#but this isn’t something where I can pretend to be a singlet

[404shcats]

Y’know if I’m gonna be homesick I’d like to at least remember what home was like -Party

[deandraxon]

Hey, I am respectfully responding to this post (feel free to not respond and just block me if this bothers you)

https://www.tumblr.com/deandraxon/749870862386249728/im-not-going-to-entertain-people-who-think-that-a

Plurality simply means “more than one.” That’s all. The vast majority of endogenic systems don’t claim to have DID, and they don’t claim to be made up of dissociated parts.

Plurality actually is practiced outside of dissociative disorders by a wide variety of people from a plethora of different cultures. There are many religions, cultures, and spiritualities outside the West where plurality is common and accepted as a phenomenon that does not involve trauma or dissociative disorders.

And again, plurality simply means “more than one.” So if, say, a writer feels like their characters are real /to them/, and if /they personally feel/ like they are not alone in their mind due to their characters… they are existing as more than one and they could call themselves plural if they want to.

DID and other dissociative disorders are not “alter disorders” and I’m tired of people using my serious trauma disorder as a “gotcha” for all sorts of plurality and wide swathes of human experience. My disorder is not defined by my plurality. It just isn’t. And plurality is such a basic concept that applies to such a huge range of people, other than just those of us who have dissociative disorders.

Hate to break it to you, but if you weren’t a system, you wouldn’t have the disorder. The disorder IS defined by plurality, whether you like it or not.

These people are claiming to be systems, which is a term made BY people with dissociation disorders, FOR people with dissociation disorders.

I’m not using my disorder as a “gotcha”, I’m telling people to stop fucking playing pretend that they can just be a system just because they want to be. Because they think it’s “fun”.

As a writer myself, it is appalling that you think it’s okay for them to say they’re plural because “my characters are real to me, so I’m making them part of me uwu”. Every character a writer created is part of them, that’s how creating characters works. That doesn’t make you “plural”. They aren’t “existing as more than one”, they’re being a fucking writer.

Every member of a system is their own person. Their own being. They aren’t just “part of the whole”. You can’t will them into existence, and you don’t get to decide who they are. Being a system is a disorder. Period. And I’m tired of these people just deciding that they are one because they have active imagination, or they like to roleplay with themselves.

As stated in that post, people just deciding upon themselves to “live as plural” has literally led to therapists trying to dismiss real systems as people with “overactive imaginations” or saying “well if you can choose to create alters, then it should be just as easy to choose to get rid of them.” And don’t try to tell me it doesn’t because it literally happened to my brother.

Systemhood is not something you get to claim for shits and giggles. There’s no shame in being a singlet who plays with your dolls in your head for fun, just stay the fuck out of our spaces.

[granulesofsand]

🗝️🏷️ therapy goals, shame

Someone in the elevator told us they were our neighbor (in the dorms) and asked if we recognized them. I don’t remember what the person out said, but when I switched in, the outsider’s friend went “he said he don’t know you, not that he don’t see you”.

I’m fronting again today, and I’m so embarrassed that happened. I do see this person pretty often, they’re the one who plays music at all hours of the night.

I don’t like that embarrassment. It’s not the guilty kind of embarrassing, where I made a mistake and I feel bad for doing it; it’s the shameful kind, where I am the mistake and feel bad for being it. This is exactly the kind of shame that outsiders put on us for being a system.

Nobody assumes we’re plural, certainly nobody assumes we’re multiple, and outsiders expect us to behave like a singlet. We aren’t a singlet, we are multiple, and I will not accept this shame that isn’t ours. They can find us weird or crazy, but they will not make us ashamed of a perfectly valid existence.

I recognized that person, but whoever was out before me didn’t, and that’s okay. We’re not one person, and the more we fawn into behaving as one, the worse our disordered dissociation gets. We are healthiest right now as a multiple system, and we don’t need to have constant integration and grounding to be good. I am my own person, the one who was out before me is their own person, and we don’t have to pretend to be the same person to deserve safety and comfort.

This shame comes from the group, especially with the reinforcement of our caregivers; they wanted us dependent on them, so we weren’t allowed to be people (or even one person together). It comes from medicine; they can’t find emotional empathy for plurals, so they tell us we are only good if we can be like them. Those are not ours to carry.

I can deal with us being labeled DID for as long as we live, because our Complex Dissociative Structure is far from healthy. Time and healing might change that, but we will never be functional like a singlet, and outsiders will always call us disordered for it. Healthy is a goal, but authentic is the goal.

Nobody has to come with us. You& should all be making choices for you&, and wanting another option is very cool and valid. You& can find those options without trying to be functional like a singlet, and it’s still good and right if you& are following a path for that functionality.

Fusion doesn’t make the others go away, as in dormancy, and you& can structure your& new self to make sure everyone is represented. Making progress in trauma work can lead to some fusion naturally, once people feel they are at peace or the brain decides they aren’t needed. You& don’t have to be broken to fuse, but some would struggle more with elaborating than fusing.

Final fusion is the perpetual blending of all insiders, and that can feel really good. Outside people have spirituality built around that concept, and you& can do it as often as you& like. Fusing after making some progress can be compared to water, like two streams flowing together, or one of the places where salt and freshwater mix. That’s a really cool skill, and any use of it might be why it’s best for you&.

Functional multiplicity used to be anything except fusion, but not so much anymore. We say ‘functional’ instead of ‘healthy’ because neither imply the other. Reordering your& insiders to thrive in daily life can be both, and some systems get here naturally after processing their trauma. If you& value everyone’s perspectives and abilities, fusion can overwrite some of those discrepancies.

Functional multiplicity can look a lot like fusion, kind of like several instruments in one song instead of everyone playing their own, or even learning to sync the beats to play well together. Sometimes you& might lower barriers altogether, and then you& get some blending and fusion. Functional multiplicity is cooperative and integrated, and the teamwork involved is also something outsiders strive for.

The primary difference between final fusion and functional multiplicity is how many selves are in the mix. With low barriers, it can change, or you& can learn to keep it one way or the other. Systems can often still make out all of their members in a fusion, especially when it’s new. There are in-betweens there that lean median, and sometimes that’s also the goal.

Not all healing follows the same path as the functional multiplicity/functional midcontinuum/final fusion. Some systems do heal by full dormancy, which might look anyplace on the singlet-multiple gradient, and only leaving one person to front. Some systems find themselves healthy, becoming functional by accommodating over integrating. All systems can still identify as having a Complex Dissociative Structure, however they’re healing or how far along they are.

We are still healing. We like our amnesia in that most of us don’t care to know what happens without us there. We don’t always want to be there. We are learning to be co-conscious at will, and to copy and share memories. We like our otherworld, we like our individuality, we like switching.

Traumatized people are prone to shame, which is never beneficial; you& can’t solve the problem if you& believe you& are the problem. You& are allowed to be dissociative, and that includes every kind and stage of healing.

[hazedxhealing]

If you were wrong, then you were wrong. You were never a system. You never had headmates. You were just pretending the whole time.

You can't have it both ways. You can be a former system whose headmates are all dormant or fused. Or you can be a singlet who was confused and never had any headmates.

But you can't claim to be both.

I don’t know where the disconnect in this conversation is when I’ve explained and explicitly said I was SURE that I had DID until I was proven wrong. I was so sure that I was seeking evaluation and diagnosis, until I came to the conclusion otherwise.

Faking/pretending and being making a mistake/being wrong aren’t synonymous. I was not consciously faking, I was consciously trying to figure out what was wrong with me and why I had the symptoms I was experiencing. That is the difference, and to try to flip it isn’t something it’s not is inane and irrelevant.

Either block me, or cope and stop sending asks, saying the same things worded differently, when I’ve given more than enough explanation.

I’m not stopping, deal with it.

[newtonsheffield]

Hello friend!

You know how much I love the BSU and Kathony and your fics, drabbles and headcanons are a gift! Especially Spicy Sunday 😏 The Kathony Spicy Sunday this week was a delight and very 🥵🥵🥵 And, I’ve realized I haven’t made my Spicy Sunday request yet 😅 Funny enough, mine isn’t for Kathony (don’t worry I’ll think of something for them, too) but for Lucy/Gregory.

As we know, Gregory is our sweet, hopeless romantic Bridgerton boi, but Lucy does bring out a side of him. They do have 9 kids after all 🤣 Now, in the Kathony Spicy Sunday you mentioned that Anthony wasn’t the only Bridgerton boy unable to keep his hands to himself around the office. Can we maybe see Gregory being the other one? 👀👀👀

Ahh, my buddy, my pal, You know how to get me.

Gregory Bridgerton is a Jedi in the streets and a Sith in the sheets, Change my mind! (That's a star wars reference that you won't get because you haven't seen them. A constant dagger to my heart I assure you!) You can take that boy home to mum, and he knows exactly how to get a gal where she's going. We love to see it!

Okay. Getting Handsy at work feat. Gregory and La La la Lucy!

Lucy Abernathy was many things, and she was proud of all of them. But most of all she prided herself on being appropriate in all situations. She always knew what to say at weddings, what to write in group birthday cards, and what to say when condolences were necessary. Lucy Abernathy was carefully pieced together, and unflappable. That was, provided she was not around her boyfriend Gregory Bridgerton.

Everything about Gregory seemed to set her on edge, hyperaware of his presence. Whether she liked i or not, eve before they were together, she was aware of the intricacies of his schedule. He arrived at 7:45am, he made a cup of coffee, he waited for Anthony, He sat in the tea room and had a toasted sandwich from 1-2pm and he left at 5:45pm most days. Routine, like clockwork. Until one day at 12:55pm he'd grabbed a duffel bag and headed fr the lift. He'd returned an hour later in a tank top and shorts and suddenly, the office had felt very, very warm.

And really it was very hard to concentrate when the man for whom you were quietly pining away was parading around in front of you with his unfairly muscular arms on display, and his stupid kind smile. At least Kate pretended not to notice that Lucy kept dropping things whenever Gregory came back from the gym, waving happily at her, no idea of the apparent sex pest she was. And she'd thought it would get easier when she started dating him. But apparently, she didn't know anything anymore.

Now whenever she saw him walk back into the office, her travel mug in his hand, his own water bottle in the other, heat started pooling low in her stomach. because she knew. She knew what it felt like to have those arms tight around her, his fingertips bruising her thighs, to feel the hard planes of his abs against her own body. Just the thought made her shiver. And Gregory knew it too.

"Hey Luce." He said, in what Lucy was sure he thought was a casual voice one day, dropping a light kiss on her cheek, a light sheen of sweat still on his forehead. Settling himself on her desk, his muscles flexing slightly, and Lucy was already burning. She cleared her throat. "How was the gym?" They were both pretending to be casual this afternoon apparently. Greg shrugged, one of his hands starting to draw little patterns on the fabric of her skirt. "It was... hot in there today." His eyes flicked to hers, usually a light hazel, dark behind his glasses, and her breath caught. Her mind desperately screaming at her to shut this down, they were at work for fuck's sake. Bt apparently, she wasn't listening today.

She let her eyes rake obviously over the way his singlet clung to his muscles, his shorts tight. "Yes, you look very sweaty." her pulse thundered in her ears as Greg leant towards her, trying to ignore how he smelled like aftershave and something inherently more masculine, the way he always did after, heat pooling low in her stomach as he chuckled in her ear breathlessly. "Can I get you a little sweaty?" his lips ghosted over her ear, his hand inching underneath her skirt and- "It's just in here, Greg!" She said loudly standing from her desk suddenly, and swinging the door to Kate's office open, dragging him inside, and snapping the door closed behind them.

And as soon as she did, Gregory was on her. His lips claiming hers almost possessively, their teeth clashing together, his tongue making positively filthy motions against hers a promise of more, as he walked her backwards, until her legs hit the edge of the desk, his huge frame dwarfing her, crowding her against the desk in a slightly thrilling way, his muscles flexing as he lifted her to perch on the edge. His teeth marking her neck softly, then her chest and then he kneeled in front of her, his hands tugging her knees apart roughly.

Lucy felt her head drift backwards a little overcome by the situation she'd found herself in, Gregory's voice a firm command. "You know the rules, Lucy, Eyes open, please." His eyes never leaving hers as his lips teeth caught on the edge of her stockings marking her as his again, his fingers so close to where she needed them. "Greg, please." A soft whimper ringing through the office and then a sigh when they found their mark, moving gently against her at first, and then more firmly as heat coiled tightly inside her, burning her from the inside out. "Fuck Luce, I've been thinking about this all day. Do you know how hard it is to concentrate when you're right fucking there?" His voice was like gravel and then his mouth joined his hands, moving over her, their soft moans mingling in the silence, her fingers slipping through his hair, heat coiling tighter and tighter until it snapped. A soft scream muffled by her own hand, Gregory's murmered encouragement as she fought for breath. So beautiful Luce, So Good.

His smirk was a little smug when he pulled back, plucking her underwear from the floor as he stood. regarding them carefully before he said "I think I'll keep these for the rest of the day. You can get them back at mine tonight." Kissing her lightly on the cheek as he tugged her from the desk, pulling her skirt down, straightening her blouse for her as her mind struggled to keep up as he tugged her from the office.

To look straight into the unbearably smug eyes of her boss, Gregory's future sister-in-law who was spinning around idly in Lucy's chair. "My, My, My, Lucinda what a pickle. Would you like to be the pot or the kettle today?" Kate said smirking.

And Lucy Abernathy who was always incredibly appropriate desperately wished that the ground would swallow her.

[grimaldiapologist]

Something in the air. A lot of exhaustion and frustration. I want to talk about it, but it's been days and I don't know where to start at all.

I guess - fakeclaiming. We've done too much arguing online (J and K both have a... problem with that, it's so easy to get caught up in being righteously angry and correct about things others are so obviously wrong about) but it's really taxing to our mental health in the long term. And then something else happens and it's suddenly too much. I'd just like to talk about all of this in a place that isn't automatically judgemental.

