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#if anyone reads it. ily
kureocatto · 10 months
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I guess they escaped my gallery after all, so here are my humanized Wubbox designs! (but at this point I treat them more like OCs)
Click the pic for better quality btw!
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I'm not sure if anyone would want to read, but there's an entire rabbit hole of lore on my personal AU and other stuff below the cut :,D
First things first, separate fullbodies for each of them.
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And now.. personal headcanons and more info-
General
These guys are part of my personal MSM AU called "Illuminated Lands"! It's.. a lot to explain but everyone is humanized and living in a mostly fantasy-themed continent rather secluded from the human world. I've done a lot of worldbuilding and character writing but besides "The Celestials suddenly went missing and a terrible illness is spreading around the lands" I haven't really gotten a clear cut idea on how the story would go 😭
Volt (Common Wubbox)
It's not very apparent at first, but Volt's a robot created by Galvana. He was tasked with a very special purpose from the beginning of his creation, to find and save the Celestials should anything bad ever happen to them (to which, it did). While he is kind and tenacious normally, Volt is deathly afraid of disappointing people that he cares for. He got attached to his friends pretty quickly. However, he struggles to find a sense of identity and a reason to live beyond his original purpose.
C.D / Compact Disk (Rare Wubbox)
C.D is a runaway child of the Electric Celestial herself, and supposedly Volt's "older brother". He was actually the one who was supposed to be given a certain important task, but that responsibility fell on Volt instead because C.D ran away fron home. Galvana thought it would be cruel to drag the child back if it was against his wishes, so decided on an alternative. C.D is rebellious and doesn't like being restricted by rules. He's also very flamboyant and carefree, even coming off as arrogant to many. But the truth is that he simply has his own ways of doing things, unconventional as they may be. C.D actually cares a lot for Volt and is always looking out for him in secret. Perhaps, this is his way of compensating for his past actions.
Twig (Plant Epic Wubbox)
Coming from a rather prestigious family of Deerfolks, Twig was always expected to go big. His parents always wanted him to go down a healer's path early on. Twig quickly became a prodigy when he mastered several types of medical subjects quite quickly. His mentor was actually Blassoom, though under a disguise as a regular resident of the lands. Being her star pupil, Twig was one of the few let in on the secret. When he graduated and officially became a doctor, life got busy. But seeing all sorts of patients from across the lands, it made Twig think about how there's so much more to see beyond his home. After an encouragement from Blassoom herself, he decided it would be good to become a traveling doctor. He'd still be able to help people, but he could also live his dream to see the world. Sometime during his travels, he became acquianted with Volt and the rest of the friend group.
Haze (Cold Epic Wubbox)
While the Water Region of the lands are primarily populated by humans, it's not common to find them anywhere else. Haze is one of those rare occurences, coming from the Cold Region. Her past is a big mystery, even to herself. All she knows is that Glaishur found her as a child and took her in. Another thing about her is that she's abnormally resistant to the cold, and she's capable of magic unlike other humans living in the Illuminated Lands. To outsiders, Haze is truly an enigma. But to her friends, she's the quiet yet caring and protective one among them.
Jet (Air Epic Wubbox)
A genius avian engineer that comes from the Air Region. Rumors about her say that she was terribly ill as a child. But because of a miracle from the stars, she's recovered and went on to do great things. The truth is.. more complicated, but Jet won't deny the part about miracles from the stars. After all, her father and her mentor were the Air and Mech Celestials in disguise. She is forever grateful for their support and care, and Vhamp's influence was the reason why she wanted to work with machinery in the first place. Anyways, Jet is rather introverted and doesn't like leaving her workshop. But she is actually casual and witty outside her work (to which she takes extremely seriously). She developed a deep sibling bond with Volt after they met by chance.
Ripple (Water Epic Wubbox)
The Water Region is split into two parts, the land and the sea. The former is mostly populated by humans. Meanwhile, the latter is a host to many wondrous creatures and species. Ripple is a seafolk of unknown origins. He'd been alone for as far as he can remember. When he was younger, he met with a young Anglow named Lily and became so close they were inseparable. He really didn't have anyone besides her, so to say it broke him when she and her species departed from this world and returned to theirs was an understatement. Ripple was then given to Hornacle for care, for he was a friend to all land-dwellers and seafolks alike. The grief still hurt, but it slowly heals itself over time. Life was alright from then on, or atleast.. until the day the stars dimmed and the Celestials disappeared all at once. Ripple now believes he is cursed, eventually becoming afraid to make friends or form bonds. However, when he found Volt and the others who said they might have a chance to find the Celestials again.. what has he got to lose by sticking around and clinging to that slim chance?
Rust (Earth Epic Wubbox)
Rust is a half-human half-dragon. When he was young, he lost both his parents and had to leave the Illuminated Lands to live with his aunt. However, she was heavily controlling of him and constantly forbids him to show his draconic side. Rust didn't complain as he was taught to respect and appreciate his family. He tried his best to do so.. until his aunt tried cutting off his horns entirely. He wasn't going to stand there and let her strip away a part of himself, so he finally fought back and escaped. His left horn was broken off, and he was bleeding all the way back to the Illuminated Lands. But luck smiled upon him as Scaratar had found the little boy passed out in a clearing. He lived happier with her ever since. Despite his rocky childhood, Rust grew up to be a supportive and caring person. He's always around to help anyone he can, both with his compassion and strength.
And so.. thats it! It was a bit nerve-wrecking to post this.. but I like talking about my stories, so who cares anymore! Expect random content of this AU from time to time as I develop the story more. And for those who's read this far down? You have my heart <3
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bloodydeanwinchester · 11 months
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i still cannot believe that they wrote castiel thinking the line “still beautiful, still dean winchester” while he was confessing to Dean that he was in love with him. like that was kind of insane of them wasn’t it?????
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bunny-xoxo · 22 days
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minors dni
pussy inspections with transmasc dilf toji .. he loves loves loves rubbing his tcock on yours as a reward for doing your shot after holding you down and spreading you open :( telling you how you’ll grow up to have a big one just like daddy’s some day :( likes to toy with you and makes comments on your “progress”, how you’re a growing boy and he needs to keep an eye on his pretty pet to make sure they’re still feeling good :( likes to start off by rubbing his thumb in heavy slow circles on your tcock, humming to himself as he watches you slowly get hard n wet n restless as time passes :( laughs at you when you whine for more n tells you that a good boy would listen n be patient before smacking you with a heavy palm against your pussy and asks if you are his good boy :( smirks and calls you his dumb crybaby when you nod with tears in your eyes, asks you again, “do impatient sluts get rewarded, or do they get treated like impatient sluts?”, smiles even wider when you sniffle and answer him softly, “then be a good boy for me and I’ll start rewarding you like one. daddy always takes care of you, right baby?”
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fuyuhayooo · 4 months
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Little doodle cus I've been feeling down
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saturngalore · 9 months
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she’s so darling to me honestly <3
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baggy-holmes · 10 months
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struggling to sleep lately
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ghosttotheparty · 1 year
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something like bones and glass
warnings: homophobia; religious homophobia; f slur (several times); brief mention of pedophilia; past child abuse and neglect; violence/fighting; blood; rough sex also on AO3
Steve’s parents come home. Without warning.
Usually they call a few days in advance, just to let Steve know, probably because they assume Steve has friends over, has parties that he has to clean up after, but it’s been a while since that happened. It’s still nice to know when they’ll be home, just so he can prepare himself. So he knows what day he can hole up in his room or escape to Robin’s or Nancy’s.
But he hears their car pull into the driveway as he’s kissing Eddie against the wall by his bed, as Steve is pushing his hands under Eddie’s shirt to press into his skin, as Eddie is pulling his hair, and they both pull away at the same time to blink at each other in confusion.
“Nancy?” Eddie questions, still gripping Steve’s hair, and Steve shrugs.
“She didn’t say she was coming over.” He pecks Eddie quickly before letting go and going to the window. Eddie leans against the wall, watching him smooth his shirt down before he freezes, his eyes widening. “Shit— It’s my parents.”
Eddie’s stomach drops.
“What?”
He crosses the room, joining Steve at the window to see Cathrine and Walter Harrington, pulling suitcases out their car, talking across the roof of it.
“Fuck,” Eddie says, stepping away from the window in case they look up. “Uhm. I can— I can hide up here.”
“Your van in the driveway,” Steve says. His voice is almost distant, and he’s still looking out the window, his face fallen.
“You can say you borrowed it from someone,” Eddie suggests desperately. “Or— Or I can say I’m doing maintenance work? I know about, like, electrical work, we can say your A/C wasn’t working, or—“
“Eddie.”
