#modern homophobia

[magicaleurovision]

Ummm can I be honest here?

What the hell.

That’s it. What the hell. They were pushing him to talk about how queer this is and how queer that is, literally trying to paint his style as queer.

And I dislike it because it’s absolutely counter-productive. And absolutely regressive. First of all, I think that it’s absolutely dehumanising to describe people as “queer-coded”. That’s not normal. That’s not okay. We are human beings. We are not to be “coded”, and besides, gay is not a fashion statement. It is a reality within your heart - it’s literally about who your heart is attracted to.

And I’m tired, I’m very tired of it being reduced to an aesthetic. It’s extremely regressive, both to the gay and to the straight people.

It’s harmful for gay people because it dehumanises them. It reduces them to a performance. A dress. A code of fashion or behaviour. Leading to “oh you’re gay? But you don’t LOOK or ACT gay! You should be [insert some horrendous stereotype here]”. Queerness is not a dress. And no matter how much companies try to advertise it as such because it makes money, I think that we should all take a step back and have some actual respect. And acting like we’re open-minded while simultaneously calling a fashion style “gay” is… it’s literally homophobia from the 90s. Rebranding homophobia doesn’t make it less homophobic. Enough already.

The other people this is harmful towards are straight people too. Especially straight guys - because it limits them in their self-expression. As I said, queerness is not a dress. And guys, straight or gay, should be allowed to dress however they want, without others immediately asking them whether it betrays something about their sexuality. This shouldn’t even be a question. Straight guys should be able to express themselves and wear stuff they like without people going “lol that’s gay”. When you speak like a 90s bully, no matter if you disguise it in progressive talk, you’re still a homophobe.

I’m trying to not get too far in this because there’s a lot to be said, but I really despise the way homophobia is presenting itself nowadays — it has been reduced to a fashion statement or a virtue signalling, or rather SELLING point to PRETEND to be an ally by applauding “gay fashion” and even pretending that you’re queer because you love “gay fashion”. And then look around yourself to try to “spot” gay fashion on people and ask them if they’re gay because you assume that whoever dresses like “the gays” dress in your mind is gay.

Guys!!! Guys!!!!! This is not okay! This is not okay at all!

Excerpt from a Swedish article with a Käärijä interview. Sorry, I lost the original link! But here's a translation of this part.

Today you're wearing nail polish and earrings, your style is quite queer? - I want to go out on a limb and do some crazy stuff. Really I wanted to wear yellow, but The Rasmus who competed for Finland last year went with that so then the stylist went with green and I like it. I wear what I like and I don't care about others.

What do people in Finland think about your style? - I guess some people think who the hell is he? But I want to do what I feel like. I think it's a bit of a new wave in Finland and younger people don't care. It is more open to go your own way.

Are you straight? - Haha, yes, there's only girls here (laughing). But I love the gay fans and I was surprised there were so many gays at all the concerts leading up to Eurovision. I love gays, they're so funny and I've got several close gay friends in Finland. And I think it's important that everyone should be who they are and love who they want.

Do you feel any body image pressure since you're half naked all the time? - No, I don't care about that. I've been taking my shirt off ever since I started with music. I want everyone to be able to get undressed no matter what you look like. You don't need a six pack to do it, everyone is beautiful in their own way.

[profoundbondfanfic]

Reconstruction

Reconstruction by IncandescentUmbrage || @okayfinehereiam Rating: Teen and Up Word count: 19k

Though both are single dads, the ways by which Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester ended up there couldn't be more different: Castiel came to Sioux Falls for a fresh start when his best friend died and his godson, Jack, became his adoptive son. Dean moved to be closer to family when a one night stand turned into a surprise toddler on his doorstep. When a certain strawberry blonde spitfire stands up for Jack against the school bully, they quickly become friends. Castiel and Dean are soon in each other's orbits, only drawing closer when Dean begins doing some renovation of Castiel's home. Meanwhile, the mother of the young bully, Naomi Adler, having failed to weasel her son out of his due consequences, wages a 'holy quest' against Castiel. One she doesn't bother keeping secret. As they spend more and more time around one another, neither man can deny their attraction, but Castiel especially must decide if there is enough room in his life and heart for grief, for love of a child, and for a love of an altogether different kind.

I truly think that as a fandom, we’ve underutilized Emma as Dean’s daughter in fic. Because of that, anytime I see a story that serves that up, I have to click. In this fic, Emma is truly as described, a little spitfire, a true Winchester not only in attitude, but in heart and character. The story starts with Dean needing to bail her out of the principals office, if that’s any indication. She’s there because she stood up for Jack, so Dean can’t be all that mad given the circumstance. 

So of course, he takes her for ice cream. 

Which is the first place Jack’s new devastatingly handsome guardian lays eyes on him. 

This fic has a split POV, so we get to see their first impressions of each other, along with a great look at the way they both see each other for the first time for real, when they plan a playdate for their kids. 

Everyone in this fic is really well written, even a softer version of Dean, who is sweet and charming and a great friend and support to Cas as he begins to incorporate into their town. This story is cute, with a nice good vs evil plotline that has you cheering for Cas as he takes on the wicked Adler family. The payoff is sweet and I think this is one fic that you shouldn’t skip if you’re a fan of dadstiel. 

[read-write-thrive]

Charles Rowland Week Day Five — Earring/AU

Yes this is late but shhhh this ficlet was not working with me!! Still not happy with it but here we are. TW: slurs for South Asian and queer people mentioned (aka paki and fag) as Charles recounts what some of the awful other guys were saying to him. Take care of yourself as always :) hope you enjoy!!

Charles knew it wasn’t fair of him to slam the door open. He came back practically right after class, for once, and he knew that Edwin would be doing homework at his desk. Sudden sounds were worse for Charles than Edwin, for the most part, but it was still a dick move on his part to just bang the door open, storm in, dump his stuff, and then immediately set about taking a shower. In his defence it had been a truly awful day and he figured it was better to take his anger out on inanimate objects than snap (or worse) at Edwin himself.

