#implied homophobia

[loveinhawkins]

The Championship Game of 1985 is only a quarter of the way done, and Eddie is already certain that it’s not going to be a Hawkins victory.

It kinda blows, honestly. It’s boring, like correctly guessing the ending of a movie five minutes in.

And yeah, sue him, maybe high school basketball is a legitimate source of entertainment—he can admit that in the safety of his own head, at least.

Take, for example, the first game of the ‘83 tournament, when a timeout was called with only seconds remaining: the Tigers’ last hope of winning was to miraculously sink a shot with the fraction of time they had left. The tension in the air was palpable as the team formed a huddle—Eddie couldn’t hear anything apart from students chanting, but he stood on his tiptoes and found a gap in the crowd, just in time to read Steve Harrington’s lips: “I’ll make it.”

And he had—with a goddamn stunning full-court jump shot, too, the ball falling through the net just before the buzzer sounded.

Like, come on. Eddie would only admit it under pain of death, but that definitely rivals the intensity of any worthy campaign.

But he can see none of that excitement now. The Tigers have had few opportunities to even get the ball, and whenever they do, Billy Hargrove seems to have taken it upon himself to hog the damn thing, like it’s a symbol of his masculinity.

Of course, he loses the ball—again—and his nostrils flare with anger.

Maybe that’s why Eddie notices it. He’s checked out of paying attention to the game itself, instead focusing on the jaded expressions of Hargrove’s teammates.

As the ball makes its way down center court, Eddie’s eyes are instead drawn to Steve Harrington. He looks pissed, wiping sweat off his forehead and shouting what looks like some pretty choice words at Hargrove’s back.

Hargrove doesn’t seem to acknowledge it, but for just a moment he goes completely still, and all Eddie can think is danger.

It’s covert, the way it’s all done. Hargrove’s move is quick and calculated; he steps far enough away afterwards that it looks like the whole thing is the fault of a rival player.

But Eddie sees the subtle shove. Sees Steve lose his footing.

He goes down hard.

Winces ripple through the audience. Eddie hears Robin Buckley from band suck air through her teeth, then ramble, “Shit, do you think it’s really bad? Beth Wildfire, on my soccer team, her bone, like, came out of her whole knee, you could see it, must’ve been six inches—”

It doesn’t look like anything as gory as that has happened; Steve is already up, and from the redness of his face, it initially seems as if the only thing that’s been hurt is his pride.

But as Eddie sidles to the end of the front row, within earshot of the bench, he sees that Steve can’t put his weight on one ankle, sees the telling way he grits his teeth while speaking.

“I can keep going,” he says, even as Jason Carver’s getting pulled up to replace him.

The coach barely spares Steve a glance, clapping Carver on the shoulder as he jogs onto the court.

“Get someone to take you over to the nurse.”

Steve’s spine goes rigid. “But I can—”

“Look, I don’t have time for this.” The coach finally looks at Steve directly, pointing a stern finger at his chest. “You’re benched, Harrington.”

Steve visibly deflates. He opens his mouth, but no words come out, and then he glances to the side, as if suddenly aware that he’s drawing attention to himself.

This time, when his teeth clench, Eddie thinks that it’s more from embarrassment than pain.

“Whatever,” Steve mutters, and he limps out of the hall—close enough that he clips Eddie by the shoulder as he goes.

Eddie doesn’t know that he’s made a decision until he’s already moving, stepping to the side.

He turns and heads for the exit.

There’s a jeering call from the bench: Mark Lewinsky.

“Aw, what are you gonna do, Munson? Nurse him back to health?”

Obscene moaning noises, punctuated with laughter.

Eddie rolls his eyes.

He finds Steve in the corridor, bracing himself with a hand against the wall. There’s a couple of pictures on the floor, class photos taken for the yearbook that had been pinned up; Steve must have inadvertently torn them down as he grappled for balance.

“Go away, Munson,” he says without looking. “Go back to the game.”

“I’ve kinda lost interest,” Eddie says lightly. He manages to watch Steve take one painful step before he simply can’t do it anymore—stepping forward, he says, “Christ, Harrington, here.”

Steve jolts away from his hand. “Fuck off, I don’t need—”

“Well, fuck you too, then,” Eddie snaps. Something’s burning in his chest, a sudden and fierce hurt. “Jesus Christ. You know what I am isn’t fucking catching, right?”

He shocks himself by saying it.

In the silence that follows all he can think is that, for once, his dad was right: he never did learn how to shut his damn mouth.

Steve’s staring at him, pressing his back against the wall like it’s the one thing keeping him upright.

“That’s—that’s not why—” He breaks off, looks completely lost.

Somewhere within Eddie’s own mortification, he takes pity on him.

He sniffs, tries to act nonchalant. “Don’t hurt yourself, man.”

“No, I—I didn’t mean…” Steve sighs. “I’m sorry. That’s not—I just meant—” He pushes off from the wall again, wobbles until his hand finds purchase. “Just meant I can do it myself.”

Eddie feels his heart rate slow. He tilts his head. Re-examines Steve’s posture: the set to his jaw, the pained determination.

Years ago, Eddie broke his wrist at the fair, thanks to an awkward crash while on the bumper cars. It was the first summer that staying at Wayne’s had become a permanent thing, and Eddie had hidden his wrist beneath the folds of his too-large leather jacket, but Wayne met him off the ride and immediately noticed (“Chrissake, Ed. I’m not mad, kid. Just… lemme help you?”).

Eddie tried to stay silent as he got wrapped into a splint, because anything else felt like admitting to something.

Felt shameful.

“Yeah, you can,” Eddie says, shrugging. He pauses. Takes a chance. “Doesn’t mean you have to, though.”

He moves forward again—slower this time. Offers his hand.

Steve takes it.

“For the record,” he says, grunting as he shifts his weight, “I could’ve kept playing. Like, I’ve had worse.”

Yeah, Eddie thinks, you sure have.

Steve clearly hasn’t sensed that Eddie’s thoughts have gone to how messed up his face was last winter, because he keeps talking.

“Anyway. My own damn fault.” A rueful grin. “Didn’t plant my feet.”

“Don’t,” Eddie says. “You don’t have to… I saw. I saw Hargrove, man.”

Steve scoffs quietly. “Yeah, of course you did.”

“Shit, Harrington, way to make me sound like a stalker.”

“No, it’s just—” Steve shakes his head. “Just typical, that’s all. Remember when the fire alarm went off, last spring? You were the only one who noticed Debbie Lyons was missing.”

“Uh, so?”

Steve smiles. “So… you notice things.”

Eddie doesn’t know what to say.

But he gives it a try as they round another corner.

