#typical period homophobia

[pollyna]

au in which Slider gets a gym from his uncle and it has a ring in the middle, Carole does the books and throw some mean punches when she wants and Goose finds new stars and takes his hot babes to matches and everybody would like not to do business with them (that queers) but they're too good for their own and the community loves them.

(Ice is an ex champion with enough under his belt to still be the best of the best and Maverick appears in front of the gym a Monday morning, his bike and a dishonorable discharge from the Navy on his papers. Hollywood and Wolf have a little bakery at the end of the street and it's between their tables they all meet. Slider needs a new coach, Ice a work, Mav a meaning and Goose says their home isn't the biggest but they can find space for two other people. Bradley takes a single look at them, at Ice and Mav, and proclaims he likes them. Not as much as his dads but he likes them.)

And so the story unfoldes itself.

#sunny is bradley's kindergarten's teacher chip is the trio lawyer and merlin hangs around #ron slider kerner #carole bradshaw #nick goose bradshaw #slider x goose x carole #tom iceman kazansky #pete maverick mitchell #developing icemav #leonard wolfman wolfe #rick hollywood neven #hollywolf #marcus sundown williams #charles chipper piper #hint!sunny x chip #typical period homophobia #sport au #top gun maverick #all the '86 class is around #i love them all your honor i can't have an au without everyone #ot3: i even wrote you a love letter #otp: things get old our love is gold #<- new tag for happy icemav stuff #icemav #kernshaw #alternative universe: boxe

[sp0o0kylights]

Steve’s mother was the black sheep of her family.

Stella hated the snow, and the isolation of the small town she grew up in. Hated the bright colors, and sheer friendliness of the neighbors. How everyone was always involved in each other’s business, at all times--and how getting involved meant sharing.

Giving up your time for the greater good.

‘We’re one big family!’ Her father had told her, and hadn’t understood why she found the concept utterly revolting.

Just like she couldn’t understand why they never agreed with her ideas. Things would run so much more smoothly with more rules, better regulations. They didn’t need to rely on magic when they had spreadsheets.

Who cared if some people were upset? If some of the workers where put out of jobs, or “hurt” by her changes?

That was how evolution worked.

The strongest survived, and the business world demanded only the strongest of leaders.

She didn’t regret leaving.

Didn’t look behind her for a second, all too happy to go to college and find herself a rich man to make miserable.

Even had a child, though they were never her favorite things. Her Steven of course, would be so much different from the children she’d grown up among or the ones she helped oversee for her father's work.

He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t shriek or scream or make demands of busy adults. Steven would know his place, and he would stay in it until he had grown into a reasonable adult.

No unrealistic expectations, not from her son.

And absolutely, 100%, no magic.

(Unfortunately for Stella Harrington and her relationship with her son, magic does not obey the whims of one person.

Particularly not that kind of magic, one far older than Stella could comprehend.)

See: Steve knew where he came from. Would never say it of course, outright refused to put a name to it.

Knew better, even when he was young, than to speak it aloud.

Though his mother had long abandoned any powers given to her, Steve was still born with his. When lonely, he often found he could wander into a different kind of woods. 

One absolutely covered in snow.

Steve should have been cold in those woods, but he never was, not even the first time he stumbled into them at the tender age of seven.

These trees never scared him. Not like the ones in his backyard sometimes did.

The whole place felt rather welcoming in a way his own house had never been, and as Steve had stumbled along following the faint glow of lights, he found himself feeling more relaxed.

Happy.

Even at seven, Steve was smart enough to know he needed to turn back, after a while. That his mother would be furious with him if he caused her to miss the meeting she needed to go to.

That he had a responsibility to be where she put him.

He hadn’t crested the hill yet. Hadn’t quite figured out where the glow was coming from, when he realized he needed to go home--but his trip wasn’t wasted.

A baby reindeer distracted him.

It peeked around a tree, and upon seeing him, came dashing his way.

Steve should be scared, would have been scared, but something in him told him this creature was his friend. He held out his hands and greeted it as such.

He was right.

A few more little reindeer came up over the hill, running around him, and together he played what felt like a game as he walked back in the direction he thought his house lay.

Said his goodbyes when the snow started to wane and made promises to return.

Found, sadly, that he wouldn’t get another chance too for almost a full year. He was too busy, signed up for multiple sports, handed over to tutors and taught life skills by a parade of nannies, none of whom ever stayed for long.

He dreamed of the snow.

The gentle way the woods felt.

It was what made him tell the lie that let him go back.

Steve was eight by then, and smart to how his parents and nannies worked. That some of them overlapped their stays when his parents went away.

So it was easy to tell Mary that she could go.

That it was okay, really. Carla had just called, she was on her way.

Just like it was easy to tell Carla that his parents' plans had changed. Let her know she wasn’t needed after all.

What harm would it do if he was alone for a night? His father kept telling him he was a big boy. Soon he’d be on his own anyway.

The snow found him faster this time, when he went for his walk in the woods.

Delighted, Steve kept an eye out for the reindeer, fingers skittering across tree bark as he looked around, once again tracking the soft glow that came up over the hill.

It was a long walk to that light, but Steve didn’t mind.

Not until he heard the crying.

“Hello?” Steve called, voice prim and proper as always. It was a little high--Tommy teased him endlessly about it, but he had been assured it would deepen.

The crying didn’t stop, but things got quiet for a moment, in the way that happens when someone was trying hard not to be found.

(Steve knew exactly how that felt, not wanting to be found. Wanting to cry for a moment, without someone telling you to toughen up, be a man, ‘God Steven you’re too old for all this--’)

“It’s okay!” Steve rushed out, trying to locate where the muffled sounds were coming from before they ran away. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise!”

Which is right about when he almost tripped over the other kid.

He was hunched against a tree, knees drawn into his chest with brown hair hanging into his eyes. His clothes were a odd--a little like how his teacher had made Steve dress when they’d done a play about the middle ages.

“Who’re you?” The boy asked defensively, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

“I’m Steve.” He said, before kneeling down himself. “Did you get hurt?”

“No.” The boy sniffled. After a moment he added; “M’ Eddie.”

His eyes were large, and reminded Steve of a puppy he once saw. All cute and round and shiny.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.” The boy said and it wasn’t an accusation, but it wasn’t friendly.

“I’m not from around here.” Steve told him. “At least, I don’t think I am.”

It was kind of hard to know, given Steve wasn’t sure where here was, exactly--and absolutely knew better than to ask his parents.

“Well then you should go home.” The boy sniffled again.

Steve wasn't put off by it. Tommy had been a lot meaner than this after all, when they'd first met. 

Given their parents made them play together anyways, Steve felt he he could get this kid to like him too. 

"I'm gonna, later. I'm looking for something right now though--you wanna come?" 

Which he felt was a pretty nice offer. Might distract Eddie from whatever was bothering him.

(Steve liked distractions, when he was upset. It made it a lot easier to swallow down the bad feelings.) 

“You shouldn’t hang around me.” Eddie said suddenly. His nose was as red as his eyes, and he refused to look Steve in the eye as he hunched further into himself. “I’m bad.”

“You’re not bad.” Steve told him. 

He got a glare for it.

“How would you know?”

“I dunno.” Steve stopped, brows furrowing in thought. “I just--kinda do. I always have.”

Which was true. Steve was awfully good at identifying who was good and who was bad, from adults to his fellow classmates. It had gotten him in trouble before his mother had sat him down, and told him he just had a good business sense.

That he needed to keep to himself who was good and who was bad, especially the adults, because it wasn’t his place to say such things.

(‘But it’ll serve you well in the future.’ His mother told him, tucking an errant strand of hair back behind his ear. ‘Particularly for business deals.’)

“Well you’re wrong then, because I was born bad.” Eddie scoffed, arms crossing over his chest. “Everyone says so!”

It was dramatic as hell, and Steve couldn’t help the giggle that escaped him.

“I’m sorry!” He said immediately, when Eddie’s face flushed angrily. “I’m sorry it’s just--you look kinda silly.”

He mimed Eddie’s stance for a moment, including a dramatic little huff of breath. It unbalanced him, and Steve ended up dropping on his butt, which made him to laugh even louder.

“No one who does that can be bad.” He said finally, through the giggles. 

“That’s--stupid. You’re stupid.” Eddie said, except he was clearly trying to hide his own laugh at Steve’s antics.

“I’m not stupid--and you’re not bad. I promise.” Steve said, before reaching out a hand, one pinkie extended. “I’ll swear on it.”

“What’re you doing?” Eddie asked him, but he didn’t sound sad now. More curious. 

Curious Steve knew, was a lot better than sad. 

“You wrap your pinkie finger with mine. Then it’s a pinkie swear, which is like--unbreakable!”

That’s what Carol had told him at least, and so far it had held true. Steve figured it must work doubly so, in a place like this.

Cautiously, Eddie reached out, entwining his pinkie with Steve’s. Like any minute Steve would snatch his hand back, and tell him it was all a joke.

Instead, Steve bobbed their hands up and down once, before letting go and asking; “Do you wanna go find that light with me? I wanna see what it is.”

He pointed up the hill, toward the glow that had haunted his dreams.”

“Oh that’s boring.“ Eddie told him, but he had a grin on his face that felt infectious. “It’s just the town. I’ll show you something way better!”

“Yeah?” Steve asked, and let Eddie snatch his wrist, launching to his feet and bringing Steve with him.

In doing so his hair blew, revealing that he had pointed ears.

Steve stared at them in awe as Eddie tugged him further into the trees, until they burst into a clearing filled with gingerbread houses. They ranged from teeny tiny, to large enough that Steve and Eddie could walk in them, and it wasn’t long before the two started a game of tag, broken only by laughter. 

