#queer yanking your chain

[lesbianmarrow]

riverdale transcends queerbaiting it’s idk..........queer messing around

[heyitsspiders]

Bitten Apple ~ AdamsApple Fic - CHAPTER 2

Adam wakes up and is pissed at the world (as always) plus with a bit of Adam having a mental breakdown

Ao3 Link

a/n: yippee another chapter, this one delves more into adam's trauma so if that sort of thing isnt your jam, then this chapter isnt for you

First Morning

Adam woke up the next morning to an annoying ass knocking on the door. He tried to cover his head with the satin pillows but his new ears made every noise ten times louder. Groaning, he got up and made his way across the room he had destroyed the night previous. It was his way of asserting dominance.

He opened the door to find Lucifer, mid knock and looking very peeved – which wasn’t fair when he was the one annoying Adam. “Finally, thought you’d up and died a third time,” Lucifer cocked a hand on his hip and raised a brow, leaning to see past the larger demon. 

“I thought you were a little too old for throwing tantrums?” Lucifer asked, eyes scanning the wreckage before flicking back up to Adam and then his room again.

“It wasn’t a tantrum, asshole,” Adam growled. How fucking dare Lucifer talk to him like that.  

“Uhuh, okay, well,” Lucifer stood up straight again, “it’s time for breakfast.”

“And?” Adam crossed his arms.

Lucifer pinched the bridge of his non-existent nose, “And that means you are to come to the dining hall and eat breakfast with me.”

Adam laughed, “Okay gay ass, why the fuck would I go eat with you like some queer?”

“Hm,” Lucifer hummed, “seems like someone forgot what they signed.” Lucifer flicked his wrist as that damned gold piece of paper appeared once more.

He pointed to it, “per our deal, you are to do as I ask and I am asking you to get your sorry ass down stairs and into the dining room.”

Adam rolled his eyes, “are you so lonely you need to make deals with people just so you don’t eat alone?”

Lucifer maintained his composure aside from his eye twitching, Adam was getting somewhere, “my actions don’t need to be explained to filth like you.”

“Sounds like I’m right,” Adam smirked.

“Sounds like you better go get cleaned up and get to breakfast before a suitable punishment is enacted,” Lucifer’s eyes bore into Adam.

“A punishment? Really?” Adam laughed, “oh please, I’m not a fucking child.”

“You sure? Because your actions seem very childish to me.”

“Childish?” Adam clenched his fists, “how am I acting childish? Why, because I don’t want to be your little bitch?”

“I’m not some chick for you to order around,” Adam spat.

“Oh but you are,” Lucifer purred. A golden chain suddenly materialized around Adam’s neck and in Lucifer's hand. Lucifer yanked down on the linked chain, forcing Adam down on one knee and by proxy at Lucifer’s eye level. “You are at my mercy and you will listen.”

Adam’s lip curled, showing off his now much sharper teeth as his brows knitted. The golden collar burned against his skin and he resisted trying to claw it off, instead opting to try and pull away. How fucking dare Lucifer talk to him like that. The anger he had for this cunt was immeasurable and what was worse is that he couldn’t even do anything about it. 

Lucifer let go of the chain, causing Adam to fall backwards, “Be down in 10 and look presentable.” And with that, he was gone once more.

Adam rubbed the back of his head as it ached dully from the impact. He stood up, mumbling to himself ‘fucking bitch,’ and ‘what is his fucking deal?’ He decided he would not only stay how he was – he was always presentable and Lucifer could kiss his ass – but he would also show up late. Lucifer may own him but Adam could still be in control. 

This however did not work out in Adam’s favor as when he finally showed up to the dining hall – which was nearly fucking impossible to find – he was dragged across the floor by the stupid fucking chain.

“I thought I told you to be down here 5 minutes ago,” Lucifer snapped, yanking the chain with harsher and harsher pulls. 

“Fuck – ow –” Adam tried to use his hands to push himself back but only skinned his hands in the process. “I got fucking lost – ow – fucking – shit – stop!” Adam yelped.

Lucifer stopped tugging on the chain as he sat in thought. He gave one more violent yank, “I suppose that’s fair, I meant to show you around but you gave me trouble. However, that does not explain why you still look like shit.” 

“I do not look like shit! I look cool as Hell!” Adam protested, now on his bruised knees. 

Lucifer just rolled his eyes in response and dropped the chain as it disappeared, like it was never there. Adam rubbed his neck as he pushed himself back up.

“Would you stop fucking shoving me on the ground?” Adam complained, subconsciously holding his palm to soothe the stinging flesh.

Lucifer let out a tsk, “maybe if you stop misbehaving I wouldn’t have to.” He snapped his fingers and pointed to a chair next to him, “sit.”

Adam stiffened at the command. Lucifer was commanding him like he was a fucking dog. He was the first man! Not some wild animal – no matter how he looked. Lucifer looked bored but Adam could see the hidden amusement in his eyes, he was fucking enjoying ordering Adam around like he was nothing but a mere plaything for him to move around.

Apparently, Adam was taking too long as Lucifer roughly sighed and pulled on the reappearing chain, yanking him forward onto his hands and knees. The carpet dug into Adam’s palms.

“I don’t think I stuttered, pet. Sit. In. The. Chair.” Each word was punctuated by a harsh tug. “You’re lucky I’m being nice and not making you eat out of a food bowl, or straight up starving you.”

Lucifer tugged the chain down, making Adam slam his face into the soft yet painful carpet, “but that doesn’t mean that won’t happen if you don’t start acting right.”

He finally released the fucking chain, allowing Adam to recover from his thirtyeth time getting dragged today. Adam suppressed a growl as he made his way to the stupid chair Lucifer wanted him to sit in, which was within arms reach of the man. He sat down on the plush red cushion that was the seat of the chair, readjusting as he accidentally sat on his new tail – he still wasn’t used to it yet. It was comfortable but that didn’t make Adam any less pissed.

Adam looked down at the plate in front of him, it was some fancy shit he couldn’t quite name but he couldn’t lie – it looked good. Lucifer looked so pleased with himself as he looked over Adam with a grin. Adam wanted nothing more but to wipe that stupid smile off his face and beat him into the ground. But, he couldn’t and that fucking stung. Adam was supposed to be powerful, worshiped, loved, praised – but now he was getting beaten senseless and insulted left and right. It wasn’t right. He wasn’t even supposed to fucking be here, he was supposed to be up in Heaven celebrating another successful extermination with his girls. 

Adam didn’t realize how hard he had been clenching his fists until blood drew from his sharp ass claws digging into his already stinging palms. Great, just another-

His heart sank. No– Surely it was a trick of the light– right?

He lifted his bloody hand to his face to get a better look at his hand. He wasn’t mistaken. Red blood ran down his palm and onto his wrist. Red. Images of sinners that had fallen to his hands flashed in his mind. Red, red, red, red redredredred–

Red blood. Sinners. He…

He was really a sinner.

He sucked in a sharp breath and held it. He was not about to break down – especially in front of the bitch that caused it. From the corner of his eyes he could see Lucifer, distantly remarking how he looked less smug and more confused at Adam’s sudden change in tone. Adam quickly held his bleeding palm to keep any more blood from spilling, his vision clouded. He couldn’t even think over the dull yet loud buzz that filled his mind. 

Adam grit his teeth and pushed his chair backwards, using his hands to push against the table which caused it to shutter and the silverware and plates clicking from the sudden jostle. He stood up with a swift motion and stomped off.

“Where are you-”

“To my room, asshole!” Adam roared, slamming the dining room door behind him.

Lucifer stared at the closed door. Adam had slammed it hard enough that some photos on the wall faintly swung. He debated going after the man-child and teaching him another lesson about listening but was swayed to leave him be when a droplet of red caught his eyes. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood up to examine further. 

Ah. Adam’s little outburst suddenly made sense as Lucifer peered at what he suspected to be Adam’s blood. A dark crimson – a stark contrast from the brilliant gold that signified angels. 

Lucifer chuckled to himself, “so much for being down here by accident.” He snapped his fingers and the blood was gone, it’s not sanitary to leave it hanging around, even more so in a place you eat.

Lucifer hummed to himself and looked at Adam’s untouched plate. Their first meal together definitely did not go how Lucifer had wanted it to and Lucifer guessed any further attempts today would not work. He sighed. Why was Adam being so difficult? Couldn’t he see there was no point?

He sat back in his chair and continued to eat. He couldn’t help as his mind wandered in the quiet room, thoughts of Adam filled his mind. Their days back in Eden, before everything went to shit, were so nice. Sun filled days, laying in the grass and listening to Adam talk about all the new discoveries he had made. The days before Lilith had been made when it was just the two of them. He was full of so much wonder and curiosity, everything was new to him and he was so excited to learn.

Lucifer blinked, dropping the fork he had been moving in mindless circles. Wow, he had not thought about Eden in a long time, especially about Adam. He shook his head, he couldn’t be thinking of Adam in such a light – the man had hurt his daughter and no amount of reminiscing could change that. Anger seeped back in, Lucifer was going to make Adam pay for everything he had done, one insult and chain pull at a time.

He looked down at his food frowning as his appetite was suddenly gone. Oh well, Lucifer waved a hand and it was gone. He stood up, grabbed his apple-topped cane that had been leaning against the table and pushed in his chair, his eyes catching on the untouched plate. He mulled over his options – he could send it up to Adam so he can eat but that would be rewarding bad behavior, which Lucifer didn’t want. Lucifer shrugged and waved it gone as well, if the first man got hungry he’d just have to come down during lunch or dinner, wasn’t his problem. A small smile fitted across his lips as he thought about how well he had Adam under his control – oh how the mighty have fallen.

Lucifer checked his nonexistent watch, he should really head over to Charlie’s hotel – he had agreed to help out more and with his sudden disappearance yesterday there were sure to be questions. He sighed, fixing his tophat and collar before snapping his fingers, disappearing from the already empty room.

He popped into the hotel, which was fairly busy after their recent victory against the angels. Lucifer wasn’t sure if people were coming to actually be redeemed or if they saw the hotel’s strength and were staying for protection – either way people were coming and staying and it made Charlie happy so Lucifer didn’t think about it too hard. He looked around, his red eyes scanning the room for his darling Char-Char. Finally, his eyes landed on the familiar red suit and blonde hair of his daughter. She was currently talking to her girlfriend – Maggie? – a smile adorned her lips as she spoke passionately and excitedly. Pride and love swelled in Lucifer’s chest, he was so proud of his daughter he could barely contain himself from running over there and giving her a bone-crushing hug. 

In fact, he couldn’t contain himself at all considering that is exactly what he did. “Charlie!” Lucifer greeted with a wide smile, wrapping his arms around his much taller daughter and squeezing her close to him. “Oh I missed you so much!”

Charlie laughed, returning his hug, “Dad, you saw me yesterday.”

“I know but that was so long ago!” Lucifer finally released her, who caught her breath with her uncrushed lungs.

“Anyways, where did you go yesterday?” Charlie asked, mildly distracted by the sinners everywhere.

“Oh you know,” Lucifer waved his hand as he tried to come up with an excuse. He didn’t want Charlie to know about Adam – not yet. He wanted to wait until Adam had learned his lesson, “important things.” He cleared his throat.

Charlie gave him a knowing look before sighing, “alright.” Her smile quickly returned as she grabbed his shoulders, causing Lucifer to jump a bit, and dragged him over to the front desk “come see, come see!”

Lucifer allowed himself to be dragged over to the fancy front desk, it was a polished mahogany with apple adornments – he had added those – with several drawers on the inside. Charlie opened one of them to show him the long list of what looked like names.

“Look!” Charlie wore a wide, genuinely happy smile. Heavens he loved that smile. 

“Very nice, uhm, what is it?” 

“Oh, right right,” she lightly tapped her fist to her head. “These are the names of sinners that are staying at the hotel! Isn’t that amazing?”

She set down the paper and looked over the sea of sinners – okay, sea isn’t the right word, it was more of a moderate lake but there were still more people than Lucifer was used to. Okay maybe that was a bad comparison, he wasn’t even used to small gatherings. Whatever, there were a fuckton of sinners, too many to count – “Finally, people are seeing that the hotel works.”

Charlie looked back at her dad, her smile reached her eyes and crinkled the edges, “Heaven will have no chance but to listen with so many sinners backing my plan,” She grabbed Lucifer’s hands, “and you too.”

Lucifer smiled up at his daughter. He was so proud of her. “We’ll redeem these sinners and fill Heaven to the brim.”

Charlie laughed and let go of his hands, turning around to file away the list back safely in the drawer. “I have some errands I need to run but feel free to hang around and get to know the new sinners!”

Lucifer’s smile was tight as he nodded, he really didn’t want to but he supposed it wouldn’t kill him to talk to some of them. “Of course, is there anything you need me to do?”

Charlie pondered for a moment before shaking her head, “not that I can think of. Anyways,” She pulled open the door, “bye Dad!” She waved as she exited the doors.

He waved until he couldn’t see her anymore. He turned to the mass amounts of sinners – he recognized a few as the bunch that had been there when he originally visited. He could talk to a few sinners, he was the King of Hell! Lucifer cleared his throat and began walking over the original group, who were near the sofa. The spider, cat and bomb lady were all sitting on the couch with the little maid sitting on the floor next to them. Maggie was standing next to the sofa, spear still in hand. He got the impression she didn’t know how to relax.

“Hello, uh, you… guys!” He awkwardly greeted with an equally awkward smile. He internally cringed, what kind of ‘hello’ was that?

“Oh, hello your majesty,” Maggie said with the faintest of a bow to which Lucifer dismissively waved off.

“Please, call me Lucifer,” It felt weird to have people call him ‘your majesty’, it didn’t feel right.

“Well, uhm, Lucifer, what brings you here today?” Maggie attempted small talk.

“I came to see my daughter but she had errands to run and told me to talk to some of the people here, and I don’t know anyone else so I decided to hang out with her friends and my daughter in law,” He nudged Maggie with a grin who turned away to hide a faint smile.

