#remember this all came out BEFORE gay marriage was legal ANYWHERE in the US

[awakefor48hours]

Here's your yearly reminder that korrasami is not an "ambiguous" relationship and they did not "just hold hands"

See you guys again next year.

IDs in alt

#korrasami #if you're wondering where these screenshots come from #they're from the LOK Turf Wars comics #if you've been here long enough #you know nothing will make my blood boil quite like seeing people call korrasami bad #remember this all came out BEFORE gay marriage was legal ANYWHERE in the US #not to mention LOK is a kid's show meaning that the censorship korrasami faced #is so much more aggressive than other shows #LOK and korrasami did not fight years of misogynoir/budget cuts/unclear scheduling/queerphobia/and more #just to be reduced to a “boring/unremarkable relationship” #korrasami and LOK changed western animation as a whole #and why shows like TOH and SPOP can exist they way they do now #you like lumity and/or catradora? you need to thank korrasami for that

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

Andrew Doyle asks: Remember when the pride flag made sense?

Remember when the pride flag made sense?

It was designed by an American Artist called Gilbert Baker in 1978. It was originally an eight-stripe rainbow but was soon refined into the six-striped version that was the norm for many decades.

At a time when gay people couldn't hold hands with their partners on the street, this flag served a useful purpose. It meant that you could easily find gay pubs or other places where no one had to pretend to be something they weren't. The rainbow symbol was a simple and effective concept that conveyed positivity and unity.

And then some activists came along and said hang on a minute, why are there no black or brown stripes in the rainbow flag? See, for some reason they were under the impression that the gay flag was a literal representation of the range of skin colors that are acceptable in the community. And so we got this.

Okay then, I mean, well, there weren't any white stripes in the original one either. But most people understood that it was symbolic with that we were all included already, irrespective of our race.

But then after this, trans activists came along and said, why aren't we in there? So we got this one. And this was the chevron with the pink white and blue, which was based on the trans flag.

But surely this eyesore couldn't get any worse, could it? Well, it could, because activists were then concerned that it was excluding intersex people, so they added this symbol.

Okay, it's getting a bit out of control now. But then last year, some bright spark added a red umbrella to represent sex workers.

Now, if you thought this was getting out of hand, last year then we had Microsoft. They designed a new version to incorporate all the other multiple sexualities and genders that have been invented over the past few years. Let's have a look at that.

I mean, what the hell is it? It looks like a space ship going at warp speed through a Care Bear's bum hole.

Identity politics in its current form is an ever expanding beast. Pride used to be just one day. Then it was a month. And now Pride events have been scheduled all the way from March through to September. As one sign in a shoe shop pointed out Pride never stops. If only it would.

The initialism as well that's expanded too. First we had LGB, and then it became LGBT, then LGBTQ, then LGBTQIA. The Canadian government currently favors 2SLGBTQIA+, although even its prime minister finds that a bit of a mouthful.

Similarly, Pride started out as an important protest against injustice. When the original Pride March took place in London in 1972, homosexuality had only been legal for five years, and the prospect of gay marriage or even an equal age of consent, seemed impossible. Only 2000 people turned up to these protests.

But by contrast, the Pride parade in London in 2022 attracted over a million. And of course, most of those people aren't even gay. It's become a family day out, a huge party.

And what's so wrong with that, you might ask. And that's a fair question. If people are celebrating and having a good time, that's great. Except that's not necessarily what's going. Increasingly, gay people no longer feel welcome at Pride. I spoke to a representative from a lesbian group on this show last year who had been moved along by police when trying to protest at Pride. But isn't Pride meant to be a protest, not a party? What's going on?

The answer is that pride has been hijacked not once but twice.

First by avaricious multi-billion dollar corporations who are able to pose as virtuous by posting the pride flag. Only, they don't do it in the branches in countries where homosexuality is still illegal. After all, you wouldn't want to fly the flag anywhere which might actually make a difference.

I'm old enough to remember that corporations were certainly not celebrating Pride quite so openly before section 28 was repealed in 2003, or before the age of consent was equalized in 2001, or before the decriminalization of homosexuality in Scotland in 1980. So, these corporations' commitment to LGBT rights apparently only manifests itself when it's likely to make them a profit.

And then there's the second hijacking. See, whereas the original Pride was about agitating for equal rights for gay people, it's now been taken over by activists who are obsessed with group identity and who believe that gender is more important than sex.

That's why the British library, to celebrate the advent of pride month this week, posted a thread on Twitter about the sex life of fish, and how some species have been known to change from male to female.

I mean, what's that got to do with Pride? Why have Librarians seemingly forgotten that human beings aren't the same as fish? Now, they've since deleted those tweets, because well, you know they're bonkers. And although we might laugh at that kind of nonsense, the ideology it promotes is actually rather sinister, particularly for gay people.

See, in her book, "Time to Think" by Hannah Barnes, she found that between 80 and 90% of adolescents referred to the Tavistock pediatric gender clinic were same-sex attracted. Studies have long confirmed a correlation between gender non-conformity in youth, and homosexuality in later life. At the Tavistock, staff used to joke that "soon there would be no gay people left." Somehow the medicalization and sterilization of gay people has been reframed as progressive.

Even Stonewall, the UK's foremost LGBT charity has redefined the word "homosexual" on its website and promotional materials to mean "same gender attracted." Its CEO, Nancy Kelly, has claimed that women who exclude trans people from their dating pool are akin to sexual racists. There's been an intense resurgence of old homophobic tropes online from gender ideologues that believe that "genital preferences are transphobic" and that lesbians who don't include men in their dating pool must be suffering from trauma.

Gay rights were secured by recognizing that a minority of people are instinctively attracted to members of their own sex. And the new ideology of gender identity rejects this notion entirely, and actively shames gay people for their orientation.

So, when you see this flag, try to understand that many gay people consider it to be a symbol of opposition to gay rights, Women who are concerned about their rights consider it a symbol of misogyny, because it promotes an ideology that denies the reality of sex-based oppression, and yet most people, gay people included, haven't even noticed this transition from the pro-gay rainbow flag to this anti-gay imposter.

And that's because it all happened so quickly, and activists are playing on good intentions of a public who don't want to be seen to be on the wrong side of history. Well, I would suggest that upholding the rights of women and gay people and protecting gender non-conforming children and opposing the hypocrisy of corporations is the truly progressive approach.

Anyone who spends any time on social media would have seen that homophobia is clearly on the rise. It's coming from the reactionary elements of the right, who are now holding gay people responsible for sexualized drag shows for children, and the proliferation of sexually explicit books in school libraries. But of course, they've fallen for the trick. This isn't gay people. That's gender ideologues who've convinced everyone that the LGBTQIA+ movement is one big happy family, when it isn't.

And we know this because homophobia is also on the rise among gender ideologues themselves, who frequently go online to tell gay people to kill themselves. Some of them have said that they celebrate AIDS as a good thing. And this isn't just a few mad activists, there are thousands of examples of this if you've got the stomach to look them up.

So whether it's coming from those who consider themselves right wing or left-wing, anti-gay sentiments are back in fashion. And the best way to combat this is to remind everyone that that Progress Pride flag, and the corporate orgy that accompanies it, is not in the interests of gay people.

And if it's too late to reclaim the original Pride flag, we can at least ditch the new one.

#Andrew Doyle #Pride month #pride flag #rainbow flag #progress pride flag #ideological takeover #impostor #anti gay #homophobia 2.0 #woke homophobia #gender ideology #queer theory #same sex attraction #gay rights #religion is a mental illness

[kanmom51]

i was on hiatus around the time jk got his tattoos and when i came back i always thought the “crown” and “j” meant like “king/prince jk”, but then i found out through here and tumblr he didn’t get the “j” until another session meaning that’s not what he had in mind.

this brings memories of an ex of mine (who is still my close friend to this day)

they have the first letter of their first love on their ring finger and man… that shit used to pain me each time because i was so deeply in love with them it was hard to be with them and having to stare at that.

i remember them telling me “i got their initial because this was the girl i planned to marry.” they don’t regret the tattoo even though they’re not together anymore. to them, they knew it was a bold statement to have that on their hand for everyone to see. also we’re an older bunch so she got this tattoo before gay marriage was legal here (usa) and though they couldn’t get it on papers she felt that was one way to show their commitment. (not that I think KM are married! oh no no no, not at all. i’m just saying how deep and meaningful having a tattoo like that is)

anyway i guess im just writing about this because it is bold of jk to have “JM” on him. he’s not stupid and is very well aware what people will think when they see J/M lined up like that. it just makes me laugh so much when the fandom wants to say each letter sorta represents all the members. like is he not his own person? i know he loves them, but come on. this is very meaningful to him. i just know a lot of them refuse to see it for maybe the reason i hated seeing it on my ex, because they are delusional in thinking jk belongs to them (or another member in their ship) and they have to look at that “JM” every time they see him now. it’s not going anywhere!

also he could have got the “j” anywhere else on that hand if it meant his own name, but he got it right above the M!

love your blog ☺️

- 👑 anon (i dunno if you have a crown anon lol, but i’ll use that)

(also i still love my ex as a friend now and in no way mad or jealous of their tat anymore, i find it very touching and beautiful )

Hey there crown anon. All I have to say is wow. Thank you for sharing this with me.

Your story, your ex, the tattoo being a sign of their commitment, especially because they couldn't commit to each other on paper. Wow. It's like every single thing we thought about JK's actions word to word, action to action. If I wasn't convinced already, then this would definitely seal the deal for me.

Again, thank you for sharing this with me, and thank you for your love and support. xx

#ask #anon

[savetheearthbros]

"why did you lie to me?" fiddlestan

this is a lot longer and a lot more angsty then i meant it to be but enjoy!!

Tw:

Blood, scars, abuse mention

It had been three months since Stan had arrived in Gravity Falls. Three months since he pushed Ford into the portal in the basement. Three months without being able to sleep. Two months since he started giving tours of Ford's house.  Three more months for self hatred to add to the ten years he had under his belt. 

    He spent all of his free time out in the town looking for the other two journals. In the forest, near the lake, he even got yelled at by the police for lurking around the elementary school. He’d looked all around the town and came home empty handed every single time. 

    The snow on the ground was finally melting as he was looking for spare parts in the junkyard. He pulled scraps of metal off one another looking for anything that could possibly help with the portal. 

    He opened the hood of one of the many cars that scattered the junkyard only to find a gnome starring him in the face. The gnome hissed at him before scampering off. Stan just rolled his eyes and continued looking for parts from the car. 

    “Stanford?” he heard a voice behind him say nervously. He turned around quickly putting on the persona he used for tours.

    “Yes?” he said, trying to put more confidence behind his words then he had. He turned to see a tall thin man who looked like he had been through hell and hadn’t slept for a week afterwards. His hair was a mess, he had bruises scattering his arms, and a glazed over look in his eyes. “Can I help you?” he asked the stranger who only chuckled in response. 

    “So that’s how it’s going to be. Just gonna pretend you don’t know exactly why I’m here.” The man threw his hands up in the air in defeat. “I don’t know how to deal with you anymore, Ford.”

    “Look man, I honestly don’t know what you want from me.” The man pushed him back a lot harder than Stan thought someone of his size could manage. Stan fell against the car behind him. 

    “You’re an asshole, you know that! You spend months working on that portal refusing to let anyone near the house and then all of sudden I leave and you open the place up?” He knew about the portal? “You ruined my life and that’s when I decided enough was enough? Not when I stayed up for three nights straight writing up the work we’ve done in gravity falls? Not when I begged you to shut down the portal?” The man was crying now, clinging onto the front of Stan's coat. 

    Stan stared at the man crying in front of him. He knew something about the portal and from the sounds of it he knew Ford pretty well. He needed his help. Stan racked his brain for something he could say to get the man to help him. 

    “Hey looks… I'm sorry , ok?” the man looked up at a wide eyed Stan. Stan paused for a second trying to come up with an excuse that Ford could have for doing whatever he did to apparently ruin this man's life. “I just got stuck in my research, you know?” the man chuckled dryly.

    “‘I got stuck in my research, I could taste the end result and i didn’t want to let it go’ isn’t that what you told me when i got attacked by the gremloblin?” Stan nodded wondering what a gremloblin is in the back of his head. “Come up with a better fucking excuse then that, you mother fucker!”

    I can’t let him leave. I need his help. Stan thought to himself before grabbing the man's arm. “Please… I need your help.” The man pulled his arm out of Stan's grasp.

    “Of course you do! Why else would you even be talking to me? Why the fuck would you be anywhere fucking near me! You only ever want me when you need my help!” the man screamed. His voice gives out every so often. What had happened to him?

    “You know that’s not true.” Stan assured him, against his own knowledge trying to fix the situation. 

    “No? Then name a fucking time Stanford. You only wanted me when you needed help with the portal or you wanted to pretend someone loved you! Guess what, Stanford? I did love you! I loved you more then anything and you just fucking used me! I left my wife and gave up my son for you! And you just threw me away!” Stan just stared at the man, unable to comprehend exactly what was happening.

    “You… loved me?” he ended up asking under his breath. The man ran a hand through his hair and chucked again softly. 

    “No, Stanford. I just gave up everything to be with you. And I've spent every night with you since I arrived here. I just chose to sleep in your bed rather than mine. I just kissed you ever possible opportunity I possibly could just fucking because.” Stan looked at the man shocked. 

     Stanford and this crazy guy standing in front of him had been dating? He always knew Ford was gay but really were his standards really this low? To go for some crazy lunatic that doesn’t look like he’s showered in weeks. 

    “But if you have to ask it just proves to me you were using me.” Think Stanley! he told himself ``you're losing him “It doesn’t matter, anyways. I’m done with you.” The man turned to walk away and before Stan could think he grabbed his arm and pulled him into a kiss.

