honestly shout out to “visibly queer” people. shout out to us because it’s really fucking scary. i think people think that if you’re visibly queer you’re automatically confident and unafraid and while I’m sure that’s true for some people, in my experience that’s not the case. I make a choice to be visibly queer because of the amount of times people have told me that it makes them feel safer to be themselves. That doesn’t mean I’m suddenly completely unaware of what could easily happen to me every time I leave my house. It’s more than nerve-wracking. I’ve even seen people say that the visible queers are privileged because clearly we’ve never faced discrimination otherwise we wouldn’t have the freedom to be so open but that’s really dismissive of the work so many of us have had to put in to be confident enough to be that way. i see the eyes on me as I walk down the street and they burn into my skin. It is scary. I see a lot of support for people who have to hide their queerness, which is not a moral failing in any way, but bravery isn’t just one thing. Visibly queer people are not silly stereotypes. Twinks who fit every gay guy stereotype proudly are not your enemy they are your fiercest allies, so are the genderfucky trans people who don’t make an effort to pass as cis and the butches and studs who are fucking proud. We’re brave and just because we appear so confident and impenetrable on the outside doesn’t mean we don’t have the same struggles or support needs. So just shout out to us. I’ve had a few… experiences… lately and it’s made me reevaluate my decision to always be so open, but I’m willing to risk my safety to make a change and make others feel safe and I and others are brave for that and deserve your love.
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39 for kross-
PLEASE.
the angst-
39. because time has run out
Blood stained the ground and colored the grass. Dust tainted the air and scratched Killer’s throat with each frantic breath he took.
Everything around him had been brought to ruin. Like the grass, blood coated his hands. And practically everything else. God, it was everywhere.
“Don’t you fucking die on me.” Killer rasped.
Even speaking pained him. But he was too distracted, too panicked, to notice the pouring gash in his side. That didn’t matter nearly as much.
“No promises.” Cross replied. His voice was so quiet, so strained.
Killer could barely see him through the dark oil that ran out of his sockets. Or maybe it was tears. Probably both.
There, Cross laid on the ground, beaten and battered. Bleeding. Dying. Killer crouched beside him and clutched his body close to his, as if he did he wouldn’t crumble away.
Shakily, Cross lifted a bloody hand to Killer’s face. He cradled him, and Killer caved in on himself.
He kissed him. He pressed his eyes closed, leaning over Cross while he held him. This may very well be the last time. He yearned for it to be different in some way. Any way. He screamed silently to himself, because doing so out loud would pain him too much.
He wanted that kiss to last forever. Wished it could. If it did they wouldn’t have to face the reality they were being bombared with. If it did they would still have one single good thing in this hell they were living. It was the last minuscule sliver of comfort they could offer each other. That kiss froze time, it seemed. If only if it wasn’t so goddamn temporary.
At least it was something.
When Killer opened his eyes, Cross was gone. A pile of dust laid in his place.
Killer wrapped his arms around himself now. It didn’t provide any comfort.
He curled in on himself, and sobbed. Silently. Sobbed until he was weak from the mere exertion of it and he had no more tears. For everything that had gone wrong. For all the blood that continued to pool around him. For the dust swirled by just the faintest breeze. For Cross. Especially for Cross.
He felt like he could just die and even then it wouldn’t quell this. He was angry, if anything. He wanted to scream and fight and kill. To do something. To feel something other than this pain far worse than what his wounds caused him. For Cross. As if it would reverse time somehow. But god he was exhausted. And then just like that the rage dissipated and all he felt was numb and defeated.
It wasn’t long before another pile of dust joined the one in front of him. Then everything was silent.
Time had run out.
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I think lately I’m kinda into retrospective tragedies. you think this character might be the killer right up until they die & you realize they died feeling betrayed by everyone. you don’t get an explanation for this persons behavior until after they died, & its second hand & murky. I like the idea of tragedy that takes a second to sink in I think idk?
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