#she knows he’s a goddamn fag

[drcooldog]

Hey actually new doctor who is insane and I’m going crazy about it

[vapekingg]

Robin Buckley x Fem!Reader Fluff/angst 18+ for suggestive mentions WK - 4.3k TW for homophobic slurs Closeted reader and Robin, first kiss, first date, drive in date, Steddie setting up Robin and reader.

The overhead bell at Family Video dinged above you as you pushed your way into the air conditioned storefront.

“Right on time.” Steve said from the checkout counter. 

He was glancing down at his watch, boyfriend and best friend huddled around him as usual. You’d made a habit of checking out two or three movies every week just to have an excuse to wander over from your job at the record shop next door. 

“I take lunch at two o’clock every day, dingus.” You replied. 

Robin couldn’t help but to smile. She’d noticed you’d picked up that nickname for Steve after hearing her call him it a time or two. 

But she couldn’t smile for too long. Couldn’t let her eyes linger too heavily on the fray of your denim shorts — or more accurately, the flawless skin that sat just beneath it like a colliding estuary. Couldn’t let you know that she adored you in that way. 

Robin took a step back when you approached the counter. Sometimes she felt scared to even be around you, like you could smell the fag shedding off of her. As if she was sickly. Contagious. That’s what people would say behind her back if they knew. 

“Got anything new in?” You asked while sliding Steve the VHS you’d barely had for twenty-four hours. 

“Since you came in yesterday?” He cocked an eyebrow, “No.” 

“New release at the drive-in tonight though. Elm Street 4.” Eddie mentioned from your side of the desk. It was so miserable out that even he’d shed the leather jacket you typically saw him wearing, settling for a simple all black get up with that telling bandana hanging out the back of his jeans. 

“Eh, let me know when it comes in. Last time I went to the drive-in alone some high schooler tried to hop in my passenger seat and cop a feel.” You mentioned. 

You were content with watching re-runs on television late into the night while curled up on your sofa, you supposed. But a part of you wished you could just ask Robin to accompany you to that fucking movie. 

“No goddamn way she’s not into chicks,” your co-workers told you to every time you came back from leaning over that fucking service desk during your half hour lunch. “She hangs out with Steve and Eddie all day, for fuck’s sake!”

Fuck, how you wished you could believe it as easily as they did. Even if you did believe it, it was easier just to protect your ego. 

What if you made a move and she wasn’t into it? Would she recoil like she’d been shocked by a live wire? Maybe she’d use one of those hurtful words that you’d only heard while kissing girls outside of bars in the city. It was less painful to not take the chance. At least this way you could admire her from afar — on your lunch break, while she was dressed in that adorable uniform that fit her so well. 

“Why don’t you go with her, Robin?” Steve said, ripping you out of your daydream and forcing fear up your spine like the knived fingers of Krueger himself. “You love the Elm Street movies.”

Robin’s baby blues widened from sudden anxiety. She used them to stare at Steve frantically, as if he hadn’t been the one to just thrust her into this situation in the first place. Instead, all she received from him was raised eyebrows and a humored smile while her own mouth failed to produce words. 

“I, uh—” Robin stuttered, “I think I close tonight, actually!”

“Negative. Harrington closes tonight.” Eddie replied with cheek. Of course he had his own boyfriend’s work schedule down pat. God only knows how they defiled that check-out counter once Robin left those two alone in the evenings. 

You cocked an eyebrow at her. The way your bubblegum peeked out from between your teeth when your lips parted into a smile had her wondering how sugary sweet it tasted — how sugary sweet you tasted. 

“Don’t wanna be seen in my hatchback, Buckley? I’ll let you play DJ on the way there.”

Robin could feel the blood pumping through her veins. Every beat of her heart became so increasingly violent she could hear it in her ears. Of course she wanted to sit shotgun to you while you toted her around, but even the occupation of passenger princess came with its anxieties. What music to play, directions to give, do you hold a conversation or is that too distracting?

“Yes.” She burped out, and it sounded much like a bubble popping or a bullfrog croaking late in the night. All three of you looked at her with confusion. 

“Yes, what?” You asked. “Yes, we’re going?”

“Ye—yeah, that. Let’s go!” She continued after flitting her eyes to Steve and then immediately away. “I get off at six, movie starts at seven. Pick me up at my house?”

She followed the question with that nervous, adorable half-smile you often saw — and adored — right after she did something embarrassing, but there was no excuse to be embarrassed here. 

“Okay.” You said with disbelief. “Okay, yeah. You live off of Rosewood, right?”

She nodded through a broken grin and you began backing up toward the door. There was still plenty of time left on your lunch break, but suddenly Family Video felt even hotter than late August in Indiana and you needed air. Why was there no air in this goddamn building?

“Great,” you said in time with the bell above the front door. “Cool. I’ll be there.”

**********

“Cool, you finally asked her on a date!”

“I didn’t ask her on a date,” you told Mitch, your coworker, for the fifth time. “And I don’t even think it’s a date! Harrington kinda just set us up on some weird playdate like moms do with their socially awkward kids so they can get some alone time.”

You’d been trying for the past two hours to sort through the boxes of new inventory, but with your brain so scrambled, Blondie and Bowie read the exact same. Besides, you couldn’t get that adorable pout out of your head. The way Robin had looked so pitiful when she’d realized you were making an abrupt escape from such a sticky situation.

Sticky, because sometimes being queer felt like a glue trap sitting on your skin. Like you were a little mouse frantically trying to pull yourself free, or a fly hanging midair on a strip of paper. Sometimes you thought it might kill you.

“What’re you gonna wear?” Tiffany asked from behind the register. 

You looked down at your sprawled out form, comfortable and covered in records on the floor of the shop.

“This?”

“That?” She asked again. “You look like fucking Munson.”

It was true that you and Eddie shared a few qualities, at least when it came to style. The frayed hem of your shorts tickled your thighs and was mostly chosen for aesthetic purposes, but the cut off sleeves of your Iron Maiden t-shirt were purely practical. It was too goddamn hot to not show a little skin. 

“Robin dresses like a fucking dad. I’m wearing this, Tiff.” You reiterated.

Tiffany shrugged and went back to her counting, as if to say something along the lines of, “It’s your funeral.”

You stood in front of your mirror after your shift that afternoon.

Would it be your funeral if you wore the same outfit you’d been seen in earlier that evening? Maybe Robin didn’t like the way you dressed. If she didn’t like your cut offs, this very well could be the death of something that hadn’t even started yet. 

You held up top after top in front of your chest, shorts after shorts before your waist and nothing seemed perfect. You wouldn’t wear a dress to the movies with a straight girl – which is all that you could assume Robin was, and all she could assume you were as well. So you remained in your cut off shorts and Iron Maiden tank top while sliding your sunglasses off of your forehead to face the blinding late afternoon rays. Grabbing your keys off of the counter seems like a battle in and of itself, as if holding them in your hand meant that you had to get in your car and make a fool of yourself, but you combated that thought by snatching them up quickly. Hardly giving yourself enough time to talk yourself out of the date that you’d been set up on. 

But calling it that was dangerous. Presumptions got people killed. That’s what Steve and Eddie and Tiffany and Mitch failed to understand. 

You’d heard the stories in the city. They were talked about loudly while you flirted with girls at gay bars in Indianapolis — how another queer teenager had been killed, a casualty of the growing “gay panic” that seemed to be the excuse of every homophobic, bloodthirsty meathead that was looking for an excuse to rough someone up. 

Those thoughts faded away with the roar of your engine, and soon you were heading down Peony Circle, then Dahlia Street, and then Rosewood Drive. You recognized her house from the many birthday parties your mother had forced you to go to as a kid, until birthday parties became uncool — or at least until Robin stopped handing out invitations. 

She was waiting outside for you. And Jesus Christ, the way she knocked her knees together while sitting on the front steps of her porch caused you to pump the brake just a little bit harder. 

You liked Robin’s freckles the most. You liked how they didn’t stop at her cheeks, rather decorated her body in constellations. Even her shins and arms. Now that she was out of her Family Video uniform and adorned in a more comfortable pair of shorts and tank top, you could see the spots splattered across her chest, too, and that alone made heat fill your face. 

“I think I prefer your uniform.” You teased as she plopped herself down into your passenger seat. 

“Oh, shut up.” Robin spat with no malice, but the rasp of her voice never failed to make your heart swell. “I can’t believe you don’t have one. How long do we have?”

You glanced at the clock on your dashboard and signaled a three and then a zero with your free hand while popping a cigarette between your lips with the other. 

“Want one?” You asked. 

And to your soul crushing dismay, Robin visibly recoiled. 

“Gross.”

Immediately, back into the pack it went. 

She chose a Joan Jett & the Blackhearts album for the drive, which was to be expected. It wasn’t like you had any Madonna or Bowie albums lying around for her to choose from. And even if it wasn’t exactly her style, Robin put her feet up on your dashboard and tapped her toes along to the beat of Crimson and Clover like she’d been here before. Like you picking her up and toting her around was an everyday occurrence. Like she belonged in your passenger seat. 

“I got it.” You told her when she tried to hand you a few crumpled up dollars as you pulled up to the gate, then handed the teller a fiver. Enough to cover the bill for both of you. The drive-in on a Friday night was a lot like a no man’s land. Everyone in Hawkins seemed to flock there for a bit of entertainment and respite from the summer heat once the sun went down. The layout was structured:

In the first set of rows were families with screaming, playing children and nervous first dates. Little boys and girls running around outside of cars with bubble wands and teenage couples who got there earlier enough for a good parking spot, that way there was no pressure to make out or fool around in the back seat once the stars aligned. In the second rows were those that needed the stars to align. The lovestruck couples that couldn’t wait for the lights to dim over Indiana, just so they could get a taste of each other. The second batch or rows meant heated touches and wandering hands, fogged up windows and cries muffled into a cigarette burnt seat cushion. It was sweaty, once in a lifetime summertime teenage love that one looks back on well into their life and reminisces just for a moment before continuing on with their day. 

Had you gotten there earlier, maybe you could have been one of those second rowers. God knows you needed the stars to align. You needed Robin to be like you, needed someone in this town besides fucking Steve and Eddie to be queer and not be afraid to show it. 

Instead, you parked your hatchback at the very back of the lot, where high schoolers and washed up jocks roamed the gravel like lions during a feeding frenzy.

“You’re sure about this?” Robin asked, nerves settling into her throat and weeping out through her tone of voice. You could see it painted on her face when she glanced past you and noticed Jason Carver leaned against the hood of his car, still sporting his letterman jacket from three years ago.

“We can go grab a movie at work and go back to yours instead?”

“I think we’ll be okay.” You said while flashing her a half-hearted smile, “Just… lock your door.” But the look on Andy’s face when you stole another glance their direction told you that you would make a liar out of yourself by the end of the night, and there was something comforting about knowing that maybe the universe was about to start making decisions on your behalf. Concessions came around shortly before the movie began, and you bought a large popcorn and two sodas. You let the bucket rest between the two of you and were careful to not put your hand anywhere near it when hers was there — as if one touch was all it would take. The simple brushing of a few fingers, and she would begin calling you that ugly “F” word.