But, again, this was completely unknown to Edwin, who jumped and twisted in his seat to see what the noise was. He calmed a bit at seeing it was Charles, but still tore his headphones from his ears to start up, “Charles! What the devil has gotten into you?” When Charles dropped his stuff off without responding, Edwin continued, “Is everything alright? Are you alright?”

Charles whipped off his top, threw it in the vague direction of his hamper, and started pacing and taking his socks off at the same time (which doesn’t work very well, but he was too angry to think that through), “It’s those dicks in my woodwork class again! I swear to fuck I am going to drive one of those hammers through their fucking heads, nail their empty skulls together so they might have some fucking use!”

Edwin somehow audibly blinked, “Well. That’s a picture. What have they done this time?”

Charles managed to still himself to unbutton his jeans, “More homophobic, racist shit. ‘Charlie! Charlie! Is the earring because you’re a gross fag or a fucking paki?’ Absolute arseholes. Like it’s any of their fucking business—they wouldn’t know culture if it shagged their mums.”

Another blink, “They really got to you today, it seems. You should take solace in the fact that they’re uneducated as you can be and still stay at this school. Not only are they on the tutoring list—none of which I will ever touch, of course—but anyone with any knowledge of South Asian or gay cultures would know that you would need to have the right, not the left ear pierced.”

Somehow, this logic broke through Charles’s temper (which had to be a special skill of Edwin’s—most people manage to rile him up more). Charles paused in this process of emptying his jeans pockets and stared at his roommate/best friend, “Wait, what? Did you research that?”

Edwin didn’t blush often, but when he did it was always paired with the sternest of expressions and fiddling of his hands. Charles thought it was cute, not that he’d ever say that to another boy. But Edwin assumed that face and Charles thought about it anyway, slightly distracted as Edwin explained, “It was a long time ago, if you must know. Right when you came back with your left ear pierced, in fact. I was… concerned, that I may say something wrong or misinterpret any of it. I had no wish to offend you, which included not asking you outright. … So yes, I ‘researched’ it.”

Charles felt warm to his core in a good way for once, not how anger had been burning through him minutes before. Edwin had really taken the time to look it up, just for Charles? And—, “Wait, researched it how? The Indian ear piercing thing—which isn’t what this is, ‘n case that wasn’t clear—is usually for babies and they get both ears done. The gay thing— that’s not exactly in the library, innit?”

Edwin continued fidgeting, eventually pulling out his little personal notebook for reference of some sort, “In my research I found that which ear was pierced first was a gendered tradition—right ear first for boys, left ear first for girls. Following that was an awfully confusing description of some sort of thread used in place of an earring, which didn’t apply to your piercing so I chose not to pursue it further. As for the— the other, well. Do you remember the boy I tutor for mathematics?”

Charles wasn’t exactly following yet but couldn’t resist in of their usual jokes, “Monty or something, yeah? The one who’s gaga over you.”

As expected, Edwin rolled his eyes (and remained pink in the cheeks) and continued, “Monty, yes. One of his friends was in the area when our session wrapped up and came by to chat. Thomas, I think his name was. He had only one ear pierced as well, though his was on the right. I was pondering if I could naturally bring it up in conversation without being rude—“

“Aw, but you love being rude.”

Edwin’s flat stare caused giggles to flurry through Charles, who tried to quell them to better listen to the story, “—I had no interest in coming across as rude to a new acquaintance. He noticed me staring at the earring, unfortunately. He had already made some … interesting comments—“

Charles bristled, “Oi, what kind of interesting?”

Edwin somehow got redder and redder in the face by the second, “It’s unimportant to the story, Charles, now let me finish!” He waisted for Charles to nod before continuing, “Quite right. Now, Thomas had already complimented me and must have seen me as… I believe he thought that he and I were cut from similar cloth. He was all too glad to point out my staring at his jewellery, in front of Monty and all!, and tell me about its meaning. I was— mortified, to say the least. The proximity—“

“He made you uncomfortable? That wanker. What did you say his name was?” Charles couldn’t help himself—if someone was freaking Edwin out it was Charles who was going to bat, literally.

Edwin huffed, “He leaned in closer than I anticipated and whispered it to me. It caught me off guard. And considering he is a near stranger—yes, I was uncomfortable, but it is perfectly fine without any need for violence, Charles.”

Charles relaxed his grip on the cricket bat he kept at his nightstand, taking a deep breath to try and return to semi-peaceful. It was just him and Edwin, there was no present danger. If Edwin said it’s okay, he should trust him. Charles took another breath before responding, “Right. Well. If he ever does it again and you want to do something about it.”

Edwin’s soft smile returned, “Thank you, Charles. Though I do not believe it will come to that. But yes, that was my research at the time. I believe it was sometime during the infection that you admitted it was all for aesthetic purposes.”

Charles would usually get playfully riled up at that, but he was still keeping that anger bolted down in the basement of his mind so he decided against it. Naturally, he decided to return to jokes instead, “I can’t believe you were researching earrings just in case I was, what, a very late to the party traditional Indian baby? Or decided to pierce my eat instead of telling you I liked blokes? C’mon mate, have more faith in me than that!”

Charles must have said something wrong—Edwin’s fidgeting was back. The soft smile was all but gone, too, “Of course I do, I just— this was a while ago, and I—“ He sighed, running his hands through his usually perfectly gelled hair, looking directly at Charles for only a second, “Charles, I refuse to continue this conversation while you stand there in your boxers.”

Although tempted to poke fun at Edwin for being prudish, that was one of the issues he’d learned not to push—between his fucked up family and his general Edwin-ness, Charles had learned nudity, sex, and the like weren’t well-received. Maybe one of these days they could discuss all of that, but not today. They’d both had quite a lot of Feelings for today.

Charles resumed his usual grin, grabbing what he needed for a shower, “Well I’m showering before we continue, then. Am I all set to use the bathroom?”

