#queer getting the fuck out of dodge

[keepthetension]

hehe i'm glad this amused you @enbymoomin

the more i think about how funny this moment was, the more i find myself mentally composing a little spitefic where boston reads them all for filth. it makes me happy to picture this, so it would be nice if the rest of you boston fans in this bar get something out of it too:

the room erupts when mew answers the question; cheum even presses for more gory details. it's great fun, top-tier entertainment, all around! but not for top. the discomfort in his body language is loud enough it practically hurts boston's eardrums, but nobody else notices. not even mew, although that doesn't really surprise boston, truth be told.

or is it that nobody else cares?

and it doesn't even matter, does it? because what are people like top and boston to these people, but public commodities, pieces of meat? not even meat. junk food, penny candy, something to use between proper meals

boston doesn't even realize he's laughing until mew asks, "what's so funny, ton?"

he shakes his head — damn, he has tears in his eyes from how hard he was laughing! it makes the whole room blurry, and that's just fine with him. there's nothing in here he's interested in looking at.

he flashes them his most winning smile. "nothing! just… ten out of ten? fuck, mew, you're underselling it, honestly."

funny how this pronouncement isn't met with gaiety, but then, it's not like boston expected it to be.

he rises to a kneeling position, and counts off on his fingers. "really! listen, guys, it's the length, sure, but also the girth!" he wolf whistles. "goddamn. that's not even counting the technique. and the stamina? he fucks like a machine. and ooh, this man can kiss! hundred out of ten if you ask me. and you all know!" he gestures to his own body, up and down. "if anyone knows good dick, it's a nasty slut like me."

boston applauds and looks at top, making a chef's kiss motion. top is making that caged-in face at him again, but boston doesn't have it in him to feel bad. "i doubt mew even knows how to enjoy it all properly, so when you get sick of jumping through hoops like a prize show dog, come find me in new york. it's a shame i never got photos of you, you know?"

he turns to top's boyfriend, and yeah, that's the look. there's the real mew.

"i said it before, mew, you ought to be thanking me. because you never would have been able to get him to yourself without my help. and more than that"—boston leans forward, pointing directly into mew's sneering face—"i gave you something to hold over his head for the rest of your relationship!" he shrugs. "however long that'll be. but you have all the power now, and that's what you really wanted." he chuckles. "and you know something, mew? honestly? i kinda thought getting a top-tier dicking down would help you loosen the fuck up! make you less of a sanctimonious bitch! but i guess even top's monster cock isn't big enough to dislodge the stick up your ass, huh?"

ray yells and tries to lunge at him, and boston is actually surprised it took him this long. sand holds him back, though, as boston figured he would. "you two should be thanking me too, you know. if i hadn't got mew and top together, you never would have moved the fuck on, ray. and look!" he gestures at sand. "in the process, you got yourself a shiny new mommy to take care of you! exactly what you've always wanted!"

everyone's yelling now. whatever. he gets to his feet.

"you know, i've always wondered, ray? you love to say you think someone like top can never change. what about you? do you think someone like you can change? you really think you're not going to fucking blow this to smithereens? you really think he wants to spend his life looking after you?" boston snorts. "best of luck! at the very least try not to get him killed with your drunk driving, huh?"

there's a lot of shouting, but nobody's saying anything he hasn't heard before. it was kind of disappointing; you'd think they'd have better insults after all this time.

he downs his drink — it was terrible anyway; he deserves better. as a treat. as more of a treat.

"believe me, i'm going," he says, crumpling up the plastic cup and throwing it over his shoulder. "best that way, right, cheum?" he makes a camera shutter with his fingers and pans it around the room. "i was ruining the picture for you, but with me gone, you have the perfect little matched sets of dress up dollies you wanted. that includes you, april; if you think she cares about you as a person, you're even dumber than top."

he'd thought that ending out the year by setting old grievances to rest would be a nice way of saying goodbye to his life here. it's what you were supposed to do, right?

but burning bridges was always more his style. and he doesn't need these people, nor, it dawns on him, does he want them.

boston flips the bird with both hands. "fuck you very much! i hope every last one of you gets exactly what you fucking deserve."

------

ooc? too much? sure. did i have fun writing it? YOU BET

if you think of anything else he'd say, drop it in the tags!

funniest person to cut to, i'm laughing my ass off

[gaogaigoatgrrl]

i hope that in the wake of predstrogen/predesterone's back-to-back deletion we don't forget about the ongoing building wave of seemingly organic transmisogyny from the userbase leading up to it, some of which may or may not have been the result of terf psyops but all of which certainly wouldn't have been possible without the eager participation of a significant proportion of users, including but probably not limited to:

the entire concept of transandrophobia (if this offends you, think long and hard about why you want so badly for it to be real)

the ongoing backlash against the terms tme and tma (if they offend you, think long and hard about why they might have practical value to trans women and people with similar social positionality)

the ongoing trend of trans women's blogs getting flagged on the flimsiest of pretenses and generally receiving far more scrutiny for "adult content" than anyone else's

the seeming unironic revival of "baeddel" as a slur for outspoken trans women, on the basis of a long-dead clique that, ironically enough, self-applied the long-dead (and tbf, etymologically questionable) slur from the middle ages to reclaim it

the entire "trans women should be fucking trans men instead of complaining about transmisogyny" genre of post

the backlash when tgirls finally started calling out the aforementioned bullshit

the copypasted anons sent to several trans women (many of whom were lesbians) sexually harassing them and threatening corrective rape for calling out the aforementioned bullshit

the backlash when tgirls called the aforementioned bullshit sexual harassment

the expansion of flexible queer label use (which to be clear, i am generally all for) to include "afab trans women", muddying the waters and making transmisogyny harder to articulate

the backlash when tgirls started calling out the aforementioned bullshit

the aita incident in which a trans woman described a cis woman claiming to be a trans woman in a group chat and giving other trans women terrible medical advice based on no actual qualifications or experience, and got a huge backlash for warning them about the aforementioned bullshit despite the stakes of, you know, following terrible medical advice

everything from the sixth point onward happened within the past... week? two weeks? my sense of time is a bit fuzzy. who knows what the rest of this week has in store?

people on this website are so incredibly hostile to trans women even being able to name our own oppression, let alone resist it in any concrete way. and i know it's not just this website. don't you get tired of the crab bucket bullshit? holy fucking shit.

like, i've been lucky, i've overwhelmingly managed to dodge it (probably on account of frankly being a pretty boring and inconsistent poster). this time last year, i was actually bored that i didn't have anons in my inbox to argue with. but i've seen it happen to so many other women now, it's absurd. even if it never hits you personally, you can never shake the awareness that it's happening to so many of the cool girls on here, people you like and whose posts you laugh at and who you look up to. they just kinda seem to drop like flies over time. don't you get tired?

[bodhrancomedy]

Guess who's on TV!

(Well, iPlayer until the 15th, that's when it airs on BBC One)

Hope Street episode 3.11, let's go!

First of all, I'd say they did me dirty with this picture, but my university ID was exponentially worse.

Onto the spoilers!

Our boy Matthew has arrived in Port Devine, looking a little concerned.

For good reason when he's suddenly confronted by this lad, Dara.

Ah, a fight which Matthew escapes by slipping out of his coat. (Pretty sure this is the take where we ripped it practically in two...)

Dara's questioned, he claims he's never met Matthew in his life. Hmm.

Police do some investigating (and some character stuff) before Dara makes his way to Matthew's mother (Louise)'s house to have a wee showdown.

They both in a gang and Matthew's stolen a gun. Dara needs to get it back...

Matthew's nay having it. "This is my way out. If they want the gun back, they have to let me go."

Another fight. The gun goes off! (Poor Pete and I were convinced after take one to put some padding on. My arm looks bulky because I'm strapped up with squishy stuff and allergic to plasters so it has to be in a sock)

Thank fuck no one was hurt. Dara gets the hell out of dodge -

Leaving Matthew to contemplate his mortality. And other people's, but mostly his own.

"Oh fuck, my bosses are gonna find me and murder me, oh shit. I'm far too young and pretty to die!"

Time for Matthew and Louise to follow Dara's example and get the fuck out of here.

The police are now on the Halbridges' trail, but they discover the phone tracking them and leave it in a field.

Meanwhile, Dara's been arrested for drug dealing. He refuses to talk, clearly nervous.

Ah, what's this on Dara's phone? So Matthew and Dara have been in a relationship for over a year now.

(The poor intimacy coordinator having to walk me through my just about second kiss in my entire life. And the third. And the fourth. And the fifth... Pete is a very sweet person. Made it all funny.) ("Relax your hand, Bodh. Just relax it. Open - open your fingers, just let me position your hand.")

They're both working for the same gang. Matthew was given the gun to hold onto by their bosses' and freaked out, running away with the weapon. His plan was to trade his freedom for the gun, but Dara was sent to get it back for the Brazier Brothers, notorious drug runners and gang leaders.

These guys.

Unfortunately, now Dara's had to tell the Brazier Brothers that Matthew is refusing. They're going to kill Matthew and then Dara. Oh no.

But Dara has an idea where they might be hiding.

At the caravan there's a standoff between the police and Halbridges. But when the Braizer Brothers are arrested, they're convinced to come out.

(Side note, my favourite picture of me, ever.)

Oh no, the Halbridges are going to jail and Matthew's regretting his life choices.

Matthew walked off to his new life inside a jail cell.

The end.

(This is where Niall Wright accidently sublexed my shoulder. To be fair to the man, I'd never mentioned it and he took his finger sliding in-between bone like a champ)

Look, it's me!! I was on TV! Bit sad they cut pretty much all the uses of SSE (weren't allowed BSL because we still had to speak the lines), but I got to be queer and Deaf so that's pretty nice.

[cricket-of-the-hill]

So what's the deal with Fiddleford McGucket? Why's he like that?

Fiddleford as a character is so FUN because he's so complicated and tragic and honestly a little pathetic. On one hand you have this absolutely brilliant scientist with the potential to have been the in universe Steve Jobs who figured out that the universe is a hologram and built an honest to betsy transdimensional portal (with Ford's help, yes, but let's be honest: as mathematically brilliant as Ford was, I think his intelligence laid more in the theoretical side of things, really doubt he could have actually built the portal himself).

On the other hand, we have this man who up and leves his FAMILY to chase after a college friend who calls him one day saying "hey, I'm out in Oregon building a portal to another dimension. Little help?" and he doesn't even think twice before being like "bet" and getting his ass to Oregon. And even if you take in the context clues that things weren't going well with his marriage before he left (as pieced together by the brilliant @divorcedfiddleford in this post), he still had his son and McGucket Computermajigs and he just sets all that aside for this guy, which... 😶

I am gonna write this whole post on the assumption that Fiddleford was in love with Ford, but look, even if that's the case it doesn't make any of his actions less unhinged. Break here, because the post gets kinda long 😶‍🌫️

So here's the thing: in the fandom, it's fun to think that Fidds knew about Bill and they had some sort of taunting rivalry/love triangle thing going on and that's really fun to mess with, but FIDDLEFORD HAD NO IDEA ABOUT BILL. Ford never told him! So even if Fidds leaves California thinking he's gonna have his hot girl summer/queer arthouse romcom where he reconnects with the love of his youth and they spend the summer working in this secluded house in the woods where they can finally live out their romance, what he actually gets is a fucking psychological horror thriller where the guy he loves and is kinda trapped with is either slowly going insane or straight up getting possessed.

Now, all that is 😵‍💫 enough, but it gets worse because instead of doing the normal person thing and getting the hell out of Dodge, Fiddleford stays. He continues to help Ford to build the portal despite how weird the other man is getting, he continues to go cryptid hunting even after the nightmare goblin almost eats him, even if Ford clearly doesn't appreciate the work he does (research assistant? Not even partner? Come on), and never reciprocates the kind of gestures Fidds has towards him (like the infamous double Christmas gift bonanza).

Here's where the duality of Fiddleford Hadron McGucket kicks in: the thing is that he is incredibly brave in some ways and obviously really smart but also kind of a coward and an idiot when it comes to his relationships with others. He'll hit Thee Krampus upside the head with his banjo one day to save his friend and run away to Oregon instead of discussing divorce with this wife the next. He will leave everything he knows to pursue this one guy, but he will never ever ever confess to feeling anything other than friendship towards him. He'll put up with Stanford's creepy as all hell behavior but will never confront him about it even as Ford loses more and more of himself into his project (so no little intervention not even to help this man he's giving so much up for). Like, what was he expecting to get out of all this? If he was never planning to confess to Ford or leave his wife, what was he going to do once the portal was completed? Just keep on bouncing between wherever Ford went next and his family? Did he really think his wife and son wouldn't mind him leaving them behind without so much as a thought?

Operating under the assumption that Fiddleford is a closeted queer guy from rural Deep Down South Hillbilly County Tennessee (said with love, I'm also from the south, but we all know what homophobia looks like here) during the '80s (height of the aids pandemic which would have made everything worse) one can maybe understand why Fiddleford is like that. Why he is so so so afraid and why he ultimately chooses to erase his memories rather than just go back to his family.

So picture this: you are in love with your best friend but you can't tell him 'cause best case scenario he leaves you out to dry and worst case scenario maybe someone finds your boots down by the river and lets your parents know (and we know Ford is sweet and fruity himself and with a thing for outcasts and would never. Fiddleford probably knows that himself, but let me tell you that when you grow up with that fear it goes deep. Because you've most likely seen people who are kind get absolutely bent out of shape when confronted with the mere idea of someone like you existing in their near vicinity). Eventually, you get married and have a son because that is what you were supposed to do all along and even though you love your son and maybe even love your wife everything feels wrong. They expect you to be something you are not, you can never let your guard down, never be yourself, not even in your own home. So then that call comes and it's like a golden thicket: you can leave, give it a rest for a little while, go see your friend, stretch out those inventing muscles.

As much as the fandom clowns him for it, I honestly don't even think he went out there with the intention of cheating (emotionally or otherwise). BUT I do think he was hoping something would happen. It's just that it all depended on Ford taking that first step because Fidds sure as hell wouldn't. And then Ford didn't because he was too busy doing the sin cos tan with his trigonometry homework, but if he had, we could have had a brokenback mountain situation on our hands, lads. Then Fiddleford could have just gone along with it, and done all sorts of mind parkour to convince himself that that's somehow less bad than "outright" cheating on his wife.

So he gets to the cabin, right? And maybe things are good for a little while, like when they were in college. Fiddleford lets loose a little, Ford is happy with the company, they're friends! And I get the sense that they're the kind of friends that mesh really well, like their energies really match. As much as the fandom paints Fiddleford like a sweet cinnamon roll, that man is also a freak. He's out here building psychotic post divorce revenge pterodactyl robots and drinking abducted cow milk just to see what it's like. He's a bit unhinged! He and Ford are the two people in the world that can be like "I think the universe is a hologram." "Cool! Let's prove it mathematically, bro" and "I want to build a portal to another dimension. Just cause." "Catching a ride to your place with my toolbox as we speak, buddy." (My own personal head cannon is that Fiddleford didn't really become such a shaky jelly until the nightmare goblin got him. Like, he was never as adventurous as Ford, but I think before that particular traumatizing event he was all right for it).

Anyways, things are good for a bit, but the real world is still out there. Fiddleford has to make trips home every now and then, and every time he comes back it seems like something is different. A little off. At first it's nothing big, just a smile a little sharper than usual, a coldness in a look, Ford calling him "Specs" where before he was always a variation of his name. Then it's pointed comments that Fidds chalks up to a lack of sleep (is Ford even sleeping at all? Because he could have sworn for the past three nights he he has appeared in the same place Fidds left him when he went to sleep). Then it's a flash of yellow eyes, a maniacal laugh that Ford never used to make before, spells where he seemingly forgets how to use his body (bumps into things, tries to drink soda with his eyes?). As time goes on it starts to become more and more obvious that something is seriously wrong with this friend. And things back home are just getting worse and worse, Emma May isn't happy about Fiddleford skipping town so often, Tate wont stop asking for him, and look, was Fiddleford even making money while he was with Ford? He gettin' paid? Is Emma May back home trying to bring home the bacon while virtually single parenting? (How was Ford even supporting himself while studying anomalies? I can't imagine there's a lot of grants for that.)

But Fiddleford can't leave his friend and he can't really own up to how much messier things are at home because of this whole thing. So he keeps coming back to Gravity Falls, where he also can't really face up to Ford and either demand a clear answer as to what is going on or try to get him some help (an exorcist, maybe). Because if he does say something and Ford decides that he doesn't want Fiddleford around asking questions he's gonna have to go back home where after the Christmas thing he's honestly not sure he's really wanted anymore, not really sure he deserves it if he still was. So he keeps on doing his thing, telling himself "this is fine 🙂," while he sits in a room on fire with a bill-possessed Ford hanging from the ceiling like a spider and an disapproving Emma May looking in through a window.

I think the portal incident was what finally opened his eyes to the reality of his situation, in an ironic way. He destroyed his relationship with his wife and left his son for nothing. Left his own dreams and aspirations aside just to find out that when push comes to shove his opinion and well-being matter so little to this man he was ready to break the laws of physics for. He can't stay with Ford, and he sure as hell can't go back home, because that would mean having to face that he's done burned down all his bridges. So where do you go from there? Let me tell you, if I had the chance to forget the lowest, most selfish, stupid thing I did for a person who didn't even notice it, I'd do it in a second.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 52

part 1 | part 51 | ao3

cw: period-typical homophobia, canon-typical violence, blood

"I'm just saying!" Eddie laughs as he swings himself around the slender base of a young tree, cigarette dangling from his lips. "I could absolutely rock the blue eyeshadow look the main chick was wearing."