“Or I— I know about cars, I can say I was working on your car and you invited me in for— for water or something, and—“
“Eddie.”
“And I mentioned music so you’re showing me your tapes, or, like—“
“Eddie.”
Eddie shuts up, staring at Steve with wide eyes, his heart pounding. The front door opens. Steve takes a shaky breath, his gaze unwavering from Eddie’s as something clatters downstairs.
“It’s fine,” Steve says quietly, firmly. “It’s…”
“Steve,” Eddie says softly.
“It’s fine.” Steve shakes his head. They can hear his parents’ voices downstairs, muffled by walls and doors and distance. “We… We’re friends. Right?”
Eddie exhales and nods.
“Come meet my parents,” Steve says with a little eyebrow quirk, and Eddie scoffs. Steve’s smile is fake. Eddie can tell.
“They’re gonna hate me,” he says quietly.
“I don’t care,” Steve says, his voice sharper, and Eddie’s eyes linger on the way his jaw is set, the way it clenches as he looks at Eddie intently. “I don’t— I don’t care what they think. You’re mine.”
Eddie stares at him, his eyes flickering to Steve’s lips.
“Fuck. Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay. Following your lead,” he says softly, and Steve smiles weakly, tugging him in by a necklace for a lingering kiss.
“Hey,” Eddie says as Steve is moving toward the door, and Steve pauses, his hand on the doorknob. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Steve says earnestly.
Eddie follows Steve out the door, hesitating to rip off his battle jacket and throw it back into Steve’s room. He smooths his shirt down and rolls his eyes when he realises what he’s wearing (Judas Priest; there’s a hand holding a giant razor blade, and he wonders why he didn’t just wear a plain black shirt). The chains hanging from his ripped jeans rattle as he walks down the hall and down the stairs, and he tucks his necklaces under his shirt anxiously before he smooths his hair back. Steve pauses at the bottom of the stairs and looks up at him.
“What are you doing?” he asks quietly, glancing at his chest, at the absence of necklaces.
“Trying to look presentable,” Eddie whispers. Steve stares at him, smiling softly.
“You’re adorable.”
“Shut up.”
Cathrine and Walter’s voices get louder as they head into the living room, where they’re both standing with their suitcases. Eddie lingers by the door, pushing his hands into his pockets in tight fists.
“Hi,” Steve says like he’s asking. Eddie watches his shoulders tighten like he’s bracing himself.
Catherine’s hair barely moves even though she whips her head around to look at Steve. It’s tall and curly and fluffy looking but stiff with hairspray, and she’s wearing a grey pantsuit, her shoulders boxy, and her heels wobble on the carpet of the living room. Walter is also in a suit, his tie loosened, his hands in his pockets.
Eddie takes a deep breath, repressing the simmering anger in his chest as he looks at them, trying hard to keep a neutral, friendly expression.
Steve’s told him about them. About how they left him at home starting when he was nine, and how he was left with nannies and teenage babysitters before that. How they’d lose their shit if he spilled juice on the kitchen floor, if he stained or tore a shirt. How he raised his voice when he was eleven and saw the back of his father’s hand and then the floor, and the gold band around his finger haunted Steve’s dreams.
How his mother constantly, shamelessly, told him it was his fault she wasn’t young and beautiful anymore. That he was the reason his father wasn’t loving and caring, as though Steve ever has any say in his own existence.
“Whose van is in the driveway?” Walter asks sharply, sans greeting even though it’s been a few months since he’s seen Steve.
“Uhm.” Steve turns slightly toward Eddie, who steps further into the room, raising a hand and suddenly wishing his nails weren’t painted.
“That— That’s mine,” Eddie says lightly, putting on a smile.
Catherine’s eyes widen, and Walter stares, facing Eddie. The room is silent except the quiet ticking of the clock on the mantle.
“Steven,” Walter says in a careful, measured voice, his eyes trained on Eddie. “Why is there a killer in my living room?”
Eddie’s stomach drops further, his cheeks flaming, and he shoves his hand back in his pocket as Steve says sharply, “He’s not a killer.”
“Steven—“
“He’s not,” Steve snaps, and Eddie looks at him. “Those charges were proven wrong, and dropped, and Eddie’s one of my best friends.”
Eddie stares at Steve, at the firm set of his jaw like he’s just daring his father to argue.
The room is silent again, tense and awkward.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
“Walter,” Catherine says quietly, breaking the silence, placing a gentle hand on Walter’s shoulder as he and Steve stare each other down. “Let’s be polite to… Steven’s guest.”
Eddie blinks at her, trying ignore the pressure behind his eyes that always comes when he remembers that people actually believe that he’s a murderer. His hands are shaking.
“Your name is Eddie, right?” she says, sickly sweet and so kind it makes Eddie feel nauseous. It reminds him of the way kids in school used to feign interest in D&D, used to ask questions and prompt him to tell them excitedly about it just to make faces at their friends while he talked. Just to complain about how weird he is.
“Yes, ma’am,” Eddie says tightly.
“Would you like to stay for dinner, Eddie?” she says like she’s speaking to a child.
Eddie looks at Steve.
Who’s staring back, his gaze intense, his expression firm, and he nods slightly when Eddie silently asks him.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says again. “I’d like that. Thank you.”
She and Walter leave to take their luggage upstairs, and Steve tugs Eddie’s shirt, pulling him into a secluded corner in the living room, and their eyes lock. Steve looks like he wants to cry, and Eddie can hear the way his breath is trembling, and Steve’s lips are pursed to keep them from quivering.
“‘S okay,” Eddie says softly.
“I’m so sorry,” Steve says weakly, still clutching at Eddie’s shirt.
“No, stop,” Eddie tells him gently, moving closer. “It’s not your fault, Stevie.”
Steve inhales sharply, pressing his lips together.
“They are assholes,” Eddie says softly, reaching up to touch Steve’s cheek. “And that’s not your fault, you got it?”
Steve nods, swallowing.
“Yes.”
“Come here.”
He pulls Steve into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“You’re doing so good, baby,” he murmurs as Steve’s arms wrap around him tightly. “And after dinner we can say my van broke down and you can take me home.” He pulls away to look into Steve’s eyes. “And you can stick with Wayne and me for a while. How’s that sound?”
Steve nods, his mouth twisting, and Eddie’s heart aches because Steve is trying not to cry.
“I love you so much,” Eddie whispers. “‘S gonna be okay.”
“I hate them so much, Eddie,” Steve says. His voice wavers.
“I know, baby.” Eddie kisses him. “I know. But after this we’ll go home. And we can get high if you want.”
“Will you fuck me?” Steve asks in a small voice.
“Absolutely.”
“Cool.” He exhales and pulls Eddie into a kiss. “Love you.”
“Love you too, sweetheart.” Eddie kisses him again, pulling back when a door shuts upstairs, but Steve tugs him close, kissing him chastely before he carefully pulls Eddie’s necklaces out of his shirt.
“Don’t hide.”
Eddie melts a little bit.
Eddie fidgets with his necklaces while Catherine scours the fridge and freezer for a dinner to her liking, complaining about how unhealthy pizzas are and just sighing when Steve points out that he babysits children. She settles on a lasagna that she finds buried in the freezer and some lettuce. Without dressing. (Eddie thought rich people were supposed to eat better.)
Steve sits next to him at the dinner table. Eddie’s never seen plates on this table. It’s usually filled with cards or dice or maps and drawings and crayons. Steve stares sullenly at his plate, poking at his food with his fork as Eddie chats with his mom as best he can. He can still hear the ticking from the clock in the living room as they talk.
He tells her that he met Steve through Dustin, that he knew Steve at school because everyone loved him, and then he found out everyone loves him even outside of school. That the kids he babysits practically worship him. He catches Steve fighting a smile as he speaks.
The conversation dies down after a while. Under the table, Steve sets a hand on Eddie’s thigh and squeezes tightly. He’s shaking.
Eddie subtly reaches under the table and squeezes his hand, rubbing the back of it gently.
“Mr Harrington,” he says politely when they let go of each other. “Steve said you had work in, uhm, was it San Francisco?”
“That’s right,” Walter says dryly.
“I’ve never been,” Eddie says, trying desperately to keep his voice light. “How is it?”
Walter sighs, taking a bite.
“Not as nice as it used to be.”
“Oh,” Eddie says, taking the opportunity for a real conversation. “Why’s that?”
“Not as clean,” he says. Eddie hates his voice. So pompous and dry like the world bores him. “Posters and banners everywhere, all these fags walks around the streets holding hands. Disgusting.”
