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twink-frank · 3 years

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hi i’ve noticed the pencey prep gay conversation going on over on @awsugar and i have spent lots of time dissecting pencey prep lyrics and subjecting nathan @faggot-frank to my deranged ramblings so Here is my pencey prep super ultra mega gay lyrical analysis masterpost. it’s very long so its all under the cut but i will include a TL;DR for those who dont wanna read paragraphs of my deranged ramblings: Pencey prep uses lots of themes of: heartbreak, forbidden love, keeping love a secret, and toxic relationships. which none of that is gay on its own but combined with them almost never using gender indicators in their songs and the “nail in the coffin song” of 8th grade it ends up being a very Fruity Album.

I will be going through heart break in stereo in order and pointing out which lyrics and elements of certain songs jump out to me as Super Mega Gay and then summarizing my conclusions at the end <3

1 ) PS Don't Write

PS don't write is about leaving a toxic relationship, it has notes of moving on and leaving someone behind. "packed up all my shit / stole back all my tapes / left your spare key under the mat / this is not a joke / you'd better learn to take a hint / 'cause i'm not coming back / maybe you'll understand / when you're waking up alone / in a cold and empty bed." it has no gender indicators or pronouns which is the case in a lot of pencey prep songs, and something i'll bring up quite a bit. it also has general "coming of age" themes, something common in lots of pencey prep songs. which Yeah apply to straight people to but read in this context combined with future evidence can be pretty Fuckin Gay. "somewhere along the line / i found a hidden strength / i didn't know i had / standing on my own / cutting all the strings / that you used to control / surprise surprise / i am long gone / if you thought you could hold me down / by holding me up / you were wrong / you don't call the shots anymore." not to say only gay people can find inner strength and the room to love themselves but combined with other context it is a really poignant message about accepting yourself for who you are.

2) Yesterday

Yesterday is very repetitive and has a lot less to analyze, but the constant themes of wanting to "run away" strike me as very Fruity. once again, not saying gay people are the only people who can want to run away or escape from something But Combined With Other Context. and once again a song with no gender indicators, doesnt specify who the speaker is running away with or what they are running away from. just that they want to Leave. "i wanna run with you / i don't care what we do / gotta get out of this place / because it feels like yesterday." also saying "it feels like yesterday" could mean that the town feels backwards or old timey in its beliefs, implying homophobia. how the speaker wants to run away from an old fashioned town.

3) Don Quixote

i'm going to bring up the cultural significance of this title and literary reference first. Don Quixote is a classical novel by Cervantes which is about a crazy dude who thinks he's a knight, and goes on weird adventures with his best friend. It's typically used as a symbol of following your dreams and breaking free from what people expect of you. In the context of the song its used as a symbol of following your dreams with Someone. once again this someone is given no gender indicators. "you say it's not worth it / been burned too many times / if your spine's receding / you can borrow some of mine / don't go and quit right now / cause i'd follow you through hell." "you say so many things / and not a word of it was true / if you're still in that state of mind / i'd still vacation inside of you / cause i think you're worth every minute / and every dime that i spend / i'd spend all my time fighting dragons / just to keep you alive and talking." it's about wanting to spend time with someone, wanting to be with them no matter what. and its also about how this person feels unreachable, like being with them would be a fairytail but the speaker Still Reaches for it. "your imaginations running wild / round your deceptive heart / this is my crusade / and you're the unreachable star / but i'm reaching." talking about this person being unreachable and unattainble. which isnt gay By Itself but again combined with the other context. FRUIT BEHAVIOR.

4) 10 Rings

another breakup song once again with no gender indicators, are you guys sensing a theme here? anyways this song is about someone cutting you off and then coming back suddenly wanting to talk again after breaking your heart. it has a sense of forbidden love, like this person Told the speaker they cant be together for Whatever Reason ;] and is now trying to come back and repair their mistake when the speaker is already hurt and reeling. "learn to live with decisions you make / i learned things from the break i can't forget / catch you doing drive-bys at 1 AM / it must kill you to know we can't be friends." "end of the summer you cut me off / i cut you out all the pictures i have." which this Isnt Gay By Itself. but bringing that phrase back with other context this is such a uniquely gay experience. being in love with someone and they cut you off Because theyre weirded out by that and then they try to come back, convince you it meant nothing.

5) The Secret Goldfish

my FAVORITE pencey song. this one has a lot. it's another breakup song about heartbreak and loss and im not even gonna dwell on the no gender indicators because yall see the theme now. it has themes of heartbreak and losing someone who is very close to you and having to let go of them and having to accept that this person cant be yours and you cant be with them. "land of the lost / i found myself in nothing / this time, promises broken find me / clutching to you for something / something that you're not / believing in what you say / it makes me lie awake at night / the truth, the truth is not what scares me / it's why you have to lie / all the time." here we see these themes of having to let someone go because they just Aren't The Same as you. "clutching to you for something / something that you're not." maybe like chasing after a straight boy and getting rejected? also the repetition of "heartbreak is forever" when you're young and gay losing that first person you felt some kind of love and attraction to can feel like the end of the world and can be a huge deal because of the lack of representation and guidance young gays get. and the themes of nothing lasting forever, the fact that gay people never get promised eternal love the same way straight people do.

6) 8th Grade

this song is the nail in penceys fucking coffin honestly. the rest of these songs have a lot of plausible deniability, just vague enough to maybe Not Be Gay. but framed in the context of 8th grade they all start to get a lil fruity. Im just gonna go through lyric by lyric for this one. "caught staring again / like a deer in the headlights / when you can't move fast enough / i take a hit for the team / pretty girl is blushing / i can't tell if she's disgusted / laughter starts to swell / someone gets the joke." this kid was staring at some cute boy ass and got caught and everyone is laughing at him for being gay. the "pretty girl" here is what most people think he's staring at but with the rest of the song it's obvious she's not the one he's looking at. "bells ring, i make my escape / helps a little, but doesn't save / beat downs a common thing / with us every day / maybe im just strange / cause i dont change schools / so maybe i like the abuse / or maybe i just like you." literally This is the nail in penceys fucking coffin. "maybe i like the abuse or maybe i just like you." this kid purposefully takes beatings from his bully who is Obviously male if you take into context the next verse. because he Likes Him. "maybe im just strange / cause i dont change schools" literally willingly taking beatings from his bully bc he has a crush. "another confrontation / you've got something to prove / your girl can't tell how tough you are / when you beat me up in the boys room." this just confirms that the subject of the song is a boy, and a tough macho boy with something to prove. maybe also hiding his own internalized homophobia through bullying? "well i made a big mistake / but i can't help who i like / this may not cost my life / but i am branded forever lame." LITERALLY ITS RIGHT IN YOUR FACE. "can't help who i like" "branded forever lame" do i even need to fucking explain this oh my god. he got outed as gay, he Can't Help Who He Likes and is now branded forever as "the gay kid." the rest of the song is general "im gonna get back at my bully" stuff but literally THIS. THIS is the song that brands all penceys other very vague songs as 100% verified super mega ultra gay.

7) 19

this song has a lot less, and is more about internal struggle than anything. but it is the only song with a "she" pronoun in it. but there is one thing i wanna mention. "I scream out loud / but no one hears a sound / i take my life with lack of sleep / i believe the things i feel / the things i see are fooling only me." this song is about not believing what the world shows you, believing what you think is true in your heart and what You feel. not what anyone else tells you. which is a gay experience. believing in yourself and your heart and your feelings, believing theyre right and theyre true and valid. Also this song has a significance in coming right after 8th grade on the album, going from being 13 to 19, from being unsure in your feelings and angry about the people who dont like you to lost and hopeless but somewhat grounded in yourself.

8) Trying To Escape The Inevitable

this song is about an abusive and toxic relationship, knowing you Need to escape it but being so infatuated with the person you literally cant. “i have this reoccurring dream / you make it hard for me to breathe / i gave you everything i could / i gave up everything i owned / and when you smile it’s not for me / you offer little sympathy / your grasp so far exceeds your reach / i wake up, this is not a dream.” “i have this reoccuring dream / where you admit that you’re not happy / i know that you will never leave / you’re here just to torment me.” which like again this isnt an exclusively gay experience but it is very interesting when framed that way. in that gay people are way more likely to throw themselves into abusive and toxic relationships because they dont feel like they can get anybody else. the repetition of “i know i should run” makes it seem like the speaker Knows he should get out but he just Cant because what if he never finds love again? and the little reprise in the middle “i have a new dream / and everything is perfect / the sky is pink, yellow, green, blue, and orange / and all the past has been forgotten / and we fell in love / and we fell in love / and we fell in love / and i fell into your trap.” implying that even if he escapes, even in his dreams he still falls for this person because he feels like he cant have anything else.

9) Lloyd Dobbler

another love song about wanting to have someone but not being able to because of Unspecified Forbidden Reasons. “why are you so far away / even when you’re standing next to me? / your eyes give you away / telling secrets your mouht don’t feel like talking.” falling in love with someone, maybe sensing that they like you too. that they Are Like You and that they have a Secret they dont want to vocalize. do i even need to explain it at this point? and in the chorus “That I’ll be your lloyd dobbler / with a boom box out in the street / and i’ll be there if you need someone / even if he isn’t me.” saying you’ll be there for someone even if that person isn’t you, also the use of Pronouns which is big for pencey prep. which yes the use of “even if he isnt me” could imply a straight girl ooorrr....Fruit Behavior. also this line “There’s a norman rockewll painting / of two kids sitting on a bench / it reminds me of all the stupid things / i’d like for us to share, but i dont care.” normal rockwell is a painter that paints traditionally “american” scenes. like the american ideal, that maybe he wants with this person. but he knows he cant have, but its stupid and domestic and he wants it but he Cant Have It because of FRUIT BEHAVIOR.

10) Florida Plates

another of my favorite pencey songs, and this one brings back those tragic “love but we cant have it” themes, except with a more somber tone. instead of being angry or resentful or spiteful in the face of adversity. its an Acceptance, of what they had and how good it was and how it just Cant Last. “kiss a mouth to open eyes / stall one last moment before goodbye / drive in different cars in different directions / never write all the letters full of good words, better intentions / it’s for the best although we don’t know it / paper words will cheapen the moments we shared / it’s better if i say nothing at all.” it’s about knowing you have to leave someone, even if having them in the moment is great they Can’t Stay and you can’t even talk or write about the moments you had. which do i even need to explain it at this point? forbidden love, not being able to have each other, not even being able to Talk about it. its a secret, and painful one but its beautiful while you have it. Conclusion alright!!! thank you so so much if you read all the way through that i Know it was long i Know it was a lot of repetition but i wanted to make my point. pencey prep has very big gay themes in their music. with forbidden love, letting go, heartbreak, keeping secrets, toxic realtionships. which none of it is gay on its own but in the context of: almost none of the songs having clear gender indicators and always speaking really vaguely about the subject and Eight Grade the “nail in the coffin song” you can see my point thank you and goodnight.

#adrian speaks #mcr #pencey prep #frank iero

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skinsharpenedteeth · 3 years

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Coming Up Easy - First Sightings

I am *SO* sorry this is so hella late this week. It's been... a fucking week. CW: One mention of a homophobic slur.

You can also read this on AO3!

CUE - First Sightings

Unpacking boxes was not one of Alex’s favorite activities. He hadn’t had many when he’d moved because he hadn’t wanted to rent a truck or deal with shipping things, so the twelve boxes he’d been able to load into the late nineties Ford Explorer encompassed all his worldly possessions. He’d finally gotten a chance to start unpacking the miscellaneous boxes after a trip to Ikea for bookshelves, a bed, and a couch. Furthermore, he’d promised himself he’d explore his new city more and find second-hand shops for other household furniture and accessories, but the bookshelves would be enough to finally clear away the last of his unpacked boxes.

Alex opened the last box and looked inside. His heart softened a little as he saw the small shoebox of photographs he kept. Promising himself he’d look through it later, he unpacked the few other knick-knacks out of the box and took them to the bookshelves to start placing them. The box didn’t reenter his mind until after dinner when he found himself lounging across his new sofa with a cold beer in his hand. The box stared at him from the floor where he’d left it. Setting down his beer on the floor, he quickly got up and grabbed the box, and brought it back over to the couch. He flipped open the top and gingerly picked up the pile closest to him.

Michael and him in the desert with guitars. Liz, Max, Michael, and him at a church car wash. Michael, Kyle, and him all leaning against a bathroom wall in various stages of being phenomenally sick from drinking too much. Him and Michael hanging out at the UFO Emporium. Him and Michael eating pizza and playing video games at Max and Isobel’s. Him and Michael in college at a frat party. Him and Michael. Him and Michael. Him and Michael…

It hit Alex quite suddenly that basically since he and Michael had become friends they’d been fairly inseparable. They’d dated other people and had friends that the other didn’t like, but as a rule, it was always the two of them against the world and it had been since they were fifteen. He picked up his phone and snapped a photo of the photograph he held in his hand where they were sixteen, pimply, awkward, and bent over laughing outside the high school band room.

Me 8:46 p.m.>> Who the fuck are these dorks? <<Picture sent at 8:46 p.m.>> <<Michael 8:50 p.m.>> Holy shit, look at those nerds!! <<Michael 8:51 p.m.>> Though I gotta say, the emo one is pretty hot. If I were sixteen, I’d definitely have a crush on him. Me 8:52 p.m.>> You did not have a crush on me at 16! I was so tragic! <<Michael 8:53 p.m.>> You were not. You were fucking feral. You took exactly zero percent shit from anyone. It was hot as fuck. Me 8:55 p.m.>> You are definitely misremembering the amount of bullshit I put up with. <<Michael 9:00 p.m.>> Do you know what you were doing the first time I saw you?

Alex cast back in his memory. He remembered the first time he was aware of Michael, but not necessarily the first time Michael was aware of him. He always assumed it was at the same time.

Me 9:02 p.m.>> Uh? Scribbling emo song lyrics on my bio lab notebook? <<Michael 9:03 p.m.>> Nope. <<Michael 9:03 p.m.>> You were having a fight with Kyle during gym because he tagged your gym shirt with the word “faggot” in pink sharpie.

“Mr. Manes, you cannot wear shirts with inappropriate text on them. This is the gym. White shirts only,” Coach Heim called at Alex as soon as he walked out of the locker room and started towards where the rest of the class was lounging in the middle of the basketball court. Alex could see Kyle elbowing his football buddies and smirking, barely containing their laughter. Alex felt his face grow hot with embarrassment and fury. He kept walking towards the group.

“MR. MANES! GO CHANGE YOUR SHIRT!” the coach yelled, putting more authority into his deep baritone. He was a fit, balding adult who generally was an alright guy, but Alex was swelling with indignation. He stopped a few feet away from the group so he didn’t have to yell to be heard.

“I don’t have another shirt, sir. This is my gym shirt,” Alex explained through clenched teeth. As the rest of the class got a good look at the words emblazoned across his chest and stomach, he heard them begin to snicker and giggle quietly.

“Well, you can’t wear that one. You’re smarter than this, Alex, why would you wear this out of the locker room?” the coach asked, not sounding unkind. He shot the gathered students a dirty look and they quieted their laughter.

“Because it’s all I had to wear and it’s not my fault it was defaced. Some pink-fingered fucking COWARD of a football player must’ve thought it’d be REAL FUNNY to break into my locker and--” Alex started, voice growing louder as he let the heat behind his cheeks infuse his voice.

“I did no such thing!” Kyle yelled, cutting in on Alex. Coach Heim looked over at him, eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth to say something, maybe to tell Kyle to sit down, but as soon as Kyle stepped forward away from his buddies, Alex pounced. He landed the first hit on Kyle’s cheek, the meaty smack of their skin satisfying to him. Kyle shook it off and came at him. Before he knew it, they were rolling on the ground hitting each other as hard as they could in anyplace visible. The pain was nothing new for Alex and he kept his head clear as he tried to aim for spots that would hurt long after he was pulled off.

Too soon, arms were wrapped around his chest and a much bigger body than his was pulling him back and off of where he’d pinned Valenti to the ground. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, his ears still ringing with rage, but he could see the thin trickle of blood from Kyle’s split lip and he felt himself smile at the shock on everyone else’s face as they watched him get dragged back. He would not take Kyle’s shit this year. He would not take anyone’s shit.

Alex rubbed his fingers across his eyebrows and sighed deeply. He had been so ready to cause someone else pain by then. His dad had only gotten worse towards him when Kyle started to pull away because it meant that his “unnaturalness” was evident to everyone. His fight then and the fights in the following year always had more to do with his dad than with him being ashamed of being gay. He put the photos down in the box and went to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. His phone chimed as he unscrewed the top and after a deep drink, he checked the message.

<<Michael 9:13 p.m.>> Uh oh, you’ve left me on read. You okay? Me 9:14 p.m.>> I’m fine. Sorry. Just got wrapped up in my head for a minute. Me 9:15 p.m.>> How did you see that? You weren’t in my gym class? <<Michael 9:16 p.m.>> I was hiding under the bleachers skipping english. Me 9:17 p.m.>> THAT WAS THE FIRST DAY! <<Michael 9:17 p.m.>> Right? Nothing to do anyway. It was fine. It’s in the past. I graduated high school, didn’t I? No harm, no foul.

Alex laughed quietly to himself, staring at the message screen. He went back to the couch and flopped back down across the cushions with a sigh.

Me 9:20 p.m.>> You did. Even graduated college. I guess you’re right. <<Michael 9:21 p.m.>> When do you remember seeing me for the first time? Me 9: 23 p.m.>> I feel like it was biology when we were lab partners. I was supposed to be with Max, remember? <<Michael 9:24 p.m.>> Yeah, I was with Liz. Max had no chill back then. How the fuck did it take Liz until senior year to notice that he liked her? Me 9:35 p.m.>> Had no chill? *Has* no chill.

“Michael! MI-CHAEL!” Max hissed loudly from his seat next to Alex two rows behind where Liz was sitting. The class period was just getting started and everyone was still milling around trying to find their assigned seats. Michael looked over his shoulder at Max who was looking desperately at him. Michael mouthed ‘what?!’ and gave Max an irritated glare.

“Switch with me!” Max whisper screamed. Alex was smirking into his notebook as he watched the exchange through the side of his eye. He hadn’t really noticed the curly-haired boy before, but the eye roll he gave Max was epic. He started to turn back to the front when Max whispered again. “I’ll pay you!”

Michael turned back around abruptly and narrowed his eyes.

“How much?” Michael asked, not whispering but keeping his voice low enough not to carry to the teacher who was about to start taking roll. Max looked desperately towards the front of the class at Liz’s back where she was ignoring what was happening beside her in favor of actually paying attention. She was about the only one.

“Fifty,” Max called out.

“Seventy-five and you buy my lunch for a week,” Michael countered. Alex was highly amused. Max darted his eyes over to Liz’s back again and nodded. Michael grabbed his stuff and moved quickly towards the back of the classroom while Max grabbed his stuff to go forward.

“Sorry!” Max called out to Alex softly before he left. Alex watched him slide into the seat next to Liz smoothly and take out his notebook. She looked over and smiled at him in confusion, turning to look back at where Michael was now taking his seat next to Alex. Alex looked over at him and was struck full in the face with his mischievous grin.

“That sucker, I would’ve done it for twenty-five,” Michael shared with Alex conspiratorially, leaning closer to him while he spoke so his voice wouldn’t reach Max’s ears. Alex felt himself blushing a little at the somewhat flirtatious smirk Michael was giving him. He’d been aware of Michael, but hadn’t really ever paid him any mind. Now he was near him, he could see the interesting light brown of his eyes somewhere between gold and green. He also smelled a little like lake water and the woodsy, spicy deodorant Alex had smelled on Mr. Valenti. It was weirdly comforting.

“So he has a thing for Liz or is he that afraid of failing bio that badly? I’m not stupid,” Alex asked, clearing his throat and trying not to seem offended by Max’s desperation to switch partners.

“Oh, he has a major thing for Liz. It’s gross. Like, she’s pretty, don’t get me wrong. But he’s been writing Mr. and Mrs. Ortecho-Evans in his notebook since third grade or some shit like that,” Michael revealed, taking out his own bio notebook from his bag and setting in on the lab table in front of him. Alex took in what he was saying and nodded.

“So it’s not cause everyone says I’m gay?” Alex asked, voice low and a little nervous to see Michael’s reaction. Michael looked over at him, eyebrows drawn together and something like sympathy passing over his expression before he responded.