Steve doesn't disagree. They're in a dark alcove on the side of the movie theater, Eddie's hair all lit up from behind, a frizzy halo of pinks and blues from the neon radiating off the front of the building, and he looks fucking gorgeous, and he smells like menthol and strawberry shake, and he's been tapping Steve's wrist so much tonight that he might as well be drumming up a new song just for them.

"Can't argue with that," Steve murmurs as he steps up onto the concrete planter. Gets up in Eddie's space; borrows his cigarette, his words floating out on a thin wisp of smoke. "You look beautiful."

"Beautiful," Eddie mimics, tasting the word, looking unbelievably pleased with the flavor that he finds. His eyes go hooded, and there's a sly tilt to his mouth as his tongue slips out to tease the edge. "You tryin' to start somethin', Harrington?"

Steve's answering hum rumbles deep in his chest. His cock aches in his jeans. God, he wants him; wants to back him up a good ten feet until his body scrapes the bricks. Wants to rough him up a little, like Eddie did to him the first time they kissed — make his breath hitch and his skin buzz and his back arch under his touch.

"Oh, you are," Eddie purrs. He takes the cigarette back, their fingers brushing on the exchange, and they're standing so close now, nothing but this skinny tree between them, just a twig of a thing, really, the toes of their shoes touching on either side of the base.

Steve looks down at the snowy soil. Taps Eddie's wrist. Desperately. Frantically. Take me home right now, so help me—

A low whoop echoes off the pavement.

A predatory jeer, and Steve looks up to see three men approaching — three boys, about their age, and drunk, by the looks of it. He grits his teeth.

Their ringleader looks like a caricature; classic bad boy who thinks too highly of himself, some cheap knock-off mash up of Billy Hargrove and Rob Lowe. Steve eyes the shaggy mullet, the dangly earring skimming the lapel of his black jacket, the silver flask and the stupid swagger, and his blood runs hot. Thrums with the promise of a fight.

“Well shit, boys,” the guy grins to his sidekicks, taking a long swig and wiping his mouth. Gleeful malice in green eyes. Little asshole gets close enough for Steve to make out the color; gets right up in Steve’s face and sneers, “Looks like we got ourselves a couple of queers to smear.”

Really? Steve thinks. We’re doing playground games right now? He folds his arms over his chest, flattens his voice; disinterested. “Do you have somewhere else to be?”

Eddie smokes his cigarette, and the smoke curls around them in short, unsteady puffs.

The guy snarls, “Do you?”

Beside him, his friend’s hands ball up in fists. A vicious voice in Steve’s head whispers: plant your fucking feet.

“Nah,” Steve answers. He takes a step in front of Eddie; widens his stance, digs his heels into the mulch. Slight crouch; deep breath. “Think I’m right where I need to be.”

“Fuckin’ freak,” the guy spits at the ground. He sways and pivots just a little, like maybe he’s about to slither back off to wherever he came from. Or maybe he’s about to throw his full weight into a swing.

Eddie’s breath whistles. His nose still healing from the break. “Seriously, man,” he tries as he drops the cigarette, crushing the butt under his boot. His voice is thin; hands up; don’t shoot. “Just- just fuck off, alright? We don’t want any—”

The first punch is slow. Sloppy. Steve sees it coming and dips low to dodge, and the jab cracks against the tree, spraying ice and splintered bark, the sound sharp in his good ear. It’s a plate over his head; it’s Billy cackling while the world dims, and Steve sees fucking red. Tastes metal and acid and rot, and all his ghosts are with him; all of Eddie’s, too. Hargrove, and Andy, and Jason fucking Carver; all the faceless specters of whoever pummeled him that night at the bar, whoever dared to lay a finger on him when Steve wasn’t there to be a shield.

But he’s here now, and his answering punch lands hard — sickening crunch as his uppercut connects with the kid’s ribs, knocks the wind out of him. The guy grunts and doubles over, but he gets in a good swing on the way down.

Steve tastes blood at the edge of his lip.

Someone grabs him by the collar.

One of the guy’s friends, freezing fingers pawing at his shoulder, at his throat, and he pulls back hard until his shirt rips at the neckline and frees him from the hold. Ducks again to dodge a blow, swivels and pops discount Rob Lowe right under the chin.

The kid’s teeth clack together as he bites his own tongue. Steve watches his head fly back like it’s about to fall off — like a ragdoll, like a bobblehead, like it’s happening in slow motion. He collapses on the sidewalk and cracks his head against the bricks, and he's down, he's out, but there’s two more still coming, one in front and one on Steve's right, and that one looks tall and broad enough to do some real damage.

Steve squares his shoulders; braces himself for another concussion, because this is— fuck, is the guy on the ground bleeding?

This is bad.

This is really bad.

And then he hears it.

A familiar thwick, a metallic slice through the sudden stillness in the air as Eddie pulls his knife out of his boot and flicks it open.

"Back the fuck off!" he growls; lunges forward with the blade and stabs at empty air, the metal gleaming like an oath. His expression is wild, sweat on his lip and at his temples, bangs sticking to his brow.

Steve spits blood onto the concrete.

Everyone backs the fuck off.

—

"Holy shit," Eddie pants as they haul ass out of the lot. Fingers trembling on the steering wheel, knee jiggling so badly it jangles all his pins and chains. His whole body is shaking. The radio is off.

In the rearview, Steve gets a glimpse of their attackers dragging their limp friend by the armpits through a snowy flowerbed. He thinks he sees a streak of blood.

“Did you know them?” he asks, his eyes glued to the reflection.

Eddie rolls the next three stop signs.

“No,” he finally says. Swallows hard in the simmering quiet. “They were just some guys.”

—

part 53

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

[steddie-island]

Wiggly Wednesday 🧠🪱🪱🪱

(But on a Thursday!)

I was tagged by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation @matchingbatbites @mugloversonly and @runninriot thank you lovelies! (I think that's everyone, I'm behind in things I've been tagged in 😅)

Today I'm thinking about a Pink Pony Club Steve.

I keep thinking about a Steve Harrington who got out from under his family's thumb. He realized sometime between Scoops and Family Video that working for his family was never what he wanted to do, and their money and approval wasn't worth being miserable for the rest of his life.

So he and Robin get the hell outta dodge, they move to the city. Steve does some soul searching, with Robin's help, to figure out who he actually is and what he wants to do/be.

He gets to explore the parts of himself that weren't safe to explore in Hawkins. Y'know, the parts that want to kiss boys and wear lip gloss and strut around in short shorts and crop tops. Not all the time, he's still a jeans and polo guy sometimes, but there are times he wants to let more loose than that.

Enter the perfect job for him, at a little queer bar in town where he gets to deck himself out in glitter and pink outfits.

The night he officially meets Eddie, the pretty bartender trying to save up to get his band off the ground, he's wearing Wonder Woman style shorts and a vest with stars cut out to show off his chest. It's dripping in silver fringe and glitter, as are his cowboy hat and boots and yeah even the pony on a stick (he's really leaning into the pony part lmao).

Eddie's fucking enchanted by this pretty boy in this ridiculous costume and spends all night trying to work up the courage to ask for his number without sounding like a creep.

He definitely didn't need to be worrying about it, though, because Steve asks him out instead.

They end up fucking in the dressing room before they leave for the night.

I'm not sure who's been tagged yet so apologies if you're getting double tagged. As always, no pressure, and if you didn't get tagged but want to participate consider this your tag!

@klausinamarink @puppy-steve @doomcheese

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

take your fast car and keep on driving

pairing: fem! leon kennedy (aka leah) x reader

cw: wlw, use of homophobic slurs, obscure resident evil characters (no, i did not just make all of those names up), angst, light smut, forbidden love, secret relationship.

summary: you are a rookie in the rpd, and so is leah (re2r leon but as a woman). you like her but you know you shouldn't pursue a relationship because this is 1998 and you're the cops.

a/n: this is a commission for @porcelainseashore! also, the title is a line from fast car by tracy chapman bc i like to cry to that song (and she's a (presumed to be) queer woman so it seemed to fit).

wc: 5.3k

taglist:

@rigorwhoring

@dilfprayers

@porcelainseashore

@dollita-fawn

@xoxoloveless

@admirxation

@pawrincss

Leah. You've never met anyone quite like her before.

Like you, she's new to the force, fresh out of the police academy. It's the first thing you bond over.

In the break room, she gives you a soft smile while she lingers by the kitchen counter, waiting for her instant coffee to finish brewing. The gurgling of the machine fills the brief silence between you.

"It's your first day too, right?" she says after you attempt a "hey" that comes out as nothing but a heavy exhale.

"Yep." It's all you can come up with.

"You seem nervous."

"A little. You know, don't wanna fuck anything up on my first day." Like this conversation. You keep the last part to yourself.

"Don't worry. It took me like three tries to get the buttons straight on this shirt. Jill- Officer Valentine had to help me fix it."

And somehow you're jealous. Leah seems to have no trouble making friends since she's already getting chummy with a STARS member. You'll be relegated to the losers club while she gets to sit at the cool girls table - if there is such a thing.

Most of your colleagues are men. Lieutenant Marvin Branaugh, your direct superior seems nice enough, Chief Brian Irons is a bit off-putting, though. And the STARS members: Officers Jill Valentine, Chris Redfield, Brad Vickers, Richard Aiken, Rebecca Chambers - and of course, Captain Wesker, who reminds you of a cartoon villain in the way he carries himself. Most of them are relatively nice to you. Jill has a hardened exterior but a soft heart; Chris is a typical jock and a natural leader; Brad is a bit of a knucklehead; Richard is his slightly smarter counterpart; and Rebecca, who's even younger than you, is an absolute sweetheart. Not to mention, Forest Speyer, Joseph Frost, Enrico Marini, and Barry Burton. You consider putting pictures of them on flashcards with their names on the back so you can learn them all.

Then, there's Leah who has a certain je ne sais quoi that makes her name stick firmly in your mind.

She walks gracefully, steadily in combat boots identical to yours and her blonde hair sways in time with her steps. Her pants fit perfectly, especially around the ass. But you try not to stare - you feel gross doing so when you catch the guys ogling her when she turns her back to them.

You wonder if they stare at you too when you're training in the gym. Lieutenant Branaugh puts an emphasis on staying fit in case the day comes where you need to chase down criminals or dodge gunshots during a shootout. A significant amount of your day is spent doing paperwork.

But for an hour a day, you do push ups and curl ups and pull ups (in that order) to 98.6 FM or a CD if Chris remembers to bring one down with him.

"Chris," you hear Wesker snap at him, "This music is atrocious. Go get a CD, a good one."

And with an exaggerated huff and the sound of metal weights hitting the hard floor, he does as he's told.

"He's kinda hot," Leah says from next to you while she stretches her calves.

"Who? Chris?"

"Yeah," she says, decidedly.

"You can have him. I'm not into meatheads."

"I'd like to see the head of his meat."

"That's disgusting!"

"Are you going to sit there chatting all day?" Marvin asks. "Or are you going to get in the ring?"

You both shut up and stand up.

There's nothing to fight over, but you can be competitive when you want to be. Leah seems intent on impressing Chris who's half-assing his workout both to stick it to Wesker, who is satisfied by his choosing Made In Heaven, and to watch you and Leah duke it out.

Nobody can resist a little girl-on-girl action. Leah has many things over you - her charm, her beauty, her laugh, and her body when she pins you to the mat. It's one, two, three slaps of her palm against the mat to crown you the loser, but she gets distracted, and only you can see the mask slip because you're staring into her eyes when it happens. You want to drown in her ocean blue eyes. Her pupils widen and then her eyes themselves in response, like she's shocked by her own feelings. And then she shakes herself out of it.

You blink and she's standing again, holding out her hand to help you up. And then, like she was never even there, she's gone, rushing in and out of the locker room so quickly that you don't cross paths despite your lockers being two apart. You, on the other hand, take extra time to consider the possibility that you've hallucinated her existence entirely.

But, does it even matter? 

Leah starts showing up in your dreams. She's the intermission between being completely flunking your math exam and missing your flight to Paris (the recurring stress dreams). One night, you're eating lunch in a cafeteria and she sits across from you. The next, you're at a Halloween party and she wears a sexy cop costume, which is not that far off from her real uniform. It's the third time she shows up that you kiss. It doesn't go any further than that because you wake up to your 7:45 alarm.

What the fuck was that? 

You have a book called The Secret Meanings Behind Your Dreams which was a gag gift from a friend. You flip through the pages and find explanations for dreams about falling, teeth falling out, pregnancy, but none about kissing your coworker. You decide it's better not to dwell on it.

You file the thoughts of her under the category of things that you don’t have the qualifications or the time to psychoanalyze. There’s probably some sort of bullshit Freudian explanation but you have crime to fight (aka paperwork to do).

You’re grateful for the distraction when it approaches you in the Main Hall of the RPD. It's almost the end of your shift when Richard approaches you. Out of all the RPD members, you feel like he's the closest thing to a friend you've got here.

"Do you have any plans this Friday?"

"Work, per usual."

"Well, yeah," he half-laughs, "I do too. But, uh, what about after work?"

"After work, nothing."

"Cool. Brad and I were thinking about seeing a movie and maybe getting drinks, and he also invited Leah, so I think she's coming too."

The mention of Leah makes you perk up. You could give or take the whole going out on the town after a long week of work.

Leah, speaking of Leah, you spot her across the hall, chatting and laughing with Brad and Chris.

"Cool," you say, staring right past Richard.

"So, uh, do you wanna come with?"

"Yeah, sure. Sounds good." It's less an acceptance to his invitation and more giving minimal responses.

Richard says some combination of "cool", "okay", and "see you tomorrow". Or something like that. You wouldn't know because you're barely paying attention to him.

You realize it's a double date when Richard puts his arm around you. You're enthralled with Saving Private Ryan. "It should win Best Picture," you remark later. But it doesn’t. But right now, you try to play off the fact that he startled you with an awkward laugh. The theater is too dark for you to tell if he's blushing or not, but his embarrassed "sorry" says he is. But before he moves away from you, you lean into him, and you swear you can hear him sigh in relief. He's nice. This is nice.

But more importantly, you watched Leah do the same with Brad and she's your leader just as Brad is Richard's.

No, for you, she's your muse. She's the goddess that you pray to. 

When they kiss, you follow suit. He tastes like the buttery popcorn you've both devoured, but it's not bad. It could be worse.

It’s forgettable, washed away by the beer you drink at the dive bar two doors down from the theater. 

"Do you wanna take this back to my place?" Richard asks.

"I would but I have to get up early for church" is the first excuse you can come up with.

Richard seems to believe you, which is most likely because he wants to believe this isn't rejection. "Oh! I didn't know you were religious."

"I am, yeah," you say, and hope the rubber chicken test prepared you for the difficult task of keeping a straight face in a moment like this. You think you notice Leah stifling a laugh across the table because she knows.

But her eyes only flit to yours for a second before Brad asks her the same question.

"I actually have a date to church tomorrow morning," she says, smiling at you.

Brad believes her because he's not the brightest bulb in the bunch. Before the awkwardness permeates too far, they leave together.

"So, church on a Saturday, huh?" Leah asks with a knowing smirk.

Finally, you both exhale the giggles you've been holding in together.

"God," you say, putting your head in your hands, though still laughing, "How long do you think it'll take for them to realize?"

"I dunno." She shrugs and sips her beer. "But hopefully sooner rather than later so I don't have to make up an excuse not to go on a second date."

"No second date for you guys? You seemed to be having a good time back in the movie theater."

She shakes her head. "I was until he started kissing me."

"Bad kisser?"

"Awful. Tongue down my throat and all."

"Ew."

"How about you and Richard?"

You shrug. "He's nice. And his tongue was not down my throat."

"That's good." She leans a little closer, like she's going to reveal a secret to you. "But you don't seem like you like him that much."

"I mean, I like him as a friend."

But nothing more. "Well, I should be going," you say, picking up your purse. "It's getting late, and, as you know, I have church."

"No, you don't." She rolls her eyes. "But you do have brunch."

"I do?"

"Yeah, I'll pick you up around 10:15-10:30? Depending on my hangover."

"Sounds perfect."

You and Leah each devour a plate of waffles in a diner voted Raccoon City's #1 Breakfast Destination '97 according to a poster outside.

"Mm," she ponders the taste of her coffee. "Way better than what the RPD has."

"I'm beginning to think they might just be giving us packets of dirt instead of coffee grounds."

"Where else are they going to put all the dirt they dig up outside?"

"It's so goddamn weird that they have a cemetery. It's like they're expecting us to die."

"I feel like I'm already dead. My head is killing me."

"Mine too. I don't even think I had that much to drink."

"Me neither, and thank god - I wouldn't want to end up in bed with Brad."

"You think you would've gone home with him if you were drunker?"

"Maybe. I tend to make stupid decisions when I'm drunk."

But, so do you - one of which includes playing spin the bottle with the RPD's finest.

"We used to play Kings mostly 'cause no one had a table that we could play beer pong on," Brad says when Chris asks him about high school parties back in his hometown.

"We can play Kings if I can find a deck of cards."

"No, we can't, dumbass, unless you have cans hiding in the back of your fridge," says Forest.

"What do you wanna play, Forest? Spin the bottle?" Chris asks sarcastically.

"I thought spin the bottle was a game made up for movies. I didn't know anyone actually played it," Rebecca chimes in from the corner, holding a soda rather than a beer because she 'felt bad drinking underage' even though Chris offered her one.

"You bet your ass people actually play it," Chris says. "How else would you kiss your crush when you're an awkward 15 year old?"

"Truth or dare," she says with a roll of her eyes to say it should be obvious.

"We could play truth or dare," Brad suggests.

"No, we should play spin the bottle," says Forest.

"If you wanna kiss me that bad you can just ask," Chris says.

"Why don't we play both? Then, if the bottle doesn't decide in Forest's favor, he can dare Chris to kiss him," Jill says.

"I'll remember to pick truth in that case."

