#they both long for normalcy and acceptance and they think that being straight is the only way to achieve that HELLO CAN ANYONE HEAR M

[mioxeno]

My personal reading of Sumire Yoshizawa who I read as a lesbian who suffers with comphet and identity issues:

A big aspect of Sumire's character is the desire to live up to her parents's and society's expectations for her. Sumire struggles to reach those expectations and her identity starts to spiral and deteriorate overtime. Both before and after Kasumi's death, Sumire's self-deprecation hurts her in a way that she feels obligated into comparing herself to her 'normal' sister Kasumi, who is beloved by everyone. Based on Sumire's comments throughout the game before Kasumi's death, her parents focused all their attention on Kasumi because she was everything they desired out of a daughter. Popular, outgoing, gifted in everything they did together, everything Sumire wasn't. So Sumire tried to live up to their expectations by trying to be like Kasumi in everything, their hobbies, personalities, and even looks.

It's clear that beyond her issues with her family (which she downplays likely due to Sumire thinking she doesn't deserve better), Sumire was noted to be 'different' by others around her, and her parents just ignored it because it was likely more convenient for them not to bother and focus their attention onto Kasumi. Due to this, it made Sumire start to feel she doesn't deserve to live unless she was exactly like Kasumi. Kasumi's death just kick-starts her mental breakdown, and Maruki's rash decision to change her cognition to believe she was Kasumi likely prevented Sumire from taking her own life.

Sumire's 'crush' on Joker started during the period where she believed herself to be Kasumi. Kasumi was likely straight, as she was just a 'normal girl.' Sumire idealized herself to be in a desire to conform to society. The Sumire Joker interacted with for most of the game wasn't really Sumire but instead Kasumi, Sumire's attempt to conform to the society that The Phantom Thieves are trying to reform.

When Sumire's cognition of Kasumi is broken by Maruki during the 3rd semester, after Joker and Akechi went to confront him, she latches onto the love she formed while she was 'Kasumi' as a way to cope and latch onto the sense of normalcy she felt. It's due to this that she begins to believe she loves Joker. However, whether Joker accepts her confession or denies it, they part at the end of the game. It personally reads to me as a way of showing that the crush was namely 'Kasumi's' and not Sumire's.

Sumire has a long way to go with accepting herself at the end of the game. With her sexuality, herself, and starting to overcome the survivor's guilt she has over losing Kasumi. I personally believe she'll likely start to bond with Futaba slowly due to them being in the same year at Shujin Academy and likely learn to accept herself with Futaba's help given her own experience with identity issues and blaming herself for the death of a loved one.

In conclusion, I believe Sumire is a lesbian who represses her sexuality due to fear of it making her an outcast moreso than she's already treated by those around her. The game ends with her trying to accept herself and find her own identity independent of Joker or Kasumi in her own time.

[sylveriasarcana]

The Passenger Scene Analysis: "Everything's cool, right Randy?"

Today I'm so tired I can't move from my comfy chair so naturally it's time to once again talk about my favourite hostage situation romcom The Passenger!

I wanna talk about the power shift that happens between Benson and Randy later in the movie after Benson encounters Sheppard again, specifically the scene in the car after the parking lot beating. I recommend reading the post I made about The Passenger as an allegory for OCD recovery first because this post is gonna abide by that reading. You can check that out here, and my other silly little analysis posts can be found under the #scene analysis tag on my blog if you are so inclined!

As always, please mind the tag warnings, some heavy topics are in this one.

*sigh* Let's talk about fucking Sheppard.

If you're wondering why it took me so long to talk about Sheppard in these posts despite his importance to the story, it's because I don't fucking like him. But he is an important part of this analysis, so now we're gonna talk about him!

Meeting Sheppard is the moment where everything begins to change in The Passenger. The movie begins following Randy, and then less than 20 minutes later, it's become clear that Randy may be the main character, but he's not the one in charge: Benson is. The cinematography in the shooting scene does a great job of setting this up, by the way. Self plug.

In the next hour, we get very used to the situation we've been presented with following the inciting incident with the shooting. Benson is in charge, Randy isn't. Nowhere is this more apparent in the scene at the gas station: Benson leaves Randy alone, and Randy visibly thinks "this is my chance to escape". Then the camera pans around him, and there's nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Just endless empty flat land. Even in a situation where he's been given the power to run away, he can't use it. Where's he gonna go?

Chilling stuff, but what really cements this situation are the moments of normalcy its given. You get the big scary scenes where Benson points a gun at a store clerk while staring Randy down like "run and he dies", but you also get tiny moments of these characters just being very used to the situation they're in, almost comfortable with it. One of my favourite examples of this is right before the audience meets Sheppard; Benson mimics an exploding eyeball to describe Randy's elementary school days to the receptionist and Randy's eyes roll to the back of his head.

Blink and you'll miss it, but it's a great little moment. Not only is it great material for me as a Bitchy Randy truther (bitchy Randy is real and I love him, ok), but it's a moment of... twisted normalcy? Randy has just become so used to this situation he can roll his eyes and accept it for what it is. "Yes, that's my kidnapper, doing a silly little re-enactment of my worst trauma. He's probably gonna drive me around at gunpoint some more after this. This is my life now, I guess."

By this point, Randy, Benson and the audience are all baked into this dynamic of Benson having all the power and Randy having none. It's so commonplace that Randy can both be terrified and just plain exasperated by it. Like he's watching a play that's gone on for a bit too long.

And then, minutes later: Sheppard.

I cannot stress enough how much everything changes when this guy walks down the corridor. Benson immediately tightens and stands up straight, like prey that just heard a twig snapping nearby. That is weird for us. Whoever this guy is, he can't be good news. Who could possibly scare Benson, the scariest person in this movie?

"Mr Sheppard? Elliot Sheppard?"

Benson de-ages about twenty years in this scene, and Randy's noticed it. Something has shaken Benson to his core, and this guy had something to do with it. It's never explicitly stated what happened between Benson and Sheppard, but this exchange makes some things clear: Sheppard was Benson's teacher, he occupies a large enough space in Benson's brain for his full name to haunt him, whatever happened between them happened when Benson was in 3rd grade, and Sheppard doesn't remember him. Sheppard doesn't remember the kid he traumatised. Shit.

And we can definitely assume that whatever Sheppard did to him was fucking awful, because right after this scene Benson beats Sheppard to death in a parking lot.

This is the hardest scene for me to watch in the whole movie. Not because Sheppard doesn't deserve it, but because Jesus Christ, the sounds coming out of Benson are horrifying.

I wouldn't say Benson has been mentally stable up until now, per se, but he's definitely had an illusion of control. He's someone who is very good at pretending they have everything figured out. He spends the movie happily recounting his half-baked socio-political opinions to Randy, confidently deciding where they're going next, telling Randy how important it is to face your past and figure out your shit, and it's... so disturbing seeing all that bravado evaporate so quickly. Benson walks around frantically, shrieking like a wounded animal, and it's the scariest thing in the movie so far. He might be holding Randy hostage but he was the guy that was meant to know what's going on and what happens next. If Benson's lost it, what the hell happens now?

I talked a bit in my first post about how this scene also reveals how far Randy's come over the course of the movie; he is now brave enough to approach Benson while he's waving a gun around and stop him from shooting Sheppard, but interestingly only does it on the grounds that the gun will make noise and attract attention. He never says "Benson, you shouldn't murder a guy in the parking lot". Randy, like us, has picked up on the fact that Sheppard probably did something awful enough to provoke this reaction.

This bravery is going to come in handy in the next scene, because Benson is about to relinquish all control he's had throughout the entire movie.

I've talked before about how when Benson was introduced to the audience, he was facing away from the camera at an awkward angle. When it started becoming apparent that he was the one holding all the cards, he gradually began being shot facing the camera, in full view. Now, after meeting Sheppard, Benson is facing away from us again. Whenever we cut to Randy, we have a full view of his face. Something has changed. Benson's losing control.

This scene parallels an earlier scene where Benson basically gives Randy the abusive boyfriend speech and tells him "I can't have you getting in my way, understand?" and waits for Randy to agree. Here's an excellent gifset that gets that point across!

But something I find really interesting about this scene: Benson seeks reassurance. The way I read this movie, I'd usually expect Randy to do that.

This is where my "Randy has OCD" agenda comes back into play. Oh yeah! Bet you thought I'd forgotten about that! I will never forget, it haunts me, it fuels me, and now you all get to experience that with me-

In short, I think Randy has OCD, and a big thing with OCD is reassurance seeking; asking others if your OCD is right. It's very discouraged in OCD recovery, but a very quick indicator of potential OCD. For example, the diner scene: if you haven't read my other post on this, a quick summary! Randy's OCD theme is essentially "you can't make your own decisions or lives will get ruined". Prior to the diner scene, Randy made a decision: he asked Chris to stop making him uncomfortable. As an indirect result of this, at least in Randy's eyes, lives got ruined: it caused a chain reaction that led to the shooting. In this scene, Randy seeks reassurance: "what does this have to do with me?". Translation, "please tell me the shooting didn't happen because of me". As I've said before, Benson shuts the reassurance seeking down, and that's what makes him my favourite unethical but effective ERP therapist.

But this, right here: this is the moment I knew the power was shifting. Benson does a Randy; he seeks reassurance.

"Everything's cool, right Randy?"

This is the first time Benson has asked for Randy's opinion on any situation, because throughout the movie, Benson has been very clear about the fact that he's in charge and will be making all the decisions. He's just relinquished control here. He's asked Randy, his hostage who has held no power this entire time, to tell him that everything's going to be fine. He's not in charge anymore. He says later that he never was.

Even Randy's perturbed by this. His face says, "You're asking me?". I'm not clear on whether or not Randy knows this, but reassurance giving isn't ideal in most circumstances to do with OCD. He does it anyway, because Jesus Christ. We're not scared of Benson right now, and neither is Randy; we just feel fucking bad for him. Benson does not react well to receiving pity or even the slightest bit of soft spoken sympathy, as we see when he's reacting to Miss Beard later in the movie. But... fuck, he's getting it anyway.

Benson might have spent this whole movie being fucking scary, but seeing all that perceived power he had suddenly die with that one line is just... gut wrenching. It's like seeing your parents cry for the first time: what do you do when the person who's always been in control doesn't have it anymore?

There's suddenly this gaping hole where the power used to be, and later Randy's going to be the one to take it. And this is the scene where it starts; "everything's cool, right Randy?".

Sure, man.

[theamityelf]

What would happen if the class 78 Kamukuras (especially Taka) met Kamukura AU Makoto

Oooh, my initial thought was that it depends on how far Taka's character development got to go before Makoto was Kamukurized (assuming the other events of the Kamukura Wrangler AU still happened), but I kind of love this as a thing that happens before Taka has gotten far in his character development.

Like, Taka has had every opportunity to change his mind about viewing all the Kamukuras as abominations, including recovering a few memories of being Normal Taka, therefore learning that elements of his past self still exist in him, but he's stubbornly refused to change his mind. Makoto's reassurances don't sway him, the moments of humanity he starts to see in the others don't sway him. (It's partially his habit of moralizing normalcy, and partially the fact that his ever-increasing love for Makoto seems to validate his moralizing of normalcy.)

Then the scientists take Makoto, and they change him.

I'm imagining they have to knock-out gas all the Kamukuras in order to get Makoto away from them.

At first, Taka is in a state of half-hoping they returned Makoto to his family (because the alternative is unbearable) and half-planning how to make sure everyone in this facility dies. Just absolutely ruthless and undiscriminating justice. He stalks around, ominously quiet.

Yasuhiro is also ominously quiet, but he doesn't seem upset. He's almost vacant, compared to his usual vaguely-amused self. Just kind of drifting from room to room with a very ambiguous look, like whatever he sees in the future is actually holding his attention for once.

Hifumi draws a limp arm that is unmistakably Makoto's, and Taka almost straight up kills him.

Junko knows what's happening to Makoto through sheer intuition, and she feels the perverse stir of despair inside herself, bringing her something like pleasure even as she plots out the painful deaths of those responsible.

Kyoko and Chihiro both separately manage to sneak out of the Kamukuras' living area. Chihiro goes to look for Makoto, and Kyoko goes to look for files/records on Makoto, but they're both returned before they can find what they're looking for. (Kyoko got close.)

Makoto is returned to them scarred, shaven, red-eyed, and dressed in a hospital gown. He's just deposited into their room, in much the same way he was when they first met him.

He's in his Makoto Kamukura characterization, and I am undecided as to whether it's better if it's before he's even aware of himself as a person, or after. As in, it could be a somewhat responsive Makoto or a wholly unresponsive one. I think I'm going with unresponsive, for the drama.

Taka sees him, and he's devastated.

At first, he fully turns his back on him and walks away, saying, "Another abomination."

But after spending some time by himself (while the others try to get a response from this new Kamukura), he realizes that he wants to see him again. He doesn't want to discard the new Kamukura, because...

Because it's Makoto.

And Makoto accepted him for who he was, despite every reason not to, so he can't...

He can't abandon him over what they did to him.

He goes back to Makoto (and the others). The group parts for him, out of curiosity. Taka holds Makoto's face between his hands. Makoto's eyes scan his face, learning and unfeeling.

Red eyes. Kamukura eyes. But Taka can't bring himself to hate them.

"You're still in there," Taka says. "You are, because you have to be." He understands, now, why Makoto was willing to live among them for as long as he did. Willing to tell them about their past selves, even perform those selves for them. Why he smiled that sad smile every time one of them got the behavior exactly right, without any of the motivation. He understands that the same part of him that was unable to let go of Makoto before will still be unable to let go of him now, whether he is in there or not. "And even if you're not entirely yourself anymore, you're not going to be like me, because you're not going to hate yourself for what you are. You are not an abomination. You said that we are not abominations. You said that we're still the same people, at our core, and I have to believe you now, because I can't lose you. Okay? Makoto?"

