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dc-said-bi-robin-rights · 9 months

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The first floor window of the Ranger HQ explodes outwards as Steel crashes through it, plummeting several feet in the air before hitting the ground, rolling, his armored fingers carving a line into the tarmac as he digs them into the ground to halt his momentum and rises to his feet. Above him, Blindspot walks forward calmly, his cape billowing behind him in the cold December wind as he looks down on his fallen enemy from the window ledge. He can feel the power rushing through the neon yellow veins of his armored suit as he clenches his fists, the simple action diverting all the excess power that isn’t being channeled into his telepathic boosters straight into his diamond-tipped knuckles. It was Mortum’s latest masterstroke: a strength upgrade that didn’t require any additional power storage. Just the action of curling his fingers into a fist would fill his gauntlets with excess power, power that would then be diverted elsewhere as soon as he uncurled them. He felt a chuckle coming on—he was gonna have to send the good doctor another check. It really was a brilliant workaround.

The roar of rushing air fills his ears, and he looks up to see a helicopter with the LDNW logo hovering overhead. He smirks beneath his helmet, raising a hand up to his eyes as their spotlight switches on, illuminating him in all his glory for their millions of viewers to see.

That was more than fine by him. Let them watch. Let the world watch their heroes be embarrassingly brought low, again and again, until they woke up to the truth that they didn’t protect anybody, least of all them.

He walks off the ledge and drops down onto the parking lot, shockwaves emanating from the fist he’d smashed against the ground, breaking the windows of all the cars around him and splashing him with glass shards as he rose to his feet. Another gift from Dr. Mortum, one that was as much for the drama and intimidation factor as it was for the usefulness that clearing a room of goons just with his landing represented. Armored as he was, Steel barely felt the shockwaves, of course… but the little trick was a godsend in front of the cameras, and there were few messages that weren’t enhanced by a visible display of power from the one who spoke it. Even now, he could imagine the viewers at home oooing and gasping at his little display. The thought amused him, and he wondered what the Breaking News! headline was saying at this very moment. He hoped it was something scary: an intimidating reputation was as valuable as a dozen fiery speeches, if not more so.

“I don’t want to fight you, Cyrus.” Chen’s voice was serious and stern, and as irritating to his little fantasies as the stubbornly conscious state of the man himself. Even with half his visor torn off and his breastplate dented almost beyond repair, the Marshal of Los Diablos refused to bend or break, even to a man he privately wasn’t sure could even be considered a villain. “You won’t enjoy what happens if you make me.”

“Cyrus Brown died in an ambulance, alone and abandoned.” Blindspot’s voice is a garbled mix of his real voice and the intimidating growls produced by his failing voice moderator. The effect is disturbing, and more than a little offsetting. “Or at least, that’s what you told the others, isn’t it? But you knew better.”

A flash of something indescribable passes over the half of Chen’s face not covered by the ripped visor. “I would take it back if I could.”

“But you can’t,” Blindspot hisses as he walks forward, fists clenching, power filling his hands, his armor’s pulsing veins glowing in the dark between the black plates. His own featureless faceplate was still intact, but visibly glitching, showing more of his snarling face than he was comfortable with. That hadn’t been part of the plan. He was meant to be the coldly gloating one, hiding his emotions behind the stark neon wall that was his faceplate and the echoing nothingness of his voice moderator as he threw out vicious taunts and condemnations. Steel wasn’t supposed to be able to see the savage hatred on his face, and he was especially not supposed to be able to hear the broken fury in his voice. That had always been his problem. He succumbed to anger too easily. “You can’t, can you? You can’t undo what they did to me!”

“I can make it right,” he growls, as close to pleading as he’ll ever get. “I can help you. I can keep you safe from them.”

“No one can keep me safe from them,” he says, taking a steadying breath pulling himself back into neutrality with great difficulty. Not for the first time, he’s glad news’ helicopters don’t typically come with long-range microphones. “Only I can do that.”

“And Ortega?” They’re circling now, watching each other for the slightest sign of weakness. “I know she cares for you. I know she’d believe you can put this behind you, like I do.”

“And let them get away with it?” Blindspot demands, disbelieving. “Let them do it again?! To me!? To others?!” He gave a harsh laugh. “I chose this path for a reason, marshal . Not that I’d expect you to know what that is.”

“A path?”

“A choice,” he corrects, mocking. “The military man, through and through. ‘Yes, sir’, ‘no sir’, ‘how high, sir’? ‘How deep, sir?’ ‘The whole thing or just the tip, sir?’”

Steel meets his eyes for a long moment. “From what I’ve heard, that sounds more like you.”

The next thing he knew, Blindspot was pummeling Steel, frothing with rage. If it had been Steel’s goal to provoke him into a hasty attack, it’d worked too well: his fist crashes into Steel’s broken visor, cracking what remained of his helmet and smashing aside his jaw. Steel stumbles back, but Blindspot gives him no quarter, raising his fists above his head and bringing them crashing down on his shoulders. Steel is forced to his knees, but he still manages to catch Blindspot’s next kick and launch him backwards a few feet into the air.

He lands in a crouched position, teeth gritted behind his glitching faceplate. Okay, lesson learnt. There’s still a pretty sizable strength difference between him and Steel, and he needs to remember that. Fine. Let’s see how he likes a fight on Blindspot’s terms, then.

He plunges his hands into the tarmac, sending his nanovores towards Steel. The ground cracks as they approach him, and though he jumps back, deploying jets all along his lower body to guide his ascent, they follow him up, forming a long ramp that reaches out as if to catch him. Blindspot can see the controlled panic in his eyes as his jump-jets start running out of steam, but he pulls the nanovores back before they can swam over Steel and bring his career as a Ranger to a grisly end by devouring him and his half-cybernetic body alive, letting Steel crash to the ground. The fallen marshal’s heavy armor leaves a small crater in the tarmac, but it’s one he quickly picks himself out of, leveling an unguided wrist-mounted rocket and firing it at Blindspot. The Rat-King chitters out a warning, though it’s unneeded—the pressure on Blindspot’s mind has lessened somewhat, meaning some of Steel’s dampeners had to have been damaged by the fall. His will surges forward, wrapping around Steel’s mind like a set of hands and squeezing. The rocket goes wildly off-course, hitting a nearby car and sending it vaulting into the air in a fireball, the impact doing nothing but kicking up his cape as he advances. The part of Cyrus that was Sidestep registers Steel’s unwillingness to use the more dangerous class of missiles he has mounted on his shoulder somewhere in the back of his mind, but the rest of him is just focused on how sweet it’ll be to make the bastard pay.

“Tell me something, Chen,” Blindspot starts, his voice distorting strangely. “I’m curious. How many mes would it take to make up one Ortega? Ten? Twenty? By what exact percentage is my life less than hers?”

“You’re making this something it wasn’t,” Steel growls, leveling another rocket at him.

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t try it. We know how that goes.”

A pause. “I guess that’s true.” Steel slowly lowers his arm. “What happens now?”

“Now?” He gives a harsh laugh. “Now, we beat the crap out of each other for the cameras. And we don’t stop until one of is dead.”

“I don’t want to do that.”

“Liar,” he says calmly. “You’ve wanted that since the beginning.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you’re my enemy.”

“Do you?” Steel gives Blindspot a meaningful look. “What have I done to make you think that?”

“Left me in the Farm, for one thing.”

“I was trying to protect Ortega.” Another pause. Chen liked his pauses. “I thought you would understand that.”

“Didn’t tell me that you knew, for another.” Now who’s the one with the lists?

“You were dead. Then you were back. What did you want me to say?”

“You could’ve pulled me aside at any moment.” It was hard, to muster the anger from earlier into his voice. Even though he was angry. Even though he was furious. “Explained. Let me know what you had done before I started to get close to you.”

And there it is. The ugly truth.

They’d almost been friends. Now, they never will be.

“I fail to see what that would have accomplished.”

“I…” He let out a long groan of frustration. “It’s useless, with you. Guilty feelings aside, it’s like you don’t even realize you did something wrong.”

“I made a choice. I stand by it.”

“A choice to pick Ortega over me.”

“A choice to pick a living Ortega over a probably dead you.” Steel looks guilty, but not guilty enough to shy away from the truth. That’s something you can give him credit for, at least. “You weren’t a Ranger. There was no other choice I could make.”

“I was part of the team, damn you.” He feels so tired. “You know that. You’ve said that.”

“I do. I have.”

“So why…?” He chokes on his next words. “Forget it. Would you have made a different choice? If I wasn’t a Re-Gene?”

“I… don’t know.” Steel looked troubled by the admission.

“You don’t know,” Blindspot echoes, shaking his head. “I think you do.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You can say it. Either answer will make me hate you.” He wondered what the news chopper made of this conversation, being unable to hear it and yet still seeing him and Steel standing there, talking when they should be fighting. “Either you decided I wasn’t worth the risk because I was a Re-Gene, or you did it because I was inherently worth less than Ortega in your eyes.”

“I told you, I don’t know.”

“I could rip the answers out of your head,” he threatens without any real heat. “Your dampeners are down. You’d have no way of stopping me.”

“Do it, then.” Steel looks about as tired as Blindspot does. “I’m as curious to hear them as you are.”

He almost does.

Almost.

His will surges towards the chopper like a spike, piercing their minds with urgent thoughts of heading home. He waits until they’re out of sight to remove his helmet, exposing his face to the empty parking lot. To Chen.

“I had plans for how today was gonna go, you know.” A slight chuckle. “I was going to walk in, all righteous fury, and take my revenge.”

Chen holds his gaze. “What changed?”

Cyrus laughs, the sound free and pure away from the voice moderator. “What makes you think anything has?”

“You’re not killing me.”

“No.” He leans back, taking a seat on the hood of the nearest car, which groans under the pressure of his heavy armor. It’s a very casual act of criminality, but he doubt Chen is going to lambast him for it under the circumstances. “I guess I’m not.”

There’s a long silence. Chen breaks it first.

“I saw your interview. The one on the bridge.” A slight pause, shorter this time. “I never knew you were into politics.”

“Any system that puts people through what I want is rotten.” He puts the helmet down and lays back, staring up at the stars. “We talked about it, you know.”

“It?”

“The sky,” he clarifies, like it’s not a total non sequitur. “What it looked like. Someone… I can’t remember who… thought it’d be green.”

“Oh.” A hesitant breath. Cyrus can sense Chen’s confusion… but also his interest. “Were you disappointed?”

“With the sky? A bit,” he admits, his eyes still skyward. “Then it got dark. And I saw the stars.” The last word is uttered with an almost dreamlike longing, with the tone of breath one might reserve for speaking about a goddess.

The Farm had taken a lot from Cyrus the second time around. But it could never take away the stars.

“They’re even more beautiful in the country.” Cyrus can sense Chen has no idea why he volunteered that information, but he continues anyway. “Especially overseas.”

“I know. Ortega took me to her ranch. More than once.”

Chen nods, but he doesn’t move from where he is standing. “You know I have to take you in.”

Cyrus sighs. “You don’t. You really don’t.”

“I’m sorry.” Cyrus could hear the stunner being primed, but he didn’t bother sitting up. “But I do.”

“Using my own tech against me?” He chuckled. He’d been wondering where that old toy ended up. “That’s a new low.”

“You were dead. It was a way to honor you. And it did it’s job,” he admits.

“Not well enough,” Cyrus says, before grabbing ahold of Chen’s mind and drowning it as violently as he could. Every thought he’d had in the last four hours, every memory, every possible impression is found and ripped out, violently brutally, viciously, without the slightest hint of mercy or consideration being given for the sanctity of his mind. By the time he is done, Chen is a drooling puddle on the floor, unconscious thrice over. Blindspot barely gives him a second glance as he walks away into the night.

#cw mentions of implied sa #cw homophobia #cw internalized homophobia #cw ableism #tw: sa #tw: sa mention #fallen hero retribution #fallen hero rebirth #fallen hero #fhr sidestep #sidestep #fhr #fhr steel #marshall steel #marshal steel

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schrijverr · 1 year

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I Found Myself a Cheerleader 6

Chapter 6 out of 28

Bumped to the lowest step on the social ladder after his fight with Billy, Steve gets roped in with the cheer team. What starts as a favor to help them out when one member breaks her leg in turn for protection from the brunt of the bullying, sets the universe on a different path.

In this chapter, Steve runs into Eddie at the quarry and they share a moment, before Steve is found by Hopper, who takes him to the Byers house.

On AO3.

Ships: eventual steddie & buckingham

Warnings: f-slur, homophobia mention, child abuse mention, internalized homophobia

~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 6: The Night

“What am I doing out here?” Eddie repeats. “I’m ignoring everyone who did graduate while I am still stuck in this hellhole. A more curious question is: what are you doing out here?”

He seems unconcerned with the fact that he has to do senior year for the third time as he scrambles up onto the car to sit next to Steve. Though there is a little edge to his voice that is definitely dulled by the joint that is hanging from his lips.

Steve lets out a deep sigh and looks back over the quarry. Eddie already knows him better than almost anyone, despite the fact that they have barely spoken. So he just replies honestly: “My parents kicked me out for being a fag.”

Eddie’s nonchalant pose changes as he turns to look at Steve with big eyes. In a soft voice he says: “Shit, dude. Are you okay?”

“Not really,” Steve answers, looking Eddie in the eye, which reveals the shiner he has on his face. It is clear Eddie sees, because he sucks in a shocked breath of air.

Carefully Eddie reaches out and cups his cheek. Steve lets him, because he’s been craving some sort of kind contact ever since it happened and Eddie is on the top of the list of people he wants touching him. Not that he’ll ever tell Eddie that. Especially not after tonight.

“What happened?” Eddie asks, those sweet brown eyes boring into Steve’s own.

“Billy called me a fag, my dad heard,” Steve explains. “He found out about the cheerleading and hit me before throwing me out. Said I can come back if I have a wife and a son. I’m no longer their son until then.”

“He sounds like a fucking asshole,” Eddie tells him.

The blunt statements gets a laugh out of Steve, who agrees: “Yeah, he is.”

There is a moment of silence between the two where they look at the stars. Then Eddie asks: “So, what are you going to do now?”

Steve doesn’t want anyone to know he’s homeless, not even Eddie. He shrugs: “Going to find a wife, I guess. But a job first. Not like I got into college.”

“What?” Eddie exclaims in a bewildered tone. “You’re gonna try and get back in their good graces after that?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “What else can I fucking do, Eddie? Frolic around and find a boyfriend to live happily ever after? That’s not going to happen. We both know that. The best I can hope for is that no one finds out I got kicked out and find a girl willing to date me after that spectacle. He landed the first hit right there in the parking lot. Everyone saw!”

The words must feel like a slap in the face for Eddie, because he rears back, the hand that had fallen from his cheek to his shoulder leaving all together. Steve tries not to miss the warmth.

“Well, fuck you, dude,” Eddie frowns. “You don’t know what can happen. There’s a whole world out there.”

Steve crosses his arms and says: “Well, I’m stuck here, aren’t I?”

“And that means you have to conform to what they want?” Eddie argues back. “Just say fuck them and be whoever you want to be. They can leave if they don’t like it.”

“What, like you do?” Steve shoots back. “I can’t live like that, Eddie. I’m not that kind of person. I’m not like you.”

Eddie looks even more hurt and says: “Like me? A freak, you mean? Someone who won’t settle down with a girl I won’t love?”

“No,” Steve says, realizing his mistake. “I’m not brave like you.”

It looks like Eddie is about to argue, snap back, when the words hit. He looks a little stunned, as if what Steve is saying is ludicrous. “What? Stevie, you are so brave. What are you on about?”

Warmth explodes in Steve’s chest at the words. He wants to lean into them, bask in Eddie’s attention and kindness. But he can’t. He meant what he said. He is going to try and find a girlfriend to settle down with. He’s too scared to try and be gay. He’s not ready to be out there. So, he shakes his head and says: “I’m not. I hide. I run away.”

“You know how fucking brave it was to join the cheer team?” Eddie argues. “I couldn't believe it when I first heard. That takes some balls. You did that. You didn’t care. That was fucking badass, man.”

“I guess,” Steve sighs. “But that bravery only lasts until someone looks at me.”

“Your parents don’t seem like they deserve your efforts, sweetheart,” Eddie tells him. “You don’t need to make them proud if you don’t want to.”

“But it’s not just them,” Steve says. “It’s this whole fucking town. It’s everyone, who looks, who talks, who knows, who judges. It’s- It’s like I can feel their eyes on me. I could ignore them for a bit, but not like this. I don’t want them seeing me like that.”

“Not everyone sees you like that,” Eddie says quietly. “I don’t.”

Steve looks at him, there seems to be a layer to the statement that he can’t quite get. He could read into it, but he’s not going to. It’s not going to happen between them. They’re too different. Eddie is too out there and Steve can’t deal with that.

“I know,” Steve answers anyway, equally soft. “I know.”

They fall quiet, looking out of the silent quarry together. Eddie relights his joint and takes a deep drag. Steve tries not to stare as Eddie’s lips suck on the filter and how the smoke slowly falls out of his mouth.

Eddie catches him looking and grins. Steve blushes and looks away. Eddie makes a soft noise at that and Steve looks back with a confused look to find Eddie offering him the joint. His brain short circuits at the idea of putting the joint that had been in Eddie’s mouth in his own.

He nearly takes him up on the offer just because of that, but in the end he refuses. He isn’t in the mood to get high, he gets emotional when he gets high and the last thing he wants is to cry all over Eddie.

When he does Eddie shrugs as if to say ‘your choice’ before taking another hit. He looks relaxed like this, leaning back on the roof of Steve’s car. The moonlight illuminates his face beautifully, almost ethereally.

Steve lets his mind drift off in the silence, until it is broken by Eddie, who says: “There is no shame in hiding.”

“What?” Steve replies, more as a prompt to elaborate than a question.

“I don’t want to make it seem like you need to be out and proud,” Eddie explains. “God knows I’m not either. It’s okay to hide that you’re queer. I just meant that you don’t have to try and strive for that heterosexual dream that your parents want for you. You don’t have to force yourself to change. It’s okay to just be you.”

No one has ever told Steve it’s okay to be him. He has never been good enough for his parents and all the choices he has made for himself have been judged by his peers. Just Steve has never been okay. Except with Chrissy, but even she doesn’t know he’s gay.

The fact that Eddie, who barely knows Steve, who should hate Steve for who he used to be, thinks he’s okay just by himself makes something comforting curl up into his chest. Steve can feel the blush on his cheek as he whispers: “Thank you.”

“Course,” Eddie smiles back, almost a little shy.

They break eye contact and fall quiet again. This time it’s Steve who breaks it by saying: “I would, you know, not try.”

“But?”

“But I can’t.” Steve doesn’t know why he feels the need to explain to Eddie, to get some sense of understanding from the other boy, but he does. “Everyone saw the fight with my father. If I don’t show that it wasn’t true, I’ll be the town pariah.”