 It was the only thing he could think to do. The man clearly loved Stanford and the best way to get his help is to use his feelings against him. He knew it was a shitty thing to do but it’s not like he hadn’t done it before.

The man froze for a second before melting into the kiss and threading his fingers in Stan's hair. Stan wrapped his arms around the man's waist to pull him in. the man made a content noise against Stan's lips before pulling back to catch his breath. He looked down sadly and dropped his hands to Stan's shoulders. 

“You know this doesn't prove anything right? This is just another way you decided to use me...” he trailed off at the end of new tears following the trails left by the past dried ones.

“Please.” Stan mumbled softly under his breath. “I need you.” It was true. He might not have needed him in the same way as Ford did but he did truly need him. He was the only he could possibly get help from. The man looked up into Stan's eyes before sighing softly.

“Fine. But you have to promise me that Bill is gone and ain’t coming back.”  Bill? Who was Bill? Was he another guy Ford knew? Did he cheat with him? Is that how Ford ruined this man's life? 

Stan thought for a second before answering “Bill is gone for good. I don't want anything to do with that monster after what happened.'' Stan saw hope flicker in the man's eyes only for a second before he leaned in and kissed Stan softly.

“It’s just us again.” the man confirmed. Stan nodded. This was going to be easier than he thought. This man was talking his word as gospel. Pretending to be Ford was gonna be a sinch even with this guy around. 

“Should we go back to the house then?” Stan asked and to his delight the man nodded. The man started walking in the direction of the shack and stood close behind him. 

There were still a few problems that Stan was going to have to figure out. For instance if this man was truly wanting to start a relationship with him he’d have to figure out the six fingers thing. And he was going to have to figure out how far he was willing to go for this project because the man was going to want to have sex eventually. What were his excuses for not doing it for long amounts of time or ever at all? But most importantly how was he going to figure out his name. 

Fidds had been living with him at the shack for 24 hours now and he’d been hiding his hands in every way possible while he tried to figure out what to do about them. He finally decided on what he was going to do but he dreaded it.

He sat at Ford's desk staring at the knife in front of him trying to work up the courage to slice the sides of his hands. 

“Come on Stan you can do this. You’ve had to go through worse stuff than this. This is just self inflicted.” He tried to force a laugh to convince himself he was fine but it just came out broken.

He pulled out his lighter from his pocket. The most convincing way to do this would be to cauterize the wound afterwards but god was it going to hurt. He picked up the knife and held it against the outside of his pinky and took a deep breath. 

Later in his life Dipper and Mabel would ask about the scars and he would make something up off of the top of his head about a bear fight.

The conversation with the man went well. He was heartbroken that Stanford would do that but apparently when Ford got drunk for the first time with Fidds he had taken a knife to this extra finger so it wasn’t hard for the man to swallow.

He was running out of nicknames he could call the man without sounding suspicious and he needed to find a way to figure out his name. He had been writing words on a page in random order pretending to work on something for almost an hour when he had a brilliant idea.

He looked up the man sitting across the table from him. “What’s your name again?” the man looked up in shock and for a second stan doubted his decision. 

“Fiddleford?” he paused as he watched stan write it down “How can you not remember my name? We’ve known each other since college and we’ve dated for three years.” The heartbreak in Fiddleford's voice was enough for Stan to scramble for an explanation.

“I meant your last name! I just figured I’d write it down anyways since I needed it too.” Fiddleford relaxed in his seat, but he still seemed on edge.

“You should know my last name too. '' he pondered. “Esspecically since you agreed to take it the second gay marriage becomes legalized.” he added jokingly. They both laughed at that idea for a second before Stan added 

“I was asking how to spell it.” Fiddleford laughed softly

“It’s like bucket but with ‘mc’ in front of it” he answered before returning to the computer he was tinkering with in front of him 

“McBucket?” Stan asked, writing it down as he said it out loud. Fiddlford laughed and rolled his eyes.

“Yes my name’s Fiddleford McBucket. Nice to meet you.” Stan looked up at him expectly “McGucket you nerd. You better learn it soon because even if we can’t get married you promised me you’d be Stanford McGucket by 1990.” Stan jerked his head up from where it had been while he was writing and Fiddleford seemed to get a good laugh out of it. “You did! You were drunk but you did.”

Ok so get the portal up and running before 1990 Stan thought to him shit the portal. I gotta ask about that “hey um” he trailed off thinking of the right words to say “how would you feel about helping me get the portal operational again?” 

Fiddleford looked up at Stan, fear coloring his features. All the blood had drained from his face and his eyes were as wide as dinner plates. “No.” he snapped, Stan's face fell as he realized this was going to be the hardest part of all of this.

“Why not?” he asked. He was sincerely hoping the man would say something easy to fix like ‘we don't have the right tools’ or ‘you have to secretly be your own twin brother posing as Stanford’ but the chances of that were slim. 

“Because I almost died trying to get that machine up and running and I don’t want to have to go through that again.” He looked down at the computer. No longer tinkering with it just staring at it. 

“I promise we’ll be safer with it. I won’t let it happen again. I just need to get it opened.” Fiddleford looked up at him and sighed.

“Fine but I'm out of here the second it stops working.” Stan had to hide his excitement. He didn’t want Fiddleford to think he was using him, despite the fact that he was. 

“You’ll come back when I shut it down, right?” he asked honestly, not caring about the answer.

 Fidds looked up at him and smiled lovingly at him. Stan didn’t want to admit it but it made his heart skip a bit with how loving he was. “Of course I will.” he grabbed Stan's hand from across the table “You’re stuck with me for good this time.” 

    Stan couldn’t help but smile at the comment. He stroked Fiddleford’s hand with his thumb and tried not to think about the fact that Fiddleford thought he was holding hands with Stanford and not him. 

    Stan had traveled around the country for ten years of his life. He thought himself to be a well cultured man. Someone who could deal with pretty much anything. But that was before he walked in on Fidds sitting on the ground with what looked like a funky gun to his head. 

    “Fidds. What’re you doing? What-” He stopped himself before asking what it was. He was sure Stanford would know and therefore he couldn’t ask. Fidds dropped the gun from his temple and looked up at Stan. His eyes were puffy and red and he was trembling. Before Stan knew it he was sitting on the ground next to him pulling him into a hug. 

    “I'm sorry for I know you told me to destroy this and I'm sorry I just couldn't. I just want to forget… the memories of that thing  you worked with… the memories of Bill… they just keep popping up. I just want to forget...“ he sobbed against Stan's shoulder. Stan didn’t understand any of it but if Ford thought it was dangerous it probably was. 

    He held out his hand silently asking for the gun. Fidds pulled it into his chest like it was a teddy bear. “Fidds, please.” Stan begged softly. Fiddleford reluctantly hands over the gun and stands, sets it down on the ground behind him and pulls Fidds into the hug again. 

    “Whatever happens, I'll protect you. I promise.” Stan assured.  He wanted so badly to have meant it. He wanted to be there if Fidds ever had to face Bill. Hell he wanted to rip Bill apart piece by piece, but he knew one day he was going to be one of the things Fidds wanted to forget so badly. 

    It had been a year since he had started working with Fidds. Everything had gone smoothly since the incident with the gun, which Stan now kept in the basement under lock and key. Fidds had started working shifts with Stan and the tours of the house. He complained about it at first but grew to love it over time. They spent everyday working together, every evening working on the portal, and every night curled up in their bed together.

    Stan was the closest he had been to happiness in years. He had everything he ever wanted. There were only two problems. His brother was still trapped on the other side of the portal and his boyfriend was only dating him because he thought he was his brother. Stan tried to ignore those facts unless he had too. 

    They haven't made much progress with the portal and everyday that Ford wasn’t on their side of the portal he got more scared that he wasn't coming back. He tried to push that thought from his mind whenever he could but it was hard to forget when that was the only reason he was doing what he was. 

    “Ford?” Fidds asked from behind him, tearing Stan from his thoughts. “I have bad news.'' Stan's heart skipped a beat and he turned around. “Your father passed away...” Stan tried not to sigh out of relief. Thank god it wasn’t something with the portal. 

    “Ok.” he said calmly. “Thank you for telling me” He turned back to his work unphased by the news. Fidds came up behind him and rested his hands on stnas shoulders. 

    “You’re allowed to be upset.” He assured as he started to rub his shoulders. Stan leaned back into the contact. It never really crossed his mind that Ford might have taken the news badly. He didn’t know Ford's relationship with their father. He decided this was going to be one of those times that we talked more as himself then as Ford. 

    “Good riddance honestly.” he huffed. Fidds took a step back and Stan sighed softly at the lack of contact “Hey, I was enjoying that '' he turned around to face Fidds who looked extremely upset. “What’s wrong F?”

    “What’s wrong is you should be more upset!” Oh, shit! Ford did have a good relationship with their father. “You and your dad talked constantly! What changed?” Stan didn’t have a good answer. He was trying to dig himself out of a pretty deep hole. So instead of talking he just shrugged.

    “Man’s always been an ass it just got worse when I started the tours.” Fidds didn’t seem satisfied with that answer but he dropped it anyways. He probably thought that Stan would come to his senses and admit to his feelings but honestly Stan couldn’t care less that the old guy was dead. He had beat him and Ford their whole lives and kicked him out over a stupid mistake. 

    He wondered why Ford had kept up to date his dad. He wondered if he had forgiven him for everything he did to them as children. Then again Ford didn't get beat nearly as often or as bad. Maybe it was easier for Ford to brush it off. Maybe he forgave his dad when Stan was kicked out. 

    That thought made Stan’s blood go cold. Stanford might have fixed his relationship with his father because he kicked him out. Maybe Ford just wanted Stan gone.

    He couldn't get himself to work on the portal that night. Instead he and Fidds just watched mindless tv until they fell asleep in each other's arms. 

    Stan has screwed up. He had screwed up big time. He didn’t think he would ever be able to dig himself out of this hole. 

    Fidds and his relationship had been going great for the last year and a half. They were comfortable with each other, So it was no wonder that Fiddleford wanted to be intimate. But Stan had issues with that idea. For starters, he’s not the person Fiddleford wanted to have sex with and the idea of having sex with someone who thought you were your brother wasn’t the most appealing thought.

    But when Fiddleford started kissing his neck and sliding his hands under his shirt while they were watching some random romcom Stan had a hard time holding back. He pulled Fidds into his lap and kissed him until they both were breathless. He pulled off Fidds’s shirt and kissed down his chest. He wanted nothing more than to worship Fidds and never let go of him. 

    Fidds threaded his fingers in Stan's hair and pulled him up by it, earning a moan from Stan. Fidds pulled him into a kiss and pulled his shirt over his head. If Stan would have been thinking he would have stopped him. He would have told him he wanted to stop. Anything to get him not to take his shirt off but he wasn’t thinking. He was drunk off Fidds's kiss.

    Fidds kissed his neck and ran his hands over Stan's chest before stopping abruptly and looking down at the myriad of scars scattering Stan's torso. Scars that Ford didn’t have. Fidds brow furrowed, trying to figure out what he was seeing. He looked up at Stan looking for the answer. Stan didn’t have one.

    “You didn’t have any of these last time.” he stated. “And there’s no way you could have gotten some of these without me knowing” he ran his fingers over a bullet wound scar on the side of Stan’s torso. “So what the hells going on Stanford?”

    Stan swallowed. He didn’t know what to say. There wasn’t a good enough lie  that could get him out of this. He was panicking. He tried to say something but he could only stutter out ‘um’s and ‘well’s. 

    Fiddleford stood up. Stan expected to find anger but all he saw on Fidds’s face was confusion. He wished more that he could lie himself out of this situation but he couldn’t see a way out. So he settled with honesty.

    “I’m not Ford. And I haven't been for awhile.” Fidds laughed softly. Clearly trying to convince himself this was a joke. 

    “You have to be Ford. I mean who else would you be? I mean look at you!” Stan looked at him sadly. Realization hit Fidds like a truck. “Stanley...” he said softly “Stanford used to mumble that in his sleep… I always figured it was the brother he used to talk about. I never thought it could be his twin.” Stan stood up, reaching for Fidds’s hand. Fidds pulled his hand away like he had been burned.

    “You lied to me!” he screamed. Stan only looked down and nodded at the ground in response. “Why?” Stan looked up unsure of how to answer “Why did you lie to me?” he yelled tears now streaming down his face.

    “There was an accident,” Stan tried to explain. “Ford ended up on the other side of the portal. I need your help to save him.” fidds only stared at him in shock.

    “You mean to tell me you’ve been Ford since the portal broke?” he snapped. Stan nodded again and Fidds laughed dryly, tears streaming down his face. “It’s been almost two years! You’ve been pretending to be Ford for almost two years!” he was sobbing in between his words. Stan wanted nothing more than to hug him and tell him everything was going to be ok. 

    “Fidds I’m sor- '' Stan was cut off but Fidds’s fist collided with his nose. He fell back onto the ground holding his nose. He looked up at Fiddleford whose expression had gone dark. 

    “Dont fucking apologize to me!” he screamed “You. Lied. To. Me. For. Two. Fucking. Years.” He kicked Stan in the stomach after every word. 

Stan took each blow. He deserved it. Fidds didn’t deserve to be lied to, let alone for two years. Stan looked up at Fidds, tears mixed with blood from his nose dripping down his face. 

Fidds kicked him in the jaw before leaning down and grabbing his shirt off the floor. “Stay the fuck away from me you hear? I don't want anything to do with you.” He stormed out of the house slamming the door behind him. 

Stan turned so he was on his back and staring at the ceiling. He made no move to get up for hours. He just stared into space and thought about everything that had happened in the past year and a half. He regretted all of it and yet he regretted none of it. He regretted hurting Fidds but he never wanted to give up the memories they had made together.

Stan sobbed as he realized he had fallen in love with Fidds over the year and a half they had known each other. The love of his life now wanted nothing to do with him and it was all his fault.

