#finally managed to write something

[pullakori]

Cherik week 2023

Day 4. Protective Erik

It’s been a year since Charles followed Erik to Genosha and started living in there. The change wasn’t an easy one, but slowly the island started to feel like a home and its residents like a family. Old sorrow and guilt still followed him, but they were not as consuming as they had been right after… Well, a year ago.

Charles sipped his tea, enjoying the morning sun on his face. It seemed like it was going to be another beautiful day in the paradise, no need to ruin the otherwise beautiful day with such gloomy thoughts.

“What would you like to do today?” Erik asked him from the other side of the table. Most days he would already be working on some project on the island, but today he had decided to take a day off and that meant that they could spend the whole day together.

“We could visit the beach, return through the market and make dinner together.” Charles mused, turning to look at Erik, who was smiling at him.

“How domestic.” He teased, but continued before Charles had an opportunity to quip anything back. “Chess after dinner?”

“Naturally.” Charles replied.

Domestic. That was possibly the best way to describe their situation. They lived together and there was certainly something more between them, but neither of them had had the courage to approach it, too cautious of what it could do to the serenity they had managed to find.

As it turned out, the faith of their found peace was not in their hands at all.

It started with a knock on the door and a concerned mind on the other side of it.

“Magneto! Magneto there is a helicopter flying towards the island!” The voice was clear, as it carried through the open window and after a quick shared glance with Charles, Erik stood up and hurried to open the door. On the other side was distressed looking Corina, who was clearly trying to catch her breath.

“Where?” Erik asked, straight to the point while Charles wheeled himself to the door too.

“From the North-West.” Corina panted and pointed towards the right direction. “I saw them while I was practising my flying. I don’t think it will take long for them to reach us.”

“Were you able to identify it?”

“Nothing specific, but it looked military.”

“We’ll be ready. Find Panic so he can sound the alarm. There might be only one, but I rather not take any risks.” Erik ordered and with a nod, Corina took few running steps and jumped, flapping her seagull like wings and flew away.

“Charles, are you able to reach their minds?” Erik turned to Charles.

“I should be, if they are not that far away.” Charles said and closed his eyes, so he could focus his powers, sending tendrils of it out to scan the ocean area. He tried to find sparks of any kind of minds, but he found strange voids instead. They were familiar, reminding him of Erik’s old helmet. They were closing in on the island fast. “They are blocking me somehow.” Charles said aloud, and the grim look on Erik’s face mirrored his own thoughts. This wasn’t good.

The sound of Panic’s warning scream echoed through the air, telling everyone on the island to be prepared and soon after, the sound of helicopter propellers grew louder and louder.

“You should stay inside, Charles.” Erik told him as he stepped out himself, turning to look from the sky to Charles. But the telepath was having none of that.

“I’ll just stay near you.” He said, following Erik outside and meeting his eyes, making it clear, that he would not be hiding away.

Not that he would have time for that, as the helicopter appeared over them, landing on the clearing in front of Erik’s home. Other mutants had gathered around too, waiting for what was going to happen.

‘Do you think they know where you live, or was this just a coincidence?’

‘Oh, I’m sure they know.’ The distaste in Erik’s thoughts was clear. From the helicopter, soldiers hurried down a ramp, helmets on their heads and guns in hands. ‘Plastic.’ Erik’s mind stated.

‘That might become a problem.’ This whole thing seemed to become more concerning every second.

‘Luckily the copter isn’t.’ Charles did his best to suppress his smirk, but didn’t quite manage.

The tension in the air grew as the last person came out of the copter, better dressed, clearly in charge. Erik took a step forward and Charles followed him, staying by his friend’s side.

“Why have you come here?” Erik asked the man with an authoritative tone, speaking loudly so his voice carried through the whole clearing.

“We are not here because of you Magneto. No need to stir any trouble.” The man answered, stopping in front of his men.

“You are the ones who barged to my home with guns.” Erik stated, not impressed by the man’s attempt to be pleasant. “So I ask again, why are you here?” The man shook his head, before his gaze turned to Charles.

“Mr. Charles Xavier.” It wasn’t a question, he knew exactly who Charles was.

