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joanna-olson · 8 days

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Harringrove 😬🧸 and 💦 (since the breakup)

hey! 🥰 yall are getting tiny ficlets instead of blurbs because i have no self control lmfao especially when it comes to writing billy and his feelings

😬 confessing their feelings + 🧸 exes with feelings + 💦 sleeping together for the first time

He's just getting this out of his system.

That's what Billy keeps telling himself.

It's a closure thing.

He can get one last orgasm from Steve, knowing it'll be the last. He can savor it, memorialize it, commit every bead of sweat and tiny sound to memory, and then move on knowing he got everything he could from whatever this thing between them was.

Last time was a quickie in the backroom of Family Video, and Billy left before either of them said a word to each other, if he'd known...

He digs blunt fingertips into Steve's sweat-slick back. They can't get any closer, but he tries anyway, ignoring the sting of future rugburn forming on his chest where Steve's carpet of hair has been rubbing against his skin.

"Billy..." Steve says, warm and close, his nose brushing Billy's temple. He sounds fond and teasing, like he knows—

He knows nothing. There's nothing to know.

Billy turns his head, licking into Steve's mouth and stopping any dumb shit from coming out of it.

It's a bad distraction. Not because it doesn't work, Steve kisses him back with enthusiasm, but because it hurts. Billy's chest cracks open, and a terrible, wounded noise rips from his throat.

It must startle Steve. He jerks away, eyes going wide, but stopping is even worse than starting, because the second Billy's lips aren't occupied he gasps—

"I love you."

Steve goes very still.

Regret hits Billy like a bag of bricks. He's buried under it, choking on the dust. He needs out. Away. The wall he tried to build collapsed on him and he can't let Steve see the wreckage.

He shoves Steve off him and scurries back in one clumsy movement, panic making his limbs heavy, his fingers numb.

Steve catches his wrist. "Wait."

"Let go."

"You said you didn't want...y'know."

"I don't."

"So you don't want me to tell you I love you too?"

It's Billy's turn to freeze. Tears prickle at his eyes. "No," he says quietly.

There's a determined, defiant tilt to Steve's chin. "Well, too bad. Because I do."

A dozen retorts rattle Billy's teeth, and he grinds molars, trying to swallow them back. He doesn't know what he's supposed to say right now, but he knows nothing that's coming to mind should come out of his mouth.

"Billy." His voice is doing that soft, mushy thing again, and he scoots closer, sheets wrinkling around his bare legs. "I love you."

It hurts. Like it hurt when Steve kissed him. Like it hurt the first time he did something stupidly romantic for Billy, out of the blue, laced their fingers together while they were sharing a cigarette at the quarry. They were sitting on the hood of Steve's car, bathed in sunset orange, and Billy couldn't stand how picturesque it all was.

He takes Billy's hand again now, slipping down his wrist into his palm. This time Billy lets him.

💕tag list @spreckle @growup-thatbeautiful @prettyboy-like-you @suddenlyinlove💕

#harringrove ficlet #harringrove

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joanna-olson · 19 days

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a few reminders because i’m tired and angry

fandom is a hobby, not a form of activism

adult women aren’t inherently creepy for being in fandom and having hobbies apart from raising babies and doing taxes

the vast majority of people pushing back against the worrying trend of instigating harassment over fictional characters and relationships aren’t incest supporters or pedophiles, actually

liking a m/f ship doesn’t make someone a dirty heterosexual invading your space

preferring gay ships doesn’t make you ‘’woke’’ and good

no one owes you a disclaimer that they are a good person who recognizes that their favorite fictional villain’s actions are evil and that they don’t condone those actions irl

liking a fictional villain is in no way comparable to advocating abuse/murder/genocide/etc and you’re a fucking idiot if you believe that

just because a woman is attracted to a fictional villain doesn’t mean she’s promoting toxic relationships or going to end up in a toxic relationship. assuming women can’t tell fiction and reality apart stinks of internalized misogyny

some rando’s a/b/o fanfics have none of the level of influence that popular tv shows and movies spreading propaganda have

