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caniscathexis · 7 days

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First, my students read Freud’s “Mourning and Melancholia.” The father of psychoanalysis creates a binary of healthy and pathological grieving. If the bereaved is not wholly aware of their loss, and therefore cannot directly process it, this leads to a state Freud calls melancholia, resulting in “profoundly painful dejection, loss of the ability to love,” and other miserable and enduring consequences. In contrast, there is healthy mourning: the bereaved consciously knows their loss, and shuts out the world to grieve it, eventually returning to a state of normalcy, which Freud describes as a kind of equilibrium.

This conscious mourning can take the form of ritual. After Ed’s death, Bob and Ed’s partner Daniel disrobe and wash his body before it is taken away to be cremated. Glück writes, “Daniel and I unfold him and try to lift out one arm but it won’t be guided. It’s so like Ed, I have to laugh. Trying to steer him was always a challenge, like pushing a shopping cart with one bad wheel.” After the two have successfully removed Ed’s blue and white kimono, Bob focuses on a single leg, which “splays outward, then his knee falls inward, loose-jointed as a broken umbrella.” It’s an incredibly tender scene—more intimate than the sex scenes that populate the book with piss, come, an asshole “bubblegum pink, so clean it twinkled.” The scene of the washing is a kind of inventory, and the final body part recorded is Ed’s cock, from the tip of which a single drop of blood emerges. “The drop of blood is the only indication of the pandemonium that occurred within this body,” Glück writes, “Here to present itself for a bow, Ed’s murderous blood.”

The uncanniness of Ed’s being dead, even if it’s long expected, repeatedly has an air of the theatrical to Bob: “It’s a weird kind of play, someone’s death, that pressures the actors.” Everyone has their part. Still, these stilted roles, these practices, are meant to help the bereaved, to give shape to their mourning.

After Ed’s death, Bob thinks through mourning again and again. “Mourning is the fear of losing Ed combined with the fact of losing Ed,” he offers in one of several definitions. He even names Freud explicitly, and “Mourning and Melancholia” more referentially, using the words in close proximity. In a passage about the grief of time carrying us onward, he asks: “What is mourning? The will bends back, nailing me to the awareness of time. I spend days staring at a bright spot on the wall that moves with the sun, so I become a sundial, the melancholy motto is the self.”

. . .

Glück honors Ed’s life without insisting on the context, or perhaps retrieves Ed’s memory from its context, asking, in one of the few moments he names Ed’s death as one among many: “Was Ed’s death a trauma that replaced his life? Was he thrown into the mass grave of HIV? In mass death, recovery occurs in the collective mind over time. It may take a generation to reacquaint ourselves with the dead, for their rich complexity to be apparent once more.”

Robert Glück cofounded the New Narrative school in the Small Press Traffic Bookstore in San Francisco, through writing classes open to the public. The school of writers included transgressive icons like Dennis Cooper and Kathy Acker. New Narrative writing is identifiable by its careful observance of dailiness, including chat, sex, and sensory descriptions—rich complexity. One motivation, Glück writes in his essay “Long Note on New Narrative,” was to see if the writers “could come up with a better representation—not in order to satisfy movement pieties or to be political, but in order to be.” Queer people were among those not afforded unpolitical lives. Crimp paraphrases Michael Moon in arguing that the “normalcy” Freud expects a healthy griever to return to does not exist for gay men in a homophobic culture. Cultural production reflected this; the daily lives of queer people were hugely underrepresented in mainstream art in the 1970s. Yes, the personal is political, but perhaps there could be personal lives captured without the burden of political messaging. Glück asks, in his same essay on New Narrative, “What kind of representation least deforms its subject?” Perhaps one that refuses to instruct.

New Narrative began in the 1970s, predating the AIDS crisis, predating Ed’s death. I have spent years studying ACT UP, which began in New York in 1987 and was active in San Francisco in the final years of Ed’s life. I know well the context in which Ed is dying, at least as well as someone of my generation can. Ed died in 1994, near the end of the worst of the crisis: in 1995 the FDA approved the first protease inhibitors, and the following year saw effective combination therapy become the standard of care. Had Ed gotten sick just a bit later, maybe he’d still be alive today. Perhaps I am ruining Glück’s project, in a way, by stitching the story back into the political context. Near the end of his essay [“Mourning and Militancy”], Crimp suggests that militancy busies the hands of the bereaved, and this work, while vital, distracts from adequate mourning. “Militancy, of course, then, but mourning too: mourning and militancy.” I should let Ed rest, I think, and allow Glück to mourn.

Who is afforded a non-politicized death? Who is afforded a non-politicized life?

The murder of my acquaintance is nearly immediately instrumentalized by the right wing. He’d been a dedicated harm reduction activist—we’d helped to lead a Narcan training two weeks before his death—and the worst of the internet emerges to callously pronounce that the leftist got what was coming, given what he’d advocated for: dangerous streets. (He was killed by a stranger at a bus stop.) I find myself, perhaps naively, astounded by the cruelty—the online posts have the gleeful tone of cartoon villains, when the loss is unspeakable, impossible, devastating. Those who loved the man interrupt their mourning to insist publicly that the circumstances of his death would not have changed his political and moral convictions.

As sick as this makes me, I find myself strategizing elsewhere, sourcing material in the stories of others: a friend and I exchange articles, asking which newly published think piece or war diary will be the most likely to politically move people in our lives. The relatable Jewish Brooklynite, reflecting on their morphing relationship to the Jewish State, through statistic- and history-heavy analysis? Or will the first person account from Gaza, tragedy stylized in prose, persuade a reader that Palestinians deserve to live in safety and dignity? It feels dirty to plot like this, to utilize the real and present grief of others. But in this moment of urgency, it seems we are not above it. Maybe in a generation, I think, these dead will be able to rest.

– hannah gold, "voices of mourning"

According to Klein [in “Mourning and its Relation to Manic Depressive States”], when a later grief is experienced it is not only a fresh loss in the external world that must be contended with, but a disturbance in the subject’s internal world that was originally constructed in response to the grief associated with their early loss:

The pain experienced in the slow process of testing reality in the work of mourning thus seems partly due to the necessity, not only to renew the links to the external world and thus continuously to re-experience the loss, but at the same time and by means of this to rebuild with anguish the inner world, which is felt to be in danger of deteriorating and collapsing.

Klein declines to dispense with Freud’s term “normal mourning,” but she nonetheless modifies and stretches his definition: she identifies more intermediary stages in the process and claims that it involves reckoning not only with immediate grief but with more distant past experiences. She therefore seems to imply that mourning has both a tenacity and a longevity that Freud refuses to grant it.

Yet despite supplementing and revising Freud’s definition of mourning, the strangeness Rose observes in “Mourning and Melancholia” is not completely absent from Klein’s paper. Although her main focus is on manic depressive states and thus on obstructed mourning processes, ultimately, like Freud, Klein insists that “normal mourning” is a process with an end, even if she locates its beginnings in infancy and hence argues that its middle is longer and more fraught than in Freud’s definition. Only people who did not successfully overcome the “infantile depressive position” will fail to overcome a loss experienced later in life, whereas others will eventually reinstate their internal “good” objects.

Her essay ends by describing this end point. She declares that the mourner “overcomes his grief, regains security, and achieves true harmony and peace.”

. . .

[T]he weird abbreviated ending of Phenomenology of Spirit and “the extreme narrative compression of [Hegel’s] account of absolute knowing” seemed helpful for thinking through Klein’s similarly abrupt and surprisingly resolved conclusion to “Mourning and its Relation to Manic Depressive States.”

In an essay in The Dash, Comay analyses the ending of the Phenomenology in more detail. Although she observes that the book “suddenly sprints forward to the finish line,” she continues that, “it’s not just the traumatic abruptness of the last dash [by which she means both rush and the punctuation mark with which the book ends] but also a curious indeterminacy of the endpoint that intrigues me.” Everything that had been dilated over the course of many chapters is suddenly compressed, regurgitated so abruptly as to become almost illegible. Comay asks whether Hegel is a mourner or a melancholic, does he relinquish the lost object (mourner) or maintain it in “hallucinatory persistence” (melancholic)? The unanswerable answer seems to be that he is both: the dialectic continues even at the moment of its supposed cessation. Or perhaps mourning always retains a melancholic aspect; the terminable and interminable cannot be separated.

Comay argues that despite the appearance of closure and finality the Phenomenology “engages the repetitive, restless energy of the dialectic, its obsessive, circular doing and undoing: every inscription supplies its own erasure, every erasure its own reinscription, and this intransitive, tautological transition from negation to negation is relentless.” Proclaiming all scars healed enacts a violent erasure of its own. The form of the text remains scarred even if Hegel declares it conceptually healed. Comay claims that “the Phenomenology is the perfect case study of interminable analysis”; “antidote is… indistinguishable from injury, health from illness, and poison from cure.” It is this repressed or unresolved tension that Rose sees in Freud’s definition of mourning and that I want to argue can also be discerned in Klein’s essay. The wound remains hidden beneath a rhetorical sticking plaster that masquerades as healed flesh, but which threatens to fall off at any moment. Scars remain; wounds are not left behind. Maybe mourning never really ends, but that’s not the same as saying that nothing changes.

– hannah proctor, "mourning interminable"

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angelkittycore · 6 months

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not to invite discourse but after i've been on tumblr solely for a few months after leaving twitter i've sorta let go of a lot of things that i was vehemently against and my opinion HAS shifted a bit.

(just saying straight away that you're welcome to engage with me on this topic but i am not seeking to incite arguments, fighting, or heated debate whatsoever and you're not likely to get me to change my mind on this. also if you're going to yell at me for using the term monosexuality please shut up and stay in your lane. if your first thought to reading that word is "bisexuals are being homophobic" then you have a biphobia issue.)

so it's not that bi lesbians/gays don't exist, i think their experiences are very much real. it's just the choice of contradictory labels, and the inherent biphobia, lesbiphobia, and taking self-autonomy from both bisexual men and women by attributing our entire bi rights movement to being a product of terf lesbian separatists, that i have a problem with.

terfs/political lesbians/gold star lesbians did spur an exodus of bisexual women from the umbrella of lesbian, but what came after was all us. and i both feel and think that it was a natural evolution of the communities because bisexuality is more than just women who love women and men, it's also men who love men and women. and nonbinary, abinary, trans, cisn't, gnc, and whatever else. (not to say that the last few aren't also included in monosexuality but i'm talking about bisexuality here.)

attributing the fight for our rights and voices to be heard solely to terfs is ahistorical and insulting. the want to be seen as a whole, valid, separate identity and community than both lesbian and gay has absolutely 0 to do with terfism and similarly aligned political bullshit (such as fascism/white supremacy/plain ol transphobia.)

wanting to go back to lesbian being an umbrella term for all lesbians and bi women feels way too traditionalist and downright conservative (in terms of the literal meaning of the word) for the lgbt/queer community. it's not about challenging cishetalloamatonormativity by simply existing or being unapologetically queer in a word that wants to stamp us out violently in this regard, it's wanting to reclaim a space and label that is no longer theirs because they feel entitled to do so.

to me, lgbt/queer progress is about growing and changing, and adapting to the world, and thriving in spite, and despite it all. and not clinging to relics of the past, however recent or not it was. as some examples, the meaning of asexuality has changed from its original coining. same as bisexual, and pansexual has gone through it's fair share of bullshit as well. why can't and why shouldn't lesbian do the same? however i do not feel that a change backwards is a change for the better.

as an another example, lesbian also used to mean homosexual women exclusively attracted to homosexual women but now it includes every flavor of nonbinary you can think of, who may or may not be women, women aligned, or even feminine at all.

lesbian no longer includes bisexuality under it and that should be okay. lesbian is a monosexual label, and that's okay. you do not experience bisexuality by also being attracted to similar/same genders, regardless of binary or nonbinary umbrella. because bisexuality, inherently, means attraction to similar/same AND opposite/different genders. (note, my descriptions here also includes xenogenders, alternative alignment systems, etc. it's up to the individual if they want to be included in any attraction, including lesbian, gay, bisexual+, and straight. grouping a wider group under lesbian attraction just because they are nonbinary is inventing a trinary and misgendering at worst.)

on the reverse, having a preference, however strong, does not make you a lesbian, or a monosexual gay. you are still experiencing bisexuality, you just have a preference. that is all. not everybody is bisexual, and not everybody is monosexual, and that's okay.

(should also note that comphet doesn't make a lesbian bisexual.. that's comphet.)

anyway tl;dr i think the language, terms, and labels you use you justify your valid experiences is.. not great, to put it politely, lol. i think your insistence that you should be able to call yourself bisexual or a lesbian when you're the other has problems stemming from misunderstanding both labels and attractions, and misunderstanding what exactly nonbinary is. i've also seen definitions of bisexual lesbians that say they are bisexual because they are also attracted to trans women which is.. do i have to say it?

anyway bisexual is not a dirty word or attraction. bi is beautiful, and the convoluted ways people try to get out of identifying as bisexual or solely as bisexual (if they are allo) is internal biphobia, which is not something to celebrate or be proud of. you should work through it.

#replies only so i can control who engages with me

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chaoticmiddleschoolgirl · 10 months

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Stuff Eight Graders Say

wonder who will be the first to flip the table. my money's on (insert idiot boys name here) (after finding out her friend sat next to the above idiot boy, with complete sincerity) my condolences no you're not a good person (insert above idiot boys name here) (discussing if our english class was in lord of the flies) i would eat… well if we put it to a vote you'd be out first. no (previous idiot boy) would be out first lol. fine then I'd pull a jack and run away and ration him carefully (answer to "would you shoot your best friend in the balls for x amount of money) I would say you were my best friend and then i could shoot you in the balls do you really want your last memory of this class to be kicking (insert annoying boys name here) in the balls? i mean… why not? (insert bitches name here) doesn't give a fuck about you. that's nice? no seriously he likes men. good for him? (kid coming out of the lunch line) tomato sauce counts as a fruit! no it doesn't. then why didn't they stop me? besides applesauce counts why not this? (me to my friend) i gave all the math test answers to my friend. (my friend) slay (my arab friend) there's too much boys in that class (sub) someone's playing t.s oh never mind its taylors version you're good (teacher to student) i have some applesauce would that make you less grumpy? I'll just adopt a child then, I'm bored af I'm already suspended, I might as well I've known you too long to put up with your racism yea he's a folderaholic (after being challenged to a handstand contest) do you want me to break a bone? i mean… i wouldn't be sad if you did i never said i identified as a nazi. (sub) hate to break it to you dude but the Nazis wouldn't have liked you i wish my friends wrote me things like that! wait you have friends???!!! yes thanks for that commentary (insert my name here) if you get cold that's kind of an L is a heart a fruit? it's giving shut up of course he isn't racist, he is equally mean to everyone in the school oh sure he wasn't high he was all like (giggles nervously) it's just allergies (giggles nervously) that's nice now go be gay elsewhere yea ignore those cis white guys help us actually those ones are harmless we can wait you know we can't do this if we're not high you laugh like a privileged white woman you're killing (insert girlfriends name here) with your stupidness

#Eighth grade #Funny

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bleedingovereden · 10 months

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//ok i started my essay about arthur being a chaser a few days ago, got distracted, and now i'm trying to finish it.

so, first things first, an obvious disclaimer: i don't think cis people being attracted to trans people is inherently fetishistic. i'd even go so far as to say i don't think cis people *preferring* trans people sexually or romantically is inherently fetishistic, but that's more of a case-by-case basis and not something I feel comfortable making a total blanket statement on. i think trans fetishization discourse gets out of hand very quickly tho, and it's *very* easy to turn it into "if you find trans people attractive u are a fetishist." fetishization *is* an important issue to consider and address, but it's also not a black and white issue with no grey areas.

ok disclaimer over.

so arthur is a chaser who fetishizes trans men, especially pre-op trans men. or at least, he fetishizes *ink* as a pre-op trans man. let's talk about that.

