#i can’t tell whose going to be chill with me being queer and whose on tok tok and whose going to chill when i bust out the instructive

[pridepages]

Philatos: The Song of Achilles

I just finished The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller. I have thoughts...

Here there be spoilers!

Madeline Miller’s The Song of Achilles is a classic in more than one sense. Any baby gay or ally looking for gateway LGBTQIA+ literature will inevitably find this book on every list (quite likely near the top). Its source material is classical greek poetry, and one of the most famous love stories of the mythology: that of Achilles and Patroclus. You’ve probably heard of Achilles and his infamous heel, Aristos Achaion, best of the Greeks. A demigod hero who felled mighty Trojan Prince Hector in the war for Helen--the face who launched a thousand ships and the tale of a war sung down the centuries.

You might be less familiar with Patroclus. He was, by his time’s standards, a nobody. Son of a lesser king who was exiled from his home, fully human and a shadowy figure who barely appears in the pages of Homer...but whose love changed the course of Achilles’s life.

It is said that only the love of Patroclus, and grief for his death, could spur Achilles to meet his destiny.

But there’s the debate: what kind of love was it exactly?

It seems strange after the success of Miller’s novel in popular culture that this is up for debate...but it technically still is. Search “Patroclus” in scholarly articles and you’ll find him identified as Achilles’s...friend.

His buddy. His pal.

Fucking. Yikes.

Some may say my insistence that their love is queer comes from my belief that everything is better gay. (Which...okay, yes, and I’m right!) But I’m gonna push back and point to one word:

Philatos.

This is a Greek word that Miller applies in her novel. One that was used between men in the ancient world. It means: ‘Most Beloved.’

It’s a loaded word, particularly when we consider homosexuality in the classical world which was...complicated.

People like to believe that history is as simple as: ‘the ancients were chill about homosexuality, it was only with the rise of certain religions--side-eying Christianity--that it became criminal.’

To which I answer: um...not quite.

Let’s be clear: it’s totally true that the immortal philosopher Plato set forth models that classified different kinds of love. And that one of them, eros, was desire so strong that it was akin to a force of nature. Plato theorized that eros could be harnessed and leveraged as a way to strengthen the bonds between soldiers, giving them better motivation to fight and thus making them more effective. 

For example, the Sacred Band of Thebes. You probably know them as the 300, but historians know them as 150 pairs of lovers! The best part? It worked! (At least for a while...but that’s another story.)

And how about Alexander the Great, who conquered most of his neighboring countries and amassed an empire of over two million miles? He had Hephaestion, his constant companion, of whom Alexander said: ‘He is me. I am him.’ So make of that what you will. (I’m gonna go with: gays get shit done!)

That sounds pretty straight-forward (so to speak), so what’s the problem?

Miller actually puts her finger on it in Song. As Patroclus tells us, “Our men like conquest; they did not trust a man who was conquered himself.” Let’s rephrase: being gay is chill...if you’re the top. If you’re not, then you’re the lowest of the low: Feminine. Weak. Disgraced.

I repeat: Fucking. Yikes.

So there were people then and now who would be perfectly ready to handwave away the bond between Achilles and Patroclus. They cry: why it gotta be gay? Why can’t the love of friends be enough? Why do you have to shove it down our throats?!

(I invite you to picture my eyes rolling all the way back.)

Let’s put this argument to bed: there’s nothing wrong with a love that is neither sexual nor romantic. (I see all my sibs under the aro-ace umbrella, y’all are valid!) The problem is when the existence of said love is weaponized to erase or deny other forms of queer love and make them lesser or shameful.

Because that’s what it comes down to: Honor. Reputation was everything to the ancients, and queerness put your reputation on thin ice. So much so that in Song, Patroclus even offers to hide their relationship so as not to endanger Achilles’s legacy: “Your honor could be darkened by it.” But Achilles won’t have it: “Then it is darkened. They are fools if they let my glory rise or fall on this.”

Miller saw this quiet, ever-present bond between Achilles and Patroclus in the pages of ancient texts. And she saw the unsung eros between them, the kind that drove the Sacred Band of Thebes to fight and Alexander to forge an empire. She saw how historians scoffed and dismissed it in a couple of lines to focus on the violent, tragic triumph of Achilles.

Rather than try and recast the great hero, she decided to tackle this relationship from another angle...she gave voice to Patroclus.

It’s a powerful choice to draw him from the shadows. Patroclus figures very little in the myth, and the one time he really does is when he’s disguising himself as someone else: he dies donning Achilles’s armor to rally the Greeks and rout the Trojans with the illusion that Aristos Achaion has returned to the field. One brave deed for an otherwise unremarkable life.

But was it?

Miller’s Patroclus is in many ways an everyman. He’s a mediocre swordsman, but a better healer. He’s the kind of guy who will remember your name and ask about your family, and make sure you have a comfortable place by the fire.

He’s perfectly content with his lot in life. All he really wants to do is tell you how much he loves his boyfriend.

It sounds like the stuff of ‘homeric fanfiction,’ as one boyfriend apparently scoffed at Miller’s work. (I hope she dumped him for it!) But it’s a pretty brave take for a spin on the myths. While Patroclus has respect for honor and glory, and would convince us that Achilles is the better man...that’s not the impression we are left with.

This isn’t a story of heroism by war. This is a story of the heroism of love.

Whether in a palace or on the battlefield, Patroclus’s life is defined by love. Of Achilles, of Briseis, of Chiron, of his homes, of his work, of his world.

This Patroclus says: Plato got it right. Love is what makes all of this--no matter how we live and die--a worthy endeavor.

And I think that’s what makes The Song of Achilles the philatos of queer lit. It both honors its roots, reading with prose that fits the poetic sensibilities of the Iliad, and challenges them. 

Ancient people and modern historians have something in common: an ongoing struggle to genuinely accept queer people and queer love. The Song of Achilles is a necessary book. One that bridges past and present. One that speaks softly but clearly, uncompromising in its demand that we allow gay people to be seen and honored in cultural memory.

In the words of another spin on the myths: “It’s a love song / It’s an old song / We’re gonna sing it even so!”

[cuttingstone]

😐.

[hualian-blessing]

why mcyttwt does not think some (if not most) of the time when it comes to mcc

if i post this in twitter, i’d surely get hated upon but someones gotta have to say this one day. also this does not target to mcytblr!!! this rant is more of towards mcyttwt!!!

remember how mcyt was so chill before all of this shit? how we would watch our favorite minecraters when the community was so small? or how mcc was an event that both ccs and fans can have some fun and entertainment once per month? and that was only last year too. now look at the new generation of mcyt fans and see why some of the old fans dont really associate the new ones.

as a fan of the old gen mcytbers like DanTDM, SkyDoesMinecraft, Aphmau and CaptainSparklez. heck im a fan of pewds’ minecraft series before dream or tommy or ranboo or the new gen of mcyt ccs blew up (a year before them if im correct), and we dont see drama or bad shit all the time when it comes to their content.

now compare that to the new gen where every single fucking day, a bored fan or anti would post shit drama in twitter where some of the people from twitter moved to tumblr just to not get a headache from the batshit craziness mcyttwt brought forth. and it just snapped more when the mccp21 rolled in.

heres some of my takes about the mccp21 issue:

1) “there’s a lack of representation of lgbtq+ in the teams!!!”

heres something to tell yall about that. scott doesnt have a fucking choice. scott smajor has told time and time again, WEEKS before the announcement of teams, that there are certain requirements and limitations to mccp21 thus there will be difficulty in choosing whos entering or whos not. limitations and requirements such as it will be streamed on youtube or how streamers with twitch contracts aren’t allowed to stream or (god bless scott’s good heart) scott not allowing some of the lgbtq+ streamers in joining the special event due to wanting them to have a chance to stream and experience their first mcc (so to those who said that ranboo should have been in mccp21, shut up ‘cuz scott wanted genderman to have fun streaming his first mcc but cant due to ranboo being a well-known twitch streamer). to those who complained that ant and velvet should be in the mcc, stop being selfish and do some actual research on why scott didn’t include them. a simple question to those two’s fans would answer that they can’t make it due to them camping for a week which within those days is the mccp21. they’re having time to themselves, not wasting it on a minecraft championship. 

take in the consideration that, oh i dont know, not a lot of lgbtq+ ccs applied to the event? its not a free invite championship (in fact, mcc has always been like that), it’s an applied with the sufficient and correct requirements kind of event. the artist who created the icons from the previous mcc for the teams said that scott let in some of the new ccs in last minutes due to lack of applicants not meeting the requirements thus not having custom artworks for the teams if they want to announce the teams in time.

2.) “there’s no lesbians or trans in the teams >:(((”

sadly enough, there’s not much of the players from the lgbtq+ community but to say there’s no trans people in mccp21 is utterly false. by definition, trans mean  denoting or relating to a person whose sense of personal identity and gender does not correspond with their birth sex. other genders such as non-binary, genderfluid, androgyne, bigender, gender expansive all fall under trans. you define yourself with the gender you personally chose and comfy with from you birth gender. so saying there’s no trans in the teams when there are players from the event like eret or sqaishey who are nb and genderfluid respectively are there to also represent not only the sexuality but also the gender identity of others??? like c’mon, please make sense mcyttwt. 

also, while its sad to not see lesbians, please know that lgbtq+ doesn’t strictly be defined by lesbians. ffs, lgbtq+ literally means Lesbians Gays Bisexuals Transgenders and Questioning (or Queer but im not too sure about that one) which means that there are still other representatives for the community in the event.

3) “technoblade is in the event?!!! WHAT THE FUCK, HES A HOMOPHOBE/LESBIPHOBE-”

utter clowns, toxic twitter users are. do you really think that scott smajor, an openly gay man, would let a supposed “homophobe/lesbiphobe” in an event that focuses in supporting the lgbtq+ community? do you hear yourself? do you even do research where the joke he made was when he was the same age as me and it was based on a historical article back in WW2? or how he passionately supports the community especially the lesbians because a lesbian couple complimented him to which kickstart his confidence? the man willingly went to this mcc event despite being flamed a lot in twitter because he (and everyone) knows that his chat, his fans and supporters, are literal millionaires. if you saw a stream from foolish where he auctioned canonical characters for funs, a techno fan donated thousand of dollars to get technoblade, and that’s only one fan, now imagine a hundreds of thousands of them.

like it or not, technoblade has always been open about his support to the community, especially that majority of his fanbase are from the same community that mcyttwt allegedly swore that technoblade hates.

4) “since this mccp21 is pointless because theres no dteam, quackity, punz or (insert cc name), let’s have a watch party of the previous mccs to spite mccp21!!!” “let’s hope (insert cc name) stream on the 26th so mccp21 doesnt have the same amount of viewership like before!!!” “where are (insert cc name)??? gosh, this mcc is so boring without them!!!”

shut up shut up shut up shut up shut the actual fuck up. are you really seriously hearing yourself? are you willing and proudly boycotting a once in a year special event that is seriously needed by the lgbtq+ community? are you that cruel and selfish to sacrifice a project that helped tons of people just for your sick entertainment and desires? are you that evil to stop others from enjoying and donating to the trevor project? are you that inconsiderate of other ccs that aren’t part of dsmp and calling them boring? and for what? because your favorite cishet streamer isn’t there? oh booofuckinghoo! you’re so fucking petty to even post about this kind of tweets in public.

(edit: did yall honestly thought that without your favorite streamers that the mcc is not worth watching because they aren't there? well let me tell you, im a ranboo fan. ive watched him when he first entered the dsmp and watched him spinning in his unicorn chair for 5 minutes. the boo community waited for so many months for genderman to join mcc yet we didn't even do that kind of disgusting action and behavior every time he isn't in mcc. 8 months. that's how long ive watched him. ive waited 8 months for him to be in the event yet i still watch other povs like tommy's, puffy's, wilbur's, and etc., because it's fun and entertaining to watch them despite the beloved not participating in the games.

if you're that spoiled to not even watch mcc because (insert cc whose not part of mccp21 name here) isn't part of the roster then you most likely have a one dimensional humor because there will always be someone more funny and entertaining than them. i like dsmp don't get me wrong, but i found parrot's school smp funnier than dsmp yet you don't see me insulting both series, do you? learn to keep yourself if you're calling ccs as boring or dull or not entertaining enough due to not having the same big platform as the dsmp members.)

you don’t deserve to call yourself a fan if you’re doing this kinds of actions. in fact, people like you should be kicked out from the mcyt community because your kind of people are the reason why we look so bad from the outside. your toxic and self-entitled to these content creators are the reason why famous ccs like sbi, purpled, tubbo and almost ranboo left twitter/implied strict rules to their subtwts. you drove out an entire friend group that tons of fans found comfort in from the platform and you still have the audacity to this kind of shit? honestly, just leave before you give me a headache.

what im sayin’ is that mcyttwt is one of the worst, if not THE worst, subtwts out of the other subtwts in twitter. having no actual research or evidences or spreading false information is common in twitter where you would have to take what they said with a micro size grain of salt. mcyttwt already ruined the fun and spirit of mcc during its comeback in mcc14 due to the glitch and beta testing shit (ey i still stand for the ranboo beta testing but i know that will be worthless since theres hints of him joining soon in mcc15). if you’re still in mcyttwt, i suggest to get out of there while you still can. we’ll never know if there’s a bigger shitstorm than this in the mcyttwt that may happen in the future.

edit! hi bella again, ive been told by a polite and cool user that not all people from mcyttwt are toxic and/or cruel. im going to clear something up here. ive written this during the heat of the announcement of mccp21 teams. so there's a lot of complains and/or entitled people in the app (you can even see it in my previous post too if you want evidences!) that gave off mostly negative vibes towards the event.

ive seen the cool ones who actually took the consideration for scott's side and the criticism of the lack of representation of other communities within the lgbtq+ umbrella (ive even share some parts of it above so im also a bit upset to the lack of numbers in the community). and some of them are correct about recruiting lgbtq+ creators in youtube but! like i said, it's an applied event and not invitational one, so its up to that content creator if they want to join or not. the amount of cishet in the roster are just those who want to support the cause and/or backups/stand-ins in case scott and noxcrew can't find enough ccs in time!

just wanna clear this up because mcyttwt these days are covered by really cringe fans (ive noticed a pattern of them mostly new ones but there are still awesome new fans (like my irl friend who just joined this year) within the community) that covered the good ones where they enjoy, have fun and share some neat ideas and thoughts to the community within the platform!

when i said to get out of the mcyttwt while you still can, i meant to get out of there to avoid drama (that is really small contrast those who really need to address the issue) and take a break from it. it's still your choice if you want to be surround by it or not or if you want to come back to the app. all im saying is to buckle up for the shitstorm cuz this is not the last time that the twitter side of mcyt will cause negativity to the community.

[wwilloww]

athair lusa | pjm

athair lusa, the ground ivy, springing up from the soil with rich, purple flowers and broad green leaves.  

Origin: Ireland

Pairing: Jimin x FaePrince!Taehyung

Genre: Folklore. Suspense. Fae!Au.  

Rating: NC-17

WC: 2.4k

Summary: “Is it not a strange request,” Jimin says, “to ask me to dance when there is no music?” While on his way to draw water from the well, Jimin slips on a rock. When he stands up again, the world around him seems unrecognizable, as if everything has been dusted with an unfamiliar enchantment. 

Warnings: Possessive behavior.  

A/N: This story, also known as “The Fairy Dance,” is a story I grew up to, one that was told to me over and over. I consider this to be part of a larger personal project to queer the stories I grew up on. It’s an effort to normalize the presence of queerness in lore and unravel gendered expectations within folktales. Because of this I’ve done my best to stick to the oral telling of this story in both content and style - meaning the writing differentiates itself significantly from my usual style! This project is special to me and I truly hope you enjoy it. I can’t wait to hear what you think of it.

Thank you to @jingabitch​ for helping me when I felt most stuck with this! Thanks a million to my love @ot7always​ for editing the image in this banner and listening to me ramble. And of course a hUGE THANKS to the lovely folk in BTS Smut Hub for being my constant inspiration and motivation.

And finally, this is part of @ksmutclub​’s Twisted Fairytale collaboration!

masterlist

Athair-Lusa.

In a town on the western most coast of the Isle, there lived a young man with hair that shone like the rays of August sun. He was beloved by the townspeople, known for the enchanting melodies that lifted from his lips like birdsong, ensnaring anyone in range. His name was Jimin.

One day in late November, as the night began to draw in, Jimin set down his reading and readied himself to go out into the darkness. He preferred the stillness of sunset and often went out at this time, just to hear the soft hymn of the world slipping slowly into sleep.

Now, it has long been known that the Veil between worlds is thinnest in November. As the remaining veins of summer fade from the land, spirits and creatures of the other worlds come to press up against the thin border between their world and ours. Even nighttime comes to linger, snatching time away from the golden fingers of the sun.

On this night, Jimin decided to take his walk to the well to gather water. He swung his wooden bucket over his shoulder and set off into the darkness. The trees stood tall above him, watching his path. Jimin felt the hair on his neck raise, as if something was watching him from the shadows. However, rather than turning home, he lifted his face to the night sky and sang. The music spilling from his lips split through the darkness of the night, and Jimin felt a sense of peace wash over him.

As the small stone structure of the well came into sight, his foot slipped. He could feel his ankle twisting, and then the feeling of falling through empty space. The air wooshed up around him as he fell.

His back hit the hard earth of the path, crushing the breath out of his lungs. For a moment, Jimin simply lay there, taking deep breaths to calm the fright in his body.

When he lifted his head, his old wooden bucket was nowhere to be seen. Instead of a path hardened by thousands of years of travelers, Jimin lay on a soft field of grass, shimmering emerald green beneath the full moon. Around him, everything seemed as if it had been touched by an enchantment. The trees, whose leaves had dropped a month ago, were now blossoming with flowers of the most brilliant colors. The chill of the winter air was replaced with a soft and warm breeze, lifted off a summer sea. And as he looked up at the sky, the moon hung twice as large, as if she had come down from her high throne in the sky to take a closer look at the goings-on of the people below.

As Jimin sat up, he saw a great crowd gathered a short distance away. As his vision cleared, he realized that they were circled round a fire that danced and leaped and seemed to reach out to the figures surrounding it. As if his mind had been wiped clean of thought, Jimin stood and began to move towards the crowd, mystified by their tall frames and slender figures.

Jimin himself was of average height, his body built like the land. Ready to work, ready to dance. But at this moment in time, Jimin’s body drew him forward towards the beings that stood round the fire, till at last, he stood in the very midst of them.

They held onto their silence, watching his every step. It was at this moment that he thought to be afraid. But as he made to step backward, to step out of their circle, he realized he could not.

Panic began to rise in his throat like bile, setting his muscles alight. Just as he opened his mouth to scream, the crowd around him turned and parted and a handsome young man stepped into view. Jimin’s eyes widened as he took in the figure, who walked like a prince. He wore a red sash, deep as freshly drawn blood. A golden band dressed his long dark hair, shining like the sky on the eve of a new moon.

Jimin’s heart thrummed in his chest as he realized the handsome prince was approaching him. He walked slowly towards him, allowing his eyes to rove over the young man. When he finally reached him, he bowed and extended a hand. An offering.

“Is it not a strange request,” Jimin said, “to ask me to dance when there is no music?”

The prince raised his head from the deep bow and swept his hand into the air. Instantly, the sweetest music carried through the night, surrounding them. He took Jimin’s hand with one of his own, wrapping the other one tightly around his waist. Jimin gasped as his chest was brought to the prince’s, their closeness sending warmth to his cheeks.

"What is your name, dear stranger?" Jimin asked, his brow furrowed. His words seemed to stick in his throat, bewilderment flooding his mind. Such a handsome stranger had never wrapped him up like this before, in such beauty, in such enchantment.

The prince smirked. "You may call me Taehyung."

"Are you a prince of these people?"

"If that is the word you use—then yes."

Jimin opened his mouth to ask more, but the Prince silenced him with a twirl, sending all thought of questioning the strange being before him out of his mind.

They danced until the moon became tired and went to sleep beneath the darkness of the horizon and the stars took their leave from the dance floor. As the prince twirled him round the fire, it seemed as if Jimin was gliding through the air. He had always been known by the townsfolk for his light touch and graceful step. But in the prince’s arms, Jimin’s body felt different. The strain of the movements was eased and he felt boundless energy spring up in his chest beneath the attentive gaze of the prince.

"I have never seen a man dance with your grace," the Prince mused, his gaze falling to Jimin's lips. "Or known one to capture such beauty in his every movement."

Jimin was not used to such flattery. His cheeks were painted with his embarrassment, he ducked his head. The Prince was quick to lift his chin, bringing his face ever-so-close.

“Do you like me, sweet boy?” the Prince asked, tilting his head.

“I do not know you,” Jimin replied, slowly. “How do I know if I like you if I have just met you?”

“There is an eternity to get to know me.” A smirk flashed across the Prince’s sharp features before he pulled Jimin tightly against his tall frame and spun him further into the dance.

Twirling around the fire, it became easy to forget the rest of the world. For that moment, all that existed was the feeling of his feet leaping off the ground, and the low music, and the feeling of being held so tightly by his partner.

Just as Jimin began to feel like time was slipping away from him, the figures around him stilled and the music slowed to a complete halt. The prince still had his arms wrapped around the smaller man, his face pressed close and curious.

"Will you dine with us tonight, dear Jimin?" the prince asked, his voice threaded with sweetness. Jimin's gaze fell to the prince's lips where a small smile played along the pink, plush corner. He wondered when the Prince had learned his name.

Before he could answer, the ground rumbled and split open, a long staircase descending into the darkness of the earth. The prince held out a hand, and hesitating, Jimin took it. Despite the warmth of the tall man's palm, Jimin's skin erupted in goosebumps.

The prince led him down the flight of steps, the rest of the dancers following silently behind. It seemed as if the stairs might never end, the rock around them becoming darker and warmer as they descended. After an unspeakable time, the steps widened and a great hall appeared before them, lit by thin candles that stood as tall as Jimin. As he looked up at the ceiling of the hall, he realized there was no roof, despite the depth to which they had descended. Instead, a yawning darkness looked down upon the company and untethered, unsourced lights bobbed gently through the air as if upon an invisible current. Before them lay a great table, heaped with every delicacy Jimin had ever conceived of and decanters filled with the most aromatic wines.

The Prince squeezed his hand tenderly, guiding him to the head of the table. There, the Prince took the golden plated chair and motioned for Jimin to take the one beside it. Gratefully, he bowed his head and slipped silently into the seat, admiring the gentle merriment and splendor laid before him.

As Jimin took the scene before him in, the Prince leaned closer to him, reaching out to twirl a piece of his light hair between his fingers.

“I’ve always wanted this,” the Prince said, his eyes never leaving the man’s hair.

“W-what?”

The Prince seemed to catch himself and pulled himself out of his reverie.

“I am a collector of beautiful things,” he said, as if that explained his strange words.

“I don’t understand.”

The Prince smiled softly, running his finger down Jimin’s nose and over his lips.

“Then drink and be merry,” he sang, his voice strung together in the most beautiful melody.

A dark-haired lady came between the Prince and Jimin, holding a jewel-encrusted decanter. Bowing her head, she first filled the Prince's cup, her hands wrapping slender and delicate around the silver handle. But as Jimin watched, he realized there was a slight tremble to her movements. He looked up at her, only to see her eyes darting to and from the Prince and his newest companion.

The young lady came around Jimin's other side, and as she leaned over to pour his golden goblet full of the sweet wine, she whispered in his ear, "Eat no food, and drink no wine or you will never see your home again."