Eddie’s blood runs cold. In his peripheral vision he sees Steve tighten.
“Oh.” He twists his fork, seeing Steve’s hand grip the table cloth tightly. “Sounds real different from Hawkins.”
“Sure is.”
Eddie shifts so he can press his foot to Steve’s because he can’t lean over and kiss him. There’s a long stretch of silence. Eddie counts seventeen ticks of the clock before he speaks again, the silence unbearable.
“Mrs Harrington, Steve mentioned that you collect pottery.”
When he mentioned it, he said he wanted to smash all of it. Eddie doesn’t say that.
“I do,” she says brightly. “I started collecting when I was nineteen, after I married Walter—“
“Why is it disgusting?” Steve interrupts abruptly, looking across the table at his father. Catherine falls silent, staring at him. Eddie says his name softly.
“I’m sorry?” Walter says, lowering his fork.
“The fags,” Steve says coldly. “If they’re just holding hands. What’s the problem?”
Walter stares at Steve, a challenge in his eyes, but Steve keeps his ground, staring back, unblinking.
“You know why.”
“No. I don’t.” Steve lifts his chin defiantly. Eddie wants to marry him. “Tell me.”
“It’s not right.”
“Why?” Steve says, but it’s hardly a question. He almost growls. Eddie shifts in his seat.
“Men are supposed to be with women,” Walter says, his voice measured like he’s lecturing Steve. Eddie can hear the way Steve is breathing, can see his fist trembling as it grips the table cloth. Eddie kind of hopes it rips. “Homosexuals— They— They go against God’s word.”
A small part of Eddie is happy to see him get flustered.
“Right,” Steve breathes. “God’s word.” He’s nodding, his jaw tensed the way it does when he’s particularly mad. It’s hot. Eddie sets his fork down. “Because God always wants the best, right?”
Walter just stares. Catherine’s hands are in her lap.
“That’s why priests rape little boys when they go in for Sunday school, right? Because they know God’s word.” Eddie looks at him, taking a deep breath. “That’s why you married an eighteen year old when you were twenty seven.”
Eddie’s eyes widen, and he looks at Catherine, who clears her throat delicately and wipes her lips with her napkin even though there’s nothing there. Walter’s face turns red.
“God also says don’t get drunk,” Steve continues, his voice strong. “And we all know you don’t have an issue with that.”
“Steven,” Catherine says firmly, but Steve doesn’t spare her a glance. The air feels like it’s tightening, like they’re all holding their breaths.
“So what’s the problem with fags?” Steve asks, his cheeks red. “Why do you hate them so much? You’re not better than them.”
“Why are you so defensive—”
“Because I am one.”
Steve is yelling.
Steve never yells, not like this. He yells to be heard over rambunctious bickering and laughter, he yells to be heard across the trailer or the house. He doesn’t yell out of anger. But he is now.
The rooms falls silent. Eddie looks from Steve to his parents, to their wide eyes, and he slowly reaches for the knife next to his plate. He grips it in his hand, his muscles tense the way they were when he was fighting the demobats with Dustin. Ready to move at any given second, like his veins are stiff with adrenaline.
“What are you saying?” Walter says coldly, quietly.
Steve scoffs, humourless.
“I think that was pretty clear.”
“Steven—“ Catherine tries to say, but Steve interrupts.
“But you want me to be clearer? I can be clearer.” He pushes his plate away, toward his dad, and leans over in emphasis. “I like men. And I’ve known for years, and I never told you because I knew you’d try to beat it out of me, but you can’t do that anymore.”
Walter throws his fork onto his plate with a clatter, his mouth twisting, and Steve just grins.
“I can be more specific,” he says in a low voice. He leans back, moving his arm to run his fingers through Eddie’s hair more gently than Eddie thought possible at a time like this. “This is my boyfriend, Eddie,” Steve says. Eddie smiles at him. “And I love him more than life itself, and I love when he holds my hand, and when he kisses me, and—”
Walter interrupts by moving out of his seat, the chair scraping loudly on the floor, his face bright red, as though anything Steve’s said is scandalous. Steve seems to have the same thought, pulling his hand away from Eddie and standing too, his eyes following Walter as he moves away from the table.
“I can tell you more,” he says loudly, defiantly. Eddie scoots his chair back, watching raptly, just in case. “I love it when he fucks me.”
Catherine gasps, and a laugh bursts out of Eddie as he watches Walter’s face redden even more.
“And he fucks me hard,” Steve continues, ignoring his mother as she says his name weakly and begins to cry. “And I fucking love it. And I bet that pisses you off even more, doesn’t it.”
He’s breathing hard, and his whole body is trembling, and Eddie feels prouder than he’s ever felt in his life.
“That I’m the one taking it,” Steve says, quieter as Walter stares at him. “You always wanted me to be a man, but I love it when my boyfriend makes me his bitch.”
Heat pools in Eddie’s stomach. He slides his tongue across his lips, wanting to pin Steve to the wall and kiss his breath away.
“And aren’t you angry,” Steve breathes. “That you don’t have another son to fix the Harrington name.” He’s moving closer to Walter, and Eddie watches carefully. Walter’s hands are shaking, his chest rising and falling with each breath that rattles around in the quiet room. “Because you’re an only child,” Steve says thoughtfully, like it’s a new discovery. “And you only had a faggot,” he adds quietly, close enough to press two fingertips into Walter’s chest as he whispers, “Harringtons end with me.”
The air snaps.
Catherine screams when Walter’s fist hits Steve’s face, and Eddie stands from his chair, his vision red, moving quickly as Catherine cries Walter’s name. Walter is trying to hit Steve again, and Eddie grabs the back of his jacket, jerking him off and holding him back as Steve takes a breath.
His eyes are shining in a way Eddie’s never seen before, with malice and rage and twenty years of anger boiling and bubbling out of him. His cheek is already blooming red, and Eddie can see the subtle mark of Walter’s wedding band. Eddie jerks his jacket again, holding him in place.
“I’m not fourteen anymore, Dad,” Steve says evenly.
The crack of his fist on Walter’s face echoes around the room, and Eddie finally drops the jacket, but not before shoving Walter against the wall hard to disorient him. He steps away as Steve punches him again, watching.
Catherine is yelling at them to stop, her voice shrill and high, but Eddie just… watches.
He’s heard Dustin and the others tease Steve for not winning fights. Losing the fight with Jonathan Byers, the fight with Billy Hargrove. But he’s also heard them all praise Steve for beating demodogs with a baseball bat. And he’s seen Steve throw a demobat into the ground by gripping its serrated tail, seen him step on its wing and rip it right in half before flinging its body away and spitting its blood on the ground. And Eddie’s known, for as long as he’s known this Steve Harrington, that he pulls his punches.
But he isn’t tonight.
Walter’s face and Steve’s hands are painted red with blood, and the sound of them both yelling and Cathrine sobbing and the sound of bone and blood are echoing around the kitchen until Walter is dropping to the floor.
Steve is gripping the front of his blood stained shirt, hitting him and hitting him and hitting him, and Eddie startles at the sound of the front door breaking in, blinking hard and realising that the room is lit up by red and blue flashing lights, that Catherine isn’t in the room.
He steps forward to pull Steve away, his vision focused on Steve as shouts fill the room, but Steve shoves him back and Eddie gets a glimpse of his face.
His top lip is split, bleeding, and his cheek is darkly bruised, and he’s crying.
Tears mix with his blood as they slide down his cheeks, and Eddie knows it must hurt as a tear hits his lip, and even though Steve must not be able to see well, he isn’t stopping. Eddie desperately shouts his name, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him away from Walter, who falls onto the floor, weakly saying something about Steve being a bastard. Catherine is sobbing in the doorway as cops pull Walter off the ground, and Eddie holds Steve back.
Steve is sobbing too, and Eddie’s whole body hurts. He’s saying Steve’s name, trying to get him to look at Eddie, wants to prompt him to breathe in all the way, but Steve won’t look at him, his arms straining against Eddie’s grip. He’s still yelling.
The cops push Walter toward the door as one of them, Powell, moves toward Eddie. Eddie recognises him. He was there when Eddie came back, when Hopper came back. He arrested Eddie once when Eddie was fifteen, but he didn’t seem to hold a grudge was Hopper and Joyce Byers filled him on the shitshow that been going on in Hawkins for the past few years.
Powell is staring, wide-eyed, at them, his mouth hanging ajar with an unspoken question.
“He threw the first punch,” Eddie says, gesturing to Walter’s wriggling body as he’s led outside, his voice shaking.
Walter is yelling at Steve, even though he can’t see him. Calling him a bastard, and a faggot. Yelling that Steve isn’t his son.