“Does Steve do this to you often?” You asked when there was hardly any light left in the sky. Just a few more minutes, and you wouldn’t feel the need to make small talk. You could enjoy the movie in peace and go back to admiring Robin from afar tomorrow, just like you preferred doing.

“Set you up on playdates, I mean.” You continued when she scrunched up her eyebrows in an adorable manner. 

“Oh, uh…” She said while glancing down at her hands, and you were afraid then that you might’ve offended her. “He just wants me to make more girlfriends — FRIENDS! Friends, I mean!”

She stuttered, and her baby blues became wide. But she snapped them up to you, and as more words came tumbling out of her mouth, you were just thankful that she was actually looking at you again.

“Friends. I don’t really have any besides Steve and Eddie, but no, they don’t do this often.”

Now you were the one furrowing your brow, along with the cock of your head. You turned sideways in your seat to face her.

“You don’t think we’re friends?” You asked.

Robin shrugged. “Are we? This is the first time we’ve hung out since we were in grade school.”

“I come to see you every day at work.” You slipped.

And with those words slipped your heart.

Little did you know, Robin’s heart slipped, too. Right out of her chest. She would’ve bet money that had she looked down, that still beating organ would’ve been a bloody mess at her feet and she would’ve had to apologize for dirtying up your floorboards. 

“You’re visiting me?” She asked quietly, mouth slightly ajar.

“Not Steve?” is what she wanted to follow with, as she was more than used to seeing Steve upsell like a pro daily with the ladies at Family Video — even if they did know that he was dating Eddie.

Even with the truth laid out before her on a silver platter, Robin still refused to believe it. 

And by the grace of God, before you were forced to answer with a gut wrenching, moment defining confession, the big screen lit up and A Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master began its opening credits. 

You turned forward in your seat, and Robin continued to rasp her fingernail against the side of that sweating Coca-Cola cup as the movie played on. Anxiety riddled thoughts played out in her head in rapid fire succession, so quickly that each jump scare didn’t cause hardly a flinch as she stared forward.

You’d been visiting her. In your cut off shorts and tank tops that’s been sliced down the sides. Every day, for months. Had those movies gone unwatched, or had you actually taken all of her recommendations to heart and played them over and over again in the darkness of your living room? Had you invited another girl along to watch them with you? Maybe they hadn’t even made it out of the record store. You’d left them there overnight just as an excuse to bring them back the next morning to see her again. And you were punching yourself for talking so much. Because everything was ruined now, wasn’t it? Robin would know you were a dyke, a fag, and she’d duck into the back of the store every time you came to snag a peek at those constellation-like freckles that darkened with the summer sun.

But all thoughts, yours and Robin’s alike, came to a screeching halt when faced with that damned waterbed scene. 

A beautiful blonde, completely nude, hair splayed out around her, breasts pressed against translucent rubber. She was unrealistic. Not perfect, just unattainable, but that was what made Joey — and you — so fixated on her. 

You had to move. You could feel your limbs tensing up, as if they were about to creak like the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz. You slipped your hand to the center console to grab a fistful of popcorn. Even if you weren’t hungry, you had to pretend like you weren’t sweating bullets, right? Had to pretend that you didn’t feel like some undercover agent that was being talked about in the third person. But why did the girl on the screen have to be so pretty? You couldn’t help but to stare, and the warm butter mixed with the stickiness of summer air forced a whole new sensation to befall you. The sensation of everything closing in, of it all coming to a head, to an end. And then, there was skin. 

Robin’s fingers met yours at the center of the popcorn bucket, and she was sure that her heart stopped. It might have minutes ago when that girl had popped up on the screen, but it was nonexistent now. 

And you didn’t move your hand away when it met hers, despite it feeling much like a jolt of electricity racing through your entire body. That momentary effervescence, it was enough to get you through the stress of living in a world that didn’t understand.

But it wasn’t long lasting, as a chili dog thrown with the force of a football hit your back windshield full speed. You ripped your hand away from Robin’s, nearly knocking the bucket of popcorn all over her in the process. 

“Fuck!” You mumbled to yourself. From the driver’s side mirror, you saw Jason and Andy approaching your window. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

It was Andy who tapped against the glass with knuckles calloused from years of playing sports, and you bit the inside of your cheek while rolling the window down. 

“First date?” Jason grinned from outside of your car. 

“Go fuck yourself, Carver.” You spat with immediate regret. 

But then Robin’s elbow seemed to bump yours near the center console, and whether it was on accident or purpose you couldn’t be sure, but that skin to skin contact allowed you to ground yourself a bit this time around. 

“Just trying to enjoy our movie.” You continued, and never once did you dare meet eyes with either of them. 

Because last time you had, well, they’d seen too much.

You and some redhead tangled up in each other beneath a streetlight in a sparse parking lot. You’d thought you were the last ones out of The Hideout that night, but you’d been wrong, and they’d witnessed it all. Every bit of your mouth on hers, her hands around your waist, and the way you’d ushered her quickly into your car once you caught a glimpse of your audience. 

“Right.” Andy drawled, and you saw him lean past you to look at Robin in the passenger seat. “Know what else she enjoys?”

“Andy,” You bargained with a nervous smile covered by your fingers, eyes closed gently so you wouldn’t have to witness the explosion of what could have been. 

But Robin was already anticipating his next words, and her heart hurt for you.

“She’s butch.” He said loudly, “A fuckin’ dyke, y’know? Right here in Hawkins.”

There it was, the final nail in your coffin. You could feel the pity shedding off of Robin from the seat over, and perhaps that was the worst part of all. 

“Come on.” She whispered. The blood and gore playing out before you was nothing compared to how absolutely gutted you felt inside, and Robin could certainly sense that. “Let’s just go home.”

“Home?” Jason teased. 

From what little you could see through your back window, you noticed a third figure blocking your exit.

“So you lesbos can scissor it up in private? That’s what you came here for.” He continued, and your hand slowly made their way toward the keys that sat in the uncranked ignition. “Go on, give us a show. Just like you did at the bar.”

With the roar of your engine, Patrick McKinney scarcely missed getting snagged in the ass with the edge of your bumper. You peeled out of there, dodging roughhousing teenagers and kids that were just heading back to their parents with fresh buckets of popcorn just alike. You could hear your heart thumping like a drum in your ears, could feel the tears prickling the corners of your eyes — but you wouldn’t cry. Not yet. 

It wasn’t until you pulled up in front of your apartment and let your knuckles soften around the steering wheel that you realized what you’d done.

“I didn’t — I didn’t mean to bring you back here.” You sighed while shaking away the thoughts in your head like an Etch-A-Sketch. “Like, I don’t want you to think I’m trying to—”

“I don’t think anything.” Robin interrupted. 

She hadn’t put her feet up on the dashboard during the drive back. Hell, she hadn’t even put her seatbelt on — which was uncharacteristic of a hypochondriac. Instead, she’d sat there holding her hands in her lap, disbelieving of what she’d just found out to be true.

She wasn’t alone. In this small, backwoods town — there was someone like her. 

You washed your hand over your face and contemplated where to go from there, and after a moment, you knew what you wanted to do.

“They weren’t lying, you know.” You laughed, and then looked at her for the first time in what felt like ages.

And the look you saw on Robin’s face, surprisingly, was not that of disgust. But one of hope. A light sheen covered her waterline, as if she’d just been granted her dying wish — kinship.

“I kiss girls.” You said while running your hand through your hair. “Like, a lot. Almost exclusively, actually. I just don’t want you to think that I was trying to bring you home, or that I was trying to pull anything weir—”

But everything past that first sentence was lost on Robin’s ears. The next thing she knew, her mouth was moving without permission from her brain.

“No, I kiss girls, too!” She blurted out, and then squeezed her eyes together with embarrassment. 

You smiled, and she spoke quickly to save herself.

“I mean, in theory.” She corrected, “I would love to kiss a girl! I haven’t actually kissed a girl. I mean, it isn’t like there are tons of options in Hawkins. But if I had the chance — I mean, if the right girl came along—”

“Robin,” you interrupted, and her chest deflated with relief. 

You reached forward to place a gentle hand on her cheek, and it almost seemed right that all of this was happening under the cover of the night. Like it was made easier for her because of it. You could feel the heat in her cheeks, and she could feel the pulse thumping away in your thumb as you brushed her temple. 

“Do you want me to kiss you?” You asked.

And with a sigh, as if she’d been waiting for you to ask since you’d first set foot in Family Video some months ago, she replied.

“Please.”

So you did. You leaned across your center console, and her lips were just as plush and pillow soft against yours as they looked. It was everything that you’d anticipated, everything that those second rowers back at the drive-in were chasing after. Robin tasted like a cotton candy summertime sunset that would soon fade into a cashmere sweater, and there was no better way to explain that other than the cusp of summer and fall was your favorite. She was your favorite. 

When you pulled away, you could see by the way her eyes remained closed that perhaps you were her favorite, too.

[hazshit-hotel-hater]

Sloppy Arackniss Redesign (?)

Before I get into this, clarifying, I SAY SLURS IN THIS!!! I CAN RECLAIM SAID SLURS!!! That is all thank you. I kiss boys and love men. Carry on.

Arackniss’s design is bound to change drastically sometime eventually but atm this is just what im doing. My main problem is how he just looks exactly like angel but black. I know thats originally what the whole thing is and they’re opposites but it’s just kinda boring now. Angel is an entirely different character at this point now and Arackniss’s design should accommodate the changes while still being a bit similar looking. I want him to still look very similar to Angel in specific ways like that stupidass headshape but not because of a sibling thing. Honestly when the two were alive they hardly looked anything alike I’m 100% sure of that. Antonio (Arackniss) had black hair and much broader features and was relatively tall and kind of bulky while Anthony & Molly had light blonde hair and more subtle and soft round features and basically one of the only ways to tell them apart aside from personality was Anthony having polycoria and having bloodshot eyes pretty often.

Arackniss hardly looks how he did when he was alive anymore and has taken on many more features of Angel because of his deep rooted rivalry with his brother. I assume hating your middle-child brother that literally got named after you only to have him overdose and kill himself before actually doing anything with his life is enough to stir up more than a little bit of inner turmoil. These guys probably beat each other up OFTEN. Antonio was the first born son and dealt with so much shit before these other guys even were born and when they did show up, Anthony was named after him because their parents honestly just got lazy, and even though Molly didn’t have the name Molly yet, she was still treated like a golden child even though she contributed next to nothing to the family business which yeah that helped her in the long run but to Antonio that’s his number one priority in life. Appeasing his family is what keeps his brain running. And with that, seeing this random kid show up, get named after you, and be treated so much more leniently than you were AND he’s practically your problem because youre 15 hes like fucking 3 years old and your parents are busy all of the goddamn time AND when you DIE you take on the traits of this stupid fucking kid. He has a horrid case of eldest child syndrome and probably some insane identity issues.