Edwin waved him on, replacing his headphones and returning to his homework. Charles took the dismissal without issue and went to take his shower as intended—only stopping to stare at (the earring) himself in the mirror for a tad longer than normal. He’d never regret it based on how cool it looked, obviously, but still. Being kicked around for so long sometimes makes you wonder if it’s be easier to join the team.

Nah, fuck that. Those poor sods can’t even spell aesthetic, let alone understand it. The earring was part of him, and he still cuddled the warm feeling of Edwin’s care to his chest. Going through all that effort—well, not really effort to get flirted with by some bloke called Thomas—to make sure he wasn’t going to hurt Charles’s feelings? For not the first and definitely not the last time, Charles took a second to appreciate it—he really was lucky to have Edwin around.

[petz5]

how do yall feel abt the tsubasa episode........ it's far from my favorite but i'm so curious what other ppl think

[lupinuslilium]

Wolfstar Oneshot! ~ 1.9k words

Modern AU, the marauders are university students on holiday. Background Jegulus (no one knows), pining Sirius, oblivious Remus.

CW: negative self-talk, homophobia, references to physical and emotional abuse.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Sirius looked up as Remus closed the door behind him. He swallowed down the sharp retort already crawling it’s way out of his throat, internally chastising himself for his irritation at the concern in his friends eyes.

He sighed and threw his phone to the side, stretching out his limbs. He had been lying on the comfortable guest bed, scrolling mindlessly. He didn’t want to talk, he didn’t even really want to think. Down the hall, his brother was sleeping in the room beside James’— Sirius’ room— he had to keep reminding himself. His room, after he had shown up at the Potters weeks earlier. Regulus slept in his room, bruised in the same way Sirius had been and refusing to talk about it.

He finally looked at Remus who was sat on the edge of the bed, studying him as if he was a complicated bomb he had been sent to diffuse. Sirius supposed it might be true, James certainly wasn’t here attempting this conversation. Not after the argument that had ensued upon Regulus’ arrival. He was embarrassed by the cruel things he had said to James in anger, in anger and panic and misplaced jealousy. He always reacted without thinking, always jumped to the worst conclusion. Then the guilt came and he’d avoid thinking about the apologies he owed. Sirius steeled himself and met Remus’ eyes, eyes that were so annoyingly big and brown and concerned for him. He managed what he thought was a rather diplomatic,

“No, not particularly”

The corner of Remus’ mouth turned up. That fucking crooked smile that made Sirius forget why he was sulking. The smug bastard. He readied himself for another argument, prepared himself for Remus to push him, for him to say everything Sirius didn’t want to hear. Instead Remus said,

“Okay, do you want to watch a film then?”

God Bless Remus Lupin. He nodded and reached down to the floor beside the bed to grab his laptop. Remus batted him on the shoulder to shuffle over and made himself comfortable beside him while Sirius opened Netflix. They fell into an easy silence, broken only by the sounds of Mr. Potter doing the washing up downstairs and a breeze slipping through the cracked window. Sirius scrolled through their movie options.

“Oh I’ve heard this is good, have you seen it?” Sirius asked as his mouse hovered over a thriller.

“That looks absolutely terrible” Remus scowled at the screen

“What! No it doesn’t. Look, it’s got Jake Gyllenhaal, you love him.”

“I do not love Jake Gyllenhaal, why would you think I love Jake Gyllenhaal?”

“You love his big blue eyes.” Sirius smirked to himself.

“Oh yeah, how could I forget. I love his big blue eyes almost as much as I love it when you shut the fuck up and pick a film”

Sirius chuckled. Something that had been coiled tightly in his chest was unfurling, he hadn’t even noticed how stiffly he was holding his shoulders until he was teasing Remus. He replied,

“We’re watching this one because I’m the one in emotional distress and you’ll only want to watch something entirely depressing or The Lord of The Rings and I’m not in the mood”

“Fine” Remus sighed while Sirius clicked play. He stole a glance at that crooked smirk and suddenly became aware of Remus lying on the bed mere inches away, his head angled toward him to see the screen, the soft orange light from the bedside lamp glowing through the mess of brown hair atop the other boys head. He turned his attention firmly back to the screen and they settled into the film, which Sirius conceded wouldn’t win Jake any awards (though he of course didn’t voice this opinion). He was actually feeling quite calm, interested in the film, though distracted by Remus’ ankle sometimes brushing up against his when-

“It’s not your fault you know” Remus said about twenty minutes in.

Sirius hit the space bar with more force than was necessary.

“I thought we had established that I didn’t want to talk about this?”

“We don’t have to talk about it. I’m not even talking to you, just you know, speaking to the room at large.”

“Well, shut up”

“You don’t even have to listen, I actually would prefer if you’d mind your own business. I’m just choosing to say out loud, to anyone who might be interested and would like to know, that what happened to Regulus is no one’s fault but his parents”

Anger flared in Sirius as he turned his head to the left and was met with warm brown eyes. Remus held his stare, unflinching stubbornness written all over his features. Fuck you, Sirius thought, Fuck you for your comically long eyelashes, fuck you for trying to make me feel better, and fuck you for knowing that I’m going to take the bait.

In little more than a whisper and without breaking his stare, Sirius said, “We don’t even know what happened. Because Regulus won’t say, and because I left him there. I knew what they were capable of and I left him there. So yeah, it is my fault, at least partially.”

Remus’ eyes softened a bit and Sirius hated himself. The boy in front of him was all shades of gold. Like the hour before sunset, when everything is so still and warm and heartbreaking that it almost hurts to look at. Remus almost hurt to look at. He was his friend, his best friend, and after James Sirius didn’t think he was allowed any more best friends. Whatever higher power had granted him James Potter, Sirius didn’t know but he had spent everyday since in a perpetual state of gratitude. Then he was granted Remus Lupin and he knew he didn’t deserve him, yet he still looked at him and wanted. He was selfish, impulsive, aloof on his good days and cruel on his bad. Still, James and Remus and all of his friends gave him their patience and empathy and love. Suddenly he felt close to tears.

