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dylanwritesgood · 2 years

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All your faith, all your rage | Chapter 8

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Part: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine

Summary: Gareth is relearning how to deal with high school after sudden hearing loss, and Eddie sees in him another little sheepie to rescue. Set before ST4.

Pairings: Eddie Munson & Gareth Emerson, Hellfire Club, Corroded Coffin, Gareth x Chance (one-sided)

Word count: 3,971

Warnings: internalized homophobia, extreme bullying, 80s psychiatry and autism, pathologization of neurodivergence, period-typical homophobia, hurt/comfort, autistic and deaf character written by an autistic and deaf author

Read on Ao3

A/N: Things are still rough, but there's some bright spots, too.<3 Pay attention to the warnings, and if you don't want to read the rough stuff, dm/ask me for a tl;dr okay?

Taglist (message me to be added):

@andyquinn21

Things get worse before they get better. No one outright fucks with Gareth in the halls because Eddie follows him around the school like a guard dog, standing watch when Gareth opens his locker or has to take a piss or do anything where someone might take advantage of his vulnerability. Gareth’s temper burns short for everything else, because he’s pouring all his patience into waiting out the torment without rising to the bait. But someone carves that fucking word into the door of his locker and the laughter when he finds it is like nails on a chalkboard.

Now everyone knows, and the notes come every class. He doesn’t unfold any of them, just stuffs them in a pocket and adds them to the shoebox under his bed when he gets home. He knows what they all say, knows they’re all true, because he can’t make himself feel anything for a girl besides envy when Chance starts taking Monique Engels out.

At some point, Gareth stops talking. Eddie isn’t sure when it happened, looking back, he just realized that he hadn’t heard Gareth’s voice in a while. He’d never been particularly chatty, but he’d usually had something to say. Eddie didn’t notice Gareth folding in on himself, because physically, he kept showing up to Hellfire sessions and band practices and hangouts, but at some point, Eddie realized that Gareth might as well not have been there. He was just a ghost, moving through his routine like he was on a track, but never interacting with anything. It terrified Eddie.

He knew what depression looks like. He has been there enough times. The happy-go-lucky cult leader act was just that—an act. He pulled on that mask so his friends didn’t know how much he struggled sometimes. So to see it on one of his best friends? That hurt. So Eddie went behind Gareth’s back and called his mom. Gareth could hate Eddie all he wanted later, just as long as he was alive.

They get him help. Jan pulls Gareth from school one day and they drive the hour over to the city where Gareth’s audiologist is, and they see a psychiatrist. Gareth fills out sheet after sheet of questionnaires, nervous despite being told there wasn’t a wrong answer and he needed to be truthful instead of worrying what someone might think. The psychiatrist spends an hour interviewing Janet and asking questions about Gareth’s growth and behaviors when he was too young for him to remember.

Gareth and his mom go out for lunch while Gareth’s assessments (they’re not tests, they’re just assessments, he’s told) are being analyzed. When they get back, it’s Gareth’s turn to get grilled about his life and his thoughts while his mom waits in the waiting room. It’s quiet in the psychiatrist’s office and she speaks carefully to him and he keeps up well with his hearing aids.

He’s very careful not to mention a gender when the doctor asks if he has any romantic interests, and to explain, if he’s had any interactions with them, how that went. Not great, is the answer he can come up with. He doesn’t know how to explain what happened without outing himself, and what that book said about autistic people and homosexuality is still haunting him.

He does admit that he gets called slurs at school. That seems innocuous enough. Teens are cruel and just because he’s called that doesn’t mean he is that. The psychiatrist takes interest in that, carefully taking notes and nodding encouragingly as Gareth hesitantly explains that he… bumped into… another guy at a party and that’s when the deluge of harassment started, and yeah, it’s starting to get to him because it’s not like he did anything to deserve to be called that. He didn’t kiss the star quarterback of the school football team under the bleachers after practice like that other kid did.

“Do you think he deserved what happened to him for just kissing someone?” She asks, leaning forward in her seat and setting her notepad aside.

“Everyone knows you don’t do that,” is the best answer Gareth can come up with.

“If it was you, would you think you deserved what happened to him?”

Gareth shifts uncomfortably. Yeah. Yeah, he does think it’s exactly what he’d have deserved if it was him, because it’s wrong. He knows it’s wrong, he doesn’t need to be trained like a dog, swatted with a rolled newspaper, because he already knows it’s wrong. If you do something wrong, you get punished. But he didn’t do anything wrong, so he doesn’t deserve to be punished. He doesn’t say any of that though. Instead, he says,

“I guess not.”

She picks up her notepad again and takes a moment to review the page. She isn’t looking at Gareth when she says,

“Y’know, we still haven’t figured out what causes people to be gay. Some psychologists theorize some people are just born that way, like some people have red hair or are left-handed. It’s not common, but it’s just a genetic variation, they say. Isn’t that interesting?”

“Yeah, well, they used to beat left-handed kids into being normal,” Gareth mutters, and the psychiatrist looks at him over her glasses.

“You ever think there might be a reason people don’t do that anymore?”

Gareth hadn’t thought about it. Things were quiet for a moment as she looked through her notes. He breaks the silence.

“So if people are born gay… it’s like people being born autistic, right? Like… there’s still something wrong with m—them, even if they’ve always been that way.”

She doesn’t miss his near slip. “Do you think you’re autistic, Gareth?”

He wets his lips with his tongue and takes a deep breath. “My friend, Kim, she’s going to college to be a therapist and she sent me a book because she thought I should read it—Autism in Adolescents and Adults. I… do a lot of the things it talked about. That’s… that’s what you’re testing me for, right?”

“Rough read,” she hums, “Impressive you got through it.”

“You’ve read it?” He asks, hopeful. She points to her bookshelf and he spots the familiar spine amongst the other books on the shelf.

“I don’t agree with all of it, but I’ve read it.”

She can see his blue eyes are guarded. He wants to trust her, but he doesn’t, yet, so she pushes on, “I don’t think autistic adults can’t live on their own, or that they’re some big moral conundrum. I think we don’t understand what it’s like to be an autistic adult because the adults we know are autistic aren’t capable of telling us, and there’s a lot of more mildly autistic people who grow up and live their lives and never know that they’re autistic. I think that some autistic people do have delays or impairments in different areas of their lives, but I also think normal people do, too.”

“Do you think we need to be trained to do things the right way?” He asks. It’s almost a whisper, and his eyes are pleading with her.

“I don’t,” she says, and he breathes an audible sigh of relief, “I don’t think you need to be trained, Gareth. I think you’re capable of making your own decisions and seeking out help when you need it.”

They’re dancing around the issue, and they both know it. She can’t come out and say what’s on both of their minds, he has to come to her with it. All she can do is make space.

“You can say anything you want in this office, Gareth. The only person who will see my notes is me. If you have questions, you can ask them here, and nothing leaves this room. I’m here to help you, not hurt you.”

She thinks maybe she’s lost him because he’s staring at his hands in his lap and is quiet for too long. Just when she gets ready to close the session, he makes a confession.

“I wanted to kiss him—that guy I bumped into. He’s my neighbor. I’ve wanted to kiss him since he moved in, I’ve figured out. Took me a while ‘cause I’m not good at feelings. I didn’t feel that way at all when I kissed Kim—”

“Kim with the book? Who’s in college?” She interjects, making a note.

“It was last year,” he explains, “Seven Minutes in Heaven at a party. She was still a senior, and I don’t think she was planning on, y’know, doing anything with me. I think she nudged the bottle, actually, so I wouldn’t have to go into the closet with someone I didn’t know. I told her I’d never kissed anyone and she told me it was okay, because I was only fifteen and I didn’t need to meet anyone else’s expectations, but that she’d kiss me if I wanted so I didn’t have to worry about it.”

Gareth paused to take a deep breath, since everything felt like it was pouring out of him and he’d forgotten to breathe. “We kissed but I didn’t really feel anything and I thought it was because it was Kim and I didn’t have a crush on her like the rest of our friends.”

