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absolutebl · 2 months ago

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This Week in BL - We In A Slump, but help might be coming from a very strange source

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Sept 2024 Week 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

Jack & Joker (Thai Mon IQIYI) ep 3 of 12 - I don’t have a lot to say except that the plot is somewhat predictable but the show is still very engaging. War is fantastic. I’m enjoying it a hell of a lot.

Monster Next Door (Thai Thurs Gaga ) ep 10 of 12 - The second leads are getting better in this one. I understand where they are coming from, which makes their conflict so much more understandably painful, and honest to a friends2lovers trope. The main couple is kinda standard college relationship drama, but they are cuties.

Kidnap (Fri YT) ep 4 of 12 - How is Ohm so damn gorgeous? Meanwhile, babies’ first argument. And it’s sponge bath time. Q has got to be wondering if Min is as meticulous with all kinds of care and attention to detail all......the......time. Somebody here in the hellhole said something about this being "the most BL to ever BL." And I think they’re right. At least right now. Although, watch out, we got us a new contender from the east.

I Saw You in My Dream (Weds Gaga) ep 11 of 12 - I do love the continuation of the perversion, in a good way, of the punishment trope from last week's episode. Oh, has the show finally remembered its title? NO SINGING.

Addicted Heroin (Thai Tues WeTV) ep 7 of 10 - More kidnapping and an attack and now there’s a girl involved and somebody’s going to China and I don’t understand anything! And I don’t really care. Is this how the actual book originally went? Because it’s wild. Also TOO MANY of flashbacks. I guess they got a bit of a boyfriend era, and the claiming during the water fight was cute, but otherwise...... meh

Love Sick 2024 (Thai Sun iQIYI) ep 2 of 15 - One shouldn’t make comparisons, of course, but all I can think about is how amazing Captain was as Noh in the original series. Thus this show is mostly just making me want to rewatch the original. It’d be an interesting twist to have Aim be queer instead of a damaged cool girl slut. Was the helmet hand letting go a foreshadow of the iconic bookstore hands letting go? Also, I gotta say for the second episode of a series there are already too many flashbacks. Why are they using filler when they have so much content crammed into so few (comparable) episodes for a series? It’s annoying. Stop it.

Live in Love (Sun Gaga) ep 4 of 5 - This show has some interesting, if heavy handed, things to say about shipping and trolling, but also predatory/proprietary female behavior. It’s fascinating to see it tackled head on, if handled in a profoundly clumsy manner. I’m not sure how I feel about it. That said, most of this episode was actually an advertisement for a resort in Phuket.

Bad Guy My Boss (Thai Sun Gaga) ep 2 of 10 - I'm getting What's Wrong with Secretary Kim? vibes from this show. Only this is WAY more bullying. It’s very old-fashioned 90’s billionaire romance novel only gay. It’s never a good sign when I’m watching two boys kiss and I really want one of them to just bite the other ones lip off instead.

Battle of the Writers (Sun YT) ep 9 of 12 - No ep this week.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Sugar Dog Life (Japan Sun grey) ep 8 of 10 - Gosh it’s so frikin adorable. Baby got sick. He has SUCH A CRUSH. And such a courageous little confession! Yay! Can’t wait for next week.

Teenager Judge (Vietnam Sat YouTube) ep 1 - sure, yes this is, in fact, just Ba Vinh doing his thing with pretty boys again. And yet...... There is a REASON this leapt into the standings guns blazing. So it’s high school set but it's stepbrothers trope. (My, aren’t we popular this year?) I know, but I NEVER get tired of this trope. We got us Bach (BV's sullen tsundere) and Dat (babygirl meets bully). It’s GREAT how the brothers' dynamic is entirely different at school than when they're at home. My ear isn’t trained for Vietnamese, but I think Dat is using different pronouns depending on his location (his personality entirely shifts when he’s at school). I’m not sold on the Bach character, although I always trust BV to serve in the end (at least we know the kisses will be good), but Dat is utterly in love, a touch spicy, and reasonably complex. The surrounding cast is good too, my favorite pretty boy is there playing top dog (woof), and one of the besties is out gay (YAY!). The plot of the show is...... well...... absent. Nothing happened. But if we are aiming for Love Sick slice of life style BL, I'm game. Subs are appropriately terrible and confusing. But I like it A FUCK TON so far, so I’m gonna keep it in rotation. Nice to have Vietnam back in play. What a shocker.

2024 has been a year of upsets.

Love is Like a Poison AKA Doku Koi: Doku mo Sugireba Koi to Naru (Japan Tues Netflix?) 3 of 10 eps - I weirdly enjoyed the farcical music and the utter absurdity of the court case. I also liked how it highlighted what a good team these two are. Frankly I don’t mind a bit of an antihero sleazy lawyer + conman, it's engaging. I’m getting wholesome out of Thailand. I don’t really need it from Japan at the moment. Also I don’t believe for one second our conman actually is serious about the relationship. Conmen gonna con. I'm reminded of the scorpion and the frog fable.

First Note Of Love (Taiwan Mon Gaga) ep 8 of 12 - I love Orca so much. I do not love the autotuned version of Orca, but I knew what I was in for with this particular show, it's in the title after all. I did laugh a whole lot when Laing used kha. Hon, I don't think that word means what you think it means......

The On1y One (Taiwan Thurs Gaga) eps 11-12fin - I never thought I’d say this, but the pacing was off in the penultimate episode. Taiwan, and its chronic misuse of flashbacks strikes again. That said we eventually got a "lock in" trope and Wang being the biggest little flirt shit in the cafe OMG!!! Of course, you shouldn’t use a girl to torment your bf, but it was so well done, I can’t really complain. Meanwhile, teacher kisses. And now I understand exactly why they’re present in this narrative. Clever. Bummer of a burden on that ending though. I cannot see how they’ll manage to stick this landing. [That was ep 11]

AND NOW EP 12 - doomey doomey doom

Not the water bottle trope! Argh the teenage lust of it all. Just stop it. Wang is so smart he knows exactly how bad he has to be to leave the class. And his bf certainly knows that too. And......

......

So that was not an ending and I’m not happy about it and no one is surprised. Even I’m not surprised. I’m just disappointed. Even tho I suspected this was where we were headed I'm disappointed. That’s it. That’s all I got. How do I review something that was such a crushing let down?

Conclusion:

Based on a Mou Mou novel + the Your Name Engraved Herein team, this is old-school coming of age BL and it was bloody fantastic. Tsundere seme to beat all tsundere (smartest + tallest + bestest at everything but people) meets socially-ept cutie smart-ass uke. They're living together by end of ep 1 and start kissing by end of ep 2. A stellar tense slow burn stepbrothers trope that ate my life and than just belly-flopped the finale. What I'm left with is epic levels of disappointment and well...... at least nobody died? My standard "fatally flawed" rating for any BL is 4/10 so I guess that’s what I’m giving it.

Before you ask me for the stats: Taiwan does not have a history of second seasons. I went ahead and ran the numbers and the odds are certainly not in our favor. I put the chances at 2%.

Yes, I contemplated a revenge rating of 2/10 but even I'm not that mean.

It's airing but...

The Hidden Moon (Sat WeTV) ep 1 of 10 - This is a supernatural romance (my ghost boyfriend trope) by Violet Rain (I Feel You Linger). A man is hired to write an article about an old mansion in Chiang Mai being converted into a café. He sees the ghosts of people who died at the mansion, falls in love with one of them. Was substantially recast. I loved IFYLITA except the ending so I think I'll let this one run it's course you can tell me if it's work tracking down... if they managed to land it. I have my doubts.

In Case You Missed It

Falling For My Boss is vertical format (nash) short from Korean BL about a happy-go-unlucky man who keeps losing his flower shop business because of romantically misbehaving employees (apparently it's a thing). When his best employee brings in a new boy he's worried she's falling for him, but it turns out it's his own heart on the line. He a clueless softy and The Boy is a lost broken sweetheart, making this a gentle little snippet of a show. There's a baby linguistic negotiation, some hung slinging, awkward handholds, and everyone is very pretty. For me the absence of kisses and the vertical format were more annoying than the length, which felt fine but many viewers will find too short. I enjoyed the 30 minutes of cute. All of which makes this a solid 7/10 from me. It was originally only available on this one ap in very short form with ads so I wasn't gonna bother. Then some kind soul cut it together without ads and stuck it up for download. Say thank you.

Oddball recommendation next: This podcast episode touches on some stuff we see in Thai BL so I think it's worth listening to. Journalist Dominic Faulder on the Complex History Between Thailand & Myanmar

Happy of the End (Japan Gaga) - Completed its run. A boy is disowned for being gay, dumped by his boyfriend, and ends up in a dysfunctional co-dependant relationship with his would-be kidnapper. We were due for another messy JBL and it's exactly as expected. I do not like it at all and DNFed. Gossip round the hellhole is that was a solid decision.

Marriage Equality Law has officially been enacted in Thailand...

Yes the actual law. Goes into effect Jan 22, 2025

Next Week Looks Like This:

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

Coming Oct 2024:

10/3 Fourever You (Thai iQIYI?) 16 eps - New directs Earth (UWMA, 12%) + Pond (Century of Love, 180 Degrees), Bas (Gen Y, 2 Moons) + Maxky (Why You… Y Me?) and other familiar faces like Bever. Sampler pack university BL from Wabi Sabi that looks like it's trying to be a gay Boys Over Flowers (4 older med students hot boys) and I'm not mad about it. Trailer Not sure who's distributing this but my guess is iQIYI since they had the last few from this house.

10/7 Every You Every Me (Thai Gaga) 10 eps - Jade and Chin have lived over a thousand lifetimes. In each one they somehow manage to fall in love with each other. (This pair, TopMick was piloted in a My Universe ep, that was one of the only ones I liked.)

10/10 Eccentric Romance (Korea ????) 12 eps - Silkwood’s 2nd Thai/Korean colab, that has been in production since 2022 which is a LONG time in the BL world. I'm worried but I like the concept: friends of 10 years who’ve been hiding feelings for each other enter the same university. Plus MURDER.

10/10 Gangster and His Boyfriend (Korea ????) 8 eps? - Kim Dong Bin (famous trainee & idol reality competitor, yeah that happens) stars as a fallen idol who unexpectedly becomes entangled in a gangster family. Discovers that his friend’s father is responsible for the murder of his entire family years ago. I don't know much about this one, neither does anyone else and I'm not sure where I got that release date so……

10/21 Love in the Big City (Korea ????) 8 eps - Adaptation of Booker-nominated famous coming of age novel of the same title by Park Sang-Young. Cynical yet fun loving student writer Young pinballs from home, to class, to Tinder matches. He and Jaehee, his female besie and roommate, frequent nearby bars where they push away their worries about life, love, and money with soju. As time passes Jaehee settles down and leaves Young to face his problems on his own. Young finding comfort in the arms of the series of men, including one whose handsomeness is matched by his coldness and another who might be the great love of his life. Not really BL. Stars Kim Go-eun (The King: Eternal Monarch), Noh Sang-hyun, and Nam Yoon Su (The King’s Affection). This already released as a movie and isn't very well regarded, this date is supposedly an international release as a series. I'm wary of it being BL.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

I got nothing, The On1y One drove me into a funk.

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are a pain.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

Sigh, Tumblr in its infinite wisdom doesn't like too many at-ings.

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thevelaryons · 6 months ago

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As parents of queer children, Alyssa and Corlys have rather different approaches to how they handle their children’s sexualities. They’re sensible enough to know that being gay in their society isn’t socially acceptable; though it’s not openly condemned either. But, because of their circumstances, they would hold private misgivings: Alyssa needing her family to conform to societal norms in order to ensure stability for the realm and Corlys wanting heirs of his own blood and feeling frustrated at the lack of.

Alyssa’s daughter, Rhaena, has her share of female companions. I don’t think Alyssa could have anticipated that Rhaena would develop affectionate feelings for other girls. But once it happens, Alyssa, who had previously tried to have her daughter form close bonds with girls now tries to distance them from each other. Of course, she doesn’t isolate Rhaena completely because her daughter is still a princess and therefore, she needs her ladies about her. So instead, Alyssa ensures that if she sees Rhaena getting too close with any girl, she switches them out. Rhaena does not like all the companions her mother provides her but the ones she does like are also the ones that are taken away from her. It’s probably for this reason that Rhaena’s girlfriends are often described as former favourites because they were not allowed to remain by her side for long once they reached the favourite status. As the Queen, Alyssa has complete authority to dismiss any of her daughters’ companions as she sees fit.

Though her mother provided her with a succession of suitable companions, the daughters of lords great and small, Rhaena never seemed to warm to any of them, preferring the company of a book.

[…]

Not long after, Rhaena made her first true friend in the person of her cousin Larissa Velaryon. For a time the two girls were inseparable…until Larissa was suddenly recalled to Driftmark to be wed to the second son of the Evenstar of Tarth. The young are nothing if not resilient, however, and the princess soon found a new companion in the Hand’s daughter, Samantha Stokeworth.

— Fire & Blood, The Sons of the Dragon

It’s the same thing Alyssa later does with her younger daughter, Alysanne. The reason here being the reputation of the family. That is what drives Alyssa’s actions. She is often shown to be a person that does care about public perception.

Alysanne did not choose these companions for herself; they were selected for her by her mother, Queen Alyssa, and they came and went with some frequency, to ascertain that the princess did not grow too fond of any of them. Her sister Rhaena’s penchant for showering an unseemly amount of affection and attention on a succession of favorites, some of whom were considered less than suitable, had been the source of much whispering at court, and the queen did not want Alysanne to be the subject of similar rumors.

