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shititbe · 3 years

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Anyway, HSM2 is about internalized homophobia, and no one can tell me otherwise.

High School Musical is one of the most beloved franchises in the world. Teenagers all over the world grew up watching Troy and Gabriella harmonize together. Three movies, and nearly a decade later it’s still beloved by all. The first film easily forgotten in the ashes of the early 2000’s, the third film stuck in a purgatorial limbo of the rather unfortunate late 2000’s. The second film on the other hand sticks out between the ruckus.

The second High School Musical film takes place at Sharpay and Ryan’s family country club, during the summer between junior and senior year. The Wildcats are working summer jobs on the country club, often forced to the beck and call of Ryan and Sharpay themselves. Sharpay uses all her prestige to help Troy with college instead of starting at the bottom ( or rather, in the kitchen washing dishes) with his friends. In the time she’s helping Troy, she is also pushing her brother away; replacing him with Troy in their musical number for the talent show, and refusing to hang out with him in preference for Troy. Ryan becomes vengeful to his twin and starts hanging around the Wildcats in the kitchen. At first, he was met with some distasteful looks and words (most of which from Chad). With the help of Kelsey, and her neutral party, Ryan fits in smoothly with the other teenagers, eventually giving the WildCats all dance lessons.

Throughout the movie, the main conflict continues to be the internal conflict of Troy Bolton. He debates over and over again if he should go through with Sharpay’s shenanigans, or if he wants to “listen to my own heart.” This of course involves Gabriella, as she is Troy’s love interest. She’s not in the second film except for the beginning, then, where she leaves in the middle of the film - in order to create angst for Troy - then when she shows up again in the finally to sing/rejoin Troy.

The conflict in the second film is the combining of Troy’s two worlds. His first - his main world in the first movie, that hence became his secondary world - which is represented by Chad. Then his secondary world - which becomes his main world in this movie - which is represented by Ryan. Chad represents Troy’s masculinity, or his more idealized version of himself. Ryan represents Troy’s femininity or his current version of reality. These two worlds collide in the iconic song “I don’t dance”.

Since this movie - and hence this scene - came out in the early 2000’s, a lot of the innuendoes went over people's heads. Luckily, as the children who watched this movie grew older and more experienced, and the world became more accepting, we’re able to see this song for what it is.

Before getting into the lore and symbolism of the iconic “I Don’t Dance” sequence, context is needed. For most of human history, homosexuality was seen as a sin in all places except ancient times (see: Greece and Japan). The modern age is the most accepting on all fronts, such as sexual orientation, race, and religion. In the early 2000’s, High School Musical director Kenny Ortega was not publicialy out yet. He wouldn’t be till 2014.

Originally, while writing this, my first thought was that Kenny - the director - would be using Troy as a y/n type character to project his insecurities and struggles with masculinity, and what that means in defining his orientation and societal views that would be placed upon him. Then, it came to me later that this is in fact not the case, Troy (and Gabriella - who is in fact a y/n character for the female audience) is more of a character for a man of his time, confused with his own ideals of masculinity and the views of society because, “oh god, I can’t like theater/drama because only queer people and girls like it!” The second point is pushed further with the Troy and Sharpay sub-plot. Sharpay tries to further Troy’s career as a basketball player, though that’s not what he wants anymore, and Troy is no longer sure if that is what he ever wanted to begin with (enter the song “Bet on it” and the hilarious meme “no dad, I’m giving up on your dream”).

Keeping these things in mind - Kenney’s queerness, and Troy’s struggle to realize you can in fact sing and be a heterosexual, wow, revolutionary - it became clear to me that Kenney’s y/n characters were Ryan and Chad.

For those who aren’t into the arts, or find them too difficult after a singular attempt thinking they could write a world class novel on the first go, let me be the first to tell you every author has a y/n character. First, for those who don’t know what y/n stands for, it’s a popular fanfiction trope where a writer will write a story about a character dating, being friends, and so on, with the reader. The y/n stands for “your name” so anyone can be the main character in this story at any time. For a writer of mainstream fictional work, such as High School Musical, Game Of Thrones, Lord Of The Rings, Pride and Prejudice, Harry Potter, Hunger Games, even most comics. Now, most writers or directors aren’t going to be as obvious as having a character not named (or named y/n) or even named Jane (looking at you Jane Austin), the y/n character of many mainstream authors/directors/comic artists and so on is usually the character they feel or have given the most attributes similar to themselves.

It’s the same reason people have favourite characters. You see a fictional character and you either 1. Want to Bob the Builder them, 2. Some sort of weird sex thing, or 3. See more/the most of yourself in this character. Number three - thankfully - is usually the main reason. Some people just create their own favourite characters. An even easier way to think about this, is just projection baby, that’s psych 101.

Before I went off on a small tangent of fictional works and how human emotion plays into creating them (except anything Disney has made in the past decade, and no you can’t change my mind on that) I mentioned that Chad and Ryan are Kenney’s y/n characters. As a queer person myself, it’s clear for me to see the different struggles each of these characters face and how these reflect the queer experience.

So, let’s finally get into it.

Ryan, without it being explicitly said is clearly a character of what people in the early 2000s think a gay man is. He is effeminate, wearing bright coloured outfits with lots of accessories - namely his signature hats - he is also in the theater department doing musicals, and passive/subservient to any of his twin sisters' wills. Yes, now we know gay men aren’t just feminized men, but in the early 2000’s a gay man who can do "masculine" things like change their car oil, like sports, and so on, break the "effeminate" stereotype thus confused many cishet people. Sharpay is painted as more confident - or, for sake of comparability - masculine to her twin in the first movie, and most of the second movie. Making Ryan a bit of her dog who would do anything to get by - painting Ryan as lesser than human, once more, playing into the homophobia of the early 2000's.

Despite the clear stereotypes playing into his character, Ryan is consistently one of the most confident characters in the movie. The other, being his sister of course. This confidence in himself is what gravitates the other characters towards him, either by being intimidated (Troy, thinking Ryan and Gabriella were a thing), or admiration (Chad, by the end of “I don’t dance”).

Chad, on the other hand, is a whole different ball game. While he is confident in the first movie, and the first portion of the second movie, he begins to break more and more when Ryan becomes a more integral part of the Wildcat group. To keep in mind, Chad is also the most vocal about his distaste for Troy’s artistic past-time. When the other Wildcats join Ryan and begin learning how to dance for the talent show at the end of the movie, Chad is also the most vocal about his distaste. The baseball game where “I don’t dance” takes place, is the climax of Chad’s arc and his turn towards acceptance to Ryan/Troy’s hobbies.

Of course, there is more to the “I don’t dance” sequence than just Chad’s realization - the exact one Troy comes to terms with in the second movie as well - of “oh my god I don’t have to be gay to enjoy stereotypical ‘feminine’ things.” That is the main part of the song though, that and all the sexual tension.

Going back to what I’ve stated previously, Chad and Ryan are Kenney’s projection or y/n characters. Let me do a small recap before we get into the nitty gritty of the famous “I don’t dance” video.

Thinking back to the first few paragraphs, I stated that Kenney wasn’t publicly out till 2014, about 7 years after the second movie came out. This could be due to the fact that a) it’s the early 2000’s and everyones still very homophobic, or b) self-doubt that comes with the queer experience. The most likely reason is a mixture of both of these. Because of this, Ryan is the more self-assured version, or idealized version of Kenney that he wants to be. Ryan is confident, never being swayed about his lifestyle (could be read as: sexuality) even though Chad - and most of the wildcats in the first movie - put him through relentless “teasing” and humiliation. He’s confident, almost to a fault, he’s sure of himself, and yet still reaches out a hand to Chad and the other wildcats to show them that they’re just being, kinda dick-ish.

Every queer person wants to be Ryan. Despite his heavily stereotyped characterization, I personally believe he is one of the stronger written characters in the movies, mainly due to Kenney putting the time in to really make Ryan feel like a real person, to give himself some sort of relief of his own anxieties, a chance to see the world through a person who truly has no fear. Unlike Kenney himself.

This is where Chad comes in.

Chad is seen as “confident” in the first movie, the second Troy “leaves” basketball though, all that confidence comes crashing down. His best friend has another hobby - one he thinks is “not right” (it’s okay, you can say gay), - they wont be spending all their time together (first, can you say dependent relationship much, yikes).Chad’s defining characteristic up until their fight that instigate act three of the second movie, is being Troy’s best friend. I’m going to take this as if this were truly the case, and not a decently written character arch. Some people base themselves around their friends and their whole identity on being a friend, that they lose sight of themselves, this mainly in high school of course, when your whole world is really nothing but school, and friends. Newly developed independence is there, but that’s scary, so instead of worrying about the future, cling to something that’s reliable. I’ve seen this happen, mainly at the end of high school, when the “real world” is coming a bit too close for comfort. This could generally be the case if a person is lonely, but for timeline sake I’m going to say Chad has got some anxiety about graduating (considering the second movie takes place the summer of junior year).

His lashing out at Troy’s hobbies and at Troy’s neglectful friendship, make more sense with that background, and are seen more in the second movie where Troy begins spending all his spare time with Sharpay (trying to collect that BAG!). Chad - and others (read: father) - insists that music is not a feasible career option, and Troy should just stick with basketball (like...that is a feasible career option). The tension Chad creates in the studio only grows when the other wildcats decide to take up Ryan’s offer for dance lessons and move from the kitchen, to helping out with the talent show. (Next essay idea: how high school musical two was really about class all along, cause Jesus).

Chad is the less obvious option for a y/n character. Though again, the 2000’s were not as cool people like to pretend they are. Chad - for Kenney - represents what he actually feels, this fear of being rejected for how he is and how he chooses to live his life/lifestyle, so he sticks to something reliable. Ryan is new, and exciting, and confident in a way that Kenney/Chad wish they could be, but in order for that to happen they need to understand that maybe people are complex creatures, and can enjoy multiple hobbies (aka: the same lesson Troy is teaching the viewers, but far less boring). But, for Kenney/Chad facing that thought and that realization is scary, and thus, they lash out at anyone (read this paragraph as: Chad mad jealous of Ryan cause Ryan bomb as fuck).

All this build up, finally comes ahead in the employee baseball match

******

The baseball game is probably the most memorable scene in the whole High School Musical franchise (minus Sharpay’s “Fabulous” solo, but that’s also from the same movie, and it’s kinda rude to give what’s already the best more points); the tension in the scene, and what it implies makes it the best written segment of all three movies, let alone the most entertaining.

Some things to keep in mind from our background information: Chad is missing his bestie and struggling with what being “masculine” really means for him and others. Ryan of course makes this confusing, because the traditional method is being thrown out the window. In short, Chad has internalized homophobia, and Ryan being open - or as open as Disney would let him - is causing all sorts of problems.

Despite the song, “I don’t dance” being logged into our collective skulls for all eternity (you’re probably humming it right now, sorry about that), the very brief interaction of Ryan and Chad before the game is lost on the public consciousness. The two are clearly comfortable with each other, though the distaste seems to be on Chad’s side more than Ryans. So, the two start playfully jabbing at each other before deciding to do a bat toss to see who will be in the outfield first.

Before they begin the bat toss, Ryan says “You don’t think dancing takes some game?” Chad then very clearly checks him out, doing a simple but effective ‘drag-your-eyes-over-them-top-to-bottom-then-smile’ and says “you got game?” (Seen in gif below)

I don’t know how much you know about sex metaphors and how many of those baseball has in it (seriously though, it’s a lot), but with the bat toss, Ryan’s hand ended up on top, and Chad’s under Ryan’s. Let’s ignore this for now, it’ll be implied again later. Ryan’s team starts out in the outfield because he won the bat toss, and hence, the song officially starts.

The first lyrics (ignoring the chores of “hey batter batter, hey batter batter, swing”) is

I'll show you that it's one and the same

Baseball, dancing, same game

It's easy

Step up to the place, start swingin

This part is sung by Ryan, who is taunting Chad out in the outfield. Before the game, as stated, Chad was taunting Ryan about his lack of “game” (both sexual and not sexual metaphor are implied), and now, Ryan has turned those tables around. Baseball - is seen as more masculine than dancing, not as masculine as football or basketball, but it’s up there. Chad is someone who cares about his masculinity, enough to the point that Ryan playing baseball makes him loose his mind. Makes him question his own personal definition of masculinity, if you will.

Ryan says, “baseball, dancing, same game,” impyling that, to him, baseball and dancing are one and the same. That is baffling to Chad, cause well, how can something meant for girls even be close to something meant for boys.

Chad comes back with:

I wanna play ball now, and that's all

This is what I do

It ain't no dance that you can show me, yeah

This only proves my previous point.

I had a conversation with myself about this, and I’ve decided not to include it in this essay, but a second essay may or may not be possible. Basically the premise - the dancing/”musical” moments of High School Musical are conjured up images by those meant to see them (ie: like a visual hallucination, but, not really) but this scene kinda poo-poos that idea.

Now, the thing I am talking about is Ryan and Chad’s peacocking at each other during the time they sing these lyrics. The movements they’re making could be mistaken for dancing - as we automatically assume it is because of the title and themes of the movie - or it could be them just getting ready for the baseball game. Ryan swings his leg over the pitcher's mound, tossing the ball up and down into his glove, making wavy hand gestures, etc. Chad brushes off his gloves, swings his legs, hits the bat on each foot, and so on.

For the peacocking, Chad makes a mock of the ballerina foot stance before strutting over to the home plate. Ryan laughs at this, which earns quite the smirk from Chad himself (see gif below).

This is when it becomes a conversation.

You'll never know - R

Oh I know - Ch

If you never try - R

There's just one little thing - Ch

That stops me every time, yeah - Ch

Come on - Ch

When Chad says “Come on” it’s when Ryan throws the baseball at him, starting the game, and giving Chad’s team their first strike of the game (get it, it’s funny). Now, obviously we need to talk about the “there’s just one little thing that stops me every time.” As a queer person, I assure you, two of the things that kept me from living my Best Life were 1) my own ignorance of what asexuality was and 2) the fear that everyone I love would hate me for who I am, and what I have no control over.

Sorry to get deep like that on main, but, can any other queer person say different? Obviously, your first point may differ, but my point still stands. In the video/scene there is a very short moment (to which I have condensed into a gif for you all, you’re welcome, and I’m sorry about the quality in advance), of the camera moving over to Chad’s team (or his friends in this case since it’s an employee baseball game) as he says this line (gif below).

