#until the sun becomes homophobic

[redshrimpnb]

Let me just say, gay walk + semi binder + smoking + summer like heat = not so good

[thedelusionreaderbitch]

Poly! Jegulus x gn! Reader - When there is no logic, look deeper

A/n: I decided to go with a different analogy for James's and Regulus's relation than I normally do (and what everyone else normally does.) So have fun with this little drabble!

Summary: Your relationship with James and Regulus through Remus's perspective.

Warnings: Swearing, brief mentions of child abuse, brief mentions of mental health issues (if you squint,) I think that's it? You have been warned!

The Three P's:

[Pronouns used: you/your] [Pov: 2nd person] [Pairings: (romantic!) (poly!) jegulus x reader, (romantic!) wolfstar, (platonic!) marauders]

I do NOT support J. K. Rowling, or any transphobic/homophobic things she says (or anything she says really), or TERFS!

Regulus and James fit together, in a neat messy puzzle. James's darker skin contrasting with Regulus's more pale, like the sun and it's moon. Recently, Remus had been reading some muggle plays of man named Shakespeare, and just by looking at the two, he could tell that he would've written down every piece of their love story, until he knew it by heart.

The enigma, the question, he just couldn't find the answer to was you, because Regulus and James were different sides of the same coin. Slytherin and Gryffindor, light and dark, sun and moon. You just didn't fit as nicely into the big picture.

That's what he used to think anyway, before the marauders and everyone else had gotten to know you. To Remus, he used to think of you as a temporary escape for the two boys, as you were the only one out of the three who had a normal life. It was harsh, but it was the only answer to the equation he could come up with.

Remus's life hadn't been full of answers, maybe that's why he tried to find the solution, so there would be no more variables. So he didn't have to attempt to find the solution later, when they most needed it most. So maybe, just once his life could be left with more answers than questions.

Action reaction, like getting bit by a werewolf - he was one of them now. Finding Sirius, James, and Peter on the train - becoming friends. Gaining feelings for Padfoot, confessing them and becoming a couple. (Okay, maybe there were multiple steps to that equation.) Everything had a solution, something he liked to find to keep himself sane. When everything else in his life was swirled with insanity.

You fitting into the equation didn't follow a path of logic, it was completely and utterly crazy.

Now, he sees what he didn't before, the way you would stay with James even when the smile slipped from his lips. How you would listen to Regulus, and give him space to talk about his family troubles, why he stayed.

You would let James cry, and make Regulus giggle, the planets didn't just revolve around the sun now. Now the moon and it's star revolved around you.

You were a nebula, because when a person looked at you, they gasped in wonder. Everything unknown and beautiful was you, a glittering cloud of normalcy and love. Nurturing but fleeting if need be.

One time, Sirius said he and his brother were the stars, and you only laughed, shaking your head.

"Regulus is like the moon, for so long we thought we couldn't reach him, until we did."

Remus's boyfriend looked startled, Remus could agree with the feeling. How had you, just made sense of someone so complex, with so many strings and layers, with just a sentence?

The werewolf wanted to see how you would respond if he asked you about everybody at Hogwarts, about the ministry, his family. Instead, he asked you about your other boyfriend.

"James?" You smiled softly, and for some reason it warmed Remus's heart, that when you thought about his friend, you immediately were happy. As if just thinking about him was enough to revel in his sunlight.

"James is the sun, he's bright, but sometimes his brilliance gets the peoples eyes, it can annoy them. Until he gets farther away." You still had a pleasant look upon your face, but your eyes were brightly alight with sadness. "Then it's winter, and they long for summer again, because then the sun could be there to warm them a second time. Regardless of its blinding sunlight."

Remus thinks, that was the moment that he started to understand why James and Regulus had both fallen for you. You were the beautiful unknown, a nebula, out of reach, but oh, so beautiful to gaze upon.

Remus still didn't quite comprehend how you fit into the grand scheme of things, but he thinks, he starting to see the big picture.

Words 670

-thedelusionreaderbitch

Hp Taglist: @regulusblackswhorecrux

[the-ace-with-spades]

I need more jealous! Jake fics in my life people so here comes a little pre-canon fic idea:

Jake and Bradley meet during flight training in Texas and something keeps on happening between them. There's tension and not the regular rival kind, and there are glances and comments that sound almost like flirting.

They go to the gym together, and go on runs in the morning, twice a week. Almost every night Bradley is at the local bar, winning over anyone and everyone with his piano skills and heavenly voice and buying Jake drinks when he sticks around with him when the night gets longer and people depart to go home. There's chit-chat during training and a lot of it, and remarks and teasing down on the ground. Any time Bradley is in the room, it's almost like he becomes the sun Jake is supposed to orbit around.

After two years of training and being in Bradley's space constantly, five days a week or more, Jake's like 95% sure Bradley isn't completely straight. He's not sure Bradley is aware he isn't but he'd eat his Stetson rather than say Bradley is straight.

He's also had his opinions vocalized a couple of times when the guys said some nasty shit around them so he's definitely not homophobic at least.

When they get placed in the same Super Hornet training squad after flight school, Jake takes it as fate doing its job.

He offers Bradley they could rent something together, 'cut the costs' — which, crazy idea if it turns out they're not that into each other — but Bradley says he's going to live with a friend and they already got a place agreed on.

Still, Jake is more than hopeful that some less strict environment, a bit more free time and staying close will be enough to go from tension to something.

Then he meets Natasha.

When he enters the bar Bradley told him he's going to that day, he sees him at the piano and he's instantly irritated.

There's a girl, a pretty one, glued to his side, playing the keys on his right.

Bradley's never let Jake play alongside him.

Bradley introduces the girl as Natasha 'Phoenix' Trace, who's also going to be in their training squadron. They met during Pre-Flight Indoctrination but Bradley doesn't exactly specify who she is to him now or who she was then.

Jake tries not to assume. It gets harder not to as the night goes on.

Natasha is glued to him the whole time. The few moments she isn't, it's almost like Bradley is seeking her out so she can be glued to him the whole time.

She sits on Bradley's lap at some point. Just kind of plops on his lap in the booth and steals his peanuts and keeps the conversation going and Bradley just wraps his arm around her waist so she doesn't slide off.

When he gets up to go for a refill, he grabs her and makes a few steps carrying her with one arm, like he weighs nothing, until she protests enough he lets go.

Jake is mentally sneering the whole time — he knows it wouldn't look like this anyway, for him and Bradley, because two guys in public is impossible, but this is supposed to be his. He spent the past two years pinning after something like this and one fucking day and whoever Natasha is, she's got Bradley wrapped around her.

It doesn't end on just that night. No, any briefing or lunch break or even office or study time they've got as the whole squad -- she's there, always way too fucking close and always seemingly sliding into the place Jake's been digging for himself for years in less than a week.

Jake can't even get a minute to initiate their usual flirting-slash-banter because she's always there, inserting herself into digs and jabs.

Bradley didn't say she was his girlfriend in any capacity over the days so he's trying to not assume but hell, they're together everywhere.

He decides enough is enough. He goes to where he knows Bradley lives now, two streets down in the slightly bigger base housing, ready to offer him to take a run with him, maybe establish it into a new habit again.

He rings the bell and nothing. He knocks and nothing. He does a mix of both and finally — the door opens.

Natasha 'Phoenix' Trace stands in the door frame. Not only is she standing there, at seven in the morning on a Saturday, but she's got only a too-big T-shirt on — one with a very faded Queen logo that he's seen on Bradley a few times.

She's not wearing any pants but the t-shirt is too big even on Bradley so it covers half of her thighs but he can also see she's not wearing a bra because it's cold and it's a thin, white t-shirt and Jake will have to bleach his eyes later because he can see her nipples.

"Hangman? What are you doing here?"

He can connect the dots and well, Bradley won't be interested in him when he's got a girlfriend so Jake just—runs. Leaves and doesn't say anything, feeling absolutely dumb.

He feels even dumber when finally — finally — on the following Monday, Bradley approaches him alone, no Natasha in sight, and starts the conversation with, "Nat said you came to visit on Saturday morning."

Jake grits his teeth — it's always Nat, too, when half the time Jake is just Hangman.

"You might tell her to put on some more clothes next time."

"I mean, it's just me usually," Bradley defends. "There's nothing I haven't seen."

To say Jake is fucking pissed is an understatement. And he can't even fucking avoid them because they're everywhere, always freaking glued at the hip, always so comfortable with each other, always touchy feely, very unlike the Bradshaw Jake knew, and he's either going to be angry at them or he's going to wallow in self-pity.

Naturally, Jake does the easier thing — he lashes out at them. Banters become sharper, remarks are more cutting, and slowly, the easy-going truce he had with Bradley starts disappearing.

Natasha does not. She's still there, attached at the hip, and like Bradley's better, more emotionally secure half, just going around with her life and thinking Jake is an asshole without a reason even if she stole the man he had unspoken dibs on for the past two years.

(Bradley is, obviously, oblivious about the whole ordeal...)

[ladyofthe-manor]

Ronmione shippers... in 2024?

I don't know what I did to big Tumblr for them to be punishing me with my timeline but lately I've been bombarded with Dramione hate seemingly out of the blue. I don't know why, but it has been kind of funny to see other people's posts.

I saw someone wrote out a list of reasons Dramione would NOT work, and it included things like "Hermione being unforgiving and petty" and "Hermione shouldn't need or want a man to change for her" and it left me honestly baffled. Maybe it should be a prerequisite that you read Dramione fanfiction before you attempt to bash it, because clearly some of these people are just outing themselves.

The misogynistic hatred of Hermione as a character is nothing new, so I won't touch on it here, but some of these posts are so telling.

I will talk about Draco though, because he gets almost double the flak because of all the hatred of Drarry on top of it all (which reads as homophobic to me but well, that's a story for another time.)

Most Dramione readers and writers don’t ship Hermione Granger and the 12-year-old boy that prayed on her downfall and wished for her death. Do you think we seek out 100k+ word stories just for the long awaited epilogue where he calls her a mudblood in their marital vows? 

Are you that judgmental that you would begrudge a sixteen-year-old (threatened with the death of his mother) the chance at redemption?

A brainwashed, bullying, ignorant CHILD? Who goes through an entire war? Who watches and is forced to participate in torturing his own classmates? Do you really think he went through all of that only to come out on the other side STILL believing everything he was taught? Or is it more feasible that he might have had a change of heart or two?

(And honestly, even if he does come through the war still believing in blood purity, the fanfictions that explore his subsequent journey of self-discovery and learning are some of the most popular on ao3. I wonder why?)