“No, man. Max doesn’t give a shit about that and neither do I. You weren’t planning on trying to date him, were you?” Michael asked, shooting him a grin. Alex grinned back, relieved to hear that someone in the school who was so upstanding and obviously straight like Max wasn’t a complete jerk. Michael didn’t seem too bad either.

“Nah. He’s not my type. I like musicians,” Alex joked, shooting Michael a side-grin.

“You don’t say? Do you play?” Michael asked, eyes forward now in a semblance of paying attention to the teacher. Alex glanced up towards the board, but continued slouching over his lyrics notebook.

“Guitar,” he replied shortly as the teacher started explaining their first lab assignment.

“Cool. Me too,” Michael said. Alex could see him studying him out of the corner of his eye. “We should jam sometime.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

And they did jam together eventually. A week later they’d gotten together and Alex had learned that Michael did not know one end of a guitar from the other. He’d let Michael borrow his brother Greg’s guitar and then taught him everything he knew over the course of the next three months.

Me 9:40 p.m.>> Man. Who knew we’d still be friends this long after. <<Michael 9:45 p.m.>> I did. Once you taught me to play guitar, you were stuck with me for life. There’s an unbreakable bond built when one dude teaches another dude how to finger... Me 9:46 p.m.>> Jesus Christ. That was terrible. <<Michael 9:47 p.m.>> Bet you’re laughing though. Me 9:48 p.m.>> I plead the fifth. Also, I gotta get to bed. Early day tomorrow. <<Michael 9:50 p.m.>> That’s some responsible adult behavior right there. Gross. Me 9:51 p.m.>> You’re gross. <<Michael 9:52 p.m.>> I am gross. I’m going to take a shower and change that, however. When will you be young and fun again? Me 9:53 p.m. >> Shut up. Go take your shower. <<Michael 9:53 p.m.>> Fine. Go to bed. Think about me in bed. Me 9:54 p.m.>> *You* think about me in bed. <<Michael 9:55 p.m.>> Always do. Night Me 9:56 p.m.>> Night.

Alex heaved himself off the couch and went to his room. The apartment always seemed so dark and lonely when he finished talking with Michael. He needed to work on making friends. That would help him not miss him so much.

#coming up easy #malex wip #malex #coming up easy update #michael guerin #alex manes #fwb malex

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mampysou · 3 years

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Day 11 of Harringrove April.

Also read on AO3

Some blood and injury detail below and homophobic language.

Hug

He doesn’t know why he followed the noise; you’d think after everything that had happened over the last year in Hawkins he wouldn’t, but here he was chasing after a strange grumbling sound. He couldn’t quite describe it. It sounded human. Just. Whatever or whoever it was sounded in pain, and being the sap he was, he needed to check it out before he could leave with peace of mind.

The back street was dark and damp in the rain, the fat drops bounced out of puddles and dropped from his nose. The noise was getting louder and he tried his best to quiet his feet. His mother always said he sounded like a baby elephant when he moved around and complained loudly, and regularly, that he woke her on his way out to work. He was sure he had to turn one more corner and he would be in sight of whatever was making the noise.

He steeled himself, preparing to run in case he once again came face to face with a monster from a different dimension. Though running wouldn’t do him much good if he did. A sudden need to be armed tore through him as he scanned the floor for anything that could be used as a weapon. He picked up a trash can lid and swing it around a few times. If that hero guy in Dustin’s comics could use a shield to beat people up surely Steve could do the same, right?

He tested its weight and slipped his hand through the handle, gripping it tightly. All his friend would be cursing his name if they knew where he was right now. He had promised them and, in turn, made them promise him that this wasn’t something they would be doing by themselves ever. If there was ever any sign of trouble he should radio immediately and they would come running. Night or day his little pack of nerds would be there.

But for some reason Steve was convinced that this was something he shouldn’t call them for. It’s not that he won’t need them, but he felt like they shouldn’t see what’s coming. It sent a shiver of nerves and apprehension down his spine as he reached the corner. ‘Shield’ up and ready he took the final step towards the unknown.

The last thing he expected to see when he rounded the building was a person scrunched into the smallest ball possible, flithy, wet and bleeding. He didn’t recognise them, but he rushed forwards regardless. He checked the area for anything suspicious, before crouching next to shaking body.

He could see they were male now, no women in Hawkins were built like that. Strong arms wrapped over his head, like he was protecting it, and his knees touched his chest. A feat would have deemed impossible if he hadn’t seen it, due to so incredibly tight blue jeans.

The guy had cuts up his arms and what looked to be handprints wrapped around his wrists. His jeans had tears in them, and grazes in the holes like he had fallen on the pavement. He could see tiny bits of gravel wedged inside the cuts and scrapes, which were crying out to be cleaned.

Steve didn’t touch him at first, seeing how terrified this guy was he didn’t know how he would react. He just spoke to him in quiet but firm terms.

“Hey. How can I help?” he said seeing the whole-body shudder as his voice reached the boys ears. “You're injured and need medical attention; can I drive you to the hospital?”

The guy’s head shot up and Steve tried not to fall back on his arse. Billy Hargrove’s face looked back at him frozen in terror. His blue eyes ringed with red and both eye sockets turning deep shades of purple. His lip was cut and he had another hand print around his neck.

“No fucking hospitals.” He croaked voice not sounding anything like Steve knows it should.

Steve kept calm. It didn’t matter who it was, Billy still needed help and he would give it as best he could. “Right, so can I take you back home?” This reaction was worse. Billy flinched away from him, back hitting the wall, and Steve heard all the air puff out of him.

“Okay so not home either then.” Steve supplied.

Billy, who Steve was sure hadn’t recognised him yet, probably because his eyes were on the way to swelling up, tried to speak again. He coughed twice before he managed, “That ain’t my home no more.” And his head dropped back into his hands.

Steve nodded to himself and came up with his last suggestion, he had assumed that not hospitals meant, no police either because taking someone in in this condition would over lead to them turning up anyway.

“My house then. Its empty, just me home tonight and I have all the stuff I need to help you out.” He watched for any reaction and for a while there was nothing. Just as he was about to give in he caught the barest nod of his head in agreement.

“I am going to help you up, okay?” He reached out to grab Billy somewhere it probably wouldn’t hurt too much, only to be shoved away by tattered fists. Whoever did this to Billy, he obviously fought back. He watched as Billy tried to stand with very little success. Steve gently wrapped his arm around his waist, hoisted Billy’s arms around his shoulders and started the long trudge back to his car.

What felt like an hour later, but was probably only about fifteen minutes, they got back to Steve’s car. Billy went rigid next to him; he internally cursed the blonde must have recognised his car.

“Jesus fuck, of course it’s you, Harrington.” He spluttered around a cough.

“Yeah, yeah, just get in the car so we can get you sorted out, Hargrove.” He complained as he man-handled Billy into the bimmer. “What happened Billy?” he asked as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Got beat up moron. What the fuck does it look like?” he grumbled at Steve.

“Hargrove got beat up? Who did you fight a giant?” he asked trying his best to keep the mocking from his voice.

“No, just four guys.”

“Four? Why the hell did they do that?” he asked. How on earth Billy got a single punch in was beyond him. Fighting four people wasn’t like in the movies. They didn’t wait patiently for the first guy to stop hitting you then attack. No, they tended to rush you, hoping to over whelm, which clearly, they managed.

“What did you say to get in this state?” he amended. Billy had a notoriously short fuse; one Steve had been on the receiving end of more than once.

Billy looked so pale. His tan face was much greyer now losing nearly all its usual golden colour. “Was just being me. Didn’t know his friends were waiting. Fucking dick heads.”

“What do you mean being me?” he asked quietly trying not to spook him now he was opening up. He could only imagine he wasn’t entirely sure what he was saying.

“’m usually more careful ya know.” Billy’s words were slurring but he seemed to be on a role. “But he was hot and was flirtin’ so I thought fuck it. Let’s try.” Steve thought he got what Billy was saying but this is Billy Hargrove, he could be, could he? “He tugged me round a corner then his buddies were there and they just went off. Calling me a faggot and stuff.” He groaned. “My head is fucking killing me.”

Steve stayed silent. Just drove towards his house in shock. Billy had just told him he was gay. Or at very least liked to hook up with guys. He wouldn’t judge. He was friends with Robin and he could appreciate a hot looking guy. Rob Lowe and David Bowie were something else. So, yea, no judging here.

He pulled into his drive and Billy was drifting off in his seat. Steve knew this wasn’t great, he needed Billy to stay awake. He had no clue why, just that it was bad news. He slammed the car door shut behind him hoping it would jar Billy awake before he had to get him out of the car.

Luck was on his side for once as Billy stared at him, glassy eyed but at least awake. Heaving Billy into the house was no mean feat, especially as this time he seemed to be putting in little to no effort.

“You weigh a fucking tonne!” Steve complained as he propped Billy against the door.

“s’all muscle baby!” he grinned at Steve, tongue peeking out from behind his bloodied teeth and swaying a bit as he attempted to flex. Steve just held in an eye roll. Of course Billy was flirting, he would always find time to flirt no matter how beaten down he looked.

“Just get in the house Hargrove.” He said pointing in the direction of kitchen. Billy seemed to have regained some semblance of control as his used the wall to help him in the right direction. Steve tried not to cringe as he watched the smear of blood and dirt lengthen down the hall but at least he would have a while to clean it up before anyone else came home again.

He found Billy slumped on the floor, against a cabinet, head once again cradled in his hands. Steve collected what he needed from around his house and returned to crouch down near him again. He laid everything out in between them both and pointed to each one as he was about to use it. He moved slowly, gently and carefully whilst he cleaned and patched up Billy.

Billy just stared at him the entire time. He nodded silently every time Steve asked permission to do something until he finished. He still looked like shit but at least he wasn’t bleeding anymore.

“So...” Steve started, not really knowing where he was going. “Can I get you to go to the cops Billy? Those guys targeted you and that fucking sucks.” Billy was already shaking his head. “But Hopper could help you Billy!” Steve insisted.

“No fucking way. No one would help me, he would probably just add to the bruises. No one helps people like me Harrington.” He snapped, but there was no venom in it. Just aching sadness that Steve felt to his core.

“I did. And I would again.” He stated softly. But quickly he felt anger rising inside him. “You shouldn’t have to go through this shit just because you are... Because you like... Guys!” He was so angry by the end, how could anyone believe they were so alone that no one would help them when they were hurt and broken? Part of Steve screamed that he understood. It could have gone that way for him after Nancy if he hadn’t had Dustin or Robin.

“I’m dirty, Harrington. People don’t like dirty things.” He told him. His shoulders were slumped and he looked down and away from Steve.

Steve surged forward and ignored Billy’s flinch as he did. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders and pulled his head in towards his neck. It was a damn awkward hug but eventually Billy relaxed and locked his hands behind Steve’s back. As he held Billy he spoke to him. “You are not alone Billy. Any time you need help you come to me. I will help you. You aren’t dirty.” He hesitated but ploughed on to a confession.

“If you’re dirty then so am I. And so is my best friend. So fuck them and stay where we can help.” A silence hung in the air it was tense as he felt Billy’s hands tighten in his jacket.

“You’re like me?” he asked. His voice muffled by Steve’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I am.” He stated. It was the first time he had admitted it to himself let alone said it out loud.

“Oh.” Not quite what Steve was expecting him to say.

“Yeah, oh.”

Billy lifted his head and looked Steve straight in the eyes and said, “So Harrington, can I take you on a date?”

Hope you liked it!

#harringroveapril #Harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #steve x billy #stranger things #st fanfic #Day 11

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dear-diary-where-is-my-soul · 3 years

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Hey Diary,

It has been... almost a whole year? Idk. I’m here anyhow. I somehow got it into my head that when high school was over, I would somehow become magically no longer mentally ill. That didn’t happen, obviously. So here I am. I did a bit of digging and I think I have ADHD (Which I like to call dopamine deficiency) and also ASD (Which I like to call a pain in my ass). I’m just kidding, they’re both a pain in my ass. But at least I know what it’s called. I can kind of manage it now because I spent hours looking for management plans that work for both ADHD and Autism, and seeing what worked for me. I know for a fact that I have Anxiety (Of the social variant - possibly tied to autism) and depression (That I’ve had since age 12 - about 6 years). I thought I was over my anorexia but it keeps pestering in the back of my mind. I’m eating now, but it still isn’t 3 meals a day. It’s not ‘healthy’ meals but it’s better than nothing. I still think that sometimes I’m not worth the food. My boyfriend (The same boyfriend) is a really good cook. His food is so good. But neither of us can eat it. I moved out for a short while, about 4 months. I moved in with my boyfriend, who moved in about 9 or so months before me, with his ‘dad’ (Non-bio, no longer dating [Boyfriends] mother). During those 4 months, I spent more than 1000′s dollars in savings not to mention my Centrelink payments, which only started during the second month [half of what my boyfriend was getting], to trying to keep me and my boyfriend alive. Which would’ve been way easier if I didn’t need to spend over 500 dollars in taxi fees because his dad didn’t know when to stop drinking. So, a little bit of extra kicked in the fucking balls, Before I moved in, I was told that I wouldn’t need to worry about rent until my Centrelink payments were sorted. But, when we move out, my boyfriend sold his bike and 650 of that money was given to his dad because he was keeping track of how long I didn’t pay rent for and said I owned it to him. Even Though my boyfriend offered 2/3 of my rent (Plus his own) every payday. We were both told that it was fine and that we didn’t have to worry about it. He always complained about me being anti-social. Which was really fucking clear to begin with. I never said that I would be interacting with him more than what was comfortable. This was his main excuse for drinking. But, until I moved in he completely ignored my boyfriends attempts to be social with him. He wasn’t my type of person. Conservative, mid 40′s, cis-het, white man with ASD and previous alcohol and drug use problems. AKA ‘There’s nothing wrong with the world you’re just to sensitive, men are men and women are women nothing will change that, except don’t move my living room around because that’s too much for me to handle’. He used to scream at my boyfriend that he isn’t a real guy, but got upset when my boyfriend then put distance between them to not get any more hurt and depressed. I hated it. I can’t handle any loud noises or anything like that. It sends me up the wall with anxiety and I’m very easily over stimulated. Unfortunately, our roommate did not get over stimulated easily and really like heavy metal, which he would play unbearably loud until 2-3 AM on the weekends. He also nearly broke our bedroom door several times. He would scream insults at us through the door and while outside our window (which had a little undercover deck-type-thing, where he drank himself stupid). Me and my boyfriend took a two week holiday up back to our home town, because my boyfriend was having stress-induced Seizures. He was having full-on whole-body fits every 2-3 days that lasted about 5 minutes (These have stopped since we moved out). Anyway, we got back home, being dropped off by my bf’s mum,( who has since very much mellowed out [about my boyfriend being trans] by having another kid, this kid is nearly 18 months old, has some kind of IBS [Unconfirmed as of yet, but he is in a lot of pain]). We put away the few bits of shopping we got, as we were band from touching our roommates food over a month before because he was asked not to eat ours (Not true, but he did use a full packet of our cheese [7 or 8 bucks per packet] in one meal that neither me or my boyfriend liked or could eat, which we were talking about to my boyfriends mother who mentioned it). He also said that we accused him of stealing and shit like that (We didn’t). But anyway, We make dinner because it was around 5;30 or so and we didn’t eat lunch. We put of a movie in the background and my boyfriend goes out for a cigarette on the deck-thing and when he comes back in he tells my that our roommate has been drinking but will stop soon because we’re home. 8:30 comes around, me and my bf are heading to bed with the same movie on in the background and that’s when the screaming starts. 20 whole minutes of our roommate screaming “FAGGOTS” to try to get our attention. During this time, we call my bf’s mum, who is still in town because she had a doctors appointment the next day, staying at my bf’s nans house. We then get up, grab our still-packed from our two week trip (day)bags, and wall ten minutes away to the shopping centre near-by and call a taxi. During that night, our (ex)roommate texted my bfs mum basically saying that we are ‘kicked out’ and that he hates all of us. This isn’t the first time this has happened but it is definitely the last. We went back, the next day while he was at work, grabbed our other bags and a few of the essential items we wanted for the next week or so. Our landlord (ex-roommates mother) said that everything was fine to stay there until we could get it picked up within the next two months or so. She offered to pack it all up for us as well, which we accepted because neither of us wanted to go back to that house again. We haven’t been there, or seen him since. My bf’s mother’s bf went with my brother to pick up all of the rest of our stuff a week after we left. We set back up in my home town, now both of us have been ripped away from our new doctors, our counsellors and my new therapist less than a week before my first appointment (which I now do via telehealth [phone/video calls]). This was about a month ago. me and my bf now have set up and pay for our internet ourselves and I got a disney+ subscription because I'm obsessed with feeling the safety I felt during childhood. Anyway, I live with my boyfriend and his mum and her boyfriend and their 1 year old. Both of my parents live in this town but we’ve been in lock down and I haven’t been able to see them. I feel like I’m drowning because I don’t go outside. I used to walk with my boyfriend, but because he has several chronic health issues we can’t risk him going outside and he can not exercise as much as either of us would like due to chronic pains (And a busted knee which he has scans for in a fortnight or so). I’m in an online course, which was fully government subsidized due to the amount of people who need training or retraining after Covid-19. I really like it, and it is making me think more harshly about wanting to start a business. However, I don’t think I can do the assessments. Almost all of them seem to require me being social on the online group chats, and it fuels my social anxiety so much I didn’t do anything to my course for a whole month. And this whole thing was a way to help me get rid of those feelings, but I still don’t know what to do. How do I word it to the teachers? I haven’t talked to any of them before and it might seem like I just don’t want to put in the work in the social aspects of my assessments because I don’t have a diagnoses. This sucks. I can barely sit my ass down and read through the work as it is. Then I start thinking about how I'm 1 quarter of the way through this course and haven’t brought myself to do a single assessment. Then I freak out over how much I’ve done (or haven’t done) and don’t end up doing the work.

#diary #dear diary #my diary #home issues #kicked #roommate rant #ex #ex roommates #asd #self diagnosed autism #self diagnosed adhd #depression #anxienty #health #learning

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akegatacchi · 5 years

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Sense8 AU!aftg

In the honor of absolutlynothing I’ve decided to put out there one of the many au I have on my phone and archive it there

Big shout out to @a-m-peengoo and @bluesuederose for participating in this mess with genius lines and always be there to bear my 36 ideas per hour. We did a masterpiece girls.

Here we go it’s gonna be long

The cluster:

Kevin: Nomi. He’s just a fuckin hacker who’s running away from his family (riko). When he’s bored, he spends nights crashing the Pentagon system for fun, and makes every screen in the White House play Best Exy Actions Compilation (the longest and hardest part is choosing one compilation to play).

Dan: Will. One of them have to keep them under control. Plus, Dan with a gun i can’t even-

Matt: Riley. Soft, blue strand of hair, a heart of gold, maternal. As a DJ. Yes. SO SOFT (he still knows how to box)

Allison: Capheus. Listen. Imagine Allison in high heels, skin tight leather pants, driving a bus. Also, a F1 pilot champion who can drive anything (even if it’s the first time)

Andrew: Wolfgang. Duh. Do I need to explain myself. Just think abt him saying “This is Berlin. Those are my people. And we go to our knees for no one”.Boy he does NOT like this situation, at all. Will keep the others out with sheer willpower and no blockers. The cluster’s deadliest weapon. PLUS HELLO???? ANDREW IN A PASTEL PINK BOMBER SHOOTING ON A HELICOPTER WITH A BAZOOKA????

Aaron: Felix? Sorta? not a senseate but a great doctor. Senses bullshit and when someone is in Andrew’s body real quick (Andrew: says more than 2 sentences and is pleasant. Aaron:.....who’s that bitch where is my brother) . Later helps to manufacture blockers.

Neil: Kala. A pharmacist that uses his skill for arson and may or may not be running away from mafia/family matter and currently hiding in India. Him saying “Bring it, bitch” to Riko is my sexuality and Andrew’s. Can create explosives from a Fanta can and spices I mean it’s already canon in aftg. (plus andreil would work even better bc technically Neil can’t even touch Andrew for real)

Nicky: Lito. The drama, the sass. Also the scene where he discovers the Twinyard in Germany are his cousins would be hilarious. The scene where Lito seduces the nurse but with Nicky (“engaging into heterosexual activity? me????”) or the scene where Lito screams in the museum but with Nicky

Erik as Hernando. That’s it that’s the post.