Before he could turn away, Remus replied, “You had no choice Pads, you know that. He wouldn’t leave with you, and you had to get out of there. You can’t protect him from everything and you can’t make his decisions. He’s safe now and you’re safe now. That’s it. There’s no blame to be ha—“

“Then why did he call James?” The question that had been eating at Sirius all day.

Regulus was his brother. It had always been them surviving in that household, looking out for each other. Looking out for each other even when they stopped really talking to each other. Sirius had always taken the brunt of his parents’ cruelty to protect Regulus, and then when Regulus needed help, when he needed somewhere to go..

Sirius swallowed the lump in his throat “Why would he call James and not me? If he doesn’t blame me, why would he call James”

“Sirius…” Remus began but he was too overwhelmed to listen. Regulus was always his to protect, no one else would. It was one of the first things he had learned and though he knew it was irrational, knew that they were adults, that Regulus made his own choices, deep down he still felt that anything that happened to Regulus was because of him. His mother had instilled that in him.

And suddenly he became overwhelmed by the proximity of Remus. By his smell and his stupid eyelashes and his stupid nose and his stupid hoodie that was perfectly soft and somehow too big for the giant fucker and his smart-ass mouth that pissed him off but still somehow always said the right thing. And he was overwhelmed by his mother’s voice in his head telling him that he was a fuckup and an idiot. Telling him he was disgusting, telling him to stop acting so fucking gay. The words choked him and the scars on his body reminded him that everything was his fault. His fucking fault. It was his fault that Regulus had been there on his own. His fault that his family hated him so completely. His fault that he woke up everyday and wanted his best friend in a way that wasn’t fair.

He sat up as the tears started spilling down his cheeks and his breathing became difficult. He hid his face in his hands. The only person who had ever seen Sirius cry was James but in that moment the only thing he could do was cry. So he cried, he cried in relief that his brother was safe and in anguish that he hadn’t been there to take the force of his mother’s rage. He cried because he knew if he had stayed he wouldn’t have survived. He felt a large hand on his back and for maybe the first time, didn’t feel embarrassed to be crying. Remus’ presence was warm and steady, patient and completely disarming. He started to catch his breath and heard Remus say quietly,

“I don’t know why he called James, I honestly don’t. But I’m glad that he called anyone, and once he’s more settled you guys can start sorting all this out. You’re a good brother Sirius, anyone can see that you’d go to war for the kid. Just don’t be so hard on yourself, and try not to be so hard on James, okay? You know how he loves being the hero, he probably called Regulus himself”

Sirius huffed a laugh, “Fuck, I owe a lot of apologies don’t I?” His voice was still slightly muffled by the sleeves of his hoodie.

“Yeah, you do.” Remus continued, “but fortunately James is a very forgiving hero” Sirius laughed quietly again and wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve. He finally lifted his head and turned to look back at Remus.

“Oh, fuck you” Remus said and rolled his eyes.

“What??”

“Of course you’d still look pretty right after crying your eyes out.”

Sirius barked out a loud laugh

“Aw, Moony, you think I’m pretty?” Remus pushed his shoulder away, “you always know exactly how to make me feel better.” He reached for his water bottle on the bedside table, still snickering.

“Do you?” Remus’ voice wasn’t teasing.

“Do I what?”

“Feel better?” There was such earnestness in Remus’ gaze.

“Yeah, I do” Sirius leaned back on the pillow, turning to face Remus “do you still want to watch the movie?”

Remus smiled “Yeah, go on. I do actually love his big blue eyes”

[wangxianficrecs]

💙 Am I (Gusu Lan Cultivator, 24 M) the Asshole? by moonwaif

💙 Am I (Gusu Lan Cultivator, 24 M) the Asshole?

by moonwaif (@moonwaif)

M, 41k, Wangxian

Summary: After learning that his roommate and BFF Wei Wuxian is gay, Lan Wangji vows to be a supportive ally. Then one day, Wei Wuxian brings home another man. [Inspired by that one AITA subreddit story.] Kay's comments: AH! This story really is the epitome of one of my favourite tropes: oblivious Lan Wangji! It's so well-written and I love the misunderstandings so much and Lan Wangji's unintentional dickishness, because he doesn't realize that he's crushing hard on Wei Wuxian. He gets sooo jealous of Wen Ning, it's such a joy to read. Excerpt: The first thing he sees is, thankfully, Wei Wuxian. He’s lying on the couch, flat on his stomach and moaning while another man massages his back. Lan Wangji doesn’t breathe. “Mn, Lan Zhan.” Wei Wuxian stirs, head turning slightly in the direction of the door, his eyes remaining closed. “That you?” Lan Wangji doesn’t answer. The other man—the one who is seated on top of Wei Wuxian, straddling his hips—withers under Lan Wangji’s glare, but he doesn’t stop massaging. “Oh, sorry.” Wei Wuxian laughs breezily. “This is, ah—Wen Qionglin. Wen Ning, this is Lan Wangji.” Wen Qionglin ducks his head. “P-pleased to meet you.” Lan Wangji refuses to look at him. “What are you doing?” he grits out, teeth clenched. “Night hunt,” Wei Wuxian grunts. “Threw out my back. Ugh, yeah, Wen Ning, right there . . .” Wen Qionglin digs his thumbs deeply into Wei Wuxian’s lower back, while Wei Wuxian makes some more lewd noises. Lan Wangji has the sudden impulse to grab them and throw them both off the couch. Instead he stomps off to his room, tosses his duffle bag on the bed and starts to unpack. Aggressively. Is this why Wei Wuxian didn’t text Lan Wangji, because he was busy fooling around with Wen Qionglin?