Isn’t it more exciting to read about Draco and EITHER his redemption arc, or if you hate him so much, his own downfall? Especially over canon pairings? Ron and Hermione are childhood friends-to-lovers. BORING. 

You can't have it both ways. I've seen people absolutely shit on Hermione for the birds, and the permanent disfiguration, and the jar, but jeez, do you know who would have loved that side of her? Probably Slytherin Draco, don't you think? Or is it Ron, the object of her ire with the birds and the one that thought she took it too far and was too ruthless?

Also, to so confidently argue that Hermione would never forgive Draco and that he would never change (even for himself if not for her) is such an incredibly pessimistic outlook on life that I can almost understand why you sad people still ship Ronmione. It's giving... ordering chicken tenders at a fancy restaurant. Grow up, lmao.

Hermione can forgive her childhood bully... for HERSELF. Draco can unlearn the harmful brainwashing of his childhood... for HIMSELF. And then the two of them can learn from the other's experiences and heal together. Or they can bicker until the sun comes down and turn slowly from enemies to lovers. Or they can become friends to lovers. The possibilities are endless, and more importantly, it allows for something Ronmione inherently lacks: GROWTH.

It's especially funny to me, because unless you specifically go looking for it, most of the quality Dramione fanfiction that gets posted on a DAILY basis doesn't even mention Ron except to say that their stale high school sweetheart relationship ended quietly and amicably and everyone moved on. You guys love to go on and on about Draco and Dramione readers are sitting there like... Ron? We don't think of you.

[dizzy-pops]

Just saw someone saying that (paraphrasing) “being trans is a first world problem bc you’re so spoiled that you’ve run out of things to complain about and now you’re trying to change your gender! Just be happy with what you have. At least you have a roof over your head!!”

Which- SO many things to fucking unpack here. But because I care and will NEVER be silent about this, I’ve done it and organized it into sections. This is gonna be a long read, so buckle up.

-Being transgender is NOT a first world problem. The reason it might seem that way is because in many third world countries you can literally be executed if you are outwardly queer. Keeping their identity hidden will literally save some people’s lives. The governments in several countries are EXTREMELY transphobic (and homophobic, but that’s another issue.) Dressing to match their authentic gender CAN and DOES get transgender people murdered. Either by the government, or others.

-Where the fuck did transphobes even come up with the idea that trans people “choose” to be trans because they’re bored? Yes, cause people totally choose to be ostracized from the rest of the world and live a life of fear, knowing that the next time you need to use a public bathroom, it’s very possible you could get beaten to death. People have not “become so spoiled they’ve run out of things to complain about.” That is not the reason people are trans, I fucking promise.

-Trans people do not choose to change their gender. Most trans people’s gender DOESN’T change at all throughout their life. They just don’t realize that they are trans until later in life. There are of course exceptions to this, the main one being genderfluidity, and we cannot forget about or exclude genderfluid people whose gender actually DOES change, but even then, they do not choose to change genders. It just happens. Just as being a binary trans person just happens. There is no way to prevent it, or to cause it. IT JUST HAPPENS. And people NEED to understand that. More often than not, people who believe people “become” trans also think that trans people are trying to “turn” cis children trans. I can personally assure you, no trans person is seriously trying to turn anyone trans. What would the point of that be? There would be literally NO reason for a transgender person to try to “turn” a child trans. I, for one, seriously wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. Except maybe Matt Walsh.

-“Just be happy with what you have!” Think about what you just said. No, seriously, I want you to sit and think about what you just said, and why you think that’s an ok thing to say. Because it’s not. And it’s much easier said than done. Don’t you think we wish we could just be happy with what we have? Don’t you think that a lot of trans people wish with ALL our fucking heart that we could just be cis? And yes, there are plenty of trans people who ARE happy with what they have, and that’s wonderful! But you need to understand that the majority of trans people have some form of dysphoria and saying “just be happy with what you have” to a trans person is like telling an insomniac to “just go to sleep.” It just doesn’t work that way.

-To assume that every person reading what you shat out would, in fact, have a roof over their head is ignorant as all fuck. It is a fact that many homeless people are transgender or otherwise queer. Queer people make up a HUGE percentage of people who are homeless, whether that be due to being kicked out by their parents, not being able to find work, no one wanting to sell them a house, or any other reason under the sun. Many trans people are poor and/or homeless because they are trans. Either for any of the reasons mentioned above, or any other reason. It’s classist to assume that the trans person reading your bullshit statement would even have a roof over their head.

-Tl;dr: Being transgender is not a first world problem, people are not trans because they’re “bored” or “spoiled” or any other reason like that, trans people don’t choose to change their gender, it’s easier said than done to be happy with your body, and implying that every trans person has a home is classist and ignorant.

[soft-for-them]

I don't know a thing about love - Daryl Dixon x plus size non-binary reader

Summary: A Daryl x plus size non-binary reader based off the song 'I don't know a thing about love' by the White Buffalo.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.

A/N: This is both a non-binary reader and a plus size reader, so cis people this isn't for you. The reader has been left vague because this is a short fic and not all plus size non-binary people are afab (really, it's real problem with authors, non-binary people aren't women!) This is coming from your very own non-binary/queer op. 👍

Everyone knows that you and Daryl Dixon are partners but everyone also knows that your relationship, or lack thereof, is complicated.

It’s clear you love each other, Rick or Carl could tell you (with various amounts of excitement) about the first time the two of you met, how Daryl’s eye widened, how you smiled like you had be given the sun and moon.

From the very start of joining Rick’s group you had it hard. Having to explain to people that you’re non-binary and not a man or woman was hard, both for yourself because you were coming out again to complete strangers and for them for most of the group aren’t queer.

Carl got it straight away, he happily used your preferred pronouns and asked you many questions most of which weren’t about being trans but where about random this like comic books and how your survived.

Rick, Carol, Glenn and Maggie learnt quickly too whilst the rest took their time getting used to someone so different to their heteronormative life.

Maybe it was because living people are hard to come by, maybe it’s because most of the bigots of the group had met their grizzly end but somehow you feel safer with Rick’s little rag tag group of survivors then the people you house shared with before the apocalypse arose.

Then there’s Daryl.

Now don’t get me wrong, the first few weeks of you joining Rick’s crew he didn’t talk to you, he just stared at you. He was raised by bigoted people and he was trying to be better, before the end of times even began he was trying to be better. He wasn’t racist or homophobic like his dad or brother nor did he go out his way to antagonise anyone (for he isn’t Merle after all) but still he was learning.

He was drawn to you, it made him panic just a bit but he has long realised that he isn’t so straight, that he identifies with both Bisexual, Pansexual and Queer, that he didn’t need a label for one he loves you and two who fucking cares.

But still it took a long time to come to terms with, thankfully you were there with him to help.

He remembers one day when you still were new and everyone was still stuck in the prison out the blue he asked about your jacket, an oversized black denim jacket sparsely covered in handmade patches.

You told him about the small amount of patches that you had; a non-binary flag on the breast pocket, an anti-Nazi patch on your arm, two ridged band patches that really should have been ironed on instead of sew on dotted around, tin badges decorating the collar like a jewelled necklace.

Over the years the jacket has evolved like he has, both have become more outward and full of love.

Daryl still cracks a smile at the back patch adorning your jacket made out of an old t-shirt of Carl’s that depicted a superhero dog.

You and Daryl talk, sleep close, sneak kisses when people aren’t looking, go hunting together, laugh at each other’s silly jokes. You’re out going and talkative whilst he stands back quiet and stoic his eyes always filled with love for you. You share clothes like it’s nothing, he loves holding you close at night the feeling of your plush body against his better than any bed or pillow, he knows you in and out, as do you for him.

But somehow still the two of you have never breached the subject of how much you love each other, you’ve neither had the conversation trying to figure out what to call one another.

Well not until today.

Sitting idly on the front porch of a nice enough house in Alexandria you work away under the watchful eye of your lover.

It was no surprise that you and Daryl were put together in the same home, neither is it a surprise that you both sit so close as the sky starts to turn orange, the sun slowly setting and the moon rising into the sky.

Knees touching, you carefully try to stick on a new patch onto your jacket next to one of many pride flags you’ve acclimated over the years.

Daryl leans over watching you quietly sew wonky stitches, his face almost pressed to the side of your round cheek.

“You know what Daryl?” you whisper, eyes flickering up to look up at him.

He just hums out a yes.

“When I first met you I didn’t know anything about love, I don’t think I fully know a thing about love now but with you I- I well-“ you face goes warm, your fingers stop sewing as he looks up at you with sparkling eyes, “-I think I’m learning because of you.”

He just stares at you for a moment, shock and what you assume is love morphing his face into a sweet smile.

That moment disappears as he leans down and kisses you, his chapped lips gentle on yours, your hands dropping your handiwork on your lap to hold his face in place.

You pull away first but still hold onto him with pin pricked hands, eye still connected staring like a fool at him, happiness flooding through your bodies.

“For years I was told I’d never find love because of who I am-“ you begin again still in a whisper, the thoughts of the long dead people who said such cruel things being pushed away by the many memories of your and Daryl.

You push a piece of his long brown hair back from his face, you smile growing big and proud.

“- but I had been looking for love below and above despite all the dead roaming around and then there you were.”

He lets out a small chuckle, one that isn’t filled with malice like old lovers did but one filled with a joy you’ve only seen for yourself.

“Do you?” he asks covering your wondering hands with his, “Because I do, I love you.”

“So many eyes in the world are searching for love and somehow I find you, of course I love you Daryl.”

The two of you laugh together as you kiss again, the set of wings you were stitching onto your jacket fully discarded as the kiss deepens.

[roosterbruiser]

Happy sleepover night!!! I’ve been thinking about being with ice the night before you guys get deployed to separate bases 🥲 (tumblr is being homophobic and won’t let me use my white/black ink so we’re gonna be fruity and use pink)

(Also my hand is much better today <3)

it isn't fair, really.

everyone knows--like, official paperwork documenting your relationship kind of knows--that you and Ice are together. have been for a little bit over three years now, comfortably fitting into each other's lives as Lieutenants in the United States Navy.

but because of your precise lack of legal commitment to each other, you're being separated. that's really what isn't fair about all of this--it's that you're being punished for not having a little piece of paper, a diamond ring.

you've been sitting on the back porch for a few hours now, perspiration dried on your skin from packing the last of the kitchen and the bedroom. at first, the two of you came out here to cool off, watch the sunset. but then you poured him a glass of whiskey and he uncorked a bottle of merlot and the two of you have sat here in the dusk for hours now.

the sun has been gone, dissipated entirely, for over an hour now. there is not moon tonight, but there are stars. the world feels dark out here, the wind rustling the leaves of the magnolia tree the two of you have loved so much in your time here.

