#they are both straight but reach their gay epiphanies

[madqueenalanna]

i think 6x19 "the choice" is the closest house md comes to genuinely giving us all the pieces about house/wilson and i'm going to explain why (delusional)

the a plot is an extremely in-denial gay man collapsing at the altar with his almost-wife. we discover over the course of the episode that he used to have a "roommate" he had sex with for years who clearly still has feelings for him, and his symptoms were caused by the brain damage he gave himself in conversion therapy. it's an unusually real, sad ending, where the fiancee tells him to figure himself out and leaves as he begs her to stay and insists he's straight for real. no real closure beyond that

now, many episodes of house have the b plot (either the team's personal drama or a clinic patient) connect thematically with the a plot, either to jog house's brain blasts or just to form a cohesive narrative. so what's the b plot this episode? wilson's relationship with sam is getting more serious and he wants to distract house. house starts the episode waking up in a neighbor kid's bed bc he got so drunk he was sleepwalking. house has a long, explicit history of self-medicating when he's in emotional distress. house goes out three times with his fellows and all three serve to tie him back to wilson:

he goes out with taub and his wife. this is to highlight the strained awkwardness of a straight relationship, and esp when the guy has a history of infidelity (at least one of wilson's marriages dissolved due to him cheating, and taub is already cheating on rachel again)

he goes out with thirteen to a lesbian bar. this is connecting them as both bisexual, and they talk about gaydar and then thirteen talks about how it's cruel that the patient is lying to his fiancee about his sexuality bc honesty is the most important thing, including honesty to one's self. this is easily applicable to house needing to admit his feelings for wilson. (extremely delusional) the lesbian bar is called "foxhole" and the saying "there are no atheists in the foxhole" specifically refers to situations where one has no choice but to give in to faith. so. also the gay patient in s2 has a parasite he got from foxes

he goes out with chase and foreman and they perform karaoke. specifically they sing "midnight train to georgia" and they don't change the pronouns?? so chase is singing lead about another man while foreman and house back him up?? it's about following a man across the country bc you would rather give up your entire life than lose him (house does this at the end of s8). one of the outro lines (not in the episode, but i've listened to the song a lot) is "my man, his girl" and like. c'mon

there's a great moment where the patient is denying he's gay and he says "i'm as straight as either of you" to house and thirteen, who makes a face in the background. let's be so for real here

the episode ends with cuddy asking if house wants to go out, and he asks if wilson put her up to this too. she denies it and says lucas is working late so she's free and they can be friends. house says friends is the last thing he wants to be (we know). she leaves, and he rubs his leg, almost reaches for ibuprofen, and grabs whiskey instead as the ep ends. again, bookended on self-medicating, and we know his leg hurts worse during emotional pain– he got an mri when stacy left in s2 for the same reason. when house gets his big epiphany he says "wisdom is knowing the difference between what you can change and what you were born with" and he says this while having an argument with wilson!

i choose to believe at least some of this was intentional on the part of the writer bc he also wrote "lines in the sand" which is one of the most empathetic episodes in general and also gives us a lot of patient-house connections. i'm well aware this reads like pepe silvia qanon for gay people

[sylvanas-girlkisser]

So, i sort of had an epiphany last night about Tungsten Rose.

The way i always imagined it ending, was with Kista, Mar and Augustine in a three-way relationship, but it has never quite seemed right to me.

Mar and Kista's relationship is built on a mutual hatred so strong it turns to horniness, with Augustine serving as much as a love interest for both of them as an object for them to fight over.

But I never really felt like, if they worked out their issues, it would flip around to love - rather, the spark would be lost entirely which wouldn't be a satisfying ending.

I've thought of a few different solutions to this over the writing period, most of them some variation of having one of them end up with a love interest outside the OT3. But that just makes said love interest feel disposable and "there to solve a problem" like when straight writers introduce a girl character just so the male lead won't seem gay.

Maize actually came out of a version of the story where Kista and Augustine ended up together, as a way for Mar to essentially call it a draw by taking Maize as her (consensual) sex slave. Like, "yeah you got the princess, but I got the girl you vowed to protect since childhood chained up in my basement".

Anyways, last night, the realization sorta hit me: Maize and Mar don't have to work out their differences, Augustine just have to make them promise to behave. Meaning they can spend the rest of their lives glowering at each other from across the room homoerotically, but unable to actually kill each other, as every time they reach for their guns, Augustine loudly declares "oh I'm ever so horny" while putting her hand to her forehead.

Essentially, Kista and Mar are each other's kismesis, and Augustine and her tits are their auspiticize.

[fromkenari]

Behind the Read More are all the times Liam is mentioned in the book Red, White, and Royal Blue. It's sad and concerning for the majority of it. It includes negative coping mechanisms like alcohol, prescription drugs, and self harm and Alex and Liam being toxic to each other, even if it weirdly (inexplicably?) irons out in the end. Also, massive biphobia from Alex and Liam making it worse by lying to him.

“Look, you should have invited him yourself!” June says, by way of admission. “It’s really nice you’re making friends who aren’t us. Sometimes when you get too isolated, you start to go a little crazy. Remember last year when Nora and I were both out of the country for a week, and you almost got a tattoo?”

“I still think we should have let him get a tramp stamp.”

“It wasn’t going to be a tramp stamp,” Alex says hotly. “You were in on this, weren’t you?”

“You know I love chaos,” Nora tells him serenely.

“I have friends who aren’t y’all,” Alex says.

“Who, Alex?” June says. “Literally who?”

“People!” he says defensively. “People from class! Liam!”

“Please. We all know you haven’t talked to Liam in a year,” June says.

“You need friends. And I know you like Henry.”

“Shut up,” Alex says. He brushes a finger under his collar and finds his skin damp. Do they always have to crank the heat up this high when it’s snowing outside?

“This is interesting,” Nora observes.

“No, it’s not,” Alex snaps. “Fine, he can come. But if he doesn’t know anybody else, I’m not babysitting him all night.”

---

He thinks, as he runs and runs and runs, the stupidest thing of all is that he’s straight.

Like, he’s pretty sure he’s straight.

He can pinpoint moments throughout his life when he thought to himself, See, this means I can’t possibly be into guys. Like when he was in middle school and he kissed a girl for the first time, and he didn’t think about a guy when it was happening, just that her hair was soft and it felt nice. Or when he was a sophomore in high school and one of his friends came out as gay, and he couldn’t imagine ever doing anything like that.

Or his senior year, when he got drunk and made out with Liam in his twin bed for an hour, and he didn’t have a sexual crisis about it—that had to mean he was straight, right? Because if he were into guys, it would have felt scary to be with one, but it wasn’t. That was just how horny teenage best friends were sometimes, like when they would get off at the same time watching porn in Liam’s bedroom … or that one time Liam reached over, and Alex didn’t stop him.

---

He needs a list. So: Things he knows right now.

One. He’s attracted to Henry.

Two. He wants to kiss Henry again.

Three. He has maybe wanted to kiss Henry for a while. As in, probably this whole time.

He ticks off another list in his head. Henry. Shaan. Liam. Han Solo. Rafael Luna and his loose collars.

Sidling up to his desk, he pulls out the binder his mother gave him: DEMOGRAPHIC ENGAGEMENT: WHO THEY ARE AND HOW TO REACH THEM. He drags his finger down to the LGBTQ+ tab and turns to the page he’s looking for, titled with mother’s typical flair: THE B ISN’T SILENT: A CRASH COURSE ON BISEXUAL AMERICANS.

---

Faintly, under it all, it occurs to him: This is all a very not-straight way to react to seeing your male frenemy kissing someone else in a magazine.

A little laugh startles out of him, and he walks over to his bed and sits on the edge of it, considering. He considers texting Nora, asking her if he can come over to finally have some big epiphany. He considers calling Rafael Luna and meeting him for beers and asking to hear all about his first gay sexual exploits as an REI-wearing teenage antifascist. And he considers going downstairs and asking Amy about her transition and her wife and how she knew she was different.

But in the moment, it feels right to go back to the source, to ask someone who’s seen whatever is in his eyes when a boy touches him.

Henry’s out of the question. Which leaves one person.

“Hello?” says the voice over the phone. It’s been at least a year since they last talked, but Liam’s Texas drawl is unmistakable and warm in Alex’s eardrum.

He clears his throat. “Uh, hey, Liam. It’s Alex.”

“I know,” Liam says, desert-dry.

“How, um, how have you been?”

A pause. The sound of quiet talking in the background, dishes. “You wanna tell me why you’re really calling, Alex?”

“Oh,” he starts and stops, tries again. “This might sound weird. But, um. Back in high school, did we have, like, a thing? Did I miss that?”

There’s a clattering sound on the other side of the phone, like a fork being dropped on a plate. “Are you seriously calling me right now to talk about this? I’m at lunch with my boyfriend.”

“Oh.” He didn’t know Liam had a boyfriend. “Sorry.”

The sound goes muffled, and when Liam speaks again, it’s to someone else. “It’s Alex. Yeah, him. I don’t know, babe.” His voice comes back clear again. “What exactly are you asking me?”

“I mean, like, we messed around, but did it, like, mean something?”

“I don’t think I can answer that question for you,” Liam tells him. If he’s still anything like Alex remembers, he’s rubbing one hand on the underside of his jaw, raking through the stubble. He wonders faintly if, perhaps, his clear-as-day memory of Liam’s stubble has just answered his own question for him.

“Right,” he says. “You’re right.”

“Look, man,” Liam says. “I don’t know what kind of sexual crisis you’re having right now, like, four years after it would have been useful, but, well. I’m not saying what we did in high school makes you gay or bi or whatever, but I can tell you I’m gay, and that even though I acted like what we were doing wasn’t gay back then, it super was.” He sighs. “Does that help, Alex? My Bloody Mary is here and I need to talk to it about this phone call.”

“Um, yeah,” Alex says. “I think so. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Liam sounds so long-suffering and tired that Alex thinks about all those times back in high school, the way Liam used to look at him, the silence between them since, and feels obligated to add, “And, um. I’m sorry?”

“Jesus Christ,” Liam groans, and hangs up.

---

It starts to grow dark outside, a dull and soggy evening around the Residence, and Alex makes his way down to his room and his bed. He hears about the assortment of guys from Henry’s university days, all of them enamored with the idea of sleeping with a prince, almost all of them immediately alienated by the paperwork and secrecy and, occasionally, Henry’s dark moods about the paperwork and secrecy.

“But of course, er,” Henry says, “nobody since … well, since you and I—”

“No,” Alex says, faster than he expects, “me neither. Nobody else.”

He hears words coming out of his mouth, ones he can’t believe he’s saying out loud. About Liam, about those nights, but also how he’d sneak pills out of Liam’s Adderall bottle when his grades were slipping and stay awake for two, three days at a time. About June, the unspoken knowledge that she only lives here to watch out for him, the quiet sense of guilt he carries when he can’t tear himself away. About how much some of the lies people tell about his mother hurt, the fear she’ll lose.

---

He keeps waking up in DC, and Henry keeps waking up in London, and the whole world keeps waking up to talk about the two of them in love with other people. Pictures of Nora’s hand in his. Speculation about whether June will get an official announcement of royal courtship. And the two of them, Henry and Alex, like the world’s worst illustration of the Symposium: split down the middle and sent bleeding into separate lives.

Even that thought depresses him because Henry’s the only reason he’s become a person who cites Plato. Henry and his classics. Henry in his palace, in love, in misery, not talking much anymore.

Even with both of them trying as hard as they are, it’s impossible to feel like it’s not pulling them apart. The whole charade takes and takes from them, takes days that were sacred—the night in LA, the weekend at the lake, the missed chance in Rio—and records over the tape with something more palatable. The narrative: two fresh-faced young men who love two beautiful young women and definitely not ever each other.

He doesn’t want Henry to know. Henry has a hard enough time as it is, looked at sideways by his whole family, Philip who knows and has not been kind. He tries to sound calm and whole over the phone when they talk, but he doesn’t think it’s convincing.

When he was younger and the anxiety got this bad, when the stakes in his life were much, much lower, this would be the point of self-destruction. If he were in California, he’d sneak the jeep out and drive way too fast down the 101, doors off, blasting N.W.A., inches from being painted on the pavement. In Texas, he’d steal a bottle of Maker’s from the liquor cabinet and get wasted with half the lacrosse team and maybe, afterward, climb through Liam’s window and hope to forget by morning.

The first debate is in a matter of weeks. He doesn’t even have work to keep him busy, so he stews and stresses and goes for long, punishing runs until he has the satisfaction of blisters. He wants to set himself on fire, but he can’t afford for anyone to see him burn.

---

Alex is so busy watching them, his two favorite people, he doesn’t notice another person in his path until he collides with them headfirst, spilling their drink and almost sending them both stumbling into the massive victory cake on the buffet table.

“Jesus, sorry,” he says, immediately reaching for a pile of napkins.

“If you knock over another expensive cake,” says an extremely familiar whiskey-warm drawl, “I’m pretty sure your mom is gonna disinherit you.”

He turns to see Liam, almost the same as he remembers—tall, broad shouldered, sweet-faced, scruffy. He’s so mad he has such a specific type of dude and never even noticed it for so long.

“Oh my God, you came!”

“Of course I did,” Liam says, grinning. Beside him, there’s a cute guy grinning too. “I mean, it kind of seemed like the Secret Service were gonna come requisition me from my apartment if I didn’t come.”

Alex laughs. “Look, the presidency hasn’t changed me that much. I’m still as aggressive a party instigator as I ever was.”

“I’d be disappointed if you weren’t, man.”

They both grin, and God, on tonight of all nights it’s good to see him, good to clear the air, good to stand next to someone outside of family who knew him before all this.

A week after he got outed, Liam texted him: 1. I wish we hadn’t been such dumb assholes back then so we both could have helped each other out with stuff. 2. Jsyk, a reporter from some right-wing website called me yesterday to ask me about my history with you. I told him to go fuck himself, but I thought you’d want to know.

So yeah, of course he got a personal invitation.

“Listen, I,” Alex starts, “I wanted to thank you—”

“Do not,” Liam interrupts him. “Seriously. Okay? We’re cool. We’ll always be cool.” He makes a dismissive gesture with one hand and nudges the cute, dark-eyed guy at his side. “Anyway, this is Spencer, my boyfriend.”

“Alex,” Alex introduces himself. Spencer’s handshake is strong, all farmboy. “Good to meet you, man.”

“It’s an honor,” Spencer says earnestly. “My mom canvassed for your mom when she ran for Congress back in the day, so like, we go way back. She’s the first president I ever voted for.”

“Okay, Spence, be cool,” Liam says, putting an arm around Spencer’s shoulders. A beam of pride cuts through Alex; if Spencer’s parents were Claremont volunteers, they’re definitely more open-minded than he remembers Liam’s being. “This guy shit his pants on the bus on the way back from the aquarium in fourth grade, so like, he’s not that big of a deal.”

“For the last time, you douchebag,” Alex huffs, “that was Adam Villanueva, not me!”

,“Yeah, I know what I saw,” Liam says.

Alex is just opening his mouth to argue when someone shouts his name—a photo op or interview or something for BuzzFeed. “Shit. I gotta go, but Liam, we have, like, a shitload to catch up on. Can we hang this weekend? Let’s hang this weekend. I’m in town all weekend. Let’s hang this weekend.”

He’s already walking away backward, and Liam is rolling his eyes in an annoyed but fond way, not in a this-is-why-I-stopped-talking-to-you way, so he keeps going. The interview is quick, cut off mid-sentence: Anderson Cooper’s face looms on the screen overhead like a disgustingly handsome Hunger Games cannon, announcing they’re ready to call Florida.

