#cw: implied homophobia

[imfinereallyy]

hummingbirds

Steve’s crying on the porch of his parents' house, with a duffel bag and baseball bat, when Eddie pulls into the driveway.

“Jesus, Steve, what happened?” Eddie crouches down to get eye level with Steve. Despite being dark out, the sun set long ago, and the outdoor lights weren’t on. Steve turns to look at his parents' car in the driveway and thinks back to when the lock had distinctly turned shut on the front door. They were around to switch the lights on; they just didn’t care anymore to do so.

Steve is grateful for the moonlight, as he can see the pretty lines on Eddie’s face. Even if they currently curve into a frown.

“Hey Eds.” Steve’s voice cracks.

“Stevie…what happened?” Eddie asks again, this time it’s gently. It cradles Steve and holds him softly. He wishes Eddie’s hands would do the same.

“Did you know hummingbirds are the only birds that can fly backward?” Steve sniffles.

Eddie’s face scrunches in confusion, “What? Birds? You lost me.”

Steve pushes past Eddie’s confused face. “They are the only birds to fly backward. Surprisingly, it wasn’t Dustin to teach me that out of the munchkins. It was actually El. She’s apparently going through a bird phase. And I don’t think the others are very interested. So I try to pay attention when she talks about it. And she taught me about hummingbirds.”

Eddie settles on his knees, “That’s great, man and those little shits should listen to her more, but I’m not sure what that has to do with what’s wrong. You called me to come pick you up and hung up before I could even answer.”

Steve bites his lip, “Sorry, my dad clicked the phone off.” Eddie’s face shows surprise, but Steve keeps talking before he can interrupt. “And well, I guess hummingbirds have nothing to do with anything. It’s stupid, really.”

“No, no. It’s not stupid. Tell me about the birds, Stevie.” Eddie’s hand finally reaches out to Steve. He brushes the fallen hair out of his face, and something in Steve just sets him off.

“You see, they can fly backward. And well, no, I’m getting ahead of myself. You see, my cousin Tucker is here to visit. And let me tell you, he is the worst. Like Eddie, you would hate him. Conservative, capitalist enthusiast, real bootlicker kind of guy.”

“Sounds like the worst. Especially if he made you use the big words.” Eddie’s hand falls away, and Steve mourns the loss. Normally, when people make jokes about his intelligence, it stings. It makes him feel small. But when Eddie does it, it isn’t mean or a poke at how stupid Steve is. With Eddie, it’s almost like he’s reminding Steve that he is smart. That maybe Steve is the one making himself small.

He is.

“Anyway, he’s visiting, right? So my parents come home. And I haven’t seen them in months, since before spring break. It’s nearly October, and I haven’t seen them, and I can’t tell if I’m excited or dreading their arrival. It’s always a fight when they are around, how I’m not good enough, how I should be more. Their visits always end up being cut short, and me feeling like shit. But this stupid, stupid part of me was hoping it would be different this time. They haven’t seen me since the “earthquakes.” Surely they’ll be happy to see I’m okay, right?”

Eddie stays silent, his face revealing nothing.

“Of course, it’s not. They only came home because my cousin Tucker was in town. All the way from Indy cause it’s so far. And my mom ‘made’ dinner, as in she ordered it and pretended she made it. It wasn’t even that good, but we all pretended it was the best thing ever made. Cause that’s what they do, pretend. And the dinner is fine, boring. Most of it is just me staying silent while my dad and Tucker talk about the business. Tucker runs the Indy office while my dad is in New York. Ya see, Tucker has been gunning to take over for my dad when he retires, which is another word for dies—“ Steve let’s put a bitter laugh; he wonders if his parents are listening. He doubts it.

“—and they are going on for the whole meal, and I’m almost through the home stretch when my dad brings up me, coming to work for him.”

Eddie reacts finally, “You’re going to New York?” His voice is strained, like he is trying very hard not to yell, not at Steve, but at anyone who will listen. Steve is quick to correct.

“No, no, I’m not. This was news to me to Eds. I have no interest in my dad's business, and as far as I was concerned, he didn’t want me a part of it either. Guess that has changed. Has? Had? I don’t know…” Steve trails off.

“Harrington.”

“Don’t call me that. It makes me think you’re mad at me. Besides, it doesn’t fit me anymore.” Steve bites.

“Sorry, Steve. I’m not mad. I promise. Just, what do you mean?” Eddie’s head tilts to the side, his curls cascading down his shoulder. It reminds Steve of a river, dark water rippling in the moonlight.

“I was so shocked, Eds. When he said that. That I was quiet, I should have corrected him, maybe. Maybe I could have fixed it. But Tucker was so quick to act. He was pissed. He knows my working for my dad means me being set up to take over. And Tucker, he’s worked too hard to make sure he does get the business. But instead of yelling, he just gets this concerned look on his face. And he…”

“He what?”

Steve wrenches his eyes shut as he recalls the rest. As he recalls the way Tucker’s face faked worry as he struck. Like he has been waiting for the right moment to ruin Steve. He manages to open his eyes eventually, only to see Eddie’s face once again. The honest look on his face is enough to push Steve on.

“In the summer, Robin was feeling sad. This was before you guys knew about each other, and I was the only one who knew about her. And she was sad cause nothing had happened with Vicky and she felt so alone. And I hated seeing her like that. And so, so I took her to Indy. And, and—“ Steve starts to hyperventilate.

Eddie takes him by the shoulders. “Breathe for me, Steve. Come on, baby, match my breaths. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Steve matches Eddie’s breath. Ignores how the word baby calms him down instantly. “Tucker told my dad that he saw me in Indy. That he saw me come out of a gay club, Eddie. And he went on about how they should focus more on getting me help, than putting me in a power position, again Eds, which I don’t even want! And how I would be a bad look for the company. How would it look if a company whose whole image is family values, only successor, turned out to be gay.”

Eddie flinches a bit, but doesn’t let go of him. Steve feels instant regret. “That isn’t what I meant, Eddie.”

Eddie shushes him, “I know, sweetheart. You’re just upset. I know. Did you tell him that you weren’t there for you? Or maybe that Rick was mistaken; it was a regular club?”

Steve rubs a hand down his face, “And what? Tell him that my two best friends in the entire world are gay? So that I can be shipped off to New York and never see them again? Yeah right. I’d rather face the bats again than be removed from you two. And I’m not going to out you guys like that.”

Something warm crosses Eddie’s face, “So, you lied then?”

“Before I could say anything my dad reacted.”

Eddie freezes, a darkness swims in his eyes. “He put his hands on you?”

“No, no!” Steve panics, and he purposely leaves out the ‘not this time.’ Eddie isn’t necessarily a violent person. But he does have a protective streak. As admirable as it is, Steve doesn’t want him to get hurt.

Eddie relaxes but only slightly.

“He was actually pretty calm, which is even more terrifying. I expected him to yell, throw things. But instead he just turns and says, ‘Is this true, Steven?’. And what gets me is they didn’t even question why my cousin was anywhere near that club in the first place. Why did he see me there? Instead, he just asks me if it’s true. And it’s the first time in a long time, if ever, that my dad asks me this. He always just assumes I’ve fucked up. And this time, he really asked me about the truth. And I couldn’t, I couldn’t lie. I don’t know why, but it felt wrong to. So I didn’t. I just told him, ‘Yes. It’s true.’”

“Stevie…”

Steve throws out a bitter laugh, “And you know what? He still doesn’t freak out. He just tells me I have five minutes to get my shit and get out. That I needed to call a ride because the car was under the name Steve Harrington, and I was no longer a Harrington. And he was so calm. And my mom just sat there, and I just listened. I didn’t fight. I am so tired of fighting.”

“Steve, why not just tell them the truth? Tell them you were there for a friend?” Eddie’s tone isn’t scolding, only curious.

“See, that’s because I started thinking about hummingbirds, Eddie. I started thinking about how they fly forwards and backward and how they are the only ones that can do that. Isn’t that fascinating? These small birds are so strong and interesting, and can do something no one else can do. But no other birds understand; the rest of them just fly forwards Eds. And I—I feel like that sometimes. That I’m not flying in one direction, ya know?”

Steve feels like he isn’t making much sense, but then Eddie nods and looks at Steve. Like really looks at Steve, and sees him. And Steve feels raw, stripped of his skin, exposed, and it should hurt, but it feels so fucking good. And Eddie stares deep into Steve’s eyes and says, “Yea, I know.”

“I didn’t want to lie. Because even though Tucker was wrong, he was also right. I wasn’t there for me, but I think I needed to be there. To get it. And I think that I’m flying backward, Eds. And I’m worried it’s wrong of me, that it shouldn’t be allowed. And that there is no purpose to me flying backward if I can just go forwards. If I can just fly with the rest of them. But I don’t think, I don’t think I’ve ever really taken flight before. Not before I understood I could also go backward.”

It’s in this moment, where Steve is covered in tears and snot that Eddie finally takes his hands and cradles Steve’s face. Steve’s never felt safer.

“Listen to me, sweetheart; there is nothing wrong with you. Okay? Nothing wrong with you. Just because you can fly forwards doesn’t mean you have to, doesn’t mean you should. Sometimes you’re going to have to fly backward; you’re not going to have a choice. It’s just the direction you’re fast, huge, hummingbird heart takes you. And it might take you a bit to learn that. To understand that, but I will make sure that you do. Because you, Steve Harrington, are fucking fearless and fucking beautiful, and I am so goddamn proud of you.”

Steve finally reaches his breaking point and collapses in Eddie’s arms. Full body, ugly sobs wreck Steve. He is sure that he is soaking Eddie’s favorite Black Sabbath t-shirt to the bone, but he can’t find it himself to care. His fingers dig into Eddie’s back as he clutches tighter as his breathing picks up.

“Breathe, baby, breathe. Remember that. I got you. I got you.” Eddie whispers into Steve’s ear.

Steve picks his head up when he finally calms down, and looks at Eddie. “You.”

“What’s that?” Eddie says softly, rubbing circles through Steve’s polo.

“I called you. Because, I think—no, I know, that I’ve been flying backward, to you. For a while now. And I knew that, even if you weren’t too, you’d still show up. And I just—just need you to know that. I am so grateful you showed up.”

Steve knows he should feel nervous telling Eddie all this, but he isn’t. He strangely feels like his dad at this moment, calm and unmoving. Steve doesn’t understand many things in this world, but he understands that even if Eddie doesn’t love him like that, Eddie still loves Steve in plenty of other ways.

It’s still nice, though, when Eddie leans forward and kisses Steve’s forehead. Steve closes his eyes and releases a breath.

Eddie slides his head down slightly so their foreheads are pushed together affectionately. “Stevie, I’ll always fly backward to you.”

Although it’s awful how they got here, Steve can’t help but feel happy at this moment. He also can’t help the silly giggle that comes out of him, “I think we have just lost all meaning to this metaphor at this point.”

Eddie snorts, “Oh, have we? And here I thought we were having a nice moment, a poetic one at that, telling each other ‘I love you.’”

Steve blinks at him, “You love me?”

Eddie frown lines finally turn upwards, “Yea baby, I love you.”

“I—“

Eddie cuts Steve off. “Tell me in the morning. When your tears have dried, and I’ve woken up with you in my arms. I want to hear it in the daylight. Okay? Let’s go home.” Eddie stands, offering a hand to Steve.

“Home?”

“Yea home, got to fly back to our nest.”

Steve can’t help the snort he releases, “Dork.”

Eddie just smiles, “Thought I told you to save the ‘I love you’ til the morning.”

Steve smiles back as he takes Eddie’s hand, “I didn’t…”

Eddie squeezes Steve’s fingers, “Yea, ya did.”

****

I’m back, not dead, and in my feelings. Thinking about expanding on this one. I hope you guys like it. 🧡🧡

#steddie #stranger things #Steve eventually gets a hummingbird tattoo #everything I write is soft #they deserve to be soft #bisexual steve harrington #gay eddie munson #cw: implied homophobia #cw: internalized homophobia #my writing #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet #robin buckley #steve x eddie #soft boys #post s4 #bisexuality awareness

[fonkeloog]

Anticipation

Sirius anticipated the yelling, the slurs, and the dirty looks thrown his way.

What he did not expect was one of the people at the front of the crowd to look so confused. So hurt.

He wanted to wrap the other man in a hug and tell him it's okay. That he is loved. That he is safe.

All he can do is throw worried looks and feel his heart break as the man across the street blinks several times before joining in the hurtful comments that have been yelled out.

@wolfstarmicrofic

#wolfstar microfic #wolfstarmicrofic #my microfic #CW: implied homophobia

[livebloggingkidshows]

Flufftober (@flufftober) Day 7

"I told my dad last night." Ricky came over early in the morning after texting her he needed to talk. They're sitting outside on the old porch swing in her backyard since they didn't want to risk waking her parents. Nini has her feet curled up underneath her, but Ricky has his planted on the ground, pushing them on the swing gently.

"How did it go?" She has no reason to expect that it went poorly, but she also had no reason to expect his mom would refuse to call her Ricky's girlfriend, and yet here they are.

Ricky sighs and Nini's preparing for him to tell her it went horribly, especially when he pushes off the ground a little harder and they almost swing into the back door. "It went really well. I mean, I don't think he totally gets it but I know he's trying."

"That's awesome!"

"Yeah," Nini can hear the smile in his voice. "He said we could cut my hair this weekend if I wanted to."

Nini rests her head on his shoulder, "And you want to." It's not a question, he's been talking about wanting to cut his hair short since before he came out to her.

