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writer-in-theory · 1 year

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berry sweet on your lips

TW: Period-typical homophobia, Some Internalized homophobia, Implied abuse (Steve's dad is a pos)

When Steve was seven, his Mama caught him in her makeup.

He was sitting up on the bathroom counter, sloppily drawn eyeliner over his eyelids and trying to apply bright cherry red lipstick to his lips without smearing. The application process required so much focus he hadn't realized when the front door opened downstairs, or when his mom called repeatedly for him to come down to dinner. He did hear the surprised little yelp from her though, and the sigh once she realized which eyeliner he'd accidentally broken.

"Honey, those aren't toys to play with." His Mama's voice was tight like she was barely containing her frustration at the lost products. Dad always made her upset, and Steve didn't want to add to it. So it didn't seem like a good time to correct her, that no, he wasn't trying to play. He'd seen how pretty makeup could make people, and he wanted it. He wanted to be pretty.

Instead, he sighed and nodded, hopping down from the counter. "Sorry, Mama."

"It's okay, baby, that stuff just isn't for kids to play with. C'mon, let's get you washed up and we can get some dinner."

It wasn't the last time he'd thought about makeup, though it took years until Steve found the courage to try again.

It happened when he was fourteen in Carol Perkins's basement. He, Tommy, and Carol spent most nights together anymore. The Perkins' always volunteered to babysit Steve when he was younger and his Mama started going on business trips with his dad, and they always let Tommy come over so he wouldn't be left out. That basement with its bright tie-dyed blankets scattered around and posters of every attractive celebrity you could imagine felt more like home than his own house.

Maybe that was why he felt so comfortable suggesting it in the first place.

"Ugh, I need more girl friends, honestly," Carol groaned, flopping back onto the pile of pillows and blankets she'd acquired.

"What now? We're not entertaining enough?" Tommy teased from where he and Steve were playing air hockey. Steve's knuckles were sure to bruise tomorrow from the speed with which they were knocking the puck at each other but they hadn't stopped laughing yet. "Need to go braid Tina's hair and talk about boys?"

"You're not boring," Carol clarified, "but it'd be nice to do someone's makeup and talk about boys every once in awhile. A girl needs some gossip."

Tommy laughed, so Steve laughed too because it seemed the right thing to do. But really...it didn't sound so bad, did it? So when the laughter died down, he spoke up. "You could put makeup on me, I don't care," Steve shrugged.

He did. He did care so much. Even the thought of it made his heart flutter, threatening to fly away at any second.

"Really?" Carol raise one eyebrow, sitting all the way up and twisting around to face him. "You'd let me put makeup on you? The whole thing, I don't do boring makeup."

"C'mon, man, don't let her do that to you," Tommy groaned, but Steve just shrugged again and abandoned the air hockey table, coming over to sit down on the floor with Carol.

"It washes off, right?" As if he hadn't known how easy it was to swipe off red lipstick, though it would always leave a deep tint to his lips like he'd been eating berries. "It can't hurt."

It at least made Carol happy, and seeing her smile as she rushed off to retrieve her makeup bag made Tommy's grumbles about ditching the game worth it.

And you know, it was fun. Carol was actually gentle, and seemed to know what she was doing. Steve had his eyes closed most of the time while she brushed powder and liner on them, as she swiped mascara on and tried to perfect whatever glamorous look she'd seen in her latest magazine. She did talk about boys too, all about which girl had crushes on each boy that they knew, and why Eric Thompson was the most crushed on boy in Hawkins Middle.

"Eric Thompson? Get a grip, Perkins, you can do so much better than him," Steve told her, laughing at her indignant shout.

"Seriously. The guy's a total meathead," Tommy called from where he was sprawled out across one of the couches, idly watching whatever movie the Perkins' decided to rent for the night.

"You're a total meathead," Carol shot back in return. "Not Stevie here, though. No, I think after I tell all the girls about what a good guy you are, you'll be the new king of Hawkins Middle."

"Screw Hawkins Middle, I better be king of Hawkins High for this," Steve laughed, only because he had no idea how to thank her for it. By the time he'd left the Perkins' house the next morning, the bright eyeshadow and tacky lip gloss had been washed away but the feeling of pure peace it had brought him persisted.

Steve hadn't dared try again, not until he was sixteen and saw a guy wearing nail polish. It was one of the Seniors, the one who wore all black and who the whole basketball team called The Freak. And maybe he was a freak, Steve didn't really ever have a reason to talk to him and find out, but the sight of the swath of black over his nails left Steve breathless.

"You taking photography this semester, Harrington?" The guy—something Munson, Steve thinks—asked when Steve hadn't stopped staring in the hallway.

"Huh?" Steve startled, looking down both sides of the hallway as if to check if any of his friends were seeing who he was talking to. "No?"

"Shame," Munson let out a little 'tsk' noise, the way Steve's dad always did when he was disappointed. "You could've taken a picture and made it last longer."

Oh, oh. Steve's face flushed red, and the second he saw a flash of another green and orange letterman he panicked. They would know, oh God they'd see him with The Freak and it would all be over, they would figure out that he wanted to paint his nails too and—

Steve wasn't proud of the words spoken after that. They lingered far after he'd said them, swirling in his head until it sounded a little more like his dad was repeating them over and over again, reminding Steve of just what kind of person he was to stay clear away from.

It was that guilt that finally convinced him to go to Melvald's, where the kind woman at the counter didn't question why he was buying the cheapest makeup products he could find. He didn't even know if any of it would look good together, he just knew he needed it. He needed a way to see himself like this before he messed up again where someone could see, where someone could figure him out.

And so began the careful ritual. Every night he'd rush home from practice, lock his bedroom door even though he knew his parents were away on another trip, and swipe the makeup over his eyes, cheeks, lips. He got better at it with every attempt, until the liner wasn't shaky and his lipstick didn't look like it had already been kissed off (and now, wasn't that a thought).

Except that was the trouble with secrets, wasn't it? They couldn't stay buried for long, not when Hawkins was so small and this felt so much larger than the town, than the state, than anything Steve had ever been apart of.

It was only a matter of time until his dad found out.

That night he'd been sloppy, unprepared for his parents to come home early. The light in the upstairs bathroom had gone out and instead of changing it he'd moved downstairs, where the lights had already been switched out to a cooler white that made it easier to see what colors he was painting his skin with.

Steve Harrington was pretty sure he would die that night, all over deep red lipstick and perfectly-drawn eyeliner.