---

The nets are cut loose from the ceiling, and down come the balloons, and Alex staggers into a press of bodies and his father’s chest, a delirious hug, into June, who is a crying disaster, and Leo, who is somehow crying more. Nora is sandwiched between both beaming, proud parents, screaming at the top of her lungs, and Luna is throwing Claremont campaign pamphlets in the air like a mafioso with hundred dollar bills. He sees Cash, severely testing the weight limits of the venue’s chairs by dancing on one, and Amy, waving around her phone so her wife can see it all over FaceTime, and Zahra and Shaan, aggressively making out against a giant stack of CLAREMONT/HOLLERAN 2020 yard signs. WASPy Hunter hoisting another staffer up on his shoulders, Liam and Spencer raising their beers in a toast, a hundred campaign staffers and volunteers crying and shouting in disbelief and joy. They did it. They did it. The Lometa Longshot and a long-awaited blue Texas.

---

The second round of confetti is still falling when Alex grabs Henry by he hand and says, “Follow me.”

Everyone’s too busy celebrating or doing interviews to see them slip out he back door. He trades Liam and Spencer the promise of a six-pack for heir bikes, and Henry doesn’t ask questions, just kicks the stand out and disappears into the night behind him.

[leam1983]

Bliss

We bought the biggest mattress we could find, on the largest base available, with new bed sheets to match. Today is our third day sharing the same bed permanently, and it's brought us so much closer.

Walt no longer feels nocturnally exclusive to me, which I'm thrilled about. We climb over each other to reach who we feel like cuddling with, and he's put together a thick wall accent above the bed that doubles as a shelf for his CPAP. With the tubes snaking down towards the bed as opposed to across it, he's free to switch between the left side or the center, as needed. He didn't wear it for the first night, however, and chose to celebrate our new setup by letting himself sleep freely.

Normally, a morbidly obese man who maybe gets two hours of sleep a day during a hectic moving week should look like shit, or so you'd assume. Walt technically did feel the part, but he spent the first two days at the new place practically floating on Cloud Nine. He was excessively huggy all day long, yesterday, which made productivity a different goal to reach. Last night was also our first dogpile in the new apartment, and to say we went wild would be an understatement.

Our work and living spaces are now more cleanly delineated, we each have a closed office and we can tuck our NAS and the off-site Palpatine clone out of sight. Living surrounded by Brutalist concrete walls and our respective art prints gives me this sense of having Made It, more or less. It's done wonders for Walt, who feels like he's reached an epiphany of sorts. As an avowed materialist, he was always bummed that his ex never officially let him claim their old place as his own. Now, he's got exactly what he needs to showcase the five or six self-aware Affluenza markers he likes, from his mid-tier wristwatch collection with a few luxury pieces in it to the repros of his favourite artists' works that we bought him.

As for the epiphany I mentioned, it sort of hit him over breakfast, yesterday morning. He gave me and Sarah a look, glanced down at the stubborn boner Sarah's nightgown seemed to cause and looked back up at us with a mixture of playfulness and resignation.

"I, uh... I think I'm bi. I thought I only had strong affection for you, Sarah, but, um..."

Our girl seemed more than a little amused. "Strong affection, says the guy who's made me come harder than Grem two times out of three. It's alright, I love the both of you equally and you know it."

I thought only Straights had this sort of self-effacing tendency when faced with the prospect of being something else; I didn't think Walt saw himself as the exact kind of Proud Gay who functionally rejects all other outcomes. I tend to think he's still mostly gay, but that Sarah is the one person, gender be damned, who managed to break his mold.

[sirrriusblack]

Hiiii! I really like your writing and asked one before annnd I'm here again with another idea? I guess? Lol so um how about writing a Hogwarts graduation party and Sirius and Remus are so excited to go with eachother? They are getting ready separated all day and will meet at the ball.. I would really like to read a Hogwarts graduation ball from you. Thank you already and don't forget that you're amazing 💞💞

Thank you!! This is super late and way longer than I meant it to be lol,, but I hope you like it! And I’m sorry!

* * *

“Lily, stop. I’m not wearing it.” Remus stomped his foot and turned from Lily. She rolled her eyes at his dramatic display and put a hand on Remus’ shoulder to spin him. He glared down at the eyeliner pencil in her hand. She looked at him until he locked eyes with her.

“Remus, please?” He shook his head. “Okay how about this. I put it on, you hate it, we take it off. Piece of cake.” Remus raised his eyebrows at Lily. “But,” she continued, “if you like it, we keep it. Yeah? It’s a win-win situation,” she finished, smiling. It was Remus’ turn to roll his eyes.

“Fine,” he said. “Fine, But I’m going to hate it.” Lily just nodded and motioned for Remus to sit.

* * *

“Jamie, which shirt?” Sirius held up two white shirts, both of which looked identical in James’ opinion.

“What?” he asked. Sirius blinked.

“Which shirt?” he repeated. James furrowed his brows, pulling on his robes and straightening the collar. He looked at the shirts again.

“They’re the same shirt,” he said, the sentence more a question than a statement. Sirius sputtered.

“They’re—James—no—are you kidding me—they are nothing alike!” he finally spat out. James’ eyes widened behind his glasses. “This one,” Sirius said, shoving his right arm forward, “has lace trimming!” He widened his eyes. James flinched and cringed away from the lace but from the look Sirius gave him, he stood straight again.

“Lace,” he said skeptically and Sirius rolled his eyes. He pulled the dress shirt on, though, and started working at the buttons. James went back to fixing his collar.

* * *

Remus didn’t hate the eyeliner. He so much did not hate it. Lily was grinning down at him from where she was standing above his seated figure, holding the mirror up in front of him. He kept blinking, not quite used to...well, liking himself. He said as much to Lily, who flicked him.

“Shut up, Lupin, you’re hot,” she said, pulling the mirror away from him and placing it back on her bedside table. Remus scoffed. “No, really,” she said. “Plenty of the girls in our year have had a crush on you,” she finished, shoving the makeup drawer closed. Remus decided he didn’t want to talk about it. Not when only one person mattered tonight.

Remus was new to all of this—all of...Sirius. So far they’d shared an awkward conversation full of gay epiphanies, a broom closet or two and snatches of the empty dorm walls where they could share breaths and tangled limbs. They hadn’t been on a real, literal, actual date yet. Remus felt jittery. On edge. Full of hope. Lily laughed at the glint in his eyes. He flicked those said eyes over to her.

“What?” he asked, trying to sound bitter but failing with the sweet thought of Sirius on his mind. Lily grinned wider and leaned toward the mirror, pinning back a stray piece of hair.

“Nothing,” she mused, “I just...” she paused for a moment and only when her hair was successfully pinned back did she continue. “It’s finally happening,” she settled on. Remus furrowed his brow. “Remus and Sirius. Seventh year. About time,” she said. Remus laughed and rolled his eyes.

“Says you, Miss ‘I’d rather date the giant squid,” he said, and Lily grimaced. “Miss ‘never in a million years, Potter.” Miss ‘you’re a right gi—“

“I get it,” Lily cut in, flicking Remus again despite the amusement dancing in her eyes. “But look at us, huh? Lupin and Evans, going to the ball with Potter and Black.” Remus grinned, not able to help it. He was happy. Despite the war, despite the nearing full moon, despite everything, he was happy.

* * *

“Oh shit, hold on,” Sirius said, sticking a hand to James’ chest to stop him in his tracks. Sirius turned back and ran into the dorm, reappearing with his wand before quickly tucking it into the eccentric braided updo he’d configured earlier. James gave Sirius’ wrist a small tug.

“We’re gonna be late, Padfoot,” he comaplined, looking down the stairs. “And I have an extremely smoking hot redhead waiting for me—ow!” He yelled when Sirius hit his wrist. “What in Merlin’s name was that for?” he asked, following Sirius when he started down the stairs.

“‘Smoking hot’? Don’t be a dick,” Sirius said, straightening his dress robes. James scoffed.

“I was complimenting her,” he said, but cringed at the immediate defense. Sirius did too.

“So say her eyes are pretty, don’t objectify her,” Sirius retorted. They’d reached the bottom of the steps while James was muttering an apology.

* * *

Lily and Remus were waiting for the both of them outside the doors to the Great Hall when they got there. The first thing anyone said came from James.

“Hey, Lilypad, sorry for objectifying you,” he said. Lily raised an eyebrow while Sirius looked smug.

“You’re bout 6 years too late for that, Potter, but I’ll take it,” she said. Sirius barked a laugh, nudging James. Sirius. Oh wow.

Sirius in his dress robes was...really something. His dark hair was braided back into a twisted bun, loose enough for a few strands of it to fall around his face. His face. Merlin, Sirius’ face was so fucking pretty. His eyelashes casting light shadows on his face when he blinked, his lips quirked up in a smirk at James and Lily, the eyeliner darkening his eyes, it was all too much. No, it was enough. More than enough. Remus shook his wrist like the movement might clear his head. He looked back over to Sirius and did quite the opposite. His head was flooded with every shared touch, every breath hot against his skin, every fingernail dug into his back—he blinked. Blinked again. Sirius walked forward.

“Hey,” he whispered, looking Remus up and down. Remus smiled at the wink Sirius threw him. “Is that eyeliner?” he asked, a hint of approval in his voice. Another couple walked by, opening the Great Hall doors and letting some music out with it. Remus hadn’t realised that Sirius might be... affected by how he looked. He knew Lily looked stunning, he could understand why James was still half-frozen in front of her, just taking her in.

Her hair fell down around her shoulders, the top half tied back in twists and braids Remus was sure even Sirius would be jealous of. The dark green dress she was wearing was really it though. It matched her eyes and hugged her body, flaring out just slightly at the hips, reaching down to her ankles to where she was wearing a golden pair of heels, the thin straps buckled all over her ankles. The gold paired nicely with the green of the dress and she had on golden make up, a golden bracelet and, a necklace that Remus hadn’t seen before. It had a golden snitch on it. Remus smirked, knowing that would have been from James, knowing he doesn’t play seeker whatsoever so it was a stupid idea. Lily grinned when she caught Remus’ eye, though, and reached her hand up to touch the necklace, almost unknowingly. Remus smiled and turned back to Sirius.

“Lily made me,” he said. It was partly the truth. Sirius loosed a breath, grinning.

“Well I am... glad she did,” he said, and Remus laughed. He reached out for Sirius’ hands, taking them in his inbetween them. His eyes tracked the rings, glinting on his fingers, the dark polish that adorned his nails, down to the cuffs of Sirius’ dress shirt. He smiled.

“Is that lace?” he asked, fiddling with the lace trimming on his cuffs. Sirius smiled proudly.

“Prongs didn’t want me to wear it,” he said, shooting James a glare. James was too entranced in Lily’s eyes to notice. They were mumbling to each other, all soft smiles and light touches. Remus smiled and turned back to Sirius.

“I’m glad you did,” he said, and Sirius smiled back. He reached his arm forward to brush a curl from Remus’s eyes and Remus shuddered. “Come on,” he said and pulled Sirius after him. Sirius obliged and tapped James’ shoulder, getting both his and Lily’s attention. They opened the doors together.

* * *

Remus’ face shone in the blue lighting as him and Sirius swayed to the song playing in the Great Hall. That eyeliner was doing things to Sirius. Things he’d been suppressing all damn night. Seventh year. It was seventh year and they were graduating and Sirius was holding Remus in his arms. Remus smiled slightly, wrapping his arms tighter around Sirius’ neck and pulling him closer. The few inches of space between them was gone, and Sirius positively melted. Remus’ tawny curls were nestled against Sirius’ neck, his scarred fingers running patterns back and forth smoothly along Sirius’ throat. Sirius lifted one hand from Remus’ hip and ran his fingers through those curls, soft and tangled in his hands. Remus moved his head back only enough to look Sirius in the eyes. When he spoke, his voice was strained from the yelling and singing from the night.

“I’m happy,” Remus said simply. Sirius couldn’t help the grin that spread over his face. Remus smiled back in result of it. They were so close their noses were almost touching when Sirius whispered back.

“Me too.” Remus closed the gap between them, pulling his hands tighter around Sirius’ neck and still swaying them slowly to the music. Remus tasted like punch and salted cashews and his lips were soft against Sirius’. Sirius really was happy. He was so, inexplicably happy. When Remus pulled away, Sirius twirled him, warranting an unexpected laugh that Sirius felt all over once Remus’ chest was back against his. Sirius glanced over to James and Lily, seated at one of the tables and laughing. Seventh year was good, but Sirius was sure that the next few were going to be even better.

[hazelandglasz]

possible klaine prompt idea? 66 (.) media (.) tumblr (.) com/0a3ac83b2e36cba0c5b2f2a0bc056749/tumblr_o7xrab7RSz1tpg5guo1_1280 (.) png

On AO3

“Bro.”

“And then he, I don’t know, flaunted that guy around the apartment, like we were at the Westminster Dog Show or something, before taking him to the door and kissing him very, very loudly.”

“Bro.”

“And then he returned to the couch and took my bowl of popcorn from my lap and, and—”

“Blaine, bro. Breathe.”

Blaine does breathe, pausing in his retelling of his roommate's latest sexcapade to calm himself.

Next to him, Sam and Artie are exchanging looks Blaine doesn’t even try to translate anymore.

He sighs. “I’m not homophobic, you know that.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Sure!” Sam exclaims, clapping Blaine on the back. “You’re, like, the most woke guy I know!”

“Hey!”

“You’re very smart and very open-minded, Artie, but the Chlamydia episode taught us all that you need to work on your wokeness.”

“Touché.”

Sam returns his focus to Blaine, who is slowly rolling himself into a foetal position. “Blainey,” he says softly, “have you considered the possibility that, um, you… you may be the opposite of homophobic?”

“Uh?”

Sam glances at Artie who nods.

What the what?

“Have you ever wondered why you’re still single, even though girls are literally throwing themselves at you?”

“Do you really think right now is a good moment to rub my loneliness in my face?”

“‘S not what I’m doing, bro, you know I would never do something to make you sad.”

Artie clears his throat, holding up a glass of water for Blaine. “What we’re trying to tell you, Blaine, is that, maybe, just maybe, you should, um, think about what you really feel when you see Kurt kissing other guys.”

Blaine glares at him, and then shakes his head. “I don’t—I just… I don’t like to see him kissing those men, they…”

“Yes?”

“They… don’t deserve him.”

“Oh?”

“And why is that?”

Blaine lets himself sit back on his friends’ couch, dropping his head on the back of it, eyes to the ceiling. “Because Kurt—Kurt deserves to be treated with respect and care, not like a piece of meat.”

Artie makes a thoughtful noise before patting Blaine’s knee. “Do you want to be the one treating him with respect and care?” he asks softly.

Blaine sits back like someone poked him in the back. “What?! No! I—I’m not…” he starts protesting, but the words get stuck in his throat. Surprising tears come to his eyes. “I’m not…”

“Hey, hey, Blaine, it’s alright. Whatever you say,” Sam says, glaring at Artie. “Whatever you say, we’re here to support you, bro.”

Blaine lets out a small sob before standing, rushing to get his jacket and out of the apartment. “I—Thank you, guys, I… I need to go. I’ll call you later, ‘kay?”

“Blaine—”

The door closes behind him before Sam can finish his sentence.

Blaine doesn’t even remember going down the stairs or how he ended sitting in the dog park near Kurt and his apartment, but that’s where he is, around two hours later, lost in his thoughts about the possible truth ringing in Artie’s words, when a strong hand gently taps his shoulder.

“What are you doing here, roomie?”

And here he is.

Kurt is standing next to Blaine’s bench, a look of concern on his face only downplayed by his half-smile.

“I told you already, we are not getting a puppy in our apartment.”

Blaine lets out a wet laugh before shaking his head. “No, I know, I know. I needed… some space. To think.”