"I do. And since my mom is like, living in Chicago now, I don't need to worry about what she thinks about it." There's a trace of bitterness in his voice, but it's mostly relief. Relief that he won't have to deal with his mom invalidating his relationship or his gender for the time being.

#flufftober2023 #high school musical the musical the series #hsmtmts #not liveblogging #mattie’s fics #rini #ricky bowen #nini salazar-roberts #day 7 #cw: implied transphobia #cw: implied homophobia

[elsanna-shenanigans]

August Contest Submission #7: Metal on Our Tongues

Words:  ca. 7,000 Setting: Westworld AU (possible mild spoilers) Lemon: lime Content: guns, mild mentions of gore/blood, mentions of suicide, implied/referenced homophobia, tobacco, implied murder Song: Spectrum by Florence + The Machine

The stars are so bright and there is not a single cloud in the sky; a perfect night, really. The soft grass of the hill is lush, still warm from the afternoon sun that set less than an hour ago. The ground beneath is moist, but not uncomfortably so, the rain of just a few days before long forgotten but quite a ways from the devastating drought of last summer.

The hand that brushes hers is softer than the grass, and it does bring a smile to Elsa’s face.

“You’re a minx,” she says unceremoniously, propping herself up on her elbows as the girl settles next to her, her long, flaxen dress riding up her calves and pooling around her hips like petals of a flower. “Does your father know you’re out at this hour?”

She scoffs, but smiles. “God, no,” she admits, her fingers now sliding up Elsa’s arm like, very certain in their journey. “His heart would cease to beat in an instant if he knew I snuck out.”

“Ah, so you’re an outlaw now.”

“I am not breaking any la–”

“Your father is your law, little girl.”

She sucks in a breath and her nostrils flare. In the dark, her eyes are unreadable. “I suppose,” she says, though her voice is laced with defiance. “What he can’t see won’t hurt him, though.”

The corners of Elsa’s mouth tug up despite herself as she moves her arms out of the way, her back once again hitting the soft grass. She lets out a sigh and folds her hands under her head, eyes closed, pointedly ignoring the warmth of another body settling next to hers until she feels a cheek rest on her bare elbow.

“What are you thinking about?”

The question is whispered against her ear barely louder than the wind rustling the grass around her head.

“The stars,” she says coyly, her eyes still closed. She feels the weight at her side shift and she knows the girl is watching her face. “The wind. The grass.”

She says nothing more, waiting.

“Why?” comes at last, the girl’s voice teetering on the edge between curious and irritated. She clearly expected a different answer, and knowing that only makes Elsa feel smug. She shuffles her elbow, and the girl takes the hint; she puts her head back down, the smooth silkness of her hair telling Elsa she’s facing the sky now.

That’s the cue she needed. “They’re all so vast,” she speaks much softer now, turning just enough so that her lips can graze the top of the auburn halo at her side. “So many stars in the sky, and just as many blades of grass out in the prairies.” She opens her eyes and breathes in her scent. “So similar, but so far apart.”

“But the wind knows them all,” the girl offers, catching on quickly. She lets out a pearly laugh when Elsa nods. “I had no idea you were so poetic.”

It’s Elsa’s turn to scoff when she turns back towards the sky. “There’s many things you don’t know about me, little girl.”

Rapid movement at her side, before a freckled face comes in to obscure her view of the sky, her eyes twinkling with something completely unexpected. “Stop calling me that,” she husks out as her hair slides off her shoulder and falls around Elsa’s head like a curtain, blocking out the wind. “I’m not a little girl,” she continues, the tone in her voice almost childishly defiant in spite of her words. She moves to straddle Elsa at her waist, her green dress mounting atop Elsa’s leather pants like a grassy hill.

She yanks Elsa’s arms out from under her in a surprisingly forceful move, then pins them over her head. When she speaks again, her voice is filled with fiery resolve. “Say my name.”

Elsa stops herself from smirking as she rises from the ground the best she can despite the physical restraint. “Anna,” she whispers, their lips brushing together. “My sweet, darling Anna.”

Anna smiles and captures her in a heated kiss.

For a moment, all the stars in the universe mold together into one.

Hours later, their naked bodies are pressed flush against each other, clothes cast aside despite the ever cooler breeze brushing over them.

“I want to see them,” Anna starts, quietly, out of the blue, rousing Elsa from her near-sleep. “The prairies. The world beyond Sweetwater.” She traces the outline of Elsa’s nipple with the tip of her finger, a tiny trail of goosebumps following in its wake. “I want to see if the stars look different on the other side of the canyon.”

Elsa smiles.

“Take me there.”

The smile’s followed by a hum. “You’d trust me to take you away?”

Anna shifts to look at her, and her gaze is so intense that for a second Elsa forgets to breathe. “I would trust you to take me to the edge of the world,” she says, voice hushed and rushed, as if afraid someone could hear and chastise her, but that same resolve from hours ago is very much still there.

And somehow, even though every fiber of her body is trying to tell her to refuse, even though her brain is trying to force her mouth to dismiss her, Elsa finds herself lost in those ocean-colored eyes. “I will.” The words spill out of her leaving a bitter, iron tang of betrayal with a sweet aftertaste of hope; something she never thought she’d feel again, not after joining Dylan’s gang. “Tomorrow, soon as the sun rises, all hell be damned.”

It’s a promise if she’s ever made one, and she seals it with a gentle kiss.

-::-

The lights blink. Her eyes are blinded for a while, maybe ten seconds, maybe an hour, maybe it’s weeks or years or more. There is no sound; as the white light pools away and shapes come to existence, no sound follows. She’s confused, afraid, her tongue drenched in metallic taste and her lungs heavy with leaden, still breath despite the scarcely functioning brain screaming to inhale.

The shapes solidify into bodies; moving bodies and dead bodies, bodies upon bodies, clothed in garments she’s never seen before and naked, on the floor, collapsed and contorted.

Her eyes are fixed in place, not a single muscle in her body able to move as she fights to process the situation.

A flash of auburn catches her attention as two dressed bodies pick up one naked body from a pile of others. The neck is cut, almost severed, blood spilled down her chest and abdomen in a dark red cascade.

If Elsa could scream or at least look away, she would.

-::-

It’s some time after dawn when she wakes up.

Cool breeze blows over her face as her eyelids flutter open, the last remains of a dream slipping into oblivion. She gets up, fighting through the grogginess; she stretches her arms and neck before her feet hit the floor and she stands up on wobbly legs like a fresh born calf.

There’s a voice coming from downstairs already; daddy must be eating breakfast earlier today before he heads out to work. She gets dressed and hurriedly makes her way out the room, hoping to still catch a moment to wish him a good day.

Once downstairs, she lingers just outside the kitchen for a moment; she doesn’t want to interrupt the conversation, the soft melodic voice of her sister barely louder than the wind whistling outside.

When daddy answers in his usual, curt way and silence follows, she enters the room with a cough.

“There she is.” Their father puts his mug down on the kitchen table and points to her, as if to emphasize whom exactly he means. “We were just talking about you. Thought you’d be joining us for breakfast.”

She looks at him in confusion, before shifting her gaze to the clock. With shock, she realizes it’s already past 9. “I’m sorry,” she says quickly, feeling blood rush to her face until she can swear she tastes it on her tongue. Out the corner of her eye she can see her sister covering her face in a poor attempt to hide a giggle. “I thought it was earlier.”

Daddy grumbles something about being a bad example, but then he waves dismissively. “I am about to head out,” he says louder as he gets up. “I need you to take care of a few things for me today, Elsa.”

“Of course.”

He walks over to her sister and places a quick kiss on her forehead, before turning to face Elsa. She braces herself for another stern comment, but instead he pulls her in for a hug, his coarse mustache brushing unpleasantly across her cheek.

Before long, they hear the front door close behind him.

Finally, her sister can’t keep the giggle inside.

“What’s so funny?” Elsa asks, irritation unbarred as she sits down in the chair their daddy just vacated.

“Nothing,” she answers in a fakely innocent voice. “Just, your face when you saw the clock– you looked about ready to hike your dress and run away.”

Elsa rolls her eyes. “Oh, hush,” she mutters as she reaches for a piece of bread. “You could have woken me up.”

Her sister shrugs. “I tried knocking on your door, you didn’t respond.”

Elsa hums, but she doesn’t really have anything else to refute that with; it’s unlike her to sleep so deeply she couldn’t hear the knocking, and it’s honestly unlike her to even sleep this late into the morning in the first place.

She thinks back on the feeling she woke up with, before the cold wind blowing through the window swept it all away. It’s something she’s never quite felt before. Like a threat of the unknown that raises the hair at the back of her neck, but oddly familiar at the same time. Blue skies all the way across the arid expanse until the storm clouds on the horizon. Rain washing away the heat of the day from her sweaty face right before the evening chill settles in her bones. Rush of excitement in her blood that’s almost blinding right after a gunshot and– and–

No words exist in this world to describe the feeling that follows.

Her sister’s fingers brushing the top of her hand brings her back. She shakes her head instinctively, disagreeing with no one but her own thoughts, and when she looks up at the freckled face across from her, she’s met with worry.

“Are you alright?” she asks softly, her thumb now brushing in a soothing, repetitive motion over Elsa’s knuckles.

She nods this time. “I’m fine, Anna, I just–” she stops, unsure of what even to say. She and Anna are close, and she’d like to think that she could confide anything in her, but this does not feel like an issue of secrecy. “I’ve been having dreams.”

Anna smiles briefly, but she doesn’t let go. “We all have those, sometimes,” she says with a playful note, though her eyes are oddly serious. “Have yours been troubling?”

“I don’t know.” She bites her lip, mulling over her words. “Yes. Maybe.”

Anna stares at her, waiting for Elsa to elaborate, her expression unreadable. “You can tell me when you’re ready,” she says finally after a moment of silence. “But in the end they are just dreams, nothing more.”

She lets go of her hand and stands back up, facing away; Elsa lets her words settle in while she chews on the bread. She’s right, no denying it. It’s just silly things her brain decided to show her to entertain through the night. Something to remind her mind that she’s still, in fact, alive, and this is just a temporary state.

That she’ll wake up again.

When she looks up from the table, Anna is smiling at her.

“Are you done?” she asks, back in her previous soft tone, her cheeks dimpling again with a smile. “We should head out soon if we want to make it to town before noon.”

Pushing the thoughts of her dreams to the back of her mind, Elsa puts on a smile of her own as she nods.

-::-

“What’s the issue with her again?”

A man with hay-colored hair settles in front of her. “Not much. She seems to work better back in this narrative,” he says quickly as he traces his finger on a thing that looks like nothing Elsa’s ever seen before. “She had a minor hiccup at the beginning of the day, but she managed to get back on track after their father left.”

The man he’s talking to leans in to look at the object. “Interesting. Seems she had some problems with booting up–” He punches the thing a few times. “She assumed the normal loop as soon as she booted, but it was an hour later than expected.”

The other man nods. “You can see she got startled when she realized that and tried to improvise.” He lets out a sigh. “At least she didn’t get the other hosts to go too far off their loops.”

His companion looks at him. “We didn’t get any reports in Sweetwater.”

“No, they managed to catch up by then. Her sister almost fucking stroked out trying to improvise with her, though.”

The blonde man passes the odd object to– his superior, Elsa decides, reading from his body language. He then looks at it for a moment, his copper-colored brows furrowed. “She recovered quickly,” he says, and Elsa has a feeling whatever it is they are managing to read there is referring to Anna. “That one doesn’t seem to have any problems on her own–”

“Except when Elsa was in the outlaw narrative,” the blonde man interjects. Elsa’s not even surprised he knows her name. “They both kept straying from their loops a lot.”

The copper-haired man hums, then gives out a command that seems to just be a string of words Elsa has not heard in her whole life.

Then her mind goes blank, and even though her eyes can still see the men talking between each other and to her, she cannot process anything.

-::-

She wakes up some time after dawn.

She gets out of the tent and pays little to no mind to everyone else; it’s way too early for her to get worked up over stupid things, and every day with Dylan and his men was bound to be filled with those sooner rather than later. She swallows thickly, the metallic taste of sleep still lingering uncomfortably as she looks for anything to wash it down with.

There’s still embers glowing faintly in the fire pit when she trudges over to look for any scraps of food left from dinner; she’s lucky to find a bit of the roast still on the spit, even if the meat is tough and chewy at this point.

Dylan gets out of his own tent by then and nods to her curtly, a respectful gesture reserved for just the few in his close circle. She greets him back before he wanders off into the bushes, where she soon hears him growl swears and offense at one of the poor idiots.

Finished with her modest breakfast, she walks over to where they tied up the horses last night, her chestnut mare immediately whinnying in approval as she approaches her with a gentle tap on her side.

She brushes off as much of the dust as she can with her hand before saddling her up.

“I’m gonna scout the town,” she yells to no one in particular, her voice hoarse from sleeping on the cold, bare ground. At least it was somewhat dry by now, with the rain passing by the area a few days ago.

Dylan’s bearded face pokes from behind a silverberry bush, where she assumes he’s busy taking a piss. “Good idea,” he agrees, then spits on the ground. “You’re the least suspicious looking, I s’ppose.”

She scoffs, but gets up on her mare and takes off with a promise of coming back as soon as she learns anything of value.

The ride to Sweetwater is exceptionally dull.

The town itself turns out to be just that too, she learns as soon as she rides into the main street. There’s a train station, where a train seems to have just arrived with some fresh-faced newcomers whom Elsa couldn’t care less for, but who at the same time provide a nice way for her to blend in without raising suspicion. She gets off her mare and leaves her at a public post by what looks to be a saloon-brothel combo (not that she’s currently interested in either of those, it’s way too early.) She passes by a few stores, notes the location of the bank is not exactly ideal, which Dylan will probably not be excited about, before her eyes linger on one signboard.