— Fire & Blood, A Surfeit of Rulers

Though there are times when Alyssa does allow Rhaena some leniency to spend time with her favourite companions, those moments are very rare. For the most part, Alyssa’s priorities tend to be about the realm.

The princess had been most loath to be parted from her dragon, Dreamfyre, and her latest favorite, Melony Piper, a red-haired maiden from the riverlands. It was only when her mother, Queen Alyssa, sent for Lady Melony to join them on the progress that Rhaena finally put aside her sullenness to join the celebrations.

— Fire & Blood, The Sons of the Dragon

Rhaena was described as being a shy child. Though she did grow out of her shyness, she still had a quiet nature. I think for someone like her, to have even the smallest hint of her identity denied by her parent would feel rather suffocating. Alyssa is the type of person who always looks at the bigger picture but it makes her miss smaller details in the process. She’s too focused on organizing the kingdom/preserving the peace/guiding the King. She’s said to be concerned about rumours that may follow her daughter because of the closeness she shares with other girls so from her perspective, she’s acting to protect her daughter. I doubt she would even realize how Rhaena could feel hurt and isolated by her actions (and Rhaena does voice that she feels pushed away by her own family).

I’d say all this is part of the reason why Rhaena so thoroughly excludes her mother from the new life she attempts to build for herself, with her old favourites by her side. It is either Rhaena seeking out her companions or her companions seeking her out, but it always happens away from Alyssa.

Two of Rhaena’s former favorites, Samantha Stokeworth and Alayne Royce, made their way to Fair Isle in some haste to stand with the widowed queen, together with the groom’s high-spirited sister, the Lady Elissa. The remainder of the guests were bannermen and household knights sworn to either House Farman or House Lannister. King and court remained entirely ignorant of the marriage until a raven from the Rock brought word, days after the wedding feast and the bedding that sealed the match.

[…]

Chroniclers in King’s Landing report that Queen Alyssa was deeply offended by her exclusion from her daughter’s wedding, and that relations between mother and child were never as warm afterward.

— Fire & Blood, The Year of the Three Brides

By the end of Alyssa’s life, she and Rhaena are essentially estranged from each other. Alyssa’s concerns are understandable. With the Targaryen dynasty still young, she would feel that they have to make sure to conform as much as possible with the social norms. The wars against the Faith Militant and Maegor further push her to become more concerned with the family’s discipline. But this does cost her a relationship with her daughter.

Skip forward a few generations and the dynamic between parent and child is different now.

Corlys’ son, Laenor, is said to surround himself in the company of other boys. Since house Velaryon was isolated on Driftmark for many years, after distancing themselves from the royal court, this could have actually helped create a feeling of being free from societal constraints. Laenor’s male companions are considered a steady fixture at his side over the years. He’s allowed such complete freedom in his relationships that his sexuality is basically an open secret, unlike with Rhaena, where it was hushed whispers barely spoken of.

One objection was raised: Laenor Velaryon was now nineteen years of age, yet had never shown any interest in women. Instead he surrounded himself with handsome squires of his own age, and was said to prefer their company. But Grand Maester Mellos dismissed this concern out of hand. “What of it?” he said. “I do not like the taste of fish, but when fish is served, I eat it.”

[…]

The princess knew much and more about Laenor Velaryon, and had no wish to be his bride. “My half-brothers would be more to his taste,” she told the king.

— Fire & Blood, Heirs of the Dragon

Laenor’s easygoing manner at his wedding suggests a level of comfort. He openly gives his favor to another man as if he is not used to hiding himself.

When Rhaenyra bestowed her garter on Ser Harwin, her new husband laughed and gave one of his own to Ser Joffrey.

— Fire & Blood, Heirs of the Dragon

Despite the fact that his wedding turned into a disaster, Laenor’s life does not change too badly.

He is allowed to openly grieve his lover, Joffrey, and he is allowed to return back home to High Tide, rather than conform to a marriage that would give him misery.

Borne bloody from the field, Ser Joffrey died without recovering consciousness six days later. Mushroom tells us that Ser Laenor spent every hour of those days at his bedside and wept bitterly when the Stranger claimed him.

[…]

Ser Laenor returned to Driftmark thereafter, leaving many to wonder if his marriage had ever been consummated. The princess remained at court, surrounded by her friends and admirers.

[…]

Ser Laenor preferred the comforts of High Tide, where he soon found a new favorite in a household knight named Ser Qarl Correy.

— Fire & Blood, Heirs of the Dragon

Qarl is a knight directly under Corlys’ service. As such, if Corlys wanted to, he could have him removed from his household for daring to be in a relationship with his son. Instead, he allows the relationship to persist for many years.

Although Corlys may be frustrated that things aren’t going according to plan, he clearly cares about Laenor’s happiness first and foremost, even if it interferes with any ambitions of his own. But sometimes, Corlys does let his plans interfere with Laenor’s happiness. When Laenor states his intentions to name his sons, Corlys denies him (perhaps the first time he’s ever done so) and has the child named like a Velaryon: Jacaerys. He continues to deny Laenor for the second son too by giving the boy another Velaryon name: Lucerys. But by the time the third son is born, Corlys finally relents to Laenor’s wishes.

Laenor’s wish to name the child Joffrey was overruled by his father, Lord Corlys. Instead the child was given a traditional Velaryon name: Jacaerys.

[…]

Ser Laenor was at last permitted to name a child after his fallen friend, Ser Joffrey Lonmouth.

— Fire & Blood, Heirs of the Dragon

Btw, it’s not Rhaenyra giving the permission here but Corlys. The text makes it rather obvious when she’s finally allowed the right to name her own child and it’s certainly not when it comes to the elder three boys (that’s just a Corlys vs Rhaenyra issue though). I think a lot of people miss this key detail that even naming a child can be a power play among the nobility. Corlys has his own reasons for what he does when it comes to any of his grandsons, but the main reason he would be okay with letting them be his grandsons is surely because Laenor called them sons first. There’s a certain level of indulgence present in the relationship between Corlys and Laenor.

Concerning Laenor’s sexuality, Corlys’ problem appears to be that Laenor does not do his duty to sire actual sons of his body. If Laenor did his duty, then I do not think Corlys would care if Laenor started having relationships with a dozen or a hundred different men. But it’s a frustration that Corlys does eventually come to terms with. He allowed Laenor a freedom of identity and so it’s Laenor who chooses to remain comfortably by Corlys’ side.

#valyrianscrolls #asoiaf #alyssa velaryon #queen rhaena targaryen #corlys velaryon #laenor velaryon #alyssa & rhaena #corlys & laenor #meta #grrm wrote in a lot of queer themes for several different generations of velaryons #love that for me 🤭

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possibilistfanfiction · 2 years ago

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This seems really indulgent and I know (and love!) footy au so no pressure at all but -- more butch Bea? Would make my day anytime, whatever you might have in mind! :) Thank you for your words

[i love indulgence, here's what was supposed to be one scene & ended up being 8.4k words about how remarkable it is to be butch :) for @unicyclehippo , also on ao3]

giving your body to ava is easy; giving your body to yourself is the hard part.

you’re supposed to protect her, you’re told: keeping her safe is the only thing that matters. you understand, as you tug a scratchy blanket up over her shoulders on a train to a little town nestled in the alps, that you are in charge of keeping ava safe because she’s the halo-bearer, because she’s the key to slaying demons and defeating adriel and heaven and hell and the earth between. you’re not supposed to keep her safe because she’s ava, but her breaths are warm against your neck, tucked in safely, her chin on your shoulder — you will keep her safe. it’s a vow you take with the gravitas you have your others, perhaps even more certain, sure, clear: you will keep ava safe.

you’ve felt the same impulse — not as strong, and not as sharp, but the same — toward a few people you’ve known. mackenzie, in third grade, after keith, a fourth grader, called her a bitch at recess, and it was easy, so easy, to let the anger well up in you and to, just like you’d been trained in aikido since you were five, punch him in the throat. you’d had to go to the principal’s office after a small riot had erupted, and you’d sat, sullen, while your principal told your mother and father what had happened. they asked you to apologize, and the words — rotten and wrong — got stuck in your throat. you were suspended for a week and your parents made you go to bed without dinner the entire time; your stomach ached to the point of physical pain and it was hard to think, but when you went back to school, mackenzie had smiled big and bright and had kissed your cheek and brought extra cookies to share at lunch, and it was so worth it.

you’d felt the same impulse in eighth grade, with marin, your best friend. she would come over after archery, and she said she didn’t mind that you were sweaty, even though you knew, objectively, it was gross. marin was always wearing a ripped denim jacket you were, silently, in love with, and her parents let her put purple streaks in her dark hair, and you couldn’t stop thinking about her mouth, even during algebra II, your favorite class. you learned to walk, on impulse, between her and the road whenever you were on the sidewalk; you held hands and felt proud: you were, in ways you had no idea how to name, hers. she pressed you up against the packages of mein and liangpi and cans of kidney beans in your pantry and kissed you, quietly and softly, one day. your first kiss, in the dark in the closet, and you had frozen stock still because — homosexuals are going to hell; that’s not love, that’s a sin, every sunday, and wednesdays during lent and vespers too, all the rosaries in the world won’t take away the way marin sighing into your mouth feels so perfect you want to die in it — it’s in your core, this want. so, of course, you kiss her back. you don’t know what you’re doing, have only watched movies where boys kiss girls or maybe you’d mostly skipped those parts; maybe in bend it like beckham you had paid attention to keira knightly’s short hair and her stomach and jesminder’s smile and the curve of her nose and found it more compelling than the men’s matches your dad takes you and your brother to see. your hands are shaking but you fist them in marin’s hair, coarse and curly and perfect, and you think you might explode when she rests her palm on your hip. it feels a little like jumping off a cliff.

and even your father walking in on you hadn’t stopped you from the want; your mother’s you’re disgusting; i’d rather you take your own life than be gay and the priest at their church telling you, quite clearly, that being a lesbian would result in eternal damnation. even that hadn’t been enough to stop the awful and bright desire to help krishna fix her shelf in her dorm in switzerland when you were sixteen, to accept her thanks in the form of laughter and sweet halwa. you are wrong, you know so, because your parents had seen you kissing a girl and you hadn’t wanted to repent; you had wanted to protect marin from speeding cars and hold her hand in the rain and fall asleep curled up next to her with a movie playing in the background, one where girls kiss and they don’t die afterward. it’s a suicide mission, maybe, the way krishna’s skirt rides up to her underwear while she sits on her bed and watches you level the shelf, her brown skin and the stretch marks you think are beautiful, that you think about kissing, all the time. you learn fencing and archery and you get multiple blackbelts in kendo; one of your sensei has a bright smile and short hair and the most precise hands. she’s beautiful in a way you don’t understand, not really, not yet: her hair is cropped short, and her jaw is square and compelling, and she speaks softly and kindly. when she corrects one of your stances you feel a race of electricity down your spine, the opposite of the stress you feel as your hips get bigger, as you go through the embarrassing ordeal of learning how to put a tampon in, as you have to go up a size with your sports bra. she teaches you to use a bo, and there are many things you can’t name: the power; the ache — you see a reflection that feels so much like a home to you that you are not supposed to want that you don’t know how to face it.

most of the girls in your school had gone to university; you had opened your letters from oxford; from tsinghua; from harvard; from the eth, with steady, sure hands, reading the acceptances calmly. it wasn’t hard, not this part: you braid your hair carefully each day and feel a little like throwing up every time you had to put your skirt on, the weekends and your aikido and judo classes and the standard, starchy, thick gi the most profound reprieve — you studied and you took your exams and it was easy, to become an asset, to become a weapon. you’re brilliant, all of the adults in your life tell you so. you stare at your ceiling and on the bad nights you can’t feel your hands. on the bad nights you want to touch yourself so badly you could scream, and you let your fingers wander down your stomach into the curls that have grown dark between your legs, and you think of stupid keira knightly’s hipbones and you feel the wetness there before you pull your hand away, every time. it’s wrong, to want like you do: to think of what a tweed jacket like your professors wear would look like, how your shoulders would be square and strong; every now and then, you stare at the scissors in your bathroom, for trims in the months between semester breaks when you can leave the grounds, and wonder what it would be like to just cut your hair short, how you might get in trouble but it also might be a relief. there is so much grace you can’t give to yourself yet.

of course, you’re not brave enough for any of it. you are brave, enough, however, to want to die: the ocs is bloody and brutal and a home unlike one you’ve ever known. it’s easier to push all of the sin down and fashion yourself useful, so useful if anyone, anyone at all, ever found out what you think about in the middle of the night, they would still have to value you: you have your arrows and your knives and your sisters and the most beautiful bo you had ever seen. you have your habit and your combat boots; you eat three exacting meals a day and you want and you want and you fucking want — but you tell ava about it, as clearly as you can, and she just loves you. you’re rude, for a second, but she sits patiently and doesn’t judge you for your tears or the curling desire in your chest, and then, what feels like a literal miracle, she tells you that you’re beautiful and you want to be called that, you want to be called handsome, you want her to laugh at your jokes and stare too long at your freckles. you want to love her, and you do: you want ava, who is so pretty and kind, despite it all, to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you will be there for her. so you bandage the cut along your cheekbone in the train car and don’t think of the acceptance letters you had calmly thrown in your trashcan, or the thick watch the woman in front of you was wearing, her sleeves rolled up her forearms, or the way ava is warm and soft and you will gone on as many suicide missions as it took to protect her. to protect her, not the halo, not the church: ava.

