#shout out that mulleted fag

[adriwithae]

[blacksapphhicmaddonna]

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH, ALPHABET MAFIA

just a few reminders:

- first pride was a riot

- black & BIPOC queer people are the foundation of our entire nation and the global culture

- we owe most of our rights and progress to BIPOC trans women/femmes and different communities of lesbians, trans/gnc folks and elders.

- trans people have always existed, they are ancient and indigenous to many cultures and places and are SACRED.

- I’m glad you’re here and there is community out there for you, waiting with open arms. Don’t give up just yet, please.

- rainbow capitalism isn’t liberation

- we are all we have, be fucking better to each other

- lesbians have done so much for lgbtqia+ people and should maybe idk stop being erased for no reason

- biphobia is real and just bc your ex cheated on you doesn’t make it bi folks fault, you’re projecting babe

- being queer doesn’t dissolve white privilege, pls touch grass

- be safe at pride. they’re coming for us all and we need to protect ourselves.

- not everyone wants to use the word queer/dyke/fag etc. I’m glad you reclaimed the slurs used against you, me too, but not everyone wants to and you need to respect that. LGBTQIA+* exists for a reason.

- the black and brown belong on the flag.

- the A is for asexual/romantic or agender, not ally.

- get some pussy (or whatever you do (or don’t do)) and make space for joy! because black/queer joy is revolutionary and fucking righteous just as much as our anger is, too

- Juneteenth coming up too, issa parade in my city fr

- asexuals/aromantics belong at pride. Period. Full stop.

- safe sex is the best sex

- get tested!

- it’s okay to not watch the news. america is hell, go take a nap

- people 100% know themselves better than you ever will, people are who they say they are and you don’t get to decide that for them. respect pronouns, identity, etc. or argue w ya mama/god/someone else cause it ain’t finna be me ❤️

- you deserve relationships that feel safe and actually are safe. Don’t settle.

- learn your queer history. they won’t teach us. they took our elders from us.

- Black LGBTQIA+* history IS Black History.

- we all need to be thankful to the house mothers and the ballroom scene and those who gave us what we have now, regardless of who you are.

- don’t call yourself a stud if you’re not BLACK. wit a capital B and at least one BLACK parent.

- not everyone is out. happiest of pride month to y’all. you’re still gang and we love you just as much. 💗

- our collective liberation lies in the fact that we are all tied to each other. if you’re down for the gays but not the theys, you’re not as decolonized as you think you are.

- shout out to fanfiction writers who have been single-handedly providing queer art/content/representation for years while the industry continues to make a mockery of us or intentionally leave us out. one thing we gonna do is help someone find their queer awakening, and get that story right. love us 🤪 go team

- your life means something. it’s important beyond comprehension. you look good. your ass is fat (if you want it to be). get the mullet as a lil treat.

- LGBTQIA+* people across the board have ALWAYS existed in literally every culture and every continent (and Antarctica counts if you count the cute lil gay penguins😌). Don’t let them tell you different. We are not a “mInOrItY”, we have been MINORITIZED. we are not small, we are great and mighty and have ALWAYS been here. And we always will. We exist in the future just as we have existed in the past. We stand on the shoulders of MASSIVE collective ancestors. If that’s not an indication to keep going, keep fighting, keep laughing, dancing, voguing, and keep showing up authentically - then I don’t know what is.

- it’s gonna be ok baby. pinkie promise.

[ares-the-strange]

Alone After Dark

Pairing: Poly!Lost Boys x GN!Trans Queer Reader

Warnings: F slur, T slur, transphobia, queerphobia, swearing, no violence

(A/N I’m writing this cause it happened to me today and I’m trying to make myself feel better :/)

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

The nighttime breeze had a chill to it, the noise of various animals chittering and rustling was the only thing breaking the silence. Usually you would be with the boys this late at night but they had warned you they’d be late tonight. So here you were, platform boots thumping against the pavement as you walked. The fierceness of the bitter air started to increase, causing you to curse to yourself about the choice in outfit. You knew it would be cold but decided to wear ripped pants and a crop top, convincing yourself that the fishnets would keep you warm. It didn’t help your situation that the boy’s cave was so far away from your house, again cursing yourself for not doing your driver’s tests earlier. 

Footsteps. You had only just realised that there were footsteps behind you. The hair on the back of your neck stood up. The place you lived wasn’t a rough place or anything, in fact it was filled with snobby white people. People who didn’t take too kindly to queer people. Especially not you, you were their worst nightmare, not only were you queer, you were trans, goth, AND poly. Basically you were screwed. Maybe they would be cool and leave you alone, you tried to reason, but the approaching sound of barking shattered that hope. 

Quickening your stride, you tried to get to the cave as fast as possible but it was crucial that you didn’t let them know how scared you were. 

“Hey emo! What are you doing out so late huh?” One of them shouted, trying to ignore them. You just kept walking. 