Ice is sitting on the top step, his jaw set and his eyes serious as he gazes out over the backyard. you've only been in here for a few months, at this assigned house together, but this place feels like home to him.

you're sitting a few steps below him, leaning back to rest between his legs with your arms propped on his knees. his chin is tucked above your head, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of your button-down.

you're looking at the little rose garden you planted in the corner of the yard, the one you worked hard at. whoever lives here next surely won't have the time or the decency to keep the flowers alive--so you feel guilty, like you're abandoning them to wither away.

Ice leans down, wordlessly kisses the crown of your head, burying his nose in your hair. god, he's gonna miss the smell of your shampoo. even the smell of your scalp.

"gonna plant another rose garden in Florida?" he asks.

you hum, blinking a few times, sinking into him further.

"no," you whisper. "not without you."

"I hardly helped," he utters softly, kissing the shell of your ear.

sinking into him, you just shake your head.

"they won't grow," you insist very softly.

he understands it, then.

neither of you speak for a long moment, just wrapped up in each other and this moment. this is one of the last times Ice is going to be able to hold you. he's going to soak it in, breathe in your scent, memorize the way your shirt feels beneath his fingers, until it becomes engrained in his memory.

he has to. he's not sure he'll survive if he doesn't.

"let's just get married," he tries, muffled from being nestled in your hair.

you've had this conversation already. when the two of you get married, you want to do it because you just can't stand it any longer--not because it makes it easier on the two of you.

"little late now," you sigh, letting your cheek fall against your shoulder as Ice kisses your throat. "unless you wanna hop down to City Hall in the morning."

it's a sad kind of laugh that the two of you release. you both know it isn't possible even a little bit--he leaves bright and early, packing up his Stingray and heading to the airport to catch a flight to D.C. you are set to leave not much later. besides, all your dresses are packed.

"I would," Ice tells you seriously. "if we could."

"me too," you whisper. "me too."

[nums-bird]

Your best American girl by Mitski but it's Miya Atsumu in A Liar's Truth

And before you get it twisted, I totally understand the original meaning and I am not trying to justify this as a misinterpretation .Think of it as merely an observation,yeah?

"I'm not the moon, I'm not even a star"

Sun-the man who he fell in love with

Moon -a woman

Star-a man that the "sun" can accept falling in love with

Kiyoomi (sun)continuously discarded Atsumu(not even a star) multiple times in the fic because of his religious trauma.He tried to force himself to fall in love with a women (moon) but it didn't work out because he was a raging homo

"Your mother wouldn't approve of how my mother raised me but I do I finally do"

Atsumu's parents are a direct contrast to Sakusa's.With Sakusa's parents being homophobic and overtly religious and Atsumu's parents being very open and welcoming of their sexuality.Literally Sakusa's mother does not approve of Atsumu and thus doesn't approve of how his mother raised him

In accordance with Mitski,Atsumu is ready to change,to adapt and to wait patiently until Kiyoomi is ready.Mitski was ready to fully become the best American girl

[itsclydebitches]

RWBY doesn't care if faunus are viewed as an allegory for real world minorities. Faunus are magic hybrids of humans and animals - fairy tales in RWBY were always true. Hence, Blake is offered to become a human or a cat. Blake calls herself a cat because she is part cat. Ruby tells the red prince Blake is a faunus (the elf of the group) and the rest of them are humans because they are. Simple. RT: "I didn't come over here looking to solve systemic societal issues."

Then RT shouldn't have written a story in which they are actively and knowingly commenting on a systemic societal issue.

Yeah, this could have been the case. It's absolutely possible to write a version of RWBY where faunus are just #there and their animal characteristics in no way intersect with social justice. But RWBY didn't write that story. They explicitly introduced the faunus as victims of long-term discrimination. They're "second class citizens." "Animals" to be exploited, tortured, and discarded. There's nothing simple in writing a post-war decree that forces everyone with certain physical characteristics onto an isolated island away from the "superior" group. Or making your billionaire CEO target faunus for slave labor, including giving us one character who was branded. We're shown an extremist group fighting for their civil rights and the end message of that is, "They're fighting the wrong way not to be treated like they're disposable :/" RWBY introduced Weiss as a character who would compare Sun to a trash can and, what? We're really supposed to believe that he's just the "elf" of the group? It's a complete coincidence that the citizens of Remnant just happen to systematically target all the people with animal traits.

This isn't even the only time RWBY has explicitly woven social justice into its story. They had a main character lose her arm, introduced another with a metal body, a third that had lost half of his, and took all three on a journey that hinged on their disabilities. The entirety of the Atlas arc revolves around class and getting us to emotionally side with the victims of the rich elite. They've been teasing a queer ship for four years, but refusing to commit to it in a way that might piss off real life homophobes. Our fictional world supposedly wasn't grappling with the same discrimination... until May casually tossed out that she was disowned for being trans. The ENTIRETY of the story hinges on rooting for four young woman in a genre that has historically been dismissive of them and the go-to insult when someone disagrees with a reading is, "You just hate women, huh?"

RWBY is seeped in social issues. It's built on it. They're the freaking linchpin. The writers WANTED that because they understood that the best storytelling engages with real life concerns. But they didn't know how to approach these topics respectfully - they wanted the rewards of a "deep" story without carefully working out what they wanted to say about these topics - and the result is a franchise that's often more insulting than it is inspirational. After nearly a decade of that, RWBY doesn't get to suddenly backtrack because they fucked it up. They can't have their cake and eat it too. "We're a story about strong, empowered women, one of which is fighting for equal standing in her society, another who is grappling with disability, a third who is acknowledging her status as heir to a company that has done irreparable damage to her world and exacerbated class discrimination... but if that's not written well, don't worry about it! It's just a fun, silly story! Haha, why would you take a cartoon so seriously?"

RWBY has always wanted to be taken seriously but, you know, only when they're succeeding. If they mess up they want you to do them the courtesy of ignoring that which is... not how writing a paid for, public story consistently commenting on minority groups works.

[scentedpepper]

A Favor | Vance Hopper

Fandom: The Black Phone

Pairing: Vance Hopper x Alt!Male Reader

Summary: Vance and Reader have an interesting dynamic. One where the line between friendship and something more can quickly become blurred.

Content Warnings: Implied Child Abuse, Implied Drug/Alcohol Abuse, Homophobic Slurs

Author Note(s): No Grabber Au

The first thought that entered his mind when he opened his eyes to the pitch blackness of his living room was rather more a feeling. Cold. It was cold. Whatever he was laying on was cold. The floor. The tile. It was cold.

He could feel the sweet twinge of pain welcome him like a venus fly trap into the gape of its mouth as he lifted his head from the ground. The sudden shift in his position seemed to trigger an onset of throbs to the forefront and back of his skull. And as his brain kicked into a higher functioning state, he abruptly became aware of how he'd ended up here —and the rest of the pain in his body. His confusion ceased.

He sat amongst the dark for a moment. Trying to gather himself and the will to stand up because sitting had his arms shaking and his breath taken out of his body. He huffed a hot cloud as he settled one of his hands against the couch, mentally preparing himself for whatever ache, in whatever place of his body might come next. Then, when he got the willpower, he gripped the couch tighter and reeled himself off the ground.

He grinded his teeth together as he took on another wave of pain from his torso that he wasn't quite content with placing it at his ribs in fear of them being broken. But he saved the locating of his wounds for later. It wasn't like he could see in the first place. The living room was pitch black, the entire house was.

Well, that was until the door farthest down the hallway squeaked open, leaking light into the air and making him freeze on the spot. He stayed silent as footsteps promptly followed the invasion of light, holding his breath, his body ridgid and glued to one spot against the wall. He didn't know what time it was. How long the moon had replaced the sun in the sky. But he did know that there was only ever one other person in this forlorn home.

Beside the occasional too loud, too long hookup, house party, or drug sesh the house was always empty.

Just him and his father.

And that's whose heavy footsteps were coming down the hall right now. That's who scratched his belly as he walked by. That's whose fist still had blood on it. That's who was headed for the kitchen. That's who walked by without a glance in his direction. Thankfully.

He exhaled.

He removed his weight from the wall beside the couch and ventured- limped towards the front door. He grasped the cold knob as glasses shook and clanked together in the fridge. He closed the door quietly behind him, drowning out the sound of his overly loud father, and he slugged his way down the stairs of the porch before a more welcoming, flat surface grasped his feet.

The night air was warm. Too warm for his liking. And without a breeze, by the time he ended up at that house, the pits of his shirt were stained and there was sweat wetting the neck of his hair.

He was out of breath as he rounded the house that he found himself more familiar with than he wanted to be. He made a mess out of the flower pot on the left, dirt scattered, collecting in his wounded knuckles. He dug around until the ends of his dried fingers made contact with the cool metal of a key. And then he promptly stuck it into the door, twisting and turning then pulling, tracking in dust he knew the unruly boy inside would complain about later.

He tried to quiet the heaviness of his boots as he made his way through the layout of the house by memory. He couldn't be sure who was home right now. But he knew someone would have to suffer the consequences. So he went slowly. Bit by bit. Using the wall as a crutch.

His hand seemed to grab the handle of the door- his door almost eagerly yet, with hesitancy. Somewhere inside of him, he felt the boundaries of their dynamic being pushed. The rules to their back and forth being tested. And he would've followed the advise of the big and bold "FUCK OFF" scribbled onto the door with black sharpie if it wasn't for the way the curly headed boy jumped out of bed the moment he heard the god awful squeak of it's hinges.

He knew Vance was paranoid —but jesus christ.

"I've never seen anybody grab a knife so fast. "

He looked like a deranged animal with his blonde hair all fuzzy and hanging in his face. His blue eyes in a craze, any sense of weary from his previous state of sleep diminished.

His voice came out more strained than he expected and beyond the dark there was a slight change in Vances face. The shadow of his body shifted and he slid the door of his closet all the way open, letting the light in fully. It created a warm glow around Vances figure, some of which leaked onto the others face. The contrast of their eyes met.

"Y/N?"

He watched as Vance's body lessened in tension, shoulders dropping and the grasp around his switch blade subsided.

"You owe me, right?"