she stirs eventually and smiles up at you, groggy and grateful and trusting, like she knows you won’t let anything bad happen to her; it’s easy to let her touch you, to let her lean on you, to let her use you for anything she needs. your heart swells as she burrows deeper into your side.

the first time you really allow yourself to think of it, this monstrous, lovely ache inside of you, is when lena, a shopkeeper in switzerland with a neat fade, a perfect quiff combed neatly on top, streaked with grey, and an impeccable linen suit, hands you a pair of pants. ava is in the dressing room trying on a pile of tiny clothes — which you do your absolute best not to think about — and the soft material and exact stitching: neat pleats that will accommodate the small flare of your hips; a straight leg that will sit at your ankle. lena smiles and offers you a few button downs, oversized and collarless, tailored perfectly, and she doesn’t know you’re a nun but you take them all and tell yourself that they’re suitable for you because they’re modest, because they won’t draw attention — not the way ava’s brightly patterned button down she ties into a crop top will, not the way ava will, just inherently, with her perfect smile and elegant brow. you’re drawn to earth tones, to subtle patterns, to thick cotton that drapes without sitting against your chest too snugly. ava loves your clothes, apparently, which is mostly expected because ava loves everything and, you’re certain of it, ava loves you. not as a sister warrior, not as a nun, but as beatrice, which is perhaps the scariest thing of them all.

one day, while ava is working and you have unadulterated and unmonitored time to yourself, you let your feet carry you to lena’s shop. ava has been reading you poems at night, and she’s been steadily collecting a few vinyl to play on the phonograph, even though it’s prone to skipping. it’s a life, gentle and slow, even with your training and the looming threat of an apocalypse of literally biblical proportions, and you have no idea how to reconcile who you have always tried to be with who you are, and what you want.

the first night you had been in switzerland, in your tiny apartment with dust and lumpy furniture and ava’s desperately excited energy, you had sat on the couch quietly as she puttered around and then finally settled in bed. you had lied back on the couch, and she had huffed and then sat up: ‘bea, what are you doing?’ she had asked.

you hadn’t been able to find the words that you really meant so instead you’d told her, ‘i’m keeping watch,’ and you hadn’t had to look away from the water stain on the ceiling to know she was rolling her eyes. you had argued, a little, but the couch was genuinely so uncomfortable and you hadn’t slept in so long, you’d gotten up and shuffled to the unoccupied side of the bed. ‘are you sure this is okay?’ you’d asked, and she’d squinted.

‘why wouldn’t it be?’

you had frowned and bitten your bottom lip and stumbled through, ‘because i — i’ve told you, i —‘

ava had rolled her eyes. ‘i don’t care what your sexuality is, beatrice. what i do care about is you sleeping; you’re dead on your feet.’ she had paused and waited for you to situate yourself under the covers, stiffly on your back, and she had huffed a breath and then — slowly, and you were not the only one who understood the overstep of nonconsensual touch, the pain and fury — settled her head just under your chin, resting on your chest. ‘i trust you to keep me safe.’

looking back, maybe that was it, maybe that was the moment you understood: one day, you want to wear a suit to a nice dinner; you want loose, perfectly tailored pants and expensive, thick cotton and for women and femme people — someone like ava; ava herself, you allow yourself — to think that you are attractive, that you’re sexy, that you would do anything to make sure they’re cared for. that you delight in it.

lena is a miracle herself, you think: she understands who you are, or, at least, who you want to be, buried underneath the rubble of a thousand explosions you’d set off along your spine and within your ribcage. she hands you a beautiful suit, and she lets you try it on; some days, you have tea with her wife and practice your arabic and you blush at aleyna’s gravely voice and the way she talks about her favorite art. you are overcome, when you see yourself in the mirror; your soul, eternal longevity be damned, leaps: there you are. you do up an elegant pair of cufflinks and look at a reflection you have always wanted to know.

there you are.

ava’s freedom is enviable: she wears clothes she loves and excitedly lets you cut her hair to her chin, because she wants to and because she thinks it’s fun and it’ll look so cute, bea, and she smiles afterward, laughs at herself, delighted, in the mirror. you let her think she’s convinced you of something really exciting and serious when you agree to get highlights; mostly, it makes her happy, and it’s not exactly what you want, but it’s something. ava flirts with boys, and ava flirts with girls, and she leans forward against the bar and winks at you when you drag your eyes away from her chest. some days, you think you might strike up the nerve to ask her, late at night, after you’d heard her touching herself in the shower, stifling little moans: what does it feel like to want with abandon? what is it like?

but you don’t: you dance with her, your head hazy, and you leave a letter — too sentimental, too telling, but a breath — for lena and her wife before you flee. you fight your way through all of madrid and an awful, nightmare of a vision of her with the fog, and then you hold her in your arms, once, after she dies again, after she falls and her body explodes inside its skin — literally. you pray and pray and pray — to her, not a single thought spared for god, and you would give up everything in your life: your vows, your worth, everything, for her to be alive. and she is, eventually, and you help her out of your clothes and it’s a kind of honor in this too: she trusts you not to hurt her, never to hurt her. she trusts you, in the shower, while you’re in an undershirt and boxers and you clean the blood from her ears, to be gentle to her, and to keep her safe.

you have your habit and your robes and your weapons; with each passing day, you become more and more terrified that ava is going to die. you love her; you want, in some way, to spend your life with her, whatever that might mean. but where does it all lead for you if she does die? you clutch your rosary in your hand and feel a very particular horror: who are you, if not for ava’s love? where, now, would all that want go?

ava kisses you. it’s your second kiss; you’re the second person she’s kissed, you know as much, but it doesn’t matter: you’ve held her before. you know this, as surely as you know anything. she has been many people, in some way or another, and maybe you have to. there’s so much of your life that has never been yours but the decision to follow her lips as she draws back and bring your hand to her jaw rests in your hands, as steady as they are when you have your bo, and far gentler.

ava kisses you, as she decides to die. you hold her as her body — this beautiful, small, miracle of a body that you love, that you love — fails her, with a particular finality as it glows blue and crumples. you know, when you send her through the portal, that you are going to have to leave this life you have forced down your throat and driven into the marrow of your bones like rods in the center. i love you, you tell her. you hope she knows.

no one cares, you realize, if you try on a pair of men’s jeans at a thrift store in berlin. in fact, robbie compliments them casually; you’re not sure if they know how much it means, but they have a lump of skirts in their arms and a neatly trimmed beard and glamorous blue eyeliner today, so you think they probably do. you pull the pants on in the dressing room: they’re light washed, and loose; they fall just at the bottom of your ankles, and you cuff them twice and pull on the sturdy blundstones you’ve worn all over the world at this point. you can see yourself in them in the winter, a big, elegant peacoat and a scarf pulled around your neck, and soft and warm; you can see yourself in them in the summer, rolled up with sandals and an oversized t-shirt. it’s different, than the time you’d tried on a suit — more casual, more variable — but the recognition is there all the same.

‘did you like them?’ robbie asks, meeting you at the front with a few skirts and a crop top that pangs in your chest because robbie will look great in it; because ava would love it.

‘i loved them,’ you say, and a knot releases somewhere in your chest.

you end up in los angeles — one tattoo on the top of your wrist and a surfing lesson booked — mostly because it’s the city of angels, which feels a little inevitable, and also mostly because it’s so far from anything you’ve ever known. you keep to yourself at first, mostly, but then you make casual conversation with a few of the surfers out near your airbnb every morning, and they love your accent and give you pointers on how to pop up on your increasingly smaller board and invite you to an arooj aftab show at the broad. it aches, to live this life without ava, even though it’s what she wanted for you, what she asked of you.

you drive along the hellish freeway to make it on time, and you let your friends buy you a drink at the outdoor bar, a little paper wristband signaling you’re over 21 after you’d shown your ID at the entrance; you had agonized over what to wear and settled on your favorite pair of pants, one that you’ve had since switzerland, a wide-legged pair in a deep navy that lena had tailored to fit your waist properly, and a linen collarless button down in a seafoam so pale it’s almost white, the sleeves cuffed up to your elbows, a pair of airforce 1s which your friend had promised you are, without fail, cool. you feel nervous but then your friends seriously look through some art pieces in the museum before the show, and one of them has on a pair of leather chaps, and no one cares at all. you’ve pulled your hair up into a careful, smooth bun for as long as you can remember, and at the show you close your eyes and let your heart hurt: you miss ava. you miss the love of your life, and you miss your faith, and you miss something you’ve wanted your entire life: to be seen as who you are. to be brave enough.

there’s lilting smoke and bright lights diluted by it, everything striking in urdu; you can’t translate each word, of course not, but you do understand: there are so many ways to pray. there are so many gods to pray to.

your friend drops you off at your apartment later that night; you stand in the kitchen in your black sports bra and the simplest pair of black cotton underwear you could find, and let your hair out of its bun. your skin is clean and clear and you have more freckles now than you have your entire life. your hair has gotten long, and every few days someone decides to tell you it’s beautiful. it is, you guess, even though, sometimes, it doesn’t feel like yours. you’d watched paris is burning a few weeks ago, alone at night when it was dark and the only noise you could hear was the gentle brush of the waves outside, after you’d poured yourself one of your favorite ipas and made popcorn, after you’d liet yourself eat a piece of pizza even though you hadn’t gone on a run earlier. you don’t feel like yourself, not all the way: you don’t always want to look at your hips and your chest and when your hair tickles along the middle of your back you have to close your eyes and breathe through it; you love the muscles that have grown sharper and bigger along your arms and the ink in your skin and the way your thighs cut strong and taper down to your knees, the color of your eyes at sunset. you are becoming; it hurts.

you watch the holiness in the ballrooms and you know: people have been far, far braver than you. loving ava — loving yourself — is not a kind of death sentence; it’s a kind of life.

camila facetimes you in the mid-morning, after you’ve just finished sparring. you’re in a sports bra, the weather too hazy and hot to wear your entire gi on the full walk home. camila grins when she sees your bare shoulders.

‘picking up the ladies, bea?’

you’ve never definitively said anything, but you kissed ava and then renounced your vows and, honestly, you think everyone probably knew the entire time anyway — it’s not as scary as you thought it would be: camila’s eyes are bright and clear and she’s just calling to say hi. there’s no condemnation; there’s no judgement, only your friend, your sister.

‘no, no,’ you say, and camila pouts, which makes you laugh. ‘it’s just hot.’

‘probably because you’re shirtless on the streets of los angeles.’

‘it’s a two block walk home from my dojo, camila.’

‘you’re not a nun anymore,’ she says. ‘let me have a little fun with it, at least.’

you’re quiet, just a beat too long.

‘how are you doing?’ she asks, resolute and gentle like always.

it goes without saying: you miss ava so much it feels like you’ve broken your wrists; you are in love with the world. ‘i’m — i’m figuring it out.’

it’s a more hopeful answer than camila was expecting, clearly, because she perks up and smiles.

‘well,’ she says, ‘it looks good on you.’

one night you think of the curve of ava’s rib. the twelfth, exactly, the way it wrapped slightly in her back, near her spine, a flutter away. you think of the way her shirt rode up in the middle of the night, how she rolled over onto her stomach and you saw the dimples above the waistband of her shorts, the curve of her ass, the nape of her neck, the delicate press of her wrists. it felt wrong, to look like that, your eyes red with sleep — but she was there, and she was so, so beautiful.

one night you can’t sleep and you close your eyes and think about the way ava’s lips had felt against yours. you try not to concentrate on any of the bad, just for now, just for a breath, just for this sliver of moonlight and the quiet seep of your desire onto your fingers when you press between your legs.

you wonder, absently, if hell will open up and swallow you whole. you rub circles around your clit and try, so hard, to listen to your body, to trust it like you had only learned how to do in a fight, like you had only allowed yourself in moments of pain and danger. but you’re safe, in this big bed by the ocean, and you think of ava’s twelfth rib and heaven and you come silently, pleasure drenching down your spine as you allow it to curve into the light.

you give your body to yourself, just for a few minutes, and it feels like heaven. you lie back against your pillow and blink open your eyes and laugh.

ava has been back for less than twelve hours before she flits through your closet. you’ve picked up pieces here and there, mostly earth tones, mostly loose and comfortable fabrics; you have a few hoodies, which seem to really delight her, and a tweed jacket you haven’t fully worked up the courage to wear with some slacks yet, although they’re both there, and ready, and available.

‘this is so gay,’ she says fondly, meaning, you presume, your entire wardrobe, and it’s so, so stupid for you to feel panicked, because you are gay and you want, so badly, to love being gay, because you love ava, more than heaven and earth, and she came back for you. but still, you can’t erase so many years of hating a fundamental part of who you are; ava frowns and walks up to you slowly. ’bea.’

‘it’s fine.’

‘i’m sorry.’ she takes both of your hands in hers and runs her thumb along the back gently. ‘i don’t — this is all still kind of new to you, i guess.’

it’s gentle, and forgiving, and opens up so much space for you. you had wanted, so, so many times, to change into who you are, brimming under the surface, and you’d only started to feel brave enough when you’d seen her genuine smile at your new slacks in switzerland. you suppose, really, it’s not that much different now. ‘i, uh, i see a therapist.’

‘oh?’ she doesn’t back away, only squeezes your hands. ‘that’s awesome. do you like them?’

‘i do.’

she just stands and waits and you are thankful for her, again and again; you have missed her so, so much.

‘i started — because i was grieving,’ you say, quietly and in the direction of a row of sneakers on the floor. ‘i went because i was hurting, and i didn’t know what to do with it.’ you had started going because, one night, you had gotten roaringly drunk at a little bar in echo park and felt like you wanted to walk into fucking traffic on the 405 when a girl with ava’s lotion passed by you, but that’s a detail you can mention another time, or never.