Kurt removes his hand. “Oh. Do you want me to—”

“No.” The word came out louder than Blaine intended. “No,” he repeats, calmer this time. “You don’t need to go.”

Kurt’s smile grows as he sits next to Blaine, crossing his legs and putting his hands around his knee. “Something on your mind?”

Blaine nods, unable to look at Kurt.

“Something I can help you with?”

Would it be easy to just blurt out the whole truth to Kurt?

That Blaine has possibly buried his feelings under a mask so solidly put on that he didn’t realize it was a mask anymore?

That his teenage fear of being beaten up for not conforming to the norm, added to his dad’s repeated affirmation of what a man should be and do, has pushed him into a corner he can’t seem to escape?

But more importantly, that seeing Kurt with all of his different flings, one-night stands, however he wishes to call them, has stirred something deep in Blaine’s whole being, has moved him beyond words, and that he assumed those impulses were born out of anger but they may be something entirely different?

No, Blaine thought. Not so easy.

“Blaine?”

Kurt’s voice disrupts the flow of questions and negative thoughts going around Blaine’s mind. “Are you—is everything alright?” Kurt moves one of his hands to Blaine’s knee, hesitating before lightly patting it. “Want to talk about it with a slice of cheesecake?”

Blaine can feel his eyes tearing up again, but he chuckles anyway. “You and your ‘cake is the cure for everything’ policy.”

Kurt smiles wider. “Never failed me before.”

“Lead the way, then. I’m buying.”

“Won’t fight you on this.”

---

Not a moment later, they’re sitting in a booth at Junior’s, a plate of cheesecake samples in front of them.

Blaine has to admit it, the smooth and sweet pastry does soothe some of his head (and heart) ache.

“Now, do you want to keep on manly brooding about whatever is eating you up or do you want to talk about it?” Kurt asks, before taking a bite of cheesecake, keeping the spoon in his mouth and humming in pleasure.

Blaine’s eyes go to his lips before he realizes it.

“I… don’t manly brood.”

“Right. And I don’t focus on my skincare routine when I am stressed.”

Blaine twists his mouth, shoving a spoonful of devil’s food cheesecake in his mouth to keep it shut.

“Does this,” Kurt continues, pointing his spoon at Blaine in general, “have anything to do with my date with Brett yesterday?”

“Huh? What? Why—why would it have anything to do with your date?”

Kurt stares intently at Blaine, chin resting on top of his hands, the spoon dandling from his fingers. 

“Do you hate homosexuals, Blaine?”

“What?! No! I’m not—no.”

Kurt’s eyes become steely. “Then why did you glare at Brett the whole time we were having fun yesterday before he left?”

“I—” quick, Blaine, think of something, “I couldn't hear my movie. And I’m not a big fan of PDA in general.”

“Ah.”

“I would have glared at Brett if he was a she, as well.”

“Ah?”

I would glare at anyone getting a chance to kiss you and touch you, really. 

The thought is as surprising as it is true, and Blaine tries to control how his eyes widen as he processes it, but not to avail.

“What?” Kurt’s hand finds his. “Blaine, you look like you just had an epiphany.”

“I, um, kinda did. I just need to, to, to think about what I’m going to do now.”

“O-kay.”

“Can I—I will talk to you about it, I promise, but can I do so later? Please?”

Kurt squeezes Blaine’s hand, his touch soft and strong at the same time. How did Blaine miss this in the first place? How Kurt is made of contradictions, that add up to this whole perfection?

Ha. The truth is, he didn’t miss it. Not at all.

He just didn’t want to admit it.

Silly, silly Blaine.

“Of course, Blaine. Now,” Kurt says, unaware of the tremendous shift that just happened in his roommate’s mind, “what do you say we pack the remains of these delicious cheesecakes and go home to watch some terrible reality shows?”

“As long as it’s not one of the Real Housewives,” Blaine says, a shy smile trying to make an appearance on his face, “count me in.”

“Heretic,” Kurt grumbles, knocking their shoulders together when they both come to stand side by side at the cashier. “You terrible heathen.”

“Sorry not sorry.”

Kurt snorts, locking their arms together as they walk back to their apartment. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says in the same tone he always jokes in with Blaine.

Why does it make him blush so suddenly now?

---

It’s time.

He’s going to do it.

Blaine gives himself a pep talk in the bathroom, two days after his “gaypiphany,” to just get out of here, turn off the TV, get Kurt’s attention and tell him…

Tell him what, exactly?

“Hey, Kurt, I know we’re good friends even though you thought I was being homophobic toward your boyfriends, but actually, I am gay, very gay for you specifically, and I wouldn’t mind you kissing men if those men were me. What do you say?”

Blaine facepalms. 

Yeah, like that is going to work well.

“Blaine, you alright in there?”

Shit.

“Sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “I was… washing my hands.”

“Very thoroughly,” Kurt comments, juggling with the remote. “Not a criticism, though. I’m glad I have found one of the few straight men my age who knows something about hygiene.”

Blaine winces and Kurt notices immediately.

“What did I say?”

Blaine sits down, slowly reaching for Kurt’s hand to squeeze it—it’s both to appease Kurt and give himself some strength.

“It’s nothing you said, Kurt,” he says softly, taking a deep breath. “It’s just… I realized something, lately, about—about myself, and also about… us.”

“Oh?” Kurt’s voice is slightly breathless.

Without realizing it, Blaine doesn’t let go of Kurt’s hand. “I have been silencing a part of me,” he starts slowly, “for a long time. To protect myself from getting hurt, I build an impenetrable box around that part and, by doing so, I seem to have locked myself away from a chance of happiness.”

“Blaine, I—”

“Kurt, please, I need—I need to let it out.”

“Of course, dear. Go on.”

“There was a moment, for me, last week, when I said to myself ‘This. This is me’, and it was largely because—because of you. Without me noticing, you moved me, Kurt, you broke the walls I had around my heart, and I… I would like the chance to spend more time with you.”

Kurt turns his hand so they can hold hands, palm to palm. “We already live together,” he murmurs, eyes on their joined hands. 

Blaine scoots closer to Kurt, using his free hand to tentatively cup his cheek.

(He files away the thought that this feels like his hand was made for this.)

“Would you let me kiss you, Kurt?”

Kurt’s eyes fly to Blaine, wide and carrying a myriad of emotions.

Surprise, fear, anticipation. And hope.

He nods, almost imperceptibly, and Blaine leans forward, pressing their lips together.

His eyes flutter shut, allowing him to lose himself in the sensation.

Blaine doesn’t have a lot of experience with kissing—he did have a couple of girlfriends in high school, but it never lasted—but this…

Even as delicate and gentle as it is, it carries more passion than Blaine has ever experienced. 

Kurt inhales sharply, before tilting his head and caressing Blaine’s cheek as he licks the bow of Blaine’s lower lip.

Blaine lets out a small sound, at the edge between a moan and a sob, and Kurt uses the opening to caress Blaine’s tongue with his own before pulling away.

“Oh, wow,” Blaine says breathlessly, resting his forehead against Kurt’s. “That, um. Wow. I’m definitely gay.”

Kurt starts laughing silently, pulling Blaine into a hug. “Yes, you ridiculous man. I’d say you’re definitely gay.”

“Would you—will you be my boyfriend?” Blaine asks, moving back to face Kurt.

Kurt’s hand slides from Blaine’s cheek to cup the back of his neck. “I thought we were,” he says in a breath, before pulling Blaine’s lips back to his while pushing Blaine on his back.

Turns out, Blaine really doesn’t mind Kurt kissing men if he is that man.

(And he has zero problem with PDA, as Sam and Artie quickly find out.)

[bisluthq]

I stumbled onto your blog right before TTB got kicked off and it was like a breath of fresh air! I didn’t realize that there were other gaylors (or speculators?) that weren’t wrapped up in TTB and the ridiculous reaches. Having said that, I’m curious if you think there are songs on folklore about karlie? Cardigan gives me those vibes. Also curious what you think about all of folklore and who/what the songs are about. Can you tell us like you did for lover? No

I think the “no” was an accident because I CAN actually tell you lol. And thank you! And I do call myself a Gaylor lol like 100% - I think she’s queer and sings about women ergo I am very much a Gaylor. 

I DO think it’s hard to tell on a lot of the folklore songs because she has said (and I do actually hear that and believe) that many of the songs are about several situations. 

the 1 - I know the case for swiftgron (if you don’t, go check out @swiftgron-get-married) but when i first heard it I heard karlie because of the parties/pools and all that and “meet some woman on the Internet and take her home” is SUCH a facetious line if karlie is, as I think she is, mostly straight lmao. It could also be about both and even more just about... exes. 

cardigan - I FUCKING HEAR KARLIE-GAN I AM SORRY I WILL SEE MYSELF OUT (I think when it became a love triangle song it stopped being about Karlie but it was originally) 

the last great american dynasty - rebeka obviously, but also taylor and by extension possibly karlie a bit

exile - IDK this could be some shit joe was processing lol 

my tears ricochet - karlie and scott and maybe swift parent divorce

mirrorball - her fans/herself 

seven - being gay dude 

august - karlie 

this is me trying - her issues 

illicit affairs - karlie 

invisible string - ... joe 

mad woman - scott, scooter and karlie 

epiphany - her grandpa and covid 

betty - a fictional story IMO but channeling emotions she has felt (i.e. loving a girl and fucking it up a bit) 

peace - joe 

hoax - personal: karlie, professional: scott/scooter, love: joe

the lakes - joe and her own shit

[nicklloydnow]

"“My definition for mysticism,” Rohr said, “is experiential knowledge of the Holy, the transcendent, the divine, God—if you want to use that word, but I’m not tied to it.” Experiential knowledge, which differs from textbook knowledge, “will always be spoken humbly, because true spiritual knowledge is always partial. You know you don’t know the whole mystery. But even one little peek into one little corner of the mystery is more than enough.”

(...)

As Rohr tells it, the contemplative mind went underground during the Protestant Reformation. It was still being taught in some monasteries as late as the fifteenth century, and in isolated places such as Spain there was “an explosion of contemplation” through the mystical writings of Teresa of Ávila and St. John of the Cross. But then came Luther’s sola scriptura and Descartes’s cogito ergo sum, both of which placed the dualistic, egoistic mind at the center. Guigo the Carthusian, a twelfth-century monk, spoke of three levels of prayer: oratio, or spoken prayer; meditatio, using the mind to reflect on a piece of scripture; and contemplatio, the wordless prayer of the heart. This is the moment, Rohr explains, when “you shed the mind as the primary receiver station. You stop reflecting. You stop critiquing or analyzing. You let the moment be what it is, as it is, all that it is. That takes a lot of surrender.” After the Enlightenment and its Cartesian dualisms, the contemplative mind—“our unique access point to God,” as Rohr describes it—“was pretty well lost.”

(...)

So many of the mistakes in American Christianity, Rohr told me, are a result of dualistic thinking, which is “inherently antagonistic, inherently competitive. You’re forced within the first nanosecond to take sides. Republican-Democrat, black-white, gay-straight . . . go down the whole list of what’s tearing us apart—the dualistic mind always chooses sides.” He is sympathetic to those who disaffiliate from religion. But he still believes in faith’s power to instill awe, to bind and heal, to return us to ourselves, to God, and to one another. At the center of that return lies the contemplative mind.

(...)

I was also reading Cassian’s Conferences and considering the author’s role as chronicler of the early Christian monastic movement in Egypt, a kind of fifth-century immersion journalist of the soul. Cassian describes Christian life as a journey toward puritas cordis: purity of heart. If that is the destination, the vehicle is silent prayer.

Ontological wonder, tenderness, puritas cordis, pondering scales of mercy: these seemed like activities worthy of my meager efforts, and I felt a similar hunger for those things among other contemplatives, those who were also leaving the barnacled, empty supertanker of Christendom and boarding smaller, more nimble vessels.

“Does mysticism need a church?” In his introduction to the Conferences, the Cambridge historian Owen Chadwick poses this as a central conundrum in early monastic thought, a question that was very much alive among the modern contemplatives. “The individual experience of the divine is overwhelming,” Chadwick writes. “It passes beyond the memory of biblical texts and every other thought. . . . Might it be that holy anarchy is nearer to God than ordered ecclesiasticism?”

Like Cassian, I was more drawn to holy anarchy. And yet, in the process of fleeing broken ecclesial institutions, didn’t the new contemplatives also constitute a body politic? What was the Universal Christ conference if not a new form of church? It’s possible to see organized religion as a necessary evil, something that could be dispensed with once individuals reach some higher plane of awareness, but that seems facile. Humans depend on patterns and structures. Forms change, but we still need them to provide some kind of continuity of thought and praxis, just as we depend on forms to build community, which is the other piece missing in the laissez-faire approach. In an essay titled “The Mystical Core of Organized Religion,” the Benedictine monk Brother David Steindl-Rast readily acknowledges that “mysticism clashes with the institution.” And yet, he admits, “We need religious institutions. If they weren’t there, we would create them. Life creates structures.”

(...)

In his book Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander, Merton describes an incident he experienced in Louisville, Kentucky, on March 18, 1958, as he stood on the corner of 4th and Walnut Streets.

“There is no way of telling people that they are all walking around shining like the sun,” he writes.

I suddenly saw the secret beauty of their hearts, the depths of their hearts where neither sin nor desire nor self-knowledge can reach, the core of their reality, the person that each one is in God’s eyes . . . It is like a pure diamond, blazing with the invisible light of heaven . . . I have no program for this seeing. It is only given. But the gate of heaven is everywhere.

It is striking that Merton’s epiphany occurred not in a monk’s cell or cathedral alcove, but on a busy street in Louisville. Sartre famously said that “hell is other people,” but for Merton, and for Holmes, Bucko, McCrary, Rohr, and so many of the contemplatives I met, other people are not hell; they are portals to paradise.

One paradox of the contemplative life is the way in which it engenders, even demands, participation in a community. “The life of a Christian is not a solo act,” McCrary told me. “Jesus went to the desert alone to pray, but he was always building community. It’s a both-and.” The reverse is also true. Rohr: “How you relate to your spouse, your children, your dog—that’s how you’ll relate to God.”

The gate of heaven opens for us all, but the hinge swings outward as much as inward, leading not into some hermetically sealed chamber, but a spacious meadow where we find every person we’ve ever known, a field of solitaries loved beyond measure, a destination as near as our next breath."

[clintbartonswife]

A Mother Knows

Pairings: Tony Stark x Rhodey Summary: Late night realisations at MIT and a very observant mother can lead to wonderful things @panicfob Christmas challenge #3 : hot chocolate Warnings: self realisations, friends to lovers, (Tony’s 18 & Rhodey’s 21) masterlist  || 25 days of Christmas masterpost

Tony never said he was smart.

Genius? Yes. Give him a pile of metal and wiring and he could make anything.

But smart? No. When faced with emotions to this extent it was fair to say that Tony was the epitome of stupid.

“Tones? Tony? Hey!”

He snapped back into focus as a hand clapped in front of him, instantly forcing a fake smile on to his face.

“You back with me?”

“Yeah, Sorry honeybear, what were you saying?”

Rhodey looked at him wearily, relaxing back in his seat, eyes never leaving Tony.

Tony almost scoffed at that, relaxed. That was the opposite of how he felt right now. Of course his realisation would come to him during their movie night, not somewhere away from Rhodey where he could freak out properly without getting called out on it. 

“I was asking you if you’re still coming home next week? Ma wants to be sure so she can get out the extra bed”

The floaty feeling returned to Tony as he listened to Rhodey repeat the word that prompted the epiphany in the first place: home.

He wondered when it had become that for him.

“Of course” Tony answered, a shy smile spreading across his face despite himself, “I’m just glad she still wants me over this year”

Rhodey scoffed like that was the dumbest thing he had ever heard, slouching even further back into the sofa.