“But that guy, the one I wanted to kiss, he has a sister,” Gareth continued. Now that he started, he couldn’t stop all his hurt from flooding out. “She’s beautiful, looks just like him and plays on the volleyball team and I tried to have feelings for her. I mean, maybe I was just confused because a lot of people are beautiful and I mixed up thinking someone was beautiful with liking them, and I’d like her instead once I thought about it.”

“You didn’t, did you?” She prodded gently.

“I did not,” Gareth confirmed with an emphatic nod. It was the most certain she’d seen him all session.

“But then I got that book and it… it said that autistic people ‘engaged in homosexual relations’,” He made air quotes with his fingers, “because they didn’t know any better, and they had to be…”

“Trained,” they said at the same time. He finally looked up from his lap at her. No eye contact, she noted, but he faked it well.

“I’m starting to see a pattern, here,” she commented, “Are you?”

“Yeah, I’m fucked up.” Gareth laughed, but there wasn’t any humor in it.

“I think it’s more that you read a book written by people who don’t actually know what you experience, and they’re just talking about what they observe in people who have the same condition as you, but are more severe. While I do not think you’re stupid, I do think you’re sixteen and not a psychologist, and that all was a lot to process on top of the rest of your life. And everything keeps circling back around to what you read.”

“What do I do?” Gareth’s voice was pleading again. I’m just a kid, I don’t know how to navigate this.

“Throw the book away. Forget what it said about people like you,” She says firmly, but then she softens, “Do you think there could be anything with this boy?”

Gareth shook his head vehemently. “He’s friends with the guy who started the… name… thing. That jerk’s been picking on me for years now, and the guy just… watches. And I know he thinks the same things about me even if he doesn’t say it, but I still want to kiss him.”

“Well, then we’ll work on making things easier where we can, okay? That’ll make the stuff we can’t fix easier to face.” She closed her notebook and gave him another once-over. “I’m gonna grab your mom, and we’ll go over the plan together, okay?”

A look of panic crosses his face. “Don’t tell her about—”

“Hey, nothing you say leaves this room,” she reassures him, and he lets her go.

Gareth goes home with a diagnosis of autism, major depressive disorder, and generalized anxiety disorder. He also goes home with a prescription for an antidepressant, one for an anti-anxiety medication, and a note to his school outlining his psychiatrist’s recommendations for how to best support him. They get his prescriptions filled on the way home and stop for ice cream, because Rocky Road makes everything a little better after a rough day. And when they get home, Gareth crashes hard.

But things do get better. The meds prop his mood up enough that he can focus on surviving the things he can’t change, like Jason, and making an effort on the things he can change, like his grades. He learns coping strategies from the therapist his psychiatrist referred him to, and teaches them to his friends so they can help, because they love him—even if they’re assholes who call his mom behind his back.

Winter break finally arrives, and so do the wayward members of Hellfire Club, and things start to feel okay again.

Winter break is a much-needed respite. Sure, Chance still lives across the street and is a painful reminder of what’s in store for Gareth come January, but all of Gareth’s freak friends are home and they rove the town like a pack of wolves. There’s more of them than there are the bullies, and Gareth gets a break from the torment, even when they run into Jason and his crew in their little Members Only jackets at the Hawkins winter carnival.

Before he sees the rest of Hellfire, Jason looks like he wants to start something with Gareth, but the words die on his tongue as the gang gathers at Gareth’s back, decked in leather and denim and studs, looking at him expectantly. He wisely decides to save his torment for the new semester in a few weeks. It doesn’t stop Eddie from feinting at Jason and eliciting a flinch, once Gareth has turned away. Just to return the favor. Even Jason’s friends take a step back and leave him standing alone.

Call them freaks if you want, but none of the Hellfire kids would step back toward safety if one of their own was threatened.

While Kim is in town, Gareth quietly shares what he’s learned from his, at this point, sprawling care team. She lets him snuggle in tight to her side and plays with his hair and presses kisses into his part as he talks because he’d mentioned once that she’s a safe person for him and he liked her affection. They both know there’s nothing romantic there, but he’s touch-starved and she’s happy to share. He casually mentions that he’d been talking about it with his psychiatrist, and it was funny the bottle landed on her at that party last year. She has the good grace to look embarrassed.

“I didn’t want someone to hurt you,” she admits, “You’re special and I didn’t want your first kiss to be some random drunk girl. Wasn’t even gonna kiss you, I just didn’t want them to.”

“How did you know it was my first kiss when you nudged the bottle?” He challenged, tone playful. She planted a smooch right on his forehead.

“Ah yes, my precious little socially-stunted sophomore was definitely an experienced kisser,” She giggled, “You’re too cute, Gare-Bear.”

Kim booped his nose the way she always does and he scrunched it up and gave it a wriggle.

“Been practicing those kissing skills on anyone pretty?” She asked, but noticed his mood shift suddenly. She could practically feel the anxiety in the room rising like a flood.

She backpedaled quickly, “Or not! Not my business!”

He never wrote about the bullying in his letters to her because he didn’t want her to worry about something she was helpless to fix. He also had thought they’d move on from tormenting him a lot more quickly, but they were still going strong. But if he couldn’t tell Kim, then who could he tell? She’s the first person outside of his care team to know.

“I like boys, Kim. Only boys. And, y’know, that’s not exactly something to… talk about, here.” He drew his shoulders in, getting small like he felt he was. “Something happened around Halloween.”

And so he told her everything—how he felt when Chance moved in, how much it hurt when he realized that he’d never even had a shot at getting to know Chance, about trying to avoid him all summer when they lived across the street from each other, about trying to like girls, about the Halloween party, and all the torment that followed because Chance must’ve told Jason about Gareth’s split-second lapse of judgment and he’d been publicly branded a queer.

He also told her about how he couldn’t hate Chance, even though he had every single possible reason to and doing so would be self-preservation. He was scared of him, and knew that under no circumstances can he be alone with Chance or his friends. But he can’t let go, either. Moth to the flame.

She let him bury his face against her and cry while she held him tight. It wasn't fair, it wasn't his fault he can’t like girls. It wasn't his fault that Chance is beautiful and straight and Gareth is not so all he can do is cower and want and wait for when they finally manage to catch him alone to teach him a lesson. It wasn't fair that he’s just waiting to see if they manage to kill the queer this time, and he doesn’t even get a kiss for it. It wasn't fair that he’s resigned to his fate.

Finally, when he was all cried out, he made her promise not to tell anyone one else (“Not even my mom, because I know you all talk to her behind my back.”). She did and she took him home, hovering in the driveway until he got the front door shut safely behind him. She drove away slow and saw the neighbor boy shooting hoops in his driveway. Gareth was right—he’s beautiful. If only he knew what a beautiful soul he had longing for him to care.

Then she goes home and calls Eddie to yell at him for not telling her what was happening while she was away. And then she makes him swear up and down, swear on his precious Warlock, that he will not let Gareth out of his sight, not even to walk to his own front door.

Eddie takes it very, very seriously when Gareth admits he needs a little help with the coping strategies he’s been taught. Gareth doesn’t like the shame that settles in his gut and his cheeks as he explains what a meltdown is and what self-stimulatory behavior looks like and why he does it—according to his psychiatrist—but he tells him anyways. Having the language to describe it helps. Having a diagnosis helps.

What helps more is that Eddie is good at spotting triggers and warning signs. Sound isn’t a trigger for Gareth, usually (and when it is, Eddie reminds him to turn off his aids), but textures can be. Crowds can be. Light can be. Stress and anxiety are the biggest triggers.

Eddie’s not as good as Kim is at intuiting what Gareth needs and when, but he’s learning fast. In his defense, Kim has known for a lot longer that Gareth was different than Eddie has. And there are things Kim does to comfort Gareth that Eddie can’t do—at least not without spray-painting a neon orange target on Gareth’s back. Eddie can’t hold Gareth or play with his hair or do any of the things Kim does to keep the younger boy calm. Casual touching has to be so calculated.

