#My Boy’s A Homosexual And That Don’t Scare Me None I Want The World To Know I Love My Dead Gay Son (¢яιмѕσи)

[e-m-p-error]

[ @hellsmayflower || Continued From Here ]

[ Crimson ]

"We both know I don't do divorce, Maybay. But no," He shakes his head slowly, "You're frustrating but you don't piss me off most of the time. Being an annoying bitch works for you."

[e-m-p-error]

"I know that, but what the fuck spurred it on this time? I was working, May. Did you just decide to start talking about my thiccness?"

"Babe. I've always talked about thic. Everybody does. It's a thing. Or you just hadn't been listening?"

[bitchapalooza]

Australia: *inhales, exhales, tries to calm his nerves*

Australia: Dad. I'm gay.

England:

Australia: W-what?

England:

Australia: Da—

England: Yes!

Australia: Uh...

England: My boy's a homosexual!

Australia: Well yea, I mean I did ju—

England: And that don't scare me none—

Australia: Why would it, you're bi, thats like half gay, dad.

England: I want the world to know...

Australia: I'm not coming out in a world meeting, dad. I'll do it one by one if I'm comfortable enough.

England: I love my dead gay son!

Australia: WAIT. Wait are you quoting a damn musical!? What the fu—

[theslashmix]

I didn’t merely see

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31545329

Written for the LLSS prompt  “ Harry Welsh isn't as oblivious as everybody thinks he is. (ft. Winnix and/or Speirton not being that subtle after all)"

beta-read by @thrillingdetectivetales

will publish a translation/ rework of it in Italian

For some reason, people seemed to forget that Harry was an observant man. He was an officer, and in his modest opinion, a decent one. This meant that he must have a good eye for detail and an even better brain to put things together in a coherent manner: it thus surprised him a bit that people seemed to stop at his jovial façade, somehow separating it from the competence that he had shown on the battlefield. It was almost as if there were two of him- good ol’ Harry, always down for drinks and shenanigans, and First Lieutenant Harry Welsh.

He had known that Winters and Nixon were a thing since Toccoa, and had guessed that they had been for a while before that- since OCS, probably. The signs were all there, almost painfully too easy to spot for someone who truly watched, instead of just seeing: the little touches that lingered just a second too long; the brief stretches of time when no one seemed to know where they were; the constant invasion of each other’s personal space that wasn’t an invasion at all, because at some point it had gotten from being my personal space, to you’re welcome in it, and it was slowly morphing into our personal space under Harry’s very eyes.

He had wondered why on Earth Sobel hadn’t picked up on it, what with him hating Winters’ guts and desperately trying to find even the smallest fault in the man. After some more careful observation, Harry had come to the conclusion that it wasn’t so surprising after all, because Sobel, consciously or not, didn’t want to see it. It was glaringly obvious that Sobel was very good at lying to himself, and him hating Winters was a big, fat lie. He was not good enough at lying to himself that he would try to destroy Winters with that particular tactic, though.

 When Sobel was removed from Easy, Harry drew a big sigh of relief.

It had made him uneasy, back then. It was hard to reconcile the stereotype of fairies he had in his head with the reality of how the two officers were. They should have been effeminate, weak, hysterical: they weren’t. Winters was everything that the high brass could want in an officer and a soldier, and Nixon, despite his flaws, was a good man, and a good intelligence officer. Harry wondered for long hours whether he ought to report them: a lifetime of conditioning was hard to shake. In the end he didn’t: D-Day arrived too quickly, and he had other things to think about rather than trying to convince a court martial that Dick Winters and Lewis Nixon were a homosexual couple. Especially since he had nothing more substantial than a lame “well, they are often together” and his own impressions.

After Normandy, Harry actively decided that he would do nothing about it, even if he didn’t approve. After Normandy, the boys would follow the two officers just about anywhere, and Harry couldn’t in good conscience take them from Easy, because that would mean that more of the boys would die in the incompetent hands of Norman Dyke.

 After Bastogne and Foy, after Nixon had decided to stay in that freezing hellhole with them (and with Winters) instead of taking the much sought-after furlough stateside, Harry decided that he would actively cover for them, if that was what it would take to keep Dick and Nix with them. He decided that it was completely wrong that the world had decreed that the two of them shouldn’t stay together, because after the long scrutiny Harry had imposed on them, there was only one conclusion possible: the two fit so well together that God must have made them to be together. Their relationship evolved to its full potential in a way that shouldn’t have been possible, if what was between them was just sinful lust.

 Now it had fully become our personal space, and the two could hold an entire conversation in just a single, prolonged stare, like an old married couple. Even the boys seemed to be always talking about them as a package deal. “Winters and Nixon said that…”, “Yesterday Winters and Nixon…”, “Do you think that Winters and Nixon will…?”, “Where are Winters and Nixon?”

 There could be no doubt whatsoever that Nix belonged with Dick and Dick belonged with Nix, the same way that Harry himself belonged with his beloved Kitty.

He noticed the signs of the very same thing going on between Speirs and Lip in Haguenau. It was nowhere near as long standing as Dick and Nix’s relationship. If he had to pinpoint its starting moment, Harry would have guessed around Bastogne, at the earliest. Probably when Speirs had stopped going to Dyke for updates on Easy and had started to go directly to Lip. There was still a tentativeness around them, the sweet, hesitating exultance of discovering each other, the pressing need to be together and close as much as possible.

It was in the way Lip perked up as soon as he heard Speirs’ steps, and in the way Speirs’ eyes kept turning in the direction of the house where a sick Carwood Lipton was billeted with a worried frown, as if the lieutenant was magnetic north and the captain was the hand of a compass. It was in the way Lip murmured Speirs’ Christian name when they thought that nobody was there to hear them, and in the way Speirs had claimed the right to take care of Lip as if it was his God-given privilege, and woe betide whoever dared to interfere. 

He hadn’t known the true depth of it though, not until one evening in Haguenau when he had decided to go and visit Lip in his billet. The lieutenant had healed from pneumonia in a way that Roe had defined “miraculous”, but was still quite weak and needed rest. Harry hoped that a Hershey bar would lift his spirits a bit, and distract him from his desperate need to mother everything and anything that breathed. They should probably have him infiltrate the German troops, he’d have them tucked up in bed by 2100 sharp, and no sneaking out to invade Poland, is that clear Adolf?

Harry walked softly, making no noise in case Lip was asleep. As he got close to the flimsy door, he realised that Lip wasn’t asleep, and was in fact talking with none other than Speirs.

“- if you die, what good would you be to the boys?” Speirs was saying, with an exasperated tone that indicated that they had had this discussion a few times already.

“There’s no other second lieutenant, Ron. If I don’t take care of my duties, nobody else will, and the boys will go without supplies.”

“Car- you seriously think so little of the other officers that we’d let Easy starve?” There was an obvious subtext there- do you think so little of me?

“No!” Lip’s exclamation was scandalized and filled with frustration. “No, I don’t. But you all have so much to do already. You shouldn’t be doing my job on top of yours.”

“You’re talking as if you were purposefully slacking, Car. You aren’t. You are sick, you didn’t want this, and nobody thinks any less of you because of it.” Speirs’ tone was getting increasingly frustrated.

“But I can’t-”

 “No, I can’t, Car!” Speirs’ voice rose a little before the captain brought it back down. “I can’t stand the thought of you grinding yourself to the nub. I’m scared, Car, for the first time I’m truly scared in this goddamn war because I’ve got something to lose,” he said, and Harry was surprised to hear him admit such a thing. Hearing Captain Ronald “Killer” Speirs so vulnerable, admitting to his fear so openly with a voice raw with emotion, was something Harry had never even dreamed could happen, not in a million years. It must have cost him a lot to admit it.

“It’s hard enough that I have to send you into action knowing that you could die, but I can accept that because it’s out of our control. I can’t accept the thought of losing you to a pneumonia relapse, not when it can be avoided by you simply resting a bit!” Harry had never heard Speirs talk so passionately.

There was a rustle of cloth, and a muffled sob- they had probably embraced, seeking the comfort of touch and closeness in the very real solidity of each other’s body.

“Please, Car. Please. Do your best to live- I just can’t bear it,” murmured Speirs.

There could be no doubt left that the love between them was the real deal and not something wrong or twisted, not after hearing the pain in Speirs’ voice at the thought of losing his lover. It couldn’t be wrong, not when it could give back humanity to a man like Ronald Speirs, giving him something not only to die for, but to live for, which was much, much more important.    

 “Oh, Ron…” said Lip in a voice that was heartbreakingly tender, and Harry decided that it was time to go. He suddenly felt ashamed, as dirty as if he had spied on them having sex- no, not having sex, he amended. They would make love. He shouldn’t have eavesdropped. It had been a moment of deep intimacy between the two men, not only of the body but of the soul, and he couldn’t bear to spy on something so pure for a moment longer. Even though he had to admit that he was glad to know that there was something that had remained pure and unsullied despite the war.

It was a week later or so, when he heard Luz talking about how quickly Lip had bounced back from pneumonia.

“Couldn’t bear the thought of us boys being without their Mama Lip, especially now that he’s got Papa Speirs to take care of him,” he said wisely, and his audience nodded solemnly, unanimously agreeing that Lip and Speirs were a package deal as much as Dick and Nix were.

He knew then, with certainty, that Speirs and Lip belonged to each other the same way Nixon and Winters did.

Of all the things he had expected to change during the war, his perspective on homosexuality hadn’t been one, but he solidly counted it among the few, positive things to come out of that particular bloodbath. When Dick announced at the end of the war that he had decided to accept the job offer at Nixon Nitration, and Speirs that he would go to West Virginia “to see what opportunities I can find there,” Harry felt happy for them.

They belonged together, and they would stay together. Maybe there was some justice, in this world.

[jarpadswalker]

I don't know what to describe the following post as. It is just my take on the drama that is happening in the fandom. Read ahead if you want.

The past few weeks has been interesting or rather devastating for Supernatural fandom. A certain loud section is throwing all sorts of tantrums against Supernatural fandom. Their has been several allegations against a 15 year old show which has not only given representation to diverse culture, ethnicities and orientations but has also tried to not box them in the stereotypes.

So the way I see it the current temper tantrum of Minions -Hellers is nothing but their incapability of understanding the concept of LOVE.

Instead they are highlighting all the stereotypes that are dreaded by Gays.

So, this is my take on each of their argument

Kill the gay trope - Cas confessed his Love and writers killed him

Now, as a general audience for me it seemed like a platonic I Love. An expression one use when they speak with someone they are close with i.e. Parents, Siblings, Childhood friends.

But fine, Cas confessed his love. So what, why is it a kill the gay trope. There have been examples where closeted people have confessed their true feeling while dying, does that mean they were killed coz they were gay.

The way I see it, Cas confession of gay love is a death bed confession. He was scared of being rejected or shunned so he kept it within him and he became guilt free when he confessed it. So, in a way he became truly happy to an extent that it didn't matter he live or die.

After being resurrected like a sane person he moved on. He didn't get stuck on Dean who is straight and doesn't réciprocate similar feeling.

Destiel is Canon cause Cas said I Love You

Ummm... No. Relationship is a two way street. Just cause you said I Love You doesn't mean you are in relationship with the person you said that words to. In that sense every fangirl is in relationship with her favorite idol cause she said I Love You. Their is no relationship if the feelings are not reciprocated. Dean didn't reciprocated Cas feeling. So no Destiel is not canon.

Destiel is Canon cause Dean is bisexual

From Jensen to directors and writers everyone had said Dean is straight.

And even if Dean is bisexual, it doesn't mean he loves Cas. you need to have mutual feeling. Just coz a person is bisexual or gay doesn't mean he will love whoever says I Love You to him. Love for homosexuals works in a same way as that of heterosexual. It is why proposing to the person you love is scariest thing to do as you can never predict how the person will react. Dean's zero reaction says it all. Even if Dean is Bisexual he is not interested in Cas

Dean is homophobe, Writers are homophobe, Writers Silenced Them

No, when Cas confessed his feelings, it was his feelings not Dean's. Just cause Dean doesn't feel the same doesn't make him homophobe. Dean as established earlier is a straight guy, for him it is huge thing to process and especially when it is done in middle of battle. It is not that he hate him but the confession came out of the blue. Plus Cas not only said he is Gay but also said he is in love with Dean (as seen by Minions/hellers). It will take time for a straight person to process those feelings and Dean didn't had that time. Also Cas knew how Dean felt and how Dean doesn't reciprocate his feeling. Might be that is one of the reason why he kept his confession at the end. So that he doesn't have to hear rejection. None of it make Dean homophobe, this is how normal human being behaves.

If minion/hellers step out of fiction world, they would realise that when a gay guy profess his love for straight man that love is never reciprocated coz both their orientation is different. Demanding Straight man to be Gay is similar to demand Gay man to act as straight man.

Also by throwing this tantrum and demanding writers to make Dean gay or reshoot the finale the minions and hellers are solidifying the biggest stereotypes. For years Gay men and women are trying to break this very thought process. A straight guy and gay man/woman can be friends. A gay/lesbian loving straight man/woman is similar to that of a girl loving boy who is not interested in her and vice versa. It is one sided love.

No one silenced anybody- Cas is gay and Dean is not. Both carried on with their respective life. Might be after resurrecting Cas made peace with the fact that Dean doesn't réciprocate his feelings and moved on.

It is the normal reaction and thing to do...when someone say they don't feel the same or when someone doesn't réciprocate your feeling. Sane thing to do is move on and find someone who loves you. Stalking them or pestering them to return your feeling won't help.

Lastly all of these characters doesn't exist they are fiction. Product of someone's imagination, you can't rule other people's imagination. Wasting time, money and energy on someone else's imagination is sheer stupidity.

You want gay representation, justice for gay etc...start volunteering with Gay support group. Stop harassing writers and actors just coz they didn't validate your imagination or ship.

Romance be it Gay or Straight was never the core focus of Supernatural

[e-m-p-error]

"Ain't you sweet, Puddin'?" Crimson chuckled, cupping her cheek and returning the kiss happily. His tail bobbed a little, unable to do much more than that with so much of it dead, but his purring didn't detract from his happiness, "We are. I love you, Daze."

Her tail wagged as she nuzzled him, purrs rising from her chest. "I'd happily help you take out anyone that dares to betray OR stand in your way." She said, giving him a loving kiss. "We're in this together forever."

[notthatiwilleverwriteit]

Your posts are always interesting, this could sound weird but, what do you think about the sexual orientations in 19 days? I know it is shonen ai but in this kind of comic is usually characters are just in love with someone but no anyone else. But with zhanyi it has being shown at least that Zhan had problems thinking about it, what do you think about tianshan's as well? I am not into Lgbt knowledge, so i'm lost about it

Good afternoon, dear anon-san!

I’m sorry it took me a couple of days to get to your question. Thank you for your patience!

I’ve talked about my takes on the sexual orientations a couple of times by now:

Why didn’t HT want MGS to like him more and more?

Homophobia in 19 Days

Could HT be bisexual?

Could ZZX be quoiromantic?

Was ZZX a heterosexual prior to JY’s confession?

Zhanyi and emotional manipulation?

Was MGS HT’s first kiss?