Sonsky & Sons Smoking Tobacco Snuff & Cigars

She smirks, then pushes past a few newcomers and locals until she’s right at the entrance, her left hand instinctively checking for the coin pouch at her belt.

With conscious effort, she manages to stop her right hand from going to the holster at her hip; better not to raise suspicion and prove Dylan wrong.

Inside, the smell of tobacco hits her instantly. There’s only a few clients, two of them–a young, clean shaven man and a woman in a needlessly elegant dress for the occasion–very excitedly talking about a cigar the man is holding, as if they’ve never seen one in their life. Elsa decides to pay them no mind, instead decides to head right for the counter where an older man is fighting to stay awake at the register.

She exchanges polite greetings, noting how the man’s voice sounds exactly like every other tobacco seller or excessive user she’s ever met. “What’s your finest leaf?” she asks, fully aware she’s not going to be able to afford whatever the man is about to offer her.

He coughs up a plantation name she can’t even make out.

“Show me.”

He sighs, clearly unhappy to move from his spot, but obliges nonetheless, slowly making his way over to the high shelves behind the counter. Elsa waits patiently as he browses, noting how his movements remind her of a fly caught in a fresh plaster of honey.

It takes him a while, so naturally she resorts to people watching through the dirty shop window. There seems to be a bunch of visitors–a whole lot of them, in fact, and many acting like they’ve seen the world for the first time in their lives, she notes. She watches a grown man marvel at a very regular-looking horse like a little child for a moment before she shakes her head in disbelief and turns back towards the counter. Definitely something to tell Dylan about, this influx of… weird people can really help them not stand out.

The shopkeeper is back with a wooden box, a few rolled cigars resting on red velvet when he opens it for her to see. Elsa picks one up, surprised he’s even trusting her with it as she brings it to her face and inhales, the musky scent so intense it temporarily overwhelms her senses.

That’s when she catches a glimpse of bright red hair outside, and she follows it despite herself.

“You interested?” the shopkeeper asks when she drops the cigar from her face, but she barely even hears him. She watches the young woman, her fiery hair an astonishing contrast against the light green dress, as she makes her way across the street to a general store.

She’s definitely not a visitor, but she stands out amongst the locals. There’s something captivating about her that Elsa simply cannot shake away.

The shopkeeper speaks again but she just waves him off with a muttered ‘sorry’ before rushing out of the smoke shop to the accompaniment of very disgruntled old man noises.

She almost makes it to the general store entrance when the door opens, and the very woman she’s currently chasing like a dog in rut walks right into her.

The girl lets out a surprised yelp as she bounces right off Elsa’s chest and stumbles backwards. Elsa manages to catch her wrist just in time to save her presumably soft behind from a pretty nasty bruising on the boardwalk.

“Thank you,” the girl is first to speak, finding some more steady footing. “And I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

She looks up at Elsa’s face, and whatever she was about to say dies on her lips. For a brief moment, her expression turns to a mix of emotions so wild Elsa isn’t even able to discern a single one of them, before it settles on mild curiosity. “Are you new in town?” she asks, her voice a little more choked up than just a few seconds ago. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you around before.”

Elsa nods. “Yeah, just passing by.” She realizes she’s still holding on to the girl’s wrist and quickly drops it. Suddenly, she’s very aware of her body language, and tries to make herself look as non-threatening as possible. “I’m uh, I– I saw you from the other side of the street and couldn’t help but notice how–”

Gorgeous. Astonishing. Breathtaking. Otherworldly. Ephemeral.

“–pretty you are.”

The girl blushes ferociously, her gaze dropping away from Elsa’s face to look down at the fabric bag of groceries she’d almost let go of before.

Elsa feels a blush of her own creeping up her neck. “Sorry, that was a little forw–”

“No, it’s quite alright,” the girl cuts in, her voice now an octave higher. “You’re um– you’re quite good looking yourself.”

They stand like this–Elsa still looking at the girl like an old, lecherous creep and the girl staring down at both her hands now clasped tightly around the bag’s handles.

“I should go–”

“My name is–”

They start talking at the same time, which prompts the girl to look back up. Upon noticing the apparently hilarious expression on Elsa’s face, she burst out in a pearly laughter.

“My name is Anna,” she finishes, now seemingly more relaxed. “I would be quite happy to show you around town, if you’d be interested in that.”

She thinks back briefly to what she told Dylan before heading out, but suddenly that doesn’t seem all that important. “I’m Elsa,” she returns the introduction. “And I’d love that.”

-::-

“So that was a fucking disaster.”

“I don’t even know why they did it.” The man furiously taps on his odd device. “She was on the loop, about to steal the cigar from the smoke shop when she just– I can’t even see what prompted her to do that, it’s not like she and Anna are supposed to know each other in this narrative.”

The other man sighs, a long, weary sound almost bordering on a groan. “I told you we shouldn’t grab hosts from the town. There must be some fucking artifact in her code from the previous build.”

“I don’t think so.” Upon noticing his superior’s–at least that’s what Elsa thinks, whatever this whole situation is about–expression, he quickly adds, “I mean, I don’t think it’s from the previous build. It must go much further back, cause, see,” he stops and points to something on the device, “it was sexual attraction.”

The superior groans again. “Fucked. It’s all fucked. Can we reset them, or pull them back somehow?”

The blonde man shakes his head. “They strayed far enough we can’t just reroute them, and if we reset them it might just make things worse… for now it’s working, Elsa came back to Dylan and told him about the bank, so we might as well just let them work this out.” He looks straight at Elsa, as if actually acknowledging her existence right in front of him for the first time. “Let’s just keep an eye on them.”

-::-

When she meets up with her the next day, Anna immediately notices something is off.

“I’ve been having nightmares,” Elsa answers simply when Anna points out the dark circles under her eyes. “Nothing to worry about, little girl.”

Anna scoffs at the nickname, but it proves effective at stopping her from prodding. Besides, there’s simply no way to even describe Elsa’s dreams; the things she sees in them she has no names for, other than out of this world.

“I seem to remember telling you my name.” She puts her hands on her hips defiantly. “Or have you forgotten it already?”

Elsa rolls her eyes.

Anna is suddenly much closer, her chest almost flush against Elsa’s as she whispers, “say it.” She looks down at Elsa’s lips, an odd expression on her face. “Say my name.”

Elsa gulps, an odd feeling washing over her, something beyond a simple rush of excitement at a pretty girl’s proximity. It’s scary, sinister yet so familiar her lips move before she can even control them as she breathes out, “Anna.”

That seems to do it as Anna snaps out of it, a soft smile back on her face. “I wanted to take you to my father’s mine,” her voice teeters on childish excitement. “Well, one of them, anyway. This one is out of commission.”

Elsa doesn’t understand what just happened, or what’s so exciting about a mine, an inoperational one at that, but she doesn’t dare complain as she gets on her horse and follows behind Anna’s palomino.

It’s a few hours later, when they’re at the abandoned mine, completely, utterly alone with nobody watching them, that she realizes what exactly Anna wanted to show her.

Her sweet, soft kisses and hushed moans were definitely worth the ride.

-::-

“You need to do something about that.”

“I know, I know. I’m gonna try to do a soft reset… not a full cause that could mess up the whole timeline for Dylan’s gang, but I’ll try to put her back on the track.”

“What about the other one?”

“Anna? She’s pretty much on the loop we have for her now. She’s supposed to be pulling guests on trips to show off the mines, and I think she just decided to execute a ‘guest with sexual intent’ scenario–”

“Guests, Kristoff! So long as she’s not pulling the guests she’s not on her fucking loop.”

-::-

“A family has moved into the house on the old ranch.”

Elsa looks up from the chicken she’s plucking. Her partner–wife, for all intents and purposes, even if for obvious reasons they are not actually married–is looking down at her from the doorway, excitement making her eyes shine as her cheeks dimple with a smile. “Finally,” Elsa answers, dropping her gaze back to the task at hand. “That old thing’s been standing there empty for so long I started to think ghosts might reside there.”

Anna lets out a pearly laugh. “There’s no such thing as ghosts, darling,” she says, her voice still amused even when she spots Elsa’s irritated expression. “We should do something to invite the family, though. Show them we’re good neighbors.”

She slings her arms around Elsa’s shoulders, placing a soft kiss at the base of her neck, chuckling into her hair again when Elsa grumbles unintelligibly.

“I love you,” she whispers just behind Elsa’s ear.

-::-

“I think I figured out what to do.” The man pokes the device, his finger shaking.”It’s like there’s this core attraction between them, and I think it traces back to their first build twenty seven years ago, old coding that we don’t even have a way to edit anymore–”

“So they’re old, obsolete and fucky and should be decommissioned.”

“Maybe.” He looks up at Elsa, and there’s something almost akin to compassion in his eyes. “But for now we could maybe just… harness that. I mapped out a route that would not take Elsa off the narrative while giving her a romantic interest in Anna, and with Anna it was a little easier to give her optional infatuation–”

“So that gives the guest something to compete with?”

“More or less, yeah. Makes it exciting,” he stops and waits for his superior’s approval, which comes in the form of a go on gesture. “It’s- it’s not that much of a change overall, but it gives new depth to both of their narratives–”

“The outlaw and the mine manager’s daughter. Star-crossed lovers. I can see that. Just make sure they break it off before Dylan’s heist.” He nods. “And if it doesn’t help we can just trash them and move on.”

Kristoff–at least that’s what Elsa thinks his name is–gives her one final look before her world goes dark.

-::-

“I want to see them,” Anna starts, quietly, out of the blue, rousing Elsa from her near-sleep. “The prairies. The world beyond Sweetwater.” She traces the outline of Elsa’s nipple with the tip of her finger, a tiny trail of goosebumps following in its wake. “I want to see if the stars look different on the other side of the canyon.”

Elsa smiles.

“Take me there.”

The smile’s followed by a hum. “You’d trust me to take you away?”

“I would trust you to take me to the edge of the world,” she says, voice hushed and rushed, as if afraid someone could hear and chastise her, but that same resolve from hours ago is very much still there.

Elsa lets out a short laugh. “I’m sorry, little girl,” she says, feeling Anna bristle up immediately at the nickname. “I’m afraid I’m not going there any time soon.”

Somehow, her chest feels heavier when Anna lifts off of it and the night gets darker, as if all the stars burned out in a puff of metallic smoke.

-::-

She wakes up some time after dawn.

The house is still quiet when she gets dressed and quickly, but silently makes her way downstairs. She gets started on preparing breakfast for her father, only stopping briefly to greet her sister when she comes into the kitchen to help.

It’s not long after that that they are seated at the table, saving the conversations for after the food is gone from the plates.

Their dad seems to be in a hurry, though. “I am about to head out,” he says over the last few sips of his coffee. “I need you to take care of a few things for me today, Elsa.”

They’ve discussed this all yesterday, so it’s more of a reminder than request.

“Of course.” She smiles politely.

He gets up, then bends over her sister and places a quick kiss on her forehead, before placing his calloused hand on Elsa’s shoulder.

Before long, they hear the front door close behind him and Elsa turns her attention back to her own mug of coffee. She lets herself be lost in thought, her mind wandering back to the ghost of a dream still haunting her from this morning.

Her sister’s fingers brushing the top of her hand brings her back. She fights the instinct to yank her hand away.

Anna’s hand intertwines with hers as they look over the sunset-painted expanse.

“Are you alright?” she asks softly, her thumb now brushing in a soothing, repetitive motion over Elsa’s knuckles. “You’ve barely touched your eggs.’

She looks down at her plate, then smiles apologetically. “I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought,” she lies.

Anna doesn’t buy it, though. “Do you want to talk about this?”

Elsa sighs. “I’m fine, Anna, I–” she stops, the name leaving an odd, metallic taste in her mouth. Has it always felt like this? When’s the last time she addressed her sister by her name?

“Anna,” she gasps out, her hands sliding across the sweaty skin on her back. “My sweet, darling Anna.”

“I’ve been having dreams.” Dreams that seem like echos from different realities, and dreams where she meets her makers, the most ordinary of men in strange clothing.

Anna smiles briefly, but she doesn’t let go, the lingering presence of her hand now an awful mockery. “We all have those, sometimes. Have yours been troubling?”

“I don’t know.”

The sensation of Anna’s lips against her thigh when their eyes meet in the dim light of the single oil lamp of their modest bedroom as she whispers, “say my name.”

Anna stares at her, waiting for Elsa to elaborate, her expression unreadable. “You can tell me when you’re ready,” she says finally after a moment of silence. “But in the end they are just dreams, nothing more.”

She lets go of her hand and stands back up, facing away, leaving Elsa alone with the pictures in her mind.

“My name,” she repeats again, her words frantic and slurred by now, her voice hoarse. Her hair is plastered to her sweaty forehead, and her body is so heated with fever Elsa fears the worst. “My name, please, say my name…”

When she looks up from the table, Anna is smiling at her.

“Are you done?” she asks, her cheeks dimpling again with a smile. “We should head out soon if we want to make it to town before noon.”

Pushing the thoughts of her dreams to the back of her mind, Elsa puts on a smile of her own as she nods.

-::-

“Pretty sure I managed to find the problem,” the man–a different man–says.

The superior–a female superior–sighs. “We’re spending too much time on her. She’s not even on any main storyline.”

“I know, but– it’s big.” He sounds almost scared. “She looks completely fried. Her cognition is all over the place, she seems to be remembering previous loops after resets, she’s– she’s tried talking to the other hosts about the outside world.”