Sometimes they can head off a meltdown when Eddie squishes Gareth back into his body. He learns to make it look playful—leaning his back against Gareth and squashing him into a wall (always smooth plaster or painted cinder block, never anything too textured) and pretending not to know where he is until Gareth is laughing and trying to squirm his way out. That helps stave off some of the more pointed slurs.

They find stims—like drumming his fingers—that don’t look too weird, or at least not weirder than normal. Those work for little emotions, and when they can keep the emotions little, it’s all Gareth needs. When he can’t and the emotions get too big and he has to resort to a more expressive stim, Eddie will go and make such a fool of himself that no one even notices Gareth shaking out his hands like he’s trying to dry them without a towel.

Chance is usually at the root of the big feelings, and there’s only so long that Gareth can keep hiding that before Eddie notices. He doesn’t say anything, but a half-formed thought that he can’t quite articulate huddles in the back of his mind—there might’ve been a reason why Gareth didn’t crush on Kim. But then again, it’s completely possible that Chance is the lingering reminder of threats and slurs, and Gareth can’t escape him because Chance lives across the damn street from Gareth.

School’s back in session and Kim’s gone so Eddie can’t ask her (at least not without racking up a long-distance phone call he can’t afford). He wishes she was still around, because he feels like Gareth’s just dissolved since she started college last fall and Eddie doesn’t know how to keep patching him up. Eddie knows engines. He knows guitars and amps. He’s even getting pretty good at wood shop, his second time around. He doesn’t know how to keep Gareth from falling apart.

The notes start back up the day they return to school—waiting on Gareth’s locker already by the time he gets to it first thing in the morning. He peels it open just far enough to confirm it is what he thinks it is. He isn’t surprised in the slightest when it is. He’s no longer phased by that word. Getting called that every day takes the sting off of it.

They change tactics. He starts finding newspaper clippings. Every one of them describes a hateful, targeted crime that happened to someone else like him. It’s unsettling, probably should be more unsettling than he feels it is. He’s just waiting at this point. They’re telling him what they want to do to him, and he can’t stop it. Maybe he should have just kissed Chance when he had the opportunity, just so he got something pleasant out of all this. At least then he’d have deserved it.

Someone breaks into his locker and drenches everything in it with pig's blood. Everything inside is ruined. No one will say who did it, so the school administration says their hands are tied. They sit the whole school in the auditorium for an anti-bullying presentation, and Gareth can feel everyone turning to look at him. At this point, he’d just like them to hurry it up and get it over with.

They stagger through the semester. Gareth is assigned a new locker, and that one is pried open and defaced. He stops keeping anything worthwhile in his locker. He gets cornered in a bathroom by a few members of the football team when he dares to go during class and Eddie wasn’t there to watch his back, snatched up by the front of his shirt and slammed up against the wall before Mr. Harris sticks his head in and tells them to knock it off and sends them all back to class. Even Eddie being around isn’t enough, anymore. Gareth gets tripped in the halls, gets shoulder checked, gets pushed.

At least spring break is around the corner, and he’ll get a week off from this shit.

#stranger things fic #gareth stranger things #eddie munson #gareth emerson #gareth the great #eddie munson & gareth #gareth & eddie munson #deaf!Gareth #disabled character #disabled author #gareth stranger things fic #hurt/comfort #hoh stranger things #deaf stranger things #all your faith fic

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grimesgirll · 2 months

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hands bound behind your back, you don’t know why you thought you could get away with trying to poison negan.

“you ready to apologize yet?”

you haven’t said a word to negan since he plucked you out of your house after discovering your plot, blindfolding you, tying your hands behind your back, and fucking deporting you to the sanctuary for an indefinite period of time. yeah, you’re not wasting your breath on an apology.

the salt and pepper haired man doesn’t break eye contact with you. it’s a shame. you’d never say it out loud but negan's pretty attractive.

“darlin’, you almost took me out. with a fucking quiche!"

lips poised in a permanent frown, you stay silent. negan's not having this.

he draws a breath, drumming his fingers on the metal table. "silent act. expected that." he reaches under the table to yield that damn baseball bat. "you remember lucille, right?" you give the bare minimum of a nod when he barks your name. "you also remember putting anthrax powder in a quiche and serving it up to me, huh?"

your stare hardens. you really hadn't expected to get caught - hadn't expected that you'd be in this position in your wildest dreams. all because you wanted your freedom back.

"i gotta ask, where did you get the anthrax? that shit is hard to come by."

like i'd tell you, you snark in your head. this was not the time to relay the story of how you'd snuck out of alexandria for a night to hoof it up to a government building complex and scour the shelves of their lab for whatever sinister bioweapons had been left behind once the dead started walking.

"because if that was you, that would make you an extremely valuable asset.” his hand lands on lucille again. "i wouldn't mind having someone around to procure hard to find things like that for me.”

you give him another blank stare. why the fuck would you come to live and procure for the sanctuary? who does he think you are? the flair of your frustration is saved once again by your taciturn lips.

before you know it lucille is below your chin and you’re tilting your head back.

“what the fuck, negan?” you mumble, doing your best to stay still with the bloodstained bat in front of you.

“there we go,” he croons, hazel eyes demanding eye contact. “knew lucille could get you talkin’. girl to girl.”

you roll your eyes. “you caught me, negan. i’m not here to talk.”

“you wanna make me dinner every night, don’t ya’?”

you go tight lipped again.

“well, fat chance. i don’t trust your cooking anymore - no matter how delicious that quiche looked.”

exhaling, you squirm in your restraints. his antics are already tearing at your paper thin patience when he asks, “so, how are you gonna make it up to me, sweetheart?”

“send me home.” you plead. “i’ll go on supply runs for whatever you need - just don’t keep me here.”

“no, i want you here with me.” negan expresses, muscles tensing through his jacket. he drops lucille to the side. “you know, i think you’ll be a lot more useful here.”

you shake your head, confused as he leans down to begin undoing your restraints. “i don’t know how i could be here.”

a grin graces his lips. “don’t worry, doll, i know.”

your eyes widen at the implication when he adjusts his pants and the vitriol is coming back up again like word vomit.

“i wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole, negan.”

you don’t expect him to burst into laughter.

“don’t lie to me, you’re not very good at it. i can tell you that.”

your face twists with a mixture of embarrassment and disgust. you’re disgusted with yourself for the eye contact you’re making with his groin.

“oh, i know you wanna, darlin’, don’t be shy.”

the binds that tied you to the chair fall away. you rub your wrists and observe as negan stalks across the room to the bed of all places. he sits on the plush mattress, legs spread.

“it’s up to you.” he shrugs. “you can deny yourself and stay in that chair and i can call for someone to take you down to the cells or….,”

all negan does is snicker when you begin working off his belt.

“i knew you would be a good girl for me,” negan confirms with a gentle hand guiding the back of your head as you take him into your hand and envelope him into your mouth.

filthy noises fill the air as negan takes his time fucking your mouth. at first he let you go at your own pace, lick up and down, devote time to the nerve endings at the tip of his cock, but one accidental gag from you and suddenly your nose is flush against his pelvis.

“yeah, baby, fuck i knew that mouth could do great things.”

you can only gag in response around him, doing your best to swallow and fight the burn but negan isn’t doing you any favors. he rolls his hips into your face, savoring the pure bliss that is your mouth.

“love seein’ those perfect fucking lips wrapped around my cock. wanted to see you like this from the first moment i saw you.” negan breathes with a hand dug into your hair.

his words shouldn’t be turning you on - not in the slightest. however, you start to feel a tingle beneath you and a pressure in your core. it doesn’t fade as you keep your jaw slack enough for the man to almost send his cock down your throat.

his thick length is cutting off your airway but for some reason your pussy is growing slicker beneath you. despite fighting off the coughing and trying to fit as much of negan’s larger - and girthier - dick into your mouth, you’re getting turned on by this farce.

you finally get into a rhythm and that’s when negan decides it’s time for the next course.