With that, the woman stood abruptly and disappeared down one of the many hallways that spotted the great chamber.

Jimin quickly set the cup down on the table. The Prince took note of this, his eyebrows raised in curiosity.

"My dear, sweet Jimin," he said, his voice threading through the air like song. His voice spoke of softness, of tender touches exchanged in the dark. And yet, as Jimin gazed upon him, he saw the coldness in the Prince's gaze. "Do you not enjoy the taste of my wine?"

"No, no," he said, quick to unravel the tension of the moment. "I am simply not thirsty."

The Prince leaned into him, a smile spreading across his lips. "After all that dancing, you must be thirsty." He brought the cup to Jimin's lips, but he held his mouth shut.

The others at the table had fallen silent to watch the Prince hold the goblet to the man’s lips.

A large one with silver hair that fell to his waist stood abruptly from his chair, knocking it back in the process. "Whoever comes to our table must drink with us," he growled, grabbing Jimin's arm. A deep shock ran through him, stopping his heart.

At that moment a red-haired lass, her hair split into intricate braids, snatched Jimin's free hand and tugged him from the grasp of the large silver-haired being.

"Run!" she commanded, tugging Jimin towards the stairs. The pair wove their way towards the entrance, dodging the grasp of the dancers.

Around him, Jimin could hear the bellowing anger of the Prince, echoing off the walls of the hall as if he stood in every corner. Chairs and platters crashed to the floor as his subjects jumped up, attempting to stop his exit.

While Jimin was not large and while he did not hold the brute strength that many men boasted about, he was graceful and swift. Guided by the red-haired woman's agile steps, his pace was quick, as if he had learned this kind of dance many many years ago.

The pair sprinted up the steps, hand-in-hand, until they emerged into the dark night. The coolness of the early winter air washed over them, bathing their red faces and stinging their lungs. From the satchel that hung round her waist, the woman withdrew a vine. She grabbed Jimin’s hand, opening it up so she could place the plant securely. With tenderness, she wrapped her hand around his, closing it in a fist.

"You are safe for the time being," she said, her breath heavy with effort. "Take this, and hold it until you reach home. No one can harm you." Jimin opened his palm to look down upon the large-leafed plant. Athair-Lusa. Ground ivy.

"Thank you," he whispered.

The woman nodded, a sad smile playing across her lips. Her eyes shone with the kind of grief that only one who knows their own destiny can hold.

Jimin could hear the sounds of footsteps running up the stairs and so he took the white and green plant and turned his back on the field, the stairs, and the man who had held him so tenderly; and he ran. He ran along the sward and through the forests surrounding the town, past the well, and across the path. At last, he reached his home. He threw open the wooden door and locked it behind him.

His heart beat so quickly and furiously he worried it would pound its way straight through his ribcage. Behind his back pressed to the door, he could hear a great sound emerge from the forest and a voice cried out to him—

"The power I had over you is gone through the magic of the herb that ties you to this world. But when you dance again to our music, you will stay with me forevermore, and nothing shall hinder that eternity."

Jimin closed his eyes, clutching the herb to his chest. When he had regained his breath, he made his way over to the small bed tucked in the corner of his small home, folding the leafy plant carefully beneath the collar of his shirt.

It took a while before sleep came for him, and when it did, it was restless and dreamless.

However, Jimin kept the magic branch safely tucked into his clothes every day and the Fae never troubled him.

But it took many years before the sweet, low sound of music and the searing eyes of the Prince left his dreams.

taglist: @ppersonna​ @thatlongspringnight​ @myimaginationsrunningwild​ @ladyartemesia​ @ezralia-writes​ @ggukcangetit​

masterlist

[goatbi]

We know literally nothing about bleach but we know it's a special interest of yours so gimme bleach hcs legend

Uhhh let's have some fun lil six hearts sexuality/gender headcanons

Alright so, first off, Uryu is autistic and asexual, so jot that down. I'm also getting the vibes of aromantic from him, tbh, though maybe demiromantic. Not really sure on that front. He figured himself out very very quickly, simply because he likes to read so much, and just kinda vibes all the time, and figured 'hm something about me is different from everyone else around me' and then like. Figured it out. Was very open about it the SECOND he moved out of Ryuken's house, like, he doesn't ever talk to Ryuken, but Uryu was open about who he was at school enough that word got around to Ryuken very quickly. The reaction there was exactly what Uryu had expected. A fuck ton of passive aggressive bullshit! Also uses Ve/Ver He/Him and Phi/Phim pronouns cause Why Not ! I say so ! I bounce back and forth on if he's trans or not, because A) how obvious am I gonna be that I kin him, and B) just in general I dunno if I fully get The Vibes from him. Maybe he's trans sometimes because kinnie moments.

Ichigo gives me the vibes of like, a guy whose very very comfortable in who he is, but also has no clue exactly what that is, and whenever someone makes a dumb joke like 'oh what are you, gay?' Ichigo just kinda looks at them and then shrugs a shoulder like 'i don't fuckin know, I know I'm a teen and thats when you start figuring that shit out usually, but I'm busy, y'know, saving the universe and shit.' His level in comfort with himself does not change ever, I think, no matter where in the process of figured himself out he is, he's just like 'i'm chillin' cause at least he's not looking down the barrel of a gun with Yhwach or Aizen on the other side ! No clue anything about him other than that. He/Him

Orihime feels like a lesbian who was told all her life that she should just find a nice boy to settle down with, so she's like comp-hetting her crush on Ichigo hella hard, because he's like! The perfect boy to do that with! He's super powerful, he cares a lot, he's saved her when she was kidnapped, it was perfect and fun. They tried to date, the summer after high school, because despite what people think, Ichigo is not that dense all the time. They attempted it, lasted like two weeks, then very amicably broke up, because Orihime was like 'hey I think I'm actually a lesbian' and Ichigo was like 'sick, because I'm really not feeling romance here' and they were both just kinda like. Alright then. Back to friendship! She's also SUPER ADHD. Probably uses fae/faer pronouns too, and giggles cause her powers include fairies.

Chad is just kinda. There. He just identifies himself as queer, and that's about as deep into he's going. The intricacies of his sexuality and gender are a mystery to everyone, including himself, so. There's that. His grandfather was similar in that regard, which is why Chad is just so chill about it. He doesn't really care, he just knows he's not cishet. Other than that? Not really important to him. He's happy. He/They/Thon pronouns for this large man!

Rukia and Renji are really fun in this regard. Starting with Rukia, she spent a good amount of her life in Rukongai just existing and being whoever the fuck she was, not really caring who she was because who cares when you don't know if you're gonna be alive tomorrow to keep being that person, and then suddenly she was thrown into being a noble and having to fit that, so she spent so long constantly being like 'gotta be perfect for the clan' that she really didn't think about herself for ages! And then, when she finally got the chance, she started realizing things that would have upset the Clan Elders, and she was like 'Fuck! Time For Repression!' which worked, up until her execution fiasco, and then she was like 'fuck! I can't just die not knowing who I am and being happy with who I am! Fuck you people, the clan elders can't fucking stop me from doing shit!' and she had Ichigo's really chill ass right next to her like 'alright have fun!' Which lead down the road of her discovering that she was a bisexual, with a preference for women (and Renji's muscles specifically), and used any pronouns. She came out to Byakuya about this one day, and Byakuya, who was trying to be a good brother, told her that he would handle the clan elders. She didn't hear a thing about it from them, and Byakuya only smiled when he saw her later.

Renji, on the other hand, was in the same sort of thing, but never had to worry about disappointing anybody. Renji has always lived for himself and only himself. He got his tattoos because he wanted them and no one could tell him no. He's exists as he is because he fucking wants to. He's been like this since he's a kid, so in the Soul Reaper Academy, he was experimenting with everybody, just for the hell of it. He was gonna be proud of who he is, no matter who he found himself out to be, so it didn't matter how long it took him to figure it out. So, honestly, when he finally sat down next to the GAYEST MARRIED COUPLE OF SQUAD ELEVEN (Ikkaku and Yumichika) and finally went 'huh... I'm pansexual' it wasn't like, a big thing, he just kinda said it, and then Yumi was like 'are you like... nervous about coming out to us or something?' and Renji just kinda shrugged and went 'I don't give a shit, I'm happy with it' and Ikkaku was like 'right fuckin answer my man' so. The same sort of process with his gender happened, but that one's an ongoing thing, since again, no matter where he is, he's comfortable with who he is, but he hasn't really like, sat down to ask himself any questions about it. So he's kinda nebulous. Just uses he/him for now, but it's also like, that's just cause how everyone else sees him, very masc. If people used other pronouns for him, he wouldn't object to it.

[residentlesbrarian]

Fandom and Fanfiction Galore

Ship It by Britta Lundin

Aaaaaalrighty...so this was written almost 3 years ago hot out of ClexaCon 2018 and it is...an interesting one. I had and still very much have feelings about this book. Would I write my thoughts the exact same way today as I did back then...probably not! So enjoy this bit of a pre-pandemic pre-a-whole-bunch-of-other-personal-stuff-y’all-don’t-need-to-know-about me talking about a book I still don’t really know how I feel about! Enjoy!

This was another book I found because of the Queering YA panel at ClexaCon 2018. Being able to talk to Britta at the booth after the panel was awesome, because you could tell talking with her that she was a true fan. She knew what being surrounded by fandom was like and it made me pretty excited to read the book.

Unicorn Rating:

Blurb: Living in the environment of fandom can be an insane experience in both good and bad ways. This book delivered a unique experience and look into fandom culture that was surreal to read about outside of fanfiction and tumblr.

Disclaimer: I will try my best to not spoil anything from the book, but my book loving rambles may give more away than a traditional review. Here we go! Ramble time!

Review:

I would say overall this book felt a little weird for me. I didn’t absolutely love it but I also didn’t particularly dislike it. It fell in a very ‘meh’ place for me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have good things to say about it, they are just slightly confusing things.

The plot was actually one of the things I liked the most about it. Even though it was a crazy unrealistic plot, it helped capture the absolute lunacy of being a member of fandom culture perfectly. Sometimes being a fan is a simple life of surfing Tumblr and liking posts but sometimes the craziest things happen and change your life forever. In this case the reader is swept up in this craziness with Claire and the unrealistic aspect of it all made it feel more realistic as counterintuitive as that sounds. That is what the fandom experience can feel like at times, everything makes so little sense it actually circles back around to making sense, but enough about that...time for some character rambles.

Now we have two perspectives explored in this book. That of Claire, the fangirl, and Forest, the actor who has never had to deal with fangirls before. Let’s start with Claire. I am of two minds on her. Part of me really doesn’t like her, mostly because she is a person that in real life I probably wouldn’t spend time around and, as I’ve stated in a previous review, I have a hard time separating myself from characters and remembering that they are only teenagers. Multiple times I actually physically facepalmed, while reading a hardback book! That isn’t easy to do, but I did it, because she was doing things that just seemed so illogical from my perspective. But I am an adult, so of course I have a completely different perspective than a teen who is away from home and feeling a little out of control for a plethora of reasons. Now the other part of me really liked her, strangely enough for those exact same reasons, she was so real that I went full ‘Mom’ mode and wanted to sit her down and have a talk about what she was going through before she did something she was going to regret. Even if I found the character to be unlikeable the fact I was still on her side and wanted to help her really shows the depth that was written into her.

Now moving on to Forest. Oh, Forest. He was a character that I was very intrigued by at first because his was a perspective I, as a fangirl myself, had never seen in a book before, but damn if he didn’t make it so hard to like him. Some of the things he said and did made me want to throttle him. I could excuse some of the stuff Clarie did because of her age and the craziness of everything going on around her, but Forest is an adult and should know better. He would improve and his actions would start to win me over, but then he would overreact to something and make me want to put on my throttlin’ gloves again. I felt like that Tyra Banks ‘I was rooting for you!’ reaction gif while I was reading this multiple times. Again, though, there were parts that I was glad Forest called Claire out on her actions when it was called for, but overall they both needed an intervention to have them sit down and just chill for five seconds.

I actually genuinely liked a majority of the side characters in this as well. I actually have less of the weird mental confusion when it comes to the side characters. Rico was cute and great around the fans. Jamie was a total asshat but he was written to be that way to foil Claire in her mission to make ‘Smokeheart’ cannon. One of my favorite scenes in the whole book was actually between Claire and the social media consultant, whose name I totally remember and am just choosing not to put in because I think that’ll be all avant garde...okay fine I forgot her name and I am not digging the book out to find it. Anyway...I can’t really go into detail about the scene because, you know, spoilers but it was so well done in the context of the story.

Now for the last big character I want to speak on, the love interest, Tess. Now I really liked Tess and even understood how she wanted to keep her nerdy hobbies a secret from her small town friends. I was lucky that I grew up in a family and a circle of friends that let me embrace my passions no matter how off-the-wall they may seem to others. Tess obviously didn’t have that kind of support but she was still so passionate just privately. I will say though, ironically given the title of the book, I don’t ship it. Tess and Claire definitely share an instant attraction and the chemistry is there but they have so much growing to do before they are anywhere close to having an actual healthy functional relationship. Maybe if we saw more of them it would feel more compelling but it just wasn’t for me.

So my final thoughts on this book are just...a little discombobulated. Part of me was really happy to read a book that portrayed a part of my life that is so hard to put into words at times. I have never been a rabid fangirl, but after Lexa’s death I had to try and explain my utter devastation to people who just didn’t understand why a fictional character mattered to me so much. This book captures at least a layer of the fandom experience in a way that I’ve never seen before. The problem I have in the end though is how problematic everything that happens was, and then the ending just felt so sudden. We didn’t see any of the characters address their issues on the page. I hope this review made some coherent sense, because this book still doesn’t really make sense even in my brain, but I need to wrap this up now.

Queer Wrap-up: Okay, so, for our rep we have a questioning main character who definitely has some queer tendencies, but overall her realizing her feelings took such a back seat to her mission to make a fictional ship cannon on a show that was already filmed it took away from the rep as a whole. It just felt like the focus was so split that the actual rep gets lost in the pages. There is no argument by the end of the book that Claire is queer, which earns the three unicorns on that alone, but some of the tropes that played parts in the book were just so cringey that I couldn’t rationalize giving it more than that. Even with a couple side characters who were revealed to also be queer they weren’t enough to cover for the less stellar parts of this book.

Links:

Britta Lundin’s Website

TheStorygraph

Amazon

Okay, so if you couldn’t tell by that train wreck of a review this book just confused me. It kept me just interested enough to pick it back up after I’d put it down, but also wasn’t that bad. It lives in a weird oxymoronic vortex in my brain that honestly gives me a headache if I focus on it too much. There were aspects of this book that I did genuinely like but it all gets swirled together with the parts that made me put it down and need to take a break. If any of you want to discuss those more spoiler-filled aspects please send an ask and I’ll welcome you into the cyclical nature of whatever this book is doing in my brain. And as always if you want to read this but don’t want to spend the money without knowing for sure you are going to like it, go to your local library. You’d be surprised what they have on their shelves just waiting to be discovered. Trust me, I’m a lesbrarian.

[killingeveperspectives]

Perspective: Killing Eve Season 3 Retcon – Can a show Retcon itself into a different genre?

Recently, I learned about the term ‘Retroactive Continuity’ and I am pretty proud of it because now it sounds like I know what I’m talking about. Retroactive Continuity, or retcon for the intimate like me, is the addition of new information that changes or reinterprets events/narratives previously established, therefore opening new possibilities for the future. It can correct inconsistencies, change world/character limitations, or allow for a dramatic plot twist. For example, a character previously established as an incurable psychopath goes on an emotional growth journey. Killing Eve got fundamentally retconned season 3 and it changes everything. And I need to talk about it. (Look, it’s been a while I wrote this and re-addressed some points here :) )

Villanelle is not a psychopath anymore, I guess

Villanelle was written explicitly as a primary psychopath meaning she was mainly born this way®. Which is different from a Secondary psychopath, whose emotional developmental arrest is caused by disturbingly severe neglect and abuse in early infancy. The impairments in their brains and psychological development prevents them from thinking and, most importantly, feeling like a regular person do. They have a different subjective experience. Psychopathy is incurable in adults, which sets limitations to character development.

Villanelle can’t empathize, perceives people as objects and is very utilitarian. She doesn’t know how to show people she likes them, and her idea of love is possession. Endearing as she is, this is the character the writers wrote. And this is the character portrayed to us in the show. Villanelle is unapologetically a psychopath. She is remorseless, amoral, derives pleasure from killing, all the better to get paid for it. She is basically a self-indulgent goddess. This is enunciated repeatedly in Season 1. Of course, we are not just told, we are shown. Her face glimmers in every kill with enjoyment and cruelty. She is able to conjure any emotion to manipulate – depicted more terrifyingly with Nadia. She emulates emotions from others to connect with people like depicted in the opening scene. My favorite chilling moment is when she gives the “what it is like to die” monologue to Frank, just to terrify him before killing him. Or this face:

Season 2 dives deeper into her psyche where she tells us how she feels, or better yet, doesn’t. We establish she feels this overbearing boredom and seeks to feel anything, so she collects things (or people, no difference) that make her feel something and these things she cherishes by possessing them. The poverty of emotion is reiterated. Again, we are shown, not only told, time and again. The writers are quite clearly asking us to just accept Villanelle for what she is: a psychopath. Like Jodie Comer said herself during that season: “I think some people are bad and that’s what they are, and I don’t think she should be redeemed.” It felt impossible to make it more established within the narrative and the world building. She is, like all adult psychopaths, incurable. These are the character’s limitations, in a purely storytelling sense.

Then, Season 3 happened. In season 3 Villanelle’s character’s development is irreconcilable with the previous seasons. Much of the character’s limitations were simply erased to give her room to “grow”, starting early with one of my favorite scenes of the entire season:

It was marvelously shot and so symbolic. This time around she is gifting Eve something intimate and safe: a teddy bear. Then we have Villanelle by herself and vulnerable, stripping the layers of her feelings towards Eve, the mask of anger cracking as she tries to convince herself she wanted Eve dead, to finally giving in to longing. Her own words are repeated back at her in a loop in a little booth. It was an admission. The booth, the privacy, the lighting, the acting: It was a confession. More than that: it was a love confession. As if falling in love was something she could now do? I don’t want to entertain the actual nature of her feeling, but this is a level of emotional complexity she is just prohibited of displaying by the character’s limitations. And yet, it happened. And I will argue, all the elements of this scene deliberately lead the audience to believe these were romantic feelings.

But this is foreshadowing, and the major shift in perspective happens in her bottle episode. In this episode we see Villanelle display genuine empathy and care for her brothers, not only by sparing them but by giving them more than enough money to go see Elton John. A bonna fide display of correctly conveyed affection and consideration. Which, again, is prohibited by the characters limitations. Then the episode builds the narrative that her “psychopathy” was the result of her abusive upbringing, especially in the confrontation with her mother, when we are clearly asked to side with Villanelle.

Here is where the show subtly retcons Villanelle’s character. It cleverly never denies she is a psychopath. It retcons her ability to emotionally grow, by shifting the emphasis to childhood trauma. Nevertheless, for Villanelle as a character, the emotional growth is still prohibited – despite of trauma. The sleight of hand is passable because audiences (actually, any empathic human being) find it incredibly hard to grasp that trauma cannot be overcome. That’s why it feels plausible she has a very complex, deeply transforming emotional response to killing her mother, despite still being a psychopath. Because that is a response that feels plausible to us, the audience, despite being inconsistent with what is plausible for the character’s the inner experience of reality.

This shift not only changes all the interpretation of her character that was previously established but also changes all future interactions. Here is where we see Villanelle getting conflicted about killing, not in a utilitarian sense of it being impractical or boring, but in an emotional struggle. She starts to worry about how others perceive her, and specially that she is perceived only as a “monster”, pointing to a development of a moral compass, deeper self-awareness, self-evaluation and ability to feel remorse. This is all not only incredibly far-fetched: it was prohibited. This is a clear break in continuity from the character of previous seasons. However, after S3E05 it feels plausible.

Villanelle is a carefully crafted monster

We are, then, asked to believe that Villanelle was made into a ruthless killer, which logically follow can be unmade. Hence, her past needs to be explored so it can also be somewhat resolved, symbolizing the undoing of her atrocious (but delightfull?) persona “Villanelle” (the distinction between Oksana and Villanelle was useless before and should still be. But now it feels like it makes sense). Initially, it was established that her mother died, and she had an abusive drunk father who abandoned her in an orphanage. While I believe there was potential in creating a convincing traumatic abusive background from the established narrative, it may have seemed too unsettling to have a man mistreat an infant, which might explain the writers choice for such through retcon. Transferring the source of the neglect to the mother, might heighten the stakes, since daughters are expected to develop a strong bond and mirror their mothers. Thus, adding depth to their face-off and making her murder more symbolic. Addicionally, a full house – with her mother, stepfather and brothers –would allow Villanelle to flesh out her relationship to family and explore the conflict more thoroughly before confrontation. Despite the symbolic tension, in the end we have no definitive answer to the nature x nurture question, nor to what happened in Villanelle’s infancy, except that the metaphorical darkness may have been passed on from her mother.

Villanelle’s joy in cruelty is the most alienating aspect of her character – also the most gripping – and thus, in order for her arc to be more digestible and relatable, it also needs explicit retconning, which is mostly explored through her relationship with killing. Therefore, her cruelty is also displaced to her abusive upbringing. Most specifically, displaced to another character: Dasha. She is the source of the cruelty transmitted into Villanelle through severe trauma during her teenagerhood, ingeniously avoiding the gravity of discussing infant abuse (Dasha brings a downpour of plot inconsistencies). This is unmistakably conveyed in this scene:

Villanelle was something soft and whole that got broken and reshaped into steel, into a stone cold killer, by external forces. Thus, Dasha is an estranged mother figure from the past who tortured Villanelle into a killer, mirroring the dynamic between Villanelle and her mother. Since there is no clear narrative surrounding her early infancy, and her mother needed to be killed to spark the transformation, Dasha becomes the surrogate through which the conflict of Villanelle’s transformation can be explored. The story doubles its efforts to get the audiences to not only believe Villanelle can change, but also that she deserves to change. And here is where we enter dangerous territory.

 Killing Eve is not a spy-drama anymore, it is a rescue romance

I stand with the writers, Killing Eve was not a romance. Not until Season 3. The topic of how audiences, especially queer fans, perceive the show as a romance is worth a whole essay on its own. However, in Season 3, audiences are treated with a romantic atmosphere (remember the teddy bear scene?). Everything is toned down; the pace is slower and the investigation is put to the side. The cat-and-cat game is replaced with this reinforced sense of destiny, of fate, where characters seamlessly come together, as if all their actions were just leading them up to that moment. Their approach carries no sense of danger, their obsession is replaced with anticipation. Characters stop thinking about each other neurotically, that scrumptious voyeurism is gone. Character’s don’t need to be reminded of each other. There is no need for it anymore, it has been written for them. They will meet each other, no need to pursue.

Gone is also Eve’s curiosity and intrigue about Villanelle, along most of her character’s motivations, with one simple retcon: Eve wants to rescue Villanelle.

To which Eve replies: I don’t think so. Meaning “I believe there is more to Villanelle than killing and I will cling to that” (Why, we don’t know. But that’s for another time)

Previously, despite the irresistible attraction Eve felt for Villanelle, the story never portrayed Eve as trying to redeem her. It was precisely the fact that they are polar opposites that brings them together, each trying to quench a deep hunger through the other, in all the wrong ways. Eve pursues in Villanelle much of her unfulfilled impulses and is challenged to embody them herself. Eve’s never been attracted to what Villanelle might have of redeemable, she was drawn to what Villanelle had of profanely feral. On the other hand, Villanelle longs for the safety and intimacy she sees in Eve but has no way of even comprehending what it means.

