#implied homophobia tw

[forestshadow-wolf]

Cw: implied homophobia, drinking and smoking as coping mechanisms, angst

Part 1 || Part 2

Soap was always so put together. Ghost always admired that, just a bit.

Which is why is was so shocking to see soap drunk off his ass, alone in the rec room, in the small hours of the night.

Ok, saying he was drunk off his ass was an overstatement, but he was clearly a bit further than buzzed. Didn't even acknowledge ghost when he walked, just continued idly running his finger around the rim of his glass, staring sightlessly into the amber liquid. Where he even got the bottle of scotch was a question ghost didn't bother to think on.

Ghost took it upon himself to situate himself next to soap, pressing his thigh into the scot's.

"How much have you had, Johnny?" He asked softly, something colored his voice that he didn't wish to look deeper into — that's why they worked. Soap toed the line between too much, and ghost let him, laughing it off when it circled too close, and soap always followed.

"Enough. I should pack it up." Soap said equally soft, solem, but he made no move to do so, simply continuing to cradle the glass between his hands. — so that's it, huh. That's how he stays so composed. He's self-aware. Maybe too much for his own good.

Soap pulled the cup up to his lips to take a sip of the warm liquid. Ghost's hands gently guided the glass out of his hands before it reached its destination. Soap let it happen. He still hadn't even glanced at ghost, and he was being unusually quiet. Ghost didn't like it.

They sat in silence for a moment.

Or ghost thought they did. Then a moment later he hears the flick of a lighter, and he turns his head to see soap lighting up a cigarette. Simon frowns behind his mask. Soap takes a delicate pull off the cigarette, and lets the smoke steam out of his mouth slowly. Still, it's like he's looking anywhere but ghost. It's like he's looking through ghost. Ghost sighs — he doesn't like this johnny. — his fingers automatically itch for a cigarette of his own, his body so used to sharing one with the man beside him. He doesn't. There's no real need for one at the moment, just a desire to share something.

"Tell me?" Ghost offers. It's gruff, and hardly sounds like a question at all, but an offer all the same.

Soap doesn't answer. He's eerily quiet. The only sound is their breathing, and the occasional pull of the one lone cigarette.

It's quiet for a long time. Ghost doesn't force anything, just sits with him. Then–

"My da's dyin'." It's small, quiet, as if saying it too loud will shatter whatever's in the air between them. "I should take some leave, be there... but... I won't." The cigarette's almost burned down to the but now. He takes one last drag off it, then snubs it out.

Simon stays quiet, letting johnny think, it's not his place to speak. It's not what Johnny needs right now.

"He'd be furious, I think. He'd tell me to go to hell, maybe in a few more words." Johnny chuckled darkly. "Mum will be devastated if I don't go. And my sisters will never forgive me if I'm not there — mum will though, she's too kind — but... I can't go." He said wistfully, the words come out slow — it's probably the alcohol — he spoke like he didn't know how to stop the words from coming out, and wasn't sure if he even wanted to stop them.

"Why not?" Simon prompted gently, he could almost see the words burning a hole in Johnny's throat.

"We can forget about this come morning, act like this never happened." Soap answered instead, like the words were stuck, but still seared with a need to come out. Or maybe it was the alcohol making him hare-brained

"Johnny..." It was soft, too soft. Soap laid his head on his arms and began tracing formless shaped on the table with his finger.

"... haven't seen him in over a decade, and he was so... angry then. He caught me an- an a boy..." the words seemed to get caught in his throat. "Barely even let me pack my bags before shipping me off. He was so nice before... before he knew. He was so amazing. I always thought I'd be like him when I grew up." Johnny's eyes were wet now, instead of the eerie dryness from before, but that's all it was, no tears. "I should see him one more time for that at least... but I won't. I-..."

"Johnny." Ghost felt like he was intruding, he was seeing something he wasn't meant to see. But johnny plowed on.

"I-... but I don't think I can- that- that I'll-... I don't know h-how I'll survive if- if he tells me to- to go to hell or- or t-to get dead again. I can't- I can't do it again." Johnny's voice shook as he spoke, and the words seemed to trip and stumble uneloquently from his lips.

He seemed to burn out after that, and it was so quiet, like they'd gotten sucked into space. Or maybe it was just simon who was in space, and Johnny was cast adrift in the ocean. He didn't know.

"Lets get you to bed, Johnny." The words were gentle, pillowed in all the corners. Johnny let himself be guided easily, searching for any kind of life raft.

[fluffypostsforangstyships]

After Arthur recovers from his sickness, he and Charles leave everything behind.

They find their new home in the form of a small, but comfortable, cabin in the woods.

Out in the wild there is no one to ask questions or make cruel judgements.

Together they spend the rest of their lives here caring for many of horses and dogs.

Except for their occasional visit to town where they offer horse riding lessons for kids from the local orphanage.

[feastonkings]

boyd holbrook / he/him ——— no way is that FINNEGAN ‘FINN’ O’CONNOR.. they’re a 37-year-old HUMAN notoriously known for being ABRASIVE & UNHINGED but there are some people who have seen them being LOYAL & DEPENDABLE. if you ask me, they remind me a lot of a blood tinted smile, embracing the darkness to become limitless, the roar of a beast within hungry for more, fanning the flames of violence, and a taunting laugh, but that could just be because they’re considered the BLOOD KNIGHT around town. just keep an eye on them & see if their true colors shine through..

GENERAL.

full name: finnegan patrick o'connor nicknames: ireland, finn (preferred name) classification: enhanced human gender / pronouns: cis man, he/him age / birthday: 37, march 27th orientations: bisexual, homoromantic occupation: capo for skyport mafia & co-owner of exposed circuits location: middle district status: single family: patrick o'connor (father), margaret march (mother, unknown), kirby (half sibling), several half siblings and cousins strengths: hard-working, loyal, dependable, stoic, protective weaknesses: abrasive, unhinged, sadistic, violent, stubborn character inspo: tba

BIOGRAPHY.

tw: violence, child abuse, addiction, murder, implied homophobia, neglect

born in a chicago prison to a drug addicted sex worker, finnegan o'connor was destined to walk the wrong path from the beginning. patrick o’connor, his father, escaped as a fugitive to america from ireland. He was on the run after being arrested on suspicions of his involvement with the irish mafia. very true accusations, hence why he ran.