Lucifer stood back up straight and opted for just listening to the sinners chat amongst each other, talking was not his strong suit. So he stood, his eyes following the conversation but never joined in, absentmindedly nodding to things here and there but, to be honest, he wasn’t listening. None of these matters concerned him nor did he even know how to talk about them. His mind wandered once more – he never could stay focused on what was in front of him – but he made sure to steer it away from anything with Adam. Instead, he thought of what duck to make next, or- oh! He could make a duck of Maggie and Charlie and give it as a gift. He was sure they’d like it, who wouldn’t? Probably Adam- no, no, not thinking about Adam. 

A hesitant hand touched his shoulder making him jump, “Sir? Are you alright?” Oh, it was just Maggie.

He nodded, “yes, yes, I’m fine. Apologies, I got lost in my mind.” She opened her mouth to say something but he cut her off, “I think I’ll be off, tell Charlie I said bye.” And he was gone.

He was back in his room. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and walked over to his bed. Lucifer’s heart ached at the sight of it, he had specially made it for both him and Lilith and now it was just him. The bed was entirely too big for just him but at least it gave him enough room to do his usual tossing and turning. He sat at the edge, dipping into the soft mattress and dropped his head into his hands.

“What am I doing…” Lucifer mumbled into his hands. What was he doing? Keeping the leader of the exterminators hidden away in his castle? He groaned. What was Adam up to anyways? Lucifer toyed with the idea of leaving him alone but he knew Adam was vulnerable right now – the perfect time to fuck with him. Plus, messing with Adam would give him something to do.

Adam viciously scrubbed his face with his undamaged palm. Fuck – he couldn’t cry, not here, not now, not ever. He was a man – the man! He couldn’t cry like some chick. He slammed the door to his room behind him and stomped over to a pile of shit he had thrown to the ground the previous night. He grabbed a large handful and threw it violently into the wall with a grunt. 

“Why?” He snarled, “why me?” He grabbed a candle that had been set on his dresser and held it in his hand. 

“What did I do wrong? I did everything you told me-” His grip increased on the candle, causing the glass exterior to shatter in his claws “- to!”

More of that damned crimson leaked from his hand as glass shards stuck up in odd angles. Fuck. Fuck! He fell to his knees and buried his head in between his kneecaps, his claws gripping and digging into the smooth floor. Adam tucked his wings closer to himself, creating a self-made barrier between him and the outside world.

“What did I do wrong?” He mumbled again, much quieter. “I’m perfect- I-” He choked on what he refused to acknowledge as a sob. 

He moved his bloody hands to hug himself. He felt and looked so weak but he couldn’t muster the strength to be mad. He sat there, for the first time in a long time feeling a stinging heartbreak but instead of being left by his wives he was being abandoned by God. God, the man who made him – made him to be perfect, in his image! – left him just as quickly, as if Adam was a toy he had gotten bored with. His chest felt tight. It seemed to be a recurring pattern of people meeting him, loving him, and then leaving him.

He was perfect… Right? So why did everyone leave him in the end? Adam growled, slamming a curled fist onto the floor as he felt something wet drip down his cheek. No. He was not about to start crying, he was a man and he needed to act like it. Men didn’t cry, that’s what women were for, they were the emotional ones. He rubbed the traitorous tear away and sat up. He looked over the mess he had made, something he had control over. The stinging pain of his hand finally set in – oh right, there was fucking glass in his damn hand. He sighed and got up, the clown had to have some sort of bandages or something, Adam’s new big ass hands were not good for picking out small shards of glass. With his luck he’d just push them in further. 

Adam opened the door to his room with his un-glassed hand only to be met with Lucifer. Great, literally the last person he wanted to see. Lucifer’s eyes widened as he looked up at Adam as if he hadn’t been expecting him to be in his own fucking room. Adam just glared down at the sole cause of all of his problems.

“What,” Adam barked. He was already done with his shit.

Lucifer blinked, “where are you going?”

Adam rolled his eyes and held up the hand that was chock-full of glass, “to clean my fucking hand. Anymore dumbass questions?”

He looked at Adam’s hand, mouth slightly agape, “how- what happened?” Lucifer looked up at Adam, “I wasn’t even gone for that long!”

If Adam didn’t know the fallen angel in front of him, he’d think there was concern hidden within those piercing red eyes. Adam just shrugged, “just cool like that.”

Lucifer stared confusedly at him, his eyes flicking between his hand and his eyes. “I-” Lucifer cut himself off by simply grabbing Adam’s hand – which fucking hurt, there was glass in it!

“Ow, asshole! What the fuck are you-” Adam shouted but stopped as the pain dissipated. He stared blankly at his now completely fine hand – for a moment he wondered if he had made the whole thing up in his weakened state. Adam raised his eyes from his hand back to Lucifer, “how the Hell did you do that?”

“Why did you do that..?” Adam added, much quieter. It didn’t make sense for Lucifer to heal him.

Lucifer just stared at him before blinking rapidly. He looked… Confused? As if he wasn’t aware of what he just did. He looked down at Adam’s hand – which he was still holding. 

“Uhm,” he quickly let go and cleared his throat before his stupid smile reappeared as if it had never left, “I’m the King of Hell! I can do all sorts of things.” 

Adam furrowed his brows. What the fuck was happening? Was- was this a trick? Was he fucking with Adam? He pointed a finger at Lucifer, “what the fuck are you playing at? You were slamming my face into the ground an hour ago and now you’re all buddy-buddy?”

Lucifer scoffed, “it’s no fun when you get hurt on your own.”

Lucifer got closer, his grin turning sharper, “I’d much rather do that for you.”

Hatred pulsed through him as he pushed the short man away from him – finally, an emotion Adam was used to. “You queer bitch, what the fuck kind of kink thing is this? You fucking freak,” Adam spat.

Lucifer raised his hands innocently, “I just want to beat you senseless! Afterall, you tried to murder my daughter – I never said anything about it being sexual!”

“I- what? You literally smirked as you threatened to hurt me,” Adam held up his hands, “my fucking bad that it sounds like some gay sex thing!”

Lucifer rolled his eyes, “I’m just excited to grind you into the ground after the centuries of hurt you’ve caused.”

“Freak,” Adam whispered sharply.

“Anyways, I came over to see what you were up to.”

Adam raised a brow, “why?”

“Because I was bored and have nothing else to do, so why not do you?” Lucifer immediately snapped his mouth shut. Both men stared at each other before Lucifer coughed, “I did not mean it like that.”

“Sure, faggot,” Adam huffed. 

Lucifer let out a sharp laugh, “Ha! Me? The gay one?”

Adam didn’t like what the bitch was implying, “yes, you. Have you seen yourself? You might as well be the whole damn pride parade.”

“Ohoho- someone clearly doesn’t remember Eden-”

“Do not talk about Eden, cunt,” Adam growled. “You have no right to after you ruined it.”

Lucifer barked a laugh, he was really getting on Adam’s nerves. “Ruined it?” he repeated louder, “I didn’t ruin it!” Lucifer shoved a pointed finger into Adam’s chest, “you and all your filthy descendants chose to do evil with the freewill I gave you-”

“We didn’t ask for you to!” Adam yelled, causing Lucifer to finally shut the fuck up. Adam panted, “me and Eve never fucking asked for freewill, we were fine in the garden how we were.”

“But-”

“But nothing! Just shut the fuck up!” Adam huffed. Lucifer had ruined fucking everything Adam had – corrupted Eve, got them kicked out of the garden, brought evil into humanity which caused Cain to– 

No. Not now.

Adam glared down at Lucifer, who looked both equally angry and in thought. Lucifer spoke up after the gathering silence became suffocating, “I didn’t know you were capable of actual thought.”

Adam snarled, “what the fuck does that mean?”

“Nothing,” he adjusted his white suit. “Dinner will be served in 30 minutes, I expect to see you there.”

He turned on his heel and walked away, calling out, “and I expect you to make use of the wardrobe I provided!”

Adam rolled his eyes and slammed his door shut. Fucking prick, ordering him around. 

[blinkaftermidnight]

Not a question about your writing, but do you think they actually would have made Leatin canon in Season 3? It's a question I think about once in awhile because I do think they would've paired up kirin and fatin.

Before season two, I would've said no. I'm still 50/50 on this question. Why would they bother to make Leah canonically bi and why would they bother with the ditto bitch scene etc etc all those moments near the end of season two if they weren't planning SOMETHING?

Then again, I'm very skeptical about how writers/showrunners handle queer characters. I was in The 100 fandom and saw it firsthand. They could've just been yanking our chain and wouldn't have bothered to make Leatin canon or would've given us like a kiss and then been like just kidding! No feelings there!

But I like to think something would've happened. I'm still pissed that we'll never know and that season two ended on a cliffhanger. I wish the writers would've just dropped what would've happened so I could judge their plan lmao.

[maladaptive-day-dreams]

Chapter 2: It Didn't Matter

2.9k words Content warning: (not a fun chapter again, sorry), mention of parental neglect, mention not being wanted, use of Queer as a slur (being queer myself, this hurt me to do), coming out story, fluff, cute lil friendship, first kiss, mention of fighting

Authors Note: Tense switches briefly depending on section. Please let me know if I missed any warnings!!

Tags: @and-claudia

Previous Chapter • Next Chapter • Masterlist

That day in December didn’t matter to Eddie, he still invited me to sit with him and his friends at lunch, sat next to me in any and all classes we had together, saved me a seat on the bus and waved goodbye to me when we got off the bus to head to our own trailers.

I never understood why he let it go until the summer between 8th and 9th grade. Mom and Dad put up with me hanging out with Eddie, though they always let me know they don’t like it whenever I come home for dinner on evenings when he and I spent the few hours between school and dinner together.

“He’s trailer park trash, Y/N. Leave him be. No one talks highly of him and his uncle,” Mom says one night over dinner.

I almost choke on my food. “We’re trailer park trash too, mom, we literally live across the street from them.”

I should’ve just left it alone but I hated hearing her talk down about Eddie and Mr. Munson. They were the only kind people I knew in Hawkins. I taste the blood  from my bitten cheek before I feel the sting of my mom’s hand. 

“Shut your mouth you ungrateful brat,” she spits. “You’re done. Go to your room.” She gets up and yanks my plate away, tossing it in the sink.

I wipe my mouth on my napkin and silently make my way to my room. Looking across the street, I see Eddies bedroom light on and think to myself he probably doesn’t have to deal with this with Uncle Wayne. I went to bed early that night.

Eddie and I continued to grow closer, despite my parents hating it and him. I’m not sure how but Mr. Munson was able to convince Mom and Dad to let me stay over with them every now and again so the rest of that summer I was at the Munson’s almost every day and night.

* * *

The last night of the summer before freshman year marked the night Eddie and I became true best friends. That day, Eddie and I went clothes shopping with the $50 Dad gave me to update my wardrobe. Eddie constantly steals my shirts, my Metallica one is basically his now and I keep finding my Led Zeppelin tee under his bed so I decided I’d share my clothes money to get Eddie a new outfit that he liked better. Before I went over to get Eddie to head to the mall, mom decided I had done something wrong again. And so, here I am splashing cold tap water on my cheek to try and make the redness go down.

I suck it up after a few minutes and pat my cheek dry, deciding to just pinch my other cheek so they were both red. I rush out of the house and jog over to the Munson trailer just as Eddie was exiting.

“I was just coming to see if we we’re still on for shopping today,” Eddie smiled.

“Yup we are! Sorry, had to finish up some chores before Mom would let me leave.”

We fall into step beside each other and make the trek to the mall. It takes us around 20 minutes to finally get there, and of course we are both hot and sweaty now because of the Summer heat.

“First, things first,” I say as we head inside the poorly air conditioned mini mall. “Lemonade.”

We head straight to the one food vendor in the mall and get a large lemonade to share as we walk. There aren’t many stores here, a few small chains, but we head straight for the big thrift store at the end.

“Ok so, what are we looking for Eds?” I ask sorting through the hangers of t-shirts. “We definitely need to get you your own Metallica and Zeppelin tees so I can have mine back.”

“What?” Eddie gasps. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I don’t know where your Zeppelin shirt is.”

We meet eyes over the clothes racks and we bursts out laughing. “Alright alright, definitely those two so I can give yours back,” he chuckles. “Maybe some black skinny jeans? And a jean jacket, I want to make a battle vest this year.”

“Oooh if we bring Hellfire to life this year we should get some plain t-shirts to design for us and anyone who joins.”

“(Y/N) that’s brilliant!”

We share a smile and go back to scouring the racks for a new outfit for Eddie. After I find him some cool graphic tees and a jean jacket I head to the girls section for my own clothes, taking some graphic tees with me from the guys section. I grab a few pairs of jeans and even a skirt and dress—which I don’t normally wear—and meet Eddie at the changing rooms.

After a few minutes Eddie pipes up from the room next to me, “ok I think I like this outfit for the first day of school.”

“Gimmie one sec and I’ll come out too!”

I slip the tight plaid skirt up my thighs and half tuck the Blondie band tee in the front, before stepping out of my dressing room.

Eddie is looking in the big mirror outside the rooms, looking more like himself and way more confident than in the clothes he’s gotten from Wayne or church clothing drives. He’s in black skinny jeans, a little on the worn side but not too bad, and an Iron Maiden shirt, he also was somehow able to find new-ish white sneakers and a wallet chain for his belt loops.

“No offense to Uncle Wayne, but that looks a lot better than your usual gas station tee and khaki pants,” I smile. “Does the jean jacket fit? Will it work for your vest?”

Eddie turns around to answer and stops short, “(Y/N) you look so fucking cool.”

I laugh and say thanks before asking again, “does the jean jacket fit?”

“Oh yeah! It’s perfect and will work great for the vest.”

“Cool cool, so, is this your outfit? These are what you want?”

“Yeah I think so, you said I can borrow $15 right?”