My Tianshan “timeline”

I suggest you check out those previous answers to get a better sense of where I’m coming from. I’m probably going to repeat some of the things in this answer but not as comprehensively.

Also, before I get further into this, I realize this is a rather controversial topic in the fandom. However, I want people reading this to know that I am most certainly not against discussing how readers interpret the characters from this perspective. I know some people just genuinely don’t care one way or another - which is perfectly fine - but to me, it sometimes feels like “who cares” is used to shut people up. I don’t see why the aspect of sexual orientations can’t be discussed just like any other part of the story. Especially since I feel like it’s one of the major themes of 19 Days. And sexual orientations in fiction can be important peaks of representation and connection to many readers, so I do understand why people might want to talk about them.

In all fairness, though, I also understand why people might be annoyed by this discussion. Other’s interpretations can feel forceful to us, especially if they greatly differ from ours. Or it might irritate us if we feel like people are focusing on trivial things. I get it. I’m sometimes “guilty” of those feelings, too - I’m not trying to make it sound like I’m somehow above that. However, I don’t think the solution should be to make others feel shitty but rather to try and give room for all kinds of points of view.

Anyway. End of my usual rant when it comes to these things. (^_^ ‘‘)

“what do you think about the sexual orientations in 19 days?”

When it comes to sexual orientations in 19 Days, I feel like the most accurate answer I can give is “I don’t know”. I don’t think it’s possible to tell one way or another for sure, and anyone’s interpretation is as good as mine. The things I’ve said in previous answers - and what I will continue to say in this one, too - are merely based on the vibes I’ve personally gotten. I am not trying to make it sound like I have some kind of solid, concrete “evidence”. I want everyone to keep all of that in mind when reading this.

He Tian and Mo Guan Shan

I’m going to be fairly brief with HT because I’ve already talked about him in this sense a few times. In short, I tend to read HT as a budding bisexual. Partly because of the vibes I’ve gotten and partly because of my own bias as a bisexual. It’s a pet interpretation of sorts that I like to toy with.

There aren’t any solid extracts of the comic for me to base this on, either. Merely little details that had caught my eye and made me wonder (ch. 160, 190, 226. 307):

If someone says that none of those panels make HT a bisexual, I would wholeheartedly agree. But to me, as a reader, those little details muddy the waters. Reading magazines with half-naked women in suggestive poses on the cover doesn’t make anyone straight, bi, or anything, but it seems HT doesn’t at least mind that kind of content - perhaps he’s even interested in it since he’s supposedly spent money on them. Of course, it’s too hasty to judge a book by its cover so to speak but I’ve always been interested in that detail.

However, what has made me think HT might be bisexual more than that is the whole “I don’t want you to like me more and more” thing. I have somewhat mixed feelings about the note but regardless of that, HT felt the need to lie to MGS. Again, there could be many reasons for it - but I think one possible reason could be that he was conflicted. Initially, HT didn’t get interested in MGS for romantic reasons, but somewhere along the way his feelings shifted and developed. Was HT confused about his own feelings and that’s why he lied to MGS? Was it his first time discovering such feelings for another guy? Again, it’s impossible to tell for sure but I don’t see why that couldn’t be a possible way to interpret it.

In addition to all of that, we don’t really know enough about HT’s past relationships to tell one way or another. He’s only 15, so I doubt he’s had much experience whether it’s with girls or guys. How being a part of his family has affected him as a person is also something that should be taken into consideration when wondering about HT’s potential romantic past.

I haven’t really talked about how I see MGS’s orientation before. I think that MGS’s character was set out as straight, but it’s always been more like a like “default setting” rather than what he might actually be. I would say he sees himself as a heterosexual but I think that’s more about him just going with what’s considered “normal” without bothering to give it much thought (ch. 222):

That little conversation has always reminded me of the movie 40 Year Old Virgin. Like, if Buzzcut had asked MGS “what kind of boobs do you like?” and MGS had been like “yes” or “as long as she has them”. He doesn’t really seem to have preferences or a type when it comes to girls, and I think one reason for that is because he’s never really been that concerned about the matter. If someone asks, he’s into girls but that kind of conversation is over rather quickly with him.

One reason for MGS’s seeming indifference is probably how he’s been rejected by his peers, ultimately leading him to isolate himself and push others away by becoming even harder to approach. Girls wouldn’t be interested in someone like him, so why should he waste time thinking about them? I might be projecting too much but it seems to be like he’s basically rejecting that part of being a teenager. It’s easier to ignore it until you’ve become indifferent than feeling like you’re missing out on something. 

In addition to that, it seems MGS is easily irritated and disgusted by the idea of another guy making a pass at him and aggressively guards both his body and image in that sense (ch. 160, 170, 249, 250, 285):

I’m sure a lot of that has to do with his history of being involved in gangs and being a delinquent. To survive in that world you need to exhibit rather aggressive and masculine behavior. In other words, to be the top dog. In those circles, being gay is easily associated with being the bottom as in submissive and easily overpowered. So, in addition to MGS not being keen on talking about girls and romance, he’s also had to keep up a certain image.

Do I think HT has discovered MGS’s “true” sexuality? I wouldn’t really put it like that. I would rather say HT’s persistent influence has “unlocked” the world of love and affection for MGS. He can experience that part of life with HT instead of rejecting it. I suppose the million-dollar question is does that make MGS straight or homosexual. And to be honest, I don’t have an answer. Personally, I read him more as a heterosexual than homosexual. I can’t really him being in a relationship with other guys than HT.

Jian Yi and Zhan Zheng Xi

I’ve also talked about these two quite a lot, so I don’t know how much I have left to say. Generally speaking, I think JY is someone who might actually identify as a homosexual in the future. It doesn’t look like he’s ever been interested in girls. More importantly, though, it seems that as he’s fallen in love with ZZX he’s also discovered himself in a broader sense (ch. 143, 158, 164, 187):

I think the theme of coming of age when it comes to sexuality is the strongest in JY’s character. ZZX might be the only guy he has a crush on, but JY seems to be thinking about being in love with a guy also as something that might defy him. He feels confused about being different and scared of how others could react to him being in a relationship with ZZX despite how open he also is about his feelings. He might happily want to hold hands with ZZX or kiss him in public but he’s not always that confident. JY is surprisingly good at hiding behind a happy-go-lucky smile and carry the hurt and insecurity caused by prejudice in his heart. Those deeper feelings occasionally burst out when his guard lowers.

Again, this is just an overall vibe I’ve gotten from JY’s character. But I’ve always felt like he’s processing the whole thing of being in love with someone of the same sex on a deeper level than the others. I feel like his feelings for ZZX are connected to his identity more explicitly and him coming to discover himself sexually in the same way that real-life people would.

Compared to the three other boys, I think ZZX has always been a solid straight to me. I think before JY’s confession he identified as a heterosexual. He just was the kind of teenage boy who found girls and crushes too troublesome and annoying (ch. 51, 52, 102):

I doubt the idea of being in a relationship with another guy had really popped into his mind as an option. JY’s confession and feelings for him as a guy came as a big shock to him. Their first kiss seemed to tumble everything down in ZZX’s head and force him to figure everything - JY, himself, and his relationship with JY - from the beginning (ch. 151, 152, 165):

I believe a lot of it was rebuilt the same way but there were definitely changes and also room for future changes. A lot of the feelings ZZX already had for JY - protectiveness, affection, deep sense of bond - could also be applied to a romantic relationship. I believe they’re also the building blocks that ZZX as a character would want to cherish in his romantic relationship. All ZZX needed to do was to shift his point of view a little when it came to JY and see how he felt about it.

As big of a mental turmoil as I’m sure ZZX went through, I think it’s safe for us to assume what his resolve was. I might be too generous with my interpretation but this moment made Zhanyi canon in my head (ch. 209):

ZZX didn’t exactly return JY’s feelings in the same sense but he accepted them. He might not be ready to give all the things JY wants yet but he made a promise that JY will have a future with him. JY won’t have to feel insecure because ZZX will always be beside him. He just needs more time, and JY has to be patient.

But I suppose that once again the question of ZZX’s current orientation remains. And I don’t have a solid answer this time, either. I still read him mostly as a heterosexual, though. Just like MGS, I can’t really see ZZX in a relationship with another guy besides JY. However, I think that ZZX is also the type of character who puts more emphasis on the bond of the relationship rather than his partner’s gender. But...still, I imagine it would be quite a hump for him to discover that he could have feelings for guys in general, too.

“in this kind of comic is usually characters are just in love with someone but no anyone else”

This is very true and also partly why saying anything one way or another is quite difficult. In the story, the characters are in love with one other person, but you can’t make assumptions or conclusions based on just that. Just because you’re in a same-sex relationship doesn’t mean you’re a homosexual. Whenever I wonder about the orientations in 19 Days, I try to keep this in mind but I also feel like the vagueness allows readers to make multiple interpretations. I get certain vibes that point me in certain directions but I completely understand if others end up with other kinds of readings.

However, this kind of “he’s only gay for him” is also something I’ve seen BL been criticized for. It makes it look like men being attracted to other men isn’t a real thing but rather something that happens under special circumstances. Personally, I don’t have a major problem with that - it is what it is, I suppose - but I can see why that would bother people in BL. Do I wish some characters (for example, JY) would come out as LGBT at some point in the story (if you don’t think he already has)? Sure, I’d be interested in seeing that. And I think it would be a natural development for his character. Do I think that’s going to happen? I’m somehow doubtful, not at least in so many words. But that doesn’t really mean the comic can’t tell a story about discovering oneself, as we’ve already come to see.

Thank you for your question, dear anon-san!

[writingforyourpleasure]

ON THE ROAD AGAIN

Characters: GERARD WAY x Reader 

 Link to chapter four :   https://writingforyourpleasure.tumblr.com/post/616411340391759872/on-the-road-again

Warnings : None 

 Author’s note: Hello ! Hope you’re all doing okay during those strange times ? Sorry for not posting but I had my en-of-the-year exam, but it’s now done and , I only got a few homework to hand-over now and my second year in college’ll be done !Here you go thank you to keep reading .

5.      “ Pun-master “

  You woke up, feeling something or someone moving in front of you . You started to groan at the uncomfortable feeling not wanting to get up just yet.

“And what owe me the pleasure to be assisted by your presence tonight sir Way?” You said while looking for plates.

The mass finally moved away , listening to your complains .

You woke up what felt just five minutes later but probably was in reality hours after it. Your eyes fluttered slowly as if they were disconnected from your brain. A light shine from the outside was peeking through your tinted window as soon as you truly started to wake up , you realized that Gerard wasn’t here anymore.

“Right…” You breathed out to yourself. Honestly you didn’t want to wake up. You were scared , scared of overthinking this , and because of that you actually was overthinking it . Your brain wasn’t playing on your favor . You didn’t knew how you were gonna survive today. The worst was, you didn’t knew how to act with Gerard , what happened yesterday night wasn’t that big of a deal, really , but again ; you were overthinking it . You just wanted to act normal with him , and was prying your brain to not let you down once you’ll see him. You felt so stupid for having a crush on one of your coworker and friends. You got up and hoped for the best.

You got out of your nest , only to find that you were alone in the bus and that you already had arrived into the next parking’s venue . You went directly to the kitchenette and groaned realized that you guys were short on coffee. You finally resigned yourself and went for the shower.

You got out of the bus a dozen of minutes later to find the parking lot empty except for the security that was already keeping everything on check. You checked your phone to see that it was 3pm . You had enough time, to get yourself a coffee somewhere and not stressing about when to comeback since you didn’t had to repeat with Dex or anything. You put back in your , old black Green Day’s hoodie, pocket your phone . You’ve dressed yourself as unfashionable as it is socially allowed , your laziness was clearly reflecting itself through most of your actions today. You put your headphones on , listening to the last Fever 333’s album and searched on google maps for the nearest Starbucks, once again a reflect of your laziness you figured.

You arrived to the welcoming smell of dirty beans being ground and hot milk.

Once you got your order you looked around for a seat since the place was pretty full, luckily you got one in front of the glass and on both sides what appeared to be two couples . Great. You hope that you’ll be lucky and won’t have to witness the same amount of smooshing in both of them. The teenage one , on your right , were the ones all over each other, with the boy groping at every part accessible of his what-you-presumed-to-be his girlfriend. The one on your left were two men in suits holding each other hands while talking , you sat facing the widow and the other empty seat. You got out of your backpack your sketch book and a pencil starting to draw people passing by while music took you in other world. A tap on your shoulder took you of guard , you got off your headphones .

“Yes ?” you turned around your head to see who was trying to get your attention.

“Hey, is this seat taken ?” Dex was smiling down at you with a big smile.

You said nothing instead kicking the seat in front of you, back to the glass for them to seat.

“I feel like it’s been a while since we talked .” Dex said sitting and looking expectantly at you.

“What are you talking ‘bout we talked just yesterday.” You said not looking up from your sketch book.

“Don’t play dumb y/n , you know what I mean. Like just the two of us ?” Dex sighed , seeing that you decided to not play cooperative . This time you did look up to your friend with a blank expression . Watching their eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It’s true , lately you tried to somewhat distance yourself since you were trying to figure out what the hell was happening with Gerard and you knew that being close to Dex would not help one second . Your friend knew how to read you even when you tried to hide something as well as you could. You had thinked that if Dex was about to ask questions it would make it weird since you were all working together . If you fucked up at any moments , you’ll have nowhere to hide and sometimes it can be a great deal of pain . But apparently you didn’t succeed not to make it awkward since your friend was not so happy that you act a little colder than usual . You were already fucking cold to any strangers , so to be cold to them was shitty. You sighed and run a hand through your now greasy hair . You needed to take a shower quickly , maybe it could wait after the show .

“Hey earth to y/n, hellooo?”

“Huh yeah sorry I was gone for a few…”

“Yeah no shit .”

“Sorry… like for all of it it’s true I’ve been kinda avoiding you guys.”

“Meh it happens , I mean it’s okay we all got our own problems.”

Dex tried to stay warm inside of the Starbucks but you could sense that being against a cold ass window wasn’t helped them to get the warmth that provided the Starbucks.

“I’m so cold….” They whispered as they took a gulp from their drink.

“Well….then stand in a corner .” You replied taking a large gulp of your hot drink too.

“What-Why ?”

“Think..”

“No….. please tell me it’s not because of what I think dude.”

“Coz’ corners are 90 degrees.” You said with a smug smile.

“Ho god …. Ok you know what maybe it’s for the best to be socially distant haha. It is so bad please do not do that again?”

“You’re asking way to much to the pun master .”

“More like the master of fucking nothing y’mean .”

“What did you said peasant , I think I didn’t quite hear that ?”

“Ho nothing .” said your friend smiling like a fool.

“Y/N I’m still fucking cold !” Said your friend trying to warm themselves up by rubbing strongly their arms.

“And how is that my problem , my dear?”

“Someday I really am going to kill you , y’know?” Told Dex between their teeth, with a little grunt along the way.  

“Y/N , Can I borrow your scarf? I’m seriously freezing. ”

“Well I can’t turn into a heater for you now can I? So do you want me to set you on fire? Because, I mean it’s still an option? Like I have my lighter right here so….?” You joked while giving them your scarf.

