#join a gay chorus today!

[coastalqueries]

If you are a queer person who has a decent ear for music and can carry a tune I cannot overstate how incredible the experience of joining a queer chorus can be. Especially if you're not religious/lack an affirming religious community or other sort of built in larger social group. You get the opportunity to meet your peers but also people from other generations, from other backgrounds, who can help you and become friends or lovers or comrades. and there's nothing like looking out into a crowd of people who have come to watch you make art and celebrate you for being queer. There's nothing quite like it. Obviously not every location has them but there are more than you think — I was just at a festival in Minneapolis that had choruses not only from lesser known cities and towns throughout the US but also from other countries like Mexico, Estonia, and Taiwan among others! (Also if you're ever in or near Ciudad México in December or June please do yourself to favor of going to see Coro Gay de Ciudad México in concert, they will change your life)

You don't have to be a star singer or even all that good at reading music. Depending on the chorus, you may not even need to audition. (And I heard some absolutely incredible non-audition choruses last week, so it does not impact the quality.) You may need to pay, but many will offer reduced or waived fees for singers who need financial assistance. These are incredible arts organizations which provide community and belonging as well as advocacy at a time where it's sorely needed, and being part of that has been such a powerful experience for me and so many others.

[tubbytarchia]

jim stream recap time....... so much happened. this is a long one.

jimmy logs onto sos and immediately decides to go to scotts dock to fish. scott comes over and he was acting a little weird buuut i think it was just him being. an actual guy instead of a streamer. jimmy asks him for a bday present (he asks for a fate coin. he asked every single person he saw today for a fate coin) and scott gives him some mob heads. fwhip comes over and gives him a diamond block for his bday. eloise turns up too.

scott gives jimmy a bday cake! jimmys not hungry so he takes his armour off and says "hit me" (notably while looking at eloise) and scott CRITS HIM and he goes down to 4 hearts ("you almost killed me on my birthday" "but i didnt!"). fwhip runs off to get a candle and they all start singing happy birthday. its very sweet if you ignore the fact he just almost died. jimmy wishes for a fate coin. they talk about the current challenge (villagers vs pillagers. the tldr is its basically among us) for a bit

saus turns up.......... he says hello sweet boy then gives him a birthday box (as seen below). the cod head is called codfather head and jimmy tells fwhip. fwhip immediately bans (and unbans) sausage for lore reasons. at some point oli logs on and saus says something about spanking him and fwhip bans saus again

jimmy crosses the river to fish a little further away so he can thank donos while he fishes. fwhip enderpearls over and says "i missed you :]" and it was kinda cute. then he leaves this group to go home

on his way home he sees oli and shelby shubble on his bridge. he bothers both of them for a present and shelby asks if her bridge couns as a present. he said it does :] look how cute it is. cat bridge

however immediately after he asks if she would give him a fate coin. they talk about it for a bit and they dont even come to a conclusion. shelby leaves and oli stays and they start discussing things to do for a talent show hosted by mog. they keep suggesting things that would be hard/impossible to do in minecraft. they keep referring to themselves as the blond boy friends

sausage shows up. oli turns him away saying "youre intruding on our blond boy friend time" and sausage asks if he can dye his hair and join. jimmy says "no clicks fingers" like outloud. they talk for a bit then jimmy leaves the bridge and goes to his house

oli and saus go to outside his house and in the 2 minutes jimmy wasnt there they started talking about anime. jimmy sets down sausages present, oli opens it, sees the cod head, and starts yelling lore at sausage who then leaves. oli and jimmy go to meet up with everyone else (fwhip, scott, sausage, owen, eloise, shubble. i think.) at fwhips village. theyre dealing with a raid however it ends like a minute after they arrive.

jimmy runs off to explore around fwhips place and scott follows him. they talk for like a minute about the villager/pillager thing then scott says "i know what you are" and runs off. someone in chat says sos more like sus and it makes jimmy laugh

DIRECT QUOTE IMMEDIATELY AFTERWARDS: ""scott just threatened you" to be fair he does that all the time. hes playing mind games. when is he not. he plays mind games all the time."

he goes home. sausage calls him beautiful in midair. oli goes home with him and they practise the talent show more. i still dont know whats happening there. they practice a synchronised dance and it goes about as well as you would think. jimmy does not like chocolate cake. he likes carrot cake and red velvet cake. olis hog is now canonically gay.

they start to make a song for the talent show and everyone interupts them. martyn raids oli and shubble turns up. important to note: oli calls martyn jimmys best friend. they practice the talent show more. theyre practising a magic trick where jimmys drowning and he eats a chorus fruit to escape. however he makes it out on one heart.

REALLY SORRY FOR THE LONG ASK. I TRIED TO MAKE IT AS SHORT AS POSSIBLE BUT SO MUCH HAPPENED THAT (I DECIDED) IS JUST IMPORTANT ENOUGH TO KEEP IN.

"its very sweet if you ignore the fact he just almost died." help. Also "blond boy friends" yeah okay Jimmy and Oli. okay

That's all-in-all nice though... Jimmy and fWhip being relatively cute... Even Sausage... even if my tension and anxiety spikes by 50 something each time he is in Jimmy's vicinity. The Oli stuff sounds adorable though... Blond boy friends... Scott um. I'd say at least he wasn't too obstructive or anything but he did almost kill Jimmy so uh. It is kind of funny though lol. It's so awesome for Jimmy to be blunt and largely unbothered though. This is what character progression looks like. Thank you for this stream report my faithful inbox guy

[yohohonabottle]

Quickpost- Shanty duet

No I'm not procrastinating. >:( Heard this song and when the 'sailor' joined singing, it's like I heard Sinbad sing. And instantly had this scenario in my head help--

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

How, Sinbad convinced him to sing -With that rugged charm of his- Pirin has zero idea. It all started with coming across a stray amateur minstrels, crowing the song "Jolly sailor Bold".. And before 'no' could slip out his mouth, the callous hand holding his own tugged. Off the 'Siren' was, whisked away to the passing bards.

"Who starts singing first?"

"The lady! The story is about a noblewoman, who fell in love with a scruffy sailor, called by the tides!"

Didn't even need to glance up at the Captain to know the devious smirk curled on that stubbled face. It practically radiates "What a coincidence!" (You are a nobleman, in a way- Even with the Crusades and your family, bloodline decimated. And can pass off for a lady nicely.) And aren't I your Jolly sailor?

--"Sinbad, this is.. We don't have time for this." Merlin has been particularly volatile lately, dropping task after task. And today, the mage said she needs a Damedangler or two for one of her spells. The legitimacy of the claim is, honestly questionable, but she's Boss. At most, he can merely voice discontent or express disagreement with the assignments-- What Boss says, happens.

—"C'on, Vanyusha! The fish can wait--When will we get the chance?" The look of affection and happy pride simmering underneath the teasing is... near blinding. (It's been roughly a year or two since getting together, started dating in secret. Still hasn't gotten used to seeing that kind of love-struck, soft look on the man's face. Like being in heaven, at ease and willing to flip the world upside-down just for this one, simple monster like him.) "And if we're late, then we can always snag one from Al's stall. Freshly caught, at good prices."

—"....You're unbelievable." -Yet allows himself to be pulled along, lips curved upward into stupidly happy smile. The minstrels beginning to play the melody at Sinbad's motion of a hand.

—"I know." We wouldn't have it any other way.

Listening to the melody and recalling the lyrics from the first time he'd heard the song at the tavern, the 'siren' picks up the song, matching the faintly mournful-amorous tune. And out that pretty mouth, instead of Death's eerie rasp, emerges a maiden's lovely voice. Sonorous, gentle with grace, weaving the first verse of the song. Haunting and enchanting.

Upon one summer's morning I carefully did stray Down by the Walls of Wapping Where I met a sailor gay Conversing with a young lass Who seem'd to be in pain

Saying, "William, when you go I fear you'll ne'er return again" ..Memories resurface with each line of their verse, the song itself carrying an odd sense of peace. Also eerie, Sinbad's humming adding to it while his turn comes to sing solo as the lady. Only joining him in the chorus, the last two verses of the song, hands resting on his sharp hips. Then comes the chorus, a dulcet tone joining with his own, following suit with his lead without straying nor overshadowing.

My heart is pierced by Cupid I disdain all glittering gold

-—When Sinbad went alone, to drive away Hodgkin's attention as bait. And he had very narrowly declared he'll come with him, so Sonja would strike from behind. ..But held back, as that would've been irrational. And not something Merlin would do. Then, in that moment-- 'Pirin' wasn't there. It was Merlin. Still didn't quell his worry.—---

There is nothing can console me But my jolly sailor bold

--—When the rascal leapt into the waters to swim back to the Chainkeeper, while the Kraken raged-- And how his heart sank. Almost, barely managed to restrain himself from calling the sailor's name or reach out to grab him. Stop him. Dart after, jump after the man.—-

My heart is pierced by Cupid I disdain all glittering gold

The warm, callous hands resting on his hips give a light, reassuring squeeze. Draw him close, bodies meeting chest to chest for a fleeting moment--' I'm here. I'm okay, safe, unharmed.'--before he's guided into a slow spin. Pirin rests his forehead on the firm chest in that moment with eyelids closed, listening to the steady heartbeat drumming beneath. The rhythmic intake and exhale of breath of the strong lungs, untainted by water nor pierced.

Alive.

There is nothing can console me But my jolly sailor bold

Holding his mage close in a gentle hug, the Seaside Savant hums quietly along with the last fading notes of tune strummed; Letting the shaken-up ghost have a moment to calm from those old memories, resting his chin atop the crown of snowy silk, presses a chaste kiss. I'm here. It's alright, I'm okay. ---—Back in those days, the thought of ever entering a relationship not once so much as flew in his mind. Even less the idea of settling down, committing to someone. Then the escapades happened, braving the high seas and hell itself, and then the thought sprouted-- With it, the new, puzzling feelings of longing. Though odd as it seemed to him at the time. Absurd. Nascent.—-- --Desire thrummed next, gradually mellowing out to a different thing. But he was too much of a coward to face it, kept to the superficial flame of it. The 'Ice king' is attractive and got a charm, no doubt. Deep down, it carried on burning and steadily growing still-- All the little minute details once overlooked, became at the forefront.--—

Certain ticks, habits, cadence, cues that this short 'doll' has.

It was that gentle, sweet and kind, patient heart--That was, ultimately, very steadily pulling, drawing him in towards the assistant. The fiery, unshakable spirit and conviction, sharp wits being a welcomed discovery endearing him even more. The only one who can keep up with his antics, match them step for step and keep him reigned in from drifting away. Keep him on his toes. -—-=Then came along the incident on one of his gigs with a curse-potion thrown.

It's then, that Sinbad had nowhere to run. It was either face this particular desire of his while still having the time, seize it--Or miss his chance and regret it. Needless to say, the former option was picked.=-—- I have no regrets.

-"Promise me one thing, my Jolly sailor..."

--"What is it, angel?" Anything. You can tell me to jump off a bridge, and I'd do it without question. —"When you set sail on the high seas, take me with you." So I can be a helping hand. So I won't loose you from my sight, and you won't loose me from yours either.

So that, if misfortune strikes unbidden, I can be with you. Til the end, whatever it may come to be. —"Of course." Pulling back and breaking the embrace, a smile plays on his chapped lips. It returns to high-spirits, humorous. Larking. But the rhetorical question bear full weight contrary to the light-hearted tone. "What Captain would I be without a trusty Mage?" Without my First-mate?

The fond grin that pulls the haggard thin lips upwards, weathered pearls lighting up--A sight radiant as the sun itself. And the selfish, money-loving fool knows he'd never get tired of it.

—"We should move along, those Damedanglers won't wait for us all day. We can snag some clams along, since it's on the way." Oho? Is that a clam & snakebone grass soup I hear? Normally you can't make him even consider eating fish, unless really desperate with literally no other choice....However that Grass Carp stew the 'Siren' made, with the unique spice of Blazing orchid, mild tang of Black olive and Hexaflower was something else!

The only time he'd eaten fish, and with gusto. No pesky bones to sputter, no scales somehow having snuck in, no guts, nope. But even still, nothing can possibly beat the star's Clam, snakebone grass and raddish soup.

—"Say no more, I'm onboard. Let's go!" Let's hope Valen doesn't get his hands on it first.. If he weasels my dinner from under my nose again, I'm throwin' hands. And I clearly wrote my name on it, the note was right on the bowl!

"Sorry, I didn't know." Bullspit.

[shrekgogurt]

Okay, still on my Watford School of Magicks presents Les Misérables AU bullshit. Please recall how I said — “At The End Of The Day” (hah puns!) — this fic is just Simon Snow’s gay crisis the musical. Recalling? Great.

If you have talked to me at all since Saturday, you have been forced to hear me infodump especially about the “Red/Black” scene. Now, I’ve been scouring YouTube looking at so many versions of all these songs (especially from live productions) for inspiration. However, no one quite does this particular one like the film version. The way Eddie Redmayne sings these lines like he is both surprised and confused by what he has said is so Simon Snow coded. Therefore, I want to share the clip alongside the fic version of the scene. (Just please ignore the discord notification in the middle of it from @onepintobean, it’s part of my process.)

THE GOOD STUFF IS BELOW THE CUT

I leap from my chair; it clatters behind me as I envision Agatha, or rather Cosette, “had you seen her today you might know how it feels.”

My hand flies in the air, commanding attention, “to be struck to the bone in a moment of breathless delight.” It’s love at first sight. Untouchable? Exalted? A hook in my stomach. My intestines threatening to burst. Huh?