(content warnings: transphobia, homophobia (especially internalized homophobia), talk of genitals and sex)

when arthur and ink met, arthur was a closeted cis gay dude desperately trying to pretend he was straight. he dated women, and i used to joke about him being a virgin when he met ink, but i've changed my mind on that. he had girlfriends and slept with them, had one night stands with various girls, etc. etc. was he a good boyfriend to them? no lmao. but he tried. and that's unrelated.

by the time he accepted the fact that he is gay with no attraction to women, he'd been friends with ink (noah back then) for a while, and also had a dear friend in a trans woman named madison. so, he was aware that trans people exist and a fully supportive cis ally. buuuuut a part of arthur went "well it's *less gay* to fuck a trans dude than a cis dude." is that something arthur consciously believed? absolutely not. but that's part of how he was able to more easily accept his attraction to noah at first. yes, that's very shitty of him, and no, i am not condoning that or saying he's right.

arthur never consciously voiced this opinion, but he also never challenged it or worked through it either, so it fed into how he approached his attraction to and relationship with noah. arthur went from "being very cool about his boyfriend having a pussy" to "being a bit overenthusiastic about his boyfriend's pussy" REAL fucking fast. because he'd had sex with exclusively cis women up to that point, so he poured his all into a relationship with a man who had genitals he was familiar with. and along the way, was *very not normal* whenever noah mentioned wanting bottom surgery.

he also was probably very similar about noah's breasts, but at least there he wasn't *so* attached to them that he discouraged noah from pursuing top surgery.

but back to the bottom surgery. so ink has always been relatively comfortable with his genitalia as is, especially after being on t for a while and having bottom growth. he's fine with having a pussy. however, he *has* wanted bottom surgery for a while as well, and i've talked in another post about his specific goals in that regard.

arthur never openly or directly discouraged noah from pursuing bottom surgery, but he definitely was leery about his boyfriend no longer having the junk he was used to. arthur, accept change and potential brief discomfort to make his lover happy?? no. why would he do that???

so whenever they had sex, he would lavish *a lot* of praise on noah's body As Is, subtly discouraging him from doing anything to change it. he's not experiencing *debilitating* dysphoria down there, so why worry???? (arthur shut up challenge.)

he also definitely used noah's transness as a gotcha against people in his life occasionally. like when arthur's parents initially lashed out at him for being gay, i guarantee you he outed noah as trans to them as a way of proving like "well i'm not *totally* gay, i'm dating a dude with a cunt." noah wasn't in the room to hear that and probably doesn't even know that happened. and when his parents still disowned him, he doubled down.

okay i'm running out of steam here, so.

tl;dr: arthur went from "enthusiastic cis ally" to "can you please be fucking normal about your trans partner's body for five fucking minutes" real fast.

#our greatest gifts have become our demise ⟦ ooc ⟧#transphobia cw #homophobia cw #one step forward‚ two steps backward ⟦ headcanons ⟧#//embarrassed and hesitant to post this #//but here we go #i knew a boy who's broken every vow he's made ⟦ arthur huffman ⟧

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ravens-watch · 3 years

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Tom trying to say Revenant was straight is sooooooo fucking FUNNNNYYY. Revenant is ungodly horny and Kaleb Cross was a fucking twink. giVE ME A BREEEAAAAKK

#txt #white gay men shut up challenge #also 'straight until said otherwise' is sOOOOOOOOOO fucking gross and frustrating #straight isnt the default im sorry about ur internalized homophobia king but gaddam

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hellomynameisbisexual · 3 years

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Andrew Ford was questioned and fetishized when he came out as bisexual. The gay community insisted he wasn’t being honest with himself; women at clubs started to excitedly fantasize about hooking up with two guys at the same time.

All the while, the soccer standout stayed true to himself. Ford came out his freshman year at Malone University, a small Christian liberal arts college in Canton, Ohio — home of the Pro Football Hall of Fame. His friends and teammates were accepting, which was an incredible relief. But his journey into the LGBTQ community was a little more rocky.

“I got a lot of pressure from the gay community,” Ford told me recently on the phone. “I felt like I was misunderstood, and didn’t know who I was.”

Ford is one of an increasing number of openly bisexual college-aged athletes whom we’ve profiled recently on Outsports. Despite some surveys showing more Americans identify as bisexual than either gay or lesbian, there is a dearth of bi visibility in pop culture and sports.

As bi sportswriter Jeff Rueter challenged me: “name a bisexual man, and don’t say Frank Ocean.”

These kick-ass kids are going to change that.

Biphobia is real

Let’s start here: Biphobia is real. It manifests itself in gestures as seemingly fleeting as dismissive jokes, and actions as harrowing as outright physical violence. Bisexual people typically suffer significantly higher rates of depression and anxiety, domestic violence, sexual assault, and poverty than lesbians, gay men, or straight cisgender people, according to the Human Rights Campaign.

A black-and-white society, most of us grow up with the notion people are either straight or gay. Those attitudes have historically prevailed in the LGBTQ community, too.

Alex Keuroghlian, the Director of the National LGBTQIA+ Health Education Center at the Fenway Institute, says bisexual people can be looked at skeptically.

“Within LGBTQIA+ communities, there has historically been a stigma toward bisexual people, and the false notion that they’re really gay and lesbian people who haven’t accepted that about themselves,” he said.

Megan Duthart, a rower at Washington State University who identifies as both bi and queer, has experienced the stigma first-hand. She says she thinks bisexual people are often excluded in the LGBTQ community.

“I’ve struggled a little bit with being identified as an ‘other’ in the community with the term ‘bisexuality,’” she said.

Why are bi people targeted for erasure?

More people are identifying as bisexual. Over three percent of U.S. adults say they’re bi, according to the 2018 General Social Survey. That’s three times the number as 2008.

And yet, bi people are still targeted for erasure. One of the ways it happens is through language. When people see same-sex couples, for example, they may be inclined to label them as “gay” or “lesbian,” without considering that one or both of the people could identity as bi.

While Americans’ attitudes about sexuality are evolving, many still adhere to more binary definitions of sexual orientation. A recent YouGov poll found 41 percent of American adults don’t think sexuality is a spectrum (conversely, 37 percent think it is).

As Ford puts it, bisexuality is stereotypically viewed as “the stepping stone stage.” That ties into one of the more insidious aspects of bi-erasure: the belief that it’s just a phase. It’s a line Ford recalls hearing many times, from both men and women.

“(Gay men) said, ‘I came out as bisexual first. It’s just a phase, you won’t be there long,’” Ford said. “I was also scared how women would think about it. They wanted to change me. Some of them wanted to use it as a thrill they were seeking.”

When professional hockey player Zach Sullivan came out as bi, his father told him it meant he was still making up his mind.

“I remember what my dad said when I told him,” Sullivan said. “‘Well, you aren’t all the way there. You haven’t really decided.’ I was like, ‘no, I know I’m attracted to both genders. I’m not halfway towards coming out as gay.’”

The bi burden

Every LGBTQ person can relate to the fear and anxiety of coming out. But for most of us, once we do it, it’s over.

That’s not the case for bi people.

“We have to keep coming out to our significant others, whether it’s a man or a woman,” Ford said. “If you’re gay and you start dating a gay, you’re not going to be like, ‘I have to tell you something: I’m gay.’ They’re going to be like, ‘no shit.’”

And once bi people do come out, they could get charged with being greedy — the sexual equivalent of having their cake and eating it, too. The insult angers Sullivan.

“The majority of people in the LGBT+ community have struggled with their sexuality, and when they finally become comfortable enough to come out in the open with their sexuality, I don’t think the first thing to say to someone who’s come out as bisexual is they’re greedy,” Sullivan said. “I took over 10 years to get to where I am.”

Duthart finds the concept of bisexuality can be difficult to explain. She largely identifies as queer.

“I’ve had coaches question whether I’m rebelling or going through a phase,” she said. “Then when I explain the whole queer aspect, they’re like, ‘Oh, OK. That seems more justified.’ I don’t want to have to justify those things, but I sort of have to.”

Changing attitudes

Jack Storrs came out as bisexual last year as a college football captain. His teammates at Pomona-Pitzer rallied around him, and wore Pride decals on their helmets.

But even some who were supportive suggested he was on his way to identifying as gay. Storrs said he couldn’t hide his feelings for men anymore, and came out because he wanted to explore.

Maybe he was gay, maybe he wasn’t. The questions didn't bother him. He was a relieved to have the dialogue.

“It was killing me on the inside,” Storrs said. “It got to the point where I was like, ‘screw it.’ This is who I am, and this was meant to be.”

Nowadays, Storrs says he’s more towards the “gay end of the spectrum,” and expects the fluidity to continue.

He’s cool with that, and numbers show his peers are, too. Generation Z is among the most progressive and diverse in U.S. history. A 2018 study from Ipsos Mori shows only 66 percent of young people today identify exclusively as heterosexual.

Young people have a better understanding of how sexuality can evolve, says Keuroghlian.

“There’s been less of a reflex to box people in, and categorize people in ways that could be static,” he said. “A key part of all of this is not projecting behavior or projecting attraction. People tell us — they self-identify that’s who they are. And we have to honor that.”

Visibility challenges misperceptions

But to get back to Rueter’s question: can you name a famous out bisexual person besides Frank Ocean?

It’s challenging, and the lack of bi visibility may be one of the biggest contributors towards bi-erasure. But that is changing. Each person who comes out as bisexual has the ability to change perceptions within their own communities — and many young athletes are.

Bri Tollie, a bisexual college basketball player at Southern Methodist University, wrote in her coming-out story she refuses to conform.

“It is important to be visible because everyone is unique,” she wrote. “Our uniqueness means no one should not have to give up a part of themselves to conform. It is called self-respect.”

Growing up, Storrs tried to shut off his attraction to guys. He told himself it wasn’t a big deal, but the angst became all-encompassing.

Storrs is done hiding any part of himself. He did that for far too long, and is now out for all to see.

“I am bisexual, and my point is, I don’t really give a shit what anybody else thinks,” Storrs said. “This is who I am, and I don’t have to figure it out, but the reason I’m coming out is to figure it out, or at least get to a point where I’m comfortable.”

With their stories, these young bi athletes are making it more comfortable for bi people every single day.

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thehyugagenius · 2 years

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You could write Gai being the one to inform Neji about his promotion to Jonin, and talking about all of the ways they’ll celebrate

Much to Neji’s amusement and horror

Neji's nerves had been on fire since Tenten and Lee had received their results from the team's submissions. Even with Gai-sensei's writing their letters of recommendation personally, with a great many missions under their belt, both Lee and Tenten had been denied the rank of Jonin. He'd heard the words of reassurance. Hardly anyone achieved Jonin upon their first application. It was unreasonable to expect to get the promotion on the first try. But still, the anticipation of his answer was the same no matter. It burned a fire in his belly, and threatened to cloud his focus. This was something he couldn't allow.

Lee grunted with effort, heaving and pushing as he rolled the giant Atlas Stone up the side of their training hill. The stronger Lee got, the larger and heavier the stone seemed to get. By this time in their lives the bolder was absolutely massive, the perfect place for Neji to practice his balance, and jutsu.

Walking hand over hand, Neji's inverted form was the picture of serene balance as the two men made their way up the slope. Neji took one long stride with his right hand, pushing up and tucking his body to spin. "Kaiten!" He exclaimed, the rush of chakra spinning his body quickly, pushing the air away to form the obvious sphere. Coming down, he landed with a twist on the opposite palm and continued his stride. What Hanabi had worked so hard to perform on two feet, he could now do on one hand.

The bolder rocked in to place in the depression it sat in at the top of the hill, and Neji lowered to vault himself down to the earth's surface, wiping his hands. Lee, breathing heavily, knelt with his hand on the ground. "Winded already? I thought you could make the ascent at least two more times." Neji asserted, glancing back to his friend. "Th...three times." Lee countered. Neji merely shut his eyes and nodded, grunting his acceptance of the challenge, and without breaking his expression he turned to be ready to help Lee push the bolder back down the hill.

"Neji Hyuuga! My Genius Pupil." The sound came from above his head, where he had been standing before. There, Maito Gai stood atop their training bolder with Tenten at his side, her arms crossed and chin up in that confident, gorgeous pose she so normally took when performing these sorts of antics. He took a long, drawn out blink as his head tilted back to look up at the pair, stepping back away from the spherical rock as they lept down. "Hah! I must have startled you! My youthful prowess allows me to be most..." Neji held up a hand, sighing softly. "You are as subtle as a lightning strike, sensei." Startling? Surely. But for entirely different reasons.

"I have brought you a surprise, Neji! Would you like to know what it is?" "I, of cour..." "You have always been a good student, Neji. Smart. Hard working. A true natural in the Ninja Arts. The fire of your *Youth* burns bright! A light you've used to lead and..." Gai's words started to blend together, with the young man's white eyes plastered to his lips. That heavy feeling had begun to pile up in his chest. He knew what this was. He'd heard it when he gave the news to Tenten and to Lee. He was being let down.

Queue the confusion that touched his eyebrows, faintly, at the folder being thrust out in his direction. "I'm..sorry?" Neji said, the confusion obvious to those that new him, the slight raise of his brows and change in his posture screamed it, really. "I said, Congratulations on making Jonin! You are ranked among the elite, like I knew you were! You are now classed alongside the likes of Sarutobi Asuma, my eternal rival Hatake Kakashi, and Myself, of course." As Neji reached out to take the papers being offered to him, he could hardly hear his Master going on.

"We will have to go to the BBQ place to celebrate with all you can eat! Then, Mochi! I know how much you love it. Then! We can all go to Karaoke, and sing and laugh until the morning! All of this, My trea..." Neji cut Gai off by raising his hand, a stern look on his face as he looked the man in the eyes. Gai could almost feel the disappointment

welling up at the obvious incoming of rejection. Still, he would not give up!

Except... "We can go to BBQ, and then if it is still early enough I will go and join you for Karaoke. I will not sing. And we have to retire early enough." Gai, Lee, and Tenten all let out a groan of protest at the same time, until... "Tomorrow is the last day I will have with you all before I get my reassignment, with my new rank. I would like for us to spend it together doing one more training exercise." The tears that streamed down from Gai and Lee's face could not be more exaggerated, Gai gripping a fist over his chest. "My Genius Pupil, you have always shown such dedication to your team! No one will ever be able to really fill your place. You..."

Neji reached out and gently touched the side of Gai's fist. Wrapping his fingers around it he gently pulled it down to stop his Master from talking. "Come on. Let's go. It's already getting late." Neji said finally, turning to walk away from them and back toward town.

Still, the usually perfect line of his mouth had broken, curled up in a soft smile. He'd done it. He made it. Slowly but surely, he'd break the mold. He'd change the Hyuuga.

#Neji Hyuuga #Maito Gai #Rock Lee #Tenten #Naruto RP #Writing Prompts #Thanks for the Request

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 3 years

Text

Begrudging Allies (Aaron Hotchner x Trans!Male!Reader)

Summary: Aaron and Y/N's marriage is suitable enough, given that Aaron secretly loves men and Y/N secretly is a man. When the one year anniversary of their amicable nuptials brings forth correspondence from their estranged families, Aaron takes the opportunity to potentially make something more out of their arrangement.

AN: This is one of my entries to the "Enemies 2 Lovers" challenge set by @imagining-in-the-margins on Tumblr!

Reader is trans male and uses he/him pronouns.

WC: 2.4k words

Content Warning: References to era appropriate homophobia/transphobia but nothing actually mentioned. Two dumb fucking gay men trying to flirt.

Photo Credit // Masterlist // AO3

Your name: submit What is this?

Aaron Hotchner and Y/N L/N were served breakfast together every day they were in the house together. They sat not at opposite ends, but the seat left adjacent to them. That way, they did not have to look at each other whilst they ate. Breakfast was the only meal with which they shared each other’s company. Why make it unbearable first thing in the morning? They read the morning paper - and any post - while eating. Only the scrape of their plates and muted chewing was to be heard before the chairs scraped across the floorboards and both men departed.

Today they both received a note from the L/N household back in their old country.

“I assume your letter reads the same as mine,” Y/N dropped his beside his plate before pushing it further away.

Hotchner raised his eye from the headline that had been mildly entertaining him, “It does.”

In cursive flicks, the usual complaints of their emigration had reached his eyes not moments prior. The closing of his family’s letter however broached a new request: a photograph of the happy couple on their first wedding anniversary, specifically a recreation. The ungrateful bunch, the only remaining wedding photographs of the wedding were in their hands.

“I don’t have the dress,” Y/N scoffed and looked aside. Even from this end of the table, Aaron could see that he was trying to mask his tears from the dawn. The wedding day was the culmination of their greatest shames.

At least Aaron had tried to make the best of it, but there was no relief for Y/N until they were in their separate chambers and free from all betrothment attire.

“Suppose we should arrange for a fitting. Though how we’re going to do that without arousing any suspicion here is beyond me.” “Perhaps we can go north, find a seamstress and a wigmaker there.”