There's a problem with this misconception that someone with DID can't get better. I'm not sure what these people, singlets mostly I think, believe therapy is for but it clearly isn't allowed to be healing. A person can only ever have DID if they're unaware of it and have no control over it or any communication with their parts that they can't know about. It's like... there isn't allowed to be any recovery whatsoever or that system is "faking it." But then they, in the same breath, talk about fusioning alters - how do you think a system that isn't aware of its parts can fusion? It doesn't work like that.

We hit a lot of the points in the misinformation fakeclaim bingo card. It doesn't seem to matter we first entered therapy at seven years old so of course we know how to listen to our inner dialogue and analyse our inner experiences. We're more trained at this than your average psychiatric professional - we've been doing it for over twenty years now. We're experts at picking apart our symptoms and experiences and finding means to cope with them. So it shouldn't be a damn surprise to anybody that we knew we were many before we got diagnosed with DID. We didn't know it was a system, and we definitely didn't know it was DID, but the fact that there were others and they had opinions and advice and wants and wishes hasn't ever been something we weren't aware of. The fact that we didn't understand the pathology of it doesn't change anything. We were still aware of it, of each other, and there was interaction between us for as long as we remember, even if it was primitive in nature.

Give us one good reason why we couldn't use PluralKit as a system when we can already chat freely within the consciousness and respond to external triggers - like being spoken to - with ease? But no, using PluralKit is a surefire way to spot a faker. We're just not allowed to talk, I guess. At all. We're supposed to be locked inside internal hell where we can't hear each other or anybody on the outside, leaving behind a front that has memory lapses and panic attacks and suicidal spirals and that's the only way we can be valid.

I want to be able to speak as myself. I want to be allowed to be a person and I'm tired, tired, tired of being told that just because I'm aware of my situation - our condition - I don't even exist. How do you prove that you exist? Over and over and over again, I'm forced to give proof. And grovel about my own experiences and feelings and needs. I need to preface everything with "you won't think that I'm real and therefore what I say is just make-believe" - gods, I wish someone would take me for a real, living individual. I wish I didn't have to pretend to be not real for people to accept me. I'm tired of worrying people will think I'm appropriating the experiences that I have because I'm not real enough to them. And no, this isn't about whatever discourse you think it is. I'm not allowed to have any experiences without prefacing them with "this didn't really happen." It happened to me. I'm tired. I'm so tired of acting like I don't exist. I'm right here. Please, for the love of life, somebody believe me. Anybody.

[writing-fool]

mlqc | let’s hit rewind

What kind of videos would the MLQC guys make if they were YouTubers? I think this is a youtube!au, but to be fair, Kiro probably has a YouTube channel in canon. See it as you will? I won’t really talk about their life outside of YT/internet so you can decide for yourself whether this is an AU or not, and whether they’re a full-time YouTuber or not.

As always, enjoy, and requests are open!

Love,

R.

Warning(s): none

Victor

Victor probably has a cooking channel

scratch that. he absolutely starts as one of those Aesthetic™ cooking channels like Cooking tree, HANSE, Sweet The MI or Nino’s Home.

his channel is called Souvenir because he’s not THAT original you can’t expect everything from a man, people. 

he starts off doing these voiceless cooking videos, but after a voice and face reveal at 2 million followers where he cooks something for his followers as a thanks...well, who wouldn’t want more of that sultry voice and glorious face

currently has about 4 million subscribers

Victor’s channel is kind of comparable to Junskitchen, a rather relaxed, casual atmosphere combined with exquisite, refined cuisine

if he feels like it, he does a voice-over, otherwise he just puts calm jazz, blues or r&b over his cooking

HAS done an ASMR special. low-key dislikes the video because he has to whisper voice-overs but people LOVE it

likes making all kinds of foods, but his channel features quite a lot of sweet foods and desserts because a certain dummy has a sweet tooth

a pretty popular feature during quarantine is Cooking w/ Sou, essentially a live stream where Sou (aka Victor) cooks a whole three-course meal while talking to and instructing his followers

his subscribers notice that he doesn’t really need editing to look clean during cooking because his technique is IMMACULATE

by the end, he’s made a themed dinner for two...which always raises a question mark

is Sou single? does he have a roommate? a girlfriend? a kid? WHAT?

after getting your explicit permission, Victor addresses the situation in one of his recent Q&As

“Why do I always make dinner for two? I have a fiancée, she edits my videos in her spare time. She works as a producer. *you wave your hand over the lens* Dummy.” he breezes over it like it’s no big deal even though he’s a tad nervous about exposing something personal like this

his fans blow up the internet, baffled but not entirely surprised that someone like Sou isn’t a bachelor

of course, some leave hate under the video honestly, people who do this to celebs who start dating are HORRIBLE

most subscribers are super supportive of your relationship and thank you for the editing that makes Souvenir such a well put-together channel...also did he seriously call his fiancée a dummy? such a tsundere!

sometimes, you’ll (well, your hands...we’re keeping a bit of privacy here) even be in the end shot of videos, munching away at the carefully plated food

one day, Sou will be making a video titled Wedding Cake.

Lucien

Lucien’s channel LucidLight is a tad bit all over the place

he’s a man of many talents, and his channel reflects just that

i’m not saying it’s a disorganized channel, because the theme is very much there - the uniform theme in Luci’s content is a cozy background, a cup of tea and a soothing thumbnail

i mean that content-wise, his subscribers don’t really know what they’re going to get next...he has a slightly similar style to the YouTuber simon plant 

his content varies from interesting science theories to poetry reading sessions to ASMR to painting/sketching to cooking and much, much more

he has an heavenly soothing, smooth voice. it’s his trademark since Lucien doesn’t show his face on camera. ever. 

doesn’t have a TON of subs, because his channel is a bit of a niche thing, but I’d say he has 1,2 million subscribers and 400k followers on his added ‘business’ Instagram

he holds a lot of live streams on Instagram/YouTube (i know Moments exists in the game, but that’s more like a Facebook or Twitter kind of app...) and is always shown with just his torso and neck in frame. the lives usually include some poetry reading and generally just having a nice, relaxing chat with his followers. they can last up to 5 hours at once, and YOU know it’s because he doesn’t need sleep like a normal human being, but his fans are still asking questions about his timezone

his subscribers are strangely fascinated by his mysterious, gentle nature and also incredibly obsessed with his large, elegant hands

his ASMR videos are often roleplays of Librarian Lucien or Professor Lucien explaining to people why their rest is important

other times, they include soft affirmations, positive whispers, finger fluttering, hair touching and maybe kissing sounds...

Lucien paints a lot too, although he works primarily with ink and pencil sketches. you’ll find a watercolour or oil painting somewhere, but they’re not his most prominent media

his art videos are usually silent, although he might say something once in a while. there’s always some type of solo instrumental music playing in the background.

he does educational videos about biology and universe theories, but will also have reading sessions about scientific books

not intentionally secretive about your relationship, but he’s not one to mention it either

the first time you appeared on screen was when he was doing another live stream. he’s in his office talking about a play, when you come padding in to bid him goodnight.

“Yes, indeed. Laura’s glass menagerie, as the play suggests, is a symbol of fragility. Laura herself is very frail, but her favourite—”

“Good night, darling.” your soft voice rings through the room. viewers see Lucien’s torso turning a little bit, a hand on his shoulder and a curtain hair appearing from the top of the screen. his hand moves, presumably to cup the person’s cheek, before a soft kiss is heard through the mic. “Sleep tight, my love,” he murmurs.

“Ah. Laura’s favourite glass figurine is the unicorn, which...”

people are in uproar, but Lucien is a strong-willed man who refuses to explicitly announce the nature of his relationship.

his subscribers stop asking after a while, because it really isn’t any of their business, and they now know Lucien’s a taken man

you kind of appear on live streams accidentally a couple more times, but nothing’s really changed about Lucien’s content

the only thing he WILL say, and this is purely to give you credit, is “Ah. The background instrumentals in my art videos are played live. Yes, my lover’s very talented.”

you guys are the mysterious, talented, soft-voiced power couple of YouTube

Gavin

Gavin’s channel probably starts as a joint channel with you, something like Rachel and Jun

it’s relatively obvious from the start that Gavin from Birds&Cops is in a relationship, since you guys have a vlogging-style channel

your channel is filled with gym vlogs, travel vlogs to other countries and a lot of self-defence and sport at home videos. 

you guys also post a lot of funny vlogs talking about your day, going on fun dates, of course food vlogs in restaurants, all that stuff...

you often sit down and talk about your life, and maybe you’ll even do a mukbang during it for someone so fit, Gavin does eat a lot of food. 

Gavin’s channel didn’t blow up right away, because vlogging channels aren’t exactly unique, and he looks like the typical ‘straight boy with a girlfriend’

but he started gaining followers after people noticed how cute and blushy he acts, and how incredibly respectful and caring he is towards you

one of the most popular videos is Boyfriend Does My Makeup and it’s adorable. Gavin’s handling your face with so much care, and comments like “I know what this is, I’ve watched you do it many times.” or “Babe, does it hurt? Should I be more gentle? I’m sorry...my hands are rough.” make everyone SWOON

toxic masculinity left the chat. Gavin loves taking care of you in any way, whether it’s getting pads, chocolate and hot packs during your period or braiding your hair

in those yoga/celebrity fitness routine challenges, subs get to see Gavin in a tight singlet and sweatpants/shorts, and it’s HOLY

you’re very much aware of the attention Gavin receives from female fans, and how lucky you are to have found such a sweet partner

Gavin will usually see this type of comment while scrolling and will turn to you and go “Babe, you know I’m the lucky one here, right?”

anyways, a feature that you do to show fans the extent of Gavin’s sweet personality is Pranking My Boyfriend, where you set up the camera for a harmless prank like pretending to have a nightmare (similar to channels like Farina Jo)

that particular video was so fun to shoot, because it ended up with Gavin softly singing a lullaby to calm you down in his arms

“Baby, wake up. I’m here, you’re safe.” Gavin knows how to deal with panicking people, but he hates this prank afterwards because ‘he didn’t like seeing you in pain’

fans squealed. Birds&Cops gained like 50k subs through that video. the channel’s currently at 999k subscribers

overall, it’s just a really lovely, family-friendly channel

Kiro

Kiro knows his way around the web, alright?

not even just as Key, but he’s had a YouTube channel since the age of 15

his channel, CtrlAltChips is a hit with many people of many, many ages

he streams gaming sessions on Twitch and posts them on his YouTube channel afterwards

other content includes (primarily) covers & original songs, simple talking videos, thrifting & fashion videos, mukbangs and candid dance videos in a studio

think of chloe moriondo, doddleoddle, Victor the Drum Destroyer and Cat Strat

alternatively, for the ARMYs here, think of Jeon Jungkook as a YouTuber

Kiro has about 18 million subscribers, which is A LOT, but he’s been on YouTube for 7 years and he’s made a name for himself as a super likeable and bubbly guy with an angelic voice and killer moves

you’d think he’s just a cute boy when he sings acoustic covers, but his dance moves suggest that he’s not THAT cute

also how does he stay so fit with all those snack mukbangs?

he has a segment named In Our Kloset where he talks about social issues (because our boy uses his platform for good) around the world while customizing (not just pins. we’re talking patches, sewing, painting, embroidery) thrifted clothing to his liking. at the end he holds a little fashion show with his new outfits

after a while, you’ll see many of his outfits in giveaways or on sale for charity. Kiro tries to give back to his fans as much as he can, and how better than by sharing a piece of his unique clothing with them?

a great singer and performer. has held actual concerts before and has an actual music career (author-nim leaves it up to you readers to decide whether this is his idol career or some other musical project)

keeps his private life PRIVATE. he knows how the internet works, and he knows there’s no way he can keep your relationship a secret forever, but he’s not about to expose it to the world because of that reason

keeps tabs on information or rumours regarding you and makes them vanish

he’s simultaneously the most open and the most secretive out of the four boys. his fans know his favourite colour, what type of underwear he wears (trunks. Kiro wears trunks.), his birthday,...

but they know nothing about his past, his location, his close social circle or his family (teeechnically he’s an orphan but ig we’re talking about his mentor here. the blood of the covenant blah blah blah...y’know?). Kiro protects his loved ones fiercely

for someone who’s kept so secret, you’re actually really involved in Kiro’s virtual persona. you’re usually behind the camera during his In Our Kloset videos and are in charge of extra research regarding topics so he doesn’t spread any misinformation 

you also give pointers during filming (of course, these bits are edited out) because Kiro tends to trail off and get distracted when sewing

another way you’re involved is setting up the food during mukbangs. you have a great sense of aesthetics, so all of his videos in general will go through you.

while you like being low-key in Kiro’s life, you don’t want him to feel like he has to protect you from all the hate. 

he doesn’t particularly love keeping you a secret either, and it makes him feel guilty because he doesn’t want you to think he’s ashamed of you. he could never be.

you guys give it a good chat over how you’re going to announce it, and he just ends up making a video titled Miss Chips where the two of you sit down and talk to the camera

“Hello my little chips! Uhm, as you can see, there’s someone sitting next to me today. Maybe you already guessed from the title, but this is...my girlfriend, Miss Chips,” cue the cute jazz hands in your direction, “We’ve been dating for a long, loooong time, right, Miss Chips?”

“I just wanted to share this with you guys, since it felt wrong to keep such an important person in my life private. I hope you’re all kind to her, because I love her dearly, even to the point of giving up my snacks...so it’s serious.”

it really is that serious, hm?

Hope you enjoyed reading! 

[letsperaltiago]

Any hcs of Jake and Amy’s Valentine’s Day with 4mo Mac

Ohhh yes, Anon 🌹

- So, as mentioned, Mr Mac is around four months old when the little family’s first valentine’s day comes around. Even though Mac has grown into a quite good sleeper, allowing his parents much more sleep than months 1 through 3, they’re definitely both still exhausted when their son makes a screeching noise at 6 AM on a Sunday...

- They let him screech and talk to himself for a while, as long as he isn’t being fussy, and share a tired, sleepy chuckle under the warmth of their covers. “He’s such a talker... Wonder where he gets that from.” Amy mumbles, doesn’t even bother to open her eyes but still smirks. “Probably from his mom...” Jake strikes back before pulling his wife in close and pecking her forehead. “Both of us, let’s be real.” He adds and Amy can only nod. 