In retrospect, this was his downfall.

Because the little gingerbread houses were really cool, and Eddie was a lot of fun. It was easy to play with him--like the two of them had been made for each other.

Steve had never connected like this with a person before. Never had so much fun with someone before.

Not even with Tommy and Carol, his very best friends.

Eddie seemed to feel the same way, and not even an hour into meeting him, Steve knew he would remember this for the rest of his life.

Remember Eddie.

Steve ended up losing track of time. Stayed so long that his lie was discovered.

The person who came looking for him wasn’t his parents, but looked weirdly like his mom--if his mom were a boy.

He introduced himself as Steve’s Uncle Nick after he called the two boys to him, hands on his hips in a way Steve kind of wanted to mimic.

Steve knew it to be true, in the same way he knew how to find the forest, and if someone was good or bad. A feeling inside him he could tap into, warm and fuzzy in a way that, should he ever be pressed, he might admit to feeling like magic.

“Now how did you get here?” Uncle Nick asked him, like Steve's presence was a surprising little puzzle.

Knowing better than to lie, sensing that his Uncle would be able to tell if he did anyways, Steve told him the truth.

It got him exactly what he expected, which was an upset adult.

Unlike his mom or dad however, his Uncle didn’t yell at him, or grab Steve’s hand in a punishing grip. No nails dug into his skin, no harsh words were hissed. Uncle Nick simply pinched the tip of his nose, before giving a sigh that shook his massive frame.

“Your mom is going to be very upset.” He said finally.

Like Steve didn't know. 

“I just wanted to see the lights.”

“The lights--oh.” Uncle Nick glanced over his shoulder. “Could you see them from your house?”

Steve shook his head.

“No but I could feel them.”

Like a pulse in his chest. A compass, or--a guide.

“He says he can tell who's naughty or nice.” Eddie chimed in, oddly quiet for how loud he had been. “He says I’m good.”

This was said as a challenge, and Steve eyed his new friend out of the corner of his eye. He’d never dared speak to an adult like that, and was both a little in awe of Eddie doing it, and afraid for him.

Something his Uncle seemed to sense.

“Edward, go home.” He said, firm but kind.  Not like how Steve's mom was when she was mad, or his dad when he had a bad day at work.“I’ll come talk to you later. Come on Steve, let me walk you back. I best explain this in person.”

Then he took Steve’s hand in his, while Steve called out a goodbye to Eddie over his shoulder.

“You’ll come back and visit, right!?” Eddie yelled back. 

Steve shouted an affirmative, even knowing it wasn’t likely he’d be allowed.

(Wished with all his heart, that he'd be allowed.) 

“Eddie is really good, you know.” Steve said once he no longer could see his new friend, because it felt important to tell his Uncle that. Necessary, for some reason.

“I know.” Uncle Nick replied gently. “But let’s not worry about him right now, okay?”

“Okay.”

Then they were back in Steve’s woods, the ones that were sometimes unfriendly. In his backyard, and up to the door, and even from here Steve could hear his mother and father screaming at each other, in a tone that made his stomach curl.

“Come on kiddo. Time to face the music.” Uncle Nick told him, and Steve found he really didn’t want to let go of his Uncle’s hand.

He did though.

He was a big boy, and well trained. He didn’t flinch from his parents. Didn’t disobey when his mother demanded he tell her exactly how he got to the fun place, with all the snow--and listened further still when she demanded Uncle Nick take it out of him.

Take what Steve didn’t know--not until his Uncle lost the argument.

Reached into Steve’s chest and did something to him, something that killed that warm and fuzzy thing that had always lived inside Steve.

He cried harder than he ever had before that night. Cried and begged for Uncle Nick to put it back, that he was sorry and he wouldn’t ever use it again if they just let him keep it.

(He promised, he promised, he promised-!)

Sank to his knees and told his parents that it hurt.

They didn't listen, and they didn't put it back.

His father told him to get up off the floor, and then pulled him up when Steve found he couldn’t.

Hauled him to his room, even as his Uncle warned his mother that he couldn’t get rid of it. That he could only suppress it, the same way she suppressed hers, but those words didn’t really matter to Steve just then.

Not when he was hurting, and tired, and found himself wishing for his new friend.

(His mother told him he’d feel better in time.

Steve never did.)

xXx

The hole in Steve’s chest had never filled.

It kept him up at night. The yearning for something just out of reach, tormenting him with a feeling of being hollow.

He didn’t know how his mother could stand it.

Steve stopped fussing about it though--or rather, he stopped the first time his father had slapped him over his complaining.

“Enough, Steven! You’re perfectly fine. Now start acting like it, for fucks sake!” He’d roared, and shocked as he was, Steve had still done what he’d been taught to do.

Toughed it out. Sucked it up. Got over it.

Dumped his entire life into basketball and swimming and other parent-approved activities, even if he felt empty.

He was eight, then ten, then fourteen and soon Steve wasn’t healed, but he'd adjusted. 

Got aloof to the pain as his popularity skyrocketed, and his parents left him on his own while they chased the almighty dollar.

(Secretly, Steve tried to fill the void in his heart with parties and people, alcohol and even the occasional drug, though most just left him feeling worse than before.

It was perhaps how he ended up acting as he did.

Turning from the sweet boy who was always helping others, to someone who was fast with their insults. Popularity was a sharks game, and though he refused to participate in the bullying his friends enjoyed, he made sure everyone knew who the biggest fish in the pond was.

Because the hole was always there, in the back of his mind. The thing inside him that was missing, that made him crave the snow, and the lights, and the boy with pointy ears. 

He might be able to force himself to forget about all of that, if only the hole in his heart would allow him.)

xXx

Five days before his fifteenth birthday, some random guy showed up in Steve’s yard.

This wasn’t unusual--Steve invited a lot of people over.

Tommy and Carol both had a standing invitation to use his pool and Steve often used it to curry favor with the upperclassmen--but even underwater, Steve didn’t recognize the teenager leaning over to watch him swim.

Plus it was a little weird for someone to pop up on a Sunday.

Refusing to be intimidated, Steve surfaced right under the guy, head whipping up to make sure he splashed him in the face.

Laughed as the other guy sputtered.

“Can I help you man?” Steve drawled, hooking his arms on the lip of the pool.

“I’m looking for someone. Steve Harrington?” The guy told him, glaring as he wiped water off his face.

His hair just touched his shoulders, in that awkward stage of growing out that made him look like a pageboy.

Steve tucked that little observation away for later, in case he needed it.

“Congratulations, you found me.” He said, eyeing him over.

Black jeans with holes in the knees, wallet chain and a black shirt with a faded logo of some band Steve had never heard of proudly displayed. A checkered plaid shirt topped the whole outfit, with a red guitar pick dangling around his neck from a chain.

Like the guy thought he was some kind of rockstar, and not in bumfuck Indiana.

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Though I think you’re in the wrong place. The audition for the new town jester is being held at the high school.”

He got a frown, like the guy knew he was being insulted but didn’t quite want to believe it. “I’m not here for an audition.”

“You sure? Cause you’re definitely dressed the part.”

“Okay, you are definitely not Steve.” He said, arms crossing his chest. He had a ring on each hand, catching the light as he clutched at his arms. “Steve wasn’t this much of a dick.”

Which wasn’t the first time Steve had been called out for his behavior--but it had never been by the people he was supposed to care about.

Those people, the people his parents liked?

They loved it.

“Times change.” Steve told the stranger. Kept his tone light and playful, the way that always made girls giggle at him and guy’s listen.

Well the ones he wasn’t making fun of, anyways.

“People do too.”

He rearranged himself, planting both palms flat against the concrete, bouncing once to build energy before rocketing out of the water.

Stood, and watched with interest as the new guy’s eyes raked over his naked torso, before his whole face flushed red.

How he looked away, like he suddenly couldn’t bare to look at Steve.

“You shouldn't have changed that much.” He muttered, but Steve already had his number.

"Why were you looking for me anyway?” Steve asked as he went and grabbed a towel. Wrapped it around his waist, but kept his upper body shirtless.

Idly scratched at his hip and watched as the guy acted like Steve had practically stripped naked in front of him.

Weirdly enjoyed the little spark it gave him, to watch this guy appear so affected by his bare chest.

Defensive, the stranger bit out; “We were friends. I haven’t seen him in a long time, I was just checking up on him.”

That made Steve pause.

Really look over the guy standing before him.

The fidgeting, the blushing, the way he avoided Steve’s gaze.

He opened his mouth, an odd urge to draw this out guiding him when the hole in his chest pulsed.

Like a convulsion, a miniature seizure that took Steve entirely by surprise.

It had been a long time since it had done that, long enough to throw Steve off his game.

Make him feel unsafe, unmoored.

Abandoned.

“Yeah?” He wheezed, before covering himself and the flood of wrong/want/need with a harsh cough. “Well now I know you’re definitely barking up the wrong tree. I’d never be friends with a fucking queer.”

At that, the guy’s mouth dropped open, head whipping around to stare at Steve in shock.

"Don’t deny it, I can tell. You’re practically drooling over there.” Steve smiled with all his teeth, even as he struggled to keep his breath even. “It’s disgusting.”

“You know what, fuck you. I thought you were different and you’re not.” The stranger spat, with far more venom than Steve was prepared for. “You’re the same as all the rest.”

He scoffed, before whirling on his heel, middle finger high in the air as he stormed off into the woods.

“Have fun with your sad, beige fucking life!” He yelled, voice a little choked up.

“I will!” Steve yelled back at him, oddly heated.

Rubbed his chest when he was gone, before sitting down to try and figure out what the hell just happened--and why the hell his chest hurt so much.

xXx

Steve’s life remained completely and painfully normal--until Nancy Wheeler.

