#i would constantly be like who IS this guy take me back to the gay people

[cruelsister-moved2]

12 and 3 for the book asks!

12:Any books that disappointed you? Yeah 😭 like this book daughter of the moon goddess was marketed as like a mythological retelling and then it was just like the most generic magic school YA fantasy love triangle it was soooo bad thats like 8h of my live ill NEVER get back..... also wasnt prepared for earthsea being really misogynistic. scream. also honestly the prose of basically every new release I've read has been disappointing to me sorry to be a hater

3: What were your top five books of the year? ngl most of my top books this year were nonfiction, but i really liked she who became the sun by shelley parker-chan like its not a perfect book but it was enjoyable and exciting the way it depicts gender. and human acts by han kang was really good. everything else i liked was like short story collections and nonfiction ngl. wait i mean i enjoyed reading (the first 3 books of) earthsea but the misogyny literally left such a bad taste in my mouth 😭 i know she addressed it later etc etc but it just blindsided me bc i didn’t expect it also in the first book when ged’s little creature thing died i literally almost DNFed

[leosxrealm]

ᴍᴀɴ ɪɴ ʀᴇᴅ

pairing(s): Charles Leclerc x male! Norris! reader

request: Charles Leclerc x m!reader but his older brother is Lando and he always goes to his races and gradually learns about Charles and grows a hatred for him bc he thinks he's just a rich French (Which Charles constantly corrects) guy but he eventually gets to know him so its like an enemies to lovers kind of thing?

warning(s): fluff!! kind of slow burn, long chapter (3k words), mentions of manipulative ex, alcohol, reader is Charles' gay awakening, also reader and Charles didn't have the best first impression of each other

(a/n): reader's age isn't specified so it can be read as whatever age you want reader to be (21+ cause there's alcohol involved). this was requested so long ago oml. hope you enjoy it anon <3

!not proofread!

Bahrain, 2023

"Can't you fucking watch where you're going?"

"Yo. Chill out, mate," You say, a little taken back by the stranger's outburst and even your own response. You throw up your hands in surrender, leaning your body slightly backward as if to tell the guy in the red t-shirt that you didn't mean any harm. 

You didn't intentionally bump into him. Who even does that? Too busy talking to your sister on the phone, you didn't see where you were going. And it looks like he didn't either. It was a mistake made by both of you. Why was he making such a big deal out of it?

"Don't tell me what to do," he lets out through gritted teeth. Turning on his heels, he walks away. 

"What's that dude's problem anyway?" you scoff, your mood turning sour at the strange dude's behavior. "What dude?" your sister asks. 

That took you by surprise, you forgot you were on a phone call with her. "Some French dude I ran into. He was being a bitch for no reason," you grimace, thinking back to the encounter.

"You know who he was?" your sister asks, curiosity getting the best of her. 

"Nah. Couldn't see his face."

You continued talking to your sister for a while, just until your brother was free from some team meeting that he had to attend after the free practice session.

"You have any other plans for the night?" your brother asks, looking up from his phone. He was definitely planning on hitting some bar with his friends. You could take a break, let yourself unwind for a night, you think.

"Not really," you say with a shrug. 

"Good."

---

"Who's that?" you practically shout, trying to be louder than the music playing. "Who?" Daniel shouts back. You point at the man across the room. He was standing next to your brother, talking to him. 

"Oh! That's Charles," Danny answers with a grin. "Lando and him are good friends. I think," he adds as an afterthought. You hum in response, not like he would have heard that over all the noise. You recognize the man now, he is your friend's teammate. "Oh, they're coming here," Danny says, tapping your shoulder. 

"I don't think I've introduced you two yet," is the first thing Lando says when he reaches you. "Y/n this is Charles," you stick out your hand, giving the new guy a 'hey' as well. 

"Charles this is, Y/n." Charles just gives you a nod and a loose handshake, before disappearing somewhere else. You raise your eyebrow at his odd behavior. 

"Don't mind him. He's a sweet guy, he just had a bad practice today," Daniel says from next to you. You simply shrug, it's not like he mattered to you. 

"Anyway," he grins, summoning two shot glasses from god knows where "Who's ready for some good time?" Lando cheers, ready to have some fun. You shake your head at your younger brother, of course, he's ready to party.

"Not you. You're still practically a child," Danny says while side-eyeing Lando. Your brother opens his mouth, ready to give his friend a piece of his mind before being interrupted by you. "He's right, bro," you nod, "You're what? Like 13?" 

Lando was no longer cheering.

---

"Y/n! It's so good to see you mate!" Carlos says, bringing you in for a side hug. "Carlos!" you laugh, reciprocating the hug, "it's been a while." 

"Yeah, mate. You kinda disappeared on us," he laughs, trying to remember when was the last time he saw you in person. "We were going to get lunch. You wanna join?" 

"We?"

"Uhh...There he is," he says after spotting his teammate. "Charles!" he waves his teammate over, "Do you mind if my friend here joins us for lunch?" You look at him puzzled, you hadn't even agreed to it yet. You shake your head, typical Carlos.

"Uh.. yeah no. It's fine."

You just blink at him, not that he would notice cause he was busy typing away on his phone; he didn't even look your way. A little rude, you'd say. 

---

It's a nice Middle Eastern restaurant that Carlos had picked. You and Carlos were busy talking away, reminiscing about the past, and catching up to date on each other's lives as well. Sure, you had seen his Instagram posts, and known what he had been doing, but hearing it from him was still different. Same for him.

A sudden ring disturbs your conversation with Carlos. "Sorry I have to take this," Charles says as he gets up, and exits the restaurant. You raise your brow, a little confused by his behavior. Not just today, but ever since you've met him. You have seen interviews and fan interactions with him, he certainly did not seem like the grumpy type.

"He certainly isn't like the guy they show on television," you comment, sipping on your wine. Carlos sighs, making you look at him. "What?" you raise an eyebrow. 

"He's a good guy... It's just... I don't know..." he pauses, taking a moment to think, "There's something going on with him." He chews the inside of his cheeks, squinting his eyes to look at Charles who was leaning against his car outside the restaurant, still on a call with someone you didn't know. "I heard, he's having some problems with his girlfriend."

"Trouble with his girlfriend?" you ask, taking another sip of your drink. With nothing to do here, you had been getting bored either way. And a little gossip never hurt anyone.

"Yeah. I don't know the details. It's just what I've heard," he sips his drink, "They looked tense around each other too." 

"Mmm..."

Miami, 2023

"Didn't expect to see you here." 

You turn around, your scotch glass still in your hand. "Charles," you were surprised as well. You didn't expect to see the Ferrari driver at some random charity event. "Care for a drink?" you wave to the bartender, not even waiting for his answer.

"Scotch. Neat," he orders. 

He takes a seat beside you, gulping down his drink in one go. "You good, mate?" you ask, a little concerned about the man. "Hm? Yeah. Don't worry." If he wasn't going to tell you himself, you wouldn't push him. After all, you two weren't exactly friends.

You two stuck to each other for the rest of the evening. It was better than walking around alone. During this time, you had gotten to know a bit about each other as well. He wasn't as bad of a guy as you had originally thought. 

"Yeah, she clearly knew he was flirting with her, and instead of telling the guy she had a boyfriend, she was flirting back. Even letting him cling to her."

"Oh..." you take a sip of your water, deciding on no more drinks for the night.

"And when I asked her about this, she called me a "jealous, possessive boyfriend who's taking away her freedom." Her words, not mine." he continues to rant, using air quotes to emphasize his point. He sighs, she had betrayed his trust; even if people wouldn't exactly call this cheating, in Charles' book, it was. 

"It's all good now. I'm over her," he smiles.

"No wonder you were such a piss baby in Bahrain. No offense," you chuckle slightly.

He looks down a little embarrassed, he knows how he acted like an asshole during that time. And not just to you. He would've understood if you would've given him the cold shoulder tonight. But you didn't.

"Yeah... About that-"

"It's all good, mate. No hard feelings," you cut him off. You knew he was sorry about his rude behavior, it was written all over his face.

"You wanna ditch this event?" you ask, a smile growing on your face. He laughs, not expecting such a question after the (one-sided) heart-to-heart conversation that you two just had. He appreciated it nonetheless. If you were trying to lift his mood, it was certainly starting to work.

"And go where?" he asks after a good laugh.

"I know someone who's hosting a party," you shrug. 

"Ditching an event to go to a party?"

"Ditching a boring event to go to a fun party," you correct, grinning at him.

---

"You never said it was gonna be a houseboat party," he shouts over the loud music. "Welcome to Miami!" you laugh.

You grab his elbow, dragging him towards the tiki bar. Ordering two drinks, you push one in his direction. "What's that?" he eyes the drink.

"This," you emphasize, raising your own glass, "is the perfect way to forget about your gaslighting ex-girlfriend." He laughs, appreciating the humor. The both of you chug down your drinks. 

You drag him over to the dance floor, quite practically forcing him to dance. "Come on, mate," you urge him, "If you wanted to be boring you could've stayed at the event." He laughs, finally loosing up. You two continue to dance, having some more drinks in between. 

---

"Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!..." The chanting continues, daring, challenging you to jump in the water. Charles sneaks up behind you, pushing you into the water. You turn around just before he could, holding onto him, and dragging him in as well.

You submerge, laughing as you do. Charles gasps, still a little surprised, before he laughs as well. He holds on to your shoulder, still heaving. Your shirt that you had worn to the charity event, sticking to your body.

 He eyes you, for longer than he should have. This was new. He doesn't think he had ever been interested in another man's body before. He tears his eyes away, trying to cool down the warmth that suddenly spread throughout his body. 

Your friend, the host, pulls you up, slapping you on the back in the process. You help Charles after, "accidently" pulling him by a little more force than needed. He bumps into you. He doesn't pull away like you half expected him to. He pulls away just slightly enough to see your face. Your hands go to his hips, swaying his body, along with yours, to the beat of the music.

---

The sound of laughter rings out in the surprisingly empty street of Miami. It's a small road, probably that's why. It's well into the early hours of the morning. 

It's media day and Charles knows his manager's gonna hate him when he shows up looking dead, still hungover. He couldn't care less about that now. He hasn't felt this good, this free, in forever. 

He looks to his side, you're walking beside him, one of your hands in your trouser's pocket, the other holding your blazer, a few of your shirt buttons open, slightly exposing your well-built chest and shoulder. 

"I'm so fucking tired oh my god," you laugh, looking up at the sky. Even though you couldn't see the stars because of all the lights, the sky still looked pretty. "Me too," he says, his eyes fixed on you.

"Hm?" you look at him from the corner of your eyes, "something on my face?" 

"Huh? No. Why would you think that?" he clears his throat, averting his eyes. 

"You're staring." The tip of his ears turns red. He can't believe he got caught staring. "Not that I mind." His eyes widened, but he didn't reply. You look at him from the corner of your eyes. Did I make him uncomfortable? you wondered. 

You don't say anything after that as the both of you walk back to your hotel. Charles' room came first. You stood behind him as he unlocks the door. "Wanna come inside?" he asks, turning around, and standing in the doorway. 

You smile, "Can't." He frowns slightly at your vague reply. "I have a flight in a few hours. And I still have to pack and take a shower. I should probably get something to eat as well," you scratch the back of your head, sometimes you get sick of traveling so much. 

His mouth forms an 'O' in understanding. "You're not staying for the Grand Prix?"

"I have yet another event I have to attend," you sigh, "and this one... I can't skip."

You start walking backward, not ready to turn your back on him yet. With both of your busy schedules, you don't know when you will be able to see him next. 

"I'll see you around, Charlie," you give a short wave, turning your back on him, and going to the elevator. Charles watches you leave, till he can't see you any longer. He looks down, a smile gracing his face. You had started calling him that at the party, he had thought it was because you were drunk, but apparently not.

It was truly a night he wouldn't be able to forget.

Silverstone, 2023

Charles has been on the lookout for you ever since he arrived here. It was Lando's home race, and he was hoping you would be there as well. It's Friday when he hears from Carlos that you're in the paddock. Supporting Mclaren, obviously. 

Carlos and you are good friends, right? Would that be enough for you to drop by the Ferrari garage? And you do. You stop by the Ferrari garage to say hi to Carlos, or at least that's what Charles thinks. 

You've been talking to Carlos since you arrived. A different thought inhabits his mind. Do you remember him? Was he even worth remembering?

He doesn't want to find the answers to his own thoughts that are going wild. He doesn't think he can handle you saying that you don't remember him. That night, as simple as it was, meant a lot to him. He doesn't think he can handle the person he's been searching for, ever since that day two months ago, to say that they don't remember him.

"Y/n, I hope you remember my teammate, Charles."

Carlos' voice rings through his ears. He looks up to see Carlos and you walking over to him. You nod, glancing in his direction. Carlos looks behind you to see his engineer motioning him over. "I'll see you later, mate. It seems they need me."

"Charlie," you grin. A sudden warmth spreads throughout his face and body. It's been so long, far too long since he had heard your voice. "Y/n."

"Walk with me," you say to him, quiet enough that even he was barely able to hear it. He walks beside you wordlessly. "How you been, Charlie?" there it was, that nickname again. "Uhh... I've been good. Barely gotten any time to myself after having races back to back."

You nod in understanding. Athletes really do have a tough schedule, don't they? You walk around the paddock, running into a couple of people on the way, who were very surprised, to say the least, at your unexpected friendship with the Monégasque. 

You talk about things, completely unrelated to either of your lives, just enjoying each other's presence. In a people full of paddock, there were only you two. 

As much as Charles loves racing, he wishes he had a little more time before he had to go for the free practice. "Charlies," you call out, making the Ferrari driver stop in his tracks. He turns around, a confused look on his face. "Dinner tonight? On me."

It felt like his face was on fire. Were you asking him out on a date? No, he shouldn't get his hopes up. You're friends with half the grid, maybe they're invited as well. He nods, his face the same color as his car. 

"Great," a grin spreads on your face, "I'll see you tonight." 

---

Charles was trying to tie a tie when he heard knocks on his room's door. He rushes around the hotel room to get to the door. "Y/n..." he trails off taking in your outfit. You looked... expensive. All his previous worries of over-dressing were gone. Now, he was worried that he was under-dressed. 

"Charlie," you greet him. Your eyes land on his messily done tie. "Having troubles?" Charles looks down, following your eyes. "Uhmm..." he clears his throat, a little embarrassed that he couldn't even tie a tie. 

You laugh, following him into his room. "Lemme see," you gesture for him to come closer. He does. He steps a little closer, not too close; he tries to respect your boundaries. You pull him closer by his tie, careful enough to not hurt him.

"How am I supposed to help you with it if you're gonna stand so far away?" you murmur, your hands working on his tie. "There," you smile, "all done." You don't step back. Neither does he.

He looks down, the tips of your shoes are almost touching his. That's how close you're standing. "Should I wear something else?" he questions, "I feel under-dressed."

"You're not. You look perfect," you grin at him, "Trust me, Charlie."

---

You open the passenger side for him to get out. It feels a little weird, Charles thinks, he has always been the one to hold open the gates for people, his dates specifically. He was raised to be a gentleman. It felt different for someone to open the hold the gate for him. 

He thanks you as he gets out of your car. You had insisted to pick him up. The both of you walk towards the restaurant. Charles heaves out a sigh of relief, there's no paparazzi around, at least he could enjoy the night peacefully with you.

"Reservation for two. Under Norris." 

Reservation for two? he gulps. He's happy to be able to spend time with you alone, without other people butting in, but he's also nervous at the same time because you two are alone. 

The both of you are led to a table. He walks behind you silently. The butterflies filled his stomach. Since when did he get so nervous on first dates? Was this even a date? He frowns ever so slightly, he hopes it is.

The conversation flows freely between you two. No cameras flashing in your faces, no people there to recognize you two. It was more peaceful compared to your night spent in Miami. 