He didn't know where he was running to, all he knew was that he couldn't stay in Loch Nora. He ran until he was near the edge of town, nothing but trees and the one road leading out surrounded him. Steve hadn't had his car keys on him, and there was no way he could go back for them without facing his dad's righteous anger. Steve let out a painful cry, finding nothing left to do but lay down on the pavement and stare at the stars. He was barely eighteen, no car, no money except whatever bills were stuffed in his pocket, no plan. Just himself and that damned red lipstick still lingering like berry-stained evidence on his lips.

He didn't move for anything. Not when the night grew chilly enough to freeze his joints and prick up goosebumps on his arms. Not when the rumble of an old car engine came roaring in the distance, or for the subsequent squeal of brakes and a loud horn.

"Shit, Harrington, I know you have air for a brain but what the fuck are you do—" The person cut themselves off, like from seeing the state of him. They'd probably hit him too, kick at him while he was down because why the fuck did he think he could get away with this shit in the middle of nowhere Indiana?

"Shit, Harrington," the voice hissed again, sounding as pained as Steve thought he should feel.

"Get on with it," Steve voiced, voice rough with tears and the violent yells his dad had hit out of him.

"Get on with what?"

Steve rolled his eyes, turning his head to meet Eddie Munson's gaze. He wondered if he still painted his nails. He wondered if it even mattered, because even Eddie Munson didn't do what Steve did. "I'm tired, man. If you're gonna get your revenge on me make it quick."

That startled Eddie, reminding Steve of just how expressive the guy was. It was almost humorous, the way his head reeled back and his eyes widened impossibly far.

"Get in the van, Harrington."

Right, if Eddie was gonna murder him he couldn't do it out in the open, not where anyone could be driving by.

So Steve picked himself up from the ground, not bothering to brush off his jeans before sliding into the passenger seat. They didn't talk the whole drive. No music played. They just sat in complete and total silence, punctuated only by the nervous taps of Eddie's hand on the steering wheel.

Eddie Munson must be stupider than he was. Most murderers wouldn't drive their victim to their own trailer before finishing the job. Though, Steve supposed all Eddie had to say was that he saw Steve Harrington wearing lipstick and it'd all be waved away. Upstanding citizen, that Eddie Munson was.

"Shower's back there, there's a first aid kit on the shelf," Eddie spoke, unable to stand still once they got inside the trailer.

And that, well that was just downright weird. Steve tilted his head to the side, eyeing the little hallway Eddie waved his hand at like it might jump at him. "What's happening?"

"What do you mean?" Eddie sounded tired, like he hadn't slept in weeks. Steve felt like he'd never slept at all, like he might never again.

"You...aren't you gonna...?"

"I mean, I could if you think you're gonna fall," Eddie said nervously, eyes also watching the hallway. "Just tryin' to protect your modesty, man."

"What?" Nothing was making sense, and Steve was beginning to wonder if maybe his head had hit the tile floor one too many times because this was supposed to be simple, cut and dry.

"Can you just go clean up, Harrington?"

"Why?"

"Because I hate seeing all that damn blood on you, okay?" Eddie snapped out, voice raising in pitch the more worked up he got. "I don't know what the hell happened, but I hate it."

Oh.

"You're not...you're not gonna...?" Steve repeated, including a lackluster air punch.

That seemed to make everything click in place for Eddie. He sucked in a breath and both hands flew to the top of his head, scraping through his unruly curls. "Shit, you think? Nah, man, I'm not a piece of shit like whoever did that to you. C'mon."

Eddie started walking down the hallway, and honestly this all felt so vaguely dreamlike Steve couldn't do anything but follow, wordlessly sitting on the toilet lid where Eddie waved for him to be. The other man was knelt between his legs, wiping off his face with a wet washcloth. His touch was gentle, experienced as he wiped away the blood and set to work rubbing antibiotic onto each open cut.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Steve whispered out, eyes focused on the barest hint of eyeliner on Eddie's eyes. The other man clearly wasn't wearing it to be pretty though. No, this was drawn on with intentional haste, and made Eddie look so fucking badass that Steve didn't know what to do about it. "I sucked in school. I was awful to you."

Eddie's hands didn't stop, brown eyes focused on Steve's lips as he wiped at the split in the lower one. He could see the breath hitch in the other man's chest though, a quick collapse of Eddie's chest before his breath restarted at a normal rhythm. "You did suck, but that doesn't mean you deserve this."

Steve didn't say anything else, couldn't really. Not when the lump in his throat grew until he was sure he would never be able to breathe again, and the tears began to spill without inhibition. And Eddie, well Eddie let him. He just kept patching him up, never saying anything, never berating him or looking disgusted by the tears. He just sat with Steve while he let it out, eyes looking to Steve's every so often as if to check he was okay.

"I think something's wrong with me." The whisper sounded so loud in the tiny bathroom, echoing around and around and smacking into Steve's chest repeatedly.

"No." It was the first time Eddie seemed bothered by anything Steve said all night, fingers gripping tightly around the corner of the counter he was holding to keep himself steady. "There's nothing wrong with you."

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but Eddie cut him off. He looked Steve right in the eyes, a kind of fire lighting up in those dark brown eyes of his. "Steve Harrington, there is nothing wrong or broken or shameful about you. So you like to wear makeup, lots of guys do."

"I've never met anyone who does."

"Because you're in Bumfuck, Indiana," Eddie continued on, never sounding more passionate than he did now. It was intense, sure, but Steve had longed for someone, anyone, to say what Eddie was now. And of course it was the guy with the painted nails he'd been enraptured by years before. "Just you wait, pretty boy, there's a whole world out there with people like us."

Like us. Like us.

"C'mon, you need some sleep. We can figure out the details in the morning."

"Wait...what?"

Eddie laughed a little, shattering the heavy moment with a burst of pure warmth. He stood up and offered a ringed hand out to help Steve up despite him not needing it. Eddie's hand was cold in his own, but it felt right there.

"Try to keep up, Harrington," he teased. "If you don't mind sharing a bed, you can stay here. Us freaks have to stick together, right?"

"I mean...your uncle won't...?"

"Nah, Wayne'll love pissin' Robert Harrington off," Eddie answered coolly, "And he's cool with...everything."

And despite Steve's skepticism, he was. Wayne Munson was pretty much the greatest support anyone could ever have. His face had flashed dangerously when Steve admitted what happened, saying the world had no place for men who hit their boys (Steve wondered only briefly why the topic seemed to pain Wayne so much). And living with Eddie Munson, well, it was great. The trailer was small and Eddie kicked in his sleep, but Eddie also smiled from the second he was awake and the no place had ever quite felt like home in the way the Munson trailer did.