"Yeah but what the fuck? It's fucking two in the morning. " The irritableness that everyone was all too familiar with seeped back into his voice. Any sound of confusion or alarm nonexistent now. "Are you stupid or-" But his quick mouth cut off when the bedroom light flicked on suddenly, revealing the state of his acquaintance.

"Holy fuck. " His eyes scanned over the tallers body. "Who fucked you up?" There was a slight amusement to his tone. But he couldn't grasp the flatline of his face. Or why there wasn't an immediate hateful retort to his comment.

He took the silence he received as a beckon to head for the bathroom.

"No one's home. " His voice called back from across the hall. "Don't worry about the noise. "

There was relief to be felt in that sentence and he trudged into the bathroom much louder than before.

"You're limping too?" Vance took notice when he caught sight of him in the mirror.

"Isn't that clear?"

There it was. That sarcasm. That hostility.

Most people generally avoided pissing off or testing Vance Hopper. –But he was a different story. People often deemed him an outcast. A good for no one, loser who was only valued for the drugs he supplied. Even after being in the same highschool for three years, he still caught strange looks from people, and if they were brave enough, they'd insult him. All because he had metal in his face and his wardrobe mostly consisted of dark clothing and because he kept his hair dyed a striking red.

He got mixed reactions from people. Not that any of them were ever any good. No. Just that some were simply too intimated to be caught dead looking in his general direction and others would spit out the classic 'Faggot!' if they thought it fit. –But that only happened when he wore eyeliner. He got used to not caring about it. It was a lame insult. He wasn't gay and he never would be. He knew that.

He also knew so long as he wore it, he'd face the consequences. The same way his usual appearance faced the consequences. Yet, he struggled to anticipate being stuck in a bathroom with Vance Hopper all over a smudge of black on his waterline.

"Stop moving. " Vance hissed. Impatient with the scrunch of his face as he wiped away blood.

"Well maybe if you would stop being so damn aggressive for two sec- Ow! You son of a bitch!"

The abrupt increase of pressure on his cheek wound made the boy situated on top of the counter shout on in pain.

"See. That's what your dumbass gets for moving around so much. " Vance shot back immediately, the amusement in his voice from before returning.

"Fuckin' hell. " He muttered, planting his hand against Vance's chest and pushing the boy backwards. "I need a dri-" But as soon as he jumped off the counter he felt his words choke him in the back of his throat and his teeth ground against each other so hard it was enough to cause an ache in his jaw.

He'd seemingly forgotten of the injured state of his ankle until he slammed against it full force. The pressure sent an abrupt strain of agony on his face and he felt his leg giving out beneath. The heel of his foot felt as if it was going to burst and he needed to support himself. His immediate instinct was to rapidly reach out for whatever was in front of him and that 'whatever' happened to be Vance.

His face was pressed against his chest before he even knew what was going on. He could feel Vance's arm wrap around his back, hand squeezing into his shoulder as he pulled the boy upright and held him close.

The weight of his body on his ankle made him gasp out in pain. His mouth was open and the noises that were meant to be words never really formed into anything intelligible. His vision blurred and he felt himself lose focus for a second. His arms gripped the material of the others shirt tightly as he steadied himself. The action also served to help stabilize him as Vance lowered him onto the edge of the counter. He grabbed at the side of the sink for purchase and when he looked up he realized Vance was still right in front of him.

There was no immediate look of concern, but he saw it. It was written on his face, like it was being teleported from a text book and onto the others features. But what came out of his mouth instead was something you'd exactly expect. "You're a fucking moron, you know that?"

It was his usual condescending tone. The one that got under his skin and made him want to punch the smirk right off of his face. And the way it seemed to raise an eyebrow was enough to send the anger surging through his body.

"Go to hell. " Was all he managed in his disheveled state. His hands still gripping the countertop as he leaned all his weight against his right foot.

Vance huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest, he was trying so hard to keep the distance between them that his legs were uncomfortably pressed up against the toilet behind him. "You think I want to be in here cleaning up your shit when I could be sleeping?"

He looked at him and for a second, eyes trailing over every detail on the others face.

His eyelids were heavy with sleep and the bags under them seemed to make his blue eyes pop more than usual. The strands of hair that framed his face weren't quite as greasy as they usually were and they seemed softer somehow. His brows were relaxed as if he wasn't fazed by anything right now despite how aggressive sounding he was. The shirt he was wearing was a simple, black V-neck and Vace thought he was probably going to make fun of it for looking old until he realized his own shirt was practically hanging off of him and the sleeve of his jeans were frayed at the ends.

He looked back up at his eyes. His voice low as he spoke up. "I'm sorry for waking you up."

He didn't know how else to respond, so he just stared. It was the last thing he was expecting from the redhead and he certainly couldn't explain to you why his heart seemed to pound at the sound of his helpless voice.

He didn't have any intentions of coming over here. But once he realized he couldn't sleep with the throb of his ribs and the ache of his ankle, he knew there was no point in trying to doze off in the comfort of his bedroom. He didn't want to walk the way across town to find somewhere to crash. So when he realized that the house would be empty and Vance probably wouldn't be able to sleep, he knew there was no better option.

He watched him scratch the back of his neck and let out a sigh. "So why were you bleeding all over my back porch anyways? " Vance spoke up, the tension of his body returning as he waited for an explanation.

He wasn't exactly in the mood to talk about what happened tonight. Especially with this kid. The thought of telling him about how he was just on the floor in his living room made him want to run away. So he gave him the easiest answer he could think of. "Got in a fight."

His gaze followed him as he reached into the medicine cabinet. He could hear him shuffle through the contents, closing the door, and then opening the cabinet right next to it.

"At 2:00 in the morning?" Vance questioned. He wasn't the brightest but he sure as hell wasn't stupid.

"Why do you care?" His fingers wrapped around the edge of the counter tighter this time and lifted himself back onto it, losing the thought of a beer from the fridge all together at Vance's sudden inquiry.

"I don't. " Vance snapped back immediately, letting the cap of the ointment fall from his hand. He turned around to face him, meeting his gaze. "I just don't wanna deal with your bullshit right now."

His jaw tightened and he leaned towards him, bringing his face close to Vance's and spitting out his retort with enough ferocity to make him falter. "Fuck you."

Vance's brows twitched and the momentary flinch in his eye was all he needed to keep up the momentum.

"Don't talk to me like you're some fucking hero. Don't act like you've got any kind of empathy or sympathy. You don't know shit about me. " He paused, digging his nails into his palm as he spoke, keeping his voice low so as to not give away the rage that was surging in his veins.

"I've seen the way you look at me. It's a good fucking joke, Vance. How you try to act like you don't give a shit but I know you do. " His fingers started to twitch at his sides and he let them run over the lose skin of his nails, picking and pulling. He didn't know if it was factual or more of a sorry attempt to convince himself someone might care. "You're just like everyone else. " The last part came out quieter than the rest, like it was more so meant to be a mutter that his helper didn't acknowledge.

Vance simply couldn't understand where all this was coming from. Sure. They got into it. But it was never anything like this. He felt the tension in the air shift –to something heavier. Something undisclosed to the both of them. And for once in his life, Vance Hopper was rendered speechless. His arms crossed against his chest, eyes locked on to Y/N's.

"What do you mean?" He finally found his voice, letting the anger rise in his throat, almost latching onto the last thing Y/N said. But he didn't.

He could feel his heart quicken, and his next action was all he could do to avoid any further confrontation. He turned around to grab the kit he was searching in before, stilling himself by taking a deep breath before responding.

His fingers were almost white as he gripped the box in his hand, turning back around slowly. The boy on the counter was still looking right at him, unwavering, and he had no idea why he suddenly felt so exposed under his gaze. He could feel his breath get caught in his throat, and he had to turn his head to the side to try and hide the way he seemed to be acting so oddly. He couldn't make any eye contact with him for some reason.

"Forget it. " Was all he got from Y/N before he turned away but there was so much more in his eyes to be told. So much more that he could see and he wanted to know.

He took another deep breath and kept his head down as he looked over Y/N's body. His clothes were in disarray, torn in places and stained with blood and dirt. His face was covered in scratches and a particularly nasty gash on his cheek and his knuckles were bleeding through the bandages he wrapped around them. His ankle was a different story. He hadn't gotten around to peaking under his shirt at the boys ribs but he was dreading what he might see beneath his clothing.

"What happened?" He asked again.

Y/N didn't answer at first and when he finally lifted his head, the only thing he saw anymore was his tired eyes.

"Nothing. "

He didn't believe him for a second. He wanted to say so many things right now. Like how he could see the pain written in his face. How he was just sitting here, bloodied and beaten up on his bathroom counter. He wanted to say something. But all that came out was, "Don't be an idiot."

And then there was silence.

Y/N shifted on the counter and Vance's hands fell to his sides before gripping the end of his shirt. "Let me see your ribs. "

His fingers pulled the fabric over his body, letting it rest around his shoulders, revealing the bruises underneath. The bruises that were wrapped around his torso and were forming into a dark, painful color. He looked up at the boy on the counter, meeting his gaze for a second. He couldn't hide his concern this time. The state of his body was far too intense to.

The sight made his heart sink and he felt like he should say something. But his voice caught in the back of his throat and all he managed to let out was a quiet, "What happened?" Once again. The same question as before.

"Nothing. " He repeated. This time, there was a more aggressive tone behind his words. It was like he was trying to make sure that Vance didn't bother attempting to get an explanation from him.

"Why're you being so difficult? Just tell me. You have no problem running your mouth any other time you come in here after getting fucked up by some loud mouth jock and his friends. So tell me. What happened? "

The insistentence seemed to rile Y/N up more than anything and he found himself getting angrier than he was at the beginning of this whole conversation.

"Because it's none of your business. "

"You're bleeding all over my fucking bathroom floor, it is clearly my business. " He could feel his voice raise a pitch and the two of them were now staring each other down again.

Vance's eyes had widened, not really expecting the blunt response he had received just seconds ago. His own anger boiling over at the moment. He was so tired. "Why don't you just leave then?"

There was a pause and Vance felt his eyes fall to the ground as Y/N's body shifted. The anger in his words fading as he responded.

"I can't. "

He was quiet and he saw Y/N's eyes move up and down his body. He swallowed down the feeling of discomfort.

"Are you going to help me or not?"

His gaze remained fixed on the floor, unable to move it. "I didn't think I had a choice in the matter. "

He heard him scoff from above him. "You're being a dick. "

He was looking back at him, his mouth falling into a thin line as he tried to muster up the right words.