“What the fuck is Hargrove’s problem with you, dude?”

Steve chuckles wryly. “I’m really annoying.”

“Yeah, fair enough,” Eddie says, grinning when Steve manages to elbow him in the ribs. “But not, like, ‘intentionally injure’ levels of annoying. He threw the game, too.”

“Huh?”

Eddie fixes Steve with a pointed look. “Took out one of our best players.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but still looks undeniably pleased. “Shuddup.” He sobers in the space of taking another step and says, “With Hargrove, it’s… there’s bigger things than basketball, y’know?”

Eddie hears the just drop it underneath what’s spoken. He nods.

They’re almost at the nurse’s office when Steve sighs. “S’not exactly how I pictured it.”

“Hmm?”

“My last game.” Steve winces slightly as they inch closer to the door; Eddie tries to take more of his weight. “Had it in my head that I’d win, go out on a high.”

Eddie’s staring down the prospect of repeating senior year again—he knows all about having ideas in your head that don’t quite pan out.

“Life isn’t like a movie, Harrington,” he says.

It comes out perhaps more fond than he intended.

For some reason, Steve starts laughing like he’s heard something downright hilarious. “Yeah, gonna have to agree to disagree on that one, Munson.”

In the nurse’s office, they find out Steve’s probably got a bad sprain rather than a fracture (“See? I totally could’ve kept playing,” Steve insists), but that he should get it checked out at the hospital, just in case.

Ice pack in one hand, Steve makes a call on the office phone, with what sounds like a morbidly curious teen on the other end: “No, dude, there’s no blood—can you be normal for, like, two seconds and put your mom on? Thank you.”

As Steve hangs up, Eddie is very aware that the right time to leave was probably five minutes ago.

He stays put.

“This was supposed to be my last game, too,” he says.

“Was?”

Eddie clicks his tongue. “Well. S’not confirmed yet, haven’t had my last test results back. But uh, it’s kinda like the game.” He nods in the direction that they came, towards the basketball court. “I already know which way it’s gonna go.”

There’s no judgement in Steve’s eyes. “Sorry. Must’ve been boring to watch.”

Eddie smiles. “Nah, you’re good.”

He doesn’t say that, in his eyes, Steve’s single-handedly given the school almost all of its memorable basketball moments. That his secret favourite one isn’t even a Tigers victory: there was a game when Steve was poised to take the winning shot, and a kid from Connersville fainted.

In the few seconds of confusion, Steve could’ve still taken the shot. He could’ve won.

But as soon as he realised what was going on, he refused to.

To Eddie, that says more about him than any triumph ever could.

The phone rings again; the nurse is letting a Mrs Henderson in at the front of the school to pick up Steve.

“Guess that’s my cue,” Eddie says, because there’s only so many people allowed in the office at one time.

“See you, Munson. Um, thanks, by the way. Hope next year’s championship is, uh, better.”

There’s something in the way he says it, like even while still in the building, he’s drifting away, high school in his rear view mirror.

Oh, Eddie thinks wistfully, you’re already halfway outta here, aren’t you?

Goddamnit. I might actually miss you, Steve Harrington. You and your stupid hair.

“Hmm, can’t see myself going to watch next year.”

“Oh, yeah? How come?”

Eddie lingers in the doorway. Maybe it’s the fact that in a few weeks they’re never gonna see each other again. Maybe that helps him say it. Makes him a little braver.

He’s never learned to shut his damn mouth.

“My favourite player’s leaving,” he says.

And sure, he leaves barely a second later; he’s not that brave.

But he stays just long enough to catch Steve’s smile: startled, pleased, and perhaps just a little shy—like he’s made the winning shot after all.

[writer-in-theory]

Ever since he can remember, everyone has always said Steve looked like his Mama.

He acts like her too—that persistent kindness and protectiveness for the people they love, the ability to talk to people with relative ease, even the propensity for having a bit of an attitude. Even his soft brown eyes and the texture of his hair, all of it was Maggie Harrington.

Maggie always said that Steve was her greatest accomplishment, one of her best friends. She was so proud of her son, first for being Hawkins High's first All-State Champ in swimming and then for being a good role model in town. She'd missed the moment when he began to distance from her, from his parents, until she hardly knew anything about his life. She thinks it might've been because of Robert.

Steve Harrington could only have the best in store for him, which is why she'd allowed Robert to be tough with him. He knew what it meant to build a good future, what it would take to find happiness and stability. So she'd let Robert yell at him for throwing a party at their house and allowing a poor girl to go missing there. And she'd thought it had worked, based on the way Steve started bringing around sweet Nancy Wheeler and stopped hanging out with the Hagan boy. She thought it had worked.

When the Harringtons came home from their last business trip to Chicago, Steve was being dropped off by Police Chief Hopper. It looked like he'd been in a fight, and as much was confirmed when the Chief told him to stay out of trouble. Robert had been furious, ready to lay into Steve about the Harrington name and respectability, but then a group of kids Maggie didn't recognize tumbled out of the car, too, all hugging Steve and thanking him. He was their hero, they'd told the Harringtons, Steve was the best babysitter ever. Steve had never showed interest in babysitting before, but the way all of those kids so clearly looked up to him had Maggie in near tears.

Maggie had a feeling the mall job was a mistake. She'd felt it the moment Robert made the decision, loudly proclaiming that their son would learn what it was like to work a tough job, that he'd realize how lucky he had it that there was a family business he could be hired in. Maggie hated the humiliated look their Steven had given the first time he set out for the mall in that sailor's uniform, but her husband knew what it was like to be a teen boy, surely he had Steve's best interests at heart.

But then she'd gotten the call that there had been a fire, that Steve was involved and they needed to get down to the hospital. If she thought the fight in '84 looked bad, then nothing could have prepared her for the sight of her son in that hospital bed, vomiting profusely into a container and wincing through the obvious pain in his head. The morning after, that same group of kids fought the hospital staff to visit Steve, demanded it. The one with curly hair and the youngest girl loudly proclaimed that Steve had saved their lives, that he'd risked himself to make sure they were safe. Her baby was an actual goddamn town hero and she'd almost missed it, she almost never knew because she was too busy worrying about his future.

Maggie stopped worrying about family names and legacies, after that. She was the first to ask how his shifts at the movie store were and never minded when his talkative friend came over for dinner. Maggie kept waiting for the moment Steve would admit the two of them were dating, but he kept insisting they were friends, best friends.

She never saw Eddie Munson coming.