Renee: Sun. I mean, a korean fighter lady in prison trying to be a better person and had a silent bffs relationship with a german gangster? Come on. Also. Allison in a bus and Renee doing art martials stuff.

Riko: whispers i guess he can eat Allison’s high heels

Now the ~scenes~ (it’s just shitposting):

Aaron, on the verge on several break downs: wait so you have like … DJ Blue Matt and F1 pilot Allison Reynolds in your head? since when? ANDREW SINCE WHE-

Neil: what’s a better use of a multiple thousands dollars education than precise arson?????

Aaron: why does your boyfriend always end up burning things up?

Andrew: he lits up my heart as well

Aaron: FOR FUCK SAKE

Kevin, shocked and betrayed: is there a better sport than exy?

Aaron and Allison: YEAH A REALLY GOOD CAR RACE

Allison: you’re - you’re like the spirit of Lucy Liu. In Charlie’s Angels. I watch it once a day. Renee:.....that’s sweet actually :)

Neil: does a molotov cocktail

Matt: I tHoUgHt yOu wErE a PhArMaCiSt

Neil: Yes? That’s PHYSICS

Matt: no that’s ARSON NEIL

Alternative:

Kevin: breaks into the Pentagon virtually

Neil: breaks into the Pentagon physically

Matt, again: i thought you were a PHARMACIST!!!! Neil: Yes I am??? That’s irrelevant

A senseate sibling, escaping, grabbing a vehicle at random: someone knows how to drive that?

Allison, in stilettos : no, but I sure will soon

Just Allison driving Renee around to fight people

Everytime someone mocks a senseate sibling Neil or Nicky shows up to roast them. Sometimes they do it both at the same time. It’s apocalyptic. The sass. The drama.

They can also bullshit their way out of any situation. Neil is such a smooth liar and Nicky is just ridiculous. The FBI agent charged to arrest them somehow ends up crying abt childhood trauma while hugging a teddy bear.

Neil, caught in the act of making a string of explosives by the FBI guy: uuuuuuh….Nicky?

Nicky, currently dealing with a white mom in retail: somehow convince the FBI to buy christmas lights

(Yes Nicky works in retail bc his family cut ties with him but he hopes to be an actor.ON BROADWAY)

(From retail to actor to cluster negotiator real quick)

A fuckin moron to Allison: a hottie like you driving a bus? what is this, hooker on wheels?

Neil: please let me have this one

Allison: seats back and enjoys Neil roasting him

Nicky: brings the popcorn

Nicky, to the FBI guy: You can’t arrest me Daryl I’m your long lost little brother

The FBI guy, a white man: My name is not Daryl Neil: THAT’S WHAT THEY WANT YOU TO BELIEVE

The FBI guy, texting Neil (don’t ask): I guess I’m still in love with my ex

Nicky: aaaaaw we have to help this sweetheart

Neil: do you want me to burn his current boyfriend’s car, buddy?

(Nicky: DON’T REMIND HIM THAT HE’S SUPPOSED TO ARREST US)

A fuckin homophobe: ready to get your ass kicked, faggot?

Andrew: appears through Nicky

Nicky, smiling: fuck yeah, baby

Andrew, between two bazooka shot, to Neil: we’re nothing

Nicky, through Andrew, all cheery: Hi!!!! :D

(Aaron jumps like a scared cat)

Andrew: ready to kill ppl for mafia business

All the senseate siblings in the back minus Renee, eating popcorn and enjoying the show: Kick ass, Drew!

Andrew, on the hospital bed: has an emotional moment with Aaron

Aaron: sir or ma'am, idk who you are but it’s family only, I will ask you, as his doctor, to leave my brother’s body

Aaron: Andrew is2g if you’re making psychic love to that fuckin red hair rn i will-

Andrew each time a senseate is hurt: Aaron it’s for you

(Just Aaron doing med tutorials for a whole cluster while Andrew repeats it with a bored tone to everyone)

(Aaron, sighs: it is Neil again? Just let him bleed for a few minutes)

Neil, making bomb with kitchen stuff: If it means losing you then no

Andrew, falling in love: oh

Bad guy: You have no weapon, blondie!

Allison, with Renee and Dan behind her: Think again, sweetheart

They made a little “honorary cluster member” badge to Aaron (he does not cry STFU NEIL)

Dan and Neil both knows by heart the laws of different countries…..for very different reasons.

Luther: humiliates Nicky once again

Renee: calmly breaks his hand at dinner while smiling like an angel, all the while stopping Andrew from killing him with the other hand

Neil, a pharmacist: blowing shit up and arson

Aaron, a doctor, watching him: yk what hold my beer I know several ways to stop a man’s heart

The whole “You don’t know how to use a gun” “No, but you do” with andreil or matt and dan

Just Drew and Renee kicking some mafia asses together as buddies

(While Neil blows some shit up in the background and Allison/Nicky cheer)

Matt has the perfect ear too

Him and Kevin are the remote operation/communication team but one day all the fighters/criminals of the cluster are busy so they both start to fight as well and fuck they are good at it

Nicky: I expected this from Biceps Matt but Kevin??? You can land a kick like that???

Kevin, outraged: I WENT TO THE EXY OLYMPICS WHEN I WAS 16

Speaking of Kevin, they all call him “nerd” or “einstein”

Allison: so the nerd can fight uh

Aaron, counting down on his fingers: so you have F1 Pilot Superstar Allison Reynolds, former gold medalist and tech genius Kevin Day, a human diapason, a multilingual arsonist, World no.1 Taekwondo Champion Renee Walker, a cop, an actor…..what are you there for??

Andrew, literally a mafia king:....ice cream and crime?

Neil to Andrew, after the whole debacle with his father is out: You did know there were mafia out of Germany too, right?

Andrew: I can’t even have that for myself fuck this family

Dan, every time before each “mission”: okay guys I know we need to do it but I’d like to remind ALL of you *looks pointly at Neil and Andrew* it’s STILL illegal and morally dubious

Neil: …….like I said to Nicky, irrelevant *without missing a beat blows up the entire building and puts on stolen Gucci shades*

Alternative:

Neil: ok saint theresa why were you the one to suggest we explode Riko’s brain off then

Dan: ...don’t turn the conversation around me it’s about you

Allison “guess we’re detourning a place next” Reynolds and Kevin “It’s not that hard to pilot” Day

(Kevin: But why are you on a plane to Russia? I thought you were in India last time?

Neil:....don’t ask)

Aaron to Andrew, where they are trapped and betrayed: your boyfriend wouldn’t happen to know how to poison a whole room with gaz?

Neil: I was born for this moment

(Andrew: just bc you’re my brother doesn’t mean you have the right to dirty talk my boyfriend)

Andrew: be gay, do crime and eat ice cream

Nicky: AND BLOW NEIL’S D-

(before they know abt Neil’s past, when Andrew is angsty bc he caught feelings)

Andrew: You shouldn’t get close to me, it’s dangerous, i’m mafia

Neil: oh haven’t you heard-

Jeremy, bouncing out of nowhere: Hey Kev ! Love how you BI-nary code ahah have you heard of the ARCHIPELAGO

Neil, sipping tea: so my father is the Butcher

Matt: okokokok coolcoolcoolcool yk what arson doesn’t sound like a bad idea after all

(this one is not funny sorry) but Neil taking over each time someone is hurt bc he is used to deal with it

“Give the pain to me”

Andrew and Aaron like to fuck around a lot with the whole sensate stuff (since only one of them is a sensate)

Bad guy: only one of you is a sensate, which one is it?

Twinyard, in a perfect and flat tone: try to guess

A bad guy is spying on Andrew and waiting to kill him in Germany, via a cam, thinking he’s safe BUT SUPRISE MOTHERFUCKER it was aaron dressed as Andrew in a mafia meeting and now you have to deal with a 5 feet tall mafia boy

For real tho they are a little protective of the normal doctor who heal them every time (yes even Neil but don’t tell him) so you bet something like that happens one day:

Aaron: comes home from work angry

Andrew, cleaning up blood or counting money: whassup shithead?

Aaron: There’s this older doctor he’s great and all but he’s a fuckin asshole to me he belittles me everyday bc i’m young and we lost a patient today bc he rathers humiliate me than let me save him

Andrew, a dangerous glint in his eyes and a whole cluster behind him: oh?

Kevin, opens his computer and digs up dirt on him: give me a sec

Allison: I can roll over him with my truck

Neil: there is so many ways to mix two meds and kills him ON ACCIDENT

Dan: let’s see how he deals in prison

Nicky: oh this is going to be fun

Kevin, reciting facts like he’s reading a grocery list: so yeah he smuggles meds from the hospital so local drug dealers, illegally sells meds for himself on the black market, does tax evasion, is friend with a local senator and both of them are involved with minors….i have already several reservation at X hotel btw and cases of work harassment on nurses and interns, threats to others older doctors in serve, and OH. OH. We have a spanking kink on our hands too.

Every members of the cluster, turning to Nicky and Neil:....go wild

Nicky, giggling: not that’s it’s a shame when it’s consensual but not here so - let’s start with the spanking :D

Neil: Can I make him cry

No violence is used but the doctor is found on the floor drowning in his own tears after a few minutes and after an hour he’s resigned and leaving the country

Andrew was dressed as Aaron for that (that being: smuggling Neil and Nicky into the hospital to meet the doctor through him) and sends him a selfie of a 5 feet surgeon and the man crying on the floor

It’s their best memory as a family (Aaron hates Neil a little less after that)

Neil to Nicky: why did you stop me from pushing towards suicide??? He’s gonna do that in another country

(Kevin: no if I can help it)

Nicky: bc we don’t do that to people!

Neil, Andrew, Aaron, Allison:...........right

Neil: killing even indirectly is no good but destroying their life and humiliating them publically is good?

Nicky: YES!

Matt and Dan: WAIT NO

(Allison: don’t brother Neil you’ll just hurt your head)

(Neil, close to tears: but...but...but arson?? Andrew, with knives out: alright fuckers who broke his heart?)

Matt and Dan bc they’re fuckin weak to Neil: ITS OK BUDDY ARSON IS GOOD

I have to end on this note:

Storyline wise, Neil would have make the perfect Wolfgang too….if Wolfgang was a twink.

#aftg #the foxhole court #tfc #andreil #hc #hcs #headcanon #headcanons #sense8 au #neil josten #andrew minyard #aaron minyard #dan wilds #matt boyd #reene walker #allison reynolds #kevin day #nicky hemmick #all for the game

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badbadbucky · 3 years

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WIP Wednesday!! 3/3/2021

Once again, it is my favorite time of the week, WIP Wednesday!

Here is a snippet from my new novel, One of the Restless, a story about a werewolf motorcycle gang, whose leader was murdered.

In this section, Johnny has discovered that Chris is a werewolf and they are trying to get to Salt Lake City before the sunsets and the full moon overtakes Chris. Johnny is a stringer, which is a kind og magician capable of manipulating the strings of the universe, but sometimes the strings overwhelm him and he gets horrific migraines.

The strings were getting harder to ignore. The air all around them was sparkling gold as the sun worked its way to its final terminus in the sky, some strings cut the light like a prism. Johnny could feel more strings wrapping around his throat and his eyes and his mind, squeezing it. Whenever he spoke, he could feel the conversation string pinning his tongue down.

He had to keep concentrating, but he also had to keep the scared kid in the passenger seat from freaking out and killing them both. “It’s gonna be okay,” Johnny said. “We’ll make it.”

Chris nodded, though he kept his eyes squeezed closed, breathing in and out very slowly and deliberately.

The gas gauge was almost on empty. They had to stop. Johnny pulled off at the next exit into a truck stop. He pulled up to the pumps and felt around for his wallet in the back seat. It was nowhere to be found. Johnny turned to look and see if it had fallen on the floorboards in the back, but the backseat was a lush thicket of strings, most originating from his bag. He couldn’t see anything back there. Johnny closed his eyes and felt around some more, just trying to find it by blind touch. The longer he couldn’t find it, the worse his head pounded. Fucker. Fucker. Where was it?

Johnny looked in his side mirror and saw the attendant approaching, pausing his inexorable trudge forward only briefly to unscrew the gas cap. Typically, attendants liked to be compensated, but Johnny still couldn’t find his wallet. Nightmare scenarios of leaving it in the rest stop played in his mind, only exacerbating the headache.

Chris tapped Johnny on the shoulder. “Let me get it,” he said.

Johnny nodded stiffly, and Chris easily reached into the back and grabbed the wallet, his hand passing effortlessly through the strings. He handed the wallet to Johnny. “Thank you,” Johnny said. He rolled down his window and handed the attendant a $100 bill. “Fill it up please.” The attendant started the gas and walked away. Johnny turned to Chris. “You know how to drive?” he asked. Johnny couldn’t imagine a world in which Dev hadn’t taught his kid to drive.

“Yeah, why?” Chris asked.

“I gotta go in for a minute.” Johnny was running out of painkillers, and various other supplies that were going to make the last leg of the journey bearable. “If the tank is full before I get back, take the change, and pull the car around to where the trucks are, out thatta way.” He pointed to the eastern end of the Truck Stop where there were long lines of semis parked. He couldn’t take Chris inside with him, but at least it was a bit more out of the way, so if Chris did end up changing early, he was less likely to be spotted. People had a sort of unspoken agreement not to look in the windows of the rigs that parked out there. “I’m gonna leave the keys with you, and I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Okay,” Chris said.

Johnny gave Chris a brief smile and climbed out of the car, hustling into the minimart next to the pumps. The fluorescents of the store screamed into his eyes, and his head screamed back. He pushed his dark sunglasses up higher, to block out as much of the offending light as he could. He ignored the stare of the hollow-cheeked checkout girl and the short squat blond man, eyeing him through the glass door of the beer cooler. Johnny trolled through the limited selection of the pharmaceutical section, choosing some shit called DNT SLP--that was just one step below speed--and a few bottles of Motrin. He also grabbed a bag of gummi worms for the kid. He paid for his purchases and then got the key to the bathroom.

Johnny had to exit the minimart and walk around the outside of the building to reach the bathrooms, he and the blond man were walking out at the same time. Johnny held the door open for the blond man, but the man just stood there until Johnny went through. Johnny looked over toward the large truck lot and saw the nose of the Olds poking out from behind a purple Peterbilt, so at least he knew the kid was okay. The blond guy climbed into his pickup and drove away. Johnny unlocked the bathroom, stepped inside, and turned on the light.

The fluorescents flickered unsteadily, creating a strobe light for the insect carcases inside the plastic cover. Damp strips of toilet paper littered the floor, brown crumpled paper towels overflowed from the small metal trash can set into the wall. Johnny ignored the toilet, instead opting to go over to the sink. He lowered his glasses and stared at his right eye, one moment it was simply red and bulging, the pupil slightly larger than the one on the left, the next there were strings running through it and sliding uncomfortably as he moved. He squeezed his eyes shut and splashed water on his face. He reached out to grab a towel from the dispenser and found it was empty.

Johnny giggled softly to himself and hiked up the front of his dress to wipe his face off. He’d have to re-do his makeup before they got to Salt Lake, he had to look presentable. The flickering of the fluorescents above intensified, sending a new spike of pain into Johnny’s eye, killing the ridiculous idea that he would have the time for that. Johnny tumbled a few pills from the DNT SLP and Motrin into his palm. He tossed the pills into his mouth, then turned on the sink and used his hand as a cup for water to drink the pills down with.

The girl at the counter, didn’t say anything when Johnny brought the key back in.

“How far to Salt Lake City from here?” Johnny asked.

“‘Bout 80 miles,” the girl said.

Johnny smiled at her. “Thanks.”

Johnny exited the minimart and walked toward the Olds parked behind the Peterbilt. He heard a diesel pickup pull up behind him. He stepped off to one side, to let the pickup pass by, but the pickup didn’t pass by. Johnny turned around. “You go ahead,” he called out.

The truck very slowly rolled forward, and Johnny saw the driver was the blond man from the store. In the passenger seat was a big tall man with a thick beard and a camo ballcap.

“Christ, you are one ugly broad,” Blondie said.

“Still out of your league, Slim,” Johnny said. Then laughed a bit to himself, the timing could not have been more perfect. This was exactly the type of shit he did not have time for and yet he’d elected to make it worse. He couldn’t just ignore them, of course not, he was Johnny Briggs, the man, the mouth, the legend.

Slim’s smug face disappeared. He’d clearly been expecting Johnny to just scurry away. He stopped the pickup and turned it off. “What did you say, you fucking faggot?”

“I said maybe if you looked a bit more like Keifer Sutherland and a bit less like the midget from the Island of Doctor Moreau, you might have a chance with me,” Johnny said. “I truly applaud your ambition.”

Blondie spat a brown spurt of tobacco juice through the air, it smacked the pavement and some splashed onto the toe of Johnny’s cowboy boot.

#wip wednesday #writblr #writeblr #writing #writersociety #writers on tumblr #werewolves #trans main character #tw homophobia #one of the restless

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rankdisasster · 5 years

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obstacle 1

Billy Hargrove x fem reader

“24 & 41 w some soft billy 🤧” requested by anonymous.

#24: “You’re trembling.”

#41: “I feel like I can’t breathe.” from dialogue prompts

warning(s): slurs, violence, panic attacks

a/n: angst but it gets better I promise!! title of the fic comes from a fucking phenomenal Interpol song. also beware if you send me a number from a prompt list there’s no way I know how to make it short like a drabble, I only know how to draw it out pretty much haha.

—

“What the fuck is the matter with you? Huh?”

Billy’s back had been shoved up against the wall, his lip trembling and eyes red rimmed with unshed tears. His father’s fingers are tightly clutched around his jacket, ugly nostrils widely flared, looking down at his own son as if he were a mistake; as if he were the scum of the fucking earth. And Billy knows that that’s true, too.

“I had to get a call from the sheriff, at—” his father breaks eye contact for a split second to eye the clock that hangs on his son’s bedroom wall, “three-thirty in the goddamn morning, only to be told that my gracious son has been caught stealing chocolate bars from the drugstore, like some fucking delinquent. How do you think this makes me feel, William? As your own flesh and blood,” his father sighs and pats his own chest, pretending like he’s hurt because Billy made a fool of himself and embarrassed his family. Of course, only his father would be making all this about himself yet again and not seeing with his blind dumb eyes that it’s a cry for attention and help.

It was impulsive and stupid, Billy can admit that at least.

He was hungry, he felt like acting out, and there just so happened to be a drugstore nearby and thought it’d be kinda funny. Billy assumed that the security would be shit, and he also assumed he’d be smooth enough to not get caught. He played the part pretty well, at least what he considered to be convincing. Whistling and peeking at his surroundings as he casually stuffed around twelve, maybe even more chocolate bars down his pants and coat pockets and then sprinting like a bat out of hell to the parking lot.

He swore he was in the clear, and would eventually get to enjoy the candy bars and have a funny story to tell you later. Have a happy ending to one of his shenanigans for once, instead of ending in tears and blood. That is until the way-too-beefy-for-this-job clerk behind the counter saw him and called him out before chasing him down, slamming his entire front into the concrete. Holding him there until the boys in blue show up and handcuff his hands behind his back before shoving him in the backseat. The bruises from the comfy cement came out nice and big, Billy already checked them out in the bathroom mirror at the station. Seriously, he’d never seen a guy get that protective over Kit-Kat bars since he was in grade school.

After fucking begging the officers to just let him off the hook and promising it’ll never happen again, that it was just a silly fluke; they had betrayed him, and unsurprisingly at that. Like all authoritative figures have done to him his entire eighteen years of living. The pricks really did it, they really called his dad on him, and now here we are.

“Answer me this instant!”

Billy flinched at the deafening tone his father used to screamed right into his face. Their noses are practically touching. He can even smell his father’s alcohol consumption through his breath, and it’s so fucking grotesque that Billy wants to throw everything he ate that day up.

“I got popped for stealing chocolate, s’not the worst thing I’ve done,” he weakly murmurs, cursing himself internally because he felt a tear bust out of his left eye. He can’t cry in front of this monster, he fucking can’t.

Why can’t this be over with already? Why not just a slap on the wrist, one and done? This shouldn’t be as bad as the time he got caught tripping on acid in the woods that his weird ass classmate Mike gave to him. Yet he’s still here, spitting on Billy’s face and gripping him tighter, voice thundering louder. Susan doesn’t ever give a fuck about what’s happening to her step son, so why would Billy be foolishly praying that she would save the day this time? The helpless boy even imagines a scenario ending with his little step sibling Max stepping in and calling the cops. But all that’s just wishful thinking. Those things only happen to people who are cared about, and nobody gives a rats ass for Billy’s well-being in this household. Not even the cops would throw his nutcase of a father in jail and swallow the key.