"Look, " He started again, his hands balling into fists. "I don't know what the fuck is going on with you right now. But you're obviously hurt, not just physically and it's late as fuck so just let me help you. "

"Why do you care?"

"Why does it matter?"

Y/N was quiet and Vance waited for another defensive retort, but all he got in response was silence.

He wasn't sure how much longer he wanted to keep talking to him. But his eyes found themselves trailing over his body again, settling on his ribs. A sigh left Vance's lips as he lowered himself to the drawers beneath and took out more bandages. "Even if your ribs are broken, wrapping you is the only thing those bastards at the hospital will do anyway. Saving you a hell of bill. " He shrugged, ripping open the package before moving to sit on the edge of the tub. "Get on the floor. "

Y/N was still silent as he took his weight off the counter, gingerly lowering himself down onto the tile, watching as Vance's hand went for the roll of bandages before he joined him on the floor. "Put your arms around my neck and don't move. "

The moment Y/N's fingers wrapped around Vance's neck and he leaned forward, he could feel his entire body heat up, like it was set on fire.

The two of them were close. Physically at least. The first time he laid eyes on Vance, he had been hanging from his friends car window, perched on top of it, talking shit. Y/N was leaving the convenience store, some girl chirping at his side and Vance was instantly enamored by his wild look.

The spikes in his hair and his sharp jaw. The red dye interwtined in his strands that he liked to flaunt, even though he wore a beanie almost everyday of the week. The piercings in his ears and the way he didn't really have a sense of fashion. The ripped jeans, the dark T-shirts, the black band shirts and the converse. The only thing that was relatively normal was the gray beanie he always seemed to have with him. And maybe that was why he liked him so much. That, and he wasn't a huge dick like everyone seemed to make him out to be the way they avoided him.

Vance shifted in his spot and Y/N let his arms drop away from his shoulders.

"Hey, put your hands back around my neck, dumbass. "

He couldn't help but feel his body grow hotter as he complied, wrapping his arms around Vance's shoulders again. His legs laid on the outside of his and he watched as he started to wrap the bandages around his torso. He winced slightly with every turn, the movement causing a dull pain to come from his ribs.

"Does it hurt?" Vance asked, his fingers resting against his chest for a moment.

He nodded his head but didn't say anything. He could feel Vance's hot breath against his neck and it made his chest tighten.

"What?" He felt the pressure on his chest lift up slightly and he looked down to see Vance staring at him.

"You've never actually been this close to me. " His eyes met Vance's and he felt his face burn up.

"Yeah and?"

"It's nothing, just saying. "

Vance had noticed it before too. How close they were standing to each other in the bathroom. How close they were now. And it made him wonder what the hell was wrong with Y/N. But he knew better than to ask. "You know, " He started again, the tension in his voice dying out a little as he spoke. "you've never really been this close to me before either. "

He could feel the arm he had around his neck tighten. "That's cause you're an asshole. "

"I mean I guess. " He could hear the hint of a smile in his voice and he sighed. "Your shirt is dirty. "

"What? What does that have to do with anything?"

He rolled his eyes and let go of the bandage he was wrapping. "It's in the way. "

He watched as Vance's hands slid over his own, gently lifting them off of his shoulders.

"You're making it weird. "

"Shut up. " He sighed, grabbing the bunch of his shirt around his neck and pulling it off. "There. "

Vance sighed, looking at him for a moment longer before leaning forward, starting to wrap the bandages around him again.

The proximity made his skin feel like it was sizzling and he struggled to maintain eye contact.

"Your hands are fucking freezing. " Y/N winced, the bandage he was wrapping moving against his skin.

"My hands are always fucking freezing. "

He could feel Vance's hand brush against the small of his back, causing a shudder to run down his spine. He bit his cheek and tried to keep his thoughts at bay.

"Does it hurt?" Vance questioned, his voice low.

He nodded his head, trying to steady himself. "A little. "

He let out a hum in response and Y/N found himself thinking about the closeness again. He tried to keep his head up but his eyes kept wanting to wander down to Vance's lips. He knew they were pretty but it was so weird to actually see them like this. To think of the way they'd feel against his own.

He shook his head, trying to push away the intrusive thought. He felt his stomach flutter when he realized that he was staring.

"What?" Vance spoke up, the softness in his voice suddenly gone. He looked up at him, meeting his gaze and he watched as Vance's face turned a little red.

"What? Nothing. " He felt his heart quicken as he stared into his eyes, he watched as Vance's eyes shifted down to his lips and he couldn't help but subconsciously lick them.

"Your eyes are fucking weird. " Vance responded, breaking the eye contact between them.

Y/N's hands stilled and he let out a shaky breath. "What?"

"You have weird colored eyes. Like. They're a weird fucking color. "

The moment the words left his mouth, Y/N could feel the anger rise in his chest. "What the fuck are you going on about?" He began to snap back at him. But Vance didn't say anything, just stared at him with a slight look of panic in his eyes. And he couldn't help but think it was all just a joke. Just another way for Vance to make fun of him. But it wasn't a joke. It couldn't be. Not with how red in the face the boy was.

"You're such an asshole. " He huffed, his fingers gripping at his side.

Vance looked away from him, wrapping the bandage around him one last time before he let out a sigh. "There. "

His hand rested against his chest, gently patting it twice before moving away. He could feel the tension leave his body and his stomach falter when the warmth of Vance's body disappeared.

The blonde sat back down on the edge of the tub and let out a sigh. He couldn't help but notice how quiet Y/N had gotten. It was so different than the way he normally spoke to him.

Vance glanced down at his feet and when he finally met Y/N's gaze again, he saw something in his face that he wasn't expecting. Something vulnerable.

He suddenly felt bad. "What's wrong?" He asked, trying to keep the nervousness in his voice muffled. He watched as Y/N's eyes shifted away from his and down to the tile floor.

"Are you going to kick me out now?" He spoke, his voice low.

His chest tightened at the question and he let out a shaky breath. "What? I mean. No. " He couldn't stop his mind from conjuring up ideas of what could have possibly happened tonight. He couldn't imagine what such a beating must have felt like.

His voice broke through his thoughts again. "Are you sure? I just. " He paused, his voice shaking. "I just want to sleep. "

Vance nodded his head, swallowing down the lump in his throat. "Then you can sleep here. " He watched as Y/N looked up at him with wide eyes.

"What?"

"I don't want you going back home. Your dad could be there for all I know. "

"I never said anything about my dad-"

"You didn't need to. " He snapped back. "It was pretty fucking obvious from the way you've talked about him. "

"It's not like he's beating the shit out of me or anything. " He huffed, looking down at the floor again.

"Yeah? Don't worry. I was in denial once too. " He sighed. "Look, I'm not trying to force you to say shit but whatever the fuck is going on with him, it's not good. And if you think it is then you're fucking stupid. "

He saw the look of defiance flash in Y/N's eyes and he let out another sigh.

"I'm not trying to make you talk about shit you don't want to talk about. I just. " He paused, letting his head fall back against his shoulders. "I don't want you to get hurt. "

He looked up at the ceiling, letting the words he spoke sink in. He wasn't sure if he was making the right decision. It's not like he could be sure of anything he did. But it was late and he was tired. He was tired of thinking about it all. Of watching as he slowly became more and more withdrawn from everyone. Of seeing how angry he got when he got an answer wrong or how sad he was when he was in a fight. Of how he tried to play it off like it was nothing when it was so obvious. He was tired of seeing him struggle and he was tired of being the only person he would open up to. So he let the words just spill out of his mouth, not caring for a second if Y/N took it seriously or not.

He looked back down at him, meeting his eyes and he felt his heart skip a beat.

"Do you want to sleep here or not? In my bed. "

There was no response. And Vance was afraid to speak again for a moment. His heart was beating so loud and his skin was so hot and he wasn't sure why he was so nervous.

He saw the hesitation in his eyes and he swallowed down the lump in his throat.

"Or you can sleep on the floor. " He felt his face turn red as he spoke.

The tension between them was undeniable. He felt his body shake with the heavy weight of his anxiety and it felt like he was trying to stay afloat in a sea of emotions that he couldn't keep up with.

Y/N let out a shaky breath and he nodded his head. "Okay. "

Vance let out a breath of his own, one he didn't know he was holding.

"Okay. "

He watched as Y/N made his way off the floor, taking a little more care than usual with his injured leg. Vance cleared his throat and stood from the tub as well, the two of them now standing face to face in the bathroom.

The air felt like it was too thick. The space between them felt too small.

"So, um, " Vance started, trying to shake away the thoughts that were running through his head. "Do you want a change of clothes? You can take one of my shirts if you want. I have some shorts somewhere too if you want to borrow them. "

The thought of seeing Y/N wearing one of his shirts made his heart tighten yet, he still couldn't seem to grasp what it is he was feeling.

"That'd be cool. "

He nodded his head, walking past him, across the hall and towards his dresser. He was pulling out a pair of boxers and an old shirt, handing them over to him. He saw Y/N glance down at his pants and then up at his face.

"You don't mind, right?"

He could feel the tension rising in his throat and he shook his head, taking a step forward. "Nope. "

The closeness between them made his breath catch in his throat and he watched as Y/N bit his cheek again. His eyes falling to the floor and Vance could see that his hands were trembling. His arms moved slowly and carefully, trying not to make any harsh movements that would send another flash of ache throughout his entire ribcage.

"Do you need help?" Vance asked, reaching out and placing his hand on his shoulder. He saw the hesitation in his eyes before he nodded his head. His fingers moved to rest at the waistline of his jeans and he pushed his thumbs up and underneath the fabric. He felt Y/N's skin against his own and it was enough to make him break out in goosebumps.

He pulled away as quickly as he could, pulling off his pants and throwing them to the side. He felt his cheeks burn and he swallowed down the nervousness he was feeling. He watched as Y/N shoved on the pair of shorts he brought him as quickly as he could.

The silence was unbearable and all he could do was watch as Y/N changed into his clothes and he felt himself getting more and more uncomfortable by the minute. He looked away from the boy after a couple minutes, trying to keep his nerves under control. He didn't even dare breathe, knowing full well that he would probably embarrass himself if he tried.

"Thanks. " The soft tone of Y/N's voice caught him completely by surprise and he whipped his head back around to look at him, seeing that he had a small smile across his lips.

A light blush covered his cheeks. "No problem. Uh... I guess we should go to bed. " He muttered. His gaze fell to the ground, avoiding looking directly at Y/N.

He heard the footsteps behind him as he turned towards his bed and he turned back around just as quickly, opening his eyes as wide as they possibly could. He hadn't noticed how close Y/N was to him until that very moment.