Aaron did not patronise Y/N by pretending he understood his plight. He himself had never pictured himself with a wife; worse was that Y/N had never pictured himself to be a wife.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to remain a woman?” He had said after Y/N had confessed during their third arranged rendezvous.

With venom spitting from each syllable, Y/N’s reply was one that he remembered vividly: “I was never a woman to start with.”

They were not friends, they barely spoke, but the enemy of the enemy is a friend. This sentiment made Y/N a begrudging ally.

However it did not make the occasions they had to pretend to be a happily wedded couple any simpler. Y/N did look most becoming in white, but Aaron knew that there was no worse day for Y/N than that day in the church. Any reminder was like a stake through the heart.

“I’ll arrange for the fitting,” Aaron quietly volunteered.

Y/N was quick with a brusque reply, “I can organise my own affairs.”

“Of course, but perhaps it would lighten your load if I took on those responsibilities.” Aaron paused as Y/N pushed aside his breakfast plate, his eggs now making his stomach turn. He used his newspaper as a shield, “And as your husband, I give you permission to dress how you please.”

Y/N blinked then nodded. He did not ever say thank you. That was his problem, Y/N, too proud. Too nervous to admit that he had been graciously allowed to exist like this because of his marriage to Aaron. As if that was ever any part of their agreement, both of them had blackmail worthy material. Y/N just seemed to forget that, or at least he was not the type of individual to dangle Aaron’s secrets before him like a carrot on a stick. Why Y/N thought that Aaron was that type though, he had some idea.

“A member of the bar?” was the response Aaron got from Y/N, disgust thinly veiled, upon their first chaperoned walk through the L/N estate. It must have seemed contradictory later down the line, to be a protector of the laws that criminalised his very own existence. It was not as uncommon as Y/N believed however, and there were much worse laws to break between trials than being attracted to men.

A man of his word, Aaron prepared for a fitting in the comfort of their own home. A friend of theirs was a tailor; accommodations were no economic issue. Of course, this friend did not know either of their secrets, but other than that, he was a companion who would be greeted warmly into their home.

Y/N watched the tailor from the chaise whilst pretending to be interested in a book. His eye would raise itself to see each adjustment made to Aaron’s wedding suit, which he had surprisingly kept – folded in a box at the farthest corner of the house. Then Y/N would go back to the page and reread the top few lines. Every time, Aaron would pretend not to notice. But the jiggle of Y/N’s knee, the absence of progression through the book’s narrative, taught him that Y/N was anticipating this fitting with something more positive than last time.

“All done, thank you, Aaron!” “Y/N, your turn.”

His book snapped shut and Y/N stepped up to the podium. Aaron swapped places with him without acting out the role of an aloof reader. As expected his expression was well disguised as neutral, but Aaron’s practice in law gifted him with a pair of spectacles into the soul. Y/N’s glee of the tape measure taking in his proportions was masked so that only his eyes smiled. Once or twice, the corner of his mouth ticked up, only to iron its creases out when the tailor moved into his eyeline. When asked what colour he would consider, Y/N mulled deliciously his options before selecting a gentle blue. His fingers were cautious but as soon as they touched the royal fabric offered, they fanned out and welcomed it for his new suit.

From the moment they broke apart, his hands were restless. Ticking against his teacup or tapping against his legs were two of their new favourite hobbies. Even when the suit arrived, Y/N could not keep himself still. His beautiful face was scrunched up in the mirror as he attempted for a third time to make the right knot in his cravat. The photographer was waiting for them downstairs.

Aaron sighed and knocked one knuckle to the door, “Allow me.”

Y/N rolled his eyes, “I can do it myself.”

“I know. But this knot will look better.”

Their eyes locked in the mirror, before Y/N turned around and released his tie. His chin pointed parallel to the carpet. His neck was still so as not to drop the breath he was holding. Aaron flicked with the tip of the cravat as his hands slotted it through, his focus on the column of Y/N’s throat, because meeting his gaze now was an impossible feat. They were too close for that. He bent the stalks of his collar into place then stepped back as if to admire his handiwork. But that was not at all what he really regarded.

He cleared his throat, “There.”

As Aaron removed his hands, Y/N spun to face his reflection head on. “Adequate. You’ll have to teach me that one.”

Finally, they greeted their photographer, who had set up his camera in their garden. It was a lovely day, not to be wasted inside. At least that’s what the photographer said as he unceremoniously ushered them into place and posed them to his liking. There was no instruction for how to position their faces so Aaron kept his the same as their original wedding portrait.

His plan for relaxed facial features hit a bump in the road. As the photographer ducked beneath his sheet, Y/N snorted. His hand was quick to follow and it clapped over his mouth. The photographer emerged with concerned curiosity. A strand of his combover was standing on end.

“My apologies, there was a tickle in my throat.” He pressed his lips together and ducked his head, his feet scuffing one inch’s worth of dirt before he regained composure.

The photographer tried again. Aaron could see, in the corner of his eye, that Y/N’s corners of his mouth weighed down to prevent a break but it was unsuccessful.

“Do forgive me,” He said, his voice quivering, “I remembered a jest from last week. It isn’t even worth the laughter it brings.”

Despite his detractions, Y/N kept guffawing to himself as the photographer kept dodging about his cloth and camera. It spilled from between his pressed lips like an overflowing goblet. Aaron had not heard such delight before. He would describe it as infectious if the joy in Y/N’s notes was comparable to a plague. No, this was intoxicating, a mead he would heartily drink until he too was giddy on the stuff. Y/N, clutching Aaron’s arm to stay standing, almost stumbled as Aaron bent over with equally bashful laughter.

“It would possibly suit you better if you sat,” said the photographer through a faux smile. He then ushered over to one of the benches, the one amidst the tulips, before he wrangled with his camera after them.

Seated on the cool marble, Aaron kept a few inches between himself and Y/N. Their hands took that space but waited to hold hands. Y/N was still shaking but his smile was minute now, replaced by mild embarrassment.

“It wasn’t that funny,” He said. But there was a twitch in his voice, a breath that indicated otherwise.

“No, not at all,” whispered Aaron, his head tilted against the invisible line between them.

Y/N turned, his nose pushing their boundary and almost brushing against Aaron’s cheek when he too turned to face him.

“At long last, we agree.”

Y/N’s lips betrayed him again. A bubble of laughter popped between them, letting out the smallest of smiles. Yet it shone through with such luminosity that it almost outdid the flash of the bulb as their photograph was taken. There was delight at the absence of the melancholy pose that a long exposure wedding portrait promised. Oh, the wonders of new technology.

As was with his new suit, Y/N practically waited by the door for the photographs. His hands were beyond ravenous for them by the time they arrived. They snatched at the envelope and tore with as much care as he could muster, his voice catching in the roof of his mouth as he called for Aaron.

On the chaise together, their knees were brought in close to rest the papers upon. Their faces looked as though they were carved into the paper with charcoal, smudged by an artist’s thumb. That radiant smile among it all was the centre of the photograph. Aaron noted the distance between them was mirrored in their past selves as they sifted through their options.

Then Y/N held aloft the ones for their respective families, “Sit with me while I pen the reply.”

Aaron was not usually welcome in Y/N’s study. Yet, as he pulled up a walnut wood chair with red velvet seat beside the bureau, behind Y/N’s matching one, he felt like he was in place. With anticipation, he watched the most passive aggressive comments that had ever been put to paper. All bar one was spun from Y/N’s inspiration. Aaron had but one to add and it took some convincing for Y/N to put it in his family’s correspondence – he was writing since his writing was far neater. Even so, there were a few loops of the ‘l’s that slanted when Y/N was particularly amused by something that Aaron had commented on.

“There,” Y/N said as he closed the second of two envelopes with crimson wax. As he lifted the seal, he spoke quieter, “Just a thought, nothing more, but I almost wish I could see their faces. Only the first second though.” The seal was placed in his drawer and the letters were left in the centre of the desk while one remaining photograph was selected by Y/N, “I want to keep this. In the drawing room.”

Aaron’s eyebrows jumped up his forehead, “You do?”

Y/N nodded once with finality, his broad smile returning, “It’s the first time I was myself in a long time, the best I’ve ever looked! Besides, I am your husband and I say it will stand above the fireplace by the end of the week – once I find a suitable frame.”

He held it up, squinting to imagine what frame might work best with the décor. His chair itching to be closer, Hotch leant over and cupped his hand over Y/N’s so that he could see the photograph too. It stayed there, and perhaps it was his imagination, but Hotchner could have sworn that Y/N’s back slacked and swayed to the right an inch, almost resting against his shoulder beside Aaron’s.

Y/N’s quiet voice was back, “Thank you, Aaron.”

“You do not have to say thank you.”

“When are you going to stop telling me what to do?”

There was no accusation in it; it was asked as simply as one would ask for another napkin. But Aaron did not quite know how to answer.

“I don’t mean to come across as a drill sergeant,” He said softly.

“Aaron,” Y/N lowered their hands but kept them together beside his lap, “You don’t have to worry about me and what I’m going to do, just like I don’t have to worry about you.”

And what Aaron thought about being ignorant of an answer before, that became a lie. Aaron wanted to worry about Y/N, and he did worry. Not for himself or his identity being exposed, but because he did care for his husband. He didn’t want to worry or have Y/N be worried about control in their home. They should exist as equals, not in blackmail but in respect. Maybe one day, in love.

Aaron settled instead for: “My apologies. And I thank you too. It was the first time I was myself as well.”

Y/N blinked, then avoided his stare. It was a revelation therefore when he laced his fingers with Aaron’s for the briefest of squeeze and replied, “No thanks necessary. It was my pleasure.”

Then the bell tinkled for breakfast and the two men were up on their feet. Y/N was in the dining room first. He sat two away from the head of the table this time. With enough care to drag his chair loudly across the floor, Aaron mirrored that seating, dragging his cutlery and crockery into place. As they were served, Y/N swiped the newspaper before his husband could with a smirk hidden behind the pages. Hotchner poured his coffee and smiled into the brew. He was, for once, thoroughly glad that they had breakfast together.

----> ----> ----> ----> ---->

Tagging

Aaron Hotchner fics: @averyhotchner

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds imagine #r: male #r: trans male #wc: 2k+#my writing

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sohotthateveryonedied · 4 years

Text

No Matter What

Read here on AO3!!

Summary:

Bruce figures out that his son isn't straight from an early age.

That doesn't make him love him any less.

- Eight Years Old -

Bruce is finally starting to get a hang of this parenting thing.

The first few months were rough, there’s no disputing that. Bruce lost track of how many times he panicked and called Leslie Thompkins whenever Dick burst into tears over something and Alfred wasn’t home. Not to mention all the times when Alfred would leave Bruce on his own for dinner, insisting that one must learn how to raise a child without a butler to help. Bruce fed the kid burnt chicken nuggets and garlic bread for two nights straight. Now, though? Bruce is immensely proud of how far he and Dick have come. He’s even taken to attending PTA meetings, if only for the free coffee and doughnuts. He hears the front door open right on time, then wet boots hitting the floor. Dick had a half day today to make room for meet-the-teacher night later. Bruce isn’t looking forward to spending two hours sitting in a chair made for eight-year-olds, listening to a teacher in plastic pearls talk about an elementary schooler’s oh-so challenging curriculum. At least he’s only got the one; he has no intention of having more kids after Dick. Bruce busies himself with his mostly unburnt slice of toast, one ear trained on the footsteps through the foyer accompanied by unceasing chatter that Bruce has grown quite fond of over the months. “—and then they let us outside for recess even though it was raining, and I went on the swings and my hair got all wet and it was so cool.” “That explains the muddy clothes,” Alfred says. “Sorry, Alf. I’m not immune to mud puddles.” “It would appear so, Master Dick.”

The two of them enter the kitchen, Dick working his elbows out of his yellow rain slicker to reveal the school uniform beneath. His cheeks are rosy, his eyes bright. “Hiya, Bruce!”

“Hey, champ. How was school?” “It was awesome. It was raining all day and at recess there were a ton of puddles all over the playground and a million worms. I didn’t touch them though, ‘cause the teacher said not to.” “What snack would you like, Master Dick?” Alfred asks, taking Dick’s discarded raincoat and folding it over his arm. “Can you do ants on a log?” “Coming right up, sir.” Dick heaves himself up on the bar stool beside Bruce, his sock feet kicking against the lower cupboard. Bruce spreads marmalade over his toast. “Tell me more about school. Any fights today?” “Nope,” Dick says proudly, flashing his gapped teeth. Dick and another boy got into a scuffle on the first day over a comment about whether Dick’s parents being from the circus meant they were part monkey. It’s a miracle Dick only gave the kid a nosebleed and didn’t break anything. The principal let Dick off with a warning since it was his first time at a normal school, but Bruce has a feeling the only reason he wasn’t expelled was because his guardian is the most powerful man in Gotham City. Bruce had a stern talk with Dick when they got home about the importance of controlling one’s actions. Traveling the world in a circus train car doesn’t do much to help one’s impulse control. He also banned Dick from watching television for the rest of the night, but Dick’s crocodile tears swayed him to balance it out by letting him have ice cream before dinner. That’s good parenting, right? “I even made a friend,” Dick says. “Oh? What are they like?” “His name is Caleb and his desk is right next to mine, so we talked during reading time. Then he gave me some of his chocolate during lunch and we played on the swings together at recess.” “Ah, the wonders of childhood friendship,” Alfred says from where he’s slicing up a celery stalk at the other end of the counter. He sounds relieved, and Bruce finds himself matching it. Dick has been at Gotham Elementary for almost a week and hasn’t made a single friend until now. Bruce can’t tell if that is more because of Dick’s circus background or because he is a tan-skinned boy with the barest of Romani accents attending a predominantly white private school. Sometimes (all the time) Bruce loathes being associated with Gotham’s high society. If you’re not white, straight, and rich, you are automatically shunned in their minds. “He sounds great, Dick.” “Yeah! And he’s got really pretty eyes too. I can’t tell if they’re brown or green, but they’re sparkly like glitter.” Bruce arches an eyebrow. “You must like him a lot.” He takes a bite of his toast, making eye contact with Alfred over the boy’s head. Alfred doesn’t react but for a twitch of his mustache. Dick nods, focus switched over to the plate Alfred slides in front of him. Dick takes a celery stick and picks off the first raisin coated in peanut butter, licking it off his thumb. “I hope he talks to me again tomorrow. Alfred, can I bring an extra snack to lunch tomorrow so I can share it with him?” Alfred smiles. “Of course. I will pack a second cupcake in your lunchbox tomorrow morning just for him.” “Thanks, Alf.” Dick goes right back to eating his ants on a log, cheerful as ever, completely unaware of the swarm of question marks buzzing around in Bruce’s head. Huh. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Eleven Years Old - Bruce gets home from a three-hour business meeting, his sandpapery eyes aching to close and stay shut for...let’s go with ten years? That should be enough. He loosens his tie and prepares to go upstairs to his bedroom where he’ll spend the next decade of his life hibernating, until he sees his ward on the living room sofa. Dick is lying on his stomach with his face buried in a throw pillow, as if he’s waiting for the sofa to swallow him whole. Must have been a bad day if he’s not sliding down banisters and flipping over chairs like usual. Sighing, Bruce goes over. “Dick? You alive over there?” “Mmph.” At least he’s conscious. Bruce sits on the arm of the couch, shaking Dick’s thin shoulder. “Come on, kiddo. Use your words.” “Mmph.” “Bad day, then?” Dick nods. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Dick shakes his head. Bruce sits back with a frown. “Alfred?” he calls. Alfred pokes his head in. “Yes, Master Bruce?” Bruce gestures to their anguished preteen. “It would seem that our lad had a rough day at school. He wouldn’t tell me what, but I’m making his favorite casserole for dinner. Hopefully that will perk him up.” Bruce turns back to Dick, who hasn’t moved. “C’mon, Dickie. Sit up so I can see your face.” Reluctantly, Dick forces himself upright with one last groan into his pillow. His hair is mussed, standing up on one side. There’s a pillow crease on his cheek. He sits back against the sofa, miserable. “Better.” Bruce prods Dick’s ribs which earns him a giggle, goading the kid into sliding over a few inches so Bruce can sit beside him. Dick leans into his side immediately and Bruce puts his arm around him. “Now, tell me what’s got you down.” “I want to transfer schools.” “How come?” As far as he’s known until now, Dick has loved middle school. His childhood took a bad turn when his parents’ ropes snapped, but preteen life is at a good start. Until now. Dick’s gaze is trained on his sneakers, kicking them where they hang over the edge of the couch. “Some kids in my science class were talking crap about me.” “Don’t say crap.” “Can I go to a new school? Please?” “What did those kids say about you?” Dick picks at a dime-size hole in his jeans. “They called me gay,” he says quietly. Bruce tightens his arm around the boy, his heart panging. Of course someone had to bully Bruce’s kid. As if his life hasn’t already been hard enough without stupid teenagers making it worse. “I wasn’t even doing anything wrong. I was just talking to my lab partner, and the guys at the next table over started whispering about us. Then they started throwing papers.” “Did you tell the teacher?” “No. But I know she noticed. Everyone did. She just didn’t do anything about it.” That sets Bruce’s blood to a boil. Teachers have a responsibility to protect their students, no matter what. What gives her the right to turn a blind eye to bullying, just because a couple of students might not fit the agreed-upon standards of “perfect” upper class society? “I’ll set up an appointment with the principal,” Bruce decides. Dick’s eyes get wide. “Bruce, no. Please. It’s fine, really. I don’t want this to turn into a big deal.” “What did you do when it happened?” Dick shrugs. “Nothing. My lab partner stopped talking to me, so I just asked to go to the bathroom and didn’t come back until the bell rang.” Bruce sighs. Middle schoolers are the worst, every last one of them. (Except for Dick, of course; he is perfect.) “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Kids can be cruel—especially at your age, when they start learning new words that they don’t understand the way they should. They think some words are insults or something to be ashamed of when they’re not. Most kids grow out of this. Too many don’t.” “People suck,” Dick mutters. “I don’t even know why they were saying all that stuff. I’m not...I’m not like that” Bruce bites his cheek. He’s going to have to be careful about this. “Dick, do you know what being gay means?” “Duh. It’s when two guys date each other. I’m not stupid.” “I know you’re not stupid. But gay can mean a lot of things. Men can like other men, just as women can love other women. Like Kate, for instance. Then there are bisexual and pansexual people who love all genders, and asexuals who don’t like either.” Thank god Bruce thought ahead and read some LGBTQ+ research books all those years ago when he first began to suspect that Dick wasn’t heterosexual. “And transgender is when someone doesn’t identify with the gender they were assigned at birth. Sometimes people feel more like a man, a woman, neither, or both.” “...Okay?” “I just want to make sure you understand these things, because part of being a respectful person means respecting others for who they are. And if you don’t completely understand the label they identify as, then it’s your job to try and understand it the best you can.” “Why?” “Because too many people in this world judge others for things they can’t control, and that’s not right. No one should have to feel like they were born wrong. And I want to make sure you know this, that way you can be better than those who choose to hurt others for things they can’t control.” “Does that mean the guys who made fun of me are bad people?” “I’m sure they aren’t. They might just be confused because they don’t understand that being gay isn’t anything bad or dirty. The people in this part of Gotham...they don’t accept a lot of things. They think that being queer or a person of color means you don’t deserve respect, and that’s wrong. It was wrong of those kids to tease you and your lab partner the way they did.” Dick nods slowly. “I’m not gay.” “I know. I just want you to be aware of these things. And if you ever have questions or need to talk, you can always come to me.” He ruffles Dick’s hair. “Even when other people are nasty, remember that I love you no matter what, got it?” Dick shoves Bruce’s hand away and smoothes his hair back out, grinning. “Yeah, yeah. I got it.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Thirteen Years Old -