“Had you been there today you might also have known,” I stride further across the stage and take a few steps up the stairs. Knowing, knowing... I’m leaping again, holding the railing to anchor me.

“How your world may be changed in just one burst of light,” my brain floods with images of exploding brightness, like going off, like—the Humdrum stealing Penny and I away, Agatha's hands in Baz's, “and what was right seems wrong,” Baz flinging open the Great Hall doors three weeks ago, his top lip curled, “and what was wrong seems right.”

“Red!” Dev sings. 

I think about lighting a match, “I feel my soul on fire!” It’s always fire with Baz...

“Black!”

I think about searching the catacombs, “My world if h-she’s not there!” I’m all mixed up…

Niall looks at me like I’ve lost the plot as the company joins to sing the next, “Red!”

“It’s the color of desire!” And shoving him against a wall mid-fight…

“Black!”

“It’s the color of despair!” And also his stupid fucking hair that’s probably very soft…

woop woop I scheduled this post so I get to tag people first! @agni-ashes @artsyunderstudy @aristocratic-otter @bazzybelle @brilla-brilla-estrellita @cutestkilla @dragoneggos @ebbpettier @excalisbury @facewithoutheart @fatalfangirl @hushed-chorus @ivelovedhimthroughworse @larkral @martsonmars @mysterioussheep @palimpsessed @raenestee @theearlgreymage @thewholelemon @whogaveyoupermission @yellobb

[shinobicyrus]

In a craven, pathetic, cynical, and transparently desperate ploy to energize his torpid 2024 campaign and match his rival Desantis, Twice-Impeached Ex-President Trump has shuffled out of his Florida tanning tank to join the gibbering chorus of Far-Right trans-panic by releasing a video on Truth Social. The full statement amounts to a hate-ridden, incendiary rant that proposes nationwide federal action that would threaten the health and well-being of trans people, in particular trans children, and will use the law to enforce a rigid, hetero-normative, cisgender social order.

You can watch the full video here on Forbes  if you choose to. I advise against it, personally. The years since his removal from public office and most social media seems to have had atrophied my tolerance. It’s probably why I was somehow shocked at how a video less than four minutes long can cram so much ignorance, falsehoods, hateful invective, and unhinged demagoguery in such a short period of time.

Pages of ink could be spilled breaking down every ranting tangent, from threats to prosecute doctors and hospitals providing gender affirming care, the distasteful novelty of calling trans children mutants,  inventing a conspiracy of pharmaceutical companies selling unsafe hormones and puberty blockers to children, and proposes using the federal government to “promote” aka enforce “positive education of the nuclear family” and the “role of mothers and fathers,” sprinkled with some good old fashioned sex-based bio-essentialism.

The crescendo, the real red meat dripping with bloody doctrine, is at the end:

“I will ask congress to pass a bill establishing that the only genders recognized by the United States Government are male and female and they are assigned at birth.”

“The Bill will also make clear that Title 9 prohibits men from participating in womens’ sports and we will protect the rights of parents from being forced to allow their minor child to assume a gender which is new and an identity without the parents’ consent. The identity will not be new and it will not be without parental consent.”

“No serious country should be telling its children that they were born with the wrong gender, a concept that was never heard of in all of human history - nobody’s ever heard of this, what’s happening today - it was all when the radical left invented it just a few years ago.”

He ends it all with a chilling conclusion. “Under my leadership, this madness will end.”

I’ve done my best since his departure from office to avoid talking about this sad orange failure puttering around his private golf course while lawsuits and legal investigations pile around him. But I’ve heard little mainstream discussion of this announcement; how Far-Right transphobic rhetoric is being elevated to the level of presidential politics.

While Trump was never friendly to the LGBTQ community, he was also prone to mocking the likes of Pence for his desire of wanting to “hang the gays.” Did his Administration do harm to the queer community? Yes, undeniably so. But to me it felt obligatory, with little energy or drive behind it, as Trump ultimately didn’t care. The callous apathy of an incurious narcissist.

Now, whether he believes the nonsense he’s spewing or not, Trump sees that the Republican base has been driven to a mad fervor over the existence of trans folks. So, like the cynical, amoral opportunist he is, he will regurgitate the vile hateful garbage his speechwriters feed him for political and financial gain.

Whether he gets the nomination or not, this announcement will set the tone for the entire Republican presidential primary of 2024.

[emilysbrazilianlitblog]

Non-fictions books from Brazil

1-The life that no one sees by Eliane Brum

A reporter in search of events that don't make the news and people who aren't celebrities. A chronicler searching for the extraordinary contained in each anonymous life. A writer who delves into everyday life to prove that there are no ordinary lives. The beggar who never asked for anything. The airport baggage handler who never flew. The monkey who, after escaping from his cage, went to the bar to drink a beer. The thrown-in-the-trash photo album that begins with a family girl and ends with a chorus girl. The man who ate glass but was only hurt by invisibility.(goodreads.com)

2- Bruno: Conversations with a Brazilian Drug Dealer by Robert Gay

In the 1980s a poor farmer's son from Recife, Brazil, joined the Brazilian navy and began selling cocaine. After his arrest in Rio de Janeiro he spent the next eight years in prison, where he joined the Comando Vermelho criminal faction and eventually became one of its leaders. Robert Gay tells this young man's dramatic and captivating story in Bruno . In his shockingly candid interviews with Gay, Bruno provides many insights into the criminal world in which he details of day-to-day prison life; the inner workings of the Brazilian drug trade; the structure of criminal factions; and the complexities of the relationships and links between the prisons, drug trade, gangs, police, and favelas. And most stunningly, Bruno's story suggests that Brazilian mismanagement of the prison system directly led to the Comando Vermelho and other criminal factions' expansion into Rio's favelas, where their turf wars and battles with police have terrorized the city for over two decades. (goodreads.com)

3- Bossa Nova by Ruy Castro

Bossa nova is one of the most popular musical genres in the world. Songs such as "The Girl from Ipanema" (the fifth most frequently played song in the world), "The Waters of March" and "Desafinado" are known around the world. Bossa Nova, a number-one bestseller when originally published in Brazil as Chega de saudade, is a definitive history of this seductive music. Based on extensive interviews with Antonio Carlos Jobim, Joao Gilberto, and all the major musicians and their friends, Bossa Nova explains how a handful of Rio de Janeiro teenagers changed the face of popular culture around the world. Now, in this outstanding translation, the full flavor of Ruy Castro wisecracking, chatty Portuguese comes through in a feast of detail. Along the way he introduces a cast of unforgettable characters who turned Gilberto's singular vision into the sound of a generation. (goodreads.com)

4-Dump room by Carolina Maria de Jesus

The diary of paper collector Carolina Maria de Jesus gave rise to this book, which recounts the sad and cruel daily life of life in the favela. The simple but blunt language moves the reader with its realism and sensitive look when telling what she saw, lived and felt during the years she lived in the community of Canindé, in São Paulo, with three children. (goodreads.com)

5- We aim for love and hit loneliness by Ana Suy

Love, loneliness and psychoanalysis for today.

We can read that love contains loneliness within it, because at the heart of love there is always loneliness, and that's why those who can't stand loneliness also can't stand love." Written from dialogues, We aim at love and get it right in solitude, emerged from experiences lived by the author in classrooms, in analysis sessions (as an analysand or analyst), with friends, in readings of theoretical research. In this book, psychoanalyst and professor Ana Suy wants, above all, to continue this conversation with you, the reader, without the intention, however, of being a manual or an academic treatise on the topic. (goodreads.com)

[punkslovepoints]

June 13th, 1992

Pride was being held at University Park, the biggest change to the festival since it had become a public event in 1990. They'd attended Pride in Monument Circle the year before, but it was to be Eddie's first as he'd been out of town the previous year visiting his uncle.

Steve had a little trepidation about the whole thing. Pride was a beautiful thing, but it was still dangerous. The previous year, protesters had stormed the stage as the Gay Men’s Chorus had been due to go on. Violence had only been avoided by some quick thinking from the chorus to sing the National Anthem. The protestors had stopped to pay their respects to the anthem and the tension was deescalated like something out of a morality tale. 

It had been affirming and terrifying in equal measure and reminded Steve that even in moments of celebration, there was still risk. Something the rest of his roommates never forgot.

On the day, they’d arranged to meet up with friends at the fountain before wandering the park to check out the stalls and speeches.

Nancy had found a cute dress in Sears covered in discrete pink and blue triangles that she wore with a white belt. Eddie had painted two triangles on her cheek.

Robin had on a pair of cuffed cargo shorts. Her white t-shirt had a rainbow trim around the edges and a small rainbow embroidered on the chest. She had a rainbow on her cheek to match Nancy's triangles. Her and Steve had matching rainbow feather boas around their necks.

Eddie had scoffed when they tried to add color to his outfit, a Smashing Pumpkins shirt, his usual leather jacket and ripped black jeans with a few extra chains added. He did accept a small rainbow pin from Steve's collection to pin to his jacket though.

Eddie had painted a rainbow across Steve's chest and Steve had thrown on a tanktop and his tightest pair of jeans. He knew by the time he'd get there, he'd have removed his shirt anyway, so he didn't put much thought into the top half, pulling a rainbow belt through his belt loops and wrapping the boa around his neck.

When they arrived Nancy immediately saw some women from her book group and grabbed Robin’s hand to go over to introduce her to them. Eddie asked Steve if he wanted to join them, but Steve shrugged and suggested they walk the park. It was still an hour or so before they were due to meet the rest of their friends. He’d already removed his shirt, the weather was hot and he wondered how Eddie was doing under all that leather.

As they walked, they were approached by both friends (Steve) and hookups (Eddie), hugs and kisses were shared, full of joy and solidarity. Steve stopped by the PFLAG stall to say hello to the other members. They'd given them both hugs and joked that they made a cute couple. Eddie ginned at them as Steve rolled his eyes.

Eddie hooked his arm in Steve’s as they reached the edge of the park where a number of protestors were gathered behind a metal fence. Steve felt Eddie tense, and turned ready to head back to the fountain. Instead Eddie stood still, watching the braying crowd. The number of people in the group were far outnumbered by the attendees of the festival, but it wasn’t a small amount. They were holding placards and yelling about them going to hell.

“God hates fags, real original.” Eddie spat.

“Come on man, we don’t need this today,” Steve moved his hand down, taking Eddie’s wrist instead of his arm. He tugged again but Eddie still wasn’t moving.

He stood watching the group and reading every placard. His body was still, but Steve could feel his hand shaking. He leaned in, “Look, ignore them. Let’s go back.”

Eddie sighed, his thumb stroked the side of Steve’s hand, “It just makes me feel so helpless. Makes me want to do something.”

Steve watched him. His mouth was set in a tight line, anger, upset and frustration clear on his face, but holding back. Steve looked over at the group again. There were a lot of them, but it wasn’t only protestors. The press were there too, a few video cameras and a photographer.

Something they could do.

"Kiss me," he said.

"What?"

"Kiss me," Steve repeated, signaling towards the cameras.

Eddie put both hands in his face and pulled him in for a kiss. His lips were soft and he felt Eddie's tongue swipe his top lip. Steve spun them slightly so that the cameras would catch them both in front of the crowd as he opened his lips slightly. Eddie hummed in surprise but deepened the kiss in response. Steve opened his eyes to catch the flash of the camera. In a moment of inspiration, he dipped Eddie low, keeping their mouths pressed together. He felt Eddie smile against his lips, his thumb gently caressed Steve's cheek as he pulled them both back up and broke the kiss.

The crowd were yelling louder, but they didn't care. They stayed staring at each other for a beat, both a little flushed and panting before Eddie grinned, hitting Steve lightly on the chest two times, he turned to the crowd and flipped them the bird. Steve stepped forward, grabbing Eddie round the waist from behind and joining him by sticking two fingers up at the crowd. They both started laughing.

"Fuck you," Eddie crowed.

"Yeah, fuck you." Steve yelled too, pulling Eddie towards him again and planting a wet kiss on his cheek. The camera flashed again and Steve wasn't sure when he'd ever been happier.

>> Read the full fic on AO3 <<

[verloonati]

I think I had one of my favorite ttrpg session today. I've got an ongoing campaign whose premice is between d20's unsleeping city and Neil gaiman's neverwhere. The four PCs are a neoliberal vampire girlboss (cleric), a butch werewolf (barbarian, a 44 years old who was the hero of a ya style of adventure in her early twenties and on a technicality (never fulfilled her quest) kept her powers on a technicality (warlock) and a loserpilled gay historian who was interested in the occult in his twenties, and gets chosen oned at 50 (monk) all level two

Today four of us where at a communist festival, one of the player's gf went in as a replacement PC (changeling bard), and I gave them a one-shot-filler-beach-episode at the communist fete. I used the map of the festival as a battlemap, the plot was that the specter of communism is haunting the festival, and they helped it come trough the veil by enhancing the volume of the communist chants of the festival's choir, and they rolled on Two nat 20 performance, the changeling took the apparence of Lenin as the comrades of days gone past, from medieval rebels to Spanish partisans, were joining the chorus in perfect unison.

Also the barbarian was impailed on a pike the monk poked her with and they both got knocked over each other by a bit of wind.