And the next time Steve found the courage to sit and do his makeup, it came with bright smiles instead of that old, lingering fear.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #kinda #they'll get there #stranger things #steve x eddie #canon divergence #au no upside down #tw homophobia #tw implied abuse #jay writes in theory #this is totally unedited sorry you get it as is #steddie headcanon #steddie ficlet

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54625 · 5 months

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that moment when you live in a horrific unstable war torn land where you are surrounded by a world that teaches you to hate all kinds of people (which in some respects consequently includes yourself) and you become a warrior/warlord fueled by hatred and disgust of all people including and especially yourself and you kill and torture and fight to keep yourself alive because survival of the fittest and every man for himself are the only two truths you prescribe to but then you finally get a break and you escape the hellscape and you find yourself a (begrudgingly beloved) son who lets you realise that your blood stained hands can nurture and care and create and that you are more than a machine made to survive because you are a person made to live and you meet a man who is sweet and funny and clever in ways that still make you feel like you want to throw up but slowly his friendship becomes such a big part of your life and he lets you realise that caring for someone and being cared for by someone could never be disgusting no matter who you are and and and and and

#fitpac #qsmp #qsmp fitmc #fitmc #qsmp fit #hideduo #pactw #qsmp pac #qsmp ramon #qsmp ramón #tw homophobia #<implied but nonetheless #it's 1am in england i should be sleeping but i cant because i am plauged by the horrors (cubito fit and his incredible complexness)

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forestshadow-wolf · 6 months

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Cw: implied homophobia, drinking and smoking as coping mechanisms, angst

Part 1 || Part 2

Soap was always so put together. Ghost always admired that, just a bit.

Which is why is was so shocking to see soap drunk off his ass, alone in the rec room, in the small hours of the night.

Ok, saying he was drunk off his ass was an overstatement, but he was clearly a bit further than buzzed. Didn't even acknowledge ghost when he walked, just continued idly running his finger around the rim of his glass, staring sightlessly into the amber liquid. Where he even got the bottle of scotch was a question ghost didn't bother to think on.

Ghost took it upon himself to situate himself next to soap, pressing his thigh into the scot's.

"How much have you had, Johnny?" He asked softly, something colored his voice that he didn't wish to look deeper into — that's why they worked. Soap toed the line between too much, and ghost let him, laughing it off when it circled too close, and soap always followed.

"Enough. I should pack it up." Soap said equally soft, solem, but he made no move to do so, simply continuing to cradle the glass between his hands. — so that's it, huh. That's how he stays so composed. He's self-aware. Maybe too much for his own good.

Soap pulled the cup up to his lips to take a sip of the warm liquid. Ghost's hands gently guided the glass out of his hands before it reached its destination. Soap let it happen. He still hadn't even glanced at ghost, and he was being unusually quiet. Ghost didn't like it.

They sat in silence for a moment.

Or ghost thought they did. Then a moment later he hears the flick of a lighter, and he turns his head to see soap lighting up a cigarette. Simon frowns behind his mask. Soap takes a delicate pull off the cigarette, and lets the smoke steam out of his mouth slowly. Still, it's like he's looking anywhere but ghost. It's like he's looking through ghost. Ghost sighs — he doesn't like this johnny. — his fingers automatically itch for a cigarette of his own, his body so used to sharing one with the man beside him. He doesn't. There's no real need for one at the moment, just a desire to share something.

"Tell me?" Ghost offers. It's gruff, and hardly sounds like a question at all, but an offer all the same.

Soap doesn't answer. He's eerily quiet. The only sound is their breathing, and the occasional pull of the one lone cigarette.

It's quiet for a long time. Ghost doesn't force anything, just sits with him. Then–

"My da's dyin'." It's small, quiet, as if saying it too loud will shatter whatever's in the air between them. "I should take some leave, be there... but... I won't." The cigarette's almost burned down to the but now. He takes one last drag off it, then snubs it out.

Simon stays quiet, letting johnny think, it's not his place to speak. It's not what Johnny needs right now.

"He'd be furious, I think. He'd tell me to go to hell, maybe in a few more words." Johnny chuckled darkly. "Mum will be devastated if I don't go. And my sisters will never forgive me if I'm not there — mum will though, she's too kind — but... I can't go." He said wistfully, the words come out slow — it's probably the alcohol — he spoke like he didn't know how to stop the words from coming out, and wasn't sure if he even wanted to stop them.

"Why not?" Simon prompted gently, he could almost see the words burning a hole in Johnny's throat.

"We can forget about this come morning, act like this never happened." Soap answered instead, like the words were stuck, but still seared with a need to come out. Or maybe it was the alcohol making him hare-brained

"Johnny..." It was soft, too soft. Soap laid his head on his arms and began tracing formless shaped on the table with his finger.

"... haven't seen him in over a decade, and he was so... angry then. He caught me an- an a boy..." the words seemed to get caught in his throat. "Barely even let me pack my bags before shipping me off. He was so nice before... before he knew. He was so amazing. I always thought I'd be like him when I grew up." Johnny's eyes were wet now, instead of the eerie dryness from before, but that's all it was, no tears. "I should see him one more time for that at least... but I won't. I-..."

"Johnny." Ghost felt like he was intruding, he was seeing something he wasn't meant to see. But johnny plowed on.

"I-... but I don't think I can- that- that I'll-... I don't know h-how I'll survive if- if he tells me to- to go to hell or- or t-to get dead again. I can't- I can't do it again." Johnny's voice shook as he spoke, and the words seemed to trip and stumble uneloquently from his lips.

He seemed to burn out after that, and it was so quiet, like they'd gotten sucked into space. Or maybe it was just simon who was in space, and Johnny was cast adrift in the ocean. He didn't know.

"Lets get you to bed, Johnny." The words were gentle, pillowed in all the corners. Johnny let himself be guided easily, searching for any kind of life raft.

#tw drinking #tw smoking #unhealthy coping mechanisms #implied homophobia tw #implied death #sad john 'soap' mactavish #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soapghost #ghostsoap #call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #el rambles

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cc-horan28 · 3 months

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Be My Valentine - 9

The Wind, It Held Your Soul

(T) 1.7k

WW2 AU Soldier!Louis Tomlinson x Doctor!Harry Styles (3/3)

Tw death, implied time period accurate homophobia

Harry swallowed, lump in his throat firmly lodged, hands shaking as he glanced down at the little strip of paper.

18 words. They would be emblazoned across his mind forever. 18 words that changed everything. He still remembered the look Gemma had given him as she handed him the paper.