As soon as their eyes locked Vance felt every inch of confidence he had disappear in less than five seconds.

The taller male's cheeks flushed and he stared at him with glossy dark brown eyes. "Yeah. "

He took a few steps backwards. His shoulders relaxing just slightly as he stepped away.

"Um..."

They stood awkwardly in front of each other, neither saying a word. There seemed to be no rush to move on from this awkward standstill they were currently in. Neither moving, neither breathing, neither blinking. Just standing in place and staring at each other like idiots. He felt himself fumbling for something else to say. Anything to break the awkwardness between them.

He felt his stomach twist and he closed his eyes, trying to ignore the feelings of anxiety that were building inside of him. Why did he agree to this? This was such a fucking dumb idea.

"Uh, I'll uh -"

Before he could finish, Y/N grabbed hold of his arm pulling him to his chest and wrapping his arms around him. He felt his breath hitch in his throat as he hugged him. He could feel Y/N's head resting on his shoulder, his hair tickling his cheek and the warm smell of the strands filling his senses.

This wasn't what he wanted at all. He didn't want to feel this way. But, at the same time, he didn't want to feel anything right now. At the moment he wanted to be anywhere else. Anywhere except this room or this situation. Anywhere but with someone who hated his guts or who he couldn' t figure out what exactly he meant to him. With somebody he was still struggling to understand completely. Somebody who knew how he felt and who apparently knew better than anybody else in the world about what he needed and when to push him.

He wasn't sure when Y/N began to see through him so easily. Or when his walls of steel and silver armor had become so transparent.

Maybe it always had been there, hidden under layers of bullshit and sarcasm.

Maybe this whole time he really had just been playing the part. The role they both agreed to play and the roles they had played to the extent where there was nothing left but pretending to be friends. And now, finally having the chance to break the facade and be honest with each other, maybe this was what he really wanted all along. Maybe everything he ever wanted was finally happening and he had spent his whole life denying it.

Maybe this was why he was so scared.

And maybe that's why the rough calloused tips of his fingers grabbed the boy a little too roughly. His coldness piercing through the thick skin on his shoulders as he pushed him away. Maybe that's why he let his voice quiver as he yelled out in anger.

And maybe that's why he let those emotions take over his senses.

His voice came out in a deep growl. It echoed around the empty room, sounding threatening and intimidating despite it just being them two. Alone. Even if nobody could hear him.

"You ever touch me like that again and I'll do a number on you worse than your dad. "

And maybe that's why he was gone after that.

[catholic-character-tournament]

Round 1 - Side B

Propaganda below ⬇️

Rin

Literally the son of Satan, but was raised by a priest in a monastery. Dedicates his life to fighting demons.

Rin is the son of Satan (and a human woman) but he didn't know it until Satan showed up and killed his adopted father and made him (understandably) pissed. He ends up going to a multi-denominational exorcism school where people learn how to exorcise demons by praying and then punching them in the face. He's very hotheaded and impulsive but he's also very kind and has a good heart.

Justin

he's soo. idk how to describe him. he never takes out his earbuds (which are constantly blasting music), he's killed at least 99 (probably more) monsters by the age of 17, he thinks his boss is god, he dresses like a catholic priest. the autistic homophobic gay guy ever

He is a priest who can turn into a guillotine. Has killed at least a hundred people. He constantly wears headphones that play non stop death metal music at max volume claiming that doing so helps him hear the voice of God causing him to shout when talking so he can hear what he's saying and people have to repeteadly signal him to take them off so they can talk to him and when that inevitably fails knock the off. He eventually betrays the good guys after going crazy and allies himself with a demon who wants to take over the world. After beign damaged by a magic sun ray the left half of his faces becomes perpetually engulfed in flames.

[love-kurdt]

Beat You to the Phone (steddie)

@cosmos-lore asked: 40 steddie

Prompt: “I want a baby.”

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: homophobic slurs, grooming (in the context of eddie’s parents), parent death, parental abuse and trauma

A/N: i hope this is what u wanted! i took this in the angst/fluff route. for all my other readers who have sent in asks, fear not! i’m working on all of them as we speak. they’ll be rolling out soon, slowly but surely.

For as long as he could remember, Eddie Munson had sworn to himself that he would never, ever become a father. It wasn’t in his blood. It made sense, since his own dad didn’t have a cell of paternal instinct in his body, and the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Charles Lancaster had never been a good man, let alone a good parent. After all, he had met sixteen year old Marie Munson when he was twenty-five. He groomed and brainwashed her into thinking that she loved him before knocking her up. After Eddie was born, he was barely present, citing work as his reason for being an absent father.

The first five years of Eddie’s childhood were good. He never went without, and always felt safe. His mom was an angel on earth. She was the one who bought Eddie his first guitar, and taught him “Here Comes the Sun” by the Beatles for his first tune. She was the one who brought Eddie to have picnics in the park, with peanut butter and honey sandwiches. She was the one who’d tuck him in at night, say a short prayer, and kiss him on the forehead. She was always there for him, until she wasn’t. He had found Marie dead on the bathroom floor after his first day of kindergarten, and it was all downhill from there.

Charles had been selling drugs to keep himself (and Eddie, of course, how could he ever forget) afloat. It wasn’t long before he got caught carrying copious amounts of cocaine over state lines and was sent to prison, meanwhile Eddie was on the brink of being registered into the foster care system. That was, until Wayne Munson swooped in and saved the day. Or rather, saved Eddie’s entire future.

Wayne hated the phrase, “like his own.” He did not raise Eddie “like his own,” or love Eddie “like his own.” He raised and loved Eddie as his own. He saw his nephew as a son. From the first day that little Eddie ran into the trailer, stood still for a moment, then ran right back to Wayne to jump into his arms squealing, “Thank you Unc’o Wayne,” Wayne knew that he’d made the best decision of his life.

He watched Eddie grow up. Eddie became fascinated with fantasy and mythology, and Wayne watched him spend hours upon hours creating characters for that dungeons game he was always talking about. He watched Eddie play his acoustic guitar, scribbling lyrics into his marble composition notebook. Wayne always felt as if he was looking right at his sister whenever Eddie would play. He watched Eddie approach the trailer with a black eye, asking Wayne what a “faggot” was. They had a long talk that night, filled with hot cocoa and tears.

Years later, in 1986, he watched police carry a girl (Chrissy, they called her) out of his home who looked like she’d been tossed off a cliff. He watched the entire town lose its collective mind and accuse his nephew, his son, of murdering that poor girl. He watched Eddie return home, half dead, carried on the back of a kid with the most terrified look on his face, as if he were to say, “I need him alive just as much as you do.”

He watched as Eddie brought that same kid home one sunny day in 1987, and his suspicions were right on the money. His name was Steve, Steve Harrington, and he had the tallest hair that Wayne had ever seen. “He’s my boyfriend, and I love him,” Eddie had said. Wayne could have been skeptical; after all, he was a Harrington, but he had saved Eddie's life. And for that, he loved him too. He didn’t even hesitate to say yes when Steve was kicked out of his parents' home for his sexuality.

Though they were young, they got married in a small ceremony in the company of friends and family in May of 1989. Eddie and Steve moved into their own trailer, right next to Wayne. That way, he was close by if they needed anything, and could also maintain some sense of safety for his nephew and his illegal husband.

The topic of grandkids was never really discussed. Wayne knew how adamant Eddie was about not turning up like his father, and if not having kids was part of that vow, then so be it. He respected that. However, Wayne had absolutely no idea about the conversation that was happening next door.

—

“I want a baby,” Eddie heard Steve whisper in his ear. They’d been cuddling that morning for the past half hour and Eddie was just about to fall back asleep. His eyes snapped open at what his husband had just suggested.

“Jesus H. Christ, Steve, warn a person!” he turned around from his little spoon position to face Steve, who was blushing red and removing his hands from Eddie’s waist to cover his face in embarrassment.

“Shit, I should have prefaced it or something,” he shook his head. “Sorry. It’s not like it could actually happen anyway, because… well, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Eddie chuckled, reaching up to caress Steve’s cheek with his cold rings, which he knew he loved. He leaned into the touch as Eddie continued, “And that’s kind of a blessing in itself, because I honestly don’t want kids.”

Now it was Steve’s turn for his eyes to snap open. “But like, you know I’ve always wanted a family. And I want it with you. I want to have it all, the six kids in a Winnebago, the dog and cat, the whole nine yards.” Steve rolled away on the bed, laying on his back, leaving Eddie feeling colder than before. “And I swear to god, ever since Nance and Jonathan had Austin, I’ve had the worst baby fever that any man has ever had”

Of course Steve was jealous of Nancy and Jonathan. Who wouldn’t? They’d rekindled their relationship over the winter break of Nancy’s sophomore year at Emerson, and she wound up getting pregnant after one time of having sex before going back to school. But she persevered through school and endured the pregnancy, because she and Jonathan both wanted to start a family, even if she was only twenty and Jonathan was twenty one. Both of their families had been extremely supportive and accepting as well, which made things even harder for Steve to watch, because, why couldn’t he have that? Oh, right, because he was gay, and now because his husband didn’t want children.

“And you think I haven’t had it too?” Eddie sat up, running his fingers through his messy hair and looking down at Steve, whose face implied shock. “Believe me, I have! Do you know how much I want to be the dad I never had?” Eddie’s voice got wobbly. “To teach them D&D and guitar, to make funny voices for every single one of their stuffed animals, to make ring-o-noodle soup when they’re under the weather, to watch them standing backstage at one of my shows when they’re old enough?”

He cleared his throat before continuing. He could not cry. Not over this. “I want that more than anything! But what you don’t know is how sick to my stomach that makes me feel. The thought of me, Eddie Munson, as a fucking father? No way! It’s not in my genes, man.”

Steve sat up now, scooching towards Eddie and pulling him into his chest. Eddie obliged, because he could never resist Steve’s chest hair. It should have been illegal. “Well, man, will you maybe at least think about it?” Eddie shook his head and went to talk, but Steve spoke again, “It doesn’t even have to be through surrogacy, so it wouldn’t be biological if that’s what you’re worried about. I found this adoption agency in New York that just opened their doors to same sex couples—”

Steve was desperate. Eddie couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “No. I can’t. I just… it’s a whole thing. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” Steve exhaled into Eddie’s hair, pulling him closer and squeezing his heavily tattooed bicep. “We can revisit this ‘whole thing’ another time.”

