#kids come out as queer and think that means they can use whatever words they want. it’s irresponsible and there isn’t enough pushback imo

[vvitchy]

why are so many young people online obsessed with calling lgbt people fruits it’s one of my biggest pet peeves

[fallstaticexit]

Prev / Next / Beginning / Pillowfort

AN: TW this post contains a homophobic slur.

Transcript under the cut

Professor Munch: Everyone, this is Nancy. She’s one of my favorite students. I am so glad she can join us this evening to observe our weekly GSA meeting.

Nancy: And what is a GSA?

Morgan: It stands for Gay–Straight Alliance. It’s just a safe space for queer kids to hang out and talk about real world issues.

Knox: Yeah, we go out and do stuff off campus. It’s pretty tight.

Nancy: Queer? So...this is a club for homosexuals?

Darling: [sucks teeth]

Knox: [chuckles nervously] I mean, sure I guess? Me and Morgan are bisexual. That means we dig the fellas and the ladies, heh.

Professor Munch: What’s important is that this space is for everyone, from all walks of life. We support each other here, no matter who you love. We keep each other safe. That’s why I invited you to sit in on our session. I figured you could use a friend or two-

Nancy: Ugh! Oh my God? You think I’m- I’m not like that, ok!?

Nancy: I am not a homosexual! What the hell made you think I’d want to be apart of something like this?

Professor Munch: No, dear- I’m not implying you’re like anything! This club welcomes all people. I thought you could use the support. Why, your brother started the very first GSA at this school-

Nancy: Oh, don’t you fucking dare! My brother wasn’t some depraved pervert and I’m not a d****!

Darling: [jumps up, chair scrapes hardwood floor] What the fuck did you just say? You can’t come up in calling people that shit!

Nancy: I-I didn’t! All I’m saying is that I’m not like that! I’m not like you-

Darling: Not like who? Not like a d?****?

Darling: What the fuck is your problem? Munch, who is this bitch?

Professor Munch: Easy, Dee. Calm down-

Darling: Don’t fucking tell me to calm down! You let some straight white girl walk in here and say something we heard screamed at us our whole fucking life! Say it again! I dare you!

Professor Munch: That’s enough! Please! Let me handle this.

Nancy: [between sobs] M’sorry...m’so sorry...

Professor Munch: [sighs] Just, take some time to think about this, Nancy. Look inward.

Nancy Narrates: [Look inward] x3

Nancy: If it’s ok...I’d like to apologize.

Professor Munch: Everyone? Is it alright if Nancy speaks?

Morgan: I don’t mind.

Darling: [sighs] Whatever man.

Nancy: [exhales] When I first heard that word, I was 11 years old. My mother found letters I wrote to my pen pal. She mailed a photo of herself from her birthday party, she wore this really pretty yellow dress with little blue flowers on them.

Nancy: Yellow is my favorite color, so I said she was as pretty as a sunflower. My mother tore up the letter and made me rewrite it. She looked me right in the eyes and said, ‘do you want someone to read this and think you’re a-’

Nancy: She said it again when was 14, a girl from my ballet troupe was only brushing my hair. She pulled me from the class. She said it again two years ago, when she found out that I fell in love with-

Nancy: I know that word hurts because it’s been said to hurt me even though I’m not... It doesn’t matter if I’m not, I shouldn’t have said it. It was a horrible thing to do. I am so incredibly sorry.

Professor Munch: Thank you for sharing your story. This is what GSA is about. Coming together, creating a community, and creating safe spaces. Dee, is there anything you want to say to Nancy? Anything you’d like to speak on or about how you feel?

Darling: Nah...

Nancy Narrates: [I knew that an apology alone wouldn't suffice to mend the situation. When it came to friendships, I didn’t know how to genuinely make amends, but as a Landgraab, I knew that I could leverage my wealth and status to create a meaningful impact]

Morgan: You got us the biggest hall on campus?! Nancy, this is sick as fuck!

Professor Munch: [laughs] I’ll have to agree with Morgan for lack of a better word. This is sick as heck! I don’t know where to begin to thank you for this gift.

Nancy: It’s the least I could do. Now you can stop meeting in that tiny corner in the commons.

Darling: Charity work for your little sorority, huh? What’s with you, yo?

Nancy: What do you mean?

Darling: You’re so rich, you just buy your way through shit?

Nancy: It’s how I was raised.

Darling: I can’t figure you out.

Nancy: I promise, I’m not a bad person.

Darling: We’re not like everyone else on campus. We’ll show you something real. You gotta be real with us too.

Nancy Narrates: [I found myself wanting to do exactly that—to show them the real me, whoever she was]

Siobhan: I’m planning a party for the Thetas Friday night. Perfect opportunity for you to bond with your sisters.

Nancy: I’m a little busy Friday night...maybe next time?

Siobhan: Being apart of a sorority is more than just the cute merch and bragging rights. We’re involved with the community and with this campus. As a pledge, I do expect you to commit to these things.

Nancy: I know and I will. I just need to take care of something.

Siobhan: [sighs] Don’t let me down, sister.

[the group murmurs excitedly]

Professor Munch: You did all this, Nancy?

Nancy: I hope it’s ok I’m here. I figured you could break in your new room with a movie night. Everything is already taken care of, and I bought a ton of movies ranging from comedy to horror and everything in between. They’re all yours to keep! Same with the popcorn machine. I know I’m using money again to impress you but... I guess I’m still trying to figure out what it means to be real. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it all.

Morgan: Yeah, not so fast. Stick around, watch a movie with us!

Nancy: Are you sure?

Knox: Of course we’re sure, squirt.

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

hii! i love your casey x autistic!reader fics and i had a request. you know how in a lot of the episodes where the men get sa’d, they think it means they’re gay and they blow up in the interrogation room shouting slurs and everything? i’ve always wondered what it would be like for a queer detective to be in the room seeing someone say that in front of them. could you do something like that where a suspect gets defensive and starts spewing homophobic stuff in the interrogation room where detective!reader is interviewing them and casey is watching from behind the glass? pre-existing relationship if possible and maybe some fluff as well :)) these are just some ideas you can really do whatever you want - i give you full creative freedom 🙏

Hey, friend! Hope this is what you're looking for! Much love to you! 💕 –illdowhatiwantthanks

Interrogations

Casey Novak x autistic!fem!reader Warnings: homophobic comments, threats of sexual violence, autism times, police (duh), explicit language (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 1.2k

Summary: A threatening, homophobic outburst from a victim has you overstimulated and panicked. Casey is there to help calm you down. That is, if she can calm down herself.

“Sir, it’s in your best interest to be honest with us,” you said, rubbing your temples.

Round and round you’d gone with this man. This married man with 2.5 kids and a white picket fence. He’d been assaulted at a gay club, and the implications were clear. You sat down across from him. Your partner, Resendez, leaned against the back wall, letting you take the lead on this one. As the only out, queer detective working special victims, you were often the one they chose to interview queer victims or even suspects. There was a level of relatability; you were better than most at getting them to open up.

This man–clean cut, button-up, eye swollen shut, split lip–you felt sorry for him. You felt sorry for anyone who wasn’t out, wasn’t free to be themselves for whatever reason. It had taken you a long time to come to terms with your own sexuality, even longer to be comfortable in a relationship. But you knew the cognitive dissonance it took to lead a “straight” life while trying desperately hard not to be gay. He’d given you some bullshit story about being drugged and dragged to the gay club, but there had been no drugs found in his system. He was clearly just trying to come up with an excuse for being there.

“Mr. Berg,” you started again, softening your voice. “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying sex with men. We just need to know what really happened so we can catch the person who did this to you.”

Suddenly, he exploded, standing and throwing his chair against the wall. You nearly fell out of your seat as you backed toward the wall and Resendez surged forward to cuff him.

“I’m not a fucking faggot, you bitch!” he spat. “Maybe you like pussy, but that’s not my problem! You just need a dick in you! I could do it, too, I’m not a fucking fag!”

You kept your eyes fixed on a scratch on the wall, trying not to react. You were used to people saying ignorant things. You were used to perps saying all kinds of disgusting things to you, but this outburst had rattled you more than usual.

“Just go, Y/L/N,” Resendez said, nodding toward the door.

You didn’t need to be told twice. You let the door slam shut behind you, leaning against it and exhaling shakily.

“You okay?”

You jumped a bit, then calmed when you saw it was Casey. She’d been watching the interview.

You nodded, but your hands gave you away, shaking at your sides. Casey frowned and pressed one of your hands between hers, flattening it and attempting to massage the stress away. You were trying hard to stay calm, but Berg’s outburst–the force of it, the volume–had taken you off guard. Normally on the job, you went into situations expecting belligerence or violence, and your body and brain were primed for it ahead of time. But this had come so out of the blue. Your heartbeat was fast and loud in your ears, and you closed your eyes, the lights overhead too bright, too much.

You could feel yourself growing panicked, not because of what Berg had said, but because you knew you were getting overstimulated, and you couldn’t control it. Of course, your squad knew you were autistic. Huang evaluated you every six months to ensure you weren’t burnt out and were able to perform your duties. There were parts of solving a case that being autistic made you very good at, but there were also things it made hard for you. You hated for your squad to see you like this, to see the worst parts of being autistic. You wanted them to trust you, to believe that you were capable of doing your job and doing it well. But nobody else fell apart like this. Just you.

“Sorry,” you whispered to Casey as your breathing grew more rapid.

She wrapped her arm around your shoulder protectively. “It’s okay. Come here, come with me.”

She led you to the bullpen and knocked lightly on Cragen’s open door. Cragen looked up and was about to ask Casey what she needed when he noticed her gesture subtly toward you–hunched, eyes on the ground, fingers tapping the sides of your head as your body rocked back and forth.

Cragen gathered his papers and stood, squeezing Casey’s arm as he passed. “Take as long as you need,” he said quietly, leaving his office.

Casey pulled you into the office and shut the door behind you, turning off the overhead lights and shutting the blinds.

“Okay,” she sighed, wrapping her arms around your rocking body and squeezing you tightly. The longer she held you, the more your heartbeat slowed, the more even your breaths grew, until you were left shaky from the spent adrenaline, limp in her arms.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, lowering yourself into a chair and rubbing your eyes.

Casey sat next to you, taking your hand in hers again. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, honey.”

You disagreed, but you didn’t want to argue the point. Casey would win anyway. She was a lawyer, after all.

“I want to go in with you next time when you question Berg,” she added.

“Casey…” you protested.

“I don’t want him talking to you like that.”

You smiled softly at her and pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Casey. Honey. I’m a detective. People are gonna say shitty things to me.”

“Yeah, well,” she grumbled. “If he threatens you again, I’m slapping him with an assault charge.”

“He’s an assault victim, Case. It’s your job to protect him.”

“Maybe so,” she conceded, leaning forward to caress your cheek. “But my number one job is to protect you.”