pov lan wangji, modern setting, modern with magic, roommates, oblivious lan wangji, friends to lovers, misunderstandings, miscommunication, jealous lan wangji, jealous wei wuxian, implied/referenced homophobia, lan wangji has friends, angst with a happy ending, feelings realization, hurt wei wuxian, emotional hurt/comfort, coming out

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[97tears]

there’s like a surprising amount of thomas no shinzou academic essays but one thing i don’t agree about is that they all say juli has some form of internalized homophobia. simply not true

[kingofwinter283]

modern high school au throbb where robb is a golden boy, a’s and b’s student, captain of the football team and theon is his problematic stoner loser boyfriend or at least that’s whatever perceives them as but in reality theon is a highly driven and ambitious person who is driven crazy by the fact that everyone perceives him as lazy and he has a constant need for validation that leads to him making dumb decisions in order to get it from people and also robb is cracking under the weight of the expectation he has put himself under as the eldest son of a rich and influential family and it’s made even worse by the fact that he is afraid to tell people that he is struggling because he doesn’t want them to think less of him but neither of them have healthy coping mechanisms so instead they smoke weed together under the bleachers and also make out.

[chaos-has-theories]

Hunith leaned on her rake and watched as the car swerved into the driveway. It had barely come to a halt when the passenger door opened and Gwen climbed out. She looked tense. She was also drenched from head to toe. The hem of her jeans sagged, the rest of it looked damp and clammy. Her shirt must have dried during the drive home, but it had bits of seaweed stuck to it. Her hair was eighty percent frizz. When she saw Hunith at the fence, Gwen smiled unconvincingly, and sped towards her house just slow enough that it couldn’t be called a run. The driver’s door slammed loudly and Arthur came stomping around the car. He looked no better than Gwen: If anything, he was wetter than she had been. He didn’t even grab anything from the trunk, much less wait until he could lock the car. He just marched into the house and slammed that door behind him, too. Just as Hunith thought that scene couldn’t get any stranger, the back door opened and her son climbed out. The greeting died on her lips before it could escape. Merlin looked like a storm warning. Hunched shoulders, pursed lips, flashing eyes - oh, and he was wearing a dress. Not even a good dress. It was an oversized grey monstrosity and looked like it came from the garbage bin of a secondhand store. It was definitely not one of Hunith’s. Merlin had bunched it up at the hips in at attempt not to stumble over the long skirts, and he stomped past her and into the house with no sign that he had seen his mother at all. She could hear him all the way up the stairs, and then the slam of his bedroom door. Alright then. All the noise must have roused Gaius from his afternoon nap. He stuck his head out the door, looking exactly as bewildered as Hunith felt. „Was that Merlin?“, he asked. Hunith nodded. “And... a wig?” Another nod. „Hm.“ With a final puzzled look up the stairs, Gaius retreated to his study. Hunith turned back just in time to see Mordred clambering out like the smallest clown in the clown car. He was dry and dressed normally, but he was wearing an expression of utter defeat. With his towel held in front of him like a terrycloth shield he walked towards Hunith as if he’d much rather write a difficult math test. He dithered at the gate for a moment, and then met Hunith’s gaze only to sigh the world-weariest sigh she had ever heard. (Which was saying something. Hunith had lived with Gaius for most of her life, and would have previously named him world champion of sighing. Somehow this was still the most normal thing that had happened in the past ten minutes.) „My dads will pick me up in a few minutes“, Mordred told her morosely. „Can I wait here?“ „Of course“ Hunith hurried to say. „Do you want something to drink? Bal made cookies, if you want any. They’re in the kitchen.“ Mordred gave the door Merlin had stormed through a long, dubious look. „I think I’d rather wait out here.“ „Alright.“ Hunith watched as he settled himself on the doorstep, towel in his lap. With a deliberately casual air she picked up the shovel and continued weeding. „I probably don’t even want to know“ she said conversationally, „but what exactly happened at the lake?“ The child behind her made a noise like an upset mouse. „I don’t know“, he whined. „Merlin doesn’t tell me anything.“ Hunith looked over her shoulder to see Mordred scuff at the earth with his shoes, a frustrated expression on his face. „But I had to help Merlin put on a costume and Gwen and Arthur fell into the water and they both cried and everyone shouted and I think they broke up.“ „I see“, Hunith said faintly. That would fit with what she’d seen, but - she’d thought Gwen had broken up with Arthur a week ago? And anyway, none of this explained the costume, or really anything, but she’d decided to ignore that for now. „I’m sorry that happened. It sounds uncomfortable.“ „I’m sorry it happened too.“

[starjunkyard]

"Im not even sure anymore if we get to choose who our friends are" There is a part of me that resents you for making me a worse person than i want to be but i am inexplicably uncontrollably drawn to you. You make me a worse person which is the last thing i want yet i want you in every way. If i could leave i would. Maybe i can but i dont want to. I have fun with you. You challenge me and you captivate me and you push me and pull and run circles around me and it makes me feel like a younger man. For the price of being a worse person i get to feel truly, wholly alive. You are the blood that runs through my veins; vital, inseparable. I was reborn when i met you and you are the womb that haunts me. You are the one person on planet earth who knows me. I wish i could leave, move on and be the man im supposed to be but my heart is tied to yours in a gordian knot. There is a part of my soul that rests in yours, magnetic. For as long as i love you i cannot be better than i am. But maybe thats something i can learn to live with. Gregory House-- I think you're worth it.

[grecoromanyaoi]

the way leftists online (and probs irl in progressive circles but idk) talk abt ppl from swa/na is insane. trying to oppose racism so hard it turns into racism again. just full blown orientalism but from the other side. if u oppose racism u gotta uhhhhh woobify n infantilize entire ethnic n religious groups n strip them of their agency. im not even arab n im offended for them.