in the states, patrick kept his ties with his mafia family back home, running weapons, taking people out, making explosives, and getting rid of whatever other contraband they needed to move outside the country. by the time the guards handed him finn, he had already become a well known name in chicago for all the wrong reasons.

with his father knee deep in international crime, one would assume that they had money but it never seemed like Ffnn or any of his siblings got any benefit from it. they lived in the southside, in a house that should have been condemned long before they occupied it but there were not many city workers brave enough to enter their area.

his mother was non-existent, most of his younger siblings related to him through his father. if finn were to sit down and think about it, he probably has a lot more brothers and sisters out there. the money for food Patrick gave whatever woman he was seeing at the time rarely made it into the kitchen. they were expected to eat what was there, or find some other way to feed themselves. it was a damn miracle any of them survived at all but somehow they managed.

once they were all old enough for school, they had a system down and were already involved in the family business in one way or another.

his volatile home environment offered little nurture there and love was non-existent. he only ever learned a few things: don’t talk to the cops, don’t ask stupid questions, protect the family, and do whatever his father says. the last one was key, because if you didn’t listen you were sure to feel it. which may happen regardless if his father was in one of his moods.

he would claim finn needed to learn some lessons and over time, it became normal. crying or showing any type of emotion made you weak in his eyes so finn learned early on to bottle it up and find other ways to express pain. usually it was through violence, picking fights with anyone who would oblige him. by his teen years he would add substances into the mix to drown the demons or induce a short period of numbness to escape.

finn went to school when he felt like it and wasn’t much of the academic type. as far as he was concerned, by the time he hit ninth grade he had learned everything he needed to for life. he spent most of his time terrorizing fellow students, stealing what he wanted from them and beating the piss out of anyone who messed with family or looked at him wrong. his fuse has always been short, and his first reaction was and often still is violence, it excited him.

otherwise, he was doing work for the family business or running around in the streets of chicago. sometimes this meant partying with friends and associates, other times it meant running and hiding from the cops. he ran from cops like he ran from his feelings and he was damn good at it, for the most part.

things changed when patrick was arrested and five of the children currently living with him were put into the system. finn tried to get as many paired off as possible to keep them together. he'd done his best to look out for his younger siblings when he could, as the oldest he took a bit of responsibility in it, only a little bit though. over time they all had their own agenda and were angry and bitter just like him.

the plan had always been to get out of chicago. once he turned eighteen he could take a sibling or two and they could head anywhere and start over. get a better life with clean air and sunshine in a place where the name o'connor had nothing attached to it. dreams were just dreams, though and at the end of the day finn should've known patrick would find a way to fuck it all up.

all he'd wanted was to take advantage of the empty house for once and then get what was his before his father returned. instead, he was interrupted mid-session with his boyfriend axel who he'd been seeing for awhile. drunk, hateful, and barely coherent, a mixture of strong irish laced slurs fell from his father's mouth. no son of mine is going to end up becoming a string of gay slurs and other remarks. where was everyone else? he had a business to run, was this why wasn't finn taking care of it while he was gone? a worthless failure just like the rest of his offspring.

finn tried to push axel out while his father rambled on. he wouldn't admit it, but axel was the first person he made an attempt at some real kind of relationship that wasn't filled with toxic sewer waste with. his father stopped axel from leaving, and threw him across the room like a ragdoll. he hit finn with several strong fists and pulled his gun on both of them, forcing them to stay in the room.

when patrick returned, he brought a woman with him who happened to be a sex worker. he gave him the ultimatum to sleep with her and 'prove he was a man'. knowing his trigger happy pops, finn did as he said trying not to look at his frightened boyfriend still sitting in the room. he regretted it, because the other got up and once again tried to flee. finn stopped what he was doing to try and prevent his father from doing anything but it was pointless.

patrick beat finn to the brink of unconsciousness, just before things went black he watched him unload the pistol into axel. when he came to the body was gone and he was forced to clean up the mess left behind. his father screamed at him, calling him every slur in the book and told him to get his shit together or he wasn’t his son. for some reason finn stayed around for another month, practically a drone while he healed, blocking out everything around him.

it wasn't long before patrick noticed and confronted finn again. when finn started to pay attention to what he was saying, it was like he woke up. he pushed the older man away from him. patrick stepped forward and raised an empty bottle in his hand to strike, but this time a hand caught his wrist.

something snapped inside finn, he was not going to take any more of his father's bullshit. years of pent up rage, resentment, and pure unadulterated anger poured out of him as he laid into the only man he'd ever feared. blinded by the rage, he didn’t remember who pulled him off his father or if he stopped on his own. all he noticed was patrick didn’t appear to be breathing and a female voice yelling she’d called 911. the next thing he heard was the sirens.

he got up and ran as fast as he could, but this time he couldn’t hide from the pursuit of the police. they caught up with him hiding behind a local bar and threw him to the ground, arresting him. the charges were attempted murder and possession of an illegal firearm. “so, the asshole lived?” was the only response he gave and laughed as they put him into the car.

since he was seventeen, they were able to charge him as an adult. he had a chance to change that if he was willing to give them information on patrick and his involvement with the mob. of course, even after everything the man had done to him and his siblings, finn was no snitch. the judge took the long history provided by the social worker assigned to the o’connor family into account, giving him a sentence of only five years versus the max of fifteen.

he took the sentence with a smile, going away for five years wasn't hard. prison was not that bad of a place in comparison to what he was used to. it was clean, full of people he could relate to, and he was served three hot meals a day. he was cold and numb for the first few months, but soon enough he'd built a reputation for himself as someone who could get any job done and wasn’t to be messed with.

he made some quick money once he was free and a car, not looking to go back home ever again. finn took off to texas, with the promise of a job he'd be good at from his cell mate who'd been involved with the mob down there. soon enough he was in dallas, with new documents and a capo position with the skyport mafia.

over the next several years he built up his name again, as someone who is ruthless, sadistic, and to be feared with enemies. to some he was a protector and others just saw him as a weapon. truly finn could give a fuck less what anyone thought.

he co-owns exposed circuits and enjoys the services they're able to provide the public. some of his siblings, even ones he hadn't known before, have popped out of the woodwork and some cousins too. finn looks out from them from afar, but he's not much of the loving type. protective if they deserve it, and cold otherwise.