Nancy and her smile, Nancy and her reminder of what it felt like to be loved. 

She didn’t fill the void inside him, but what she did came close.

Felt similar.

Steve found he’d do anything for her, looking at life once again through the lens he had back when he was seven.

It was great.

Better than great--it was the best he’d ever been.

Then Barb went missing.

Shit hit the fan so fast that in retrospect, Steve still doesn’t understand it. There was Jonathan and his camera, with the background of his missing little brother. Tommy and his insults, grabbing Steve up by the collar. Nancy being weird, Nancy ducking him to hang out with the guy who took photographs of them having sex.

Steve's brain tracks it all in little snapshots. The way he realized that maybe Nancy was right--he was way more of an asshole than he thought. How he decided to clean the theater, and then apologize to Jonathan.

(Creepy shit or not, Jonathan’s brother was gone. Steve had never had a brother, but he understood how it felt when something important was taken from you.

How it made you act after.)

There was a shift inside him. Not coming from the void, but from how Steve dealt with it.

And then there was a fucking monster coming out of the ceiling.

This is how Steve learns the magic he once had wasn’t special. That it’s not the only supernatural thing that exists in the world.

Only unlike the snow and gingerbread house and boy with pointed ears and an Uncle that looked a hell of a lot like Santa Clause, this version came with evil government laboratories, the Upside Down and his girlfriend holding a gun.

It was kind of a lot, really.

Particularly because his parents weren’t home.

(They still came home of course, but it wasn’t with the same frequency as it used to be.

The business trips went from once a month, to every other week, to long stretches of away periods. Long enough that Steve spoke to them over the phone more than he did in person, and knew more about business mergers than he ever cared too.

Also his fathers love life, courtesy of his drunk mother.)

Steve didn’t exactly handle it well.

Doesn’t think any of them handled it well, really, even if Nancy blamed him for trying to pretend he was okay. But right as their relationship blew up in Steve’s face, shit started happening again.

Flickering lights and freaky monsters. A group of kids Steve found himself in charge of, who were doing their level best to commit suicide.

(“We’re helping El and Will, idiot!” Mike Wheeler protested in the back of Billy Hargrove’s Camaro when Steve brought up that this was not what being benched meant, and Steve let him have that one given the way the world was spinning.

God that asshole hit like a train.)

Another snapshot, full of fear and fury, and things were over once again. 

Steve was telling Nancy it was okay. She could go with Jonathan, that he could tell it was what she wanted.

It hurt him to do it, but he wasn’t going to be like his own parents.

Realized with a weird amount of clarity, that he wanted to be the very opposite of his parents.

Late in the night, feeling every ache and pain in his body but knowing everyone was safe, Steve finally started the long trek home. 

He didn’t have his car (he hoped that was still at the Byers place) and he didn’t have his keys (no clue where those went but he was praying it wasn’t in the freaky tunnels) and was well into the middle of his walk when his chest started acting weird. Really weird. 

Steve ignored it.

He kept ignoring it, focused on getting back to his bed, and his bed alone.

(Maybe he had been thinking more than that. About how the last time he had truly been happy wasn’t with Nancy, but with Eddie. That he’d give anything to go play in the gingerbread houses again.

Maybe he was even thinking of how warm his Uncle had been, the way he was so gentle when he held Steve’s hand.

How he’d argued against Steve’s parents, when no one else ever did.

It was probably just the head injury.)

Unfortunately--or fortunately, depending on who you asked later--the weird feeling didn't stop.

It grew and grew, until it felt like something was breaking out of him.

Like a cough you’d long suppressed that crawled forcefully up and out of your throat, it both hurt and felt amazing, a pang echoing out through his very core--

Then suddenly there was snow on the trees and Steve was stumbling into a teenager with fluffy hair.

“Sorry.” He muttered, right before he went down on his knees.

“What the hell---” Fluffy haired guy said, spinning around and looking at Steve like he was a ghost. “Oh shit, are you okay!?”

“I’m fine.” Steve lied, even as he gave in and laid down.

Man, this snow was nice.

Comfy and soft, and cold on his face.

There was a string of curses coming from above him, and Steve made the effort to twist his head so he could watch fluffy hair kneel frantically next to him.

“ What happened!? How did you get here!?”

“S’long story man.” Steve slurred, feeling bad and looking worse. His head fucking hurt.

“Don’t suppose there’s a guy named Eddie around? He has uh,” Steve fumbled, hands trying to point to his ears. “Pointed. You know.”

He gestured to his own ear again.

(Figured he might as well ask, given all the snow.)

The Fluffy Hair pulled said hair back at that, revealing his very own pointy ear. “Dude you’re in the North Pole, all us elves have pointy ears.”

The North Pole.

The words Steve had only ever dared to think, and never said out loud.

“Cool.” He said instead, not really feeling like he was inside his own body.

“Just--stay there, okay? My name's Gareth I’m gonna go get someone.” Gareth the elf (an elf, wasn’t that a trip. Did that mean Eddie was also an elf?) said, hands hovering awkwardly in the air, before he darted off, out of Steve’s sight.

“Can you get Eddie?” The question came out in a whine, the hurt in Steve’s chest overtaken by the pain in his head.

He didn’t get an answer.

Which was okay, he thought.

He didn’t really need one.

He had the snow, and the woods that weren’t straight out of a fucking nightmare, and, he could just sleep right here…

“Steve!”

He blinked, and found he must have passed out.

“There you are. Stay with me.” A blurry face was saying. A couple more blinks brought it into focus, and Steve knew this person, even if he couldn't put a name to a face.

The hair was longer, and there were more rings on his fingers, ones Steve could both see and feel as a hand ran along the back of his head.

Worried doe eyes met Steve's own, and just through the curtain of curls, he caught the outline of a pointed ear.

“Ed--ie?” He croaked, unsure.

“Yeah Stevie, it's me. You're okay, we brought you back to my place. Gareth is getting help.”

He was trying to sound reassuring but he mostly just sounded worried.

Not that Steve cared, because he finally figured out why older Eddie was familiar.

“Oh.” He managed, the words feeling like he had to push out. “It was you. By the--pool.”

“What?”

It felt like eons ago. The weird guy, asking after him. Back when Steve had been doing anything he could to fill the void his magic had left behind, and turned into a raging shithead as a result.

“M sorry.” Steve slurred, voice cracking in its honesty. “I was--asshole. M'sorry.”

The look Eddie gave him was wild. Like he couldn’t believe Steve was here, and definitely couldn’t believe Steve was apologizing.

Which was fair. Until last year Steve wouldn’t have ever apologized, to anyone, ever. 

“Yeah you were, but we can talk about it later. Right now I just need you to stay awake.” Eddie said instead. It was gentle, a lot more gentle than Steve felt he deserved.

It made him want to explain, more than anything, what had happened.

“I was tryin to fix…the hole. Inside.” Steve needed Eddie to understand. Needed it more than breathing, just then.

“I know, big boy.” Eddie soothed, and his hands were back in Steve’s hair.

It felt nice.

“S’not an excuse, promise it's not. I was hurt--hurting, and--I was mean.” Steve continued. It was getting harder to think, the world swimming in and out of focus, but this was important.

Perhaps the most important thing he’d done in a long time, sans saving the kids from the demodogs.

“It’s okay, Stevie. I didn’t get it back then but I understand better now and…”

He might have said something more. Steve thinks he was, but then Eddie was shaking him harshly, and Steve realized he might have tried to pass back out.

“Come on Stevie, sweetheart, you can’t sleep right now. You have to stay awake for me, okay? Steve?”

Steve tried to shake his head and hissed when he found out how much that hurt. Breathed in and out through the pain, before his brain connected back to what he’d been trying to say.

“Not jus’ to you.” He panted. “Wasn’t mean just to you.”

That was important too. That Eddie knew he hadn't been targeted. That Steve was a dick to pretty much anyone he came across.

“I know. I've uh, been watching you, from here."

“Yeah?”

“We have this giant globe. Like a crystal ball, but it’s set deep into the floor so you can only really see half of it. It can also connect to snow globes, and it can let you see places. Watch people.”

Eddie’s voice was soothing, the deep timber of it echoing through Steve’s chest. Belatedly he realized his head was in Eddie’s lap.

That felt nice too.

“I was real mad at you but the Bossman--uh, your Uncle, he kinda showed me you once or twice and then I started watching you myself. Sorry I know that’s weird--”

“Least you didn’t take pictures.” Steve wheezed and then tried to grin because that was very much supposed to be a joke.

(He definitely had felt more put together when he dropped the kids off in Billy's Camaro--so what the hell was happening? Had the shock worn off? Adrenaline?

Fuck maybe he should have just driven Billy’s stupid car back to his house, instead of leaving it at Max's house.

Asshole deserved to not know where his car was anyway.)

Then suddenly there was a lot of noise and light and fuck did that all make his head hurt. Hands went all over him, people barking orders, and a girl Steve was pretty sure was his age was peering at him.

“Steve?” She asked, but it sounded distant. Echoey and unclear.

“I can’t keep him awake!”

That from Eddie, who sounded much clearer, if not utterly panicked. 

“It’s okay, I’ve got him.” The girl said, tight but professional in a way that typically belonged to someone used to medical emergencies. “You can let him go now.”

“Are you kidding me, Buckley you’re an apprentice medmage-!”

Steve frowned at that, but found something was drifting over him. A weight, like an invisible blanket pressed down gently, and he had a second to recognize that this too, was some kind of magic before sleep tried to take him.

He fought it for a moment as a thought occurred.

One last thing he needed to say.

“You’re still good. Eddie. You’ve always been--”

The magic took him away.

xXx

It smelled like cinnamon.