Harry is widowed in a time he cannot even accept it in public.

A/N: A huge thank you to Ash for helping me figure out the ending! And I love you Nashie and Anna for being there when I was having breakdowns over this! And ofc, ty to Akeyla for holding this fest and these amazing prompts just ah!

Title from Louis’ ‘Holding On To Heartache’!

Harry swallowed, lump in his throat firmly lodged, hands shaking as he glanced down at the little strip of paper.

18 words. They would be emblazoned across his mind forever. 18 words that changed everything. He still remembered the look Gemma had given him as she handed him the paper.

He had run from the stables as fast as he could when he’d heard the cook, Mrs O’Leary calling out to him. It had been months since he’d been sent back after a shell landed at the hospital Harry was working in, onfield. He had been waiting so long. He had thought it was a letter- from-

Louis. His Louis.

A sob racked his body as he bent over, paper crumpling as his fist closed down, nails digging into his palm. The pain was the only thing grounding him right now.

He had to give it everything he had to hold back from screaming. He squeezed his eyes shut, pawing at his eyes with his closed fist. Louis won’t like- wouldn’t- Another wave of anger passed through him as he sobbed, not caring if anyone heard him.

His Louis. The telegram wasn’t even sent to him. Of course it wouldn’t. To them they were nothing. To them they didn’t- couldn’t even exist. None of that mattered. None of it mattered. He wouldn’t even get to hold a funeral for him. He couldn’t face the idea of burying an empty coffin, of having to pretend he was just a coworker- a friend. Like he wasn’t there for the only man he’d ever loved.

He had no idea how long he stayed curled up like that, lost in thoughts of LouisLouisLouis. It was the cold that finally forced him to sit up, head freezing from where he had been resting it against the glass.

He couldn’t even face moving away from the bay window, going near the fireplace. That would involve seeing Louis’ sofa.

Harry remembered how he would climb onto him, slotting himself onto the single-seater, legs tangled with his, toasting crumpets by the fire, sipping the tea Harry didn’t even like but had anyway, just to keep Louis company.

This bay window was Louis’ idea. ‘So we can sit together properly’, he used to say with that grin of his, eyes all crinkled up, ‘Without you squashing me,’- Harry ran his hand over the soft leather, smoothened by the years of use. Everything was his, wasn’t it-

He exhaled shudderingly, distantly surprised when he saw it fogging up in front of him.

His face was cold, tear tracks feeling icy on his skin. He eased his grip on the paper, hugging one of the pillows to his chest as he glanced down,

WESTERN UNION

DEEPLY REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT CAPTAIN LOUIS TOMLINSON IS OFFICIALLY REPORTED AS KILLED IN ACTION JULY NINTH.

Tears welled up, clouding his vision as he clutched the pillow closer, burying his face in it. He cried loudly, beyond caring if anyone heard him, wailing out Louis’ name plaintively.

He breathed deeply when he pulled back, feeling slightly dizzy. He could have sworn he smelled jasmine and cinnamon. Hints of the Brumes perfume Louis liked- had liked- to wear at home.

Sure, it had said pour femme on the little bottle, he thought with a small, sad smile; but Louis never cared. Neither of them did.

He vaguely registered the insistent knocking on the door and curled up with his back to it, holding on to the pillow.

“Harold. Harry, please.” he heard Gemma say, slowly, like she was measuring each word out, but the slight tremor in her voice gave her away “Harry, don’t isolate yourself. I know- I understand you need space. And time. But this isn’t what Louis would have wanted,”

Harry barely registered what her next words were, all coherent thoughts drowned out by the rush of anger he felt.

“Don’t you take his name, not just to console me,” he shouted, stalking across the room and throwing the door open, “Don’t take his name, Gemma. Not when you brought me this godforsaken piece of paper.” He waved the said paper around, tears milling in his eyes despite the anger he felt. He knew his anger at his sister wasn’t justified, but he couldn’t care less.

“Don’t,” he repeated, voice breaking as he collapsed onto the ground, sitting on his haunches with his head in his hands.

“Louis,” he cried, slumping onto the ground, legs a tangle, the carpet cold under him.

He felt Gemma crouch beside him, whispering something that he didn’t quite understand over his own voice, but he stood up when she did, letting himself be led to the sofa by the fireplace.

She didn’t say anything, just gently combed through his hair as he stared at Louis’ sofa.

Louis’ sofa

It hit him at once, and this time he couldn’t even choke out any sounds. Louis’ sofa which wasn’t his anymore. Where he wouldn’t sit anymore.

Harry was grateful for her silence, her company. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he was left alone right now. He couldn’t fathom why he had wanted her to leave. Not her too-

He felt tears silently run down his face, gruelling visions of Louis alone somewhere, over the Channel, lying in a field threatening to swallow him. He tried to push the thoughts away, curling up into his sister, pulling his feet up, and taking shaky breaths to try and calm himself.

They sat there, Harry quietly hiccupping as he felt his tears dry up, only to be replaced by anger. It wasn’t aimed at Gemma this time, though.

“I didn’t even get the telegram,” he said, voice raspy already, “They didn’t even send it to me. My husband is gone, and they couldn’t even send me a fucking telegram,” His voice was rising, and he felt himself shaking with the intensity of all that he felt.

“Harry,” Gemma breathed out, sighing deeply and choosing not to say anymore. Harry needed to get it out of his system.

“They couldn’t because that would mean acknowledging us. They’re too busy pretending we don’t fucking exist and throwing those who protest into jails. I don’t want to erase him, Gem. I don’t want to erase us,” he broke off, closing his eyes as he bent over, forehead resting on his knees as he finally let himself think of Louis, fresh tears streaming down his cheeks.

“I’m not going to pretend,” he said, toying with the congealed dried eggs on his plate, like it was the most natural conversation to have. Like he hadn’t not said a word for two days. “We’ll hold a proper service for him. And I won’t pretend. I won’t talk about how great a person he was, or what a good soldier he was,”

His voice was raspy from disuse, throat raw from all the crying and screaming he’d done, bouncing between mad anger and complete desolation. He took the glass of orange juice Gemma offered with a silent nod.

She had been an angel, a constant presence, never invading his space, giving him the time he needed to process while still being a rock he could anchor to.

He took a small sip, ignoring the tears that were threatening to spill. He would have time for all that later, but he wanted Louis to have a proper send-off, and so would his sisters. And he knew Louis would have done the same, had the tables been turned. Had it been him killed on the Somme.

He quickly brushed the tears away, almost angry at himself.