“Ey tranny, he’s talking to you!” You felt a hand on your arm, yeah you couldn’t just ignore this one. Turning on your heel, you faced them, it was as you expected. Four teen boys and two girls. The boys sported the eshay uniform of terrible mullet, board shorts, black hoodie and joggers. The girls were the stereotypical ‘pick me’ type. If you weren’t so scared you might’ve found humour in the irony of the fact the people who harassed you always looked the same. 

“What?” You responded, doing your best to sound unbothered, there was a dangerous glint in one of the boys eyes that made you nervous

“We asked what you’re doing out so late” 

“I’m going to go meet my partners” that was a mistake. You should not have said plural. 

“Oh, partnerS huh? Can we join? I’d love to have an orgy with you, even if you look like a corpse” The smirk on their stupid faces grew wider at the disgusted grimance you gave

“What? You don’t want us? Would you prefer we beat the shit out of you?”

“I think we should, unless of course you want to take up our previous offer?” One of the girls giggled, obviously thinking this was hilarious, your confident act had begun to shatter as true fear set in. 

“Please just leave me alone” You spoke, it came out much more timid than you had meant it to

“And why should we do that? You should be grateful, who the fuck would want a freaky fucking fag like you anyways?” They had began to come uncomfortably close, tears threatening to prick your eyes, there were a lot of them, and what the fuck were you supposed to do? You were shorter than all of them and had no idea how to fight. 

“That would be us” A familiar voice answered the previous question, the tension in your shoulders almost immediately releasing. David walked up to your side, the other boys joining him on your other side. “It seems you have a problem with our lover?” There was a venomous undertone to his cocky words. 

“Yeah because they’re a fucking freak!” 

“It seems stupidity finds confidence in groups, isn’t that right boys?” David smirked, the condescending look in his eyes effortless as he stared down the group. The boys could easily see through their tough act, afterall vampires could smell fear. 

“Maybe we need to give ‘em a lesson?” Paul added, his arm around your shoulders with his head resting possessively on one of them.

“I think so” Marko’s smile was gleefully wide, taking great pleasure in the discomfort of these teens. David and Paul joined Marko as they stalked up to the group, Dwayne took Paul’s place besides you, his dark eyes soft as he gazed at you. Placing his arm around your waist he spoke “Are you okay little dove?” his voice was impossibly caring, taking note of the obvious signs you were highly stressed and shaken up. You only looked at him with your jaw clenched, knowing if you responded, you’d burst into tears. Dwayne understood this and pressed you a little more into his chest, his face pressed against yours, watching as the others dealt with the bigots. 

Screams made you jump into Dwayne slightly as the group took off running, completely abandoning both the bad boy act and each other. The boys cackled through fanged mouths, piercing eyes watching with delight as the others basically piss themselves upon seeing their monstrous faces. A kiss was pressed to your temple by Dwayne as David, Paul, and Marko approached. “Can we kill them later, doll?” Paul asked, almost certainly going to do it anyways but wanted your seal of approval. A small nod was all you managed, the furious desire to not begin sobbing still present. David made quick eye contact with Dwayne, communicating through looks he was assured you were physically unharmed. 

“I don’t want you to listen to a word they say, okay kitten? They have no idea what they’re talking about” David’s gloved hand gently cradled your chin, the sincerity in his eyes and tone doing its job to reassure you. 

“Yeah I know, it’s just…” 

“No buts baby, you’re perfect how you are, and we’ll always love you” Dwayne spoke up, rubbing his face against mine like a cat

“Yeah also you’re so much hotter than them so y’know” Marko smiled, as Paul wolf whistled to add to his point.

“C’mon doll, let’s go back to the cave and show you how much we love you” placing your cold hand in David’s gloved one, you walked with the boys back to homebase, feeling much much safer now.

[harringrovetrashrat]

You'll Find Me Looking Over the Edge of the World

Billy flew out of the house, anger coursing through his veins making him feel like he was on fire. His father shouted after him, but the pounding in his ears was too loud for him to hear. Not that it mattered anyway. Not like anything fucking mattered.

He drove to the Quarry. Pulled the bottle of tequila from his trunk. Sat on the hood of his car drinking and drinking and drinking. It was spring, but still so fucking cold. The tequila helped with that, at least. Billy angrily rubbed at his eyes, ignoring the prickling of tears. Men don’t cry. Men aren’t fucking pussies who cry about a haircut.

He sucked in a breath and hunched over, feeling nothing and absolutely everything all at once. He felt so empty, fucking hollow, but he was also burning up inside. There was nothing for him in this world except to be the angry asshole who’ll one day, hopefully, wrap himself around a tree and do everyone else a favor. Billy hiccuped a sob before biting his bottom lip. It made him so angry, that he had to suffer this, that Max didn’t have to because she was the good one. But he must have deserved it. He always fucked up, anyway.

God, he just wished that he had something. Something to fucking look forward to. Hope felt like something distant, something out of reach, But he had nothing. Well, he kind of had one thing. Though that was kind of torture too. Watching Steve Harrington from afar, because beating the shit out of someone kind of made it hard to be friends, and besides, he’d promised Max he would leave her friends alone. But sometimes it made it easier to get up in the morning knowing he’ll at least get to look at him.

Fucking pathetic.