“Please - she likes you better than me, I swear. Y’know last time she called me she asked about you? Not about how I was doing, just straight into ‘how’s Tony’. I think she’d have you move in if she could”

Tony’s smile grew, the teenager biting his lip as he tried to tamper down his glee, receiving a light swat from his friend.

“Oh stop, I know you love it”

The minute Tony walked into the Rhodes’ house he could tell that Roberta knew. A raised eyebrow and small smirk was enough to make Tony sweat, begging her silently with her eyes to not say anything. A small nod and an unspoken promise to talk about it later, the woman had gathered the two boys into her arms in a warm hug, fussing over them as they hauled their bags into the hallway.

As Rhodey went to greet his sisters, Tony followed Roberta to the kitchen, head hung slightly as he prepared himself for her words.

“Does he know?”

Tony just shook his head, avoiding her eyes as he stared at the kitchen counter, fiddling with his fingers nervously.

“I don't think I knew until last week” he replied honestly, “I’m sorry ma’am. I won’t act on it”

The older woman scoffed, pausing her actions as she looked at Tony, “You two are the dumbest boys I’ve ever had the pleasure to know”

“What?”

“If you cant tell that my boy’s been head over heels for you since he first met you then you’re just as blind as him”

Tony blinked hard, staring at the woman in front of him as if she had gone mad.

“Did he tell you this?”

She simply shook her head with a sly smile, returning to making the drinks.

“A mother knows”

She paused to let the new information sink in, before letting out a small chuckle at Tony’s expression - terrified but with a smidge of hope - before answering the question that shone in his eyes.

“He looks at you like you hung the stars. I saw that in you today - that’s how I know”

Tony could feel the blush rush along his neck, earning another hearty laugh from Roberta as she handed him two mugs of hot chocolate.

“Now, go talk to my son. Lord knows one of you needs to make a move one of these days”

The blush reached his ears as he squeaked out a thank you, leaving the kitchen and calling Rhodey’s name as he went, nudging the door to the balcony open with his hip. 

The quiet creak of the door alerted Tony to his presence, Rhodey sitting down next to him with a peaceful smile.

“It’s good to be back, isn’t it?” He smiled, taking his mug from Tony’s hands.

“Sure is - your ma’s the same as ever”

Rhodey let out a small groan, though his smile ruined the annoyed effect he was trying to push, and turned to face Tony.

“What did she say?”

Nibbling on his lower lip, the teenager took a shaky breath before making resolute eye contact with his best friend.

“She said that we’re both blind”

Rhodey shifted slightly, and Tony could see that he was turning the words over in his head, trying to understand why it had caused such a reaction in his friend. A slight hitch of his breath was all Tony needed to hear to know he had got it, watching as his eyes widened slightly.

“She - What?”

Tony took a sip from his drink, the hot liquid centring him as he prepared himself to confess his feelings, praying to any god that might exist that Roberta was right.

“I’m gay” Tony blurted out, eyes firmly set on the floor “well, bi maybe. I don’t know for sure - yet anyway. All I know is that the last few weeks I’ve realised how much you mean to me ... and that confirmed things I’ve thought for a while now”

Tony fidgeted as shocked silence descended over the pair, still refusing to look up. He jumped as work-calloused fingers lifted his chin up, trembling slightly with the intimacy of the gesture. The new territory was frightening, yet filled both of them with adrenaline as their eyes met.

“That was probably the most heartfelt thing you’ve ever said to me” Rhodey smirked, his amusement clearly written over his face.

Tony scoffed, moving his chin away from the warm fingers, “I’m being truthful asshole”

Rhodey’s smile softened, placing his mug down on the floor before shuffling closer to Tony until their knees were touching. The younger man’s blush came back with a vengance as his gaze became glued to Rhodey’s lips, fingers itching to reach out and connect their lips together.

“I know, I’m sorry. I just can’t believe this conversation is actually happening” Rhodey laughed, “believe it or not I’ve been hung up on you for a while now”

It was Tony’s turn to smirk now, “your ma might’ve said something about that too”

Tony laughed as the other man cursed under his breath, running a hand over his face.

“And here I was trying to be coy”

“You’re nowhere near coy, platypus”

Rhodey raised his eyebrow, leaning closer to Tony so that his breath fanned over his cheek as he spoke, “Sure about that?”

In a burst of confidence, Tony turned his head to the side, connecting their lips in an chaste kiss. After a few seconds he leaned back, eyes searching frantically for any sign of animosity from his friend.

“You didn't let me speak” Rhodey breathed, hand moving to cup Tony’s face, “the feeling’s mutual”

He pulled him back in, their lips touching with a sense of familiarity that only kissing each other could bring, the warmth of the hot chocolate playing on their tongues. Tony only pulled away when he started to feel dizzy, arms reaching out to hold the other man’s shoulders to steady himself.

“Wow” he breathed, staring into Rhodey’s eyes, finally seeing the adoration shining through.

“Wow indeed” 

Rhodey chuckled, not moving his hand from the younger man’s cheek, stroking the soft skin with his thumb. The moment was theirs - and it was perfect.

________________________________________________________________

@xxloki81xx​  @geeksareunique​  @bangtan-serendipity​

[sawyer-saucee]

The truth about how I found out I was gay

When I’m telling my story about finding my sexuality and coming out, I waaay oversimplify it to make it fit in with everybody else’s experience. I make it sound like a linear struggle with a happy ending, when it was really a whole lot of back-and-forth for years. I don’t even really remember coming out, at least officially. I just kind of dropped hints until me and my family were on the same page. Even with my friends. It was never really dramatic or emotional, and because of that I feel like I can’t relate to a lot of other LGBTQ+ people and like my voice in a lot of community issues doesn’t really matter, because I “don’t get it.”

So, here’s the real story. Pure truth, and if I can’t remember exactly how something happened, I’ll say so.

I was in sixth grade when I first remember it coming up for me. I was sitting at my lunch table and decided to tell two girls, one of which I didn’t really know, that I had had a crush on a girl before. I don’t know why. I don’t even think I’d had a really memorable girl-crush at that point. Maybe I though I’d be seen as cool or unique for it. Which I’m very ashamed of to this day.

This was received well by one of the girls (who happened to be my best friend) and the other girl went and told two other girls in my class, who weren’t as okay with it. Specifically, I remember coming back from lunch and one of those girls stopping to ask,

“Is it true? That you’re...”

And because I knew what she was going to say, I answered, “Yeah.” To which she proceeded to make a face like she’d just smelled something bad, and then walk away. And that really upset me, because I was sensitive as a kid. I don’t really remember the timeline of events for the rest of that day, but I remember that it ended with me going home crying and “coming out” to my mom as gay. But I don’t count it as a real coming out, because I honestly still didn’t think I was gay. I wrote all of it off as me being dumb and childish and hoped that everyone could forget about it so that I could just go back to being straight, like a “normal person”. But it didn’t, because apparently actions have consequences or something. The girl who stopped me in the classroom must have told her brother about everything that went down. And so, he suddenly decided he hated me. He stopped me out my way out to the buses to tell me that people thought I was a lesbian, but at the time I didn’t actually know what lesbian meant. I don’t really remember anything else from there except that I learned what lesbian meant and that he made fun of me for the rest of the school year. I was not happy about it, but I mostly managed to avoid and ignore him. During the rest of that school year, I realized that I was developing a crush on my best friend, and yes, she was a girl. And it was weird for me, because despite everything that was happening, I still didn’t see it as ‘wrong,’ necessarily. I don’t really remember how I felt about it, honestly, except confused. Mostly because I wasn’t sure if it was actually a crush, or what. (Spoiler alert, it was. Past Sage, you are GAY.)

Enter seventh grade. That year was, in a lot of ways, better than sixth grade. For one, all that sixth grade drama was pretty much gone. We were all in a new school where we barely ever saw our old classmates, and even though I was still pretty embarrassed about what had happened, it wasn’t as big a deal. I didn’t have a crush on my best friend anymore, either. So, things just kind of went back to normal, kind of. But I was still kind of trying to repress it? I don’t know, it was always just something in the back of my mind. And I went through boy-crushes and stuff too, so it was kind of easy to just keep it down. And so, seventh grade was pretty uneventful, all in all.

Now, the summer before eighth grade. I had just moved overseas, and between culture shock and the loneliness of being in a new place, and frickin adolescence, my anxiety was going CRAZY. And, though I’m not sure exactly when it started, I began feeling a whole lot of anxiety around if I was gay or not. Everything that reminded me of anything related to being gay caused me so much anxiety that I had a physical reaction. It would give me that feeling of adrenaline, but kind of different... I don’t know, it’s hard to explain. But it didn’t feel good. And deep inside, I’m sure I did know, but I wasn’t sure. And that was the scariest thing about all of it. I like knowing things. And so when it’s like I’m supposed to know something about myself and I don’t, I just become terrified.

One day, my sisters and I were on the computer in the living room watching random music videos on YouTube, and they wanted to watch Katy Perry’s “Firework” music video. Now, in that video, there’s a scene where two guys kiss at a party. And when I saw it, I started internally freaking out. So, between that and spiraling thoughts of what might happen to me if I kept all of it bottled up, I went to my mom and started a very awkward conversation. I told her that I was worried about being gay or trans or something like that, and she told me that no matter what, she and my dad would love me. And I don’t know if it was how it satiated my fear of rejection or even just the relief of someone else finally knowing, but I started to feel better. And even though I had a ton of other things going on in my busy brain, my sexuality wasn’t something I really worried about anymore. I still was really anxious to have a fitting label and finally figure out who the frick I was attracted to, but it was less stressful than before.

The next year or so is kind of a blur, honestly. Eighth grade went by really fast, and I don’t remember much about it, sexuality-wise.

The beginning of ninth grade is when things started popping up again. I was still so insecure about my sexuality, but I still really wanted to come out to people (because at that point, I was kind of sure that I wasn’t straight, but I was still DEFINITELY in the questioning phase). I honestly don’t know why I wanted come out so badly. The same reason I did in sixth grade? My insane lack of patience?I don’t know.

The timeline of events I’m about to talk about might be completely out of order, but they all happened at some point, so I guess it doesn’t matter that much.

I came out to my group of friends more than once. First to all four of them as a group, very soon after we all met. Then to the two of them I was closest with. I came out to them separately because I wanted to make sure that they got the message and I wasn’t sure they had the first time, since I’d done it with a really out of the blue joke. Anyway, I actually told those two friends twice because my memory was so awful that I couldn’t remember that I’d done it before. Both times, they were super chill about it. Really awkward, but chill. But then, I started having a lot of anxiety over whether or not I was lying. Which is so dumb, right? But it was this huge internalized fear about whether or not I was deceiving people about this really serious thing. Part of it was because I came out to other people before I’d fully come out to myself, and figured myself out. Because I did this, I wasn’t sure if my label was going to change or if the label I’d told everyone I was (bisexual) was even really true. And so even though I lived with that fear, my lack of impulse control led me to come out to my aunt and one set of my grandparents before I was ready. Luckily, they were all really accepting and super cool about it, but then my fear only got worse. I thought, “If I end up figuring out that I’m straight, I’ll be in way to deep to ever say it!”

Spoiler alert, old Sage, YOU ARE GAY. CHILL OUT. But old Sage didn’t know that, and so she dealt with serious self-doubt and anxiety for the next year or so.

The next part of this story takes place online. I don’t really know when this happened exactly, but it was sometime during ninth grade, and maybe even part of the summer before. I joined a social media called Discord and made a lot of friends on there, one of which was a gay girl who I was really close with for a couple months. She asked me what I identified as, and I told her biromantic as almost a cop-out. Like “Haha yeah, girls are cute but I’d only have sex with men haHAA.” She was so cool about it, and through a bunch of conversations and a specific interaction involving her prompting me to draw my dream girl, I told her that she’d helped me reach my epiphany moment and that now I knew I was bisexual. But I was still unsure and I was still afraid of accidentally having lied to everyone, all because I had come out before I was ready and before I was sure.

And so, the anxiety continued. I started feeling anxious whenever I was attracted to a guy, maybe because I thought I wasn’t ‘gay enough’ and I had to only be attracted to girls or mainly to them in order to count. Anything other than gay was ‘cheating,’ I guess. I knew that attraction didn’t have to be 50-50, but it felt like it had to be that or more leaning towards feminine-presenting people in order to be valid. And it doesn’t! But I didn’t know that, and so anxiety stayed.

After that, things get blurry again. I slowly started meeting more people online and just gradually getting more comfortable with myself, and the anxiety kind of started going away a little bit. But then, I met a girl. And I honestly wasn’t sure what I felt for her. I couldn’t differentiate platonic from romantic love, and I was just confused, but because of my desperate need to be ‘gayer,’ I decided that I had a crush on her. Good choice, too. Because turns out, I did. (Guess my anxiety finally did one thing right.) And we started dating. Still though, early in our relationship, I was unsure of my feelings for her and felt even more anxiety because she was so affectionate and if it turned out that I was straight, I would have to break her heart, and I didn’t want to do that. Because as confused and anxious as I was, I knew that I cared about her.

This continued all the way up into February of 2018 where we met in person, and even beyond that. After we met in person, I was more sure of my romantic feelings for her, but all those years of doubt weren’t just going to let it go, so I kept worrying and I kept doubting. After that, it’s another blurry haze.

Now, as I’m writing this, it is July of 2018. It has taken me years, but I’m finally mostly comfortable with myself and the label I’ve chosen. I still have feelings of doubt, but they’re not as loud as they used to be, and it’s nice to finally be pretty much sure of something. I am pansexual, sometimes I say bisexual. I can choose which one I want or even flip back and forth, because I decide what my labels mean to me. I am attracted to people regardless of gender. My attraction to one gender in no way invalidates my attraction to another. I recently attended my first pride, and spent a day with other people like me. We have all struggled, and we’ve all had different struggles, but we all have one thing in common. And that is that we have pushed through, and that we’re going to be okay.

So, that’s the honest story about how I found myself. I left some things out that weren’t super important to the story, and condensed some details that would have made this way too long, but everything that I wrote is true and as I remember it. So, how about two rapid fire things that didn’t really fit anywhere in the story?

1. My parents and family are extremely accepting, and they do a lot to educate themselves, learn from me, and support me.

2. After I realized I was A Homo, I also realized that I have potentially had a gay crush before that I was too young and too uneducated to recognize as one. You never realize how ingrained into our heads heteronormativity is until you look back, honestly.

And that’s it. It was long, it was weird, it was confusing, and it was way more complicated than the simplified version that I normally tell people, but there it is. If you take anything away from all of this, I’d want it to be that it’s okay to be unsure, it’s okay to question for however long you need to, and you are under no obligation to come out to anyone. Do things whenever you’re ready, and don’t forget that no one knows you better than you do.

So, yeah. I just needed to get that all off my chest.

Thanks for reading.

[informationpalace]

Little Richard: Rock and Roll Legend Died at the Age of 87

Little Richard, best known as Little Richard, who mixed the black church's sacred yells with the profane blues sounds to make some of the world's first and most influential rock 'n' roll songs, died in Tullahoma, Tenn, Saturday morning. He was 87. His lawyer, Bill Sobel, has said bone cancer was the cause. Little Richard never invented rock 'n' roll. By the time he released his first single, "Tutti Frutti" — a raucous song about sex, his lyrics cleaned up but its sense was hard to miss — other musicians had already found a similar vein in a New Orleans recording studio in September 1955. Chuck Berry and Fats Domino had reached the top 10 of the rock, Bo Diddley had topped the rhythm and blues charts, and for a year Elvis Presley had made hits. But Little Richard, delving deeply into the wellsprings of gospel music and the blues, pounding the piano vigorously and shouting as if for his own life, lifted the energy level to many notches and produced something not quite like any music that had been heard before — something fresh, exciting and more than a little dangerous. As Richie Unterberger the rock historian put it, “He was crucial in upping the voltage from high-powered R&B into the similar, yet different, guise of rock ’n’ roll.”

