#fellas is it gay to get lost in the upside down

[fennasinbog]

One Who Travels Like a Lover | Steddie Big Bang Snippet :)

hey everyone! I've been writing a fic for the @steddiebang. It will begin posting on ao3 on October 1st, but I wanted to share a bit of the first chapter ahead of the release! I'm honored to be working on this project with @anarmel, an amazing artist who's creating some beautiful art to go along with the fic. I can't believe this is finally happening! peep a chapter one + art snippet under the cut... in the words of my poor beta:

Chapter One: The Frozen Cemetery

EDDIE

He wakes with a start – a heavy weight across his chest and the remnants of panic in his throat. The fear consolidates as a choked gasp, an impulse to sit up and run. The thing on his lap seems unmovable. He leans up to inspect it more closely, confused, and comes face to face with a goopy, horrifying heap of demogorgon. He holds back a surprised whine, painful where it rattles through his lungs; drops back, stills, tries not to breathe. Does what he always does in the face of danger: plays dead and hides.

Except.

Except, it isn’t what he does anymore, is it? He did cross an interdimensional gate – walked straight into hell out of his own volition – and stayed even as the bats closed in. He had fought even as it became clear the battle could not be won. Earned his laurels, if you will. Died, perhaps, in Dustin’s desperate, trembling arms. Shit.

The creature remains quiet, unmoving. Eddie holds his breath and slowly examines its body, looking for a sign of threat. There are no tensed muscles, no biting teeth or grasping claws. It’s unnaturally inert, Eddie thinks, death-like — and only then he realizes it is not breathing. An encounter with a demogorgon corpse sounds slightly more appealing than dealing with its living counterpart would be, and that is what Eddie focuses on as he wriggles his way out from underneath it. It takes a while, partially because he keeps feeling sick as he pushes gangly demogorgon limbs away and mainly because the effort pulls at the tender scar tissue that seems to cover half of his body. He frees his last foot, and lies back on the floor for a second, exhausted and shivering, before standing up.

It’s cold as balls, colder than Eddie ever remembers the Upside Down being. There is, however, Upside Down ash floating in the air, like glitter suspended in a lava lamp. He looks up to the sky, a murky mass of gray clouds, half-lit, like the sun is frozen in a permanent state of dusk. Grey meets gray in the horizon, where the clouds turn into fog and obscure the top of a barren mountain. A mountain range, more like, as it stretches around Eddie in every single direction. He is in a valley, it seems, treeless and dead, nothing but rock mountain at his back, and a downward slope ahead. A slope filled with demogorgon remains, by the looks of it. An ash particle caresses his cheek and melts. He catches one with his hand and watches it dissolve. Snow. Snow and ash. Eddie remembers some of Dustin’s tales about the Russians, how they took Harrington and Buckley, and wonders if he’s been taken too. Taken all the way to Russia? He shivers. It truly is awfully cold and dark, and he might not be alone, not when he has woken in this unknown place, surrounded by a wasteland of demo-carcasses. The sun doesn’t look like it will fully set, but night might be coming and he doesn’t want to risk spending it out in the open. He needs to move, find cover.

A quick review of his various pockets turns out a miscellaneous collection of lighters, pens, gum and store receipts. He has a flask of whiskey, but no water or real food, and only a hunting knife for protection. Worst case scenario, he thinks bitterly, he could chuck a ballpoint pen at a demobat and hope for the best. He peeks at his stomach, reluctant, as if knowing the state of it will suddenly make the wounds and scars real, and flinches at the sight of it – marred, dirty, torn up. It looks bad – bad enough that he should be dead, either from blood loss or an infection. It doesn’t hurt. He can’t believe he hasn’t died already.

Water, his brain supplies, voice sounding eerily close to his father’s. A ghost of the past, perhaps, but a ghost in the right nonetheless. He needs to find water – to clean himself, to drink. Water and shelter. He sighs, lowers the hem of his t-shirt over his mangled torso, and tightens his grip around the knife. Down into the vale of shadows it is.