You melted into her touch. Usually it was you protecting people. Your whole job was protecting people, and you were good at it. But Casey? Casey looked after you. Casey made you feel safe.

You leaned in to kiss her lips softly, making sure to meet her eyes when you pulled away, so she knew you were feeling better, less overstimulated.

“I’m okay, honey,” you whispered. “I promise.”

The rest of the squad made it a point to be extra normal when you and Casey emerged from Cragen’s office. Someone who didn’t know you might think you and Casey had been in there for less-than-professional reasons, but the squad knew the only reason you’d lock yourself in there was for you to regulate yourself. And they never wanted you to feel embarrassed about it.

You made your way back to the interrogation room where Berg now sat handcuffed. Resendez observed him through the two-way mirror.

“Want another crack, Y/N?” he asked. “I’m getting nothing.”

“Might try good cop, bad cop with Casey,” you told him. “Or, well, I guess it’d be bad cop, worse ADA who’s pissed you threatened her girlfriend.”

Resendez shrugged and grinned at you. “Worth a shot anyway.”

Casey squeezed your hand before following you into the interrogation room.

“Alright, Mr. Berg. Allow me introduce ADA Novak.”

[olderthannetfic]

"Boyfriends" Imo, is a perfect example of the stupid fucking infighting in queer and "progressive" spaces. Yes yes, the homophobes and transphobes are also there, and some of them are in the perviously mentioned groups, but that's par for the course. It's just a lot more bullshit when the call(out) come from within the house. NGL I also thought it was a bit cringe, but who the fuck cares? I make a joke and move on, it ain't for me, done deal. He who has not posted cringe throweth the first stone or some shit. All in all it's probably one of the safest gay poly depictions, like... you literally have the archetypes of every boy protagonist group, smart, edgy, jock, rich kid. It's a huge fucking nothing burger, there's nothing there to actually be offensive, and yet people treat it like it's on the same level as some queer bashing anti-queer conversion therapy booklet.

But what I have noticed is that at large queer and progressive spaces fucking hate it when someone from within gets successful. Crabs in a fucking bucket my man, you can write shit as gay as you want, but don't get too big, we're going to shot you in the knee.

Weird thing is that you can basically know who's gonna get the most shit for getting big. A creator who only wants to draw their shit and have a good time? Right to the chopping block. You shall be sentenced for the crime of being chill and gay or whatever.

Some querulous* asshole, who shits on everyone else but does it with the "correct activism" voice? The Gods shall bow before you. Yeah these people might get their comeuppance but at large it doesn't devolve into as harsh hatred as with the former. Like, they can even be racist or queerphobic on main, and at most it gets a bit of an outcry, but that's it.

It's as if the act of just wanting to have a good time while being queer is a crime worthy of death.

Boyfriends is so fucking lukewarm on the "problematic" scale, I had to dig a hole to even get it on there. From 1-10, it's like a -20. And for what? Nothing. It's like a shoujo harem without the girl.

*My teacher used to call a student that. Basically someone who constantly complains and makes trouble and is kinda crabby. I just like the word, it's fun.

--

Should I be peeved that you think I don't know what 'querulous' means? ;D

[bettyshoweduptotheparty]

My Exit Note (for now) - and A Letter to Taylor

I’m so very sorry to the lovely people on here who will be saddened to read this, but this will be my last post for a while. I re-joined tumblr in June last year to re-reconnect to this lovely community, and it genuinely seemed so much safer to do than back in 2017. I thought the fandom had gained some perspective as a whole. But after only 7 months, the fandom (and by that I mean swifties) has once again become a battle ground for us, fuelled by none other than Taylor herself, and I’m no longer willing to gloss over that. I’m choosing my own peace.

It may seem like a very fickle move after only 7 months in this space, when the good people on here are genuinely some of the kindest and most intelligent people I’ve ever met online, but let me explain why I need to take a break. I don’t intend to leave Taylor Swift and her art behind and never look back. In fact, I have Eras tour tickets for the summer and I want to give myself a chance to actually be excited about that by the time June comes around. But it’s all too familiar, pretty much exactly the same reason I left tumblr the first time in 2017. I’m here to discuss and analyse Taylor’s art with likeminded (queer) people and I can’t respect the artist of that very art when she continually gives her toxic ‘fans’ ammunition to come into our safe space and harass us and then watches as we scramble to keep ourselves safe amidst abuse and threats. They are doing this in HER name. Members of a marginalised community she claims to be an ‘ally’ to are being doxxed and harassed in HER name and she’s doing nothing. If anything she’s fanning the flames while it burns. Whatever it is that she’s doing with her brand right now, her silence when her own crazy fans are sending DEATH THREATS to people for simply interpreting her art, means that I cannot be part of that right now. I thought the fandom had changed, that Taylor had grown more confident defending what she stands for, but clearly, I was wrong.

The tipping point back in 2017 for me, was when she told those kids from the rep secret sessions that the album was all about her darling bf and gave them permission to go after anyone who said otherwise. And boy, did they take that seriously. They came after us in our little corner for gushing over how beautifully gay those songs were, fuelled by words straight from the horse’s mouth. SHE sent those people after us. Because she wrote the gayest album in history and she couldn’t deal with the noise getting too loud. And I lost all respect for her. It was only in 2019 when she was suddenly draped in rainbows that I carefully looked at gaylor spaces online again, because it seemed like she was finally actually committing to it. But we all know how that ended… So, to see one of those very rep secret session kids on my YouTube feed yesterday picking apart this beautiful NY Times article with lies and inaccuracies in the name of Taylor’s straightness, just reminded me whose side she decides to put herself on. She invited those people to her house. She caters to them, not us. She made them think they were her friends and then sent them after us. With HER OWN WORDS. And I can’t be in the trenches for someone who hands my bullies a gun and points at the target.

I will leave my blog active this time, so my content will be here for people to engage with if they want. But I won’t be on here to receive your messages or dm’s. I’m sorry that I’m leaving you guys at a time where we need to stick together, but I’m getting more anger and hurt out of this than joy atm and that’s always the time for me to put myself first and step away. I hope that we will come together again when the tide changes, I’m still somewhat convinced that the clock is ticking towards a better time for us, but I need Taylor to come through for us (and herself) before I can look at her again. And I promise if that happens, I won’t hold a grudge.

And lastly, here’s something I’ve never done because I’m not crazy enough to think that Taylor sees us on here, but I don’t have any other social media and I had to get this off my chest. (If you have twitter/instagram, maybe do something similar, you never know, she might actually see it and I think she needs to know how much hurt she’s causing with this)

Dear Taylor, @taylorswift

What are you doing, love? I wish I could actually ask you that. In fact, I’ve wished it many times throughout the decade that I’ve been a fan of your music. I’ve wished that I could tell you what your music meant to me when I was heartbroken, and how much joy it brought me when I was young and felt invincible. You changed my life when you proudly held a girl’s hand in public with a smile that showed me that love is there for people like me to find, after all. And when the world was hard on you, I wished I could ask you if you were ok. But today, I just want to ask you this: what have I done to deserve you sending the worst kind of people after me? Time and time again. And you can’t tell me you didn’t know that would happen, I know you’re smart. I know you know the kind of people I’m talking about, the ones that worship you like a God, that will stop at nothing to defend the version of you they have in their heads. The ones you built your empire on. Good on you, but when did you stop caring for the people that actually see you and read the words you put out into the world for us? Was that not what you wanted? I can’t claim to understand how you live the life you’ve chosen, but at least your art was always there to bring joy to my life and community when I needed it. I didn’t need you to be a hero, but now you’ve become part of the problem.

So, here’s the thing: choose a side. Commit to us, or let us go. This line that you’re walking has reached the end. You want to be an ally? Fine. Let me help you with that: Don’t claim to be a safe space for queer people and then throw a grenade into our community and watch it burn. That’s not what an ally does. Don’t appropriate our culture by using our pride flag colours or the colour lavender and then deny the cultural and historic significance of those colours, effectively erasing their meaning. That’s not what an ally does. And most importantly, don’t let people be slaughtered, gaslit and harassed on the internet, or mainstream news, for interpreting your music as queer. A young queer woman, who is an incredible journalist, got called ‘inappropriate’ and a liar on national news yesterday, because she picked up what you’re putting down in your music and wrote an article about it. An incredible article by the way, one that made us all feel seen and validated. And then you’re letting old white men on national television call that inappropriate and invasive. You may not have said those words, but you let them stand there uncommented, let your cultish fans think that their hero is offended by being presumed to be gay. You guessed it, that’s also not what an ally does. A marginalised group of your fans got DEATH THREATS in your name in the last 24 hours because we pick up on queer flagging in your art. And you did nothing. You handed our bullies weapons and left us to fend for ourselves. That is not a safe space for LGBTQ people. And for that reason, you’re losing me.

Because I have nothing to believe. Unless you actually choose me (and yourself for that matter). Just once.

Until then,

J

[my-castles-crumbling]

hi cas

im not sure how to word this but im just gonna giev it a go i guess

so i'm a minor and i'm queer, both my parents are pretty homophobic. when i say minor, i mean that if they threw me out i'm too young to get a job

also, they're not nice to me. i don't mean in the posh kinda way- i mean it. my dad's bounced my head off the walls a couple times

i guess i got lucky with one thing and that's that no one's real mean to me about it- honest, i've been the queer awakenings of so many of my friends theyve taken to calling me casanova. i got a good card with my friends, too, but my problem is actually there

so most of my friends know my parents. a couple of the girls have made queer jokes at me in front of my parents on accident. i've had to slur and belittle my own people just to keep the damn roof over my head. i dunno if it's worth it to live with them until i'm of age- i really wanna dip at sixteen.

i dunno. thanks for reading. what do you think.

Hi hon <3

I am so sorry that this is your situation. It literally pains me to know that you and so many other kids are dealing with this, and I hope you know that you deserve so much more.

It sounds like you're smart- smart enough to know not to come out to your parents or something similar. That wouldn't be safe for you, unfortunately.

You kind of have two options, here. One- you could report your parents. It sounds like they've hurt you in the past, and if you're in the US or similar, it might be enough to be taken from them. BUT the foster system is shit, and depending on your country, that might not be the best solution, unfortunately. You have to decide which is safer for you. Which, I want to acknowledge, is an absolutely HORRIBLE decision to make at 14 or 15 or whatever age you are. Like I'm nauseous thinking about it. But that's reality.

Your second option is to start planning. However you can (in a safe way), start making money, building a support system, making a safety plan. If you make money, make sure your parents don't have access to it. Find friends and possibly adults that support you and would take you in in an emergency. Research youth shelters and low-income housing as well as emancipation options. Don't act rashly. Be smart, and weigh all your pros and cons. Again, if you can, find an adult irl who knows the full situation who you can discuss all the pros and cons with. The more you can plan before acting, the better off you'll be, but also take your safety into account. How long can you stay and save up before it starts to seriously affect your physical and mental wellbeing? Do you have a backup plan in case your parents find out and kick you out? What resources are available in your area?