What’s the difference between a growth spurt and a shark?

Dick doesn’t have any sharks. “We’re home!” Dick announces. He and Alfred stumble into the house, their arms filled with all kinds of shopping bags. With Dick shooting up half an inch nightly these days, he’s growing out of his clothes at a rate even Bane would gawk at. Bruce and Alfred can barely keep up with the kid. “Want to see what I got?” “Show me, pal.” Bruce sets aside his tablet and pushes his reading glasses up on his head. (He does not have poor vision, thank you very much. Leslie just made him get a prescription as a precaution, that’s all. He’s still young by anyone’s standards, just ask Selina.) Dick starts pulling clothing out of the boutique bags, showing off every one of his new sweaters and pairs of Alfred-approved jeans. After ten minutes that Bruce desperately tries to look interested during, Dick pulls out what looks like a t-shirt that’s been sliced in half horizontally. The fabric is bright pink with a chibi whale on the front. “This one is my favorite,” Dicks says. His grin is blinding. Bruce stares for a long moment, his brain a lagging computer drive. “What is it?” “It’s a crop top. You know, like a belly shirt?” Memories from Dick’s Kim Possible phase flash in front of Bruce’s eyes. “Alfred let you buy that?” “Yeah?” Dick’s smile flags. He lowers the crop top, suddenly self-conscious. “Do you not...like it?” “You were supposed to get winter clothes, Dick. For cold weather.” “So?” “That’s clearly something you’re supposed to wear during the summer.” Dick pouts. “But I like it.” He holds it up against himself, twisting this way and that like an amateur model. “Sorry, kiddo. You’re not leaving the house in that until springtime.” “Oh, so Robin can wear tiny shorts in the winter, but Dick Grayson can’t wear a harmless crop top? I smell hypocrisy.” “Yes, because Robin has thermal leggings and a built-in heater in his uniform.” He looks back at the pink monstrosity, at Dick’s pleading eyes. “I would be open to negotiations if you’re willing to wear a sweater under it.” “That’s not how fashion works, B.” “I don’t care. You can wait until it gets warmer out to wear it.” “You’re such a drag,” Dick whines. He lifts his dozens of shopping bags and goes to leave, then turns right back around. “What if I wear a jacket over it and promise to keep it closed whenever I’m outside?” Bruce considers that. “Fine. But not below fifteen degrees, got it? And if I see you outside for even five seconds without the jacket, I’m confiscating the Xbox. Deal?” “Deal.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Fourteen Years Old -

Something is different about Dick today. You’d think his boots were made of helium with the way he floats through patrol, and then smiles into his late-night milkshake like it did his homework for him. Bruce sits beside his Robin on the roof of Wayne Tower, silent for as long as he can bear before he can’t hold it back any longer. “Did anything interesting happen today?” “Huh?” Dick looks up as if Bruce pried him and his thoughts apart with a crowbar. “You’ve been...different. Happy.” “Am I not usually happy?” “No, you are. Just seems like you’re...extra happy, for whatever reason.” A blush dusts the kid’s cheeks. He sips his chocolate shake and shrugs. “Dunno. It was just a good day. Nothing special.” Yeah, and Bruce is a goddamn unicorn. Still, he knows better than to pry where Dick doesn’t want him. It’s a delicate thing. “If you say so.” “I got a hundred on my English essay,” Dick offers. It’s a start. “Was that the one on Grapes of Wrath?” “That was last month. We’re on Animal Farm now. It’s not my favorite.” “Yeah, I wasn’t a fan of Orwell either. Shakespeare was okay, but I preferred his tragedies over his comedies.” “Of course you did.” That makes Bruce laugh. He’s not worried; the two of them are high enough that no one can hear it. Bruce even has his cowl down, his face exposed to the cool air. “They had quinoa burgers at the cafeteria today.” “Mm-hm.” Dick is dodging something, beating around whatever bush he wants to talk about. Bruce can be patient while he figures it out. “And I spent some time with Barbara after school.” “Oh?” “Yeah. We walked home together and we took this old path through the park. Then we kissed.” Bruce chokes on his milkshake. He coughs, his sinuses burning and eyes watering. When he recovers, he says, “That’s...that’s great, chum.” “Yeah.” Dick can’t stop smiling, a true schoolboy in love. “And she asked if I wanted to patrol with her tomorrow night, but I said I needed to check in with you first.” “I don’t see why not.” It’s not like Bruce hasn’t patrolled without Dick before. Sure, he misses the company on the few days a week he’s alone, but he’s not about to deny Dick the thing he clearly wants. “You sure? You look...freaked out.” “No, no. That’s...great, that you kissed. Congratulations.” Awkward. He’s so fucking awkward. Stop being awkward right now. He doesn’t know why this is messing with his head so drastically. Bruce has listened to Dick moon over girls for the entirety of his pubescence, talking about them like they’re goddesses he’s forbidden to look upon, Barbara included. And Bruce has seen the way Dick and Barbara interact with each other in between muggings, always talking with their heads bent close like they’re the only two people in the world. Who would have thought Batman could be a third wheel? “I’ve liked her for a while now, but I didn’t know if she liked me back and I was too nervous to ask.” Dick’s face goes even pinker. “Kissing her was cool.” Part of Bruce’s brain jumps at the realization that, holy shit, Dick just had his first kiss, my little boy is growing up, what a milestone. The other part is far less happy about this new development. Yes, Bruce has seen Dick win brawls with men three times his size. He can fly the Bat-jet on his own, knows six languages, and is even leading his own superhero team. And yet, all Bruce can think is, no, not my little boy, he’s just a baby, Batgirl is corrupting his innocence and She Must Be Stopped. With great effort, Bruce holds it all back. He’s read the parenting books, he knows that it’s important to be supportive when they’re at this age. “Good to hear. I’m happy for you.” He pats Dick on the shoulder. “Thanks, B.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Sixteen Years Old - “Hey, Bruce? Can I talk to you?” Bruce doesn’t look up from the metal flakes he’s testing. “What is it?” “I can come back later if you’re busy.” “No, I’m just analyzing some samples. I’m looking for residue from one of Zsasz’s blades.” Dick steps forward, tentative for once. “Need any help?” “I would like for you to come out with whatever it is you clearly need to tell me.” Dick snorts quietly. “Nice phrasing.” “What?” “I think I’m bisexual.” Bruce turns around, forgetting about the samples entirely. Dick’s arms are crossed over his chest, his eyes skipping between everything that isn’t Bruce’s face. At sixteen years old he’s finally tall enough that he doesn’t have to crane his neck to look at Bruce anymore. “You...think?” “I am. I’m bisexual.” “Okay.” “Is that cool with you?” The question shocks Bruce. “Of course it is.” Did Dick honestly think this would change anything? Has Bruce done something wrong, made Dick think that he wasn’t loved unconditionally? Dick squints, appraises Bruce’s reaction. “You knew, didn’t you.” “No.” “Bruce.” “I knew a little bit.” Dick rolls his eyes. The tension slips from his shoulders. His arms uncross. “Of course you did.” “Well, you weren’t exactly subtle about it.” “What the hell does that mean?” “Language,” Bruce chides, more out of habit than anything. “And do you realize how often you would come home after elementary school complaining about stupid pretty boys?” “That was just me being dramatic.” “I’m not disputing that. But they were still crushes, pal.” “I figured you thought it was just a phase.” Bruce shrugs. “Maybe for the first few days. But trust me, I have known you liked boys since you were a kid.” “Then why didn’t you just say so? It took me years to figure this all out, and you’re telling me you’ve been sitting on this info the whole time?” “Because this is your truth, not mine. I knew that you would tell me about it when you were ready. And you have.” Dick is clearly fighting a smile. He bites his lip instead, runs a hand through his mop of black hair that not even Alfred can wheedle him into combing anymore. “Well, I’m heading to the tower for the night, so don’t wait up, ‘kay? Kay. Good talk.” He goes to leave, but Bruce stops him. “Hang on. Why choose now to tell me?” Dick stuffs his hands in his pockets—an obvious tell. “No reason. I just...wanted you to know. Just in case.” “In case of what?” “Oh, you know.” Dick waves his hand in a gesture that clarifies absolutely nothing. “Life happens. People meet each other. You know how it is.” Bruce’s soul implodes. “You have a date?” “I never said that.” “You implied it.” “Real detectives rely on evidence, not theories.” Dick winks. “Tell me who it is. Are they a civilian? A hero? Do they come from a respectable family?” If it’s Roy Harper, Bruce might have to bury a body tonight. Especially after learning about Harper’s drug problem. Dick is too pure for someone like that. Or—heaven forbid—that Wally West kid. Dick is already walking away. “See ya, Bruce!” “You come back here, Richard John Grayson! Do I know him? Does he know your father is Batman?” Dick’s cackle echoes around the cave. “It had better not be a speedster!”

#soho speaks #batfamily #batfam #batman #bruce wayne #dick grayson #robin #nightwing #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #this is so fluffy my teeth fell out in the first two paragraphs #bi dick grayson #bisexual dick grayson #bisexuality #gay #lgbtq

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snickiebear · 3 years

Text

for @nosebleedclub's 30 minute writing session. a special thank you to @smidgen-of-hotboy for allowing me to briefly borrow her character (Haneul) for more gay shenanigans

death stares me in the face, and oh is he handsome

Elijah finds the violin on the bed, their bed.

It is made, the bed, carefully and meticulously because after five years of war, Eli has learned to treasure the small things. After five years of war and sleeping on dirt and not getting sleep at all, a bed is both a comfort and a curse.

But the violin, Haneul’s violin, lays on Eli’s side of the bed. A note is stuck between the strings and it simply sits there.

The violin is on the bed and it reminds Elijah of a sacrifice.

Slowly, he moves to pick up the note, holding it with steady hands. Haneul’s curving and scratchy handwriting greets him, the words like a blow. Sorry for all the trouble. I'm sure Ruth will make good money to pay you back if you find the right trader.

When he left this morning to attend to business as usual, Ha had kissed him, as he always does. But Eli should have know, should have looked closer at the look in Haneul’s face. He didn’t and now he is left with a violin and a note.

(Something deep, something dark within him opens its eye. The creature is scaled, sharp, wicked, and mean. It thirsts for blood, that creature, longs for it.)

The door slams open as Sarah and Joey jump, both smoking near the fireplace. “I want everyone looking for Haneul.” It is an order from a commanding officer to his soldiers.

Joey straightens immediately, eyes widening. “What happened?”

“Why should we?” Sarah challenges, teeth flashing with menace. “He is nothing but a traitor, Elijah. Do you not remember? Your heart has been shattered by that rat of a bastard before, eh?”

Elijah draws his gun and levels it at his sister’s head, her knife flashes in the fire light. She is fast enough to dodge a bullet, he is strong enough to endure a knife.

“You will look for Haneul because that is what I fucking told you to do.” Elijah says lowly, cocking the gun as he takes a step forward.

Joey watches, brows furrowed and fists clenching. “Rah,” He murmurs, “Rah, let it go.”

“When he stabs you in the back again,” Sarah flips the knife in her hand, tucking it back between her breasts. “I hope it hits your spine.”

Eli uncocks his gun, shoving it back into his chest holster, scowling. “Do as you’re told, Sarah.”

Joey tugs Sarah out of the house, muttering under his breath while Sarah hisses something back. “Sarah, if you kill him, I will starve you for everyone to see.” He calls over his shoulder, glare piercing and cold.

His sister stares him down until Joey yanks her out of sight, leaving Elijah to run his hands through his hair, tugging at the strands. Haneul went to kill Sang, that had been his goal when he came back, begging on his doorstep.

Eli lights a cigarette and takes a long, long drag, letting the smoke to settle in his lungs as his eyes fall shut. Time passes, seconds, minutes, hours; Elijah does not know. But, his eyes snap back open and he half runs half strides out of his living room.

Haneul went to kill Sang and left Ruth. Haneul does not expect to be back.

“Charlie,” He yells, swinging into the gmableing den, his secretary and former whore jumping from her seat. “Charlie, what was the address, the one from yesterday?”

She rattles off the street name and number, blinking widely. “Everything okay Eli?”

“No,” He says, grabbing another gun. “Nothing is ever okay, Charlie.”

A five minute drink of weaving in and out of traffic, avoiding pedreations and children, Elijah parks the automobile in the street when he smells the blood.

In the slums, it is a common smell, blood and piss and decay. But this is fresh blood, meaning someone is dead.

Elijah has seen men die in countless ways, he has seen things that no one could ever imagine. The horrors of humanity. War kills the innocent and innocence. Elijah is not the exception.

He tries the doorknob, finding it locked but he is Elijah fucking Lee, so he shoots the doorknob and kicks in the door with a grunt, heart racing.

There is so much blood, too much blood. He walks slowly, breathing in the smell until he finds her. Sang, in all her horrible glory, lays on the ground in a pool of her own blood. Dead.

Elijah’s heart, the broken thing, swoops with such relief that for a moment he forgets that Haneul is still not accounted for.

The phone shrills loudly in the living room and Elijah runs to get it, “Yes?”