“That’s already my job,” Eddie protests, though it falls flat seeing the circumstances. So, he sighs and says: “Yeah, I get it. That sucks, man.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve smiles, feeling that understanding and camaraderie he was craving.

“I won’t tell anyone about you getting kicked out,” Eddie promises suddenly.

It honestly hadn’t crossed Steve’s mind that he would. Eddie doesn’t seem the type to do that, especially not with what they share, but he’s glad nonetheless. “Thanks.”

“No need to thank me for not being a dick,” Eddie says. Then he offers: “You can crash at mine for the night if you need. It won’t be the most comfortable, but a roof is nice.”

For a moment Steve considers taking him up on the offer. However, he knows it’s not smart to get closer to this boy. This boy that he likes, who is sweet to him, who makes him laugh, who he can have a chance with if he lets himself get close. This boy, who could break his heart.

And the part he hates himself for, the practical part that assesses risks and thinks strategically, warns of the rumors that will go around if people find out he spend the night at Eddie’s. It would be smarter to keep his distance.

So, he shakes his head and politely lies: “Thanks, but it’s okay. I have a friend to crash at.”

“Alright,” Eddie shrugs. “Just know my door is always open. Me and my uncle Wayne both have a habit of taking in strays.” His face splits open in a cheeky grin as he winks.

Steve remembers the day in the cafeteria when Eddie stood up to Billy for him, when he told Steve he was under his jurisdiction now. That it was Eddie’s task to protect him. He doesn’t bring that up, however, instead saying: “You’re a fucking dork, Munson.”

“Oh it’s Munson now?” Eddie laughs. “Well alright then, Harrington.”

“I take it back, I take it back,” Steve laughs too, not wanting to loose the bit of closeness with Eddie, even if he knows it’s stupid to get close.

“Okay, okay, you’re forgiven, sweetheart,” Eddie smiles, taking another hit, before stubbing the joint out on the sole of his shoe, which shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

After that conversation drifts to less serious topics. They talk about all sorts of things. At one point Steve goes off on a tangent about why cheerleading is way harder than it looks and why this girl from another team was a total bitch during the competition. Meanwhile, Eddie explains DnD to Steve, when he can’t follow his new campaign idea.

It’s fun, Steve is pretty sure he hasn’t laughed this much in ages. They share dumb shit their friends did, like Gareth’s pants ripping on stage and Chrissy tripping over air. And just talk about stuff without having to hide.

They sit there for hours until Eddie breaks a natural lull in the conversation by saying: “I should probably get home. I want to catch a bit of sleep before my uncle gets home. And you shouldn’t show up at this friend’s place too late either.”

Steve’s mood drops at the reminder that this moment isn’t going to last forever and that he’ll have to sleep in his car tonight. It’s already a bit too late to be socially acceptable to show at some house and Steve suspects that Eddie doesn’t believe him, but he is glad the other doesn’t push.

“Course, I should get going too,” Steve nods. “Your car close to here?”

“Yeah, big boy, don’t worry your pretty little head about me,” Eddie tells him. After that he hesitates, making Steve wonder what he’s about to do. Then Eddie pulls him into a quick hug, before he skips off into the darkness with a wave and a: “See you around, Stevie.”

And just like that Steve is alone again.

He sits on his car for a little while longer and looks up at the sky as if it will give him better answers than the ones he has now.

The stars don’t grant him any further wisdom, so he sighs and gets into the backseat of his car, locking all his doors. He’s glad it isn’t winter, because he would have frozen his balls off. But tonight the temperature is comfortable.

Still, he tosses and turns for quite a bit, not really managing to fall asleep, but managing to doze off at least.

A knock on his window startles him for his sleep-awake limbo. He rubs his eyes, before he realizes what that knock means. Someone has found him. Someone knows he isn’t sleeping at home. He wonders if he can spin it as having had sex when he looks up and meets Hoppers eyes on the other side of the window.

Hopper might be more sympathetic, he hopes, but it will also make this a thousand time more awkward. They’ve been the two protectors of the group during all the Upside Down shit, which created a bit of a bond. However, this isn’t Upside Down shit, this is real world shit and Steve has no clue where Hopper stands in all of this.

Reluctantly he opens the backdoor and scoots so he’s sitting on the edge of the seat. He doesn’t look up yet, hoping Hopper hasn’t seen the bruise on his face. He greets: “Hi, Chief.”

“Hey, kid,” Hopper greets back. “So this is where you’ve been hiding. You’re not easy to find, you know.”

Hopper makes it sound like he’s been looking for him specifically instead of stumbling upon his car in a bout of bad luck. In his confusion, Steve forgets why he’s looking down, so he looks up and frowns: “What do you mean?”

He has a front row seat to how Hopper’s face morphs from amused exasperation to anger when he sees the bruise. Steve ducks his head again, as if that will undo it being seen, and says: “It’s nothing, it was just an accident.”

“Jesus, kid,” Hopper breathes. “No need to lie to me. Jonathan said you got into it with your father, but that looks worse than just a slap. What happened?”

“Jonathan?” Steve repeats, unsure if he heard correctly.

“Yeah, Jonathan,” Hopper confirms. “He was taking pictures at the graduation, saw it happen and told Joyce. She called me in a worry. I’ve been looking all over town for you.”

Of course, Jonathan. Steve now remembers Will over the radio talking about it. He hadn’t thought that Will worrying would be because Joyce was worrying, but now he also remembers Will in the arcade telling him that Joyce asked her boys to keep an eye on him.

Joyce has been worrying about him. She probably knows why he and his father fought, has heard all about it from fucking Jonathan. But still she’s worried. She called Hop. She send him out to look for Steve, because she’s worried.

He can barely believe anyone would care this much for him. His own parents have just tossed him aside like he is nothing, but Joyce, who he barely knows, whose son he insulted and fought, who’s only interaction with Steve has been through the Upside Down, just cares about him.

Without his permission tears start to slide down his face and sobs wrack through his body, bruised ribs aching with the movement.

“Hey, hey, now, come on, it’s okay,” he hears Hopper say, sounding a bit panicked at the sudden crying.

Steve wants to explain that he’s okay, just overwhelmed and tired, that he also doesn’t want to cry, but he can’t. All he can do is make a gesture with his hand, a vague waving motion, before more sobs overtake him.

A hesitant hand rests on his shoulder, heavy and comforting. Unconsciously Steve leans into it, which makes Hopper step forwards, until Steve can bury his face into Hopper’s stomach. Together they stand there until Steve is done crying about the unfairness of today, the unfairness of the world, for himself and for the parts of himself he has lost.

When the crying finally slows down, Hopper squats down with a groan so he can look Steve in the eyes. Steve doesn’t want to look him in the eyes, aware of the wetness on his cheek and the bruise that resides there, but Hopper cradles his face like he imagines a good father would and forces Steve to look at him.

“Kid,” he starts. “It’s gonna be okay. Just tell me what happened. Why are you all the way out here? What did he do to you? You can tell me, I promise.”

“I- I-” Steve says, stumbling over what he wants to say. He doesn’t want Hopper to hate him too, but he’s scrambling to find a good lie to explain it all. In the end he chokes out: “I tried to tell him it wasn’t true.”

“It’s okay, Steve,” Hopper soothes him. “Just tell me what happened.”

“I- I kept trying to tell him, but he wouldn't listen and then- and then he punched me again,” Steve hiccups. “And I went down and my- my mom, she just st- stood there. And he- he kicked me. He threw me out, Hop. He threw me out.”

Steve is near hysterical again as he remembers all he has suppressed throughout the night. The moment he has deliberately not thought about.

“Oh, kid,” Hopper says in sympathy, pulling Steve into a hug as he sobs without tears. He holds Steve tightly and angrily says: “We’ll get the bastard. Don’t worry.”

“No!” Steve exclaims, before he can think about it, pulling away from the embrace.

“No?” Hopper frowns, confused by the reaction.

“No,” Steve shakes his head, confirming what he said. “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to press charges. I just want everyone to forget about it. He’s probably already gone by now anyway. Don’t bother.”

“Are you sure, kid?” Hopper checks, looking into Steve’s eyes as he does. “I can make sure he never sets foot in Hawkins again.”

“I’m sure,” Steve tells him.

“Alright,” Hopper nods, letting it go. He sets a step back and says: “But Joyce is going to want to know what happened when you get there. She’s probably blowing up my radio about if I found you yet. Don’t think you’re getting out of that one.”

Steve had almost managed to forget about Joyce and having to leave the safety of the quarry. He pleads: “Do I have to go?”

“What was your plan?” Hopper asks, with the air of someone that knows there wasn’t a better alternative plan.

“Uhm, stay here?” Steve offers anyway.

“No,” Hopper shuts it down without remorse. “I’m not letting you sleep in your car. Now you can pick, leave it here and drive with me or drive to Joyce yourself.”

“I’ll drive myself,” Steve gives in, wanting to have his car should he have to escape a second house tonight.

“Good choice,” Hopper nods. “I’ll see you there. No funny business.”

“Yes, Chief,” Steve says dully as he gets behind the wheel of his own car. Hopper stands there and waits until he turns on the ignition, before he turns to leave for his own car, parked a bit off from Steve’s.

Hopper drives behind him the entire way, ready to set chase should Steve try anything he doesn’t like. Steve almost hates how well Hopper has estimated his character. Because while he knows Joyce loves her boys, Steve isn’t one of them and it is harder to accept someone, who isn’t close to you like that.

And yeah, Steve is aware that she has had Jonathan and Will keep an eye on him and hounded Hopper to go find him when he went missing after the fight with his father, but still… A part of him is terrified of what he’ll come to face.

He already knows that he’ll deny it all if asked. He doesn’t care if they will accept it or not. He wants to ignore it exists. He wants to forget about it.

He meant what he told Eddie, he’s going to find a girl willing to date him. He’s going to make the town forget that there was ever any doubt about his sexuality. He’s been the target of this vitriol for only a few months, but that has been enough for him. He isn’t brave enough to face more of that, despite what Eddie might think.

So he can’t help, but feel like a man preparing for the gallows when he parks in front of Joyce’s house. Hopper must have radioed, because she is waiting for him under the porch light, looking relieved as he pulls up to the house.

Steve stays seated behind the wheel of his car, unable to make himself leave the safety of it until Hopper is standing next to the door.

Slightly unwilling, Steve opens the door and follows after Hopper, able to admit to himself that he hides behind the older man. He doesn’t know why the small, unassuming figure of Joyce scares him so much. Maybe because he knows her rejection will hurt almost more badly than that of his own mother.

Shyly he greets her: “Hey, Joyce.”

“Oh, Steve,” she sighs in a sympathetic yet unpitying way, as she steps forwards. Without thinking Steve sets a step backwards. With Hopper he’d been too out of it, but now he can’t help but think about all the ways he can get hurt again. A small frown appears between Joyce’s brows that she quickly wipes away, instead asking: “Can I hug you, Steve?”

That has him fighting tears again. He didn’t know a human could produce that many tears in one evening. Fortunately he manages to fight them off as he nods.

Immediately Joyce hugs him. It’s a bit awkward, because she has to bring his head down to let him hide in the crook of his neck, because she is so much shorter than him. However, once he’s situated, he can tell that this is one of the most comforting hugs he has ever had.

He takes a shuddering breath, but doesn’t break down again. Instead, he just clutches to Joyce and lets himself be held.

Joyce doesn’t let go for a good long while. When she finally steps away, it’s to inspect his face under the light hanging on the porch. She asks: “Do you want some ice for that, honey?”

“It’s okay. Barely feel it anymore,” he lies with a small smile. He doesn’t care that he’s lying, he can live with the dull ache. It feels like a deserved punishment, like the concussion Jonathan gave him back in junior year.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” she asks.

Steve bites his lips and chances a look at Hopper, whom he told about the kicks. Hopper raises a brow, which sends a clear message. Still, Steve doesn’t want to admit the extend of it and he tries to rationalize it because it could have been worse. “Just some scrapes and bruises.”

“Alright,” Joyce lets it go for now. Steve doesn’t know if she believes him, but he is glad she changes the subject. “I’ve got two curious boys in there. Before we go in, do you want to talk about it with me? What do you want me to say to them?”

Indeed, behind her Jonathan and Will are trying to watch the three people on the porch through the window, while also trying to be stealthy about it. It reminds him a bit of the time with Billy and he has to swallow at the thought.

Then the question hits him and the feeling of getting watched creeps over him again. His shoulders tense as he says: “Not much to say. Nothing happened.”

That is a lie to all of them, but the message comes across anyway. Steve doesn’t want to talk about it. Not with Joyce and Hopper and definitely not with Jonathan and Will. He knows Will must have questions and he should probably assure the kid that he’s fine and it’s not all bad, that Will will be okay too. But he’s not in the mood for that now. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be.

“Okay,” Joyce says, easily. Steve is sure she’ll get Hopper to tell her everything Steve told him, but he tries to ignore that. Just like the two adults are doing. “Jonathan can sleep with Will tonight and you can take his room. I’m sure you can use the rest.”

When she mentions it, he can feel the exhaustion hit him with full force and he nods tiredly.

She leads him into the house, sending Jonathan and Will a look that has them stay right there and not say a thing. Steve is grateful for it. Joyce shows him to Jonathan’s room, where she lends him a pair of pajamas, something he has forgotten in his haste.

Before she leaves him to change and sleep, she says: “We’ll probably need to talk about it a little more in the morning. Just some schematics, nothing to worry about. Try to get some sleep now, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve agrees. Though he would have agreed to anything if it meant getting to sleep and letting oblivion take him. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Joyce smiles.

She goes to leave the room, but Steve stops her before she can. “Joyce?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“No problem,” she smiles. “You never are.” And with those earth shattering words, she leaves him alone.

He stands there for a few seconds, trying to comprehend the words, before he gives up. He’s too exhausted for any more emotions. So, he changes and crawls into the bed. Sleep taking him before his head can hit the pillow.

When he wakes up the next morning, his head is pounding and his eyelids feel like they weigh a thousand ton. He lets out a groan and curls into himself, in doing so falling off the bed.

“Wha?” he mumbles, blinking his eyes open, an unfamiliar room coming into view. Jonathan’s room, he realizes. Fuck.

All that had happened the day before comes flooding back. It hits him in the chest and leaves him breathless for a second. He still can’t quite believe yesterday is real and he is actually at the Byers house instead of his own. It seems like he always ends up here when something life changing happens, he wonders if the house is cursed. If the Byers are. Or he is.

Steve sits on the floor, staring at the ground. He should get up and drink something to negate the crying headache, but when he leaves he’ll have to face Joyce, maybe even Hopper. And Jonathan and Will. He can’t face Jonathan and Will.

Jonathan, who had seen it all. Who had witnessed his shame, his humiliation and who told Joyce it happened. After all they had been through together, the names Steve had called him, it had to be Jonathan, who saw.

And Will? How can he face Will? Will always looks at him with those eyes that are half awe, half desperate reaching for the connection they share. Steve has never confirmed it and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to now. What can he tell Will, who knows what happened? How can he explain, when he doesn’t want to understand himself?

With that he isn’t even thinking about Hopper, who found him sleeping in his car, because Steve is homeless now. Or Joyce, who told Hopper to find him, because she wants him at her house for some reason.

It’s all too much.

So, he sits on the floor of Jonathan’s room and hugs his knees to his chest and stares. He doesn’t really think about it – he doesn’t want to think about it – he just looks at the ground.

A soft knock snaps him out of his revelry and he looks up. Steve isn’t sure how long he’s been sitting there, but apparently is has been long enough that he can’t keep ignoring the outside world anymore.

“Steve? Are you okay?” Joyce’s voice comes through the door. “There is breakfast if you’re interested.” Steve can’t bring himself to answer her, feeling frozen. Joyce speaks up again: “Can I come in?”

He can hear the worry in her voice and instantly feels bad about his silence, when she has been there for him. Still, his mouth doesn’t cooperate beyond a humming sound.

Joyce must take the sound to be an okay, because the door gets pushed open and she poked her head in. Her eyes lock onto Steve, still curled up on the floor, and her expressions softens into something sympathetic that makes Steve’s skin crawl.

Quickly he uncurls into a normal seating position, acting as if his location is a very normal one. He croaks: “Good morning,” voice rough with disuse.

“Good morning,” Joyce greets softly, entering the door and sitting down on the desk chair, before turning to Steve, who has gotten up and now sits on the bed, legs folded. She asks: “How are you feeling, honey?”

“I’m fine,” he says, the reply an ingrained reaction. To make it more believable, he adds: “Just- you know- It hasn’t landed yet, I guess.”

“That’s totally understandable, Steve,” Joyce tells him. “Can you tell me what happened? I heard some of it, but I want to hear it from you.”

“My father got the wrong idea about me and kicked me out,” Steve shrugs. He is determined to keep up the facade as long as he can. He isn’t confirming shit to anyone. That only gets him hurt and he is tired of hurting.

“You know,” Joyce offers tentatively, “it would be okay if it was the right idea. I won’t judge you, if it is.”

“Well, it isn’t,” Steve snaps, not in the mood and feeling cornered.

“Okay, okay,” Joyce immediately backs off, her hands in the air in a disarming manner. “Just in case, honey.”

Steve still doesn’t fully trust it, but he needs as many people as he can get in his corner right now, so he is a little more forgiving than he wants. So, he huffs: “Thanks, but not necessary.”

The hiccup creates a small silence between them. It’s clear that Joyce has been preparing to have a very different conversation. If Steve has to guess she expected tears and a confession, worries she could soothe and support she could offer. But that’s not what’s happening.

It is admirable how she bounces back after a moment, saying: “Hopper mentioned you were sleeping in you car?”

“Of course he did,” Steve sighs.

“We’re just worried about you,” Joyce responds to that, pointing to the one thing Steve still doesn’t understand.

“Why?” he asks. Too curious not to. When Joyce looks confused, he explains: “I was a dick to Jonathan in junior year and you barely know me. Why do you even care that my father thinks I’m a fag and kicked me out? Just why? I don’t get it.”

“We don’t say that word here,” she snaps with a force that has Steve blinking.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Joyce smiles. “Just don’t do that again.” Then she lets out a breath and says: “You saved my boy’s life. Jonathan told me what happened here. How you came back. I owe you so much, Steve.”

At the words, a lump appears in Steve’s throat. He has never really thought about how he saved Nancy and Jonathan. It was just something he felt like he had to do, to make it right. He never expected to be thanked for it. He looks away, slightly bashful.

“And last fall, you held down the fort, you kept those kids safe,” she goes on. “You’re still so young, honey, but you were the third adult here. I know I can count on you. You did so much for my family. Of course I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Oh,” Steve says, stumped for anything else to say.

Joyce luckily doesn’t push him, instead she repeats: “There is breakfast if you want. I can also come bring you a plate.”

Steve is tempted the moment he hears the offer. He’s not quite ready to be looked at yet. So, he softly says: “I’d like to say here, if that’s okay with Jonathan.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Joyce says. “Should I bring you some breakfast?”