Like all good things, the night had to come to an end as well. You find yourself standing in front of his hotel room once again. "Want to come inside?" He hopes this time, your answer would be yes. 

It was.

(a/n): was this close to adding surprise angst once again 🤏🏼 uh and i won’t be making a part two for this. i felt like the ending was perfect so i left it as it was. if you have any drabble ideas with this pairing don’t hesitate to send that in!! hope you guys enjoy this :)

HC: Carlos asked for all the details later when he found out about your veryyyyyy unexpected friendship with Charles

[idk6123]

Puppeteer The Puppeteer (Homelander X Male Reader)

With The Seven constantly being on the hot seat, Homelander only wishes one thing during days like these, control. He wishes there were a way The Deep do less dumb stuff. He wishes A-Train wasn’t some junkie that relies on drugs to use his powers. He wishes he could actually trust Starlight. He wishes Queen Maeve actually would listen to him and stop hating him. He wishes Translucent was still alive. He was fine with Black Noir.

With the lack of a member, he wishes someone more reliable to have in the team. Someone that meets all of his requirements, strong, obedient, trustworthy, basically everything that lacks with his current team. Thus, he got Ashley to scout for potential heroes.

“…And by doing this, we will be keeping up with the trend for more inclusivity.”

Homelander frowns and drops the information file on his desk. “You really think someone blind and in a wheelchair would fit the team?”

“She may be handicapped, but she’s strong. Besides, we never had a handicapped person in The Seven.”

“True, but we do have one in the PR team.” Homelander ruthlessly comment. Without even looking at the offended Ashley, the blonde looks through the files of how he finds interestingly enough to take even a peek.

“Luckily, we many other candidates. I’m sure we can reach a compromise-” Homelander drops the files on the side. Then he gestures to Ashley to give him the files she’s holding. She’s quick to give it to him, making him to look again. “We have plenty of strong heroes who will make the public-” She then stops talking when Homelander stops browsing to look at one file in particular. Judging by his face, he found his new hero. “Who’re you looking at?”

With a satisfied smirk, Homelander continues to look through the file. “We got our new member.”

-

“I highly advice to not get him.” In the hallway, Ashley is following Homelander, who’s meeting his new teammate. “He just made his break as a hero. He only got 11 followers on Instagram, most of them being family members. He caught only 2 burglars. He’s an introvert and I’m not surprised he only leave the house to do grocery shopping. The only good thing is that he’s gay, but I got 100 gay guys on my list.”

“I don’t care about them. I want him.” Homelander insist. He doesn’t stop walking. Not even looking at Ashley as he talks. “And if you’re going to have trouble having him good PR, that is your problem.” With that, Homelander enters his office, with Ashley following him with stress.

Inside of the office, Homelander is quick to see the young man, who looks a bit nervous. He stands up to give his new boss a nervous smile. “It’s an honor meeting you, sir.”

Homelander accepts his hand, smiling back at him. “Please drop the formalities. Please treat me like you treat your friends.”

After introductions, Y/N sit back on his seat, while Homelander is sitting opposite of him. Ashley is standing at the side, wondering what her boss is up to. “I have to say, I’m quite surprised I received a call. I just started all of this, and I’m already being recognized by The Seven.”

“There is a reason for that.” Homelander shows a kind smile. “You got a gift like no other, Y/N. “I never seen a telepath that has such potential like you have. I know you’re an amateur right now, but I can see in front of me a hero that will save millions of lives.”

Y/N blushes a bit, didn’t expecting to receive so many complements from his idol. “T-Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. If you don’t mind, I would like to see you demonstrating your powers. I want to see how good you are right now.” Homelander requests. “I want you to tell me something embarrassing of Ashley.”

Ashley looks alarmed, with Y/N being taken a little aback. “…I don’t use my powers on people casually unless necessary.”

“Don’t worry. She’s fine with it.” Homelander brushes it off. Although not wanting it, Ashley merely forced a painful smile. “Besides, considering this is about your future, don’t you think it’s necessary?”

Y/N knows things seems off, but this is ones in a lifetime chance. So, he uses his powers. Within a second, his face looks disgusted. “What kind of BDSM shit are you in?”

Homelander looks amused as Ashley looks even more embarrassed. “I don’t even need her to confirm it that you did it.” He then leans over. “Now for my final request. I want you to use your mind control power, take over Ashley’s mind and do something ridiculous in the hallway.”

“Wait-!”

Before Ashley could beg for Y/N not to, he did, though he feels a bit guilty. Her entire face only shows some hollowness. As she walks to the hallway, Homelander smirks and stand up. Both men get out of the hallway to see what’s going to happen. There, Ashley stands in the middle of it, with people passing by, not knowing what is going to happen.

“Attention! People! Attention!” Every worker in the hallway looks at her. “I need to confess something! Yesterday, we had a party back at my house, but I didn’t invited most of you. I want to apologize for sleeping in front of some of you and I was advised to go to the doctors.” Every worker frowns at hearing her. “I also want to apologize for the… ‘bathroom’ incident. I shouldn’t drink that much, and I got karma for it. I puked over some of you… and I’m sure you also saw me shitting in my pants at the same time. Again, I’m apologize, and I’m hope we can work normally from now on.” With that, she walks away. When she’s gone from the scene, Y/N let go of her mind.

Homelander looks proud at him as he put his hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “Congratulations teammate. You’re in.”

-

Somehow, Ashley managed to create a story surrounding the new Seven member. Y/N apparently helped Homelander during a mission as a rookie, without knowing the big hero were there. Because of it, Homelander took the newly hero under his wing and train him. The whole spin is basically a sidekick and coach relationship, which worked well for the public.

Right now, it’s the first interview for the new hero. As he awaits in the lounge room, he nervously thinks through the interview, playing it in his mind. Homelander walks in, knowing Y/N is stressing.

“You don’t look too good, buddy.”

“…I never got interviewed before, that’s all.” Y/N nervously steps on the ground. “Especially not one at national tv.”

Homelander gives him an assures smile as he walks over to him. “Remember you can just be yourself. It’s alright to be shy. In fact, Ashley would love to represent someone more introverted on the big screen. Just be humble, nice and honest, exactly how we met. Think you can do that?”

Y/N hums. “Yeah. I’m not one for scripts to be honest. But I’m fine lying if it makes you guys lives a bit easier.”

Homelander looks proud. “That’s my sidekick.” He put an arm around the younger man, who looks a bit nervous. “And don’t worry. I’m going to sit right besides you if you need me.”

Y/N can’t help but smile. “Thanks.”

-

Y/N been accustom quiet well in The Seven. He and Starlight became quick friends. He took training sessions with Queen Maeve. He and Black Noir often spend time together, since both aren’t much talkers. He got stamina training from A-Train. He doesn’t talk to The Deep because he’s currently off the team because he raped someone. Y/N isn’t one to judge people quickly, but he makes an exception with him. That leaves Homelander, who spends the most time with. He helps him train his powers, his fighting moves and helping him PR wise. The boy often views Homelander as his mentor, and comes to him for general life advice, like today.

“I can tell there is something up your mind.” Homelander speaks up as both eat their lunches. “You can talk to me.”

“Well…” Y/N looks a bit uncomfortable. He takes a second for how to phrase it. “…So, I met this guy at security. He’s kinda my first friend that aren’t you guys. But yesterday, he… he asked me out.”

This makes the blonde curious. “Like a date?”

“Y-Yeah…” Y/N replies. “I never had one, so… I’m a bit nervous.”

Homelander smiles, as he thinks through the situation. He’s quick to have a solution in his mind for the new problem. “Want some advice? Just be yourself. He already knows you, so don’t worry about presenting yourself as being social or something. Besides, there is nothing to be ashamed of being quiet.”

Y/N can’t help but smile. “Basic advice, but your right. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

-

Later that day, Homelander got to the guy’s apartment to ‘fix’ the problem. Afterwards, all he had to do is send a text to Y/N the date is off because he wasn’t interested. Knowing the effect he’s going to get; he calls it a day and await for the next act.

The next day, he met with Y/N in the training room, seeing him more stoic then usual. “Everything alright there?”

“…My date bailed on me.” Y/N avoids looking at Homelander. “He said he wasn’t interested.”

“You serious?” Homelander sits down at the side. Afterwards, he gestures his sidekick to sit besides him, which he does. “What a jerk. Are you alright?”

Y/N shakes his head. “…I-I was really looking forward for it. I thought, maybe now I’m in The Seven, it’s fine to be the quiet guy… but it looks things hasn’t changed a bit.”

Homelander put an arm around Y/N, scooting him a bit over to him. “Don’t be ashamed. I know you’re an amazing guy. You’re kind, polite, honest and a hard worker. If he called the date off, that is his loss, because any guy is lucky to be with you.” With that being said, he put his other hand on Y/N’s knee, making the man blushing a bit as Homelander’s face is so close.

“Y-You really think so.”

“I don’t think so. I know it.” Homelander smiles warmly. “Think you’re going to be okay?”

“Yeah.” Y/N smiles. “I’m going to be fine.”

-

Some days later, Homelander invited Y/N to his room. Once there, he sees the blonde holding a bottle of champagne alongside two glasses on the table.

“Since you did so well last mission, I thought we should celebrate.” He opens the bottle, as a pop sound comes from it. With a smile, he tempts Y/N to drink, which he does.

With both men smiling, they drink the champagne from the glass as they sit down. Homelander is proud of his sidekick, now finally being stand on his own. Last mission, Y/N managed to mind control 10 people at the same time. Without even getting someone hurt, he successfully removed some terrorist who would’ve ended innocent people’s lives.

“Just imagine what you can do in the future. Wouldn’t be great if you could do, let’s say, 100 people?”

“I had already trouble doing with 10.” Y/N laughs. “It’s going to be a while before I can do even 20. That being said, it’s all thanks to you. You saw the potential in me and helped me achieve it.”

“You’re welcome. I know talent when I see it.” Homelander smiles. “And I know you’re only to get better from here out.”

“I feel like that too.” Y/N sounds hopeful.

“And I continue train you. …But I have something to confess to you. I have an ulterior motive.”

Y/N is curious. “Really? What’s it?”

“Well…” Homelander avoids looking at him. “When I first saw your file, I knew you were going to be a great member, and I was more then happy to help you. But as I spend more time with you, I grew more attach to you. Not as a teammate, or a friend, but as someone who cares for you.”

Y/N looks a bit stunned. “…You mean as a partner?”

Homelander looks back at him. “Nothing would make me happier to have you at my side… as something more then a friend.”

“W-Wow…” Y/N continues to look startled. “…I-I never expected this.”

Homelander smiles. “It’s alright. Take your time.”

“I… I would be very happy to be your boyfriend.”

With a wider smile, the hero leans in and kisses Y/N, who nervously kisses back. Both of them being gentle with the other. It was short, but it was sweet, something what the blonde was going for. After the kiss, he put his hand on Y/N’s cheek.

“You look so beautiful. I’m very happy to have you at my side.”

-

The next day and the big hero wake up in his bed. His eyes quick to look at the side to see Y/N lying next to him. His front is facing towards him. With a wide smile, Homelander get on his side to carefully hug Y/N, who’s face is now against his chest. The new recruit mutters something.

“Y/N?”

But it appears he’s still asleep. The blonde then looks pass Y/N’s head. As he continues to smile, he knows he got what he wanted. To have someone’s loyalty, now in the form of love. And to make it better, have someone that is powerful. With his powers, Homelander can use his telepathic abilities to get any information instantly and control someone’s mind without any problem. Sure, he needs to mold his lover to do what he wishes, but if he continues to be patient and dedicated to his project, things will turn out very well.

[verosikastrikerstellaexcuser]

Soooo. The new Helluva Boss pride thing and that comment about Striker and Stella not being there. I am genuinely more and more irritated by this "Strikers Straight" horse shit as time goes on.

Really? This guy is your no-pride straight homophobe? -_-

How in any way was this scene not homosexual in nature. Like am I just stupid or what? Striker was specifically latching onto how Blitz is strong and impressive for making his own business and gassing him up over it even before there was a need to to still carry out his assassination "Not many imps start businesses on their own... thats pretty impressive sir". There's clear admiration there. He suggests Stolas dying would be good because it would end "the one who treats you like a plaything" he implies he'd like to see Stolas dead not only for his own sake and for his hate of royals, but for Blitz's sake too. Like, HELLO!?

I'm sorry but the more I look back on it, the whole Striker's straight thing does feel like a retcon. He wasn't originally. I believe that he was changed, because he's mean about Stolas and "good ones" rich people, and we can't have that. He's an antagonist to Stolitz AND a potential "shipped with Blitz" character so he's not a pet/favoured villain or morally grey character. No, instead hes just full on MEANIE BAD!!!! Who's only purpose is creating Stolitz drama. Making him straight is a way of trying to make him boring and more laughable to the yaoi obsessed audience (if you like gay male ships YOU ARE FINE I DO TOO I'm specifically talking about the ones who take it to a fetishistic degree and are raging misogynists). The less Striker is able to be paired up with other male characters in this show, the less value he has outside of being a joke and the less interest in exploring relationships with him there will be since so often do only gay male relationships get to have any interesting depth. Note how other male characters who aren't in gay relationships are treated by this show, COUGH MOXXIE.

And you know what the saddest part of this is to me? In this one single Striker and Blitz scene, they literally had more chemistry and were a more interesting dynamic than Stolitz despite several episodes of that god awful ship. Think about it. They both have clear admiration and respect for each other, interest in each other. They've both been mistreated by royals and had rough pasts so understand each other on that level. They've both had to claw their way to success at the cost of great struggle. So now, they're conflicted. Because they're both obstacles to each other as much as they are love interests. Striker does not want to compromise slaughtering royals and wants to do his job. Blitz wants to preserve his business. They are competing over their goals in life while also attracted to each other. They are a "toxic" or complicated ship without there having to be a creepy unaddressed power dynamic and without the empowered one constantly needing to be portrayed as victimized by the narrative to try and make the relationship seem more even and less creepy.

This is so much more interesting as a kind of "relationship that never could be", to me, than "OMG my daddy bought me that imp for a day as a child then he randomly reappeared into my life again and stole from me, so now I will hold his business over his head to get sex from him and constantly demean him. All while he clearly indicates that he is repulsed by me. Then I will proceed to cry he doesn't like me romantically!"

But no. Striker doesn't get to be bi or gay. However, pan IS slapped onto several female characters... THAT NEVER GET ANY SCENES WITH WOMEN LIKE STRIKER GOT WITH BLITZ. Good fucking God man! If you're gonna make all these supposed women that like women, WHY DO NONE OF THEM BARELY EVER EXPRESS INTEREST IN WOMEN THAT WE GET TO SEE!?

Only the men's sexualities are actively shown. The women, we need to be told what their sexuality is. Because Viv hardly ever bothers with pairing them with anyone or letting them express sexual behaviors. Tiring.