This isn’t to say his hatred is only directed at Anthony either, he definitely has his issues with Molly as well, but she kept more to herself and even if she followed Anthony nonstop she was copying what Anthony was doing instead of what he was doing. Copying is the highest form of flattery but flattery gets annoying when everyone cares about the younger “better behaved” version of you. This is one of the biggest reasons Arackniss berates Angel now and in the past. Even though they havent spoken in years, Arackniss still holds Angel to the status of “faggot” because that was practically the only thing he was “worse” than him at. It was the biggest dirt he had on Angel possible to the point that became a genuine used name for him as Anthony “the fag” Benetti. Finding out your angel of a brother is gay during a time where it’s heavily frowned upon, especially by your own family is like a gold mine.

Arackniss is NOT a good person if you couldn’t somehow tell already. He’s homophobic, has a masculinity and classism problem, has little to no regard for other’s well being, and a bunch of other shit. For as distressed as he was over Anthony’s death, a lot of it was because it left their family even more dysfunctional. To him it was Anthony abandoning everyone because they weren’t worth enough to keep him going and then in return he continues to be praised and talked about so wonderfully as if he never did anything wrong “just because he’s dead”.

Thats just BEFORE Arackniss died too! AFTER dying shit got even worse to the extent he ended up even getting disowned! How fun!! This part delves more into Husk and his backstory as well which I think I may save for another time, but these guys know each other and have a lot of beef and also simultaneously are kind of chill in an odd way? By the way, Angel also has the big neck puff, he just shaves it because he doesn’t like the look and like association from trauma

[unclewaynemunson]

'Back off, man, I can do it alone.'

'No you can't.'

Granted, Max couldn't see shit anymore, but she could definitely feel how Eddie was looking at her – how he was winning their staring contest simply because her withering glare didn't exist anymore.

'Look, I don't want you in there with me, period,' she said, trying to sound more in control than she was feeling. She felt her cheeks burn and she hated it.

'Why not?'

She sighed, wishing she could still roll her eyes. 'Jesus, Eddie, do I really need to spell this out for you? It's one thing that my mom has to help me with literally everything, but there's no way I'm gonna let you.'

'Max.' She hated how Eddie's voice had gone soft all of a sudden. 'What are you afraid of?'

She merely scoffed in response; she still felt her cheeks burn. She didn't want to be here, didn't want to have this conversation, didn't want to think about how fucking vulnerable she felt. All she wanted was to go to the goddamn bathroom, was even that too much to ask?

'It's no different for me than for your mom, you know,' Eddie said. Max wished she could see his face, because something in his voice was different than usual but she didn't know what exactly it was.

'You know that's not true,' she said, her jaw clenched.

'No, it is.' She could hear how he took a deep breath. 'I'm gay. So, um... I can promise you it won't be weird.'

'Oh.' She didn't quite know what to do, taken aback by the vulnerability of those words. He didn't need to share this; he only did it to make her feel comfortable. He just handed her this big secret, trusting that she'd react in the right way, that she'd help him keep it, that she wouldn't want to hurt him. It was almost too much responsibility; she didn't really know what to say. She wasn't good with comforting or kind or reassuring words like Lucas.

'Does anyone else know?' she asked.

'My uh... My uncle.'

The scent of smoke made its way into Max's nose and she grimaced, but didn't tell him off; if any moment was a good one to have a cigarette, this one would probably be it, she supposed.

She still wondered what Lucas would say in this moment, but kept coming up empty.

'Okay, you can help me in the bathroom,' she finally decided, shifting back into a more practical mindset.

'Soooo...' Eddie dragged out the word. 'Are you - are we - okay?'

'Yeah, of course.' She should probably thank him for trusting her and tell him that he was her friend and she would always love him no matter who he loved or some sentimental bullshit like that, but she felt too awkward about it so she went for silence instead.

While Eddie helped her into the shower and washed her – at least as far as possible with all her casts – her mind kept running. It wasn't as awkward as she had expected it to be, to have Eddie undress her and touch her skin and even help her on the toilet. He was surprisingly gentle and kept checking in to make sure she was feeling okay, and he even made some lame jokes to try and keep things light. It made her think that this could be what it's like to have an older brother. It made her think of Billy.

'Billy would've hated you,' she finally broke the silence when she was dressed in fresh pajamas and lying with her head against the sink, Eddie's hands massaging shampoo in her hair.

She felt his hands freeze against her scalp.

'He always used to call people fags and pervs and... you know. And he'd beat people up for it. Sometimes I wondered...' She paused, hesitating. 'If he was, like, compensating for something.'

'Compensating?'

'Yeah, you know... If you go around calling enough people queers, no one will expect you to be one, right?'

Eddie hummed. 'I didn't know your brother very well,' he told her. 'Some people say that the queers have this instinct, like a sixth sense, to recognize each other, but I think that's bullshit. Or well, not entirely, sometimes you do get like a vibe from someone – but in the end, you can't just know someone's truth like that. And some people will bury that truth deep, deep down. And we can hardly blame them for that. It can be easier to pretend, you know – it's definitely safer. This world wasn't made for being different in that way. For being different in a lot of ways, actually. Whatever his demons were, whatever war was going on inside of him, I think Billy knew that very well.' He turned on the tap and started rinsing her hair.

'I'm sorry you can't get your answers,' he added when he turned the water back off again.

She sighed in response and let Eddie help her in an upright sitting position. She could feel how he started brushing her hair, carefully, as if she'd break into pieces from just the tiniest touch.

She realized that Eddie was right: there was no way to know what wars exactly took place in Billy's mind. The only thing she did know is that he had been a terrible brother to her - but that, despite that, she still wished it would've been different.

Billy wasn't here anymore; he was buried in the ground and his body was slowly falling apart, eaten by worms. But Eddie was here.

Eddie had constantly been at her side when they were both in the hospital, and now that she had come home, he still was. He checked in on her every afternoon; he cooked for her and her mom; he told her stories to entertain her and tried his best to make her smile whenever she was feeling frustrated by the limits of her body. He listened to her when she wanted to talk, and he kept her company when she didn't. He looked out for her and even trusted her with his secrets. He was more of a brother to her than Billy had ever been. He was right here - and she had all the time in the world to ask him all the questions she never got to ask Billy.

'Have you ever kissed a guy?'

She heard Eddie chuckle softly. 'I have.'

'Have you ever had a boyfriend?'

'Have not.'

'Why not?'

And he answered everything she asked him, all while softly stroking her brush through her hair. And when her mom came home, they drank tea together on the couch, and it strangely felt like they were a proper family.

[fictionalcharactersaremypassion]

Here's part 2 of Caught. Just a warning that this does feature some homophobic language (the f slur a few times and Terry's nasty views on gay people as a whole)

I wrote it to show Colin's internal struggle. He loves his brother, doesn't care that he's gay but still lives with the knowledge of how Terry thinks and what he'd do. I also forgot to mention (I said it on ao3) that this takes place in s1 and Terry is in prison

Also I hope Fiona doesn't sound too OOC. In this universe since she's dating a Milkovich herself, she wouldn't really care all that much that Ian is doing the same thing with Mickey

@callivich

@zutaralesbian (I didn't know if you'd want to be tagged or not but I saw in your tags when you reblogged the first part that it was an interesting premise)

Anyway, here's chapter 2:

****

Colin stood with his back to the front door for nearly a minute. While he promised Fiona he’d go talk to Mickey, he wasn’t really sure how to do that. Milkovich’s didn’t do heart-to-heart talks. They didn’t even apologize, just moved on, pretending it never happened. 

And what the fuck is he even supposed to say? Did Mickey need more reassurance? He already said he didn’t give a shit, should be enough damn assurance. 

He rubbed the side of his nose. Goddamn it, he wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t care but this was out of his expertise. Finding out his brother was a fag was just mind blowing. He’d never peg Mick as one of them. Weren’t they supposed to be weak and shit? Terry always said you could tell who was a fag and who wasn’t. But Colin wouldn’t have been able to tell if Gallagher or Mickey were by just looking at them. 

He was so fucking confused. 

“He needs to know you aren’t going to kick his ass over it.” 

He wouldn’t, and that’s what made the situation all the more complicated. He should hate Mickey on the spot, to think of him as nothing more than vermin. That’s what Terry said.

And well, Colin used to agree. Until he stopped giving a fuck. He didn’t know when that happened, when he would have willingly participated in a good ol’ fag bash to being indifferent so long as it didn’t involve him. 

He’d brush off Terry’s rants about them, not bothering to speak up because he knew it’d only earn him his dad’s wrath. But now, knowing Mickey was hearing all of this, living a life no one else knew about, made his stomach twist uncomfortably. 

He’d be expected to go in there and beat the living shit out of him. Kick him out and let him live on the streets. His little brother that he used to help feed and entice him to walk by dangling cigarette butts and other things a child that young shouldn't be touching. 

“Make sure he’s okay,” Fiona’s voice came back to him. 

Colin blew out a puff of air, going right towards Mickey’s bedroom without knocking. 

He found his youngest brother shoving clothes into a duffle bag, making him stop in his tracks. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” 

“What’s it look like, dipshit?” Mickey shot back defensively. His hand was itching to grab the handgun that was laying on his dresser. “I’m getting out of here.” 

“Why?” Colin demanded. 

“Don’t act fucking stupid. It’s what you want,” Mickey was incredibly tense, like he was expecting a fight to break out. 

“When the fuck did I tell you to leave?” Colin shoved him. Mickey took this as a sign to fight; he pushed with all his might so his older brother’s back would land against the wall with a thud. 

Fuck that. Colin hurled himself on top of Mickey, knocking him to the floor so he was effectively pinned. He tried to fight against it, but Colin had his hands pressed into the boy’s shoulders. 

“What is your problem?” He demanded. Mickey wasn’t responding, he was doing whatever he could to get away. “Fucking hell-Mickey! Answer me or I swear to fucking God I’m going to knock your teeth out!” 

His shout had stirred Mandy, who shrieked at them to shut the fuck up. 

Below him, Mickey was breathing heavily, staring up with wide, panicked eyes. 

He was supposed to look his brother in the eyes and beat him within an inch of his life, to make him think twice about fucking other guys. 

“Calm down,” Colin probably should have known that wasn’t going to do much but give him a fucking break. He was new to this. “I don’t know what your fucking problem is but I said I didn’t give a shit about you liking dick.”

“Like I believe a damn word of that,” Mickey snapped. 

“What the fuck do you want me to say, dickhead?” Frustration leaked into Colin’s voice. “You want me to hold your damn hand or somethin’?” 

“Fuck you!” Mickey tried to kneed him in the balls. If it weren’t for Colin being stronger than his brother, he would’ve been nursing some black and blue balls. “You’re just gonna go and tell Dad anyway!” 

“What?” Colin stared down at him. “Why the fuck would I do that?” 

This seemed to make his brother freeze, staring back up at him warily. 

Jesus. Mickey really thought Colin was going to tell him like he got some sick enjoyment out of knowing what would end up happening to him if their psychotic father knew. 

