#and the ONLY other references to cars are all papyrus related. all of them.

[carlyraejepsans]

I was wondering if you had any thoughts about the car magazined Sans reads out at his station? It just won't leave my brain.

:''']

[sand-shark]

Rocks and steppes flashed behind the windows of the car. In three hours they will have to arrive in Moab. There they planned to rent rooms for the night and watch Utah over the weekend. Papyrus especially wanted to go to Arches National Park and Goblin Valley to take some pictures. Recently, she has become seriously interested in photography. The memory of both her phone and cloud storage was clogged. Papyrus, as a true perfectionist, spent all her energy and time to take pictures of the best quality. But the camera on her phone was not very adapted for professional photography. So, Sans gave her a professional camera as a gift for her recent birthday. It was definitely the tightest and warmest hug of his entire life… Sans himself wanted to get into the Moab Giants Dinosaur Museum. Papyrus, of course, he said that she could consider it a lesson in zoology and biology. Paps made a serious face and agreed, although she actually knew that Sans colloquially loves dinosaurs and her home schooling has nothing to do with it.

The road radio was broadcasting a local radio wave. Paps sometimes sang along to a song while studying a road atlas. Toby wrapped himself in an old plaid and slept between Sans and Papyrus in the front passenger seat. Fosky was spinning in the backseat, running from one window to another at every turn, trying to see the landscape outside the window. Sans was driving. The road was straight and there were no other cars on it. The skeleton briefly looked at the Papyrus. For the past few months, one topic has not let him go. He kept wanting to start a conversation, but he was constantly hindered by something. Now was the perfect moment. Sans was worried and continued to periodically shift his gaze to the girl.

"What is it, Red?" - Papyrus still felt that she was being looked at and was the first to start a conversation.

"It's all right, Poppy," shrugged Sans. Papyrus silently looked at him, and then turned back to the atlas.

She didn't ask any questions. She knew that any Sans closes in on himself is worth talking about a personal topic. And Papyrus was sure that Sans wanted to talk about something like that.

"But in general, I would like to discuss something..." added Sans uncertainly. Papyrus looked at him again and shrugged.

Sans sighed and decided to start from afar.

"I know I promised to teach you how to drive your car. And we constantly had no opportunity to start. So, I thought, since you already know the road rules and where the gas and brake are, then..."

"Will you let me drive!?" Papyrus exclaimed enthusiastically. The white lights in her eye sockets glowed with blue sparks.

"How about you drive us all weekend in Utah?" asked Sans. It seemed that Papyrus would break the windows in the car with his happy cry.

"Thank you, thank you, brother," the girl rushed at the skeleton. Sans froze in a tight embrace. Again. It's a word. Sans didn't know how to react properly to this "brother" from Papyrus. On the one hand, he was glad that Paps was accepting him. But on the other…

Ever since they met in the Void, he and Papyrus have been looking for their loved ones all the time. The girl always addressed him only as "Red", and he in turn called her "Poppy", like a poppy flower. They avoided the names of their brother and sister - it was strange and somewhat uncomfortable to address someone else, at the same time referring to their missing relative. Red and Poppy have been through a lot together: they found a way out of the Void, saved the remnants of survivors in their dimensions, got to the surface, survived the horror of their brother and sister really dead and there will be no more Restarts. It all brought them together - they became really close friends. Neither of them wanted to leave the other and so they decided to travel together on the surface. But even almost two years after those events, they still called each other by nicknames.

But relatively recently, Poppy started using "brother" in relation to Red. He didn't know how to feel about it. He understood that for all that time he had really become attached to this girl. But does he have the right to call her his sister? Wouldn't it look like he was looking for his brother's replacement in her? Isn't she looking for a replacement for her sister in it? Red was tormented by questions and he didn't know how to voice them. Poppy broke the long, awkward silence.

"What is it?"

"It's fine, just... just a little overwhelmed by your delight"The girl looked at the skeleton incredulously.

"No, there's something else bothering you."

Red glanced at Poppy briefly. He sighed.

"You called me brother..."

"So what? Does it bother you or don't you like it? I can stop if..."

"No, that's not the point. Simply. Why do you call me that? We're after all..." Red stammered.

"You're my brother."

Red looked at Poppy strangely. She just shrugged and continued.

"I know what you might think. No, I'm not looking for you to replace my sister. Sans will always remain my only older sister for me. Just like for you, Papyrus will remain a younger brother for you. I understand. But I still feel that you and I are close. Like brother and sister. I won't make you call me that. If you don't want that, then I'll stop addressing you that way.""But... I want to call you my sister."

"Then call me. In any universe we would not be, we will always be brothers or sisters."

Red shifted his gaze to the road. A gas station and a roadside cafe appeared ahead. The skeleton smiled.

"What do you think about hamburgers and fries, sister?"

"Take me some berry ice cream and lemonade, brother," the girl smiled in response.

The radio continued to play in the cabin as the car pulled up to the gas station…

I wrote this while I was watching Heads and Tails. Reboot" issue about Utah. There were such beautiful views and such an atmosphere that I couldn't resist and drew fem traveling together!Papyrus and fell!Sansa. And I also wrote this little passage

.

.

.

За стёклами автомобиля мелькали скалы и степи. Через три часа они должны будут приехать в Моаб. Там они планировали снять комнаты на ночь и за выход��ые посмотреть Юту. Папайрус особенно хотела в национальный парк «Арчес» и «Долину Гоблинов» что бы сделать несколько снимков. В последнее время она серьезно заинтересовалась фотографией. Память что ее телефона, что облачного хранилища была забита. Папайрус, как истинный перфекционист, тратила все силы и время что бы сделать снимки наилучшего качества. Но Камера на ее телефоне была не очень приспособлена под профессиональную фотосъёмку. Так что, Санс в качестве подарка на её недавний день рождения подарил ей профессиональную фотокамеру. Это определенно были самые крепкие и тёплые объятья за всю его жизнь… Сам Санс хотел попасть в музей динозавров «Moab Giants». Папайрус он конечно сказал, что она может считать это за урок зоологии и биологии. Папс сделала серьезное лицо и согласилась, хотя она на самом деле знала что Санс просторечно любит динозавров и ее домашнее обучение тут не причём.

Дорожное радио передавало местную радо-волну. Папс иногда подпевала какой либо песне, пока изучала дорожный атлас. Тоби завернулся в старый плед и спал между Сансом и Папайрус на переднем пассажирском сиденье. Фоски вертелся на заднем сидении, на каждом повороте перебегая от одного окна к другому, в попытке рассмотреть пейзаж за окном. Санс был за рулем. Дорога была прямой, и на ней не было других машин. Скелет ненадолго перевёл взгляд на Папайрус.