These are all big, scary, adult decisions to be making, but the reality is you have to think about them. And if you need to talk any of them through, I'm here!

Naming you lily anon.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

QTA: Queer Teacher Alliance | New Student

Feel free to ignore this if you're not feeling up to writing, but homophobia feat. a 2 hour math test and homophobia feat. queer teacher alliance both literally had me in tears (god I need teachers like that) soooo.... possibly something else within that realm? Pretty please? Maybe there's a new kid (remy? idk i think he's the only character not accounted for aside from the orange side and thomas at this point) that's struggling? Homophobia shit happens again, Virgil has a panic attack, and Remy or whoever tries to help? Cept they're highschoolers and not very good at helping so they just kind of make it worse and now both of them are panicking and one of the teachers finds them. And I think you can figure out where it goes from here haha ��� anon

Read on Ao3 Masterlist

Warnings: homophobia, transphobia, panic attacks

Pairings: none!

Word Count: 3479

    You know, for once in his life, Virgil would really appreciate it if people just shut the fuck up about things they don't know. Seriously, whoever decided that it was every person with a platform's responsibility to use said platform to speak about something, even when the person doesn't know anything about whatever they're talking about, Virgil would like a word. Several words, in fact, many of them four letters, and then to acquaint their face with several different heavy objects. Repeatedly.

Point is, he's been forced to listen to some of his classmates discuss some celebrity's opinion of Harry Potter and J.K. Rowling for the past way-too-many minutes and he's about ready to rip his fucking ears off.

"I'm just saying, there has to be a way to—"

"There isn't! There literally isn't! She's come out and said publicly that she takes anyone who still engages with Harry Potter to mean that they secretly agree with her horrible transphobic views."

"But it's like he pointed out! Harry Potter is such big childhood nostalgia for so many people, what if it means something to them? I mean, obviously we don't endorse what the author's saying—"

"Did you not just listen to a fucking word I said?"

No, they didn't, they won't start to, and you need to shut the fuck up, Virgil thinks to himself as the other student sighs.

"Look, what about, you know, death to the author and all that?"

"I mean I'll kill that TERF without hesitating, yeah."

I don't think that's what death to the author means. I also think it's not actually called that.

"But like—are the books and movies really that bad?"

Nope. Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no, Virgil is not going to be here for this. He starts trying to put his stuff into his bag as subtly as he can, even hiding his pencil case under the table so he can ease the zipper open as quietly as possible. Pencil case, laptop, textbook, notebook, he's almost got everything in when suddenly he hears:

"Virgil! Virgil, come help me."

Absolutely the fuck not.

"Virgil," they call again even as he tries to shove his headphones in to surreptitiously indicate that he doesn't want to be talking about this right now, "Virgil! Hey, Virgil!"

"What?"

Fuck. Shouldn't have done that.

The first student sighs, leaning back in their chair. "Can you help me explain all the awful shit in Harry Potter?"

No, because I've got class in half an hour and there won't be enough time. "Uh—"

The other one snorts. "Look, I'm just saying that if you can't do it yourself, then maybe it's not really as bad as you're saying it is."

"Shut up, my inability to articulate doesn't make you right."

This is, in fact, an excellent point, and Virgil's going to use it to seamlessly segue his way out of this conversation, watch: "I, um, I—uh—"

See? Nailed it.

"Maybe Virgil's on my side," the other one says, "you don't know."

"I don't even know what you're talking about," Virgil says hastily, fighting every instinct to throw his backpack at their smug-ass face, "so—"

"What the fuck do you mean, don't know what we're talking about?"

No, no, no, not like that, abort, abort, abort—

The first student glares at him. "Have you been living under a rock or some shit? All the bullshit that J.K. Rowling keeps spewing about trans women not being real women and that they're dangerous and predatory, that stuff, do you really not know about that?"

"No, I do, but—"

"Then come on and help me convince this fucking idiot that her books are full of shit too!"

Virgil's hand tightens on the strap to his backpack and he starts edging toward the door. "I, um, I don't—I don't really have time for that, I need to go to class—"

"Period isn't over for another—" they glance at their phone— "twenty-seven minutes, dude, it's fine."

"I need to use the bathroom—"

"To do what," the other one snorts, "you have like, a mammoth shit you need to drop or something?"

"It's actually none of your business what I have to do in the bathroom," he spits, hunching protectively over himself.

"Whoa, man, easy." They raise their hands. "Calm down."

He takes a deep breath to try and calm himself before steeling his jaw. "Look, the internet is literally right at your fingertips. Google some shit or something."

"Yeah, 'cause people on the internet are so unbiased."

"Why don't—look," the first one says, "why don't you just give us one example, how about that?"

"Why are you so invested in me giving you an example?" Virgil asks in frustration, forgetting to get closer to the door—and his freedom. "Literally how am I involved in this conversation at all?"

"Because you're gay."

There's a faint ringing in his ears, he realizes after a moment. The entire room seems to slow down, moving in bullet time, and there's that whine in the back of his head almost like microphone feedback. His pulse thuds loudly in his ears, which is weird, because he was so sure he could only hear the whining but now he can hear this thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud. He can also hear some sort of really raspy thing, and there's a burning sensation near the base of his throat, which is strange, what could that be?

Oh, he realizes after their voices start to fade back in, I'm panicking.

Of course, realizing that he's panicking doesn't do anything other than slam every single big red button in his brain that says Hello! Time to have a Bad Time! In an instant his hands start sweating. His hoodie starts to itch. His chest keeps burning—that's what that was. His eyes widen and his mouth stops mouthing and he needs to go.

He barely even registers the run through the halls to get to the bathroom, doesn't even remember if there were people or if there are people currently in here or anything other than chucking his bag into the corner of the stall and slamming the door and huddling against the cold linoleum.

Stop it, he screams at himself, stop it, stop it, stop it!

He should be fine. None of this should be happening. He should be fine because nothing actually happened to him and he doesn't want to have to deal with the consequences of visibly having a panic attack in front of those two assholes and he doesn't want to deal with their stupid attempts at placating him afterwards.

Especially not their stupid attempts to placate him afterwards.

He can see it now, the way they'll stand in that weird and awkward way where they're trying to be sincere but they're high school kids so they only know how to do that weird handclasp thing that makes everything look like it's awkward picture day and they'll stumble their way over saying some stupid shit like we accept you the way you are and it's not a problem but something to be embraced or even just I see you, I hear you, I'm here for you, and he'll want to rip their fucking stupid vocal chords out before they can burble their way through some fucking platitude that doesn't mean shit and fuck this really isn't helping him stop panicking.

The door swings open.

"Uh, hey," the first student's voice rings out and Virgil curls up as tight as he can, "I, um, don't really know what happened, but you seem kinda upset, so I'm, uh, here to check on you?"

Go the fuck away. Go the fuck away right now and leave me the fuck alone.

"Look, I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot," they say as they come closer, in fact, and do not leave, "I, uh, didn't mean to just volley you in like that."

A shadow lengthens under the stall door.

"We, uh, I mean, I just wanted to make sure that you knew I wasn't trying to be homophobic or anything. I just meant that—you know, you're, uh…you might have more of a stake in it than we did, so I thought it would be good to…get your side of things."

I'm not trans. I'm not trans. We're not—queer people aren't some fucking hive mind.

A very good point he would like to make out loud. Now if only his lungs would stop trying to flee through his esophagus.

"But, uh, are you—oh, you're in there." Two shoes appear under the stall door. "Can I come in?"

"No!" He sniffs and gasps. "Get out!"

"Are you—you're having a panic attack, right?"

"Get out," he yells again, voice cracking, "leave me alone!"

"I'm not gonna leave you alone if you're having a panic attack, dude, that's not what you're supposed to do."

What you're supposed to do is listen to the fucking person who's having the fucking panic attack in the first goddamn place so that you don't make it fucking worse, which is what you're fucking doing right fucking now!

But of course, his body won't fucking cooperate with him long enough to make all of those words come out of his mouth, and so he just screams again.

"Get out!"

"Okay, okay, you're upset—" yeah, no fucking shit, Sherlock— "so I'm gonna—I'm gonna go get someone for you, okay? Just stay right there."

Where in the fuck am I gonna go, asshole?

But actually, the tiny remaining rational part of him thinks as the shoes disappear and the door swings open and closed again, that might not be such a bad idea, to go somewhere else. Then he might not actually have to deal with the consequences right now and he can ride out the rest of this stupid panic attack in peace and not have to explain himself to whoever the fuck that asshole went to go get—

"No, he's in there, I swear."

Fuck, how are they back already?

The door swings open again and Virgil scrunches himself as small as he can go, huddled in the corner, as a set of footsteps moves along the length of the bathroom.

"Hello? Is someone in here?"

Mr. DeLuca.

Two different instincts war in Virgil's chest. On the one side, Mr. DeLuca has been nothing but patient with him whenever he's upset. He's been kind and gentle, Virgil dares to say, and he's not made a secret of the fact that he'll be on Virgil's side if shit goes down about queer people.

The other side, though, knows that Mr. DeLuca is fucking scary.

"I see a closed stall door," Mr. DeLuca says, his voice still quiet and soft, "so I'm going to guess that's where you are. I'm not going to get closer, I'm still over by the sinks."

Virgil sniffs and it rings in the empty bathroom.

"You've picked the perfect place," he continues, "I'm sure there's no shortage of tissues to blow your nose with."

Despite himself, he sobs out a laugh and after a moment he hears Mr. DeLuca chuckle too.

"Though I can't say the smell will be pleasant once you do, this is still a bathroom."

The part of Virgil that wants the soft and kind Mr. DeLuca is slowly winning the fight as his back and shoulders start to protest being curled up like this for so long. With a shaking hand, he reaches out and undoes the lock, letting the stall swing open.

"I see you've opened the door," Mr. DeLuca says, "is that permission to come over?"

"Y-yeah."

"Alright, thank you. I'm going to stand up and start walking over. If at any point you decide to change your mind, that's perfectly alright, just tell me." Footsteps and another shadow and a noise escapes Virgil's throat before he can stop it. "Was that to stop?"

"N-no."

"Alright, just checking."

He keeps coming, all the way over, and Virgil can't help but cower a little when his shadow blocks out the light. Still, he tries to peer up and see him as he comes around the edge of the door.

"I'm here now, let's—Virgil?"

At the obvious concern that suddenly floods his voice, Virgil can't hold back the sob.

"Oh, sweetie," Mr. DeLuca murmurs, crouching down and reaching for him, "what happened?"

Virgil just shakes his head and claps a hand over his mouth. Mr. DeLuca tuts.

