#like dammit Janet get the fuck back in the car if you can’t handle it!!

[chromekingkong]

Truly growing tired of people being so media illiterate they have to like actually over analyze every piece of media cause they actually aren’t « smart » enough to just…accept something as « art » for what it is…including the time it was made…not to excuse anything but like Rocky Horror Picture Show was a counter culture, shocking, « disgusting » piece of media…ironically during the same overly puritanical time that seems to be coming back. Again, cause most audiences just sit and STARE and accept whatever they see, they go with the mainstream opinion and then go on to find something else to consume. How that era of Musical Theater were angry, horny responses to the restriction of heteronormative, evangelical ideology and queer phobia…

Whether it’s Jesus Christ Super Star, HAIR, Rocky Horror Picture Show, Little Shop of Horrors…like even when you watch it how can people miss the OBVIOUS cultural commentary and fuck you??? EVEN GREASE KINDA!!! Omfg Frank n Furter IS/WAS/WILL ALWAYS BE so quintessential to my unapologetic queerness. Random but I literally want a song played at my funeral to be I’m Going Home…if at that point you don’t get Frank N Furter…get the fuck out the room!!!

Respectfully why do people need to problematize everything old nowadays??? Answer: the height of PSEUDO intellectualism. People feel late to the intelligence game (cause kids WERE left behind.) They feel late to the critic/discourse culture that really is DEAD. Swear to god, I’ll die for my terrible, ugly, problematic, angry, homosexual, hyper sexual, crazy ass media. If you can’t hang, drop off….

EDIT: AND LET ME ADD TOO THAT MY STRAIGHT (hmmm I’m rethinking a lot) WHITE DAD BORN IN 1963 WHOS OPENLY FAVE PREZS ARE NIXON AND TRUMP…STAY WITH ME!!! STAY WITH ME!!! A MAN LIKE THIS SAT ME DOWN AT LIKE 6 AND MADE ME WATCH THIS SHIT!!! I SAY ALL THAT TO SAY…a lot of these criticisms of older media literally just seem like tryna almost appropriate an assumed response of the time…when everyone kinda ate it up…lol

Just saw a video like "um actually rocky horror isn't good queer representation because frank sexually assaults janet" girl he kills and eats people. It's called the rocky HORROR picture show not the rocky cute gay rep tw t-slur picture show

[midnightkens]

Ten

It’s been ten years to the day since Cassie died.

He wakes the morning of, and it feels like an elephant is sitting on his chest. Everything hurts, and it’s hard to move, to breathe. His mind screams at him to stay in bed, to mourn in solitude. It fights against an almost desperate urge to seek out Hope, to tuck himself into her side and sob until his throat is raw, until the pain dissipates.

But it’s been ten years, and the pain has only gotten worse. Waking up every morning knowing that his Cassie girl is dead is unbearable. Still he makes himself get up, reminds himself that he has another daughter who desperately needs him, a wife who doesn’t deserve the hand she’s been dealt but handles it with grace and dignity and never complains. 

He can’t worry Hope. He’s done that enough. He heaves himself upward, feels exhaustion pour into his bones. The fatigue only worsens as he trudges his way through his morning routine, but he’s slightly soothed by the knowledge that he doesn’t have to put on a show for anyone today. If he sits on Cassie’s bedroom floor and sobs, no one will judge him. If he sits on the sofa clutching Cassie’s favorite sweatshirt like a lifeline, Hope will sit next to him, draw him in close, and let her talk about Cassie until he runs out of words.

He’d never run out of words, though. He could talk about Peanut forever.

He glances at his phone before going downstairs. He’s stalling, but the idea of facing his wife and daughter fills him with an anxiety that he can’t even explain. It’s eased slightly by the texts he sees from Maggie and Jim, Luis, and the other Avengers.

Do you remember when Cassie was a baby and we got her to laugh by dancing around to Britney Spears?

Remember when some asshole threw a ball at Cassie’s head after she scored the winning goal and Janet had to stop Hank from storming the field? 

Hey Scotty, I know you usually like to be left alone today, but I just wanted to let you know that I’m thinking of you. Remember to be gentle with yourself.

There are more, but he doesn’t have the energy to read them. They give him the strength he needs to go downstairs, face his family, and try to get through the day. When he gets downstairs, Tori is nowhere in sight, but Hope is sitting on the sofa with a mug of tea, knees drawn to her chest. She smiles softly and says, “Hey, sweetheart. I was just wondering if I should get up and check on you.”

Scott plops down next to her, wraps his arms around her waist, and rests his cheek on her shoulder. “Here I am. Where’s Tori?”

Hope wraps an arm around Scott and cards her fingers through his hair. “She’s upstairs. She’s...angrier than usual. I decided to leave her alone.”

Scott feels guilty for thinking it, but he’s almost glad that Tori’s decided to steer clear from them today. Their relationship has been fraught with tension for the past six months or so. His younger daughter is full of rage, and he’s her chosen target. It cuts him like a knife. One child is dead and the other one hates him, and he doesn’t know why. He tries so hard, and he just doesn’t understand. He decides to shelve it for now. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with it.

He and Hope sit in silence, just basking in each other’s presence. Carrying this burden is made easier by knowing that it’s shared. It’s one that he wishes no one else had to bear, but Scott thinks he might have died if he’d had to carry it alone. The thought brings him back to the first two years after the accident, when he’d cried and cried because he’d just wanted to be with Cassie. He’d started going to therapy after confessing to Hope that he’d been having thoughts of suicide. He hadn’t wanted to die. He’d just wanted desperately to be reunited with the daughter he had lost.

He still feels like that sometimes. It’s when he hears Lady Gaga, her favorite musician, or he stumbles upon one of her poems, when he watches the soccer World Cup and thinks Cassie would love this.

He feels it when he looks at Hope and Tori and is bitterly reminded that his partner in crime is gone, never coming back, and his other child hates him.

He feels it right now.

He breaks the silence by choking on a sob. “God, Hope. I miss her so much and it hurts so fucking bad. She should be here with me, and Maggie, and you and Jim. She should be getting into trouble with her friends and Tori, building a career, a family, a goddamn life, and she’s not because some forty-year-old asshole decided to race his friends and fucking hit her with his car! It’s not fucking fair!” He doesn’t bother trying to stem the flow of tears. His daughter was sixteen years old, and she’d had her whole life stolen from her, and dammit he was allowed to cry about it all he wanted. 

He hears Hope crying too, and they simultaneously pull each other tighter. She doesn’t say anything, but Scott doesn’t need her to. There’s nothing she can say to make this better for him, nothing he can do to make it better for her. Scott doesn’t know how long they sit like that for, but it could be a lifetime for all he knows.

It’s been ten years since his daughter died. 

Scott feels like he died right along with her.