I will not be explaining the use of subtly in this essay, but I’m sure you get the metaphor Kenney is trying to use. If not, let me spell it out for you in very simple words. This song has a lot of sexual innuendos (as mentioned pervious with the baseball bat scene and still, more to come), with that in mind, and clearly queer themes at play (as mentioned before, again), this scene only shows Chad isn’t as straight as he leads on. His fear/phobia of Ryan/the arts come from a much deeper place.

In shorter, and much simpler terms: Chad queer.

But, let’s get back to the boy's conversation.

I don't dance - Ch

I know you can - R

Not a chance, no - Ch

If I could do this, well, you could do that - R

Translation: “If I can do this weird, sweaty, dirty, Male thing without blowing a fuse, you can and should be able to dance just fine.”

But I don't dance - Ch

Hit it out of the park - Both

I don't dance - Ch

I say you can - R

There's not a chance, oh - Ch

Slide home, you score, swingin on the dance floor - Both

I don't dance, no - Ch (This is just the chores, you’ll see it multiple times throughout the essay, I just figured if the song is going to be in your head, go all the way right).

Two-steppin, now you're up to bat - R

Bases loaded, do your dance - R

Here we are with the baseball metaphors you’ve all been waiting for ladies and gentlemen. Girls, gays, and non-binary pals. For those who have somehow managed a sheltered existence with access to the internet, lemme help you. Ryan is talking about “loaded bases” both in the context of the game (where it shows each base has one person from Chad’s team on them) and in the term of sex. While you go out there dating - while it’s mostly douche bags and people using it ironically - your nosey friends may ask you how far you got.

“First, second, or third base?” They may ask. Or something like, “oh wow, did you get to home plate/base?” These are simply the rankings of the stages of a sexual relationship. First - kissing, sometimes just handholding, Second - making out, some light groping, Third - full on groping, no clothes come off, but it gets close. While each person has different boundaries, these are the general accepted definitions for the bases.

Home base is obviously full blown sexual intercourse. Since Chad has his “bases loaded” it means he’s done all these things before, just never gone completely to sexual intercourse with someone - in the terms of the song and the history we’ve already established, it’s most likely a male character. This is only proven by Chad’s uncomfortable nature towards Ryan (internalized Homophobia, thank you, returning theme) but his easy, and cocky personality towards everyone else. “bUt thAt DoEsnT pRovE” hush, that’s the final cherry on top. Remember this conversation.

It's easy - R

Again. Previous points have been made.

Take your best shot, just hit it - Ch

I've got what it takes, playin my game - Ch

So you better spin that pitch - Ch

You're gonna throw me, yeah - Ch

I'll show you how I swing - Ch

Ah, the famous “I’ll show you how i swing” a very strong baseball metaphor for everyone. Keeps queer people from defining themselves to dangerous (straight) people, and, well, that’s it actually. This term is mostly used by bi/pan people, though if you want to stay in the closet or are in a dangerous place, it is also used to subtly tell other queer people you are in fact, not straight. My favourite is when this term came into play when President Buchanan got elected in 1856 (for those that don’t know, he’s the first and only gay president).

You'll never know - R

Oh I know - Ch

If you never try - R

There's just one little thing - Ch

That stops me every time, yeah - Ch

This is again, the same lyric as before it doesn’t pan, and the tone is much different. The camera stays on Chad as he says this line, meaning he’s reflecting, he is now his own problem, the person that is keeping him back. His friends are not on his mind anymore, which is good, Ryan’s Gay Propaganda has been working.

Come on - Ch

I don't dance - Ch

I know you can - R

Not a chance, no, no - Ch

If I could do this, well, you could do that - R

But I don't dance - Ch

Hit it out of the park - R

I don't dance - Ch

I say you can - R

There's not a chance, oh no - Ch

Slide home, you score, swingin on the dance floor - Both

I don't dance, no - Ch

Lean back, tuck it in, take a chance - R

Swing it out, spin around, do the dance - R

I wanna play ball, not dance hall - Ch

I'm makin a triple, not a curtain cal - Chl

I can prove it to you til you know it's true - R

'Cause I can swing it, I can bring it to the diamond too - R

You're talkin a lot, show me what you got - Ch

Again, like the beginning of this song, this is a heavy base for flirting and sexual tension, which this song is drowning in.

Stop swinging - both

Hey - both

This is the part where they all start a flash mob in the middle of the baseball diamond. Again, alluding to the conversation I had to myself earlier, this only proves my own theory as no one takes notice of this. But, that’s not this essay, this is where I mention how close Chad and Ryan are at the end of the group dance.

Come on, swing it like this - both

Oh, swing - both

Jitterbug, just like that - both

That's what I mean, that's how you swing - both

You make a good pitch but I don't believe - both

Here is yet another (and the final) sexual innuendo. This is actually a rather quick one. Pitching in queer culture is considered the person who tops (because queer people even had to straight-ify their sex lives to “top” and “bottom”), this is the person who is giving, if you know what I’m saying.

I say you can - R

I know I can't - Ch

I don't dance - Ch

You can do it - R

I don't dance, no - Ch

Here is where that mosh pit ends, and how they get a little too close to comfort.

Nothing to it, atta boy, atta boy, yeah - both

The rest of this song is simply a mash-up of the baseball game being finished, and this lovely gem.

Now, clearly, Chad’s self conscious nature towards his sexuality is gone, he’s sitting close - if not squishing - Ryan, and talking to him like they’ve been friends forever. Take note of the change of close, most likely due to all the tension at the end of the song, and maybe a little of Chad’s own natural human curiosity built in. Now, I leave you with this note:

If there is anything that confirms all this more, its Chad’s girlfriend wearing the pride colours.

Also note: this could also be seen as a friend helping his bro discover his sexuality and fighting internalized homophobia, but, that’s ignoring the sexual tension, so go off I guess.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

Watch the full thing here

#high school musical 2 #ryan and chad #do they have a ship name?#troy bolton #high school musical #the original not the remake or whatever the kids have now #ryan evans #chad danforth #Sharpay evans #troy x gabriella #ryan/chad #that baseball scene #yall know what i'm talking about #i don't dance #the gayest scene ever #and gayest song #Anyways: the series #should I write that second essay?#thanks for coming to my ted talk

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seb-writess · 2 years

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Smells Like Home

Pairings: Simon/Baz (Carry On)

Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings with Porn, Post-AWTWB

Summary: Baz almost gets hit on, Simon breaks a promise (but so does Baz, so now they're even), and after being away from each other, it's nice to find the time to celebrate their anniversary.

Status: Complete (3,200 words)

Preview:

“So, don’t be mad,” Simon starts, which is always a good sign. I frown. “I said don’t be mad!”

I tap my foot impatiently. We’re sitting so close together that the action causes my knee to knock against his.

He gives me a smile. Despite my trepidation, it still causes my heart to beat erratically in my chest. He releases our fingers to reach into his jacket pocket and brings out a small box (it’s too big to be a ring, but that doesn’t stop my thoughts from going there anyway) wrapped in silver paper, tied with a gold ribbon.

“I know we said we weren’t doing gifts, but I figured I could make an exception seeing as I’ve been away for so long and I wanted to make it up to you.”

I don’t start to cry. I don’t. I’m sitting under a draft, it causes me to sniff. That’s all.

READ UNCER THE CUT

MIRIAM

He’s so gorgeous I think I could just about die, and of course I’m stuck in this god-awful button down and apron. The one night I see a guy I might actually want to go for, and I’m bloody working. It could be worse; I could be working at McDonald’s with all the oil and sweaty atmosphere making my hair a frizzy mess. This restaurant is nice, a solid 4 stars, warmly lit with a pianist on a platform in the corner.

He fits right in. He wouldn’t be caught dead at McDonald’s. You see these kinds of men in magazines, boy bands, action movies. Pale skin, smooth jaw, unbelievably bright eyes you’re so certain are coloured contacts, fine, black hair, smooth and perfectly styled. He’s wearing a suit, for God’s sake, a floral printed pocket square accentuating the dark grey of his jacket.

All my friends have caught me stealing glances at him as I rush between tables. He’s not even in my section, but Carrie was gracious enough to let me serve his table so I can get the chance to talk to him. I just have to work up the courage. He only just sat down, crossed his legs and pulled out his phone. Waiting for service.

Waiting for me.

All my fellow waiters and waitresses give me the once over, telling me I look as cute as I’m gonna get in the uniform, but assure me it’s my charisma and sharp wit that will win him over. They tell me to be friendly but sly, a little reserved, to leave room for mystery. Then at the end of the night, when he’s perfectly infatuated with me, I’ll slip him his bill, my number printed in cute writing on the top.

I take a deep breath, brush my fingers through my bangs one last time, and begin to stride across the room towards him.

And of course, almost collide with another guest.

“I’m so sorry!” I say. The gentleman, also in a suit, also kind of cute (but not as much my type as the other one), turns and smiles at me, silently telling me it’s okay. At least he’s nicer than some of the other guests we have to serve.

He continues the way I’m headed. I give him a head start, so as not to appear like I’m following him, then continue through the restaurant.

But he never turns, never sits down at another table, walks the exact same path I was meant to. He goes straight for the table I’m going towards, with the handsome man and his nice hair and his prim suit. My courage wavers. I don’t know if I have the courage to hit on him in front of his friend!

No, I do! I must!

I steal myself again. I watch as the handsome man sees his friend, a smile crossing his gorgeous features. He puts his phone away. His friend sits down beside him.

And they kiss.

It’s not a friendly peck on the cheek or a kiss in the air toward the general direction of each other. I could probably write them up for public indecency the way they’re going at it. And handsome man (of course he’s gay)(with my luck, why wouldn’t he be) is more than into it, twisting fingers around the tie of the other as if to pull him impossibly closer, leaning so far into it they’re in danger of tipping off their chairs.

Mortified, I walk right past their table, never looking up at them again.

I give Carrie her table back.

BAZ

Crowley, Simon gives good tongue.

Nimble and quick and just a little wet so it’s sexy, but not too wet that it’s gross. Bastard probably knows too, because I’m failing to kiss the smirk off his stupidly handsome face. He slicked his hair back tonight. It’s looks so fucking good on him, I don’t want to mess it up just yet. But I will. I don’t like desserts, so I’ll save it as my treat for later.

Simon pulls back just a little, enough to let any unfortunate bystanders know that yes, we’re done. We won’t be like this all night. At least not any more where they can see.

But Simon’s been away helping his mother’s uncle’s friend’s ferret (no, I’m not kidding), and who knew a ferret could be sick for an entire two weeks. I was about to go up there and put it out of its misery myself if I didn’t get my boyfriend back. Simon flew in (literally, flew in) just so we could be together tonight.

“Happy anniversary,” he says hotly against my lips. It causes me to gnaw on my bottom lip, just slightly, just long enough to try and bite back the blush he still gives me.

Bastard.

I love him.

I’ll kill him myself for it.

“How’s the rat?“ I ask. I don’t actually give a damn. I just want him to keep talking.

He pushes another kiss to my lips. Not as heated, but definitely warm.

“The ferret isn’t doing any better, but Ruth says I don’t have to go back if I don’t want to. Insisted, actually. I think even she’s getting sick of waiting around for it to die.”

“My promise from last time still stands.” Though I suppose it can die as slow as it wants if Simon isn’t leaving London again. Happy days.

Happy Baz.

“So romantic,” he teases. I scoff. He knows exactly who I’d kill for him, exactly what I’d kill for him. Ferrets are the bare minimum.

A waitress comes around to take our order. She gives us both wary look as she does, (probably from our display before) but dutifully writes down my order of wine and steak. I hunted this morning, so I wouldn’t have to go tonight, but I haven’t eaten. I’m famished.

Simon appears to be too, because he adds on several appetisers.

She leaves, and our fingers immediately find each other’s. He kisses my knuckles, staring at me. My hunger must be causing my vision to swim, because the glow of the chandelier is dancing off Simon’s skin and making his blue eyes sparkle at me.

“So, don’t be mad,” he starts, which is always a good sign. I frown. “I said don’t be mad!”

I tap my foot impatiently. We’re sitting so close together that the action causes my knee to knock against his.

“I know we said we weren’t doing gifts, but I figured I could make an exception seeing as I’ve been away for so long and I wanted to make it up to you.”

I don’t start to cry. I don’t. I’m sitting under a draft, it causes me to sniff. That’s all.

I take a deep breath, like I’m practicing patience with him.

“I can’t be mad at you,” I finally tell him. I pull out my own small box (also not a ring, but I definitely thought about it) and place it beside his. “I thought maybe you’d been through enough this week, and I wanted to cheer you up.”

He grins, all toothy and crinkly eyed and adorable.

“I fucking love you.”

Sorry people, I lied, we are making out again.

It’s shorter lived this time, but Simon doesn’t straighten his collar from when I clutched it in my fingers and almost ripped the whole shirt off of him. We thank the waitress who brings us our wine (not looking us in the eye as she does, I don’t blame her) and I pour it carefully into our glasses. I raise my glass to him. The light catches the bubbles of the champagne, and although it’s lovely, nothing will be as lovely as how the light catches the way Simon is looking at me now. Like I’m important. Like he can’t look away. Like he doesn’t want to.

Like he loves me.

“To us, surviving another year. Somehow.”

He laughs. “To somehow.”

Our glasses chime as we cheer. The bubbles are harsh on my tongue but the fruity flavour is sweet. It’s fine. It’ll make Simon’s mouth taste better than fine, and that’s mostly the reason I chose this particular label. Simon will drink anything I put in front of him, and I’ve spent the year cultivating a particular taste I like to lick out of his mouth.

Simon asks about my family. About the Watford goats. About my job. About Penny and Shep.

“Just a question, but how in the hell did you squirrel out of seeing her tonight? She’s missed you almost as much as I have.”

Almost. She never could miss him as much as I have.

“Uh. I lied to her,” he tells me, his mischievous smile that usually comes with such words turning sheepish. “I told her I can’t come back until tomorrow night. I knew she’d never let me see you first otherwise, even if it is our anniversary.”

I fight the urge to clutch my chest.

Simon loves Penny; I once thought their relationship bordered on the horribly co-depedant side, until I started dating Simon and realised it’s very easy to be dependant on Simon. So that he would lie to her for my sake? For our sake?

Can I marry him yet?