"Don't muffle yourself, it's alright, there's no one else here. It's alright, cry it out if you need to, I won't go anywhere unless you want me to."

And fuck it, he's out again. He buries his face in his hands and hoodie sleeves and just starts bawling like a child. Mr. DeLuca's hand comes to rest gently on his shoulder, sliding around to rub circles into his back. It's so careful but it's clearly done on purpose to make him feel better and he takes it back, that kid wasn't an asshole because they did actually get someone who could help.

It just…takes a moment.

When Virgil's finally got a hold on himself and half a roll of tissue to blow his nose on, Mr. DeLuca smiles at him.

"Hello, sweetie," he says quietly, "do you want to tell me what happened?"

"Not really."

"Will you tell me anyway?"

Virgil sighs. "Some students—the one who got you, I'm guessing—"

"Remy?"

"Yeah, I guess, them and another student started talking about how awful J.K. Rowling is—" Mr. DeLuca makes a noise of agreement— "well, they were arguing, really, and then Remy—Remy asked me to weigh in and I tried to leave but they wouldn't let me and then they said—"

"What did they say," he prompts when Virgil chokes off, "what did they say, sweetie?"

"They said they were asking me 'cause I'm g-gay."

Mr. DeLuca's hand stills and Virgil flinches. He's quick to soothe it away, though: "Shh, sweetie, I'm sorry, I'm not mad at you."

"But this is stupid."

"What," he asks dryly, "having a response to your trauma when it gets triggered?"

"…yeah."

He chuckles. "I hate to break it to you, Virgil, but that's how it works, I'm afraid."

"That's stupid too."

"Yes, it is very stupid." He gives his shoulder a gentle shake. "Can I convince you to come up out of the bathroom? Not to deny you your space but I'm sure other students will soon want a chance to use it."

"Yeah."

"Come," Mr. DeLuca coaxes, helping him to his feet, "I think Mr. Prince has a free period now as well, can we have you go sit with him while I deal with this?"

"Y-you don't—" Mr. DeLuca raises an eyebrow and Virgil cows— "okay."

"Do you want to rinse your face off first?"

"Uh-huh."

He splashes cold water and scrubs at his face until everything's roughly the same amount of red. He pats himself dry with the shitty paper towels and runs his hoodie sleeve over his face to get the rest. Mr. DeLuca just waits patiently with his backpack until he's ready to go.

"Thanks."

"Of course. Come on, now, it's not far."

He decides to pay negative attention to the surrounding halls as Mr. DeLuca guides him around to Mr. Prince's classroom, only looking up when the door swings open and he hears the familiar sound of Mr. Prince humming to himself as he works.

"Janus! What a lovely surprise," Mr. Prince calls, "and—oh, you've brought someone with you."

"Mr. Prince." Virgil can't help but smile at the familiar sound of Mr. DeLuca being exasperated. "I have a favor to ask you."

"Oh?"

"Do you mind if Virgil spends the rest of the period with you?"

"Oh, is that who that is? Look up for me—oh," Mr. Prince murmurs, everything else vanishing as he takes in Virgil's still-swollen eyes, "hey, Virgil, yeah, you can stay, that's fine."

"…thanks."

Mr. Prince looks up at Mr. DeLuca and they exchange a nod like Mr. Prince is giving him permission to go off on some mission to—oh, wait, that's exactly what's happening. Mr. DeLuca pats his shoulder one more time before leaving through the door.

"Come sit," Mr. Prince encourages, gesturing towards any of the open tables, "do you want to talk about it, do you want me to distract you, or do you want to be left alone?"

"Uh—" Virgil glances at the table nearest him, currently spread with all manner of papers, "what's all that?"

"Oh, just stuff for the other class, you guys didn't need it." He waves dismissively at the scissors. "It's an exercise to help remember some of the quotes from the readings to use in your essays."

Virgil snorts. "Ah, yes, the quotes that are definitely words that we would normally use in academic papers."

"Exactly, see?" He perches on the edge of his desk and Virgil deliberately looks at the desk in front of him, sitting down and putting his chin on his crossed arms. "Are you okay? Do you need some water or something?"

"Nah."

There are a few minutes of quiet as Mr. Prince goes back to shuffling the papers around before he sighs and looks over. "Alright, I know I asked if you wanted to talk about it and you didn't say you did, but I'm nosy and I want to know what happened."

Virgil sighs. "J.K. Rowling happened."

Mr. Prince makes such an expression of disgust that he snorts again. "What the hell was a TERF doing in your free period?"

"Two students were watching someone explain that they still like Harry Potter but don't support her perspectives on things like…that," he says, "and then they, uh, argued about it."

Mr. Prince winces. "I'm hesitant to ask what happened next."

"No, you're not."

"No, I'm not."

"One of them basically volunteered me because I think they have the all-queer-people-think-alike thing, and I, uh, wasn't prepared for someone to just loudly declare my queerness, so…"

"Well, I was right, that sucks a whole lot and I'm sorry that happened." He nods toward the door. "I would guess that our fearless math teacher is on the warpath?"

"When isn't he on the warpath?"

"You make an excellent point."

Virgil lays his cheek against his arm. "Also, they started talking about 'death to the author,' and I don't—that's not what it's called, right?"

"No, it's 'death of the author.'" Mr. Prince glances over at him with a smile. "Do you remember what it means?"

"Yeah, it's when it doesn't matter what the author intended or didn't intend to put into the text, right? We prioritize reader interpretation instead of author intention?"

"That's exactly right, well done, Virgil."

Not now, gay panic, oh my fucking god, not now. But it's too late, he's already got a giddy smile forming on his face and Mr. Prince has seen it.

"Don't hide, you're allowed to be proud you're right." He laughs in surprise when Virgil buries his face in his arms. "You're never this shy in class, what's going on?"

"I've just had a panic attack!"

"Fair enough, fair enough," he chuckles and yeah, it's probably a better idea if Virgil just hides his face for a little longer.

Still, he can't resist the urge to peek out for too long, and he raises his head just enough to glimpse Mr. Prince working with the pieces of paper over the edge of his hoodie. Mr. Prince glances over at the slight rustle and waves.

"Hi, there."

"Hi."

"You feeling better?"

"A little."

"That's good. Do you feel up to helping me cut out some of these things?"

"Sure."

This is fine, he thinks as he actually gets to laugh a few more times and talk about the ridiculousness of some of the quotes, this is totally fine.

And to his surprise, it actually is.

(He thinks Remy was right about them getting off on the wrong foot, though. Maybe he'll go find him later and they can actually have a conversation. Not about Harry Potter, though.)

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl

[genderqueerdykes]

hi im a nonbinary person (they/them pronouns) and im wondering if you or your followers have any advice on staying closeted for extended periods of time! im a young adult who has only come out to a few friends but i have to stay closeted from my parents for the forseeable future (i want at least to make sure i have a good support network first in case things really don’t go well). i luckily now have a job and live in a different city than them, so i’m able to present how i want, but im finding it very stressful to be navigating this half-closeted situation. im hoping that my parents might come around eventually & i won’t have to cut them out of my life entirely, but i know that coming out to them will be a very emotionally distressing process for me so i dont want to do that either. do you have any advice on my situation?

hello there!

i totally understand that feeling, a lot of us end up living double lives while we are staying somewhere where it's not safe to be out. it was not safe for me to be fully out when i lived with my family because whenever i tried to come out i was just mocked and made fun of so i didnt mention it at home or ask to be referred differently.

if you're able to, try to focus on building up your support network, and the amount of irl activities you can attend that will make you feel more like yourself. allow yourself to interact with the queer community when and where possible, when it's safe, and try to at least get some sense of identity enrichment in the mean time while you worry about how to address things with your parents

i've noticed a lot of the time confidently going ahead and doing something helps more than trying to have a conversation, because people can corner you in conversation and try to make you defensive, or to back down, but if you've already gone ahead and made that change without them, they can't do much to stop you, they just kinda have to accept who you are. sometimes people hear terms like trans or nonbinary and think it's just a "kid thing" or a phase or whatever and don't realize that means a lot of the time you're going to actually change and that's what you need in order to be happy

pursue what you can where you can that will bring you joy and if you do find the words to bring it up to them, power to you. it's something that you don't deserve to hold off interacting with until you're compeletely independent. the conversation with them may go better after you've moved out, dependig, but you should be able to live your life at least quietly in the mean time. you're not alone, a lot of us have dealt with this, and it's hard, but you deserve to be yourself while being safe

if we think of anything else or get any anons for you, we'll let you know! take care in the mean time, stay safe, good luck in your journey!

[setthishouseablaze]

Spotify Wrapped 2023: The Rose

The Rose steps deliberately into frame next to the burning house at her fingertips. Off-camera The Rose steps back from the house closer to the bundle of flowers blooming at the intersection of Sunset & Vine. (Question: can an American tell me if there's actually a Stop sign on this intersection?)

The Rose is a figure clad in a patch-worked version of all of The ME! suits over a pink shirt with a large pink rose hiding their face, there is a ring visible on their right pinky finger. Pink roses are said to represent; love, beauty, gratitude, grace and femininity. Pinky rings are a classic "hiding in plain sight" queer signal [1] as is tailored menswear worn by women. And Me! has the classic "one of these things is not like the others, Like a rainbow with all of the colors" lyric from Lover.

The Rose seems as if they're standing guard, first by moving in to stand by the burning house, and then by looming over the street/stop sign next to the three Dahlias. There are at least eleven references to Roses in Taylors songs, but no Dahlias. The word Dahlia means valley flowers, and in 'flower language' it represents: fresh starts, diversity, kindness in the face of adversity, and a commitment to goodness, the pink varieties in particular represent feminine beauty. [2]

The obvious song references are to ME! via the outfit, and to Gorgeous via the street names. Gorgeous is either a song about initiating a new romantic relationship while you have a beard, or, a song about cheating on your boyfriend. "I got a boyfriend, he's older than us. He's in the club doing, I don't know what … guess I'll just stumble on home to my cats alone unless, you wanna come along?" I've always interpreted it as the former and the flower symbolism (fresh starts, diversity, and feminine beauty) seem to back up that interpretation.

A goldfish (a symbol of the fishbowl of public life) hovers near The Rose, while a mirror ball bops over the dahlias, reflecting back at whomever looks in that direction.

So does The Rose represent the part of herself hiding in plain sight, protecting The House (her empire,) and whoever/whatever relationships are represented by the Dahlias by remaining masked and providing plausible deniability?

I made a list so I may as well share it...