The label for which he released his greatest hits, Art Rupe of Specialty Music, named Little Richard "dynamic, completely uninhibited, unpredictable, wild." "Tutti Frutti" rocked up the charts and was soon followed by "Long Tall Sally" and other music now known as classics. His live performances were so amazing. "He would just burst out from anywhere onto the stage and you could not hear anything but the audience's roar," record producer and arranger H.B. Barnum, who played a saxophone early on in his career with Richard Penniman, recalled Charles White's authorized biography in "The Life and Times of Little Richard" (1984). "He would be on stage, he would be off stage, he would be jumping and yelling, screaming, whipping the audience on." An Immense Impact Rock 'n' roll was in its early days an unabashed macho music, but Little Richard, who had performed in drag as a teenager, posed a very different image on stage: gaudily dressed, his hair piled up six inches high, his face aglow with cinematic makeup. In later years he was fond of suggesting that if Elvis were the king of rock 'n' roll, he was the queen. He described himself as homosexual, bisexual and "omnisexual" in different ways offstage. His success as an artist was incalculable. It could be seen and heard in James Brown's flamboyant showmanship, who idolized him (and used some of his musicians when Little Richard began a long hiatus from performing in 1957), and in Prince, whose ambisexual image owed him a great debt. Presley has captured songs from him. A octave-leaping exultation, the Beatles adopted his signature sound: "Woooo! "(Paul McCartney said the first song he ever performed in public was" Long Tall Sally, "which he later recorded with the Beatles.) In his yearbook for high school, Bob Dylan wrote that his dream was to" join Little Richard. The impact of Little Richard was very social as well.

Mr. White quoted him as saying, “I’ve always thought that rock ’n’ roll brought the races together.” “Especially being from the South, where you see the barriers, having all these people who we thought hated us showing all this love.” Mr. Barnum told Mr. White that when Little Richard sang, "they still had the audience segregated" at concerts in the South in those days, but that, “most times, before the end of the night, they would all be mixed together.” If uniting black and white audiences was Little Richard's point of pride, it was a source of concern for many, particularly in the South. The North Alabama White Citizens Council released a rock 'n' roll denunciation primarily because it put "people of both races together." And with several radio stations under pressure to keep black music off the air, Pat Boone's clean-up, toned-down version of "Tutti Frutti" was a bigger success than the original Little Richard. (He even had a "Long Tall Sally" hit) Still, it seemed like nothing could hinder Little Richard's rise to the top, until he himself stopped it. He was at the height of his fame when, in late September 1957, he left the United States to begin a tour of Australia. He was tired as he told the story, under constant pressure from the Internal Revenue Service and angry at the low rate of royalties he earned from Specialty. He had signed a deal, without anybody to inform him, which gave him half a cent for every record he sold. "Tutti Frutti" sold half a million copies but only netted $25,000 for him. One night in early October, he had an epiphany in front of 40,000 fans at an outdoor Sydney arena. "Russia sent that very first Sputnik off that night," he told Mr White, referring to the first satellite that had been sent into orbit. "It looked like the huge ball of fire was going straight over the stadium about two or three hundred feet above our heads. It made my mind shake. It just made my head shake. I got up from the piano, saying, "This is it. I am through. He had one last Top 10 hit: "Good Golly Miss Molly," recorded in 1956 but not released until the beginning of 1958. At the time he had left behind a rock 'n' roll.

He was an evangelist on the run. He went into Oakwood College (now Oakwood University) to prepare for the ministry in Huntsville, Ala., a Seventh-day Adventist church. He cut his hair, married and began gospel music recording. He will be torn between pulpit gravity and stage pull for the remainder of his life. “Although I sing rock ’n’ roll, God still loves me,” he said in 2009. “I’m a rock ’n’ roll singer, but I’m still a Christian.” In 1962, he was drawn back to the stage and he performed for wild acclaim in England, Germany and France over the next two years. The Beatles and the Rolling Stones were among his opening acts, and then at the beginning of their careers. He went on to tour the United States relentlessly, with a band that included Jimi Hendrix on guitar at one time. By the late 1960s, sold-out performances in Las Vegas and triumphant appearances at Atlantic City and Toronto rock festivals were sending out a clear message: Little Richard was back to stay. ‘I Lost My Reasoning’ Alcohol and cocaine began to drain his soul by his own account ("I lost my reasoning," he would later say), and in 1977 he turned from rock 'n' roll to God once again. He became a Bible salesman, started making worship songs again and vanished from the spotlight for the second time. He is not staying away forever. His biography was released in 1984 and marked his return to the public eye, and he started performing again. By now he was as much a musician as he was a personality. He played a prominent role as a record producer in the hit movie "Down and Out in Beverly Hills" by Paul Mazursky in 1986. He appeared on television on talk shows, variety, comedy, and awards shows. He worked at celebrity weddings, and performed at funerals for celebrities. In concert he could still uplift the roof. He stole the spotlight at a rock 'n' roll revival concert in London's Wembley Arena, in December 1992. "Today, I am 60," he told the crowd, "and I still look remarkable." He proceeded to look incredible — with the aid of wigs and heavy pancake makeup as he flew intermittently into the 21st century. But in the end, age took its tool. He walked onstage with the assistance of two canes by 2007. In 2012, he suddenly ended a show at Washington's Howard Theater, telling the audience, "I cannot breathe hard." A year later, he told Rolling Stone magazine that he was retiring. "In a sense I am done," he said. "There is nothing I feel like doing right now." Survivors include a friend, Danny Jones Penniman. Full survivor information was not immediately available.

Raised in Macon, Ga., on 5 Dec. 1932, Richard Wayne Penniman was the third of 12 children born to Charles and Leva Mae (Stewart) Penniman. His father was a brick mason on the road, selling moonshine. An uncle, a brother, and a grandfather were preachers, and as a child he attended churches of the Seventh-day Adventist, Baptist, and Holiness, and aspired to be an evangelist artist. An early influence was Sister Rosetta Tharpe, a gospel singer and guitarist, one of the first artists to blend a religious message with the intensity of R&B. Richard's ambition had taken a detour by the time he was at his teens. He left home and started performing in traveling medicine and minstrel shows, part of a dying-out 19th-century tradition. Billed as Little Richard by 1948—the name was a nod to his youth and not to his physical stature — he was a cross-dressing actor with a minstrel troupe named Sugarfoot Sam From Alabam that had been performing for decades. He recorded his first songs in 1951, while performing alongside strippers, comics and drag queens on Atlanta's Decatur Street strip. The songs, without distinct style, were generic R&B, and attracted almost no attention. He encountered two performers during this time whose look and sound alone would have a profound impact: Billy Wright and S.Q. Reeder, who has performed as Esquerita and recorded it. Both of them were professional pianists, glamorous dressers, flamboyant entertainers and as openly gay as it was possible in the 1950s to be in the South. Richard Penniman acknowledged his debt to Esquerita, who he said gave him some tips for playing the piano, and to Mr. Wright, whom he once called "the most fantastic entertainer I have ever seen." However much he borrowed from either man, the music or persona that emerged were his own. His break came when Mr. Rupe signed him to Specialty in 1955, and arranged for him to record with local New Orleans musicians. He began singing a raucous yet obscene song during a break at that session which Mr. Rupe thought could attract the burgeoning teenage record-buying audience. Mr. Rupe hired Dorothy LaBostrie, a New Orleans songwriter, to clean up the lyrics; the song became "Tutti Frutti"; and a rock 'n' roll star was born. By the time he finished playing, Little Richard was a recipient of lifetime achievement awards from the National Academy of Recording Arts and Sciences and the Rhythm and Blues Foundation in both the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame (he was inducted in the Hall's first year) and the Songwriters Hall of Fame. In 2010, "Tutti Frutti" was added to the National Register of Congress Library. If Little Richard ever thought he had deserved all the honors he got, he would never admit it. "Many people call me the rock 'n' roll architect," he said one time. "I do not call that to myself, but I think it is true." Do not forget leaving your valuable comment on this piece of writing and sharing with your near and dear ones. To keep yourself up-to-date with Information Palace, put your email in the space given below and Subscribe. Furthermore, if you yearn to know about effect of virus on Frank Soo, view our construct, ‘Frank Soo: Google is celebrating England's forgotten footballer.’ Read the full article

[jonghyundroppedthesoap]

My Number One Fan

Chapter 11 Pairing: JongKey Word Count: 5,284 Summary: Kibum goes to the same, run-down bar every week to watch the man of his affections sing his heart out with a mere guitar for company. He wasn’t expecting the coffee, nor the beautiful personality within the singer. And he definitely wasn’t expecting to fall in love.

A/N: originally posted on @ourshineeshrine

Kibum gave the teacher a hasty glance before returning his gaze back down to the phone within his lap, frowning in worry at the lack of text messages he had received throughout the day. He scolded himself mentally for the umpteenth time that day, vehemently wishing once again that he hadn’t sent that text to Jonghyun. What on earth had he been thinking to send something as improper as that to begin with?

‘I obviously hadn’t been thinking at all.’ his conscience jeered, and Kibum dejectedly turned his phone off and looked back up at the scrawl upon the whiteboard.

Biting his lip, he risked a peak over at Amber, smiling reassuringly at her curious look.

”I’ll tell you about it later.” he mouthed, shooting the girl a thumbs up as she nodded eagerly and turned her head back to the front with reluctance and anticipation.

The lesson seemed to drone on for what felt like a year, and Kibum found himself unconsciously doodling within his notebook as the teacher’s words flew into one ear and spewed immediately out of the other. His pencil glided over the page without thought, and after he had finished he stared at the result with a mixture of glee and embarrassment.

A roughly sketched drawing of Jonghyun’s face now lie upon his paper, and although he took pride in the accuracy of the image, Kibum nonetheless turned the page to prevent anybody sneaking a glance at the singer he happened to fancy. It was humiliating enough to have the older boy not reply to his risqué texts, but for his fellow peers to witness that he’d been daydreaming and drawing another man in class? He just wouldn’t have it.

Seconds ticked by dully, and Kibum’s gaze bore into the clock fiercely in hopes of causing it to move faster. His attempts were futile however, and soon enough Kibum could feel his eyes become heavy with exhaustion and threaten to droop. Before he’d met Jonghyun, it was safe to say that Kibum had a much simpler time paying attention during class, but now it seemed as though the older boy had absorbed all of his attention and there was nothing left to share.

Kibum didn’t mind entirely. Although he did enjoy studying and discovering new things, he certainly didn’t want to be a mathematician or a scientist after graduation. Dance was what intrigued him the most, however the idea of his parents investing in dance classes for him was laughable. And undoubtedly impossible. So Kibum made the most of the studio at school and practiced whenever possible, spending his lunchtimes dancing away his thoughts and worries in lieu of socialising with his fellow peers.

These thoughts were consuming Kibum so profoundly that he didn’t even recognize the persistent tapping on his shoulder until a loud voice sliced through his ears and reverie like a steel blade.

”-rry up, Kibum!” urged Amber, her impatient face appearing clearly before Kibum as his eyes finally managed to focus.

Kibum blinked and looked around himself in a daze. Like expected, the classroom was empty bar from him and Amber. Hurriedly, Kibum began to shuffle his books together in order to speak to the tomboy as soon as possible, however he was halted as a calloused yet gentle hand placed itself on his rounded shoulder.

“No point in going somewhere else. We’ll get more peace in here.” stated Amber with a grin, pulling over a nearby chair and placing it across from Kibum.

Swirling the seat around so the back of it was in front of her, Amber plopped herself onto the chair and rested her head on the backrest in anticipation. “Spill the beans, Kibum. What’s got you in such a stupefied daze?”

Kibum sighed deeply, and looked up at Amber through his lashes with furrowed brows. “I’m so stupid.” he muttered.

Amber quirked an eyebrow with incredulity. “You confessed?”

The older student’s eyes widened and he shook his head vehemently. “God, no. I’m not that stupid.”

“Hey, what else am I meant to think when you say that?” she defended with a whine, crossing her arms over her chest stubbornly. “Seriously though, tell me what’s happened.”

Kibum rolled his eyes at her persistence, yet chewed his bottom lip between his teeth nervously nonetheless. He reached into his pants pocket and plucked out his phone unsurely, raising his gaze to Amber as though he were contemplating something.

“C’mon Kibum!” she urged, almost bouncing on her seat in anticipation. “You can trust me, ‘Bum…we’ve been friends forever. I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

Kibum exhaled with the realization that she was perfectly correct. “I know, I know. Just…let me put it in context for you.”

“…”

“So last night I went to Jonghyun’s house, and because I spent so long there, we ended up falling asleep on the couch together.”

“Kibum, you didn’t do the nasty did you?!” interrupted Amber with a gasp, dramatizing the situation far more than it needed to be.

Kibum laughed and shook his head. “Calm down, Amber. No, I did not do the ‘nasty.’ Anyway, when I woke up this morning I could’ve sworn he was singing or something, I don’t know, but that wasn’t the embarrassing part. My limbs were, like, draped over him like an old rag or something, and when I went to move, he just stopped me!”

Amber clapped her hands together in excitement and leaned even closer to Kibum if possible, resting her chin on her open palm. “You’re getting in there, Kibum! He so likes you!”

Kibum pouted. “I don’t reckon so, Amber. This morning, I thought that he did too! We were being flirty and stuff all morning, and I could’ve sworn he was checking me out at some point. He kept making all these sexual references after I cooked breakfast and—“

“You cooked him breakfast?! Oh my god, Kibum, that’s adorable!” exclaimed Amber joyfully, sitting back down in her seat hurriedly at the pointed glare Kibum was directing at her.

“Is that all you gathered from that?! Did the sexual reference part not pique your interest in the slightest?”

Amber gulped thickly. “It did, it did, I swear! I just thought the cooking part was extra adorable. Please, continue.”

Kibum rolled his eyes but continued nevertheless. “Anyway, so after I cooked, I was all like, “Did you gather anything from that?” as a joke, and out of anything he could’ve replied with, guess what he chose to say.”

“Um, perha—“

“”How to turn someone on, I suppose”!” continued Kibum breathlessly, not even giving Amber the opportunity to respond.

Amber blinked once, then twice. “He really said that?!”

Kibum nodded vigorously, and then without even pausing to take a breath, resumed. “So as you might’ve guessed, I was beyond fangirling at that point. I was practically having a seizure in my brain, and I figured that if he was being all brave and stuff then it wouldn’t hurt if I was too.”

Amber looked intently at Kibum but made no motion to comment.

“And then right before I got out of the car at school, he was joking about being unsatisfied and stuff, so I worked up my nerves after he left and sent probably the worse text I’ve ever conjured in my entire life. Here.” rambled Kibum, unlocking his phone and sliding it over to Amber in order for her to take a read.

The room was completely void of any noise for a few seconds; so silent that Kibum could even hear himself breathing. Finally, Amber rose her gaze to meet Kibum’s and stared into his eyes intently, leaving no warning whatsoever before bursting out into a fit of laughter.

Kibum’s eyes widened considerably, an immediate worrying mask clouding his feline features. “Stop laughing and help me!” he whinged, poking out his bottom lip and quivering it for extra effect.

Amber’s laughter seized but the large smile adorning her face remained inevitably. “I’m sorry ‘Bum, but you’re just too funny. This is pure gold, why are you panicking so much?”

Kibum crossed his arms over his chest and screwed his face up in distaste. “He hasn’t replied since I sent it and the day’s nearly over! I came on too strongly and now he probably thinks I’m a gay freak.”