SIMON

Baz got me a new watch. It’s so gorgeous. Kind of chunky, very shiny, with a metallic blue interface. The hands are so detailed I don’t see how anything other than a leprechaun could have weaved them. It tells the date too. He says it’s quartz, and Swiss (I don’t know why that matters but I smile at him like I do). Knowing Baz and his taste, it’s probably expensive. Stupidly so. I put it on immediately. It’s already set to the correct date and time. He says it brings out my eyes, which is why he chose that colour.

I lean in and kiss him with an open mouth. His tongue meets mine immediately. I can’t count the amount of times we’ve made out openly tonight. Normally this kind of behaviour kind of scares me. Still.

I know, I know.

But something about Baz always feels ephemeral, temporary, like smoke on the wind. Like if I don’t keep my eye on him, he’ll disappear in a haze and I’ll have nothing but empty space to look at instead of his beautiful face.

This is why anniversaries are so important to us, because every anniversary has felt like our last. Our first one, I was in no state of mind to celebrate or recognise (or remember). Our second, I was in even less of a state than that. I’d disappeared so far into myself I can’t believe Baz was still there when I started being able to crawl out. Then there was our break up. It lasted less than twenty-four hours, and Baz insists it barely counts, so no we don’t have to count it as our new anniversary date. He says he likes our original date. I think he just likes using it as an excuse to buy me more presents, seeing as it’s so close to Christmas.

I still have bad days. I still have worse days. So does he. And sometimes our patience runs out for them.

It’s the knowing.

That on the other side, when I feel kind-of-sort-of-maybe okay again, I know Baz will be there waiting for me with whatever I need. I’m the same for him. Just a constant.

And yet it still feels like if I blink, if I stop trying for even a moment, he’ll leave.

I’ve spoken to my therapist about it. I’ve spoken to Penny about it. I’ve spoken to Baz about it.

I think the only comfort I could find is knowing Baz feels the same. That as hard a factor as we are in each other’s lives, we’re also just as fragile and scared. It’s a sick sort of comfort.

“Open yours!” I insist, pushing his own box toward him.

He smiles, carefully pulling at the ribbon and ripping the paper. Admittedly, the box is bigger than is necessary, but any smaller and I was afraid I would give Baz ideas.

Like.

Ring ideas.

And look, I’ve definitely thought about it. I’ve also had ring ideas. I just don’t know when I could ever share those ideas with him. I feel like I’m growing closer everyday.

Wait for me, Baz. Wait for me just a little longer.

“Snow. Don’t tell me you picked these out yourself.”

There’s no trace of disdain in his voice, just pure adoration as he gazes at the cufflinks. They’re white gold and in the shape of bat wings. Or, if he prefers to think of it, dragon wings.

A little nod to him. A little nod to me.

“I would have preferred giving you silver, but I felt like that would be a truly terrible idea.”

Baz still smiles at me. I help him fasten them in place, even though he doesn’t need my help. Just another excuse to touch him. To graze my fingers ever so lightly over his pulse. To feel the slight shiver that ripples through him at the gentle movements.

He’s still looking at me. Still smiling.

We order another bottle of wine and a slice of cake. Baz feeds it to me. Kind of gross, kind of hot. We’re giggling like school children as we reach the bottom of the second bottle, our fingers tightly locked together. My free hand on the inside of his thigh, tracing the seam of his pants.

Finally, the waitress brings us our bill. Baz pays in a flash and drags me out of the restaurant in record time. We’re in a cab even faster.

Home smells so good. I love being with Ruth (I never quite got up the courage to call her nan) and meeting my other family. It feels wild to even have a family to meet. But home is where Baz is, and Baz smells really good.

I’ve got him pressed up against our front door. He’s gasping into my mouth. I can finally let my wings out and they beat behind me as I stretch them, all the while shoving my knee between Baz’s legs and crawling closer. Closer.

Never close enough.

BAZ

Simon Snow has his head between my thighs.

I’m twisted around our pillows, face pressed into the clean linens, trying not to burn up from the inside out as Simon swallows around me. I’m all the way down his throat too. Circe, I could come at literally any time. He lubed up his fingers and started stretching me simultaneously, the whole time touching me like I’m breakable.

I’m not, far from it, but I bend to him so fucking fast when he touches me like that.

Simon presses his tongue to the underside of my cock and I groan, loudly and unabashedly. He bobs his head, and my hips twitch.

His hair is beautifully messy. Still a little sticky from the gel, so the strands clump together over his forehead. He shoved it out of the way as he went down on me, so now it’s pushed back but sticking up in tufts.

It’s so hot. He’s so hot. So is his mouth.

“Crowley, Snow, I’m gonna come so hard!” I say, moaning again, not even ashamed it’s been like two minutes. Two weeks is so long without him and this is like slipping into a second skin you’ve never known was yours. He bobs his head faster. I cry out, bucking my hips. His fingers dig deeper, curl against my walls, and I see white spots dance in my sight.

I don’t stop calling his name as he swallows everything, the finger nails of his free hand raking down my thighs.

Yes, yes, yes!

Mark me as yours, Simon Snow.

When I’ve given all I’ve got and twitching from over sensitivity, breathing hard into the pillow I’m still pressed into, I feel him slide up the bed to settle behind me. He wraps his arms around me, hands on my chest. His lips are hot against the back of my neck.

I twist in his hold, and he slots his lips against mine, where they belong. His hard-on is grinding between my thighs, slipping from the lube spread there. I close my thighs around it and he hisses, clutching me tighter to him.

“What do you want?” I ask, because at this moment I’d give him anything universally possible to be given.

He takes a moment to answer. Our lips keep finding each other. My neck is going to be so sore tomorrow, but I can barely think about that right now. I’m so drunk and it has nothing to do with the champagne we drank at dinner.

Simon presses his lips to my hair and finally answers.

“You. I’ve always only ever wanted you.”

Crowley, he knows how to twist me to his will. The words that will have me hard again in seconds, that will have me reaching even father back and clawing at him.

“Baby, I’ve always been yours,” I promise. “I’ve never not been yours.”

I remember the crucible. That pivotal moment first year that brought us together, so we could never let each other go.

Simon wines and turns me so I’m on my back, slipping inside me in one smooth motion. His lips come down to meet my chest as it arches off the bed. His tongue plays with every ridge of muscle he can find. I’m gasping. My heels digging into his back.

He kisses each of my closed eyelids, and I refuse to let myself cry at how loved he makes me feel.

—-

I’m awakened because Simon’s tail is batting around under the covers. His wings are fluttering. It means he’s awake, but he still feels still behind me, so he doesn’t want to admit he’s awake. That’s fine with me. I’m too busy trying to stuff my heart back into my chest.

I love him so much, and this isn’t the first time it’s threatened to kill me from just lying here and letting myself feel it, but I squeeze his hand where our fingers are looped together, and he squeezes back, so it’s okay if I fall apart.

It’s our left hands that are intertwined, and for a brief moment, I let myself imagine glittering, silver bands wrapped around our fingers, reflecting the morning light, and telling me Simon is mine in one more way.

Another time.

I promise.

#snowbaz #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch #carry on #carry on series #carry on fanfiction

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trini-trin-trin · 3 years

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Sharing this from a FB group that I am in. I was very moved by the article and felt affinity with the experiences shared. A really sweet read.

Here is the article if you don't want to click on the link (I know it is a little long, but well worth your time to read!):

The letter I received ten years ago was unsigned and bore no return address. Clearly its author did not expect, much less want, a reply. A message in a bottle, from no one to no one, that letter still remains the most bizarre form of communication. It asks nothing but to be read, promises nothing but to share a few facts and feelings, and, seeing that it must have been dashed off on a lined yellow sheet that seemed hastily torn out of a pad of paper, the author would not be surprised if, after skimming through it, the recipient decided to crumple and lob it into the closest dust bin.

The letter is one page long. One page is enough. The handwriting is uneven, perhaps because the author had lost the habit of writing in longhand and preferred the keyboard. But his grammar is perfect. The man knew what he was doing. I assume he was writing the note by hand because he didn’t want traces of it on his laptop, or because he knew he was never going to send it as an email and risk a reply. Now that I think of it, he probably didn’t care if it even reached its recipient, a local Bay Area reporter who had mentioned my novel about two young men who fall in love one summer in Italy in the mid-1980s. The reporter eventually forwarded it to me, minus its envelope with the postmark. It took no time to see that all the author of the letter was looking for was a chance to blurt out the words he couldn’t dare breathe elsewhere.

My book had spoken to him. His letter spoke to me.

So here it is: dated April 16, 2008.

I came upon Mr. Aciman’s book while on a business trip back East. Not the type of book I am normally able to read, so I bought a copy for the flight home. I think I’m glad I did.

You see, I was Elio. I was 18 and my Oliver was 22. Though the time and place were different, the feelings were remarkably the same. From believing that you are the only person who has these feelings, to the whole “he loves me – he loves me not” scenario, Mr. Aciman got it right. I was particularly impressed with the attention he gave to the morning after Elio’s and Oliver’s first encounter. The guilt, the loathing, the fear. I felt it too much. I had to put the book down for a while.

But in the end I was able to finish the book before we landed at SFO. Which was good, because I couldn’t take the book home. Unlike Elio it was I who married and had children. My Oliver died from AIDS in 1995. I’m still living a parallel life. My name is not important. His name was Dwight.

Instead, I kept the letter. I kept it for ten years.

What moved me was not just its sobering matter-of-factness or its hint of downplayed sorrow, but the associations it provoked in my mind. It reminded me of those short, clipped messages to loved ones, written by people about to be shipped off to the death camps who knew they’d never be heard from again. There is a chilling immediacy about their hurriedly scribbled notes that say everything there is to say in the fewest possible words — there wasn’t enough time for more, no smarmy pieties, no hand-wringing, no treacly hugs and kisses before the tragic end. It also made me think of the moving phone messages left by those who finally realized they were not going to make it out alive from the Twin Towers and that only their family’s answering machine was going to take their call.

“My name is not important,” he writes, almost as an apology for remaining anonymous; yet the author drops quite a number of hints about himself — hints he likely knows will stir his reader’s wistful curiosity to know what made him write the letter in the first place, what he hoped to accomplish, and if writing did indeed help. The letter itself allows us to see that he travels for business. We also sense that he probably lives in the Bay Area and that he travels not infrequently to the East Coast, since, as he writes, he is “back” in the East. And we know one thing more: that he simply needed to come out and tell someone that a man called Dwight had been his lover when the two were young. The rest is a cloud. We’ll never know more. Writing has served its purpose. We write, it seems, to reach out to others. Whether we know them or not doesn’t matter. We write to put out into the real world something extremely private within us, to make real what often feels unreal and ever so elusive about ourselves. We write to give a shape to what would otherwise remain amorphous. This is as true about authors as about those who want to correspond with them. Over the years, many have written to me either after reading or seeing Call Me by Your Name. Some tried to meet me; others confided things they’d never told anyone; and some even managed to call me at the office and, on speaking about my novel, would eventually apologize before bursting out crying. Some were in jail; some were barely adolescents, others old enough to look back at loves seven decades past; and some were priests locked in silence and secrecy. Many were closeted, others totally out; some were widows who felt a resurgence of hope if only by reading about the loves of two young men called Elio and Oliver in Italy; some were very young girls eager to meet their long-awaited Oliver; and some recalled former gay lovers whom they’d occasionally bump into years later but who’d never acknowledge what they’d once shared and done together when both were schoolmates and neither was married. All were keenly aware of living a parallel life. In that parallel life things are as they perhaps should be. Elio and Oliver still live together. And no one has secrets there.

Unlike Dwight’s lover, everyone who took the time to write to me did not withhold their names, but all had, at one point or another, withheld something very primal. They withheld it from themselves, from a relative, from a friend, a classmate, or colleague, or from a beloved who would never have guessed what troubled longings seethed below their averted gaze whenever they crossed paths.

Some readers wrote to tell me they felt that my novel had changed them, and given them new insights into themselves; some felt it was urging them finally to turn a new leaf in their lives. But some couldn’t go so far and, despite their perfect command of language, confessed lacking the words to explain why they were so moved by my novel or why they felt an unresolved longing for things they’d never considered or desired before. They were experiencing an upwell of emotions and of ungraspable might-have-beens that were asking to be reckoned with because they seemed more real than life itself, a sense of themselves that beckoned from an opposite bank they’d never known was there and whose potential loss now was a source of inconsolable grief. Hence their tears, their regrets, and the overpowering sense of being lost in their own lives.

And yet, they said, theirs were not tears of sorrow. They were tears of recognition, as though the novel itself were a mirror for readers to watch their own emotions laid bare before them. These responses made me aware that Call Me by Your Name does not call attention to anything readers didn’t already know, nor does it bring new truths or revelations; all it does is shed new light on things that were long familiar but that they never took the time to consider. It would be so tempting to say that they are reminded of their forgotten first loves; the truth is that all loves, even those that occur late in life, are first loves. There is always fear, shame, reluctance, and not a tiny dose of spite. Desire is agony.

Everyone who’s read Call Me by Your Name understands not only the struggle both to speak and hold back their truth but also the shame that comes whenever we want something from someone. Desire is always cagey, always secretive — we’ll tell everyone we know about the person we crave to hold naked in our arms, but the very last one to know this will be the person we crave. Same-sex desire is even more guarded and watchful, especially in those who are just discovering their sexuality. Awkwardness and desire are strange bedfellows at a young age, but shame and inexperience are just as paralyzing as fear when we watch them tussling with the urge to be bold. You’re torn between the raw horniness that makes you dream scenes you hope to forget as soon as you’re up and the scenes you pray you’ll dream again and again — if dreams are all you’ll have. Silence and solitude exact a cost that leaves us emotionally wrecked. At some point we need to speak.