The cops only care about petty misdemeanors, such as teenagers stealing candy bars from drugstores. They wouldn’t bat an eye at seeing a troublemaker like Billy with bruises and scabs scattered all over his face. They don’t care. None of them do, and none of them listen either.

“Yeah yeah, sure. It’s just a couple candy bars, right? But here’s how thieves work,” Neil starts his lesson, looking down his nose and pointing a finger at Billy’s face accusingly. “First, it’s just a candy bar. No big deal, right? You’re just having a little fun. Then, it gets bigger. You get away with that, then one day, you think you can get away with stealing a car,” he takes Billy’s jaw in one hand to keep him in place before giving his cheek a quick sharp slap, leaving it stinging and flushing red. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

The first punch is always a shock, and has the teen holding his breath waiting for what the next one will feel like.

“You are a fucking disgrace, a worthless juvenile with nothing better to do,” his father winds up for round two, even grinning like a sadistic bastard. He grins even wider when he sees his son’s face leak with more tears, and hissing when he wipes his own face too hard from brushing the evidence of the blow with his finger. More insults are thrown at him, like “faggot” or “disappointment”. He’s heard it all before, but it’s seeping further into his skull now, right along with his dear old dad’s fist. Cutting deep, deeper than it ever has, and not just in his face.

And Billy, paralyzed and hopless while lying on the ground, realizes that his father had to have been right all along.

Throughout his teens he consciously wondered if he actually was the reason Mom left, or if that’s just his dad fucking with his head. Which usually happens to be the case. But now, Billy is petrified that he’s telling the truth, and he’s giving it to him raw, like a sick reminder of his utter worthlessness. Maybe he will grow up to be no good, just another bum and a thief, getting caught doing more stupid shit. Billy wonders if this is really a sign that he should wise up before it’s too late.

His dad has finally stopped knocking his head into the wall and sucker punching his nose and cheeks, now seemingly satisfied with the work of art done to the boy’s face. With blood pouring from the boy’s nose like a faucet, he scrambles to plug it up and hug himself while bracing for a potential next hit. To Billy’s relief, his dad up and leaves at that, slamming the door behind him with a scoff and more damaging insults murmured under his breath. As soon as the door is shut, the boy fumbles to shove open his window, rushing to crawl the fuck out and nicking his injuries on the way out. He can’t fucking take this anymore.

By the time he’s out in his driveway, tears are still flooding out of his fucked up purple eyes and he rips open his Camaro door. While starting up the engine, he shakes his head before speeding to the only safe place he knows.

Your room.

—

When Billy makes it to your house, still just as hot of a mess as he was when he was being beaten and screamed at, the way up to your room was no picnic. He skinned his knee on the way down, falling three or four times before finally making it. His strength isn’t at it’s best at the moment. He carelessly shoves your window open and stumbles as he climbs through, landing directly on the floor. His back is to your door, and he adjusts himself to sitting with his legs crossed as he waits for your return. You’re probably downstairs, or in the bathroom. He doesn’t fucking know, but he wouldn’t doubt that you’d leave him too, like everyone else had when they discovered how much of a burden all his issues really are. History often repeats itself, and maybe it’s a mistake unveiling his mask and shitting all over you with his fucked up problems, but he doesn’t know where else to go.

Yours and Billy’s relationship strictly consisted of fun. Just joking around without any drama, maybe once in a while getting up to no good together. When you two would drink heavily in your room on weekends, sometimes he’d kiss you but you wouldn’t talk about it in the morning. Because that’d be just too much to deal with, and the packaged guarentee he got with you was that you weren’t anything to deal with. You were the most laid back, good time he’d had in this town. This wouldn’t be the first time he’d snuck up to your window and crawled in, however, it will be the first time he ever showed up this vulnerable and seeking comfort. Your comfort, specifically.

Billy’s back is still facing the door when you finally arrive, and you let out a squeal in fear before recognizing it’s him. You’d know that mullet, that jacket, and those tight blue jeans absolutely anywhere. It was your good friend Billy sitting on your floor.

“Holy shit man, you scared the Jesus outta me. Gimme a warning next time, ay?” you laugh, holding your chest to slow your quick heart down. It’s pretty late, and it’s a typical Saturday. You’re in your pajamas with a rejuvenating green face mask smothered all over your skin, as well as a bowl of cookie dough icecream in your grasp. It almost went flying when Billy had frightened you, and that would’ve been a bitch to clean off the carpet.

“I have some cookie dough icecream here. I could get you your own bowl too, if you want,” you offer, not yet hearing a peep from the boy seated on the ground. He’s eerily quiet, but you’re still oblivious to it all. “I heard this gossip around town, and oh my god, it totally reminded me of you. Some dipshit got caught stealing a bunch of Kit-Kat bars from the store right by your place,” you chuckle, then worry a bit as he remains unresponsive.

“Billy?” you tread lightly as you tip toe closer to him, then observe his shoulders shaking, and then his entire body too as if it were freezing in here or something.

“You’re trembling,” you notice, now terrified of knowing what happened to this boy to make him this freakishly twitchy. You hastily put your hand on Billy’s shoulder before the ice finally breaks. He turns his head to you , finally exposing the dried blood that’s still down his nose, as well as the black and blue all over his face. His tears were falling silently at first until he steadily starts to sob violently, letting you cradle him in your arms and shush him soothingly.

“I’m— I, I didn’t mean to, it was just s’pposted to be a joke, but I messed up so bad, he got so mad at me this time, and—“

“Who? Who got mad at you?”

Billy’s vision is blurring rapidly, to the point of barely seeing any shapes or colors. His chest is heaving up and down way too fast to be normal, and he thinks he’s about to have a fucking heart attack. His dad would probably throw a parade if his son moved into a hospital instead.

“I feel like I can’t breathe,” he panics, whole body still trembling while holding you tight enough to hurt as his salty tears land on your shirt. You could give a fuck about your mask that’s still on your face and getting slightly ruined. Little bits of it is now smothering Billy’s hair, and that makes you want to smile, but this is no time to be smiling.

“Do you want some water? Fuck, I think I have a water bottle in my bag—“

“Please don’t leave me,” he implored, halting you from getting up by burying his beaten face into your chest.

“You got it! I’m staying right here, I swear. Um, I might remember the steps to doing mouth-to-mouth, if you need that?” your eyes are wide and apprehensive, praying to whatever God in the sky that Billy doesn’t die in your arms tonight. That seemed to get him to crack a smile, a weak one, but small progress is still progress. “I’m serious! I might be wishing I payed more attention in class when they talked about this stuff, but I’m here for you. I’m practically PhD certified,” you assure him, sounding less than convincing. Your ignorance is working it’s magic though, humoring Billy and making him finally take deep breaths at a normal rate, instead of the hyperventilating he’d been doing a second ago.

“Pfft. Sure, yeah, I can tell I’m in real good hands here. You got any a’ that cookie dough left, Doc?” he sniffles and licks his lips, staring at the bowl that still has a decent amount of scoops of the dessert left unmelted.

“Hell yeah, and there’s more where that came from. In fact, when you leave tonight, or tomorrow— whatever, you can stay as long as you want— I expect you to gain at least five pounds from this,” you hand the bowl over to his grabby hands, smiling sweetly as he scarfs it down. He suddenly stops for a moment and shrieks when he eats too much too fast, giving himself brain freeze. “You eat faster than my dog.”

“I’ll take the win on that challenge, actually,” he grins, inhaling more of the creamy dessert, letting out occasional hums when he gets an especially good bite of the sugary cookie dough.

After a beat of silence, you decide to get up and put a record on your record player, sticking with a classic Tom Petty album, setting it on low so that there’s some background. You know Billy favors it too, remembering all the drives you’d go on together with Petty playing through his speakers. You head to the bathroom which is only a small distance of five steps away, you grab a washcloth and wet it with warm water to clean Billy’s gross bloody face. You’ve never seen a guy look as fucked up as he did right now in real life. Only in the movies had you seen blood oozing from somebody’s face, or splotchy bruises like polka dots sitting on somebody’s face. Basically, you had no idea how to help him, but you were gonna try. He came to you after all, he trusted you enough to let you see this side of him.

“Is this the part where you give me that line, shit, what is it? Oh yeah, ‘you should have seen the other guy’?” you ask as you go up to him, making sure you’re as gentle as a feather while dabbing the damp lukewarm cloth on his battered cheekbones as he continues to eat.

“Nah, the other guy is just fine if you ask him,” Billy scoffs, finishing the bowl and putting it down next to him. He zips up his jacket further up his neck, then shoves his hands in his pockets as you tend to his wounds.

“You cold?”

“Eh, kinda. Not really though,” he answers, but you’re able to read between the lines at his body language then reach behind you to your bed, dragging a blanket over. Ignoring his protests about not needing to be babied this hard, you wrap it around him. He just shuts up and nods his thanks, holding it tighter by proving you right about how chilly he felt.

“I’m sorry about all this, by the way. I probably freaked you out, and I’m kinda wishing I hadn’t done that,” he sighs, in hindsight realizing how humiliating his meltdown was.

“Don’t apologize for showing emotion. That’s a fucked up male habit,” you scold, the boy nodding vigorously.

“It was me, you know,” he says , resulting in you raising your brows at the questionable ambiguity. He rolls his eyes at having to explain himself then goes on. “I did it. I uh, stole all those Kit-Kats from the store.”

You pause your cleansing his face then can’t hold in your giggles anymore at the fact that you were fucking right, of course Billy would be the one to do a thing like that.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up Y/N,” he claps his hands, sarcastically urging you on.

“C’mon, that’s some priceless shit!”

“At least someone found it funny,” he grumbles, staring down at his hands and the soft blanket keeping him warm.

“What’s the matter with you?” you ask playfully, covering your mouth muffle your boisterous laughter.

That stiffens the boy up, thinking back to his father’s words, “What the fuck is the matter with you, huh?”

“Holy shit, you should’ve called me! I so would’ve been there to like, cause a distraction, maybe flirt with the cashier so that you could take a pack of those expensive cigarettes you’ve always wanted to try,” you laugh, then take his silence into account and find him shutting down again. You don’t know what you said, but you had to make it right.

“Hey, hey now. Don’t get all emo on me again, we were just starting to have some fun,” you peek his undamaged chin up, looking at him in the eyes and trying to stay positive, or better yet keep him distracted from his demons that won’t quit.

“Do, um. You don’t think I’m gonna grow up a low life asshole, do you?” he asks, wanting to hear it from somebody that he’s doing a good job. Making somebody on this earth proud, because pleasing his dad is a lost cause, and getting back his mom is about as likely.

“No. Why? Is it that you think you will?”

“Kinda, yeah. That’s what everyone drills into my head anyways,” he laughs, but you refuse to because that isn’t funny.

“Well if you give me all their names, I’ll go to wherever they’re at and sock them in the face. I don’t care if they’re bigger than me, I’m fucking doing it. Let’s go, come on. What are their names?” you assert without an ounce of humor. Billy’s lips curl into a smile, huddling further into the soft blanket you had given him. He isn’t at all in control of how fucking wide his lips get when he grins, all from the fact that his short stack best friend would do all that just for him. He suddenly wants to rub it in his sad sack of a father’s face that somebody really cares about him.

And he wants to really kiss that somebody right now.

“Think it’s time you wash that uh, whatever that is,” he gestures to the face mask that’s since dried when he came, “Off your face. I could come with you, if you want.”

Your blush is hidden under the green goo, and you nod your head in confirmation before grabbing his hand to lead you two to the bathroom.

“What is it even for, anyway?”

“Oh. For like, exfoliating, and... honestly, I don’t know. It could be complete bullshit, I just threw it on hoping something might happen,” you give up trying to explain your attempt at keeping up with personal hygiene, then Billy just shushes you and points to the sink to hurry you on washing it off.

With a good three minutes of Billy staring intently at you splashing your face with water, you self consciously look away and grab a towel to dry off. He looks you down once more, shakes his head, then leans in and caresses your cheeks with both his hands. His kiss is long and makes you feel so warm and tingly everywhere, but you’re mostly worried about fucking up his face doing this. As if on cue, your nose bonks his, making him moan.

“I’m so so sorry, did that— that hurt you, didn’t it?” you ask with dread, before he shuts you up with another kiss, not letting what his dad had done to him stop him from enjoying you. After making out by the sink for as long as he could hold out for, the two of you pull back and take a breather, still panting and smiling so happily. He pets your perfect cheeks that rest in his palms, and he hums in thought before speaking.

“Your skin’s real soft,” he observes.

“Yeah? Thanks, I um. Guess the face mask isn’t total bull after all,” you laugh, most of it coming from the nerves.

“Huh. I could try it sometime, yunno, only if you keep your mouth shut about it,” he playfully threats, poking you in your stomach as you continue laughing from how it tickled you.

Billy decides to stay the night at yours, playing the little spoon in your arms tonight. Tom Petty is still quietly singing from your record player, the empty bowl that was once filled with cookie dough icecream still sitting on the floor. The boy’s face hasn’t gotten much better, and he knows he’ll have to deal with his dad again tomorrow. It’s inevitable, really. But he knows now that you’re by his side, ready and willing to even whoop his dad’s ass if he gets him hurt again. And that’s more than enough for Billy to feel like he can really pull through.

—

happier about how this one turned out:) thank you all so much for being so kind and patient and everything. the people who write on here are wonderful, the people who read on here are wonderful, everybody is so amazing and I can’t express how grateful I am!!

I really wanted to write the reader as being kinda clueless about what to do with taking care of him, cause I’ll be honest, I have no idea what I’d do if a guy like him ever came to me looking super fucked up😂

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #stranger things #stranger things fanfic

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pansexual-potatoes · 3 years

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The last two days have been really rough and I’m struggling to keep my mental health issues from derailing and destroying me. I want to talk about it because I know nobody else see’s my page but in case someone else does: please be aware that this post will contain an awful lot of triggers so if you’re not in a good place or just can’t, that’s okay. This is for me anyways.

Thursday I woke up early because Bailey had an appointment with the vet. I was in a good mood, maybe a little stressed because Bailey was getting fixed, but nothing too bad. I stopped at Starbucks (took an age to get through the drive through but that’s life sometimes) and hopped on the interstate to head out to the appointment. Bailey and I were listening to music, having a good time and a half hour later we made it to the vets.

Since Covid started it’s been really difficult to get pets into the vets locally so I’ve had to branch out a bit to make sure Bailey’s getting his needs met. This particular vet came highly recommended by someone I work with and our first visit went great.

People aren’t allowed inside the building so this vet has their parking lot utilized in such a way that they have a pet drop off spot in front of the building. You call when you get there, they ask you to pull up to the drop off zone and they come out to pick up your dog.

Bailey’s appointment was right at 8, so I called and was asked to pull up, which I did. I put on my mask (bright rainbow 🌈 colored) and waited for them to come get Bailey.

There was an older man parked in the lot also waiting, and like me he called to let them know that he was there. He was also told to drive up to the drop off zone. No big deal, right? Just form a line. Not this guy.

This guy lays on his horn. I didn’t respond so he gets out of his truck and he’s screaming at me about how I’m a faggot and that I better get out of his way. I calmly tried explaining to him why I needed to stay there and this guy loses his damn mind.

I’m lucky af that I hadn’t unlocked my car doors for the people working to take Bailey yet because he tried getting in to hurt me. When that didn’t work out for him he tried breaking in my window. The vet people had to pull him away from my car.

I have an anxiety and depression disorder that I have to take medication for every day. Most days, I’m okay. There are limitations though and this incident far exceeded them. I’ve not been okay for the two days since.

Want to hear some extra shit though? I called in on Friday because I’d spent most of Thursday crying all day and night and was guilted into working. My husband works in management, and took it upon himself to share what had happened to me with the head manager after I called my husband crying and upset. The head manager took it upon himself to share it with the rest of the workers Thursday. SO, he knew I’d been assaulted, that I was unbelievably upset, and still guilted me into working.

The final layer (so far) in this shit sandwich happened today. Tomorrow I’m going to start a different kind of eating schedule. A lady at work has been doing it and has lost and kept off weight. Now, this lady is repulsive to me for a great many reasons. I dislike her immensely (it’s mutual) and while I’m not going to shit talk her on here, suffice it to say I don’t share my business with her for any reason. You know who did though? That’s right. My husband.

This caused a massive problem because I don’t like him telling my business to people who don’t give a fuck about me, but also because when I asked him why he told her anything he slipped said he was excited about me losing weight.

I’ve been with my husband for 14 years. I have always been really big. The. Whole. Fucking. Time. It caused an argument, and several heated discussions.

Does anyone actually care about me at all? Like, anyone? It doesn’t feel like it.

#diary #assault #homophobia #anxiety #depression #processing trauma #diet #medication #mental health #coworkers

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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Hot as Hell and No A/C, Chapter 3 (Branjie)- Blackhighheels

(Read at AO3)

Three

Jose knows it might not be the best idea to come to this run down bar, but he is bored and he needs a drink. Since he left Los Angeles he hasn’t been to any clubs or bars and this shack is the only thing nearby in the middle of motherfucking nowhere.

The offer is somewhat limited and so he orders a whiskey, since that seems to be the only thing they have beside shots and beer. He remains sitting at the bar and the woman behind it, Lindsey, is a hoot and he likes talking to her. From what she’s telling him she used to be the queen bee around here, about forty years ago, until she got pregnant too young and out of wedlock and found herself working in this bar to keep a roof over her head and care for her son.

He’s so engrossed in Lindsey’s stories that it takes him a while to realise that a couple of guys by the pool table are talking about him. The words ”Faggot”, ”Gay” and ”cocksucker” are a dead give away and he doesn’t think they’d say that about anyone but him around here.

”Hey, assholes! Got a problem with my gay ass?” He yells at them. It might be the alcohol or simply his frustration about the town and what it does to people, but he isn’t willing to just take it and keep him mouth shut. And he’s not afraid of them. He’s had his share of fights in his life, both because of the area he grew up in and also because of him being so obviously gay.

The four men, or boys, come closer and he can already smell the cloud of beer that surrounds them.

”Did you faggot just call us assholes?”

”If you’re the assholes who just talked smack about me, then yeah, I did.” He turns around in his bar stool and is glad that it gives him a bit of a height advantage.

”You better watch your mouth you filthy cocksucker.”

”Mmmh…. Sucking dick’s only filthy when it’s done right. You ever tried it?”

Jose expects a punch or kick, maybe something thrown his way. He doesn’t expect one of the guys spitting right into his face.

”Guys like you are dirt and god will take care of you,” the smallest one says. He seems to be believer amongst them.

Jose doesn’t want to talk anymore though. They just spit at him. He’s done talking. Before the god-fearing idiot has even finished speaking, Jose smacks the fucker who spit at him right across the face with the back of his hand.

”Imma end you, you motherfuckers. No one spits at me, bitch! You got hands, show me! Show me!” he yells, as blood drips from the drunken teenager’s nose.

”Hey!” Lindsey grabs him from behind. ”No fights in my bar. House rule. If you really wanna beat each other up, take it outside. But I’d advise all of y’all to just leave it. You four shouldn’t even be in here or drinking, and you,” she turns to Jose ”better not make more enemies than necessary while ya here. This is a small town.” Jose looks at the four teenagers in front of him, then throws a couple of dollars on the bar and leaves. So much for grabbing a drink and enjoying a night out.

***

Brock walks out of the stable when he hears a voice he would recognise everywhere. He also knows the car parked in their driveway.

”Fuck,” he curses quietly and hurries towards the house, wiping his hands on an old rag as panic settles in his stomach. This can’t be happening! Also, he is painfully aware that his hair is a mess, he is sweaty, dirty and his clothes are stained. Usually when he sees Jose, he at least gets a chance to shower beforehand.

For the last two weeks Jose has driven Rachel and him home after each dance practise. Sometimes they stop for ice cream or food on the way back. Brock is aware that Jose only makes little bets with Rachel, bets he always loses, and then has to invite them to whatever it is he promised her. Brock wouldn’t be able to buy ice-cream and take-out three or four times a week for three people.