And I'm thinking Makoto doesn't respond yet. He's still not quite aware of himself.

Taka has to hold his hand, take him to bed, take him to meals, etc. for a few days before Makoto suddenly speaks up to ask him, "Why did one of your eyes change color?"

And immediately he has everyone's attention again.

[beefromanoff]

Going Under Ch. 16

summary: Bucky and Gianna reunite and the team strategizes to hold a press conference.

characters: Bucky Barnes x OC

soundtrack: big jet plane - angus & julia stone

warnings: fluff, pop star fantasy x love story, set in an AU where the Avengers reunite after Civil War, pre-infinity war, slight angst, hurt/comfort, lonely reader/OC.

author’s note: this one is a little longer, but still short - is the slow burn taking too long to burn?!

chapter list

_________________________________________

Steve had been gone less than an hour when Gianna began to get restless. Her phone was nowhere to be found. Well, none of her belongings seemed to have made it to this pristine medical suite. There was a large screen built into the wall in front of her, but no remote in sight. 

Sighing, she leaned back into the surprisingly plush bedding. There was a time when all she craved was a few moments of peace, left alone in her room. Now, everything in her was praying for that peace to be interrupted. Specifically by something dark haired and 100+ years old. 

Whoosh. 

Gianna’s eyes blinked open as she heard the door part to allow someone in. Not just someone, but the interruption she’d been hoping for. Her chest flooded with relief at the same time her stomach filled with butterflies. 

Bucky stepped into the room, sheepish eyes looking tentatively up at her. 

“Hi,” She said breathlessly, kicking herself for not thinking of something wittier. 

“Hi,” He paused, holding his hands up. “I come bearing gifts.” 

Gianna hadn’t even noticed his hands being full. Eyes widening, she sat up straight in bed and pulled her legs in to sit cross legged so he’d have room to join her. 

“You didn’t!” 

“I did. Hot dogs, a blueberry scone, and the biggest Coke I could find.” He strode across the room and sat beside her on the bed, accepting the nonverbal invitation. “The hot dogs aren’t from the stand on 17th, though. I thought they may not be good if I went all the way back to the city.” He shrugged, offering her one of the two paper bags in his hand. 

“My hero,” She snatched them both from his grip, tearing open the smaller one and taking the large pastry out before pausing. “For more reasons than just this.”

For a moment, their eyes met with quiet sincerity. Bucky opened his mouth to speak, to apologize, but Gianna interrupted him. 

“But mostly just the scone.” She winked, taking a bite and letting crumbs litter the bed. He laughed, thankful for their prompt return to normalcy but still wishing he could tell her how sorry he was. 

“How do you feel?” 

“Better now,” She said through a full mouth. “A little stiff, head kinda hurts. I haven’t moved a whole lot since I woke up though, I could be giving myself too much credit.”

Bucky nodded, eyes wandering over the cut on her eyebrow and bruising peeking through the top of her gown. 

“So what’s the deal now?”

“What do you mean?” His eyebrow furrowed. 

“Did Dr. Cho communicate with Tom? He’ll need to know my discharge date.” She paused in between bites. “The label doesn’t do well with my unplanned downtime. When I had my appendix out, they had to reschedule my appearance on Fallon and you’d have thought the sky was falling. They still only moved it back one day. The whole internet was talking about how I must have had a drug problem because of how awful I looked, meanwhile I was just trying not to tear my stitches in the little dress they stuck me in.” 

She was so nonchalant about such a horrible experience that Bucky felt a knot of anger in his stomach. He shoved it back down before responding, choosing his words carefully. 

“G…I don’t think it’s such a good idea for you to go back to the tour.” 

Gianna froze, looking straight back at him with a hot dog clutched in her hand. 

“That’s not an option, the label would never go for that. My contract is airtight, if I don’t fulfill my agreement then I have to pay back all the money I've made in the past five years.” She looked down at her lap. “I was seventeen when I signed with them. I didn’t know I was supposed to talk to an attorney before I signed.”

Frowning, Bucky rested his hand on her knee. “Let’s not worry about that right now. Just focus on healing and eating the most well-deserved hot dog of all time.” He gave her a soft smile, watching as she nodded and went back to eating. 

As she wiped her face with a napkin, the door slid open again to reveal a sharply-dressed Tony Stark and Pepper Potts.

"Hey, lovebirds. We need to talk," Tony said, a serious expression on his face. He stepped into the room, Pepper close behind.

Gianna and Bucky looked up, surprised. "What's going on?" Bucky asked, ready to jump to the defensive if more bad news was about to be thrown their way.

"We need to get ahead of the news cycle. Our PR team is suggesting hosting a press conference to address the situation and reassure the public that Gianna is safe," Pepper explained. “Your management agrees.”

“We’ve been through this a time or two, kiddo, and if you don’t get to say your piece then the media will write their own.” Tony added.

“Yeah…I get it.” Gianna spoke slowly, unsure what she’d even say considering she had the fewest details about the attack of all three people in the room. As if reading her thoughts, Pepper spoke again. 

“We’ll have a private debriefing first, give you all the information you want to know. It would be monitored by our team, they’d send a list of approved questions and make sure things run smoothly. Anything you don’t want to answer, you don’t have to.” She gave a reassuring smile. Gianna was put at ease by the calm and comforting energy she seemed to bring into the room. 

"Whatever you think is best," Gianna said, her voice quiet. “You’ll have to find me a brush or something, though. I don’t think this is my best look.” 

Tony scoffed. “Haven’t you heard, heroine chic is all the rage these days.” Pepper gave him a sharp elbow in the side before smiling softly again. 

“I can do you one better.” Even her eyes reflected the warmth of her smile when she spoke. “I’ll see to it that your belongings are all brought to your room and that we have wardrobe options available for you. I’ll get your measurements to our personal shopper. I’m thinking something Chanel, classy but feminine. Oh, and I assume you’ll want your own makeup artist?”

Gianna nodded. I want this woman to adopt me. Wow. 

“Good, because Tony’s makeup artist is fully booked.” Pepper gave a wry smile and winked. “If you need anything, just tell FRIDAY to send for me.” 

“Hang in there kiddo,” Tony called as he turned to follow Pepper through the door. “Oh, and Barnes, keep the extracurricular activities to a minimum. These medical beds aren’t built to withstand whatever your idea of a passionate reunion is.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes, cheeks flushing despite himself. As the door whooshed shut behind them, Bucky reached for Gianna’s hand, careful not to rustle the IV on the back of it. 

Bucky squeezed her hand, offering his support. "We'll get through this, together," he said, his eyes meeting hers. She nodded, the sudden overwhelm of the whole situation making her eyes watery. 

“Hey, hey…” Shifting his body to face hers fully, Bucky reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand. A single hot tear cascaded over his fingers. “What can I do?”

Gianna gave a watery smile. “You’re already doing it.” She reached up and rested her hand over his, leaning her cheek into his palm. “It’s just…a lot.” 

“Yeah. It’s not exactly an average work day.”

“You know you were the first person I looked for? When…everything happened. I didn’t even know what was going on. My ears were ringing…my head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds…all I could think of was just getting to you. If I could just lift my head and look for you, everything would be okay.” 

Bucky’s face fell. “I’m so sorry…I should have been there. I shouldn’t have left your side, even for a second, I-”

“Don’t do that,” Gianna tilted his head up and met his gaze. “You’ve been everything to me on this tour. You’ve been my company, my sanity…you’ve been so much more than you had to be.” 

“But the one thing I was supposed to do was protect you. I failed.” His voice was gruff. 

“Look at me,” She tilted his head up again. “I’m here, aren’t I? Whatever the plan was, it failed. Not you. I’m all in one piece, that’s probably more than whoever came after me can say now that you’re done with them.” 

Bucky gave a half-hearted smile. 

“Seriously, Buck, I’m a little bruised. That’s all. I’ve seen you eat an apple that’s in worse shape than me.” She gave him a light shove. 

“Hey, there weren’t many options in that green room and I knew better than to dig into your candy stash.” 

“If you want to see a real diva, just take away my sour gummy worms.” 

They let their soft laughter die out and sat in silence for a moment. 

“I’m glad you’re okay.” 

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Gianna leaned her head onto Bucky’s shoulder like she had so many times before. This medical suite replaced the back of a suburban, but the comfort and familiarity was unwavering. 

“Ms. Cruz, Sergeant Barnes. Wanda Maximoff is requesting access to Ms. Cruz’ medical bay. Should I send her in? She would like it to be noted that she’s baked strawberry cupcakes as a gift.” 

Sitting up straight, Gianna looked equally confused and intrigued at the electronic voice that filled the room. She met Bucky’s eyes and shrugged, smiling. He spoke up to respond.

“Sure, FRIDAY, send her in.”

[tobiasdrake]

THE FINAL HANGOUT for Desuhiko. I. Think. I've gotten all of the Baubles up to this point. Going into this chapter, every character has one Bauble left to find for one last chill-sesh with them. The way that lines up looks deliberate.

Like, if this is the final chapter, it makes sense that everyone's last bauble to close out their Gumshoe Gab would be located here.

Oh god, are we breaking up?

You're literally the only character who has shipping tags pop up in the tag list when I go to type your name at the end of the post. Not even Kurumi. So if this is what it sounds like then you're about to break the hearts of approximately 100% of the game's audience.

Yuma has the patience of a saint. Imagine spending an hour hanging out on an empty rooftop with nothing to do but get rained on, while your only companion (who asked you to come here) is evasively trying not to talk to you.

I would have excused myself and bailed after like five minutes.

This conversation is coded as hell. No wonder Desuhiko's the only character with algorithm-prioritized shipping tags. He's gotten closer to a love confession in this brief conversation than Kurumi has in hours of hanging out with Yuma and constantly refuting that she's his girlfriend, anime-style.

This is purposeful ship bait. The game's made clear that Yuma/Kurumi is its OTP. It refuses to shut up about it even though it's moving that subplot along at a snail's pace. But the coding in this conversation is clearly meant to throw a bone to the shippers.

100% "If you get it, you get it. But if you don't then Desuhiko's just being a silly-billy by how seriously he's taking this." A paper-thin subtext with just enough deniability.

And judging by the hashtags, people have absolutely taken the game up on its offer. In fairness, reading into things like this is what you have to do to squeeze even an ounce of same-sex romance out of most IPs. Writers will ship-tease until the cows come home but balk at giving us openly gay/bi characters.

At least we got our cool enby Halara. As long as Kodaka doesn't lose the fucking script in the final chapter and sticks the landing for them, Halara will easily be the best LGBT character he's ever written. (Not that the competition makes that difficult or anything.)

Trust Yuma to be utterly oblivious to the subtext here. It's a long-established character trait that he struggles with understanding people when their behavior doesn't match his standards of normalcy. As is typical of Kodaka's protags, he is aggressively the Straight Man.

The musical equivalent of saying, "No, I will not go out with you, but I would like to be friends instead."

Desuhiko is not taking rejection well. But at least he's not doing that thing some people do, where they'll let someone go on tour with them as a fan while utterly convinced that, if he gives it some time, Yuma will come around and realize that joining the band really is what he wants for his life.

Desuhiko's in too much pain right now to accept Yuma as a fan. But he's accepting Yuma's rejection for what it is. He isn't deluding himself to cling to something that can't be. He's processing his emotions and allowing himself to feel. That's the first step in healing.

He is, however, stonewalling. His moment of vulnerability has passed. The defensive walls are up and stronger than over. Accusing Yuma of only wanting to be his fan out of pity is a defense mechanism.

Yuma has successfully pried Desuhiko back out from behind his walls. He's sorry that they can't form the band that Desuhiko wanted but there is a strong basis here for an incredible fanship, one that could change the course of both of their lives.

Sorry, Yuma. You talked yourself into this. Fortunately, I get to bail and let you two have this private moment together.

As is pretty well established by this point, I don't have a high opinion of Desuhiko. It's personal. He hits too close to home and reminds me a lot of myself at his age. But I can see why others would like him and his dynamic with Yuma.

He's a far cry from what I expected him to be when I met him. I expected a much more objectionable character, especially given Kodaka's track record. But actually, Desuhiko's pretty cool.

[trickster-archangel]

I have been thinking a lot about this, and I've come to the conclusion that it's surreal that the H50 fandom, and the McDanno community specifically, have so seldom used a very specific trope, compared to others.

I remember a discussion, on a Good Omens server whether The Best Trope™ to portray A/C was the "fucking just once at the very beginning, then stopping and silently pining one for another until the very end" option, the "mutually pining for the other from the very beginning but never acting on it because of course it cannot be mutual, and then having the mutual OH moment and finally fucking" option, or even the (probably most favorite) one which was either called "fucking while pining" or "pining while fucking", a sort of intensified Friends with Benefits trope.

So, about Danny and Steve, I've seen the almost totality being the second one, with some egregious FWB (alas too rare, because someone kept throwing in girlfriends at any corner, and both of them are too good to be cheaters), but I noticed an alarmingly scarcity of the first kind of trope. It might be my fault, but I only found, what? Two or three.

Which, to me, is….baffling? I mean, let's just do this mental exercise for a moment.

I know we all love to point out that for Steve, meeting Danny was love at first sight, later consolidated by love at first punch, because he saw in Danny something fascinating and alluring, someone who didn't bow and salute and yell "Sir, yes Sir" and obey to Steve's role with no questions asked. That had been Steve normalcy until the moment he stumbled upon Danny, either obeying or being obeyed, but never giving or being given a choice. He was so fascinated by Danny's attitude and his stubbornness to keep his case, that the only way he had to keep this new, shining toy, was to ditch the Navy, go into the Reserves, put aside all his plans to leave, and accept the Governor's offer.