[hp-fanfic-archive]

Learning How To Fall Properly by FivePips Pairing: Remus/Sirius Rating: M Word Count: 60k Remus Lupin meets 2/3 of the Marauders while getting harassed by a few homophobes. He meets the third at the skatepark and soon falls into this group of friends, who are so much more than just the delinquents the residents of their town think they are. This story goes out and beyond their teen years, following accomplishments and heartbreaks and maybe a gold medal or two.

[alleiwentcrazy]

“Wow, man, that’s nasty. You should get that checked.”

Someone’s standing in the doorway, Steve’s sane enough to notice that. This someone is wearing the infamous hospital gown, is hooked to an IV, and has Nancy’s hair. Which is exceptionally weird, because Steve has always believed that no one could achieve that kind of volume. Especially while living in a hospital.

This someone is also, not unlike Steve, wrapped in several layers of dressings to shelter their burns from everything that’s bad in this world: infection, stares, more pain.

(Steve isn’t so certain about the last one, though. He sure is in a lot of pain at the moment.)

So someone is standing in the doorway, he’s positive. This someone is staring at him, their gaze curious and open, and it’s not a nurse, and it’s not a doctor. Partly that’s why Steve doesn’t believe that this person is even real at first. His visitors must wear gowns and gloves—something about it being too early to risk an infection. So despite the hair, it is not Nancy.

It’s a someone. Maybe. Probably. Steve doesn’t know—his eyes are barely open and he’s too high on painkillers to differentiate between dreams and reality. When the sweet numbness overwhelms him again, he has half a mind to say: Maybe it’s an angel, standing in my doorway.

***

As Steve’s recovery progresses (and the amount of painkillers he’s being pumped with decreases), he gets more and more aware of reality.

For starters, he learns that he’s not living some sort of fever dream. He was—is—a firefighter, who got pretty badly burned, and his sides, some parts of his belly, back and arms need very special and very expensive treatment. Hence the hospital bed, the gown, the dressings, meds, pain, et cetera. This burn center is going to be his home for the next few weeks, and Steve’s okay with that. It means that he got to save a life, even if his own was put at risk in the process.

He can live with that, definitely. With the scars and the pain, no problem. What’s killing him now is his own curiosity.

He hasn’t been seeing angels, turns out. He’s been seeing fellow patients – one patient in particular. That someone who hovered over the threshold when he first started his recovery. Steve’s been seeing him almost every day, taking slow steps across the hallway, dragging his IV behind him, the patchwork of dressings and scarring tissue changing frequently.

Without fail, each time this man passes Steve’s room, his steps slow down. Sometimes, he sends Steve a wink. On better days, Steve supposes, when the scarring on his cheek doesn’t bother him that much, he gives a flash of a smile. Even on the worst days, when walking serves as torture, he acknowledges Steve with a nod, like they know and respect each other.

Everything about him is a mystery to Steve, though. He, too, returns a small wave or a nod or anything, but he still half-believes he’s seeing things that aren’t there, so when this man with long, wavy hair and ridiculously brown eyes passes his room again, he can’t hold it back any longer.

“Beth, who’s that?” he asks. Beth, his nurse slash new hospital friend, looks over her shoulder. When she finally figures out what he means, she smiles.

“Isn’t that your angel?”

He looks at her completely mortified.

“Please, tell me you’ve just made that up.”

Beth laughs and adjusts the position of his bed. “Sorry, love. I’m afraid that everyone heard your delirious tirades about long-haired angels taking you to heaven.”

With how heavily her “everyone” implies everyone, he doesn't even have it in him to groan. He shouldn’t have listened to Robin when she told him that his high is one of the best things in the world.

***

“How come you never scream?”

Steve’s eyes have been shut tight for the whole time his doctor was poking and prodding around his wounds, but now they’re wide open and he, too, wants to ask himself that. How come he never screams? It’s the most pain he’s ever felt in his entire life. It’s ripping him apart, it’s eating him alive, it’s killing him, but he never screams.

He just keeps his eyes closed, waiting for it to be over. Thinking about Robin and his kids, about how he has to stay strong and never show fear because it’s his job to keep them safe and away from the pain even if—or maybe especially if—it comes with taking the pain on himself, bearing it, being torn by it. He keeps his eyes closed and doesn’t think about his failures or the times he was too late to save them; he keeps them shut because he knows that there are going to be more times when he’ll have to keep his eyes open to spot the danger ahead.

But his eyes are open now, open and staring at the man standing in his doorway, backlit and glowing like some non-human entity, asking him such a simple thing that will, without a doubt, make Steve circle down the drain when he’s alone again.

Steve doesn’t dare open his mouth. He’d scream if he tried, and he cannot afford to do that.

“Mr. Munson, you really shouldn’t be here right now.”

Steve shuts his eyes back again.

***

Steve’s recovery is slow, slower than anticipated. When he first got here, his doctors said he’d be able to walk soon-ish, but it’s way past “soon-ish” now and he’s still tied to his bed. It still hurts like hell, he’s still woozy from the painkillers, even though the strongest stuff is out of the question, he’s made sure of that. He’d rather feel everything than risk another embarrassing situation. Maybe it’s stupid, but that’s how it is.

Mainly, Steve just feels lonely. He’s allowed to have visitors, but they can’t stay with him as long as he’d like them to—mostly because they have lives outside of this hospital while Steve’s entire life is in this hospital. He’s lonely, he’s bored, and he’s envious out of his mind, because the man from his doorway gets his walks every day and Steve dreams of nothing but being able to move a little.

Each time Munson walks past his room, he stares. He can’t help it. He doesn’t have a mirror in here, but it’s painstakingly clear to him that he’s glaring daggers at a man that hasn’t done anything wrong. He’s just so jealous—his body aches, but it’s a different ache; it’s an ache of being still for too long. An ache of being out of the game. Steve hates being out of the game. It makes him come up with the worst possible scenarios—but he has to thank both his burns and his head trauma for the dizziness, weakness and total lack of coordination that keeps him from starting physio.