“It’s okay if there’s another service, an official one, for everyone else. But I won’t attend it,” he said as firmly as he could in his state, “Everyone who knew, who cared about him- about us- we’ll have a separate service.”

That was all he could muster up the strength to say. Gemma stood up, patting his shoulder and kissing his cheek lightly. “He would be proud,” she whispered, “And so am I. I’ll give you some time. Ring for me if you want to talk,”

He pushed the plate away, watching Gemma’s retreating figure silently. He folded his arms and buried his head in them.

He was used to the silence by now.

He closed his eyes as he threw the last handful of dirt, face tilted up as he let the sun warm his face. The tears coursing down his cheeks still stung against the wind, but the golden glow he saw from behind his eyelids made it just a bit more bearable. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if it was grey and rainy.

Sunny days were Louis’ favorite, Harry thought, biting down on his lower lip. He used to love heading off to Kensington, getting some fresh rolls on their way there and having them by the pond. They always had to sit just a bit too far away, and still got suspicious glares from passersby, but Harry wouldn’t have had it any other way.

None of it changed the fact that Louis was gone and Harry doubted if he would ever entirely come to terms with it. With never seeing his eyes crinkle with laughter, or hear him singing his versions of Vera Lynn’s songs. With never waking up to him sipping his awful unsweetened tea next to him, newspaper rustling as he bent down to kiss him. With never seeing him again.

No, he couldn’t think like that. Louis was always the romantic between them, talks of a beautiful after, free from pain and discrimination and everything they hated being brought up whenever they got even vaguely theological, or drunk, or both.

He couldn’t help but chuckle weakly, thinking back to those evenings together.

Some day, he would see Louis again. The jasmine in the air, with not a bloom in sight was a testament to that.

They would never fade away. But for now, the silence would have to do.

A/N: again, I'm so sorry i don't know what possessed me to write this. Don't go and reread the first post. No matter what

Reblogs are always appreciated 💕

#bemyvalentine2024 #bemyvalentineno9 #widowed #larry stylinson #tw death #tw implied homophobia #Harry Styles #Louis Tomlinson #WW2 AU #angst #so much angst #hlcreators #hltracks #hlficlibrary #sorry for the ending #larry fics #larry fanfiction #larry angst #one direction

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lighthouseas · 6 months

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stealing past the windows of the blissfully dead

Sure, Mike’s agnostic even though his parents want him to be a Catholic—but he does think, sometimes, that if Heaven really exists—Will might be a manifestation of it. Or a glimpse into it. The point is, he knows Will by heart at this point. Inside and out. It’s a privilege only Mike gets to have. And so, the voice echoes in his head, louder this time: He should’ve noticed the signs earlier on.

fall. 1988. vecna has been defeated, and all should be well. except that it's not.

(in which mike wheeler takes the matters of will byers into his own hands.)

written for @bylerween2023

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fluffypostsforangstyships · 7 months

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After Arthur recovers from his sickness, he and Charles leave everything behind.

They find their new home in the form of a small, but comfortable, cabin in the woods.

Out in the wild there is no one to ask questions or make cruel judgements.

Together they spend the rest of their lives here caring for many of horses and dogs.

Except for their occasional visit to town where they offer horse riding lessons for kids from the local orphanage.

#charthur #i just want them to be happy dammit #rdr2 #arthur morgan #charles smith #tw swearing #cw swearing #implied homophobia tw #tw sick mention #cw sick mention

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aftgficrec · 7 months

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You’re so right, friend, it’s been far too long since we’ve recommended this fantastic fic! Thanks for submitting it. - S

We Used To Be Friends by gluupor [Rated M, 104576 words, complete, 2020]

Neil's life is thrown into disarray when his best friend is murdered. As he starts his senior year of high school, he finds himself on the outside looking in, a social pariah whose former friends are only too willing to bully and ostracize him. Working for his father, a private investigator, leads him to evidence that his friend's murder may not be as straightforward as it seems. Neil throws himself into the investigation, hoping that solving the case might help him regain some of what he lost.

tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/referenced drug addiction, tw: non-consensual drug use, tw: involuntary outing, tw: classism, tw: racism, tw: bullying, tw: violence, tw: homophobia, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced murder

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captainhysunstuff · 1 year

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Transcript: The Chain - Sis was Curious

The Chain - Sis was Curious comic

Light: *thinking about his conversation with his mother, thinking* Kids, huh... Would L even want kids? He doesn’t seem like the childrearing type... *imagines L with a baby* Ehh... not like I really want them. However, raising an heir could be something to worry about down the line...

*KNOCK KNOCK*

Sayu: *peeks in* Knock knock! Comin’ in!

Light: *sarcastic* Please, make yourself at home~.

Sayu: Gotta make up for lost time! *shuts door* It’s a little late for a rebellious teenager phase, isn’t it?

Light: College opens doors to many opportunities, y’know.

Sayu: Even Misa-Misa-shaped ones?

Light: Yes. I’m still seeing where that one leads. *thinking* Jeez, am I going to have this conversation with Sayu, too?? *out loud* Are you just here to bug me about Misa?

Sayu: Whaaa? How’d you guess?

Light: I picked up mind reading while I was away.

Sayu: Wow~. Is there anything you can’t do? For real though. You doing okay?

Light: Yeah. I feel a lot better now. I kinda missed being at home. It’s kind of amazing how nothing’s changed.

Sayu: Yeah. Well, Mom’s got this place how she wants it, and it’s gonna stay that way, like it or not.

Light: Ha, I suppose. So, how about you? How’s school?

Sayu: Ehh... I’m getting by. At least I’m passing. I had to start relying on study groups more since a certain someone decided to run off with his girlfriend for half a year~.

Light: Hey, I’m not gonna be around forever. I can’t be your only lifeline, y’know.

Sayu: Ugh, I knooow. Not gonna lie, living with a wonder nerd like you was pretty convenient.

Light: Good to know where my value lies.

Sayu: Well, that’s hardly my fault! You never wanted to hang out anymore!

Light: *shocked*

Sayu: I swear, if Mom didn’t make you eat with us or make you help me with my homework, we’d never see you! You’re such a recluse! And then you just ghost on us out of nowhere?! Right when I thought you were finally becoming more normal...

Light: What? You didn’t think I was normal?? *thinking* Sayu, too?!

Sayu: Duh, you’re not normal, Brainiac. What teenage boy holes himself in his room forever just to study? Ha. “Studying.” Maybe you are normal~.

Light: Sayu...