–

People knew of Edward Munson Sr. They knew he moved to the outskirts of Indianapolis with nothing but a dream and a young bride. They’ve heard that he lost her years later to a cancer they could neither prevent nor afford to treat. They imagine him jaded, angry – and then use that anger to explain the felonies and imprisonment. Which, Eddie thinks, is not entirely inaccurate. His father had been angry. And jaded. He would be too, he thinks, if he had found his mom and then lost her. Edward Munson the Felon, that’s what his dad is, a cautionary tale to those thinking of making their way out of Hawkins to pursue a better life. He had wanted and he had failed, and look where that had got him. It made all the cowards feel better about their conformity – made them feel comfortable hating people who, like Eddie, still hoped to make it out of their silly little town.

Eddie ponders this as he makes his descent towards the center of the valley, zigzagging along the way so his unstable limbs won’t accidentally send him rolling down the hill. He’s thinking of his dad because, although nobody knows, he was one of those people who knew an ungodly amount of stuff about the mountain. The mountain, the wars, useless historical factoids. When things were good, Edward had sat Eddie next to him on the sofa and spoken over documentary narrators to tell him about survival in the wilderness. Eddie back then had been bored, sometimes, and he definitely hadn’t known to appreciate those rare moments of peace and companionship. He had sat through plane models lectures or rambling bivouac building rants, and ignored them. It broke his heart a little, in hindsight, realizing that his dad and him had been similar in that regard – so taken by random mundanities and so eager to share their passion for them with anyone who would listen. His dad had not been a good dad, not like Wayne is, but Eddie had also, perhaps, not been a good son.

It is his dad’s advice that guides his movements now, slow and steady, as he treks downwards and reaches a small gathering of trees. Trees often mean water, he knows, but also, with any luck, animals or insects. He hypes himself up with a muttered chant of “insects are metal, eating insects is metal” and approaches the forest, knife held up at the ready. Most trunks are burnt, which isn’t good news, and the ground is razed and covered in pebbles. There’s moisture, though – frost covering the leaves of a very-much-alive fern. He runs his fingers over it, gathers the frozen droplets and allows them to melt on the palm of his hand. The ground is wet. Eddie continues to walk through the ferns. He stops a few paces ahead, coming face to face with a small, frozen stream. The clouds continue to roll overhead. The night-dusk isn’t getting any darker. Eddie heaves a deep sigh and drops to the floor. He pulls out the flask, going over the order of operations:

A sip of whiskey for encouragement.

Ice from the stream to clean the wound.

The rest of the whiskey to disinfect it.

The flask and a fire to boil ice into drinking water.

His head pounds a little as he tries to puzzle the steps together, an underlying headache that might be both dehydration and exhaustion.

Sleep.

And then, sometime in the morning – or the night, or whenever he woke up – find food. How long has it been since he last ate? He’s not hungry, he doesn't think, but, then again, he’s nothing but a blur of fear and pain.

Clean. Drink. Sleep. Find food.

The list isn’t long but it seems daunting nonetheless. Nancy Wheeler would’ve managed something better – more detailed plans and a more masterful execution. He wheezes. Pushes his headband back. It reminds him of Wayne and the way he would, on occasion, pat his head. “Oftentimes, boy, doing your best is good enough,” he would say.

He takes a deep breath and does his best.

–

Eddie wakes to darkness, again. The embers beside him are still warm, but he’s cold, still. He checks his surroundings first, restless, but there’s no movement. His wounds, the second object of his attention, are clean, or as clean as he’s been able to get them. Some of them were already closed, some of them tender – hundreds of unattractive gouges and bites connecting like spider-webbing tendrils. His skin is blackened in some spots, burnt-toast-like, but it no longer looks like the worst parts of a butcher shop back room. The thirst is gone, he’s happy to notice, but the hunger has doubled in his sleep. There’s a half-sharpened stick by his boot, the last of his efforts before his tiredness claimed him, so Eddie makes quick work of carving it into a spike with his hunting knife. He pauses when he’s done, looking around before he stands. He tests out the weight of his newly-acquired, pointy spear by shifting it back and forth between his hands. He has a hunting knife and a hunting spear, which means he’s only missing some prey. Poetic really, when the hunted becomes the hunter.

