first time,” he says, tossing the phone in your lap when you don’t take it. He puts the car in reverse. “Don’t blame me for your mistakes, baby.” 

-

The two of you spend five hours in the emergency room together. This is an integral part of the experience; when he hurts you, he has to heal you. 

Your pinky isn’t broken, only dislocated. They set it and splint it and warn you that it could take months to feel normal again, like you know at all what that word means. Beneath the tinny lights of the exam room, your makeup job must be failing, because the nurse asks your boyfriend to step out so that she can ask you a few questions alone. 

This isn’t your first time in the emergency room, and you know the rules. You stick to your story (the one he had stitched together on the drive to the ER) even without your boyfriend’s oppressive presence looming over your shoulder. The nurse gives you a look that is both professional and pitying. You spend the rest of the visit refusing to meet her eyes, chewing on the nails of your good hand. 

“Could you be any more suspicious?” your boyfriend asks mildly while the two of you leave. He waves to one of the nurses, who gives back a cheerful little salute. 

Making friends wherever he goes; that’s your boyfriend. 

-

Walking into your apartment is like walking into another world. 

Everything has been upended: the couch cushions, the silverware drawers, the chairs at the table. DVD’s have been removed from their boxes. Even the fucking lamps have had their lampshades removed. The bathroom and bedroom doors have been taken off their hinges and laid neatly against one another in the bedroom. 

“You weren’t the only one busy today,” he says, relishing in your grim expression. “You know the drill. Clean up. Then we’ll go to bed.” 

This is an old trick of his that you know well. He tore the place apart searching for contraband—but he knows that even he isn’t all-powerful. Now he waits to see where you will rush to clean up first, where your anxious mind will take you, desperate to find out if he’s found whatever you’ve been hiding. Once it was money. Another time, a business card for a lawyer. 

This time, a lighter that’s not your own. 

You’re smarter now, though. You don’t go straight for your sock drawer where the lighter is hidden. You begin at the northernmost point of the apartment and clean north to south, east to west, methodical, your hand throbbing as the anesthetic wears off. 

It is deeply late by the time you make it to the bedroom to find your clothes strewn across the bed. Your eyes burn with exhaustion, body aching from a long day at work (and a longer day after work). You can’t help but think of Johnny as you clean, tucking clothes back into their drawers, putting clothes back on their hangers. Did he make it home safely? Did he finally message Simon? Did he try to walk home? Thinking about Johnny out alone in the dark makes your stomach turn unpleasantly. 

Sock drawer now. Most of these are still in the dresser, though some have been pushed out into the floor in your boyfriend’s search for ammunition to use against you. You pick up the few outliers and stuff them back into the drawer. 

No lighter. 

It’s not there. You know even as you continue to search without hope, rifling through your paired socks as subtly as you can. This is all just another game. He’s found the lighter and has just been waiting for you to notice it’s gone so that he can torment you with it. Maybe he’ll flick the spark wheel (the way Johnny can’t—God, Johnny, please be okay—) and hold the flame to your skin or your hair—

You touch something hard, plastic. Your breath catches. It’s there. It’s still there, tucked inside a pair of socks. He hadn’t found it. Relief rises up in you so poignantly that tears fill your eyes, even as you force yourself to shut the drawer and move on to another part of the room, feeling your boyfriend’s presence at the door, watching. 

The lighter was so little, but it meant so much. You couldn’t even put into words why. Because it was Johnny’s, maybe. Because it was yours, now. Because it was one thing your boyfriend hadn’t put his hands on and destroyed or claimed as his own. Nothing belonged to you—not your money, not your body, nothing. Except maybe that silly lighter. 

You wait until after he fucks you to speak, stubbornly maintaining your silence even through the pain and humiliation he inflicts on you. There’s something even worse about the way he draws your body against his afterwards, an arm looped possessively over your waist, the imitation of a loving cuddle. 

“I want to break up,” you say. 