[douwatahima]

sorry to invoke james somerton again but i just watched his "apology" video and the way he addresses the criticism to his utena video has been scratching at my brain. for this who don't want to watch (which is so so fair), here's what he says:

"we ended up making a lot of videos we didn't want to make because people were asking for them and so there were a lot of videos we made that we didn't want to make and i think those videos are very clear on which ones those were. one of them never got officially released, it was released to patrons. some patrons have shared it to other people before all the videos went private and a lot of people hate the analysis nick and i did on it and so maybe it's good that that never got properly released because maybe it would have hurt people and i don't want that."

so, not directly saying he's talking about the utena video…but he's talking about the utena video lol. the thing that really gets me is like…look. full disclosure. i used to be subscribed to james somerton long before this whole thing blew up. i wasn't necessarily a big fan of his video style, but he talked about a lot of media i enjoy and i liked his analysis (that wasn't really his, but i didn't know that at the time) so i followed him.

the thing about him was he was always asking his followers for shows he should do videos on, especially anime, and then not long after making those posts he would post videos of "things to come" including like…every anime people suggested. not all of these shows ended getting videos made, but the point is james really set himself up as the queer anime video essayist; constantly promising videos about every show people told him they wanted.

and a lot of people loved that about him! a lot of the big names talking about anime on youtube are people doing season by season breakdowns or people talking about big shonen titles, and here was someone consistently pushing out long form analyses on less talked about shows! great! but to find out that not only was a lot of what he said plagiarized, but also that a lot videos were just shat out to appeal to his audience without any care or passion? just to get more views and more money on patreon? that's literally crazy when you're talking about something usually as involved as video essays.

on top of that i'm about 95% certain him doing an utena essay was a patreon tier goal (hence why that video was released there first). he literally heard queer anime fans asking him en masse for a video about one of the best queer anime of all time, decided to set it as a patreon goal, and then literally boxed himself into doing a video on an anime he didn't care about because he promised it to the people who payed him to be the "queer anime guy".

and the thing is he 100% didn't need to do that. he didn't need to "make a lot of videos he didn't want to make because people were asking for them". i follow a ton of video essayists who get requests for videos all the time! that doesn't mean they have to, or even should, make them if they're not passionate about the topic! video essays, when actually done well and with integrity, are hard work. that's why most good video essayists take a lot of time between videos! to think that this guy just took every possible suggestion, dangled them like carrots in front of his audience, that made a bunch of passionless, mediocre videos to solidify his station as the queer video essayist to watch is just…upsetting and disheartening tbh.

anyway if you want some actually good analysis of revolutionary girl utena, my favourites are "is revolutionary girl utena still relevant?" and "why revolutionary girl utena still slaps" by stushi, and "the shadow play gays" podcast (note: this podcast is run on the same feed as another podcast called "bitter jurors". you may have to scroll back a bit to find "shadow play gays", it started in 2021 if that helps, but i promise you it's worth it).

[buckxtommy]

nothing will ever convince me what neal caffrey and peter burke had was platonic like. that show is everything but a straight fbi procedural let me tell you

–the day peter catches neal for the second time, he remembers the suit peter was wearing almost 4 years ago, the day he arrested neal for the first time. in another episode, neal points out that peter got a new suit. this guy has either plenty of suits or a few suits that look pretty much identical. what do you mean you know his wardrobe like that?? why do you care ??? (rhetorical question. i know why. neal caffrey i know what you are)

– neal never once shuts up about peter like he is physically incapable of doing so. "he's like the superman without powers." (raising his glass) "to peter burke. the man who we want to be more like." & the whole conversation between him and scott (the young conman/robin hoodie) when neal tried to convince him to turn himself in. "this is not about me. this is about peter burke. he's the smartest man i've ever met. he caught me, he will catch you." "no one's that good." "but he is, scott."

– similarly peter being constantly amazed by neal's tricks ('guess the number' game, forging signatures etc) and the way he operates when they're on a mission. peter "couldn't have done it without neal." burke i know what you are too

– the most giddy and happiest neal has been throughout the entire series is when peter calls him partner for the first time

– remember how heartbroken neal was when peter said "you failed me"?? he cared less about being in jail/being falsely incriminated and more about what peter thought of him

– when peter confronts kate for the first time, he promises to get her what she wants (the music box) in exchange for letting neal go and not playing with his emotions anymore and then kate asks him the million-dollar question, "why would you do that?" like yeah?? why would he?? at that point neal was just a criminal he locked up twice and they barely knew each other back then. yet he says "because he's good. he's the smartest man i've ever met." after that, he asks her if she ever really loved neal like it's any of his business. i'm

– whatever the fuck this is:

– neal risks jail time & his life for peter more times than anyone can count (changing the federal judge's incriminating tape with a blank one, falsifying evidence in order to get peter out of jail etc). the conman, who has done everything in his life for money and his own personal gain, who never gets close to people because he knows he lives on borrowed time, gives up 2.5 million dollar ring to save the man he's not at all in love with. and he doesn't even try to take credit for it. whilst not gay

–peter canonically listened to neal's daily horoscope on the radio. peter. listened to. neal's daily horoscope. fellas is it gay

– the way they look at each other actually make me nauseous bc what the fuck !!!!!!!

[mlmxreader]

Room For One More | Dean Winchester x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Hi can I request “The undead surround me. Have you ever talked to a corpse? It's boring! I'm lonely!” with dean Winchester please?

Thanks! ❞

: ̗̀➛ A hunter's lifestyle is difficult enough as it is, but it's even harder when you have an unnatural ability that can't be explained.

: ̗̀➛ alcohol consumption, swearing

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Nobody ever really knew what you were, as not only could you see the dead, but you had the ability to actually speak to them as well; morgues and graveyards were atrocious places for you to be, as you were constantly cornered into conversation even if you didn't want it.

You were born and raised as a hunter, and it was only natural that you had known the Winchesters; only three years younger than Sam, you were good friends with them both, although you only saw them few and far between.

But as you grew older, you learned to actually control your little gift, and you learned that it led to a lifetime of loneliness and boredom, too.

You did sometimes wonder if the Winchesters were ever in the same boat, but they had their family, and you didn't; it seemed like the moment you turned twenty, you were completely on your own, and as the years went by, you came to realise that you were right.

You were on your own, and you always would be; nobody would ever understand what you could do, and if they did, they always assumed you were a demon or a witch or a vampire or whatever.

So they ran, and they left you all alone every time.

But luck was never on your side; a job in Mississippi turned to you meeting with the Winchesters again, and while Sam was doing some investigation at the library, you and Dean were hunkered down in the motel together. Sharing beer and talking shit between going through just about everything.

"So," he coughed. "You still got that, erm, direct line to Casper?"

You glared at him, shaking your head. "You mean, can I still talk to the dead?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Can you?"

"It's not something I can turn on and off at will," you huffed. "Every time I walk through a morgue or a cemetery, the dead surround me. Have you ever talked to a corpse? It's boring! I'm lonely!"

Dean quirked a brow, tilting his head to the side. "I thought you could control it?"

"I can control it anywhere else," you told him. "Just not there... honestly, you should try it for a couple of days - listen to Old Man Jenkins rant about how kids these days are always on their phones, or or how television these days is shit! You try explaining that Rock Hudson was gay to Granny Letitia!"

Dean chortled loudly as he covered his mouth, trying not to laugh too loudly. "You really had to have that conversation?"

"Several times," you groaned. "It's boring, Dean!"

He shrugged, pouting a little. "It could've been worse, though. I mean, at least you're talking to Granny Letitia and not someone worse."

You rolled your eyes, scoffing. "Yeah, and that makes me such a catch, right? Waking up in the middle of the night to tell Old Uncle Bob that no, I can't bring him back from the dead. Guys sure love that!"

His smile dropped, and he nodded slowly as he cleared his throat. "Hey, you me and both... we're not... we're not ever gonna get the normal, white picket fence life. People like us, we don't get normal."

You raised your beer slightly before taking a long swig. "I'll sure drink to that."

Dean eyed you curiously; last time he saw you was about a year ago, and he remembered thinking that you were good-looking then, but now?

Something was different. Maybe it was the beer, maybe it was the way you held yourself. Maybe it was how your lips looked and how he couldn't take his eyes from your mouth. He swallowed hard, shaking his head.

"Talking to corpses," you scoffed. "Even other hunters won't get involved with someone who does that. Not even psychics will. But I don't expect you to understand - you don't... you have a family. You have Sam, and Bobby... I don't. I don't have anyone."

"You got me," he said quietly. "I might not be family, but erm... I'm still here."

"I appreciate it," you sighed out. "I really do, but... Dean, can I be honest with you?"

"Always," he nodded curtly, putting aside everything in front of him.

You rab a hand down your face, chewing at the corner of your lip for a moment. "I'm lonely in the romantic sense, man. I mean, I... I want a partner, y'know? But I... no one ever stays long enough once they find out about... this."

Dean nodded slowly. He probably understood that feeling more than anyone else in the world, and as he looked at you, he could only hang his head. "I get it. I mean, y'know, I'd be lying if I said I never wanted it - a family, a spouse... all that."

"Right?" You said quietly. "I know it's not... look, I know as a hunter, I'll never have a normal life - but thanks to... this! Whatever the fuck you wanna call it! I can't even have a fucking partner."

Slowly, Dean crossed the room to sit next to you, and with a harsh gulp, he gently put his arm around you, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. "You're a hunter, I'm a hunter. Monsters hate you as much as they hate me and Sammy, and y'know... maybe it wouldn't be so bad. I mean, I wouldn't worry about you being safe, and you wouldn't worry about me..."

"But it would be ling distance," you pointed out.

"Or not," he shrugged. "There's room in the Impala for one more."

You stared at him for a moment, furrowing your brows. "Are you sure?"

He nodded, daring to smile. "Course I am... as long as you wanna try, I'll try, too - besides, it could be handy, having the undead on speed dial."

"Dean," you deadpanned.

"I'm joking," he chuckled. "Sorta. Mostly."

Gently, you smacked his chest, shaking your head. "Talk to Sam, first. I don't... y'know, I don't wanna be a nuisance."

"Sammy will be fine," Dean reassured, hooking his finger under your chin and forcing you to look into his pretty green eyes. "I'm willing to try, if you are. If you wanna come with us, then... then there's room for you. There always will be... just don't tell Old Man Jenkins or Granny Letitia about me, right?"

You could only laugh as you put your hand on his face, cupping his jaw softly. "Of course not."

[badass-queer-couples-battle]

Sword gays showdown preliminaries

Propaganda:

For Kazuma Asogi:

ok so he’s not CANONICALLY queer but it’s ace attorney. so… he does, however, canonically have a katana! a sword so integral to the plot it gives me shivers just thinking about it. the sword also has a name, it’s karuma (translates roughly to karma) and it gets passed onto the main character, ryunosuke naruhodo (who he calls partner), after kazuma (spoiler alert) dies in case 1-2. except (SUPER spoiler alert!) he isn’t dead! he comes back in case 2-3 and would you look at that he has ANOTHER SWORD, a more european sword (cause he ended up in england after his amnesia brain said he REALLY had to go to england). once he gets his memories back, ryunosuke gives karuma back to him and proceeds to use it to destroy the wax figure of his dead presumed serial killer dad (long story), and now he has, you guessed it, TWO SWORDS! for the next two cases he wears both swords at his sides, and also he broke the tip off of karuma attempting to murder someone (he didn’t actually murder anyone but still) and then turns out karuma’s hilt has the REAL serial killer’s will in it. very VERY important sword. in the end, kazuma gives karuma back to ryunosuke which is really symbolic but that’s besides the point, and they cross swords and it’s a whole big thing. 10/10 gay sword guy.

For Raiden:

Man catches knives with his heels and uses a sword to cut through robots 20 times his size

He's such a tragic character! Raised to be a super soldier from birth and is constantly being exploited by the government. As for the lgbt part him and his rival in the latest game he's in have so much tension it's unreal (gay). I headcanon him as trans too because he has a feminine figure, his voice gets more masculine as the series goes on (testosterone) and his entire body gets replaced with cybernetics (trans allegory...)

For Claudine Saijou:

Fights with a longsword! Should be number 1 for this line alone: “For heroes, there are trials. For saints, there are temptations. For me, there is you”, said to def not her girl crush but rival btw (stream Revue of Soul) Vote for my disaster theatre kid its what she deserves!

Her gay levels are off the charts. She has a homoerotic rivalry with another classmate (Maya Tendo/Tendou Maya) that is integral to her character, as she was always first until she met Maya. She’s also half-French, but that’ll be important later. When she’s looking at pictures of Maya stretching (to study her form of course) and another character asks her what she’s looking at, she panics, blushes, and says none of your business. Her and Maya have a heartfelt conversation while stretching with Claudine’s face pressed into Maya’s chest (between her stomach and breasts). Some art from a magazine has Maya pushing Claudine into a deep stretch, but it looks like something a lot different (Claudine blushing doesn’t help. Also I realized that there’s a lot of gay stuff related to stretching with these two).

During a two on two duel (I know it’s not a duel), they fight together. Not only that, but at one point they hold hands and take a pose typical of romantic partners in dancing. For no reason. They just pause and do it to show off. They aren’t even fighting. Anyways, when they lose, Claudine starts crying, not because she lost, but because Maya lost. So, of course, Maya starts speaking to her in French, with one of the things she says being “You’re cute even when you cry, my Claudine.” All of this is stuff that’s happened in the series (except the magazine thing).

Now for the gay stuff in the movie. Their duel with each other is so dense with sapphic undertones they can hardly be called undertones. For starters, the song that accompanies this revue is called “A Beautiful Person, or Perhaps it is.” While this title is incomplete, the director states that he wanted the watcher to fill it in and this removed the end of the original title. That title is “A Beautiful Person, or Perhaps it is a Love Song.” The duel is framed as a fight between a hero (Maya) and a devil (Claudine). Maya is in an outfit reminiscent of Renaissance Italy and Claudine is in a suit. Thus, Maya signs a contract giving her soul over to Claudine, as is the case with marriage. With her own blood, in the shape of Position Zero (an important symbol in the show), which happens to look like a T, for Tendou. After a few minutes of fighting, Maya disappears and monologues, appearing in a white dress. This means that Maya has signed her soul over to Claudine, and they are now both wearing a white dress and suit. Not beating the gay marriage allegations. Maya finished her monologue with “For heroes, there are trials. For saints, there are temptations. For me, there is a devil.” They continue to fight, Maya proclaiming herself emotionless and empty. Maya then cuts the medallion from Claudine’s chest (they wear medallions and you lose the duel if it gets cut off).

Claudine falls. Maya attempts to claim victory by stabbing her sword into Position Zero, which is then covered by steel doors. Claudine sits up and reveals she has another medallion in her mouth, which she does by sticking out her tongue in a uhhhh. Anyways, after a bit of back and forth, Claudine tells Maya that she’s full of arrogance and pride and envy and longing. She then says that “No matter how many times I die, I will revive! Tendou Maya! To beat you, my rival, into submission!” She then makes her stage entrance, taking Maya’s usual entrance speech and mocking it. She also says “I fill myself with exploding passion, now, and bash it into your heart!” After some talking, Maya makes her stage entrance, taking Claudine’s usual entrance speech and mocking it. Up until now, they have been playing characters, but still letting their own emotions shine through. Now, they are entirely themselves.

They begin to fight again, running downs white aisle before clashing swords, with Maya saying “Such an ugly, emotion drenched appearance-“ and is cut off by Claudine, who says “Show me more, Tendou Maya! Right now, you’re the cutest you’ve ever been!” To which Maya responds “I’m always cute!”  The song starts up again (duels are accompanied by songs), with Maya singing “With a grin of deception I’ll tear this piece of cloth.” Deception in Japanese is mayakashi, a reference to Maya’s name. Maya then sings “I want to show you my feelings becoming dyed in black.” Black is Kuro in Japanese. Claudine, in Katakana, is Kurodine, with her nickname being Kuro, so that line could also be interpreted “I want to show you my feelings becoming dyed in you.” Claudine then sings “Only me, always, forever,” before they sing in unison “You only need to look at me,” as they lock blades. Some fighting happens and they’re falling through the sky, holding onto each others clothes and Claudine says “Only I can make you lay everything bare!” To which Maya responds “I’ll expose my everything, on the stage!” Claudine shoots back with “There’s a partner you can expose everything to, on the stage!” At this point, there’s a short time with independent vocals for Maya and Claudine in addition to their talking. Maya has been singing “If I’m on the stage, if I’m in front of you,” for the last two lines of dialogue. Claudine sings “Be it ugly or beautiful,” as Maya sings “I will expose, anything and everything, all of me, all of me.” As this happens, Maya is saying “We love the stage,” which is continued by Claudine saying “And we can’t part from the stage!” Maya calls them both “Pathetic clowns!” To which Claudine corrects “No, rivals!” Maya says “If you’re there, I have to strive higher!” Claudine says “You make me even more beautiful! Maya!” Maya then yells “Claudine!” Claudine yells “For heroes, there are trials!” Maya continues “For saints, there are temptations!” Then, as one, their swords crossed, faces inches from each other, yell “For me, there is you!” Over top of this, their voices sing a line in unison: “Forever and ever, I’d like to cross swords with you.”