Последние несколько месяцев его не отпускала одна тема. Он все хотел начать разговор, но ему постоянно что мешало. Сейчас был вполне подходящий момент. Санс переживал и продолжал переодически переводить взгляд на девушку.

«Что такое, Рэд?» - Папайрус все же почувствовала что на неё смотрят и первой начала разговор.

«Все в порядке, Маковка» - пожал плечами Санс. Папайрус молча посмотрела на него, а после повернулась обратно к атласу.

Она не стала задавать вопросов. Она знала, что любой санс закрывается в себе стоит заговорить на личную тему. А Папайрус была уверена, что Санс хочет поговорить о чем-то подобном.

«Но вообще, я бы хотел кое-что обсудить…» - неуверенно добавил Санс.

Папайрус снова посмотрела на него и пожала плечами.

Санс вздохнул и решил начать издалека.

«Я знаю, что пообещал научить тебя водить тебя машину. И у нас постоянно не было возможности начать. Так что, я подумал, раз ты уже знаешь дорожные правила и где газ и тормоз, то…»

«Ты пустишь меня за руль!?» - восторженно воскликнула Папайрус. Белые огоньки в ее глазницах засветились синими искрами.

«Как насчёт того, что бы ты возила нас все выходные в Юте?» - спросил Санс. Казалось Папайрус своим счастливым криком разобьёт окна в машине.

«Спасибоспасибоспасибо, братец» - кинулась на скелета девушка. Санс застыл в крепких объятьях.

Опять. Это слово. Санс не знал как правильно реагировать на это «братец» от Папайрус. С одной стороны он был рад, что Папс принимает его. Но с другой…

С тех пор как они встретились в Пустоте, он и Папайрус все время искали своих близких. Девушка всегда обращалась к нему только как «Рэд», а он в свою очередь звал ее «Поппи», как цветок мака. Они избегали имён своих брата и сестры - было странно и в некотором роде некомфортно обращаться к кому то другому, в тоже самое время имея ввиду своего пропавшего родственника. Рэд и Поппи прошли через многое вместе: нашли выход из Пустоты, спасли остатки выживших в своих измерениях, выбрались на поверхность, пережили ужас того, то их брат и сестра действительно мертвы и никаких Перезапусков больше не будет. Это все сплотило их - они стали действительно близкими друзьями. Никто из них не хотел оставлять другого и поэтому они решили путешествовать вместе на поверхности. Но даже спустя почти два года с тех событий, они все ещё называли друг друга прозвищами.

Но относительно недавно, Поппи начала использовать в отношении Рэда «брат». Он не знал как относиться к этому. Он понимал, что за все то время он действительно привязался к этой девочке. Но имеет ли он право называть ее своей сестрой? Не будет ли это выглядеть как ��удто он ищет в ней замену своего брата? А она не ищет замены своей сестры в нем? Рэда мучали вопросы и он не знал как их озвучить. Поппи нарушила затянувшуюся неловкую тишину.

«Что такое?»

«Все нормально, просто… просто немного ошеломлён твоим восторгом»

Девушка недоверчивостей посмотрела на скелета.

«Нет, тебя что-то ещё беспокоит.»

Рэд мельком посмотрел на Поппи. Вздохнул.

«Ты назвала меня братом…»

«И что? Тебя это смущает или тебе не нравится? Я могу прекратить, если…»

«Нет, дело не в этом. Просто. Почему ты меня так называешь? Мы же ведь…» - запнулся Рэд.

«Ты мой брат.»

Рэд странно посмотрел на Поппи. Та просто пожала плечами и продолжила.

«Но… я хочу называть тебя своей сестрой.»

«Тогда называй. В какой либо вселенной мы не были бы, мы всегда будем братьями или сёстрами.»

Рэд перевёл взгляд на дорогу. Впереди показалась заправка и придорожное кафе. Скелет улыбнулся.

«Что думаешь насчёт гамбургеров и картошки фри, сестренка?»

«Возьми мне ещё и ягодное мороженное и лимонад, братец» - улыбнулась в ответ девушка.

В салоне продолжало играть радио, пока машина подъезжала к заправке…

Я написала это, пока смотрела «Орёл и Решка. Перезагрузка» выпуск про Юту. Там были такие красивые виды и такая атмосфера, что не удержалась и нарисовала путешествующих вместе fem!Папайрус и fell!Санса. А ещё написала этот маленький отрывок

[jamestrmtx]

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Twenty One | It's Showtime! (Part 2 of 3 | His POV)

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

Alternate Chapter Title(s):

Saint Behind the Glass** (Song Referenced)

or

The Extra Corny One With A Second Song Title Reference, Part 2½**

• • •

**This basically reveals Part 2 and 3 were meant to be Chapter Twenty-Two at one point (similar to how various chapters from the old version of FaiCom have been merged together here), buuut each chapter has essentially took place on different days in this version, so...

Let's keep that format, shall we?

• • •

Something's wrong.

That single sentence continues to repeat itself over and over as he makes it from Ruins to Hotland with the human, who remains quiet and distant during the entirety of the walk.

They're obligated to take off their jacket and reveal a sweaty tank top midway through, leaving their arms bare, these they try to hide from his line of sight by crossing them and glancing aside. He wonders why they do that at first, until he witnesses how hefty and soft-looking their arms are, a noticeable difference compared to the toned muscles he often saw from those who worked at the Royal Guard. Whether the human felt unconfident of their appearance or vulnerable as a cause of the nightmare he assumed to be related to, Sans wasn't completely sure of. Either way, he's aware it's best not to bring that up currently. The ups and downs to their health and body had shown greatly through these past few months, and though they were recovering little by little, they seemed to be facing some more frequent downs, as of late. Their call from a few days ago and the weak state they were in as they climbed into the back seat of Papyrus's car were just enough to make him fear there's something bigger going on.

"Shoulda worn shorts or somethin'," he comments, noticing they already seem to be affected by the heat. Frisk ventured through a variety of climates with no trouble at all, yet their parent was showing signs of fatigue in their body within a few minutes into their walk through Hotland. The place had grown about twice as hot since he last visited, though he doubts the human will believe him if he were to say that out of nowhere. They could likely take it as him trying to console them for their inability to be stronger than him; or their own child, for that matter -- someone meant to see them as a role model rather than a frail and dependent person. "Wanna borrow some of mine?"

The human stares at him like he's made the most absurd suggestion there is, similar to that of mixing water with cereal or cooking steak in a toaster. "I swear, you test your luck with me a little too hard sometimes."

"I mean it, though."

"...We're not even dating yet."

"Yet," he says, mirth in his tone. "As in, there's still a possibility for us to become official?"

"Oh, stop it." They frown and fumble with the keys hanging from their satchel; he notices their nails are stubby, and bits of dried blood can be seen at the corners of plenty. "I… I don't know when you're being serious with me or not anymore."