You play spin the bottle first, which results in Forest giving Richard a peck on the lips, Richard passing it on to Brad, who goes for more than a peck with Jill, and Jill, pulling swiftly away from him, kisses Leah.

And it comes to Leah who lands on you. Of course she does. The first kiss is chaste, but when you take your turn and the bottle lands on her, it barely falls short of passionate.

The bottle is Leah's again and if it were possible to rig this game you might've believed someone had because it points in your direction.

A collective - and juvenile - "ooh" comes from the group. It's the same one you hear from a classroom of 7th graders when a teacher tells a student they need to "speak to them".

Rebecca, clueless, asks, "What?"

"They have to play 7 minutes in heaven."

"What's 7 minutes in heaven?"

"The two people have to go into a separate room for 7 minutes and they can do whatever they want."

Leah looks at you, you look at her. Hesitant, nervous, and curious.

"My bedroom's down the hall," Chris says, pointing towards it. "No snooping, no stealing, and if you break it, you replace it. Got it?"

"Yes, Officer Redfield," you say sarcastically.

Leah stands up, giving Chris an exaggerated eye roll, and you follow her down the hall. You can hear them whispering their predictions and fantasies about what you'll get up to behind closed doors.

But eventually, the games go on in your absence. You remain unaware as you sit on the edge of Chris' unmade bed next to Leah.

It’s just you and Leah Kennedy in Chris Redfield’s bedroom, the world is still and the lights are low, but you watch a decade fly before your eyes in a single moment. It’s fancy dinners and home-cooked meals, an apartment in the city and a house in the suburbs, the balcony, the backyard, the wedding, the honeymoon, the family portrait. 

"So…" you begin, expecting her to set some sort of ground rules, expecting you'll end up conversing for the duration, maybe giving each other a friendly peck on the cheek. But, she looks at you, her eyes flicker as they quickly run up and down your body, and she takes the leap.

Her lips are soft and sweet with cherry-flavored chapstick, and like Katy Perry, you liked kissing a girl. But, there are no boyfriends to mind, and despite being tipsy and technically still playing by the rules of a game, there is something real about the way she kisses you. It's heated and hungry, urgent due to time constraints. You can't stay in this room all night - not because it's Chris', but because no one can know about this. You can't tell them that when her tongue meets yours it's the first time you enjoy the taste of beer. You can't tell them about how she tucks her bangs behind her ear so they don’t obstruct her view of you when she pushes you onto your back and her hands travel from your waist to your bra and stop when Chris opens the door. Leah is quick to sit back up, to pretend, but not quick enough. He knows, but for whatever reason, he keeps his lips sealed.

When you return with your head down to hide your reddened cheeks, Brad says, "You two must've been having a lot of fun in there since you missed the timer on the microwave going off."

"We just talked," Leah says.

"Uh-huh," he says, "Talked."

"You guys were totally getting it on in there," Forest says.

"I would've paid to see that," Brad says.

"You can admit it," Richard says. "We won't judge."

"There's nothing to admit," you say.

Jill throws you a sympathetic save by announcing, "You missed Rebecca having her first kiss."

"It's not that big of a deal," Rebecca says, timidly.

"Are you saying I'm a bad kisser?" Chris asks.

"I didn't say that."

The group decides to transition to truth or dare, and you're relieved to have the attention taken off of you and Leah. The boys become distracted by the sight of Jill's tits when Brad dares her to flash everyone. You decide to leave before you end up naked.

While you wait for a cab outside, Leah turns to you. "Can you keep what happened between us a secret?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Thanks," she says. "You're a great friend."

A friend. You longed to be accepted for so long, but now the word sounds like rejection. The word taunts you while you struggle to fall asleep.

Just friends. The way you told Leah you felt about Richard after you made up an excuse to not go home with him. 

Leah avoids you at work the next week. No one seems to care except Chris, who asks you privately, "What is up with the two of you? You were going at it in my bed last weekend and now you won't get within 20 feet of each other."

"Nothing. We were just drunk on Saturday, so that whole thing happened, and we've just been busy with separate work this week."

"Uh-huh. You were just drunk? Nothing else going on between you two?"

"That's like asking if you and Rebecca have something going on. We just kissed because we were playing a kissing game."

He doesn't press further, though when he turns to walk away, you call after him, "Wait, Chris…"

"Yeah?"

"Don't tell anyone, though. I don't want them making a big deal out of it."

"I won't."

He keeps his word.

Leah used to eat her lunches with you, you'd both meet in the break room at 12:30 sharp, but now, you sit by yourself. Until Friday, 12:20, you find her sitting across from Jill, talking and laughing.

"Alright, I've gotta get back to work," you hear Jill say before she leaves the room. There's only one exit, so she inevitably crosses paths with you. She's the first person to give you a warm, genuine smile that week. It makes you feel human and real, and it gives you the confidence to talk to Leah.

When she spots you, she hurries to pack her things up and leave.

"Leah," you say. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, of course not."

And you didn't. That's not why she avoids you.

"Then why are you avoiding me?"

"I'm not avoiding you." Her shifty eyes and wavering tone give her away - not that it wasn't already obvious.

"Yes, you are."

She looks around the empty room before lowering her voice, "Fine. If I admit it, will you let it go?"

"How can I 'let it go'? We went from making out on Saturday to-"

"I told you not to talk about it."

"You told me not to tell anyone else."

"Same thing. You're just making it worse."

"How?"

"You're reminding me of it, and I don't want to think about it."

"Why? I thought you liked it."

"I did. I like you."

"I like you too."

Her face softens for a second, going from forced agitation to poorly-hidden bashfulness, but ultimately, she looks disheartened. Because you both know this can't happen.

"I wish it were different."

"You wish I didn't like you back?"

"No, I wish this world was different. I wish Raccoon City was different."

"Me too, but why should we let it stop us?"

She sighs, purses her lips, and turns her head. Finally, after a moment of contemplation, she says, "Okay, but we have to keep it quiet. When we're at work, we're just friends." She pauses and her lips curve into a smile. "And tonight, after work, when I take you out to dinner, we can be something more than friends."

"Deal."

She glances towards the door to make sure you're alone and gives you a grin that's almost conspiratorial before kissing you on the cheek.

"That's against the rules!"

"Oops," she says with a shrug.

You sneak a kiss on her cheek to 'get even' and she walks out of the room with an extra pep in her step. You notice her trip on the laces of her combat boots, too far away to hear you stifle a laugh, but you see her shake her head, feeling embarrassed by her stupid mistake despite being alone in the hall. She's not used to being lost in thought like this, not used to liking someone in this way.

That night, you play a mixtape you and a friend made together back in high school when your only problems were silly crushes on boys. You remember her gushing over a guy you thought was mediocre at best while the sound of Kiss Me amplified her giddiness, and you remember how you comforted her when he broke her heart while Linger covered up the sounds of her crying. 

You wish you could call and gush over your date and have her calm your nerves over the phone, but you know you shouldn’t. You could say you were seeing a boy but a lie like that would violate the rules of girl talk. You decide to keep yourself company. 

You drive separately and meet at the restaurant. It's relatively crowded with the typical hustle and bustle of Friday evening downtown.

You split two dishes and Leah pays. Like you, the waiter seems allured by her.

"Before you leave," he says to Leah in a hushed voice as if you can't hear what he's saying from across the table. "I just wanted to let you know that you're very beautiful."

"Thanks," she mumbles with a half-smile. Polite, but nothing else lies behind it. No desire.

"And," he continues. "I was wondering if you wanted to go out sometime."

"No thanks, I'm unavailable."

"Oh? Where's your boyfriend on this fine Friday night?"

"No boyfriend."

He doesn't quite get it. Not until she reaches for your hand, giving it a squeeze when she takes it in hers. She smiles at you, warm, and then at him, proud.

"Oh, so that's how it is," he says, and you can almost hear the roll of his eyes. "Well, I left my number on the check, so you can call me once you're done 'experimenting'."

Her face turns sour while her eyes remain on him, softening when she meets yours. You walk out hand-in-hand now that you're beyond the point of hiding. Most people pay no mind, thoroughly absorbed in themselves and their dinners.

You take the bottle of wine to go, since you each had only a glass at dinner as neither of you planned to drive home drunk on anything but each other. You're grateful that Leah invites you to share the rest at her apartment since you didn't bother tidying yours. It's better she comes over when the floor of your bedroom is visible, and not covered in a layer of dirty clothes.

Her house is neat and minimalist to a degree that makes you think it's always this way. Her wardrobe, which mainly consists of multi-purpose basics - white t-shirts, blue jeans, and an array of leather jackets - lives on a single-rod stand-alone clothing rack. With her level of organization, she doesn't need to hide all of her things behind a closet door.

You are the only thing she hides. 

But when you enter her bedroom together, she keeps the lights on. She wants to see all of you, to know you. She wants to put your picture in a locket and let you dangle around her neck, swinging like the pendulum of a clock in time with her heartbeat.

You unravel under her touch slowly and then all at once. She kisses you from your lips to your core with meticulous reverence and savors your taste. When you struggle to catch your breath, she holds you like you're bleeding out and your dying words are sacred to her.

Leah teaches you how to return the favor by letting you practice. It is a hands-on lesson. By the time you fall asleep, your lips are wine-dark and barely tired. She holds you close to her heart like a rosary while you sleep soundly.

You roll out of bed stealthily and search her kitchen for breakfast. There isn't much. She seems regimented in most areas of her life and health-conscious. There is a disappointing lack of Lucky Charms cereal in her cupboards. There is a carton of eggs, so you scramble a few for you both. You brew coffee too.

"Something smells good." You hear Leah's voice from the hallway before she appears in the kitchen. She wraps her arms around you, hugging you from behind.

"I took the liberty of making us both breakfast. I hope you don't mind."

"No, of course not. In fact, I could get used to this."

You take a sip of your coffee before you decide, "It's better than the kind they keep in the RPD break room."

"I think anything is."

You try to kiss her and she turns her head. You fear she'll claim the night before was a drunken mistake - it would be the same lie you told to Chris. Obvious in a way that makes it more infuriating than saddening. But she doesn't.

"Mm-mm," she says, shaking her head. "When I said anything is better than the RPD coffee, I didn't mean my morning breath."

"I don't care," you say with a smile and lean in again to kiss her.

She laughs when she playfully pushes you away. "At least let me brush my teeth before you kiss me."

"Fine," you concede and settle for kissing her on the cheek the way you do when no one is looking at work. Even in locker rooms you have to be vigilant. You doubt Jill or Rebecca would say anything unless you were doing something truly salacious. But it isn't unheard of for one of the guys to take a trip through the women's locker room under the guise of "hearing something suspicious" or "accidentally walking in there", sometimes without any excuse at all if it's Irons who has done this on multiple occasions.

Your secret relationship makes you feel like teenagers sneaking around behind their parents' backs. And like teenagers, you both can't wait to grow up and break free of the rules that hold you back from being together. But, you live under the tyranny of societal norms that you can't outgrow on your own.

Not when you have Brad and Richard who find you in the previously-unoccupied hallway.

"It's only a kiss. It's not a big deal."

"Not here."

"No one's going to see us."

But they do.

"I should've known you two were a couple," Brad says.

"Yeah, a couple of dykes," Richard says.

They laugh like bullies on a playground. You thought they would have learned by now. Aren't you supposed to get wiser with age? You're too stunned to say anything for a moment, but you make a conscious effort not to look at Leah. Not yet.

"What's going on over here?" Forest says, peeking around the corner.

"We just discovered there have been two queers hiding among us," Richard says as if he's speaking about foreign spies or ghosts.

"Yeah, they were totally getting it on out here," Brad says.

"Aw, I can't believe I missed the action. Could you give us a little replay?" Forest points at you two like he's the director of a porno.

"Go take your sorry ass to the video rental across the street if you want something to watch," Leah says with unwavering confidence.

Yours wavers. You never got the thick skin they promised you. You put all your strength into holding back tears. Something else burns behind Leah's eyes, though, you can see it. Her icy blue eyes somehow hold fire. 

"Wow, a feisty bitch," Forest says, "or should I say butch?"

All her training led to this moment, but you step out of the ring in fear.

"Sorry I get more pussy than you, Forest," Leah says. She wouldn't normally engage them like this. It's personal. It's you.

"Shit. Pretty good one," says Brad.

"Ugly bitches usually have some brains, so it makes sense," says Forest.

It feels like middle school until it becomes physical. Richard pushes Leah, so she hits him in the nose hard enough to make him bleed. Forest lays his hands on her and likely knowing that she can't take all of them at once, especially when you're standing by in shock rather than fighting beside her like you should be (a thought you only have later), she pulls her gun on him.

Chris, who has won every sharpshooting contest STARS has held since he joined, hears the commotion and runs in with his own gun trained on Leah.

"Put the gun down now," he says.

And terrified, she points it at him.

They both stare each other down for long enough for you to draw yours and fire it because you know if he shoots her, he won't miss. 

You would kill for Leah. 

The bullet hits no one but the picture of Brad on a poster that hangs on various walls of the RPD. Which would be kind of funny if that's what you meant to hit.

Leah turns to you in shock which allows Chris to easily disarm her, knocking her gun out of her hand and kicking it out of her reach. His gun is aimed at you now. He can shoot you and get away with it, and he knows it. His finger hovers over the trigger but something in him holds him back.

"Put the gun on the ground or I will shoot you," he warns you instead.

You put it down and hold your arms above your head. All five of you are placed in separate rooms. There are not enough interrogation rooms to hold you all, nor are there enough cops that are not involved in the situation. Each of you is placed in handcuffs, but you are first. You never thought your handcuffs would end up around your own wrists.

You should be arrested. For once, you are grateful for the way Chris pities you.

"I wasn't going to shoot," is the first thing he says when he walks in. The second is, "you're lucky your aim sucks".

"I really thought you were going to kill her, and I was just scared. I swear, I'm not like that, usually."

"I know. And that's why you're not going to jail." He pauses before adding, "But you're handing in your gun and badge."

Everyone else gets a slap on the wrist. You wonder if it's a literal slap when you see Brad walk out of the interrogation room looking like he's on the verge of tears, but you find out from Leah that the combined interrogation of Chris and Jill will scare you straight.

"Pun intended?" you ask.

"No," she says, but a hint of a smile peeks through.

She tells you that she hates goodbyes before she hugs you. You open your driver's side door and she stops you.

"Wait," she says, and you turn to face her one last time. "Before you go, I wanted to tell you that I… I lo-"

"I know," you say, cutting her off. "Don't say it."

You climb into your car, but before closing the door, you say, "but just so you know, I would've said it back."

The sunset doesn't look as beautiful when you drive off into it alone.

[s-4pphics]

dial. 5 (e.w.)

wc;cw: 3.9k, fratadjacent!ellie, all ocs r black coded<3, angst, weed, nun crazy… yet😝😝😝😝

SEVEN MONTHS LATER 

You’re finally a fucking senior! Joy to the queer world! 

After barely surviving your last term due to heartbreak and an intense depressive episode, the future ahead of you brightened the second you stepped into your aunt's home. Your summer was the highlight of your year… maybe even your life. What had you done in your past life to be blessed with such an amazing auntie? 

She took you any and everywhere you wanted to go. You never imagined Iceland would be the home country you wished to be born in. The mountains, the bright green grass, the fucking waterfalls you only dreamt of diving into. You became a mermaid the second you and Niah jumped into the Reykjadalur River. 

Every fiber of your being rejuvenated after your much needed break, and you were ready to get through your last year without chips on your shoulder. Fuck everyone from your past!

Moving in was always the worst part of the year. As much as you loved decorating, you never fully threw yourself into it until your third week on campus. Your fairy lights would have to sit in their box until you got your schedule in order. 

You and Niah trekked back and forth from your dorm to your auntie’s truck, hauling in box after box until your arms burned. Your back was already killing you. 

“Fucking son of a bitch— “

You interrupted Niah’s exhausted exclamations, “Swear ja— “

“Bitch, fuck you! I'm grown!” She dropped the last box near your work desk before slumping onto your chair. 

“Alright, my loves!” Your aunt entered your shared room with bags of new bedding. “This is the last of it. Need help making your bed?” 

You blankly stared at your aunt, and she smiled slyly, “Don’t look at me like that! You’re my baby!” 

You shook your head, snagging the neatly wrapped blankets from her hands, tossing them to the floor and engulfing her in the tightest hug you could muster. 

“I love you,” you mumbled into her shoulder. 

“I love you, baby. You’re almost done, you got this,” she kissed your cheek a dozen times before pulling back to plant more on your forehead. And nose. 

“Want me t’walk you out?” 

“I got it. Unpack and get comfy. I’ll see you in a couple months, okay?” She bopped your nose and you nodded, embracing her one last time before seeing her out. Niah gave her a goodbye hug and watched her dodge exhausted bodies down the hallway. 

Niah helped you set up your mattress topper and stuffed your pillow cases before your phone vibrated in your pocket. 

“Dina’s having din-din downstairs in a feeew,” you sing-songed, “Come with us?” You gave Niah the best puppy dog eyes you could muster, her lips pursing as she glared at you. 

“Girl… Y’all always wanna do shit when I’m fucking tired— “

“Pleeease.”

She sighed heavily before conceding, “If that bitch show up, I swear to god— “

“Dina wouldn’t let that happen,” you defended. 

“Oh, she wouldn’t? Really?” Niah scowled. 

“Stop,” you huffed in agitation, “Nothing that happened was her fault. She did what she could at the time.” 

Niah and Dina never explained to you why their relationship rifted, but you could only assume that it was due to you and Ellie falling out. They haven’t spoken since the beginning of summer, according to Niah, and it upset you greatly. You all used to fall asleep on the phone together every night during your scheduled breaks, and now you were hesitant to have them in the same room. 