Claudine’s sword stabs through the contract, through the Position Zero in blood, which may be Maya’s family name, and Maya says as an aside “Saijou Claudine… You are beautiful.” Claudine cuts the medallion from Maya’s chest, finally beating her rival.

[scoupsahoy]

leaving like a father, running like water

[crossposted to ao3]

It’s 1991 when Steve finally does what his father’s been telling him his entire life, which is: he grows up. Hawkins is stuck in time, a ticking time bomb, a place that’s never really needed him.

That’s okay. People needed him to stay for a while.

Robin needs him. Stuck to his side, constantly over his house, hardly going back to her own. He hears fighting from the inside for a while before he stops taking her back. Violence and vitriol and venom. And he needs Robin, too, needs her to be by his side, needs her to put him back together after the town splits down the middle.

It’s mainly her.

The kids needed him for a while, but they were always stronger. More magical. He was a piece of shit when he was their age, didn’t understand a single fucking thing, and they just knew. They’d lived entire lives right under his nose. They’d fought and won and lost and lost and lost and won, and they were always smarter than him anyway. More resilient.

And Hawkins can hardly be called a place anymore. It’s gray and rotten and barren, and the kids live there because they grew up on its streets and underneath them, but Steve. Steve has only been beaten down by this place, realizes he has to grow up somewhere else.

His parents give him the house and he sells it immediately. No one’s buying land in Hawkins, but it’s land, the town will take it, they’ll take anything they can get, and so will Steve.

They drive west until they hit Las Vegas and they get hitched at one of those sleazy casinos so people stop asking questions.

Steve dips Robin low and kisses her on the cheek behind a veil and the drunk witnesses don’t notice that her cackle is at the ridiculousness of people ever thinking they could be together. And hopefully in a while she’ll be one of those girls on the news wearing a shirt that says Lavender Menace but she could never have been that girl in Indiana.

And Steve. Well.

Before they really decide to leave, Steve gets drunk and hooks up with a guy he’s never met before and never seen again, a drummer in a little metal band playing just outside Indianapolis when he was convinced he was just testing a theory, and then Alexandria Brown, who had a fucking tongue piercing, just to make sure girls still get him off, and then Ronny Jackson, who was in AP Calc and a huge loud weirdo but otherwise gives him the best orgasm of his life. And he otherwise chases what Robin lovingly calls “the Munson High” until it clicks for him.

He leaves because without the kids to take care of, because he can’t play mother hen forever, Hawkins is nothing but a rotting open grave.

So they drive farther and hit San Francisco with ring pop rings and get a nice two bedroom apartment from a landlord who doesn’t ask questions, and that becomes home.

Steve is twenty four when he decides to grow up.

The problem with growing up is the growing part. Stretching his limbs and pounding at his muscles and working long hours lifting heavy boxes onto wobbly shelves for nine hours a day. He sees ghosts in the grocery store and monsters in dogs on a walk and it’s hard out here pretending this has been his only life. But at least there’s beer.

“Steve,” Robin flies through their front door, crumpled flier in hand, right when Steve cracks the can open. “Put that down.”

“Why?”

“We’re going out tonight. This was in our mailbox. I think it’s a gay club.” She smacks her hand on the counter, spread out over a piece of paper, probably too excited to realize there’s no way Steve would be able to read it.

He puts his beer down anyway before asking what should be an obvious question, because he actually isn’t trying to turn into his father, and because he’s a good friend. “Why would someone slip a flier for a gay club into our mailbox?”

“I think Addie and Rose from down the hall put it in there. Doesn’t matter. Go with me.”

And. Steve stares at his beer and the tiny television they got when they moved in so they wouldn’t die of boredom. They were going to watch Turner Classics or something because that’s what they always do on the weekend.

He looks back at sweet, hopeful Robin and sighs. “One of these days I’ll say no to you.”

“No you won’t,” she says, bright and shiny, runs into her closet of a room to get dressed and shouts through the apartment. “Also, for the record, you need to get laid!”

“Say it louder, I don’t think Addie and Rose heard you.”

“Don’t say that unless you mean it, because we both know I will.”

So Steve puts on real clothes, nothing too nice, and runs a comb through his hair. It’s a bit longer now than it was when he was a kid, long enough to give him hat hair at work, short enough that he’s not immediately clocked as a freak.

On the walk there, Steve decides his primary goal is to make sure Robin has a good time. His secondary goal is to make sure neither of them get into too much trouble. And the third, if the first two goals go well, is to get head in the bathroom, or, if he’s really lucky, give head in the bathroom.

They haven’t been in San Francisco for very long, considering how long they stayed in Hawkins, but there are regulars in their neighborhood, people he recognizes from work, people he recognizes from the store. It’s like they’re making a life here, almost.

The bartender is a guy who’s jogging route passes in front of their apartment most mornings on their way to work. His grizzled face breaks into pleasant surprise when he gets his eye on them.

“Oh, I recognize you two,” he says, pointing two fingers at them. His voice has a midwest twang to it. Kind of reminds him of home, not that he needs reminding. “That married couple up by that one deli. You guys lost?”

“We’re not.. really married,” Robin says, in that ridiculously un-subtle way she tends to.

Steve shoots her a look. “We’re legally married.”

“Yes, but as friends,” she emphasizes, shakes her naked ring finger at the bartender before leaning both elbows onto the bar and resting her head on her fists. “Tell me, do women frequent this establishment?”

If anything, despite the anxiety burning Steve’s ears red, the bartender at least seems amused. He nods over to a corner of the club closer to the stage and she’s immediately off in that direction, leaving Steve alone on a barstool with a man who knows way too much about him now.

Most of the rest of the bar is empty. Being a club, most people are on the dance floor or in dark corners or against the stage. Steve’s always been the kind of guy to sit by the sidelines. At least, since he graduated.

“She seems quirky,” the bartender says, no malice in his voice, pouring a drink for another patron and sliding it down the bar.

“Yeah, try living with her.”

He heaves a belly-laugh that makes Steve make real eye contact with him for the first time since getting in. “I’m Ricardo.”

“Steve.” They shake hands, firm and friendly.

“Not lost, then?”

“Nope.”

“Thought so,” Ricardo says, though Steve does a quick check of his hair and his clothes, see if anything gives him away. And he must be tense, because he continues. “Hey, relax, let me make you a drink if you want. We don’t bite.”

That shocks a smile out of him, enough to ask for a rum and coke. And Ricardo nods, and Steve tries to remember how to be social again like he hasn’t spent the last five years exclusively hanging out with teenagers and Robin. “That’s a shame. About the biting.”

“Don’t you worry about that. I could introduce you to a friend. He’ll do anything if you ask nicely enough,” he laughs, handing over the drink.

Steve squashes down how flustered that makes him. Robin’s right. He does need to get laid.

“It’s kind of funny, actually. Thinking about it, you’re exactly the kind of guy he usually goes after.”

“What’s that mean?”

“You know. Athletic. Good hair. Very normal looking,” Ricardo makes vague gestures at Steve’s general likeness and he tries not to take it personally. “He usually comes by on Saturdays. In case you were curious.”

“What’s his name?” Steve asks, even though he’ll probably forget, by the amount of rum he can taste in his drink and the way a man with more than one tattoo on his neck looks at him from down the bar.

He does manage to remember, because it’s kind of a weird name. And pretty quickly Steve decides that hooking up with someone in a bathroom isn’t too much trouble to get into at all, and Robin is loud and excitable across the club and he shouldn't worry about her too much anyway. So Jacob with the neck tattoos drags him into the bathroom by the hair at his nape and pushes Steve to his knees and the roughness of it gets him off without even being touched.

And his jaw is sore and his knees are bruised and he thinks about the guy named Winn who usually comes in on Saturdays, who likes guys that look like Steve, who will do anything if Steve asks nicely enough.

On the way out Robin has another girl’s lipstick on her teeth so she can’t say anything too scathing, but she does give him the Munson High stare.

He climbs into her bed that night because he has dreams about monsters and bats and open graves. He thinks about Eddie Munson after five years of him being gone, after only really a few days of knowing him, never knowing what he tasted like and chasing it anyway.

•

It was 1986. Eddie Munson died.

•

It’s 1991, deep into summer, and Steve sweats through his work uniform every single fucking day, takes twice as many showers as he can probably afford the water for, and sometimes it’s so hot in California that he starts to think he might be seeing things.

Robin tells him he’s been hit in the head too many times, which is objectively true, and if he were more self-preserving he’d probably benefit from going to a doctor about it. His father would call him crazy, he knows that, too.

Sometimes at work he’ll see a new-hire with Dustin’s curly hair, the style he had it in years ago when there was a chance he could grow up normal. And Steve will go home on those days and call the Henderson home phone until someone picks up and tells him he’s safe.

And lately, on Friday afternoons after work, when he goes straight from work to the grocery store to pick up whatever he can for dinner, he swears he catches a glimpse of Eddie. Just for a second. Like he’s a ghost.

And there are things wrong, always, the hair, his style, the walk, it has to be a hallucination.

Eddie’s been dead for five years, dead in a different state, in a different universe. And there’s no one to call when he gets home.

The feeling of it sits in his gut and festers like a poison. He doesn’t know why it’s getting worse since coming here. Chasing the Munson High.

They don’t go back to the club very often. They probably should. Robin needs to get laid just as badly as Steve does, but he’s never been the type to let loose when he felt responsible for someone else, not since Nancy. San Francisco is big and gay and new and it’s not quite home yet, and they’re from smalltown Hawkins, Indiana. He doesn’t know how to let his guard down.

But.

“We’re going out tonight,” Robin tells him, sitting next to Steve on their little couch with a sandwich and swinging her legs across his lap as a table.

“We are?”

She nods, smiles, speaks with a mouth full of food. “Yep. We’re going back to the club. And I’m the designated driver.”

“You don’t drive,” Steve blinks. “And we walk there.”

“Then I’m the designated walker. I’ll cart your little drunk self back home. Unless you go home with someone else, of course.”

“What the hell are you going on about?”

Robin smiles her little Robin smile, the one where she’s clearly feeling pity, which she knows Steve hates, and will not apologize for it.

She puts a hand on his shoulder. “Your nightmares are back again. You’re worrying too much about me and everyone back home,” back in Hawkins, she means, their old home, “and it’s Saturday night and as your wife, I’m forcing you to go out and get drunk and get laid and stop worrying about other people for once.”

“There’s plenty of things to worry about, Robin,” Steve points out, even though it’s a losing battle.

“I’m a big girl, Steve. The apocalypse isn’t coming to San Francisco, and I’m pretty sure if it did I’d be able to handle it until you sobered up.”

She’s right. He knows she’s right.

Fuck. He knows she’s right.

So he lets Robin eat her sandwich and he gets changed into something that won’t make him die of heatstroke (because if he survived the past eight years and throws it all away in the basement of a club, he’s going to march into hell pissed off). And he makes himself look good and he wonders if Jacob with the neck tattoos is coming tonight, or maybe a drag performer, or maybe Winn who knows Ricardo.

They come up with a game plan on the way, because Steve is nothing without a game plan, basically the only thing that’s kept him alive this long. He’s going to get as plastered as he likes, and Robin is going to hopefully hook up with a drag king, and they are going to check in at midnight. And if Steve goes home with someone, he’s going to let her know before he goes, and he’s going to have a good time (this, she is adamant about), and he’s going to call her if he plans on spending the morning in bed.

Robin tells as much to Ricardo when they get in, orders Steve shots before setting his watch to go off at midnight like he’s fucking Cinderella. She looks Ricardo right in the eyes and demands him, “make sure he gets plastered.”

And get plastered Steve does.

“I was wondering when you’d be back,” Ricardo says. “Not really your scene?”

Steve leans an elbow on the bar. “It’s not that. I like to be careful. I know that this is San Francisco, but still. We’re from Indiana.”

It’s a half-truth, at least. Indiana itself was part of the problem, it always was. Not safe for Robin, not safe for him. Steve always had to pick the safe option. Tonight is really the first time he’s not going to worry about it.

The world is a scary place, even without all the monsters. Ricardo must understand that. Steve takes another shot.

“Illinois.”

The liquor burns down his throat this time, hits him like a punch, “What?”

“I’m from outside Chicago,” Ricardo says, which explains the midwestern accent.

Steve breathes, the buzz starting in his chest. “How long did it take for you to get used to this?”

“Kid, we’re all still getting used to it.”

He takes another shot at that. He thinks about the things he’s getting used to, the new place and the new world and the way the world spins. The way the ground here isn’t cracked and rotten and part of hell. The way he doesn’t have to worry about getting an annual concussion, hopefully, if he watches out, if he follows his rules.

He thinks about Eddie, which is a bit funny, because he doesn’t think he’s tried to think about him in a long time. Sometimes it happens like that. You know about someone for years and then you know them for a few days and then.

Impact.

And if he’s being honest, he’s never going to get laid like this. Sitting miserable at the bar. It’s a club. There are people and performances and men that he doesn’t have to be afraid of.

Steve has to do more than just survive, now. It’s been eight years of surviving and he gets to live.

So he gets plastered. Sloppily so, finds Robin and kisses her wet on her forehead and lifts her up for the girls by the stage and wingmans until she’s giggling and slapping at him and threatening divorce.

He gets bullshit drunk, chases his Munson High, grinds against a man with lots of eyeliner, hair so long he’s pretty. He tells him so against his lips and his hips. Doesn’t learn his name before he’s sitting back at the bar, a moment that hardly sobers him.

He sits for a while and breathes and people-watches and talks to Ricardo, and there’s a man with sunglasses down the bar, staring right at him. His hair is cropped short and he’s covered in tattoos, and Steve flags Ricardo down.

“Am I really drunk or is that guy staring at me?”

Ricardo smiles, response sloshing around in Steve’s brain. “He’s definitely staring. I told you that you were his type.”

“Oh shit,” he says, “that’s Winn?”

Steve doesn’t stick around long enough to hear anything other than the confirmation. And if Winn gets tense, Steve is too drunk to notice. He wants to drink and he wants to make out and he wants this guy to do whatever he wants with him. He wants to flirt and get in his pants and go home with him. And he’s a reckless drunk and he’s okay with it.

“Hey,” he says when he sidles up, rests his elbows on the bar.

“Hey.”

His voice is gruff and deep, surprisingly so. And he looks out into the crowd for a bit, so Steve can peek behind his sunglasses to see what they’re hiding. “I was wondering if you were planning on buying me a drink.”

Winn smiles, and it’s bright, even if it isn’t huge. It looks shocked, unused, awkward in the lips like they’ll crack open. Steve wants to get bloody on them.

“Now why would I do that?”

“You’ve been staring at me all night,” Steve says, even if he doesn’t know that it’s true. It’s true enough. “And Ricardo told me that I’m just your type. Was wondering if you’d ever make a move.”

“Wow. And you couldn’t make a move of your own?” His voice wavers a bit, a teasing jolt, something familiar, weirdly.

Steve drags his eyes down Winn’s body, his plain black shirt, and dark wash jeans, and the lean muscle that sits underneath. “What do you think I came over here for?”

“You’ve got me there. But I don’t think I was staring at you.”

“I’m pretty sure you were.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m wearing sunglasses, so I could have been staring at anything,” Winn says, turns his shoulders towards Steve’s, like they’re closing in on each other.

“You’re looking at me now, at least.”

“That’s true.”

“Any chance you’ll be looking away any time soon?”

It’s fun. Their back and forth. He can tell Winn likes it too, cheeks red, even when the lights change to flash yellow and blue and green. His voice cracks higher for a half second. “None.”

There it is.

