#queerandimmortal

I made two Patton edits and I love them both so much. The second one has a lyric from the song Friend, Please by Twenty One Pilots, but the first one is even more amazing.

The lyrics I used on the first version of this edit symbolize the idea that we are all one being. The best part? The lyric is from the song I Am The Walrus by The Beetles (you'll get it if you watched the Sanderson Sides Q&A)!!!

The angel pulls the halo off of their head and snaps it in half. "It takes too much effort to be good," they say. "What's next?"

Aziraphale looks at Crowley. He is in utter shock. "But, Aziraphale! You just- you-"

"Crowley, please. We both know it. There's no my side and your side anymore. So why are we still acting like it? Let's be our own side."

Crowley looks at the man, his eyes filled to the brim in awe. He smiles softly, which is unusual for him. "You're right. And to answer your question. What's next? How about for now, we dine at the Ritz."

Aziraphale grins and takes Crowley's hand, making the renounced demon blush - although he covers his mouth because blushing is NOT allowed for him - and starts to stroll through the park to the Ritz.

"Oh, look at the beautiful blue birds!" Aziraphale calls out, pointing to a recently planted tree with blue birds sitting upon it.

"Yes, they are quite beautiful." He smiles at Aziraphale. There's a look in his eyes. Those eyes are so calm and so beautiful. Always so free of pain and worries. So relaxed and in love with the world. He wishes that he could feel that way sometimes.

As they get closer and closer to the Ritz, the beautiful greenery seems to fade away, turning into the grays, tans, browns, and blacks of the city.

"The architecture of some of these buildings is so astounding!" Aziraphale grins as he speaks.

"You really do find everything beautiful, don't you, Aziraphale?" Without missing a beat, Aziraphale turns to him and responds.

"If you don't take the time to find things to be as wonderful as they are, where has the point of making them so abstract gone?" Crowley is left speechless with this response so he just smiles thoughtfully at Aziraphale and continues to walk with him, hand in hand.

As they stand in front of the Ritz, Aziraphale turns to Crowley. "We've been playing this game for millennia."

"...What game might you be talking about?" Crowley asks in doubt.

"This one. You and me. Us. I don't want to play this game anymore. I want to win." Crowley is about to ask another confused question when he feels his lips collide with the renounced angel's.

His heart feels as if it has stopped. No. His heart doesn't feel stopped. It feels alive. It feels as if time has stopped around the two of them.

Everyone surrounding them fades away and all he can see is Aziraphale and himself. Aziraphale returns to his perfect posture.

Crowley is blushing once again, but this time he doesn't try to hide it. Who cares about the rules he's made for himself? He broke one of the rules the first time that Aziraphale ever spoke a word to him. The one that forbid him from falling in love with Aziraphale.

"I don't think that you've won, Aziraphale." His face drops and he covers his mouth before Crowley speaks again. "I think we've both won."

He sighs in relief and wraps his arms around Crowley's torso, surrounded in a bubble of love.

“If you wanted to learn to draw, you should’ve asked me instead of taking my charcoal pencils!” Steve screeches at Bucky.

“My god, you scream like a girl.” Bucky responds with no reaction to the anger in Steve’s voice.

“And when did that become a bad thing?” Steve asks as he puts his hands on his hips, his voice practically dripping with sass.

“I never said anything about it being a bad thing.” Bucky replies plainly. Steve’s face falls, but he recovers his rage.

“YOU STILL BROKE MY CHARCOAL PENCILS! AND NOT JUST ONE, BUT ALL. 12. OF. THEM. How is that even possible?!”

“Why are you still so mad? It’s not like you can go back in time and stop me from taking your charcoal pencils.” Bucky offers up with a roll of his eyes.

“I can guarantee you that in 100 years, there’s going to be a rock or some shit that can do exactly what you just described.”

“What? How does that even relate to our conversation, at all?”

“I don’t know, Bucky! Why don’t you figure it out yourself while you get on a fucking plane to buy me my charcoal pencils!” Bucky smirks.

“Ok, ok, I think it’s time I stop playing games. I never broke your charcoal pencils.” Steve stares blankly at him. “I just needed something to distract you. I’m positive that you didn’t notice me finishing this drawing as you yelled at me.”

“Wait, what the fuck? You were drawing?” Bucky laughs loudly and hands it to him.

“Take the art, you shithead.” Bucky shoves it into Steve’s hands and looks down as he unfolds the piece of paper. He runs his hand over it, looking at an exact copy of the first picture they took together.

“I… don’t know what to say.” Steve says. His tone of voice has changed from being sassy and enraged to being as flustered as he could possibly be.

“What if you don’t have to say anything?” Bucky states boldly. Steve tilts his head slightly in confusion and Bucky wraps his arms around Steve’s torso, pulling him into a kiss.