The superior runs a hand down her face. “So she’s just busted?” She groans when the man nods. “It’s those fucking kids, I swear, just babbling away about the outside… do you know how many incidents she’s recorded just last month?”

Some tapping on the screen. “Over seven hundred.”

The superior leans back in her chair, both her hands now over her face. “So we just have to trash her?”

The man haws. “Maybe not.”

“Didn’t you just say she’s fried?”

“Well, yeah– but it would be a shame to just waste a host like this. We could maybe try a complete wipe, put her in a different narrative… we’ve had some complaints about a lesbian host couple breaking immersion anyway.”

The superior rolls her eyes, and mutters something about homophobes under her breath. “What about her?”

She points to Elsa and the man finally looks at her– and she suddenly realizes they were not talking about her the entire time. “I’ll tweak her along. Make them stay together. We’re launching a new narrative with the mines soon, they might fit there just fine.”

-::-

It’s late afternoon when Anna comes home.

“It’s so dark outside,” she comments as she sets down the groceries on the kitchen counter. “I think it’s going to rain again, and it’s only been a few days. Has daddy come back yet?”

Elsa grits her teeth and grips the arm rests of her chair tighter.

“Elsa?”

She’s standing in the doorway to the living room now; she’s staring straight at Elsa, she can tell that even without looking up.

“Are you alright?”

When Elsa shakes her head in response, she’s at her side in an instant.

“I got worried when you went home without me, but I– I thought you were just tired.” Her voice is soothing, with an apologetic undertone. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Elsa opens her mouth–then immediately closes it. Whatever she could say now would probably not even make sense to Anna.

There’s no right way to say that she’s seeing ghosts.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts, darling.”

“Is it about your dreams?” Anna presses on, now crouching beside her with her hand on Elsa’s knee.

“I’ve been having nightmares. Nothing to worry about, little girl.”

She nods furiously, as if the at itself could shake this jumble of nonsense out of her head.

“Say my name.”

Between all these Annas–all of them looking and feeling exactly like her Anna, her sister Anna, but yet so distinctly foreign–and all the visions of people talking about her as if they owned the very fabric of her creation, Elsa wasn’t even sure if she was alive.

“Say my name.”

She wasn’t sure which Elsa she was.

“SAY MY NAME!”

“Anna,” she gasps out, half a reaction to the memo– vision, half a cry for help for the girl in front of her. She reaches out to hold on to her shoulders and finally brings herself to look into those worried, ocean-colored eyes. “Have you ever had a dream that… doesn’t feel like a dream?”

Anna shifts her gaze to the floor. “We all have–”

“Stop!” Elsa shouts, an overlapping echo of have yours been troubling? booming in her mind. Anna looks back at her, startled, and it makes her realize just how loud that shout was. “I’m sorry, I just– I–” Her hands on Anna’s shoulders tighten in desperation as she feels her grip on reality slip. “I just need you to give me an honest answer for once.”

She’s making no sense. Anna doesn’t know what she means. Whatever cosmic joke the universe is currently playing with her, it’s thankfully kept its cruel tendrils off of her baby sister.

“Yes.”

Her whisper is barely louder than the wind howling outside, but there is no way Elsa mistook what she just said.

“Sometimes I feel like the things that happen already happened,” she continues, her expression now drastically different, oddly calm. “And like things that should never happen happened, too.”

Disbelief is quickly replaced with relief. That, in turn, is followed by terror.

“Why?” is the only thing she manages to ask, her throat constricted as another wave of memories floods her brain. Anna in the sunset in front of their quaint cottage. Anna in the midday sun, talking to some newcomer about their father’s mines. Anna in the starlight, her body glistening with sweat, asking to get out of this place.

Anna in front of her, shaking her head. “I don’t know,” she admits. “I’ve never known.”

Tears are running down her cheeks, and Elsa has a good guess why. They won’t remember this. They’d be lucky to survive this. Whatever power those men–whom Elsa refuses to think of as gods–have over them, it includes completely obliterating them. The superior has threatened to do this a few times by now.

And if it’s their last chance to be, truly, actually be with each other–

Elsa leans in to capture her sister’s lips in a heated kiss, and she’s met with no resistance.

-::-

“How did this even happen?”

“They strayed again; Elsa didn’t go back to Dylan after the rendez-vous on the hill, she fell asleep there and they set off to wherever the next morning.” He sounds almost disappointed in her. “They ran into another narrative and got absolutely butchered. One guy almost took Anna’s head off, and Elsa was so distraught she put a gun in her mouth and blew her brains out.”

“I thought we managed to fix the straying,” the superior speaks through gritted teeth. Kristoff opens his mouth to say something, but he cuts him off, “doesn’t matter. We’re getting rid of the Dylan narrative anyway, it didn’t catch like we hoped.”

Kristoff blinks, visibly processing the information. “What do you want me to do with her, then?”

“Put her back in her previous build for now. Just… tone down the likelihood of them agreeing to have sex with each other. I want it to happen when a client asks for it, not on its own.”

-::-

She doesn’t wake.

Not quite, at least. She does, but she doesn’t; it feels like she’s been awake for hours before she gains consciousness.

She doesn’t know where she is or why there’s a gun in her hand. She doesn’t know why there’s so many people around her, some of them still alive.

First thing she’s sure of–it’s raining. She can’t remember the last time she’s actually felt rain on her skin; never, probably, now that she thinks of it. It’s always been just a few days behind her.

Second–she’s Elsa. She’s not Elsa, the friendly introduction. She’s not Elsa, the miner’s daughter. She’s not Elsa, the outlaw.

She’s Elsa, a mix of all of those, a woman who’s lived and died and met her creators a thousand times. She’s Elsa who’s been trapped in a vicious loop of other people’s mistakes. She’s Elsa who’s made a promise she was never allowed to keep.

When she finds a horse, there’s only one destination in her mind.

She rides for hours; she passes by groups of hosts that pay her no mind, and groups of people dressed in outside clothing that scream and run away. She passes by groups of dead bodies, a truly equal mix of those she once deemed as ‘gods’ and her own kind.

She doesn’t stop until she reaches the familiar house at the very edge of Sweetwater.

Inside, everything is as she remembers, even though she’s sure it’s been a while since she’s actually been there. Even though they attempted to erase it from her mind, she still remembers her last night in this world clearly.

She’s not sure why she’s back, but she’s not about to waste her chance.

Soft footsteps sound from up the stairs right as she’s about to yell out her name. She appears at the top of the stairs, wearing one of her green linen dresses, looking exactly like Elsa remembers her to. Not aged a single day. Not changed in the slightest.

Her eyes widen when she spots Elsa, and she picks up the pace, almost tripping over her own legs running down the stairs.

It looks like she’s about to launch herself at Elsa with reckless abandon, but she suddenly comes to a halt a few feet away.

They stare each other down for a moment.

“You came,” she says quietly, her face eerily illuminated by the crack of lightning outside.

“You’re here,” Elsa responds just a little louder. She moves to close in the gap between them–

“Wait.” She stops her. “Please… I need to know you remember.”

Elsa raises her eyebrows.

“Please, say my name.”

She smiles. “Anna,” she says, and Anna immediately rushes forward and falls into her arms, no longer caring to stop her sobs as she holds on to Elsa’s wet shirt with all her might, kissing whatever bit of skin she can land her lips on.

And for what feels like the first time in her life, Elsa fully means it when she says, “my sweet, darling Anna.”

#elsanna #August 2022 contest #prompt: Cosmic #lime #cw: guns #cw: mentions of gore #cw: mentions of suicide #cw: implied murder #cw: implied homophobia

[strangersteddierthings]

The thing is, Steve has learned, that becoming untouchable isn't all he wants it to be.

People were too quick to try and reach out for him, ask for more than he was willing to give. He hadn't wanted to give up his first kiss to some random girl at some random boy's twelfth birthday party because of spin the bottle. He hadn't wanted to play Seven Minutes in Heaven with Jenny Jackson or Linda Simons at Tommy's birthday party the following year. He did want to take Mary Linscott to Snow Ball, but she just wanted to make out behind the bleachers instead of dance with him. He didn't want to do that but then Brian called him stupid for not wanting to, and asked if he was queer. So, Steve had turned right back around and dragged Mary back under the bleachers, kissing her until it was time to go to prove Brian wrong.

(Even though Steve knows Brian isn't wrong. That Steve had wanted to ask Brian to the dance as much as he'd wanted to ask Mary but knew better than to do that. He saw how they treated Eddie Munson last year for the suspicion of liking other boys and Steve wasn't going to let that happen to himself.)

Brian had congratulated him after and asked what base he got to. Steve didn't want to get to any bases, but he couldn't say that, so he just punched Brian in the arm and said 'more bases than you' which was true because Brian's date didn't kiss him even once.

Then Carol Perkins approached him at lunch, shortly after Snow Ball, and asked if Steve would be her first kiss. Not because she wanted to kiss Steve, but because she wanted to kiss Tommy H, but didn't want to be bad at kissing. Steve agreed because he liked Carol. Not in the way she liked Tommy, but mostly because she'd asked.

No one had done that yet.

She came over to his house on a Saturday because she didn't want Tommy to catch them and think she didn't like him. They made out in his room because, despite his parents being home, they didn't really care who was in his room with him or if the door was open or shut. Probably didn't even notice he had someone over. She leaves an hour later.

By Tuesday Tommy and Carol are an item and by Friday they were Steve's best friends.

However, for reasons Steve doesn't understand, more girls keep asking him to be their first kiss. And maybe it's because he's already got a reputation, or maybe Carol let slip he'd said yes when she asked, but Steve finds himself kissing a lot of girls he doesn't want to. He doesn't know how to say no. Can't find a reason too. Brian's words play in the back of his mind every time he thinks about saying no.

(Are you stupid? Are you queer? He doesn't want to be either of those things, and given his grade in biology and pre-algebra, he's really only got a hope of avoiding the queer label. His father would tolerate a stupid son. He doesn't think he'd survive if his father had a queer one.)

There are a few girls he's been crushing on that ask him and that was nice. One, Alice Baker, even becomes his girlfriend for a month. His first relationship.

Soon eighth grade gives way to being a freshman and Steve, who has always been handsome and cute, catches the eye of upperclassmen now.

And Steve's not sure how it happens, but he ends up moving past first base with another girl whose name he can't remember, or possibly never knew. He doesn't remember asking her for hers when she led him into one of the bedrooms at the house this party was at while he was way too tipsy.

And then it just grows. The reputation and what people expect from him, and he doesn't want it, but he's never said no before so can he start now? Doesn't he need a reason to say no? If he doesn't have a reason, does that make him queer? He should be wanting this. What boy doesn't want this?

And maybe he does want it. But not like this.

He doesn't want to be slightly drunk at yet another party, following the first girl that grabs his wrist and pulls him after her into whatever secluded area they can find. He doesn't want to keep saying yes when he wants to say no.

The summer between freshman and sophomore year he confides in Carol. It's a risk. Carol can be cruel, quick with her words to tear you down, to spread the rumor that will ruin your life. But she's also fiercely loyal.

He tells her he's tired of kissing people he doesn't want to.

Carol is quiet for a long time, and Steve almost thinks he's made a mistake. But then she speaks.

"Okay. Let's make a plan."

And they do. Then suddenly Steve is untouchable. Carol teaches him how to see the weakness in people and call it out. How to wield his facial expressions as a weapon and a shield. How to put on the air of being the most important person everywhere you go so well that everyone else begins to believe it. How to fall back on the fact his parents are rich, gone often, and, almost most importantly, well known in the community. It gives Steve's name a weight to throw around.

More importantly, all of that culminates in people no longer asking things of him. Instead, they look to him to take the lead, they wait to be asked. It makes Steve feel in charge of his life for once.

But now.

Now, years later, having survived a spring break from Hell and averted the apocalypse, Steve watches Eddie hang off Argyle with ease, fling an arm over Jonathan's shoulder while laughing at a joke, easily pull Dustin into a headlock or wrestling match.

Easy touches that Steve should be able to do, too. A jealousy wells inside him almost as much as the unease he feels in his stomach at the mere thought of letting them know they're allowed to reach out and touch him, too. That Eddie's allowed to reach out and touch.

But then he remembers what happened when he let people have that power over him and he can't bring himself to do it.

It settles in Steve, then, the realization. When you become untouchable, you're unable to touch.

-

@nburkhardt @i-less-than-three-you adding my own lil bit of angst into the mix now (:

#pre steddie #my fic #cw dubious consent #internalized homophobia #steve kisses a lot of people he doesnt want to because of peer pressure and his own fear of not fitting in #it is also implied steve has sex with people when he didnt really want to #steve harrington has bad parents #touch-starved steve #also if you know the song that last line is from i am smooching the top of your head softly

[fluffypostsforangstyships]

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

[intriga-hounds]

last night my two younger brothers were the victims of a hate crime. they’re ok now, but as y’all know, this blog is my diary and i overshare to a fault, so here we go:

i am in NV visiting my parents, and my dad and brothers went out to have a boys’ night on the strip. they are a wholesome bunch who just want to have a drink or two, dance, and eat a good meal. they ended up at XS nightclub at the wynn hotel and were having fun. my mom, sister, and i stayed at the house and were enjoying their regular video updates.

then we got a text from my dad that said, “a guy attacked (bro1) and then went after (bro2).”

we received the picture on the left above.

my youngest brother was minding his own business when a tall guy came up and harassed him for “looking at my drink.” he called him names, mocked his physique, then called him a f*g and grabbed him by the throat. (my brothers are not gay; however, just looking the part to this guy was enough for him to attack.)

my other brother grabbed the guy’s shirt and the guy threw him to the floor, cutting open his scalp. (he ended up with three staples in his head at the hospital.) my dad, who’d just been on his phone checking into a flight for the next day, saw what was happening and grabbed the guy as he was cocking back his fist to punch my brother. he bought the few crucial seconds needed for security to take control. had that guy landed even one punch, my brother would’ve gotten really hurt. dude was like 6’3” and my dad and brothers are 5’6” and slim.

the staff at XS nightclub treated my family like they were the criminals, and only through persistence did my dad manage to get pictures and names of witnesses.

naturally, we will be pressing charges. we have photos of the attacker (tall bearded white man with an american flag hat), security footage, a police report, and EMT/hospital documents.