So “is it better to speak or die?” asks Elio, the narrator of Call Me by Your Name, quoting words penned by the sixteenth-century Marguerite de Navarre in her collection of tales known as The Heptameron. Marguerite was the sister of King Francis I and the grandmother of Henry IV, himself the grandfather of Louis XIV, hence she was plenty familiar with court intrigue, gossip, and the risks of opening up to someone who may not welcome what’s in our heart and could easily make us pay for it. Not everyone who has written to me has dared to speak their hearts to those they loved. Some have sought silence — slow, lingering droplets of quiet desperation taken every night before bedtime until they realize they’ve been dead and didn’t even know it. Many have written to me with the feeling of having missed their chance when someone tethered his rowboat to their jetty and simply asked them to jump in. “Some sentence or thought on almost every page,” writes a reader, “triggers tears and knots my throat and chest. Tears well up in my eyes on the subway, at my computer at work, walking down the street. Perhaps I am weeping in part because I know that at my age there is virtually no possibility of experiencing anything remotely comparable to what Elio experiences with Oliver.” Someone else writes, “Reading Call Me by Your Name made me feel a love I never had.” A happily married 50-plus colleague took me aside and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this much in love in my whole life.” “I'm 23,” tweeted someone else, “and have never felt such love, until I read Call Me by Your Name. I feel like I lived it.” “Elio and I are essentially the same age,” writes a teenage girl. “I have never really experienced his environment of the Italian summer…My experiences have only taken place halfway between nature and smog, however I have felt the same tension, fear, guilt and overwhelming love that you express perfectly through both Elio and Oliver…Finding myself in Elio was something I never expected and I’m positive that I won’t experience anything quite like it ever again. The first girl I ever loved remains…the only girl I have ever loved and though everything she and I shared…lives now as a secret between two friends.” “I finished reading Call Me by Your Name a couple of days ago,” writes someone else, “and wanted to let you know how much it affected me. It felt like a narration of my thoughts that I had systematically buried long ago.” And finally this from a 72-year-old: “I was fascinated by the idea of parallel lives where would I have been if I had gone with him, where would I be if I traveled alone? Maybe the point is just what do I do with the gift you have given me during the remainder of my life.”

There are at least 500 more such letters and emails.

Some find themselves weeping at the end of the film or the novel, not for what happened long ago or for what did not and might never happen in their own lives but for what has yet to happen, for the terrifying moment when they too will soon have to decide whether to speak or die. This from an 18-year-old: “[Your novel] gives me hope that one day I will meet someone whom I desire so badly that I’ll actually find it in me to make a move, the way Oliver is that someone for Elio. Maybe my Oliver will also turn out to be someone that I realize I love as well as desire.” She was crying for a week, as was this 15-year-old young man: “I stopped reading…because I didn’t want [the book] to end, didn’t want the wounds that you caused me to close, I didn’t want to overcome, for some reason that I have yet to find out. I wanted to stay a wreck, emotionally and mentally fragile….My mother handed me tissues because she had never seen me cry like this. I had finished your book and ‘moved’ is too weak a word to express what your book had done to me. Here a week later and it is literally all I can think about, not my midterms coming up, but…Elio and Oliver and if it is better to speak or die. You answered questions I didn’t even think I had.”

Indeed, the whole novel seems to enable the outing of all manner of feelings, feelings from Elio’s relentless inward journey and obsessive self-examination that readers are invited to identify with. Through Elio’s unfettered introspection they too feel exposed and sliced open like a crustacean without a slough, now forced to look at itself in the mirror. No wonder they are moved. The mask that is torn off their faces is not just the mask that conceals same-sex desires from themselves and from others. Rather, it is the realization, through Elio’s voice, of what they truly feel, who they truly are, what they fear, what bears their signature, and what coy little shenanigans they go through to read others and hope to reach them. Some identified with some effusive sentences in my novel so much that they had them tattooed on their bodies. They even attach photos of these tattoos. People have also tattooed peaches on themselves!

But what moves most people — and this is as true now as it was when the novel first came out — is the father’s speech. Here he not only tells his son to nurse the flame and “don’t snuff it out” after his son’s lover has left Italy, but that he too, the father, envies his son’s relationship with a male lover. This speech tears away the last vestige of a veil between reader and truth and is a moving tribute to the irreducible honesty between father and son.

Most readers have written to me about the scene because the father’s speech rekindles the very difficult moment when they decided to come out to their parents — or, as is often the case with people 60, or 70 or older, it reminds them of the conversation they wished they’d had but never did have with their parents. This is the loss no one forgets and from which no one recovers after seeing Call Me by Your Name. It bears the very essence of that precious and life-defining might-have-been moment that never happened and never will.

Here is the speech:

“Look…[y]ou had a beautiful friendship. Maybe more than a friendship. And I envy you. In my place, most parents would hope the whole thing goes away, or pray that their sons land on their feet soon enough. But I am not such a parent. In your place, if there is pain, nurse it, and if there is a flame, don’t snuff it out, don’t be brutal with it. Withdrawal can be a terrible thing when it keeps us awake at night, and watching others forget us sooner than we’d want to be forgotten is no better. We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to feel nothing so as not to feel anything — what a waste!...

“… {L]et me say one more thing. It will clear the air. I may have come close, but I never had what you had. Something always held me back or stood in the way. How you live your life is your business. But remember, our hearts and our bodies are given to us only once. Most of us can’t help but live as though we’ve got two lives to live, one is the mockup, the other the finished version, and then all those versions in between. But there’s only one, and before you know it, your heart is worn out, and, as for your body, there comes a point when no one looks at it, much less wants to come near it. Right now there’s sorrow. I don’t envy the pain. But I envy you the pain.”

I received the anonymous letter sometime in early May 2008. At the time, I was staying at my parents’, because my father was suffering from throat and mouth cancer and was already in hospice care. He had refused radiation and chemotherapy, so I knew his days were numbered; though morphine was clouding his mind, he was still lucid enough to bandy a few quips about a host of subjects. He had stopped eating and drinking water because swallowing had become very painful. One afternoon while I was stealing a nap, the phone rang. A reporter I’d met in California had just received a letter, which she wanted to share with me. I told her to read it over the phone. After she’d read it I asked if she felt she could mail it to me. I wanted to show it to my father, I said, and explained he was dying. She felt for me. We talked about my father for a while. I told her I was trying to make it up to him these days, and that he too had been exceptionally easy to be with. How was it growing up with him? she asked. Tense, I replied. Always is, she added. Then the conversation ended, and she promised to mail the letter soon.

After hanging up, I got out of bed and went in to see him. Over the past few days, I had made a point of reading to him, which he liked a great deal, especially now that he was having difficulty focusing. But rather than read to him the memoirs of Chateaubriand, one of his favorite authors, and feeling buoyed by the letter I’d been read on the phone, I asked if he’d like me to read from the French translation of Call Me by Your Name, the galleys of which I had just received from Paris that very morning. Why not, since you wrote it, he said. He was proud of me. So I began to read from the very beginning, and soon enough I knew I was opening up a subject neither he nor I had ever broached before. But I knew he knew what I was reading and why I was reading it to him. This made me happy. Perhaps it made him happy as well. I’ll never know.

That evening, after the rest of us had dinner, he asked if I could continue reading from my novel. I was nervous about arriving at the father’s speech because I didn’t know how he’d react to it, though he was the kind of father who would have given that very same speech himself. But the speech was two hundred pages away still, and that would have taken many, many days. Perhaps I should skip some parts, I thought. But no, I wanted to read him the whole book. My father didn’t last long enough to hear the father’s speech. And when the letter finally arrived from California, he was already gone. His name was Henri, he was 93 years old, and he inspired everything I’ve written.

#andre aciman #CMBYK Book #call me by your name #cmbyn #elio x oliver

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derinthescarletpescatarian · 3 years

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Pro-variation vs. pro-selection culture

Evolution requires three things: some form of information that’s inheritable, some way to create variation from that information, and some way to select what information will be passed on to future generations. In biological evolution, of, course, we all know what these three things are: genes (information) can mutate (variation) -- well, it’s more complicated than just mutation, but this isn’t a biology lesson -- and those that are worse at surviving and reproducing themselves are of course naturally weeded out through cause and effect (selection). But other things -- art, culture, language, science, technology -- evolve as well, and they all need the same three things.

When it comes to variation and selection in things like culture and politics, there’s a sliding scale of which one people think is most important -- whether they’re more pro-variation, or pro-selection.

People on the pro-variation end of the spectrum tend to view diversity as a positive thing and selection as something that will take care of itself, or even something to be actively suspicious of because of its tendency to cause harm -- a rainbow queer community, an education system available to people of all cultures and economic backgrounds, country borders that are as open as practical, and embracing a diverse array of art make a community stronger, and things like gatekeeping, means testing and heirarchies on ‘what counts as art’ should be abandoned unless there’s a really good reason for the selective process to exist, in which case it’s grudgingly tolerated. To pro-variation people, exclusion and oppression within a community are threatening. Pro-variation people recognise that yes, you’re going to get some freeloading drains on resources and obvious money laundering schemes masquerading as terrible art and a few people pretending to be gay for a few years to look more interesting to their straight friends, and this is largely a non-issue, a perfectly acceptable price to pay for a diverse and fair world.

People on the pro-selection end of the scale tend to view selection as the main means of advancing or healing a society, and see diversity as something that will take care of itself and as something to be deeply suspicious of. Gatekeeping, unequal opportunities and financial heirarchies are needed to sort the what from the chaff and make sure everyone does their best (”capitalism breeds innovation”); initiatives to redress inequality and give minorities or poor people an ‘unfair’ advantage or make it easier for outsiders to enter the country should be abandoned unless there’s a really good reason for their existence, as they’re dragging down the ‘deserving’ and polluting the culture. To pro-selection people, contamination or invasion from outsiders is threatening. Pro-selection people recognise that yes, you’re going to lose some talented geniuses in sweatshops and stop some deserving people from achieving success and bully some LGBT people out of the community to face abuse and oppression alone, but this is largely a non-issue, a perfectly acceptable price to pay for an advanced and fair world.

“Oh, Derin, you’re just talking about left-wing vs. right-wing philosophies.” Sort of, but not really. It fits the stereotypes and common arguments to a T, but one can’t assume that all righties are pro-selection or all lefties are pro-variation. I have met pro-variation righties, although I’m not really sure how. And there are leftie TERFs out there, despite TERFism being an undeniably pro-selection philosophy. I find determining where people sit on the variation-to-selection scale to be a lot more useful for communication than left-to-right.

I say this because often I’ll see pro-selection and pro-variation people talking to each other, and notice that they’re having fundamentally different conversations. For example, let’s look at the issue of meritocracy. Most modern people would say that meritocracy is a good thing, but ’meritocracy’ means a fundamentally different thing to pro-selectionists than pro-variationists.

A pro-selectionist, when conceiving of meritocracy, tends to think in terms of, well, selection; devising a system where the strongest (those that excel in whatever the thinker thinks is important; innovation or determination or whatever) rise to the top and gain special privileges and power over others, that they can use to determine the rules and make life better for themselves and their children, elevating society as a side effect. To the pro-variationist, this is absolutely not a meritocracy. “You’ve built a system whereby those who don’t start out with more, those who are born poor or disabled or underprivileged in some way, have to work way harder and be lucky in order to get anywhere than those born lucky. People don’t get ahead on merit in this system because the playing field becomes drastically uneven after a couple of generations. This is not a meritocracy.”

A pro-variationist, on the other hand, would concentrate on making sure that everyone has a fair chance at exercising their skills and getting ahead. They’d focus on making sure that people had the space and security to exercise their skills and that, when it came to supporting the society to make that happen, those with more contributed more. To a pro-selectionist, this is absurd. “So those who have pulled ahead and succeeded are being penalised by having to give more? That’s the opposite of a meritocracy! That’s a system designed to drag the best down!”

I find this framework useful in explaining a lot of weird political quirks of certain subcultures. TERFs and tradwives, for example, are theoretically political opposites, but in practice their logic sounds almost identical to outsiders, sounding rather a lot like standard right-wing talking points and Fascism Lite. This is because they’re all using pro-selection arguments. To a pro-selectionist, the arguments of these groups look very different -- “we’re saying that X kind of people are good/virtuous/victims, and Y kind of people are bad/oppressors/sinners, which is the exact opposite of what the other group is saying!” To a pro-variationist, the fact that they are making literally the same argument makes them identical -- “you’re still putting people in your little ‘keep or cull’ boxes for exactly the same reasons, you just wrote different names on the boxes to keep or cull according to your personal taste.”

I think a lot of the things associated with right-wingers could be more accurately associated with people on the pro-selection end of the spectrum in general. It’s known, for example, that right-wingers tend to have a more sensitive disgust reflex and, as a consequence, be generally more xenophobic. You can see this in the way xenophobes talk of making room for outsiders; they talk of invasion, contamination, infection, hygeine, purity. LGBT exclusionists, lefties and righties, talk in the same sort of language. So do antis.

It’s also notable in the sorts of innocuous-seeming things that such people get really angry about. Right-wingers and authoritarians are known for their trend of an almost comical hatred of modern art. The idea that anything can be art, or that art can be measured on any level that isn’t strict complexity and realism of paint and sculpture, causes a surprising level of dislike in such groups. (See also arguments like ‘what is a video game’, ‘does this even count as a game’, althoughpeople thankfully seem to be bored of that now). Exclusionists are equally renowned for campaigns against inclusive terms like ‘queer’, and TERFs get obsessively nitpicky about people’s genitals to a really creepy degree and get very uncomfortable when you mention the ‘grey area’ in biological sex. This is normally assumed to be just dislike at people challenging their arguments, but I think it’s deeper. I think it’s like the modern art thing. Any kind of radical inclusivity is threatening to pro-selection thinkers, not because it’s a challenge to their rules and definitions -- they can have those arguments perfectly comfortably -- but because it is an attack on the very concept of meaning. “Words mean things! Groups exist! You can’t just... just get rid of groups and open up categories to include more people without putting them through a serious, rigorous proving ground first! You can’t just call anything you want to ‘art’, you can’t just call anyone outside cisheteronormative expectations part of the LGBT community, you can’t just call people men or women based on how they feel! That’s chaos! How can any progress be made if we just decide words don’t mean anything??”

(I also think this is a much-overlooked aspect of the same-sex marriage debate. Yes, most of that was garden-variety homophobia, but I’ve known a lot of people who were perfectly fine with ‘the gays having equal rights’, they just didn’t want it called marriage. To a pro-variationist, having the same legal language for partnerships regardless of the sex or gender of the participants is really important -- it’s a shield against future discrimination as the laws relating to either marriages or civil partnerships change over time. To a pro-selectionist, changing the definition of words related to fundamental cultural activities is a huge deal. “They’re eroding the very meaning of marriage! Chaos! How much more will the word change? Can people marry animals or cars next?!”)