“‘kay, enough of that,” negan declares as he lets you up off of him.

before you know it, you’re sandwiched beside him on the plush, soft bed. you don’t have time to appreciate the satin pillowcase beneath your head because negan is yanking at your pant legs. “gotta get these off,” and soon he’s scraping down your panties. negan is on his elbows next to you and toying with your entrance when you squeeze your eyes shut.

you gasp when a finger’s inserted into you, then another with no warning.

“shit, baby. can’t believe you’re clenchin’ around just my fingers, babe.” negan remarks and curls his two digits, relishing in the way your face contorts at his every movement.

his firm fingers delve deeper into you, taking advantage of your exhales. every movement further screws you open and each wet noise paints your face an even deeper shade of red. the notion of caring gets lost when negan begins to play with your clit.

“gettin’ a lady boner, are ya’?” negan is sure to pay extra close attention to your sensitive nub. the pads of his fingers are instrumental in bringing on the wave of pleasure that overtakes you as you feel yourself let go in negan’s arms.

you’re so wrapped up in your orgasm that you barely notice his dick growing rock hard again between you.

your hands are on his chest, not banging against him like you should be but holding on for dear life as he edges his cock closer to your entrance. the breath leaves your chest when he begins to replace his fingers with his thick cock.

“negan!”

“oh, aren’t you a tight little thing.”

despite you being so “tight”, you still felt like you were being stretched out - no, impaled on his cock and he’s only a few inches in yet.

“you got a boyfriend, baby? not that it matters,” negan questions with an amused look as you struggle to contain your composure between him and his cock bullying into you.

“no,” you croak.

“good.” negan utters the word with a thrust. “couldn’t imagine sharin’ this pussy. not that i’d have to.”

you let out a tiny yelp and your breathing accelerates as he pushes in another inch further. it’s out of your control when he drives the rest of him into you and desperate for any kind of stability, you clutch at negan, not just with your hands on his broad shoulders.

“fuck! pussy feels like it was made for me, babe.”

if you were clearheaded, you would be mortified by the situation, but as long as negan resolves the pressure building up in your core again, he could tell you the two of you are moving to mars for all you care.

“please, negan.”

“what was that?”

“please!” you repeat and plead, over and over until his hips are flush with yours.

an accidental brush of his heavy head against your cervix has you whimpering into negan’s mouth when he takes a break from massaging your breast to kiss you. the heat is everywhere — it’s in your mouth, negan’s mouth, your core, all over.

“fuck, did you just come?”

you simply bury your face into his shoulder. thoughts fucked away, you struggle to register much else besides the mess you’ve made between your thighs.

“yeah, baby, you’re too horny not to have been thinking about this the entire ride here.”

your face lights up with shame - he‘s right. negan had wormed his way into your thoughts like a prion into your brain. every night since the handsome psycho first came around to collect your mattresses and firearms, you’d found yourself wishing he’d return your mattress to you personally just to fuck you into it.

“ugh, gonna have this sweet little pussy molded into the shape of my cock,” negan’s declaring between heavy swats to your rear.

“fuck,” you’re stuttering. “slow down!”

“how? this pussy’s just sucking me in.” negan exclaims, punctuating his words with another spank.

you’re white knuckling the bedsheets as your newest enemy pounds the thoughts out of you. you can’t even try to factor this encounter into your escape plan. the only thing on your mind should be the best way to manipulate the man jackhammering into you right now. but you can’t help but be affected by just how deep inside of you negan is; how he’s squeezing every filthy dumb whore noise out of you and hitting every nerve ending you have down there.

you guess this is better than your community being terrorized. maybe you can convince negan to give everyone their mattresses back.

glimpsing at him, negan is in ecstasy being balls deep in you right now.

and you’re no better.

disappearing in plain sight, you’re getting fucked from the inside out and being tipped into your third orgasm of the night. guilty pleasure coursing through you as you feel boneless. even more so when you feel a warmth pouring into you. barely recognizing the desperate whines that come out of you, you’re shifting your hips to meet his as negan fucks you through both of your orgasms.

coming back to earth, you gulp when you realize that he’s come inside of you. he has to be humane enough to allow you a plan b pill or something; this place is sordid enough, you know they have a stash pile of contraceptives somewhere.

the man slips out of you, spent after fucking your overloaded pussy senseless.

“want a cigarette? i think you deserve one after that.”

you glare at him. “no. i want to go back to alexandria and for you and your goons to fuck off.”

his hairy chest rises with laughter. he reaches for a pack of menthols and a lighter on the nightstand. “doll, you think you’re goin’ somewhere?” he shakes his salt and peppered head. “you and your people are gonna produce for me. got it?”

close lipped, you return his cocky grin with a death glare and crossed arms over your chest.

that doesn’t last long.

the man entraps you in his arms, wrapping them around you and bundling you up to his chest. he starts to ruffle your hair. “i really think you’re gonna wanna stay here.”

“fat chance, negan.”

“oh, honey,” he croons. “i’m not gonna give you a choice.” he whistles. “your grade a piece of ass isn’t walkin’ out of these gates anytime soon.”

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beatriceeverytuesday · 7 days

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i'm only kinda sorry but if i'm reading fanfic and the writer puts faith in a dress without a Very Good Reason (ex. the mayor made her wear it, she's trying to impress buffy, she's a bridesmaid in somebody's wedding) i am taken out of it so quickly. that tiny detail bugs me so much what are you even doing?? faith hates dresses!!!! free her!!!!!

#faith lehane #fuffy #btvs #buffy the vampire slayer #she was only in 26 episodes and yeah her writing can be kinda all over the place but this is one very solid thing we learn about her #it just feels like such a fundamental misunderstanding of the character #like the writer went 'girls wear dresses. the end.' and just moved on #did u even watch the show??#do you even know faith lehane??#btw i am joking #im not trying to be a bitch and of course i would never leave a comment on somebodys work because its obvious they worked hard on it #tbh a lot of the time the fics are Really Good besides this one detail so actually. good job writers youre doing great!!!#i just needed to scream into the void for a sec #as a fellow girlie (gn) who hates being forced to wear a dress #beatrice.txt

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birchbow · 5 months

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Gamzee often refers to himself as “pan-rotted” due to his sopor-eating habit as a wriggler (and so does pretty much everyone else at some point). He told Kurloz that he has to really focus in order to remember mission instructions a few chapters back, I think? Gamzee doesn’t have a great self image, but it seems true that he’s often slow to draw inferences unless he’s already paying attention for hints about something specific. Like his default awareness is a little more diffuse, and he has to put in deliberate effort to narrow it down on a particular problem? He attributes this to the sopor, and so does everyone else. What I’m asking is - sopor aside - does being neglected by a lusus affect a troll’s brain development? (Beyond emotional stability and the ability to form secure attachments, ouch.) Since lusii don’t talk I’m not sure about language acquisition but maybe lusii respond positively to grubs babbling? Sidenote: the fact that Gamzee has the scriptures memorized so well almost feels like his chronically understimulated pan grabbed these abundant in-person interactions with authority figures in his early schoolfeeds and ate it up like starving. Sorry this is so rambling 😅

I'm incapable of being brief, especially when I get long asks with lots to chew over, so here's a readmore!

SO There's a moment in canon where Gamzee outright says "[sopor] rots you. Rusts your motherfucking thinkpan." and I think it's up for debate to what extent that's true but also it does seem pretty reasonable that heavy/consistent drug use throughout your adolescence would leave you some cognitive issues!

(Although also, as a person who tests super well in things I intuitively Get and am interested in, but often feels slow and dull, can't fit certain subjects/concepts into my head, and has a hard time remembering all the steps of things I want to do,,,, I put a lot of myself into my characters, is what I'm saying lol.)

RE: not having a lusus, I think that probably would have way more effect than the kid who went through it would assume, yeah. Like, all trolls would know your lusus keeps you safe from predators/intruders, gives you early practice fighting/wrestling, and especially in more rural areas, scavenges and hunts for you especially when you're young. But trolls as a society definitely undervalue the part where they also provide a sense of security and affection, because you're not supposed to want or value those things as a troll!