Billy threw the bottle of tequila onto the ground where it smashed, glass exploding out. The remaining alcohol seeped into the dirt and he stood up, walking to the edge of the quarry. It was a long drop down. Billy swayed a little, looking down, down, down, wondering what kind of noise he’d make when he hit the water.

There was a gust of wind that ruffled the curls on the top of his head and Billy felt tears welling up again. Today had been going so well. He’d aced his test in Chem, as he knew he would, had been fawned over by girls, been envied by boys, and had even gotten a nod from Harrington. It was like floating, he’d been so close to actually being kinda happy; he supposed that’s why his father had been itching for him to make a mistake.

But it wasn’t even really a mistake. All Billy had been doing was fixing his hair in the mirror. It had been humid today and it fucked with his curls, even with spray. So he had paused a few times in the hallway, fixing his curls in the mirror as he passed, and after the fifth time his father had grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and asked,

“Are you done acting like some faggot?” Billy had tensed up, Sorry, sir ready on his tongue, but his father beat him to the punch. “Actually, I think I’m done with watching you fawn over yourself like a god damn queer.” And he’d pulled Billy into the bathroom, ignored his pleas to stop and his swears of I’ll stop, Dad, please, please don’t, twisted his longer curls in his fist, and cut them off. Had hissed, “Stop crying you fucking pussy.” Had slapped Billy when he didn’t stop crying fast enough.

And Billy had fucking high tailed it. Would probably get a few smacks for running away from his father.

He scrubbed at his eyes again, staring down at the water. It was high up, the water below definitely freezing. Billy wondered if it would make him as numb outside as he was inside. He shuffled a little closer, tipping some pebbles over the edge.

It’d be so easy. So fucking easy. And the worst part was, no one would care. He’d die, they’d cry, and in a week he’d be old news. They probably would even report it as an accident.

“Dumb Drunk Teenager Falls to His Death After Getting Drunk Alone, Like the Piece of Shit He Is,” Billy muttered to himself. That’d be the headline. People would say they saw it coming, that he was always getting into trouble. That it was a shame, but not a surprise. His family would probably celebrate, honestly.

There was another gust of wind, and Billy shivered. He was so tired. So goddamn tired. He lifted his foot and stuck it over the edge--

”Dude!”

And he was being pulled back, arms wrapped around his waist. The shift surprised him and he stumbled, making them both fall back, the person behind him letting out a wheeze when Billy landed on them. Billy scrambled to get up, both angry and kind of humiliated that someone had seen him. And of course, of fucking course, it had to be Harrington. He looked up at Billy, concern and anger on his face.

“Hargrove, what the fuck?!” And, you know, he really didn’t fucking need this. So he turned his back on him.

“Go away, Harrington,” he said, trying for his usual acerbic tone, but barely mustering more than a sad monotone.

“What were you doing by the ledge? How drunk are you, man?” Steve stood and didn’t leave. He approached Billy, getting into his space. Billy moved away when Steve spoke again. “And what happened to your hair? I hope you didn’t tip whoever cut it.”

“Fuck off, Harrington!” Billy snarled, pushing him back and getting into his space again because fuck, he did not need this right now. “I was just-- just--” He exhaled sharply through his nose, some of the fight deflating out of him. “Just looking at the water. Leave me alone.” He turned his back again, walking back towards the edge of the cliff. A hand grabbed his elbow and Billy flung himself away, still raw after his father-- “Don’t fucking touch me!” Steve backed up a little, hands up and a pouty frown on his face that Billy yearned to kiss away, which just made him feel worse.

“Seriously? Can you not be a dick for like, one freaking minute?” Billy was glad it was dark because he felt his eyes watering again and he would not let Steve Harrington see him cry.

“No, so just go away,” his voice cracked on the last word, which made Steve’s eyebrows shoot up and Billy turned away, but didn’t move back to the ledge. Steve would probably just reach out again and while Billy wanted him to touch him, he wanted Steve to touch him so much, he wasn’t ready. Not right now.

“Listen,” Steve said, not touching Billy, just coming closer. “Max walkied me and said she was worried about you and--” Billy cackled, and even to him it sounded hysterical.

“What a fucking lie. She hates me, man,” he said, shaking his head. Steve opened his mouth to protest, but Billy didn’t let him speak. “Fuck this, if you won’t leave, I will.” Billy pushed past Steve, heading for his car.

“No way,” Steve replied, getting in his way, but still not touching him and Billy’s heart fucking ached because Steve was so good and he didn’t deserve this kind of care. “You’re way too drunk to be driving right now.”

“Well maybe I’ll wrap myself around a tree and we can all be happy,” Billy spit out. Steve looked like he’d been slapped. Billy swallowed thickly and stumbled back a bit, his plant your feet echoing in his brain, going deep down into the pit where his stomach had been. He’d just been so angry he didn’t even think before he opened his big mouth. Steve was still gaping, like a beautiful dumb fish, so Billy quickly walked away from him, heading for the road. A gentle hand on his shoulder made him jump and Steve quickly let go. When Billy looked at him there was something different on his face. He didn’t look so angry, so put out, and Billy’s heart fluttered because it honest to god looked like Steve Harrington was worried. About him.