You were never against Dina and Ellie being friends, even after she blew up on you; They grew up right next to each other, for fucks sake! They’ve always had a strong bond, and not even Dina’s loyalty to you would ruin that. Niah would just have to understand. 

Your best friend rolled her eyes, but dropped the tensity in her shoulders. 

“I’m not eating.” 

You pouted. 

“I don’t care about that,” she pointed at your stuck-out lip, “Get my purse.” 

The booth you shared with your friends in the dining hall was tense. 

You awkwardly forked your pasta while Niah and Dina stared at each other. You didn’t notice any hatred in their gaze, but the fire was there without a doubt. 

This was the worst dinner ever. 

“Sooo…” you twirled your noodles, “How was your summer, Dee!” 

“Fine.” 

Your bright smile dropped at her empty response, but you tried again. 

“Cool! Did anything exciting happen? I saw you and Jess traveled a bit!”

“We did.” 

Your eyes flickered between your two friends, their eyes distant. 

“Guys, c’mon! This is so stupid!” You nearly threw your fork on your plate. “Why are y’all even mad at each othe— “

“I’m not fucking mad— “

“Ask her that— “

Both friends brushed you off in their fit of rambles, and you exploded. 

“CAN Y’ALL STOP!” 

Neighboring students began to stare at all three of you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

“I don’t fucking care about Ellie anymore! I’m over it! It’s a new fucking year and I wanna move on, but I can’t if y’all keep bringing it up every time you see each other!” Niah tried to interrupt, but you cut her off with a stern finger. 

“I know why you’re mad and I appreciate you for caring, but Dina didn’t do anything wrong! You’re taking your anger out on the wrong person!” You took some breaths through your nose to calm yourself.

“I don't wanna see y’all fighting over this bullshit anymore. I mean it! Or we’re…” you looked between them with a harsh glare. “We’re gonna have a problem.” 

Moments of thick silence passed before you heard a gentle snicker. Followed by a snort. 

Boisterous laughter escaped both your friends while you stared in confusion. 

“What’s so funny?” 

Niah clapped her hands in hysteria. 

“Who the fuck are you tryna intimidate— “

“She pulls one little prank and suddenly her balls dropped. How cute! —“

Your head jerked in Dina’s direction, “Wait—” 

“Oh! You thought I didn’t know about that shit? Seriously?” Dina wiped away tears, “You’re nasty, by the way.” 

Heat washed over your entire body at her smirk and arched brow, “My baby’s a fucking freak! Who woulda thought.” 

Niah muttered whores around her straw with a shake of her head. 

“… You still got the vid, or.” 

“DINA!” 

More laughter erupted from your table, and your arms folded across your chest. Dina’s hand met Niah’s from across the table in a high five. 

“She does still have it, not gon’ lie— “

“SHUT UP, NIAH!” 

The second Ellie saw you, Niah, and Dina laughing through the windows of the canteen, she hit the fastest fucking U-turn of the century. Her appetite dissipated in an instant and she booked it towards the parking lot and into her car. 

She hated the physical reaction that took over her body whenever she saw you, the only thought on her mind being run, run, run. 

After her last… encounter with you and fucking Abby, she made a request to move to the complete opposite side of campus. She packed all her belongings and was out of her and Jesse���s shared place in the nick of time, surrounded by faces she wasn’t used to. The thought of switching schools raced through her mind days after it happened, but when she realized that you hadn’t had plans to broadcast your porno across the campus’ Snapchat, she was at ease.

At least for a little bit. 

Telling Dina and Jesse was, by far, one of the worst parts of this whole experience. 

She hadn’t mustered up the courage to do it until two months later when Abby brushed past her with a mere nod of acknowledgment at a house party. Her hazy mind thought that coming clean would erase some of the guilt she felt, but it was all for naught. 

All she got was a theoretical pie thrown at her face when both her best friends' exploded into the biggest laughing fit, she’d ever seen from them. They knew she deserved all the smoke she got from you and Abby after everything she did, and despite her attempts at being prideful, she knew she did too. 

You never came along when Ellie was around for the remainder of the term, and she didn’t know whether to be thankful or full of fucking shame. It became a bit of both overtime. 

She’d only seen you once after the sextape fiasco. It was during move-out week: your face was droopy and tired—probably due to finals— as you and your family hauled box after box into a truck. 

Ellie hadn’t had a reaction to anyone like that since her first fucking girlfriend. The sweaty hands, the swirls in her tummy, the jitters of her fingers. It all came back to her and she wanted to vomit. 

Looking as cuddly as you did that day shouldn’t be allowed. Ellie knew she didn’t deserve a hug from you, but she allowed her imagination to take over anyway, her subconscious completely engulfed by your scent and forgiveness. 

Ellie’s head rested on her steering wheel, her head banging against it and accidentally sounding the horn. 

Ellie’s never been in a relationship with someone who wasn’t selfish. She allowed people to take and take and take so much from her in the past, gladly accepting their overstepping and lack of boundaries if it meant she received their affection. It went on for so long until it abruptly halted and left her destroyed and alone. Her heart iced over after her last relationship went up in flames, and she vowed to keep it that way. If there’s no love, there’s no heartbreak. 

She thought she could do that to someone else. Prey on someone as sweet and comforting as you. 

But it didn’t work. You fucking cracked her. You’re a witch, and your pussy is godsent. 

Ellie brought out that side of you and she regretted it (despite the jerks in her clit every time she reminisced about your glittery tears), and she owed you the most respectable apology she’s ever given.

Ellie reached into her hoodie pocket and pulled up her phone, messages filled with students asking if she’s around to sell. She ignored them all and searched for your contact that she selfishly never deleted. 

Her thumb hovered over the unblock button. 

Ellie’s heart is racing and she thinks she might pass out. 

She got used to hearing the small ding from the bell of the Starbucks entrance that she hardly ever looks up at who’s waltzing in. 

When she heard you and your best friend’s laughter, she almost dropped to the floor to hide behind the service counter. She was not fucking prepared to see you. Nausea and butterflies stirred in her gut at the sound of your giggles. 

H-Have a good day, she cringed when her voice cracked, scribbling the customer's names on their cup before passing it down to the mixing station. 

The minutes that passed felt like years, endless seconds of anticipation of seeing you face to face for the first time in months. Her eyes scattered to the end of the lines where the two of you stood every two seconds, observing how you inched up the line. 

Until the two of you stood in front of her, Niah’s intense glare searing through her skin and shaking her bones. She shakily asked for both your orders, but you took over, answering for you and your roommate with your classic smile. You’re too sweet for your own good; She couldn’t imagine being this cordial in public with someone who did what she did. Said what she said. 

You looked fucking adorable: hair twisted, dangly earrings, glossy lips. Her hands wouldn’t stop as she scribbled your name on your cup and cake pop baggie. 

Niah was fucking grilling her, and rightfully so. Ellie’s shocked she didn’t reach over and strangle her with her bare hands. Her presence was a threat on its own, Jesus Christ. 

You swiped your student ID and yanked a stiff Niah by the arm over to the pick-up line, the wind sitting in Ellie’s lungs finally releasing. 

She peered over at the two of you as she collected the rest of the orders from caffeine-withdrawal students, anxiety pitting in her gut when she watched you snag your cup and bag, reading the messy scribbles she left at the bottom.  

hi. can we talk when you’re ready?

You had enough courtesy to hide the baggie from an already pissed Niah, and she was grateful. It gave her an inkling of hope before you frowned, your eyes surprised, then confused. Then angry. 

Ellie almost cried at the scoff that left your mouth when you shot her a pissed glare, before you snatched your dessert from its encasing, crumpled the paper and threw it into the trash by the exit. She watched the two of you leave with a heavy heart, embarrassment overtaking her when you refused to look back. 

Ellie couldn’t shake the feeling that you experienced this same disappointment whenever she shut you down previously, and it made her feel even worse. 

Ellie started seeing you everywhere you went after that: in the quad, on the way to class, even in the fucking library (a place she never went!), but you never seemed to notice her. She hadn’t been in the study center since she was a fucking sophomore, and she instantly remembered why when she caught a glimpse of you in your own world, headphones on as you scribbled down your notes. 

Remorse flooded her gut when she remembered the time, she dismissed your proposal of listening to a playlist you made for her a couple days after you fucked a couple times. She didn’t even know what artists you liked. 

Even after all this time, she refused to forget all the times she upset you, intentionally or not. 

The twisted part of her brain was already prepared to march over and speak with you, but she had enough sense to overpower her selfish desires. 

She managed to get past you without hassle, rushing onto the elevator to find her usual spot in the second-floor corner. It was her safe place whenever she came in here; She’ll never forget when she and Dina tripped balls atop the beanbags pressed up against the window. 

Going to the library was pointless; The thought of you and your sprinkled cupcakes dominated her mind for the rest of her study session. 

It was the best part of the entire year. 

The month of October has its own presence: it’s grand and dark, gloomy, fun. Evil. You would never wear bright orange on a normal day, but during October, you might as well be a pumpkin! 

All your friends were already in the Halloween spirit, baking and decorating some of the strongest edibles you’ve ever smelt in your damn life. You were shocked that none of Jesse’s neighbors called to complain about the loud scent. 

“You wanna hit?” 

You peered up at Abby’s invitation puff from her blunt with a polite smile and a shake of your head, “You know I have to drive that one home,” You pointed out an already wobbling Niah in the kitchen. 

Abby chuckled around her next puff, “They’re gonna go fucking crazy with those.” 

“I’m scared,” You huffed, “Niah literally turns into a fucking potato when she’s high. I can never get her to move anywhere.” 

Abby giggled at your eye roll while she ashed. 

Running into Abby after what happened last year was much different than you expected. 

After you two went your separate ways at the party, you assumed she would never want to see you again, blow off any invitations you had to hang out, go back to fucking Ellie like nothing happened, but she did nothing of the sort. 

She always waved you over when she saw you sitting by yourself, greeted you with the brightest smiles and warmest hugs, texted you first. She was everything you could’ve wanted from someone. From a partner. 

So why didn’t you feel that spark whenever she looked at you with those pretty, blue eyes? 

You could always be honest with Abby, so bringing up your predicament was easy. She took it with a grain of salt and told you not to worry because she’s still a whore. It’s college! Her energy always calmed you. 

Niah’s weight plopping down next to you broke your trance. She slumped onto your shoulder with a weak giggle of it’s October 3rd. 

You stared down at her blankly, “It’s the tenth, bonehead— “

“Shhh, shh, i-it’s October 3rd,” she sloppily pressed her index finger to your mouth. 

Abby’s laughter rang from next to you like bells in winter. 

Ellie was… sad. And felt like a fucking loser. 

She’d been lazily lying on her couch with her dab in hand, scrolling through Instagram and watching 5-minute crafts when she received a notification from Dina. 

She felt a subtle crack in her chest when she saw her best friend caption the post the ‘best time of the year 👻’. She was dawned in her usual witch's hat while Jesse had a pumpkin carving imprinted on his shirt, both decorating what she assumed to be laced sugar cookies. 

Her heart shattered when she scrolled through the slides and saw pictures of a slumped Niah, Abby with her tongue out and middle finger up, and you, eyes gentle and smile doll-like with two peace signs by your face. You looked so cozy under the yellow glow of the decorative lamp. So comfortable in the place she used to call home. 

… She’s never not received an invite to decorate edibles. Why was a lump growing in her throat? Her high was fucked. 

Another notification from Jesse’s Snap highlighted across the top of her screen. Her thumb tapped it without hesitation, and some tears fell from her eyes to her cheeks. 

It was a clip of you, Dina, and Jesse squeezing out icing from a tube onto a loudly snoring Niah’s face, snickering softly when the traces of sugar didn’t go where you wanted. 

Stick it up her nose!

Ellie’s body tensed when she recognized Abby’s low whisper in the background. That was definitely the final nail in her coffin. 

The Snap ended with Niah’s eyes peeling open like a zombie and your heavenly laughter. 

Ellie dropped her phone and sat up, resting her head atop the back of the couch, palms digging into her teary eyes. She tried to convince herself that she was angry, pissed the fuck off, ready to fight everybody, even her closest friends. But she wasn’t at all. 

She was lonely and sad, and no one was there to comfort her. 

Class dragged on the entire week leading up to Halloweekend. 

Your shoulders were heavy and slumped from exhaustion. What kind of professor assigns projects the week before Halloween? They’re pretending as if they’ve never been students before; They know you’re all getting faded soon! 

You and Niah were grinding in the library the entire week, perfecting your papers and presentations for the following week. You didn’t want anything to ruin this weekend. Distractions, be gone! 

You’ve dedicated a couple hours each day to prepping your costumes for Friday and Saturday. The excitement to adorn your fairy getup was nearly bursting through your eyes. You decorated your wings with sequins and glitter, made your own flower crown, and designed your own spirit guide by snipping and re-stuffing a Squishmallow. 

You were a little too antsy to start the weekend; Niah almost called Dina to help tape you down to a chair. 

You bolted down the crosswalk after your scheduled library visit, a bright grin on your face at the thought of showcasing your designs for your costume. Dina and Jesse are your best critics. 

You turned the corner and hit a hard chest, almost falling to the floor before a pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist. 

“Lookin’ for rings?” 

Your smile widened at the all too familiar voice, “What does that mean?” 

Abby separated from you with a gentle smile, pointing at your sky-blue sweatshirt, “Blue sweater… running… Sonic— “

“Oh fuck!” You paused before a lightbulb appeared atop your head. “Oh fuck! Sonic would’ve been such a cute costume— “

“Still stressing Niah out?” Her brow arched. 

“Of course! Dina and Jes are about t’get the same treatment!” You rushed past Abby, throwing her a wild wave, “I'll see you on Friday bitch!”

Her airy laugh aired behind you before you eased past departing students and into the apartment lobby. 

It’s almost impressive how much your mood can deplete due to one person. 

You instantly recognized Ellie’s back muscles over her muscle-tee, her tattoo sleeve completely exposed as she murmured to the receptionist. The bun at the back of her head was coming loose with each nod of approval she gave. 

Anger and embarrassment and sadness battled for power in your gut as you glared through her skin and down to her bones. And she must’ve felt it.

She spun at the sound of the door shutting, and her eyes immediately glossed over when they locked with yours. She looked like a deer caught in headlights before she whispered hey.

You ignored and looked behind her and greeted the familiar receptionist, “Hey, is Jesse home?” 

“Yeah, babe! You just missed him— “

“W-Wait— “

“Cool, thanks,” You didn’t hesitate to book it for the second entrance, Ellie’s urgent calls of your name ringing behind you. You heard her following you down the hall like a horse. 

She called your name out louder, “Fuck, wait, wait— “

You frantically pressed the up button on the elevator but it was for naught. 

You felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, “Hey— “

“Ellie, don’t fuckin’ touch me, I’m serious,” you spat. 

Her touch dropped, her hands raising in the air, “Okay, okay, I’m sorr— “

“You’re sorry? Really?” You scoffed. “Fuck off, bro.” 

… Where the fuck was this elevator?! You were this close to holding the button down until the doors opened. 

Ellie sighed, “No, I’ve… I've been meaning to talk to you. Can I— “

“I don’t give a fuck about anything you’re saying, genuinely,” You harshly turned to glare into her eyes. Her gorgeous, green eyes that, for the first time, seemed so soft for you. Desperate, and not lustful. 

She didn’t seem to care about your protests, “I know I fucked up and I was… awful— “

The dings sounding from the elevator sounded like alarms. 

“Ellie, please, I’m begging you, just leave me the fuck alone,” Rageful tears flooded in your eyes. “Get the fuck away from me! Just g-go away!” 

Ellie’s small glimmer of hope died in her orbs, her body flinching at your tone as she peered to the floor with red cheeks. 

The doors peeled open after what seemed like a lifetime and you threw yourself between them, slamming the fourth-floor button like your life depended on it. You refused to look at Ellie as the doors shut, your heart pounding in your chest as you heaved, your hands resting on your knees. 

You vowed that absolutely nothing could ruin your weekend, but why was Ellie’s flushed cheeks and sniffly nose almost enough to make you fold? 

Almost. 

okkkaaaaayyyyy im switching shit up fr so excited to write the next part stay with me yall lemme cook lemme coooook

taggie waggies love yall down :3 @dyk3ang3l @iced-metal @sawaagyapong @kittnii @mariefilms @villainousbear @pick-me-up-im-scared @dragonasflowercrown @elsmissingfingers @bugaboodarling @freakumfilm @robinismywifee @ohitsjordynn @womenofarcane @inf3ct3dd @nil-eena @kaispaws @letsreadsomesins-shallwe @yuckyfucky @machetegirl109 @ximtiredx @mattm1964 @liabadoobee @tfuuka @aouiaa @lastofvenus @iove-bbb

teaser, one, two, three, four

[1daroaceficfest]

Welcome to the 1D Aro/Ace Fic Fest! - Currently Posting!

A One Direction Fic Fest centred around all the identities on the aromantic and asexual spectrum

1D Aro/Ace Fest Round I - Masterpost

🩶 Listening to Intuition by lululawrence / @lululawrence = Louis/Harry - Zayn/Liam | 5K | Not Rated | fic post =

Now that Zayn was laying it all out like this, Louis got to wondering… could it be possible that he was never able to get a really good handle on what exactly aromanticism was because he’d never felt romantic attraction, and without that key piece, how could he possibly figure out what it truly meant to be lacking it? Louis has a good grasp of his own identity and how all the pieces of him fit together in his life as a queer man in a committed relationship with his partner. Or so he thinks until his favorite aroace TikTok creator shows him another possibility he may have previously overlooked.