When he did get up he got a stack of napkins for the bleeding and headed down into the basement to bury his face in work and try to forget about the man he loved all but spitting in his face.

Dipper and Mabel had been living in Gravity Falls for over three months now. Ford had come out of the portal , Weirdmageddon had already come and gone, and their birthday was coming up soon. Dipper had solved all of the mysteries he had wanted to solve but one of the mysteries Mabel was trying to solve never came to be.

Why did Grunkle Stan seem so sad whenever he looked at Old Man McGucket?

#gravity falls #fanfic #fan fictions #Stanford pines #Stanley pines #fiddleford mcguckets #fiddauthor #fiddlestan #kind of? #idk #tw scars #tw abuse mention #tw punching #tw blood #tw depressing thoughts #lying #dipper pines #mable pines #old man mcgucket

[baeklooming-day]

Carmin | Chanyeol

Parts 1 | 2 | 3

Summary: When in the middle of your messy student life you end up becoming the right hand of a powerful mafia leader, it gets even messier when it puts you in an arranged marriage with one of the family’s sons.

Genre: mafia!au, arranged marriage!au, fluffish later

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: violence

53. Do you think I’m scared of a woman?

A/N: I haven’t written for so long, idk what that will be. Take it as a weird Valentine gift from me to y’all. I will make it all in two or three parts, this is the first one, and PLEASE leave me your thoughts on this ;_;

“Listen, I’mma run to do that one important thing right now, alright?” You quickly slid your phone back into your leather camel bag, not waiting for a reply.

“You’re starting to disappear always more and more lately” Sohlhee whined. “What’s with our plans for later? What’s with that Chanel sale you insisted on going to so bad?” She paused for a moment. “Are you going somewhere with Chanyeol again?”

You gave her an apologetic look. “You know, I need to stop a little. My wallet doesn’t really approve.” You told her, knowing that it was a lame excuse but still hoping that it would stop her from questioning you any further. “And I’m not going anywhere with Chanyeol, I told you that I meet him only when I must do so.”

“Will you be back for lunch?”

“I don’t know.”

“Dinner?” She looked at you. “We wanted to prepare something delicious in our dorms like earlier. You know that without you it’s not the same.”

You knew. You knew that it probably wasn’t the same. But right now you couldn’t do much to help it.

“I don’t know.”

When you finally made yourself on your way to your destination, your phone started to squeal like crazy, letting you know about the incoming messages.

So much about getting that mocha from Starbucks on my way.

You started to almost run, even though you needed only around 20 minutes by train to arrive at Kabukicho from Nishi-Waseda district, but the always incoming messages (which you didn’t even open) kept your phone buzzing without an end and caused you to almost trip on your own shoe laces which managed to untie themselves whilst you were running to the train station.

“Damn you, damn everyone in this family” You mumbled to yourself, finally looking at your phone.

Nearly 25 unopened messages, every each of them screaming at you only one sentence in big letters ‘GOLDEN GAI NOW’, which you were able to read from the multiple bubbles that appeared on your screen.

You unlocked your phone and quickly typed a reply.

‘I’ll be there in twenty.’

Sliding your phone back into your bag, you got on the train and positioned yourself right by the door, so you would be able to quickly exit and run where you needed to be as soon as they open to let everyone out.

You watched the view from the window as the train was dashing forward. Sometimes you asked yourself, what kind of luck did you have to find yourself in a wrong place at a wrong hour, because it took only one time at night when you ended up leaving the Shinjuku station through the wrong exit, leading you right into Kabukicho where you ran into some of them. And later, you started to run into them much more frequently than you liked, And even later, before you knew it, you were pulled into their world completely.

You also wondered how that was even possible for you alone to become a part of a literal mafia family, just like that, because maybe the universe wanted it like that.

Or maybe because you really ended up in a wrong place at a wrong hour back in the day.

Or more like back in the night.

In moments like this you usually started to slowly lose yourself in your thoughts, but this time before you could do that, the doors opened and pulled you back to reality.

You secured your leather camel bag on your shoulder and ran out of the train, straight to the exit.

It better be really important, you thought.

A few moments later you found yourself in one of the narrow alleys in Golden Gai, looking at a young man with dyed blonde bangs, who’s arms were held tightly by two of your men, blocking him completely from moving.

“So you’re telling me that using and totally violating a very young girl wasn’t a big deal?” You calmly asked the young man.

He looked up at you and let out a laugh. “Don’t you understand Japanese?”

You tilted your head to the left. “Don’t you understand what consequences you just brought upon yourself?”

The man scoffed. “Really, how low are y’all? Making a big deal because one little bitch got her face broken.” He laughed again, then gave you a superior look. “You better be quiet. Do you think I’m scared of a woman?”

Before he knew it, you swiftly pulled a long, silver knife from your bag and aimed it at his throat. “Do you think I’m scared of an excuse of a man?” Without breaking eye contact with the young man, you asked the two who held him on the ground. “What are his orders?”

“Your お父さま otoosama said that whichever method you choose to eliminate this problem is alright with him.” They answered.

“わかる Wakaru.” You said to the young man again. “Before you hurt her so much that she’s almost unrecognizable now, you failed to remember one thing. That she’s a Ishikawa. She wanted to be a model, you know. Now she’ll never be a model. You took her dreams, now I’ll take yours.”

SLICE!

The man fell on the ground, hot blood oozing from his slit throat, making a carmin pool next to his body.

“Tell him that the problem has been eliminated.” You said.

“You will tell him yourself. He wishes to see you right now.”

You rolled your eyes.

Forgive me Sohlhee, I think I won’t make it to dinner.

“石川さま Ishikawa-sama.”

You entered a big office room, stopping midway and waiting for the person sitting in a black chair behind the chestnut wooden desk to look at you.

Lately, you’ve been visiting this room way too often for your liking.

“I’ve told you already like a zillion times” The mentioned person looked up at you almost immediately. “You can just call me otoosan.”

You rolled your eyes. “Because Mr Ishikawa makes you feel older than being called dad?”

Frankly, it just felt weird to you. Even when it’s already been years of being practically a part of the family, nonetheless it felt like yesterday when you got lost in the district of red lights.

Life left you without your family when you were much younger, but very luckily for you, you were already really mature for your age and cleverer than anyone could ever imagine. So you were able to get yourself to the position where you were now.

Education has been always your priority number one. So you worked very hard just to be accepted to the university of your dreams, 早稲田大学 Waseda Daigaku.

Until now, you managed to deal with both your studying and your new family’s business just fine.

Until you became your otoosan’s right hand.

You have always been an incredibly clever child, but right now when you became even cleverer, he claimed that your brains would be more than a perfect weapon in the family’s affairs, as his right hand and a rightful advisor.

“I don’t understand why you don’t want to take our family name, too” Mr Ishikawa gave you a sign to sit. “Because now, you are my daughter.”

“An adopted daughter.” You corrected. “Anyway, you wanted to see me, is that right?”

“Yes, I need to tell you very big news, Y/N.” He paused. “You will be getting married.”

You sat there quiet for a while, when you finally came back to reality again.

“What?” You asked. You thought this to be too ridiculous right in that moment.

“I’m telling you, that you will be getting married, my child.” Mr Ishikawa just continued explaining to you that ridiculous information totally relaxed, just as if it was a common conversation about buying milk on your way home or something like that. “This marriage will be more beneficial in the future than you imagine.”

You just sat there, looking at your otoosan as if he went completely crazy. “You aren’t joking?” The question marks must’ve been visible in your eyes. “Getting married? Now you’re telling me who I must marry? And who would that be?”

“Chanyeol.” Mr Ishikawa answered right away.

If your jaw could drop to the floor, it probably would now.

“You are sick.” You told him. “I won’t marry Chanyeol. Never. If this is even real, because I really hope that you are joking.”

“This is real, Y/N. More than that-” Before he could finish his sentence, the door opened, revealing a very tall boy in a black suit. “Oh, Chanyeol, you’re here.”

“I came as soon as I could” Chanyeol replied. You didn’t miss the way he looked at you, with that one look you already started to put the puzzle together. But you decided to be quiet. For now.

Mr Ishikawa looked at the two with pride which he wasn’t even trying to mask. “You will be a beautiful wife and husband.”

With that, your suspects have been confirmed.

Chanyeol must have know this long before you, because he wasn’t showing any signs of a surprise.

“He knew before me?” You felt your jaw dropping again, pointing your finger at the tall boy next to you.

Mr Ishikawa completely ignored you and started telling you all the reasons and times for preparation, and blah, blah, blah...

You just weren’t listening.

When you were finally dismissed, you didn’t wait too long to pull Chanyeol into an empty corridor where you could freely scream at him without witnesses.

“You knew this!” You shouted. “First of all, you can’t marry me. Because legally seeing, we are now one family. And that makes us cousins. So we can’t do that.”

Chanyeol smiled at you. But you really didn’t like the way he smiled. “Yes, but we are both adopted. And even if we weren’t, you would still be my third cousin. So, legally seeing, I could still marry you.” Without giving you a chance to say more, he walked past you, leaving you alone, completely mad.

You wondered, why wasn’t he even trying to protest?

A/N: thank you for reading! <3

#exo #exo scenarios #chanyeol #chanyeol scenario #chanyeol scenarios #chanyeol imagine #chanyeol fanfiction #chanyeol fanfic #chanyeol imagines #chanyeol x reader #chanyeol fluff #chanyeol angst #chanyeol x y/n #exo scenario #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #exo mafia au

[tozierpunks]

“I love you both, so much.”

A commission for my buddy, my pal @whatidoisxsecret. Something I call lemon fluff, I hope you enjoy it as much as I do! Featuring: Bill x Mike x Richie. Hanzier/Hanbrough/Bichie. Whatever we wanna call that. lol And a warning: it’s finna get mildly nsfw.

One of Richie’s records played quietly in the background. A total of two candles were lit, accompanied by some incense. For Mike, Bill, and Richie, this was what they could afford on their budget. The trio crammed themselves into a one bedroom apartment, decorated with second-hand furniture they found on street curbs or just far enough from the dumpster to deem safe. Their mattress, mostly flattened due to years of use, was picked up from a neighbor - thanks to a Craigslist ad.

Below their apartment, they could hear the cars and music from nearby nightclubs. New York was their dream city growing up, and they finally made it. None of them cared how much (or how little) they had.

Tonight they christened in their new bed, eager to retire their old sleeping bags.

Bill sat between Mike’s legs, Mike’s cock buried deep inside him. One hand held Bill’s throat, the other rested firmly on his flat belly. He moved it only to brush his fingers through Richie’s wild mane of hair. As Mike kissed Bill, Richie busied himself by sucking his cock. It didn’t take long at all for Bill to cum, having the most attention.

“A top, a bottom, and a verse walk into a bar.” Richie would sometimes joke.

Mike was the constant top, Bill was the faithful bottom, and Richie demanded a bit of both.

The first time they had a threesome, he jokingly said the words “fuck train,” and understandably, Bill and Mike were no longer in the mood.

If he was the worst with words, then Bill was the best, gifted with the ability to sweet talk (and dirty talk) either boy into a weak puddle. Meanwhile Mike, who also had a way with words, showed more through his actions. He was the one who remembered allergies and preferences, and who thought to order Chinese when Bill insisted he would cook, knowing damn well he wouldn’t. This wasn’t to say Richie brought little to the table; Mike saw his worth when no one else did. Richie made them happy, and yes, they all made each other happy, but Richie didn’t even have to try. He could smile and make the whole room feel better. He was magic.

Slipping two fingers into Bill’s mouth, letting him suck on them, Mike thrusted his hips a few more times before his cock throbbed and he came inside Bill. Richie’s head bobbed as he sucked Bill off, his own cock soft by now. He usually came first, sandwiched between Mike and Bill when they had sex. This usually worked for Bill and Mike, seeing as Richie would preoccupy himself with going down on one of them. Although they would never admit it, Richie gave the best blowjobs.

There was a time he made Mike cum so hard, a shot of it landed on their bedside lamp, frying on the piping hot bulb. Richie laughed until he couldn’t breathe, and he never failed to mention the story at least once a month. Over dinner, no less.

Another time, he went down on Bill when they were alone on the subway. He bet Bill he could make him cum before they reached the next stop - winner buys sandwiches from the deli. Mike looked up when they returned home, seeing Richie waltz in with an armful of subs and a cheesy grin stretching from ear to ear.

“Fuh-fuck!” Bill stammered, cumming down Richie’s throat. Circling his thumb and forefinger around his balls, Richie didn’t stop sucking until Bill bucked his hips and pushed him off. “I’m not Mike, babe.” He was breathless, a small smile on his face. Richie learned exactly what his boys liked from their blowjobs; Bill was painfully sensitive after an orgasm, while Mike liked being sucked off until he was soft again.

“My bad, Billy,” Richie said, crawling over to Mike. Taking Mike’s cock in his mouth, he lowered his head slowly, licking off the cum. Bill didn’t hesitate to drape himself over Richie, kissing down his shoulders and back. His legs were tangled with Mike’s, who leaned his back against the wall.

The paint peeled around them, but they paid no mind. A lot of the little filthy details went unnoticed when they first examined the apartment. They were just too excited to care. An apartment in New York meant freedom. It meant being who they were as best friends and lovers for the first time in their entire lives. Growing up in Derry, sure they had their other friends, coming together as a band of losers against the world... but they all wanted more. Needed more.

During the summer gay marriage became legal, Mike suggested they move to New York. It wasn’t radically far from home, but it was far enough that they could find their place in the world.

Richie originally had his sights set on California, but he knew perfectly well how close Mike was with his parents. He didn’t want there to be any excuse for him to miss a Thanksgiving or Christmas, so he agreed on the big apple. New York’s comedy scene was better anyways.