After the fourth tragedy to befall Steve, Maggie was convinced he needed to get out of Hawkins before it destroyed him. No one could find Steve in the immediate aftermath of the earthquake. He wasn't at the shelter, or the hospital, or with any other search parties. She'd worried briefly that the serial killer had gotten him, too, that they'd have to see what was so horrific about the method of killing that had left the town sparking a witch hunt for the guy.

He was found later at the Munson trailer, wearing military-style gear and bleeding out from his abdomen and neck. Maggie would never understand how an earthquake could cause that level of damage, nor the kind that was found on Eddie Munson just beside him. When Steve had woken up in the hospital, he'd simply told her that he couldn't talk about it, that it was better if she didn't know. She thinks that might be true.

Once Steve recovered, he stayed by the Munson boy's bedside every day. He'd bring a book, or a hacky sack, anything to keep himself busy while Eddie slept off his injuries. And when he came home, Steve was with him constantly. They were volunteering, he'd told her.

Then one day, months after the earthquake, Steve came home looking nervous.

"Mom." Maggie ached for the days when he'd come waddling into the living room screaming Mama, missed when he felt like he could tell her everything. When had that disappeared? "I need to tell you something."

"Of course, Stevie. You can tell me anything." Steve winced in the way she figured he would: they both know that hadn't been true in years.

Steve shuffled on his feet, wrung his hands together and worried them through his hair. Finally he stood ramrod straight, eyes focused directly on hers as he blurted the truth out. "Mom, I like guys. And girls. It's called being bisexual and I'm not sorry for it. I can pack a bag tonight if I have to, but I won't pretend anymore. I won't."

It was supposed to be scary. Maggie knows the version of her four years ago would have been terrified by the statement, angry or upset. Maybe she still is a little scared, only because she knows what the world is like for people who are different. She used to be upset by people who were different. In '83, she might've kicked Steve out for the fear of it all. But looking at him now, she saw the kid who drove those middle schoolers to the arcade because he could, and who saved peoples' lives in the mall at the near expense of his own, the guy who believed Eddie Munson was innocent even when the entire town had turned on him out of fear of the Other. She saw Steve Harrington, her darling son who'd grown up before she even realized it, becoming far greater a man than she could have ever hoped for.

"How long have you two been dating? You and Eddie Munson?" Maggie asked gently, a smile working its way on her face. She'd wondered why he hadn't dated anyone after Nancy, but maybe it was simply that he wasn't telling her about that part of his life anymore.

Steve's eyes widened, lips parting like he was surprised by the response. He floundered a little, looking around for an explanation. "Um. Since last summer, we met at the mall. How did you...?"

Maggie laughed then, far brighter than it ever had been in years. "I know when my son's in love. I just didn't know where to look, didn't notice the answer was right there."

"You're not...mad? Disappointed?"

"Honey," Maggie sighed, taking a few steps forward so she could grab onto his arms. "Steven Robert Harrington, you are my son. I will always love you, no matter what. I'm so sorry I ever ever made you feel otherwise. All I've ever wanted for you is happiness, and if that's with Eddie Munson then that's that."

"Mom," Steve croaked, voice cracking around the word as he pulled her in for a hug. She could feel him shake in her arms, sniffling like he was trying to hide the tears. "Do you want to meet him? Eddie, I mean, do you want to...?"

"He's outside?"

"He came over to support me, in case we needed to, well." In case his parents were kicking him out. God, where had they gone so wrong? "Do you want to?"

"Please," Maggie answered quietly, knowing this wouldn't be enough to make up for the years of wrong they'd done. She wanted to know her son, wanted to know the people who made him happiest. She wanted to hear about his day and know that if something ever went wrong that he would call his parents himself, not wait for the hospital or the police to do so. "Please."

Then Steve was bringing in Eddie Munson, who stood out in the pristine, polished Harrington home but who made Maggie's son's eyes light up in a way she'd never seen them. He was smiling, holding his hand out for a handshake.

"Mama, this is Eddie," Steve was saying, and Maggie could cry because it felt like she'd done something right, because she could see how deeply in love Steve was with Eddie because it was a mirror of her own expression when she looked at Robert. This was her son, and her future son-in-law, and Maggie couldn't be prouder.

[findafight]

Wait. Wait. Kinda part 2 to this post. For the angst of it all. Cw: implied and assumed homophobia

Because sure, after that dinner Joyce relents in not being, y'know, openly confused or frustrated with Steve being around. El obviously adores him and Jim is always glad when he comes around. Joyce can put up with Steve for them. But she's a stubborn woman, and somewhere in her mind, Steve is a Bad Egg. So she's still not 100% on board.

All this rears its head one night after a lot of their world saving group has had a movie night and ended up in a puddle on the floor. Steve is squished between Robin and Eddie, snuggled up all cozy. Joyce sees this when she quietly pads out of her bedroom to just. Check on the kids.

Eddie and Steve are sat up, Robin's face pressed against his hip. They're whispering something, heads leaned close. And they lean in further, silhouetted by the moonlight filtering in, and kiss. It's pretty chaste, though not a peck.

Joyce's blood boils. Steve has a girlfriend, he should not be going around kissing his friends like that, stringing them all along. She feels strangely vindicated, that her assumptions about Steve were right, that he wasn't actually a good guy or had changed at all. She almost yells at him then and there, but holds off. No need to wake everyone up. She can lecture him in the morning.

Once everyone is fed and lounging in the late morning, she pulls Steve out onto the porch.

"I saw you kiss Eddie last night" she says, without preamble. "And I cannot believe you would think behaviour like that is acceptable in my house."

Steve blinks, clenches his jaw. "Jo--Mrs Byers. I--"

"I don't want any of your excuses! It's despicable what you're doing, and I won't have it. For whatever reason, those kids look up to you. What kind of example are you setting for them? For El?" Steve's eyes widen, and if Joyce hadn't been so caught up with her anger she probably would have seen that instead of being ashamed or embarrassed, Steve is scared. "She looks up to you so much, though I can't imagine why. You need to clean yourself up, Steve. For real this time. You can't go around doing whatever you want. It's disgusting and disrespectful. Did you even consider the people you'd hurt? How doing shit like that would affect the lives of people who care about you? They deserve better than that." She shakes her head. Arms crossed. Steve is tense in front of her, but he doesn't say anything. To her, that's as good as confession. "Everyone talks about how you've worked hard to improve yourself, become a better person. But after last night? I just don't believe it. No one who's really changed, really a good person, would do what you did." She sighs. "You should probably leave now."

Steve nods stiffly. "Right. I'll. Uh, I leave. Can you...please, don't tell anyone, ma'am. I'll Grab my bag and I'll get outta your hair, but don't tell. I'm so sorry. Please." She purses her lips. His girlfriend deserves to know, but Joyce has no clue who that is (it might be the Robin girl attached to his hip, but she has no way of knowing). She nods once. Steve's shoulders slump.