“Eli.” Sarah snaps. “We have him, he’s in fucked up shape right now. Is the bitch dead?”

His grip on the phone turns white knuckled, “Shot in the head.”

A rough laugh, “At least your traitor is good for something. You better hurry, the doc’s are giving him fifty fifty.”

She hangs up the phone and Elijah is left with silence and a dead body. This is not the first time, this will not be the last.

He doesn’t bother closing the door on his way out, General Sang’s body is not the only one that will be found tonight, she is among the many countless dead that the slums produce.

The hospital smells as it always has; of death and sickly medicine. Back in the war, soldiers would rather shoot themselves than be sent to the nurse and doctor’s hands.

“Tainted,” said a man with had spent half a day holding his guts in. “I don’t want their bloodied hands near me.”

Elijah had taken that to heart. But for Haneul, for Haneul he would endure. As he always has.

Sarah sits at Ha’s bedside, gun in hand and newspaper in the other. “He shot her in the head, huh?”

“Just as he said he would.”

“He carved the name Lee into his chest, Elijah.” Sarah sets the newspaper down.

Eli shrugs off his coat, then his jacket, going to sit on Ha’s bed, taking his hand into his own. Pale, too pale, and cold, too cold. He kisses Haneul’s knuckles one by one. “To prove his loyalty.”

#smudged ink/chicken scratch #not edited nor read over #:)#and not finished

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liahswriting · 3 years

Text

Lovesick Six and a Murderous Robot Boyfriend

Relationship(s): Revenant/original female character, Wraith/original female character, Mirage/original female character, Bloodhound/original female character, Octane/original female character, Crypto/original female character, Loba/original female character

Words: 8,411

Warnings: None

Summary: The new girl is very pretty and she's got most of the men (and some of the women) pining for her. Problem is, she's got her eyes set on a certain simulacrum.

Pretty girls can fight. Pretty girls can be tough. Pretty girls can be scary and threatening. Just because Gia was pretty didn't mean she didn't belong in the Games. I mean, Loba was almost perfect in every physical way and yet she knew her way around a pistol. Che had a cute face and yet her teams almost always were Champion. And of course Elliott was downright the most handsome man in the Games and yet he could wipe a team if need be. Being attractive didn't mean you were weak. In fact, Gia being attractive gave her an advantage to the game. After all, how could a pretty girl like her be any trouble? You think you're safe because look how cute she is, what is she gonna do to you? And then all of a sudden you're eating dirt because she shoved a wingman up your ass and annihilated you.

Gia's origins are unknown to the rest of the Legends. She showed up one day unexpectedly and won Champion that same afternoon. Her kit and abilities brought a whole new playstyle to the Games: a playstyle that both terrified and intrigued the others. Her enhanced vision gave her every input she needed to weaken your team's defenses. She knew exactly whose health was hanging on by a thread, giving her the ultimate advantage to breaking your team apart and dwindling your numbers until you were way beyond outmatched. The Legends assumed she had some sort of black market enhancement done to her eyes given the fact that they were far from being normal. How she managed to slip through the Apex recruitment with her fiercely white irises was beyond everyone. I mean, come on! The girl's eyes were as white as snow all around! The only color to them was a very faint, needle-thin black line separating her sclera from her iris. Everything else was pure white. Even her pupil. Crypto was already walking on thin ice with his illegal body enhancements. The only reason no one actually paid much attention to it was simply because his modifications didn't directly impact his abilities in the arena. But Gia was a whole other story.

Typically, the Legends expect Silva to dive head first into a fire fight with his stim. Or perhaps they'll see Crypto's drone following them around. And on occasion a team will back out of a fight to heal up and end up running into another team holding a choke point with Wattson's electric fences. All of this was expected. And then Gia came along and now every Legend that wasn't on her team was afraid of her tactical EMP that disabled all enemy primary weapons. You could pin her team down and you think you're gonna win, and then all of a sudden your Devotion stops all functionality and now you have to rely on your Alternator with 20 shots left in the chamber.

As if that wasn't enough of a fright, instead of Makoa's air strike landing on your head or Bloodhound storming up behind you faster than humanly possible, Gia's big trick messed with your mind and your vision. In the blink of an eye, you are no longer able to discern who is teammate and who is enemy. And it's not as simple to just say "Wraith is not on my team. I need to shoot her" because the enemy Wraith you're staring down through a 4x-8x will suddenly appear as your friendly Pathfinder and your friendly Pathfinder will suddenly appear as the enemy Wraith. It was more likely to die via friendly fire than enemy fire when Gia's ultimate activated.

The only reprieve the other Legends got was finding out that she was insanely friendly. Thank god too because no one needed another Dr. Nox or another Revenant on their team. Gia was friendly with everyone she interacted with. Despite her scary demeanor, she got along rather excellently with the other Legends. And that's when most of the trouble started.

It all started off as friendly taunts. Elliott took the first step and made a move on her immediately. After all, she's beautiful, he's beautiful, it only made sense for the two of them to date. They could be the ultimate power couple. Their two beautiful faces displayed up high on the Champion banners. It was a dream. But she politely shut him down. Still, he tried again. And she laughed and played along. "My my, Mr. Witt. Aren't you the massive charmer!" This caught the attention of the daredevil himself and he attempted to get under Elliott's skin by literally sliding by them in the arena and dropping the biggest pickup line she's ever heard. "Aye, amiga. Thanks for brightening up the place with your beautiful face." and then he put a couple bullets in Witt's stomach. Silva's team went down immediately for that stunt and Elliott was able to be picked back up, but his idea worked. Elliott was obviously mad at the green-haired adrenaline junkie after the game for trying to steal "his girl" but it was all in good fun when she turned him down too. Bloodhound soon was seen at her side more often than not. He found her skills fascinating and her air of mystery perfectly matched his own. They had sort of an unspoken bond between them, connected solely on the fact that both of their lives were an enigma. Everyone asked her about herself but she never opened up. When it was just her and Bloodhound, neither one even dared to ask the other about their past. It was comforting being able to sit with someone and not have to worry about prying curiosities. Bloodhound attempted to flirt; there was lots of hand touches and close sitting. Yet she turned him down too.

After that it became an unofficial competition between the three of them to see who could win her over, which lead to a lot of showing off and friendly banter. Elliott would throw pickup line after pickup line at her. Silva did crazy stunts to impress her. Bloodhound brought her tea every morning. And yet nothing ever came of it. Gia would play along every now and again but at the end of the day she made it clear she was just playing. Still didn't stop the men from trying.

And then Loba joined the crowd. And boy oh boy was that a surprise. The chick was into chicks! "Did you clowns ever stop and think that maybe you don't have the right parts she's looking for?" Loba taunted them. But she was right, of course. None of the men asked Gia if she was even straight. But it was still all laughs and good times regardless if she ever found an interest in them. Loba had other ideas in mind. She was thoroughly convinced that Gia was full on gay, looking to get it on with another girl. And Loba believed she was just the girl to get her rocks off. Loba was much more blunt than the men ever were in their affection. That night while all the Legends were winding down with some drinks and enjoying the royalties they made from the recent Game, Loba approached Gia and asked her if she would like to join the seductive thief in a private area away from the loud crowd. When she agreed, the three men that had been pining for her started to believe Loba was right all along. Loba and Gia were gonna do it! Loba was gonna fuck the new girl before they were! As much as Elliott enjoyed the thoughts that put into his mind (and trust me, he enjoyed them a lot), he was upset that all of his attempts had been for naught.

Loba and Gia had disappeared for hours and the three men all huddle together in somber at their ultimate defeat. Elliott poured several rounds of drinks for them in solidarity and they cheered a farewell to their playful challenge. It was Gia 's friendly "What's wrong, boys?" that gathered their attention mid-mope. Silva was just about to tell her of their shallow depression when he spotted Loba stiffly walking up to the bar for another drink with a pout on her face. The thief looked just as pristine as when she and Gia disappeared. Not a single wrinkle in her clothes nor a thread of hair out of place in its braids. So she was wrong!

"Nada, bonita. We're all good here!" he happily told her and shot back what was left of his current drink. "Right, guys?" he nudged them with a big 'ole grin on his face. Neither of them picked up on his hints but they agreed with him anyway. She didn't buy it for one second and got another round for them to put a smile on their faces. A single, friendly peck to each of their cheeks is what really solidified their grins and she walked off, happy to have made them smile. When Loba approached them after Gia walked away, Silva was quick to ask the slumping woman what went on behind closed doors.

"I was wrong." she admitted pitifully. "She turned me down too."

"So the competition is back on?" Elliott questioned and all four of them agreed. And thus their antics continued: Elliott flirted, Silva showed off, Bloodhound gifted things, and Loba seduced. None of it worked in the slightest. But Gia would laugh it off and let her touches linger just that fraction of a second longer that made them all question their sanity. If they were teamed up with her, they'd give her the items she requested. If she was hungry, they got her food. If she was feeling unwell, they took care of her until she was better.

"Like lost puppies." Anita commented to the four of them as she watched them all practically drool at the sight of Gia on the complete opposite end of the room. She seemed unaware of their presence but they knew she knew they were there. She sat with Makoa and Pathfinder, all three of them happily chatting with each other without a care in the world. Makoa's big belly laughs rang in everyone's ears.

"She's totally into me, I can tell." Elliott stated matter-of-factly.

"As if." Loba retorted.

"Did'cha ever think that maybe she got someone already?" Che asked with a smirk. "Some of us got loved ones back home."

"I doubt it, amiga. She would've told us if she did." said Silva.

"Maybe she didn't want to tell you. Seems like she doesn't tell anyone anything about herself. For all you know, she could have a husband, or wife, and several kids back on her home planet." Anita commented. The latter part of her sentence fell on deaf ears as the four love-sick Legends stared in Gia's direction when she laughed at something either Pathfinder or Makoa said. Her laugh was like music to their ears. Anita rolled her eyes towards Che and the other simply shook her head.

"Look at her! She's absolutely gor-gor-gorg... pretty! We're totally comp-compat... made for each other!"

"If we're going off looks alone, surely there are better suitors than you." Loba told Elliott with a smirk.

"Hey now, that's quite rude!"

"Gia is a strong fighter. Our skills are equally matched. Perhaps she's not looking for a superficial partner at all."

"All of you are a hack." Crypto's voice surprised everyone. He stood just off to the side, watching them with a bored expression on his face. Hands in his pockets, as is his usual stance, he eyed all four of them down.

"Come on! Don't try and tell us you don't think she's muy caliente."

"She is very beautiful," Crypto agreed. "and you are very desperate."

"So you are not in any way attracted to her." Loba stated rather than asked. She leaned forward, chin on her knuckles, and pressed him.

"I never said that."

"So you think about her."

"I never said that either."

"Say what you want, but until she tells me to back off I'm not going anywhere."

"And neither am I!" Elliott responded rather quickly -and defensively.

"That makes three of us." said Silva.

"Four."

"Fine. Make it five."

"I can't believe this." Che grumbled.

Gia found Crypto unexpectedly by her side more and more. He was rather reserved and his attempts at flirting were down right embarrassing. She tried not to show pity for him. The poor guy probably hadn't ever touched a boob before. She assumed him like Elliot, Silva, Bloodhound, and Loba and went along with whatever he said. She never asked much from Crypto and he was thankful for that. He had no idea how to woo her. He knew absolutely nothing about her, but who was he to ask her about her past if he wasn't willing to exchange an equal value? She was pretty and she was talented, so he tried to play to those strengths. He complimented her when she dolled up and he praised her when her team won Champion. Very rarely was he ever paired up with her so he often admired her through his scopes. He assumed to himself that he could impress her if he won Champion, so he tried his best to wipe the floor with any enemy teams he came across. More often than not, her team would demolish his so he would side step her if he spotted her. However, whenever Caustic or Revenant were on his team, there was no room for niceties and they went in with guns blazing whether he liked it or not. Caustic would throw his gas traps at them, or Revenant would silence them, and then suddenly both teams were at war with each other.

Just last week, Revenant went charging in at Gia, Bloodhound, and Wattson. He silenced their abilities, giving Revenant an easy target on the blonde girl before she could even defend their position with her electric fences. Wattson went down like a sack of bricks. And then Wraith went charging in on Bloodhound. She managed to break the hunter's shields before Gia came to her teammate's rescue and knocked the voidwalker to the ground with a few well-placed 301 shots. Crypto attempted to help his team by going in with his drone and EMP-ing the two enemies still standing. With their abilities still silenced, Gia was unable to fight back at the same caliber and Revenant took his EVA and pulled the trigger three times in Gia's chest. She collapsed to the ground with her knockdown shield aimed directly at the robot.

"Nothing personal, girlie." he chuckled as he tried to show off and finish her. He got interrupted when Bloodhound came around the corner and shot his hopped-up Wingman into the simulacrum's skull. Revenant went down as well. That left Crypto versus Bloodhound. Crypto was still fully shielded as opposed to Bloodhound. However, Crypto was armed with a 45 while his opponent had a Wingman with a skull-piercer on it. Even if Crypto landed all of his shots, it would only take three from the hunter to fully knock him. And he did indeed get knocked. His gold knockdown shield was the only thing that kept his team from being spawned out of the arena and back onto the dropship. Bloodhound knows Crypto's entire team was down so he was not at all worried about being shot in the back as he picked up both Gia and Wattson. Gia didn't waste any time healing and instead finished off Revenant with a big fucking smile on her beautiful lips.

"It's not personal, Rev." she echoed back at him and followed it up with a knee thrusted into the simulacrum's throat and then a low roundhouse kick to the side of his skull. Revenant disappeared, his banner taking his place. Meanwhile, Bloodhound turned to Crypto and attempted to finish him off as well. The last thing Crypto saw was the hunter's battle axe being thrown at his head. And then he and Wraith were standing next to Revenant on the dropship while the on-ship medics came to tend to their wounds. Crypto ignored them, instead turning all of his focus towards the displays following the remaining teams in the arena. One monitor focused on the general rotation of the arena. Another showcased the team that killed his. Crypto's eyes followed Gia's face on the display. She was quick to heal up and then lead her team towards the ring.

The rest of the game was long-lived. Many teams put up a good fight with each other. Ultimately, the best team had to win and that team was of Lifeline, Octane, and Gibralter. Gia's team came second. As skilled as she was, going against Lifeline was a difficult feat. Especially when Gibralter's shield dome gave the team ample cover for a quick pick-up. Not to mention the fact that Silva was nearly resistant to pain and was able to recover without the use of meds once he was picked up. A good heal will almost always out fight heavy damage. Once all the teams made it back onto the ship, Crypto approached Gia. "Good fight." he simply said. She smiled at him and returned the sentiment with a peck to his cheek. Crypto felt his face grow hot and he heard a snicker beside him. He found Loba, Bloodhound, Silva, and Elliott watching him with dopey smiles. Loba crossed her arms and eyed him in a way that meant she told him so. He ignored them in favor of getting patched up the rest of the way by the ship medics.

"You may have won this time, little girl, but I'd watch my back if I were you." Revenant threatened Gia at the other end of the ship. He bent down to her level and stared right into her eyes. But she didn't shy away from the simulacrum's threatening advances.

"The only thing I'll be watching is a replay of me finishing you." she shot at him. He simply returned her remark with a deep, throaty sound and then he stalked off.

That night, Elliott threw a small after-party at his place. There were drinks aplenty, more food to go around than anyone could think of, and of course the Champion squad. All complete with Silva begging to do some party tricks and doing them anyway regardless of how Elliott responded. Not as if Elliott would say no to his friend anyway. Everyone came out to the party. Even Dr. Nox and Revenant who hardly ever show their faces when not in the arena. Still, they kept to themselves and only participated when coaxed. Well, at least Dr. Nox did. Revenant just stalked everyone as per usual.

Gia tried to make rounds with everyone but it was becoming difficult with five of the Legends begging for her attention. Silva wanted her to watch him light himself on fire. Which he did and she watched on like she promised. "One of these days you're gonna get yourself killed, love." she said to him as she patted down the last of the flames burning away at his shorts.

"As if Death could catch me, chica bonita."

"Promise me you'll live to see tomorrow so we can get lunch."

"Absolutamente!" he grinned from ear to ear and then she walked off to sit and talk with Anita and Che. "She wants me." he said to Elliot. The latter simply rolled his eyes.

"She only said that because she doesn't want to watch you kill yourself tonight."

"She so wants me."

