#they’re all fuckin dykes

[medusas-rockin-tits]

Because apparently the Good Omens fandom, esp on TikTok, seems to have like, a major lesbophobia issue? Just wanted to remind people

Crowley and Aziraphale are lesbians

Gabriel and Beelzebub are lesbians

Dagon and Michael are lesbians

Literally all of those are correct. It is literally correct to call any of those characters lesbians. That’s the point, they’re all not human and don’t have gendered concepts and literally any labels work.

But the amount of fans I see being openly lesbophobic is SHOCKING and extremely disappointing. Sorry, all lesbians, hope this helps 🩶

Disclaimer before people get all piss baby in my comments, I’m not saying you can also call them mlm or anything like that, I’m just saying you can’t go around going “THEY’RE NOT LESBIANS” because they are lol

[witchpassing]

interview_3aC

I got into piloting during the Third Generation. For the historically illiterate, that’s before the breakpoint, not after. Summer Offensive, Chelsk Offensive, ‘81, ‘82… All that shit.

When you say pilot now, people get a certain mental image. It wasn’t like that, back then; end of the day, a G3 frame is basically just another kind of tank. Hot like hell inside and full analogue control. You had to think five, six, seven seconds ahead sometimes, because that’s how long it’d take you to string together the inputs for what you were doing next.

I was good. I mean, I’m good at my job now, sure, but… you should’ve fuckin’ seen me then.

... Anyway. Long and short of it is, I got unlucky. Everyone does, sooner or later. Coterie railcannon caved in part of my cockpit, crushed my leg to dogmeat, and that was that. A few years later, they’d have amputated, plugged in a spare, and sent me back in, but this was ‘83, the tech wasn’t there yet. We were hearing about it, you know, shit on the grapevine about the brain-machine barrier, weird tests underground out in Lysk, but I don’t think any of us really believed in it.

I wanna say I knew what was coming, but I didn’t. Nobody did.

So. Cockpit breach. Fucked leg. They did a lot of work, got it to where I could walk on a good day, but it was obvious I wasn’t gonna cut it any more. Took my pension, checked out, spent eight years in the worst dyke bars I could find. Don’t really wanna talk about that part. That’s not what you’re here for, anyway.

So I’m a few years down the line, losing my mind somewhere in Sengrade, and I get a call. It’s this guy I used to know, I never really nailed down what he did, Information maybe, and he’s telling me about this program they’re spinning up over in Lysk, and sure that rings some alarm bells but what am I gonna do, say no? I don’t even need to hear the specifics, he’s trying to tell me it’s the next big jump in frame tech, it’s gonna win us the war, whatever, I’m already halfway onto a train.

The job turned out to be the Fifth Generation. Not only was the brain-machine barrier real, but they’d smashed clean through it. I said a G3 is basically a tank, right? So I was expecting an iteration on the form. Sharper, sleeker sure, but at the end of the day just a prettier-looking tank.

Well, I was dead fuckin’ wrong. Seeing something that size move that way, it’s… I don’t think I can put it into words. Go find a poet or something. Ask them what they think about Gen 5.

… Didn’t come for free, of course. The neural throughput on a machine that size will cook an unprepared brain like a fuckin’ egg. You need to be dosed to the gills on a whole cocktail of ten-syllable shit to take it for more than a few minutes, and the drugs make you weird. Horny, mostly - I’m sure you’ve heard about that - but you’re also looking at impaired impulse control, difficulty with long-term thinking, emotional disregulation, mania… Plus, there’s something in the cocktail or the link or both that is bastard habit-forming. You see them counting the hours between sorties. They adjust to the hyperstimulation, get calibrated to it, and then everything else is just too god-damn quiet.

Think maybe it’s carcinogenic, actually, but you didn’t hear that from me.

So, yeah. Weird. Command doesn’t want weird operating superweaponry. Weird doesn’t make sound tactical decisions. Which means all the shit that makes somebody a functioning soldier - the long-term decision making, the impulse control, the ability to give a fuck about the rules of engagement - it had to be outsourced.

The term they used at first was “special consultant”. Then “special consulting officer”, once we hit field testing. It wasn’t “handler” until later.

The first crop of us - I’m just gonna say handlers, I know how you’re gonna wanna spin this, I get it - were all ex-pilots. G3, mostly; Gen 4 didn’t leave a lot of material to work with. I guess the idea was we were the closest you could get to a G5 candidate’s frame of reference, but it was pretty clear within the first few months that that was bullshit. Some of us took to it, some of us washed out. A lot couldn’t take the wetwork, which I guess I can sympathise with.

Me, I handled it fine. Better than I should’ve, maybe. Being a tanker didn’t do shit for me, but my dad, he was a dog trainer, and… Yeah, well, you get the idea.

… No, no. The other kind of wetwork. You know what I mean.

…

The leg? Ha. Yeah, they offered me a prosthetic. ‘Course they did. But, call me a hypocrite, whatever you want - by that point I was six months in and I knew with total fuckin’ certainty I didn’t want the link. I spend enough of my time helping the military put their shit into peoples’ bodies, you know? I don’t want it walking home with me.

… No, I don’t understand why they keep signing up. Early days, sure, nobody knew what it did to you back then, but there’s been leaks, people’ve talked - hell, I’m talking right now. You can find our burnouts in any dive in the country, or what's fuckin' left of them. The candidates now, they know what we do to people here, and they just keep coming, and coming…

Though, you know… I think sometimes about the first time I saw a Gen 5 machine take off, that first day on the program. The way it moved against the blue-black of the sky, like it weighed nothing at all. And I almost get it.

[docholligay]

Bozeman Half Marathon 2024

The race starts at 8. The shuttle drops us off at 6:55. 

There was a little bit of fucking around too close to start time, so we ended up in the back of the pack. As I break over the start line, it’s immediately clear to me that I am behind people who are shooting for a 2:30 or more time, which is so beautiful and hope they had the best time but all of my encouragements to newer or slower runners immediately die away in a wave of “get the fuck out of my way.” I have never bobbed and weaved as I did here, and I get afraid that I’ll lose my pacer, because I am trying so hard to just get get out of the fracas. 

Mile 3. I call out, “What are we sitting at?” “9:05” comes the answer. I’ve been fucking around too much, and make a breakaway in between two runners in front of me. I’ve got to hit harder than this. 

My pacer grabs his stomach and steps off to the side. 

You’re a beautiful person, but this ain’t ‘nam, and I’m leaving your ass. I will buy you a drink later, salutations and good luck. 

I actually start running faster at this point--i hadn’t realized how much I was holding back because I sensed he was struggling and I didn’t want to leave him in the dust. I need something to pace me. My stryd isn’t connecting, i don’t even have a timer watch, and I didn’t set my music to time me like I usually do, until the tornado siren. There are two girls in matching outfits, including pink banana shorts. They’re the ones. They look fast. 

If it were not for them, I don’t know that I would have been able to get it back, because they got me into a rhythm of running about a 8:30 mile for two miles, which gave me a huge cushion. Mile 4 and 5 were entirely on their pink-festooned backs. They stopped for water mid Mile 6, and i kept going. 

Mile 7: What the fuck have I done wrong in my life, and why is it being visited upon me, the sweetest and most innocent of human beings, right now? There is a long, slow, plodding hill. 

There is a moment, in every race I have ever run, called, “What the fuck is my problem?” It is very important to get over the ‘What the fuck is my problem?” hump, because it is my own personal Jesus being tempted by Satan in the desert, with the idea of walking and giving up. Why would I, a sane woman with a loving family, think about running 13 miles and change full send? Did I think that would be fun? What about my life up to that point made me think it would be fun?

We have to attack this little demon inside us. We can always doubt the wisdom of our decisions later, but for now, the only way out is through, and my only reward for slowing down is that I have to be on the course longer. 

I round the corner, no longer on the hill, and then from behind me, the sound of a truck, and a voice I ahven’t heard in a while: 

“C’mon Doc, let’s fuckin go! It ain’t that far!” I look to my left, and it’s my buddy Jake! I haven’t seen him in a couple years, and he must have figured out it was me by sheer chance of “I bet that little red headed dyke in the unicorn shorts is Doc. She loves to run” and he is correct! He bangs twice on the side of his BLM truck, laughs, revs his engine at me, and drives on down the course. 

This carries me for a solid two miles. If your family has been in Montana for as long as both of ours have, it’s hard to hide from each other. Do i want to come across as a little bitch to Jake? Do i want to tell him it was just too fucking hard? Fuck no. 

The Tracer voice inside me, “What’s the worst that could ‘appen? Push it!” “We die?” “Not a problem we’d ave to deal with!” 

I push. I go. I fly through the cross country kids handing out water. I’m trying to pace myself beside runners just a little ahead of me, runners that look fast and also infuriatingly casual in their matching banana shorts and pink tank tops. They hold me on for the next few miles, but as they start into their negative splits (Unfortunately, they not only look fast, they are fast) they begin to leave me behind. 

I have heard the half marathon called “10 decent miles and then the worst 5k of your life” and for me, at the very least, that seems to hold true. I am getting exhausted by the time I hit mile ten, and my form is falling apart. I like like one of those inflatable noodle men, running down the street, limbs flopping. My body is swinging wildly, which is costing me energy, but I can’t stop myself. I’m getting tired mentally and physically. 

In  the middle of mile 11, I hit a pothole. I’m not watching what I’m doing, my foot goes directly onto the lip of the pothole and I go careening forward. I know it’s a cliche to say things happen in slow motion, but I swear it must have taken me ten seconds to fall. I had time to think about how I absolutely did not want to hurt my knee, so I, with a reasonable amount of stupidity, put my arm out straight, which keen-eyed viwers will note is a great way to break your wrist. I didn’t, so, unearned victory for me, but I slammed down hard into the asphalt, and threw myself onto my hip. 

A struggled for a minute, and then, as I held up my hand to stand, someone grabs it, without breaking his stride at all, and yanks me to my feet. 

“We’re fucking doing this!” he yells to me. 

And then he continues on. I could have given up, and my pride and my time are badly hurt, but having that moment gives it all back to me. I might not be able to run this in time, but I can run it to the end, and not give up. Giving up isn’t what I do. 

Unfortunately, to be the people we tell ourselves we are, we have to make the choices that make us those people. If I am a runner, who doesn’t give up. I need to both run, and not give up. Annoying. 

So I keep on. By the time we reach the city proper, I am in mile 12 of 13, and I am well and truly suffering. It hurts so bad, and I want to stop, but I can’t stop, because I am so close, and how much would I hate myself to run all this way and give up now? I can’t walk. I have to keep going. 

The tornado siren goes off in my ear. I have ten minutes to cross the finish line before losing my goal. I haven’t hit the final mile yet. This is bad. But the only way to get there faster, is to run faster. I have no idea what I drew on in that moment. But I find something deep inside me, and I yank it out and throw it on the road. 

I go down the final pull, praying, waiting for the final turn, where I can see the finish line. That always gives me something more, sets off a firework inside me. 

There’s a gal with a sign by the side of the road that says, “ ***ing finish so we can drink!” and, again, it is only through the encouragement of strangers that I have made it through this race at all. I point at her sign and smile, and she yells to me, “You know what I’m talking about! Fuck yeah! Go! Go!” 