Stepping back into the house, Steve quickly and jerkily snags his backpack from the corner it was shoved into before leaning over to whisper something in Robin's ear. The girl nods, looking worried.

He doesn't look at Eddie.

For a while, her house is Steve-free. Joyce breathes easy, hoping their talk was a wake-up call for steve. He is painfully polite when they bump into each other, Robin usually by his side with a strained customer service smile. Small talk is non-existent.

But then Will starts getting quieter. Maybe avoiding her. Certainly does his best to be small and doesn't look in her eyes. She has no idea what's going on, and she's worried.

What if the Upside Down came back? What if there's something wrong with her boy? What if everything they've fought for and sacrificed didn't mean anything and it's never actually over?

She tries to talk to him, but he shrugs her off, says he's fine and not to worry about it. Assures her it is definitely not the Upside Down.

Finally, after two weeks of Will looking absolutely miserable when he talks to her, she gets Jonathan to try. Tension around the house is high, Steve is barely around and always skitters away when he sees her, and in combination with will, it's out everyone on edge.

She doesn't mean to eavesdrop. But she doesn't not mean to either. It's just that they're on the porch, and she was in the kitchen and heard something, and when she went to see, she heard them talking.

"it's not--i want to tell you but it's not my secret to tell."

Jonathan sighs. "Will. I can't help if I don't know what's wrong. Please. Talk to me. I'll love you no matter what, you know that."

Will heaves a breath. "I had a talk with Steve --" and oh, the rage in Joyce's chest when she hears that. What did he say to her boy?? "And...uhg. fuck. Okay, you have to swear, swear! You're not going to tell anyone what I'm going to tell you. If you figure it out, because I don't. It's not mine to tell."

"okay. I swear. I won't go spilling Steve's secrets."

"you have to mean it, Jonathan. It's dangerous!"

There's ruffling fabric. Jonathan's voice is softer. "I promise."

"Steve said he was telling me because he thought we might be...similar. In some ways. And he talked about who he's dating. And that Hopper and El and Robin and Eddie know. And that they're all safe. Y'know? Like you are."

"okay..."

"and I said you were, and he said that was really good, and then emphasized that if I ever wanted like, and actual grown up to talk to, not just another teenager, Hopper was safe. But. The way he said it made it seem like...I don't know, but something was off? And I asked him." There's a pause. "I asked him if Mom knew. And he said yes. But he hadn't... Before that, he hadn't said she was safe. Jonathan..."

Something...wasn't adding up. Joyce was trying to puzzle what she wouldn't be safe to talk to about. She'd been in the tunnels and Upside Down and through it all. Her children, and by extension the children that had helped save them, were always safe in her house. To come to her if they felt unsafe. Why Steve would tell her own son she wasn't --

Will continued. "Steve said that it'd probably be different because I'm her kid, y'know? She--she did all this stuff to get me back and to keep me safe and loves me. So she could. So she'd maybe change her mind. For me."

"Will..." Jonathan's voice sounds pained.

"but what if she's not? What if that's where it ends? Shell save me from a demogorgon but not love me for this. Steve's saved my friends half a dozen times, Jonathan! He got--he got tortured" that is not something Joyce knew. When the hell did that happen? "with Robin to protect Dustin and Erica, Billy beat him half to death when he stepped in to protect Lucas and Max! He's good! I'm not as close to him as the others but he still told me. He trusted me enough with a secret that I can't even say outloud about myself yet! And Mom still-" will hiccups, and Joyce wishes she knew what he was talking about. Wishes he was saying these things to her, so she could comfort him.

Heaving a breath, Will is quieter. "Steve's the reason no one's died. He's El's first brother. And she still called him disgusting for-- for kissing someone he loves."

Ice fills Joyce's veins, a heavy pit balls in her stomach. Because that's not--she didn't--it wasn't like that.

But Steve had begged her not to tell anyone. Had stood still and not tried to justify anything and called her ma'am when he asked her not to tell. Held himself still when she was around and bolted at the first possible opportunity, leaving disappointed people in his wake. Oh, shit. Oh, she's fucked up so badly. Hurt some kid because she was suspicious of him from over three years ago and assumed the worst. Instead of realizing that maybe the reason he and his girlfriend were keeping it quiet was because he didn't have a girlfriend at all, and that the boy he kissed that night was his boyfriend, she had just assumed he was cheating. And then she'd told him he was disappointing and disgusting and a bad influence on the kids. Even after, he still made sure Will knew there were safe people around, that he'd have someone to talk to. And all she'd done was make him scared of her.

"oh, buddy."

Will's voice is muffled, and Jonathan has probably pulled him into a hug. It cracks when he speaks. "how can she say that about Steve but still love me? When so much of this shit's been my fault?"

"none of this is your fault. Don't believe that, will. No one blames you or El for any of it. You know that, right?"

"okay..."

"it's true. And as for mom...I don't know." Jonathan huffs "I'm not sure. I'm sorry, buddy."

Joyce turns then, feeling sick. She shouldn't have eavesdropped on her children, but now she had she was going to make things right. Hopefully.

Ensure everyone, including Steve, knew she was safe.

Part 3

[dovabunny]

Angsty Ghostsoap Idea of the day: 'Johnny, I'm on my way'

Soap calls Ghost at 2am during their leave after days of silence, a sobbing mess. Soap loved his family to bits, they were all very close and affectionate.

Then he came out to them.

Ghost can hear his broken heart as he drunkenly tells him through the tears how they reacted. What they called him. How his father's fist felt. How his mother's sweet eyes looked full of fury and betrayal. What the priest sounded like trying to cast the demon out of him. How the rain tasted when he left at their demand. How suffocating the cheap motel room felt, his phone still pining with texts from his brother calling him a selfish disgrace. A disappointment. Filthy.

A beat of silence, Soap is about to apologize for bothering his Lt at 2am for a drunken selfish call, making himself a burden to others once again. Then Soap heard the rushed shuffle of clothes and the clink of keys on the line.

"Stay where you are, Johnny. I'm on my way."

[leviathans-watching]

[trickostars]

last thoughts about this weekend's episode: odalia was not homophobic because homophobia doesn't exist in the demon realm but luz 100% felt her heart drop into her stomach the second odalia said 'girlfriend' in that tone because no matter what was happening around her, THAT brought her back to a mental space she hadn't been to since she entered the demon realm

[autumnsnuggling]

A Magical Pride

CW: References to Canon Child Abuse; Implied Homophobia. This was for Magical Trans Pride Secret Santa, and was written for Alikandre on AO3. Thanks to @stargazing-enby for the beta and help.