HEADCANONS.

has an all black with dark green leather interior vintage dodge charger named morticia

among his many tattoos his body is riddled with scars both old and new, the worst being on his back from the times he was whipped with the buckle side of a belt

he has a hard time looking in the mirror long because he has his father's eyes and similar features

he hasn't had any sort of real relationship since before he went to prison.

finn prefers knives to guns, despite being a hell of a shot. he likes to drag out his encounters, even when it doesn't call for it.

more to come

[bucketofbugz]

conversation I overheard between my mom and one of my nephews while I was just trying to get a snack from the kitchen

mom: I don't get why he (family member) thinks it's okay to say stuff like that! We have gay people and autistic people in this family!

mom: *glances over at me*

mom: We have people that are gay and autistic in this family!

[spring-lxcked]

i know will is pretty perpetually in the closet because of The Times but i do unironically think he owns a pride flag with the original gil.bert bak.er design and. he never really gets to like. . . hang it up or anything because it was 1978 at the earliest (likely a few years later), but he has it packed away with some other belongings. the only situation where he would consider taking it out and hanging it up would be post-divorce and if his kids knew he was queer. even then, it'd be like. in his bedroom.

[madds-is-ace-trash]

This is a vent post you can ignore it if your only here for fun goofy antics



I'm just so tired I'm so tired all the dam time and I can't do it anymore. My feelings bubble up a bile in the back if my throat, thick like molasses treating to suffocating me.

I don't know how to handle them, I was never taught how. I'm supposed to shut up and be good be the rock but I don't know how any more. I used to be so easy. Why is so hard now? Why are they so hard to just ignore?

I'm suffocating the wheight on my chest is heavy I feel like I might drown. The bile has emerged and it’s all I can think about.

Why am I like this why can't I just be normal? Why do have to hate my self? Why do I have to drive my self in to a corner for other comforts. I can't cry anymore only scream in to void and beg for an answer. The thick junk coats my throat silencing any hope for a plee. I can't even do thinks I used to enjoy any more. It Staines, the thick goo tainting any thing I held dear.

I've lost my father, a friend, and the siblings I threw away my life for. I'm called a traitor for defending those I love and posin for my very existence.

My body still taughts me when I need it most, my ribs sore from the only method I have to calm my heads screams.

I'm broken, defective.

A sad little tranvestite who does nothing but tear down the world around them.

And can't cry so I scream and slash and claw bit it only ever affects me. I'm alone in the den I've forged to hide from the fire. But I've been here so long I've forgotten where I put the exit.

I could even do my one job right, I couldn't be a good “daughter” I just wanted to be good what did I do so wrong.

I'm just so tired, I'm tired of fighting I just wish my body would let me cry.

[greywoodrpg]

𝕠𝕝𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕠

he appears as though he was born twenty-nine years ago but is actually twenty-nine, he is a faerie who lives in mystic grove as the owner of the secret garden, and is in no fantasy. he looks an awful lot like harry styles.

“I fell in love with you the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once.”

tw: homophobia, disappearance, dysfunctional family, accidental pregnancy, miscarriage,

Oliver was born to a faerie mother and a human father, although he knows little to nothing about his mother. He grew up in the human world, and has only returned to the fae realm once. He found it an unfamiliar landscape, and although it was pleasant being around a community that understood him so deeply, he yearned to return to his life and the people he knew in the human world, so he came home. He hasn’t returned, but plans to visit again eventually. 

He was essentially raised by his father, who did his best, but wasn’t a particularly good caregiver. He had never really wanted to have children, and so bringing Oliver up was more like a chore than a pleasure. He loved Oliver, but their relationship was quite unconventional, and Oliver was put to work around the house from a very young age. They lived on the outskirts of Greywood, and relied heavily on town amenities. 

Oliver always knew he was a faerie, that wasn’t something his father hid from him (and besides, the pointed ears sort of gave him away), but whenever he asked about his mother and what she was like, his father would get angry and then go silent, refusing to answer any of his questions. 

At the age of 19, he realised that he was pansexual, and plucked up the courage to tell his father. He had anticipated that his father wouldn’t be thrilled, but he was absolutely furious, more angry than Oliver had ever seen him, and he disowned Oliver right there and then on the spot, and fled Greywood. Oliver hasn’t seen him or heard from him since. He was devastated, and had never felt more alone. He ended up starting a relationship which he poured all his energy into, but after two years of being together, they left him in the middle of the night just like his father had, with no explanation and no further contact. Then came Elenora.

Oliver and Elenora had been at school at the same time, and knew each other’s faces from around town. They were never in the same class together given that Oliver is a year younger, but they were drawn to each other from day one. Despite not really having much of a friendship with her, Oliver was bereft when Elenora left for College, and when she returned from her studies, he promised himself he’d make an effort to get to know her.

The pair became friends quickly, bonding over their disappointing fathers and absent mothers, and they both opened up to each other about their fluid sexualities, supporting and encouraging one another to step into who they each truly were. Eventually, they ended up together when Oliver was 26 and Nelly was 27, and their relationship was passionate and fiery. They loved each other deeply, although neither of them ever made the move to make things official, despite spending most nights together for the better part of a year. They were both terrified of commitment, and Oliver didn’t want to be abandoned yet again. 

Things changed when Elenora accidentally got pregnant, and the pair were just beginning to talk about making their relationship a little more official when she tragically miscarried. Both were grief-stricken, and Elenora had made up her mind that Oliver only wanted to commit to her because of the baby, so after a tense month of trying to reconcile, the pair ended things for good. They are amiable with each other now, and Oliver is still in love with her, but they haven’t spent any time together since ending things. 

Now, Oliver owns his own little floristry, and is quiet content living in Greywood, but he is determined to find out more about his mother.

“what power did he attain when settling in greywood?”

None.

penned by... may

[ladyseidr]

was thinking abt making huge hc posts for sam and dean but i'm lazy so instead i'll just make this post to talk abt their orientations because actually i know them better than the writers and i think reading them both as queer adds something to both of their narratives. also i do agree with sam being, intentionally or not, queer-coded. anyway, so:

sam, who realizes he's bi at like, 15 or 16 and definitely has some short-term-but-wish-it-wasn't boyfriend in a town they linger in at some point. his name's eddie. don't ask why i've already managed to establish that, i promise this isn't a rory situation again FKDSHFAH

sam, who definitely doesn't tell his dad ( imagine ) or dean but dean absolutely fucking finds out and dean's surprised but mostly just bothered by the fact that sam's getting attached to Anyone when they're definitely going to be back on the road soon

dean vc: i thought you were into girls // sam vc: it's called bisexuality dean pick up a book sometime

sam "the fact that i'm into guys too is literally the least of my problems" winc.hester tbh, he really has more to worry abt than his sexuality

VS

dean, who would've known he was bi much, much, much earlier except [insert an extremely long breakdown of comphet and toxic masculinity acquired to appease his father here, i'll write it later] and so he genuinely convinces himself he's straight despite the, uh, obvious signs he's not.