🩶 I'd Rather You (Hold Me) by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed = Zayn/Louis | 14K | Teen And Up | fic post =

He frowns when he hears the dial tone. By now, he knows just how many times the sound will come through, tinny on the speakers, before it clicks over to voicemail, and yet he still feels his heart trip over itself whenever the voice first comes through. “Hi, you’ve reached Zayn-” He sighs, rubbing at his forehead, where his headache always tends to bloom when he’s stressed. “Fuck’s sake,” he grumbles, disconnecting the call and resisting the childish urge to redial immediately, knowing that if Zayn’s not picking up now, he won’t no matter how much Louis bugs him. It’s just - this isn’t like them. It isn’t like Zayn to dodge his calls for days, not unless he’s seriously incapacitated or dead, but if that were the case, Louis would’ve heard. Because Louis is his emergency contact, for one, and both their families know how much they mean to one another. Someone would’ve called, if something had happened, unless Zayn was dead in his own house, and, oh God, what if Zayn’s dead in his own house and Louis has been mentally calling him a dickhead while he’s rotting on the bathroom floor? Spoiler: Zayn isn't dead. There is however, suddenly a baby.

🩶 a little, then suddenly by HoldingOnToChaos / @holdingontochaos = Louis/Harry | 34K | Explicit | fic post =

Written for the Aro/Ace Fest 2024. Prompt 12: Gray-Asexual (demisexual) Harry falls in love and gets attracted to his best friend Louis after fifteen years of friendship.

🩶 A ROad and A ROmance to self discovery by rockstarlwt28 / @rockstarlwt28 = Louis/Harry | 3K | General | fic post =

Louis Tomlinson, a motivational speaker for the LGBTQ plus community finds himself confronted with a student who is determined to derail his presentation. Reaching boiling point and landing in hot water, Louis seeks out a place of serenity. A welcomed presence of additional tranquillity and renowned first class student Harry Styles, accompanies him. Prompt: Louis creates a “guide” to aro/ace for a college presentation and Harry (who had been previously doubting his sexual orientation) realises that he might be aro/ace.....also bonus if you could make it an interactive presentation where there is this one asshole who is constantly arguing with Louis about this not being a sexuality and saying bullshit like 'sexual love is the only form of love' and 'you are just boring' but Louis gives witty comebacks and shuts him up. In the end, Harry and Louis have a chat in a library where Louis helps him with coming to terms with his sexuality.

🩶 It's Not That I Don't Want You by parmahamlarrie / @parmahamlarrie = Louis/Harry | 12,5K | Explicit | fic post =

It begins with a benign comment during a night in watching a show with his lovely boyfriend, Louis, and leads Harry to a months long journey to understand himself better. Will Harry figure out what makes him feel so different from everyone else? And will he find the courage to tell his boyfriend? Or a character study into Ace Harry with the most supportive boyfriend, Louis.

🩶 I Wish You Knew I Love You by SuperNoah / @super--noah = Louis/Harry | 7K | Mature | fic post =

When Harry and Louis met at 16 they instantly became best friends. They still are, even now as they're both finishing their master's at Manchester University, but Harry's jealous boyfriend is trying to drive a wedge between them. As Harry's relationship takes a turn for the worse Louis realises he's fallen in love with Harry. Will Harry stay with James? Or will his jealousy end them for good? Does Louis even have a chance with Harry if he ever becomes single? Demisexual/demiromantic Louis realises something massive about his feelings for his best friend, Harry, over Christmas. But Harry is with James and seems to be happy. Louis would never have a chance with Harry anyway. Harry likes sex and Louis doesn't, he never has and probably never will.

🩶 Just The Way You Are by enchantedlandcoffee / @enchantedlandcoffee = Louis/Harry | 780 | General | fic post =

"Do you miss it?" "Miss what, love?" He could hear the frown in Louis’ voice, and tried to subtly release soothing pheromones into the kitchen "You know...sex and all that." "Where's this coming from, Haz?" Or, the one where Harry confesses his worries, and Louis reassures him.

🩶 Somebody to Love (in the Right Way) by The_Halcyonic_Lachesist / @chai-hat-tea = Louis/Harry | 21K | Mature | fic post =

He fell on his bed, happy tears flowing from his eyes. For the first time, he felt seen. He felt valid. He felt good within his skin. He wanted to dance with joy, for he finally found the answers he didn’t know he needed. Or a story about discovery, acceptance, and happily ever afters.

🩶 Stronger Than the Tide by haztobegood / @haztobegood = Louis & Harry | 3,3K | General | fic post =

The time Louis had spent talking with Harry in the cave had flown by. He was still unsure where the time had gone. Maybe it was because this was the first real connection Louis had made in years. Love and sex did not interest Louis, and it became harder to find good friends. It was different with Harry. Their conversation flowed effortlessly without pressing for more. Despite the hours they spent together in the cave, Louis wanted to keep talking, to share more of himself, and to learn more about Harry. He hoped their paths would cross again soon.

🩶 Let Your Tears Fall (No I Won't Judge You) by LiveLaughLoveLarry (SoLongAndThanksForAllTheFic) / @loveislarryislove = Louis/Harry | 7,9K | Explicit | fic post =

“I want to feel good," Harry says. "I want you to feel good. I just… I don’t know what that looks like.”  Louis nods. “That’s fair,” he says. “Always a bit of a learning curve, figuring out what you like and what you don’t.” He rubs his chin. “What if we just… talk through it? Instead of doing it?”  Harry blinks. “What do you mean?” he says. “I don’t – I just don’t know what-” “I know,” Louis says. “It’s okay.” He brushes his hand down Harry’s cheek, soft and gentle. “I can start,” he says. “Tell you about what I imagine us doing together. And anytime you feel like something isn’t right – you can stop me, and we can figure out a different path.” Harry nods slowly. “Okay,” he says. “I can try.” Four times Harry cries during sex. And four times Louis is right there beside him, giving him all the comfort and support and validation he needs.

If you have any questions feel free to reach out via ask or send an email to 1daroaceficfest@gmail.com

[queenie-ofthe-void]

The Babysitter Chronicles - Sinclair

Steve POV 5+1 (immediately follows s2) || wc: 3.7k || cw: check the tags

Henderson || Mayfield pt 1 / Mayfield pt 2 || Sinclair || Wheeler || Byers || +1 Hopper ao3