“Are you ready, Prongslet?”

Harry swallowed, staring into grey eyes that still seemed far too kind. 

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Uncle Padfoot smiled from where he was knelt down in front of him. “But remember, if you get uncomfortable, we can leave, okay?”

“And if it gets too loud, let us know so we can dampen the noise a bit with that fancy spell,” Uncle Remus added, rainbow facepaint on his cheeks. “Can you do that?”

“I think so,” Harry nodded slowly. The smiles from his uncles sent warmth wiggling through his stomach, and he couldn’t help the shy smile tugging at his lips.

“There’s our clever lad,” Uncle Padfoot said, opening his arms wide and letting Harry choose to be hugged. “Let’s go have some fun, huh?”

The feeling of spinning through the Floo would never be normal to him, and Harry hoped he never stopped feeling giddy with both his uncles’ hands clasping his. Walking between them, they guided him through a deserted, dark and smokey pub, towards a red brick wall, and Harry felt butterflies start to flutter in his stomach. 

He’d only been through the wall a few times, but every time was wonderful. No matter what they went there for, he was always allowed to look at toys, and sweets, and flying things called brooms, and even better, Harry always left with a treat. But this time, many of the usual shops would be closed for a big party, and he didn’t know what to expect. He held onto his uncles’ hands a little tighter.

“Want to help me with the pattern, Harry?” Uncle Remus asked, wand already in hand. Harry gasped.

“C-can I?”

Seconds later he was perched on Uncle Moony’s hip, holding tightly to the smooth brown wand as Uncle Padfoot pointed where to tap. He watched in wonder as the bricks started to move.

“Soon you'll be tall enough to do that yourself.” Uncle Moony nuzzled his cheek as the sound of music and babbling conversations rushed through the gap. Harry giggled quietly. “Do you want to get down, or stay up here?”

He peered out through the arch. More people than he'd ever seen before were gathered in the street, all wearing bright colours, or facepaint, or different flags, and every shop was painted with the colours of the rainbow. On one side of the street, yummy-smelling smoke rose into the air from stalls selling food, making his belly growl, and in the air, sparkling messages appeared as people danced in magical bubbles.

It was beautiful. It was overwhelming. He wanted to see everything. 

“Here?” He pressed carefully closer. “To see better?”

“Let's go then.” And Harry had to smile at Uncle Moony's grin.

It was amazing.

Everywhere he looked, people were laughing, dancing, and celebrating. Magic thrummed through the air, tickling his cheeks, and Harry had never seen so many people look this happy.

“You having fun, Prongslet?” Uncle Padfoot asked as someone swooped past on a broom blowing flag bubbles at them. 

“Yes!” he said, bouncing on his uncle's shoulders and kicking his legs happily.

“That's my man,” Uncle Sirius squeezed his knees. “Have you recognised any of the flags?”

He had. When he'd first come to live with his uncles, he hadn't been able to stop staring at the rainbow flag in their bedroom, so his uncles had explained what it represented and showed him a few others. Now, a little glow of happiness flickered inside every time he recognised the trans, genderqueer, and lesbian flags. 

There was another one he knew. The bisexual flag. Uncle Sirius had said that was what he was, and that it meant he liked both boys and girls, and anything else too. And every time Harry saw it, his heart leapt.

His uncles had said it was okay for him to be anything he wanted to be, that some things you couldn't help and you should be proud to be who you were. But his previous family had said something very different, and it made him pause. 

He didn't think they'd known that he'd stared at both boys and girls in his class at school, because his cousin Dudley wasn't in his classes to tell them, and he'd known better than to talk about wanting to hold both Abigail Fletcher's and Zac White's hands with anyone. But they'd always seemed to know things when he didn't want them to, so he'd been extra careful.  

Watching Uncle Moony and Uncle Padfoot kiss and snuggle every day, seeing how happy they were—feeling how happy they made him—made it harder to believe his old family had been right.

“It's getting quite hot,” Uncle Moony said. “Fancy some ice cream, Harry?”

“Chocolate?” he blurted before he could stop himself, then froze. But his uncle's laughter helped him relax.

“Only men of superior taste know to request chocolate,” Uncle Padfoot grinned. “C'mon. Let's go see if they also have chocolate frogs to put in them!”

Mouth watering, Harry held on as they wove through the crowd, then asked to be put down in the shop. A little way in, a group of kids roughly his age were watching a puppet show, and Harry felt his feet tug towards them.

“Why don't you go over there while we wait for the ice cream, Prongslet? Looks like it's going to be a while,” Uncle Sirius said, nodding to the queue. Harry chewed his lip.

“Want me to come over with you?” Uncle Moony murmured, offering his hand so Harry could take it or just come closer. Harry leant against his legs slightly. 

“No.” He decided after a moment. “I'll be okay.”

Uncle Moony ran a hand through his hair gently. “We'll be right here if you need us, okay?”

He nodded, getting one last smile from Uncle Padfoot before making his way over to the group. He tentatively stepped into a space next to a kid with platinum blonde hair. Feeling the kid look over at him, he swallowed before forcing himself to look at them. Their eyes were grey, just like his uncle's, and it helped stop his heart beating so fast.

“Hi,” he said after a moment, his voice weird to his ears. 

“Hello.” They turned to face Harry, revealing a trans badge pinned to their t-shirt. “I’m Draco, and I’m a boy. What’s your name?”

“My name’s Harry,” he said, thinking ‘Draco’ sounded like a funny name, but was cool all the same. “I’m a boy too.”

A smile bloomed on Draco’s face, and he stuck his hand out for a handshake. Harry felt his tummy tingle as he took it.

“Have you been to Pride before?” Draco asked, then grinned as he continued: “This is my first time, and it’s so fun. There are so many people like me!”

“My old family wouldn’t have wanted me to come to anything like this.” Harry frowned. “But now I live with my uncles, and they come every year. I think there are people like me here, too.”

“What are you, then?” Draco’s eyes lit up. “I’m trans, which means my body came out like a girl's, but I’m a boy. Mummy says she always knew I wasn’t a girl, even when I was only 1, and I’m almost 8 now.”

Harry smiled, somehow feeling safe with Draco. “I like both boys and girls, and anything else too, and my Uncle Padfoot says that means I’m bisexual. So even if you were a girl, I’d like you.”

Draco giggled, just as a sparkly rainbow appeared above the puppets. Then a tall woman with hair just like Draco’s came and knelt behind them.

“Here’s your ice cream, my little dragon,” she smiled, handing Draco a chocolate chip cone. “Who’s your friend?”