This last mile is one of the hardest of my life. I just keep having to chant, ‘Right, left, repeat. Right, left, repeat.” 

The final turn! I can see the finish line, I only have to run three more stoplights before I make it. I can do it. I kick on the afterburner. I am so close. I’m almost there. 

My heart falls when I see the timer. 1:57:40. I’ve already failed. There’s no way I can cross the finish line in 15 seconds. Or can’t I? Fuck it, whatever, I will maybe not make it, but I will run as hard as I can. My hip is screaming, my form is the worst it has ever been, and I don’t care about absolutely fucking any of that, because if I cross even one second under, I will have made PR. 

I go. 

I cross the finish line, wobbling, half limping, about to throw up. I’ve made my time goal by about 3 seconds. Great. That’s enough. The guy giving out the medals is nice enough to come over and put it on my neck, because I look like I’m suffering as much as I am. The text comes through. 

I COMPLETELY FORGOT IT TOOK ME NEARLY A MINUTE TO CROSS THE START LINE. I have made my time by a full goddamn MINUTE. My joy is total. I would jump up and down screaming but I do not have even the slightest amount of energy for any of that. I have a can of champagne in my drop bag, and I am going to go get that, and crush it. 

Someday, I’ll stop setting PR, but today is not that day.

Video evidence of my extremely bad finish: You can tell how much I'm favoring my hip, which is making me swing my body WILDLY.

[scarlet-witchery]

Keeping Warm Against the Cold

Two newlyweds, a snowy day, a pile of Gallaghers, and lots of memories. for the wonderful @callivich! This is kind of a sequel to my fic, New Traditions, but you don't have to have read that to read this one. post-s10. Warning for some slight homophobic language between queer characters, but it's meant to be in good humor. (on ao3)

Mickey knocked the snow from his boots as he made his way up the front steps of the house. He exhaled deeply, his breath hanging visible in the air from the cold. Snow fell silently all around in the slow sunset, an almost eerie feeling with the streets so uncharacteristically silent. The lights from inside the house looked warm and inviting, though, and Mickey hurried through the front door.

A blast of warm air hit him in the face—thank fuck, too, since it meant someone managed to get the electric bill paid on time—and he kicked his boots off in the entryway. The lights from the tree twinkled brightly as Mickey entered the living room, and he could see the presents under the tree were all wrapped a little haphazardly. Debbie and Sandy were lying on the couch on top of one another as Mickey shrugged off his coat, and Franny played with her toys on the floor close by.

“Can’t you lesbos take it somewhere else?” Mickey said without any heat to his voice. “There’s fuckin’ kids here.” Debbie raised an eyebrow at him, but he just grinned back. She rolled her eyes, and then made a big show of leaning down and planting a huge smack of a kiss on Sandy’s lips, while his cousin grabbed at Debbie’s ass over her jeans.

“Sorry, Mick, it’s dyke central in here,” Sandy told him. “Better luck next time.”

“Plus, you and Ian still haven’t apologized for fucking on the couch last month,” said Debbie. “The brand new couch. You have a room, you know. My eyes still can’t unsee it.”

Mickey shrugged. It wasn’t his fault they’d gotten a little frisky while having the house to themselves for once. How were they supposed to know Debbie would get home from work early that day?

“Sorry, little red. Guess the shine ain’t worn off just yet.” He held up his left hand, waggling his ring finger to show off the silver wedding band.

“Gross,” she said, but the look she gave him was equal parts exasperated and fond. “Ian’s upstairs with Carl and Lip trying to rearrange the furniture, by the way.”

“They’re still not done with that shit?” The Gallagher brothers were moving Carl’s things into Liam’s room for the winter, since the RV had proven to be far too cold to keep a baby in. So Lip, Tami, and Fred would take the brothers’ old room until the weather warmed up. Mickey wasn’t thrilled about more people in the house—shit was crowded enough, especially since Sandy had apparently moved her crap into Debbie’s room and made herself at home—but at least he could always retreat to his and Ian’s room.

“Yeah, apparently little miss middle class wanted to get the vacuum out. I didn’t even know there was one here,” Sandy said, snorting with laughter. Mickey, who had never used a vacuum in his life, just shook his head and called out to Franny as he tossed her a candy bar he’d grabbed on the way out of the store.

“Thanks, uncle Mickey!” she exclaimed.

Debbie glanced over at the bag Mickey held in his hand, eyebrows shooting up and a knowing grin crossing her face. “Is that Ian’s present? The one we talked about?”

Suddenly self-conscious, Mickey gripped the plastic handles of the bag and held it close to his side. “Well, I mean—yeah. It was the only fuckin’ thing I could find at the last minute, so it’s better than nothin’, ya know?”

The look on his sister-in-law’s face told him that for all his blustering, she could see right through him. Debbie had always been good at that, after all. “Well, I think he’s gonna love it, so don’t worry too much. But you’d better go get it wrapped, get it under the tree. Christmas is just a few days away.” Mickey had gotten one or two other—private—gifts for Ian, but this one was what he could actually open on Christmas morning with the family. Even though he knew it wasn’t a big deal—they were married, for fuck’s sake, he could get his husband something sentimental for Christmas if he fuckin’ wanted to—he still felt his face heat up with a little awkwardness as Debbie gave him an excited grin. “Go on, get moving, before those idiots get done moving furniture.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fuckin’ going,” he muttered, but it only served to make Debbie and Sandy laugh. As he headed up the stairs he could hear Franny offering a piece of her chocolate to the two of them, all polite and good mannered and shit. Kid was a cute one—Debbie had managed to raise her right.

Soon enough, Mickey could hear the familiar voices of his husband and brothers-in-law, although he wasn’t able to make out exactly what they were saying. He went into his and Ian’s room, looking around for a good place to hide Ian’s gift where the sneaky asshole wouldn’t find it. Underwear drawer was out; so was under the bed. Even though they never cleaned there, it would be just like Ian to do so when Mickey specifically did not want him to look in that exact spot. He briefly considered hiding it in Debbie’s room, but he didn’t want to be held responsible for Franny breaking it. Not that he thought the little girl would do anything on purpose—she was good as gold, for all the chaos she’d been through in her short five years—but kids were clumsy and he didn’t wanna risk it.

The closet was cluttered, things thrown about haphazardly under the clothes they’d managed to hang up on the rack. His gaze fell on the gun safe he kept shoved in the back corner; it was just the right size to keep Ian’s gift hidden. Mickey went to get the key out of the sock drawer (he still wasn’t used to some of the ways his husband organized things, but if it made Ian happy, Mickey figured he could get used to it), then shoved a bunch of shit out of the way in the closet so he could pull the gun safe out. He didn’t have any wrapping paper, so he’d have to wait until the next day to make it all nice and shit. Ian was going with Carl to do some last minute shopping anyway, as long as the weather held up, so he’d have some time. The gift fit inside the box, although just barely, so Mickey locked it back up and put it back in the closet just as he heard Ian’s voice coming closer to their room. He shoved the closet door closed and scrambled onto the bed, trying to look casual, when his husband walked in and grinned at him.

“Hey, Mick,” Ian said brightly. “When’d you get back home?”

“Eh, not long. Maybe ten, fifteen minutes.” Mickey moved over to make room for Ian, who seemed all too happy to sit down next to him on the bed. He leaned over and put a hand on Mickey’s cheek so he could pull him in for a long, lingering kiss. Honestly, Mickey didn’t think he’d ever get used to it, especially the feeling of the matching silver wedding band on Ian’s ring finger against his skin. They’d only been married for two months now, but like he’d told Debbie, the shine still hadn’t worn off yet. Mickey pulled Ian in closer, a hand on his shoulder, and grinned against his lips at the feeling of warmth that radiated off his husband. Ian was like a space heater, which was great when the weather was like this, all freezing cold and snowing like nobody’s business.

“Missed you,” Ian said against Mickey’s lips, sending a thrill up Mickey’s spine. Two little words that threatened to make him melt like the biggest sap in existence. Then again, the gift in the closet was plenty enough evidence that he was nothing but whipped for Ian fuckin’ Gallagher, and he didn’t give a shit who knew it, either. So what if Lip was gonna give Mickey shit for it on Christmas morning? Ian would love it—Debbie had assured Mickey of that, which was nice of her, but he knew the moment they’d seen it in the shop that it’d been perfect—and that was all that mattered, really.

“Yeah, yeah, missed you too, Gallagher.” Mickey patted Ian’s cheek and smiled softly. “You guys finally get everything fixed up to Blondie’s liking?”

Ian rolled his eyes, but chuckled at Mickey’s nickname for Tami. “Yeah—took a while, but we made it work. Liam’s being a good sport about sharing with Carl, at least. I’m just glad Fred won’t be out in the cold.” After having lived out of a car with his family when he was younger, Mickey knew that the whole situation definitely hit a sore spot for Ian. Personally, Mickey didn’t give a fuck about Lip, but he did agree with Ian that the kid didn’t deserve to freeze. “Thought you said your errands were gonna take longer. Not that I’m complaining about you being back early.”

With a snort of laughter, Mickey snuggled back against Ian, pulling his husband’s arms around him for the warmth. “Roads are shit right now,” he explained. “Smart people are stayin’ home, keepin’ warm, that kinda thing.”

“What, are you saying you’re not smart?” Ian teased, pressing a kiss to Mickey’s jaw. Mickey decided not to dignify that with a response. Instead, he reached around and pinched Ian’s side, right in the spot he knew his husband was most ticklish. It got exactly the reaction he was hoping for—Ian jumped, not having seen it coming, but then he got back at Mickey and shoved him against the mattress with a laugh as he decided to tickle him back.

“Fuck you, Gallagher!” Mickey managed to get out, kneeing him in the stomach to try and get the upper hand. It worked well enough—Ian was caught off-guard long enough for Mickey to get him on his back and pin his hands over his head. It didn’t stop Ian from grinning like a madman, though, and he leaned up to kiss him hard; when he pushed Mickey backwards against the pillows, Mickey didn’t protest or fight, for once. He liked the way it felt when Ian pressed him into the mattress, the weight of his husband on top of him making Mickey feel safe and secure. Warmth radiated off of him in waves as Ian pulled Mickey into a spooning cuddle, nuzzling the back of his neck and pressing a light kiss there just below his hairline.

“Gotcha,” Ian murmured against Mickey’s ear.

Mickey bit his lip and tried not to grin. “Uh huh,” he said. “Ever think of the fact that I got ya right where I want ya?”

Ian shook his head, arms tightening around Mickey for a moment in a hug. “Nah,” he said. “I’ve got you , Mr. Gallagher.”

“Well, Mr. Milkovich, I guess we’re both getting what we want, then.” Mickey’s cheeks were burning with heat, and not just from Ian’s embrace. Even after all these years, Ian could still make him blush like a fucking teenager with a stupid crush. It wasn’t his fault his husband was a sappy bitch, though, and he could enjoy that now. Sometimes he had to remind himself about that, about the fact that he got to wake up next to Ian and go to sleep next to him and kiss him every day for the rest of his life. After they’d spent so long with their lives and relationships in turmoil, through breakups and mental illness and prison sentences and all the rest of it, they’d made it to this point.