Because he had found something that had made him change his mind.

And then we have years and years of longing gazes, yearning stares, constant touching and hugging and caressing and being in each other's personal space, showing an intimacy and a tenderness and a trust, and simply put, a perfect synchrony and a perfect telepathy since the first moment, like they were always meant to walk together. And that stubborn refusal to build a life with someone else, postponing the choice and diluting the feelings, until the relationship, every relationship, fizzles out and vanishes. Danny keeping this sort of stubborn shadow that he could go back to what he and Rachel had, rebuild a time when everything was new and good, revive the corpse of some long dead love instead of committing to someone new. Steve hanging on the threads left by an on/off friends with benefits thing that they both left to die, and being the only one who sees a future of, because mourning something you once had is easier than blaming yourself for not taking what you want. Always going back to the other, finding that comfort they seem unable to find in anyone else. That comfort they look unwilling to look for in anyone else.

Yet, we could imagine something different here. Because let's be honest: for how impulsive Steve can be, that choice in his father's garage was a huge change into his plans, and plans are his field of expertise. He gathers intel, he plans, he acts. Straight to the point. Isn't it a bit odd that this steel-minded man, suddenly, impulsively, sees this man he knows NOTHING about, decides "Yes, this is the one. I want this one. I'll do everything I can to keep him", and ditches all his carefully plotted plans, and his career too? For how interesting and endearing it can sound, it's still an odd behavior.

But what if that moment in the garage hadn't been the first time he had met him? What if their mutual rage and aggressiveness had another explanation, aside from stubbornness, impulsiveness and alpha-maleness? What if their anger was simply a cover for another feeling, one like….Shock? Fear? Guilt? Shame? Better to yell, scream, point a gun, and take some pissing contest, see who's boss. 

Let's imagine. And see if it doesn't all make much more sense, this way.

It's the evening before their fatal meeting. Steve, after donning his dress blues to attend the service for burying his father, all authorities present, after paying his respects and taking care of what was left, before leaving to hunt Hesse, goes back to his temporary dwellings, dismisses his formal uniform, and sporting just his cargo pants and tee, goes to find some old joint to get thoroughly plastered, drinking at his father's memory. He gets inside, and proceeds with his plan, determined not to feel or remember a single thing about this day when he'll wake up the day after with the mother of all hangovers.

He purposely chooses some dubious, smoky, unnamed, not touristy alley, where it's obvious he can find only people with his same goal in mind, and no need to do small talk or mind someone else's business. He's halfway through his plan, remembering all things that could've gone better and all those that went spectacularly wrong, when he notices someone in a shadowy corner, not far from where he sits, sporting some of the sourest faces he's ever seen, one which makes him think this man, this haole who sticks like a sore thumb in a crowd of dark hairs and tan complexions, is having an even harder time than he is. Blondest hair Steve has ever seen, blond eyelashes fanning the bluest eyes, so blue they are shining even in the dark corner he sits in, blond stubble over his cheeks and around those rosy lips. Muscular shoulders and a chest to die for. Awakening something Steve thought long dead and buried. Wearing a goddamn tie over a tight shirt over dress pants. In Hawai'i. 

Of course, since Steve is already half-shitfaced, he doesn't notice he's been staring. For a while. And of course the haole has noticed. He gets up, bringing his scotch and glass with him, and lands on the seat opposite to Steve. Staring back. Silently. Until he barks out, voice raspy maybe for too much scotch or maybe too much crying (his eyes, so blue, are red rimmed, Steve can clearly see it from this near), if he's something to tell him or if he intends to keep on staring like a creep. If he's seen something he likes. And smiles.

Steve's heart does a complicated and not entirely funny thing, one it hadn't done in a long time, a very, very long time, since when he joined the Navy and the SEALs. Probably even before, surely before, when he started attending Annapolis and those muddled, hazy, flustering thoughts could've compromised his entire future and left him adrift, even more than he already was, without a purpose and a goal. So it was easy to decide to cut that side of him, keep only the allowed one, and never act on it again. Think, maybe. Dream, sure. Wish, sometimes. But never act because he had too much to lose, and anyway, it wasn't like anyone had ever made a mystery of finding it extremely easy to ditch and abandon him. The Navy, though, it was a sure thing, definitely an exigent owner, but a sure thing that would've never abandoned him as long as he obeyed, behaved, and kept sacrificing himself.

Now he's not on duty, though. He's no one, at least for these few days. He's just John's son, mourning his father and reading himself for a revenge mission that could take his life in the process. He's drinking alone in a shady bar where no one can recognize him after so many years, and surely not when his first impression on these people had been one of a fully decked out Officer in high uniform. And with a beautiful, lonely, sad man who's maybe interested in the same thing he is: forgetting everything that's going on in his life right now, forgetting everything just for this night, feeling good, feeling empty. But feeling good is surely a nicer option than feeling empty. And the haole is definitely interested in feeling good and empty at least for today. No explanations needed, no niceties, no buying drinks, no asking about what brings him here. So they carefully test the water before diving in headfirst, and just a look is enough to understand they are on the same page.

Steve is more careful than ever that no one would recognize him when he leaves the bar, the blond man following him at a distance as they walk the few alleys and streets to Steve's place while he's in Hawai'i, heading in just a few minutes after Steve and going straight to the point, in the half-light coming from the open curtains. It's not sentimental. It's not sweet. It's not meant to be, and yet….Yet there's some kind of instantaneous and instinctive connection between them, to the point that while they agreed this was just a one night thing, and they didn't need to know the other's bruises and griefs, or the reasons for taking this leap, for needing this kind of anonymous comfort, they can't help but exchanging their names. Just that. And if you know someone's name, you hold them in your power, or whatever that shit was. 

It's not romantic, but it almost is. And Steve is almost crying because of Danny's (the beautiful, golden stranger's name) protectiveness and gentleness with him, like he's sensing or understanding by experience alone that Steve might scowl and purse his lips all he wants, but he's way more inexperienced at this than he liked to think he was. Danny has strong hands, but they are so soft and careful, like he's accustomed to handling frail, little, tiny things, like people's hearts or children's hands. Steve, for the first time since when he was a little kid on his mother's knees, feels cared for. Loved, almost. And it makes him sick, because being loved and cared for is not something he's allowed to.

But this isn't love. This is a one night stand, and he's a Navy SEAL, and DADT is still in full force, and tomorrow he'll leave for his quest, and he'll never see this kind, caring, attentive man who's offered him at least one night of comfort like he's never felt even with Catherine (it had never been about the comfort with her, it was about taking a breath before diving again, and it was his role to be up to the task, always), giving without asking, offering without expecting. He had said he was looking for relief, but in reality he had offered it. This man who now is gathering his clothes, dressing back and heading for the door, a brittle smile on those gorgeous lips while he turns and looks at Steve for the last time before disappearing. This man whom Steve will never meet again, taking with him this memory of how people, even complete strangers, could be a beacon of life in the darkness that had swallowed him too long ago to remember a time where light existed. This man who clearly carried a heavy burden of his own, an unspoken pain, and whose eyes were so bright and yet so sad. 

Steve drifts to sleep too, wondering how much time will pass until he'll forget the beautiful stranger's face, and how much until the stranger does the same.

Funny how the answer to that question, just the following morning, would suddenly come to him while raising his gun and yelling at an uncomfortably familiar face, a face equally frozen when taking in his own face.

Of course, being partners, and being Steve technically Danny's boss (even if Danny has opinions, very loud opinions, on this matter), and being Steve still in the Navy, means that they look at each other over a beer that same evening, and with just one look agree that it must stay exactly as they had agreed: a one night stand among two strangers trying to run away from their nightmares for just some hours. And that's it. Or so they believe.

Turns out that when you know exactly how your partner and best friend looks like in the dim light of a bedroom, what he sounds like, what he tastes like, and how he is when he's at his most vulnerable….it's very difficult not to remember it constantly, and to fight back the yearning and the longing. Especially if you've been such an idiot to fall in love with a stranger you met in a bar. But they had agreed and shaken hands, and that had to be it. Living the rest of their lives, both of them, wanting to have just that one thing they thought the other considered the worst mistake of his life, not imagining he wanted it back so badly, so desperately, that everyone else coming in their lives could never stay enough before the ghost of that night hunted them out of Steve's or Danny's bed, and heart.

Funny how the answer to that question turned out to be Eternity.

[damnfandomproblems]

https://www.tumblr.com/damnfandomproblems/730443258208124929/from-responses-to-4292-it-is-for-everyone-that?source=share technically no unless they identify with any label that isnt just cis/het people on the ace spectrum are apart of the lgbt community. that description of the stereotypical straight relation ship of people who dont agree with lgbt community was just to remind people of the kind of people that have actually caused harm to the lgbt community in the past. if people want that lifestyle that's okay ofc do what you want its your life but historically these are the majority and its these people that have tried to demonize being gay or in anyway different speaking of im going to take this chance to say this to that one person who got offended by me calling lgbt people "deviant" "weird" or "queer" (i can no longer see exactly what you said bcuz i blocked you) its because we are. and me saying that isn't me saying its a bad thing. but there are those that believe that. to a cis/het person who doesn't agree with lgbt, ace people are still considered to be "weird", "deviant", and "queer". Anyway no the people you described are not inherently apart of the lgbt community. this argument is about the fact that some people think if you are not in some way in a homosexual relationship that you aren't actually apart of the lgbt community. like saying "bi or pan people aren't gay enough if they have a opposite sex partner, unless of of them is trans" However the ace spectrum deals more with HOW you are attracted to someone. you can experience no sexual attraction at all (some ace people still have sex for their partners or just because they can but feeling disgust towards sex is also common) aromantic people are much the same but with romance instead then there's Demi which are people who tend to only feel sexual or romantic or both attraction if they have a strong emotional attachment to someone. and there are more but those are the most common three gay people can feel this too. nonbinary couples also so why would there be an exception for straight people???? there's a lot more to the lgbt community than just gays and trans being straight or cis doesn't automatically disqualify you from being queer however however we still shouldn't shit on ALLIES or the concept of being straight or cis in general that description i gave was, again, just a reminder of who actually has caused problems for lgbt from the beginning. in America those are the kinds of people who've harmed us as have worked to make us seem less than human. the people who have tried to put themselves on a pedestal of perfection and normalcy and that being anything but is unnatural and a sin. that's why i say the lgbt community is for everyone but that. 1/2

 2/2 and allies are welcome here. it may not be the right community they need like say a pro kink community for those interested in evolving their sex life but the less we try and push these people away the better because in a way as long as they support us too and are working to tear down that "pedestal of perfection" conservatives have built then in a way they are and always been apart of the community. a community of people who have all felt the effects of being considered "not normal", "sinful", "disgusting". and much worse this is also why kink is at pride parades. they are people who have been considered much of what lgbt people have. and have always helped to fight for our rights. personally i cant wait for a day that lgbt includes cis/ het even without other labels or identities. because they are still both a sexuality and a gender identification. and as lgbt becomes more popular and widely accepted we are seeing more and more a sort of discrimination against cis/het people from members of the lgbt community. very largely seen with bi or pan people. and this heterophobia is not healthy and is often instigated by people who want to remain "different" and want something to bully and make themselves seen better, which is becoming easier to do since your more likely to get backlash for being straight and hating on gays for being gay. so in short, being apart of the lgbt community is more about connecting with people who've had similar experiences as you for your identity being """not normal""" while also fighting for ALL identities to be considered normal. and this includes cis/het people with "micro identifications" like the ace spectrum. (and personally i hope for the eventual dissolvement of the lgbt community entirely and we can all just exist) i am notorious for being bad at explanations so i can only hope this clears things up

This is a response to this ask.

[rigginsstreet]

3,9,24 or 30 for fredsythe 🖤 (you pick)

30. ‘this is my husband/wife/girlfriend/boyfriend/partner etc.’

"We don't have to do this if you don't want to," Fred says from his bed, seated on the edge and feet resting on the wooden frame, knees bent and spread wide enough for FP to stand between. His hands are shoved in his leather jacket, teeth worrying his bottom lip while Fred holds his hips in place, trying to offer some assurance.

"No, I- I want to." FP pauses, inhales deep. Exhales. "It'll be good for me. For us."

Fred can't fight the smile that blooms across his face, fingers flexing in FP's shirt where they rest. "Good. Because I really want to meet all your friends."

Friends, of course, meant members of the gang FP had joined upon being thrown out of his home by his father. People who had taken him in and accepted him when his own blood never could. Family, in the truest definition.

So, naturally, Fred wanted to meet the people who gave his best friend a home.

And while FP felt safe with these people, he had been reluctant to bring Fred around. Could never shake the feeling like he'd be tainting him somehow letting him get too close to the South Side. Dating FP was bad enough. Fred didn't need to get tangled up in the mess any more than he already was.

But they were also the only family FP had to introduce Fred to, and he couldn't deny the part of him that longed for that normalcy, no matter how un-normal the circumstances were.

So, FP takes Fred to the Whyte Wyrm - a place where no North Sider is particularly welcome unless they're very special. (FP doesn't like to sound sappy, but he does have to admit they don't come more special than Fred Andrews.)

There's undeniable nerves shooting through FP as they walk through the bar, and he knows Fred's getting looks. People wondering what a wholesome slice of apple pie like that is doing on their side of town, but they say nothing. Let FP walk him back to where his friends are all gathered in a party of sorts. No real celebration going on besides of life itself, but FP knew he'd catch them all in a good mood.

Fred doesn't seem to understand the snake pit he's walked into. Is too busy being enamored by the neon signs and old license plates adorning the walls. Like he's at Disney World or some shit. FP wishes he could be that relaxed all the time. Probably why he drinks so much.