Amber frowned sympathetically and slid her fingers through Kibum’s in solace. “He does not think that, Kibum. He probably hasn’t even seen the message. Besides, if he didn’t reply because you came on too strong then he’s a hypocritical loser and you should slap his sorry ass. Face, I mean. Don’t slap his ass.”

Kibum offered a brittle smile at Amber’s attempt to enliven the mood; the light not quite reaching his eyes. “Yeah…maybe.”

“Leave it ‘til tonight, and if he hasn’t replied by tomorrow or doesn’t come over, it means he’s probably seen it. But maybe he’s never been a relationship with another guy and doesn’t know how to react.” started Amber, gasping suddenly as though an epiphany had suddenly struck her out of the blue. “Maybe…Maybe he thinks you’re straight and is trying to distance himself because he doesn’t want to get his heart broken!”

Kibum’s smile grew slightly and a glint of joy sparked in his eyes. “You’re looking too far into it! I guess I’ll wait until tomorrow, and then if nothing happens we can start looking into your little theories.”

Amber flashed a broad grin and scratched the back of her neck bashfully. “Sounds good! As of now, however, I’m super hungry. Come eat with my group today.”

Kibum shot Amber a sceptical expression, raising his eyebrow in doubt. “We both know your friends don’t like me.”

“They’re just jealous your fashion is better than theirs. It was worth a try, I guess.”

Kibum laughed and flicked his hair out of his eyes in agreement. “They think I’m gonna steal their man or something? I reckon I’ll pass for today, Amber, but thanks for the offer.”

Amber poked her tongue out and stood up from her chair. “I figured you’d say that. The offer’s always there, Kibum. Catch ya later!”

Kibum waved in farewell and smiled as the tomboy made her way out of the classroom and down the corridor, grin fading slowly once she was out of sight. Looking at his phone once more out of spite, Kibum frowned in expected disappointment and shoved the device back into his pocket with a dejected sigh.

Reluctantly standing from his seat, Kibum followed Amber’s footsteps with a trudge and slowly shuffled his way towards the lockers aimlessly. Offhandedly, he swiped his lunch from his bag and continued on down to the dance studio, poking his head through in greeting once he had arrived. However, a wave of melancholy engulfed his delicate form as his eyes landed upon the empty room, his reflection in the mirror being the only type of company nearby. With a begrudged sigh, Kibum stepped foot inside and closed the door behind him nevertheless, thinking to himself that he should be elated at the lack of presences.

He wasn’t though, and sat down heavily by the mirror with furrowed brows adorning his sharp features whilst twiddling his phone between his long fingers. Kibum chewed on his sandwich half-heartedly with his eyes locked on the bright screen that seemingly glared up onto his pale skin. So preoccupied with the device within his palm, he took no notice of the door opening or the light footsteps which made their way up behind him. The mirror should’ve been a dead giveaway, but Kibum couldn’t be bothered raising his head merely to see how forlorn his expression was.

“Jonghyun, huh?” came the voice of Taemin, and Kibum couldn’t prevent the jeer of ‘deja-vu’ clipping at his memory.

Kibum, with a fright, tilted his phone to the ground and flicked his head to face Taemin. The younger boy, not fazed in the slightest, continued speaking and plopped down beside Kibum without a worry plaguing his youthful face.

“Sorry I wasn’t here earlier; Minho wanted me to check out this new soccer trick he learnt. Anyway—why’ve you got your phone like that, Kibum? Tryna hide something?” he laughed, reaching his hand forward playfully in attempt to snatch Kibum’s phone from the elder’s grip.

Kibum retracted his hand back quickly as though the younger’s touch stung, before smiling lightly at Taemin in defence of his strange actions. Despite his grin of reassurance however, Taemin frowned.

“I was just kidding…but seriously though, what’s wrong?” he questioned carefully, slowly bringing his hand back to rest in his lap whilst giving Kibum’s phone a curious study.

Kibum faltered for a few seconds and fumbled on his words. “N-nothing. I was just a bit shocked, that’s all.”

Taemin quirked an eyebrow dubiously, genuinely not believing an ounce of junk that spilled from Kibum’s mouth. He alternated his gaze between Kibum’s eyes and the phone that lie in the third year’s fisted hand for a few, silent seconds, before out of the blue, he lunged forward and swiped the device from Kibum’s unsuspecting grasp.

“Yah!” Kibum exclaimed furiously, jumping onto his feet hastily in attempt to tackle Taemin to the ground.

It seemed that Taemin was quite swift however, for he had already managed to sprint to the other end of the room with phone in hand, fingers tapping at the screen frantically in hopes of stumbling across the cause of Kibum’s grim mood.

Kibum’s face flushed a bright shade of crimson as he tried feebly to halt Taemin; to no avail it seemed as the younger curled himself up in a ball by the corner of the room with the phone concealed tightly in his clutch. “Seriously, stop! It’s none of your business!”

Taemin furrowed his brows and poked out his tongue in concentration, ignoring Kibum’s cries entirely as his mind became absorbed with the task at hand. “I don’t wanna see you slumping around all day because of some petty thing on your phone.” he defended, eyes all of a sudden jolting wider in delight as they landed upon Jonghyun’s contact name.

Kibum’s hands clenched tightly by his sides and his legs visibly shook in nervousness, looking almost on the verge of tears as a thought of horrific realization invaded his mind. Amber was the only one who knew about Kibum’s infatuation with Jonghyun, and he didn’t think he would be able to cope from the embarrassment if anyone else; especially a newfound friend such a Taemin; found out.

“T-Taemin…nothing’s wrong I swear. You d-don’t need to worry.” he reassured shakily, taking tentative steps forward towards Taemin’s sprawled body without an ounce of amusement clouding his face.

Although Taemin’s features were adorned with an expression of pure, innocent mischief, Kibum was far too worried and anxious to be optimistic and take the situation lightly. Oblivious to Kibum’s desperation however, Taemin continued humorously, voice laced with hearty laughter.

The young dancer grinned, and poked his tongue out at Kibum in cheek. “Tut tut, Kibum. You can’t lie to me!”

Flashing a bright smile, Taemin’s gaze returned to the phone within his hand and he tapped on the name of Kibum’s affection with anticipation. And just like Kibum had expected would happen, an unsettling silence engulfed the room before Taemin’s jaw dropped to the floor in astonishment.  His eyes awkwardly lifted to meet Kibum’s insecure ones, brow furrowing at the sheen of tears that were threatening to fall.

Taemin cleared his throat and, out of respect, turned Kibum’s phone off. “I-I’m sorry.”

An unintelligible sound emitted from Kibum’s throat before he hastily whipped his head around in order to avoid the younger’s intense gaze. Taemin watched the older boy intently, and felt his heart clench in sympathy and repent for what he had intruded on.

“I’m really sorry for invading like that Kibum…I shouldn’t have.” he began unsurely, twiddling his fingers around each other in awkwardness. “If it makes you feel any better…I really don’t mind if you like him like that. I kinda suspected it anyway.”

Kibum slowly peaked back around to take a glance at Taemin, and although his cheeks were slightly stained in dried tears of humiliation, he took solace in the younger’s words and kind smile. “You did?”

Taemin laughed heartily upon the floor, and his eyes crinkled in mirth as he looked at Kibum. “Until yesterday I actually thought you dating him…so yes, I definitely did.”

Kibum’s eyes widened and he looked at Taemin sceptically. “You thought we were dating?!” he exclaimed.

Taemin giggled behind his hand and nodded vehemently. “Oh c’mon, Kibum. All the signs were there, what else was I meant to think? But on a more serious note, what about our little Jonghyun has got you in such a crappy mood?”

Kibum groaned into his palm and sat upon the panelled floor with a heavy thump. “Did you happen to read the last text I sent? I can’t believe I actually did that, I’m so stupid!”

Taemin rose an eyebrow, and reached his hand over to grab Kibum’s phone back off from the ground. Unlocking it swiftly, his eyes skimmed over the last message sent and felt his lips automatically quirk up into a smirk.

“Don’t you dare laugh at this, Lee Taemin.” chided Kibum from his ball on the ground, voice screaming in embarrassment.

Taemin snorted and shook his head in amusement. “What on earth, Kibum? What gave you the courage to send this?”

“I honestly have no idea. We were low key flirting all morning, so I assumed it wouldn’t be that bad if I sent something like this, but…he hasn’t replied all day!” rambled Kibum desperately, voice adapting a whinging tone the more he spoke.

Taemin’s eyebrows rose suggestively, and ignored the woes Kibum spoke of. “So you slept with him last night, then?”

Kibum exhaled loudly in exasperation. “Did you listen to a word I just said? And no, I did not sleep with him. I slept next to him. There’s a difference.”

“I was listening! You guys were flirting all morning, after you slept next to him. Isn’t that the important part here?” defended Taemin, scrambling to his feet before plopping himself down closer to Kibum.

“And the part about him not replying all day?! That didn’t register through your mind at all?”

Taemin breathed out deeply. “Kibum, Kibum, Kibum. You’re the one meant to be giving me advice, not the opposite way around. Listen; when I came over yesterday it was obvious to see that you’re both head over heels for each other. You confirmed that by mentioning the flirting and everything, so you really have nothing to worry about. Besides, it hasn’t even been quarter of a day yet. He probably hasn’t even looked at his phone.”

Kibum screwed up his face and picked at his fingernails in doubt. “You reckon?”

“I know he likes you Kibum. He was looking at you as though you were the moon the whole night.”

Kibum failed in trying to conceal his smile, a slight shade of crimson brushing itself over his sharp cheekbones. “And you sure you’re not grossed out with me liking him and all?”

Taemin smiled in reassurance. “Positive I’m not. It’s pretty cute, if I must say. And I’m pretty sure deep down, Minho agrees too.”

Kibum tilted his head confusedly, and narrowed his eyes in Taemin’s direction. “What the heck have you and Minho been saying about me?”

Taemin threw his head back and laughed loudly, “You don’t wanna know, Kibum. Anyway though, the bell’s about to go and my locker’s on the other side of the school. You better keep me updated about what happens with Jonghyun, and I wish you luck!”

Kibum rolled his eyes and pushed himself up from the ground. “Yeah sure, whatever. If he never replies though, I’m blaming you for getting my hopes up.”

The younger student scoffed as he opened the dance room door, responding with a mere two words as he left the brightly lit room. “You suck.”

The third year student snorted, before picking his phone up off the ground and trailing behind soon after.

As the end of the day approached, Kibum felt his mood noticeably increase because of the talk he’d had with Amber and Taemin. It was as though a gigantic weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and despite the fact that he still inwardly feared what Taemin was thinking as of now, he generally felt so much lighter now that he’d gotten this secret off of his chest.

He made the trek home with a slight bounce in his step, and promised himself that he wouldn’t even take a glance at his phone until he’d reached his house and climbed the stairs to his bedroom. With an earplug resting within his ear, his footsteps synced to the beat of the song playing, and he inwardly noted that it would probably sound much better if Jonghyun were singing it.

Although the idea of that haunting text still plagued his mind, he tried to be optimistic about the subject and think about what Taemin had mentioned instead. Was it true that Jonghyun looked at him as though he was the moon? He had never really noticed it before, but maybe that was because Kibum himself was far too busy admiring the older male in all of his glory when they were together.

Kibum had never really pegged Jonghyun as someone who would be with another guy, but he was rather touchy around Kibum and he definitely didn’t have a filter when it came to flirting and speaking his mind. So many different ideas and theories were easing their way into his thoughts one by one, and before he knew it, he was already trudging up the driveway to his house and unlocking the front door with an audible click.

Hurriedly grabbing an after school snack from the pantry, Kibum clenched his phone tightly within his grasp as he raced upstairs to his vastly decorated bedroom. As he set foot inside, his eyes were immediately drawn to the picture of Jonghyun and him on the wall, and a befitting grin spread over his face in joy. Practically throwing himself onto his bed, he impatiently turned his phone on and hurriedly swiped to his view his messages, chest once again tightening in anticipation for the umpteenth time that afternoon.

Kibum inhaled sharply, and felt his breath catch in his throat. Jonghyun had seemingly replied, and Kibum’s eyes ran over the message as quickly as possible, taking in every aspect of the message as he read it.

I left my phone in the car all day, and I missed out on a message like this? Damn Kibum, I didn’t know you could be so blunt. But I must say…I like it ;)

Now I’m even more excited! See you tomorrow Kibum, I’ll be anticipating it! :’)

Your idol, Jjong x

Kibum’s heart went wild in his chest, and he felt himself grinning so wide in a way that threatened to split his face in two. Rolling onto his stomach, Kibum buried his face into his pillow and screamed loudly, unable to control the overwhelming happiness that had immersed his mind.

He read the message a few more times just to etch it into his mind and confirm he wasn’t dreaming, before turning his phone back off and jumping from his bed. All of the worries that had accumulated throughout the day immediately flew from his mind, and he mentally thanked Amber and Taemin for having faith in Jonghyun and himself despite his doubts.

The older male’s straightforward attitude towards these kind of things unnerved Kibum, yet the excitement that went along with it was thrilling, nonetheless. Every time Jonghyun would say something suggestive or even make a low-key flirty comment, Kibum found his legs turning to jelly and his heart melting to goo, unable to control the cage of butterflies that were released inside of his pleasantly churning stomach.

Suddenly overcome with the urge to dance in delight, Kibum bounced his way over to the CD player and pressed play, knowing fully well that his favourite song was already loaded inside. Kibum flinched slightly as the first beat of the song blasted out of the speakers, adjusting the volume slightly as to not to disturb the neighbours – or his eardrums.

It wasn’t often Kibum found himself dancing in his room like this. These types of moments were usually conserved and saved for the dance room at school, being able to utilise a large space such as that much better than the expanse of his bedroom floor. However at that moment, it would suffice, and before he knew it Kibum was flowing between the walls, punctuating his moves sharply yet remaining elegant and graceful at the same time.

He didn’t know how much time had passed, but it was with sweat dripping down his forehead when Kibum decided to stop, grabbing a towel from his bathroom and wiping away the sheen of moisture gently. And it was quite beneficial that Kibum had decided to stop when he did, because within a few minutes his ears could scarcely pick up the sound of the front door opening and a pair of light footsteps making their way onto the kitchen tiles.

Kibum allowed a breath of relief to escape his lungs. It was only his mother. Although the student still feared his mother’s reaction to his disappearance the night before, he figured she was much more lenient to this kind of thing in comparison to his father. Making the decision to kill two birds with one stone, Kibum worked up his minimal courage and began the slump downstairs, poking his head around the kitchen wall in anxiousness once he had arrived.

He braced himself before taking a tentative step forward into the kitchen, offering his mother a sheepish smile as her head whipped up to greet him.

“H-hey, umma.” he stuttered awkwardly, digging his toe into the floor beneath as he stared at his feet in forged interest.

Kibum’s mother stood and stared in silence, and Kibum could practically feel the anger building up beneath her harsh gaze.

“Kibum.”

He gulped.

“Would you mind telling me why on earth you didn’t come home last night?”

He trapped his bottom lip between his teeth and gnawed on it apprehensively, more petrified by her calm tone than anything. “I-I was at A-Amber’s house…f-for that project. Remember?”

Kibum mentally praised himself for his fast thinking and lying skills, and his face morphed into a more confident façade. “We had so much to do that it was midnight before we knew it…I thought it was better to sleep there instead of coming home so late and my phone has no credit, so I assumed you guys would be okay with it.”

It was strange. His mother never really questioned when he stayed with Amber despite the fact that the younger girl was not a good influence in the slightest. And although he knew personally he wasn’t going to make some kind of move on Amber, it still befuddled him that his mother didn’t doubt what they were doing with their time together.