Cinnamon and sharp hints of peppermint, the kind that tickled at Steve’s nose as he slowly rose back into consciousness.

Steve winced as he sat up, head itching like ants were crawling all over it. Idly he tried to scratch at his forehead and found himself touching a thick bandage, at about the same time his body seemed to catch on that he was awake.

It reminded him that he had had a hell of a night in the form of an onslaught of aches and pains.

His fingers traced the edge of the bandage as he took in the cheerful red walls surrounding him. The room was the exact kind of kitschy his mom hated, little twirls of white here and there making the place look like the inside of a candy cane.

The center piece was the full size window, taller than Steve was and twice as wide. Fat, fluffy flakes of snow drifted lazily outside it, some sticking to the window panes as they floated on by.

It was a little like being knocked out and waking up in the Wonka factory, but given all the shit that he had been through the past twenty four hours, Steve didn’t mind it.

Snow was infinitely preferable to the weird ash that came out of the Upside Down.

As if sensing he was awake, the door opposite the window swung open. A tray came through, positively stacked with a stupid amount of pancakes and oozing with maple syrup, the type Steve could smell.

“I,” Eddie announced, head just visible above the good, “had a very embarrassing meltdown when they tried to take you away from me. So suck it up Harrington, because you’re stuck with me now.”

Steve stared at him, mildly concerned he was a hallucination.

“I brought you pancakes.” Eddie added, pausing as he approached the bed like he hadn’t actually thought through to this point.

“I see that.” Steve said, just to fill the sudden, awkward silence. “There’s…kinda a lot there, man.”

So much so it was threatening to escape the confines of the tray and drip down onto the carpet.

“You play sports things don’t you?” Eddie defended, making the executive decision to put the tray down on the bed. “Kinda thought you’d need like, a lot, especially if you're healing." 

Steve snorted, but didn’t bother to hide the smile that crept onto his face.

Even if it hurt.

Dragged his gaze from the pile of pancakes now laid before him, to the man fidgeting awkwardly by his bedside.

Realized belatedly, that Eddie hadn’t changed much.

Not since Steve had last seen him, though he never in his life would have thought one of Santa’s elves would wear so much black.

(Frankly Eddie looked just like every other teenage metalhead Steve had ever met, sans the pointed ears. One of which was now pierced and had little metal hoops threaded through it.)

Eddie realized Steve was looking, and bashfully twist a strand of his hair in front of his face.

It was cute.

It made him look cute.

“You might as well sit and help me with this, it’s way too much.” Steve told him.

Which was the truth--Eddie had brought him a shit load of pancakes and Steve wasn’t exactly sure he could chew all that well right now, considering his left cheek was so puffed out it felt like a chipmunks.

Didn’t want to turn down a gift though--or rather, turn down a gift from Eddie.

Who he absolutely still needed to apologize properly too.

“I guess I should start off with a thank you.” Steve began, as Eddie dropped onto the bed. “I think you might have saved my life, though I swear I wasn’t doing that bad off before I got here.”

“Robin said the shock wore off.” Eddie told him. He didn’t wait for Steve to dig in, grabbing a pancake and rolling it up like a sausage before stabbing one end in syrup. “She also said you had a hell of a concussion, two cracked ribs and a literal boatload of scratches,”

Which sounded about right, considering.

“Still though.” Steve frowned, looking at his hands. “I mostly just fought off Billy, the demodogs never got me.”

Something he was incredibly thankful for, given the sheer amount of teeth.

“I think you’re downplaying your injuries here, handsome, you gave Robin a hell of a fright. She cursed in four languages." Eddie talked fast, just like the little boy Steve remembered him as.

It made him grin. 

“Handsome, huh?” Steve teased, and regretted it the second it slipped out of his mouth.

He hadn’t meant to call attention to it. Not just yet anyway. Wanted to work his way up to his apology and then the things he had kind of realized on his walk home (and possibly before that, though he thinks he might have…repressed it.)

Given the way Eddie froze, Steve figures he’s got about two seconds to talk himself out of it, before Eddie rightfully shut him out.

“I like it. The nicknames.” He said, which is also not what he intended to come out of his mouth and God he was really blowing this, wasn’t he?

“Steve,” Eddie started, sounding a little strangled and nope, no, he was going to fix this dammit!

“I’m sorry.” He said honestly. “I know I was an ass when you came to check up on me, and I know I said some terrible things to you. I regret it. I regret it a lot, and I shouldn’t have treated you like that.”

“You weren't wrong.” Eddie cut in, twirling a ring on his finger, eyes firmly on it. “I am gay. I am flamingly gay. And I understand if after today, you don't want me here.”

Which apparently answered the question about whether or not elves gave a shit about such things.

(Or maybe they did, and it was humans who cared, and Eddie was giving him an out for it.

Steve figured he’d ask later.

After he had finished groveling.)

“I want you here.” He said, as seriously as he’d ever said anything. “I think the real question is why you would want to help me?”

It was the one thing that didn’t add up. Why Eddie had been so nice, when he’d shown up.

Sure it was one thing to be a good citizen or whatever, help out a guy who was passed out on the ground, but Eddie hadn’t just gotten help.

He’d stroked Steve’s hair. He’d kept him awake.

Hell he called Steve sweetheart.

And now he was here again, right by Steve's bedside, checking up on him.

You didn’t do that for the guy who was a downright douchebag too you, even if it had been a few years.

Eddie bit his lip, before he chanced a look back at Steve, up through his bangs. “Because you said I was good Steve. You were the first person who ever said I was good.”

Quieter he added “And because we were friends once.”

“I'd like to still be friends.”

“Even if I'm gay?”

Steve took a deep breath, and let out a truth that he’d maybe been ignoring for almost as long as he’d tried to forget about the hole in his heart.

“Cards on the table Eddie, I’m not sure I’m not gay Or whatever both is." 

He'd heard the word once from Chrissy, but hadn't cared to remember it.

(Regretted that a little bit.) 

He got a mighty frown in response.

“Don’t do that. Don’t--joke, like that.”

“It’s not a joke.” Steve said slowly, feeling the words as he spoke them. “I think this is part of the stuff I always just--ignored. Didn’t want to deal with it, because my--”

Steve couldn’t bring himself to say magic, and so, aborted the sentence entirely. “I couldn’t deal. So everything connected to this place, to the rest of my family, to you, I just pushed aside. Pretended it didn’t exist.”

Pretended that he was normal.

Just like his parents wanted.

Then he’d met Nancy.

Realized what he felt about her, he’d always felt about Eddie. That the way she looked at Jonathan wasn’t the way she looked at him--and even then, in the love he had for her, Steve hadn’t looked at her like that either.

Steve had been attracted to her for her yes--but initially, maybe, because she’d looked a little like someone else.

Admitted to himself that he the reason he could clock Eddie so fast back when he was fourteen, wasn't because he was that good at reading people, but because he recognized what it looked like to get caught checking out a guy.

“But I could never forget about you.” Steve added because well. “I’ve never been able to forget about you.”

He’d already said cards on the table, hadn’t he?

Might as well reveal his whole hand.

“You were the last thing I thought of, when I was trying to get home. I wasn’t thinking about my house, or my parents. I was thinking about you. I’ve never been able to come back here, not after Uncle Nick,” He cut himself off again, frustrated that he couldn’t just fucking it, but made himself take a breath.

Continue.

“--but I could, last night. I could get to you.”

Technically he’d gotten to Gareth, who Steve probably also owed a thank you too, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers.

Gareth had found Eddie anyway, in the end.

“I absolutely get if you want nothing to do with that, considering I think I’m just now accepting this about myself but. I wanted you to know. You’re important to me, Eddie. You always have been.”

It was weird--Steve should have felt laid bare. Vulnerable now that he’d laid out all these things he’d suppressed, that he thought taken away alongside his magic.

Instead he felt lighter than air.

Like the weight had finally been lifted and he could breathe deep once again.

For a long moment no one said anything and Steve figured this was it, he’d gone too far, when Eddie darted in, pressing a quick kiss to Steve’s cheek.

He pulled away just as fast. Wide eyes searched Steve’s face, as though expecting Steve to change his mind. 

If anything, it just solidified it.

Steve reached out slowly, gently grabbing on of Eddie’s hands. Brought it up to his mouth and kissed the back of it, while maintaining eye contact.

Enjoyed the way Eddie’s face went bright red.

“You’re important to me too.” He managed, voice awed. “You’ve always been important to me. Stevie.”

Finally feeling like he knew where he belonged, Steve grinned back. 

xXx

Bonus

“When I said let him sleep Munson, I didn’t mean with you!” Someone screeched a few hours later, jolting Steve awake.

“He was awake when I came in!” Eddie protested, shoving himself up onto his elbows when the women from yesterday--Robin, Steve thought her name was--stormed in. “We fell asleep together after Robbie, I swear!”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Hi.” Steve said with a little wave, before the two of them could screech some more. “I’m Steve.”

“I know, Dingus.” Robin told him, eyes narrowed in fury. “You’re a member of the Clause family, everyone knows who you are.”

“Oh.” Steve said, though it felt less cool and more weird that someone had finally said it out loud.

That he, Steven Harrington, had an Uncle, and that Uncle was Santa Clause.

‘Dustin is gonna freak.’

“I’m sure Mega-Idiotson here hasn’t told you, but I’m the medmage that saw you last night. Or kinda--see I’m an apprentice medmage, but my teacher was kinda out with the Boss seeing someone a town over and time was tight and we couldn’t exactly wait--”

“Breath, Buckley. In,” Eddie teased, before demonstrating a deep breath on himself, hand sweeping into his chest before he loudly exhaled. “and out.”

“Shut up, Eddie, I’m working up to something here!”