‘i’m sorry, bea.’

‘no.’ you touch her face gently, rest your hand on her collarbone. ‘not your fault. but what i mean is that — i started going because i missed you, and i didn’t know who i was, really. i left the church, and i fell in love with you, and, like, how do i become who i really am as a lesbian ex-nun whose — uh, person, is, well, missing, for an undetermined amount of time.’

‘therapy does seem like a good start with that,’ she says sagely. ‘also, person?’

‘we hadn’t discussed what we were to each other, before the portal, so.’ you shrug. ‘i know you’re my partner. but you are also my person.’

‘love that,’ she says, and smiles, ‘and love you. and other than how incredible i am, what have you learned about yourself?’

you lead her to a drawer in your closet, and you open it and take out a chest binder, black and unassuming, one you haven’t worn yet but had bought one morning online, after you’d had a wonderful surf session and you had wondered, just enough, how it might feel. ‘i don’t know,’ you say. ‘i don’t — i’m figuring it out.’ ava is still and patient beside you; you have a holy war coming, one neither of you is sure to survive, and it all seems to matter a little less in the face of it. or, maybe, it matters more. ‘is that okay?’

‘fuck yeah,’ ava says. ‘you’re so hot, like, god, even hotter than i remember? what a fucking gift! and, yeah, i mean, you’re however you feel, regardless of me. i know i’m like really awesome, but i’m just a person. kind of. for these purposes, i’m just a girl. mostly.’ she laughs at herself. ‘anyway, try it on! if you want. i love you, and i want to see.’

for your entire life you’ll hold it in your heartspace: i love you, and i want to see. just like that, just like a commandment — true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, praiseworthy. ‘okay.’

‘sweet,’ ava says, ‘i’ll be waiting out here, whenever you’re ready.’

you step into the binder and pull it on like you’d watched a few tutorials of, and you don’t think it’s something you want all of the time, but your heart pounds and your palms sweat and then your entire body settles when you situate the straps on your shoulders and turn in the mirror, see your chest mostly flat. again, it’s like seeing yourself for the very first time: there you are.

you wipe a few tears from your cheeks and let out a big breath and then slip a t-shirt over your head, pad out to where ava is very obviously vibrating with excitement and not at all reading the book on her lap, opened to a random page.

she groans and leans back dramatically. ‘even hotter, wow.’

‘yeah?’

‘yes!’ she narrows her eyes. ‘but, from what i think your therapist is getting at: how does it make you feel? even if i wasn’t here to tell you how hot you are, which i always will be now, obviously. but even if i wasn’t, what are you feeling?’

unbound, you remember, unburdened. ‘happy,’ you say, and she stands and runs her hands up and down your sides, over your flat chest, and kisses you. ‘i feel so happy.’

ava is overjoyed when one of your friends in madrid invites you to a drag show. technically, you’re both supposed to be Very Seriously Working, because there really is an imminent number of battles looming over the horizon, but you rent a little flat a few blocks from headquarters and sometimes try your best to take ava on dates. obviously, she enjoys doing everything in her power to loudly woo you: she buys flowers from a vendor on the corner and dramatically gives them to you; she brings home books you might like, in all kinds of languages; she tells everyone at the ocs how your lesbian love was what was strong enough to bring her back from the other realm. it’s all a little ridiculous, but she always has been, and it’s intoxicating to be the sole focus of her joy sometimes.

ava whistles and you roll your eyes when you slip a warm oversized cream color wool sweater over your binder, careful not to mess up your meticulous bun, and let it sit loose and elegant over a pair of navy slacks and slip on a pair of brown loafers. ava is in a dress and a blazer and she’s done eyeliner and lipstick and she’s so, so fucking beautiful. you’d put a little mascara and chapstick on and a little thrill goes through you: ava wants to be on your arm tonight; she wants to sit next to you and whisper joyously in your ear and kiss you and come home with you — ava looks like that and ava is yours.

there are three queens performing that night, two songs each, ava informs you, when you meet up with your friends. it’s loud and bright and one of the queens — ava’s favorite, if her screaming next to you has any indication — does ‘pure/honey’ from renaissance, which, in ava’s words, brings the house down.

‘gender fuckery is heaven, baby,’ the queen says after, to absolutely raucous cheers from the crowd. ava looks at you with a raised brow but her grin is so big you can’t do anything but kiss her: the swell in your chest is good, you decide, like a perfect set by the pier just after sunrise, wave after wave breaking in a way your body knows exactly what to do with, exactly how to ride safely into shore. you wipe a few tears but you let ava drag you to your feet and you sing along, on your own accord, when they play whitney houston.

‘what’s one thing — especially something that you’ve maybe felt scared of, or that you’re not sure you’ll like — that you associate with queerness that you’ve always wanted to try?’

and, like, therapy is hard, okay? it’s hard when ava is so overjoyed and so fearless about her own sexuality, and about loving you without any hesitation; of course, you both have trauma, but ava has never, in her entire life, tried to deny herself want or pleasure or expression.

and it’s hard because, god, there are so many things on that list. some of them you’ve done: buying men’s pants (that fit you like a dream, thank you very much); dancing with ava and finally kissing her after a few shots; going to a lesbian bar; going to a drag show. you want to get more tattoos — some that mean important things, and maybe some that don’t, that you just like — and you want to smoke weed the way ava does with your friends sometimes, laughing slow and soft and curling up in your lap. you want to kiss ava in front of a van gogh without checking around you first; you want to pull her chair out at dinner; you want to laugh when your friends say that’s gay — with lots of love — after one of them says something sweet about their partner. you want ava to steal your clothes. you want to go to pride. you want, very badly, to find a church that doesn’t make you feel like dying.

‘it doesn’t have to be serious,’ your therapist says, coaxing you along just a little. ‘it doesn’t have to be huge or life-changing. just something you might try, whatever comes to mind.’

‘a haircut.’ it sort of comes out of your mouth without permission, but maybe that was the point; you’re still figuring out want and desire and giving in to them without anxiety.

your therapist smiles, and it feels good, warm, to know that you’ve told the truth, that she seems to understand. ‘why does that scare you?’

you look down at your hands and will yourself not to fidget; your therapist notices and hands you a stim toy, admittedly your favorite one.

‘well, first, what if i hate it?’

‘haircuts are, fortunately, relatively temporary. what would you do if you did hate it?’

‘grow it out again, i guess.’ you think of ava’s collection of hats and beanies. ‘a cap, maybe?’

‘logical. what else scares you?’

‘what if ava hates it?’

‘well, from everything i know of ava, i doubt she would hate anything you decide could bring you joy. and she seems very into you.’

it gets you to smile: ava makes that known often, and to everyone she wants, it’s true.

‘when ava tries something, like a haircut or color, or a more masculine or feminine outfit, how do you feel?’

‘i love her, obviously. in any form; she’s beautiful and she’s my partner.’

your therapist smiles. ‘exactly. and, beyond that, i know we’ve been talking about this, but your sexuality and your relationship to it, and your joy in it, lies far outside of your partner. you were a lesbian before you met ava, and you will be, no matter what your relationship with her is, unless you decide you feel something different. your queerness and place in it isn’t just about sex, or your partner. it’s about who you are, fundamentally, and how you want to be seen for it.’

you nod, take a deep breath. ‘yes. i guess, well, when i was younger, 12 or 13, maybe, i wanted to cut my hair short. i was in so many martial arts and archery classes; i ran and swam all the time, so it seemed easier. it also seemed … cool? like, i thought it might feel… that it might feel good, or right. i didn’t know why.’

‘why didn’t you cut your hair then?’

‘my mother, when i asked, she said that it would make people think i’m … that i’m a dyke.’ you pause, let the hurt well up in you and breathe it out. ‘she used that word, and it scared me.’

‘what does that word make you feel now?’

‘i… i love it? it still feels a little scary, maybe, but — i already know people look at me and don’t think i’m straight, even when i’m not with ava. that used to be terrifying, because what if someone was unkind or even dangerous? but that … it hasn’t happened, and, if it did, i could handle it. i know i could.’

‘so what would a haircut change, then?’

‘if i — ‘ you imagine it, then, you let yourself: how the collar of your favorite turtleneck sweater might look, how easy it would be to take care of after surfing, how you could put on mascara and linen and your favorite sunglasses and hold ava’s hand, just like always. ‘people would see me and know i’m a lesbian, i think. it’s… a choice, for me at least, to look queer. and a haircut is one i can’t immediately change, like clothes. and we’re going to see my old friends soon, and i don’t know what they’d think, and — ‘

‘your friends have been accepting of you, and of ava, and of you and ava together, right?’

‘yes, of course. but it would just be — i couldn’t hide. everyone would know; everyone would be able to see, all the time. ava isn’t read as queer all the time; i can pass as straight. but if i couldn’t — ‘

when you don’t continue, your therapist gently says, ‘you would be seen. which is scary, and i hear what you’re saying, absolutely. but, beatrice, you would be seen for who you are, without apology.’

‘that’s true.’

‘i have one more question.’

‘okay.’

‘what would happen if you loved it?’

‘how are you doing?’ your stylist, xavi — one of your favorite people on the planet, one of your best friends who has been offering to give you a haircut you actually want for two years now — calmly combs out your long hair after she’d washed it.

‘i think i might throw up.’

it makes her laugh, which is maybe a little mean but also why you’re so fond of her; she had been one of the students in your adult beginners aikido class and, while she hadn’t shown any talent or much interest, she had made you smile all the time and invited you and ava to dinner with her and her wife as soon as she found out you mentioned ava, and you had been friends ever since. most days, you just put your hair into a neat bun. ava likes to play with it down, especially when you’re sleeping in, but when you told her you wanted to cut it she had kissed you square on the mouth. ‘i love you, and i want to see,’ she’d told you again, and played with the engagement ring around your finger. ’even if it looks terrible — which isn’t possible, because it’s you — there’s no way i’m ever asking you to take this off. ever, ever, ever, bea. okay?’

xavi pats your shoulder; she had excitedly fit you in this morning after you’d texted her after therapy yesterday with pictures of a short, neat mid-fade to the skin, sitting in your car before you even drove home, afraid you’d lose your nerve if you didn’t. ‘we can just do a trim, or start with a little off, and you can decide how you’re feeling from there.’

it’s so patient and so kind. ‘no, no. i — i’m sure. i’m just scared.’ it’s ridiculous, really, you think: you’ve been shot and stabbed and blown up multiple times; you have killed more people than you can count; you have almost died, so, so many times. but this, this is living, true to who you are. ‘i — this is what i want. i know this is what i want.’

‘okay then,’ xavi says, and collects your hair, smooth and long, into a ponytail at the base of your skull. ‘ready?’

‘as i’ll ever be.’

it’s fast and unceremonious, just a few sips as you close your eyes, but then you feel hair tickle your cheeks and you open your eyes and xavi hands you your long ponytail with a grin.

‘oh my god.’

‘okay,’ she says, ‘we can stop here? i can definitely make this work.’

‘no, no,’ you say, ‘it’s good.’ you laugh. ‘i feel good.’

‘you want to keep going?’

‘yeah,’ you say, let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, settled in a way, already, that you never have been before in your entire life. ‘let’s do it.’

‘amazing,’ xavi says. ‘this is going to look so good.’

and, really, it does: xavi turns the clippers on and you let go of the swoop in your stomach, your clammy palms, the too-fast thud of your heart, and just let yourself become. xavi explains what she’s doing each step, and she talks about the kittens she’s fostering, and asks you about your new aikido class, and it’s easy.

she finishes; she places a hot towel on your neck and makes sure your hairline is clean in the back and then shows you how to put a little pomade in the top, an inch and a half long, textured and dark. she takes the cape off and you stand, look at yourself in the mirror: your favorite crewneck, and a pair of pants ava had surprised you with from artists and fleas, the thin chain with a tiny cross you don’t take off sitting just below your collarbone. ‘i love it, xavi,’ you say, your hands are shaking but when you bring them up to your hair there’s a clarity in your chest that’s never been there before: unbound, unburdened, you remember, and also: i felt finally myself.

you’re in and out of it after surgery; you know your injuries as ava told you and then the surgeon explained more completely. mostly, you’re just relieved you’re alive, because the moment before you hit the wall you were sure you weren’t going to be. you’d asked mary a few hours ago, while ava was in the bathroom, to convince ava to take a walk and then eat an actual meal, not just pick at food while she sits by your bedside. it works: mary bullies ava into it, but sometimes, even now, that’s just what you have to do.

you fall asleep again; you’ve been walking more the past day, up and around with a walker a few times a day. between that and the pain medicine you’re still on, and the residuals from anesthesia, it’s impossible to not nap fairly often. when you wake up, lilith is kicked back in the chair by one side of your bed, her feet, boots still on, resting by your side on the blanket. mother superion sits next to her, doing a crossword in the daily paper. the sight makes you laugh a little, and you’re pleased that you’re a little less sore.

they both notice you’re awake; mother superion puts down her crossword but lilith doesn’t move an inch. you’re thankful your surgeon had let you sit on the shower seat and let ava wash your hair earlier this morning, careful to not press hard against the bruise on the back of your skull or get any water on your incisions — you feel slightly less gross and definitely more awake than you had before.

she looks at you and you feel anxious, all of a sudden: lilith appraises you, and then slouches even further into your seat. ‘gay,’ she decides on, and then, ‘aerodynamic.’

you look to mother superion for a moment, whose mouth twitches in a smile. ‘we didn’t have much chance to talk before the battle,’ she says, ‘but what lilith means is that your hair suits you.’

your brain is still sluggish, but — ’because i’m… gay and aerodynamic?’

lilith, miraculously, laughs. ‘well, sure, but it looks good.’ she shrugs. ‘you look like yourself.’

mother superion nods. ‘it’s good to see you becoming who you are.’

you’re definitely still loopy, overly emotional, but you might tear up from that even if you weren’t. still, lilith rolls her eyes. ‘oh, come on, beatrice.’