Steve stands completely still for a single second before relaxing into it and draping his arms around Bucky’s neck.

Bucky pulls apart just long enough to say, “I think I’ve officially re-payed you for lying about breaking your fucking pencils.”

Steve grins before saying, "Not quite." Bucky tilts his head in confusement and next thing he knew was thrown back by a punch to the face.

Bucky hisses in pain and Steve kneels down.

"Aw, I'm sorry Bucky, but no one messes with my charcoal pencils and gets away with it," Steve smiles sweetly as he helps Bucky up.

"But I love you too," Steve adds. Bucky groans and rolls his eyes but smiles to the ground.

“The light behind your eyes… the light behind your eyes.” Gerard’s voice fades out as he sings the last lines. Mikey, Ray, and Frank strum the last chords. Bob struck his drum mallet against the drum one last time.

The venue slowly fills with fresh clapping and echoes of applause. “Thank you.” Gerard wipes the sweat off his forehead and takes a little bit of makeup off with it.

“Let’s lose our shit for my brother, MIKEY WAY!!!” As Gerard had asked for, everyone loses their shit for Mikey Way. He chuckles.

“Nice one, guys. You really lost your shit.” A collective laugh erupts from the crowd. “Now let’s fuck up Ray’s hearing.”

Screeches leave every single person in the venue’s mouth, excluding the parents who were dragged along by their 13 year old kids.

“Fuck, yeah! I’m sure he’ll be deaf for a couple of days.” Another eruption of laughter.

“Now, let’s give it up for the-“ he chuckles “The amazing and sexy Frank Iero.”

Frank laughs loudly and grabs a microphone. “You're the one wearing skinny jeans.” The crowd lets out an ‘oooooh’ and Gerard’s face becomes a little bit red and flustered, but it’s not visible because of his makeup.

He purses his lips and holds in a chuckle. “Well, there we have it. Go write your fan fiction you little nerds.” He smiles. Ending that little conversation, he wraps up the show with the rest of the members.

As he walks off stage, he shoves Frank playfully. “Way to give the crowd more to work with.”

“Exactly! Why did you give them so much to work with?” Gerard looks confused for a second before he realizes. Way to give the crowd more to work with.

“Ha, ha.” He grins at Frank who drapes his arm over Gerard’s shoulder.

“So, I’m amazing and sexy now, am I?” Frank raises an eyebrow and smirks.

“Are you trying to say you weren’t always amazing and sexy?” Gerard counters.

Frank stairs at him, but regains his confidence. “Well, Mr. Skinny Jeans, how about you shut your mouth?”

“Make me.”

“Maybe I will.”

“No maybes are allowed here.” Frank rolls his eyes, pushing him against a wall and pressing his lips against Gerard’s.

Gerard’s mouth is dry from singing for a couple of hours, but it isn't too dry because, ‘Use your chapstick, kids!’

“So I’m assuming your answer was yes?” Gerard questioned.

(This is probably stupid and shitty because I wrote it, like, in the fourth grade or some shit.) 

I got off the plane. It was like a sea of robots, all waiting, checking their electronics, most not talking, but the few that were, were talking on their phones or about money and business. I frowned, and then saw a girl that looked nice.  I checked my watch. It was 11:59 pm. The girl walked over and said something that I thought was her introducing herself as Sofrina. “Hola, mi nombre es Sonia.” I replied. She looked at me, a bit confused, but not quite hopeless that she could understand what I was saying. Then, my mother pulled me by the arm and scolded me for talking to strangers. I apologized. Then, I herd a faint voice saying it was time to go. It sounded like my mother, but the words weren’t coming out of her mouth.

Suddenly, I was in my room with my mother shaking me awake. “Estas son tus ropas. Venga a desayunar, luego prepárese para su primer día de escuela.” she said. I sat up in bed and blinked the dream away. I was now excited. I had applied for a program called DACA so I could go to school in the United States. To apply though, I had to be 15 or younger. The night I had arrived, I had been one minute away from turning 16. I got my clothes on, ate my breakfast of bread with honey, and got ready for school like my mother instructed.

I took a deep breath and walked into the school. As I walked through the halls, people looked at me and muttered things to each other. I kept walking and looking around until I bumped into a girl. I turned around and apologized, looking down at my shoes. Then, I looked up at her face. I instantly recognized her as the girl from the airport, Sofrina. By reading her face, I saw that she recognized me as well somehow. I was very good at reading faces. Most of the time I could guess what people were saying by the movement of their lips or the shape of their eyes. She tried her best to speak in Spanish and asked me something. When I told her I needed help finding my classroom, she didn’t understand, but realized what I  meant when I pulled out my schedule.