“Good,” Steve says, curls his fist into the front of his shirt and pulls Winn down to him. He can feel the snag of chest hair in his hand, swallows the little groan he lets out into his mouth. He wants to get drunk on that, too.

He knows how drunk he must be, out in the open like this. He knows how selfish this must be, and he couldn't give less of a shit about it. Steve wants.

Winn hesitates for a fraction of a second, the kind of second that drags on when you’re drunk, and then kisses back the kind of kiss that empties your entire mind. His tongue is hot, licks into his mouth like fire, and he doesn’t taste like liquor. It’s just cigarettes and sweat and Steve wants to drown in it.

It turns out that Winn is the take control type. The do whatever you want if you ask nicely enough type, if he’s remembering correctly. He’s solid and bone-crushing and not nearly close enough. Steve is desperate and hungry in a way he hasn’t let himself be in years, doesn’t care about the consequences, wants Winn to make a mark on him that won’t go away.

And Winn gets them both drinks, gets Steve just what he likes, takes his own shots like they’re nothing. He downs them like water and Steve stares at his throat like he wants to build a home inside of it.

There’s a little bit of talking, but mainly making out, and a lot of touching hip bones and exposed biceps and the tender skin at the juncture of Winn’s neck, and ordering drinks and feeling reckless and not giving a shit.

And then his hands are in Steve’s hair, pulling, kissing him again and again, and his knees nearly collapse right there.

“Take me home,” Steve finds himself saying. “Your home. Take me to your place.”

Winn laughs, a sharp sound, “You’re a little drunk, buddy.”

“Sober me up then,” Steve says, slides his free hand up Winn’s leg. He tests a theory. “Please?”

And that does something.

He is pretty drunk, and otherwise his blood isn’t particularly focused on his brain function as much as his dick, honestly. But still, Winn makes Steve dizzy with it, with want and need.

It’s quick and reckless. Steve tells Robin he’s going home with Winn, that he’ll call a cab in the morning, and she salutes him on his way out.

The air outside is just as stale and hot as the club, and Steve leans into Winn’s arm while they walk.

“I hate how hot it is here.”

“You might have come to the wrong place, big boy,” Eddie says. Or, well, Winn says it, but Steve stops short in his tracks, feeling like a tape getting rewound, cranked slowly. It’s five years ago all of a sudden, just for a second, and Winn catches Steve by the bicep and if Steve were feeling more like himself he might have flexed or flirted or something. “You alright?”

And he’s back in the present, skipped ahead with a scratch. “Yeah.”

“Don’t die of heatstroke on me. I have water at my apartment. It’s not far.”

It really isn’t far. Winn keeps his sunglasses on even though Steve can hardly see a foot in front of him as it is. He wonders for a second if Winn has real eyes, or if he sees through his lenses like screens. Or maybe he can’t see at all. That seems unlikely.

He wonders if Winn has Eddie’s eyes, too. Big and brown like he’d never seen before or seen since. The real Munson High: not a guy with long hair and rings and tattoos and weird interests, but a guy who looks at him like that, like Eddie did. Intense and sure and determined and unafraid.

“You remind me of someone,” Steve says, sloshed, uninhibited.

For all accounts, he should keep his mouth shut. Steve is actually trying to sleep with this guy, and he can’t imagine that comparing him to his admittedly life-changing but violently dead friend from five years ago is going to be appealing.

And this guy is cool, Steve tells him so. His style and his walk and his demeanor and how he tastes like cigarettes, the kind you roll yourself.

He thinks, maybe, keeping it lighthearted will be best. If this is the final destination of the Munson High, it doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Or scary the way seeing the ghost of him in his grocery store is.

Winn keeps him talking, though. “Someone nice?”

“Oh,” Steve blinks. He isn’t quite sure, which seems unfair, but he doubts Eddie thought Steve was all that nice either. “Maybe. He was nicer than me, maybe. He was good, I know that. We had a lot going on back when I knew him, but you have the same kind of smile. And manner of speaking. All that.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Steve is too drunk really to read into the way Winn’s posture changes, maybe it has something to do with the fact that they’re at Winn’s apartment already. It’s not far at all. In fact, Steve could probably make it back home in fifteen minutes if he wasn’t so far gone.

His apartment is small and a bit messy, and it’s quiet and a little impersonal. Not much on the walls, no pictures of family around. And sometimes it’s like that here, he’s learned. Not everyone has a Robin. But at least Winn has a Ricardo.

The entry space isn’t too warm. It’s actually nice and cool. Cooler than the club, certainly cooler than the outside. Like, Winn must have good air conditioning. “Jesus Christ, are you rich or something?”

“I can’t believe that you of all people would ask that,” Winn says. Steve doesn’t bother asking what that means but he wonders. He looks for hints in Winn’s sunglasses or the familiar weight of his hands.

“I feel like I can breathe,” Steve takes a deep breath and spins, almost topples over, and Winn catches him by the shoulders. Firm hands. Familiar. They’re familiar. “Woah, thank you.”

“Not a problem, dude.”

There it is again. That tone of voice. Steve has got to be fucking hallucinating, honestly, all of a sudden overcome by this pulling in his chest.

“Is dude really an appropriate thing to call someone you’re trying to sleep with?” He flirts, the only cylinder in his brain that’s firing like this. Everything else is fighting drunken confusion and Eddie and trauma. And it’s not fair that this is happening now.

Winn’s sunglasses are still on. “You’d be surprised, Stevie.”

He stumbles and trips over a cable and it feels like 1986 again and 1985 and 1984, and it’s a black and slimy vine, something that will slither around his neck and ankles and choke him out. And the next few hours are a confusing haze, because he collapses in Winn’s arms. He gets taken to the couch, a fucking ugly thing, and he can’t breathe and it’s humiliating.

It’s been a while since an episode like this. The first few weeks in San Francisco were like that, peeking around every corner, distrustful of every shadow. And the feeling of being back there mainly sticks to nightmares, something he can blame on his dreams.

But he got used to it. He got used to San Francisco and normal problems like being broke and hating your parents.

Steve knows what’s real and what isn’t. He’s smart. He hasn’t gone insane. He’s not crazy, except, he definitely looks crazy to this guy. This poor guy. Not-Eddie. Eddie’s not real. Or, not anymore.

He never should have come here. He should be with Robin. She knows what’s real too. She can talk him down. She’s good at it.

He can’t see for what feels like an hour or what he knows is realistically only a couple of minutes, and then he can, because Eddie or not-Eddie rubs circles into his back and puts a glass of ice water in his hands and tells him how cold it is. He narrates the droplets of condensation that track down his skin and into his watch, which still hasn’t gone off yet.

This is the longest night of his fucking life and that’s saying something, it’s saying too much.

“You’re okay, man,” Eddie or not-Eddie says, calm like he’s used to this feeling, when nobody could be. Nobody but the group of them who fought monsters in alternate dimensions, who were nearly killed off and then paid off by government organizations. It’s why Steve and Robin came here in the first place. To get away from it. Somewhere where no one would know. So they wouldn’t have to see the effects of it every day and breathe the awful polluted air.

A chill runs up his spine. The air conditioning whirrs. A thought comes to his mind: he likes it cold.

And he thinks he’s hyperventilating again, he must be, because Winn is concerned and takes off his sunglasses and Steve gets a good look at his eyes and they’re Eddie’s. Like he took them from him. Like the world is fucking with him, like they never won at all and this is Steve’s fucking ticking clock. Like the last five years weren’t real, like nothing is real.

By some grace of God, that’s too much for his brain to handle, and he passes out right there on Eddie’s couch in Eddie’s arms in San Francisco in 1991.

•

It was 1986. Eddie Munson almost died.

•

It’s 1991, and Steve wakes up hungover in a room he’s never been in before. It’s dark still, and his head is pounding, and he’s sure it’s from the alcohol. But it centers around his eyes like he’d been crying, something he doesn’t let himself do all that often, and it floods back.

His eyes barely adjust and there’s an old Metallica poster on the wall and a stack of books in the corner of the room and a guitar pick necklace hanging from the corner of a mirror and nothing else.

Nothing else recognizable, at least. Nothing else personal, not that Steve can really say he knew Eddie personally. It’s nothing like Eddie’s room at home five years ago, the one he had to clean out because Wayne and Dustin were too heartbroken to do it themselves. With his guitars and posters and fliers and lyrics and chord progressions. With his drugs that they threw back into Rick’s house. That he and Nancy made sure to keep far away from the kids, because God fucking forbid they touch them.

It’s too dark to tell if this is the Upside Down or one of those clock hallucinations or if it’s just night.

There’s no reason Eddie Munson should be alive.

There’s no reason, really, that Steve should have been thinking about him for so long, anyway. For thinking of Eddie as this special thing to him, a high he’s chased for years, a person he recognizes pieces of in strangers on the street. That must be what this is. Punishing him for not letting him go. When he hardly fucking knew the guy.

But that’s not right, either.

He’s shaking, and the bed creaks with it, and the door opens slowly, and he holds his breath until Eddie walks through.

Because Eddie walks through. His hair is cropped and his neck is scarred and his face is older. There aren’t rings or patches or buttons on leather and denim. He looks different and exactly the same, and the light from the other room floods from behind him like a halo, like he’s a ghost.

Steve knows that this can’t be his imagination, though, can’t be the effect of some spell or hypnotism or post-traumatic stress, because he’d never imagine Eddie like this. Barren.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Eddie says, like it’s a normal thing to say, like this is a normal thing to do, and Steve kind of wants to kill him again.

The light flickers on, bathes the room in an ugly yellow. “What did you do?”

“What?” Eddie stops short. Water spills over the rim of a glass Steve didn’t notice he was holding. “You had a panic attack and passed out. I brought you to a bed.”

Steve shakes his head. “You died! You died five years ago! What did you do? Did you make a deal with Vecna? With the guys at the lab?”

“Jesus, no!” Eddie steps forward and Steve tenses. His eyes flash, and they’re just as big and swirling as Steve remembers, but they’re dark, and he holds his other hand out, placating. Is he a vampire? Is Vecna even dead?

“Was any of it real? Is any of it over?”

Exdie crouches, and he takes off his shirt, and Steve must still be a little drunk because he stares at his chest and the curls of hair scattered around. But behind that, more clear now than it was in the club, is scarred, discolored patches of skin, poorly stitched together, healed but slowly. Painfully. The scratches and scars run lightly up his arms and his chest, up into deep pinks and reds at the base of his neck.

“I didn’t die,” Eddie says, patient, practiced, like he’d been prepared to be found out. Which begs the question: what was the fucking point? “I nearly died. I thought I died. But I didn’t.”

Steve fumes and he tries to follow and he stares at Eddie’s skin, thinks about all the people he couldn’t protect.

“We mourned you. Dustin was,” Jesus Christ, it hurts to think about, “torn in half. You let us all think you died, but you let him think you died. We would have helped you.”

Eddie stares like he’s brokenhearted, and Steve is done talking. His throat hurts and his head hurts and he’s too fucking old for this. He dares Eddie to explain himself.

•

It was 1986. Eddie Munson didn’t die.

He really did think he was going to. He’d already accepted it, and if Dustin got to live, he would have done it over and over again indefinitely. He would have relived the pain forever, and he knew it even when it was excruciating and he tasted blood and venom and whatever else.

The only thing he wouldn’t relive was Dustin’s face, dirty and tear-tracked and sobbing.

Eddie faded out and faded back in. He couldn’t open his eyes, but he heard the others come back, heard them tear Dustin off of him, heard the rumbling of thunder and the splitting of earth.

One thing Eddie learned when he was young, when his dad put his mom in the hospital, was that hearing goes last. The last moments wrapped up in loud silence.

He didn’t know if he believed in heaven, but the screams and the cracking and the laughter from Vecna sounded a lot like hell, especially when it didn’t stop. When it kept going. When he thought he was dead.

But hell seemed to spit him back out.

Didn’t want him. Go figure.

He was hardly alive, though. Alive in the sense that he was sometimes conscious and his heart was chugging, pushing blood around his body.

And eventually, in Hawkins, real Hawkins, he crawled until he ended up in the Hendersons’ backyard. He’d heard a story once, right before he died, that Dustin had taken in a little monster until it could live on its own.

It was a long shot, but he was hoping the kid would be willing to do it again.

He was.

Eddie bled sludge onto the concrete of Dustin’s cellar, and Dustin stole antiseptic and gauze and painkillers from where they were keeping Max in the hospital and from the donation drives and wherever else, Eddie never knew. He soaked needles and string in hydrogen peroxide and sewed him up in the really gnarly gashes that wouldn’t scab over, placating Eddie with whatever was in his mother’s liquor cabinet.

And it was fucking hell.

He will never remember most of it.

But as soon as he could stand upright he cut his hair short and hitchhiked to Indianappolis and took a one-way bus to California and didn’t look back.

There was no way he could. Every step was a miracle. He was a man on the run.

But nobody except his uncle knew that his name was Edwin, that his mother’s maiden name was Langley. Nobody except Rick, who’d made him a fake ID before he got sent to prison so he could run off to San Francisco after he graduated, or after Wayne got sick of him, or after shit got really bad.

And well.

It killed the poor kid, he knew it, but he hoped that knowing he was alive would lessen the blow. Even if he swore him to secrecy. The kid was loyal. Could keep a secret.

Dustin is nothing if not stubborn. Packed Eddie’s bag with a note with his home phone number and a radio frequency and a threat, a promise, to tell the police exactly where he was if he didn’t confirm proof of life at least once a month.

An extremely charming scribbled note on a piece of paper he would keep in his bedside table that read: I WILL MAKE ELEVEN FIND YOU. LIVE.

So Eddie Munson – if you asked his ID, Edwin Langley – if you asked anyone else, Winn the Mechanic – didn’t die in Upside Down Hawkins, Indiana in 1986. He laid low for five years in San Francisco, a place where people run to all the fucking time and don’t ask questions, didn’t make too much money, didn’t make too many waves.

He got rid of anything that would identify him. That was the hard part. All Eddie Munson had was his identity. Was his band and his music and his club and his loud personality. And he’d never held himself back for anyone.

He figured, though, if he was going to hold himself back for something, it would be for the teenagers who fought monsters. Maybe, he thought, this way he’ll win. There’s no other way for them to win.

Eddie knew his odds. Every day was a stealth check. And for five years he rolled high enough. It helped staying mainly sober and playing the new performance of being mysterious and quiet. Like that was a new game in itself.

And then, one day, a drunk and traumatized Steve Harrington rolled high enough on investigation to crumble the whole thing down.

•

It’s 1991. And Eddie Munson didn’t die.

He was alive when Wayne and Steve organized a pathetic little funeral for him with sticks and pins and guitar picks buried into the ground on the right-side-up of where he got attacked by the bats. He was alive when Steve and Lucas spent nights in Dustin’s room, giving them a break from the hospital room and making sure they were doing okay.

For Christ sake, he held Dustin while they mourned.

Eddie was alive when Steve sort of pieced together why he was so heartbroken. When Robin asked why he kept Eddie’s jean jacket hung on the back of his desk chair, why he didn’t bury it or give it to Wayne. He was alive when Steve was confused and tired and drove out to Indianapolis and went down on some drummer with long hair and big eyes who called him baby and pretty and gave him a warning before coming down his throat.

When Robin coined the term Munson High.

And Jesus Christ, Steve is exhausted. He’s nauseous and dizzy and hungover and his mouth tastes like shit. He’s only pretty sure this whole thing isn’t an elaborate mind game.

“I don't understand, dude,” Steve says, running the palm of his hand flat down his face.

“What don’t you understand?”

Steve kind of wants to kill him again. “Why did you have to be dead? Why didn’t you tell the rest of us? Why didn’t you tell me? We were friends!” He clears his throat. “And why the fuck did you take me home tonight knowing damn well who I was?”

Eddie counts the questions off on his fingers, formulating his thoughts, and it’s infuriating to watch. Knowing that Eddie has had five years to think about this, and Steve is falling over on himself like a fucking idiot. Blindsided.