‘sorry,’ you sniffle, then rub your eyes.

you hear ava’s, ‘you made her cry? i was only gone for like, half an hour? what the fuck?’

‘i said something nice,’ lilith defends, getting to her feet.

‘sure you did,’ ava says. ‘i can still take you in a fight. i’ll do it, swear to god.’

‘you definitely cannot take me in a fight, ava.’

ava stands, indignant, although it’s made less effective by the comfortable hoodie a little crooked on her shoulders and mary’s a whole head taller than her. the halo flares a little but quiets when you reach out a hand in her direction.

‘oh, for fuck’s sake,’ lilith says, and then in a flash she’s gone. mother superion squeezes your hand before she heads out with a nod and another soft smile, and mary follows.

ava sits on the side of your bed. ‘was lilith an asshole? i swear if she made you feel bad about anything i will kill her.’

‘she was actually, in her own way, kind. and mother superion was too. i’m just more emotional than usual because of the meds.’

‘you’re sure?’

you tug ava down a little and she messes with your hair with a soft smile, then kisses your forehead. ‘very chivalrous of you, to offer to defend my honor, though.’

she laughs. ‘i don’t want to fight lilith again, ever, in any realm, in any way.’ she presses her mouth to yours. ‘but, for you, bea, i would do anything.’

‘you look — ‘ you let your brother fumble over his words for a moment and then laugh, spare him any more worry.

‘hot is fine.’

he rolls his eyes. ‘you look incredible, bea.’ the suit lena had made you — navy, and light, a slim tuxedo pant, a single button jacket and a perfect, crisp white t-shirt tucked in neatly, sitting beneath — fits exactly how you want it. your hair has grown out, and it parts in the middle now, and flops — as ava loves to say — just above your eyes; the sides and back are still buzzed short, and it makes you smile, even now — your ‘prince charming era’ according to ava. xavi had done your makeup: tinted moisturizer and a little bit of mascara.

‘i do look incredible, huh?’

he smiles. ‘yeah. you really do.’ he lint rolls your shoulders for the final time, more out of nerves than there having ever been lint in the first place. ‘well, let’s do this then. let’s go get you married.’

he walks you down the aisle and then you wait in front of the altar you had made, barefoot on the beach, and when ava rounds the corner and then smiles at you, you know you’ve given her a gift too: i want to see. i love you, and i want to see.

‘thank god i married you,’ ava says, tracing a line down your spine and then along the linework tattoo on your ribcage.

‘mmmm,’ you say, ‘i agree. but why, specifically.’

she bends down to laugh into your shoulder before kissing down your spine. ‘it’s fucking insane that you get hotter like, literally every day.’

you laugh too. ‘thank you, my wife.’

she squeezes your hips. ‘wow. my wife.’

you turn over beneath her and pull her down slowly to kiss you. the snow is falling outside but the fireplace at your room in a resort in the alps is beautiful, and everything is warm. you feel the halo hum beneath her hands and it’s easy, it’s so easy, to let ava roll her hips against yours and press you down into the mattress; it’s easy to put on boxers — black calvins, tight against your thighs — after you shower and stand in the mirror. your hands are calm, and it’s so easy, when you really look, to see who you are in your body. to belong only to yourself: there you are.

#wn #warrior nun fic #avatrice #avatrice fic #butch!beatrice #an ode to her bc i love her & i love being butch #if this isn't ur vibe... pls just move along thank u #ava’s favorite way of affirming bea is just being horny. a queen #this entire thing exists bc i had the first line & then lilith saying ‘gay. aerodynamic’ & i had to get from one to the other lmao

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itsrheasgirl · 1 year ago

Text

AN UNEXPECTED GUEST - PART 4

Chapter 2 for Forbidden Love series. The Forbidden Love series follows a relationship between Rhea x Reader.

•

The Reader has a strong friendship with Liv Morgan.

•

Liv is in love with The Reader but hasn’t told them.

•

fem!reader - rhea x reader.

mentions of raquel x reader.

•

@rheasbaee @riverscyberwife @you-got-me-star-lost-16 @innagnv @bittersweetastoria @chillinbri @call-me-a-simp @sithfar @rooskaya-yelena @half-of-a-gay @teenagedramaqueenlisa @gabrielleskyelar @hit-the-dirt-and-get-back-on @bl0w-m3 @l0v3e1i

•

You pulled Rhea into your room so fast that the taller female collided harshly against your petite frame— forcing a gust of air from your lungs. Your wrist flicking to close the door behind her, as both your arms wound around her waist in a tight embrace.

“—Hi.”

Rhea laughed softly, her own arms winding around your torso as you nuzzled against her chest. You always felt so at peace when Rhea held you, the sweet scent of her perfume intoxicating.

“What did Liv want?”

You hadn’t stopped worrying about why Liv had gone to Rhea’s room, trying to convince yourself that it was nothing— that they were just hanging out, but you couldn’t shake the fear.

“Straight to the point, huh?”

Rhea chortled, resting her chin down against your head.

“You don’t need to freak out, pretty girl.”

Unwrapping your arms from around Rhea’s waist, you lean back slightly within her hold to place your palms down against her chest. Your gaze meeting hers as a manicured brow arches.

“Freak out… I’m not freaking out.”

The tone in your voice was clearly higher than usual, the speed of your heartbeat increasing as you kept your gaze fixed on Rhea, the warmth behind her features causing a soft smile to tug at her lips.

“Riiiight.”

She chortled— her lips kissing softly against your forehead and her palms moving to cup around your jaw, she tilted your head back to press her lips against the cushion of your own in a quick peck.

“She just wanted to apologize. For last month. Trust me, there is nothing to worry about.”

Rhea lied as her sapphire gaze sparkled down at you, a wave of emotions crashing on her like a ton of bricks. She kept her features warm and comforting, as she battled with herself in her subconscious. You have to tell her, she deserves to know the truth before you fall too deep. One side shouts, the other returning a rebuttal. Don’t be ridiculous! You want her and you know you do. This isn’t your fault. Liv was just too late.

- - - - - - - - - - -

“I call shot guuuuun.”

Liv shouted as she ran through the lobby— bag in hand, as you followed along behind her with Rhea and Raquel. A small laugh leaving the two females that walked either side of you, you shake your head slowly. Liv always seemed so happy, constantly full of energy. How she wasn’t embarrassed about being so bubbly in public, you had no idea.

Sneaking a quick glance over at Rhea as you made your way to the car, you take note of her slightly sullen features. It was clear she’d wanted to sit up front with you, but was taking the hit to avoid issues. I’m sorry you mouthed, the two of you separating as your walked round the front of the car to the drivers side. Slotting her suitcase behind the back seats, Rhea hops over the door and drops down in the seat behind you— her brows arching slightly as she spots everyone staring at her.

“What?”

She questioned, shifting her glance between each individual in front of her. Looking at Rhea dead on and then down at the door handle, Raquel pulled the door open as she looked back up in Rhea’s direction.

“There’s no roof.”

Rhea stated, point a lone finger up towards the sky with a raised brow.

“Why bother with the door?”

All four of you burst into laughter as Raquel drops down in her seat, your head shaking gently as you turn the key in the ignition and start up the car.

You enjoyed hanging out with the girls, being part of a group that just jelled well together. It wasn’t often that you were all in the same place, usually only when larger fights were in the works. But it always gave you something to look forward too, seeing Liv was always fun— but seeing all of them was better.

WWE always made sure their champions were closely located to the arena— saved on travel time, so you didn’t have to spend too long listening to Liv sing along with the radio out of key. You glance flitting up to meet Rhea’s in the rear view mirror, a warm smile capturing your features as you saw her watching you. Of course you’d much rather she was in the front with you, but challenging Liv over a shot gun was like challenging a child. You weren’t going to win.

Taking a quick glance over in Liv’s direction, you’re relieved to see her leaning against the door frame watching the world go by. Giving you the perfect timing to slip your palm between your seat and the door and back in Rhea’s direction, a soft smile claiming your features as you feel her fingers winding with yours.

It wasn’t the smartest move for you to be showing Rhea any kind of attention with Liv in such close proximity, but you weren’t going to let your trip go to waste. You’d come to San Juan for her after all. But with Liv distracted you had to seize the opportunity— little did you know you hadn’t gone completely unnoticed. Raquel’s gaze catching your little interaction, the muscular female did her best to not react, her lips pressing into a tight line in order to suppress her smile.

“So Y/N..”

Rhea states, leaning forward into the back of your seat to wrap her free arm around your chest— attempting to hide your conjoined palms.

“You gonna sit ring side this time? It’s a much better view.”

You knew exactly what Rhea was doing, she wanted you to be ring side. She wanted you there for support, so she could have you there when she won— it had nothing to do with the view.

Removing your hold on Rhea’s palm— in order to keep one hand on the wheel, you pat it down gently against her forearm a few times before shooting her and Raquel a look in the rear view mirror.

“Ooooh no can do, Ripley. I’ve already made plans to watch backstage with Liv and Rocky. Right girls?”

You watch Rhea roll her eyes playfully, a glimmer of disappointment flashing in her crystal gaze as she releases a faux huff before leaning back into her seat. Sure she was pretending to be upset for Liv and Raquel, but you could tell it wasn’t all fake. You just hoped she wasn’t actually upset with you.

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

Zelina Vega was a spitfire, small and agile— but when it came to down to standing face to face with Rhea Ripley, she didn’t stand a chance.

Your slender legs rested in Liv’s lap as you all sat with your gaze locked on the big screen, you waited patiently for Rhea’s match to start. Loud cheers for the smackdown woman’s champion rang in your ears as she made her way to the ring— of course they’d sent her in first.

“Y/N…”

You hadn’t notice as Liv repeatedly tapped her palm against your shin, your gaze shifting from the tv to the bubbly blonde as she continued her motion.

“Did you hear me, I want some water.”

You raised your brow slightly, watching as she continued to tap against your leg.

“Do.. do you want me to get it?”

Liv chortled softly, pushing your legs off her lap before rising to her feet and spinning back to face you.

“No I got it.”

Without another word Liv disappears from the back room, leaving you alone with Raquel.

You slowly turn your gaze over to where Raquel sat, a slight tingle of confusion washing over you as you find the fellow female staring at you. The corners of your lips twitch into a nervous smile before your tongue parts them to coat each with moisture. What was she looking at? Your brows furrowing and your nose crinkling, you can’t help the small chortle that vibrates from your chest.

“Why are you staring at me?”

Glancing around to make sure no one was watching you both, Raquel hoped up from her chair and hurried over to the couch where you sat confused. She was full of energy— her features glowing with excitement as she dropped down on the couch beside you, her muscular arm swinging round your shoulder before giving it a gentle squeeze.

“So…”

So.. so what? Your brows remained arched as your confusion grew, your gaze flitting from Raquel’s hold on your shoulder and back up to her features a few time.

“This should be a good match, don’t you think? Zelina doesn’t stand a chance against Rhea.”

You chewed nervously on your lower lip, glancing back towards the tv as the bell rang and the match began. You were always on edge when watching Rhea fight— whether it be in person, or at home alone on your couch. What if she got hurt? Seriously hurt and it left her out of action. Rhea worked so hard to be where she was and the idea of her having to take a step back always worried you.

“Ye.. yeah, she’s got this.”

You were still confused as to why Raquel was so close to you, still holding on to your shoulder as she gently jabbed a singular finger into your ribs.

“You care about her.”

Your eyes widen instantly as you snap your gaze away from the tv and round to lock with Raquel’s own chestnut hues. Shifting your entire frame over on the couch a few inches, your turn yourself inwards to face her head on. What did she mean by care? You cared for Liv, you cared for her. Did she mean you cared for Rhea in the same way?

“She’s alright.”

Raquel dropped her features in a do I look like an idiot manors, a singular manicured brow arching slightly as she watched you begin to fidget with your fingers in your lap. A soft laugh of discomfort parting your lips as you tried your best to act natural.

Slowly placed one palm down over your hands, Raquel gave it a gentle squeeze of encouragement. You didn’t need to be so timid with her, she understood what nerves felt like.

“I saw you guys in the car, on the way here. You were holding hands.

A lump formed in your throat as Raquel spoke, struggling to swallow it down as you tried to process what to say next. You could deny it. Say you had no idea what she was talking about. But what would be the point?

“Please don’t tell Liv.”

Your voice was quiet, the words leaving your lips in barely a whisper. You still hadn’t had the time to talk with Rhea one on one about your relationship. Could you even call it that? Fooling around didn’t always mean something and until you’d spoken with Rhea, you didn’t want anything becoming public.

“I got you.”

Raquel chortled. Tapping her palm down against your knee, she gave your leg a little shake before returning her gaze towards the tv. The room was fairly silent as the small groups of wrestlers chat amongst themselves, some watching the match just like you as others prepared for their own.

You didn’t know if Raquel could be trusted to keep your secret from Liv, but you believed she wouldn’t betray you and that’s all you needed to relax.

“She’s pretty popular now, huh?.”