They gave you a warning glance as if they believed you . Then on a very exasperate note they sighed and said :

“Why are you like this?”              

You both laughed at that getting some curious looks from other clients. Once both of calmed down you try to get serious talking about the elephant in the room .

“Hey , can I ask your advice on something?”

“Absolutely , but I only advise communication, homosexuality, or murder.” Answered your friend earning a smug know-it-all smile out of you.

You were about to start to get off of your chest the whole “Hey I think I may or may not like the lead singer of the band for which we’re working for.” They cut you off.

“WAIT!”

“Yeah ?”

“Are you absolutely positive this isn’t dangerous or something?” They looked very serious about this , which had the reflex to make you roll your eyes deep inside your skull.

“I’m 95% sure, but yeah, I’ve failed fourth grade math so…” You decided to answer her stupid question with a stupid answer.

“Ho okay then we’re good I failed second grade! So just before we start , how long will this take ? I got to pick up my dog at the salon. «You both laughed at that. «No but like seriously we’ll have to go back to the bus eventually . Maybe tell me along the way back?”

“Alright , alright” You both got up from your seats and finally got out of the Starbucks.

“So huh, you remember when we got the 1 week break , alright?”

“Right. “

“Well huh, me and Gerard started talking by text pretty often during this time.”

“Ho. Did you now ?” They said waving their eyebrows in a suggestive way.

“No not like that calm down, you demon fuck .”

“Always a pleasure to fill my responsibilities.”

“You weirdo….” You whispered under your breath.

“Ho do not act if you aren’t even weirder man ! “

“Anyway, I just , I don’t know . I think, I think I may like him y’know?”

“Well it’s pretty comprehensible , I mean he’s hot .”

“I’m not talking about this you twat!”

“Ho c’mon you can’t say he isn’t !”

“Haha ,He is , I ‘ve sight too I’d let you know. It’s just not the point here .”

“You do? Sorry it’s hard to tell when you dress yourself like that .

“You bitch!” You choked on your drink , coughing violently.

“I’m just kind of dreading to really assuming the whole ‘hey by the way I’m hitting on you’ I don’t want to make it weird during the tour , when we’re not even at the half of it. And I don’t wish for everyone to see that I am hitting on him. I’m not ready.” You explained to Dex , not really wanting to expose everything you and Gerard said or do , foremost because there’s not that much to say

“Maybe not hitting on him is a good call since if you do I’m pretty sure he’s gonna freak out hearing your lame puns.”

“May I recall to you that I’m the pun-master AND the master of pickup lines ?”

“You completely suck at pickup lines, bro.”

“No I don’t !”

“The last time you tried one of you’re pickup lines was on this poor cute girl in Louisiana when you said ‘Are you Google –“

“CUZ YOU’RE EVERYTHING I’M SEARCHING FOR !!!”

“Yeah no wonder it didn’t worked !”

“I’m a genius , you’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

“You wish . So why are you’re feeling attracted to the guy ?”

“Well you see my kink is when people actually care about my feelings and what I have to say. And Since I know him he seems to correspond to this criteria , so I find it pretty attractive and hot since it’s my main kink.”

“Yeah , too unrealistic. Settle for bondage like the rest of us.”

“Where you ever nice Dex ?”

“2012, worst year of my life.” You laughed at what your friend said . “No but more seriously y/n, just let it happen y’know? And when you have the feeling that both of you are having a moment then maybe hit on him but stay subtle y’know?”

“I just want him to take me out…”

“Like, on a date or with a sniper ?”

“He’ll have to surprise me .” You both laughed before changing the subject to the little surprise you’ve both had planned for Max, since he was spending all of his nights and days working on your band , you wanted to do something nice for him. You bought a cookbook a few weeks ago for him as a present for the occasion, he often baked pastries as a distressful way to exhale from work time. Even though the bus condition made it hard to cook anything big it already was a good start. And you bought some bottle of Irish hard cider, since he had said it was the best thing he ever tasted when you all took a vacation to Dex family house there. After getting back to the bus everything went pretty fast , but the talk with Dex about Gerard was still playing in your mind. Ames saw that you were lost in your thoughts most of the time and ask you several times if everything was okay, you tried to act like you didn’t knew what he was talking about and you all moved on with your day . Mikey, Frank , Gerard and Ray were already in your bus when you had come back from your coffee session, and they yelled at you for not texting them and taking them with you. You brushed it off saying that next time you would. Gerard had tried to share looks with you during the day but you were too much caught up into your head to notice.

The show this night was nice and almost too short even if you guys took a ten minutes on My chemical romance planning since you played a special song. Once you were backstage Ames and Billy started their routines taking everything off stage to let place for the boys. To go faster Max offered to help them. It gave you and Dex a chance to run to the bus to prepare your little plan. You took any cushions , pillow and anything fluffy you could find , when you were done the bunks were quite a mess but you didn’t want to think of it since you still had to prepare the hard cider and the cake you brought from the Mark & Spencer’s not having too much time to find anything else. By the time everything was served , you knew that My chem was done with their show too , so you decided to prepare them a part too , you made a point to serve a apple juice instead of the cider for Gerard , not wanting him to feel excluded or anything. Max had been held backstage by Billy and Ames who were your dearest allies as ever.

You installed yourself with every plates and drinks giggling between the two of you alone in the bus to stupid jokes.

A knock made itself hear through the bus and Billy appeared into the kitchenette area before being followed by Ames and Max , who where looking at you with huge smiles spread across their face and a snort from the three of them.

“What the fuck did you do with our beds ?” Asked Max between a laugh.

“Well we did a pillow fort !” Answered Dex.

“Isn’t that a little childish ? “

“Does it means you don’t want to join us ?” You asked Max.

A silence swept through the bus.

“…Move over .” Said Max entering your huge pillow fort and already going for the cake and drink.

“Wait there’s a party and you guys didn’t told us about?! “Said Frank entering your bus.

You handed a plate in his direction , earning a smile from him before he arrived by your side as well as everyone else too.

Frank was on your right while Gerard was on your right and all of you were in a cercle eating and joking about stupid stuff.

“Hey you look better than this morning it’s good to see.” Whispered at your side Gerard offering a sweet smile before readjusting a few locks behind his ear.

“Well It’s because in the end we migrate towards comfort , and I realized that I am most comfortable around you , all of you.” You said returning a bright smile to the man.The night went along before Frank spoke up .

“Guys how are you gonna clean this mess to sleep tonight ?” Painful groans made themselves heard from all of you.

[ateezlust]

Thoughts

Pairing: Choi San/Kang Yeosang

Warnings: smut, internalized oppression, Kang Yeosang has issues and Choi San is an angel

A/N: hi! Tumblr deleted my blog and I’m in tears right now trying to repost my stuff!

———————————•————————————

Yeosang thought he had a pretty good hold on life, thought he had pretty decent and thought that he had his life pretty well in order and figured out

Keyword: thought; past and past-tense participate of think

Every little bit of what Yeosang had previously believed to be true was suddenly crushed, by none other than another man

That was one of Yeosangs first concerns. When he’d first joined ATEEZ (formerly: KQ Fellaz) he was more than ecstatic at all of the adventures that would be presented to him

The one adventure he hadn’t expected had been the one that he had with his sexuality. Yeosang thought he had a pretty good grip on himself. Thought he was straight. He hadn’t had any form of attraction to men since he first turned 13 and became an absolute hornball filled with confusion and hormones that he - of course - repressed and tried to forget about. And now it was back to smack him in the face. Awesome.

He’d been nervous to meet his new bandmates, the people he’d be spending far too much time with and who he’d inevitably grow close to. And they were all really nice. Especially one boy in particular.

This boy was Choi San. And when Yeosang first met him, he was fresh faced and nervous. He had the eyes of a confused doe and the smile of an angel, and when San first shook Yeosangs hand, Yeosang absolutely melted into a puddle

And good god Yeosang had almost been hoping that San would end up a complete asshole and Yeosang would have more reason to repress the bubbling in his stomach and the flutter in his heart, but of course San was one of the nicest people that Yeosang had ever met. Why wouldn’t he be. He’s already the whole package, might as well finish it off with a sparkling bow

Yeosang could hardly meet his eyes in the beginning. He felt so shy and small, despite the fact that they were almost the same height and that San never intentionally tried to make himself seem bigger. In fact, San was more of someone to make himself seem a whole foot shorter than he already was. He had the playful nature of a child and went absolutely bashful whenever you complimented him. He was completely and utterly adorable.

As time passed, months flew by and ATEEZ had debuted. And as ATEEZ grew, so did San. No. Not in height. Yeosang was pretty sure that hadn’t changed since he was 15, but he grew bolder and more confident

And Yeosang loved and envied such confidence, but he despised it all the same. San still had the same smile of an angel, but now he had dance moves and a body specially crafted by the devil himself

And it turned Yeosang on a lot more than he ever expected

Yeosang spent way too long in the shower now after shows, jerking off to the visuals he had retained of San performing on stage.

And of course, that’s what he was doing right now.

Yeosang had his back against the shower wall - his entire body dripping head to toe as he had tried to just clean up and repress his throbbing boner - and beratedly wrapped a hand around his cock

His entire body twitched in his hand and he let what sounded like a sob as he began stroking himself quickly. He tried to think of anyone that wasn’t San. Anyone that wasn’t a man. Tried thinking about boobs. Thought of that girl he dated in high school. But those thoughts just left him on edge. They were fine but they werent enough

He felt tears fall down his face at the feeling of confusion, helplessness, and pure pleasure as his thoughts began to wander, and he couldn’t do a thing about them anymore

His thoughts wandered to San and his perfect body. He thought about San on his knees for him, looking up at Yeosang with those thoughtful and innocent eyes as he awaited Yeosangs cum on his face

He pictured San shoving him against the wall and fucking him until he couldn’t think anymore. God he wanted it so bad.

Yeosang let out another sob as he came. It was unsatisfactory and left Yeosang feeling completely stupid and in distress

He washed his hands off under the water before he knelt down slowly, allowing himself to let out a loud sob and let his tears fall freely

He didn’t know what was wrong with him or why he felt this way about his friend.

Don’t get him wrong, he wasn’t stupid, he knew what homosexuality was. He just never considered that he would question himself, or that he would be so overwhelmed so suddenly by sheer love and attraction towards one of his bandmates

He let out another loud sob - now ugly crying - before knocking over his shampoo and conditioner out of pure anger at himself

And as a knock sounded on the door of his hotel room, he froze.

“Yeosangie? Hyung? Are you in there? Are you okay?” San’s voice sounded from the other end of the door.

Yeosang temporarily wondered how long he’d been in the shower, as San had left with the rest of the band for dinner, and though they were rooming together, Yeosang hadn’t expected him to be back so early

“Yeah I’m fine! Just knocked something over!” Yeosang yelled back in a shaky voice, quickly picking up the bottles and turning off the water

“Are you sure? You sound really upset..and I thought I heard you crying” San said

And Yeosang could hear the sincerity and concern in San’s voice, so desperately wishing that he couldn’t

“I’m okay Sanie, don’t worry about me!” Yeosang said in return, hoping to calm the nerves of the younger while slipping on sweatpants and a far-too-big shirt that Mingi had leant him and he’d never given back

He took his time making sure he looked okay. He wasn’t worried about looking ugly in front of San. He wasn’t worried about him seeing Yeosang without makeup. He just wanted to make sure you couldn’t tell that he’d been crying

As Yeosang gathered himself and slowly putting back together the shards of his broken heart, hoping they would stay together until he could inevitably break it again all on his own

When he decided that he looked okay and didn’t appear to have been crying for the past 20 minutes, he opened the door of the bathroom

As he opened the door, he was met with San still standing in front of it. His eyes were filled with concern and love and Yeosang couldn’t possibly bring himself to look him in the face, he’d definitely break again

“Yeosangie,” San said carefully, coming a bit closer and wrapping his arms around Yeosang

And Yeosang didn’t even have to look in his eyes to collapse again. As San rubbed his back comfortingly, Yeosang’s heart broke into more pieces than it ever had before, and he allowed himself to be held in San’s arms

San held him so tightly and so firmly, one hand rubbing his back while the other carded through his hair as he left the softest possible kisses against Yeosang’s head

Yeosang and San had never been physically close. Emotionally they connected on many levels, but physically they never really cuddled with each other like San would with Yunho or Wooyoung or like Yeosang did with absolutely nobody except his plushie, their friendship just wasn’t really like that, but Yeosang was more than happy to allow San to lead him to his bed, situating them so Yeosang was wrapped around him and his head was rested against San’s chest, listening to the calming and consistent sound of San’s heartbeat

Eventually the clouds in Yeosang’s brain cleared and his tears stopped flowing, and he knew the question was coming

“Yeosangie what happened? What upset you?” San asked in a gentle tone, still holding Yeosang protectively

Yeosang was frozen in place, despite expecting the question. He wasn’t sure what to say, whether he should lie or come clean. Should he say he just had a long day? That he was just tired?

Yeosang crawled out of San’s warm embrace and sat up with his legs crossed next to San. He put his head in his hands yet again and took a deep breath

“Have you ever..” he began, but trailed off, the lump in his throat cutting him off

San sat up next to him and nodded responsively, showing nothing but patience and caring

Yeosang choked back the lump and the tears that threatened him again and inhaled deeply

“Haveyoueverquestionedyoursexuality?” He asked quickly, standing somewhere between hoping San understood the question and praying that he didn’t

“Yeah” San replied thoughtfully, “I’ve questioned my sexuality many times”

“But I mean like..since you were 16? Have you questioned it since after you were 16 and your hormones started to calm down?”

San went silent for a few moments before responding, “no. I haven’t really”

And every nerve ending in Yeosang’s body was on fire and his every brain cell was screaming for him to just run and seek comfort in someone like Hongjoong, who wouldn’t question him and would just comfort him

“But I questioned it every day before that,” San continued

Yeosang cocked his head in confusion and San’s eyes crinkled as a small smile appeared on his face, “I’ve pretty much known I was gay since I was 6. I just stopped questioning it and accepted it instead when I was 16.”

Yeosang’s head flicked up to look at San so fast that he thought he’d gotten whiplash. And now San was the nervous one, reaching over and grabbing Shiber, petting him in comfort. Yeosang calmed himself down quickly and continued speaking

“I’ve been questioning mine for a while,” Yeosang said quietly, “and it’s scaring me”

San nodded, “its a scary thing, especially with the world South Korea lives in”

San and Yeosang sat and talked for a while, Yeosang felt more comfortable discussing his vulnerabilities now that San had admitted to him as well.

“I don’t know if I am or not. I’ve only ever been with girls before, y'know, intimately, so I don’t know how I could know,” Yeosang blushed, looking away and curling in one himself. He could not believe he basically just told San that he’d only had sex with girls before

“Never been with a guy before?” San asked, suddenly looking a bit bold, slightly scaring Yeosang, “you’re missing out”

Yeosang snorted, “oh yeah? What am I missing out on?”