At that, Eddie pulled away once more, standing up next to the bed and looking down at his lover with disdain. “I don’t think you’re understanding what I’m saying. I don’t want a kid, I will never want a kid.” He paced for a few moments. “I can’t end up like my dad. He already haunts me, and he’s in fucking prison.”

“But you aren’t your dad!” Steve protested. “I for one think you’d be a great one! You’re so good with the teens.”

“Yeah, because I’m their dungeon master,” Eddie laughed incredulously, “I’m not feeding, clothing, and tucking them into bed every night.”

“Baby,” Steve said, standing up to join Eddie on his side of the room, “I know you’re scared, and I know you’re hesitant to even consider the thought of being a dad, but this is… fuck, this is everything I’ve ever wanted.” He took Eddie’s left hand in his own, rubbing his thumb over the black band on his ring finger. He heard the familiar clinking of metal against metal when his silver band collided with Eddie’s. “I lost my parents, and regardless of how shitty they were, they were still family. I lost the house, which was supposed to be in my name until I came out to them. And I lost my reputation, which I’ve been working for years to improve.”

Eddie dropped Steve’s hand, taking a step back. “Why, because King Steve can’t reign over his kingdom if he’s a fag, right?”

“King Steve died the moment Dustin dragged me back to my car in 1984, you know that,” Steve snapped. “You know damn well that’s not what I meant.”

“…But you thought about it,” Eddie replied in a deeper tone than usual that made Steve’s skin crawl.

“No, I—” he threw his hands up in the air, “I mean that I’m tired of sacrificing! Jesus, Munson, I gave up everything for you! The least you could do is put your feelings aside for this one thing!”

“Like I said, Munson,” Eddie retorted, their shared last name rolling off his tongue with fire, “I cannot, and will not change my mind about this. I am not fit to be a father, and to be honest, I don’t think you’re meant to be one either.” Eddie finally broke, feeling a tear run down his face.

“How can you say that to me?” Steve crossed his arms against his chest. “You’re just projecting your own insecurity onto me. That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it, though? If you’re so upset about making sacrifices, good luck having kids. Because that’s what parenthood is alllll about. You put your own ambitions aside and support your kids through everything. You give them what they need, and even if you can’t, you find a way,” Eddie let out a choked sob, not even caring at this point. “You find a way, because your kids are not supposed to do it themselves. They’re supposed to be happy, carefree, stupid, funny, ignorant little shits who just want to be loved.” His heart was breaking with every sentence he spoke and the walls he’d constructed to protect himself were now crumbling to the ground. “No kid deserves to find their dead mom at home with her eyes still open. Steve, I see her eyes all the fucking time. They were bloodshot. I can’t listen to the Beatles, not because I hate them like I told you, but because my mom taught me all of their songs on the guitar and I can’t bear to hear them. I still feel the metal shears against my head from when my dad shaved it, telling me to ‘man up, I didn’t raise a fairy.’ I remember the way my dad would lose his temper and beat me until I passed out. I don’t want my past to affect how I would raise them. Like, what if I get angry and hit my own child? What if I make rash decisions and end up causing more harm and trauma than good? I’m absolutely terrified of being the antagonist in my kid’s life. And I’m absolutely terrified that you’re going to leave me for someone who can give you what I can’t.”

Steve’s expression softened, feeling absolutely horrible. He slowly moved back towards Eddie, who was trying his hardest to stop the flow of tears, but it wasn’t working. When Steve pulled him in for a hug, Eddie didn’t even object. He cried and cried into Steve’s shoulder, grasping onto the back of Steve’s shirt for dear life.

“I’m so, so sorry, my love,” Steve pulled back the slightest bit and kissed Eddie’s temple. “It’s okay, I understand. We don’t have to have kids. It’s okay, I was being selfish and wasn’t willing to listen to your side. I’m sorry.”

Eddie only shook his head. “No, you’re right. You’ve sacrificed so much for me, and I don’t want something like this to cause me to lose you.”

“You could never lose me, even if you tried,” Steve replied, to which Eddie barked out a laugh.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Robin literally got us shirts that say ‘If found please return to Eddie’ and ‘I’m Eddie.’”

Steve pulled back and held Eddie’s face in his hands, wiping the stray tears off his cheeks. “We really are meant for each other, aren’t we?” he asked. “I can be okay with just us two. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Eddie replied, and leaned forward to kiss Steve. He wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck as Steve’s met his waist, pulling him in closer. Steve swiped his tongue over Eddie’s bottom lip, and he let him in, gasping for air while Steve let out a low moan. Eddie tugged at Steve’s hair, making him pull his head back from Eddie’s, feigning a pout.

“Eds… lemmemakeoutwithyou,” Steve whined, going to kiss Eddie again, but was stopped with a bony hand on his sternum.

“Before things go any further, I… I think we could maybe give that adoption agency a call.” Eddie said, and Steve’s eyes widened.

“Are you serious? Like, I don’t want you to do something you were very much against barely ten minutes ago. But if you are serious… can we?”

Eddie smirked, twirling a piece of Steve’s hair at the nape of his neck. “Beat you to the phone.”

[just-antithings]

i hate when i find a old tumblr era type of callout post for anyone but i hate it even more when its for a published author that uses to use this site and ao3 and write fanfic. because apparently people will go and dig up your ao3 account and everything youve ever written, every fandom youve ever been in and every friend youve had in order to accuse you of everything under the sun. if you ever become an author and you did something they didnt like at some point or you irritated them once theyre just gonna keep digging until they find something to smear you and i wanna know what part of that antis think is encouraging authors to keep making the works they love so much when they hate the authors they find even an ounce of “problematic”. books are getting banned from public schools but yeah lets accuse a author of [redacted] because of what they wrote as a teenager and accuse them of being homophobic because of who theyre married to. lets call a queer author a weirdo freak for writing fanfic. i can’t take one single call out post seriously not only for being a shitty idea but also because 90% of the information is filtered, biased or unfounded. i hate that people try to do this to authors. republicans would love these people

👆👆👆👆

[ash-and-starlight]

soo i just finished she who became the sun and saw your GORGEOUS fanart of it and. yeah teehe<333 anywayy um that book gave me the brainworms for real i am kind of emotionally down for the count but thank u for thr stunning artwork mwah

2/ oighhh my god bro i cant stop thinking abt it (swbts). im SO late to the train for this book but i. it's affecting me. anywya i scrolled a little thru your tag for it and i so agree w wanting to see zhu and ma's relationship tested. tbh..i wouldnt mind seeing it become a total failmarriage idk i like when toxic things happen. actually except when those things happen to esen i really loved his character too and I'm upset we won't get more of it...UGHDHEHRHRJJJ um. im fine

HHRGSHDG I FEEL U SM ANON!! the brainworms are so real sometimes i think about that book and have to stare at the wall for 30 minutes. and yeahhhh exactly we need more lesbian toxicity lesbian divorce lesbian insanity. WJDHSH esen ;—; my beautiful warlord hunk homophobic bisexual golden prince ;—; completely surrounded by some of the Most Toxic bitches in the story and completely unaware of it until it was too late ;;—;; i’ll really miss him and i for one hope to see him join the endless army of ghosts haunting ouyang. feel even worse boy. <333 i can’t believe they will be back to me in august!!!! sequel time baybeee!!!

[alifeasvivid]

This is the "ghost" document that I mentioned in that one post. Arthur's a witch and he has a big black dog named Toad and he helps get the dead where they need to go so they don't become ghosts and Alfred is........... someone he's supposed to help >.> I actually don't remember how I got this idea; basically I really like it when Arthur is actually really good at magic and then it spiraled out into this sorta fantasy au where magic exists, ordinary people know about it, and practitioners of magic are generally as much a part of society as anyone else. And also Arthur's kind of a spooky guy who gets a teeeeeeny bit of mary-sue treatment for my personal enjoyment... as a treat.

I don't think I will continue this, even though I know the plot of it, but I like it too much not to share, I guess P:

cw: homophobic slur, violence, also technically major character death, but it's a story about ghosts so... >.>

An overcast sky has the morning sunlight shifting in and out of Arthur Kirkland’s modest cottage. The air in mid-April is cool and crisp, but promises warmth; a promise on which it may or may deliver and it hasn’t decided yet.

A massive, shaggy, black dog of indeterminate breed dozes on the kitchen floor near his master’s feet. Arthur brews his morning tea, dressed in black from head to toe, black shoes, pressed black slacks, and a black sleeveless shirt with a mock turtleneck, leaving his heavily tattooed arms on display.

Most of the tattoos are sigils, some are gifts, and some are purely aesthetic.

Steam rises from a ceramic mug as Arthur removes the strainer containing leaves and petals of rosemary, thyme, and marigold. He’d have much rather had his usual Earl Grey, but he will need stronger protection today. He flavors the tea with neither his customary cream or sugar, instead using only a small drizzle of lavender honey.

The sun peeks in through the parlor window.

Arthur raises his eyebrow in that direction.

A cloud ushers the sun away again.

Today is not a day for sunshine.

Arthur moves into the parlor from the kitchen and the dog pads along after him. He sits on the small sofa and his green eyes vacantly observe his altar, which is built out from the opposing wall. He pets the dog’s head when it comes to rest on his thigh. “Ah, Toad,” he sighs, “you felt it coming too, did you?” The dog huffs in response.

Ghosts have never been the problem. Actual trouble comes from what they evolve into over time: poltergeists, ghouls, banshees, phantoms, wraiths, and many other dark, tormented beings, all lingering and longing for whatever they never had in life.

In turn, human societies have always relied on the spiritually gifted, known very broadly as magicians, to take care of such beings. Shamans, psychics, witches, sages, practitioners of all sorts have always been able to manage, until recently. With humans becoming more isolated from each other, losing community in the modern world, more and more people are dying alone, unseen, with unfinished business causing the problem of persistent, tortured spiritual phenomenon.

Attempts are being made to change this. Non-magical humans have made solid efforts to reach out to each other, form communities, and look out for anyone who might be struggling so as to prevent violence and suicides—two main contributors to the formation of ghosts.

The air shifts and swirls around Arthur’s altar and he buries his free hand in Toad’s fur.

The other measure has been implemented by various magical and psychic associations banding together to create a very specialized role: the mourners.

Since even the best efforts cannot prevent all souls from dying in pain and alone, a varied group of magicians takes part in a systematized ritual to make sure that high risk souls are appropriately mourned and thus mitigate the chance of them becoming ghosts.

Most people assigned to the job are elder shamans, crones, sages, and the like. The average age of a mourner is around sixty years old.