“Yes?” The helmet made it impossible for the telepath to get a reading from the man, but even though his eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, his attention made Charles feel unnerved. Like he was a fly trapped in the spider’s web, about to be killed. The man’s next words only made the feeling stronger.

“You have been found guilty for treason and we are here to take you back to the Stares.”

Charles was certain that the time froze for a few minutes, no one moved, no one said anything, even the noises of the island nature seemed to fade away.

“Excuse me?” Charles was proud how steady his voice came out, even though he felt shaken to his core. Treason? What the hell were they talking about? But the man wasn’t about to explain himself.

“This doesn’t need to be difficult. Just come with us, and there will be no reason for use to use any force.” He gave a small hand signal, and the soldiers raised their weapons. Not only at Charles and Erik, but the other mutants as well. Charles could see the bloodshed that would follow, if he didn’t do as the man wanted. And too much blood had already been spilled because of him.

He was about to move forward, but Erik beat him to it, stepping in front of him.

“You are not taking him anywhere.” Erik stood there arms crossed, unmoving and shielding Charles from the soldiers.

‘Erik…’ Charles felt frozen, he wanted to move, to tell Erik to stand down, but he couldn’t.

“What a shame.” The man said, his voice barely reaching Charles’ ears.

It was over in a matter of seconds. There was the sound of gunfire, shouting, groaning of metal and chaos of fighting, before suddenly, it was quiet again. The man and his soldiers were lying on the ground, blood staining the ground. Few mutants had been hurt too, three dead. Because of him.

“They’ll be back.” Charles managed to find his voice all the while his mind was running wild. He had to get away from Genosha, away from anyone who could be hurt because of this.

“And we will be ready.” Erik’s words snapped Charles back from his thoughts. Erik was still standing in front of him and was examining Charles for any injuries. There were none, at least Charles didn’t think so. Erik on the other hand had gotten a shallow wound to his cheek, but otherwise seemed to have escaped without further injury. Against all the odds. The thought chilled Charles from the inside. Erik could have died.

“I can’t ask you to risk your life for me.” Charles told Erik, taking a hold of his arm. The last thing he wanted was to put the lives of the Genoshans in danger, least of all Erik’s.

Erik held his gaze, and for a moment it felt like he was the telepath instead of Charles, like he could see through all Charles’ masks right in to his heart. But maybe that had been the case through all their relationship. Erik moved down so they were looking eye to eye, before he took hold of Charles’ shoulders, his left hand resting where shoulder met the neck, stroking the spot there with his thumb.

“You don’t have to ask.”

[mumblesplash]

heartbreaking: this viral post is saying things you completely agree with in the most irritating way possible

[valictini]

Anyway congrats to sansmaeda, see you all on sunday for the most wedding ever

Bonus: collective mental breakdown below

You just never know what to expect with this funny little guy!

[hxhhasmysoul]

Hey so i have been seeing this sukuna hates yuji thing very often and i feel like sukuna is still indifferent to him very much as I don't see difference in his behavior even after chp 248 .

Did I miss something?

I think we see Sukuna’s attitude towards Yuuji quite differently. To me, between the two of them, the person who’s been showing indifference, has been Yuuji. 

In the beginning Yuuji had tried to establish some rapport with Sukuna. He even approached him with some dose of sense of humour right after Sukuna ripped his heart out. 

But the moment he realised Sukuna can’t be reasoned with, when Sukuna refused to help Junpei and mocked Yuuji for asking, Yuuji crossed over to cold hatred. He repeatedly doesn’t let Sukuna bait him. Not when Sukuna blames Yuuji for people’s death in chapter 63, not when Sukuna tries to get Yuuji to keep quiet when they meet Angel. Yuuji just dismisses him. Even Yuuji’s reaction to Shibuya isn’t directed at Sukuna. It’s directed inward. He hates Sukuna but in a passive way, he prioritises other things. Trying to do at least something good after Shibuya, getting Gojou out, saving Megumi. Sukuna is an obstacle, but Yuuji tries to engage with him as little as possible.

The opposite is true for Sukuna. He talks to Yuuji, he tries to actively torment Yuuji and constantly questions Yuuji and his worldview. Tries to mock Yuuji.