This honesty to the character’s true desires and realities is what has allowed the show to explore an enticingly destructive dynamic while avoiding romanticizing it, which would downgrade the show to a disservice. However, ultimately, there is a writer trying to sell a story. And in this case, they are setting up a redemption arc within a romance, despite character desires and realities not aligning with that. But in season 3, Villanelle’s psychopathy got retconned to make her crush on Eve without it being too problematic and Eve’s past season character development got simply blissfully ignored so her crush on Villanelle could flourish without it being too problematic, and in the end, their attraction got stripped away from all it’s complexity and danger so they could bring characters together without it being too problematic. These characters got rewritten to give us the tease of a romance we have seen iterated one million times elsewhere.

The premise of the show was to explore the dangerous temptation to bite the proverbial apple. Still, at some point the tension needs to be resolved, and the writers decided to shift it to a rescue romance. A very slippery slope. A slippery slope to romanticizing disturbingly destructive relationships, to perpetrating the cliché that “Love redeems all”, even psychopaths can change if they have someone who believes in them – not only dangerously dishonest but painfully dull.  As if somehow having your life and your sense of self ruined for a person is some sort of martyrdom to match the person’s redemption itself. What a beautiful pair they would make, cozy in heaven. But damned be the day Killing Eve becomes cozy. While writing the redemption of the serpent and the power of female love despite the obliteration of Eden; they forgot the most delicious part of the story was the apple.

[rustbeltjessie]

Belmont and Clark

I clicked the link Meg sent me, and saw the headline I’d dreaded for years: Demolition Underway at Corner of Belmont and Clark. I read the article, and read another, earlier article on the same topic. I’ll spare you the dull details, but the gist is this—all the buildings on the corner of Belmont and Clark are being bulldozed to make space for some hulking monstrosity of glass and steel, yet another ugly, shiny building where rich people can live, park, eat, and shop. (Just think! One day rich people might be able to live in a completely encapsulated world and not have to breathe the same air as us riffraff!)

I cried a little, and then I got angry. Later that night, I drank whiskey and tried to explain to my partner why I was so upset. My partner attempted to placate me by telling me that it didn’t matter if they tore those buildings down or covered up that parking lot (don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone—they’re building over my favorite parking lot), because the memories will live on in my heart. “No!” I shouted. “You don’t fucking get it!” “I don’t want the memories! I want my Punkin’ Donuts!”

* * *

I’m not drunk, or as emotional as I was that night, but to tell you the truth I don’t know if I can explain anything. I can’t explain why I loved that street and that corner so much. I can’t explain why I’m so fucking pissed that they’re erecting this new building. I know I shouldn’t be this upset. Like I said, I dreaded that headline for years; part of me knew it was coming. My favorite cafe—which had been across the street from Egor’s Dungeon—shut down in 2001 and by 2002 was a trendy shoe boutique (now, it’s a gyro place). Punkin’ Donuts became a combined Dunkin’ Donuts and Baskin Robbins in 2003, and at the same time they started having attendants patrol the parking lot (not that that did much to dissuade either teenage loiterers or drunken brawlers)—and I was mad about that. I wrote about it in the final issue of Safety Pin Girl. I called it the “Death March of Progress.” Less than a year later, Clarke’s remodeled and tried to make themselves seem fancier by doing things like having Daily Specials (but a diner where drunks and weirdos congregate that has Daily Specials is still a diner where drunks and weirdos congregate). Condos and other signs of gentrification started appearing on Belmont a decade ago, and I wrote about that, too: I kicked at the walls of condominiums that now rise to great and ugly heights on the spots where there were once little stores, cozy walkups, and greasy spoons.

So I sorta saw it coming. Not to mention, I never lived in the Belmont/Clark neighborhood, and I haven’t really hung out there since early 2009. Why, then, does this feel like a great personal loss? Why do a few overpriced and overrated “punk rock” shops and a shitty parking lot in front of a crappy chain donut joint still feel so much like home? 

* * *

The closest I got to living in the neighborhood of Belmont and Clark was the apartment I lived in during the first half of 2004. It was just off Belmont, but about two miles farther west, much closer to Western than to Clark. That was close enough. On chill winter days, I hopped on the bus (the Belmont bus!) and rode east, disembarked across from Clarke’s. That was around the time they were trying to make the place a little more upscale, and Maggie and I bitched about it. “Clarke’s sucks now,” we said. “Why do we still go there?” One night, we went to Clarke’s for fries and coffee ‘cause we had nothing better to do, and we ran into a group of old friends and new friends and realized that was why we still went there. Because everyone in town went to Clarke’s. Because none of them had anything better to do, either.

On warm spring days, I took a travel mug full of iced coffee and wandered on foot, no hurry. Sometimes I’d stop to roll a cigarette or browse in a record or bookstore—to drool over all the things I’d’ve bought if I had money to spare. I’d stop and talk to strangers, maybe stop for a bite to eat if I’d scrounged up enough change from my coin jar. Mostly, I just wandered—I had no money to spare but all the free time in the world. I was young and broke and unemployed, and something about swaggering down Belmont in the springtime sunlight made me feel good about being young and broke and unemployed.

And on warm spring nights, Maggie and I hopped astride our bikes and headed east. We sang along to the songs that blared through the shitty handheld tape player she’d duct-taped to her handlebars, and flipped off pedestrians who told us to get off the sidewalk, or flipped off drivers who almost hit us when we rode in the street. Sometimes we stopped at Clarke’s, other times we kept going, and I swear if Lake Michigan weren’t there we could’ve ridden forever. 

* * *

See, my love runs the length of Belmont, from California Avenue east to the lake. It runs from the corner of Belmont and Clark northwest to Cabaret Metro, despite the existence of Wrigley Field and its attendant Cubs fans. And that one little area, from the Belmont Red/Brown/Purple Line stop to the corner, and around the corner to The Alley, is the nexus. It is where my love is at its highest proof.

My love for those streets and the place where they intersect is a swig of cheap vodka. It’s a gut feeling, a flutter and a punch. It is something I’ve been trying to explain for years, which is why I write about it so often. In a piece I wrote years ago, I said: Belmont Avenue is my favorite fucking street in the whole world. I read it at a zine reading, and some people teased me, told me that Belmont was cheesy and overrated. One friend said: “I used to love Belmont, but after I got a citation for smoking cigarettes on the Red Line platform, my enthusiasm waned.” I only smiled and nodded, because those people obviously didn’t get it. I knew Belmont was cheesy and overrated. I loved it anyway. And no matter what fucked-up shit happened to me in that neighborhood, I continued to love it. I continued to love it because…and here, wait, could it be? I finally have an explanation:

It was the first place where I felt comfortable in my skin, accepted and celebrated as a weird artsy kid and as a punk. You know, I could sit on the filthy sidewalk for hours, chain-smoking and writing in my journal, and no one thought I was pretentious or a nerd. I could wear my blue hoodie covered in shoddily sewn-on patches and more often than not, someone would say to me: “Hey, I love that band,” and I’d make a new friend. And it was the first place where I felt accepted not only as a weird artsy punk, but as a queer person. Because there were gay bars, there were same-gender couples kissing and holding hands, there were boys in lipstick and high heels and girls with shaved heads and hairy armpits. So the story of my love for those streets is also a queer coming-of-age story. And it is the story of the girls I knew.

When I think of my days and nights on Belmont and Clark, I remember the girls. Oh, there were boys, boys I dated and slept with and had crushes on; boys I met on Belmont Avenue or hung out with there—but the girls are the ones that stand out in my mind. Girls who were my friends, girls who were my lovers and significant others, girls I only saw once.

There was Annie, my first real-life girlfriend, the person who first took me to Belmont. We walked around holding hands. We went to thriftshops and punk clothing shops; we modeled clothing for each other, bought jars of our favorite Manic Panic hair color—hers Carnation Pink, mine Pillarbox Red. We got coffee from the Punkin’ Donuts to warm our hands against the raw-wet late-winter wind. When I was brave enough, I kissed her and felt a warmth tingle my veins, a warmth greater than any that coffee could produce.

There were the older punk rock girls I met in the Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot that first time I was in Chicago all on my own. They were glorious in their spiky, neon-colored hair, their tight jeans and short skirts, their high-top Chucks. We walked together to the MTX/Queers show; they gave me sips of their booze and shouted down catcalling Cubby Bros.

There was Beagan, who sat with me on the summer sidewalks, smoking cigarettes; who walked with me in the soft snow flurries of two-days-before-Christmas. We kissed and giggled. We pointed out the passersby we thought were cute, and assured one another we’d always think the other was the cutest one of all.

There were the girls of my Kokomo Caffe days: Schuyler, who I encountered my first time there. She charmed me with her stick ’n’ poke tattoos and her messed-up hair and her brash attitude. I played “Rebel Rebel” on the jukebox, she knew all the words, and I was in a whirl. Polly, the gorgeous old-school gothpunk. She had flawless Cleopatra eyeliner, her favorite bands were The Slits and The Damned, and she always offered me one of her clove cigarettes (which she kept in a silver case, shaped like a coffin). Winnie, with her shock of red hair and a smile like a match-flare. She gave the best hugs, they were one of the things that helped pull me through that hellish time in my life. Parker—we were both white girls with Chelsea haircuts and steel-toed boots. We bonded over trying to find ways to show the world that, though we looked like skin byrds, we definitely weren’t byrds of the Nazi variety. The girl whose name I never knew—I thought for sure she was gay or bi. She always made eyes at me. She had a leather jacket and a fucking rainbow mohawk. Then I found out she was not a queer punk, she was a Christian punk; she wasn’t trying to flirt with me, she was trying to convert me.

There was Latisha. Though we were on-again/off-again as a couple, there was never any bad blood between us. The night we met, we hung out on Belmont. We went into sex shops where we annoyed the employees by tickling each other with feather dusters and trying out various floggers and whips. We went into clothing stores; I bought a purple plaid dress that I wish I’d held on to, though I’m sure it wouldn’t fit me—it was too tight and too short even then. We parted ways, that night, at the El station—she had to get on the southbound Red Line, I had to board the northbound Brown Line. As we stood on opposite platforms, waiting for our trains, we blew kisses to each other and waved at one another with imaginary perfume-scented handkerchiefs. Over the next four years, much of our time together was spent on that street. We yelled at cops who harassed the homeless who gathered on bus benches and in the Dunkin’ parking lot. Some nights, we got coffee at Clarke’s after queer punk shows. This was when I was young and brazen enough to consider a second-hand slip and torn-up fishnets appropriate show attire, and I know all eyes were on us when we spilled into the diner on those nights—scruffy punk girl me, falling out of my slip, high femme Latisha with her high high heels and her pin-up girl dresses, both of us half-drunk, with make-up smeared by pogo-sweat. Other nights, we danced at the Belmont gay bars. Our favorite nights were ‘80s nights, when we could writhe, melodramatic and strange, to new wave and New Romance. Sometimes we did shots with drag queens. Sometimes one or the other of us picked up a hot butch and left with them, or let them fuck us in the bathroom. Usually, we just danced; usually, we went home together.

Once, walking down Belmont with a friend of mine, a punk girl looked me up and down, from the top of my short black hair to the booted toes of my red and black striped tights. She gave me such a lustful look that my friend turned to me and said: “Damn. That girl looked at you the way a Gossip song sounds.”

There was Filia—every time she visited my neck of the woods, we bummed around Belmont and Clark. Usually, it was summer. We drank iced coffees until we thought we might puke. We smoked endless cigarettes, though the sodden summer air was so thick in our lungs we choked on it. We ogled skinheads and picked up bottle caps we found on the ground. We sang “Summer in the City” at the top of our lungs, convinced that a Chicago punk band should cover it because it was the anthem of Belmont in the summer, and the backs of our necks were dirty and gritty. Babe, don’t you know it’s a pity…

There was Maggie, who I mentioned above, my long-time partner-in-crime from the moment we met. Maggie and I on the bus, on our bikes, on foot. Maggie and I headed east on Belmont. Maggie and I stopping into Schuba’s to drink afternoon beers and take silly photobooth pictures. Maggie and I staying up all night at Clarke’s, or loitering in the parking lot of the Punkin’ Donuts. Maggie and I stopping into Blue Havana to buy Bali Shag; Blue Havana which we referred to as HomoSmoke, because everyone who worked there was gay as hell. There was a cute butch gal who worked there, she had a tiny ‘hawk and a face full of piercings and we both awkwardly attempted to flirt with her. Maggie and I—I’ll stop now, because I have so many Maggie/Belmont memories that I could fill up a whole fuckin’ book with those.

And there were others. Other girl friends and girlfriends, other girls I flirted with, other girls I was too nervous to even talk to. Out-of-town pals I took to Belmont when they came to visit, and in-town friends who loved that neighborhood almost as much as I did. Zine-writing girls and rock’n’roll girls. Goth girls and punk girls. Girls with mohawks and girls with dreadlocks and fuzzy-headed baby dykes. Tattoo artists and hairstylists and baristas and diner waitresses. I love(d) them all.

* * *

After I read the articles, I read the comments. The commenters fell into three different categories. 1. The balanced, rational people. They said they were ambivalent about the proposed building but thought that progress was good for the neighborhood. 2. Those who said: “Good riddance! There are muggings in that neighborhood that are probably perpetrated by the teenagers who loiter in that parking lot!” Those who said: adios crappy Dunkin' Donuts and nasty Ally [sic] building. That corner has been nothing but a hangout for hookers and troublemakers for years. 3. The nostalgia-keepers, who shared stories of hanging out there before and after punk shows or raves. They said: “Yeah, there were problems, but the place had character.” Someone responded to one of the nostalgia-keepers, and said: are you saying you are sad to see a dunkin donuts [sic] and its parking lot go? If so, that’s fucking weird.

Well, then I’m fucking weird, too. I could try and give you some arguments against gentrification, some reasoning behind why I think it’s important to leave a space for the wacky teenagers and their crime, for the troublemakers and the hookers, because that’s part of what’s making me angry. What I’m even angrier about is that they’re destroying a piece of my history, and I don’t like change. I like change when it means gaining new experiences and interests and friends, but when it means losing people and places? Fuck that. I get grumpy when places I love get remodeled, and I get downright livid when they’re torn down. I can’t remember the last time a girl looked at me the way a Gossip song sounds, and most of the girls I mentioned above are no longer part of my life. I’m fucking selfish, and if I can’t have the girls and the moments back, well—I would rather see those buildings and businesses vacant and crumbling than see them razed. That way, at least, they would stand as a monument to my past. That way, I could visit them and see the ghost of my old self peering out from the empty windows, my old self with her slip-dress and her smeared make-up, her endless cigarettes and scribbled notebooks, gazing out the windows, waiting for the girl(s) she loved to pass by.

My partner was right, in a sense. The memories do live on in my heart. All the girls, all the people I encountered near that corner, will live in the Belmont and Clark of my heart forever. All the people and a hundred moments and a thousand small things. The cracked sidewalks covered in broken glass, the secret graffiti, the heavy silver-green trees of Chicago in the summer. The stench of car fumes and donut grease and diner grease, cigarette smoke and beer and that weedy lake-smell when the wind is blowing in from the east. The abrasive honking of taxis, drunks singing their favorite songs, “Belmont is next. Doors open on the left at Belmont.” Sometimes, I think I’m okay with everything going away from me forever—girls, places, everything—but right now, I’m not. It’s all tattooed on my fucking heart, but that’s not good enough.

I want a tattoo of the CTA map, with the Belmont stop blown up bigger than the rest. I want a brick from the rubble of Blue Havana and Architectural Revolution. I want to stand on the corner and chug a 40 oz. of Old Style; I want to pour the dregs onto the cracked hot sidewalk. I want to scream: “Fuck Building a New Chicago! I want the old one back!” I want to sing, with Chain and the Gang backing me up: “Devitalize!” I want to save that brick from the rubble of my past, and when they build that hideous new building, I want to send it hurtling through the shiny windows. Attached will be a note that reads: “Fuck you. You’ll never fucking get it.”

—Jessie Lynn McMains [originally published as a mini-zine in early 2015; also appears in the collection What We Talk About When We Talk About Punk]

[markantonys]

I was scrolling through tumblr and suddenly I saw a L'allieva gif and I was like :O l'allieva ? On my dashboard? Who the fuck is watching it? And then I saw your username and everything clicked. How much have you watched? What are your impressions? Please i need your fun metas and hc about this show!

Anyway, the ponytail gif is fucking iconic, it makes me laugh each time I see it, especially since CC always gets ponytail-slapped when he's angry! It's like Alice's subconscious tells her hair " I can't slap properly he's my boss, but I need to hit him" ahah. The gif would be perfect if someone added that time in season 1 when Alice was angrily walking by Claudio and he stopped her by pulling her ponytail 😂

the ponytail slap is payback for every time claudio zoomed off in his car in s1 leaving alice stranded jskdfh that made me lose it every single time anyway i’m two episodes into s2 and loving it! ambra just left and i’m going to miss her bc i weirdly loved her (me every time i see a bitchy female character i’m supposed to hate: my wife now) and i miss yuki and i miss their cozy s1 apartment and alice and claudio’s s1 hair bc their hair looks so much worse in s2 lmao but on the upside i love the cute lil new intern and i’m relieved the arthur drama is finally done (he was a nice dude but his and alice’s lifestyles and careers were so obviously incompatible from day 1, i can’t BELIEVE that relationship dragged on as long as it did)

i’m tired of constant love triangles but i’ll admit i like the new guy bc he seems chill and also we just found out he’s a single dad which is intriguing (or at least i assume he’s single). alice and claudio are fun to watch Of Course but my galaxy brain just went “what if alice/ambra rivals to lovers” in s1 and i couldn’t stop thinking about it jkdfg and then just when ambra left my brain saw claudio and the new guy’s History and Tension and went 👀👀 but those are just my fun little crackships haha i do like alice and claudio together! as for the side ships it seems like marco and lara will get together any day now which i’m happy about bc they’re cute (also i’m convinced they’re both bi like there’s no way they are heterosexual. i know the joke is that everyone mistakenly thinks marco is gay but like come ON he does have such a queer vibe! and so does lara. so they are two bicons whose relationship is the ultimate bi man/bi woman solidarity, i have decided). also nonna amalia is among the ranks of godtier tv (grand)parents i would die for her

finally idk if you’ve seen non uccidere but literally all i want in my life is a non uccidere/l’allieva crossover where valeria and andrea are in rome on a much-needed vacation but then of course they end up involved in investigating a murder case bc they don’t know how to turn their work brains off, and they have to work with alice & co and you might think that stern no-nonsense valeria wouldn’t get along with ditzy naive alice but they actually wind up being best friends because valeria respects the hell out of all women no matter how different they are from her (meanwhile andrea and claudio are just in the background watching them solve everything proudly going THAT’S MY WIFE)

[norahastuff]

At this point , I am really scared , I need some reassurance that Destiel will happen , so many posts saying that it is unlikely , please help!! :(

Ok first of all, I get it. These days I’m relatively chill about most aspects of the show, just taking things as they come and trying to enjoy the story they’re telling - it’s still a pretty good one - but I have those moments too. For example my knee jerk reaction to the “Cas has failed his brothers” tweet  (which again means nothing - people that run the CW social media accounts know next to nothing about what’s going on in the show) was genuinely “I can’t believe Dean made Cas a mixtape of the music his parents fell in love over, in a scene that was shot so romantically, and people are still out here calling them brothers.”

And honestly that’s still where I’m stuck with all of this. I haven’t been in fandom long. I never even really knew what shipping was until last year. I was watching, enjoying and analysing the show (albeit in my own head), long before I found tumblr, and had thought it was blindingly obvious that there were romantic elements to Dean and Cas’ relationship. I think that’s something a lot of us forget when we’re talking about “Canon Destiel” and what will happen etc. We discount everything that has already happened between them in favour of some proof down the road. Which I get, trust me, but I really don’t think we should forget everything that led us to see Dean and Cas this way to begin with.

Ok so what helps me mostly be chill about all this?

1) The wealth of canon material that already exists between them (mixtapes, grief arcs, human weakness, colette parallels, sweeping reunions set to rousing musical cues, Amara supposedly having control over Dean but when in a room with her and Cas all Dean can do is call out Cas’ name over and over again in a broken voice - I honestly could go on all day.)

2) I don’t believe any of this was being done in bad faith.

I’m going to focus on 3 of the current writers, 2 of whom are openly queer and one of whom is the showrunner:

Berens

His first episode 9x06 was the one where Misha was instructed to play Cas as a “jilted lover” by Carver, the showrunner, and that episode was just romantic af. There’s so much staring through wistfully at each other it’s ridiculous. If you watch Berens episodes, it’s pretty clear that he considers Dean and Cas’ relationship vital, he often makes a point to place them in the same tier of importance as Sam and Dean’s relationship, and on top of that it seems to me he’s always just contextualised their relationship as having romantic elements. Whether it’s Colette parallels or mixtapes, Bobo’s always presented them a certain way.

Yockey

If you even glance at Yockey’s resume you’ll be able to see he’s a genius playwright whose work tends to focus on gay relationship dramas. Of course that in no way means that any relationship between two men that he writes has to be romantic, but what it does mean is that he understands when it is. It does mean that when he writes an episode like 12x10 (an ep about angels falling in love with humans), where Dean and Cas are bickering like a married couple and Ishim dubs the woman he was in love with his human weakness, whilst in the same breath calling Dean Cas’ human weakness, he’s doing it intentionally. That episode was a lot of things, well written, smart, beautifully crafted - but one thing it was not was subtle. Claiming Yockey didn’t mean it that way seems pretty absurd to me, and honestly, trying to claim Yockey - a gay man who writes nuanced LGBT+ stories - meant it as bait or whatever, is even worse. I mean that episode even had an exploration of how angels do not have genders like humans do by showing Cas in a female vessel and having him reiterate that angels are their own thing, regardless of whether they are in a male or female vessel at any given time.

That’s not even mentioning 13x05 and how ridiculously romantic that ep was. I mean I can’t - that final scene was ridiculous.

Andrew Dabb

And then we come to the showrunner himself. Dabb joined the show the same season that Cas did. He’s always placed a great deal of importance on Dean and Cas’ relationship, and always made sure to differentiate it from Sam and Cas. Even as early as 5x16, he made sure to emphasise how it was Dean who felt for Cas when he lost his faith in God (note: I don’t think there was any romantic intent there at the time but he was showing the depth and importance of their bond even back then.) 8x08 with the “talk to me” and the heart breaking conversation that followed that was cut short when Sam walked in. Dabb cares.

Dabb has also clearly been intrigued with the potentially romantic aspects of their relationship. I don’t know what his intentions have ever been with it, but at the very least, he has often seemed like he wanted to explore it. In 9x22 where Metatron delivers the “he’s in love with..,humanity” line, Dabb reportedly wrote that Metatron created Cas’ heaven as having tons of photos of naked Dean (which allegedly was axed by a higher up). His era led to Cas being given a vital, central role in the show and story like he’d never had before and also the escalation of the Dean/Cas romantic story like never before. In Dabb’s eps all of heaven and hell assume they’re banging with a demon even saying it to Cas’ face. Not to mention 12x23. Just all of it. Seriously.