“What is it?” Steve said, feeling like if he didn’t interject Robin would take a while to get to the point.

“I might have accidentally undid whatever was on your magic?” Robin rushed out, so fast Steve nearly didn’t catch it. “Like I can tell that’s the Boss’s magic, and that he did--whatever that was, but I couldn't figure out how to heal you with it there and it was kinda already leaking out so I just--took it off?”

Steve gaped at her.

“You fixed me?” He managed after a moment, hand darting out to squeeze at one of Eddie’s.

“Um. Yes?” Robin cautioned, like she wasn’t exactly sure that’s what she did.

“Oh my god. Oh my god!” Steve laughed, then felt absolutely stupid for not checking in with himself.

Because Robin was right.

The hole was gone--and his magic was back.

How had he not noticed that his magic was back!?

“Eddie, Eddie she’s right--I have it back!”

He turned in bed, dropping Eddie’s hand so he could cup his face and kiss him instead.

“Okay, I don’t need to see this--” Robin complained, but Steve didn’t care.

Could only laugh delighted into Eddie’s mouth, before Eddie deepened the kiss.

(“Guys seriously I am still right here! Can’t you at least wait until I’m gone!?”

“No. Now get out Robin, you’re ruining my moment!”

“It’s okay, Eds. I’ll give you as many moments as you want.”

“Ew, ew, ew-!” )

This whole ass thing on A03 if you'd rather read it there!

#Steve is a member of the Clause family #yes that Clause #Steddie #ACTUAL STEDDIE! #FOR ONCE LMAO #eddie munson #steve harrington #0o0 fanfics #stranger things #Steves shitty ass parents #TW child abuse (yelling and a slap) #TW period related homophobia/slurs #well a badly coping fourteen year old steve throws one at eddie anyway #canon typical violence #this is canon to S1 and S2 #A more realistic look at steves injuries in S2 #dont worry he gets better #childhood friends #elf eddie #this is FLUFFY #angsty #but FLUFFY #ALSO LOOK YOU GUYS I ACTUALLY WROTE A ONESHOT #the second half to the other holiday fic is also done dont worry #this idea just hit me like a TRAIN #1/1 complete

[eldritch-thrumming]

if we lived on the moon.

Not for the first time, Steve Harrington wishes he lived anywhere but Hawkins, Indiana.

He spots Eddie walking toward him down the grocery store aisle where he’s been waiting for him, shifting a can of baked beans from one hand to the other, dimples on full display. 

“Got ‘em! Found the last can, they were shoved all the way to the back of the shelf, can you believe it? Had to reach all the way back.” Eddie stops short where Steve stands with his hands on the shopping cart handle. His eyes raise from the can in his hands to Steve’s face, smile widening. “I can’t wait to make you Wayne’s famous wieners and beans. It was all I would eat when I first moved in with him.” Eddie’s eyes sparkle while he talks, remembering, gaze still on Steve as he leans down to place the can in the bottom of the cart. His smile softens and Steve is transfixed, frozen in place, nearly breathless. “Guess it reminded me of my mom,” he finishes in a near-whisper. It makes Steve wish he’d known him when they were kids, that they’d grown up together and seen each other in every moment of their lives.

As Eddie leans back up out of the cart, a lock of hair falls across his face. Steve’s hand itches to reach out and tuck it behind his ear for him. He glances around, covertly and quickly. Finding their aisle empty, he gives in to his impulse and allows his fingers to brush Eddie’s hair away from his eyes for him before dropping it back onto the cart handle. Eddie blushes, just a little, and brings his own hand up to pull that same hair in front of his face, suddenly bashful. 

Maybe it isn’t any where he wants to be. Maybe it’s an any when. Maybe in a year—or two or three or ten—he can touch his boyfriend’s hair without looking over his shoulder to be sure there’s no one watching. Maybe in a year—or two or three or ten—he can grocery shop holding Eddie’s hand and no one will say anything at all. Maybe in ten years, he’ll be allowed to kiss Eddie right in the center of Hawkins where anyone could see them and no one would even care. Maybe then they’ll be allowed to have their date nights at the diner like everyone else, instead of tucked away in the trailer with mismatched candlesticks for a centerpiece and the radio playing their well-worn mixtapes, the ones Steve knows by heart. Maybe it’s just a matter of waiting it out. Maybe then—if he believes in this bright, beautiful future when—he won’t be forced to leave everything behind just to be allowed to love Eddie out in the open, where everyone could see. 

They turn to leave the aisle, finished with their shopping, but before they exit the deserted space completely, Steve feels the brush of Eddie’s knuckles against his own as he pushes the cart in front of him, like a butterfly: there suddenly, gentle and then gone.

He has to believe in anywhere and any when.

"i'd hold your hand if we lived on the moon, walking down the avenue. we'd never think twice about who we'd offend and we'd never say we're just friends. no, we'd never say we're just friends. all that i know is i want you forever and nothing like this could be wrong. if people on earth think that they know us better than we do, then i'll live on the moon with you."

is this anything? i obviously didn't know how to end it lol. i'm having big gay sad feelings tonight about homophobia. i rarely write in a universe where homophobia exists, because these are my barbies and i'm the god of this gay little world, but i'm extra sad today. hope you enjoyed this or something. idk. who are ur fave openly gay musicians? i like boygenius, muna, fletcher, etc. trying to get away from u know who, give me recs!!!! ok bye.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie blurb #steddie drabble #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #tw homophobia #period typical homophobia #steddie ficlet #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic

[17yearcicada]

i will never understand why fandoms with a historical setting insist on making like 70% of the fanfiction modern aus... the history aspect is literally what makes it interesting hello...

#like i'll read a modern au once or twice they CAN be fun #but its prevalence gives me a headache #if you don't want to address period-typical homophobia you can just ignore it. most people will not care #.txt

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Trigger warning: period-typical homophobia and associated slurs

Part 1 | . . . | Part 37 | Part 38 | Part 39

Allison smiles at Eddie as they listen to Steve bicker with Dustin. Eddie glances at her, sees her smiling, and looks… disgusted. “God,” he says with a sneer, “you thought we were serious? That we’re some fags? You thought you could have your picture-perfect little dream life, didn’t you?”

Allison feels fear tingle down her spine. She gets off the counter and makes her way around the island, angling it between her and Eddie, letting her get close to the sliding doors that lead to the backyard.

Just then Steve comes back in, and Allison pleads with her eyes. “Steve? Bubba?”

“Sorry, Allison,” he says, though he doesn’t sound sorry. “You thought we’d accept you being a dyke?”

He and Eddie begin to laugh, and as tears prick at her eyelids, she feels behind herself for the door, throws it open, and steps outside.

Except she’s not outside. She can feel herself calming down slightly as she recognizes the hallway: it’s the one on the way to Cassidy’s room. “Cass?” She calls timidly, wiping her eyes. “Cassie?” She opens the oh-so-familiar door and freezes in the entryway. It’s not Cassidy’s room; it’s a room she’s never seen before. It looks like a meeting room. Her father is at one end of a long table, her mother just to his right. Steve’s to his left, with Eddie to his left, and Cassidy is on her mother’s right. The rest of the table is filled with friends and acquaintances from school, all staring at her, judging her.

She takes a step back. “Daddy?” She asks, like she’s five years old again.

Richard Harrington sighs. “Honestly, Allison, I thought we raised you better than this. Your mother and I didn’t raise you to throw your life away like a prostitute.”

“Dad, I love her,” she pleads.

Cassidy scoffs. “Do you? When you forgot my birthday? When you got me earrings for our anniversary? When you keep dragging your feet about everything?”

Allison gapes. “I- I didn’t- we celebrated later,” she tries weakly. “You said you loved the earrings. And I’m- I’m not trying to drag my feet-”

“Allison,” Cynthia Harrington says, spreading her hands. “We just want what’s best for you, darling. Come with us.”

The rest of the table starts murmuring, with us, come, come with us, and Allison’s heart kickstarts in her chest before she runs out of the room.

She ends up on a cursed-looking landscape, with dead earth and red sky, sticky vines and prehistoric-looking beasts.

She sees a clump of dead trees and sprints towards them, hiding in between them as best she can.

“Allison?” She hears, and her heart thumps in her chest, but how can she be sure?

“Alli? Baby?”

She turns around to see Cassidy trapped under a fallen tree, and she gasps. “How’d you get here?”

“Please,” Cassidy groans, tears tracing down her cheeks. “Please help me, baby, it’s on my ankle, I think it’s broken-”

“Cassie,” Alli sobs, falling to her knees next to her. “I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you.” She does her best to lift one end of the log off of Cassidy, enough so Cassidy can wiggle out. When she’s out, Allison drops the log and wraps Cassidy in a hug. “Baby,” she whispers. “Baby, I’m so scared.”

“I know you are, sweetheart,” Cassidy says, but it’s not Cassidy, and Allison steps back and looks up with a gasp.

“W-what- who- who are you?”

His face contorts into a sickly grin. “I have many names,” he says, raising his arms as if to embrace her again. She eyes him distrustfully. “None of them will make any difference to you, though, since you’ll be dead before you can use them.”

She pivots on her heel and runs, ignores everything she can that isn’t her feet pounding on the dead earth. She suddenly hears a bit of music, which is so unlike anything she’d experienced in this place that she instinctively turns to it. It sounds almost like Steve.

“Darling, you got to let me know,” the voice sings, “should I stay or should I go? If you say that you are mine, I’ll be here till the end of time. So you got to let me know, should I stay or should I go?” Then the voice starts speaking. “C’mon, Al,” it murmurs. “You gotta fight, please. I just got you back, c’mon, I can’t lose you again. Not this soon. I won’t let him have you, Al, but you’ve gotta fight too.”