“Just bring out what you want, we’ll figure out the money when we check out.”

We both disappear back into our respective dressing rooms and change back into the clothes we came in. I fold my small pile of clothes and carry them out in one hand, my hand me down purse slung over my other shoulder. Eddie is already outside of his room with his own pile of clothes.

“Alright hand it over,” I say, empty arm reaching for Eddie’s pile of clothes.

“What? No we have to see how much money it comes to.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, gimme your pile Eddie, I’m not gonna make you put anything back.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide, “How? What?”

“Ugh alright then just walk up to the register with me,” I sigh. “I’ve been saving my measly allowance the entire summer so I could cover everything we found today.”

“(Y/N) that’s too much, I can’t accept that.”

“Then go outside so you don’t see the total,” I tease. We get to the register and once Eddie puts his pile on the counter I turn and push him towards the door. “Ok byeeee, I’ll be out in a minute!”

Eddie huffs but does leave the store so I can buy our goodies. In total, Eddie found the sneakers, two pairs of jeans, four band tees and the jean jacket while I got four band tees, one skirt, one dress and a worn down but still decent pair of converse. I also was able to find two white baseball tees with black sleeves for our future D&D t-shirts and secretly found a few pins and patches for Eddies future battle vest.

“Alright darlin, that’ll be $67.50,” the cash lady said after stuffing everything in three plastic bags.

I hand her the $50 bill dad gave me and then counted out $18 ones, handing over the crumpled money with an apology. “Sorry, I get my allowance in ones.”

The woman smacks her gum loudly while counting the money again and then drops the fifty cents and receipt in my hand. I mumble thanks and grab the three bags from the counter. I found Eddie leaning agains the glass windows of the storefront and he takes two of my three bags with a sheepish thank you.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he mumbled.

“Shut up Eddie, I wanted to, plus this way we both look cool as fuck the first day of freshman year.”

Eddie smiles at that and we head out of the mall and back towards home. We get home as Uncle Wayne is leaving, “Oh good I caught ya. I got called in to work the night shift and wanted to make sure you two are ok to stay home alone.” 

We nod and say g’night to Uncle Wayne as he backs out of the driveway and Eddie and I just hang out in his room the whole night. Bedtime is non-existent since Uncle Wayne wasn’t home and we end up staying up and talking and reading together all night.

“How’s your cheek?” Eddie asks, drawing my eyes from The Hobbit.

“What?” I ask, pulling my head up from where it hung off the edge of the bed and sitting criss-cross applesauce on his bed.

“It was red this afternoon, when you came by?” He questions. “I know you don’t talk about it but you can. I get it, I really do.

His voice sounds like it’s dripping with pity. I never wanted him to pity me, he’s the one person I can’t take that from.

“I don’t need your pity, Eddie,” I respond, sliding off his bed and getting ready to leave. I can’t do this today, not when school starts tomorrow.

“My dad hit me too,” he says softly. I look at him and his eyes are so, glassy, he looks so broken and my heart breaks with his mask as he lets a few tears out.

“Eds” is all I can get out as I get back on his bed and hug him. We cry for a bit together, just holding each other.

“It started in 5th grade,” he says, breaking the hug and laying his head back on his pillows. I shuffled to the space between him and the wall and laid beside him, staying quiet so he could let go. “My dad found me in my mom’s room with her makeup on and using one of her skirts as a dress,” he laughs. “A quick smack to the face and no dinner was enough to get me to stop ’messing around and acting queer.’”

I kept quiet but held his hand in mine to give him some support.

“I didn’t stop though, I just tried to get better at hiding it. Sometimes I’d get caught. It was the worst in 6th grade. Mom had let me have a classmate over to work on homework and hang out, and Dad got home earlier than I thought he would,” he paused and took a deep breath. “He walked in on me kissing him, my classmate, and he yelled so much. He called my classmate’s parents and yelled at them but saved the belt for after they came to pick him up. That classmate was pulled from school because everything started circulating our town. Dad never forgave me for the ‘stain’ I left on his family’s name.”

“Eds, I’m so sorry,” I can’t think of what else to say.

“It’s okay, Y/N. Really, that’s how I ended up here with my Uncle Wayne. He adopted me just before you showed up, he doesn’t question me. I came out to him when he first brought up adopting me,” he laughs. “He was confused what ‘pan’ meant and accepted it as well as he could with being unfamiliar with it. I remember he said ‘who ya love doesn’t matter boy, it’s how you love them and how they love you,’” he says in his best Uncle Wayne impression. “‘As long as you love each other the best you can, who they are doesn’t matter to me. I just wanna see you happy, alright?’”

He turns and smiles at me. I smile back, “thank you for being comfy enough with me to tell me.”

“You’re my best friend, of course I was gonna tell you.”

I take a deep breath.

“My parents never wanted me,” I start, and he squeezes my hand. “And they never miss an opportunity to tell me that either. Dad knocked Mom up senior year so they had a shotgun wedding right after graduation and I showed up two months later. It’s gotten worse the last few years, especially before we moved here. I actually got kicked out of my old school for punching my girlfriends bully in the face when she called her a lesbian—that’s why we moved. We were best friends and girlfriends but we tried our best to hide that. No kissing, hand holding to a minimum, that kind of stuff. Mom gave me a right big welt on my cheek that night when I told her the rumor was true. She was mostly angry that I ‘ended up a queer' even though I told her I was bi and could still end up with a husband. She didn’t care though, and then Dad took it worse. He yelled a lot, threatened to send me to conversion camp or boarding school but we could barely afford new clothes for me at that point so I know they were empty threats. And then we packed everything up and moved here.”

“It was fate.”

“What?” I laugh.

“Fate or someone up there knew that us two lil gay middle schoolers needed to find each other by high school so we could conquer the world together,” he smiles, mock stabbing the air with an invisible sword.

“You’re such a dork,” I laugh. “But now we’re stuck with each other,” I say rolling onto my stomach.

Eddie follows suit. “We know each other’s biggest darkest secrets. Promise that we’ll always be there for each other?” He asks, pinky outstretched to me.

“Always,” I say, intertwining our pinkies. “Promise we’ll get married to each other if we aren’t married by 30?”

He lets out a laugh and takes my pinky in his again, “promise, married by 30.”

* * *

In fall of 9th grade, Eddie was why I got punched in the face by Jason—I tried to stop him from continuing to hit Eddie. Funny how it was Jason’s fault but as soon as the boy cried self-defense from the ‘queers,’ Eddie and I were the ones suspended. The nice thing was that it was only a few days before Christmas break so we got a bit of an extra long break.

Mom wasn’t so happy though so my break wasn’t much fun after I went back to my own trailer.

* * *

The summer before 10th grade, Eddie was my first kiss. I mentioned it out of pocket one evening while we’re sitting on his bed, side by side, back on the mattress and legs up on the wall.

“I can’t believe I made it all the way through freshman year without getting kissed,” I groan, pressing my palms into my eyes. “What kind of a loser hasn’t been kissed by now? I mean come on! It could’ve been a boy or a girl! I had double the options! But nope!”

Eddie chuckles and then slides his legs from the wall and sits up. Confused, I do the same and we sit face to face. “Kiss me!”

“I’m sorry what?!” I ask baffled.

“Look we’re best friends, best friends do this kind of stuff for each other. A girl as pretty as you shouldn’t go into high school without having a first kiss, soooo kiss me to get it over with! Nothing has to change, it’s not like we like each other,” he explains.

I look at him questioningly. “I don’t know, Eds.”

“Just trust me will you? It’ll be fine,” he says scooting towards me. It’s awkward, for sure, but also we were best friends and by this point he had told me about every kiss he had in 8th and 9th grade—both boys and girls—so he obviously had to know what he was doing. Right? And he was right, we don’t like each other, we’re best friends that would be weird.

“Ready?” He asks, a big grin on his face.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I laugh. We shift from sitting to kneeling, kneecaps touching and Eddie starts to lean in.

And then I laugh much too hard when he closes his eyes and purses his lips and he stops and lightly smacks my shoulder.

“Y/N,” he whines. “Cut it out and focus! Do you wanna be labeled the ‘never been kissed loser of 10th grade?’”

I huff. “Yeah didn’t think so,” he says. “Close your eyes so you don’t start laughing again.

I do as I’m told and close my eyes. I feel Eddie’s body heat as he leans in to me, and then feel the softest touch of his lips on mine before he pulls away.

“Voila! You’ve been kissed!”

“Wait that’s it? It’s way more tongue in the movies.”

“Sorry but I refuse to show you how to French kiss, that’s not on the lesson plan for today or everrrr. You’re by best friend and that would make things weird,” he laughs. I join in laughing with him and then we shift back to our original positions and fall in to a comfortable conversation about the upcoming school year.

[geekthefreakout]

You know. Lord of the Rings is that very rare fandom where I truly don't ship anything. I am actually completely satisfied with it as far as the deep love and friendship that's shown because platonic stuff like that is important, and unlike... Well, a lot of things, LOTR isn't there to yank queer people's chain, which is why the relationships feel mostly complete as portrayed to me.

Of course, it's not like I don't see the potential or the logic in the various ships people may have, but personally it's just... They love each other, your honor. Because they're friends. And it's beautiful.

[fallout-lou-begas]

it really says a lot about how you see trans people with your character. its offensive and disgusting.

Extremely transphobic of you to say this to me, a trans woman, honestly. Now that’s offensive and disgusting.

I saw this when I got home from grocery shopping and considered ignoring it because I imagine you’re just trying to stir shit or get attention but given that this is the first message I’ve gotten like this, and hell, the first anything I’ve seen like this, I figured I’d plant a flag a little bit. Not necessarily for you, since again, odds are you’re just yanking my chain a bit for a cheap thrill, but for anyone who might seriously think this who’ve thankfully kept to the gutters inside of in my line of vision, I’d like to take this seriously. It’s also been a while since I’ve written a good screed, and who doesn’t love a good screed.

What is it about Agnes being trans that offends and disgusts you? Is it her appearance? What is a trans woman “supposed” to look like to you, anon? Does she look like a cis woman? Hell, what’s a cis woman “supposed” to look like, too? What does this acceptable form of woman have, and what doesn’t she have? Does she not have a big nose, a strong jaw, broad shoulders, or body hair, like Agnes does, or like I do, or like many women trans and cis alike do? Does her having “masculine” features offend and disgust you? Why is this? Does any trans person who fails to pass offend and disgust you by their mere existence? Is this really something to which you take offense?

Are you offended and disgusted by her transition? By her occasional stubble and facial hair, which I grew myself during the first couple weeks of quarantine because I couldn’t be assed because shaving is annoying and my laser appointments got cancelled? By her transition being a real, grounded part of the world dependent on having access to resources and medications that isn’t guaranteed, instead of a magical wand that makes her cis-passing when she wants to be? By her not being able to transition until young adulthood because not everyone just realizes they’re trans at the same time, because not everyone realizes they’re trans before puberty, because not everyone is able to be out as trans or transition as soon or as much as they’d like? By her being satisfied with her transition as-is, by her not wanting surgical interventions?

Are you offended by her flaws? By her anxiety, her trauma, her fears, her doubts, her horror? Are you offended that after getting shot in the fucking head she as a human being may look at herself in the mirror and grimace? Are you offended and disgusted that a trans woman may have some complicated personal issues about her sense of self, and what makes her feel like herself and what doesn’t? Would it be okay for Agnes to have these flaws if she were a cis character? Are trans characters not allowed to be imperfect? Must all queer representation be an idealistic morality play, and if so, whose ideals and whose morals?

Are you offended and disgusted that she fucks? Are you offended by her sexuality? Are you offended and disgusted by the idea of trans women with sexual agency?

To make such a blasé comment in my askbox which has anonymous submissions turned on as a privilege which has otherwise been lovely, you must either be an idiot, a bigot, or truscum—but, ah, I repeat myself there.

Especially during these isolating, introspective times of COVID-19 where we’re all inside all day, Agnes Sands has been an invaluably cathartic vessel for me, not as a self-insert, but as a vehicle for exploring and considering what it means to be trans and to know oneself as trans in a post-apocalyptic wasteland where, to me, the popularly accepted and contemporary real-world markers of “successful” transition may not be easily available, or available at all. Her reception by the fandom and my friends has been overwhelmingly positive, which is so validating and affirming not merely as a writer and artist but as a trans woman who is writing about a particular form and shape of transness that I never, never, never see in any kind of mainstream storytelling. My transness. My representation.

If you have real, genuine, serious beef with how I, a trans woman, am writing my trans woman characters, then I sincerely invite you to come off of anon and we’ll have a level-headed chat. But if you think I’m being immature or childish by lambasting you with what you may perceive as needlessly aggressive and bad faith inquiries, then know that I’m merely returning your favor, and I don’t have to hide behind an anonymous icon to do it.