And suddenly there was a mood switch. Everything had gone from nervousness and vulnerability to sexual tension really quickly, though you’d never find Yeosang complaining, despite how strange it may seem

“You want me to tell you?” San said, his voice a little bit huskier and his body moving closer to Yeosangs yet again, his hands running slowly up and down Yeosang’s thighs

“I want you to show me,” Yeosang said, taking a shot in the dark

San bit his lip and his breathing became a bit laboured, “I would love nothing more”

San’s hands ran slowly up Yeosang’s thighs, continuing to his hips and slid all the way to cup Yeosangs face gently before he leaned in close

“Well you see, girls lips are always so soft and sweet, and they’re so easy to comply and to have under you,” San said, his lips almost brushing Yeosangs, “but with guys it’s more of a challenge.”

San leaned in and pressed his lips gently against Yeosangs, allowing Yeosang to become hot and bothered just from the kissing alone. They weren’t even making out yet and Yeosang was already twitching in his arms

“You see,” San said, pulling back, “guys lips are a bit rougher and a bit tougher. You can bite down a bit harder, and they’ll fight back. Making out with a guy is one of the hottest things you can ever do”

“Didn’t i say to show me not tell me?” Yeosang asked, trying to be firm, but sounding more desperate to find San’s lips again

San chuckled in return, a smirk adorning his lips and his eyes darkening considerably, “suit yourself.”

San leaned in and pressed his lips against Yeosangs again, feeling the older boy easily become putty in his hands as their lips and tongues collided messily. The wet sounds of their kissing and the deep, soft groans coming from San’s throat were enough to already have him squirming

San shoved him back against the pillows, lying him down while keeping their lips attached. Yeosangs lips tasted sweeter than San had ever pictured before, and he had pictured this many times

San aligned their hips and began thrusting against him, their cocks rubbing together, but Yeosang seemed so sensitive, his hips bucking harshly with every thrust that San couldn’t help but ask

“Did you jerk off in the shower?”

Yeosang whined against San’s lips and nodded quickly, reconnecting their lips in a short breathed attempt to have San continue grinding against him

“What were you thinking about baby?” San asked

“You. Fuck. You. You haven’t left my mind since I first met you,” Yeosang said, “so fucking beautiful I couldn’t help myself”

“And what did you want me to do baby?” San asked as he kissed Yeosangs birthmark, making his way down to his neck, before sucking harshly in a spot below his ear, knowing how sensitive it would be

“This, fuck, this, please keep moving, wanna feel you please,” Yeosang desperately clutched San’s hips, forcing them to move against him again

“So hard for me huh baby?” San asked, forcing his hips from Yeosangs grip and moving down, lifting up Yeosangs shirt and kissing down his chest and stomach, meeting the small trail of hair just before the elastic of his sweatpants

“Just for you,” Yeosang whined as San gripped onto Yeosangs covered cock, sliding his hand up and down through the clothing and watching Yeosang as he started falling apart far quicker than he thought he would

San pulled down Yeosangs sweatpants to reveal his hard and red cock, absolutely drooling out of the slit at San’s touch

“Fuck you’re hot,” San cursed as he began jerking Yeosang off quickly, using his precum as lube to slick his way up and down, as Yeosang let out absolutely sinful moans and whines, San couldn’t help but to grind himself against the bedsheets, finally finding the friction he craved

“Gonna cum. Fuck. San I’m gonna cum,” Yeosang warned, and right before Yeosang hit his high, San reached down and pressed two fingers firmly against his perineum, causing Yeosang to positively scream as he came.

San so desperately wanted to watch Yeosang as he went through his entire high, but as Yeosang came, so did San, seeing white hot as his cock twitched and released in his pants

It was uncomfortable but so so worth it

Both San and Yeosang came to sooner than later and San got up and retrieved a warm, damp cloth, wiping Yeosang down gently as Yeosang pressed more kisses against his lips and giggled, post orgasm bliss

After San had changed and cleaned them both up, he crawled into bed against Yeosang, he was still half asleep, but watching his every move with adoring eyes

“So, uhm, that was really nice,” Yeosang said shyly, his voice lowering as he asked the question that had been burning a hole through his brain forever, “do you like me?”

San couldn’t help but laughs a bit at that, “no stupid. I kissed you, jerked you off and came in my pants like a teenager because I fucking hate you. Yes of course I like you you goddamn idiot”

And both of them laughed, sharing kisses together before drifting off to sleep peacefully

[lovelylogans]

booyah! (emphasis on the boo)

TOUR GUIDE GARRETT: Now, I'm gonna tell you something a little spooky. The morning of October 25, 1894, Sir Aldridge awoke furious when his breakfast was not waiting for him. So, he called to his servants, but none of them responded. Why? Because, during the night, one by one they had each been stabbed to death in their sleep. It was later discovered that they were murdered by his eldest daughter, Gertrude Aldridge. Sir Aldridge once wrote in his diary, 'I know God makes no mistakes, but I believe he may have been drunk when he built Gertrude's personality.'

-ghostbusters, 2016

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: recreational drinking, mention of homophobia, murder mention, absolute fucking disaster gays, claustrophobia maybe (stuck in a closet while anxious, not specifically because of the closet) 

pairings: logicality, eventual prinxiety

words: 2,244

notes: so, this is for the 13 days of halloween prompt over at @sanderssidescelebrations​! today’s prompt is ghost hunting! i am essentially rewriting a premise i once wrote in an old fic of mine, so. here we go. let’s see how my writing stacks up a couple years apart.

They’re all drunk on shitty wine for one of their intermittent wine-and-whine nights when Virgil brings up his haunted apartment. 

When Virgil says it, Logan heaves a massive sigh from where he’s got his head pillowed on Patton’s lap, where Patton’s playing with his hair—Logan swings between sleepy drunk and ranty, rambly drunk, and he’s landed on sleepy tonight—and grumbles, “Ghosts aren’t real.”

“Now, Logan, let’s hear him out,” Patton says. “Virgil is, after all, one of our best friends in the whole wide world who should be cherished and loved because he is one of the bestest little boys.”

Patton, on the other hand, solidly embodies the whole “cuddly-complimentary-drunk-girl-in-the-bathroom” stereotype.

“Yeah, yeah, I wanna hear this,” Roman says, from where he’s sprawled out on Virgil’s rug, grinning loose and easy, making Virgil’s stomach flip-flop. “You’ve been living here, what, a year, and you’re just now talking about how it’s haunted?”

“I know,” Virgil says, “I know, I know, but—but I basically have proof, this time, all the other stuff seemed, y’know—creaking furniture and things not being exactly where I remember and whispers in the night, that kind of thing.”

“Proof,” Logan sighs, and rolls his eyes. “All right. What proof is there.”

“It locked me in a closet.”

There’s a brief, thoughtful pause.

“So, like, the ghost is homophobic?” Roman says. Patton nearly snorts wine out of his nose as Virgil feels his face heat—well, even warmer than he already is, from the alcohol—and he sets down the novelty Thanos-glove-themed cup of wine with a thunk.

“I mean, probably!” Virgil says heatedly. “If you look at, like, all of historic times—”

“Homophobia was fairly frequent, yes,” Logan says, musingly. “But it’s not as if you’ve particularly shown off homosexual activity in this apartment.”

Roman starts laughing so hard he nearly falls off the couch, and Virgil fights the urge to chuck a pillow at either Logan or Roman.

“You didn’t have to at him like that, L, oh my God,” Roman says, and snorts, giggling still, and Virgil wishes that it didn’t practically melt away all of Virgil’s irritation at him—it does heighten the embarrassment, though, because he’s been single because he’s been hopelessly pining over Roman. 

Logan glances up at Patton, confused, and Patton explains, “It kind of sounded like you were saying there wasn’t much reason for a haunting because Virgil’s been single for so long, honeybear.”

“Thanks,” Virgil grumbles. “All of you, great, thanks so much, I’m painfully single, we get it, can we get back to the ghost that’s bullying me into going back into the closet and managed to trap me there for two hours—”

“Two hours?!” Roman exclaims. “You were stuck for two hours and you didn’t, like, slam your body into it until it flew off its hinges or something?!”

“I tried, but it wouldn’t budge,” Virgil says. “It swung open again after I, like, learned my lesson, or whatever, and then I spent all of last night not able to sleep and with all the lights on and now I’m wondering if I’m going crazy.”

“So that’s why you called for a wine-and-whine night,” Patton says, which is mostly true. He’d been planning on calling one because he’s going grocery shopping sometime this week and he wanted to clear out the remaining dregs of his bottles of three-dollar wine now before he goes and gets new, unopened bottles, but it’s been rushed up the line because Virgil’s hands won’t stop shaking and he can’t really look too closely at the closet that he’s got propped open through all the means he could think of, and sage burned, and he’d been researching the paranormal all day, which made him even more anxious. So he just says—

“Yeah,” Virgil says. “Just in case something else happens.”

And nothing else does—well, Logan falls asleep pretty quickly after that, and Patton goes on a tooth-rottingly sweet ramble about how much he loves them all and how much better his life has been since they all came into it and how he thinks Logan is The One for him and he’s so grateful they’ve all been with him on this life journey, and Roman wraps an arm around Virgil’s shoulders and leans his cheek against Virgil’s hair and lets out this soft, content sigh that makes Virgil kind of absurdly happy—but ghost-wise, nothing happens.

At least, not until a couple weeks later.

They’re all at Virgil’s apartment again—this time, they’re all doing separate work time, Patton settled under Logan’s arm as Logan read a book and as Patton flipped through a notecard set, and Roman with a script strewn about the floor, Virgil taking notes on a reading he has to do—when there’s a loud noise. Virgil freezes.

There’s another noise—like someone slamming their fists against the floor. Like someone trapped underneath, trying to get out.

Roman glances up from his script. “What was that?”

“Gertrude,” Virgil says through a dry mouth.

“Gertrude?” Patton says, curious.

“The ghost.”

Logan scoffs.

“It’s not funny, Logan, I’m being serious,” Virgil says, and decides fuck it and then digs out his printed-off pages of research. “There used to be a manor here and this lady named Gertrude Aldridge apparently killed all the family’s servants and then her dad locked her in the basement to spare the family public humiliation and she died down there, so—“

Roman makes an interested noise, reaching for the folder, and Virgil hands it over. Roman’s a big fan of true crime and ghost stories and also Buzzfeed Unsolved, so he really probably should have roped Roman into this earlier. Also, ghost research wasn’t even the most pathetic excuse he’d tried to use in order to spend time with Roman alone, he really should have used it.

“So you think Gertrude,” Logan says, voice dripping with disdain, “is going to... kill you.”

“Well, now I am.”

Logan heaves a massive sigh, and sets aside his book. “Look, Virgil, I can understand that you are anxious, and I can understand the popular narrative of ghost stories offering a simple explanation for various noises and occurrences, though there are dozens more logical explanations for—”

He’s cut off by a distant, feminine howl of outrage.

Logan pauses, before he says, “Your neighbor.”

Logan’s book then proceeds to pick itself up and throw itself from his hands.

Logan looks on the verge of saying still not a ghost, but Roman howls “holy SHIT!” before he can, nearly falling backward off the couch in his quest to scramble away, grabbing Virgil’s hand and tugging him back before planting himself in front of him, arms spread wide, like he’s guarding Virgil, like he’s shielding him, and if Virgil wasn’t so scared shitless right now he’d think it was noble or sweet or something, but as it is, Virgil’s legs are trembling underneath him and he distantly, hysterically, imagines himself swooning into Roman’s arms like some kind of southern belle.

And then the floor starts rumbling, and then Roman grabs Virgil’s hand, and Patton yelps, and Logan grabs Patton—Logan shoves Patton down and rolls underneath Virgil’s dinner table—and Roman hauls Virgil closer to his bedroom, and before Virgil can say wait, don’t—

—the door swung shut behind them, and, in the dark, Roman said, “Ah.”

“We’re trapped,” Virgil said. “In my closet. Again.”

“Well,” Roman said, breath a warm puff against Virgil’s neck, “It’s my first time being trapped in your closet.”

Virgil giggles, a bit hysterical because the fucking ghost started shaking his whole apartment, and Roman huffs out a laugh, and Virgil can feel the hot air on his neck, and wow that sure was a strange mix of emotions, adrenaline and fear and a hint of embarrassment at being so close that he can feel Roman’s fucking breath on his neck and a twinge of heat deep in his stomach.

“So,” Roman said, and swallowed audibly. “Should I try slamming against the door?”

Virgil shuffled aside as much as he could, stepping on a pile of what’s probably dirty laundry and trying not to trip directly into Roman as he wobbled for balance. “Sure.”

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

That repeated a few times, before there was a voice outside the room. “Roman? Virgil?”

“Hey, Logan,” Virgil called, trying not to wince.

“Your closet again?!” Logan said, exasperated.

“It’s not like we chose this, Ego-ist Spengler!” Roman snapped. 

There’s the sound of someone trying the handle, then someone more enthusiastically trying the handle, then a huff.

“It’s stuck.”

“Yeah, Logan, we know,” Virgil said. 

“Is that them?” Patton’s voice sounded.

“Yeah, it’s us,” Roman said.

“I think I’m going to go find some kind of toolkit,” Logan said decisively. “Virgil, do you have one?”

“One, a toolkit won’t work against a ghost, two, no, what do I look like, Bob the Builder?” Virgil snapped, and Roman snorted—he must have been equally pressed against the other wall of the closet, so that they’re as far apart as they can be.

Logan sighed, irritated, and said, “Well, you should have one. Do either of you have your phones?”

“I’ve got mine,” Roman said.

“Fine. Virgil, where are your keys?”

“You’re leaving?!” Virgil demanded.

“Yes, to procure the tools necessary to free you,” Logan said. 

“At this point, you should maybe take the door off the hinges, kiddo,” Patton suggested.

“That won’t work against a—! You know what, fine, yeah, go, my keys are on the kitchen table.”

“Patton and I will be back shortly,” Logan announced. “I’ll ask your neighbors first and if we have to visit a store, I’ll text.” 

There’s the sound of footsteps, and the even more distant sound of Virgil’s front door closing.

There’s a long pause.

“Well,” Roman said. “We’re stuck here because of your homophobic ghost.”

“Gertrude. Yeah.”

Virgil tried to take in an even, good breath. 

“Hey, you okay?” Roman asked, all soft and concerned, and Virgil’s breath hitched as Roman’s hand gently closed around his wrist, fingers grazing delicately along the veins there, the soft skin above them, the tendons standing out stark, and if Virgil’s heart started racing a little faster, well. Roman wouldn’t be able to tell why.

“Fine, mostly,” Virgil said, a little strangled. “Just—y’know. Ghost in my apartment. Even stronger than I thought it was. And now I’m trapped in a closet” with you, my unrequited maybe-love but I haven’t even gotten close to unparsing those feelings and I’m freaking out about enough right now “with no way to really get out, so. I’m just peachy.”

“Right, yeah,” Roman said, still soft, almost uncharacteristically so. “D’you want me to count, or—?”

“Just—“ Virgil said, and swallowed. “Distract me?”

And then Roman does something entirely unexpected.