“Did you mean that?” His voice was quiet, gentle. Billy loved and hated it. He didn’t say anything. “Is that why you were--” Steve sucked in a quick breath and looked away, muttering a quick Jesus under his breath. “What’s-- I know we aren’t-- Look,” Steve licked his lips, shuffling from foot to foot, “I’m still pissed at you for messing up my face, and I know that you like, hate me or whatever--”

“Hate you?” Billy almost laughed. “I don’t… I don’t hate you.”

“Then why are you always picking on me, man?” Billy shook his head.

“Not enough tequila in the world, Harrington,” he mumbled. Steve made a face and Billy didn’t wanna answer that question. “Look, you did your duty. I’m fine--”

“That’s a fucking lie,” Steve cut in.

“I’m not gonna fucking off myself, okay?” Billy snapped. “Then Max would have to deal with Neil and that’s--” He growled a little and ran a hand over his face. Damn fucking tequila.

“Neil? Isn’t that your dad? What do you mean--” And Steve cut himself off, eyes darting to Billy’s poorly cut mullet and, honestly, people don’t give him enough credit. His brow scrunched, like it always did when he was thinking, and Billy couldn’t meet his eye. “You never said who did your hair,” he said, sounding casual, but there was an edge to his voice. Billy didn’t say anything. “Did your dad do that, Billy?”

“I was,” he licked his lips, dry and chapped, “I was fixing my hair.” He sniffed and sucked on his top teeth. “Preening like a fag,” he spat the word out, venomous, and the words just tumbled out. “And he didn’t like that, oh no, didn’t want a reminder of what a fuck up his piece of shit son is.” He swiped at his nose with his sleeve. “So he took it upon himself to remind me that I’m a fucking freak.”

“What the fuck,” Steve breathed out. He chewed on his bottom lip, brow furrowed. Billy saw when the words he had said really sank in. “Wait, are--”

“Please,” he begged and his voice cracked again and Billy really, truly wanted to die. “Don’t ask me that.” Steve was staring at him, his face unreadable. For a while the only sound was Billy’s slightly ragged breathing, but that eventually slowed. Steve just stood there, watching him, before walking forward a few steps. “You can crash at my place tonight, if you want.” Billy snapped his eyes over, a little surprised. “I’ll drive you back to your car in the morning.”

“If I’m not home to pick up Max--”

“Don’t worry,” Steve gave him a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be ready whenever.” Billy wanted to ask what that was about, what it meant, but it wasn’t his place. Steve nodded towards his car and went over, walking backwards to keep his eyes on Billy. “You coming?”

Billy should wait out here, get sober, drive home and sneak back in, face his father in the morning. The longer he stayed away, the worse it’d be after, but--

He followed.

[moonlit-imagines]

Protective

Richie Tozier x sibling!reader

warnings: f slur (arcade/the paul bunyan scene)

a/n:

prompt: y/n’s old “friends” wont give their brother a break

Richie and you were close, even if he did get on every single one of your nerves. That’s what siblings do, right? Nevertheless, he knew he could always count on his older sibling.

Good lord, many days ended with you having to comfort Richie while he was stressed. Without you, all his nights would be sleepless. Today he’d come home in tears.

“Hey, hey, breathe,” you grabbed him and pulled him into your arms, “tell me what’s wrong, Rich.” You ran your fingers through his hair.

“Bowers...and his cousin...” Richie sobbed.

“Wait, Bowers did this shit?” Your voice went cold and you looked into Richie’s puffy eyes. “Start from the top.” You lifted his glasses up and wiped the tears from his eyes.

“Well, I was playing Street Fighter with Conner, you know Bowers’ cousin,” he sniffled, “then Bowers showed up and chased me out of the arcade. He called me a fag in front of everyone...”

“And..?” You knew there was more.

“I saw that fuckin’ clown.” He whispered.

“Holy shit! What?!” You exclaimed. You and Richie had fought Pennywise with the rest of the Losers a month or two prior, you barely got out with your lives. You took a deep breath. “Okay, there’s not much I can do about the clown right now, but I know how I’m gonna deal with Bowers. You said he was at the arcade?”

“Y/N, you don’t have to—” Richie tried to stop you.

“Oh, no, little brother. This is long overdue.” You tied up your shoes and rolled up the sleeves on your flannel. “I’ll be back in an hour.” You slammed the door and grabbed your skateboard from the front yard.

—————

“Where’s Henry?” You shouted and you entered the arcade. Everyone stopped and looked at you. Henry, Vic, and Belch walked towards you.

“Look who’s finally back for me?” Henry snarked.

You and Henry Bowers and been childhood friends, but he started treating you like shit so you bailed. Now he was left terrorizing your little brother and his friends to get your attention.

“How many times do I have to tell you to back the hell off my brother?” You pushed Bowers into the other boys.

“As many times as it takes for you to come back to us.” Henry smirked and you scoffed at his efforts.

“Back off, you mullet-wearing asshole.” You snapped at him, but the boys just laughed at your efforts.