I have no idea what TPTB intentions are, or ever have been, with Destiel as an eventual textual development, and yes I definitely believe that the right thing to do is for them to address it in some way. But I will say it bothers me a little when people throw it into the same category as a couple of other shows that shall not be named for the very important reason that the show has never invalidated any of the romantic elements of this relationship they’ve crafted between Dean and Cas, at least not post s8 and certainly not since Dabb took over around mid s11.

Kripke and Gamble definitely had a different approach that was pretty much just homoerotic subtext with the occasional (extremely on the nose) gay joke thrown in, but that’s not something Carver and Dabb did. However explicit they did/will get with it, every development between Dean and Cas has been anchored by serious emotional importance and nothing about their bond has ever been dismissed or downplayed as unimportant.

If there’s one thing I’m reasonably confident about is that that isn’t going to change. They’re not going to invalidate or “no homo” any of this by throwing Dean or Cas a last minute love interest. There’s a lot simmering under the surface between Dean and Cas right now, has been for a while now, and it’s definitely something they’re going to address if they’re going to give any kind of sensical end to their story.

Regardless of how explicit it winds up being - and again I want to reiterate, I do understand people’s pain and frustration if it winds up not being especially overt - this is a story that the people who created it cared about. The writers have treated in seriously and none of them ever mocked or dismissed any of the fans and are not evil villains cackling over a cauldron because they’ve tricked so many people with this story. Also, because I’ve been seeing some baffling commentary about intent - some from former Destiel shippers even - even if there isn’t a clear cut romantic endgame that makes it obvious to 100% of the GA, none of that invalidates all the romantic storytelling that has been, and continues to be, a part of the narrative for a long time now. It exists. To quote Misha “you are not crazy.” And don’t let anyone make you believe that you are.

TLDR: I have no idea what’s coming next and I’m sorry but I can’t give you any assurance that things are going to be wrapped up the way you or I would want them to be, but I can give you my long rambling thoughts about why I feel the way I do. Why it can still bug me that we can watch a story that if it was between a man and a woman would be blindingly clear to everyone but if it’s m/m (or even w/w) has constant denials levelled against it, but how at the same time I’m not constantly filled with rage or sadness about why it has played out the way it has.

So yeah, that’s how I’m going into the final season. There’s a lot more I wanted to say but looking at this wall of text I’m realising I’ve already gone on for far too long so I’ll stop now.

[khadij-al-kubra]

Thomas in Wonderland (ch 4)

Characters: Thomas (fictional), Virgil, Roman, Patton, Logan, Remy, Emile, Joan, Talyn, Deceit, Nate, The Dragon Witch, fan adopted short vid characters

Word Count: 2400 (no betas, we die like mortals)

Summary: Thomas plays a game and says a swear word.

Author’s Note: *blows cloud of dust off this work that's accumulated since the last chapter* I know. It's been a while. Sincerest apologies. Apparently juggling multiple creative projects while also balancing personal life stuff is...trickier than I anticipated. Thank you to everyone who's still stuck around with this story, it truly means a lot. And trust me, you're going to like what's coming next, because we'll finally be seeing the sides! Starting with a certain necktie wearing blue caterpillar... ;D

I'll do my best to update more frequently, if not consistently since my posting schedule tends to get more sporadic than the Red Queen's mood swings. 

Now then, back to our irregularly scheduled madness...

<=PREV

Animals & Improv

Just keep swimming; just keep swimming, Thomas mentally sang to himself, even though he was not swimming but floating along rather peacefully. As Thomas let his body float along, he tried to keep a sharp eye out for anything he could use as a raft or flotation device. Or maybe a bank of dry land he could swim to. He still wanted to find the Black Rabbit, or at least a place to dry off.

“Come on, there’s gotta be a leaf or a log or somethi—Oof.“

The current made Thomas collide into something. It felt warm and soft, albeit damp. And the thing had a tiny hand clamped on the sleeve of his jacket. Oh dear lord please don’t let it be a killer sea creature!

“Sorry man,” said the something that was not a sea creature.  

It was a rat with brownish russet fur that almost looked orange in the sunlight. Poor thing was soaked ear to tail; yet he seemed to not be very much bothered by their current predicament. Frankly Thomas was a little bit impressed by this rat’s very chill attitude. As for the talking factor, well, at this point not much surprised him.

“Thought you were a raft,” said the Rat.

“Oh, no I’m not a raft,” said Thomas, happy to find he wasn’t alone. “I’m a Thomas.”

“Hello. I’m a Toby named Rat. Or a Rat named Toby. Depends on the day, and today, I’m Toby.”

“Nice to meet you Toby. Just wish the circumstances were better,” said Thomas. “Say, is there a raft around here though? Like a rescue party or something?”

“Dunno. Maybe,” said Toby. “What would a raft look like? Does it look anything like a rat? Oh I hope it’s not made of rats, or that would be bad news for me!”

“Umm it’s like a big, wide, sometimes flat thing you can float on,” said Thomas.

“Oh, you mean like that?” Toby asked, pointing over Thomas’s shoulder.

Thomas turned around to where Toby was pointing and saw that, indeed, there was a raft. Not one make of rats, thankfully, but rather of tied together branches drifting their way. It even had a mast with a rainbow flag tied on top and flapping in the breeze. There even seemed to be a few other animals riding on it as well.

“Yes! Yes, exactly like that. We’re SAVED!” Thomas cheered. “Come on Toby, we can swim straight toward—

“GAAAHHHH!!!” screamed Toby.

“What? What’s wrong, are you alright?” Thomas asked, worried that the Mouse might be drowning.

“How can you say such a cursed S word?” asked Toby, clearly aghast but very much not drowning.

“What, swim?”

“No, no, that’s as harmless as a cat.”

“…Saved?”

“Not yet we aren’t. Come on let’s swim ahead. They seem to be meeting us halfway, you silly goose.”

“I’m not a goose, I’m a man.”

“A goose can’t be a man too?”

“…You know what? Never mind.”

“Can’t never a mind if you haven’t got the right kind.”

Thomas was very confused but decided not to press the matter further. Goodness knows, he didn’t want to end up in a defensive argument again like he had with those mean flowers. So he and Toby swam forward until their fingertips touched the edge of the raft, which was indeed made out of wood and thankfully not rats. A shadow was cast over them, and Thomas looked up only to be faced with a rather large crab. Thomas might have been frightened of it under normal circumstances but by this point, the only thing that really would surprise him is if something relatively normal happen.

“Well hi there precious,” said the Crab, in a sort of southern drawl. “Looks like you’re in need of some assistance.”

“Yes! Yes we are,” Thomas said, relieved.

He expected the Crab to pull both him and Toby onto the safety of their raft.  However, they just kept a clawed grip on them as they bobbed along. After a pause the Crab spoke again, giving Thomas a pointedly expecting look.

“Yes aaand?” he asked.

“Um, yes and, I’d really appreciate it if you pulled me and Toby up onto your raft, please?” asked Thomas.

"Now that’s more like it sugar! Yes and sugar, I can certainly do that.”

The Crab pulled Thomas out of the water with one claw and Toby out with the other. Thomas was sopping wet and incredibly grateful to be on a solid dry surface again. He saw Toby shake himself out to dry his wet fur like a puppy would. Unfortunately Thomas wasn’t able to get dry that way, sadly, but he did take his shoes off and wring out his socks. I’m sure nobody will mind, Thomas though as he pulled off his left then right sneaker, then his right and left sock, and then wiggled his raisiny wrinkled toes. There was nothing worse than the feeling of wet socks, no matter what world within or without of a rabbit hole you were in. It was just a universal unpleasantness. Hopefully the suns warm rays would help dry him off a bit.

“You can call me Mike by the way,” said the wide faced Crab, whose name was Mike.

“Thank you Mike. My name’s Thomas and he’s Toby—“

“I don’t believe you,” said another voice.

Thomas turned towards the source and saw a Dodo bird wearing a French Revolution style jacket and three point hat with a rainbow feather in it. Despite Dodos being extinct and probably being nowhere near France, this honestly wasn’t the strangest thing Thomas has seen today. So it was somewhat believable that one would be talking to him.

“Um, but that is my name,” he said. “My name is Thomas Sanders—”

“Yes, and I am Magenta, Captain of this vessel, as you can tell from the feather in my hat. And these are my troupe of buccaneers.”

The endangered if not extinct Dodo gestured a stubby wing towards the two other creatures aboard the raft. There was Mike the crab, and a Duck whose name Thomas did not yet know. Along with him and Toby, they were a queer group to say the least. (In both the old and new sense of the word, he would guess form the rainbow flag) Still, it cheered Thomas up to not be floating alone anymore. On top of that, the sun was finally drying him off. Thomas couldn’t believe his luck.

“I don’t believe it,” he said, with a grateful smile.

“Alright,” said Magenta. “Then I am Magenta, Admiral of this vessel, as you can tell from my macaroni. And these are my troupe of hostages”

“Wait what?” Thomas asked, thoroughly confused and a little anxious. Suppose the reverse could be worse, he thought.

“Yes,” said the Duck. “And I am Brian, the senior hostage, for I am the oldest.”

“Um, I don’t believe you sugar cube,” said Mike.

“I am Brian, the newest hostage, for I am the most clever,” said Brian.

“I don’t believe you!” Toby chimed in.

All four animals looked towards Thomas expectantly. Ohhh now I get it.

“I don’t believe you?” Thomas asked, familiar with the rules of the game, now that he recognized it.

“For I am the dumbest,” said Brian.

“I don’t believe you,” said Mike, giggling.

“For I am the most gay,” said Brian.

“Yes and,” said Magenta with a solemn nod. “Although, it could always be gayer.”

“Yes and!” They all chimed together.

Thomas found himself actually having fun for the first time since he’d arrived in this strange place. It sure was a good thing he’d gotten better at improv since practicing so much with Joan. Maybe he could even use this as a way to get some directions. If not, well, at least they could keep playing until someone saw dry land. Hopefully.

“Yes, and I had seen a…white rabbit earlier today,” said Thomas.

“I don’t believe you,” said Toby.

Thomas grinned to himself, proud of how clever he was being. “I had seen a Black Rabbit earlier, but lost it.”

“I don’t believe you sweet pea,” said Mike.

“A-about the first or second half?”

“Yes and,” said Mike.

“O-kaaay, It was a black rabbit, and I was trying to catch up to him.“

“I don’t believe you,” said Magenta.

“…It was a Black. Rabbit. And—“

“I don’t believe you,” all four animals said.

Thomas groaned. “Geez, okay, well, I’m not going to change that part. Screw the rules. I am sticking to my guns with that, because it WAS a Black Rabbit and it ran away from me, and I have to find him because he dropped his pocket watch and I want to give it back to him.”

“Yes and,” said Brian. Thomas smacked himself on the forehead. “I saw a Rabbit shaped fellow earlier with black fur and a purple waistcoat.”

Thomas perked up. “You did!? I mean, Yes! And?”

“Yes and he was doggy paddling anxiously through the water, so clearly he was actually a rabbit shaped Dog.”

“I don’t believe you,” said Magenta.

“I do! I believe you,” said Thomas. The rest of them paid him no mind though.

“Alright then. He was a rabbit shaped paddle,” said Brain.

“Yes,” said Mike. “And he swam that gay, on his way to the Red Queen’s castle.”

“I don’t believe you,” said Toby.

"He was on his was to the Yellow King's castle."

"Yes and!"

Thomas let out a big sign and sat down on the raft as the others continued to play. This was getting ridiculous. He thought for sure he was starting to get on the right track, but then they had to keep imposing their own ideas into his line. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but he didn’t like that what he knew was the right thing was being dragged so much you might as well call it left. At a certain point, even a ridiculous story line had to have some truth and consistency to it. I mean you can spell madness without sense…I think?

Fortunately Thomas hadn’t gotten too deep into mulling this verbatim verses spelling conundrum. Otherwise he might have missed the very distinct strip of land that came into view over the water. And it was getting bigger and bigger, as though the mainland itself had drunken from one of those growth sodas. Either way, Thomas hadn’t been so happy to see dry land since his uncle’s last fishing trip.

“Land hoe!” Thomas said, pointing ahead.

When he turned towards the rest of the strange crew, they didn’t share in his excitement like he thought they would. If anything, the animals shot him a look that could almost read as judgy-wudgy.

“Now there’s no need for that kind of language sugar bean,” said Mike, his claws tut-tutting. “If a piece of land wants to be sex-positive, that is their prerogative.”

“No, no not that kind a— I meant there’s land straight ahead.”

“GAAAHH!” All the animals screamed.

“What? What did I say!?” asked a startled Thomas.

“How DARE YE say the ‘S’ word!” said Magenta, his beady eyes glaring.

“Again!” Toby said, tail trembling.

“What would your mother say!?” Mike asked, aghast.

“She certainly wouldn’t say that,” said Brian. “A self respecting mother would sooner stick a bar of soap in her own mouth. That always teaches naughty mouthed boys a lesson in saying bad words.”

The others nodded in agreement.

“Wait…you mean ‘straight?’” asked Thomas. They gasped. “All I said was there’s land straight ahe—“

Another terrified scream. Brian looked about ready to faint.

“Now really, you all are being silly. There’s nothing wrong with the word straight.” They screamed again. “And we’ve got to steer this raft on a straight—”

Again they screamed, gasped, and yes even fainted. Those still conscious gambled about aghast across the deck or around the rainbow flagged mast. Thomas sighed and rolled his eyes. And they call me a gay disaster.

“—coarse.” Thomas sighed.

This was clearly getting him nowhere, and he wanted off this raft. Fortunately the tide was on his side, and as the waves rolled them forward he could see that the water was just shallow enough for him to wade hip deep through. So he grabbed his sun dried shoes and socks, (held above his head of course because what would be the point of them getting wet again?) and carefully lowered himself off the side of the raft into the water. His feet sunk into soft sea soil but at least he could stand. Thomas would have said his thanks and goodbyes to the animals, but given their current state he thought better of it. So he simply started wading through the water towards shore.

At last, he touched dry land. Thomas took a full breath of relief. From his current vantage point, it looked as though he had stumbled upon the outer edges of a tropical island. With long green stems for trees, soft brown sand, and in the distance the greenery rustled with (he shuddered to think) the scurrying of animals or insects. But he reasoned that by normal Thomas-sized standards, it was probably just a regular garden. To think that his river of tears had likely been nothing more than a silly puddle problem, although it certainly had felt bigger at the time.

“Well that was the oddest trip on a boat I ever took,” he said, grabbing a blade of grass to towel dry his legs with. “At least it wasn’t boring. Now to figure out where I am…Probably would be easier if I was people sized again.”

Indeed, while crying himself a river had improved Thomas’s mood, it did nothing to improve his current height. He immediately regretted not saving some of that soda. At the very least, the silver pocket watch was still with him.

“Okay new plan,” he said as he put his socks and shoes back on. “Get back to me size, then find the Black Rabbit and give him his pocket watch back. He’s probably worried sick over it, poor guy…Guess I’ll just walk straight ahead till I find a path.”

If Thomas has strained to listen, he might have heard the echo of a queer troupe of animals crying out from across the water.

NEXT=>

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[dear-wormwoods]

i know that eddie's first encounter with It and the way It manifests itself as his fear is very telling of him being gay, but what do you think the encounters It had with the other members of the loser's club (like mike with the bird, stan with the dead boys, etc) are indicative of?

Okay Let’s Talk About the Losers’ Fears!

The interesting thing about IT is that, for most kids, the fears IT manifests as are pretty basic. Movie monsters, comic book monsters, vampires, mummies, etc. So not all the Losers have super deep meanings behind their fears, the way Eddie and Beverly do, and I think it definitely reflects the level of contentment they experience in their every day life. Obviously Eddie’s IT experiences are symbolic of his fear of his sexuality and the self-loathing that comes along with that, disguised as a ‘diseases are gross!’ sort of thing because that’s easier to process for a little kid (and because IT needs something physical to take the shape of). We don’t need to rehash that. But as for the others…

Beverly is not afraid of blood, her fear is much deeper than that, blood is just the easiest physical representation for what she really does fear, which is her own womanhood. In one of MANY parallels between Eddie and Bev, both of their fears are based on gender and sexuality, and both fears exist, at least in part, because of their abusive home lives. Bev’s fear takes on the disguise of ‘blood is gross!’ but really it’s about puberty and menstruation, and what that change will mean for her sexually - because her dad never stops talking about how boys look at her, and what her role will be as a woman re: having sex with boys. And this isn’t the first time King has used blood symbolism for a girl’s fear of the sexual unknown - he did it in Carrie too (and lbr if Eddie and Beverly were fused together into one character, it would be Carrie and if Sonia and Alvin were fused into one character, it would be Carrie’s crazy fucking mother).

Next we have Bill, whose fear is pretty self-explanatory. IT always manifests as something Georgie-related for him, but what Bill fears most is not literally Georgie’s corpse, it’s Georgie BLAMING him for his death. Bill feels incredible guilt for what happened to Georgie, and feels responsible because he helped make the paper boat and because he was too sick to go out with Georgie that day and therefore could not protect him (this comes up again and again re: his insistence that Eddie not leave his line of sight like, ever, because he’s projecting his Georgie guilt). Bill actually comes the closest to ‘losing’ to IT because his fear is the most emotional - he almost gives in to the apparition of Georgie basically accusing him of murder, and would have, were it not for the other Losers (particularly Eddie) screeching that it isn’t really Georgie.

Richie’s fears are all based around movie monsters, but they’re a little more symbolic than that because of one small addition: Richie’s name being used repeatedly as a label FOR IT’s manifestations. IT also seems to talk to Richie more, because taunting him is more effective than just existing as a visual. On top of that, IT takes multiple forms for Richie, which is unusual. So we have three (unless I’m forgetting one) - the Crawling Eye, the Werewolf, and Paul Bunyan. The Crawling Eye is a movie monster that really freaked Richie out as a kid to the point where he’d have nightmares about it and wet the bed, and he has a lot of eye-related body horror dreams and it’s pretty gross… dreaming about eyes can symbolize needing to (or refusing to) look inward, and dreaming about something being in/hurting your eyes can symbolize being unable to (or refusing to) confront certain truths, or avoiding emotional intimacy. All of this can easily be applied to Richie, the King of Avoidance, and it’s particularly interesting that the Eddie is the one who injures the Eye, and encourages Richie to fight it too, and that Eddie is mentioned by IT later on in relation to the Eye (the SHOES THING also ties into the Eye whenever it comes up!). So there’s THAT. The Crawling Eye, imo, stands for Richie’s denial and emotional stagnation. 

The Werewolf is also a movie monster, and Richie was very effected by the plight of the teenage werewolf when he watched that movie - so it’s telling that when IT manifests as the werewolf, it is wearing a jacket with Richie’s name stitched into it. I know this has been said over and over, but Richie relates to the werewolf on some level because the werewolf is seen by its peers as a horrible monster, but it’s something it cannot help, and while it presents as ‘normal’ most of the time, when the ‘monster comes out’, it’s instantly ostracized from society. Richie sees himself as a ‘monster’ because he’s consistently treated as annoying, or ‘too much’, or borderline-suicidal to the point where he scares a lot of people off from wanting to get to know him. He feels guilty about being a burden on his parents, he hates that he constantly gets himself into trouble for things he can’t seem to control (undiagnosed and untreated ADHD, most likely), and on top of all that, he’s also hyper-aware of the dangers of ‘looking queer’ in public if he’s caught being affectionate with his male friends. There is a lot going on in Richie’s head that all point to him being very aware that he’s not ‘like everyone else’, but he can’t help it, so Richie sees himself reflected in the Teenage Werewolf… and IT knows that, and tries to use that to ITs advantage. 

FINALLY, there’s the Paul Bunyan statue, which involves a little more reaching to figure out, so bear with me if this sounds insane… Paul Bunyan, in a way, represents Richie as well. Richie is well aware that the statue is an attention-grabber, but it’s also kitschy and stupid looking - he himself describes it as having a ‘cheerful vulgarity’. It’s big and loud, but people hate it and think it’s lame. Richie wants attention, but he’s afraid of being Paul Bunyan - he wants to be GOOD at something, and get attention because of his skill and his humor, not just because he’s loud and ridiculous. He doesn’t want to be talked about as “horrible, garish, and unbelievably gauche”, the way Derry townsfolk talk about Paul. As an adult, Paul turns into the clown and has a literal, casual conversation with Richie, and then eventually turns into Buddy Holly - a musician Richie admired and related to, who died tragically young - only Buddy’s glasses weren’t his usual glasses - they were Richie’s glasses, mended with adhesive tape. So even then, he’s sort of seeing parts of HIMSELF in what IT appears as. SOOO LONG STORY SHORT, Richie is his own worst fear. 

Stan’s encounter with IT, I think, was meant to push the boundaries of what his  mind would accept as ‘real’. Stan’s whole worldview was based on order and a certain expectation of reality being… reality. So IT created a visual as ridiculous as possible, while still maintaining some level of offensive realism (by using corpses of real kids who drowned in the Standpipe) and creating a multi-sensory onslaught that Stan couldn’t deny - music, smells, visuals, etc. ITs goal wasn’t to scare Stan so much as break him, but Stan was able to ground himself in reality with his bird book well enough to escape. But what he takes away from the experience in the end is being offended by what happened. He doesn’t give a shit about being scared, he’s just plain OFFENDED by what he saw. So I think Stan’s kids-in-the-Standpipe experience was meant to just…. totally insult the way he sees the world around him. It’s also one of the coolest visuals in the novel and I will be forever angry that the movie changed his IT experience so completely. 

Ben’s IT encounters are SUPER typical… movie monsters, Halloween costume type of shit, like most of the other Derry kids who became ITs victims. The clown with the balloons floating against the wind, the mummy, the vampire… but unlike Richie, I don’t think there is much deeper meaning to it than just being your run of the mill scary shit, because unlike Richie, Ben doesn’t hate himself. Ben is pretty damn content with his life. He loves his mom, they have a close relationship, he doesn’t have any friends before the Losers but he wasn’t bent out of shape about it… he was fine with being alone, and just being a good student, a quiet bookish kid, and he liked buying candy and eating it in front of the TV with his little bathrobe on. Like, Ben was chill. He was confident in what he liked and what he knew how to do, he was a real ‘you do you’ kid. He wasn’t even THAT upset about being fat until other kids made fun of him for it. So Ben’s just going through life, more comfortable than the other Losers. He’s content with his gender and sexuality, he’s content with his skill set and his interests, he doesn’t care about how others perceive him, he’s adaptable, and he’s not plagued with guilt. So IT doesn’t really have a TON to work with, lmao. Movie monsters are all IT has at ITs disposal when it comes to Ben, and that’s all there is to it. And in general, Ben is one of the least affected by IT… he really doesn’t even seem that afraid of IT, on the whole, but he reacts most strongly to the things that sort of go against the laws of physics (the balloons moving against the wind, the Neibolt House seeming to change shape and size)… but even then, the only real symbolism there is that Ben loves physics and architecture. 

Lastly, Mike’s experience with IT is… interesting. I’ve talked about this a lot with @mikehanlonstan and we can’t really come up with good symbolism for the bird aside from the simple ‘he was attacked by a bird as a baby’ explanation from the novel. Which would be fine, if it weren’t for the fact that Mike’s dad… saw the same bird?? Like, what is it with the Hanlons and this weird bird? Who knows, I sure don’t. I was looking for racism symbolism but like… I feel like ‘It’s a bird… like a crow, get it?? Like Jim Crow??” is too lazy even for Stephen King. Also it wasn’t a crow, anyway… it was something that doesn’t exist in the real world, otherwise Stan wouldn’t have been able to get it to go away with his bird facts later on. If anything it just establishes a stronger connection between him and his father, and the long-term connection they both have to IT.