I personally don’t like the word hate, when it comes to Sukuna’s attitude towards Yuuji. I think Yuuji unsettles him, causes him discomfort, irks him. Yuuji’s existence and especially perseverance go against what Sukuna believes to be true. He believes that only power matters and those who can’t go toe to toe with the strong are insignificant. He deems their lives to be pointless misery. Yuuji on the other hand cherishes human life, it matters to him on a very personal level. 

And even though Yuuji seems weak to Sukuna, someone not on par with him. Still Yuuji has power over Sukuna, he might be the only one apart from maybe Kenjaku and possibly Tengen that has ever had true power over him. Anyone else he can kill and keep his independence from, but Yuuji. He needed a plan, he needed to trick Yuuji into a binding vow to get out. 

When Sukuna was inside, Yuuji unsettled and irked him. But now Sukuna is slightly drifting towards fascination. He’s been introspecting a bunch after he got out from Yuuji, he asked Yuuji directly why he keeps going. He is trying to understand, while he never does that for Yorozu, Gojou or Kashimo. The groupies don’t interest him because they represent the status quo he’s always believed in. Yuuji is its contradiction, a glitch in the system Sukuna’d lived by before they cohabited a body. Sukuna ignores everyone else who’s jumping him. The only other person who’s sparked his curiosity is Maki. Though with her it’s more of a jujutsu nerd kind of curiosity. Yuuji interests him on a far more personal level. 

Of course he’s trying to put on a dismissive front, he constantly insults and diminishes Yuuji, but he’s also constantly thinking about Yuuji. It’s kinda “the babygirl doth protest too much, methinks”.  Especially that Yuuji is still not giving a rat’s ass about Sukuna. It’s kinda like notice me at this point. Like: I can’t get you out of my head, react to my crude cries for attention.

[puppyeared]

Jitterbug

[lesbianalanwake]

Scratch is still a distinct entity from Alan. I think the Dark Presence has just found too good of a host and has itself gotten stuck - it tries to use Alan to escape, tries to leap into Casey, but Alan is able to draw it back in, and its temporary escape is colored by Alan's life and perspective, its own will wrenched into a different form by Alan's, even more pronounced than the fight over the narrative was in the first game.

It tries to escape, and Alan reels it back it. Alan tries to escape, and the Dark Presence reels him back in. Ad infinitum.

The entity called Scratch is Alan and the Dark Presence both, where they collide and get lost in and overwhelm each other. He's not just Alan's "dark side" - I think that's too literal and simplistic an interpretation, after Control very much established that beings and forces exist beyond us and beyond our reality, and when these games tend to put layers upon layers into any one thing.

I was struck by just how much of himself Alan has retained in the second game, despite everything. Even as he and the Dark Presence draw closer and closer together, taking on the appearance of the other, there's a stark difference between them still. And that difference illuminates (hah) the thread of similarity between them that has bound them together so tightly - the sheer, visceral desperation to escape, which the Dark Presence has been trying to do before Alan, before Zane, before Jagger.

The first game implies that the Dark Presence has existed for an unknown amount of time and has been trapped within the Dark Place for a very long time. Maybe it wasn't always a rageful, hateful being - isolation in the dark will do funny things to one's head, and desperation will do a number on you. (Which we see in Alan. Which is mirrored in Scratch, in the Dark Presence.)

The slidescape from which Hedron, Polaris, and the Hiss come, that Jesse calls "Hand," is desolate and empty, nothing but red sand and five pillars that Darling describes as being like outstretched fingers. I think Dark-Presence-as-Jagger is just one of those fingers reaching up from the lake, a crude imitation wearing a long-gone face to pull at the strings of Zane's grief. I think Scratch in American Nightmare is another one of those fingers, living darkness once again trying to breach reality but never quite managing to break the surface, an exaggerated parody wearing dark rumors made flesh for a skinsuit. And Scratch in AW2 is all of those fingers, the Dark Presence wearing Alan like a glove, only to find that when it breaches the surface at last, it can't take that glove off anymore.