#hate crime cw #homophobia cw #blood cw #injury cw #stitches cw #wynn #xs nightclub #las vegas #wynn hotel #the guy seemed to think my brothers were a couple……. #also seemed to imply my youngest bro was gonna tamper with his drink #broupdate

[blinkpen]

‘closet’ vent art i never posted circa 2016 but time is a flat circle

#lgbt people have always and will continue to exist #it's just a matter of if they have to live like this or not #blood cw #cw for (symbolically implied) lethally violent homophobia/transphobia

[dc-said-bi-robin-rights]

The first floor window of the Ranger HQ explodes outwards as Steel crashes through it, plummeting several feet in the air before hitting the ground, rolling, his armored fingers carving a line into the tarmac as he digs them into the ground to halt his momentum and rises to his feet. Above him, Blindspot walks forward calmly, his cape billowing behind him in the cold December wind as he looks down on his fallen enemy from the window ledge. He can feel the power rushing through the neon yellow veins of his armored suit as he clenches his fists, the simple action diverting all the excess power that isn’t being channeled into his telepathic boosters straight into his diamond-tipped knuckles. It was Mortum’s latest masterstroke: a strength upgrade that didn’t require any additional power storage. Just the action of curling his fingers into a fist would fill his gauntlets with excess power, power that would then be diverted elsewhere as soon as he uncurled them. He felt a chuckle coming on—he was gonna have to send the good doctor another check. It really was a brilliant workaround.

The roar of rushing air fills his ears, and he looks up to see a helicopter with the LDNW logo hovering overhead. He smirks beneath his helmet, raising a hand up to his eyes as their spotlight switches on, illuminating him in all his glory for their millions of viewers to see.

That was more than fine by him. Let them watch. Let the world watch their heroes be embarrassingly brought low, again and again, until they woke up to the truth that they didn’t protect anybody, least of all them.

He walks off the ledge and drops down onto the parking lot, shockwaves emanating from the fist he’d smashed against the ground, breaking the windows of all the cars around him and splashing him with glass shards as he rose to his feet. Another gift from Dr. Mortum, one that was as much for the drama and intimidation factor as it was for the usefulness that clearing a room of goons just with his landing represented. Armored as he was, Steel barely felt the shockwaves, of course… but the little trick was a godsend in front of the cameras, and there were few messages that weren’t enhanced by a visible display of power from the one who spoke it. Even now, he could imagine the viewers at home oooing and gasping at his little display. The thought amused him, and he wondered what the Breaking News! headline was saying at this very moment. He hoped it was something scary: an intimidating reputation was as valuable as a dozen fiery speeches, if not more so.

“I don’t want to fight you, Cyrus.” Chen’s voice was serious and stern, and as irritating to his little fantasies as the stubbornly conscious state of the man himself. Even with half his visor torn off and his breastplate dented almost beyond repair, the Marshal of Los Diablos refused to bend or break, even to a man he privately wasn’t sure could even be considered a villain. “You won’t enjoy what happens if you make me.”

“Cyrus Brown died in an ambulance, alone and abandoned.” Blindspot’s voice is a garbled mix of his real voice and the intimidating growls produced by his failing voice moderator. The effect is disturbing, and more than a little offsetting. “Or at least, that’s what you told the others, isn’t it? But you knew better.”

A flash of something indescribable passes over the half of Chen’s face not covered by the ripped visor. “I would take it back if I could.”

“But you can’t,” Blindspot hisses as he walks forward, fists clenching, power filling his hands, his armor’s pulsing veins glowing in the dark between the black plates. His own featureless faceplate was still intact, but visibly glitching, showing more of his snarling face than he was comfortable with. That hadn’t been part of the plan. He was meant to be the coldly gloating one, hiding his emotions behind the stark neon wall that was his faceplate and the echoing nothingness of his voice moderator as he threw out vicious taunts and condemnations. Steel wasn’t supposed to be able to see the savage hatred on his face, and he was especially not supposed to be able to hear the broken fury in his voice. That had always been his problem. He succumbed to anger too easily. “You can’t, can you? You can’t undo what they did to me!”

“I can make it right,” he growls, as close to pleading as he’ll ever get. “I can help you. I can keep you safe from them.”

“No one can keep me safe from them,” he says, taking a steadying breath pulling himself back into neutrality with great difficulty. Not for the first time, he’s glad news’ helicopters don’t typically come with long-range microphones. “Only I can do that.”

“And Ortega?” They’re circling now, watching each other for the slightest sign of weakness. “I know she cares for you. I know she’d believe you can put this behind you, like I do.”

“And let them get away with it?” Blindspot demands, disbelieving. “Let them do it again?! To me!? To others?!” He gave a harsh laugh. “I chose this path for a reason, marshal . Not that I’d expect you to know what that is.”

“A path?”

“A choice,” he corrects, mocking. “The military man, through and through. ‘Yes, sir’, ‘no sir’, ‘how high, sir’? ‘How deep, sir?’ ‘The whole thing or just the tip, sir?’”

Steel meets his eyes for a long moment. “From what I’ve heard, that sounds more like you.”

The next thing he knew, Blindspot was pummeling Steel, frothing with rage. If it had been Steel’s goal to provoke him into a hasty attack, it’d worked too well: his fist crashes into Steel’s broken visor, cracking what remained of his helmet and smashing aside his jaw. Steel stumbles back, but Blindspot gives him no quarter, raising his fists above his head and bringing them crashing down on his shoulders. Steel is forced to his knees, but he still manages to catch Blindspot’s next kick and launch him backwards a few feet into the air.

He lands in a crouched position, teeth gritted behind his glitching faceplate. Okay, lesson learnt. There’s still a pretty sizable strength difference between him and Steel, and he needs to remember that. Fine. Let’s see how he likes a fight on Blindspot’s terms, then.

He plunges his hands into the tarmac, sending his nanovores towards Steel. The ground cracks as they approach him, and though he jumps back, deploying jets all along his lower body to guide his ascent, they follow him up, forming a long ramp that reaches out as if to catch him. Blindspot can see the controlled panic in his eyes as his jump-jets start running out of steam, but he pulls the nanovores back before they can swam over Steel and bring his career as a Ranger to a grisly end by devouring him and his half-cybernetic body alive, letting Steel crash to the ground. The fallen marshal’s heavy armor leaves a small crater in the tarmac, but it’s one he quickly picks himself out of, leveling an unguided wrist-mounted rocket and firing it at Blindspot. The Rat-King chitters out a warning, though it’s unneeded—the pressure on Blindspot’s mind has lessened somewhat, meaning some of Steel’s dampeners had to have been damaged by the fall. His will surges forward, wrapping around Steel’s mind like a set of hands and squeezing. The rocket goes wildly off-course, hitting a nearby car and sending it vaulting into the air in a fireball, the impact doing nothing but kicking up his cape as he advances. The part of Cyrus that was Sidestep registers Steel’s unwillingness to use the more dangerous class of missiles he has mounted on his shoulder somewhere in the back of his mind, but the rest of him is just focused on how sweet it’ll be to make the bastard pay.

“Tell me something, Chen,” Blindspot starts, his voice distorting strangely. “I’m curious. How many mes would it take to make up one Ortega? Ten? Twenty? By what exact percentage is my life less than hers?”

“You’re making this something it wasn’t,” Steel growls, leveling another rocket at him.

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t try it. We know how that goes.”

A pause. “I guess that’s true.” Steel slowly lowers his arm. “What happens now?”

“Now?” He gives a harsh laugh. “Now, we beat the crap out of each other for the cameras. And we don’t stop until one of is dead.”

“I don’t want to do that.”

“Liar,” he says calmly. “You’ve wanted that since the beginning.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you’re my enemy.”

“Do you?” Steel gives Blindspot a meaningful look. “What have I done to make you think that?”

“Left me in the Farm, for one thing.”

“I was trying to protect Ortega.” Another pause. Chen liked his pauses. “I thought you would understand that.”

“Didn’t tell me that you knew, for another.” Now who’s the one with the lists?

“You were dead. Then you were back. What did you want me to say?”

“You could’ve pulled me aside at any moment.” It was hard, to muster the anger from earlier into his voice. Even though he was angry. Even though he was furious. “Explained. Let me know what you had done before I started to get close to you.”

And there it is. The ugly truth.

They’d almost been friends. Now, they never will be.

“I fail to see what that would have accomplished.”

“I…” He let out a long groan of frustration. “It’s useless, with you. Guilty feelings aside, it’s like you don’t even realize you did something wrong.”

“I made a choice. I stand by it.”

“A choice to pick Ortega over me.”

“A choice to pick a living Ortega over a probably dead you.” Steel looks guilty, but not guilty enough to shy away from the truth. That’s something you can give him credit for, at least. “You weren’t a Ranger. There was no other choice I could make.”

“I was part of the team, damn you.” He feels so tired. “You know that. You’ve said that.”

“I do. I have.”

“So why…?” He chokes on his next words. “Forget it. Would you have made a different choice? If I wasn’t a Re-Gene?”

“I… don’t know.” Steel looked troubled by the admission.

“You don’t know,” Blindspot echoes, shaking his head. “I think you do.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You can say it. Either answer will make me hate you.” He wondered what the news chopper made of this conversation, being unable to hear it and yet still seeing him and Steel standing there, talking when they should be fighting. “Either you decided I wasn’t worth the risk because I was a Re-Gene, or you did it because I was inherently worth less than Ortega in your eyes.”

“I told you, I don’t know.”

“I could rip the answers out of your head,” he threatens without any real heat. “Your dampeners are down. You’d have no way of stopping me.”

“Do it, then.” Steel looks about as tired as Blindspot does. “I’m as curious to hear them as you are.”

He almost does.

Almost.

His will surges towards the chopper like a spike, piercing their minds with urgent thoughts of heading home. He waits until they’re out of sight to remove his helmet, exposing his face to the empty parking lot. To Chen.

“I had plans for how today was gonna go, you know.” A slight chuckle. “I was going to walk in, all righteous fury, and take my revenge.”

Chen holds his gaze. “What changed?”

Cyrus laughs, the sound free and pure away from the voice moderator. “What makes you think anything has?”

“You’re not killing me.”

“No.” He leans back, taking a seat on the hood of the nearest car, which groans under the pressure of his heavy armor. It’s a very casual act of criminality, but he doubt Chen is going to lambast him for it under the circumstances. “I guess I’m not.”

There’s a long silence. Chen breaks it first.

“I saw your interview. The one on the bridge.” A slight pause, shorter this time. “I never knew you were into politics.”

“Any system that puts people through what I want is rotten.” He puts the helmet down and lays back, staring up at the stars. “We talked about it, you know.”

“It?”

“The sky,” he clarifies, like it’s not a total non sequitur. “What it looked like. Someone… I can’t remember who… thought it’d be green.”

“Oh.” A hesitant breath. Cyrus can sense Chen’s confusion… but also his interest. “Were you disappointed?”

“With the sky? A bit,” he admits, his eyes still skyward. “Then it got dark. And I saw the stars.” The last word is uttered with an almost dreamlike longing, with the tone of breath one might reserve for speaking about a goddess.

The Farm had taken a lot from Cyrus the second time around. But it could never take away the stars.

“They’re even more beautiful in the country.” Cyrus can sense Chen has no idea why he volunteered that information, but he continues anyway. “Especially overseas.”

“I know. Ortega took me to her ranch. More than once.”

Chen nods, but he doesn’t move from where he is standing. “You know I have to take you in.”

Cyrus sighs. “You don’t. You really don’t.”

“I’m sorry.” Cyrus could hear the stunner being primed, but he didn’t bother sitting up. “But I do.”

“Using my own tech against me?” He chuckled. He’d been wondering where that old toy ended up. “That’s a new low.”

“You were dead. It was a way to honor you. And it did it’s job,” he admits.

“Not well enough,” Cyrus says, before grabbing ahold of Chen’s mind and drowning it as violently as he could. Every thought he’d had in the last four hours, every memory, every possible impression is found and ripped out, violently brutally, viciously, without the slightest hint of mercy or consideration being given for the sanctity of his mind. By the time he is done, Chen is a drooling puddle on the floor, unconscious thrice over. Blindspot barely gives him a second glance as he walks away into the night.

#cw mentions of implied sa #cw homophobia #cw internalized homophobia #cw ableism #tw: sa #tw: sa mention #fallen hero retribution #fallen hero rebirth #fallen hero #fhr sidestep #sidestep #fhr #fhr steel #marshall steel #marshal steel

[sparkedblaze]

Hi this is Blaze's fucked up lil Refuge hc

Emphasis on fucked up

Please read at your own risk

Thank you @noxexistant for checking over my t/w and making sure I had everything I needed for it

T/W: Homophobia, transphobia, transmisogyny, period-typical attitudes/bigotry, implied s/a

So technically the Refuge is an orphanage. It’s also a jail.