[indige-zine]

Spotlight Series: Creative Disruption

Making noise, redefining language, wielding raucous imagery—these things serve an important role in our collective quest to decolonize relationships to our oppressors, our lovers, ourselves. Sometimes, you have to destroy and rebuild from the essentials.

indige•zine caught up with three Indigenous creatives who use their art to disrupt the boxes   that dictate the way Natives love.

Tatiana Benally

Age: 24

What she does: Hailing from the Diné Nation in Shiprock, New Mexico, Tatiana lives in New York City as a working-class student of anti-colonialist practice, resiliency, and movement. When she’s not freelancing as a media artist or barista-ing in Flatbush, she’s helping to organize events like the Indigenous Creatives Festival with Manhattan’s American Indian Community House, making interdisciplinary art and music, curating the meme page Asdzaaproletariat, frequenting a Diné communist reading group, and much more.

How do you define love?

Love is an organic and necessary connection between human beings. Love is also complex, powerful and is certainly not perfect. There are many notions of love, but the most important love is one that is conscious and respectful of the conditions we are living in.

A noteworthy quote by [political theorist and philosopher] Hannah Arendt addresses the power of an anti-colonial love as:

“Love, by reason of its passion, destroys the in-between which relates us to and separates us from others … Love, by its very nature, is unworldly, and it is for this reason rather than its rarity that it is not only apolitical but anti-political, perhaps the most powerful of all anti-political human forces.”

I find this quote so beautiful in recognizing the power of love in building solidarity and its nature to be anti-colonial. The only thing I would argue is that love is absolutely political in our time. Destroying the “in-between” that [Arendt] writes about, things like individualism and social constructs, could be read as bi-products of capitalism and colonialism. Love is anti-colonial strength in our times.  

In which ways do your concepts of love and creativity meet in your life?

For me, this is mostly observed in the healing process of expression. I often turn to creativity as a way to grapple with feelings of ennui or as a tool to explore the roots of my feelings in times of confusion. Other times, I am just plain happy and the art that I make is then a document of a time that I felt full and warm. The healing power of creation is medicine for the maker and hopefully for people who connect with the art. That’s love.

What’s one toxic thing about romance and relationship you’ve had to unlearn?

The idea that it is cute or normal to be owned by someone (i.e. “She’s mine,” “You belong to me,” etc.) Language and behavior with possessive logic are only another vehicle to integrate colonial notions of property and other outward rippling capitalist-centric lifestyles into practice. From the many recognized and unrecognized Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women (MMIW) cases, to everyday practices of consensual intimacy being breached in relationships.

Love should be founded on mutual respect and compromise, and exist without power dynamics. The purpose of love is not to be used to cushion one’s oppression, nor as a tool of coercion into capitalism. We need to do better.

What is your most potent practice of self love as an indigenous woman?

Existing unapologetically. There is so much joy in embracing who I am and what I do without fear. It is wholesome and pure and everyone needs to do so much more of it.

Dio Ganhdih

Age: 31

What they do: Dio is an Akwesane hip-hop artist with brash, bold flows packed with humor and wit. Born and raised on Haudenosaunee Territory in Upstate New York, they’re also an educator and speaker whose work centers their experience as a queer, gender non-conforming Indigenous artist seeking community amongst their intersections. They’ve made music with Anishinaabe electronic artist Ziibiwan, Peguis First Nation producer Exquisite Ghost, mestiza hip-hop artist Chhoti Maa, and many others.  

How do you decolonize your love?

With reflection and accountability of my own toxic behaviors. I take my own internal spiritual temperature and sit with self to process past traumas and explore new paths of healing. The impacts of colonization are thick and dense. Without question, colonization confuses the love that I want and contradicts my intrinsic ability to love. I work to unpack and unfold the whitewashing and heteronormative culture I was surrounded with and inevitably influenced by growing up in a small town and Native community.

As a queer indigenous musician, how do you protect your spirit?

I protect my spirit by trusting my intuition and using my powers for good. I use smoke, sweetgrass, tobacco and prayer. I attend ceremonies and carry with me traditional medicines from my people. I work with teas, herbs and plants which offer external protection and vitality as well.

If you could tell your teenage self one thing about self-love, what would it be?

Teenage me: Believe it or not, you have everything within you to provide yourself with the love, attention, and the validation you are seeking. You will never actually fill that void until you learn how to embrace yourself fully. Dig deeper and push past that binary—you got this! Konarronkwa!

Gwen Benaway

What she does: Gwen Benaway is a trans girl of Anishinaabe and Métis descent. She has published three collections of poetry, Ceremonies for the Dead, Passage, and Holy Wild. Her fourth collection of poetry, Aperture, is forthcoming from Book*hug in Spring 2020. Her writing has been published in many national publications, including CBC Arts, Maclean’s Magazine, and the Globe and Mail. She’s currently editing an anthology of fantasy short stories by trans girl writers and working on a book of creative non-fiction. She lives in Toronto, Ontario and is a Ph.D student at the Women and Gender Studies Institute at the University of Toronto.

How have you used language and poetry to decolonize the institution of love?

I don’t know that language or poetry really can decolonize love. For me, poetry and language are an embodied reflection of a living, not an artifact nor a tool as commonly used by Western mentalities. Language and poetry arises from the love and the living, but can’t liberate us in and of itself. I use poetry and language to explore and narrate my embodiment and intimacies, but decolonization happens through what you do, not what you say. I think people get tripped up on that point, thinking that their language will be their liberation, when it’s their relationally and doing/living that is the revolution.

What is one misconception about desire and relationships you wish you’d known when you were younger?

I wish I had known that it was possible to live inside multiple intimacies and not focus so much on monogamous intimacy as the ultimate relational bond. What I’ve learned is that non-sexual intimacies are very powerful and important, as are polyamorous intimacies. I have several intimacies that I’m present in which are love affairs, but none of them supersede each other. That feels really comforting to me.

I also have several deep intimacies which are non-sexual and fill a lot of spaces for me in terms of kinship and care. I think when I grew up, I just saw abusive monogamous relationships and internalized that as normal. Now, I look at extended networks of kinship, care, and multiple intimacies as my safe normal. I also wish I had embraced my bisexuality sooner but I guess some things take time to grow.

What advice do you have for fellow Indigenous trans people trying to tell their story?

My advice to other trans Indigenous folks is to stand in your language, traditions, and kinships, but also embrace your own sense of selfness.

Transness is complex. It doesn’t have to be one thing. It can look and feel like many different paths or ways of being in the world. I think it’s important to see your ancestors in your transness, but to know that you can innovate around yourself as well.

There is still a lot of transphobia around us, but we are going to find a way through it towards a different future. Never be afraid to be traditional, but never be afraid to not be traditional (or adapt traditions).

Sometimes, I think Indigenous trans people get pressured to take up a certain space in the world. But like all Indigenous peoples, we’re diverse and not all of us need to be activists, writers, healers, leaders, etc. Some of us can just chill and support other folks who want to take on those roles. I want to see more trans NDN voices and bodies in the world doing a bunch of things, from every nation, and in their own ways. That’s my dream for us: a future where we are vibrant, visible, and varied.

[ganglylimbs]

Deliver Us In These Trying Times

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Relationships: queer-platonic Bakugou & Midoriya, Bakugou & Class 1-A, Midoriya & Class 1-A, Bakusquad, Dekusquad

Summary: Bakugou and Midoriya co-own a coffee shop near a college campus. They (one more reluctantly than the other) make friends with the students there. 

Or alternatively: A bunch of humans accidentally pack bond with a grumpy angel and a happy demon. 

Warnings: A fuck ton of swearing. The story is third person from Bakugou’s view, so there’s a lot of just referring to people by their hair styles. I tried to make it distinguishable enough that people would know who is who. Also, there is some violence, some light mention of child abuse, and light mentions of an abusive relationship. 

Notes: Written for Writer’s month. Day 3- Prompt: Coffee shop. A coffee shop with a supernatural twist! As a non-coffee drinker and someone who doesn’t visit coffee shops, I tried my best. I hope you enjoy! It took me like a month to write this. 

Words: 12,518

"I need a small Americano," Deku yells out, only half way turning from where he manages the register.

Bakugou scowls, but he gets to work. The kitchen is filled with the scent of coffee and cream. Machines whirl and whine as they work and Bakugou focuses on that instead of the small talk he can hear outside. 

When Bakugou finishes, he stomps out and slams the drink down, not caring as it spills out of the cup. 

"Hey," the customer, a short girl with cropped black hair and large headphones hanging from her neck, says. She scowls at Bakugou and Bakugou scowls back. 

"Pay the fucking man and drink your fucking drink. Or don't. I don't give a shit." Then Bakugou turns on his heel, heading back to the kitchen. 

He doesn't make it back fast. He still hears her huff. "What a jerk off."

Deku laughs. "Ignore Kachaan. He's always like that."

"And he's still allowed to work here?"

"Well...he is one of the owners."

"Seriously? Whose the poor sap that has to run a business with him?" 

Deku laughs again, and the awkwardness of it is palpable to Bakugou. "Oh, well. That would be me." 

"Oh."

"But please, do enjoy your drink. It's amazing, I swear." 

There's a moment's pause. Then a small. "Huh."

Bakugou smirks. Damn right.

                                                          ~

The coffee shop is a small, hidden in the wall kind of thing. Brick walls that are covered in pictures and old movie posters. Jazz music plays over the radio. Bakugo thinks it's supposed to be peaceful but it only pisses him off.

But Deku had nixed heavy metal. Said it scares people off. What the fuck ever. 

                                                          ~

Much to Bakugou's chagrin, Headphones girl comes back. Shame. 

She orders another small Americano. Her friend, a guy with spiky bright dyed hair (and who has a fucking black zigzag on his bangs, what the fuck is that shit?) orders a cafe macchiato. 

Bakugou sniffs. He gives them their orders, flips them off, and stomps back. "Wow. You weren't kidding," the guy says. 

"But try your drink." 

"Huh. He's still an asshole though." 

"Oh totally." 

                                                          ~

People are not Bakugou's forte. That's fucking Deku's job. That's why he mans the front end and Bakugou is in the back. 

That's why Deku smiles wide as their little shop gets more and more customers every day and why Bakugou absolutely hates it. 

The problem is that they live in a college town. Which means most of their customers are snot nosed little brats. 

They come in with their stupidly simple orders and their goddamn complicated orders and they expect Bakugou to be fucking nice and polite to them. 

Deku is fucking living as he talks and interacts and makes fucking friends. Bakugou fucking hates him for it

                                                       ~

There's a guy, with red neon hair fucking spiked up (like an asshole) who orders a cafe mocha every time. And every time Bakugou brings it out, he gives a wide smile and shouts "Thank you."

For some reason this asshole has taken to trying to make Bakugou learn some fucking manners. 

Who the fuck is he? 

Bakugou slams the cup down. The guy frowns. "That's not very manly, Bakugou." 

"I don't care, Shitty Hair."

The guy touches his hair. "Ah, don't say that. My hair is awesome."

"Awesomely bad." 

"Rude." 

"Good. Get out of my shop." 

The guy has the gale to laugh at him. Bakugou scowls and walks away. He comes to a sudden stop though. 

Crawling on the ground is the little rat fucker. A freshman with dark purple hair pulled into multiple buns (what is up with all these stupid hairdos) who has the unfortunate habit of perving on the woman that frequent here. 

Deku usually keeps him in check or has one of the perv's friends keep an eye on him. But Deku is in the back baking treats and the perv has come alone today. 

The little fucker has a camera out and is creeping up to a woman who always wears a high ponytail and her friend with hot pink hair (seriously, he knows this is college, but what the fuck is up with their hair styles???). Both women are standing up, drinking their coffee. Both are wearing skirts.

Bakugou rolls up his sleeve. 

The prick gives a shout, drawing everyone's attention, as Bakugou picks him up and throws him out of the shop.

"Hey," the asshole yells, picking himself up from the ground. "You can't do that."

"I can and I will." Bakugou points at him. "Learn some fucking manners, learn how to be a decent human being, and learn how to not be a fucking creep. Until then, you're banned. 

The little rat opens his mouth, as if he is going to fucking argue with Bakugo. And Bakugou? Well, he has no time for this. 

So he drops his human form. Not a lot. Not enough to get caught by the others. But enough that the creep sees Bakugou's smile become a little more jagged, a little more unnatural, a little more terrifying.

The prick turns around and walks away. Bakugou snorts and then he turns around to stomp back to his kitchen. No one says a word.

Shitty hair gives him a grin. "That was very manly dude." 

"Shut up and drink your goddamn coffee."

                                                             ~

The supernatural isn't exactly unknown. They are just.. forgotten. It's not against their laws for humans to find out, it's just most of the time humans don't pay attention long enough to see. Too busy staring at creaking old houses to notice the old man who died a hundred years ago watering his flowers next door. 

Bakugou is perfectly ok with that. He just wants to run his little shop peacefully and quietly. 

It's about the only thing Deku and he agree on. 

                                                     ~

Deku walks in one morning and his untidy mop of hair is dyed seaweed green. “Uraraka said I would look good with this color,” he says by way of explanation, a blush on his cheeks. 

Bakugou nearly throws him out the window.

                                                      ~

"He wants a fucking what?" Bakugou asks.

"A cappuccino for himself. And a cafe latte for this girl he likes," Deku says. Then he fucking smiles. "And if you could make a heart out of the foam, that would be amazing."

"No. Not only no, but fuck no," Bakugou says. "If he wants to do his little weird human courting ritual, tell him to do it away from my shop. I don't want that lovey dovey shit here." 

"Well, it's also my shop and I think it's cute," Deku says. "Besides, I know you can. Don't be stubborn about this."

Bakugou raises an eyebrow. "Me? Not be stubborn?"

At least Deku has the fucking sense to be ashamed at that. "Ok, poor choice of words. But come on, Kachaan-"

"No."

Deku tilts his head. "Well, I guess if you won't, I can do it." His fingertips crackle with green lightning. 

Bakugou stops in front of his machine, a hand curling possessively over it. "Fuck no. You'll fucking break it. Again." Bakugou glowers as Deku grins back, unashamed in his inability to uses a fucking coffee machine correctly.

Deku's grin widens. "Well, if you won't do it and you won't allow me to do it, I guess they'll have to go somewhere else, where someone more experienced can do it." 

Bakugou tenses. He knows what the nerd is doing, but dammit, is it working. Bakugou shows his teeth. "One time. I make it one time, just to show them I can and then no more." 

Deku gives him a soft smile, to fucking rub it in. "Sure, Kachaan."

                                                          ~

Bakugou makes the best damn foam heart there ever was. He walks out and sees a plain nervous looking man at the counter, twittering his thumbs.

Bakugou does NOT slam the cup down. Instead, he looks nervous boy in the eyes and hisses, "You make sure this gets to her. And fucking confess. I don't want my fucking hard work to go to waste." 

The boy nods, gulping as he carefully takes his drink. Bakugou watches as he walks to an empty table-wow, ok. Not empty. But there is the plainest looking girl that Bakugou has ever seen sitting there. If he hadn't been watching nervous boy, his eyes would have passed over her. 

Well. A plain boy for a plain girl. Perfect. 

She squeals and Bakugou immediately turns tail and heads back into his kitchen. He isn't paid enough to deal with this shit. 

                                                          ~

The boy does not ask for a drawing in a drink again.

The girl has no problem demanding them though. 

Bakugou refuses.

She resorts to bribing, leaving spicy snacks out for him.

Bakugou relents.

He purposefully ignores the way she thanks Deku for the tip.

                                                            ~

Later, he leaves chill pepper in Deku's drink. He shamelessly laughs when Deku spits it out. 

                                                           ~

"Oh man, this math test is going to kill me," Shitty Hair complains. It might be to Bakugou, it might just be in Bakugou's  general direction, it might be to the guy with a wide smile and big elbows sitting next to them who nods along in sympathy. 

Bakugou doesn't actually care enough to form a reply. So he grunts.

"I mean, look at this," Shitty Hair continues, thrusting a packet of papers on the table. "It's bs." 

Bakugou looks at the paper closest to him and snorts.

Shitty Hair points a finger at him. "Don't start." 

"What?" Elbows asks, looking in between them. 

Shitty Hair rolls his eyes. "Apparently, the dude is good at, like, everything." 

"It's because I have this amazing thing called a brain," Bakugou drawls. 

"Oh, shut up," Shitty Hair says. "I have a brain."

"The score on your history midterm proves otherwise." 

"Look, we can't all be crazy smart like you."

Bakugou rolls his eyes, pushing off the counter. "The real difference, Shitty Hair, is that I work hard for my smarts. Quit fucking coasting." 

He goes to refill Elbows' frappuccino. When he gets back, Shitty Hair is frowning down at his papers. 

Elbows gladly accepts the refill. "Do you go to college here?" 

"No."

"Oh. It's just, you look like a college student. And you said you worked hard to learn all the stuff. Did you go to another college?"

Bakugou has to think about it for a second. Then he shrugs. 

Elbows gives him a look. "Come on, dude. You have to give us something." 

"First, I don't have to say shit," Bakugou says. "And second, sure. I guess I went to college." 

"You guess?"

"Yeah." Every so often, Bakugou gets bored enough to sign up for a few classes. The thing is, it's usually years apart. And there have been many colleges. 

Shitty Hair and Elbows look at each other. "Ok, fine. Be cryptid." 

Bakugou scowls. "Just get to work on your reviews." 

"Oh, is that for Mr. Horton's class?" A girl with chubby round cheeks and short brown asks as she passes by. 

"Yeah," Shitty Hair says. 

"I'm studying for that too, actually. Actually, we have a group going on." The girl points to the back, where a man with glasses sits with a girl who has long hair tied in a bow. "And Deku is helping us. He's like, really smart. I’m surprised he’s working at a coffee shop." 

Bakugou is already retreating at the name of the nerd, going back to the kitchen. He messes around, tweaking his recipe for spicy hot chocolate. It burns on his tongue and Bakugou takes deep gulps of it. 

Perfect. 

When he goes out again, he’s surprised to find Shitty Hair still sitting on the counter, silently working on his review. Bakugou side-eyes the nerd table, where Deku is laughing at something Round cheeks says. Bakugou grabs one of the finished papers, looking it over. He ignores the way the Shitty Hair keeps glancing at him. 

Bakugou sits it down. “Number 6 is wrong.” 

Shitty Hair grabs it, eyebrows furrowing. Bakugou points it out. “See. You carried the wrong number.” 

Shitty Hair’s face lights up. “Ah. Thanks.” 

“Tch.” Bakugou looks away. “It’s not hard. Like I said, I at least have a fucking brain.” 

Shitty Hair grins at him. “Yeah you do.” 

                                                           ~

Bakugou steps out on the roof. It's night, the moon is hidden by clouds. A soft breeze ruffles his hair. He lets the door close behind him.

Once he is sure he is completely alone, he takes a deep breath and rolls out his shoulders. His skin shudders, splitting, and then wings rip themselves out of his back. They flutter for a second, trying to right themselves after being kept away for so long.

He takes the time to stretch them, working out all the kinks and smoothing feathers down. He massages the muscles there, flaring his wings as high as he can, touching the sky. Touching heaven.

Then he sits on the edge of the roof, kicking his feet, flapping his wings, and just breathes.

When he walks back inside his apartment, the front door opens. He makes eye contact with Deku. They pass each other, not saying a word.

                                                          ~

“I’m not a big coffee drinker,” The girl who wears the high ponytail, who Bakugou has appropriately dubbed as Ponytail, says. "I actually prefer tea." 

Headphones hums. "Yeah, I can see that. It really fits you." 

Pink Hair perks up. "Oh, maybe we can get them to sell tea here." 

The three turn to Bakugou, who is leaning against the counter. He raises an eyebrow at them. "Hai?" 

Pink Hair immediately bounces over. "Bakugou! We were just talking-"

"I heard. You were being fucking loud about it." 

"Good. Then you know what we want to ask." 

Bakugou tilts his head. "I don't give a shit. It's Deku you have to convince."

Ponytail frowns. "Midoriya?" 

"Yeah. He does all the supplies ordering." Bakugou smirks. "Good luck convincing him though. The nerd hates tea." 

"I wouldn't have expected that." 

Bakugou shrugs. "Deku has poor fucking taste. Does it really surprise you?"

"Wait," Ponytail says. "You like tea?"

"Yeah?"

"I always thought you'd like coffee more."

"Fuck no. I hate fucking coffee." 

The three girls look at each other. It's Pink Hair who speaks up. "But...you own a coffee shop."

"Yeah? So?"

"And you make excellent coffee," Ponytail adds.

Bakugou makes a go on motion. 

Headphones sighs. "Why do you own a coffee shop if you hate coffee?"

"Am I supposed to let my tastes dictate what I do and do not do?" 

"It just seems like a pain in the ass for you," Pink Hair smirks. "Unless...did Midoriya ask you to open a shop?"

Bakugou slams his hands on the counter. "That fucking nerd has nothing to do with what I do." 

Now Headphones is smirking too. "Uh huh. So the two of you opening up a coffee shop, despite you hating both coffee and people, is just because you had an urge one day?" 

"No, it's because I know you stupid college kids are addicted to the fucking stuff and I fucking love money," Bakugou says.

Pink Hair giggles. "You know, Blasty, it's OK to admit you are friends." 

"We are no such things. Dare to utter that shit again and I'm throwing you out." 

                                                          ~

A new customer comes in. His hair is dyed half white, half red.

Now Bakugou knows these fuckwits are doing this shit on purpose. 

He looks around, face impassive before walking towards Bakugou. "Is Midoriya here? I need to return his book." 

"No," Bakugou says.

They stare at each other. Red-White shifts. "Uh, do you know when he will be back?"

"No." 

"Ok. Do you know where he went?"

"No." 

The continue to stare at each other. Neither blinks. "Are you going to order something or just stand there like a dead fish?" Bakugou asks. 

"No," the man says. 

They continue to stare at each other. 

The bell on the door rings. It's Deku, who lights up at seeing them. "Oh, Todoroki! There you are. I was looking for you." 

Red-White turns his back to Bakugou. Bakugou's lips curl at that. "Uraraka told me you work here." 

Bakugou rolls his eyes at them as they continue to talk. Dunce and Elbows walk in next and Bakugou heads to the back to make their usual. While he's back there, Deku pokes his head back. "We need a breve too." 

Bakugou grumbles, but he does his job. 

When he brings out the drinks, he's annoyed to find that the breve is for Red-White. Fuck. And he had actually liked making that drink. 

Red-White's face doesn't change as he drinks. He just continues talking to Deku. Bakugou's fingers twitch, but he turns to Dunce and Elbows instead.

The two are laughing about some party they went to. "I can't believe Mina fucking decimated that keg stand." 

"Dude, she killed it," Dunce says.

"You know who else killed it," Elbows wiggles his eyebrows. "I heard you made out with Jirou." 

Dunce yelps, face going red. "Who told you that?" 

“Mina and Hakugaru saw you two. Said you were too busy sucking face to notice when they entered the room.” 

Dunce groans. “I thought she had locked the door.” 

“Like that would stop Mina. She would have just gotten Shoji or Toyokomi to open it.” 

Dunce runs his fingers down his face, stretching the skin. He notices Bakugou and grins, sensing a new target. “Oh, Bakugou. Where were you, man? You missed out on one heck of a party. Even Deku had come.” 

Bakugou tilts his head. “Hai?” 

“Oh come on, man. I know Kirishima invited you.” 

Bakugou narrows his eyes. He...supposes Kirishima had mentioned something. It doesn’t really matter though. “Parties are not my thing.” 