"I meant that, too," he states, chuckling. "Would it be late if I told you I got that punch at the bar, 'cuz I had my head way in the clouds -- thinkin' about you?"

Sans receives no comment or reaction other than (Y/N) looking elsewhere and moving aside to walk a bit further from where he's at.

As a consequence, he takes a step closer, catches them with a 'hey', and reaches for their cheek when they look down at him. "...What's the matter? Your face's burnin'."

"We're in Hotland," they retort, rolling their eyes and brushing his hand away. "Ice's frozen. Water's wet. The sun's scorching-"

"-Just like you."

They walk off again, albeit with some struggle now that the heat of Hotland has combined with their embarrassment.

"And I'm not gonna wear your shorts. It would be a waste of time for me to take a break just because of some heat -- I'm not weak."

"Not sayin' you are. Just sayin' I don't want you to die from a heatstroke."

"Either way, I overlooked my situation, and I failed to prepare for it." A solemn look falls on their face, coupled with a firm posture. "I should've kept in mind my health, so it wouldn't be right for you to try redeeming my lack of preparedness. I should've asked Frisk or you more about this." They take in a breath and sigh it out. "...even if you can adapt to it just fine, and even if Frisk didn't have as much trouble to adjust as me."

Hot-headed and fiery might just be the finest ways to describe the human's current attitude, yet he very well knows making another joke about their temper -- combined with their hotness and the place they're currently at -- would be far too much. It wouldn't surprise him if they decided to call off the tour halfway through. Patience wasn't quite their main trait, though they practiced a sufficient amount of tolerance when it came to confronting his constant coquetry for the duration of those two months one of their coworkers mentioned in the chat; he can hardly believe it's been that long, and even less how close he was to kiss them that one time on the couch. More than sixty days of dealing with his presence had to be considered an achievement of some sort, even if their feelings were mutual. The monster's completely aware of how tiring and exasperating he can be on the often occasion, so he finds it best to start rationing how much he can be at once; too much of something's rarely ever good or effective, after all.

"But... Alright. Risking it would only make it worse, either way." Their gaze turns soft and they concede with a quiet huff. "Wouldn't we have to go allll the way back, though?"

"Not exactly," he replies, winking.

Sans proceeds to unzip his jacket and reveal a folded bundle of clothing underneath it.

"I know you can be stubborn sometimes, so I came prepared." He turns it over and adds, "There's a full set of clothes there, in case ya wanna freshen up at Met's old hotel before we keep goin'." His hands brush with theirs as they take the clothing from him. "It's been abandoned for a short while now, but I'm pretty sure the water's still runnin' well, for the most part." His gaze falls on their belongings again, and he gives into a cheekier grin as he continues with, "I've noticed somethin' about you, by the way."

"And what would that be?" they ask, mouth straight and tone wary.

He observes the satchel again -- the more-heavy-than-it-looks bag they almost always seemed to carry along with them, be it for something as typical as their job to something as simple as going out for a walk. What made it odd was knowing what contents could be found inside, these he has a vague recollection from when he had no other choice but to organize their bag after having gone through it when they fainted at the bus. Sans can still remember having rummaged through layers of Frisk's clothing, school supplies, and even a few monster-aimed medicines before setting the first aid kit back to its rightful place. The only things he could recall to be truly theirs were their cellphone, wallet, keys, and eyeglasses case. Going back to that memory makes him wonder -- were their priorities in the format of a list -- what number they would label themself with.

"You usually carry stuff in that bag meant for other people -- not you." He eyes the pocket with a few contents poking out from it. "...Or am I Ied to believe that bright pink Husky hairpin's yours?"

The human looks confused for a moment, until their eyes cast down at their bag and assess the pocket his gaze is most focused on. Then, they come across one of the smaller ones, where the mentioned accessory stays clipped to. "It- It's not! That's just in case Frisk needs it." They take it and hide it away in one of the bigger, emptier pockets. "It's their favourite hairpin, and they use it more often now that their hair's getting longer."

"But they ain't here right now."

"Yes, but what if they need it later -- when I go pick them up?"

He can barely contain the joy their overly defensive expression brings upon his face.

Perhaps it's pure projection or coincidence, but they appear to resemble the same dog he mentioned with the stance they hold, not threatening in the slightest and charming at best, but still ready to attack -- figuratively, of course. Hearty laughter escapes him, though he covers it up with a harrumph. "I'm surprised you don't carry the whole house with you, at this point."

"It doesn't hurt to be prepared."

"If only you applied that thought for you, too."

They swat his skull with their hand and let out a chuckle. "Don't nag me, teddy bear." Nonetheless, a more serious look overcomes them as they sigh. "You're right, though." With how quiet it gets and how long that pause lasts, it appears as if they've become lost in their thoughts. "Not only did the social worker suggest it, but it's not fair for me to keep bothering you or anyone else because of my..." They scratch their throat and grin. "...consistently questionable life choices."

"Is that a promise I'm hearin'?"

"A big and definite one."

• • •

Half-open windows help bring some clear air into the stuffy room, as does the air conditioner set to the coldest temperature possible by lessening the dryness and heat of the wind. It's all paired up with the scents of the fresh cinnabunnies and iced coffee he carries in some paper bags, food he bought at Snowdin while the human showered. Sans sets the meal by the nightstand, covers it up with some aluminum foil, and -- finally -- wipes a layer of dirt away from the mirrored dresser before assembling some toiletries on it. Then, he sits down in bed, closes his eye sockets, and waits. The sounds of his soul beating, the breeze blowing the curtains, and the shower running are the only melodies to take over the quiet of the hotel. Turning on the radio by the nightstand further assists those noises and aids in transforming the room into a more welcoming and cozy spot, overall. The last thing on his mental to-do list is to wait some more by checking his phone and updating himself on any new messages, some few from (Y/N)'s coworkers wishing him luck. A grin's inevitable as he reads through these a second time.

The shower turning off and a door unlocking are the next changes he notices, along with the radio switching from music to news.

Sans feels his breath tremble when the human steps out. They're dressed to the nines despite their attire being composed of the simplest clothing possible: a new pair of his below-the-knee shorts, these fitting slightly above theirs as a result of their taller height; plus one of his baggiest shirts, now almost at belly button length for the same reason as the first piece. What makes such a common attire seem so complex and thought-out is how well they've adjusted it to their figure; it's either that, or he has his head in the clouds again. Regardless, they knew how to fix an outfit, and it wasn't that of much surprise if he compared it to the time they pulled the same trick when borrowing some sleepwear from Toriel's wardrobe.

Or, then again…

He was slowly becoming infatuated with them and couldn't avoid finding them attractive -- no matter the clothing worn.