Can be read as a standalone

~~~

Evil monsters from a hell dimension are easy to spot, like a dog with a face that blooms open to eat your cat, or a monster clawing it’s way out from the ceiling. Everything about them feels wrong on base-level instinct. But all you have to do is just get it in your sights, plant your feet, and swing for the fences. Dodging helps too, Steve supposes. 

Monsters like Billy Hargrove, however, are harder to spot. They look and sound like everyone else if you’re not paying close enough attention. The guy radiated violence, and all Steve could hope for was to stay out of his way. To stand off to the side and hope Billy would pass him by, sight unseen.

After what happened to Lucas, Steve can’t afford to stand by anymore. There’s more kids out there like Billy. Fucking christ he used to be friends with those kinds of people. He thought it was all just meaningless jokes and empty words– Steve and all his friends and his family and their neighbors in the Loch, it was all just jokes.

But then he’d called Jonathan Byers queer, laced with venom and meant to sting. As Jonathan’s fist hit its mark, Steve finally realized that maybe the people in his life weren’t just joking. He’d started to understand what they actually meant, how to look past the casual tone and see it for what it truly meant. 

Since then, Steve’s worked to separate himself from people like Tommy and Billy, like his parents. That still doesn’t mean everyone believes he’s trying to change, or that he’ll be forgiven. But that doesn’t matter, he’ll spend the rest of his life making amends regardless. Steve will do whatever it takes to be the best person he can be for the kids.

Anxiety churns through his gut as he knocks on the front door. The cold November breeze ruffles his hair. It sends a shiver down his spine and he finds himself bouncing on the balls of his feet to shake out both the chill and his nerves.

After a few moments, a woman with a delicate heart-shaped face and stylishly short black hair opens the door with a warm smile. He never saw Mrs. Sinclair in the moments after it was all over, everyone congregated in the Byers’ living room exhausted, sharing information, and tending each other's wounds. Steve had slipped out the back just as Claudia had arrived for Dustin. 

Her smile falters, only for a moment, before she overcomes the surprise at her unexpected guest. She smoothes her hands down the front of her blue jeans then crosses them over her chest, wrapping the crochet shawl on her back tight around her shoulders. It’s cute, patterned with little yellow and green flowers with dark brown in between.

He smiles awkwardly, bringing his hand up in a wave only to abort the movement halfway through because she opened the door and she’s waiting, just say something.

“Hello, dear,” she prompts, saving him from his spiral by following a simple script. The things you’re supposed to say when some random boy knocks on your door late into the evening but doesn’t say anything.

“Hello, Mrs. Sinclair,” his voice cracks, and he winces. “Umm, my name’s–”

“Steve Harrington,” she says, not unkindly. “Yes, I know.”

He swallows, desperately maintaining an appropriate amount of eye contact. On top of everything else, that sentence alone could mean so much.

Even though Steve’s never met Mrs. Sinclair, he knew of her from his mother. He remembers listening to her rehash the events of whatever social event they’d both attended over dinner, notable only because it was one of few occasions his father would actually listen while his mother talked.

She was a little outspoken during book club.

Richard, you should’ve seen her new hairstyle.

Sue wore a very interesting outfit today.

His parents have nothing in common, but they both love tearing down others to feel better about themselves. Sue Sinclair eventually quit attending the same clubs, and his mother adjusted her sights to new targets. Steve can only hope that Mrs. Sinclair is referring to things Lucas might have mentioned about him, and not because of Beth Harrington and her luncheon book clubs.

“Right, yeah,” he says. “I was hoping I could talk to you and Mr. Sinclair about Lucas. About what happened that night at the Byers’ house.”

His gaze has drifted back down to the pavement, and he can’t help running a hand through his hair only for it to pull at the stitches on his forehead. They would’ve been healed by now if he didn’t keep pulling them out. If he could keep his hands in his pockets like Dustin keeps telling him.

It’s dark, and it’s quiet. It’s silent for so long he expects to be turned away, until he hears a soft sigh.

“Come in then,” she says, stepping to the side to open the door fully. “I’m sure we’ll all want to sit down for this.”

Even on a dark, cold winter night, the sunshine yellow walls help the home feel warm and bright– to match the family inside, he thinks fondly. Steve spots multiple science fair plaques hung up in the living room and a fridge covered in what look like pages of meticulously colored pink and purple horses. A stark contrast to his own home, lifeless and lackluster.

A small cough breaks him of his reverie, and he turns to find her carefully watching him. She’s eyeing him like he’s a code she can crack, making him even more nervous. Her lips quirk up at the corner of her mouth and she gestures for him to sit at the table.

“Would you like anything to drink, Steven? There’s lemonade, tea, and milk, and there’s pop out in the garage.” She moves into the kitchen, the hanging cabinets obscure her face. Her voice is pleasant and genuine.

“Just water, thank you, Mrs. Sinclair.” She sets the water glass next to him and leaves the room only to return a moment later with Mr. Sinclair. He’s sporting a wide smile, but his eyes are strained. 

“Steve Harrington, isn’t that right,” he asks. He gently guides his wife to a chair at the opposite corner of the table, pulling it out for her and softly kissing her cheek. She smiles at Steve and rolls her eyes. The normalcy of the domestic gesture causes Steve’s cheeks to burn and he averts his eyes. He’s been here all of five minutes and has seen more love within the Sinclair home than he’s ever seen within his own. 

“Uh, yes sir,” Steve responds as Mr. Sinclair takes the seat opposite of him, like this is an interview for a high class job. Which, he figures, it kind of is. Except the man’s wearing blue flannel pajama pants and an oversized grey hooded sweatshirt with a Pacers logo on the chest. It helps Steve relax slightly, the perceived casualness hopefully setting the tone for the situation.

“So what brings you by? Sue mentioned something about what happened at the Byers’ house.”

“Yeah, I just umm–” he swallows around a lump clogging his throat– “I’ve already talked with Ms. Henderson and Mrs. Hargrove about being Dustin and Max’s official babysitter, and I’m really hoping I can do the same for Lucas.” In through his nose, out through his mouth. In, and out.

“I’m not sure what all Lucas told you, but the kids got into a lot of trouble that night. Dustin came looking for Mike to help find his lost cat, but he found me instead. I wasn’t even supposed to be there.” He pauses, replaying the cover story in his head. “Lucas and Max found us just before the pack of feral dogs did. We ended up ok, hitched a ride with Nancy and Jonathan back to the Byers’ house. Then that’s when Will got sick and they all left to go to the hospital.

“I didn’t know Billy was Max’s brother. She kept telling me, over and over, that she had to get home or her brother would kill her. I was too busy trying to keep the boys distracted– I should’ve listened to her. We heard the car pull in the driveway, and I knew straight away who it was.

“I told the kids to hide and I tried to convince him to leave, but he saw them. He pushed past me to get into the house, but by the time I got back inside he had Lucas pinned to the wall and– I’ve never seen someone look like that before. The way Billy looked at Lucas– I know I was a bully, but I’ve never– Billy hated him.”

He’s prepared for this, even done it twice already like he said. He’d hoped it’d be easier this time around, yet he’s still just as tense. But the Sincair’s sit patiently across from him, waiting for him to continue. So he musters his courage, takes deep breaths, and pushes on.

“If it wasn’t for Max,” he plows forward, “I’m not sure what would’ve happened. She knocked Billy out while he was on top of me. We managed to take his car and get out. When we came back later, he was gone.”

Steve’s eyes fall to his lap and he wrings his hands together, rubs them harshly against the tops of his thighs to feel the rough denim scratch against his palms– to keep himself from hyperventilating, to calm down, to breathe. Anything to show these nice and normal people that he’s stable enough to care for their son. That he’s not the kind of person to panic when nothing’s wrong. 

“What about the parents?” Mrs. Sinclair asks. When he looks up, there’s a comforting smile on her face that doesn’t meet her eyes, still filled with a hesitancy Steve can’t pinpoint.

He knew the question was coming, yet he still finds it difficult to answer. “I feel like everyone in town knows The Harrington’s,” he says, voice laced with distaste for his own last name.

Mr. Sinclair’s lips form a fine, thin line across his carefully restrained face, disappearing under his  trimmed mustache. Mrs. Sinclair reaches out to hold her husband’s hand again, rubbing her fingers across his knuckles. She still holds Steve’s gaze, unwavering, as he tries to explain himself.

“I can’t ever make up for what my parents have said or done. All I can promise is that I’m trying not to be like them. And those kids,” he stops, digging deep for the right words to explain emotions he’s never had to articulate before. “I feel more like myself around the kids than I ever have with anyone else. It’s like they give me a purpose. They matter to me, and I’m not really used to that. I’d do anything to keep them safe.”

They’re quiet for what feels like ages, leaving him waiting for them to pass their judgements, weighing his heart. “I’m glad you’ve told us this,” Mrs. Sinclair replies, “but that’s not what I was asking, hun.”

Steve racks his brain, sorting through his words to find what he’s missed. The confusion must show on his face.

“The girl, Max,” Mr. Sinclair fills in, “what about her parents?”

Steve’s confusion only worsens as he tries to reason out why they’re asking about Max’s family and not his own. The Harrington’s have terrorized this town for decades, and the Hargrove’s moved in less than six months ago.

“Max?” Steve asks. “Why– I don’t understand.”

“Steven,” she starts again, “we know all about the kind of people Beth and Richard Harrigton are, and we know the kind of boy you used to be,” he smile softens, finally reaching her eyes as they shine at him with a sad affection. He feels bare, and moves his gaze to just over her right shoulder instead. “Just because your parents are bad people, doesn’t mean you are. And just because you’ve made mistakes, doesn’t make you a bad person. Especially when it’s so obvious how hard you’re trying to fix them.”

“But this young girl, Max, that Lucas has been spending time with. She’s new to town, from California, right?” Mrs. Sinclair asks. Steve nods.

“We don’t know them,” she says, her smile melted into a frown. “Lucas and the boys talk about her well enough, and she sounds like a sweet kid.” She blinks, hard, and Steve realizes she’s trying not to cry.

“If her parents are like her brother, Billy,” Mr. Sinclair picks up her train of thought, “Lucas could be in danger just by being her friend, Steve. If her parents are anything like that, I can’t have our son spending time with her. It won’t matter whether you’re there to protect them or not. There are some things in this world you can’t save them from.”

There’s nothing he can say that’ll meet the gravity of their questions, except sit in their beautiful, warm, yellow kitchen and process the small fraction of their world they’ve laid plain. He’s imagining Billy catching them at the movies, sharing a popcorn bucket and a soda with two straws. He can’t help but morbidly wonder what would happen if Neil passed them on the street with Max riding on the back of Lucas’s bike. 

Even if Steve were there with them, they’d still be seen. He can’t be around all the time, won’t always be there to help. Shoving down the panic at that thought, he leans back in his chair and runs a hand through his hair and yanks at the strands. The stitches rip from his scalp, and the sting of it keeps him present.

“Her stepdad, Neil, is the problem,” Steve starts. “I haven’t met him, but he seems– I think he’s the reason Billy is the way that he is. I’ve heard him yelling from the driveway when I pick Max up sometimes.” 

His thoughts stray to last week, standing in the driveway, half out of the car trying to decide if he should go knock or stay and wait. The shouts were hard to ignore. As Steve finally decided knocking would be worth the risk of confrontation, Max burst out the front door, red-faced with bloodshot eyes, and her jaw clenched tight. Words like ‘spoiled’ and ‘ungrateful brat’ floated between the snowflakes after her, carried along by the frigid evening.

“Max’s mom seems alright,” Steve says. Beth Harrington’s years of training kicks in and Steve falls back on typical midwest niceties. “Susan loves Max, and she’s the one who agreed to let me watch her instead of Billy. I think she knows that their house isn't– great. She lets Max stay with me a lot. Hell, half the time she practically lives with me.”

He knows Dustin’s happy when Steve’s around, and he hopes eventually the rest of the kids would eventually feel the same way. Max likes having him around too, but Steve thinks she might need him more than the others do. Because unlike The Party– but very much like himself– she doesn’t have anyone or anywhere safe to escape. 

He never had a person waiting in the driveway with the car running, ready to take him away. With Max, Steve gets to be the person he needed when he was her age. 

Steve sighs, resistant to the decision he’s come to, but hopefully the Sinclairs will understand. He meets their gazes, a solemn look from both of them tells him maybe he’s easier to read than he thought.

“I want them all to be together, but when it comes down to it, the boys all have their families to fall back on. Max– she doesn’t have that. So I can’t leave her behind– I won’t.” Steve hesitates, closing his mouth before he oversteps.

“But?” Mr. Sinclair prompts, eyeing him across the table.

Steve considers his words carefully before saying, “I think keeping them apart would be a mistake. You know Lucas won’t stop trying to see Max. He really cares about her, and the way she looks at him–I don’t think you could keep them apart no matter how hard you try.” He sighs, anxious he’s undoing all the trust he’s gained tonight. “And it’s like you said, right? Just because someone’s family is all bad, doesn’t mean you’re like them. We– I mean, Max– can be different. Better.”

They glance at each other, but when Mr. Sinclair opens his mouth to respond, a blur of red and blue crashes into Steve’s side, almost toppling him out of the kitchen chair. All he can see are fingers entwined together across his chest and small arms covered in red and blue rocket ships. Of course Lucas would wear nerdy pajamas, it’s so goddamn adorable. Just another reminder that Steve is so utterly screwed for these kids.

“Lucky,” Mrs. Sinclair admonishes, “what are you doing out of bed?” She stands and moves over to her son, who clutches Steve’s chest like it’ll keep him from being pried away and dragged back to his room.

“You can’t keep me from hanging out with Max,” he shouts, muffled by his face pressed into Steve’s shoulder. “She belongs to The Party now, just like Steve. And we don’t leave anyone behind. Ever.”

Something he might think is fondness balloons in his ribs at Lucas’s admission. Steve hadn’t really considered himself included in The Party, as Dustin explained it. He always assumed it was mostly just the kids, plus Nancy and Jonathan because of Mike and Will. He’s more like an accessory, if anything at all. A guy on the fringes, brought in by random chance. 

“I want Steve to be my babysitter, and I want Max to be my friend,” he answers.

“Son,” his dad says, who stands up to place his hand on his son’s shoulder, “we’re talking to Steve about this.”

“No,” Lucas interrupts. He pops his head up to look at them, but doesn’t loosen his grip around Steve’s shoulders. “You don’t get it. Steve’s not like Billy and neither is Max. Max is the coolest. She’s nice and funny and laughs at my jokes. And Steve gives rides in his super fancy car. He lets them hang out at his house after school. Sometimes he even buys us candy and gives us extra quarters for the arcade.”

Mrs. Sinclair clears her throat, a very motherly excuse me, you did what? Steve realizes she’s teasing Lucas, the slight smirk on her face giving the game away. He gives Lucas a gentle nudge, and chuckles when Lucas tries his best to back pedal. 

“I mean,” the poor boy stammers, “he never buys us candy. Only, like, apples and stuff.”

His mom laughs and his dad gives his shoulder a slight shake, bringing a smile to Lucas’s face. He knows the world will be tough for Lucas, but Steve can’t help but think how lucky the kid is to have a family like this. Safe and loving, comfortable enough to tease each other, and carefree enough for affection in front of company.

“Ok, Lucky, we’ll think about it, alright? Now let’s get to bed,” Mrs. Sinclair says, gently leaning Lucas into her arms and guiding him away from the table. He groans, burying his face into his mother’s stomach as she laughs. “You’ve got to get up early for school tomorrow, you know that.”

“Mom,” Lucas draws out the word, whining obnoxiously, “don’t call me that when people are here.”

Steve listens to Lucas’s lamentations as the two disappear down the hallway. Mr. Sinclair gives Steve’s shoulder a hard pat and firm shake, just like he had to his own son. Steve’s throat clogs slightly, and the gesture makes him think of Hopper.

Mr. Sinclair says on the back of an exasperated sigh, “Lucas is a good kid. When he likes something– or someone– it’s fierce. He gets consumed with whatever he sets his sights on, almost like it’s all he can think about sometimes.”

“Oh honey,” Mrs. Sinclair chuckles at her husband, stepping back into the room. “Remember when Mike first showed him Dungeons and Dragons? Stayed up all night for weeks working on his character even after we grounded him for it. It’s been years and it’s still all he talks about.”

Mr. Sinclair laughs, shaking his head, but when he looks back to Steve there’s resolve scrunched between his brows. He turns to his wife who nods, a soft smile spreads across her face. “Unfortunately for us, I think you might be right, Steve. If Lucas and the boys have already decided Max is their friend– and if what you’re implying about the two of them is true– I don’t think we could keep him from seeing her. No matter how dangerous it might be. That boy will always do what he thinks is right, consequences be damned.”

“You can watch him this week, and we’ll see how it goes,” Mrs. Sinclair says, her smile now wide and loving, bright enough to match the home her family has built.  “All we ask is that you keep us in the loop, and he stays away from the Hargrove’s.”

“The kids talk about you constantly,” Mr. Sinclair continues, “and Claudia only has good things to say about you– Max too. We only got to meet her when we drove her home that night, but it’d be nice if we got another chance. Maybe sometime next week we can have the both of you over for dinner to get to know each other.” 

Butterflies erupt in Steve’s stomach at the giddy realization that they’re willing to take a chance on him. To trust him with something as important as their son’s safety is a blessing Steve thought he’d never be worthy of.

They work out the scheduling details, and Steve leaves feeling higher than he has in months. He’ll do everything he can to prove to the Sinclair’s that he deserves the chance they’re giving him, that neither he nor Max are their parents, and that Lucas will be happier for it. He can’t imagine how Lucas would’ve felt if kept away from Max, but now it doesn’t matter. Steve can keep his kids under one roof.

Three down, three more to go.

[starsandgutters]

ok, look, give me a fake dating with kevaaron and my life will be YOURS. (Please)

okay, LISTEN- 😭

It’s actually a travesty I haven’t written this already considering it’s like my fave trope ever. Like I want to read the fake dating KevAaron fic I would write too fr LMAO

I actually !! Have !! A loose !! Concept !! For one !! But I haven’t written anything yet so I cannot offer you an excerpt for WIP Wed 😔 I can give the overview tho

Set when Aaron’s in med school/maybe his residency, and Kevin is playing pro.

Also welcome to the SALU (Shannen’s Aaron’s Literary Universe) where a Frequent Fixture is now his hugely queer biology study/friend group that Katelyn dragged him into. Like, as much as I am a big believer in Aaron & Seth & Matt being bros if given the chance, the unfortunate reality of the situation is Seth’s being deceased before they made amends makes that quite difficult in canon settings. And Aaron is just too much of a skeptic to be cracking the ouija out. Now with Matt, I think they did get on really well when they were roomies, but their lives head in separate directions after college. So. I want Aaron to have friends. That are not connected to his family. And I use OCs very sparingly as I know the reason people come to fanfic is for familiarity and characters they already know/love, but Bio Bunch™️ were well received and consequently I will be recycling them forever thanks (Aaron dated nurse Dylan in my sapphic WIP, Miles’ family adopted Jean and Elodie in my KevNeil AU so now he’s Jean’s lil brother, like literally they’re my standby bonus characters now)

All this to say. Aaron very much appreciates having friends. He was not very good at making them when he was little and going through the worst of Tilda’s abuse, and his teens were lost to a haze of drugs and pain where he had people he would speak to at school/on the team, but no one he was really friends with. Then he gets a brother! But oh no. Andrew doesn’t want him to have friends either and also Aaron kind of feels like he hates him so he’s still alone ☹️ - so to finally be at a point in his life where he has a close knit group of friends, people who actually like him and want to spend time with him for some reason!, it means a lot to him. He would not want to risk damaging those friendships. Especially because he’s not sure how to make new ones, he kind of just absorbed these ones via osmosis through Katelyn.

Which is why he panics when Dylan asks him out.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” he had asked, and Aaron, thinking nothing of it, had said: “No.” Because he doesn’t. He hasn’t dated anyone since Katelyn. Like, he’s been on his med school GRIND, y’know? Who has the time. And who can compare to her anyway?

“Would you maybe like to go out with me sometime?” Dylan then said, and listen, it’s not like Aaron is proud of what he did, but he panicked. He saw his friendless future flash in front of his eyes because he hurt Dylan’s feelings and it’s all awkward between them now and Aaron ends up iced out because he wrecked the vibe, and he panicked!!!

“Oh. Uh. I have a boyfriend though.”

And why the fuck did he even say that what the fuck what the fuck?!

But y’know it worked because Dylan got a sad little smile but nodded and said “lucky guy” and Aaron was like PHEW! Y’know, bullet DODGED! Except somehow this gets around their group, because wow one thing about having friends is apparently you’re not allowed secrets 🙄 (not that his relationship would usually be a secret but considering it is NONEXISTENT he would have appreciated people NOT KNOWING)

Of course Katelyn is on him like a rash because when has she ever let him get away with anything ever there is no peace in this world for him as long as they share space (he loves her more than anything). Immediately quizzing him on WHO he could be dating, because she knows he doesn’t really talk to anyone outside their friend group (because she knows everything about him shit how is he going to lie to her), and she is DYING to know who he has been hiding! (Like shit Kate me too guess we’re gonna find out together)

Consequently the panic continues as he speed skims through his mental catalogue of all the people he has ever actually communicated with who are not A) his family or B) already in committed relationships. And, listen, ok, here’s the thing. There are just not an awful lot of people in Aaron’s life who fit the cross reference of those categories. Really the only person he can think of is Kevin, and then he’s blurting out his name before the consequences of that action occur to him (🦋🦋🦋) because Katelyn KNOWS Kevin so there really should have been a C) someone Katelyn doesn’t know (though on reflection Aaron’s search results would have thrown up entirely blank with this addition)

“Aw, you always did have a crush on him.”

“What are you talking about?” No, because what is she talking about??? “No I didn’t.”

“You’re dating him now, why are you getting so defensive?”

He’s not getting defensive. He just thinks it’s an absolutely insane implication to suggest he has or ever will have feelings for Kevin Day. Except he can’t say that. Since that’s his fictional boyfriend now. Fictional on the boyfriend part. Kevin Day is unfortunately very real. A fact that has plagued Aaron’s existence ever since Wymack first brought that broken stray back to PSU.

Enter Kevin, truly baffled by this entire situation.