( remember that time i mentioned how i literally fantasized abt making out with a friend of mine but still thought i was straight back before I Realized? dean energy except for longer. )

i do feel like there's like. the "Repressing It" period. then the "has hooked up with a few guys but still kind of repressing it" period. then the "knows he's bi but is still semi-closeted" period, in the sense that i unironically think he'd initially try to hide it from even sam. you know. his also bisexual brother. the internalized homophobia/biphobia goes strong with dean ( not suggesting sam isn't affected by it too, but y'know ). the final period is just the "fuck it, whatever" period LMAO

unironically cannot see dean ever actually saying the explicit words "i'm bisexual" and it's not just because it's a C.W show lmaooo. definitely doesn't put it in words until Later in his life and even then it's probably more like "i swing both ways"

yes the fact that dean's bullet points are longer is so intentional. sam "my dad wouldn't like this but fuck him" winc.hester VS dean "oh fuck dad wouldn't like this" winc.hester. anyway. i think john should be shot. you agree.

[charlxttelabouff]

@happiestterencegold - continued from here

"henrik will forever be the golden child, he's just the golden child with a boyfriend now" she smiled to comfort him. "what are you so worried about? do you think they won't like you?" charlotte asked to get to the bottom of terence's worries. "are you worried they won't accept him and your relationship?"

[hopes-memorial]

She chuckles. "I wouldn't worry too much about them. this is what they're best at, after all. Their father was the one that actually taught them everything they know about it, you know..." That was the real reason that she supported their work in the culinary arts. If it wasn't for Ryomu's tutelage, she wouldn't have ever let them pursue it, but she couldn't deny her husband his legacy.

Sitting down across from him on the couch, she was eager to learn more about the person that her child had chosen. There was something about him that had her suspect... this man was going to break her baby's heart. Would that drive them back to her, she wondered, though it was too soon to really say.

Listening carefully to him, she hums a bit as she nods. "I see, a historian is an interesting line of work for someone your age, how did you get into it?" The mention of a little sister annoyed her. Was Amai technically a parent or a guardian to this kid? Yumemi would have no way of knowing, and if there was anything that she didn't like, it was not knowing something about Amai.

He tilts his head before nodding. “Oh it has been..? I always lose track of time..oh well. You’re right..they are extremely busy with all of this..I just hope they don’t get too stressed with it all.” He muses being able to understand..for once. It was a bit much from what he had seen.

He was a bit hesitant to let her in, but just makes a note to keep a close eye out. He notices her surprise and quietly wonders how it looked before..but doesn’t see a need to ask her.

The choice of words makes him raise an eyebrow, but he nods. A part of him hoped it was just a concerned parent..but from what he knew about their partner he knew logically that was unlikely. “Uh..well alright..I’m Naoko..I work as a historian..provide emotional support for Amai..and watch over my little sister. That’s about it..” all he was comfortable sharing at least.

[aftgficrec]

favourite fics featuring halloween? (thank you guys for all your work!)

Here are some spooktacular fics for you! You may notice we often point out where a fic has been recced before. If you like the theme or mood of a fic, chances are you will find more like it in the ask where it was featured. -A

previous recs:

Staff Recs Oct 2020 Halloween/Spookiness here

Staff Recs Oct 2021 - Halloween here

Staff Recs Oct 2021 - More Halloween: Costumes, Fluff & Crack here

foxes in a haunted house here

supernatural compilation here

autumnal/spooky fics here

Flavors of Fall by NikNak22 [Rated E, 146194 Words, Complete, 2022]

Previously recced here

…Neil’s not the only one with secrets in this town. Everyone seems to have something they’ve kept hidden in the dark. And as soon as one thread gets pulled, they all seem to come unraveled… Featuring second chances, making mistakes, budding relationships, and as many fall shenanigans as possible – welcome to the smalltown world of Palmetto!

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: panic attacks, tw: homophobia, tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: self harm, tw: animal abuse

Fang and Stake by darkbluebox [Rated T, 2658 Words, Complete, 2020]

Previously recced here

For most hunters, it would have been a wet dream: his quarry beaten, bleeding, trapped and prone before him. He might as well have been holding a stake on a silver platter. If it had been any other vampire in the world, Andrew wouldn’t have hesitated to drive the splintering chunk of wood through his chest and be done with it. Unfortunately, Neil wasn’t any other vampire.

tw: blood, tw: implied/referenced abuse

swing me your bones by sundowne [Rated T, 3447 Words, Complete, 2022]

Ditched parties, neglected movies, cold cocoa.

Sugar & Spice (and everything... nice?) by Willow_bird [Rated T, 7468 Words, Complete, AFTG Exchange Fall 2020]

Previously recced here

“I’m not going as Tombo.” He’d end up looking like Where’s Waldo if he’d been a short angry bodybuilder and no one wanted that. Renee’s little smile hinted at her having a similar visual. “I think I may have something that would require few changes to what you’re wearing now and would be minimal hassle altogether.” Andrew accompanies Renee to a Halloween party, allowing his best friend to dictate his costume because he really couldn’t be paid to care. Then he gets there, and yeah, his crush is wearing the exact same costume. Feelings happen.

deadly encounters by jeanyvesmoreau [Rated T, 4012 Words, Complete, AFTG Halloween Zine 2022, Locked]

Neil, trying to avoid Halloween celebrations once again, finds his way into the dark corner of a bar. There, he meets Andrew. Or, how Neil Josten discovers vampires are real after hundreds of years he's been alive.

tw: violence, tw: blood

Cryptid Serial Killer Witch Man by attfna [Rated M, 17008 Words, Complete, 2020]

Previously recced here

Just a story about your typical, spooky cryptic and his curious gardener.

tw: scars, tw: explicit sexual content

open season by nomadicdeer (someonestolemycoffee) [Rated G, 2287 Words, Complete, 2017]

Previously recced here

Dan declares open season just before Halloween. Featuring andreil kisses, misuse of brussel sprouts, Matt in lingerie, and more.