Such a good session, and in such a good atmosphere

[swap-meetog]

Stolen Body, Stolen Confidence

My name is Seb, and I have pretty much the perfect life. I’m a senior in college and about to graduate with my degree in Communication. I have earned nothing less than straight As the entire time I’ve been a student here. My parents are both venture capitalists, so we have never wanted for anything a day in our lives. On top of having my school tuition paid for out-of-pocket, I get a generous monthly allowance that covers everything I could ever need, from the latest and most expensive clothes, to the cutting edge of technology, I own it all. I require only the best, after all, in order to look the part of the sexy billionaire heir. I make it a point to go to the gym every day after classes let out. In fact, this is a picture of me that I took earlier today at the university’s fitness center. I can outlift most of the people there, and I am easily able to run faster and longer than any of them. The gym is like my sanctuary. I’ve worked hard for my body, a body that anyone would be jealous of. Girls want to fuck me (trust me, I’ve had sex with more than my fair share of big-titted bimbos) and dudes want to be me.

This is (well… was) Aiden. Aiden and I have known each other since freshman year of college when we were unwitting roommates in the dorms. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a nice dude, it’s just that he was so scrawny and a little bit of a nuisance. All he ever wanted to do was play on his Xbox, eat increasingly gross and smelly snacks, and stay inside where he knew that he would never need to speak with anyone. He had the lowest amount of self-esteem that I had ever seen. Eventually, after weeks of trying, I managed to convince him to come to the gym with me. He only went once. That’s actually where this picture of him is from. He vowed to never show his face there again though, after he dropped the lowest possible setting on the weights and got laughed out of the room. I have to admit, even though I felt bad for the guy in that moment, I couldn’t help but join in on the rowdy chorus of gym bros guffawing at him as the weights clanged to the floor. I needed to save my reputation because they’d all seen me walk in with him and I couldn’t let anyone know that I was willing to stick up for a weakling like him. I should’ve said something. But, of course, I didn’t, and we all know that it only takes one mistake to haunt you for the rest of your life.

From that day on, Aiden resented me and the ground that I walked on. He grew ever distant, and ignored me even when we were in the room together. He was asleep when I got back from the gym in the evenings and gone for his classes by the time I woke up. He still came back during the day to unwind and play video games, but I was never around in the daytime anymore either, having just rushed and been pledged to the most prestigious and coveted, best fraternity on campus: Alpha Alpha Alpha. I think I caught him once at night, jerking off in his bed, moaning rather loudly and listening to two men have what sounded like pretty rough sex. I had no idea that he was gay! Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against gay people, I just don’t get the appeal of it at all. I have access to the greatest array of women that anyone could ever want; there’s no way I’d give that up for a man! “Ha!” I involuntarily chuckled. He definitely heard me, though I didn’t wait to find out as I turned over in my bed and pretended to fall asleep. He turned the volume down but continued to watch it. Gross!

The awkwardness between us continued for the rest of the year, and after our second semester had ended, we went our separate ways for good.

Or so I thought.

—

It was a chilly, spring morning, almost three years since I’d last seen Aiden. I had gotten used to taking morning classes by now, something that would have been unthinkable as a freshman. I had forgotten all about Aiden, a man whose name never once crossed my mind. He, on the other hand, had obsessed over that moment in the gym and it had made him bitter. It created a fear in Aiden, so pervasive that there was no way he would feel comfortable enough to go to a gym again, for fear of further ridicule and mockery. The handful of times he tried, no matter where it was, he ended up having a panic attack and needing to go home. A lack of exercise, a poor diet and a sedimentary lifestyle playing video games took its toll. In a matter of months, Aiden went from 110 pounds soaking wet, to 200 on a good day. By this current year: our senior year of college, Aiden weighed almost 320 pounds of mostly all fat and no muscles.

The entire time he’d been gaining weight, he’d also been putting his advanced understanding of cellular biology to good use. He would spend hours in the school’s biology lab, working on a way to get back at me, the man who not only forced him to go to the gym in the first place, but who pretended to be his friend while so eagerly able to stab him in the back. He was mad at me — probably for good reason, and he let that anger drive him. It was because of me that no man wanted him sexually and nobody ever found him attractive. To him, it was all my fault that he was still a virgin and because of that, he would fantasize about dominating me with his pure size as he fapped his comparatively tiny penis over the top of his shelf of a belly.

Finally, on the first of April, Aiden, who was now more of a social recluse than ever, had a breakthrough. He created a serum to switch our bodies and steal my life. This was, in his mind so twisted by hate, the only way to get back at me for stealing what could’ve been the best years of his life.

I was walking to class, bundled up in a hoodie and an expensive pair of sweatpants, oblivious to the world and listening to a podcast blaring through the speakers of my AirPods. That’s why I didn’t see him as he crept up behind me and reached around me to spray me some sort of squirt bottle. I hardly even noticed as I fainted and fell backwards. Aiden caught me and dragged me into an empty building nearby as he waited for his infused formula to take effect.

—

Before long, I wake up with a killer headache. I had a hard time seeing at first, as my blurry vision came into focus. I tried, not once, not twice, but three times to sit up on the mattress I found myself on. For some reason, I just couldn’t manage to pull myself up. Was I too heavy? That can’t be right.

“Roll over onto your belly and bring your legs to the floor. Then push yourself up using your arms”. I hear a calm and cool voice come from somewhere in the room. It’s a voice that sounds eerily familiar.

I do what he tells me to. Not because I want to, but because it’s the only thing I can physically do to get up and gather my bearings. When I finally am able to look down, I see thick layers of fat all over my body. I’m paler than I have ever been, and there is a thick, pungent odor of sweat emanating from my armpits. I look over at the only other person in the room and I gasp! It’s me! But I’m me! Wait! There’s a mirror!

I gaze into the mirror and I see Aiden. For all of the fat he’s put on, his face is still recognizable and I also see the old him in my new eyes. I’m freaking out, when he and I parted ways, Aiden looked nothing like this. Now that he is me, I’m the one who looks like a monstrosity. I’m fat! Fatter than my old alpha body was even capable of being. I look over my shoulder in the mirror at my doppelgänger who is silently watching. It must be Aiden in there then. Somehow, this is all his fault.

“What the hell did you do to me?” I accuse him, with a threatening tone. It falls flat though, because there’s no way this body could intimidate my own. My old body has twice as much muscle and can probably move three times as effortlessly as I can now. I’m nothing, compared to him.

“Nothing that you didn’t do to yourself, Seb.” He flashes my million-dollar grin at me.

I feel a flash of anger erupt in my head and in my throat. I start to roar and I reach out to grab him to strangle him for stealing my hard earned body and leaving me with this mess of one. All of a sudden though, he snaps his fingers and I feel docile, unable to move or even speak. He knows he’s won as he reaches out and begins to rub my new, fatty body.

As he kneads my newfound skin and rubs my copious mounds of fat like a massage, I can’t believe the level of pleasure he’s giving me. It’s like an orgasm with each thrust of his manly hands. I find myself moaning and groaning in pure bliss as he makes me his plaything. Eventually, he speaks. I still can’t get over hearing my own voice talking to me, but it’s hard to even notice as I am overcome by lust. I look up at him and gulp, gosh I’m so handsome! Wait, it’s not gay to find yourself attractive right, even if you’re not exactly yourself?

“Listen Seb, your name is Aiden now. I’m not going to be giving your body back, ever, but I can make it so that you’re so sensitive that every single graze of even the lightest shirt fabric will make you keel over and cum on the spot. Would you like that? Would you like to feel like you’re feeling now, but at every single second of the day?” He asks me.

I don’t know if it was because I was extremely horny or if I actually wanted this, but I agreed with his question and he laughed an evil rumble at my ignorance.

“Excellent choice Aiden!” The new Seb yells at me, “From this moment on, you will be me: the biggest loser known to mankind. You will become overwhelmed with orgasmic pleasure any time your skin is touched and you will never run low on sexual stamina. You will get off on being watched, in public, cumming into your shorts and you will never ever EVER be able to work off this fat or get fit again!” He’s moved his way down to my new dick and strokes it with expert-like movement.

I scream as cum erupts out of my way smaller dick. My old dick wasn’t even this small when it was flaccid. I learned later that as soon as I came, I became locked in this form forever. I would be nothing but a fat, beta, gay, bitch for the rest of my pitiful life. Aiden stole my body, my money, and my self-confidence. Now I’m a nervous wreck when it comes to leaving my new home and I haven’t stepped foot in my old sanctuary—the gym, since then. Though I have seen my old body, the former Aiden turned Seb, saunter in there confidently on more than one occasion during the past couple of months. I wish I had his swagger and confidence. Is it just me or is he looking bigger than ever?

Maybe I got what I deserved. If I hadn’t have shattered his ego, he would be doing the same thing he’s doing now, just in his own body and not mine. We might even still be friends. Instead, I can’t do anything but fantasize about Seb and his sexy body. Do you think he’ll let me worship his body if I ask nicely enough? Oh god!! I’m cumming! Already?

[kassandras-one-braincell]

Kassandra x Fem!Reader - The Most Peculiar Wingman

Can be found on AO3 here.

Summary: You recently moved into a new flat and you’re hearing some rather unusual sounds from your next-door neighbour’s abode. You’re worried the mysterious woman next door is involved in something dangerous. Kassandra is worried that you’re the landlord about to bust her for her lease violation.

(Sorry if you don’t like coffee and/or you speak fluent Greek.)

Word count: 2568

.

Damn, you’ve lucked out with your new flat. The area is pleasant, the décor is tasteful – the windowsills could use a bit more greenery, but you’ll get to that – and the letting agent wasn’t a dick. Zero hassle with bills, minimal scuffs on the walls…it’s bizarre how simple your moving process has been.

But nothing can be perfect, can it?

Over the few days you’ve lived in your new home, you noticed some rather disconcerting sounds coming from the apartment next door. Nothing that disrupts your sleep, thankfully, although your post-unpacking nap was interrupted by a very loud thud against the thin wall connecting the two flats. Thumps, crashes and very disgruntled cursing in a language you can’t quite place tend to crop up in quick succession once or twice a day. Today, though, the odd sounds seem to be omnipresent.

The strange symphony is starting to get alarming; you’re beginning to ponder if the seemingly perpetually angry woman next door is involved in violence…or, forbid, organised crime? That would certainly explain the forceful thuds and grumbling. God, what if she manages to rope you into her shenanigans? What if she is armed?

After a loud bang and an exasperated “oh, fuck you” reverberates into your apartment, you decide to investigate.

Anxiously, you pop on some slippers and step into the hall, locking the door behind you (‘I’m not about to get robbed less than a week after moving,’ you think to yourself, ‘Oh, shit, I need to get insurance…’). Stomach churning with speculation, you make the arduous four-metre trek to your neighbour’s door. Biting your lip, you rap your knuckles against the wood.

A chorus of panicked shuffling echoes through the door, causing your throat to tighten. Footsteps sprint from one side of the room to the other, the sound of shattering ceramic shrill against the heavy thudding. “Shit, shit, shit, shit,” the woman hisses, muffled by the walls, followed by some shushing and the rattling of something metal. Who is this woman, what the fuck is she hiding, why am I doing this—

Suddenly, the door swings open, revealing…oh, wow.

Your neighbour is an amazon.

Flawless bronze skin, chocolate hair strewn into an unruly braid, tall and shredded with lean muscle. Her eyes are a gorgeous tawny brown, the split second of alarm disappearing from her gaze, replaced by a sparkle that makes your heart hammer against your chest. Very kissable lips upturn into a charming smile, bringing your attention to a small scar above her upper lip quirking adorably. A deeper scar sits on her nose, and the pang of anxiety returns, but your eyes need only flicker back to hers and it melts away.

“You’re not the landlord,” she says with a rich accent and curious lilt. Your cheeks feel warm.

“Uhm, hi.” You fiddle with your thumbs, mouth suddenly dry. “Sorry, I moved in a few days ago next door. I just heard some loud noises and was wondering if everything was alright?”

Lips curving furthermore, she braces her arms on the doorframe above and, fuck, are they nice arms. Sun-kissed, bulging against her white t-shirt, three gnarly rings cutting into her right bicep that just scream to be touched. Is this her distraction tactic?

“Oh, sorry about that. I hope I wasn’t too much of a disturbance?”

When you finally pry your eyes from her arms, a tiny smirk registers on her handsome face. Bashful, you stammer, “No, it’s fine. But, uh, what caused it, if I may ask?”

The woman cranes her neck to scan the hall. “Can you keep a secret?”

Mob boss? Arms dealer? Axe murderer?

Clearly, your nervous speculations are apparent, because her eyes widen slightly. “Don’t worry, lovely, it’s nothing dangerous. I just have a pet bird.”

Breathing a shaky sigh of relief, you run a hand through your hair. Just a bird. Just a bird. Her face relaxes back into a casual smile. A fresh wave of warmth caresses your cheeks at the name she gave you.

Chuckling, you joke, “Must be one big bird.”

“He’s…an eagle.”

You blink back your shock. “How on earth did you manage to get a pet eagle?”

She laughs, the melody warm and addictive. “Poor fucker followed me all the way from Kefalonia. I didn’t have it in me to say goodbye, even if it violates the lease.” Her tone is affectionate, despite her less-than-endearing name for the bird. Pushing back from the door frame – hands flexing wonderfully while she does so – she gestures for you to step in. “Come and meet him, if you’d like.”

Everything about this woman is so inviting, you can’t help but gravitate into her apartment.

“I don’t think I caught your name?” you ask shyly.

“Kassandra,” she replies, flipping the ‘r’ in her buttery accent. “And what can I call you?”

Anything you fucking want. “(Y/N) is fine,” you manage, debating whether her flat is hot or your face is akin to a beetroot.

“That’s a lovely name. Suits you perfectly,” she winks. She saunters over to a shelf with a blanket hastily thrown over it. You can’t help but observe her firm-looking behind through her jeans. Kassandra tugs away the blanket, revealing a large eagle sitting grumpily in a cage. It remains put when she unlocks the cage, standing almost defiantly.

“Don’t be like that, Ikaros,” she chastises. The eagle – Ikaros – begrudgingly flies out of his confines, perching atop the sofa in the middle of the open-plan room. “He’s gentle, I promise.” You’re doubtful, but he isn’t making any sudden moves.

“He just likes winding you up?”

“Loves it,” she grins. “He’s a little bitter I put him on a diet since he was getting a bit fat. That’s why he’s been throwing some tantrums lately.”

You smile as she scratches the top of his head before heading to the kitchen. “Can I get you anything to drink?” Kassandra asks, giving you another heart-melting beam. “I have coffee, orange juice, I might have some tea somewhere—”

“Coffee would be nice, thank you.” She asks your preference and you state it, taking in the layout of her apartment. The place gave off a very homely, Mediterranean vibe, with warm colours and white furnishings. A few hand-painted ceramic vases were dotted about – maybe she did pottery – alongside some family photographs. Atop the dining table was a woven basket brimming with ripe fruits, as well as a laptop with a pile of messy papers next to it.

“Have a seat, get comfy,” she calls over the whirring of an expensive looking coffee machine. Shyly you take the chair by the unoccupied end of the dining table. Feeling nosy, you scan the documents by her laptop, but the handwriting was all in Greek.

A minute later, Kassandra joins you with a steaming mug in her hand. “Your coffee, madame,” she announces with a pantomimic bow, evoking a laugh.

“Merci,” you thank her. “How would I say that in Greek?”

“Efharistó,” she replies. You test the word hesitantly, wincing on the second syllable, making her laugh. “Not bad,” she chuckles.

“I butchered it.”

“Try it a little softer,” she smiles, lowering her voice, giving it a sensual cadence that made your head spin. Oh, she knows she’s attractive.

“Efharistó,” you border on whisper, gay little brain surging with the overwhelming instinct to do whatever she tells you.

“There we go!” The proud quirk of her lips is all you need to see.

Feeling your cheeks flush, you bring the coffee mug to your lips, hoping the steam from the beverage will help mask your fluster. You blow on the liquid and take a sip, immediately regretting the decision as you scorch your tastebuds, repressing the urge to hiss in favour of looking cool for the hot Grecian.

“Do you, um,” you start, ignoring the numbness of your tongue, “work from home?” You wave your hand at the paperwork by her seat.

“As often as my job lets me.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a museum curator,” Kassandra beams, evidently proud of her job. “A glorified history nerd who couldn’t be fucked with the extra academia, basically.” You snort against the mug, nearly spluttering coffee over her. Smooth.

“What time in history?” Her eyes sparkle at the question, passion shining through her irises.

“Mostly the classics, ancient Greece and Rome and all that. But I did my thesis on the evolution of weaponry.” You prop your chin up on your hand as she talks, eyes lazily focused on her lips. If not for the conviction in her tone, you would have zoned out and chased some daydream about kissing those lips. Kassandra reclines back in her chair. “Enough about me, though. Tell me about yourself.”

“You sounded really passionate, though. I don’t mind if you keep talking about your job.” God, you sound like a dizzy schoolgirl who’s hot for teacher. You scald yourself with another sip of coffee in reprimanding.

Kassandra’s eyes twinkle. “I don’t usually invite beautiful women into my home to ramble about cool swords.” You blush and set down your coffee.

The two of you talk for quite some time, getting to know each other, peppering in the occasional flirtatious remark. In her company, you somehow simultaneously feel comfortable and skittish. She’s so relaxed and easy-going, but her physique and seductive demeanour fills your stomach with butterflies.

An irritated squawk cut your conversation short.

Kassandra shoots Ikaros a look before turning back to you. “Sorry about him.”

You shake your head. “It’s fine, really. Damn… What was I saying again?” you ask sheepishly.

Squawk.

“Nevermind, I was probably babbling anyway,” you dismiss, sipping on your now cold beverage.

Kassandra chuckles softly. “Don’t be silly, you have the voice of an angel. You could read me the dictionary and I’d still be interested.” She probably said this to every woman she took a liking to, but you can’t bring yourself to care, far too flustered and feeling, for once, special.

Squawk.

Her eye practically twitches in anger as Ikaros flies over to the windowsill, makes unwavering eye-contact with his owner, and shits on the wood.

Kassandra looks like she wants to be euthanised.

“My god,” she mutters as you burst out laughing. She awkwardly rubs the back of her neck and grimaces, mouth parted as if trying to form some kind of apology for her eagle’s behaviour.

“I’m guessing you’re used to being the only one doing the flustering?” you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

Her disgraced expression shifted back to a playful one. “If I say yes, do I sound like a whore?”

Grinning, you shake your head. “A little cocky, perhaps.”

“I’ll take cocky.” She winks and gets up. “Your coffee is probably cold, can I get you a fresh one?”

“Oh, no, thank you. I’m fine.”

“The finest,” she smirks.

“Real smooth,” you roll your eyes, smiling regardless.

Ikaros caws from the windowsill, as if mocking Kassandra’s advances. Once again, her effortless charm dissolves into a look of frustration. She grabs kitchen towels and a bottle of disinfectant from by the sink and walks over to the window, nudging the eagle so he’d move out of the way. “Maláka,” she groans, cleaning up the mess from the surface. “Μη μου το χαλάς αυτό,” she mutters to Ikaros, earning a confused look. Kassandra sighs. “Usually I wait until after the first date before introducing a beautiful lady to this little shit. That way people don’t immediately think I’m just a weird bird lesbian.”

Testing the waters, you remark, “I happen to quite fancy women with an affinity for animals.” You bite your lip and add, “And, well, you’re…very attractive.”

Smugly, Kassandra finishes disinfecting the windowsill and walks to the kitchen with a little more vigour, your compliment proving to be an ego boost.

Once again deprived of attention, Ikaros decides to flap over and join you at the table. Instinctively, you flinch as the large bird flies in your direction, but all he does is stare at you, trying to analyse the stranger in his home.

“Does – does he bite?” you ask, hesitantly standing up.

Kassandra discards the kitchen towel in the bin, washing her hands. “No, he’s very kind to everyone who isn’t me.” She flashes you a wicked grin. “I only bite when asked.”

Stammering, you choke on air, struggling to find a response. Ikaros gives her a disappointed look.

“Shit, too forward?”

You shake your head. “Not at all,” you blush. “I’ve just…never met anyone quite like you before.” Ikaros seemingly gives you a judgemental leer, and you swiftly find yourself adding, “I-in a good way, that is!”

“Oh?” Her brow is upturned, her interest piqued.

“It’s…exciting.” The eagle shuffles towards you and nuzzles your hand, apparently deciding you’re worthy of his affections. The dark feathers atop his head are surprisingly soft to touch. Smiling, you give his head a few pats, inhibitions to the wind when cute little coos vibrate from his throat. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“I think it’s adorable,” Kassandra says softly.

You look up. “Really?”

“Really.” She joins the two of you and plucks a damson from the fruit bowl, feeding it to Ikaros while you pet him. “You’re the loveliest person to have ever set foot in this building, that’s for sure.”

Ikaros cocks his head in agreement. His beady eyes meet yours, damson juice dribbling from his beak. Do it, he’s silently telling you.

Screw it, let’s shoot our shot.

You clear your throat, mustering up some courage. “Are you free next weekend?”

Kassandra beams amorously. “I was about to ask you the same thing,” she grins. “How does dinner sound?”

Fuck yes. “Really good,” you blurt out excitedly.

“There’s this great Persian restaurant a couple streets over. I’ll book us a table?”

You gasp, having seen the building on the drive when you were moving in. “The place with the garden and the pretty lights, right?”

“That’s the one.”

“Sounds amazing.” Red in the face and heart pounding, your eyes dart about the apartment, fearing that you’ll combust if you look at Kassandra any longer. They settle on Ikaros, who gently butts his head against your hand, almost like a fist-bump. “Well, uh, I have a home insurance company to ring up, so I should probably get going,” you stutter.

“I won’t keep you, then,” Kassandra says, a tinge of disappointment in her tone. Ikaros squawks sadly.

“Thank you for the coffee.”

“It was my pleasure. Thank you for staying,” she winks. The eagle coos in agreement. You give him one last pat before walking to the front door.

“Oh, before you leave, there is something you should know…” Kassandra calls, moving over to you. She delicately takes your hand, frying your brain, and leans down to your ear. You feel faint. Lowly, she whispers, “…Our Hermes guy likes to drop-kick our parcels.”

Snorting, you look up at her in disbelief. I mean, what was I expecting? A kiss? Get a grip, woman. Kassandra laughs at your expression. “Use the amazon locker down the road instead.”

“You’re amazing,” you murmur, grinning. “I’ll probably see you before next weekend, but bye, I guess?”

“Chaire,” she bids softly, opening the door for you.

When the door closes behind you, you let out a ragged breath, excitement coursing through your veins.

You are so glad you moved here.

.

( The Greek clause is meant to say "Don't blow this for me" but I used 5 different translators and all 5 came back with slightly different things and I sort of ip-dip-doo'd it and chose one at random...sorry. )

[luucypevensie]

Today, in honor of my birthday, I thought I would post about the Freshmen of the new generation of New Directions

They’re my tiny nuggets, and I love them with every fiber of my being.

First, we have Avery Stone

FC is Millicent Simmonds. Avery grew up on the wrong side of the tracks with her aunt (mom died when she was a baby, and dad abandoned her after learning she was deaf). As a result, she grew up cold, aloof, and untrusting of people besides her aunt. Worried, she decided that Avery needed to join something, and that happened to be Glee Club. At the beginning, Avery strictly sang in the back but slowly fell in love with singing. She also loves to knit, and likes to knit things for people she cares about.

Then, we have Reyna “Rey” Salazar

FC is the amazing Olivia Rodrigo. Rey used to be the meanest girl of the freshman class, until something happened that caused her to have a reality check and reform her ways. Using her powers for good, she joined the school newspaper and became a cutthroat reporter (she’s a lot better than Jacob Ben-Israel). Rey also used to be a champion gymnast until an injury cut her career short (her specialty was the balance beam), and she’s an organization queen.

Next, we have Clark McKnight

FC is my boy, Caleb McLaughlin. Clark is a fellow basketball player like Scott, and he took a liking to him. As a result, Scott took him under his wing and became like an honorary big brother. Clark is a massive sweetheart; like Chloè, he believes in treating people with kindness (the two of them mutually adore one another). He also loves playing video games and comics, and he learns later on that he is bisexual.

Finally, we have Ash Whittemore

FC is Wyatt Oleff. Ash is a quiet boy who doesn’t like to have the spotlight on him. As a result, he prefers being in the chorus. He’s a bit of a music snob, but only expresses it when he’s around people he’s comfortable with. Shockingly enough, he and Rey are pretty good friends (even though they’re complete opposites). Ash is an amazing artist as well, and he’s gay af which he struggled with accepting for a long time.

Tagging: @connietheecunning, @kendelias, @richitozier, @stanshollaand, @arrthurpendragon, @lizziesxltzmxn, @anotherunreadblog, @anobscurename, @witchofinterest, @darknightfrombeyond, @sunlitscrib

[smallblip]

Okay, but (sorry for my english) I just really love modern hc where they perform as the band No Name during their school festival (their identities are already known and that people know they belong to one of the most famous group in the school /with nanaba and erwin/).

Levi’s the face of the group and almost half of the fans have him as their bias but they really thinks he’s asexual or bi or even gay since they never knew anyone who had been his girlfriend and he doesn’t seem to be that person to be involved in any romance.

But then he surprises everyone when during their performance, he just grabs hange’s ponytail and kissed her deeply.

And people were just like—oh, shit, wait, what.... levi just—kissed his friend....his....friend.....Hange....the Hange

Then the crowd went wilder and even Levi’s fans just gasped with excitement because—damn that’s hot!

Even Hange herself were surprised but she couldn’t do anything since levi’s grip was too strong, lost in his own world as he ravishes her with kisses as if he doesn’t give a shit about everyone watching them

she doesn’t even know how long it lasted.

Then there’s Erwin in the crowd, capturing every moment with a camera because he’s the only one who wasn’t surprised about this

Stop the presses!

“Breaking news! Levi Ackerman frontman of No Name is having an illicit love affair!”

“It’s not breaking news if everyone already knows...” Porco rolls his eyes. Connie groans. Great. Now Porco is in his shot. The school’s journalism club is essentially him and Sasha with her phone’s camera. They do not have the skill nor the budget to edit him out.

“Who’s he dating then?” Sasha shoots back.

“Heard it’s a girl from another school.” Porco shrugs.

“Heard he’s gay...” Reiner offers.

“You just want him to be gay...” There’s sniggering and Reiner wants to punch Porco, but he’s a man of discipline, so no violence before breakfast.

“It’s just a rumour! He isn’t dating anyone! Levi’s too cool to date.” Eren says, gagging at the mention of the word. A literal child.

“Who would wanna date him?” Mikasa scoffs.

“Everyone in the school apart from you, Mikasa...” Petra says, “he’s dreamy...”

Connie urges the discussion on, Sasha capturing all of this. This is the best content they’ve gotten all week. “Come on! There are no bad answers!”

“Maybe he’s dating a fan?” Bertholdt says.

“Maybe he’s dating Hanji... They do seem rather close?” Pieck says, and the silence and scowls are intended to shame her. Connie looks at the aluminium foil on Pieck’s head. Right. The Signs movie screening organised by the conspiracy society is today.

“No bad answers except that one...” Connie says.

—

“You’re the talk of the town again...” Mike says, “they were discussing you on the school’s YouTube channel.”

Levi tsks. He doesn’t know why Mike bothers with that crap. It’s a pretty high quality production... he had justified, but there’s nothing high quality about Sasha’s shaky hands and Connie’s head covering half the frame. Everyone knows Mike enjoys the gossip, and there’s no one that enjoys it more. Except maybe Erwin.

“Do tell! Who is the enigmatic Levi Ackerman dating?” Erwin teases. He knows he’s not getting anything out of tight-lipped Levi. But it’s still worth a shot. Also worth seeing how annoyed he can get. Plus it’s not like they don’t already know.

If the canteen hadn’t been so goddamn full, Levi would’ve relocated long ago. Then again, his lunch groups hasn’t changed since his first day at school. The routine works.

“I’m sure you boys would be the first to know...” Nanaba chuckles. She had been the first to know and frankly. Levi’s inability to confess has been getting stifling. The only thing that really breaks the conversation though? Hanji tripping and landing face first on the table, lucky for her Levi moves her tray out of the way, saving her lunch, “watch it four eyes!”

“What did I miss?” Hanji asks, eyes already gleaming at the possibility of new knowledge.

“We were just talking about Levi’s illicit love affair.” Mike says. This is getting interesting.

“Awww Levi! You didn’t tell your ol’ pal Hanji that you were seeing someone?”

The rest of them exchange looks. God she’s so goddamn oblivious.

“Eat. We’ve got band practice before class.” Levi says, fingers already working to peel Hanji’s orange for her.

Nanaba winces. So goddamn oblivious.

—

“So we enter school today and Sasha what do we see?”

“Merch!” Sasha pops in front of the screen and does jazz hands with Connie.

“In the lead up to the big No Name concert, everyone’s donning their best No Name merch! First, let’s speak to the best in the game, Armin Arlert.”

Armin fidgets awkwardly, “ahaha I’m just a fan who just happens to make high quality merch.” Modest for someone earning big bucks from his enterprise.

“Ah... And you have competition this year!” Connie says into the microphone, which is really just rolled up newspaper.

“Well... The quality of my work speaks for itself...” Armin smiles sheepishly at the camera, but there’s something insidious in his eyes. Armin has to admit having sole monopoly over No Name merchandising in school has gone a little stale. Surely a little competition will spice things up.

“So Zeke, care to tell us more about your entry into the merchandise game?” Connie asks the bearded boy. Who has a full grown beard at their age? Connie makes a mental note to insert “sells bootleg merch” in the little panel that runs below Zeke’s interview. The whole school is also pretty sure Zeke had been behind the whole oregano debacle last year- someone had been passing oregano off as weed and selling it to the younglings.

“What’s there to say? Mine’s cheaper.” Zeke winks.

“So, satisfied customer. Why did you choose to buy Armin’s merch over Zeke’s?” Connie asks.

Pieck glances down at her Hanji shirt, “Armin got Hanji’s nose right.” She smiles.

In the background Armin and Eren are yelling at one another.

“How could you Eren! I thought we were best friends!” Armin says. Maybe the competition spiced things up a little too much.

“It was cheaper Armin! So much cheaper!”

Eren is wearing the ugliest shirt in school so, is it really worth it though?

—

“We are absolutely not blowing our budget on a confetti canon!”

“But Levi!” Hanji whines, “you already rejected so many of my ideas...”

“May I remind you that your previous ideas include a guillotine on stage, you repelling from the ceiling-“

“A tiger...” Mike adds and Hanji shoots him a look, traitor...

“It was two tigers...” she mutters under her breath. “Aww Levi you never let me do anything fun!” She pouts and Mike watches as Levi’s resolve slips an inch. There’s nothing more disgusting than the weakness of a man in love. Mike rolls his eyes. He had told Erwin if he wanted in on the action, he should join their band. There’s just so much to see that Mike has honestly had his fill. Or maybe he’s just saying it. Damn Nanaba was right, he enjoys this more than he’d care to admit.

“If you shut up through the next five songs, I’ll buy you dinner.”

“What about me?” Mike huffs.

“Deal!” Hanji shouts triumphantly, “and if you let me sing the chorus with you on this next song at the concert I’ll buy you dessert!”

“Almost as if I’m invisible...” Mike mutters.

“Fine... Deal... If you can hit the notes that is...”

“Ohhhh snap!” Mike says, and Levi turns to him for a high five. Mike smashes a beat on his drums. Hanji deadpans.

Ba dum fuckin tiss indeed.

—

“So it’s two days before the festival and the big No Name concert. Today, we’ve got a special treat for you. Roving reporter Jean Kirschtein will find out more about Levi’s love affair, straight from the horse’s mouth!”

Jean shoots Connie a dirty look. But the pun had not been intended. Connie mouths a quick apology before continuing, “but first, a word with the people closest to him-“ Connie nudges Jean towards the general direction of Erwin, Nanaba and Mike. Remember you owe me Jean! Connie whispers harshly when he senses his friend’s hesitation, now go!

Jean groans once more. God his reputation was going to take a hit. He’s vice captain of the soccer team for God’s sake. He doesn’t need this.

“Erwin Smith! A word? Uh... Thoughts on the rumours surrounding Levi Ackerman’s love life?” Jean asks. “Erwin Smith, football captain, history club president, student council treasurer, overall overachiever, and Levi Ackerman’s friend” appears on the screen. They all know if anyone’s likely to spill, it’s going to be Erwin.

Erwin’s eyes light up, he’s finally going on the channel he watches religiously with Mike. There’s so much he can contribute, so much gossip to share, so much insight. Maybe they would even invite him as a panelist on their show. The sheer power! He looks at Nanaba and she frowns at him and shakes her head. Ah damn it! He knows she’ll tear into him if he divulges too much.

“That’s strictly on a need to know basis.” Erwin grins.

“Well... Can you give us anything at all?” Jean asks. Please for the love of god he needs to pay Connie back somehow for setting him up on that date with Mikasa. God is generous but he can easily take it all away.

“We have good, solid guesses, but other than that... No... We can’t confirm anything...” Erwin answers, but not before glancing at Nanaba. She’s nodding. Good, that’s a good answer. Ambiguous enough to keep people wanting. Erwin is relieved. Jean isn’t however, he’s now certain that his debt is going to be rolled along a tab he will soon never be able to pay.

“Oh and the history society’s having quiz night next week, be there or be square!” Erwin plugs.

“Nerd!” Nile yells from across the hallway and Mike chortles.

It doesn’t take Jean long to find Hanji, after all she’s president of the biology club, so why wouldn’t she be in a lab elbow deep in a vat of something Jean doesn’t want to know the name of. It’s her kingdom with a whopping total of four subjects.

“Hanji Zoë, I’m here to ask for the latest on Levi Ackerman’s love life-“

Hanji Zoë- the school’s resident oddball, the genius herself, in the flesh, eating a checkerboard cookie. She looks up at him and there are crumbs on her face.

“Oh! Hi Jean!” Hanji looks up momentarily, “that’s easy, Levi’s in love with me.” She winks at Jean and chuckles. Jean’s jaw drops, surely she’s kidding. Hanji’s known for that after all- her quick wit and dismal personal hygiene. He chuckles awkwardly. “Yeah... Okay...”

“See you at the concert?” She beams at him and he replies enthusiastically. Is she kidding? Everyone’s gonna be there. But Jean remains strategic, he leaves right before she gets the chance to talk his ear off about joining her club again. “Shoot... There goes another one...” she says under her breath as he exits the lab.

Jean bumps into Levi when he’s leaving the lab, odd, what’s Levi doing here, no matter, Jean has a job to do.

“Levi Ackerman! Care to comment on the recent rumours surrounding your-“

“No.” Levi interjects and heads off.

Jean flips the camera so he’s in it, “well, that’s the scoop. Back to you Connie and Sasha.”

—

“It’s the day of the festival! But really the whole school is buzzing with anticipation for the No Name concert!” Connie announces into his makeshift mic.

“Will there be another accident on-stage this time? Will Levi Ackerman reveal more on his secret romance? Is there even a secret romance to begin with? More importantly, will Porco Galliard finally pay for his own food at the festival?”

“Hey!” Porco whips his head around to glare at Connie, “did Reiner get you to say that?”

Connie shrugs, “we’ll find out after these messages...”

The concert is a blast, from a spectacular entrance (choreographed, no doubt, by one Hanji Zoë), to Mike’s drum solo, to Levi’s vocal riffs. But there’s an anticipation of another sort- will Levi Ackerman finally address the rumours of his love affair?

“My Levi-Hanji senses are tingling Nanaba...” Erwin says mid-concert. As the self-proclaimed expert on school gossip, there’s no gossip sweeter than that which surrounds his two best friends. Nanaba thinks it’s an overstatement of his abilities.

But Nanaba feels it too- the electricity in the air, “i think it’s finally happening!” She says, nothing short of a vision.

Levi announces the last song for the night, and he makes his way over to Hanji during the last chorus.

HUH?

Sasha’s cameras are rolling. She holds her breath, for what she doesn’t know, but she feels it coming, call it director’s intuition if you will.

Hanji looks at Levi and beams past the bandages over their eyes, now upgraded to a material they can actually see through, ever since that one accident with Hanji trying to execute a stage dive completely blind. It’s not fun explaining to the ER nurse how you managed to fracture your arm in so many locations.

Hanji’s expression changes to one of confusion when Levi closes the distance between them. This isn’t part of any plan. Her lips part in a gasp. The crowd falls silence, breath collectively held in anticipation. It’s happening. The most significant and exciting moment of their young lives.

What in the name of Maria, Rose, and Sheena!

Levi grabs Hanji by her ponytail and crashes his lips into hers. She forgets how to function, her guitar now hanging limp and forgotten. But her arms find their way around Levi’s neck. It’s just Mike on the drums now, roaring with laughter.

“Hell yes!” Mike exclaims and it’s captured by one of the mics, joined by Nanaba and Erwin at exactly the same time. There’s a flash from Erwin’s phone, there, immortalised in a photo forever. He knows it’ll come in handy one day. For blackmail or for a future wedding montage. Either is fine.

What just happened?

Connie’s jaw is hanging.

“Levi Ackerman and... and... Hanji Zoë?” Connie says, more for his own benefit than for his audience. Because this is Hanji they’re talking about? The Hanji Zoë? Resident evil genius, overall weirdo, oddly magnetic and popular amongst both the boys and the girls, Levi’s childhood friend Hanji Zoë? The answer had been staring them right in the face! Levi at the biology labs, Levi glowering at her, the bickering, the chemistry on and off stage.

Connie whips his head over to Pieck, and she winks at him, told you so!

“I don’t believe it! Stop the presses! Levi Ackerman, frontman of No Name, in love with the brilliant, the magnetic, the one and only... Hanji Zoë!”

Hanji is kissing Levi back with fervour, until they’re both blushing and giddy, the music long forgotten, and when everyone is done gawking, the crowd erupts in violent cheering. Who would’ve thought emotionally constipated Levi, Levi whose private life has been kept a secret for so long, safe from the prying hands of the school press and his loyal fans, would choose to make an announcement like this. What a night! What a spectacle!

“I guess that’s all for tonight folks, and what a fantastic and surprising evening it has been!” Connie laughs, “I’m Connie Springer, and you heard it here first!”

The confetti canon goes off. And Hanji watches with uninhibited joy as confetti rains down on the stage.

“So... Tigers next time?” Hanji says, unwrapping the bandages from her face, her eyes glazed over and more beautiful than anything Levi has ever seen. He scoffs, pressing another kiss to her lips for posterity.

“Don’t push it...”

(A/N: prompt so good I had to write a mini fic! Thank you anon💖💖💖)

[therealvinelle]

I agree that Aro definitely is not straight, but if he is gay and not bi, why window shop for a wife? If he wanted a partner for some reason, why not find a male one? It was a different era, yes, but are vampires really homophobic?

So, for this meta, we’ll have to get historical. Before we do, keep in mind that while I know Ancient Greece better than most, having studied it (introductory level classes only, mind), I don’t know it well enough to be any kind of authority on the matter. History, more than any other discipline I can think of, is not respected as an academic field, and people with poor to no understanding of historical hermeneutics will make very bold assumptions that they then have too poor understanding of history to realize are bullshit. This is a disclaimer because I don’t want to join in on the chorus of authoritative-sounding people on the internet with no verifiable credentials who spout things about history that are then taken to be gospel truth by readers because the author made it sound good.

More, I say this because your question is asking me to explain the morality and social norms surrounding a character from 14th century BC Greece. And this man would not, for the record have been Ancient Greek, he would have been Mycenaean Greek. Very quick history lesson: Mycenaean Greece was a flourishing society that suffered a downfall, Greek civilization fell into its very own dark ages, until around 800 BC when Greeks began forming what would become the Ancient Greece we know and love. This in turn means that I can’t very well read up on the marital and sexual norms of Ancient Greece when I’m researching for Aro, because he was five hundred years old already when Ancient Greece became a thing.

And your question concerns cultural history. And for that we’re going to have to look at how we know the things we know about history. How history is studied.

Historians have two kinds of sources: archeological findings and written records. (I’m aware that oral tradition, like the one carried by the Aborigine people, isn’t technically one of these, but to my understanding it’ll be treated to similar analysis as written records, which leaves us with the two types of sources standing strong.) These sources are analyzed, and we apply various theories and models onto them to make sense of the context they were written in. The more sources we have, the more we can refine or eliminate these theories or models.

More, history is an ever evolving field. There are movements and schools of thought that influence how history is written (marxism in history, that is, history as a class struggle, was heavy in the 60′s and I think until the 80′s), which means that how a certain culture will be perceived today is not the way it was perceived a few decades ago, nor will it be perceived the same way a few decades in the future.

You see why I am daunted by you asking me to give you an answer about sexual and marital norms for a guy who lived 3000 years ago, and I hope you’ll understand why I feel this word vomit is necessary.

Now, the danger with Mycenaean Greece is that it’s a society it’s easy to feel we know a lot about, because it was the precursor to Ancient Greece, and we know a lot about the latter. But, first of, the reason why we know as much as we do about the Ancient Greeks is the Romans. The Greeks wrote about their history, their philosophy, their government, and they wrote plays and told stories. However, that was two thousand years ago and their writings would have been lost to the sands of time if the Romans hadn’t idolized and sought to emulate their society. This meant preserving their written records. This tradition was carried on by the Christians, in part because Hellenistic philosophy was incorporated into Christian philosophy. We have neo-platonism to thank for Christian asceticism, the “mind over matter” cornerstone.

What I’m getting at with all of this is that we know the insane amount about Ancient Greece that we do because of some very unique circumstances, and so we can make very sophisticated theories about what the Hellenistic world was like. It’s still detective work, but not Pepe Silvia type of detective work. This is not the case for Mycenaean Greece. We know a comparative lot about Mycenaean Greece, considering how long ago it was, but there is very much we don’t know.

With Mycenaean Greece, we are dealing with a lot more uncertainty. We haven’t deciphered one of their two writing styles, and a lot of the text we do have is very fragmentary. Coming up with detailed societal models for Mycenaean Greece, and for the 14th century BC specifically, is... well I don’t know enough about what this society left behind to know what historians have to work with, but I imagine they have their work cut out.

More, I haven’t studied this at all, which means that any attempt on my end to research this would be stumbling around in the dark.

One example: the Illiad and the Odyssey, while composed around the 8th century BC, were set in the early 12th century BC, which is nearly Aro’s time period. The Illiad depicts a homoerotic relationship between Patroclus and Achilles, and both works depict a lot of matrimonies, so I wish I could use it as a source. However, not only would this time gap alone make these sources questionable, but there’s also the matter of the Illiad and the Odyssey being transmitted orally, from bard to bard. Changes were made over the years. For example, the technology described in the Illiad is from several eras, as the warriors will be using bronze weaponry in one book and then switch to iron in the next. This game of telephone is what happens when a story is transmitted orally from person to person. So, while it’s tempting to use these works as a sort of reference point, the possibility, likelihood even, that the bards made adjustments to keep the old story entertaining for their contemporary audience is strong.

For this reason, I can’t give you any kind of historically correct analysis on what the marital or sexual mores would have been like in Aro’s time. Even if the knowledge is out there, I don’t have it.

But I can say this, spouses have for the longest time been partners. Men and women got married, even in the gay, gay, Ancient Greece, not just to have children but because they complemented each other, they were partners. Men needs wives, and women needs husbands. And a partner was canonically exactly what Aro was looking for, feelings had nothing to do with it:

After Caius and Marcus had found their romantic attachments, Aro decided to find his own, although rather than finding his other half in another vampire Aro decided to create his own instead. Aro had a certain type of woman in mind and he found what he was looking for in Sulpicia. He successfully courted her and she came to fall in love with him.

As for vampires being homophobic, I think that is for another post about what culture they bring with them into their new life. But to be brief I’ll say that while the individual vampire can be homophobic, there can be no homophobia at an institutional level because vampires have no institutions. And it’s the institutional homophobia that gets ya. It’s what the whole fight for gay rights has been about: secure legislation against discrimination and that protects gay people. (The right to marry and protection from employees firing LGBT employees comes to mind as examples of this.)

So, no one could force Aro to marry a woman. 

And I’d go into a rant here about how the prospect of gay marriage, of even identifying as homosexual (the labels homosexual, bisexual, and heterosexual are very new and, to my recollection, were born off of the Western psychiatric discipline as men who slept with other men were diagnosed with homosexuality. I imagine a man from the Antiquity would be confused at the notion that just because he likes to sleep with dudes he shouldn’t get married to a woman), was unthinkable up until very recently, but I just made this obscenely long rant about how I can’t really make these kinds of guesses, so I’m not gonna.

I think being married to a woman and then banging hot dudes who came along suited Aro just fine.

Also, I can’t believe I’m doing this, but - I’m going to encourage history asks. Because this fandom has a bit of a history problem, as a lot of the characters are from different time periods and many feel unsatisfied with the way Meyer handled that. I am by no means a historian, but I know several of the historical periods the characters of Twilight are from well enough to make educated guesses.

So, hit me with your worst.

[unbridgeabledistances]

okayyy so i had something heavier/hurt-comforty in the works as a gapfiller about mickey processing (bc we all need that!!!) but this fluffy little 3+1 about ian and mickey singing to each other happened instead— i hope u enjoy💞

a 3+1 of 3 times ian sang to mickey, and one time mickey sang to ian (to give context to the absolutely wild 11x09 serenade)

also the biggest shoutout to @southside-forever’s 80s gallavich playlist which has SO many bops and inspired bits of this😌

--

1.

Mickey didn’t really know when it all started— Ian was always fucking humming these days, always whistling or singing some tune under his breath when he came out of the shower. He was more buoyant recently, lighter— the security gig was going well, and these days it felt like something looming and heavy had lifted, releasing the crooked hunch out of Ian’s shoulders that had taken root the sour morning weeks before as he shoveled Fruit Loops and Jameson into his mouth. Since then, it felt like he and Ian were finally on the same goddamn page for once— like they had a purpose, like they were moving forward.

Or at least, moving forward on the weekdays— but today was a slow, lazy Saturday, and Mickey was still laying in bed in a tank top and boxers, sweaty and entangled in the crumpled sheets, laying back with his head on the pillow and playing some overly-gory sharpshooter game on his phone. He’d been trying to beat this fucking level a million times, but his thumb couldn’t move quickly enough at the pivotal moment when he had to shoot a bunch of enemy forces— he’d been at the game for a good half hour, since when Ian had sleepily stumbled off of the mattress sporting a full bedhead to go take a shower, and Mickey was starting to get a tinny, sharp headache from staring at his phone screen for too long. He was just starting to consider getting up, to peel off his sweaty tank top and head downstairs to grab some coffee— when Ian came into the room from his shower, a fraying towel wrapped around his lower half and his torso slick with excess water droplets. Mickey flickered his eyes up from his game for a moment, taking an… appreciative glance, and then quickly focused his attention back on his pixelated mission as Ian stood in front of the dresser in the cramped bedroom, and started to rustle through the drawers for a t-shirt.

Mickey maneuvered his buff video game avatar through a minefield, biting his lip in concentration— when his sharp focus was suddenly infiltrated by Ian, singing under his breath in an airy tone.

“Ooooooh we’re halfway there.”

Mickey gritted his teeth slightly and tried to pour all his attention into the pivotal moment of the level, but half of his mind was being pulled to listen to Ian’s gravelly voice, continuing to softly murmur to himself in a tone that was ridiculously off-key.

“She says we’ve gotta hoooold on, to what we’ve got—”

Mickey’s phone screen flickered. GAME OVER.

Mickey wanted to throw his phone at the fucking wall. He inhaled, then pressed “Start Game” again, one last time— and again, his focus was disrupted by Ian, singing under his breath as he pulled on his jeans and gently pattered his hands in a rhythm on the top of the dresser— which was endearing and sappy as fuck, sure, but it was not helping Mickey with the task at hand. Mickey puffed out a sharp, frustrated breath, keeping his eyes on his phone screen.

“The fuck are you singing for right now?”

Ian suddenly gave a sheepish smile over his shoulder as he rifled through their sock drawer, like he’d been caught in the middle of doing something wrong.

“Don’t know. Song was just stuck in my head I guess.”

Mickey glared at Ian, pressing his thumb to the screen to pause his game. “Cut that shit out.”

Ian rolled his eyes fondly, sitting on the edge of the mattress to pull on his socks. “You should be thanking me for serenading you with your fucking eighties dad music. I could be singing Carly Rae Jepson right now, or some other pop bullshit that you hate.”

Mickey felt an involuntary, amused smirk split onto his face, and he tried to turn it into a scowl. Fucking adorable motherfucker.

“Okay, tough guy. If anything you should be thanking me for cleansing your ears from the techno garbage that you used to listen to.”

Ian gave a soft smile, shoulders turning fully towards Mickey now that he’d finished pulling on his socks— and then he turned and clambered into the bed, hovering above Mickey and causing Mickey’s fingers to go slack around his phone case. Mickey could smell the warm, freshly-showered scent of him, all cheap bar soap and Old Spice deodorant, and felt the soft press of his t-shirt through Mickey’s thin tank top— an overly worn t-shirt, one of Mickey’s, that stretched just a little too tight over Ian’s torso.

Ian looked down at Mickey, fucking beaming for some reason, his eyes light. He swooped down, pressing a soft, quick kiss above Mickey’s eyebrow. And then—

“Take my haaaand, we’ll make it I sweeear”

Mickey felt an involuntary, uncomfortable chuckle bubble up out of his ribcage. Was Ian fucking… singing? To him? It definitely seemed like it. And as much as he didn’t want it to, because this was fucking sappy and ridiculous and… well, gay— Mickey couldn’t help the fact that his husband leaning over him, breathily singing the tune of one of their goddamn wedding songs in his husky tone-deaf voice, made Mickey’s blood run a little bit hotter; which was bullshit, because absolutely nothing about this should be hot, and it was probably the most disgustingly married thing that Mickey could think of— but apparently everything about Ian, every dorky and fucking god-awful cringey thing that he did, was a turn-on, or at least according to Mickey’s thudding heartbeat and sweaty palms right now.

Ian’s face was still hovering centimeters above his, his eyebrows raised triumphantly and sporting a sappy fucking grin, like he knew how affected Mickey was by this, no matter how much Mickey grumbled and complained and tried to hide it.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “You’re fucking soft, Gallagher.”

Ian just leaned down again, kissing up the slope of Mickey’s neck and biting at his earlobe—and, okay, maybe Mickey could get behind Ian’s singing after all.

 2.

Ian’s singing was starting to get fucking ridiculous— and as much as it made something deep inside Mickey feel a light pang of relief, to see Ian being his old bubbly self again in the rhythms of routine and held by the safety net of financial stability because of the security gig that made the air between them less stale, it also meant that they were also around each other pretty much 24/7, and Ian’s serenades were starting to get relentless.

While they pretty much had a common ground in liking nostalgic 80s music, they would still inevitably argue about what music to play in the ambulance every morning— and whatever shitty album they eventually chose to put on, whether it was Ian’s pop garbage of Mickey’s mellower 80s tunes, Ian’s brain would apparently absorb all the songs like a fucking sponge and he’d start singing them all day long—in the kitchen, in the shower, even when they were just laying in bed on their phones and Ian would constantly hum absentmindedly.

Today they were driving to some bougie dispensary in Glencoe, near a bunch of ridiculous mansions on the very outskirts of the city, and it was Ian’s turn to pick the music— Mickey usually elected one of the well-loved CDs that he’d jammed into the glove compartment as they were refurbishing the ambulance, CDs that he’d kept since he was a kid when he piled them high in the corner of his grimy room next to a half-broken boombox— but as much as they were Mickey’s comfort CDs, Ian could only listen to Bon Jovi so many times before he started to slander 80s music as a collective genre.

“Can we just listen to something by someone who isn’t older than us, just this once?”

“Easy for you to say, Gallagher. At least the music that I like has fucking words.”

When it was Ian’s turn to pick the music, he usually picked more modern stuff with heavy beats and a thrumming bass (though more often than not he also appeased Mickey’s tastes with some “80s throwback” playlist he’d found on Spotify that he’d noticed Mickey would bob his head along to)—but on longer drives, like this one, it was easy to butt heads about the soundtrack. Ian had allowed Mickey to play through one of his Queen CDs that morning, and then Ian had put on some whiny indie bullshit from a playlist on his phone for the other half of the drive— now they were heading home after a long day, with the stereo turned low to a local radio station.

They’d settled into a comfortable silence, as they often did at the end of the day when their energy faded— Ian had stopped pattering his hands on the steering wheel like he usually did when he was amped up and buzzing with energy in the mornings, and Mickey could tell they were both ready to collapse onto the couch the second they set foot in the door.

Mickey blew out a deflated breath and reached to turn up the radio, tuning in to some middle-aged host with a cheery voice chattering about the heat wave in Chicago that upcoming weekend—and then the airwaves went silent, and there was the overdramatic sound of a slamming door and a gospel choir.

Ian’s ears nearly fucking perked up at the sound as the opening chords began.

“Life is a mystery… Everyone must stand alone…”

Ian immediately raised his voice to join in, the tired slouch leaving his shoulders.

“I hear you call my naaaame”

He turned to Mickey and pointed overdramatically, causing Mickey to shove his arm away but unable to quell the overly fond grin that he knew was blooming on his face.

“And it feels like… home.”

The beat dropped, rolling into the chorus, and Ian energetically drummed his hands against the steering wheel once more.

“C’mon, Mick!” Ian laughed, throwing his head back dramatically as he sang while still trying to keep his eyes on the road.

“When you call my name, it’s like a little prayer, I’m down on my knees, I wanna take you there.” Ian’s pitchiness clashed with the melody, but he was too focused on singing and bopping side to side in this seat to really care.

Mickey rolled his eyes, his lips still turned upwards at the corners while he watched his absolute dork of a husband jamming to Madonna. “Isn’t this song about giving someone a blowjob or some shit?”

Ian gave an easygoing laugh. “Technically, yes. And it’s also definitionally a gay anthem, which means you have to sing with me.”

Mickey scoffed and flipped Ian off. “Fuck off.”

Ian raised a playful eyebrow, and continued to sing with relentless eye contact:

“It’s like a dreeeeam, no end and no beginning”

Mickey felt heat rise into his cheeks against his will. No fucking way was he going to sing a Madonna song about a blowjob stone-cold sober at 2pm on a Tuesday while driving home from work with his fucking husband—which, wow, that was probably the gayest sentence that had ever crossed Mickey’s mind in his 26 years of existence (which was definitely saying a lot).

This wasn’t ever a place Mickey thought he’d be in— sitting beside Ian so comfortably, singing fucking songs while they drove home from their daily commute; getting to soak up all the warmth, all the brightness that had always radiated out of Ian so intensely that it nearly blinded him, a warmth that he’d always wanted to lean in closer to even when they were just scrawny kids in a shitty neighborhood still figuring everything out.

Maybe, just maybe— it was okay to lean in a little more.

By the time the chorus rolled around the third time, Mickey was begrudgingly humming along, like he usually did whenever the songs that Ian was singing on and endless loop got stuck in his own head and popped up while he was brushing his teeth or making toast for breakfast— by the time the final rhythmic chorus faded to silence on the radio waves, Mickey glanced over at Ian, singing at the top of his lungs, face slightly flushed and grinning ear to ear.

“Just like a prayer, your voice can take me there.”

3.

Ian and Mickey were walking down the moonlit sidewalk, veering back home after an evening at Lip’s— the night had honestly been weirdly enjoyable, which was definitely a welcome reprieve from all of Lip and Debbie’s intense back-and-forths about the house over the past few weeks. Tami and Lip had needed to go over to Brad and Cami’s for some bullshit crisis management about the stolen bikes, and Ian had readily agreed to watch Freddie— which meant that whether he liked it or not, Mickey had spent his Friday evening at Lip’s half-packed apartment watching Ian coo over a one-year-old, which was… not a totally unwelcome sight.

Trying to keep his shit together, Mickey had snapped a picture to send to the Gallagher family group chat, and everyone had immediately given them shit about being so eager to babysit and get their hands on a toddler like a couple of baby-crazed newlyweds—which had caused Mickey to start overzealously complaining in the groupchat to compensate while Ian occupied Freddie. Kev had noticed the texts and swung by Lip and Tami’s house after closing the Alibi to keep the two of them company, bringing by a pack of beers—and now he and Ian were warm and happily buzzed, relieved of their babysitting duties and walking the chilly city streets back towards the Gallagher house.

Halfway through the walk Ian had interlaced their fingers, and now their arms were swinging slightly as they turned the final corner to walk down the last stretch of pavement towards the chain-link fence—when suddenly, Ian stopped cold a few houses away from the Gallagher front porch. He looked down at Mickey, raising their entangled hands and pressing a kiss to the inside of Mickey’s wrist.

Mickey raised an eyebrow in confusion, and Ian just looked back at him—his cheeks glowing pink from the few beers, his eyes light and unguarded under the streetlamps.

“This spot reminded me of something.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. Of fucking course it did. Ian was a sappy motherfucker on the best of days, but with a couple of beers in him he was practically uncontrollable.

“What?”

All of a sudden Ian let go of his hand, punching into the air dramatically.

“Cause love is a battlefiiiield”

Mickey laughed, feeling warm hot blood rush to his cheeks in delight—and fuck, he loved his husband so goddamn much. And just this once, mostly because of the own alcohol running thick in his bloodstream, Mickey made the lurching decision to join in, stepping closer towards Ian and raising his hands equally as dramatically.

“No promises, no demands”

“Woooooah”

Ian had practically doubled over with laughter, tears welling in the corner of his eyes—and Mickey let himself get lost in it, the warm feeling buzzing through his body, of love and joy and fuck knows what else, getting to sing on a fucking street corner with his husband a decade after everything had gone so gut-wrenchingly wrong, leaving him bleeding on this same pavement.

They stumbled over their own feet up the stairs, fumbling out of their clothes and collapsing into bed—and later, just as Mickey was on the brink of fading into unconsciousness, Ian mumbled the same refrain into the crook of Mickey’s neck in a sleepy voice, like the song was still stuck in his head and he just couldn’t help it.

“Love is a battlefield.”

4.

It was late— it was one of those slow, tender nights when the past was hanging heavy over them, laying pressed together in bed as thin streams of moonlight poured in through the blinds, pressing whispers into each other’s skin about all of the hurt and the doubt that had been seeped up and healed with time.

Ian was sprawled back on the bed and Mickey was laying with his head resting on his chest, feeling his ribcage expand and contract each time he took a breath. They’d absorbed so much the past few weeks— the sick, twisted blows of a loss that felt all the more jagged and painful because of how muddled the grief for Terry was—but after a few days had passed they’d found a place to settle, in the comforting press of the silence in their bedroom.

Mickey was mindlessly playing with Ian’s fingers, listening to his steady breathing—and without thinking, he ran a finger over the cool silver of Ian’s wedding band, letting out a breathy chuckle.

“I still can’t believe we’re married sometimes, man.”

Mickey could feel Ian’s lips curve upward into a smile from where his mouth was pressed against the top of Mickey’s head.

“Yeah, me either.”

And Mickey felt something bubbling, something welling— and he didn’t ever fucking sing, not unless Ian made him, but Ian was always fucking dropping song lines into sappy moments like this.

So he took a breath, and, half-singing but mostly talking, in a way that sounded almost mocking if it wasn’t so soft around the edges, he let out into the dark silence of the room:

“At last….”

He wasn’t even singing, not really—he was just sort of… saying the words in a singsongy way, but he knew that Ian could tell what he was doing, what he was trying to do. He was trying to be as fucking sweet and soft and pliant as Ian was, as Ian always was in moments like this, in a way that sometimes made Mickey feel brittle and hard in comparison. This time, Mickey wanted to breathe out the love he had for him into this moment, the love that made his ribcage feel like it was going to fucking burst— a love that he felt erupting outwards when Ian had played this song for him for the first time a few weeks before the wedding, and had asked with a shy smile, “D’you think it’d be okay if you walked down the aisle to this song?”

Ian’s chest shook with laughter, and he carded a hand through Mickey’s hair. And then, in his gentle, sleep-soft voice, in a breathy tone that tickled the shell of Mickey’s ear:

“My looove has come along”

Mickey rolled his eyes fondly, just to prove something to himself, even though he knew Ian couldn’t see him—and then he reached a hand upward and leaned back, drawing Ian’s chin forward to press his lips to his for a brief, lingering moment.

Mickey settled back against Ian’s chest again, and felt Ian press a kiss to the top of his head. He smiled contentedly, closing his heavy eyelids.

Maybe being a couple of sappy motherfuckers wasn’t so bad.

[aceofspadegrass]

Broken Arm Bath Time

Characters: Aguni Morizono, Hatter

Genre: Fluff. Aguni washing Takeru's hair and it's so soft.

2.1k words

Jokes on you slimy meatball I fucking did it! Of course, I can't say shit without getting a teensy tiny bit inspired by @hatterstan-shameblog 's latest fic (Please go take a gander it is neat), but otherwise this is wholesome and neat, perhaps 50% gay energy-

Aguni doesn’t get the chance to step into his apartment before he got a call, his phone vibrating rather exuberantly for 5 in the afternoon within his pocket. He sets down his groceries and pulls out the phone, a simple black flip phone as he didn’t really need to use it for much else. The number was all too familiar, Aguni pressing the answer button and holding it up to his ear.

“ Hello.”

“ Mori, hi! My good pal, best barbecue corn chip in my life, my beautiful-“

“ Get to the point Takeru.” Aguni takes his keys out of his pocket to unlock his door, Takeru humming nonchalantly.

“ Well, you know how I broke my arm last week?” Takeru chirps. Aguni answers with a simple short noise of acknowledgement, mentally imagining Takeru’s calm yet dopey smile on the other end.

Aguni remembered it quite well actually, briefly reminiscing as he opens his door and hauls his groceries inside. The two were actually out on a fishing trip together, although it was less for the fish and more for Takeru to hang out on a boat they rented all day wearing fishing hats that Takeru found in storage in the back of his shop. It was supposed to be a simple trip, catch some fish, drive around the lake, nothing tiring.

That is, until Takeru managed to hook in a monster one. The force of it yanking, coupled by him leaning a little too far (Aguni did try to warn him), led to him falling off and slamming his arm against some rocks that they were parked near.

The force managed to break it upon impact. It was a freak accident, but Aguni did have to get their driver to drive them back to the docks and call an ambulance for his friend. He had to hand it to Takeru though for keeping a brave face and not cry too loud as they used some ice from the fish cooler to keep it somewhat numb from pain until the paramedics arrived. Takeru did whine a little about the fish that stole his rod and how the day didn’t go as he hoped, but Aguni wasn’t focused on the results of the fishing trip. He somewhat knew Takeru was worried as well, but Takeru probably didn’t want to dwell on it and feel the effects more than if he focused on anything else.

The doctors said that it was a clean break, but he’s still need a cast to keep it in place, Takeru receiving all the instructions about how to care for it.

“ Well, you see….. I need to take a bath.” Takeru explains, Aguni saying nothing as he stocks his fridge and pantry, letting Takeru continue. “ And as you know full well, I can’t get my cast wet. Adding on to the fact that a I can only do so much with one arm…..”

Aguni swears he can hear Takeru pouting on the other end. He sighs, shutting his pantry and leans against the door. “ Do you need me to come over.”

“ Oh that would be wonderful. Yes, please do. I’ll be waiting!” Takeru hangs up, Aguni slipping his phone back in his pocket and walking right back to the front door. He leaves his apartment not even ten minutes of finally getting inside, and after locking the door Aguni makes the rather short distance to Takeru’s apartment. It was easier for them to live close to each other, even if it meant Aguni got minimal heads up before Takeru let himself in to his apartment.

Aguni enters with the spare key Takeru gave him when they first got the places, shutting the door behind him and switching to the fuzzy slippers that Takeru leaves for him and him only.

“ Mori!” Takeru peeks out from the hallway once Aguni comes in, waving with his free hand that was attached to his only good arm, Aguni not bothering to wave back as he closes the distance, Takeru smiling and dragging him to the bathroom.

The cast that rested in the sling was a soft red colour, which he insisted wasn’t just pink — not that Aguni cared, it was just a cast — and already covered in small doodles made by Takeru himself among other people that likely pitied Takeru’s poorly arm and wanted to decorate it. Even Aguni had something on there, on insistence of Takeru the day he got the cast done. It was a simple and poorly drawn flower done in black marker, but Takeru was happy with it. Compared to all the other, much more colourful and creative things that surrounded it, it almost looked like such a sad excuse for a doodle.

Still, Takeru assured him that he loved it. Aguni watches as Takeru pulls out a plastic bag and some rubber bands that he was going to use to cover the cast, sliding the bag over his right arm. Aguni didn’t have to be told anything as he grabs the bands and pulls them over the bag and cast, holding it firm so no moisture would accidentally get inside. It wasn’t too tight to cause his friend discomfort, and the two head together to the bathroom.

The bath, unsurprisingly, has already been run, Aguni dipping his finger in the still warm water. Takeru strips into nothing from him, and Aguni steps back to let him sink into the water, Takeru letting out a satisfied breath. “ Ah, this is nice~”

Aguni kneels down next to the tub and positions Takeru’s arm so it rested outside, Takeru grabbing a bottle from a metal rack that was within his arms reach. Takeru holds it out to Aguni with a smile, Aguni wordlessly uncapping it before pouring a little into the water and turning the faucet on again, bubbles soon emerging along with the scent of lavender and apples.

“ You are such a saint, Mori. Who knows how I would’ve survived without you in here!”

“ You would have done okay, you know.”

Takeru chuckles, leaning his head back and sinking further into the water, Aguni laying a hand on the arm that had to stay outside. “ Yes, but I would have felt oh so uncomfortable! Curse past me for getting bottles that don’t work with one hand.” He lays his other hand over his forehead as he lets his head loll to the side in anguish.

Aguni lets him be to soak for a bit, getting up and going through his friend’s rather extensive soap options. Unlike him, Takeru preferred to smell nice everyday instead of going about in a natural scent or, as Takeru calls it, ‘The artificial man scent of trying too hard sometimes’. He did own said artificial man in a bottle, but they were only for very specific uses.

“ Which one do you want today.” Aguni brushes his fingers through the bottle, Takeru humming as he thought.

“ Obviously something to pair with this!” Takeru splash taps the surface.

Aguni grabs a random bottle and holds it down to hover in front of Takeru’s face, not bothering to read the label or check if it paired. He didn’t even know what would pair with the bubble bath, Takeru was always the one that knew the answer and differences. All Aguni ever did in his own shower was a simple shampoo and body wash before leaving. Takeru had a ritual in his own bathroom, and Aguni barely could comprehend it outside of a lengthy process that Takeru religiously followed.

“ This is a body wash, Mori. Try again.” Takeru pushes the bottom of the bottle up, Aguni putting it back and choosing one that he actually read to be a shampoo.

“ Hmm….. not today, Mori. We’re going for a nice floral today, not woody.”

