#which I could be wrong but I assume to mean don’t call them lesbians

[tunnelsystem]

i find it kinda annoying when (especially about fictional characters) people are like well these characters are both bi! don’t call it lesbian sex or a lesbian kiss or lesbian relationship or whatever. like well the truth is Lesbian ___ communicates that theyre both gay women in a way calling it a bisexual kiss does not. Like you can still call it that I guess but I really don’t see the issue in lesbian being used to describe sexual and romantic actions between women. If theyre actual people who are uncomfortable having their bisexuality mislabeled for even 1 second then sure I’ll respect that but otherwise???? What’s the holdup

[the-queerview]

Churails (2020)

by Asim Abbasi

Churails is a pakistani drama web series directed by Asim Abbasi for the indian entertainment channel Zindagi.

The series deals with four maincharacters, Zubaida, who is a college student and a secret boxer, who lives with her muslim, conservative family.Sara, who is a rich housewife of a politcian and an ex lawyer, Jugnu, an elite wedding planner and Batool, who just currently was released out of prison for killing her husband with an iron. Those four women connect trough different circumstances after Sara finds out her husband Jamil was cheating on her. She starts a burka store called halal designs, which runs undercover a cheating husband exposing bizniz. They find a time of other women for their bizniz and together they deal with their intense cases, one including a cannibal housewife. Together they are Churails, which means witches in urdu. چڑیل

The pace of the series is very fast. Many unexpected and expected stories happen under the churails. I haven't seen a show in a while with such intense story telling. Within short time as an audience you develop a good base of the character development. There is trans representation within the show and even LESBIANS.

Besides the complex society and class rules within their life and the personal dramas intertwined, the series is also dealing with colonial past, lgbtqia* issues, misogyny and racism within pakistani society ( I assume? I never been to Pakistan, so I can't tell actually, but within this show all those struggles are addressed) Abbasi said about including baby doll : "The fact that she’s transgender is not addressed on the show and that is deliberate. It’s not that I was overlooking her identity or ashamed of it. It was to show the women coming to the agency were all equal.” The title of the show literally translates to mean witches, but is more commonly used as an insult for rebellious women. “The associations of women who don’t conform with witchcraft is a global phenomenon, but in Pakistan specifically, any woman who is sexually and emotionally liberated, who has the ability to be aggressive when threatened is called a churail. We are taking it as a badge of honour.”

I love this show a lot, since besides those awful and heartbreaking stories, the main reason to watch this show are the amazing female characters, the friendship between those women and their will to fight injustice. They are kind of superheros I would say. Also I was very surprised by a positive depicition of men, who are part of the churails and help them to solve their cases, to do something right. I think it's important to show solidarity between gender depictions within a tv show for a possible utopia? Like call me out if I'm wrong but usually its women* playing supportive roles in a all men cast, we saw it many many times. But here the guys are the enemies, but as well there are supportive characters? So show a different path to follow.

Unfortunately the show was banned in Pakistan and many celebrities voices their anger about the canceling of the show.

Considering writing about this show, since it's not made by a queer of female director I had my issues. After researching deeper into the revolutionary cloud of this show, i find out its the first lesbian on screen show ever in Pakistan. in an interview with the guardian Abbasi said: “While we aren’t where we should be in terms of diversity, we have to start somewhere and adaptations are culturally rich,” said Abbasi. “You could say that Churails should have been made by a woman, but those opportunities aren’t there for women in Pakistan yet so I want to be an ally so their stories can be told.”

So I hope you guys forgive me, but I feel like it's worth to see all those actresses and this amazing story and yeah we are all in this together. <3 Cuz at the end of the day, i love the power of image making. I learn trough visual language about language ( literally speaking three languages daily I need to see a picture in my head if you talk to me).

Also I promise for my next review to write about a kazakhstani film, since i feel like many things in the show I couldn't understand out of lack of cultural knowledge, so it's time to write about something that I might be able to understand. And still I think it's very important to show my chapeau for this show. What a ride. Literally i was crying like many times. The actresses and actors were out of league. Like I was actually waiting daily from my moneyjobs to come home to see what the churails are fighting next.

ok by

cheery,

the queeeerview heheheh

[tea-with-evan-and-me]

Hi, I have seen that you have had some conversations about Evan's sexuality, and what I am going to say is just a reflection, don't think it is against anyone. Honestly I have not been a social media person in my teens, I started to get familiar with them since my 20', but I could notice lately, maybe others did it before, that there is a worrying obsession towards the sexual orientation of celebrities and it is really creepy to see how some people take an obsessive stance towards this. I think we already have more than clear that being gay, lesbian, bisexual, etc has absolutely nothing wrong with it, but what is wrong or at least from my opinion is that some people think they can or have the right to assume about people's sexual orientation, the truth I haven't seen that much in Evan's fandom, but I will put as an example Taylor Swift whose music I started to listen since 2019 and I like it a lot, and is that in her fandom there is a group of fans they call "gaylors" and they believe and insist I would say, in the idea that Taylor is a lesbian or bisexual, which obviously would have nothing wrong, but she said in an interview and I'm paraphrasing that "I support a community I don't belong to" but still saying this, these people insist on her idea and put together a whole speculation and endless theories based on what, song lyrics, things she posted on social media years ago, things she said or didn't say or behaviors practically turn anything she does into a theory or sign, of course the rest of fans do too but this is specifically about her sexuality, even if they were right it's not something they should talk about, I think it's something intimate and only the people in question should talk about their orientation at the time they decide to do it or how they want to do it. When we follow a famous person, we do it because we like their way of being or thinking or their personality and values, their orientation is completely irrelevant because it doesn't matter if that person is gay, straight or bi, they will still be the same person, we can discuss about their work or whatever is within reach of our eyes or their relationships because obviously it is something public, but discuss, speculate or assume about something they haven't even talked about openly or publicly is going too far, or how some people obsessively cling to the idea that their idols are gay or lesbian just because they perceive them that way, as if it's really a relevant reason to follow someone and I've seen this behavior in other fandoms and saying something about it means you get attacked or accused of being homophobic. And no, someone's behavior or any way of being has nothing to do with their sexual orientation, some people need to stop perpetuating stereotypes. Sorry the text is long, but I felt I had to say it since this topic has come up.

no need to apologize! thank you for sharing your thoughts. over the past decade plus, i have seen how the concept of “shipping” same sex, apparently hetero real life people (celebrities) has spawned into creepy, conspiracy theory levels within fandoms. i’m not saying that there isn’t a chance that every once in a while people are right, but the way folks go about it and even go out of their ways to make sure the people they’re talking about know they believe and obsess over this stuff is insane. it’s intrusive and creepy, and it’s mostly het women who fetishize gay men. see: the one direction fandom with harry and louis. totally fine to think the idea of them together is hot or believe something was going on there, but you don’t need to tweet them 500 times that you know they’re secretly in love. the whole gaylor thing too, with her and karlie kloss. even though i strongly dislike taylor, trust me.. if she came out as a lesbian, as a gay person i would be thrilled. but that will never happen. and now you have the queer-identified teenagers of twitter assigning identities to real people who have NEVER claimed to be part of said community. so i totally understand, it is a clusterfuck.

[sleebyfrogs]

Ah! Thank you, that means so much to me :D

Here, I can walk through it to explain everything (under the cut because dear god this got longer than I anticipated):

他/她/它 - “Tā”, third person pronoun (he/she/it). The first one was gender neutral up until about 1920 when the second became the widely used alternative. While I fully support the sentiment behind it (uplifting women in a male-dominant society) I’m also mourning the loss of its ambiguity. I think that the third one there is pretty exclusively inhuman, or at least it’s safe to assume so, but I could be wrong. “Ta” is also colloquially a way to say “thanks” here in the UK, very casually, which feels appropriate to acknowledge the bare minimum respect of using someone’s preferred pronouns, if you’re going to give thanks at all.

And 1920 really wasn’t that long ago. My great grandfather turned seventeen that year, and would later become quite the… enthusiastic evangelical preacher, embracing a “modern” (westernised) China, but his parents really did practice the millennia-old folk religion that’s now mostly spoken of (at least in English) as merely mythology. There are still plenty of people who do.

人 - “rén”, a person. Any kind.

“Sleep with one eye open, on the page” refers to. That Thing people do where they’re quietly trying to suss out your AGAB - which I understand, I know I’m guilty of it, I know it often does a fair bit to contextualise someone’s experience, but it’s just… rude and presumptuous. In this case it’s by looking for a written form when I’m “sleeping”, apparently unaware, but I’m always aware. I’ve been nonbinary long enough to be eternally on my guard.

“Cut-sleeve” - 断袖, a 2000yo Chinese euphemism for a homosexual man, from this extremely tender historical anecdote. Which is to say that my expression is distinctly queer (at least I’d like it to come off that way… god I wish I could get mistaken for a binary gay boy and not a teenage lesbian). But it’s more complicated than that, and I won’t let my identity or anyone’s understanding of it be collapsed to a single-dimensional archetype. The whole stanza invokes an image of sneaking into a noble’s room at night to assassinate (something about) them - but I am awake, and it will not be that easy.

仙 - “xiān”, a celestial or immortal, bringing an air of divinity to the nonbinary condition. “The strokes that knight [it]” refer to the left half, which is that 人 character from earlier squished over a bit, indicating that the meaning is some kind of person or has something key to do with personhood. They’re the same ones that give that meaning to 他, as opposed to 她, which uses the character for “woman”. The two share the same remaining half, which infers pronunciation.

神 - “shén”, a god or spirit. The left half of the character here can be combined with that right half from the pronouns above to create 祂, a pronoun again pronounced “tā” but this time for a divine being, generally the “Abrahamic”/Christian god (think capital-H He), with the latter of whom I have an extensive history of beef. Much of my artistic writing makes a point to insinuate that I’m an equal, though usually in a tongue-in-cheek or contrarian-by-principle sort of manner (I’m not that far up my own ass, though I think if Christian school trauma hadn’t beaten me into submission I might have been. At least I can admit it). I guess this also calls to the concept of “praying the gay away”, which thankfully I’ve not been subject to, but I would rather gay away the pray. I think I could make that happen. Also the use of “climb” there makes it feel more like an arduous task, like climbing the Tower of Babel to get close enough or climbing Mount Sinai. The second character in 仙 means “mountain”, so they reinforce each other across both languages, and crossing language barriers is the thing in that story that god was so angry/fearful over. Again I defy.

个 - “gè”. All nouns in Chinese languages take measure words (classifiers). Think how we don’t say “five corns”, it’ll be “five ears of corn” or “five kernels of corn”, except it’s every noun. There’s one for people, domesticated animals, other animals, meals, flowers, stick-shaped things, things that you hold by a handle-like end, to name merely a few. They help subdivide and group things, which is very helpful in a language with many, many homophones, because it provides more context. 个 is a default; it’s the most generic, descriptionless classifier, used for things obscure enough not to have a more appropriate one, or for when you don’t know/can’t remember a more definitive one. It implies nothing about grouping, qualities, or association. It also looks like it’s waiting with open arms, at least to me.

“Sugar/mantis/pond” - 糖/螳/塘, all pronounced “táng”.

“Dynasty/ridicule/tide” - 朝/嘲/潮, all pronounced “cháo”.

i ended up liking how gendered french is solely because i can say that i want people to use he/him pronouns for me the same way they use it for angels, blood and blunts

[thehmn]

This post is inspired by a friend of mine who belongs to a couple of queer groups and expressed worry about younger people who react with hostility to people who don’t know enough about the queer community and accidentally say harmful things, but doesn’t want to educate people in a gentle way because “it’s not their job”. My friend worried people expect outsiders to be too aware of communities they’re not in and told me “You’d be a perfect example. Not even people in the queer community know much about you”

What they mean by that: I’m intersex. My body is much closer to a mix between the standard “female” and “male” than the large majority.

What does that make you think about me? What do you think my gender experience is like? What did you think I had to go through? Did you for a fleeting second wonder what my genitalia looks like? How I have sex? What kind of sexual partners I have?

Now, how many of your thoughts and assumptions do you think are wrong or maybe even harmful? Are there questions you think are okay to ask and others that would be offensive? How do you know? Maybe the questions you think are tame touch on something that’s a major hot-button issue for intersex people. If I reacted with hostility to you simply asking if it is okay to ask questions at all, how would you feel about that?

This is all meant to be hypothetical questions. It’s just to give you an idea of what it’s like to be on the outside. And of course no one should be expected to conform and be the perfect poster child for their group or hold everybody’s hand, sit them down and gently explain everything to them. There’s a lot of assholes who don’t deserve it, but I think there’s even more people who accidentally say stupid shit because they don’t know any better. I’m very grateful for all the people who didn’t attack me when I was being stupid but instead educated me. It’s thanks to them I’ve improved and continue to improve. They’ve inspired me and I try to follow their example.

So if you care to know: Intersex people are diverse like everybody else, so what is offensive to some is a-okay to others.

Physically I lean closer to female than male, but it’s common for children to ask if I’m a boy or a girl. Some adults get confused too. Depending on how I dress or how far away I am people have assumed I’m a butch lesbian, a transwoman, or a transman. Because my fat deposits are very masculine it’s very common for people to think I’m a pregnant woman because I get the classic male “beer belly”.

I personally don’t have a strong gender identity but prefer female pronouns because that’s what I’m used to. Other intersex people have very strong gender identities and might even get angry if you ask if they are gender queer in any way. To many it’s considered extremely offensive to use intersex people to make a point about the fluidity of gender so it’s probably best to avoid that comparison unless you are intersex.

I’ve gone through a lot of phases where I either tried to be more feminine to feel less like a freak or own my masculine side. If the internet had been more common when I was a child I might have convinced myself that I was trans just to find a label and an identity (I hope people understand that I’m not saying trans people are delusional, just that I was in an unusual situation)

People have asked me if it’s offensive to use intersex people for erotica but characters they call intersex are always more like futanari with fully functional penis, balls and vagina. Intersex genitalia is often more of a mix. You might not even be able to tell from the outside but on the inside they might have an extremely shallow or non-existent vagina or no uterus. There’s a lot of possibilities that are usually not considered all that sexy. I personally have a jotun character inspired by the jotun Ymir from Norse Mythology who had both male and female genitalia and had children with himself. I call that double-sexed instead of intersex.

For years it was assumed that I had PCOS because as the doctor said “You don’t have any of the things we usually use to give the diagnosis but you have the symptoms so you must have PCOS?” The symptoms being a lot of male characteristics. I was put on hormone therapy to correct it. One gynecologist asked if I had been mutilated during a cancer operation a few years earlier because my downstairs didn’t look quite right. I only found out I was intersex a few years ago when another gynecologist asked if I got periods. Confused I said yes to which he responded “Oh okay. It’s just that I can tell you’re intersex and you often don’t get periods” Let’s just say we had a long talk after that.

So for me it was just a nagging feeling that something was off, especially after sex education in school because I didn’t quite fit the diagrams and some of the things the teacher said were impossible and if we experienced those things we were probably just doing it wrong. Well, they fit me and for years I was wondering what I was doing wrong.

For other people they find out later that they were operated on as infants to fit into a gender that they may or may not identify with later in life and they fight for children’s right to not be operated on.

For that reason some intersex people want to be included in the queer community while others want to be left out because they consider it a “body thing” more than a “brain thing”

So like I said, we’re diverse but I hope you feel a bit more informed. If you set out to learn more, just know that few things are a universal experience so just because I’m okay with telling you these thing, any of them could be super touchy for another person.

And as you can probably tell, I very much agree with my friend which is why I made the post. You do you, but I do believe it’s worth being patient with people who don’t seem to have bad intentions. And a big thank you to those who were patient with me.