It's hard to make direct connections since lusii only sort of resemble human parents, but there's certainly studies to show that children of neglectful human parents struggle forming the cognitive pathways they would otherwise establish, and have trouble later in life--even if your caretaker doesn't talk, it seems pretty reasonable to me that having a parental figure who fucks off for long periods of time and leaves you completely alone with no idea when they'll be back would have a pretty similar effect across species! I'm not well-educated enough on that topic to draw the parallels I would want to, but it feels like a solid theory.

Also, quite apart from any of that, there was definitely a chain of cause and effect from "dad doesn't want me and there's no food" to "...but I have sopor slime" to "this makes me less hungry and also I give less of a shit about how hungry and lonely I am" to "if I stop eating this I feel shitty and have a hard time thinking straight and there's like a decade of repressed emotions under there".

RE: scripture, one of the things that I see original-flavor/canon Gamzee do is be all in on his religion, and when that falls out from under him, reorient to the first convincing power he finds, which unfortunately for everybody is the whole mess of Doc Scratch/Li'l Cal/Lord English. It to me feels very much like a guy who has no idea how to make his own ideological support structure, and is desperately looking for someone to give him a belief system and set of rules to follow.

ANYWAY SO hopefully it's fairly clear how that carries forward in a universe where instead, he gets a supportive church that helps him sober up and channels all his deeply-repressed rage into "hey, those aliens over there need conquering, go kill em", and also he's offered these books that are like. The rules. And knowing them gets him approval, and reassures him when he feels like a fuckup, and it turns out he can learn things, if they're things that fit in his brain right, and that's reassuring because he genuinely thinks most of his failings are his own fault for wanting sopor, and Alternian addiction support boils down to "do that again and we'll cull you" so they sure the fuck don't have a compassionate attitude about recovery or good information into after-effects, so everybody else is also just like "yeah, probably you fucked up your brain, idk, git gud".

This is a very lengthy way of agreeing with you lmao. The feedback loop of "oh you're pretty good at this" from authority figures, and it being a topic that he naturally had an interest in, definitely is a big part of why he's so deeply into it.

#ask time!#price of forgiveness #gamzee makara #i don't usually tag canon characters but also this became more of a character ramble than actually about the fic so #gamzee: gets a new faith #gamzee: immediately goes ALL THE FUCK IN #hey yknow when you have a religious crisis so you get a new one raise the dark destructive savior #and then drag your mutilated immortal body through the desert to serve him while he repeatedly kills you for fun #just normal church things that normal people with normal levels of devotion do :o)

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novantinuum · 6 months

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self care is unfollowing people who spread negativity on ur dash!! like Damn! yeah i theoretically Agree with your crit but i really Don't wanna see it either bc i want to Celebrate content instead of hyperfixating on the stuff i didn't like about it! yeet!!!

#jen rambles #i had someone call a SU fic i wrote once a 'fix it' and i'm just like #NO!!!#it was Not a fix it!#because a fix it would assume that i think i am Better and More Smart than the creators and that is hubris i really don't want #to take upon myself #i just like!! taking the elements i like and writing More of it!#that's all #i also feel like there's lots of people who just crumple when things in fiction aren't coherently explained #but i've always seen those holes as Opportunities?#idk like on one hand is leaving holes in your narrative bad writing? likely #but also the very soul of fan creation has Always been stepping alongside canon and re-imagining it #and oft filling those holes #and i just wish more people would join me in doing so in good faith to the source material #instead of doing it in that sort of 'ughhh so like since canon fucking sucks i'm fixing it :)' way #one day i'll prob Myself talk about the issues i had with the plotting of This Thing and you'll see tons of overlap with what #others are saying about it #but like idk. just why make that your sole focus? doesn't that bum other people out too?#like it kind of breaks my heart seeing people so fixated on the imperfections that they can't even enjoy what Was #i just don't get this mindset

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deus-ex-mona · 13 days

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yurusanta: the ✨gift✨ that keeps on ✨giving✨

#thank you cn lxl twt for your hard work #cn lxl twt: the only place with consistent high quality aiyuu fanart and the funniest of observations known to mankind #my birdsite dash is p much just ‘omg aiyuu necklaces’，[king yaoi (all 3 of them) lore]，[random fandom discourse]，’omg aiyuu necklace’ rn #that qrt i saw of the initial observation post with just the yurusanta lyrics made me laugh ngl #can’t believe we’re still getting samishigariya references in 2k24 though #maybe we’ll get to see them flirt in last stage??? i swear i’ll write an entire novel-length aiyuu fic if they become canon in last stage mv #yeah yeah tempting fate ikik they won’t become canon so easily anyway lmao <-has no faith in loserxloser #lxl is truly the only couple who could get married twice (nonfan and meoto) and still not be canon. smh.#at this point im just waiting for last stage mv so that i will finally have the motivation to update my kissmark tier list lmfao #i haven’t looked at it since the julieta album covers… hmmmmmm. maybe next week or the week after then #oh welllllll. time to go back to scrolling through king yaoi twts ig #i should really continue to read the o r v novel. why is yjh the og king yaoi when his ‘companion’ is the one who keyboard warriored for him #but mannnnnn. i also really wanna watch the final ll live dvd that came in a few days back…#so many things to do; so little time~~~~~~~~#well. that sure went off-topic real quick. u m.

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direwombat · 3 months

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still trying to piece together the late-roman empire jakesyb au and fl;asdfj it really is just putting my own personal hc for jacob's bisexuality on blast wherein, in this au, he is mostly interested in men (ie, his fellow soldiers/his boytoy staci) but then there's also something inexplicably alluring to him about syb's strong, lithe, barbarian warrior's body

#he sees a woman not easily conquered and. in true roman fashion. says 'i need to conquer her.'#like. at this point i think jakey's driving motivation in this fic #is joseph being like 'hey. you GOTTA produce a son. idc that you're fucking your military buddies but our family NEEDS an heir'#anyway this au is so fun because i get to explore various realms of influence in the late roman empire #militarily with jacob and syb. the political with john. and the religious with joseph and faith #which is all fairly new to me #when i was in school my area of study was more on the republic than the late empire #but considering *gestures at the canonical fc5 cult* having this au set during the collapse of the western empire just makes sense #but. now i'm gonna go jump back to the canon-verse because i gotta boot up the game to scout out the whitetail ranger station #so i can accurately write syb's combat there #whining wombat

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lacystar · 9 months

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I missed amongus server drama? 🥲

Qwerty no amount of update accounts could describe what happened

#don’t stop the party #his ass did not get hired NDA loving wife potato farm swag priest I’ll use him later the interview cyrus copper house Cyrus farm underside #the village armor spells out chef well he underwater mines tools named after master chef winners red light district what amendment is the ri #ght ti remain silent THEYRE fuckinng at the red light district all the time clings reciting poetry maybe if I finish his gift he’ll like me #when is the divorce is clings socks son because he’s mixed who is the father church so trinkets the pope then is it priest or pastor I’m not #calling him father cyrus how are you doing Cyrus I’m feeling swaggy bedrock minecraft isn’t on mac Nintendo online is $20 a year you did #lore and you’re not even on our server can I get the family tree when will my husband return from the war cyrus has the nda why are you at #the red light district trinket crying laughing #I’m gonna listen to YCGMA is your husband faithful oh well he works csn cyrus deafen the king solomon baby story recited from a techno quote #in a Cyrus fic please areus don’t tell you know clings I just want my family to be okay you don’t know what this would do to him please #he doesn’t even have a priest outfit you are not allowed to build in swag nation afyer some debate the council has considered you for the #job of pastor so how are Andy and clings related #cyrus gets tagged 5 times consecutively on a burger post. clings is in the backrooms. it’s jover.#amogus server #asks #qwerty

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sparks-olivarpente · 3 months

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look at the list of stuff you got to do, then remember that you will survive this too

#run in circle #eat chocolat #read a fic #give up on reading #cry to your faithful notebook #drink one cup of tea/coffe #ONE CUP!#ok two #you are alive all is ok

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monkeebratz · 3 months

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i have no idea why I'm suddenly overcome to write the "actually maribat" au in good faith all of a sudden. but BOY am I overcome by the urge.