Sayu: I know, I know. You really are studying. How else are you getting perfect scores in everything? You’ll probably even pick up college again no problem. You ditched school too, right? You’re going back to To-Oh, aren’t you?

Light: Well, yeah. Of course.

Sayu: And if things get better, will Misa be cool with it?

Light: Well, she’ll have to be if she wants to keep dating me.

Sayu: Whoa...

Light: What? Was that too harsh or something?

Sayu: No no, you’re right. School stuff should come first, but...

Light: But...?

Sayu: You should still have fun. Can’t be all business all the time, right?

Light: Well, I hate to break it to you, but being an adult isn’t always fun. Work, bills... *wiggles fingers in her face, puts on a faux-spooky voice* RESPONSIBILITIES~! CONSEQUENCES~!

Sayu: Ew~! Just don’t burn yourself out, okay?

Light: Henh, I’ll try.

Sayu: Seriously though. Dad disowning you? What’s up with that? Talk about extreme.

Light: See? He wants me to succeed, and dating’s a distraction--

Sayu: No, it’s been bugging me. It just doesn't make sense.

Light: Huh?

Sayu: I mean, think about what Dad’s like: he super stubborn, and even though he’s barely around, he loves us too much to just give up on any of us. Especially you, his genius son who’s working to be a detective just like him. You’re so awesome, and everyone knows it. So, what sense does it make that he’d suddenly abandon you? Even if you guys had a huge fight, if anything, he’d try even harder to get you back. So, it’s weird, right?

Light: I suppose...

Sayu: I mean, all you did was take a surprise trip with your girlfriend. Nothing too radical about that if you ask me. Unless... there was more to it than that.

Light: Where are you going with this?

Sayu: Fine, I’m just gonna say it. Look, it’s not like I don’t think you could bag a model, but Misa was a real... surprise.

Light: What--?

Sayu: Style aside, I just can’t see Dad disowning you over her. It bothered me so much that I went and did some digging, and I found out some interesting stuff~.

Light: *thinking, alarmed* “Digging?!”

Sayu: So, you and Misa disappearing at the same time totally tracks. But after asking around, mainly to figure out where you guys went... It turns out that another guy disappeared around the same time. And when I learned that his name was “Hideki Ryuga,” you know that got my attention! I realized real quick that it wasn’t my Hideki Ryuga, but that didn’t make him any less special. With a name like that, word gets around. Imagine my surprise when I found out that he aced the To-Oh entrance exams, too! Just like you did!

Light: *thinking* She knows about L?!

Sayu: Bro, we all knew that you’d be giving the freshman address with another student. That was Ryuga, wasn’t it? I do remember you acting kind of weird when you came home that day.

Light: *sweats* Um...

Sayu: My guess is: You met the guy, and he blew you away with his smarts. After all, you don’t meet a fellow genius every day. He swept you off your feet so thoroughly that you, understandably--

Light: Sayu--

Sayu: Light. He’s the one you eloped with, isn’t he?

Light: SAYU--

Sayu: It makes more sense this way! Dad was so shocked that his beloved son ran off with another man that he overreacted, and he eventually got over it. Someone as determined and devoted as Dad giving up on you... Someone alluring enough to draw you away... Misa’s reappearance, and your and Ryuga’s continued absence... I don’t wanna say anything bad about Dad, but it just fits better.

Imaginary!Soichiro: *weeping* Light... My son...

Sayu: The Misa excuse was a convenient cover story, and Dad still loved you enough to not directly out you. Helps that Mom and I already knew that you knew her personally.

Light: ...You watch way too many dramas.

Sayu: *sigh* Ehh, I’ve just been trying to make it all make sense, and I had a long time to think about it. Besides, it’s not like you’d actually tell me if I was right even a little bit. Well, not before you’re ready~.

Light: Do you really think I’m gay?

Sayu: I don’t know. It’s not like you ever brought anyone home before Misa. Even then, unless she’s actually a huge nerd, she doesn’t really seem like your type.

Light: *thinking* Ugh, you don’t know what my type is! *out loud* ...You are way too interested in my love life.

Sayu: No duh. I’m your little sister. It’s my job~!

Light: Well, what about you?? Do you have any secret boyfriends I should know about??

Sayu: *annoyed* Ugh, not anymore.

Light: “ANYMORE??”

Sayu: Good riddance, too. Pssshhh.

*So, Sayu regaled Light with the story of her two awful ex-boyfriends that happened while Light was away*

Light: Bastards! What were their names again?

Sayu: Why? So you can go after them? lol

Light: (yes)

#transcript #text #my fancomic #The Chain #Death Note #lawlight #Light Yagami #Sayu Yagami #Sayu being a nosy theorizer #tw: implied homophobia #tw: disownment

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snowangeldotmp3 · 1 year

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tw: internalized homophobia dedicated to @figthefruitfaeth bc zoey and i were talking abt comp het and femme4butch nancy and then this was born.

Something is wrong with Nancy.

This was her third failed date since her breakup with Jonathan.

She doesn’t know what it is, why this was her third failed date. Nancy doesn’t do failed dates, much less three of them within the span of a few weeks. She’s not gonna call him—James or Jasper or whatever his name was—the date was awkward and suffocating and Nancy really just wanted to leave, but, manners and all that. To make things worse, Nancy just, couldn’t find him attractive. It felt like a pity date on his part, mostly. And to make things worse, they had absolutely nothing in common. He kept talking about what he expects from a woman; a stay at home wife and kids and everything that Nancy detested. Everything she actively wanted to avoid.

At least her and Jonathan had shared trauma, and a genuine connection—even if it was as just friends.

That’s why they’d broken up, actually. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him, she did! She loved him more than she ever thought about loving Steve, but it wasn’t in the way that she knew he ought to be loved; he deserved better than that. She couldn’t love him more than that. There was something wrong with her.

She just doesn’t know what.

Nancy sighs, rubbing her face and staring back at the ceiling. The ceiling stares back, and Nancy knows, despite the downpour outside, that she will not be sleeping tonight. At least, not for a little while, anyway.

She tosses to one side, arm curled under the pillow, now staring at her bubblegum pink walls, and recalls the events of all three failed dates, trying to see where they all went wrong. And all three come back the same; Nancy just... didn’t like them.

If she’s honest, she would’ve rather spent time with Robin at Family Video, unofficially stocking tapes and goofing off, making a ranking list of best to worst Molly Ringwald movies. Or listening to Robin ramble about whatever book she’s reading, or about her nerves for college.

Now that she thinks about it, she doesn’t even know why she went on those dates in the first place.