[tiredyke]

rant, lesbophobia, misogyny mention

if you’re a man or non-lesbian shut up about lesbianism. honestly. i am so sick of you speaking over us all the time trying to define lesbianism and decide who gets included in lesbianism. seriously point blank shut your mouth. i am incredibly over seeing posts about lesbianism, the history of lesbians, and what it means to be a lesbian with thousands of notes only to find that they are entirely filled with non-lesbians debating and discoursing about us and our label. and almost every single one of these posts blatantly dehumanizes lesbians.

every time a lesbian speaks up on these posts you all will gather like cockroaches and tell them to shut up and call them “r/df/m” or “t/rf” just for saying, “hey this is wrong/harmful” or “i don’t think you guys should be having these discussions without us, without listening to us”. and it’s so obvious when you throw those words around without care for the weight they carry that you think lesbians are inherently heartless or evil and that we can’t be trusted to define ourselves since we’re just man hating dykes, and that you think transmisogyny is just a bargaining chip or a gotcha point you can use against us (which is transmisogynistic in itself).

this may come as a shock to you and hurt your feelings but conversations about lesbianism don’t concern you! like i am so so so SO tired of no one in this goddamn community listening to us and everyone uplifting/prioritizing non-lesbians in all discussions about us. i really couldn’t give a shit about what you have to say. maybe if things were different you could join the convo but lesbians are constantly getting pushed aside, talked over and drowned out in general, especially when it comes to lesbianism. it is so entitled and self-righteous to think non lesbians have any authority in lesbian discussions, and i can see your lesbophobia in the ways you talk about us like we’re not here. it’s exhausting. shut the hell up

(but i assume you stopped reading at “non-lesbian”).

[tootiredmotel]

a different lover is not a sin

or: 5 times Dean didn't go to Pride + 1 time he did

Happy @starrynightdeancas gift exchange posting day!!! This one's for the wonderful and talented @andzia267 !!! Sending you all the hugs and good vibes, and I hope you enjoy it! And thank you Sophie for hosting all this, you're a rock star! <3

Read on ao3 or below / 5.5k words

CW: homophobia, queer used as a slur, john winchester being an asshole

1 - 1994

Dean was fifteen years old when he found out that being gay was something people could be proud of. It was early in the morning, they'd left their motel about 20 minutes before, and Sammy had fallen asleep in the backseat. The sun was just starting to completely show over the horizon, and they were driving through– or rather, struggling to get out of– Phoenix on their way to a possible poltergeist in Tucson. Every street they tried to take was blocked for the big event, and dozens of people already lined the sidewalks with colorful outfits and signs.

"Fuckin' queers," John grumbled in the seat next to him. "Never should'a thrown that damn brick."

Big banners overhead displayed "Stonewall 25: A Global Celebration of Pride". Dean made a mental note to hit up a library once they got to Tucson to look that up, "Stonewall". In the meantime, he was mesmerized staring out the window. Guys held hands, women kissed, everyone was practically vibrating with excitement. A black man in heels and a wig caught his gaze through the window and waved. Dean started to wave back, but his hand was harshly swatted back down.

"Do not," John said. "Don’t talk to them, don’t even look at ‘em. These people are sick in the head."

Dean focused his gaze on his lap until they were out of the city, and his mind wandered back to the gas station they stopped at the day before. He thought of the guy at the cash register that called him "cutie" and winked at him as he bought a candy bar for Sammy and beers for Dad with his fake ID. By Dad’s logic– which Dean trusted, of course–, that cashier, that queer, must've been sick in the head.

Then Dean remembered how his heart sped up, how his ears got hot, and how for a second he let himself think the cashier was kinda cute too. He realized he must also be sick in the head, and the thought was making him feel actually, physically sick. He felt like throwing up. Dad could never know.

Dean was fifteen years old when he learned that being gay actually wasn't something to be proud of.

---

2 - 2000

Dean was 21 years old when he learned the word “bisexual”. Dad had caught word of a ghoul case in lower Manhattan and sent Dean to take care of it. It was starting to get too hot and the streets were too crowded, but Dean was mostly glad to get a break from the constant fighting between Dad and Sammy.

Except it was June, and every time he turned a corner, there they were. The Pride parade flyers.

The second he spotted a rainbow he averted his gaze. He turned another corner and spotted another one. He avoided reading them at all costs. He heard Dad’s voice. Sick. Sick in the head.

For years now Dean had pretended he wasn’t sick. He pretended to not stare at Patrick Swayze too much whenever Dirty Dancing played on TV. He pretended like he didn't imagine what it would be like to kiss a guy, what stubble would feel like against his lips if he ever did.

He liked women. He could stick to women. He could live his whole life like that. And that meant he wasn’t totally sick, right? He wasn’t gay -gay if he liked girls.

But then what the hell was he? Would he even belong at one of these Pride things if he wanted to? He was probably a freak of nature. Even sicker than the rest of the bunch.

Curiosity got the best of him. He spared a glance at one of the flyers as he waited to cross the street.

Gays, lesbians, bisexuals, transexuals, ALL WELCOME

“Are you gonna go?” A voice next to him asked. ”It’s next weekend.” He was blond, pale, and a bit shorter than Dean.

“What? No! I don't swing that way,” Dean said, a bit too quickly and with too much bite.

The guy looked him up and down with a frown. “Geez, alright. Just askin’.”

He started to walk away, and Dean spoke up before he could stop himself.

“Hey man, wait.”

The guy stopped walking.

“Sorry, can I ask you something? Assuming you... know about this stuff?”

He seemed exasperated, but he turned anyway, willing to hear Dean out. Dean licked his lips, rubbed at the back of his neck, swallowed nervously. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, asking a stranger on the street about something so personal. At least the chances of meeting this person ever again were close to none.

“What’s bisexual?”

The guy’s features softened a bit. He seemed to understand something about Dean that so far Dean refused to acknowledge.

“It means you’re into more than one gender. And yes, you can do that,” the guy said. He flashed Dean a tight smile and then disappeared into the crowd.

Dean felt his hands go numb and balled them into fists, shoving them in his pockets. He took a deep breath through his nose. The guy said you. You are. You can.

The guy didn’t know what he was talking about. He knew nothing about Dean. He was wrong.

Or maybe he was right.

But he couldn’t be.

Dean couldn’t be… that.

Dean was 21 years old when he decided he wasn’t bisexual. He wasn’t anything. He was also 21 when he solved a case in record time (two days), just so he could book it out of New York before the next weekend arrived.

---

3 - 2004

By the time he was 25 years old, Dean knew he was bi. He hated it, he never spoke about it, and he ignored it as much as he could, but he was aware of it. And he knew he was bi because, at 25 years old, he’d already gone through two serious breakups, and they both equally sucked.

The first was Lee. He hunted with Dean and John for about a year, the second half of which Dean and Lee spent sneaking around and hooking up behind John’s back. It was fun, and hot, and exciting, and some of the best hookups he’d had up until that point in his life were with Lee.

But the thing is that it wasn’t just hooking up. They were close, and Dean liked him. A lot. They kissed for the first time after a particularly scary werewolf hunt in which Dean almost died, but John was more preoccupied with the mostly-unharmed victim than his own son. Dean and Lee rode in the backseat, bruised, bloody, and quiet. When John went to walk the victim up to her apartment, Lee reached over and placed a hand on Dean’s back, asking him if he was okay. Dean fell into Lee’s arms, and they kissed as they pulled away from the embrace, soft and comforting. It was Dean’s first kiss with a guy.

Lee was a lot of firsts for Dean over the next few months. But then John almost caught them once, drunk and making out in the Impala.

And then that case in Arizona went wrong, and Lee just couldn’t take it anymore. He packed up, swore off hunting, hugged Dean goodbye, and left him in the dust.

Dean needed to clear his head after that. He could barely look his dad in the eye after that close call, couldn't let him see the sorrow he was feeling. With every interaction, he imagined how John would yell at him, probably try to beat it out of him, if he noticed all he was feeling over Lee. Or worse, John could ignore him, practically disown him like he did Sam.

So he also packed up and left. Went hunting on his own for a while.

It was on one of those hunts that he met Cassie, and she was yet another handful of firsts for Dean over the course of a few months. She was amazing, and he fell hard and fast, but of course that went up in flames too.

Then again, he should've known better than to be honest. Honesty only ever got him in trouble.

He’d just left her back in Ohio and was working at a bar in Indianapolis for a few weeks to make some cash. He’d eventually meet back up with Dad. He just couldn’t right now. Not with Sam gone to college. Not after getting his heart broken twice over within a year.

He was hyper-aware of the end of June approaching. He knew it was coming, Indy had a pretty big celebration, and he made sure to be working all day that day so he wouldn't have to face it.

That was pointless, though. Toward the end of the day, a big group of about ten or twelve people who were clearly coming from the parade stumbled into the bar. One of them was apparently the owner’s little sister and they went there every year after the celebrations. They were loud, and obnoxious, and looked incredibly happy. Their happiness was contagious, and Dean loved serving them. He chatted them up, got to know them a bit, and heard all about the parade, all while staring down anyone at the bar who dared look their way with even the slightest stink eye.

But watching them that happy and comfortable, seeing not one, but two pairs of guys sloppily leaning against each other and sharing the occasional kiss while none of their friends seemed to bat an eye… something in Dean ached. Deeply.

Dean was 25 years old when he realized that a small part of him kind of, sort of, wanted to be part of this community. He couldn’t though. Not if he wanted to be on good terms with Dad. Not if he aimed to be the man Dad wanted him to be.

He left Indianapolis the next day.

---

4 - 2008

Dean was 29 years old and on his own personal highway to hell when he learned his brother went to a Pride parade before he ever did. They were driving through San José, the streets were lined with ads for Silicon Valley Pride, and Sam just casually decided to mention how fun it was the last time he went.

Thankfully they were at a red light, or else Dean probably would’ve slammed the breaks. He twisted to look at Sam head-on, his arm on the back of the seat.

“You what ?” he gawked.

Sam shrugged innocently. “What?”

“You went to one of these Pride things?”

“Yeah, dude.”

Dean’s brain was just trying and failing to load. “Why?” he finally asked.

“Jessica was in the GSA and some friends invited us. It was awesome.”

“She was in the what?”

“The G. S. A.,” Sam answered slowly. “Gay-Straight Alliance.”

“Oh.” Whatever that is, Dean thought. He kept eyeing the flyers. It was tomorrow.

“Green.”

“What?”

“Light’s green. Green means go.”

Dean rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

He kept driving and turned up the radio. Somebody To Love was playing, and as much as he liked Queen, he had to change the station. He tried to picture his little brother (his straight little brother) wearing rainbow face paint and having the time of his life at this thing. How come Sammy got to go when Dean could barely entertain the idea? Dean was the not-straight one. It wasn’t fair.

He channeled his jealousy into gripping the steering wheel.

“You okay, Dean?”

“Yeah.” No. “Yeah, m’fine.”

Dean was 29 years old when he died and went to hell without ever having gone to a Pride parade, knowing that his idiot ( straight! ) little brother already had.

---

5 - 2014

Dean was alive again and 35 years old (75, if you count hell) when he was formally invited to a Pride parade for the first time. It was a couple of days after that whole mess with Cas in Lucifer’s crypt, and he called Charlie. He just wanted to hear her voice, needed to know he was still on good terms with at least one of his best friends.

“So anyway,” Charlie said after a while of recounting what she’d been up to. "How single are you right now? My answer is: miserably."

Dean chuckled. Then he thought of Cas, and the smile disappeared. "Yeah, you and me both, sister."

“Would you mind coming with me to this thing next month? Going alone kinda sucks.”

Dean put the phone on speaker and placed it on the library table as he sat down with a beer. “What’s the thing?”

“Pride.”

Dean was glad no one was around to see him almost choke on his drink.

“You good?”

“Yeah, what was that?”

“Pride parade. Don’t have anyone to go with this year.”

“Why uh… Why? Why me?”

She knows.

“I dunno.”

She knows she knows she knows.

“You’re my friend, Dean. Thought maybe you might be interested. But never mind, I guess.”

And while all the alarms in Dean's head were blaring danger danger danger abort, he also hated to hear Charlie so disappointed.

“Hey, no, listen, Charlie, I… I would. Really. You know I support you, wholeheartedly." And that's obviously the only reason I would want to go. "But with Sam doing these trials, and Cas on the run with the angel tablet–”

“It’s okay Dean, I get it. Talk to you soon?”

“Yeah.”

And she hung up.

Dean knew, at this point, that there was nothing wrong with being queer. It wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, and it sure as hell didn’t mean you were wrong in the head or whatever.

But years of pretending to be a false version of yourself in an effort to please a man who was impossible to please wasn’t exactly an easy habit to break. As much as he wished it didn't, as much as he wished he could just exist, the thought of anyone finding out still made him sick to the stomach.

John’s voice still echoed in his ears. His words still drove Dean’s sense of self-worth and so many of his decisions. He tried to never stare at a good-looking guy for too long. He tried to not get too into it with Benny. He tried to keep his feelings for Cas at bay, tried to keep him at arm's length, tried to keep the fact that he was in love (deeply, stupidly in love) as close to his chest as he could.

Even that night at the crypt choking out the words to get through to Cas, he couldn’t bring himself to say what he meant. I love you, he’d wanted to say, because it was the truth. What came out, however, was I need you. And he did, he needed Cas more than air, but it wasn't quite everything.

It still got his heart split in two.

Was he so far gone over Cas that he couldn’t hide it? Had he been trying so hard and failing just as miserably this whole time? Was his attraction to dudes that obvious? Or did Charlie just have a sixth sense for this kinda thing?

It was probably the last one. He hoped it was.

Cas knew, for sure. Angels knew everything right? They could read minds, feel longing, or whatever. And if none of that ever tipped him off, well, Dean put it all on the line back in that crypt. He told Cas how he felt, told him he needed him, tried putting himself out there, and it got him left. Again. With Dean, it was always leave-or-get-left when it came to love. He was tired of it.

Dean was 35 years old, desperately in love with his best friend, and truly heartbroken for the third time in his life, when his other best friend– an out and proud lesbian– gave him a chance to go to Pride, to break through his shell, to finally embrace himself as he was; but because he was practically living in the closet, he couldn’t seem to find the handle after so many years of purposefully ignoring its existence, and he missed his chance. Besides, what was the point of going to a celebration of love without the love of his life by his side?

---

+1 - 2021

Dean is now 42 years old and the happiest he’s ever been. The love of his life? Cas? Turns out he’s felt the same way all along. They're kind of together now, and slowly but surely they’re working through a decade’s worth of shit.

They’ve been raising a kid together too, along with Sam and Eileen, and that kid is also God. After saving the world and whatnot, Jack decided to bring back some of their friends and family that died over the years: Mary, Kevin, Charlie. Yes, there are two Charlies now, but it’s not as confusing as you’d expect. (One is from another dimension, and the other one is Dean’s little sister. Simple.) Mary’s off hunting most of the time and Kevin’s applying to college.

They’ve got extended family now too, Jody and the girls. OG Charlie is staying with them for now, while she finds her footing. Most of that household is queer. Most of Dean's household is queer as well, actually. Turns out both Jack and Eileen are non-binary, Cas is gay in the broader sense of the word, and Dean…

Dean is bi. And everyone knows now.

Apparently, a lot of people had known for a long time. Sam has known since the siren back in ‘09 (even though Dean stands by the fact that it wasn’t like that, Sammy ), and everyone has slowly picked up on his and Cas’s thing over the years, so there’s that.

He still feels a bit weird about it. About calling Cas his boyfriend, about having the freedom to hold his hand in public, about the fact that they now have goddamn pride flags hung around the bunker. He feels even weirder about the fact that John’s voice in his head is now drowned out by the sounds of his home life, more lively and supportive than he ever expected to have.

He wasn’t expecting any of this, he didn’t think everything would change so fast. But when you spend the better part of your life pushing down such a huge part of you and then finally give yourself an out, a chance to show the people who love you who you really are, everything just... follows.

Love follows. Acceptance follows. Family follows. And he wasn’t really expecting any of it.

He certainly doesn’t expect it when Cas walks into the library after his weekly Thursday evening call with Claire and announces, matter-of-factly and with air quotes, “We’re going to "Pride" this weekend.”

Dean’s stomach drops. It’s the Sioux Falls Pride Parade and Festival, it’s in two days, and they’re leaving tomorrow to spend the night at Jody’s so they can all be there bright and early Saturday morning. Everyone immediately starts bustling about, packing and planning outfits and gathering flags to bring with them.

Dean just goes to his room– his and Cas’s now– to pack a small duffle.

Well, he means to. Instead, he takes out the duffle from the closet, puts it on the bed, and sits next to it for a while. An hour goes by. He thinks back to all those times he had brushes with one of these things and was just never in the right mindset. He’s not even sure he’s in the right mindset now, but he’s going. It’s happening.