And he didn’t- a horrible feeling crawled up Colin’s back with the realization that while Mickey had seemingly reacted well out there, he must have been fucking terrified about what was going to happen once they were alone. 

He didn’t know. Didn’t think about this at all. Other than a few obligatory dick jokes at Mick’s expense, Colin didn’t think this was going to be an issue. 

“God, Mickey,” Colin sat back, taking his hands off his brother. “I’m not-I won’t tell Dad about this.” 

He peeled himself off Mickey, standing up. His brother slowly did the same, eyeing him suspiciously. 

“Why?” He said. 

Colin raised his eyebrows. “Do you want me to tell him?” 

“No, you asshole,” Mickey said, looking like he was gearing up for another fight. 

“Okay, then. What’s the problem?” 

“But...” Mickey looked younger all of a sudden. The anger was gone, now he just seemed confused. “I’m a fag.” 

Colin shrugged. “Yeah. But you’re still my brother.” 

At this, Mickey’s gaze turned gobsmacked, rendering him speechless. 

“We both know what Terry would do,” Colin said, voice quiet. “I ain’t doin’ that to you.” 

Mickey blinked, arms limply hanging by his sides. He stared at Colin for what felt like a long time, nodding slowly. 

“Just be careful, okay? If you’re gonna suck some dick, do it where Terry won’t find you.” 

He didn’t want to think about Terry ever finding out. But one thing’s for sure, he’d fucking kill the bastard if he had to before he ever let him touch Mickey. 

“Yeah,” Mickey sounded a bit dazed. “Okay.” 

Colin contemplated his next thought, clicking his tongue. “I ain’t gonna make you tell Ig or Mandy, but they ain’t gonna care either.” 

“I ain’t tellin’ them,” Mickey was shaking his head. 

“Okay,” Colin shrugged. 

Silence permeated the air. 

They’d spent too much time in touchy-feely territory, so Colin decided to break it up. “So,” he said casually, “Ian, huh?” 

“Don’t fucking start,” Mickey said warningly. 

Colin couldn’t help but smirk at the blush on his brother’s cheeks.  “Didn’t know you liked redheads.” 

This just embarrassed Mickey further, much to his amusement. “Don’t you have a fucking date to get ready for?” 

“Fiona will understand,” he reasoned. Mickey scowled. “So, you gonna unpack your shit and quit actin’ so dramatic?” 

“Whatever,” Mickey grumbled, but he did just that, pulling his clothes out to stuff back into his dresser drawers. 

“I meant what I said, you know,” Colin said, watching Mickey slow his movements. “I don’t care. You’re my brother no matter if you like dick or not. That ain’t changin’.” 

Mickey’s eyes flickered to him. “Thanks,” he said, shifting his footing. 

“I just got one question,” Colin said seriously. 

“What?” 

Colin couldn’t keep up the serious facade any longer, and let a grin bloom over his face. “Who sticks it in who?” 

---

“So, a Milkovich, huh?” 

The Gallagher house was quiet. Surprisingly, none of the other kids were up yet so no one else knew about Fiona or Ian’s whereabouts last night. She’d rather keep it that way, at least concerning herself. No need to tell them anything right now. 

After having changed into fresh clothes, taking care of her hair and brushing her teeth, Fiona went back downstairs to wait. Ian changed too, but he was going to go back to bed once he got a cup of juice to quench his thirst. 

They sat across from each other, neither one speaking at first. Fiona observed the way her brother ducked his head a little, a flush taking over his face that made his freckles stand out more than they already did. 

“Yeah,” his eyes dropped down to his cup, hands wrapped around it. 

“How’d that happen?” Fiona said with curiosity. She never would have thought Mickey Milkovich of all people was secretly gay, and to be dating her brother on top of it. 

Ian raked his teeth over his lower lip, contemplating. “He was shopping from Kash and Grab,” he said. “Linda gave Kash a gun to keep him from doing it again but he took that too. So I went to the Milkovich house to get it back.” 

Fiona was dumbfounded. Not many people had the balls to go to that house after all the rumors that circled around the SouthSide about them. 

“Okay, and then what happened?” 

Taking a deep breath, ian said, “I went in his room and kind poked him with a tire iron-” 

“What the fuck?” 

“He tried to fight me,” Ian recounted, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Jesus, I’m surprised that’s all he tried to do,” she shook her head. “Then what happened?” 

Given the sheepish smile and the way he wouldn’t look her in the eyes, Fiona is fairly sure she won’t like the answer. “We fucked.” 

“You fought and you fucked?” She said incredulously. 

“Yeah...” 

There was so much she wanted to say, but it was probably hypocritical considering she had her own Milkovich. Instead, she tucked a curl behind her ear, choosing her next word carefully. “Does anyone else know?” 

“No,” Ian said, looking pleadingly at her. “And you can’t tell anyone.” 

“I won’t,” she promised, taking a glance at the clock on the microwave. 

Still had around ten minutes ‘till she had to leave. 

“You're not upset,” Ian began, causing her to look his way, “are you?” 

The question kinda threw her off. “Upset about what?” 

“Me and Mickey,” he said quietly. 

“Ian, you know I don't have a problem with you being gay.” 

“No,” he shook his head, “not that. I mean because he's a Milkovich.” 

“I can't really say anything, can I?” She shrugged. “It’s surprisin’ but if you're happy that's all that matters. Besides, anyone can see Mickey clearly feels the same.” 

This information made Ian beam. He'd never really had any crushes  before like Lip did, at least any that he told her about. There was his whole obsession with Justin Timberlake, though, when he managed to get his hands on a CD and for a long while they all had to endure that music. 

“What about you and Colin?” Ian said, “How’d that happen?” 

“Would you believe I was drunk off my ass?” Fiona rolled her eyes. “Went to a new bar after a shitty shift. He was there too, didn’t even recognize him at first.” 

“And you...fucked?” Ian clarified. 

“Yeah,” she said simply. “Made out before that for a while before I realized who he was.” 

She’d initially not known what to think once some of the haze in her head cleared up a bit, staring into the bright eyes of Colin Milkovich. She’d heard all the rumors, of course, who hadn’t? She knew what a screwed up mess his family was, but it wasn’t like she had it any better with Frank and Monica. 

So Fiona said fuck it and went for it. The two of them had sex in the single stall bathroom for what she believed would be the first and only time. 

Only, it hadn’t been. 

The two of them found more ways to be around each other, coming into each other’s presence unnecessarily, which led to them to fuck on a non regular basis. 

Ian nodded, taking it all in. 

“Just promise me something,” she said once the silence started to settle. 

He sat up a little straighter. “What’s that?” 

“Promise me you’ll be safe?” She said seriously. “Their dad isn’t like Frank. He’s much worse and he’ll fuck you up and get a bunch of his buddies to do the same. If you want to be with Mickey, fine, but you need to be smart about it.” 

“I will,” he said immediately. “Don’t worry, Fi. We’ll be careful Mickey’s scared about it too.” 

“He told you that?” 

“Didn’t have to,” Ian said grimly. She let out a heavy sigh.  

It shouldn’t be like this. She shouldn't have to worry about her brother or his boyfriend getting jumped or worse. But as long as people like Terry Milkovich roamed the streets, neither one of them would be safe.

Her brother’s voice brought her out of her musings. 

“I didn't expect Colin to be okay with it.” 

“With Mickey being gay?” She said. 

He nodded. “I know Mandy's not like that but from what Mickey said, his brother and cousins all follow his dad's lead.” 

“He's not his dad,” Fiona knew that for a fact. “Neither is Iggy. They just can't let Terry know that.” 

“Jesus,” Ian muttered. He looked at her, like he was able to say something else. “Do you think Mickey's okay? I think he was a bit freaked out that you and Colin know.” 

“He's probably fine,” Fiona said. At least, she thought so. Whether Colin would handle this appropriately was debatable. When Ian yawned, she smiled fondly. “Get some sleep, Sweetface. You still got work later.” 

“Okay,” he got up to rinse his cup, dragging himself up the stairs. “Night, Fi.” 

“Night,” she watched him disappear around the corner. 

[omegarodstewart]

twin size mattress

part 1

pairing: eugene sledge/snafu shelton

summary: He doesn’t notice Snafu then. Snafu, resident class reject, drug dealer, and altogether complete fuck-up, staring at him from the minute he entered the party. Staring at him as he confronted Sid. As he followed Sid outside and alighted upon him with hard violence. Staring like Eugene was a revelation.

If he had. Well, there’s no way to change the past. Sitting in his hospital room, gown on his emaciated body, picking at the IV in his arm, he’s not sure he would even want to.

In the chair by his bedside, his Mother is sleeping. Her face is puffed out and worn from crying. Gene is too tired to care.

tags and warnings: drug addiction, dubious consent, emotional manipulation, toxic relationships, homophobia and racism, high school au, etc.

Gene storms out of the house with Bill trailing behind him. He feels dizzy and so angry he could start swinging and screaming and never stop. In front of him, Sid stumbles and turns around, his face just as red as Eugene knows his own is. Overcome by hate and rage.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

He knows he’s being too loud. A whole crowd of people are milling about. Inside the house, 21 Savage is being blasted over the speakers. The bass is moving through his bones, pumping and shifting until his jaw aches.

32 SHOTS IN THE K

“You heard me, FAGGOT!”

Bill grabs his shoulder, trying to hold him back, but Gene feels the sting of betrayal so deeply it’s like he’s not even in his own body.

From inside the house REDRUMREDRUMREDRUM

Gene opens his mouth and it's like someone else is speaking.

“And was I a faggot when you let me fuck you, huh? Was I a faggot when you sucked me off with Mary in the other Goddamned room? Was I a FAGGOT then SID?!”

Sid turns even redder. The music switches over. In the background he notices the flash of multiple phones turning on, recording. He doesn’t give a fuck. Let the whole world know. Let the whole school know. If he’s going down he’s taking Sid with him. He hopes it goes viral. He hopes this shit is on fucking Barstool tomorrow. Hopes the whole world knows Sid is just as queer as he is.

“You’re fucking lying. You freak! You’re delusional! I ain’t never fucked you. You’re so in love with me it’s SICK!”

Mary, next to Sid, her face is turning whiter than a ghost. She looks like she’s going to puke. Gene feels a vindictive glee. His anger is pushed further. Like hell he’s gonna let Sid get away with this shit.

“Yeah? You got one thing right. I woulda’ never let you fuck ME. But I know for fucking sure I had you bent over your fucking shitty ass couch LAST WEEK. Or was that someone else begging me to fuck him harder. Like some goddamned whore. You shoulda’ heard yourself!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

“Oh GENE! Oh GENIE! FUCK ME DADDY!"

He feels the punch before he registers it, rolls with it until he’s on the ground. He touches his lip, and laughs when it comes away bloody. He watches as Bill tackles Sid to the ground, laying in to him. Gene gets up and pushes him off. Bill steps back without a fight. This isn’t his battle. This is Gene’s. This is Gene’s Sid. His best friend. His whole world until ten minutes ago when he heard him and his asshole football buddies talking shit, calling him a fag. Saying he was a fairy. Saying he should kill himself to save his family the shame. And Sid agreeing.