Gladys is the first one to spot them, with a greeting of "My boys!" as she hops up from the recliner she was sprawled across to wrap Fred and FP in a drunken hug, giving them each a big wet kiss on the cheek.

"Got any more of those?" FP nods to the beer in Gladys' hand. She looks over her shoulder and whistles, and suddenly a bottle is being thrown his way. He catches it one-handed.

"Hey, Gladys," Fred smiles, taking the beer he's offered as well.

It's nice that Gladys is here. Helps take the edge off a little of what FP's about to say. Which lasts all of two seconds before Tall Boy's snarling "What's the preppy doing here?"

Gladys immediately backhands him in the shoulder, and Fred says confidently “I’m not preppy…”

FP ignores the comment entirely to instead say “This is my boyfriend Fred.” His heart feels like it’s gonna leap out of his throat, though oddly enough, he thinks it’s more from the fact he’s just announced he’s dating a South Sider than the fact he’s announcing he’s dating a boy. Fred’s hand is immediately in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Oh, Christ, not another one,” Tall Boy groans. The wounds are still fresh from Alice turning her back on everyone for Hal Cooper.

“Don’t be an asshole,” Gladys warns. “Fred’s good people.”

Fred smiles appreciatively.

“They’re all good people,” Tall Boy says, “That’s their fucking problem.” He steps forward, aiming to tower over both boys, but FP places himself in front of Fred. Tall Boy may have more than a few inches on him, but FP doesn’t really give a shit.

“Let’s get one thing straight right now,” FP starts, voice low and brokering no room for argument. “Fred’s off limits. You got a problem with him, you better think carefully about what you’re going to do about it.”

Tall Boy just scoffs at him. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Normally I’d agree,” Gladys says from the side, popping peanuts into her mouth. “But when it comes to Fred, FP gets a little feral, so I’d probably listen to him this time.”

Tall Boy looks down to FP, who’s smirking up at him in challenge.

It’s a stand off until Viper, one of the elders, comes over casually. “We got a problem here?”

“Just introducing my boyfriend to everyone,” FP says, eyes still locked on Tall Boy. He finds that the more he uses the word, the more he likes how it feels.

“The North Side kid?” Viper asks.

“How could you tell?” Fred questions, sounding a little embarrassed.

Viper laughs. “Can sniff you folks out from a mile away. Name’s Viper,” he says, extending a hand out. “Real name’s Robert, but everyone calls me Viper, or Vipe, if you’re so inclined.”

“I’m Fred,” he smiles, shaking the older man’s hand warmly.

“Now what’s a nice kid like you slumming it with a kid like FP?”

The words would sting coming from anyone else, but Viper says them good naturedly. He was the one to really take FP under his wing when he’d come crawling to the Serpents with nowhere else to go. A gay man himself, Viper had resonated all too well with FP’s story of an unsympathetic father and making his way on the streets. Wanted to protect FP, and the other kids like him, from the same fate he endured growing up. He was the closest thing FP had to a real father.

“I wouldn’t know,” Fred answers, looking fondly at FP. “I wouldn’t consider it slumming.”

Somewhere in the background Tall Boy gags, but all FP can focus on is how badly he wants to kiss Fred right now, even if he is corny as hell.

Viper laughs, clapping Fred on the shoulder. “Good answer, kid. This FP’s a special one. Gotta take real good care of him.”

“Okay can we get to partying now. This sentimental shit is making me uncomfortable,” FP says, trying to fight off the swell of emotion building up in his chest at someone actually giving enough of a shit about him to look out for him like this.

Viper laughs. “Alright, alright. Let’s go make the rounds, introduce Fred here to the crew.”

He leads the way around the bar, Fred and FP trailing behind. Fred leans into FP’s side to whisper in his ear all coy “Can I kiss you right now?”

FP hopes the dim lights of the bar hide his blush, but he nods before Fred reaches up to cup his cheek and press their lips together. Their first public kiss. A moment that apparently isn’t lost on Fred, either.

“I think I’m gonna like it here.”

[minamotoz]

the boy meets world writers creating the most heartbreaking narrative about growing up queer and closeted in 90's you've ever seen (it is entirely through subtext and poorly aged, sorta problematic jokes)

[slasherhaven]

how would the slashers be when they have a crush on there future s/o and when the s/o breaks up with there boyfriend/girlfriend? the slashers and s/o are friends, so the s/o goes to them crying/ to be comforted telling them what happen, how would the slashers react?

The Slashers reacting to their Future S/O coming to them for comfort after ending their current relationship:

Thomas Hewitt

As soon as you finished speaking with you partner, now ex-partner, you headed to the Hewitt household because you needed to see Thomas. He always made you feel better.

You knocked on the door and Luda May let you in, seeing the tears in your eyes. You’ve known the family for so long that she considers you family, she offers to talk to you and make you something to drink but you just told her that you were there to see Thomas. She understands and tells you where he is.

When Thomas sees you, he knows that something is wrong and is instantly worried.

You just sighed, hurrying over to him and wrapping your arms around him. He instantly returned your hug, holding you and letting you cry if you needed too.

He will listen to you talk about what happened, wanting to know everything, wanting to help you anyway he can.

He hates them. He hates them for hurting you. But he quickly forgets about them, focusing on you once again. You’re what’s important.

Thomas knows that he loves you but he had accepted that you were with somebody else. You were his best friend, his only friend, and you meant the world to him.

He absolutely means it when he tells you that you’re the best thing that they would ever have and that you would find somebody who realises that. 

Maybe that was the moment that you truly saw what had been in front of you this whole time, that Thomas was the one who thought you were the best thing he had ever seen, the person who would appreciate you how you deserved.

Michael Myers 

How you ended up befriending Michael Myers is a mystery. You were probably childhood friends and he must trust you a whole lot to be okay with you having a normal social life.

Still, he is your friend who has been dealing with some very confusing romantic feelings for you, so he is extremely protective of you.

When you come home teary eyed, he assumes somebody hurt you and is furious. Not that you could tell unless you noticed the clenching of his fists.

You just blurt it out when you see him. “We broke up!” he wasn’t expecting that...

He could....kill them for you? Oh, you don’t want that? And you’re quick to tell him that you don’t want him to kill them because you knew what he was thinking as soon as he moved towards the door.

Michael is just silent so you can only guess he is listening as you talk, telling him that it was for the best.

He’s not going to make a move to comfort you, but his presence is kind of comforting, at least to you. He was there to protect you and he was, seemingly, listening.

In the end, Michael didn’t really know what to do but you seemed satisfied with just having him around when you were upset. So...he just stayed while you worked through it.

Jason Voorhees 

You spent as much time with Jason as you could but you still had a life outside of the abandoned camp and he understood that. You were his friend and he didn’t want to take that away from you.

He loved your visits and hearing about your life, it was a bit of normalcy for him. He is nearly completely selfless when it comes to you, he would do anything for you, and despite his growing feelings for you he listened to you talk about your partner and supported you.

Jason was overjoyed when he saw you approaching his cabin, always glad to see you, but he quickly became concerned when he saw the sadness on your face. Something had happened...

He’s quick to approach you, greeting you and asking if you’re alright.

He’s comforted you before over things, but he was still a little surprised when you just hugged him, telling him everything.

He’d hold you without a single complaint, and he would listen to everything you had to say.

Of course he welcomes you into the cabin, ready to help in whatever way he can. If you want something to eat or drink, he’ll get it, he’s been keeping better food around since you started visiting. He would also get you a blanket just to make you comfortable.

You would probably stay at the cabin that night with Jason, he was your best friend and he always made you feel better. You wouldn’t want to be anywhere else after having a bad day.

Brahms Heelshire

You and Brahms had an agreement. You would stay after discovering the truth but you had to be able to have a normal life. 

He is an incredibly jealous person but you were the best thing to enter his life in a very long time, as long as your partner never came into the house he could try to look past it.

He knew it was wrong and he actually felt bad about it but he was glad that you and your partner had broken up. Now he could finally have you all to himself.

But how sad you looked when you returned home just made his heart ache for you.

Despite you and Brahms having grown very close, you didn’t expect a sympathetic reaction when you told him about the break up. 

You knew he was jealous, that he had a crush on you (he wasn’t good at hiding it), and you thought he would be happy.

However, you were pleasantly surprised when Brahms innocently pulled you into an embrace. “I’m sorry, Y/n” he touched the lips of his mask to the top of your head before stroking your hair.

It wasn’t what you expected but you were grateful for it, tightening the hug as you buried your face in his chest, glad for the comfort.

He can be surprising comforting, holding you and reassuring you. He’s very honest with his opinions, saying that they didn’t deserve you, that you are too good for them, and that you belong here with him.

And, well, it was difficult to disagree as you made yourself comforting on the couch as he held you.

Bo Sinclair

As soon as you walked into the house, Bo was about to come and greet you with a flirty comment and a smirk but stopped when he saw your face. You looked upset.

He didn’t falter too much, asking you what happened. Then you told him that you and your partner had broken up, and you came right here.

Even though you had made it clear that you had been in a relationship and just his friend, Bo enjoyed flirting with you.

But now, for once, he wasn’t flirting. He let out a sigh and started to act more seriously.

“C’mere darlin’” Bo’s voice was surprisingly soft as he guided you towards him. He genuinely cared about you, you were one of the few people he cared about, and he didn’t like seeing you upset, especially because of some asshole who didn’t know what they had. “It’ll be alright.”

His embrace was comforting, making you feel safe, and you allowed yourself to just let go and be vulnerable. 

Bo is not good at comforting people but he’ll hold you if you need it. Then he’ll grab two beers and let you talk about what happened.

Deciding to be a decent person, he would lay off of you for a little while until you seemed to be doing better, but then you can bet that the flirting is going to be more than ever now that you’re single.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent loved whenever you visited, it stunned him that you visited at all. You left Ambrose, you didn’t have to return, but you always did. All because you were his friend.

What he hates most is seeing you upset, he just thinks you deserve all the happiness in the world.

So when you knock on the door of his workroom and he opens it to see your teary eyes, he just wants to help.

Of course he ushers you inside, expressing his concern and asking what was wrong.

You tell him everything about the breakup and were honest about how you felt.

When you asked him if he could just be with you for a while, he instantly agrees and holds you for as long as you need.

Vincent is a little more surprised when you asked him if you could stay with them for a little while, at least tonight. You really didn’t feel like driving home but you hadn’t packed to stay in town. But he agrees, understanding that you didn’t want to be alone.

When Bo asks what the hell is going on, Vincent give him the short story that you had broken up with your partner, and of course Bo patted his twin on the shoulder and told him go for it.

Yes, Vincent had feelings for you and both of his brothers thought it was obvious but you didn’t seem to be aware of them. However, Vincent was more concerned about making sure you were alright than trying to confess his feelings for you.

Now simply wasn’t the time and in the end he just wanted the best for you.

Lester Sinclair 

After the break up, you went to the first person you thought of. Lester.

You didn’t feel like seeing Bo and dealing with him, so you went straight to Lester’s house outside of town. But he wasn’t there.

You were best friends and you were often at his house, so you just let yourself in and waited for him.

When Lester returned home, he saw your car and was just excited to see you. He entered the house with a grin, assuming you would be in a normal mood and greet him with a hug as usual.

You did technically greet him with a hug but he had seen the teary look on your face as you embraced him. 

Lester instantly wrapped his arms around you, asking what was wrong as he comforted you. He just wanted to hold you and make sure you were okay.

You had told him about your partner before and how things had been different recently and, despite his feelings for you, Lester always told you that things would be okay and that it would work out.

He would let you stay at his house, just being a supportive and caring friend that he always was.

“Thank you Lester, you’re the best” he hates that you’re upset and that you were hurt by somebody you cared about, but he smiled slightly into your hair as he held you. 

He would do right by you, he promised himself that.

Bubba Sawyer

As soon as you show up at the Sawyer household, clearly upset, Bubba is worried about you.

He’s your best friend so of course you went to him after the break up, and once the two of you went to his room to sit down, you told him everything.

Bubba didn’t really know what to do. He wanted to tell you that everything would be okay, that he’s here for you, and you got the general idea of that from his noises of concern. 

He wishes he could more easily express those reassurances but will settle for just holding you, whether you need to cry or not.

And he’s a great listener! He’ll let you talk about it for as long as you need. 

Bubba will hold you and comfort you as much as you need but if you need to just forget everything for a little while get him, Nubbins and ChopTop together to cheer you up. You’re family now and they don’t want you to be sad.

Billy Lenz 

How does one befriend a pervert living in your attic that keeps making inappropriate phone calls to your house? You don’t even know, it was a bit of a blur. You just grew used to him, you finally met him, and now he was pretty much your best friend.

It was actually more surprising to Billy than to you.

After the break up, you returned home and were met with a silent house.

As if he was waiting for you, the phone starting ringing only seconds later. You answered it but Billy instantly heard that something was wrong just from your voice.

When he asked what was wrong, you simply told him that you and your partner had broken up.

He instantly hung up the phone and for a moment you thought that was it, until you heard him scampering down the stairs in a hurry to get to you.

You are his best friend, his only friend, and he cares deeply for you. 

He can still make inappropriate comments and jokes but you were used to them. You also had a feeling that he had a crush on you, just from the way he acted, but you weren’t thinking about any of that in that moment.

Billy was quickly asking you if you were alright and pulling you into a hug, assuming that was what he was meant to do. You assured him that you were fine, just upset by it all.

Billy can be unpredictable and not really the most supportive or reliable person but he was trying really hard, listening to you tell him everything that happened.

Asa Emory (The Collector)

You had told Asa about your relationship before. Despite being a little cold at times, he had somehow become a close friend so of course you mentioned it too him.

At first he didn’t seem to care too much but he eventually started to become more interested, like he wanted information on your relationship. Unknown to you, this was happening because he was starting to accept his feelings for you.