5 times realisation struck Neil & 1 time he acted on it by alex_wh0 [Rated T, 7503 Words, Complete, AFTG Fall Exchange 2020]

Previously recced here

"Neil looked across the room at Andrew and felt a surge of affection so intense that it stuck in his throat. He wondered how someone who had rolled out of bed barely an hour ago could have the audacity to make him feel like this." or Five times Neil Josten had a realisation and one time he did something about it.

if you're just tuning in walk into the light by orphan_account [Rated T, 8824 Words, Complete, 2020]

Previously recced here

Andrew runs a small shop in Palmetto with his brother. It's monotonous. He takes care of his plants, makes tinctures, provides minimal customer service, and teases Kevin for his heart eyes over Aaron. It's boring, but it's good. And then Wymack hires someone new, and some things change.

The endless mental math required to simply survive. by melbopo [Rated T, 17400 Words, Complete, 2021]

Free booze and candy at Seth's expense for his frat's Halloween party on Friday? Say no more, Andrew will be there, mandatory costume and all. Perhaps Matt's new Exy loving stray will even occupy Kevin for the whole night so he doesn't give Andrew inane lectures about wasting talent and potential on intramural teams, leaving him to drink his free alcohol in blissful peace. Really, the simple mental math checks out in his favor on this one. ~~~~ (alternative title: Andrew Minyard and his acquaintances [that are actually his friends])

tw: homophobia

aaron's lament by nanatsuyu [Rated T, 9061 Words, Complete, AFTG Fall Exchange 2021, Locked]

Previously recced here

It's the first holiday Katelyn and Aaron have hosted in their own apartment. Katelyn thinks it'll be fun. Aaron thinks there are far too many people in his home.

An Unpleasant Surprise by justdk [Rated T, 3689 Words, Complete, 2018]

Previously recced here

Neil's visit to the haunted house is not fun. At all.

tw: panic attacks

best thing by exactly13percent_OLD (hymbeaux) [Rated M, 4117 Words, Complete, 2019]

Previously recced here

Aaron has 48 hours off. Kevin has a party to attend. They both have unanswered questions.

firsts by exactly13percent_OLD (hymbeaux) [Rated G, 6270 Words, Complete, 2019]

Previously recced here

Andrew and Neil have fostered Clara and Riley for a little over a year. It's their first Halloween. It's taken a while for both kids to become comfortable, and tonight is for them.

Say something, say yes by DeyaAmaya [Rated T, 2851 Words, Complete, 2018]

Previously recced here

'I can't leave. I need to say goodbye to your son. I can't leave like this.' Mary smiles. Andrew feels a shiver down his spine. Her lips don't move, but he can hear her voice clear as a bell. 'You're not saying goodbye to him.'

tw: major character injury

House To Haunt by moonix [Rated M, 65356 Words, Complete, 2023, Locked]

This fic is a choose your own adventure game! Follow Kevin as he explores an abandoned mansion with a Fox companion of your choice. You can discover different parts of the mansion, learn about its previous owners' history, romance Kevin's companion, collect interesting items, solve puzzles, rescue Kevin and his friends from a variety of sticky situations... and then do it all over again! !!Please make sure to read the instructions at the beginning before you start playing!!

Something Out of Nothing by Aquared46 [Rated E, 20831 Words, Complete, AFTG Fall Exchange 2024]

Fox’s Hollow had attracted tourists for decades with its haunted history and Halloween festivals. A resident for many years, Andrew doesn't believe in ghosts or hauntings, but when his workplace is being investigated by ghosthunters, he spends his early hours with a man far more intriguing and haunted than a ghost could ever be.

tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced torture

it's almost halloween by reaching_my_summit [Rated T, 2677 Words, Complete, 2017]

the Foxes celebrate halloween together at Eden's. someone flirts with Andrew. Neil is not about that.

do you like scary movies? by Ominous, Stjosten [Rated T, 22519 Words, Complete, 2020]

Previously recced here

To say Andrew has never seen the benefit in the make-believe would be a lie. However, he finds less and less use for it as he grows older. He especially fails to see the benefits of anything from the horror genre; he’s made plenty of his own mistakes, has seen more than enough to terrify him in his life. He doesn’t need to rely on jump scares and idiotic protagonists. But when he meets Neil, self-proclaimed horror archivist, he finds that maybe he never gave the genre the credit it was due, and he ends up thanking the dull movies eventually… They lead him to Neil, the realest thing he’s ever known.

pumpkin heads by moonix [Rated T, 4278 Words, Complete, 2023, Locked]

Tonight is the night. Halloween, Andrew and Neil's last night working at the pumpkin patch, and the night Andrew is finally going to ask Kevin out. If only they could find Kevin... (Based on the graphic novel Pumpkin Heads, but you don't need to have read it to understand the fic.)

Andrew Minyard Loves Fall (and will fight anyone who doesn’t) by mareofthesky [Rated G, 11074 Words, Complete, 2022]

Andrew is trying to enjoy his favorite season in peace, but a certain Mystery Man keeps popping up out of nowhere. With a long string of aliases, an infuriating mouth, and striking features, he's managed to catch Andrew's attention in a way that not many can. Andrew can't seem to get the menace out of his head, but he's beginning to think he doesn't want to.

NB: author’s fall spotify playlist here

skylight by djhedy [Rated T, 5560 words, Complete, AFTG Fall Exchange 2020]

Previously recced here

neil moves to a pro team, a new apartment, in a new city, and is held up by his friends. and by a series of mysterious gifts left on his doormat.

What if We Held Hands in our Pyjama Pants by transjorts [Rated T, 9301 Words, Complete, 2021]

A very soft, autumn-themed high school au in which Andrew, Aaron and Nicky are the new kids and Neil accidentally catches feelings.

tw: dysphoria, tw: transphobia, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

Art

aftghalloweenzine cosplay by @foxy-exy

your favorite emotional support sapphics art by @kashjsnsndnan

Renison as Witch and vampire art by @pria-png

adoptive!Bee halloween and happy halloween! art by @deklo

andreil halloween costumes art by @manekkii-art

andreil halloween costumes art by @lunapiq

All family together art by @kurra

the foxes in their costumes art by @jojen-hewitt

Neil and Andrew in Eden’s outfits + Halloween art by @fabulousmisfits

happy halloween, foxes art by @jeannemaybedarc

Put ‘em up and Neil costume comic art by @emry-stars-art

Halloween party… art by @stiigex

Halloween andreil makeup meme art by @jesperandwylansittinginnatree

AngelJean and DevilJeremy art by @blablablabel

[mistamysterystan]

Uncle Mullet who’s not from my universe how the FUCK did you fumble THAT bad. You’re probably bisexual who the hell cares, man.