Would anybody still be interested in that?

#The absolutely wild realization that most of your aus/not fics were kinda written as salt fics or in bad faith #And suddenly wanting to look at them with fresh eyes and sincerity #Also I might still write it even if nobody says anything and/or wants it bc I am FILLED with Thoughts all of a sudden and Im a grown woman #I can do what I want

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dullahandyke · 4 months

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the thing is even as my version of the ace attorney universe is heavily modified to fit the themes of the characters within it, idk if thats even the right choice for the place to put them in bcos its not quite working. but also sooo much of it plays on aa status quo that id have to entirely reinvent parts if i wanted to preserve that effect

#like ive been playing dgs and i read a Really good oc insert kh fic recently #and im like holy shit these r so good... n then my ocverse is kind of incoherant and not cohesive #and logically i know that the only way to get to it being good is to work on it #but thats haaard and these characters have literal years of baggage in my mind that i cant divorce them from #+ if i were to ever actually write their story itd have to Feel like ace attorney with like cases and banter n shit #and theres parts of my changed worldbuilding that would actively make that difficult to work with #let alone my lack of faith in my ability to emulate aa stuff #sigh. ok first ill move the puzzle pieces around in my head a bit more and try to get it all working #first stop is working more on ames bcos even tho shes the protagonist shes so underdeveloped...#like i remember a time when occult yamamoto (yes that used to be her name i was 13) was my favourite ever ever she was all i drew #there are pictures of her onmy bedroom walls i threw her and her twin sister an irl birthday party #and now the tone of the post has switched to mourning the loss of passion i used to have for ocs and stuff. great #maybe i need to get into oc roleplay again. fangan discords were my old hunting grounds so mayhaps...#tho that would necessitate like. messaging and stuff. and im bad at that (friday seven im Sorry i see your dms ill get back to u soon)#shrug idk... ANYWHOOOO ill thonk on it

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dylanwritesgood · 2 years

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All your faith, all your rage | Chapter 2

masterlist | ko-fi | ask

Part: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine

Summary: Gareth is relearning how to deal with high school after sudden hearing loss, and Eddie sees in him another little sheepie to rescue. Set before ST4.

Pairings: Eddie Munson & Gareth Emerson

Word count: 4,557

Warnings: Fear of the dark, autistic frustration (iykyk), grief, overprotective mom. Hurt/comfort fic, autistic and deaf character written by an autistic and deaf author

Read on Ao3

A/N: Eddie's a lil dyslexic so scribbling notes gets the best of him, sometimes. Typos in the notes are all him.

The metronome clicked steadily back and forth on its axis, the needle swinging between two predetermined points at a steady pace. Gareth squinted as he watched it, willing the non-existent ticking of it to begin in his head. He’d spent hours listening to the click of a metronome, why couldn’t he recreate it in his head?

Not taking his eyes off the device, he picked up his sticks and started his rudiments over again on the practice pad lying on the floor in front of him.

Left, right, left, right, tick, tick, tick.

He glanced away from the metronome for less than a second and when he looked back he realized he’d lost the beat. A little frustrated grunt escaped him, before he forced himself to stop and take a deep breath. He was okay.

Try again.

Left, right, left, right, tick, tick, tick.

He wiggled his toes and bobbed his head in time to the swing of the needle as if he could ingrain the tempo in his body so he wouldn’t lose it again. He felt it this time, the moment when he slipped off the tempo. His sticks stuttered during a triple stroke roll he’d done thousands of times and after he’d looked down to correct he just knew he’d lost it before he could look up to confirm it.

He couldn’t take it. His sticks went hurtling across his room with a clatter he could hardly hear and he reached behind him to drag his pillow off the bed to muffle his scream of frustration. The metronome ticked on.

What was he even, without music? He’d been working so hard but he could watch his skills slipping in front of his eyes all summer long, and when he’d gone to see if he could sign up for band that year, try to build himself back up with others to follow, he’d found an unfamiliar name in his position on the roster. Like he’d never even been there.

His collection of tapes, so lovingly arranged in their organizer, now covered in a thin layer of dust. His Walkman untouched on his dresser, the orange foam padding of his headphones a painful reminder. He’d tried it a few times, fitting the headphones in place, cranking the volume, and cupping his hands over the speakers to crush them against his ears as if maybe somehow, that would help. If that would make his favorite song sound right again. It never did.

He screamed into his pillow again, mustering up every filthy word he could think of in his muffled tirade that he smothered with the polyester batting filling wrapped in the soft grey of his pillowcase. He screamed until the yells became sobs, tears soaking the pillowcase and his face in grief and anger. All this, and he still didn’t have an answer for why. Why it happened. Why him. Just one day, some cosmic switch flipped and he lost everything.

The tears slowed after a few more minutes of sobs, and he eventually found his way out of the suffocating embrace of his pillow, wiping away saline and snot with the back of his hand. He crawled across his floor to retrieve his sticks and settled back in front of the practice pad.

Try again.

Nights were the worst. Gareth had never been afraid of the dark—he had two little sisters to soothe and comfort so he had the be the calm one that didn’t see shapes in the shadows. That was before.

Now the darkness left him vulnerable. He used to love staying up late on summer nights running feral with his friends, or reading under the covers into the wee hours. Now the idea of pulling his blanket over his head and isolating himself completely from the world felt like being buried alive. He stuck close to home as the sun set, unwilling to be too far from the comforting glow of the porch light. His mom had scattered nightlights through the house for him, little trails of glowing safety leading up the stairs from his basement room to the kitchen, to the bathroom, to his parents’ room.

Those early days he couldn’t sleep. He’d never been a good sleeper, but every time he closed his eyes, he was overwhelmed with the feeling that someone was there, creeping up on him and he couldn’t hear them. Like a scared kindergartener, he’d crawl into his parents’ big bed to nestle between them, but there was only so long he could do that before he had to learn how to sleep on his own. He was fifteen. He couldn’t sleep there forever.

They’d tried to ease him into it. Maggie, his oldest sister at thirteen, volunteered to spend a few nights on an air mattress on his floor, sleeping between him and the door. There was only so long they could do that for, too. The overwhelming terror had gotten better as he’d begun to recover some of his hearing, but he’d also just gotten used to stuffing that primal fear in a box and shoving it onto the top shelf of the closet in his mind where he could try to forget about it.

Gareth clicked on the lava lamp that sat on his dresser in the corner so he could crawl into his own bed for the night, flooding the room in a soft red glow. If he woke up in the middle of the night, it wouldn’t ruin his night vision when he ventured out of his room. That was a purpose it was never meant to serve—when his grandparents had gifted it to him one Christmas, they’d chosen red because it was his favorite color.

He arranged his covers around himself and tried to settle in for the night. Even with sleep tugging on his eyelids and his brain begging for respite from the world, he just couldn’t let go of wakefulness. Gareth curled on his side, snuggling down into his blankets, mentally pleading with his own stupid little lizard brain that wouldn’t let him sleep because he wasn’t safe to just believe him when he said he was.

I’m at home. I’m in my room. Only my family is here and they know to wake me up if something happens. I’m safe. If I close my eyes, the light isn’t going to go out. It will still be on when I open them again.

Slowly, his eyes drifted closed to test that, snapping open a second later to find nothing had changed. He tried bargaining with himself—if he closed his eyes for ten whole seconds, he could open them again if he didn’t fall asleep. Somewhere around the fourth try, when he was counting to twenty in his head, he managed to drift off.

The second day of school felt like a repeat of the first—get dropped off, go to homeroom and wonder what the garbled announcements coming over the PA system meant, then drag through his classes, trapped at the front where he could feel everyone watching him the whole time. Watch people whispering in the halls and sending looks his way as he fucked up the combination on his locker again because he’d gotten distracted by the feeling of eyes on him. Shuffle through the line at the cafeteria and play a half-assed game of one-sided charades with one of the lunch ladies. Turn around and head for no-man’s land in the back corner.