Anyway, he instantly knew something was wrong when you arrived at his house. You knocking on the door and him opening it to see your saddened face.

He invites you in and quite bluntly asks you what happened, and you confess that you and your partner broke up.

Yes, of course he is interest in this. He has developed feelings for you and now you were single, that’s an interesting development. 

However, you are his friend first and he does genuinely care about you.

So, he pushed away those thoughts and listens to you talk about what happened, even comforting you when you need it. 

You see a softer side of Asa when you’re upset and he’s attempting to comfort you.

Jesse Cromeans (Chromeskull)

You had started out working for Jesse as an assistant (well, that was your title) and the two of you had become close friends while working together. 

You swore that you spent more time with him than your partner, and maybe that had been one reason for your break up. 

As soon as you and your partner broke up, you texted Jesse the short version. Something as simple as: “Broke up. Need to talk” and he instantly sent a car for you.

If Jesse cares about you, he will do anything for you. You’re his friend and he’s well aware of his deeper feelings for you, so he’s not going to let you deal with this on your own.

If you’re angry with them, you can rant as much as you like and he’ll listen. If you’re upset, he’ll let you cry against him.

He’ll tell you that you’re too good for them, that you deserve better and that he’s sure you’ll find that person soon. He’s...surprisingly supportive?

And he’s taking you out! Whatever you want to do, he’ll arrange it. His best friend is heartbroken and it’s his job to fix that. Anything for you.

Jesse hates them for hurting you but won’t hurt them for your sake (I mean...unless you want him too, I guess), break ups happen and he knows that. Plus, he has to admit that he’s never thought your partner was good enough for you, and of course...he has had a thing for you for a while now.

Otis Driftwood 

When you show up to the house, upset and searching for Otis, he isn’t quite sure what to do with that. If you came in angry at your ex, shouting and frustrated, he could work with that, purposely riling you up.

But you’re calm, just effected by the fresh break.

Otis isn’t great at comforting people, he has next to no experience with it so he’s not completely sure what to do.

If you want your ex dead, he can do that but...if you don’t he’s a little more lost as to how to help. Thankfully, you talked him out of killing your ex and he settled for other ways to comfort you.

If you want some sort of physical comfort, just hug him. He’s not going to push you away, he’ll hold you when you cry or hold you just because you want to be held. It will be quiet but peaceful, and he remembers that he likes holding you like this.

He lets you talk about the break up as much as you want, listening surprisingly intently.

Do you need a drink? Something stronger? If yes to any of these, he will get you what you need and the two of you will just have a good time to cheer you up. 

Otis is a particular taste but he always manages to make you smile.

Baby Firefly 

As soon as you show up on her doorstep with tears in your eyes, she has a good idea what happened because you always confided in her about your relationship.

She invites you in and she comforts you.

Baby is the best at making you feel better because you know that when she tells you that you are amazing, she means it.

She’s quickly telling you that you can do better and that they didn’t know what they had, it’s their loss.

Oh and, if you let her, she is taking you out! She hates seeing you sad and she wants to cheer you up. She wants to take you out and help you have some fun.

And who knows, maybe you’ll realise the right person for you has been right by your side this whole time. 

[dangermousie]

CFC Chapter 54

“A crashing car?” Ahahahaha I see you, Meatbun. But it was indeed an utter pileup!

I know I commented on this passage in its various iterations eight billion times already but I still have more to say. And it’s that XQC taking so long to realize that even though HY is young, his emotions and feelings are as genuine and strong as those of anyone older is so realistic - people do tend to think that especially with regard to children - think of a reaction of an adult to a three year old crying over ice cream they dropped. It’s all amused even if not meanly so. Because to an adult with vastly more experience, this is not a big deal. But what that forgets is that whether it’s ridiculous to someone else or not, to the person at issue that is a real feeling, AND that of course a person can only feel through the lens of their experience - what else is there? Emotions aren’t any less valid because they are informed by lesser or different experience.

Honestly, to me so far this is one of the driving messages of the novel - everyone is in their own world of issues and pain and none of these characters can truly look through the lens of another person and it would be so much better if they did. To XQC, for so long, He Yu’s strong feelings (and we know so many of these feelings are awful - despair, and self-loathing, and loneliness) never quite felt real and therefore never quite felt fully valid. And by the time it wasn’t the case, it was too late.

But the same is true for He Yu - he is so concentrated on his own grievances and his own pain, he cannot perceive others’ different issues. In He Yu’s mind, he’s the winner and always champion of Misery Olympics and while he’s had a horrible time of it, that doesn’t mean other people didn’t either just in different ways. Whether because of his condition, his issues or just his age, HY is not empathetic in the least.

And think about it - XQC does not have a horrible illness. He does not have unfeeling parents. But he had to watch his beloved parents brutally murdered in front of his eyes at 13 (!!!!) and then had to raise a 5 year old by himself. Is it worse or better than HY’s trauma? That’s a matter of opinion but what there is no question about is that is a different type of trauma and a different type of scar. Or think about the patient in the asylum whose name I am too lazy to look up - her life is such a theater of horrors that to me, it makes the combined issues of HY and XQC seem small, though once again that’s subjective. Nobody wins when people start this sort of competition.

My heart breaks for XQC but also - I am sorry - if/when HY x XQC hook up again (how? I have no idea! But that is one of the joys of Meatbun - I both have no idea how/where it’s going and utterly trust her), please have He Yu read up and learn things because Good God. You should not be in major pain the morning after unless you are into pain and XQC clearly is not!

The other thing is the bit about XQC forcing himself to walk in his usual ramrod-straight manner is the moment I went utterly gone for him. I mean, I liked him and found him interesting before. But this is the thing that flipped that invisible switch for me and I went rabid and irrational and now I am Team XQC and I don’t care what he wants and does from now on, he should have it. It’s so small but so real. My mother and her mother were both big on straight posture. And one of the reasons they gave was when you walk with good posture - you look confident but also it makes you feel confident and stronger. And I’ve actually found it to be true - when you throw your shoulders back and straighten your neck and hold your head up, it does not just give others a signal, it gives a signal to your own brain. So to see XQC insist on doing it, despite being emotionally and physically shattered - because of his pride refusing to give up, because he’s so unbending, but also this being some sort of instinctive armor, just hits straight through the heart.

OK, I laughed at HY as a fucking machine. But also, this is another point in the whole “everyone has issues” narrative and HY’s life could be worse. HY, with all his other issues, can pay an insane amount, an amount that XQC could not pay in a million years, so easily. It’s not even a blip to him. Hell, the fact that he forgot to pay speaks to that - I can see forgetting to pay a friend a couple of bucks back right away because it’s not much money. HY forgets because it does not loom in his mind. And this rich lifestyle is instinctive, is ingrained in him. I think he’d find it hard to be poor.

THAT is what he’s thinking about? Priorities are...

The sole good thing that came out of this insanity is that XQC is getting in touch with his emotions, even if those emotions are (rightly) rage. He’s too closed off from them normally.

The fact that you slept with a man should be secondary to the fact that you drugged and raped him, but here we are...

To me, this sums up He Yu as a moral wasteland. To still, when sober and past his fit and not under influence of wine, to still feel excitement over his revenge and to somehow twist it that it’s XQC’s fault for being raped by He Yu is !!!!!!!!!

(I suppose if I were charitable, I’d assume that the disquiet is small stirrings of almost dead conscience and his “he deserved it” is an attempt to justify the unjustifiable to himself, but I honestly don’t want to think so because I am so angry at him. Not until I see some more evidence. I don’t feel like being indulgent with He Yu since he’s indulgent with himself enough for two.)

1. The fact that you can tell from the picture XQC got taken by a man (I am gonna defer to Meatbun’s expertise here) definitely points to the fact that the pictures are going to be used for something bad later - because if it’s just oh XQC had sex, so what, he’s single what’s the big deal. But like this it becomes a different matter. No idea if it will be used for HY or XQC or both, and by whom (money is on Duan and co, but after the way HY went off, I would never say HY himself won’t use it badly somehow) but knowing Meatbun, it will go for maximum damage.

2. Ruthless? Perhaps. Unfeeling? Hmmmm. I am not He Yu’s biggest fan atm but that’s a wonderfully misleading adjective here. He does still seem to be in shock. And fixating.

3. The whole “hahahaha XQC is a hypocrite when he was all ‘I am not interested in sex’“ is - I am not sure if HY is just short-circuiting (fine) or using a rapist justification/rolling in a sea of toxic toxicity (not fine) because I am sorry, that’s totally like “he/she had a reaction, can’t be rape” writ large. Yeah, sure he had a reaction - you poured drugs down his throat. That has nothing to do with his default preferences or his actual state. THE FUCK?!

Anyway, we end on the whole “u mad bro?” bit and you know what strikes me? HY was all “I am done, we are done, my revenge is complete I don’t care” but here he is, still desperately seeking and craving reaction and interaction from XQC.

I remain utterly puzzled as to how these two will ever be a couple except for a couple being defined as “two mutually homicidal people.” Leaving aside everything else, I am willing to accept HY is in the closet - clearly whatever his orientation is, it includes men. But I do not get that sense from XQC at all. When he’s not drugged, he’s barely interested in sex with anyone and I do not get the sense he’s in the closet either. Chances of anyone, let alone He Yu, who is both a man and someone who raped him to humiliate him, being able to entice him into sexual encounters voluntarily is about the chance of me going to visit Mars. Meatbun loves doing insane things so I can’t wait.

PS I know people use the term psychopath all the time casually but ummm, I think He Yu may actually be one? When he has his father (!!!) on speakerphone, calmly carrying a conversation with the man as he’s raping his father’s friend in the club as he talks (!!!!!) that is...in RL I’d be “team lock him up for life, there is something so basic broken in him that it can’t be fixed.” Like - the hell? The ability to put things on different shelves so much is not in the same country as sane (it makes me think of 2ha and TXJ banging CWN being the curtain while performing court business but TXJ was bona fide clinically insane and also this is worse because this is his actual freaking father omg.) Of course, only time will tell whether it’s evidence of him being irreparably incapable of normalcy in terms of living in the world/interacting with others or it was an extreme psychotic (in casual parlance not medical one) break because most people are capable of truly horrific stuff if certain levers are pushed and his default is saner. It’s the question, isn’t it? Whether He Yu’s factory default setting is the monster of the previous chapters or the kid who’d cut his wrists so as not to hurt others.

Anyway, this novel is a terrifying roller coaster ride and I love having strong emotions.

[boltwrites]

Misfits - Chapter 1

Fandom: Star Wars - Clone Wars / The Bad Batch Pairing: The Bad Batch / Reader (Polyamorous)  Rating: M (Rating May Change) Tags: Polyamorous Relationship, Force-Sensitive Reader, Slow Burn

Work Summary: After a year working with the 501st, you've been assigned a new post - Clone Force 99, aka the Bad Batch. You're concerned about the transition - you found it hard enough to fit in with the 501st, and now you had to acclimate to an entirely new squad. As it turns out, the Bad Batch is very accommodating.

read it on ao3 | or read more below

If you were being completely honest with yourself, you were nervous about your new assignment.

“Nervous” wasn’t a trait most people used to describe you. No, your former lifestyle dictated that you weren’t really allowed the luxury of nervousness – force sensitives left to fend for themselves, especially those expelled from the Order, had to grow a thick skin in order to survive. Force sensitives were valuable and much sought after, and not just by the Sith. From the day you had left the Order, it had been up to you to survive, to take care of yourself, and to make your own way in the universe.

But you were still a person – a sentient being that craved some sense of normalcy and security. And you had found that, for a fleeting moment, with the 501st. You hadn’t been thrilled with the arrangement – getting roped into a war that you wanted nothing to do with wasn’t exactly on your agenda the night you were approached by ghosts from your past and led to the Temple you had left behind so many years ago.

The Jedi had created a new program, meant to bolster their numbers in the face of the growing Sith. To create an alliance with unaligned force sensitives: the Jedi would provide protection and a generous stipend for the work provided, and the force sensitives would fight alongside the present Jedi. You hadn’t really been a huge fan of the idea, for multiple reasons… but you had been presented an offer that which you could not refuse. So you didn’t.

And it had been stable, for a bit. You hated to admit that you had grown to enjoy the company of the 501st, but you had. Your General, Anakin, was understanding, and not so uptight. He was so unlike the Knights you knew when you had been present at the Temple – he was reckless, and fearless, and he followed his own heart instead of the code. Perhaps that’s why you didn’t mind his command; you knew that he wasn’t so swayed by Council politics and related trivialities, and that he cared about his men first and foremost. You had grown fond of him, even discussing your personal philosophy regarding the force with him on a few occasions, and even sparring with his padawan, Ahsoka, on several occasions. A teenager holding a higher title than you was alien, but in the relaxed nature of the 501st, you had hardly noticed it.

But, as much as you enjoyed the company of the Jedi, perhaps the person you would miss the most was Rex. Holding the same rank didn’t seem to phase the clone Captain, as Rex had been more than happy to show you the ropes and introduce you to the men. He accepted you as his equal immediately, and you had been fast friends, bonding over your similar roles in the battle and joking about the most trivial shit that left you on the floor in stitches, Rex hunched over wheezing at perhaps the worst pun you had ever constructed. He had introduced you to the other members of the 501st, saved your ass on multiple occasions, and in turn, you had confided in him about how out of place you felt within the military structure afforded you.

“I don’t fit in,” you had rambled, waving your hands emphatically after one too many drinks at 79’s. “I mean – I’m a Captain, right? Like you. But I’m not a clone, obviously.” You laughed, feeling stupid for even pointing it out. “I mean, I know there must be more out there like me – force sensitives the Jedi picked out of thin air, coerced into joining this war…”

You had rolled your eyes, and Rex had raised an eyebrow. In turn, you had waved him off, nowhere near finished your speech.