The time he spends with Jose and Rachel has become the highlight of his life. He doesn’t mind walking half an hour to a dance studio and then watch for nearly two hours in the overheated studio as his niece prances around the room with other girls. The short drive back with Jose makes it all worth while.

He is the funniest and kindest guy Brock’s ever met. It feels a bit like having a friend, a real friend for once, and Jose is probably the only person he can really be himself with. He can giggle when he feels like it, talk with his hands and even admit that he likes colourful sprinkles on top of his ice-cream.

However, none of it explains why Jose is here now, parked in front of his parents’ house. It’s already too late, Brock realises when he makes his way around the front-porch and find both his mother and father standing on the porch talking to Jose.

”Aw, that’s too bad you can’t tell me. Thought I’d save them the long walk, now that I’m in town anyway.”

”Sorry, we can’t help ya,” his father says in a brusk tone.

”Ok, never mind. Thanks anyway,” Jose turns around to leave. That’s when he spots Brock. Immediately Jose’s face lights up. He is looking really good today, wearing a white wife-beater, a short black and red flannel shirt and tiny black shorts. ”Hey Brock!”

”Hello,” Brock replies as neutral as possible and it takes a lot not to return the smile. He is very aware that his parents are watching their interaction with stony expressions. ”What are you doing here?”

”Thought I’d ask you and Rachel if I should drive you to dance practice today. I have to take care of some shit here in town and could take you back with me. Don’t think ya got your car fixed yet, huh?” Jose still smiles and casually leans against his Porsche. He looks like someone straight out of an ad or a tv show. Already Brock’s stomach tightens because he knows what he has to do.

”I’m sorry Sir, but that’s not necessary. Rachel and I can manage on our own. Thank you for the kind offer though,” he declines and watches the smile melt off Jose’s face when the icy tone of Brock’s voice registers with him.

”Brock! You know him?” His mother asks. She sounds surprised. What did she think? That some stranger would just show up and offer driving him and Rachel?

”This is Jose. He is Rachel’s dance teacher for the next couple of weeks. Jason hurt himself.” He informs both of his parents.

”You done with the hay?” His father stops any further explanation.

”No, not yet. I just heard voices and thought I’d check on ya.”

”I don’t need ya checking, that’s what we got guns for. I need ya working!” His father barks.

”I better get going,” Jose says quietly and his eyes appear to be so large and defeated that Brock nearly drowns in them.

”Thank you again for the offer but we can manage,” he says and softens his tone. He doesn’t want to decline. If he had a choice, he’d gladly drive around in Jose’s car all day and talk to him about everything and nothing. But it’s not an option he has.

He can’t move, he can’t do anything when he watches Jose get into the car and then drive off, leaving dust and a hint of cologne in the air.

”Don’t ya have work to do?!” his father asks him from the porch and snaps him out of his daze. Quickly he hurries back to the stable to work, to hide and to hopefully forget about the scene he was just a part of. He swallows a couple of times to keep the tears inside that his stupid overly emotional heart wants him to cry for how he just treated Jose.

***

”Care to tell us what that guy wanted today?” Brock’s father asks as soon as he sits down at the table for lunch.

”I told you, he’s Rachel’s dance teacher and I know nothing more than you do. He wanted to drive us to her dance class.”

”How’d he know your car’s broken?”

”We were late a couple of times,” Brock sighs and takes a piece of bread, rips a piece off and stuffs it in his mouth so the words he really wants to speak won’t burst out.

”I don’t like ya hanging with that folk! It’s bad enough that Ada allows Rachel to take dance lessons at that place. You being around these faggots a couple o’times a week… ya know what the people in town gonna say if they see this gay guy here? Ya know what the minister’s gonna say? You stay away from them, ya hear me!” His father is basically yelling at this point.

”I take Rachel to dance class because no one else has the time to do so, not because I wanna hang out there. I don’t know this guy any better than I know Jason, so what’s the big deal? He is a good teacher and Rachel likes him.”

”Stop eating before we said grace!” His father slaps the bread out of his hand, which drops to the floor. ”And Rachel shouldn’t be anywhere around these faggots, this music or these whore dance moves! It’s not right! Their lifestyle and everything they do’s offensive to the lord and every god fearing Christian. They don’t belong here and I want none of my family have anything to do with them. If you wanna hang out with these sinners you get your ass out of my house and better never come back.” Now his father is really yelling.

”How else is Rachel supposed to get there? By the time the lessons are done it’s dark out. It’s too far for her to go on her own. It’s not safe!”

”If I had a say in it she wouldn’t go there at all! But ya sister is letting her kids do whatever! If she lets them run with the wrong crowd, they should know what’s waiting for them!”

It’s nothing Brock hasn’t heard before. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen or felt before. He knows if he speaks another word now the fight will most likely become physical. Brock has never raised a hand against his father, but for a while now he’s taken to defending himself and his mother when the beer gets to his father’s head again.

He hates how he judges Jose without even knowing him. He even hates him for judging Jason. For a split second he wants to scream at him that he’s a sinner himself, gay like them and that even all the beatings he got as a child and teenager didn’t take it out of him.

Then he glances at his mother and her wide, scared eyes let him bite his tongue and lower his head. ”I’ll tell Ada I can’t take Rachel anymore.” He leans over and picks the bread up off the floor and uses the second to wipe his face clean of any emotion. Fury is still burning in his gut, nearly making him sick as he swallows it down and nearly chokes on it.

This is not the time though, not the time to risk it all for nothing. Jose will be gone again in about three weeks and their tentative friendship will become only a memory. What does it matter if he stops it all now, goes back to life how it was before Jose got here and starts living his harsh reality again three weeks earlier? His father probably just saved him a lot of pain and heartache. Brock knows that Jose and his friendships means too much already and he’s gotten too used to it.

”Good. Brock, can you say grace?” His mother ends the discussion with a grateful look and Brock knows he’s made the right decision.

***

”Hey, uncle Brock,” Rachel greets him after the mass on Sunday, when they are all still standing in front of the church.

”Hey honey,” he smiles.

”Can you take a look at my bike? The breaks’ not working and mommy can’t fix it,” she asks him and of course Brock follows her to her bike on the other side of the lawn. He doesn’t care that his good pants get dirty as he kneels down beside the small bike. It’s more important that his niece has a functioning bike, now that she has to ride it to dance practise and back. Brock doesn’t like it. He worries about her constantly, but there is nothing he can do.

”It’s just a bit loose, honey, that’s easily fixed,” he assures her.

”Thank you!”

”Do your lights work? I don’t like you riding your bike in the dark after practise, so we have to make sure at least these are working.”

”Can I tell you a secret?” Rachel whispers after checking that they are alone.

”Always.”

”I’m not driving back on my bike. Vanjie takes me until we reach our house and then waits with the lights turned off until he knows I’m safely inside.”

Brock feels a warmth spreading through him that nearly knocks him on his ass. He grasps the bike to keep his balance. He should have known Jose would make sure Rachel is safe. It’s so much like him that Brock feels like weeping. It’s only been three days, but he already misses their talks so much and hearing about how he cares for his niece only makes him miss Jose more. If only he could just talk to him sometimes.

”That’s very nice of Vanjie. He’s a very good guy,” Brock tells her just as quietly as she told him her secret.

”Then why do you hate him?”

”What? What makes you think I hate him?” he asks surprised and slowly gets up.

”Vanjie asked why you not taking me anymore and if you’re sick or something. I told him ‘bout the stuff grandpa said and that you can’t take me ‘cause they’re offensive and sinners and you don’t wanna be around him and can’t be his friend.”

Brock nearly crumbles to the ground for real this time. ”Rachel, how do you know about that talk?”

”I wanted to see you but then I heard the yelling through the open window and ran off. I don’t like grandpa when he’s mean like that.”

He takes a deep breath and runs his hands through his curls. There are so many things wrong with what Rachel just said and what she overheard. But there are also things he can maybe fix.

”Honey, I don’t agree with grandpa. Vanjie is a very good and nice guy and don’t let anyone tell you anything else about him or Jason, ok? ” Rachel nods her head. ”The only reason why I’m not taking you anymore is because grandpa gets very upset about these things and he’s scared that people will say mean things about me in town.”

”Like the things they say about Jason?”

”Yeah, like that. And he doesn’t want that for me or any of us. And I don’t want to make grandpa angry.”

”Uncle Brock? I like Jason and Vanjie.”

”That’s good. Make sure you tell them. They sure need to hear it.” He strokes his hand over Rachel’s strawberry blond hair.

”Will you tell them, too? Vanjie was really sad that you not there anymore. He said, he thought you was his friend.”

”I’ll tell him,” Brock agrees.

”Promise?” Rachel goes in for the kill.

”Promise,” he says and knows he now really doesn’t have choice but to talk to Jose. Rachel will know.

***

He waits until his parents are in bed and then sneaks outside to the orchard behind their house. It’s far enough so he won’t be overheard, dark enough so he won’t be seen and close enough to the cellphone tower so he’ll have reception.

Jose has given him his phone number the first week, but he has never used it and he hasn’t given him his own. It simply hadn’t been necessary. Jose said to use the number if he needed a ride or if Rachel couldn’t come to practise. Brock had no such excuse for giving him his number.

He takes a couple of deep breaths and then finally brings his thumb down on the dial button.

”Hello?” Jose picks up after only a couple of rings.

”Hey, uhm, it’s me, Brock,” he stutters and feels stupid already.

”What’d ya want, Sir?” Jose’s tone is snide and Brock knows he deserves it.

”Rachel told me she talked to you and I think I need to clear some things up.”

”You made it more than crystal yourself what you really think about me. Ya don’t need to drag Rachel into this.”

”I’m not! I just think, like… it’s not what it seems.”

”So you not avoiding me like the plague ‘cause your father’s a bigot asshole who thinks just talking to me will sully your reputation?” Jose is yelling at him through the phone, then he suddenly stops. When he continues his voice carries the hurt he must be feeling. ”God, I hate this motherfucking town and all of y’all religious lying assholes.”

”I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry. You’re so nice to Rachel and to me and helped us out so much and just…I’m sorry.”

”If you’re really sorry you’d have come here and told me this shit in person like a man. But I guess you just as much of a weaselly liar as the rest of these fucked up wanna be cowboys in this town. Grow up, start thinking for ya’self and learn how to make an apology real.” Jose hangs up on him and Brock stares disbelievingly at his phone.

At first he is shocked and sad. He’s just lost the only friend who really knew him. Not only that, but he also thinks badly about him now. How can he think that Brock agrees with his father? He must know that he doesn’t have a choice, right? He thought Jose knows… That’s when Brock gets angry himself. He is so sick of all of these people and their opinions about him and his life and what he is supposed to do and to think. He’s used to it from his family and the town and the parish. But Jose? How dare he!

Before he really knows what he is doing, he has run inside, grabbed his mother’s car keys and is on the way to the dance studio. Jose wants him to talk to him in person? He can have it!

***

Brock bangs on the front-door and his hand is still in the air when the door is ripped open.

”What the fuck are you doing here, bitch?”

”You told me to talk to you in person, didn’t you?” Brock raises his voice as well.

”Aaaah and of course the good little christian boy always does what he is told,” Jose sneers. For a second Brock wants to punch him. Instead he pushes past him into the apartment. Jason or whoever else is around, really doesn’t need to hear this conversation.

Jose lets the door falls shut and crosses his arms over his chest. ” Say what you gotta say, then leave.”

”Why are you acting like this?”

”Acting? Acting bitch! Imma show you who’s acting! You lucky I’m not kicking your ass right now for pretending to be my friend, acting all nice and cute while we eating ice cream and then you suddenly stabbing me in the back, pretending you don’t fucking know me and stop talking to me without any explanation. I don’t need any more backstabbing hoes in my life.”

”Do you have any idea what my father would have done, if he knew we were hanging out after dance practice? If he knew we were so much as talking on the regular? I don’t know who he would have shot first, you or me!”

“I’m not scared of your asshole father. I don’t give a shit about him! But I give a shit about loyalty. And you not who I thought you were! You not fucking loyal! If you’d been at that fucking bar last week, you’d have spat on me too and tried to beat me up, just ‘cause you scared of your father. You pathetic!” Jose is full on screaming at him now.

”So you got a taste of what it’s like to live here for one night? Do you know what it’s like to live here every fucking day of your fucking life? When they beat me up as a kid ‘cause I was too girly, my dad beat me up again when I got home. They threw rocks at me, spat at me and slapped me all the way through school. I couldn’t tell my parents, the teachers didn’t care and I didn’t even understand what the fuck was wrong with me!” Brock starts pacing in the small living room.

”You’re the only person who knows. The only person who knows that I’m…” he can barely get the word over his lips. ”…that I’m gay.” There, he’s said it out loud for the first time in his life. Well, yelled it at Jose. ”And you know what happens when that gets out? When only a rumour will spread? What you experienced at the bar will be my life every fucking day and worse. My parents will kick me out, I’ll lose all of my family and I’ll have nothing, NOTHING left. Maybe that’s what I deserve for being that way, maybe that’s really god’s way of punishment. But I’d rather live a lie every day for the rest of my fucking life than to lose the little I have left.” Tears are dripping from Brock’s chin by the end of his confession. He’s laid it all out now to Jose, a guy he barely knows and just because he’s the first one who has shown him any kindness. Fuck! What if… what if he tells people? What if he is so angry he will take revenge and..

”Hey, it’s ok. I understand,” Jose is suddenly standing in front of him and places his hands on his upper arms. That’s when Brock realises he’s shaking. ”It’s ok.” Jose tries to wipe his tears away with the back of his hands, but they fall faster than he can wipe them off. ”Come here, boo, sit down. You still shaking like a fucking tree,” he says. Brock has to laugh about the mishap.

”Leaf,” he corrects through his tears and hiccups.

”Smart ass. Imma get you some water,” Jose smiles and disappears for a moment, before he comes back with a bottle of water and some tissues. Brock takes the water and drinks it down, before he accepts the tissues and dries his face and his eyes.

He feels stupid now for getting so upset, for crying, for yelling all of his secrets at Jose and for coming here in the first place. ”I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…” he starts but Jose stops him.

”You know what, boo? You look like you need a hug. That ok?” Jose asks him with a tender and worried look.

”I’m not good at hugging,” Brock shrugs self-deprecatingly and looks down.

”You lucky, ‘cause I’m the best at giving hugs.” A moment later Jose slowly pulls him in his arms and hugs him tightly. It’s a strange feeling for Brock and he can’t remember when he has ever hugged anyone other than his sister or his nieces and nephews. Then however, he slowly relaxes against Jose’s warm body and lets the last couple of tears fall.

So this is what it feels like, he thinks. It’s nice and soothing, comfortable and exciting. He feels safe and cared for. Jose starts running his hands up and down his back and if Brock could, he would start purring like his favorite kitten. He closes his eyes and enjoys the feeling.

After a while, he turns his head, his nose bumps against Jose’s neck and the scent of cologne gets stronger. Jose’s hand slides up his neck and into his hair. When Brock looks up and their eyes meet, it only takes a split second and then Jose brushes his lips against his. It’s not even a peck, more like a butterfly like touch, but Brock wants more. He stops thinking as he leans up and captures Jose’s mouth in a soft kiss.

When he pulls back his brain suddenly starts working again and he jumps back. ”Oh my god!” he covers his tingling lips with his hand and stares at Jose.

”Please tell me that’s not been your first kiss,” Jose begs, equally wide eyed.

”No! But.. Like… we can’t do this. I can’t..not… here… I’m…”

”It’s ok, Brock. It don’t gotta mean nothing. You can go back to ignoring me now. I get it, I promise. No hard feelings.” The hurt in Jose’s voice tells Brock something else though.

”I don’t wanna ignore you.” He tells him honestly. ”But I can’t… do this here. It’s too risky.”

”Alright. Friends then?” Jose smiles.

”Friends,” Brock nods. ”Just… no one can know.”

”‘Cause I’m too fucking gay for this town, I know, Miss Thing. Then you better get your secretly gay ass outta here, before anyone sees you.” The words are harsh, but the smirk on Jose’s face and the hug he gives him, let Brock know he really means it.

”We could get ice cream again some time?” Brock suggests when he is already halfway out the door.

”Text me tomorrow if you still feeling that typa way and we can do that.” They smile at each other for a moment and if Brock wasn’t such a coward he’d kiss him again. Instead he quickly leaves and vows to himself that he will text Jose in the morning and make sure he won’t lose the only friend who now really knows all of his dirty secrets and still likes him. Despite it all. Maybe because of it.

TBC

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #m/m au #slow burn #romance #angst #hot as hell and no ac #blackhighheels #tw religion #tw internalized homophobia

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softestvirgil · 5 years

Text

Let The Flames Begin

Chapter Five

Summary:

Virgil has a confrontation with an enemy and makes a terrifying decision

Genre: Alternate Universe

Rating: PG

Pairing(s): Side Logicality, Implied Prinxiety

Word count: 2561

Warnings: Cursing, Bullying, Physical abuse, Homophobia/Homophobic slurs, Unconcentual touching

Let me know if there’s any more I should add!

The next day was Friday, and the weekend was so close.

Just within reach.

Virgil woke up to his alarm with a start, after having the same nightmare he'd had for the past several years since the accident. He then sat up and looked at himself in his wall mirror. His hair was all messy and standing up and the scar on his face was right there, out in the open.

Virgil stared at it for what felt like far too long, but was probably only a few moments, and then snapped back into reality and got ready, hiding it as he did all other signs of what happened. The reminders were too painful.

When he went downstairs, it was just Roman, and it wasn't that he wasn't happy to see him, but he wondered where Patton was.

“Where's-” Virgil started but was cut off by Roman.

“Shhh! Logan slept over, and he and Pat still aren't awake yet,” Roman said, placing a hand over Virgil's mouth, and breaking his personal space in the process.

“Move your hand or I will bite it,” Virgil murmured, muffled by Roman's hand.

“Got it,” Roman replied, moving his hand and also moving across the room.

“So your parents don't know?” Virgil whispered to which Roman replied with a head shake.

Virgil's eyes went big. “Did they…”

Roman made a face of disgust. “Ew! I don’t know! Maybe!”

Virgil chuckled whilst pouring himself some cereal. “Alright man, sorry I asked… but what about Logan's Mom?”

Roman sighed. “Logan's Mom doesn't know Patton lives here so she thinks he was having a sleepover with us,”

Virgil smirked. “Ah,”

Then the two boys came downstairs as if on cue, holding hands as they usually did, and beaming as if today was the greatest day ever.

“What's up?” Virgil asked the couple as they sat down at the breakfast bar.

“Oh, you know…” Logan trailed off, unable to formulate a sentence.

Roman looked at them. “Oh my god... you did…”

Virgil choked on his cereal and began laughing hysterically. He wasn't sure why he was laughing but he just found it really funny.

“Dude, don't die,” Roman said, looking at the mess that was unfolding before him. He would have been lying if he said he didn't worry about Virgil. He just felt very protective of him for some reason.

Virgil was coughing like crazy now, and breathing super heavily and Roman's worry spiked.

“What's the joke?” Logan asked, genuinely not understanding what was going on.

“Nothing!” Roman and Virgil yelled in unison, and then Roman joined Virgil in his giggle fit.

“Good Morning, boys!” Roman's Mom greeted, and all of them regained their composure.

“What's Logan doing here?” She asked, smiling at him kindly.

“He uh, he's carpooling with us,” Roman lied.

“But he has his own-” She started and was cut off.

“Bye, Mom! We gotta go, talk later!” Roman shouted and they all ran out and got into Roman's car.

“That was close,” He announced.

Virgil sighed sarcastically. “Ya think?”

“Listen, if my Mother finds out she'll ground me until College,” Logan said. “So, please try your best to keep this under wraps,”

“Sure, whatever you say you, crazy kids,” Roman winked.

Logan rolled his eyes and Patton just smiled and laid his head on his shoulder.

When they made it to school, the first few hours went by so quickly. Once his last class ended before the free period started, Virgil was excited to finally go find the others.

He was just walking to the Library, where they were supposed to meet when Nate passed him and pushed him to the ground.

“Hey, fire-boy,” Nate sneered.

“Fuck off,” Virgil hissed at him raising a fist.

Nate laughed. “Oh... I'm so scared. I'm shaking in my boots!”

“What do you want?” Virgil grumbled, getting up and dusting himself off.

“Leave Roman alone,” Nate said blankly.

Virgil blinked in confusion. “I live with him, how can I-”

“Move out,” Nate told him.