Song references to flowers from Debut to Midnights:

Should’ve said No "Strange to think the songs we used to sing the smiles, the flowers, everything is gone"

Our Song "I almost didn't notice all the roses" (orange roses)

Christmas Must be Something More "Would you still wanna kiss without mistletoe" "please take down the mistletoe"

Back to December "you gave me roses and I left them there to die"

Superman "Right here wishing the flowers were from you"

The Lucky One "Chose the Rose Garden"

Blank Space "Rose garden filled with thorns"

Wildest Dreams "Red lips & rosey cheeks"

Clean "the flowers that we grew together died of thirst"

Don’t Blame Me "I once was poison ivy but now I’m your daisy"

Call It What You Want "All my flowers grew back as thorns"

Miss Americana & The Heartbreak Prince "running through rose thorns"

Cornelia Street "a place on Cornelia St" (note cornelias are flowers)

The Lakes "I want to watch wisteria grow" "a red rose grew out of ice frozen ground"

Gold Rush "rose blush"

Maroon "carnations that you thought were roses, that's us." "Your roommate's cheap-ass screw top rosé"

Lavender Haze "lavender haze creeping up on me"

You're on Your Own Kid "So long, Daisy May"

The Great War "My knuckles were bruised like violets" "All that bloodshed, crimson clover" "Place a poppy in my hair There's no morning glory"

Slut! "love thorns all over this rose"

Flowers in TS lyrics: roses, mistletoe, poison ivy, daisies, cornelias, wisteria, carnations, lavender, violets, crimson clover, poppy, morning glory.

Please let me know if you see any floral references I've missed?

[1] https://www.vogue.com/article/why-i-started-wearing-a-signet-pinky-ring

[2] https://warwickdahlias.com/shop/dahlias/anna-cornelia/

[turinspeachjam]

Sisters

(Read on ao3)

Robin is eating dinner with her parents and Nana when an incessant banging starts emanating from the front door. Her mother gives her a look and Robin knows that she’s allowed to leave dinner if the interruption is important enough. Knowing her friends, it very well might be.

She gets up from the table as gently as her clumsy body will allow, which of course means she bumps into something at least three times before she manages to escape, and scurries off to figure out what is so urgent that someone had to come talk to her during dinner. Opening the door reveals Dustin Henderson and Robin feels bad because she always leaves her walkie on, but she doesn’t like keeping it anywhere other than her room when she’s at home. Her parents already ask too many questions even though they know she can’t answer them.

“Hey Dusty-buns! What’s up?”

“I need you to grab as many clothes as you can from your closet and come with me.”

And, of course, Dustin has some sort of scheme going on that he can’t be bothered to explain so he just starts making demands. Why couldn’t he bother Steve about this?

“Why do you need my clothes, Dustin? You better not be using them to fuel a bonfire. I can think of at least ten other things you can get that would make for better kindling.”

Instead of sighing heavily like he normally would, Dustin glances around to make sure no one is listening in on them. Okay, so that means that either this is Upside-Down related, or the kid is just really embarrassed about what he needs the clothes for. He looks back at her and takes a deep breath, determination in his eyes.

“Robin, you like wearing typical guy clothes sometimes, right? Like, it feels more comfortable for you?”

It barely sounds like a question coming out of Dustin’s mouth. More like he wants to make sure he’s going about his explanation the right way. It makes Robin nervous. And not nervous in a “oh shit an alternate dimension is creeping in on us again” way, but nervous in a “I’m queer and the only other person who knows is Steve and I’m not sure I’m ready to come out to anyone else” way.

“Yes?”

Her response sounds even more like a question than Dustin’s question. He’s nodding though, like he didn’t even register Robin’s lack of confidence. It doesn’t seem like he’s all that concerned with Robin’s anxiety. Whatever he’s here for is more important to him. That puts her at ease at least a little bit.

“So, you have some girly clothes that you don’t like to wear from your mom, right?”

She nods this time. That is true. She has half a closet full of outfits she outright refuses to wear, much to her mother’s disappointment. It’s not that the clothes are ugly or uncomfortable, they’re just not her.

Dustin weighs his words carefully before speaking again. Whoever he wants to give her clothes to, and she knows that’s what this is about now, is not someone who can easily acquire said clothes for themselves. She kind of has a feeling it might be Tiny Byers or El. Will gives off gay vibes, but she doesn’t want to spook him over it. El only has access to hand-me-downs right now, with her being in hiding and all. Robin would bet a month’s worth of Family Video wages that this is about one of them.

“Would you be willing to give them to someone who wants to wear them but might be too afraid to get some themself?”

She knew it.

“Of course, Dustin. If someone really needs those clothes, then it’s all right by me. At least someone would get to wear them.”

She gives him a reassuring smile, but he seems even more nervous now. It’s kind of strange.

“Even if...”

He trails off, unsure of himself. Now Robin is curious. Is he going to tell her who these clothes are for? I mean, she’s almost completely confident now that they’re probably for Will. Dustin wouldn’t be this hesitant if the clothes were for El.

“Dust, I promise, no matter what, that it’s okay. You want me to help take the clothes over?”

He sucks his lips between his teeth, debating with himself, before he nods at Robin, giving her a weak smile. She pats him on the shoulder and leads him to her room. Grabbing her duffle bag from the closet that usually only sees use during band camp season, Robin carefully folds all the dresses, skirts, and blouses that her mother has given her in the last few years and tucks them away into the bag. Dustin kind of just stands there, watching her, nervously chewing on his lip the whole time. He keeps rubbing his hands on his pants. It makes Robin wonder if maybe the clothes aren’t for Will, but for Dustin. He’s a little on the stocky side for her clothes, but it wouldn’t be too difficult to get some of them adjusted to fit. By the time Robin is finished, Dustin looks like he wants to melt into the floor.

“Okay. We’re all set. You ready to go, Dustin.”

He looks at her, that determined glint still in his eyes, and nods firmly. God, sometimes he really does remind her of Steve. If she didn’t know better, she would argue that they were biologically related.

It’s not a long walk to Dustin’s house, the Henderson household only a few houses down from the Buckley’s home. It makes it convenient whenever the two of them and Steve are meeting with the rest of the Party. Or when one of them needs to sneak into the other’s bedroom when the nightmares get too bad.

Dustin goes right ahead and opens his front door. Robin notices that Claudia’s car isn’t in the driveway, and neither is Steve’s. She’s grateful that they’ll have the privacy for this. Not that Steve or Claudia would judge Dustin for wanting to wear girl clothes, but sometimes it’s better to not have an audience for these kinds of things. She gently shuts the door behind her and goes to follow Dustin. She’s taken aback a bit when he beelines it for Steve’s room instead of his own. If being surrounded by Steve will make him feel more at ease, then Robin doesn’t mind.

Except for the fact that Dustin is talking to Steve. Which means that Steve’s mom borrowed his car. And judging by the extremely panicked look Steve is giving Dustin and Robin, the clothes are not for Dustin.

“Hey Robbie—listen. Dustin was just trying to be helpful and misunderstood something I said and it would be great if we just kind of collectively agree that this never happened.”

He barely finishes stammering through his excuse before Robin responds. This is her Stevie, her dingus, her platonic other half. There is no way she’s letting him down.

“What exactly did you tell Dustin, Eve?”

The nickname makes him blush something fierce, but it also helps him calm down. He’s still very clearly nervous and keeps eyeing Robin’s bag like it’s going to attack him, but his shoulders have dropped and he’s significantly less tense than he was a moment ago. Robin is really glad that Dustin came to her about this.

“I told him—I said—”

His eyes are tearing up and Robin drops her bag with little fanfare so she can wrap her arms around him. She’s never been much of a hugger, always had a weird relationship with touch, but holding Steve and him holding her back has never once made her feel uncomfortable. The second she touches him, he collapses into her, shaking from head to toe.

“He told me he wanted to feel pretty.”

Dustin looks so sad. Robin can picture the whole thing with crystal clarity in her head: Steve making an offhand comment. Dustin being able to tell that it’s deeper than Steve is making it out to be. Steve obviously hurting and Dustin wanting to help. The whole thing makes her ache.

“How about a fashion show? I put on some of your stuff, you put on some of mine, and Dustin can help us accessorize.”

“Hey that’s a great idea!”

Dustin’s face is lit up with enthusiasm. This is the first time all night that she's seen him act like his usual self. It makes her feel relieved.

“How about it, Evie? You wanna do a fashion show with me?”

She can feel the moment Stevie starts smiling. There’s a small nod against her shoulder. A burst of warmth sweeps through her and suddenly she’s bursting with just as much excitement as Dustin.

“Alright! Let’s get this party started!”

As soon as Stevie lets her go, she raids the closet for things to try on. Robin can hear two sets of giggles behind her, and she knows that she’s lucked out with these two goofuses.

They spend two and half hours trying on clothes, having Dustin accessorize and critique their looks. Robin can’t remember being this happy. They’re all so distracted by how much fun they’re having that not one of them notices when Claudia and Gloria have come home until they open Stevie’s bedroom door.

Robin is in the suit Stevie wore to junior prom, complete with slicked back hair and her own broach she bought at a shop in Indy attached to the lapel. Stevie is wearing a calf-length pink skirt that flares out when he spins in it, a pastel short sleeve blouse, and knee length socks, with a simple friendship bracelet that El had made him dangling from his wrist. Dustin had gotten into the spirit of things and put on some clip-on earrings and tied a cream-colored scarf around his neck. All of them are wearing different shades of pink lip gloss.

Robin is not the least bit concerned about her own appearance. Both Claudia and Gloria have seen her in worse. No, Robin's focus is entirely on Stevie and Dustin, both of whom are frozen in fear. Robin hasn't seen Stevie's eyes that wide since Starcourt. She’s about to open her mouth to say something—a distraction or an excuse on her mind but she hasn't decided on which yet—when Gloria smiles tremulously.

“You look beautiful, baby.”

And that's all it takes. There are tears in Stevie's eyes as he hugs his mom. Claudia perches herself on the bed next to Dustin, her fingers gently combing through his hair as he leans into her. Robin finds herself struggling not to cry. Because this is how it should always be.

Stevie is smiling like the sun has come up just to see him and it’s the most world-changing experience of Robin’s life. God, she wishes with everything in her body that Stevie would smile like that all the time. Hawkins wouldn’t know what hit ‘em.

“So, are you just getting gussied up for the hell of it? Or is there more happening here?”

Claudia’s tone is gentle and encouraging and Robin can't help but burst with all the love and joy that has filled her to the brim.

“We’re having a fashion show!”

Stevie and Dustin share matching grins at Robin’s enthusiasm. Claudia is very obviously curious about the whole thing. Gloria is positively delighted.

“I love it! Would it be okay for us to be a part of it?”

Stevie is looking at his mom as though she hung the stars. There is absolute wonder on his face.

“Maybe you could do my makeup? Would that be okay, mama?”

Stevie’s voice is shy, but no longer afraid. Robin is gonna cry about it for the rest of her goddamn life.

Without missing a beat, Gloria pulls out a small makeup bag from her purse and starts applying blush to Stevie’s cheeks. Dustin and Claudia have started to do their own makeup session on the bed, but Robin only has eyes for the soft expression on Gloria’s face as she brushes her son’s face. If Robin listened closely, she thought she could hear Gloria murmuring.