He gives a long-suffering sigh, breath rustling your hair. “Keep dreaming, baby.” 

The words won’t stop tripping out of your mouth. 

“I mean it. I hate you—and you hate me. All we do is fight and hurt each other. Why…” you get choked up, swallow past the lump in your throat. “We don’t have to do this anymore. You can’t possibly be happy. Is this really how you want to live the rest of your life? Tormenting me?” 

He is quiet for longer than you expect. You hold your breath, tears dripping from your eyes and over the bridge of your nose, down into your pillowcase. Maybe he’s thinking about it. Maybe he’s really considering it. 

At last, he says: “Don’t ever think that there’s anywhere else in the world…anything else I’d rather be, than right where I am.”

Your heart plummets.

“Now go to sleep,” he says, kissing your neck. “You work in the morning.”

-

The sun goes down before Simon finds him. Johnny sits shivering on the bench where you left him, his eyes red rimmed and unseeing even when he hears the familiar footsteps of his lover against the pavement. 

Simon sits next to him where you once sat, and for a long time, neither of them speaks. When Johnny finally breaks the silence, his voice is rough from hours of crying and disuse. 

“I brought her here,” he says. 

Simon nods. He knows. Of course he knows. 

“I think she liked it,” Johnny adds, trying to find any brightness in the dark that encompasses him. 

But all at once the tears come back, his throat burning, head throbbing. He bends at the waist, elbow on his thigh, and shakes, trying to keep his crying quiet, still clinging to the remnants of a dignity that God tears more from his grasp every day. When Simon’s warm arm wraps around him, it just makes him cry harder, even as he leans into the heat of the other man like a flower bends toward the sun. 

“I’m useless,” Johnny weeps. “Fuckin’ useless. He showed up and just—took her, and I couldn’t do a thing to stop him. Even you think I’m useless—druggin’ me to keep me from getting in your way. I can’t dress myself, can’t tie my own shoes. What fucking good am I, as a human being? What’s the good in being alive if I have to live like this?”

Simon says nothing. Johnny leans up, letting the moonlight wash over his tear-soaked face. He wipes at his cheeks. 

“You can’t be happy, either,” he says, taking in the solemn lines of Simon’s face, the shadows under his eyes. Simon looks older than his age, and Johnny knows who is responsible, who has aged him. Terrified to know the answer, he asks: “Is this how you want to live? With an overgrown child as your lover? One who can’t remember where he took off his shoes? Who needs you to, to cut up his food and button his shirts?” 

“If that’s how it’s going to be,” says Simon simply. “If that’s how I get to be with you. Then yeah, Johnny. I’m solid.” 

Johnny shakes his head. He can’t even find the energy within him to be angry. All that’s left is disbelief. “You can’t mean that.” 

“I mean it. I—“ Simon ducks his head. “—I never should have put those pills in your juice. I should have trusted you. I wish I could take that back.” 

Johnny sniffs wetly. It’s as close to an apology as he’s ever heard Simon give, and it makes no small amount of guilt bloom in Johnny’s aching chest. 

“You were right not to trust me,” says Johnny. “I was lying.”

“I know,” says Simon. He reaches down and laces his fingers with Johnny’s one hand. “But I want to be a man who trusts you, even if I’m wrong.” 

Johnny is quiet for a long time, turning those words over in his head. A painful longing rises up in his chest, one he hasn’t felt since the days when he was still in the 141, days when he could barely breathe for wanting the man beside him so badly. When they’d had to love each other in secret, and it felt like he would happily have given anything if it meant they didn’t have to hide anymore. 

I miss you, he thinks. I miss myself. Leaning in, he lays his cheek against Simon’s shoulder. 

“Are we gonna make it?” he wonders quietly, watching the last of the fireflies twinkle around the dim park. Soon it will be too cold for them. Soon it will be too cold for Johnny. 