Before he could reach that last step, two hands came down on his shoulders, steering him out of the line and towards the table from yesterday, their owner ignoring the surprised yelp of Jesus! and pressing Gareth back down in his seat from yesterday. Eddie collapsed into the seat at the head of the table next to Gareth, flashing him a toothy grin like nothing had happened in the library yesterday. Confused, Gareth set his tray on the table slowly.

No one seemed surprised to see him, giving him little smiles when he caught their eye as he looked around. Okay. Maybe he belonged here now. Hard to tell when no one really explicitly said that to him. He’d belonged at the band table because he was in band, but he wasn’t in band anymore so maybe he belonged here?

The blond guy—Mickey?—was looking at Eddie and said something. No, wait, he was mouthing it, because he was exaggerating the word the way people who could hear did when they talked to someone they couldn’t.

What the fuck does ‘kitten’ mean? Gareth wondered, suspecting the comment was about him but he couldn’t work out why. He probably didn’t read it right. That had to be it.

He didn’t get a chance to wonder about it any more than that, because his attention was being dragged back to Eddie, who’d flopped a small stack of comics next to Gareth’s tray and gave them a little nudge towards the sophomore. When Gareth just looked at him, he gave them another little nudge. Gareth glanced down at the cover of the top issue. Hawkeye.

Gareth raised an eyebrow. “Are you seriously trying to get me to read Hawkeye?”

Eddie nodded happily, mouth forming three words Gareth couldn’t hear: Just read it.

He didn’t get it. Eddie acted like nothing happened, dragging Gareth to sit with his friends and bringing him comics and just… Gareth was waiting for the but in this whole thing. You can be our friend, but… But what? He didn’t have anything to offer. Maybe it wasn’t what he offered. Maybe some adult out there somewhere was looking at Eddie’s little gang more favorably because they included the freak. Gareth tucked the comics under the table on his lap, safe from the horrors of meatloaf and gravy.

Who even puts gravy on meatloaf? Ketchup all the way. Gareth did his best to scrape the brown sauce aside so he could eat. He saw the white flash of paper out of the corner of his eye and didn’t need to actually look over to know that Eddie was trying to talk to him. Gareth cut him a sideways look to see what he wanted.

Do you like DnD?

Gareth had no idea what that meant. He squinted a little, brows furrowing together. Apparently, that wasn’t the wrong answer because Eddie lit up and snatched the notepad back to start scribbling furiously. When he finally did hold it up, Gareth could hardly read it. He took the pad from Eddie so he could try to make out his excited, spiky handwriting.

It’s a fantasy rloepla roleplaying game! You make up a character and go on an adventure together and the DM tells the story and the party makes descion decisions to change how the game goes. It’s alot of fun + we all play together. Wanna play w/ us?

Gareth was a regular at the arcade and knew his way around ruining his sisters’ day with a game of Monopoly, but he wasn’t sure what a roleplaying game was. He did like fantasy, though—fearless knights and dragons and damsels in distress, so maybe it would be fun? The DM tells the story part made him hesitate though. Was it like reading a choose-your-own-adventure book aloud and figuring out what page to turn to together?

He handed the notepad back. “Like a board game or…?”

“Oh! No, it’s with dice and we talk it ou—oh,” He started excitedly answering the question, before realizing that there was more than one issue. Gareth just looked amused, at least, not pissed off at him for forgetting.

No, he wrote, it has dice but we talk through it…

Eddie cringed as he held it up, looking apologetic. Another thought struck him, and he added another line before holding the notepad back up.

We can try to write it down? The point is anyone can play…

The bell must’ve rung, because Eddie’s head snapped up and the cafeteria started to empty around them. Frantically, Eddie scratched something else down as he stood.

What’s your next period?

“Free. Library nap.” Gareth answered, gathering up his tray and carefully tucking Eddie’s comics under his arm so they wouldn’t get ruined before he could stash them in his locker. Eddie flashed a thumbs up. He was a fan of the ol’ free period nap—usually off campus, though.

Gareth let the crowd carry him towards his locker, dropping out of the current to press against the row of metal doors and work the lock of his own locker. He twisted it open and gave a yank on the sticky door. It didn’t give, but the whole bank of lockers shook as a familiar figure collapsed against the locker next to his and earned a startled squeal.

Gareth didn’t even think before hauling back and punching Eddie’s shoulder.

“Stop scaring me! Asshole,” he growled. He didn’t know how much of the venom it lost because he couldn’t hear how squeaky his voice got, but Eddie could and Gareth could see his shoulders shaking with stifled laughter. He gave the door another angry yank and it opened, smacking his chest and narrowly avoiding his face as he reared back.

“Yeah, yeah. Real master of stealth here, sneaking up on the deaf kid,” Gareth grumbled, pulling out his books for his last period so he wouldn’t have to come back for them after his little break, “Regular James Bond here, folks.”

Somehow, Eddie had his fuckin’ lil notebook already in hand and was scratching out a note.

I’m literally not sneaking. You just don’t notice shit.

Gareth scrunched his nose as he read. Hey, he was trying. It’s not like this deaf thing came with a manual. No one taught you how to just go deaf one day and carry on like normal.

“Sorry I’m fuckin’ new to this then, I guess. Shit, man…” Gareth wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself or Eddie, but hell, it didn’t really matter. The notebook appeared in front of his face as he rummaged through his locker. He pulled back a little so his eyes could focus on it to read.

Wanna talk?

“No, I wanna go sleep in the library until next period.”

The pad was yanked away and Gareth finished finding what he needed and bumped the door closed with his elbow.

You’re either a little too young or a little too old for afternoon naps, dude.

Gareth rolled his eyes. It wasn’t Eddie’s business. Gareth didn’t owe him the whole sob story that was his life this past year. Still, Eddie was following him down the hall towards the library, sauntering after Gareth and easily keeping up with the shorter teen.

Gareth waved hi to Ms. McNally as he breezed past the circulation desk and headed for his new favorite study carrel. She watched curiously as Eddie trailed after, also waving hi with an easy smile. She’d just started at Hawkins High, but she’d been warned about that one.

It was hard to ignore Eddie, Gareth had to give him that. God knows he was trying, but it also wasn’t like he could just drop his head to the desk and pass out when someone was literally staring at him. And to think he’d stressed out about heading into school all alone because none of his band friends stuck around after that life-changing ER trip. Now he couldn’t be alone, either.

He could see a flash of a yellow pencil moving out of the corner of his eye as he tried to look like he was reading his textbook. The notepad slid comically slowly across the page, inching along as one finger nudged it into his field of view.

What’s with the naps?

“What’s with the stupid questions?”

Eddie’s Bambi eyes clouded with hurt for a moment.

Are you always this much of a dick?

Gareth snorted, reading the scrawled question. “Not when I get a nap.”

Eddie seemed to weigh his thoughts for a moment before setting his pencil to paper.

Ok. Fine.

1) want me to wake you up for the bell?

2) DnD Saturday?

Who even is this guy? Gareth wondered before nodding slowly. “Please. And uh… gotta ask my mom…”

Eddie looked like he wanted to laugh, but Gareth cut him off, “I’m fifteen, dude.”

It wasn’t that Mrs. Emerson was likely to say no—she’d probably be over the moon he had someone who wanted to hang out with him. But the freedom he’d earned to ride his bike wherever he wanted back in middle school was revoked now that he couldn’t hear traffic. He’d argued with his mom for months that he had eyes and he could look, but she wasn’t ready to let him, yet. So… he needed a ride. From his mom.

Eddie held up his hands in surrender, still smirking but reaching for his notepad again.

Ok, ok. See you at the bell.

Gareth after a forty-minute snooze was a whole different person, Eddie noticed. He jerked awake when Eddie nudged him a few minutes before the bell, but once he got his bearings, all the annoyance and snippy expressions had vanished and didn’t return. He didn’t even have that little wrinkle between his brows that Eddie’d just thought was a permanent part of his features. Shit man, he wasn’t kidding about the nap.