[right-on-far-out]

Boring

I’m starting to feel a boring feeling about a man, the way I always get about men, even after I’ve spent a year + / - thinking they’re the only thing in the world and how could I deserve them? and I keep it sucked in til I feel pain. Sometimes I even pray for the moment where I don’t care anymore. I imagine God (a glamorous queer femme in lipstick with a gorgeous belly and stubble and thigh high boots) cutting the big thick cylindrical purple-blue energy cord with a butcher’s knife the way you cut those sugary logs of cookies dough with a Halloween ghost in the middle. So I think and ask please please cut the cord! Because my loving or obsession for/with this person is A.) unreciprocated, B.) shitty, C.) displacing my time and productivity. I roll my eyes so hard at myself. I think what a freaking SNORE I am. We get it. You’re obsessed with a shitty but genuinely smart man who’s too old for you and ultimately unavailable to you which should be obvious because why else is he 40-something and single and the only thing he’s even been faithfully and passionately committed to is preordering the newest iPhone as soon as it’s available. And you (I) pretend that’s cool and that you (I) even give a shit about technology, or cars, or video games, or Skrillex, or Elon fucking Musk, or hot yoga, or fasting for health, or Coheed & Cambria; and one more thing: we don’t have to pretend it’s cool or charming that grown men still play D&D with a commitment they’ll never be able to give to us. Anyway, I get sick of the me who pretends to like what the old smart man likes so that he feels supported by me and when I tell him I’d like to watch Grease tonight instead of another sci-fi movie he laughs and squirms and doesn’t even commit to politely declining my suggestion, so we watch the sci-fi thing and I just get more stoned so that at least sex later will be more fun. I get sick of myself in honor of my friends who I’m sure are sick of me because when they ask how is the man you’ve been seeing I tell them it’s the usual which means he’s yankin’ my chain. And I tell everyone how he’s yankin’ my chain, except for him. I just let him keep on yankin’ it because for some reason I feel like it’s better to have your chain yanked than your chain just left alone. I think about the chain-yanker and how if he read this he would maybe not even know it’s about him but either way I don’t have to worry about it because he wouldn’t read it anyway, even if I handed it right to him and said “this is about you yankin’ my chain.” So I’m finally feeling the boring feeling about a man that I eventually always get, even though I tell myself that this time I’ll simply never get over it and maybe I do wanna get married… but then I get over it. And I dread getting over it at the same time. I hate not being obsessed with something and then I think well can’t I throw the energy that I’d throw at this popcorn man back to myself? And it works if you really try, but you easily forget that you are deserving of your own infinite love and everyone else’s infinite love, and you have to work really hard at reminding yourself of that when you get up in the morning and look in the mirror and lift up your shirt to see if your belly looks more toned today.

[creepingsharia]

How the Term “Islamophobia” Got Shoved Down Your Throat

Originally posted on November 27, 2010

via Moderate Muslim Watch: How the Term “Islamophobia” Got Shoved Down Your Throat – Ricochet.com.

The neologism “Islamophobia” did not simply emerge ex nihilo. It was invented, deliberately, by a Muslim Brotherhood front organization, the International Institute for Islamic Thought, which is based in Northern Virginia. If that name dimly rings a bell, it should: I’ve mentioned it before, and it’s particularly important because it was co-founded by Anwar Ibrahim–the hero of Moderate Islam who is now trotting around the globe comparing his plight to that of Aung San Suu Kyi.

Abdur-Rahman Muhammad, a former member of the IIIT who has renounced the group in disgust, was an eyewitness to the creation of the word. “This loathsome term,” he writes, is nothing more than a thought-terminating cliche conceived in the bowels of Muslim think tanks for the purpose of beating down critics.

In another article concerning the many moderate Muslims whose voices have been drowned out by Saudi-financed Muslim Brotherhood front groups, Muhammad describes the strategy behind the word’s invention:

In an effort to silence critics of political Islam, advocates needed to come up with terminology that would enable them to portray themselves as victims. Muhammad said he was present when his then-allies, meeting at the offices of the International Institute for Islamic Thought (IIIT) in Northern Virginia years ago, coined the term “Islamophobia.”

Muhammad said the Islamists decided to emulate the homosexual activists who used the term “homophobia” to silence critics. He said the group meeting at IIIT saw “Islamophobia” as a way to “beat up their critics.”

Really imagine that scene: a bunch of Islamists admiring how astutely the queers–people who in their ideal world would be served with the lash or hanged–had portrayed their critics as mentally disturbed. Brilliant. Let’s take a leaf from them and then kill them. The association of anti-Islamism–the noblest form of liberal anti-totalitarianism–with gay-bashing rednecks in the grip of a psychosexual panic was not just one of those linguistic accidents of history, in other words. These guys were sitting there in Virginia and really thinking about the best way to exploit the weaknesses of the Western psyche. They came up with this word–and admit it, it’s clever; I challenge you to find a better one if you want to yank the West’s chain–and they marketed it with petrodollars, and now it truly does drive public discourse and policy the world over.

The fact that the IIIT was co-founded by Anwar Ibrahim, who is now on trial for sodomy–something of a homophobic charge, that--would be almost hilarious in its just-deserts irony if Anwar hadn’t succeeded in portraying himself as the moderate darling of Muslim moderation whose plight should now trouble the liberal conscience of the West, no matter his own role in exploiting it.

…

So Anwar Ibrahim– our moderate man in moderate Malaysia–is the moderate man behind this Orwellian effort to render the West incapable of objecting even verbally to political Islam. The gift of “Islamophobia” is just the beginning of the story.

Read it all.

Help Share the News:

[hollowleggedwolf]

Chains go both ways

I call my mental health conditions the three guest that no one wanted but are here to stay.  They walk through the door of my life and settled down into the dark corners of my mind.  They chained themselves to me so they could pull on who I was and who I would be.  At times they took turns growing so each could have a share pulling on the chain.  At other times they shared the pulling.  

The chains are unbreakable even though I have tried.  So I let them wrap me in the chains so I could just survive.  I walked through every actions hampered and bound.  Until one day I found that these unwanted guest in my life who would not leave had truly stuck themselves to me.  I gave them power, I gave them strength, I feed them with my pain so they could grow and take more of me.  I had spent time trying to break the chains and push them away.  I had spent time letting them dance and wrap the chains around me.

The true path to my own power and my own healing came when I realized chains go both ways.  I may be chained to them but they where also chained to me.  So I yanked back on the chains starting a desperate tug of war.  For my life, my future, and so much more.  At first I had no strength and they easily pulled me down.  But with time, with help, and with practice I built my strength so I could tug them down.  

First I had to unwrap myself of all the chains that bound me.  This took getting help.  Excepting things about myself I did not want to face.  Part of this acceptance was that I had these three unwanted guest and I would have them all my life.  Talking and not hiding the pain they put into my life.

The second I had to stop hiding from who I was.  Even though that path would bring its own struggles and pains.  But also its joys and light that made my three unwanted guest scutter away.

The third was rebuilding from the harm. Excepting the scar and letting them heal.  Mending the scars I had made in others as I lashed out under the chains. 

The forth was setting down rules for my three guest.  If they were to stay and we were to fight this endless tug of war for the chains I would have rules to keep me standing and help me get back up when I feel.  These rules keep me going when all gets dark and the chains start to slip back around me.

The fifth and most powerful is that life is about more than survival.  I was not built to be a happy person but it does not mean I do not deserve to be happy at times.

I do not win the war it is a battle every day.  Sometimes the battle is big and it rages so loud it can not be contained, sometimes it is so small no one would know there is even a fight being had (even the fighter that is me can forget).

But as long as there are the chains they go both ways.  I may be chained to them but they also chained to me.

About the writer:

I am a  queer trans non-binary person (my true self I had to accept) that has depression, anxiety, and OCD (my three guest).  I have dyslexia too which brings its own headaches and also joys.   I spent the first 20+ years of my life trying to hide and ignore my struggles and it almost killed me.  

To the reader

If you read this and are struggling I implore you to take a big breath, get a glass of water, and reach out for help.  You are strong and amazing you just don’t see it right now and that is ok.  If your reading this and you have your own unwanted guest and chains keep up the fight you are doing awesome here is a metaphorical cookie (all of the charm non of the calories).  Who ever you are (insert good thing you needed to hear today because I’m not the best writer).

[navajolovesdestiel]

Sexuality And Gender Studies Can Be Very Enlightening

Written for my 1000 followers celebration. This one is for @ladygotsoul

Read it on AO3

Dean really liked his Sexuality and Gender Studies class. He’d struggled for years with the label bisexual, and was just now coming to terms with it. This class helped immensely. 

This was the first time he’d been nervous. His stomach clenched when the professor had announced the partner project and what it was about.

Now he was sitting across from a guy in his class he’d only noticed because he was so damn good looking. Cas, he’d said his name was, and he looked as nervous as Dean felt.

The subject was sexual history and turn on’s.

Cas took a deep breath. “I suppose we need to start out with our preferred pronouns and what label we use for our sexuality. I’ll start. He-him and I’m queer.”

Dean got lost for a second in how blue Cas’ eyes were.

“Oh! Uh, yeah, he-him and I’m bi.” 

Cas wrote that down. 

Dean looked at the hand out. “I guess next is how old we were when we lost our virginity and how.” 

Cas sighed. “I was seventeen. It was in a car, and he was a lot older.”

Dean looked at him. He looked unhappy. “It wasn’t a good experience?”

“Not even remotely. I didn’t have sex again for two years.”

Dean shook his head. “Wow, I’m sorry. That sucks.”

Cas smiled. “It did, but I got over it. Your turn.”

Dean got thoughtful. “Well, first time with a girl, and my only time really, was with Rhonda Hurley. I was sixteen. She had me try on her panties. I kinda liked it.” 

Dean’s ears turned red. Cas smiled at him. “You still like wearing them?”

Dean entire face got red. “Uh… yeah, I still do.”

Cas grinned. “Nice. So, first time with a boy?”

“That would be when I was nineteen. On my birthday. Benny LaFitte. Big Cajun guy. It was mind blowing.”

Cas looked at the paper. “Now, sexual history. So, do you have any kind of preference between males and females? Sexually I mean.”

Dean sighed. “They are both awesome in their own ways, but if pressed, I’d have to say I prefer males.”

Cas wrote that down. :Okay, I’ve had four sexual partners. That first one, then I dated the second one for a few months. The last two were hook ups. Just one time things.”

Dean grinned at him. “Well, I’ve had, let’s see, five sexual partners. Rhonda, and then four men. Uh, three of those four were one night stands, the other I dated off and on for about eight months.”

“You don’t date him anymore?”

Dean shook his head. “Nope. Broke up.”

Cas nodded, writing more down.

“Next are turn on’s.” Dean blushed again.

Cas looked at his pen as if it was the most interesting thing in the universe.

Dean glanced around the room. There were couples all around and they all looked as uncomfortable as he felt. He took a deep breath.

“Okay. Um… there’s this spot behind my ear. When someone… like… kisses it or licks it, it makes me crazy.” 

Cas grinned. He reached out a finger, heading for Dean’s ear, then realized what he was doing and yanked his hand back. He used it to touch behind his own ear. “Like right here?”

Dean could feel his ears getting red again. “Yeah, right there.”

Cas sighed. “For me it’s the nipples. If you play with my nipples, I’m a goner. I could almost come from nipple play.”

Dean grinned.”Is that a challenge?” 

Cas looked shocked. “What? No! I was just…”

Dean chuckled. “Relax, Cas, I’m just yanking your chain.”

Cas cocked an eyebrow. “Is that all you want to yank?”

Dean almost swallowed his tongue. “I also like kissing.” It was his lame attempt to get them back on track.

Cas smiled. “Ooh, yeah, I love kissing. Slow, deep,  tongues tangling…”

Dean could feel his dick twitch.  

Cas blurted out, “Dirty talk! I love talking dirty during sex.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I like that too.” 

Cas became aware that he’d stopped writing, so he wrote down all that information.

They stared at each other, unable to look away, until the spell was broken by the professor said it was time to stop.

Cas jumped up to hand in the paper, then took his seat. Dean sat in his usual seat, but turned to look at Cas. Cas was staring back at him.

When the professor dismissed the class, Dean gathered up his things and walked to Cas.

“Say, Cas? Would you like to grab some coffee with me?”

Cas smiled brightly. “I would love it.” 

They walked to Dean’s car, which was parked in the back lot. Dean explained he didn’t want anyone to ding his doors in the student parking lot. 

Their shoulders bumped while they were walking, fingers brushing against one another. When they got to the car, Dean pushed Cas against the rider’s door and kissed him.

Cas made a quiet sound and kissed him back. It was all plush lips and open mouths, tongues tangling just like Cas had described. Cas’ hips did a little grind against Dean’s.

Dean reached for the back door without breaking the kiss. When he got it open, he moved Cas and shoved him into the back seat. Cas scooted to the other side and spread his legs for Dean to fit in between.

Cas turned Dean’s head , beginning to kiss and lick the spot Dean had described. Dean pushed up Cas’ shirt to pinch one nipple. Cas groaned, “Oh god…”

Dean moved down to undo Cas’ pants. He dug around and pulled Cas’ very hard cock out. He licked the head, then sucked it into his mouth. Cas gripped Dean’s hair in his fist, moaning.

Dean gave it his all. He was kinda proud of his lack of a gag reflex, and Cas sure seemed to like it. He played with Cas’ nipple while he blew him, and it wasn’t long before Dean was swallowing cum. He licked the last of it off Cas’ softening cock, then looked up at Cas with a grin.

Cas was gasping for breath. When he could talk, he smiled at Dean.

“Nice! I need to reciprocate.”

Dean started to say he didn’t have to, but Cas cut him off.

“I live five minutes from here, and I have condoms and lube.”

Dean made it to the apartment in three.

[dhbelzinone]

𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓯𝓲𝓵𝓮𝓼 (ᴬⁿᵈ ᴬˡˡ ᵀʰᵃᵗ ᴶᵃᶻᶻ)

𝓞𝓞𝓒 𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓸 𝓟𝓸𝓼𝓽

Hi hello I’ve never done anything like this before but it looks like there’s a blog specifically for ooc intros so here’s my best. ♡

Hi my name is Sal, I go by they/them/theirs, and I’m a med school reject turned gender studies honors student. I’m currently working on a thesis about sex worker rights so I’m balls deep I can be in the industry without the good money and devoting the rest of my undergrad career to fighting for their right to make theirs. I’m also an artist and run an indie if y'all wanna see more of my muse’s roots. Bel’s been my emotional support muse for a good while and has gone through more character development than I have my entire lifetime, so although she may seem like a big softie compared to the rest of the muse crowd here, here’s hoping she can hold her own!

Bel Zinone Abridged: Devil’s Highway Vers.

Her mama is an undocumented immigrant who fought tooth and nail for her piece of the American dream. Much of this was due to the help of a vigilante organization that helped her flee from Europe, but her reputation was volatile enough to charm them into seeking out her membership.