“Yes, please.”

She leaves with a squeeze to his leg. He’s still reeling from what she said, he never thought he would have impact on anyone, not anything positive. And he’s never been trusted. But apparently Joyce has him higher than he ever thought possible.

When Joyce comes back with a plate with eggs and toast, it hasn’t fully landed yet. So, he just takes the plate a small: “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Joyce smiles. “It’s fine to stay here for a little. Jonathan is off to his internship for most of the day. We’ll look later about a more permanent sleeping arrangement. You can stay as long as you like.”

The lump from before comes back in full force. It’s an odd feeling to be wanted. He has only experienced it with the cheer squad. And Eddie.

He remembers Chrissy’s look at graduation. She might be worried. He can’t face her yet, doesn’t want her to know what happened between him and his father, but he does want her to know that he is okay.

“Can I call someone?” he asks.

“Of course, honey,” Joyce assures him. “I’ll ask Will to go play at Mike’s today, so you can have some peace. I have to go to work soon, but feel free to anything in the house.”

Fuck, she’s so nice and Steve isn’t sure he deserves it. However, her words remind him of the others, who might have heard Will over the radio last night. How they might know. With fear he asks: “Who knows I’m here? Who knows what happened?”

“No one, except for us and Hopper,” Joyce assures him.

“But the radio?” Steve asks.

“Will used a private frequency to contact you. No one heard,” Joyce explains. “It’s okay. I’ll ask them not to tell.”

“And Jonathan?” Steve presses, needing to be sure that Jonathan won’t tell Nancy. They work together if he remembers right and she’s his girlfriend. He really doesn’t want Nancy to know.

“Jonathan knows not to say,” Joyce tells him, a grimness in her voice that has Steve remembering Lonnie.

He doesn’t want to prod as to how Jonathan would know, but he realizes the Byers might have more reasons than Steve’s saving their life to be worried about him. It aches that this family has to go through so much. And he feels a bit bad that Joyce is comparing, because his father never hit him before yesterday, he mostly just left.

However, he doesn’t say anything about that and just nods. He takes a bite of his breakfast and thanks Joyce again. She assures him once more that it’s fine, then goes to get ready for work. Steve listens to her going around the house, hears how she ushers Will out of the house as well, before he is blessedly alone.

He creeps into the living room and calls the Cunningham house. Mrs. Cunningham picks up: “This is the Cunningham household, to whom am I speaking?”

Steve freezes. He doesn’t know who’ll have heard about what happened at graduation and he doesn’t want Mrs. Cunningham to forbade her daughter from seeing him. He lilts his voice up slightly and says: “Hi, ma’am, I’m in Chrissy class. I’m Stttt-an? Stan. She helped me with English this year, I- I have to take the summer classes. I wanted to ask her something before I have to go today. Can I speak with her?”

Mrs. Cunningham tuts a little as Steve holds his breath, then she says: “This stays over the phone,” in a threatening manner, before calling Chrissy’s name.

There are some noises over the phone, before Chrissy’s confused voice asks: “Stan?”

“You actually know a Stan?” Steve asks.

“It’s you,” Chrissy smiles. “Great cover.” Then her voice dims again. “Are you okay? What happened? Should I come get you?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Steve says. “I’m staying at a friend’s house until my parents leave town again. Let him cool down for a bit. Just wanted to let you know I’m okay.”

“I’m glad,” Chrissy says, sounding a bit relieved. “They’re saying all sorts of horrible things about you. I was worried.”

“Don’t listen to them,” Steve assures her, with a dull pain in his chest. “It’s just stupid lies by rumor hungry people. It was a misunderstanding. We’re cool now. I do need to find a job. I’ll call you when I have one and you can come by. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds good,” Chrissy answers. She sounds a lot happier than she did earlier and Steve is glad for that. He hates when she’s sad. “Oh, my mom is glaring at me. I’m gonna have to hang up. Please call me when you can, okay?”

“Sure, will do,” Steve promises, before he hangs up.

He’s going to have to lie a lot more, to a lot more people and it fucking sucks. But he doesn’t want to deal with the alternative. And it’ll only be temporary, he promises himself, just until people forget what they used to say about him and move onto new rumors.

It’s not like he has many people, who want to come by his house. He still has to figure out what to do about the kids, but Dustin will be off to camp soon and the others have a summer break to spend with each other. He has dealt with Chrissy and he knows Lisa is off on a big vacation, because her parents want to spend as much time with her before she is off to college.

Maybe he can do this. Yeah, he can totally do this. Just find a job, get enough money that he can pretend that he just moved out of his parent’s instead of being kicked out. Find a girl, convince everyone he’s straight.

Easy peasy.

A/N:

I'm not gonna be able to make the next two upload moments, but i'll be back before you know it with the next chapter :D

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veil-over-miitopia · 1 year

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Breaking Down the Main Problems of Neksdor, And How I Would Go Around Fixing Them

Alright; It’s Monday evening. I have Touhou OST playing on one tab, and the Miitopia wiki on the other. Let’s rock.

NEKSDOR, the desert kingdom without a monarchy present and possessing a loose pun for a name. When compared to the more lively neighboring kingdom of Greenhorne, you can tell that the difference between them is like night and day, and, unfortunately, the list of contrasts are not stacking up in the favor of Neksdor-

Before we start with the rant, I wanna state that I get that second stages in Nintendo games usually tend to be much weaker than the first, and that they are almost always desert-themed, but here’s where the problems start to take root; these levels also bring in new mechanics and challenges in order to make them fun and engaging enough for the player, and can you name anything new that Neksdor brought to the table that helps it differentiate itself from Greenhorne? You’re right! Almost nothing!

And, besides, if it isn’t the lack of freshly baked goods, then it’s a whole other slew of issues that are weighing Neksdor’s potential down; the story is half-baked, the area map is bland even for a desert region (you know you’ve messed up when Genshin did better), the NPCs serve little to no purpose, and the inner workings of this supposed kingdom make absolutely no sense. All that, and I still haven’t touched upon the blatant bias against this evidently-Arab based kingdom’s residents. The general opinion the fandom has towards Neksdor is that it is the weakest of the four areas present within Disc 1 of the game, and I couldn’t help but agree.

So how would I, your everyday Nintendo fanbrat with way too much free time on her hands, would fare against a Megacorporation when it comes to writing a fictional desert kingdom? Would I somehow make it feel like the breath of fresh air it deserved to be? Or will I fall into the same orientalist shit-hole Nintendo found themselves in?

I guess there is only one way to find out!

Before we begin, I need to state right off the bat that I am not Egyptian, so, unfortunately, I will be very, very inaccurate on a lot of things. Due to my lack of knowledge on the matter, I will be accepting of any and all constructive criticisms heading my way.

To make this easier for both myself and the readers, I will be slicing this post into a handful of segments. That way, I can detail each individual issue present while also giving ya’ll the freedom to scroll down to the issue that has weighed on your mind as well and see how I would handle it.

Lastly, I would also appreciate it if you guys told me how you would handle the Kingdom of Neksdor if it was in your hands; you know what they say, the more the merrier!

Now, let us begin with the big one;

1. The Problem with its Inspiration

Starting off strong here, aren’t we?

First, we have to look at Greenhorne for a quick moment; it is evidently more European-themed, first off, but you cannot exactly pinpoint the exact country it is supposed to be based on, if any. This is what makes GH more mystical and available to the players; it is ambiguous enough that they are free to make up their own headcanons and inspirations, and even make an original kingdom for themselves. I, myself, have decided that Greenhorne was Greek in origin- not really 100% accurate, but I am happy with how it turned out.

In that case, then what about Neksdor? You see, it really doesn’t take a genius to see that its inspiration is Ancient Egypt- and a very, very stereotypical version of it for that matter. Right off the bat, the criticism starts to construct itself before our very eyes; the lack of ambiguity mixed with the linear and honestly terrible storyline (which I will get to later on) makes the region boring and not open enough for anything to be left to our imagination.

It is rigid, yet also hollow. There’s so much yet so little going on for it as a level, and that is not mentioning how what we are able to see constitutes as a spit on the face of those who notice the blatant orientalism going on. How are we going to ever fix this disaster from the get-go, I wonder?

The answer? Nuke it all. Give Neksdor a fresh start, much like how Greenhorne and Realm of the Fey were created out of nothingness.

Now, in order to recreate Neksdor from scratch, we have to be a little more original; create new customs for it, a more fleshed out ruling system, and even rehashing the environment- all while leaving just enough for the imagination of the player and without abandoning the Arab-esque inspiration for it (this is not, and I repeat, NOT, encouraging the idea of putting every SWANA/MENA country in a blender, mind you; the general idea is to get creative over here, not, ahem, racist). I will be mostly focusing on the environment here, for I will be discussing the other two issues later down the line.

First thing’s first, we can still use the idea of pyramids as a resting place for the dead without exactly referencing the ancient kingdom, as it was also custom in other areas like Ancient Mesopotamia AND Mesoamerica (the more you know). We’ll be keeping this area for now, but the feel of it is subject to change, as Pyramids were usually a place of eternal rest for the deceased royals of old and not some spooky treasure trove full of riches and secrets. This will give this final dungeon a more serious vibe (as if the DL stealing your party members didn’t already do the job), as not only are you saving the living, but you’re also in the company of the long-deceased who wish to end this nightmare once and for all.

We start off our quest to fix a broken level with the furthest side of the map, right next to the Realm of the Fey; you see, most Arab countries had a lot more flora back then, and, even then, forests are no stranger to the modern Arab world; they’re a lot more plentiful than what the media suggests. To state that every Arab country out there has little to no plant-life save for oases is flat-out ignorant. What I am suggesting here is that, instead of a repetition of the sandy route we took when we entered Neksdor, we should have another map that serves as a well-earned good-bye from the desert kingdom; one that is full of greenery and lush trees. Fitting for a border between this level and the next (much like the Arid Frontier in GH), no?

I’d also wager that even the Wetland Bay deserves a bit of polish, because, to me, it appears like some river delta full of minerals that are suitable for farms. With the existence of the caverns below, I’d also imply that this river was much larger and deeper back then before it dried up for whatever reason; leaving behind remnants of the sea life that once thrived there long ago and have been re-awoken from their eternal slumber by the Dark Lord.

These suggested changes would provide more lore in regards to the spirits that exist within Miitopia and more mysticism surrounding Neksdor. We had GH’s internal politics and RotF’s knowledge of the mystical arts, so Neksdor should be the area that provides the most history out of the three. Expanding the map to be on the same level as Greenhorne’s and Realm of the Fey’s was another reason behind these plans.

I am not sure on whether I should replace the hieroglyph enemies or not- mainly because they are tied to a boss redesign I have been considering for quite some time now. Perhaps they could be given a rename and a bigger role in the story tied to said history of Neksdor and Miitopia as a whole, but I am also more than open to suggestions for when it comes to these lil’ buggers.

One last detail that needs to be addressed is the existence of the Minotaur in the caverns. Call me crazy, but this brings the Greek invasion of Egypt to mind, and, honestly, this is quite the stroke of genius on the developers’ part, so I will give them that. Believe it or not, there are Greco-Roman ruins littered across several Arab countries, and my country, Jordan, is almost full of them. In that case, I’ll keep the Minotaur, as it also serves its purpose of expanding upon Neksdor’s history.

2. The NPCs

Ah, shit.

My main gripe with the Neksdor NPCs is a really simple one- an issue that really doesn’t need much explanation, and that is that the majority of them are portrayed as the negative counterparts to the more European-based Greenhornite NPCs. They’re either “darker contrasts”, or just flat-out jerks- even without having to compare them to their nicer counterparts.

Aside from the Dancing Guide (who has her own set of issues), Rambling Old Man and Worried Explorer, the comparisons are as clear as sunlight; the Shady Merchant Father is encouraging his daughter’s bad behavior while the Worried Mother is doing her best to teach her son about politeness, the prickly couple are in need of a divorce- especially when compared to the love-struck Lovey-Dovey Couple, and the Desert Celebrity...honestly, I’ll give her a pass- her sass shines through even in the letters she sends us. She and the worried mayor need to be besties, I swear.

So, this leaves us with five NPCs total; the Dancing Guide, the Shady Salespeople, and the Prickly Pair (prickly....prickly like cacti-? Oh my goodness).

I will begin with the shady merchants- yeah, I do love their father-daughter dynamic, and, if you do look closely, you’ll notice that the father’s rescue animation is that of the Kind personality, which adds in a whole new level of depth to his character. So, if I love these roles so much, then what’s my big problem with them?

You see, it’s not much an issue with them as their own characters, but more of an issue with most stories that feature fictional Arab-esque countries in general; from Aladdin to even Cookie Run’s Yogurca, you are bound to find tropes that coincide with one another, and Miitopia is no stranger to that, alas. One of the tropes that are prevalent in these kinds of stories is, you guessed it, the “shady snake oil merchant”, who only exists to showcase how dangerous this new and strange world is to our “valiant and heroic (and probably white)“ heroes- one where not even the CITIZENS can be trusted, oh woe is us! Yeah...let’s shuck that shit out of the window.

So, without abandoning their eccentricity, shady nature, and familial bond, I’ll instead turn them into magicians or even trickster ironworkers; them being magicians would reflect the royal "clerics” that served the Pharaoh back then and attempted to one-up the prophet Moses’ miracles, and ironworkers would justify the existence of a weapons shop in-universe and why the teammates would bring back bananas instead of what they asked for (they more or less decided to do a little trolling when delivering the goods to the inn).

Despite the trope now being lifted, morality-wise, they’re still not good people; if they’re magicians, then they would boast about their own magic, and they would not be above scamming you if they were ironworkers. These job suggestions are not the best replacements, I’ll have to admit, but they’ll do for now.

Now unto the Prickly Couple- frankly speaking, they just needed more time in the oven. They’ll still bicker like the old couple they are, yes, but maybe a little more depth was what they needed all along. Like, come on, we don’t need another couple in media who do nothing but hate one another without any reason for even staying in the first place- it is fucking exhausting, even without the looming issue of racial stereotypes above us.

To showcase a quick example of what I had in mind, instead of the wife bickering even when her husband’s face was stolen, she’d probably break down mid-argument (i.e her way of trying to “keep things under control”) and get quieter. When the hero speaks to her again, she’ll be silent- save for a soft apology escaping her.

Upon rescuing her husband, she’ll probably be mad- but this time it’s over his safety. He’d be pissed over her still screaming at first, but, as the conversation goes on, the two will calm down. Yes, they have their issues- but what kind of marriage that exists that doesn’t? That doesn’t mean they have to hate each other. After Neksdor is saved, the two will still bicker, but over the more mundane things- with the wife ending the argument with a swift “Your energy will end your life the same way it started our marriage” with a nostalgic smile on her face (I am aromantic and autistic af- so idk if this came off as lovey or not).

Finally, unto the Dancing Guide- again, all she needed was a little more time. After saving her face, we can have her stretch her back and gleefully state how energy-taxing dancing can be, as it is an art form first and foremost. In spite of the pain, she still dances in order to show newcomers the beauty of Neksdor’s rich culture and welcome them to this vast and marvelous kingdom. I’d also rework her clothes a little in order for her to be a little more accurate to the belly dancers of today, and maybe have her visit the travelers’ hub every now and then.

Yes, Nilou from Genshin is one of my favorite characters, how can you tell?

3. The Monarchy- or Lack Thereof

(TW: Punishment directed towards kids, overly-strict parenting, internalized homophobia/transphobia, implications of collectivism and abuse)

This section will be split into two smaller parts; one to fill in the literal power void in Neksdor, and the other existing to flesh out our lil’ asshat Prince that we’re all familiar with.

Man oh man, do I have a lot to say about this one. In stories like these, it isn’t uncommon to see Arab-coded royals to be portrayed as generally incompetent or even malicious, especially when compared to the more Western-based monarchy - often portrayed as the good guys and good judges of character -.

I know, art reflects life, and most monarchies tend not to do jack shit for their countries- but, without the threat of me getting arrested creeping up outta nowhere, it’s the aforementioned comparison that gets to me. Let us be honest here; monarchs in general just fucking suck, not just the middle eastern ones we see on TV and video games. Wanna know why we all celebrated the Queen’s death a while ago? Come on, take a fucking guess, hon.

So to make sure whatever royalty that exists there still has this air of whimsical parody that the GH royal family possessed while also not resorting to orientalist themes, we have to establish the only known member of the royal family sans the prince- the Queen of Neksdor.

Honestly, if we’re gonna go with the route of making these roles contrast with one another, I can see that the queen is actually more competent than the king. The first scene where we meet here, we witness her giving a bunch of guards (those who were supposed to accompany the prince) a tongue lashing- reminding them of the evil threat that is imminent, and that they should be lucky that her son arrived safe and sound.

Not all is fun and games, however- I love girlbosses as much as the person next to me, but what I love even more is character depth. You see, she is quite uptight and is doing her best to make sure her kingdom is well-prepared against the Dark Lord’s fiends, so she is quite strict towards everyone- including her own son. Think Yellow Diamond from SU.

Right off the bat, the similarities between the Queen of Neksdor and the King of Greenhorne become visible; they appear to want nothing but the best for their children, but their methods and attitudes cause nothing but harm for their only known families. The king was more passive and nonchalant towards his daughter’s conflicting emotions of sorrow, nostalgia and even rage, whilst the queen promises to ground her son for making himself out to be an incompetent fool in front of their neighbors AND for unleashing a powerful jinni upon their people. As we chase down the genie, we see that she has locked the prince inside his room until she could cool her jets.

Here, we start to diverge towards the prince’s characterization and his goals. We see that he loves the princess, yes, but he loves his mother moreso and sees her as a guardian figure who is able to rescue him from the Dark Lord. The combined desires to marry the princess and appeasing his mother weighed on him so much that he was willing to take any opportunity to achieve either - or both - of these goals even if said chance (i.e jackass genie) appeared too good to be true. Aside from these two traits, we weren’t given much else...aside from his entitlement and apparent delusion of grandiose, but that is beside the point.

So how are we going to place these two puzzle pieces together in order for us to get the clearer picture? This next section...is going to be a lot heavier than I expected, so if the aforementioned list of TWs are too much, please skip this part and move on to the next or even close this post’s tab. I am a Miitopia fan and aspiring writer, yes, but I also know that not everyone is a-ok with such heavy themes. Just be safe, my fellow simple travelers; your comfort is of higher priority than a simple theory post.

We first dissect the reason as to why he wants this marriage so badly- he might just be attracted to the princess, yes, but he also laments on how is he ever going to explain all this to his mother; implying that he is afraid of her wrath or just generally disappointing her. It is obvious that the prince is not above lying to anyone, whether it is towards us or his supposed-to-be in-laws, but to his mom? He appears to be way too scared to even think about that, as if she is able to see right through his usual deceits or is just afraid of making her sad.