“Thank you, Mummy. This is Harry.” Draco grinned, taking Harry’s hand with his free one and swinging it backwards and forwards. “It’s his first time at Pride, too!”

Harry looked at Draco’s mum. Her face was sharp, like Draco’s, and it looked like she could be strict when she wanted to. But her blue eyes sparkled with something kind, and Harry smiled shyly.

“Hello.” He gave a little wave.

“Hello to you, young man. Who are you here with?”

“My uncles. They’re waiting for ice cream.” 

Pointing them out in the queue, Draco’s mum followed his finger, then made a surprised sound.

“Why, I believe I know them. Why don’t I leave you boys to get along whilst I go say hi, hm?”

“Okay, Mummy!” Draco chimed, ice cream already half-gone. Harry’s mouth began watering again as Draco licked at it. 

As Draco somehow managed to keep all the ice cream off his face and in his mouth, Harry watched the puppet show, which was telling them the history of pride. But every now and again, he found himself watching Draco instead. He couldn’t remember seeing anyone so pretty.

“Here you go, Harry.” Uncle Remus’ voice broke through his thoughts a while later, and he turned to find a cone exactly like Draco’s being held out to him.

“Thanks, Uncle Moony.” He took the ice cream carefully, already licking his lips. 

“You’re welcome. I see you’ve met Draco. Uncle Padfoot and his mum are cousins.”

“Does that mean Harry can come around my house?” Draco piped up.

“If he wants to, sure,” Uncle Moony chuckled. Harry gasped―he’d never been invited to anyone’s house before.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” His uncle laughed, ruffling Harry’s hair gently. “And you can come around to ours, too, Draco.”

“Yes!” Draco exclaimed, swallowing the last of his ice cream and throwing his hands up in celebration. “Can we go see the dancers and dance with them, please?”

“Once Harry’s finished his ice cream―as long as both your mum and Harry are okay with that.” Uncle Remus smiled. “Harry?”

Feeling Draco’s hand creep into his again, Harry nodded, his heart glowing warm, and he smiled shyly hoping he’d never let it go. 

[howdy-folks-its-showtime]

Elegant, confident and straight forward, Sammy is the spitting image of what people envision when the title of conductor or music director comes up. A man who knows what he wants and will be unhappy if he doesn’t get it. A man with a strong vision of his art and is impatient with those who don’t see it. He’ll be even more unhappy if anyone dared to imply what he does isn’t art, lucky for most Joey is by his side to stop him from throttling anyone for such comments.

Yes, Sammy is quite the character, to contrast his husband’s constant smile Sammy has a near permanent frown he wears around the studio and his life. Many question how such different characters could come together and decide to spend the rest of their lives together, Sammy usually responds saying when he first met Joey he almost couldn’t believe someone hadn’t already swooped in to take his heart. Despite what most assume, Sammy will happily admit he fell for Joey first and practically knew he’d held such feelings for the man since they shook hands during his interview. He knew Joey was an artist, a man with a strong vision, and wild imagination the moment he saw him.

Joey could always find a way to make the wild and fantastical so real, Sammy couldn’t think of something he’d rather do than bring his characters and stories to life with music. He takes great pride in the work he does too, in fact when he first was hired at the studio he was a one man band. He still brags about those days when the staff was rather small and he was the only music producer making instrumentals for cartoons that at the time had no lyrics or words in them. Who knew how fast the production would grow in such short time, with voice actors, songs that now needed lyrics and Sammy knew just the man to write them.

Of course Sammy had to pick his childhood best friend Jack Fain, the two had been a musical duo before their studio days after all and if anyone could help him, it was Jack. The two always had each other’s backs, even when Sammy’s home life pushed him out of the home and onto the streets, the two stuck together. Of course Sammy saw it coming. His rather religious parents never truly approved of their friendship but he didn’t care, finally getting out of that hell of a house also allowed Sammy to change his body to match both his current name and identity. Sure surgery isn’t the kind of thing to try doing when you’re an amateur but for Sammy, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

With such a rough childhood and upbringing, it’s no wonder Sammy was so quick to adapt to the lifestyle he has now. Becoming the kind of elegant and respectable music director the investors love, so long as he and Joey are subtle about their behind the scenes romance of course. Sammy has all he could’ve ever asked for when he was younger, a loving, charming husband and a studio that truly values his work… What more could anyone need?

[coordinxtedbeauty]

No, go on Mr. Jinnouchi, do you want to say things that’ll fire you from your job? 🤨📸

Oh, haha. I'm so very scared. Mr. Mikuri knows very well of my views, ever since training school. He used to be so frail. He still is, I presume, without all that money and scanty clothing.

[marlsbys-dragons]

I’m so scared right now. 

I’m writing this not for any grand statement or call to action or anything, but because it’s safer for me to express my thoughts here than elsewhere right now.

If this goes like my other original posts, chances are no one will see this. That is ok. I might prefer it, actually. Though if you do happen to see this, please don’t take that to mean I don’t want interaction. This is a time to pull together, and that can most easily be done, in my opinion, by talking.

Like most of the people I figure are likely to see this, I am a queer American. If you are part of this group, chances are pretty good you know what I’m talking about. Earlier today, March 27th 2023 as of writing, there was a mass shooting at The Covenant School in Nashville Tennessee. Six were killed, three children, all age nine, and three adults, all aged between 60-61. The perpetrator was one Aiden Hale, 28, killed by police during a gunfight after their arrival on-scene approximately 14 minutes after 911 was called. 

If you are surprised by that name, so was I. Hale is being reported on mainly by the name Audrey Hale, his legal name, as according to a family member who asked to remain anonymous, he had only recently started identifying as transgender and using he/him pronouns. Despite this, almost all of the quotes featured in stories that I could find use she/her pronouns, and many stories refer to him as either a transgender woman or a female. The latter is inaccurate, the former strikes me as dangerously wrong.

Now, all of that is tragic backstory for the main point of this post. Some ungracious among you may attribute me lingering on the gender identity of the murder as opposed to his crimes as some sort of deflection, or worse, sign of respect. To any hypothetical people doing so, this is not for you. This person was clearly deeply mentally unwell, and if he had survived I would’ve been advocating life in prison.

However, while my heart goes out to the families of this senseless act, my mind turns to my own family. Not just my literal family who I live with, but my queer family, specifically my trans siblings across the US. We are already facing violence, oppression, and open criminalization to a degree not seen in my admittedly brief lifetime. Republicans and other right-wing actors are doing everything they can to instill baseless fear and hatred into our fellow Americans, forcing through bills that restrict our liberties and violate our human rights. 