“What are you gonna do about it, huh?” Henry stepped closer to you and your immediate reaction was to swing your fist. Your fist collided with his jaw and you managed to bust his lip. It was almost energizing. “Oh, you’re in for it now!” He charged at you and started a full-out brawl at the arcade. Kicks and punches were thrown every-which-way as kids cheered the two of you on.

Richie ran through the doors and his magnified eyes were immediately drawn to your fighting.

“Goddammit, y/n!” Richie pushed through the crowd and landed front and center. He was amused at how rough Bowers was looking, but he just froze out there.

“You son of a bitch, you stay away from my family!” You pinned Bowers to the ground. “Say ‘uncle!’”

“Fuck you!” He yelled to you and you shoved his face to the ground. “Fine, okay, uncle!” His voice muffled and you got up and displayed yourself in victory. Your eye caught your little brother in the crowd and you walked up to him to give him a hug.

“That should teach him a lesson.” You giggled. “Now, what’s tonight’s plan?”

[artificialqueens]

Lockdown (Trixie x Katya) - Magic Mullet

Hey guys I’m magic mullet and this is my first drag race fanfic on this page! I really hope you guys enjoy it, I had a lot of fun writing this!

“Hey Katya, have you heard the news?” Trixie asked his best friend, after he finally answered his phone.

“What, that I’ve got a fat ass?” Katya cockily replied, his smirk evident even through the phone call. Trixie let out a bird screech like laugh at his reply.

“Bitch no! Trump wants the country to go on lockdown.”

“Oh honey, I’ve been training for this moment my whole life. I can stay in bed all day watching Netflix doing as I please.” Katya exclaimed. Trixie sighed at his friends reply.

“You know that means we won’t get to see each other for a long time though right? We don’t know how long this lockdown will last, it could last months or who knows maybe years!” Katya paused before replying.

“What if we lockdown together! It’s the perfect idea! We can still film Unhhh and we still get to see each other!” Katya shouted down the line, causing Trixie to wince at the sudden loudness.

“That’s a train wreck just waiting to happen.” Trixie sighed. “I mean I guess we could make it work, we both know how much the fans love Unhhh and you know I can only go so long without seeing you you stupid bitch! We’re staying at my place though, god knows what state your apartment is in”.

“Usually I’d take offence to that, but I’ll let you off this once as long as you order pizza on our first night together.” Katya bribed.

“Deal.”

———————————————————

Day 1:

The door to Trixie’s apartment knocked once, twice, thrice, before he finally moved from his place on the couch. He approached the door and without looking to see who was there shouted.

“Leave the parcel on the doorstep!”

“It’s me you stupid bitch!” Replied Katya. The front door swung open to reveal a frowning Trixie.

“You bald fag! I thought my parcel was finally here!” He exclaimed with fake sadness. Katya held his hand against his chest looking outraged.

“It’s nice to see you too!” He expressed before the two of them broke out into a fit of laughter. Katya looked around Trixie’s apartment, nodding in approval. “Yes mamma, love what you’ve done to the place!” Trixie ran his hands down his body moaning.

“Oh what? This old place? I just added a little pink here and there no big deal.” Katya slapped his arm laughing so hard he almost cried, before Trixie led Katya to the room he would be staying in.

“I put some newspapers on the floor so you’ll be comfortable, I wanted to make you feel right at home so the trash is over there in case you wanna sleep there instead.” Trixie joked, as Katya sat on his actual bed.

“You are one shady bitch Mrs Trixie! How dare you assume that I don’t just sleep on the streets!” He expressed with mock offence. Trixie’s bird screech echoed throughout the apartment as the two of them bantered through the rest of their first day in lockdown together, before ordering that pizza the pair agreed on.

———————————————————

Day 10:

“Katya!” Trixie angrily screamed, running into the living room and standing in front of his best friend. “If I find one more pair of your boxers on the bathroom floor I’m gonna- I’m gonna.” Trixie stammered.

“You’re gonna what? Sue me?” Katya smirked at the other queen, who currently had his arms crossed. Trixie huffed, grabbing the tv remote and holding it out of Katya’s reach. Katya glared, mouth ajar as he tried to reach for it from the couch, but failed.

“Who’s laughing now honey.” Now it was Trixie’s turn to smirk. Katya’s eyes gleamed as she jumped from the couch, ready to grab the remote and run. However, Trixie knew that gleam all too well and before Katya could grab it, he ran to the other side of the room. Katya leapt up and was hot on his tails as the pair ran around Trixie’s house laughing.

Katya finally had Trixie cornered in his bedroom as he closed in, trapping him with his arms either side of him. Both of their breathing was ragged and deep, as they panted, desperate for air after running for so long. Trixie stared deep into Katya’s eyes, trying but failing to catch his breath at the sight of his best friend.

“Brian?” Trixie whispered softly, afraid that Katya may not have heard, but he did. He heard him loud and clear.

“Yeah?” He whispered back just as softy.

“I think I’m in love with you.” His statement came out as a question, unsure of how his friend of so long would take it. However, Katya didn’t reply. Instead he moved one of the arms trapping Trixie and brought it to his face, delicately stroking the others cheek.

