‘Fool’ challenges what Hadreas sees as straight women’s appropriation of gay men as fun toys. “They want you to be the hairstylist or the decorator and provide entertainment”, he says. “i think there’s a divine spiritual reason for being gay, and its not just so we can put a sculpture in some straight royal palace”
Ok for more than half the year my forensics teacher would often have us wipe down desks our period because she teaches chem and it gets messy sometimes. We walk into her class one day and instead there’s these shitty little packets of dry sanitary wipes instead of regular ol wet wipes.
Before I continue, we’ve had no issues like this before. Wet wipes were normal in classes, usually in science rooms and art because science or art = mess, duh.
So back to a few days ago, the class is complaining because the little towlettes aren’t working and we’re out of paper towels. finally, fiinally someone asks why the hell we don’t have wet wipes like usual because the desks are rly messy.
our forensics teacher breaths in thru her nose and glares at the desk before going off about how much admin is frustrating her.
Apparently some kid actually tried eating wet wipes and now admin won’t allow them in classrooms
also, not in school but on my bus theres this kid, we’ll call him mike. Mike has bright green hair, he’s like 10 years old and he has a hobby. Mikes hobby is eating or licking or just putting in his mouth literally everything that does not belong in your body. So far he’s been caught eating markers and licking deodorant. pIf it wasn’t for his age I’d assume he was the kid who ate wet wipes.
In those long, dark months he had waited. He had reached out to nothing and felt only shadows in his grasp, only bitterness; brought from the pain of wanting something he knew he couldn’t have. It hurt like hell. It made him cry and it made him break and it stayed with him always.
But now she was back. She had fallen into his arms like a building on its last legs collapsing to the ground, bringing up dust in its wake.
She was back and she was breathing and she was alive, and it was beautiful. She was beautiful, but she was broken. It wasn’t an easy fix for her like it was for him.
Her smiles were rare, and small, like cracks in stones. They lit up a room as does the sun shining through the boughs of trees on a summer day.
Hey Val, could you possibly write about what would've happened if Mike and El had kissed in the beginning of episode 7 please? 💜💜
Anon! 💜 I loved this request and I’m so sorry it took forever for me to get to it! Thanks so much for sending it my way—hope you enjoy! (Special thanks to @stevemossington for her help in thinking this through)
I. As gently as he could manage, Mike wiped away the dirt that streaked Eleven’s face, making a conscious effort to keep his hands from shaking.
“That’s better,” he smiled, setting aside the damp washcloth. He watched as El turned back towards the mirror, her eyes wide with disappointment, her hand coming up to touch her bare head. Mike gulped, suddenly wondering how he could take Eleven’s mind off of the lost wig.
“You don’t need it,” he assured her, and though he sincerely meant each word, his heart told him that it they weren’t quite enough. El blinked and looked at him, still sad. Silence hung in the air between them and Mike pursed his lips.
“Still pretty?” she asked quietly, almost defeated.
“Yeah,” Mike replied without hesitation. “Pretty. Really pretty.” Mentally, he berated himself. Surely he could have thought of something better to say. He was relieved, however, to see that his comment seemed to work. Eleven returned to her reflection and smiled softly. As Mike’s gaze lingered on her lips, he felt his chest fill with pride and something else that he didn’t quite recognize—a forceful desire to hear the sound of her voice again. His mind worked rapidly, rifling through practically every word in his vocabulary, searching for something to say.
“El?” Her name fell off his tongue before he had settled on something to tell her.
“Yes?” She turned in his direction once more and Mike’s mouth opened. For a moment, no sound came out. Say something, Wheeler.
“I-I’m happy you’re home.” Well. That wasn’t so bad.
“Me too,” she whispered, another small smile on her lips. Mike’s thoughts were racing again, elation bubbling in his stomach. This was El’s home now—here, with him. The thought very nearly made him dizzy with happiness. Mike chanced a look up at El and met her eyes, so round and bright, looking at him with unquestioning trust.
Mike felt as though he had a brain freeze in his chest, suddenly nervous, excited, happy, and terrified all at once. How had this happened? When had he developed a crush on this girl standing in front of him at that moment? Did it even matter? And was it just him, or was she getting closer?
Mike became vaguely aware that his hands were shaking and he could practically hear his heart beating heavily in the otherwise silent washroom, certain that El would hear it too. His eyes darted to her lips again and his throat suddenly felt parched. Mike couldn’t remember the last time he had felt such strong and exhilarated anticipation.
Quickly, he closed the distance between himself and Eleven, afraid he would lose his nerve.
His lips brushed against hers, gently and for just a moment the lights in the small room dimmed, the soft yellow lightbulbs overhead humming audibly.
And then it was over. He had shared his first kiss. Mike felt his cheeks get warm as he rocked into the balls of his feet. El looked at him with wide eyes before her face lit up into a bright smile. Mike let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding in, glad that she didn’t think he was a creep.
“El,” he began, tripping over his words, “I—that was—”
Mike was interrupted as the washroom door flew open, a very distressed looking Dustin urging them out into the basement.
“It’s Lucas! I think he’s in trouble!”
Perhaps, if it hadn’t been a life or death situation, Dustin would have commented on the blush colouring Mike’s face or on the closeness between his best friend and his newest friend. Because, even though he didn’t say anything, Dustin certainly noticed.
The Bright Young Things […] was a nickname given by the tabloid press to a group of bohemian young aristocrats and socialites in 1920s London. They threw elaborate fancy dress parties, went on elaborate treasure hunts through nighttime London, drank heavily and used drugs—all of which was enthusiastically covered by journalists such as Tom Driberg.
Is the mention of the Bright Young Things here a reference to Sherlock Holmes’ bohemian side: drugs, music, ‘moods’ - that ACD describes?
Let it also be noted that one feature of the Bright Young Things that made them both fascinating and a source for gossip and scandal was their sexual ambiguity and sexual experimentation: many men and women in this circle conducted same-sex relationships (at least for a while).
So, we have Stamford talk about Bright Young Things at Bart’s - and in the next scene, John meets Sherlock there.
I leave you to your deductions…
Ok, I can’t - take a look at Stephen Tennant and tell me this did not influence how Sherlock was portrayed in the BBC version… fight me!