He steps on the coals, choking them off until they stop smoking, and sets off through the ferns and rocks. He could’ve kept the fire for cooking, he thinks as he pushes forward past a particularly large plant, stick aloft, but then, perhaps, something could have found and cooked him. Not that there seems to be anything around. Not one meager creature. Zero. Zilch, not one single miserable-

Something brushes past Eddie’s legs. He yelps, tightens his grip on the stick until it turns white-knuckled, twists around in a panic and stabs at a… large rodent? The mousy animal manages to avoid his spear and takes off through the scrub. Eddie blinks as it fades into the distance, heart hammering in his throat, before his instincts kick in and he starts running after the thing. Whatever it might be, this could be it. This might be the one source of food he finds – the one animal that he can eat that won’t try to eat him back. He jumps over a tree root, swerves right after his prey, half-runs-half-slides down brash rocks and dirt trails. They abandon the forest, rush past it and further down the valley. Eddie’s feet skid on rounded pebbles but he continues on – on until he’s sweating, until his stomach feels like it might rip open anew, until he sees the mouse-capybara-squirrel start to dig into the ground ahead and he plants his feet. Throws the spear, as if fancying himself a javelin thrower. And he might as well be because he strikes true and the animal falls dead. Eddie walks up to it on trembling limbs, heaving from the exertion, and stares at the dead creature unseeing. It’s not like anything he’s seen before, not with its thick legs and large snout. It looks like a mutant rat, and wasn’t that a thing that had happened once? Dirt-eating mutant rats?

He sits in front of it, spent, and promptly realizes he’s never– He’s never had to prepare an animal for cooking before. Does he- Is he supposed to skin it? He shudders at the thought. Pushes it away. He removes the spear and grabs the cat-sized mouse. Rat. Rodent. Decides to look for flat ground and start another fire, which is a thing he can do. He walks around an impressively large mound of spiky rocks and freezes. Drops the mouse-cat in awe.

The valley ends ahead, not even 100 yards away, and at the bottom is the icy expanse of a frozen lake. It spans the sight, the opposite coast blurry in the distance, and Eddie’s dumbly reminded of Steve Harrington diving into lover’s lake. It is most definitely not Lover’s Lake, he doesn’t think, but the chance of it – of the underwater gate in its center, of the kids on the other side of it – makes his heartbeat quicken. He has to force himself to slow down and pick up the rodent, to remain vigilant as he walks closer to the shore. There are demogorgon carcasses on the beach, flaccid and motionless like stranded jellyfishes, and he toes at a couple of them to ensure they’re dead.

They are.

Comforted by his apparent loneliness, Eddie sets up the fire, trying to remind himself that he won’t be able to cook on the ice. That the lake is large, and the trek to its center seems long. That he needs to eat. He’s distracted as he walks through the motions, distracted as he prepares the rodent and sets it over the flame. The numbness is welcome, and the hope thrilling, and he wipes the blood off his hands without realizing, lost in the overwhelming nature of it all.

–

He leaves this fire burning when he’s done, aware that it might betray his position but hoping it will guide his way back from the indistinct flatness of the ice plain, if need be. He walks carefully but with purpose, occasionally slipping on the icy surface. It’s a slow process.

The wind is awful out on the open, finding every exposed inch of his skin and whipping at it relentlessly. Eddie thinks that he might never forget the chill and burn of it against his hands. That he might never feel his hands again.