He can see Bill getting into it with one of Sid’s overgrown steroid-ridden friends, and he covers his old pal with his body. A sort of perversion of what they did just two nights ago, wrapped up in each other’s arms in Gene’s room, trading secrets, kissing each other’s eyelids, pretending they were in love. He hits Sid in the face. And gets a punch back for good measure. The blows take the place of words. Blurring. He can feel tears in his eyes, or maybe he’s just bleeding. But it’s all getting blurry. The music has been turned off completely. All that’s left is silence and the sound of skin hitting skin. And then Burgie comes out, his uniquely Texan accent screaming about the cops, and Gene is being dragged off his best friend, beaten and bruised and bloody, and tossed into the back of Bill’s shitty 2004 Honda Civic.

He doesn’t notice Snafu then. Snafu, resident class reject, drug dealer, and altogether complete fuck-up, staring at him from the minute he entered the party. Staring at him as he confronted Sid. As he followed Sid outside and alighted upon him with hard violence. Staring like Eugene was a revelation.

If he had. Well, there’s no way to change the past. Sitting in his hospital room, gown on his emaciated body, picking at the IV in his arm, he’s not sure he would even want to.

In the chair by his bedside, his Mother is sleeping. Her face is puffed out and worn from crying. Gene is too tired to care.

________________________________________

Gene is sorting through his textbooks. He can’t see out of his left eye. It’s completely swollen shut. A smaller body sidles up to him, leaning against the cool, worn blue rows of lockers.

He looks over and sees that it’s Shelton. Snafu. That’s what everyone calls him, though. Situation-Normal-All-Fucked-Up. He got the name from Burgie. Back in eighth grade when he snorted a line of coke in the back of the school bus on the way to the annual DC field trip and then immediately puked up bile onto the seat in front of him. Back then Burgie and Snafu had still been childhood best friends, so he had been in the splash zone so to speak. This was before he started running track with Gene and Bill in 9th grade and fell in with them instead.

He had shouted with disgust, and declared his friend was acting completely and utterly fucked in the head. Robert Leckie, pretentious asshole extraordinaire, sitting a row in front, had turned in his seat and with his dumbass smirk had said, “So, then, he’s acting like his normal self?”

Burgie, still livid about the whole thing, turned to Shelton and told him, “Yeah. A real fucking Snafu.”

After that it just sort of stuck. Gene had never really spoken to him. They had gone to different Elementary schools, Snafu moving to town at the end of 5th grade from some Bayou in rural Louisiana. They barely had class together in middle school. Shelton lived in the trailer park, and Gene lived in the nicer part of town. So their families didn’t speak either. By tenth grade Snafu was dealing to half the school, and had OD’d twice. No one knew what on. Gene had absolutely no reason to know or talk to the guy. And yet now that he’d been outed by his former best friend/boyfriend/what-the-fuck ever, he was being approached. The idea turned his stomach. Everyone knew that Shelton was gay. It was hard not to, the way he simply didn’t a fuck. Probably came with the whole drug addiction thing. Gene wished he didn’t give a fuck. That had always been his problem. He cared too much. He smothered.

“Yes?”

“Nothin’. Just standin’ here. That illegal?”

Gene gave him an unimpressed once over, snorted, and then shut his locker with a bang. He was late for AP Calc.

“Yeah. Sure.”

Shelton followed him through the halls like a dog, sniffing around for a bone.

“So whachyu doin’ tonight?”

“What?”

The question left him at a loss. Was Shelton….hitting on him? He had thought maybe. But it was equally likely that the guy was just trying to push drugs on him.

“You heard me, Sledgehammah.”

Christ. Not that fucking nickname. No matter what he did, it followed him. Started as a way to humiliate him back when they were all little kids. A real clever play on words. Then the kids at school had discovered he was actually good at sports. Could run fast, and hit a homerun like nobody’s business. Then it was an endearment. “Sledgehammer’s gonna run those assholes from Valley Prep into the GROUND this weekend.”

For a while, it felt good. To be valued for something. To have a nickname at all. Now though, now that he was kicked off of both the track and baseball teams for fighting, it felt like a taunt. He wasn’t gonna be beating Valley Prep. He wasn’t even allowed within ten feet of the fucking gym equipment.

“I’m not interested.”

He was nearing the door to Mr. Martin’s classroom. With any luck he could drop Shelton at the door. Everyone knew he was in all remedial classes. No way he was ballsy enough to follow him into an AP class.

“Yeah? You got some plans I don’t know about? Last I heard your friends had all ditched you. Don’t wanna be seen around a fag.”

Gene stopped. Collected himself before he got into a fight he couldn’t win. He turned back to Shelton. Tried to look at him like they were meeting for the first time. He was pretty. Eugene could admit that much. His eyes were a light sea green, almost blue, made all the more striking by the way they contrasted with his dark skin. His hair was perfectly curled somehow. He wasn’t big by any means, but he wasn’t totally scrawny. Maybe an inch or two shorter than Eugene himself. For a moment he found he couldn’t look away. Stripping off all the history just left an image in front of him. A painting that was lovely and frail and captivating. He tried to shake it, but he was caught in Shelton’s web. And from the way the man was smirking, he knew it.

Alright then. It’s not like he was wrong. Practice would be running until 7 tonight. He had no friends now other than Burgie and Bill. Sid had placed a fucking fatwah on him, basically. He might as well try for a rebound fuck and some free weed to numb the pain.

“What time?”

He could feel students passing them by, rushing to get inside before second bell rang. Snafu looked taken aback for a moment. Like he thought his play wouldn’t actually work. He must have underestimated just how lonely Eugene was.

“Ah…I’ll pick you up after last period. We can chill at my place.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah. Cool.”

Eugene opened the door to Mr. Martin’s classroom, ignoring the stares from his fellow students, and slunk to the back of the class. A piece of paper was flung at his head. He ignored that too. Staring straight ahead. He found himself cheered up, against his will. Snafu sure was something.

________________________________________

They met up in the school parking lot, Eugene huddling into his sweatshirt to keep the chill away. Snafu was leaning against the shittiest looking car Gene had ever seen in his entire life. The left door was somehow a different color from the rest of the vehicle, blue and red. There were decals all over, but it looked more like someone had scribbled them on more than anything else, and with a child’s handwriting too. Shakily written on the left bumper were the words “GOD CRAWLED IN AND BACK OUT”

Snafu must have caught him looking, because when Eugene slid into the passenger seat he simply said,

“My little sisters. They like to draw on the car.”

“Ah…”

After that it was silent. Not uncomfortable silence. Just silence. All the way to wherever Snafu was deciding to take him, they sat and listened to the CD that already been playing. Eugene recognized the song, barely. He thought it was Elliott Smith. How the hell Snafu knows about someone like Elliott Smith is anyone’s guess. It made him feel a bit ashamed. He had assumed a lot about the guy. That he was a scumbag moron burnout freak. But so far he had been cool. He had good taste in music, and he wasn’t a dick. Wasn’t loud. It was a nice change of pace from the guys he hung around with. Bill was great, but sometimes he was too much work. And Burgie and him had been pulling apart for the past few months, what with him dating Florence and Eugene spending so much time tagging along behind Sid, desperate for an ounce of affection.

Eugene wondered about Shelton’s friends. He knew he hung around Jay, and sometimes Hoosier too. Saw them beneath the bleachers, smoking. Beyond that though, he was a mystery. He came to class only when he felt like it. And when he did show up it was beneath a dark black hoodie year round.

Eugene sat still as the car idled. The track ended and Gucci Mane started playing. Christ. Maybe Eugene should take the thing about good music taste back. He felt those light blue-green eyes on him again, and turned to see Snafu lighting up a cigarette. Gene pulled out his Chocolate-Mint flavored vape and took a puff, waiting to see what would happen.

He watched with rapt attention as Snafu, cigarette hanging loose from his lips, started rolling a joint on his ripped up jeans. Gene exhaled and brought more smoke back into his lungs. He loved his vape. He had spent a whole week jerry-rigging it so the settings were just right. It was calming, taking the thing apart and putting it back together. Gave his hands something to do. Eugene realized as he looked out the window that they were at the quarry. So Snafu did want to fuck him after all. Okay. He could do this. He could sleep with someone other than Sid. Fuck Sid. Fuck Sid.

He jumped when Shelton put the expertly rolled joint up to his lips. He leaned forward and let him light the end of it with the red butt of his cigarette. This close, he could see small little freckles all over the bridge of Shelton’s nose. He could make out a tiny scar beneath his left eyebrow. Gene inhaled.

Oh. Fuck.

The joint wasn’t just weed. He could tell right away it was laced. It didn’t taste right. He started to cough, eyes watering as he leaned forward, feeling sick. A hand started rubbing his back, then his neck. The joint was plucked from his lips, and slowly, slowly, Gene felt his head being moved over to the seam of Snafu’s jeans. The hand in his hair gripped harder. He could do this. His heart was beating out of his chest, the feeling was like drinking five different cups of coffee all at once. He felt like he could jump off the roof of a building and just–fly.

Opening the zipper he pulled out his cock. Eugene forced himself to keep his mouth shut. Maybe it was the drugs. But the idea of sucking someone’s uncut dick became so funny he felt like he was about to lose it. Closely bobbing his head up and down he started to choke as Snafu gripped the back of his head and tried to start fucking him hard. He started slapping his thigh to get him to stop, but he didn’t let up. Fuck. If he kept going Eugene was actually going to puke all over him.

It would serve him right. If he had just ASKED. He struck his hand out and felt as it landed on Shelton’s skull, rocking him back into the cushioned seat. He coughed, eyes watering with tears as he sat up.

“No. We ain’t doin’ it like that.”

Then he grabbed Snafu by the back of his neck, fingernails scratching into skin. He inhaled when Snafu blew smoke into his face. Then he smashed their mouths together, determined not to let this fucking twink get one over on him.

He felt the smirk on Shelton’s lips, felt his large hands grip at his hips, shifting him until Gene was sitting on his lap, panting. Everything was starting to feel good. Really, really fucking good. If he could just–he reached out to the side of the front seat, letting the handle go slack. The seat violently fell back, and took the both of them with it. He felt like, if he let go of Shelton for singular moment, he would float away. Just cease to exist entirely. He wanted to crawl inside of Shelton’s chest. Claw out his insides. Hold them in the palm of his hands, bite into them.

________________________________________

On the drive home Gene felt like all the trees were starting to blur together and warp into some sort five mile long monster. He gripped the handle above his head and ground his teeth. Snafu looked over at him.

“You good?”

Gene didn’t respond.