Thanks to their international influence, she was able to keep running with the Wallflowers across the continental U. S. She soon settled down with her husband, a high profile (albeit black market) doctor, and raised her two children beneath the protection of the empire they built all the way from the city underbelly up to the high class elite.

Bel and her older brother Beau were relatively spoiled children until he left for the army and the family secrets started to leak. Adolescence was already hard on her, with her elusive sexuality and growing dysphoria yanking her identity chains, but as soon as she discovered her parents’ reign over the criminal underground, Bel doubted the authenticity of her upbringing and fled to the southern inlands with the resolve to make it on her own.

Little did she know that she’d find herself right smack in the middle of a gang war of the very nature she tried to escape. However, this time was going to be different. She wasn’t going to be at their mercy.

They were going to be at hers, for she offered one of the few medical resources in the entire desert that didn’t come with the liability of a paper trail.

In the meantime, she floats between bunny ranches, strip clubs, and the odd burlesque show. When she’s not working, she can be found frequenting bars, on Instagram, streaming her cam, tinkering with her Widowmaker, or looking for a good meatball sub.

Whereas she would’ve used her earnings to run as far away as possible from her past, Bel ironically finds solace in the lucrative lifestyle, calling a cozy studio apartment home and splurging on the occasional odds and ends that make the closeted queer life she embodies just a bit more bearable.

Relationships for her? I’m not gonna lie: despite the past rancor she’s had for her parent’s occupations, she genuinely wants to help and support people, patching them up so they’re good to go back to whatever they were doing without judgement. Her view of the life’s changed and she’s come to understand the institutions (as well as will) that brings people to commit and run with crime. She’s yet to make peace with her family, but she’s come to terms with the blood she’s from and wants to make a difference in peoples’ lives. That being said: 

Give her your tired, your poor, your horny

A job @ Paradise, maybe? Maybe she could learn about the surrounding gang activity from other dancers / affiliates or Kimi when she applies?

Maybe she could’ve known Esmeray from medical school?

Seeing other muses in the medical field are inspiring some joint black market clinic potential~

Maybe she could’ve known Rodrigo from when he was doing his work, possibly from Backpage before it got shut down?

On this note, maybe Nikki too? (Hello~)

If there are any other queer muses around, maybe they can shine a community light on her? Potentially while she’s yanking a shank out of their shoulder?

If there are any single muses too, I’d love to develop a ride-or-die boo or friend for her.

Last but not least, if we still need prospects and other make characters I’d be game af to have Beau go AWOL and trade his fatigues for a potential patch (maybe through the Mexican border with Nikki, if she’s gonna hate Bel asdkjfnaks). ♡

𝓐𝓹𝓹𝓵𝓲𝓬𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION: Sal (24) they/them/theirs ; PST ACTIVITY: I'm in my last year of undergraduate study and will have class three days a week on average. I'll be online at least once a day and will be able to devote most of my week to nitty-gritty writing as well as plotting. PASSCODE: angel wings and/or crown MISCELLANEOUS: I've been running an indie oc rp blog for almost five years (same character @belzinone) and this will be my first group/skeleton/rl fc rp. I'm worried about being ignored/left behind/largely uninvolved in threads and plotting because that has largely been my experience in discord server rp groups, but y'all seem to have good administration going on so I'm not feeling so worried anymore. I look forward to the experience if you'll have me. :)

IN CHARACTER

NAME: Bel Zinone DATE OF BIRTH: (March/08/1991) (28) PLACE OF BIRTH: San Francisco, California GENDER/PRONOUNS: demifemme｜she/her/hers AFFILIATION: N/A RANKING: N/A OCCUPATION: freelance sex worker, hitwoman, & black market physician FACE CLAIM: Antonia Thomas

BIOGRAPHY

triggers: domestic violence, murder, abuse, misandry, severe burns, sex work Her mother was an undocumented immigrant, fleeing from her orphaned past and domestic abuse in the Italian slums. A headstrong, promiscuous, and violent woman, it wasn't long until she found sisterhood amongst a like-minded gang of vigilante women with international influence called the Wallflowers, well-versed in her infamy and coming to her aid while she was pregnant with her son and escaping prosecution for murdering her husband. Risa Zinone, codenamed La Eglantina, docked in New York city, giving birth to her son Beau Zinone and raising him with the rest of her sorella while continuing her bloodthirsty occupation of murdering abusive men and liberating survivors from their regimes of terror. However, one could only run with the Wallflowers for so long before beginning to challenge their belief system, however righteous it claimed to be. The murderer mother fell in love with the black market doctor who saved her life and once again fled across the country and retired so she could live a peaceful life with him, safe from the constraints and watchful eyes of the sisterhood, but not without heavy cost. She suffered major burns to her entire body by a fire and had to undergo near total facial reconstruction, a miracle performed by the love of her life. In exchange for her life, she'd no longer bear resemblance to her children. Thus Bel Zinone was born on the opposite side of the country as her brother, hilly San Franscisco. She was a wildly rambunctious child, calmed only by the sounds of her brother's guitar strings and a profound interest in her father's work. Little did she know, her living was earned via the illicit means of her parents and their continued association with the country's underbelly. Shambled by the loss of one of their most valuable members, the Wallflowers had undergone a civil war. A near complete overhaul of organizational structure and creed had taken place, leading to an abysmal divide between the matriarchal supremacy of days past and the new order. Enemies of the new regime all around the world were sought out, assassinated, and replaced with a stronger, more diverse membership. During that witch hunt, Risa was reinstated into the Wallflowers with her husband Dmitri and the power couple ruled the pacific branch. The Zinone's hid their criminal affiliations well. Dmitri, a renowned surgeon specializing in the central nervous system, Risa, an uptown socialite who moonlighted cabaret clubs as a jazz singer. Their children had a generous, almost spotless adolescence until Beau graduated high school and joined the military. He was an upstanding, self-righteous man, yet his fatigues all but killed the respect his little sister had for him. As the Zinone siblings grew up, their parents had to try all that much harder to hide their criminal affiliations, often leaving the two with ample bonding time and hiding various criminal survival skills (like how to fight and use firearms among other things) under the guise of "street smarts". Combined with her surfacing struggles with her sexuality and gender identity, Beau's abandonment was very hard on Bel. Her high school antics began to resemble those of her mother during her youth, starting fights, finishing others' fights, and getting dress coded nearly every day. If not for physical altercations, the young lady spent most of her time in the principal's office for getting into arguments with teachers and staff over technicalities in her STEM courses and exposing discrimination in curriculums and attitudes throughout. If not for her parents' powerful influence, she never would've dodged juvie, let alone made it to college. Fortunately, she found her calling and started settling down as soon as her father invited her to his workplace in the hospital. College was a breeze for her, even as a fierce insistence to be independent led to her paying her own tuition. She was no party animal or sorority sister, but the continuing troubles she had with her sexuality and gender identity pushed her towards casual sex work and the porn industry when work-study wasn't enough. Bel was steadily making her way through adult life, planning to devote the rest of it to medicine like her father. However, as she started having to use her special "survival skills" more and more, she slowly began to realize there was more to her parents than she thought. The Wallflowers were growing in influence, and La Eglantina's daughter was growing a bounty on her head as well. By the time she cornered her parents with the truth, she was already well into medical school and bore nods of her mother's pseudonym and her father's occupation on her back. The betrayal she felt when her brother left her resurfaced as she uncovered her parents lies, spurring her to cut her familial ties and live her own life exclusively by her own means. Bel rejected her father's footsteps in favor of sex work, something she pursued entirely of her own volition, and eventually found herself amongst the "bunny ranches" in Las Vegas, where her life in the crossfire between the Sinners and Jokers would begin. CHARACTER QUOTE: "Do no harm but take no shit." CHARACTER ANTHEM: Half God Half Devil｜In This Moment

EDIT: Risa Zinone fled from Europe as a result of Romani persecution.

P.S.: I reiterate that this is my first group/skeleton/rl fc rp. This is all pretty overwhelming so please have patience with me and for those of y’all who have a lot of experience with these things, please help me out <3

[fanficmoi]

The Fool By The Seaside Chp.3

Paul didn’t go back to the beach for a week. He tried to distract himself from all thought of the merman. MerMAN. Paul wasn’t queer, half fish or not. Yet, at night in his dreams he couldn’t escape the image of John being pleasured by Paul’s hand in his tail. It was a gorgeous sight, and Paul had woken up many times with the effects of it clear on his body. But it couldn’t be! Paul had always liked birds, had never so much as looked at a boy twice. Not even Elvis. Yet, here he was getting hard over a merman. Which he figured was even worse because John wasn’t even human. And yet, those cries of anguish that had followed Paul as he ran away? They had sounded pretty damn human.

Those cries haunted Paul as well, and he cursed himself as time went by. He had used John, made him trust Paul and then abandoned him. God, he was such an arse. He had been selfish, and he doubted John would ever want to see him again.

And Paul was right. When he finally gathered enough strength to go back to the beach, John wasn’t there. So Paul sang a song, but John didn’t come. He stayed there until nightfall and his merman never appeared. He left feeling distraught.

But he came back the next day, and sang a different song. But John didn’t show up. And he didn’t show up the next day either, or the next.

Shit. Paul had really screwed up.

“You let him do what!?” Stuvartk exclaimed, moving his hands away from his sculpture.

John groaned and buried his head in his arms. He was visiting his friend Stuvartk, who wasn’t a Marrow but a Marine Man. They were very similar to Marrow, but they didn’t have a tail. They still had fins and gills but they had two legs. John had always envied Stu’s legs. If he had them, he could go to the human world. Stu had several times tried to explain to him that it didn’t work like that, Marine Men legs were covered by a thin coat of an epidermis very similar to a jellyfish’s, and it would make it impossible to walk unless they ripped it away. Which would obviously be very painful. But John never listened.

Right now John was thrown upon a bed made of a polished rock that served as a bed for Stuvartk, his tail curled up and his head buried in his arms. He had come to Stu hoping to find sympathy and comfort, but of course his friend would yell at him instead.

And yell he did, “How could you be so stupid, John?” Stu swam closer, “He could have killed you!”

“No!” John’s head snapped up, “Paul isn’t like that!” Wasn’t he? He first had wanted to touch John’s tail, but then? Maybe he would have wanted to take a piece of it with him.

Stu scoffed, “How would you know, John? You barely know this ‘Paul!’ For Poseidon’s sake, he’s a human! Humans want only one thing from Marrows,”He leaned close, “Their beauty.”

John flinched back and curled up even more. He buried his head in his tail and put his arm around it.

Stu sighed, “John, you know I’m right.”

John didn’t speak.

Stu sat close to his friend and brushed his floating hair with his hand, “You have to forget about this man. Stay away from the surface, you know the rules.”

John made a keening noise, “But he sang to me.” Singing meant affection, everyone knew that.

Stu put his slimy arm on his friend’s shoulder, “Singing is not special for humans, John. They do it all the time.”

John was shaking as he launched himself at his friend and buried his head on his shoulder, “I miss him.” He wailed.

Stu hugged his young friend, “Don’t worry, John. You will forget about him soon.”

Paul had decided that singing the same old songs to make John come to him wasn’t going to work, he made up his mind to write a special song. A song just for John.

It took him awhile, but every free second he had he spent writing. He wrote on the beach, thinking about their encounters and about what John meant to him. He wanted the merman to know that Paul cared not only for the creature’s beauty, but also for his personality. He wanted to get to know John. Even if that made him queer.

Finally, he had it. A song fit for demonstrating his affection. Maybe it was too much affection, but it was honest. And John deserved honesty.

Wanna give you my heart

Wanna tell you my story

Go and take it to another level, you and me

Wanna give you my word

Let me give you my promise

I will try to make it happen

You can guarantee

Hand in hand

Walking through life and making our plans

Hand in hand

John perked up, this was a new song. It was beautiful. He was near the beach, picking up shells for his Auntin’s collection, but he was also there because he wanted to be close to Paul. He had heard him everyday, and had longed to go to him everyday, but he had controlled himself. Yet this song was something different, it was...honest, Paul sang it not like his other ‘love songs’ but like he actually meant it. John was sure that it was for him.

Without meaning to, he swam closer to the surface to hear better.

Paul kept on singing, pouring his feelings out.

Let me into your light

Wanna show you my passion

We can make each other happy if we get it right

Hand in hand

Walking through life and making our plans

Hand in hand

Taking our time and making a stand

We can make this dream come true

Only if we wanted to

We can make this dream come true

Only word we understood

Everything in life is planned

Can we make this dream come true?

John could see Paul through the water now. He closed his eyes at the beauty of the song. A little fish bumped into him, it looked at him with knowing eyes.

“I can’t.” John told him, his heart beating fast in his chest.

The fish swam around John in circles, telling him that the Merrow should make up his mind already.

John groaned. The fish softly bumped him again. Have courage, it told him, be brave.

Paul had closed his eyes, he didn’t want to see the empty sea. He had been so sure that his song would work! But Paul didn’t stop, he couldn’t give up.

Wanna give you my heart

Wanna tell you my story

Go and take it to another level, you and me

Hand in hand

Walking through life and making our plans

Hand in hand

Hand in hand

Finally, the song ended. Paul wondered if he should sing it again as he opened his eyes but lost his breath as he saw a pair of familiar dark eyes peering at him over the water.

He stood up frantically, “John!” He called, but slowed down as he saw the merman move back. “John.” He said, “You came. God, you came.”

John did nothing.

Paul squared his shoulder, “Listen, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for running away. I know letting me touch you was a big deal and it took a lot of trust, and I was an arsehole about it.” He kneeled down to better look at John’s eyes, “I was just afraid, not of you, but of myself and how I felt.” He looked down, “I didn’t want to admit that I liked touching your tail not because it was a foreign thing, but because I was touching you.” He saw John emerge a bit more from the water so Paul kept going, “And I meant what I said, you’re beautiful, John. But that’s not why I’ve been here for days singing to you. I sing to you because I want to get to know you, beyond the outer beauty and into the inner.”