As I said, this is a spectrum. I’ve met very few people who are on either extreme end -- even the most pro-equality liberal anarchist acknowledges that some standards of behaviour, community responses to inappropriate action and definitions of different communities do have to exist, to protect people, and the most hardocre fascist admits that there needs to be some measure of generating diversity to avoid stagnation and extinction. And people’s default reaction isn’t necessarily their position on all issues -- somebody who’s generally pro-variation might feel specifically threatened by immigration and think a strict proving ground for immigrants is necessary, or someone who is generally pro-selectionist might think that a robust social system is necessary because one’s economic status at birth has no bearing on one’s merit or value. But I’ve always found it to be a very useful general model.

#culture #politics #bigotry #left wing #right wing #queer #lgbt

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idontwanttospoiltheparty · 3 years

Note

What are you thoughts on the statement that Paul always says he doesn’t think John was gay? Do you think he hid his thoughts or did he really not know about that?

This is something I go back and forth on a lot. My instinct is to believe people most of the time, but I see how that's not necessarily the most consistent with the facts here. (I don't tend to believe any theory makes perfect sense though)

I think that if Paul is mostly telling the truth, he's not considering (or is afraid to consider) how deeply ashamed John might've felt and how much he might've hidden his interest in men from Paul specifically. His "he would've made a pass at me" comment is kind of stupid, but when he says he just thinks he would've picked up on it, IDK that's not crazy to me. I think John was an individual who dealt with a lot more insecurity and doubt than the average person, and even the average non-straight person. At the same time, he was very confident in some respects. And I think Paul refers to that confidence he had (or also his "no-filter" talking) when he says he thinks John would've made it known in one way or another.

I do note that over the years, he appears to have softened his stance a bit it seems (not sure of the exact dates though), or even within an interview he'll go back and mention that he can't speak with authority on John in the 70s or that he genuinely doesn't know what happened on the Spain trip, he just has his own theory about it. (This is one of the reasons I theorize that John did next to nothing with men during the touring years, scared off by the Spain trip disaster, sudden public scrutiny and "distracted" by groupies; it would largely explain Paul's POV)

So, I do think there's a chance that Paul may've changed his mind, perhaps having looked into the evidence himself and maybe having recontextualized memories and experiences with John for himself. (Though it makes complete sense to me that Paul would feel inherent distrust in this theory, if he associates this theory with Goldman's biography, which Paul must have identified several blinding inaccuracies in and is I believe the first major publication to speculate on John's sexuality) .

I think Paul has every reason to not want to open that can of worms, and I think after living most of his life in a society that was mostly negative towards gay and bi people, it's hard for him to feel like the world would be kind to his dead best friend, should they find out the truth about him. Of course, he also wants to deflect any speculation about his sexuality, which is understandable.

The issue is it's nearly impossible to ask him about this, so that he feels it's in good faith. And even if one interviewer was asking, not for the shock value but out of a genuine wish to understand John better, Paul would be aware that other publications would lap up what he said and regurgitate it in the most sensationalist light. Someone would have to catch him in private, Hunter Davies-style.

I really wish I could have a deep, non-judgemental conversation with him, asking him for example about his usage of marriage metaphors with reference to him and John. Not to gotcha him into any admission, just to get a fuller picture of what these two people meant to each other.

I could probably write a novel about this, so I'll stop here. I'd like to add that, though I'm prone to take Paul at his word most of the time, I read the thoughts and analyses of people who believe Paul is lying or had some type of sexual relationship with John regularly, and though I don't draw the same conclusions, I understand their points of view as well. If one day some bombshell revelation states Paul is definitely bi, then so be it. If you have any specific questions about any of this, feel free to ask! :)

#ask #anon #john speculation #paul

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bbugyu · 4 years

Text

finding something to do + kim mingyu

you had spent your better years bored with mingyu, and he thought holding your hand felt like holding his fleeting youth.

wc.4088 | almost smut, mostly fluff, friends to lovers/uni au, fem reader, that one trope where there is mutual pining but both of them think the other is gay, maybe like half an ounce of angst if you squint Really Hard, lots o swears

i usually make my fics hella neutral as far as gender and size and orientation goes but hahahaha this ones for the average sized bi girls! also just realized that i stopped using capitalization in my fics and yk what? im fine with it. this fic is based off of the song of the same name by hellogoodbye.

“stop honking, other people live here.”

mingyu grinned at you through the half-open passenger window, leaning over to pop open the door. the handle had never recovered from a giant cup of soda crashing into the side of his ride in the middle of a particularly rowdy summer shenanigan, the sticky substance soaking into the mechanics before he had gotten the chance to hose it down in a friend's driveway at 2am. now, you had to wait for him to open it from the inside on all future shenanigans, and you could only roll the window down half way, lest you have to laugh at mingyu aggressively pulling on the window between his palms as you pulled on the motorized switch to coerce it back into the closed position. you slid into the co-pilot seat and looked over to your best friend.

"if you answered your texts i wouldn't have to honk."

you rolled your eyes, tugging on the seatbelt. "go, gyu."

he laughed and shifted into drive, turning up his stereo as he pulled away from your apartment building, hand returning to the stick to shift up a gear. "thanks for coming."

"what else was i gonna do?" you slipped the slides off your socked feet and pulled your legs to sit cross-legged. "i finished rewatching avatar."

"study, maybe?"

you looked at him. he was right, finals were right around the corner, but you had an uncharacteristically light load this quarter (due to you not realizing you needed approval for one course before registration and it filling before you could sign up) and you weren't too worried about the three tests you would have to take in a couple weeks. "could say the same to you."

mingyu let out another laugh, suddenly singing along to the song as he ran a hand through his hair. you smiled at his profile, then pulled out your phone to update your instagram story. as you moved the camera over to mingyu from the streetlight-lit road ahead of you, he laughed midway through a lyric and practically yelled "mwoya" at you, gripping the wheel with both hands and jumping in his seat.

you laughed hysterically, frantically saving the video before pointing the screen at him. he turned down the music to watch it, eyes flickering between your phone and the road. he laughed at the way it cut off on both of you screaming. "what was that?"

you giggled, swiping through filters. "you being dumb."

"you love me."

"you're right."

mingyu smiled at that, adjusting the stereo volume again, bobbing his head to the rhythm as he drove to the one convenience store in your town that sold his favorite mint chocolate chip ice cream, a mission he had called upon you for at 11:30pm. when it switched over to a song you knew, mingyu noticed your subconscious humming to the tune and a few lyrics falling out of your lips, the wind from the open window whipping through your hair.

by the time you reached a small parking lot across town, you had yawned probably half a dozen times.

"tired?" mingyu pouted as he rolled up the windows and unbuckled his seatbelt. "sorry for dragging you out."

you shook your head, following suit and pulling yourself out of the car. "i slept too late, i think. i'll be fine."

you followed mingyu across the quiet street to the convenience store the two of you frequented perhaps too often, finding yourself there after late night study sessions or mid-barhop for ramen, snacks, and most importantly, the mint choco ice cream bar of mingyu's affections.

after perusing the options as if you hadn't been there earlier in the week, you picked out an ice cream bar as well as a couple bags of chips. you walked up behind mingyu at the register as he was pulling out his wallet.

"i'll pay if you come over and play smash," he said, nodding at your hands full of snacks.

you eyed him. "what's the catch?"

"you can't be mad when i play meta knight."

you groaned, but put your things on the counter for the cashier that was likely the same age as you both to scan. "fine. i'll still beat you."

mingyu grinned at you, and you snagged your ice cream bar off the counter as he paid, the other snacks getting put in a plastic bag. you grabbed the bag and held it open as mingyu retrieved his own ice cream, both of you peeling them open as you exited the convenience store.

"mm," you let out, mouth full of ice cream as you leaned against the metal bar meant to lock up bikes on the sidewalk. "it's nice out tonight."

mingyu agreed, biting into his treat. "it's refreshing but not too cold."

you nodded, watching cars pass on the street. "i can't believe it's almost summer already."

"me neither," he said, squatting in front of you as he ate. "we're gonna be seniors next year."

you groaned. "have you decided if you're doing summer quarter?"

he shook his head. "i decided against it. i only really have to take one extra course next year so it didn't feel worth it."

you nodded, looking down at him. he was looking to his left, absentmindedly watching someone walk their dog across the street.

after the ice cream was finished and you threw away your wrappers, mingyu cursed slightly at the fact that he still managed to get his finger sticky despite doing his best to avoid meltage. after he popped open your door, he dug in the glovebox for some wet naps, playfully knocking your knees aside as you tried to sit. you laughed, waiting for him to be done so you could put the bag of snacks on the floor in front of you.

when you met mingyu sophomore year, your hair was shorter and he was blonde. he had sat next to you in your shared ecology lab and promptly fell asleep before the class had even started, and you had to nudge him awake when the professor was handing out the syllabus.

"gah, fuck, i'm up," he waved a massive hand in your face, blinking away his sleep before focusing on you with furrowed brows. "you're not seokmin."

seokmin was his roommate, you learned, and also met a few weeks later when you went over to their dorm to work on assignments together. they've since upgraded to a compact but efficient three bedroom apartment and acquired another roommate. you stared out the window into the night sky as mingyu drove to said apartment, blinking heavily at the lure of a nap. you pulled your knees up to your chest and tried to listen to the song playing from the stereo.

only moments later, mingyu glanced over and noticed that your eyes had fluttered shut, your head lolling against the window. he wondered, staring at you in awe, how much longer he could pretend he wasn't in love with you.

when you and mingyu had first gotten to know each other, you admittedly had a bit of a crush on him, until you found out he had a boyfriend. even after they split almost four months later, and you had been there to bring him chicken and beer while he fumbled with the drawstrings of his sweatpants and rubbed his swollen eyes with the back of his hand, you decidedly resigned any feelings for him, knowing it was a lost cause for you to pine after a guy that didn't even like girls. hell, you barely even liked boys - you had gone on dates with six different girls, yet not a single guy since you came to university, and mingyu had sat on your bed while you tried to get ready, giving a concise "try again" when you showed him an oversized sweatshirt.

"why not this?" you asked, groaning.

"you have good proportions, bitch. show 'em off."

rolling your eyes, you rooted around in your closet for something less shapeless. your style had always skewed a little athletic, a little hip-hop. you bought mostly mens fit shirts, making the task slightly more difficult. you found a nice pair of high waisted jeans you hadn't worn in a while and paired it with a drop shoulder tee and a turtleneck, finally getting the approval of your best friend.

all of the facts laid in front of him led mingyu to believe you were completely and utterly gay, and even if you weren't, your taste in women suggested he was the exact opposite of your type. you liked petite girls. girls with long hair and that wore skirts and lots of rings. the kind of girls that you had to lean down to kiss.

so he continued to try out the pool of eligible bachelors in your area that were within a respectable age range. he had even tried to date some girls, but every time they tried to suggest the dates go further, he would think of the way his best friend's fingers had sent electricity through his entire body just by brushing an eyelash off his lip, or how you would trace the veins that ran through his wrist as you watched a movie together on your couch. the way your touch set his skin on fire. the way he wished he could just admit the way he felt about you.

he always smiled and said he'd call them sometime. he never did. it wasn't fair to them, but neither was him only ever asking them out because they reminded him of you somehow.

guys were easier, he thought. they didn't remind him of you.

mingyu was so caught up in the sight of you sleeping that he absolutely ran a red. he cursed under his breath when he realized the light he was passing under had been yellow for longer than he had thought, thinking how lucky he was that the cross street was empty. good thing he was almost home.

"hey, sleepyhead," he said when you stretched suddenly as he pulled into his parking spot. "do you wanna go home?"

you shook your head, yawning. "no, i need to eat chips."

he laughed and killed the engine. "you left a pair of house shorts here and you can borrow a shirt," he said, suggesting you crash in his bed when you got too tired for smash.

"what, you don't wanna carry me home?"

mingyu slammed the car door shut and shoved his hand in his pocket. "i'd rather not, no."

you stretched again, a hand reaching out to ruffle his dark hair as he tried to punch in the door code for you to enter his building. "mean."

he laughed at you again, leading you up the three flights of stairs to his apartment.

"hey, minghao," you said, waving at the shadowy figure that was seemingly melting into the couch, illuminated by the tv.

he raised a hand in acknowledgment, sitting with his neck at a 90 degree angle, a movie with subtitles on, and his phone face down on his chest. "yo."

"wanna play smash?" mingyu asked.

"no thanks."

mingyu dropped his keys on the kitchen counter. "we're playing smash."

"you're funny."

you laughed, and mingyu pouted. "please, myungho?"

minghao finally looked at his roommate. "i'm watching annihilation. the switch is handheld for a reason."

you watched mingyu roll his eyes with a smirk on your lips. he went over to the switch dock by the tv and grabbed the console, sticking his tongue out at hao. you giggled, following mingyu down the short hall to his room as minghao waved you both off.

"have i said that i like hao a lot?"

"yes," mingyu said. "like, every time you come over."

you smiled, throwing open his dresser and carding through the shirts that would surely be massive on you. "well i do."

the switch got tossed onto his bed and he sneaked around you to grab a pair of sweatpants from the drawer above the one you were looking in. he also pulled out the pair of shorts you had left, putting them on top of the dresser. "i'm getting naked now."

you shook your head lightly, knowing he was only changing his pants, but kept your back to him out of respect anyways. you picked up the shorts. "did you wash these?"

"yeah, i threw 'em in with my laundry last week."

you nodded, spotting the color you had been looking for. "aha!" you pulled on the ashy gray shirt, revealing one of your favorite things you had ever convinced mingyu to buy. an extremely soft, lightly distressed shirt with a tasteful rip along the neckline. "i'm getting naked now."