As soon as he’s out the door, Steve’s body relaxes, and Eddie pulls him close, tugging him into a hug. He’s breathing hard, and shaking so hard that Eddie can feel it even though Steve’s fists are gripping his shirt tightly. The cop looks at them, watching, but Eddie doesn’t care. Let him see.
Eddie holds his face gently when Steve’s crying slows, and he watches the flashing police lights reflect in his glistening eyes and his tears. Eddie wipes a drop of blood from his lip, nodding when Steve’s chin quivers.
“You’re okay,” Eddie murmurs. His hands are shaking too. Steve takes a deep, trembling breath, his eyes flicking back and forth between Eddie’s.
“My ear’s ringing.”
Eddie’s eyes widen, and he reaches up to Steve’s right ear, touching it gently. There’s some blood in his hair above it, and anger flashes in Eddie’s chest. He wants to go outside and beat Walter some more, regardless of the cops, regardless of his already garbage reputation. But he doesn’t. Because Steve is clutching to his shirt, and he’s crying.
“Can you hear me still?”
Steve nods, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. Eddie pulls him into another hug, moving so his mouth is above his right ear, and he knows he’s getting blood on his face, but he doesn’t care.
“‘S gonna be okay,” he says softly. “I got you, sweetheart, you’re alright.”
Eddie closes his eyes, and they sway, and they can still hear the distant, unintelligible shouting of Walter outside. Powell waits next to them patiently until they part slowly. Steve is sniffling, and Eddie wipes his face, under his eyes, under his nose, wipes away the blood on his lip.
“Steve,” Powell says gently. “You gotta tell me what happened.”
Steve takes another deep breath, swallowing thickly before he looks at Powell, setting his shoulders and jaw again.
“I’m queer,” he says firmly. Powell doesn’t react, just looks at him. “I told him.”
“He hit you first?” Powell asks, reiterating what Eddie said earlier. Steve nods.
“I…” He hesitates, reaches down to take Eddie’s hand, and Eddie laces their fingers, squeezes tightly. “I provoked him. Taunted him.”
Powell pauses, looking out the window to see the cars outside, and he slides his tongue over his teeth, seething.
“Wait here a minute.”
Eddie nods, and Steve leans against him as Powell leaves. Eddie wraps his arms around Steve tightly, pulling him close.
“God, you did so good, Stevie,” he murmurs in his good ear. “‘M so proud of you, baby.”
“Eddie,” Steve says weakly. His voice is rough. Eddie kisses his forehead gently.
“I know, baby,” he says just loud enough that Steve can hear him. “But it’s done, okay?” he says. He looks into Steve’s eyes. “You’re done with him.”
Steve exhales, closing his eyes.
Eddie shifts, pulling to guide him to the table, but Steve tugs at his shirt, opening his eyes and leaving a hard, lingering kiss on Eddie’s lips. Eddie closes his eyes, holding Steve until he pulls away, and when Steve looks at him blearily, he lets out a soft laugh that seems out of place.
“I got blood on you,” he says quietly. Eddie scoffs.
“I’ve had worse bodily fluids of yours on me.”
“Gross,” Steve says, grinning, and he winces when it stretches his lip. There’s blood in his teeth.
“C’mere,” Eddie says, pulling him over and pushing him to lean against the table between Eddie’s and Catherine’s plates before he goes to get a paper towel. Steve snatches it from his hand as he stands between his legs, and Eddie lets out a small indignant noise, but Steve shushes him, reaching up to clean blood off his lip. Eddie waits, holding Steve’s hips.
“Love you so much,” Eddie murmurs.
“Love you too.”
“Is your ear still ringing?”
Steve shakes his head before he pauses, tilting his head and closing his eyes as his brows furrow. Eddie takes the paper towel.
“Little bit. Not as bad. I think it’s fine.”
Eddie gently, tenderly wiping blood off Steve’s lips before he presses it to the split, watching Steve wince slightly. He can feel Steve’s heartbeat against his fingertip. It’s still fast.
“Deep breath,” Eddie says softly. Steve closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. “I got you, baby.”
Steve’s hand finds his waist, holding him tightly as he exhales.
Eddie leans in and kisses his forehead softly, feeling Steve fall forward against him. He pushes his fingers through Steve’s hair, kissing across his forehead, kissing his temple, tilting his head to kiss Steve’s ear tenderly. He whispers to him quietly.
When Powell comes back in, Eddie has to nudge Steve’s cheek gently to make him open his eyes, and Steve turns his face slightly. Eddie pulls away the paper towel. His lip doesn’t seem to be bleeding anymore.
“He’s being held overnight,” Powell says, pushing a notebook into his pocket. “Paying bail, should be released around noon tomorrow.”
Steve nods.
“Your mother’s going with him,” Powell continues gently, like he can see the anguish it causes in Steve’s eyes. “She’s staying at a friend’s tonight.”
“Okay.”
Powell hesitates, looking from Steve to Eddie.
“You have a place to stay?” he asks. Eddie guesses it’s unspoken knowledge that Steve can’t stay here.
“Yes.”
Eddie knows Steve knows he can stay at the trailer for as long as he has to. And Claudia Henderson’s offered her guest room, as well as Joyce and Hopper. Robin’s offered her bedroom floor. Nancy’s offered her basement.
“And you?” Powell asks, looking at Eddie. Eddie starts for a moment, blinking at him blankly before he nods.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Okay.”
Powell hesitates for a moment longer before he looks at Steve, his eyes shining earnestly.
“He shows up again,” he says carefully. “At your work, or wherever you stay, if he threatens you… Or tries anything.” He points at Steve, so serious the air feels tense again. “You come to the station. You tell me, and if I’m not there you tell Flo, and she’ll find me, okay?”
Steve nods, staring at him, biting his lip.
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Okay,” Steve says quietly.
“And if you need another place to stay,” Powell adds. “Let me know. My wife and I have a spare bedroom.”
Steve smiles weakly.
“Okay.”
“You too,” Powell says to Eddie. “Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Eddie says, smiling softly.
Powell claps Steve on his back gently.
“You’re a good kid, Steve.”
Steve pulls Eddie closer when he leaves, and Eddie moves between his legs again, touching his hair gently. The blood above his ear is dry.
They stand in silence as they listen to the cars leave the driveway. Three cars. After a moment the red and blue lights are gone, and Eddie exhales.
Eddie gazes at the bruise on his cheek. His lip is a little swollen, crusted with dry blood. After a moment, Steve leans forward, resting his head on Eddie’s sternum, and Eddie runs a hand over his hair gently.
“What do you need?” Eddie asks quietly. “You wanna shower? Go to bed?”
Steve lifts his head and looks up at him.
“I need you to fuck me.”
Eddie stares at him, looks back and forth between his eyes, watching them shine earnestly, and he stands up straight, tossing away the paper towel.
“Turn around.”
Steve grins and stands up, turning around to face the table, already tugging his shirt off and tossing it across the room. Eddie steps up behind him, tugging Steve’s hair to make him tilt his head before he presses kisses along the side of his neck.
Steve hums breathlessly when Eddie pushes him so the fronts of his legs press to the table, and Eddie reaches around him to unbutton and unzip his jeans.
“Colour?” he asks roughly, pausing as he grips the waistband of the jeans, and Steve whines, his head falling back to Eddie’s shoulder.
“Green, baby, please.”
Eddie grins, shoving Steve’s jeans and boxers down his legs and pushing at his back so he bends over the table.
“Spread ‘em,” he says, kicking at Steve’s foot, and Steve spreads his legs, groaning softly and turning his head so his cheek presses to the table. “Pretty boy.”
“Eddie,” Steve says weakly. “I love you.”
“I love you too, baby,” Eddie murmurs. He leans over and kisses his back, down his spine. “So fucking much.”
He kneels on the ground behind him, running his hands over Steve’s ass and his thighs, squeezing and kneading before he leans in to bite at him for a moment before he licks across his hole, holding him tightly.
Steve whines loudly, pushing his ass back toward Eddie, who snickers quietly before eating him out in earnest, licking and sucking and nibbling as he listens to the sweet sounds Steve makes above him.
Steve is groaning and whimpering and whining, and Eddie has to pull away to laugh when a plate falls from the table and shatters on the ground.
“Fuck, sorry,” Steve says, laughing, and Eddie stands to find him gripping the table cloth tightly.