The "Drowning" video in the Writer's Journey is one of the most brutal things to listen to in the game, and one of the clearest representations of the game as a whole, despite how incoherent it is. Thanks to some lovely voice work by Matthew Porretta, you can hear the switch from Alan to Scratch. You can hear them mirroring each other, and you can hear where the Dark Presence sounds just as despairing as Alan, even though the last several lines of the monologue don't actually leave Scratch's perspective. When it takes over, it's speaking to Alan, speaking from his perspective, speaking from it's own perspective, and Alan is speaking through it, all at once, and it gradually gets more unhinged and incoherent and despairing. I will highlight it with some thematic coloring.

I'm lost. I'm lost in the dark. Drowning. I'm drowning. I'm drowning. No way out. There's no way out. Sinking deeper. Deeper and deeper. This is hell. I'm in hell. I died. I wish I was dead. Let me die. I just want to sleep. Please let me sleep. I'm so tired. I just want to go home. I've written so much. I write and I write. There's nothing left. It's all gone. I don't know how to write. All the words are gone. There's no more words. Where did they go? Did I eat the words? I don't recognize these words anymore. Are the words moving? This is familiar. Why is this familiar? I've been here before. Have I said this before? I've read this somewhere. Where am I? Who am I? Alan Wake? Wake? That's a strange name. A. Wake. That sounds like a character's name. Did I write the name up, did I make that name up? I don't want to be a character. I don't want to be in this story. Just write me out of this story. Ram these words down your throat. Make you choke on these words. I know the words. Secret words. You can't take the words. I eat the words. These are my words! Stop using the words! The words! Cult of the Word! This isn't your story. It never was your story. The story is a monster. The story will eat you alive. The darkness is coming! The darkness inside. This is my story! You're in my story! Get out of my story! You are a character in my story! You can't stop the story. This story will go on forever. There's no escape! You will never escape! You will drown here. You're stuck in a loop. You don't have a clue. You're lost. You lost the plot. I'll show you.

The Dark Presence is stuck. It's been stuck, been drowning, for a very long time, and now it's irrevocably tied itself to Alan. It can't get away from him, anymore than he can get away from it.

The end of the loop that we play through is a recognition of that, so perhaps later steps in the spiral will be steps to reintegrate Alan with pieces of himself that have gotten scattered - the pieces in Scratch, the pieces in whatever the hell "Zane" is. Maybe even steps to reintegrate the Dark Presence with its own lost pieces - the pieces in Scratch, the pieces scattered within and corrupting the Dark Place, the pieces in the light? I don't think either of them will be able to truly breach the surface and escape a neverending death by drowning without that.

While playing AW2, part of my brain became fully convinced that the "dark" and the "light" used to be a whole being that shattered and split at some point, and the "fight" alluded to in the first game and in American Nightmare was simply failed reintegration, over and over again. Because we see the Dark Presence splinter (into itself and Jagger and and Scratch and Alan), and we see the light / the "Bright Presence" splinter into almost nothing of itself anymore ("until nothing remains," into Zane and Alan), and we see that there's still a unity in that fracturing and dissolving (Alan and Scratch and "Zane" all having the same face).

We see that there's a light in Alice now - a photographer capturing light on a canvas, delivering a light switch through a shoebox, speaking cryptically across videos and phone lines. She's slipped into the role that light plays in the story, that Zane used to play, illuminating and guiding Alan up and down a spiraling path.

So maybe reintegration and unification is waiting somewhere down the road - Scratch and Alan, Alan and Alice, the memories and pieces of self that Alan and Alice have lost in the darkness, the "Dark" and "Bright" Presence, the dark and the light, constantly circling and never quite reaching each other until at last the branching spiral path reaches its end.

[halfelven]

Celebrían falls asleep in Elrond’s arms, and it is not a dream. It is just a field of heather, just purple flowers underneath a blue sky. There is a slight wind that carries the scent of birch trees, and the sun is high and white above them. It is not another lifetime; it is just a field and the wind and the sky. Everything real, everything here—her hair falling silver across her face, her hand resting on his knee. There is a rock sharp beneath his leg, and he is glad, for in a dream it would not hurt.

[hood-ex]

Ughhh just want it to be January already so we can see Dick and Damian interact. Although, Damian is going to be... a cat... but... I'll overlook what I gotta overlook, mkay?

[capriciouswriter207]

The crack of thunder under a clear sky.