Roman’s hand slid to cup his cheek, his hand sure and warm, and then he leaned in and pressed his lips against Virgil’s. Virgil’s mouth parted in surprise, and his eyes went wide, but he couldn’t see in this stupidly dark closet, the strip of light from the door only enough to dully illuminate the gold stripes running down Roman’s jacket sleeve. Roman kissed him harder and it felt like finally, finally, and Virgil was grateful now for only that little strip of light as they parted because he was sure he was gaping like an idiot.

“Like that?”

“I,” Virgil said, fumbling, “I—”

“I’ve liked you,” Roman said, stubborn and a little shaky, just around the edges. “I’ve really liked you, for a really long time, and I think you—I think you maybe like me too, or at least I hope you do, and if you don’t this is so embarrassing and I’m gonna spontaneously combust and also never talk to you again just to save you from the—”

Roman couldn’t say anything more, though, because Virgil’s fumblingly grabbed at the lapels of Roman’s jackets and hauled him close, and just like that the kiss went from finally to scorching, Roman biting hard at his lip and Virgil letting out a startled, gasping, embarrassing noise at the sensation of it.

“Fuck that homophobic ghost,” Roman growled. “I’ll show her—”

“Roman, shut up,” Virgil said, sounding closer to a wheeze than anything, and then Roman did shut up, quite tidily and for quite a while, until—

There’s the sound of Virgil’s front door opening, and Virgil pulled back from Roman, who made an incredibly ego-boosting noise when he did, and he attempted to quickly finger-comb his hair into some semblance of array.

Logan’s voice rang out, “One of your neighbors had a toolbox, so we were able to borrow it from them for a bit, if you’ll just—”

“Yeah, yeah, uh, sure,” Virgil called, avoiding the gruffness to his voice as he heard Roman similarly, hastily, making sure that he’s in order, and then the door swings open.

“There we—“

Logan fell silent. Virgil cleared his throat, tugging at his hoodie, making sure it covers any part of his neck that Roman had touched, or kissed, or bit. Logan and Patton looked between them.

“You know, when someone experiences physiological responses related to fear,” Logan said, sounding absolutely exhausted, “people often mislabel those responses, it’s called misattribution of arousal—”

Virgil, cheeks burning, leaned down to grab a t-shirt at random, balling it up and hurling it at Logan.

“It’s not just,” Virgil began heatedly, but then he saw Patton beaming, all gleeful and delighted, and talking about arousal in front of Patton is a bit like talking about arousal in church or something equally awkward and slightly taboo.

“You two,” Patton said, “you two—”

“Yeah, we—yeah,” Roman said, and looked to Virgil. “I mean, we—we are. Yeah?”

“—yeah,” Virgil said, and couldn’t stop his grin. “Yeah.”

“How romantic,” Logan said dryly.

Identically, Roman and Virgil reach out and shove at Logan’s shoulder.

[e-m-p-error]

{{ Crimson with Good Fellas. }}

put a film in my ask

[ Crimson ]

"Is that another human movie I need to see?"

never seen | want to see | terrible | boring | okay | good | great | a favorite

[yshai-tia]

LFRP: Y’shai Tia ☀️🌙

LFRP – Y’shai Tia (Crystal, Balmung)

The Basics ––– –

Age: 27

Birthday: 28th day of the 1st Umbral Moon

Race: Miqo’te, Seeker/Keeper mutt.

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Homosexual

Physical Appearance ––––

Hair: Black as pitch, feathery cut with oft adornments of small braids tied off with beads, a style from his young Tribal years that he continues to maintain to this day. Lazy days will have the braids undone and free flying.

Eyes: Blue on the left, green on the right. Pupils a touch wider than the average Seeker's though it's hardly noticeable at a distance.

Height: 5 fulms, 9 ilms. (5'9")

Build:  Built and toned, compacted muscle that's common among his race. Broad shoulders and noticeably sculpted arms and thighs. Much like their totem, Miqo'te of the Y tend to build strong physiques through years of swimming and tree climbing that mark their hunting ways.

Distinguishing Marks: A scar of his jawline, dark coloured traditional tribal tattoo on his nose. His torso is covered in angry scars that healed poorly, along with distinct lightning scarring (lichtenberg scars) up along his arms and various spots of healed burns on his hands and fingers. However he's rarely seen in revealing dress so these are usually covered up.

Common Accessories: Gloves, more often that not fingerless. Silver hoops in his ears. When in casual, work dress; a toolbelt around his waist adorned with various pouches, holds a number of things; pliers, flint stones, needle and threads, at least one marginally clean rag, magnifying glasses, gil pouch, adhesive, a balm or two for soothing burns, just to name a few. When dressed for fieldwork rarely is he seen not sporting a pair of scarlet goggles.

Personal ––––

Profession:  Hunter, tradesman, jack of all trades for hire. Not exactly picky with the work he picks up as long as it pays and isn't abhorrently morally askew. Naturally he'll jump at any chance to work with tech, however. Most of the gil he pockets comes from repair and commission work.

Skills: Former huntsman of the Y turned engineer, skills lie in archery, tracking, marksmanship and machina work. Things he would consider more hobbies than skills of his own are botany, fishing, swimming, weaving, leatherworking, carpentry and cooking, as these were basic skills taught to all tribespeople of the Y.

Languages:  Eorzean Common, Huntspeak.

Residence: Previously the Raincatcher Gully in Eastern La Noscea, currently frequenting various inn rooms depending on where he last picked up a job. Most often spotted in Gridania and Ishgard.

Birthplace: Raincatcher Gully.

Religion:  Though not as fervently as when he was at home, he still personally follows the teachings of Azeyma. He has a desire to learn the teachings of Menphina as well.

Patron Deity: Azeyma the Warden, Goddess of Inquiry.

Fears: Tight, closed-off spaces, caves deep underground, cages, etc. Freezing to death. Being bound and imprisoned.

Relationships ––––

Children: None.

Parents: Y'sharai Vanoh, high priestess of the Y (Mother, Status unknown), unknown Keeper (Father)

Siblings: He considers those he grew up with around his age group as his siblings regardless of blood relation

Other Relatives: In reality, blood relations matter little and, though he left, he still considers all of the Y of the tribe he grew up with his family. However strained.

Pets: Not that he would consider him a pet in those exact words, but his Chocobo, Omelette. Don't ask about the name, or do if you fancy seeing Y'shai embarrassed.

Traits ––––

* Bold your character’s answer.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized (in a chaotic way he can make sense of)

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious /  In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader /  In Between / Follower

Empathetic /  In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Additional information ––––

Smoking Habit: Never / Sometimes / Frequently / To Excess Drugs: Never / Sometimes / Frequently / To Excess Alcohol: Never / Sometimes / Frequently / To Excess

RP Hooks ––––

★ I Can Fix That: A freelance tradesman and borderline obsessive tinkerer, Y'shai is pretty handy when it comes to most styles of craft. Clothes need mending? Chronometer on the fritz? Aetherotransformer not converting properly? Did a Big Bad blow a hole in your armor? He might be able to solve your problem for you-- for a fair price of course, guy’s gotta eat after all. Though it's said that if he's brought an interesting piece of tech his curiousity will override and he'll eagerly look at it for free. ★ Custom Built: Along with repairs Y'shai also offers a modification service on the side-- mostly for firearms, though more mechanically built bows also fall under his expertise. Looking to add a scope? Or alter the chambers so you can utilize different sorts of elemental-aspected ammunition? Or maybe you're just looking to get some fancy engraving work done. If you're looking to treat yourself and your six shooter, look no further. ★ Skysteel Frequenter: With his recent apprenticeship at Skysteel Manufactory he's currently seen in the workshop quite a bit. If you happen to also be in and out of there on a nigh daily basis chances are you've seen him around. Whether it's a mutual love for the marksman life or to geek out together over tech, there can be common ground to be struck here. ★ Putting the Cat in Catburglar: Though he doesn't exactly make it common, public knowledge, when Y'shai needs to replenish his sources of Garlean tech he'll wait until night falls and raids the nearest Castrum for parts. And to cause a general ruckus. Do you hate the empire? Do you have an interest their magitech? Love storming their bases just for the hell of it? It'd be a lot easier to carry out more parts with more hands on deck after all... ★ Ehcatl Nine Blackguard: It's not uncommon to find Y'shai around the Twelveswood, originally he sought out Gridania for multiple reasons; to improve on his archery, to learn of Keeper culture, to visit the woods his mother once spoke of so fondly. But it was among the beastribe of Ixal known as the Ehcatl Nine where his, at the time, novice experience as a craftsman was free to take wing. Literally. Though it's been some moons since he finished contributing to the development of the Dezul Qualan airship, he still enjoys visiting from time to time to see how they're coming along. He feels permanently indebted to Sezul and his crew. ★ Moon Gazing: Though not all too open about his heritage, Y'shai does have a secret desire to learn more of Keeper culture and the teachings of Menphina. Part of him feels he shouldn't care, not as if his Pops was ever a part of his life-- but on the other hand it's clearly something his mother knew of and loved enough to stay distant from home from some time. Are you a tribal Keeper? A priest/priestess of Menphina? Don't mind inelegantly asked questions? Apologies in advance. ★ Jaguar of the Rainforest: Fellow members of the Y who grew up in the Raincatcher sept would know Y'shai as family or former family considering their stance on his departure. And, though very rare, there is always a chance outsiders have happened upon the Y settlement in the past and met Y'shai long before he became who he is today. (this would take some pre-plotting together!)

★ Restoring the Firmament: Working out of Ishgard via the Manufactory means Y’shai is in prime, and eager, position to devote a good portion of his time to the recently begun restoration of the Firmament district. Are you also dedicated to seeing Ishgard flourish once more? Crafter and/or gatherer of no small renown? Maybe you’re just into watching from the sidelines and admiring the very nice view of all the hard-working men and women doing heavy lifting.

What I’m looking for ––––

Just about anything and everything in between. Friends, enemies, rivals, someone you have to work with that you can’t tolerate but secretly admire (and oh no they’re kinda hot?), a complete stranger to get drunk with under the stars and discuss the intricacies of life and why apkallu omelettes are superior to dodo omelettes-- c’mon dude they are way fluffier! I love light-hearted slice of life moments, intense, high-stakes action scenes and espionage, meaningful angst and scenes rife with emotion, falling into the dark underbelly of Eorzea and learning what grey morality really is. Chances are if you think it sounds dope and worth exploring so do I! I love writing for the sake of writing and if you feel similarly we’ll probably click.

The ultimate dream is fulfilling my favourite trope of a Found Family, but ‘course something like that would take dedication! 

OOC info ––––

18+, Canadian, EST. Here to have a good time.

I have discord and all that jazz so if you want a snappier way to communicate just lemme know. I like to think I’m pretty laid-back in all regards and not too much can ruffle my feathers, so don’t be scared to hit me up, world is your oyster! yeehaw

my boy also has a carrd, you’ll find everything here on there but with Extra Lore™! 

[dustinchris]

dude im starting to foam at the mouth at tmr. whats ur characterisation of the mains i need to hear the tea

when i first read this i was like MY characterization? but eye didn’t do anything.. and then realized james dashner and whoever wrote the screenplays didn’t really do anything either so.

i feel like (much like Avatar, 2009, Oh, Wouldn’t You Know) tmr focuses more on building a world than building its characters, now i don’t really mind this as i happen to be a fan of Places and Things, but i AM annoyed bc memorable characters = relevancy and thats a setback for what i’m trying to do here

i’m literally not even saying the characters are bad i like them but they needed rebranding. if thomas had some sort of unique physical distinction synonymous with who he is and his backstory, destiny, and legacy maybe we’d have a maze runner theme park at universal studios rn you know.

ok ok but the funny thing abt tmr is it’s basically a teenage boy hivemind..... the only thing they CAN think about most of the time is how to not die, they don’t seem to individually represent anything, and they all have their fucking minds wiped so there’s nothing about their past to shape them or motivate them or anything like that.. in this post apocalyptic hellscape the core goals of the heroes AND the villains are just going to be about survival and while that’s not uninteresting, none of that makes it easy to create distinctive characters. ahdjdkkd sorry i’ll stop myself and talk more about that later and now i will actually try to chat abt the tmr characters !!

okay so i mentioned none of them having backstory which is a lie because THOMAS, hello, actually has a backstory, and it is completely wasted on him which is so funny to me. like he’s a very in-the-now person who willfully ignores the fact that he has a past and honestly that doesn’t matter bc it barely affects his current reality at all besides people from WCKD already knowing who he is. like i strongly think if thomas was just some random he would still do everything the same and everyone would still be trying to kill him. thomas (alright besides his magic blood i’ll give you that) is not actually special but it’s like HE is the only one who knows that. everyone’s like why is thomas so special why is thomas different, but i think (again, besides the blood) he’s genuinely not, he’s literally just stupid. it’s implied maybe he used to be really smart but that obviously didn’t work out for him because now he’s just a newborn calf who’s dumb and brave and impulsive and it WORKS !!!! he’s naturally very curious, which is why he’s a good protagonist for exploring our fun settings and (more importantly) another reason why it’s SO funny he does not care to know about his old life . and thomas is a circumstantial leader. i think most YA protags in things like this don’t want to be the leader but are good at it once they try and usually NEED to be the leader for whatever reason. thomas leads when it makes sense for him to lead, like when they need to take immediate action or someone needs to yell “RUN!!!!” otherwise the leadership role goes to someone who is capable like alby or minho or newt or if they’re lucky enough to find literally any grown up who isn’t evil it’ll go to them. i think it’s nice that thomas pushes when something’s important to him but otherwise is fine with whatever he’s given. if one were to use cats 2019 terms i would say most of the time thomas is victoria if she was the jellicle choice but he’s jennyanydots when he’s alone (he sits and sits and sits and sits)

i think it’s significant TERESA was the only one who got her memories back and in the movies she doesn’t really become a person until she finds her purpose from those memories and her former self’s morals. thomas was like “yeah there’s no way i’m fucking with WCKD again because they suck. they put me and my friends in a killer maze. i ain’t reading all those memories. i’m happy for me tho. or sorry that happened.” but teresa needed to know and needed to justify her choices. if thomas doesn’t think he’s different, teresa definitely thinks she is! and she is unique, once she gets her memories she’s SMART AGAIN she’s a teen scientist wunderkind which i will never stop thinking about like how does she really feel about thomas who she KNOWS has lost all intelligence on PURPOSE and is on the right side of history because of it. what teresa did wasn’t even that bad i guess she had noble intentions but she betrayed the boys and that is not on. teresa is what always sunny would call “the useless chick” for most of the time in this fun little series but her shining moment is when she entered the maze and was like IMMA START THROWING ROCKS AT ANYONE WHO IS NOT DYLAN O’BRIEN (a very accurate and impressive representation of a teenage girl). and can i mention the dynamic between thomas and teresa would be a lot more interesting if they were twins. it’s the drama of the last of your family making a decision completely opposite your own instead of some random coworker you have no real chemistry with

BRENDA is just like Cool Action Girl i have no thoughts on her but i don’t dislike her. i don’t think we like ever see her interact with the whole maze group but they’d all be scared of her because she’s not fucking around and i think she would be mean if needed. she’ll fit in

this is the part of the tumblr post where i get to the best characters but have nothing to say about them 😔

MINHO is too cool for this series. i’m confident every single one of these teens is in love with him and he knows none of them are good enough. in cats terms he’s munkustrap because without him everything would be a mess but he’s got the range for the rum tum tugger. minho is the one who says “guys why don’t we just say fuck like normal people” after a week of everyone saying stuff like “shuckface” to which gally or any other rule abiding freak is like okay that’s IT time out. get on top of the fridge. and he screams THIS MAZE IS A FUCKING NIGHTMARE

newt :-) NEWT is mr mistoffelees in cats 1998 (NOT 2019) because he’s gay, he has the panache of a cat twirling around in a light up jacket shooting lightning out of his paws, and he’s saying things like “the rum tum tugger is a terrible whore” to RTT’s face and getting away with it. i love when he asks thomas if he still likes teresa and gets in his face about it and screams like what was that even about that was homosexual activity. i really love newt.... like can i talk about his fashion choices again the scarf and fingerless gloves in scorch trials even tho it’s a thousand degrees he looks good. and the shearling jacket in the death cure literally STYLIN... it’s very important that newt is the only british person in this whole thing i think. what’s up with that. i love it. he’s the most likely to think “wow this glade thing is kinda like love island” but the least likely to say those words out loud

[ask-nightmare-ler]

Nightmare Ler's backstory

*Canon*

Mary, this was her name. She was a pretty girl, around 20 years old, long brown hair and... She was a werewolf. It wasn't her fault, a wolf bit her shoulder. Everyone in the herd had become a werewolf. None of them was born this way, neither the Alpha.