-@formerquestionmarkmp

I DONT KNOW, ALSO WHO ARE YOU

AND NO I AINT-!! I CANT BE- I JUST CANT

[writer-in-theory]

berry sweet on your lips

TW: Period-typical homophobia, Some Internalized homophobia, Implied abuse (Steve's dad is a pos)

When Steve was seven, his Mama caught him in her makeup.

He was sitting up on the bathroom counter, sloppily drawn eyeliner over his eyelids and trying to apply bright cherry red lipstick to his lips without smearing. The application process required so much focus he hadn't realized when the front door opened downstairs, or when his mom called repeatedly for him to come down to dinner. He did hear the surprised little yelp from her though, and the sigh once she realized which eyeliner he'd accidentally broken.

"Honey, those aren't toys to play with." His Mama's voice was tight like she was barely containing her frustration at the lost products. Dad always made her upset, and Steve didn't want to add to it. So it didn't seem like a good time to correct her, that no, he wasn't trying to play. He'd seen how pretty makeup could make people, and he wanted it. He wanted to be pretty.

Instead, he sighed and nodded, hopping down from the counter. "Sorry, Mama."

"It's okay, baby, that stuff just isn't for kids to play with. C'mon, let's get you washed up and we can get some dinner."

It wasn't the last time he'd thought about makeup, though it took years until Steve found the courage to try again.

--

It happened when he was fourteen in Carol Perkins's basement. He, Tommy, and Carol spent most nights together anymore. The Perkins' always volunteered to babysit Steve when he was younger and his Mama started going on business trips with his dad, and they always let Tommy come over so he wouldn't be left out. That basement with its bright tie-dyed blankets scattered around and posters of every attractive celebrity you could imagine felt more like home than his own house.

Maybe that was why he felt so comfortable suggesting it in the first place.

"Ugh, I need more girl friends, honestly," Carol groaned, flopping back onto the pile of pillows and blankets she'd acquired.

"What now? We're not entertaining enough?" Tommy teased from where he and Steve were playing air hockey. Steve's knuckles were sure to bruise tomorrow from the speed with which they were knocking the puck at each other but they hadn't stopped laughing yet. "Need to go braid Tina's hair and talk about boys?"

"You're not boring," Carol clarified, "but it'd be nice to do someone's makeup and talk about boys every once in awhile. A girl needs some gossip."

Tommy laughed, so Steve laughed too because it seemed the right thing to do. But really...it didn't sound so bad, did it? So when the laughter died down, he spoke up. "You could put makeup on me, I don't care," Steve shrugged.

He did. He did care so much. Even the thought of it made his heart flutter, threatening to fly away at any second.

"Really?" Carol raise one eyebrow, sitting all the way up and twisting around to face him. "You'd let me put makeup on you? The whole thing, I don't do boring makeup."

"C'mon, man, don't let her do that to you," Tommy groaned, but Steve just shrugged again and abandoned the air hockey table, coming over to sit down on the floor with Carol.

"It washes off, right?" As if he hadn't known how easy it was to swipe off red lipstick, though it would always leave a deep tint to his lips like he'd been eating berries. "It can't hurt."

It at least made Carol happy, and seeing her smile as she rushed off to retrieve her makeup bag made Tommy's grumbles about ditching the game worth it.

And you know, it was fun. Carol was actually gentle, and seemed to know what she was doing. Steve had his eyes closed most of the time while she brushed powder and liner on them, as she swiped mascara on and tried to perfect whatever glamorous look she'd seen in her latest magazine. She did talk about boys too, all about which girl had crushes on each boy that they knew, and why Eric Thompson was the most crushed on boy in Hawkins Middle.

"Eric Thompson? Get a grip, Perkins, you can do so much better than him," Steve told her, laughing at her indignant shout.

"Seriously. The guy's a total meathead," Tommy called from where he was sprawled out across one of the couches, idly watching whatever movie the Perkins' decided to rent for the night.

"You're a total meathead," Carol shot back in return. "Not Stevie here, though. No, I think after I tell all the girls about what a good guy you are, you'll be the new king of Hawkins Middle."

"Screw Hawkins Middle, I better be king of Hawkins High for this," Steve laughed, only because he had no idea how to thank her for it. By the time he'd left the Perkins' house the next morning, the bright eyeshadow and tacky lip gloss had been washed away but the feeling of pure peace it had brought him persisted.

--

Steve hadn't dared try again, not until he was sixteen and saw a guy wearing nail polish. It was one of the Seniors, the one who wore all black and who the whole basketball team called The Freak. And maybe he was a freak, Steve didn't really ever have a reason to talk to him and find out, but the sight of the swath of black over his nails left Steve breathless.

"You taking photography this semester, Harrington?" The guy—something Munson, Steve thinks—asked when Steve hadn't stopped staring in the hallway.

"Huh?" Steve startled, looking down both sides of the hallway as if to check if any of his friends were seeing who he was talking to. "No?"

"Shame," Munson let out a little 'tsk' noise, the way Steve's dad always did when he was disappointed. "You could've taken a picture and made it last longer."

Oh, oh. Steve's face flushed red, and the second he saw a flash of another green and orange letterman he panicked. They would know, oh God they'd see him with The Freak and it would all be over, they would figure out that he wanted to paint his nails too and—

Steve wasn't proud of the words spoken after that. They lingered far after he'd said them, swirling in his head until it sounded a little more like his dad was repeating them over and over again, reminding Steve of just what kind of person he was to stay clear away from.

It was that guilt that finally convinced him to go to Melvald's, where the kind woman at the counter didn't question why he was buying the cheapest makeup products he could find. He didn't even know if any of it would look good together, he just knew he needed it. He needed a way to see himself like this before he messed up again where someone could see, where someone could figure him out.

And so began the careful ritual. Every night he'd rush home from practice, lock his bedroom door even though he knew his parents were away on another trip, and swipe the makeup over his eyes, cheeks, lips. He got better at it with every attempt, until the liner wasn't shaky and his lipstick didn't look like it had already been kissed off (and now, wasn't that a thought).