At the sight of (Y/N) having their back turned to him while they perform their finishing touches by the dresser, he approaches them as quietly as he can, yet he lets himself be seen halfway with the reminder of the nightmare they had and how startled they could likely be if he tried anything extreme. He goes to hug them from behind when they catch him getting closer, though they say and do nothing in response. Still, his expectations of no retaliation are promptly shattered as they turn around, grab his hands, and twirl him once, preventing the hug.

"Nice try, teddy bear," they comment, smiling. "Do try again next time." They wink.

It's a knockout when the radio decides to switch back to music, inspiring in them what he assumes is an urge to take their current hold on him to lead him into an impromptu dance.

"So… You want to get flirty with me again?" they ask, grabbing his hands tight as they sway him left and right at a rhythmic but easy motion. "Then you've got to handle me flirting back." One hand holds his left one up while the other places his right one on their waist. Theirs then falls on his shoulder when he keeps his where they placed it at, this one he has trouble keeping still with how close he is to touch their skin, part of their waist now more exposed with their movements, showing the “love handles” he'd teased them about since he first flirted with them. A subtle but no less playful smile stretches their lips; their eyes soften, though mischief flares in their gaze. "I've made the decision to trust you," they comment, twirling him around once more. "So if you'd like us to be official, we can, but…" Their steps slow down as they trail off in their thoughts.

He treads in with, "You need to wait until the CPS thing's over with, right?"

They nod. "Unfortunately."

Their sorrow stays brief and their playfulness returns, replacing their momentary frown for yet another smile. "My memory might be a bit bad though, as I've never heard you say you like me before." To further increment the effects of their teasing, their lips fall close to his teeth but end up lower, kissing his jaw instead. "...In other words," they add, hands locking firm around his neck and bringing him closer to them. "Speak now, or forever hold your peace."

Sans feels his face turn about as warm as theirs felt, and he can tell they've noticed, based on the way their face lingers close to his -- waiting.

"...I like you," he says, far too quiet to be labeled anything but a murmur; even a thought could be considered louder than his words.

They land another kiss, much closer to his teeth. "Couldn't hear you."

"I like you, puddin'," he repeats, stronger this time. "Can you, uh… do that again, though? It felt nice."

They nod, lean in further, and press yet another kiss to his face. "Gladly."

With that, the human carries on with the dance. They sway him left and right and perform small circles across the hotel room, adding a twirl every few seconds -- sometimes with them taking the lead, and vice versa. "I like you, too, Serif." Despite the meaning and weight of their words, a frown arrives on their face. "But…" They hesitate. "I still have some doubts, and I think that dream I had confirmed that."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

A few seconds of silence remain and the song ends, dropping tension in the room.

"Not now, but… But maybe later?" They let him go. "If possible, I'd like to talk at the Judgment Hall -- where you last worked before leaving the Underground."

Despite his best efforts, the skeleton can't avoid commenting, "Want me to judge how good you look right now?"

The human sighs, loud and long. "...Babe?"

"Yeah?"

"Stop."

He lets out a resounding, jovial laugh at that.

Their tone's genuinely sad, as so's their expression.

They look a hundred and ten percent done with him, though they still push forward with a, "Be serious for a moment, please. I… I really mean it, and that dream I had…" Demurral returns to their words. "It involved one of my fears about Frisk's safety, and well…" They take a deep, shaky breath. "A- And my own safety when I'm around you."

The severity of their statement dawns on him, and his view distorts itself from an attractive human to a vulnerable one standing in front of him, weak and poorly prepared -- completely alone with him in a large, abandoned, and dilapidated hotel. They were easy prey from the viewpoint of an Underground Sentry. He could easily take them captive with their current state of health and their lack of knowledge in combat. Were he still assigned to that job, had (Y/N) fallen in Frisk's stead, and were finding that seventh soul still a priority, he could just as easily inform every other member of the Royal Guard to bring the human down to the Monster King's bidding. Unlike Frisk, they had little to no determination left in their soul; a quick and direct intervention meant danger for them.

And had he still that same mindset to this day, his agreement with Asgore to serve and protect (Y/N) would be something he could break -- something simple to deal with if he framed the blame on someone else. He could just as likely tolerate some jail time for failing to fulfill his part of that job with no protest. The only real obstacle would be (Y/N)'s child themself, knowing they were likely going to guard and care for their parent unconditionally. But even then, they were still alone with him presently; in other words, he could cover up any potential evidence of him being a culprit with time to spare. Perhaps Frisk was the hero of the story, but (Y/N) was still an NPC -- someone easy to get rid of with the right amount of caution and preparedness.

"You mentioned something about Karma before, and well…" They break the silence and snap him out of those thoughts. "I've made a lot of bad choices and awful mistakes, so that makes me wonder if, m- maybe…" Tears form in their eyes as they breathe in -- once, then twice. "If maybe I don't deserve any of this kindness or forgiveness that I've been getting recently, and… And that maybe I don't belong in this story, y'know? Frisk has done all the work here so far, and they've overcome plenty of obstacles, too. Meanwhile, I- I'm a weak, ill person with a dead-end job -- trying to keep a holey row boat afloat with napkins." They let out a shaky sigh and fail at a smile. "I get that you like me, and I can't deny or ignore my own feelings for you, but I'm… I'm an unworthy, ungrateful person. We've known each other for barely half a year. Th- There's stuff you don't know about me yet -- just as I don't know about you."

Their face shines with tears, these they can't bring themself to stop with how many pour down, and how fast these are. "I've already troubled and hurt Frisk enough as it is, and I've... I've troubled well-meaning family like Brenda just as much with my mistakes." They cover their face as they sit down in bed, trying to contain their sorrow. "...And then I have these awful, intrusive thoughts that seep in whenever I think I'm doing better. I don't want to bring trouble to you or any other monsters, either, but reminding myself of my past worsens these feelings, kn- knowing I might screw up again and again and again."

Feeling the situation's getting too rough not to establish some control over it, Sans sits down with them and grabs their wrists, tugging at these for them to look down at him.

Fear reaches their gaze as they stare at his irises, completely overcoming their bright and cheerful attitude from earlier.

"Breathe," he says, voice low as he loosens his grip on their wrists -- at the feeling of them shaking almost violently under his hold. "We'll go to the Hall in a few. But, first... I'm gonna need you to calm down a lil' more." He lets go.

They nod, close their eyes, and let a few more tears drift down before he dries the rest of these off with the sleeve of his jacket. "...Alright."

When they shudder, sniffle, and recover some sense of tranquility, they look at him again and smile. "And thank you for showing me patience."

He smiles back and brings them in for a hug -- long, tight, and strong. "That I've got plenty of, puddin'."