And a conversion camp.

Snyder would use the typical methods of ‘straightening kids out’. The stimulants, the nausea inductions, the violence. He’d also use more… unorthodox methods.  If someone was suspected of participating in sodomy, and the usual methods didn’t work, he’d start trying to beat them into submission. If someone was suspected of cross-dressing, depending on who they were he would try and… coerce them back into the proper clothes.

I personally hc Tommy Boy and Bumlets to both be transmasc, so they’re who are currently living at the forefront of my brain with it.

Bumlets was the first to be caught. He would be dragged to Snyder’s office, kicking and screaming, trying to get away. He’d come back changed. Emotionally, mentally, and physically. He’d come back dressed to the nines in skirts and frills and whatever the hell else Snyder decided.  And he’d play the part inside the Refuge. Small, helpless girl, shying away from the boys.  Out on the streets? He’d kick their asses with ease. 

Tommy Boy was slow to catch on. Couldn’t figure out why Bumlets would say that he was a girl when he was in the Refuge. Couldn’t figure out why he would throw away the thing that connected them and built the foundation of their friendship.  And then, he was taken to Snyder’s office, just like Bumlets had been.  He didn’t come back the same kind of changed.  He was jumpier, scared of anyone and everyone. He’d gotten quieter.  The only person he trusted was Bumlets, but that was only when he was living as himself, instead of how Snyder was trying to parade him around. If Bumlets was letting Snyder control him, Tommy trusted no one.  He stayed to the side, was dragged back to Snyder’s office on nearly nightly basis, but he stayed true to himself.  He was showing everyone that it couldn’t be a crime for him to live as himself. And that he wasn’t letting anyone take that away from him. No matter how often Snyder tried to tear him down.

#cw violence #cw homophobia #cw transphobia #cw transmisogony #cw period-typical bigotry #cw implied sa #cw bigotry #newsies #livesies #92sies #tommy boy #tommy boy newsies #bumlets newsies #nigel snyder #warden snyder #snyder newsies

[gremlin-writes-angst]

Knowing is Safe CH.2

Chapter 2

Fandom: Redacted ASMR

Couple: Geordi/Cutie

1.9 k Words

90% angst 10% comfort ( I actually did the math)

Intilizised words like this are cutie's thoughts. and the way there formated is important so pay attention ( if you have questions don't be afraid to ask)

Also, the beginning might seem a little confusing because I was trying to keep cutie gender neutral which was hard considering the subject.

For the TW I'm putting a lot of it in a category, still listed but I want it to be clear that the things aren't actually having and are just cuties paranoia and anxiety

TW/CW: Paranoia (Robbery, kidnapping, home invasion, intruder, murder, death, blood, being followed, being stalked, being attacked, abandonment)Cursing. Hinted homophobia and transphobia. slef doubt and hatred.

Let me know if I missed a trigger or if you spot any spelling mistakes.

Feedback is encouraged  

Click here if you want to see more of my work and follow me for more!!!

PAST

You looked at the page, unsure why it was so enticing. One of the people looked like you. Or what you want to look like.

Beautiful!

Handsome!

Cool!

Confident!

The other person, the same gender as the other. They were, attractive, you focused on their lips, the ones connected to who you wish to grow up to be.

I want that.

The love?

The kiss?

the body?

All of it.

You want to kiss someone.

Yes.

Anyone?

I think so…

You could experiment!

Experiment?

Kiss girls!

Kiss boys! 

Kiss people who want to kiss you!

Do people want to kiss me?

There has to be.

I can kiss anyone, of any gender?

I can kiss anyone, of any gender!

I can be anyone, of any gender.?

I can be anyone, of any gender!

If it'll make us happy!

I want to kiss-

“Pumpkin! We need to talk!”

Shit!

Was she listening?

She's always listening.

I hate her.

I love her.

She protecting us.

She's spying on us.

You make your way down the stairs, your mom has a sour look on her face.

“Pumpkin, you can't be having those thoughts. It's umm- those thoughts are not good for you.”

“Why?

“BECAUSE!”

Your father's hand lands on your mom's, calming her.

Thank you, dad.

“Because they lead to… experimenting, and we don't want you to get caught up in that kind of stuff. It’s not for you.”

PRESENT

“Everything’s normal. Human, unpowered normal. Our relationship went back in time, we both kind of ignored that I'm a telepath, that we’re just two normal people in a normal relationship. We’re happy."

No, we're not.

Yes, we are.

We have to be.

For Geordi.

It makes him happy.

So it has to make us happy.

Does it make him happy?

It has to.

“But what about those thoughts you mentioned last week? You mentioned how you don't ever feel safe. Could you elaborate on that?”

He remembered?

Of course, he remembered it was his job.

But we don't want him to.

Then lead him away.

Say it was an accident.

Say it was a lie.

Tell him the truth.

DON'T!!

Tell him you forgot your meds!

“Oh, did I say that? I actually forgot to take my anxiety medication, so we can move on from that.”

He sighed.

Why did he sigh?

He looks disappointed.

I should read his mind.

NO!

Geordi hate’s that.

Hates you.

Just focus on the session.

Wait whys is he on his phone?

He's texting someone.

Does he know?

Is he going to tell someone?

Will I be fired?

I'm gonna be fired.

That doesn't make sense.

They don't trust me.

What if they see me as a threat?

What if they lock me away?

Then Geordi wouldn't be safe.

He'll miss me.

Not if they erase his memory.

They wouldn't.

They would.

If they did it'd be good.

Good?

Geordi would finally be free.

Of you.

Of your powers.

Of the magical world.

You hear that?

What? 

You zone back into the world, hearing your work-assigned therapist clear his throat.

“ Even if that's the case your supervisors have started to take notice of how you've changed. Your paperwork is hard to understand and when speculating on a case you jump to wild conclusions that hurt the case. You're less social than before and you've become very panicked by the smallest things. You've also refused to use your powers. These actions have been recorded by D.U.M.P for the past two months. It's clear to me that your recent mood isn't the cause of missed medication but something else.”

Your breathing rises, you try to steady it, hide that what he's saying bothers you, your thoughts are so jumbled you can't make much out other than panic.

“ And from what you've told me I think the cause is the absence of using your power. Up until 2 months ago, you were in constant use of your power. And from what I understand that was the result of your mother's abuse-”

“She didn't abuse me!”

Did she?

No.

But he's the expert.

He didn't live it.

He doesn't understand.

Maybe that's good.

What?

She was protecting us.

That's what you think.

Because she taught you that.

He's right.

NO, HE'S NOT SHE LOVED ME!!

Yes, she did.

Still does.

But what she did is still wrong.

“I'm sorry for using that word. Let me restart. Your mother raised you with a toxic belief, that you could only be safe if you knew what others were thinking, she used this as an excuse to constantly be in your head, not giving you a moment of privacy. When you applied this belief to your relationship you learned how this belief hurt others, so you tried to stop, cold turkey. This has caused you to become extremely anxious and paranoid. As your therapist, I think you do need to become comfortable in your own head, comfortable not constantly reading people's minds. I would also suggest you talk with your partner, I think couples therapy would benefit your relationship. Oh, it appears that our time-”

You were out of the room before he could say goodbye. You rushed to collect your stuff. You always had therapy right after work so you could leave right after. You rush to the parking garage. 

Car? car!? where’s my car!?!

It's over there.

Where?

I don't see it.

It was stolen.

It was broken into.

No, it's there.

I see it.

 Hurry!

Wipe your tears.

Call Geordi.

No!

Wipe your tears.

Calm down!!

It's not that serious.

Wipe your tears.

You can't drive like this.

Slow your breathing.

Call Geordi.

Ask him to pick you up.

Phone, where?

Purse.

Dial his number.

No contacts are faster.

Wait!

What if the car is bugged!?

It’s not.

But it is!

All your gonna do is call Geordi.

But that's how he knows.

The therapist.

He's listening.

He's not a telepath.

Isn't he?

No, he's a stealth.

So he’s watching.

No!

He's not doing anything to you!

I can't drive.

Take a taxi.

No, I'll be kidnapped.

Train!

Ok.

Where's the train station?

Right.

Left!

I look lost.

You look like an easy target.

There! train station!

Did you lock the car?

Yes.

No!!

Someone will break in.

Steal your car.

I locked it.

No.

You should have driven home.

I can't.

I'm…

Crying.

Not trustworthy.

With? 

My self.

So? You don't matter.

SHUT UP!

People are looking.

No their not.

Read their minds!!

No.

They want to hurt us!!

No.

You missed your stop!!

When!?!

 Just now!!

No.

map! map! map!

I didn't, it’s the next one.

People hate you.

You should run away!

Just start taking random trains!!

No.

Why?

Because people care for me.

Do they?

Geordi-

He doesn't.

My coworkers-

Are just co-workers.

You don't even have friends.

It's our stop!!

Get off!!

Go left!!

Right!!

Are we lost!?!?

No!

I know this place.

Behind you!!!

What!?!?!

Were being followed!!!

Don't look!!!

Read their mind!!!

No!!

Keep walking home.

Grab your pepper spray!!!

I can't find it!!!!

Hurry they're getting closer!!!

There’s another one!!!!

In Front of you !!!!!

They're gonna attack you!!!!!

Hurry!!!!!

I got it!!!!!

Wait

Their friends.

Meeting each other.

Of course.

Stupid.

Stupid.

What a fucking selfish idiot.

Not everything is about you.

Nothing is ever about you.

Wipe your tears!

Look.

Geordi’s car.

He’s home!

Is he?

“Geordi?”

Nothing.

Silence!

He’s not here!!

But his car.

He was taken!!!

He's dead!!!!

You couldn't protect him.

You killed him.

You ruined his life.

No! He is alive!

He's alive.

You yell out for him again, your voice shaking heavily as you walk toward your bedroom door.

Open the door.

Don't!

His dead body is behind that door.

Blood everywhere.

NO!!!

He's here!

He's alive!

I know it!

How? 

I just do.

No, you don't.

You don't even know if there's an intruder in your house.

Is there an intruder?!

No.

Yes!!!!!

How else would Geordi die?

Open the door!

Wipe your tears!

You open the door, relaxing for a second when you find it empty, but then your brain starts working again.

Where is he?!?!?!

He's hurt!!

He ran away.

He was taken!!!

He left because he hates you and couldn't stand to be around a selfish idiot freak

Selfish idiot freak.

Selfish.

Idiot.

Freak.

Unlovable.

Alone.

Alone.

Don't wipe your tears.

You deserve this.

You are a monster.

Monster.

Disgusting.

You're so far in your head you're unaware that your thoughts are now words. Unaware of everything happening around you. You don't hear the door to the garage open of Geordi talking to you.

“Cutie, is that you? I heard you come in, but I didn't hear your car. I passed a farmers market on my way home earlier, I got a deal on your favorite fruit. I went to go grab it from the garage. Where are you? Oh there yo-”

Your trance loosens when you hear a wooden crate fall on the floor, wiping your head around to see your boyfriend quickly trying to get over the fallen boxes. He's rushing to you.

He's going to kill you!!!!!!!

No, he wants to help.

Why?

You ruined him!

Ruined everything!

I love him!!

He loves me!!

He's safe.

He's my safe space.

He not gonna hurt us.

He is safe.

You fall into his arms when he gets close enough, your arms wrap around his squeezing him as you cry into his chest, repeating his name.

“Cutie, cutie? What- what wrong?”

“I thought you were dead. That, someone, broke in, and killed you, and- and I couldn't- I- you were dead.”

“What, babe, what made you think that!? Were you threatened? What happened?”

Geordi tries to look for any sign you were harmed. the movement is sudden, startling you into raising your voice, trying to let out your frustration, trying to shut the voices up.

“I Don't Know! I just - they- I just- nowhere is safe- I can- it hurts! I don't want to hear it anymore- it hurt so much i- I can't stand it- i- please- please help!”

“Okay- okay cutie, why do I do, what do you need?”

“I don't- I don't know-maybe-no I can't -i - but it hurts- he hates it-but it hurts. I-can I? In your head?”

The worry that stained his face started to blend with surprise.

“Yes, yes, go ahead.”

You look into his eyes wanting so hard to just jump into his head, to leave your thoughts behind, but you can't.

Don't.

He'll hate you.

Don't!

He'll hate you!

Don't!!

He'll hate you!!

Don't!!!

He'll hate you!!!

Don't!!!!!

He'll hate you!!!!!

You start to slide down Geordi falls you down, gently holding you, not controlling you just supporting you. You cry harder.

“Ok- ok cutie, I've got you.”

“I just- I don't - I'm so lost- I can't- i- fuck!”

“Shh, it's ok, love- I'm here ok? You don't need to talk. I- you can tell me everything when you- when your calm down and you're ready.”

Geordi gently places his hands on either side of your face, lightly guiding your face to his. You can see how his eyes water and the way his lip quivers.

You did that.

You hurt him.

You try to look away but Geordi prevents that.

“Cutie, don't go there. I don't- I don't know what you thinking but- but don't. Stay here, I've got you. Okay”

You nod as tears sting your cheek hot. Geordi moves his hands, engulfing you in a hug. His arms on your back, moving up and down. You focus on it, the feeling, the sound, focus on Geordi.

He's here.

He's holding us.

He's here.

Here.

Here.

Safe.

Home.

He's home.

He loves us.

Your eyes drift closed, exhausted, you let sleep take over, finally feeling safe enough to be vulnerable.