Bill was willing to follow Richie anywhere. The two grew up together, knowing each other since diaper days. When they were kids, Bill would tell scary stories over a fire in his backyard, leaving Richie unable to sleep for the rest of the night. It didn’t help they usually spent it in Bill’s treehouse. It especially didn’t help when his kid brother, Georgie, would peek from his window and wave creepily at Richie.

Their first kiss was in that treehouse.

Before Bill’s dad tore it down, Richie and Bill climbed up for one last hurrah. The lied on the creaky planks, listening to an old Linkin Park CD from Bill’s emo phase (which Richie didn’t believe he fully grew out of). Bill asked if he could try something, and he kissed Richie. Neither of them said anything, but they didn’t need to. Richie grabbed a fistful of his hair and crushed his lips against Bill’s for a second kiss.

“Bill?” Mike tilted his head up, his eyes following Bill as the scrawnier boy stood up.

“I’m gonna get a towel,” he said, disappearing into the bathroom. Richie and Mike could hear the water running, and Bill returned moments later with a damp rag. Gingerly wiping the cum from Richie’s stomach, he left soft kisses along his pelvis. When he turned to clean off Mike, distracted by folding the rag, Mike grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him in for a deeper kiss. His tongue glossed over his bottom lip, flicking against the tip of Bill’s tongue.

Richie sat up, impatiently waiting for his turn.

There used to be a time when Bill was the impatient one. When Richie first introduced Mike to him, Bill couldn’t help but noticed the way their eyes lingered on each other. He wanted to step between them. Keep them apart. They talked about music Bill didn’t like; Mike introduced Richie to sounds and ideas he’d never had himself.

When he caught them kissing in Richie’s room, Bill thought he’d been punched in the gut. He couldn’t breathe as he ran down the stairs and escaped the house he’d spent so much of his childhood in. Richie followed after him, but he didn’t hear half of what his best friend said. They hadn’t mentioned their kiss since it happened, but Bill assumed Richie understood.

He loved him.

Surprisingly, it didn’t take much for Bill and Mike to get along. Mike sought him out at school, asking about the book he was reading. He explained how much he liked Richie, but he would back off if Bill was already starting something with him. Bill wanted to agree, but then Mike added an “or” to his statement. He teased the idea of a friendly competition, but didn’t mean it. Richie would love who he wanted to love.

“You can’t ask Richie Tozier to make a choice. He’ll end up choosing both on everything,” Bill said.

Mike contemplated that for a moment before going, “I wouldn’t mind.”

He winked at Bill and the rest was history. Bill had never been so charmed by a boy since knowing Richie, but somehow, Mike managed. Although it might’ve seemed silly to anyone else, the moment Bill fell for Mike, was when he rode Bill’s old bike. Good old Silver had seen better days, but Mike offered to repair the bike, and even grease up the poor thing’s joints to make it ride more smoothly. He mounted it when he was done, riding around his lawn and laughing. The clicks from the fresh spoke cards rang out loudly.

Bill couldn’t help but laugh too, a warm smile replacing his distrustful expression.

“Blow out that candle, would you, Rich?” Bill asked as he snuggled against Mike. Richie fanned out the tiny flame, crawling over to cuddle against Mike’s free side.

Lying between them, Mike pet their heads, savoring their warmth. Whenever the heater broke in the winter, he had his boys to keep him toasty. They had each other, as a matter of fact.

And when it was too hot outside, they could lounge around the apartment naked without a care.

When they got drunk at the bars below, singing at the top of their lungs as they stumbled across cobblestone streets, at least one of them (Bill) was smart enough to hydrate, and could take care of the others in the morning.

When Mike forgot something, Richie didn’t.

When Bill cried, Mike and Richie comforted him. No or. He needed both.

They completed each other in ways most couples didn’t think about.

Bill and Richie leaned over Mike’s chest, kissing each other before coming down to kiss Mike. He laughed as they pushed each other for access to his mouth, and when they returned to his sides, he squeezed them closer.

“I love you both, you know,” he whispered. “I love you both so much.”

#commission #hanzier #bichie #hanbrough

[unfolded73]

Decisions (1/1) - schitt’s creek ff

Flashbacks to all the little decisions that brought David and Patrick together to their wedding night. Canon compliant through S5. Rated Teen, 5.6k

Yeah, I’ve got it bad for these two.