“But – the point I’m trying to make – is that it’s not like I’m fighting alongside people that are like me. Even when we work alongside the 212th or some other battalion, I think I’ve only seen one other non-Jedi force sensitive.”

“And it’s worse, you know? You guys – the men – they all call me Jedi. Because honestly, what else do you know? What do you know besides Jedi and Sith? There’s nothing really to call a person like me – but calling me Jedi isn’t right, because then I go up to Anakin or Ahsoka, and yeah, they’re nice to me, but they don’t treat me the same as other Jedi. I’m not one of them. And I’m not one of you. So where the hell do I fit in this?”

Rex hadn’t had an answer for you, and you sure as fuck didn’t know.

Maybe that’s why you were assigned to Clone Force 99.

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

“Have you worked with these guys before?” you asked, fiddling with your bag as you waited in the hangar on Coruscant. Rex stood beside you, hand on his hip as he surveyed the sky above you, no doubt waiting for your transport.

“Once. You remember when you were off on that stealth mission with Hondo?”

“Ugh, I wish I could forget.”

Rex chuckled, shaking his head at your sarcasm. “I first met them then. Don’t worry. You’ll fit right in.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, and he raised both back at you, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Care to elaborate as to why, you bastard?”

Rex grinned wider, shaking his head and turning his eyes to the sky once more.

“They look at the world differently. Like you do.”

You hadn’t expected that, and you stood in shock, watching Rex as he searched for the ship that would take you from him. You thought, for just a moment, you saw a tinge of sadness in his eyes, that a sliver of grief passed over you both in the force at the thought of your parting. You opened your mouth to speak, but before you could, a ship started to descend, the roar deafening anything you might have wanted to say.

The ship landed, powering down its thrusters, and your heart flipped involuntarily. You didn’t want to be nervous – you really didn’t. You had come to know clones over the time you had spent in the GAR – close to a standard year, at this point. You knew that in order to earn their trust, you couldn’t appear afraid, or out of place. You had to act as if you belonged, as if you were already their friend, in order to actually become their friend. It was surprisingly similar to working with scoundrels in the Outer Rim – faking it until you made it.

So, you squared your shoulders and tried to seem confident, and Rex’s subtle smile and firm nod only spurred you on as he stepped to your side, prepared to introduce you to the men you would be working with for at least the new few missions.

The hatch hissed at the airlock released, the ramp lowering so that the crew could disembark.

You knew little about Clone Force 99. Your reassignment had been swift, ordered straight from the top – above even the Jedi, from the Senate itself. According to your official order, Clone Force 99, a special operations unit, was in need of a force sensitive for several missions. They didn’t operate under a Jedi General, and seeing as they were a spec ops unit, the Jedi couldn’t waste any of their precious men on such a small squad. You, however, as an unassociated force-sensitive, were ripe for the picking, and considering that you had previously been assigned to the 501st, a battalion that already operated under a Jedi Knight and Padawan, you had been the obvious choice for the job.

So, you knew that they were a special unit and that they didn’t work with Jedi on the regular. Great. That was such a detailed summary of how they operated. You were so prepared.

Well, you considered. You had gone into battle previously with even less information. It had been even worse when you were operating in the Outer Rim. It could be worse.

You tried to remain optimistic as the steam cleared from the change in pressure and temperature, the hatch hissing as the troopers disembarked. You stood transfixed as they did, and as each appeared, your eyebrows scrunched further together.

You had been told this was a clone force. As in, a clone-based unit. No Jedi, and obviously no nat borns, as beside the Jedi and force sensitives, they were restricted to the Navy, not the GAR. But these men…

It was strange. They looked so different – one large, one tall and slender, another with long hair and broad shoulders. But their biorhythms in the Force were all so similar. The force sang around them like it did with other clones – there was a distinct taste of battle to them, of shared battles, countless. Their signatures sang together, like the rest of the clones’ did, as they had grown and battled together, as they had trusted one another from the day they all met on Kamino. It spoke of a deep camaraderie that was never present among nat borns, that was specific to clones and them alone, and it dazzled you.

“Captain Rex. Good to see you.”

You blinked, snapping yourself out of your analysis of the force, only to see the clone with the longer hair greet Rex with a firm grip to the forearm. As he drew closer, you started to notice the resemblance – the same skin tone, the curve of his nose, the color of his eyes – and it was confirmed through your eyes as well that this man was, indeed, a clone.

“Good to see you too, Sergeant,” Rex replied with a nod, stepping back to gesture to you. You straightened up, standing formally to address the man you would be working with from now on. You weren’t one for formalities, but you did want to make a good impression with him. Some clones were not as openminded as Rex, and they tended to be sticklers for rules and orders, offended by the slightest deviation. Until you knew the Sergeant’s preferences, it would pay to be formal.

“This is Captain Andar. She’s the force-sensitive that’s been assigned to your unit.”

You offered Rex a small smile – he knew how much you valued the term “force sensitive” and how you wished to remain distinct from the Jedi, so you were grateful that he remembered your preference.

The Sergeant frowned, looking from you to Rex and back again, and you felt anxiety coil in your stomach. The downward tilt of his lip and his disappointment in the force compounded, leaving you feeling uneasy.

“We requested General Skywalker.”

Oh, there it was. They had expected a Jedi. Not you, some half-baked, half-trained force sensitive who wasn’t even allowed to hold a title higher than Captain. You should be used to it, at this point, the disdain and the dismissal. But it still hurt you a bit more than it should have, when you were reminded that you were only second best.

“Hunter, we’re stretched thin as it is,” Rex sighed, shaking his head a little. “I did submit your request, but this came from the top. The Senate has disallowed the allocation of the Jedi anywhere other than the front lines. We have a severe shortage of Generals – Commanders, even – but I assure you, Captain Andar is more than capable. She’s one of the best men I know.”

You smiled at Rex, a soft thanks for his kind words, even as Sergeant – Hunter, was it? – looked you up and down.

“So, you’re a force sensitive,” he addressed you. You nodded, trying to get a read on him. His large skull tattoo, which took up the majority of the left side of his face, drew your attention. Most clones turned to tattoos in order to assert their individuality – you had actually seen a few of your comrades getting their tattoos, as it was a communal activity among them. You laughed along with Rex as you watched shinies cringe at their first ink, and you even has a few pieces yourself, hidden below your clothing.

But somehow, Hunter’s skull seemed different. There was a lot about clone culture you still didn’t fully understand, and this may just be a part of it. His tattoo, however, wasn’t quite as intriguing as his hair – long and free-flowing, not tied back besides his headband. There were a few long-haired clones in the 501st, but they always kept their hair tied up neatly, either in a tight bun or a ponytail. Hunter’s was clearly too short for either of those options, and it made him look rugged. You wondered what he was trying to convey with this combination of identifying markers. Clones used everything they had to assert their individuality – to designate themselves as them, to emphasize their personality, role in the military, and who they wanted to be. What did Hunter’s want to present to you with his appearance, you wondered.

But, you couldn’t just stare at the man all day – for fuck’s sake, he had just asked you a question and you’d already spent a good half a second staring at him instead of answering.

“Yes – I possess the same abilities in the force as a Jedi such as General Skywalker or Commander Tano –“ you frowned a little. You were probably closer in skill to Ahsoka, despite being far older. That tends to happen when you’re expelled from the order at fifteen and spend more time trying to simply stay alive rather than train. “- I am more than capable of completing missions where force-related skill is necessary. And, I don’t have to answer to the Council.”

You added the last part on the end with a little chuckle, because Anakin had often asked for your assistance specifically because of that fact – the Jedi Council knew that it was a risk allowing you and the other unaffiliated force sensitives into the GAR, and it was for this exact reason. You had made it work with the 501st, though, and you wondered if this new unit would find that loophole as useful as Anakin had.

Judging by the raised eyebrow, Hunter was mildly impressed by at least something you said.

“Oh, she’ll fit right in, then,” Hunter seemed to soften, just a touch? As if understanding something you weren’t yet privy to as he flashed Rex a grin. Rex smirked back, patting you on the shoulder.

“Told you,” he mumbled to you, and you rolled your eyes at him. Well, at the very least, the Bad Batch didn’t hate you.

Yet.

[rotshop]

get prankt this isn't an angst fic lol ,,

ANYWAY ,, i realized earlier that i could've just been calling 'auditor reader' employer reader this whole time and then i had a funny silly goofy little idea and now we r here,,,lol,,, ill proof read this later but i did this in one go no breaks so . help.

I might continue this later so!! consider this a sort of 'introduction' if u will,,

note ; auditor uses he / she / they pronouns in this bc ive decided im just going to push my propaganda onto all of you <333 also Hank uses he / they / xe

tw ; dissociation, dereality, some light body horror

Bloody Management

"This is out of your jurisdiction. You've wasted enough time here," you seethed dryly, staring down at the shorter being. "You've made no progress and have only proved your operation to be a strain on our relations and resources."

"Out of MY jurisdiction? YOU'VE never even been there before! You think you can just storm in and suddenly kick me out of my own work?" Auditor shot back, hands slamming down on the mahogany desk in front of her.

"Yes, actually, I do," you snapped, eyes narrowing. "I think you're forgetting just who you're speaking to. You've let this drag on for far too long and your ego has grown in tandem with its pointlessness."

Sighing, you leaned back in your chair, pinching the bridge of your nose as you continued. "Look, I understand. You put effort and thought into this little pet project of yours, but the results have all proven zilch. You fucked up, that's fine, but you can't keep meddling with this reality in hopes something will suddenly work again! All you're doing is tearing and poking holes the rest of us will have to deal with later."

"If you just gave me a little more time I could-"

"We've been giving you time. We've given you more time than we've ever given any project like yours," you gave a desperate look, "It's over. You tried and we tried, there's nothing that can be done. If you just worked with us then we could help you."

There was a long silence as they faltered, hands falling into their lap as their gaze followed, landing on the floor.

"And what happens to my Nevada?"

"We'll try and clean it up again. Return it to..some sort of normalcy," you hummed, "Though, with some of those tears in the fabric it'll take a bit longer than anticipated. That..clown, is proving to be rather difficult."

You paused, grin finding it's way onto your face.

"It's been tricky, if you will."

"Not the time."

You gave a 'tsk' in response, shrugging lightly, "I don't regret it."

"You'll be going back to our depths, effective immediately. While this project was a failure, we're still curious to see if there's anything else that can be done in a different time and place."

"And what about you? Are you going to sit all pretty in this fake office for the rest of eternity?" She questioned sarcastically, eyes dragging up to meet yours.

"God, I wish. I mean, seriously, you have no idea how nice it is to have some peace and quiet after dealing with that fuckin' office."

With a dry snicker and -presumably- an eye roll, they finally stood accepting their defeat.

"I presume I'll be seeing you?"

"If your little posse doesn't cause me too much trouble, yes."

"Have fun with that, I do hope it's as grueling as possible," he hummed, turning and striding towards the door to nothing.

"Thanks, was nice seeing you too."

The door peering to the void shuts soundlessly.

.

.

.

"Was the pun really that bad?.."

---

"What do you mean they're just neutral suddenly? It's not like they all just suddenly unionized or sum' shit! There's gotta be something going on," Deimos groaned, irritation dragging onto him and clinging desperately.

"Well- What do you want me to say! I'm just as confused as you are," Sanford huffed back over comms, making a vague gesture with no audience.

Hank stood in the other room, staring down at the few agents that were on their knees with their hands held tight behind their heads. They'd made no attempt to attack Sanford and xem, simply staring in a bit of surprise when the two'd busted in. It'd completely thrown the raid off, leaving them both in a state of stunned confusion. The agent that they'd asked about the sudden change in demeanor just gave some shaky shrug, stammering out that they'd all received an order to not attack under any circumstances from some unknown contact. 'They really just listen to anyone then?..'

It was hard to believe, hard to find any reason or meaning in that lead to any conclusive endings. Which, had lead to a small dispute going nowhere and fast. Hank only picked up on little parts of it, the words being muffled and distorted through the wall. Xe didn't really have much interest in getting a clearer reading of it though, it didn't sound like it meant much.

"Look, I'm just going to try and look for any documents or actual recordings of this apparent 'ghost order,' alright?..." A pause. "Deimos? Are you there? Shit- Of course the line dies now of all times."

The line wasn't dead. It was somewhere else, some-when else.

---

The ground felt cold.

.

.

No, was it warm?

Wait- No no no, it wasn't warm..

.

.

.

Was it even the ground?

.

.

Did it even matter?

.

Deimos could fuzzily recall it. Arguing with Sanford over the line. The points he made exactly didn't seem to ring through the fog of confusion and numb in his mind. Something about the Auditor, the agents, blah bla..something.

He'd been making to say something else when he'd seen it, something off in the corner of his eye. It wasn't anything huge, if you asked him he wouldn't even be able to tell you what it was. There was something wrong, but there wasn't. The ground was cold, but it was warm.

Something was wrong.

Everything is fine.

He'd turned around, looking around for whatever in his vision wasn't right.

That's rude to say, you know.

He'd never found it, something reaching from the depths to grab him.

You're making me sound awfully cruel.

With a groan, he picked himself up off the ground to observe his surroundings. White and black stretched infinitely around him, the 'ground' underneath him was the deepest of not-color while the 'sky' was its blinding twin. A building stood in front of him, a mix of ivory and ink twisted to form its structure. The door faced him, standing tall and straight as a soldier in spite of how tilted and off the world felt.

Before he could even really register it, something was pulling him up off the floor. There were no hands or strings physically attached, nothing sticking from him to drag into the infinite beyond his comprehension, no no. It was something quiet, a ghost or a whisper in his mind that pulled him through the ocean and to shore. The door grew larger- closer. His mind grew blanker. His hand twisted the knob.