John blinked. That was a lot of words. He understood most of them , but some were too foreign. Still, he had to smile at what he did understood. Paul was sorry! Paul didn’t want him for his tail, he wanted to know John. He could hear a voice that resembled Stu’s saying that John shouldn’t trust the human, that he was lying. But John trusted Paul’s words to be true.

Paul continued, “Give me another chance, John. I won’t run away again.”

John got very close to the sand, “Promise?” He whispered in a hopeful tone.

Paul smiled and offered a hand, “Promise.”

The Merrow grinned and took Paul’s hand, using it to haul himself to the beach surface, half his tail still in the water. He put his arms around the human in joy, grunting when Paul fell due to the large weight.

Paul laughed even as his back hit the sand. He hugged John back, “Thank you.” He said.

John raised himself on his elbows so he was looking at Paul’s chest, he dragged himself further up so that he now looked at his face. He examined it for a few moments. He was rejoicing, but he also felt drops of insecurity clouding his happiness. He had to give Paul an incentive to not run away again, but what? He had an idea and he moved away to grasp at his belt. Paul frowned at him.

John grasped one of the blue stones in his belt and yanked it off the chain. Paul gasped beside him and gaped as John offered it to him with a wet, shy hand.

“No, I can’t possibly-” Paul protested.

“Please.” The merman interrupted him, “I have many stones.” The blues had belonged to his mother, to a lovely hair net that she had worn. But John had used it as a belt, and it wouldn’t look incomplete without of of its components.

He moved his hand closer, “For song.”

Paul took it, it was smooth and heavy. He put it in the pocket of his jacket. “Thanks, John.”

The merman smiled, and Paul didn’t flinch away from the sharp teeth, he just smiled back.

Little did they know, there was somebody watching them from the distance. Observing with disbelieving eyes, was Paul’s brother, Michael.

[sol1056]

the consequences of unexplored implications

One of the hardest things to do in writing (above and beyond all the regular hard things) is recognizing the unexplored implications. Some of these can be more obvious with some simple stats: how many characters are male vs female? how many white characters get speaking parts or are named, vs how many non-white? 

Others take a bit more thought, like realizing the only female characters are unnamed prostitutes, or the only Hispanic characters are janitors. Sometimes it means untangling a well-meaning attempt to subvert a racist trope (ie uncivilized/inferior primitives) that actually ended up unwittingly in a completely different but equally racist trope (ie the noble savage). 

And then there’s a really tricky one to realize, that at least in my experience needs a big-picture view of the entire story. Only then can you see how seemingly independent parts, when overlapped, result in unfortunate implications. 

It’s this last one that I’m starting to twig on, in VLD. And it comes from a combination of a particularly pernicious trope in American media, the canonical relationship between Keith and Shiro, and the purpose of repetition in stories.

the bury your gays trope

Basically, this trope shows up when a story establishes a happy queer relationship, and immediately decides one of the two must die. 

Often, especially in older works (to the extent that they are found in older works, of course), gay characters just aren't allowed happy endings. Even if they do end up having some kind of relationship, at least one half of the couple, often the one who was more aggressive in pursuing a relationship, thus "perverting" the other one, has to die at the end. ... Nowadays, when opinions on sexuality have shifted somewhat, this justification will often be attempted via Too Good for This Sinful Earth. Sometimes it's because the Magical Queer has died in a Heroic Sacrifice so that the straights may live. 

(Also, for some reason, it’s a particular favorite to have one-half of a lesbian couple killed by a stray bullet. Google it.)

Honestly, this trope is so pervasive, it’s damn hard watching popular media. You end up constantly braced for the inevitable death (sometimes followed by the surviving partner going totally evil, a la Willow in BtVS). Well, unless the relationship is toxic or controlling, and then the implication is that het relationships are the only healthy ones, but that’s a slightly different trope. 

In short: if you’re queer, happy endings are not for you. And if you do manage to get a happy ending (ie Bill in Dr Who), you had to suffer ten times as much as anyone else to get there. Compared to het relationships in the same story, it’s always the queer couples that suffer the most. One way or another.

canonical and word-of-god Shiro/Keith

Assumption: Keith and Shiro have an emotional bond much deeper than any couple we’ve seen on-screen. The very least one could say is that they have a deep relationship, albeit presumably platonic. (I should also note that I do consider ‘platonic’ love to be an equal to ‘romantic’ love; it’s just a different type of consummation.) 

Apart from that, there’s word-of-god: the EPs’ comments (ie “beloved mentor”), VA interviews, and various directors/artists posting sheith images with romantic vibes. Yes, that’s all non-canonical, but the message is: if you read this platonic as simply pre-romantic, well, the series’ creators are there with you. 

I will note, I don’t consider this as representation. In canon or it doesn’t count! (Looking at you, Rowling.) Still, word-of-god is clearly impacting the fandom’s interpretations of the relationship.  

using repetition in stories

The try/fail cycle and repetition have a core element in common: an event repeats until the character learns what they need to achieve victory/resolution. The difference is that in try/fail, the character should move up each time. In repetition, the character must re-experience a lesson they failed the first time.

To compare: 

try/fail: the antagonist has a black belt! get white belt, challenge antagonist, fail. okay, green belt! challenge antagonist, fail. next belt!

repetition: the antagonist has a black belt! test for white belt, fail. test for white belt again, fail. test for white belt again... 

When the overall plot’s try/fail is too similar, readers will see the protagonist as too stupid to quit (or change tactics). Repetition works best as a recurring motif: event A, parallel event B, character learns and changes, we have development, and this happens in support of, or alongside, the plot’s try/fail cycle.

Example: if Lance were to flirt with ten different girls and they all shot him down, that’s try/fail. His development is via repetition: it’s a repeating pattern with Allura, until he learns to take a different approach.

Here’s the important thing: like try/fail, repetition is a lesson to be learned. Most readers assume repetition means the previous instances were failures. If the character does the exact same thing and this time it goes beautifully, expect some side-eying from your more astute readers. 

But at the same time, if the character had no control over the outcome in previous instances, expect frustration instead. Readers will intuit the story is indulging in a kind of victim-blaming: the character had no power to ‘do it right’ before, yet the repetition implies that failure was their fault.

And that brings us to how these three parts, combined, make me see some seriously unfortunate implications in VLD.

all three together

So we have sort of this gray-area kinetic-platonic, potential-romantic, relationship. And twice now, one-half of that relationship has been, well, not killed, but sort of killed. Gone, vanished. The other half is left behind, grieving. It’s implied Keith fell apart the first time, and then we got to see it on-screen, the second time. 

It doesn’t actually matter whether S3/S4 Shiro is the ‘real’ one. If he’s not, then we have a third loss. If he is -- but compromised as a tool of the empire -- then it’s still a loss, if a psychological one. He’s there, it’s just not... him, anymore.

In other words, three times that a potential-queer relationship has been put through a Kill Your Gays maneuver that ended up being just a ploy. 

Done once, it could’ve been a subversion of the trope. Aha, the writers could say, we didn’t kill anyone, instead, we brought him back! Yes, one-half of the couple (and later, we find out, both halves) suffered during the separation, but since that’s mostly backstory, it’s all good, they’re happy now. Carry on, Jeeves.

Done twice, the writers not only re-triggered a possible KYG interpretation, they also tripped over the issue of repetition. Remember, the repetition is a lesson -- something must be learned, to prevent its recurrence. 

The problem is removing Shiro leaves Keith to experience the aftermath. By default, he takes the protagonist’s role, and according to the literary convention, he has to learn something to prevent a repeat. But in neither instance -- the Kerberos mission, or Shiro’s disappearance from Black -- does the story give any indication that Keith had a direct impact on the outcome. He did nothing to cause either, therefore there’s nothing he could feasibly do to fix either. 

That makes it especially infuriating that the third time around, one could conceivably say: gee, Keith kept looking, until he found this not-Shiro. If not-Shiro does any damage, that can be traced back to Keith. 

On its own, that could be an interesting dilemma. Taken in light of repetition, not so good. The unfortunate implication is he should’ve learned from the previous two times, and his failure to do so is the reason he ended up here.   

what’s the lesson, then?

Is it: stop caring for this person? Is it: loving someone that much means you have to suffer? Is it: you can’t just be happy? Is it: if you want to try for happiness, you have to earn the right to it? 

How is it that Lance can just flirt, make peace, and develop a deep friendship with Allura -- and neither are forced to undergo repeated trauma in the process? Or that Pidge has just one scene of implied loss, and it’s over and resolved in the same episode? Yet meanwhile Keith -- the only one with a same-sex relationship of significant depth -- has to lose, and lose, and lose? 

Maybe the writers figured: well, it’s not really death, it doesn’t count, let’s go ahead and yank that chain a second and third time. The story is blind to how their plot-twists aren’t all that better. It's still the same old bullshit: if you’re queer, you don’t get the happy ending. And if you do, it can’t be the simple meet-like-love of a het relationship. You’ve got to suffer for it.  

But the story they’ve written, and the choices they’ve made, tell me: these implications are not on their radar. Worse, I end up feeling like they don’t care enough to even put it on their radar.

That’s why it really bothers me when the EPs say they’re pushing for queer representation. Because if the writers can’t even see the implications of doing this to a deeply caring platonic relationship between two people of the same gender, like hell if I want to see what they’d do to an actual, onscreen, queer relationship. 

If you are rising up right now to insist ‘this is what the story demanded!’, I strongly recommend you go read this post: this is a jar full of major characters. Yes, that post is talking about black characters vs white, but it goes for any marginalized group, including lgbtqia.

Bottom line: no story demands anything. You’re the goddamn writer; you control the story. If you write shit, you’re a shitty writer. 

Think harder. Dig deeper. Do better. 

[ourimpavidheroine]

In light of the horrible, awful, gut wrenching dissappointment I and the rest of the Johnlock Conspiracy just suffered, I console myself with your beautiful fanfic. And though I still have hope that a fourth episode will, rectify things. I truly am very thankful for your stories. No games, no lies, just lovely characters and beautifully written stories. So, really, thank you Impavid. You are a gift.

Ah, I haven’t had a chance to watch it yet. That being said, I am not a Steven Moffat fan; in fact, he’s the entire reason I stopped watching Dr. Who. Moffat can write a tight plot, sure; however, what he cannot write are characters. He’s flat out awful at writing characters, which is what happens when you are a misogynistic and homophobic jerk who thinks that you are above any kind of critique. When you as a writer have to depend on your actors to bring any kind of warmth and humanity to the characters, then that should tell you something, you know? Chris Carter from The X-Files was the same way; it was the sublime Vince Gilligan who brought Mulder and Scully to life, not Chris Carter, who was all about the conspiracies and the aliens.

I will watch it; my late wife loved the show and I watch it for her sake, at this point. But let’s just say that I have never had any kind of expectation that John and Sherlock would ever be a canon couple. Certainly not with Moffat at the wheel. He has gleefully and knowingly queerbaited with those characters; obviously, in his mind, queerbaiting is not only acceptable but is a clever and funny thing to do. When a showrunner does that, then you need to accept that queer relationships are nothing more than a joke to them and are never going to be endgame. (And yes, I am aware that Gatiss is gay; that certainly does not preclude him from queerbaiting, sorry to say.)

There is a great deal of really wonderful transformative work out there that, as far as I am concerned, not only fixes the original but is better than the original as well. (Here I will give a shout out to my friend @fuckyeahfightlock, who writes some sublime Sherlock fanfic - not for the kids, as most of it is quite explicit, but also very well written and far far far more than just mindless smut. Seriously, if you are of age and if sweet, hot and dirty Johnlock - as well as some other pairings -  is what you are looking for, go check her out on AO3.)

That is one thing I can guarantee: no queerbaiting from me, and no games or lies. I’ve got no interest at all in writing that kind of thing. I am deeply invested in characters, for sure, and in making their relationships - be they romantic, familial or otherwise - as real as possible. You won’t get Moffat’s incredibly tight plot twists from me, that is true! But I won’t yank your chain, either. That’s a promise.

[house-of-crows]

Finally Processing Last June

You TRAUMATIZED me.

Nearly a year later, and the first time I’ve REALLY let myself grieve... cry about it, mourn, away from the house away from you.... and I’m starting to realize those lingering pulling sensations aren’t love. And it’s not hatred. 

It’s fucking TRAUMA. 

So let’s address it. 

4/24/2019. 

The day I got my T letter and the very first vial. You sat with me in the fucking office of my endocrinologist and watched me shiver and shake and bawl my fucking eyes out because I really wasn’t expecting to get it that day. We both knew it was going to happen, she’d said it was going to happen, but I didn’t LET myself believe it AND YOU FUCKING KNEW WHY.

I told you, again, that day that I was terrified of getting the rug pulled out from under me. I told you, again, on the way to Target, that I thought I was dreaming. I’d been fighting since I came out for this, one way or another. I’d wrestled with myself, and my partners, and the state of Texas. I did everything in my power, and it wasn’t enough, and then I chose moving in with YOU over moving to fucking California, and fuck~ here it finally fucking was. 

5/7/2019. My first shot. Tuesday night. I remember Villains pt 2 was playing. I was shaking, I was panicking, and you gave me the shot. Helped calm me down after, told me how well I did. I wanted to skip work, but I didn’t. 

Two weeks later and you were DEMANDING I go with you to therapy. 

---

6/5/2019 You told me you were having doubts. That you needed time and space to figure things out.  I took off my ring. It didn’t feel right, somehow. I started wearing it on a chain instead... just like you did. ---

6/7/2019 Therapy session. I thought it went ok, but there was doubt. I didn’t know how to combat it. She was asking leading questions, favoring you, making me out to be unreasonable for having touch as my major love language. I think you’d already decided you were completely asexual, and didn’t want to tell me. You kept stumbling around it, saying shit about mirrors and how you didn’t have desire of your own, you just “borrowed your partner’s.”  I didn’t know how to tell you I’d already put the first payment on a ring. how when there’d been light at the end of my transitory tunnel I’d decided I wanted to propose after top surgery when I FINALLY looked like myself... and ask if maybe, just maybe, we could have our commitment on our three year anniversary.  I never got the chance.