That’s a lie. She does know why. She needed a distraction. A distraction from a certain dirty blonde who works at the video store.

Nancy doesn’t know why she can’t stop thinking about Robin. She should be thinking about Jeremiah or Jacob or whoever the hell she saw tonight, but, no matter what, she keeps going back to Robin.

Her and Robin’s friendship had come easy after spring break. Both of them too afraid to be alone for too long, and Nancy specifically, wanted to make sure nothing bad would happen to Robin. She almost lost her in the Upside Down and she was not going to lose another person to that godforsaken place.

And maybe that’s why Nancy can’t stop thinking about Robin, because she reminded Nancy so much of Barbara. Down to Robin’s nerdy little interests, so close to Barb’s own nerdy interests—stuff that Barb was always so passionate about that Nancy always wanted to listen to her. Couldn’t help but listen to her. Nancy was never sure what it was with Barb, why she always felt this magnetic air around her, an electricity that Nancy constantly tried to ignore when Barb would accidentally brush her pinkie walking side by side in the hallways. She always wanted to be around Barb, and she could never figure out why.

Why Nancy loved it when she made Barb laugh with her stupid jokes; why she thought seeing Barb smile—she could be a little serious, much more serious than Nancy, so making Barb smile was usually the highlight of Nancy’s day—was like winning the lottery. Why their sleepovers always ended with Nancy curled up into Barb’s side, trying to get warm, and an arm slung over her waist, pulling her closer.

Why her death destroyed Nancy. A mourning that sometimes, Nancy never thinks she'll get over. What happens when you don’t know where to put all of that grief? Where does it go?

Nancy huffs, turning to the other side, where bubblegum walls and Tom Cruise stare back at her, still wide awake.

It was nice to have another friend, too, one that she could call in the middle of the night and talk about anything—everything—and feel like she’s got a real friend again. A best friend, even. She’s not a replacement for Barb by any means--nobody could replace her, but it is nice to have someone to talk to again. Someone who shares her love for stupid little jokes and who never fails to make Nancy laugh, even when she doesn’t want to. Someone who Nancy feels drawn to; this warm, giddy feeling inside when Nancy hangs out with her.

Thinking about Robin now—her laugh, her eyes, her hands—the feeling returns, taking root and blossoming inside of her, warming her inside and out, making her face flush and her stomach flip. Nancy can’t help but smile softly into the darkness.

Isn’t that how she was supposed to feel about Jack? That fluttery nervous feeling?

Wasn’t that how she was supposed to feel about Steve? And Jonathan? And the other two guys she went on a date with?

What was wrong with her?

#soft butch robin is implied here sorry. i'm working on an actual femme4butch nancy thing this is just like a brain dump #nancy wheeler #lesbian nancy wheeler #stranger things #ronance #tw internalized homophobia #ronance ficlet #?#my writing #also zoey i hope u like this lol <3 bc it did spawn from our convo abt nancy shgsjdhgksjgh #anyways. uh. yeah <3 #nancy: oh i'm not homophobic i love gay people. but *i* am not gay. just not for me even though i want to kiss robin...who said that...

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ronmanmob · 2 years

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Didn't realise you wrote about Teddy until the previous Anon!! What are some of your favourite things about Teddy, Ron?

'Didn't realise-' Ron repeated, huffing out a half amused, half indignant breath at the very thought. '-I'll talk abaht wha' I please-'

'Which is th'problem, mate' Reg broke in. He was tinkering about with one of the beer pumps behind the bar; closed doors hours at The Carpenter's Arms giving him plenty of time to fix a lingering feed pressure issue that'd cropped up a week or so ago. His comment got a scowl of his brother, and he ducked when a beer mat sailed by his head.

'Ignore tha' twat ovvah there' Ron sneered. '--Ee ain't fond 'ov Ted.

'-Ain't nevvah said tha'!' Reg called absently.

'Ain't nevvah 'ad tah!'

Waving off his brackish twin, Ron got back on topic. '-Ted's...'Ee's fun lovin'. A free spirit-'

From the bar area, commentary: 'S'a fuckin' maniac-'

Ron tugged a ceramic ashtray closer to him. '-Ee'll 'av a laff wiv us' he went on. 'Gets me sense'a 'umour. Nudges us t'wards th'fun fings in life - which c'n sometimes come aht in chaos, granted.'

He'd not mention the sex, drugs and rock 'n roll side of things in mixed company. Ron knew already that his brother didn't enjoy hearing about his boyfriends - Ted or otherwise. And there was only so much prodding in that vein Ron could take before he lumped a two pound ceramic ashtray at his brother's swede. What he could say though, he did through a snaggle toothed grin and in something of a conspiratory whisper.

'--Man brings aht th'Devil in me.'

#//fankoo for the question Nonny!#//Ron'll chat about most anything or anyone given the chance :3 #//you're welcome to send in whatever pleases you #tw: implied homophobia #ft. Our Reggie

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fromgoy2joy · 3 months

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My mother’s religion is Catholicism no longer.

It is bitterness and pride.

She nods along to homilies about the nuclear family- how one mommy and one daddy is what makes the world go round. Never mind I have a scar on my right arm given to me from her as a late eighth birthday present.

Instead of hymns, she listens constantly to internet pundits calling “transgenderism” butchery and evilness incarnate. She sneers at women with short hair and men with painted nails. There is no compassion- no humanity- for those that do not conform.

She scorns the person she crosses who wears a mask, laughing to me about their stupidity and is uncaring about possible health concerns they could have. She is not bothered by the homeless mother on the street but is horrified to come across a man with a high pitched voice who could possibly be gay.

She wasn’t always like this. I look at pictures from when she was my age. She worked in charity at her church, spending all her free time volunteering. There’s a picture of her I found- a carbon copy of me in 1995- wearing an ugly yellow shirt with “Saint Thomas ministries” scrawled across it. Her arm is looped around a boy wearing the same t-shirt in a half hug.

What is strange about him is his painted nails and blue lipstick, along with two dangly earrings. He wouldn’t look too much out of place on my campus, but I cannot imagine how it was in 1995.

“My friend, Benedict,” she told me when I asked, and her eyes teared up. “He died a few months after that photo. They found him dead in a forest. I always prayed he didn’t kill himself.”

I lost the religion I grew up with, to trial and vexation, and finding a new path. And I don’t know if she’s realized it yet- but my mother has lost hers too.

The girl she was is dead, and she says no more novenas. The prayers she cries are for things to stay exactly how they were- with men and women in enforced gender roles and perfect families.