One night, Mary decided to go in a café. There she met Mark, and they fell in love.

A few months passed, Mary was at Mark's house. That night there was a full moon.

When Mark discovered that Mary was a werewolf he abandoned her, but she was pregnant.

She tried it explain everything to the herd but the Alpha just beat her.

Finally, after 9 months, he was born. There was a full moon, so the boy was born in his wolf form.

"How do you want to call your son Mary?"

"Nightmare Ler. His name will be Nightmare Ler. "

He grew up in the forest, not able to see the human world. The Alpha hated him. Everyone in the herd hated him.

"He's dangerous. His father is a human. His mother ruined the herd. " these were Alpha's words.

Night's only light was his mother. But then something happened.

Night was only 8 at that time. He was hunting with his mother until a man approached her. Night was hiding in the bushes.

"Mark! Oh my dear, you came to see your family, right?"

"No Mary. I came here to do what I had to do years ago. " he said taking out a rifle.

"Mark please. Think I our son!"

"HE IS YOUR SON! NOT MINE! I'M NOT FATHER OF A MONSTER!"

*bang*

A shoot on the head. Mary was dead. She died in front of her son's eyes.

"NO! MOMMY!" Night came out of the hiding. He went near the mother's dead body crying.

"WHY DID YOU DO THAT? WHY DID YOU HAVE TO KILL HER?! YOU'RE A MONSTER! A MONSTER! "

"Trust me little one. You are the monster here. "

From then, he was alone. He was scared. No one wanted him.

"Alpha! Alpha! "

"What do you want?"

"There's a storm... Can I sleep with you? "

"BE A MAN!!!" He said punching him.

"S-Sorry A-Alpha...."

When he became 16, he also became the best hunter in the herd. But he was also a rebel, everything the Alpha said it was wrong Night did it. Why? Because he wanted to go out. Because he wanted to forget the herd.

At 16 Night discovered his homosexuality, so now the herd only hated him more.

At 18, he finally get out of the herd. He searched his father and found him. So... He decided to visit him at night.

"What do you want from me?!" Mark said at the wolf coming closer to him.

"Don't you remember me? Don't you remember HER?! YOU KILLED HER IN FRONT OF ME! SHE WAS THE ONLY ONE I HAD! AND YOU TOOK HER LIFE! YOU BASTARD!!!"

"Oh shit... Nightmare Ler, is that you???"

"YOU HAVE TO PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID!!! "

"Please Night... Don't do it... I'M YOUR FATHER! NOOOO! "

"Mommy was right. Werewolves are the best killers..."

[e-m-p-error]

"Eh, if you're brave enough to try it, might as well. But you might wanna rethink that whole gold diggin' bullshit. Nobody's clever enough to steal from me."

@e-m-p-error

//I can't submit things to you because tumblr is a jerk so get tagged lol

Pierre for Crimson cause he would shoot his shot xD

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence: Atonement, chapter 1

Ansem always had a penchant for strays, so it's not at all surprising when he takes in the orphaned child Ienzo. The boy's presence changes everything, far more than Even is willing to admit. Ienzo's brilliance seems promising, but the arrival of a young Xehanort pushes the apprentices onto a dark, cruel, inhumane path which will affect the future of the World. And even once it's all over with--once Xehanort is dead--they still must pick up the pieces, forgive one another, find a way to atone for their atrocities, and struggle to accept the humanity which has been thrust upon them.

Or: Even's journey from BBS through post-KH3 Read it on FF.net/on AO3 ---

The boy is utterly numb, despite the fact that Even’s weaned him off the painkillers. He has not said one solitary word to anyone, has barely made eye contact. His knowledge of psychology is less than ideal, but he knows that the boy is clearly deeply traumatized.

Ansem has barely left his bedside, taking his work in with him, fretting over this or that shred of diplomacy. Even tried to tell him that such stress was not good for the little one; he needed peace, quiet, rest, and likely soon some kind of counseling, once they can find an appropriate person. But Ansem wouldn’t hear it, and once Ansem’s mind is made up there’s no convincing him. What does Even know; he’s only a doctor, he’s only seen firsthand what stress will do to people.

Still, there is the matter of what will become of the boy. As the days pass, Even tries to convince Ansem into making some kind of choice. There are plenty of childless couples in Radiant Garden that would be happy to take him in, despite trauma; he will go down to the agency and personally interview them if that is what it will take to get a decision.

When Ansem finally decides, they’ve moved the boy from the med bay onto their floor. He still has not said a word, but at least he looks one in the eye. Even tries to fill the silences with questions. He is out of practice with children.

“Are you hungry? Would you like some juice? Apple, orange? Would you like to go outside? I’m sure Aeleus would be happy to accompany you. Fresh air would be good for you, it’s such a lovely day. Maybe you can make a friend to play with.”

He is met always with that quiet, one piercing teal eye staring up at me through long bangs. He's itching to cut it--no doubt that hair is no good for his eyesight--but he knows he needs to be careful with this one. Even realizes that he isn’t sure if the boy even knows; what did he see? Did Ansem tell him what happened? He must’ve.

Again, he goes down to his office, that familiar bastion. Ansem's desk is a sea of papers; half bureaucratic, half scientific, a slurry that makes Even wince. “I don’t suppose you have a moment, Master.”

He chances giving me a small smile. “For you, Even, always.”

Sarcastic bastard. “I hate to be redundant, but I have questions about the boy.”

His soft expression hardens a little. “His name is Ienzo.”

“Is he aware of what happened?”

Ansem scratches his beard. “It’s hard to be sure what he’s aware of,” he mutters. “Have a seat.”

It is never good news when Ansem asks one to sit. Even picks up a stack of papers from one of the chairs and sets it down.

“Even, it warms my heart to know you care. I see such tenderness from you so rarely. I wish you would allow it to come out more.”

He wonders if Ansem’ll chance bringing it up. Even wonders if he dares.

Ansem takes a sip of his tea. “The… parallels don’t escape me.”

His expression becomes rather fixed. “I believe I came here to discuss another matter,” he snaps.

He lets it drop; which is good. It means he can keep all of his body parts. “Which is?” He wants to make him say it. Even scowls.

“Has anyone told the boy? Has anyone sat him down and explained his parents are dead?”

“There’s no need,” Ansem says quietly.

“Of course there is. He can’t live not knowing. He can’t begin to recover--”

“He saw them.” Ansem knots his hands and stares at him. “After the Unversed swarm. Aeleus heard him screaming.”

Even feels his heart settle, itchily, in his chest. “...I suppose that settles that.”

“Is that all you wished to speak of?”

“You know it isn’t. Someone has to decide his fate. And it seems that everything I say is taken with a grain of salt.” He was the one who brought it up earlier, but Even almost finds himself backtracking to it--which one of them has parented a child?

“There is nothing to decide,” Ansem says simply. “His place is obviously here.”

“Here?” The blood rushes to Even’s face. “This is not a fit place for a child. He needs the opportunity to go to school--to make friends--”

“We can provide a far higher quality education, one that is on par with his brilliance. You did not get to speak with him… before all this horror,” Ansem says. “He is… he’s beyond precocious. You can see it in his eyes.”

All Even can see in the boy’s eyes is pain. “I must insist otherwise,” he continues. “He will have enough trouble adjusting. The best thing to do would be to get him into treatment, and find a loving family who can provide far more nurturing than we. Now that you’ve finally broken down that disgusting referendum barring homosexual adoption, there are so many--”

“Even.”

He’s made up his mind. Even may as well be speaking to a wall. He is just wasting his breath.

“His parents wanted to be apprentices to make a better world for him,” he says, gently. “I think they would find it a great comfort if we were to devote ourselves to the same.”

He shakes his head. “As a physician, I cannot condone this.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have the authority to make that decision,” Ansem says.

It will always be a bit galling to have Ansem override him. Just because he was elected, he thinks he knows everything.

Ansem the Wise. None of those senators would ever believe his naivete. “I hope you trust me on this,” he says, a bit more gently. “We can give him so much more than an outsider. And if you doubt me…” A heavy sigh. “You think I have not considered the alternatives? Dilan and Aeleus have been asking all over town. There’s no other family.” He leans back in his chair, shifting the red stole around his neck. “I am… trying to draft a curriculum for Ienzo’s education. I would like your input. I also would not mind… any other advice you may have.” He smiles gently. “Think of this as… an opportunity.”

As if the boy could ever replace what he once had. “As you said. I don’t have the authority.”

---

There’s so much to be done, yet here Even is, dallying. The chaise seems to be holding him down, not the other way around. He is exhausted; physically, mentally. He used to find these arguments with Ansem challenging; now they are just tedious.

Things between them have never been the same since--

It does no good to wallow in these matters. He needs to work.

He takes his coat from its hook by the door and slides it on. The smell of bleach is comforting, a sort of nothing smell. He heads down the hallway towards the staircase. Dilan must have been cooking; garlic and onion still hangs in the hall. He is trying to recall the last time he had a decent meal when he hears it. Soft, but unmistakable.

The boy is crying.

Even steels himself and tries to turn away, but he simply can’t. He goes over to the boy’s bedroom door, cracked to let in the nightlight in the hall. “Little one? What’s the matter?”

When he sees Even he flinches, curling tightly on himself. Even approaches him slowly, taking a clean handkerchief from his pocket. “It’s me, Even. We’ve met before. I didn’t think I was that forgettable.” His attempt at joking goes nowhere; Even was never good with humor. “May I sit near you?”

The boy says nothing, his one visible eye swollen and watery. He perches near him on the bed and offers him the cloth. After a moment, he snatches it, but rather than wipe at the tears he presses his face against the fabric.

“Were you having a nightmare?” Even asks him. He’s not sure why he bothers; the boy likely won’t respond. “You know that’s quite alright. It’s okay to be scared.” He sounds like an idiot. “You know you are safe here? Aeleus and Dilan won’t let so much as a mouse inside the castle.”

The boy opens his mouth; for a second Even wonders if he might speak. But he only takes a deep breath.

He has no idea what to say. No idea how to make it better. He glances around the room. It’s minimally furnished; no toys, barely any clothing. Even makes a note to arrange for the boy’s possessions to be gathered from the parents’ home; one heartbeat later he realizes he’s going to have to be the one to do it. But he notices something on the desk (much too big for a boy that size); a storybook, roughly middle-grade. The boy sees him staring at it. “Do you want this? Do you want me to- to read it to you?”

The boy shakes his head, but holds out his hand. Even takes the book and gives it to him.

“Let me get some light. Bad for your eyes.” He flicks on the lamp at the bedside table. Even figures he’s probably looking for the pictures. Very carefully, the boy opens to a page and looks down. If Even didn’t know better, he’d say the boy was reading; he’s much too young for something so advanced. He watches closely; he can see the boy’s eye moving slowly. “Can you read?” Even asks.

The boy gives him an odd look.

“Did you know most people your age are just beginning to learn?”

Slowly, he shakes his head.

“This is pretty advanced. Did you want something easier?”

He shakes his head again. At least they’re communicating in some small way, Even notes with relief. He can work with yes or no questions. “Did you want something… more difficult?”

For a second, but just one, the pain in the boy’s eyes retreats, replaced with something like a glimmer. Ansem is right.

“I’ll be right back,” he says to the boy. “I’ll get you some more to read.”

He doesn’t have to go far. In one of the small libraries--one of the only ones with children’s books--he finds the ones for older readers. He chooses a few difficulty levels, and once, on impulse, grabs an adult one. Even takes the books back to the boy and places them on the dresser. The boy watches with something like apprehension and anticipation.

“Try this,” he says, handing him the adult novel. “You may like it.”

The boy takes it from him. It’s almost comically large in his lap--is he merely small for his age? He flips right to the first chapter, a smooth, practiced notion. Even waits. He knows the boy can tell he’s being observed, but he doesn’t seem to mind much.

“You can understand all that?” Even asks.

Slowly, hesitantly, a nod.

Again, Even so wished the boy would speak, to get a grasp of his vocabulary. His heart is racing. He longs to test the boy, to see how much he knows and how much is raw intelligence. He forces himself to hold back, but before he can stop it, “Do you know how to write?”

The boy gives him a puzzled look. Even takes a pad and pen out of his pocket. Slowly, with less pleasure than the books, he takes the items. He holds the pen awkwardly, and then with great concentration, writes his name. This isn’t surprising; most five-year-olds knew this. But then in the same breath, the boy wrote out his whole address, replete with surname. The parents must have taught him in case he got lost; how clever. He seems to have wounded himself, tearing up again. Even gently takes the books and pen from him. “I know, little one,” he says. “I know it hurts.”

He knows more than he’d ever care to.

---

One thing is certain; the boy can write. Even isn’t sure how well. But this could be a tool that could help them communicate with him, should this period of silence go on.

“Selective mutism,” Dilan says, with a shake of his head. “Not uncommon in cases of trauma.” He walks over to the white board they’d all been wittering over, considers the equation, and changes out some numbers for others. Aeleus begins tediously working it out. “I am… flabbergasted, though. Does Ansem seriously think this is a good idea?”

“Master Ansem,” Even corrects gently. Dilan rolls his eyes. “And I… am very much on your side, Dilan. I tried convincing him to find the boy a good home, but he wasn’t having it. He thinks he knows best. We are all too busy to raise a child. This place isn’t safe.” He noted, with horror, the many different hazards that existed in their residences alone; the windows aren’t screened in, for one. And the tubs are much too deep.

“Nor do we want to raise a child,” Dilan mutters. “If he wants to… indulge his parental instincts, that should be on him, not all of us. He should’ve just gotten a dog. Goodness knows we can use one.”

“You know how he gets when he’s made up his mind,” Even says drolly.

Aeleus holds up the small board he is working on. “It doesn’t figure,” he says.