Raquel uttered, not too loud but loud enough for you to hear. The corners of your lips twitching into a coy smile as you kept your gaze fixated on Rhea through the screen. She had blown up around the world and you were so proud of how loved she was.

You hadn’t been keeping tabs on the time that past, unaware of Liv’s return to the room. She was like a ninja, always popping up in places without a sound. Water bottle in hand she paused in her tracks as you spoke, your words causing her to swallow harshly.

“She’s… important. Incredible really.”

She’s important. The words that fell from your lips stung in Liv’s chest, a red hot pinch piercing her heart like a knife. She couldn’t breath, her delicate palm gripping tightly around the bottle of water in her hand. She’s important! Her subconscious screamed, causing the tiny blonde to stumble backwards a few steps.

Without a word, Liv backed up slowly. Rage boiling under her skin like fire, she bit down tightly on her lower lip as to stop herself from making a scene.

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, it couldn’t be a coincidence.

You were in love with Rhea.

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lohstandfound · 7 months ago

Text

My Favourite Line From Each Poem in My Gay Poetry Manuscript

this was harder than i thought, some are better than others, some are more poetic sounding than others, anyway there's like around 50 poems so this is a bit long

no longer hiding / no longer creeping around behind closed doors / no longer suppressing who i am / i love who i love / and that is enough

that one false confession proved to be a bad idea

The word Falls From their lips, Like an autumn leaf.

The final goodbye is covered in thorns.

The sourness of the final word Still lingers on your tongue As you pretend The same sullen taste Is lingering for them, too

twin arrows pierce our hearts / golden and radiant / joining us together / a moment of devotion to you

Digging their roots into my lungs.

i put on a smile / wave goodbye / shove the words deep into my chest / another day another time

Stars on her skin, Stars in her eyes, Stars everywhere

The type of love that means everything will be okay.

Surrounded by red and amber tulips.

You carry the stars with you everywhere.

Crumpled bloody flowers Adorn the photograph In pathetic beauty

i had my moon, he had his stars and we’d talk about our unrequited crushes

I am capable of love, And I don’t need to prove it.

It was doomed from the start.

slow dance in the kitchen to the light of the refrigerator at 3 am

I want you to be mine.

Bruised lips crash together, Held in a rhythmic percussion.

You know who you are supposed to be.

we create a new sense of self / that sense of i / that sense of a whole person / that identity we have to develop with reference to ourselves

Red-stained petals Scatter around me in a Bouquet that I will never send.

another search for a missing puzzle piece

Sprinkles of kisses cover her shoulders as I praise her like the goddess she is

She called me one of her baby gays at a party, And I wasn’t complaining.

And I wait for the beat And the realisation And the smile on her face.

Delve into the unexplored maze

Your hands cup my cheeks as you press your sugary lips to mine

she could not remember Anything but longing [this line is from my found poetry attempt using lines from sappho's fragments]

there are girls who walk in moonlight with starlight in their eyes and secrets to be kept

So, she picks a boy to satisfy the room.

In a phantom crown of yellow.

and when you’re belting songs at the top of your lungs / feeling the world move beneath your feet / feeling the fireworks exploding deep in your chest / clinging to your friends in the chilly december air

Or religiously watched the Call Me Maybe & California Girls music videos.

Dreaming of getting wasted on the blood of Christ.

The little girl who adored you and all the angels and saints Would be so disappointed in me for just walking away from you.

I’ll let my hands trace every inch of your skin, every dip and curve, while I leave trails of kisses along your neck

To be someone aligned between other lines

It’s like I’m sitting in the closet, The door is wide open But I’m not yet allowed to leave.

Eighteen-year-old me cries when she realises we have friends.

gentle and soft with a girl i love…

The way a smile curves at her lips, And the fondness in her voice, As she spoke about gifts she would want: “Flowers.”

I love her in a way even I can't put into words

#lohst.txt #there are some poems i think i want to cut #and im writing some potential new poems to add in #i still think i need someone else to take a look at this collection #because staring at the poems isnt making any progress with it #anyway #here are some lines that i think are neat for one reason or another

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trudemaethien · 1 year ago

Note

for the prompts:

As you know, I have not read the RepComm books, so I have no idea how cursed this is. I could have rolled again but I thought it was funnier this way.

Ship: Mereel/Atin

Words: freighter, root, biography

I guffawed when I saw this pairing. idk if I’m going to be able to work those words into whatever their deal is but I’m definitely writing Them because it is indeed cursed and funny. (spoiler alert i didn’t manage it, i hope you’ll forgive me shdjskf lol)

Kal’buir has a new set of favorites, scrappy survivors cobbled together from the orphans of the clusterfuck bloodbath premiere of the war that was Geonosis. Three of them had already been in Sergeant Skirata’s commando cohort, so Mereel knows them vaguely.

One had not.

The Arcee Vau turned over to them calls himself Atin, a properly mando name, not to be confused with Mereel’s own brother A’denn. How does anyone confuse stubbornness with wrath, anyway?

Mereel knows better than to get invested in the lives of ordinary clones. They’re a chit a unit, these days—maybe two chits for a commando, value doubled when the quantity halved on day one. It doesn’t matter; Mereel and his brothers weren’t bought so cheaply, and he has higher things to concern himself with than interpersonal affairs.

Well, Ordo liked Qibbu’s rutian twi’lek barmaid, but instead of having the decency to like him back she’s taken a fancy to —you guessed it— Atin. Scarred, sullen Atin seems tacitly pleased with her attentions, and Ordo’s not kicking up a fuss, just sulking, yet Mereel cares more about the whole thing than he can justify as being on Ordo’s behalf. It’s not like the girl’s his type either.

Seems he hasn’t been subtle enough in watching.

“Something on my face?” Atin challenges him coolly, daring him to state the obvious. He’s stern and unamused, and that just makes it more enticing to fuck with him.

“Yeah, just a little”—Mereel reaches up and scrubs his thumb over the corner of Atin’s mouth, unscarred side—“shit, maybe nerf-stew, you got there.”

People are watching them. Beneath his deliberately calm and neutral face, Atin’s eyes have a gleam like he wants to bite Mereel’s fingers off but is choosing not to resort to violence out of some misguided notion it makes him the bigger man.

Mereel smirks at him and scrapes his thumb clean with his teeth, sitting back. Attention lapses from them at the lack of escalation, but Mereel can tell it’s not the end of it, just the beginning. Atin has the expression of a man contemplating the manner of his retribution, and Mereel cannot wait to see how he does it.

No question if he will. Would any such atin’la verd ever take it lying down?

The anticipation will satisfy until his revenge is served. Delicious.

fellas is it gay to touch another man’s lips and then put your fingers in your mouth… 🤭

(mereel just has to push all the buttons to see what they do. atin only looks nonreactive)

What Does This Do? 🔒 https://archiveofourown.org/works/51600454

#writing prompt #cloneshipping #ask answered #repcomm #clones #mereel skirata #atin skirata #he’s adopted #the nulls incest kink hits again #sexy stepbrother lol #atin/mereel #fanfiction

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gaysullengirl · 5 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞, 𝐭𝐞𝐧. i know what its like

❝ i'm tired of feeling like im fucking crazy. ❞

- lana del rey, ride

"Reid." Hotch narrowed his eyes at him, "I apologize." Hotch continued.

"I don't." Spencer mumbled, just loud enough for Isabelle to hear, she bit her lip to stop a laugh from slipping out.

"We've heard those phrases before When we interview school shooters." Isabelle explained to the oblivious counselor.

Emily rushed into the room, "Jordan was the motive for Kyle Borden, it was revenge."

"I need to speak to the boys who made this video immediately."

"I'll check their class schedules." The counselor scrambled to his computer to find out, his face dropped immediately, "What is it?"

"None of them show up at school."

୨୧

The local police station smelled of finger printing ink and old coffee, Isabelle enjoyed the smell, it reminded her of when she was a detective for the nypd.

The team heard the familiar sound of Garcia urgently typing on her computer through the phone call, "He deleted everything but the one mpeg." She sighed.

"I'm walking Morgan through retrieving what he put in the trash, but-"

"We've got three missing kids, Garcia, we need access to Owen's E-Mail." Hotch clenched his jaw.

"The kid is tech savvy, sir, but fret not, I am tech savvier!" She exclaimed, "Is that a word? That sounds like a word, if it is a word, I am it!"

"Two alienated kids, no maternal presence, dysfunctional relationships with dominating fathers who with held love, they were made for each other." Rossi said.

Emily shook her head, "Mm, as lovers, yes, but partners in crime, no."

"There's nothing in Jordan's profile that indicates she's capable of violence, and certainly not murder."

"A new mpeg just posted to the school social networking site." Garcia breathed heavily, "He- you need to see this."

A video popped up on the screen, it was of three boys, all on their knees while their hands were on their head infront on a lake.

"It was a joke, man!" One of the boys said, "We didn't mean anything by it!" Another boy shouted, "It was 3 years ago, no one even remembers it." The last boy argued.

"I do." A voice behind the camera said.

"No, owen!" "Don't! Don't!" "Please! No-" The three boys pleaded, they were cut off by gunshots ringing out.

"Garcia, is there any way to trace the mpeg to the computer that sent it?"

୨୧

"Once you've heard the profile, you'll understand." Jj told the officers that were gathered around.

Hotch, Rossi, and Spencer went to the scene where the boys were killed and figured out Owen was collecting injustices- the perfect revenge.

"We are wasting time, Owen is here, and we should be knocking on doors." An officer argued.

"It's not a good idea." "And why is that?" "Because Owen's watching, he's monitoring the news, right now, he thinks you think he's gone, he feels safe."

"If we start knocking on doors, he's gonna know that he's not, he's gonna feel trapped."

"Why the hell should we care about this little bastard's feelings?" Another officer chimed in.

Isabelle gritted her teeth, "We're here to help you bring in Owen Savage with minimum loss of life, the profile tells us how to do that, if all you're gonna do is bitch and complain then you can leave." She scoffed.

Spencer smiled at her, "Owen Savage fits the profile of a type of school shooter known as an injustice collector, he's trying to avenge perceived wrongs."

"If he's a school shooter, why hasn't he hit the school yet?"

"Jordan. Most of these guys are so angry and hopeless, they just want to kill as many people as possible then commit suicide." Emily explained.

"But Jordan gives him a reason to live."

Isabelle glanced at Spencer 'He gives me a reason to live.' She thought.

Isabelle hated that in so twisted way she related to Owen- she almost felt bad for him in a way.

Growing up in a small town and constantly being the outsider- no matter how hard he tried to fit in and find the acceptance of his peers he never did.

"Otherwise he's a textbook case, his life was one torment after another, his teachers gave up on him, his classmates bullied him, and his father blamed him while giving him access to guns." Spencer said.

"Given these conditions, you're actually quite fortunate." He added.

"It sounds like you're saying these victims deserved this."

"We're not, nobody deserves this." Derek said.

"But you could have prevented it." Spencer lowered his eyes at the officer.

"Reid, can I talk to you?" Hotch said, it was framed as a question but was more of a statement.

The two walked into an empty conference room only a few moments later they exited, Spencer stormed to the exit of the precinct.

Isabelle walked over to Hotch, "He's going to the Savages' residence." Hotch whispered, his eyes still focused on Spencer.

"Can I go with him?" She asked, Hotch's eyes darted to her face, profiling her.

"It's just- his room was really interesting and insightful, his mirror was painted over indicating severe self hatred-" "You can go." Hotch cut her off.

Isabelle quickly ran to the parking lot, getting into the suv parked outside.

"What are you doing?" Spencer asked, "I'm going with you. Hotch said I could."

Spencer just nodded and started driving.

A few minutes into the drive he turned to Isabelle, "I know what it's like to be afraid of your own mind." He admitted.

Isabelle immediately faced him, "I'm not." She lied, she wasn't just trying to convince him but herself as well.

Isabelle hated feeling crazy, when her feeling controlled her rather than her controlling them.

"I've seen the way you've been reacting this whole case." He looked to her.

"Isa, honey, I know you."

authors note!

sorry for the short chapter, next one will be longer trust🤞also i'm finally done with my school year so more consistent updates are afoot!

#jade’s works ⋆·˚ ༘ *#gay sullen girl #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #mgg #matthew gray gubler #fbi #fbi agent #alexa demie #fanfic

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alittlebitgoofy · 1 year ago

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calm after the storm (marcia/spice)

i'm finally writing properly again, gay people with mental issues are so <3, and i cannot stop thinking about marcia they are very cute and wbk ilove spice so much, cheers to aubrey for giving me a fic title bc i lost my titling ways in the great war of 2023 (not posting for ages) they/them marcia, she/her spice, (luxx is there for like two seconds but they/she) ao3 link

Marcia’s head spun as they stood up to answer the soft knock at the door. Who was the poor soul about to interrupt their mental anguish?

Opening the door, Spice beamed back at them, her bright blue eyes such a contrast to Marcia’s sullen brown ones. Spice for all her friendliness was an absolute idiot to put it nicely, she cocked her head in confusion when Marcia didn’t say anything, just staring at her as she stood in the doorway.

“Uh, you okay?” Spice’s eyes darted around, taking in the withdrawn Marcia in front of her. Though they were quite a bit taller, they seemed to have shrunk, shoulders caved inwards as their head hung downwards, as if making eye contact with her was the worst possible thing to do at that moment. “Fine.” Short, cold. Two words that rarely describe the blonde’s tone. They were all but begging to be left alone, for Spice not to pry and go off somewhere and forget about the state she had seen them in. “You don’t look it.”