"clear," mingyu said, letting you know he wasn't looking as he flopped onto his bed, propping up the switch on his bedside table and setting up the controllers.

you pulled off your loose sweatshirt and swapped it for the borrowed shirt, then shoved the denim shorts down your legs, laughing lightly at how your sleep shorts completely disappeared under the shirt. you turned around, stretching out your arms to show how large the shirt was on you. "look."

mingyu rolled onto his back and propped himself on an elbow to look at you, giggling as you swam in his shirt. outwardly, he smiled, but internally, he thought this was simultaneously the worst and best idea he had ever had.

you looked absolutely stunning in his clothes, he thought, but only said that you were cute. he ignored the familiar feeling in his stomach and handed you a controller as you crawled onto his bed, settling on your stomach next to him.

he had to stop putting himself in this position. you were far too pretty for him to forget his feelings towards you.

but maybe that's what he wanted. maybe he didn't want to forget his feelings. maybe the few times you had told him his dates were attractive weren't just objective reassurances. maybe he held onto the sliver of hope that you could possibly be attracted to him, too.

you slammed your face into the bed as the game loaded. "why are all switch load times utter ass?"

mingyu adjusted so that he was laying on his side with an arm propping him up and flicked the back of your head. "because the console can fit in my palm."

your hand went up to swat at the culprit of the flick, and you pouted as you lifted your head to look at him. "that's not fair, your hands are huge." you wiggled onto your elbows to grab his wrist, pressing your palms together. "see?"

mingyu laughed, feeling his cheeks heat up. "well, you have baby hands, so." he punctuated his point by curling his finger over yours. you pouted again, then slipped your fingers between his, thinking about how nice his warm hand felt over yours.

you blinked, then pulled your hand away and grabbed the joycon as the game finally loaded the skippable intro, hoping you weren't blushing too much as you cleared your throat. mingyu stared at your pink cheeks for a moment, his mind reeling. was he seeing something that wasn't there? or was his hope in you validated?

you were clicking through the menu and felt his eyes on you, and all you wanted to do was hide behind your hair and avoid eye contact. you nearly jumped when mingyu cleared his throat.

"hey, i have something i've been meaning to ask you."

your eyes met his briefly. "shoot."

"do you…" mingyu paused, trying to think of the right way to phrase his question. "i know you have exes that are guys, but is that something you're, like… still into?"

your ears burned and you wiggled until you could sit back on your own legs, fiddling with the hem of the shirt you stole and hesitating to make eye contact. "you mean, being with guys?"

"yeah," he said, watching you intently with his brows furrowed.

"yeah, i mean, i guess?" you shrugged. "i like both."

mingyu nodded slowly, watching your eyes as they stared at the wall across his small room. your cheeks were a rosy pink, and you were chewing on your lip. "me too."

you looked at him finally, your eyes wide. "what?"

he gave you a crooked smile. "i like guys and girls, too."

if you were blushing before, now you were blazing. "oh, my god, i'm an idiot."

he laughed. "what, did you think i was, like, totally gay?"

"shut up," you threw yourself down onto his bed, hiding your face in the blanket. in your defense, he had definitely called himself gay before, but you definitely called yourself gay constantly, so maybe you shouldn't put so much weight in those words. "shut up, i'm embarrassed. i don't want to talk about it."

hearing mingyu laugh next to you made you feel like you were on fire, then you felt the ghosting of fingers on your arm. you froze. mingyu's voice was soft when he spoke again. "do you wanna talk about how i have a massive crush on you?"

you slowly raised your head to look at him, cheeks burning red. he gave you a small smile before you choked out a "huh?"

"i ran a red earlier," he said suddenly, his fingers moving from your arm to absentmindedly brush your hair out of your face, then to your shoulder, then back. it was a reassuring touch, one you had felt from him before, but you still were caught off guard by his sudden succession of confessions. "you were sleeping and i couldn't stop looking at you. i totally could have crashed the car."

"dude, what the fuck." you stared at him, then lowered your voice to imitate him. "'hey i have a crush on you and i almost killed us both because of it.' that's you, that's what you sound like right now."

mingyu laughed in your face and you couldn't help the chuckle that fell out of your mouth. "sorry i almost killed us."

"i guess i can forgive you," you said, picking at your nails suddenly despite them being clean. "especially because i might have a crush on you, too."

mingyu kept staring at you with a fond smile, and you wondered if he could also hear how hard your heart was beating. "can i kiss you?"

you looked at him, trying not to stare at his lips. you nodded, almost hurriedly. his hand pulled against your back as you rolled your body to face him, and your hand reached out for his jaw as he pulled you into him. and when his lips crashed into yours, you yelped slightly, melting into him almost immediately. they were plush against yours, and he was gentle as he pushed your back onto the mattress, adjusting to hover over you slightly. when you let your head fall back onto the bed, he grinned at your blown out pupils and swollen lips, buzzing at the way your hands curled around around his neck, fingers digging into the hair at his nape. he adjusted again, a hand finding your waist as he pulled back to let you swing your leg across his lap. you pulled him back over you, enjoying the way his hips hit the back of your thighs as he caged you in with an elbow by your shoulder. you stared up at him, heart racing, eyes flicking down to his lips too many times for him to not take the hint.

mingyu had always enjoyed pleasing you. this definitely felt like the next natural progression.

he dove into you, and your arms wrapped themselves around his shoulders. mingyu was a hugger, and he also liked wearing very little clothing when he worked out, so you knew what he looked like under the plain white tee. knew what he felt like. but suddenly - with his hands slipping under what was technically his shirt to properly feel your waist, with how his tongue fought with yours - you really felt him for the first time. the way his shoulder muscles rippled just beneath the skin as he adjusted, clearly trying to not make his growing bulge so obvious. you considered the fact that you might get to see how much leg day really benefited, considering how much he posted about it with sweaty post-workout pictures on his story.

mingyu felt your thighs squeeze around his hips, pulling back slightly. "is this okay?"

"is it?" you responded, a hand pulling back to fall on his jaw. "i've wanted you for ages."

he laughed lightly. "god, we're idiots."

you had no time to respond before he was kissing you again, his hips rolling into yours, pulling a surprised moan from you. he ate it up, his fingers gripping your waist tighter at the sound. you felt his girth as it pressed against you, and you gasped. when was the last time you had been with a guy? high school?

when mingyu's teeth bit down on your lip, you were really glad he was the guy you were unconsciously waiting for.

he tugged on your hips as he rolled onto his back, pulling you to straddle his lap. you giggled slightly, settling back into the open mouthed kisses as he ran his hands from your ass up your back, slipping under the sports bra you were wearing.

then there was a knock. you yelped, burying your face in his shoulder as you heard the door swing open. "make room for king k r- oh shit!"

you laughed into mingyu's neck as he yelled for seokmin to get the hell out, his hands tugging the hem of the stolen shirt over your butt in an attempt to shield it from view. you heard him squeak out an "i'm sorry!" as the door shut again.

"i'll kill him."

you exhaled, the laughter still on your lips as you looked at his profile from where your cheek pressed against his shoulder. "bet he thinks we're secretly dating."

mingyu laughed, scratching an eyebrow before returning his palm to your ass. "not a secret now."

"oh, so we're dating now?"

mingyu craned his neck to look at you. "is that not what was going to happen?"

you giggled, sitting up and putting your hands on his chest. you adjusted your knees, fully aware of how the movement would rub you against his still hard bulge. "we have both fucked people without dating them afterwards, kim mingyu."

"ah," he said, digging his fingers into your soft ass and rutting into you gently, making you gasp. "we're gonna fuck? i thought we were just joking."

you slapped his chest, giggling still as you rolled your hips. "if you don't wanna, i could ask hao-"

"oh, shut up," he said, pulling you down to kiss him. "if you liked myungho like that you would have tried it ages ago."

you smiled, your thumb running over his adams apple as you placed gentle kisses on his jaw. "sweetie, are we jealous?"

"i don't deserve this, you know?" mingyu pulled your hips against him again, a low grunt tumbling from his beautiful mouth. "i haven't put my dick in a girl since i met you and now i'm with you and you're talking about my roommate? this seems extremely mean."

you giggled again, then placed your lips on his again. he instantly kissed you back, one hand leaving your ass to go to the back of your neck. "you're the only guy i ever think about," you whispered, getting repeatedly interrupted by mingyu's needy lips on yours.

the wolf-like grin that broke onto his face sent chills down your spine. "let's keep it that way."

seokmin's hand was still on the doorknob, his wide eyes blinking, when minghao paused his movie and sat up to poke his head out and look down the hall. "the hell was that?"

he puffed out his cheeks as he walked back into the living room, his palms clapping gently. "i thought you said y/n came over to play smash?"

minghao's eyebrow quirked up. "she did."

the eldest sat on the couch. "i thought mingyu was gay?"

"what?" minghao looked down the hall again. "wait, what? were they-" he stopped when he heard a muffled groan that was far too familiar.

seokmin grabbed the remote and pressed play, scratching his cheek as he turned up the volume. "what are we watching? catch me up."

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dgcatanisiri · 3 years

Text

I won’t say this is my last word on the subject of Legendary Edition bullshit, because... Well, I know myself enough to be able to say that I NEVER have a last word, I’ll always want to rant again later on. But let’s just make this a sort of master post of the issues overall.

So... Is it fair to hold a game that is a good roughly fifteen years old to the standards of the present? Not inherently. So if the games were being produced in any sort of unedited format, that it was a strict translation, 1:1 ratio, of the original to the remaster... Honestly, I’d still be bitter as all get out, for reasons I’ll expound on in a minute. But it could at least SEEM justified. I could consider it the kind of thing that would be expected - if KOTOR got a remaster today, I would not expect that Carth and Bastila would be made into bi love interests, or Juhani would have her romance patched up so that it has the same level of detail and attention as the het romances. If Jade Empire were remastered, I wouldn’t be surprised to see Sky or Silk Fox’s same sex romances adapted so that the straight romances had to be closed out first. That is the kind of thing that, on a functional, practical level, I could understand. Doing a translation from old hardware, the old engine, I get the PRACTICAL reasoning for not making things better. I still object to this on the moral level, to say nothing of the representational one. But PRACTICALLY, I see why - y’know, there’s only so much financial resources going in, and changing things like romances, even if justified, means doing new writing and getting the voice cast back in, which has complications the longer since a game’s original release - actors retire or even die, the passage of time changes voices (like listen to the difference of the exact same lines by James Earl Jones between both versions of the Lion King). Even without those complications, that means paying them, which, in the production of video games, for everything that goes in, something else must go out. So that is the practical argument.

BUT!

But.

But, the thing is, even apart from everything else that I’ll get in to shortly, is that there have been a lot of claims from BioWare about inclusion. There have also been A LOT. of homophobic bullshit from BioWare and Mass Effect. And yes, I’m calling it like I see it.

Because we had the game that followed Jade Empire, with a M/M romance option, be Mass Effect, with NO M/M romance option (but FemShep and Liara could bang - the writing obviously favored the MaleShep portrayal, given that there was no marketing use of FemShep until ME3, and we had ME2 give priority to having loyalty conflicts between MALE Shepard’s romances, but not Female Shepard’s, and we even had BioWare hem and haw about how “well, the asari are monogender, so they’re not TECHNICALLY women, so it’s not REALLY lesbians...”). Because the official claim is that they just “didn’t think about it” in time to have these options included in Mass Effect 1. Because we’ve had writers now come out that Jacob Taylor was originally written as a gay man, but in the game itself was a straight man. Because there are plenty of women who throw themselves at Male Shepard, and Shepard is animated with having Significant Looks™ with these women, but not a single man who expresses any interest in him, until ME3 finally offers SOMETHING, which came to just Kaidan and Cortez.

Because we had one of BioWare’s heads, one of BioWare’s founders, say in an interview right around the release of Mass Effect 2 say “Shepard is too predefined a character to be gay.”

That is what I mean by homophobic bullshit.

And I haven’t even started on Mass Effect Andromeda.

And I’m gonna start on Mass Effect Andromeda now.

So after ME3, after Kaidan and Cortez were actually romances, we honestly gave them a lot of faith - they got the message, we said. They understood that they couldn’t just cut out M/M romance in the game, we said. They didn’t need to have the constant observation that demanded they provide good representation, we said.

And then they cut Jaal’s bisexuality, leaving him straight on release, without even a chance to flirt and be turned down, the bisexual male character who did remain not only was planet bound, he also is a character who a solid argument can be made that he falls into the trope of the Depraved Bisexual, a trope that over in Dragon Age, Patrick Weekes specifically said that they wanted to avoid and so didn’t make a character bisexual because of that. And the gay man is not only almost totally disconnected from the game (aside from one point in the plot, he can be avoided entirely and is not included in almost any other group setting among the Tempest crew), he is also an accessory in his own plot line, which was also heavily criticized for being intensely homophobic. And of these, the only thing BioWare deigned to change was Jaal’s bisexuality. (Which, personal note, I’m uncomfortable with personally, because as it’s implemented, it just feels kind of afterthought-y. Much like Kaidan’s in ME3, being unchanged from a new FemShep romance, despite the active inability to romance him in ME1.)

So it is not just a matter of “you have the ability, you’re changing other things, you should do this.” I mean, that is absolutely there - the mods exist for the original game, to the point of being able to even get the romance scene to fire right without Shepard’s gender magically changing once the clothes come off. (I have a vague memory of, at some point, probably around the “too predefined” comment, that being another excuse, that there was difficulty with having the models play nice with one another in that scene.)

But this is about addressing a pattern of behavior on the part of BioWare, that they have to be dragged, kicking and screaming, to the bare minimum that their own statements on matters of representation and inclusion claim they aspire to. That if the fans are not actively holding their feet to the fire, they are GOING to take their fans for granted - “you don’t get better quality content elsewhere, we’re your only choice!” But “only” choice is not a “good” choice. It’s not a choice with quality.

So if we don’t make a big damn deal about this now, when they have a chance - when they have a CHOICE - to make things better, to provide better representation, to correct the mistakes of the past... What will we get in the future? How will they backtrack on this in the future? How will they exclude us in the game they just announced a few months back? How will they continue to tell us that they don’t want gay people in this setting?

Look, I don’t use these words lightly. But that is, whether it’s a conscious attitude at all or not, what they are telling us. By not including us, by making us optionally involved, by making us disposable within our own stories, by cutting out our content, they are saying that they do not envision a world, a future, that includes queer men.

And anyone who does not speak up, does not condemn this, does not demand that they DO. BETTER... That is tacit approval and agreement. Because you’re saying that things as they are now - the removal and undermining of our content, of our EXISTENCE in these games - are perfectly fine and acceptable.

And yeah, I’m sure that reading that has probably made some people mad, believe I’m being unfair by saying that, because it’s going to push away allies. Thing is, and this is one of the things that always comes up in anything even tangentially activism related... THIS ISN’T ABOUT THE FEELINGS OF THE ALLIES. This is about listening to the people who are being hurt and saying “you don’t deserve to be hurt this way, things need to change.”

BioWare needs to change its approach. And, as we have seen, it does not come just because of a handful of angry queers, demanding to be represented in their games. It comes because of the community at large calling them out and saying “this isn’t right. What you have done is not right, and we are calling on you to fix it. To do better.”