Time warps as he walks – it could have been ten minutes or ten hours by the time he spies something in the distance. There’s a boulder breaking through the ice. He will climb it, he decides, use it as a vantage point. The rock is rough under his fingers as he pulls himself up. He tucks both his hands into his armpits right after reaching the top. He scans his surroundings, comes to learn that the lake continues on farther than he thought, its length broken up by a large hill in its center and smattered with tiny rock boulders here and there. Eddie tilts his head, amused by the fact that the mountain in the center looks like nothing and everything at once. It could be just rock, but also the silhouette of a sleeping woman or a huge hibernating lizard. The thought is funny, briefly, but quickly turns terrifying when the ground under his feet starts vibrating and shifts. Eddie drops to a crouch, eyes wide with fear as he tracks the movement, the way it fades into the ice, the way it creaks and cracks like a joint being popped. The ice doesn’t break, not when it runs several feet deep, like the lake might be frozen all the way through. The tremor stops, ground shifting under him again. Eddie stays still, horrified, mind fleeting through the possibilities. Perhaps he stands on a dormant volcano. Perhaps it was just a mild earthquake. He waits a couple minutes before moving and is just about to descend from the boulder when it moves again and sends him careening down. He hits the ground painfully, rolls onto his back, breathing hard and ragged. The rock keeps moving, he registers. It happens over and over again: the bone-chilling creaks of movement and the temporary bouts of stillness. It is only when he attempts to regulate his own breathing that it clicks – the boulder breathes.

He stands in a rush, still a bit dizzy, hip bone sore where it crashed against the ice. He looks around wildly, watches as the rocks in the distance, the few of them piercing the ice nearby, shiver sporadically. Holy shit. They are alive. They breath in synch, impossibly slow. Eddie is out of his mind with fear, half-sure he is making it up. He stretches a hand to touch the rough, crab shell-like, surface of the rock and feels the hum of a tired heartbeat underneath it. He removes his hand, finds it slimy from touching the living rock. Goopy. Demo-creature goopy. The world around him quietens, dampened, as he stares at his hand in confusion. Glances at the rock and at his fingers once again. He feels his pulse in his temple, hears it within his ears like an amplifier has been plugged into his brain. It cannot be.

He twists to look at the large mountain growing in the center of the lake and he doesn’t have to search hard at all before it takes the shape of what it actually is. Gangly, gigantic limbs. A head like a flame. A mountain-sized creature out of both his worst nightmares and the kids’ unlikely but obviously true retellings: the mind flayer.

[cheshirechace]

intoxicated (mabel)

Chace smiles at Mabel with a drunken smile, glossy eyes looking into hers. Yeah, he was hammered. It’s fine. “Mabel, wanna know a secret?” He softly giggles, leaning in a bit, “I think you’re so pretty. No, no. You’re beyond pretty, beyond beautiful, too. Gosh, I can’t even express what I see when I see you except for pure light, colors, and of course, glitter. You know why? Cause, like, you never looked past me. You always saw me, you know? Like, you saw me, and you embraced that. That is the sweetest and purest shit anyone has ever done for me. I’ve never known what life outside Wonderland could be like with people looking at me, at Chace Cheshire, but you showed me how fantastic that could be. Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if we said ‘fuck it’ to everyone and everything. You know? Like to get lost in each other’s embrace and just...each other?” He laughs a bit, not even certain if he was making sense,” see, look, if I had to marry someone right now..it really would be you. Hands down, baby. I’d take a bit to buy you a ring because a fella is broker than broke, but I’d eventually buy you something sweet and simple. In the meantime, I’d buy you all the ringpops your heart desires. Hold your hand, lay my jacket down in the puddles so your feet don’t get wet and send you good morning/good night texts. Yeah...” he happily sighs, leaning back to rest against a nearby wall, smiling at the thought, “...life would be a dream, sweetheart. Can I call you that, Mabel? Sweetheart? I’d like to think you’re that to me, my sweetheart, as unofficial as it is. You know, you’re the only girl I kiss these days. I thought I was gay, but then like...you came along. Way to turn my world upside down, babe.”

@glittrpines

[annzybwrites]

Truth or Dare: Coming Out Edition (Chapter 2: The Main Event)

Read on AO3 | Donate to my Ko-Fi if you like | Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6

A South Park Fanfiction ft. Creek, Style, and Bunny

The big group of ten took turns playing Mario Kart. Whoever wasn’t playing either cheered on their favorite current players, or sectioned themselves off to talk one on one or two on two.

Just as Tweek had guessed, he was hyper aware of every time he saw Kenny and Butters whispering to each other. Butters seemed to be giggling and laughing a lot over whatever Kenny was telling him, though there were a few times where he frowned, swatted Kenny’s shoulder, and huffed, “Not appropriate, Ken!” To which the latter just snickered and winked.