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[brisfanfictions]

Chapter One: Meeting Jacksepticeye [JSE]

“Well that does it for this episode of Reading Your Comments. If you liked it, PUNCH that like button in the face, LIKE A BOSS! Aaand high fives all around!” A young man, with a fluff of bright green hair atop his head and a sweatshirt on, screamed in an Irish accent. He fake punched the camera, raising his fists and bringing them back down. Then he got close to the microphone, staring right into the camera for his last line. Next he gave two high fives to the sides of the camera. “But thank you guys and I will see all you dudes… IN THE NEXT VIDEOOO!” He pointed towards the camera and threw his hands up to the heavens. After that, the ending portion of the video appeared. Signaling that the YouTube video ended.

An American blonde woman, of about twenty years old, cried along with him. She was wearing a black shirt with a white skull on it and black and red skinny jeans from Hot Topic. Her accessories were a locket with a picture of her mother. Her mother had died from alcohol poisoning and taking pills, prescribed ones, with them.

She had grown up without her mother and her father (him walking out on her mother when she was still in the womb) taking care of her. Her aunt and uncle flew from Ireland, her father being an immigrant from the drunken nation and her aunt being the sister of her horrid father, to take care of her. And they did an amazing job in raising her.

“Rose?” Landon, the bond’s best friend from childhood, softly called to her. Back from fantasy land. He had a smile on his face. “Why do you keep watching that guy?”

Landon had known all about her bad childhood, but has always been there for her. But, she doesn’t seem to think of him as something more. Like he has, for her, since high school.

“Because he’s sooo cute and handsome and downright adorable,” Rose joked. Having pulled out her earbuds before Landon started talking, since the YouTube video ended. Then she turned serious. “Actually, it’s because he’s helped me through high school. He’s made me smile and laugh. And he makes me feel better about myself.”

Landon remained quiet, bringing his eyes back on the road. And there was his problem. She had the fantasy that she would actually get to meet him and, possibly, start dating the Irish man. He knows that she’s been dying to see part of her homeland since she was only twelve.

He was driving her to a gaming award show where that Irish dude will be co-hosting with Rachel "Seltzer" Quirico. She wanted to go because he will be there. She’s hoping to give him the painting that she’s been working on, which is in the backseat because of how big it is. She’s been working on it since sophomore year; since she discovered him. The picture was of him and his little buddy, Septiceye Sam, as well as his Korean girlfriend.

Rose was excited to leave the boring state of Pennsylvania to go to Texas. She has signed up a Guest Pass for herself and for her best friend. She couldn’t wait to meet her YouTube Idol. She really couldn’t stop bouncing in the passenger seat of his car. They could play games with Seán. Then they could go buy some games for Seán. And even buy some merchandise for Seán.

Yeah… I might have a problem, but I don’t care. I want to make Seán as happy as I can.

Because she saw in his videos that’s he’s becoming more and more reserved. Which she found odd, since he likes to remain an open book.

---------

“Landon,” Rose softly cooed. She had her Guest Pass ready to be scanned. She had parked the car where the car usher tole her to. “We’re heeere.”

Landon, who was sleeping in the passenger seat after switching with Rose for the fifth time. With only two people, they had to keep switching to drive. Which gave the other a chance to nap.

“Hmm?” He tiredly mumbled. Automatically nuzzling back into the blanket he brought.

“Get up!” She yelled in her obnoxiously, loud Irish-like voice. Just to wake him up. And not caring if people stared.

“What?!” He cried, snapping himself awake. He shot her a glare as he quickly woke up.

She smiled oh-so-sweetly. Like an angel that fell down from Heaven.

“We’re here,” she innocently told him. Then she got out of the car, going to retrieve the finished painting that was covered with a random green blanket. She had ironed on many things that she found, or made, related to Seán’s channel. So he could use it whenever possible. “And don’t forget your Guest Pass. Pull it up while we’re walking towards the hotel.”

She happily held the pretty painting and hurried to go inside. Landon following close behind his best friend. He had pulled out his phone and clicked on the email that he received about his Guest Pass.

As she was hurrying by, there was a yellow taxi in front of the hotel. Inside that taxi was the Irish man that Rose adored oh-so-much.

Seán had spotted the beautiful blonde woman with the handsome brunet man following her. He could see the blonde kind of struggling with the huge blanket. Curious to see what was underneath. Since the blanket had to do with his YouTube channel, jacksepticeye.

He pulled out the money he needed to pay his taxi fare. In U.S. dollars. Then he climbed out, got out his luggage and went towards the blonde and brunet to see if she needed any help.

However, he was swamped by his female, and the gay, fans. He was very surprised, but happy to make them happy. A lot of them asked him to do his Papyrus and Sans voice.

Rose wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings. She was just excited to play some games and, hopefully, run into Seán before the show started.

Once Seán had signed things for everyone, he looked around for the blonde haired woman. However, he was unable to find her. He sighed, going inside to check into his room.

Rose stopped towards a bench to put her painting on it and sit down. Since her friend had went to the bathroom.

Her eyes were scanning the big lobby area. Looking for Seán.

Then her eyes widened upon seeing him at the front desk. Quickly grabbing her painting again, she hurried over to him.

“Seán!” She cried in excitement. Her voice being louder than anyone’s.

The green and brunet haired man spun around when he heard his name being called. His light, baby blue eyes looking on another set of baby blue eyes. His own looked like dinner plates.

It’s the girl from before. She is very beautiful. That guy must be one lucky fella.

He smiled at her when she stood next to him. The painting leaning against the counter.

She eagerly wrapped her arms around the five foot nine inch man in front of her. Her head reaching his shoulder.

He hugged her back with a small chuckle.

“You seem to know my name, young laddy,” he spoke. “But, I don’t know yers.”

She pulled away to introduce herself. Her hand held out towards him for a handshake.

“I’m Rosalie,” she told him. “But, I’m mostly referred to as ‘Rose’.”

He politely shook her hand. Then kissed her knuckles.

“It’s very nice to meetcha, Rose,” he said. His eyes turned to the covered painting. “And what is this?”

Her eyes followed his and giggled. She was blushing a bit from him kissing her knuckles.

“This is your gift. I’d like to show it ot you in private. I don’t want anyone to steal my idea.”

He nodded in understanding.

“I just checked in. Let’s go up to my room.”

He begun to head to the elevators.

She was close behind, holding the painting. She was more than eager to unveil her masterpiece to him.

Little did she know, a jealous Landon was behind them. But, not close enough to be detected.

===============

Previously {BEGINNING}

Next

[ollie-oxen-free]

What about spicyhoney, with Fell getting sick and being an asshole about taking care of himself?

i have done myself a sad, friend.