He starts the next line, and she suddenly sees something like a portal in front of her. As she gets closer, she can see herself, floating off the ground, eyes rolled back in her head. Steve’s standing on the counter, trying to reach her ear to speak. “Bubba,” she murmurs, running as fast as she can. Something tells her to look behind her, but she knows it’ll cost her speed, so she doesn’t, just runs to the portal and jumps through, back into her body.

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#stranger things #if I should stay #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #Allison Harrington #vecna #henry creel #fix it fic #time travel #time travel fix it #period-typical homophobia #tw: queer slurs #someone help me tag this correctly please #starambles

[0sbrain]

i think one of my least favorite troupes in tf2 fanfics has to be scout finds x and y are dating and freaks out/starts being openly homophobic towards them because "canon typical homophobia"

they are mercenaries. fucking contract killers. do you think anyone gives a flying fuck about homosexuality being illegal? you see, they are ok with murder and gruesome violence, HOWEVER they draw the line at two men holding hands because the words on the paper say it's a no no

he would probably tease them because, that's normal that's what friends and annoying coworkers do. and sometimes he might step on a line. but my dear friends. if scout was genuinely homophobic to any of the other mercs, im afraid he wouldn't survive the winter (irse a mimir). he would get snapped by a twig and it doesn't even have to be by the merc he was insulting. anyone in the vicinity would suplex his ass. son, we all suck dick here. get used to it

#also the administrator wouldn't give a flying fuck #she would file it under “potential blackmail if things go south” and leave it as that #because her only investment on the war is draining the Mann brothers of their money and getting to their australium #also this is assuming that homosexuality was illegal in the tf2 universe #which first of all what purpose does it serve to the narrative? that scout says the word faggot? #and secondly do you think that shakesperacles universe needs to 100% accurate to our own? #im not saying you cant do period typical homophobia but it needs to make sense #would a private in the army make remarks towards his veterans in this situation? it's not exactly the same but you get me #this is even without entering into the entire “army gay” debacle #tf2 #i was a little bit mad could you tell

[haorev]

I think one thing we gotta remember is that Candela Obscura, as a thing put out by Critical Role, is very open. The tech and aesthetic might be turn of the century, but like multiple people in the quick start guide are canonically nonbinary. I don’t get the vibe that “period typical homophobia” exists in Newfaire. There are other social ills obviously (especially classism), but I don’t get the idea that queerphobia is one of them.

The Fairelands are only superficially a reflection of the early 1900s after all.

(This thought brought to you by “if Critical Role’s fantasy world that in some parts is vaguely medieval in aesthetic and in others is no more than early Industrial Revolution doesn’t have queerphobia as a social ill, why would the turn of the century fantasy world they advertise and support have it?”)

#critical role #candela obscura #I’ve seen some remarks about Sean and Marion and ‘period typical internalized homophobia’ and I just don’t get the vibe that exists

[angelynmoon]

Eldritch Steve

Part 8

-

Owens arrives in Hawkins as the government always does, a day late and a dollar short. He shows uo with his goons a day after Joyce and Hopper get back from Russia, and Hopper goes off on him.

Steve is amused, leaning against the wall next to Eddie, who is just staring, sometimes Steve forgets that this is his first go around, he's been so calm.

He has nightmares, but not as often as he did before Steve showed him what he really was, showed him just why he had no reason to fear the Down Below. Steve doesn't tell Eddie that he is doubly protected, Wayne has not told Eddie that he and Steve are the same kind of creature, and it is not Steve's secret to tell, so he won't.

Hopper finally trails off, the months of torture in a Russian gulag showing on his face.

Steve almost feels sorry for him, sorry he didn't confirm his death but he had the kids to take care of, the woods to patrol, just because the main gates are closed does not mean the cracks are, cracks like the ones Steve slipped through, like the one Wayne must have slipped through.

Steve has been eating the Demongorgans that came hunting, the demodogs too, making trinkets and charms from their bones.

Hmm, Steve thought as he looked over at Eddie, eyes falling to his hands, maybe he should make a ring next, Eddie would probably like that.

"We really shoud do some tests, Steve." Owens said to him making Steve tune back into the conversation.

Steve looked at Owens, "No, I'm fine."

"You were attacked by a new creature, we should make sure that they don't carry any diseases." One of Owens' doctors said, sounding way too gleeful about it.

Steve stared at her, with a frown, then remembered that for humans the air of the Down Below was toxic, it wasn't for Steve and he'd protected the kids from the hostile air when they had seemed to forget about that fact.

"It doesn't matter, I'm not doing any tests." Steve told them.

"Steve, sweetie, you should let them help." Joyce said softly, it was the same tone she tended to use on Will and Jonathan when she wanted them to do something. It was a tone mother's used on their children.

But she was not his mother, and Steve forced himself to remember that she was Will's mother, that El considered Joyce her mother too, but she had left them while she ran off to Russian, left them vulnerable and alone.

Steve knew what El had gone through, what Owens and Brenner had put her through, she'd told him in stops and starts late at night when nightmares woke her and Steve returned from hunting.

Steve would never forgive Joyce or Owens for that, and he'd never trust either of them with his kids again.

"I said no." Steve said, tone cold, with zero inflection, and he ignored the way Nancy and Robin flinched, it was the same otherworldly tone he'd had in the Down Below.

Eddie's hand found his wrist to ground him, something he'd picked up from Carol, who used it to remind Steve about being Human, but Steve no longer cared as he watched several soldiers tighten their grips on their guns, scents coiling with disgust at the display of affection between two men.

Owens seemed to realize that there was an edge of hostility but he didn't try to defuse it, not yet.

Steve shifted, and his kids seened to understand and moved so they were behind him, Will and El even moving from Joyce and Hoppers' sides, El wrapping her small hand around the wrist not occupied by Eddie's hold.

"There's no need for there to be any problems, a few tests, and then we all go home, like the last few times." Owens tried to placate, but it was clear by the shift that Owens was not in charge here.

"You should make them lower their guns." Eddue said softly, he could almost feel Steve's anger, feel him losing control.

Eddie knew Steve could hurt the soldiers faster than they could fire, he'd seen Steve swallow Demogorgans whole in the blink of an eye but killing the soldiers would not solve anything except satiate Steve's hunger for a time.

"I don't think so. You're going to let the doctors do their tests, and then sign the disclosures." One of the ranking soldiers said, gun coming up more firmly.

"There's no need for threats." Hopper said, tone angry.

"They are not threats." Steve said before Owens could speak.

They all looked at him, because now there was that otherworldly echo in his voice, and it would be so tempting to tear the nearest crack to the Down Below wide open and throw the soldiers to the creatures there that Steve hunted and feasted upon.

But El squeezed his wrist, looking up at him with wide, pleading and terrified eyes, she'd never seen his real form, even Eddie had only seen glimpses of it, only Wayne had seen all of him, just as Steve had seen all of Wayne before they'd come here to the Upper World.

"There are no threats here." Steve said, forcing himself to calm, but he would not be keeping his secret any longer, not when keeping it would put Eddie in danger, Steve turned to Owens, never taking his eyes off the soldier with his gun raised, "I'm the most dangerous Creature the Down Below ever released into this world, and I do not take threats to what's mine lightly."

Steve reached out and watched every single gun in the room fall to the ground in useless pieces.

"You ever threaten My Mate again and you will beg for a death that will not come." Steve said, suddenly in the ranking soldier's face, "I will feast on your flesh for centuries, and before I am done with you I will devour your wife, your child and all those that are yet to spring forth from you disgusting seed. I will make you watch and remind you that your line is ended in this way because you have such hate in your heart. You will wish your bloodline had ended with you."

Steve stared at him and waited for the prey to look away, ignoring the way he trembled in fear, the stench of terror he released.

Once the man looked away Steve turned back to Owens, a little delighted at the way the man had paled.

"No tests, and I expect Eddie's home to be replaced and the same compensation given to him as the children, as per our first conversation." Steve told him, "Now, if you'll excuse us, it's passed the childrens' bedtime, they have a game to play tomorrow."

Without waiting for the other adults to agree Steve ushered the kids out of the room, guiding the younger ones to Eddie's van and giving Nancy a look as he touched Robin's shoulder.

A warning that she would pay if anything happened to Robin while she was in Nancy's care, but Steve let her go with Nancy.

But he would not be letting the children out of his sight while Owens and his men were in Hawkins, not even to their parents, he did not even think he'd be able to leave them in Wayne's care.

He'd lost his spawn once, he would not lose them again.

--

@addelyin @merricatty @lesbiabrobin @apuckishwit @0o-mushroom-o0 @starlight-archer @darkwitchoferie @just-a-tiny-void @swimmingbirdrunningrock @intergalactic-president-awesome @vampireinthesun @goodolefashionedloverboi @adhdsummer @purpleanimeoverart @space-invading-pigeon @lilaclilyroses @nohomoyesbi @plantzzsandpencilzzs @korixae @subversivecynic @flusteredcas @persnicketysquares @freddykicksasses @little-trash-ghost @cupcakesnwhiskey @cats-ate-all-of-my-pasta @planetsoda @paintsplatteredandimperfect

#eldritch monster steve #upside down creature steve #steddie #period typical homophobia #sorry guys #but #feral Steve #protective steve harrington #part 8 #the sorry is for the homophobia not feral Steve #we like feral Steve #From the Rot

[sleepyeye17]

“So you boys are dating now, are you?” Mister Wheeler huffs. From the look of him, he’s had a few beers.

“Yes sir,” Steve said.

“So which one of you is the… You know.”

“The what?”

“You know. The girl.”

Steve and Eddie exchange a look.

“I dunno, Eddie. Which one of us is a girl?”

“Is one of us a girl?” Eddie asks, looking comically shocked.