--

Except that was the trouble with secrets, wasn't it? They couldn't stay buried for long, not when Hawkins was so small and this felt so much larger than the town, than the state, than anything Steve had ever been apart of.

It was only a matter of time until his dad found out.

That night he'd been sloppy, unprepared for his parents to come home early. The light in the upstairs bathroom had gone out and instead of changing it he'd moved downstairs, where the lights had already been switched out to a cooler white that made it easier to see what colors he was painting his skin with.

Steve Harrington was pretty sure he would die that night, all over deep red lipstick and perfectly-drawn eyeliner.

He didn't know where he was running to, all he knew was that he couldn't stay in Loch Nora. He ran until he was near the edge of town, nothing but trees and the one road leading out surrounded him. Steve hadn't had his car keys on him, and there was no way he could go back for them without facing his dad's righteous anger. Steve let out a painful cry, finding nothing left to do but lay down on the pavement and stare at the stars. He was barely eighteen, no car, no money except whatever bills were stuffed in his pocket, no plan. Just himself and that damned red lipstick still lingering like berry-stained evidence on his lips.

He didn't move for anything. Not when the night grew chilly enough to freeze his joints and prick up goosebumps on his arms. Not when the rumble of an old car engine came roaring in the distance, or for the subsequent squeal of brakes and a loud horn.

"Shit, Harrington, I know you have air for a brain but what the fuck are you do—" The person cut themselves off, like from seeing the state of him. They'd probably hit him too, kick at him while he was down because why the fuck did he think he could get away with this shit in the middle of nowhere Indiana?

"Shit, Harrington," the voice hissed again, sounding as pained as Steve thought he should feel.

"Get on with it," Steve voiced, voice rough with tears and the violent yells his dad had hit out of him.

"Get on with what?"

Steve rolled his eyes, turning his head to meet Eddie Munson's gaze. He wondered if he still painted his nails. He wondered if it even mattered, because even Eddie Munson didn't do what Steve did. "I'm tired, man. If you're gonna get your revenge on me make it quick."

That startled Eddie, reminding Steve of just how expressive the guy was. It was almost humorous, the way his head reeled back and his eyes widened impossibly far.

"Get in the van, Harrington."

Right, if Eddie was gonna murder him he couldn't do it out in the open, not where anyone could be driving by.

So Steve picked himself up from the ground, not bothering to brush off his jeans before sliding into the passenger seat. They didn't talk the whole drive. No music played. They just sat in complete and total silence, punctuated only by the nervous taps of Eddie's hand on the steering wheel.

Eddie Munson must be stupider than he was. Most murderers wouldn't drive their victim to their own trailer before finishing the job. Though, Steve supposed all Eddie had to say was that he saw Steve Harrington wearing lipstick and it'd all be waved away. Upstanding citizen, that Eddie Munson was.

"Shower's back there, there's a first aid kit on the shelf," Eddie spoke, unable to stand still once they got inside the trailer.

And that, well that was just downright weird. Steve tilted his head to the side, eyeing the little hallway Eddie waved his hand at like it might jump at him. "What's happening?"

"What do you mean?" Eddie sounded tired, like he hadn't slept in weeks. Steve felt like he'd never slept at all, like he might never again.

"You...aren't you gonna...?"

"I mean, I could if you think you're gonna fall," Eddie said nervously, eyes also watching the hallway. "Just tryin' to protect your modesty, man."

"What?" Nothing was making sense, and Steve was beginning to wonder if maybe his head had hit the tile floor one too many times because this was supposed to be simple, cut and dry.

"Can you just go clean up, Harrington?"

"Why?"

"Because I hate seeing all that damn blood on you, okay?" Eddie snapped out, voice raising in pitch the more worked up he got. "I don't know what the hell happened, but I hate it."

Oh.

"You're not...you're not gonna...?" Steve repeated, including a lackluster air punch.

That seemed to make everything click in place for Eddie. He sucked in a breath and both hands flew to the top of his head, scraping through his unruly curls. "Shit, you think? Nah, man, I'm not a piece of shit like whoever did that to you. C'mon."

Eddie started walking down the hallway, and honestly this all felt so vaguely dreamlike Steve couldn't do anything but follow, wordlessly sitting on the toilet lid where Eddie waved for him to be. The other man was knelt between his legs, wiping off his face with a wet washcloth. His touch was gentle, experienced as he wiped away the blood and set to work rubbing antibiotic onto each open cut.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Steve whispered out, eyes focused on the barest hint of eyeliner on Eddie's eyes. The other man clearly wasn't wearing it to be pretty though. No, this was drawn on with intentional haste, and made Eddie look so fucking badass that Steve didn't know what to do about it. "I sucked in school. I was awful to you."

Eddie's hands didn't stop, brown eyes focused on Steve's lips as he wiped at the split in the lower one. He could see the breath hitch in the other man's chest though, a quick collapse of Eddie's chest before his breath restarted at a normal rhythm. "You did suck, but that doesn't mean you deserve this."

Steve didn't say anything else, couldn't really. Not when the lump in his throat grew until he was sure he would never be able to breathe again, and the tears began to spill without inhibition. And Eddie, well Eddie let him. He just kept patching him up, never saying anything, never berating him or looking disgusted by the tears. He just sat with Steve while he let it out, eyes looking to Steve's every so often as if to check he was okay.

"I think something's wrong with me." The whisper sounded so loud in the tiny bathroom, echoing around and around and smacking into Steve's chest repeatedly.

"No." It was the first time Eddie seemed bothered by anything Steve said all night, fingers gripping tightly around the corner of the counter he was holding to keep himself steady. "There's nothing wrong with you."

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but Eddie cut him off. He looked Steve right in the eyes, a kind of fire lighting up in those dark brown eyes of his. "Steve Harrington, there is nothing wrong or broken or shameful about you. So you like to wear makeup, lots of guys do."

"I've never met anyone who does."

"Because you're in Bumfuck, Indiana," Eddie continued on, never sounding more passionate than he did now. It was intense, sure, but Steve had longed for someone, anyone, to say what Eddie was now. And of course it was the guy with the painted nails he'd been enraptured by years before. "Just you wait, pretty boy, there's a whole world out there with people like us."

Like us. Like us.

"C'mon, you need some sleep. We can figure out the details in the morning."

"Wait...what?"