- Jake eventually gets out of bed, even after Amy’s whining and pleading because “how is she supposed to stay warm??”. Jake goes to pick up Mac and excuses himself with a ‘dirty diaper emergency’. Yes, he does of course take care of his son first but, after popping his head back into the bedroom to make sure that his wife has fallen back asleep, it’s also the perfect time for him to get Mac dressed in the “I ❤️ MOM” singlet he’s gotten him (+ 10 other layers because it’s February, super cold, and they have to go outside).

- Mr Mac aka the little Michelin man and Jake go for a flower and pastry run because mommy deserves nothing less 🌹Jake gets Amy roses: red, white, light pink, dark pink and even a couple of yellow. The flower lady is completely enamoured by the sight of chubby Mac in his stroller, wearing 10 layers of warm clothes like 😾 while his dad pays for the flowers and a teddy bear. “He’s adorable. How old is he?” “4 months in a couple of days” Jake beams proudly and picks Mac up to show him off in his full Michelin man glory.

- they run past Amy’s favorite bakery, pick up hot cocoa (because let’s be honest it just tastes better when he doesn’t make it himself) and a few heart shaped cookies that say “Be mine” “I love you” and asks the lady behind the counter to custom make one that says “title of our sextape” which she looks a bit 🤨 about but nonetheless does it.

- After unpacking all his things and baby, Jake places Mac with Amy in bed where she immediately, instinctively, wakes up and showers her little blob with kisses. “Happy Valentine’s Day, mommy” Jake says in his pretend Mac-voice. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby Mac and also to you babe” she steals a peck from her husband before he runs off to the kitchen before coming back with a tray of glory

.- “as you can see me and Mac have been very productive this morning. But we both agreed that it was worth it for mommy.” Amy looks at the cookies and laughs at the custom made one. Then takes in the roses “thank you, my loves ❤️❤️ although why so many shades of roses? Not that I mind.” “Mac picked them. Did you know that at 4 months they begin to notice shades of colors? My app told me so the other day so makes sense that he wanted as many colors as possible for mommy.” “You’re so smart, baby” she smothers her baby in even more kisses and Mac starts kicking and squealing as if completely understanding what’s going on.

- they decide to take the tray to the dinner table because eating and drinking in bed with a baby that moves a lot? Risky 😬 They sit at the dinner table, Mac in Jake’s lap, and enjoy the cookies and still warm coco as the flowers brighten up the room. Amy snaps a picture of her boys, smiling to herself as she does so because she’s so lucky and it’s def her new lock screen picture. It also goes on Instagram with the caption “Two Valentines this year 🌹🌹 I’m so in love.”

- After this they spend a perfect, slow day at home. Whenever Mac is down for a nap, Jake and Amy will do something a bit more couple-y like watch a movie or... make good use of Amy’s new lingerie (Jake wasn’t the only one with Valentine’s plans) 😌 It’s the perfect day

[bode-leone]

andy + booker, gen, 1,924 words. 

--

K̂ormon means weasel, ermine or stoat in Proto-Indo-European.

The gif referenced is this one.

--

Andy shows up at his Paris apartment, sporting her usual black backpack and sunglasses, nearly two years into the exile. He hasn’t done much but he’s taken to speaking to other people online, through messaging boards and forums, and has even worked up the courage to begin talking to someone more psychologically trained. He’s still in his single digits amount of appointments, and it takes a lot to work through the issues he has when he has to use subterfuge for most of them. It’s from one of these appointments that he unlocks his door, unthinking and not realising that someone is in there until he hears a shift and his hand flies to the gun he doesn’t have on him. 

“You’re not going to shoot little old me are you? Hmm?”

Andy’s voice. It was Andy. He can barely get his eyes up to look at her before tears are running down his face, to both his shock and hers. His appointment had been dealing with a lot of heavy stuff, that is, mainly about Jean-Pierre and his feelings about outliving his family. So Andy showing up for the first time since he’d been left on the river Thames was like a tsunami running through him. He brings his hands up to rub at the tears. 

“I’m sorry,” he says watery, sniffling. “I promise I’m doing better, really.”

Andy looks him up and down and comes to a decision, he can see the cogs in her head turning from where he’s standing in the middle of the rundown apartments living room and kitchen. She soon opens her arms wide, inviting him in to hug her. 

“Come here, Book,” she murmurs and he does, but he drags his feet giving her enough time to back out if she wants to. 

He sees her roll her eyes and she crosses the last few meters herself, throwing her arms around him and seemingly holding him up as his knees nearly buckles, despite the height difference between them. She rubs his back, humming a little, and he clings to her, his face shoved in the junction of her shoulder and neck. He thought he’d never see her again, never again get to talk about translations of classics, never again get to listen to her repeated stories about fighting with the real Achilles, with the real Alexander. But here she is, in the flesh. 

She still smells the same, he notes when his crying has subsided and his body has worked itself into a tired slump, hinting at exhaustion. 

She pulls back and her almost doesn’t want to; wants to hold her in his arms until she knows instinctively that he’s sorry and that he’d never do anything stupid or selfish as what he had done ever again. Looking at her, though, he thinks she knows. He looks at her carefully and she doesn’t look any more older than she had when he had last seen her, maybe a frown line more. 

“I want to go out, Book, know any good places?” She says as she lowers and then removes her sunglasses. 

Her eyes still spark at him and leaves him a little dimwitted.

“Um...ah, I go to a club that plays old stuff, stuff from the forties and fifties. Or do you want to go somewhere more modern?” He says quietly, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. He didn’t really go out much and when he did it was more for the ambience than the dancing, really.

“No, that’s great. It’s getting close to six now, we should head out.”

--

He calls an uber to take them to the 11th Arrondissement and to the club that he goes to. He pays for their entry fees and takes her to where he usually sits. They sit there for an hour, him buying her drinks and listening to anything she’d give him about herself, the others. She purses her lips when he first asks her about the others, obviously running through the risk of her telling him anything anyways, before deciding that some will not bring them to ruin. Again. 

“We’re doing fine. Nile is learning quickly, quicker than you did,” he laughs into his drink to cover the subtle sharp pang at that, “but we’re all different. You were different. She’s different. Differences aren’t bad Sebastien, however much you’re thinking you were never good.” 

He looks at his drink, the beer suddenly souring in his mouth. Yet again his deficits are so easily seen despite the amount of effort he had put in the last two years to fix what was wrong with him. The use of his name further cements this as a failing. 

“I’m sorry,” he says truthfully, looking at her out from under his mop of hair that he really needed to get cut. “I’m in therapy, I have been for the last few years. I know it doesn’t make up for anything but I am trying to be better.”

She looks at him in the eye, taking a mouthful of her horrifying liquor mix as she does so. She sighs when she swallows. 

“Are you doing this for you? Or are you doing this as an attempt to lower your sentence?”

He thinks, for a moment, on the questions. 

“Both. I’m doing it for me because I can’t live with my brain telling me things like that but I also can’t help but hope it’s enough to reduce my sentence,” he says and winces. “Sorry, I guess I’m not really very far in being better. Sorry.”

He looks out into the small crowd of people dancing already, some slowly and some fast. It’s nice to see something kept and saved, even if it’s just a dance. It feels like the more he looks, the more there’s little to recognise. He cannot imagine what it’s like for Andy, with all her thousands of years. 

“Wanting something isn’t necessarily bad, Sebastien,” she says quietly and draws his gaze back to herself. “It’s not bad that you want to come back, I’d be suspicious if you didn’t, but the fact that you can recognise that you need help is the most important thing here. Now, I want to dance and you’re going to dance with me.”

She holds a hand out to him over the booth table and he takes it and tells himself the butterflies he feels are simply the emotions of having contact with his family. 

They dance for hours, both swing and slow, and he blushes involuntarily when his hands are on her hips like he’s a teenage boy, stuttering and nervous. She leads more than he does, considering the last time he had been dancing like this was when the dances were originally from. He finds he has a good time, able to let go of himself for just a little while and pretend he truly was the forty two year old man his body portrays him to be. 

They leave, with Andy’s arm hooked through his, in an uber the same way they arrived. Upon arriving home, he realises he has not planned for a single major obstacle: his apartment only has one bed. He tells Andy that he can sleep on the floor and she can take the bed and her eyes roll upward. 

“Book, it’s fine. Stop acting like everything that happens is the end of the world, we’ll be fine.”

He tries not to stare at the reddish-pink scar on her abdomen when her singlet rides up as she gets ready for bed. Tries to not let its existence feel like the reaffirmation of the thousands of pounds of guilt on his shoulders, rising to his ears instinctively. She huffs at him after brushing her teeth. 

“What you did, it’s shit and horrifying, but it’s been done. It does nobody any good to keep reminiscing on it.”

She lifts her shirt over the scar and motions to it.

“This? This isn’t going to go away no matter how much we both wish it would. Stop looking like you did,” she motions with her neck and shoulders, “you look like a k̂ormon.”

His face must show his confusion over the last word because she rolls her eyes, drags him to the bed, pushes him down into it and turns out the light, plunging the room into darkness. He gets himself situated under the sheets and blankets, not knowing which way to face. Andy checks her phone once before locking it and putting it on the side table. 

“So-”

“It means weasel, Book. You look like a weasel when you do that.”

He bursts out laughing involuntarily, wiping his eyes. 

“K̂ormon, k̂ormon, k̂ormon,” he murmurs, knowing instinctively that it’s from her original language. “I like it.”

--

He wakes up and feels someone’s arms around him. 

It takes a moment for his brain to work and place whose arms they are. Her face is pressed into the back of his neck. He sighs, relaxing out of his tensed position. He looks out the window to the dreary, grey light. It musnt be very late, he can continue to sleep. It’s the first time in a long time that he hadn’t had a Quynh dream, hadn’t woken gasping and thrashing, without the use of alcohol or narcotics. He yawns and buries his face back into his pillow, distantly feeling her arms tighten around him before he slips back under. 

He wakes again to the rustling of fabric and his eyes slip open, blinking slowly. The light is bright and a warmer colour. He turns to where the rustling is coming from, seeing Andy zipping up her backpack. 

“What time is it?” He murmurs muzzily, rubbing his eyes. 

“It’s seven thirty,” she says as she puts her sunglasses on her head. “Know anywhere good to eat?”

He does so he gets up and showers and makes himself presentable to be seen in public. As they walk down the arrondissement towards the café, she slings an arm around his shoulders and leans close.

“The others are waiting for me to make a decision about whether or not you can come back,” she murmurs before pulling away.

He keeps moving, in shock, until he motions for her to stop and they walk into the café. He gets a black coffee and croissant with Andy getting a café crème and croissant. He doesn’t know how to respond to the revelation and eats his croissant and drinks his coffee. Once he’s done and he’s had enough of watching Andy’s self satisfied smile, they get up to leave. He lets her wander out and he pays for their meals. 

He wanders out to her and she swings her pack onto her back using both shoulders. She reaches out and kisses his cheeks, quickly, rubbing her thumbs over his cheekbones.

Slipping her sunglasses onto her face, she smiles at him. 

“It’ll be all good, k̂ormon, you’ll see,” she says, “just wait for my signal.” 

She then walks off in the direction of the metro. 

He rubs his hand over his mouth and then walks in the opposite direction, back to his apartment. 

--

The signal comes in the form of a gif in a text message at 2:45 AM that wakes him up as the tone goes off near his head. 

The gif is of an ermine, a white one, and it looks like it’s talking, saying “we shouldn’t change just so we can fit in here.”

There’s a short message, too. 

It’s time to come home, k̂ormon.

[evendeadlmthehero]

The Five Year Promise: Time Heist (8/10)

Summary: Y/N Stark, 20 year old superhero, makes a promise with a 16 year old Peter Parker after being cheated on, that if she hasn’t found love in the next 5 years, they’d finally go on a date. Then the snap happens. Y/N is gone and Peter isn’t.

Warnings: Angst, swearing

The Five Year Promise Masterlist

Based on the events of Avengers: Endgame (2023)

Peter sat down on the roof top as he watched the sun slowly set. He was wearing the white suit that Tony had called ‘Quantum’ suits. It wasn’t similar to yours. Your’s shot quantum energy, healed you and allowed you to fly. This suit was just to help them go back in time.

Back in time, Peter kept thinking in his head. Back to the past, to what he used to be. He didn’t know if he could do it. He obviously agreed to, but he didn’t know if he could emotionally handle the situation. The wind blew back his now long hair, strands in front of his face reaching just below his eye.

He heard the door open behind him, turning to see a familiar red-headed women walk out. He heard about her, seen pictures, seen her fight, but had never actually spoken to her. He knew that you never stopped talking about her. She was like your mother, your Aunt and your bestest and closest friend.

She smiled at him, wearing the same suit as him. Peter instinctively pulled down the sleeve of his suit, trying to cover the tattoos on his arms from sight. Before, Peter never really cared about how he looked. But coming back to the Avengers facility made him self conscious. Like he was finally answering for his sins.

She walked over before she sat next to him, clasping her hands as she too looked over at the sunset. “Peter right?”

Peter nodded, not knowing what to say to the assassin. She was scary, but at the same time held a motherly sense in her. Natasha smiled at herself, her black widow training allowed her to see someone’s emotions.

“You know Peter, Y/N always spoke about you in her letters to me,” Natasha spoke, making Peter’s ears perk up, his attention now on the Romanoff female. She then laughed, mimicking your voice. “‘Nat, you would love Peter!’ she would always say. She’d talk about how smart you are, how attentive and thoughtful you are. But you know what she loved the most about you?”

“What?” Peter gulped, afraid that what ever you loved about him was gone now. He had changed, and maybe you didn’t want the new him. The broken him. The one that killed. The old Peter would’ve gagged at the thought of killing someone. The new Peter wouldn’t think twice.