“‘S okay,” Eddie says, breathing hard, tugging Steve’s hair so he stands up again, and Steve releases the table cloth. Eddie wraps his arms around him, kissing his neck. There’s some blood on the table cloth, and Steve is drooling, and Eddie smiles. “Love it when you get all wild. My perfect boy.” He lifts a hand, presses two fingers to Steve’s lips, and Steve whimpers, opening his mouth.
Eddie bites his neck as Steve’s tongue swirls around his fingers, pressing desperate kisses around the back of his neck until he reaches his right ear.
“You have any idea how amazing I think you are?” Eddie asks softly. Steve moans, his head falling back as Eddie pushes his fingers deeper into his mouth, pressing into the pooling spit under his tongue. “Love of my fuckin’ life.”
Steve reaches up and pushes his fingers into Eddie’s hair as soft noises escape his throat.
“You feel good, sweetheart?” Eddie asks. Steve moans quietly, nodding. “You wanna feel better?”
Steve smiles around his fingers, giggling softly, and he tugs Eddie’s hair as he nods.
Eddie pulls his hand away from Steve’s mouth and takes a moment to look at Steve’s spit dripping over his fingers before he reaches down to press a finger inside him.
“Fuck,” Steve groans loudly. Eddie beams.
“Yeah?”
“Fuck, Eddie, I need— Gimme more, baby, please—”
“I’ll take care of you, Stevie,” Eddie murmurs into his ear. “I got you.”
“Feel so good, Eddie.”
Eddie smiles again, biting at his neck, fingering him open as he whispers to him. Tells him how pretty is. He gets three fingers in before Steve finally whines, tugging sharply at his hair.
“Eddie,” he gasps. “Please, please, I—”
“Bend over.”
Steve grins again, leaning to lay on the table again, resting his head so his right ear is up.
Eddie kisses his back before he steps back, unbuckling his belt as he moves to the the counter, noisily opening and shutting cabinets until he finds what he’s looking for.
Steve whines Eddie’s name, looking up at him, and Eddie pulls his belt from the loops of his jeans, shaking the bottle of olive oil at him with raised eyebrows. Steve snorts loudly and lets out a childish, juvenile laugh, grinning and hiding his face in his arms.
Eddie’s always hated this olive oil. It’s Catherine’s, expensive and fancy and ordered from Italy, always hidden away in her special occasions only cabinet. But Eddie thinks this counts as a special occasion, because the man of his dreams is bent over the dining table and Eddie doesn’t want to go all the way upstairs for lube.
Steve’s fists grip the tablecloth when Eddie pushes in, the same way he clutches at the sheets when they’re in bed. The cloth comes up, and a glass falls the floor, shattering, and Eddie laughs again, setting the olive oil down.
“You’re makin’ a mess, baby.”
Steve just lets out a long groan.
Eddie gazes down at him, at the scars that cover his back and backs of his arms, at the mess of his hair. He slides a hand over his back, smearing oil over his skin.
“How do you want it?” he asks breathlessly.
“Hard.”
“Got it. Hold on.”
Steve giggles, gripping the tablecloth, and he lets out a sharp gasp as Eddie snaps his hips into him.
Eddie loves when Steve gets like this. All loose and relaxed, going with every movement Eddie makes. Unfiltered and loud, groaning and whining and almost screaming when Eddie really gets going, his hand to the small of his back. He’s always like this, even when Eddie fucks him softly and kindly like the first time they had sex (or made love, as Eddie put it dramatically once they’d finished. Steve shoved him away and then promptly pulled him closer to tuck his face into his neck.), tangled in blankets in the back of Eddie’s van, breathing into each other’s mouths, whispering and giggling.
Another plate falls from the table.
Eddie is grinning down at him, watching, listening as he swears and moans.
“Eddie,” Steve wails. Tears are sliding down his face, staining the tablecloth.
“Yeah, baby,” Eddie says roughly, his hands gripping Steve’s hips tightly. “What do you need?”
“Fuck, spit on me,” Steve whimpers. “Make me yours, Eddie, please.”
Eddie exhales, running a hand down his spine tenderly. (That night in the van, Eddie also learned, to his delight, that Steve is even kinkier than he is. It’s fun.)
“You are mine,” he says gently. “Always.”
He fucks into him three more times as he gathers spit in his mouth, and then he pauses, letting it drip over Steve’s back. Steve lets out a soft yes, almost hissing it, and Eddie smiles down at him, rubbing the spit into his skin as he moves again.
“Eddie, right there—”
“I got you, baby, I know.”
“Eddie, please, Eddie, EddieEddieEddie—”
He presses his hand against Steve’s back hard, fucking him harder, faster, until Steve is sobbing, until the two remaining plates and the bottle of olive oil fall to the ground and shatter to pieces. Eddie laughs again.
Steve comes on the table cloth. Eddie lifts him up to wrap his arms around him when they finish, and Steve’s head falls back against Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie doesn’t pull out, just holds Steve close and pulls his necklaces around to hang backwards so they aren’t pressing into Steve’s bare skin.
“You okay?” he asks softly after pressing a soft kiss to his earlobe. Steve exhales.
“Holy fuck.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Steve breathes. He presses his hand over Eddie’s forearm, slides it down to lace their fingers.
“Look at that, baby,” Eddie says softly, nudging him so look at the table. Steve’s eyes flutter open, finding it. A mostly empty glass, rolling on its side in spilled water, the pale blue tablecloth uneven and folded and stained with blood and oil and come. “That’s all you.”
Steve exhales, resting his head on Eddie’s shoulder.
“I’d say you helped.”
Eddie snickers into the side of Steve’s neck, his arms tightening, and Steve moans softly.
“Smartass.”
“You love me.”
“I do.”
Steve sighs. Eddie can feels his pulse on his lips. It’s slower.
“What now?” he asks quietly.
“Shower,” Steve says, squeezing his hand. “And pack.”
Eddie hums and kisses his neck tenderly.
“And then we’ll go home,” he murmurs.
Steve smiles.
“Then we’ll go home.”
They shower slowly, carefully washing each other’s hair and bodies, washing away blood and sweat and come in the hot, running water. Steve’s shampoo smells warm, like cinnamon and other spices Eddie’s never been able to afford to keep in his cabinets. (Nutmeg? Allspice? Eddie doesn’t even know what he would use them for.) After they dry off and dress, Eddie stuffs the shampoo, along with his conditioner and body soap, into a plastic bag to take with them. Steve adds two cans of Farah Fawcett hairspray.
Eddie helps him sort through his clothes, pick what to take and what to leave behind. He finds one of his own sweaters in Steve’s closet as Steve is stuffing a bag with underwear and socks, and he giggles to himself before throwing it at Steve. Steve’s cheeks flush pink, and he wordlessly stuffs it into the bag.
Steve packs most of his shirts, except a few he says his mother picked out, and most of his jeans. Eddie gets a garbage bag for the clothes Steve doesn’t want anymore, and he laughs as makes his way through the kitchen, looking at the mess he and Steve made and next behind. They aren’t going to clean it up. Just because.
Steve’s room is pathetically empty by the time they finish packing. It was already pathetically empty before, if Eddie’s honest. No framed pictures, no keepsakes. No stuffed animals or childhood toys. Steve’s bags, a duffel bag and a backpack, are both stuffed with clothes and soap, with a bottle of cologne and a copy of the Hobbit that he tried to hide from Eddie.
Eddie finds it, of course. And looks up at Steve with a beaming grin, even as Steve rubs the back of his neck, blushing bright red.
“You love it so much, I just…”
Eddie crosses the room and wraps his arms around his neck, swaying like they’re dancing.
“Do you like it?”
“I’m trying to.”
“You don’t have to like it,” Eddie says, grinning. Steve wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist, pulling him close. “It’s fine if you don’t.”
“I know,” Steve says shyly, swaying with him again. “Think I’m just a slow reader.”
“‘S okay, baby,” Eddie says softly. “You don’t have a due date or anything.”
“Thank God.”
They go to bed in the Harrington house for the last time.
Eddie wakes up to Steve’s lips pressing down his neck, and he smiles at the ceiling without opening his eyes, tilting his head back to give him room. He hums softly.
“Whassa time?” Eddie mumbles weakly, reaching blindly to find Steve’s hair.
“Six twenty-seven,” Steve says before he licks a slow line up his neck. Eddie groans.
“Forgot I’m in love with a morning person.”
“‘S sweet,” Steve says lightly. “Just relax, baby.”
Eddie sighs, tugging at his hair again, but his hand falls when Steve moves, tossing the blanket up so he can duck under it. Eddie shivers at the gust of cold morning air that hits his body, and then he shivers again as Steve tugs at the waistband of his boxers.