Sometimes Mickey wondered how he’d gotten so lucky. Then he would shake his head and decide not to question it, before the universe decided he was too happy and figured it needed to fix that for him.

Mickey turned in Ian’s arms, albeit with some difficulty, then put his own arms over his husband’s shoulders. “Seem pretty feisty today, Red,” he mentioned casually. “Holidays really get you excited, huh?”

With a bashful glance to the side, Ian shrugged, unable to fight the smile that crossed his face. “I’m just happy,” he said, pressing a gentle kiss to Mickey’s lips. “You know, technically I think this is our first Christmas together.”

“Nah,” Mickey said, frowning slightly. “We had the one—right after you had your, uh…your first crash.” He didn’t like saying depressive episode , because it always felt too clinical. “Remember? The kid’s first one—you and Svet made us watch Home Alone three times in a row, and then the stupid Muppet one.” He’d never admit it, but Mickey really did love the Muppet Christmas Carol. Svetlana hadn’t stopped singing the opening number from that one for at least a week every time Mickey walked in a room, even getting Ian and Mandy in on it. That had been the first time Mickey saw Ian smile after weeks of him being stuck in bed, and whatever else he felt about it, Mickey had been grateful to Svetlana for helping pull Ian out of the fog. Whatever else had happened, no matter how it all fell apart, it had been the first good Christmas Mickey could remember.

“...I kinda remember it,” Ian said, sounding a little lost in thought. “Mandy got Yev that Santa onesie, and then she made me help her with Christmas cookies.”

Mickey snorted. “Yeah, and you guys got more cookie batter all over the fuckin’ kitchen than you got in the bowl for the actual cookies.” They hadn’t been great—neither Mandy nor Ian were the best at baking—but the thought and effort mattered more than anything. It had taken all of them to pull Ian out of the darkness in his own mind. They hadn’t had much of a tree, just something that had fallen off the back of a truck, and half the Christmas lights they’d strung up were dead bulbs, but seeing Ian smile again after so long had been worth it. He hadn’t been a ghost for much longer after that.

“...maybe we should call Mandy for Christmas,” Ian suggested quietly. “I got a text from her a few months back, with her new number. She heard about the trial, wanted to see how I was doing.”

Mickey felt a pang in his chest at the thought of his sister. They hadn’t spoken in years, not since she’d run off to Indiana with that fucking bastard of a boyfriend who’d beaten her black and blue, but Ian had seen her a few times in the years since. Told Mickey that she’d been doing better, been living on the West Side last he heard, and had not-so-subtly hinted at maybe getting back in touch. It was a strange thought—they’d been close when they were younger, but he didn’t know how she’d feel about hearing from Mickey after all this time. “...you really think she’d wanna hear from me?”

Ian nodded. “Yeah, Mick, I do.” He’d brought up the idea of reaching out to Svetlana and the kid as well, although that was a bit more of a complicated situation itself. Mickey still had mixed feelings about Yevgeny, but part of him did miss the cobbled together family that they’d created, all those years ago in the Milkovich house. When they were happy together, all of them; when he could look at Yevgeny and Svetlana without bile rising in his throat. Things were more complicated than he’d realized at the time—he knew that now—and it probably hadn’t been much different for her, either. Last he heard she’d married some old geezer and was living it up on the North Side. He could admit it now that he’d been a piece of shit back then. Maybe now that he and Ian had fixed things between them, they could fix some other things as well.

“Yeah, well…lemme think about it.” He felt Ian press a kiss against his hair in acknowledgement, but thankfully his husband didn’t push the issue further than that. Mickey wasn’t ready for it, not just now, but he thought he might get there soon enough.

The two of them settled into a quiet, cozy silence, Ian resting his chin on top of Mickey’s head. Mickey closed his eyes and leaned back against Ian’s broad chest, enjoying the way his husband’s arms enveloped him and made him feel safe and warm. When he cracked open one eyelid he could see the snow still falling out the window, steady and unlikely to stop any time soon. Perfect weather to stay in bed, curled up with the love of his life to keep them both warm and comfortable.

The two of them eventually slid down the bed until they were lying with their heads on the same pillow, Ian snuggling his face against the back of Mickey’s neck. He couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be right now, especially with how warm and comfortable his husband was against him. Let it fuckin’ snow for all he cared. This was the best place, the best feeling in the world.

--

As he’d suspected, the next morning found the snow piled up at least six inches, much to Franny’s delight. Debbie had had to cancel her jobs for the day, and both Lip and Tami had gotten calls that their workplaces were closed from the weather as well. Chicago was used to plenty of snow, and they’d already put snow chains on their tires in anticipation, but this time it had come with a half an inch of ice according to the weatherman on TV. Better to stay home than chance ruining one of the few vehicles the family could use.

After breakfast, Liam and Franny had run upstairs to get their winter things on, since Franny had insisted that they go play together. Tami sat at the table feeding Fred while Carl was on the phone to let his boss know he’d be in late. “You and half the city,” Lip told him. “Who’s gonna commit a crime during a fuckin’ blizzard, anyway?”

“You never know what people are gonna do,” Carl said, shrugging his shoulders. Mickey silently agreed with that—he and Iggy and Colin would ride the L to the North Side in the aftermath of a bad storm sometimes, see if they could break into homes that rich fucks had left empty while they spent the winters in Florida or some bullshit. Not that he was gonna admit it to a fuckin’ cop, even one that happened to be his brother-in-law. 

“Uncle Ian! Come with me!” Franny called as she jumped down the steps two at a time, the laces of her boots coming untied. With a laugh, Debbie motioned her little girl over so she could re-tie them for Franny. Sandy scooped a big spoonful of cereal into her mouth, glancing over at the mother and daughter pair next to her. His cousin liked to talk a big game, but Mickey could tell she already had a soft spot for Franny. Her and Debbie’s relationship had been like a whirlwind, with her even moving her stuff in a week after his and Ian’s wedding, and this tended to be when Sandy started feeling trapped. Mickey knew the feeling, and he knew his cousin—he should probably talk to her at some point so she didn’t try to bolt the way she always did. Maybe in the past he’d never bothered interfering in her relationships, but he didn’t want to see Debbie hurt. And maybe he thought it’d be good for Sandy not to sabotage what seemed to be a pretty good thing, either.

“All right, Franny, I’ll come with you,” Ian agreed, tugging gently on her pigtails and making the little girl giggle. “Sandy? Debbie? You guys gonna come?”

Sandy shrugged, chewing another spoonful of cereal as she thought it over. “Sure, why not?”

“I’ll get my coat,” Ian said, then glanced over at Mickey, who was sitting in the corner and drinking his coffee. “Mick? You coming?”

Mickey shook his head. “Gotta help Debbie get some more of that Christmas shit outta the attic,” he said. Technically it wasn’t a lie—the wrapping paper was in the attic—and thank fuck Debbie backed him up.

“There’s some old Christmas dresses up there in a box, I wanna see if any of them will fit Franny. And we might have some Christmas stuff for Fred, too!” she added, looking over at Tami. “Sheila made a really cute Christmas sweater for Liam one year, I think we still have it in storage. It’d look really cute on Fred.”

Tami didn’t look entirely thrilled, but Lip nodded with a slight smile. “Yeah, I remember that one—with the fucked up looking reindeer on it, right?”

“You want to put our son in a Christmas sweater with fucked up reindeer on it?”

Lip shrugged. “His first ugly Christmas sweater. Rich people are all about that shit, aren’t they?”

As the two of them went back and forth on the subject, Mickey finished his coffee and took his mug over to the sink just as Ian passed him while pulling on his coat. He reached out and brushed his hand across Mickey’s shoulders. It was just a small touch, but it meant everything that they could have this now, openly showing affection in front of Ian’s family without anyone batting an eyelid. A far cry from the way things were when Mickey lived here the first time. When he and Ian were still an open secret, when Mickey was still terrified that anyone might find him out. But now all that happened was a sly grin from Sandy across the room, more a reminder of their conversation from the day before than anything.

Ian held his arms out and Franny came running to him; he lifted her up into the biggest bear hug he could manage and she shrieked with laughter. “Let’s go! Let’s go!” she chanted as Liam came down the stairs bundled up in a hat, coat, scarf, gloves, and boots. The three of them headed out the back door, a burst of freezing winter air making them all shiver through their sweaters in spite of the heater running full tilt.

“Okay, little red, we doing this or what?” Mickey said, and Debbie got up from the table to follow him up the steps. Once upstairs, they worked together to pull down the attic stairs, and they climbed up one at a time, Debbie turning on the light as she got to the top first.

“Wrapping paper is…right here!” she said, shoving a box towards him. He picked out a roll of green paper with a pattern of gold stars. Ian did love green, Mickey knew, so it’d be a good choice. He’d be a pretty piss-poor husband if he didn’t know Ian’s favorite color, and it wasn’t something dumb like the Santas or elves or shit he saw in the box next to the one he’d picked out. Debbie, for her part, was digging through another box until she pulled out a red sweater that looked a little big for the six-month-old Fred, but was indeed covered in fucked-up looking reindeer. “Ha! I knew we still had it,” she crowed triumphantly. “Fiona never threw away any baby clothes. I’m just glad we still had this one.”

“...those really are some fucked up deer,” Mickey said, furrowing his brow a little. “You really think Tamietti is gonna let Lip put that on her kid?”

“C’mon, Mickey, it’s Christmas,” she said with a grin. “And it’ll be hilarious to see the look on Tami’s face when Lip tells her that they’ve gotta do it. You know he will.” And yeah, Mickey knew Lip well enough by this point to agree with her on that.

“I’m gonna go get this thing wrapped before your kid gets tired and Ian’s back inside,” he said. “You done up here?”

She shook her head. “You go ahead. I’m still trying to find the Christmas dresses for Franny.”

Mickey headed back down the stairs with the wrapping paper tucked under his arm, and headed back to his and Ian’s room. As he dropped it on the floor and found the key to the gun safe, he felt a pang in his heart at the thought of Ian’s face lighting up when he saw the gift Mickey had gotten for him. It wasn’t anything special, but Debbie had assured him that Ian would love it when they’d gone looking last week and found it sitting in a back corner of the store. As he opened the gun safe, Mickey pulled out the wooden trinket, not too big but still enough that the words on it could be read.

It was shaped like a wreath—not some dumbass Christmas thing, but with the natural wood colors still showing through unpainted—and had the names and birthdays of each Gallagher sibling. He’d debated about whether to include Frank and Monica on it, but figured in the end that Ian would appreciate the inclusion of his mother, even if she was on the same level as their father for the other siblings. It was Ian’s gift, after all, so fuck what they thought. Monica was the only one with a date of death added, but her and Frank’s wedding dates—all three of them—were added beneath their names, which sat side-by-side at the top of the wreath. Under Lip’s name was Fred, and Debbie had Franny’s beneath her own. And next to Ian’s name was Mickey, his full name and date of birth burned into the wood, along with the date of their wedding underneath.