“Is that a threat?” Virgil asked smirking at the idea that this guy thought he was threatening in any way. He was clearly forgetting the time Nate beat the crap out of him.

“No. It's a warning. You are a psycho who killed your whole family, and if you cared about Roman you'd get out of there,” Nate stated, thinking he was some sort of genius and that he was hitting a nerve.

Virgil stared him down, unaffected. “I'm not scared of you,”

Nate was inches away from Virgil's face now. “You should be scared of yourself,”

Virgil breathed in Nate's face. “Bite me,”

“Nah, I'll just have them do it for me,”

Then Nate's friends came out of nowhere and ambushed him. Kicking him to the floor and beating him into a bloody pulp.

He had no way to fight back because they had his arms pinned down, but he was too weak to even summon his fire now regardless.

Nate chuckled. “Aww what? Poor fire-boy can't defend himself? Boo hoo!”

Virgil coughed up blood once they stopped. “Why do you want me gone so bad? You don't even know me,”

“Because before you got here, we almost had Roman ready to ditch those useless faggots, and now he's back to where he was before,” Nate explained. “He belongs with us, his team,”

“Their names are Patton and Logan,” Virgil stated sternly and was surprisingly intimidating for someone who was laying on the floor in a pool of his own blood.

“What did you say to me?” Nate asked, clenching his fist.

Virgil got up. “I said. Their names are Patton. And Logan,”

“How did you-” Nate started and then Virgil opened up his palm and they all bolted. No fire came out because he was too weak to make it, but just the action of him opening his hands was enough to scare the bullies away.

How did he get up? He had no clue. He knew his pain tolerance was affected by the accident, but it somehow still shocked him every time.

He then collapsed to the ground again.

“What happened?” Roman asked as he ran up, a horrified look on his face when he saw Virgil. The guy was covered in blood and was bruised head to toe.

“I-” Virgil went to say something but before he could Roman picked him up and scooped him in his arms like he weighed nothing.

“It's alright. I've got you,” Roman said, walking toward his car.

Virgil was shocked. “What're you-”

“Mr. Prince, you cannot just leave,” A teacher yelled at him from the office.

Roman sighed exasperatedly. “He's hurt so I'm going to take him to the- What are you doing?”

Virgil was wiggling his way out of Roman's arms. He then fell and rolled on the floor before running the other direction.

“Where are you going?!” Roman yelled, confused as all hell.

“I am not going to the hospital, I'm fine!” Virgil screamed and ran out the back door of the school. He then sat down on the pavement and breathed heavily.

It was humid out and rainy as usual, but today there was a nice breeze that came and went every so often. With the birds chirping in the distance, the scene felt almost relaxing.

After a few moments, Roman came out to join him. Breathing even more heavily than he was.

“What… even happened?” Roman asked, huffing and resting himself against the wall.

Virgil looked out at the rustling trees in front of him, rather than at Roman. “I got beat up again by your old homophobic douchebag buddies,”

Roman raised an eyebrow. “Wait, what?”

Virgil sighed. “They uh, they called Patton and Logan a… terrible word and I am resisting the urge to burn their houses down so I uh, I'd rather not talk about this anymore,”

“Oh… okay,” Was all Roman said before sitting beside him.

They sat there in silence for what seemed like an eternity, but Roman broke the silence.

“You scare the shit out of me, you know that, Virgil?” He said, looking at Virgil, who was still looking forward.

“You really care, don't you?” Virgil made it seem like he was directing that question at Roman, but he was more just thinking out loud. He had forgotten what it felt like for people to genuinely care about him ever since his parents died, and it was such a weird feeling.

Roman blushed. “I do. I know it's rather silly but I uh, I wanna keep you safe,”

“I can take care of myself,” Virgil defended.

“Oh, trust me, I know,” Roman said with a laugh. “I just, I don't know…”

Virgil met Roman's eyes for a moment, and as he did so Roman moved in closer and began to lean in, but as he did, Virgil pulled away.

Virgil didn't want this. He didn't want their friendship to get ruined. He didn't want to hurt him. So why did pulling away, hurt so bad?

“We should probably get back inside and find the guys,” He said, awkwardly getting up.

“Oh… yes. Of course,” Roman was a gentleman about it, but Virgil could tell he was hurt.

They then went to the library where they were meant to meet their friends, and Roman explained some of what happened. Leaving out the bit about them in case it upset Virgil again. They were used to hearing words like that since they were pretty open about their relationship, and high school kids were assholes, but Virgil cared about them and hearing someone say something like that really stung. It stung more than anything they said about him.

When the teachers saw Virgil they forced him to go to the nurse again and she just shook her head at him for refusing to tell anyone else who did it and not going to the Principal, but she wouldn't snitch because if Virgil really didn't want it out there that was his choice.

After school that day, Logan had to go home because his mom wanted him to stay in, so the group parted ways with him and went back to Roman's place.

“Hello boys,” Mr. Prince greeted but was shocked to see the state Virgil was in. “What happened?”

“Oh, he uh, he got beat up,” Roman said and received a look from Virgil.

“What? You did…” Roman murmured.

Mr. Prince's eyes widened. “By whom?”

“Not important, sir. I'm fine,” Virgil told him. He really felt fine, but he looked like death.

“You really are just like your father,” Mr. Prince snickered.

Virgil's eyes went big. “My- father?”

Mr. Prince smiled fondly. “Oh, yes. He was so stubborn. Never wanted to admit when he needed help. Tough as an ox. Your Dad, he was extraordinary,”

Virgil smiled slightly at the thought of his Dad. He always wondered if his Dad was like him, and that one of them was the reason for the accident, rather than the fire causing his powers to manifest. He had to know, and who better to ask than his Dad's best friend.

“Could I… ask you a question… about my Dad?” Virgil asked Mr. Prince, and he nodded, gesturing for him to follow him up into his study.

Roman went to follow but Patton held him back. “Let them talk alone, kiddo,”

Roman frowned because he knew Patton was right. “You know… it's weird you calling me kiddo when you aren’t my Father, and I am older than you, right?”

Patton smiled. “Yeah, but I’m smarter,”

That caused Roman to laugh and Patton laughed right along with him.

At Mr. Prince’s study, Virgil hesitantly stood in the entrance, looking inside.

“Come in Virgil, I don’t bite,” Mr. Prince said, gesturing for Virgil to sit in an armchair that was beside his desk.

The study was small but cozy. Its walls were painted dark red, and accented by gold and brown, unlike the rest of the house which was the opposite.

He sat down in the chair and fiddled with his zipper nervously.

“So, Virgil, what did you want to talk about?” Mr. Prince cut to the chase.

“I uh…” Virgil started, taking a deep breath. “I wanted to know if my Dad had any… powers?”

Mr. Prince smirked. “Powers, you say?”

Virgil gulped. “Yeah like uh, like superpowers, sir,”

“That is why I took you in,” Mr. Prince said, smiling still, with tears in his eyes.

“Wait, what?” Virgil was in shock.

Mr. Prince sighed. “I knew it. I knew you were just like him, and I promised that if anything were to happen that I would protect you,”

“What do you mean by just like him?” Virgil pressed.

“Well… you have the fire, don't you?” Mr. Prince asked.

Virgil's breath hitched. “I do… I thought the accident caused it to happen, but recently I have been suspecting that I may have been the cause of the accident,”

Mr. Prince paused thoughtfully for a moment. “Well, there is no real way of knowing that, but even if it was your powers caused it, that is not your fault since no one ever told you,”

“I guess…” Virgil trailed off, looking away. He wondered why his parents never told him, and wondered if his Mom even knew. What other secrets were they hiding from him? If they could hide something like this, it was possible there were more things they had hidden away.

“Your Dad would be so proud of you, and so happy to see you and Roman getting along so well. We always hoped our kids would be close, but life got in the way,” Mr. Prince told him, with a sad smile on his chiseled features.

“Yeah, Roman's cool,” Virgil admitted, feeling a pang of guilt about earlier.

“So, since you have the powers, you need to learn how to use them. I have a cabin you and the boys can go to for the weekend that has over 20 acres of land that you can use to practice. It's where your Dad learned to use his powers,” Mr. Prince offered.

Virgil was very shocked by his offer. “Yes, thank you, sir. That would be perfect,”

“Oh, please, call me Richard,” Richard insisted.

“Alright, thanks, Richard,” Virgil chuckled, getting up and leaving respectfully.

He then ran down the staircase and to the rec room, where Roman and Patton were, and told them the news.

“That uh, wow. Why is my Dad cool all the sudden?” Roman wondered.

“He said I can call him Richard,” Virgil flaunted proudly.

Roman was taken aback. “What? Not even my Mother calls him that,”

Virgil grinned. “Yeah, well I guess I am pretty special,”

“You are!” Patton said, smiling widely. “I just wanted to contribute,”

“You're doing great, buddy,” Virgil told him.

“So what now?” Roman asked.

“We tell Logan the plans, and hope his Mom lets him come,” Virgil responded.

“I hope he can…” Patton thought out loud.

“I just hope if he comes he stays back when I tell him to,” Virgil said, which caused the other two to laugh.

“It wasn't funny!” Virgil yelled.

“Eh, maybe not then… but it's funny now,” Roman stated through his laughs.

“It's really not,” Virgil said, stone-faced but then the laughter of the other two grew to be contagious and he couldn't help it. “Damn it,”

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d0gdaze · 5 years

Text

The body swap au a surprising amount of people asked for, actually.

Read on AO3 / Summary

Pairings: Eddie Kaspbrak / Richie Tozier

Warnings: swearing, sexual references, drug references

Chapter 8/?

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Word Count: 4121

Eddie’s playlist

Eddie was sure he was doing a substantial job of appearing calm and collected as Mike's car made an unexpected detour on their way to school the next morning, at least considering the circumstances.

They turned down a street, and then a couple more, until they were driving past a stretch of storefronts. Mostly small businesses, a few 'for lease' signs, minimal parking space. God, they were probably going to make him play hooky. Sit in a dirty, empty lot all day and smoke a bong, or whatever you call it.

He hadn't been paying much attention to what the two in the front seats were talking about, only catching fragments about homework and some guy Beverly was into and other trivial things that seemed stupidly unimportant. Eddie almost felt offended, how dare people worry about such things while he was going through the most traumatic and hellish experience that had ever happened to anyone.

The car rolled to a stop in front of an outdated looking diner he had never been to, though he vaguely recognised. Sadie's, as the unlit neon sign above the door told him, Open 24 hours. The one trashcan he could see was overflowing onto the sidewalk with burger wrappers and plastic cups and there was graffiti littering the outside walls of the establishment and oh jesus was that a rat what the fu-

Beverly jumped out of the car quickly, Mike driving off before the door was even completely closed. Eddie watched her, twisting his head around to look out the rear window until she was inside, then whipped back around and straightened himself in his seat. Mike was now singing along to the song that was playing, drumming on the steering wheel as he circled the block. As they drove Eddie couldn't help but keep frantically glancing at the clock on the small radio display. If it was accurate – which maybe it was and maybe it wasn't, he hadn't gotten a good grip on Mike's time-keeping habits yet, – then they were absolutely going to be late if they didn't get a move on.

“Something eatin' you Rich?” Mike asked, peering back at him through the rearview mirror. The thought ran through Eddie's mind that there very well might be, considering the itchiness of the sweatshirt he had picked up off the floor of Richie's wardrobe. He was bombarded, suddenly, with the mental image of hundreds of bugs crawling up and down his arms. He pushed his sleeves up to his elbows and forced the idea down.

“No, I don't think so,” Eddie replied, starting to pick at a bit of peeling skin around his thumb. He had already chewed up his other one to the point he had to wrap a bandaid around it. Mike's expression shifted.

“You've been acting weird lately,” he said, his voice somehow sounding genuinely concerned and casual at the same time, “ain't been seeming like yourself. Quiet.”

You should be thanking me for that, Eddie thought, because surely even these people, that willingly spent time with and around Richie five days a week and sometimes weekends, would be relieved that he suddenly changed his entire demeanour. Surely.

But Mike didn't look relieved, glad, or unbothered. He had the same look on his face that Ben often wore, when Eddie came to him ranting about grades or track or medication or whatever new thing was plaguing his brain this week. It was the expression Bill showed him when he had broken his arm a few years back, and when someone had taken to writing the word 'faggot' in permanent marker on his locker. It was a look his mother faked a lot and one he hadn't gotten the hang of yet.

Basically, Mike looked the way a person does when they actually gave a crap.

It might have sparked some sort of meaningful realisation if Eddie hadn't been distracted by a pigeon pecking at a half eaten hot dog someone had dropped on the sidewalk.

They circled back around to where Beverly was now standing on the curb in front of the diner, balancing a cardboard tray with three large, white cups in one hand and a fourth in the other. She was also holding a white paper bag between her teeth. Something greasy had made semi-transparent patches at the bottom of the bag. The car rolled to a stop and she made a few attempts to open the door using her foot, swinging her leg up to try and lift the handle with the toe of her converse. It carried on for half a minute before Mike reached over and opened the door for her, biting back laughter as she got in. Beverly mumbled something that sounded vaguely like “you're a douchebag,” though it was completely muffled by the bag still hanging from her mouth. Once she was back in her seat she let it drop into her lap, exposing the spit-covered bite mark now embedded into it. Mike pulled away from the curb, grabbing one of the cups at the same time. Eddie would have yelled at him for not doing a head-check, but then there was a cup being thrusted in front of his face.

He blinked at it for a moment. Some of the thick, off-white liquid it contained was leaking out – he watched a line of it drip down the side and over Beverly's fingers. He could already feel his hands getting sticky just by looking at it, his stomach starting to churn at the thought of drinking it.

Eddie didn't often indulge in food that didn't have the nutritional value and ingredients printed on the back. He knew what was safe to eat – things that would give him enough energy through the day without leaving him restless, and he knew how to adjust his intake if he had PE or a track meet or if he was planning on staying up later than usual. He'd tell himself that it was necessary to be careful, that if he wanted to be on top of his game, he had to be on top of his diet, too. It wasn't the real reason, but it was the one he could live with.

Beverly cleared her throat.

“Earth to Richie,” she said, tipping the cup towards him again, “arm is getting tired.”

He took it tentatively, avoiding the side where the leak had run. It was heavy and cold and wet with condensation, and as he lifted the lid to further inspect the concoction, he was hit with a waft of sugar and vanilla and cream and it was so sweet he honestly felt dizzy. When he tilted the cup to one side the contents held firm, undisrupted, and moving the straw left a gap that took nearly ten seconds to fill back in. Eddie had made smoothies before, and on his last birthday he had bought a strawberry frappe from the ice-creamery in town, but this was a whole different level. Gluttony itself had risen up from the third layer of hell and was now on sale for a dollar seventy-five a pop.

It hit him, suddenly, how he recognised the logo. He'd seen Richie walking around with one of these things nearly every day! He ingested this muck on a regular basis – the boy's metabolism must be running like a bullet train on steroids.

In the front of the car, Beverly was throwing bits of hash brown at Mike as he tried to catch them in his mouth, most of the pieces falling into his lap or disappearing onto the floor. There was a spot of grease on his cheek that shone when he turned his head, and several stains from his collar down the front of his shirt. Her fingers were covered in a similar shine, crumbs collecting on her skirt as she tore more pieces off. Someone sounded their horn as they swerved onto the other side of the road, Mike swearing as he corrected himself but they were both still laughing, and as Eddie was screaming at them in his head for reckless driving and making a mess and playing with their food and a whole list of other things, he took a sip. Maybe it was just muscle memory, or his stomach taking control after he'd skipped breakfast twice now, or if it was just a new Thing about inhabiting a body that wasn't your own that he had to deal with now on top of all the other Things, but-

“Holy fuck.”

The words came out of nowhere, and for a second he wasn't even sure if it was him that said them. It was good. Like, really fucking good – he felt disgusting because it tasted like pure sugar and so many calories, but he was sure in that moment that he could have finished the entire thing three times and still go back for more. One taste and he knew he could drink that shit until he puked, and oh god, this was how addiction started. He had never understood it too much before, why people smoked, or jumped out of planes, or did crack, but hell, if crack was as good as this milkshake he'd probably be the biggest crackhead ever.

Beverly looked back at him over her shoulder.

“He speaks,” she spoke around the straw that she had between her teeth, “you good?”

Eddie nodded, and she grinned and winked at him before turning back around in her seat. He sucked at the straw again, taking a big gulp of the stuff, eyes falling closed in a tiny moment of peace. When they opened again they caught Mike's in the rearview. He was smiling, his eyes crinkled in the corners and bright. Eddie found himself smiling too, only a little, but genuinely. And while he did stop himself, because come on, these people are the enemy! Get it together, he couldn't rid his stomach of the warm fluttering that had manifested.

At least he could blame it on the sugar.

The pleasant feeling came and went, as they often do. Upon their arrival to the student car park, he was tuning back into the regularly scheduled anger, confusion, and hysteria that he was starting to become accustomed to. He scurried off before Mike had even locked the car, chucking his empty cup into a bin outside the school steps without actually looking to see if it went in.

He had barely taken five steps into the building before he was being shoulder-checked into the row of lockers, the barge nearly sending his knees out from under him, a shock of pain shooting up his elbow where it collided with a padlock. He winced, then groaned as a rough hand gripped his other shoulder, manhandling him so his back was fully pressed against the metal.

"Good morning, Hamlet,” Henry jabbed, leering at him while digging his chipped, dirt-filled fingernails into Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie blinked incredulously at him – harassment was nothing new to him, especially from Henry and his goons, and he had gotten his fair share of insults and injuries over the years but they were mostly in passing. Someone would knock his books out of his hands in the hallway or tape a 'kick me' sign to his back, but they didn't touch him, never cornered him. At least not after he had accidentally broken Bradley Donovan's nose when they were doing wrestling in PE. Or maybe they were scared of catching something off the kid with a backpack full of pills and ointment tubes. Either way, he wasn't complaining. He'd take the remarks and the rumours over this any day.

“You gonna say good morning back?” Henry's breath was hot and rotten, masked only slightly by the smell of juicy fruit gum, and he was leaning in so close that his glasses started to fog up. Belch Huggins, who Eddie now realised was also standing there, shuffled closer. He was grinning in much the same way Henry was, the pair of them doing an outstanding impersonation of every bully from every movie involving teenagers ever. “Say it, tall-ass!”

Henry slammed his fist into the locker next to Eddie's head. The sound made him jump, and caused a few passerby to look in their direction, but no one actually stopped what they were doing. He even caught someone roll their eyes – they've all seen this before, he realised. Of course they had. God, he was an idiot. He'd spent so much time hating Richie Tozier that it had never occurred that other's did too.

“L-l-lay off, Bowers,” an unmistakable voice appeared from behind Henry. Eddie lifted his head to peer over his shoulder, seeing both Bill and Ben standing in the corridor. The latter was holding a precarious stack of library books, which to Eddie seemed like a years worth of reading but for Ben would last two weeks, if that. Bill had a new blonde streak in his fringe that meant he had either been rejected again or had gotten into a fight with his parents – he assumed the second, because Bill was very bad at being low-key around girls and he hadn't picked up on any new crushes in the past couple of weeks.

“This doesn't concern you, Denbrough,” Henry warned, glancing back at them. His grip tightened in Eddie's shirt and he swore he heard a seam rip. “I'll get to you queers later.”

Bill stepped forward; if it was a spat with his parents that led to the late night bleach job, then Eddie knew the boy would be looking for a way to relieve some anger, and he wasn't about to stand there and watch him get his underwear pulled over his head.. again.

“Henry,” he coughed, drawing the bully's attention back with a sharp turn of his head. An audible crack emitted from his neck and Eddie cringed. Henry sucked his teeth, eyebrows lifting in an unspoken taunt.

Welp, he was going to regret this.

“If you're gonna make the choice to have an outdated haircut, you could at least use some fucking conditioner.”

The speed at which he was pulled forward and slammed back would surely have given him a killer case of whiplash, but luckily for him the back of his head was smashed against the locker hard enough to leave a dent, and the resulting headache would be agonising enough to distract him from the neck pain. He sunk to the ground, vision spinning violently. He felt someone reach down and take the glasses off his face, which only worsened the distortion.

More things happened that he barely registered – someone kicked his leg, another dropped a heavy glob of spit onto his sleeve. He heard something clatter to the ground next to him and when he felt around to pick it up, he came up with the two halves of Richie's spectacles, snapped right at the bridge.

Fucking christ.