---

6/18/2019 The first of many panic attacks to come. I left work early, walked home in the dark. I was aching, and limping, and I barely got home before you did. I hated myself for how my heart yanked when I saw you pull in. 

I still do.

---

6/22/2019 I spent the day on my bike, trying to avoid you. Trying to avoid everyone and everything. I had three major breakdowns on the lake. I didn’t want to go back to Texas without my name change, and I knew I couldn’t stay in Minnesota without a major change. I was stuck, I was trapped, and gods I was so, so fucking scared.... and the one person I thought I would ALWAYS be able to count on was the one shoving me away.

---

6/23/2019 You told me that you thought I’d murder you; “wake up with a knife to my throat” if you’d ever said anything bad about my transition. Told me you “knew it was irrational” but the fear I saw in your eyes fucking BROKE me, again. 

I’d never yelled at you. Never lifted my hand to you. Went out of my way to tell you when I knew I was being angry, or irrational, or afraid... suppressed my wilder emotions, did my best not to be possessive, or needy, or jealous, to let you choose and keep your own friends not to intrude on those spaces so you had things that were YOURS- 

And it wasn’t enough.  It was never enough. I wasn’t enough.  Not good enough for the other half of my soul.... the one I bled poetry for. Ripped open my wounds and eviscerated myself to deal with the trauma and HEAL and it wasn’t fucking enough. Told you things I hadn’t told anyone, so you could really say you had informed consent before getting into a relationship with me.  ...wrote you love songs.

I should have left the first time you laughed. fuck why didn’t i. I don’t know... I think I should have.  I wish I had.

---

6/25/2019 You trapped me in the car on the way home from Mayo. I was in shock. I wasn’t processing any of it.... just that you were breaking up with me FOR GOOD. You made your decision, it was final, and you wanted me gone. It was real, and it was permanent, and you didn’t want to try anything else. That was the first night I slept on the couch. I wished I’d had the strength to do something, anything, to change your mind.

---

6/27/2019 One of my final appointments for my knee injury. I took you out to a nice late lunch/early dinner. I don’t know what fucking possessed me... I wanted to feel NORMAL.

---

6/29/2019 I asked for a reprieve.  Nowhere was open and there was nowhere for me to go that I could afford. Six weeks... just six weeks, to get my papers and try to get out.

If only it had been that easy.

Somewhere, you shoved me into the basement because you didn’t want to look at me anymore. It was like living in a dungeon. Every single time I fell asleep there, on a stack of foam mattress toppers and random bullshit, I remembered that we were going to turn it into our den. Bright colors, soft things, warmth. Family.  I laid in the half-light from those stupid leftover curtains and wished like hell I could actually cry. I just felt numb in a never ending cycle of panic and fear and numb. Somewhere in there, I called the crisis hotline, looking for a way out.... knowing if I stayed, I was going to kill myself.

You fucking broke me.

---

7/1/2019

Met up with C for lunch. Discussed a lot of things, took my mind off you. It was... not good. But it was better.

---

7/3/2019 Another therapy appointment.  I still wonder if she told you to break up with me. Told you “it’s ok, there’s statistics to back you up~” just based on the shit you told me over those weeks. She told me I should have expected this.  She told me that I should have known better than to transition. The therapist you chose said that to my face.... and asked me again if I was sure I wasn’t really a girl.

I see Breakaway at Ed’s, and dance with C and the Realm. We spend time on the river. Something bit me. Less than 36 hours later my entire arm is numb and I can’t feel anything. 

I end up in the ER, and only by the grace of Sammi... because you didn’t want to help, and you didn’t even want to let them use your car at first. I started to hate you, then.

---

7/15/2019 The first “ok” day I’ve had since the breakup and it was speak with C at 3 pipes. Still upset, still angry, struggling to find my peace. 

---

7/17/2019 Queer Dance Party at Ed’s. I feel free, for the first time in too fucking long. I dance with C and Cam, and something finally slots into place. I’m safe, and I have people who care about me. I spend the night being held, safe, and cared for.

---

7/19/2019 You try to give me an ultimatum. I want to hurt you, like I’ve been hurt, but all I do is go back to the basement. It’s easier, but I’m wishing for the safety and comfort of Anywhere But Here. I ask for my rings back. You seem pissed off that I want them... but fuck if I’ll leave that symbol in your hands when you’ve ripped out my heart so many times over the past two months, with not a single sign of remorse.

I call the Realm.  They agree that I can move in.

---

7/23/2019 My first actual rave, and damn it I looked GOOD.

---

7/25/2019 I was breaking. Shattering under the weight of it all. Struggling to get out, trying to find literally ANYWHERE that would accept me for as long as it would take to get my fucking name changed and actually get back to Texas. I tried so fucking hard to find an AirBnB or a hotel that wouldn’t take my entire top surgery fund. It didn’t seem like you cared at all. You just wanted me gone.

I wanted my life back... ANY life back. And if I couldn’t have the old one, damn it I was going to MAKE one.

---

8/15/2019

My hearing. My name change.

It felt like a hollow victory. We were supposed to be celebrating... you looked like you couldn’t wait to get away from me. I wish it had been anyone there but you... your presence mades me sick, now.

---

8/16/2019

I had my labs at Mayo. C took me instead. I was grateful... but I was shaking in the endocrinologist’s office. How did my life go to pieces so fucking quickly? HOW? 

She asked me if I felt safe at home, and I honestly had no answer. 

Where even was home, anyway?

---

8/21/2019 Last day at the old job, and I swore I was going home to Duke.... and then the bitchy roommate moved out, and there was an empty room. It’s decided no, I will go VISIT Duke, and I will be staying right here in Winona.

I spend the night at Ed’s again, and see Ivory James and Anthony Worden and it was everything I needed right then.

---

9/22/2019

Dev comes to pick me up, and we ride on wings of Nahko Bear and Vienna Teng back down to Texas. I even drove a little bit, fancy that~ And I could feel the Morrígan’s wings spread around me... carrying me.

---

9/25-10/2/2019

I am with Duke, and the cats, and I got to see my friends, AND I got a new piercing. I came come to The Realm, spent time with the Goddess, and started rebuilding my sense of self worth, and unpacking a life. Again.

---

The fall was full of more music, more dancing, learning Flow Art, and picking up; and dropping; a few new lovers. Healing myself in the embrace of others who did, actually, want me. And made it VERY CLEAR that they wanted me.

I’m lucky enough that one of them STILL wants me.

---

Winter passed... I went hiking. I delved deeper into my spirituality. and I felt the Wheel turning under and around me. I’m still standing, fuck you.

---

I was part of a drag show. I dyed my hair. I picked up new skills. I celebrated the Solstice. I started a new job. I got health insurance. I put my life back together and I did it on my own two feet and FUCK YOU for trying to make me feel less. 

FUCK YOU for trying to make me feel needy, and over sexual. 

FUCK YOU for trying to make me out to be an abusive asshole for DARING to need my romantic partner in a physical way.

FUCK YOU for trying to make out my kinks to be abusive.

FUCK YOU for trying to imply that I would ever harm someone on purpose for SAYING SOMETHING TO ME.

FUCK YOU for literally every fucking thing you put me through you FUCKING ASSHOLE.

---

Maybe I won’t really heal until I leave Winona.

Maybe I don’t get to do more than exist until then.

But I’m still going to try.

[theessaflett]

Meredith: An Queer Faerie Story

Fairy tales.

What are they? What are they about? Who’s story do they tell?

There’s a comforting reliability to these old childhood stories, a knowledge that we already understand how these sorts of things usually go.

Once, in a far off land, there was a girl. Once, in a far off land, there was a boy. They loved each other very much, and were betrothed to marry in the spring. The boy was a farmer, the girl spun at the spinning wheel in her family’s cottage. Everything was good. Until the day that a witch arrived in the village. Until-

Wait. That’s not how this story goes. Let me try again.

Once, in a small village not so different from one such as this, there was a young woman, trapped in a tower by an evil stepmother. She had skin the colour of creamy milk, hair the colour of sun-kissed straw on a hot summer’s day. Her name was Leah, and she spent her days staring out of her only tiny window waiting for someone, anyone, to rescue her from her prison. One day a prince was riding by when his stallion, black as the darkest night, unexpectedly stopped and-

No, that doesn’t sound right either.

…You see, we are no longer in the world of farm boys, spinning wheels and wicked witches. Our twenty-first century lives are filled with computer screens and fast food chains, our lungs filled with the smell of exhaust fumes rather than manure. And yet, if you know where to look, the inexplicable still lingers. That flicker in the corner of your eye. A shadow where no shadow should be. This new kind of magic is just as likely to be found in a spark of electricity or the rumble of a pneumatic drill as it is in the sigh of a wave or the prick of a needle. And so, I think it might be time to tell you a new story. Are you sitting comfortably?

08:15

Once upon a time it was a very ordinary Monday morning.

We are in London. It is Spring. A wet, grey day, the type that British people are grimly proud about and yet still secretly hate. A young woman called Sara stood at the bus stop, looking up at the rain clouds and hoping it wouldn’t pour before her bus arrived. The only other person waiting beside her was a huddled figure, buried underneath an old-fashioned rain mac. “I’d stop wishing, if I were you,” the figure said suddenly, the crisp English accent revealing that she was a woman. “They’re funny like that. The rain will only come faster.” Sara frowned in confusion, surreptitiously trying to edge away from her odd, unexpected companion. “I’m sorry…They’re…?” “Oh. Of course, this is yesterday, isn’t it. Sorry about that. I’ll come back tomorrow.” “What do you mean, this is yesterday? Yesterday is yesterday.” “Of course it is,” said the figure kindly. “So sorry, I must have got it confused with last Tuesday. You should really buy an umbrella, Sara. You’re going to be soaked by the end of the day. And you really should stop absent-minded wishing. It’s a bad habit. After all, you never know who might be listening.” Sarah stared at the strange woman, face still obscured underneath the hood. “Sorry, how do you know my na-“ There was no-one there. She was alone at the bus stop. As if on cue, the rain started.   By the time her bus arrived, a very damp Sara had convinced herself that the whole thing was an over-tired hallucination. She hadn’t been getting much sleep recently, after all, and everyone knew that sleep was very important when it came to brains working properly. She squeezed on, head stuffed into a stranger’s armpit, and, for once, hoped that the rest of the day would be much more uninteresting.

13:20

Sara sat at in her cramped swivel chair, in front of her cramped desk, in her small, cramped office, her bizarre start to the morning mostly forgotten. Slightly higher up the food chain from the interns but barely more than an assistant, this was hardly what she’d imagined when she’d moved to London three years ago to ‘make it’ in the world of journalism. The whole ‘being a journalist’ thing hadn’t quite worked out and she’d found herself settling for trying to be an editor,  which in turn had turned into settling for being a proof reader for the Baking Recipes & Slimming Tips pages for an agonisingly dull magazine called Women’s Digest. It was a 2-page double spread. Sara wasn’t sure if anyone else saw the irony. She leant back for a moment, tired of trying to breathe some life into a very limp article about the three most interesting uses for raisins, and looked around. Photocopier hum, keyboard tapping, phone ringing, the smell of bad coffee and stale sweat.   How had this become her normal? The little girl that had once stared at stars and wrote fairy tales by torchlight, turned into an office drone? This was adulthood, Sara reminded herself with a sigh. This was most people’s normal. This was how rent was paid and milk was bought. She allowed herself one small 360 degree swivel on her chair before she got back to work, a tiny act of rebellion, rubbed her eyes and readied herself for more tedium. Except, rather than 572 words about raisins, there was something else entirely written on her computer screen.

IS IT TOMORROW YET?

Sara let out a yip of shock, frozen in surprise as she stared at the words. The words, looking suspiciously innocuous, stared back. She looked up, wildly searching for anyone laughing, giggling, anything to suggest that this might be a weird prank. Nobody caught her eye. After all, she didn’t exactly have many close friends in this job. Certainly no-one that would go to the trouble of teasing her with a bizarre joke. Slowly, Sara shifted her gaze back to the question typed out by an unknown hand.

IS IT TOMORROW YET?

At a loss for anything else to do, Sara slowly reached down, tapped two letters and hit send.

NO

A pause, then a reply flashed up.

I’LL COME BACK LATER. REMEMBER TO EAT LUNCH

And just like that, the recipe for raisin bran was back.