Stretch woke from a fitful sleep to the sound of the hospital door clicking shut. He sat up, stretching the kinks from his hunched over position as he swiped a hand down his face, with a small sigh. Everything about the rooms were stiff, all hard edges and sterile equipment. The smell of cleaning supplies was sure to make him nauseous for months to come. Maybe he would be able to use that as an excuse to get out of cleaning?

He huffed out a small laugh, even as the pang of pain in his chest grew at the thought. No, Blue wouldn’t allow any excuse to stop him from keeping the house in perfect order.

Not when cleaning was a way of stress relief for him.

Stretch looked to his right out of the window of the hospital, over the parking lot with a vast array of cars and the small lake in the distance. The walls of the building curved inwards, coming into view and showing window after window of rooms and hallways. It was a nice hospital. Stretch was sick and tired of looking at it.

His gaze flickered around the room, moving over the stiff pillows, the various paintings, and the sterile white atmosphere, before settling on the bed.

The empty bed.

He sat up, eyes scanning the room as he searched for Fell. The bathroom was open and empty, so there was no chance of him being in there, and there was no room for him to be hiding anywhere.

Stretch stood, the magic that was running through his body rushing to his head and making him dizzy at the quick motion, moving to the door of the room and opening it. God, Red would fucking kill him if he didn’t keep an eye on Fell. He glanced down both sides of the hallway, running his hand over his skull with a dull scrape of bone, before turning down the right, jogging down the way. He quickened his pace when he saw Fell shambling down the hall, one arm shaking as he supported himself against the wall, the other holding a cracked, weak attack that he was using as a cane.

Stretch winced, trotting forward. The footsteps echoed in the hall loud enough for Fell to hear him, his skull turning to look behind himself, sockets narrowing before he tried to move faster. Stretch came up beside him, forcing himself not to look down and to keep the wince off his face at the sweat covering his skull in a dull sheen. They were skeletons, of course, but Fell was paler than normal, jaw clenched tight in an effort to keep his breathing slow.

“So,” he started, shoving his hands deep in his hoodie to hide the gentle shaking, “decided to go for a walk?”

Fell didn’t answer.

“Yeah, I can’t really blame you. It’s kinda stuffy in there. The windows don’t open either.”

The other let out a low curse as he leaned further against the wall, stopping and closing his sockets for a second before he started up again.

“Why don’t we go back to the room?” The growl the other directed at him was weak. He gave a weak laugh. “Sorry, you just look bone tired.”

A nurse walked out of a nearby room, readjusting the stethoscope around his neck as he shut the door quietly behind him. The human’s eyes widened when he saw them making their way down the hallway before his expression slipped into something more exasperated. Stretch could relate.

“Mister Aster, you haven’t recovered enough to-”

Stretch held out a hand, waving him off with a pained grin. “Can we, uh, get a wheelchair? Just to borrow.”

The nurse pursed his lips before letting out a sigh, nodding as he turned to make his way down the hall. Fell waited until he was out of earshot to turn to him with a growl. “I don’t need any help.”

Stretch dragged a hand down his face, the feeling of annoyance due to the other being a stubborn asshole more than welcome compared to the constant worry that sat like a rock in his nonexistent stomach. “You can barely stand.”

“But I’m managing,” he hissed, before trying to hobble another step forward. The attack he was using as a crutch snapped under the weight, pitching him forward and making Stretch have to dip to grab him and make sure that he didn’t slam against the floor.

“You’re literally missing a fucking leg.” Fell chose not to respond to that either. The sheen of sweat that covered his bones was cold, and as he wrapped an arm around the other’s waist he felt a faint tremor across his bones. He tried not to flinch away at the aura of sickness that surrounded the other’s form, helping him stand up until he could support himself on his own against the wall.

The nurse brought out the wheelchair then, rolling it up beside them and standing there expectantly. Stretch turned his head to look at Fell, who was studiously avoiding eye contact with both of them. His forehead was pressed against his forearm as he used the wall for support, and with a heavy sigh he pushed himself away, grabbing the armrest of the wheelchair and sitting down without a word.

Stretch tried not to, he really did, but even with trying he couldn’t stop his eyes from being drawn to where the loose sweatpants the other wore hung limp, without bone to support them. He’d seen enough before to know that the end of the bone was amputated smoothly, but that the veins of dark (too dark) red magic were still embedded within his tibia and fibula. Forcing his eyes away, he moved over behind the wheelchair and grabbed the handles, starting to push it down the hall. When they reached the elevator he pressed the call button, wheeling the other in and hitting the floor that he knew had an entrance out to the small park area.

“You’d recover faster if you didn’t push yourself so hard.”

The elevator starting moving down, making him shut his eyes and take a breath to adjust to the motions before he opened them once more as they slowed. The doors slid open with a cheery ding, and Stretch wheeled the other out of the elevator, nodding with a small smile at the group of humans and monsters waiting for the ride up.

It was sunny out when they moved into the small yard, a fountain spout inside of the small pond to the left making the sound of rushing water fill the area. Birds were resting in the branches of the trees, chirping their songs as they flew back and forth between roosting and picking at the few feeders that were hanging around. The atmosphere was peaceful: a wonderful reprieve from the beeps of machinery and the canned laughter from one of the two channels they had on the televisions.

He moved them up to a bench just in front of the pond, in the shade of the tree, helping Fell stand and move to sit on it before taking his place beside him. The wheelchair was sitting just to the side of the bench, and with a glare and a particularly forceful shove, Fell knocked it over, the wheelchair landing on its side and folding up. He sighed.

“Well, great. Now I have to pick that up.” In actuality, he did the exact opposite of that, leaning back on the bench and staring at where the sun reflected on the water. “...How are you doing?” He asked after a pause.

Fell sighed, crossing his arms over the thin hospital shirt he had on and glaring down at the borrowed sweatpants. “I’ll live.”

Stretch would have laughed had it not been for the uncertainty of that itself. As it was, he just managed a smile that was more of a wince, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “I… I’m serious.”

The grip that Fell had on his shirt obviously tightened as he tilted his head back, facing the sky. “What do you want to hear,” he demanded, the forcefulness of the tone shrouded by sickness but still entirely Fell, “that I’ll live for now? You want the truth? I’m sick and fucking tired of being in this hospital, I’m tired of the tests that don’t reveal anything, I’m tired of the medicine that’s supposed to help but is just making me weaker and doing nothing, I’m tired of the fucking medical interventions,” he spat that part, gesturing roughly at his amputated leg, “that are only staving off the inevitable-

“I’m tired of lying in that damned bed and looking around me and constantly being reminded of the fact that I’m slowly going to dust, piece by piece, and that there’s not a damn thing that anyone can do to stop it!”