That night he waited. Waited for sleep. Waited for the walls to stop moving. Waited for his father or mother to come up and check on him. It wasn’t going to happen. They fucking hated him now. Everyone did. Even Bill and Burgie, secretly, he could tell. They were disgusted with him. With the way he was all wrong wanted all the wrong things if he had been born right if Sid had been a girl if he had been a girl or if God loved him enough to save him but no one did No One did the walls had bugs crawling up the sides and they kept breathing like a living thing Gene sucked on his vape so scared because the world was ending dying in a burst of flaming light and nothing and no one could stop it he was shaking and his face was wet but that wasn’t right because why would his face be wet he was afraid–

________________________________________

He sat on the bleachers, watching the baseball team practice, sunglasses blocking out the light. Inside of him everything was muted, black. A lack of light. This morning he got up and went down for breakfast and it was like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t spent half the night crying muffled into a pillow. His parents both sat, straight and stiff. His mother placed his eggs in front of him. Deacon sat at his feet, drooling for a piece of bacon. He slipped him one when no one was looking. His mother cleared her throat. They were all pretending that things were fine. But they weren’t very good at it.

His father slipped a pamphlet over to him.

Gene held that same pamphlet between his hands now, squeezing the paper, unable to bring himself to rip it up.

Snafu walked over and sat beside him, eyes red and bleary. Gene watched as Coach called a foul. Snafu snatched the paper from his hands. He didn’t try to fight it.

“What the fuck?”

He had no response. It was the same thing he had thought this morning.

The pamphlet read: “New Horizons Youth Program.”

Inside the pamphlet were unconvincing anecdotes from former attendees about how God and the camp had cured their inclinations. Had straightened them right back out. Gene knew, hoped, his parents weren’t going to send him. He wouldn’t go. He’d rather die. He could feel anger radiating off of Snafu in waves, warming his side. He didn’t know why Snafu would be angry though. It’s not like they knew each other. They had fucked, once. And it was barely even good sex. That didn’t count for anything.

Still, as he felt his hand being grabbed in Shelton’s the warmth of his rage traveled between them like an electric current, bringing Gene back into the here and now. He knew Snafu wasn’t angry on his behalf. Not really. But it would be nice to just pretend.

“Let’s get you out of here.”

They ended up in the Walmart parking lot. Shelton handing him a cigarette. Normally Gene thinks they’re disgusting. But the menthol on his tongue, the aching cold of the smoke coiling in his gut, calms him down. His foot keeps tapping on the floor of the car.

He wants to call his brother. It won’t help anything. But he still wants to.

Shelton pulls out a bottle of pills, handing one off to Eugene. He doesn’t even think before he palms it and swallows it down. Doesn’t ask what it is. He thinks for a moment he should. After the horror of last night— but really. He just wants to forget.

He holds his palm out again, asking for another. Shelton snorts. Hands it to him. Turns the car radio on. Eugene dry swallowed the first, but the second he washes down with the water bottle given to him. He chokes on the disgusting raspberry flavored vodka. If he doesn’t think he doesn’t exist.

He stops thinking. A hand in his hair, petting. Lips on his. He might, maybe, exist. But the world doesn’t. He feels loose and heavy at the same time. Sinking into the seat. Euphoria washes over him. He feels so fucking good. He has never worried about anything before. He starts to laugh at the tickling sensation of lips on his neck. He grabs Shelton in a bear hug, squeezing his sides. Biting on the other man’s neck when he yelps. Licking over the bite. It feels so much better like this. Everything.

________________________________________

Later, sitting in the backseat together, jeans half unbuckled, Gene looks up at the dirty fuzzed up roof. Under his feet are a pile of McDonalds wrappers. From very far away, the sound of the highway, all those warped pieces of hulking metal, release a rushing sound. It travels through space and time just so he can hear it. The world is truly a beautiful, beautiful place when it wants to be. He falls asleep on Shelton’s shoulder. He can’t believe that just two days ago he would have sneered at the other boy in the hall. Now he can’t imagine being without him. He wonders if that’s the drugs, or something else entirely.

________________________________________

The next week is a blur. He sits with Burgie and Bill in class. Their voices wash over him as if he’s underwater. He doesn’t think about what they talk about during practice. Without him. He doesn’t feel jealous. He doesn’t speak to his parents. His father is on call, sleeping at the hospital. His mother stares at him across the dinner table each night, lacking all understanding. Like he’s some sort of freak show attraction. The pamphlet is not mentioned again. But he can feel it, the specter of it, every waking breath he takes.

Every day after school he gets into Snaf’s car and gets high on whatever he deigns to give him. Most of the time they’re too out of it to fuck. Most of the time they just sit there in silence. But it’s easier, with someone just as fucked up as he feels most of the time. There’s no need to pretend. He doesn’t have to be Eugene. Eugene with the 4.0. Eugene who is going places. Eugene star-hitter. Eugene faggotdissapointmenthatefulanxiousdisgustingfreak. He doesn’t need to pretend to be happy. He doesn’t need to pretend like his world hasn’t fallen apart all because he trusted the wrong person, all because he let his anger get the better of him. Again. A tidal wave he can never control.

One week on the dot from when they actually spoke for the first time Eugene’s face is finally healing. He is… somewhere. Some empty abandoned parking lot. In Mobile, with the steel mills all shut down, the docks barely used anymore with bigger, better, more useful ports, there’s a lot of abandoned parking lots. Lots of abandoned buildings. Lots of rust and decay and rot that won’t ever leave. Hidden behind a careful veneer of southern hospitality and denial.

Gene feels it more keenly as each day passes, each day since he was handed that brochure–each day since his love of God had been turned against him, stuck into him like a knife. And each day since he was expected to sit there and wait for the sword of Damocles to fall and knock his head clean off. Each day since then he’s felt the rot eek it’s way more deeply into his bones. Not even laying in bed with Deacon helps anymore. The bubbling resentment and otherness that he has always felt living in this town keeps nagging at him. And it fuels the loneliness. The only thing that eases it now is Shelton.

Snafu says to him, that afternoon, smoking on the hood of his car, that his friends are all pieces of shit. His family too. They don’t understand Gene. But he does.

“I get it. It’s all...just fuckin' crap.”

Eugene doubts that he does understand, not really, but with someone like Shelton, who is so uncomfortable with showing compassion, even the attempt at comfort is appreciated. It means something.

He lays down on the hood, watching the sun set. Trying to figure out a way to defend the people that he loves. He can’t muster up the energy. Maybe Snafu is right. The only thing, lately, besides his presence that eases the deep ache of blackness in his breastbone is the drugs. Pills handed to him that make him tired and light and free. Never as good as that first night. But still, the unbearable lightness of his body finally weighted down. He feels himself, later, nodding off as Snafu drives around town, through neighborhoods filled with empty McMansions. Empty. Empty. Abandoned. All of it a ghost town.

He wants to know Snafu better. This one person who has come out of the woodwork, almost miraculously, and taken all of his pain away. Who continues to take it away, and shoulder it for himself. Who tries to comfort him. Who bites his lip when he kisses and uses too much tongue, and swears a bluestreak when he’s got oxy-dick.

Eugene is led in by his hand, dragged, into one of the many empty houses. The lights are all off. The house is in escrow. Snafu leads him up to the master bedroom. He can tell from the cans of food stacked in the corner and the detritus usually found in the room of a person who hates cleaning that the place is obviously being squatted in. They lay down in the bed together. And Eugene places his head on Snafu’s chest. He thinks to ask him something, anything. Needs his deep desire for knowledge sated.

“What…what’s your favorite movie?”

The question comes out half slurred.

“The fuck you askin’ that for, cher?”

Eugene shrugs. He feels like he should know at least something about the guy he’s fucking. But admittedly that was a stupid question to ask.

“Wanna get to know you.”

He feels Snafu stiffen beneath him.

“Ain’t nothing worth getting to know.”

What bullshit. Fine. He’ll pull the heavy lifting of the conversation if he has to. Even if he’s only half awake.

“I like Encounters…"Encounters at the End of the World." Its about…penguins. In Antarctica. They go down there and there’s all these penguins an’ shit. They mate for life, they got. They’re real interesting birds. They can go crazy too. And the director just follows them around. How they live and survive and die. It’s…”

“They go crazy?”

Eugene puts his nose into Snafu’s hair for a second. He smells like grease and menthols. He likes the smell. It’s really really nice.

“One penguin. He loses it. Just keeps walkin’ away into the distance. And they let him go cause they know he ain’t ever gonna give up on dyin’.”

“You got a fucked up sense of taste. You know that cher?”

“Yeah. I know. I like you, don’t I?”

That gets him a laugh.

“Shelton….”

“Merriell.”

“Merrie—Mer… will you pass me my vape?”

The chest beneath him rumbles with laughter again. Then he feels a hand slipping into his back pocket, pulling his vape out, and placing it to his lips. He inhales the sickly sweet tang of peppermint and blows it out. This is nice. He closes his eyes. Just for a moment….

________________________________________

On the way home Eugene is sober enough to stay awake but not so sober he feels hungover. They stop at TacoBell, and Snafu makes him laugh for a near half hour with his impressions of their various classmates. When he manages a perfect rendition of their fucking insane gym teacher Coach Haney Eugene snorts so hard his Mountain Dew goes all up into his nose, leaving him heaving and shrieking with laughter. Merriell looks so pleased with himself it’s shocking his head doesn’t actually double in size. His smile is sweet, Eugene notices. It lights up his face in a way he didn’t think was possible. It makes him look beautiful.

When Shelton drops him off at his house an hour later, Eugene shocks himself by kissing him on the cheek before slipping out of the car, tripping over the curb before standing up, ignoring the fact that Shelton's shit eating grin is so large he can feel it from five feet away. He slips inside the house and doesn’t look back at Merriell even once, his face a burning red.

[omegawizardposting]

(For reference, I'm at the part just after Rod Reiss transforms and heads for Orvud. I don't know how the characters change and grow in the future.)

I like Mikasa. She's a fine character, and her love for Eren is sweet. However, I think Armin is better support for Eren. He's a perfect foil to Eren's recklessness and anger. When Eren is in trouble, it's Armin who comes up with a plan while Mikasa rushes headlong into danger with no plan at all.

This isn't just me being a fag. I genuinely believe that Eren and Armin have better chemistry and a more solid base for a healthy relationship than Eren and Mikasa. Eren and Mikasa are both too damn volatile. They'd both be dead a thousand times over if not for Armin. Mikasa's obsession with protecting Eren is also just outright unhealthy. I understand why she has it, but she needs therapy, not a boyfriend. Eren cannot fix her. He can make her worse, and she can make him worse, and then Armin just gets to stand there like, "Good god, we are all going to die."

Iirc I heard that Eren and Mikasa don't get together in the end, and that is a fucking good thing. That is a goddamn blessing. This isn't really the kind of anime where I'm like, "Actually, it would be funny if they made each other worse." This is the kind of anime where I'm like, "STOP FUCKING AROUND AND SAVE THE WORLD."