Ian’s family was the most important thing to him—Mickey knew that. He also knew that, even though it came off as a joke, Ian calling him “Mr. Gallagher” every now and again was his way of letting Mickey know that he was now, officially, part of that family as well. They’d gotten called ghetto married since Ian was seventeen and Mickey was nineteen, when Mickey was technically married to Svetlana and raising a child with her and Ian.

But now it was official, their names forever linked together both on their marriage license and in the records of the city of Chicago. Anyone could look it up and see—see that Ian and Mickey had stood up and proclaimed their love for each other, had said the words and signed the papers that told the world that they belonged together forever. And sure, maybe Ian had gotten their license framed (although it was still sitting in the back of the closet), but this would show Ian that Mickey accepted his place in Ian’s family, too. Their names burned into the wood together, with room…room for others, maybe, one day. And even if those names never came along, it’d still be all right. They had each other, and they had their family. And Mickey knew, as he clumsily wrapped the wooden wreath in the green and gold paper, that things would be all right.

[hp-hcs]

rebel girl — mlm! draco malfoy & wlw/nblw! reader

prompt #8 of the slytherin boys x reader thingy i made

8) Draco Malfoy + humor + Rebel Girl — Bikini Kill

i’m so sorry for whatever this is

unspecified pronouns, but written for wlw or nblw (or he/him lesbians <3)

❕platonic relationship❕

written in the same style as the mattheo one, cause y’all fuckin loved that (aka basically just crack with some vague semblance of a plot and a gratuitous amount of completely unnecessary emojis)

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Based on these lyrics from Bikini Kill’s Rebel Girl:

‘That girl thinks she's the queen of the neighborhood/ I got news for you, she is!/ They say that she's a dyke, but I know/ She is my best friend, yeah’

~~~

“honestly, it’s kind of pathetic that l/n and malfoy still think that no one knows they’re together”

^^ you overhear in one of your classes, being whispered under someone’s breath and followed by tittering laughter

you just kinda turn to look at draco with a ‘these bitches dumb as fuck’ look on your face

he’s already giving you the same look

“should we tell them?” you ask

“nah, let’s see if we can keep it up til the end of the year” 😌

shore malfoy, that’s a choice ig 🤨

anywhore, you guys decide to fuck with everyone

((excluding your friends who aren’t stupid))

and you go to the yule ball together

everyone’s just like “OMG HEADLINES CALL UP RITA SKEETER”

all of the adults chaperoning are like 🤨🤨🤨

half of your classmates are like “(🏳️‍🌈?)”

y'all dance together the whole night, literally unable to take yourselves seriously

then draco’s like “let’s kiss just to fuck with everyone”

brilliant plan, sir

anyways y’all do that, ig

mwah mwah 😘

your friends are like 🧍‍♀️“babe.”🧍‍♂️

welp guys stop asking you out after that cause they think you’re taken 🫡

…a win is a win 🤷

making out in the name of wlw/mlm solidarity, ig

y’all play the long con

you change your ringtone to girls by girl in red and sTILL NOBODY NOTICES

on the last day before winter break, you guys take the opportunity to have a huge dramatic ‘break up’ so you can be the center of all the juicy goss over the break 😌✨

you guys think it’s funny for like a week into the break, and then immediately forget about it

when you come back at the beginning of the semester, neither of you fuckin remember 🫥

you get a girlfriend (slay girlypop ✨)

draco gets a boyfriend (cough cough harry cough cough)

everybody’s like 🤨

anywhore, that’s the story of how you and draco both came out as gay 🏳️‍🌈

[khamomile-kitty]

i agree that homestuck is full of racist shit, but it that were the “real reason” that “most people” don’t like it then they’d have to show up for the similarly racist Doctor Who, Supernatural, Our Flag Means Death, Stone Butch Blues, Dykes To Watch Out For, Avatar The Last Airbender etc etc need I go on? Like Homestuck is racist & it’s good that some people are acknowledging that but isn’t it kind of worrying that the level of of scrutiny people apply to it is not applied to literally anything else made by cis people.

from my perspective, the racism is a convenient rationale for people who just find the fandom annoying to moralise their distaste of the comic (you must’ve seen the recent bout of anonymous a bunch of trans women got for even mentioning that they were analysing Homestuck’s racism)

like again I totally agree Homestuck is inexcusably racist in places but isn’t it kind of suspect that you don’t see transmascs getting anons about The Romcom About Real Slave Traders Being Gay with the same fervour that trans women gently praising Homestuck get sent atrocious levels of hatemail?

i really think the exceptionalism of “wow, Homestuck is so shockingly racist way more than anything else!!” lets a lot of people ignore just how commonplace racism is in fandom & in the source materials of many of these fandoms; I think diverting literally every conversation about the transphobia Hussie & transfem fans of the comic have faced into “well Homestuck is exceptionally racist, so…” waywardly normalises transmisogyny *AND* racism.

like we don’t need any more people adding to the pile of transmisogynists saying, “wow isn’t it a weird coincidence how transfeminine white people are soo much more racist than other white people? i probably shouldn’t examine where this is coming from and just accept it as true”

Ok so we’re heading into weird territory. Ppl DO criticize those things you mention as being racist?? Like there’s obviously ppl who refuse to engage w that and do stupid fuckin shit like fund a zionist, racist tv show that ENDED w over a thousand dollars, but there’s VERY MUCH ppl who have BEEN pointing these things out as racist.

I really think you are thinking of this the wrong way. This is heading into “It being made by tma ppl means the racism isnt as bad” territory, which I know isn’t what you meant, but the idea that media by cis ppl must be criticized and brought up first in a conversation about bringing up the racism in media made by tma ppl is like. So do you not want us to acknowledge that??

Also. Inexcusably racist in “some places?” Half of the characters are racist stereotypes. The whole thing is racist? And again, you are thinking abt this the wrong way. The reason tme ppl aren’t getting sent egregious hatemail abt shit like OFMD isn’t because of ppl critiquing tma ppl. It’s bc the ppl sending the hate are transmisogynist and racist, and they’re looking for an excuse to be a shithole. The hate isn’t going to stop if we just. Stop critiquing media made by tma ppl when it’s racist? The hate is going to stop when we confront the fucking rampant transmisogyny and racism. Idk if I’m putting that exactly how I want it, I hope you get the idea.

Also, yeah maybe there are ppl who think like that (it wouldn’t surprise me, ppl pretending like their championing a cause when all they rly want to do is make it seem like they’re paying attention while slapping a band-aid over their gaping and unaddressed racism) but acting like that’s all ANYONE who criticizes homestuck is doing is erasing the black and non-black voices who have been saying that for a while now. I agree that I shouldn’t have brought it up in a discussion not currently discussing it, that was a bad mistake. I will not make it again. But acting like discussing the racism in homestuck AT ALL contributes to racism and transmisogyny is?? I don’t get that at all.

Also. ?? I haven’t heard anybody saying that, maybe that’s just me, but if they are, it’s not because they’re genuinely caring abt racism or trans ppl, it’s bc they’re transmisogynist and racist amd refusing to confront it. And acting like that what I was saying when NOWHERE did I even imply it?? Is this the same anon that asked me to take them in good faith?? Bc it sure seems like you’re not even trying to extend that curtesy to me. This ask in particular os a lot more accusatory than the last one, and I don’t really know how to respond to it other than discussing it and hoping you’ll get what I’m trying to say. Are you still wanting to have a conversation with me? Bc if not, that’s fine, but let’s not pretend it is, that’s confusing as hell. It’s kind of hard to have a conversation when one party is determined to take everything you say in bad-faith.

[mikeywayimdykeygay]

sam - 18 - they / she / he - spin a wheel i’m genderfluid you can’t be wrong

bassist - vocalist - dyke - professional edgelord

SEEING MCR IN TAMPA

main @doctorbrightside, i follow from there :)

dms are open i want friends :3

sorry if i’m obnoxious i’m so autistic about my favorite bands

which include

my chemical romance - ls dunes - fall out boy - taking back sunday - thursday - the used - bikini kill - the young veins - idkhow - mayday parade - get scared - pierce the veil - queen - hole - chappell roan - britney spears - megan thee stallion - fuckin etc i post whatever

fun facts

i’ve been playing bass since i was 13

i’m in a band and we’re pretty rad

house of wolves is a staple in our set list and it’s my fault

i have a little sister (hand selected, not blood related) and you’ll probably hear about her a lot i love her sm she plays guitar n shit

when i was in denial about being a lesbian i would use mikey way as a defense like yeah i also like d&d and he’s so strange and feminine. i could handle him. and i’d only cry myself to sleep about it like once a week. call me pete wentz like that

i was a dedicated reader of the forum on the mcr website before they got back together and it was overtaken by spam. miss those guys

when i was 12 i listened to revenge every day for the entire school year without fail

i’m literally insane about fall out boy. i’ve seen them live twice and i can make anything a fall out boy reference. everyone around me knows the words to a lot of their songs entirely because i play them constantly. i am god

i finally read unholyverse recently and now the only posts of mine that gain any traction are the ones that reference it?? idk why they’re not tagged as uhv you freaks are searching the term

if i’m too active on here i’m probably manic. when i’m manic i crave the things i liked as a kid and that includes all the emo bands i’m still attached to

that’s it i think okay bye

[maybeimamuppet]

"For the record this is self-destructive/ For the record I'm aware of that" w rejanis

send me a song lyric and a ship and i’ll write something based off it!!

tw for self harm/scars

mentioned outing/general homophobia

-

“I need a second before we go in, I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick. I’ll meet you inside,” Janis says just before she and Damian enter the doors for Spring Fling.

“Ew,” Damian eloquently responds before he shoves her off in that direction and goes parading through the double doors. Janis rolls her eyes and clunks her way down the hallway towards the ladies’ room.

It’s kind of weird, being somewhere she’s been so many times before this late at night. She can hear the music from the gym thumping all the way down the hall, and all the lights but one are out. Almost like she’s in another dimension.

The one constant in every dimension is Regina George.

Janis is reminded of this as the blonde steps out from the stall furthest away from her and struts up to the mirror. She’s still unfairly gorgeous even in that spinal halo.

Janis tries not to let her shoulders tense as she pointedly refuses to acknowledge Regina’s presence. She touches up her dark lipstick, combs through the ends of her straightened hair.

“Janis,” Regina says, sounding almost surprised. Janis sags against the sink a little. Shit.

“Hey.”

Regina pulls a tube of glittery lip gloss out of her purse. She puts the tube in between her lips to unscrew it and swipes it on that way. She’s put her lip gloss on like that since they were in sixth grade. It’s almost comforting to know that some little details of her former best friend are still in there. It’s muffled around the tube when she says, “You look nice.”

Janis blinks in shock. Did-did Regina George just compliment her?

“Seriously?”

“I just said so, don’t be thirsty,” Regina tuts. So Plastic Regina is still there too.

“No, I mean- thanks, I guess,” Janis says. “But after everything you’ve done you’re just gonna say that like… nothing ever happened?”

“Yeah,” Regina shrugs. Well, as best she can with the halo. “Look, I know I have to change. I know I’ve been a bitch-”

“You can say that again.”

“But how am I supposed to start?” Regina says softly. “Unless it’s with you. I’m also, like, off my face right now, so I don’t really have a filter and now felt like a good time.”

Janis blinks at the pink-tiled wall behind her. Someone has brilliantly sharpied ur fuckin gay across it. And in a strange way, it makes Janis smile.

Because she is fuckin’ gay, and she’s proud of it now. And all it took was… the worst experience of her entire life, and the girl in front of her.

“You never cared,” Regina continues softly, knocking Janis out of her trance and back to the gross bathroom they’re in. “About anything I did to you.”

“What?” Janis says, unable to contain a dark laugh. “You seriously think I didn’t care? Did you miss the part where I tried to kill myself and was out of school for a year?”

“…You what?” Regina asks.

Janis shakes her head and undoes the buttons on the cuff of her navy blue sleeve. As she rolls it up she sighs, “Unbelievable.”

Regina reaches out a tender, immaculately manicured finger to run over the white, raised scar tissue permanently etched into Janis’ flesh. Space dyke. Cut as deep as the words did.

“That’s why you were in art therapy,” Regina says. Janis looks at her in confusion when she notices her voice is thick with emotion and sees tears rolling slowly down her face. “And I made fun of you for it.”

“Yeah,” Janis agrees softly. She feels like she’s dunked her head in a bucket of ice. Regina George is touching her scars. Janis hasn’t even let Damian touch them.

“I loved you too,” Regina says suddenly. “I-I panicked when you told me you liked me. You were so brave, and I’ve always been… such a coward. And I took all of it out on you. And you never deserved any of it. I’ve always loved you. And-and I still do.”

“I have too,” Janis says softly. Regina looks at her, icy blue eyes reddened by tears and probably a significant amount of painkillers. “Do you have any idea how fucking irritating it is to still be in love with the girl who ruined your life?”

“No,” Regina says. “But I know how much it hurts to hurt the one you love.”

“Then why did you keep doing this?”

“I couldn’t stop,” Regina says. “I got… hooked.”

“For the record, that’s self destructive.”

“For the record, I’m aware of that, thank you very much,” Regina huffs. “You’re a fucking boss, Janis Sarkisian.”

“You’re high,” Janis scoffs.

“Hohoooo, yeah,” Regina agrees with a goofy huffed laugh. “But I’m serious, too. You’re a fucking phoenix. You rose above everything I ever did to you, and now look at you.”

Janis does, turning to look at herself in the mirror. She can’t really see in the weird lighting, but she… likes what she sees looking back. She hasn’t felt that in a long time. Since the before time. “Phoenix.”

“And I wish I wasn’t the one that set you on fire, but I’m glad it made you who you are now,” Regina continues. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Janis says. “For everything Cady and I did this year. I know Cady’s been eating herself up about it, too.”

“Does that girl ever sleep?” Regina chuckles.

“I don’t think so,” Janis laughs back. “But hey, first apologies for both of us are done. Makes letting her apologize easier.”

“True,” Regina says softly. “Can we be okay?”

Janis is quiet. She’s hit with wave after wave of memories and feels like she might drown. She looks in front of her and sees a life preserver.

She surges forward and kisses her. Regina gasps, but carefully maneuvers the halo to a good place to kiss her back.

“I think we can be okay. If we work on it,” Janis gasps when they break apart.

“For the record, this is self destructive,” Regina teases.

“For the record, I’m aware of that.”

But I don’t think it is.

[demonicintegrity]

answering in good faith, some lgbt people have serious trauma with the word queer and are fine with others reclaiming it for themselves but don't want people to use it on them. some places in the south gay and fag are used as general insults but "queer" is used when someone is going to try to beat you to death, so it's really about being empathetic to our more vulnerable members of the community. it's more of an issue of corporations and average cishets using it to refer to every lgbt person without any regard for them. people using reclaiming it for themselves is a personal choice that is to be respected but it should be a choice

I just woke up so I’m not gonna be articulate so this post is gonna word things much better than I will.

So 1) I’ve never been called queer when someone is trying to harass or threaten me. Fag has always been the worse thing someone says in regards to being queer. So that’s a difference of experiences, and that’s fine. But I’m also living in the south so don’t give me “b-b-b-but the south is scary and worse!” nonsense.

(Fag as a general insult is so fuckin funny to me. It was always the more visceral one. Gay was always the general insult that -gasp- made it hard for people to identify as gay. Queer was just an old school term.)