“Whatever we do, we’ll do it together,” Simon promises, laying his temple against Johnny’s head. 

-

He waits until you are asleep to creep out of the bed. There is no rest for him—not when he gets in these restless, paranoid moods. Not when he has a hunch to follow. 

Quietly, he drifts through the apartment like a ghost. Everything is back in its place, but he tries to think of anywhere he might have missed to search. You are hiding something; he knows it. He knows you. You’re see-through to him, predictable in a way that used to thrill him but now just irritates. 

“Where is it?” he mutters, standing in the living room, turning a slow circle. 

Was the lighter really all you’d been hiding? That stupid piece of plastic and metal? He’d found it easily and decided it served him better left in its place. Let you think that he had missed it. Let you think that he was slipping. 

“I’m sharper than ever, baby,” he mutters to himself in the darkness. 

Halfheartedly, he searches a few places that he had already gone through: checking some of the mugs on the top shelf in the kitchen, feeling beneath the table in the foyer for anything taped beneath it. 

He thinks about the cripple next door while he does it. Johnny. A problem, if he’s ever seen one. Him and his boyfriend both. What two faggots want with you, he can’t imagine—good Samaritans, perhaps? Well they would find out in good time what happened to people who put their noses where they didn’t belong. 

Regardless, he doesn’t like it. It leaves a sour taste in his mouth. 

Sighing, he braces his hands against the table, resting his weight against it. If he’d known that this building would cause so much trouble, he never would have moved you in here. Not that the two of you had been swimming in options. 

Your keys on the table catch his eye, but he doesn’t know why. He nudges them with his hand, metal dragging over the wood. On a whim, he counts them. 

There is an extra key. 

His brows lift. He picks up the keys and goes through them one by one, wracking his brain to remember what each one is for. At last he’s left with a single unfamiliar key. One that looks identical to the key to their apartment. A duplicate? he wonders. For when she’s locked out? 

But no, the keys are different. Just similar. 

An idea tickles at the back of his brain, but he’s never been the kind of man to ignore his instincts. He goes to the door without bothering to slip on his shoes, and steps silently out into the hallway. At this time of night, there is no one out and about, no one peeking at him from their doors.  On silent feet, he pads to his neighbor’s door and grips the knob. Locked. 

He slips the key into the lock—and it opens. 

Oh that little bitch. Fury rises up in him until he can taste it in the back of his throat. He wants to go and wake you, take a fistful of your hair and drag you out into the hallway for all your nosy neighbors to see, wants to hear that shriek of pain you give when he hurts you so unexpectedly—

But no. He has to be smart. 

He locks 5C’s door again, checks the handle, then slips back into his apartment. There will be no rest for him tonight. Not when there is so much to think about. 

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 11

part 1 | part 10 | ao3

cw: period-typical homophobic language, explicit sexual content (if you are under 18 then kindly GO ON NYOW GIT come back when you grow your first gray pube)

It feels crazy, after all that, to just get up and face the day. Feels like last Fall all over again: he’s concussed in the back of class getting bagel crumbs on a worksheet with his face still pulverized. There’s a gross pang in his chest as he goes about his morning routine, his heart all squishy and bruised like some dickhead smashed a plate over it, but whatever, he guesses. Public education and minimum wage wait for no one.

Robin grills him the whole car ride: “Oh, my god, is he okay?? Is he alive? Is your mom okay? What the hell, Steve?” and he lets her ramble with wide, worried eyes; doesn’t even get to the part about Eddie. When they pull up to the school she gets out of the car and comes around to his side, knocks on his window and leans in when he rolls it down to give him a ridiculously long hug.

"Robinnn," he grumbles; his face is mashed against her boobs. "People are gonna think we're dating."

She bends to hug him tighter still, her bony ass hanging out his window where the whole school can see. "I'd date you in a second."

"You've literally said that you wouldn't."

"Platonically, I would!!"