At thirty-three, Arthur Kirkland is one of the youngest, world wide, but the only age requirement is that mourner must have completed their first Saturn Return and Arthur had signed up voluntarily as soon as he became eligible. Those in charge of the organization had doubts at first, but Arthur is descended from a strong magical and psychic bloodline and they were hardly in a position to turn away volunteers.

When his tea is finished, Arthur stands up and lights a charcoal with some frankincense. Any minute now.

Arthur considers himself well-suited for the job of mourning, given his large internal well of energy, his familiarity with the Lower World and the Fae realms, and his generally grim and eerie disposition.

Initially, the mourners received assignments every day, but due to the non-magical world pulling at least some of its weight, the number of mourners increasing, and the decision to only focus on the more dire cases, Arthur typically receives one per week. Sometimes more, sometimes less.

Once a week is a good pace. It gives Arthur time to find the person’s body (if possible), where it was laid to rest or where it ought to be, sever any ties that might be holding the person’s soul back, soothe any pain and surround the soul in feelings of love and warmth. After that, he performs any relevant funeral rites and then the assignment is completed.

Assignments are nearly always received within twenty-four hours of the person’s death.

The air settles and a small thump sounds from a willow wood bowl Arthur carved himself. In the bowl is the usual gleaming black polyhedral made of jet. This one is an icosahedron with each side carved with a sigil relaying information about the deceased person. Arthur steels himself before picking up the relic. It’s usually fine, but occasionally the information can be terrifying and overwhelming.

The jet is soft and light in Arthur’s palm. Jet is an opaque black stone with a slight gold sheen to it and it has the strange property of looking like it will be much heavier than it is since it is created from decomposed wood subjected to heavy carbon compression: a perfect stone to deal with death. Arthur caresses his thumb over the sigil he prefers to examine first: an image of what the person might look like alive, but at peace.

Arthur gasps slightly at what appears in his mind’s eye: the face of a young man with brilliant blue eyes and strawberry blond hair appears. His smile could light up the dead of night brighter than a full moon. He looks to be in his early twenties. His skin is warm and tan and the rest of him comes into focus, he’s a little on the thin side, but otherwise well-proportioned.

“Beautiful,” Arthur mutters reflexively. He immediately wonders how anything terrible enough to designate this boy as high risk could have happened to him. Something about his general aura is so warm and inviting. Yet Arthur has seen enough by now to know that beauty is hardly a guarantee of happiness or safety in a world that often resents innate joy.

The next facet reveals some basic details: despite having died in England, the boy is from America, his birthday is July fourth and he is twenty-five… or would have been, in just over three months or so. Without having to consult the stone, Arthur senses a very troubled childhood: loneliness, neglect, a desperation for anyone’s attention.

Tragic though it is, it’s nothing so striking as to put this boy on a mourner’s list.

As Arthur’s left thumb traverses the other facets, he sees more of the same. The loneliness grows and the desperation in proportion to it. The cycle seems to repeat itself over and over: loneliness, finding acceptance somewhere he ought not to have looked, things are good until suddenly they aren’t and the boy is removed from the situation… often violently, cruelly. Arthur experiences it each time: the sights, sounds, smells, the feelings. It does break his heart.

Sensing the feeling too, Toad moves to sit by Arthur’s leg, pressing himself against it and Arthur’s right hand finds its way behind his ear for scritches.

“Good boy, Toad,” Arthur says. At last, Arthur comes to the boy’s final moments. After all he’s seen, he doesn’t flinch as his third eye replays the full experience of a horrific beating in the pelting rain: distant shouts of ‘fucking freak’ and ‘faggot’ hit Arthur like bullets. Well. That explains some of it, he supposes. He feels every blunt boot as if it were battering his own ribs and the abject misery, the boy’s own conviction that this is deserved.

Then there is the boy, from his own perspective, vision going dark as he watches the raindrops fall on the pavement around him.

Arthur collapses next to Toad and buries his face in Toad’s soft, schorl fur. He doesn’t cry and he has certainly seen worse, but it never stops affecting him. He considers that to be a good thing and worries for the day he watches such a scene and is unaffected.

Toad whines sympathetically, highly attuned to Arthur, and flops into his lap so Arthur can curl around him.

The next facet shows the boy from the outside, eyes open and lifeless, body distorted and covered in blood and bruises.

Arthur sets the stone aside for a moment and simply cuddles Toad until he can breathe again. When he can, he picks up the stone and digs his thumbnail into the grooves in the facet containing the boy’s name:

Alfred F. Jones.

“Alfred,” Arthur murmurs. “Oh luv. You deserved none of that, to be sure.” He gently strokes the stone. “And yet… what on earth has happened to put you in my hand, hm?” Arthur brushes the facet that contains the time of death only to find it is obscured. That in itself is nothing to give pause, it has happened before. They who make the assignments are not omniscient, Arthur can tell from the scene of Alfred’s death that it is recent and, most likely as usual, to have been within the past twenty-four hours.

Rubbing that facet a little more reveals that an impromptu memorial has sprung up for Alfred—only hours after his body was taken away. While an outcast and unwelcome from most places, the local queer community has already begun vigil for him.

Arthur can't help but scoff just a little. “And yet where were you lot when they were beating him to death, hm?” he mutters. He can’t help but think that, as always, non-magical humans are relying far too much on magicians to do the heavy lifting and the community-building needs a bit more attention.

Still. The presence of such a memorial means that Alfred is already being mourned.

So why does his soul require a mourner?

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Ashton Loves Luke Masterlist

a new hope (ao3) - no_clue_who luke/ashton G, 1k

Summary: The lightest pitter-patter of rain on the window was the only background noise to Ashton’s cooking. The house was still dark and Luke, nor Petunia, had made an appearance outside of their bedroom. The gray skies and perpetual rain had been a welcoming break to the onslaught of heat over the past few weeks, Ashton enjoyed the quiet and calm of it all.

Ashton grabbed the popcorn and his lunch, sinking further down on the couch and pressing play on the remote.

or how not to watch a movie

Between the Raindrops (ao3) - no_clue_who T, 2k

Summary: It had been raining in LA for the past week and Luke was honestly sick of it. The dogs had been left in the house basically all day for almost a week and Luke’s mental state wasn’t doing much better, the winter had taken a toll on them. He missed the sun and after the band's trip to Australia, they had missed the sun even more.

Ashton was even getting hit by the weather too, he was sticking to his drumkit and had turned every light on in the house. The two of them got into a dumb, cooped up for too long, argument which ended in tears on Luke’s end and Ashton sleeping on the couch to find Luke lying on top of him halfway through the night. But Ashton kept the lights on as the whole house stayed dark for days and they couldn’t even fight about it.

But there was a break in the clouds that afternoon, the sun was shining on the wet grass outside and Luke was buzzing with joy as he looked out.

or how not to have a picnic and more

Bleeding heart (ao3) - orphan_account E, 35k

Summary: Time changes. Some would say that all of his wishes came true and in some way they did. That's why he stopped wishing upon the stars like he did when he was a naive child. Because all those wishes led him up to this moment in time. A time where Luke stopped wishing upon a star and instead felt himself become one. Each and every day he felt his mind leaving his body and float away. It's only a matter of time now until he's leaving the atmosphere and becomes a floating rock himself. A rock without its glow, just a cold hard rock that no one sees and cares about.

Or Luke's past relationship haunts his ever waking moment and everything comes crashing down during the highly anticipated Meet You There Tour.

Christmas Tree Farm (ao3) - no_clue_who T, 14k

Summary: Ashton walked into the apartment to see Luke pacing around the room, phone on his ear. Ashton waved to him as he slowly closed the door, he watched Luke climb up onto the couch and onto their coffee table. He put his bag down, and took off his coat and scarf, trying to ignore Luke’s conversation with his family.

“Yes mom, I’m going home,” Luke said, stepping down onto the floor again, “Ben and Jack won’t have to do everything-” Luke waved to Ashton once he saw him, “Yes mom, I won’t leave them alone to do anything. No, he, he isn’t sick, I won’t have to take care of him.”

Ashton walked into their kitchen and grabbed something, trying to remember who Luke would have taken care of. He turned around and saw Luke back on the table, one hand gesturing wildly.

“No mom I can’t,” Luke stopped talking and looked at Ashton, “He might be going away!”

domestic bliss (ao3) - sunshineash T, 8k

Summary: 5 times ashton irwin kicks luke hemmings out to sleep and 1 time he lets him stay

Enchanted (ao3) - RoseAmaranth G, 2k

Summary: After realizing that his bandmates never got to go to their senior formal, Ashton decides to set up a little something in his house. And that's totally the only reason he has for wanting to host a private formal in his home. Yep.

Hold Me Close (ao3) - LunaT2345 G, 5k

Summary: Five times Luke and Ashton took care of each other

Honeysuckle - @daydadahlias (cornflowerblue (daydadahlias)) luke/ashton, ashton/ofc E, 28k

Summary: Ashton realizes fairly soon into touring that remembering names isn’t worth his time.

or, it’s the 1970s, Ashton is a homophobic lead singer and Luke is the new gay roadie on tour with his band.

If I Said I Love You (ao3) - Anonymous G, 1k

Summary: If Ashton tells Luke he loves him,will Luke say he loves Ashton too?

Music to My Ears (ao3) - plushyluke E, 2k

Summary: ashton listens to recordings of luke moaning while he works out.

Nobody Gonna Love Me Better (ao3) - universalstark E, 1k

Summary: Luke just wants to show Ashton he’s capable of anything, anytime.

How lucky is he?

Somebody To Love (ao3) - heart_is_gonna_flatline T, 8k

Summary: Or, Luke needs someone to love but can't seem to find the right person. He always turns to his roommate and best friend Ashton for comfort. He meets Calum. Will he be the one for him?

Tastycake (ao3) - plushyluke E, 2k

Summary: luke is looking through old memories, and ashton needs to remind him that he'll always be the 'it girl' in his eyes.

You just want attention (ao3) - vasattope (rachelsheart) E, 3k

Summary: But it's not out of the blue because Ashton just saw that post. The one where Luke exhibits himself in just a coat and thigh-high leather boots in a suggestive enough pose. The same post that has thousands of likes by now. The one where Luke practically tells everyone to look at him, to desire him, to imagine having him like that. And he smiles all innocent and full of self-confidence while he does.

He's a whore.

Luke's gaze travels from Ashton's face to his hand, where he's still holding his phone. Then he notices the bulge in his pants and there it is. That smile. But this time in real life and for Ashton's eyes only.

"You like them?"