Winked. Something HAD to be going on between them, right??

“Babe,” Craig whispered, gripping Tweek’s chin to pull his gaze away. “Stop staring, geez.”

“I can’t help it, Craig!!” Tweek chewed at his bottom lip, his eyes rolling to the side as if he could see them through his skull. “It’ll be so nice not to be the only gay couple in school anymore!”

Craig sighed and released his chin. “I know, honey, but you know staring isn’t nice.”

“Nngh!” Tweek closed his eyes to stop himself from staring. “I know!!”

“Just try and relax, Tweek.” Craig pulled him closer, resting Tweek’s head against his shoulder. “We’re going to play Truth or Dare soon and then you can ask some questions.”

“What if they don’t want to answer??” Tweek asked, opening his eyes again as he gripped Craig’s shirt tight in his hand. “If they didn’t want it to be a secret, we’d already know, right??”

“That,” Craig starts slowly, rubbing at Tweek’s back to ground him. “Or there’s nothing to tell.”

“... Oh.” Tweek blinks, relaxing a little. “Yeah, that’s true!”

“Can we do truth or dare yet?!” Clyde started whining, upside down in his favorite chair so he could kick his feet against the top. “I’m boooored!”

“Well,” Token paused the game and looked at his watch. “I guess we could. Unless you guys wanna open presents, first?”

“Nah,” Stan set the controller down and stretched a little. “Let’s open presents at midnight.”

“Midnight!” Butters spoke up, looking a little worried. “Oh, I’ll be falling asleep by then! You guys won’t draw dicks on my face, will ya?”

“Don’t worry, baby bear,” Kenny patted Butters’ back with a serious expression. “I’ll protect you.”

“Well gee, thanks, Ken!”

“Baby bear?!” Clyde wheezed in shock. Tweek’s jaw just dropped in surprise, so he was glad when Craig closed it for him.

“Okay!” Token stood up and clapped his hands to gain attention of the room. “Truth or dare it is! Everyone get in a circle! Clyde,” he turned to give him a look, “go get the Hershey’s kisses.”

“On it, boss!” Clyde gave a little salute before somersaulting off the chair and running to the spread of candy on the counter.

Soon, everyone was seated in a big circle on the floor (or in a chair if it was close enough), and had three Hershey’s kisses for their “passes.”

“Who wants to go first?” Token asked, ever the perfect host.

“Ooh ooh!” Clye swung his arm wildly in the air. “Me, me, me!!”

Token sighed and gestured to Kyle. “Why don’t you go.”

“Hey!!”

Kyle chuckled a bit, giving Clyde an amused look. “Okay, dude, you can go next, but first - truth or dare?”

“Hm…” Clyde tapped his chin, narrowing his eyes at Kyle as if to guess what he was thinking. “Dare!”

Kyle grinned, sharing a look with an also-grinning Stan before turning back to his victim. “I dare you to call Bebe and tell her you hate her new shoes.”

Clyde gasps, slapping his hands to his cheeks in mortification. “If I do that, she’ll give me a black eye!!”

“What, you’re chickening out already?” Kyle snickered, sharing a low five with Stan who was trying not to lose it.

“I t-told you!” Stan tried to speak between his laughter. “Clyde’s a wimp with Bebe.”

“I am not!!” Clyde glared at the two of them before pulling out his phone. “I’ll do it right now!!”

“Craig, make sure he’s actually calling Bebe,” Kyle requested.

“No, fuck you,” Craig replied, not wanting to move from his position of holding Tweek’s hand. “You do it.”

Tweek frowned and poked his cheek. “Craig, come on. You’re closer.”

Craig sighed and begrudgingly moved away, stealing Clyde’s phone to call Bebe for him. “There, it’s ringing.”

“CraIG!!” Clyde started freaking out and almost dropped the phone, sweating nervously as his heart leapt into his throat. “Shit shit shit!”

“You have to leave a message if she doesn’t answer!” Stan added, covering his mouth to try and stop his snickers.