How this ties to my suggested characterization of the queen is a lot more messed up than how I initially planned it to be. The core cause behind the prince’s obsession with marriage is that he is afraid of his mother. He loves her, but he’s also terrified of her- of disappointing her, of lowering his status in her eyes. He is an asshole towards everyone, but, as they say, the apple does not fall far from the tree- and while the queen may not be a liar, per se, her son may have picked up that trait under her care in order to dampen the blow of her anger.

He may only want the perfect wedding in his mother’s eyes, but...does he really want the princess? Is he in love with her as her own person? Or is he just enamored with the idea of a picture-perfect royal marriage?

Once darkness falls upon Neksdor and the queen is out guarding the pyramid with the guards, we’ll finally be able to enter the prince’s room within the royal palace. There, we see that the prince is in a sad, broken state on his bed; not wanting to talk to the traveler and even asking them if they’ve come here to wreck any more of his possessions. No matter how respond, he’s not gonna do much, for he believes he’s already caused enough trouble as is.

As we explore the room, we manage to find a stack of perfectly-sealed wedding invitations, a really old picture of the princess, an image of him and his mother, and...a bunch of old shoujo comics, with the main protagonist being highlighted and the word “me!!” written next to her as she is in a loving embrace with her own beloved prince; I’ll leave the implications of this to the viewer, because it is by selecting this item that we finally warrant an actual reaction from the prince.

As we unlock more dialogue options, he drops several sentences alluding to lingering self-esteem issues and questions about his identity; is he really ready to inherit the throne after his mother? Will he ever escape her eyes? Or will he see them in the masses of his own people? Just before we leave, he parts with us with one of the last keys needed to enter the pyramid and his own apology- on how badly he treated you and your last party -. He then states that he cannot bear his face to anyone- not to the royal family of Greenhorne, and not even to his mom. He wishes for you the best of luck on your adventure as you leave the room, and, once you look back, you see that he’s locked the doors yet again.

After saving the faces all over Neksdor, we are finally able to actually enter the pyramid. There, we meet the queen, who urges us that this is no place to fool around...right before a boss fight get activated, and we show her that we’re more than able to defeat the evil force threatening the kingdom.

Once we have proven ourselves to be hardened warriors capable of smiting the foe awaiting us at the top of the pyramid, she gives us the pass to go further- heck, she even accompanies us as an additional party member much like the fab fairies, with her abilities being those of the Princess (or Vampire, for beautiful foreshadowing) job.

As we venture deeper into the pyramid, the queen explains the relations Neksdor has with both its neighboring nations, and how her royal family is responsible not just for keeping political relations afloat and stable, but also making sure incidents like the Dark Lord’s attack don’t ever occur. She gives us the excuse that she’s only harsh to her prince so he could harden himself and learn that the world is a cruel place-

This is when the hero interrupts her. Yes, there are trials and tribulations awaiting her son, but it’s not all gloom and doom out there. She tries to state that it isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, either, but she’s then given this revelation on a silver platter:

If the world really is as horrible as she sees it, then why does she bother? Why the hell is she even trying in the first place? What’s stopping her from giving up?

If nothing but pain and horror awaits for him, then what’s going to help him push forwards? What is helping you, oh Queen of Neksdor?

The story of the prince and his mother not only is a glimpse at the issue of collectivism and family honor that, unfortunately, is still plaguing Arab homes to this day, but it could be a message to both kids and parents alike-

Kiddos, if you are in a restrictive, harmful and unfair environment, please do not be afraid to reach out and call for help- there are people who are more than willing to assist you, and the world is a kinder place than what we would assume.

Parents, even if you mean well, just note that actions speak louder than words, and the gate for an apology is closing with each passing day; your children will only remember how you’ve shattered their ambitions time and time again because you apparently hated them, and how nothing they wanted would ever appease you.

4. The Story is Half-Baked

Before I start, yes, the story present in GH is as tropey as it gets- it is whatever you get from a stock fairytale, that I admit, but, despite the corniness present, it also left us with a lot of open doors- questions that are only up to us to answer. As an example, why was there supposed to be a wedding between the two future monarchs of the two kingdoms? What exactly happened between the royal trio while we went out to get the calming fruit? Why was the CF so necessary to break up the fight?

With Neksdor, on the other hand, what we saw was what we got; a greedy genie and...that is really all. No open questions, no branched out storylines, no nothing. We’ve been dealt with what we got; nothing but sand on a plate and boiling vegetable oil in a wine glass. I am no Gordon Ramsay, mind you, but I think we all deserved a better meal than that.

So, combined with every one of the points above, I guess we can finally redirect our attention and ire towards the big boi himself, the Genie.

The genie is...missed potential. Not just for his characterization, but also the worldbuilding of Miitopia, the species that exist, his relationship with the other spirits that we know of, and how his powers actually work. This time, we will take some real-world inspiration and look at the most primordial form of genies we can get; the jinni.

When thinking about Jinni helping humans out, the story of Prophet Solomon (PBUH) - aka the King Solomon - comes to mind, as he had the ability to speak with animals and jinni, as well as being able to have demons and div under his control. Upon his death, he was still giving off the illusion of him standing up thanks to his staff keeping balance; an illusion that even tricked jinni back then - for they, too, are unaware of “Al-ghaib”/The Unseen -. Once his cane gave in thanks to a small creature, the truth of his death was finally visible to them.

So, where can we head with this knowledge? Perhaps the genie in-game had a sort of connection to the royal family of Neksdor back in the day, and perhaps attempted to deceive said royalty on occasion (not only reflecting the tale of Solomon and the Ifrit, but their general trickster natures as a whole). Ultimately, he might have been a jolly ol’ uncle figure to the ancient Neksdorian family, who also offered the people knowledge of the domain of magic.

I’d also wager that the genie possessed mastery of dark arts that are synonymous with the Dark Lord/Curse, as the cloud he resides on shares a similar color to that of the curse/Darker Lord. In the world of Miitopia, we see elemental, light, and dark magic utilized by a variety of jobs available to us, and the genie is no stranger to them, evidently, as he is able to teleport and use the powers of the wind to his aid in-canon. Jinni are so powerful it is stupid, so one can only imagine the genie at his full potential.

Dark powers coming from creatures who are normally invisible to the human eye...perhaps, the Dark Curse, in their human form, sought out a way to get rid of the face that they so despised- any way, even if it meant seeking out knowledge from the unknown.

Yes, it’s true; people can commune with demons and djinn, but not only is that considered a great form of sin, but even the methods of summoning one are outright blasphemous, as it all indicates that you have abandoned your faith in God and have resorted to disbelief. By ridding themselves of the face they hated so much by using otherworldly arts, they have barred themselves from the gates of Heaven, and were left a withering husk of the mii they once were.

Upon learning that the royal genie was suspected of creating a cursed soul and letting it run loose, he would be condemned by the Great Sage and be eternally trapped within this lamp- just like how he was summoned by using his name, so shall his name be the glue that binds him to this accursed object for all time.

Before we skip to the modern days, I have to mention one of the outing events that we are able to select, as it is crucial for setting up the genie’s goals and justifying his rage towards the kingdom. In the museum, the dialogue exchanged between two party members reveals to us that the artwork depicting the genie being sealed into his lamp was painted over 100 years ago, but the people “didn’t appreciate it at the time”.

The question of the Great Sage’s actual age being placed aside for now, 100 years is enough for the whole world to turn upside-down, and that’s not even thinking about the implication that it must have been even longer, considering how the painting wasn’t appreciated during the time period it was created in.

Imagine being trapped in this tiny artifact for who knows how long, only to be released over a CENTURY later by the descendant of the family who you considered your own- a descendant who doesn’t even know your name. Of course you would be mad- beyond livid, even; not only has history erased your existence in its entirety, but everyone you knew and loved were just...gone. Deader than the autumn leaves he was familiar with that are so full of melancholy.

Just by looking at this little twerp - a parody of the great monarchs he once served -, he knew that this kingdom was not worthy of all the achievements of their predecessors. He laughs - a pathetic attempt at blocking out the surrealism of all that is around him from making him howl from horror and sorrow -, and immediately talks the prince down; telling him that he and the rest of his pathetic kin have no idea of what’s coming for them, and that it is time for him to retrieve what is rightfully his...

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riggedtraps · 3 months

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Mandy Writes #1

trigger warning for: self harm, semi-graphic description, burning using a cigarette & a lighter, r slur, f slur, internalised homophobia & ableism, don't read this if you struggle with any of this i don't want anyone to be triggered

content warning: mandy smokes a cigarette then burns herself. third person pov (she/her). haven't edited this/re-read it.

The smoke curled around her lungs in an uncomfortably comfortable way, a mini tornado swirling in her chest as it wreaked havoc on her breathing. Ash weighed her down so much that, for a few moments, she believed she could sink right down through the Earth and burrow herself underground. Six feet, preferably.

She was scared. A long time ago, she'd done it before—but not with a cigarette. With a lighter.

She couldn't remember it, but she remembered that it must have been a warm sensation singing all her arm hairs off, and she remembered that it must have been good because she hadn't stopped for quite some time. It was curiousity that lured her in that time. Right now, she wanted the pain to quieten her mind.

Hands shaking, she held the cigarette beside her arm. It was terrifying but she wasn’t sure why. She'd burnt herself on hot glue before, then scraped it off—alongside a few layers of skin. That was easy. Fun, even. So why was this so hard?

She just had to take the leap.

It was a predictable yet delicious sting as she pressed the cigarette's ash to her arm. The shock of it caused her to jerk her hand back, the remainder of the ash hitting the dirt underneath her feet. Wiping off the muck from her arm, she could see a soft pink mark.

She wanted—needed—more.

Again, again. More, more. The pain soon receded and it was like a sort of experiment to her. How many burns could she resist? Too many. She would have gone farther, but the cigarette was burning close to her finger. Not brave enough to put it out on her pretty pink mark, she took a final, long drag, enjoying the lightheadedness that came with oxygen deprivation, and then stubbed the cig out under her chunky boots.

When she looked down again, there was no more pretty pink mark. Instead, there was an ugly, gutclenching blister filled with yellow pus.

Panic roared through her for a few moments. Her first burn and it was already infected. Was she stupid? Fucking retarded? She knew it was wrong to use that disgusting word on herself, but it was true. Fucking fag couldn't take a fucking fag, either.

Slowly, the worry subsided. It was done with now, there was nothing she could do. Telling someone was not an option. Seeing a doctor was not an option. She would have to see what'd happen, keep a close eye on the ugly mess she'd created.

She did it to herself.

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crazykuroneko · 1 year

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The Newsreader S2 Ep 5

a.k.a where I'm clutching my fist the whole time because Rob's family are racists to Noelene, and, let's be frank here, Dale got raped by a stranger

OMG THEY'RE STILL ACTING THEY'RE TOGETHER IN FRONT OF PEOPLE 😭

Helen has been thinking about going overseas I see

They used a lot of overhead zoomed in shots on objects at the start of The Walters school scenes

The score when Evelyn saw Helen and ran up the stairs is 🤌

LINDSEY IS KAY'S GODFATHER???! omg they really have no life beside work, don't they?

Oh Helen. She did say if something happens they have to tell the other, but she didn't say anything about Charlie 😔

Reminding your child you're also her landlord and not respecting her space is NOT the way to do it Geoff

Gerry wants to be the middle man when he hasn't known Helen/Dale has broken up and knew they're monogamous is kinda 😅

They really should have chosen the more private area

Tim is such a great guy, but Dale keeps only using him as a rebound or to scratch his itches. If I were him, I wouldn't want to see Dale anymore

We hate to say it, but Dale is basically just got raped. Like, he definitely looks like he doesn't remember anything from last night with that guy. That, on top of his existing trauma, heartbreak, and his self-worth being crushed knowing Helen has been going to Charlie is insane. oh baby

NOT ROB'S FAMILY BEING RACIST TO NOELENE. "we're okay eating chinese" SHE IS KOREAN! "is there MSG?" CHINESE PEOPLE ALSO HAVE TRADITIONAL FOOD YOU SINOPHOBIC

thank god Rob spoke up. but KONNICHIWA?? okay

yeah, her potential sister-in-law IS def racist.And expect her to be a stay-at-home mom like her. Noelene is definitely what Helen's running from. The thing is I think Dale and he mom would love her to keep pursuing her career. But it's very understandable for her to get scared about that and the children

"I intend to stay clean with or w/o my parents' support" GO KAY

God, the scene where Helen and Noelene hear Kay's words is so powerful. "A model daughter" is about three of them. And the directing. UGH beautiful

And the words about the parents and children. Parents who choose the children, or choose each other. Powerful

Good portrayal of an addict

Thank god Rob is asking Noelene. But his words are kinda... he needs to stand up for Noelene more in front of his family and others if he wants it to work out.

I think this episode is also a foil to Helen's mistake in Ep 1 when she didn't really care about the side effect airing the shooting location. Here Kay shows her that the news will affect her even when it's herself giving the story.

LET'S GO HELEN. this is insane. she's only doing this because Dale aka her voice of reason has tapped out. But it will save Kay (which The Walters don't deserve).

I remember my take away from watching S1 is that Helen/Dale has a power imbalance and they're codependent. And this episode really shows us the risk of that codependency. They both go off the rails now omg

#the newsreader #the newsreader spoilers #tw rape mention #i need to put it out there #because i see people keep saying why dale fumbled other people #why he snapped #idk being rapped internalized homophobia biphobia toxic masculinity your self-worth being crushed did that to you #i'll do the last ep now i think

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colby-jac-cheese · 5 months

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Growing up I didn't really know I was trans. I just knew i hated being dressed up in girls clothes. My little sisters, blessed little gremlins we were as kids, on some level understood that despite being peek girlhood themselves.

As children they joked about my name, and how it could be shortened to 'Carl'.

For some unfathomable reason little me HATED that name. Cringed and writhed every time they called me that as a tease.

Once i really understood that I was trans I thought back on that.

At first I assumed my hatred of that name was some kinda internal transphobia. But . . . I was very progressive as a kid. I grew up around lesbians grandmother's . . . My mom was bisexual. . . I had no ick or anything with other trans people. I didn't even feel bad when I realized I was trans.

But I has SUCH a strong reaction to that name. . . So obviously I must have had some level of fear about them finding out before I even knew myself, right?

Years later I have come to a more simple, but much more accurate realization.

I just

REALLY

Hate the name Carl.

#trans vibes #transgender #transmasc #my transition #colby rants #screaming into the void #tw transfobia #tw transphobia #tw transphobia mention #internalized transphobia #internalized homophobia #tw internalized homophobia

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distinctlywhumpthing · 2 years

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In League — Dead Ringer, part III

Masterlist

Summary: (Continued from part II) The foreshadowed and promised caning. August is punished by Keats and loses any progress he might have made in making a friend. Takes place two years before August meets Wyatt. Beta-read by @alittlewhump!

CW: Late-19th century, explicit language, indentured servitude, classism, degradation, manhandling, implied past noncon, burn mention, implied starvation, punishment (caning). Whumper pitting whumpees against each other and being a bully.

“It’s been a spell since I’ve seen you, Fionn,” Keats said, his back to August as he fingered Fionn’s bowtie. “I truly wondered if I’d gotten it right with this new one.” He circled Fionn, keeping an open hand pressed to his throat as he moved to stand behind him. A python holding its prey. “Isn’t he just perfect?” He leaned down, just shy of putting his chin on Fionn’s shoulder so their faces lined up as they regarded August.

Or, rather, as Keats did. Fionn started ahead unblinking, unseeing.

Their master must have been wise to his absence but rather than turn angry, he smirked and winked at August conspiratorially. “I think—” He pulled Fionn closer, forcing him to stand taller by the hand at his throat, and placed the end of the cane between Fionn’s feet. “He’s even better than the last.”

Fionn’s expression crumpled, something of a whimper escaping his lips. His hands at his sides were trembling fists.

Keats laughed, the movement shaking both of them for how close together they stood. His hand at the top of the cane between Fionn’s hips pulling him nearer still.

August averted his eyes, all too aware of Keats watching his every move, feasting on his reactions as encouragement.

“My, my, you have been missing me, haven’t you?” Keats continued, too loudly for it to be an honest exchange. All of this was just another game. “Poor wretched thing…”

How long had Fionn been up here alone? How long for him to be melting into the embrace as if it were salvation and not something wicked?

Some years ago, August had stumbled upon a tangle of limbs at Elmwood. A footman who’d always given him sour glances with one of the stablehands whom he wouldn’t have been able to pick out of the lot of them. He’d turned and run, abandoning whatever errand he’d been sent on and later refusing to return to complete it when he was discovered skulking in the servant’s hall. The footman had taken it on to make August’s life miserable, a display of influence and power, to dissuade him from becoming loose-lipped.

He didn’t realize that August was afraid to even admit to seeing the depravity, fearing any association with it. They’d all been warned about perversions at the workhouse. Had once watched a pair of boys whipped bloody on the racks before being dragged to prison for the crime.

With little to look forward to after the workhouse, the boys often occupied themselves ranking the various types of labour they might find themselves indentured to. Among the worst were mining for the stories of being buried alive; factory work that would cost fingers at a time; being shipped to America only to drown on the voyage; and digging sewers whilst knee-deep in shit.

It was a taunting game to assign these wretched fortunes, same as it was an indulgent fantasy to allow themselves to wonder at being chosen by a tradesman; a farmer who’d never had a son; or a shopkeeper in the city in need of an assistant. But after that day, they had been armed with the ultimate derision, born of their shock and fear: Handsomer boys could be bought by twisted men and damned to suffer Hell twofold.

So, August was more than relieved when Keats said, “None of that today, Fionn.” Though the promise in his admonishing tone made August’s stomach flip. Fionn shivered as he was released but remained standing at sharp attention. “I’m not sure if August has informed you, Fionn, but he made a mistake earlier today and we agreed that the natural course of punishment would be the cane—”

“Sir, I thought—” The slap surprised August, a flash of pain on his cheek that brought tears to his eyes.

“You will learn to hold your tongue and speak only when invited.”

He clenched his fists at his side.

“Where was I? We agreed the transgression was deserving of the cane. I’m sure you’ll agree, Fionn.”

“Yessir,” came his well-trained reply, face betraying no emotion.

August swallowed. He hadn’t imagined they’d formed any sort of understanding in such a short time, let alone some sort of alliance, but it still felt like something of a betrayal for Fionn to simply accept this course of events. Perhaps it was purely self-preservation, which August ought to imitate rather than resent.

Their master tapped the end of his cane on the floor. “On your knees now like a good boy.”

There was less shame in simply sinking to the floor. At the very least, he’d be able to hide his reddened face from—

Keats snapped his fingers and August found himself hanging by his bowtie and collar, the oaf holding him from behind. He scrambled to put his feet back under him and straighten, reflexively gasping in a breath as he did, though he wasn’t released.

“You are slow,” Keats observed, grabbing August’s chin in a bruising grip. He turned his head left and right, inspecting him with those beady eyes. “I hope you’ll wind up being worth all of this trouble.” He released August and stepped aside. “I didn’t tell you to move.”

Fionn was on his knees.