The easiest targets for this hatred are trans women, aided by the overwhelmingly male statistics of sexual violence, and long-running and unfounded rumors seeded by transphobes and TERFs regarding alleged assaults and sexual motives for transition. After trans women come trans children, targeted for the same reasons children always are: dismissal by adults at large and a subsequent inability to speak to their own defense. And the bills are getting worse. To share a personal detail I don’t like to publicize, I am a parent of two, and there are bills in state legislatures across the country, Florida comes to mind, that could take my children away from me and throw me in jail for supporting them. A seemingly logical progression, which may have already been taken without my knowledge, is criminalizing trans people who live with children, something I have had nightmares about.

Why I am afraid is relatively simple, but to fully explain my reasons I want to share some further information: according to the Daily Mail, this shooting is is the 129th in the States this year. According to some very rough math I did on gunviolencearchive.org, a site whose list for 2023 has already reached 6 pages, this is in fact the 130th. Personally I would trust the Daily Mail’s number more. Also according to some quick finger counting on gunviolencearchive.org, we surpassed 100 mass shootings sometime on March 5th, a day with 4 separate incidents and a combined total of 3 dead, 13 injured. This is nearly two weeks earlier in the year than 2022 or 2021, and more than two months earlier than 2018-2020. I could not stomach looking farther. 

Some of you may have realized the awful truth about these numbers: in each of the last three years, we in the United States have had more than one mass shooting a day. Again per gunviolencearchive.org, that is a feat replicated by both 2020 and 2019, as well as 2016, the only other year to do so after their archival began in 2014.

As a trans person in America, who loves a trans person in America, who has trans friends across America, who has already had to start laying plans to flee the state I was raised in if it continues its present course, who sees nothing but fear in the future of so much of my family, I can only think that this will lead to bad things. 

The twisting and slanting has already begun. An article on Fox News refers to Hall as a transgender woman, despite his actual identity being a transgender man, and the usual bias of that company to call him a woman. Meanwhile, the New York post has an article focusing heavily on Covenant’s status as a Christian school.

Our enemies despise us with a visceral and blinding rage. They have proven time and time again that facts, logic, reason, human lives, mean nothing in their pursuit of a radicalized right-wing populist agenda and the power they think it promises. And now this? The all-too-real intersection of two of the biggest issues in US politics today: gun violence and transness. One which the right led to through inaction, and the other they manufactured out of hate.

I am no pundit, no scholar or insider. I cannot claim to forecast the future happenings of American politics with anything more than a layman’s weary eye. But I am a trans American, and despite everything I still want to be proud of this country, and I could see no resolution in sight to either gun violence or anti-trans legislating, only escalation, and now the two have merged. What will happen to us now? Sources:

https://www.thedailybeast.com/nashville-covenant-school-shooting-suspect-identified-as-audrey-hale

https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/nashville-christian-school-shooter-appears-former-student-police-chief-rcna76876

https://www.newschannel5.com/news/what-we-know-about-the-covenant-school-shooter-in-nashville

https://www.foxnews.com/us/nashville-shooter-audrey-hale-transgender-woman-opened-fire-covenant-school

https://nypost.com/2023/03/27/nashville-school-shooter-audrey-hale-identified-as-transgender-and-had-detailed-manifesto-to-attack-christian-academy/

https://www.cnn.com/us/live-news/nashville-shooting-covenant-school-03-27-23/index.html

https://www.gunviolencearchive.org/reports/mass-shooting

https://www.gunviolencearchive.org/past-tolls

https://www.cnn.com/2023/03/06/politics/america-mass-shootings-2023-gun-violence/index.html

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-11907933/Nashville-school-shooting-Americas-129th-mass-shooting-2023.html

https://www.them.us/story/florida-bill-trans-kids-supportive-parents

Note: I wrote this in a hurry, with no real plan, and no proof-reading. If there is anything erroneous, please let me know. I apologize if it’s a bit disjointed. 

[serenwanders]

Possession

There was very little in his long life that he could say was truly his.

Armand thinks he can protect Daniel from any harm. He is not correct.

I wanted to write a story where Daniel got turned on by Armand talking about Walt Whitman but somehow ended up with this very angsty fic about how Armand would handle it if someone hurt Daniel (spoiler: he would handle it with double murder). Please send help.

[gingerel]

“You’re fidgety,” Ma muses as Kojiro drops his phone onto his chest. Again. 

Kojiro acknowledges her comment with a noise he’d be embarrassed about if it was anyone but her. 

“Why don’t you go lie down in bed,” Ma suggests. “Rather than the floor.”

He’s waiting for a call from Kaoru is why, and he doesn’t want to risk falling asleep. Not when his friend might need him, will definitely want to talk to him either way even if this goes better than either of them could possibly have imagined. 

Still, he doesn’t want to worry his mother so he rolls over and pushes up onto his hands and knees so he can stand. On his way out of the room he stops to kiss his mom on the cheek and tell her goodnight.

Kojiro flips the light off but can’t muster the energy to drag his curtains closed. He collapses belly down on his bed with a grown, rolling over just enough to get a decent look at his phone in order to see that Kaoru still hasn’t messaged him back. 

Maybe it’s fine, maybe they misread the situation. Maybe Kaoru chickened out from telling them and Kojiro could hardly blame him for that. He didn’t think it was necessary, not yet, not until Kaoru is on his own, somewhere they can’t be cruel. 

Kojiro’s bedroom window pops open and he jumps up, scrambling off the bed. It’s Kaoru, of course, and Kojiro tries to grab for him, to help pull him into the house, just like always, but Kaoru shoves him off, turning his head so quickly his long ponytail smacks Kojiro in the face before Kojiro’s gotten more than one glance at his red rimmed eyes. 

Kaoru stalks across his room and tosses himself onto the bed, his back facing Kojiro and body one perfect, tense line. 

Not so easily deterred Kojiro pulls the window closed again and closes the curtains before slowly padding back across the room and sitting himself on the end of his bed. He reaches to carefully start unlacing Kaoru’s shoes and when his friend doesn’t kick him away, he takes it as a good sign. 

“You could have used the front door,” Kojiro says. 

“I thought your parents might be asleep.”

“Dad is, Ma is still up,” Kojiro explains. He slides Kaoru’s shoes away, placing them onto the ground more neatly than he would his own. 

Kaoru hums in acknowledgement but it's cut immediately by a sniffle. Kojiro crawls behind him on the bed, laying on his side right at his back and tentatively draping his arm over Kaoru’s little waist. Kaoru shudders and relaxes back into him, reaching for Kojiro’s hand to lace their fingers together. When Kojiro bends his legs up into Kaoru he allows himself to be curled into a more comfortable position — Kojiro hopes he feels strong and protective at his back. 