“I’ll make you coffee,” Eddie says breathlessly when Steve comes back up from under the blanket, cracking his eyes open to find Steve grinning brightly at him. His split lip doesn’t bleed even as he smile. The bruise on his face is colourful, reddish purple and blue, and somehow achingly beautiful even as it makes Eddie’s chest hurt like he’s been shot.
“I’d like that,” Steve says softly.
They get out of bed slowly, lazily, and Eddie tugs on one of Steve’s hoodies as he yawns.
Steve always looks beautiful in the morning light. Even in gray mornings like this, he seems to glow brighter than the sun.
Steve goes to the bathroom while Eddie goes down to make the coffee. He finds Steve’s favourite mug in a cabinet, the cute blue one, and he leans against the counter as he waits on the coffee, looking at the dining table and smiling to himself.
He’s shaken out of his thoughts by a car pulling into the driveway.
He blinks, tilting his head to listen like he can’t tell where it’s coming from, and he turns around, leaning to look out the window to see Catherine.
Anger flares in his chest, and he’s swinging the front door open before she’s even out of the car, careless to the fact that he’s in his boxers.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks sharply as she approaches the door. Her eyes skim over him, her hands folded in front of her. Her hair isn’t as nice as it was yesterday, and Eddie can see traces of her makeup that ran down her cheeks last night.
“It’s my house,” she says primly.
“Well we’re not gone yet,” Eddie snaps. “Come back in a few hours.”
She takes a breath, opening her mouth to speak, but Steve’s voice interrupts her.
“Eddie?” Eddie turns sharply, looking to see Steve coming down the stairs, and Steve’s face hardens when he sees his mother on the front step. “Oh.”
“We don’t have to deal with this, baby,” Eddie says quickly. “Just get your stuff, we can go.”
Steve pauses, staring at Catherine coldly, his mouth twisting thoughtfully before he says, “No. Let’s have coffee,” in a voice that’s far too calm, too light.
He continues down the stairs and turns wordlessly into the kitchen, and Catherine steps past Eddie.
Eddie shuts the door, his stomach knotting, and he follows them to the kitchen. Steve is sipping from the mug, leaning against the counter, and Eddie joins him, watching with a suppressed smile as Catherine looks at the table.
“What do you want?” Steve asks coldly.
“What happened to the table?”
“Eddie fucked me on it. What do you want?”
Catherine’s face turns red, and she looks away from the table, clearing her throat delicately.
“I wanted to talk.”
“So talk,” Steve says dryly, sipping the coffee. He’s still staring at her, almost seething.
Catherine hesitates, taking a breath and looking at the floor, eyeing the broken bottle of olive oil, but she doesn’t say anything about it.
“I know,” she says slowly. “That what happened last night is not… reversible.”
She looks up at Steve.
“But you are still our son,” she says kindly, and Eddie scoffs. “And I want you to know that you still have a home here.”
“No.”
She blinks.
“No?”
Steve inhales deeply, biting his lip, and he carefully holds the mug out to Eddie, who takes it as Steve crosses his arms.
“I have never had a home here,” Steve says calmly, “Mom.”
“Steven,” she says softly. Like it hurts.
He shakes his head, pressing his lips together.
“I’ve never felt…” He pauses, swallowing. “I’ve never felt safe here. Or— Or loved. I’ve never felt fucking— at home here. This has always been just— just a sad empty… lonely house for the sad empty lonely little boy.”
Eddie looks at the floor, biting his lip as he focusses on the heat of the mug in his hands.
“I know you don’t mean that, darling,” Catherine says softly.
“You don’t know anything about me,” Steve says coldly.
“Steven, of course I do—”
“No, you don’t,” Steve shouts. Eddie flinches, and he turns to set the mug on the counter. “No, you don’t,” Steve repeats, breathing hard. “You don’t know shit about me. You know my name because you picked it, but you don’t know who I am.”
“Steven—“
“You left me,” Steve interrupts, his voice shaking. “You— You left me. Here. With— With teenagers, while you went off on holidays and fucking business trips, you left me here, while I was trying to grow up, and then I had to figure out to be a grown up, all by myself because you weren’t here.”
His lip is quivering, and he steadies it between his teeth.
“You don’t know me,” he says again, quietly.
“Steven, you’re my son,” she says softly.
“I’m half deaf.”
She blinks.
“What?”
“One of my ears,” Steve says slowly, “has no hearing.” He stands up straight, off the counter, and gestures to his ears with a hand. “Can you tell which ear it is?”
She stares, wide-eyed.
“Steven—“
“Can you tell me,” he says shakily, “when my hearing started going?”
Silence.
“Because I can tell you,” Steve whispers. “The fucking day.”
He moves closer, his breathing unsteady.
“July sixteenth,” he says quietly. “Nineteen eighty.”
Eddie grips the counter, biting his lip as he watches. Catherine’s are welling with tears, but Steve doesn’t seem to even notice.
“When your husband gave me a concussion,” he continues, whispering. “And I looked up to see you leave the room, and shut the door behind yourself.”
Eddie’s eyes jump to Catherine, his vision red. Her lip is quivering. Eddie doesn’t care.
“I have had four concussions in my life,” Steve says, holding up four fingers before he lowers two of them. “Two of them… were from your husband. And both times, you left.”
“Steven,” she says weakly, but Steve snaps.
“You left,” he shouts. Catherine flinches. Eddie doesn’t. “You picked him,” he says, pointing toward the door. “Twenty fucking years, and you picked him, again, and again, and again.” He chokes, and his voice breaks. “My whole life,” he says weakly. “You picked a man, who never loved you, over your son.”
Eddie’s eyes burn, and he looks at the ground, swallowing thickly.
“And last night you picked him again,” Steve says.
Catherine stares at him. A tear slides down her cheek.
“So no,” Steve says after taking a breath. “You don’t know me, and you don’t get to. This is all you get.”
He stares her down for a moment, and Eddie blinks his tears back, watching proudly.
“Fuck you,” Steve says softly. “And fuck him, and fuck this house. I’m fucking done.”
“Steven, please,” she begs quietly. “You don’t have to come here, or— or see him, but I still want to be… a part of your life, darling, I—”
“You’re not better than him,” Steve yells, crying. “You let him, you let him do everything he did to me.” He’s panting, and Eddie’s chest tightens. He stands up straight. “You made me hate myself before I was old enough to understand why you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you, darling—”
“Well you don’t fucking love me either,” Steve yells. He stops short, blinking like he’s realises it just as he says it, and Eddie wants to pull him into a hug, but he also wants to find Nancy’s gun and shoot both his parents for ever making Steve feel like this. “Even if you think you do,” he says softly. “Whatever kind of love you think you have for me. I don’t want it.”
He stares for a moment longer before wiping his face hard and shaking his head.
And he leaves.
Eddie holds his breath, listening as Steve storms up the stairs, listening as Catherine cries quietly, a hand pressed over her mouth. Steve comes back down after a few moments with his bags, and he pauses in the doorway, looking at Eddie, who looks up.
“Go to the van, I’ll be there in a minute, babe.”
Steve looks at him for a moment before he steps close and tugs him by his shirt into a kiss, sliding his tongue into Eddie mouth and holding him close desperately. Eddie pushes his fingers into Steve’s hair, closing his eyes and exhaling, tasting the coffee on Steve’s breath.
They’re both breathless when they part, and Steve looks into Eddie’s eyes. Eddie nods, touching his cheek.
Steve goes outside.
The door shuts behind him, and Eddie hears the van door open and shut. And then he just hears Catherine’s soft breaths. And the ticking of the clock in the living room.
He leans against the counter, looking at the floor, hesitating before he looks up at her.
“He is… the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Eddie says slowly, softly, his voice almost echoing in the kitchen. “He is the bravest, kindest, strongest, most— most selfless person I have ever known.”
She’s still crying. But she’s looking at him, listening.
“And you…” He pauses, taking a deep breath, his hands shaking, his lip quivering. “And you fucked… every chance you got to have him in your life. Twenty years. You got twenty years of chances, and you fucked them all up.”
He stares for a moment.
“I can tell,” he says softly, “that there’s… a small part of you… that cares about him. Somewhere in there. So to that… small part.” He steps forward, his eyes burning. “I swear, I will… love him, and care for him, and look after him, and do everything I fucking can to make sure he feels as loved and protected as he is.”
He points a trembling finger at her.
“Because that is a privilege that I have.” He’s breathing hard, his eyes burning, his heart pounding in his chest. “And I will do everything in my power to not lose that privilege.”
He hesitates a moment longer, watching her cry before he turns around and picks up the mug and dumps the coffee in the sink. He rinses the mug quickly and shuts off the water harder than he needs to.