With each passing day, his stares get more daunting, but the man doesn’t stop sending him smiles and nods. He knows it’s irrational and unfair, taking out his own fears and anger on someone who can’t do anything about his situation, who’s in an equally shitty situation, actually, but he’s still working on not being mean without a reason. And it seems so harmless, because this stranger never stops smiling at him. No matter how much Steve tries, he can’t seem to convey his feelings, because Munson never stops.

It irritates him even more, enrages him to a point. When Munson smiles at him one day, Steve can’t take it anymore.

“Are you always this chirpy?” he asks, his voice dripping of malice. It disgusts him a little, makes him want to retreat—retreat far away from the version of himself that he dropped years ago, although it’s haunting him to this day. He wants to retreat, but he doesn’t. He pouts instead.

Munson stops in his tracks, raises one eyebrow. He looks amused, and it pisses Steve off.

“Your life must be quite miserable if walking around a hospital with unhealed wounds is your definition of chirpy,” Munson says. It’s supposed to sting, probably, but his smile is still there, despite his injured cheek. Steve’s pout deepens. Munson looks like a cat who got the cream. “Oof, soft spot. It’s okay, sweetheart,” he coos, looking like he’d like to lean against the doorframe, but his injured arm won’t let him. “We can be miserable—oh, sorry. Chirpy, we can be chirpy together.”

Steve doesn’t respond, he doesn’t know how. He feels warm all over. It’s not something he likes. He’d cross his arms over his chest if he could.

Munson stays silent for a moment, a smirk still playing on his lips. The quiet moment stretches out until he takes a big breath and takes a look around. “I’m Eddie, by the way. And I’m very, very late for my usual ‘walk as much as you can but be reasonable, Mr. Munson’ appointment, so I have to get going. But, uh,” he looks at Steve like he’s not sure of something for the first time in his life, even though he’s still playing along. “I could come around tomorrow, Mr…?”

“Steve,” comes the reply. Munson—Eddie smiles, again.

“Alright then, Mr. Steve. Get ready to be the chirpiest you’ve ever been.”

***

The worst thing is, it works. Steve does get chirpier.

It starts out small. Eddie just stops in front of the threshold, spits out the most random, obnoxious and seemingly nonsensical (although Steve suspects they’re all true) fact, like Did you know that cows have four stomachs? or Did you know that geckos can’t blink and they have to lick their own eyeballs to keep them from drying out? or something of sorts, and then he leaves while Steve lies in his bed, suspecting that he’s having hallucinations and fully questioning his sanity. Again.

It gets progressively worse, it does. It gets weirder. At first, Steve isn’t sure what to think of it. Eddie’s strange. He’s also a nerd. He talks in codes, his sentences are long and Steve finds it hard to follow his logic altogether from time to time. But he also makes Steve snort, sometimes even laugh—truly laugh, laugh from his belly. Eddie’s weird, but he’s Dustin-weird, Steve decides. Good-weird. Familiar-weird. Safe-weird.

He makes him feel less lonely. Steve invites him to sit beside his bed after a few days, so now Eddie comes, spits out his random nerdy facts, and they sit and talk around it until the nurses kick Eddie out for not doing his laps.

Steve’s less lonely. He’s so much less lonely he even starts missing Eddie when they’re not together—only a little, but he does. (He knows it’s dangerous. But what’s the harm in that if they’re both stuck here anyway? What’s the harm in a little hospital vulnerability?) It’s quite difficult not to miss Eddie, to be honest. Eddie makes it difficult—he listens when Steve talks, he never hesitates before explaining something when Steve doesn’t get it immediately, he’s patient, but at the same time, he talks so much. The room fills with intricate, engrossing stories and anecdotes whenever he opens his mouth.

The only moments when Steve feels even less less lonely than when he’s with Eddie is when he’s with Robin, and Robin’s the most important person in Steve’s life.

“Contraband,” Eddie says, sitting down on the edge of Steve’s bed one day. He puts something on Steve’s thing – cherry jello and a plastic spoon. His favorite. “Don’t rat me out.”

He smiles at Steve. His cheek is practically healed now; the scar isn’t as big as Steve imagined it from afar, but it sure as hell must have been a menace to get it more or less healed. That’s the only thing they don’t talk about. How they got here, how they got their scars. They support each other through it, but they never dwell.

At least Eddie doesn’t. Steve’s sure everyone knows his story – people love when firefighters let themselves get burned to a crisp while trying to save somebody else, after all, and gossip spreads around the hospital with the speed of plague.

“And get my best dealer behind bars?” Steve asks and scrapes a spoonful of jello from the cup. “They never have cherry. You’re the only one that seems to know where they store it.”

Eddie grins devilishly and leans a bit further. “Do you want to know a secret?” he asks and Steve mumbles something unintelligible in response. “I used to deal,” Eddie says. Steve’s not sure if he does it on purpose or not, but he starts playing with the hem of Steve’s sock, his fingers barely brushing the skin on Steve’s calf. It tingles, but he doesn’t mind.

Steve’s brows go up. “Is that how you got here?” he risks, not really knowing why. He’s not that curious—but it’s the scar on Eddie’s face that’s been haunting him for ages now. So different from his own forming scars, yet, in principle, the same.

Eddie’s face gets softer. Steve can’t recognize the expression properly, it’s different from Eddie’s usual, mischievous smirk. It’s quiet for the longest time, so quiet Steve thinks he’s going to choke on his jello from build-up pressure.

“I’m gay,” Eddie says, suddenly, his voice totally cool and leveled while Steve—

“I’m bi,” he blurts out in response, practically out of breath. To his absolute horror, Eddie chuckles.

“Well, that’s useful,” he says around his crooked smile, “but that’s not what I meant.”

When he points at his face, everything clicks. Steve tries to control his face, but the realization is too sudden.

“What?” he asks before he can think better of it.

Eddie shrugs. His expression is unreadable, but he isn't looking at Steve anymore, his eyes fixed on his own fingers that are still playing with Steve’s sock.