And i look at her, wondering what Bible she is reading where the world is her against everyone and everything. Where her love has gone.

I hope one day I will understand her. But I pray even harder that I will never become her.

(I do not resent Catholics in the slightest. You are on your own path. Do not become like my mother. She is as much a parable as anything)

#fromgoy2joy thoughts #jewish convert #tw christianity #tw catholicism #catholicism #tw sui implied #tw mental health #mother problems #christianity #ex catholic #but I have no resentment to Catholics- don’t lose your religion like my mother has #lgbtqia #lgbt and religion #homophobia #tw homophobia

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max-jagerman-asks · 4 months

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Ok, you got this Max.

@willisjagerman mom should have sent over my address. Come find me and we can talk

#Max and Willie confrontation #hatchetfield rp #hatchetblr #michie #tw violence #tw abuse #tw gun #tw implied abuse #tw verbal abuse #tw homophobia #tw slur #tw toxic masculinity

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zooweemama143 · 5 months

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misc greaser backstory headcanons because i'm bored and it's time for this fandom to hear my lukewarm hot takes <ब₍₍( ˃̗εू˂ )₎₎<ब

johnny and lola's fatal relationship flaws are learned from their respective sets of parents.

johnny grew up witnessing his parents' tumultuous marriage and often felt like he was walking on eggshells due to his father's possessiveness and short fuse. mrs. vincent stayed, no matter how much her husband's fits of rage scared her because she felt she had a duty to her family. her one silver lining was that at least he never laid a hand on her (no, he'd only punch the walls near her or throw dinnerware– that's not abuse, is it? was just one of the numerous feeble defenses johnny would hear from his mom.) (the one time she DID defend herself, the situation escalated and eventually landed both of johnny's parents in prison. because he was already 18 when this happened, social services did not get involved.)

lola's father cheated on her mom and as a result, she's never had any stable relationships beyond short-lived flings. ms. lombardi consequently passed her bitterness about the affair and the divorce onto her daughter; it didn't help that lola's father stopped giving a shit about her after he married his affair partner and started a family with her. witnessing her family breaking apart, her mother wrecking her life with numerous toxic flings, and the father she used to love so dearly doting on his son with his new wife had not only resulted in non-committal tendencies, but also a dislike of men that borders on misandry.

(on that, i feel like a case can be made that lola's a closeted lesbian with MAD comphet, but that's a story for another time.)

peanut's home life is nearly similar to johnny's, but what sets them apart is the fact that peanut's father– alongside his verbal abuse– outright beats him; that's where his intense napoleon complex stems from. initially, his mother was the victim of his father's rage, but the older peanut grew, the more he fought back for her. consequently, at some point, he essentially became his father's outlet for his rage. he hates losing fights, being made to feel small and weak, because, well– if he can't fight back, who'll be there to protect his mom?

norton's family is relatively more normal and maybe even more stable than the rest of his clique's, but they're– unsurprisingly– not without their own issues. i feel like most of the conflict within the williams' family stems from the clashing ideals between norton and his dad; norton's a guy who was radicalized at a young age (since he's quite well-read), and his father– a police officer– represents the authority and the system he hates so much. becoming a greaser was not only teenage rebellion, but also a way to show that he outright rejects what his father believes in; he resents him for being a sellout. officer williams is aware of this.

vance is the only son among a brood of daughters. the second eldest child, he shares a close bond with his younger sisters, but a hesitant, nearly strained relationship with his older sister. their father is absent, and their mother overworked, so both of them are parentified– even if ms. medici didn't intend for that to happen. vance's never been shy about his bisexuality, and the unorthodox way he expresses his masculinity is a source of contention for his sister. she resents how carefree he is, how arbitrary his priorities are (like his obsession with his appearance, his social standing amongst the greasers, and his various romances in bullworth). their father couldn't be the man of the house, and now vance can't even fill in that role if he tried.

as implied by some of his voicelines, hal's fatness is (not so) secretly a major source of insecurities for him. his mother truly tries to be as supportive as she can be, but his father– perhaps another alumni of bullworth, maybe even a former jock?– is especially harsh on him, his "tough love" bordering on outright verbal abuse. hal was initially sent to bullworth in order to "whip him into shape" (both figuratively and literally), and his dad hit the roof when he found out that hal decided to join the greasers instead of getting into something "worthwhile". he tries to be as confident as he's making himself seem, though his dad's comments about his body and his hobbies and his friends cut deep.

ricky was essentially raised by his older brother (a former greaser himself). their parents have never been in the picture, and they were initially raised by their hyperreligious, paranoid grandmother before ricky's brother had enough– he moved out at 18 and took ricky with him. he had to take numerous odd jobs just to support them, ultimately dropping out of his last year in bullworth and forgoing college in favor of working. despite their similar personalities and interests, this is why they often clash– ricky's brother had to sacrifice his schooling for him, and he wants nothing more than for ricky to be responsible and successful. to be the opposite of who he was.

on the other hand, lucky essentially raised his younger siblings (a sister and a brother). his mom walked out on his family when he was still a kid; consequently, his dad fell into a deep depression, was laid off from his job, and turned to alcohol and gambling. lucky had to step up to the plate and be the man of the house in his stead. he's not quite sure who he resents more: his mom, for walking out; his dad, for taking away his remaining childhood; or the system, for fucking them all up in the first place.

lefty is a latch-key kid. both of his parents may be present in his life, but it's as if they're not all that interested in their son– he doesn't quite know why, but there's the implication that he's an accident; one that forced them to have a shotgun marriage despite not being in love anymore. they provide the bare minimum for him, but not much beyond that; whether its gifts or affection. he'll claim he's given up on trying to win their love a long time ago, but he can't deny that with every new scar he earns, he wishes they'd notice. at least once. (with concern or anger, it doesn't matter anymore.)

#tldr the greasers are bonded not only by their mutual interests but also by their tumultuous home lives #i think thats part of why theyre so loyal to each other. the group isnt perfect dont get me wrong #but no one else understands them like they do for each other yknow?#though i think this blind loyalty also often alienates lola from the rest of them #like she understands them to a degree but shes all too aware the boys dont view her on an equal level with them #she's kind of a special case imo. she isnt as loyal to her group as the rest of them but she knows theyre all she has in bullworth #(thats a story for another time tho)#but sigh. i love her. sorry. my misunderstood pookie #anyways ill do the jocks soon 💪#tw abuse #tw implied homophobia/biphobia #long post #bully cce #bully scholarship edition #johnny vincent #lola lombardi #peanut romano #etc im not tagging all of them lmao

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