“What?” The two of them gasp. 

“But,” Elbows’ eyes look Bakugou up and down. “You look like-like-” 

“Like such a partier,” Dunce finishes. He grimaces, holding his hands up as Bakugou turns to glare at him. “No, wait. That sounds wrong. I just mean, you have such a fuck off attitude that I can see you being a rebel. You know, teen drinking and going to all the parties to piss off your parents.” 

Bakugou snorts. “Yes. That sounds like me. A place filled with people, who are out of control, and drinking. Sounds like a fucking good time.” 

“You don’t like drinking?” Elbows asks. 

“Fuck no. It’s horrible tasting.” 

“Yeah, but you don’t drink for the taste. You drink to get wasted,” Dunce says it like that’s supposed to be a fucking argument. 

“And why would I want to do that? I don’t like being out of my senses.” 

Elbows nods. “Yeah, you do have control issues.” 

“Excuse me,” Bakugou turns to him. 

Elbows just fucking smiles at him. “Nothing,” he sings. 

Bakugou flips him off. 

“Well, this means you really do have to go to the next party,” Dunce says. 

“How the fuck does that make sense?” Bakugou asks. 

“Come on, man. All I see you do is work. You need to relax a little.” 

“I relax.” 

“You really don’t, Kachaan,” Deku pipes up as he passes by with a tray of cookies. 

“Fuck off, Deku.” 

Dunce points at Deku. “Come on, man. Midoriya goes all the time.”

“Deku actually fucking likes you people. I couldn’t give two shits.” 

Elbows and Dunce look at each other and nod. “Time to call in the secret weapon.”

“What the fuck-” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Dunce says. Elbows has his phone out and is texting away. 

Bakugou narrows his eyes at them but before he yell some more, he feels someone poke him. He turns around, snarling. It’s Red-White, face still impassive. “I would like another please.” 

Bakugou lips curl far back enough to show off his gums and he stomps to the back. He makes sure to slam utensils around to let them know how pissed he is. 

When he comes back, he shoves it at Red-White. Red-White, the fucking bastard, manages to catch it gracefully. “Thank you,” he says, taking a sip while maintaining eye contact. Bakugou can feel his hackles rising. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” Red-White continues to sip his drink. 

Bakugou can feel his palms heating up. Behind Red-White, Bakugou catches Deku’s eyes, who shakes his head. Bakugou takes a deep breath and turns on his heel. He stalks into the kitchen, pushes out the back door, and into the alleyway. He takes a deep breath, looks up, and his eyes glow red as he silently screams into the sky. 

His palms go yellow, burst of energy popping along the skin. In the distance, he can hear dogs howl and birds screech as they fly away, startled. 

In a few seconds, it all goes away. He takes another deep breath, and walks back inside. He makes a few more drinks for the few customers who had walked inside before daring to go back out. He makes eye contact with Deku again and nods. 

Kirishmia and Pink Hair are part of the group that has shown up. They sit with Elbows and Dunce, talking quietly. They all go silent when Bakugou shows back up. He ignores them for a bit, but, like always, the dumbshits pull him back in. 

“So,” Kirishima begins and Bakugou’s danger sense start tingingling. “There is this excellent cafe that’s around the corner. They make the best burgers-” 

“And holy shit, their milkshakes are amazballs, too,” Pink Hair cuts in. 

“Yeah,” Kirishima eagerly nods. “And the fries?”

“Like heaven,” Elbows says. 

“And you’re telling me all thisssss….because?” Bakugou asks.

“Because we want you to come with us,” Pink Hair says.

“No,” Bakugou immediately says. 

None of them look surprised by this. 

 “Come on, Bakubro,” Kirishima says. 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“It’ll be fun. I promise it’ll be fun.” 

“I don’t care about fun,” Bakugou spits. 

“That is, like, the saddest thing I have ever heard you say,” Mina says. 

Bakugou flips her off. "Look, I don't care what you guys say, I'm not going."

                                                          ~

The cafe is fucking stupid. And fucking small. Bakugou is squashed in the seats, between Kirishima and Pink Hair. They jostle him, elbows digging into his side as they lean all over him. Elbows' fucking long legs keep kicking him, brusing his knees. Dunce's hand movements are all over the place that it's a goddamn miracle he hasn't knocked over any drinks.

Bakugou is in fucking hell. And he should know. He's been there. 

The burgers are greasy, dripping all over his fingers as he tears into it.

"You're delusional, man," Elbows says. 

"No, really. They were absolutely UFO lights," Dunce says, eyes wide. He has ketchup smeared on the right side of his face and his hair seems to almost be standing on end. "They were there for like, five seconds. And they disappeared." 

Kirishima is leaning over the table, eyes glued to Dunce's as he chows down on his own burger. 

Mina grins, leaning back and spreading her arms. Bakugou growls as she bumps his head. "My people, come to take me home."

Elbows shakes his head. "It was 3 in the morning. And you had just gotten done writing that English essay. And you had just had your fourth energy drink."

"You don't know that."

"You had literally just texted me about it." 

Dunce waves him off. "That doesn't matter. Back to the topic. I saw a UFO."

"It wasn't a UFO," Bakugou grumbles. 

Dunce rolls his eyes. "Of course you would think that, fun-killer-"

"It was a fairy," Bakugou continues, munching on his food. 

The table goes quiet. Then…Elbows burst out laughing, followed by Dunce and Pink Hair. Kirishima bumps against him. "Did you make a fucking joke?" There sounds like fucking awe in his voice.

Bakugou just shrugs. Humans always see what they want to see. If the table makes jokes for the rest of the night, mocking the possibility of it being a fairy, then that's on them.

Although...Bakugou does hide a smile into his burger.

                                                     ~

Red-White turns out to be a constant pain in his ass. The fuck is an early riser, one of the first to arrive at the shop. He always stays at least an hour, talking to Deku, and ignoring Bakugou. Unless it’s to demand a coffee. 

Bakugou is going to lose his fucking mind. 

The fuck is there one day, listening silently as Deku yammers away. It’s a Sunday, so the only other customers is a guy with super jacked up arms who, for some goddamn reason, wears a mask over his face. He gives Bakugou a nod when he gets his drink. At least he’s blessedly silent. The other is Headphone girl, nodding along to her music, ignoring everyone else.  

Deku tenses a moment before the door opens. It’s a large, muscular man with a scarred face and a beard. “Shouto,” he says, voice deep. 

Red-White doesn’t turn. Just continues drinking his coffee. Loudly. 

Bakugou leans on the counter, crossing his arms and hips cocked. He raises an eyebrow at Deku. He lifts a hand, pinky raised. Deku gives a minuscule shake of his head and Bakugou nods. 

“Shouto,” the man repeats. “You were supposed to come home today.” 

Red-White still doesn’t respond. 

The man sighs. “I thought we had gotten over this rebellious phase of yours.”

“It’s not a phase,” Red-White finally says. He slowly turns his head. “I truly do hate you.” 

The man snorts. “I don’t give a shit about that. Hate me all you want. But you are still in law school. You are still using my money to pay for college. That means you still have to follow my rules.” 

“I may be in law school, but that has nothing to do with you. I will never be like you.” 

The man smiles widely. “We’ll see. Now come, we are going home to visit your siblings.” He turns, like the conversation is done. 

“No,” Red-White says. He tilts his chin up. “I’m staying at college this week.”

“Ah, studying are you. Well, I suppose I can allow-”

“No,” Red-White cuts in. “I am visiting friends.” He tilts his head towards Deku. Deku does his best to not flinch under the glare the man is giving him. 

The man’s lips curl. “You are wasting valuable time-” 

Deku raises his hand, fingers twisting and turning. Bakugou keeps one eye on the argument still going on and the other on Deku’s hands. When he finishes, Bakugou carefully responds, slightly shaking his head. 

“I spend every day studying,” Red-White spits. “You can’t keep me isolated. I made friends.” 

Deku purses his lips. His fingers start working again. 

“You don’t need friends. Friends hold you back.” 

Green lightning crackles. Deku’s eyes glow. Bakugou cuts his hand across his throat, narrowing his eyes at him. 

“You can’t control me,” Red-White says, deadly serious. “I’m 19. I’m a legal adult. I have my own ideas and make my own decisions.” 

Deku turns to the two and Bakugou growls. His muscles tense, ready to tackle Deku at the first sign of trouble. Deku places a hand down, palm facing Bakugou. Bakugou pauses. 

Red-White is still facing his dad, a rare snarl on his face. His dad is snarling back. Deku steps forward, between the two, smiling. Red-White puts a hand on Deku’s arm, squeezing. Bakugou steps behind them, glaring at the man over their shoulders. 

He sees Deku’s fingers move, green lightning crackling some what. The air sizzles. Bakugou can taste it. It’s smokey on his tongue. “I’m sorry, sir. Is there a problem?” 

The man blinks, shaking his head. He rubs at his eyes, puts his fingers to his head, and huffs. “What? No. No problem.” He looks at Red-White again. “Fucking...fine. Fine. I don’t have time for this. I’m meeting with an important client. If you want to waste your time here, do it.” He turns to leave but looks over his shoulders one last time. “But don’t think for a second that this is over with.” 

With that he leaves. 

Red-White sighs. His hands are shaking, breath coming fast. 

Deku looks at him. Bakugou wrinkles his nose. Deku crosses his fingers and makes a jab down. Bakugou lets out a long sigh. 

Then he moves his fingers. Tiny, tiny explosions pop. 

Red-White takes one last shaky breath. His hands stop trembling. He takes a moment to compose himself before turning to them. “I apologize for that. He wasn’t meant to come here.” 

Deku gives the bastard a wide smile. “No need to say sorry. This is a safe place for you. If you want, we can ban him from the premise.” 

Red-White looks down at his hands. “I will think about it.” 

“Hey.” Deku steps forward, putting a hand on his shoulder. “How about another drink and some food?” 

He leads Red-White to a stool to sit down before heading to the back. Bakugou follows. 

They’re silent as they work. Bakugou finishes the drink and sits it on the counter, turning to lean against the counter as he watches Deku. Deku doesn’t look at him till he gets his muffins in the oven. 

Finally, Deku meets his eyes. “I had to do it.”

“Did you?” 

“Yes. I couldn’t stand by while that happened in my shop.” Deku’s eyes are dark green as he stares down Bakugou. 

Bakugou’s lips curl. “Do you think that was hidden at all? What you did? You fucking stood in front of them. We have fucking witnesses.” 

“None of them are going to remember it. I made sure of it,” Deku says. 

Bakugou slams his hands down on the counter. “That’s not the fucking point.” He turns around, picking up the drink. “If you’re going to do fucking stupid shit, don’t do it in front of me.” 

He walks out, sliding the drink towards Red-White. The dude still looks to be in shock. “Fucking buckle up, you dipshit.” 

Red-White glares at him. “I didn’t ask for your input.” 

“Look, you and your sad excuse for hair need to pull it together. You said you weren’t becoming a lawyer for your dad’s sake, right? Then that means you have a fucking goal in mind. Keep that goal in the forefront and keep your sad shit out of here.” 

With that, Bakugou walks away. 

He avoids the front after that. But he does know that Deku keeps Red-White company for the rest of the day. 

                                                         ~

“You know sign language?” Headphones asks. 

Bakugou tilts his head for a second before he remembers. Fucking Deku might have made their minds fuzzy when it came to what he did to Red-White’s dad, but he wouldn’t have done the same to the minutes leading up to that. He hadn’t realized that they were being watched. 

Bakugou shrugs. “It’s a useful language to know.” 

Headphones nods. She stirs her drink a little. “Pretty useful when you want to talk without someone knowing what you’re saying.” 

Bakugou narrows his eyes at her. “Quit being coy, you fucking suck at it. If you have something to say, then say it. 

Headphones smiles at her. “It’s just good to know that you two have our back if something happens here.” 

                                                     ~

“Dude, I’ve always wanted to learn sign language,” Elbows says. Dunce, Pink Hair, and Kirishima nod, eyes wide and sparkly. “Teach us.” 

“Fuck no,” Bakugou growls. Fuck Headphones for spreading this shit around. 

The boys make whining noises but Pink Hair just tilts her head. She smiles wide, showing off her teeth, and Bakugou instinctively bristles. “You know Midoriya is teaching his friends sign language.” Her eyes slide to the side. 

Bakugou follows, seeing that, in fact that moron is. He breathes hard through his nose. Then he makes a series of hand motions. 

The others follow his motions. Kirishima hesitates. “What did that say?” 

“That you all can fuck off.” Bakugou smirks. “Now, pay fucking attention.” 

                                                       ~

Ponytail is talking to the girl who ties her hair into a bow, both of them staring down at a piece of paper. “I really would love to go,” she says, running a finger down the paper. “They’re my favorite band.” 

Bow Girl shrugs, face blank as always. “Then go.” 

Ponytail sighs. “I can’t. I have an exam the next day. I should stay in my dorm, study and rest.” 

“Exams are important and concerts can always wait. It would completely be your fault if you happened to fail because you didn’t study.” 

Ponytail sighs, slumping. “I know.” 

Deku appears, offering her their drinks (hot tea for Ponytail, Greek frappe for Bow Girl). He looks down at the flyer Ponytail is holding. “Oh, Crimson Sails? I heard they were in town. Are you going to go see them?” 

Ponytail bites her bottom. “...no. I shouldn’t.” 

Deku tilts his head. “Well, why not. They don’t come around very often. This might be your only chance to see them.” 

Bakugou scrunches his nose, mouth full of lightening and skin tingling. He glares at Deku but the bastard ignores him. 

Ponytail blinks, fingers tightening on the poster. “That is true. And I have never been to a concert that wasn’t an orchestra before.” 

Deku’s grin widdens. “Everyone deserves a chance to relax and have fun, you know.” 

Ponytail stares at him. Then she returns his grin. “You’re right. I should go.” 

Deku walks by and Bakugou grumbles. “Really? Here?” 

“Come on, Kaachan,” Deku says. “She’s stressed and she rarely does anything for herself. Besides, it was just a little temptation.” 

                                                         ~

Pink Hair sighs for the fucking millionth time. Bakugou is three seconds away from throwing her out. Instead, he grits out through his teeth “What the fuck is up with you?” 

“You know that presentation I had? The one that’s worth half my grade?” 

Bakugou nods. 

“Well, my computer got a virus and I lost everything. The presentation is due tomorrow and my professor is refusing to allow me an extension.” She stares mournfully down at her drink. “I’m totally going to fail this close.” 

Bakugou grunts. “That fucking sucks.” 

“I know,” she wails. “And I worked so hard on it.” 

She’s silent for a second before mournfully adding, “I was really proud of it, too.” 

Bakugou purses his lips. He grinds his teeth. She continues to stare down at her drink, a cloud over her head. 

Fucking hell, he’s getting soft. 

As casually as he can, he wiggles his fingers, small bursts of light popping along his skin. Then he clears his throat. “It’ll be fine or whatever.”

Pink Hair rolls her eyes. “Jeez, thanks. That’s really comforting to hear.” 

“Comforting words are useless,” Bakugou says. “Only actions get anything done. If you work hard, I’m sure everything will come out ok.”

“I don’t know how hard work is going to fix losing weeks worth of work, but ok.” 

Bakugou leaves her to her mopping. Deku gives him a smile. “What was that about not using powers in the shop?” 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

                                                           ~

Pink Hair is chattering excitedly to Headphones when she comes in. “I still can’t believe that all the files got uncorrupted.” 

Headphones shakes her head. “I can’t believe it either. I took a look at that thing. I thought it was unsavable.” 

“It’s a damn miracle. And I got to shove it in my bitch professor’s face.”  

Bakugou can feel Deku smiling at him. He flips him off without looking.

                                                         ~

There’s this french bastard that comes in every once in a while who thinks he’s a real fucking charmer. Bakugou always rolls his eyes as he flirts with the other customers. It’s sad and Bakugou tells him so. 

Kirishima always gives him a frown and a “Leave him alone, dude.” 

Right now, Smooth Talker is drinking his cafe au lait, looking around as he talks to Deku. 

“I know I’m magnificent but he just makes me feel...unmagnificent,” Smooth Talker says. “Weak. I don’t know how I can talk to him when my tongue starts to trip over itself.” 

“Wow, he must be really special,” Deku says. “You usually have a lot more confidence than this.” 

Smooth Talker sniffs. “I know. It’s so unbecoming of me. But I don’t know how to get over it.” 

Deku hums. “You know what I do when I get nervous?”

“Sweat a lot and start to mumble to yourself?”

“No-well, yes. But I also pause, take a deep breath, and then slap my leg twice. It calms me down enough that I get the courage to ask what I wanted to ask.” 

Smooth Talker looks unconvinced. Deku gives him a wink. “Trust me, it helps. Try it next time,” he suggests, eyes glowing. 

                                                       ~

Bakugou narrows his eyes at the kid at the counter. He’s an early riser kind of dick, which confuses Bakugou because the guy is always dressed head-to-toe in black. 

He also is always wearing some article of clothing that is bird themed. Bakugou calls him Bird Boy. 

Because it’s early and a Monday, Bird Boy is the only one in the shop. Which is a good thing because he’s taking for-fucking-ever to decide what he wants. 

Finally, he decides on a cafe melango. Bird Boy takes a deep inhale of it when he gets it. “A drink made specially to heal the hole in my heart.” 

Bakugou rolls his eyes. “Despite your numerous attempts to change it, we are not one of those lame coffee shops that do fucking poetry. Just take your coffee and go.” 

“Not even your brash attitude can pierce the dark cloud that follows me.” 

“Oh my fuck,” Bakugou says, hands dragging down his face. “Who knew you getting dumped would make you even more of an annoying bastard.” 

“My heart wallows in misery and it sings loud to let others know.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Bakugou huffs. “Look, you fucker. The girl made you miserable, right?” 

“Correct.” 

“And she made fun of you going to therapy, right?” 

“I was not as fun when I was on my meds, according to her.” 

“You were worse off with her. Fucking look at you. You took a fucking shower. You don’t look like a fucking disaster anymore. You’re even getting fat off of Deku’s fucking cookies.”

Bird Boy looks down at his shirt, touching his stomach. “I suppose I have finally gained back all that weight I lost.” 

“Then why the fuck are you moping? Fuck her.” 

“Alas, my friend. Logic holds no sway over emotions.” 

“Bullshit. Emotions are wild beasts but that doesn’t mean they can’t be tamed or at least managed. Let me guess, you’ve been sitting in the dark, listening to sad fucking songs right?” 

“There is solace in the dark.” 

“Which is fucking great for like a fucking day. And then you need to kick that shit to the curb. Stop fucking wallowing.”

Bird Boy seems to think about this before nodding. “Sound advice. I am surprised, Bakugou. I didn’t expect you to be so intune with your emotions.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Bakugou sneers. “Emotions are my bitch.”  

                                                            ~

“We need a eiskaffee, stat,” Deku says. 

Bakugou, because he knows who the fuck this is for, slams his way through the drink and then makes sure to slam it on the counter. “Here’s your shitty drink,” he says, scrunching his nose to show his distaste. 

“Kachaan,” Deku warns him. 

“Oh it’s fine, Midoriya,” Round Face says, sticking her tongue out at Bakugou. Bakugou flips her off. 

It looks like the whole gang's here, despite Bakugou’s best efforts to run them off. Bakugou blames fucking Deku and his stupid dumb personality. 

Round Face and her gang of nerds sit in the back. They wave at Deku as Bakugou scowls at them. Deku nudges him and Bakugou goes back to the fucking kitchen. There are more orders coming. 

Bakugou brews as he always does, with the same fierceness as he always does. 

“Amazing as always, Blasty,” Pink Hair squeals. Her and the idiots lean on the counter, ignoring the way Bakugou tries to shoo them off. Deku is no fucking help as he’s with the Nerd Squad. Bakugou suspects he wouldn’t be much help either, as the sick fuck gets a kick out of seeing Bakugou suffer. 

“Of fucking course it is,” Bakugou huffs. He tries to swipe the counter down, again, ignoring the way Elbows and Dunce lean on it to jeer at him. 

Kirishima laughs, taking a sip of his cafe mocha. He catches Bakugou’s look of disgust and rolls his eyes. “I don’t get it man. If you hate coffee so much, how are you so good at making it?”  

“I am a man of many talents,” Bakugou tells him, solemnly. The idiots laugh. Like he’s joking. Bakugou shakes his head and hides his smile. 

The bell above the door rings and Bakugou stiffens. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Deku tense too. They make eye contact. Bakugou jerks his head to the kitchen and Deku nods. 

The man who had walked in follows them. 

Bakugou turns sharply on his heel, leaning his hip against one of the counters, and crosses his arms over his chest. Deku twists his hands and bites his lips. 

The man is taller than them, long black hair hanging down around his shoulders. Dead eyes stare at them, huge bags under them making him look tired. The man stands there, hands in his pockets and takes them in. 

“Spit it out already,” Bakugou says. Because the man is Aizawa and if Aizawa is showing up here, something bad is going to happen. 

Aizawa sighs, a long deep suffering sigh, as if they were fucking inconveniencing him. He pushes his hair out and his face, making sure to catch their eyes. “The League is in town.” 

Both Deku and Bakugou still. The League...fuck. 

“What brought them here?” Deku asks. 

“Does it matter?” Bakugou growls. “As if the League ever needs a reason to go somewhere and fuck shit up.” Bakugou’s fingers twitch against his arms. He can already feel the upcoming fight burning through his veins. 

Aizawa sighs again. “Bakugou is right. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that they are here. Which means the two of you need to be on your best behavior until they leave.” He throws a look in Bakugou’s direction. 

Bakugou huffs, looking away. He can feel Deku’s eyes on him as he promises Aizawa that they’ll be good. 

“I already know this is going to end poorly,” Aizawa says running a hand through his hair. “But we just have to make it till they get bored and leave. Now, I need to warn the rest of the community. But first,” he purses his lips. “Coffee? The special kind?”

Bakugou flips him off. Then, using his middle fingers, summons a fire so it dances on the tip. He gets to roasting beans as with it, adding a little spice and cream. Deku floats some cups and utensils towards him, allowing Bakugou to snatch them out of the air.  

Bakugou finishes, handing the cup to Aizawa, who takes a deep inhale. “Nice.” 

Bakugou smirks. “I call it a Cup of Hell.” Because he has a fucking sense of humor. 

Aizawa smirks back. And then he disappears. 

                                                      ~

For the most part, the supernatural community has done pretty well with integrating themselves into the human world. No longer are they the monsters in the woods. Instead, they are accountants and CEOs and daycare workers and coffee shop owners. 

But there are accidents and not so accidents when the supernatural world and the human world collide. Violently. 

Which is where Hunters come in. Special licensed humans (and some non-humans) that have the ability to turn in non-humans to the Council if they cross the line. Very few have the ability to actually kill criminal non-humans on sight. 

The League is not one of those that have the license to do so. But that does not stop them. Any non-human that has the unfortunate luck of catching their eye will at least end up severely bruised with a good chance of ending up found face down on the street three days later. 

The Council has tried to put a stop to them, but the humans have claimed that they can’t do anything, that they took away their license but that does not stop them. 

To have the League turn up in their neighborhood...well. 

They’re fucked. 

                                                       ~

It’s a rainy morning. Bakugou can hear thunder. Lightning strikes. The shop is near empty. The only customers are Round Face, Kirishima, and a woman with blonde hair tied up into two buns, who sips on her coffee in the corner. Round Face leans on one end of the counter, waiting for Deku, who is taking his sweet fucking time in the back, making his special bagels or muffins or what the fuck ever, Bakugou hadn’t been paying attention. 