“Damn,” Dilan says. “I don’t suppose you have any opinions on the matter?”

“I think it could work if you swapped the imaginary for a radical.”

“Not that, you dolt. Obviously. ”

Aeleus blinks. “I believe if the decision’s been made, then I have no right to comment on the matter.”

Even sits down. His feet are hurting. He feels as if he’s just gotten these shoes; have the soles worn out already? He pulls the elastic out of his hair, to readjust it, only to feel the band pop. He sighs heavily. “I need this compound to work,” he says. “Let’s start again.”

Dilan scoffs. “Why? What on earth are you going to use it for?”

“Something that concerns neither of you.”

Dilan looks at his watch. “Then you can solve it,” he says bitterly. “Duty calls. As always.”

“Is it that time already?” They’ve been here for hours, blathering on and getting nowhere. “Goodness. The boy must be hungry.”

Dilan gives him an odd look, his violet eyes glinting. “Ansem wants a ward, he can feed one.”

Even shakes his head. “He’s been in with city council all morning. Trying to get them to reverse their stance on their veto.”

“They vetoed the referendum?” Dilan asks.

Even pales--Ansem told him that in confidence. “Don’t tell anyone I told you,” he says. “It wasn’t… public.”

“All our progress and we’re still run by a bunch of idiots,” Aeleus says calmly.

“He’s king in title only,” Even agrees. “I must go.”

The boy is exactly where Even left him last night; nose deep in books. At least it is distracting him from his pain and grief. “Have you been here all morning?” he asks the boy. At least, he notes with relief, that his breakfast plate is clean.  “Would you like something to eat?”

The boy seems distraught; he clutches the book.

Even chuckles, knowing that feeling well. “You can come back after you eat,” he says. “You need to keep your blood sugar up. It helps you think more clearly.”

He considers this and, very seriously, nods.

“Alright, then. You best come with me. I can’t keep serving you forever.”

The boy, on uncertain, unused legs, follows him across the hall to the kitchen. He warms some soup Dilan made, butters toast. The boy takes it without comment, eating quickly, Even is sure, so he can return. While he lifts his spoon, the boy flinches and switches hands.

“Is your shoulder aching?”

He seems surprised Even noticed.

“I’d like to take a look at it,” he says. “I’m sure the stitches are uncomfortable. I can make that… better.” He can’t be sure if the boy fears needles; he was unconscious when Even initially doctored the wound.

Again, a small and serious nod. Even takes him by the hand towards the hospital room, sits him on the bed. The boy takes off his shirt without being told, his mouth opening in a small O of pain. Even scrubs his hands and removes the bandages. The wound’s clean, the scars forming beautifully, though they’ll be quite noticeable. He takes a small pair of scissors. “This won’t hurt, but it might pull a bit,” he says.

The boy doesn’t react as he removes the stitches; his eyes have again gone vacant, focusing grimly on the nylon sutures in the pan. Even smears the wound gently with a salve to promote healing, and covers it again.

“Better?” he asks.

The boy shrugs a little, as though testing it. He nods.

“You handled that bravely. Would you like a…” What? Candy? A sticker? Did they even have any of that?

There’s one thing they always have. “Would you like to go see Master Ansem?”

The boy nods again. As they walk towards his office, Even feels the boy slide his tiny hand into his. He feels something like a stab of pain, deep inside, and he has to bite down hard on the memory that wants to come.

He knocks on the door to Ansem’s study. He can just hear the tail end of a phone conversation-- “I will not accept no for an answer. For any amount of dallying about, but not about this. This is the one thing I have authority to change without anyone else questioning me.” The gentle ding of the phone clicking onto the receiver. “Who’s there?”

“Just a little guest,” Even says. He opens the door. Immediately Ansem’s demeanor changes, softening, his rust-colored eyes lighting up with a smile.

“Ienzo! Thanks for visiting!”

The boy seems almost unsure of how to react, but Even swears he can see the beginnings of a smile. “We got our stitches removed and were very brave,” Even says, feeling a bit of shame for the way he spoke, so babyish.

Ansem crouches so he’s eye level with the boy. “That so?”

“Didn’t even flinch. Put up less fuss than Dilan when that erlenmeyer flask burst. If only all my patients were so good.” Ansem takes the boy’s tiny hand and gives it a squeeze. “Well I think that deserves a reward, don’t you? Have you ever had sea salt ice cream?”

The boy shakes his head. Ansem clucks his tongue. “That’s a shame. I think that needs to be fixed immediately. I think we can all use some fresh air, hm?”

Even starts a little. “We’ve none in the castle?”

“Why shouldn’t we go out? It’s a lovely day. What do you think, Ienzo?”

The boy thinks very hard. He nods once.

“Then that settles that.” Ansem takes the boy’s hand. “Surely you’ll come with us, Even?”

Ansem’s gaze is unsettling him, wrapping a fist around his heart. Memory tugs. “Oh, I mustn’t, I’ve been trying to solve an equation for hours.”

“I see. Don’t want to lose mojo.” Ansem smiles. “I’ll bring some back for you. Though it may be gone if you’re not quick about it.” He winks. “Onward and upwards, Ienzo.” He begins whistling softly.

Even watches them leave, the fist around his heart squeezing tighter. I will not think about this, he mutters to himself. I will not--

---

He’s stuck. Again.

It’s not just the numbers that don’t make any sense; neither do the formulas. He’s increasingly convinced he’s just smearing goo around beakers and test tubes, wasting resources that could have a practical application. This isn’t even theory at the moment; it’s madness.

On paper it all makes sense; a being is a body, heart, and will. A body should be simple, is simple. But whenever he tries his method compared to standard IVF, nothing is viable. All he needs is a cell, just one cell. If he can get this, everything will fall into place. If he can make this work, who knew how many lives could be saved?

“...You forgot,” Ansem says slowly, with a chuckle. “How long have you been here?”

He’s startled him; it takes Even a moment to compose himself. “Do forgive me,” he says. “I’ve… hit a wall.”

“Best take a break, then. You may get clarity when you revisit it.” He offers Even the ice cream bar, still in its wrapper. Even removes his goggles and gloves, washes his hands clean, though he’s done no work that dirtied them.

“I do so hope this is only the second one you’ve had,” Even says.

Ansem shrugs.

“Should you hope to have a long tenure, you should take better care of yourself. The last thing we need is for you to go on insulin.”

Ansem laughs. “Pot, kettle, black. When was the last time you left this castle, Even?”

He sighs. “...Touche.”

“Shall we walk, then? You’ve nothing “cooking,” so to speak?”

“I wish.” He takes of his coat. “After you. Sir. ”

“You know you needn’t call me that.” The breezeway, compared to the lab, is cool. “One of the… many things I’d like to accomplish is the demolition of these useless titles. I am a civil servant; nothing more.”

“You do deserve respect. You are my superior.”

“By luck and coincidence.” Ansem shakes his head. “Indeed, were you more extroverted yourself, you might have found yourself in this position.”

“...Balderdash. I detest politics.”

Another laugh. It’s a warm sound, like woodsmoke. Then, he sobers somewhat. The cool night air and the ice cream are making Even a bit cold. He should’ve kept the jacket on. “Even, are you… fulfilled, with what you do? I do not mean to open wounds, but I know you’ve gone through some upheavals. I wanted to… check in. Not as your superior, but as your friend.”

Even stares down at the ice cream, half-eaten. It’s no longer quite so sweet. “That is kind of you,” he says slowly. “I am… happy with my work. The rest will come if it’s meant to. I… do not wish to give too much away, but the project I am working on could do so much good. It could be the culmination of my career.”

“And you won’t give me a hint?”

“Not the slightest. You’re not that lucky.”

Ansem smiles. “I suppose not,” he concedes.

They’re on the veranda now. It’s starting to get dark. They pause at the railing, watching the pinpricks of light below.

“There is so much potential for this world,” Ansem says slowly. “So very much. Our people don’t hunger, there’s not much crime. With the right reforms, we can give this next generation the tools they need not just to grow this world, but to visit… others.”

Even looks up, startled. “Don’t tell me you seriously believe there are others,” he says.

“Even, how can we not? You know the history, the tales of one vast world before it was fractured by darkness. There is evidence everywhere, if only you’re looking to see it.”

“Then how do you propose getting to one of these other worlds ? And what then? What right have we to delve into such matters?”

Ansem squeezes his shoulder. “Yes, Even. Exactly.”

The warmth of Ansem’s palm seems to remain after he takes it away. Even brushes these thoughts aside. “I don’t know why you get so excited over what will surely be a bureaucratic nightmare. Good luck trying to get these people to understand. They barely accept the fact that some people love differently.”

Ansem sighs heavily. “It’s the old guard. They are… dying, or retiring. The new blood is always so much more accepting. Hopefully this will all one day be a horrible memory.”

“That will take far too long,” Even says, but without energy. “Must another generation suffer?”

“Not if I’ve anything to do with it.”

For a moment neither of them speak.

Ansem clears his throat. Even’s not sure why, but he feels his heart stutter, the fist from before loosening the slightest. But Ansem’s words do not warm him. “I wish to take Ienzo on as my ward,” he says softly.

For too long Even does not know what to say. “You can’t be serious. This is… more than taking the boy in. Should you proceed with the adoption, Ansem, he will be your son , legally, emotionally. Have you the time to nurture him the way he needs? You were right.” He feels heat rising in his face. “He… he’s brilliant. He can read --not just Dick and Jane , or what have you, but Shadow of the Morning Star. And he can write more than a child of that age. I… I implore you to reconsider. Not as your colleague, but as your friend who’s known you for years.”

Ansem stares at him. In the semidarkness, Even can’t discern his expression. “Would you feel this way if it were not… for the situation?”

He feels like he’s been punched. For a moment, Even is positive he will vomit. The vitriol comes out in his words instead. “How dare you?” he spits.

“Even--I did not mean it that way--”

He turns and starts walking the other way, long confident strides that don’t make up for the fact that he’s fighting tears. He tries to swallow it down, swallow it all down, because none of this is productive.

“Even, I’m sorry. I truly--”

He stops. His hair, with nothing to restrain it, hangs around his face like he’s some kind of lunatic. “Children are not playthings,” he spits. “They’re not pets. Everything you do has an impact. Everything. ”

“I know. How can I not know this? I deal with consequences every day, Even. You may have had a human child, but my child is this town. Every day, I make impossible decisions. Every day, I  have to decide what’s right and what’s wrong.”

“Then why am I the one who’s been looking after him?” he asks. “Where have you been?” His heart is beating painfully fast.

“I had hoped this would help you--none of us have been able to reach you--”

“You don’t know what’s best for me.”

He expects Ansem to argue, but all he says is, “Do you?”

He clutches his elbows tightly, trying to choke down the wave of pain.

“I’m sorry,” Ansem says. “Truly.”

Even can’t look at him. He turns away. “I must go. Do what you wish. You always did.”

It’s a pain like rivers.

---

There’s a knock at his bedroom door. A dull, insistent pain beats the inside of his skull. “Go away,” he says to his assailant.

The response is another knock. “I do not wish to be bothered. Kindly leave.”

Another knock. Anger heats the pain inside of him, and he vaults off the bed with the intent of telling off whoever it was. He gathers the words under his tongue, opens the door, and sees nothing.

Something tugs his free hand. Even looks down. It’s the boy. “...Little one?” he asks, trying to smooth and soften his face. “What are you doing here? Are you hungry?”

He shakes his head.

“Is your shoulder hurting you?”

Another no.

“Then what can I help you with?”

He holds out his hand towards Even. With a sigh, he takes it.

The boy leads him to the small library. “When did you come here?” Even asks him. The response was a shrug. “You haven’t been wandering on your own, have you?” Another shrug. “This place is far too big for you to be off on your own. You could get lost… and we might never find you again.”

The boy seems not to be listening. He crosses over to a shelf and points upwards. Even understands. He gestures to a certain volume, and the boy nods.

“What on earth do you want with this?” he asks the boy, but hands him the legal volume anyway. The boy goes over to one of the chairs, hops up, opens the book, and begins searching. Even reads over his shoulder, noting the speed and almost the grace with which he finds the section on “adoption.” “I suppose Master Ansem told you, then.” God, the bastard is really going through with it. “How do you feel about this?”

The boy looks up at him, considers this, and nods once.

“Wouldn’t you rather have a nice family in town? Some parents who--”

The boy’s shaking his head, the pain in his eyes leaching onto his face.

Even crouches down to his level. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

He nods once, blinking tears out of his eyes. Almost automatically, Even reaches out to wipe them away; both he and the boy seem startled by his touch. “If you’re sure,” he says softly. “But if you’re going to be here indefinitely, we need to figure out some system so you can talk to me. Have you ever spoken?” Likely too complex a question for the boy to understand, but something in Even seems to intuit his understanding.

The boy nods.

“Is it that you won’t, or can’t?”

He thinks about this. He holds up two fingers to indicate the latter.

Even considers this. “I’m sorry,  I’m going to touch you,” he says. He feels the boy’s throat, seeking some irregularity, finding none. “Would it be alright with you if I took a closer look? With machines? It won’t hurt, I promise.”

The boy shrugs.

“Well, then. Come with me, Ienzo.”

So that’s that, then. He is no longer an aqueous entity, no longer just a noun. Only then does Ienzo become real to Even.

---

"...Sit right here."

Ienzo looks so small against the table, and he shivers. He looks at the x-ray machine with a morbid curiosity.

"I'm going to take a picture of your throat. Just to see if everything's working the way it should." He guides the machine into place. "Don't move. It'll only be a moment." Ienzo barely stirs, staring at the ceiling as though he's done this a hundred times. Even frowns. "Ienzo, has this happened to you before? Where you were talking and all of a sudden you couldn't?"

Slowly, he nods. "I do wish you had told me." He takes the shot, because, well, the boy's already in position. "I can take a look at your medical records. You've been to doctors, yes?"

---

It takes a little bit of digging, to get Ienzo's records, but working under the king does give one certain advantages. Ienzo has been to many doctors, it turns out, for a variety of reasons. Headaches, sensitivity to noise and textures and smells, anxiety, panic attacks, and the wavering ability to speak. Nearly all of them noted his brightness, as well as his shyness. Reading the notes, it becomes obvious to Even--

Patient, while bright ( he does so detest physicians who use that "while" as if they go hand in hand) seems to be somewhere on the autism spectrum. Referred parents to a special education facility and offered medication. No further action needed.

Things have just become more complicated.

---

Even finds himself reading about it voraciously. To help Ienzo communicate is a problem to solve; rather than his messy, theoretical work. Autistic children can develop selective mutism, sometimes as a trauma response; Dilan was right. But there's no easy way to break the cycle except, perhaps, through therapy, and Even's absolutely not qualified. He figured manual language would be the most useful, but none of them have the time to learn. When he asks Ienzo if he wants to try that, all he gets is a shrug.

Ienzo solves the problem for him. He approaches Even in his bedroom and plunks down a small whiteboard, the same they use in their work. A pen clatters down next to it. "...Where did you get this? ...Never mind. I don't want to know." Hopefully it had nothing important on it. "So you can write?" He gives back the board and sees him struggling.

Yes. The writing is messy and childish but legible.

"We must work on your penmanship."