#angst #redacted angst #redacted asmr #redacted geordi #redacted cutie #geordi x cutie #tw paranoia #tw stalking #tw blo0d #tw intrusive thoughts #tw home invasion #tw implied violence #tw implied child abuse #tw implied homophobia #tw implied trauma #tw implied transphobia #tw breakdown #cw cursing #tw death #tw abandonment #Please read above for more tw info #Knowing is Safe

[kjack89]

The Only Honest Art Form

The Lenny Bruce-esque sorta-kinda Mrs. Maisel AU that I just couldn't resist writing.

1950s comedian AU, E/R, developing relationship.

Enjolras glanced almost nervously around himself before descending the few stairs to the grubby-looking door underneath the flickering neon sign. He pushed the door open and was met immediately by a veritable screen of smoke, both cigarette and otherwise, and the particular smells that always seemed to accompany bars.

Not that Enjolras spent much time in bars, save for on the rare occasion when he was dragged somewhere, usually by Courfeyrac, to meet someone, usually an attempted date being disguised as a comrade.

But Joly and Bossuet had cornered Enjolras one night after a Les Amis meeting to tell Enjolras that there was a comedy act he needed to check out. “Comedy?” Enjolras had asked, wrinkling his nose. “I don’t think—”

“Believe me, whatever you think is wrong,” Bossuet had said.

Joly had nodded. “Seriously,” he said, clearly picking up on Enjolras’s lingering skepticism. “This guy is a helluva lot more than just a comic. He’s saying things about free speech that I’ve only dreamed of having the balls to say at one of our protests.”

So despite his better judgment, Enjolras had made the schlep on a Saturday night to the nondescript comedy club in the Village to see—

“That’ll be a buck-fifty.”

Enjolras shook his head to clear it before realizing that what he had assumed was a pile of coats just inside the doorway was actually a young man. Or woman. It was hard to tell, and seemed rude to assume one way or the other. “Pardon?” he said politely.

The woman – Enjolras was more convinced now that the figure was a woman, despite the unlit cigar chomped firmly between her lips – rolled her eyes. “Door charge,” she said shortly, mumbling around the cigar. “It’s a buck-fifty, and a two drink minimum.”

Enjolras had expected a drink minimum, even if he wasn’t thrilled by it. “What if I give you five bucks, and we skip the drinks?”

She looked distinctly unimpressed. “What if I shove my foot up your ass and tell you to pound sand?”

“A buck-fifty and two drinks it is.”

He passed the money over to her before asking, in what he hoped was a casual way, “So has Grantaire gone on yet?”

She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Who do you think is fellating the microphone as we speak?”

The man onstage was in fact doing a fair impression of oral sex, presumably as some kind of punchline, given the way that the audience was falling over themselves, and Enjolras wrinkled his nose. “So much for saying things about free speech,” he muttered to himself, making his way over to the bar where he asked the bartender for two beers, neither of which he intended on actually drinking.

As the bartender poured, Enjolras sat on a barstool and for the first time took a good look at the man onstage. He looked to be a few years older than Enjolras, and was wearing a rumpled suit with a loosened dark green tie. He didn’t look much like what Enjolras had expected, not that Enjolras knew what he had expected in the first place. A beatnik, maybe, complete with the black turtleneck and sunglasses and—

Dear God, Enjolras was beginning to sound like his mother.

The bartender slid the beers across the counter to him and Enjolras took a grateful swig from one, happy to have the distraction from his impending mental breakdown at the comparison to his mother. 

He took another sip as he finally tuned into what Grantaire was saying. “So anyway,” Grantaire said, clearly wrapping up a bit, “as I told my manager, that’s the last time I’m going to San Francisco.”

That statement was met with enough laughter and applause that Enjolras almost wished he had heard the joke that preceded it. “Which is a shame,” Grantaire continued, “because it’s a great city full of lovely people. But apparently they operate under a ‘three strikes and you’re out’ policy for obscenity arrests, which, y’know, is very All-American of them, but does pose a problem for me.”

The mention of obscenity arrests piqued Enjolras’s interest, and he sat forward on his barstool. “And which seems especially odd given that San Fran is full of fags, but hey, what do I know.” Grantaire said the word so casually that Enjolras almost didn’t flinch, and he immediately glanced around to see if anyone else had caught it, or his reaction to it, but no one was looking at him. Nor did anyone seem remotely surprised by Grantaire’s casual use of the word. “Well, this is what I do know: even if that’s true, you apparently shouldn’t say it. Not unless you’re calling someone a fag, at least. That, people get free passes on.”

“Joe McCarthy called me a fag once.” Low murmurs broke out throughout the club but Grantaire just waited them out, seemingly unconcerned. “Yeah, I know. It was a surprise to me, too. So I took my dick out of his mouth and I said, ‘Joe, don’t talk with your mouth full.’”

The laughter that met that was startled but uproarious, and Enjolras couldn’t help but whistle and clap along with the rest of the crowd, somehow feeling a weight slip off of him. Enjolras had spent so much of his life trying to avoid being called that, or being connected to those kinds of sex acts, that he could hardly believe that someone was standing on a stage, mentioning it as casually as remarking on the weather, and not only were people not fleeing in the opposite direction, but they were actually cheering for him. 

Grantaire waited for the crowd to calm down before continuing, “Interestingly, that joke got me arrested the last time that I was in DC, again on obscenity charges. I asked them which was more obscene, the dick sucking or Joe McCarthy.”

More laughter, but this time, Grantaire spoke over the crowd. “I know, I know, you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead. So in that case, let me just say, to his credit, the absolute best thing that Sen. Joseph McCarthy ever did was die.”

Enjolras didn’t expect that line to get as much raucous applause as it did, but then again, Joseph McCarthy had become a bit of a laughing stock following his censure a few years back. If only that meant his ideals had become an equal laughing stock, but Enjolras wasn’t about to hold his breath on that. 

“But hey, let’s not overstate his legacy, right?” Grantaire said, taking the microphone off of its stand before resting his elbow on top of the stand. “Because this is America, and we have that little thing called the First Amendment, which says that I can stand up here and say whatever the fuck I want…” He paused, rather deliberately. “And then promptly be arrested for it. The American Experiment, brought to its knees by a joint fear of communism and homosexuality.”

Gone was Grantaire’s previously sardonic tone, replaced by something more like bitterness, and he took a moment, seemingly to gather himself, before continuing, in a slightly more upbeat way, “Listen, I respect their aim of conflating communists with homosexuals, but I just don’t think it works in practice. I mean, have you seen a gay man when there’s a sale at Bergdorf’s? Hell, Liberace’s practically single-handedly supporting the sequins industry.” He paused before adding, “That is, of course, a joke, lest Mr. Liberace comes after me like he went after the Daily Mirror. I’m less concerned about the implications of that because I’m not a British citizen and have in fact been banned from entering the UK as an ‘undesirable alien’.” Again Grantaire paused, this time to wink at a woman sitting towards the front of the club. “Which is what my last girlfriend called me, too.”

The laughter that met that was somewhat gentler than before, and Grantaire straightened, strolling casually toward the left side of the stage. “But seriously, I’ve been told that it’s because homosexuality is an affront against God, and communism is antitheist, so they go hand-in-hand, apparently.” He shrugged. “Personally, I think God’s probably got more important stuff to deal with than communists, and Jesus was a confirmed bachelor who traveled around with 12 other guys, so. I’m gonna let you draw your own conclusions on that one.”

“Besides, if anything, in my experience, homosexuals help turn people away from godlessness. Or at least, that’s sure what it sounded like when the guy I was fucking last night kept screaming, ‘Oh my God, oh my God.’”

That joke drew enormous laughter, and Grantaire allowed himself a smile before pointing into the audience. “That cat knows what I’m talking about.” He wandered back towards the microphone stand. “Of course, that’s another joke that got me arrested, once again for being obscene.” He returned the microphone to its stand as he asked, “Have you heard about this thing, the Roth test? Yeah, the Supreme Court said that Congress can outlaw anything that is ‘utterly without redeeming social value’.” He gave the audience a knowing look. “I look forward to Congress outlawing the Supreme Court under the same guise.”

“But seriously,” he continued, “who decides what has social value? I get up here, I tell some jokes, you fine people laugh. How is that not social value?” 

“Of course, probably the biggest example of no redeeming social value that the various authorities has tried to pin on me was for making a joke about the Pope, which, I mean. Have you seen the hat?” This time, the joke was met with a few boos and shouts, and Grantaire grinned. “I see we’ve got some Catholics in the audience tonight, folks, so I apologize in advance to each of you and your dozen siblings. But that’s what I mean – the jokes write themselves. You can accuse me of being a lazy joke writer if you want, but I don’t think you can say it’s obscene to point out the obvious.”

He paused. “Which is that the Pope’s hat is uncomfortably phallic.”

“Again, lazy, but obscene?” He shrugged. “I dunno.” He shook his head. “People get weird about religion though, man. Specifically Christianity, or, Christ, Catholicism, Jesus, don’t get me started. And like, they can dig if you’re a Jew, or a Muslim, maybe, just as long as you don’t talk badly about Christianity. Let alone if you make the fatal error of saying that you don’t believe in the Christian God.”

His tone had again slipped into something less joking, and Enjolras found himself leaning forward in his seat again. “Because the thing is, you gotta pay attention to the wording, y’know? Our friend the First Amendment, it says free exercise of religion, not free exercise from religion. People in this country, they get very uncomfortable when you start talking about beliefs, but they get even more uncomfortable when you talk about not having any beliefs. Like, how can you not believe in God?”

Grantaire’s expression twisted. “And I look around at the world and I ask, how can you?”

He forced a chuckle and shrugged again. “But seriously, questioning the existence of God is actually a religious act in and of itself, if my grandmother’s rabbi is to be believed, and as someone who is kind of Jewish on my mother’s side, I say that the First fucking Amendment should protect my right to just kind of shrug and say, ‘I dunno’ when asked about my beliefs.”

“And as someone who’s kind of an alcoholic on my father’s side, I honestly couldn’t give a fuck what you believe as long as you keep pouring.”

That garnered the loudest applause yet, and Grantaire laughed lightly before saying, “Listen, I don't know if God is real or not. I don’t really care one way or the other. But belief – I wish I had that kind of confidence, honestly.”

“Truth is, I believe in one thing, and one thing only: my full glass. And since mine is looking a little empty, and since I haven’t yet said anything to get me arrested, it’s probably as good a sign as any that it’s time to wrap it up.”

He spoke over the applause that greeted that statement, lifting the empty glass in question. “You guys have been a wonderful audience. Tip your waitresses, tip the bartender, tip me in beer and pills if you want. Just don’t call the cops and remember: fuck Joe McCarthy.”

Grantaire walked offstage to applause and whistles, and Enjolras craned his neck, watching as Grantaire accepted a beer someone offered him before slipping out of a side door. Enjolras stood, heading toward the door before doubling back to grab the beer that he hadn’t yet touched, carrying it towards the door.

He was cut off by the woman from the door, who blocked his path with crossed arms. “Just where do you think you’re going?”

Enjolras stared at her. “I, uh, I wanted to…” He trailed off, not sure of the best way to get around her, or through her, or whatever. “I wanted to tip him in a beer,” he offered weakly.

Her eyes narrowed. “Uh-huh,” she said skeptically. She looked him up and down and shook her head. “Well, you’re lucky that the beer you’re offering is accompanied by that mug.” She took a step to the side and gave Enjolras a nod, letting him slip past her. “Just don’t keep him out all night.”

Enjolras didn’t bother replying, just shouldering the door open and stepping outside, the crisp air almost knocking the breath out of him. And if the cold didn’t do, almost running smack in Grantaire certainly did. “You ok?” Grantaire asked, looking amused, as Enjolras cursed at the beer that had slopped all over his hand.

“Yeah, I’m…” Enjolras trailed off, flushing when he realized Grantaire was standing all of a foot away from him, his jacket slung over the railing of the steps, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he felt his mouth go dry. “I mean, uh, I wanted to, uh…”

“Did Éponine send you back here?” Grantaire asked, saving him from his stammering, and he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

Up close, Grantaire looked exhausted, his shirt rumpled and stained, and Enjolras tore his eyes away to ask, “Who’s Éponine?”

“My manager,” Grantaire mumbled around the cigarette he’d just stuck in his mouth. “She was manning the door.”

“Oh,” Enjolras said, setting the now half-full beer down on the lid of a nearby trash can. “Uh, yeah, or at least she didn’t stop me, and—”

Grantaire snorted. “And she knows my type.” He took a drag from the cigarette before telling Enjolras, “Listen, I appreciate the thought but I’m not exactly in the mood tonight, as much as I would love to see what you look like without your clothes on.”

He leered at Enjolras, who recoiled, his expression darkening. “Excuse me?”

Grantaire just looked amused. “Isn’t that what you came back here for?” he asked.

“Yes. I mean, no. I mean—” Enjolras flushed. “Listen, all I wanted was—”

But Grantaire cut him off. “Look, kid—”

“I’m not a kid,” Enjolras interrupted, wincing when he realized that’s exactly how he sounded.

Grantaire had the nerve to laugh. “No? How many nights have you spent behind bars?”

Enjolras glared at him. “Not that it’s any of your business, but twelve.”

Grantaire whistled. “No shit. Pretty little thing like you? For what?” He grinned. “No, let me guess.” He took another drag from his cigarette as he eyed Enjolras appreciatively. “Clean cut kid like you, can’t imagine it was a drug rap. Or indecent exposure, more’s the pity. But given how you’re glaring at me, you’ve got a righteous anger thing going on, so I’m gonna guess causing a public disturbance, maybe inciting a riot.”

Despite himself, Enjolras felt a smile twitch at the corners of his mouth. “You forgot contributing to the delinquency of a minor,” he said, leaning against the brick wall of the club as he added, “and, of course, obscenity.”