She gives him one last squeeze, and he watches her waddle off, trumpet case awkwardly smacking her calves.

And then he just... goes to work. He goes to stand around a nearly empty store and pretend like he even has any work to do, restocks the already full displays of candy and buffs the countertops until they shine. Three hours in and he's run out of ways to look busy and Keith is “doing admin stuff” in the back, so he gives his mom a call. Makes sure she's okay; did she eat anything yet; any updates on Ernie?

She’s fine, she's not hungry, he's alive but that's all they know for now, her tone distantly polite like Steve's nothing more than a friendly cold caller.

He shoves his fingers in his eyes ’til he sees stars when they hang up.

He calls the Henderson house next, leaves a message to apologize for skipping out early, promises that he'll be there next Wednesday and he can bring dessert this time. There’s a lunch rush after that, but the day still drags like a bad hangover, a dull throbbing in his bones, and when he finally gets home he collapses onto his bed and passes out on top of the covers with his dumb work vest still on.

—

Eddie's acting weird.

Steve sees him again on Friday, spots him and his uncle having a smoke out on the porch and wanders over to say hello. Wayne seems happy enough to chat; gives him all the news on Ernie — "Bastard's unkillable," he says, almost impressed. He’s stable now, should be home any day.

Eddie, on the other hand, spends the entire interaction behaving like a skittish cat, eyes darting to and from Steve, leg jiggling as he quietly puffs his cig.

Steve half expects him to slink off and come back to drop a dead mouse at his feet.

He feels his brows knit together, agitation creeping in. It's not like he thought they'd be best friends after a single night of ceasefire or anything — as if they'd start braiding each other's hair and trading their deepest, darkest secrets or whatever queer shit — but like…

He thought they might be cool now. At least a little bit.

And Eddie's not being rude to him, exactly, but that's somehow even worse. The polite disinterest. The subtle shift to the left. Back and away.

“Okay, well, uh...” Steve glances at Eddie, who's looking anywhere but him. Fucking fascinated by a loose thread on his ripped jeans, apparently, plucking at it with anxious fingers. “See ya around, I guess?”

Wayne says not be a stranger, and Eddie gives him a quick nod. “See ya.”

Steve grinds his teeth about it for the rest of the afternoon, then decides, like, screw this. It's a Friday night; he's not sitting around sulking all evening because Eddie Munson hurt his feelings.

He calls up a girl — some pretty blonde chick he remembers from the cheer squad — and sets up a date for later that night. Takes her to the drive-in, buys her a vanilla shake. The date's fine; it's good; it's fine. She's pretty enough, and she offers to suck him off when the main feature starts.

It’s not a good blowjob. Arguably one of the worst ones Steve’s had, and he’s had quite a few. She keeps gagging herself with these gross squelching sounds, barely getting even half of his dick in her tiny mouth and not bothering to use her hands to make up the difference. Just leaves them resting on Steve’s thighs while she makes fake whimpering moans like she’s sooo turned on by this; fucking as if; and somewhere in the middle of her repetitive, sloppy bobbing his mind starts to wander off. To the trailer, to the lot fees, the fucking pharmacy bills. Their ever-dwindling savings and what percentage of them he just wasted on this lackluster movie night; surely they’re gonna run out any day now; tick tock, tick tock.

"Um," the girl squeaks as she pulls off with a gross slurp. Steve looks down at his lap, sees he's gone soft. "Am I, like, doing something wrong, or...?"

Her voice is high and quiet, innocent and sweet, and Steve feels like an asshole. He squeezes himself at the base, gives a few quick strokes to get himself up again. "No, you're perfect, honey," he lies. "Stick out your tongue for me?"

She bats her eyes demurely and rolls over onto her side, gives him some kind of sexy pout before opening her mouth so he can jerk off over her. Steve works his wrist; tries not to be rude and look away, but her colors are all wrong. Strawberry hair. Blue irises. He squeezes his eyes shut, moves his hand faster and thinks of dark brown. Dark hair, dark lashes, dark eyes like the deep woods. Endless. Sort of mesmerizing. Nancy? "Oh, fuck," he gasps as he comes.