So much tact, Marcia bit back the snide remark, being rude wouldn’t help this. They just wanted to be alone. “Thanks.” It came out forced, their voice cracking slightly, shoulders hunching in more when Spice leant into their personal space to look more carefully. “Have you been crying?” “Luxx isn’t here, there’s no point hanging around.” Deflecting, Marcia shrugged, about to slink back to their bed before Spice spoke up again. “Don’t ignore me, have you been crying?”

They stayed silent, sitting back on their bed with the door still wide open. Spice took a step inside, closing it quietly behind her before slowly walking to hover by Marcia’s side. “Can I touch you?” They only nodded, chest tight just at the thought of having to verbalise anything. Spice sat down next to them, wrapping her arms around their shoulders and pulling them into a tight squeeze, her grip loosened after a second, though refused to leave. Marcia tensed up at the contact at first, though relaxed into it when Spice’s hand wandered to gently stroke their hair. “I know that look, that feeling. It hurts and you don’t wanna talk about it cause that makes it more real, right?” A muffled hum of agreement came out of the blonde, burrowing their way into Spice’s shoulder as she kept her grip on them.

“Sometimes i get like that after class, everyone always knows what they’re talking about and sometimes it feels like whenever i breathe everyone’s attention is on me cause i’m the dumb one.” Marcia hummed again, leaning their head into Spice’s hand as she continued to talk.

“It sucks but I get it, I promise I’m not like them.” “I thought you were only nice to me cause I'm friends with Luxx.” Marcia finally spoke, the tightness of their chest receding as Spice continued, like she was talking to an old friend and not a friend of a friend who she’d never been alone with. “No? You’re nice! Of course I'd be nice back. I can’t be mean to pretty- uh- well you’re not a girl are you? Are you just Marcia? I know that’s what Luxx says, she’s just Luxx. Or are you a girl but not a girl, some people are like that-” Spice’s rambles got interrupted by a quiet interjection from Marcia “You can call me a girl if it’s easier.” “But do you want that?” “....no.” It took a lot out of them to say that, mulling over what they really did want. Sure the word girl getting used for them made their insides crawl and twist into a knot but they didn’t want to be a bother. “So what would you rather?” “I guess a person? I’m just a person. Just Marcia.” “Okay, I could never be rude to a pretty Marcia”

“You’re silly.” Marcia muttered, finally moving to look at Spice, taking in the soft smile on her face, the way her expression seemed so genuinely caring, the way she continued to squeeze them at any sign of distress. “I try.” She giggled, Marcia realised they’d never spoken for this long before, they never made her laugh before. Luxx’s obsession with Spice was becoming a lot more understandable the longer they talked. “I think you’re pretty too. You’ve got a kind heart under all that silliness.” Spice’s face shifted, her eyes widening as her pale complexion gave way to turning a similar shade as Marcia when they spent too long in the sun. Her eyes darted down, smiling nervously in a way that made her ever cuter.

“Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?” Marcia hesitated, though the comfort they felt when next to spice broke down that barrier, the anxiety of letting their innermost worries be known. “I just, I think i’m too much. Like when I correct people. I know how I look, that I don’t say much when people use the wrong words. Or that I talk too much and I’m annoying. Or why can’t I know what people mean all the time, why does every conversation leave this nagging feeling that I’ve done something wrong even when someone’s made it clear I haven’t. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, what did I do to feel like this?” Marcia blinked, letting all their feelings tumble out without a second thought before processing and instantly turning into a river of apologies. “You didn't ask for all that you were just being nice I’m sorry-” “Don’t be. I asked. I wanted to know.” “Okay, I’m s-” “No. No you’re not. No being sorry for being sorry.” Spice interrupted a second time, her tone pointed enough to be serious but not enough for Marcia to think they did something wrong. “Okay I’m not sorry?” They hesitated, snickering slightly at how it sounded. “Exactly! Now you’re getting it!” There was the gleeful grin she always wore, Spice’s hands finally moved from Marcia’s shoulders, one travelling to wrap around their waist while the other came to squeeze their hand.

“If anyone ever makes you feel like that, just remember you’re not the only one. You’re not broken, we’re just different.” “I wish we weren’t. I wish I could be normal.” “I do too sometimes, but other times I’m glad to be the way I am. Other people are so boring, where is their passion? Their creativity? Plus it makes you hotter to be a bit silly. “You know that well?” “Of course, I’m the silliest, hottest girl in the city.” “I wish I had your confidence.” “Truthfully I just fake it, I’m nowhere near as confident when Sugar isn’t around. She’s the smarter one, I’m just the silly one who makes people laugh.” “I don’t think so, I think you’re great in your own ways. You can recognise feelings in people without them saying anything.” “I guess so, I don’t know why we don’t talk more, you’re cool Marshie!” Any calmness in their body quickly vanished as another knock came at the door, their whole body tensing with a nervous tremble. Spice’s eyes narrowed, squeezing their hand before making her way to the door.

“It’s okay, I'll handle it.” Luxx stared back, raising an eyebrow at the nervous looking Marcia and Spice staring back at them.

“Should I come back later?” Spice glanced back to Marcia, shrugging as they looked confused, then overwhelmed as the chatter from the hall came through the open door.

“I’m gonna say yeah, I don't think they’re doing good enough for more companies right now.” “Fair, I’m gonna go bother Mistress, bitch stole my straightener and hasn’t given it back.” “Ooh, tell her I said hi.” Luxx left after that, leaving Spice to silently pull the door shut and lock it once more, scooping the nervous Marcia back into her arms and letting them cry it out. Muffled sobs soaked through her shirt, though Spice chose not to say anything, holding them gently while their body shook with another pained whimper. The tears slowed after a while, though their head never left its place burrowed against her shoulder.

“It’s okay. I’m here. No one’s getting through me. I won’t let anyone see you like this. I promise.” “Thank you.” Marcia weakly mumbled, tightening their grip on Spice when her body shifted ever so slightly. As if any sudden movement could pull the one comfort they had in that moment away.

It didn't occur to either of them that this was the closest they had ever been, that some unknown tension had lifted the second Marcia opened up and Spice joined them. It was too much to think about in the moment, but Spice felt something change, her heart sunk at every cry the blonde let out and fluttered when they flashed a small smile whenever she’d try and lighten the mood with a bad pun.

“So, if I wanted to call you cute again, could I call you aww-cia?” “You’re so dumb.” “No, I’m Spice.”

Marcia rolled their eyes at that, though the fond smile on their lips dissolved any malice it could have had. Spice continued chattering every thought that came into her head to fill the silence, occasionally joined by the taller blonde though they preferred to sit and listen, feeling calmer the more she went on and on. Even if she jumped between topics every 30 seconds, there was something comforting about hearing Spice’s rambles.

“And then I asked if she was a porch or a bike person and-” Spice trailed off, curiously noting the lack of any real response from Marcia before she noticed their eyes having shut, still leant against her chest, their own body gently rising and falling with calm breaths.

Spice smiled to herself as she leant back to stretch out, allowing Marcia to stay in her arms as she did so. How did she never notice how cute they were before that day. Being close to them like this, she could get used to it.

#rpdr fanfiction #marcia marcia marcia #spicia #that's the ship name ig #spice/marcia #spice #callmespice

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eniyioyun · 1 year ago

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Undertale Chara Headcanos

CHARA DREEMUR

*Gay and asexual. (He/They)

*He is older than Frisk and Asriel and smaller than Kris.

*He has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and neurological disease.

*When he is angry, he cannot control himself at all, he cannot control himself in the same way in a different way.

*He can use magic and his magic is illusion (zikadraws from tumblr)

*He can put himself at risk with illusion and use it to surprise his enemy. While he doesn't realize that the illusion is real, he makes the finishing blow with his knife.

*He went up the mountain to commit suicide.

*You can meet Asriel and other monsters, make friends with them, and use them to help them. He found peace with help.

*He hated a bad family and values, the evil, selfishness and stupidity of humanity, and was filled with revenge.

*Actually, albino.

*He has red eyes from birth, so he was declared "devil" in the village where he grew up.

*They environment saw him as a man because he behaved masculinely, but his fulfillment of these was interrupted by the fact that he did not belong to any gender. She was also subjected to hate and bullying because she was attracted to men. No one accepted him as he was. Until he meets Asriel, who will be his half-brother.

*He has a very dramatic and unfortunate sense of humor. He loves puns, dark humor, scaring people, and elaborate jokes.

*Half Greek and half German.

*He has a German accent (reddit @Dragon_X627279)

*Addicted to everything sharp. And Toriel's snail pies.

*His hobbies are knitting, eating chocolate, collecting weapons and reading books.

*When something bothers him, he becomes sullen and doesn't say anything.

*He likes to do make-up, especially when he catches Asriel and forces him to do make-up.

*He is flirty with men, so many men thought she was a girl. He just flirts FOR FUN, as much as a CHILD can flirt.

*Apart from the Dreemur family, his favorite monsters are Gaster and Sans. He loves looking at their work. He is also a fan of Gerson.

*Gaster taught him sign language, he always talked to him in sign language.

*He also learned the Wingdings alphabet, but only used it for important matters.

*The main reason he learned the Wingdings alphabet was to read the secret research notes written by Gaster and Sans.

*Caught by Gaster while reading his research notes in the middle of the night. He thought he would be very angry, but Gaster patted his head and showed him the real experiments.

*He was surprised when he and Frisk met Gaster again. He was especially disappointed with the scars on his face and how they disappeared so quickly.

*Thanks to Sans, his inner nerd came out, he enjoys listening to their scientific nonsense. They are both great students.

*There were times when he and Sans would fight for fun, neither of them could beat the other, but when they got to the point of killing each other, they would stop and do tear-inducing victory dances.

*Like Toriel, she constantly laughs at Sans' jokes.

*When he met Sans, he was very excited, lively, energetic and curious, at first he had a hard time keeping up with him, but later it was Asriel who had a hard time keeping up with the two of them.

*When he met Frisk and Sans, he was very happy that his sense of humor had not changed, but he was sad that his old energetic and lively self was replaced by a lazy Sans, and he hated that his friend's life energy was depleted. .

*Gerson taught him various martial arts.

*When Chara used these defensive arts to attack and intimidate, Gerson hit her with a stick.

*As a result, Chara tried to scare him like crazy with an illusion, but Gerson wasn't afraid at all.

*Chara must be the person who admires Gerson the most after Undyne.

*Gerson's encounter with Frisk disappointed him for the third time. He was no longer a hero... So he declared Undyne as his new admirable figure.

*Chara is a very smart child, she has an advanced intelligence for her age and that's why she is so crazy.

*He likes to talk to his spirit knife, he believes it talks to them too. He only showed it to Asriel. Asriel saw this as a game and liked to talk with the knife. Chara was telling them what the knife said.

* He belittles poor and weak people. At first she judged Asriel for being weak and tried to make him tougher but then she accepted that he was just cute.

*He can stand on his own two feet, is very self-confident and can sometimes be a bully. *He is not a very good person. He is not thoughtful or kind, tends to be rude and indifferent, has annoying and dangerous habits, and is generally a "freak" but is always himself. Nobody changed it, it won't change for nobody and nobody will change it

*After his death, his soul was corrupted and he became "the actor's name". Whatever the "player's name" was, it was.

If there is a character you want headcanon, write it!

#undertale #headcanon #undertale headcanons #chara dreemurr #chara headcanon #chara #undertale chara

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zukkacore · 2 years ago

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This is gonna start off as kinda goofy silly but bear with me but the thing abt Togami and Mukuro is that in my mind the way the friend groups split up during the lost two nondespair years is that Junko can basically get along w/ anyone bc that’s her secret sauce so while she makes it her business to drift in an out of any social circle in my heart I do think her home base is converging with the other gay bitches whose personality is generally having disdain for the other gay bitches and setting themselves apart because of it i.e. Celeste and Togami. They are the fag, the goth girl, and the Cookie Monster pj girl walking the mile in PE.

Naturally Mukuro tags along passively and quietly w Junko where ever she goes & Togami is happy to ignore her at first and generally dismiss her as Junko’s weird sullen sister. & yes canonically Mukuro’s alienation from her classmates is part of why she feels driven to sink the cost and stay loyal to her sister despite her trepidation toward The Plan, but also like.

In the funnier version of events in my head I do think Togami and Mukuro could form a silent tenuous allyship because they’re literally just always around each other, in a way of being extremely tight lipped and privately grateful there’s at least one person here not trying to impose on my business or try to get me to be vulnerable. This guy gets the vision. Best friend I ever had.

The thing is that they’re a neat dichotomy because her trauma tanked her self esteem and view of her own personhood and his gave him a god complex and she and Junko struggled w poverty in their childhood while he is a billionaire heir and hence you would think they would not work as friends but once we and they realize that’s an awful nice dichotomy you got there, its like. It would be a shame if something were to lie outside of it.

And the thing that lies outside of it is that they were the weaker dog (“make two dogs fight, punish the weaker dog”) & have tried desperately to do something to overcome that. He sort of did, or at least he thinks he overcome being the weaker dog bc he “won” meanwhile whatever Mukuro has not stopped seeing herself as the weaker dog, no matter what she did to escape or distinguish herself didn’t matter in the end bc she’s still following orders. The thing abt them is that what lies outside the dichotomy is that they’re sunkest in the sunk cost fallacy. I invested the most, I endured the most, and it cost me the most and therefore I am special. He can’t opt out of this system of being pit against other dogs & she can’t turn against her sister bc he could be the top inheritor in a system of exploitation or be the person being exploited and she is about to aid in the end of the world or be ended along with everyone else. Which side do you want to be on? Theres a banquet and anyone who is not at the table in on the menu. Idk I just relate to that Goya painting of Saturn devouring his children for some reason.