Color flooded into his vision finally, the room in front of him coated in it graciously. The floors were a velvet carpeting, a wine red that felt of lavish and glitzy. The walls were lined in bookshelves, each filled to the brim with titles somewhere between poetry and latin white noise where imagination fell. At the head of the room stood a desk, polished mahogany standing tall and still, frozen indefinitely in time. Behind it, you.

Me.

Once again, he was pulled forward. Each step fell in front of the other, unsure of weight behind them and noise that followed suite. He felt half there. Half of a man and half of a void. It was..something.

Not pleasant, not bad.

The ground wasn't cold, wasn't warm.

It just was.

He finds himself meeting your gaze as he plops down into one of the seats in front of you. He finds his neck straining and bowing under phantom limbs that aren't there. He finds his eyes training on yours which stare back pointedly, finds himself between hot and cold. He finds himself sitting down before you as he watches from the window.

There's no window in the room.

"You must be so confused."

Your voice is in front of him, right? That's where you are, so your voice should be coming from there. It isn't though. It's around him somewhere. Even as you tilt your head to the side the noise of your own voice doesn't seem to follow it.

"Don't think too much on this all, alright?"

You mutter something. 'These grunts really weren't made for this- to be here. I'm surprised he even woke up.'

Someone nods in agreement.

"Wh..who are you?"

Is that his voice? It is. It has to be, it fell from his own mouth. He barely even felt it move. Is it his mouth? It has to be.

You pause for a moment, seemingly caught off guard. He doesn't know if its because he spoke or because of what he asked. Nobody clarifies.

"Why don't you call me [name]? That'll be easiest for you. I do apologize for dragging you here rather than appearing there," you hum, leaning forward on your desk. "I just wanted to make sure we had the utmost privacy."

I wanted to make sure you wouldn't be able to forget.

"Now, Deimos," is that his name? "I need to tell you something, I have to work on restoring things for you, so I can't deliver this message to everyone myself in the most..effective of ways. You won't mind filling your friends in for me, right?"

He doesn't answer. He can't. His tongue is lead and his mouth is stuck shut, if he opens it will surely be left that way for the rest of infinity- for the rest of this place, this time. Someone says yes in his voice.

"Good. Now, try to listen carefully..."

---

He wakes up on sand. He's sitting up quickly, stilted as his mind finds his body. His tongue is lighter, teeth separated once more as his jaws are their own entities again. The cliff is still under him, wind passing by him peacefully. The horizon stretches infinite.

The ground is warm, there's no mistaking it.

"Deimos? Are you there?"

He pauses briefly.

"I need to tell you guys something."

[tocrackerboxpalace]

November, 2001

Summary: George Harrison reunites with an old friend.

There was a chill in the air.

All but uncomfortable, it was still and cool and calm, his skin refusing to prickle up into chills. There was no wind, or rain—bright, but no sun. Just air, all around him, refreshing and energizing and soothing all at once.

His eyes were closed. As his body began to come into itself, familiar sensations tickled up his spine. The first thing he noticed was the press of his feet and backside on the ground—must have been sitting cross-legged—and the feeling of dry, rough linen under the fingertips that rested on his thighs. His skin prickled as it recognized the feel of the linen up his torso as well.

He shifted slightly, as if waking up from a deep sleep. There was a certain mindfulness in practice, hyper-aware of the environment of his body: the cool, smooth ground beneath him, the scratch of the clothing on his skin, the curl of hair against his ear, the tickle of a mustache on his upper lip. When did he grow a mustache?

Internally, he felt… warm, cozy, almost as though in a deep state of meditation. His mind itself was drowsy, though he hadn’t tried to assess the situation much beyond physical sensation. He didn’t feel the need to.

It was nice. Peaceful, really. George couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such a strong mind-body connection during meditation. There was nothing that existed besides the present; he had no past, and there was no future. It was not one of those times where the mindfulness revealed some grand ethereal Wisdom, and thus it somehow contained more truth. It was nothing and everything all at once.

Rather than let him enjoy this newfound spirituality, a familiar voice (in familiar habit) drew him out of the trance.

“Never thought I’d see the likes of you again, mate!”

George languidly struggled to open his eyes, a half-fight as the voice dropped the silly tone and resorted to a short, sharp chuckle at his own antics. When the eyelids had finally pried themselves open and his vision focused, George frowned.

He looked like a picture, straight out of 1961. Standing before him, arms crossed as he bit his lip with childlike excitement at the reconciliation. George blinked, hardly believing the sight in front of him.

“John?”

“In the flesh,” he grinned. Then a pause. “Or, rather, anything but the flesh?”

John was in front of him, a quite young John, staring at him with a bit of a worried expectancy.

George’s stomach suddenly dropped.

His gaze flicked around the room wildly as unrestrained panic rose in his chest. They were in a room, though it wasn’t a room, just a dull white, not so much white as simply colourless, with no décor or wallpaper or flooring or furniture although somehow, he was now sitting in a chair.

He was dead.

John must have watched the color drain from his head, for he made his way over to where George was sitting and laid an uncertain hand on his shoulder.

“It’s all right,” he soothed, nothing mocking. Nothing to make a joke of. “Takes a minute.”

George suddenly remembered he’d been sick. It was feeding back into him, slowly, as if each thought trigged a new repressed memory. He’d been sick for some time now. Images of nurses and hospital and IV’s and the dread of going to “treatment” began to flood his mind, and he shuddered. He felt a stubborn powerlessness rise within him: yes, it had gotten progressively worse, but it was nothing the old chap couldn’t handle. He’d beat it once already. He’d been stabbed, for Chrissake.

How could this happen?

He thought of Olivia, and Dhani, and choked back a sob.

“I don’t want to be here,” he spluttered in a near-beg, his chest tightening in terror once more. “I can’t be here.”

John’s hand dropped to his side as he almost (almost) rolled his eyes. He held up an imaginary list with one hand, gesturing wildly at it with the other. “Join the queue of nearly every person ever.”

George felt a needle of annoyance shoot through the fear that was slightly ebbing away. He half-wondered if this was the acceptance people talked about in death: the strange inability to control your emotions, your body progressively growing used to the idea and the knowledge of your own helplessness.

“You could stand to be a bit more empathetic, you know. I’ve just died,” he reminded with sarcastic flair.

John smiled brightly at the twinge of normalcy in the expression.

The fear was almost entirely faded now, which struck a new worry in his mind. He couldn’t just surrender to this already—it would solidify it. Make it too true. But the more he thought about it, the more comfortable he became. Against his own will, George was growing in acceptance, knowing that he should be worried but unable to feel the pull of anxiety within him. In an exasperating tug-of-war, he fought between the poles of acknowledgement and fear, a vicious feedback loop that left him confused and exasperated.

Maybe curiosity didn’t mean surrender. Maybe he could test John for some of the millions of queries floating around in his head whilst still protesting the concept of his state.

John was staring at him with wonder, almost as if he was watching George’s mind work.

Here goes nothing.

George looked at him pointedly, raising the most pressing question in his mind. “Is this Heaven?”

John blinked, and George recognized the infamous John-trying-not-to-laugh-because-this-was-a-very-extremely-serious-situation expression rise to his face. “Yes, George. It is. Jokes on you, religion, because Heaven is just me, and you, in this room, and sometimes we play marbles or jack off.”

His face turned more serious at George’s scowl. He went for a Take 2, his voice much softer now. “No, actually,” he corrected, scratching his cheek. “I think it’s some sort of… Purgatory. Bardo.”

George’s chest felt odd. “Purgatory,” he repeated slowly.

“Purgatory.”

“I don’t understand.”

John clicked his tongue. “Again, love. The queue.”

“Purgatory,” George said again, softly, the words dripping with disbelief.

“The in-between,” John elaborated with a grandiose wave of a hand. “You die, you fuck around here for a bit, and if you’re lucky, you pass on.”

George couldn’t contain his curiosity. “To what?”

John’s features twisted into a strange expression. “I, erm… I don’t know.”

George’s face fell. Right. “Do you…” He began carefully, mulling over the taste of the words in his mouth and sussing out which were the least bitter. “Does time pass the same, then? Here?”

John shrugged indifferently. “You don’t notice it, really. There’s no days or nights—time is a construct, anyway. Haven’t thought about it since. There’s also no expectation, so no boredom. And sometimes I see old friends.” He finished with a signal in George’s direction.

George nodded, swallowing dryly. He doesn’t know.

How long it’s been.

John caught his eye, and George flicked his gaze away in an instant before he could catch on. But John was quick as a cat, just like in youth, and his mouth pressed into a firm line. “George?”

George shook his head.

“George?” His voice was strained now, his demeanor thrown by the unsettling responses. “How long has it been? In-in actual time.”

Wincing at the question he knew he’d elicited, George averted his eyes and spoke near incomprehensibly. “Twenty years.”

John looked dazed.

After a long beat of silence, he snorted dryly. There was nothing humorous in the sound. “Suppose they’re still tryin’ to figure out what to do with me, then.” He paused. “For Chrissake, I already apologized in ’66.”

Neither man laughed at the joke. It was quiet for a long time.

“So.” John interrupted the stretch of silence, rather loudly, startling him. He clapped his hands together. “How’s Rings?”

George felt strangely hollow at the mention of his best friend. “Good. Married again, not long after you—” He stopped himself, unable to finish the sentence. It was still hard to wrap his mind around, all these years later. Even now, that John was standing in front of him, chipper as the day they’d first met (more so, perhaps). Even now, that they were both… “After you.”

“Is he?” John looked surprised, curious. “What’s she like?”

“Name’s Barbara. Ritchie made a film in ’81 called Cavemanand they met on the set. He really loves her. Oh, she’s fantastic,” George asserted, wishing John could have been there, needing John to have been there.

“Watch it,” John warned, his voice light and teasing.

George scowled.

John pushed his shoulder playfully, and George slumped further into the chair, defeated. As John’s laughter died down, George looked up at him and watched in fascination as the man did a complete 180.

The smile melted from his face, and a chill fell over the room.

“I—m…” John cleared his throat, offering the ground a watery smile. “I miss Paul.”

George was suddenly standing knee-deep in the ocean. Nothing in the room was different besides the knowledge that the water on the floor was Pacific. John was there still, only further away now, feverishly blinking the tears away with that desolate smile on his face. Before George could call out to him, comfort him, he turned back towards the expansive sea only to be confronted with a fifty-foot wave.

The breath was knocked from his chest as the wave crashed down with full force, heart shattering on impact. He let out an involuntary gasp at the sudden rush of pain that washed over his chest and began to stumble backwards, tears burning in his eyes. There was no water, no wave, and he was still standing, dry as a bone, but the sensation was all the same. Panic began to rise in his throat, blinded by an incomprehensible catalogue of torment, longing, anger, desperation, heartache. Every excruciating emotion simultaneously wrecked his being, coupled with the strangely overpowering feeling of raw, unabashed love.

John caught his arm, quickly pulling him into a hug. George hadn’t realized that he was close again, and gripped him tightly for fear of having him drift away with the tides that were no longer there. Tears streamed down his face as John stroked soothingly at his hair, muttering sweet comforts and apologies over his head.

“I’m sorry, fuck, mate, I’m sorry,” he babbled, trying to squeeze away George’s trembling sobs. “It works like that here, sometimes. Christ, I’m sorry. It’s all right. You’re all right.”

George sniffed, feeling like a child as he pressed closer into his friend’s body. “Works like what?”

John tensed a bit, though George couldn’t understand why. He spoke slowly, sure but hesitant in his explanation. “Emotions. They’re… different. It’s sort of like all that Hare Krishna unity bullshit—” George wrinkled his nose. “—and whatnot, the whole ‘collective unconscious’.”

George frowned at the implication, taking a tentative step back. “You mean…”

“Feel each other’s emotions, you can,” John answered without missing a beat. He spoke plainly, as if he’d explained this away hundreds of times before. “But there’s a historical aspect, too, that part I don’t quite understand. It only happens sometimes.” His eyes lit up as his voice quieted, mumbling to himself more so than George. “Maybe they had to have been there at the time? ‘Cause of the thing with Elvis…?”

George looked up at him in shock, ignoring John’s musings. “That was you? All that?”

John offered him a lopsided smile.

George’s heart began to pound in wild misunderstanding. He’d always known, of course, that John and Paul had that “special connection” that whisked them away to an entirely different reality. He’d grown up an outsider, watching in on the world’s most famous duo and feeling just like anyone else, at times. His stomach felt queasy and slightly bitter at the thought that perhaps he hadn’t even known the half of it.

All that for Paul?

He suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to comfort John. John’s pain was gone now, replaced by only a dull ache, causing George to shudder at the idea of his mate going through that alone all those years ago.

“Paul’s… good,” he said, slightly unevenly. It felt like a good place to start.

John looked up at him quickly, his eyes both intrigued and desperate. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” George smiled. “He came to visit me. Not long…” His breath caught. “Not long before this.”

“I saw Linda,” John said quietly.

An image flashed in George’s mind of John in the very same room, sitting in a cushioned chair. In the vision, his eyes flicked up from the book in his hands, and he did a double-take, uncrossing his ankle from his knee and sitting up abruptly. Somehow, George knew that he was Linda, seeing John through her eyes. He—Linda—offered John a welcome, familial smile, and George noticed the portfolio of expressions on John’s face as the two radiated towards one another with emotions that George could not feel. And then—nothing.

In front of him now, John shifted uncomfortably, and George tried to get his bearings in the present once more. “She didn’t stay long.”

“It was hard,” George agreed, still trying to shake the vision. “She was the love of his life.”

John nodded, avoiding his eyes.

“He never stops talking about you.”

A beat. “I never stop thinking about him.”