He started coughing once he had finished, wet hacks filling the air, and Stretch reached a hand over to rub his back lightly as the fit faded into scratchy breaths. Fell sat up, coughing subsided for the moment, but stretch didn’t remove his hand. He chose not to look at the other for the moment, keeping his gaze anywhere else.

And then Fell sighed, shoulders slumping underneath his hand, the movement making him look over to the other. His face was shoved in his hands, breathing slow and steady. His knuckles were cracked and scarred.

Fell’s voice was soft as he continued to speak. Not resigned, not in any way, but weary. “There’s not a cure for Duster’s syndrome. You know that.”

“Yeah,” he whispered back, voice thick and hoarse. What else could he say?

Fell brought his hands down from his face, bringing one arm down to tug up the leg of the pants to look at where his foot had once been, cut off just above the ankle. The two bones hung in the air, the sawed off ends only a hair’s breadth apart. As if realizing just what he was doing, Fell forced his gaze to the side, brow furrowed and expression annoyed, like the lack of a leg was just a minor inconvenience.

With how stubborn he was, that much was true.

“Everyone is counting down the days until I leave remission. It might not even happen again. But at this point I’m less ‘Papyrus’ and more of a walking statistic.”

Stretch swallowed, reaching an arm around his shoulders. Fell tensed before letting out a heavy sigh, leaning back and accepting the embrace. “Actually,” he started, “I think a majority of us refer to you as ‘Fell.’”

The glare that he received was worth being shouldered away in fond annoyance. “And look on the bright side: you can get a robotic foot!”

Fell stood, flipping him off before moving towards the fallen wheelchair, using the bench as support. “I fucking hate you.”

“Do you think we can hook up a wifi hotspot in your ankle?”

Fell shot him a glare, using one arm for balance as he struggled with the other to pick up the chair. He fumbled, and then cursed, sitting back down on the edge of the bench and putting more effort into it. “Where’s that fucking nurse when you need him?”

Stretch laughed, fading off into a weak chuckle as he stood, moving over to help. “Heh. Sorry.”

Fell rolled his eyes, his bones tinted gray and sweat still slicking his skull, as he moved into the chair. “Don’t be. It’s preferable to most other reactions to this.”

The heaviness wasn’t entirely gone when they left the park area, but it was somehow lighter. Fell was stubborn; he was a fighter. It wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, he was sure of it.

He wheeled the other back to the room with a sigh. “Okay, but what if the robot foot shot lasers?”

“...That would be acceptable.”

[roidespd-blog]

Chapter Six : L AS IN LESBIAN

THE STORY OF SAPPHO OF LESBOS

Sappho (630–570 BC) was a Greek poetess from the island of Lesbos, located in the northeastern Aegan Sea. Sappho (or as some would call her “The Tenth Muse” or “The Poetess”) was known for her lyric poetry, usually written to be sung while accompanied by a lyre. Over the centuries, most of Sappho’s poetry was lost, except for one complete poem :

ODE TO APHRODITE Iridescent-throned Aphrodite, deathless Child of Zeus, wile-weaver, I now implore you, Don’t — I beg you, Lady — with pains and torments Crush down my spirit,

But before if ever you’ve heard my pleadings Then return, as once when you left your father’s Golden house; you yoked to your shining car your Wing-whirring sparrows

Skimming down the paths of the sky’s bright ether On they brought you over the earth’s black bosom, Swiftly — then you stood with a sudden brilliance, Goddess, before me;

Deathless face alight with your smile, you asked me What I suffered, who was my cause of anguish, What would ease the pain of my frantic mind, and Why had I called you

To my side: “And whom should Persuasion summon Here, to soothe the sting of your passion this time? Who is now abusing you, Sappho? Who is Treating you cruelly?

Now she runs away, but she’ll soon pursue you; Gifts she now rejects — soon enough she’ll give them; Now she doesn’t love you, but soon her heart will Burn, though unwilling.

Come to me once more, and abate my torment; Take the bitter care from my mind, and give me All I long for; Lady, in all my battles Fight as my comrade.

Though not much is known of Sappho’s life, her work speaks of a great admiration and fascination for the beauty of women. Fragmented biography written on papyrus states that Sappho was accused by some of being “irregular in her ways and a woman-lover” but it does not prove anything at all. It cannot be denied that the remaining 650 lines from her body of work portray homoerotic feelings. The conclusion of this is nobody knows Sappho’s life. That didn’t stop them from originated the word Lesbian from her place of origin.

ETY-HOMO-LOGY

The term Lesbianism, to describe erotic relations between women, had been documented as early as 1870. By 1890, the term Lesbian was used in a medical dictionary. Synonyms from the early 20th century include invert (which seems to be the equivalent of our “butch” term), homosexual and… sapphist.

Interestingly, far less was written by medical professionals about lesbianism as it was viewed as a lesser problem than male homosexuality. In some cases, it was not acknowledged to exist at all. We could talk about the works of sexologists Ebing (Germany) and Ellis (UK) but they believed a woman’s attraction to another woman could be either medically reversed or vanish after the woman had experiences marriage and a “practical life”. They also indicated that homosexual men has behaviors that should not be considered a criminal vice. So.. Yeah ? Misogyny wins ?

LESBIANISM AS AN IDENTITY

As a cis gay man with no rights to give a personal opinion to what is and isn’t considered lesbianism, please acknowledge I’m only reporting previous theories and opinions that were stated by more or less qualified people than me.

It seems that the act of sexual relationships between two women is still up for debate as to be defined as lesbianism. According to feminist writer Naomi McCormick, Lesbianism was mostly constructed by men, whose primary indicator of lesbian sexual orientation is sexual experience with other women. As I believe sexuality is a spectrum and not a series of boxes to check, I would tend to agree with that statement. But I will not give more of an opinion on the subject. She also stated that emotional, mental and ideological connections between women are as important or more so than the genital. As the definition of lesbianism was clearly unfocused depending on who you were talking to, and the rise of feminism in the second part of the 20th century, women felt safer claiming to be more sexually adventurous, allowing them to be feel more accepted by the male gaze. In the 1980s, a significant movement rejected the sexualization of lesbianism which became part of a heated controversy called the feminist sex wars. The movement is built to counter the idea that women is long-term relationships with other women were having less sexual contact that heterosexual or homosexual male couples, calling this “Lesbian Bed Death”.

The idea is that a woman that does not identify her sexual feelings toward persons of her sex as lesbianism and does not engage if long-term emotional attachment will keep on being sexually viable in the eyes of society. Using the word “lesbianism” as a death sentence on your sex life, putting you right in the category of asexual beings. Misogyny wins again ?