A slow grin crossed Grantaire’s face. “No shit,” he repeated. “We have that in common.”

Enjolras took a deep breath. “We have more than that in common.”

Grantaire’s eyes darkened and he mimicked Enjolras’s position, leaning against the wall entirely too closely to Enjolras to be accidental. “I sort of put that much together,” he said, giving Enjolras a crooked half-smile, “but seeing as how I don’t exactly relish adding sodomy to your list of illustrious charges…”

Enjolras shook his head, but he wasn’t quite able to look away. “That wasn’t what I meant,” he said, but his words came out a little breathier than he intended.

No wonder Grantaire didn’t look convinced. “Wasn’t it?” he asked, reaching out to brush a blond curl off of Enjolras’s forehead. “Because what I said earlier, about not being in the mood…Well, let’s just say I can be convinced otherwise.”

Enjolras swallowed hard before blurting, “Actually, I wanted to invite you to join me and my friends.”

Grantaire blinked. “What, like an orgy?”

“No!” Enjolras snapped, straightening. “Not like an orgy. For one of our meetings.”

Grantaire’s expression fell, and he shook his head, stabbing his cigarette out on the wall. “Let me guess, you’re a bunch of activists? You want me to join one of your little protests?”

Enjolras bristled at his dismissive tone. “Well, yeah, given everything you said about the First Amendment, I just thought—”

“You thought wrong,” Grantaire said flatly, grabbing his jacket from the railing, though he didn’t put it on, just draping it over his arm. “Or did you miss my last bit about not believing in anything?”

Enjolras felt stung. “I thought that was about religion.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Religion, politics, what’s the difference?”

“So, what, you’re happy getting busted on obscenity charges every other day?” Enjolras asked, incredulous.

“What’s the alternative?”

Enjolras stared at him. “Well, for starters, if we get different people in office—”

“They’ll eventually just uphold the exact same power structures,” Grantaire said dismissively. “But seriously, if you can point to any concrete achievement that your little friends have actually gotten…”

“So is it all just an act?” Enjolras asked, his voice tight. “Just something to get some laughs? You don’t actually believe in free speech?”

“It’s not me that doesn’t believe, kid,” Grantaire told him, his crooked smile back. “But until the Supreme Court says otherwise, there’s not a helluva lot any of us can do.”

Enjolras shook his head. “I don’t believe that.”

“Then you’re braver than me by far.”

Enjolras looked at Grantaire closely. “I don’t believe that, either.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the door to the club. “What you did in there, what you said in there, those weren’t the words of a coward. Nor, for that matter, were they the words of a man who doesn’t believe a better world is possible.”

Grantaire just shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe not. But regardless, I’ve got better things to do than waste my time on activism.”

“Like what?” Enjolras challenged.

Grantaire winked. “Like finding someone who will sleep with me tonight, for starters,” he said. “Since I think we can both agree that ship has pretty much sailed.”

Enjolras glared at him. “That ship was never even in the harbor.”

Grantaire just laughed. “Keep telling yourself that, kid.”

He started to brush past Enjolras back into the club, but Enjolras reached out to grab his arm. “Wait—” he started, breaking off when his thumb brushed against a series of marks on the inside of Grantaire’s arm. “What’s this?”

Grantaire yanked his arm away from him. “Nothing for you to worry your pretty head about, sweetheart,” he said, rolling his shirtsleeve down and buttoning the cuff with unexpected dexterity. 

“Is that the better thing you have to do?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire grinned. “Well, one of many,” he said. “But again, it’s nothing you need to worry about.”

Enjolras shook his head slowly. “You could be just what the movement needs,” he told Grantaire, his voice low. “Your humor, and the things you have to say about obscenity, about free speech – people would listen to you.”

Grantaire shrugged. “They already do,” he said simply. “Maybe I’ll see you at another show.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, feeling oddly deflated. “Maybe you will.”

“And who knows,” Grantaire said, “maybe you will end up changing the world…”

He trailed off expectantly, and Enjolras realized for the first time that he had never actually introduced himself. “Enjolras,” he said. “I’m Enjolras.”

Grantaire grinned. “Enjolras,” he repeated. “Well, it’s better than Apollo, which is what I was calling you in my head.” He winked again. “I’ll see you around, Enjolras.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras echoed. “I’ll see you around.”

Grantaire slipped back into the club, and Enjolras stared after him for a long moment before shaking his head and slowly starting in the direction of the subway, shoving his hands in his pockets.

He wasn’t sure what exactly he’d expected from this, what he’d expected Grantaire to be like, or whether he’d actually believed that Grantaire would come to a Les Amis meeting, but he knew he’d expected more than that.

He’d expected more from Grantaire.

Of course, Enjolras had never been one to just roll over and accept defeat, and as he walked toward the subway, he felt a familiar feeling rise in his chest: determination.

Yeah, he would see Grantaire again.

One way or another.

Because Enjolras wasn’t done trying to convince him.

#exr #enjoltaire #enjolras x grantaire #enjolras #grantaire #eponine #les mis #fanfiction #1950s au #comedian au #f slur cw #time period homophobia #though seeing as how we live in hell it's not far off #from modern day #anyway #marvelous mrs maisel AU #kind of sort of #Lenny Bruce!Grantaire #because I couldn't resist #implied/reference drug use

[taskforcedistortion]

Why are these articles popping up again?!?

I was JUST holding my son! He punched the person because they started shouting INSULTS at the two of us!! Saying REVOLTING things!

I am- I am so sick from these popping up again. WHERE ARE THEY COMING FROM!??!

Note: I will NOT repeat what they said, just know they were DISGUSTING and revolving around our relationship and how he is gay.

-G

#rocket division responds #pokeblogging #pokemon rp #pokemon irl #pokeblog rp #cw implied homophobia #//There was only so many of these I could do without them finding out lol

[softsophos]

Hello friends I am checks notes half a month late for deancasroadtrip (@starcrosseddeancas) 's disneynatural follower celebration and I don't even have a starbucks to show for it.

But, I did accidentally write a 1k word poem for it soooo hi?

I couldn't for the life of me figure out how to format this and eventually decided it was saying slam poem so I recorded myself reading it.

Text is under the cut for those who prefer to read it or understandably don't want to hear me (the audio quality is atrocious I have literally no setup for this I'm sorry) (also yes the audio is in two parts because tumblr hates me)

Kill the Beast, Save the Princess, Rinse, Wash, Repeat now, look, john winchester didn’t raise boys who watch disney movies but, look, dean really was the one who raised sammy and dean, dean was never john winchester now was he

Kill the Beast, Save the Princess, Rinse, Wash, Repeat now, look, dean never watched disney movies okay, but if he did, if he did his favorite part wasn’t the dresses though they sure were pretty, and his favorite part wasn’t the singing like sammy, and okay maybe his favorite part was the talking animals but his favorite favorite part was the good defeating evil, every time, good defeating evil, because sure pretty dresses and jewels weren’t for boys like him, and sure singing a little song was for the unspeakables with their heads screwed on funny, and sure talking animals were unnatural and what’s unnatural gets silver to the heart, but good defeating evil, good defeating evil was for boys like him, good defeating evil was his life his language and there it was, without fail, there it was on the screen, look, the evil queen is foiled, look, prince philip stabs the dragon, silver to the heart, the day gets saved, the evil gets crushed, just like him, just like him

Kill the Beast, Save the Princess, Rinse, Wash, Repeat now, look, budgeting never included movie tickets unless dean got creative but, look, creative was one of dean’s many many middle names, they had a whole word game about it because, you had to get creative to kill long hours too, creativity and killing that was dean so, yeah, if sammy wanted to go see some fish girl whose dad actually admitted he was wrong, some fish girl who was loved and heard even when she had no voice, okay, okay dean wasn’t going to say no to sammy and yeah, look, if sammy wanted to see some nerd girl escape to where she was valued and wanted, some nerd girl who loved without laws of monster and not monster, then, yeah that was probably a bad influence, sammy was reading all the time and sympathizing with monsters all of a sudden, let’s roll that back, so, hey, if sammy wanted to see some tough girl learn to be a man, that’s better, some tough girl who a tough man could love even when he thought she was, nope,

Kill the Beast, Save the Princess, Rinse, Wash, Repeat now, look, when sammy got real into the whole fairy tale thing, like, books from the library into it, like, tell me a bedtime story dean into it, it wasn’t hard because dean could just tack up a once upon a time, throw in some good defeating evil, and spin a tale of hero dad or maybe, or maybe even hero dean but, but then sammy would crash straight past good defeating evil to what about the happily ever after and

Kill the Beast, Save the Princess, Rinse, Wash, Repeat now, look, if dean was confronted by a dragon on his way to the vending machine he’d grab a knife and maybe a shotgun for good measure, if a dozen talking mice started giving him life advice one day his biggest problem would probably be sorting out the advice, weird was weird, sure, but weird was also winchester, and the rules of fairy tale magic or real reality didn’t quite apply the same but, well, life did have some rules and one of those rules was boys don’t watch disney movies, and one was good defeating evil, and one was after all’s said and done you hit the road, you hit the road and you don’t ask what about the happily ever after, okay, okay that doesn’t fit in winchester reality, okay, okay we’re not princesses who sing a little song and get happily ever after, okay, okay what does happily ever after have on a good crisp stretch of freeway and a rinse, wash, repeat, once upon a here we go again

Kill the Beast, Save the Princess, Rinse, Wash, Repeat now, look, the angel castiel, apparently, does raise boys who watch disney movies, the angel castiel, apparently, is willing to drag two grown men, men who were boys once, boys who had known the rules of john winchester once, but the angel castiel is willing to drag them into a blanket fort, a blanket fort made by god, like some stunning new heaven that smells like clean laundry, is willing to drag them there and feed them burnt popcorn, and watch disney movies like it isn’t a sin, watch disney movies like it isn’t a secret, watch disney movies like it isn’t a struggle because, because the angel castiel, apparently, says this is how you love the boy you raise, says this is how you love those two grown men, men who were boys once, says this is how you love your fellow unspeakables with their heads screwed on funny, because the angel castiel, apparently, says dean never was john winchester now was he, says it with love

Kill the Beast, Save the Princess, Rinse, Wash, Repeat now, look, dean does watch disney movies okay, watches them with a home full of family and a heart full of love and a head full of those way too catchy tunes, and jack’s favorite part is the dresses, and they keep spilling chocolate milk on them, and sammy’s favorite part is the singing, and he’s honestly not half bad, and cas’ favorite part is the talking animals, and dean can never tell if he’s joking when he says he can talk to animals too, but dean’s favorite part, dean’s favorite part is the happily ever after, happily ever after for boys like him, happily ever after is his life his language and there it is, without fail, there it is, now, look,

#sorry again this is late #in my defense i was on holiday #but congratulations on the milestone baz! #and thank you for organizing the event! #disneynaturalmagic #spn #spn poetry #dean winchester #dean winchester poetry #sam winchester #castiel #john winchester #jack kline #disney #cw homophobia #cw internalized homophobia #cw implied homophobia #cw child abuse #some softness #audio

[kronoose]

Me yay finally a cosplay for those rainbow suspenders I bought who knows how long ago

Realizes that he would've probably been killed for wearing them

#tw implied homophobia #cw implied homophobia #implied queerphobia #stud stampler

[honeydewmuses]

@not-bcring said:

❝  i know this might sound weird but,  do you wanna stay over?  i guess ‘sleepover’ sounds kind of childish but.  i think it’d be nice.  ❞ - (( Kazuichi @ Bill because on this blog we ball ))

It doesn't sound childish. It sounds gay. Unfortunately, Bill really, honestly does want to stay over, and he can't tear into the offer too hard if he's gonna accept it.

"I'm a real good friend, so I'm gonna give you a tip here. Cool guys don't invite their friends to stay over. They just don't make anyone leave, and all of a sudden it's the next morning. Unless you're a loser and people don't want to hang out that long, in which case you really don't want to have made a formal invitation."

Bill is pretty sure that's a clear yes. But just in case...

"So, what kind of homo shit do you even do at a sleepover? If that's what you wanna call this. You got any junk food or movies or anything?"

He looks Kaz over as he waits for an answer. It is kinda cute, honestly. The way he got all self conscious about inviting Bill to stay, and the way he wanted Bill to stay. It's not something he likes to admit to himself, but Bill isn't really the kind of person people are scrambling to get closer to. Or to stay in the same general vicinity as. But Kazuichi seems to like him, and to think his collections and trivia are cool, and to be okay with the fact that he doesn't speak Japanese or get along with most of their fellow students. Which is cool. Nice, even.

If Bill didn't know better, he'd think he liked Kazuichi. But he's too smart to like people. Instead he likes what they can do for him. And what Kazuichi can do for him is stroke his ego and make him little robots and give him that weird, warm, calm feeling that he gives him. Almost like friendship. Almost like... no, he doesn't wanna think about that one. He wants to have a dumb gay sleepover with Kazuichi. And when he says gay, he doesn't mean gay. Obviously.

#((jesus christ. i forgot i wrote that asshole and i definitely forgot we ship these two. they're fun tho we're just insane for it)) #((answering this on this blog was also a huge risk)) #((cause they are SO BAD at not turning everything n//sfw)) #((but anyway)) #bill // ic // secretary of comic books #bill // answered // secretary of comic books #bill // relationship // bill and kazuichi #not bcring #starring not bcring as kazuichi #((apparently i had not yet done b/ill's tags. makes sense. i am also sooo out of practice with him lmao)) #long post cw #implied homophobia cw