“I think I feel the same.” He replied, staring at Trixie with glassed eyes. Trixie looked down at Katya’s lips, closing the small gap between them in a kiss. It wasn’t how they had both imagined it to be. It wasn’t rough and desperate, but instead the kiss they shared, held years of feelings they were both too scared to confess.

As the kiss ended, they rested their foreheads together, once again breathing deeply. They didn’t talk. They just smiled.

[angstalottle]

Alone Time

Part 2:

Allura explaining the situation as they all sat in the common room really didn't make things any clearer. She told them that it appeared the two had fused entirely and unless they knew what caused it sticking them in the healing pods wouldn't do much good. "But I thought the pods could fix anything." Lance's voice came through. "Most injuries yes..." Allura nodded. "So why can't you just stick us in there for a couple hours then? Keith asked crossing his arms. In was really unnerving to hear the two switch back and forth. "I'm afraid the pods could register Lance as a foreign entity in your body Keith and most likely would destroy him like a parasite." "Well it wouldn't be wrong." Keith mumbled under his breath. "You want to go mullet!" Lance yelled. They stood up looking to fight before Lance realised that wasn't really possible. "That's enough!" Shiro was starting to lose his temper. After the initial shock had passed, the two had done nothing but fight for hours while poor Coran and Allura tried to run tests to figure out what happened. They jumped as they sat back down shrinking under the leaders glare. "From the looks of it you two are stuck like this for a while, so you had better learn to get along." "But Shiro it's my body!" Keith complained. "Yeah but if I'm stuck in here no way I'm just letting mullet run my life!" Lance yelled. Shiro sighed reminding himself that patience yield focus. "That's why your going to share. Pidge." Pidge jumped up handing over a printed out schedule over to them. "I created an algorithm to distribute the days activities as fairy as possible also taking into your particular needs." They looked over the times nodding as they did so. When they first woke up Keith would be in control until after training during which he would do any bathroom stuff he needed to. Then during lunch Lance would take over so that he could take part in afternoon training. During down time they would switch every two hours before finally Lance would be in charge so he could still do his skin care regime before bed. "Any questions?" Shiro asked really not in the mood for another shouting match. They shook their head "looks fine to me." Keith shrugged. "Yeah me too." Lance added. Shiro let out a long sigh, it had been a long day and everyone was more then exhausted. The fact that they actually managed to get this sorted out so easily was the first good news they got all day. "Right now thats sorted bed time." Coran smiled as he clapped his hands. Lance stood up heading towards the bathroom. True to his word Keith tried to stay quiet as Lance applied his face mask. But twenty minutes later Keith was getting impatient. "Seriously you can't do this every night!" Lance rolled their eyes "of course I do, not everyone is blessed with perfect skin you know." Keith was quiet for a moment as a memory came to mind. The memory wasn't his though. It was Lance when he couldn't of been much older then twelve having his face held down in a muddy puddle unable to breath and screaming for help. Kids were laughing at him calling him terrible things like pizza face, moon boy, and worse of all ugly fag. Eventually the boys left and Lance stumbled home battered and bruised to wash the mud off his acne covered face. Keith couldn't believe it. "You had bad acne as a kid..." "H-how did you know that?" Lance asked panic clear in his voice. "I saw it... I saw your memory of being held down in the mud." Keith touched their face gently "sorry... I didn't realise how much good skin meant to you." "It's fine." Lance mumbled. Keith picked up the face mask container "take as much time as you need... I can wait." Lance smiled into the mirror figuring it was a close to smiling at Keith as he could "thanks."

[areacomplete]

Some Unspoken Thing (pt. 1)

Pairing: Stenbrough (eventually) (i promise)

Word Count: 1371

Warning: homophobic/anti-semitic slurs, swearing, violence but it’s not super graphic (only in this chapter it’s gonna be fluff I swear)

Summary: "Stan’s heart was beating faster now -- faster than it ever had. Mortality striking him like a sucker punch; he had felt like he was going to die before, sure, he had felt like he was going to die two minutes ago, but nothing felt as serious as this."

Stan finds himself in a dangerous situation with a schoolhouse bully, Ben doesn't know what to do with him, and Bill ends up with some extra baggage. Not that he's complaining.

[ao3 link] pls ignore my username i’ve had it since i was 12

“I’m gonna get you, you fuckin’ fag! I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you!”

Stan shot to the left, ducking under a fallen branch hanging low between trees and positioning himself against the bark of another. He pushed himself to quiet his breathing, ignoring the fire burning in his lungs and the paralyzing waves of nausea that built up in his stomach. His pounding heartbeat in his ears was so loud -- so fucking loud, there was no way Henry and his violent band of ‘friends’ couldn’t hear it. There was no way Stan was getting away this time.

His right cheek began to sting, Stan only now noticing the fresh blood spilling down his face. Hastily, he moved to wipe it off, though the action did nothing other than stain his shirt and spread the blood down to his neck. He cursed to himself, too quiet for anyone to hear. Henry must’ve done more than graze him with that shitty little knife, because you didn’t exactly get this much blood from a papercut.