Don’t just stand there and shrug this off. Because evidence tells us that if they aren’t called out on this now, the next game will not be better. And we will be in this exact same place, having this exact same argument, all over again, in a few years when the next Mass Effect game comes out. When the queer men are given the shortest end of the stick again, and people who are right now saying “what do you expect from a remaster?” will either suddenly turn around and go “I don’t know why BioWare would do something so homophobic” or, worse, “well, it’s something, I don’t see why you’re upset.”

We’re upset because we keep having this argument. And we are going to keep having this argument until people are willing to actually DEMAND that things be better. This is the chance to make things better now.

At this point, a post-release patch that includes a Male Shepard/Kaidan romance in ME1 that is tracked through to the following games is a bare minimum fix, a change done to make it clear that BioWare understands their mistakes in the past and want to make things BETTER.

It may not be easy, but genuinely fixing problems never is. But it’s work that needs to be done.

#dg rants #bioware critical #mass effect #mass effect critical #dg gets pissed #another angry queer rant

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bae-science · 4 years

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it’s t-t-t-t-time for another newt bae-science fic rec extravabonanza! same rules, same boys, same bullshit! let’s get into it:

a beginning; a second chance by @dykesword

other newt and i have a long and intricate ritualistic battle to become the alpha newt, but i gotta give credit where it’s due. if you like to annotate your books for fun, this fic will give you a looooong comment you’ll want to write, and for good reason! there’s a lot of really well done metaphor and character detail in here, while still keeping a very soft, melancholy but with a hopeful edge tone. and also, like, the care and detail in which newt’s mental state in the aftermath of the precursors’ abuse is depicted is so so good, and delightful to read

husbandly duties by @kingeiszler

i am soooo biased with this one bc technically it was made for me but GODDAMN it’s good. this shit has everything: gottlieb trio sibling dynamics, vanessa in giant femme earrings, hermann yearning, newt and karla infodumping together, newt’s terrible and accurate gaydar, gay crime, the newmann dynamic and why it works boiled down to its bare essentials, pride and prejudice glasses touch, and neon green acrylics. required reading for the vanessaverse

Say That Again by @robertfrobisherslover

WOOF. if you like mutual pining and lack of communication from men with rocks for their emotional processing centers, and guncle (gay uncle) newt and hermann and KILLER artsy sex scenes, and themes of words unsaid in a story about LANGUAGE..... oogoogogoogouhufug. the writing style is clear and well paced, i LOVE little mako’s scene she’s such a cutie, and there’s like. a line. that’s a play on the whole “it’s always been you” trope. that lives in my mind rent free forever.

speak right to my heart without saying a word by @thekaidonovskys

i’m just gonna paste the comment i left on it here, because that sums up what is so absolutely incredible about this fic the best:

so sometimes you stumble on a piece of fiction that you add to your little collection of stuff you would show a person if you wanted them to understand a part of you that you can't quite explain eloquently, or it would take too long, etc etc, and i've never really found something like that for my autism until now, which, like, poggers. and i'll be as straight up as i can while still being the biggest lesbian in the great state of ohio (not a hard feat but alan invented computers so i love continuing on the autistic tradition of being a living miracle), the chameleon effect hit me like a mack truck. catholic school in the deep south is the most potent and effective form of ABA therapy imaginable :/. so sometimes i wonder what i would be like if i didn't have such a strong ability to pass, and here's where we finally get to the part of this comment where i just vomit compliments at you: you nailed it. you got it. i don't know if you're on the spectrum, but either way, well fucking done. trauma therapy research talks a lot about healing fantasies, which are fantasies, usually in the form of daydreams, that abused/neglected/traumatized/etc people create that directly address a struggle they have and take the form of a scenario in which that struggle is helped in some way. it could be an abusive parent repenting and showering them with the love they never had, or someone finding them during a panic attack and somehow knowing how best to comfort them without having to ask, or being intimate with someone and having a scar or physical deformity they've been shamed for be given attention and care. and i think you have created the ultimate perfect healing fantasy for autistic people, or at least those with """"high functioning"""" autism. it has a character who is visibly and undeniably on the spectrum having the pain and trauma going through life like that causes being acknowledged and validated, they are purposefully paid attention to because person b genuinely likes them and wants to understand and respect who they are and how they function in the world, and thus get The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known as well as the eventual rewards of being loved, person b makes a genuine effort to help teach them social skills in a way they can understand and learn through and is there for them when these skills are being practiced, their space and boundaries are respected but they aren't infantilized or thought of as an emotionless robot, and they receive love and comfort on their own terms not despite of but because of who they are, even specifically being asked not to change the way they are because that way is lovable. they are openly desired. writing is my fucking JOB and it's still difficult to put into words how much you got 100000% right about the dream with this fic. i have been in the EXACT and i mean EXACT same situation as hermann when he asked newt if it was his personality itself that made people not like him, because i deadass made a spreadsheet of all my personality attributes i thought could be preventing me from making friends in college, and then asked my fellow nd friend to see if there was anything i was missing. so i guess what i'm trying to say is that this amazing, and i'm bookmarking it and putting it on my next fic rec post, and maybe one day way way in the future if i ever get a partner i want to explain the whole autism thing to, i'm gonna have them read this.

The Facts With Newton Geiszler, PhD by what_alchemy (NSFW)

storytime: i read this fic a few years ago, completely forgot the title and author, and ended up thinking about the part where hermann admits to having fucked a trailer hitch when he was a teenager, at least once a week. last november, i say to my friend samara on twitter, head of the BSHCU (buttslut hermann cinematic universe), hey this seems like something you’d have read, do you remember a fic where... and samara says FUCK i do know what you’re talking about lemme find it. so if the fact that i have been looking for this fic for like, two years, and that it contains a moment so iconic all i had to say is, “hermann says he fucked a trailer hitch” and she IMMEDIATELY knew what i was talking about, does not convince you to read this... go back to catholic school i guess.

Feeling Blue by TempusPetrichor

fics where newt goes back to work as a biologist, especially a xenobiologist, post pru are really interesting, and usually have something neat to say about recovery, how it isn’t linear, how it often involves us returning to things we love for comfort, etc. this one sure does! some good emotional and physical h/c, LOVE the use of the ghost drift, and it’s always fun to see post pru fics use dialogue very obviously taken from dbt, trauma-specific therapeutical texts, and anything that shows the author has experience with, or did their research on, ptsd therapies.

You’re Everyone That Ever Cared by KlavierWrites

you know a fic is good when it’s an only 9k slowburn and still manages to reach infinite regress levels of are you fucking KIDDING GO TO THERAPY. newt “acts of service” geiszler may have a little misplaced misogyny due to his broken woman-centric gaydar. as a treat. the fucking. post-drift scene where hermann subtextually screams “LOOK IN OUR BRAINS YOU FUCK I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU I JUST HAVE AUTISM AND CAREER IN STEM DISORDER” is soooooo. god just hermann in general in that scene is great. if you like classic mid 2010s era newmann, ghost drift romance, and good ole mutual pining, this is a treat.

Baby, You're Hotter than my Bunsen Burner by SkySongMA

moronosexual hermann representation is something that can actually be so personal

Times of Stress by RadioMoth

the boys are processinggggggg. man what a good, quick and powerful punch to the gut. if you like post-pr1 catharsis and physical h/c, AND are the one friend that likes to comment at the end of the movie that hey newt got beat the fuck UP, check this one out.

black tea by @faggotcas

okay first of all, god fucking tier url, lee. second of all, food as a love language is my SHIT. i love the very slow relationship development here, where you see them making a genuine effort to get along and that in turn leading to feelings reigniting. it’s such a sweet little moment of a fic, with a nice atmosphere and tone to fit it

now here’s the part where i usually drop my latest fic, but i haven’t written one this month because i’ve been busy launching an audio drama! you can find it here, it’ll be right up your alley if you like cryptids and gay scientists and enemies to lovers and good ole americana, but since this is a newmann post, i’m gonna recommend the pacific rim audio drama duology i did a while back! part one is called conversations from the brink, and it’s a little slice of the pr3 we better fucking get from streaming that godawful looking anime. love and lesbians to everyone ❤️

#pacific rim #pac rim #mine #newmann #pacific rim uprising #fic rec

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whoreforpunz · 3 years

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kiss it off me - chapter one

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dreamnap

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Dream's eyes raked frantically over the limited options in his wardrobe. He was already running late thanks to rush hour traffic and he didn't want to mess up this date. Not when this guy actually seemed normal and someone he could genuinely grow to like. Being in his situation didn't exactly give him the opportunity to go out that much and neither of his best friends beloved him until he showed them the message.

Long, calloused fingers ran over the various hangers until he reached a dark green button up. They were going to a restaurant but not an extremely fancy one so he could get away with a pair of jeans with it. Glancing in the mirror on the adjacent wall, Dream ran a hand through his dirty blond locks tousling them until he was satisfied.

He slowly buttoned up the emerald fabric until he got to the top two. After a brief moment of consideration he left them both open purposefully, it looked better that way. Bronzed skin exposed along with his prominent collarbone. Even he couldn’t find a fault with his appearance.

Swallowing the nerves that were building up inside he forced himself out the door knowing that if he stayed any longer he would just talk himself out of it.

He left the small apartment and jogged down the stairs to the lobby before exiting it to find his old, run-down car. It struggled to run most days but seeing as it still worked and Dream couldn't afford a new one yet, he made do.

The engine hummed nosily when he started the car and reversed out of his space. Soft music played in the background in an attempt to calm his desperately trembling knuckles so he didn't crash his car before he even got there. His journey was familiar along with the flashing scenery that disappeared just as quickly as it came into peripheral .

Dream sped along the winding roads to the other side of town where his closest and only real friends George and Wilbur resided with Wilbur's son Tommy. Seeing as he was also a single father, both of them made an effort to help each other out when they needed it except it was usually Wilbur helping Dream since he had the additional help of George. But Wilbur got it. Sure their situations weren’t the exact same but it was comforting to have someone so close to him in the same scenario.

As he reached their apartment block, Dream halted the car rapidly and grabbed the small bag he placed in the passenger seat and he slammed the door. Running up the stairs was difficult since they lived on a much higher floor than him and the elevator was out of use.

Unfortunately he didn't get to go to the gym as much as he would've liked to. In high school he'd been rather athletic and got a lot of attention for it. But that's what landed him in his current situation. Not that he didn't appreciate the blessing that came out of his mistake but there was always a small feeling of regret in the back of his mind.

Noise was emitted from their apartment from the stairwell and Dream chuckled when he heard the shrieks of laughter that undoubtedly belonged to Tommy.

The scene he was greeted with upon opening the creaky door was one that was typical of visiting George and Wilbur's place after work. Tommy and Tubbo were being chased by Wilbur as the two young boys who still had the remnants of their dinner smeared around their mouths attempted to bang on the door which he knew lead to George's room.

It was more of a struggle than he'd like to admit to hold back his sniggers at the sight. Tommy terrorised his dad's roommate at any given chance, even without Tubbo, but having his best friend at his side just amped up that energy and fed into his mischievous tendencies.

Their frantic dashing around the living room, trying to get into George's room which also functioned as his office proved to be futile as Wilbur scooped them gently into his arms and then strung the duo who were still shrieking with obnoxious laughter onto his shoulders, tickling their sides lightly as he did so.

Only then did Tubbo notice his dad's presence at the doorway. He nearly jumped off from where he was perched comfortably on Wilbur's shoulder. Running into Dream's arms with an excited squeal and attaching onto his leg, bearing a startling resemblance to a koala. This was a moment of domestic bliss. Of elevated suburbia to where it could be considered art. Dream had lifted his child off his leg and pulled him closely into his chest. Tubbo snuggled into him and let out a content sigh as Dream rubbed comforting little circles into his back.

The moment was short lived, Tommy was climbing his leg - well attempting to climb it so he could reach Tubbo and they could go back to playing together. Eventually Dream put Tubbo back on the ground gently and reluctantly watched as the two boys immediately engaged themselves in their previous game. Will shook his head fondly at the joyful giggles that filled the apartment once more.

Seeming to sense that it was safe to come out for a while, George emerged from his room but not before making sure to lock it after himself. Tommy had gotten in once before and been such a menace that they banned him from going in there. To tell the truth Dream was envious of the taller man who adorned mustard yellow sweaters and had the support of his family along with his perfect best friend. Dream was all alone.

Sure he had Tubbo who was more than enough, his little boy alone could make him infinitely happy. However his heart ached and longed for some kind of support, whether it was platonic or romantic. Wilbur and George server the platonic purpose but he didn't like to intrude on them more than he already did. They were already extremely helpful by collecting Tubbo from school with Tommy everyday because Dream would never be able to make it in time. Maybe if this date worked out though, he might find his other half.

Dream wasn't certain he believed in soulmates. In high school when he was beyond naive, the idea had seemed perfectly plausible and he truly believed he had found his in Tubbo's mother. Well that didn't end up being the case he reminded himself whenever his mind would drift to her. It never happened intentionally but Tubbo had her eyes and he couldn't meet his gaze without thinking of the woman who broke his heart into smithereens.

The concept wasn't something he had a lot of faith in anymore but maybe this time it could be different. That was a lot of faith to put in a tinder date of all things though. Even with George and Wilbur persistently trying to get him back into dating for the last year and a half, Dream had politely refused their efforts. Well, until now.

He remembered it clearly like yesterday, the three of them sat on the couch after Wilbur and Dream had put the boys to bed which was a challenge. Tommy and Tubbo were a nightmare to get to sleep when they were having a sleepover and you had to exhaust them to ensure they didn't wake up ten minutes later and start chatting for half the night. George hadn't bothered to help them and had instead chosen to nap on the couch but not after opening a bottle of red wine and pouring himself a glass.

Dream and Wilbur had found him half asleep on the grey fabric, wine glass tipping dangerously in his hand. Dream had placed it on the coffee table as George stirred in his sleep and blinked wearily. The three men all held a glass of red wine and maintained idle chatter until a natural halt occurred in the conversation. In which Dream seized the opportunity to try bring up something that had been lingering in the back of his mind for a while. And what better people to ask than his two closest friends. His two only friends.

It was impossible to forget the cheshire grin that formed on Wilbur's face after he confided in them about his loneliness and wanting to get back into dating. Dream was shaking inside as they discussed it, heart fluttering and beating so rapidly that it felt as though it would just burst out of his chest as any moment without warning. Both of them had relished in the opportunity to tease him lightly but he knew it was just their way of showing support.