“You’ll always be my baby. No matter how you look or what you want to wear or who you love. Forever and always, you’re my baby.”

Robin does her best to memorize every single part of this moment. She does not want to forget any of it.

“There! All finished and don’t you look like a doll! We simply must take pictures of you and Robin. You both look too perfect. It’s like you’re going to prom!”

Gloria and Claudia fuss over who gets to take photos, adjusting the camera to get Robin and Stevie at the best angles. Stevie is flushed, practically drunk on how happy he is. Dustin joins in on some of the photos, just as happy to be a part of the whole thing. Robin feels good. This is probably the first time she has ever felt validated by an adult while wearing the clothes she prefers. Not to mention that she’ll have a keepsake to prove to herself that this really happened, that she really got to experience this memory. Stevie nuzzles into her neck a bit. It takes a moment for Robin to register what Stevie is saying, but when she does, warmth blossoms in her tenfold.

“Glad I met you, Robbie. Glad you’re my best friend. Glad to be your sister.”

And Robin realizes that the three kids in that room who grew up without a sibling now have two each to make up for it. She cries with the wonder of it.

***

It's around midnight when Robin finally makes it home. She’s smiling the few blocks it takes to get to the Buckley front door. Her mother opens it before she even has a chance to test the knob to see if it is locked. Robin must still be radiating joy because her mother’s tense body is relaxing fairly quickly.

“Everything okay?”

“Everything is great, mom.”

Maybe someday soon Robin will have the courage to tell her mom about who she is, but for now she’s content knowing that happy endings are possible.

[morg-among-the-stars]

Hi, Morgan. This you from the future, I am nineteen years old.

If I use too many big words, then please take this letter to the library. I am sure Mrs. Libkins won’t mind reading it to you, or at least helping you figure it out; you’re a very bright girl, after all.

I am nineteen years old, you are six years old. You’re getting a hard time from your teachers. You like to rock in your chair and for whatever reason, everyone around you has a problem with that. I will tell you, even all this time later, I still don’t get what all the fuss is about.

You will be fine, I want to know that. Things will, unfortunately, get worse for you. But you will come out on the other side. You are strong, a very strong girl. I don’t mean to scare you; you will have moments of joy in-between all the pain, but things will be rough for a long time. They never really stop being rough, but things do ease up. You learn how to manage things, how to manage yourself.

For a long time, you will be alone. You’ll be adverse to the other girls in your class in elementary and middle school, but you’ll meet a nice, nerdy girl in a technology class in sixth grade and you will find peace in having a girl on your side. A girl who thinks you’re funny. A girl who tries to understand you the best she can. You two will have bumps in the road, big bumps, even. You’ll go months without talking and you will feel alone again, you will be scared of what being alone means. But it isn’t your fault that your other friends will move away; that is what we call a product of circumstance.

It isn’t your fault.

I’ll tell you about your friends: the girl from your tech class and two others will have the greatest impact, they will get you through school.

The first is a boy with long, curly hair that you mistake for a girl when you first meet him. He cuts his hair in the middle of sixth grade and you were used to it when it was long, you liked it a little better. He is tall, very tall and he gives wonderful hugs. He loves cartoons and he talks about them a lot. He loves Adventure Time and Gravity Falls and other greats, and you will spend a lot of time with him during lunch, looking at fan-art online and listening to him ramble. You’ll fall in love with him, a (not-so) little crush, but it won’t feel right. You’ll think about him often, but the idea of being his girlfriend makes you feel sick. The idea of kissing him or, Heaven forbid, marrying him, are thoughts you avoid when your family asks about him. He moves away during eleventh grade and you don’t get to properly say goodbye. You still call him or message him sometimes, but that’s part of growing up. Things are alright.

And the second is a kid who is very, very short. He tells you that he was a girl in a past life, and that isn’t a completely foreign concept. You met a kid like him in middle school, and that middle school boy was on your side. You were both outcasted for completely separate reasons; you got to see that someone had it worse than you, really worse. That boy from middle school is doing alright now.

But you meet the very, very short boy in high school and you fall in love with the girl he once was in that past life. You couldn’t tell a soul. And you felt relief when he told you he was a boy and not a girl. You couldn’t be liable for being queer.

He is the first person you ever meet you has depression, he says it right out loud on the days where the sky is gray and heavy. And even on the sunniest of days, he was still down. You understood it but you didn’t know how to help. You ask him very literally at thirteen years old, “How can I help make you happy?” and he laughs tiredly and tells you that’s not how it works. You would do anything for him, he becomes your best friend for a short time. (Not for long, don’t worry) You will give up yourself to help him, and you have to gather the pieces of Morgan up again.

You succeed, I told you that you are bright.

Strangely, the nerdy girl who grows up with you becomes the one you fall in love with. But this cannot be denied. You are liable. You tell her and for a moment in time, she is liable in her own way. But nothing ever happens, she beat around the bush of things she wanted, of how she wanted you, to love you.

You decide to get over her and you do it in the worst way possible; you fall in love again, but this love is so, so cruel. This person violates your soul, kicks and punches your heart that is always trying to repair itself. Over and over again, being kicked and ripped to shreds. It hurts, God, does it hurt you. You shouldn’t be hurt, you’re a good person. You don’t deserve to be hurt like you were. You’re over your nerdy best friend, but at what cost?

Things come to a head and the world implodes, you lose that love (for the better, was it really ever love if it hurt so much?) and you lose your best friend for the worst; you don’t talk to her for a long time.

But, even alone, you are okay. You manage, you live and I have always been proud of you for doing so.

Time goes on and spring comes. You’ve always liked springtime. You like the flowers and warm air, and chirping birds outside your window (you called them “spring birds” when you’d hear a certain birdsong. Even as an adult, you still call them that. Some things stay the same, and that’s alright).

With spring, you make amends. You have your nerdy, kind, loving best friend again, but she’s grown up some. So have you.

You make amends and come across springtime as a person. Pretty red hair, a smile that you think about often (you think about it a lot, your heart feels warm when you see it), a soft voice that could be its own birdsong; that’s how you feel about this girl who you would’ve loved to sit with while Mrs. Libkins read stories to you in some other, distant universe.

Morgan, it takes time, but you fall in love for a fifth time. Five has always been your lucky number. You trust springtime, you let her warmth in. She fills up the cracks of your heart with golden sunlight and you begin to trust again. It takes a long time. Sometimes, you push her away. You worry that she will fall into the patterns of those before her, but she doesn’t. You are safe. You grow up and find love and you find safety.

Feels good to know, doesn’t it? You get bullied in school and the world implodes around you, and you are scared. But you have good friends and the sweetest partner you could have ever dreamed of and a bright mind, always. Things turn out alright.

Now, your life isn’t perfect. It definitely is not perfect. But you learn that perfection doesn’t exist. Mom and Dad still fight and your baby sister grows up and you sit together and wait for the storm to pass; wait for the fight to end.

The tiny, waddling baby that you know becomes a big kid and, my goodness, she is cool. You grow up beside her and you help her all that you can. She’s your best friend in her own way, and she always will be.

You are always curious about the world and that doesn’t end. You have good people who ask about your curiosities and who adore your mind.

Morgan, you are small now, and you are worried about the future. But let me tell you one final time: you will be alright.

You will always end up on the other side, even with a few scars or bruises. You will be alright.

With love and big hugs,

Morgan, thirteen years into the future <3

[queerspaceprince]

super long post

i saw the tv glow spoilers, me being depressing, tw's in tags

i went to see I Saw the TV Glow this afternoon. i got it. def cried a little (idk if hrt has stopped me from crying more bc i havent cried since i was in hs anyway) my sib got it, tho we havent talked ab it yet bc im still processing even now. my mom did not get any of it. at all. wasnt affected. thats fine, whatever.

and. jesus. i give the movie a 15/10, but it was. a whole lot. i have too many emotions.

Im def gonna mention a few spoilers so if you dont want to be spoiled, is your warning.

it made me feel too much. is the allegory really allegory if the hidden meaning is right at the surface?

when owen says that thing during their convo on the bleachers -i cant remember the exact words fuck- something about feeling hollow or missing something or whatever, how he thinks something is wrong with him and his parents do to-i feel that. so much. i felt it so much more before my egg cracked, but i still feel it in relation to my depression and anxiety. that hit me.

there was also that part about feeling like you're watching yourself from the outside, as if through a tv. oof.

then the whole thing maddie said about how time didnt feel right, how nothing changed when she left. i get it. I was 10 nd my parents got divorced, and suddenly im 11 and thinking i wanted to d1e for the first time, and then im 14 in a kind of manipulative relationship, with like 1 friend and super depressed, and then i was graduating and realizing im queer and exploring my gender and going through a breakup. then im 20, and getting my first job, and coming out to my family. and now im 26. and i still mostly feel the same way i always have. i have more good days, and im more confident now, but i still feel like im just going through the motions a lot of the time.

when did I stop being a kid? ive been an adult for 8 years and Im still only working part time (32 hrs), still living with my mother bc rent is $$$$, still barely functional enough that I havent cleaned my room since last year and ive only showered 3 times in the past week, and i have to force myself to go get coffee on my days off or else ill stay in bed all day. Im just stuck here. i shouldve taken driving lessons when I could. id be out. except i cant leave my sibling behind with my mother. shes not awful, but them being alone is an explosion waiting to happen. but they dont have a job and i doubt i could support both of us. and now i dont trust my eyes enough, like i read for 15 minutes and everything else goes blurry, like im seeing triple.

anyway. next is the scene in where she talks about k1lling herself to get back to the pink opaque world. I. have to admit i nearly threw up. the imagery, the way she spoke about it. she said she regretted it while she was stuck underground, then how she felt good about it, about getting out....ive been sitting in a low spot for a while, it was better while we were on our trip, but it just reverted when we came back. i keep thinking im going to relapse into sh again. i feel so close to the edge sometimes. and theres really no reason for it either. my life is fine. not great, not perfect. but adequate. anyway i had to close my eyes and take a minute after that.

i feel that even without wanting to go back to the other world, maddie was suicidal. she wouldve found some reasoning to k1ll herself. Now ive only ever been actively su1cidal once, when i was 15 -or 16- idk my teen years are all a blur of depression and anxiety. im good now. well. i say good. im more, self destructive then really wanting to d1e. just. i feel so bad on the inside for no reason, why can i have a reason to hurt on the outside?? anyway, im ok now, im 3.5 years clean, i dont want that to change. im working on my coping mechanisms.

there was another quote from that planetarium scene that i couldnt stop thinking about but has now vanished from my mind entirely. bc sometimes getting my thoughts in order is like. catching smoke.