“I hate you both so much -!” Clyde hissed just as Bebe picked up.

“Hello? Clyde? Aren’t you at that sleepover thing?”

“Y-yeah!” Clyde was starting to shake with nerves. “Um, I was just calling to tell you… uh…” He glared at Stan and Kyle who were snickering and gesturing for him to continue. Not to say everyone else wasn’t chuckling a little, but the two instigators were definitely the loudest. “I hate your new shoes!!”

“... What!?” Bebe snapped so loud that the phone’s audio crackled.

“Okay, bye!!” Clyde hung up before she could say anything more and threw his phone onto the couch. “Well, I’m not going to even look at that thing for a few hours.”

Most of the group started laughing openly now, joking about how Clyde would have a million messages and missed calls by tomorrow.

“You’re right,” Token teased, smirking at him. “She’ll give you a black eye the next time she sees you.”

Clyde puffed his cheeks out again in a pout before sputtering, “Truth or Dare, Token!!”

“After that, definite Truth.” Token held up a hand. “No way am I risking you daring me to do anything with Nichole.”

“Damn it.” Clyde groaned and tossed his head back to stare up at the ceiling. “Um…” His face split into a wide grin as he snapped back to look at him. “Tell us about a wet dream you’ve had!”

Kenny snorted and offered Clyde a high-five, which he gladly took. Token, on the other hand, was starting to turn red, seriously considering using one of his free passes.

“It doesn’t have to be the most intense wet-dream you’ve had,” Stan offered. “Just one of them. Like a weird one.”

“That’s assuming I’ve had more than one!” Token snapped in embarrassment.

Kenny snickered as he offered, “If you share one, I’ll share one of mine~”

“No fucking way,” Kyle deadpanned. “You’ve told me some of yours, Kenny - no one wants to hear them.”

“Kenny’s told you about his wet dreams?” Stan asked, raising a brow at him. “Why?”

Kyle just shrugged, looking away from his best friend. “You know how Kenny is.”

“Not yet he doesn’t,” Kenny purred, winking at Stan and wiggling his fingers at him. Butter started laughing then and covered his face.

“Helloooo,” Clyde interrupted. “I’m still waiting for Token’s wet dream!”

Token groaned and brought his knees up to his chest, burying his face against them. “Fine!”

He proceeded to tell them about a dream he had involving himself being a pirate captain hunting for mermaids, but once he found one he somehow shifted into a merman and they went to a coral reef to make out.

“Ooh!” Butters clasped his hands together, a big smile on his face. “That sounds fun, though!”

“Tame, but fun,” Kenny agreed.

Token just grunted in response before surveying the circle. “Tweek, truth or dare.”

Tweek tensed up, his cheeks pink from Token’s Truth response and his nerves swirling around in his guts. “Um… D… Dare!”

“Yeah?” Token smiles softly. “I dare you to… tell Craig you hate him.” Most of the circle booed him, saying that was a lame dare, but he argued, “It’s Tweek’s first time! Let’s go a little easy on him.”

“Ack!” Tweek didn’t seem to like the idea anyway and turned to Craig with wide, apologetic eyes. “I don’t wanna do that!!”

Craig chuckled, the corners of his mouth upturning in amusement. “It’s okay, Tweek. I know it’s not true.”

“Yeah, but I still don’t want to say it!” He whined, pulling at his fingers. “Craig, I… I hate you!!” He covered his face right afterwards. “Ugh, that sucked!”

Craig was still smiling, reaching to stroke some of Tweek’s hair back, as if he were a cat. “You did great, Tweek. Ask someone else now.”

“Mmmm.” He looked at everyone through his fingers. “Jimmy, Truth or Dare.”

“Oh!” He straightened up in excitement. “I’ll take a d-dare, as well!”

Tweek took a deep breath, staring down at the carpet as he tried to come up with a good one. He didn’t want to do anything too mean, but he didn’t want everyone to boo him either. “Um… I dare you to… eat a huge spoonful of peanut butter without drinking any milk!”

Clyde absolutely lost it, rolling onto his back as he cackled, “Was that the b-best you could come up with!?”