George had grabbed his laptop with a slight smirk and began typing so quickly that Dream couldn't tell what he was doing. Wilbur raised an eyebrow at what George was setting up before the two of them turned around at the same time, facing him eerily.

"I feel like I'm about to be inducted into a cult," Dream commented, a nervous air to his tone.

Wilbur shared a glance with George "not a cult but we're signing you up to tinder..."

His eyes widened comically fast "wait what? guys I can barely talk to you in person - I won't be able to hold a conversation with some stranger online."

"You were literally the biggest Chad in school," George pointed out "you'll be fine."

Dream still wasn't convinced about the idea "but isn't this more of a like straight person thing...shouldn't we use grindr?"

In sync again, to the point where Dream was actually both curious and concerned about how many times they must practice this, George and Wilbur shared a look and appeared to be on the edge of laughter.

"What?" Dream asked, not getting why they found it so funny. Maybe it was just the contrast to how straight he'd acted and thought he was in high school and now he was fully out.

"Oh innoncent little Dreamie," Wilbur teased condescendingly while George giggled "you're too classy for grindr darling."

Whether that supposed to be a compliment or some weird backhanded one Dream didn't know "isn't it for gay guys though?"

George seemed to have had enough of drawing out the whole situation "it depends Dream, do you want to get dicked down for a night or do you want to try find a relationship."

"I'm not leaving Tubbo for a night just to get dick," Dream said pointedly "and wait...are you calling me a bottom?"

George clapped his hands together awkwardly "so anyway for your pictures I was thinking-"

Dream was persistent though and a mischievous gleam that was oddly similar to the one Tommy and Tubbo had appeared in his gaze. George had placed his wine glass back on the coffee table so Dream full on tackled him and tickled his sides relentlessly.

Wilbur joined in and both of the taller men were teasing George about being so ticklish everywhere. After George started fighting back and regained some breath, the trio stared up at the ceiling from where they were pilled up on top of each other on the old carpet. It wasn't exactly comfortable but his best friends made it bearable.

Wilbur broke the silence eventually by blurting out something that left them all cackling down loud that it woke Tommy and Tubbo from their slumber. Yet they had followed his advice and put the so called hottest picture Wilbur's ever seen of Dream at the front of his profile.

Dream supposed that he could see the appeal of it, he had looked good there. Eyes a unique hue of green that bared a striking resemblance to the new spring growth, bright and soft all at once. Along with a white shirt only half buttoned and veiny knuckles which adorned a set of rings. It was at least a year old this picture, he couldn't exactly remember when but Wilbur had demanded that he used it.

The other one that the two British men used for him was a surprise. One that he had from the gym, a light layer of sweat coating the surface of his chest, shimmering in the light. His muscles were slightly flexed, not enough for it to be cringy but they were eye-catching. He hadn't looked that good in a while, work had picked up more than usual and Tubbo had started school in the time since the picture was taken. Even he couldn't deny that he looked hot though and both of his friends strongly agreed.

Yet despite their confidence in their work, neither of the two believed him at first when he said that he had been talking to a guy and secured a date. The look on their faces after he proved them wrong had been worth it though.

A tug at his leg brought Dream out of the never ending stream of thoughts in his head and he glanced down to see Tubbo smiling up at him giving him the sweetest, softest stare. If Wilbur's tall frame wasn't blocking his view of the mirror, Dream was certain he'd be greeted with the sight of himself completely overcome with love and adoration.

"Dad can I please sleepover tonight?" Tommy wants to show me his new plushie." Tubbo asked.

Dream's smile widened as he told Tubbo that he could causing his little bit to hug him tightly before joining his best friend once more.

"George and I will take care of him," Wilbur placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder blade.

He didn't know how to respond to that so Dream just nodded in appreciation. There were so many worries coursing through his brain, all of them building up to the point where he could feel himself begin to shake. His body trembled ever so slightly and Will looked concerned. At first the date had seemed like a good idea, a chance to get into dating after nearly two years of working up the courage to even try again.

Now he was seriously regretting his decision though. What if this guy was nothing like who he said he was? Did he like kids? Was he prepared to deal with the surprise of Dream having a kid?

Dream couldn't even ask the latter question despite it being the most essential one. Nobody would want to take on the responsibility of dating a guy who had a child. Tubbo wasn't that young, there were no smelly nappies or bottles involved anymore but it was still a lot to ask of someone. Dream didn't want Tubbo to be just viewed as a burden or accessory to him, he would always come first.

The states he received whenever he dropped Tubbo to school in the morning were intense, full of preconceived judgements. He had a right to be nervous about the outcome of this date though, how it would go if he revealed that he was actually a single dad. It was better to lie than to make himself vulnerable though. For both himself and Tubbo.

They couldn't get attached to someone who would just up and leave them. Not like last time.

"Are you alright Dream?" George shook him gently.

Dream wasn't alright but despite all of his nerves, something was telling him to go on the date. And if he didn't go willingly, George and Wilbur would march him back down the stairs and drive him all the way to the restaurant themselves just to ensure that he went. They meant well but as soon as he'd brought the idea up, neither of the two had let go of it, both equally persistent.

"Yeah you kept zoning out," Wilbur added.

Dream shrugged in an effort to dismiss it "just some pre-date jitters," he lied smoothly - well was it really a lie "you know...it's been a long time since I've gone out anywhere, let alone on a date."

"Maybe he can help you unwind," Wilbur wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"I'm leaving," Dream groaned "bye George I'll see you later."

"Why is George the only one to get a goodbye?" Wilbur whined as Dream headed for the door again.

"He's pretty," Dream rolled his eyes "bye Will."

In the distance he could hear what sounded like words of affirmation, reassuring him that it was all going to work out. Or at least he hoped they were words of encouragement. This date could turn out amazing but the stress it was putting him under before he'd even driven to the place wasn't.

Dream had never actually been to the restaurant that the other man had suggested. It was on the outskirts of town, quite far away from his apartment and a bit out of his and Tubbo's budget. Not that Tubbo cared, he'd order chicken nuggets no matter where they were. As his car crawled up the busy road, his nerves increased tenfold and the anxious feeling bubbling inside of him was overwhelming.

When he reached the destination just two minutes before they were supposed to meet, Dream let out a sigh of relief. He didn't want to make a bad first impression by being late or causing the other boy to panic and think he wasn't going to come at all. In the fairly empty car park, illuminated only by a flickering pink neon sign across the road and one faded street lamp, Dream hyped himself up inside, working up the nerve to get out and meet this guy.

A warm atmosphere, golden even, greeted him as he pushed the wooden door open. The hostess immediately guided him to a table in the back right of the restaurant where the guy was already sitting. This place was beyond what Dream had expected, it wasn't supposed to be that fancy or expressive but the deep red walls with golden accents proved that wrong.

His jaw unhinged slightly and Dream froze once he made eye contact with the brunette man sitting at the table for two by himself. He wrung his hands together anxiously on the white tablecloth, not having noticed Dream approaching the table. The blonde was blown away though, he hadn't thought it to be possible but he somehow looked even better than his pictures and they were, well they were something else.

Small stubble lined the edge of soft cheeks that were tinted a pale pink and luscious lips captivated him. Just when he thought he couldn't be more enthralled by the man sitting at the table, his gaze shifted upwards and oh fuck his eyes. They were beautiful and Dream couldn't stop himself from staring.

Brown eyes. So deep that he could feel himself getting lost in them already and it had been mere seconds. Dark, rich and decadent pools that reminded Dream of the colour of fresh earth after rain. Even in the dim light, he could tell they'd be stunning in the sunlight, brilliant and clear. They'd melt into shocking golden rays or copper against honey and shade. He was entrancing beyond all fathomable belief. Little flicks of jet black eyeliner tracing the edge of his lids.

Dream tried to keep his expression as neutral as possible but that proved to be rather difficult considering how long he'd stared at his date. Nevertheless, he let a confident yet faint smirk form in an attempt to convey a calm persona and not the man closer to crumbling than an eroded cliff or a rapid landslide.

With a similar bravado to his high school self, Dream smiled coyly "you're Sapnap right?"

He reflected a similar smirk "I don't know am I? It depends whose asking."

Dream hadn't anticipated being this attracted to a man's voice ever but here he was. Smooth, dulcet tones laced with something sweeter than honey that only drew Dream in more of that was possible. His voice was compelling and he'd only just spoken but Dream was hooked. Like a siren pulling him into the deep end to drown him, Dream would willingly let him do it though. The nerves had been soothed slightly but he was wondering what he'd done to deserve to go on a date with a man this gorgeous.

"I'm Dream," he introduced himself smoothly with a charming grin.

Despite already knowing his name, the other man rose an eyebrow at it before a teasing half smile grew on his face "hmm are you going to say you're the man of my dreams now?"

He chuckled quietly "I could be but no, cheesy pick up lines aren't really my thing."

"Good because I would've left if you had," Sapnap remarked casually "and it would've been such a shame because the pictures really don't do you justice."

Now it was Dream's turn to raise an eyebrow "oh really?"

Sapnap nodded, tauntingly slow "you were already attractive but wow - I didn't know I was going on a date with someone who looks like they could be a Greek god."

Normally comments like that didn't get to Dream but there was something about him and his stupidly perfect southern drawl that was even more prominent in that comment. So he could feel his cheeks flush an embarrassing shade of crimson and Sapnap noticed. He didn't mention it but Dream saw the hint of a satisfied smirk creep onto his face.

Their intensely held stare was promptly removed by the arrival of a waiter at the secluded table. dream was grateful for their intervention because it gave him the chance to catch his breath which he didn't realise he'd been holding in anticipation. As Sapnap gave his order, Dream took the opportunity to admire him further since he wouldn't notice it. A silver chain hung from his neck and if he wasn't imagining things , there was a small tattoo on his right bicep.

"And for you sir?" The waiter turned to him expectantly.

Dream hadn't payed attention to what Sapnap had chosen, nor had he even read through the menu but he wasn't going to admit that.

"The same," he answered with as much confidence as he could muster up.

A nod from the waiter lead him to intense but the sly and mocking expression Sapnap bore let him know that he hadn't been as slick and subtle as he would've liked to think.

"Did you even hear what I ordered?" He asked, the amusement evident in his voice.

"No," Dream found himself blurting out before he could stop "please tell me you didn't order something gross like cow liver."

Sapnap's face was deadpan, totally neutral and unreadable "that's my favourite," and he kept it like that for a moment to internally snigger at Dream's expression of utter horror "I'm joking dude, I ordered steak don't worry."

Dream's eyes widened comically as he exclaimed "you dickhead!" but they both knew his words weren't genuine.

"Maybe," Sapnap shrugged indifferently "but it's not really my problem, you were the one who couldn't look away from me long enough to read it."

“And what if I was,” Dream retorted “I can’t help it when you look like that.”

It was Sapnap’s turn to flush brightly and the two fell into a natural flow of teasing comments as they got to know each other further. Dream was surprised at how easy talking to Sapnap came to him, there was never a dull or silent moment in their conversation and he didn’t have to overthink it or portray himself in a certain way. Something that he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

Sapnap was in his final year of college, studying computer science which surprised Dream considering he worked in it. He was freaking out way more than he’d liked to admit over this information but kept it hidden behind a collected facade. Part of him was a bit worried about being five years older than Sapnap before coming on the date but they had so many common interests and meshed so well that those thoughts were quickly silenced.

The tattoo on his bicep was a little one of a cat. Not the first thing Dream was expecting given his aesthetic and personality but he learnt that Sapnap had three cats and that the tattoo had been a dare while on a night out and it had been the first thing to come to mind. Nevertheless Dream found it adorable how it completely juxtaposed his appearance.

As the two were finishing up their steak, Dream felt his phone vibrating in the back pocket of his jeans. Worry instantly overcame him, he’d left it on do not disturb for everyone except George and Wilbur in case there was an emergency with Tubbo or something went wrong. Obviously something had happened. It was a shame that it had to occur in the middle of his date and that said date would probably hate him for ditching and he’d ruin any chances at love for the foreseeable future. But Tubbo was his number one priority and that wasn’t going to change, no matter how much it hurt him.

Visions of all his worst nightmares sprang to the forefront of his mind and Dream cursed his active imagination because it really wasn’t helping put him at ease. How could he try to reassure himself that it wasn’t anything too serious, hope that things were alright when all of the worst scenarios imaginable were tormenting him.

He winced slightly as he faced the concerned expression Sapnap wore. “I’m really sorry for this but I have to go, like now, it’s urgent.”

“Oh,” the other man breathed softly, not knowing how to react or what to say.

“My friend called, I told them not to unless it was an emergency. I’m sorry Sapnap.”

Before the younger man even had a chance to check he was alright or say goodbye, Dream had gotten up from the table and left some money on the side for the meal. Part of him was tempted to go back and make it a rain check and that they’d continue this date another time, but he had a feeling this just fucked everything up. Sapnap probably believed he was lying and just trying to get away from the date but no matter how much it hurt both of them, it was easier than explaining that he was a single dad this early on in a potential relationship.

Dream overtook a string of slow vehicles and was definitely going above the speed limit. But that wasn’t his concern even though it should have been. He needed to get to Tubbo. To make sure he was safe and help solve whatever problem had arisen. While stuck at a red light he texted George to let him know that he was on the way home, he would’ve called, demanding to know what happened but he knew it would just stress him out even more and there would be no way he could focus on driving.

When he reached the apartment building that he’d been at just a few hours prior, Dream nearly forgot to lock his car in his haste to get to Tubbo. He ran up the stairs at a speed that he didn’t know was possible in his current physical state and banged harshly on the wooden door to get their attention. Wilbur opened it quickly and guided him over to the room where the boy’s had been sleeping.

And curled up in a little ball over a bowl of what appeared to be vomit was Tubbo. Pearlescent and trembling but still reaching out towards him, longing for the comfort of his dad. Tommy was patting his arm awkwardly, unsure as to how he could support and help him but wanting to help or reassure his best friend somehow.

Dream pulled Tubbo close to his chest, not caring if he ended up getting sick on him. After raising a baby all by himself from day one, that didn’t phase him. In the back of his mind Sapnap lingered along with the pure bliss he’d experienced on their date. He wanted desperately to say he regretted leaving without much of an explanation but it was easier this way. It had to be.

#oneshot #mcyt fic #dreamwastaken #sapnap #dreamnap

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