anyway. then everything after that. him growing old. knowing something about him is different but not wanting to acknowledge it or it would drastically his life as he knows it. I understand that feeling. except for me, its not exactly acknowledgement of myself, its doing something about it. while I didnt exactly stay in the closet long, that feeling of not wanting anything to change is why the closet exists. i realized i was queer in 2014, trans 2015. came out as bi that summer, but i didnt come out as trans until 3 years later. when I had a job. access to money if i ended up getting kicked onto the street. i literally had a bag packed and ready to go. and yet. even when i did come out, i was too afraid to correct my family on my pronouns or name for another year. my sibling really helped with that. immediately used them. Tbh theyre my fave person and id do anything they asked.

the whole thing about there still being time.

i see a lot of tiktoks about this. people watning to do stuff now bc there is still time to change your life or whatever. im interpreting it differently.

there is time now, but your hourglass will run low eventually. live while you still can, while you can still do something about it. how that message showed up after maddie left- their time together had run out, but he might still be able to do something. make a change. idk. but owen was too scared to do anything.

im still scared to do anything.

i still dont correct people on my name or pronouns if they get them wrong. i still dont speak up if my family says anything not pc (they are learning tho). im too scared to talk about any big feeling i have bc ive always been brushed off in the past and i dont want to feel worse becasue of it.

i still havent done anything to get my name or gender marker changed bc im scared. idk why. ive been living as a man for 6 years, i got top surgery almost 3 years ago, and ive been on hrt for nearly 2.

it terrifies me for some reason. maybe ts the complexity of it. ive found 3 different versions of the paperwork, and nowhere does it tell me exactly how or who to submit it too. one of those said i could submit online but it had to be printed, notarized, and scaned back into the computer? none of the other versions said it had to be notarized???

and i have nobody who has any knowlege that could help. my aunt worked for a lawyer for years, and yet she just said all I have to do is go to the dmv. like babe. no. thats not how that works.

i think ill start on that again.

while i still have time.

[brutallyboned]

I hate hate generational conflict. I think it's a pointless distraction from class solidarity and I think that's exactly what it's designed to be, even in seemingly unrelated conflicts like this. But there's something so insidious about millenials being framed as the 'predator' generation. Especially when for some reason in the early 00's media was trying to frame us as dangerously permiscuous, having orgies in middle school, blowjob parties, "treating oral sex like a kiss good night" all while we were having less sex than Gen X or Boomers did. Like imo this framing comes down to sexual 'immorality', that sure we're doing it less than previous generations, but we're doing it 'wrong'. We took it too far with the queerness, consent, ackowledging female desire, kink, etc. The parents who sexually abused me were seemingly terrified of my own sexuality and treated me like I was some kind of pervert for wanting and having extremely vanilla gay sex as a teenager. If there is a genuine backlash against sexuality from Gen Z (and not just a loud minority given favor by algorithm or whatever powers that be), I would just point out that progess isn't guaranteed and younger people are not inherently more radical (in the actual meaning of the word, not 'extreme'). Reactionary backlashes happen and if we're not careful, they can turn the tide of the world for quite a while. We (in the US) take for granted that the extreme conservatism of the 50s was organic and 'how things had always been', but in the US, the 30s and 40s were a far more radical time. The conservatism of the 50s was extremely manufactured by the owning class to combat the popularity of leftist ideologies in the US... and that indoctrination worked on the kids that were being born at the time. That's what worries me so much about antis tbh. It's not just 'silly fandom stuff', it's about the base and superstructure, how this attitude is reaffirming the american protestent view of sex relations (and therefore labor relations) that uphold american capitalism and all the oppressions that come with it.

[pteren]

this year will be my first real Pride

i've been more and more surrounded by queer people for the past few years, but i've never been to Pride or even really celebrated it. a lot of my LGBT friends were closeted to their families, so that had something to do with it- but i certainly could have gone with somebody if i wanted to.

i think the biggest reason i haven't been before now is that i've always hesitated to call myself queer. a lot of other kids would say that i "acted" gay (whatever that means), but i didn't feel an attachment to any sexuality and at the time gender wasn't something i was at all concerned about. i wanted to belong- i loved these people and i felt such a strong urge to stand by them and protect them- but i was just. some guy.

tumblr has changed that. i've seen it in the "diversity" polls i've clicked thru- caught myself slowly starting to count myself as queer more often than not. i've seen it in the way i talk about my gender (or lack thereof) so much more passionately than before. i've seen it in the way i look at the world around me, and the way i remember my past self. i thought i knew a lot about this world, but i'd only just scratched the surface.

the most important discovery i made was that i am aromantic. finding a whole, thriving community of people who had all had these experiences i just. took for granted, that had been ignored all my life, was like coming to the surface of the water and suddenly being able to see everything in focus. it drives me crazy that i never encountered this language for 20 years- especially as i've just now made the connection that i had an aromantic friend who probably doesn't know either- she's described some of the same experiences to me but never used that word. i hope she's also found people like her.

thank you. if you're here and you're queer and you've encouraged me or interacted with me or just posted about our shared experience around the campfire where i can sit and listen- if you helped deliver this priceless knowledge to me, provided me with the tools to carve out the person i am becoming- thank you. special mention to @aromantic-diaries- J, you're a legend. i owe you a sandwich.

i love you all so, so much. happy pride 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈💚✨🪽

[repentarium]

through cartilage and fluid (ao3)

Steve and Eddie talk and maybe try to save the world. I wanted to do a little tiny ficlet of like just the emotional action of a larger hypothetical story as a little exercise and I really liked it, hope you do too. <3

'I need to speak to Robin.'

'Make it quick, Casanova!' Dustin yells after him as he pulls her away to some semblance of privacy. The ground is still shaking intermittently, lightning flashing across the sky every few minutes.

'I can't do this, Robin. You know I'm not-'

'You have made it very clear that being gay is the worst thing you could be, Steve.' she levels him with a terrible look that has him backtracking. She can't think he thinks that.

'No! Not like, for someone else, it's not a bad thing, I just - it's just, I'm not, and-'

'Steve, if there was even a tiny chance it would work why wouldn't you try it?'

'It just... doesn't make any sense. It's like if you and me were supposed to kiss, and - hey maybe that's it, we're like, like, platonic soulmates! Capital P, Robs!' he smacks a hand against her arm desperately. 

'You know that's not it. That's not what it comes down to, Steve, we're wasting time! I love you but I am gonna need you to postpone your big gay crisis until after we save the world.'

'I'm not having a gay crisis! I'm straight! I like boobies!'

'You can like boobies and also weird, scrawny, nerd guys.' 

'But I. I don't.'

He is trying to put it into words, and he's thinking of his dad calling him queer and Coach calling him a pretty boy and Tommy H using whatever slurs he thinks will hit the hardest whenever he wants the ammo, and he's thinking of how he and Tommy had kissed that one time at the party freshman year and he'd shoved him so hard after, how he'd landed on the concrete and lost his breath and Tommy hadn't spoken to him for three weeks, but Dustin runs up and grabs his wrist and pulls and is complaining at him and the other kids are yelling and he gets pushed in front of the hell version of the boathouse.

Dustin is looking at him expectantly, they all are, and Steve thinks he might be having a heart attack, he's never felt so sincerely like his organs were trying to jump out of his body and he's never felt his heart rate this high, even after running pacers at practice. 

‘Do we really think this is gonna work? I mean, true love saving the day, it’s… a little ridiculous. Right?'’

‘Steve, you’re standing in a hell dimension and we’re talking about killing what is basically a nightmare god.’

Steve sighs and runs his hands through his hair. He really hates this, all of it. They shouldn’t be here, and he shouldn’t be here, and Eddie shouldn’t. They should all be eating cereal on a couch somewhere. He looks out at Lover’s Lake, which has been partially refilled by the sporadically torrential pouring rains but still looks low and weird and off, especially with the way the cracked fault runs into it. 

'Just. Can you all stay out here, please.' He says it softly and looks at them all and they're his family, and so many of them are missing, and he doesn’t know how he can fix any of it.

'I don't wanna see that.' Mike is scoffing and El jabs him hard with an elbow and glares so fiercely that if her powers were up to snuff he'd probably be halfway across the backyard by now. 

Dustin claps his hand onto Steve's shoulder in that way he has of being weirdly mature sometimes, like he's the older brother, and he says 'I'll be out here for you.'

Steve gulps and opens the moldering door, shuts it behind him even though the boards are barely hanging on and it’s not exactly keeping anything surreptitious. 

Eddie is sagged onto an old stool and leaning against the wall, ropes and chains securing him to a beam, and he's shivering. That's the first thing Steve notices. He looks around and finds a ratty drop cloth and steps forward to wrap it around him and Eddie's right arm, just loose enough to drink water when they can bring him some, grabs his wrist. 

They're all so in over their heads. Eddie doesn't need to be kept a prisoner, he needs a hospital and stitches and a warm bed, and this fuck of a passenger out of his head. 

He's looking at Steve with giant and tired eyes , safe and warm despite it all, not the silverfish shine of a predator, not today. He's still got blood and lake water crusting all over his face and clothes, and he knows he's in pain, but Eddie smiles softly at him anyway, says 'Hey Harrington, draw the short straw?' before he's coughing. 

Steve doesn't know what to say. He brushes Eddie's hair back out of his face, tucks it under his bandana again where it came loose, just to keep his face free, maybe keep him breathing clear. He's still just looking at him, looking at his bruises and blood and the way his skin is so pale it looks blue. The hand clinging to his wrist still is scarily weak and feels fragile and cool like glass. 

'It's okay.' He knows he's in the Upside Down, the closest thing to bizarro world that probably exists, but to have Eddie comforting him brings nausea to his guts and tears to his eyes, and he thinks as loud as he can that it's not fair, and he hopes if there's some kind of nice deity somewhere, that if it's not demons all the way down, they can hear him. It's not fair. 

Eddie's just some fucking guy. He plays weirdo games with all the loner kids so they don't feel so alone and he steals cans of cat food to feed the strays at the trailer park and he makes annoying jokes and talks like he's on stage like all the time. He shouldn't be infected with this shit, he shouldn't be dying, he shouldn't be the tool Vecna was using to put his best friends in the hospital one by one. It's not fucking fair. 

He wishes it were him instead. He could bottle it all up for long enough to land at the bottom of the quarry, he thinks, exactly the way they wouldn't let Eddie. Steve could have been sneakier. 

'Steve-o, I don't know why you're crying, man, but it's okay. I'm ready to go, this fucking sucks.' he forces out a chuckle that turns into another cough, this one wet enough to have him spitting blood to the side. 

'You. You're ready to go.' 

'Yeah, let's get a move on, I don't have all day here. I've been trying to tell Dustin that it's gotta be like this but youuu know him.'

Eddie thinks they sent Steve in to kill him. 

Regardless of the path his own thoughts were just on, he feels the bile rise to his throat. 