The girl squeals and jerks away from him, hands flying to her face. "Oh, my god! Oh, my god! You got it in my nose!"

"Sorry,” Steve grunts, shuddering through an aftershock. There’s cum on his hand, on his pants; all over this poor girl’s face. He thinks he got some in her eyelashes. "Shit, sorry, let me, uh—"

He leans over and rifles through the glove box, trying to find a napkin for her. No dice. Best he can do is an old McDonald's wrapper with a grease stain on the side. "Here, does— does this work?"

“Ew!”

“Sorry, I mean it’s that or my shirt, but then I’d have to drive you home shirtless, so-”

“Ugh,” she gives him a bitchy look. Tries to, anyway. One eye is glued shut. “Just give me that, please.”

His limp, spitty cock is still hanging from his pants when he passes her the wrapper. Flaccid and sad, like a white flag of surrender, and a bubble of hysterical laughter slips out. A choked burst of it, a pufferfished pfffft as it explodes past his lips. He’s not sure if it's the orgasm or the ridiculousness of the situation or if he's just plain lost his mind, but the girl glares at him, which...

There's still a glob of jizz on her cheek, so it doesn’t help matters much.

"I think you should take me home."

"Y-yep. Sorry. Yeah."

“Like now.”

Steve tucks himself into his jeans.

—

part 12

tagging whoever commented yesterday if your settings will let me @slutforcoffein @annabanannabeth @rani-mayida @awolfstudio @noodle-shenaniganery @yourmom-isgay @zombiecreatures @anne-bennett-cosplayer @thestarslittleking @evillittleguy @acedorerryn @messrs-weasley @bronwenmarie @lololol-1234 @estrellami-1 @jaytriesstuff @space-invading-pigeon @violetsteve @ahsokatanoss @slowandsteddie @zoeweee @silver-snaffles @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @thealwithnoname @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @hellion-child @stevesbipanic @trensu @steves-strapcollection @hotluncheddie

[teamfreewill2pointo]

Tumblr won't let me share the audio clip of Misha answering the last question from Crossroads, so here's a transcript.

[Fan] Um, it's kind of about Destiel so - [Misha] Perfect last question really

[Fan]So there's a show called 911 and - It's about firefighters and it's been going on for about seven seasons now. And recently in seven seasons it moved networks from Fox to ABC. And um, one of the main characters, he's a man named Buck and- he kissed another man and it's been said that by the actor who plays Buck on the previous network Fox, they wouldn't have been able to do that. So when they moved, they thought, okay, we can do it now because it's on a different network. So my question is, do you think if Supernatural had a new networks earlier on, or if the show was made later something like this could have happened between Dean and Cas? [Misha] If think that if the CW- [Fan 2] Fuck them! [Misha] had not been- Had not been so homophobic- [Audience cheers] [Misha] Dean and Cas would have been balls deep. [Audience cheers] [Rob] I think you just made a headline. [Audience cheers and laughs]

[Misha] I will tell you- I will answer that question um- in- in part earnest. I, I think that there's been a sea change in culture um broadly. When I joined Supernatural and- and- Destiel became this very like hush-hush thing on the internet that we weren't even supposed to talk about. Um, there was no way on God's green earth that anything like it, uh, a consummation of that kind of relationship would make it to the screen on our show. And by the end of the series, we had lasted for so long that the culture had changed and there had become an acceptance of the possibility that that kind of, like, Declaration of Love could happen. Um, I- I- I mean... When I was growing up, um, we used the word f*g as a filler all the time. It was like, just want to insult one another, and f*g, homo, like, that's what everyone was saying in elementary school. My kids see two dads or two moms dropping their peers off at school and it does not faze them at all. And there's none of that language in their schools. Now, I know that [Audience claps and I can't understand a few words due to clapping] we're decades away from eliminating homophobia in our society. But we've come so far and so I think the answer to your question is, yes, like had to show happened later on and had another 10 years to evolve who- who knows what could've happened. Um, I think that there would have been a lot more representation on the show, in general. We would have had more female directors. We would have had more female leads on the show. We would have had more people of color. A lot of things would have been different on the show, um, if it had just been 10 years later. Um, and there- and of course, like you know, the pendulum always swings. There's always a reaction to Evolution and, you know, in our country, we have the far right emerging and Neo-Nazis like, honestly taking, you know, like, seats of power and potentially, you know, for a second time, the presidency. It's- It's a pretty scary time.