“That you were fighter,” Natasha replied back, nodding at him. “Point is, no matter who you were and what you’ve become, Y/N will stick by you. And I know this because I’ve seen the letters. She writes as if it’s a novel. She writes to me with her heart as soon as she mentions your name. Someone like that doesn’t give up on the person she loves that easily.”

“You think she loves me?” Peter’s voice croaked as he looked down at his hands. His voice was full of hope, like that’s all he wanted to hear. For five years, it had been lonely for Peter. For five years, Peter was deprived of love. He had no one. Not the motherly touch of his Aunt, the brotherly love of his best friend or the romantic feeling of a women.

“I know so. Why else would she have given you that watch?” Natasha spoke, looking at his watch. Of course you had told Natasha about the watch. You told her everything. From when you got your first period, to when you gave Peter the watch. She knew everything about you.

Peter smiled a little bit for the first time in years. He then looked at Natasha, letting out a sigh. “She also spoke about you. A lot. She looks up to you. She thinks of you as a mother.”

“I know. I thought I’d never have a child, and then there she was,” Natasha trailed off somenly, letting out a laugh as she shook her head. She then looked down at the fields of grass that covered the facility. “She came into my life. It was like life was giving me a secound chance at having my own daughter. My only regret was not staying with her when the Avengers broke up.”

Peter let out a sigh, his turn to shake his head. “We’ve got a shot now to get everyone back. No do overs. We have to get it right or we’re fucked.”

Natasha nodded, getting up to dust her suit. “Cap and Scott to 2012 for the tesseract. Thor and rocket to Asgard for the reality stone. Clint and I to Vormir. Rhoudey and Nebula to 2014. And Tony and you to 2015 for the mind stone. Easy.”

“Yeah,” Peter spoke, scratching his beard as he stood up. “Easy.”

-

“Five years ago, we lost. All of us. We lost friends, we lost family, we lost a part of ourselves,” Steve spoke, glancing at all the team members, his eyes lingering on Tony and Natasha. “Today, we have a chance to take it all back. You know your teams, you know your missions. Get the stones, get them back. One round trip each. No mistakes. No do-overs. Most of us are going somewhere we know. But it doesn't mean we should know what to expect. Be careful. Look out for each other. This is the fight of our lives. And we're gonna win. Whatever it takes. Good luck.”

Rocket laughed, smiling. “He’s pretty good at that.”

“Right?” Scott spoke, looking like an excited puppy.

“All right. You heard the man,” Tony spoke, now determined more than ever to get his daughter back. “Stroke those keys, jolly green.”

Natasha smiled at Steve excitedly. The girl was estatic, hopeful that she might get everyone back. That she might get you back. “See you in a minute.”

Steve smiles at her warmly. He knew how much this meant to her. They all then shrunk as they entered the Quantum Realm. They all split at different intervals, going to a different place at a different time in history.

Peter felt a rush of strong wind, flashing lights and his whole body felt like elastic before finally stopping. He let out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding in. He felt a bit dizzy from entering the quantum realm, before looking around. “W-where are we exactly?”

Peter was now in a lab coat, looking like a Stark worker. Tony however was in his Ironman suit, as he can just pretend to be his past self rather than someone else. After all, he did technically own the building.

Tony walked over to him, looking around the place in fondness. “The Avenger’s Tower, New York. We had just gotten back from a Hydra Base after being attacked by Wanda and her brother.”

“Where’s the mind stone?” Peter asked, his height now towering over Tony’s. Tony shook his head, giving Peter the suitcase.

“Here,” Tony spoke, as Peter grabbed the suitcase. He looked at Tony confusedly, not knowing why the suitcase was given to him. “Y/N’s upstairs looking at the stone right now. She’s about to create ultron.”

“Wait, Y/N created Ultron?” Peter asked, now even more confused. “I thought you were the one that created Ultron.”

“I lied,” Tony bit the bottom of his lip, before letting out a sigh. “I didn’t want anyone to blame her. And it wasn’t hard to blame me since I’m always the crazy one with visions. But truth is, Wanda made her see the future. She was the one who saw Thanos coming.”

“Then what did you see?” Peter had asked, making Tony’s face turn to anguish. He looked around, trying to avoid Peter’s eyes. “Tony?”

“I- I saw Y/N turn into dust. Listen Pete, I can’t do it. I’ll probably end up ruining this whole goddamn mission if I see her. I’ll try to distract the others, including myself from going upstairs. But you need to go get the stone. She hasn’t met you yet,” Tony explained, making Peter nod before turning into the direction that was your previous lab.

He walked down up the stairs, trying hard not to be seen or heard. He then opened the door of the floor that contained the labs and started walking down the corridor quietly.

“C’mon beefcakes, party starts in three hours, get yourselves ready!” He heard Tony speak. Peter quickly hid inside a room, careful not to be seen. He then saw a previous Tony walk down with both a 2015 Steve and Thor. “Especially you goldilocks, you’re gonna need 3 hours just for your hair.”

“You misgardians are foolish,” Thor spoke, while pushing back his hair as Peter watched them walk down the cooridor. “Us beings are born with hair as silky and smooth as the backquaters of a newborn. We do not require your earthly practices to look presentable.”

Peter watched as they took the elevator and walked back out as he saw the doors close. He then straightened his lab coat before finally reaching the Lab. There was no one in it. Peter took a deep breath, before opening the door and walking inside.

Loki’s sceptre was held by what looking like an energy clasp. Peter smiled, walking over it and ready to grab it before a voice stopped him.

“And exactly what do you think you’re doing?” He heard a familiar voice say. In particularly, your familiar voice. He felt his heart drop and his voice stuck in his throat. His body was frozen from shock from the sound of your voice, unable to turn around. “Are you gonna talk or am I gonna have to get security to escort you out?”

“No!” Peter yelled, trying to focus back into his previous mission, which was to get back the stones. He had to save future you, not past you. He had to focus. He turned around, his eyes finally finding yours. You looked a bit young, which was expected as you were only 18. Your hair was a bit straighter than it is in the future and your skin was paler.

“Then what exactly are you doing here?” You spoke, taking a step forward. Who were also donning a lab coat with a black singlet and jeans. Peter gulped, trying to come up with a explanation.

“I need the stone,” Peter confessed, making you scrunch your eyebrows up. You looked at him like he was an idiot. A guy who you didn’t know just wanted to come here and take the stone. “F-for something.”

“Are you kidding me? For something?” You mocked him, before walking passed him and near the spectre. “Leave. Now. Before I escort you out myself and-“

“I’m Peter,” He spoke, his eyes glistening with tears. He needed to tell you. He couldn’t lie to you. That’s the one thing in his entire life that Peter couldn’t do; lie to you. And he also needed to talk you. He missed you so goddamn much. For five years, he only ever wanted this. “You don’t know me, b-but you will.”

“Who the fuck are you-“

“I’m from 2023,” Peter spoke, making your eyes widened, looking at him like he was some sort of lunatic. “And I need the stone, because the fate of the world depends on it. I just need to grab it and I’ll give it back, I promise.”

“And why would I believe some random tatted adult in a lab coat who I haven’t even met?” You spoke, crossing your arms. “How do I know you’re from the future?”

“Because I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to create a shield around the earth. You’re trying to create Ultron,” he spoke, his lips in the break of quivering from the adrenalin rush of seeing you again. He was also trying not to give away too much from the future. “It’s also your birthday today. And every year your father does the planning, Natasha gets you jewellery, Thor tells you an Asguardian story, Bruce gets you tools for your lab, Steve gets you little paintings and Clint bakes you a cake.”

Your mouth was wide opened, now alert. This guy was either telling the truth or he was a threat who knew everything about you. But Ultron? Only you knew about Ultron. “How do you know all this?”

“B-because I-I’m or will be, your friend,” Peter’s voice cracked, feeling like he was a teenager again. He looked down, now playing with his fingers. Your eyes squinted, taking in his appearance. He looked a tad older than you but if he was from 2023, then you were way older than him.

“Let’s say I believe you and you’re actually from the future,” you started, slowly starting to believe him. You walked over to him, now looking at him face to face. “If you wanted the stone, why couldn’t my past self get it herself?”

Peter’s fiddling with his fingers stopped, a lump now present in his throat. He shook his head, looking at the wall next to your right. His eyes started to well up before one tear left. He quickly wiped it before sniffing, his hands now trembling. “I- I can’t-“

“It’s fine,” you spoke, feeling how much this guy had cared about future you. You could tell he had missed you, even though you did not know who he was. You didn’t want to find out what had happened to you or what will happen to the future.

Peter kept sniffing even though there was no more tears. He then had went quiet, a silence befallen you guys both. He had looked like he had it rough, you had thought. And by the way he was avoiding eye contact, it looked like it was because of you. “Do- do you want a hug, Peter?”

Peter’s eyes widened, his heart beating rapidly. You looked at him with a smile, trying your best to make him feel better. Whatever happened to you took a toll on him, and if your past-self can help him smile, then of course you’d do that. Peter nodded, letting out a little sob as he walked over to you and embraced you.

“I’m sorry- I’m so sorry Y/N,” Peter sobbed out as you rubbed his back, not understanding why he was apologising but happy to comfort him. “I- I’m so so sorry. I miss you so much, so fucking much.”

“Hey, Hey it’s fine,” you spoke out, not knowing what you were forgiving him for. “Everything’s fine-“

All the sudden, Peter felt you go limp his arms. He was confused at first, feeling you get heavier by the secound. He pulled back from the hug only to see unconscious, a dart on your neck.

He looked up to see who had thrown the dart at you, only to see an angry looking Stark man. He had his fist pointed towards you, where the dart had left his suit. He shook his head at Peter, letting out a scoff. “You can’t just tell people your from the damn future Parker! You know what that can do?”

“I-I couldn’t lie okay,” Peter defended himself, slowly placing her on the floor as he faced Tony. “I saw her and all the sudden, I felt like I was 16 again. Not the man I am today but the man I was before. And- and I just couldn’t. I couldn’t.”

Tony let out a sigh, shaking his head as he walked over to Loki’s spectre and grabbing it. “It’s fine. Lets just get out of here before I come in which is in about 5 minutes. Hopefully Y/N thinks this was all a dream.”

Peter nodded, glancing at you who was sleeping soundly on the floor. He smiled at you, getting down to move a hair strand from your face. He then heard his and Tony’s watch beep, indicating that it was time to head back to the Avenger’s compound.

Their bodies were sucked back into the Quantum Realm, multiple lights and colours surrounding the Parker boy. He felt the familiar nauseating feeling before his feet landed on a solid surface.

Peter let out a deep breath, smiling excitedly as he looked around. Everyone had the stones. They did it. They actually managed to pull it off. His smile then faltered when he didn’t see Natasha. “Where- where’s Nat?”

The silence from Clint tells them all they need to know. The mission was completed but at a dire cost. Sadness overtakes everyone. Bruce falls to his knees and pounds the floor in grief.

Peter gulps, sadness consuming his body. She was right next to him. A few moments ago, Natasha was right next to him. She was all giddy and happy to finally get you back. But now?

She was never going to see you come back.

-

Peter looked around, watching all the Avengers mourn the red headed warrior. He didn’t know her much, but he knew she was loved. An assassin who turned out to be a caring, motherly and leader figure.

The sun set along the horizon as the Avengers looked out into the sunset. A tear escaped Steve’s face as he looked down at his hands. Peter was upset, but he wasn’t crying. He didn’t know her all to well. But he knew he didn’t have the heart to let you know if you come back.

“Did, um,” Peter begun, brushing his hair back as he looked at Tony and then to the lake. “Did she have a family”

“Yeah,” Tony spoke, his voice cracking as he shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes. “Us. Y/N. Wanda. Even Vision.”

“You're acting like she's dead. Why are we acting like she's dead?” Thor got up, tears welling up in his eyes as he paced around the room, shaking his head in denial. “We have the stones, right? As long as we have the stones, Cap, we can bring her back, isn't that right? So stop this shit. We're the Avengers, get it together.”

Clint stared at the ground solemnly, his voice lacking emotion. “We can't get her back.”

“Wha- what?” Thor laughed bitterly, now stopping in front of Clint. Tony shook his head, getting up to stand away from the commotion. He had lost a friend, a sister. She may have betrayed him, but he knew that deep down she would die for him. For the whole world. And it was proven today the lengths that Natasha would go through for Humanity.

“It can't be undone. It can't.”

“I'm sorry. No offense, but you're a very earthly being. Okay?” Thor spoke, as Peter watched the God’s way of dealing with grief. “We're talking about space magic. And "can't" seems very definitive don't you think?”

“Look, I know that I'm way outside my paygrade here,” Clint spoke, his voice rising from anger as he too stood up. “But she still isn't here, is she?”

“Now, that’s my point isn’t it-“

“-It can't- be undone. Or that's at least what the, great floating guy had to say,” Clint shouted, his face turning red from anger. “Maybe you wanna go talk to him? Okay? Go grab your hammer, and you go fly and you talk to him.”

Clint's anger is quickly replaced with grief as he slowly sits back down. “It was supposed to be me. She sacrificed her life for that goddamned stone. She bet her life on it so that Y/N would come back.”

In a burst of anger, Bruce grabs a bench and hurls it clear across the lake. His anger spent, he turns to the others with a resigned look on his face. “She's not coming back. We have to make it worth it. We have to.”

Steve stood up, a determined look on his face as he looked at all the Avengers, including Peter who was quiet in the whole ordeal.

“We will.”

-

“Alright, gloves ready,” Rocket spoke, making Peter’s ears perk up. He had changed into his old Iron-spider suit that Tony had to adjust to fit his now taller and bulkier frame. “Question is, who’s gonna wield it.”

Peter looked around for any volunteers. He saw Thor get up, a smile on his face as he approached Rocket. “I'll do it.”

“Excuse me?” Scott asked, looking confusedly. Thor mustn’t been serious, Scott had thought. He’s mental health has been too damaged for him to wield the gauntlet.

“It's okay.”

“No, no, no,” Tony spoke as everyone else held Thor back. Peter watched behind the sidelines, rubbing his beard. It was a bad habit he had. “Whoa. Stop. Stop. Wait a sec. Hey, hey.”