Gia chatted with the two women. Gia congratulated Che on her win today and the medic praised her back with a statement of her skill. "A couple close calls." the woman had said and Gia nodded in agreement.

"A toast to our Champion!" Anita held her glass in the air and the other two women clinked theirs together and took a large gulp of their drinks.

"Let's hang out this week. Go do something fun. My treat, of course as a present for our lovely Champion here." Gia offered the two women.

"I'm in the mood for a nice massage!" chirped said Champion. "It hurts having to carry 'round these children all the time." This made the other two laugh heartedly.

"I swear, some of these kids want to get hurt." commented Anita.

"Sounds an awful lot like those five over there." Gia pointed to the group huddled together and watching her.

"They just tryna impress ya. Problem is they don't know when to quit it."

"I think it's cute."

"Do ya like any of them?" Che asked and Gia sat back and thought about it for a second.

"They're certainly cute. And it's funny watching them flirt. But it's all just fun and games."

"You seeing anybody? They won't stop unless you tell them you're taken." said Anita matter-of-factly. She took another gulp of her drink.

"They don't need to stop. It's nothing serious. No one's getting hurt and I've already told them no so it's not like I'm leading them on. Let them dream a little."

"As long as ya okay with it."

"I am." she responded. "I'm also hungry. Be right back." she told the women and got up to grab some food that was piled up on a table. There was so much food here but she wouldn't be surprised if it all got eaten anyway. There were some hungry Legends here and -she's not going to name names- some of them can absolutely pack it away. Silva didn't count, however, because his metabolism was way faster than normal so it's never a surprise to see the green-haired junkie go up for fourths or even fifths. Gia grabbed a plate and filled it with foods that appealed to her. Nothing fancy but just interesting enough to get doubles of. As she was making her way back to Che and Anita, she spotted Wraith sitting alone and moping. Gia detoured over there and took a seat opposite of the woman.

"You doing okay?" she asked, making Wraith look up at her and force a smile.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"You sure? I didn't hit you too hard out there today, did I?" Gia attempted to lighten to mood. It worked to a degree; Wraith cracked a more genuine smile and gave a short chuckle.

"You got some good shots on me but that was pure luck." she said. "Good game today, by the way."

"You too. Do you wanna talk about what's bothering you? I'm all ears."

"Thanks but I'll be fine. It's nothing serious."

"Come find me if you ever need a shoulder." Gia offered the woman and was gifted a nod with a bigger smile in response. Gia placed a gentle hand against Wraith's cheek. "Smile for me some more. You've got a beautiful smile." she said and then got up and walked away.

"You don't think Wraith's into Gia too, do you?" Elliott asked the group as they all watched the exchange happen between said women. His eyes followed Gia for a moment as she walked away and then focused on the other. Even though Wraith looked away from the room, he could see her blushing furiously. And she tentatively placed a hand against the same cheek Gia did. Oh, she definitely had it bad for her.

"I wouldn't be surprised. I've caught her staring at my ass on more than one occasion." Loba snorted.

"Gia and Wraith aren't seeing each other already, are they?" Crypto asked everyone as if they had any more answers on her love life than he did. As predicted, everyone else shrugged or didn't answer at all. Elliott went back to watching Wraith's behavior. Everything that just happened in the last 10 seconds told him that Wraith hadn't expected Gia to show her that type of affection. If she's blushing that bad from a single touch, then that means Wraith is crushing real hard. She didn't act like that was a normal occurrence between the two of them. As if she could read Elliot's mind, Wraith turned her attention to the group of five that had been watching her. Elliott waved his hand over to her, silently telling her to join them. Wraith did a double take, making sure he was in fact motioning to her and when she realized he was, she made her way over to them.

"Aye, you into Gia?" Silva got right to the point and put Wraith on the spot. She sputtered.

"What? No. What makes you think that?"

"You do not have to lie." Bloodhound calmed her. "She is the reason we're all here." he motioned to the group.

"She's just a friend!" Wraith was quick to defend. "I mean she's pretty and all but nothing would ever be between us."

"So you admit you're into her." Loba accused and Wraith went silent. She blushed again.

"I mean, she's nice. And pretty. And she smells good. But so what."

"Listen, no one's poking fun at you. We all like her." Elliott came to her rescue.

"Yeah and we've got a competition going to see who she likes more!" said Silva.

"Why?"

"Because it's fun! And because we can hit on her without pressuring her to return the favor."

"So she knows you've all placed bets on her?" Wraith assumed questionably making the others stiffen and look to each other.

"Well." Crypto started. "She doesn't know about the competition but she knows we all are attracted to her."

"Isn't that kind of, I don't know, scummy?"

"We're not placing actual bets on her." Loba defended.

"Yeah it's just all bragging rights at the end of the day if one of us wins her over." said Elliott casually.

"Aye, you can get in on this if you want, chica, but we're all just having fun."

Wraith hesitated for a moment to think it over. This was scummy, right? Holding Gia as a prize? Surely she wouldn't appreciate it. But then Wraith looked over to Gia sitting with Che and Anita and noticed how beautiful she looked when she had her hair down. Wraith quickly touched her cheek again.

"What are the rules to this... competition?"

"None really. Try to woo her and, if you do, congrats. You won." said Elliot.

"So, are you in or are you out?" Crypto questioned.

"I'm in."

To say Gia was leading the pack was a bit of an understatement. Everywhere she went, her little lovesick posse was not too far behind. And it seemed to be growing by the day. Given that there were now six of them, it was more likely she was paired up with at least one of them during the Games. And when they were paired up together, it was very obvious they were trying to impress her. If she was ever downed, Wraith would stop whatever she's doing to portal her to safety even if she herself wasn't in a safe position. If she was out of ammo, Elliott dropped several stacks of whatever she needed even if he needed it himself. If she gave an order, Silva would absolutely follow it even if he had already jump padded a mile away. If she wanted the Peacekeeper, Loba would steal it for her. If Crypto found a high-level shield, he'd let her have it. If the team got split, Bloodhound would always follow her in case she ran into another team. And if their third got pinned, well Bloodhound wasn't leaving Gia's side.

Everyone else was starting to notice it more and more and they'd approach her about it. "It doesn't bother me." she'd say. And maybe it truly doesn't. Maybe she likes the constant attention she gets from the lovesick six. It certainly didn't hinder her performance in the arena. However it was becoming a bit annoying not being able to spend much time with anyone else without the group being a hare's breath away. But still she played along, laughed at their jokes, swooned over their flirtatious remarks, cheered them on as they showed off.

The Games continued nonetheless and even more Legends showed up; first there was weapons-expert Ramya Parekh, and then there was scientist Mary Somers, and with Dr. Somers came a new arena. Both of whom were very quick to pick up on the weird dynamic between Gia and six of the other Legends. "They're quite infatuated with you, darling." Dr. Somers had commented on day one of her being there. "Eh, they're all a bit weird." Ramya said nonchalantly.

Also Revenant and Elliott got to take over the games for awhile -again. Everyone hated when Revenant got control of the Games and this time around he's decided to switch it up a little bit. Elliott, on the other hand, took the opportunity to impress Gia. "Look at me! I'm so good they wanted to bring me back! The fans love me!" he said. His pride was short lived because the Apex hosts gave the fans quite the show when new events dropped and Elliott, Silva, Wraith, Bloodhound, and Loba all got makeovers -among other Legends, Gia included. All of them took their new looks on stage in an attempt to make Gia swoon. And as good as they all looked, Gia barely had the time of day to compliment them because Apex was whisking her away left and right to show off her new look. The fans loved her and demanded her attention. There was even a huge party for all of the Legends and multiple press corporations to advertise the new events. It was all just so overwhelming. Gia hated being center stage and the constant swarms of people drained her energy rather quickly. Her only reprieve was when one of her six admirers took all of the attention away from her as they did some sort of stunt to make her smile. It was mostly Silva donning his Octane ego that got the press's attention because who doesn't love to watch a daredevil jump out of the window? Nevertheless, she appreciated the breath of fresh air when the cameras weren't on her. She took the opportunity to hide away near the buffet table.

"Ya doing alright?" Che had asked from beside her, grabbing food for herself.

"I'm fine. Just need a break from all of this."

"Still not used to being a fan favorite, are ya?"

"I'm surprised I'm a favorite at all, to be honest. I know a lot of people like to go for the shiny, new toy but I'm no longer shiny or new. Ramya and Dr. Somers should be getting all of the attention."

"Are ya kidding me? Ya one of the best there is! Ya win more games than ya lose. Of course ya a favorite!" Che attempted to cheer her up.

"You win a lot of games too, but it seems like everyone wants to surround me."

"Well, I have been here longer than ya have. Give it time and they'll move on. They like ya because ya don't tell them anything. It keeps them interested."

"I'm sure you're right. But for now I just need a breather. I'll catch you later, Che." Gia bid farewell and walked off into the shadows, away from prying eyes and camera flashes. The combat medic made her way back to the center of the press where Elliott and Silva were waiting to talk to her with concerned looks in their eyes.

"Is Gia alright?" Elliott questioned her, making a move to go follow the object of his desires. Che put a hand against his chest to stop him.

"She don't wanna be bothered right now. She wants to be alone. So leave her alone."

"Is she hurt or something?" Silva asked worriedly.

"Nah, she just needs some fresh air. But she made it very clear she didn't want anyone to accompany her. So make sure ya tell the others to leave her be tonight."

"Can you at least tell us where's she's going in case she need someone."

"If she wants ya, she'll let ya know." was Che's response and then she walked away, hoping those idiots wouldn't bother Gia. She had to give the dopey idiots some credit though because all six of them never left the party. Despite their infatuation with the white-eyed Legend, they respected her privacy and gave her space when she asked for it. The press took notice of Gia's absence and tried to dig into everyone else for her whereabouts but no one relented and the press was forced to focus on the remaining Legends at the party.

Once the whole shebang was over and the press had made their leave, the six were becoming slightly worried at Gia's continued AWOL. She hadn't talked to anyone since she told Che she was leaving. No messages or calls. Nothing. Surely she was fine, though. Gia could absolutely hold her own if god forbid something were to happen, so the Legends weren't worried about finding her all beaten up on the Docks. But they were worried that something was still wrong and didn't feel comfortable letting her be alone for this long. It's been hours since anyone has seen her.

"I'm gonna go look for her." Elliott finally said. He was obviously agitated in his boots. The others weren't looking so hot either and they all agreed to split up and look for her. Problem was, there were far too many places she could possibly be and she hadn't answered anyone's messages so there wasn't even a general location they could pinpoint her at. They all checked her place in the compound housing the Legends, they checked all over Olympus, they checked Malta. They checked everywhere they could think of, but there was no sign of her and now they were well into the wee hours of the morning. Everyone was seriously starting to worry.

There was one final place Elliott could think of where she might possibly be, so he ran there as fast as he could to check. If she wasn't there, then he was starting to think he'd need to put a missing person's report on her. Surely Apex would find her quickly; they can't let one of their best fighters disappear. Especially not after a night of reporters fawning over her. Elliott charged towards the dropship housed at the very edge of Olympus. Getting through the security was rather easy, simply because the security had been disabled which was a relatively good sign in Elliott's eyes. She had to be here. None of the Apex crew were working at this time, as far as he was concerned. He let himself aboard the aircraft and he nearly collapsed onto the floor when he did.

Holy fucking shit, Gia was here. And she was with Revenant. And she was very clearly naked! Both of them were asleep -or, well, she was asleep and he was shut down, Elliott guessed. Did the robot sleep at all? They were laying all cuddled up to each other on one of the many plush seating areas with a blanket wrapped loosely around them. Gia's entire upper half was exposed to the warm air of the ship, but her dignity was covered just enough by the fact that she had her chest pressed up against Revenant's. The simulacrum kept a metal arm laying over her as they both slept, almost as if he was protecting her. She stirred lightly in her sleep and he responded by pulling her closer. Yet neither one of them woke up.

Elliott wasn't sure if he could scream, cry, runaway, or do all three. He wasn't gonna lie, his heart broke knowing that she would choose a robot over him. Even if his flirts were nothing more than a game, the fact that he was beat by a fucking robot of all things stung. Why didn't she say anything? Probably because no one would have believed her. I mean, Revenant of all people? That thing hated everyone and everything. And he's been known to threaten her on occasion. Was it all part of a rouse to keep people from guessing? Did the simulacrum have some sort of reputation to uphold? Or was this some sort of spontaneous thing? Either way, Elliott had a hard time picking his jaw up off the floor.

He managed to sneak out of the ship without waking either one of them and he exited the hangar. What was he supposed to tell the others? He didn't even know how to comprehend it himself! But he had to say something. Everyone else was still out looking for her. He managed to message everyone else but his words were short. "I found her. She's alright. Everyone stop worrying." he told them. Any responses he got back from them were ignored as he tried to calm his racing mind while he made his way back to his place.

This has been one hell of a night.

Elliott called an emergency meeting with the others the next afternoon once everyone was able to catch some well-needed sleep. Both Gia and Revenant had reappeared some time in the early morning, though no one was able to catch them together. Her usual chipper mood didn't do anything to quell Elliot's confused thoughts and he had half a mind to just probe her for answers to the questions he wasn't sure he wanted to even ask. What was he supposed to ask her? "How long have you been fucking Revenant? Were you ever gonna tell us or were you trying to toy with us? Does he even have a dick?" He wasn't hurt by the fact that she was seeing someone. Elliott knew she wasn't interested in any of the six of them. She made it very clear her no actually meant no. But Revenant?!

"What's so important you needed to gather all of us?" Crypto had asked. Elliott was tongue-tied. He just had to rip it off like a band-aid, right? That's what they all say, right?

"We need to call the competition off. Leave Gia alone." he managed to say.

"What? Why?" Wraith questioned with genuine confusion.

"She's seeing someone."

"How do you know?" Silva asked.

"I found them together last night."

"Are you sure?" Bloodhound asked and Elliott nodded.

"Very sure."

"Who is it? Another Legend?" Loba wondered. All eyes were on Elliott, waiting for him to spill the beans. Who could've possibly stolen Gia's heart? No one ever saw anyone else fawning over her and no one ever saw her eyes lingering for too long on a certain someone. She treated everyone the same. Perhaps it wasn't another Legend. Did she have a lover that came to surprise her at the party? Did a husband or wife come to cheer her on in the new events?

"It's... It's Revenant, okay!" he spat out and quite literally everyone else had gasped in surprise.

"Are you trying to make some sort of sick joke? Because if you are, I will throttle you!" Loba threatened.

"I'm serious! I found them together last night and she was very clearly naked in his arms."

"I don't believe it!" cried Wraith. There is no way someone as sweet as Gia would ever find companionship in someone like Revenant. It just couldn't be possible.

"Believe what you want but I'm backing out of this dumb competition! I don't want Revenant to snap my neck!" shouted Elliott and he threw his hands up in defeat. With a heavy sigh, he dropped his head to the table in a loud thump. A look of understanding passed from Legend to Legend. Everyone knew Revenant's behavior. He was cold and he was unforgiving. If what Elliott claimed was true, then there's no telling what the simulacrum would do to them if he found out they were all trying to get into her pants.

"What do we say to Gia? She'll know something's up." Silva asked aloud to the group.

"You don't have to say anything." that god damn voice said, making everyone jump in their seat and whip their heads around to peer at Gia timidly idling in the doorway. Her white eyes were glossed over in pity, and that hurt all the more.

"Were you standing there the whole time?" Elliott asked her.

"I heard shouting. I came at the part where you said you found us together last night."

"Oh." was all he said back.

"Listen, guys," she started, moving into the room and closer to them. "I know how much fun you guys were having with this competition thing going on between all of you. And I'm sorry this was how you found out about me and Revenant."

"Have you been seeing him this whole time?" Loba almost seethed.

"Yes." she flat out said. No beating around the bush. "I promise I'm not dating him to spite you, Loba. I started dating him long before I even knew of your history with him. I didn't do this to hurt you. And I'm sorry if it does hurt you." she apologized.

"No one's hurt that you're seeing him." claimed Silva.

"Speak for yourself!" Loba interrupted.

"We're just confused is all, chica."

"Loba, truly I'm very sorry for hurting you. I'm sorry to all of you. I'm sorry if I ever lead any of you on, but I honestly thought I had made it very clear that this was just a game."

"You did. We heard you loud and clear, hermosa. We were just trying to have a little fun with you."