[theatrekidstatus]

Gender bent John Laurens

John pov: when im alone in my room somtimes i stare at the wall on this particular night i felt my conscience stall I heard a knock at the door I knew it wasn't my wife that when mr.Alexandera Hamilton walked into my life he said "i know you are a man of honor im so sorry for bothering you at home but i dont know where to go and i came here all alone she said "my husbands doing me wrong BEATING ME CHEATING MISS TREATING SUDDENLY HES UP AND GONE I DONT HAVE THE MEANS TO GO ON" so i offer her a lone i offer to walk her home she said "your too kind ma'am" i gave her 50 bucks i stocked away she lived a block away "this ones mine ma'am" "well i should head back home" she turned red her legs spread and said "stayyyyyy" "hey" "heyy" thats when i begin to pray lord show how to say no to this i dont know how to say no to this there is no where i can go go go when her mouth is on mine i do not say 'no'no no no "i wish i could say that was the last time i said that last time it became a pass time a month into this indever i received a letter from a ms.Schuyler even better it said 'dear Sarah, I hope this letter finds you in good health in in a prosperous position to put wealth in the pockets of people like me down on their luck you see, that was my wife you decided to fuck' uhhhh ' oh, you made the long sucker cock hold so time to pay the priper for the pants you unbuckled and how you can keep seeing that gigolo if not, your husband's gonna know.' I hit the letter, and I raced to her place scream how could you in her face? She said, no, sir have to dress apologetic a mess. She looked pathetic she cried please don't go, sir. " so what's your whole story is set up" " I don't know about any letter" "stop crying goddamn it get up." " I don't know about any letter." "Stop crying god damn it get up" " I didn't know any better" " I am ruined" " please don't leave me I am helpless" " how can I do this?" " just give her what she wants and you can have me." " I don't want you." " whatever you want if you pay you can stay." " lord, show me how to say no I did this I don't know how to say no to this, but the situation  in her body screaming Hell yes"

1 week later! I wake up to a gun shot I try to run out my window but Elijah shot me out the window "don't fuck my girl fag"

[spoiledleaff]

Please stop stealing other people's ideas and putting them off as your own? You're not original we get it. The Domestic Dew? Your Era III polys? Literally anything to do with genderqueer ghouls? You're not such hot shit girlie. You don't even know how to write transness its so sad. Probably just some poor confused dyke trying to get the popularity points with the community huh. You're fucking pathetic get it together fag.

first off, please choke on some soap. i’m a transmasc non-binary and i have been comfortable with this identity for a good few years now. i go by they/he pronouns. please don’t misgender me. thank you.

second of all, what? never once have i claimed to be the end all/be all of the domestic dewdrop hc. i just have a lot of thoughts about it and i enjoy writing about it. i’m probably not the first to put that to words, and i definitely won’t be the last. same with the era iii and genderfucked ghouls. i’m passionate about these things, and therefor i enjoy writing about them. i’m not the end all/be all for this kind of content; it’s just what i enjoy focusing on.

additionally, i’m sorry that my perception of genderqueer relationships and experiences doesn’t vibe with you. they’re partially built off of my own experiences, and i hope you understand that everyone’s experiences are different. luckily for you, this fandom is certainly not lacking in genderfucked and generally queer content. i really don’t think of myself as hot shit with my content, sooo… >:p

lastly, please stop. touch some grass. and please don’t use such offensive language against someone you don’t know; i’m not comfortable with that and i find it extremely rude.

also, you wouldn’t know a butch if she/they has the misfortune of fucking you in the ass. hard to feel good from a strap with the sheer size of the goddamn stick you have shoved up there. might wanna get that checked out. could be a problem, anon.

[xtrablak674]

The Monsta

[Originally published in my zine Fashion Fag Magazine in April 1996 - edited for clarity]

I looked up wanting and waiting for the warm black hand of unconsciousness to rescue me. The long hot summer had taken on a new meaning as I wondered would I ever escape my bucked tooth, low hanging breast torturer.

"Don't you ever tell no one cuz I'll kill ya."

"Mommy! Momm-e! Mom!"

Up I woke, sweat drenched and trembling. Mom ran into our room her supple ass following behind her.

"What? Baby what!"

"Mom, I had a dream but it wasn't just a dream it really happened last summer."

"Tell me what happened baby, calm down, and tell me."

She took me in her arms and rocked me.

"I dreamed I was in New York with my father, and Pat, his girlfriend was there and she was mad at the jokes I played with him and she made Mooch beat me..."

"But how is she gonna know? We could do just like they did on Different Strokes when Arnold told Willis to beat the pillow and not him"

I laugh. The look in Mooch's eyes are that of a deer staring blankly into the oncoming headlites of a car.

"No... She'll know, she always knows."

"No she won't we'll tell you did it and it really hurt."

"No, she'll kill me!"

Mooch isn't much more then four years older then me and like her mother she isn't to brite. I remember how she had once told me that her she thought this guy had gotten her pregnant from kissing her.

I drop my pants and lay down on my stomach on the bed.

"Mooch, you don't have to do this."

I'm sorry."

There are tears in her eyes.

The pain shoots up my spine as she unfurls this 1/4 inch thick belt on my bared backside.

I scream. I could run but I didn't want Mooch to face the Wrath of Pat.

...she didn't want to do it, she was frightened of Pat and she had to.

Pat beat me in the head with her wooden soled shoe in the bathroom while my father slept in the next room...

"Why?"

I responded to her, telling me I was gonna get a beatin.

"Do you think that shit is funny, your farther is sick and you make jokes like that?"

"But he's my father, and he laughs."

"Damn you, shut up!"

I thought my head was caving in and I wished it would as she pounded this four inch, thick, wide wooden shoe into my head. I put my hands up to protect my exposed scalp. She just pounds harder. I cry out, and she hits even harder and says.

"Keep your motherfuckin mouth shut and yo bettah not cry, or you'll get more."

I look up at the window wishing I could escape like a pigeon flyin free. But the window stares back at me and begins to darken.

I didn't know she stopped, I find myself slumped over the bathtub, in her cramped and dirty bathroom, with the most fantastic headache.

"Get up, I said, get up! Do you want some more? Clean this shit up, and go to your room."

The tears in my eyes had dried up, I could only cry dry tears of blistering pain. I wipe the bits of blood up the best I could and stumble down the hallway and collapse in my bedroom.

Later that night, she creeps into my room, where I share a bed with Mooch, carrying a flashlight and a bag of ice. She shines the lite into my face and stares at me through those thick wide glasses of hers and says.

"Don't you ever tell no one cuz I'll kill ya"

I put the ice on my aching head, the ice melts and mixes with my tears as they fall down my face. I wonder shall I ever escape.

...and she would always pinch me until I bled because I would't sit still on the bed while watching T.V.

"Where was your father when she did this to you?"

"He was either sleep or not there. See feel the lump its still there."

"Why didn't you tell me this when I picked you up?"

I began to cry.

"She said she would kill me."

"That son of a bitch. It's OK baby, momma's gonna take care of it."

She ran down the hall to the phone her large tree trunk-like legs shakin behind her.

"MOTHERFUCKER! WHO THE FUCK THAT BITCH THINK SHE IS LAYIN HER HANDS ON MY BABY? ....I DON'T GIVE A FLYIN FUCK.

TREVOR IS BACK THERE TREMBLIN LIKE HE DONE SEEN A GODDAMN GHOST...TELL THAT BITCH SHE EVER LAY A HAND ON MY CHILD AGAIN SHE'LL DRAW BACK A NUB. I'LL HAVE THAT BITCH SHOT.

YEAH NIGGAH, I AIN'T LETTIN HIM COME OUT TO STAY THERE WITH YO BLACK ASS NO MORE. YA GODDAMN FOOL CAN'T EVEN WATCH YOUR OWN CHILD WITH OUT LETTIN SOME HEATHIN BEAT ON HIM.... SHUT THE FUCK UP I AIN'T HEARIN IT. I'M THE ONLY ONE TO CHASTISE MY CHILD.

NO FUCKIN KNOCKED UP STUPID GOOD FOR NUTHIN HIGH YELLA BITCH!

SLAM.

The phone hittin the receiver all I heard next.

"Trevor, come here baby."

I walked slowly down the hallway to the living room to sit on the couch by Ma

"Sit down, baby. Look, if anyone ever put they hands on you who ain't supposed to you tell me right away, you hear me? Ain't nobody chastising my children except me, no one. OK baby."

"Yeah, Ma."

"Go on back to bed, baby."

She said as she put her thumb in her mouth a habit that even at forty-something she hadn't broken. It was her way of relaxing letting her guard. I went back to my room smiling. My mom had fought the monsta and had won.

[Even the minimal edits I did to this piece as I transcribed it from the PDF was extremely difficult. The story is so vivid to me in nineteen ninety-six and it brings me back to a place that I didn't want to remember.

I am also realizing I never shared this story with my late brother, and now I wonder if it was important to see who his mother was to me, a monster who was now caring for his kids. But that is moot since he's now gone, and I don't see how it would ever be appropriate to share this with her grandchildren who have acclimated to her misinformed views of the world and psychosis.]

[Photo by Brown Estate]

[kitkatcadillac]

i have such a hard time knowing where i stand with my gender labels and stuff.

im not a woman. i dont get attracted to women. im woman adjacent sometimes i guess. im not a man either, and im definitely not attracted to men. i like people more similar to me. so id argue even though im nonbinary arguably across the whole board, im like... homosexual. right???

at the same time i fuck around with myself in my brain all the time. id squeeze someones skull into a fine dust if they ever called me a lesbian, but i joke around at myself im a dyke on the inside all the time. except im this skinny little freak that wears mens clothes but has a fair face and long hair that hasnt seen a pair of scissors in years. i fixed the washing machine and sanded the rust off my brakes and rotors with my own hands and recoated them. i wear high heels like a runway model. i laugh that im a girltwink but not a girl or a twink. ill kill you if you call me a girl. twink is tolerable but you get like one. i wear baggy clothes and working jeans, and tuck my shirt in to see my body strikes just like my brothers did when he was younger and a twig, a lot like my dads did when he was younger and a twig, but my face is like a carbon copy of my moms and i feel weird about it. she never got to find out i wasnt just a fruit, i was the whole goddamn tree. but whose rejection, acceptance or guidance matters when you dont have any goddamn parents as an adult and youre the only queer in the family!!!!

not even out tho so everyone thinks im a lesbian. and its whatever. its easier to just let that sit that way. im not like, Queers For Dummies(tm) tutorial fag for everyone in my family, where i have to go through bit by bit and explain what everything means and why they should shut their stupid mouths and suck on some soap instead of wondering why Gays Have To Be Everywhere Now or something.

hhdjfkg frustrating. frustrating. liminal queer space in an already confusing queer space and between in and out where my small joys are putting on my silly little label hats and then eventually going oh, god, but thats crumbs of an existential crisis, isnt it??? insane

i have a hard time... figuring out my labels and stuff. i do. i do

[rubin-therubix-loverofblorbos]

Hhhhh. Protective dad Jules Pidieu. He would tear you limb from limb if you put a finger on his daughter and she doesn't want you to. And you wouldn't even see it coming 'cause he's so goddamn sweet. That man knows how to swing and you can't tell me otherwise. You call his baby a dyke at their pride parades and he'll make out with the nearest man that consents and dare you to call him a fag. Most people get intimidated by his height because I feel like he's this lanky guy that towers over people, but for this reason people think he's weak since he doesn't have a very good Height-Width ratio; he looks scrawny. That fucking beanpole could knock your silly ass so far back you'd have to go to Children's. Mess with his kid and you'll be in your daddy's balls. Then, after forcing you to, he apologizes, gives you a ten-minute lecture about being a decent person, and a cherry flavored hard candy.