Something passed between them. George wished he could go back in time and relive every Beatle moment together with this newfound information. Suddenly, as if they hadn’t before, things made sense: Paris, the LSD trips, India, the breakup. The songwriting feud. Yoko.

He understood now, that it was a complicated love that surpassed the boundaries of typical labels: no dating or marriageor sex, neither platonic nor romantic. There was a lust, but it was different than any other attraction George had experienced; it was motivated, driven by something much larger than himself. None of it was a means to an end—simply living, appreciating one another, taking it day by day until it imploded and rained down on them like a meteor shower, the disastrous aftermath of planned obsolescence. A love like that could never be.

George felt eager to change the subject.

“Have you seen lots of people passing through, then?” His gaze twitched away to offer the barest amount of privacy as John’s hand came up to quickly swipe a stray tear.

“Um, yeah.” He cleared his throat. “You’d never believe—Elvis was here, when I first got here, which was right thrilling. We talked about everything under the sun for who-knows-how-long, but he left too not long after.” He nodded. “Linda. Some lads from school. Real nice chap named Freddie. He and I made a song together, though I can’t remember it now. He was in that up-and-coming rock group, the one on the tail end of the Beatles.”

“Queen,” George corrected, fascinated.

“No, that’s not it. I wanna say… Oh, you know who was a pleasure?” John switched onto this entirely new track, never missing a beat. “I met some psychologist. Taught me all about these fab concepts like behaviorism and operant conditioning and all that. I’d heard about his book, but I hadn’t read it until I met him. Verbal Behavior, is what it was. Real smart guy.”

“Do you see everyone?”

John thought for a moment. “No, certainly not. People die every minute. I’d be dreadfully overwhelmed.”

George smiled. “That is true. Lucky I showed up here, then.”

John returned the grin, almost sadly. “Yes, but you won’t stay long.”

George felt the strangest urge to reach for John’s hand. He suppressed it. “I want to.”

John shook his head. “You’re a good person, George.”

There were a lot of things to say in response. You are too, Johnny. I’m not a good person. We’ve both done some shit. ‘Good person’ is an arbitrary term because we are not our actions, so it wouldn’t matter, even.But nothing felt quite equipped to rival the emptiness of John’s eyes, so he said nothing.

“What do I look like, Geo?” He asked suddenly, staring a hole in George’s head with newfound curiosity.

The question caught him off guard. “What do you mean?”

John waved a hand dismissively as if it were the most normal question in the world. “Come on now, what do I look like?”

George just blinked. “Like… John.”

With a roll of eyes, John reached out and twirled a finger around the tip of George’s mustache. “You’re all Pepper-like. What about me?”

It suddenly occurred to George that this was not how John always looked, and hadn’t been for nearly forty years. He shifted a bit, startled at the realization. “Oh! Erm—Hamburg. Like we’d just stepped out of Top Ten.”

John grinned and stepped back. “Fascinating, isn’t it? It’s always different. That one, I can’t figure out. I first realized when Freddie asked why I looked like ’74 instead of when I died. I couldn’t give him an answer, on account of I hadn’t even realized that fact.”

George laughed, though it wasn’t funny. There was a giddiness bubbling up in him, mirroring the excitement with which John talked. He felt so bizarrely thrilled that his fingers began to tingle, and he chuckled at that too. The feeling rivaled that of a limb falling asleep, and he mindlessly shook his hand to quiet the growing sensation.

John’s face immediately fell.

George’s stomach dropped at the sudden change of pace. “What?”

His eyes were shining when he spoke the plea to anything that would listen. “No, please,” he muttered, lip trembling. Shaking fingers reached out to grasp at George’s bicep. “Not—not yet, I’m not ready—”

George’s heart hammered in his chest, hardly able to hear himself speak over the blood rushing in his ears. The tingle had snaked its way up his forearms now, and a similar feeling started in his toes. “John, John, what is it? What’s going on?”

“George, please don’t go. Please. This isn’t—it’s not long enough, I need you, I need more time, Geo…” The words trailed off, and a tear fell from each eye as John pulled him into his arms as if that could keep George there. As if he could save them.

George slowly started to understand, swallowing the alarm at John’s frantic reaction. He was going to pass on, to leave John behind just like everyone else in his life. But this was a different kind of departure. It was not Julia’s absence, Mimi’s coldness, Paul’s Linda. It was not even Uncle George’s death, or Brian’s death, or even Julia’s death. At least, those times, he could find someone, something new to latch on to.

George would have felt pity for the man if not for the immense heartbreak, the indescribable pain of watching John come emotionally undone before him.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, blinking as a falling tear graced his own face. He felt oddly in control of the situation, despite seconds away from venturing into the greatest Unknown of all Unknowns. “Shh, John, it’s all right. Listen, we got to do this, didn’t we? We got to talk. And laugh. Just like old times, right?”

John’s voice broke. “I love you, Geo. Don’t go.”

They both knew it was a fruitless request.

George gripped him a bit harder in the embrace, feeling with hopeless acceptance as the tingling feeling reached his shoulders and began to pour down his back. He spoke the only thing that would come to mind.

“I’ll see you,” he whispered, a promise tainted by his own fearful tears slipping onto John’s shoulder.

John’s arms tightened around his waist. “I’ll see you,” he repeated.

[jarlyd]

I’m not sure where to begin, there are a plethora of issues facing the community as a whole that affect Trans students just as much as the LGBT community as a whole. So after a bit of thinking, I’ve narrowed it down to the issue that stands out the most to me.

LGBT Education/Educational Representation

This one hits too close to home for me.

I grew up as an only child of two white, cisgender, straight parents who grew up practicing in one of the many Christian Faiths. They were only ever mildly aware of the community, and thankfully are for the most part accepting, but I never learned about anything related to being LGBT from them. The same applies to my grade school education. I didn’t know a thing.

Looking back I’m pretty sure my first ‘real exposure’ was in sixth or seventh grade, when my friend came out as bisexual, which at the time I don’t think I had a good grasp on what that meant beyond being attracted to both men and women.

Which brings me to the problem. Students aren’t taught about the LGBT community beyond what media or those around them expose them to. There isn’t any form of education on ‘hey, if you don’t think you’re the gender assigned to you by a doctor when you were born, here’s some information to help you feel more comfortable with yourself and to more about your gender’ beyond the education system (I’m American so I’m referring to the American education system) pretty much invalidating the mere idea that anyone is even remotely different from what is considered “normal”. It annoys me to no end that I was ignorant for so long to the point I didn’t know I might not be cis-gendered until my RA at my old University, Charlotte (may she rest in peace), who was maybe the first person I knew who was, for the most part, openly trans ,asking me if I was nonbinary (love her so much, I wouldn’t be where I am now without her) and told me she was trans, and if I need help, or had any questions she would happily help me (Oh goodness I’m crying now, I miss her so much).

Students (and children) need to be exposed to things other than what is considered the “norm” in order to accept things that are different as well as that having a difference from someone else, or someone being different is perfectly okay. Because there is no such thing as “normalcy”, it’s just a construct.

Thank you for coming to my TedTalk XD

Now if you excuse me it is late at night and my cat is demanding her midnight snuggles.

Don’t forget to check out https://www.onlinedegree.com/transgender-first-scholarship for information on the scholarship 

[catintheruemorgue]

kouyou x reader

summary: you and kouyou are lesbians with a secret relationship

warnings: slight hint at assault but nothing too graphic, just a shirt gets torn, mentions of sex.

wordcount: 1.5k

yup, lesbian time. i love women and i especially love this woman. 

The sun was just beginning to come up and ever the early worm your lover pulled you over to her arm chair. You took your normal spot kneeling on the floor with your head on Kouyou’s lap. Her fingers went straight to your hair to play with it. It was still early so her hair was down and she was wearing a pink teddy. You always seemed to forget you knew her better than anyone and nobody else would ever have the luxury to see Kouyou’s natural beauty in the morning. 

You fell in love with her when you were just girls. Being young and in the Port Mafia was scary but having each other gave you a sense of normalcy. When the two of you weren’t apart training or on a mission you were inseparable. You two would play house and dress up. Your earliest memory of having more romantic feelings is the times you two would play house. Nobody could be the daddies so you recommended you both be mommies! For the longest time it seemed as though you two could get through anything as long as you had each other. 

Until you both tried to escape. Kouyou had met a man who was going to help her escape but refused to go without you. She was so excited when she found you she tripped and fell. Her knee was scraped and you could see her holding back tears. She always tried to be so strong. You went to the first aid kit you left by your bed and cleaned it. After placing a band aid on the would you placed a kiss onto it.

“Kisses are supposed to make things better, I think.” 

You looked up to see her rubbing the tears out of her eyes and blushing. In a hushed voice she told you about the plan and for once you felt hope blossom in your chest. For the rest of the night you guys talked about plans of the future. You both wanted to go to school and then grow up and get an apartment together. No matter what the plan was though, you two always ended together. 

Then the day you tried to escape with the random man failed. He had died, you had gotten hurt and Kouyou got dragged back into the darkness. To make things worse the Port Mafia leader didn't want you two around each other, believing you would just try to leave again but you had learned your lesson. This led to the two of you sneaking around but things weren’t the exact same. Kouyou was more cynical and not as happy towards others. She would let her guard down around you but you still saw how on edge she was. 

She snuck into your room late at night to just lay with you, something you both regularly did. Her eyes widened when she saw the cut on your lip. Without thinking she gave you a quick peck on the lips but then sat down.

“They make things better right?”

You smiled at the memory even though it was bittersweet. When you were little you used to kiss all the time but you never really thought anything of it. You also cuddled and also bathed together. It's insane nobody ever noticed, speculation didn't come till later. The two of you were just too young to recognize you had feelings for one another and felt everything was all innocent. 

“What are you smiling about, my dear?” You could hear the smile on her face.

“I’m just reminiscing.”

There was no more future that two little girls dreamed for and no more talking about leaving. As you two got older your actions got more intimate but you still felt the need to hide your relationship. Still, there were many times you guys almost slipped up. One of those times was a random night when Kouyou had walked up on some mafioso leaning over you. She could tell you were uncomfortable by the way your eyes were looking everywhere but at him. A second, she just looked away for a second when she heard a rip and yelp. 

You were on the floor, shirt torn with tears in your eyes. Kouyou ran up summoning her ability, Golden Demon. Its sword was at the man's throat faster than the speed of light. She dropped to her knees by you and placed one arm around your shoulders, the other came up to caress your cheek.

“I suggest you leave before I lay you to rest.” She was so eloquent for being eighteen. 

Kouyou cut his neck as a threat and then deactivated her ability. The man went sprinting off and she must’ve seriously put the fear of God into him because he never spoke a word about you two. She put her arm around your shoulder and hid your upper body with the big sleeves of her kimono. When the two of you got back to her room you began to sob while she held you. This was your life now and you were beginning to accept it. Without thinking you kissed her but this time it wasn’t as innocent. It was harsh and full of lust. As the two of you stripped each other of your clothes and made love for the first time you couldn’t help but let a few tears drop. Mourning the loss of a safe and better life. 

You have no clue how you weren’t caught that night as you snuck back into your room wrapped in one of Kouyou’s kimonos. With Mori as the new leader you could be a little more open with it but preferred not to be. You two were teenagers who would make out at night and touch each other. People always saw you together but they only suspected you to be best friends. It made the two of you laugh. Your little secret that you would take to the grave if you had to. You had suspected that Mori knew as he seemed to just know everything, then Dazai but the only one who officially knew was the Port Mafia’s newest addition, Chuuya. Though you also assumed Chuuya had told Dazai and confirmed his beliefs. 

You and Kouyou were now in your twenties and the boss put her in charge of teaching the fifteen year old gravity manipulator. As you guys got older there was less time to be with each other so sometimes you'd sneak into her office so you could be together. At the time you were gazing into her eyes as she caressed your cheek. It was always risky but there was something fun about it. She leaned in to kiss you. It was soft and intimate as she pushed you to sit on her desk. Her tongue swiped along your bottom lip and you opened your mouth. Just as it was getting heated you were interrupted.

“Hey, Ane-san do you- Oh god. Um.” The red-headed fifteen year old was covering his eyes with his hands as he blushed.

You jumped away and moved to the otherside of the table. Kouyou looked the most put together out of everyone but you could see the panic in her eyes. It was gone with the blink of an eye and she let out a giggle, covering her mouth with her hand. It made your heart beat faster as she walked over to you. She put an arm around your waist.

“Y/N, I’m sure Chuuya-kun isn't going to gossip.” 

You could see how uncomfortable he was as he tried to look everywhere but at you guys. This was almost like walking in on your parents having sex. 

“I- I won’t! I’ll just come back later..” Chuuya snuck out of the room. 

You two busted out laughing the minute the door shut and you couldn't help but fall even more in love when her beautiful laugh hit your ears. The feelings were too intense so you grabbed her cheeks and pulled her into another kiss, not caring that someone else could walk in. 

The way she was running her fingers through your hair and the heat from the sun that had started to come up you felt like you were about to fall asleep again.  You knew it was a risk to ask her but the question had been festering in your mind for years.

“Do you ever dream of the light? Of all those plans we had?” You whispered.

Her fingers stopped moving and you thought you pushed the boundaries too far. You prepared yourself to be reprimanded.

“I’ll say this here, in the safety of our room and the warmth of the morning. The only light I need in my life is you and the rays of the sun that come through my window.” Her tone was serious but soft like she wouldn’t dare speak up and ruin the tranquility. 

Your eyes widened and you lifted your head to look at her. Kouyou’s eyes were still looking out the window and for once you felt like you could read her like a book. She was telling the truth. You laid your head on her lap again and continued to watch the sunrise. The yellow, oranges, reds, pinks and purples all danced around in your vision. Happiness, love, femininity and devotion. 

At that moment you realized that no matter where you were, if Kouyou was there, you could make it work. 

You would make it work.