He listened; desperate for any indicator that the boys had passed, but he could still hear their footsteps, breaking heavy branches and ripping through the underbrush as they searched. He heard someone shout, but his own breathing echoed too loud in his mind to make out a voice, let alone any words it may have said.

I’m gonna die here, Stan thought, the panic allowing for intrusive, dangerous words to worm their way up to the surface, I’m gonna die here and they’re gonna find my decaying fucking body three weeks from now, Henry’s fucking name carved into my throat with that shitty fucking pocket knife--

Cold, sharp steel to Stan’s neck brought him out of his trance.

“Found ya.”

Henry’s disgusting smirk was evident in his voice. He grabbed Stan, dirty nails digging into his skin, and jerked him away from his ‘safety’ behind the tree. Henry moved the knife away from his neck, solidifying his grip; the two close enough now for Stan to realize he must’ve eaten fucking onions for breakfast, or maybe something akin to rotting meat.

“What the hell,” Stan, although doing his best to keep his composure, couldn’t control the way his voice cracked pitifully when he had said ‘hell’, “did I do to you?” He huffed out the last three words, forcing his lungs to inhale through the shockwaves of stabbing pain. Stan made no movement to break out of Henry’s grip, and Henry took that as an invitation to monologue.

“What did you… what did you do to me?” Henry spoke between raspy laughs, his grip tightening on Stan’s arm, already leaving a mark that would surely become a bruise, whether it was on his living body or his dead one. “Look at you! Have you looked in a fuckin’ mirror?”

Stan’s teeth clenched in reply, wincing slightly at Henry’s nails digging deeper and deeper into his skin; sure now that, in addition to the bruise, they had drawn blood in small crescents along his forearm. He glanced to his left, then to his right, careful not to move too much and risk sending Henry into even more of a fervent rage.

The other boys hadn’t quite caught up yet, though he gave himself only a few minutes before one maniac multiplied into four. If that were to happen, Stan’s zero percent chance of survival would fall to at least negative fifteen.

Henry was still blabbing but Stan made no effort to listen, the mental power it was taking not to faint and/or vomit right then and there being slightly more of a priority. He heard the word “Jew” several times, “Fag” a few more, but nothing was really calling to his attention.

Henry, as daft as he is, must’ve noticed this, because he loosened his grip on Stan’s arm, letting go completely after a solid kick was delivered to Stan’s stomach. He fell -- hard, knocking his head against a branch on the ground and almost losing consciousness completely. The deafening heartbeat in his ears was now accompanied by a loud ringing, one similar to the daze of someone shooting a gun when you’ve forgotten to put earmuffs on.

Stan quickly, though struggling with vertigo and his vision blurring, scrambled to a sitting position, his hands slipping on blood that had pooled on the dirty ground when he fell. Henry felt a million times bigger at this angle, more powerful; as if he was a god. A god with a pink leather jacket, a mullet, and his father’s shitty pocket knife, but a god nonetheless. It was as if the light around him was bending to his will -- shrouding Stan in a darkness that he would never escape from. Like a cat staring down at a mouse, it’s small body already tangled in a trap.

Henry flicked the knife open,

click.

Closed,

click.

Open,

click.

Stan’s heart was beating faster now -- faster than it ever had. Mortality striking him like a sucker punch; he had felt like he was going to die before, sure, he had felt like he was going to die two minutes ago, but nothing felt as serious as this. Nothing felt as serious as the danger looming over you, clicking its knife to the beat of some melancholy death ballad as the ringing in your ears became stronger and the blood tracing the skin on the back of your neck was warm and disgusting.

He closed his eyes. There was nothing else he could do; his body paralyzed by fear and his mind off on tangents he wasn’t conscious enough to understand. He listened as the click, click, click of Henry’s knife approached him, getting closer, closer, until he could feel Henry’s warm breath on his face, until--

“Dammit, fuck!”

Stan’s eyes shot open, the sudden shout shocking him just enough to bring him back to reality. Henry had recoiled, now at least two feet away, grimy hand holding his temple like he had been shot. Blood had began flowing in between his fingers, following the lines of his knuckles.

Stan didn’t need an invitation. Using the sudden burst of adrenaline and a nearby tree for leverage, he did his best to force himself into a standing position. His bloodied hands slipped across the bark, cutting more gashes into his skin and making what must’ve been milliseconds seem like hours as he dragged himself onto his feet.

He took off in a clumsy run, every muscle in his body begging him to stop through a language Stan felt as if he knew too well: excruciating pain. He jumped over fallen logs and ran straight through bushes, sure he was cutting himself up on thorns but too preoccupied to care. His bloodied shirt was torn now, exposing skin through small slits of fabric.

He ran until his legs wouldn’t move anymore; until he ended up on the side of a road in Derry, heaving breaths through aching lungs, his mind too focused on the idea of being caught to notice the familiar boy sitting just across the way, wide-eyed and terrified.