Richie had only seen the end of the altercation, coming in through the west entrance to the sight of Mullet-head Bowers nearly knocking him out and breaking the glasses he had just replaced the month before and had been so careful with, because his parents had sworn it was the last pair they would pay for. But now it was back to tape and wonky lenses like when he was thirteen and couldn't keep them intact to save his life.

He'd caught the bus in and sat next to Ben Hanscom, whose name he was now aware of because it was written in blue glitter pen on a label on his walkman, and because the first thing that he noticed when he got on the bus was that This Kid Has An Actual Walkman! Ben also had a hoard of novels on his lap that he was going to return to the library after school in exchange for different novels. Ben also spent the bus ride giving Richie brief but enthusiastic reviews on each of the books he had brought with him, but Richie was too distracted by the portable CD player and the Backstreet Boys song he could hear faintly coming out of Ben's headphones that he didn't retain a single piece of information.

After getting off the bus, he had made a beeline for this one smoking spot behind the dumpsters. Not the best location, he tried not to make a habit out of going there, but it was close and secluded and there were never many people around. He'd nicked the emergency carton from under his bed before Eddie banished him to casa de Kaspbrak, and dragged two cigarettes down to the filters before heading inside, finishing them both in record time if you didn't count the minute he took in the middle to cough up a lung.

The first bell rang, and Henry and Belch fled the scene, falling in with the crowd of students bustling towards their morning classes, but not before Belch could slap the books out of Ben's hands with one downward swoop. They scattered to the ground with a clamour of thuds and flaps. The hallway gradually emptied. Richie stood back and watched as Bill tried to help Eddie to his feet, only for him to start swaying precariously and sit himself back down again.

“Oh, shit,” Mike appeared beside him, suddenly, walking in through the doors with both Beverly and Stan in tow. They had been laughing about something, he didn't know what but he felt jealous already, and Stan was drinking a shake and oh, man, he could use on of those right now. The three of them rushed over, Beverly shooting Richie a confused glance as she went past. Mike knelt down beside Eddie, inspecting his face for bruises, and Stan set down the cup, picked up the broken glasses in one hand and used the other to swing his backpack around to his chest.

“Bowers?” he asked, turning to Bill and reaching into a side pocket of his bag. He nodded and Stan sighed, pulling out a roll of masking tape.

“Y-y-you always carry that ar-r-around?” Bill tittered, taking the frames as they were passed to him and holding them together so Stan could start taping them up.

“It comes in handy,” he replied, “knowing this idiot.”

Beverly finished helping Ben gather his stuff, placing the last novel on top of the tower. He had to crane his neck to rest his chin on it, thanking her sweetly and failing to hide his flustered-ness.

The second bell rang, meaning class had started and they were all getting tardies at this point. Ben apologised to the lot of them and hurried off. Stan handed the glasses back and quickly followed suit.

“I'm fine,” Eddie insisted as he tried to stand for the third time, “lemme up. I'm good.”

“Dude,” Mike said, forcing him to sit back down for the third time, “you could have a concussion.”

“Concussion?” Eddie repeated, slumping back down and looking at Mike in horror, his eyes taking up half his face with how wide they were. Richie groaned, gaining the group's attention and receiving four different types of weird stare.

“E-Eddie,” Bill called over to him, and gee, that hairstyle was really something, “you know stuff a-a-about conc-c-concussions?”

He walked over, until he was standing over Eddie. No, he thought, but I'm getting a pretty good grasp on migraines.

“He'll be fine, probably,” he muttered, hooking a hand under his elbow and yanking him to his feet. Eddie paled, leaning all his weight on Richie and nearly toppling them both over.

“I don't feel so good,” he wheezed, his breathing suddenly shallowing. For a moment, Richie thought he might actually pass out.

“You're fine,” Richie said, sounding and feeling a lot less confident about it. He turned to the others. “I'll take him to the nurse.”

“I'll come with you,” Beverly offered, looking up at Eddie with alarm.

“No,” Richie interjected, too quickly and too loudly, and was met with even more confusion. “I mean, it's okay. I-” say something convincing “-have a punch card.”

He left then, rushing out before he or anyone could say something else, as fast as he could manage while trying to keep Mr. Drama Queen upright.

Bill, Mike, and Beverly exchanged looks as the two of them stumbled down the hall.

“That was weird, right?” Beverly asked, just as they turned the corner. Mike let out a nervous, breathy laugh. Bill ran a hand through his hair, and sighed.

“It's r-Richie and Eddie,” he said, “I'm starting to get used to it.”

“You're not having an asthma attack.”

Richie had dragged Eddie into the boys bathroom, and after checking it was vacant and locking the door, proceeded to finally start losing his shit on the outside as well as the inside. Eddie was sitting with his knees up to his chest on the floor, heaving in rasping breaths and mumbling unintelligibly about brain damage and asphyxiation.

“I am,” he insisted, for the umpteenth time, “I'm having a fucking- I can't breathe. I can't fucking breathe.”

Richie ran his hands down his face, then knelt down in front of him.

“Dude, again, you can't be having an asthma attack, because I do not have asthma,” his voice was brimming with frustration; everything was a mess and the only person he could find an ounce of solidarity in was an overdramatic asshole who wouldn't even play his part right.

“I think I'd know if I'm having a fu-” another gravelly inhale, and Eddie's hand came up to grip at the collar of his own shirt, pulling it away from his neck, “fuck, I need my inhaler.”

“You don't have it with you?” He was sure he couldn't have even pretended to sound sympathetic at this point.

“No, asshole,” Eddie snapped, and Richie had half a mind to just leave him there to deal with this shit himself, but he had too many things he needed to say to him that wouldn't be properly conveyed in a strongly-worded letter. “I can't get into my own room.”

“Well, that's not my fault, is it?”

“I haven't decided yet.”

“You really think you're funny, don't you,” he stood up, distancing himself so he wouldn't feel as much of an urge to punch him. He took a deep breath in, then exhaled slowly. “What's your locker combo?”

Eddie blinked up at him, eyebrows knitted together.

“What? Why?”

“Because I assume you have more than one fucking inhaler,” he replied, “and I also assume you keep at least three spares in your locker, correct?”

“Fuck you,” Eddie coughed, starting to realise that cooperation might have been a good plan and that he wasn't getting anywhere with the bickering route, but also feeling like he had already thrown the brakes out the window and was too far gone to stop now. He was starting to get dizzy again. He let his head roll back against the wall.

Richie let out a heavy sigh.

“Combination,” he said, “or you choke to death on the bathroom floor.” He moved towards the door, pulling his bag back onto his shoulder, “I couldn't give less of a shit which one you choose.”

Eddie hesitated, grinding his teeth. Choking to death wouldn't be the absolute worst way to go, but it still wasn't ideal. The door creaked as Richie began to push it open.

“Six eleven twenty-two,” he croaked. Richie walked out without so much as a nod of confirmation, and as the door swung shut behind him Eddie started to worry that he hadn't heard him at all.

So here he was, sitting in filth, stripped of dignity with a throbbing ache echoing around his skull, and feeling very much like a bad person. But despite the haziness and discombobulation, he was starting to come to terms with the fact that this whole thing was real. He hadn't before now – had felt disconnected, trapped in a limbo since the previous morning, somewhere outside of reality, and he truthfully had expected it to just end at some point. It had to, he thought. It was a dream state, and nothing he was going was actually happening and when it was over things would go back to the way they were. But now, god. He was in the midst of a lot of pain and panic, and it had shocked him to the point of realisation, and some clarity.

This was real. This was real. He really truly believed that now.

And because it was real, so were his actions, and therefore the consequences that they resulted in.

The pinhole got tighter. The door opened again. Wordlessly, Richie handed him his aspirator.

Tag list (bolded won’t tag): @fanficisgoodforthesoul @i-is-gazebo@dandeliontozier@panicatbakerst@howellhxlic@musicalsaftermusicals@bernaynay@bust-a-move-bev@reddie-to-go@richietoaster@omgboiledcabbages@reddietofall@flowersiren@lousytrashmouth@get-fcking-reddie@finnwollfhards @bjrdies@steve-harringtwin@thecastlebyers@books-and-donuts@valenschmidt@grasshoppper@80s-trashmouth@beepbeeprichiellc@little-miss-hellraiser@okay-i-get-it-alreddie@finn-trashmouth@kaspbrakseggo @lolahood @sad-synth@turtleneckrichie@reddieforanything @vitomire @its-stranger-than-you-think@spooky-risley @ohheydatsme@hoteltozier@holystanlon@apatheticphotos@dewdropseddie @ill-float-too@peterparkerwithoutacause@sir-furry @ailecstuff @bird-uris@iamworried7@beepbeepbitchard@trashcanonlegs@11leggomyeggo11@bisexual80scliffjumper @reddieseggrolls @rediietoship @starryeyedstanley @beepbeep-losers @richiefuckfacetozier

#writing #vice versa fic #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie fic #reddie fanfic #it 2017 #in which bill dyes his hair and eddie has another breakdown in a bathroom #also hello its been a WHOLE ASS YEAR

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bitethehandthatfeeds · 4 years

Text

I'm really tired. Like really really fucking tired, of existing and doing things, and i realised recently that i have always been this way. As far back as I can remember into my childhood, barring the really fucked up and traumatic parts of it, I have always been ill. I have always been so empty as a person, you know? so i try to fill the giant black fucking void inside me where emotion would be with bullshit and random things. After my father left. It was just. My mom was so fucking angry all the time so i just kind of sat in my room and stared at the wall. I had to keep the same mattress that i had since i was 5 years old until i was 10 and i cried every time i had to change the sheets because there were these huge patches of bloodstains all over it, and my mom claimed it hurt her inside, too much to deal with so she made me fucking do it. And i didn't even fucking remember what the blood was from, but i knew it made me sob so hard i couldnt stand up, every. single. time. And so at first it started out as drawing things and reading comics and throwing myself really hard into being a ballerina and then i got older and things just got so much fucking worse and i started thinking really fucked up shit that kids, or anyone really, should never think, because like, honestly what the actual fuck is wrong with me? and then i got older and i started to fill the void with drugs and drinking and sex with people 10 years older than me and it made me sick to my stomach, but then i met this guy, right? this guy and he's great and the kindest person i have ever met and he is so gentle with me all the time and when i come over to his house he literally just lets me sleep in his bed because its warm and safe and smells like his cologne and then i got older and my skin didn't fit right and any time someone reached for me i flinched and i couldn't even breathe at night because i was alone, in my room, and i couldn't sleep and i never fucking slept, and my mom hated me and i hated her more and things started getting bad again and i got the shit beat out of me at school because i was a weird faggot and then i went home and got the shit beat out of me because i was a weird faggot and i hated everything and so i almost drank myself into a fucking coma and my mom found me in a ditch and I had my stomach pumped and then i came home and got the shit beat out of me again. And then I got older, right? And I am blindly fucking in love with another stupid guy and he's scared because he's transgender and he saw the things that happened to me and he and i would quite literally kill for eachother, we're that blindly fucking in love. And then i go to therapy and the therapist tells me i have trauma and asks me to talk about my childhood and then the pieces click together and i realise that my body is not my own, was never my own, my father ruined me and i want to claw my own insides out. So i start prescription pills and drinking, but they're together this time, woo-hoo! Brothers in arms, partners in crime, fucking up my insides, one day at a time. I'm sick all the time now and i get the shit beat out of me at least every three days because my mom is fucked up in the head too And i don't even realise it but i have stopped talking to the person i love so much i would kill for, and then he's calling me one day when i'm in the bathtub at home about to see if i can cut into an artery this time, you know, and maybe not be such a disappointment even in death, and he's telling me that he's breaking up with me and that he loves me but i've hurt him, and instead of cutting into my arm i sit in the bathtub and stare at the wall until the water is cold and my eyes glaze over. And I pick myself up off the tile and I drink an entire bottle of jack daniels and sob-vomit-scream until my guts are raw and I'm bleeding on the inside. And then suddenly I'm 16 and i have my whole fucking life in front of me, but i don't want it, i don't deserve it, and i am such a fucking loser. And i am so fucking selfish, and self centered and terrible and I'm hacking myself up again and drinking like an alkie and smoking like a fucking chimney and i hate everyone else but i hate myself more, and everything feels so bleak and fucking hopeless all the time. I sit, and I rot. I draw people being flayed, people being stabbed and people being crucified because I feel like I'm the one who deserves it. And I keep a list of the people who would actually care if I killed myself and it’s tragically short and I read comics still because i am so so lonely and I watch shitty 80's horror films and most of my relationships with people go like this: "Hi, wow, we’re both pretty pathetic. We should talk about that. Get to know each other? Maybe I'll tell you who i am on the inside if you make me feel ok for a little while. Where did you grow up? This same small town? No fucking way, me too! I’m just like you. Do you want to go makeout in my car? Great! Can I have your phone number? Maybe we can stay up late and talk about things in our life that are little more than frivolous details, because we're both too afraid to be sincere. yeah, I have a lot of scars. I wish I cared enough to tell you about them! Here, I wrote a poem about you, it has 40 lines and none of them make sense, and later when I read it I'll scream into the pillow stained with my own blood. Here, Have my entire heart, it's yours to keep, free of fucking charge. Do you want to hold hands? No? Do you still want to be friends? or maybe you'll date someone else while I cry at night. That sounds good. Maybe I should stare into the mirror until I can't recognise myself anymore, and maybe I should bleed out on the floor. Maybe i should stop doing so much fucking cocaine. Haha, Do you feel that? That buzzing? No? It’s incessant. Still don't feel it? Maybe there’s too much going on right now. Here, we can leave. we can go somewhere quiet. maybe our graves. Now do you feel it? Still no? You're sure? Positive? Great. Me neither. I’m just like you." And i know killing myself is wrong and dumb and selfish and yeah i'm gonna feel better one day, but for now i am so weary, and so fucking tired that all i want to do it lay in the soft dirt and let the world keep spinning, without me, because it's so much easier, and i am a terrible, horrible selfish person.

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ashfountainfanfics · 5 years

Text

It’s weird to be squatting in the Byers’ empty house. It feels too big and hollow. Steve hadn’t been in it often enough to remember the layout but there’s the ghosts of furniture past etched into the carpet. It’s weird to think that a family lived here; that they had normal Christmases and birthdays. That they ate breakfasts and played music. Now there’s nothing but indents and faded spots.

Steve and Billy mostly stay in the living room camped out in a nest of stray blankets and a couple pillows. It feels the least invasive of their options. A cooler sits nearby but Steve already knows that the sodas and snacks in it are probably lukewarm by now.

Steve rolls over to his left to look at Billy. The poor guy has a sheen of sweat across his whole body and his hair is flat. Still, Steve fights the urge to curl up with him. It’s impossible to keep physical contact up in this heat and Hawkins won’t really cool down until mid October. Not that they can stay here much longer.

Steve hears movements in the other room. He quickly scrambles to put some distance between himself and Billy. The rug scratches at his knees and he briefly says a prayer that Billy isn’t naked under that sheet he’s wrapped himself in.

Dustin appears in the living room through one of the bedroom doors. The sound from earlier had been him climbing into the window and hauling snacks and other provisions with him. Steve mentally berates himself again for breaking Joyce’s window a few days ago but he wasn’t entirely sure of where else to go.

“Henderson,” Steve attempts a greeting but his throat is dry.

Dustin picks up on this and pulls out a large thermos. Steve tries not to guzzle down all of the cold water in one go but half ends up sacrificed to his thirst.

“It’s okay,” Dustin lets him know quietly, “I brought another one for... him.”

Dustin doesn’t seem too pleased about bringing anything for Billy if the avoidance of his name is any indication. Billy snores a little and flips onto his back. Steve doesn’t realize that he’s smiling until he notices that Dustin’s caught him.

“You don’t have to do that,” Dustin says, irritated, as he turns to pack food and drinks into the cooler.

Steve feels a flush come up to his cheeks and it’s not just the morning heat. It’s not possible that Dustin knows right? El swore to secrecy and Steve hadn’t even hinted at anything. It’s not that he doesn’t want to tell Dustin or maybe it is. It’s not reassuring to come out to anyone about this when Steve’s own parents gave him the boot over it.

“Do what?” Steve asks, immediately regretting it.

Dustin closes the lid on the cooler and looks Steve square in the eye. His lip line is tight, still irritated. Steve feels like he’s about to lose a friend, a sibling even. Dustin’s the little brother he never had and to have that family reject him too somehow hurts more. He chose Dustin and Steve’s praying that Dustin chooses him back right now.

“You two sleep together. In summer. You’re staying together and he’s not hurt anymore. You look at him like you looked at Nancy and even Robin sometimes. I’m not dumb! Stop treating me like I’m dumb!”

Billy stirs a bit at the outburst but manages to quickly fall back asleep. Dustin’s not really yelling so much as raising his voice a bit. Steve feels like Dustin is yelling, feels like he’s screaming.

“You’re not dumb,” Steve is talking in a panic, no filter, “you are the smartest kid- smartest person I’ve ever known.”

“Then why are you trying to hide it?”

“Because- because people might-“

“From me! Why are you trying to hide it from me?!”

Billy does wake up this time. He peers sleepily at Steve and Dustin. He groans and sits up on the floor.

“I’m guessing curly top figured us out?” Billy asks Steve while Steve still sits five feet away and dumbstruck.

“Days ago,” Dustin says through gritted teeth, “and my name is Dustin.”

Billy’s eyebrow ticks up in consideration of this child and how he’s holding his ground. Steve feels like he should intervene but there aren’t any words in his mouth. He’s just sitting on the floor completely stupid and silent.

“You got a problem then?” Billy challenges.

“Yeah I do.”

Steve braces himself for the worst. He can hear Dustin’s voice in his head saying terrible things; calling him a faggot and a queer. He tries to shield himself against the thought of cutting ties, of never seeing little mop top Henderson again. Briefly he debates saying this is all a joke and he’s not gay or anything but Dustin’s not stupid. Lying would make it worse. He’s going to make his choice and Steve is going to have to deal with losing someone important.

“Why you?” Dustin asks, “You tried to hurt us way before The Mind Flayer got to you. Your sister had to beat the snot out of you just to get you away from us! You’re a jerk and an asshole and you’re one of the bad guys!”

Dustin directs himself to Steve not allowing Billy the opportunity to defend himself.

“You’re one of the good guys!” Dustin says, his voice cracking, “You’re my friend and you save people. This guy beat you up, remember? He tried to kill us! Good guys don’t date assholes!”

Steve tries to process to the best of his ability but given the expectations he had it isn’t easy. He notices that Billy looks amused at all this but that doesn’t help. Steve stands to his feet.

“Wait… wait so-“ Steve’s brain posits his conclusion, “your problem is that Billy’s an asshole?”

“Yeah!”

“Not because he’s...a guy?”

“No!”

Dustin looks like he wants to throw something at Steve because he’s being stupid but he doesn’t. Steve starts to laugh and mutters the word ‘unbelievable’ to himself. The laughter suddenly turns into crying and Steve can’t stop it.

Billy’s at Steve’s side now and he notices that he’s not naked as he had feared earlier and thank God for that. Steve hides his face behind his hands because crying is embarrassing. He didn’t realize how mortifying it is to cry like this.

“Hey, hey no,” Billy says firmly and pulls his hands down.

Billy cradles Steve’s face and wipes away the tears with his thumbs. He rests his head against Steve’s. His attempts to speak soothingly come out as more of a gruff, hushed tone. It’s still works for Steve though and he leans into being comforted.

“It’s my turn, okay?” Billy reassures him as best as he can, “Don’t hold back. Fuck it.”

“Steve?” Dustin asks quietly.

“Hey you did enough you little-“ Billy turns, teeth bared and ready to fight a child.

“No,” Steve stops Billy from turning his fury on Dustin, “it’s happy crying. It’s good. I’m fine. I didn’t know happy crying exists but I’m- I’m good.”

Steve takes a deep breath and gives Billy’s hand a squeeze before stepping back. He smiles at Dustin cautiously.

“So the being a queer part,” he clarified, “it doesn't bother you?”

Dustin smiles.

“Do you know how many times me and my friends have been called queer? Or toothless or fat or dorky? If I thought any of those things were bad those assholes would have gotten to me. I told you; high school shit is stupid.”

“You really are the smartest person I know.”

Steve crosses the room and gives Dustin a hug. He pats his back and Dustin pats in return. Steve’s can’t believe how brilliant and caring this kid is. He pulls back and chuckles.