Kirshima is also leaning on the counter across from Bakugou, yamming away. Bakugou nods along, resting his head on his hands.  It’s slow and he’s bored and at least what Kirishima is saying is entertaining. 

The blonde woman stands up and walks over. She pushes past Kirishima, slips a folded note to Bakugou, winks, and leaves. 

Bakugou doesn’t look at her, just takes the note and puts it in his pocket. 

Kirishima stutters, eyes darting from where the paper used to be before looking back up at Bakugou. Bakugou raises an eyebrow, motioning for Kirishima to continue. After a few seconds, Kirishima does. 

Five minutes later, Deku reamurges, fresh brownies (ah, that was what that sickening sweet smell was then) on a plate. As he passes by, Bakugou takes out the note and wordlessly hands it to Deku. Deku takes it just a wordlessly and pockets it. 

Round Face and Kirishima share looks. 

But they don’t ask. 

                                                         ~

The League isn’t just made up of hateful humans looking to abuse their power. There are a handful of non-humans as well. What their motives are for joining the hate group is unknown for the most part. 

There’s a half-zombie, desperate to destroy anyone who reminds him of his master. A vampire who hates the Blood Pact she’s forced under. A wizard too, though no one knows why he hangs around the freaks. 

But the leader is most definitely a human, a stringy, pastly, wimpy young thing. And he’s not shy about his detest for the supernatural. Bakugou bets it has to do with daddy issues. 

Most non-humans who meet the League don’t make it out of the meeting alive. 

Bakugou has always prided himself on not being like most people. 

                                                       ~

“What if they try it again?” Deku hisses as Bakugou passes him, sliding the cup down. 

“Then they have made a huge mistake,” Bakugou hisses back. Deku gives him a look and Bakugou rolls his eyes. “I’ll be fucking fine. Nothing to worry about.” 

“Worry about what?” Its Elbows who asks, who happened to be passing at the time. 

Bakugou snarls at him. Deku grins. 

“Nothing,” they say. 

                                                         ~

A second warning appears, during the breakfast rush. This time Deku gives it to Bakugou, a hissed “Be careful” slipping through his teeth. 

Bakugou glares at him, pulling Deku in the back. “Don’t tell me what to fucking do.” 

“I just want you to be safe, Kachaan.” 

“I’ll be fine! It’s you who needs to worry.” 

Because as much as it fucking pains Bakugou to admit it, Deku isn’t like most people either. 

                                                       ~

The Idiot begrade is back in full force. And they brought the whole squad. 

Fucking great. 

Bakugou gnashes his teeth, palms going hot. He needs to burn something but hell if he’s going to do that. Especially with everyone fucking looking at him. 

“What?” He finally snaps. 

Dunce and Elbows exchange looks with Pink Hair. Kirishima gives him a grin, though Bakugou can see how frayed around the edges it is. “Nothing. Nothing.” 

Bakugou breathes through his nose, a heavy sound. His only consolation is that Deku is getting the same treatment from the nerds. 

“And you’re sure you are alright?” He hears Four Eyes say. 

“Of course I am guys. Really.” Deku sounds just as frustrated as Bakugou feels. Bakugou grins at that. 

Ponytail clears her throat. “I apologize. I know we appear to be bothering you,” Bakugou knew there was a reason he tolerated her. At least she’s smart. “But we’ve all noticed that you’ve been on edge lately.” 

Just not smart enough. 

“We’re fucking dandy,” Bakugou says. 

Then, because fuck the universe, he tenses. Deku does the same. 

The blonde chick is back. She strolls in the shop, a sharp wide grin in place. “One hot chocolate,” she says, grin growing as Bakugou growls at her. 

Deku tries to step in but Bakugou doesn’t let him. They end up side by side. Staring the girl down. “No hot chocolate.” 

The girl pouts, bottom lip jutting out. “Oh?” 

Deku tries for a grin, though it wobbles. “Sorry, it’s just not the season for it and we don’t have any in the store right now.” 

“Ahh, that’s too bad,” she leans on the counter, eyes twinkling. “I was really looking forward to some.” 

The whole coffee shop has gone silent. 

“Too bad,” Bakugou says, crossing his arms. His heated palms burn against his biceps. He can feel Deku quivering besides him, keeping a grip on his own powers. “Piss off.” 

She chuckles and it’s high pitched and grating to Bakugou’s ears. “Well, that’s not nice.” 

“I’m not a nice person.” 

“That you aren’t.” She slips them two pieces of paper. One to Bakugou, one to Deku. Deku pockets his. Bakugou tears his to pieces. 

The girl frowns. “No, not nice at all.” 

Pink Hair clears her throat. Bakugou frowns at her even as blonde chick turns to look. He makes a gesture, trying to tell her to shut the fuck up but either she doesn’t see him or she ignores him. Which, by the way, what the fuck? 

“What,” Blonde chick sneers and Pink Hair, ever the stupid one, sneers back. 

“I think you should leave.” 

Blonde chick blinks. “What was that?” 

“Uh, I think I was pretty clear. You should go. It’s clear that they don’t want you here.” 

Blonde chick looks her up and down. She licks her lips. “We have a fighter, don’t we. Excellent. But as much as I love this, I don’t believe it’s any of your fucking business.” 

Round Face stands next to Pink Hair, with Ponytail stepping behind them. The others are standing now too, all nervous and sweaty. But still standing.  Round Face crosses her arms. “I don’t think that matters.” 

Blond girl tilts her head. Then she looks over her shoulder. “Interesting round of humans you have here.” 

Deku steps forward. “Toga, leave them out of this.” 

“Why? They don’t seem to want to be left out.” Toga licks her lips. “In fact, they look like they want to play? Huh? Do you?” 

“Toga,” Deku says again. Bakugou raises a hand, eyes glowing. 

Toga looks between them before sniffing. “Fine. If you want to be jerks, be that way. Not like it matters anyway. He’s going to come, whether you like it or not.” Toga starts to walk out the door. Before she leaves, she looks over her shoulder and winks. “I’ll be seeing the rest of you soon. I’m so glad to find new playmates.” 

No one says anything as the door shuts behind her. 

“What the fuck is her problem?” Round Face says. 

“Uraraka,” Deku says, voice quiet. He stands tense, arms down by his side. “You shouldn’t have done that.” 

Round Face stares at him. “Midoriya, what are you saying?”

Deku continues to stare at his feet, voice quiet. “You had no right to butt in.” 

Round Face looks taken aback. “We’re we supposed to just stand aside and watch that?” 

“Izuku is right,” Bakugou says, voice just as quiet. “All of you should have stayed out of it.” 

Everyone seems to suck in a breath. They look at each other. 

Kirishima looks around. “We were just trying to help.” 

“Well you didn’t,” Bakugou says. He...he leans against the counter, suddenly tired. “Izukua, we need to call Aizawa.” 

“I know.” Deku sounds as tired as he does. He doesn’t look at anyone. “Everyone, we’re closing early. I’m sorry but please leave.” 

They’re slow to do so, hesitant as they take their cups and make for the door. 

The Nerd Group and his own brand of idiots are the last to leave. The idiots pull him aside. 

“What’s going on, Blasty?” Pink Hair hisses. “Who was that lady? Who is Aizawa?” 

“Are you in trouble?” Kirishima asks, hands holding tight to his shoulders. His eyes search Bakugou. “Do we need to get the authorities?” 

Dunce and Elbows start talking over each other, each trying to offer a solution. 

And Bakugou...Bakugou just stays silent, taking them all in. 

His eyes meet Deku’s, who is surrounded too. Neither say anything, just keep looking at each other.

                                                         ~

Aizawa is leaning against the counter, staring them down. 

They had finally managed to kick the idiots out. Now, the shop is empty. Dark. Barren. 

Bakugou takes a deep breath.

Deku is staring into space, his body crumpled. 

“You know what you have to do,” Aizawa says. 

Neither reply. 

“The League haven’t been sending messages to anyone else. They’re here for you. Both of you. If you leave, they are sure to follow.” 

Bakugou’s fingers twitch. Deku keeps opening his mouth as if he has something to say and then closes it. 

It’s Bakugou who finally speaks. “What about the humans?” 

Aizawa tilts his head. 

Bakugou looks away. His fingers twitch again. “The ones that always hang out here. The morons pissed off Toga. She’s not going to let that go.” 

“Yes, so we’ve heard,” Aizawa says. He purses his lips. “Don’t worry about that. We have people watching them and will keep them safe, at least until she gets bored.” 

“Do you really have to leave?” Deku asks, voice small. “We just...this territory is ours. Shouldn’t we protect it?” 

Aizawa glares at him. “You can’t protect this territory. You’ll only cause more problems. Leaving is the only option.” 

Deku looks at Bakugou. Bakugou does not look back. Instead, Bakugou looks down, eyebrows furrowing. “And the humans…” he tests out the words in his mouth. “They will be fine? You’re sure of it?” 

“Katsuki-” Deku starts to say. 

“Of course,” Aizawa cuts him off.

Bakugou takes a deep breath. There is a fight in his veins, fire and the need to destroy those that oppose him, who oppose the greater good, clawing at his chest, beating a war path in his heart. 

He thinks about the cafe, that stupid fucking cafe, and the first night he had been forced there. 

Bakugou takes another breath. Then he looks at Deku. Deku deflates, shoulders slumping. Bakugou turns to Aizawa. “Help us pack up?” 

                                                         ~

The coffee shop is no more. Where once there was a hole in the wall, where once the smell of coffee and sweets almost overpowered everything else, where once music and the sound of people talking and screaming could be heard from outside, all of it gone. 

The bricks are closed over the shop’s front. 

Everything is gone. 

                                                       ~

Bakugou has been alone for a long time. Ever since he had been created, born into this world, Bakugou has been different from the other angels. 

He was created to be righteous, to be God’s fury, to strike down evil. He was created to be the best, to expect the best from everyone else. 

Bakugou was created to be alone. 

                                                     ~

Izukua Midoriya was the son of a sheep farmer. His father had died in a war. His mother had been a devout Christian and had passed that along to her son. 

Bakugou, who had been stationed near the city, had heard the boy pray. Every day. Every night. Praying to God to help their family, to give them a plentiful harvest, to allow Midoriya to not be so sick anymore. The boy had never appeared angry when he prayed or desperate. 

To Bakugou, it had all been background noise. Another human doing another prayer. 

Until. One day. Bakugou had bumped into Midoriya as he was making a patrol. 

Midoriya, who was no longer human. 

Midoriya, who had decided to sell his soul to the Demon Lord All Might.  

Bakugou had never been angier in his life. To have someone turn their back on God, someone who had devoted their life to God, now stinking of those demon scum had thrown him into such a fury that Bakugou had acted on his first instinct. 

He attacked. 

Of course, not his best moment. Midoriya might have just received his powers but they were the powers of All Might and fucking Deku is a determined bastard. 

The battle had ended in a draw and Bakugou had left to lick his wounds. 

Somehow, someway, Bakugou and Deku’s fates had been intertwined. 

They continue to meet, they continue to battle. Neither wins. Neither loses. 

Bakugou is still alone. He still fights alone. He still lives alone. 

He is never lonely. 

                                                     ~

Years later, hundreds and thousands of years later, Bakugou runs into Deku and Deku refuses to fight him. 

Oh, Bakugou tries. He tries very hard to fight him. But the nerd just refuses. 

Bakugou keeps running into him and Deku keeps refusing to fight. Sometimes, Deku even shows up just to talk to Bakugou. 

It confuses the fuck out of him. 

Bakugou never talks back. He’ll scream and yell, but like fuck he’ll talk to a loser demon. 

                                                          ~

Years and years and years later, Bakugou stops trying to fight it. 

(He does not fucking accept it, no matter what anyone says, but he does stop fighting it.)

                                                          ~

Deku likes to talk. It’s another fucking annoying trait of his. He’ll talk Bakugou’s fucking ear off. Random fucking stuff too. 

“Did you see what these humans had built?”

“Did you taste this new food? It’s delicious.”

“Come on, you have to come outside with me. Come see this.” 

Bakugou tries his best to ignore him but…

“Do you think the humans know that the stars dream of them?” 

Deku is so fucking annoying…

“Hey, Bakugou, do ever wish you weren’t immortal?” 

And never fucking shuts up…

“Kachaan, do you ever get lonely?” 

Ever. 

                                                         ~

The new town they settle in is isolated, cut off by the forest surrounding them. 

They settle in an apartment, both not sure where to go from here. 

Bakugou feels like his skin is crawling, like he wants to reach under it and scratch that itch. He has paced in every room, across every furniture, has even walked on the ceiling. 

Deku hasn’t moved from his spot on his mattress in 3 days and 12 hours. It’s a good thing they don’t have to eat or Bakugou would have had to shove food down the little shit’s throat. 

Fuck. 

Fuck, what is wrong with them? 

                                                       ~

Eventually, Bakugou kicks Deku’s door down. 

“Come on, nerd. We can’t fucking sit around here all day.” 

Deku doesn’t answer him. 

Bakugou isn’t going to fucking stand for that. 

He picks Deku up, throwing him over his shoulder. Deku gives a shout, fists pounding against Bakugou’s back. Bakugou ignores him. 

He practically throws him outside. The guy who had been walking by at the wrong time startles, turning sideways to look at them with wide eyes. Bakugou ignores him. 

Deku picks himself up from the ground, frowning at Bakugou. 

Bakugou points at him. “We aren’t doing this. I refuse. I am not going to go fucking crazy over some fucking humans. We are getting this out of our system.” 

Deku squares his shoulders. Bakugou can feel the air around them tingle, crackling and spitting. His eyes seem to darken, staring deep into Bakugou. Bakugou can feel his own power rising to meet him, bits of explosions popping along his skin. He growls, mouth opening wide to show all his teeth. 

Deku’s fists clench and Bakugou shifts his stance. 

The two clash, a loud boom echoing around them. Bakugou is thrown into the air, with Deku chasing after him. He snarls, twisting his body around. He throws his hand out, the tip of his fingertips lightening up. 

With a strong push, he throws his power back at Deku. Deku’s body jerks, his arm snapping back in a weird angle. Still, he continues to fly at Bakugou, skin turning black and scaly as he moves. 

Bakugou sticks his other hand out, to the side, and uses his powers to throw himself to the side. His wings itch to come out but Bakugou doesn’t release them. 

He dodges Deku’s punch, lifting his leg up to knee Deku in the side. Deku coughs, but he doesn’t hesitate as he turns, his own leg kicking Bakugou in the face. Bakugou’s head snaps to the side and he growls. 

Grabbing onto Deku’s arm, he flips them, throwing Deku back towards the ground. Deku grabs Bakugou’s shirt and drags him down with him. The wind rushing past them forces tears to well up in Bakugou’s eyes, his skin pulled back as they are pulled down by gravity. 

At the last second, Deku flips them and Bakugou grunts as he smacks into the ground. Around him, the earth crumbles. 

Deku stands above him, panting. Tears are streaming down his face. His arms are partially black and green, scales decorating his skin. His fingers end in claws. He snarls, large canines shining in the light. 

“Stop pretending,” Deku growls, voice gravelly. If the humans had been able to see them, if Bakugou hadn’t put up that veil, they wouldn’t have understood any words. The language was ancient and beyond their understanding. 

“I’m not pretending,” Bakugou says. He stays down, limbs tired. He...he doesn’t want to fight. 

It’s a weird feeling for him. 

“You are,” Deku continues. “You’re trying to move past it and pretending like you don’t care. But you do.” 

Bakugou closes his eyes. “There was nothing we can do.” 

“It was our territory. They were ours to protect. We should have.” 

“The only way to protect them was to leave,” Bakugou says. 

“That’s not true,” Deku screams. His eyes glow green, staring Bakugou down. “We could have fought. We should have fought.” 

Bakugou closes his eyes. “We couldn’t.” 

“Bull. Shit.” Deku falls to his knees, punching Bakugou in the face. 

Bakugou tilts his head to the side, spitting out blood. “We couldn’t.” 

“We should have tried.” Deku is sobbing now, big fat tears falling down his face. Some splashes onto Bakugou’s face. 

Bakugou takes a deep breath. He looks up to the heavens. “I know.” 

                                                     ~

It does not get easier for the two of them. 

They stay in their apartment. 

They can’t decide what business they should open now. 

They wait for the League to catch up to them again. 

                                                    ~

Bakugou steps out of the apartment. He buries his nose in his scarf. The air has a chill to it, enough to make his human cheeks start to redden. Bakugou isn’t that bothered by the cold weather, but he knows that it would look weird to the humans if he wasn’t as bundled as they were. 

That, and Bakugou kind of likes the warmer clothes. 

He just needs to get out of the apartment, away from Deku and the cloud that hangs over them. There’s a pizza place down the street that doesn’t completely suck and so he heads there. 

The town is small. Most of the people he passes just nod at him. They still give him odd looks and a few cross the street to get away from him. Bakugou doesn’t mind. 

He doesn’t want to interact with humans all that much right now. 

Bakugou frowns down at the sidewalk. 

His neck prickles. Casually, he looks behind him. 

A young woman and her boyfriend walk hand in hand, the boyfriend looking into the shops as the girl stares down at her phone. Another man is walking his dog. Two girls are giggling as they drink milkshakes. A group of boys laugh at one’s misfortune. 

Bakugou’s frown deepens, instincts tingling. He turns back around and continues walking. The feeling like he’s being watched does not go away. 

The shitty pizza place is just as shitty as when he last when here. He orders a greasy slice of pepperoni and a water and sits in the corner. Staring down at it. He doesn’t know if he can eat, if he can force himself to eat. 

But he’s not a wimp and so he picks up the slice and takes a bite. 

The door opens and a group of what looks like students enter the shop. Bakugou ignores them, focused more on eating. 

Well. He tries to ignore them. Kind of hard when they huddle around his table, dropping into any nearby chairs. 

Bakugou lifts his head, mouth open, ready to tell them to fuck off. 

It closes when he sees that those motherfucking idiots stare back at him. 

“Hey, Bakubro,” Kirishima says, grin bright and unafraid, like Bakugou wasn’t two seconds away from jumping across the table and strangling him to death. His hair lays flat against his skull, a deep black. He’s wearing more clothes than Bakugou has ever seen him wear, meaning he’s wearing at least a shirt with a jacket over it. 

“What,” Bakugou says, deadly quiet. “The fuck. Are you doing here?” 

“We came to help you,dude.” Ashido says. It’s weird to not see her hair pink. Instead it’s bleach blonde and pulled into a ponytail. She’s wearing all black, with dark, dark eyeliner and black lipstick. 

Sero, who somehow managed to fit his big fucking elebows into a form fitting jacket, smiles widely at him. Kaminari, still looking as stupid as ever, also has black hair, no zigzag in sight. He gives Bakugou a thumbs up. “It totally wasn’t cool of you to just leave us like that, bro. But we forgive you.” 

Bakugou sputters. “You forgive me?You forgive me? You shouldn’t even be here. I-what-how-”

“I got to admit, you pulled a fast one on us,” Kirishima says. “That disappearing act really fucked with my head. I mean, there’s a coffee shop we were going to for like a year and then, bam. There is nothing.” 

“Yeah, seriously. I thought I was losing my god damn mind,” Kaminari says. He gives Bakugou a frown. “Dude, you know I have problems with misremembering stuff like that. That was seriously uncool.” 

“And then we kept seeing these weird people around us.” Bakugou has to hold in his snort. Aizawa might be amazing at stealth but if he brought Hizashi, then there is no way even humans wouldn’t notice that disaster. 

“And that girl, what’d you call her? Toga? Yeah, she attacked Uraraka.” 

Bakugou straightens at that, stomach tightening. “What?” 

“Dude, it’s ok,” Sero reassures him. “She’s fine. This dude with weird long hair and his friend came just in time. They, uh, they explained what was going on.” 

“Kind of had to,” Ashido says. She shivers a little. “The blood thing Toga did was, uh, a little creepy.” 

Bakugou can agree with that. 

He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms, and looking at them. “Ok. So you know everything. That doesn’t explain why you are here.” 

“Oh that’s easy,” Ashido says, smiling wide. “Mr. Aizawa said that the League was after you and you needed help.” 

Bakugou blinks at her. Then he bursts out laughing. “Fucking, are you serious? You think I need help?”

They all look at him. “Yep!” 

Bakugou stares at them. “You fucking think you can help me?” 

“We know we can,” Kirishima says. He leans across the table and grabs Bakugou’s hand. His smile softens. “Look, bro. You don’t have to do this alone.” 

Bakugou stares down at their connected hands. He makes an effort to not set off any explosions. “What do you think a couple of humans are going to do?” 

“Well, there’s always strength in numbers right? Plus, we’ve been reading up on all the ways we can defend ourselves,” Sero says. 

Bakugou scowls, taking back his hand. “Whatever you’ve looked at is bullshit. Go back home, forget all about the damn coffeeshop, live normally.” He stands up, grabbing his things to throw them away. 

The idiots look at each other. Then back at him. “Nope,” they say. 

“What?” Bakugou says. 

“Guess what, Blasty. You’re stuck with us. You’re just going to have to get used to it.” 

Bakugou just looks at them. What. The. Fuck. “You can’t make me hang out with you.” 

“Ok,” Ashido says, the tone in her voice implying that she thought otherwise. “Then we’ll just hang around here till you get over yourself and go back to your shop.” 

Bakugou growls, before turning and stomping out of the shop. Whatever. They’re just being stupid. Humans always get bored and they will leave eventually. He just has to wait. 

The idiots follow him out into the streets and all the way home, talking and laughing with each other. Bakugou does his best to ignore them. 

They follow him to his apartment complex, all the way up the stairs and to his door. Bakugou grits his teeth as he inserts his key, muscles tense as he gets ready to shove them out of the door before they can invade his space.

What he didn’t expect was to have the door open and come face to face with Red-White. 

Bakugou takes a startled step back. Behind him, he can see Round Face, and Four-Eyes, and Bow Hair Girl, all sitting around Deku. Past them, he can see others. Ponytail, Earphones, the Plain Couple, the Masked Dude, and others. 

Bakugou stares back at Kirishima in horror. Kirshimari’s grin is the tiniest bit smug. 

Fuck. No.

                                                        ~

Bakugou has a vow to never kill a human. He attacks evil and demons and will snuff them out of existence. Humans, he leaves to other archangels. He is bound by his very being to not bring any harm to them. 

The next several weeks, he is very, very, very tempted to break that promise. Even the threat of Falling doesn’t deter his desire to slaughter these goddamn idiots. 

They stay. In his goddamn apartment. They brought fucking sleepig bags. 

If Bakugou leaves, the idiot squad follows him. There’s no room left in his apartment and it’s loud. They always demand Bakugou cook for them. He now has to wait to take showers. In his own apartment. 

Deku is living. He’s bouncing around now, cooking sweets with Big Lips, or demonstrating his power to the nerd group. He smiles brightly. Bakugou can hear him late at night, talking to the others. 

Deku is going to be the first to die in the slaughter. Bakugou doesn’t think heaven will mind too much. 

                                                      ~

Kirishima follows him to the store. He bounces, like a puppy, nipping at Bakugou’s heels. 

Bakugou is despeartely trying to ignore him but fucking Shitty Hair doesn’t care. He yammers away. 

Bakugou stands in the back as Kirishima talks about how he passed that one math exam that he had been dreading and how he is looking forward to next semester. Bakugou narrows his eyes every time Kirishima mentions how he’s excited to get some more Bakugou coffee to get him through school. 