2) “…to refer to every lgbt person without regard to them.” I hate to break it to you buddy but you’re never gonna to appeal to everyone. Case in point: I don’t like the acronym. There’s too many variations of the acronym so it’s annoying to tag and it’s a mouthful to say. And I think it puts too much emphasis on how we’re different from each other instead of focusing on how we’re all the same to the cishet audiences. We’re the queer outsider.

If you wanna be empathetic to your community, consider the fact that the individual label doesn’t matter when facing bigots. Hell bisexual has shifting meanings over the years. People used to and still identify as transsexual, as a sissy, and fags and dykes and lesbos. And you will never be any different from them to a not-queer person.

There’s so many organizations with the name “Queer Alliance” starting from the 1960s. With queer theory being around since at least the 90s. And I promise they’re more helpful to the community than someone hashing out the queer slur discourse that largely originated in 2010 by TERFs needing a reason to keep trans people separated from the community in order to eventually push them out.

[dustedmagazine]

Marvin Tate’s D Settlement — S-T (American Dreams)

Marvin Tate's D-Settlement by Marvin Tate's D-Settlement

“Turn Da Fuckin’ Lights Back On,” stomps and rolls and struts. Its skeletal foundation of bass drum and cowbell, its shout-along choruses, are clearly aware of and inspired by 1990s hip hop, as well as the whole lineage of hard funk, James Brown and Funkadelic especially. But it is worth observing that the tune is not about sex or dancing or afrofuturist fantasia. It’s about getting Con Ed to turn the lights back on, after a blackout, as practical an activism as can be imagined. Marvin Tate’s D Settlement grounds its art in the here and now, in making things better in a hands-on way, block by agonizing block, on the south side of Chicago.

Marvin Tate is a visual artist, poet, teacher, band leader and musician, but most of all an empowerer, whose life’s work is to make art, but also to inspire others to make art. He works at the nexus of Chicago based jazz, soul, spoken word and protest, and he’s given a leg up to artists including Angel Bat Dawid, Ben LaMar Gay, Theaster Gates, avery r. young and Angel Olsen. In 2013, a group of admirers made the tribute album Tim Kinsella Sings the Songs of Marvin Tate by Leroy Bach Featuring Angel Olsen to introduce him to a wider circle, and that was a good thing. But this four-album/three CD set is a better one, since it delivers a broad swath of Tate’s work in the man’s own voice and idiom. It includes his first three albums with D Settlement, 1997’s Partly Cloudy, 1999’s The Minstrel Show and 2002’s American Icons, accompanied by an oral history with contributions from Angel Bat Dawid, Jaimie Branch, Ben LaMar Gay and others.

Tate was a poet before he was a band leader, and you can get a glimpse of the man who won poetry slams all over Chicago in “When a Black Poet Reads Poetry to a 98% White Audience,” from the first disc. Here Tate skewers listeners, the thrill-seeking north shore bros drinking like they’re at a sports bar, the gaggle of beautiful lesbians, the mousy faced art students, who seek to appreciate—without really understanding—Tate’s incendiary, enraged art. It’s powerful and funny.

Still, the work really comes into its own when Tate enlists a large and talented ensemble: guitarist and vocalist George Blaise, bassist and vocalist Olin Langley, singers Tina Howell and Renee Ruffin, drummers George Jones, Virus X, David Hilliard and Debi Buzil, multi-instrumentalists Adam Conway and CJ Bani. They frame his hallucinatory wordscapes with seething, inflaming arrangement that touch on rock, jazz, reggae, blues and funk.

The best and most memorable of these cuts (the one I can’t get out of my head) comes on disc two from the American Minstrel set in “The Ballad of Corey Dyke.” Here slinky, skanky rhythms, push forward from the hips, while a woman soul singer sends up flares of otherworldly vocal beauty. Tate narrates the story, about a young man in trouble at school, who ends up shooting a teacher who’s been hard on him. It’s a shocking, engrossing story, one in which you feel for the boy as well as the teacher, and in which the real villain is a system that put a gun in the hands of a kid who still believes in Santa. And despite the heavy subject matter, it cooks.

This is a marvelous introduction to a Chicago force, a musician who has had outsized influence on artists in many different genres but who has never gotten the attention he deserves. You can put it on for the history, for the inspiration, or just the joy of it, and it works at all of that. Viva Marvin Tate. Viva D Settlement.

Jennifer Kelly

[jinxpologist]

Agree! Like, I have people i'd romance based on their personalities and storylines but like, if it had a car dyke I'd 100% chose her every time. Stardew Valley needs more dykes

STARDEW NEEDS MORE DYKES!!!! so fucking true!!! all of the women (and men tbh. the men repulse me tho. except for shane) are so uninteresting to me there im so sorry im just like. oh. okay. yeah you’re cute i guess. theyre too normal i want FREAKS in that town. i need someone WEIRD. they’re too fuckin normal!!! be weird and queer or Else

[crimsun-n-clover]

updates

mickey and her boytoy broke up. i was right. obviously. she was wrong and clouded by infatuation. typical. said with love.

but now i’m teaching her the WAYS OF THE REVENGE PLOT and she’s a wonderful student. holding his shit hostage as trophies of putting up with him. i’m so goddamn proud.

still miss sugar. been thinking about calling her because you know who fuckin else will i have that weird bond with but she’s the one who left me. ball’s in her court and i hate sports. come find me at concessions bitch.

might make her a gift for the holiday i made up for her. not sure if i should leave a note. “hey you know what day it is haha five year anniversary of the time i thought you killed yourself. don’t do it again. k bye -your dyke” like??? would probably stir some shit up. but i’m not sure if i’d be able to stop myself yk? i have a little pile of paper stars like i made for her last christmas, so i’ll probably just give her another jar of them.

slept on the couch all week. love it. cat loves it too. it’s nice not to feel alone.

i love being alone actually. can’t wait to move out and be away from these bitches. but you know. like i’d rather be with my cat and some cartoons then my sad cave of a room. it’s usually a nice cave but i don’t like it much recently. it’s my hiding place and i’m sick of hiding when all i want to do is leave.

mom keeps looking at land to build a house on once we move out of this shithole. she wants me to park my trailer on it. no chance in HELL. “trailer parks are shady blahblah classism” EAT SHIT. the happiest i’ve ever been is in a trailer park. love em. can’t stand being around a bunch of selfish freaks. love being in a tightly knit community of retirees, families, travelers, and people down on their luck. it’s the way we’re supposed to be as humans in my opinion. just the material shit that you need and the things that will make you happy, independence, and community.

dad went to the corner store across from our closest trailer park and mom flipped shit about suspicious characters or whatever. hey. bitch. they’re poor. they don’t wanna kill you theyre here for a pack of winstons and a scratch off. cry about it. you’re self absorbed if you think they could be bothered to fucking stab you in the parking lot of where they get their goddamn doritos.

me and maggie are kinda codependent now. our routine gets thrown off if i don’t pick her up to drive around town and blast queen. full time passenger princess. she didn’t do anything with me yesterday and my metal cds and stuffed dragon (smaug) took over. she was a little jealous i think.

she’s the aziraphale to my crowley now since sugar divorced me. no more “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING THATS ILLEGAL” just an “i don’t know them” sad. i miss getting reactions. even better when she’d slap the shit out of me. mag just assumes that any little gift i get her is something i pocketed because i thought she would like it. sugar on the other hand would skin me alive. maggie and i are really close and comfortable and all but i have no interest in her. plus she’s been with her girl for almost a year now.

sugar and i still have joint custody of daisy. shame. as if the little bastard doesn’t love me more (calls me her dad, comes to me when she needs a ride, invites me to her plays and recitals, all that.)

found a cheap old fifth wheel that i’m in love with for 18k one town over. there’s a couple travel trailers i’d take too, because that’s what i want anyway, but the fifth wheel would probably be a better place for my kiddos. more room to lounge, play dnd, and beat the shit out of each other.

my collection for moving is coming along beautifully. handful of vinyls, little painting of ducks i found with mag that i NEEDED, and i just bought a set of bowls with little pumpkins on them. i took all the change in all my little hiding spots and cashed it out at walmart. i now have 56 dollars that my parents can’t track, and i’ll be asking for 20 cash back whenever i can. i don’t want them to notice when i buy things.

i want to make a paypal or something for donations, but i don’t think i could get away with that. i’d need an account that wouldn’t need my address or anything, and no bank information. just something i could get as cash at an atm and hide in my cash hoard (stuffed monkey). i don’t want it to be traceable by my parents. i’m not doing anything sketchy, they just don’t understand how bad of an environment this is for me and lash out when i try to reason with them.

223 days until ronnie comes home. 223 days until my vinyls can be played. 223 days until my pumpkin bowls go to use. 223 days until my duck painting gets hung. 223 days until i can bake all the goddamn pies i want for all the little bastards i can handle.

[terrorbitch]

logan: okay. okay, i won’t stop! i don’t think i’ve ever seen a hateful thing you’ve ever done. i think i’ve seen you jealous, though, but maybe i’m wrong and crazy. it was cute tho.

logan: no, don’t say that! he may be wise but it’s on a different level. you’re so smart in like, human ways where you understand shit and how people feel and it’s like… a warm fuckin way of being smart.

logan: like, alex and keegan. and i have a group of friends i sometimes hang out with, a bunch of dykes. they’re all like “logan and her straight girls” and i’m like, idk man she doesn’t act straight anymore!

logan: that’s what being married to a dude will do to you ha ha ha.

logan: call me baby again and i’ll run to victoria (place) and kiss your stupid face.

imogen: definitely please keep doing that! i think i would actually hate it if you stopped, and i do not hate many things.

imogen: he really does. i often think he’s a lot wiser than i will ever be.

imogen: wait, really? to who?

imogen: okay, baby. i won’t let it get to my head.

imogen: …too much. 😉

[distraughtlesbian]

asobo studio when i get my fucking hands on you

[helliontherapscallion]

(Y/n) and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week: Thursday (Part 1)

Monday     Tuesday     Wednesday     Thursday (Part 2)     Friday     Saturday     Sunday

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: swearing, homophobia (f slurs and d slur), panic attacks, toxic friends, mentions of attempted suicide/getting told to kill yourself

Word count: 6,377

(A/N): ok, so I definitely got carried away with this, so I had to split Thursday into two parts. If I kept it in one part, it’d probs be like 10k-11k words long lmao

You woke up feeling strangely more refreshed than usual. Glancing at your clock, you saw that you actually woke up about thirty minutes before your alarm went off. You got a whopping twelve hours of sleep, a stark contrast from your recent sleep schedule consisting of no more than four hours a night. You felt like you could rule the world with how much energy you had. Sure, you felt anxiety pooling in your stomach like you usually did and you had a terrible dream about Haley rejecting you and getting completely outed to the entire school, but that did not stop you from throwing your covers off your bed and walking down the hall to the kitchen with the most confidence you’ve had since starting high school.

When you got to the kitchen, you saw a dead looking Uncle Schlatt slumped at the table chugging coffee and a chipper Philza trying to make conversation. Usually, you would’ve joined Schlatt in being dead inside, but today was different. You were filled to the brim with energy that you haven’t had in years. As you walked through the door, their heads turned towards you.

“Mornin Dad, mornin Uncle Schlatt!”

Your uncle merely grunted before going back to guzzling down his coffee. Your dad smiled at you, “well, looks like someone’s well rested.”

“Yeah, I got like twelve hours of sleep last night.”

“Glad to hear it, hun. You really needed it.”

“Glad to hear someone’s feeling well rested,” your uncle grumbled into his coffee. 

“Schlatt, don’t be such a downer all the time,” Philza rolled his eyes at your uncle. 

“Fuck you Phil, I’m a ball of fuckin sunshine. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?” 

“Yeah, Dad, I don’t know what you’re talkin about. Uncle Schlatt’s the heart and soul of this house. Even if he doesn’t live here.”

Schlatt gave a booming laugh, “suck it Phil. And that, (y/n), is why you’re my favorite niece.”

“At least I’m someone’s- wait. I’m your only niece.”

“Still my favorite niece!”

You grinned happily, that was better than nothing. “Love ya, Uncle Schlatt!”

Your uncle’s cocky grin turned more sincere and he diverted his full attention to you, “love ya too, kid.”

“Love each other quieter, you woke me up.” Wilbur’s tired voice complained as he walked into the room and slumped into his chair next to Schlatt. Schlatt clapped a hand onto his shoulder and rustled his hair.

“My man! How’s Sally, huh?”

Wilbur flushed red and started sputtering as Philza turned his confused gaze to his son. “Who’s Sally, Wilbur?”

You couldn’t leave your brother high and dry when he accepted you for being yourself so readily yesterday, so you quickly jumped in for him. “Sally’s just one of his friends at school. They’re job shadowing together for their project. Right, Wilbur?” You turned towards the flustered man with a somewhat forced smile and raised eyebrows. He looked at you with immense relief and nodded vigorously, his hair flopping onto his forehead. 

“Yes! We’re planning on job shadowing our band director, he said that it’d be a good idea if we want to major in music.” 

“Oh, why didn’t you tell me about her before! You should invite her over for dinner, I’d love to meet her!” Oh, your dad did not buy your terrible excuse for Wilbur, that man is like a bloodhound when it comes to sniffing out lies. Poor, poor Wilbur. 

Despite the blush remaining on his cheeks, Wilbur seemed to think that Philza actually bought his weak excuse. “I’ll invite her over soon. Does Friday night next week work?”

Philza grinned cheekily, “yes! I can’t believe you haven’t brought her over sooner if you’re close enough to job shadow with her!”

At this point, Schlatt’s face was cherry red with his almost failed attempt to hold in his laughter. “I’m not missin this. Me an’ Tubbs are comin over next Friday.” 