“We’re family,” Dustin says before glancing quickly at Billy, “I still think he’s an asshole though.”

“He’s working on it. I used to be the asshole boyfriend remember? Now look at me.”

“You look like you need a tissue.”

Steve laughs and wipes his nose with the collar of his shirt. He then ruffles Dustin’s hair and Dustin grimaces.

“You smell like you need a shower,” Dustin points out, backing away.

“We’re, uh, kind of camping so,” Steve shrugs.

“We’re squatting,” Billy corrects him.

“Either way,” Steve sends minor eye daggers to Billy, “it doesn’t come with showers. Think you could help us find one?”

—-

Steve quietly thanks God for the cool air blasting in the video store. He’s also thankful that Mrs Henderson attends Bible study on Tuesday mornings because her convenient absence allowed for Steve and Billy some much needed hygiene at her home.

Steve’s also grateful his parents let him take one of the cars. Of course they wanted him off the property as quickly as possible so it made sense to gift him a getaway vehicle. That night was tough and Steve doesn’t like to think about it too much. He can still remember when his dad came too and his mother sobbing that they smelled like sex. It’s a good thing Billy had knocked out Steve’s father already because the man looked like he was ready to kill Steve right then and there if Billy wasn’t there to stop him.

“Hey dingus,” Robin calls out affectionately, “you feel like having a scary movie night sometime soon? I’m sure my dad would be thrilled to see me bring a boy home.”

She’s been caught up already. Steve had called her that night before heading out. The last thing he wanted was for her to show up for a pre work swim and have to confront the very irate Mr and Mrs Harrington. Steve knows that the movie offer is more a means to give him temporary refuge than a social call but he appreciates the effort.

“How would your dad feel about bringing home two boys?” Steve asks flatly.

Robin’s shelving tapes while Steve mans the front but other than the two of them there isn’t a soul in sight.

“Right,” she says, “can’t forget about your grumpy other half.”

It puts Steve on edge to talk about it in public spaces despite knowing they’re in the clear. He checks the store over just in case and then rests his gaze on the door. There’s a bell on it so really the staring isn’t necessary but Steve’s not taking any chances.

“He’s not grumpy he’s-“

“Stoic? Reserved?” Robin offers as she audibly rummages through her box of tapes, “Butch?”

Steve rolls his eyes and doesn’t give her the satisfaction of an answer. She comes around the counter and hops up to take a seat.

“Relax,” Robin stretches her arms up high, “I like your boy toy. I swear.”

“Shouldn’t you finish off that box?”

“You know the manager and I are cool. Besides I can always blame you.”

She lays backwards and dangles her torso off the counter. Her back pops and Steve shudders.

“Okay, enough,” he leaves the counter and heads for the box of tapes, “I’ll do it. And stop dicking around on the counter, you’ll get hurt.”

“Sure thing, dad,” Robin hops down and follows Steve, “Are you okay? Seriously. You seem like you’re having a bad day.”

It shouldn’t be a bad day. Steve got a shower and a Snickers for breakfast. Dustin accepts him in his newfound gay identity. Billy has an interview down at the garage. This is a good day, isn’t it?

“I’m sorry,” Steve sighs, “I guess I’m not looking forward to going back to that sweat box I’m squatting at. No power, no water. It’s awful.”

Robin gets unnaturally quiet but Steve doesn’t stop going through the second half of the box. He comes across a copy of Star Wars: Return of the Jedi. It’s a movie he’s never actually seen and he doubts Billy has either. It looks like it would be right up Dustin’s alley and it’s probably something Robin’s seen. He rummages for any other titles starting with an ‘s’.

“What are you and Billy going to do?” Robin asks solemnly as Steve makes his way to the right shelf with a stack of video tapes.

“I… I don’t know.”

There’s a greater context to that and Steve is horrified as he slowly sinks into it. This is what they’re doing now but where will they go next? For how long? It’s not common to see two guys living together and really what would be their excuse? They couldn’t pass for brothers and the mere thought of posing as such makes Steve feel a bit grossed out. They’re boyfriends not relatives but they can’t get caught.

“I think I know why I’m having a bad day,” Steve shoves the rest of the tapes on the shelf, damning any sense of alphabetical order.

Steve walks past the box, past the counter and Robin, and right up to the door. He doesn’t understand what he’s doing but can’t stop. Robin looks bewildered as Steve holds open the door to the afternoon heat. He pauses there and lets the warm air graze his cheeks. He breathes it in and it’s almost suffocating.

“Steve?”

“I’m sorry. I have to- I’m sorry,” Steve manages to apologize before taking off down the street at a brisk pace. The heat immediately clings to his body and it makes him move faster. He’s headed toward the center of town but his mind has no true destination. It’s as if his body thinks that if he keeps moving then eventually everything will feel lighter.

“Wait! Steve! Steve!”

Robin sidles up to Steve’s pace after a minute or two. The keys to the video rental store are jingling her hand. He glances at her in utter confusion but doesn’t stop. He isn’t exactly expecting a copilot on this miniature breakdown.

“I am a band nerd, you ass, we don’t run!” She berates him with a light slap on the shoulder.

This doesn’t phase him and he continues his walk at the same speed. They’ve gone about a block and a half away from the store. Out in the day to day of Hawkins only the elderly, a few housewives, and a pack of kids ditching are running about. None of them have the slightest idea of what’s going on in Steve’s head and he supposes that means he’s in good company. They move quickly and quietly out of his way.

“Where are we going?” Robin demands fiercely.

“I don’t know!” Steve shouts back at her and breaks his stride, “I don’t know where I’m going and where we are going or where anything is going! I don’t know!”

Steve’s breathing is rapid and heavy. He looks down at his hands and sees that they’re shaking. It’s not fear or anger that’s fueling him. He can’t name what it is but it feels a lot like when you’re squaring off against a monster or running for your life. Robin looks him over with a sense of unease plainly on her face. She takes one of his shaking hands and laces her fingers into it.

“Whaaa-”

But Steve doesn’t get to finish his question because Robin starts walking again. She pulls him behind her but Steve quickly adjusts and starts moving with her. His hands aren’t shaking now and his heartbeat starts to even out. He tries to question Robin again.

“Where are we-“

“You’ll find out.”

“What about the store?”

“I’ve abandoned a job before, haven’t you?” Robin is teasing but her voice stays serious and she keeps moving.

It occurs to Steve that they’ve got a perfectly good car waiting for them back at their job but it’s too late now. Robin’s in charge of this break down and she leads him to Hawkins high and then past Hawkins high to where the trees start up again. Steve still can’t tell where this journey is going but he respectfully follows in silence. Robin takes very determined steps through the grass and small patches of fallen leaves until they come upon a massive tree and she stops. She lets go of Steve’s hand and looks at the tree with a sense of reverence.

“Climb,” she instructs Steve.

“What? Climb? Seriously?”

Robin doesn’t offer any further explanation as she’s already pulling herself up on the branches. She moves in a way that can only be described as precise. Steve mimicks her movements as best as he can but tree climbing doesn’t come naturally to him. He lags behind by a minute and pulls himself onto a large branch adjacent to the one Robin’s selected as her perch.

“Okay, I climbed, now what the fuck are we doing?”

Steve tries not to awkwardly straddle the branch. He attempts to bring both legs to one side almost like riding side saddle but decides there’s more dignity in straddling. He presses his back to the trunk of the tree. The bark is itchy but the shade keeps everything cool.

“All settled?” Robin asks sarcastically.

“As I’ll ever be,” Steve laments.

“Good, now just shut up and listen, okay?”

Robin takes a deep breath to prepare herself. Steve feels like maybe he shouldn’t be looking at her. The mood seems rather intimate and it isn’t like when she came out about herself before. There were drugs and blood then. The situation deemed a sense of vulnerability but here things feel more personal, more deliberate. Steve looks out over the town of Hawkins and really takes in the view he’s been gifted. Robin stares out as well and speaks softly, just barely loud enough to be heard by Steve.

“Tammy never loved me and she was never going to love me no matter how in love with her I was but that didn’t stop me from dreaming. I used to come up here and think about how beautiful things looked if you could just manage to put yourself above all the bull shit.

I liked to pretend that someday I’d bring her up here and then she’d understand almost like it was magic and she’d kiss me and I’d kiss her. It could all fall in place if I could just have a sign, if I could only be that brave.

But it didn’t.

And the more time I spent here the more I realized that even if Tammy felt the same way as I did, what the fuck would that mean for us? I could never take her to the movies or go to dinner. I couldn’t take her to prom. Do you know how beautiful she was at junior prom? I saw her in passing; she was getting into Kevin Laney’s car and- God, I never thought I’d ever want to be my neighbor Kevin Laney but I would have sold my soul to switch places with him for just that night, even just for a minute, so I could tell her that she’s beautiful.

I don’t have anywhere to go either whether I ever have someone or not-”

“You will,” Steve interrupts, “Robin, you are the most amazing girl in the world. If we weren’t- you know I’d-”

“I know. It’s not about that though. You’re lucky in a way; you found someone who’s like you and, sure, he’s kind of emotionally stunted and prickly but he loves you. That doesn’t make the logistics of being this way any easier. You’re actually way more likely to get found out but at least… at least you’re not alone.”

Steve doesn’t have anything to say to that. His experience in being interested in the same sex is so different from Robin’s to the point that there isn’t much to relate to. Steve’s realization was sudden and surprising whereas Robin’s was a secret she’s been sitting on for God knows how long. Steve’s in a relationship and has been in other relationships and Robin’s never been in one at all, gay or otherwise. Even the sexuality itself is different; Robin only likes women and Steve likes, well, Steve likes women and Billy and that’s all he knows right now.

“I’d give anything not to feel alone,” Robin swipes her the back of her hand across her nose to stifle a sniffle.

“You’re not alone,” Steve replies quietly, “I know I’m not- I know I can’t change how things are but we’re friends and I won’t leave you. Okay? Does that help?”

“Sure, dingus.”

She smiles at him and tosses a leaf. It floats down to the ground slowly and when Robin looks back up the light through the trees hits her features just right. Steve knows that he’d die for her because she’s beautiful and smart and brave. More than that, he’ll find a way to help her be happy because if anyone deserves to be happy it’s her.

“Y’know, there has to be other girls who like girls,” Steve says.

“Well they’re not in Hawkins that’s for sure.”

“So then let’s leave Hawkins.”

Robin rolls her eyes.

“Oh yeah, sure, let’s just leave!”

Steve listens to his own throw away comment and he lights up. His body seems to jolt with new energy, good energy.

“Why not? Yeah. Let’s leave! There has got to be somewhere out there where Billy and I can be ourselves and where you can find a girlfriend! I mean what’s the gayest place you can think of?”

“Steve, I don’t think that’s advertised in a travel brochure.”

“Okay but there has to be somewhere where it’s easier. We just have to think! And you, you’re good at research and stuff! We’ll just leave! You and me and Billy! You pick a place and Billy and I will save the money and we’ll go!”

Robin turns to face her whole body toward Steve. Her hand on the trunk keeps her steady. Steve is smiling and so satisfied with his idea. It’s so simple he wonders why he hadn’t thought of it earlier.

“You really mean it.”

“Hell yeah! Who says we have to stay in Hawkins? Let’s go.”

Robin is quiet while she thinks it over. A short distance away, Steve can hear the sound of his former high school. Technically Robin has another year there but she’s so far ahead in her classes that her senior year mostly consists of like three classes and band if Steve remembers right. He could save loads of money in a single school year and with Billy saving too they could probably buy a house in this idealized version of Gay, USA. Granted there’s still the matter of where to stay in the meantime but that’s small potatoes as far as Steve’s concerned. He has a plan and it’ll work. It has to work.

“Okay,” Robin says, “After I graduate, I’ll go. We’ll all go.”

“Yes!” Steve throws a fist in the air and loses his balance.

It isn’t until Steve hits the ground that he realizes that the same hand he’d just gestured with is now broken.

#harringrove #sthhch5 #stranger things have happened ff #short chapter

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prorevenge · 5 years

Text

Touchdown.

As I recall this story, I’m aware that some of the comments said by the perpetrators below will seem a bit straw-man in their delivery, but keep in mind that this was in an area considered very extremist.

So, this took place back in high school. This was 8 years ago in the Midwest. I’m 25 now, and While I don’t cherish all that lead to this, I do fondly remember its conclusion.

When I was in 11th grade, I went to a school that had a really heavy emphasis on School Spirit. And honestly, that part was great. It didn’t just focus on sports and other clubs like it, but also celebrated AV, Debate, Dance, etc. We had a pretty good football team and My boyfriend at the time was a first string running back. I wasn’t on the cheerleading squad, but I often helped with choreography for them, Dance and Flag teams. Mostly because I didn’t want the stigma of being the only boy on the cheerleading squad.

I wasn’t often bullied myself. I mean, there was the occasional slur tossed at me in the hall by your run-of-the-mill homophobes. But as far as anything extreme went, it didn’t happen to me. I figured it was mostly due to the fact that I was pretty important to 3 school squads.

However, my boyfriend, when he finally came out and started dating me, did not get the same treatment from everyone. Maybe it was because he was supposed to be Masculine, tough guy, football star but things got a lot tougher for him really quick.

His family and close friends were pretty cool with it all, but school was a different story.

His teammates were the first to turn their backs on him. Treating him like dirt where a week before he was their ‘best friend.’ Obviously not all of them were like this, but enough of them were and they outshined the good players who didn’t mind.

He seemed to take most of it in stride, as he knew what he was getting into when he came out. He told me a little name calling wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle and ‘if being honest with them changed their attitudes so much, then they never really were his friends.’

However, this is @prorevenge. Things never really stop there.

Apparently, this change in attitude didn’t just stop at his teammates. His coach wasn’t a big fan of having a ‘fairy boy’ on his team, and began pushing my boyfriend to the absolute limit.

He had to do twice as much work as everyone else for no good reason. And then, he’d get benched for ‘slacking off’ during practice. This was clearly taking its toll on him and it was hard for me to sit by. I wanted to confront them, and to figure out how his personal life had any connection with his ability to play. But, I was 5’8”. The shortest guy on the team was 5’11”. They were 20 in total. I was 1, maybe more than that if I could convince some friends to back me up. They lifted weights, ate steel and shat bullets. I was a dancer, ate normally and shat healthily. The point is, I wouldn’t have stood a chance in a confrontation with these guys. So, for the moment, I let it go and made the most of BFs time with me.

However, one day, he showed up to my practice, bruised and sporting a swollen eye. Aka, a very frequent black eye. He sits next to me and before I can even ask what’s wrong, he cries for what was the only time I ever saw him crack. I was furious and asked him to tell me what the actual fuck happened and told me something that still makes me queasy to this day.

Apparently it was weight room training day for the team. That room with all the weights and treadmills and such. And as usual, my boyfriend was told to run twice as much and lift twice as much as everyone else. Apparently Coach was having a shit day and decided to push him the hardest he’d ever been pushed. He couldn’t take it and passed out temporarily when he stopped. He said he was only out for a few seconds (thank god.) but when he came to, his coach was looking down on him both physically and metaphorically. He apparently told him that he wasn’t even fit to be on the team if he couldn’t even run without passing out like a ‘sissy’.

Then my boyfriend told me he shared a look with the other team members and left the room. And then several other members started taking turns wailing on him, kicking him and spitting on him. It didn’t go on for long before a few of the good teammates got them to cut it out and he finally managed to get out of the weight room and find me.

I consoled him, but I felt my blood burn from the rage I felt. I know people bullshit all the time about ‘blacking out’ and going all primal on a bitch, but I felt that feeling. Like all reason was gonna flood out of my brain and I was gonna find a bat and crack knees. But my boyfriend practically pleaded with me to not say anything. He said he didn’t want it to get worse, and picking a fight wouldn’t make it better. So I sucked it up but felt the wheels in my head start turning. Something needed to be done.

I couldn’t let this go on. So I started thinking and I figured out a way to get these bastards. To pin them with all of their shit and get some justice for my boyfriend.

I had quite a few friends all across the school. Cheerleading, Dance, Flag and, most importantly, AV Club (Since they recorded most performances for Dance and Show Choir.)

I got a few of my cheerleader friends in on my scheme and convinced our coach to let us practice near the team that day. It was almost playoff season so it wasn’t a hard push. Furthermore, I asked if my AV club friend, Ciara, could record our routines so we could review them so I could see if anyone needed work. She was a really chill coach and said yes to that too. Obviously we hoped to catch these guys on film, and use it as evidence against them... and hope something came of it. Honestly, it wasn’t the best plan but it was what I came up with.

When we got to the field that day, I began running through the steps of a routine we came up with while our plan was put into motion.

And it was a nightmare for me. I heard the coach and saw his treatment first hand. Screaming at my boyfriend to work harder, run faster. And his teammates heckled and pushed him around in their all-to-subtle ways. ‘Accidentally’ throwing passes at his head. Shoulder checking him when they lined up for Defensive Drills.

But I knew I couldn’t say anything yet. He’d be upset if I stepped in and the tormenting wouldn’t get better. So I bit my lip and endured.

I was beginning to think we weren’t going to get anything. If we showed our principal or administration what we’d seen, the Coach or the players could just spin it as harmless heckling and ‘seeing the potential in him’ as an excuse to push him harder.

But luck finally got on our side, and another pass came flying towards BF and hit him square in his black eye.

I flinched when I saw it. He fell to his knees and cried out. I ran over to check on him and see if he was okay. He said he was fine but I could see his ‘good’ shining with tears. It clearly hurt a lot. I heard them laughing. The coach chuckling and those assholes who hurt him in the first place.

I just couldn’t hold my tongue anymore. I wasn’t known for shouting or cussing but I turned, my nastiest snarl on my face and screamed “What the actual fuck is wrong with your asses?”

The football twats started ‘Oooh’ing at us and the coach shook his head. “What? Does he need his boyfriend to fight his battles now?” He said.

I told him that he and his stupid team was the reason he was hurt in the first place. This didn’t deter him. I don’t remember his exact words, but he said something to the effect of “You should be happy I’m even letting this faggot on my team.” And told me that he’d speak with the coach about my position with the Other teams. Get me kicked off so I had nothing.

I looked back at Ciara. Thank God she had the wherewithal to bring her camera closer to watch him. I stood up, taking BFs hand and leaving the field, middle finger raised as I left. When I finally met up with Ciara, she told me she got the whole thing. I still wasn’t happy, but I was relieved we finally had something on these bastards. She told me she’d have a friend get it ready and we’d go to the Principal that week.

We went to her a couple of days later with our evidence and she was almost as furious as I was. She informed us that she was almost ready to call my boyfriend into the office to ban him from the team because his grades had slipped drastically over the past few months. From honor roll to Cs and Ds. Now she knew the reason. She called in the Coach and had us stick by to corroborate our story. When she asked the question, he did exactly what I thought he would do. He spun it like it was some ‘great potential’ he saw in my boyfriend, but that if it was costing him his grades, he’d inform him that he’d need to get them up or be barred.

I almost grinned like a Cheshire Cat when she turned her monitor around and showed him the footage of him insulting and threatening me and my boyfriend. He was stunned silent, and I was on Cloud 9 with a grin only the fucking sun could hope to match. She asked us to go to class for the day and we did, and awaited the fallout.

And oh my God was it sweet. First and foremost, BF was offered a chance to complete his missing work, no penalties. His grades got back to their previous state. But the best part was the Coach’s immediate firing for ‘Blatent Discrimination and Encouraging violence on a student.’ He wasn’t a teacher so finding a replacement wasn’t difficult. The Principal sent out emails to various schools and the Superintendent of our district and explained the situation. No way was he getting any more jobs in this area.

Furthermore, the jerks who actually committed the act faced not only suspension, but also were kicked off of the team. Most of them had to spend their Senior Year watching Sophomores and Second String players win their playoff game. They didn’t win the Championship but they did make it into the top 10.

But most importantly, my boyfriend was able to resume a relatively normal life.

We broke up after high school. I moved across country for School and he went to our State College. But we maintain a healthy friendship to this day. We try to talk at least twice a year. And we saw each other at our 5 year reunion. He’s happily married to a new guy and I’m in a great relationship and we all hit it off.

I never knew what happened to those guys or the Coach after High School. But I like to think that losing out on what they did may have taught them a lesson. And if not... well may God have mercy on their hateful asses. I certainly won’t.

(source) story by (/u/Kayden_Pauser)

#prorevenge #by /u/Kayden_Pauser #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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