“If one of us is a girl, why is everyone so upset about our dating?”

“I’m only asking,” Mister Wheeler grumbles.

“Yes, sir,” Steve said, all innocence. “And we’re answering to the best of our ability.”

“I’m a half-elf bard,” Eddie said. “Steve is a wolfborn paladin. Does that answer your question?”

#steddie #steddie fluff #mister wheeler #period typical homophobia #period typical gender roles #steve harrington #eddie munson #Mister wheeler would absolutely ask this question don't deny it #dnd #Joe Quinn #joe keery #stranger things #I don't know anything about dnd

[mushramoo]

people tend to add like a cheating aspect to willry/helliam in aus and fanfics (and in mine, the wives are divorced or passed away) but like. I think it’s 1 billion times funnier to assume they have beard relationships w their wives, and that the wives are dating each other. She’s probably best friends with Henry tbh

#or that they’re poly #which is wholesome but not nearly as hilarious #that man is far too fruity to be straight but hey #he can have his bear and she can have her butch #period typical homophobia btw #fnaf #fnaf fandom #willry #helliam #william afton #henry emily #five nights at freddy's #mooing

[themalhambird]

Aaaaaand now, for a little post-bar-late-night-chit-chat between the boys....

It should be bliss. The bed is soft, the flat is warm, and for the first time in what feels like a decade or three Charles Whiteman can go to sleep with the absolute certainty that he’s not going to wake up bombed to pieces. But he can’t sleep, because he keeps straining for the tell-tale hum of the sodding luftwaffe. He’s still bracing for the sirens to start blaring, and the streetlights fading softly through the curtains are making his chest tighten, convincing him that right now, this street is thrusting its arm up in the air yelling pick me- actively volunteering to be Hitler’s prime target. He stares up at the ceiling for another ten minutes then gives up, rolling out of bed and making for the sitting room. This television thing is smashing- stuffed to the brim with rubbish that has no right to be so mindlessly entertaining and of course, a whole lot of good looking women in short skirts. Some really short skirts. Whiteman wonders-

The thought drops dead when he takes one step through the sitting room door, going for the lightswitch before he clocks Hillinghead. The man’s sitting in the armchair nearest the window, curtains open (that damned street light) but otherwise  in complete darkness. Reading. “No wonder you need glasses,” Whiteman says. 

“Whiteman. Can you not sleep either?” 

Whiteman drops his hand from the lightswitch without flicking it on. “Too quiet,” he says. Hillinghead does that hum-snort-scoff thing of his that Whiteman figures is amusement. 

“Too loud,” he counters, turning the page. 

“Mind if I get the lamp?” It’s not escaped Whiteman’s notice that the other man finds electric lights uncomfortable, even more than they make him feel. It makes sense, Whiteman guesses. They’re bright by his standards- he doesn’t know if Hillinghead even has electric lights in his home. 

“By all means.”  

Whiteman crosses to the right hand corner of the room and grabs the metal stem of the standing lamp. It comes on with touch. Fascinating. He throws himself on to the sofa and stretches out, angling himself so that he’s looking at Hillinghead. “Do you sleep in your suits?” he says. The man is, no kidding, wearing a tie at four o’clock in the morning. 

“No, I just- get dressed if I’m leaving the bedroom.” Hilinghead closes his book and stands. For a second Whiteman thinks he’s chased the guy off, but he just says

“Tea? Coffee?”

Whiteman hides a smirk. Electric lights might get on his nerves, but electric kettles, Hillinghead really seems to like. And the abundance of tea and coffee is something that they both appreciate: for Whiteman, a combination of rationing and supply problems can make tea in particular tricky to get hold of; for Hillinghead, coffee in particular was a rarely-consumed  luxury. And, Whiteman was convinced, the man just really likes using the kettle. A bit of a weird quirk, but everything about this situation is weird. “Sure,” he says, “Whatever you’re having.” 

Hillinghead nods and leaves the room. Whiteman gets up to pilfer his book and throws himself back down, studying the cover. Lady Audley’s Secret, the front cover declares- flipping to the title page, Whiteman sees that it was first published in 1862. When Hillinghead comes back five minutes later with two mugs of steaming black tea, Whiteman waves it at him “Reminds you of home?” he asked. 

“My wife- before we were married, we were…fifteen , I believe. Her mother said she wasn’t old enough to read it so she asked me to buy her a copy and to read it to her while she sat with my mother on a Tuesday afternoon.”

“Your mum didn’t mind?”

“My mother was ill, by that time, she would be asleep on the sofa twenty minutes after Charlotte arrived, more often than not,” he pauses. “She died before we could finish the book. We both did finish it, but separately - I read it myself and then I took off the cover and rebound it with-” he breaks off abruptly, and takes a long sip of his tea, avoiding Whiteman’s eye.

“What,” Whiteman prods. “What did you do? Cut a novel sized hole in the Bible and shove it in?”

“No.”  Hillinghead takes another long sip of tea and then confesses, sounding a little embarrassed: “...it was a collection of Hymns, Psalms, and other Spiritual Poetry.” Whiteman starts to laugh. “When my father found out he whipped me so hard I still had the bruises a month later,” Hillinghead adds. “It was his book, I shouldn’t have taken it.”

“Still,” Whiteman says. “Neat trick.” There’s genuine fondness in Hillinghead’s voice when he speaks about Mrs Hillinghead. Whiteman wants to ask more about this “Arthur” Hillinghead mentioned in the pub that afternoon, but without that 21st century daylight, and without Hasan’s and Maplewood’ casual acceptance, it feels like a topic too dangerous to be broached. Whiteman doesn’t care, per say- he’s always been one to turn a blind eye, or even shoot off a quiet  warning to the odd blokes not quite being discreet enough with the eyes they’re  making at each other. But it’s not something you openly talk about, not for him and certainly not for Hillinghead. So instead he sips his own tea and says,

“When I was a nipper, my dad caught me eating the biscuits my mum had made to take to this meeting, her and her friends got together once a week and they took turns bringing the cake or whatnot.”

“Oh? What happened?”

“He helped me finish them off, then we figured out how to make more.” Whiteman grins. Hillinghead actually laughs. “We got away with it, too,” Whiteman says. “Mum said she couldn’t figure out what she’d done differently that time to make them taste so good,” Hillinghead’s laughter grows. “If I can get the stuff together, I should make them for Esther when I get back.” His good mood dims a little. “If I get back. If she’s alright when I get back. I gave her a couple of people to go to, if - if I went out one night and didn’t come back. The bombings…y’know. Rabbi Goldstein. Inspector Calloway. Either of them would look out for her- but only if she goes. It’s been hard enough convincing her to do what I say when I am around.”

“I am sorry,” Hillinghead says quietly. “If nothing else, from what you’ve said the child sounds like she has a knack for survival.”

Whiteman snorts. “She does that.” 

They both turn their attention to their tea, each  sinking into their own thoughts. But it’s a companionable kind of silence, the knowledge that the other man knows at least a little something of how he’s feeling is a comfort to each. Whiteman hasn’t told Inspector Hillinghead that his daughter’s name’s a household one in his time, that Vera Lynn, Charlie Chaplin, and Polly Hillinghead keep Britain marching on, and he wonders if he should. He wants so badly to know about Esther. But Maplewood has said they need to limit their knowledge of the future as much as possible, or their knowledge of the immediate future of their own times, at any rate, and Hasan had agreed - citing the authority of “science fiction” in general and “Doctor Who” in particular. So mum’s the word- he hasn’t even told Maplewood or Hasan. And much as he wants to, he isn’t going to attempt to try and  trace Esther. Right now, he can just about convince himself that she’s out there somewhere, an absolute rogue of an old lady with an army of  grandchildren, like his mum had always wanted to have. He’ll take Esther to meet his mum, when this is over. If he presents a sort-of grandkid, she might stop nagging him about a daughter in law. Well, a man can dream, can’t he?

…but he doesn’t, not for the rest of that night: the first he knows about falling asleep is Maplewood yanking the blanket off him. “Oi!” he complains, and then: “...where did that even come from?”

“Budge up, I want to eat my cereal and you’re hogging all the sofa space. You didn’t grab the blanket?”

“Nope.” They both look over to the armchair. Hillinghead has nodded off, a blanket of his own and his still open book held limply on his lap. “Soft touch.” Whitehead mutters affectionately. 

“Don’t wake him up!” Maplewood whisper-hisses. 

“Hey- you woke me up, yelling about your bleeding cereal,” Whiteman counters, but he makes room for her on the sofa as he says it. “So,” he says. “What’s the plan, for today?”

#bodies netflix #netflix bodies #know you are loved #Charles Whiteman #Alfred Hillinghead #Iris Maplewood #strong awareness of periods-typical homophobia #the blitz comes up a fair bit at the start #long post

[sapphic-bats]

Stu’s pretty sure there’s something wrong with Tatum.

He and Tate aren’t exactly the most celibate, and anyone with eyes or ears can detect that. They’re not exactly shy about their trysts.

It’s the same thing that’s amiss with him, that’s for sure.

Stu would never, not in a million years, admit that he likes guys. To anyone. Besides the obvious fact that Billy knows, they’ve been fucking around for a while now, and it’s really the only time fun felt serious. Permanent. It’s stupid, cliche, and fucking flowery, but he’s gotta at least be honest with himself, yeah?

He always liked it when girls got as zealous as guys did. When they peeked down shirts, ogled asses, and slept around. I mean, sure, Stu had slit a woman for being a slut, but he really couldn’t care less about why. It was for Billy, and that was the only reason he needed. He wasn’t paid to think, but he was compensated, needless to say. Just… not in the way most would pay a hitman, for example.