“ It’s both nature based. Smell like an apple tree today.”

Takeru snorts, Aguni putting the bottle back and choosing the next one that almost was promising. Takeru inspects it for a bit, before letting a pleased note out from his throat, Aguni kneeling back down and setting it on the bath mat. He grabs the shower head and guides it down to Takeru, reaching over and turning it on. Takeru lets out a sigh through his nose as Aguni starts washing his hair, Aguni staying steady and firm as he wetted Takeru’s locks. Setting the head down after turning it off, he opens the bottle and dispenses a fair amount before rubbing it in his hands, getting a good lather before massaging it into Takeru’s hair.

“ See Mori? How would I get such sublime treatment for my hair care by myself. You do it so well.”

“ Thank you. You could have at least tried by yourself.”

“ Mori I can’t simply get a good lather with one working hand.You, maybe, because you have less hair and the bathroom routine of the average male. I would not be surprised if you used your own hair as a method to work one up. Me? I could never. It would be like rubbing dish soap on a plate raw.”

Aguni nods, making sure to be thorough as Takeru liked it to be. He’s gotten enough lectures about his friend that he had a decent idea of what Takeru liked during bath time, or even a shower. To be honest, this wasn’t even his first rodeo of washing his friend’s hair, for many different reasons that always ended with a platonic bath or hair care.

“ Alright Mori, that’s enough. You’re gonna rub out too much oils at that rate.” Takeru tells him after a few more seconds, Aguni turning on the shower head once more and rinsing out the shampoo. Takeru quietly hums as he did so, and once Aguni was satisfied that he got it all, gets up and tries to find some conditioner for him. He finds it after a short look, kneeling down again as Takeru confirms that he took the correct bottle. Aguni squirts a fair amount into his palm and lathers it just like the shampoo, although it didn’t made suds as it simply spread it across his palm to apply to Takeru’s hair. He picks up the hair in sections and rubs conditioner into it, Takeru idly humming some tune that Aguni vaguely remembers.

He doesn’t register his own quiet singing along until Takeru joined in at the chorus. “ Stay with me~ 真夜中のドアをたたき~”

“ 帰らないでと泣いた…. あの季節が 今 目の前….. Stay with me…”

“ 口ぐせを言いながら 二人の瞬間を抱いて~”

“ まだ忘れず 大事にしていた….”

Takeru peeks at Aguni with a small smile, Aguni offering the slightest one of his own. He rinses off Takeru’s hair of the conditioner thoroughly as they both end up going through the rest of the song in a gentle duet, making sure not to leave a single strand unwashed of the product.

“ Now the body wash. Can you do it yourself since I did your hair?” Aguni asks, Takeru nodding and sitting up to reach for the loofah and grab some body wash in reach, using the edge of the tub to click the bottle open. Aguni still had to help him get the soap onto the mesh mass, but he at least could sit back and let Takeru finish by himself.

“ You can help yourself to a snack in the fridge, Mori. As thanks.” Takeru tells him as he scrubs himself, Aguni briskly nodding and leaving the bathroom. He washes his hands in case of any spare suds left on his hand before raiding Takeru’s fridge. He procures a single pear and stands in Takeru’s kitchen eating it — after he quickly rinsed it, like he should — until Takeru finally emerged, towel still on head as Takeru dried it one-handed and fluffy white robe around his frame and bagged cast.

“ That was a good bath~ Thank you ever so much~”

Aguni lets out a soft grunt noise in response, pear still in the stage of being dissected between Aguni’s teeth.

“ Oh, and while I heal, would you mind coming over ever so often to do it again? A man’s gotta keep his routine after all.”

Aguni breaks a piece the pear from its body and silently chews, staring at his friend idly smiling from where he stood, towel now draped over his shoulders.

Aguni swallows his pear, and after careful deliberation, offers a short nod.

[joyrose-fandomer]

Music club AU Chap2 (Sanders sides Human AU)

TL;DR: What if you just wanted to play music in peace but the autor sayed “chaos twins :)”

POV: Virgil

Relationship: Creativitwins, Prinxiety, Logicality parent to Virgil, (later in the story) Dukceit.

TW: Play fighting

<<Previous  Next>>

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God loves to mess with little old Virgil, do they?

The teenager just wanted to play music and have a good time, for ONCE!

But nooo, couldn't have that did he?

Virgil just opened the door to the classroom where the music club took place, standing at the threshold, staring at not one but both of yesterday's idiots staring back at him from their seat in the classroom.

He closed back the door. A laugh exploded inside the room followed by rushed footsteps.

Virgil practically ran through the corridor and was at the other side of it when someone flew the door of the classroom open and yelled.

"WAIT, COME BACK!"

It was a good thing that it was lunchtime and everyone was out, eating because Virgil would not have been able to handle the embarrassment.

The guy took the chance to run through the corridor while Virgil was still stunned.

He reached him breathless.

"Wait... don't go.... just...one second" He took a few deep breaths "Alright... Let's start again."

The tall boy corrected his posture and fashed a 100-watt smile.

"Hi. I'm Roman. And you are?"

Virgil looks at the hand his schoolmate was extending to him like it was going to electrocute him. Wich he was seriously considering could happend.

  The unconvinced emo took a long look up and down the dramatic boy who was growing more uncomfortable and nervous every second.

He was a head taller than Virgil, His hair where a stylish mess, he was wearing an outfit stolen straight up from a model magazine and not to be gay but he was so jacked that Virgil could see his pecks from under his shirt.

"Sooo..." The much to jacked teen continued when he saw that Virgil was not going to answer "Should I be worried by this elevator look or..." He left the end of the sentence hanging in the hope that Virgil would tell him something, anything.

But he simply rose an eyebrow.

Roman finally let his arm fall to his side, starting to be tired of holding it up for so long.

"Look. I got it. Using you for a challenge was not cool. I'm dumb and my brother is even dumber.

 But still, give me chance. I really want to get to know you. So, how about we get back to the classroom before the teacher arrives and you can decide my fate after?

Please?"

His dramatic schoolmate had quickly shot the sentences one after the other, making big movements to accentuate his point.

  Alright, Virgil was starting to get second-hand anxiety from this interaction, let's just go back to the classroom and get it over with.

He sighed and reluctantly got past the nervous mess in front of him to make his way back down the corridor, causing a disbelieving grin to appear on the face of the other boy who started trotting behind him.

If only he knew that he just threw out the window his only chance at peace for that smile.

Once in the classroom, Virgil was immediately greeted by a whistle coming from the other member of the dumb duo who was now sprawled over two chairs and tables. His hair was partially white and his outfit looked like he stoled Roman's close and made them voluntarily look as terrible as possible.

Virgil looked back at Roman who was joining his own hands together over his mouth, silently praying to Virgil to not back out. 

Puppy eyes had always been the emo's weakness, his dad used them constantly against him, so when a pretty face was giving him those hopeful eyes he was unable to refuse.

He reluctantly walked into the classroom only to realize that the only seat left was the one right in front of the brothers that none took due to being the closest to the teacher. 

Great.

"Wow, Ro! I can't believe you managed to get him to stay, that's a new record!"

Roman's brother claimed, throwing his arms for emphasizes and almost hitting Virgil in the process.

"Not thank's to you. Now scout over I wants my sit."

"Make me"

The strange twin challenged with a smirk. A challenge that was apparently accepted immediately judging by the wicked smile appearing on the face of the other twin.

"Gladly"

The dramatic boy took the ankles of the chaotic one and all but dragged him to the floor, getting a laugh out of his brother. Everyone was looking at them like they were insane and Virgil couldn't agree more.

Roman sunk in his sit, behind Virgil, completely unbothered by the chorus of confused laughter from the other students.

This was the scene playing when the teacher entered the classroom. Everyone when as silent as possible, a few of them had to hold their laughter with their hands. The embodiment of chaos looked up from his spot on the ground with an innocent smile.

The teacher took silently a sip of his coffee and walked past the teenager to reach the front of the room before sitting on his desk.

  "Sup, everyone. Glad to see a lot of familiar faces. For those who don't know me, the name's Remy. I'm a music teacher and I'll babysit you all an hour every week for this club. You're welcome."

At the word 'babysit' he looked through his sunglasses at the trouble maker who was sitting back on his chair.

It took barely a look to know which student already knew the men, smiling and snickering like it was their wired uncle or big brother. And the ones who discovered the strange character, blinking and staring in confusion.

Two girls started whispering to each other a few rows behind, causing the teacher to snap his fingers to get their attention.

"Sorry, Sir! We were just wondering if Remy was your last name"

One of the girls quickly apologized.

"Don't sir me and no, that's my first name. My name is Dorme. Any other question?"

After a silence, he continued.

"Good. So I'm going to take the same call from last year and cross out everyone we lost during the summer break. Toby!"

Someone with orange hair and a skeleton hoody rose their hand.

"Hi Toby, last year right? Think you can go to the club and study at the same time?"

"No problem, Remy"

Remy nodded and looked back at his list.

"Amely!"

A tall girl with a flowery dress rose her hand from the back of the class.

"Hey girl, how's the transition going? Want to stay with the altos or do you want to try and go soprano?"

"It's going great but I'd like to stay alto if possible"

"Of course. Next, Mike!"

There was no answer so he crossed them out. It continued like that for a few more minutes before he put the list down and took an empty paper.

"Ok, now time to cheek the newbies. Just say your name, pronoun, and any instrument you can play.  We start from the front and make our way back from left to right."

Meaning Virgil was first. Too much pressure.

He looked up at the teacher who was waiting for him to speak. Everyone was looking at him it was awful. He went to say his name but his voice refused to cooperate.

The teacher handed him the empty sheet where the anxious boy wrote 'Virgil Adams, he/him, base'

"Quick question, do you think you'll be able to sing or-" Mr. Dorme posed mid-sentence when he looked at the paper. "Never mind. Steve, good news, we have a base. You can play the guitar now!"

Steve, a boy with a plaid shirt and dark curly hair, made a 'woohoo!' of victory.

Remy looked back at Virgil.

"Don't worry about singing if you don't feel like it. Want to start tuning the base?"

The high schooler noded quickly and practically ran to the back of the classroom where Nat, one of the older students showed him where the material was.

The teacher called for the next student to introduce themself.

There was a noise of a chair being pushed back followed by an obnoxious voice.

"Greetings! I'm Roman Poquelin, he/him, and I can play any string and wind instrument except the base, the violoncello, and, god forbid, the kazoo."

"The kazoo is great! You don't know what you're talking about!"

The other twin defended

"The kazoo is an atrocity made by people with no taste!"

"You just hate fun!"

"This is not fun it's torture!"

Remy intervened before the kazoo debate blows up to far.

"That's enough you two, Roman sit down. Next."

"Remus Poquelin, he/them, I play every percussion as well as the trombone, accordion, bagpipe, otamatone, and KAZOO"

The chaotic twin insisted on the word 'kazoo' just the get a reaction from his brother who growled at him.

"Hey, that makes two Rems!" Toby yelled.

"You're right one of us got to change their name it ain't me" Remy added with a joking tone.

Remus thought about it for a moment before screaming proudly "DUKE!"

There was a confused silence cute only by a little "what?" from Steve.

Remus anwserd with a big dramatic mouvement.

"Everyone! Call me duke, or duky, or D or Di-"

"We are not calling you that." Roman interrupted with a tired sigh.

Virgil was starting to wonder if they were going to always be like that because it was starting to be exhausting.

Remy probably thought the same since he downed all his coffee before pushing on with the rest of the introductions.

 Luckily there were only the two girls left who didn't make a scene out of it. Named Branda and Harley. Two sopranos, none playing any instrument.

Steve had joined Virgil with his guitar and they waited for Remy to explain the year's program. 

Apparently, he had planed a few small concerts around the school during the year and 3 big ones including a competition interschool, and two concerts not taken in charge by the school as extra scholar activity.

That made a lot of concerts, and no matter how much Virgil liked to play, he still hated being under the spotlight.

They then made some vocal exercises and while everyone was reading the lyric of the song they were going to work on today, Remy explains how to play the song to Virgil, Steve, and Remus who got asked to play the drums.

The song was rather simple and except for Virgil, everyone was singing. They had to start again multiple times due to Remus somehow managing to never sing the note right while still playing the drums perfectly.

"Remus, can you sing me a 'la'?" Mr. Remy asked probably starting to wonder if he was doing it voluntarily.

Remus sang a 'mi'

"Try again?"

a 're'

"No, that's worst. Again?"

a 'si'

"Ok, you're just messing with me now" The teacher sighed

Roman rose his hand.

"He's not messing with you. He actually can't do it. 

He knows what note your asking of him he just can't sing it, but he can still play."

The music teacher looked confused at that.

"Do you want to be exempted from singing little duke?"

He got answered with a big nod. 

So now they were two not singing.

On the other hand, Roman grew more and more comfortable with the song and his dramatic personality slowly took over until they riched the last song and he couldn't help but hold the last note for almost a full minute. 

Virgil and Steve had stopped playing by now but Remus kept a drum roll for his brother with a straight face, apparently knowing that it was going to happen.

When Roman finished the bassist exchanged a look with the drumer and somehow he just knew they were thinking the same thing.

Remus grinned and suddenly they were both laughing.

  Nate joined in, hiding his face in his jacket, then Remy, Amely, and in seconds everyone was laughing, Roman included.

  The bell rang. Warning them that it was time to go back to class.

While cleaning everything up Virgil heard Branda comment.

"It's going to be a weird year"

Never, truer words had been said.

***<>========<>***

(Virgil : Not to be gay but *proceed to be very gay*) XD