Jimmy braced for impact, waited for the lightning that would claim him once again. An instinctive feeling he couldn’t shake, the knowledge it was over. Return to the Void, first once more. Despite the split-second tension upon hearing the thunder, his shoulders relaxed.

It can’t be strange to expect it now.

Is it strange to accept it?

The cold of the Void did not wrap around him, the sky did not go dark. His lungs still filled with air and the sun still warmed his skin.

Thunder cracked. Yet, no lightning followed it.

Could it be…

He dared not believe it. He waited for a few more seconds, to be taken away again, yet nothing followed. Yet, he still was here and breathed and lived.

How?

Shouts and whispers rippled through the server. Lizzie’s dead. She fell into the Void.  She died first.

He did not.

Elation and satisfaction rushed through his veins. He did not die first. He still lived, while another passed away. His sorrow for Lizzie was completely overridden with joy. He lived and someone else was dead.

He lived. For how long?

Did that matter?

When the Wither and the Warden came to the surface, all caution was cast aside. What happened after thunder first cracked did not matter. Whatever Jimmy did after he was not struck down, did not matter. After all this time, he’d become familiar with inevitability. If not now, then later.

Death would find him soon anyway.

In the chaos - when thunder cracked and lightning flashed and took him away from this world - nobody saw the grin on his face as life left his body.

[bretongirlwrites]

Neither Corinne nor Caroline, – though deep-seated in silver and gold, though shining pillars of force, – a force which, now blood-spattered, battle-weary, perhaps lost its strength as much as its shimmer, – had emerged unscathed; but the fires had burnt long enough to finish the thing; such that when the High Chancellor had bowed and taken their leave, they felt it all suddenly upon them as if the City had taken a last struggling breath, and come down onto them. Corinne blinked blood; knew somewhere, that there oughtn’t to be blood on her face; though there was blood everywhere else; and knew it only, when Caroline shrieked and summoned a spell and clutched her hand. There were better healers about, – Julianne was only just out of earshot: sitting with Marianne beneath Martin’s marble foliage, startlingly unharmed but shaking as the world had, – but she needed to be alone: and that meant with Caroline, Caroline alone, it always did. 

She let her doting wife make a rugged job of the knitting; let her throw her gloves aside and with bare hands brush away the blood; then, taking these hands, pulled her away, pulled her from what remained of the Temple, to wander. 

As if there were somewhere to go; as if the City half in pieces, had not the dreamlike circular feel of some interminable ruin, – dust and ashen flame; civilians emerging from cellars; survivors lost, battered; spattered remains almost too far gone to know their like, – they clung to each other after the end of the world; found at last some quiet unbroken corner; and collapsed. 

‘Here,’ said Corinne, at last: and though her hands were still trembling, though her arm had not quite survived the day, drew half a crumbling baguette from some devoted place beneath her armour.

It was so straight-faced, and so Corinne, that Caroline sputtered laughing; and laughed, maniacally, until the ringing of it had gone flat into the scorched earth, and frazzled into nothing. They broke the bread; it near dissolved in their hands; they shared what was left, in silence. In silence though the City awoke panicked and restless from its nightmare; in silence, in the ringing past echoes of steel on steel; in silence, in companionable silence, they still had that at least.

‘I don’t know,’ said Corinne, who hardly broke it for she leaned in close, ‘if we have failed.’

‘I don’t think,’ returned Caroline, ‘that it matters.’

Not now. Not today. They’d meant to defeat Dagon: and Dagon defeated, they’d not failed. That they were Blades, that they defended an Emperor, did not matter. The City, – and it would have a hard time believing it, it would slip into nightmare, over and over, it would grieve its wrecks and breathe painfully its own dust, – was saved, and they’d saved it. Nothing else mattered. 

‘It does not matter,’ said Caroline, again.

And raising a hand, – still in dust and blood and breadcrumbs, – she combed Corinne’s hair straight; wondered at it, that bar the scars, that bar the beading tears, she was still the same, still there, – sighed, placed another spell upon the split which rent her lip. 