Wilbur still hasn’t noticed that they hadn’t bought it, you thought he was more perceptive than that. Eventually, Philza started to make breakfast and conversation lulled into a comfortable silence as everybody waited for Techno, Tommy, and Tubbo. Deciding to pull out your phone, you scrolled through your notifi- wait. Why did you have forty-two messages from Adrian and Sammy? Why did they make a groupchat with everyone except Annie? Furrowing your brows in confusion, you opened the group chat. What you read made your breathing catch in your chest and your skin blanch, it wasn’t a dream. Everything was real.

Sammy <3

(y/n) you fucking pervert

How could you do this to us????

Adrian <3

We’ve given you everything and yet you’re still a disgusting person. 

Fucking faggot

We thought we could fix you, but you’re broken

You’re always going to be

Sammy <3

And now, you’re gonna go to hell with all the other dykes and fairies.

It’ll probably be heaven for you, surrounded by perverts like yourself

You’re staying far away from Annie

Adrian <3

You’ve put her through so much shit and now this

We swear to god if you talk to her again we’re gonna make you wish you would’ve gone through with killing yourself freshman year

We’re leaking the pictures slut

You felt your anxiety melt away into betrayal. So they were yours and Haley’s stalkers? How dare they try to leak Haley’s pictures. They could leak yours, you didn’t give a shit if yours were leaked. You could learn to live with it, you always did after all the shit you put yourself through throughout the years, but Haley’s? She didn’t do anything. Even if her rejection was painful, you still deeply cared for her. She didn’t deserve that. You, however, did for not being normal. For making people around you uncomfortable with your presence. 

(Y/n)

That was you guys?????

Why the fuck would you do that

I trusted you 

All of you

Sammy <3

We trusted you too dyke

But you’re a two-faced bitch

And to think we actually thought you were our friend

Were you only friends with Ann and I so you could get into our pants?

I’m disgusted

You’re a fucking pervert.

Adrian <3

We shouldn’t have talked you out of suicide freshman year

You fucking deserve it

Make Annie’s life easier and just swan dive off a roof

You’ll be doing everyone a favor

(Y/n)

Listen, I don’t care if you leak my pictures.

Just don’t leak Haley’s

She has no part in this

I’ll leave you guys alone if you delete Haley’s pictures

Hell, I’ll do anything for you if you could release them after the final volleyball match today

It’s Haley’s time to shine and she deserves the attention as team captain

She’s worked so hard to get there all of high school and leaking my nudes would take the attention away from her

Let her have her moment

Sammy <3

For once she has a point

She probably manipulated the poor girl

Who knows what the fag would’ve done to her if we didn’t expose her

Adrian <3

Fine, we’ll delete Haley’s pictures and we’ll wait until after the game

But we’re leaking yours

You deserve it for what you did to Annie and Haley

“Kid, are you okay? You’re kinda pale over there buddy.”

Looking up from your phone, you saw everybody’s eyes on you. They each looked concerned, but Wilbur even more so. He was the only one in the room at the moment that knew about your panic attacks. He stood up from his spot and walked over to you with long strides.

“She just remembered the homework in stats that we forgot about. Techno asked us in the group chat about it, we were just about to go and see if he could help us.” 

“But Wilbur, I thought you took statistics last year.”

“No, that was algebra two, I’m taking stats this year,” that was a lie, he was in pre-calculus this year. “C’mon (y/n), lets go finish that assignment.” 

He grabbed your shoulder and hauled you into a stand before grabbing your hand and practically dragging you up the stairs and into Techno’s room. Said pink-haired teenager looked up angrily. “What’d I say about kno- (y/n)?”

Wilbur closed the door and locked it behind him. He dragged you over to Techno’s bed and sat you down on the edge before kneeling down to look you in the eyes.

“(Y/n), can I touch you? Is that alright?”

After you shakily nodded, he grabbed your hand and placed it over his chest. “Breathe with me.” Like yesterday, you tried to copy his movements, but it wasn’t working. Your panic attack was just getting worse by the minute. Techno pushed Wilbur aside and took his place kneeling in front of you and grabbing your hand, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

“(Y/n), can you tell me five things you can see around the room?”

When you didn’t move your wide eyes away from Techno’s face, he frowned and gently squeezed your hand. “You can get through this. What’re five things you can see around the room?”

You reluctantly tore your eyes away from his face and peered around the room. You hadn’t noticed that your blurred vision had tunneled until you realized that you couldn’t see anything in your peripheral vision. Your unseeing eyes flicked around the room. 

You tried to swallow, but you couldn’t do anything through the lump in your throat. With a shaky voice, you gasped out “I-I can’t breathe. I-”

“Deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. Follow me.”

You tried to breathe with him, and you eventually got to the point where you could speak. Your eyes flicked around the room once again and slowly recognized your surroundings. 

“You… Wilbur… Desk… Window…”

“That’s good, just one more.”

Your eyes flicked around the room, “...Book.”

“Look back at me, you’re doing so good,” when you looked back at him, he had a small smile on his face. “Nice job. Now, four things you can feel. Can you do that for me?”

You shakily nodded and looked at your hands and around your surroundings. “Bed… Pants… You… Carpet.”

“Three things you can hear?”

“You… Birds… Breathing.”

“You’re almost there, I’m so proud of you. Two things you can smell?”

“Toast and… and burning?”

Despite his confusion about the sudden burning smell, he continued to smile at you. “Good, last one. One thing you can taste?”

You licked your lips before scrunching your nose slightly, “...snot.”

“Wilbur, can you go get her a few kleenexes and a glass of water?” Techno asked his brother without taking his eyes off you.

Wordlessly, he swiftly left the room. “Are you feeling better?”

You panted as you reached up to rub at your teary eyes, “yeah, how’d you know what to do?”

His smile turned slightly bashful, “I did some research last night. I’m glad I did, that was a bad panic attack. Can I- can I ask what caused it?”

You pulled out your phone and handed it to him, letting him scroll through the messages while you brought up your knees to your chest and rested your chin on your knees. You felt tired after that attack, however you had a little bit more energy than you usually did. Only a little bit more. It was probably because you slept for half the day and through the night yesterday. You watched your brother scroll through your texts with tired eyes. 

He was emotionless as he scrolled, making you somewhat scared about what his reaction would be. He probably hasn’t gotten to the whole “go kill yourself” or the stalking parts. Judging by his set jaw and labored breathing, he was pissed already and he didn’t even get to the bad parts yet.

In the middle of his scrolling, Wilbur came back with a box of tissues, a glass of water, and a plate of bacon, eggs, and toast. When you hardly moved to grab them, he sat on the bed beside you and handed you a tissue. After cleaning up, you took the glass of water and started to slowly sip at it. “Thanks, Wil.” 

He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close to him. When he looked over Techno’s shoulder at your phone, you saw his eyebrows furrow. “Tech, what’s-”

He was interrupted as Techno shoved your phone into his hands and stood up to start pacing around his room. “Read it yourself.” He sounded more monotone than usual. He was absolutely furious.

You watched Wilbur’s face as he read through your messages. Unlike Technoblade, he looked furious. His eyes were set ablaze as his entire face turned an angry red. “(Y/n), what the absolute fuck? Why didn’t you tell us this was happening?”

Shrinking in on yourself and pulling your knees closer to your chest, you murmured out a small “sorry.” You saw him quickly turn his head to you as his face softened. He pulled you into a full hug.

“This isn’t your fault. None of it is, it’s all their fault,” he spat with disgust. “How’d they even get your nudes? Did you send them to anyone?”

You leaned your head against his shoulder, “that’s the thing, Wil. I’ve never taken nudes before. They took them through my window. I deserve it.”

You felt him freeze up and heard Techno pause his pacing to stomp over to you. He tore Wilbur’s arms off from you and held you out at arms length by your shoulders. He looked the most angry than you’ve ever seen him with his furious eyes burning into your own and his mouth set in a firm frown. It was terrifying to see him that angry.

“(Y/n), you don’t deserve a single fucking thing that’s happened to you. You were manipulated and gaslit by a group of self righteous assholes. You. Do. Not. Deserve. Anything. That. Happened. To. You. Do you understand me?” 

Despite your fears of him, you were determined to protect your friends. “But I do deserve it though. I was a bad friend to them. I tried so hard, but I couldn’t be a good friend to them when they were always helping me. I’m just not a good person in general. I deserve it for not being normal.”

“(Y/n)-”

“Technoblade, that’s enough.” Wilbur cut him off with a firm tone, putting a comforting hand on your arm.

“No it isn’t Wilbur. It’s not enough until she realizes how fucking toxic they are. What they’re doing is gaslighting. You’re in a psychology class, you should know what that is. Give me the definition of it. Now.”

“It’s when someone manipulates another person for their own personal gain… I’d know if I’m being gaslit, and I’m not. They’re just telling me the truth, they keep me in check. I could put more effort into my appearance and personality. I could stand to lose a couple of pounds.” “How do you not- ya know what? Listen. Just listen. That’s the definition of being gaslit. They’re constantly putting you down and making you self conscious about every. Little. Thing because they need to put someone down to fuel their own damaged egos and they laugh at you when you show that you’re hurt by their comments. That’s not a healthy friendship, (y/n). It’s toxic. 

“Real friends would never, and I mean never, do that to you. Real friends would never tell you that you looked like shit when you’re as beautiful as Aphrodite. Real friends would never out you to the entire school when you weren’t ready. Real friends would never tell you to lose weight because they wouldn’t care about what you look like. Real friends care about your well being and they look out for you. They love you for you.”

You fell silent as you contemplated his words. Were they really that toxic? You were planning on being a psychology major in college, so why didn’t you notice that they were actually always against you? You learned in your class that manipulative people are naturally cunning and sneaky, but you couldn’t help but feel stupid. You thought that they were helping you when they were clearly toxic. It was right under your nose and you didn’t even see the signs. What kind of psychology student were you if you couldn’t recognize the obvious signs of manipulation? 

On one hand, you were filled with betrayal. But on the other hand, you felt molten hot anger overwhelm and swirl around your entire body like a cyclone absolutely decimating everything in its path with its violent winds hurling in a blind rage anything and everything without a care of the outcome. You felt the burning hatred of a thousand suns rise up from deep within your being, filling you with a hatred that you didn’t know you were capable of. 

They fucked up your entire life, not you. They were the ones with the ugly personalities, not you. They were the ones that needed to improve themselves, not you. They were bad friends, not you. They laughed at the pain they brought upon you purposefully. They completely humiliated you. They betrayed your trust. They took pictures of you without your consent. They fucked up your relationship with Haley. They violated Haley. They fucking stole her dignity from her with those disgusting pictures they took of her. They were truly vile creatures undeserving of any mercy. Not that you were actually considering being merciful, that would be too good for them. They deserved everything you were going to throw at them. You were going to rise like a phoenix from the ashes of your past self. 

You felt yourself practically vibrate with fury as you held Technoblade’s intense gaze with one of your own. “Those bastards fucking used me for years. Literal years and I thought they were there for me,” you gave a sardonic laugh, your voice shaking with anger. “I-I’m gonna fuckin kill them the next time I see their sorry asses. Make them feel what it’s like to get tossed out of a car. Make them feel what it’s like to constantly get beaten down.”

Techno’s hands gripped your shoulders in a vice grip as his eyes sparked with a crazed delight and he grinned widely at you, “that’s the spirit! You’re gonna rain hellfire upon them, beat their asses (y/n)! Fuck em up! FUCK! EM! UP!”

Wilbur, always thinking about potential consequences and the voice of reason, spoke up with hesitance. “As much as I love that you’re finally realizing that they’re toxic as hell and want revenge, you’d have to wait at least until tomorrow. If you did it today, you wouldn’t be allowed to go to finals. Besides, I don’t think that you should even fight them. You would be out- wait. They’re the ones that opened the car door and fucked up your back?” Seeing you nod, his face darkened in anger. “...(Y/n), you’re gonna fuck em up as soon as you can tomorrow. We’ll back you up if they try to gang up on you, we aren’t eighteen yet, so it’s still legal. ”

“YES, SUCCUMB TO THE ANARCHY! WE’RE GONNA FUCK EM UP!”

“YOU ARE NOT FUCKING ANYONE UP ANYTIME SOON, TECHNOBLADE.” Philza’s voice boomed from behind the closed door. Said door swung open to reveal your father’s angry form and your uncle’s intrigued, slightly proud form.

You three stared at the two for a while with gaping mouths, your previous intensity substantially diminuendos into a quiet shock. No one fucks with an angry Dadza. Techno was the quickest to get over the shock. “...How long were you standing there?”

Your father sneered. “Well, long enough to hear that you three are going to fight someone! Why the hell would you do that?” 

Your brothers looked at you in a silent question. Shaking your head, you answered in a small voice, “there’s just some people messing with me at school. They were just worried about me. We weren’t gonna actually fight someone, they were just talking about how it’d be nice to get some revenge for me. I was just about to tell them that I could handle myself and we didn’t need to fight.”

Immediately, your dad’s stiff stance relaxed slightly as his eyes pierced into your own, searching them to see if you’re lying to him or not. You felt a cold sweat drip down the back of your head at the intensity of his gaze, you hated when he did that. It always made you feel like he was staring right at your soul. Eventually, his gaze softened.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped you through it.”

“I didn’t want to bother you. Plus, it’s nothing I can’t handle by myself.”

“But you looked really panicked earlier hun. Are you sure you can-”

“I just forgot about my stats homework until this morning and I thought I wouldn’t be able to get it done in time, but I did! No worries,” you spoke a little faster than usual. You prayed that he wouldn’t see through your lie. 