“Wait, wait, wait, Thor, just wait,” Steve spoke, holding Thor back. “We haven't decided who's gonna put that on yet.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Thor scoffed, shaking his head at Steve. “What, were you just sitting around waiting for the right opportunity?”

“We should at least discuss it,” Scott spoke up, looking at the Norse God.

“Look, us sitting here staring at that thing is not gonna bring everybody back,” Thor shot back, trying to walk over to the gauntlet. “I'm the strongest Avenger, okay? So this responsibility falls upon me. It's my duty.”

“It's not that-“

“Stop it! Just let me-“ Thor yelled at Tony, his voice stopping as his eyes teared up. “Just let me do it. Just let me do something good. Something great.”

“Look,” Tony spoke, grabbing Thor gently by the shoulders. “It's not just the fact that that glove is channeling enough energy to light up a continent, I'm telling you you're in no condition.”

“You saw what those stones did to Thanos. It almost killed him. None of you could survive,” Bruce begun speaking, moving forward. “The radiation's mostly gamma. It's like- uh, I was made for this.”

Bruce picks up the gauntlet carefully as everyone was watching him. It was an eerie feeling was being generated within the room. Bruce could die today from snapping his fingers.

Worse, what if half the population couldn’t be brought back? What if they’re really dead? All these hope that was brought back in Peter’s life. His Aunt, Ned and you. If all of you didn’t come back, Peter wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

He had prayed that the hope given to him manifests.

“You remember everyone Thanos snapped away five years ago and just bringing them back to now, today,” Tony spoke as he watched Bruce look at the gauntlet in anticipation. “Don’t change the past 5 years. F.R.I.D.A.Y., do me a favor and activate Protocol 8.”

Peter watched as the Avengers facility goes on lockdown. Metal covers shields the windows, doors are immediately locked and the room he was standing in was now darker than it was before. Bruce looked intently at the Gauntlet, his face now determined. “Everybody comes home.”

Bruce puts on the gauntlet and the power surge overwhelms him. He grunts in pain, his veins now on display in multiple colours of the infinity stones.

“Take it off. Take it off!” Thor yelled at his long time best friend.

“No, wait,” Steve cut him off, running over towards the green giant. “Bruce, are you okay?”

“I'm okay. I'm okay.”

Thor gives a double thumbs up, making Peter roll his eyes at him. He continued watching as Bruce screamed, fighting through the intense pain coursing through his body courtesy of the gauntlet, and manages to snap his fingers. He faints and the gauntlet slides off his arm. Clint kicks it away like it was a toy.

The Avengers run towards Bruce whilst Peter gets up from his position. He looks around, to see if anything looked different, even though he was inside. “Did it work?”

Peter suddenly feels his phone vibrate. He was confused at first, as no one had his phone number after the snap. His eyes widened, his body went cold as he read the name. He pressed answer, his voice stuttering. “H-hello?”

“Peter! Where have you been!” He heard his Aunt’s angry voice yell at him. “The principal called, said you left the school trip! Peter I get you’re Spider-Man but please, let me know where you’re going next time!”

A tear left his eye, quickly wiping it away as he nodded. “O-okay.”

“Guys!” Scott yells as Peter ends the call and puts it back on the table, his hands still shaking from the ordeal. It had worked. His Aunt was back, and you and Ned are also possibly back as well. “I think it worked!”

Peter let out a smile, before the hairs on his arm stood up, faltering the smile. His eyes widened, feeling the missle hurdling towards them before running over and covering Clint with his body.

Peter felt his body go hot as he fell down below the ground. His body hit a rough surface, before Clint’s body had toppled on top of him. Clint was human, he needed the extra protection he could get.

Peter groaned, looking around. Water was quickly trinkling around him. The gauntlet laid right beside him and Clint looked like he was in shock. Peter closed his eyes, knowing there will be a fight that will determine the fate of all mankind.

Whether or not his hope will manifest.

[notyoursterotypicalnerd]

Online Love

Marvel Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Synopsis: Bucky and his mysterious S have only been communicating via phone that is until S suggests they finally meet in person. Bucky isn’t sure how he feels about that idea but he says yes anyway.

Word count: 2026

A/N: Hope you don’t mind that i used your stucky social media post as  inspiration. @snowbarrysolicity

Their lives had finally stopped revolving around fighting. They had both finally figured out how-to live-in peace. No more fight against the enemy and no more fighting against each other.

They were childhood friends; battle tore them apart, but daily remainders kept each other close.

One was known as the hero to the public while the other was known as the enemy, normally stories like this would sound cliched and audiences would know where this would turn. This is exactly that story.

“Yo, Buck. We’re all heading out, want to come join us?” Sam yelled over the music in the gym.

Bucky looked up from the punching bag “Whose us?”

“Stark, Barton and Rogers”

Bucky scrunched up his face “Maybe another time.”

Sam rolled his eyes “Don’t know why you bother training; we both know I’m the stronger one out of the two of us” He laughed.

“I’ll give you whose stronger” Bucky joked as he raised his metal fist.

The two males laughed together.

“Right, fine. Catch ya in a bit” Sam called out as he headed out of their shared house.

Bucky paused for a moment as he listened to front door close shut. He rushed to his phone next to the speakers, he picked it up and smiled as he saw an unread message from his new crush.

Bucky clicked open the message.

It was nice to finally hear your voice in person last night. x S.

Bucky felt like a child with a hidden crush that his too shy to share. No one knew that Bucky had been talking to a guy. They had meet on a dating app, Sam had set one up for Bucky thinking that Buck could move his looking for love online instead of trying old 1940’s tricks that make any woman sick to hear.

He had swiped on a guy who he only knew as S, even the profile picture seemed a bit vague. Bucky didn’t care, the two of them had been messaging each other non-stop since even swapping numbers.

No one knew about Bucky’s new interest; he was even too shy to talk to Steve about it.

Bucky bit his lower lip as he tried to find the words to reply with.

Maybe we could meet in person?

Bucky backspaced the message “No” he sighed to himself.

Want to stay up late again tonight?

“Ah!” he cringed to himself. “Don’t come off quick” he sighed again.

Same time again?

Bucky pressed send. He lowered his head thinking he was going to wreck his chances too quickly. They had only been talking for almost two months, they each had their excuses on not wanting to meet in person.

Bucky’s excuse was always the same, I’m sorry but things have been hectic and trying to meet in person would be rushed.

While S’ excuse would be work’s been holding me hostage, we’ll plan something...eventually.

Bucky looked down at his phone as an instant reply came through.

I’m free now.

Bucky jumped in giddy. He took a deep breath as he rang S’ number. He looked up at the punching bag, he bit his lower lip.

“James”

He loved the way S said his name. No one called him James, not even Steve; at least not anymore.

“S” Bucky smiled at himself as he began to walk out of the gym.

“did you get much sleep after I hung up last night?”

Bucky was glad he was alone, no one could see him blush “Ah, sorry man that I crashed. It’s just been crazy lately.” He couldn’t believe that he fell asleep half way through their conversation last night. 

S laughed a little “has anyone ever told you that your snore is cute?”

Bucky paused for a moment as he stopped on the stairs. He didn’t know how to respond to that. He took a second to recollect his thoughts “you should see what else is cute” his eyes widened as he realised what he had just said. “fuck!” he mouthed to himself.

S laughed a little “Are you finally free from being busy?”

Bucky clenched his human hand, letting his nails dig into his skin. He wasn’t ready to meet in person. What happens if S didn’t like what he saw? What happens if S knew about Bucky’s past?

“James, are you there?”

Bucky unclenched his hand “Yes, sorry” He took the final three steps up the stairs “is work still holding you hostage?”

“At the moment things have seem to died down and I’m no longer chained to my…” S stopped himself from speaking “Maybe we could finally meet up tomorrow?”

Bucky went quiet again, he moved along the hallway. He couldn’t but he wanted to. He shouldn’t but he wanted to. A million thoughts ran through Bucky’s mind.

“James?”

Bucky stopped at the entrance of the kitchen “Tomorrow?” he tried to remain calm.

“Yeah? Say around 3?”

Bucky paused. His thoughts started to swirl around trying to find a good excuse to use, trying to find something that could avoid a meet up. He loved texting S and he loved finally hearing S’ voice for a change but meeting in person? No, that was off the table.

“James?” S started to worry.

Bucky caught his reflection in the window. He didn’t think he was a looker, his shoulder length dark hair pulled into a messy bun, a scruffy beard around his lower jaw. A baggy singlet over his upper body and a pair of sweats over his lower body.

He had heard Sam’s jokes too many times, not that it bruised Bucky’s ego but some days he did believe the joking insults Sam said.

“James? Are you still there?”

Bucky snapped back into the conversation, he wanted to hang up. Use some excuse of the phone call ending abruptly. “I..can...3..is” Bucky fumbled with his words.

“Are you sure, James? We don’t have too meet in person”

“Nah, it’s cool.” Bucky finally managed to find his words.

“Nah, you don’t want to meet up or cool that you do?” S tried to find certainty in the answer.

“Sorry, S. I totally want to see you tomorrow, it’s about time, anyway. Right?” Bucky tried to act cool.

S laughed a little “It’s certainly overdue. Alright, say across the road from the building that used to be Stark towers?”

“3pm, at that coffee shop?”

“Yep. Alright, I get it...I’ll get off the phone” another voice could be heard in the background, but Bucky couldn’t make out what they were saying “Sorry, James. Friends of mine want me off the phone, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye S.”  Bucky waited for the line to go quiet before he put his phone in his pocket.

He couldn’t believe it; he was going on his first date since having his memory and metal arm altered by Shuri. To say Bucky was nervous would be an understand; he was scared and nervous. He couldn’t believe he had agreed to it.

# #

Bucky placed the razor down on the sink’s edge as he looked at his smooth face in the reflection of the bathroom mirror; he smiled a little.

“Oh, come man, now I’m going to have to look at that ugly thing all the time? At least the beard was an improvement” Joked Sam as he stopped in the doorway of the bathroom.

Bucky rolled his eyes.

Sam’s eyes moved to the bathroom floor seeing Bucky’s chopped hair on the floor “hope you plan on cleaning all that up”

Bucky looked at Sam.

“What? I could’ve said something about the towel too but” Same shrugged a little “I’ve grown numb to you walking around in a towel.”

Bucky smiled a little.

“Doors were invented for a reason dude” Sam leaned against the door way. “What’s with the clean-up, anyway?”

Bucky looked at the sink, he turned on the taps trying to clean up the mess of his beard “I..” he paused for a moment “I have a date”

Sam burst out laughing “What girl wants a weak ass like you? Should tell her, that the falcon is over here.”

Bucky wanted to correct Sam, it wasn’t a she he was meeting; it was a he. “Come on, man. We know the ladies love the metal” He joked back at Sam.

“Always using that lame ass excuse” Sam rolled his eyes “Do I know her?”

Bucky shrugged.

Sam shrugged in reply “Is that all I get? A shrug? Man, your finally getting the hang of this century.”

Bucky turned off the taps, he looked at Sam “That’s all your getting, birdman.”

“Bird man?” Sam pretended to feel offended “At least I’m a chick magnet”

It was Bucky’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Are you bringing her back here?”

Bucky carefully knelt down to the ground trying not to let his towel come loose, he shrugged.

Sam shrugs “again with a shrug?”

“Look, Sam. I don’t know. This is our first-time meeting in person. Probably go back to theirs” He started to try and clean the cuts off his hair from the floor.

“Well if you bring her back here, than just send me a text so I can clear the zone. I don’t want to see your nasty ass walking around naked.”

“ ‘right” Bucky tried not to feel hurt over the last comment. He was trying to stay positive for his date with S but the conversation with Sam was taking Bucky’s thoughts down.

# #

Sam looked at Bucky “Gotta admit, you don’t scrub up too bad” he complimented his friend.

Bucky smiled a little. He was dressed in jeans, plain shirt, and a leather jack. Bucky ran his metal fingers through his hair to slick it back slightly, he used his human hand to check his phone “thanks man.”

“Let me know how it goes and if things don’t work out. Give her my number”

“Yeah, that ain’t happening.” Bucky waved bye to his friend as he walked towards the front door.  He pulled his sunglasses out from the inside of his jacket and put them on. He shoved his metal hand into the pocket of his jeans trying to make himself look as human as possible as he walked out of their property.

# #

Bucky checked the time on his phone. 14:50. He sat down outside the café as he waited for his order. He could feel his heart racing, he wanted to bail, and ghost S. Bucky would rather go back on the run again than deal with meeting S.

Bucky looked down as he felt the table vibrate, he noticed a new message flash across the screen of his phone. He opened the message.

Who am I looking for?

Bucky looked up around him trying to see if anyone was looking at their phone. A lot of different people were, he sighed a little than began typing.

Leather jacket, glasses on. Back corner on the right, outside the café.

Bucky looked up at the café waiter as they placed down the coffee he had ordered “thanks”. Bucky hit send on the message.

He ran his metal fingers through his hair, nervous were building up.

“James?”

Bucky quickly shoved his metal hand in his jacket pocket “S..” he looked up at the male standing next to him; his eyes widened couldn’t be, but it was “Steve?”

Steve Rogers winked at Bucky “You seem surprised?” He sat down across from Bucky.

“Well, yeah...I’m waiting for a friend. I didn’t think this neck of the town would be your thing anymore”

Steve shrugged a little “I’m surprised you never put two and two together.”

Bucky paused for a moment “Your S?” He was in disbelief “you can’t be S.” he was lost for words “How?”

Steve smirked “You see Buckaroo, you weren’t taking my hints before and I thought I’d try something different. Though I’m surprised you even know what a dating app is”

Bucky blushed a little “Me? What about you? Did Stark finally teach you how to finally use a phone?”

The two males laughed.

Bucky was no longer nervous to find out who S was, but he felt stupid that he hadn’t realised it was his childhood friend.

[the-rooke-system]

Ok so I know nobody cares but I need to write this down to help me accept some stuff and I dunno where else to put it.