“Jack’s all ready to go,” Cas says when he walks in. “We spent about half an hour putting together an outfit for Saturday. He wanted it to be as colorful as possible.”

Dean smiles, but it’s not all there. He looks at the empty duffle next to him.

“Yeah, I might need some help with that myself.”

Cas is in sweats and a hoodie. Yes it’s June, yes it’s hot, but he’s a quasi-angel, and the way he experiences the world Dean will never be able to wrap his head around. He walks over and stands in front of Dean, running a hand through his hair and down the side of his face until he’s cupping Dean’s jaw. Dean takes Cas’s hand and leaves a few kisses on the inside of his wrist, closing his eyes as he does.

Cas regards the empty bag and hums quietly, as if in thought, before walking over to their closet. Dean chases his hand, holding onto it until he’s completely out of reach. Cas starts searching, and Dean’s stomach knots more and more with each clang of the hangers. Cas finally pulls out a flannel from its hanger– purple with hints of blue and pink– and tosses it over. Dean can’t believe he didn’t think of it first.

They continue to pack in comfortable silence before changing and getting into bed. Dean doesn’t flop onto his stomach or cuddle into Cas’s side as he usually does; instead, he lies on his back and stares at the ceiling in a daze.

“Dean?” Cas’s voice snaps him out of it.

Dean turns his head and asks, automatically, “You okay?”

It’s a habit by now, asking each other that question. It’s part of the working-through-a-decade’s-worth-of-shit thing they’re doing. Turns out they share a whole lot of trauma. They share worries and insecurities. They share nightmares sometimes, mostly about the Empty.

“I’m okay,” Cas says, putting his hand on top of Dean’s heart for him to hold, and Dean can breathe a little easier.

“You nervous about this thing?” Dean asks, interlocking their fingers.

“The parade? No, not really.”

And then, because he's been working on communicating how he's feeling out loud or whatever, Dean looks back up at the ceiling and says, "I am. Kinda."

He feels Cas shifting and propping himself up on his elbow, and then he's in Dean's line of sight. Dean's gaze is drawn to him, like all of him has been since the moment they met, and Dean can't believe he just has this now. He has a boyfriend, and it's Cas, and he's looking down at Dean with stars in his eyes and a comforting smile that actually works because it's Cas.

And then Cas is leaning down and softly pressing their lips together, and that's also something Dean can’t believe he gets to do: kiss Cas good morning and good night and at any moment in between, kiss him I'm sorry, kiss him we're going to be okay, kiss him I love you.

"I love you too, Dean," Cas says once they've pulled away, and Dean didn't even realize he'd said it out loud, but it doesn't matter. "And you don't need to be nervous. I'll be there with you."

The thought should be a thousand times more nerve-wracking, not just going to Pride but going to Pride with Cas on his arm. It's not nerve-wracking at all, and he soon drifts off to sleep.

Friday goes by faster than it should. The six-hour drive to Sioux Falls, although packed in a car with five people, goes by in a blink. They stop for provisions before getting to Jody's, filling up on backpacks' worth of snacks.

They get to the house and are met with endless hugs and excitement to match. Patience, Alex, and Jody are already working on dinner for the bunch, while Charlie, Donna, and Kaia are running around prepping for the next day and dragging along a hesitant but nevertheless happy Claire. Dinner is chaotic and loud and there are way too many people at the table, and Dean has to step outside after a while.

He sits on the back porch steps. Claire joins him. She's holding a beer, he's not. He hasn't been drinking for a few months now. They don't talk, but she leans her head on his shoulder and they stay there a while, looking at the stars.

When they go back inside, Claire sits back down in her spot at Cas's left, across the table from Dean, and leans on his shoulder for a while too. It's her way of saying she cares, of saying I missed you without really saying it. Jack sits at Cas's right, talking excitedly with Patience about some tv show or other, and the image fills Dean with such fondness that he reaches over with his foot, presses it to Cas's ankle, and keeps it there for the rest of the night.

Dean, Cas, Jack, Sam, and Eileen spend the night spread out around in the living area while the girls sleep in their respective rooms, and Dean is only slightly less nervous as he falls asleep holding Cas’s hand.

---

The nerves all come flooding back as he’s parking the Impala the next morning.

They’re not able to get even remotely close to Phillips Avenue since the streets are so full. They park the three cars that all twelve of them came in as close as they can and then have to walk for another twenty minutes. From blocks and blocks away, people walk and holler and greet them excitedly, many of them trying to circle this swarm of flanneled individuals that are taking up a whole sidewalk. Granted, Dean and Claire are the only ones in their usual kind of outfit. The rest of the bunch is wearing as many colors as they could compile from their closets, half of them are wearing face paint, and the other half are carrying an assortment of pride flags.

They fit right in.

The walk toward the main avenue of the parade is kind of a blur for Dean. He knows he waved at a few people, some friends of Alex from high school joined the group at some point, and Jack already grabbed a snack from his backpack.

The actual parade is also kind of hazy. Getting out of the house that morning had been probably even more chaotic than the night before, so they’re a bit late and the parade has already been going for a good half hour. On top of that, they accidentally merge into it not quite at the starting point but a bit further down the road, in between a decked-out pickup truck and a group of people with dogs. Music is blaring, the dogs are all barking, a big float rides a few yards in front of them, and hundreds stand on the sidewalks recording on their phones and cheering them along.

Dean’s not sure they’re even supposed to be in the actual parade. Maybe they’re supposed to be on the sidewalks? Is this right? What is happening, what is he even doing here?

He doesn’t notice how heavy he’s breathing until Cas is squeezing his hand and beckoning him to meet his eyes. He does, and the blue in them, as imposing as the Atlantic, drowns out everything else around them. “You’re okay, my love,” Cas says. It’s a fact. As long as Dean is with him, he’s okay.

On his other side, Dean feels someone link their arm around his. It’s Charlie, and she’s beaming at them, her cheeks almost as red as her hair. It brings Dean back to reality, grounds him, but he’s okay now. He’s not alone, and he’s meant to be here.

He’s proud to be here.

The parade leads up to a sloping park, and at the lowest point of it, there’s a stage where Dean assumes someone will MC for the afternoon, or maybe perform. It’s grandiose in its simplicity, kind of like a Greek theater, with everyone settling down on the grass around it, expectantly.

“We’ll be right back,” Dean hears Sam say, and he turns to find they’re all set to spend the afternoon, towels laid and backpacks off (save for his). “Jack wants to go meet the drag queens,” Sam says with just a bit too much glee before he and Jack take off.

“It’s not just Jack,” Eileen smiles and follows.

Cas is already sitting, eating one of the PB&Js he packed as lunches for everyone. Jody and Donna are settling down as well and Charlie’s taking a dozen pictures, but the rest of the girls are all standing. “We’re gonna go check out the vendors,” Claire announces, and they start to take off as well.

“Be careful, please!” Dean calls after them, but they pay him no mind. He turns to Charlie. “Hey, your majesty, keep an eye on them will you?”

She smiles, bows gracefully, and heads in the same direction.

Jody stands and grabs Dean by the arm, beckoning him to talk in private for a second.

“What’s up?”

If Dean knows Jody at all, and he does, they’re on the brink of a mom talk.

“Look around, Dean.”

“What for?”

“Just look,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Please?”

So, at her request, Dean starts taking in the environment. Now that everyone is gathered, he can actually see all the people that came out (heh) for the event. There are church groups, pet shelters, skateboarders, and rollerskaters. Drag queens are already taking pictures by the stage, and at least two people are wearing unicorn heads. A few vendors’ tents and food trucks surround the park, and rainbows completely dominate the scenery. There are elders, and kids, and all kinds of families and couples, and everyone looks… happy. Free.

And Dean is here with them. He is one of them.

There’s no danger, no monsters of any kind. No one to judge him, hurt him, call him sick in the head.

He finds Claire’s blonde head amongst the sea of shoppers at the edge of the park. She’s holding hands with Kaia and has one of the biggest smiles Dean has ever seen on her face. There’s no shame in it, and she’s not in any danger either. Things are different now, and she has the freedom to be herself that he never had at her age.

He has it now too. He can be himself.

Dean doesn’t realize he’s about to cry until Jody pulls him down into a hug.

“Dean, I am so proud of you.”

And then he cries.

---

They spend the afternoon laying on the grass, eating, drinking, and enjoying the festivities. The girls come back from the vendors’ tents after a full hour, and most of the bags on their arms are Charlie’s. She gets Cas a mug that says bee yourself in rainbow colors with an image of a cartoon bee, and she gets Dean a button pin that says AC/DC in pink and blue. There’s a meaning behind that apparently, and Dean decides he’ll look it up later.

Jack memorizes all the drag queen’s names. Donna takes a million pictures. They trade numbers with a few people.

There’s a big fireworks show just after sundown. It starts to get windy and a bit chilly, so Dean grabs the nearest pride flag and wraps it around himself. Cas, the perpetual freak who just doesn’t feel temperature apparently, is wearing a t-shirt and shorts and smiling at him unabashedly.

“What?”

“That’s the bisexual flag.”

So it is. “Shut up,” Dean says, but he’s smiling too. “You want in on this?”

He doesn’t wait for Cas to respond before he wraps it around his shoulders as well. The fireworks continue.

“You know,” Cas says after a beat. “As beautiful as they are, pyrotechnics are extremely damaging to the environment.”

Dean can’t help but laugh because of course, Cas would say something like that in a moment like this. He laughs and laughs and regrets being the only one to have heard that; then again, he’s the only one who could’ve found that funny.

He laughs a bit more, wipes a tear, and sees that Cas is still just solemnly watching the show.

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?” He replies and then turns his head.

Dean wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him so bad. Then he remembers where he is, physically and in his life right now, realizes whom he’s surrounded by at this very second, and decides that he can.

So he does. It’s not unlike the way he kissed Cas when they rescued him from the Empty. Granted, there’s less sweat, blood, adrenaline. But just like that day, they’re both on the ground, and the gesture catches Cas by surprise. Just like that day, Dean pulls Cas in gently by the back of his neck and there’s no hesitance or fear. Just like that day, he just does it, presses their lips firmly together, and relishes in the taste of Castiel, in the feeling of the person he loves most in this world kissing him back.

The one big difference is this: that day marked the beginning of the rest of his life. Today? Today is just Dean’s first Pride.

[sazandorable]

About moderating and banning content on AO3!

Okay so! I haven’t had the spoons to do this for a while but I cracked and ranted about it on twitter which is... not... conducive to long rants, so!

This is a h u g e discussion part of the l o n g history that led to the creation of AO3, which older, more informed, and more articulate people have talked about at length and can be found around if you look (I reblog some of it in my AO3 and fandom history tags for the curious). So I won’t go into that here, nor into the practical reasons why it’s not even possible to put that system in place anyway.

Arbitrarily, or the purpose of this post, because it’s the biggest topic I’ve seen brought up lately, I’ll be talking about fic depicting underage characters in se*ual situations, but honestly I could hold the exact same conversation on literally any controversial content.

This is about why you, specifically, if you are a content creator and especially if you are marginalised and especially if you are queer and especially especially if you are sensitive to fiction depicting certain things... do not, actually, want a banning system on AO3.

What? Of course we do. There’s a lot of p*do shit on AO3 and p*do shit is gross. No one should condone that, wtf? It would be easy to do — just periodically delete the entire Underage tag!

What will happen if that is done is that people will re-upload and continue to write it, they’ll just stop tagging and you will run into it with zero warning nor ability to filter it out. Again, this is not a theoretical — we know this is what happens. When I was a teen, adult content (all adult content) was not allowed on FF.NET; it was everywhere regardless, and without tags. The exact same thing happened on tumblr when adult content was banned as well. It’s not a matter of “staff not handling it well” — it just doesn’t work.

To keep safe the people who need to be able to exclude that tag, that tag needs to exist and be used.

Well, shucks. A reporting system then?

A reporting system would operate in one of two ways:

-an algorithm, which would delete a lot of stuff we wouldn’t want it to delete.

-humans, which is... the bigger problem.

An algorithm sounds great. We do want it to delete everything.

Okay. What about the daddy k*nk fics between consenting adult characters? What about the fics featuring characters that are children in the canon but are adults in the fic? What about the fics about teenagers exploring their se*uality together, written by adults about the experiences they remember having or wish they could have had? What about the thousands of SasuNaru and Drarry and other shounen and YA fics that will get written, by teens or by people who remember being teens? What about the se*ually explicit fic written by teens who are se*ually active in real life? What about the fics about CSA as trauma, about healing from it? What about the fics written by survivors of CSA to cope about their trauma? What about the fics that clearly show that it’s evil and traumatic? What about the super dark, harrowing, but beautiful and artistic that I’m glad I read even though it fucked me up for days? What about the ones that were really shitty but also horribly hot?

Well, some of these are still not okay, but maybe some might be. It depends on how it’s written. We’ll have humans moderating content and deciding, then.

Okay.

The thing is, I don’t know which of the things I just listed were okay for you to be depicted in fiction and which were too much. Odds are I don’t agree with you. Odds are if I asked 10 people randomly picked off the street, not everyone would agree.

Odds are, even if AO3 arbitrarily decided on which of those are allowed and which are not, you would not agree with their choice, and you would still be unhappy with the decision. (Or you would be happy, but your friends wouldn’t.)

Odds are, different AO3 content moderators might not agree on whether a given fic qualifies or not — is it artistic enough? Does it show enough that these actions are evil and wrong? Can the author prove they’re a teenager? Can the author prove they are a CSA victim? Can the author prove that this is to help them cope with their trauma? The author seem to be functioning alright, they mustn’t really be traumatised!

You know what I mean! There’s absolute, objectively gross shit out there that is not artistic and should not be published.

I agree that there’s vile stuff out there that makes me sick and that I think is very clearly just ped*philic trash. But there is no way to, 1) stop those from getting published anyway, 2) take those down and preserve the safety of everything else.

If we start forbidding some things, there’s two ways to go about it.

One single, clear, arbitrary rule — for instance, absolutely no adult content featuring characters under 18 (leaving aside the fact that this would not even work for the reason cited above). So we lose all the stuff from teenagers, all the coming of age stories about adolescence, all the stuff from CSA survivors; people who need to write it can’t publish it anymore, and people who need to read it can’t anymore either (and as a cool bonus, they’re told it’s wrong and made to feel bad about it). Depending on whether the rules applies to characters that are under 18 in the canon, we lose entire fandoms.

Or, subjective moderation by humans, according to what they estimate to be gross.

Let’s assume all moderators can agree on what’s gross or not.

If there is a system in place to ban some underage works because “gross shit”, then that means other gross stuff can be taken down on account of being gross and harmful.

Yeah! Gross stuff should be taken down! Come on, surely everyone agrees on what’s gross and harmful.

Ah.

But the problem is.

Here is a list of things I have seen — with my eyes seen — called harmful to be depicted in fiction:

Murder

Non-con

Inc*st

Cannibalism

Torture

Self-harm

Mental illness

Drugs

Racism

K*nk

Non-negotiated k*nk, but healthy k*nk is ok

Spanking k*nk

BDSM where the woman is a bottom, but woman top is ok

Healthy depictions of BDSM

Unhealthy depictions of BDSM

Queer people doing bad things

Abusive relationships

Rival/Enemies to lovers

Redemption stories

A happy relationship between a 17 yo and an 18 yo

A happy relationship between a 20 yo and a 60 yo

A happy relationship between a boss and their employee, or a college teacher and a student

A happy relationship between a 14 yo boy and an older teenage boy, because that’s reminiscent of older men preying on younger gay boys IRL

Se*ual content featuring a character whose age is unclear in canon and some people headcanon them as being underage, some as being a young adult

Loving, consensual fluff between characters that are evil villains, because it romanticises them and their actions

Dark content shipping female characters

Fluffy content shipping female characters, because it’s misogynistic to act like lesbians are only soft all the time

Consensual s*x featuring a canonically asexual character, because it implies that all aces can and should still have se*

Fics about the same canonically asexual character hating s*x, because that erases the experience of s*x-positive aces

Shipping a character who is perceived by some fans as queer-coded with a character of a different s*x

The tendency to ship a black character with white characters

Fluffy drunk s*x, because that’s not actually consensual

Sleep s*x, because that’s not actually consensual

Trans characters not experiencing dysphoria, because that idealises the trans experience

Consensual s*x between adults that are not married

LGBT+ content, because kids shouldn’t see that.

I guarantee you: you, I, and 10 random people plucked from the street will not agree on what, in that list, is and isn’t okay to publish and consume fiction of.

So why should your taste be the one followed? Why should it be the taste of mods you don’t know? Why should anyone get to dictate? What if the mods think your OTP is gross and your NOTP is fine?

This is the slippery slope argument.

Yes, it is the slippery slope argument. Because we know it happens. Because we’ve been there, because I’ve seen it happen myself twice already and I’m not even thirty. Because we know people do complain loudly about all of these things.

And because the second there is a banning system in place, assholes will use the system to abuse it and get stuff they just don’t like taken down using the “it is gross” argument, and one day you’ll wake up and the beautiful fic that helped you come to terms with your abuse/trauma/identity/orientation/k*nk for feet will be taken down and wonderful vulnerable creative people will have been harassed out of fandom because they argued with 1 person who didn’t like their foot k*nk fic that happened to also feature, for instance, a CSA trauma backstory.

Again: not exaggerating. Not theoretical. It happens, we know it happens, AO3 was created literally because it happens.

I still fucking hate that stuff.

That is completely fine and normal. No one likes everything. Me too! Most of the dark stuff is niche and the creators know only few people will like it the same way they do.

(For the record, I get grossed out and triggered by fics about an asexual character who does not like s*x having s*x with their partner to make them happy. Deep in my gut everything screams that that’s fucked up, terrifying and harmful, how can people write that. But I recognise that there are people who love and need that, and I leave those people and their content alone.

OTOH, I read a lot of otherwise dark shit and I enjoy it in the same way I enjoyed, say, Hannibal, in the same way some people enjoy true crime documentaries, horror movies or r*pe fantasy k*nk. It helps me explore stuff that I like to see in fiction, in a safe, controlled way. I’m also asexual, 90% s*x-repulsed IRL, and, obviously, I would never abuse a child. For that matter, I wouldn’t kill and eat people, either, nor would I do 90% of the tamer k*nky stuff I read.

Of course, Hannibal was fucked up and lots of people probably think Hannibal was gross and should not have been aired — but as exemplified by the fact that it was created, aired and watched, lots of people thought it was fine, interesting and even fun to watch.)

You can and should curate your experience and protect yourself. The AO3 website now allows you to exclude certain tags, and people have developed tools to help with that such as plugins that save your filters or hide fics that contain certain words.

But no, it isn’t going to, and it shouldn’t, get banned.

[troquantary]

Cutting Hair as Punishment in the Twilight Saga

Okay, I’ve been trying to organize my thoughts around this into a sort-of-essay format for a while, because I find it disturbingly mean-spirited: Meyer has a pattern of using hair-cutting as a form of punishment for characters, especially female characters, who fail to embrace Bella and the Cullens with open arms. I’m talking particularly about Leah and Lauren, both of whom, while not outright antagonists like Victoria or James, are situated along with Rosalie as “against” Bella throughout the series. The Quileute pack, meanwhile, is situated largely “against” the Cullens, meaning Jacob and the rest of the pack get the Haircut of Shame, too.

(Also, I’ve been creeping through @panlight ‘s blog because I thought she had a recent post relating to this -- I was probably thinking of this submission and her addendum, which does discuss Meyer’s “punishment” of certain characters, but that post was about characters suffering for not waiting for True Love, or daring to do the Devil’s Tango before marriage. Still, it’s on-theme and very much worth reading, like all her stuff!)

So here’s the general outline: first I’m gonna talk about the shapeshifters and how their overall lack of choice frames cutting their hair as something forced on them and therefore punitive. Then I’m going to discuss Meyer’s FAQ response where she reveals that Lauren was tricked into cutting off most of her hair over the summer before New Moon, and how this adds an extra fun misogynistic element to the hair-cutting theme with respect to Lauren and Leah. I also use way too many words to do it, sorry.

Punishment | The Shapeshifters Are Given No Other Option

I don’t have the background or knowledge to discuss the significance of long hair to indigenous culture and identity in detail, and my understanding is that different tribes ascribe different meanings to it. What I’ve read it about it suggests that, generally, long hair represents strength of one’s individual spirit and of the community. It’s a source of pride, and is only cut off voluntarily in extraordinary circumstances, often as an expression of grief, or to mark a significant life change.

This sort of works in the context of the shapeshifters all cutting their hair -- phasing into a giant wolf, discovering the existence of the supernatural, and assuming the role of protectors is a major life event for these characters. But the negative associations make it a troubling choice on Meyer’s part, and that’s without even getting into the problem of her imposing her own worldbuilding onto the legends and culture of a real tribe. Because of the lack of choice involved in becoming a shapeshifter, the whole situation feels like a scenario in which the Quileute characters have their hair forcibly cut -- a degrading and traumatic act that (depending on their particular tribal belief) might symbolically sever them from their sense of cultural identity and connection with the rest of their tribe.

It all kind of begs the question: why does Meyer even have shapeshifting work this way? What narrative utility is there in having the length of their hair in human form determine the length of their fur as wolves, thereby compelling the shapeshifters to cut it so it isn’t a physical impediment? It’s another sign of the changes in Jacob, sure, but he’s already being uncharacteristically cold and distant, plus suddenly has the physique of a fit twenty-five-year-old; Bella already knows something’s very wrong. His short hair is just another jarring thing for Bella to notice and mourn, like the loss of Jacob’s “baby face” and general sunniness.

It does work as a symbolic thing, representing another sacrifice Jacob has to make and the change in how he now has to perceive himself -- but he’s already got a literal giant wolf form to represent that change in identity/self-perception. Forcing him to cut his hair too just feels like piling on. My argument here, which I hope will be supported when I discuss Lauren and Leah further in, is that it’s not just piling on, but actively punitive -- because much like Leah and Lauren are “against” Bella, the pack at large is “against” the Cullens pretty much through the end of the series.

The Quileute pack is definitely not a Cullen fanclub. The entire purpose of their existence is to destroy vampires, and the truce they have with the Cullens isn’t friendly. They still don’t particularly like or trust the Cullens even after allying with them in Eclipse, and in Breaking Dawn Sam is fully prepared to go to war against them to enforce the treaty. Bella expresses frustration with Jacob and the pack for not appreciating the Cullens more, yet is curiously less willing to scold Alice, Edward, or Rosalie when they call the Quileutes dogs and complain about their smell. (I think she might reprimand Edward for it at some point, but I don’t remember the exact passage.) Bella even starts throwing around “dog” and “mutt” as an insult herself -- I think we know whose side ol’ “Switzerland” is on, here, and whose side Meyer is on as well. The Quileutes aren’t exactly enemies, and in fact are crucial to the Cullens’ survival in both the newborn and Volutri conflicts, but they’re punished nonetheless because they aren’t wholeheartedly Team Cullen from the get-go.

So to explain why I’m so convinced that there’s a link between hair-cutting and punishment in particular, let’s talk about Lauren. There’s a definite gendered element to it this time, too -- by being tricked into cutting her hair, Lauren isn’t just diminished/shamed, but rendered (*thunderclap*) unfeminine.

Lauren Was Rude To Bella Like Twice, Let’s Humiliate Her

I think Meyer’s answer to the question “What happened to Lauren’s hair?” on her FAQ page speaks for itself:

Ha ha. I had fun imagining this one—I only wished that it had fit into the book somewhere. Lauren fell victim to the “model discovered in the mall” scam. An alleged modeling agent approached Lauren in a mall in Victoria, B.C., and told her she was a natural model. Lauren ate it up. The agent told her that if she did something edgy with her hair, and took some high quality head shots, her future was assured. Lauren followed the instructions—dropping fifteen grand on the pictures taken by the agent’s partner—and waited for her career to begin. She’s still waiting. Snort.

It’s pretty obvious that this was done spitefully. Here’s the list of Lauren’s crimes against humanity Bella at this point in the series: 1) she was jealous of the attention Bella was getting as the new girl; 2) she talked behind Bella’s back once, saying Bella might as well just sit with the Cullens now (and she isn’t wrong); 3) she eyed Bella “scornfully” the day of the La Push beach trip; and perhaps most damningly, 4) she’s blonde.

Post-haircut, she has the gall not to be thrilled that Bella’s deigning to speak to the lowly non-Cullens again, then sides with Jessica after Bella uses Jessica to make a point to her dad, is shitty company, and then risks getting them both raped and murdered in Port Angeles so she could get off on her hallucination of Edward’s voice.

I think it’s pretty common knowledge that long hair is tied to patriarchal notions of femininity and attractiveness. Women with short hair are still derided for being ugly, or assumed to be lesbians in a derogatory sense, or simply considered less feminine and therefore less desirable/worthy (because a woman’s worth depends on her desirability, after all). For many women and girls, losing their long hair -- whether because of illness, or gum getting stuck in it, or whatever -- is very upsetting and a hard blow to their self-esteem. Just look at Alice as an example of Traumatic Short Hair; her hair was shorn like that because she received electroshock “treatments” in an asylum. (Although in Alice’s case, I don’t think her having short hair is punishment, but a facet of the traumatic backstory all female characters in Twilight have to have for some reason. Plus, she started the series with short hair, which distinguishes her from the pack and Lauren, who were tricked or compelled into cutting their long hair during the series.)

But Lauren’s so bitchy, so she deserves it, right? Ha ha, she was mean to Bella and cared about her appearance too much, so now she’s ~ugly!

Leah Has It the Worst and It Makes Me Want To Burn Everything

The misogynistic aspect of hair-cutting as punishment is taken up to like, twelve with Leah. Not only does she suffer for being “against” the Cullens along with the rest of the pack (and Bella, too, so extra sinning), but she suffers uniquely for being the only female shapeshifter. A bunch of teenage boys regularly see her naked body against her will. Her previously devoted boyfriend imprints on her cousin/best friend, Sam dumps her and can’t even explain why, and the whole pack -- including her own brother -- resents her for being upset about it, even though she can’t help the lack of mental privacy. Because of that same lack of mental privacy, she has to hear every gripe the boys have about her, plus every enthralled thought Sam has about Emily while she’s still deeply wounded by their breakup.

She blames herself for her dad’s death, because she phased at the wrong time. We don’t get any indication that her fellow shapeshifters or the elders are trying to reassure her otherwise.

And of course, because she’s a shapeshifter, she has to cut her hair. In addition, because Leah’s a woman, this has the same misogynistic connotations as it did with Lauren. In Leah’s case, though, the de-feminization is compounded by her sudden infertility. It’s clear that Leah attaches her sense of womanhood to her fertility, rightly or wrongly -- she bitterly calls herself a “genetic dead end” in Breaking Dawn and thinks of herself as a freak. She feels like there must be something wrong with her, some un-womanly flaw, that made her one of the shapeshifters at all.

Then, just when Jacob starts to see her as a human being worthy of compassion, he imprints on Renesmee and doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything else anymore. No more bonding with Leah, no blooming friendship to help her heal and come to terms with the new realities of her life. (This is one of those dropped threads that aggravate me to no end -- what was the point of having Leah opening up to Jacob, or starting Jacob on the path of realizing he was being a dick to her this whole time and that she’s a person with  value, if he was just going to spend the rest of the book as Renesmee’s love-zombie and never think about it again? Disgusting.)

Leah was a lot more forgiving of Jacob than he deserved at that point in the story, for all the good it did her -- I think she’s mentioned maybe once in Book 3 of Breaking Dawn. At least she got her god-tier moment of yelling at a deranged, pregnant Bella Swan.

Speaking of Bella...

I’m just going to note, for no particular reason, that in Breaking Dawn we get to hear explicitly that Bella’s got hair that falls “almost to her waist” and that she looks like “a freaking supermodel” because she’s so “beautiful and pale.” It just strikes me as a telling contrast at this point.

[wheeier]

trust me

summary: steve coming out to you as bisexual :)

warnings: fluff !! nervous steve, maybe emotional reader bc that would be me

i got teary-eyes writing this but yeah anyways

bisexual!steve harrington x fem!reader

steve had been thinking about it for three months now. at first he didn't believe it – thinking it's not real and he's just insane, because all he know is boys like girls, and girls like boys. poor boy doesn't even know that the word bisexual actually exists. but after robin came out to him as lesbian almost a year ago, maybe the feeling he has was right this entire time. he isn't crazy as he think he is.

steve decided to talk to robin about the situation, since she knows better about this than anyone else.

"i just don't know why you won't tell her," robin says as she puts phoebe cates' standee in place, scrunching her face at her friend, who was visibly stressed out about the current situation. "(y/n) obviously loves you and will accept you no matter what. hell, she's like, head over heels for you. anyone can tell if they see you two together." she finishes as she walks near the boy.

steve lets out a huff, "i know she loves me, i do too. but i'm still scared." he says quietly, thinking anyone would hear, although they were about to close the store and no one was around except them two.

"that's fine. you know, i was so afraid to tell you about me, too. but you've gained my trust, dingus. and you're stuck with me for life." robin pats his shoulder as a way of her saying that his feeling is totally valid and also a way of her saying thank you.

trust. it's a big word for steve. he had trusted so many people in his life, but most of them betrayed and hurt him. he already lost the person he once truly loved and trust, nancy wheeler. it hurt him so much, like someone took his glass heart and dropped it, stomped on it, destroyed it in a thousand pieces.

he doesn't know if he can handle it if he loses you too.

"i'm just- what if she gets upset? what if she runs away?" steve turned his head to robin with a terrified face. "then it's her loss. you're an amazing person, steve. although you're a dumbass most of the time." steve lightly punched her shoulder, making her laugh.

"in all seriousness, just tell (y/n) what you feel when you're ready. i'm sure she won't do anything that would hurt you. i'm telling you she loves you more than anything you could ever think of."

—

a week after that conversation with robin, he was finally sure about what he is and what he likes.

the phone ringing from the living room caught your attention right after you put the pancakes on the plate. "it's just 7 in the morning, who the hell calls this early?" you muttered to yourself.

he immediately felt bad when he heard your frustrated 'hello' on the other line. "babe, hey. good morning, i'm sorry if i interrupted you or anything." you smiled upon hearing his voice. "hey, it's fine, don't worry about it. what made you call this early?" you asked as you sat on the floor. "i..i need to tell you something, but not here on the phone. i wanna tell it in person." you could tell that his voice was mixed with seriousness and anxiousness, which made you assume the worst.

"oh, okay. um.. are you gonna come here? i just made pancakes, i know you love those." you suggested, glancing back at the table as the smell of the pancake filled the house.

steve agreed and told you he would be there in a few minutes so you prepared breakfast for him and prepared some orange juice.

as expected, steve came ringing the doorbell and you fixed your hair a bit before opening the door. you half-expected him to look smiley and happy, but it was different. you stepped aside to let him in and shut the door.

"what is it that you wanted to tell me?" you said calmly, almost comforting that made steve melt. you brushed a strand of his hair away from his face and rest your hand on his cheek. "can we..sit?" he mutters quietly and you nodded.

you intertwined your fingers with his and dragged him to the kitchen where his favorite breakfast lays. he sat beside you, not saying any words. his heart was beating so fast and he's sure that you can practically hear it.

"everything okay?" you asked after putting the pancakes on your plate. you were starting to get nervous, thinking it's really that serious. "how..where do i even begin with this.. uh.." steve started mumbling to himself, you placed your hand on his forearm, letting him know that he can trust you.

steve let out a breath that he didn't know he was holding. "you know you can tell me anything, right? whatever that is, you can trust me." he stared into your eyes, searching for any hint of lie – but there weren't any.

he slightly nodded before looking around but you. "i like you, i mean, of course i do, you're my girlfriend. jesus, uh.. you know i love you, right?"

"yeah," your voice was quiet, unable to speak clearly because of the loud beating of your heart, but at least he admitted that he actually loves you. "yeah. of course."

steve took a deep breath, having the courage to look at your eyes. "before i say it, if you get mad i totally get it, but i hope you won't be. i just, don't wanna lose y-"

"steve?"

"-yeah?"

"just get to the point, please. i promise i won't be mad." you gave him a reassuring smile, and he returened you one.

"promise?"

"promise."

there was a few seconds of silence before he speaks again. "..i like girls. and.." he started, and you made a confused face. "and..i'm pretty sure i'm attracted to..guys, too." his voice trails off but you were able to catch it. he started to panic when you didn't say anything.

he looks down on his palm, picking his nails like he used to when he's anxious. "robin said it's called bisexual, at first i didn't know what it means but now i'm sure that i am that. and i've been thinking about that in the last three months but i didn't know how to tell you, because.. i was scared that you will leave me," his voice almost broke and when he had the courage, he looked back into your eyes. "but just know that i love you so much and if you don't love me anym–" he was interrupted with your hug, slowly letting out a sob which made him worry.

"(y/n)?" he was relieved when you looked up with a smile, sniffing as you let go of him. "sorry, this should be your moment, i just got carried away." you slightly laughed as you wiped your tears. he didn't say anything, he just looked at you, waiting for an answer.

"steve harrington, what made you think that i would ever leave you?" you held his hands with yours, drawing circles using your thumb to help him relax.

"you're not-"

"mad? no, of course not." you shook your head in disagreement. "why would i be mad at you? in fact, i am so so proud of you," you rest your hands on either side of his cheeks, his eyes still wide. "i know it's hard for you to do this but you did it, you're brave, and.. that's one of the things why i love you too." the tears went back to your eyes, "and i am glad that you did this, it means so much to me because i know that you trust me."

you sniffed, then let out a shaky breath. "i have no reason to be mad at you, steve. there's literally no reason. nothing will change. i'm still (y/n), your girlfriend and you're still steve, the love of my life and the one i would marry someday." steve smiled at your words and was about to make a joke about it, but stopped himself because he doesn't wanna ruin the moment.

"you became true to yourself and accepted it. there's nothing wrong with that." at this point you didn't care about the tears in your eyes, because he was crying too.

when he didn't say anything you just wiped his warm tears and pulled him for a hug, which he returned this time. "i love you so much, steve. more than anything you could ever think of."

his mind recalls the time when he talked to robin — when she said the same exact thing, and she was right.

"me too. i love you."

you were the first one to pull away from the hug that seemed like hours. "hey, stop crying now because i'll cry even more. i'm an emotional mess, remember?" you both laughed at your comment as he wiped your tear-stained cheek. you were glad to hear his laugh again, that laugh that you always admired. "okay." he chuckles as he nods, wiping his own tears too.

he turned to the table, ready to eat the now-cold pancakes you made. you remembered he even said that it doesn't taste the same if it wasn't you who cooked it.

once you both finished eating breakfast and cleaned the table, you headed back to the living room, prepared the movie ferris bueller's day off and he sits beside you, lower than usual so that your chin reaches the top of his head. you notice him look up at you, so you tilted your head down to see. "what?" you grin.

steve quirked an eyebrow, remembering your words from earlier. "so you're gonna marry me someday, huh?" he teased, but he knows you were serious. "no, actually. that was just for show." you rolled your eyes jokingly while a smile was visibly showing on your lips. "of course, dummy. there's no other person in the world that i would want to marry but you." when he smiled, you planted a kiss on his forehead before continuing to watch the movie.

you wrap your arm around his shoulder as you brush his hair with your other hand and not even an hour yet, he was already sound asleep in your arms.

[rosemarydisaster]

So, about Bi Caleb

Warning: very long post, discussing bi representation and biphobia.

*Sorry for spelling errors, English ain’t my firts language.

I can’t believe I have to tell you guys, but anyways: Caleb is bi whether he ends with a male character, a female character on a non binary character. That’s what bi people do, you know? they experience atraction for all genders. Saying that a bi character that ends with someone of the opposite gender is straight and queerbaiting is incredibly biphobic.

Yes, Vax was bisexual. Yes, he ended up with Kiki. Get fucking over it.

Now, I can understand why LGBT+ fans may feel disappointed when they tease a “gay couple” but the “straigth” couple ends up being endgame. Notice the quotation marks because there’s not such thing as a straight or gay couple for a bi person. They are bisexual in both situations, but I can see where the problem comes from. I’ve been queerbaited to hell and back by a lot of shows and it really hurts. It feels like they are laughting at you for caring. But I want those fans (whose feelings are totally valid, don’t get me wrong) to consider a few things when it comes to Critical Role, the first one being: it’s a D&D game.

Let me explain, because I know a lot of CR fans haven’t experienced what D&D is like in real life (and that’s absolutely valid, you don’t need to play D&D to enjoy CR). This is an improvisation game, not an scripted TV show. In a Tv show you can plan ahead of time what ship is going to be endgame, what themes are gonna come up for each character and it’s easier to deeply explore sexuality and gender as different planned arcs. In D&D you character’s sexuality may or may not come up depending on how you play it. Take for instance how other CR character’s have stated their sexuality:

Beau: overtly. Very *In your face* kind of lesbian. Marisha said “fuck it, I really just want to romance girls and be bad ass”

Yasha: openly, but not as in your face. Ashley Jhonson wanted to drink from that WLW cup while also being a shy disaster. Seafood market is her favored terrain.

Caduceus: Our Ace king has never hidden his sexuality, and yet he didn’t mention anything about it until chapter 114. He didn’t had the need to either hide it or state it. He was simply vibing.

I think Liam is going that route with Caleb. He’s flustered by Essek and Edwulf (Come on you guys, he always asks Matthew if he’s still hot). He also had/has a thing for Astrid and a think he might have feels for our favorite Tiefling gal. I know we are all too used to characters being teased as gay/bi only to have execs pull a “haha jk they be straight”. But this is not Sherlock or Supernatural. This is a show that not only has queer rep, but also supports queer organizations and creators. Hell, I’m sure some of the cast members are LGBT (but I’m not here to speculate on real people’s sexuality). If Caleb shows attraction to men he is not just queerbaiting, doing it for fanservicing or tricking the fans in any way shape or form: he’s just portraying a bi character. The thing is, since this is not a TV show, he is not doing it por woke points or to send a message. He’s doing it because he wants to play a bi wizard with depression.

So maybe there will be a point in which he can explores his sexuality more deeply, but remember he is playing a game. And his character is one that has a lot of trouble opening up to his feelings. Caleb is not someone that makes sexual jokes or flirty remarks. He is shy, awkward and has developed a really fucked up sense of love that he is now slowly fixing. Hell, in the same Talks episode Liam explained that Caleb was trained on Honey-pot tactics. Which, for those of you who can’t stand Bond films, means seducing your enemy/target to get information, manipulate them or assassinate them. WHICH IS A REALLY FUCKED UP THING! Let’s remember how he was the one to push Fjord to sleep with Advantica so they could spy on her. That boy has Issues when it comes to relationships. So if we don’t see him being as overtly gay as Beau, Molly or Yasha, well maybe it’s because that’s the way Caleb is. Bi people don’t owe you flamboyance, or dating both guys and gals for your approval. I wouldn’t make a post if it was only that, because I do feel the people who are aching for good bi rep and would love some more explicit confirmation. But Vax exists, so I know we can’t have good things down here.

VAX EXPLICITELY SHOWED ATTRACTION TO GILMORE. AS EXPLICIT AS IT GETS. HE FUCKING KISSED HIM. THEY WERE PRACTICALLY DATING. AND YET SOME OF YOU FUCKERS CALL HIM QUEERBAITING. AND I SAY: NOT ON MY WATCH! NOT ON MY FUCKING WATCH!!

How come a character can have canonically kissed another character in a romantic/sensual context and still be called straight? I know fucking Sherlock traumaticed y’all into having trust issues but believe me when I tell you: I’ts not that deep. This is not a “Haha I love u but in a no homo way bro”. It’s a “full homo darling, but also we’re gonna break up because I like someone else”. This is the opposite of queerbaiting. Instead of keeping a charade he was honest with Gilmore because he valued his feelings and realized that he couldn’t reciprocate them at that moment. And if you try to tell me that Vaxleth was forced and didn’t have a reason to exist except queerbaiting, let me tell you: you are wrong.

Vax saw Gilmore once or twice monthly while he spent a heck ton of time with Kiki. Sure, they didn’t had the kind of camera chemistry Gilmore and Vax had because Keyleth is not charismatic. She’s really awkward, and her relationship with Vax was more on the adorable and dorky side of things. I bring this up because I’m predicting something similar may happen to Shadowgast.

Trust me, I ship the hot wizards as much as any other critter (even though I’m a multishipper). But they haven’t talked to Essek in centuries. I think it may have been almost a month in rol and quite a few outside. And you have to take into account out-rol time to because they are humans (except Tal) playing a game and they forget about stuff (except Marisha and Matt). So Shadowgast may not happen because sure, they had really good chemistry for a month a month ago. People have crushes that die down over time All The Time. So maybe don’t be so butthurt about your ship not being canon that you accuse an ally of homophobia. 

The cast of CR put forward such an amazing representation for the LGBT+ community and it really hurts me that you gets stuck on the one thing that isn’t canon. Matt has created a world in which coming out is not necessary because no one assumes your sexuality. A world in which people respect pronouns and orientations (except Tary’s father, who is a villain). A world in which Cad or Caleb don’t need to explicitly say “I’m ace/bi” unless it comes up in conversation. A world in which his friends can be whatever they want to be without pressure or reprecusions. A world in which they get to explore different gender identities and sexual orientations with full freedom. Let’s not interfere with that (unless there’s missrepresentation), and let them play their game. If you really need mlm or wlw canon couples or more outwardly LGBT+ people you have plenty examples among NPCs and other cast members (Allura and kima, Yasha, Beau, Dairon, Keg, Reani, Tary, Molly and Vax among others).

There’s way worst shows taking LGBT+ cred for barely doing nothing. Fucking Supernatural is the most recent example! Critical Role works towards showing an honest portrayal of LGBT+ folk and accepts valid criticism from their fans on the subject (when they changed J’Mon Sa Ord pronouns from it to they/them). They don’t owe you making your ship canon or portraying their characters the way you want them to (again, unless when it’s constructive criticism). Stop being so Fucking entitled and enjoy the show for what it is

,Respectfully~

*Edit: I´m tagging Caleb’s ships into the post because most hate comes from shipping wars. Most Shadowgast fans are respectful of the cast’s decisions, even if it disappoints them. But since I’ve already seen people accusing Liam of biphobia in that tag and since I’ve already seen this shit with Vaxmore I’m tagging the ship. If you want to read my long ass post do it, if not, ignore it. I’m not forcing you to read it. I’ve also tagged it with biphobia so people can avoid it if it’s triggering. I’m sorry if it makes you mad that your ship is not canon, but that’s not an excuse to be toxic to the cast. Those of you getting mad are the ones that need to read this the most. Like I’ve said in the post: you’re allowed to be disappointed, you are allowed to want more, but you can’t force the cast to give you exactly what you want. And most certainly, you can’t accuse them of  some very serious stuff like biphobia and queerbaiting when it’s not the case..  

[soft-for-them]

and they were room mates ♡ annie edison x reader ♡ headcanons

Anon: I have heard that you are taking community request? There hasn’t been a lot of x reader when it comes to that amazing show 😤. If you’re taking them, could I ask for Annie x fem!reader headcanons?

Female reader people, she just screams closeted lesbian to me and you cannot change my mind, not proof read like always.

- Annie Edison.

- Your queer heart nearly exploded the first time you saw her.

- You are a couple year older than her, being twenty when you first meet.

- You originally were going to go to a community university closer to you but

due to Abed, your internet friend and fellow film fanatic, you now go to Greendale.

- Annie and you are quite different.

- But they do say opposites attract.

- She always wears nice womanly dresses whilst you are always swamped in hoodies with film posters on them.

- ‘Why are you staring at Annie?’ Abed first asked when you both sat down in the so called Spanish study group.

- ‘She’s really pretty.’

- ‘Unfortunately, she seems to be ogling at Troy.’

- ‘Well you can have Troy and I can have Annie. ‘ you joked unknown that your words would come true.

- One thing I’d like to point out; the whole study group are a clusterfuck of neurodivergent people so there is always a lack of studying.

- You have always been somewhat intelligent but due to a bad school experience you didn’t do well hence why you’re at a community college.

- You were only taught one way to study, that way being the complete wrong way for you and the teachers never really tried to help you out, them rather ‘helping’ the grade A students instead.

- Some coming to Greendale you had be stuck in the same rut of not knowing how to study, that one of the many reason you came to the study group.

- And due to the shenanigans of the study group you still haven’t learnt how to properly study.

- This is where Annie had came in.

- She had seen you in the library trying to learn by yourself, you obviously failing miserably, and due to Annie’s nature she had come straight over to you and taught you some studying techniques.

- ‘I think you’d do better studying with others than by yourself, I find hearing someone else say something outload is way better than reading everything by yourself.’

- Thus this beginning a ‘private’ study session every week between the two of you.

- Jeff always calls you a ‘watered down’ version of Troy and Abed which is both a complement and an insult.

- A complement because Troy and Abed are cool and you hoped your friendship with Annie could be as close as theirs.

- But an insult because you and Annie aren’t female versions of you dear friends, you are your own people.

- At the start of your friendship you had subconscious hidden away you apparent feeling for her.

- She was taken with Troy then Jeff so you had always assumed that she was straight.

- ‘You are very obvious (y/n).’ Abed would often say very loudly.

- ‘Shut up Abed.’

- The dynamic you two had is always the one where she’s the ‘crazy’ person and you’re the person who always calms her down.

- But considering that the whole study group is crazy you really are the only sane one.

- When Annie was hard on money and was collecting aluminium cans, you had helped her out.

- Sure, you aren’t that well of but you would buy her lunch, collect cans for her and sometimes slip money into her bag so it looked like her money had just fallen out of her purse into her bag.

- Unknown to you Abed had told Troy rather loudly about you little plan and she had overheard.

- She was so confused at why she blushed at the thought of you helping her but my god did it start her crush on you.

- Because of Annie’s closeness with Jeff you had really stayed away from her romantically.

- You had begun dating which had left an odd feeling in Annie.

- She’s deep in the closet so she had no clue her heart was breaking.

- You both still walked each other home (mostly you walking her home.)

- And she always felt safe near you.

- But as you began dating you stopped walking her home less.

- You still offered when you weren’t on a date but Annie had stated to reject you offers for she felt weird with you.

- Hopeless closeted lesbian.

- Her protection was gone and she felt unsafe so she got a gun.

- Annie soon realised that she like liked you when you, Abed and Troy where having your housewarming party.

- Abed and Troy were sharing a room whilst you had your own.

- It was part of your plan of getting Troy and Abed together.

- Of course, that day everyone realised that Annie owned a gun.

- Upon realising that she didn’t feel safe living where she lived you had basically forced her to live with you.

- She had to share a room with you.

- The first few nights she had you bed whilst you slept on the floor for you didn’t have a second bed or mattress.

- But soon enough Annie would begin to feel lonely even though you were right next to her on the floor.

- She would drape her arm down and brush the hair out of your face whilst you slept, sometime even holding you hand.

- ‘I like you (y/n).’ she would whisper whilst you were in dream land.

- One night she proposed something to you.

-          ‘We cannot afford another bed and I don’t want you sleeping on the floor again, so sleep with me!’

-          Let’s just say gay panic got the better of her and she had muddled up her words.

- ‘I mean, share the bed with me.’

- ‘Ok.’

- Unknown to Annie you were not longer dating anyone and your feelings for her had come back in full force.

- So currently you both lay awkwardly facing each other in you small double bed.

-  ‘I can feel your breath on my face.’ She says.

- ‘Sorry! I’ll turn over!’

- You turn over to Annie’s disappointment.

- But she braves it and hugs you from behind.

- ‘Annie are you ok?’ you can feel her overthinking behind you as her head nuzzles into your neck.

- ‘I really like you.’

- For a good minute you are silent.

- ‘I like you too.’ You blurt out.

- You hold her hand and turn you head back to peck a quick kiss on her hair.

- ‘We’ll talk about this in the morning, maybe go on a breakfast date.’ She mutters.

- ‘I’d like that very much.’

.

.

.

ahhhhhhhhhhhhh

[midnightkens]

To Know

The first time Natasha has the thought, she’s seven years old.

The dress is stuffy; the collar feels like a weight around her neck and Mama scowls when Natasha reaches up to tug at it. “For God’s sake, bambina,” she sighs. “Can you give it a rest? You can take it off in a few hours. You know what your father will say if he catches you playing with it again.”

At seven years old, Natasha already knows many things. She can create circuit boards, mentally solve equations that send adults running for their calculators. Yes, she knows many things, but the first thing she ever learned? Howard Stark isn’t a good father. As far as she’s concerned, Jarvis is her father. Natasha knows better than to say all of that. Instead she allows her gaze to wander around the room, taking in the sights of all the other girls in dresses and the boys in their suits.

“I wish I could be a boy,” Natasha tells Mama. “They get to wear suits and I have to wear this dumb dress.”

Mama laughs, and Natasha’s heart soars, though she’s not quite sure why her mother is laughing. She doesn’t laugh much, but it’s one of Natasha’s favorite sounds. “Don’t be silly, sweetie,” Mama says, readjusting her hair bow. “You’re such a pretty little lady.”

Pretty little lady. The words leave Natasha feeling nauseous, and for the first time in a long time, she can’t figure out why.

**

At eight and a half years old, Natasha cuts her own hair. It’s short, a mop on her head, and when Mama shrieks that she looks like a boy and what have you done to your beautiful hair? Natasha grins in satisfaction. Jarvis fixes it and gives her a soft smile. Jarvis doesn’t care that Natasha prefers jeans and t-shirts over dresses, doesn’t care that she cut off her long, curly hair. He loves her just as she is.

When he takes her to the full length mirror to take a look, Natasha’s heart flutters happily and she can hardly contain the rush of excitement. Yeah, she thinks. This is right.

**

Natasha gets detention for refusing to wear a skirt when she’s eleven years old. Pants are more comfortable, she insists. The boys get to wear them!

Dad shouts at her over the phone, hisses that she’ll never be a boy. Natasha aches for the ground to swallow her up, drag her down to the endless void where she doesn’t have to be anything. The words rise in her throat, I’m not a girl, I’m not a girl! But they die as quickly as they rise. At eleven years old, Natasha knows many things. She’s in high school at eleven years old, nearly on her way to college coursework. Natasha doesn’t know how she knows this, but it’s the most important fact that resides in her brain.

Natasha Stark is not a girl.

**

Her body is wrong. When her voice should begin to deepen it remains high pitched, a soprano note that Jarvis and Ana gush over and that she wishes desperately did not exist. Her body begins to grow and change in ways that Ana had told her it would, but Natasha had just snorted and not paid attention to any of it. Her body begins to curve and her chest begins to grow and she bleeds. Natasha spends more time locked in her bedroom, absorbed in her robots so that no one can look at her and her horrible body. Her dainty, feminine, wrong body.

Jarvis and Ana whisper about her. They’re worried. Whenever they ask her about it, Natasha comes up with an excuse. I miss Mama and wish she would come home. Dad was being a jerk again.

Rich families are cutthroat. If Natasha doesn’t conform, behave exactly how they all want her to, she’ll be an outcast. She’ll be sent away to one of those horrible camps a girl at school was talking about and Dad would make Jarvis and Ana stop talking to her.

Keeping Jarvis and Ana was almost worth all of the wrongness.

Almost.

**

That same year, Natasha comes across the word transgender in a book she’s reading. It’s not often that she has to look something up. On a Thursday afternoon, after days of contemplation, she makes the trek down to her school’s library. The other students giggle when they spot her, Natasha the freak, and she sneers at them before turning to the card catalog. It takes what feels like hours to find what she’s looking for. LGBT 306.76. She follows the numbers, dives deep into the nonfiction section and frowns. It’s a small section, but she’ll make do. There she spots a book, She's not there : a life in two genders. Natasha pulls it off the shelf, reads about this person who everyone assumes to be a girl but really is a boy. There he defines the word Natasha saw, the word transgender: a person whose sense of personal identity and gender does not correspond with their birth sex.

It comes in waves, the realizations and relief and all of it. Everyone around her thinks that Natasha’s a girl, but something inside of her screams wrong! That’s wrong! She’s never had a word for it. And there are more people just like her? Natasha takes the book to a table and reads feverishly, taking notes.

She’ll never be able to do anything about it, but the more she reads, the more Natasha’s convinced of it. She’s transgender. Not wrong or horrible or broken.

Transgender. Natasha has more research to do.

**

She’s thirteen and alone in her room, staring at herself in the mirror. Mama says that she’s turning into a beautiful young woman, albeit not as proper as she would like. The last bit is always said with a tiny smile, so Natasha knows that Mama is joking. Mostly. And dear old Dad? Well, that bastard isn’t even around, so what does he know?

The bruises on her ribs scream in agony, but Natasha swallows down a hiss of pain. Howard isn’t here, but she refuses to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he could break her someday. She may be broken, but at least she has Jarvis and Ana.

Jarvis and Ana, who teach her how to cook. Jarvis and Ana who don’t hit or shout when she burns banana bread and nearly starts a fire, who laugh with her and choose her.

Ana bought her these clothes, these jeans and a black t-shirt that’s just a bit too big on her petite frame and brand new Chuck Taylors. Alone in her bedroom, Natasha pulls her hair back grinning at the sight in front of her. She doesn’t see Natasha, or a pretty little lady or a proper young woman. The image in front of her is young, and a bit too earnest, and dammit, Natasha, why are you crying?

The image in front of her is a boy. He looks about two years younger than her, but she can work with it. Weak, fragile Natasha is gone. In her place stands a boy, an exuberant, funny, genius of a boy. The boy and Natasha reach out; their fingers touch, and Natasha feels more at home than she has since she was eight and a half, her waist-length hair clumps on the floor.

Natasha knows what her name should have been. Mama told her years and years ago, and it felt like it was hers. Anthony. Anthony Edward Stark. “Anthony.” Natasha whispers the name, crossing that line at last. After this there’s no going back. No more Natasha and dresses and bows and heels and skirts. There will only be Anthony and his jeans and t-shirts and sneakers, Anthony and his deep voice and his rightness.

Anthony moves his fingers away from the mirror, lets go of his long hair and the illusion shatters. In front of him stands a girl, a weak, broken girl in boy’s clothing. Who is he thinking? He can’t be Anthony. His mother would never speak to him again; Howard would toss him out on the streets. He’d be all alone. He wouldn’t even have Jarvis and Ana.

He’ll call himself Anthony, he decides. Or maybe even Tony. Anthony’s too posh, too formal, everything Howard loves and all things he hates. Yes, Tony. Tony sounds good, sounds right. He’ll answer to Natasha and wear the frilly dresses and play the part of a nice young woman. The thought sends waves of nausea so fierce that his knees buckle, but Tony can do it. He’s going off to MIT next year. Just one more year and he can be free.

**

Tony doesn’t last a year. Before his fourteenth birthday he’s in jeans and t-shirts, long hair pulled into a ponytail or braid. Howard hates it, tells him he looks like a rat and a slob, but what does he know? Mama’s away on longer and longer trips, which means longer stretches where he doesn’t have to wear those horrible dresses. Everyone still calls him Natasha, and he bites back a snarl and an My fucking name is Tony every time, but he manages. The masculine clothes don’t ease all of it, but they help.

**

MIT is a godsend. For the first time in his life, Tony is free to create his robots, live out from under Howard’s thumb, and finally be himself. The media hounds him, but for the first time in his life Tony doesn’t care. He cuts his hair again and rumors about him being a butch lesbian circulate and he just laughs. If only they knew.

There is just one thing wrong, other than himself. He’s younger than everyone else, smarter and he doesn’t know when to shut up. It’s nothing that Tony isn’t used to. He survived boarding school, and he’ll survive this too.

Then he meets Rhodey.

**

At first, they’re Jim and Natasha. Jim is older than Tony by two years, but they’re in the same year. They share the same general education class, Sociology 101, and they get paired together for a project. They both have single dorms, but two months later, Tony has practically moved into his room.

Jim is now Rhodey, but Tony is still Natasha. He yearns to tell him, stops and starts, the words dying in his throat. In a short amount of time, Tony’s become attached and anyone to whom he attaches himself winds up leaving. Tony’s too loud, too smart, he stays up too late and hyperfocuses on his robots. Rhodey doesn’t care about all of that, but Rhodey will definitely care if Tony tells him I’m not a girl, don’t call me Natasha, please call me Tony. Tony can practically see Rhodey recoil in disgust, shove him away and kick him out of his dorm.

Tony can’t, won’t, risk that.

**

Howard pays for an off campus apartment next year. Tony and Rhodey live in their own apartment, almost in their own little world. Howard doesn’t know that Rhodey’s living with him. Tony had mentioned it, but Howard had just grunted, not even paying attention.

It’s better that way.

**

Tony only binds his chest when Rhodey isn’t home. He knows he’s not supposed to wrap with ace bandages, but he has nothing else and he’s desperate. What he doesn’t count on his Rhodey coming home early, seeing Tony in the living room with nothing but his jeans and an ace bandage binding his breasts.

For a long moment, they just stare at each other, neither speaking. Then Rhodey opens his mouth and Tony bolts, locking his bedroom door behind him.

Goddammit.

**

Tony waits anxiously for a few days, almost begging Rhodey to say something and get the conversation over with, but he never does. Rhodey is good like that. Everyone else thinks Tony is weird, but Rhodey loves him for who he is, not in spite of it as so many people think. That much Tony knows to be true. But if Rhodey knew this about him, then Rhodey wouldn’t love him anymore.

Rhodey is everything. He’s friendship and love, late nights and delirious mornings, comfort and safety, and Tony aches desperately to hold onto him. They sit together in the living room, Rhodey doing homework and Tony fiddling with DUM-E’s arm. Rhodey is calm, but Tony is so tense that he can hardly stand it, and before he knows it the words, “Why won’t you call me a freak?” slip from his mouth. Rhodey looks up at him in surprise and Tony continues. “You walked in on me and you haven’t said a word! Go on! Call me disgusting! Call me a freak! Just get it over with. Dammit, Jim, why can’t you just get it over with and stop stringing me along?”

Rhodey sighs and shoves his textbook away. “I haven’t said anything because I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

“Bullshit,” Tony hisses. “I’m a fucking freak and you know it! Everyone else already thinks it, so go on, have at it. Tell me something I don’t fucking know.”

Rhodey raises an eyebrow. “Are you done?” Tony’s face flushes with rage, but before he can retort, Rhodey’s up and crossing the room, standing right in front of him. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think it was a big deal. Nat, you stay up for three days at a time. You leave circuit boards and wires all over and forget to do your laundry. You’re loud and funny and one of the kindest people I know. This? The, what is it called, binding? It’s not even the weirdest or worst thing I’ve caught you doing.”

Tony deflates and stares at his friend for a moment. It’s not often that he’s speechless, and judging by Rhodey’s smirk, he must be thinking the same thing. “I guess you’re right,” he says slowly. “You really don’t think it’s weird?”

“Cross my heart.”

Rhodey doesn’t think he’s weird. Rhodey doesn’t want to toss him away, discard and abandon him like the trash so many other people believe he is. Tony doesn’t deserve Rhodey, doesn’t deserve his kindness, love, or friendship. But with Rhodey, he feels the safest. If Rhodey doesn’t think he’s weird for binding, maybe he won’t care about the other stuff? Tony’s heart hammers in his chest, his palms sweat and he sits on the floor. Rhodey sits across from him, reaches out and squeezes his hand.

“Rhodey, I have to tell you something.”

Rhodey waits patiently while Tony collects himself. Tony’s never said the words out loud before. Saying them feels like the end of a chapter, one more piece of Natasha gone. The idea of saying goodbye to Natasha is exciting, exhilarating, freeing. Tony takes a deep breath and looks into Rhodey’s eyes.

“I’m transgender.”

** Rhodey has questions, of course, he does, but he holds onto Tony tightly as he explains everything. How he never felt like a girl, how he doesn’t know how he knows, but he knows that he’s a boy. He’s a boy and he wants to die every time someone calls him Natasha, how he wants to burn every dress and makeup palette he owns, how he feels like himself in masculine jeans and t-shirts and suits.

And then Rhodey does something that shocks him. It’s a question. A simple one, really.

“What’s your name?”

And for the first time he gets to respond, “My name is Tony.” Everything falls into place, and Tony sighs, leaning into his friend. Rhodey pulls him all the closer and Tony affirms, “My name is Tony.”

“Okay, Tony,” Rhodey says with a wide grin. “It’s nice to meet you.”

**

A few days later, Tony unlocks the door to the apartment and kicks off his shoes. Midterms suck, and he thinks he might actually eat dinner and go to bed early tonight. He stumbles into the kitchen, eyebrows raising curiously at the package on the table. There’s a note on top of the brown wrapping.

Tones,

Sorry if this is weird, but I just wanted to do something for you. I did research and everything says not to bind with ace bandages, so I got this for you. Let me know if it doesn’t fit.

And I know I didn’t say this before, and I should have, but thanks for trusting me.

--Rhodey

Tony opens the package and gasps when he sees what’s inside. He’s heard of these, but with Howard snooping through his credit card statements, it’s never been safe enough to buy one. The binder is lighter than he expected, but it feels like he’s touching gold. Tony rushes to his bedroom and puts it on, relieved when it actually fits. Then again, Rhodey knows everything about him. This is no exception. He puts his t-shirt back on, messes with his hair and looks at himself in the mirror. For the first time, he doesn’t see a girl pretending to be a boy. He sees himself, Tony Stark, and tears well dangerously in his eyes as he reaches up to touch his reflection. He’s still not exactly where he wants to be, he won’t be until he turns eighteen and can transition without Howard’s input, but the binder helps ease an ache inside of him, the ache that screams you’re wrong!

Tony doesn’t feel wrong, not with the binder, not with Rhodey calling him Tony and using masculine pronouns. No, for the first time in his entire life, Tony feels just right.

[mithliya]

For some reason I am unable to send link to the post. But if you search "biphobia isn't real" you might be able to see desisapphic's post reacting to a homophobic bisexual woman. While the post made by the bi woman is definitely homophobic af. I didn't find desisapphic's response to it better either. She did call her out well for her homophobia but ended up writing bi stereotypes herself.

"Bi woman are entrenched deep into het and male culture"

First of all, if you're talking about bi radfems then a lot of them are actually febfem.To me it seems as if some radfems are victim blaming osa women for being a victim of patriarchy. Also is it really true that lesbians are totally exempt from being a victim of patriarchy either? I am a lesbian and I personally still keep realizing how much of the "het and male culture" was indoctrinated in me. While not being attracted to males definitely makes it easier for me to get rid of that mindset it doesn't make me exempt from being a part of it in the first place. If you look at the statistics a lot of lesbians have been victims of domestic violence in intimate relationships with men. And idk if other lesbians could relate to it but affirming to my identity was not easy for me considering how much women are expected to serve men.

Also I am assuming this person is talking about all lesbians and bisexuals and not just the radfems. Because this whole "bisexuals whining out for lesbians not wanting to date them" is stupid because there are lesbians who don't even think bisexuality is real and are just "straight women pretending to like women". Or lesbians(and gays too) who think bi people are more likely to be cheaters which is obviously a dumb biphobia stereotype. Bisexuals calling those people out isn't "homophobia". And the op (the bi woman) made a disgusting comparison of lesbians to straight males which desisapphic should have called out properly but ended up depicting bi women similar to straight males as predatory and entitled.

You will also see in the tags saying "biphobia isn't real". I really don't have to explain how wrong that statement is. There are people out there denying the existence of bisexuality. I don't have to say anything. Besides ik lesbians who have used words "cock suckers" and stuff have been called out by everyone but that doesn't mean that people who complain about those words being used in the first place are inherently lesbophobic.

Radical feminism is to help all women (I don't mean to say lesbians have to include bisexual women in their feminism. Lesbian centered feminism is totally ok). And that doesn't mean spilling mud on those women who are attracted to males or are unfortunately indoctrinated with "het or male culture". I think both bisexuals and lesbians have equally good reasons to be angry at the other. But homosexual men and women need to understand that biphobia isn't a new thing within the lgb community and has existed throughout history and gotten worse during the AIDS epidemic (I have a good quick read on it if you would like me to share the link.) It's genuinely agitating to look at both the communities fighting with neither side willing to look at their mistakes.

i don’t think biphobia is real either btw or well, to be more specific, i don’t think it’s a form of oppression. i do think prejudice against bisexuals exists on an interpersonal level tho. the stuff you mentioned being examples of interpersonal prejudice. if we were to argue that makes it a systemic oppression, we could also argue ‘aphobia’ is real bc people don’t acknowledge lack of sexual attraction as real. but are u referring to this?

because i think u misread it? the closest i found to her saying that was this:

i don’t think it’s necessarily false that many bi ppl are quite involved in & integrated into het culture ¯\_(ツ)_/ however i don’t see her saying theyre more involved with male culture here. that’s what the person she was responding to was saying about lesbians, alongside saying our homosexuality makes us less intelligent and more male-like and misogynistic.

lesbians aren’t immune from being influenced by misogyny, of course. no woman is. tho it’s hard not to notice how often lesbians are feminist compared to OSA women and how often lesbians oppose men & their culture compared to OSA women. i don’t think thats an inherent aspect of our sexuality nor do i think every lesbian will be this way, ive come across too many misogynistic lesbians to argue that. but i do think us having less involvement by men bc we don’t date them can help us detach from their nonsense more and make it easier for us to see that they’re shit.

i agree taking issue with gross terminology like “cocksuckers” doesn’t inherently make someone lesbophobic. no one should use such language, it benefits no one, especially not lesbians. i disagree with bi & lesbian women having *equally* good reasons for animosity against the other bc i do see more extreme hatred and actions against the other and power imbalance, but i also understand why the animosity isn’t one sided.

[wonderwomanfantasy]

Momo Yayorozu is a lesbian and just doesn’t know it yet.

my computer died half way through writing this and none of it saved so while I love momo I am done with it. 

Omega! Yayorozu x Alpha! Reader. 

warnings: light smut, 

word count: 2,300 (about)

summary: You and momo are good friends, you just wished you were a little more.

Yayorozu’s hands were unusally soft for a hero. I mean you’d think with all the fighting she did that she would have at least a few callouses on her hands but no, they were always so soft. Not that you were all that surprised, she probably had some fancy lotion that cost a fortune and worked miracles. Her hands were on you now, slowly working out the kinks in your shoulders. 

“You really need to be more careful (y/n) you could seriously hurt yourself if you keep trying to spar while you aren’t properly stretched out,” she scolded lightly. You knew she was right, but if this was the treatment you get for not stretching, you couldn’t complain. Her scent was soft, like cherry blossoms and citrus. 

“Not that I don’t apricate this Momo, but people might get the wrong idea if you stay so close to an Alpha,” you warned and felt her freeze for a minute. 

“I don’t care, Everyone knows were just friends anyway,” she said and you felt a sharp spear pierce your heart. that’s right, you were just friends. And of course, no one would think twice about Momo rubbing your shoulders, she was straight after all. 

The two of you were still surprisingly close for an Alpha and Omega to be. It hurt a little bit each time she took your hand in hers, or cuddled up next to you during class movie nights. 

Even though you had no chance, it was hard not to fall in love with her. 

“(y/n)?” Momo prompted and you realized she had asked you something while you were spacing out.

“Sorry what was that?” you asked 

“Do you want to get boba?” she asked picking up her gym bag and you followed her. 

“Sure,” you agreed and a wide smile spreading across her face making your heart do funny things. “my treat,” you added. and her smile evaporated turning into a stubborn pout.

“(y/n) why do you never let me spoil you?” she whinned hanging off your arm dramatically maing you chuckle. you placed your hand on her lower back steadying her.

“Come on Momo it’s just my Alpha instinct, You don’t want to hurt my pride do ya?” you shrugged and she huffed. 

“Okay but I’m paying next time,” she said and you agreed placidly.

The boba shop wasn’t too far from the gym you worked out at, momo staid on your arm as you walked. She leaned her head on your shoulder as you waited in line making your heart skip a beat. you looked around the small boba shop at the other people, and you wondered if they thought you were a couple. 

“Hey (y/n) will you order for me? I need the bathroom,” Momo said squeezing your hand and pulling away from you. instantly you missed her closeness.

“sure,” you said with a nod. and turned your attention back to the line thinking about what she would want. Normally she got the brown sugar milk tea but maybe you’d surprise her with the caramel one instead. 

You placed your order and waited patiently for your name to be called, then you felt a small tap on your shoulder. When you turned you saw a short yellow-haired omega girl looking up at you, a bright pink blush across her round cheeks. 

“Can I help you?” you asked polielty, 

“Oh! sorry I was just wondering if that girl you were with was your mate,” she asked and you did your best not to grimace. It wasn’t her fault so there was no use getting mad at her. 

“No, we’re just friends,” you admitted. She beamed 

“Oh! well my name is Peko and uhm i just think you’re gorgeous and I was wondering if you’d want to go out with me?” She offered, for an omega she was certainly bold. Suddenly Momo was back at your side, her hand taking its place in yours. 

“A friend of yours?” she asked. you squeezed her hand and turned your attention back to Peko.

“I’m sorry, you seem like a very sweet Omega but I’m a UA student and I’m too busy to date anyone right now, I’m sorry,” you said and winced as she deflated. 

“It’s alright, It was nice to meet you!” she said before scurrying over to her own friends. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make things awkward,” Momo said 

“Don’t worry about it,” you said with a shrug then to lighten the mood you elbowed her lightly. 

“Rejecting girls isn’t any big deal for a heartbreaker like me,” you teased wiggling your eyebrows

“Oh how could I forget Omega’s just love you don’t they,” she giggled. 

Momo couldn’t stop thinking about your interactions today. For some reason it felt wrong to see you with another Omega, one that was flirting with you no less. and even though you had said it as a joke, she couldn't help but think that you really were a “babe magnet” as Denki would put it. It made her uncomfortable for some reason. 

Maybe it was because if you stopped spending so much time with her you would have enough time for a mate. No, you were her best friend, you wouldn't just drop her like that, even if your future mate demanded it. Momo knew that if her future Alpha ever suggested she spend less time with you she would drop him in a heartbeat. No Alpha was worth losing you over. but what if you didn’t feel the same way about her? the idea gnawed at her.

While she had never asked it, Momo had always sort of assumed the two of you would stick together after graduation, maybe even move in together once you both started working. She could very clearly see herself coming home to you after a long day of work and relaxing in your arms. or dancing around the kitchen together while you thought her how to cook. 

But maybe that was just a fantasy in her head.

 Her skin felt hot, itchy. Signs of her upcoming heat. She started moving around the room picking at her nest and rearranging it lightly. it was made of soft blankets and stuffed animals on her enormous bed. and at the heart of her nest was a collection of items you’d scented for her. 

There were other items scented by alphas, but they were on the outskirts of her bed. None of them offered the comfort your scent did. Fermilar, soft, warm, protective. She wondered if she’d ever find an Alpha who smelled as good as you did. 

Her phone buzzed and she saw you had texted her. You wished her a good night, and told her that you would be stopping by after class to check on her, so she should text you if she needed anything. Momo smiled and wondered if she could sucker you into to Facetiming with her so she could fall asleep with you. She knew you would, You always spoiled her when she was this close to her heat. You were going to make some omega really happy one day.

Momo woke up late the next day, a dull ache set in to her whole body. She whimpered and checked her phone. Just another text from you telling her good morning and reminding her to text if she needed anything. She really did love you, as much as a best friend could love somone. 

Momo rolled on her side and brought her favorite hoodie to her nose breathing in your scent, which relaxed the pain some but also brought on a pang of longing in her core. She sighed, breathing in again, this was going to be a long day. 

You spent the whole day fidgeting and nervously tapping on your desk. It was hard to focus on the lesson being thought when your omega was out hurting. It was wrong to be so possessive of Yaoyorozu but you couldn’t help the flare of hormones that just so happened to hit you everytime she went into heat. 

You checked your phone religiously, Momo texted you as soon as she woke up telling you that she had everything she need but still wanted to see you after class. But that didn’t stop the fidgity way you checked your messages, after all you needed to know if she changed her mind. 

The second the bell rang you bolted out of the room, tearing to the dorm room grabbing a convenience store bag full of treats for her before tripping over yourself to get to her room. Even if Momo claimed she didn’t need anything you would sooner turn up dead than show up empty-handed. 

You took one deep breath before knocking at the door. 

“(y/n)?” she asked

“Yeah Princess it’s me can I come in?” you asked. Princess was a special nickname you only used when she was hurt or in heat, 

“The doors unlocked,” she replied and you took that as your queue to enter. To most Alphas, it would be maddening to walk into a room with an in heat Omega, but it was strangely calming for you. your nerves subsided as you saw Momo curled in her nest wearing one of your old hoodies. 

“You shouldn’t leave the door unlocked its dangerous,” you chided softly,  placing the bag on her side table and sitting gingerly on the edge of the bed, careful not to intrude on her nest. 

“ ‘snot dangerous, I have you to protect me,” she whinned. You alpha let out a deep internal purr. That was right, you were her alpha and you were going you protect her better than anyone else could. 

“Still you need to be careful when I’m not around Princess,”

“stop scolding me, come cuddle,” she huffed rolling her eyes and opening her arms. 

“are you sure? You want me in your nest?”

“(y/n) you make up half of my nest now come here.”  You thought about teasing her for being so bossy but decided against it. crawling over tward her and taking her warm body into your arms. Momo’s arms locked around you like a vice, you got comfortable knowing you’d be there for a while. 

she buried her nose in the crook of your neck breathing in your scent and her hands went to your hair, running her fingers through it softly. You held her just as tight, your hands trailing up and down the curve of her back.

“Missed you today,” you said into her hair, her breath tickled your neck as she spoke

“I missed you more,” 

“Now way you missed me more. You have a million things I scented for you it’s not the same,” you protested

“Did too miss you more, I’m in heat I needed my Alpha!” She shot back. you froze uner her and she pulled back, confused at your sudden change in mood. 

“Momo, you can’t say stuff like that,” you said gravely serious, then seeing the confusion on her face you contued. 

“you’re still an Omega, and one in heat for that, it does things to me when you say that,” you growled. 

Momo’s thighs clenched together, it was deeply appealing to know she could rile you up so easily.  Her hands moved to your stomach feeling the soft skin and bit her lower lip. She had never realised how much she needed to touch you. at that moment it didn’t mater to her that you were her friend, and a girl, she just wanted more of you. 

“so, It turns you on when I call you Alpha?” she asked. it was very unladylike of her, but worth it to see the blood rush to your face,

“Momo-”

“or is it the needing you part? because that was true I needed you so badly all day Alpha,” before she could even blink you had fliped her onto her back and crashed your mouth to hers. She responded eagerly, kissing you with a passion she didn’t even know she had. It was exhilarating to kiss you and feel your body press down on hers. it felt right.But as soon as it started it ended.

“Damn it,” you growled, angry at yourself for losing control. you forced yourself off the bed leaving momo dazed behind. Your mouth still buzzed, it had been everything you had ever dreamed of to kiss her. 

“I’m sorry Momo,” you said running your hand through your hair. “I should go,” you said, the smell was starting to get to you in a way it never had before, every instinct was telling you to kiss her again. 

“wait, (y/n) please,” she called, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back, she was too close and you pounced again. Kissing her ferociously, your tongue slipping past her soft pink lips. you moaned into her touch before ripping yourself away again. Fuck she was delicious. 

“I can’t control myself, I need to go,” you growled. 

“I love you (y/n) please stay. I want you to kiss me like that, I meant it when I said I needed you,” she pleaded, tears forming in her perfect gray eyes. you whipped her eyes and kissed her softly. 

“you mean that Princess?” you asked against her mouth, your hands lost in her thick black hair. she nodded, leaning in to kiss you this time. 

“I love you so much,” she said you pushed her back, laying yourself out across her chest. as you savored her kisses. 

“I’ve loved you for the longest time,” you said. 

“then you’ll keep kissing me?” she asked making you laugh. 

“mmhmm babygirl I’m all yours.”

[transsergio]

Emily's Top Surgery (Read on AO3)

Penemily / Gen / 4038 words

Emily has top surgery and their loving, perfect, beautiful girlfriend Penelope is their caretaker.

Notes: I refer to Emily as Penelope's girlfriend intentionally; Emily is a non-binary lesbian and in this particular story, is comfortable with the gendered term "girlfriend". However, if you see Emily referred to as she/her at any point, that's an editing mistake on my part and I mixed up their pronouns with Penelope's. I went through this a couple times to make sure I gendered them correctly, but one might have slipped through the cracks!

Also feels important to say that Dr. Dolan is a totally fictional doctor and not a reference to any real life surgeon

-

Surgery Day

Penelope has seen her team through too much already. Kidnappings, stab wounds, bullets – their jobs aren’t exactly arts and crafts. Yet, she thinks this might be the most nervous she has ever been. She’s been rapid-fire tapping her heel for the last hour and forty-five minutes, and trying to distract herself with her cell phone. Morgan texted a couple times to check in (once on behalf of Reid), but otherwise, radio silence. The few messages mean more than she can say; she is intimately familiar with how busy they are on a case. But she really wishes any of them were there to squeeze her hand right about now. She’d even take Strauss.

In the middle of Penelope’s billionth Candy Crush level, a doctor materializes in front of her. She startles and fumbles her phone trying to click it off. “Is it over? Can I see them now? How’d it go?”

As the doctor peels his surgical mask off, she sees he’s laughing at her. That’s good, right?

He says, “Everything went just fine, Ms. Garcia. Emily’s in the recovery room now, and we’ll let you back there about twenty minutes after they wake up. They’re going to be a little groggy and maybe nauseous. It all depends on how their body reacts to the anesthesia. They’ll most likely sleep for the rest of the day, but make sure to keep up with their medications, alright?”

Penelope nods fervently. “Absolutely, Dr. Dolan. Can do. Will do! And I’m sorry to ask this again but I really have to make sure, the whole operation was totally fine? Nothing went wrong? Everything…chopped off okay?”

The doctor stifles a chuckle. “Yes, Ms. Garcia. Everything went exactly as planned, no complications as of yet. We’ll see you tomorrow for Emily’s one day post-op appointment to check the surgery site and switch out the bandages for a binder, and then for their first week post-op. Okay?”

Penelope smiles back, still nodding along like Emily’s health depends on it.

The doctor shakes her hand and ducks back into the surgical ward, leaving Penelope to update the group chat.

“Emily’s out!!!!!! Doc says all good!!!!!! Will be with them soon ����💖🥳”

She types almost as quickly as her heart is beating.

Penelope makes it through another few rounds of mobile games and desperately refreshing her Twitter feed before she risks checking the clock. It’s been half an hour. Shouldn’t Emily be awake by now? What if they never wake up? Could someone be permanently anesthetized? Reid would know. Maybe Penelope should call Reid. No, she can’t do that. They’re all off in Texas trying to catch a serial killer and she doesn’t need to distract them, not when they’re already down two team members. Kevin Lynch is pretty good, she hopes. She’s seen his work and it’s adequate. Nothing like the multi-tasking Penelope pulls off, but in the same ballpark. His boyfriend, Grant Anderson, vouched for him. It was unnecessary, and maybe Kevin shouldn’t have sent the person who got Elle shot to sing his praises, but at least they knew Grant. Kevin was a stranger from another department. A back-up.

“Penelope Garcia?” A nurse calls as she emerges from swinging double doors.

“Yes, right here!” Penelope chirps. She leaps to her feet and scurries over as quickly as her heels will allow.

The nurse walks her through the recovery ward and the steps to Emily’s post-op instructions. Emily has four different prescriptions already filled and two cannot be taken at the exact same time while one is an antibiotic and the other is just for nausea which they might not need and –

“This is all written down, right? Sorry, my head’s just like, woo, swimming right now,” Penelope says. Her eyes are wide and darting frantically between the curtained beds. She hates the fluorescent lights. Her skin is buzzing with all the sour electricity. The nurse assures her they’ll send them home with physical copies along with phone numbers in case of emergency.

They round the nurse’s station and finally, come to Emily. They’re shifting slightly in their bed, leaning forward and sipping at a dixie cup of water. They're groggy and slow, with the IV still in their arm. Penelope’s glad they don’t have a mirror – their bangs are scattered over their forehead in three wispy chunks, a way Penelope knows Emily hates.

“Hey sweetheart,” Penelope coos. She leans over the bed's plastic siding to kiss the top of Emily’s head, and run her fingers through their dark hair. Emily leans into the touch.

They croak, “Hey,” and cough to clear their throat, wincing all the while.

“That’d be because you were intubated,” the nurse says. “Take plenty of cough drops and you should feel much better.”