“What?” August should have expected the slap this time. Tears spilled down his cheeks but he did his best to ignore them. “He didn’t do anything. Sir, the…mistake was mine, the punishment should be as well.” Keats raised his hand and August cowered as much as he could with the lackey still gripping his collar.

Keats let his hand fall. He paced back and forth like he was having a constitutional through garden instead of threatening his kept boys, cane tapping along with his heels on the hardwood. “You were agreeable downstairs. You thanked me so graciously for sparing you from the cane.”

“Sir, please.” His voice notched higher, made thinner by the pressure on his throat. “I didn’t understand this to be what it meant. I never meant for—”

“You are astonishingly dull-witted.”

“Please, sir. I’ll gladly take the cane myself. He shouldn’t have to pay for my error.” Fionn hadn’t even spared him a momentary glance and August couldn’t blame him. There was little chance they’d find camaraderie after this.

“An admirable sentiment and certainly meaningful as we are learning that your shortcomings far outnumber your strengths.” August felt his cheeks burn, his blood boiling with hatred for this man who was so visibly sated by the suffering he could cause. “Perhaps next time you will employ more of your limited discernment to make a better choice.”

He seethed, holding tightly to his anger rather than dissolve into hot tears of defeat. He wanted to scream, to lunge at Keats and beat him with his own cane, but he couldn’t take a step – let alone hope to best two bigger men.

Keats was smirking. “Yes, best not to fight and make things worse for poor, old Fionn.” At that, Fionn let his face fall, just for a moment. Keats turned to see what August was observing but Fionn had already fixed his expression, returning to emptiness. “I was planning to be merciful. Rather than strikes to equal the worth of the item you lost me, just one for each hour that you’ve been here, succeeding only to disappoint.”

August couldn’t help but be relieved. It had to be less than ten, maybe fewer than six. Things really had gone downhill rapidly. Fionn had told him it was fixed, which explained how it all turned on him. He felt even guiltier. Fionn had tried to help him. Perhaps if August apologized enough, when this was over, explained that he truly had never intended to pass off the punishment and—

“Unfortunately, I have no way of telling the time…” Keats raised his hands in a theatrical shrug, cane swinging, hooked over one of his open palms. “We’ll simply have to take the whole day. Twenty-four hours.” August struggled against the hand restraining him, struggled to stop himself from swinging and kicking out. Keats grinned. “Perfectly reasonable, don’t you think, Fionn?”

“Yessir,” he whispered, no different than before but now he looked so small and frail kneeling there, Keats looming over him. August squeezed his fist tighter, fingernails biting into the burn on his palm, pain radiating up his wrist.

Keats raised the cane. August wondered how Fionn managed to stop himself cowering or flinching. His obedience was frightening. Their master swung the cane up. August held his breath—

And Keats let the cane fall. “Can you count as high as twenty-four? Or shall poor Fionn have to take responsibility for that as well?”

August gaped at him. Fucking—

“Well?”

“Yes, sir,” August grit out. “I can count to twenty-four.”

Keats raised his eyebrows. “I hope for Fionn’s sake this isn’t more of your unfounded arrogance.” He turned his attention back to Fionn. “Jacket and waistcoat.”

Fionn removed the layers until he wore only his white shirt, buttoned up to the same fucking bowtie that was being used as a collar on August. He painstakingly folded each item before placing it beside him. Keats didn’t wait for any further sign once he had straightened again.

The cane whistled through the air and came down with a crack on the center of Fionn’s back.

“One.” August had almost forgotten to say anything. “Two—”

Keats wound up for every blow, putting his whole weight behind it. By the fourth, Fionn seemed unable to kneel upright and had sunk onto his heels, starting to bow forward. He was breathing through his teeth, tears streaming down his face, but he hadn’t made a sound.

Halfway, Fionn was doubled over, an even easier target with his back horizontal. His spine and shoulder blades caught the worst for how much they protruded. Keats delivered the blows even faster now that he didn’t have to pay so much attention to the angle.

When Keats landed a blow across the back of Fionn’s neck, the boy finally cried out. His scream cut off with the next and then he was breathlessly whimpering. Keats paused to wipe his brow with a handkerchief and spared August a grin that made him want to be sick.

“—Twenty-four.”

The air rang without the sounds of the beating. Keats was breathing heavily, more so than Fionn who hadn’t made a sound for some minutes and remained, still as death, curled on the floor.

Keats wiped his brow again, letting his handkerchief fall in a flutter to the ground when he finished with it. “You’ll still have plenty of time to think, to make sure this really sinks in.” He stepped closer to August, too close, so that he could feel his breath on his face as he spoke. “I’m sure you’re grateful for my merciful hand to guide you in bettering yourself.”

It was all he could do not to laugh out loud and spit in his face, but clearly a spoken answer was expected of him, judging by the oaf shaking him. “Thank you, sir.” There was nothing to be done about the bitterness that was evident in his tone.

His master chose to ignore it, straightening his jacket as he headed for the door. He paused in its frame, turning to look at August again, though he didn’t address him. “Fionn, be glad that you’ve no need for such corrections.”

“Thank you, sir,” Fionn croaked obediently, using his hands to push himself up just enough to bow his head at Keats.

August’s lip curled in distaste and Keats grinned, winking at him. He was glad Fionn couldn’t see the judgement he so poorly contained even knowing Keats had only elicited the response to get a rise out of him.

He didn’t breathe any easier when he was shoved away from the lackey’s grip. Nor when he and Fionn were locked back in alone. Even as the seconds stretched into minutes since their footsteps had disappeared, he still stood there rigidly, fingers balled into fists, seeing red. He thought of all the freedoms he’d enjoyed at Elmwood. His own time to walk into the village or on the meandering paths through the wood. The small shelf of books in the servants’ hall they could borrow from. Even at the workhouse, there’d been scraps of newspapers, empty cupboards and deserted corridors to hide away in, and his best friend. August really had found himself in Hell on earth.

It was Fionn that finally snapped him out of it. He whimpered, trying to unfold himself to replace the rest of his uniform.

August rushed to help him.

“Please,” Fionn whispered, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Please, don’t.”

Of course not. August was the last person he’d want to help him. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, knowing it was no concession.

He retreated to the mattress Fionn had approved earlier, lying with his back turned to give the other boy what semblance of privacy he could. He stared ahead at the greying wood of the eaves and wondered how long it would take for him to match Fionn not only in looks but in spirit as well.

@whumpy-writings @writer-reader-24 @deluxewhump @no-whump-on-main @maracujatangerine @whumptakesthecake-deactivated20 @painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @briars7 @gala1981 @redwingedwhump @whumpflash @peachy-panic @hold-him-down @poeticagony @annablogsposts @fleur-alise @melancholy-in-the-morning

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artificialqueens · 1 year

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Rock Hudson’s Parties, Chapter 2 (Jadore/Biadore) - Imafuckinglibra

Summary: A fresh faced young man gets off a bus in New York to move in with an estranged college friend, now a broadway star. Old flames flare up again but are potentially derailed when an older man’s temptations threaten to come between them.

Fair Warning : There is actually smut in this one yay! Including a little illustration to go with it but tbh it's pretty sfw - no bits or anything. Brief mentions of death & that's about it me thinks.

A week. A whole week Danny had been in New York already and he still hadn’t adjusted. He still didn’t feel any more in control of his life than he did in Azusa.

“Dammit.” He winced when his razor nicked a bit of skin below his lip. He stared at it, watching where the tiny bubble of blood came up.

Right below where he felt Roy’s lips brush past before he walked off into the night. As if absolutely nothing had happened.

‘Nothing did happen. If you don’t think about him he doesn’t exist,’ he scolded himself. Repeating the same mantra he did every time he walked past Roy’s apartment building as if he was the boogeyman. ‘Focus.’

He drew his attention back to his reflection in the mirror. What he thought was his reflection at least.

He looked somewhat unrecognizable to himself. He couldn’t pinpoint what it was, but it reminded him of a saying his mother used to throw around.

‘I can't put my finger on it, but if I could - I’d have to wash my hands!’

Maybe it was just nerves, some lingering stress from being the new kid on the block at work that made him uneasy. The alienation he felt was palpable. Between you and me though, it was most likely the fact that it was Monday morning before the sun had even come up and his head was still buzzing from the ‘quick’ cocktail party he’d attended with Jinkx the previous night. Was it the previous night?

He swore they left the apartment on Saturday night, yet he didn’t remember coming home till just a few hours ago, when he fell into his bed at long last. Drowning happily in a flurry of warm blankets and Jinkx's limbs sprawled over him where she had passed out, too drunk and too lazy to go find her own bedroom.

He settled on the pang in his stomach and his throbbing head being the cause of the discomfort he felt, and made his way to the kitchen for relief.

Coffee, that’s what would fix him. Coffee and the absolutely glorious spread of greasy breakfast foods Jinkx had made - bacon, sausages, eggs - butter smothered on everything, even the poor pan-seared potatoes Jinkx placed next to him as she sat down finally.

“You know,” Jinkx lulled, twirling a loose strand of hair from Danny’s forehead between her fingers. Unraveling all the hard work he’d done to finesse his unruly hair flat despite him swatting at her hand, “Shangie might’ve been right the other night. You’d make a gorgeous girl. Absolutely adorable.”

“Yeah? You think?” Danny gulped. “What does that mean? Is it something I do or, or how I sit?”

He slurped down another gulp of orange juice, the only unbuttered item on the menu. Not that he’d put it past Jinkx to experiment with that type of thing.

Although she was a great cook, every now and then she’d slip something in that she whipped up all by herself without the help of ladies’ magazines or cookbooks.

He wasn’t much better though. Outside the usual toast or bowl of cereal he made himself, he never had gotten the hang of cooking.

Not for lack of trying. His first morning there he had tried earning his keep by assisting with breakfast, assuming Jinkx would be far too sloshed to be any good, but she had very quickly put him in his place. She reminded him that as the lady of the house, she’d be taking up the housework and meal preparation before going to rehearsals; all he had to do was bring home a (not fat but at least plump) paycheck.

And maybe screw her brains out when she so politely asked him of course, like a proper friend should.

“Of course not, dear. It’s perfectly natural to want to play in girls’ clothes once in a while, didn’t Fred Mertz even dress up for an episode of I Love Lucy about some club thing?”

“That was different.” He scrunched his top lip. “And I’ll have you know it was the Ricky Asks For a Raise episode and they ALL dressed up.”

She shook her head, unamused. “You watch too much television; it’s gonna rot your brain one of these days.”

“It’s gonna rot your mep mep mep,” Danny sarcastically mimicked her disapproval with his hand, making her laugh as he did most mornings.

“You suuuuuure you never dabbled? Never played in your mother’s makeup or put on her shoes? Not even a brassiere?” she kept teasing, "You've always had such a fondness for breasts, I assumed you'd have some complex, dear.”

“No. Never.” Danny laughed uncomfortably, blushing at the implication. “I told you my father would’ve, well. I mean, he was in both wars, you know those guys. They can’t help it, different generations.”

He didn’t really want to think of his father too much. He didn’t openly hate him or anything, he was just sort of scared of him. He’d have violent fits of rage if the coffee had been burnt, if Danny flunked a test or even if a dog barked too loud.

It’s difficult for a child to bond with a man like that, or any parent for that matter, always tip-toeing around any small confrontation where even praise could be taken negatively. Suspicious you were out to get him at every word.

His brothers weren’t like that though. They were kind and gentle souls, till enlistment day. When a naïve 9 year old Danny watched them all join the service, dutifully joining their father fighting in the Pacific.

Don’t get me wrong, he admired them, idolized them for their bravery and their ability to come back and still see the good in humanity. However, he envied them. He’d never dare say it out loud though, especially considering how one of them, Charlie, never made it back.

Still, he saw the way they got a pat on the shoulder from every neighbor when they came home, or the praise and attention he’d always longed for from their parents - he couldn’t help but feel jealous.

Fine. Maybe there were some issues there, but he’d deal with them his own way. ‘Eventually,’ he lied to himself, like we all do.

He’d gotten so lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t even noticed at first how Jinkx’s eyes had glazed over. As if she was still there, just perhaps not as present. Even so, she kept her chipper smile, taking a big bite of runny eggs on toast.

“You know? Uh, the way those military men are?” he repeated.

She snorted, “That I do.”

“Say here. How is your family? Folks doing alright?” he asked, trying to make polite conversation rather than openly intrude. “I can only imagine how excited your mother must be to have a daughter.”

“Yeah…”

“Must have been strange for you, I’m sure to, to…am I stepping on some toes?”

“Oh heavens no, I just haven’t talked about it in ages. I wasn’t ready yet.” She shook her ginger hair to lay perfectly against her shoulders, sat up straight with her hands folded in front of her, and smiled her best attempt at a pageant smile. “Go ahead, ask me again.”

Danny quickly swept his hair flat with his palms and mimicked her straight back demeanor, going at it again but this time as if he was asking a colleague about the weekend. “Okay. How is your family, dear?”

“I don’t know.” Her eyes flicked around aimlessly before back at him. Probably trying to avoid thinking too hard. “I haven’t spoken to them in over 4 years.”

Uh oh, she was curt.

“Oh. I just always assumed your mother would be understanding.”

He wasn’t quite sure if he should keep pressing the issue, but Jinkx was casually eating her breakfast with the same vigor and gleeful energy as she had before the conversation shifted, so he assumed she was okay with it. Besides, he’d known her long enough. At least, when he used to know her ‘before Jinkx,’ he’d known her well enough that she’d never hide anything from him.

Could it really be that maybe he missed something? Maybe she was struggling all those years he’d pushed her away and he never saw past himself to reach out. He assumed she’d be strong enough to handle anything without him, it never even occurred to him to stop and just ask. Just check in at least once.

“She was.”

Without missing a beat, she stood up to put the tin coffee pot on the stove and flick the burners on.

“I sent my parents a letter and a photograph, of me, obviously. You know. I explained everything. My mother called me first. She told me that she didn’t quite understand it yet but that she loved me regardless.”

Danny studied her face, on the edge of his seat as her eyes hinted at a tearful glimmer. Her face turned back to stone before he could even register it happening.

“Later that night my father called me. He’d shot her dead.”

Danny’s heart sank. He instinctively reached for his shirt buttons, fiddling with them, twisting them - anything he could do to keep himself distracted from processing the horror of it just yet.

She swallowed, then went on. “And, he was planning on shooting himself too because he couldn’t get to me. One of us had to go, he said, but they arrested him before he had the nerve to go through with it. Worthless coward. Coffee?”

“How-“ He knew she wouldn’t want sympathy or a show of weakness, at least the old Jinkx wouldn’t, so instead he followed her lead and swallowed his pity. “Absolutely, I’d love some.”

The room had stalled quiet after her revelation, except for the noise of water bubbling in the pot, the traffic outside the window gearing up as people left their home to start the day, and a gentle hum from the neighbor’s radio.

Danny watched Jinkx prepare another cup of coffee for each of them, wondering what was going through her head as she tapped her long beige claws rhythmically against the countertop. Like she was tapping herself a little beat.

He felt a very heavy knot of guilt in the pit of his stomach. Like he should’ve known better, not just about inquiring so much but about the way he abandoned her for so many years after college. Never even a letter or anything.

As usual, someone else had to make the move for him before he’d finally pull himself together. He knew which letter she was referring to; he’d gotten a similar one 2 and a half years after ‘she’ dropped out of college.

He didn’t recognize the name on the envelope at first, but he knew the handwriting anywhere, he’d spent enough time studying it while copying notes she’d taken in their shared classes.

He understood what her mother meant; he didn’t understand it either. He couldn’t process it for weeks, couldn’t decide what to do. He’d spend hours and hours after class just staring at her photo.

All he could remember thinking was, ‘Look at how happy she is.’

One day, he got brave enough to call her like she’d asked, and it was amazing. It was like he’d blinked and she’d blossomed, not just the noticeable things. Her laugh - even her energy seemed happier, vibrant and alive.

It didn’t feel like talking to his college roommate, it felt like a whole new person. Never putting the two of them together in his mind, maybe he didn’t want to, maybe he wanted to keep them separated just enough he wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences of his feelings.

Maybe he just wanted to enjoy having her and what she brought into his life as a ‘new’ friend. Including the butterflies you get seeing them laugh for the first time. The little smile you get thinking back on a joke they’d told you just knew would become a lifelong memory.

Even learning new details about her he never knew before - she liked white chocolates more than milk, she liked red wine more than white, she preferred coffee over tea but only on rehearsal days, she liked when your hand would caress the back of her neck but not her thigh.

Fine, yes. He may have explored more than just her mind after so many outings together, where they’d met in San Francisco one night. He couldn’t tell you how it happened the first time, and to be honest neither could I.

These things never have a beginning, it’s the way it goes when two friends finally get brave enough to acknowledge what they’ve both been feeling.

‘Besides,’ Danny had told himself. ‘I’ve done it with girlfriends in the past, she’s a girl and my friend. Why not? Would this really be that different?’

‘Oh god.’ He realized he had spiraled down a tangent. The knot in his stomach turning tighter as it hit him that never once during their letters, calls, dates, what have you - never once did he ask her about her parents.

They’d never discussed their families much before so it never hit him till now that she was unusually vague about them. He assumed that well, so was he during that time so what gave him the right to push her on the matter.

‘Dammit.’

“Say, I…I really am so sorry, I didn’t mean -“

“Oh no. I’m fine, mean it.” She dropped herself back into her seat and resumed eating some bacon. “See, people complain about how the poor dear family must weep for losing their son or daughter. Why must they suffer so having lost ONE family member? Nobody stops to think maybe the son or daughter has to grieve too, not just for themselves but, but for their family. Even the supportive ones.”

Danny found himself remembering a very different Jinkx, who’d made a very similarly grand speech to keep themselves from crying in school when they’d been caught cheating on a math test.

‘Why must we quarrel so over x = y or 2 + 2 doesn’t equal 3 when there are STILL children in this country starved. Not just for food, neigh, for nourishment of the mind, of the heart and soul. Not…algebra. After all, time goes by…so slowly…'

It made him happy thinking of those days, right when they’d met as college freshmen, and more importantly, before Jinkx dropped out to move away and change her life, leaving him behind. Back when it was just them, best friends daydreaming together in their own world.

“For what it’s worth,” he finally began, breaking the awkward sounds of a lonely knife and fork sliding over the plate. “I am very, very grateful I didn’t lose you.”

He stared up from his own plate to see Jinkx watching in shock at the sudden display of affection. The corners of her mouth twisting into a sincere smile, her brow furrowing as if she was holding back too many emotions to think about right now. And just as suddenly as you could say blink, she was back to herself.

“Thank you, dear. Now finish up; the bus won’t wait for you and if you miss another day what will they think?”

“You’re right.” He beamed, happy to see the color return to her cheeks.

He downed the last quick cup of coffee she made, despite the stinging burn it caused down his throat, and reached for the coat and hat combo that she’d purchased for him, so he’d look more professional. He foraged around some bills and newspaper clippings she’d left on the small desk by the door, trying to locate the briefcase he’d forgotten there on Friday.