(ao3)

~~~~~~~~~~

“Was that okay?” David let his hand slide across Patrick’s abdomen, nails scratching through the hair below his navel. He spooned up against Patrick’s back, ignoring the post-coital sweatiness for once in order to cuddle.

“Okay?” Patrick laughed, or more accurately, giggled. “Did you really ask if that was okay? Because I think I might’ve actually blacked out for a minute there.”

David hummed, the path of his hand continuing to Patrick’s hip. “It’s just, it’s our wedding night, so I felt a certain amount of pressure to live up to expectations. Wedding night sex should be, you know, top five sex.”

Patrick rolled over to face him, his nose nuzzling against David’s bare chest. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t actually keep score on our sex life.”

“Still--”

“It was amazing. You’re amazing.” Patrick kissed him. “You, my husband, are amazing.”

David tried not be thrilled by being called husband, he did, but his hammering heart had other ideas. He remembered stumbling out onto a Manhattan balcony the morning that gay marriage had been legalized in the States, hungover and with only a vague memory of whom he’d gone to bed with the night before, listening with half an ear as his polyamorous performance artist girlfriend at the time lectured her friends about the fact that marriage was a heteronormative construct to which the queer community never should have aspired in the first place. They all nodded sagely, taking drags off their cigarettes in the morning sunlight. David had nodded too, nodded in agreement that marriage was a prison, a trap, a refuge for desperate and weak-willed breeders. It sometimes occurred to him these days that his opinions back then had been thoroughly molded by those around him, pressed into his mind like handprints into soft concrete. Daniella said marriage was a construct, so David believed marriage was a construct. He wondered (not for the first time, or even the hundredth) what that David would think of him now, looking forward to a settled life with this one man who wore sensible Oxford shirts that he bought at the outlet mall in Elmdale.

“Do you ever think about all the tiny decisions we made that led us here?” Patrick asked.

David shook himself out of his reverie. “Hmm?”

Patrick pulled away far enough to be able to focus on his face. “I mean, there’s any number of ways that if things had gone slightly differently, you and I would never have met. Or at the very least, would never have ended up in business together. Or in a relationship.”

“See, I try not to think about things like that, because imagining never being with you would be very upsetting for me. And you know I don’t like my eyes to get puffy.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that to me several times today.”

“Well, it’s important,” David responded, lifting his hand and gesturing in the air for emphasis.

“Important enough to say during the ceremony, though?”

“It’s just that your vows were very emotional.”

“Yeah, I said those things because I like to watch your eyes get puffy,” Patrick said, smirking at him.

David huffed in annoyance, even has he cupped the back of Patrick’s head, fondly stroking the short hair above his neck. “Anyway, no, I don’t get all Gwyneth in Sliding Doors about my life choices.”

“I never saw that movie.”

David reared back, his eyes widening in horror. “Okay, I’m going to need a divorce.”

“Or we could just watch the movie,” Patrick said, grinning, and then leaning in to kiss him.

David hummed and smiled against Patrick’s lips. “Yeah, I suppose we could just watch the movie.”

~*~

Patrick opened the door of his increasing barren apartment to see Rachel standing there. Her eyes were red from crying, and his stomach twisted with guilt at the sight of her.

“Can I come in?” she asked, and what was he supposed to say to that other than yes, so yes is what he said, stepping back to admit her into the cardboard box forest of his living room.

Rachel looked around despondently. “So you’re really moving?” She was dressed in yoga pants and a sweatshirt, her long, red hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. Patrick wished he could hug her because he really needed a hug, but he kept his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans.

“Yeah.”

Her shoulders drooped at that, as if just by asking, she might make him change his mind and stay. Which, given their past, probably wasn’t an unreasonable thing for her to think.

“And you’re just going to drive; you don’t even know where you’re going to live?”

Well, no, that part of the plan he’d told Rachel wasn’t true. He’d wanted it to be true -- wanted to be the kind of person who could just uproot his entire life on a whim and head off into the sunset with no clear idea where he was going to end up. But Patrick was a planner, and in the end he’d been too anxious to go through with that level of spontaneity. Instead he’d browsed job websites until he found something weird but promising, working for a guy named Ray who’d hired him over the phone after a lengthy, very chatty interview. He’d even be able to rent a spare room in Ray’s house, so if Ray turned out to be a serial killer, at least Patrick was making himself fully available to murder at any time of the day or night. He liked to be accommodating that way.

He didn’t want to tell Rachel any of this.

She laughed bitterly. “And here I thought this time, the engagement would stick.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me, I’m sick of your apologies. All you ever do is apologize to me.”

So she came here to berate him, then. Great. Not that he didn’t deserve it, with as many times as he’d broken her heart.

“But I guess that you don’t want to marry me so much that this time you can’t even stand to be in the same town as me,” she continued.

He and Rachel had been best friends in high school, inseparable, and everyone expected them to start dating from the time they were fifteen. Everyone expected it so much that it was like they willed the relationship into existence, and Patrick let himself be swept along with the tide of their expectations. He’d kissed her for the first time after one of his baseball games because he knew he was supposed to. He’d had mediocre sex with her the night of their spring formal because their friends expected it. He’d come home from college and asked her to marry him because his parents and her parents and even the lady who worked the register at the local hardware store had been hinting at him about it. Then a few months later, faced with the fact that being engaged to someone meant you had to actually marry them, he’d panicked and broken off the engagement. That was only the first time he’d broken off their engagement.

It was possible that Patrick was an asshole.

“I just need a fresh start with my life, I can’t--” Stay here. Face you. Face my parents.

“So then go to Toronto, or Chicago, or somewhere normal that people go when they’re trying to get away from home.”

“It’s expensive to live in those places. And I’m a small town guy.”

“I don’t want you to go. I still--” She hiccupped a tiny sob. “I still love you, Patrick.”

He felt like he still loved her too, and also that he’d never had a clear idea of what love actually was. But he knew he couldn’t marry her. With so much uncertainty in his life, he was finally certain of that, albeit several years too late.

“Please don’t go.”

It would make a lot of people happy if he stayed. Rachel, his parents, his buddies from high school who still liked to drink cheap beer and watch hockey. The lady from the hardware store. In leaving, he was disappointing everyone. He could agree not to go, and that weight of disappointing everyone would lift. 

Replaced by a heavier weight that he couldn’t quite define, but that had been pushing him down his whole life.

“I’m sorry, Rachel. I have to go.”

~*~

This fucking motel smelled funny, that was why he couldn’t sleep.

David turned over one more time, trying to get comfortable between the scratchy, low thread count sheets. He pulled the sleeve of his designer sweatshirt over his hand and cupped it over his face and inhaled, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to imagine that he was back in his own bed at his parent’s mansion. Or the bed in his Manhattan loft. Or even the bed of a stranger as he avoided the wet spot on the sheets and wondered if it would be easier just to leave now rather than waiting until morning. Literally anywhere would be better than this hellhole.

Flipping onto his back violently, David huffed out a breath.

“Oh my God, David, can you stop fidgeting for like, two minutes?”

“Fuck off, Alexis.”

She made an unhappy squeaking noise. “You don’t have to be such a dick to me all the time, you know.”

“I think I do.” He was still furious at her that she would have left with Stavros, abandoning him to their mother’s misery and their father’s misplaced optimism and this place.

“I could leave too, you know,” he added.

“Oh really, David? Where would you go?”

 “To New York, where I lived.”

“Your apartment is gone, David.”

“I have friends, Alexis.”

“Oh, do you. Name one.”

He opened his mouth, but before he could say a person who definitely existed and wasn’t made up, Alexis added, “And I mean someone who would actually care enough about you to let you crash on their sofa now that you’re poor. Also, how would you even get to New York? We don’t even have a car. Or money for a plane ticket on a…” -- and here she shuddered -- “commercial airline.”

“Believe me, if I wanted to find someone to put me up in New York, I could. There are men who would be more than happy to send me a plane ticket if I asked.”

“Ew, David. Like a sugar daddy? Even you should have more self-respect than that.”

He snorted. Self-respect. As if.

“And anyway, you’re not the young twink you once were; no one’s going to pay you to be their boy toy now,” she added.

“Jump off a bridge, Alexis,” he said, in no small part because he feared what she said was true. He didn’t have any friends who’d cared about anything but his money and connections, and he probably was too old to attract the attention of someone who might support him financially just because he was pretty and good at sucking dick. A small voice in the back of his head told him he was better off without those kinds of people. He ignored it.

“Fine, prove it. Leave,” she huffed. “Go to New York and find some skeevy guy to support you, see if I care.”

A part of him was so angry with Alexis that he almost got up at one thirty in the morning and stormed out of the room. He’d find a way to get out of this town somehow. He’d walk. He’d hitchhike. He’d sprout wings and fly.

After a long pause during which he stayed under the too-thin bedding, David said, “I can’t leave, I need to be here for Mom. She won’t survive this without me.”

“Yeah, that’s why you’re staying,” Alexis muttered sarcastically.

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

~*~

“Feeling better?” Stevie asked as she took the joint out of his hand and put it to her lips. David watched as she took a deep drag and held the smoke in her lungs for a few seconds before blowing it up at the sky.

He leaned back on the worn picnic table behind the motel and looked up at the way the light filtered through the trees. Schitt’s Creek could be oddly beautiful when viewed from the right angle. And when high. 

“Yeah. Better.”

“Done freaking out about the store?”

“Probably not, but I am presently done freaking out. At present.”

Stevie giggled, and David rolled over on the table to take the joint back from her.

“It’s the consignment part of it that’s crucial, but I wasn’t able to impart that to that uptight little cutie at Ray’s.”

“You talk like your mother when you’re high.”

David gasped, sitting up. “You take that back.”

Stevie blinked at him. “I just mean you use bigger words. Unnecessarily large words,” she overennunciated. “Wait, you said ‘cutie.’”

“Who did?” He shook his head side-to-side, trying to clear it. “I mean, I said what about what?”

“You said ‘that uptight cutie at Ray’s.’ He’s cute? You failed to mention that, you just said he was snippy.”

“He’s not cute; he was pressuring me to fill out a form. Nothing about that was cute.” David stretched back out on the picnic table. 

“And yet you said it.”

“Also I’m pretty sure he was wearing Levi’s.”

Stevie clutched at her heart. “Oh my God.”

“You may not think I can tell when you’re making fun of me but I actually can. I just mean he’s not my type. Which doesn’t matter because I’m sure he’s straight. He was pretty much wearing the straight boy uniform.”

“You sure are worried about what this non-cute boy’s sexual preferences are, David.”

“Nuh-uh.”

Stevie didn’t respond to that, and so they were silent for a while. David continued to squint up at the sunlight-dappled trees and Stevie… thought her Stevie thoughts. David imagined this is what his teen years would have been like if he’d grown up with no money in a town like this: getting stoned with a friend on a sad picnic table behind a motel. No parties with half-naked models and bowls of ecstasy. At the moment, he couldn’t put his finger on any reason why this would have been such a bad way to grow up. He certainly could have used a friend like Stevie in those years. Someone to support him and to call him on his bullshit.

David took a deep breath and broke the silence. “I guess what I wanted to say before I was stoned is, maybe it’s not too late for me to give up on the store idea. My mother was right, I’ve never done anything like this on my own before, and any belated maternal instinct she may have had to encourage me--”

“David Rose, don’t you dare give up on the store. I’ll be furious with you if you do, I mean it.”

“There’s a lot I don’t know about running a business.”

“I know. But you can ask your dad for help. Or you can ask the cutie at Ray’s.”

“I hate you,” he said, but he reached into his pocket and ran his finger along the edge of Patrick’s business card.

“Please don’t give up on it, David.”

He rolled over and looked at Stevie, her black hair tousled in the light breeze. He felt the sudden urge to tell her he loved her, but he figured that was just the marijuana talking. He bit his lips to keep the declaration in and sat up. “I’m going to go down to the store,” he announced.

“To do what?” she asked, hopping down off the picnic table and taking David’s hand to pull him to his feet. The world tilted alarmingly on its axis from this new vantage point.

“To work on my business plan.”

~*~

Patrick called his parents on Sunday afternoons without fail. He felt like if he didn’t stick to the schedule, if he let a Sunday go by and didn’t call them, then he’d start going longer and longer between calls and eventually he’d barely talk to them at all. So he called, right on schedule, even though the thought of talking to them today had caused a ball of anxiety to form in his stomach for some reason that he couldn’t explain.

After the exchange of pleasantries and listening to the latest gossip from his hometown, an uncomfortable silence descended.

“So, I… uh…” Why was this so hard to talk to his parents about? Patrick squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the phone harder against his ear. “I’m not going to be working for Ray anymore.”

“Oh,” his mom said, and he could hear the mixture of confusion and worry in that one little syllable. “That didn’t last very long, did it?”

“I know you said Ray’s a little… scattered, but you probably need to give it some more time, son,” his father said in that deep, sonorous voice that Patrick had failed to inherit. 

“Does that mean you’ll be coming back home?” his mom asked, and shit, of course she would jump to that conclusion.

“No, no no, that’s not why I’m… I’m going into partnership with another guy to help him run a store.”

“What guy?” his father asked at the same time his mother said, “A store?”

“Um, his name is David,” Patrick said, and it felt weirdly thrilling and forbidden to speak David’s name out loud to his parents. He frowned; what an odd thought. “The general store in town closed down, and David’s leased it to turn it into a space where he’s going to sell products from local vendors on consignment. It’s a good business model.”

“It sounds interesting,” his dad said, which sounded like a diplomatic way of saying ‘risky.’ Or perhaps a diplomatic way of saying ‘I can’t fathom why you would you give up a good job and a relationship with a lovely girl like Rachel to move to the ass end of the world and drift from one job you’re overqualified for to another.’

“It should be. I’m excited about it.” He paced across the floor, suddenly anxious to get off the phone. 

“I saw Mr. Stephens a few days ago,” his father said.

“Oh, yeah?” Theo Stephens had been Patrick’s boss at the bank.

“He said your job is still available if you want to come back home.”

“Tell him he really needs to hire a replacement,” Patrick said.

“I think he did, but it didn’t work out. So he’s looking again to fill the position, and I thought--”

“I’m staying here in Schitt’s Creek, Dad.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but why? What does that town have that your hometown doesn’t?”

A rush of images filled Patrick’s head. The clean white walls of the store, and the nice way it smelled now that he and David had washed everything thoroughly and filled it with skin and hair care products. The way David smirked when Patrick said something witty and sardonic, like there was a big smile inside of him that he was barely containing. The way David’s long, ringed fingers looked as he pressed labels onto bottles of moisturizer and bags of tea. 

“It has the store.”

“Oh, stop giving Patrick a hard time, Clint,” his mother said. “We just miss you, is all.” 

Patrick’s face flushed with shame that he was making his mother sad. “I know, Mom. I miss you too.”

“You’ll keep us posted about how it goes with the store?” his dad asked.

“Yeah, of course,” he said, but there was a part of him that never wanted to mention the store to them again. It was his and David’s, and sharing it with people at home, even his parents, felt strangely blasphemous.

“We love you, son.”

“Love you, too.”

The next few days were filled with body milk and spreadsheets of vendors and inventory and laughter and his heart squeezing uncomfortably in his chest every time he looked at David across the room. On Patrick’s next day off, he got up early and went for a hike, like if he didn’t keep moving his skin might turn itself inside out.

Or like he might have to admit that he had romantic feelings for David.

It wasn’t that the thought of being gay had never occurred to him before; he wasn’t born under a rock, after all. But he dismissed it, because gay men weren’t like him. Gay men were like David, fashion-conscious and unaware of what a change-up pitch was. And then there had been Rachel and a few other girls in college, keeping him from seriously questioning his sexuality. He looked straight, he acted straight, he’d had sex with women. Although, true, he’d always wondered what the big deal about sex was, because he’d secretly never thought it was all that great. And true, he’d once sat in a darkened theater watching Avengers and spending a lot more time focusing on Chris Evans than on Scarlett Johansson. But he’d never really fallen for a boy either, and eventually Patrick had concluded that he wasn’t a particularly sexual person. That was a thing, after all; he’d read about it. 