"I know. And I'm sorry if this put a stop to your competition. Believe me when I say I enjoyed the attention. I truly did not intend for any of you to get hurt or upset. If it's Revenant you're hesitant of, I can give you my absolute word he will not harm any of you."

"I guess I just want to know how it happened." said Wraith. Gia attempted a jovial smile in her direction.

"There's so much to me you guys don't even know. So much that even Revenant doesn't know. I know it may seem strange but I promise you that he and I are not very different."

"Does he even.... um.. have a... you know?" Elliott then hesitantly questioned much to everyone else's embarrassment. They all shouted at him in distaste. "Oh come on! I know I'm not the only one who's curious!" he defended himself. Gia took in a deep, shuttering breath.

"Well... um... yes, he does."

"That's just weird. That is so weird." shuttered Silva. "Dios mío, eso es asqueroso. Can we please talk about something else?" he mumbled into his palms.

"Look, to make a long story short, all I can say is I'm sorry. From the absolute bottom of my heart, I am sorry. Regardless of where we all go from here, I just want you to know that you've all made me feel pretty, you've made me feel important, and you've made me feel loved. And I can't ever thank you enough for that. I just hope you all understand that I truly do love you too. Even if it's not the same way that you love me. I truly do love you."

"As long as you're happy." Crypto replied to her. As sad as he was to say it, he meant it for her.

"I am. I really am."

"I guess that's the end of that. It's been a good game, guys." Elliott directed towards the other five. "We're just not what you're looking for, I guess."

"But you're what someone is looking for." she consoled. "Elliot, you are the most handsome man I have ever met in my entire life." Gia confessed to him. To solidify her statement, she pressed a warm kiss to his cheek. Then she turned to the green-haired man beside him. "Silva, my life would be so incredibly boring without you in it." and she pressed a kiss to his cheek as well. "Loba, next time you see me in the arena, I want you to just step on me with those boots." she giggled and kissed her cheek as well. Despite Loba's best efforts, she cracked a real smile. "Bloodhound, you're an incredibly skilled hunter and I wish I could match up to you." Gia tentatively lifted her hands towards his face, waiting to see if he'd stop her from removing his face mask. He didn't. So she lifted the material from his face and pressed a kiss to his cheek as well before putting it back in place. "Crypto, don't ever let anyone underestimate you." a kiss to his cheek. "And of course, Wraith. I meant what I said before; you have a beautiful smile. Show it off some more." a kiss to her cheek. "I love you guys. And I hope you don't think any less of me."

"Of course not." said Bloodhound which made Gia's heart flutter with glee. She bid a final farewell to all of them before making her departure, still unsure if they have forgiven her for her secrets. The room fell quiet for several moments as they all processed what just happened. In the blink of an eye, everything just crumbled. No one was angry. They all still loved Gia. But now things were a little different. The competition was officially off the table now and the six Legends were unsure of where to go from here.

"She totally loves me more." Silva cracked the silence.

"Are you kidding? She kissed me first!"

"She kissed me longer." claimed Bloodhound. And then a full blown argument started between all of them over who Gia had more affection for.

Everything sort of calmed down after Gia had finally come clean. The six Legends that had been following her for months had backed off and everyone took notice of it. Che asked Gia what had happened between all of them and Gia had confessed that she had been seeing someone behind everyone's back. Though she didn't name names. Che wanted details of course but didn't press when Gia refused to give them. Even Pathfinder could sense that there was some tension in the room but, bless his heart, he had no idea how to make everyone feel better. He tried though. "Everything will be okay, friend." he told her and then gave her one of his famous high fives.

It's not like Gia didn't try to mend things with them. She still tried to talk to them but conversations became awkward because no one knew what to say anymore. All the flirting stopped and everyone was too scared to sit too close to her in fear of Revenant's wrath. But she did try. It's just that her efforts went nowhere.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Gia and Revenant were seen together out in public for the very first time. They officially outed themselves as a couple. Everyone was just minding their own business when Gia had appeared, dragging Revenant behind her with her hand interlaced in his. She pulled him into everyone's view and everyone turned to stare at them with wide eyes. She paid them no mind, but Revenant glared at anyone he connected eyes with. She pulled him down to sit with her and he did without complaint. She cuddled into his side and he tossed an arm across her shoulders, allowing her to get as close as possible. Everyone was watching, but it was Elliott, Silva, Loba, Crypto, Bloodhound, and Wraith that seemed to be the most in shock. What had finally changed her mind about keeping their relationship quiet, they didn't know. Everyone was just as confused as they were and those who were aware of the six's admiration for Gia all turned towards them in either pity or curiosity. Yet no one said a word. It felt like all eyes were burning into them. But thank god they all turned away at some point.

Gia proceeded to show Revenant something on her device and they both watched intently. He even scooted her into his lap so he could place his chin on her shoulder and watch. His arms wrapped around her midsection protectively and she cracked a smile. She looked so tiny in his lap.

"I can't watch this." Loba said and stormed off. She still hadn't come to terms with the fact that the woman she desired was in love with the demon she wanted to murder.

"Does anyone else feel nauseous or is it just me?" Wraith asked, turning away from the loving couple.

"No, I feel it too." Elliott confessed.

"Aye."

"It may hurt now, but she is a grown woman who has made her decision and we must respect that. We'll get over it eventually." Bloodhound told the group.

"Just because we respect it doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt, compadre." retorted Silva.

"You think they'll stay together?" Crypto then asked and everyone looked back to Gia still cuddled in Revenant's metallic lap. Elliott watched carefully as every twitch of Revenant's fingers only seemed to hold her closer to his chest. His touched appeared to be gentle and Gia had made herself comfortable in his embrace. She smiled at her device and carefully ran her fingertips along the build of his arms. He must've made some sort of noise because she nudged her cheek against his metal face plating. When he turned to look at her, she looked back and pressed her forehead to his. They both closed their eyes and Elliott assumed that was their version of a kiss considering he didn't have any lips -or even a moveable jaw for that matter. And Elliott could tell that she was genuinely happy.

"Yeah. I think so."

#apex legends #revenant #mirage #elliot witt #octane #octavio silva #bloodhound #loba andrade #crypto #tae joon park #wraith #renee blasey #original female character #fanfiction #imagine

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jiminwreckedme · 4 years

Text

The Cottage of the Seven Dads.

DIMPLE (2)

Other drabbles - Masterpost

Members - OT7 bangtan (reader insert also present.)

Word count - 3.4K

Genre - pure bangtan as dads fluff. (Rated G)

“Yes, we are her fathers and no, we are not gay.”

A/n - The drabbles follow an order, it’s suggested you read the previous parts as listed in the masterpost to to understand the follow of events!

“No, don’t give it to me, I don’t know how to hold it!”

“It?” Hoseok raises his eyebrows at him, looking up from the baby in Taehyung’s arm’s. “Namjoon-ah, It? That’s our daughter you’re talking about.”

“Son.” Jimin interrupts. “That’s the boy. This,” He turns to Jungkook who is cradling the other twin in his arms. “This is our daughter.”

“No, this is the girl.” Hoseok insists. “Look at her eyes, they’re so pretty.”

Jimin almost looks offended. “Yes, because men can’t have pretty eyes.”

“That’s not what I meant-“

“They both have pretty eyes.”

You’re the only one who catches Jungkook’s soft whisper as he looks at his child like it’s the most precious thing he has ever seen.

For the last half an hour, the seven men had been experiencing all sorts of emotions at the news of their newly born children.

Jimin screamed and insisted no one told them they were having twins and Jin argued that they knew all along. Jungkook became more silent than usual, face turning pale as he stood behind Namjoon who refused to let anyone enter the room without making sure they had washed their hands up to their elbows. Taehyung was oblivious to everything, just jumping in absolute excitement while Yoongi protected Aria from the former’s attempts to spin her around in his joy. Hoseok just stood dumbfounded, as though it just hit him that they were fathers to not one but three children now.

“Why can’t they wrap them in blue and pink towels instead of white?” Taehyung sighs as the argument you had zoned out from begins to escalate to unnecessary levels. “That should make a little easier to tell them apart isn’t it?”

Yoongi let’s go Aria’s hand and covers her ears instead. “Yes, that’s what we teach our children, that 2 colors are the way to identify sexes.”

“What do you want me to do now?” Taehyung looks at Yoongi incredulously “Unwrap this beautifully done swaddle and check if he has a penis?”

Hoseok winces, looking at Aria who’s ears Yoongi stubbornly still covered. “Can you not use such words around our daughter?”

“Penis is a biological term,” Namjoon crosses his arms. “What’s wrong in saying that?”

“Yeah Penis isn’t inappropriate,” Jimin backs him up. “Now if you use some other words like dick or cock then-“

“Shut up!” Hoseok’s eyes widen. “We have 3 children for god’s sake Jimin.”

Yoongi nods. “Yeah at least spell D-I-C-K instead of saying the word-“

“What makes you think Aria can’t spell?” Namjoon almost looks offended. “She’s like eight.”

You turn to Jimin who looks at the baby in Jungkook’s arms and points at it. “You are zero years old, since we start from scratch with you, let’s get at least your age right.”

“But what’s the point?” Hoseok continues to argue. “She will know how to spell someday and that’s what you want her to go around the house saying? D-I-C-K?”

“No, I mean-“

“She already knows how to spell-“

“-and the twins? Imagine the first spelling they hear is D-I-C-K-“

“They are not going to remember it, they are half an hour old!”

“Wow, at least everyone knows the age of one of our children-“

“Two. They are twins, remember?”

“Great, I’m still the one always wrong-“

“Ok, everyone shut up!”

Everyone falls silent as Jin’s voice rings across the room. “Namjoon, stop calling our child it, they aren’t a clown miserably failing at being scary.” He turns to Hoseok. “And you, stop being on the edge about everything, it’s okay to let things slide sometimes.” Jimin hides behind Jungkook knowing he’s next. “Park Jimin, no inappropriate language before our children, I don’t care if you say it or spell it and Taehyung, yes, the babies are too young to tell them apart, and no we aren’t going to do so with pink and blue colors, they are both our children and so they will both be brought up the same way.” He then sighs, pointing at Yoongi. “Please take your hands away from Aria’s ears before she verbally attacks you for depriving you of her rights or something and Jeon Jungkook!” Jungkook looks up, taken aback. “Stop rubbing your face all over the baby, move back.”

“But they smell so good!” He whines. “Even the blankets smell so good, I wonder what detergent they use-”

“Hyung.” Taehyung steps up, trying to hold back his laughter. “We get what you��re trying to say and I’m sorry but….but no one can take you seriously with……” His laughter escapes him, just a little. “With that thing on.”

And with that every breaks into fits of laughter and so do you because, well, he did look ridiculous.

When everyone had stepped into the room to see the baby, Jin excused himself quickly and disappeared for quite some time. Just as they began wondering where he went, he returned wearing two sponge objects which on the basis of its shape and location looked a lot like……boobs.

“But you, Kim Namjoon!” He points an angrily shaking finger. “You said that babies should be put on the mother’s chest after they are born-“

“Skin on skin hyung!” Namjoon turns serious, like his intellect was challenged. “They put a naked baby on the mother’s bare chest to let them feel the skin on skin. It’s meant for stabilizing their temperature, heart rate, breathing rate, things of that sort because the mother is the only familiar environment for the baby when it comes out…..those boobs won’t help in anyway.”

Nobody sees Yoongi covering Aria’s ears again.

“Ok fine! I thought I was being considerate.” Jin hurriedly tries to remove his apparel as Jimin helps him unbuckle it from the back. “I thought I would provide some maternal support to the babies but you idiotic-“

“Oh my god!” Jungkook shrieks out of nowhere, sending everyone into a panicky frenzy. “Hyung, hyung, hyung, I think she has dimples!”

“What?” Jin immediately throws aside whatever in the world he was wearing and takes the baby in his arms as everyone gathers around him, trying to get a good look.

“Oh she does!” Namjoon shrieks in a loud whisper, pointing as the baby moves her mouth in her sleep, a small dent forming on her cheek. “Just like me!”

“What about him?” Yoongi peers over Hoseok’s shoulder looking at their son. “Does he?”

There’s utter silence as they all watch, almost unmoving,

“Wake him up.”

“Shut up Kim Taehyung.”

“Stop being rude Yoongi.”

“Why would we wake up a sleeping child hyung? They are such monsters when they are all awake and crying-“

Hoseok sighs. “Our child is half an hour old and you already-“

“He does too!” Jungkook points excited.

“Lower your volume-”

“And his are deeper than hers-“

“Such angels, both of them-“

“How is it that we have two of the most beautiful children in the world?”

“Excuse me.”

Everyone turns to see Aria standing in the exact place Yoongi left her as he rushed in his excitement. Their faces immediately morph into a mixture of guilt and fondness.

“I need to pee.”

“Someone’s jealous.” Taehyung mutters smiling.

“I’m not jealous.” She crosses her arms, feigning indifference. How could she not be jealous? She had seven amazing fathers and she was used to the attention she was no longer getting.

“I just need to pee.”

“Alright, I’ll bring you-“

“Kim Namjoon, no.” Yoongi stops him with an arm across his chest. “You just want to make excuses to not carry the twins, get you shit- I mean stuff together and hold our children. Someone else can….” He looks around at the room for volunteers and upon getting none, he sighs. “Ok then, I’ll bring her.”

“I can bring her.” You offer, seeing how despite agreeing to, deep down Yoongi wanted to be with the newly born babies.

“Does that mean I can go to the girl’s toilet?” Aria runs up to you, looking up with her big doe eyes. “Please tell me that for once I don’t have to go to the boy’s toilet? I don’t like it.”

You laugh as Hoseok hands the baby in his arms to Yoongi who gives the former a grateful look. “It’s alright, I’ll bring Aria.” Hoseok walks up to Aria holding her hand. “Aria, Ms.Y/n has already helped us so much, we can’t trouble her anymore.”

“I really don’t mind.” You insist, looking at Aria’s hopeful eyes. “You should stay with the-“

“I need to pee too.” Jimin walks up casually, making the decision. “Come on, let’s just all go.”

You look at Hoseok who turns around and points at Namjoon. “You better have held at least one of them by the time I’m back.”

As Namjoon swallows uncertainly you follow Jimin who walks ahead with his hands stowed in his pockets. Aria runs up to you, dragging Hoseok along with her, holding your other hand. You and Hoseok smile at each other for a brief second before you look away. You remind yourself for about the tenth time now that he’s her father and way out of bounds.

“Namjoon hyung is a little scared of children.”

Jimin turns around, walking backwards, making Hoseok keep an eye behind him.

“Careful Jimin-ah”

You smile all knowingly. “Let me guess, did he baby-proof the entire house months ago?”

Jimin looks at you shocked. “It’s like you were there.”

“The most terrified parents tend to be the most careful ones.”

“True.” Jimin muses. “Taehyung is the exact opposite, not the least bit scared, not the least bit careful.”

Aria shakes her head. “Taetae is not careless.”

“Yes grandma” Hoseok sighs but not annoyed. “We all know you can’t hear a word against your Taetae.”

“I won’t hear a word against any of you.” She adds casually, making both her fathers’ look at her with the adoration they always have. “If you promise I can start going to the girl’s toilet from now on.”

Jimin laughs, stopping his tracks at their destination. “You haven’t grown old enough for that Aria.”

Before she grows upset Hoseok quickly crouches before the pouting girl. “Remember what we teach you Aria, always be happy with what you have. Shouldn’t you be happy you’re getting the chance to at least go today?”

She nods, losing her pout as he points. “The ladies one is right there. Congratulations on your first ever visit, princess.”

“Yay, finally!” She drops a kiss on Hoseok’s cheek, and runs in, pulling a laughing you along with her. She stops just before the mirrors, taking a good look at her new surroundings, pointing around.

“Oh, it’s not there in the girl’s washroom.”

“What’s not there?”

“The ones in which my dads pee.”

You nearly choke for some reason. “G-girls don’t need that to pee right Aria?”

She nods, pointing at the first cubicle right across her. “Can I go there to pee then?”

You nod too, looking at the bad slung on her shoulders. “Do you want me to help hold that?”

“Oh,” She puts her short arms behind and touches it as though she just realized she was carrying it. Without an explanation she bolts right out, ignoring your calls for her and returns in less than a minute, her backpack missing. “It’s okay, I gave it to daddy! Thank you!” She flashes a brilliant smile before waddling in and you smile, heart filled with warmth.