Eddie laughed a little, shattering the heavy moment with a burst of pure warmth. He stood up and offered a ringed hand out to help Steve up despite him not needing it. Eddie's hand was cold in his own, but it felt right there.

"Try to keep up, Harrington," he teased. "If you don't mind sharing a bed, you can stay here. Us freaks have to stick together, right?"

"I mean...your uncle won't...?"

"Nah, Wayne'll love pissin' Robert Harrington off," Eddie answered coolly, "And he's cool with...everything."

And despite Steve's skepticism, he was. Wayne Munson was pretty much the greatest support anyone could ever have. His face had flashed dangerously when Steve admitted what happened, saying the world had no place for men who hit their boys (Steve wondered only briefly why the topic seemed to pain Wayne so much). And living with Eddie Munson, well, it was great. The trailer was small and Eddie kicked in his sleep, but Eddie also smiled from the second he was awake and the no place had ever quite felt like home in the way the Munson trailer did.

And the next time Steve found the courage to sit and do his makeup, it came with bright smiles instead of that old, lingering fear.

[hazbinned]

Valentino chuckled a little bit-- rather disingenuously, too, as the laughter's sole purpose was to hide the irritation he was feeling at his offer being denied yet again. What was with this girl and not eating anything? Didn't she trust him?

His eyes drifted over to her as she removed 'the garment' from the sofa, and he stifled a more real giggle.

"Oh! Sorry about that," Val mused.

No, he wasn't!

He found it hilarious that she still chose to sit there anyway.

Visage started talking, and Valentino squinted as he listened. Did she really think he was that stupid? Maybe he'd sold her on the act too well. Or maybe she was the stupid one.

"Um, you could have just responded to one of their ads?" the moth said, scrutinizing her as he rested his elbows on the back of the couch. "Like... they're literally everywhere. You can't browse any website without seeing them. We didn't have to meet..."

Unless... could she be talking about Angel Dust? Angel's ads specifically stated that he did not sleep with women, but it wouldn't surprise Val if some sick chick like Visage didn't care.

The moth stared at her for a moment, and then came to sit down on other sofa, facing her.

"Mmm... hm. Which one did you want, anyway? You're not trying to get a discount, are you? Because I don't do those."

Instinctively, Visage could feel the fur along the back of her neck bristle at the snide catty remarks that brought her accomplishments and the quality of her establishment into question. In any other scenario, she would have been all too eager to give as good as she got, matching him move for petty move while wearing the most glib of smiles upon her face every step of the way. But, alas ... she had a deal to seal first. Giving into that selfish urge to match his 'mean girl' energy would have to wait until business was dealt with. The smile she gave was almost too broad to be believable, but in that moment, it hardly seemed to matter. "Ah, jokes! You're a funny guy, Valentino. I'll give you that." Her tongue was held the remainder of the walk from the elevator to the doors, hands casually resting in her pockets as she followed. In response to the sudden kick of the door, one eyebrow raised as her head canted slightly to one side. What was it and the Vees with kicking in doors? Was it a brand thing, or just them having a flair for the dramatic? Hell if she knew. Stepping past him to cross the threshold of the now-opened doors, the hellhound took in her surroundings with a disdainful eye. Somehow, the decor was even more tacky and over-the-top than she had anticipated--a feat she hadn't thought possible, and yet ... here they were. Stunning. "Wow, it's ... somethin'." That was about the most honest and least-offensive thing she could think to say in that moment--more colorful and creative commentary about the interior design would have to wait for a more appropriate occasion. With a faint wrinkle of her muzzle, she used the tips of two claws to pluck a discarded pair of thong underwear from off the couch before tossing it to the floor and taking a hesitant seat--she had no idea whether the garment belonged to the moth demon himself or a 'guest' and quite frankly? She didn't want to know. She knew better than to accept refreshments from someone like him, however, and so the offers were waved away with a casually dismissive hand. "I'm good, thanks. Let's cut right to the chase, mm? I'm lookin' to ... 'rent' ... one of your lovely workers on a weekly basis." Visage paused for a moment to withdraw a pack of smokes from the inside pocket of her jacket. "See, I have a lil' policy against 'gettin' high off my own supply', in a manner of speakin' so ... I don't get feisty with my girls. But an Overlord still has needs, so ... I figured since we run in the same circles and all, we might be able to find some 'common ground'. Know what I mean...?" Deep down in the pit of her stomach, putting on this act was already making her insides twist into knots ... but if she wanted to do this right, and acquire Angel the faintest illusion of freedom that she possibly could, she had to see this through. Which meant she really needed to sell it--better for Valentino to think her a fellow creep than know what she truly intended.

[spring-lxcked]

@florietiae ( continued from here )

It was a nerve-wracking thing to even imply—that he had been involved with men. That the rumors were true. He expected her to pull away, to have some sort of strong reaction. That expectation only made her actual reaction more surprising, William studying her face as he spoke, his false smile having slid away in favor of genuine surprise. Perhaps a touch of relief, although he was still attempting to wrap in mind around her words.

"It doesn't bother you in the slightest? That I'm. . . attracted to men as well?" He paused, then clarified, "That I'm queer?" He said it as though he thought putting the word to it might make a difference. For a moment longer he simply blinked at her, then the corners of his lips began to tug upwards. He pulled her closer, face burying into the crook of her neck. She couldn't see it, but he was grinning. "I'm very happy, Rachel. I do have the perfect girlfriend, after all."

He leaned back only so he could run his hand down her arm and take her hand into his. He lifted it, pressing a kiss to her palm. "It's strange thinking I don't need to hide it from you." A pause. "Good strange. I'm just not used to being open about it."

[54625]

that moment when you live in a horrific unstable war torn land where you are surrounded by a world that teaches you to hate all kinds of people (which in some respects consequently includes yourself) and you become a warrior/warlord fueled by hatred and disgust of all people including and especially yourself and you kill and torture and fight to keep yourself alive because survival of the fittest and every man for himself are the only two truths you prescribe to but then you finally get a break and you escape the hellscape and you find yourself a (begrudgingly beloved) son who lets you realise that your blood stained hands can nurture and care and create and that you are more than a machine made to survive because you are a person made to live and you meet a man who is sweet and funny and clever in ways that still make you feel like you want to throw up but slowly his friendship becomes such a big part of your life and he lets you realise that caring for someone and being cared for by someone could never be disgusting no matter who you are and and and and and