Then he met David Rose.

He spent hours working on the store’s budget and thinking about the turn of David’s neck. He stocked shelves and thought about David’s elegant fingers, with those silver rings that would catch the light and attract Patrick’s attention like a moth to a streetlamp. He stared into the middle distance, listening to the jazz that David insisted was an essential part of the store’s aesthetic, and thought about what David’s mouth would feel like on his own.

There was no use denying it: for the first time in his life, Patrick was falling for someone, and it was a man. And while that was confusing enough, the bigger problem was that it was his business partner.

Patrick reached the overlook point, and he stopped to catch his breath, sweat running down between his shoulder blades. 

“I’m gay,” he said out loud to the forest, testing the words, the very concept, in his mouth.

“I’m gay. I’m very, very gay for David Rose,” he said, and then laughed. He sounded crazy.

An argument could be made that it would be the wisest course never to act on his feelings because of the business. The most likely outcome to sharing his feelings with David would be a humiliating rejection; Patrick wasn’t the kind of person David would be attracted to, surely, and the best he could hope for would be for David not to laugh in his face. Even if by some miracle David was interested, all that would probably lead to would be a short relationship that would inevitably end, leaving Patrick working day in and day out with the man who’d broken his heart. 

He imagined asking David out, and David saying yes. Suddenly it was all he wanted, to go on a date with David, but he didn’t know if he’d have the courage to do it. Still, admitting that he wanted to, admitting what his feelings were, that was almost as good as making the decision to act on them.

“I’m so fucked,” Patrick said to the trees. They nodded in the breeze in agreement.

~*~

It was a rare day off from the store, and all David had wanted to do was sleep until noon and then lie in bed and eat a bag of chips and watch whatever was on the Hallmark Channel, which was available on the new cable package that his dad had gotten for the motel. Instead, his mother had woken him up with a list of chores, the latest of which was helping her to groom her wigs. So putting it mildly, David was crabby. He wanted to text Patrick and tell him about the trials his mother was putting him through, but Patrick was working at the store alone today and he probably wouldn’t appreciate the interruption.

“I like you and Patrick together,” his mother said, and David eyed her suspiciously, wondering if she’d finally learned to read his mind.

“There’s nothing to like yet; we’ve been on one date and we’ve kissed a few times, that’s all.” He combed the wig he was working on a little more vigorously, which got him a reproachful look from Moira.

“Perhaps that’s so, but the spark between you is pellucid for all to see.” She gave him a knowing smile. “He lights up when you walk in the room, and I dare say the reverse is also accurate.”

“Okay, well.” David bit down on a smile, lest he prove her point. “There’s still a lot that can go wrong, that’s all. And when things do go wrong, both my personal life and my business will be fucked, so.”

“Don’t be so fatalistic, David. You mustn’t assume that things will go wrong.”

“Things always go wrong.” He set the hairbrush down with a clatter. “I’m the first guy he’s been with. Literally the first man he’s ever kissed. It’s… it’s like holding a baby bird in my hand while riding a roller coaster. Any minute now we’re going to go over a big drop and I’ll forget and” -- he closed his fist tightly -- “I’ll crush him.”

“A very evocative avian metaphor, darling, but Patrick’s a grown man, not a bébé bird. Inexperienced with some activities, I’m sure, but he doesn’t strike me as someone who can’t take care of himself.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “Are you sure you aren’t the bird on the ferris wheel, David?”

“I said roller coaster,” he responded petulantly. “And hardly.”

Moira looked unconvinced.

“God, what am I doing, getting involved with my business partner? This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done in a… lifetime of dumb things,” he said with a flourish of his hand in the air. “I should end it now, before things get even messier.”

Tilting her head and regarded him for a moment, Moira reached out and put a hand on his bicep. “You’ve often put your heart in the care of people who have hurt you. But that isn’t because you are feeble-minded. It’s because those people weren’t worthy of you. Patrick, I think, may be worthy of you.”

“Okay, you barely know him.”

His mother just smiled. “I have a good feeling about him, that’s all. Have a little faith in the power of love.”

“Ew.”

She ignored that. “I implore you, David, don’t end things with him before they’ve even begun. Open your heart to the possibility of joy.”

“Ugh.” David went back to combing out the wig. “Fine.”

~*~

“Hey, do you wanna get a drink after rehearsal?” Patrick asked, which made Stevie narrow her eyes at him in confusion.

“David’s not expecting you?”

“We are capable of being apart for an evening.” At Stevie’s skeptical look, he added. “I told him you were stressed about the show and that I was planning to take you out for a drink.”

“So you lied.”

“No, I didn’t. You are stressed about the show, and I was planning to take you out for a drink.”

Patrick was being weird. “What’s going on, Brewer?”

“Nothing’s going on. I. want. to. get. a. drink. Do. you. want. to. get. a. drink.” Each word came out in a monotone.

She huffed. “Sure.”

“Great.” He looked simultaneously frustrated that she was being so difficult and yet pleased that she’d finally agreed.

When they were released by Moira from Cabaret rehearsal, sweaty and exhausted, Stevie was surprised when Patrick led her toward his car instead of down the street to the cafe. “Where are we going?”

“The Wobbly Elm,” he said, unlocking the passenger door and opening it for her.

“We could just go to the cafe,” she said, but she got in the car anyway. Going to the cafe meant she might have to sample one of Twyla’s terrible cocktail experiments.

Patrick got in the car and cranked the engine. “I find that when I have conversations in the cafe, somehow half the town knows what I was talking about by morning.”

Stevie’s suspicion meter edged up a couple more notches. “You are being really weird.”

“I know,” he said, pulling out onto the main road out of the center of town.

“If something bad is happening with David, or if something bad is about to happen, like if you’re planning to break up with him, you better tell me now. If you wait until I’ve got a drink in me at the bar, I might beat you with a pool cue and leave you for dead in the woods.”

Patrick laughed. “Nothing like that, I promise. I don’t think you’ll feel the temptation to beat me to death.” And then he changed the subject to Cabaret, and Stevie let him, because she had an infinite well of frustration to express about the show and her part in it.

He let her rant the whole way to the bar, but once they had their drinks ordered, he put a gentle hand on her arm. “You’re way too hard on your performance, you know. Your voice is actually really good.”

She snorted, taking a large pull from her beer. “It really isn’t. I know what singers are supposed to sound like, and I don’t sound like that.”

“Maybe not, but you sound real, and you sound vulnerable. You’re gonna be a fantastic Sally; I mean that.”

Stevie flushed, uncomfortable with the compliment. “Thanks,” she said, and then cleared her throat. “Okay, what did you drag me all the way out here for?” Now it was Patrick’s turn to look uncomfortable. “Oh. Well, there’s something I want to do, and I’m hoping that if it’s a terrible idea, you’ll talk me out of it.”

“Okay,” Stevie said slowly. “It probably is a terrible idea, but what the hell -- what is it?”

Patrick took a long drink from his beer glass as if for strength. “I’m thinking about asking David to marry me.”

Stevie almost choked on her beer. “Oh my God. Oh my God! Patrick!” She wanted to hug him, but she wasn’t sure if they were hugging friends, or non-hugging friends. “Patrick, that’s amazing!”

He just nodded. “Yes, but is it a terrible idea?”

She had to pause at that. Had David ever mentioned marriage to her, or what he thought of it? She didn’t think so. “Have you ever talked about marriage with him?”

“Not in those terms, but we’re starting to talk about… really long term things. Being together years from now, and what we might do. It just seems like that’s where his head is, like he finally trusts that I’m not going to lose interest in him. And I want to… I guess I’m just a traditional guy at heart and I’d really like to have that whole thing. The wedding. The vows and the cake and the dancing.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “But I don’t know. Maybe he won’t want that.”

“I might’ve assumed that about David at one point, that he wasn’t the marrying kind. But watching him with you, like the way he was with your parents, and planning your birthday party?” Stevie smiled, and then suddenly she had to force back tears. “I think if I had to place a bet on it, I’d bet on him saying yes.”

Patrick let out a breath he was holding. “Okay, cool. Okay.” And then he smiled one of his soft smiles at her. “So do I have your blessing?”

Her eyes widened. “My what?”

“I mean, I could ask his father, I guess, but I don’t think David would appreciate that. Also I don’t think Mr. Rose would be able to keep a secret. And anyway, I feel like you’re the… you’re like the guardian of David’s heart, if that makes sense. So I think you’re the one I should ask.”

The tears became impossible to hold back now. Stevie felt like the play was scraping her raw as it was, exposing a deep well of emotions just below the surface. Grabbing a cocktail napkin, she dabbed at her eyes. 

“Stevie, don’t cry, you’re gonna make me cry.”

Laughing, she handed him a cocktail napkin. “You’re such a softy.”

“I know, I know.”

“Yes, you have my blessing. I mean, I basically bullied David into realizing he was into you, so it would be pretty shitty of me not to give you my blessing to marry him.”

Patrick smirked at her. “Yeah, that would be pretty shitty, and you did what now?”

Stevie picked up her beer glass and clinked it against Patrick’s. “I love both you idiots.”

~*~

 “Stevie called us idiots,” Patrick mumbled as they were both drifting off to sleep.

“Yeah, her wedding toast left something to be desired, and the fact that I cried anyway just shows how ragged my emotions were today.”

“Not in the toast, I mean when I asked for her blessing to propose, she said ‘I love both you idiots’.”

David pressed his resulting grin against Patrick’s forehead. “That sounds like Stevie.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m so glad my family lost all our money. I’m so glad you couldn’t stay in your hometown anymore and that Ray posted that stupid job online. I’m so glad we made all the right decisions that led us to right here, right now,” David said in a rush, like he had to get the words out before he changed his mind about saying them.

Patrick put his hand over David’s where it rested on his hip and threaded their fingers together, bringing David’s hand to his lips. “Me too, sweetheart.”

END

#david x patrick #david x patrick ff #schitt's creek #schitt's creek ff #my fic

[zella-starr]

Cassandra is its hero: a girl that can see bad news or predict the end of the world- but no one ever listens so its stuck in a perpetual state of existing and emotional terror: zella finally figured out what 12 monkeys is about and it wrote this absurt literal wtf short story that only makes sense to those who look deeply there are some spoilers in #s but if anyone does read it and it doesnt get it kicked the f out then just tell it what you think of the ending - if you understand it at all lol 

it prays, to pic related that tumblr has more femine creatures than ones who do not understand metaphors or cannot see between white and black every shade of grey

it presents: The Cassandra Effect don’t read it tho its insanity personified

DO NOT READ THIS YALL!

The Casandra effect short story by something called zella or ezla or something idk it aplogizes for spelling errors but it freaked out and though it lost its masterpiece via saudi princes banning it from twitter

"my name is Casaandea" my name is Casandra - she repeated after the cubes. something about tit felt--different- a sinister evil the cube felt different today But she had learned to not listen to such thoughts- the kind of thing that would tear a weaker specimen to pieces but cas- (arrogance my darling)

Zella01/11/2020 "a horse, of course, my darling" ` as far as Cassie could tell, the cube thought this was amusing- cute even- she smiled- kind of. and but her little black boots on for a flickering moment she wondered what day it was then scoffed- "days" the cube has replaced any need for such distinctions

Zella01/11/2020 the first thing the cube had said to the population of Wintersville  upon its gran unveiling via the tribesman, was "every day is exact;u the same,!" like the great Adema themselves said! " stupid vicky, who is no long with us began to correct the cube . "That's Nine Inch Nails haha" but the look the tribesman- the one who was always beside the cube, well i sure wouldn't want to see that peak in the window at night such as on Thursdays when the servants of tribesman would do so- there were strict rules regarding sexual activity it goes without saying that after the great collapse everyone was sterilized- no children period. they were rounded up and shipped off to.. Cassiei always forgets just where but since the tribesman had brought in his spiritual leader Augustness. sexual pleasure had become limited for men- and more so for women.  a man without a wife was most scrutinized and often was sent to another sector. One man was caught, welll Cassie was supposed to keep heer mind off of such things as she had been scolded since mistaking the tribesman wife for well not a woman Cassie stopped for a moment and looked around she felt the fear. this means they could to,. but why was the memory so frightful? it was a simple truth he had told her there are men, and there are women Cassies little black boots were almost at the entrance of the factory when her favorite sound on earth came screeching through the air and crashed into her eardrums like the silly old tale of  the 2 became 1 buildings nonsense It was Kathy- Cassie's coworker and Nemesis- her voice was always happy-sounding- often at awkward times- but none would beat this "Cracker John Joe got hit my a truck!" "excuse me?" "yep, his head came plum off his neck too!" "what he's.. dead?" "ok well it did not come plum off his head it wad i think about half of it the tire just smashed his head and it crumbled but lots of the crumblings were far away so it was almost his." Cassie had to make sure  her stress did not rise- or as the Tribesman called it her Gorita acting amuck " this would require intervention from the cubes she decided to take a peek anyway, despite kathy (what kind of fucking name is that anyway-ok Cassie stop it) and she wa.. well it was actually not such a great idea it was not that they were close,. they did not go to prom together. they did not kiss each other on the cheek after a run-in on the one single street in wintersville. but she did work with him, he was a bubbly guy, thats what the tribesman said of him- and obviously the tribesman had him killed sometimes though she wondered which was in control, him or the cubes- this thought was followed my a very sharp pain and headache that would last for day at a time (this was how the subjects of the satanic mind-control experiment that was wintersville, were trained- imagine a dog being shocked every time it bites someone) It was not the worst one she had felt, no, that was easy to pin point: one day at work- an outsider was brought in. A girl- of 16 or 17 years old. Tribesman had another man with him that day- no one spoke his name- but he decided it would be best for Casandra and the new girl (Cassie called her flower as her name was never known) Flower had an outrageous hick accent- one that cassie would normally have been disgusted by, but flower was different. she had a light shining from her eyes. a softness to her lips and to her touch. one that cassie did not forget later that evening when she was alone., this was before she learned she was never alone when the cubes were anywhere near by. she tried not to remember - because if she remembered she felt It had been several years since Cassies husband dissipated. quite literally in front of her eyes. he was gone. the depression was so great, she hadn't played with herself in - there she goes again- as if there is any such thing as years or months or days or seconds. no past. no future but still, it was worth a little bit of that pain- fuck even at the time the piercing razorblade feeling, starting with her clit up to her eye balls was worth it. She touched herself- quite a bit. she rubbing her clit and moaning- at the previous images of Flower , her soft lips and perky tits- but then Cassie still didn't know that the slicing, the burning pain she could still feel - started the second the man with no name- after his henchmen had kidnapped and beaten Flower  - a pain Cassie mistook for pleasure (are they not the same) set  flowers body on fire and what little life there was inside of her soon was no more what would cassie have done HAD she known? should we find out? we control this. we control this experiment. would she revolt? haha against whom? what if we ended the experiment early - the knife she just tabbed int the "tribesman" was, in fact, her mother? we are not sure yet. but surely a woman who wears the same black boots every day after being given a new name she is sure she has always had- to go to work where she does n not know what she does. something something. could her infatuation with Flower show us new and exciting ways to break her down? because this will en no other way every controlled subject still must die its one of our favorite tricks- to instill into the psych of the truly helpless- that surely ifshe had suffered THIS much, then there would be no more one day>? I mean that IS how it works is it not? we suffer- then karma picks us up. what do you think fellahs? fuck it. why not. she must be broken- lets break her slower than most- lets take that hope- and stretch it lets create a future for her - one she will only think of, we can build her up give her what she wants for a day- we can bring flower back and kill her again or maybe something new? something not romantic. often the cold hearted clutches onto something- or someone that oppresses others. lets make enemies for her, shadows she can jump when she sees. others. the town is all white? lets increase paranoia of an oncoming slew of blacks or Mexicans. of course we will choose the kindest ones we know, those ho speak Spanish will frighten her the most- we dont let her learn things here. not anything useful yes even greater than the destruction of flower- will be the terror of the others. lets bring in tansgender people.  lets legalize gay marriage. lets let others have children but only once she is to old to have them herself but thats not enough- now we needa hero and we all know how this story ends -The end