no one owes you a detailed description of their traumas and mental health problems

abusive relationships are not the same as enemies to lovers ships

y’all need to chill the fuck out over people, relationships, actions and events that don’t actually exist and learn how to enjoy and discuss them like normal people

fandom is a hobby, not a form of activism

feel free to add more

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joanna-olson · 19 days

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I have a really hard time understanding people who don’t go vegan or stop being vegan because of the toxic bullshit in vegan communities. I can agree that a lot of the community IS problematic/ableist/fatphobic/generally shitty. It’s a huge problem within vegan spaces. So by all means, distance yourself from those spaces or be extremely picky in which vegan people you choose to interact with. But not being vegan doesn’t do any harm at all to problematic vegans, it hurts animals. That’s like if person A was being a shit to you but instead of confronting or distancing yourself from person A you spun around and punched person B in the face when they’re doing nothing to harm you at all.

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joanna-olson · 19 days

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joanna-olson · 21 days

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but think of all the times ian and mickey sit together at the kitchen table or on the living room couch, having dinner or watching tv or just shooting the shit and they're teasing each other and laughing and telling dumb inside jokes and ian wrestles mickey into a half-headlock/half-cuddle and mickey throws peanut m&ms at him. think of them just having fun because they enjoy spending time together because sure, they're in love but they also like each other so much.

they're sappy husbands but they're also just two young dudes who never had a carefree life and who had to go through so much for each other and they're each other's best friend and one true love and they start and end every day together, forever.

#yes this!#i love this dynamic so much #gallavich

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joanna-olson · 30 days

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#isn't that the truth

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joanna-olson · 30 days

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u ever read a fanfic so good that you want. fanfic of the fanfic

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joanna-olson · 1 month

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Thank you drunk me for making pasta salad. You could have used a little less salt though.

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joanna-olson · 1 month

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#i chuckled

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joanna-olson · 1 month

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The worst thing about caring for farm animals is that when you try to google something about them and their care you have to wade through the swamp of results detailing their exploitation before you find anything relevant. And if you care for animals whose flesh is considered a delicacy multiply this by a hundred.

#vegan #farm animals #vent post

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joanna-olson · 1 month

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Just read the tags of a fic and dubcon and incest were the most tame ones. I'm into dark shit sometimes, but that was a bit much for me.

#fanfic #ao3 #safe to say i won't be reading the fic #great that it was properly tagged #but man were these tags a fucked up roller coaster

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joanna-olson · 2 months

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Billy Hargrove has been dead for little over two months when Steve opens the door to find him on the doorstep, dirty and pale and shaking. He stares at Steve with wide eyes – bluer than Steve remembers – before he collapses into a heap of dirty limbs halfway across the threshold. Steve pulls him inside, disposes of him in the couch in the living room, and naturally proceeds to freak the fuck out.

After some processing, he decides that he must be experiencing a very vivid dream – and honestly, it’s a welcome change after the usual nightmares – and since it’s merely a dream, he opens a bottle of his dad’s best whiskey, because where’s the harm, right?

An hour later finds Steve sitting on the floor with his back to an armchair, predictably drunk and watching Billy sleep. Or possibly being unconscious. It doesn’t really matter which, since it’s only a dream.

Turns out, though, that it’s not a dream – or if it is, it’s a damn weird one. Because Billy wakes up, and when he looks around the room and spots Steve there, he starts to cry, which. Is not something that Steve’s brain could ever dream up, alcohol-soaked or not. And Billy feels solid enough under Steve’s hand, when he awkwardly pats the other boy’s shaking shoulders.

The events that have taken place are eventually revealed, but make no sense to either of them. Apparently Billy woke up somewhere dark and cramped (the coffin, he doesn’t say, but Steve hears it anyway), promptly panicked, and … broke out, somehow. Dug himself out from the rain-soaked earth, and stumbled along the roads until he saw a house he recognized. Which was Steve’s house.

It’s impossible, Steve knows. Billy has been dead for months. Steve saw him die – had first row seats to the sight of him getting impaled by a monster made out of meat and bones – and coming back from the dead after all that is simply not possible. Yet here Billy is, sitting on the floor of Steve’s living room, not a mark on him.