[Rob] Book burning happening, you know? [Misha] What's that? [Rob] And book burning happening. [Misha] Yeah [Rob] You know, watching the show too- watching the rewatch podcast that I do with Rich, like- [Cheers] You see how much things have changed. There are certain things in the show where like, oh, then you wouldn't do that now. You know? [Rob] Like they use the word bitch all the time in the show and it's like- eugh- a little cringy, right? You know. [Misha] Yeah. Um, a lot of- there were a lot of things that we did that I don't think would stand the test of time at all now. But, um, we try to be better. [Rob] Also, I would just say, like, one thing I love about these rooms that this- this, um, family that we're here, in the Supernatural family, is like everybody is welcome and everybody's okay whoever you are, whatever you are, however you are- like, it's this is a safe space.

ETA: so it turns out that the enforcement at Starfury is different than the rules at jibcon or CE and I will not be sharing the audio clip. Jibcon officially has a no recording rule, which almost everyone in fandom ignores. Starfury is different.

[robilover]

silver wolf who loves fem reader so so so much? silver wolf brain rot era has not left me since 26/04/2023 😭😭 basically hcs of her love for reader? and she’s basically willing to do everything in the universe for her (maybe some nsfw of silver wolf being a bit possessive bcos she’s jealous [i personally think she’s a possessive lover 👀😵‍💫]) how do you personally think silver wolf wld be (nsfw headcanons)? HELP my request is so vague 😭 but i hope you’ll do it either way 😭😵‍💫

did you know that silver wolf is my very first limited 5-star? I also got her light cone because I was so in love with her😭 had to skip seele just for her hshaja

Lovestruck!Silver Wolf SFW and NSFW Headcanons !

pairing(s): silver wolf x fem!reader

cw: silver wolf is a streamer, smitten and possessive silver wolf, strap-on use, implied fingering, marking, dom!silver wolf, men and homophobes dni.

SFW

silver wolf strikes me as someone who just loves to spoil her girlfriend with game credits. she definitely did not hack someone’s bank accounts—

to me, her main love language is gift giving. she always shows her love to you by giving you little trinkets that are either from games, or anything that makes her think of you.. especially when it comes to games.

if she hears you saying that you want this character, or that weapon of theirs, battle pass, or anything at all, you suddenly get them.

she’s a very skilled hacker, so why not put them to good use? even if you’re against them, she wouldn’t care at all.

aside from giving you stuff you like, she doesn’t mind holding you close in her arms. she loves your warmth.

whenever she plays, she always calls for you to sit beside her.. or even her lap. why, you ask? well, she thinks that you bring her luck to her games and gacha pulls. she thinks of you as her lucky charm!

she occasionally gives you kisses whenever she feels like it. when she somehow gets her hands off of her keyboard or phone, she puts one of her hands (or both) on your body. may it be your cheeks, your waist, your hips, your thighs — anywhere. she just can’t help but want to touch you as a way to take a break from her games.

there are times that she just cups your face and tells you how cute you look, even poking your cheek with a chuckle. that little gesture would make your face heat up.

most of the time, you would catch her staring at you. what you don’t know was that she’s already gushing about you (she does that 24/7). you’d already see her faintly blushing and you would ask her why her face is red. she brushes it off by saying that it was hot in the room before turning away to get snacks from her food stash.

nsfw under the cut, read at your own risk!