“Does it bother you?”

“You kiddin’, not at all. I like reading your reviews between breaks. It gives me something to look forward to in meetings. Makes me feel like Lucy Ricardo if I’m honest with you.”

“Daniel,” she spoke seriously. Halting his movements with a firm grip on his wrist so he’d look at her while she stayed seated in the old, painted blue dining chair. “Does it bother you? Me?”

“Oh.” He finally caught on. “Why no. Why would it?”

“It’s just that since you’ve gotten here, every time we fuck...You seem…distant. I know we’re not exactly going steady or anything, but I’d like it if you were a little more attentive once in a while when you made love to me. Properly.”

“You mean…” Danny inhaled hard, fixing his tie.

He couldn’t particularly say why this bothered him so much, but suddenly this talk felt like something he shouldn’t be a part of. It terrified the shit out of him. Maybe he’d made a romantic gesture that he’d missed sooner.

“I mean, if you’re so unbothered, would you mind looking at me, or touching me, or kissing me? Not that I don’t enjoy getting straight to it. Maybe we could just…try it?“

“Oh.” He nodded, considering her sincere words. Not just thinking about them but really, really taking in what she was asking of him. Intimacy. A connection, anything. Not a proposal, just some comfort. It certainly wasn’t unreasonable; it was realistic.

She eventually dropped her head and her hand, clearly fed up with him taking so long to answer. “You’re right. Forget what I said, old friend.”

Shit. The last time Jinkx made an effort towards a deeper connection, he chickened out. He didn’t want to make the same mistake, he had to be more reasonable now.

“Dollface," he tried salvaging the situation, dropping to his knees in front of her so he could look at her face. “What time does your rehearsal end tonight, huh? I’ll try to pick you up and we’ll go out, make a night of it. Nice place to eat, maybe dance a little and then we can come home and, and I’ll - I’ll do whatever makes you happy? Okay?”

Jinkx’s frown began twitching back into a smile without her intending to, unable to keep a straight face at the big hazel eyes staring up at her with such empty promises and well intentions.

“Sure. I’ll call you at work.” She rolled her eyes. “Now go before you miss the bus.”

“Swell.” He jumped up, planting a big wet kiss on her forehead before he rushed out the front door and down the hall to the elevator.

He was sure she’d see through his façade, but he’d managed to pull it off and keep his cool under the pressure. Once he got on his bus though, he couldn’t help but drop his head in his hands as that knot of guilt dug itself deeper into his soul. His miserable, pathetic, black soul, he punished himself.

Thinking about her parents, which made him think about his own dead brother. Thinking about Jinkx and how she must’ve felt. Reaching out for the one thing we all want, a connection. It wasn’t all lies though—he did love Jinkx, but merely as a friend. Maybe. He couldn’t tell anymore.

Sure it’s swell having someone looking after you, cooking and cleaning for you, sucking your dick for you. Once or twice, they’d even come home drunk from the club together and he’d fucked her, which was enjoyable, make no mistake. Something had changed since their stolen moments together before moving to New York, and he couldn’t quite get his heart or his head to be as eager about it anymore.

He blamed Courtney and the Pink Flamingo Club. And Roy. And Morgan that…stupid emcee with the big muscles and even bigger breasts who’d walk around in slacks one night and a skirt the next. And Raja with their deep voice, short, fringed dresses and non-existent breasts that still somehow aroused him.

‘I’ll be damned, she's right, I do have a complex,” he groaned internally.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He heard a, strangely familiar, rough voice next to him.

“No. I’m scum, and I’m broke. I’m broke scum,” he whined, rubbing his eyes furiously with the back of his knuckles before he sat up. His mother would scold him for talking to strangers like this if she could but so be it, he deserved it.

“I’ve seen scummier,” Roy cackled from his chest next to him, clearly amused by his childishness. Wait, Roy?

“Roy!” he recognized, face draining white in a panic. “Oh...Roy. I- I-“ He began to stutter, his breathing picking up.

Roy darted his eyes around to see if the people around them had noticed, then quickly leaned in, pretending to lift his coat tail out from under him as he whispered, “Shh, it’s fine. Not here.”

Danny knew what he meant. Not in public, not this open. This wasn’t the time to regret curious questions in a bar or a kiss with a man you don’t even know past a first name.

He took Roy’s lead and turned it around, grabbing his hand with both of his for a vigorous, masculine shake. “Good t-to see you again, chum, how’s the mi- I mean how’s it going?”

He could tell despite the stern expression at first Roy was hiding a small smile behind it. The dimples in his cheeks noticeably deepening when their hands touched.

A touch Danny dropped as soon as possible, unsure how long was the appropriate time for acting natural and cool.

‘Shit. Has he been waiting for me? Is he mad? Should I say something?’

His panic began bubbling to the surface again. His hands reaching up to nervously fix his tie, his collar, fiddle with the buttons on his shirt - anything.

“I started a new job,” he blurted out, “at the bank.”

Roy nodded along with him, clearly unsure of where this was going at first too. “And you’ve been too busy to call or stop by the bar at the club or…walk down the street and wave at me?”

“Yeah.” He smiled his best ‘get out of jail’ grin. “Something like that.”

“Meaning, you and I are okay then?”

“Yes?” Danny swallowed. Unsure what he meant by ‘okay’ but he didn’t want to risk pushing the issue any further and explaining why he couldn’t wave to him or dare see him at the club.

His very presence haunting his sober brain with images of their inebriated kiss replaying in his mind over and over.

Roy coughed, maybe not so subtly, to get his attention back from his momentary daydreaming. Smoothing his thick black hair under his hat. “Now, it’s not the ‘bank’ getting you down, is it?”

Danny shook his head no.

“Then what’s got you so blue?”

“Girl troubles, roommate troubles. Both I suppose.”

Roy leaned back in his seat, nostrils flared, scraping some lint from his pants. “I see. I didn’t realize you and Jinkx were going steady.”

“No, we’re not. I don’t think we are. I mean, I - see, why do women have to be so damn complicated!” he huffed, crossing his arms like a rotten child. “You know a girl over eight years, she insists that all she wants is to stay your friend. Promises you nothing will come out of it and then bam!” He smacked his hands together. ”Suddenly she wants flowers and dinners and rings.” Hyperbole of course, but Roy didn’t know that.

“Sounds like you need a drink,” he tried sympathetically suggesting. Drumming his fingers on his knee while he waited for Danny to deny his request, but when neither could think of a good reason not to they settled it.

Roy stood up and pulled on the lever, asking the driver to stop the bus, directing Danny to come with him.

Danny was a bit hesitant about missing another day of work, but Roy reasoned with him that as long as he called them from the phone both outside the club and claimed he had a terrible cold, what could they do? It’s not like all of New York would come to a standstill because one bank teller had to miss a day’s work.

Besides, it was easy, he realized, mimicking Roy’s speech to his own employer, the same woeful little cough and clogged nose bit that a school boy would try with their mother.

“I thought you made costumes for movies?” Danny asked, confused when they finally made their way inside a depressing little dive bar tucked between two restaurants.

Roy hadn’t called a company or studio like he anticipated; he called the owner of the Pink Flamingo Club, pathetically promising to work every opening and closing shift for the rest of the week.

“That’s just Jinkx being facetious. Most of the time, I work behind the bar at the Pink Flamingo. A friend of mine who works in pictures calls me up to do jobs when something comes up that’s up my alley. Then I go back to the bar, so I can earn enough to last me till the next picture, rent a new closet to live in and sling drinks to keep from being broke. Or bored to death in some godforsaken office job.”

“Wow.” Danny gasped, amazed either way by how much more impressive his job description sounded than his own. As if every job didn’t sound more impressive than his own. “You’re like a superhero with a double life.”

Roy’s face completely broke at the seriousness in his compliment, making Danny click just how absurd what he said sounded. It was nice though, seeing him so happy, it made you feel at ease with the lightheartedness.

“I’m no Clark Kent, kid.” He kept cackling loudly even when the bartender slid their drinks over. “I just like to work while I can, you know. And be grateful for it.”

“I guess…” he sighed.

The shift in his attitude must’ve been a lot more noticeable than he believed as suddenly Roy’s tone softened. Guiding him to go sit in the back corner of the bar where they were hidden in the shadows, free to discuss all his woes with their 8am liquor.

First, he was a bit reluctant to share, so he asked Roy some questions about his own life, and where he came from. Roy told him about immigrating from Cuba, to which Danny had to bite his tongue to stop himself from asking like Desi.

However, Roy obviously either got that question regularly, or knew Danny well enough at that point, and acknowledged it before he could with a snippy, “Not like Desi. We were poor and Papi didn’t own half the fucking country…but I do like their rum.”

He talked about the few movies he’d worked on, talked about the actresses and actors he got to meet that made Danny swoon. He even mentioned how he'd been a veteran of the war, stationed in France during the invasion and then Australia - Danny made a note to ask him if he knew Courtney's elusive serviceman at a later date.

Eventually, as Danny grew more comfortable, it was more give than take. He began rattling off every single life event since his first day in kindergarten, when a little boy kicked sand onto his apple, but Roy listened and gave his input on everything. Praising his honesty, encouraging him to open up more.

He’d reached a boiling point he didn’t know he had and once he let it all out, he let it ALL out. For hours, he nursed the same 2 Irish coffees, too busy talking to even take a drink anyway. It was remarkable, the conversation flowing between them as freely and naturally as lifelong friends.

He told Roy about how he rushed home the day his father and brothers returned from war, how excited he was to finally tell them about everything they’d missed, how he wanted to hug them, kiss them - anything. Something he assumed Roy’s own loved ones must have been feeling.

Instead all they did that day was plan Charlie’s funeral. All the things he wanted to share about his budding adolescent firsts seemed so small and inconsequential as he watched his mother stoically browse through caskets.

“How did they find him?” Roy asked solemnly, his warm hand hovering over Danny’s knuckles hidden beneath the table, soothing him softly, carefully.

Danny took a sip from the dismal remains of his coffee, pulling a face at the bitter bland taste before he acknowledged the question. The fact that Roy wasn’t just listening but openly and patiently inquiring into what he was saying finally gave him the courage to say the words out loud.

“He managed to make it through 3 years of fighting in the Pacific, just to crash the truck he was driving back to the base. Isn’t that just like life sometimes?” He chuckled halfheartedly to keep his voice from breaking. He couldn’t help himself from clutching at the hand still holding his, desperate for a bit of human warmth. His eyes locking with Roy’s. “Just when you think you’re gonna be okay, something knocks you down.”

Maybe it was the poor ventilation in the bar, or the alcohol he’d sipped on without eating anything besides breakfast that day, but suddenly Danny felt his head go dizzy. Everything around him was almost standing still in a fog as he watched Roy’s lips.

Pondering how he got to this moment in his life, where the only thing he wanted was for him to kiss it all better.

“I’m very sorry for your loss.” Roy broke the silence, making Danny quickly fall back into his seat, frantically rubbing his face and smoothing out his hair as if he’d just woken up from a bad dream.

“What time is it?” He flailed around, looking for the watch he’d forgotten to put on this morning when he spotted a familiar blond man standing in front of the club at the bus stop.

“Shit!”

“What? What is it?” Roy tried asking.

“That’s Willam, shit, he’s a coworker. If he sees me here, he’ll think I’m…I’m -”

Roy’s eyes narrowed. “Think you’re what?”

“You know!” Danny exclaimed, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “He’ll think I’m…like you!”

“Like me, eh?” Roy retorted, sitting back in his seat with an unreadable expression, shooting back the last of his own drink before taking out a cigarette.

Danny was frozen; he didn’t know whether to run or hide. He didn’t want Willam to see him skipping out on work and report him, but without ever having to say the word out loud he knew what he meant, and he knew he couldn’t escape it this time.

“I thought that tur-” Roy started, taking a deep breath to calm himself. Looking around at the other four people in the bar. “I thought you were implying something different.”

“I - I never implied anything.”

“Yes you did and you know it.” He gritted his teeth as if he was holding something back. “I guess I was wrong about you though, huh? Or did you just get off on the idea of messing with me? Having a nice laugh at me giving you my number.”

“No.”

“Oh, so I wasn’t wrong then? You liked it?”

“No!”

They’d once again met at that pond, lost deep, deep in some repressed memories Danny held where their eyes met, predator and prey. Kicking himself for letting this happen again.

“Hold on." He approached the subject slowly, taking a deep breath. Palms defensibly held out by his hips. “Yes. I had a momentary lapse of judgment but I’m-I’m pretty sure, I’m not like, you know,” he swallowed, “that.”

Either it worked, or Roy had gotten too good at putting on a face as he seemed to return to his usual composed self. His expression, however, still felt as if he knew more than he was letting on, like he was 10 steps ahead in a game Danny didn’t even know how to play. “Okay.”

“Huh?”

“Okay,” he repeated, taking a long drag from his cigarette as he stood up, throwing some cash on the table. “If you say so. I’ll be at the club tonight though if you want to not talk about it some more.”

“I can’t, I’m taking Jinkx out…”

“Sure you are.” He patted Danny’s chest one last time and left. Leaving him there on his own, unsure of what to do.

Luckily, he managed to sneak home just in time to avoid being caught for his little day off escapades. But when he crossed the threshold, he suddenly had the urge to wash off something dirty from his soul and immediately hopped into the small shower.

Scrubbing for ages to try and cleanse something tainted from his hair, his skin, his very spirit maybe. The water turned cold by the time he realized how shriveled his fingers and toes had grown.

“Hey!” He heard Jinkx running into the living room, followed by shoes being kicked off, a coat thrown haphazardly onto something making it rustle, and then she reached his bedroom.

He’d been standing in front of the bed with his clothes all spread out, wondering what to wear but too lost in thoughts of what Roy had said. His spirit still dirty despite the raw skin.

“Well hell-o,” she teased by digging a finger into his brief’s waistband, not so subtly looking down at his ass.

“Hello to you too.” He feigned a sense of normalcy, reaching around to give her a quick cheek peck and a big fat hug. Her boundless enthusiasm was too much for him to contain, however, as she ran out before he could fully close his arms.

Heading towards her bedroom to change into an evening dress, he gathered, by the big closet door’s signature hinge squeak.

“Listen. I know you were so sweet to promise a date for tonight but I have a show business thing I have to do.”

‘Thank god.’

“You can come though! I need to meet the new director and go over some things with him, so I suggested we meet at the club.”

‘Shit!’

“Actually, I would just feel like I’m in your way, dollface. Why don’t you go alone?” he tried to argue, leaning against the doorway, forgetting he was still in his underwear.

“Nonsense! I’ll buy you a drink and you can talk to the band boys about that audition. It’ll be great. Once you get dressed. Hop to it.” She snapped her fingers.

“Great for who?” he mumbled, almost certain she heard it.

By the time they’d met up with the director at the club, Danny’s heart felt like it was going to fall out of his ass. It was beating violently, making him nauseous, knowing Roy would take this as a win.

He tried fighting Jinkx on the matter but she seemed so insistent he come along that he couldn’t say no.

Fine, he didn’t fight that hard. He barely fought at all; he wanted to see Roy. Despite what he said, he still wanted to see him. He couldn’t stop seeing him every time he closed his eyes and he needed the real thing.

“Thank god,” he praised under his breath when they walked in and Roy was nowhere to be seen. He could relax. Coming to terms with this being some joke the older man had tried playing on him meant soon enough he could breathe normally again.

The rest of the night went great. They chatted, danced a few numbers, had a great meal and again, more than a fair share of drinks.

He felt so at ease, so affirmed in his role as the straight-laced man of the house his parents had expected of him. Jinkx was in her element, flattering the director with grace and elegance, buttering him up with invitations to dinners at their apartment as she lazily played with the button on his sleeve all night.

He finally felt like things might be all right. Ish. As always though, when things were going a little too great, he came back from the bathroom to see who but Roy and that night’s singer, Trinity, at their table.

Roy positioned, coincidentally of course, in the seat next to his acting as if he hadn’t seen him in ages. Shaking his hand and dropping a phony, “Daniel right?”

A name he knew good and goddamn well from their discussions that day that only 2 people called him - Jinkx and his mother.

Trying to keep his composure, Danny politely nodded, shaking his hand before he sat back down. Unable to follow the rest of the conversation that took place about singers, back up dancers and even costuming.

His only contribution being when Trinity asked what he did and if he was also in show business. He didn’t hear her at first due to Roy’s leg pressing against his, causing a momentary brain lapse.

“Banker.” He coughed. “Well, bank - um bank teller.”

“Oh please.” Jinkx cackled, patting his hand. “That’s just temporary, he's the best singer around here, besides myself and Miss Bonet of course.”

“Is that so?” Trinity inquired, shooting Roy a brief glance.

“Y-“

“Of course!” His drunk roommate interrupted again, making Danny purse his lips into a forced smile. “He also plays three instruments AND writes his own songs. I keep telling him he should audition for the band here but he’s a little shy.”

“That’s enough, dear.” He tried to play it cool through his blushing, struggling to tell her to shut up without using so many words.

“Why didn’t you say so? I got this little thing her first gig here, I can get you one,” Roy nonchalantly commented from next to him.

‘Oh sure,’ he thought, but the rest of the table began encouraging him to go for it. Words of affirmation made it too embarrassing to reject the offer so he agreed and followed Roy out to the back of the stage where, allegedly, the club owner liked to work alone.

“Bunny?” Roy knocked on the big red door before he pushed it open, examining the empty office space. “Guess she’s not here.”

Even if he tried, Danny couldn’t tell you what came over him, he grabbed Roy by the perfectly starched collar and slammed him against a wall. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What?”

“You can get me a gig, really? And that leg thing, what's wrong with you?”

“What?” Roy asked, seeming genuinely taken aback. “I thought I was helping you? I thought we were friendly? What leg thing?”

“…oh.” Danny tried pulling away, suddenly feeling very silly, but his head was too clouded by the realization that he still had Roy pinned beneath him. Worse, that he had Roy pinned beneath him with a growing erection.

Roy had obviously noticed the bulge pressed against his thigh, as anyone would, and smirked with a slight glint in his eyes. “Not like me, huh?”

“It doesn’t mean anything.” He quickly let go, shooting to the other side of the small room like a frightened deer with his hands desperately covering his crotch.

“I’m sure it doesn’t,” Roy teased, scratching his chin awkwardly pretending to look away. “But, the offer still-uh, still stands. About Bunny, not the debauchery, or the number, as you’ve pointed out.”

“I wanted to call, um, but -” Danny tried defending but it felt pointless. He felt tired, unsure of what to do or say. Instead he just shook his head and buttoned his jacket back up to hide his embarrassment.

“I don’t understand you?” Roy crossed his arms, turning further away from him, this time with his whole body.

“What?”

“You asked me those things at the bar which, I’ll admit I took the wrong way. Clearly…” He tilted his head in Danny’s direction but kept his eyes on the wall. ”But you sat with me all day, I mean, I genuinely thought maybe you liked me.”