OK.

---

Before this, there's a matter of things being settled. Considering Ansem's status, the court hearing is basically ceremonial. Who wouldn't trust him? Such a sweet and caring man to take in the poor child, didn't you hear? It takes all of twenty minutes and three signatures for Ienzo to become Ansem's son. They celebrate with ice cream; Even finds himself scrubbing the blueness out of Ienzo's clothes. Brilliant as he is, he is five.

They take the remainder of Ienzo's things, as well as anything that might be important--a few photos, some documents. Ansem places the home in a trust under Ienzo's name, should he decide he wants it when he's able to make such decisions. His parents were comfortable, not rich; there is not much else to take care of.

They do not take him, as it would doubtless be traumatizing; Ansem tells him afterward, gently. He can't look Even in the eyes, still, but for Ienzo Even will be civil. The child does not need more stress; neither does he.

Ienzo scribbles something feverishly on the board. What about the plants?

"The…" Ansem frowns.

Ienzo exhales heavily, erases. Her plants.

Even does not have the heart to tell him that in the weeks that passed, the plants all died; even the heartier, desert blooms. He wonders briefly if they can feel their missing caretaker; but they're just plants, after all.

So why does he find himself lying? "The neighbors are taking care of them," he says. "But would you also like to learn a little bit about what makes them grow?”

Even never studied botany thoroughly; that was Aeleus. Aeleus and Ienzo work together in the greenhouses, dirt and bulbs, propagating stems, whispering in the science of it, the Mendel’s peas and punnett squares. Ienzo seems to find something soothing in the work, and Even understands why; learning his mother’s craft must be something like catharsis. Anything to tide him until they could find a proper therapist.

And so Ienzo’s education begins.

---

The boy’s brilliant; Even’s never seen anything like it. He reads and he reads and he reads and he seems to remember nearly everything. Facts, numbers, all seem to make sense to him. Even sees him blooming slowly.

“He’s… phenomenal,” Even says to Ansem. “I knew he was… but to see the proof, as it were--”

Ansem smiles. “You do see why I couldn’t let him pass us by?”

He sighs. “I still… disagree. But I believe we may be able to make this work. The one thing that I do not wish to compromise… He needs therapy, Master. The studies and the gardening make a wonderful distraction, but you do not live near us. I can… hear him, at night. He has nightmares. And… sometimes I’ll be teaching him, when all of a sudden he breaks down in tears. I’m positive it’s no temper tantrum.” Even’s aware of how grammatically improper his sentences are. He bites the inside of his cheek.

Ansem nods. “I agree,” he says. “I will… see if my peers know of anyone qualified. We also have to consider… the other aspect of Ienzo. Not that there’s anything wrong with it.”

“Of course not. His needs will be… different.” He stands, strands of hair slipping free from his worn elastic. “Please consider it.”

Ansem touches his shoulder. “Believe me when I say it’s my priority.”

When he pulls it away, Even again feels warm. “I shall see you later, then.”

“Yes. I’m going to be tutoring Ienzo, so I may as well join you all for dinner.”

“Yes.”

He gives Even another solid once-over. “Are you alright?”

“I have been… tired,” Even says. He forces a smile.

“These things do take a great deal of energy, do they not?”

“For you especially. Between your work, the research, and now the child--”

“I’m managing. I always have. Best do it while we’re still mostly young, eh?”

Even smooths the wrinkles in his jacket. “Quite. Well, I take my leave.”

---

For a little over six months, life continues in this vein; juxtaposing research with childcare exhausts Even to no end. More than once he falls asleep at the dinner table, only to have Dilan tease him mercilessly.

"One would think he's your ward, not Master's," he says, with a nasty smirk.

The thing is, Dilan's right. Ansem devotes as much time as he can for the boy, and Ienzo is clearly enamored with him. But two or three hours here and there isn't enough to cover the scrapes, the nightmares, the sicknesses.

Which is why for Even the memories become harder to avoid; they creep up in his dreams, and he wakes up, an emotional and illogical wreck. But he needn't burden the others with his woes. His absence prior to Ienzo's appearance was telling enough.

Ienzo continues learning in leaps and bounds; quickly they realize that they can't possibly expect to hold him to a grading system. But while he engages highly in their STEM work, he still never stops reading fiction.

"I believe he could benefit from some training in the humanities," Even says tiredly. He's been coming to Ansem's study more and more, less for his own cajoling of resources than for Ienzo. "He loves stories. He'd enjoy it immensely."

"We might make a writer of him yet." Ansem chuckles. "Leave it to Ienzo to want to learn the one thing we have no expertise in."

"He's certainly stubborn as all get out." He rarely takes no for an answer and pursues what he wants with recklessness, regardless of what Even or the others ask of him; more than once Even's had to scold him for trying to get into the freezer for more ice cream. All he ever gets in response is a scowl. "I don't suppose you've made any progress?"

Ansem sighs and runs a hand through his hair, mussing the neat slick. "I'm afraid the situation is more dire than I realized. My predecessor failed to mention in her reports the state of mental health care in this city, leaving me with piles of unanalyzed numbers. Needless to say, we're in something of a crisis."

"So there's no one?"

"No one other than overworked, under-educated social workers. All they'll tell him is to "hang in there!"" Ansem grimaces. "I'm trying to put the groundwork in place--but you know how slowly these things go. Lives are at stake--more than just his."

"But his is the one I witness day in and day out. There has to be something that can be done."

Ansem sighs. "Have you spoken to him about it?"

"Interpersonal relationships are not one of my strengths.”

"I'm not so sure. The boy clearly cares for you. He writes about you all the time."

Even raises an eyebrow. "I do not believe it for a moment."

"Believe it, or not."

Even frowns, feeling his face heat. If he were reading Ansem's tone right, the king might just be… jealous. "He cares for you too," Even remarks. "You should see how excited he is to spend time with you."

Ansem laughs. "I don't suppose when you accepted your role here you figured coparenting into it."

It's the word choice, "coparenting" versus "childcare", that throws Even off. "Er--no." He looks into the cup of tea Ansem offered him, still untouched. "Though I never expected you, of all people, to desire a family."

Ansem shrugs, dropping his eyes. "I had never considered it," he admits. "But I also know enough to trust in the ways of fate, should it hand something to me."

"Fate." He shakes his head. Learned scholar, and Ansem believes in that nonsense. "In which case, it surely has a sense of irony."

There’s a pause, one long enough for Even to consider taking his leave. Finally Ansem says, “It may help you to speak of such things too.” His eyes are so gentle.

Even is too tired to come up with the Pavlovian rage he’s developed. “I do not desire my personal life to intermingle with my work,” he says instead. He sips the tea to avoid saying anything else; it tastes terrible, and he flinches.

“Even, how long have you and I known one another?”

“Too long, apparently,” he says.

“The way we all live and work--there’s no room to isolate parts of oneself.” He reaches out across the desk, takes Even’s hand, and gives it a squeeze. It’s the touch more than anything, unexpected and warm, that shakes him, brings the wetness into his eyes. He takes his hand back.

“I should go,” he says.

“Even--”

“How many times do I have to make this clear? I do not wish to speak of it, and considering you are my superior, you should respect that professional boundary. It’s unbecoming.”

Ansem sighs heavily. “You’re right. I apologize.”

“I must go. It’s time for one of my lessons with Ienzo.” He turns. It hurts when he swallows. “Good day.” He shuts the door to Ansem’s study, but not quickly enough to blot out his parting words--

“I hate seeing you in pain.”

---

Pain is not useful; so he keeps it at arm’s length. Like any wound, left alone it would eventually heal. Anyhow, he has ways to fill his time, more than he thought possible. On top of his nebulous research for this new project, he is occasionally required to assist the others (it’s only polite) should they need his expertise. Dilan, in particular, loves to waste Even’s time, having him check and recheck his equations. To a degree Even understands this need for things to be watertight--in civil engineering the slightest thing off could literally take lives--but he finds it utterly exhausting. Aeleus’s own work--architecture plans for the further expansion of the city--is of course stuck in a bureaucratic backlog, awaiting votes from the council and populace alike.

Even admires the way Aeleus always makes himself useful; in this period he takes over Dilan’s guard shifts, and looks after Ienzo. Even believes he can sense something of a bond forming between the two. Aeleus always did have endless patience. He works in the garden with Ienzo, cultivating the blooms the boy bred. One such afternoon he happens to pass by and sees Ienzo on Aeleus’s shoulders, trying to catch butterflies. “That’s a Danaus plexippus,” Even hears him explain. “A monarch butterfly. They migrate here this time each year. That’s why I make sure there’s so much milkweed. It’s what the babies eat, where the adults lay their eggs. I think you’ve got one. Be gentle, okay? We just want to look at it. Don’t touch its wings.”

It’s the most Even’s heard Aeleus say in one go, he realizes. He approaches slowly, so as not to disturb them. Aeleus sets Ienzo down and takes the net from him.

“Look at the patterns. You can tell by the shape of the wings this one’s female. The males’ wings point more downwards. Nobody’s sure exactly why they migrate. But not every mystery is meant to be solved by us. You ready to let it go?” Aeleus opens the net, watching the butterfly go up, and up--Ienzo waves to it. “It’s going to go join its friends.”

Ienzo turns slightly and notices Even. He smiles a little.

Aeleus nods. “I figure a little taxonomy couldn’t hurt.”

“Nothing learned is wasted,” Even says.

“Everything is alright?”

Is there something on his face? In his eyes? “Oh, yes. I was taking a little stroll. Forgive my intrusion.”

---

Why can’t he figure this out?

It’s the closest he’s gotten since beginning this fool’s errand--the cell actually fertilized, but it did not begin to undergo mitosis, quickly degraded, and died. All of his calculations support it living in these conditions. Something’s missing, and he’s no idea what.

He’s pondering the dead cell yet again when he hears his door bang open. “Come in, why don’t you,” he says sourly.

Dilan’s in his guard uniform, his face flushed, sweaty. “He’s not in here with you?” he asks, a trace of panic in his voice.

Even raises an eyebrow. “I’ve been alone all morning. What on earth is the matter?”

He’s breathing hard. Even goes over to the mini-fridge and pours him a glass of water. Dilan drinks it in one swallow. “We can’t find the boy. He’s disappeared.”

If the castle is full of places for small children to hide, then the city might as well swallow him whole. A sharpness tugs at Even’s chest, a hot flush of fear. “He was supposed to be with Ansem this morning. Ienzo must have slipped away when he turned his back.” He throws aside his lab coat. “Let’s go.”

They search for hours, the three of them; they get some of the cleaners to assist as well. It feels like vanity, to keep calling his name--could he even respond? What if Ienzo were hurt, or in danger? Could he scream? They pore over the castle for what seems like an eternity, checking every wardrobe and closet, the gaps below the balconies, the strange tricks of architecture. He’s nowhere to be found.

“Let’s try town. Maybe someone’s seen him,” Dilan hedges.

Even wonders if this is all in vain. Finally a shopkeeper admits to seeing a silver-haired boy in the clothing Even left out for him this morning, but she says that when she tried to speak to him, he ignored her. They follow the trail out into the residential district. It’s there they find him, finally, crouching in a patch of flowers. Even runs over to him. “Oh thank god,” he says, over and over again. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” He gives Ienzo a once-over and finds with immense relief that, aside from a scraped knee and some dirt, the boy is unharmed. Ienzo seems shaken; again his eyes are vacant. “Did someone hurt you?”

He shakes his head weakly. He gestures over Even’s shoulder. It’s the house. Of course. He must’ve tried to come home.

“Oh, little one, why didn’t you just ask if you wanted to come here? We’ve been worried sick, looking for you. You shouldn’t be out on your own.”

Ienzo sniffles a little, his eyes watering. His hands tremble. He points to the pad sticking out of Even’s pocket, and he hands it to him. Why did you lie about the plants?

“The--” It clicks. “Dilan, take a look at the house.” He nods and turns towards the door.

Ienzo keeps scribbling. The pots are all empty. You didn’t give them away. They died.

“I--” It feels terrible, to be caught in this lie. “Little one, by the time we got here it was already too late. I didn’t have the heart to tell you. You already lost so much.”

Ienzo seems to not know how to respond; he gives Even back the pen and pad.

“The door’s still locked, but it looks like he crawled in through the window,” Dilan says. “I’ve secured it.”

The boy is so deflated now, so exhausted, tears running disjointedly down his face. He does not fight when Even picks up him; he lays against him limply. Once they are finally back at the castle, Even runs him a bath and puts him in bed. In all this time Ienzo does not try to communicate. Finally, Even concedes. “Ienzo, I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have lied to you. But do you understand why I did it?”

The boy turns on his side, away from Even.

He sighs heavily. “Try to get some rest.”

His own body is so heavy, so unwieldy. He drags himself slowly to his quarters. He needs sleep more than anything; perhaps a stiff drink as well. Normally such substances are out of his realm of interest, as he tries to think as clearly as possible. But tonight he needs to think a little less. He reaches into the cabinet for the cheap bottle of whiskey Dilan gave him one birthday, finds it mostly empty, and gives up. Tea will have to do.

Even feels strangely numb. He probes the sensation idly. He knows he should be concerned; sadness is one thing, numbness could be pathological. Which is the last thing he needs. He realizes that he, too, is rather filthy, from all the digging in the near unused parts of the castle. But he cannot find the strength to go bathe. Cannot find the strength to do anything, it seems.

There’s a knock at the door. He does not respond. Best let them think he’s asleep. The thought of crawling in bed while so dirty appalls him. Perhaps he’ll just sleep in this chair.

The door opens. “Even? Are you awake?”

Ansem. He takes a deep breath.

And finds himself yelling. It’s a surprise to him, too. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Searching like the rest of you--”

“He was with you, he was supposed to be with you!”

“I turned my back for a moment to take a call--”

“Do you know what could have happened?” His spit tastes like copper. “He could’ve--fallen out a window, or down the stairs, or someone could have taken him. He’s a child, Ansem. You can’t expect him to know these things. Why on earth weren’t you paying attention? I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t--”

He notes how haggard Ansem looks; his shoulders sag. “Even. My friend. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry’s not good enough.” He can feel the heat in his face. “Now leave me be.”

“Even--”

“ Get out. ”

The tone of his voice is enough, and Ansem flees. He drops himself back into the chair, wretchedness choking him. And promptly bursts into tears.

It feels strange to cry, after putting it off for so long. Alien. Inhuman.

---

He gives Ienzo space, after that. Even does not know how else to apologize. He leaves a book for Ienzo to read, one he liked as a boy. Ienzo seems to tolerate his presence, but the tentative bond they built seems to have weakened.

No matter. The boy is not his son. His opinion of Even should not matter.

He turns back to his work, back to the walls that face him in his experimentation. He makes careless mistakes, misses errors he wouldn't have normally. Even feels unwell.

Something is missing.

So he reads. He turns away from numbers, towards a story that ultimately doesn’t matter. He understands why Ienzo reads so much. It’s an easy way out. He’s delved into one of these volumes in the sitting room when he hears the voice.

“Even?”

Startling. Unfamiliar. He looks up slowly and sees Ienzo.

“It’s back,” the boy says simply, and leaves.