19:18

Sara turned the key in the lock, pushed open her front door and sighed in relief that her drab little flat seemed to be exactly as she’d left it. After the weird sort of day she’d had she wouldn’t have counted out coming face to face with a massive tiger or some sort of weird portal into an alternate universe or…something. Still a little cautious, she went into the kitchen, pulled out a mug from the cupboard and switched on the kettle, pulling off her wet coat as the water started to boil. Sara turned to hang the coat on a chair and then, suddenly, there was a sensation like falling backwards and forwards at the same time, a dizzy blurring that caught her breath and stung her eyes. She reached out for something, anything, to steady her, thought that she was going to faint - and then, as suddenly as it had started, the feeling stopped. Sara stood there in the middle of the kitchen, heart racing, breath coming short, unsure of what she had just experienced. She was still holding the coat. But, she slowly realised with a sinking feeling in her stomach, it was now completely dry. The kettle was no longer boiling. She slowly turned to the window, somehow already knowing what she was about to see, and stared blankly at the morning sunlight streaming through the windowpane where early evening twilight should have been instead. It was still raining. “What the…” she whispered to herself, still frozen in place. “What the actual-“ Woodenly she pulled her phone from out of her pocket, then gazed uncomprehendingly at the date. “Tomorrow,” Sara breathed. “It’s tomorrow. But- how-” Suddenly, she knew what to do. Pulling her coat back on, grabbing her keys, she yanked open the front door and ran back down the street she had only walked up minutes earlier. Sara sprinted to the bus stop, lungs burning, feet slamming onto the wet pavement. “IT’S TOMORROW! IT’S TOMORROW NOW!” she shouted. “I DON’T KNOW HOW THE HELL YOU DID IT BUT IT’S TOMORROW NOW!” “There’s no need to yell.” The mysterious figure was huddled in her rain mac, now also holding an umbrella. “it was yesterday! I swear it was yesterday! Am I going mad? How can it be yesterday and then today? I mean today and then tomorrow? What? What is going on??” “Oh, of course. You still have no idea who I am. That’s annoying. Well, I bought you an umbrella. Cost a shilling but we’ll call it a gift.” She offered a bizarrely old-fashioned looking yellow umbrella, which Sara stared at for a second, beyond confused now, then switched back to the main matter at hand. “No, listen, it was - I was standing in my kitchen and it was the evening and now it’s tomorrow morning. How does that happen?” “I grew tired of waiting,” replied the woman. “I’m also getting tired of holding this umbrella. It’s customary to accept gifts when they’re offered, Sara.” At a loss for anything else to do, Sara took the umbrella, then opened it under the mysterious figure’s impatient gaze. “There. Now you’re less likely to catch a cold. Unless, of course, you fancy just getting the rain to stop.” “Gettin- What? I can’t stop the rain! What?! Who are you?”
“Oh, this really is getting annoying.” A face squinted out at her, seemingly appraising her, then sighed. “Okay. Since I’ve gone to the bother of speeding this all up a little bit I might as well get started in earnest. Would you like a cup of tea?”

Sarah found herself following the woman to a grimy cafe with laminated menus and booths that had seen better days. She hadn’t noticed it before despite standing daily at the bus stop that was apparently opposite…but decided not to follow that thought any further in an effort to avoid any more mental instability. A middle-aged man wearing a red and white checked apron wandered over, wiping a dirty looking mug with an even dirtier looking rag. “All right, love? Same as usual?” Sarah looked up from propping the wet umbrella on the seat next to her and waited blankly for the other woman to speak before realising in shock that the man was addressing her. “Er, I haven’t actually-“ she started, trailing off as the man gave a grunt and nodded to her mysterious booth partner. ` “First time today then? Figured it would be one of these days.” “Yes, Sara and I are here to have a bit of a chat. We may need quite a lot of tea.” “I’ll put the kettle on. Would be good to have this rain stop for a bit, eh?” He winked at Sara as he headed back to the counter, a reassuring aside that did nothing to put her at ease. “Sorry, but what is going on? I’m really, really confused and just…well…” She trailed off, unsure as to what else she was. The woman opposite her finally pushed her hood down and untied the massive rain coat, surprising Sara as she did so. Quite the opposite from the mad-looking old woman she realised she’d been half expecting to see, this was a woman maybe in her early thirties, braided hair pulled back into a intricate tail, rich brown eyes staring at hers with a hint of humour. She was dressed, Sarah could see now, in a immaculate navy-blue suit and tie, just a little damp from the rain. “I know the creepy-old-man raincoat gives the wrong idea,” she said apologetically, “But when you’ve paid this much for a suit you don’t want to ruin it by getting it endlessly wet.” “Endlessly? It’s only been raining for, like, two days,” Sarah said, aware that she hadn’t really picked the most unusual part in all of this but deciding that it was best to start somewhere. “For you, maybe,” said the smartly dressed woman, sighing as she straightened her paisley-print tie. “Some of us don’t quite experience the world in such a…linear fashion. I’m Meredith. Have we really not even done that yet?” “..Sara,” Sara managed weakly. “Yes, yes, I know. First of all, let me apologise for dragging you forward a little bit. It wasn’t the most polite move but everyone is very clear on this being the day that we have this conversation and I had really just had had enough of waiting around.” “Everyone? Hang on, waiting around? You’ve been, like, stalking me?” “Stalking is a…harsh word. Believe it or not we do actually know each other very well indeed, although clearly not right at this moment.” “What, we’re, like, friends? I’ve never met you!” Meredith looked at her a moment with an uncomfortably penetrating gaze. “Hm. This is going to be a little trickier than I thought.” The man with the apron came back with two mugs, two milk jugs and a large pot of tea on a tray, next to a little plate of biscuits. Sara was deeply unnerved to realise that they were her favourite kind. “Thanks, Alan,” said Meredith. Alan set the tray down, gave them a smile and a nod and vanished off again. “Hiring Alan was a very good idea of yours,” she said absent-mindedly as she poured the milk. “And before you say anything, it’s almond milk.” “…You know I’m lactose intolerant…?” said Sarah, now so far beyond the point of comprehending anything that she’d reached an odd place of calm. “That’s…nice.” Meredith finished pouring the tea and sat back, idly tapping a finger on the side of her mug. “Drink your tea, Sara. Though possibly I should have gone for whisky. You might need it by the end of this.” Sarah numbly took a sip of what was, she had to admit, a perfect cup of tea, and glanced out the window at the deserted street, rain slithering and sliding down the glass. “Are we still on Edward’s Street?” She asked. “Or somewhere that just looks like Edward’s Street?” “We’re… adjacent to Edward’s Street,” Meredith replied. “We are looking at it. It’s just a little bit…paused, that’s all.” “Is this some Harry Potter thing?” Sarah blurted out. “Like, are you about to start waving around a wand or something?” Meredith rolled her eyes as she drank some more tea. “Now, you were much more close to the truth of the matter with the idea that the Edward’s Street we’re looking at might not necessarily be the Edward’s Street that we just left. Huh. Harry Potter. If I had a wand that would make life a lot easier, believe me.” “So…Look, you’re going to have to give me something to go on. I’m lost over here,” Sara said with sudden exasperation. “You’re a time traveller? You’re an alien with a spaceship? You’re a ghost? What’s the deal here?” “I don’t think I’m a time traveller in the way that you’re thinking,” Meredith replied, “But that’s the most accurate one from the list. Less Doctor Who, more…The best way to describe it is that I’m someone who slips in and out of places. Geographic places and…otherwise.” “Well that’s vague,” Sara replied sourly. “And I suppose during whilst you’re doing this “skipping backwards and forwards in time” thing we’ve met before? In my future? And now you, what, need my help with something? Look, I’m really not the person you think I am. Not that I know who you think I am. I’m…like… I’m not exciting. I’m from Cumbria, not an alien planet or… oh, I don’t know! I don’t know what’s going on or who you think I am but I’m not whoever that is,” Sara stopped, aware she was making very little sense. “Basically, you’ve got the wrong person. Can I…like…go? We might be, I don’t know, future work buddies or friends or whatever according to you but right now I really don’t know you.” Meredith scowled at her, and Sara was worried for a second that something awful was going to happen. What was she doing, annoying someone who messed around with time without breaking a sweat? “I’m not a plot device in one of your beloved Marvel films, Sara.” She seemed to make up her mind about something, leant forward. Sara half-noticed that Meredith smelt like freshly cut grass and rose blossom. It wasn’t unpleasant, and maybe even a little…familiar? Like an echo of a memory whispering to her from the past…or the future…? She shook her head slightly to dispel the odd thought. “Sara,” said Meredith in a tone that demanded full attention. She looked, bizarrely, a little embarrassed. “There’s something…ah…oh, there’s no easy way to say this.” “What?” “We’re not, as you so fondly put it, work acquaintances. You and I… we’re…” The pause hovered in the air, froze for a moment and then crashed back to earth as realisation struck. “What? What? We’re, like…We’re-” “No need to sound so thrilled, darling,” Meredith said dryly. “But yes. At some point in the near future that we can’t really wait to get to, it’s safe to say that you trust me quite a bit.” “Wait. Just hold on for a damn minute. If we’re…why are we even having this conversation? Wouldn’t I have told you about this? Couldn’t you just tell me what future me said happened?” Meredith smirked. “You did say that I made quite the first impression. But that fact that you just became more confused trying to even construct that sentence should explain why it doesn’t really work like that. It’s just too complicated. On the whole I try not to ask too many questions about things I’ve apparently yet to do - puts everything out of balance somewhat if I’m operating off a mental checklist of everything I have or haven’t yet done or said. But. You did say that I needed to show you this.” She loosened her tie, undid the top button of her shirt and fished out a necklace, a pendant the shape of a swallow hanging from a simple silver chain. “Where did you get that?” Sara snapped, staring at the necklace. “From you, Sara,” Meredith said with real impatience in her voice now as she tucked the necklace away again, fastened her top button and adjusted her tie back into its impeccable original position.  “I know this is hard to comprehend but you’re really going to have to try and have this existential crisis a little bit faster. This is your mother’s necklace, the one that you promised her to keep safe, the one that you gave to me on our… well. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You gave me this necklace, Sara. Can you trust me now?” “Trust you?” Sara felt completely lost. She couldn’t relate to this future person, this Sara, who gave away family heirlooms and was apparently very important to the universe. “I don’t know if I can trust me. …Who am I?” “Who are you?” Said Meredith with a quirked eyebrow. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. You’re Sara. If you don’t know who you are then there’s not much chance for the rest of us.” “Well I obviously don’t know,” Sara said, hysteria rising, “Because I think I’m a very, very normal, boring 25-year-old who’s a copy editor for a bad women’s magazine, who grew up in the Lake District and is allergic to cats, whereas clearly there’s a rather different Sara going around who, like, knows about inexplicable cafes and dates mysterious women and, and, can do stuff to the weather?” Meredith gave an exasperated sigh. “That is the least helpful self-description that I think anyone has ever given about themselves, ever. All right. You, Sara Dawson, did indeed grow up in the Lake District and you are quite impressively allergic to cats.  That’s where the correct part of your surmising ends. You’ve been a copy editor for all of a year so I hardly think it’s fair to say that that’s a large part of your personality, especially since you stop working there as of…well, today. And I doubt a boring person would be able to do what you’re able to do.” “And what is it exactly,” ground out Sara, completely at the end of her tether, “That I am able to do?” Meredith looked at her a moment. “I see I’m going to have to give you a nudge. All right. I wouldn’t normally do this but the time being what it is…” She held out a hand. “I’m sorry to spring this on you so suddenly, and so, well, brutally. I always hoped it was a little more gentle, but apparently not. I’m afraid you’re just going to have to trust me right now, Sara. Please.” Sara hesitated, then took the offered hand. It seemed like by this point it was better to continue forging forward in this utterly insane sequence of events than look back and realise how far from normal she’d somehow come. “Close your eyes,” Meredith instructed and Sara did so, feeling utterly foolish. “Right. I might as well warn you that this is probably going to be a little frightening. I realise that this thought is less comforting than it might be, given the context, but…I’m right here with you.” A second passed. Nothing. Two seconds passed. Nothing. Sara had just opened her mouth to say that whatever terrifying thing that Meredith thought might be happening it didn’t seem to be working when-  

Suddenly, impossibly, Sara heard everything. Felt everything. It seemed overwhelmingly like life had, unbeknownst to her, been previously lived in a black and white photocopy, a dull 2D imitation of what existing could be, and now unexpectedly had brilliantly opened up into high definition 4D. Even as she marvelled at this new impossibly expanded world there was a distant, vague memory that this was how it had been at the start, at the very beginning of being Sara. But, oh! The joy, the power of that sensing, that feeling - the beat of her heart, the blood coursing through her veins, through Meredith’s veins, green shoots twisting up through the earth under the tarmac deep, deep below her feet, the electricity crackling in the air, even the slight vibrations of the very atoms making up the table, the floor, the air, the entire fabric of existence tangible and ready to mould into- “Sara! Stop!” With a gasp, Sara was sucked back into 2D, though not quite the same 2D she had left: that sense of feeling, of sensing, hummed in the background, ready to be pulled forward once more. Meredith, letting go, pushed her hands through her hair in a gesture that belied her stress. “Bloody hell, Sara. Let’s go easy on ripping apart the universe, shall we?” “I remember,” Sara said slowly, the world and Meredith reduced to muffled background noise as it all slowly fell into place. “I remember now. This is how I used to see things.” “Yes.” Meredith looked a little more calm as she drank her tea. “Until someone sensible on the Board decided that having a 1 year old playing around with the existence of life as we know it probably wasn’t the best idea. You were fitted with the mental equivalent of bicycle stabilisers. Something to hold everything in check until you were ready to actually control what you could do.” Sara frowned. “The board? What’s the board? A group of, I’m guessing, old white guys got together and decided to…what? Essentially… maim me? Didn’t I get a say in this?” “They’re not exactly guys and you were, again, let me state this, under one years old so couldn’t say much in the first place but, yes, I see your point. Which is why I’ve taken the metaphorical  bicycle stabilisers off. Something that I’m sure several people will think is a terrible, terrible mistake on my part.” Sara looked at Meredith, really looked at her, for the first time, eyes slightly narrowed. “And why isn’t it a terrible, terrible mistake on your part?” She smiled slightly, cocking her head. “Because I know you. Someone who likes living on this world, who likes biscuits and sunrises and puppies and, well, generally being alive as much as you do, is unlikely to implode the universe. Not on purpose, at any rate.” “…What about not on purpose?” “…Well yes, that’s a slightly different matter. And why we should really get going, darling. We have an issue with the Board that needs your help but it’s probably a good idea you get a handle on things first. I know somewhere where you can test drive a few of your…capabilities without causing lasting damage to any small solar systems.” Sara drank the last of her tea and stood up as Meredith pulled on her damp coat. “You still haven’t explained who these board people actually are, Meredith.” “One thing at a time, dear,” said Meredith absent-mindedly as she steered Sara towards the door, picking up the umbrella as she did so. “Let’s start at the start and see where we go from there.” `”Oh come on, it can’t be that complicated.” “I really think you might be surprised about that…but if you insist…” The two of them slipped out of the cafe and into the rain. A moment later, both the cafe and the figures were gone. And a moment after that, if you listened carefully, drifting on the breeze, you might have heard:
“They’re the board of WHAT?!”