“Why didn’t you just tell him you’re not interested in guys?”

“Well, Katelyn knows I’m bi, so I couldn’t say that. Maybe he asked her first. Or she might mention it if it comes up.”

“Wait, you’re bi? Since when?”

“Since birth probably, can we focus on the actual issue at hand here.”

But like. This is Aaron. Aaron has never particularly been one to mince words. Kevin doesn’t know why he doesn’t just tell Dylan he’s not into him. Kevin’s been on the receiving end of Aaron’s attitude and bad manners more than often enough. 🤨 But after the truly painful and pitiful display of Extremely Emotionally Constipated Asshole Aaron Minyard trying to explain his newfound value for the Powers of Friendship, Kevin eventually agrees to be his fake date to a party with his friends. Like, whatever. It’s a small event with some med students, it’s not like they even have to be overly affectionate, or that this will get out anywhere. Then they can use Kevin’s busy work schedule as a reason he’s never around, and after a few months Aaron will just pretend they broke up. Easy.

Except photos get leaked to the media, outing Kevin. Instead of the career suicide he expects, he actually gets positive feedback. His PR rep encourages him to bring Aaron to a charity gala for a children’s mental health charity, thinking it could be positive rep for the kids to see a happy older queer couple as queer kids have higher rates of mental health issues. The team are doing some outreach with the actual kids before the gala - going down to play some games with them - Kevin doesn’t expect Aaron to come to this. He can just show up to the event, y’know, it’s basically just a free night out. They’ll just postpone their fake break up another couple of months.

But Aaron is like, uhm, excuse me. Did you even think to ask if I would want to come along to meet the kids? You know I’m going into peds, right? I’d much rather come hang out with the kids than have to rub shoulders with your snotty famous rich friends all night. Of course I’m coming to both of them.

So Aaron does come. Where Kevin is awkward and fumbling and never quite sure of the right thing to say (he never interacted with kids even when he was one???), Aaron is a natural. He’s excellent with them. They all love him within the first ten minutes, and it’s weird, because who is this? This is not an Aaron that Kevin knows. This is not a side of him he’s ever seen at school or around their family. It’s making Kevin feel all weird inside. In SOFT and GUSHY ways.

So they go to the Gala and both get a little tipsy, and whoops. Of course everyone thinks they’re a couple, so they’ve been given a room with one bed (because one bed trope supremacy ALSO 🙏🏻). Kevin thinks Aaron’s gonna be mad or upset, but Aaron’s giggly as he undresses. Which. Oh. Okay. Usually Aaron had weird hang ups about changing outside of the locker rooms. But now he’s. Shirtless. And his body has changed since college. Obviously. He doesn’t spend five days a week training anymore. He’s still kept some of his muscle in his arms and shoulders, and his legs have always been naturally strong, but he’s gotten a bit softer. Which Kevin realises he actually quite likes. And. Oh. Shit. Okay. He might actually be a bit attracted to Aaron. But. That’s fine. That won’t be a problem, right?

Right? 😐

ANYWAY THAT’S ALL I GOT FOR NOW. I simply can’t start another WIP until I finish some of the ones I got running. Like it would be fine if I could write things of a MODERATE length but I’ve never been chill about anything ever in my life and it’s too late to start now so I write excessively and I just. Cannot risk not finishing things by starting something else.

BUT SOME DAY. MAYBE. PROBABLY.

[three--rings]

So it's time for my "alt-right dudebro gamer" Dragon Age opinions.

(Note: I'm a 45 year old womanesque queer person who mostly plays indie and Japanese games.)

(To further my cred I was super excited to meet and hear Karen and Patrick Weekes talk about this game in development at Havencon a couple years ago...it's a small queer con in Austin.)

Dragon Age is my all-time favorite game series. I adored Inquisition, though DA2 has my favorite characters overall.

My opinions about the gameplay reveal are:

The environments and background graphics and effects look awesome.

The character design still bugs me quite a bit. The faces, ESPECIALLY the female faces look Disney/anime/Overwatchy in structure. The textures looks a lot better in game than in that trailer. I miss my Not Particularly Pretty Female Characters. They have sameface now.

There's something off in the lip syncing. Mouth animations looks weird. I can't define it more than that but I noticed it with multiple characters and it through me out.

Varric's hair annoys me SO MUCH. Someone pointed out he looks like Blackwall and now I CANNOT UNSEE.

The structure of the game/quests/whatever looks fine, this reminds me of all the moments running around Haven at the beginning of Inquisition. Some of my least favorite moments, but yanno.

The combat. I'm very worried about the combat.

I am 45 years old and I have arthritis in my hands from gaming and knitting. I gave up knitting to keep gaming. I cannot play some action games. Like Hades, I tried but simply couldn't continue more than an hour because of the pain. And that's with my hands in good shape these days.

Some action games I can play, but only on easy, and sometimes only if I limit my playtime. This is simply a reality I've had to get used to, but it does kill me sometimes.

Do you know how enjoyable it was to pick up Baldur's Gate 3 and be able to put it on a higher difficulty, to be able to actually struggle through combats and have to use tricks and my brain and try and fail and do it again, all without worrying about my hands? Makes me think I need to replay Origins again.

So I'm concerned. The combat in this game is focused on attack type, dodging, parrying, countering (according to bioware)....all stuff that requires quick and frequent button mashing, which is what I can't do. So I'm looking at a game that I can probably only play on easy and maybe even not then? In my favorite game series.

The question we don't really know is how different it will be from Inquisition, and I find it hard to tell from the footage since we can't see what buttons are being pressed. But I'll say that while I love it, Inquisition was the game that first hurt my hands. It made me aware of the problem and made me have to start limiting my activity.

IDK . I just hate the idea that devs have that turn based games can't do well and are inherently not exciting.

Fucking Solas motherfucking killed Bianca! That was the first time in these reveals I've been 100% reacting as a fan. NOT BIANCA!!!! HE MUST DIE!

Oh I did like the Rook in the gameplay and his face looked good. Again I feel like it's the character design and not the engine that is the problem.

As for the plot, it's interesting that Solas has gone from Main Antagonist to Opening Antagonist and I wonder if he's actually going to transition to an ally later in the game to undo whatever the fuck has gone wrong in this clip.

I do still have some worries about the writing. "She's greatest detective ever and she has a lead on Solas." So do you think that lead is the giant glowing thing in the middle of the city spitting out demons? Did you need a great detective?

And basically nothing I've seen so far has super MOVED me, as someone with serious connections to this world and the characters, other than the fucking Bianca moment. I'm hesitantly curious about some of the new companions. And if the griffon thing had come at a moment other than me going WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THIS? in the trailer I may have been a lot more excited.

So yeah, call me a hater or whatever. But that trailer reveal CRUSHED me emotionally. I was so depressed the rest of the day Sunday. These are my true reactions to the gameplay footage today. I don't have an agenda, other than I want the game to be good and I want it to do well and my confidence in EA and Bioware is at a very low point.

I've tried to keep a realistic mindset this whole time, but keeping in mind HOW MANY PEOPLE have left Bioware, how few OGs are left, the constant turnover in leads, the game being scrapped and redone like twice from scratch. And the game industry as a whole at this time, I have to be somewhat skeptical in general.

I'm not a skeptic overall, I was both a Cyperpunk 2077 enjoyer (but not apologist) and a Starfield defender and frankly there was a lot less reason to be skeptical of those games before release. So am I going to say "well I've been a Bioware fan since KOTOR 1 released, so I'm gonna hype it up and not point out flaws I see?" No. I'm going to be honest.

I'm not a casual Dragon Age enjoyer. I can't react casually to this stuff.

Will I play the game? Almost definitely, but am I going to wait till the release reviews? Probably.

[schemmentisjacket]

Chapter 1 - Prep Day pt 1

Authors Note: Little something something about non binary queer new teacher coming in, leading to Melissa finding the one.

Prep days. All the teachers were familiar with this by now, Barbara and Melissa especially having done many over the years. So rolling round to the first day of the year, well for teachers anyway, Melissa found herself pulling into the carpark and swinging into her usual bay next to Barbara’s more sensible family car, whilst her green dodge challenger glistened in the morning sun.

‘Morning Barb,’ her first call from the window before sliding them up and slipping out of the leather seat, door closing behind her.

‘Morning dear, ready for the first day?’ Barb asked, her boot open, surveying the boxes stacked up with supplies for the coming year and for classroom decorating.

Just as Melissa opened her mouth to reply, a sleek blacked out Jeep pulled into the car park. Compact. Tinted windows. Glossy. ‘Fuck that’s a nice car,’ Slid from her mouth instead of the usual, ‘Another year, same shit, but anything for my little eagles’

‘Melissa!’

‘What Barb? It’s a thing of beauty, never seen that round here before. Reckon it’s the new fourth grade teacher? I wonder who got it.’

‘I’m not sure who Ava chose in the end. There were definitely some serious candidates from the interview process. Hopefully it’s a good one or at least my choice!’ Barbara said, looking over to the Jeep. She had been part of the recruitment process over the summer, meeting several of the candidates and feeding back to Ava. However they hadn’t been told who had been successful.

They both heard the pop of the door handle. A green leather gloved hand appeared around the door. White sneakers gave way to mid blue denim, not too tight but not overly baggy. Green hoodie layered with a black leather jacket. Chiselled jaw, short auburn hair, cut scalp close at the sides and back, flopped unruly on top. Eyes hidden behind dark lenses.

The clunk of door shutting behind them and a double click of the locks securing travelled across the car park as the person looked up towards them both.

A gloved hand raised in their direction.

‘Mrs Howard!’ The voice called.

Melissa shivered, that voice, low and husky but a hint of femininity.

A crooked grin and the person headed in their direction. A gloved hand raised and the front of the glasses clicked away from the frames. Clear lenses revealed green eyes.

Barbara started forward, arms outstretched ‘Charlie! I told you, Barbara is just fine. Melissa, meet Charlie Flinn. They were my favourite person from the interviews. I had hoped you’d get the position.’

Melissa picked up on the way Barb had used ‘they’. The androgynous styling and meeting of masculine and feminine features, she guessed they might be non binary.

Charlie hugged Barbara. ‘You’re too kind. I’m really glad I got it too! I’m excited to work with you. With both of you,’ They turned to look at Melissa and reached out a leather clad hand, ‘You must be Miss Schemmenti, Mrs How, I mean Barbara, spoke so highly of you during my interview, I was hoping to get the chance to meet the amazing teacher she’d described, though she never mentioned how stunning you are.’

Melissa felt her chest flush beneath her own leather jacket as she took the offered hand in her own.

‘Nice to meet ya too, Charlie was it? Nice set of wheels you got there.’

‘Thanks, Can I help you ladies move some of those boxes?’

Barbara smiled widely ‘That would be lovely dear.’

Melissa turned to her own car popping the trunk, she didn’t have as many boxes as Barb, as she was waiting on a delivery from one of her guys. She took a peak over her shoulder to see Barb load a second box into the newbies arms. The arms of their jacket bulging slightly as they supported the load.

She shook her head. Newbies took time to get used to if they even stuck around, but this one was easy on the eyes and polite without being over eager.

Maybe they’d be worth the time.

[californiaboytoybilly]

Look. At. Me.

Tigerfreak || NSFW 18+ || Jealousy || Smut (with a little plot because I can’t help it) || 3.2k

cw: Cursing, possessiveness, jealousy, semi-public sex, handjobs, biting, unestablished relationship, dacryphilia, liberal use of the word queer, miscommunicated feelings, a little bit of degradation if you squint and turn your head to the left, vague references to religious guilt from an outsider perspective.

They’re in love but don’t let them hear you say that.

Ao3 Version: Here

Eddie was possessive of the things- the people - he coveted.

A wild creature of teeth and tongue and nails, leaving bruises and bites along his way so that they could not look upon their skin without remembering him. A clinging echo summoned back when fingertips dug into damaged skin as they tried to wash him away later.

Leaving a stain of himself behind, a thin sheen of oil that nothing could ever quite scrub clean from their squeaky clean facades. Bitter on the back of their tongues.

All that to say, he wasn’t particularly pleased when people touched the things he’d claimed as his.

And inexplicably, Jason Carver had become his. In a strange, obsessive way that had he cared even a little more to pay attention to, he might have acknowledged wasn’t exactly healthy. They still snarled in the lunchroom, trading sharp barbs and insults. Opposite sides of the same tarnished coin- everyone saw that.

Nobody got to see the way Carver’s tawny skin would flush with rosy patches in the dim light of some maintenance closet or dark, dark corner at a party.

How his years of being an obedient little church boy had trained him to do well on his knees, ocean blue eyes swallowed nearly entirely by the wide blown pupils that told on him if he dared to act unaffected by the weight of Eddie in his mouth.

Nobody got to see the delicious way he sobbed when he was fracturing at the seams, a cocktail of pleasure and bubbling shame at how badly he wanted this sinful thing fizzing up under his skin, making his hands shake and his chest heave under his little silver cross.

The way he looked when all that built up energy had nowhere to go but out, ridiculously long eyelashes clumping as salty tears spilled over his cheeks and he slammed his eyes shut so he didn’t have to look at Eddie even accidentally as he came.

It was intoxicating.

In the present, he could hear his own jaw click into place as he tried not to focus on anything else going on in the locker room and failed miserably. Fucking jocks and their definitely not queer touchy bullshit. Butt ass naked and shoving each other around, snickering and dripping from the showers.

He usually just tried to skip gym entirely just to avoid the choice between getting in the shower with a bunch of his peers who wouldn’t hesitate to break his nose if they thought his gaze wandered somewhere it shouldn’t, and smelling like a damp armpit for the rest of the day.

Not that he actually had an interest in leering at them, but they didn’t care. Rumours had a way of digging their claws in deep, burrowing in like a parasite until they could control each jerk of your arms as you reacted to the world around you- especially ones that were true, regardless of if his peers could prove it or not.

If it talks like a queer, walks like a queer and dresses like a queer…

This reason alone was why he couldn’t believe it to be a coincidence in any capacity when Billy Hargrove locked eyes with him from across the room as Eddie turned to shove his grey shirt and athletic shorts into his cluttered locker, tearing his eyes away from where they’d been burning a hole in the back of Jason’s head a moment prior.

His brassy blond curls were dripping wet, skin flushed from the heat, and naked as the day he was born. Eddie kind of hated him, just on principle- the audacity he had to look like that.

Billy held his gaze, making the back of Eddie’s neck itch. People tended to dodge his eyes like he’d take root in their brains if they lingered too long, so the unexpected interaction made him prickle anxiously. Billy’s lips curled into a lazy smirk, staring him down like he knew something, twirling a damp white washcloth between his fingers.

Eddie didn’t notice his muscles bunching in preparation for the strike until the crack resounded throughout the locker room. Dark eyes darted just slightly to the left as a familiar voice broke on a sharp exclamation.

Jason had a startled hand on his ass, red blush high on the plains of his cheeks, rubbing at the spot with a grimace. Eddie’s eyes darted between the rag in Hargrove’s hand and the warmed patch of skin as long as he dared to linger, tasting copper as he bit down on his tongue.

Because while Jason was doing his best to look annoyed, fluffy damp hair askew around his face and mouth hauled now into a scowl that he aimed towards the Californian transplant, Eddie knew better. He knew that flush. That skittish, dark look in his eye as his fingers nervously darted up to curl around the chain of his cross.

Even if Eddie couldn’t read him like a picture book, the way he hurriedly grabbed his towel and wrapped it around his waist was enough of a tell. It boiled Eddie’s blood, little knives scratching up his skin from the inside.

The world took on a green tinge as Eddie hurriedly started to yank on his clothes. That would’ve finished a lot faster, of course, if he’d been smart enough to not wear his lace up boots today.

He barely even noticed as everyone began to file out of the locker room, jaw clenched tight until even Billy’s shadow was out of sight, hot on Harrington’s heels as usual.

If Eddie snuck a glare at his retreating back out of pure petty jealousy, that was his own business.

He usually liked the guy well enough. He could be an ass, but he was a good customer. Eddie even let him stay and smoke more often than not, something he was picky with. He was funny when he didn’t have his rusty nail chainmail of a public personality on.

Right now, however, he wanted to staple his shirt directly to his skin so he couldn’t walk around looking like chiselled bronze all while pissing him off, touching things that weren’t his.

When he calmed down enough to bother looking around, the locker room was completely empty save for him and Carver. Both dressed now, and ignoring each other.

A dangerous thought seized him before he could battle it back, then.

It was the last class of the day and- as far as Eddie knew- no teams had practice Wednesday evenings. He barely had time to acknowledge that justification before he was crossing the room, flipping Jason around by the shoulder at the same time as he pushed him into the lockers.

The blond widened his eyes, gaze flitting to the doors. “Let go of me.“ He hissed, eyes flattening and lip curling. Like an angry little cat, Eddie thought idly. “Anybody could-“

“You didn’t seem to mind when you were having your ass whipped in front of the entire class.” Eddie said, false smile dripping sweetness.

Jason scoffed in his face, scowling again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He denied, but the pink was crawling back into his cheeks again.

Caught.

Vision still bathed in emerald and blood pumping, Eddie leaned more into his personal space, nearly head to head. “Oh really?”

He wedged his knee between Jason’s thighs, pinning him to the lockers even tighter with a metallic thunk that had the blond wincing. But he had his answer, hot and unmissable pressed against his leg.

“That’s not what I feel.”

Jason was still trying to look angry, weakly shoving at his chest as though to get him off. But Eddie knew damn well that he was strong enough to remove him if he really wanted to.

He’d done it before, when Eddie provoked him a little too far.

The jock’s eye twitched, hips shifting restlessly like he was trying to fight the urge to move them with purpose. “What does it matter to you if I did?” He said, tone bitter as he jerked his chin up haughtily. “You don’t own me, Freak.”

Eddie growled under his breath, “Wrong fucking answer.”

He crashed their lips together in something a little too mean to be considered a kiss, dragging a wounded sound from the blond. He seemed to give up the fake fight, fingers tangling into the hair at the nape of Eddie’s neck and pulling.

Like the action was a ripcord travelling directly to his dick, Eddie groaned. Jason used the pause to rip away, panting for breath and with a frenzied glint in his eye. “Not here.” He repeated again, jaw set stubbornly.

Eddie rolled his eyes, taking a step back as his hand locked around Jason’s wrist. He yanked him along after back into the showers, invisible from either door. “Good enough, princess?”

Jason managed to get him in the ribs with an elbow then in response to that. Eddie sucked a strained breath in between his teeth but otherwise refused to acknowledge it.

“Don’t call me that.”

Despite his earlier bitching, Jason was the one to press in this time, already heated in a way that scratched the little itch that had been licking at his spine since that cloth whipped through the air.

He smelled of his usual- probably overpriced- body wash, a heady floral scent that had infuriatingly started to creep into his fantasies at night when he was trying to think of literally anybody else.

Eddie was doing his very fucking best to ignore any and all implications of that fact.

As his lips began to trail a burning path along the side of Jason’s jaw, an idea flashed through his mind that instantly was stoked by the no longer dying flame of possessiveness from before.

Because Jason always tried not to look at him and Eddie usually didn’t care. But he wanted to be the sole focus of Jason’s attention right now- another thought he wouldn’t be touching with a ten foot pole.

Hungry hands travelled down impatiently, neither of them in any mood to drag this out. Jason muttered a curse as Eddie yanked at the ties of his basketball sweats, loosening the waistband just enough to shove them down to mid thigh.

Eddie breathed out harshly through his nose as fingers rubbed over the hard line of him trapped beneath too tight denim, hand slipping under the waistband of Jason’s underwear.

Fishing him out, he felt Jason shudder against him at the feeling of the still hot and sticky air back on his sensitive skin. Eddie eyed the other man for a moment, where he was impatiently rocking on his heels for Eddie to initiate something past them just standing here.

Unfortunately for him, Eddie had no plans on letting him escape unshaken this time. He’d burn himself into the back of Jason’s eyes if he had to.

Popping the button on his jeans and yanking the zipper open, Eddie once again bracketed the other against the nearest flat surface- this time, the shower wall.

“What are you doing?” Jason asked, voice barely a rasp. This wasn’t how they usually did these things.

Eddie held his gaze for a second, lifting a hand up and spitting lewdly into his palm. Jason scrunched his nose, still eyeing him warily.

But then Eddie dropped his hand, slotting their bodies together at the perfect angle for him to wrap his long fingers around both of them at the same time.

“Close your eyes and I stop.” He taunted with a mean squeeze, his own breath catching in his throat at the sensation as he started to move.

“Wh-“ Jason arched his lower back off the wall, a tiny little ah! being punched out of him. “What?”

“You heard me.” Eddie grunted, picking up the pace he was pumping them at just a little. Jason apparently thought he was bluffing, however, as a wavered moan left his mouth and his eyes started to slip closed.

Eddie snarled in annoyance, abruptly stopping his hand. Jason’s eyes shot open in surprise, lips parting like he was gonna start bitching before it seemed to click in his head.

“You’re serious?” He asked, tone incredulous.

“What do you think?” Eddie breathed, free hand coming up to grab Jason’s chin and drag his focus forward. Only once Jason was looking at him properly again did he once again start moving his other hand.

Something in his chest clenched tight before expanding, fizzling up around the cork like a shaken bottle of champagne.

Jason’s throat bobbed, eyes wide and startled like a prey animal under the fog of need coating them. His gaze flickered, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself now that he couldn’t disappear into his brain, whoever it was he usually thought about just out of reach.

That thought alone made a primal something that had been scratching around in Eddie’s skull finally curl up and relax, temporarily soothed.

“Am I serious?” He prodded, breath fanning over Jason’s face. He twisted his hand, thumb sliding up the sensitive underside of his cock with a hiss. “Tell me, Jason. Do I mean it?”

It was supposed to sound teasing. Taunting. It just came out uncomfortably desperate.

The blond tensed at the vocalisation of his first name, something Eddie never called him. It was always insults and surnames, the abrupt change was clearly throwing the other for a loop.