Eddie hadn’t minded keeping watch over the sleeping sophomore—he was missing woodshop and he could slide through that class with his eyes closed. Besides, he had a new paperback to read and while normally he wouldn’t bother ditching class inside the school… well, no one found him and made him go back to class this time so it was whatever.

He even had another note prepared, carefully written and torn out already to give to Gareth.

For Saturday:

Eddie M.

812.785.2923

Gareth unfolded the note and looked at it when Eddie handed it to him, breaking into a snicker.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“For your mom,” Eddie explained, somewhat slow and trying hard to be clear. He’d noticed Gareth could read lips a little, but not as much as people thought, probably. He still would probably write him notes, anyways. He seemed to like the notes, when he wasn’t in a pissy mood.

“Oh,” Gareth looked down at the paper and folded it carefully to tuck it in his pocket. Yeah, his mom would probably want to grill Eddie for the details when Gareth asked to hang out. “Thanks.”

“See ya tomorrow,” Eddie said once he had Gareth’s attention again, giving him a playful salute as he sauntered backwards, before turning on his heel and heading to his final class of the day.

When Gareth got home, his mom was in the kitchen, starting dinner. She smiled and waved hi to him as he headed to his room to drop his bookbag on his desk. Gareth dutifully returned to the kitchen after for their afternoon game of charades and lip reading as she asked him about his day. His mom had always wanted to know how school was… just now Gareth knew she was secretly worrying about how he was getting along for a completely different reason. He hopped up on the counter, out of her way but where he could watch her, swinging his legs a little.

“Good?” She held up a thumb, eyebrows raised as she looked at him. When it was quiet like this, he could sort of make out the sounds of her words. She dropped a lid on the sizzling ground beef in the skillet, muffling the sounds enough he couldn’t hear them anymore.

He nodded, “Yeah. It was fine.”

Gareth liked when he could see her relief lighting up her face. She looked stressed out all the time now, and he hated knowing it was because of him. His mom flashed him a sunny smile.

“Homework?” She prodded, lips careful and precise around the word.

“Yeah, it’s all written down,” He told her. His teachers were supposed to type up a list of all his assignments and the details for them each week to give him, part of the plan the school had put in place to try and make sure he was successful.

“Lunch good?”

Gareth hadn’t told her about Eddie and Jeff and Kim and the others yesterday. He’d come home sure he’d fucked that right up with his temper, so there wasn’t a reason to give her false hope he was making friends. But today seemed… okay. Like Eddie had shrugged off his temper tantrum.

“Some seniors and juniors had me sit with them today. They were nice. Wrote me notes so we could talk,” He shrugged like it wasn’t actually a huge deal. His mom smiled and quickly turned back to the stove to check the meat she was browning, but she wasn’t fast enough for Gareth to miss her eyes glassing up with tears.

“They play DnD…” He began slowly, watching the set of her shoulders for clues about what she was thinking, “It’s a fantasy game. Y’know, knights, princesses, dragons… kinda stuff? They asked if I could come play this weekend?”

His mom tipped her head back, hands resting on the counter on either side of the stove as her shoulders rose and fell in a deep breath. Her eyes were still glossy when she turned around but she smiled and stepped over to hop up on the counter next to him.

Her only son, her oldest. He’d always been short for his age, a little softer than the other kids and round-faced. Shy and sensitive, but he’d started to find himself last year in band. The older kids had been good mentors and had given him a place. She had worried endlessly about him before, but now…

Gareth could see her overthinking, so he leaned over and tipped his forehead towards her. She tipped her own face to press her forehead against his, the way they’d done since he was a toddler.

“Bonk,” he murmured, and she echoed it even though he couldn’t tell.

“Anyways,” Gareth continued, pulling away and shifting so he could fish Eddie’s note out of his pocket. He offered it to her, “Not like this will do me much good but if you wanna call and ask about it…”

She took the slip of paper and unfolded it to find a phone number and a name.

“Want to go?”

Gareth was chewing his lip as he processed, but then he nodded.

“Want me to call now?” She held her hand up to her ear, thumb and pinky extended to mimic a handset. He squirmed a little in his seat then nodded. He really wanted to go, but ugh, having to have his mom call and set it up like a playdate…

“Homework first?” She confirmed, fixing him with a pointed look. Gareth nodded again, quickly this time. He knew the deal. Homework had to happen first, always. He’d get it done before Saturday. Mrs. Emerson patted his knee and slipped off the counter to go call.

It was physically painful to watch his mom call what might be the only person he could maybe kind of call a friend… and he couldn’t even hear her side. Resigned to his fate and deciding to distract himself, he hopped back down to take over working on dinner.

His mom leaned on the wall next to the kitchen phone, listening to it ring. Finally, someone picked up, sounding a little out of breath.

“Munson residence.”

“Hi, this is Janet, Gareth’s mom. I’m calling for Eddie?” She surreptitiously checked the note to make sure she had the right name.

“Oh, hi! Sorry, you just caught me coming in. This is Eddie.” His tone instantly warmed up.

“Hi, Eddie. So, Gareth was telling me about this game you invited him to this weekend…?” She started, trailing off and hoping he could fill in some details.

“Oh, yeah. Dungeons and Dragons. Listen, if you’re worried about, like… the whole… cult thing… it’s just a game. A really nerdy game, honestly. It’s just a lot of acting out silly voices and talking and collaborating…” He was rambling nervously.

Well I wasn’t worried until you said that… she thought, but she interrupted him, turning away a little so Gareth couldn’t read her lips if he was looking, “I’m more worried about… just, uh… do you think he can? Play? If he can’t… do the silly voices? Or talk about it?”

She could hear Eddie blow out a breath before he answered. “I, uh, I think we can try and make it work. Might be a little slower to write it all out, but we’ve been doing that. It’s not like the rules require you to hear to play. We just have to figure it out.”

“You’re okay with figuring it out?” Janet twirled the phone cord around her finger, “You’re… okay, you seem nice so don’t take this the wrong way, but you can’t invite him and then decide he’s too much work. Please, don’t invite him if you’re not sure. I’ll be the mean mom and say no if you want to back out.”

“What?!” Eddie sounded scandalized, “No! Gareth’s a cool dude. Hell of an attitude on him but… Um, Mrs…?”

She realized he was waiting for her to supply her last name. Polite, that one. “Emerson.”

“Mrs. Emerson, yeah. We’re kind of… not exactly cool ourselves? Kind of a collection of weirdos, so… par for the course, really.”

She was quiet for so long, Eddie wondered if she’d hung up on him. “Mrs. Emerson?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m here. Um… where do you meet and what time?”

Gareth was still stirring and sneaking looks at his mom’s back when she finally hung up. He lifted his eyebrows a little as she turned around. So? She nodded and watched him break into a grin. Now that she thought about it, that might have been the first time she’d seen him really smile since it all happened. She reached for the pad of paper that lived on the kitchen counter for this very purpose and started writing.

He’s happy you’re coming. Meet at 11a. I have the address. Homework done BEFORE you go. What kind of cookies do you want to bring?

Janet might have been young when she had Gareth and might not be the most experienced mom, but she knew cookies were really good at helping to make friends. And maybe it was the Midwesterner in her that wasn’t about to send her kid somewhere empty-handed. She patiently watched his blue eyes flick back and forth as he read. He flashed a thumbs up.

“Snickerdoodles?”

“Okay.” She nodded and pressed an obnoxious, smacking kiss to his forehead, laughing as he pulled back, nose crunched up and wiping his face on his sleeve. She caught his attention again and pointedly tapped the work homework in her note.

“Yeah, okay. Going now. You got it.” He held up his hands in surrender. If she told him to cut the lawn with scissors, he wasn’t going to argue, because he had a… playdate. His mom had set him up a playdate, but fuck it, he wanted to go and wasn’t going to jeopardize it.

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