She walked me to the classroom. I walked in behind her and went to the teacher’s desk. I asked her, “¿Dónde debería sentarme?” She held up her pointer finger, typed something into the computer, smiled and pointed to the seat next to Sofrina’s. I smiled back and thanked her, then sat down in my seat. I opened my binder, wove my fingers together, put them on my desk and grinned, waiting for the teacher to speak. Other people snickered and threw paper airplanes.

   The day went by quickly with each teacher telling me to copy Sofrina’s work and try to talk to her about it, since I was sitting next to her in every class. I asked Sofrina if she knew any Spanish. She frowned at first, but then the ends of her lips turn upward into a slight grin. She waved goodbye and I waved back. She then walked away. I jumped on my bike and rode back home.

   When I got home, I went to my room and started my homework. I struggled with it since I had to write in English. About an hour later, my mother walked in on me closing up my binder and said that dinner was ready.

I sat down at the dinner table and looked at my plate. I had a cheese enchilada with avocado, rice, and beans. My favorite. My mother asked what school was like. I told her that the day had been pretty uneventful, except for that the Sofrina, from the airport, goes to my school. Once I was excused from the dinner table, I got ready for bed and fell asleep.

   The next morning, I sat up in bed. I grinned. Today was going to be a good day. I just knew it. I walked out the door and got on my bike. When I got to school, Sofrina was standing at the front gate.

   “¿Que tal fue tu noche?” she asked. I was quite surprised. I responded that the rest of my day was good. She grinned and handed me something wrapped in a beautiful green tissue paper with a lavender ribbon. I opened it and I saw a book. I looked at the cover. It was a Spanish to English dictionary. I smiled and read the note on the inside cover. She had written a Spanish and English version of it. She also got herself an English to Spanish dictionary so that we could talk. We went to our first class and it was much easier to do classwork.

   When we got to our writing class, the teacher assigned a writing project. She had us get Chromebooks from a cart in the back of the class. At this news, I frowned. The teacher asked Sofrina what was wrong, and she asked me the same thing in Spanish. I told her that I hated computers. I like typewriters much more. When you are using a typewriter, you have to think about what you’re going to write, because if you mess up, you can’t just press delete. Sofrina translated and the teacher frowned. She talked to Sofrina and Sofrina said that I could use a typewriter, if I brought it from home. I frowned again. I didn’t have one. I told Sofrina that, and she translated. The teacher said I could write for now, until I figured it out.

   The day went by fast. When I got home, I talked to my mother about getting a typewriter. I told her I would buy it with the money I earned in Mexico and the first few weeks here. She said ok, so I got my shoes on as she grabbed her purse. She asked me where I wanted to go and I said that there was a pawnshop on the way to my school that had a beautiful typewriter in the window. As we walked, I told her about Sofrina. Earlier in the day, I had gotten Sofrina’s number. I asked if I could go to her house tomorrow, so she could help me learn some more English. My mother said yes. We walked into the pawnshop and I went to the counter. I looked at the words I had copied out of my Spanish to English dictionary and asked if they still had the typewriter that had been in the window a day ago. The person at the counter smiled and nodded then, then walked into the back door. When he came out, he was holding a typewriter. I pressed a key. It was a bit rusty, but it worked.

   When I got to school the next morning, I went straight to my language arts class. I still had a few oil smudges on my cheeks from oiling and fixing my typewriter. I sat in the middle of class, typing away at my story. The teacher had insisted that I write in Spanish, but I had refused, hoping to learn some new words. Every time I thought of a word I didn’t know or even just doubted myself, I would check in my dictionary.  My next class was art. I instantly took out my typewriter and got the paint from the middle of the table. I took my story out and put it into my bag delicately. I painted the typewriter turquoise, but painted the keys gold. On the back, I painted a book with a lavender cover and handmade paper, the kind I would make with my art teacher when we were in Mexico. I smiled sadly. I missed my art teacher so much. We would paint clay pots together and she would walk me home after class. When I was done, we had 15 minutes left, so I painted black and white pandas on the two sides. I love pandas. I smiled at my work.

   The bell rang.  I walked out to lunch with Sofrina. When we got to our normal spot, a place behind the 9th grade classrooms under a tree, she asked me to take out my typewriter. I put a new piece of paper in it. She told me a sentence in Spanish and asked me to type it in English without using my dictionary. I got through 2 sentences before I made a mistake. She asked me to type out another sentence. She kept asking me to do it again, until finally, I got 7 sentences done without making a mistake. She grinned widely and hugged me. She then told me she had a challenge. She asked me to say it in English. I gulped. I spoke very slowly. “My name is Sonia. I am 16 and go to school at Solar High in Maine. I love to write, but don’t know English very well yet. I also love art and I don’t use computers unless I have to. This is a practice and Sofrina helped me rehearse.” She smiled and I smiled. I knew some English.

   The rest of the day, I streamed sentences of English. I had never told anyone this, but I really wanted to be an author in the U.S.