‘I don’t think,’ said Corinne, whose arm was beginning to pound, but with a weak smile ‘my dear, that that is quite the priority, –’

‘I think so,’ said Caroline, – ‘see, the sun is coming out,’ and felt unharmed, felt unbloodied, felt unchanged, – half closed her eyes that only the sunset beaming on Corinne’s cheeks beamed through, – those lips on hers, timeless. 

---------------

(prompt from @druidx, who wanted some 'post-crisis fluff' for these two... there's more blood than fluff but ah well)

[fatalwhims]

my heart is absolutely broken.

there is something so ironic about Emet's last words in Shb starting with "remember us"

and then our time in Elpis ends with Emet + Hythlodaeus forgetting that we even met here.

[oathkeeperoxas]

So @frostbitebakery tagged me in a last line meme, but in the spirit of six sentence sunday I am instead posting the last six paragraphs I wrote because I think they're chewy and tasty and deserve to be seen and likely otherwise won't be. Thanks Frost!

And Ice in turn looks undeniably, deeply sad. Not grieving or mauldin or hopeless or another dozen emotions that Maverick has seen of him that are shades of that feeling, but simply, obviously, incredibly unhappy. Ice carries an dissatisfaction inside him – different to the one that Maverick has, the one that has him burning like a star coming through the stratosphere, but there all the same – and there’s an underlying sorrow that accompanies that, always, but that’s not what this is. Now, he’s just sad, and Maverick has done that to him.  “We tried, didn’t we?” Ice asks, and somehow, even through that sadness, he smiles. Maverick wants to claw through the suddenly huge chasm of distance between them and cup his face in his hands, turn that smile into a true laugh, to make everything right again. To do anything to make Ice happy again. It’s intolerable that anyone hurt Ice. Even him. Maybe especially him. “Yeah,” Maverick says through a thick throat, voice catching. “We gave it a red hot go.”  “I still would do it,” Ice says, eyes deep, seeing, knowing. Not moving from Maverick’s face. Like he wants to savour every second left they have together. “I’d still want to try, even if I knew we couldn’t make it work. I’d still want to know what I know of you, Mav.”  And it hurts like a bitch. Like Ice has stood up and suckerpunched the air out of him, except that would only be a physical pain, and this one instead scours itself deep onto Maverick’s heart. “You can’t say shit like that,” Maverick says, breathless, almost choking on his grief, and Ice closes his eyes, that shade of a smile disappearing from his face. Now, he just looks tired.  “It’s the truth,” he insists. “I don’t usually get to tell the truth, but I’m not going to avoid it here. Even if it was only for a summer – I’d want you to be mine.” 

[bisexualdinahlance]

I feel like fandom at large (like fandom spaces in general, no specific fandom) really needs to reevaluate the whole "everyone knows this person is queer/into this friend of the same gender but the person themselves" trend. Like, I get that some part of it is that fandom seems to love oblivious characters, but especially when it comes to gender and sexuality. The way it's handled in fandom is just... really uncomfortable.

I'm not sure if it's just my age (because the attitude and discussions surrounding queerness have obviously changed so incredibly much in the last decade alone) that makes this trope uncomfortable to me or what, but it reminds me so much of the stupid "gaydar" shit. And I don't mean like, the original gaydar as in queer people clocking other queer people, but like, when gaydar got taken up by straight people and they started "clocking" any vaguely effeminate man or masculine woman and claiming they knew they were gay.

I have such a clear memory of being the only (out, at least) queer person in a group of straight people, who during our semester abroad constantly speculated about the sexuality of another of our friends. Now, very likely, this friend is queer in some way (we fell out of contact so can't confirm), and he was definitely experiencing some internalized homophobia and some issues with toxic masculinity, but gods the way they talked about the fact that he must be gay and he just was too repressed to know it. Or that his culture's values was keeping him from exploring himself (the friend was a Chinese international student, so there was also a sprinkling of racism in there as well). They always seemed so smug and pitying that they knew him better than himself, and would be the same when I suggested that instead of gay maybe he was bisexual, because of course he must be just fooling himself.

And these are people who would claim they are excepting of gay people! That support gay marriage and have gay friends! But shit like this feels bad. Especially about something where so many of us struggle with it, struggle to come to terms with it, have to fight against what society taught us was and wasn't acceptable.