And his mother suspecting his sexuality was out of the question. He might be quite flamboyant, and he might have different interests than most of his other male peers, but Kibum knew ‘gay’ wasn’t in his parents’ vocabulary. It was quite a taboo topic to them and the rest of South Korea, and Kibum was perfectly fine not making a fuss out of the whole concept. Honestly, Kibum was just excited to move out after he’d graduated high school and have the freedom and joy of merely being himself. Thankfully, there wasn’t too long to go.

Kibum didn’t hate his parents. Really, he loved them. But there’s a difference between loving someone and loving their morals and what they stand for. And Kibum definitely didn’t agree with anything his parents had to say. In all honestly, they were bigoted, biased and belittling towards anyone who landed outside their standards of normativity, and Kibum often nearly laughed at the mere thought. If only they knew.

He heard his mother exhale loudly and looked up from his gaze on the floor just in time to see her run her hands through her hair in exasperation. “Kibum, Kibum, Kibum. What are we going to do with you?”

“Send me to the asylum?” he joked, earning himself a brisk slap over the arm.

She continued, not an ounce of amusement spiking her stern tone. “Be serious, Kibum. Last year you were such a disciplined boy, and now here you are running off every night and not even telling me where you’re going! I don’t mind if you’re staying at Amber’s house or whatever, but it’s the fact that you don’t tell me anything! How am I supposed to know you’re not going to run off and get yourself killed tomorrow when me and your father are out?!”

Kibum blinked and felt his brows furrow in guilt. He was reminded once again why he preferred his mother over his father. “Umma,” he whined, slouching down onto the kitchen stool.

“It’s not as if I’m going out and doing drugs…All I’m doing is hanging out at my friend’s house to do school work. You talk as though you don’t trust me at all.”

Kibum definitely felt guilty for blatantly lying to his mother, however he physically couldn’t allow his mother to find out the truth about Jonghyun. And so he continued to lie, bending the truth only slightly in order to give his mother what she wanted to hear.

It worked. Soon, she was wrapping him up in a tight hug and apologising softly for doubting her beautiful boy, Kibum’s face remaining stoic as thoughts of Jonghyun and deceit plagued his mind. Their chat was over quickly, and Kibum began the trek back upstairs, mind alternating between the guilt he was experiencing and the overpowering excitement the thought of Jonghyun supplied.

The latter seemed to outweigh the negative, and so Kibum decided to begin and finish his homework as soon as possible, satisfied with the idea of not having to do it later. He seized his books from his school back and got to work, surprising himself significantly as he ploughed through the questions he was assigned. Dinner was nearing by when he finally completed his workload, standing up from his desk with a crack or two before reluctantly making his way downstairs.

Although his mother was quite lenient and biased when it came to her only son, Kibum’s father was quite the contrary, and never seemed to be fazed by anything constructive he had achieved. Unlike with Kibum, his father’s negative feelings always outweighed his affirmative ones. He hoped that his mother had managed to put some decent opinions into his head, and held his breath as he turned the kitchen corner.

His gaze met his father’s, and the both of them remained silent, diverting their gazes almost immediately after making contact. Kibum sat down hesitantly and fiddled with his cutlery in an awkward manner, hoping to God his father wouldn’t ask any questions. He didn’t.

It felt as though a year had gone by when supper finally finished, and Kibum breathed a huge sigh of relief as he entered his room once again for what seemed like the millionth time that day. Collapsing onto his bed, Kibum allowed a wide grin to etch itself onto his worn face, and he fell asleep with a feeling of eagerness swimming around in the pit of his pale stomach.

[tumblunni]

Ever have a moment where you just spontaneously get inspired for a sad story idea and start weeping at the torment you have unleashed upon yourself? I have no idea why this happens to meeeeeeeee

I just suddenly had the idea of this unusual love triangle subversion where it starts off looking like the cliche of two guys fighting over a girl, but in the end the two guys hook up with each other instead. Like a big holy shit realization that their rivalry was stemming from repressed feelings, and how much they genuinely enjoyed being ‘rivals’ and kept seeking any chance to ‘fight’. And how their ‘love’ for the girl might have been kind of cruel and thoughtless, they were treating her like a prize, like her only purpose was to be won so the other guy would lose. So they could gloat. And there wasnt much genuine feeling there beyond a superficial attraction, and it was cruel to lead her on thinking you were dating her because you liked her, rather than because you can boast to your friends cos she’s sexy. So it’d be a story of these two guys getting a lot of character development and softening up both towards each other and towards her, forming a genuine friendship with her and apologising for all the ways they’d been cruel while dating her. Even though she doesnt ‘win’ either boy in the end, she has just as much of a victory as they do! She ends the story gaining a lot of self confidence and being able to recognise and escape an unhealthy relationship while also gaining two great wingmen who’re gonna support her towards finding her true love someday. ^_^

But then my thoughts kinda added a sadder potential aspect to the thing cos I was like WHAT IF INEXPLICABLY THROW GHOSTS IN I have a perfectly good comedic/cute romance concept and I had to add tragedy! Alas! :P

The weird idea was that maybe one of the male characters is actually the ghost of the girl’s former boyfriend? So she’s trying to date this new guy and he gets comically tormented by the clingy ghost, thus beginning their rivalry! But eventually it gets sad because the closer everyone gets to their happy ending character development, the closer ghost boy gets to fading away. And every other part of the plot would be even more emotional if one of the people in the equation is dead, yknow? Like... having to realize that your dead boyfriend didn’t really love you, and his ghost is floating nearby trying to apologise but you can’t see him :( And then all the misunderstandings could be much worse because they have to be relayed back and forth through these spirit contact methods. Itd be much harder to reach that big epiphany that "oh shit I’m actually gay and was in denial, and I got accidentally into that relationship with her because I was trying to prove I was straight, but I never realized that I genuinely care about her as a friend and I hurt her by not being honest. I just wanted to give her a fake boyfriend that’d be the dream boyfriend she always wanted, because I care about her. But I didnt know it’d hurt her far more than being alone, and we might lose that friendship we once had..." "...also I AM DEAD and this is getting INFINATELY MORE DIFFICULT” (Also incidentally I was thinking the other male character actually is bisexual, I dont want to make any accidentaly ‘bisexuals are just in denial’ statement that I don’t actually believe, just cos I messed up writing this plot. Yknow??) BUT YEAH IT GETS DEPRESSING Cos he manages to come to peace with himself and apologise and repair his friendship with his ex-girlfriend, and maybe even start a bit of a relationship with this rival boy... and then he passes away. He has one big happy day for the first time in years since he died, he solves all of his lingering regrets, and everyone knows this means he won’t be able to remain in this world but it would be cruel to make him stay sad just so he stays here. And maybe a dramatic depressing argumentative episode where everyone actually considers doing that, just because they dont want to lose him a second time, but they have to accept that it isn’t right. And.. like.. the whole time ghost boy is trying to deny his feelings for rival boy, feeling like its a betrayal to want to date him. Its betraying his friend/ex-girlfriend, and its also betraying this man because he knows he cant be the perfect boyfriend he deserves. This time he knows its wrong to lie, and he cant do it again. He cant lie that he’ll be able to be there, he can’t lie that he can be just like a living person. They can’t even hold hands... So it started off with him trying to keep this boy away from his ex-girlfriend, and now its changed to him trying to force them to get together. Sometimes comical, sometimes depressing. He’s scared of leaving the two of them alone and lonely, and he’s convinced they totally have a spark there, even though the two of them have already talked it through and realized they’ve lost that spark, and he really wants to be with ghost boy. Like.. one of them doesn’t love her because he’s gay, one of them doesn’t love her because its just natural that even if you’re attracted to both men and women you won’t be attracted to every man and woman. And they both love her more as a friend and its so hard for them to actually attain that happy friendship because they’re now stuck trying to ship each other with her. BUT YOU’RE ALIVE, YOU COULD MAKE HER HAPPY! BUT YOU’RE HER OLD BOYFRIEND, HER TRUE LOVE!! An angst-filled love triangle that hopefully wouldnt be as annoying since all the angst is entirely new angst compared to the usual cliches! AND THEN IN THE ENDING HE PASSES AWAY AND WE ALL CRY It’s just him being able to make sure the two of them will be okay when he’s gone, and for the first time they can see his spirit and he’s this contented angelic figure that he was never able to be in life. And this love triangle just ends with two people alone who aren’t dating, but they’ve gone through all this character development and become happy in their own skin, and forged a friendship everlasting! So even though they’re left both loving and mourning the same man, they know they’ll be okay. They had their will to live restored by him, and they want to have a long and happy life so he’ll be happy if he’s still watching over them. Even if he could never have his happy ending. All they can do is hope that there’s some sort of afterlife, so he can have his chance to start a new life too, just like he gave them this new life... And even though both of them were unable to date this poor ghost boy and their relationship together didnt work out, its optimistic that this won’t be their last chance at love they’ll ever find. And it’ll be much easier to find happiness as long as they stick together as friends and act as the superb wingman that that ghost boy always was! And honestly even if they never find someone they love more than him, its not like life is only worthwhile if you have romantic love. The ghost was very happy that he could kiss the boy he had a crush on for the first and last time, but it was equally important that he was able to apologise to his best friend and become comfortable with his own identity. That’s what helped him pass on. And that’s what he hopes these two can find someday, even if they end up just as unlucky in love as he was... A very bittersweet tragicomedy, yeah. I dunno why I had this dumb idea aaaaa

[chibisquirt]

That Fic I Want

Okay, so @flange5​, @kagekanecavi​, and @trickyarchangel​ have succeeded in pulling me down into the abyss which is The Untamed.  (It is soooo preeeeetty!!!!  And the Stony vibes are *real* let me tell you!!!)  

Anyway, naturally, I want fic-- and because it’s me, and I am the *most* predictable, one’s a crossover, while one’s a first time fic.  I will maybe someday write one or the other of them, but I have way too much to do to start on them now, so summaries it is.  

The first-time fic is standard “yes of course Bubbles wants that fic” fic, and no one should be surprised because I am trash.

The crossover, otoh, is a Doctrine of Labyrinths crossover which turns into Fix-it Fic because fuck you, this is my wish-fulfillment, I’ll save my tiny hyper-competent girlfriend if I want to.  I know I could write it in such a way that you don’t need to know both fandoms to read it, you only need to one or the other...  Hopefully this description is readable like that, too.

Help me, I’m in hell.

So the first place this comes from is, “you know who it would be *hilarious* to throw at these two gay idiots?  Felix and Mildmay!”  Which means non-DoL people need to know who those are.  

Felix is a magic user, and Mildmay, his half-brother, is an ex-assassin, ex-thief.  They both have SO MANY issues, from their personal histories (both children of poverty and abuse, but Felix was trained to use the manners of the powerful magic-using class, while Mildmay lived on the street) to the power differential between them to personal losses they’ve undergone.  Mildmay does not have magic, which makes him “annemer.”  The MDZS guys would say that Felix is a cultivator, and Mildmay is not, but that right there is one of the hurdles to writing this fic.

The way magic is described in the DoL books does not line up with the way Cultivation is described in MDZS.  So you have to find a way to reconcile those two.  DoL describes the uses and even abilities of magic changing as you move to a different culture, so that accounts for some of it; MDZS describes the energies involved in such a way that annemer may well be able to practice cultivation, so that fixes the rest.  For the actual fic, it’s going to be a hell of a lot of fun to explore the similarities and differences in the two systems while still having a cohesive worldbuilding, but for the purposes of this summary, just know that the two are similar, but not the same.

So why do I want to write this nonsense?  

WELL...!

Felix is a powerful magic user, who used to be a child prostitute before being scooped off the streets by an INCREDIBLY abusive necromancer and trained as his protege.  He is incredibly talented, and eventually breaks free of the dark magic he was trained under, and the course of the books is basically one big story of him becoming a better person.  He is also as queer as a football bat, and proud of it. (One scene in the books in which he is voluntarily participating in an orgy is changed into a rape scene when he realizes that one of the participants is a woman.  He is That Gay.  He makes both LWJ and WWX look incredibly straight by comparison.)  He is glib, and clever, but with an addictive personality, and he’s prideful but for good reason, because next to him all the magicians in Corambis really do look a bit like morons.

Sound familiar, at all...?

Mildmay, on the other hand, was raised on the streets by a “thief keeper,” a woman in this case who taught him to use knives, and steal, and then-- when he got his face busted up and couldn’t be unobtrusive anymore-- to be an assassin, instead.  He has a large scar that makes his speech slur, so he rarely speaks or changes expression, but despite his troubled history, he is a Good Person, compassionate and actively *wanting* to be good.  He’s low-class-- and even when he has an opportunity to pretend to be high-class, he never takes it-- but he’s still, in his own way, a Gentleman.  He likes to tell stories, and to hear them; if he had been taught to read and write, he could easily have been a novelist.  Also he is apparently The Greatest Ever at cunnilingus, which really is the cherry on top of my adoration for the boy.

...Okay, so my MDZS folks all know now why I’m slavering to introduce these two assholes to LWJ and WWX, right?  Cool.  Glad we’re on the same page.

DoL ends with our heroes at loose ends in a country with an empire of unknown characterization and size across the sea from them; also, they live on the coast, and have a history of traveling.  So it’s easy to imagine that they ended up in Ygres for... some reason... and that Ygres borders the land MDZS is set in (which as far as I know doesn’t have a name???)  

So this story would start with Felix and Mildmay being called into an audience with the Ygressine empress, who was originally from the Wen clan.*

The Wen empress is pretty thoroughly Ygressine by this point, but still wants to do right by her tiny bits of remaining family.  She sits on her cushions and pets her cat and gives our boys a task.  

She tells our boys about the Sunshot campaign that ended her clan, and about the cruelty afterwards that finished off the last of them.  Then she says that one of her relatives managed to survive the purge after the war by putting her soul into a vessel.  “This cousin of mine, Wen Qing, was very skilled and very clever, and so she has been able to retain her life, but her body perished.  She was a friend of the Yiling Patriarch, and was sure that he could restore her to herself, but alas, he himself died only a few days after she did, long before she was able to reach his side.”  

“So she’s stuck,” Mildmay says.

“Unfortunately, yes.  She made her way to me, and I have kept her safe and comfortable as well as I can since.”  She strokes the cat again.  The cat lashes its tail.

“You want us to restore her,” Felix guesses, madly trying to figure out what he knows about necromancy and praying this chick hasn’t become a fantome or a rachenant in the meantime.

“I doubt you can,” the empress says, “you don’t even know the basics of swordsmanship. No, I want you to find the Yiling Patriarch, Wei Wuxian.”

“The dead one, you mean?”

“We heard the story from three different spies,” the empress says, smiling thinly.  “He has returned to life.”

Now Felix is hoping Wei Wuxian isn’t a fantome or a rachenant.  

“You will escort my cousin, Wen Qing, to his side, and remain with them until they have succeeded in restoring her.  They are both quite clever-- and you’re adequate, too, in spite of your poor education--”  Felix is so indignant, y’all--  “I am sure you will resolve this swiftly.”   

The cat stands up after one last pet, stretches, and starts walking towards the door.  “I have a purse and luggage all packed for you, lacking only any personal items of your own you would like to bring.  We’ll leave at first light,” she says.  She stands on her hind legs with her forepaw on Mildmay’s thigh and bats at his hand.  “Aren’t you going to carry me??  It’s too far to walk!”

Felix and Mildmay:  “What the actual fuck!!!!”

So Cat Wen Qing (Wen Qing-tten?) and the brothers make their way to the MDZS lands, where Lan Wangji is now Excellency and WWX is wandering around cultivating shit and Lan Sizhui is building a cenotaph with Wen Ning, both of the unaware that they are in for a very large surprise.  

And that’s the setup!  There are so many good things I can do with this, so many ways it can go!

They don’t know where WWX is, so they determine to as LWJ, who is about the only one Wen Qing can think of who might know and also tell them without trying to kill her.  They do this without realizing that LWJ is the Excellency now, because when they left Ygres with it’s spy network the news hadn’t happened yet.