“My band has this one place for gigs that we all don’t really like, but they actually pay us some money. I’ve always thought that it’s enough – this and my arrogance, anyway – enough to scrape by. I’m not too cagey about being gay, and I wanted to spite them, I guess, show them that they can’t win,” he looks up. He looks sad, almost defeated, as much as Steve hates it. “They got their way, as you can see. Tried to pour something on me when I was leaving the stage, but they fucked up, both in terms of chemistry and their aim. It didn’t get me as bad as it could have, so I guess I won anyway.”

Eddie smiles again, but it reaches nowhere near his eyes. He looks so sad, so hurt, and Steve’s so, so angry. It’s easy for him to turn to anger, it’s easy and it’s freeing and he suddenly feels bigger and stronger than he really is, because he wants to destroy something, anything—but he’s not a fighter. He’s a protector. He’s not Nancy; he’s Steve. No matter how hopeless, how betrayed he feels, he doesn’t want to hurt. He wants to heal and save.

“It’s not your fault,” he says, afraid it’s too dumb and too obvious.

“I know,” Eddie replies impassively, looking at him from underneath his too long bangs.

“You said you wanted to spite them. But it doesn’t matter, it’s not your fault,” he drills. Eddie opens his mouth again, but before he gets to say anything, Steve squeezes his knee and looks at him intently. “It’s not,” he insists. “Whatever you said or did, it never mattered. They would have done it even if you’d praised them, you were never the problem.”

Eddie scoffs, but it’s not malicious. His eyes are a little bit glassy. “So you’re saying I’m perfect?”

For some reason, Steve doesn’t have a problem with reading that. Please, let’s not talk about it now. Then foreign fingers graze his own, and he gets it. Thank you, though.

Steve sighs, something tugging at the corners of his lips. The change of topic makes this both heavier and lighter at the same time. He flicks his spoon at Eddie and aims perfectly between his eyebrows.

“Bring me more jello tomorrow and maybe I’ll grace you with saying that out loud.”

“So you’ve thought—”

“Shut up, Eddie.”

Their fingers intertwine in the silence that follows. They look at each other like they can see each other and suddenly, Steve feels the weight of this moment. They’re not strangers anymore—maybe they have never been strangers. Maybe this was meant to happen from the very beginning. He most probably wasn’t seeing angels a few weeks back, but whatever it was that he saw hovering over his threshold, it’s just entered his house and is, hopefully, planning to stay for longer.

[wangxianficrecs]

When You Wake, 怎能当梦一场 by acertainrogue

When You Wake, 怎能当梦一场

by acertainrogue

T, 39k, Wangxian

Summary: He lay there buried under rabbit ears of wires, warmed by a thin blanket, breathing, breathing, never truly still, but never animated, either. “A-Xian,” Jiang-gugu said with a forced smile. “Your son and husband are here to see you. And your nephew too. He will be coming very soon.” A-Yuan ran up to Baba and held his hand. -- Sizhui grows up in a changing world, but his comatose father can't change with it. His family is determined to give him the love and forgiveness they didn't give Wei Ying. Kay's comments: So, this is definitely the kind of story that keeps you hooked and forces you to finish it in one sitting and even then, it'll still keep you awake for nights. It's just so good and so painful. Phew, so many knives! But, there's a happy ending, so you can definitely look forward to that! It's also actually set in real-world modern China, which is too rare for my liking in the English-writing fanfic community and I really appreciate all that went into this story and am also so grateful for the author for writing a whole thread over on Twitter explaining the cultural nuances one might have missed. As for the story, it's mostly Lan Wangji suffering and raising A-Yuan for thirteen years while Wei Wuxian is a coma. Cue: The Covid19 pandemic and the collapse of the health system and what that means for someone who's been in a coma for thirteen years. Excerpt: He lay there buried under rabbit ears of wires, warmed by a thin blanket, breathing, breathing, never truly still, but never animated, either. “A-Xian,” Jiang-gugu said with a forced smile. “Your son and husband are here to see you. And your nephew too. He will be coming very soon.” A-Yuan ran up to Baba and held his hand. Baba must have slept with Father when he was still awake. A-Yuan did remember being cradled in a cloud that was Father and Baba both, remembered being held between them in bed. There was a time when he had not known how to sleep otherwise. Baba had been cool, cool like the springs of silver dollar water, warm just enough so lotuses could grow. Tem-per-ate, he learned in school for his vocabulary section. But now, Baba was just cold. “Baba,” he squeaked, peaking over the side of the bed, tall enough that he did not have to tiptoe or have Jiang-gugu carry him anymore. “It’s me. It’s A-Yuan. Did you know I’m getting a cousin soon?” He fished in his pocket and found the dried grass butterfly Father had bought him on the roadside, from a man who peddled swallows with tails cut into forks and a green penguin waddling into life. “This can be your cousin too,” he told Baba importantly, nestling that gentle flutter of wing grass into Baba’s cold palm, so he could hold something when A-Yuan, Father, and even Jiang-gugu weren’t around. That was what Jingyi was to A-Yuan when he was at school, away from Father. Everyone needed a cousin, a companion, like the one that was about to be born. When he turned around, Jiang-gugu was crying.

pov lan sizhui, modern setting, modern no powers, pandemics, coma, hospitals, hospitalization, angst with a happy ending, comatose wei wuxian, implied/referenced homophobia, jiang family dynamics, good parent lan wangji, grief/mourning, covid19

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[watchyourbuck]

Don’t come for me pls bc I know, believe me, I know,,,, but I have a nEW FIC IDEA

So I’m watching Brokeback Mountain and I already know it’s gonna be Heartbreak Mountain by the end of it but what if,,,, like what if,,,,,, buddie BUT they stay together 👀

[general-george-washington]

That whole thing about "historians will call them good friends :)" people have talked about why historians won't use labels etc before and. It's just as inappropriate to call someone from the 18th century straight as it is gay. For the exact same reasonings