“I mean, that would be pretty uncomfortable,” Butters said, making a face as he thought about it. “Peanut butter is so sticky!” Kenny snorted and covered his mouth, so Butters pouted at him and poked his head. “Get that mind out of the gutter, mister!”

“Well,” Token interrupted, standing up. “Let’s get to the kitchen so Jimmy can eat his peanut butter.”

“This’ll be fff, ffun,” Jimmy cheered as he slipped his lofstrand crutches back into place to stand. “Let’s go f-f-fellas!”

Truth or Dare continued for quite awhile after that, with each boy trying to get even more wild with their propositions. Even Timmy was dared to wear underwear (clean, thankfully) on his head for three rounds. And, Clyde kept trying to either ask or dare Craig to talk about when he first fell in love with Tweek. His strategy was to get Craig to use up all of his passes, and with only one left, he was grinning ear-to-ear and just waiting to get two more turns.

“Won’t be long now, Craigy~” Clyde sang. “You’ll have to tell us sooner or later!”

“Unless we just stop picking you altogether,” Stan pointed out, since it was his turn.

Clyde turned crestfallen, clasping his hands together to practically beg, “Pleeeaaase pick me, Stan! I’ll do your homework for a week!”

“Dude, you get worse grades than me. Not a chance.”

“Then I’ll do your chores!!”

“Tempting,” Stan tapped his chin, thinking about it. “But, nah. I have something else in mind. Craig, Truth or Dare.”

“Just to torture Clyde, Truth.”

Clyde whined in agony and flopped onto his back as Stan replied, “Hm… kind of similar to Clyde’s question, but how did you… I mean, what made you,” he struggled to find the right words, and everyone’s eyes on him didn’t help. He took a breath before managing to ask, “How are you so okay with being gay? And, like, having that as one of the main ways people think of you?”

Craig raised a brow at him, curiosity etched into his face. He leaned backwards onto his hands, tilting his head to the side. “What do you mean?”

“Like, I dunno, man.” Stan was starting to mumble, his gaze cast to the floor. “I just feel like once someone’s labeled as “gay,” that’s like… the only thing people think about you. Like it doesn’t matter what else you do - doesn’t matter if you’re a genius, or great at sports, or great at film in your case. You’re just… gay, and nothing else.”

The circle was quiet after Stan’s little speech, most assuming that Stan had a very personal reason for asking this question. Kyle was staring at his friend in slight shock, mouth open slightly, and Tweek actually felt still for once. Craig did say there might be other gay couples in the school - was Stan in one of them?

“Well,” Craig started out slowly, startling everyone out of their own thoughts. “I, personally, don’t feel like that. I mean, yeah, obviously some people are only interested in talking to me because I’m gay, like the yaoi fangirls, or some of the adults, but they can go fuck themselves. I have friends who actually know me and don’t only think of my sexuality when they think of me.” Craig gestured to Clyde. “He’s the exception, since he’s my friend and also very interested in my relationship. But I’m sure he’d be just as interested if I was with a girl, so it doesn’t bother me much.”

Clyde grinned, giving him two thumbs up. “You got that right, bro. I’m supportive 100%. Unless you break Tweek’s heart.”

Craig smiled softly, leaning over to kiss Tweek’s cheek, causing the blonde to squeak in surprise. “I would never break his heart. It’s too precious.”

“Cr-Craaaiiig!!” Tweek whined and covered his face with both hands, curling up as if to hide. “God, stop!!” He curled up even more when he heard the others just chuckle at him.

“Does that answer your question, Stan?” Craig asked, staring straight at him.

“Yeah.” Stan nodded, his eyes far away as he avoided looking at anyone in particular. “Thanks, man.”

“Great. Kyle, Truth or Dare.”

“What?” Kyle jumped a little, turning his head away from Stan. “Oh, uh. Truth, I guess.”

“Do you consider yourself 100% straight?”

Once again, the circle was struck silent. Craig’s blunt question caught everyone off guard. Everyone turned to look at the redhead, but no one was prepared for Kyle’s response.

“Not really, no.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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