—

NSFW

silver wolf may not show it much, but she is possessive towards you. she absolutely hates it when people hit on you, may it be in games, in her streams, or in real life.

if she sees someone hitting on you in game while you’re both playing, you could see her gripping her mouse/game console/phone so tightly, almost like she could break it if she continued to apply force on them. she would mutter under her breath on how she’d hack their accounts if they don’t stop.

if she’s on stream and you could be seen by the camera, her chat goes crazy over you—basically thirsting over you. it would make her grit her teeth as she tries oh-so politely to tell her chat to calm down, it’s just her beautiful girlfriend and you’re all hers.

if she couldn’t handle it anymore, she abruptly ends her stream and turns to you, as you were just laying on her bed. she would look at you with hunger and immediately removes her headphones and pounces on you, which resulted in you squealing.

when she’s possessive and jealous, she tends to be rough.

you would have bite marks all over your body—your neck, collarbones, shoulders, stomach, thighs—basically anywhere that she has access to. after all, she loves to show everyone who you belong to.

silver wolf loves it when you moan her name. it encourages her to fuck you so hard until you could barely even form a single word other than her name. for her, it’s an ego booster.

she would make you cum countless of times using her fingers. and if you’re overstimulated enough, she decides to use a strap-on. a big one.

she’d pound into your cunt so harshly that the room would be filled with your loud, whiny moans and skin slapping against skin. she’d grunt and groan at your moans, her face buried into your neck as she places kisses on your skin to make you whine under her.

she would grumble how you’re hers and no one else’s between thrusts and grunts, her hands grasping tightly onto your hips.

silver wolf surprisingly has quite the stamina, that the both of you would last for hours on her bed.

once she’s satisfied, she becomes awfully and surprisingly? gentle.

her aftercare would be gentle kisses on the marks she left on your skin, whispering praises into your ear at how well you took her and that she loves you so much. she also loves how fucked out you look that she sensed that you could barely register anything that she says.

in the end, she cuddles you close to her heart while whispering sweet nothings into your ear until you fall asleep in her arms (probably passed out) <33

[sister-lucifer]

Man Up: A Preview

T4T Tim Wright/Masky x Transmasc!Reader

CW: force masc, degradation, use of homophobic language (i.e. sissy, pansy), generally mean, pissed off dom Tim

“I don’t wanna see you in any of that pansy shit ever again, do you fuckin’ hear me?”

“Tim, please…!” You whimper, grabbing his wrist and weakly trying to free yourself from his grip. 

“I asked you a question, boy. Do you hear me?” 

You nod as best you can, frantically attempting to placate him. 

“Y-Yes, yes! I hear you, okay?! Let go…!” 

He debates the order for a moment, ultimately deciding to concede. He releases his grip on your face, but doesn’t back up. He leans down to speak into your ear, his breath warm on your delicate skin. 

“You’re a man now. You’re gonna stop acting like a fuckin’ sissy. No more skirts, no more lace, no more of that shit I know for a damn fact you hate wearing. It’s for your own good.”

You open your mouth to argue, but you can’t force out any words. The humiliation of this ordeal is making your throat clamp shut. You didn’t think Tim had noticed. How stupid you must be for being so obvious. 

“…I’m sorry,” is the only response you can manage, a little whisper of regret. You keep your gaze trained on the floor, too afraid to look up at Tim. Even now, he thinks, you’re cowering. Pathetic. 

“Let me tell you what you’re gonna do, boy,” He says, placing two hands on your shoulders and squeezing a bit, “You’re gonna take off that frilly ass outfit. All of it. You’re gonna strip down nice and naked, then you’re gonna lay on that bed and wait for me to get back. I’m not done with you.”