So why our system isn't fake

-We got a fictive from a "new" media over ~3 years ago and then recently got a fictive from that same source we aren't just making up recent ones

-We didn't have a lot of media access as a kid so we don't have a lot of fictives from like childrens media and stuff

-Tax is based off a bunch of baby sitters we had as a kid as they where the "safe" caregivers

-We have a lot of males because females where deemed as "unsafe" as a lot of the bad people where women

-We have a lot of LGBT+ because I struggled with it and felt unsafe around cishet folks

-I have fragment memories which are short snippets of memory when someone else is fronting. For example I can remember normally what I ate for breakfast. But say if Sky was fronting during breakfast then I might not remember what he ate but I could have a fragment memory of say him looking at the clock.

-Sometimes I'll accidentally have a memory from when I wasn't fronting. I'm not sure why but anyway I'll go to talk about it and it's like someone hushes me and takes it away from me? It makes me incredibly upset

-Sometimes I block out everyones talking when I'm busy I get a splitting headache and remember they're there. It's not even purposeful

-If I was faking I would be aware and there's no way I'd keep it up when I'm alone because no faker would go that far

-Sometimes I'll be doing something and I'll hear someone very loud and I'll physically react. Other times I'll be more focused on a headspace conversation I'll up and forget the one I was actually participating in.

-Everyone has different handwriting and different paper weights

-Sometimes people have interests that disgust me (Sky has some for example) and if we where faking I wouldn't look into that stuff

-I wouldn't avoid triggers or use things I don't like for them if I was faking for example if I need Ann to take therapy I would drink some sweet coffee or listen to her music both of which I don't jive with.

-The dialects wouldn't be different

-There wouldn't be moments where Singlets I haven't told noticed I was "visibly off" because I wouldn't force myself to pretend around them

-Various art styles I can't replicate normally

-I wouldn't get confused when I got triggered

Ok that helped now it's time for bed

[badlypostedeverything]

Promises are made, Promises are Broken

Part 1 of Septic Summer Camp Au: Away from the lake. (Basically just the stuff that happens outride of the actual summers.)

Read the au here @septicsummercamp

tw; child abuse. 

Anti has a bad morning with his parents, then a better day with his family

The Samson household, however calm, always held the quiet undertone of something else. Something slightly off. This something was usually Antonio Samson, the only child and main disappointment of his parents. The general solution to the Anti problem, as far as his parents were generally concerned, was to push it away. To pretend it wasn't happening. Anti had known this talk was coming ever since he had finished term with an above average report card with a few unsavoury notes.

Ant needs to learn how to use his social skills.

Anti disrupts class often.

Antonio should work on controlling his emotions.

'Disrupts' was the key word in all of this. Disruptions were out of the ordinary, and anything out of the ordinary was unacceptable, so as Anti walks into the kitchen for breakfast on the first Sunday of summer, he knows that something is coming. It could just as well have been written across his father's creased forehead and his mother's tart lipstick.

'Son, we need to talk,' his father begins. Anti takes a seat on the arm of a chair. 'You know what we discussed, don't you?'

'Yeah, I remember,'

'Don't give me a 'Yeah', give me a yes or a no.'

'Yes father, I do recall our previous conversation,' he rolls his eyes.

'Watch it, Antonio,' his mother chides.

'Anyway, you clearly put no effort into improving this year. You know what that means.'

'But I-' Anti starts, but he's cut off with a glare.

'Don't start that voices shit with me. It's in your head, and that means it's your responsibility to deal with it, is that clear?'

Anti nods.

'This summer, I'm sending you away to some outdoorsy place. Less wimpy than last year. You'll stay there until it's over, because if you come home before it's officially done, it's lockdown for the rest of the summer. Understood?'

Anti doesn't respond, he just kicks his heels against the side of the chair.

'Understood!?' His father stands up, towering over his son.

'Yes, Dad,' he squeaks, edging backwards.

'Father,' he replies, no longer interested enough in the conversation to look at him. 'It's father. You can call me dad when you man up and stop with all of the weird mind shit.' The taller man stands up and leaves the room. Anti looks to his mother for comfort he knows he won't find.

'Go on then,' she tells him. 'Go run away to your little safehouse.'

Anti stands up and grabs his coat off the hook. 'I'll be back later then. If that isn't too disappointing for you.' Without another word, he slams the back door behind him and hops his neighbour's fence, cutting through their flower patch onto the street. Once he would have cried, but now he only feels the dead weight in the pit of his stomach which he's come to associate with the love of his parents. That's what you get, he supposes, for failing to find an off switch to the voices in his head.

-------------------------------------

'Hey, Ant!' Marvin's mother, Claire opens the door. 'We're about to have breakfast, want to join us?'

'Thanks,' he smiles slightly, stepping over the welcome mat. He loves the McLoughlin house, it's so much lighter and more familiar than his own. He even has his own height marks on the kitchen door, and his own special mug in the cupboard that Claire bought him one weekend when he came over inconsolable from an argument at home. That weekend taught Anti a lot of things about life. It was also the first time Claire referred to Anti as her child. They were shopping for the mugs - Charmander for Anti and Squirtle for Marvin, - when the cashier asked who they were for. 'My sons,' she said, almost without thinking. It was, Anti thinks, the first time he'd been referred to as someone's son in a positive context.

'Hey Marv,' Anti slides into the chair opposite his friend. Marvin sits in a singlet and shorts eating a bowl of cereal, hair wild around his head.

'Hi Ant!' Marvin replies, still chewing. 'Guess what?'

'What?'

'Mum convinced your parents to send you to the same camp as me!'

Anti smiles wider. 'How'd she do that. Wait, I thought you weren't going to a camp this year.'

'I am now!' He grins. 'She went onto the community facebook and pretended to be some headmaster promoting a military style summer camp. They saw it and asked her questions so she bullshitted some answers about straightening out young boys. They fell for it!'

'Language, Marv,' his mum sets a cereal bowl down in front of Anti. He takes it gratefully.

'But isn't it good news?' She asks.

'It's brilliant. Thank you so much!' He smiles. Suddenly, his head starts pounding. 'Can I go outside for a second?'

'Sure, are you okay?'

'Yeah, just the voice again.'

'Alright. Marvin, get dressed then go out with him.'

Anti scrapes his chair back and retreats through the kitchen and out into the garden. There's a little wooden shack with an entrance just big enough for the two boys to crawl into. Anti squeezes his shoulders through the gap and curls up in the corner where a blanket lays, tattered from years of use. He curls up, trying to block out the stream of black words leaking into his brain. Mostly, he can't even distinguish what they're telling him, only that the words are giving him a similar feeling to being punched in the ribs emotionally. The closest thing it can be compared to, in his mind, is the worst of the conversations with his parents. After a while, they let up, and Marvin crawls through the hole too. He doesn't say anything, only sits beside his friend until he's ready to speak. They both know how this goes. Neither look each other in the eyes, both instead focusing on the opposite wall.

'Good morning,' Anti starts finally.

'How did the conversation go,' Marvin replies flatly.

'Either I stay there until the end of summer or it's lockdown.'

'Shit.'

'Yeah'

'Listen, if it happens you can stay here. There's space on my floor, it'll be fine.'

'I don't need pity. I can deal with it alone.'

'No, what you need is those voices to go, but they aren't going to. For either of us.'

'So what do you propose we do about it?'

'Well,' Marvin reaches out to grab Anti's hand. 'We go to the camp which I so cleverly found.'

'And this helps us how?' Anti squeezes it back.

'Because the area there has something to do with the voices.'

'Marvin, you know what happened last time,'

'No, I'm certain it's safe this time. There was a news story three years ago. Some boys were out at the camp and I'm convinced the voices were there for them too.'

'Why do you get all the braincells? Anti complains, colour coming back into his face. Marvin turns to face him, kneeling with his head ducked in the rotting wooden cave.

'I want you to make me a promise, Ant,' he places both hands on top of Anti's now.

'Yeah?' Anti turns to face him too.

'Promise me that we'll last the summer at camp. We'll both stay there for the full six weeks like we're two regular teenage boys and we'll find out what's happening to us. No matter what.' Marvin stares into Anti's eyes, and Anti stares back.

'I promise,' he smiles solemnly.

'So, wanna come to the park later? Mum says she'll buy us ice cream.' Marvin changes his tone of voice abruptly.

'Sure, but why later?'

'Gotta pack. We leave tomorrow.'

'Can I stick around? I'll pack later on once my parents are asleep.' They begin to crawl back out of the shack, brushing moss off of themselves.

'Of course, but only if you sing with me,'

'As long as it isn't Legally Blonde? Deal.'

[haich-slash-cee]

Being Human (UK)

This is a show that I recommend to people... but I add a lot of caveats.

The recommendation: A werewolf, vampire and ghost are flatmates. This show is hilarious! So much macabre and slice of life humor! And horror and whump!? Also, the show was run by a side-channel of BBC (BBC3) and I guess they had no production money, so the actors mostly look human and they just refer to each other as being a 500-year old vampire or ghost or whatever. Which makes it even better. The werewolf is Jewish, recites a Jewish prayer at least once, and hangs out watching “The Real Hustle” with the vampire. They work in a hospital as janitors. The ghost has a habit of making everyone tea to soothe herself and the flat is cluttered with tea mugs everywhere all the time. Also, people do get fang-y or wolf-y or do weird poltergeist stuff. And gore happens.

Longish post, more below the cut.

PS, this is the 2008-2013 UK version of Being Human, which I hear had a cult following. There’s certainly stuff on Tumblr. I found the BBC version through the US remake of Being Human, but I’m much more charmed by the BBC version. (The US version has the vampire and werewolf as hospital doctors? Why?) Also I watched the show maybe 4, 5 years ago, so impressions are from that.

And the caveats: There’s a lot of sexism which was hard to watch. It’s engrained in the premise and plot and occasional gross sexist jokes. And there’s other problematic stuff in the writing. It’s like having glass shards show up the meal you are enjoying, and it’s why I’m not sure I’ll rewatch the series (or not in it’s entirety, anyway). There’s also a limited spinoff web series called Becoming Human which also had some problems for me, including some gross sexism and fatphobia. (John Boyega from Star Wars does show up as a character in that series, for anyone interested.)

Back to Being Human and overall series recommendations. So the 1st season was good. I kind of forgot what happened in the 2nd and 3rd season (I think they got depressing and slow?). The 4th season picked up again, much to my surprise, and I remember liking the 4th and 5th season a lot. Even though [spoilers] there was a complete cast change by this time. But it worked, somehow. The show did go from at least having one woman of color to having an all-white cast at the end, which was not great. And there’s other racism too.

For people who like their happily-ever-after: uhhh so I vaguely recall that a lot of characters don’t really get a happy ending. Granted, half of them are walking around dead already, so...? Overall, the ending of the 5th season is... Is that a happy ever after? Happy for now? The Bonus on the DVD kind of makes it a happy-for-now with a continued possibility? It’s an acceptable HFN?

.....And now, the notes for all the hurt/comfort people and whumpers:

Holy crap people, there is SO much h/c and whump!?

OK first -- George the werewolf. George’s transformation sequence, SUPER whumpy.

Also, George ends up naked often, come to think. And he screams a lot during the show, for various reasons. The actor himself, in the bonus DVD interviews I think, cheerfully says something like, “People really like the way George screams, I do too.” (This is like when David Tennant cheerfully talked about how he enjoys playing a character who is unconscious and sick and gets fussed over by people.) And George is a very sympathetic, nerdy character who is easy to feel for. Who occasionally turns into a SNARLY SCARY WEREWOLF AGAINST HIS WILL. As mentioned, I think I liked season 1 George more than seasons 2 or 3.

Emotional hurt/comfort -- so Annie the Ghost provides a lot of the emotional centering, as I recall. Throughout all 5 seasons, all the characters lean on each other for support and there’s a lot of lovely warm fuzzies from that. Also, one of the later werewolf characters, Tom, is generally a sweet kid. I’m glad they didn’t do too much of the transformation horror with him, honestly. George/Russel Tovey could carry that, but I thought Tom’s strong point was looking puppy-eyed and folorn-eyebrow’d and trying to navigate the world with a mix of naivety and half-feral-ness.

Above: exhausted naps on the couch.

Below: Classic Being Human humor. A review of house rules and vampire stabbing etiquette, between Annie and Tom --

[Spoilers from here on] Okay, so as mentioned, the cast changed over between season 4-5. And to my surprise, I think I loved the new trio as much as, or more than, the original trio. I liked how loud Alex the ghost was. And I liked both Annie and Alex.

Also, I did not expect this either, but I got so interested in Hal! Yo! First of all, Hal is a centuries-old Vampire and speaks/looks like, idk, a Regency Character. And then 19-yr old Tom puts Hal to work at a fast food shop and bosses him around, and Hal’s indignation is hilarious. So already, this is excellent.

And somehow, Hal is very, very whumpy? So: the character of a “vampire who is trying to be good and suffers” is not new, and I’ve encountered versions where I haven’t been interested. (I was lukewarm about Mitchell, the original vampire in the show.) But for whatever reason, I really dug Hal. Maybe, for me, Hal was just the right mix of very serious and earnest but also ridiculous and tragic all at once. (I read some interviews with the actor Damien Molony, who mentioned how he’d done a lot of history and addiction research in to prep for the role. The new trio actors also had a lot of chemistry and fun on sets, it sounds like. So I might be picking up all that.)

Also, Hal is actually two characters -- the ridiculous indignant serious Good Hal who is desperately trying to keep the horrible, rude, murderous, Bad Hal from taking over. But, as one of the show producers, a woman, cheerfully commented in the DVD extras: “And then Bad Hal shows up, which is great, everyone likes a bit of Bad Hal”. 

Honestly, why do we even pretend to hide our fascination with the macabre and the whump, when showrunners and actors are cheerfully not hiding it all.

Here’s clips of Good Hal in Season 4:

Oh, I forgot about this part until I rewatched the last clip -- but at the end of season 4, Hal asks his flatmates to forcibly bind him to a chair, because he’s trying to fight off Bad Hal. Based on my perusing of the whump community, pretty sure that scenario is of interest to someone.