In seconds,

(or minutes, if you had asked Ben, who saw a bloodied, terrified Stan run screaming out of the woods and had to spend several moments collecting himself)

hands were on his shoulders and Stan’s voice came out as a hoarse scream, his arms desperately pushing the other boy away but having no real strength to make any difference. Stan was a panicked mass of limbs, desperately fighting to shove the other off of him. As the ringing in his ears quieted down, a voice bled through.

“Stan! It’s me! It’s Ben! Calm down!” It was faint, but he could hear it, and his muscles began to relax. Ben lowered his hands from his shoulders to his arms, trying to stop him from shaking so badly. “I’ve got you, alright? You’re okay.”

“Ben?” Although he was sure of who it was, the word came out with the cadence of a question. His voice was almost nonexistent, slowly fading along with the adrenaline that had pushed him so far. “...the fuck?”

The last thing he remembers, before his vision faded to black, was Ben’s tense, terrified laughter.

[theampreviews]

The Untouchables

​#28 - Days of Thunder (1990) / Dir. Tony Scott / Paramount

Few films are as unjustly maligned as “Top Gun on Wheels”. The similarities between the two are beyond count, but whilst the former enjoys an iconic status and more enduring praise (though often a little too patronising in tone for my liking), there’s a strong argument to be made for Thunder being the better film.

First things first, this is no hit job on Top Gun. I adore it. It’s one of my all time favourite movies. That film is rightly considered a Classic and the birthplace of “Tom Cruise: Earth’s Greatest Movie Star”. It’s far more quotable, it has the awesome call signs, the more memorable score and music cues and, well, pilots are just much cooler than race car drivers, so it wins there too.

The deck was stacked pretty definitively against Thunder living up to its swisher older brother, and critics and audiences have both shamed it as a derivative wannabe, but I believe the margin between the two is fag-paper thin.

For starters, Days of Thunder has a much better screenplay. Top Gun may have the memorable lines, the likes of “I feel the need, the need for speed”, “Your ego is writing checks your body can’t cash” and “You can be my wing-man any time” to adorn t-shirts the world over, but aside from a handful of zingers, Cash & Epps Jr. (who would go on to be the brain-trust behind The Flintstones in Viva Rock Vegas!) have no real feel for dialogue or how to let a scene breath beyond the perfunctory. On the other hand, Oscar winning screenwriter Robert Towne finds far more engaging things for his characters to say when they’re not shouting into each other’s earpieces on race day (and even there he strikes gold his own with gems like “rubbin, son, is racin’”, “I’m dropping the hammer” and the triumphant “this one’s for you, Harry!”).

Towne also fashions a story that lives perfectly within the world he’s writing about. The character arcs, conflicts and motivations all ring true to the Sports Movie, whereas Top Gun makes for an awkward War Movie, in that there is no war. A film about the competition of flight academy would have sufficed, but the final reel showdown has always felt tacked on; called to action during their graduation ceremony, it’s there out of cinematic necessity only and stretches credulity way beyond breaking point.

Of greater importance than any of this, one thing really sets these two apart; Cruise is far more likeable as Cole Trickle (awesome Movie Name) than he is Pete “Maverick” “Mav” Mitchell, who is, let’s be honest, a bit of a bell-end. Both are young prodigious talents with father issues and masked insecurities, but Cole is far less abrasively arrogant and marginally less creepy when pursuing authoritative women than Maverick is (he also knows well enough to wear a belt with jeans. Unforgivable sin, Mitchell).

There are other areas that Thunder inches forward too. Nicole Kidman acts circles round Kelly McGillis as the put upon love interest, Michael Rooker gets a far meatier assignment as rival and real love interest (though Kilmer’s Ice Man is a preening home run for Top Gun) and, with a gun to my head, I’d take “Show Me Heaven” over “Take My Breath Away” in the power ballad stakes. 

Elsewhere, Top Gun takes Best Friend Role with Anthony Edwards over John C. Riley as well as James Tolkan’s Irritable Senior besting Randy “You look like a monkey fucking a football” Quaid, overall soundtrack and Cruise Grins. It’s a tie on Score. Yes, the Faltermeyer music is beyond iconic, but the Hans Zimmer/Jeff Beck collaboration is one of action cinemas most underrated gems. Oh, and Thunder wins Best Cruise Hair (a glorious mullet/mop hybrid) and gets bonus points for a Rocky III worthy freeze-frame ending.

Perhaps the biggest plus Thunder has going for it is in Robert Duvall. Even the mighty combination of Tom Skerritt and Michael Ironside can’t compete with a Great like him. You might think that someone of his stature could be tempted to phone it in for a dumb studio move like this, but Duvall gives it both barrels start to finish, he’s genuinely great here.

Comparing these two movies shouldn’t be the point, but Top Gun’s shadow has consumed Days of Thunder from its opening night (which for me was at The Empire Leicester Square, pre-show lazer display and all) to this very day. It has consigned Thunder to a footnote in the Cruise/Kidman relationship more than it is a film in its own right.

It’s not by accident that Top Gun resonates the way it does decades later, being first isn’t why it’s loved more. There’s something intangible about that film that audiences respond to. It’s Movie Magic in its purest form, but that shouldn’t deny this film the love it deserves.