He brushes the tip of his nose through the baby hair at the base of Kaoru’s neck and asks, “Was it worse than we thought?”

Kaoru gives a hollow laugh. “They want me to get married,” Kaoru admits. 

“You’re nineteen,” Kojiro points out, squeezing Kaoru’s fingers a little tighter. 

“I don’t think they mean now,” Kaoru mumbles. 

“You don’t want to get married?” Kojiro asks softly, just to confirm he understands the situation properly. 

Kaoru’s hesitation is almost loud in the quiet room. 

“Not to a woman.”

“What do we do?” Kojiro asks, tightening his hold on Kaoru until he’s sure he’s squeezing all the air from his lungs. Kaoru doesn’t complain, not about that, anyway.

“We do nothing,” Kaoru tells him. “It’s my mountain, I’ll climb it alone.”

Kojiro sighs, switches the touch of his nose for a brief brush of his mouth and Kaoru shudders again, exhaling long and slow. 

“Idiot,” Kojiro says. “We’ve always handled shit together. That’s not going to stop now. What do we do?”

Kaoru sniffles again. “I don’t know,” he admits. 

“Okay,” Kojiro murmurs. “We’ll just take it one day at a time. And you can stay here as often as you like.”

Kaoru laughs again, but this time it sounds a little more genuine. 

“We should probably ask your parents before you make any promises,” Kaoru says. 

“No need. They love you,” Kojiro reminds him. 

Kaoru squeezes his fingers so tight he thinks he might be trying to shatter all of Kojiro’s bones. Kojiro’s pretty sure it would be a worthy sacrifice if that’s what it takes to make Kaoru feel better.

[narmothewraith]

I recently read: "Something awful" by Cindy Paul and one scene inspired me to draw a short comic based on it.

Just a sketch but I plan to work it further out :)

[fucknuggetmaguire]

!!Vent Poem Warning!!

[solreefs]

was browsing reviews of various Sherlock Holmes movies, ended up on a very Christian website by accident (movieguide.org, it… sure is something) and damn some people really are allergic to fun huh

[bitchapalooza]

A couple hours

Oc(Clive) x Clavell :) because I can :))

Also on Ao3

Clavell doesn't even know why he came tonight. The music was loud. Drunk twenty-somethings all over the place, either crowding up the hallways or touching each other inappropriately in a room full of their fellow classmates or plain strangers. He even walked in on a few in the master bedroom smoking what he really hopes is a regular cigarette despite the smell. Parties just weren't his thing. He was only here because a friend dragged him here. "Live a little, man! You're only twenty-four once, dont be such a buzzkill!" Well not everyone was suited for the college party life, Willow! Some just liked to study in the peace and quiet of their dorm until their roommate returned to be as loud as possible until three in the morning.

Clavell winced as he touched the new cut on his lip. Some blood came off on his finger, but he wiped it on his jeans. He could wash it out later, he decided. He wasn't even surprised to have been cornered like that. It happens often enough that he wasnt even frustrated by it any more. After walking it off now, he doesn't feel the aches from the punches and kicks to his gut anymore. He'll feel it later, though, that's for sure. Still, he walked with a slight hunch and limp as he navigated through the crowd, heading to the outside patio.

The late night air was crisp. It bit at Clavell the moment he walked out the sliding doors. He balled his fists up into the deep pockets of his jacket, retreating for warmth. "I admire your bravery." Came a voice to his right. Clavell jumped. He thought he was the only one out here. Others stood in the yard ahead, circled around a fire pit drinking and chatting. But otherwise the back of the house was clear. "Sorry. Did I scare you?"

"No," He lied. "What do you mean by brave?"

The only light that illuminated the porch was the one mounted above the sliding glass doors. It didn't reach the far end of the porch, however, so Clavell had to squint out into the dark to make out who it was. They appeared to smile, which made Clavell comfortable enough to come closer. It appeared to be another man around his age. Dark hair fashioned into a mullet. He had a lighter jacket on than Clavell's. A simple zip up paired with dark jeans. "Being so open I mean. I don't know many other guys like you. I definitely couldn't do it." Clavell rocked on the balls of his heel, a nervous habit of his. "Uh..." He fumbled with his words.

"I'm, uh," He held his hand out, his wrist going limp. He quickly retracted his hand back into his own pocket, seemingly embarassed. Just a hint of fear if you looked close enough. "Y-yeah..."

Oh! Oh..

"Ah," Clavell anxiously turned his attention to the laughing group over on the lawn. "Its really nothing to admire, honestly. Just a cultural mistake on my part, really." Which was true. He thought if his sexual identity was well received in the majority of his home region, it would be good elsewhere. The beatings, threats, and slurs thrown at him by a select few groups of people proved otherwise. Sure, it happened back home, too. But not as much since his father was in the Elite Four. A ghostly force to be reckoned with. "Here," An unopened can of beer was thrusted towards Clavell. "This'll help." Clavell stepped back, holding his hands in front of himself. "A-ah! Thank you, but I dont drink. I mean I do! But just not beer.." Well. He does drink beer. Just not Kalosian beer. It was weak and tasted gross in his opinion. Call him boring, but he also prefers wine anyway. But he wasnt about to to say that to a Kalosian who may take great offense. That would just be rude.

He chuckled. "Not to drink. For your lip. To keep the swelling down?" Ah. Yeah, that made more sense. Clavell took the cold can and brought it up to his lip. It stung a little, but he appreciated the help too much to take it off, fearing it could hurt this kind man's feelings. "I'm Clive, by the way. Clive Desrosiers." Clive put out his hand for Clavell to shake. He took it. It was cold like everything else out here. "I think we're in a few of the same classes, actually. Kind of hard to miss a white pompadour!" He joked.

Clavell cracked a toothy smile. "Yes, I suppose it is. I'm Klint Clavell. Thanks for, uh. This." He shrugged the beer at Clive.

"Look, uh. I know we just met, so it maybe a little weird to ask," He nervously began. He lowered the volume of his voice. "But would you like to leave? I know a gay bar not far from here. There's a lot kinder folk there who could even patch you up."

Clavell looked back at the party. He couldn't leave Willow. But then again, he probably already left for the dorms with a girl or guy as his company. He knows him well enough to assume as much. And Clavell definitely did not want to stay here all night only to find out his nerd-jock hybrid of a friend had already left hours prior. Well it wouldn't hurt to have a few drinks. And to make a few new friends, he supposes. "Sure." He says. "But only for a couple hours. I have a test to study for."

"Alright. A couple hours. A couple drinks. Sounds good to me."

They sat at the bar all night. Talking. Drinking. Becoming fast friends.