(Literally. There are no marks, no scars. Just smooth skin where they both know he was speared through.)

They spend the rest of the night slowly making their way through Steve’s dad’s expensive whiskey.

In the morning, Billy says, voice hoarse; “I need you to drive me to California.”

Steve thinks of asking why. Thinks of Max, thinks of Billy’s parents, thinks of telling the Party or the police or at least some adult who would possibly know what to do. What he says, though, is “Okay.” The world swims, and he adds, belatedly, “Tomorrow, though. I’m too drunk to drive now.”

A snort is the last thing he hears before he falls asleep where he’s sitting.

~~~

Half the next day is spent nursing hangovers and realizing that nope, last night wasn’t a dream or an alcohol-induced hallucination. The other half is spent making preparations for the trip.

Now when Steve is sober, he revisits the idea to simply tell someone. Billy being back is a miracle, and there are people mourning him, people who has missed him –

Billy shuts that down hard and fast. “No one is mourning me here,” he says, voice gravel-rough. “If they act like they do, it’s because they’re feeling guilty. There’s nothing left for me here.” He licks his lips, and his next words are a whisper. “I never wanted to come here in the first place.”

And, like. If he really thinks about it, Steve realizes that they wouldn’t be able to keep Billy being back a secret if he stayed in Hawkins. And if they tell Max, or Billy’s family, then word would spread. The government would no doubt hear of it. There would be a high probability of Billy being taken in for tests, experimentation, whatever else.

He doesn’t deserve that, Steve thinks as he watches Billy emerge from the shower wearing borrowed clothes. Because Billy died saving them. Sacrificed himself for them, even when they’d done so little to try to save him. This? Driving Billy to California? It’s the least Steve can do for him.

~~~

They get on the road the next day. Steve has taken time off work blaming the death of an elderly aunt and a rare family gathering, and been as vague as he can get away with concerning how long he’ll be away. Early in the morning, they put their bags – Billy’s is a borrowed one, containing only Steve’s things since he has nothing of his own and understandably didn’t want to keep the clothes he had on when he was buried – in the trunk of the car, and get in.

Steve is driving. When they pass the “Leaving Hawkins” sign, Billy lets out an audible sigh and slumps down in his seat. Steve glances over at him, and Billy explains without being prompted; “I always hated this town. I can’t believe they fucking buried me here.”

His incredulousness over the fact draws a snort out of Steve.

~~~

It’s strange, how easy it is to get used to having Billy Hargrove next to him while in a confined space. Stranger yet, how well they get along considering their history. And even more strange, how different Billy seems now, when they’ve left Hawkins behind them.

Or perhaps it’s not strange at all – at least not in comparison to all the other weird stuff they’ve both seen and somehow lived through. In the great scheme of things, one young man coming back from the dead and wanting to go back home doesn’t even make the top ten list of weird shit.

Billy is surprisingly funny, and witty, and smart – and it is dazzling without the sharp edges. It takes Steve a while to recognize what is missing, and when he does, it makes him watch Billy with new eyes. Because Billy doesn’t seem to exist behind a layer of anger anymore. The tension is gone. The further they get from Hawkins, the easier Billy seems to breathe.

The change is remarkable. Makes Steve think that he probably never knew who Billy really was, before this.

He finds himself thinking that he is looking forward to getting to know the real Billy.

~~~

They take turns driving. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they sit in companionable silence, and sometimes whoever’s in the passenger seat naps while the other drives. They stop at gas stations to stock up on gas and snacks, and at diners for food. That first night, they drive straight through, but the next night they stop at a motel for some proper sleep in a bed.

They share a room, but lie in separate beds. They talk for hours in the dark before falling asleep.

“I never wanted to be buried underground,” Billy says, when they’re both on the edge of sleep. “They knew that.”

“What did you want, then?” Steve asks, never having considered an alternative.

“I wanted to get back to the ocean,” Billy says. “Have my ashes spread over the surface of the water and become one with the waves again.”