Bakugou finally settles on making some caramelized pork for the night when Kirishima falls silent. Then he bumps his shoulder against Bakugou’s. 

“Hey, I’m really happy to see you again.” 

“Tch,” Bakugou grunts, turning away. 

Kirishima sighs. “Midoriya talks to us you know. Tells us about how you two lived.” 

“Deku talks too much,” Bakugou grumbles. 

Kirishima snickers at that. “Maybe. Or maybe you don’t talk enough.” He tilts his head. “You know we won’t leave you alone, right?” 

Bakugou tenses. “You’re a dumbass if you think I care about any of you at all.” 

“Uh huh,” Kirishima says. “So that whole thing where you’ve apparently been pouting about having to leave was a lie?” 

“I had to leave my territory, of fucking course I was mad about it.” 

“Territory? You know, Midoriya said something like that before. So you guys go by territories? Do you mark them?” 

Bakugou turns to look at him, nose scrunching up. “...did you just ask me if I piss on things?” 

Kirishima laughs and it sounds loud in the store. 

                                                       ~

It takes two more weeks for Bakugou to break. 

They are so fucking annoying and Bakugou is pretty sure he’s going bald from all the pulling he’s doing to his poor hair. 

He pulls Deku to the side, into Bakugou’s empty room, and slams him against a wall. “Tell them to leave,” he demands. 

Deku looks back at Bakugou, smile small. “You know, I don’t think they would listen to me if I told them anyway.” 

Bakugou growls before pushing off. “I’m losing my fucking mind.” 

Deku brushes himself off, looking up at Bakugou under his eyelashes. “You know what would get them to stop.” 

Bakugou scowls. “Fuck no.” 

“Why not, Kachaan? They’re here anyways. If the League follows us, they will be in just as much trouble as if we went back home. There’s no point in just uselessly torturing yourself.” 

“I’m not usually torturing myself. I’m being fucking logical. They won’t be in trouble if they just fucking leave.” 

“Or,” Deku says, the little shit sounding smug. “We go home. We prepare. We defeat the League when they come again.” 

“You’ve finally fucking lost your mind,” Bakugou says. 

“I know you’re scared, Kachaan-” 

“What the fuck did you say? I’m not scared of anything. Especially not those fucking losers. You forget, Deku,” Bakugou sneers. “I escaped them once.” 

“And so did I.” Deku’s wide smirk tells Bakugou that he fell right into this one. “We’re the only beings to have escaped them. So why don’t you believe we can take them on?” 

“I’m not fucking discussing this with you anymore,” Bakugou says. He stomps away, slamming open the door. He pauses, taking in the scene. 

Red-White stares back at him, face blank as he films Kaminari and Plain Girl trying to drown hot sauce (Bakugou’s special hot sauce too). They are failing miserably. Ashido, Sero, and Kirishima are losing their minds in the back, while Four Eyes, Ponytail, and Plain Boy desperately try to stop the two. 

Bakugo slowly closes the door and turns to look at Deku. 

Deku shrugs. “Plus, if we go home, they won’t be staying with us anymore.” 

Bakugou packs his bags later that night. 

                                                       ~

Being home isn’t a fucking relief, no matter what Deku says. Bakugou constantly feels like he’s on watch, skin itching. He’ll need to find something to hunt soon or he really will lose it. 

But the coffee shop is back up. Bakugou touches the walls and the old movie posters and pointedly ignores Deku smiling at him. 

Then he scrunches up his sleeves and goes to the kitchen. He needs to make coffee.

[jeanmoreaux]

28. The first book that comes to mind, tell us about it. Rant.

hey!! sorry for my late response, hon! this ask has been sitting in my inbox for close to 2 weeks due to multiple reasons, two of them being my terrible time management and my limited amount of spare time to waste away on tumblr. mainly, though, i just didn’t know what book to rant about bc i feel like if i rant about a book there has to be a good justification as to why this book deserves my bashing. so i tried to think of a rant-worthy book and i came up empty. but then the other day, i walked into a book store, unknowing of the inspiration that would hit me and help me to finally answer this ask. as i made my way through the numerous shelves full of great books, a familiar cover caught my eyes and filled me with abhorrence. the book i am taking about is Adam by Ariel Schrag. 

for all of you who haven’t read this book yet; good, keep it like way. it’s the most utter piece of garbage i have ever laid eyes on. honestly, i have never hated a book with more passion. It’s beyond me why it has a 2.87 star rating on goodreads. apparently, it was initially praised as a revolutionary, subversive queer story, but actually it’s a homophobic, transphobic, racist, and misogynist disaster that is not worth the paper it was printed on. seriously, it physically hurts me to think about how trees had to die for this dumpster fire of a book to exist in physical form in bookshelves around the globe.

i conjecture the author’s intent was to promote the idea that sexuality and gender can be fluid and that love knows no gender, which is in itself a great message, but, oh boy, the execution was just horrendous. worse than anything i have ever seen, and ten time as problematic.

*spoilers ahead*

((my brain tried to erase this book’s content form my memory, so i forgot the names of every character except for the protagonist’s one since his name is in the title lmao)) basically, this story follows this cis boy, adam, who’s nonstop horny and would literally do ANYTHING to get laid, which shows in the questionable decisions he makes throughout the story. he spends his summer at his sister’s apartment in new york. through his sister, who is a lesbian, he comes into contact with various other lgbtq+ individuals, of which some are trans. he meets a cute lesbian at a party, and decides that she is his one true love (yikes), the-girl-of-his-dreams (quite literally! he dreams of her and later meets her at this party and it’s supposed to be an adorable dejà vu kinda thing but it is NOT. it’s just cringy and uncomfortable). he then sets his mind on seducing her. since she’s a lesbian, he decides to pretend to be a trans guy ((like what the fuck, dude????!!!?)) so she’s willing to go on a date with him ((which does not make any fucking sense to me bc she’s still a lesbian and he’s still a guy, but whatever)). in the mean time, his sister has some drama going on that’s quite yikes, if you know what i mean, and there is also a lot of other horrible stuff going on, such as fetishizing various minorities and reinforcing harmful stereotypes, that makes you wanna bury the book somewhere no one will ever be able to find and read it. 

adam keeps telling people he is trans, and is quite proud of his “performance” as he keeps lying to everyone’s faces about being trans. there is a lot of drama happening, but i forgot most of it. what i do remember, though is that eventually adam and the-girl-of-his-dreams start officially dating and, consequently, they start having sex. adam insists that they only have sex in the dark, using his made-up gender dysphoria as an excuse. at first he use a strap-on to keep his masquerade up, but at a later point in the story adam just tells himself “fuck it, i wanna have REAL (uhhhm, wtf as if only penetrative sex is real sex), UNPROTECTED sex with this girl who still doesn’t know i am lying to her about being trans. so i’ll just insert my penis into her vagina without her consent.” i believe he tells her after the fact, and she’s like “i know, it’s chill. i found out that you’re a cis guy a while ago, and what can i say, you’re such an amazing guy i still fell in love with you, despite being a lesbian (!!!!!!!! WTF)”

they keep dating for a few month, and when they break up the girl starts dating an older guy shortly after. suddenly, she isn’t a lesbian anymore (i don’t even think she considers herself bi), and the ending kinda suggests that adam turned her straight, which is hella problematic, to say the least. don’t get me wrong, this change of labels is not intrinsically bad, but the way it is presented in the context of the book suggests that you can “turn people straight” and that being gay is “ a choice” or “a phase” that ends when you meet the right person of the opposite sex. furthermore, the way the characters are crafted and the story is told, Adam also suggests that queer people are annoying assholes whose only defining characteristic is their queerness. this notion of anti-queer character portrayal and conversion is also present in the storyline of adam’s sister.  i think his sister who labelled her lesbian in the beginning turns bi in the end, too, bc she just Can’t™ with lesbians and trans people anymore since their all selfish & self-righteous pricks.

and it’s not like this book judges adam’s actions or critically comments on his bad behavior. there are literally no consequences for adam unless you count the break up as one, which i think you can’t be they still happily dated for a considerable amount of time.

i hope you get the gist of why i loathe this book so much. there is nothing subversive or revolutionary about this sort of portrayal of lqbtq+ issues and characters. the representation & messages contained in this story are damaging as fuck. i have no idea how this book was repeatedly approved of by several instances in the process of publishing and no one in this chain of decision making voiced concerns and was like “i’m sorry but this is a really shitty book”??!!? HOW IS IT POSSIBLE SOMETHING LIKE THIS GETS PUBLISHED??!!? after this massive fuck up, ariel schrag probably can’t ever again publish a story under her name.

frankly, i desperately want to throw Adam into the destructive, all-consuming flames of eternal hell fire so it vanishes into ever-lasting oblivion. 

[aseriesofthrills]

Suzie Is Back

Suzie is back, and so are long, overly emotional, rambling posts.

I matched with Suzie mid-October 2020. Caileigh and I had broken up earlier that summer after 3.5 years together, and my plan was to take some time off dating to “figure myself out.” Caileigh was the first person I ever dated, so I thought being single and out at the same time - for the first time - was a necessary step in figuring out my identity as an individual. Well, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but there’s this big thing called a Global Pandemic going on that’s forcing us all to choose between our physical health and a social life. Put simply, I was lonelier than America’s Dad Tom Hanks on a deserted island before he found Wilson. Or maybe even lonelier than America’s Dad Tom Hanks after he struck up a friendship with Wilson, because after all, Wilson was a volleyball. I wanted to find my Wilson.

And boy did I find a lot of Wilsons. Unfortunately for me, I found a lot of off-brand Wilsons that were the wrong color, didn’t hold air well, or came out of the box with fabric missing. This is not to say these Wilsons are undesirable. I’m sure any of them would provide solid companionship to the next unfortunate soul whose fallen plane renders them a castaway. They were just not for me.

There was Emily, someone who I had strong feelings for and made me realize I’d really like to date someone who’s also Jewish. I was wowed by her philanthropic agenda of making candles and donating half the proceeds, until she did a very gay thing™ and got back with her ex, which was when I began to wish I instead had simply donated that $100 directly to charity and didn’t have to stare at her Tender Flame (more like Tinder Flame, amirite) candles sprinkled around my house. Looking back, we really were not compatible. Emily taught me that just because you have good banter with someone and a shared belief system, it doesn’t mean you wont clink teeth when you make out for the first time. It might even mean she will be extremely silent while you go down on her for what feels like hours, then not reciprocate because she is… probably thinking about getting back with her ex.

Then there was MK, someone who I’d actually met once before at a Hollywood Ladies Drinks Night Before The World Shut Down We Used To Have It So Good Oh My God. I remember wondering that night if she might be queer, but my gaydar couldn’t figure her out and I was in a relationship so it was a moot point anyway. I was hesitant to send her a “like” on Hinge because what if she didn’t feel the same way and then I ran into her at a work thing in 2023 and she KNOWS I liked HER but we BOTH know SHE didn’t like me BACK and -

It took me 3 seconds to get over that existential crisis because I remembered that thousands of people were dying every day and nothing actually mattered. So I liked one of her photos, and she matched with me in literally 4 minutes. I normally like to talk to someone for at least a few weeks - pandemic or not - before meeting in person, but she almost immediately suggested getting together the following weekend. Maybe that’s just her, or maybe she felt confident that I’m most likely not a serial killer since we have mutual friends, but she went for it and I agreed because I hadn’t yet figured out how to assert my own boundaries. But also, why not. It was just a picnic.

It was not just a picnic. It was a picnic conveniently a few blocks from her apartment. It was a picnic and then it was dinner and sex. I enjoyed spending time together at first, but the more we talked and hung out the more my feelings dissipated. In the middle stretch I thought for a second that I had perhaps cracked the mythical Friends With Benefits code, but after a few more dates I realized the code was far more complicated than I’d originally anticipated and what I thought was the treasure map key was actually just meaningless hieroglyphics and OK I will stop this metaphor now. It was time to take the high road and be honest, which for me manifested in telling her I was going to quarantine the next 2 weeks before flying home so this would be the last time I saw her before 2021 and we should check in when we’re back in LA in January - and then I texted her once I got to Florida to say lets just be friends. Not my proudest moment, but we’re learning.

There were a few other short-lived dalliances, but we all have places to go and people to see (from a distance). Just know I somehow managed to make the Pandemic Year my own personal Slut Year. And we’re using the term slut lovingly, simply to describe that 2020 was the year I managed to sleep with more people than any year prior. Tell me I can’t do something, then watch me work.

If you pay attention to detail, as I’m sure my 2 consistent followers do, you’ll remember Suzie and I matched mid-October which was in the midst of my MK chronicles. I am not exaggerating when I say that I was lovestruck by Suzie just from her Hinge profile and pictures. I don’t mean like, “Oh, she’s pretty, I hope she likes me back.” I mean like, something happened to my brain immediately that can only be described as some version of virtual pheromones invading my bloodstream. It felt uncontrollable and biological. And if we learned anything from Dr. Fauci this year, it’s that science knows best. The first real conversation we had - meaning that sweet sweet moment someone on a dating app finally admits that they, too, were looking at the app at the very same moment you messaged them - felt engaging and electric and right. At the end of the conversation I gave her my number and she immediately texted me “Talk to you tomorrow *kissy emoji*,” which probably made me precum. 

What ensued was months of talking every day. I’ll drone on for paragraphs if I let myself, so I’m not going to let myself. I’ll just say for a while it felt amazing. I liked her so deeply. It took us a good stretch of time before we broached the subject of seeing each other in person, but then a combination of her horrific time management skills (her words), a potential Covid exposure, and a highly contentious presidential election got in the way and lead us down a windy path ultimately culminating in a Zoom first date… a week and a half before I was supposed to fly home for 2 months. The Zoom date was everything I hoped it would be and more. I’d never felt more sad to click “End Meeting For All” but was too giddy to notice. She asked me about my holiday plans, so I told her about my impending travel, and then she more or less said we should have sex before I go. So we did. And it was the best sex of my life. And then I left the state of California, our mutual residence, for 2 months.  

Things were somewhat fine at first - we were still talking every day, with a few more Zooms sprinkled in - but then she went home to New Jersey, and suddenly we weren’t talking every day. It was more like every 3-4 days and rarely in actual conversational form. It was more like me waiting for her to reply, then waiting to respond since she’d waited so long, then we’d do it all over again. I felt anxious and tortured and dejected and had no appetite and my mom asked me on more than one occasion if I was ok. I was not ok. But I told myself to bE cHiLL, something that is often diametrically opposed to my natural state of being. I reminded myself that, despite the fact that we had spoken every day for 2 months - which is practically one step away from engagement in LesbianLand - we had only had one in-person date. I was careful to not make It seem more serious than It was, so instead I workshopped a lot of dramatic WHAT ARE WE? texts that I sent to all of my friends and never to Suzie.

We had mutually agreed upon “See you in January,” so I told myself I’d just ask her to hang out when we got back. Then she postponed her flight to LA for 2 more weeks because our Covid numbers were at a scary peak, the worst it had been since the beginning of the Pandemi Lovato. Finally she told me she’d rebooked her flight for the 15th, and I optimistically thought to myself, “You simply don’t tell someone the exact day you’re getting back into town if you don’t plan on seeing them! Right?” Wrong. I shot my shot, and she shot me down. She replied with a long series of texts explaining that her mental health wasn’t in a good place, and she couldn’t be accountable for communicating effectively. She sprinkled in some compliments for good measure, making sure to take a pit stop in “I think you are so wonderful so please don’t think this has anything to do with you” Town, which was reassuring but did not override my brain’s instinct to rethink everything I’d done and said the past few months. But I felt connected to her on a human level, and I didn’t want to lose that simply because she didn’t want to bump butts anymore, so I suggested we be friends and she enthusiastically agreed. End of conversation.

Until later that night, when she texted me Greetings after landing at LAX. I was confused, but I assumed that just meant she was taking me at my word, and this friendship started n.o.w. What followed was some of the most perplexing behavior I’ve witnessed as a living person and hands down the most confounding I’ve ever experienced in my dating career. She’d text me about a new vibrator she bought, or send me a song link then simply “heart” my response and be done with the exchange. It felt like she was just reminding me she existed, as if my small brain could forget. Sometimes she’d ask me how I was doing and we’d have semblances of a real friendship, but other times she’d tell me that I’m SO HOT or send me DMs of a sexy Phoebe Bridgers photo or a Normal People instagram post of Connell telling Marianne she’s pretty. Somewhere in the middle of all that my patient friend Caroline finally hit me with some tough love and told me I needed to block Suzie’s number and hide her on social media. For all intents and purposes, Suzie couldn’t exist anymore. Caroline was right, but I couldn’t do it, so I compromised that for the next week I wouldn’t reach out to Suzie first. Caroline told me “Alcoholics have to quit cold turkey, they don’t get to say well I drink on the weekends” but I decided I was simply not able to do anything more drastic than not text this freshly 25 year old girl who was slowly unraveling my emotional stability first for a week.

You will not believe this but I survived the week and actually felt better, so I did it again the next week. And the next. And the next. Until it had been a month and I hadn’t reached out to Suzie first. She was still texting and DMing me, but I felt my feelings finally waning! Gone were the days of finding her high school ex-boyfriend’s blog in the depths of the internet or looking her up on Venmo to see who she’d gotten Chipotle with the night before. I absolutely still liked her - those fucking pheromones are relentless - but it felt less fresh, so I started to formulate a plan. Once I felt FULLY (lol) over her, I’d text her the next time I was horny. Best case scenario she’d come over, worst case scenario she’d be so disgusted or insulted that she’d never want to talk to me again and I’d actually get over her, not pretend-get-over-her-so-I-could-trick-myself-into-safely-bootycalling-her. But then she sent me potentially the most flirtatious message yet, and I took my opening at 12:53p on a Wednesday and simply said “when are you going to fuck me.” She fucked me that Saturday night.

So. Suzie is back, and Saturday night (and Sunday morning, *wink* she slept over) was great. But now it’s terrible, horrible, no good, very bad again, to borrow some words from Judith Viorst.

How we left things this time is that she does want to see me again, but it can’t be a talk-everyday-thing because she’s ~bUsY* and moving to NYC this summer anyway for grad school (did I forget to mention that? Oops!) and for whatever other reasons that exist that are preventing her from being obsessed with me. She asked what my boundaries and needs are too, and both her actions and words that night really felt clear that she still liked me. I asked if she thought she’d ever see me again. There are some things you really can only ask while cuddling post-sex, and that’s one of them. She paused and said yes. She explained the context around her poor communication and that she never wanted to stop talking to or seeing me, and the way she was holding me felt like she was feeling just as connected to me as I was to her. You can tell when someone just isn’t there with you, and this was not that. We were both right there.

But we were also right back to there being a power imbalance between us. There’s no escaping the fact that this is really on her terms in its present configuration. Our best plan was to promise to be honest moving forward, which felt like it had a lot of potential at the time, but it turns out being honest is hard. Things sort of reverted back to how they were, except with all of my feelings and expectations that I’d worked hard to push down rushing back to take their place on the frontlines of my brain.

It’s been almost 2 weeks, and we’ve talked a few times every 2-4 days. I’m fighting the urge to memorialize exactly what’s transpired, but there’s simply no use in holding onto the details. What finally made all of these not-at-all latent emotions bubble up to the surface and inspired this Intense Feelings Word Vomit is two pronged. First, because I love to torture myself, sometimes I look at Suzie’s Hinge profile to see if she’s changed anything. For some reason, if it stays the same, I feel safe that she’s not seeking out anyone else but me. Which is somewhat logical but also farcical in this particular situation, and I fully understand that. I guess I was really wanting to invite some pain into my life tonight, because even after she texted me yesterday and then proceeded to stretch a very short conversation into something that still is in limbo, I decided it would be fruitful to check her Hinge profile. I’m here to report that all 3 of her prompt questions & answers were different. And readers, I had previously checked it recently enough to know this was a very fresh edit.

The second thing that pushed my feelings over the top, out of my mouth, and directly onto my keyboard is that when she finally texted me back at like 11:30pm, she seemed to entirely brush over two clear attempts, in my opinion, at relaying that I’d like to see her again. And that feels not good. My instinct is to tell myself that maybe my comments weren’t as overt as I first believed them to be, but I think that’s a thinly veiled excuse and a defense mechanism. If someone wants to see you, they will.

I’m almost certain (I am certain) all of my friends - ALL of them! I have A LOT! - are up to their eyeballs in Suzie-flavored-shit, so before writing this I must admit I did the loneliest thing of all: instead of being honest and sharing my feelings directly with her, I texted them… to myself. Raw, unedited emotions that I hope to never re-read one day but probably will and when I do I sure hope I’m in a healthier place and can laugh about it and think about How Far I’ve Come.

The truth is, I’m sitting here all over again picturing the dates I could take her on (the Carlsbad Flower Fields), what restaurants she should experience before leaving LA (Pace), and what fun at-home activities I could plan for us before the world fully returns to a post-Covid society (the DIY pottery kit I bought for myself, fully aware she loves to make clay art). Dare I admit I even daydream about the cross-country road trip that I’ll offer to accompany her on when she moves back East. I look at the contents in my fridge and think, “Maybe I wont use that ingredient tonight in case I need it to make us dinner next time she comes over.” I was ready to plan trying to get vaccinated this weekend around her availability, which is actually insane. You look up simp in the dictionary, and there I am. I took the crumb she gave me and turned it into a huge fucking Mrs. Fields birthday cookie cake that serves 20. No wonder I feel sick.

Unless I’m entirely miscalculating, which I can safely say I am not, Suzie is not sitting in her home thinking the same about me. I think she does like me - I have to allow myself to believe she does, because she said she does, and if I don’t believe it now I never will - but I also have to admit that 6 months into this game of Suzie Mental Gymnastics, I can recognize that all signs are pointing directly to the fact that I like her far more than she likes me. I don’t say that as a form of self-flagellation; it’s just a fact that I need to finally accept. Not just accept, but also let go of the possibility that it’s going to change. That’s the hardest part. I naively thought we were getting back on the ride again, and I buckled up for what turned out to be just a detour.

It can feel nearly impossible to pull yourself away from someone, especially when it feels like their claws are deeply embedded in your brain and your heart. That sounds wildly dramatic, but it is genuinely how I feel. What’s doubly hard is being able to trust my own instincts. I can get attached very quickly, and then it’s almost indecipherable whether someone is actually mistreating me or if my unrealistic expectations don’t allow the other person a chance to actually meet them. This whole essay could potentially be described as an overreaction, but the more I think about it, the more confident I feel in the validity of my feelings. Even if part of the issue is setting my expectations too high, the bigger issue is how I’m being treated. Suzie and I did agree on a low-pressure situation, but it doesn’t take much more than the bare minimum effort to consider another person’s feelings. And I don’t think my feelings are being considered all too much.

Not that Suzie ever really left my life in a real way, but I’m starting to think she came “back” for me to get a second chance at prioritizing my boundaries, my feelings, myself. I don’t want to overreact and call a party foul too soon, but perhaps I need to readjust my idea of what constitutes too soon. After all, maybe it was a mistake to not have asked for clarity sooner the first time. It would have probably allowed me to enjoy my time at home with family more and saved my brain a heck of a lot of overtime I am still saving up to pay. A not-no doesn’t mean a yes, and waiting does not change the outcome. It’s a natural reaction to hold on tighter to someone while loosening your grip on your own needs when you feel them pulling away, but it’s often something you can’t stop from happening. And that’s a tough pill to swallow. Sometimes you have to assert your needs when they’re not being met and watch things fall apart, not because you have those needs but in spite of them. You start again. I will start again.