“...Alright. Just let me know if it gets to be too much for you and I can talk with your principal about it. Now go eat something and get ready, you only have,” he glanced at the clock on the wall, “an hour before you have to be at school. Hurry up or you’re going to be late.”

Your dad turned around and walked down the hallway away from the room. Schlatt, however, loomed in the doorway for a while before he came into the room and closed the door behind him. You three watched him warily as he eyed you and your brothers.

“...Ya know, I approve,” after seeing your confused looks, he chuckled and spoke again. “I approve of you three fuckin em up. I heard part of your conversation, and those snot nosed brats deserve it for what they did to my favorite niece.”

You three stared at him with shock, making him laugh at you. “Close your mouths, you’re gonna catch flies.” He paused for a second before leaning towards you and whispering “now, you didn’t hear it from me, but the key to a good punch is following through with it. Don’t hesitate. Don’t tuck your thumb in, that’ll break it. Make sure you center your hit on your index and middle fingers, they are the strongest points of the hand. If you need to, go for the eyes, nose, and groin.”

“I-thank you Uncle Schlatt. I really appreciate it. Just- please don’t tell dad?”

“Of course not! I mean, if you don’t fuck em up enough I will. (Y/n), when you’re done, I want details.”

You saluted sarcastically, “yessir, will do!”

He gave a boisterous laugh, “you better. Now go get ready.” 

As he was about to walk out of the room, he suddenly paused and his hand shot to his pants pocket. He pulled something out before putting it into your hand and turning again to walk out of the room. “This is from Tubbo and Tommy. They were worried about you.” In your hand laid three of your favorite candies. You felt your heart swell at their innocent, caring natures. They were honestly some of the sweetest kids you’ve ever met. 

“Well boys, you get first pics!” You held out the candy to them.

Wilbur looked at you with knitted eyebrows, “but they gave those to you.”

“I wouldn’t have gotten through that panic attack without you guys helping me, so take this as a temporary thank you.” You watched as they glanced at each other before reaching out to grab a piece of candy.

“Alright, I’m gonna go get ready, you guys can take the bathroom before me. Love you guys!”

You went into your room and made sure your curtains were closed before turning to your closet. Humming in thought, you picked out a white button up and the nicest sweater you owned. You put on the collared button up then slipped the sweater on over it so that the collar poked out of the neck. You smiled at yourself in the mirror, feeling more confident in yourself than you’ve felt since you started hanging out with them. Fuck them, they always lied to you. You looked great in anything you put on. You felt elated and basked in the spectacular feeling of being able to like what you wore. 

While you waited for your brothers to leave the bathroom, you pulled out your phone and scrolled through your contacts before you stopped on one: Haley’s. The girl that stole your heart and relentlessly stomped on it until it was a red puddle at her feet. Despite the pain, you still loved her. She was your everything. Your thumb hovered over her icon, contemplating on texting her. You had to tell her that she didn’t have to worry about her pictures anymore. 

(Y/n)

Haley

I know you don’t want to talk to me, but I have good news

You don’t have to worry about your pics anymore

I took care of it.

You don’t have to reply to this

Just know that I took care of it and you don’t have to worry about it anymore.

You sat on your bed staring at your phone screen waiting for her to open your messages. You stared at the ‘delivered’ icon at the bottom of your message, waiting for it to say ‘read’. You stared for about ten minutes before you gave up, putting your phone in your pocket and standing up with a sigh. She would see it eventually. Just as you reached your door, you felt a vibration in your pocket. You whipped out your phone and smiled at Haley’s face on your screen. She was calling you. 

Taking a deep breath to calm yourself down, you clicked the answer button, “hey Hales.”

“(Y/n), what’d you do?”

“I took care of it. That’s all you have to know.”

“I think I should know more. What’d you do?”

You paused for a moment before you hesitantly said, “I asked them to delete your pictures and they have to, it’s part of our deal.”

“...You found out who they were?”

“Yeah, but that’s not important. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“(Y/n), don’t tell me what to worry about. Who are they?”

“...Fine, it was Adrian Schnieder, Annie Lockhart, and Sammy McConnor. Ya know, you’re scary when you’re mad Hales. Remind me not to get on your bad side again.”

“It was them? You hang out around them all the time, I thought you were good friends. Why would they do that?”

Even though she couldn’t see you, you shrugged. “I dunno. I think they were just jealous. They’re assholes and I can’t believe I haven’t noticed it a lot sooner. I’m sorry they put you through that, you didn’t deserve what they did to you.”

“God (y/n),” she sighed out, you imagined that she was running a hand through her hair. “I can’t imagine how much that hurt you. You four were really close.”

“I know, but it was a long time coming. Like I said, I should’ve noticed that it was them. They’ve always been toxic as hell.”

“How’d you find out? What happened?”

“Did you hear about what they did to me yesterday?”

“Should I? If you’re not comfortable talking about it, that’s totally okay. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t wanna.”

“No, it’s fine. You’re gonna hear about it eventually, shit spreads like wildfire at Klinkver. Long story short, they outed me to the entire school and thought that I was only friends with them to get in their pants. They basically told me to kill myself,” you added nonchalantly. “But that’s not the important part about this. They told me that they were the people that took those pictures of you.”

“...(Y/n), how could you say that’s not important! They fucked up your life and all you care about is my pictures? What’d they say they’d do with yours?”

“I asked them to not leak them until after the match tonight so you could have the spotlight. You deserve it after all the hard work you’ve put in to get team captain. Zuri was hard to beat and you deserve the recognition for that.”

You heard her take a deep breath through her nose, “(y/n), for once in your life care about yourself over others. You’re gonna be exposed to the entire school and it bothers me that you’re being so nonchalant about that.”

“They’ve put me through worse. Besides,” you wove a hand in the air, “it’ll all blow over sooner or later when another person gets their nudes leaked. You remember how fast people forgot about Marlene’s nudes when May’s got leaked like a week later.”

“Still, it’s degrading to have people see you like that. No matter how fast they get over it, it doesn’t change the fact that they’ve seen you. You can’t come back from that sweetheart.”

You felt your heart skip a beat at the nickname. Even if she called almost everybody that, you felt special. “I don’t care if people see my boobs, it wasn’t even a clear picture anyways. It was hella blurry.”

Your door swung open for the second time today. There stood Tommy, his eyes peering innocently at you. “Dad wanted me to tell you to hurry up.”

You smiled at him, “thank you buddy. Let him know I’ll be down in a minute. Oh, and thank you for the candy, it really made me happy.”

He beamed brightly before he sprinted down the stairs. “Was that Tommy? Is he gonna be at the match tonight?”

“Of course, he and Tubbo are our team’s mascots after all. They would never miss a game, especially our final match.”

“I can’t wait to see them, but we need to talk about this. It’s more serious than you paint it as. How are you not pissed at those dumbasses? You trusted them and they betrayed you.”

“Oh, believe me I’m furious. Heh, I’m actually kinda shaking right now because of how pissed I am. But for now, I’m just gonna imagine their faces on the ball so I can keep my mind off them until tomorrow.”

“...Please don’t tell me you’re gonna do something stupid tomorrow.”

“I wouldn’t call it stupid per se, they deserve it for what they put you through. It’s more getting justice than being stupid.”

“(Y/n), I swear to god if you start a fight just to get back at them for me, I’m gonna slap you. Think about yourself every once and a while, they put you through so much. If you feel comfortable, you’re gonna tell me everything they did to you tonight on the bus coming home.”

“So we’re gonna sit together?” You tried and failed to stomp the hopeful tone from your voice.

Her laugh sounded angelic in your ear, “of course we are silly, you’re my best friend. I gotta go, my dad’s calling me. I’ll talk to you later!”

“See ya!” When you hung up, you danced around your room with joy. You- no, they- didn’t ruin your friendship with Haley after all! Oh, you felt like your heart was going to burst out of your chest with joy. Even if she didn’t like you like you adored her, you still cherished your friendship. Looking back, Haley and the team always had your back, they genuinely cared about you. They were perhaps the only ones you would fully trust in the future. 

“(Y/N), HURRY UP YOU’RE GONNA BE LATE!” Tommy’s voice outside your door shook you from your happy dance. “Coming!”

You ran to the bathroom and hastily went through your routine. Despite your rushing, you tried your best to look presentable. You were going to prove those snakes wrong, you were beautiful no matter what you wore or how you looked.

After running down the stairs with your bag, your dad stopped you before you could run out the door with your keys. “You look nice today hun.”

“Thanks Dad, I just wanted to dress up a bit for finals today. I’m honestly really pumped to play tonight.”

“That’s good,” he smiled at you before pulling you into a quick hug. “Just take it easy today, you need to save your energy for the match tonight... Listen, I don’t know what happened to you this morning and I don’t know exactly what’s going on in your life right now, but just know that I’m always gonna be here for you. Whether you need help with homework, advice, or if you want me to beat up someone else’s dad for you,” he chuckled, “I’ll do it.” 

You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch, happy with the contact. You two stood in the hall for a moment before he pulled away and told you to leave for school. 

The drive to the school was uneventful with your brothers mainly holding up the conversation. As you pulled into the parking lot, you realized that you needed to catch up on two full days of stats homework.

“Hey Tech?” He hummed, looking over to you.

“Sorry, but would I be able to maybe copy your stats notes from Tuesday?”

“Yeah, I’ll give em to you so you can copy it before school starts. We’d have to go to Mr. Mullins for yesterday’s notes though. We can just ask him about it before school starts.”

As you pulled into a space and moved to leave the car, a hand stopped you. “(Y/n), if any of those two-faced bitches bother you at all, let us know. Don’t deal with this on your own, we’re here for you,” Wilbur said genuinely.

“Yeah, if they say anything bad about you, it’s on sight.”

You laughed, “thanks guys, I’ll let you guys know if they do anything. We gotta get going though if Tech and I wanna get those notes done.”

In the school, you and Techno successfully got your notes done before the first bell rang. The rest of class went by without a hitch with you actually somewhat understanding mostly everything being taught. You even got a question right when you were called on! Turns out not feeling weighed down by toxic people helps a lot with concentration.

The only block you were dreading was the second block. You were sure that if you even glanced at Annie and Adrian, you’d go apeshit on them. Luckily for them, they didn’t show up to class today. They were probably comforting Annie after you “manipulated” her, you thought with an eye roll. Today was just another work day, so you pulled out your laptop and opened Google Docs. You saw Annie’s and Adrian’s unfinished and you were slapped in the face with inspiration. 

They were still expecting you to finish their essays, so you were gonna finish them alright. You were going to completely rewrite their essays all about how they were terrible homophobes and how LGBT+ people are always facing some form of discrimination amongst their peers, complete with attached screenshots of them calling you slurs over text. You’d even write a little note at the beginning that would tell your teacher that they didn’t write this, but they made you write it so you deserved the credit for it. You didn’t care that this would take a while, the satisfaction that you would get would be worth it. This was going to completely screw up their grades, this essay was worth twenty five percent of your overall grade. Mr. Todd was really laid back, so he only had a few rules in the classroom. First was to respect your classmate’s time and work, second was to clean up after yourselves, and third (“the most important one” he said on the first day of school) was that he would never tolerate racism, sexism, transphobia, or homophobia in his classroom. Your masterpieces you were writing would definitely earn them a failing grade, a good scolding from Mr. Todd, and maybe a visit to the principal’s office. This would be first in a long line of gifts you have in mind for them. 

At lunch, you were slightly stumped as to where you should sit. You didn’t really know anybody in your lunch period, so you just sat at the empty table Adrian, Annie, and Sammy left for you today and ate while working on your masterpieces. Finding sources was extremely easy for you, you remembered doing extensive research about discrimination when you first found out that you weren’t the straight girl you thought you were. Luckily for you, you still had the old Google Doc full of sources you wanted to save for later. Thank you, freshman you. 

Third and fourth block went by relatively quickly, you completely finished the work in both classes with plenty of time left for you to continue typing up the essays. You had gotten Adrian’s completely done and Annie’s thesis written. Oh, revenge is sweet. You weren’t even done with what you had in store for them. 

You had their parent’s phone numbers and you got Adrian’s boss’ number from Marlene, who worked with him as a waitress. Annie’s parents were total sweethearts that would be absolutely fuming if you showed them what she said to you. You weren’t sure about Adrian’s or Sammy’s parents, but you were going to send them screenshots anyways. If Adrian’s parents were as bigoted as he was, you still had his boss to fall back on. You could email the screenshots to the principal and the athletic director so that you could have something to rely on if Sammy’s parents had the same beliefs as she did. She valued cross country more than everything, so you could fuck that up for her. Revenge never tasted so sweet to you before, it felt like you were high with how giddy you were. Techno and Wilbur were going to love this. 

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[bulldyke-rider]

"Terfs want all women to be lesbians because they're incels"

There is nothing I want less than a straight woman playing pretend. I want a fuckin dyke. A mouth watering when she smells pussy dyke.

I do not want some straight woman. No offense to y'all, but really why would I want you?