Stu knew about Bowie. He knew bisexuality was a thing. He knew all about San Fransisco, and who inhabited it as freely as they could. He really never gave a shit, until he started puberty, and boys looked about just as good as girls did, although Stu often explored the mystery of women and how they worked, rather than the familiar concepts of men.

But the weirdest thing was that, even if Billy seemed to shun the very prospect of girls, someone else didn’t. And it sort of made Stu feel idiotic that he didn’t realize it was possible.

For every perverted glance Stu shot down a girl’s shirt, Tatum had done the same. Tate, however, didn’t seem as blatantly disrespectful as most guys acted. She seemed to recognize that people had feelings, and as long as she was discreet and kept her words and hands to herself, she wouldn’t make a girl uncomfortable.

Tatum slapped Stu when he ogled a girl, but it wasn’t in the girlfriend way it should have been. She didn’t seem the jealous type, Tate was just… what’s the word? Right, a feminist.

But it should have been in the girlfriend way, feminist or not! Shouldn’t it have been?

So, when Stu keeps catching Tatum glancing Sidney Prescott up and down, and picks up on the weird, almost ex-like tension between her and Courtney Blanchett, he says nothing.

In turn, Tatum never mentions the fact that she knew what a stab-slash-knife wound looked like, being the sister of an officer, after all. She never mentions that she knows that Stu’s spent his free time with Billy on the days that he comes about those injuries. She never talks about that one time, on New Year’s Eve, when Stu and Billy changed their clothes on a whim before midnight.

So they don’t talk about it. They don’t, and the secrets die with them.

I’m finally reading Debaser by @sharpth1ng and I had this idea while reading Chapter 8.

#Y’ALL I’M WRITING THIS AS PERIOD TYPICAL AND IGNORANT #use media literacy if you’re gonna come for me babes #scream #scream 1996 #stuilly #tatney #bisexuality #stu macher #billy loomis #tatum riley #sidney prescott #billy loomis x stu matcher #stu macher x billy loomis #sidney prescott x tatum riley #tatum riley x sidney prescott #stu and tatum were both bisexuals change my fucking mind #also I love the gay 🤝 lesbian thought as well #period typical homophobia #period typical sexism #period typical biphobia

[fanfichubcircuit]

Cowboys and Chems || Ghoul X Trans!Masc reader

He’s here. Your cowboy is here. You don’t see Cooper often what with both of you traveling. He had his bounties and you had Chems to sell, but you always had a way of running into each other.

You’re sitting on your bike keeping the motor going in case you had to split soon. It wasn’t like you had been well behaved in that dive bar, but you were itching for a fight today and you got nothing to show for it. Which either meant no fight or someone would show up with friends.

“Well I’ll be.” His voice is honey on a hot day, and when you turn to him that million cap smile is lighting up his scarred face. “Pretty Boy’s in town. Didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Well if it ain’t Coop.” You leaned over your motorcycle. “What could I do you for, Mr. Howard?” You winked. Your smile quickly faded at seeing the girl with him. A pretty vault girl. Venom’s at your lips before you could stop it. “What’s up with Bug Eyes over there?”

She looks appalled, but Cooper waved her off. “Now now Darlin’ there’s no need to bite at friends. She’s helping me with a job.” He walked over to you casting a cool shadow over you. “What say you and I exchange a proper hello?” But it’s not really a question.

You glance around. The Ghoul always draws eyes wherever he goes. Men kissing in a town like this might cause problems.

“Come here Cowboy, lay some sugar on me.” You grabbed his coat lapels and dragged him close.

Luckily, you loved problems more than your buyers loved chems. You could make all the drugs in the world and you got hooked on adrenaline and danger. Maybe that’s why you fell in love with Coop in the first place. He gave you plenty of both.

His lips are dry and cracked and his teeth find your lip immediately. You let him bite you his fill before tipping his head back. He could pretend to be a predator all he wants, but he gave his softness away every time you pushed for it. He tastes like shitty Radaway, but you don’t care. His mouth is soft and warm and yours. Only ever yours.

After what was far too long to get away with in public you pull back. “Hope he didn’t take all your caps on that batch.”

Cooper just smiled down at you. “Doesn’t matter. I know you’ll take care of me.”

You nodded. “Always.” You finally separate to pull out a set of vials for him. “You gonna need some stims too?”

He nodded. “It’s a big fish.”

You shuffled around in your bag nudging the vials of testosterone aside to pull out the packs. “Always is with you. Just don’t break your fishing pole reeling it in. I still need it.”

Cooper let out a laugh. “Yes, Sir.”

You pile the items together and he started counting out the caps. Before you two became more than friends you used to give him a discount as part of a deal for not bringing you in. And when he started flirting with you you gave him an even bigger one figuring it was worth the ego boost. Nowadays he won’t let you take anything below full price.

You’d been confused at first but he had just scowled. “What? You think I can’t take care of my man?” You never argued it after that too warm and melted by the phrase.

Your voice is hushed as you look over the girl again. “Don’t tell me I gave you a soft spot for Vaulties.”

His eyes land on your leather jacket blue and faded. You had already told him how you had stitched it together out of your old suit. But that was years ago. And no one around now knew what you were once. No vaultie had the amount of scars you did.

“Nah Darlin’. This is about old scores.” He looked wistful.

You nodded and looked around. There was some mean bastard starting you down. He looked even more pissed when you gave him a shit eating grin.

“You have fun fishing Cowboy. Come back to me?”

“Always.” His smile was soft. Then the walls were back up and he was the fierce hunter once more. “Alright Vaultie. We’re going!”

She’s gone.

“Sonofabitch.” Cooper sighed.

He ran off your laugh ringing in his ears.

As heavy footsteps closed in on you your hand found your tire iron. “Now sir I’m a taken man.” You dodged the sloppy punch he threw. “But I don’t mind dancing if you really want to!”

#cooper howard x reader #trans!masc reader #period typical homophobia #no beta we die like men #based off an oc of mine #fallout

[secret-sageent]

My way of coping with malevolent 40 is imagining when John gets his own body he just has a lot of fun experimenting with how he presents himself. dyes his hair, cuts it, wears skirts, wears suits, wears whatever the heck he feels like wearing that day, and arthur takes him shopping and they just have fun

#no period typical homophobia does not exist in my head #thanks for asking tho #malevolent #john doe malevolent #arthur lester

[shsl-fander]

Davey who didn't accept he was gay until he kisses Jack for the first time. Davey who never felt anything towards a girl his entire life and just thought something was wrong with him. Davey who was introduced to some of Sarah's friends and tried to force himself to feel something but he couldn't. Davey being a deeply closeted school boy before he meets the newsies.

Him knowing something about Jack is different and how he feels about him is special but not being able to label how or why at first because he was also his first real friend as well. Then eventually the realization hits him like a truck and he starts hiding in his room up late at night just thinking about it and probably hating himself for these feelings because he doesn't understand.

#david jacobs #davey jacobs #lgbtq+ #newsies #92sies #livesies #all versions of him #queer #javid #javey #hes so special to me #internalized homophobia #kinda #period typical homophobia #gay

[doomedlemur]

Thoughts on the character motivations of secret relationships in AU fanfics...

I've been reading a lot of fanfiction, a lot of AU fanfiction, and something I've seen a few times now is Aziraphale wanting to keep his relationship with Crowley secret because it could potentially jeopardize his career if people knew. (Usually he's in the closet, but maybe there's something about Crowley specifically that makes it scandalous (or both).) This invariably leads to angst until Aziraphale decides to come out after all, and then they live out and proud together, happily ever after. Which, great! But—

I've just realized why this trope kind of bothers me: It isn't true to Aziraphale's character.

Because wanting to stay in heaven's good books isn't his primary motivation for keeping his friendship with Crowley a secret. I mean sure, obviously he doesn't want them to know, but his bigger worry has always been for Crowley and his safety. What if his side found out?

Look at him in the Globe scene, looking at Crowley with such fear: "If Hell finds out...they'll destroy you."

That the secrecy is all just to keep his own public persona clean? No, it doesn't fit.

I have my quibbles with Shotgun Wedding, but this is something it got right, that the relationship is a danger to both their careers, and more to Crowley's than Aziraphale's.

Tangentially, another fic I was reading got me thinking about Crowley's role in this setup. Usually there's strife due to Crowley not being okay with being Aziraphale's dirty secret (which tbf is a legit understandable stance, and a great catalyst for Aziraphale's journey to self-acceptance), but in this one, while Aziraphale had the thing thinking that being with Crowley would ruin his career, Crowley's role was subverted. Instead of Crowley stepping away, Aziraphale pushed him away, assuming Crowley wouldn't want to be his secret, that it wouldn't be fair to him. Until eventually, Crowley snaps, calls him an idiot, and that he doesn't care if Aziraphale is in the closet or not! That he's okay with being Aziraphale's secret. (I hesitate to name the fic because this is a spoiler for the climactic revelations in it, but it is on my fanfic master rec list and if you like I'll tell you in DM.)

That blew my mind. It was so opposite to the other characterizations and yet felt so right for Crowley. He never cared that he had to see Aziraphale on the DL, so long as he got to see him, and he wouldn't dream of trying to make Aziraphale compromise his standing for his sake. "I'm not going to tell anybody. Are you?"

Anyway, all this to say that while I understand the plot setup and why it's used, looking past the surface level, it doesn't actually fit for either of these characters.

#looking at you Slow Show #am I analyzing fanfics too critically? possibly #I just find looking at the trends of how things get interpreted to be really fascinating #how close or far things can feel to canon in different ways #I'm finding the historical AUs to feel pretty natural #it's simple- but period-typical homophobia tends to work as a pretense for secrecy #though the two on my rec list have other layers that complicate matters as well #good omens #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfics #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots