A question I see aimed at people I follow on here all too often (usually by individuals who’ve chosen to hide behind the label of anonymous).
Why do I invest so much of my time and energy in pairings that don’t legitimately exist outside of fandom? Because I can.
As a society, we’ve been conditioned to believe that the only “normal” functioning relationship is that between a man and a woman. We’re told gay or lesbian or other relationships are “abnormal” and “wrong”. The only reasoning behind these labels are personal biases created by religious influences/personal biases/conditioning from personal environments. That’s it.
Thus, the only relationships featured in comic books or action hero movies or superhero stories are heterosexual ones. Because clearly, the male hero is only manly and able to save the world so long as he loves women and has a doting girlfriend/wife. By the same card, the only way the female hero can be successful and able to save the world is if she has her man at home to keep her safe when she’s not out kicking bad guy ass.
If I’m to be frank? Fuck that utter bullshit.
Superheroes can love whoever the fuck they want. Men don’t have to love women. Women don’t have to love men. Men can love men and still save the world at the end of the day. Women can love women and still save the world at the end of the day. It doesn’t fucking matter.
Sexual orientation, gender identity, all of that doesn’t matter. Everybody is who they are and no one is going to be able to change that.
If there could be a way of somehow shifting the collective awareness of society enough so there could be gay/lesbian/bi/trans*/etc. superheroes written into the stories without people batting an eye, I’d make it happen. Not even a question. I’d make it happen or die trying.
Hell, that’s basically one of my goals in trying to get into the film industry so I can write movies that I want to see, rather than what the general biased public wants to see.
But I digress.
I talk about gay pairings because they mean something to me. There’s not just this superficial interest in watching two people fuck. Sure, porn is great, but that’s not the reason I’m here.
I’m here because of the relationships that are formed between two characters.
Love is so complicated and so impossible, and yet it’s something that we’re all talking about every single day. We’re explaining how intimately entwined these characters are, and we’re explaining how their love for each other is exemplified even in the most domestic, inconsequential ways.
Fandom is so rich and so diverse. It’s a never-ending fount of creativity and collective awareness, and I’ve never found anything quite like it.
That is why I talk about “gay pairings” all the time.
Pagan Angel and a Borrowed Car ;
Otherwise known as the adventures of the OCs belonging to Sa (saroux) and myself (the-flynnster). Nick Barrett (prophet, hunter, your average rogue), and Raziel (the angel assigned to keep tabs on him). Graphic by Sa, fic by me. If y’all have questions about these two, feel free to ask.
“You know why.”
“No shit, Raz,” Nick rolls his eyes skyward, lifting his beer for a slow drag. “I just mean why me. Why was I special? Why am I a goddamn prophet?”
It’s gotten to the point where Raz doesn’t even flinch when he cusses. Nick smiles a little at that, wondering if that’s thanks to how much time Raziel spends down here (even though he’s technically been here since before biblical times, if the lore is anything to go by), thanks to him specifically, or a combination of the two. Nick hopes it’s the latter.
“You were chosen long before you, your parents, even your grandparents were alive,” Raz says in reply, eyes fixed on some point close to the horizon. “Prophets are more important than you know. Especially now.”
Nick snorts, tilting his head back to get the last swallow of his drink.
“Mate, you really need to quite with the Sunday School bullshit,” he shakes his head, squinting down the empty road ahead before chucking the empty bottle as far as he can manage. “You know I don’t buy most of it.”
Raziel stays quiet for a few minutes, seemingly fascinated by the way the glass bottle shatters into a thousand shards against the concrete. Then, he opens his mouth again.
“If Michael wins, the world loses,” he begins. “If Lucifer wins, the world loses. They are too power-hungry and humanity would be considered collateral damage during the actual battle. That bottle is an apt metaphor for a post-Apocalyptic Earth.”
Nick blinks at him, startled by the sudden reveal of something most hunters just might consider some pretty important information. “Well that’s … bleak,” he laughs drily. “What’s the occasion for the info dump?”
Raziel turns and gives him the “I am tolerating your human incompetence for the singular reason that I care about your survival” look. And Nick thinks it should be a little more unsettling than it is that he actually knows exactly what that looks translates to from angel to human.
“I am not here under orders anymore, Nick,” he answers shortly. “I haven’t been under orders for a long time. Heaven is in the middle of mass chaos and the Archangels are quickly running out of patience.”
Nick raises an eyebrow, then taps his foot against Raziel’s leg to refocus his attention. “Then why’re you here, Raz?”
The angel stares at him, eyes settling into that blue-green they get when he’s stressed. “I am here for you because you matter.”
They’ve had similar discussions before, but Nick can’t remember getting this far before. The fact alone that he trusts an angel with his life says how far he’s allowed Raziel into his life. But he’s never asked if the sentiment goes both ways.
“Are you sayin’ you’ve been going against Heaven all this time, Raz?” Nick asks gruffly, expression both startled and wary.
Raziel snorts, laughing wryly as he gives Nick a quizzical look. “I’ve been ‘going against Heaven’ since I began staying at your side, Nick. This is nothing new.”
He shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his mouth as he tries to get his thoughts under control. “God dammit, Raz,” Nick curses. “God dammit.”
And that in itself is pretty useless. God isn’t here anymore. He hasn’t been for a long time. Nick’s known that for most of his life.
The angel just watches him, that infuriatingly eternal serene expression on his face. “I don’t understand your frustration, Nick. I am voluntarily disobeying wartime orders that would result in the death of over three billion innocent humans. I’m on your side.”
Before Raz can start spouting off any more righteous crap, Nick grabs the angel’s tie and yanks him into an aggressive kiss, the first real one they’ve shared. It’s more teeth than lips, really, but neither of them minds.
When they pull apart, Nick lets go of Raziel’s tie and focuses back on the road stretching out before the parked Mustang. “Next time, Raz,” he says, shaking his head with a disbelieving smile on his lips. “Tell me when you’ve decided to go rogue so I don’t have a heart attack when angels come after us while you’re here, alright?”
Raziel chuckles, resting a hand on Nick’s shoulder as he gives a brief nod of acquiescence. “Anything you wish.”
Disclosure: I blame this completely on the fact that sulu cut the gif off where she did. I am not responsible for the context my brain chooses to invent.
To Hell and Back
[a brief AU wherein Kevin and Alan are still computer geeks, but this time, after inadvertently stumbling across a group of operatives intent on gaining access to the Pentagon after a day of running some preliminary tests on their new viral-detection software, they’re running for their lives before the group finds them and decides to eliminate the only threat standing between them and the United States’ central headquarters]
Kevin parks near the entrance of a wide alley, giving them plenty of room to maneuver if it comes down to finishing the chase.
After alerting the cops to what they’d witnessed, followed by the out-of-nowhere takeover of Flynn’s building that they’d just managed to escape, they both know it’s only a matter of time.
Either the rogue terrorist faction finds them, or the cops make good on their promise and get them the hell out of here.
Alan inhales several deep breaths, closing his eyes as he slumps back against the passenger’s seat. He’s not trained for this shit, dammit. Hell, he’s not trained for anything outside a tech lab and honestly? With the shitstorm they’re in right now, that’s just downright sad.
He makes a frustrated grunt and takes off his glasses, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes.
Dying really wasn’t something at the top of his list today. He’d rather survive this and be able to tell everybody about it at office parties for the next twenty years.
Then, he thinks of Kevin and Sam, of what would happen to Sam if his Dad doesn’t come home.
The realization of how selfish that thought process had been causes the corners of his eyes to burn for a moment, and he scrubs at them both, huffing out a frustrated breath.
Kevin’s voice jerks him out of his self-induced train of thought and he glances up, eyes vaguely terrified behind the too-large lenses.
There’s a smile on Flynn’s lips, shaky but still there, and Alan is struck by how bizarrely stunning it looks.
He’s never really thought of Kevin as “beautiful” or “gorgeous” or “pretty”, or any other flattering descriptor. And right now, he can’t really put a finger on why. But it works. It’s comfortable. It’s not weird, like he thinks it probably would be in any other given situation.
“Yeah ..” Alan responds, nodding briefly as his hands twist together, a nervous habit he picked up back in grade school.
That’s when Kevin reaches over, curling a hand over both of Alan’s, prompting the man to glance up, confusion and a bit of awe warring for dominance in his features.
“We’re gonna get through this, alright?” Kevin’s voice is surprisingly firm, given the fact Alan knows his own would be shaking something fierce. “I promise.”
Alan offers a moderately steadier smile in response, and he decides not to think too long on the way his fingers wind between Kevin’s, squeezing almost to the point of pain.
When he glances up again, Alan notices the faint sheen of tears at the corners of Kevin’s eyes. A sound he can’t even name wells up in his throat, coming out as more of a choked gasp of air than anything else.
His eyes are burning again, but it doesn’t matter because Kevin is leaning across the center console, reaching out with his other hand and pulling him into a firm kiss.
It’s not messy or desperate or frantic, but it’s more potent than all of those combined.
Kevin pulls back and Alan squeezes the fingers between his own even tighter. “Yeah,” he says finally, nodding with a conviction he hadn’t felt just a few minutes ago. “We’re gonna make it.”
As expected, I blame the usual instigator. ❤
His life is in shambles, ENCOM is falling apart without firm leadership, and whenever he manages to find time to get there, the Grid is fast becoming a place he no longer recognizes.
This just .. ngh, you and your gorgeous wordsmithing. I love this.