Steve doesn’t know what to say to that. That he’s sorry that even Billy’s own family didn’t respect his final wishes? That it sucks that they buried his body in the dirt of a town he hated, leaving him to rot there forever when he never even wanted to come there in the first place?

“’One with the waves’ … That sounds beautiful,” he decides on. And then, as an aside, “I’ve never even seen the ocean.”

Steve can hear the smile in Billy’s voice when he speaks next. “You’re going to love it. It’s … everything.”

~~~

They get closer – to California, and to each other – and the closer they get, the less urgency Steve feels to get to their destination. Because what will happen when they get there? Steve can’t just leave Billy there without a means to support himself. Without a home, without a car, without money – without someone to take care of him. Steve can’t help it – he worries.

And then he looks at Billy’s smiling face next to him, and feels his worries being washed away.

He still finds himself taking the scenic route more often than not. Insisting on taking detours to see the sights. Claiming he’s too tired to drive unless he takes a break.

Billy smiles as if he knows what Steve is doing, but he doesn’t make a comment. Doesn’t complain. Seems to enjoy this little bubble they’re in together, in Steve’s car with the world passing them by outside.

It’s strange. But it’s nice, too. Steve kind of doesn’t want it to end.

~~~

The last night, they stop at a motel an hour or two from their destination. They could have kept on driving, but none of them seemed to want to. So they get a room, as usual. Steve pays, as usual. There are two beds, as usual.

Yet, when it’s time to sleep, Billy forgoes his own bed and goes to stand by Steve’s. There’s a question in the air between them, unasked.

Steve answers by peeling back the comforter in invitation. His mouth is dry and his heart is beating like a drum in his chest as Billy climbs in next to him.

They don’t speak much, that night. But they kiss. And they hold each other.

“I never wanted to come to Hawkins,” Billy whispers between kisses. “And I hated it there. But I met you, so I guess it wasn’t all bad.”