“Oh,” he repeated. He hadn’t considered that. Hadn’t taken Roy’s feelings into account, instead trying to think how he could still win this fight.

“Why are you hiding now though?”

“I’m not.” He was. Talking about your parents all day will have that effect on you, bringing that recognizable self-loathing back in a person. Even making him a little sheepish at that moment. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Fine. Better get back to the table then,” Roy exhaled, holding the door open for him.

He nodded, leaving Roy alone in the office.

As he made his way back to the table, defeated, he was intercepted by Jinkx going towards the bathroom, the two of them colliding into each other with a thud. Danny managed to grab hold of her by the shoulders and steady them both.

“Sorry, Doll, I didn't think to check where I was going.”

“I see that. Blood rushed somewhere else maybe?” she joked, eyeing between them where the bigger than usual bulge was still poking through.

‘Shit.’

“I guess it just…really likes running into you,” Danny quickly recovered, trying to save face before she asked too many questions.

Jinkx smiled a big grin and leaned into his ear with a husky tone, “Didn’t know you were such a romantic, why don’t I take care of that for you before we go back?”

Her whispers sent shivers up and down his back and straight to his groin, making his underwear painfully tight and his head painfully cluttered. How could he say no though? He needed to forget this day, he needed someone safe and familiar to hold onto till his world stopped spinning.

They rushed out the back door where he’d witnessed the spectacle with Courtney and a certain set of lovers, checking first this time that they were in fact alone.

They wasted no time, crashing into one another the second they established they were out of sight. Frantic kisses landing on exposed necks, lips, ears, wherever they could.

Danny’s hands cupping her face aggressively to pull her in for a passionate open-mouthed kiss. Hearing her moan, her cheeks and neck growing hot against his lips as he finally gave her the attention she’d asked for. Even if he knew it wasn’t for her, his mind could barely keep track of who it was picturing, Roy flashing into it every so often as he fought against his temptations.

“My my,” Jinkx moaned, dropping to her knees to wrestle his belt off. “Poor baby, you look like you’re fit to burst.”

“Maybe you’re just - aaah, that amazing,” he cried out when she took his thick cock into her mouth. Biting into his knuckles when the sensation overwhelmed him.

She didn’t seem to notice, or react if she did. Her red hair jostled wildly as she moved her head. Enveloping him fully, causing the thick vein on the side of his cock to pulse and his legs turn to jelly.

He held onto the wall behind them, bare palms flattened against it for support as his hips bucked wildly into her mouth. Groaning and cursing so loud and without care, he didn’t hear the door next to them open.

Barely enough for the light to poke through but enough that once he noticed, he caught Roy’s eyes watching them. His mouth opened as if he was about to say something before he saw them. An unreadable expression plastered across his sculpted face.

‘Dammit to hell,’ he cursed mentally, wishing Roy would be more animated like Jinkx with her heart on her sleeve. It’s tough enough trying to figure out what’s going on in your head let alone someone else’s.

Regardless, his own mind told him to stop, to immediately pull out and pretend nothing happened, maybe even confront Roy. Call him a bastard, a pervert, anything. He couldn’t.

He grabbed Jinkx and quickly spun her around, unable to contain himself any longer, spitting a good glob of saliva into his hand and onto his cock while she lifted her many skirt layers, reading his overzealous intentions all too well. Giggling like a lovesick schoolgirl, eager to please on prom night.

“Don’t bother being gentle,” she growled against the wall, arching her back to let him slide in and push her chest further into the bricks.

Trying to get on his tippy toes for easier access, he cursed her high heels vehemently before he grabbed onto her hips finally and dropped his forehead against the nape of her neck. Success! Sweet, sweet success.

Jinkx moaned loudly, unabashedly enjoying the moment. Distracting him briefly from the onlooker who caused this peep show to begin with.

His face tilted to the left where he could keep an eye on Roy, Jinkx pushed her hips back further with another loud wail, his own lips parting into a silent scream as her tight asshole stretched over his cock.

“That’s it. Like that,” she praised when his hips resumed their furious humping, hooking her fingers with his, unaware that while she was moaning out his name he was too busy saying silent prayers to Roy to even register.

His teeth gritted, eyes straining against the poor light so he could watch Roy for just a little longer. Studying the way his dark eyes sparkled in the softest bit of glow coming through. He’d pressed his lips into an acknowledging smile and started moving back towards the noise of the club when Danny shook his head no.

‘This is wrong.’

He knew it was. But his body craved the familiar, that human warmth again. His tipsy, confused mess of a mind however wanted the thrill of it.

He wanted Roy to see that his cock might’ve been inside Jinkx at that minute but not his mind. His mind was his to play with, to live in, not hers.

He couldn’t hold it any more, too filled with lust to care if he couldn’t last long enough, he furrowed his brows and tilted his head down as he grunted one last time. Slamming his hip bones flat against Jinkx’s round ass cheeks as he came.

Dropping his heels back down onto the ground with his twitching, limp dick sliding back out of her. His body felt as spent and tired as his soul, saying one last prayer to whoever would listen. Even if it was Roy or Jinkx. Anyone willing to hear.

“Sorry.” He whispered tentatively into her back, not just for what a mess he’d made between her legs but well, you know.

He didn’t have to say it, he didn’t have it in him yet.

“It’s okay, baby,” she reassured with a gentle lilt, taking the handkerchief he’d handed her to wipe them both clean. “You know I love it when you don’t hold back.” She turned to face him, adding, “So animalistic.”

He wondered if he should laugh at her dirty little comment but some shame still hung heavy on his shoulders. “Did you, um, should I?”

“No dear, you did good. You did very very goooood,” she praised seductively, planting a barrage of kisses on his face. Smothering him with the compliments he needed to soothe his ego.

Danny felt that pang of guilt again. Lavishing in the giddy affection he was receiving from her despite knowing that mere moments ago he pushed her aside, no pun intended, so he could focus on his fantasies again. Worried that if she ever found out, she’d think this was some sick joke he was playing on her.

When they went back inside, the director and Trinity were still chatting at the bar, presumably none the wiser of what had just occurred. No one knew, it seemed. Except Roy. Roy was sitting down in his chair with the most smug, shit eating grin plastered on his face as Danny sat down next to him.

“Where’s your little friend?” he asked, lighting two cigarettes between his teeth.

“She’s powdering her nose,” he responded, trying to avoid eye contact.

More lies. He was getting good at this, what would his mother say if she saw him?

‘When are you gonna man up and take responsibility?’

“Of course she is.” Roy leaned over to place one of the cigarettes he just lit into his mouth before the others returned. “Saw everything at Rock Hudson’s parties huh?”

“Yeah,” he winced, taking a big puff, still keeping his eyes straight ahead rather than acknowledging him.

“Yeah…”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Danny whimpered like a scared child, unexpectedly reaching his hand over, desperately gripping Roy’s hand before the others came back. Just a small act of comradery to assure him they were still okay.

“I…won’t.” Roy shifted uncomfortably in his seat briefly before snapping back to his laid back persona again. Patting Danny on the shoulder reassuringly, instructing him to follow suit. “Just act normal…”

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr art #fic inspired #jadore #biadore #adore delano #jinkx monsoon #bianca del rio #m/m au #queer au #trans character #1950s au #smut #angst #rock hudsons parties #imafuckinglibra #tw mentions of war and death #tw era-appropriate internalized homophobia

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acewithobsessions · 8 months

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Ughhhh how is it I write the darkest stories but get triggered by a kids movie

#ramblelele #tw for mentions of a bunch of stuff in the tags #I write about Thomas barrow ok that automatically includes suicide #internalized homophobia #child abuse #depression #and that's just one of my characters #and then I was watching a kids movie #and a cat accidentally got put in the washing machine #and I had to stop watching because ughhh I have problems with cats dying ok #most of the cats I had as a kid got hit in the road within a year #I'm trying to hold onto the one I have rn #I love her so much #if she goes too idk what I'll do #ok I'm sorry this turned into such a ramble

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transmascwillbyers · 2 years

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Most people's transition expectations vs. reality: Oh, I was hoping that going on T would be 100% perfect all the time, but it turns out I'm getting mood swings a lot more and I really hate doing weekly injections. Still worth it for the deeper voice, though!

My transition expectations vs. reality: Welp, I wanted to look like Will Byers, but I accidentally became Mike Wheeler instead. I don't look like him, nope. I just am him.

Oops.

#byler #because you're my target audience #will byers #mike wheeler #*sighs*#first the internalized homophobia and now the potential autism i really am just slowly turning into him istg /lh #hey to my fellow accidental mike kinnies #nice to see you here in hell lol #tw needle mention #anyways do i got to change my url now? gosh darn it

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schrijverr · 1 year

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I Found Myself a Cheerleader 22

Chapter 22 out of 28

In this chapter, Chrissy comes to an understanding about herself and Steve is there for her, while the others find a way out of the Upside Down for them. Though Nancy is attacked by Vecna on their way out.

On AO3.