It often feels like this in fics, when a character comes out and every single friend is just like "yeah you didn't know you were gay why did you think you were so obsessed with this person?" or a person comes out and "it was supposed to be a secret?" like for some people being queer isn't still incredibly dangerous. And yeah there's something to be said for escapism, but there's ways to write accepting characters without basically implying a character is stupid for being worried and struggling with their sexuality. I don't want the family and friends of a ship to be homophobic even when it might be "period accurate", but yaknow, you can have escapism without invalidating real life fears.

I think also people don't understand that there is a difference between like, a parent having a feeling/knowing that their kid isn't straight, picking up the signs and remembering things that were said when they were children, and working to make sure the kid knows it's okay to come out to them. It's different to have a best friend (especially a queer best friend) quietly sit you down and be like "is there anything you need to tell me" or "I know you've been struggling and I think I might know why". It's different when maybe you and your friends have known this person all your life, and while you think they might be gay, you don't know for sure and you don't know if they're sure, but you will wait until they are ready to tell you because it is their shit to figure out, and it's their right to choose when to do so, but by the gods you will support them however you can.

It's also incredibly uncomfortable to constantly have characters be "super obvious" and "everyone knows something is going on" between two queer characters when neither of them are out, and it be treated as some sort of "haha they're so silly/dumb (affectionate) thinking it's a secret" like that couldn't be life or death for some folks. Especially in fandoms where it's like, canonically there is homophobia or it takes place in like, the 80s during the fucking AIDs crisis. (On a more lighthearted note, fandoms also I think put too much faith in people's ability to overcome heteronormativity, especially by the straight characters lol.)

I'm incredibly happy that people feel more comfortable being out and proud. Escapism and canons without homophobia are great and I'm glad we're getting more canons that are following the trends of like, WTNV where they're just like "lol yeah homophobia doesn't exist", but like, I just could really do without this leading to having characters make assumptions about other characters and then pitying them/making fun of them/looking down upon them for struggling. Like obviously, everyone has their own experiences, but so many fics now start to feel like we queers are being laughed at for being worried or struggling with our identities, instead of laughing with us.

Because sometimes yes, your journey to self discovery can be funny! Not denying that! I could write a whole book full of stupid things I or my friends or my friends partners did or excuses we told ourselves while we were still in denial about who we were. But I want to be laughed with not at and that's what a lot of fandom has been feeling like lately.

[sehtoast]

Nyquil and Bribery (Depowered Homelander x OC Sickfic) All of You is Left to Love ch10

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: No plot, just sickfic fun. Nyquil is gross.

Warnings: None.

Fic Directory

Misery.

This was pure fucking misery.

"You're not dying, Johnny."

And that has to be a lie.

But surely it couldn't feel this bad, right? All of his life, seeing the roaches around him with their little ailments– their sniffles and sneezes, their disgusting coughs– convinced with every fiber of his being that they were being dramatic.

So he must be dying. That's the only thing that made sense with every violent cough that rattled him.

His one comfort: the cool hand pressed to his forehead, checking his fever before another round of medicine.

"I mean… it's your first time having the flu, so it's gonna feel bad, y'know?" Ben murmured as he poured a bitter, blue liquid into a small plastic cup.

Homelander cringed at the sight. He hated the taste so fucking much. Couldn't taste half of what he ate, but his tongue could register the vile medicine just fine– go figure.

Ben had told him it would be like black licorice if it were dipped in pure menthol. It was accurate, but somehow so much worse– enough to make him gag and beg for mouthwash of all things.

"You're not makin' me drink that again, are you?" His words slurred slightly, voice nasally and unbecoming of the man who once held more power than God himself could ever dream.

"Mm, no." Ben hummed, his smile sympathetic. "Just pouring it out so it's ready for bed. Lucky for you, just some Tylenol and Mucinex for now."

"Oh thank god," he whined, leaning back against the mountain of pillows damp from fever sweats. All of the air conditioning and fans blowing on him did nothing to help, and his body worked hard to sweat it out.

Absolutely miserable.

"Actually, I was thinking of swapping out the sheets so they'd be dry for you. Maybe toss you in the tub for a bit," Ben ran a hand through his damp locks, ruffling them slightly. "Up to you."