LWJ isn’t telling a damn soul where WWX is, least of all foreigners with a talking cat.

He tells them to stay.  (This is actually so that he can get to know them and evaluate them, but god forbid he actually tell anyone that.)  

Felix meets Lan Xichen and is very sympathetic to his recent loss.  He has been there, okay, he knows how this goes!  

At some point they start actually talking about the difference between what Felix and Mildmay know as magic and cultivation, and Mildmay has the “oh god every single one of them is a necromancer!” epiphany/breakdown

Also under the category of “difference between cultivation and magic,” Wen Qing is aware that they have a problem.  Felix is a foreigner, who does not read or write the language, does not sing, does not play an instrument, and barely speaks the language.  So literally no one is going to listen to Felix as a Cultivator if he doesn’t have a sword.

She gets him a sword.  She makes him learn to use it.  It is very, very ugly.

Wen Qing is a better swordsman than Felix is, and she’s still stuck in the body of a cat.

When Mildmay laughs, she makes him learn the sword, too.  

At some point, someone challenges Felix to a duel.  Felix shrugs, then cheats.  

LWJ finds out about Felix’s appallingly bad sword skills, and makes him practice with the juniors.

Mildmay also knows the juniors, because he talks them into teaching him how to gamble.  Then he takes all their money.

His stake in this game is all of the hairpins from his braid, each one of which is worth one (1) story.  He has to tell a story first to prove he can, but once they realize he knows a whole bunch and they haven’t heard any of them, the juniors all hoard their collection of hairpins jealously.  They’ll ante in all of their money, but if they have one of his hairpins, they hold onto it.

Someone buys him a new set of hairpins at some point because his braid is getting really unmanageable.  

Then everybody else buys him increasingly nice hair ornaments until he has the prettiest red queue in Cloud Recesses.

Lan Sizhui at some point gets another family member back, which I think we can all agree he too deserves

Wen Qing finding out who SiZhui is, though

At some point, Cat Wen Qing runs into Wen Ning and just climbs him, racing up his chest and perching on his shoulders to yowl fish-breath into his face, loudly and repeatedly scolding him in cat-noises.  

Felix and WWX in a room together, building towers of bullshit in the air together.  I just... really need that to happen, so much

Wen Qing and Mildmay have a mutual “I’m not good enough” slowburn high-pine-content sort of romance.  They both *deserve* it, damn it, as well as their happy ending!

Wen Qing tries to fix Mildmay’s leg with acupuncture, and it doesn’t work but it does help some

Everybody underestimating Mildmay because he’s not a cultivator and then Mildmay pulls some Mildmay-esque stunt, like stabbing a man fifteen times before he blinks or going over a wall that they thought was unscaleable, and they all just lose their fucking jaws.

*for DoL people who don’t know, the Wen clan are the bad guys of the first half of MDZS, and then they’re defeated, and the cruelty towards defeated Wens drives the action of the second half of MDZS.  So there are good Wens, too.

[wecankillpeoplenav]

representation matters

On last week’s 99th episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine, the precinct’s resident terrifying(ly awesome) Detective Rosa Diaz came out as bisexual.

A handful of words in a scene less than a minute long, a scene thrown in among all the other wonderful scenes that made this landmark 22-minute masterpiece of an episode. It was not a *GASP* cliffhanger moment, and there was no indication that the scene was all that significant - it did not precede a commercial break, which is often indicative of “oh wait- there’s more!” it was simply a moment between two friends, not an epiphany nor a revelation. it was simply a moment of honesty, a few sentences to the backdrop of the Texas Boyles’s cow-orgy soundtrack.

It was two sentences. 

“I’m dating a woman. I’m bi.”

It was classic Rosa Diaz - brief, direct, to the point. And it was so much more.

Rosa Diaz knows she’s a cop. She is the kind of woman who does own an axe. She knows everything about bikes and is highly (frighteningly) proprietary of her own. She oozes swagger and knows she’s a badass. She’s very aware that she scares people, and she likes it that way.

Of course, if people are scared of you, they won’t push against your boundaries. That, too, is classic Diaz. She’s erected a barbed wire fence around the human part of her and is all cop.

In the first two seasons, Rosa’s running gag was the fact that no one knew where she lived, or ‘any details about my life.’ 

She wasn’t a standoffish character nor was she a passive observer; she definitely involved herself and joined in the fun and games the precinct is famous for (”Jimmy Jabs! Jimmy Jabs!”). She was always daring, rebellious, and famously has blood on all but one of her vast collection of leather jackets. She’s always been funny in a deadpan sort of way - ‘RoboCop. I love that movie. It has everything I like. Gratuitous violence.’ She is very matter-of-fact and practical, two attributes that work well to cover any possible show of softness.

From the start, Diaz believed in and loved the squad as a whole, although it could be argued that if she did venture so far as to name any of them a friend, it would be her Police Academy buddy Jake Peralta of the thousand push-ups. We did watch as she developed a reluctant but obvious affection for fellow detective Amy Santiago’s Amy-ness. Her Sergeant, the amazing Terry Jeffords, was always determined to get closer to the real Rosa Diaz. Colleague Charles Boyle, whose initial over-the-top, never-to-be-requited love for Rosa somehow went from creepy fanatic wannabe lover to someone who is now one of Rosa’s closest friends on the show, with Charles all sweetness, Diaz all snark. Gina makes her laugh, Hitchcock and Scully make her threaten them with myriad sharp implements, and Captain Raymond Holt inspired great respect, from a distance. She was never the eager-to-build-closeness kind of character. She appreciated the rest of her squad, but never seemed to actively encourage a depth of friendship beyond serving and protecting together. 

We knew she lived close enough to the station to squeeze in a shower when, in 48 Hours, Jake screwed up everyone’s weekend by jumping the proverbial gun on an arrest with no evidence. We knew, based on a brief flashback and offhand comment, that she chose Amy’s Thanksgiving celebration over her own sister’s because she had zero desire to attend the latter, which appeared fairly torturous and uncomfortable. We learned about her deep dark past as a ballet dancer - but only because Terry refused to let the topic go, and eventually found out that it was, unsurprisingly, that charming Diaz brand of threat and intimidation that derailed her dance career.

We knew Dias was and is viciously loyal, the cop you’d want at your back. She was always the scary-as-hell Detective Diaz, but it has only been over the course of the show that we’ve come to get an understanding of who Rosa is.

In the second season of Brooklyn Nine-Nine we are given two disparate views of Detective Diaz, as a cop and as a girlfriend. First is in ‘The Return of the Pontiac Bandit,’ in which Jake ultimately gives up his dream of catching the devious Doug Judy to help revitalize Rosa’s stagnant task force investigation. What results is a ‘major win’ for her task force, and the squad duly celebrates that win with a drink at their bar of choice, Shaw’s. Here, post-win, she is straight up giddy. Her last scene with Jake features a giggly, smiley Rosa we’d never seen. Jake had never seen this Rosa either - when she says she can’t stop smiling, his face telegraphs his thoughts, which are pretty much ‘What. Is. Happening.’

The squad is aware that Rosa, circa season two, is dating none other than her CO’s nephew Marcus, much to her chagrin (or, more accurately, uncomfortable loathing). Here we get the joy of watching her relationship with that CO as it develops. Rosa is deeply discomfited at the thought of her work life and personal life colliding, but she finds the perfect match in her equally taciturn captain. With Holt, Rosa finds a confidant who will listen to the occasional thoughts and worries she barely manages to discuss. You can see that it physically pains her to address her emotions, and none but Captain Holt can offer her what she needs: someone to talk to who would understand the underlying feelings she so hates acknowledging, but would never presume (or want!) to poke and prod and try making her actually talk about those feelings.

Later in the season, with Boyle’s encouragement, Rosa’s romance with Marcus gradually becomes more serious. By the late season two Boyle-Linetti wedding, Rosa admits to Charles that inviting her boyfriend as a plus-one seemed too... big. But she does it anyway, mid-reception, and upon Marcus’s arrival, she verbalizes her growing feelings by telling him those three magic words.

But she isn’t glowing. She is awkward, unsure, uneasy - the opposite of everything Detective Diaz is known for. She is not celebrating finding love, not like she did the night she celebrated her Giggle Pig Task Force. She is, if anything, scared. Because Rosa Diaz doesn’t say ‘I love you.’ Rosa Diaz doesn’t do emotional bonding. Rosa Diaz doesn’t smile giddily. 

And yet, task force win? Infectiously grinning Diaz. But “I love you”? Terrified, anxious, why-did-I-say-this-emotions-are-stupid Rosa.

When the Rosa-Marcus relationship ends, part of the reason is precisely because of “I love yous” and all that emotional connecting. Hilariously, and sweetly, she and Holt practice acting out the big breakup, and as always, Holt is by her side in his uniquely Holt way. His squad is as much his family as his nephew.

In season three, Jake reveals feeling put-out and hurt that his partnership with Rosa is nothing like that of their Scotland Yard equivalent, the detestable Swedes, who know every horrifying detail about each other. By the episode’s end, Rosa, recognizing Jake’s hurt and wanting, but not exactly knowing how, to ease it, chooses to tell Jake she’s dating someone. 

She has to down approximately five thousand shots of liquor before she’s able to actually tell Jake her new boyfriend’s name, though. 

Later in season three, Rosa experiences a hormone-fueled bout of madness with the brilliantly weird appearance of Adrien Pimento, former undercover agent, current borderline psycho. It’s made clear that Rosa has no problem talking about sex, or about sharing public displays of aggressive affection. The Pimento-Diaz relationship is a sex-charged whirlwind, shocking to the squad (and not a little traumatizing for Terry) as it goes from heated public indecency to full-on relationship, whatever that means in the world of Adrian Pimento. 

At this point, we’ve started seeing more of the layers that make Rosa a person, not just Detective Diaz, but those layers are still coated in teflon. Yes, she will admit that the claim to Robocop being her favorite movie was a lie. In fact, Rosa’s real love is director Nancy Myers’s work. She will also threaten bodily harm if you tease her about her real cinematic love.

Then Pimento is forced to fake his own death, and we see Rosa emoting (albeit in a stilted manner) in front of a crowd of strangers at his ‘funeral.’ She confides in Amy about how worried she is for Adrian, wonders why he hasn’t come back to her, and nearly causes a panic attack for Amy when Rosa looks at her friend and colleague with tears in her eyes.

Season four brings the joyous and creepily-sex-charged return of Pimento. Rosa does love him,  in an entirely dysfunctional way. I personally think his absolute insane (probably PTSD-driven) antics are the appealing factor. After all, he doesn’t know the difference between being hungry and being horny. Pimento is a pedal-to-the-metal type who brings out Rosa’s fun, spontaneous, crazy side. She’s intoxicated by it all, but when Jake and Amy separately confront the couple about not being ready for marriage, Rosa recognizes the truth in Amy’s words. She doesn’t say get aggressive and curse them out or tell Amy to stay out of her life. Instead, she considers what she’s hearing and realizes that (per usual) Amy is dead-on.

So now we have a Rosa who isn’t quite so violent when it comes to other people trying to connect with her, a Rosa who has proven that she is capable of romantic love and is working on navigating its treacherous depths with Adrian. We have a Rosa whose relationship with Holt has strengthened to the point that he asks her for advice, a Rosa who advocates for Amy as union rep, a Rosa who’s memorized an entire monologue from her favorite tv show - and is willing to recite it word for word with Jake at her side.

We also have a Rosa who reaches out a little more. When she becomes convinced that Pimento is cheating on her, she goes to Terry and Amy and willingly shares her fears. She reaches out for help in figuring out the mystery that is pimento. Ultimately, she tells them enough to make her realize she’s concocted a fictional love affair in what’s really an act of self-sabotage. At some point she’s realized that Pimento is passion and paranoia and psychotic hilarity. But none of that is in any way healthy. She doesn’t want this man, but she is unsure of her moves and wants to force his hand rather than reveal her own, thereby creating his imaginary affair.

This is a Rosa who’s discovering what is right for her and what she wants in herself and from others. This is a Rosa discovering that having friends might just be on the “pro” side of life, and that to show emotion isn’t showing weakness. This is a Rosa who recognizes that she gets to make her own life decisions, which includes making the decision to share herself with those closest to her.

And then of course, we have Big House, season five Rosa in prison. It is acknowledged that she spent time in solitary, given ample silence and isolation in which to reflect on who she is. And this self-reflective Rosa, who is, more than anything, lonely, slowly started letting the people who love her get a tiny glimpse of the emotions she’s always been too scared to express.

She showed vulnerability to Terry and Holt while in jail; she showed insecurity over her conflicting feelings for Pimento and actively sought advice from her friends. She rebonded with her family. She actually chose to unzip that leather jacket, revealing the custom family t-shirt and the fact that the shirts were her idea.

As a character, Rosa is at a major turning point. Once no one knew where she lived; now she’s bringing Jake to dinner. Once she answered Kevin’s question about her family with something along the lines of, ‘I have one.’ Now she’s celebrating holidays with that family, and we’re meeting her parents. Once she enjoyed talking about casual sex - never emotional attachment, pure physicality - like when in the very beginning of the show her advice to help Jake get over his slump was flying to Montreal and getting laid. 

And now... now she is WILLINGLY, happily chatting on the phone with her significant other - where once she hated that Marcus always wanted to talk about things. She is easily, naturally saying things like, “I’d much rather be hanging out with you.” TO SOMEONE OTHER THAN HER OWN REFLECTION. She is discovering herself in bits and pieces, and part of the discovery is that (and here I’m leaning on Stephanie Beatriz and her comments about Rosa’s sexuality) she doesn’t have to deny the part of herself that is attracted to both genders. Steph said Rosa’s bisexuality was always kind of there; she plays the character and knows Rosa better than any of us, and she recognized the deep emotional imbalance in her character as Rosa consistently rejected an intrinsic part of herself. Because sexuality is intrinsic. Even for someone who is asexual, sexuality is part of their very identity, albeit in a way different from heteronormative standards. 

Some people are born with crappy vision, some people are born without a sex drive. Some people are born with prodigy-level talent, some people are born ready to love anyone, regardless of something so menial as gender. We’re all born people, though.

Rosa Diaz is gay, and she’s finally ready to let people know. She is finding the courage to acknowledge who she is to a family that (based on the little we know) is very traditional. The character is finding that courage so that she can be her true self without feeling the need to keep any pieces hidden in a security deposit box. Rosa may never be the type to talk about her feelings or to delve, vocally, into her sexual identity, but she is the type to claim it and make it her own. She is pinpointing personal attributes that she perhaps considered shameful and embarrassing and she’s saying - maybe in a whisper, right now, because nothing is overnight - fuck you, world, this is me. I am strong and brave and beautiful for it, and I’m not hiding in the shadows your bigotry casts for another second. I’m embracing every aspect of myself, because there is only one me, and that me has a voice, and even if it’s shaky now, it will grow louder, it will grow harder, I will be a force to be reckoned with.

Rosa Diaz is finding her voice, finding her identity, exploring the depths of what makes her uniquely her.

And that’s exactly what we, as viewers, should be doing.

For those of you out there who are already “over” the Rosa Revelation, who want the LGBTQ+ community to stop shouting pride from the rooftops already... maybe you need a little time in solitary. Start reflecting. Stop getting irritated with the deserved celebration of a bisexual woman of color claiming herself for herself. And maybe think about why you’re bothered in the slightest by the celebrators and the celebration. About why you’re annoyed or feel defensive. Find your mental security deposit lockbox, where your hidden pieces lie. Find the courage of those like Rosa Diaz, like Stephanie Beatriz, and look at all the parts of you. Bring them into the light. You just might see something wonderful.