Also notable is the episode “No Care, All Responsibility” (Series 5 ep 3). In one scene in particular, where Natasha has offered Hal a way to control his bloodlust and there’s this mix of vulnerability and power with Hal asking Natasha to put a stake against his heart, I remember thinking -- “I bet a woman wrote this ep and I bet she knew exactly what she wanted”. And I was right, that woman is Sarah Dollard, a queer woman who has also written a lot of other things (including Doctor Who). She also wrote Being Human goofy web extra eps with Alex, Hal and Tom called “Alex’s Unfinished Business” and they are so good ! (Interview). 

Also... the opening 3-minute backstory in “No Care...” made me cry. You get a glimpse of the show’s baddie showing real care and emotion in rescuing this little kid (an important character). When this kind of scene is done well, it just gets me. every. time.

Anyway here’s an appearance of Bad Hal (much later), being completely awful, murdering people and turning them into vampires and singing Broadway tunes during this.

Side note on Vampire narratives. Although Hal’s narrative arc of season 5 was interesting, and I’m aware this is show is urban fantasy, I still have qualms of the show enforcing IRL stigmas/ideas that addition is incurable and addicts are doomed. They’re not. (General overview on NIH page.) Addiction research is a growing field. From listening to NPR and reading articles, my impression is that addiction treatment will change quickly in the next few years. Related to the vampire blood addiction trope, Terry Pratchett covers vampires finding ways to be “dry” (one vampire, Maladict, swaps out blood addiction for coffee addiction) and you can find fanfics about the topic as well. (General link to Being Human Ao3 fanfics, why not.)

Side note on Hal’s dual characters -- recently, I did consider, “Is there overlap with Hal and portrayals of Dissociative Identity Disorder (MPD) folks?” IRL DID people have complained about movies with gross portrayals of people with DID. To me, Being Human’s Hal feels removed from that and closer to a fantasy.... but, I’m also not multi, so.

* Update: after having learned more about plural history, I’m even less sure now. (Note: my opinions are of someone who isn’t plural, as far as I know, so note that.) There’s a number of early problematic movies and books that hugely affected the popular narratives of plural people in the west, and still affect how therapists and non-plural people treat plural people even today. These include the movie “The Three Faces of Eve”, which has the narrative of “Good Eve, Bad Even, and later smushed together become ‘Fixed Eve’ or whatever”. There’s practically a whole lecture series on how the books/movies were made with sensationalism and formulas in mind and pretty gross things. Chris Costner Sizemore, the IRL Eve, had to fight the movie studios in court because the studios claimed they owned her life story. (There’s practically a whole lecture series on early plural history in the west, I might link more information later). Like, even today, multi people feel pressured to hide their plurality because they are afraid singlets or other people are gonna say “oh so which one of you is the ax murderer”, or that they are going to be fired from work. So.  

This post turned into a “Being Human seasons 4 + 5 Appreciation Post”. I guess Season 1 and 4, 5 were my favorite. I watched the show through library DVDs, but I think there’s eps of the show on YouTube. The DVD extras are probably on this YouTube playlist?

(Also, there is a pilot episode, with different actors except George/Russel Tovey. I don’t think one needs to watch the pilot to watch the main series; I kind of recall that the main series recycled some of the pilot. There is a funny scene in the pilot where George and Mitchell meet Annie.)

Being Human: a macabre, hilarious, horror-filled, flawed, sometimes dragging, emotional, whumpy, oddball show that I still think about sometimes.

[carmenlire]

Heavy Metal

read on ao3

“I don’t understand why I had to accompany you tonight,” Magnus says under his breath as he hands his I.D. to a bored looking bouncer.

It’s a Friday night and he’s standing outside of a bar in Brooklyn. It looks perfectly nondescript from the outside but Maia’s assured him that the music was to die for-- many a band had been discovered inside the walls of The Hunter’s Moon.

Waving them inside, Maia doesn’t hesitate as she walks through the door and down a dark corridor. Over her shoulder, she replies, “You needed a break from all those briefs and depositions. I’ve started thinking that all you do is eat, sleep, and breathe the law. You need a break and this is as far from your fancy office in Midtown as you can get.” With a grin, she continues, “Plus, Simon couldn’t get out of his shift tonight and Clary was busy.”

Rolling his eyes, Magnus mutters, “So I’m the last resort, huh,” under his breath but he can’t help but sigh in resignation.

She was certainly right, Magnus thinks as the short hallway opens up into the main room. It’s small and there’s quite a crowd already. It’s a little after nine and the opening act is dissembling their gear on stage. The air smells like sweat and beer with the faint scent of pot lingering. He can’t remember the last time he went to a concert that didn’t double as a public appearance.

The New York Symphony had nothing on this venue, he thinks wryly.

Everyone is dressed in their best black and Magnus had dug through the back of his closet for a pair of black, ripped skinny jeans and his doc martens. He’s wearing a plain black singlet and had taken special care with his hair and makeup. He might hate this type of music but he knew how to dress the part.

They weave their way to the bar, claiming a prime spot by sheer luck. Both of them order a whiskey on the rocks and Magnus takes the first sip, sighing in relief.

Maia watches him with laughing eyes. “Thanks for coming,” she says. “I would have come alone but you really did need the fresh air, Bane.”

Rolling his eyes, Magnus has to pitch his voice over the chatter of the room. “I almost didn’t come,” he glares. “I left a pile of paperwork to sort through on my desk and I don’t need to spend what limited free time I have listening to shitty music and surrounded by emo hipsters with their pretentious opinions on what makes good music.”

“Are you telling me you haven’t heard of Shadowhunters?”

Maia’s voice is shocked and Magnus knows that he’s not imagining the judgement in her gaze.

“No,” he sniffs. “And why would I have?”

“Magnus,” Maia hisses, leaning close as though to make sure no one else hears about his faux pas. “Shadowhunters is one of the biggest bands in the world right now. They just sold out their latest world tour and it’s a miracle I even got these tickets in the first place. This is where they were discovered in college and they always do a few shows here when they’re in town. They usually perform to thousands but Hunter’s Moon only has a capacity of three hundred. This show is going to be amazing.”

Magnus raises a brow at Maia’s fervor. He’s never seen her so enthusiastic about anything before-- not even biology.

The two of them enjoy their drinks for a few minutes before Maia downs the last of hers with a grimace and sets the glass down with a thud that’s silent in the noisy room.

Leaning close, Maia says, “I’m going to the restroom. Don’t try to duck out.”

Waving her away, Magnus throws back the rest of his drink and turns to the bartender. Ordering his second whiskey, he nurses it quietly as he watches the room. It’s jam packed and most people seem well beyond tipsy already.

Magnus quietly yet fervently wishes for his silent apartment just a few blocks away. He could be having a bubble bath right now with a glass of wine but instead, here he is, about to subject his ears to God knows what.

So caught up in his thoughts, Magnus startles when a voice sounds close by.

“What did that drink ever do to you?”

Looking up, Magnus’s breath catches at the man in front of him. He’s tall-- taller than Magnus, which is very attractive-- and handsome with messy black hair and gorgeous hazel eyes that Magnus already wants to lose himself in.

He also fits in-- he’s wearing black skinny jeans and a short sleeved black t-shirt with a red flannel tied around his waist. He’s also covered in tats-- they trail along his arms and there’s one bold as you please on the side of his neck, beckoning Magnus closer.

It takes a minute for pretty boy’s words to make sense and when they do Magnus raises a brow and then his drink, in a lazy imitation of a salute. “This isn’t exactly my idea of a good time, darling.”

At his response, the man’s eyes widen a little before he grins, something small and genuine in his expression. “I take it you aren’t a fan of the headliners, then?”

Magnus narrows his eyes as he considers the question. “No,” he says finally with a blunt edge that makes the man in front of him startle out a laugh. “I’ve never heard of Shadowhunters and I could have done without hearing them for much longer but a friend insisted I come with her tonight.”

“Ah,” the man says. “Trying to make a good impression on a date?”

Barking out a laugh, Magnus is shaking his head before he stops speaking. “No, darling. I’m afraid she really is a friend-- she’s just a big fan and said that I needed to take a break from work.”

“And was she right?”

Magnus mulls over the question, hesitating, before finally acknowledging with a rueful grin, “Maybe. I’ve recently opened up my own law firm with my best friend and we’ve been drowning in cases. She had good intentions, I know but--” he winces. “I just don’t like this kind of music.”

The man quirks a brow and smiles a little. He leans forward, just a little, and Magnus catches a whiff of his cologne, something subtle yet deep that makes him want to come closer.

“What kind of music do you think Shadowhunters plays?”

Glaring, Magnus takes a lingering drink of whiskey and pretends he doesn’t see the way the man’s eyes trail his throat. “Angry and full of aggressively straight men yelling about how their girlfriend left them in a hotel room in Chicago but they still have a pack of cigarettes left so maybe it’s not all bad. Oh, and their hometown just doesn’t understand them and all their never-before-experienced angst.”

The man in front of him laughs and it’s a real thing-- loud and bright and boisterous. Almost immediately, however, he stops and takes a look around, as though to make sure he hadn’t attracted any unwanted attention.

He considers Magnus warmly, small smile tilting his mouth up. Magnus is fascinated at the barely noticeable laugh lines that grace the corner of his eyes.

“It seems like you’ve got it all figured out.” Holding out a hand, he continues, “I’m Alec and I’ve got to admit that I’m a fan of shitty emo music.”

Playing back the conversation, Magnus’s eyes widen. “You heard me talking to Maia?”

The man grins sheepishly. “Yeah,” he says and rubs the back of his neck. Magnus does not watch the way it makes his arms stand out in stark relief. “I wanted to see if you were uptight or just misguided.”

Intrigued, Magnus sends him an arch look. “And have you come to a verdict?”

Alec considers him for a minute without saying anything. In the meantime, the bartender sets a drink down in front of him and Alec accepts it with a distracted nod. Magnus might have expected something straight no chaser from a man who looks as forbidding as Alec but instead, if Magnus isn’t mistaken-- and he never is-- Alec is drinking a sex on the beach, something sweet and fruity and more juice than alcohol.

How delightful. It seems like Alec’s full of surprises and Magnus feels an overwhelming need to uncover them all.

Alec clears his throat and Magnus refocuses. His gaze drops to Alec’s mouth and he wonders if he’d catch the sweet edge of his drink if they kissed right now.

His gaze flies up to meet Alec’s, though, as he starts talking. “I think that you shouldn’t judge a book by their cover.”

He leans in and Magnus’s breath catches at their proximity. This close, Magnus can see each individual eyelash and their mouths are so close that it wouldn’t take anything to bridge that last bit of distance.

He restrains himself, but barely.

“Want to make a deal?”

Smiling a little, Magnus searches Alec’s eyes and finds nothing but steady interest. “What kind of game did you have in mind, darling?”

Alec hums, thinking, before he slowly says, “If you like the band-- not even the whole set, just one song-- you’ll go out on a date with me.”

Attention caught-- as if he hadn’t been hanging on Alec’s every word since the beginning-- Magnus thinks over the offer as he studies Alec’s face, cataloging the heavy five o’clock shadow, the eyes that seem to reflect the light of the dim bar, the way his tattoos are stark black on pale skin.

“Isn’t that a little bold,” he murmurs. “You must think pretty highly of this band to assume I’d enjoy anything by them.”

Alec laughs a little. “They do okay and it just makes things interesting if the stakes are high, don’t you think?”

Something about his tone seems the tiniest bit off but damned if Magnus can place the reason why. Deciding it doesn’t matter, he lets a slow, sure smile form.

“It’s a deal, Alec.” He pauses, thinking for a moment before asking, “Is that short for Alexander?”

Alec nods, smiling a little. “No one really calls me that, though,” he replies demurely.

Tilting his head, Magnus asks, “And am I part of no one?”

“You know what,” Alec says softly, barely audible over the chatter of the crowd. “I don’t think you are.”

Magnus feels goddamn butterflies at the response, at the way it’s delivered with a sly smile and a wondering look.

Holding out his hand, Alec asks, “I don’t believe I caught you name . . .”

Laughing a little, Magnus slides his hand into Alec’s as he says, “I don’t believe I gave it.”

Raising a brow, it’s obvious that Alec’s interest in piqued. “Can I have it now, or--” his voice drops to a low whisper in Magnus’s ear as he pulls him close, still holding his hand. “Is that more first date conversation?”

Magnus pulls back and when their gazes meet, he feels heat lick up his spine. They both know what they’re doing and while Magnus has still resigned himself to a two hour set of shitty, screeching music, he’s looking forward to the the rest of the night.

“Magnus.”

Alec pulls back, arching a brow as he repeats the name before grinning. “Will I see you after the show, Magnus?”

“We do have a deal, Alexander, and I’m a man of my word.”

“We’ll see,” Alec replies cryptically before he reaches for his drink and drains the mostly full glass with a few efficient swallows. When he sets the glass down again, it’s instantly taken away and Magnus’s gaze switches from the obsequious bartender to Alec, whose attention seems to be caught by something toward the stage.

When Magnus looks over, however, he doesn’t see anything.

“I’ll be right back.”

Magnus looks up at Alec’s sudden words. “Where are you off to, darling? Don’t tell me you’re going to miss this band. After all, they’re apparently the hottest show in the city.”

Alec laughs a little as he shifts away, taking a step toward the front of the room. “I’ll have you know that I’ve never missed a gig in New York.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Alec says. “Their bassist is pretty impressive-- definitely the star of the show.”

“You’d better watch out then, darling, or I might just set my sights on him.” Magnus winks and is gratified as Alec laughs again, shaking his head as he takes a step back.

“Somehow, I’m not worried.” Alec’s reply is easy, self-assured, and Magnus can’t deny that all that confidence is sexy as hell.

“How will I find you after the set,” Magnus asks, just as Alec starts turning away.

Looking back, Alec grins. “I’ll find you.”