And he leaves. Without giving her a second glance.
He hands Steve the mug as he slides into the driver seat, and Steve laughs wetly, taking it.
“Thank you,” he says softly.
Eddie looks over at him, biting his lip. His face is tear-streaked, his lashes clumped, his cheeks and nose rosy red.
Broken and slowly pieced back together.
His eyes are gleaming, and he looks so awfully exhausted that Eddie wants to tell him to get in the back of the van to take a nap, but he also looks so relieved that Eddie just pulls him into a kiss.
“I love you,” he whispers, pressing their foreheads together. “With all my fuckin’ heart and soul, baby.”
“I love you too,” Steve whispers back.
Eddie kisses him again, sucking on his lower lip for a moment and holding his chin gently, and he pauses when they part, taking a soft breath.
“You’re not wearing any pants,” Steve says, laughing tearfully again, and Eddie scoffs, blinking tears back as he pulls out of the driveway.
“Who gives a shit?”
Steve giggles, clutching the mug to his chest.
“Let’s go home.”
“Okay.”
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lucienarcheron · 5 months
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I’ve gotten a few anons since I started doing my rereads (which is weird because I’ve done them before, it was just on my other account that many if not most of the same people interact with) but to be clear: I am anti no one of the acotar series. I genuinely like all of them though some more than others but like…guys, pls. they’re not real people ily but you don’t have to defend their honor in my inbox. I see you and I love your love for these morons but I don’t want to hear how much you hate so-and-so because you love so-and-so. You do you and I love that for you but I beg, leave me out of it 😅
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sehtoast · 5 months
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me: MY HAIRLINE IS RECEDING OH NO OH FUCK
also me: full time student (worth noting i wrote stupid here at first without realizing), 20-30 hours in customer service every week, teaching myself 3/4 classes, teaching myself advanced algebra with a teacher (basically just a proctor) who shuts down any/all asks for help, juggling college financial woes, navigating dying relationships/people abandoning and/or attacking me bc i don't have time for things i used to anymore, none of my hobbies are making me happy when and if i have time for them,, i have no time for myself, i'm on my second all-nighter this week, i'm perpetually exhausted in a way sleep isn't fixing, my body aches because i'm so tired, and i'm barely able to stay asleep when i do get the chance bc the anxiety wakes me up
my hairline: two hops this time!
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gardenerian · 1 year
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when the light is out and words have gone | 4.3k | M rating
Chicago, 1871. The Great Fire rages across the city, and the courthouse verges on collapse. In an act of mercy, the city's mayor releases the prisoners from the cells beneath the burning building. Mickey Milkovich stumbles into the chaos, and right into someone he thought he'd never see again.
Written for @gallavichthings GW 2023. The prompt was Chicago's top 20 tourist attractions, and I was inspired by the city water tower, which is one of the few surviving structures of the 1871 fire.
Read here on ao3!
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beardisable · 1 year
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OH MY GOD OH MY GOD okay.
so i watched the 8 hour jack stream(jesus) aka watched genloss top to bottom again and listened to his theories and stuff(i really vibe with the "kidnapped as kids" angle more now) and started thinking about some theories he and chat mentioned and.
now im thinking with like. ok its probably a pretty common theory, this post was what prompted this additional idea of mine actually, but ill explain it a bit: the theory that, since sneeg and charlie can come back over and over again, and they have referenced like, refusing to do the cooking challenge in ep 1, and how charlie was playing the mouse trap but ate the cage, they have obviously done the same kind of scenes we saw ranboo do, right. and then in the Announcement video we see the same kind of "missing poster" type headshots of them, with the caption "Found them!"
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i dont remember exactly where it was confirmed that showfall made the missing person posters, but like. yeah. these images are for missing posters like ranboo had. and with sneeg being caught by the security in ep 3, he had tried to escape, just like ranboo and charlie. and i feel like this wasnt the first or last time they have tried this!
also, during that screenshot the announcer says "our hero will meet a cast of crazy characters, who you may recognize", aka the audience has seen these "actors" before in other things! this is their first live show but what have they made before...?
then, with one of the Very first lines Ranboo says in the first episode, "it wasn't supposed to be like this"... showfall/hetch made it seem like this is ranboos first show and he's being tested for how well he does as The Hero.
I dont think what we saw is Ranboos first time starring in a showfall production.
its the first live thing like the announcement video said but i think hetch lied when he talked about how its a test, i think Ranboo's been here at least a few go arounds, if not tens/hundreds/thousands of times. WHICH MEANS in the end when he gets his memories back... theres an infinite amount of possibility of things they could remember for what they have been made to do in the past :) Bc remember, while this is comedy->horror, it was still relatively tame and non-explicit (at least by my personal standards?) so it is quite possible they have been in more R rated horror stuff, slashers, gore, actual saw, some kind of even worse psychological horror things, but also that they might have had incredibly good experiences like love and joy and community and anything positive too, and to remember all that in a rush... oh boy so i believe it is a circular reproduction, maybe they run through scenes repeatedly over and over while perfecting every little detail and getting different takes of genuine emotion but every time Real and a First experience... some kind of purgatory(omg christian hell reference) or endless torture or such...
ok that got really maybe unneccessarily angsty so heres my other thought:
i love me a fucking colour theory and colour symbolism! it bothered me a bit how like. in the promo game we get ranboo, then green friend/the villain(obviously charlie, tho the villain part still confuses me a Bit since its not quite true?), the blue friend/the taken(obvs sneeg) and then the red stranger/the saviour. and like it would logically follow that the red is hetch right?
jack when theorising said the titles are self descriptive, which i buy into, at least for the first episode context, charlie is the villain role, sneeg was taken(put in a cage and later snatched by the sharkciclester), and hetch was trying to help and save ranboo from this situation! but then in the second ep we also have red puzzler, and red niki? i WISH niki had. any kind of bigger role to build a Saviour type off of her but i dont think she does :( the puzzler is an option, since they make it seem like the puzzler tries to save ranboo? and thats actually a whole other thought like. since we know hetch was not actually helping ranboo, was the puzzler Genuinely helping them, and somehow showfall found out and killed him?? idk ANYWAYS that colour coding falling apart a bit made me think about how ranboo is also red!! rgb trio yknow??
if the titles are self descriptive... well i dont think Ranboo really felt like The Hero much, especcially not in the end...
I think Ranboo is actually meant to be the Saviour.
Esp with the jesus coding! I believe this kind of thing has happened many times before, with sneeg/charlie/ranboo/others realizing that shits fucked, and trying to escape, only to be caught and put back in the production. I think Ranboo(main character syndrome) was in a previous iteration the Saviour, who tried to help sneeg and charlie and others get out of there, to save them, save everyone. but they failed. got captured. once again waking up again with a "it wasn't supposed to be like this..."
and so the cycle continues, and the content wheel keeps spinning.