Ships: steddie & buckingham

Warnings: general season 4 shenanigans, injury, internalized homophobia/biphobia mention, eating disorder mention

~~~~

Chapter 22: The Trailer Gate

They enter the Wheeler house, the now familiar living space covered in vines as the dust particles float around, adding to the ominous atmosphere. Steve is so grateful for Robin breaking the tension with: “Might be time to get a maid, Wheeler.”

Both Chrissy and Steve snort softly and make eye contact. A bit of understanding passes between them, the affection for Robin that they share, odd comments and all.

“Come on, I don’t want to stay longer than we have to,” Nancy says, ignoring Robin all together as she walks up the stairs.

Robin and Eddie automatically go to follow her, since that’s all they have done this entire time, but Steve doesn’t really feel up to climbing those stairs, so he drops on a vine-less kitchen chair and lets out a deep breath, only to look up and meet Chrissy’s eyes.

“You okay?” he asks her, not really having had the time to do that with everything that has been going on. He can see that something is bothering her.

Chrissy looks around to see if anyone is there, piano music coming softly from the headphones around her neck, which had luckily survived the dive by being stuffed into another plastic bag, which had been littering the boat. She softly asks: “How did you know you- uhm, that you liked boys?”

A rush of excitement goes through Steve at the question. Watching Chrissy interact with Robin these past few days has already made him suspect something, but he’s thrilled Chrissy trusts him enough to bring it up.

However, he doesn’t want to scare her away, so as casual as he can, he answers: “I mean, it wasn’t easy, but when I stopped wanting to be King Steve, I realized how much I had to force myself to do the things I was expected to do for girls, you know. They didn’t really do it for me. And then I started noticing how boys did give me the feelings the others would talk about when talking to girls, which kind of sucked, not gonna lie.”

“It sucked?” Chrissy asks, small frown coming on her usually bright and happy face.

“Not that it was bad,” Steve quickly assures her. “Just, you know, I really struggled with it. You know that. You and Robin have been worrying about me for months now. I got over it, I promise, all better now.”

That is partially a lie, but Chrissy doesn’t have to know that, especially when it gets a smile out of her. Besides, ever since his talk with Eddie, Steve has been feeling better about it again. Just getting his fears validated and being forgiven by the one he hurt really helped. That and having it confirmed how he is never going to fit in with Nancy coming onto him.

Beyond the smile, however, Chrissy stays quiet. It’s contemplative, as if she doesn’t dare speak the words she is trying to find. Gently Steve prompts: “Is there a reason you’re asking, Chris?”

Chrissy tenses slightly and Steve wants to reach out to her, but is unsure if it’s welcome. Then she reaches out to him first, gently sitting down on his lap, careful with his wounds as she sighs: “I’m a so confused, Stevie.”

“Want to tell me about it?” he asks her, trying to be as careful and kind as he can as he loops his hands around her waist and holds her close.

“I just- I have always liked boys, you know. I got all the fluttery happy feelings about them. Still do,” she tells him. “I- I just also get these feelings about this girl. And I’m almost sure that I like this girl, but I don’t want to be wrong, because I could just be mistaken, because I do still like boys and I’m afraid I’ll hurt her.”

Steve desperately wants to ask her if it’s Robin. He is so sure that it is Robin, but Chrissy isn’t mentioning a name and he isn’t going to push, especially not when she’s being so vulnerable with him. He can’t imagine if anyone had pushed him when he was still in his embarrassing crush on Jonathan phase.

So, instead he holds her closer, uncaring how it hurts and whispers: “It’s okay to figure yourself out and be confused about it. It’s scary and it’s hard. I know. You just gotta trust that you know your own feelings and try to figure out what you like. If you like boys and girls that’s fine.”

“Boys and girls?” Chrissy asks, looking up from where she’d hidden her face in the crook of his neck. “You can do that?”

“I mean, I don’t know,” Steve answers honestly, then cracks a small grin. “But we’re in an alternate dimension, so I’m pretty sure we can make up our own rules, don’t you think?”

“Thanks, Stevie,” she says, a warm smile coming on her face. After witnessing her ghostly self these past few weeks, he is just so glad to see her happy again. Both her and Max have visibly bettered ever since they put their music on and it’s such a relief.

“No problem,” he promises her. “I’m always here for you.”

Before Chrissy can say something, the echo of a voice wisps through the room and Steve perks up immediately, scanning for danger. Chrissy is also looking around.

“Did you hear that?” she asks, probably just in case she is hallucinating again.

“Yeah, I did,” Steve replies, still looking around as he gently guides her off his lap, getting out of the chair as well.

He lift his bat, preparing himself to swing at whatever is there as the two of them look around. Their backs are against each other, so nothing can sneak up on them. Steve wants to call out to the others to ensure they’re safe, but he doesn’t want to alert whatever is lurking in the shadows of the Wheeler house.

The voice speaks again, this time Steve recognizes it. He lets the bat drop and it thunks on the floor as he asks: “Dustin?”

“What?” Chrissy asks, looking at him like he is crazy.

Steve shushes her and gestures to her to listen as Dustin’s voice can be heard again. It’s hard to pinpoint where it’s coming from, but it is very clearly him. Chrissy’s eyes grow wide and she starts looking around too.

“Dustin. Dustin! Dustin!” Steve yells, trying to get his attention.

“Dustin!” Chrissy joins him in calling Dustin’s name, squatting to check under the table.

Behind him, he can hear the others coming down the stairs, but he ignores them in favor of calling out: “Dustin, can you head me? Dustin? Dus- Hello? Hel- Hello?”

“Maybe he really does have rabies,” he hears Robin and turns back to face her, shaking his head excitedly, worlds unable to come out.

“Steve, what are you doing?” Nancy hisses in her authoritative tone.

“We can hear him,” Chrissy tells the group with big excited eyes, backing Steve in his perceived delirium.

“He’s here,” Steve tries to explain, sounding a little breathless from the elation of hearing Dustin and the yelling he’s been doing. “He’s in the walls or something. Just listen. Dustin! Dustin. Can you here me?”

The others are still giving him odd looks, but since both Chrissy and Steve insist, they all go look for Dustin and keep an ear out for him until- There! Dustin talks again and Steve can see how all their eyes grow wide.

With that their yelling increases, trying to make contact with the others on the other side. At this point, Steve is getting a little sick of it and he mutters: “Alright, either this kid can’t hear us or he’s being a total douchebag.”

“Will found a way,” Nancy suddenly says, her voice giving away that she has connected a few dots and that it going to get them out of here.

“What?” Chrissy asks.

“He found a way to speak to Joyce through the lights,” Nancy explains.

“Lights?” Steve asks, before remembering the flashing. All the Christmas lights that had been strung up in the Byers house back then suddenly making a lot more sense.

She starts walking around the room, trying all the light switches of the lamps and the lights, but nothing seems to be happening much to her frustration. She huffs: “It’s not working.”

Suddenly Steve notices how the particles surrounding the lamp have changed. Instead of the dark dust that seems to be everywhere, it’s like a small fairy is sprinkling dust in the air. It’s a bit like Tinkerbell in Peter Pan. He points at it as he calls out: “Guys? You seeing this?”

They all turn to look and Nancy lights up: “Of course. The lights itself. Not the switch.” She walks over and reaches out to it, brushing her hands through the particles.

A part of Steve expects her hand to disappear, like it’s a small gate or some shit, but instead the particles just brighten.

With the confirmation that it’s safe, both Eddie and Robin immediately reach out for it as well. It reminds Steve a bit of a raccoon and a magpie and he has to work to not laugh at them, instead he reaches out too, surprised at the tingling sensation. Confused, he frowns: “It- it tickles?”

“It kind of feels good,” Robin adds.

And it is so Robin to say that, that Steve can’t help the grin, going to look at Chrissy to again share the fondness, only to find her staring at Robin. She blushes and looks away, meeting Steve’s eyes and her own widen. To reassure her, he just winks and makes a shhh gesture. He will keep her secrets.

Chrissy smiles back at him, before also touching the sparkles, gasping: “That feels weird.”

“Does anyone know Morse code?” Nancy asks, pulling her hand back. She has already moved on from the weirdness and is diving into problem solving. It’s one of the qualities that make her so nice to have on the team whenever something like this goes down.

“No,” Chrissy, Robin and Steve all mumble, having to disappoint Nancy with their lack of collective knowledge. Eddie, however, asks: “Wait, does SOS count?”

They all look at him and he shrinks back under their attention. Hesitance is in his voice as he goes on: “Is that- Is that good?” Steve kind of wants to kiss his stupidly handsome and helpful face right now.

“That’s perfect,” Nancy half laughs in that relieved manner of her, gesturing for Eddie to go ahead and signal.

The rest of them step back to give Eddie space and not mess it up as he rhythmically starts poking the lights. Steve wants to describe it as a thrusting manner, but he is really trying not to think about thrusting and Eddie in the same sentence while watching those mesmerizing hands move.

“It’s working,” Robin says giddily, catching Steve’s eye and making a judgmental face as if she knows what he is thinking. He flips her off and she sticks her tongue out.

It takes a few moments before the others are responding, but then they hear Dustin loud and clear say: “I got a plan. Go to Nancy’s room. Can you hear me?”

“They can hear you, stupid,” they hear Erica reply and Steve’s heart breaks a bit. Not Erica too! He had hoped to keep her out of this.

“How do you know that?” Dustin exclaims indignantly.

“Because I’m Erica,” Erica replies, before turning to them. “Flicker twice if you hear us.” Eddie flickers twice. “See,” she says smugly.

“Okay, okay,” Dustin gives in, then asks them: “Nancy’s room, did you get that?” Eddie flickers twice again.

The voices of the kids start moving away, so they go upstairs. Sitting has done a lot for Steve and he is feeling invigorated by hope and the knowledge that the kids are okay, so he now follows after them, curious to see what Dustin has come up with.

Now that there might be a plan, Steve is anxious to get out of here. The air is thick and he remembers how they suited up to go in the tunnels. Being here feels wrong. So, he urges: “Come on, come on,” under his breath.

Nancy takes the lead in setting up contact with Dustin. All of them hold their breath as the kids set up the toy they stole from Holly. They want this to work, they need this to work. The Upside Down is harrowing to be in and none of them want to stay for longer than they have to. Steve doesn't know how Will did this for a week.

The kids suggest the gate they came through, which they have called Watergate, because of course they did. That is such a Dustin thing to do, Steve thinks with a fond eyeroll. They manage to communicate that it’s guarded and Steve says: “Perfect, yes, yes,” because his kids are on this and if anyone can get them out, it’s them.

“We think we have a theory that can help with that,” Dustin calls back, not disappointing much to everyone’s relief. He continues: “We think Watergate isn’t the only gate. That there’s a gate at every murder site.”

“Does anyone understand what he’s talking about?” Nancy asks at that and Steve is glad she said it so they can all agree and he doesn’t have to feel stupid in private.

She draws a question mark to convey their collective confusion.

“Okay, seriously? How many times do I have to be right on the money, before you guys just trust me!” Dustin exclaims in that judgy way of his. He loves that kid, but god does he hate how he expects everyone to keep up with him when he is a genius.

Unable to help himself and comfortable in the knowledge Dustin can’t hear him, Steve says: “Jesus Christ, this kid’s got to get his ego in check.”

“It’s his tone, right?” Eddie says immediately, leaning forward so he can look at Steve. He looks like Steve right now, happy he can share it with Steve. It’s been a while since they talked shit about the kids together and it kind of feels like coming home.

“I know,” Steve grins back at him.

Nancy, however, is listening to Dustin and moving on. She asks Eddie: “Okay. So- so, how far is your trailer?”

“Seven miles,” Eddie answers, his face a little bit of a grimace as his eyes flick over to Steve. He probably can’t walk that far with the state he’s in.

“Nancy,” Robin starts, she has also given Steve a glance, but given the fact she isn’t going into a medical spiral, she has likely figured something out. “I know you house here is like weirdly, creepily frozen in time and shit, but haven’t you always had bikes?”

That could work. They all look at Nancy and Steve is mentally crossing his fingers, because biking seven miles sounds a lot less daunting than walking.

“I do,” she says. “Mike’s must be here and my old bike too. I think my parents also have a bike, so we should have four.”

“Four works,” Robin decides. “Steve can share with Eddie.”

“Hey!” Steve immediately protests. “Why do I have to share? One of you girls is easier to take on the back. Eddie’s heavy.”

“Rude,” Eddie pouts, but it’s luckily playful.

“Because you’re going to be on the back, dingus,” Robin answers.

“Why?” Steve frowns. The thought of sharing a bike with Eddie makes him a little hot under the collar and he doesn’t think he can be able to hide that with how exhausted and in pain he is. He doesn’t want Eddie to find out.

However, Robin has already made up her mind and logic is on her side, because she says: “You’re injured. It’ll be better for you to not exert yourself too much.”

Steve frowns, trying to come up with something. His eyes fall on Eddie, who is smartly been keeping to the background. Feeling a little catty, Steve narrows his eyes and asks: “Can you bike well?”

“I didn’t have a car for years,” Eddie points out with a crooked grin, then jokingly promises: “I won’t let you fall, princess,” and Steve hates how he that will play in his mind as he rolls his eyes and gives in.

Chrissy is the smallest out of them, so she gets Mike’s bike, while Nancy takes her own and Robin that of Karen. That means Eddie and Steve get to share Ted Wheeler’s bike. If the man knew, he’d probably have a fit, Steve thinks.

Robin takes the nail bat and puts it in the little basket on the front of Karen’s bike. Steve snorts at the comical sight while Eddie grabs Ted’s bike.

The bike has a baggage rack on the back that Steve can sit on. Eddie swings one leg over the bike and steadies it between his thighs as he turns back to Steve and asks: “Think you can get on okay, big boy?”

“Yeah, I’ll manage,” Steve replies, ignoring how his voice is kind of a squeak.

He carefully gets on the back and Eddie takes off, which nearly sends Steve flying off the back of the bike. Without thinking he grabs Eddie’s waist and yells: “What the hell, man. You said you were good at this.”

“I am, I am,” Eddie laughs as they zigzag before steadying.

Steve lets out the breath he had been holding, then realizes he’s been clinging to Eddie and burying his face in his back as he cuddles up. Embarrassed he clears his throat and starts to let go. However, he is stopped by a hand on his arm.

Cautiously, he makes a questioning noise and melts a little when Eddie explains: “So I’m sure you’re still there and okay. Can’t have you be yanked of this bike on my watch, alright, Stevie?”

“Yeah, alright,” Steve agrees and holds on tight again, ignoring Robin’s face as she bikes past them to ride next to Chrissy.

The ride to the trailer park is thankfully uneventful. Steve doesn’t think he could have taken it, if it was anything but, honestly. He needed the rest. His sides are still aching and his back burns. He knows they’ll need to take a look at his injuries when they get out of here, before they get infected or something.

But, Eddie is warm under his arms, his chest expanding with every breath and his heartbeat strong under Steve’s ear, which is rested against his back. It’s nice. Steve can close his eyes and pretend they aren’t in the Upside Down for a moment, that it’s all okay.

He’s drawn out of his make believe by Eddie calling out: “Right here,” as he points to his trailer where Patrick died only a few days ago.

They all get of their bikes, Eddie slowing gently so Steve can get off, while in front of them Robin practically throws the bike to the floor as she grins: “That’s gotta be a Guiness World Record. Most miles traveled interdimensionally.”

Chrissy giggles as Steve snorts, with it inhaling those dust particles. He coughs a little as they walk to the house and complains: “Just inhaled a bunch of that crap.” He coughs again. “It’s stuck in my throat.”

Fuck, he just wants to get out of this place. Right now, preferably, he thinks, as he grabs the nail bat from the ground where it fell out of the basket when Robin dropped her bike.

He is so preoccupied with the thought that he doesn’t realize that this will be the first time he’s ever inside Eddie’s trailer until he’s looking at a wall of mugs and can’t help but think that he never heard Eddie about those.

Then he’s again distracted by the red glow on the ceiling and Chrissy who exclaims: “Goddamn,” before looking shocked at her own vulgarity.

“This is where Patrick died, like right where he died,” Eddie says with a tight voice and Steve can’t imagine how he must be feeling right now, being back here. Both finally the comfort of his home yet also at the place where he witnessed the most horrible thing to date.

Steve almost can’t to stand to look at Eddie, to know what his face looks right now. But he looks anyway and he has to fight himself not to pull him into a hug to keep him away from all the horrors in the world.

He’s prevented from doing something stupid by Robin. She pulls him away with her comment, which is: “I think there’s something in there.”

Indeed the membrane on the portal is moving as if something is pushing at it. It looks small, almost tendril like and all of them watch with apprehension. Eddie sums it up best: “What the hell is that?”

It suddenly breaks open, red liquid splattering on the ground in front of them as they collectively startle back with loud yells.

Steve raises his nail bat and is already pushing to the front of the group when the attack on the portal stops. It’s quiet. Too quiet. So, he slowly creeps forwards, hoping the others are smart enough to stay back, so they’re not all getting yanked through again like Steve had been at the gate in Lover’s Lake.

But when he looks up, there is no monster waiting for them. No bats keeping guard. Instead there is the trailer living room in the universe he knows so well and in it are his favorite kids. Dustin in the middle holding an oar as he grins widely at Steve.

“No way,” Steve breathes, giddy relief filling his bones. They’re on the home stretch now. They’re almost out of here.

They’re all waving like dorks and the two groups greet each other with Hi’s.

“Holy shit, this is trippy,” Robin comments, sounding exhausted and like she means it with her whole heart and Steve can’t agree more.

“Bada-bada-boom!” Dustin yells in triumph, because he will always be a nerd and a looser and Steve loves him so so much. Then he says: “I got an idea to get you out of there, but I’m not totally sure it’ll work, so ideas are welcome as a back up. But it’s probably fine.”

Looking up, Steve does have an idea, but not for everyone. Still, each person less in the Upside Down is a win in his book, so he calls back: “I might have an idea to get Chris out, but I’m not sure either.”

Everyone except Chrissy looks at him in confusion. Chrissy, however, looks a little surprised and asks: “Are you sure that’s smart? You’re injured.”

“Not that injured,” Steve semi-lies. “And we got to keep moving, who knows what felt that portal break open. If Dustin’s plan falls through, we can at least get you out.”

“Okay what are you two talking about?” Eddie asks, voicing what the others are thinking as Robin and Nancy both nod.

“I can boost Chrissy through,” Steve tells them.

“Are you insane?” Nancy asks. “If you do that, she’s going to break her neck and that’s if you get her high enough to even get through.”

“Not a normal boost,” Steve rolls his eyes, admittedly a little bitchy. He’s kind of done with Nancy always assuming he hasn’t thought things through.

“We’ve been doing this cheer stunt,” Chrissy explains. “I’ll go feet first. It’ll be totally safe. And we know how to land on this side again if we realize it isn’t going to work.”

Nancy obviously isn’t convinced yet, but she gestures for them to go ahead. Robin also isn’t sure and she frowns: “Don’t you need a back spotter? I mean, you told me about practice and you always mentioned a back spotter. Are you sure it’s safe?”

“You know about cheer?” Chrissy asks, sounding delightfully surprised.

Robin blushes and mumbles: “I mean, with dingus here, it’s kind of hard not to,” like she doesn’t always actively listen to both of them when they’re talking and asked Steve to explain.

“You can catch her if she falls,” Steve smirks at her earning a slap, before he assures her: “We trained this stunt without back spotter. It’s fine.”

“That doesn’t make me more confident, Steve,” Robin counters.

“Just trust us,” Steve says, before getting in position and nodding to Chrissy that he is ready.

At this point, all his attention is on Chrissy. He is not going to let her fall. So everything fades to the background, Nancy, Robin, Eddie, the kids, his pain. None of it exists. He just breathes in, breathes out and catches Chrissy.

She’s on his hands in a handstand and he has bend his arms, so her feet don’t hit the ceiling. Behind him he can hear Eddie cheer and Robin let out a surprised laugh. Chrissy looks down at him and he smiles right back up at her.

Chrissy feels very light and his heart breaks a little for her, vowing to make sure she eats something once they’re finally on the other side again. But first they have to focus on getting her out of this place.

Carefully he walks until he is properly under the portal, before stretching his arms. Chrissy’s feet go through okay from his end, but to be sure, he asks: “That feel good?” She nods. “Ready for a boost?” She nods again. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Alrighty,” he replies, before bending his knees and arms slightly and counting it out, before throwing her in the air.

The view is very odd. He is used to her disappearing to the side, but instead it looks like she’s falling off a cliff as he watches her go up and then down. He keeps being ready to catch her again, but she lands on her feet at the other side and soon is grinning back up at them.

“Holy shit,” Eddie exclaims, clapping Steve on the back.

“That was insane,” Robin yells jumping up and down in her excitement.

Right at that point Lucas and Max return with the mattress and the group still in the Upside Down can see the two pause, before Lucas asks: “How the hell did you get here?”

“Steve threw me,” Chrissy answers, which probably doesn’t answer much by the way the two look up at Steve then back at Chrissy.

“Okay, uhm, sure,” Max says, before shooing her out of the way, so they can put the mattress down on the floor.

It’s stained and Steve can feel Eddie shrinking in on himself as he says: “Those stains are, uhm- I don’t know what those stains are.”

The stains are not so bad. It looks a little like the mattress his parents threw away when he was a kid. And he still remembers how fucking expensive mattresses are when he moved out. His own current mattress is also kind of stained like that, but he couldn't afford a new one. Eddie probably can’t either.

In the hope to make Eddie feel a little better, he bumps him and sends him a small smile. He’s glad when Eddie gives a smile back even if he pulls his hair in front of his face.

Their moment is broken by Dustin and Erica coming back carrying something. Steve is trying to figure it out as they question Chrissy about how it felt to go through. He isn’t listening to what they’re staying, but figures out they’re holding covers tied together to form a rope. Rope seems smart.

Dustin seems satisfied and pretty confident as he hands Lucas on end of the rope and says: “Toss it through.”

“Are you sure?” Lucas asks, looking at the ceiling then back at Dustin.

Instead of giving a normal reply, Dustin sighs as he makes a judgy expression that sends a stab of fondness through Steve’s heart.

Lucas smartly holds his hands up in a placating manner, before throwing his end up towards them, so they have to step aside.

The group watches it unfurl until it’s hanging in midair. Dustin tugs on it and it seems to hold just fine as he give them a thumbs up and says: “There we go. Abracadabra.”

Steve is amazed at how Dustin even thought of that and he can feel himself being able to finally breathe with the way out of there now ready to go. Robin however seems less sure of it all as she tugs on it and says: “Guess I’ll be the guinea pig.”

She starts climbing and Steve has to look away for a second to not burst out laughing. He loves Robin to bits, but she is one of the least athletic people he knows. Still, he looks back when he gets himself under control wanting to be sure she makes it through safely.

He watches her fall through the portal with all her usual grace and exclaim with relief when she’s on the other side. She gratefully takes Chrissy’s hand and lets herself be pulled off the mattress, stumbling into Chrissy’s arms and giving her a big hug. Steve has to respect her game.

But with Robin safely through that means the next person can go. It’s obvious to Steve that he is staying until everyone is out and he’d prefer it if they could move quickly. He still remembers how fast those bats were on him on the way in. He doesn’t fancy getting attacked on the way out.

First Steve looks at Nancy, because he’s been taught to let the girls go first, but she looks right back and he is reminded that she is the warrior where he is the protector. She’s also not just leaving anyone behind.

So he turns to Eddie, urging him to go with his eyes. Eddie has already seen enough of this Upside Down nonsense. He’s a newbie here. He shouldn’t be the last on out.

“Alright, guess I’ll go,” he shrugs, though not before glancing between Steve and Nancy and quirking a brow at Steve that he doesn’t quite get.

Before he can think about it too much, Eddie is climbing and Steve can feel his face flush as he watches veined hands grip the sheets, before strong legs slide past his vision. And when he looks to check if Eddie also goes through okay, he can’t help but watch his ass.

He watches Eddie crash to the ground and he winces in sympathy, but Eddie is practically made out of rubber and he bounces back with a grin and the exclamation: “That was fun. Shit.”

Steve chuckles fondly for a second, watching Dustin help Eddie up, before turning to Nancy again. She might have been right last round, but Steve isn’t going to leave her behind. He has the weapon, he’s staying. First one in, last one out.

“See you on the other side,” he tells her as he gestures to the rope. Nancy narrows her eyes slightly, so he lets the bat swing down from his shoulder and smiles at her with oblivion on her face, as if he doesn’t notice.

At that Nancy softens slightly and she agrees: “See you on the other side,” swaying close in that weird, creating moments way she’s been doing, before pulling back and grabbing the rope.

However, instead of starting to climb, she freezes. Steve sighs and says: “I swear I’m fine, just go, Nance.”

Still no reaction.

“Nance?” Steve asks again, dropping the bat next to him and shaking her slightly and getting nothing back from her.

Worry now truly starts to set in and he turns her around. As he fears instead of her normal big, expressive eyes, she now has that same blank look that Max has at the cemetery and Chrissy at the Creel house.

Despite knowing it won’t work, Steve shakes her again, shouting her name. Above them he can hear the other start to scramble around to get her music and all Steve can do is yell at her and keep her feet on the ground for as long as he can.

Fuck, why didn’t she tell them she was cursed? They have a fucking cure. They could’ve prevented this! Why is she so stubborn?

There is all sorts of chaos going around, but Steve kind of feels detached from it all. He’s not in his body, just looking from above.

He and Nancy have a weird relationship. He thought he loved her, she broke his heart and ruined his self esteem, he hates her a bit and he will never not be there for her. She’s been acting weird and making him a little uncomfortable, but the thought of her not being by his side through this all is too much to bear.

She’s such a brilliant person and while emotions are not her forte, he knows she is going to make it so far. If she’d just live through this right now.

No solutions are coming from above and Steve tries to remember if he knows what kind of song she might like and if he knows the lyrics. But the two haven’t really spoken in over a year at this point and all he does is pull blanks.

After what feels like an eternity, but can’t be more than a few minutes, Nancy suddenly heaves a deep breath and collapses forwards.

Steve frantically checks her over, only mildly relieved by the lack of cracking noise to indicate her bones aren’t broken. A part of him, however, can’t help but fear she’s silently killed and he has her corpse in his arms.

However, she’s breathing just fine – maybe a bit too fast to be fine, but still – and clawing at his arms as if she needs something to hold her up.

“Oh thank fuck,” Steve hears himself exclaim as he pulls her close, her small frame fitting easily in his arms like it used to.

Right now the relief is overshadowing all else and he giddily calls up: “She’s alive. She’s okay.”

There are cheers and other noises of relief from above him, but Steve ignores it in favor of calming Nancy back down again. After all his nightmares, he’s gotten comfortable with breathing exercises to bring his heart rate down and Steve feels like Nancy can use that.

It takes them a little too long for Steve to be comfortable in the Upside Down to calm Nancy down. However, the lack of monsters that has come knocking down the door soothes him slightly and he knows rushing her won’t help them.

When she finally feels up to it, he helps her for as long as he can, supporting her as she climbs up the rope with shaking hands.

Once back on the ground she is swarmed by the others, who all check on her and hug her to make sure she truly is okay. Steve watches with a relieved smile. She needs the support right now, that can’t have been pleasant.

He is also glad that he has gotten everyone out. It’s just him now, like he planned. He never expected them to even follow him down here, he wasn’t going to let them die for it. And right now he has succeeded.

But he still has to get out himself. The others lead Nancy away from the mattress and Steve is kind of glad they’re all distracted, so they’re not watching him too closely.

His injuries don’t hurt as much now as they did when he just got them, but they’re not pleasant either and he can feel how his skin pulls at them as he stretches his hands up to climb the rope at a snail’s pace.

At this point, he’d rather be safe than sorry, so he doesn’t strain and moves small distances. The flip itself feels a little scary, but Steve has always been an active kid. Gravity shifting around him is one of the oddest feelings he’s ever felt, but he’s careful and thus luckily doesn’t go slamming into the ground below.

Instead he gracefully lets himself drop, only to immediately fall over with a low groan when the shock wave the landing sends through his body makes his sides pulse.

He looks up to check if any of the kids saw, which is fortunately also a no. The kids is still fussing over Nancy, but not Chrissy, Eddie and Robin. Eddie is standing on the left, Robin on the right, Chrissy next to her.

“Come here, dingus,” Robin says, holding out her hand.

“We’ve got you, sweetheart,” Eddie grins also holding out a hand.

Steve grins up at them and takes their hands as he lets them pull him to his feet again. God, it feels good to breathe fresh air.

Above him, his nail bat watches over the scene, abandoned in the hell dimension.

A/N:

Y’all I have been playing that cheer stunt through the portal scene in my heart for weeks and I’m so excited to have finally written it down omg!!! It was literally the reasons I even started writing this AU

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