“Whatever you say, darling.” Magnus waves him off. “Go do your thing them, whatever it is,” he ends skeptically and Alec doesn’t say anything just considers him for a moment, eyes warm, verging on hot.

Alec makes his way through the crowd effortlessly and disappears between one person and the next. Magnus has no idea where the hell he went but his thoughts cut off as Maia steps up to him.

“What's with you,” she asks, turning away from the stage to order another drink.

“I just met someone,” he says vaguely, working out the past few minutes in his head.

“Yeah? What was their name?”

“Alec,” Magnus absently replies and jerks as Maia drops her phone onto the bar with a clatter.

Her expression is incredulous. “What,” she snaps and Magnus raises a brow.

“What?”

She stares at him for a minute before shaking her head resolutely. She says something under her breath that he thinks is, “No, it couldn’t be,” and then it doesn’t matter because the house lights dim as the bar falls silent in anticipation.

A bass riff starts from behind the curtain, something dark and gritty and fuck if Magnus isn’t reluctantly into it.

Maybe Alec was right about the bassist, he thinks.

The bass line is distinctive and even if this isn’t Magnus’s preferred genre of music, he recognizes that whoever is playing the bass is talented.

The curtain pulls back as the drummer starts and the crowd absolutely loses their shit. Almost immediately, the noise is deafening. The crowd is roaring but Magnus feels the bass in his chest, the drums kicking at his heart.

The lead singer starts but that’s not what makes Magnus lose his breath.

As he stares up at the stage from his place by the bar, Magnus freezes as Alec’s eyes find his unerringly, despite the fact that there's not way he can see Magnus with the stage lights obscuring his view of the audience. His gaze is molten, bright and intense and Magnus bites his lip as his reaction washes over him.

He looks like a god, Magnus thinks hazily. In his element, Alec hold the bass with a negligent grip as his fingers fly over the strings. His gaze sweeps over the audience with a sly, private grin.

A king overlooking his domain.

The stage lights are moving to the tempo of the song in clashing shades of blue and green and white. Everything seems dark, mysterious, and for the first song of the set, they’ve apparently started with a crowd pleaser. Everyone’s screaming along to the lyrics-- including Maia, who’s left Magnus’s side and is elbowing her way to the front of the pit-- and as they move into the first chorus, Alec steps up to his mic, filling in for background vocals.

It looks effortless and by the time they’ve played the first three songs, Magnus can see that his hair is damp, can see the sheen of sweat against that fucking neck tattoo.

The lead singer, a blonde, starts to speak but Alec just barely beats him. Magnus’s eyes are focused on Alec but he registers the silent conversation the two men have before the lead singer takes a step back.

“New York, how are we doing this evening?”

The response is deafening and Magnus already knows that his hearing with be blown tomorrow. Alec eats it up though, pausing for several seconds until the cacophony reaches a shattering point.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he says in a low voice, tone gravelly and altogether too much.

Magnus might feel faint but that’s no one’s business but his own.

“Did anyone see us at Madison Square Garden last week?” There are some cheers before Alec leans close to the mic again with a grin. “Thanks for supporting us-- I know at least one person here, however, wouldn’t have been caught dead at that concert.”

There’s some noise of confusion, of affront, as though no one in the audience could fathom someone who wouldn’t throw themselves at the band.

“This next song is for Magnus-- it might be shitty but at least it’s not straight.”

Magnus can’t help but grin at the quip and as the guitarist-- Jace, he thinks Maia had mentioned-- and Alec start in on a heavy riff, he settles against the bar to enjoy.

Surprisingly, the next ninety minutes fly by and Magnus finds that while he wouldn’t be attending another concert for the foreseeable future, he could tolerate Alec’s.

The band plays two encores and give one hell of a performance. He watches, enthralled, as Alec performs like he was made for it-- his energy is infectious and when he has a solo interlude, the crowd goes wild as he gives it his all, devolving into a riff war with Jace while Isabelle, the drummer, looks on in long-suffering humor.

Alec knows how to work a crowd-- he lifts his shirt to wipe at the sweat on his brow and every single woman in the crowd shrieks like her life depends on it with Alec grinning smugly-- and when the curtain’s finally pulled and the house lights go up, the audience starting to file out, Magnus leans against the bar in a daze.

He should probably feel worse than he does. Wincing, he remembers some of the things he’d said about the band but he can’t help but find the humor in the situation.

Alec hadn’t corrected him-- hadn’t aired an artistic temper or vehement rebuke-- but had instead seemed to enjoy Magnus making an ass out of himself.

Deciding to stay and see if Alec wants that date after all-- Magnus had decided when they’d made the deal that he’d agree to the date even if he'd had to put earplugs in to suffer through the set-- he nurses his last drink of the evening.

It’s much quieter now that most of the people have left and Maia had texted him at the end of the set to say that she’d happened to run into the drummer and not to wait up, much to his amused surprise.

He watches as the bartender starts to clean up the empty glasses but doesn’t startle when he hears, “So, what’d you think? Did you like it enough to go out with me?”

Turning his head, Magnus studies Alec. His face is flushed, his eyes are bright and Magnus figures he must be riding a post-concert high right now.

And who is Magnus to ruin that.

Giving Alec a slow once over from head to toe-- lingering in all the right places-- he grudgingly admits, “You weren’t awful, I suppose.”

Laughing, Alec shakes his head as he regards Magnus with a warm, amused look. “Not awful,” he repeats before shrugging. “That’s not the worst review we’ve had.”

“Oh? And what’s the worst thing someone’s ever said about Shadowhunters?”

Mulling it over, Alec finally replies with laughing eyes that betray his serious expression, “That we were not only shitty emo music but heterosexual.” He makes a wounded noise. “Nothing’s ever cut so deep.”

Magnus slaps Alec’s shoulder halfheartedly, glaring. “How was I supposed to know that I was talking to someone from the band when I said that? Really, it’s your fault for not telling me who you were before I insulted you.”

“But then I wouldn’t have found out what you really thought of us,” Alec murmurs. He steps closer, until there’s barely a bit of space between them. “I couldn’t throw away a chance at honesty-- not when it’s become so damned rare these days.”

Magnus raises a brow. “You’re happy that I not only said I didn’t know who you were but that I thought you were terrible to boot,” he asks incredulously.

Alec shrugs. “Better than the alternative.”

“Which is?”

“Someone kissing my ass just to get something from me. Plus,” he adds in a husky whisper that makes Magnus shiver, “It gave me a chance to change your mind, didn’t it?”

Humming, Magnus narrows his eyes but can’t stop his lips from turning up into a coy smile. “Maybe,” he allows.

“So, did I earn that date or not?” Alec’s grinning as he asks, eyes knowing, and Magnus almost wants to deny him just to get that smug smirk off his face.

Almost.

With a long suffering sigh, Magnus mutters, “I guess.”

“I’m sorry, what was that? I didn’t quite hear you.”

Alec’s wearing a shit-eating grin and Magnus hates that he’s so into it. “I said, Alexander, that yes, I will go on a date with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Magnus echoes softly. He pauses a minute, weighing his words, before offering, “I’m wondering something, you see, and I want to know if I can find the answer.”

Intrigued, Alec asks, “Oh? And what is it that you want to find out?”

Stepping closer, Magnus trails a finger over Alec’s chest, feeling the way Alec’s breath stutters, before looking up at him through his lashes. “Who’s the man out of the spotlight? And is he as irresistible as the bassist in front of the crowd?”

If possible, Alec’s gaze warms even further and he shifts until his lips are a hair's breadth from Magnus’s.

“I guess I’ll just have to let you figure that out for yourself, then, won’t I?”

“Yeah,” Magnus breathes. “I guess you will.”

They’re all but dragged out of the bar an hour later by an annoyed, put-upon bartender. They end up at a tiny, hole-in-the-wall diner with the greasiest bacon cheeseburgers Magnus has ever had and if he shows up late to work the next morning, then Ragnor will just have to deal with it.

And if he spends the whole day on his phone, texting Alec and grinning down at the screen in between intermittent sighs, then he has no one to blame but Alexander.

[huphilpuffs]

what we both need

summary: Dan’s too sick to go to pride. flares verse. word count: 1148 rating: e for everyone warnings: chronic illness, chronic pain a/n: written for @phandomficfests pride flash fest. thank you to @philliebf for beta’ing this for me. if you haven’t read flares, all you really need to know is that Dan has fibromylagia. 

ao3 link

The bitterness comes the moment Dan cracks his eyes open to a bedroom painted in afternoon sunlight.

It’s been there for weeks, a nauseating burn in his stomach, a painful weight on his chest, layered beneath fruitless hope, the desperate kind that Dan knew would result in nothing, but could never erase entirely. That maybe, just maybe, this time his body would cooperate. Maybe he’d feel good.

Maybe the fibromyalgia would leave his brain alone for just one day.

But his arms ache with a phantom sunburn and his eyes sting from the summer sun and Dan rolls over, presses his face into his pillow, and cries until his ribs ache too much to breathe.

---

Crawling out of bed is hard.

The duvet is too bright and the room is too happy and Dan wants nothing more than to bury himself in his biggest hoodie and pretend the world doesn’t exist. Just for a day, so his brain doesn’t need to remember what he’s missing out on.

But it’s July and his body already can’t handle the heat.

He wears a singlet instead, so no fabric grates over the burning nerves of his upper arms. He stays in his pants because it’s been a long time since he’s needed to wear trousers at home.

Even though his chest goes tight with sadness, he drags himself out of the bedroom and tries to face the day.

---

Phil intercepts him in the hallway.

He’s wearing a button down and shorts and a smile far too happy. Dan sinks into the hand that wraps around his hip, the fingers that slide into his hair.

“How are you feeling?” asks Phil, just before pressing a soft kiss to Dan’s lips.

He shrugs in response, humming against the pain in his chest.

Phil squeezes his hip. “I have something for you.”

His hand slides into Dan’s, tugs him gently towards the lounge. Dan’s breath hitches at the sight, and sputters when the spasm of his chest muscles makes him choke.

“Is it okay?” says Phil.

And as soon as Dan stops coughing, Phil presses a kiss to the round of his shoulder.

---

Dan settles on the sofa with a sigh, stares at the room around him.

Phil replaced their makeshift blanket curtains with a pair of not-quite-opaque rainbow flags. There’s smoothies sitting on the coffee table, that Dan’s certain Phil didn’t make himself, layered in the colours of the rainbow. The breakfast bar is littered with little things Dan can’t see, and Mario Kart lights up the telly.

“Is it too much?” asks Phil.

It’s a lot, Dan thinks. Bright and colourful and exuberant. He shakes his head, reaching out to tug Phil onto the sofa with him.

“I love you,” he says.

Phil’s smile goes broad and happy. He kisses Dan again.

It’s a lot, but it feels like pride.

---

Dan ends up changing into a new singlet, this one made of mesh. He pulls on a pair of shorts and sits back down on the sofa where his outfit doesn’t matter.

Except it feels like it matters. Everything about today suddenly feels like it matters.

Phil pins a rainbow to the collar of his shirt. He smiles like it matters to him, too. Like this is actually a suitable alternative to the parade full of colours and community that marches through the city too many stories beneath their feet.

Pain twists in Dan’s chest. He wishes he could be there, could walk through city streets surrounded by happy, proud people. Just for a few steps. That would be enough, if only his body would let him drag himself there.

If only he wasn’t so broken.

He blinks the thought away.

The sadness lingers, but when Dan smiles around his smoothie’s swirly straw, it doesn’t feel forced.

---

The rainbow curtains paint the lounge is stripes of faded colours.

Dan’s head is tilted back against the sofa. He stares at where translucent orange bleeds into red and yellow, and a smile draws at the corners of his mouth.

Phil’s fingers tap at his jaw. “Don’t move.”

“Sorry,” says Dan, but he’s still smiling.

Phil giggles. The wet paint brush he’s holding shakes against Dan’s cheek, leaving lines Dan knows will squiggle. But it’ll be good, he thinks.

It’ll be great.

Phil pulls back. “All done.”

Dan grabs his phone, pulls up the camera to see Phil’s work. The flag isn’t straight, the colours a little mixed. But he can’t help but smile, take a poorly-lit, awkward-angled picture of himself.

And then he reaches out, drags Phil forward to press a clumsy kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He takes a picture of that, too, just for them.

Part of him wishes it wasn’t a sofa he was sitting on, wasn’t an empty wall behind him, but, still, he smiles.

It’s a snapshot of their tiny slice of pride.

---

Twitter is full of photos of people who are actually there.

For a moment, the sadness returns, as Dan stares at pictures of couples sharing kisses on public streets, surrounded by colours and flags and support and joy. The face paint’s gone dry on his cheek and the mesh shirt feels a little awkward over his body, and the urge to curl up and ignore it stabs painfully behind his eyes.

Phil takes his phone when the first tear falls.

“It’s not fair,” Dan mumbles.

“I know,” says Phil. “Next year, we’ll figure it out, okay? Even if we can only go for a little bit.”

Dan nods. But the sadness stays, sending another tear rolling down his cheek. Phil reaches for him, draws him in and holds Dan to his chest until his breathing evens out.

Until he can stares at the rainbow flags hanging over their windows and see stripes instead of teary swirls.

“Thank you,” says Dan.

Phil just kisses the top of his head.

---

The world quiets down in the evening.

Inside, the flat’s gone darker. They order rainbowless pizza for dinner and sit on the sofa. The rainbow on Dan’s cheek is smeared just a little from his tears and Phil’s rainbow pin is sitting on the coffee table now because it was bothering him.

Phil hands him a Wii remote. His smile is a little too wide as he selects a race.

Dan’s laugh stabs between his ribs, echoes happily through the lounge. “I don’t think Rainbow Road is how most people celebrate pride, Phil.”

But they play it once, and then again when Phil whines about how he didn’t win.

The sun has fallen. The rainbow flags still hang from the windows. Their empty smoothie glasses and half-eaten pizza linger on the coffee table.

Dan kisses the pout off Phil’s lips when he comes in second again.

The rainbow Phil painted on his cheek goes smudged when Phil reaches up, cradles his face and kiss him again.