There is something oddly sweet abt DR:S in which she in disguise badgers him into throwing a party at his private beach inviting all their classmates. & when he tries to back out of it in his typical way (fine you can throw a party but I would never go because I have better things to do obviously bc I’m just sooo busy and important) she insists he has to be there too. She’d never be so vocal and bold but in her attempt to perform Junko who is vocal and bold and unabashed abt what she wants she is forced to reveal now what SHE wants. He caves so easily, too. It’s technically not canon but it’s so revealing. What if we were all just friends hanging out on a beach. No fame no obligations no end of the world. This is the life I long for.

#shut up janelle #this is somewhat adjacent to my joke post abt Hiro and mukuro being proxy siblings #mukuro ikusaba #byakuya togami #they’re like: what if we were known for lying and barely knew ourselves #ikugami #I will single-handedly fill this tag I swear

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nitewrighter · 1 year ago

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How about some info about fankid relationships we dont see much? Like Gyo and the Amari twins please?

Ooh fun! Well again, a thing to keep in mind is that Guillaume is like, four years older than the twins, but since he was the Oldest Boy on the Watchpoint they did follow him around, and because they were, like everyone else, younger than him, he wasn't super fond of being followed around by 'babies.' They did grow on him, though. They were useful for basically distracting Rei from following him around because she would take it on herself to boss them around because she was slightly older than them, but also they would embarrass him in front of Annie because it was clear nothing ruffled his feathers faster and that was funny to them. So your basic young kid dynamics, with things kind of balancing out as they got older and Rei just ended up hanging out with Annie more. Guillaume did end up getting closer to Samir than he thought he would because they're both on similar wavelengths of being kind of reserved, serious kids, though Guillaume was definitely entering a more sullen phase when he left for boarding school.

Actually during Gyo's last year in boarding school Samir had been asking about the boarding school for years (Because even if Annie and Rei were frequently decrying it as a 'school for rich jerks' he saw a lot of mystery and romance in all the pamphlets). Samir finally convinced both his moms and Gyo's parents (and the Boarding school staff) to let him shadow Gyo at the school. And Gyo was finally coming out of his awkward phase at this point, so basically just imagine teenage, vampire prince, Baby John Wick-looking Guillaume being trailed around by this sober, staring, skinny little brown boy for a week. A lot of people asked him if Samir was his sidekick, and Samir was convinced that Guillaume's big, spooky, super-old school was full of mysteries to be solved and he was always either annoyingly right at Guillaume's side and asking his friends a lot of embarrassing questions, or wandering off getting into god-knows what kind of trouble. Guillaume had to retrieve Samir from the undercroft, from the attic, from the groundskeeper's equipment shed, from the girl's dorm (which he ended up in by complete accident), from a dumbwaiter shaft, and from an actual secret passage in the walls ("Samir, get out of the walls! You're freaking people out!"). The school staff told Satya and Pharah in no uncertain terms that Samir was not Académie du Sainte Alchoin material and both Satya and Pharah were like "oh noooo he had his heart set on it. :( :( :(" (there was no way in fuck they could have afforded actually sending Samir there anyway).

And now you're asking, "But Nite, why was there a secret passage in the school?" And the answer is "The passage was constructed by the school's founder, Etienne Beaufoy, pretty much exclusively to accommodate for secret gay sex trysts with Guillaume's ancestor, Sylvain Guillard." The passage was used by servants, spies, and assassins over the years before the estate was eventually turned into a school, but the original purpose was, as it turns out is the case with a surprising number of secret passages, gay sex. Guillaume was able to solve the mystery himself shortly before returning home to the Watchpoint, and he was like "Oh yeah, spies and assassins were definitely using that passage" to Samir, not mentioning the original purpose of the passage. The passage later got offhandedly mentioned while Widowmaker was in the room and she went, "Oh, Sylvain's passage is still there?." And Samir's like "What do you mean Sylvain's passage?"

Basically as a team dynamic when Gyo's finally on the team, though, he gets along pretty well with the twins. He's also warmed up significantly to Rajeev, who's always trying to get him to crack a smile, with dumb jokes during missions. Gyo and Rajeev are also definitely gym buddies, with Rajeev miraculously managing to convince Gyo to take a stupid amount of flexing photos. Rajeev's also not above ribbing him in front of Annie--old habits die hard like that--but it's more endearing now.

#symmarah kids #widowhanzo kid

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marypsue · 2 years ago

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Ahh also as an addendum to my previous ask about the age swap (which I might’ve accidentally labeled as the body swap fic due to the foibles of being awake unexpectedly early ), I was curious what your criticisms are regarding Robin and Will’s treatments by the Duffers? I know you’ve alluded to being bothered by both but I’d be curious to hear more ( if you have the time/hankering!)

Hooboy. Okay. Buckle in.

Obviously this is going to be a combination of actual literary analysis and Big Feelings That I Have, so like, please don’t take this as any kind of moral dictum on what to or not to watch, or how to or how not to interpret what you watch. Also, a lot of what makes me uneasy and unhappy about how canon deliberately handles queerness (as opposed to when it does queer things apparently by accident, which as you may have noticed, I have considerable amounts of fun with) has to do with behind-the-scenes context I’ve read about, so there’s a certain degree of Telephone involved. And I’m still only halfway through season four. There’s just so fucking much of it.

With all that said.

The behind-the-scenes context I’m most specifically concerned with are the season-one pitch bible(? I think that’s what it’s called) (which, it should be noted, ended up diverging in some quite significant ways from what ended up in the show) where the Duffers first raised the possibility that Will might be gay, and the anecdote that Joe Keery and Maya Hawke were the ones who decided Robin should be queer and had to really push for it and wrote and choreographed that scene in the bathroom. Put the two together, and it tells you that the Duffers planned that there would be One (potentially) Gay Character in their show.

And that character was the one they spent an entire season directing violent, vicious, eventually outright murderous homophobic hatred at through the mouthpiece of a couple of bullies. You can say what you want about revenge narratives and those characters ultimately getting their comeuppance, but for Me Personally, it sucks all the fun and escapism out of season one to watch it thinking that those bullies only got punished when they aimed that vitriol at someone to whom it didn’t literally apply. Also I still have to sit through however many episodes of that vicious homophobia onscreen regardless, so, like, that’s a walk in the park anyway. /sarcasm

And then there’s that whole bad business in season three, where it’s never been quite clear to me if we’re supposed to see Mike as having been in any way in the wrong. Kind of scuppers the argument, to me, that we’re supposed to be on Will’s side. And season four, which so far has had Will tagging along after people who are supposed to be his best friends but mostly don’t seem to give a single damn about him, doing absolutely nothing but looking morose and sullen and tragic and *coughcough* Artistic, and causing Problems for the nice straight couple.

(Tangential to the point I’m coming to, but also, my son deserves better than to be reduced to a soggy cardboard standee with ‘GAY’ scrawled across it in magic marker the way season four seems to be angling toward. All the Byers, but especially the Byers boys, deserve better than season four seems interested in giving them. But I digress.)

Also. I love Robin. If you follow me, you probably know that. I’m a hardcore, ride-or-die Robin girl. But. With Robin, from what I’ve heard of the context, the Duffers never intended for her to be queer. They wrote a girl who was smart and funny and sharp and talented and a little bit mean and a little bit insecure and a little bit weird but in an interesting, endearing way - as a love interest for Steve.

And then, as soon as season four rolled around, once they’d been pushed into making her canonically, on-screen queer (in a beautiful, tender, heartfelt, true-feeling scene that they didn’t fucking write), suddenly she’s had a complete personality transplant. Suddenly, she’s an awkward, bumbling, annoying loser who’s only funny when she’s the butt of the joke, who’s no good at anything and who nobody really likes except maybe for Steve, an outcast even amongst the freaks. When she does do something smart or competent, everyone around her reacts with shock, like it’s wildly out of character instead of how her character was originally written. One of these versions of Robin was written with ‘gay person’ in mind, and it unfortunately wasn’t the one we were obviously supposed to like.

In both cases, I get the feeling that the storytelling issues stem from this like...assumption that queerness equals isolation and misery and tragedy, and that there’s nothing to queerness outside of that. That there’s something inherent to queerness, something pitiable but repulsive, that causes the isolation and misery and tragedy (not that those things are imposed from outside, by, say, violent homophobia). That it would be absurd to imagine that queerness could ever be joyful, or playful, or that someone might ever, given the chance to choose, not choose to be straight instead. Or that there could be enormous friendship and community and heart and pride in queerness, or even that queer people might find friendship and community and strength in each other. Or even fucking talk to each other, ever.

Which is especially infuriating, because the whole central theme of season one (besides surface appearances being deceiving) is that community and care between people who are very different but discover they have more in common than there is that separates them is what saves the day! That love comes in all kinds of forms, and they’re all important, and that love can be stronger than fear!

But apparently, according to the Duffers, queer love doesn’t count and queer community doesn’t exist. It’s just isolation, misery, and tragedy, and I guess we the watchers are supposed to sit outside of it and pity Them for it (and be quietly, sneakily, a little bit nastily grateful that it’s not happening to Us). Because of course nobody watching the show is queer. Of course. This show is made for normal people.

It’s part of the same attitude I’ve also seen play out with the Duffers’ inability to just let a white dude be bad. Oh, they want to talk a big game about how they’re on the side of the freaks, and bullies are bad, and everybody should be respected and appreciated for who they are. But when it cuts down to the bone, when applying that precept to a girl or a person of colour or a queer person makes a straight white guy come off as a monster, they keep trying to dodge it.

The more antagonists they try desperately to rehab without ever acknowledging why they were antagonists in the first place, the more it starts to look like they simply don’t really believe that the people those antagonists hurt really matter. That, somewhere deep down where the assumptions that are so baked in you don’t even realise they’re assumptions live, they don’t really believe that girls, or Black kids, or queer people are as fundamentally human and deserving of respect and compassion as their beloved awful straight white men are. That what they really think about bullies is that bullies are bad because the bullies picked on them, instead of the kinds of people who deserved it.

(See also: that time a twelve- or thirteen-year-old Sadie Sink didn’t want to have to do a kiss in the Snow Ball scene, so the Duffers, who had just been joking about having her do it, actually made her do it. For multiple takes. Specifically because she didn’t want to. And then later related that anecdote to the press. Because they thought it was funny.)

Anyway. Personally, I’d prefer canon just never say anything definitive on the matter of Will’s sexuality and stop trying to push the narrative in that direction, so I don’t have to watch the Duffers spectacularly fumble yet another attempt at Writing About Marginalised Groups.

(Also, this is absolutely not me saying Watch A Different Show - I’m here writing fanfic for this stupid show, it’d be pretty fucking rich of me to try to tell people to stop watching it. But I’d really love for many of its fans to get some more exposure to less-mainstream, more deliberately queer literature and film, so y’all can see what it really feels like to be seen and acknowledged and loved by a story, on purpose. I get it! I do! I too have wanted very badly to feel like something I loved, loved me back.

But you don’t have to content yourselves with scraps. And you definitely don’t have to be so concerned with those scraps that you blame your friends, cousins, siblings, brothers in arms for ‘stealing’ some kind of ‘representation’ from you by asking to be seen and acknowledged and loved as well. The bastards who’ve been withholding that recognition from all of us would love nothing more than to watch with amusement, gorging themselves on a banquet, while we tear each other apart over a couple of discarded bones. Don’t give them the satisfaction. We don’t have to be isolated, pitiable, pathetic, miserable tragedies. Put the hollow promises of exclusionism and respectability down. There is queer art and literature and film and community and joy and love in abundance that you don’t have to beg anyone for, and you are invited to participate. This is me inviting you to participate.

And cordially inviting the Duffers to meet me in the woods behind the 7-Eleven.)

...

tl;dr the way the Duffers treat queerness when they do it on purpose feels like a combination of othering, contempt, and misery porn, and I hate it. And that, in a nutshell, is the rant I’ve been sitting on for the last two-and-a-bit years. I’m getting down off the cafeteria table now.

#chatter #stranger things #i have been first uneasy and then very fucking angry about all of this for Quite A While Now #but robin's personality transplant broke open the fucking dam #it's worse because they did such! a good job! with seasons one and two!#obviously Not Perfect but also painfully obviously Better Than This #and then I guess they'd made enough money for netflix that they stopped having creative reins and restrictions placed on them #and it all went to shit #just total anne rice/stephen king editor syndrome #anyway I won't be following anything they do after this bc i'm pretty sure I like the show in spite of its creators instead of because of th #*them #they also aren't applying season one's theme of appearances being deceiving when it comes to queer people!#they keep saying every shitty shallow queer stereotype is true!#(the tragic gay martyr #slash the obsessive possessive friend-borderline-stalker)#(the unfuckable lesbian)#(the predatory gay villain - I didn't talk about closeting and s2 Billy Hargrove bc hoo boy that's a can of worms #but I do think they took that angle with him on purpose #especially since his 'redemption arc' goes hand in hand with suddenly switching his focus from steve to karen #and he stands to gain nothing by manipulating karen in s3 so it's pretty obviously a cheap dodge #so the duffers can go 'what? no he wasn't sneeringly derogatory toward teenage girls bc he was so deep in the closet he could see narnia'#'nooooooooo he just...only likes ~mature women~'#which. yes boys jennifer coolidge was hot in american pie but please grow up.)#anyway yes that loss of sight of that central theme is exactly how we got the russians in season three #and we all know how much that fucking sucked #i do hope having the word 'fuck' in the tags still hides a post from search

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