The next morning, they wake up in each other’s arms.

~~~

“I’ll show you my home,” Billy says when they get back in the car after breakfast. Steve is back behind the wheel, because he wants a reason to keep his eyes on the road. If he watches Billy too much, he’ll do something stupid – like turn the car around and go back to Hawkins with Billy still in it, or perhaps decide not to go back to Hawkins at all, himself. Just, stay here with Billy, for a while longer.

It’s a fantasy that hurts, so he pushes it down. Concentrates on following Billy’s directions, and drive through a city bigger than one he’s ever been in.

(When he first spots the glittering blue between buildings, he gasps. So does Billy.)

They drive through the city, then out of it. Along a winding road with fewer and fewer buildings around, the ocean vast and terrifyingly endless to their right. Eventually Billy directs them down a gravel road that doesn’t have a sign and looks like it might lead onto private property. Steve would worry, would perhaps protest, if it wasn’t for the longing on Billy’s face.

They have to walk the last bit, Billy says. They get out of the car. It’s hours before noon, but it’s already warm. Steve’s in just a T-shirt, and for a second he his face to the sun to feel the warmth of it on his skin – before turning to Billy only to see him turned to the sun, too. Like a flower in bloom.

He looks golden, in this light.

After a short walk down a steep incline, they end up on a little beach. A tiny one, empty, with rocky outcrops on either side which makes it seem like they’re the only people on earth. The sand is fine and pale under their feet, the water lapping at the edges of it and then stretching out in front of them until it meets the horizon, far far away.

It’s beautiful. But it’s not exactly a house. And didn’t Billy say he’d show Steve his home?

“Mom used to take me here when I was a kid,” Billy says, kicking off his shoes. Steve does the same, and pulls off his socks as well. “We used to come here all the time.” Billy holds out his hand with a smile, and Steve takes it. They make their way to the water. “She’d watch me play in the water for hours, sitting on a towel, just listening to the waves and the seagulls.” The first step into the water is a shock – it’s cold, but not freezing. It almost feels alive. Steve takes a tentative step after Billy, bolstered by Billy’s widening smile. “I think taking me here was the most peaceful she ever got to be. It was for me, at least. The best times of my childhood.”

They stand there in the surf, feet in the water and holding hands, when Billy turns to Steve. His eyes are shining with unshed tears and his smile is wobbly as he places his hands on either sides of Steve’s face and leans in for the softest of kisses; their lips just barely brushing against each other.

“Thank you,” he says, and Steve’s heart skips a beat because it sounds like goodbye, “for not letting me stay buried in Indiana.”

He backs up a step. Brushes a tear from Steve’s cheek – that he hadn’t realized had fallen – and turns towards the endless sea. Takes a deep breath and starts walking.

Steve wants to reach out to stop him, wills himself to to say something, but he can’t. Somehow, he knows that this is where they were heading from the start. This is why they had to go here.

As Steve watches, Billy … dissolves. Like in a movie. One moment he is solid, and the next he’s … not. He turns to dust in front of Steve’s eyes, fine dust that glitters like gold in a sudden ray of sunlight. It – he – is spread out over the water, is carried over the clear surface by the gentle breeze.

Instead of being trapped in the ground inland, he becomes one with the waves again.

#how dare you make me cry like this #this is so beautiful #sad and bittersweet #harringrove

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joanna-olson · 2 months

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Full Mag Part 1

It's been sitting in my brain screaming for over a month. Clawing at the walls, trying to get out. So here's the first part of my Gallavich uncles fic.

Ian loves having an apartment all to himself with Mickey. It means privacy, domesticity, a space just for them in the early years of their marriage. Inevitably they'll find a bigger place. Maybe move back to the southside where Mickey is more comfortable. Ian could live with that, as long as he has Mickey he's okay with most things.

"Iggy, what the fuck?!"

Ian rolls his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. They keep getting noise complaints from their neighbors and while most of it is sex-related, a good portion is due to Mickey's poor volume control.

Ian sighs at the sound of Mickey screaming at his older brother on the phone and can only imagine the trouble Iggy could be in. Iggy calls every once in a while to bust his baby brother's balls or ask for money. Sometimes Mickey agrees, other times he curses Iggy out and hangs up on him. Right now it seems to be the latter.

Not even 20 seconds later, Mickey is rushing past Ian to grab his jacket off the hook.

"Where are you going?" Ian stands, wondering what Iggy could've said that has Mickey rushing to get out of the apartment.

"Where do you think? Asshole got himself arrested and now we need to go down to the station." Mickey grabs Ian's leather jacket off the hook and tosses it to him, stomping his feet into his Timberlands after doing so.

Iggy may not be the sharpest tool in the shed but he knows when to look apologetic. Especially when he's sitting in an interrogation room and he can see Mickey walk into the precinct, his husband in tow. It doesn't take long for Mickey to snap his attention through the window and give one lethal glare that makes Iggy immediately look away.

Ian stands behind Mickey with his hands in his jacket pockets and stares at the ground, waiting for Mickey to ask to see his brother. He's not shaken by the turn of events, after all between him, Lip, and especially Carl he'd already had his share of precinct visits. No biggie.

Iggy lifts his head as his younger brother and brother-in-law walk into the interrogation room. He gives the same goofy smile that Mickey has seen since they were kids and that never fails to irritate him to high heavens. Mainly because it's always followed by the dumbest thing that's ever been said and/or done.

"What the hell did you do, dumbass?" Mickey drops down into the chair across the table and leans into Ian's hand that rests on his shoulder.

"It wasn't my fault! You know how these pigs are. See a Milkovich and immediately jump to the worst-case scenario. All I know is, I was grabbing a beer from the convenience store, was gonna pay and everything, and next thing I know I'm face down and my hands are cuffed." Iggy huffs with irritation, chewing the corner of his bottom lip.

Mickey rubs his eyebrow, already feeling the beginnings of a migraine coming on. "So what? You need money?"

"No something else, something bigger. It's also why I asked you to bring Gallagher. Cause I know he'll say yes."

Ian's head whips up from where he'd been staring at the floor. "How do you know? I could easily say no to whatever you want."

Iggy laughs, cutting his eyes to Mickey. "I need you to watch my daughter."

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