'I'm kinda glad they sent you, though. I think you'll get it done, you know? Quick and clean and easy. They don't have to see it at all. And hey, bonus, you're like the prettiest out of all of them, if I have to look at someone while I'm going out it might as well be you.' He squeezes his eyes closed and coughs again but waggles his eyebrows half-heartedly. 'I would fucking love a cigarette though.’

Steve is panting for air and it's like maybe he is the one possessed, actually, he feels like his skin is on fire and his blood feels thick and pounding in his head and his eyes feel drier than they have a right to be when they are steadily streaming tears like this. 

'Eddie. I'm not gonna kill you.'

'You sure look like that's the plan, big guy, you've got this real sad look on your face. Like I'm the shittiest puppy at the pound and today's the big day.' 

'Shut up. You know that's not even an option.'

Eddie sags as much as the ropes will let him, in relief or disappointment or just exhaustion. The earth beneath them shakes roughly again, enough to cause the lake to splash up at them from the gap in the floorboards. Time is running out. 

'Eddie, look at me for a second. I need to say something.'

He stays slouched but raises his eyes enough to look at him through his eyelashes. Eddie doesn’t look him in the eye, but Steve can see they aren't shining silver, so he plows forward before he loses his courage. He brushes aside all of the shitty ideals he has all at once, like taking off a heavy and soaking jacket, and just lets himself ramble. 

'I am so glad you're the little shits' story master.'

'Dungeon master.'

Steve waves his hand at the correction and puts both hands firmly on Eddie's shoulders. Eddie tenses again at this, sits up a little straighter but still avoids his eye. 

'And I'm real happy you've had our back this whole time. We wouldn't have made it without you.' Eddie scoffs and Steve knows he's thinking about pulling at the machines keeping Max alive, about setting the Henderson house on fire, about putting a knife to Wayne's throat. 'The rest of it wasn't you. You know that, we all know that. No one died. And you protected them, me, us, so much more than any of that, every time you could. This, right now, is you fighting to protect us.' He moves his head down so Eddie has to look at him, and his eyes are just so fucking big and so miserable. 

'It's not fair, Eds, that's what I'm trying to say. You should have graduated and gotten a shitty job at the record store and, and-and played shows with your band, and, maybe even gotten big. You should have traveled and eaten too much fancy food and seen the ocean and, and fallen in love.'

'All that was never in the cards, King Steve.'

Steve is shaking his head. He's mad again. 

'No, Eddie, it was, it is!'

'Not to be a pessimist but it's kind of hard to play a guitar with, you know…' He lifts his mangled left hand as much as he can, rattles the chains with gnarled and cramped and broken fingers. '...all this.'

'No!' Steve can't help himself, he yells into Eddie's face, must shake him a little, because Eddie's eyes widen and he coughs again. The drop cloth slides off to pool at Steve’s feet. 

'You're not exactly convincing me you aren't gonna kill me here, pal.' he groans. 

Steve lets Eddie go to pace in front of him. After a dozen or so back-and-forths he starts to open the door, to tell them he thinks he can't do it, but Dustin and Robin are there looking at him, and they're scared, and Mike and El are holding each other and crying a few feet away. He closes the door again and presses his forehead against the soggy wood. 

The thing is, the real rub here, is that he does like Eddie, that he's caught himself looking at him like he's beautiful sometimes actually, wondered how soft his hair might be in his hands, even thought about what it would be like to kiss right where his jaw meets his neck, but he hasn't had any time to think since all of this started, so it went into a box on a shelf in his brain with all the other stuff and he figured maybe later, when they got out of this, he could poke at it a little. 

He's tugging at his hair, and he can hear his dad's voice plain as if he were standing in front of him, red and spitting because he found a fucking Bowie cassette when he borrowed the Beemer. 

'Steve, something's wrong. I don't feel right, man, and I think you should leave. Just like toss me into the lake and get out of here, please. Tell Will he's gotta take over the campaign.' When Steve turns to look at him he smiles bloody, shaky, and Steve can't tell if he's lying or not but it doesn't matter. 

'No.' Steve isn't yelling anymore, he's quiet, and Eddie is crying himself, now. Steve can hear his dad's voice in his head still and it's all too much. It's not fair, none of it is. 

He walks into Eddie's space, sees his brow furrowed in pain. He smooths his hair out of his face again and presses his thumb against the wrinkles between his eyes, and he just. Breathes. Leans forward and kisses him. 

It's so easy to do, actually, and he puts his hands up to cradle Eddie's face and he can feel his fingertips against tangled hair at the base of his neck, a little scratch of patchy stubble brushing against his, can taste salt from tears and blood from both of them, but after a few seconds Eddie kisses him back and it's like his whole body and brain are on fire again.

He presses in firmer and so does Eddie, to the limit of his bindings, and he can feel his right hand touch lightly against his sweater where it can reach, grasp at it, and when Eddie's mouth opens just a little to slot a just a little closer, to press his tongue against his lips, he thinks 'oh'.

It's like sirens and lights and a parade are all running through the boathouse, and it's a stupid cliche and a shitty rom com but it's fucking real, like for a minute they're transported somewhere sweet and nice, maybe those beaches Steve was telling Eddie about, like the warmth on his skin isn't from being dragged against rough ground but from lounging around too much in the sun. 

Eddie pulls away and presses his forehead against Steve's shoulder, and Steve puts his arms up to hold him. They're both panting and Eddie's shaking and crying hard enough that Steve feels the moisture spread throughout his sweater, and because he doesn't know what else to do he softly says 'hey' and pets a hand through his gnarled hair. His voice and his breath are quivering.

They stand like that for a few minutes, just existing together with the storm picking up outside, the wind howling, before Eddie slouches in Steve's arms, a sudden dead weight. 

'Eds.' He pats lightly at his cheek, adjusts his position so he's holding him up as much as he can to keep the chain from digging into him. 'Hey Eds, Eddie, wake up, man.'

He pushes him away to look at him in the face and his eyes aren't open, but when he lifts a lid they aren't silver, just empty, and he doesn't know what to do. He feels for a pulse and one's there, but it's light, and he can't feel breath coming at all. He needs to lay him on the ground and start compressions, he needs-

'Hey! Hey, hey! Guys I need a hand, pronto, now, Dustin! Robin!' 

There's movement everywhere all at once and everyone is there, pulling at straps and cords and lowering Eddie to the damp floor. The whole time Steve is saying 'No, no, no, no, no' like a mantra, but it doesn't help, because by the time he's stretched out on the ground Eddie isn't breathing at all.

Steve lets his body fall into the muscle memory of chest compressions, pushing and pushing and ignoring the snaps and pops that are Eddie's poor already wrecked ribs, and ignoring the strain against his own injuries. 

'What happened?' Dustin is crying at his side and yelling over the sound of Steve's counting and the roar of wind and rain outside. 

'I dunno, I don't know! It was supposed to work!' 

'Was it Vecna? Was he-'

'No, it was Eddie. It was Eddie and he just, he just fell.' 

He's so worried he's losing count, worried he isn't keeping time right, but he keeps going, forcing air into his lungs and listening for breath or for a heartbeat, and it's not working, nothing's happening, just the thunder and the shock of lightning flashing with less and less time between and the occasional earthquake, and he knows everyone else is looking at each other and wondering what to do, and Mike says 'we should pull him away, we need to go'. 

Steve and Dustin yell 'No!' at the same time but Steve knows, he knows it's been full and precious minutes and every single second is a second too long, and he knows that there's no way they can carry him out like this anyway, and there is a horrible rain picking up outside, the wind blowing it in through the cracks along with the lake, and Steve is so tired. It was all for nothing. And now what, they’d have to leave him again?

Another wave comes up from the lake, this one high enough to drench them all, and as it does Steve is leaning down to breathe air into Eddie's mouth again, plugging his nose, and when the water pulls away Eddie is coughing, just a little bit but he's coughing and coughing means breathing and breathing means alive.

[noonecaresaboutyourwhining]

Welcome to my own extremely controversial opinions!

This is the kind of shit that would get me lynched irl. "You coward, you're hiding behind a screen!" Damn right, I am! People are killed all the time for simply having opinions the masses don't agree with. I am not suicidal, which is why I run this blog and not my mouth irl :D

Here we go.

Black people who think white people owe them "reparations" are dumb af. Not only are you suggesting people be held accountable for things that people's ancestors did hundreds of years ago that at the time was fully legal and generally socially acceptable, but you are also showing your true self-righteous ignorance by assuming black people were the only race to be enslaved.

If gender exists on a spectrum, then one end of the spectrum is male and the other is female, and all these other "genders" people are claiming are bullshit. You can't have it both ways. Even if you exist perfectly in the middle, then it shouldn't matter that much so just pick one. Making it other people's responsibility to adjust to whatever you've decided in your head is unreasonable. It's like a kid who gets mad at people for not knowing they're being a unicorn that day.

There are four sexualities. Technically three, but I'm including asexuality even though that's often a disorder that can be corrected. You can be heterosexual, homosexual, or bisexual. Anything else is something you've made up in an attempt to define yourself within parameters that make sense to you. Being attracted to someone for their personality instead of gender does not make you "pansexual," it makes you bisexual. Getting to know someone before attraction forms is not unusual and you are not special enough for that alone to require your own unique sublabel.

All deviations in gender and sexuality are firmly encapsulated within the "Q" of "queer," as in that which is not the norm. For this reason, you don't even need the "LGBT-+" part of the acronym; it could just be "Q", meaning those who are not cisgendered heterosexuals, i.e. the norm. (Notably, just because you are offended by it being the norm, doesn't make it untrue.)

Hold on to your hats, folks; this is gonna be the longest and by far most controversial point. Building off of point 4, whether you approve or not, pedophilia falls under the queer label. If it were destigmatized it would allow for those afflicted to seek help and lessen the numbers of child molestation cases (though it's worth noting that many such cases are less about sexual attraction and more to do with psychological factors such as control). The torches and pitchforks approach is not helping anyone. No one chooses a sexuality that is not only publicly condemned but also may harm vulnerable individuals. In fact, if you believe it is not a choice to be gay, you also have to concede that it is not a choice to be a pedophile. It is a choice to be a child molester. The issue is that often these terms are used interchangeably. Many pedophiles live out their lives never laying a finger on a child or indulging in illicit materials. The inherent sexual deviation is a miswiring in the brain. Now, don't get me wrong - people often jump to conclusions and put words in my mouth - I am of the firm belief that if you harm so much as a hair on the head of a single child, you should be castrated, maimed, and dragged through the streets before being thrown to an angry mob. I am simply suggesting that the possibility to intervene exists before it comes to that, and perhaps then we would not need to condemn neither innocent children nor those afflicted with this specific neurological defect to a life of misery. Just maybe.

There's more, but these are the main ones. Have at it in the comments!