“Quit- hng- acting like you’re in love with me.” Jason huffed through a groan. If Eddie didn’t feel like he’d been punched currently, he might have noticed the way Jason’s voice trembled as he spoke the words. Anxious and strained.

“In your fucking dreams.” Eddie spat back, all acid again. But that didn’t stop him either. Ducking down, Eddie sunk his teeth into the meat of Jason’s shoulder hard. Not quite enough to break skin, but damned close. It would definitely leave a mark.

“Ow, fuck!” Jason snapped. Eddie could feel the desperate way he rutted into the metalheads' touch despite his attempt to protest, cock throbbing where it was trapped against Eddie’s own. “What are you? A dog?”

Eddie grinned, a wolfish thing with too many teeth, and let go of Jason’s jaw finally. Instead, he grabbed his hand in what could almost be a romantic hold if you ignored the rest of the situation, spinning a band of silver that adorned one of his fingers.

“Just reminding you for later that your cute little purity ring is bullshit. Guess you’ll have to hope you don’t get put on skins team this week, or everyone will know that as well as I do.”

A low, almost inaudible whine escaped Jason’s throat as his head thumped back against the tile wall. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut, swollen lips parted around every breathless little noise he couldn’t control anymore.

Fracturing. There it was.

A fiery whip tightened behind his navel, coiling tighter and tighter as it prepared to lash out. “Shit-“ Eddie breathed, clamping his teeth down on his lower lip.

They were both close, both too stubborn to acknowledge how quickly they were rocketing to the precipice. There was something different lurking in this exchange, replacing the blood in Eddie’s veins with molten metal and thickening the air between them.

Jason looked seconds away from crumbling and Eddie would not finish first. Not this time, when he already felt concerningly vulnerable in the pit of his stomach.

“You act like you hate that idea but you don’t. Deep down, a little fucked up part of you wants to show it off. Don’t you?”

Jason made a garbled attempt at speech that Eddie thought was supposed to be a warning to shut his mouth, trying to turn his eyes away like he’d forgotten the rules again.

Even though it damn near killed him, Eddie stopped his hand again and squeezed for emphasis. Jason sucked in a sharp breath, body shaking so violently Eddie almost got concerned, a sharp curse and a sob-like noise escaping him before furious eyes snapped back to his.

Eddie had made his point. He started stroking them both again, fast and slick. The noise was obscene, echoing off the shower walls and filling the air around them.

This time, Jason didn’t try to win. His eye contact didn’t waver, even as a fevered look overtook him and his brows creased together in the middle. Eddie could see him start to crack, breaths hitching too fast and tears starting to well up.

The sight of watery blue eyes burned him like a brand, a shove to the back towards the inevitable drop.

“Can’t even tell me I’m wrong.” Eddie whispered as he leaned in, sucking down a greedy lungful of Jason’s hot breath as he hovered ever closer. Jason was almost going crosseyed to try and maintain eye contact now, pride discarded in a desperate attempt to keep Eddie from stopping when he was so close.

Then, Eddie pushed it a little further, reckless with all the conflicting, churning things fighting each other in his chest. “Now say my fucking name or I stop for good.”

Jason looked for all the world like he wanted to spit in Eddie’s face instead, jaw working as another sound ripped free of him and hot tears finally spilled down his cheeks. “Fuck, Mun-“

Eddie’s eyes hardened, fingers tightening threateningly, and Jason corrected himself so fast it would have been amusing in any other situation.

“Eddie-“

That was it. With one expert twist of his hand, Jason lost the battle of wills with the second syllable of his name still on his tongue. He shuddered and stilled as he spilled between them with ragged, high pitched gasps for air.

Eddie followed after him with a grunt, teeth gritting as his head bounced around the sound of his own name falling from Jason’s lips like a backing track. Eddie. Eddie. Eddie.

Fuck.

The silence in the aftermath was only broken by laboured breathing, both of them looking decidedly anywhere else but at each other now.

All the fight feeling as thought it had been sucked out of him left Eddie feeling exposed in a way he decidedly didn’t like, skin raw and nerves firing unpleasantly. All at once, he realised he was still gripping Jason’s hand, knuckles white and fingers laced.

He dropped it like he’d been burned, ignoring the way Jason was staring at his own fingers and flexing them like he’d never seen them before.

Eddie took a hurried step back, heart banging a new rhythm in his chest. Jason’s attention snapped back to him, stinging like a sunburn, and Eddie flinched. The fear was new.

They didn’t speak as Eddie wiped off his hand and hurriedly yanked his zipper back up, but the brunette could almost feel the questions swirling through the jock’s mind.

Questions he wasn’t going to answer, not even to himself.

Even if he had to run from them.

Without sparing the other boy another glance, Eddie booked it for the exit. His backpack sat neglected and forgotten on the changing bench.

Right before he left, he could’ve sworn he heard a small, unusually timid-

“What the fuck was that?”

What the fuck was that, indeed.

[forabeatofadrum]

Thank you @cutestkilla for the tag!

I have some things to say! First off, have six sentences of Matt being a mess. @cutestkilla actually came up with this idea:

The polecat must be amazing at dodging, because it manages to avoid every spell. My spells are erratic and I hit parts of the office. Fuck, I am so fired after this. After I don’t know how long, the door opens again. “Miss Possibelf?” Simon Snow pokes his head in. “Simon Snow, save me!” I yell pathetically.

I actually have, uh, almost everything finished! Literally only chapter 5 is unfinished, but everything else plus the epilogue is done. I will probably tweak some things every now and then, but the fic has been written. Apart from chapter 5.

Secondly, not officially fic related, but y'all gotta see this fanart of Klaine at Kongresni trg, made by @esilher! I will get back to Ljubili se... one day. Look, Matty Chris D. just pulled focus! Also I told Esilher that I need to write Kurt and Blaine going back to Slovenia just so they can ice skate there. I never knew it was a thing, otherwise I definitely would've added it in Ljubim te, when they were actually in Ljubljana.

AND LASTLY, I, uh, suddenly and totally out of nowhere wrote 1.7K words for my Marlie fic that I started in 2022. Wack. I did scrap everything I had beforehand, but that's fine. I just got hit by the need to finish this fic and look I just miss Class. I know it was a failed Doccy Whomst spin-off BUT I LOVE CLASS. Woe, Marlie fic be upon ye! So keep an eye out for that one as well, I say, to my... readers? Do people still read Marlie fic?

And now, the weather: @quizasvivamos @coffeegleek @caramelcoffeeaddict @raenestee @tectonicduck @nightimedreamersworld @urban-sith @thnxforknowingme @captain-aralias @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @cerriddwenluna @bookish-bogwitch @confused-bi-queer @that-disabled-princess @special-bc-ur-part-of-it @larkral @cutestkilla ​ @wellbelesbian ​ @artsyunderstudy ​ @martsonmars ​ @facewithoutheart ​ @shrekgogurt @rockitmans @bitbybitwrites @whatevertheweather @theotherhufflepuff @shame-is-a-wasted-emotion @esilher @kurtsascot @blackberrysummerblog @nightimedreamersghost

[vidreview]

VIDREV: "Plagiarism and You(Tube)" by Hbomberguy.

[originally posted december 7th 2023]

i didn't initially plan to do a full VIDREV for this one. it's a long video that speaks plenty for itself, revealing a veritable cottage industry of video essayists who've found great success in brazenly stealing the works of marginalized creators. it's an infuriating watch, especially as someone who has put a lot of work over a lot of years into getting better as an essayist. at a moment when the gormless profit-chasing business degree havers of the world are pretty unambiguously winning in every avenue imaginable, it's gratifying to see someone like Hbomberguy use his significant platform to at least make a dent in that trend. i had a few gripes, sure, but i didn't figure they were worth the trouble. of course now it's been out for a few days, the video already has over 6.8 million views, and people are still talking about it on every single social media website of note. watching that discourse evolve from afar has sharpened some of the round edges on my aforementioned gripes, and given me reason to think that maybe weighing in isn't a totally fruitless endeavor. and besides, what's the point of having a video essay review blog if you're not gonna review what is arguably the video essay of the moment? ahhh, there's a Faustian bargain if ever i heard one.

in this post, i'm going to be critical of Hbomberguy's "Plagiarism and You(Tube)" on a few fronts of debatable importance. but first, i want to make it clear that i am genuinely grateful to Hbomb for putting so much time and effort into this investigation. plagiarism is a serious accusation that requires commensurate evidence, and Harris's got that covered in spades. the case is made so much harder to deny by the frequent juxtaposition of a plagiarist's voice-over with the original plagiarized text on screen reacting to minor trail-covering alterations. these sections occupy the bulk of this video's near 4 hour runtime, and while i have some issues with that length, i understand that the deluge of evidence is precisely to make sure that none of the plagiarists in question can continue dodging accusations the way they have done previously. in this process, Hbomb lays out a consistent playbook utilized by all manner of plagiarists, and (hypothetically) gives viewers the tools and awareness they need to better spot plagiarism in the future. this matters because, as he rightly points out, youtube isn't a fun little hobby site for posting silly cat videos anymore, there's real money to be made on the platform and virtually no oversight to protect creators with ethics and integrity (i wanted to pull a direct quote here but alas, you can't ctrl+f a video). it's an open question as to how or whether we can fix this problem, but we don't get to that conversation until we acknowledge that plagiarism is a legitimate, widespread, materially harmful phenomenon online. none of what i have to say in this review is meant to minimize its broad success in calling attention to a very real problem!

that said…

in the days since its release, i've seen a lot of back and forth over what this video is about. on one side you have folks calling for the blood of James Somerton and others mentioned in the essay, saying "fuck these people specifically." yet on another side, many insist that you're missing the point if all you see is more drama for the drama mill. "this is a systemic problem" they say, "that's what the video is about." i'm inclined to agree more with the latter than the former, as Hbomb does consistently circle back to talking about the unpaid victims of plagiarism, ending the video by explicitly highlighting underrated queer creators and even saying outright that he doesn't want the end result to be limited in scope to just retribution against these specific plagiarists.

and yet, when i see a meme like this one:

i can't help but think… is that what the video is about? is someone who just sees the drama missing the point? yes, certainly, Hbomb says as much, but how much does he actually say it compared to everything else? what's the proportion of (to be overly reductive) "drama content" to "systemic criticism"? because it seems to me that anyone who only/mostly gets "wow fuck these people in particular" out of this video has done nothing less than take the video in aggregate. the bulk of its runtime is spent detailing very specific acts of plagiarism, and while yes, as i said above, this abundance serves a very real purpose, it shouldn't go unacknowledged that the tone of these sections is often one of ridicule and mockery. i don't mean that as a criticism in and of itself, to be clear. you can draw a line from here directly backwards through all his "Measured Response" videos, dude cut his teeth on knocking overconfident hacks down a peg, a bit of ridicule and mockery is to be expected. but that does ultimately mean that Hbomb spends most of the video saying "fuck these people in particular," in a tone of voice he honed through many other videos devoted to saying "fuck this guy in particular", only occasionally stopping to add that "plagiarism is popular and insidious and even creators you trust might be doing it" before moving onto the next scornworthy particular guy. so it kind of doesn't matter that one is "the point" and the other is "missing the point" because he's genuinely saying both things, and he's saying one of them significantly more often than the other. you can't tell me the dunks aren't at least part of the point, and if they're part of it then they can and will be misconstrued by some as the whole point. the entertainment and spectacle of knocking these plagiarists down a peg is an indulgence that, while certainly earned, does exist in concrete tension with the systemic arguments that are meant to take priority. now, some of this does come down to how internet culture has shifted in the last decade to facilitate a much more aggressive style of engagement overall, which Harris cannot control no matter how often he says "don't harass the plagiarists." there isn't really a perfectly right way to go about this, and under the circumstances i do think he did far better than others might have done in his stead.

but even still, i think this misapprehension is made worse by the essay's conclusion, which in my opinion largely fails to tie the whole thing together into the systemic argument that supposedly is "the point" some viewers are missing. Harris commendably points out how the so-called AI revolution is at its core an act of automated civilization-scale plagiarism, and that future instances of plagiarism may be harder to catch precisely because of this technology. frankly i wish that perspective had taken up a solid 10% of the runtime rather than a couple paragraphs at the very end, seeing as on balance it's the far bigger and more likely threat to the livelihoods of people watching than old-school direct plagiarism, but that's me. what really bugged me was the brevity with which he discussed possible solutions to the problem. he rightly points out that youtube implementing a plagiarism reporting system would just be another tool for bad faith actors to silence marginalized creators on the platform, and then… he kinda gives up? he shrugs his shoulders and says, well, for now, just talking about plagiarism and spreading awareness of it is enough. for as well-intentioned and, generally speaking, true as that is, it bugs me as an essayist because i believe that a big part of the job is or ought to be expanding the audience's ability to imagine what's possible even if you aren't 100% sure about the answers yourself.

these are all very much "how i would have written it differently" criticisms, so they aren't particularly worth much, but i do feel it's odd that he doesn't even broach the subject of federal regulation, platform control, unionization efforts, or even just good old-fashioned consumer activism. virtually every website that the creative economy hangs on is a venture-capital backed corporate venture, and their ad-driven models for profiteering at a moment when wages are stagnant and layoffs are happening everywhere is, like, the reason this is such a problem. to address plagiarism as a systemic issue, we need to understand the systemic enablers of it as a behavior. if creators weren't getting such a small slice of the revenue pie, if we had more control over the platform and what rises to the top, if the companies that owned these platforms were beholden to federal regulations, if the government increased arts funding and gave out grants to independent creators that involved third-party quality checks, if online video creators had any manner of collective labor power, if the cost of living was lower by way of public healthcare, free education, mass public transit, and affordable housing, then this would be a drastically different conversation. these are not non-sequitors! this is as much an economic problem as it is a cultural one, so any proposed solution that stops at changing the culture is necessarily incomplete and doomed to fail.

look, i don't expect Hbomb to have the answers. nobody has the answers. but i think it's a bit short-sighted to leave so many possibilities unsaid when the one concrete possibility discussed is immediately (correctly) written off as a bad idea. it leads to a conclusion that feels iffy, a bit defeated, lost at sea, and that's an infectious mood. if the first step to solving plagiarism as a systemic problem is to encourage talking about it openly, i think it's equally important to at the very least gesture in the direction of the many possible avenues for a systemic solution, no matter how impossible or ridiculous they might seem in the current political climate. in point of fact, i think it's of utmost importance to include these possibilities precisely because they seem impossible, otherwise we will forever be trapped in a world of insufficient half measures, meekly reifying the conservative austerity of the liberal order because it's easier and safer than taking a wild shot in the dark.

again, i want to stress that this is a deeply subjective criticism. i'm an ornery Marxist, of course i have these kinds of gripes. and it's easy to get lost in criticizing what isn't there, which as an exercise generally tells you more about the critic than the object being criticized. so, to close out, i'm gonna shake my fist a little at something that is there.

there's a moment at about one hour thirty-five minutes in where Harris turns on some colored lights to get that patented blue-purple Bisexual Lighting, and then he says this:

This is a whole style of video now, and by "style" I mean one person did it first and then a bunch of boring people ripped her off. Stealing from lots of places is inspiration, but stealing from one place is plagiarism… unless you call it The BreadTube Style, and then it's fine. I don't even know what a BreadTube is, I just woke up one day and was told that I was in it, and that people hated me for being in it. I don't even know what it is!

i understand where this jab is coming from-- the whole BreadTube scene was a melodramatic nightmare, on account of being an audience-invented genre which that audience (and later creators who emerged from that audience) often inaccurately treated as a coherent movement. i understand the frustration expressed by a lot of creators in that first generation of left-ish essayists (Hbomb, Lindsay Ellis, Dan Olson, Contrapoints etc) with the atmosphere of that moment, and certainly don't begrudge them a desire to distance themselves from it and ridicule its shortcomings.

but this brief little jokey aside left a bad taste in my mouth. the creator he's talking about being "ripped off" here is obviously Contrapoints, who brought a colorful theatricality to her early work that elevated it above being something she shot for cheap in her apartment. this went hand in hand with her Socratic style of essaying, giving her characters a strange and vibrant world to occupy. i don't want to say she "did it first" because, let's be real, Natalie Wynn did not invent the idea of using dramatic lighting on the internet. but she was certainly the first person i saw on youtube doing it in video essays, and yeah, a lot of people followed her example including me!

but that's not the same thing as plagiarism, is it? this whole video is an extensive exploration of what genuinely counts as plagiarism: taking someone else's words and pretending that they're yours. style is almost never part of that conversation across the whole 4 hours, except where it involves use of prepackaged assets like transitions and stock footage, which Hbomb deliberately notes is fine and normal except when people act like they're the ones who invented it (this particularly comes up in the Legal Eagle section). by the terms of this joke, Abby Thorne of PhilosophyTube falls under the category of "boring people" who were "ripping off" Contrapoints even moreso than those who just lit videos like her, because she even does the Socratic-style dialogues! but somehow i don't think Harris would call that plagiarism. if the concern re: bisexual lighting in BreadTube is attribution, all i can say is that Natalie Wynn is one of the single most discussed and cited creators in the whole field. virtually everyone i can think of who "ripped her off" back in the day openly acknowledged being inspired by her at every possible opportunity. of course that's just my own biased recollection of the history, so who knows, maybe there are people out there acting like they did it first. but unlike most of the other victims of plagiarism provided in this video, Natalie Wynn is not wallowing in obscurity. her work is IMMENSELY successful, to the point where she's arguably the closest thing to a household name you can get from this space.

now, i'm sensitive to a joke like this because i always felt like if anything Natalie got too much credit for "inventing" the so-called "BreadTube style". her use of colored lights was striking and unique, yes, but it was also rudimentary and not particularly complicated. i worked in film lighting for enough years to see this "style" as equivalent to late 1910's era silent films blindly grasping at the bare fundamentals of montage that have become the backbone of all cinema. it's good, but it ain't Citizen Kane. i really hoped people would take Natalie's baseline not as a concrete template, but as a challenge to get even more ambitious and filmic with their lighting setups! instead things have stagnated, and we've kinda circled back around to a very slightly more colorful version of the standard pre-Contrapoints look. this is by no means to play down the work that Natalie did, because i know from my own years making video essays that it is NOT easy or simple to set up even rudimentary lighting that looks good. but come on man, have some perspective. she's a philosopher, not an electrician!

what's worse is that later on in the video, Hbomb talks about how many creators were inspired by AVGN to do twists on his formula, and why this was a good thing. near the end, when he's very rightly shouting out many underrated queer essayists, he spends a good chunk of time celebrating the spirit of remix that is so unique to the internet, insisting that there's a real tangible difference between plagiarism and inspiration. this is good! i agree with him! which is why it's so bizarre that there's this one aside that equates using bisexual lighting to plagiarism! it's a disarmingly hypocritical moment in an otherwise relatively on-point video, and its presence kind of weakens the rest of the essay for me (especially if you're sensitive to how near this comes to being all-out drama youtube, as clearly even Hbomb is by his own admission in the video).

the last i'll say is that i find it frustrating when a creator in Hbomb's position tries to act like BreadTube wasn't A Thing. no, it wasn't A Thing the way quite a lot of people thought it was (including many who called themselves BreadTubers). but these creators were often collaborating with each other to make guest appearances, read quotes, etc. certainly they mentioned each other often enough, which couldn't help solidifying in the audience's mind that there was indeed A Thing happening that involved multiple people with similar creative & political goals, regardless of whether or not that was the creators' intent. it wasn't formal, and it certainly wasn't A Movement (the lack of an articulated ideological spine is a BIG part of why things went sour the way they did), but they were happy enough to play along before Drama blew the whole endeavor to smithereens. and notably, successive generations of creators (like Sophie From Mars, Jack Saint, Lily Alexandre, CJ the X, and yes, also me again) saw the BreadTube genre as a place where interesting things were happening, where the kinds of things they/we wanted to create were encouraged and supported vociferously. it's no coincidence that a LOT of up-and-coming trans creators doing very BreadTube-y things got a huge boost from guesting on Hbomb's DK64 Nightmare Stream in 2019 (including me again, haha, oops), because there was A Thing happening even if most people were wrong about what, exactly, it was. none of this is to say that Hbomb should call himself a BreadTuber-- god no, i hope no one does that ever again, i'm embarrassed that i did back in the day! but this history does exist. mostly i just think this joke would've been better left on the cutting room floor.

okay, i think that's enough criticism for one day. one thought i had coming out of this is that i wish more video essays would publish concurrently with a written version on a dedicated website. not just a transcript but an article-format version. i wonder sometimes about the difficulty of indexing video essays, of getting their contents into a historical record that can be printed out and put into a library. but anyway, all my gripes aside, it's a good video and you should go watch it! preferably in chunks over a day or two!