for real if you made it this far thank you for reading a single word ive ever written its all i want in this world- well not quite but close <3 

the worst thing you can do to someone is make them the enemy theyve always hated via some tyrant taking over their minds and souls and spitting out a perverse vile version of them- no point to go to its funeral it died long ago..

#horror #scifi #mind control #mind corruption #mind conditioning #trump #maga2020 #psychos #3 letter demon monsters

[joly-and-the-satellites]

Joly/Grantaire headcanons? If you wanna talk about them!

congrats u have opened pandora’s box

Okay okay okay but I have so much to say about this ship, because I have never seen it anywhere and it’s very dear to me.

- Their kitchen is always a mess. None of the plates or the mugs match; they’re all picked up at random from various places and artists, and all treated with care. The rest of the house is usually fairly immaculate; but for whatever reason, the cupboards are always in some state of disarray. R blames it on the hundred boxes of tea that Joly leaves on the counters; Joly will defend himself to his dying breath against this accusation (probably while shoving all of the boxes into drawers and pretending they don’t exist)-Some of their dates are to various museums or art galleries, others to cool, obscure cafes that R has come across, and others yet to places where the stars are clearest at night. R’s favorite thing to do is sit on the hood of his car with Joly and watch the stars; he never remembers which constellations are which, of course. He’s usually too busy memorizing the entire galaxy above them reflected in Joly’s eyes.-It’s hard for R to be in a bad mood when he’s out with Joly. Wherever they are and whatever it is they’re doing, Joly is always up to something ridiculous; and more often than not, he can’t help but to join in.-They play card games instead of watching TV a lot. After a certain incident involving the two of them, Bossuet, Courfeyrac, and a game of Spoons, Joly has effectively banned the use of actual silverware on the table during games. (he still isn’t quite sure how R managed to launch a metal spoon off of the table with enough force to lodge in it the wall, but he’s learned that sometimes it’s better not to question things)-Joly’s favorite thing to do is kiss R’s nose, because the smile that it gets from Grantaire never fails to make his heart feel like it’s floating away. Whenever R has a headache, however, Joly presses little kisses to his forehead, claiming that it’s the best treatment plan, and he’ll be better in no time. Somehow, he’s always right.-They paint one another’s nails constantly when they’re at home. Grantaire likes to break out his paintbrushes and paint very delicate designs on Joly’s nails; they might not last long, but he’ll take just about any excuse to hold his hand for that long. -Joly climbs everywhere, on everything, and R does not know how to stop him. If Grantaire is sitting on the couch, Joly will climb over the back and slide down into his lap. If he can’t reach something, he’ll climb onto chairs, counters, or boxes to get to it. If they’re at a park and R turns his back for five seconds, Joly will be up in a tree. He is honestly baffled by it. It’s a phenomena that none of the Amis know how to explain. No one has ever watched him climb a tree; but they’ve all seen him in one. It’s wild.-Whenever R lets his hair grow out, Joly braids it. Joly’s hair generally isn’t long enough for any sort of braid, but anytime his hair is wet, be it from the rain or in the shower, R is sure to fashion it into a mohawk.-R taught Joly to play the flute, and he’s been in love with the instrument since. On their first anniversary, R bought him his own flute. Joly had been overjoyed, almost to the point of tears.-They both really love dinosaurs. It’s somewhat dangerous to mention dinosaurs in either’s presence; but if they’re sitting anywhere close to one another when dinosaurs are mentioned, all hell breaks loose instantly.-Neither of them really proposed to the other. They were sitting in the Musain watching the news when something came on about gay marriage being legalized in another country; of course, they all cheered and raised their glasses to the good news. It was only when the chatter of their friends had settled back down a bit that Joly fixed R with a curious look. “Are we going to get married?” he had asked. Grantaire didn’t miss a beat, shrugging one shoulder as he took a sip of his drink. “Do you want to?” Joly seemed to contemplate it for a moment before he nodded, “Sure.” R turned to Combeferre calmly, nudging him with his elbow. “Hey, I think Joly and I are getting married.” Ferre promptly choked on his water, and the table was in an uproar again.

#fun fact: I wrote a one shot based on the last one #joly #grantaire #joly/grantaire #headcanons #asks #soup ferret #bless u Kay #joly's journal

[whatitistobeaphan]

7:30 Every Morning

Prompt: teenagers au

Genre: fluff

Warnings: swearing, very little homophobia

Shit, Dan was late. He was really late. He hadn't realised how fast the time flew when he was listening to music, but the time was 8:24 and school started at 8:30. Being late was okay, it never really mattered - unless you were on your last strike of in-punctuality. Like Dan was. That meant meetings-with-your-parents serious, and detentions. Loads of them. So he did something he never thought he'd do. Dan Howell ran for it. The school was in sight, but he couldn't even see students milling around the front gate. Maybe he was even later than he thought? Out of breath, he stopped for a minute to check his phone. 8:29. He had made it, but... where was everyone? There was only one boy sitting on the steps in front of the locked gate. Raven black hair covered his face and Dan could see he was listening to music on his phone, using red earphones the same brand as Dan. Then he looked up, revealing piercing blue eyes and a defined, pale face. Dan recognised him as a really cute boy from a few years above, Phil. They had never spoken, but Dan definitely used to have a bit of a crush on him back when he had first come to terms with his sexuality. Holding back a blush, he tapped Phil on the shoulder, asking him for the time. Phil frowned at Dan's phone in his hand, but unlocked his own to pause his music and display the time, as well as the album cover for 'Welcome To The Black Parade' by My Chemical Romance. Dan grinned, until he noticed the numbers at the top. "Seven thirty!? My phone is an hour late!" Dan was outraged. He knew it had to be his brother messing with the time zones on his phone. Sometimes, the average sibling rivalry was a lot more than he bargained for. Phil looked confused, but when Dan didn't elaborate, he unpaused the song and locked his phone again. Silence fell upon the two boys as Dan considered his next move. He didn't particularly want to go back home and see Adrian's gloating smirk at his fiftieth successful prank, and there was nowhere else to go since he didn't have many good friends that would let him come over at this early hour. Listening to music was the best option, so he sat down next to Phil, pulling his phone out again and searching his pockets for his earphones. They weren't there. Dan briefly remembered throwing them on the floor of his messy bedroom in a hurry to quickly get dressed and leave for school. He had even skipped breakfast! But, as always, the most important thing was his music, and, without annoying Phil, he couldn't really listen to any. So that sucked. Just then Phil nudged him, seemingly getting what was going on. Dan looked at him questioningly, and as a reply, Phil offered on earbud of his earphones, which Dan happily accepted. Phil still hadn't uttered a word, but he was very expressive through his eyes and actions - like right now he had a very kind face and and was doing a very kind act. Music is sacred, and there's always that constant fear that people will judge you based on your music tastes and how loud you listen to it and so on. But it just so happened that Dan very much agreed with Phil that Muse was the best ever, that you could never go wrong with TOP, and that MCR, FOB and Panic! were the holy trinity. So when Phil smiled in appreciation, Dan did too - unknowingly, though Phil noticed out of the corner of his eye. It was funny how the hour passed to easily after that. It was interrupted half-way by a teacher unlocking the gates at 8:00, but Phil wordlessly paused his music, picked up his bag and sat down on a wall, this time inside the gates, beckoning Dan to join him. And despite the homework he really should have been doing, and the test in the afternoon he really should have been revising for, Dan sat down with no hesitation at all. That's how it started. Dan woke up an hour earlier every morning - because who doesn't need the extra half hour of their daily routine to straighten hobbit hair? His family was asleep, so he had the whole house to himself while he made breakfast and showered. It was peaceful, silence echoing around the deserted kitchen, and Dan was relaxed while he ate his cereal. Instead of listening to music while getting ready (to escape the noise of the people usually around him), he saved his eardrums for Phil, as they would always meet up at the same time and share music. With his own splitter and headphones, Dan would always be happy sharing Phil's phone, since the music was no different to his own, and when Phil showed him something new, it was always something he liked - completely truthfully, their music tastes just... fit. And when their knees brushed together, Dan blushed and looked away, the warm feeling spreading through his body making his cheeks fuchsia. He looked back, hopefully the colour gone from his cheeks, and Phil was smiling to himself, then to Dan when he noticed the brunette's eyes on him. They locked eyes for a moment, Phil staring unbashfully while Dan doing the opposite. When a teacher came out - thankfully interrupting Dan's mini heart attack - Phil stood up as always, pausing his music and taking his earphones out. This time, however, he offered his hand out for Dan. All Dan did was stare disbelievingly; Phil was standing and Dan was sitting on the steps, earphones in hand. He accepted Phil's help, and was pulled to his feet by muscular arms. Not that he noticed. They went inside the school gates, sitting down on the wall again. As it was the norm for them, Dan sat close to Phil in order to share his phone, but Phil made no move to play the music again. "Dan, I feel like we haven't talked at all and - well, I've always been here alone, but now you sit with me and I think I'm wasting an opportunity to get to know you." Phil spoke, breaking the comfortable barrier of silence between them. Not that Dan minded at all, he liked Phil a lot and was somewhat excited to start a proper friendship with him - actual talking included. "Yeah, you're right." Dan said, but Phil didn't seem to expect Dan to agree, so he just looked surprised. "Anyway, why do you come here so early?" Phil bit his lip, and Dan tried to ignore just how sexy that was. "My brother's an asshole." When Phil didn't elaborate, Dan prompted him. "Older or younger?" "Older. His name is Martyn, and he doesn't go to this school anymore. He still lives with me though, and ever since I... since some stuff happened, he's been really horrible to me, so I avoid him now." Phil didn't look at Dan once when he admitted this. "What about you anyway?" It was a feeble attempt to change the subject, and Dan noticed this. "Dunno, the idea of not being late anymore and listening to quality music without having to waste my own phone battery kinda appealed to me." He said vaguely. There wasn't really any importance to his story, Phil's sounded a lot more troubling. "Ever since you what, though?" The nervousness was catching, as Dan swallowed in anticipation. He wasn't sure why, but he felt like if Phil was to say what was on his mind, it would be some massive confession that he'd only told his family. Phil cleared his throat. "Um, ever since, I, told them, um, I'm... uh, I'm gay?" He phrased it as a question, quickly broke eye contact with Dan. Though when he looked up, Dan was frowning. "I can't believe you have a homophobic brother! It's not the Stone Age anymore, gay marriage is even legal in America! I'm so sorry you had to go through that Phil." Dan was honestly extremely upset for Phil. He was bisexual anyway, and even though he hadn't explicitly told anyone other than himself in front of the mirror, he didn't really think anyone would be particularly bothered by it. Phil peaked at Dan from behind his fringe. "You mean you don't mind?" He asked. "Of course! I'm not a complete dick. Nor a hypocrite." Dan said, coming out as nonchalantly as he could. Phil eyes just widened, showing off that beautiful ocean blue.   "You mean you're...?" "Bisexual, yeah." Phi looked clueless, so Dan filled him in. "It means I like girls and boys. There are loads of different sexualities, you have no idea! The internet hobos - including myself - are extremely up to date with these things. Tumblr is a wonderful place, my friend!" Phil laughed at that, so Dan guessed he knew what he meant. Conversation trailed off after that, but Dan didn't mind. Phil turned on his music again, and as 'Sarah Smiles' (P!ATD) played, he couldn't help the happy, loved-up theme of the music get to his brain. Was Phil... glowing? Yes, his eyes were always bright and skin pale enough to be a vampire, but there was a new, happy glow about him that made Dan erupt into a grin. "What?" Phil asked. Dan didn't realise he had been staring. He could kiss him right now. Dan could kiss Phil and Phil would kiss back, then they'd rest their foreheads together and sigh happily. But he didn't. "Nothing." The next day, Dan was late. He had stayed up late last night, going through Tumblr and Wikipedia and searching up different sexualities and how to come out and taking surveys to see which Disney princess he was (the result was Belle). This made him forget to set his alarm for 6:30, and due to his messed up body clock, he slept until eight and had to do the whole panic thing where he runs around finding clothes and grabbing books. Unfortunately for him, Dan had to skip straightening his hair, since he at least wanted to speak to Phil before school started. Of course, it was a bit weird that he was only late to be early and meet Phil, so technically Dan was on time, but he didn't see it that way. And neither, apparently, did Phil, as he definitely shot Dan a surly look his way. Dan wanted to go and talk to him, but the bell had rung and the two were in different years, forcing him to wait until break to look for him. However, he couldn't find Phil anywhere; it was like he had disappeared. What he didn't know was that Phil left school during both break and lunch to eat, as he didn't have many friends and wasn't really social enough to care. The annoying situation meant that, unless Dan was to stalk him, he wouldn't get to see Phil until that next morning - if he wasn't avoiding Dan. Luckily enough, Phil's brother was enough of a dick for him to not be able to bear his company at all, so Phil arrived at his usual time of 7:20 and put his earphones in. Dan, this time waking up at the correct time, joined him ten minutes later, sitting down besides Phil and hoping he wasn't mad. To his surprise, Phil took out his earphones from the phone and held his hand out to him. Dan handed over his splitters. Moments later they were nodding their heads along to My Chemical Romance's 'It's Not a Fashion Statement It's Death'. Everything was going as normal, but Dan couldn't help but to feel some... tension around the two. Phil clearly had something on his mind, but he didn't look like he'd be updating Dan about it anytime soon. The brunette boy decided to break the newly-found uneasy silence around them, nudging the other with his elbow. Phil paused his music, watching Dan with curiosity and waiting for him to say something. "Sorry I was late yesterday, I overslept. Wikipedia tangents are so unpredictable sometimes." Phil chuckled a little a that, albeit possibly a little forced, but Dan smiled, happy he was getting through to him. "How boring was yesterday, without my company and all? Miss me much?" Dan asked cheekily. Phil rolled his eyes, though he was smiling. "Meh, same old, same old. Me and the caretaker, though - I think we really hit it off yesterday. You were nowhere to be seen, and be is just such great company - you're not really needed anymore." Dan couldn't tell he was joking until he broke into a grin, draping his arms around Dan's waist in a friendly, laid back manner, drawing him close as one would squeeze another's hand. There was nothing amorous or suggestive about it at all, Dan reminded himself over and over again as he leaned into Phil's touch. Peacefully, the boys stayed that way for what seemed like a very long time. Neither pulled away, nor did Dan or Phil turn the music back on at any point. Dan liked it like that. He wasn't quite sure what was going on in his head, or Phil's for that matter, but that moment of mindfulness was extremely welcome. Of course, the one thing that may have been definitely far better would have been for Phil to lean in, looking down at Dan's mouth with lust and desire, then suddenly Phil's lips on his, softly, sweetly kissing him with loving and tender care. But that didn't happen. Soon, another week passed, and Dan felt like something wasn't right. It was the weekend again, but this one was lonelier than most. He only saw Phil on schooldays early in the morning, and was almost... craving more. Phil was all that was on his mind, whenever he had a moment to his self, or just a bit of time where he could let his mind wander, it always returned to Phil's crystal blue eyes and jet black fringe. Of course, it didn't come with the baggage it came with before; Dan was no longer questioning his sexuality, and had fully accepted it. But before he could even think to make any sort of move on Phil, it was best to be certain of the reaction of his parents. Dan had never been afraid of what people thought of him - at least, never before. It never really bothered him. And now... it was about his family: mum, dad, Adrian. Thinking about Phil reminded him that coming out wasn't always so easy. When Monday rolled around, Dan decided on going to Phil for advice. He had already had previous experience with the exact situation Dan was dealing with, so it seemed the obvious choice. Phil was already sitting on his steps, nodding his head along to the music, though when he noticed Dan he took out his earphones. "Hey." He smiled, lighting up both his face and Dan's. Dan swallowed nervously. "I was wondering if I could talk to you about something?" He asked. Phil nodded, patting the space on the ground beside him and setting aside his phone. "Whatever you need, Dan." Phil smiled again, making Dan feel far more comfortable and reassured as he smiled back. "I want to ask you about... coming out." Dan looked at Phil nervously, and Phil stared at his lap somewhat guiltily for a few minutes before looking up and replying. "I'm sorry, I probably scared you you about coming out by telling you about my brother. It doesn't always go like that, Dan, and