He speaks, and for some reason it sounds the exact same as it has in Steve’s memory, and it hurts. “The town wanted me dead, man. There were people coming after me with pitchforks, no questions asked, there was no saving me. Not after Jason died. Not after it broke national news. I couldn’t be missing or sent to jail or any of that shit. I had to be dead or they would kill me. And if they couldn’t kill me, they’d kill you guys for keeping me alive.”

Steve clenches his jaw and it sends the violent sting of a migraine into his eye. “We would have done it. We needed you–”

“That’s why you guys couldn’t know. You would try to fix it. If you knew I lived, you would patch me up and take me to your magical girl’s friends with the government and they would wave their wands, but I would be public enemy number one, and that was never going to change or get better,” Eddie says, a crack in his voice like he’s frustrated, like he has a right to be. “I’ve been public enemy number one since the kids in Hawkins found out who my dad was. It never fucking changes.

“I told Dustin because I knew he wouldn’t ask me to stay after I’d already made up my mind. I didn’t tell you because I knew you would. You would have asked me to stay and I would have done anything for you back then. And now, too. I just can’t say no to you, Stevie.

“But,” he finishes, “you needed to focus on the bigger picture. If you thought there was any shot I would make it, you would have taken it, and you would have gotten yourself killed.”

Steve breathes. He can’t do much to argue with that, but the parts of it that were personal, that made Steve feel like stained glass or the open mouth of a cave, like he was something Eddie could really see, those parts are hard to swallow.

“And?”

“And,” Eddie says. “I haven’t seen you in five years and I never got to kiss you back then, I never even thought of it as a possibility. And my cover was broken and I was drinking even though I don’t do that anymore, and you asked to go home with me, Steve. I already said I can’t say no to you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” Eddie relaxes into a position more familiar, barely. The ghost of a posture Steve recognizes from five years ago. He wonders if he’s still the same or different in Eddie’s eyes. “And I wouldn’t have slept with you under false pretenses, I just figured you’d rather not be in a dark little gay club when you realized I was Eddie.”

He’s a little too tired for this. A little too broken. It’s a little too much.

Steve wonders if he would feel his heart stop if it did. Or if it would just feel like the same dull ache he’s been feeling for five years. More than that. Since his world turned upside down.

“You’re stuck with me, now. You got that?”

Eddie smiles, and it’s something so massive and heart stopping and sickening that Steve worries if it’s real at all. It’s just different enough. Five years older. Relieved and real.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, waterlogged and broken and also whole.

Steve would hate to break this, but he glances at the clock and feels a tension about a fifteen minute walk away. “You’re going to have to deal with Robin, though. And Dustin is going to have to deal with me”

•

In 1996 there’s a wedding in Hawkins, Indiana.

•

It’s 1991. Steve unlocks his apartment, cramped and kind of ugly, and full of life.

“Hey Rob?”

Robin calls from her little closet room. “No honey I’m home? Where has our love gone, Stevie?”

“Uh,” he shifts by the door. “I ran into someone last night.”

“I thought you went home with that Winn guy. Did he fuck your brains out? I should have told him about your history of concussions before I let you leave…” Robin trails off when she turns one of the snug corners of their apartment and makes eye contact with them.

And Steve can only imagine how they look to her, considering everything. Steve bringing home a man who looks more like Eddie Munson than is probably healthy for him. Looking exhausted, his eyes are chapped and red from last night. And Eddie looks kind of terrified, which he should. It’s a blessing that Nancy is on the other side of the country, because Eddie would be dirt in the fucking ground, probably.

“Hi,” Robin looks Eddie up and down with so much intensity that Steve can feel the heat of it. “I’m sorry. I’m Robin. I need to steal Steve away for just one minute.”

“Robin,” Steve manages. She looks away from Eddie and gives Steve a scathing Munson High stare. It quiets him.

Eddie speaks, though. That same old voice. “Robin.”

It’s pleading, almost. And it works. Steve and Robin joke about being able to read each others’ minds, but it’s like something really happens then. Exactly how he thought she’d react: confused, and then suspicious, and then almost angry.

“What is this?”

She doesn’t give either of them a chance to respond, just walks up to Eddie and pulls on the collar of his shirt. Steve looks too: the smattering of scars, years healed over but still gnarly, raised, skin crawling over itself like veins.

There’s this little quirk in the scars on Steve’s stomach, marks that never faded, speckles of black, like shards of venom from the bats stuck inside him. They play just underneath the pale scars on Eddie’s neck. And Robin’s face breaks.

“What the hell is this?

“I’m–” Steve thinks there’s going to be an apology from Eddie, half-formed, scared and desperate in a way that tears Steve’s heart in half even though it’s only just been mended. But Robin launches forward, unsteady on her feet, wraps both arms around his neck.

“You were gone,” Robin croaks into his skin. “I saw it.”

Eddie rubs her back, and Steve’s heart lurches at the memory of her and her brave face when they found Dustin hovering over his body.

“I’m sorry.”

“How are you here? Did they–” the government, the Lab, the Russians, the creatures, “did they take you away? Are you under witness protection? Who’s Winn?”

Eddie’s voice shakes while he explains it again, and Steve shakes while he hears it again, and Robin watches and listens with her usual intensity, careful and horrified and spinning cogs in her brain while she puts the pieces together. She’s always loved a mystery. A puzzle. She asks the right questions, gets the right answers.

“You’re not going to run away again, are you?”

Steve watches Eddie’s face. This beautiful thing. It crumples the tiniest bit, and Steve’s always been attuned to these non-verbal signs, these warnings. So for a second, there’s a wet anguish in his eyes, and Robin’s fingers curl hard into his shirt like a threat, and Steve worries that whatever comes out of his mouth will be a lie.

It’s too much like 1986 and Eddie’s smiling at him, curly and beautiful, promising that he’s not a hero. Like it’s 1987 and Dustin is sitting at Eddie’s grave like he doesn’t know where he is. Like it’s 1988 and Steve on the phone with his parents, telling them things are fine. It’s 1989 and Steve is telling Robin that he’s fine. 1990: this town isn’t sucking the soul out of him, he can stay for the kids, he deserves one more year as a kid himself, he still has something to offer.

It’s 1991, and Steve knows how to lie, and he’s never been afraid of being lied to. He’s only ever been afraid of the truth.

–

In 1996 there’s a wedding in Hawkins, Indiana. There’s no big white spectacle event at the town’s once-gaudy now-dilapidated church, no priests or preachers. The bride never believed in all of that, and the rest of them haven’t bought into it for at least a decade.

It’s a small ceremony. Steve walks Max down the aisle. He whispers to her that Lucas started crying the moment he saw her, Max says she knew he would, and Steve laughs, delighted.

He drops her off and falls back into Lucas’ groomsmen line, punching him in the shoulder on the way, lands his hands on Dustin’s shoulders and squeezes.

He catches Robin’s eye on the other side of the aisle. She’s still wearing their wedding ring, but she’s playing with the lace on Nancy’s shoulder, and Nancy’s smiling in a way Steve’s never seen from her.

It’s been a decade free of evil in this town, and Steve doesn’t often come back, but it’s moments like this where Steve remembers that this was his home, once. There aren’t towns like this in California, smattered with woods, filled with people who have always known him, who he doesn’t have anything to lie about to.

Eddie’s there. He hasn’t been to Indiana since he crawled out ten years ago. He’s sitting, playing with hair he’s been growing back out for five years.

There’s a tattoo on his ring finger, now, black and sprawling.

Steve stares at it the entire time.

–

It’s 1991, and Steve is back in Eddie’s apartment. There’s a nice radio in the closet, and the two of them sit on the cool ground in front of it.

Steve hasn’t taken his eyes off of Eddie in hours, what’s felt like years. He edges closer, like Eddie is a stray, like he’ll scamper away. And Eddie at least seems to understand. Press back, knowing there’s fear that he won’t.

He’s warm. That’s one of the most jarring things.

He still remembers how cold he felt, years ago, bleeding through his clothes, through Steve’s hands.

And now he’s warm and alive and Steve wants to be burned by him. Seared. He wants Eddie so close he leaves a mark.

Eddie turns to look at him, raises an eyebrow, “ready?” And he waits for Steve to nod before he turns on the radio and plays with the frequency.

“Obi-Wan to Luke checking in…” His eyes flicker up to Steve’s. “Over.”

Steve smiles. Of course Dustin is Luke. He’s almost surprised he isn’t Han.

It takes a few seconds for Dustin to respond, undeniably him, attempting to hide his excitement in the way he’s never been able to pull off. “Luke to Obi-Wan, confirming check-in. Is everything alright? We just spoke last week. Over.”

“Just peachy, young Skywalker. Though I do have a visitor. Over.”

“Are you compromised?” Dustin’s voice crackles with his natural intense panic. “Over.”

“No,” Steve leans into the microphone, keeping all points of contact with Eddie like he’ll float away. “But you are. Over.”

There’s a bit of amusement that Steve can see in Eddie’s eye, a smile that he can’t look away from. It makes this whole thing feel less massive. Everything’s felt massive for almost ten years, and Eddie just dissipates the whole thing. Like magic. Eddie’s fucking Houdini.

“Shit.”

“You didn’t say over. Over,” Eddie says, voice light.

It’s ridiculous, all of a sudden. Easy. Even though everything is an awful disaster, it’s easy.

“Shit… Over.”

–

In 1996 they stay at the Motel 6 on Cornwallis after the reception. They slow dance in the little space next to the bed, entirely sober, both of them. Drunk off each other, almost.

They don’t sleep, because they fuck like rabbits, and because Hawkins is still a little too haunted to get real rest, and because the Motel 6 is still a piece of shit even after rebuilding it in the 90’s.

The sun rises and it stays there.

[xsapphic-celestialx]

guys I ended up on the wrong side of swiftie tumblr please help get me back to the normal side where people don’t think that Taylor swift is secretly a lesbian who is singing to k*rlie kl*ss 😭😭 like istg she could marry Travis tomorrow and have 8 kids with him and they’d all be like “omg performance art” like you really think queen kylie kelce would involve her family in this if it was fake? The same kylie who is NOTORIOUS for not taking any bullshit? You think she’s involving her kids in this? Not a chance (side note Kylie kelce please adopt me I love you)

also if she was gay it makes more sense from a pr perspective for her to be single for a while rather than for her to have a “beard” she’s constantly slut shamed for having boyfriends and it’s not like those men get away Scot free either…. like she was fresh out of a 6 year relationship she could very easily have gone the “taking some time to work on myself before I get into another relationship” route if she didn’t want to date men anymore but instead she went straight to matty Healy of all people (which I genuinely think is one of the worst decisions she’s made in the past 5 years but then again she’s a grown adult who can do what she likes it’s none of my business and that is an opinion for another day)

“she’s being so loud in her songs only gaylors would understand” so close! Believing that a celebrity is sending you secret messages is actually a sign of schizophrenia! She’s not your friend she doesn’t know you and you should probably seek help xx

p.s. if you read this and felt offended I suggest you get a job I’ve heard they’re really good at filling all that free time you use to try and tear apart a stranger’s relationship

[animatedapostasy]

i get annoyed when people gloss over Yosuke's more negative traits (i.e his homophobia, sexism, immaturity etc etc). it's important parts of his character! yes, they're nasty. he's nasty. he sucks! but it's okay! let Yosuke Suck.

with Yosuke, the way he acts is essentially just what he thinks a guy "should" do to be a guy. the swimsuits debacle. the "up close and personal" plan. the beauty pageant. it's all performative. it's him going "look at me! i like girls and boobs! i'm not gay! see?!"

he's as trapped as Kanji is by toxic masculinity. like when you go in for the famous hug he just conplains that "it's for girls".

his first thought is essentially "but what would people think?". Yosuke is incredibly concerned with what other people think. like his Shadow yells at him about how he's terrified of being alone. and he is terrified! he's terrified that Yu and everyone else would leave him if they knew the real him.

And i think there are times where he stops thinking about it but immediately regrets it like at the group date.

he plays along with everything but immediately snap back when things get "too gay". see also below the "good with your hands comment".

gay thoughts are constantly rummaging around in that brain of his. and he hates it! he tries so desperately to be the kind of guy who doesn't have gay thoughts! and he does it by taking it out on women, on Kanji, being a bad role model for Teddie, and on himself!!!

is this justification for the shit he does? no! is it mental gymnastics? maybe! did ATLUS accidentally write the most tortured closeted take on a dudebro best friend character? it'd be funny if they did!

in the end, i will say that i do respect the people who do not like Yosuke. i trust them more with a decent characterization of Yosuke than some others (esp. on reddit)

[allbark-no-bite]

i’ve been meaning to tell you.

icemav (wc: 4.4k)

summary: to love a man is to tear the other apart and ruin each other ruthlessly. OR the fic Ice’s dad is the worst and Maverick loves Ice anyway

warnings: 18+ smut, mentions of violence, blood, homophobia, and vomiting

authors note: i’m sorry guys, the little gay pilots just do it for me. apologies for the half ass ending. title taken from Taylor Swift’s ‘seven’

————————————————————————

What a lot of people tend to forget about Maverick Mitchell is that he grew up a younger brother. So not only was his old man knocking him around— that is when he was actually around— but his older brother too. Mav had to learn how to defend himself by whatever means necessary, whether that meant kicking and screaming or taking a swing. He's got just as much scrappiness in his body as a hungry stray dog. It tends to get him in trouble.

Today in the locker room is no different.

They've all just been released from training for the day and have flocked to the locker room to shower. Today's flight didn't go particularly well for Maverick, but that's not totally unusual. They all have bad days, and he's just so happened to fall upon a streak of bad luck. But unfortunately enough, a bad day in the air for Maverick means a good day in the air for Tom Kazansky. And the blonde pilot is not about to let him forget it.

The shit-talking begins the moment Maverick enters into the locker room. He intentionally allows the door to swing shut behind him in the feeble hope that it will catch the pilot who is hot on his heels behind him.

Much to his disappointment, Ice catches it with his palm right before it hits him in his perfect face. "You're pathetic, honestly, Mitchell. I mean were you even trying out there? I got a lock on you faster than if it was my grandma flying out there."

"Isn't your grandma dead?" is the comment that comes from the obnoxiously tall, lumbering oaf of a man beside him.

Has he also mentioned that he hates Slider's dumbass face? He's nothing but a dick with legs.  Maverick is beginning to think the RIO shares a brain cell with his pilot because he's never heard Ice say something without Slider parroting along with his own smart ass comment.

The remark is too much for Goose— who Maverick is constantly having to remind himself that he adores— and even at the expense of his best friend, can't contain himself. He latches onto Maverick's shoulder in an attempt to keep himself upright whilst his head falls back into the shrieking laugh that is reminiscent of his call sign. If Slider wasn't so insufferably stupid, Maverick might would hate him a little bit for it. Instead he shoves his spindly RIO away from him and slams his locker shut to face Ice.

"You know, maybe if I screwed up your face, Slider here wound't be so keen to kiss your ass all of the time."

Ice takes a step towards him so that they're face to face, even if he does have to look down to be eye level with the brunette pilot. Maverick has to shove down the urge to rise up on his toes just so that they're even. He would never hear the end of that. So instead he plants his feet into the ground and steels himself against Ice's looming presence.

Ice sneers down at him, bearing his teeth just how he does when he smiles, taunting and cocksure. "We'll have a go when you learn how to make a fist, Mitchell."

Maverick smirks. "Wouldn't you like that, Kazansky?" His green eyes are blazing with what anyone watching might would interpret as righteous anger. He and Ice both know it's something else. It's all a game. A game that is so synchronized and well rehearsed that neither of them are willing to give it up just yet. Because when you know the rules, when you know just what buttons to push without it blowing up in your face, the game is safer that way.