Penelope assures the nurse they will while Emily drifts in and out of focus.

“Did it work?” they ask.

“Did what, Em?”

“M’surgery.”

“Oh! Yeah, totally. You’ll see in a little bit. You’re just sleepy.”

“M’kay,” Emily says. Their head lolls back into their pillows as the muscles in their face tighten.

“Emily, what would you rate your pain out of ten?” the nurse asks, coming closer with her clipboard at the ready.

“Uh, five? Maybe six.”

Penelope looks to the nurse. “Is that bad? That sounds bad. I thought it wasn’t supposed to hurt right now.”

The nurse jots down a few notes before she answers. “It’s not unusual. We’ll up their pain killers before we remove the IV.”

Penelope plants herself firmly at Emily’s side in the meantime. They’ve redressed Emily in their own clothes, an oversized button-down and sweats. Well, Penelope assumes they put Emily’s bottoms back on. The blanket is still tucked tightly around their body like they’re some kind of soft, hot mummy. They stay like that for another fifteen minutes, Penelope working her nails through Emily’s scalp as they try to relax.

When Emily rates their pain at a four, then a three, Penelope helps the nurse settle them in a wheelchair. They roll a few feet into the hall before Emily claws for Penelope’s arm.

“Where’s the barf bag?” Penelope asks. She has her hand out and ready for the nurse to pass it over, and swings it into Emily’s face.

Emily, thankfully, does not puke. Their slow, steady breath crinkles the blue plastic bag, but all they fill it with is air. They keep a tight grip on the thing for safekeeping, even as they’re helped into the passenger’s seat of Penelope’s car.

“You ready to go home, lovebug?” Penelope keeps her voice low and sweet, like dark honey. Emily nods and Penelope grants her wish, starting the engine and turning out of the parking lot.

-❤-

One Day Post-Op

Penelope holds her breath as the nurse unwraps the medical bandages. She wonders if Em is doing the same. While she’s watching them, Emily’s eyes flit between her and the floor-length mirror fastened to the exam room wall.

The nurse is talking, and they’re both supposed to be listening, but who could expect them to? Emily has spent a couple grand (after insurance) and something like four years waiting for these next seconds. Penelope is just as invested, if not more, in Emily’s happiness. She’s not going to get the camera out, but wonders if she should just in case Emily cries.

Their eyes follow the final bandage as it unravels from Emily’s form.

And Emily’s mind goes quiet. They have two, deep red swoops where their chest used to bulge. Above and below, their body is nothing but smooth skin. They thought this would feel like shock. Like disbelief that they were finally here. Instead, it just feels right, as if this is the way it’s always been and some crappy daydream is over at last. They giggle, and Penelope glows like the sun has risen.

“Wow,” Penelope says, soft. She’s wrenched with admiration.

The nurse is smiling in the corner. She takes out a roll of Steri-Strips and measures them against Emily’s new scars. Scars! Emily finally has scars!

“Now the bruising should lessen in the next three to four weeks,” the nurse says. Oh, bruising. Emily almost hadn’t noticed. Their body is splotched with patches of yellow, green, and purple as if it’s trying to camouflage itself, but Emily’s not hiding from anything anymore.

They’re given more practical information, like how often Emily should be walking to avoid blood clots, how high they should lift their arms, how much they should be carrying – most of which tells them to stay reclined, arms down, to sleep as much as possible, but get in ten minutes of walking every few hours. Penelope hears more of this than Emily does, and again, they’re given written instructions just in case.

Emily takes one last look before the compression vest goes on. This will be the most uncomfortable part of the process, thank god. Emily chose a surgeon who used a tighter suture method rather than the typical drains intentionally. Still, the fit of the binder is exciting. Emily’s never had something lie flat on them before. Their body now falls in one fluid line without anything, even nipples, to interrupt.

“Em?”

Emily snaps to Penelope, who is standing and holding the door for them.

“Oh, right,” Emily says with half a laugh and a daze in their eyes. They thank the nurse, and the receptionist, and a passing surgeon that isn’t even Emily’s on the way out. This is the most gratitude Emily’s ever contained in their life, and they need to flush it through their system.

“And especially you,” Emily gushes as Penelope helps buckle their seatbelt. “You’re amazing. I can’t believe you’re taking time off for me, or that you’re not stir crazy already. Thank you.”

Penelope grins like she might burst, and can’t answer just yet. She gets them safely onto the highway for home first. “Of course I’m here for you, dumb-dumb! Not only because you literally can’t do anything for yourself right now, or because the hospital said you couldn’t have the surgery without having a caretaker, but, well – okay, maybe half for those reasons too. But because I love you. I’m so happy for you, and how happy you’re going to be, and that this is so good for you. I love you so much.” Penelope sniffles.

“Maybe you should have said all that before we left?” Emily asks. “You’re gonna cry the whole drive back, babe.”

Penelope swats at them. “I know, I know! But you’re on a strict schedule, my lovely angel, and you need your meds in like, thirty minutes.”

Emily laughs and catches Penelope’s hand in their own. They squeeze it tightly and press their lips to Penelope’s fingers. Emily only releases when Penelope tugs their grip toward the steering wheel.

“Next stop, Recoveryville,” Pen jokes.

-❤-

Five Days Post-Op

Emily is more or less comfortably laid on their couch. They have an arsenal of pillows stationed behind them, under their arms, and at the bend of their knees, and Penelope’s militant care routine keeping them afloat. For the last four days, they’ve done nothing but watch French art films together, eat ice cream, and order takeout. It’s been a nice break, Emily realizes. One they didn’t know they needed.

Penelope emerges from the kitchen with a bag of Doritos and a bright blue DVD in her hands.

“This looks like a bribe,” Emily says with a wry smile.

“That’s because it is. I am in no place to object to your choice of movies, especially after I promised I wouldn’t make fun of the accents anymore. But I was sorta hoping this would be a good opportunity to manhandle you into watching a real classic.” Penelope blocks the television in her pink pajama pants and Emily’s Yale hoodie. Penelope is well aware that Emily loves when she wears their clothes; she has to be doing this on purpose. And it’s working.

Emily bobs their head from side to side, considering the offer. “Alright, shoot. I’m willing to cut you a deal.”

Penelope slaps the movie cover over her face. Mamma Mia! (2008) Dir. Phyllida Lloyd.

“Oh, god.”

And Penelope reemerges, scowling. “Hey! I didn’t complain when you made me watch that sad movie about the woman with the dead family. This time, no one’s dead! And they’re in Greece! Okay, admittedly no one wants to hear Pierce Brosnan sing, but if you ignore him and focus on Meryl Streep the movie gets a lot better!”

This is not the first time Emily has heard argument on behalf of Mamma Mia! and it likely isn’t the last, either. Movie night in the Garcia-Prentiss household is in a state of constant debate and usually decided by a fair and unbiased coin toss. Emily considers it a miracle that Penelope’s lasted this long without putting up a fight, and considers it part of her generosity as their caretaker.

Emily scooches themself into a more upright position. “Trois coleurs: Bleu is a beautiful movie and you said you liked it, first of all. And I thought we were watching my movies because I’m the one healing.”

Penelope hesitates. “…Yes, but I may have also been doing a little eensy weensy bit of work at the same time because they’re also like, really slow and boring and Kevin needed the tiniest, tiniest bit of help on the Texas case.”

“Traitor!” Emily is aghast. “What about the deal?”

The deal, of course, was the promise they made each other after their third movie night. Emily was texting throughout The Muppets Take Manhattan and not entirely invested in Kermit and Miss Piggy’s wedding. Penelope was hurt, Emily was confused, and didn’t fully get it until Penelope fell asleep twenty minutes into Deux ou trois choses que je sais d'elle. From that point on, they agreed to compromise more on movie selection and to pay undivided attention to the films they did pick.

“You passed out! I thought the deal was void if you weren’t awake during your own movie!” Penelope said.

“Why didn't you wake me up?” Emily argued.

“Oh, yeah, I’m going to wake up the person who just had surgery so they can pay attention to the third sad foreign movie of the day. You need your rest, and Kevin has maybe half of my inimitable skills!” Penelope’s words were jumbling together as she went up an octave. “I know I’m on vacation but the team needed help and I didn’t want to abandon them with some computer monkey who doesn’t know the first thing about my system, much less the way the team works, and isn’t even a regular assist on cases like me and—”

Penelope is cut off by three short raps at their front door. A welcome escape.

“Pen!” Emily calls after her. “We’re not done here!”

“I think we are!” Penelope shouts back. She passes down the hall and peers through the peep hole, though, she really doesn’t need to. She recognizes the voices on the other side.

“We’re not too early, are we?”

“It’s two in the afternoon, genius.”

“I mean in days since Emily’s operation. They might not be up to company.”

“Then we’ll say hi to baby girl and head out, no big deal.”

Penelope swings the door wide open. “Definitely say hi to me, definitely do that!”

Morgan and Reid stand in their building’s hallway, Derek carrying bags of Chinese food, and Spencer juggling some sort of gift basket. Their eyes are tired and Derek’s stubble is looking rougher than usual, but they perk up in the light of their friend.

“Hey, there she is,” Morgan says. He comes in for a tight hug as he and Reid crowd themselves inside. “How’s everyone holdin’ up?”

“Peachy keen,” Penelope says. She squeezes Derek’s shoulder and leads them back to Emily by Reid’s hand. “Look who missed their favorite co-workers!”

“Hey, guys,” Emily says. Their heart warms at the sight of them. “What’re you doing here?”

“Now how’s that any way to greet a friend?” Morgan laughs. He lowers their takeout food to the coffee table and dives onto the couch beside Emily. “You been good to Garcia so far, or do we have to put the hurt on you?” He playfully punches Emily in their arm, and they cower in mock pain.

“Hey, no roughhousing!” Penelope scolds. “If anyone pulls any sort of muscle in the next twenty minutes, you’re all in timeout.”

Emily and Derek snicker in their seats and launch into the most recent case details. It’s a lot of the gory, icky stuff that Penelope doesn’t want to know unless she’s in her bat cave, so she takes Spencer and his basket into the kitchen.

“Doritos, huh?” he notices the bag Penelope drops on the counter. “You were trying to get something from them?”

Penelope answers with her head stuck in the fridge as she paws to the back for Spencer’s La Croix. “I may have wanted to watch one of my movies today, and I may have offered chips in payment.” She fishes a couple cans of LimonCello out, and huffs. “So what’s all this?”

“It’s from JJ. She wanted to come herself but didn’t think bringing Henry over was the best idea,” Spencer explains. He holds his drink gingerly with both hands and peers into the basket. It looks a lot like the one Penelope used for JJ’s baby shower, and is also definitely the same basket. Inside are a few bags of beef jerky, chocolate, a backscratcher with a little pink hand at its end, and an airline neck pillow with the Texas flag patterned over it.

“Awe. I’m definitely baking her cookies,” Penelope says. She leans back against the counter and eyes Spencer up and down. “Tough case?”

Spencer shifts from side to side and looks into the dark pit of his La Croix can. “Not much worse than usual. It was just… long. And Emily would’ve been a big help. None of us speak Spanish.”

“But you didn’t want to call right now,” Penelope guesses. “It’s all over though, right? All good? Everything wrapped up with a bow for good luck?”

Spencer nods and purses his lips. He looks over his shoulder to the living room, where Derek is describing something with his hands and Emily watches, wide-eyed and entertained. Spencer says, more to himself than Penelope, “It’s always good to be home.”

-❤-

Two Weeks Post-Op

“Emily Elizabeth Prentiss!”

Emily freezes with one arm reaching desperately above doctor-recommended height, and another gripping the cabinet door like their life depends on it. They press their forehead into the shelf, groaning, “That’s not my middle name.”

“I can make up whatever name I want! You know what Dr. Dolan said, and this is so far out of bounds!” Penelope stands in the kitchen threshold with her hands on her hips. She sighs and tugs Emily away from the cereal cabinet by their waist. When their arms are safely lowered to their sides, Penelope puts on her serious face, with her seriously furrowed eyebrows, and her serious frown on her lips. She asks, “Do you, like, want to injure yourself? Is this your new favorite hobby?”

Emily is petulant. “No, I want breakfast, and it’s on the third shelf. Let’s just pretend you got it for me, okay?”

Penelope grumbles her frustrations under her breath as she pulls down the family size box of Lucky Charms. She flurries around the space until she’s collected a bowl and spoon and settled them on the other side of the kitchen counter, where a bar stool and carton of milk wait for Emily.

“Sit,” Penelope orders. Emily complies with a glint in their eyes.

“Thank you,” they say, saturating their words with genuine love.

“Oh, stuff it.” Penelope pecks a kiss to their cheek regardless. She tries not to think about how cute Emily is when they’re smug, but it’s a losing battle. The way their nose scrunches, the smirk; not helping. Instead, Penelope picks a smidgeon of a fight.

“Your hair is greasy.”

And Emily’s face falls flat and exasperated. They let their spoon rest in the pool of marshmallows. “Can we do this after I eat?”

“Oh, lovebug. Absolutely not,” Penelope smiles knowingly. “You haven’t washed it in like, four days, which tells me that it’s not as easy as you said it was. Y’know, I was wondering who said washing your own hair was too much work immediately after having an operation? It would have to be someone super smart and beautiful and funny and—”

“It was you, Penelope. We all know it was you.”

“Funny; it was, wasn’t it?”

But Penelope lets them finish their cereal. She was about to eat her own Eggo waffles, after all. Once the dishes are rinsed and in the washer, she marches Emily straight into their bathroom. The tub thankfully doesn’t share a wall with the toilet, making it easier for Emily to scoot in next to the faucet. Penelope folds Emily’s towel (the towel that is dark purple, and not spring green, which Penelope keeps carefully out of the splash zone) (unlike Emily, who does not mind if their towel is damp long after it should be dry, and probably growing some type of mold) (okay, it’s not growing mold, but Penelope insists that it will eventually become mold-ridden if Emily doesn’t start hanging it up more consistently) along the side of the tub. Emily fits the towel under their neck, and Penelope guides them into position.

“Your hair is so thick,” Penelope comments.

Emily says, “You tell me that once a week.”

“Because it is. Now close your eyes.”

Penelope detaches the removable showerhead and lets the water warm her hand. When it’s a comfortable temperature, she douses Emily’s head. She maneuvers carefully around Emily’s forehead to avoid hitting their face, though Emily’s eyelids flutter when they worry the stream is near. Penelope thinks with their long eyelashes, they look like butterflies about to take flight.

She works the shampoo in with a gentle, but thorough touch. It’s when she rubs the lather into Emily’s scalp that Emily lets a soft moan break, and Penelope smiles. She takes pride in her work, whether she’s at her desk or in her soapy bathroom.

The shampoo swirls down the drain as Penelope rinses Emily free. Emily opens their eyes and tries to sit up, but Penelope pins their shoulders to the tub.

“Hold on! I haven’t conditioned yet.”

“Isn’t shampoo enough? We’re going to be here again in three days. It’s a hassle.”

Penelope does not think so. For the low price of two-thousand dollars and the risk of post-op complications, Penelope’s seen her girlfriend relax for the first time in, maybe ever. She’s going to drag it out as long as she can. Which, for right now, means dumping a handful of conditioner into her palm and rubbing it through the tips of Emily’s hair.

The final rinse is cleansing, like the weight falls from Emily’s shoulders. Penelope swipes the towel from Emily’s neck and cocoons their hair inside. She manages to keep their shirt dry, for the most part. Emily sits up with a pain in their shoulders, and does their best to hide it.

“What’s wrong?” Penelope prompts. Their best is not nearly good enough, not when Penelope has the analytical eye of someone who loves them. Penelope plants Emily on their shared bed for the first time since their surgery, already grateful to have a little of Emily’s smell in the room again. She sits behind them and overlaps their legs with hers. Penelope digs into the knots wound through their back as if she's torturing for information.

“It’s almost like you have a stressful job or something,” Penelope says.

Emily snorts. “Yeah, something like that.”

Penelope massages her way down until Emily feels looser under her fingers. She leans her head into the crook of Emily’s shoulder and presses a kiss to their skin. “We could ask for more time off,” she offers.

Emily slouches against Penelope’s body. “We could. But we have to go back at some point.”

“Let’s pretend we don’t.”

Emily exhales. “Sounds good to me.”