In direct consequence with the male gaze and the construction of the word lesbianism by male minds, homosexual women from western culture often adopted lesbianism as an identity itself. As most people are taught that heterosexuality is an innate quality in all people, women who realize her romantic and sexual attraction to other women go through an ‘existential crisis’. The identity of a lesbian, challenging what society had offered in stereotypes about homosexuals and learning to function within a homosexual subculture. From that perspective came the stereotypes that were naturally reused in the media as to make the whole thing comprehensible to heterosexuals with no capacity for nuances.

STERE-HO-TYPES

First, let’s talk about what other dumb people can think about a lesbian : 1. Lesbians just haven’t been with the right guy yet — There is no right guy. 2. Men molested them as children and turned them into lesbians — sexual identity cannot be changed to any events whatsoever. And why do you have to associate that to tragedy ? 3. In every lesbian couple, one has to be the man — Men are useless most of the time. You don’t need your idea of a man. 4. Lesbian hate men — I don’t think they do. But do men hate lesbians ? The idea of, no. Them ? Probably a very emasculating thought. 5. It’s not real sex if there’s no penis — you clearly never had good oral sex in your life. 6. All lesbians use strap-ons/No lesbians use strap-ons — there are contradictory reports. Do that I say the fuck do you care ? It’s not your concern!

We also have the two main categories of lesbians that are absolutely and definitely real and nothing else because otherwise, how are we gonna understand those people ?

If you are a lesbian (and we highly doubt that cause you haven’t met the right guy yet), you are a butch or a femme. As everything had to be either masculine or feminine in gender, sex or identity studies, even lesbians adopted that way of thinking in the last century. A US study from the 90s showed that “95% of lesbians are familiar with butch/femme code and can rate themselves or others in terms of those codes”. Those two clichés of what a lesbian should be also created debates inside the community, subculture and the feminist movement. For some, the sexual and romantic association of butch and femme was a replication of heterosexual relations while other commentators argue that, while it resonates with heterosexual patterns of relations, butch-femme simultaneously challenges it. A lot of theoretical talk for something people don’t seem to totally understand.

NO BI, BI, BI

Lesbians in western cultures generally create an identity that parallels those built on ethnicity : they have a shared history and subculture (as gay man do but more focused), a similar experience with discrimination (homophobic AND misogynistic) which has caused many of them to reject heterosexual principles. It created a point of contention with the ideas of a bisexual woman and a lesbian who once had sexual relationships with men. Lesbians who have never had sex with men may be referred to as “gold star lesbians” while those who have may face ridicule and rejection from others. Bisexual women also face, more so than in heterosexual relationships, identity challenges with regard to defining what it means to be interested in women. I had a conversation the other day with someone who happens to be a gay woman about what she was looking for in a girl. I scanned for people I might know and talked about a friend of mine, single as well. It seemed that the bisexuality of my friend was a point of no return, as she did not want to engage with someone “who didn’t know what she wanted”. As I’m going to cover the B in LGBT in another article real soon, I won’t get to far in that particular area today. Though I need to insist right now (and yes, this is a fact AND an opinion) : Bisexuality is not a half-way stop to homosexuality. There is not transition. Saying you’re bisexual while you are actually gay is something a 15 year-old confused teenager would say out of fear of being rejected. A grown-ass woman does not have that fear. She knows exactly who she is just as you do. B as in Bisexual… coming soon.

LESBIAN REPRESENTATION

If I say Lesbian, you say Ellen ! Lesbian! Ellen ! Lesbian ! Ellen ! As I’m also covering Ellen in the future, I won’t get too much into that right now. Yes, Ellen Degeneres is probably the most famous (and possibly richest) lesbian in the world. And though she broke barriers, she was not the first.

Selma Lagerlöf, first woman to be awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. Jane Adams, first woman to be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. Julia Morgan, first woman admitted to the Ecole des Beaux-Arts. Lili Elbe, first identified recipient of gender confirmation surgery (Yes, transgender woman can also be lesbians as sexuality and gender are two different things). Eleanor Roosevelt, first lady of the United States (still disputed by many though). Marguerite Yourcenar, first woman elected to the Académie Française. Interesting to notice that while I was researching those names, many of them (Joséphine Baker, Frida Kahlo) were bisexual women, showing that even now, bisexuality is not accepted as face value and just another name of lesbianism for women.

In literature, The Price of Salt by Patricia Highsmith (1951) comes to mind, depicting the first-ever “happy ending” for a lesbian couple. The release of the book was so scandalous at the time the author had to use a pseudonym. Following the Stonewall Riots, lesbian themes multiplied in more diverse and complex themes, though mostly through essays on feminism and sexuality. Important lesbian writers to read are Rita Mae Brown and Audre Lorde, to name a few.

In cinema, openly lesbian content in mainstream films began appearing during the 1990s, exploring sympathetic lesbian characters. By 2000, some films portrayed characters beyond issues of sexual orientation, reflecting a wider need to see lesbianism as more than sexual desire. Unfortunately, most mainstream films with lesbian protagonists are directed by heterosexual male directors. 2001’s Mulholland Drive put two women in a grotesque exposure of their sexual desires. 2013’s Palme d’Or winner Blue is the Warmest Color (La Vie d’Adèle Partie 1&2) gives us the most explosively graphic lesbian sex scenes in recent memory, though it was received by some lesbian communities as exploitative and offensive. Summer of Love (2004) is a great indie movie with delicate use of lesbian themes and characters but it was directed by Pawel Pawlikowski.

In television, lesbians were largely ignored for quite a while. Not until 1962 were there mentioned in reports concerning female homosexuality. On scripted shows, the word “lesbian” was never heard of, instead using codes like “villain” or “neurotic”. In the 80s, L.A. Law included a lesbian relationship in one of their storylines, causing outrage. Sci-Fi shows of the 90s implied more than stated that characters were gay. It really only changed with Ellen’s 1997 Puppy Episode (more on that later, I told you). After that milestone, Soap operas included a couple of lesbians here and there, cable shows tried it too. The L Word was created by Showtime as a response to the network’s own Queer as Folk. Though not a great show in terms of writing and pacing, it remains an important landmark in lesbian history and is getting rebooting in the next few months.

I do believe the bigger, brighter and thoughtful representation of a lesbian romance was in Buffy the Vampire Slayer. But even then, the network did not want the two lesbian characters to kiss on screen (they had to wait over a year after the met for depicting the smallest kiss in the face of grief). In our golden age of television, we have the likes of Orange is the New Black, The Fosters, characters on Grey’s Anatomy, American Horror Story, Orphan Black. Not enough, but a start.

Overall, the lack of representation in the media justified the accumulation of basic lesbian clichés put together by society and the community itself.

IN CONCLUSION

Is lesbianism an identity ? If not, were lesbians force to assume this as their primary identity as a way to get ground and recognition ? That L is important. They have it rough. But not as ruff as Black Lesbians.