[goingsteddiewithsubmasbrainrot]

A little Steddie thing vaguely based on Kane's Rain Down on Me because of a random number game on discord

He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he started “jogging” around town. Hah. Jogging. More like he’s running. Running from his confusion. Running from his mausoleum of a house. Running from his fears and nightmares. Running from his dreams and desires. Running from his own damn hypocrisy.

He’s been running down street after street after street, each building and lamppost and sign blurring together in an unending loop of civilization. He hasn’t been able to run through the forest like he used to do ever since finding out that monsters are real, and not just the ones wearing human faces.

He knows he’s made progress. Where once he spat the same poison as his father and Tommy goddamn Hagan, where he used to target those who were different, call them fags and queers and dykes like it was a crime, regardless of whether or not they actually were, he knows he’s better than that now. Knows he accepts his best friend fully and wholeheartedly and loves her deeply regardless or in spite of or maybe because she’s a lesbian. Knows he’d willingly and unashamedly and unapologetically break his knuckles on the face of anyone that’d make a target of little Byers the way he himself once did bigger Byers.

Point is, point fucking is, he’s a goddamn hypocrite. Any time he hissed or said or spat or shouted or otherwise called people slurs for being different? He should’ve been facing a mirror and hissed or said or spat or shouted or otherwise called those slurs to his own damn face. Sure, he loved Nancy. Except in hindsight, was he really in love with Nancy? And sure, he loves sex, loved making all those girls before and after and Nancy herself feel good. But none of them, not Jessica Rogers who gave him his first kiss in eight grade, not his first blowie from Belinda Walters in junior year, not Caroline Hawke, not Suzanna Johnson, not Nancy Wheeler, not even Phoebe goddamn Cates have ever made him feel like this. Not like his palms were sweaty and itchy and dry, not like his tongue belonged to someone else, not like his heart was fluttering and pounding and moving up and down in an elevator between his throat and his gut, not like just the thought of them made him short on breath, not like just seeing them smile could make him high.

And yet. And yet, and yet, and yet. Why couldn’t he just… give in? Surrender to the itch to do anything to see that dimpled smile? Give anything and everything for those dark, expressive, gorgeous eyes to truly see him? All his life he’s rolled from one type of misery to the next, avoiding his own truth. Misery that could be so easily taken from him. All those days of misery that someone could so easily take from him. If only he just… gave it all away. So why? Why, why, why, why can’t he?

Each encounter he feels the question burn on his tongue, constrict in his throat, yet it never comes close to flying free, and it all just builds up and up and up. Each time he lays eyes on his… his crush, each time he hears that precious name, each time those beautiful curls cross his mind, each word of praise the shitheads practically sing about their other older friend. It builds and builds and builds until he wants to demand the other to tell him...

Rain starts pouring as Steve Harrington stops running in the middle of one of Hawkins many streets to rest his hands on his knees and heave for air as he finally, finally, finally admits to himself that all he wants most is for Eddie Munson to look him in the eye and tell him how he feels, what he needs.

[night-dark-woods]

2, 7, 21, 24? :]

oooh thank uuu okay im gonna do destiny b/c thats the main one we have in common w/ a large enough fandom for these to be relevant so:

2. a compelling argument for why your fave would never top or bottom

okay so this is an unpopular opinion i think however imo sjur&mara are stone butch/femme & mara exclusively receives!!! i wont die on that hill but i AM correct.

also this is on the d/s side which is separate obvs but i also think they would be into, and imo mara is absolutely not a dom, goddamn that girl has the weight of the entire fucking human race on her scrawny little caffeine-fueled shoulders, i doubt she'd actually want to be in charge during sex too (at least w/ sjur), though im sure she'd pretend she was lol. brat extraordinaire.

7. what character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them?

asher... im sorry but i simply don't care about that man. only interesting to me as he is in canon which is a horribly bitchy twink who has a great wlw/mlm solidarity bond w/ eris. that post about how every dyke has a fag they are fated to be besties with? that's them. to me. everybody seems to want him to be a sad elf prince or whatever tho.

i thought abt answering cayde or crow but tbh that nathan fillion character archetype activates my fight-or-flight and the Nice-Guy-ification of crow in canon has made me hate him lol.

21. part of canon you think is overhyped

is it cheating to say cayde. im happy we'll see him again but ONLY for ikora's sake that girl deserves closure finally.

also the witness... i simply dont care. this is also bc i am a seth dickinson fan first and destiny fan second but. i Do Not Trust what they are doing with the Light & Dark saga without SD and when the Gardener and Winnower were mentioned in the seasonal cutscene i wanted to fucking bite someone.

24. topic that brings up the most rancid discourse

god u already know what im going to say but god forbid women do anything. *takes mara away from everyone and puts her back on a shelf only SD can reach* i know its not unique to d2 like this happens with any morally gray female character but the stuff about mara is truly some of the most stupid.

and the worst part is it makes it way into shit like destinypedia!!! look at this fucking line from the uldren page it makes me want to kill someone:

"Despite this, Crow is more perceptive than he appears as he was able to see that Mara Sov was attempting to manipulate him just like she would when he was Uldren. As his memory wipe freed him from Mara's psychological conditioning, he sees her for what she really is and thwarts her attempts to regain control of him, and the tunneling device Mara planned to use to groom Crow further becomes infinitely more useful as one of the Young Wolf's many weapons."

tell me you havent read a single fucking lore book without telling me that jesus fucking christ. biting and killing biting and killing biting and killing. oh yeah "wanting to prove yourself to your older* sibling" is the same thing as being groomed. shut the FUCK up.

*i know they are twins. they are not treated like it.

[nervouswaltz]

morning if you think george’s sexuality hinges on an uncomfortable dono 3 years ago where he went “im straight i guess” i need you to use your critical fucking thinking skills for like two goddamn minutes. we know george grew up in the world of csgo which historically has been one of the most rancid conservative spaces where anyone Other is immediately singled out and relentlessly harassed. it still fucking happens NOW for fucks sake go watch a female streamer play val and see what she deals with. go watch a punz val stream and see how casually homophobic and racist language gets tossed around. now make it like. a hundred times worse. like you gotta be fucking kidding me of course george isn’t gonna say he’s anything but straight right as he’s starting his streaming career he doesn’t know his fanbase yet but he does know that if it’s the crowd he grew up playing csgo with he will be labeled with fag smack dab on his forehead and no one will ever give him peace. obviously thats not his fanbase and we know that now but like. fucking CONTEXT people

[theboysfromaustin]

October 15, 2005

Chicago, Illinois

“Her grave was…around here…near a cluster of trees,” Kazuo bit his lip, squeezing Ian's hand.  The silver-haired man bounced their 5-month-old daughter on his arm, the baby babbling softly.  “Ah, here she is,” Kazuo knelt by a stone, “Hey, ma.” Ian settled in next to him, “Hi, Nana.”

“I know it's been a while….but I've been growing my family.  I know you remember Ian.  We…we have someone for you to meet…” Ian handed over the baby, “We have a little girl, Nana.  She's…”

“Hey!”

Ian and Kazuo turned, Kazuo shrinking away, handing the baby back.  “What are you people doing to my wife's grave?!” Kazuo shook with fear, Ian with anger.  It had been a long time, but he recognized Kazuo's father, Kenjiro.

Kenjiro stomped up to them, oxygen machine in hand, eyes widening.  Ian turned, shielding Nanami from his view.  “You…Ian…and YOU…” Kenjiro grabbed Kazuo's arm, making him yelp, “You worthless little shit!  You have a lot of nerve showing your stupid fucking face around here!”

“Let go of him!” Ian grabbed Kenjiro's wrist with one hand, squeezing.  “Why are you even here?!  You're…” Krnjiro's eyes widened with realization, “Jesus.  You turned my stupid brat into a fucking faggot!” “Let go of me!” Kazuo ripped his arm from Kenjiro's grasp.

Nanami began to cry, Ian immediately letting go of Kenjiro to soothe her.

“Why do you have a baby?!”

“She's your granddaughter,” Kazuo spat, turning to tend to her, “It's okay, Nanami.” “What did you call that thing?” Kenjiro's voice dripped with venom.  “Her name is Nanami,” Ian snarled, “And you've upset her.” “You…you two…goddamn…fags..I…I…!” Kenjiro began to gasp, stepping back.

He dropped to his knees, clutching at his chest.  Kazuo took Nanami, gently bouncing her, “It's okay.  He'll never hurt you…” Ian stared at Kenjiro with disgust, “Are you expecting sympathy?” “My chest….help….Ian…Kazuo…my boy…”

“So now I'm your boy?  Now that you need help?”

“Please…call…” Ian looked to Kazuo, who grimaced, then sighed, nodding.  Ian pulled his phone out, calling 911.  Kenjiro flopped onto his side, staring up at Kazuo.  Kazuo gently kissed Nanami's cheek, “That's your granddad.  He's a monster.  You'll never be cursed to see him again.”

A tear rolled down Kenjiro's cheek.

Kazuo turned away in disgust, holding Nanami close as the ambulance approached.  “You okay?” Ian took Kazuo's hand, squeezing it.  “Yeah.” Kenjiro was loaded onto a backboard, reaching towards Kazuo, “Kazuo…my son…”

Kazuo narrowed his eye, “I'm not his son.  He's mistaking me for somebody else.”  Nanami babbled softly, touching his face.  “It's okay, sweet girl.  Your dads will protect you.” Ian pulled them both into a hug, “Should we go?” “Yeah,” Kazuo watched the ambulance pull away, “I saw…remorse.”

“It would have been a lie.  He's a bastard.  You know that.” “I know.  I don't want him anywhere near Nanami.” “Neither do I.  Do you want to talk to your mum a bit more?” “Yeah,” Kazuo knelt once more, “Mom, this is your granddaughter, Nanami.  She's 5 months old, and…I know you'd love her the way Ian and I love her.  I hope you'll watch over her…She's a perfect baby.”

Ian squeezed Kazuo's shoulder, “Nana, I'll watch over your boy, I'll watch over our granddaughter.   I wish you were here to meet her.  Your son is a fine father, and I love him more than life itself.” Kazuo stood, leaning on Ian, the baby sucking her thumb,

“It's not fair that he's alive, and she…”

“I know.”

“Bye, mom.  C'mon, I got a whole city to show you,” Kazuo kissed Ian gently, leading him to the Aston Martin.  Ian looked back, “Don't worry, Nana…

They're in good hands.”