A dry bed sounded nice…

He nodded.

It was a chore to get out of bed. His body ached, especially his back. But, as sure as the sun would rise, his little spider was there to snatch him off his feet and carry him.

As humiliating as it had been, he'd needed help on the first day. He'd felt so horrible that he didn't eat or drink all day. That, combined with the fever, and… well.

He learned the hard way that walking while dizzy was dangerous.

Since then, Ben practically became his nurse. He took off work– shirked his heroic duties to stay home and take care of him to the point he outright ignored the occasional sirens.

He only left for cold medicine and takeout.

The bath water wasn’t quite hot, but not cold, either. Something about not agitating the fever– but it felt incredible nonetheless. Bubbles floated at the top, the scent pleasant even through his congestion.

"M'gonna leave the door open. Holler if you need me, okay?"

He nodded and sank down into the water, eyes fluttering shut.

In a perfect world, he'd be able to hear every breath, every movement Ben made while stripping the sheets and covers from the bed. He’d hear the way Benny bickered with the fitted sheet that he could never quite get right on the first try, or maybe he’d smell the little specks of lemongrass oil he liked to fling on the mattress.

The humming as he worked.

The sigh of sympathy as he removed damp pillowcases.

The intense deliberation between flannel or microfiber sheets.

Instead, he got to sit there and shiver– body frozen despite the heat both in and outside of him. Simply trying to submerge further, damning both his height and the cramped tub that he couldn’t sink fully into the warmth.

He got to dwell on all that he'd lost– and how he wouldn't be like this now if he'd never let his guard down.

Vulnerable.

Weak.

Human.

Homelander hadn’t heard the shuffling of sock covered feet enter the bathroom, nor did he notice the fingertips that dipped into the water.

“You ready?”

He’d have jumped if he didn’t know better. Instead, he just groaned.

Ben insisted he not lift a finger to help– that he only sit there and tolerate his coughs and sniffles while being towel dried.

“I’m not totally helpless, you know.” Homelander blurted out, a hint of irritation in his voice. He gazed down at Ben, who had knelt before him to dry his legs. He meant to say more, but was stopped by a cough rumbling deep in his chest.

“Since when don’t you like being doted on?” Ben asked, eyebrow arched. He meant nothing by it, of course, but the look on John’s face told him all he needed to know.

This was a matter of wounded pride.

Of course it was. Being sick reduced Homelander to a state far weaker than he already was. Reminded him that he could always be knocked down another peg, even when he was sure he’d already reached rock bottom.

Ben rose, standing on his toes to press a kiss to the tip of John’s nose.

A million words danced on the tip of his tongue, but none would remedy feelings like that. So he settled for just leading Homelander back to bed, where they stayed for the rest of the afternoon to relax.

Until, of course, it was time to go to sleep.

“No– Ben, no! I’m not doing it!”

“C’mon, you know it helps you sleep.” Ben had straddled him, holding that little cup of foul medicine as though it wasn’t pure evil. He giggled at John’s protests, wondering if this is perhaps how his parents felt trying to convince him to take his medicine as a child.

“I…” Homelander seemed to pause as if to weigh the options of sleeping or coughing all night. His expression fell, becoming even more serious. “Sweeten the pot, Benjamin. You gotta do better than that.”

The wall crawler feigned offense.

“Fine. How about a kiss?”

“Not good enough.” John groaned, leaning back into his throne of pillows. “Do better.”

“Johnathan!”

“It’s like drinking sewage!” He countered.

Ben sat back for a minute, deep in thought, eyes flicking to Homelander’s face every so often until the perfect idea hit him.

“What if I…” He leaned forward, coming in close to whisper promises of bedroom shenanigans so filthy he dare not speak them aloud. “...and I’ll even let you tie me up with my webs. Deal?”

Without a second of hesitation, Homelander snatched the cup and downed it with all the enthusiasm of a shot. He didn’t even cringe.

“Deal!”

[patheticgirlsteve]

playwright eddie munson getting his show on broadway and fighting his executive producer steve harrington throughout the entire rehearsal process over the tiniest of details. it starts as actual conflict but eventually devolves into thinly veiled flirting.

[joyridingmp3]

me rn ^_^