not everyone is a homophobe. Sometimes you have to take risks so you don't hold back who you are and what you want; it's better than pretending to be someone you're not." Phil cupped Dan's cheek in the palm of his hand and Dan nuzzled into it ever so slightly. "If your parents love you, they will accept you." As he said this, Phil removed his hand. "Thank you Phil, really. I think... I may be actually ready to do this." Phil smiled at Dan, a proud expression on his face. "Good. And if you need any help, I'm here for you." Dan chewed his lip. He wanted to ask for one more thing but was unsure whether Phil would find it strange or not. "Maybe, um, you could help?" Phil's response was to look at him quizzically. "I mean, you could, well-" "Pretend to be your boyfriend?" Phil guessed. He had been thinking the exact same thing, though he wasn't sure exactly how he had found the courage to say anything. Dan nodded sheepishly. "I'd be happy to do that, anything to help! I know how hard it is, when you're so nervous of their reactions. And I'll be there for you no matter what." He took Dan's hand and smiled. "Would you, maybe, come over after school? My parents wont be home until a bit later, so we could just hang out and get our story straight?" Dan suggested, taking another risky leap into the unknown. "Sure." Phil smiled again. The rest of the school day was just plainly irrelevant. Dan didn't care about the area of a triangle using sine, he didn't care what Shakespeare symbolised though his repeated use of verse, he didn't care about the direction of blood flow through the heart. All that mattered was that Phil freaking Lester was coming over to his house. As if that wasn't nerve-wrecking enough, they would be discussing their (fake) relationship. And coming out. Dan wasn't the loneliest kid in school -  that was probably Phil, at least before he met Dan -  he had a few mutual friends though seating arrangements and groups in classes. As long as he kept on good terms with them, Dan was fine with it. But now he really needed someone he was close to, that wasn't Phil, so he could talk about Phil. And after school, Dan started panicking. Where would they meet? When? What would they talk about? Should they walk or take the bus? What should they eat? Should Dan change out of his uniform? How should he introduce Phil to his parents? Is the fake boyfriend thing a bad idea? However, he saw Phil already waiting by the gate. He was staring off into the distance, so Dan jokingly waved a hand in front of his eyes, announcing his presence. Phil grinned, lighting up his whole face, and offered his hand out to Dan, who had to remind himself that it was all an act, and not a sign that Phil liked him. The two made their way to Dan's empty house, walking the whole way and talking about the many mutual interests they had. Once they started on their similar music tastes, the conversation found it's way to video games and movies, as well as tumblr and youtube. Dan led Phil up to his room, untidied and covered in band posters. The first thing Phil commented on was the piano, sitting on the stool and lightly brushing the keys. "Do you play?" He asked, and Dan replied in affirmative. "Will you play for me?" Phil smiled cheekily. Dan hesitated, but then grinned back and pushed Phil off the stool playfully to sit on it himself. Taking a deep breath, he placed his fingers on the piano and began to play 'Inguene', letting the music wash over him. When he looked up again, Phil had his eyes closed and was leaning against the wall. The music stopped playing, and Phil opened his eyes, blushing at Dan's amused stare. "Shall we discuss details?" Phil changed the subject hastily. "That was beautiful by the way." He added. Dan's blush was darker than Phil's, but he stuttered "Thank you" and sat down on his bed, inviting the other boy next to him. "So, how long have we been dating? My mum'll want the story of how we met." Phil giggled, and Dan almost died in shock at how cute that was. "Well, my mum always said that the best way to lie is to stay as close as possible to the truth. So why not just tell the real story of how we met, about a month ago, adding that we started dating then as well. That'll also clear up where you've been disappearing early in the morning every day. Then everything's sorted!" "Sounds airtight to me." Dan smiled. "Now I can focus my mind on worrying about how they'll react." Seeing how forlorn and nervous Dan looked, Phil scooted closer to Dan and wrapped an arm around him. Dan found himself leaning into his touch, unsurprised at his urge but very surprised at his confidence. Phil rubbed his hand up and down Dan's arms, comforting him, and though he made Dan's heart beat faster, it also calmed him down and made him feel more at ease. "Don't worry," Phil murmured quietly, his breath hot on the top of Dan's hair. "Everything will be fine. And if we don't get the preferred outcome, I'll stay by your side and help you through it." Dan looked up at Phil with eyes so full of innocence and worry and trust. "Promise?" Placing a kiss to Dan's forehead, Phil smiled. "Promise." But Dan didn't really have the time to silently scream about the deep blush flooding his face from the tingling spot on his forehead that the hottest boy in the world had kissed so softly but so lovingly, since from downstairs, he could hear his mother entering through the door while talking on the phone to his father. "Oh shit, she's early." Dan whispered, looking at Phil while his stomach lurched. "Do we have to do this now?" "It's now or never Dan. We can wait for your father to come home first, but I think we should get it out of the way first. Okay?" Dan nodded. "So how do you want me to act? Should I call you by your name or a pet name? How should I address them? Do you want me to be touchy or not?" It then occurred to Dan just how nervous Phil was. "You really don't have to do this, you're not actually my boyfriend. These strings aren't yet attached to you." He joked. "No, I want to." Phil argued. Dan thought for a bit. "Well, in that case, just act as if you were really my boyfriend." "But if you were really my boyfriend and I was being introduced to your parents, I would have no idea how to act, so I'd ask you!" Dan chuckled at that. Downstairs, his mother was finishing her phone call. "Dan, I'm home!" She called up the stairs. "I'm going to have to go down now. And it doesn't really matter what they think about you, this is all fake, and we're going to have to 'break up' at some point too." Phil looked down, playing with his hands. "What?" Dan asked. "It's just... I do care what they think of me because... well, I want to be your real boyfriend someday, if you'd say yes of course." Dan gaped at him. "You... you really mean that?" When Phil nodded, Dan couldn't contain his happiness. He flung his arms around Phil and embraced him tightly. "Yes. Of course I will be your boyfriend." He didn't want to ever let go, but from downstairs his mum was calling him again. "Coming mum!" He reluctantly untangled himself from his BOYFRIEND and called down to his mum. "At least I'm not lying to her any more. And to answer your question, be yourself and be comfortable with that. I've never brought anyone home before, let alone a boy, so I don't really know how you should act, but that seems like the safest bet." Phil held out his arm as Dan opened the door, beckoning for Dan to hold on. "What a gentleman." Dan commented, leaving the room with his boyfriend. "Mum?" He called out. "I've got someone here. Someone special." Dan smiled at Phil, who only blushed. The two went down the stairs, letting go of each other when they met Dan's mum in the kitchen. "Mum, this is Phil." His mum gave him a quizzical look. "He's my boyfriend?" Dan's voice got higher at the end of the phrase, making it sound like a question. Mrs Howell stayed silent for a minute, then raised the phone to her ear. "Didn't I tell you, Howard? I knew Dan was going to come out, I said so! You just heard it with your own ears. I'm going to go now, come home soon! Love you." She put the phone down. "Sorry, Sweetie. Your dad and I were having a disagreement on when you were going to come out to us. Phil, was it? Welcome to the family." Phil, who was shifting uncomfortably before this, grinned slightly and and blushed. "Thanks, Mrs Howell." "Just call me Katherine." Phil's smile grew. "You treating my son well?" "Muum." Dan moaned. "Um, we haven't really been going out very long... but yeah, I'd never do anything to hurt him at all." Phil looked at Dan when he said this, giving him a sweet smile. "Well that's good. Do you go to school together? Is that why Dan keeps sneaking off early every morning?" Phil looked sheepish. "Um, we don't... we're not in the same year, but we meet up every morning." "Aww, that's so sweet you two. I expect to be seeing a lot more of you, Phil, but you can go upstairs now. Stay safe!" She joked. The two boys went back upstairs, both blushing furiously. "I think that went quite well." Dan said. Phil bit his lip. "There is just one more think I want to do." Phil said quietly, edging closer to Dan. Dan closed his eyes, easily guessing what was happening. Phil was taller, so Dan tilted his head slightly upwards, and their lips connected.

#phan #Phanfic #phanfiction #phanfic au #whatitistobeaphan #teenagers au

[theconservativebrief]

There were a lot of primaries Tuesday night sprawled out across a bunch of states, too much so for any really clear narrative to emerge across all the results.

But one singular result — a top House Democrat’s loss to a 28-year-old democratic socialist — stands head and shoulders above the rest as a striking defeat for a Democratic Party establishment that despite having taken a lot of licks over the past two years has mostly been able to pull out primary election wins when they needed to. That came to an end Tuesday night in a striking triumph of the anti-establishment.

Meanwhile, Democratic hopes for chaos on the GOP side largely failed to materialize as incumbents coasted to easy wins — though at times wins with intriguing back-stories. Mitt Romney, 71 years young, is poised to re-invent himself yet again as a back-bench United States Senate and Jared Polis is set to make history in a surprisingly low-key way as the probable first openly gay governor in American history.

Here’s what you need to know about a big night in politics.

[embedded content]

There was much more to the shocking defeat of Rep. Joe Crowley (D-NY) at the hands of Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. The incumbent was, for starters, simply a terrible demographic match for the district as it’s currently drawn.

He’s a white man in a mostly female party representing a district that’s less than 20 percent non-Hispanic white (and some of those are Republicans) and half Latino. He’s also in the weird situation of being the county party boss of Queens even though a healthy slice of his district is in the Bronx.

Looking back, it’s also striking that Crowley never actually won a competitive congressional election. He was slotted into a safe seat back in 1998 by his predecessor, who only officially retired too late to have an open primary competition for the seat, thus allowing Crowley to be crowned without really running. Crowley is well-liked by his colleagues in the House, but he’s not particularly charismatic. And in retrospect, his decision to skip a couple of debates looks borderline catastrophic.

Ocasio-Cortez, meanwhile, is a young, dynamic public speaker in a city whose machine-oriented politics tends to toss up drab nonentities as its politicians. She had uncommon social media savvy, and cut a fantastic video while waging a campaign that did a brilliant job of both channeling long-simmering national progressive disgruntlement with the idea of Crowley’s eventual accession to the Speakership and emphasizing her greater rootedness in the district as currently conceived.

The obvious comparison is to Dave Brat’s defeat of Eric Cantor in the 2014 cycle, but Ocasio-Cortez’s win is in many ways a bigger shock. Ideology-driven defeats of GOP Democratic incumbents are historically much rarer than on the Republican side so claiming any scalps at all would be a big win for the left and Crowley’s is a very big scalp indeed.

South Carolina Governor Henry McMaster Photo by Sean Rayford/Getty Images

It’s easy to forget but not so long ago, South Carolina — long a bastion of establishment voting in presidential primaries — was supposed to be the GOP’s firewall against Donald Trump’s takeover of the party. With statewide elected officials including Senator Tim Scott and then-governor Nikki Haley, the Palmetto State offered an unparalleled vision of a diverse, forward-looking version of the Republican Party ideally suited for Marco Rubio’s brand of politics.

Trump faced one of his most difficult primary debates there, in front of a raucous audience mostly hand-picked by the state party.

The exception to the anti-Trump wall was Lieutenant Governor Henry McMaster, one of the very few Republican Party elected officials anywhere in the country to endorse Trump before he wrapped the nomination up. After Trump won the presidency, McMaster was rewarded in the form of Haley’s elevation to the job of UN Ambassador, which secured McMaster an automatic promotion to the governor’s mansion. Tuesday night, he sealed the deal on obtaining the GOP nomination to run in his own right — and given the overwhelming GOP lean of the state he’s all but certain to prevail in December.

Meanwhile, Trump himself has made it clear that he remembers the difference between a true friend like McMaster and the opportunistic sycophants who make up the vast majority of GOP cadres — lavishing multiple tweets and campaign appearances on a race with no particular strategic significance.

Republican U.S Senate candidate Mitt Romney Photo by George Frey/Getty Images

Mitt Romney was a quintessential New England moderate when I voted for him back in the 2002 Massachusetts gubernatorial election, promising to protect a woman’s right to choose and in office signing a bill that became a model for what eventually became Barack Obama’s Affordable Care Act.

Then after Massachusetts’ Supreme Court legalized same-sex marriage, Romney re-invented himself as a fire-breathing social conservative and champion of traditional values — discovering a newfound faith-based opposition to abortion rights that had somehow gone missing over the previous decade to stand alongside his commitment to the then-traditional definition of marriage. That persona didn’t secure the 2008 GOP presidential nomination, but four years later he bested Rick Perry and Newt Gingrich with a proto-Trump nativist message and as the Republican nominee he broke with his party’s free trade consensus to slam Obama for going too soft on Chinese imports.

Romney didn’t run in the 2016 cycle, but did briefly audition as a spokesperson for the #NeverTrump movement — slamming nativism and protectionism as inauthentic to the conservative movement and pegging Trump himself as a fraud, though of course when it came time for choosing in the general election Romney couldn’t bring himself to endorse actually voting for the one candidate who could stop the fraud from becoming president.

Tuesday night, he wrapped up the GOP nomination to run for Senate in Utah (where I guess he moved at some point?) which makes his elevation to congress all-but-certain. Romney fans like McKay Coppins say that possession of such a safe seat will make Romney “free—perhaps for the first time in his political career—to be unabashedly who he is, without any serious threat of electoral blowback. That could lead him to hold the president accountable in ways that other Capitol Hill Republicans have shied away from.”

In truth, the best hope for these fantasies would have been for Romney to bow out of running at the last minute leaving people free to dream of what Senator Romney might have been. As an actual elected official, Romney will inevitably end up being unabashedly who he is — one of the most shameless opportunists in the history of American public life who invariably ends up disappointing people who expect him to stick to anything for long.

Former Rep. Michael Grimm (R-NY) Photo by Drew Angerer/Getty Images

Republican Party voters in New York’s 11th Congressional District faced the seemingly easy choice between Dan Donovan, an incumbent House member who’s also a former District Attorney, backed by party leaders including Trump, and ex-con Michael Grimm who used to represent the district until the fact that he’s a criminal forced him out.

The district, located on Staten Island and a weird idiosyncratically conservative swathe of Brooklyn, has long been the only winnable House district for Republicans in New York City. It’s not an overwhelmingly GOP-leaning district, but it is a place where Donald Trump performed better than the average Republican, and it wouldn’t really be a great pickup opportunity for Democrats unless the GOP did something insane and tossed out their incumbent representative in favor of an ex-con.

And … they didn’t do that. In retrospect, “incumbent congressman unaffected by scandal wins reelection against a criminal” was probably a very predictable news story. But the press, unable to resist a colorful yarn and perhaps blinded by the negative stereotypes of Staten Island that prevail in the rest of the city, hyped this race relentlessly.

When I was a kid growing up in NYC we would make fun of Staten for being home to the world’s largest garbage dump. Since that time, it’s been transformed into a lovely park so re-nominating Grimm would have revived the Borough’s joke status in a significant way. But instead its Republican Party voters did the sensible thing and stuck with the incumbent.

Rep. Jared Polis (D-CO) speaks during day one of the Democratic National Convention in 2012 Photo by Alex Wong/Getty Images

In some ways the biggest deal about Rep. Jared Polis (D-CO) winning the Democratic nomination to run for governor of the blue-leaning swing state is the extent to which it’s not a big deal.

If he wins, he’ll be the first openly gay man elected governor of any state which is legitimately a big deal except … it just hasn’t been that big of a deal. He’s been the front-runner throughout the whole race, the election has mostly flown below the national radar, his sexual orientation hasn’t been a major topic of discussion, there are no takes on whether Colorado is “ready” for a gay governor or if Democrats are blowing it with a “risky” pick. It just all feels rather normal — a popular congressman with conventional progressive Democratic Party views is going to be the party’s nominee in a blue-leaning swing state and he just so happens to be gay.

It’s an almost unimaginable sea change from the state of US politics twelve years ago when anti-gay backlash was seen as a critical force costing Democrats elections to today. Obviously, LGBT rights issues remain somewhat controversial — as the recent Masterpiece Cakeshop case reminds us — but openly gay people are now such a commonplace in American life that the likely first-ever election of a gay governor just doesn’t feel as momentous as one would have predicted a few years ago.

Original Source -> 3 winners and 2 losers from the June 26 primaries

via The Conservative Brief

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