(ive only been in tumblr tags so feel free to link me any other ppl who arrived at the same conclusion)
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i know i haven’t been here in forever but i just had to come scream I’M SEEING TAYLOR SWIFT TODAY
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orangesrotting · 1 year
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hm okay like this is my take on the post-why did you drop out of yale rogan fight that no one asked for!! inspired by a tiktok i saw where the comments were all pro-logan but i digress. i digress. we start off w rory (RIGHTLY) calling logan out for being an absolute jerk to jess. which he was. and we all know it. logan, in typical huntzberger fashion, brushes it off + claims that writers are sensitive + that if jess wanted to, he should’ve “taken a pop at [logan]”. what is rlly funny 2 me abt this is that this is so so similar to what mitchum said to rory?? like mitchum dismissed rory in a really similar fashion to logan just dismissing jess’s accomplishments. and both have that air of oh-if-they-wanted-to-prove-me-wrong-they-could yk? idk i thought that was interesting. and then he ends all that by saying that rory shouldn’t let jess get to her. which. this is one of many many scenes that show truly just how incompatible rory and logan are, just because it’s been proved just time and time again that logan does not understand who rory is and also just doesn’t care. rory obv responds saying that logan is the one getting to her and that he was an ass. logan retorts saying that he’s sorry that he messed things up (but he’s obv not, when has that man ever been sorry in his life). this is kinda when we segue into rory’s underlying crisis with everything that’s happening. she calls logan out for mocking jess when he’s actually accomplished something amazing (logan saying everyone’s doing something like. lol what are you accomplishing exactly?? stole 2 yachts probably set a world record but like...that is rich coming from him), and goes on to say that she’s unhappy with her life bc she feels like she’s not doing anything. and as viewers we know that this is nowhere near the vision rory had for her life, and she’s so unhappy bc she doesn’t belong in the dar, she doesn’t belong in logan’s world, just partying her sadness away. rory is so deeply unhappy with where she is in life right now, and logan isn’t even listening to her he’s just telling her that it’s temporary and she should have a drink!! and this is again. just. such a good example of why they’re so so incompatible bc rory needs someone who is going to push her to be the best person she can be, someone who’s not going to take her shit and redirect her to who she actually is when it gets hard, not someone who’s just going to let her continue her self-destructive behavior just bc he’s doing all that too!!! like rory is spiraling and she’s at rock bottom in her life and logan has absolutely nothing to say until he feels like she’s criticizing him. like bro not everything is abt u sorry!!! she’s talking abt herself and logan comes at her when she wounds his pride a lil like...partying and drinking is not who rory is point blank!! and he just puts it all on her like yes it’s her choice to be partying and drinking but that’s also just. all he does and he knows it!! and rory says that and he just. launches into a monologue of self pity about the great huntzberger dynasty and how he’s being pushed through only one door and it’s like. rory is so right he doesn’t have a hard life he doesn’t know what it’s like to actually work for what you have. and yes i welcome the convo abt rory also having a lot of privilege but her privilege ≠ logan’s privilege at all!!! they’re very different!! but rory is so right in this scene bc we’ve never seen logan actually fight it. and logan has no aims!! no goals!! no passions!! he just wants to continue abusing his family’s wealth with no consequences!! like this is the only time u will see me agree w mitchum huntzberger but like. logan should be pushed thru that door bc he has no actual aims in life...and also like. logan saying that he gave rory a month is so absolutely useless bc he never once checks up on her. he never once comments ab how dropping out is uncharacteristic of her. never asks her if she’s doing alright??? no he just gives her a month like she’s going to fix herself and btw. yeah it did have smth to do w you!!! it had everything to do w you in fact...it was ur father that said all that shit that got in her head. and he never even disagreed w his dad btw. like god sometimes i wonder if logan ever even LIKED rory or just felt attracted to her bc she was the first girl who didn’t give him time of day like...he never once felt concern for her? when she dropped out of the school she worked so hard to get in to? like it’s wild to me truly. like even in this argument his main point is to absolve himself of any blame in rory’s dropping out/rory’s spiral. like there is no concern. he doesn’t care!!! his gf, the one he apparently loves sooo much, is spiraling and struggling and he does not give a fuck. he only shows any sort of emotion when she criticizes his lifestyle and when he feels like he’s to blame for her situation. like that says so much...
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captainshyguy · 1 month
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this is gonna sound a little mean but idc, i have literally never been in a more self absorbed fandom than the m*rio fandom. im literally begging u people to learn how to have conversations that arent just talking incessantly about your own projects and thoughts. please for the love of god learn how to listen to the people ur supposed to be conversing with and actually acknowledge what theyre saying im gonna turn into the fucking joker
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azurecoffin · 7 months
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Hiiiii I was the producer for a lil Rin Penrose fan-game! It would mean a lot if y'all checked it out!!
Step into the quirky world of Rin's Custody Battle, a visual novel where you play as Chief Skrunkly Advisor to Rin Penrose, a V-Tuber with more Youtube subscribers than the population of Iceland!
Summoned by the Prince to assist in her custody battle for her beloved Blåhajs, navigate through bizarre cases, Rin's "definitely-very-good" capabilities as a ruler, and courtroom eccentricities to prove that Rin is a fit ruler of her kingdom and capable guardian of the Blåhajs.
Why Should You Play This
- Skrunkly Customizer (that we put too much effort in)
- 4 Endings
- blåhajs so many blåhajs
- special guest star if you know your Ikea history
- butler canonically has a ninja mask in card-jitsu
- bribery is always an option
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gremlintrash · 11 months
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Ok but why is there always a reason. When it's about macro all of a sudden it's oh why should I care about the sob story of some bihettie who couldn't ever live through a day of real homophobia. When it's ppl like inosa or swagy or radgoose or countless others getting told disgusting things like that their bfs should kill them, it's laughed off too and it's like oh go back to your hettie world if you're so mad. When it's about catboy it's like oh why should I care if we make fun of the SA of some moid thats praxis actually. When it was ppl saying bi women are just like tims and they're weaponizing their rape it's oh why can't you bihets learn to read none of that matters. When there was a big burst of a bunch of people getting openly attacked by "blackpills" it was oh this is just so online why are the bihetties playing the victim. These ppl are just coming out to advance the position that they won't go after you no matter what you say about bihets. Like the refusal to condemn anything at all unambiguously is very much the point.
Honestly, I've come to the conclusion that people these days (esp young people) are not any more progressive than other generations... I honestly think their politics and values are possibly more conservative than 10-20 years ago - these are just my feelings as a low income bisexual woman who is pretty white passing but I've had friends of other races (esp older friends in their 30s-40s) talk about how they feel the same thing in regards to how ppl are regarding race now and there's tons of posts circulating about how people are more homophobic than 10-20 years ago and we just lost roe v wade, income disparity is worse and social services are cut, etc etc etc
I feel like people such as you described above are highly individualistic and don't really have principles in the traditional way like "x behavior is bad" like if we use examples specific to the recent state of radblr re: the treatment of bisexual users, they don't think that homophobia and misogyny are unacceptable behaviors, they think its perfectly fine to leverage homophobia and misogyny against groups they see as "other" and don't identity with in some way. There's always a reason why the people I have marked as "other" deserve their mistreatment and why my own actions and the actions of people belonging to the group I identify with are excused from scrutiny.
A lot of the time in spite of how they call themselves "radical" (feminist or leftist or whatever) they express behaviors and ideals which are sooo extremely in line with the cultural norm for treating people of marginalized groups.
Examples relevant to this convo: Gay and bi women talking about how they "don't fuck with" bi women because they are untrustworthy and flaky partners and "most of them are basically straight and will end up with men anyway" so they don't need LGB community support
Also, determining that a woman's intimate relationships overshadow all of her other actions, and feeling entitled to information about a woman's sexuality to determine how valid you think her words are and how much support from her community she deserves.
Also, telling a victim of sexual assault and homphobia his problems arent real and he should be quiet about them.
Also, you can't trust women with partners and especially children to take part in feminism because they're going to by default center their lives around their male partners and children, so they're going to at best half-ass things and probably just decide to focus on their families instead anyway, may as well exclude them and write them off.
But its okay because the women in the first example were gay and bi, even though they're saying the same things straight men say about bi women. The second example is okay because it's statements and demands made by other women a lot of whom are gay and bi, not men or gossip rags. The third example is okay because it's gay/bi women speaking to a man. The last example is okay because it's said by other women who call themselves feminists, and not a sexist boss, even if they have the same way of thinking and similar actions with similar results.
And on one hand I get it, these people are trying to pass along their own hurt a lot of the time and they are usually legitimately telling themselves and each other that they aren't doing anything worse than maybe hurting the feelings of individual strangers. But they're adults who are behaving in unacceptable ways, and honestly some behavior should just be unacceptable, like... we should be kind to each other if we want people to be kind to us. Beyond that though, the concept of "punching up" has rotted people's brains and is ruining our community solidarity, is honestly a huge class consciousness issue, and they are doing more tangible harm than they're admitting to themselves.
I see this way of thinking as way more of an obstacle for dismantling these power structures than activists being imperfect in their personal decisions. Like, structural opression does not exist in a vacuum and spring forth from nothing, it requires a culture mindset to continue. Like, the whole deal with structural opression is that the opressed groups "deserve" their structural oppression in some way like it's always "justified". While the power structures/axes of opression/classes DO serve social and economic functions, human beings are emotional beings and most people aren't evil, to get social animals to hurt each other you have to socialize them to do so... like as feminists I think we know that at least.
"It doesn't matter if you shave because you prefer it, it perpetuates the expectation for women to remove their body hair and you are indirectly socializing other women as part of society" but then, if you have a good reason you can excuse homophobia or misogyny and suddenly it doesn't contribute to any larger power structures or the socialization of those in your communities?
If you have conditions in which you support homophobic or misogynistic (or racist and so on) behavior then first of all, you're perpetuating the cultural mindset and socialization that allow the abusive power structures to exist in the first place which beings me to my second point... it will lead to them being used against you by people who deem YOU as "other" at some point, unless you're the most privileged person on earth and there's no axis of oppression someone could decide to flip on you if they feel you deserve it and we all just keep crabs-in-a-bucketing each other
It's in our own best interests to treat each other as well as possible, that is my belief. Anything else is cutting off the nose to spite the face, who benefits?
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