Maybe you should really reconsider the resignation letter you had submitted to your boss yesterday. You really liked your job and coming from a huge family of multiple siblings, you were really good at it as well. But it was getting exhausting. With the work force reducing over the last few months and no new people being recruited, the burden on your shoulder was getting heavier. Which would have been alright if you were compensated with an increased payment but despite hinting it to your boss over and over again, you didn’t get a single positive response. So, your only option was to quit. Love your job, not your company, right?

But you were so easily attached to children. You barely knew Aria for an hour now and you were already worrying about letting her go. How were you going to leave all those children behind and move on? Was this a sign that you should’ve just considered staying in your current job?

At the sounds of struggle, you turn around to see Aria on the tips of her toes, attempting to reach for the tap which was clearly too tall for her. Lifting her by the waist, you let her wash her hands as she diligently scrubs and scrubs and scrubs. When you let her go, she runs to the dryer and puts her hands underneath the heat, breaking out into a song.

“After my wash I try try try, to wipe myself till I’m dry dry dry…..” You frown amused as she trails off mid-way. “But I’m not wiping, am I? So should I sing, ‘to heat my hands till they’re dry dry dry.’?”

You laugh as she questions you with utmost seriousness before clearing your throat and mimicking her demeanor. “I guess you can.”

As she waves her hands at you, showing you that they had dried, you follow her out. “Who taught you that song?”

“Daddy.” She points at Hoseok who stands there with her little bag slung over one of his shoulders, scrolling through his phone, talking to Jimin. “He always wipes me down with this song after my bath!”

As she runs up to them, Jimin crosses his arms, “Did you wash your hands Aria?”

“Yes and dried it too!” She holds it up.

“Good.” Hoseok holds out her bag. “Here you go.”

She takes it and then turns to Jimin pouting, “Can you carry it for me dada?”

The older man shakes his head as Jimin immediately complies, taking it from her. “We are supposed to carry our own stuff remember? You spoil her Jimin.”

Jimin laughs away the other man’s worries, “It’s alright hyung.” He bends down, pointing at his cheek. “I deserve a kiss for this now.”

“Why?”

“You gave one to daddy earlier, but you forgot me.”

“I didn’t forget you.”

“How come you didn’t kiss me?” That’s where Aria get’s her pout from. From Park Jimin.

“Ok, I’ll kiss you now.”

“Then why are you walking back?”

“If you want a kiss you must come to me.”

“Aria, no, come back here.”

“Catch me first!” And she bolts, happily gotten rid of this additional weight.

“Ya! We’re not supposed to run around the hospital, Aria, wait!” Jimin runs after her.

“You’re just saying that to catch me, aren’t you dada?” As she sneers playfully, their voices begin drifting off, leaving you to walk alone with Hoseok. Again.

“She has different names for you all.” You notice verbally. “It’s endearing.”

“Yeah, she chose them herself.” He smiles, as though he is reminded of a very fond memory. “Dada was the first word she ever said when we had her and since she chose to call Jimin that, he’s very happy with his. Me on the other hand, not so much.”

“Why not?”

Hoseok hesitates but can’t avoid your raised eyebrows. “Let’s just say I can’t see the word daddy in any other context now.”

It takes you a good few seconds, but when you understand, you burst out laughing.

“Too much information?” He blushes, “Sometimes I forget how different life after becoming a parent is. After all, for the last three years, there has only been room for one woman in my life.” He smiles at the far away, tiny figures of Jimin who had finally caught Aria and managed to get his kiss. “And there never can be space for another one.”

“I’m afraid you have to make that space Hoseok.” He frowns at your statement, confused. “In case you forgot, you have another daughter now. And a son who need to fit in there.”

“Right.” He laughs. “I still can’t believe it…..I have no idea how we are going to handle this.”

“All of you will do great.” You assure him. “Look at Aria, she’s growing up into such a wonderful child and more than anything, she’s such a happy child. If you ask me, the twins are lucky to come into this household.”

“It’s different from Aria now,” He shakes his head. “We didn’t have her the moment she was born, like the twins. She was almost a year and a half by the time she came to us. Handling newborns is not exactly an experience we’ve had, we’re all clueless when it comes to what to do and what not to do. For the last few months it’s just been reading tons of parenting books and taking classes and having way too many arguments over all the decision making.” He ever so slightly rolls his eyes. “Seven very different men give seven different very different opinions on everything you see.”

“You’d think in a house with seven parents, it’s easier.”

“I wish,” He laughs beautifully. “Not gonna lie but it’s actually seven times the work. I think you can tell, sometimes it gets a little chaotic.”

“Sometimes?” You question amused. “It seems like there is never a quiet moment in the house.”

Hoseok opens the door to two loudly crying babies and six absolutely confused men.

Jin and Taehyung are desperately trying to calm the wailing babies in their arms. Aria had crawled into Yoongi’s lap, this time shutting her ears by herself, looking mortified. Jungkook and Jimin were scrounging around all the bags in the room.

“Where is the breast pump??”

“I don’t know hyung, I’m looking for it!”

“How do we even know they are hungry? What if they are sleepy?”

“Clearly they are not falling back asleep!”

“Kim Taehyung, who the fuc-fish, told you to wake them up?”

“I didn’t do a damn thing! I just wanted to see her dimples once more!”

“Then you should make her smile, why is she crying?”

“I don’t know, who even knows what babies think!”

“It’s Namjoon hyung’s fault, what’s so difficult about holdind a child?”

“I told you, I don’t know how to!”

“I found the bottles!”

“Where are the goddamn breast pumps!”

“Is it this?”

“No, you dimwit, that’s Jin hyung’s fake boobs!”

“There’s a sentence I never thought I would hear.”

“Shut up Min Yoongi and please handle our first born, she is petrified.”

“When will you all stop using vocabulary I cannot understand?”

“WHERE IS THE GODDAMN BREAST PUMP?”

Hoseok turns to you sighing, “You’re right, there’s never a quiet moment.”

“Hoseokie hyung!” Taehyung walks up to the two of you. “All of us tried every possible thing to calm them down, your turn now.”

“May I?” You offer and Taehyung looks around the room, gaining their approving nods before handing the child to you. Holding her carefully, you loosen the swaddle just a bit and walk around, patting her softly, as Taehyung tiredly sinks onto the couch beside Yoongi. As everyone grows progressively silent, it takes less than a few minutes for her to shut her small eyes and doze off into a deep slumber.

“He’s-“ Jin glances at the baby in his own hands and then shakes his head. “I mean she. She’s asleep?”

The rest of the men look amazed as you slowly place the baby in her cradle.

“I FOUND-“

“SHHHH.” Seven harsh whispers fill the room as Jimin’s mouth forms an O, understanding the newly unfolded turn of events.

As you place her down in the cradle and turn, Jin looks at you hopefully and you comply, taking the other child from him as well, letting him join the other boys in having their moment of rest. You look at the how the small baby in your arms lets out an adorable yawn, those dimples forming on his cheeks again.

They say everything in life happens for a reason. Meeting this family would’ve happened for a reason too right? Maybe it was for this moment. As you sing the lullaby all the kids in your daycare love to fall asleep to and watch the young boy’s eyes slowly flutter shut, you wonder if it was for this moment that you came across Aria and her fathers. To realize that maybe your job wasn’t so bad after all. Perhaps you should try to have a heart to heart talk with you boss again instead of quitting because yes, money was important but you don’t think there was anything else that could give you the satisfaction this job did.

You slowly place the baby into the other empty cradle, tucking him in and calming him down with a few more soft pats. When you let out a sigh of relief and turn around the sight makes you smile wider.

All seven of them had settled down in the couches and were fast asleep on each other’s shoulders, a sleeping Aria curled up on Yoongi’s lap, Jin’s fake boobs and the breast pump Jimin found also nestled between the men.

Slowly walking out, you quietly close the door behind you and stow the memories of the last few hours carefully in your head.

#btswriterscollective #btsguild #btsbookclub #bangtanarmynet #bts as dads #bangtan as dads #bts fluff #bangtan fluff #dad kim namjoon #dad kim seokjin #dad min yoongi #dad jung hoseok #dad park jimin #dad kim taehyung #dad jeon jungkook

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captainjimothycarter · 3 years

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So it's a silly image but I like to imagine Steve realizing that Peggy was responsible for what's now one of New Yorks first gay bars, but back until the 90s it was an underground secret no one knew about. "Everyone needs a place to be themselves."

i don’t think this was silly at all. I love the HC so much and I hope I did it honor. Thank you for sharing it with me.

“What’s this?” Steve asked the second Natasha flung an old file down on top of his sketchbook. His nose wrinkled from the dust, fingers brushing over the frayed edges. This thing had to be decades old, but the same could apparently be said for him in this new century.

It was an old, unmarked file with the edges starting to yellow and fray. He was afraid if he picked it up by the edges or flicked it open, the thing would crumble apart in his hands. There wasn’t one single, distinguishing mark on this thing. It was odd, considering most of the files that Natasha had tossed his way recently were marked with some sort of SHIELD symbol or even the SSR. This one was null.

“What do you think it is?” Natasha huffed, sitting herself down across the table from him. She nearly blended into the gray walls with her outfit, the only part of her that stood out, as always was the bright, red hair. Her voice was kept down low, not in a this is a shared secret sort of way, but more of we’re in public and in a library so don’t you dare we loud.

Even if this was SHIELD’S library.

“I don’t know. Looks like a file.”

Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes, dropping it down so it laid on top of the book he was reading. Natasha complained he spent far too much time in the library but given the circumstances of waking up in some new century where everyone you knew was dead (including the love of your life), then you sort of became a shell of yourself and hid away in Shield’s library. One, to read all you can about missed events, and two, to hide away and distract yourself with the knowledge of the fact that you had to play catch-up of the last 60-something years.

“Just open it, Steve. I think you’ll find the contents interesting.”

His mouth opened but what could he say? Argue? Insist? Nothing. There would be nothing that he could say that would get Natasha to take this file away because she knew she’d won. She had plopped it in front of him, an unmarked file, and sat down and at him expectedly. Curiosity would get the better of him, even if Steve didn’t want to admit it.

Natasha’s eyebrow rose in a manner that reminded Steve of his mother, that insistingly asked him if he was really done with telling the whole story. Instead, she silently waited, arms crossed over her chest.

Steve reserved his sigh for another day when she might care more about his wants and just did the quickest thing that would get her to leave him alone. He opened the damn file and immediately wished he didn’t.

Front face and center was the love of his life. Or well, there was a photo of her. Actually, there were several photos of her. Photos that he wasn’t even aware that existed. Peggy must’ve been shortly after the war, standing next to who could’ve only been Angie. She was smilingly brightly despite the shiner and he could hear her laughter echoing in his head, see the red lips despite the black and white photo. They stood with a group of people he didn’t recognize either. People that she looked friendly or even close to given how one guy was holding onto her waist.

Steve wasn’t jealous, not by much. Maybe a small flicker of jealousy flared to life inside of him, but it instantly cooled down when he made the connection. Or, one connection. Just hidden between them, he could see the guy holding her waist was also holding hands with a gentleman that was smiling brightly at the camera.

Oh.

It reminded him of the gay clubs he and Bucky would risk visiting when Steve was in the better days of his illnesses when there wasn’t a risk of them being seen and ratted out by neighbors or when he wouldn’t risk coughing up a blood-clotted lung.

Sadly, there was nothing on the other side of the photo. Not that Steve expected much, Peggy had her manner of keeping things organized, and being a spy meant you left little untraced. So why she allowed herself to be photographed was beyond him.

No answer came with the next photo.

Even if in this one, he could make out the bruise under the makeup she tried to hide it with. He could see her eyes crinkling in the corners when she laughed and smiled at the camera. Her red lips instantly claiming his attention. Despite the crowd of men around her, some familiar to the old photo and some new, Steve didn’t look at them. He looked at her eyes, the warm, honey-coated eyes that were a sign to him that screamed welcomed home.

Natasha wouldn’t give these to him to stare at the photos of his beloved, she wanted him to see something, but what?

There were still men and women around her, some dressed in stylish outfits, some with funky-looking ones. Angie was still beside her and despite the closeness of the pair, one man each hung from their shoulders. The same two men who held hands in the photo before. They stood in front of a brick wall, one that looked familiar to him, but why?

It was an itch in the back of his mind that he couldn’t quite scratch.

There were more people in the next photo, more than enough to sit two photos side by side so he could cram them together to see the full photo. Still, nothing. Still, Peggy and Angie and a group of people. Men holding hands, a little braver to be outside the frame of the two women. And still that same brick wall, but why was that brick wall familiar? Why did that little notch right above Angie’s left ear hit him like, well, a stack of bricks?

And why did the next few photos, each following more, and more people, until Peggy stood by herself in front of the building, silver in her hair, a wedding band on her fingers, but pride radiating in those fierce eyes, frustrate him more?

Steve just wanted to slam these photos down and take a walk, take a breather. He doubts Natasha did this to be cruel, to throw his reminder that he had loved and lost into his face. He did that enough to himself.

Sighing, Steve ran a hand over his hair and dropped his hand beside the last photo of Peggy. Older. Shortly before she died of old age. Silver in her hair, wrinkles on her face but a fierce, determined look.

It hit him then, why those bricks frustrated him so much, why that notch in the brick made his heart drop.

That very notch was made from Bucky using a slingshot to scare off the bees because they terrified his baby sister.

Those red bricks belonged to the apartments that he and Bucky grew up in.

There was more in the file but Steve didn’t want to look. He wanted to shut the damn thing and turn away. Instead, he swallowed and picked up a newspaper article from the 1990s. Peggy was on the cover, holding onto a cane, looking dead in the cameras as if she was daring a soul to challenge her.

Peggy Carter: Fighting the Unseen Fight is what the title read.

“It was a gay bar,” Natasha murmured, drawing Steve from his thoughts. She must’ve seen how his hand was shaking around the article. “Peggy Carter assisted in running a few underground gay bars in New York, up until the 1990s where...the one she is standing in front of is one of the first public gay bars to open.”

“I…” Steve swallowed, his throat feeling dry. It felt like he took in a mouthful of dust. “I don’t know...why?”

“I think you know why,” she mused, giving him an almost loving look. “Because she wanted to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. I wonder where she got that from?”

“She’s always had that,” Steve snorted, forcing himself to let go of the files. “Always fiercely protective of her loved ones. I had nothing to do with it.”

“Yes, but you stirred the fires inside of her. She might not have done it because of you, but she did it in your name.”

Tapping the newspaper, the woman sat back and Steve sighed as he looked back down at it. He forced himself to read the last few questions and answers.

Why did you do it?

“Everyone needs a place to be themselves. If no one else was to protect the innocent, then I had to step up to the plate to do so. I’m only lucky that some of my connections had agreed to protect us when things got bad. During the movement, we became safe houses and safe havens for those who needed protection. Not once do I regret my actions.”

Why here? Why open the first gay bar here?

“I…could think of no place better. Steven Grant Rogers was an inspiration to me, the driving force as to how I actually met my wife. During the war, we’ve seen men, great men being sent back home for being in love with people of the same sex. I’ve seen Captain Rogers step up to the plate to put a stop to it, to take falls for kissing men and women when all of us knew that he was far from the situation at the time given the nature of the job. I’ve seen him lie straight to people’s faces, no matter their position in the government or war to keep our men’s feet on the ground. I’ve seen him harbor his best friend’s secrets until the day they both died. I protected those men and women before I met Captain Rogers again and even after he died, but Steven...gave me the courage to do more.”

“I…” Steve, this time had to open and close his mouth, to force his brain to think. “I don’t know what to say..”

“Don’t then,” Natasha breathed, reaching over to take Steve’s hand and give a gentle squeeze. “She knew you were bisexual before you even knew.”

“I think that can be said about a lot of things.”

Natasha’s lips twitched into a small smile before it disappeared. “Would you like to see the bar? It’s still functional to this day. I think it’s written into some post SSR, pre-SHIELD clause that it has to be protected and kept open. It’s still in the same spot.”

Sitting back, the blonde let out a long sigh and picked up his jacket. He might as well, he was getting nothing else done today. Not when his mind was on Peggy, on everything she’s done. “Sure. Just...what is it called?”

Natasha paused, leading them out of the empty library. Her head craned over her shoulder to watch Steve carefully tuck the file inside of his coat and follow after her. “Captain’s Commandos.”

#Steggy #StevePeggy #Cartinelli [mentioned]#AngiePeggy #Steve Rogers NEEDS A HUG #Someone hug him [and me] stat #Nonny Prompt #I hope its good

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