It took them a while to get to this point, to realize that they didn't actually hate each other. There was a lot of growing pains and moments of uncomfortable realization. Mav came into Topgun with a chip on his shoulder and everything to prove, and then there was Ice, who had it all. He was charismatic and smart and funny— everything Maverick was without the debilitating strain of an estranged father who fucked off into the sky one day and never returned. And Maverick hated him for that. Hated him until he walked into the locker room one day and heard Ice's dad screaming at him over the phone.

"—no goddamn son of mine will call themselves a homosexual. As long as you have my last name—"

Ice had hung up as soon as he heard Maverick behind him, choking out a "Look, I have to go, Dad. I'm sorry— Yes, sir. Yes sir, I understand. Bye."

Maverick had just stood there at first, pretending he didn't see Ice wiping his eyes, didn't even comment as Ice cleared a sob from his throat. After that Ice just stood there staring at him, as though just waiting for Maverick to bring it up.

Finally, Maverick just laughed. "Guess we both have some pretty mean old men," was all he said. He never brought up the part about Ice's dad calling him a homosexual, but after that it was just kinda understood.

Ice was gay.

And that— that changed everything. They were still always at each other's throats. Still taunted and teased and took things too far, only for a different reason now. With DADT in place, it was the only thing they could do.

It's just that now they've been playing this game for far too long, without it ever resulting to anything, and the tension between them has built up thick enough to be cut by a knife.

Ice seems to realize this because he somehow grins even wider. "C'mon then. What're you waiting for, Mitchell?" He adds,  "Hell, I'm sure you could do it if you tried hard enough."

Maverick passes his tongue over the bridge of his teeth, and turns his head away, as if he's contemplating the invitation. To everyone around them, it looks as though Maverick's going to backdown. Really, it's to conceal the smile that has crept onto his face. Everyone should know by now that it's not like him to backdown from a challenge.

As his best friend and RIO, Goose should have seen this one coming.

Just when it looks like he's going to step away, Maverick shifts his weight on his heels and swings. Ice flinches back just a fraction of a second too late, and Maverick's fist connects with the left side of his jaw. It sends a shock ricocheting back through Maverick's arm and radiates from his knuckles all the way up to his elbow. Because the blonde pilot does have some size on him, it's not enough to send him toppling over, but Ice does have to catch himself, his hand lifting up to grab his jaw once he recovers.

It feels so good that Maverick hardly notices the clamor of the other pilots around them or Goose grabbing at the sleeve of his flight suit. He watches as Slider and Sundown rush over to help Ice, but he shrugs them off. When he straightens, there's a mar of red on his jaw where Maverick's fist had been, and his bottom lip is busted, already swelling up purple and staring to bleed.

Maverick stares at him, breathing hard in satisfaction. Despite the pain that is still sparking though his knuckles, he knows he's not above the rules of chivalry, and he offers Ice his hand—

—And finds himself sprawled out on the ground a mere second later. He must blackout for a moment because when he comes to, Ice is crouched down in front of him and there's pain pulsing from his cheekbone. Maverick squeezes his eyes shut, already feeling the beginnings of a migraine, and he wonders if he might have a concussion. Now that would really be something.

When he opens his eyes, Ice is still in front of him. The blonde pilot is smirking, his blue eyes alight with amusement despite just having been nailed in the face. "I warned you didn't I, Mitchell?"

Most of the attention their fight had originally drawn has dispersed, the pilots around them likely sensing that Ice had dutifully settled the score and that there was no more to be seen. Ever faithful, Goose is lingering just a few steps away, waiting to intervene should he be needed.

Slowly, he looks back to the pilot crouched before him. As much as Maverick hates to say it, Ice looks good when he's a little roughed up.

"Is that really all you've got?" he manages. What he means is, I'd let you punch me any day of the week if only it meant that we got to be this close.

"Maverick—" comes Goose's worried sounding voice of reason.

Ice just smiles, humoring him. "Tell you what, Mitchell. If you can even stand up straight, we'll go again."

They both know that's not going to happen. His head is pounding so hard right now that he might would be sick if he tried to stand up. Still, Maverick snarls at him comically though the pain. "Coward." But there's no bite to it.

Again, all Tom can do is smile. "C'mon," he says. He offers Maverick his hand and pulls him to his feet, throwing the brunette pilot's arms around his shoulders to take on most of his weight. "Let's go find you some ice."

Goose can only shake his head and watch them go.

And that was how it went. That was how they got by without losing their minds. If they couldn't love each other then they'd hate each other enough to make up for it.

They both know the risks. One wrong word and they're dead. All it takes is for the wrong person to hear the wrong thing, interpret an interaction the wrong way.

No one talks about it but everyone know what happens to sailors who let on that they're too friendly with their shipmates. Maverick's heard it before, some poor lieutenant screaming in the middle of the night, drug from his own bed and beaten until he's unrecognizable, and all you can do is roll over and pray for the screaming to stop. Because if you intervene you're just as guilty.

It happens more often than anyone would think, the Navy just keeps quiet about it. It's called don't ask don't tell for a reason.

It's probably the same reason as to why no one has questioned the fact that the Iceman has not once gone home with a girl from the O-Club in the entire six weeks that they have been stationed at Topgun.

His disinterest is almost comical. At any given second of the night, the blonde pilot has got girls crawling all over him. There is almost always one hanging off of his arm, gazing up longingly at him as he tries not to spill his drink, another with a delicate hand to his chest as she giggles and laughs at something he didn't even think was that funny.

Ice doesn't seem to mind the attention, but he doesn't care to feed into it either. Not even the feel of the girl to his left placing her hand a little too high up on his thigh is enough to stir his dick in his pants. It's been a long time since he's been with a girl, probably since his freshman year at the academy. Before he realized that he was gay. And even if he was hankering to get laid, which he isn't, he wouldn't consider taking one of them home. Unlike a lot of guys at the bar, he had morals, and that meant not pretending to be into it with some poor girl just to get his dick sucked.

Regardless, Maverick thinks it's really fucking distracting.

Them with their wandering hands all over Ice, it really makes his blood boil. Who were they to get to touch him like that in front of everyone.

Ice glances over and their eyes lock for a brief moment. Cheeks flaming, Maverick has to tear his eyes away. He hadn't realized he was staring until Goose swings an arm over his shoulder and places a beer in his hand. "You keep staring and he's going to come over here and beat your ass again."

Maverick sputters. "Wha—? I wasn't—"

Smiling knowingly, Goose pats his chest. "I'm just saying. No one's going to say anything about two guys having a drink together at the bar. But if you keep up with whatever the hell all of this sexual tension filled staring is about, people are going to notice and he's going to knock your lights out for real this time."

Maverick glares at him. Goose had figured out that Maverick was bi pretty early on, way back in their roommate days at the academy, but it had taken him until last week in the locker room to realize that the brunette pilot's apparent hate for his wingman was really just a hopeless middle school crush disguised by toxic masculine bravado. Now Goose has taken it upon himself to get them together. Of course that's what any good best friend would do, but if Goose has to watch the two of them flirt with each other like a bunch of sexually frustrated peacocks any longer, he might wash his own eyes out with bleach.

"Now here's what I suggest you do—"

"Maverick."

Freezing, they both slowly turn around. Maverick already knows who it is. He would recognize that voice anywhere.

Ice is standing behind them, a fresh beer in his hand. The girls from earlier are now nowhere to be seen, Maverick notes. "Ice," is all he says back, every other word in his vocabulary seemingly lost.

Really, if Goose hadn't just been in the backseat of a multimillion dollar aircraft that Maverick was flying just a few hours before, he would think the man was incompetent. Goose pats Maverick's chest before removing his arm from around his shoulders and excusing himself. "Guess that's my queue to leave, kids. I'll be over there. Way, way, over there." Before Maverick can stop him, he's disappearing into the sea of white by the bar.

And then it's just them standing together off to the side of the bar.

Ice clears his throat. "You wanna step outside, get some air?"

And because he doesn't know how else to respond to that, because he's certainly not going to tell him no, he shrugs. "Sure."

They walk outside together, or more like Maverick follows Ice out like a confused looking duckling, and Ice brings them to a stop just in front of the railing of the porch. And then he just stands there, looking out into the parking lot. Maverick lingers a few paces behind him, wondering whether or not he's supposed to join him. He tries to tell himself to relax because like Goose said, there's nothing wrong with two guys having a drink together, and maybe that's all that this is, but it certainly hadn't felt like it when they made eye contact back in the bar.

Finally, Ice asks, "Mitchell, your old man ever hit you for no good reason?" The way he asks it, it feels more like a confession than a question.

Shoulders dropping, Maverick lets out a breath of air that he'd been holding onto, and it kinda comes out as an amused laugh. "Yeah, man... Y'know sometime I think he did it just for fun. My brother too."

For the first time since they've walked outside, Ice glances sideways at him. "You've got a brother?"

"Yeah, I was younger by like six years though."

Ice's mouth twitches up into a smile. "That explains a lot."

Maverick shoves him, not hard, but it's enough to make the blonde pilot beside him sway a little to the side as he moves to lean against the railing beside him. Once Ice settles, they're shoulder to shoulder, their sides pressed into each other. Too close for explanation should someone question them.

"What about your old man?" Mav asks. He's not sure he would have ever brought up Ice's father under normal circumstances but this isn't a normal conversation.

Ice just shakes his head. "We don't talk all that much anymore unless he's calling to yell at me... You heard."

Maverick nods, taking in what Ice is telling him in. Of course he's known or at least assumed all of these things, but it's different hearing them out loud.

"Maverick, you know I'm... That's why my dad—"

Maverick straightens and Ice stops talking and follows him, the two pilots turning to face each other.

"You trying to tell me something, Iceman?" Maverick asks, smothering a smile.

Although they're not quite the same height, they're eye to eye, and for once it feels like they're equals. Ice's blue eyes glint dangerously.

Maverick's heart is pounding in his chest.

"It's Tom. And yeah, maybe I'm trying to tell you something."

In the barely lit front porch of the bar, where he's sure no one can see them, Maverick reaches out to touch him. His fingers skim along the crisp white fabric of Tom's uniform, tentative at first, until he's sure he is actually going to let him touch him. When the blonde pilot doesn't immediately pull away, Maverick's fingers curl into the fabric at his side, tugging him forcefully closer so that their bodies are pressed together and he can lean up to connect their mouths. As if equally as prepared to reciprocate the kiss, Tom's hands fist into Maverick's uniform, half untucking his shirt in the process. Their mouths clash together, forcing the other open while their tongues fight for a taste.

There's nothing glamorous about it. Maybe if they hadn't been so desperate for this moment it would have been, but there no stopping them now. Ice kisses him with every ounce of emotion that he's been keeping inside, and Maverick reciprocates it with the same vigorousity, chasing after his mouth when Ice draws away for a breath. No sooner than he does and they're kissing again.

Ice is so engrossed in the taste of Maverick's mouth, the warmth of his swollen lips, that he nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels Maverick's palm at his crotch. He doesn't even have the time to be embarrassed when the other pilot snickers at him because his dick is reminding for the first time in months that it actually works. Ice's hips roll into Maverick's palm, begging for more.

If Maverick had been waiting for permission, Ice's response is all he needs. He palms him again, firmer this time, and feels Ice hardening in his hand. At the same time, Maverick runs his tongue along the pout of Ice's bottom lip, catching it gently between his teeth when Ice groans into his mouth. His hand rubs at the now bulging crotch of Ice's uniform, and it makes the blonde's hip stutter.

Maverick is pushing him back, polished black shoes walking forward, one between Ice's legs to nudge him backwards and the other one flanking his hip. He's still all over Ice, mouthing sloppily at whatever is within kissing distance, his hand groping at Ice's dick through his pants, the other fisting his blonde hair, both of them breathing hard.

Ice's body is on fire.

It's like something primal takes over him, and before Maverick can back him against the railing, the fists he has clenched at Maverick's chest shove the brunette backwards. Ice follows, the wall catching Maverick before he can stumble completely backwards, and Ice reconnects their mouths without a moment to recover. His teeth catch at Maverick's jaw, scraping against skin until Maverick finds his mouth again in a bruising kiss.

It's a type of madness that Ice feels. It's uncontrollable and burning through his veins, every muscle in his body. Every neuron in his brain is more alive than it's ever been. It's been a long time since he's had anything this good. Because you can't do this with a woman. You can't ravage her, tear her apart the same way you can a man. You have to be considerate and thoughtful and slow. You have to attend to a woman, practice and play her like an instrument.

It's an art.

This is a whole other beast.

It's adrenaline rushing, being intimate with someone who is your equal in just about every way. It's as vulnerable as rolling over to show your belly to someone as dangerous as yourself and trusting them not to tear you apart. Someone who's after the same high as you. Someone who won't take any of your shit.

Ice gives it and Maverick gives it right back, teeth biting, lips sucking, fingers bruising. They're so close that Ice can feel the slide of muscle against his chest as Maverick breathes, his chest expanding wide with every breath. He's sucking a bruise into Maverick's throat, swirling his tongue against the other pilot's flushed skin and tasting iron.

Maverick's fingers find the button of his pants, the zipper, and then he's slipping his hand inside. Ice hisses at the intrusion of Maverick's cold fingers into his boxers, his dick jumping at the contact. Maverick wraps a hand around his throbbing cock and tugs upwards. A strangled sound leaves Ice's chest. He repeats the motion, this time using some of the precome leaking down Ice's shaft to obtain more of a gliding motion. With the lubrication, he falls into more of a rhythm, enabling Ice to match it with the rut of his hips.

Every jerk of Maverick's hand makes a sickening sucking sound, and something in the back of Ice's mind tells him he should be worried about someone hearing them. It invites a sort of adrenaline-filled fear within him. The same fear that flying gives him. Maverick swipes his thumb over the head of his cock, and he almost cries, the thought gone from his mind.

They haven't spoken this entire time but their noises of pleasure say enough. Ice is panting into the junction of Maverick's neck, muffling cries when he twists his wrist just enough to make Ice's jaw go slack.

One more tug of Maverick's hand around his pulsing cock and Ice's head goes fuzzy, followed by the most mind-shattering orgasm he's ever had flooding through him. He comes in Maverick's hand, spilling into his palm and the front of his boxers. When his coherence returns, the dead weight of his body is supported almost entirely by Maverick, almost certainly crushing him against the wall. The other pilot doesn't seem to mind, one hand around Ice's waist and the other lazily ghosting over Ice's flushed cock, sticky with come.

Ice's heart is pounding, and he's never felt more alive in his own body.

When he gets his bearings about him and the feel of Maverick stroking his sensitive cock becomes too much, he pulls away just so that there's a bit of space between them. Maverick lets him go, remaining with his back pressed against the wall.

Finally, Ice finds his voice. "Fuck, man."

He feels light headed and euphoric and full of bliss all at once.

Then his stomach churns. He's going to vomit.

Ice stumbles a few feet to lean over the side of the deck and retch, earlier's alcohol burning in his stomach. He heaves, the sudden burst of nausea coursing through him without warning. Stomach turning, Ice doesn't recall ever feeling this violently ill in his life.

When the nausea finally subside, there are tears in his eyes and an empty pit in his stomach that isn't from the vomiting. He doesn't trust himself to move away from the railing just yet, but he does look over his shoulder to find Maverick.

The brunette pilot is standing quietly behind him, a towel in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. He must have slipped inside and nabbed a few things from the bar. Ice isn't sure how he had the time to do that, but he also isn't sure how long he was bent over the railing puking his guts out.

This time he gasps out, "What the fuck was that, man?"

For some reason that Ice isn't following, Maverick chuckles. "That, my friend, was the best orgasm of your life. The thing that you're experiencing right now is called guilt."

When Ice just stares at him blankly, Maverick continues. "Happened to me too the first time I got with a guy. You spend your whole life being told that something is wrong, and then you get it and it's the best thing ever. Then you come down from the high and you're disgusted with yourself for enjoying it so much because you know you're not supposed to."

His dad's voice flashes through his mind.

Stomach churning again, Ice covers his face with his palms and groans. Maverick, who seems to be enjoying Ice's misery all too much, just chuckles again. "Here, sit down and drink this," and he holds out the opened bottle of water to Ice.

Ice, feeling too queasy to argue, removes his hands from his face and takes the bottle. He sits down on the front steps and Maverick follows. They sit shoulder to shoulder, once again too close should anyone come out and find them.

Hands clasped together in front of his knees, Maverick watches as Ice takes a few small sips of the water. He remembers feeling the way Ice is now all too well. Remembers the feeling of euphoria like never before, followed by the nausea and spiral downwards. If you think about it, it's kind of funny, having such a visceral reaction to something you want so bad.

Once Ice has gotten down about half of the bottle and no longer looks like he's going to vomit, Maverick continues. “This—thing—between us. Fuck, Ice, I want it. I want it so bad. And I know that this might be harder for you than it is for me because of your dad but—Tom, I want this.”

He hears Ice shudder out a breath beside him. He’s been awfully quiet this entire time, and for a moment Maverick thinks he’s going to refuse him. Instead the blonde pilot places a hand on Maverick’s knee, his thumb smoothing over it through the fabric of his pants. “Damn you, Mitchell.”

He’s smiling and Maverick laughs, a full body laugh that has his shoulders shaking as he leans further into Ice’s side. It’s one of the greatest laughs Ice has ever heard in his entire life.

[musclesandhammering]

Spn Opinions That’ll Have Me Burned at the Stake Pt. 2: Electric Boogaloo

I’m back and bitchier than ever. For reference, here’s part 1.

• Season 5 wasn’t that great.

• D*stiel isn’t real, it’s a sucky ship, and that confession scene was just the writers pandering to the rabid deancas fans cause they knew they were the only ones still watching the show lol. And they left it ambiguous enough that they could still say it was meant platonically if they needed to.

• I hate how they watered down both angels and demons post-season 5ish.

• I liked Ruby 1.0 better than Ruby 2.0.

• I hate Honey!Cas. They just did that cause they didn’t know where to take his story from there, needed him out of the way, and thought it would be funny. It was insulting.

• Jack should’ve been played by an actual child so everyone’s abuse of him would resonate with the audience for what it was (casual fans are brain dead and need to be spoon fed).

• Victor Henrikson deserved more time on the show.

• I said it in the last post, but Alex is way more interesting than Claire and should’ve been given the lead role in the wayward sisters storyline instead.

• Dean is canonically straight and for Christ sake if you guys wanted bi rep, there’s about a thousand other characters that are strongly coded or implied to be bisexual (including Sam!) but y’all didn’t focus on them because it wasn’t actually about representation, it was about making it more plausible for your dumb fetishised gay ship to actually happen (spoiler: it didn’t).

• Season 3 and Season 6 were some of the best ones, you guys just don’t have any taste.

• Claire is not Castiel’s daughter and saying she is erases Jimmy and insults her, and even Cas himself acknowledged that on the show.

• Castiel is canonically NOT gay and Misha constantly saying he is is annoying and airheaded. He’s been attracted to women IN THE SHOW and he’s not even really male, so calling him a Gay Man is reductive and just plain wrong. Also, it’s veeery sus that- given how bi/pan folks are even more underrepresented than gay people- that one of the rare times where the bi/pan label actually fits a character BETTER in CANON……. the allies and monosexuals adamantly reject it. Hm.

• “Curing” vampires or werewolves or demons shouldn’t have been a thing.

• The Winchesters cause most of the bad shit that happens and then they just force supernatural beings to fix it for them- tell me again how they’re Super Special Heroes.

• It shouldn’t be possible to make angels human by removing their grace, because (unlike demons, werewolves, etc) they were never human to start with. If you drained me of all my blood, I wouldn’t magically transform into another species, I’d fucking die.

• Making Billie go crazy was dumb.

• Rowena was one of the most interesting and charismatic characters on the whole show- they just didn’t know what to do with her character.

• The archangels, Lilith, and Azazel should’ve been the biggest threats on the show. No other knights of hell, no god and his sister, no Cain, nothing like that. Having every villain just get progressively more overpowered made the show unbelievable and repetitive and annoying.

• The kernel sanders king of hell guy was hot.

• Dean is misogynistic as HELL, homophobic, likes racist porn, is a narcissist, pervs on teen girls, & thinks all non-human people should be exterminated… and that is all CANON.

• Most of John Winchester’s abuse is fanon.

• Fans portraying Cas as a smol bby who colours in colouring books and has a bee plushie is so fucking annoying.

• Instead of having so many gigantic cosmic storylines with god and his sister and alternate dimensions and even the angel and demon tablets, they should’ve just scrapped those and made the stein family and the bmol and the alpha vampire storylines way bigger than they were. Less cosmic stuff, more earth-based stuff.

• They ruined Lucifer’s character post-season 5. Before that, he was more sympathetic and reasonable than Michael. After, he was a spoiled child hurting people for fun.

• Everything from season 7 on is garbage. All of it. There’s bits of goodness here and there but overall seasons 7-15 are trash.

• How the fuck are there actual people who are deangirls and hate Sam?? The space where your brain should be is empty, I swear to god.

• If there was gonna be any lgbt rep in the Wayward Sisters group, it should’ve been Jody and Donna instead of Claire and Kaia. Those two were boring as hell and had zero chemistry or build-up, but Jody/Donna had plenty of chemistry and was very believable.

• Meg has the best and most realistic redemption arc of anyone on the show.

• Chuck was not likeable or charismatic enough to carry off as big of a villain arc as they gave him. Also that whole thing was stupid and WAY too Out There.

• All the angels should’ve been aroace. All the demons should’ve been pan.

• I stanned Cole so hard up until he changed his mind about hating Dean. That was disappointing.

• Sam went through the same shitty childhood Dean did (plus Bonus Abuse on top of it) and he didn’t turn out Like That.

• I cannot think of a single person that was asking for a spin-off about the Winchester family, like that has to be the most boring thing.

[bengiyo]

I am requesting a ship twofer: Rio and Kido and Rio and Haruhiko

Ah yes, let's discuss The Novelist again.

Plainly: Rio and Haruhiko would not happen without Rio and Kido, but there's no way for Rio and Kido to work out. Kido is selfish and a coward, and Haruhiko is alarmingly devoted.

When you watch the Novelist for the first time you think Rio is some sort of mastermind, but he's not. He's just a fucked up gay man trolling a college kid because he was bored and lonely. We don't really understand why he is this way, but we know something is wrong with him, and we're certain Kido has something to do with it.

Then we go to Mood Indigo and realize that so much of what's wrong with Rio now is that Kido wouldn't let him remain repressed. Rio was clearly struggling before he ran into Kido again, but Kido brought him into the world of erotica and made him learn from a huge perv. Then Kido got way too horny about it and showed he knew a whole lot more about gay sex than I was expecting from him.

Kido is a mess. He thinks he wants to commit to Rio, but he values the appearance of normalcy so much. He's also selfish in that he always makes others feel like they're the reason he made some sort of big sacrifice. He lets Rio blow him so Rio can get a good job. He moves in with Rio to help with rent. He stays in erotica publishing to honor Rio. He's a liar! He let Rio blow him because he wanted to get his dick sucked. He continued living with Rio because he wasn't into the girl who wanted him to be a normie. He stayed in erotica because he likes it, but he likes making people feel beholden to him more than anything. I'm not a fan of this man! I was so glad when Rio went back to Haruhiko at the end of Mood Indigo.

One of the smartest things they did with this series was give these guys time. We got to see Haruhiko age out of school and take on the work of a salaryman even as Rio left the city to try to continue writing. I love Pornographer: Playback because so much of it revolves around Rio grappling with the fact that every time he looks back he finds Haruhiko right there even when Rio is being so mean.

I think I like Haruhiko because Rio woke something in him and Haruhiko loved it. It makes him happier. It seemed to give him purpose. Rio flounders constantly because being gay and smart makes him feel so different and separate from the world. Kido made him feel worse about it. He made Rio feel desirable, but then actively didn't choose him. He even has the nerve to get sad about it! Haruhiko, however, is so into Rio that he blew this man in a car because they hadn't seen each other in a while.

I really do love Rio and Haruhiko a lot, because every creative needs a devoted simp to ground them in reality. I hope Kido finds meaning and purpose in being a husband and a father, because he cannot be anything sustainable to Rio.

Send Me a Ship and I'll Share My Thoughts About Them

[funnyscienceman]

Ok but like WHYY did ubisoft have to insist with the one game a year thing. Why couldnt they let syndicate cook in the oven more. Why do they have THREE queer men in the same game and not do ANYTHING with them!!!

Like yes, yes, i get it, i get wanting to for once make a story in a fun setting where you dont have to think about real life prejudice and hardships and bigotry and just have characters be silly, i love that too. I do! And id be all for that if doing it just didnt waste a potentially banger study of the characters and the setting ;-;

Like god i go back and forth on this constantly. I already love syndicate as it is, i think it's fun and neat and the happy gaming vibes about it is core to its identity, it's just that simultaneous to that, three queer men in the same game!!!

like GOD im still miffed that there are only, like, two or three fics about this, and so far i havent found any discussion or anything of it, but oh my god how different all three of them are from each other. You could do so much just with having any of them in the same room — and they are often enough in the same room (jacob and either ned or roth at a time), but nothing's really done there!

we have roth who sees fcking nothing wrong with getting kids hurt, because he doesnt actually care about anyone or anything, he's just some fucking joker wannabe that yeah, sure, probably has some anger and resentment at society because he's a gay man in his 40s or 50s by now, but jesus fucking christ retaliation against homophobia does not equal rampant needless unproductive violence roth!!!

then we have ned, who — i mean he doesnt ever give his opinion on whether kids deserve any respect or anything but considering in every other department he's pretty much just Some Guy, it'd be fair to assume he also has the extremely average stance of 'dont fcking kill kids and dont blow up buildings for no good reason??' in the grand scheme of the templar-assassin stuff he has just about as much relevance as roth: roth was just the boss of the blighters, ned just finances the fryes by virtue of them working for him. He probably doesnt even know about it, and tbh i dont even know if he'd care??? But like i imagine roth doesnt care in the way of 'as long as you dont get in my way, it's all set dressing,' ned i imagine would be smth like 'are yall fckin serious? are you kidding me rn? i have to skirt around transphobes on a daily basis, now youre telling me there's a secret society on top of that with even worse ideas?? What the fuck???'

like uh, not caring about it as in 'I cant deal with this rn i need a nap'

HE'S JUST AN EXTREMELY REGULAR PERSON (besides the crime lord stuff) IS WHAT IM GETTING AT.

then there's jacob, who's the youngest out of these guys btw, fckin 21 good god he should be at the club not trying to disassemble systemic oppression— ANYWAY

(ned is 27-28 over the course of the game, btw; we dont actually have a solid timeline for anything, just the year, so tbh jacob could've also been 20 and not 21 yet during the game. both he and ned have late birthdays, just a month apart)

so, yknow, being extremely early 20-somethings, both frye twins just take a train to london completely on impulse and dive headfirst into undoing the templars that've had an iron grip over the city for basically as long as they've been alive, yknow, as you do; and throughout the game jacob has to deal with goddamn daddy issues and fighting with his sister and insecurity and trying to be an assassin — and that's a lot for a guy to handle!! Especially one who's still just a couple years out of being a teenager! That's a fucking lot and if the devs are right, then he hasnt even realized that he's bi yet! Not until roth fucking kisses him while jacob's got a knife in his throat for the aforementioned indiscriminate, unproductive violence!

i mean, granted, yeah there were gay undertones during sequence 8, but i have to admit my bias here because i honest to god cannot take those missions seriously. Roth fucking preaches this and that about freedom and whatnot and then im plopped into the mission and it's the most rule-heavy shit ive ever seen in my short life as an assassin's creed player. Like what the hell, those missions were atrocious. Apprently i need to detonate the bombs a specific way, i cant just shoot them from a distance, i have to hold a button crouching down right next to the bombs, and then run the hell away! I have to avoid THIS and THAT while kidnapping xyz! Like there's freddy's apprehend missions and then there's THIS.

at least with ned's missions all you have to do is get the shit and go… i'm still salty that ubisoft cut his questline because they fucking insist on releasing a game a year >:((

my battery's dying. All these guys are different flavors of queer on top of just being pretty different and pretty similar in various ways, and there's just… barely anything about it. Ned especially, since he's just a quest giver whose screentime totals to, like, 2-5 minutes. I just wish they really did more with the setting; not just the queerness and these three specifically, but like, evie, henry, the class conflict — like there are shreds of it, seeds, but there's not much before you kill starrick and credits roll :((

idk. im just gonna refresh ao3 again cjemddjekjx

[avalon-of-babylon]

Batman: The Capped Crusader literally introduced my 4 favorite batkids in the same episode and made them all literally adoptable.

Realistically, I know in the next season, Bruce isn't gonna pop down to the orphanage and grab himself a Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Carrie Kelley AND Stephanie Brown (just two of them at the same time would fucking kill him) but also now I want a batman to have to contend with his 4 most feral children. And they are the most feral of them all.

Also before I begin can I just say I fucking love Jason and Carrie being the sameish age. For years, I have been convinced that if Carrie was in a mainstream universe, she should be Jason's age and that the two of them would be so close they'd basically be twins and this right here is so close it almost feels like vindication.

Now for why these 4 are the most feral batkids and why Bruce having to put up will all of them as Robin at the same time would fucking kill the man.

Richard "Dick" Grayson:

The man may be a genuine himbo but he is also the son of circus performers, so for as much light as there is in his soul there is also a gay wolf telling him to do backflips when he's bored, make puns at every opportunity, touch everything and generally be the most adorable menace you've ever met. Also, Discowing definitely counts as feral behavior.

Jason Peter Todd:

In this universe, Jason was probably put into the system after his stepmom ODed so chances are this isn't a steal-the-wheels-off-the-batmobile kinda Jason but could definitely still be a sneaks-out-of-the-house-to-hang-out-with-Catwoman-and-co or is babysat by prostitutes kind of Jason. (I know for a fact that last one literally happened at least once) Even if you take out the violence and crime, you can not convince me that this Jason is not the kind of kid who wouldn't constantly be getting into trouble because he's always trying to prove himself and eventually have a tragic dead at the hands of the Joker that when he's brought back leaves him jaded, angry and the beautiful problem child we all know and thirst after. Also, he's the only member of the family Alfred allows into the kitchen, so jot that down while you're at it.

Carrie Kelley:

My girl was created by the living curse that is Frank Miller that alone makes her feral. But if you don't know my girl Carrie in the Millerverse got saved from a mugger by batman and imitately decided "fuck pants and my drug addict hippie parents it's time to fight crime in green booty short with a fucking slingshot", was almost imitately begrudgingly taken in by batman, probably dropped out of school, fought a Joker who had suicide bomber child-sized android baby dolls and helped lead a literal underground war on crime with a pseudo-cult of batman themed vigilantes called the Sons of Batman formed by former gang members who became obsessed with the guy after he beat up their former leader a no-neck nipple studded punk humanculous who looks even worse than I'm describing. Every iteration of Carrie Kelley is forged from the mold of a girl who almost reached Logan living with wolves levels of feral behavior, she is insane and I love her.

Stephanie Brown:

Her father is literally bargain bin Riddler because he lost his job as a game show host and she got fucking refrigeratored by Black Mask only 2 months into being robin, she deserves to be a little feral. Every iteration of Steph is one with a right to live life to the fullest weither that means giving Bruce shit over his terrible parenting, memeing on c-list villians like kiteman or just hanging around being a menace this girl is feral. Good for her, good for her.

In summary, Batman: The Caped Crusader should end with Bruce's kids literally killing him off with stress, lmao. Also, the setting is perfect for making Dick Discowing, so DC take notes.