#then you get to end on a cheery stupid gays note

[zintranslations]

Kaleidoscope of Death, Extra 6

Kaleidoscope of Death by Xi Zixu Link to Chinese / Novel Updates

Extra: Twin Lives, Twin Deaths (3)

The first person to leave a door could gain a hint about the next door. This was preferential treatment and leniency that the door awarded the victor. This was also an affirmation of strength.

But what many people didn't know was that when only one person was left in a door, that person, upon leaving the door, would earn a very special sort of hint. The person who possessed this hint gained not only detailed insight into the next door, but also a chance to save their own life.

For reasons, Ruan Nanzhu had never told Cheng Yixie about this. Cheng Yixie only learned about it by accident.

And Cheng Yixie, after just barely scraping his way out of the seventh door, had also come to a realization. He'd realized that he couldn't protect Cheng Qianli. The world of the doors was treacherous and ever-changing; no matter how smart he was, he was just a mortal in the end, and all mortals made mistakes. Mistakes in daily life may be utterly unimportant, but mistakes made inside the doors could cost you your life.

Cheng Yixie returned to the mansion, saw Cheng Qianli's brilliant grin embracing Toast, and made a silent decision.

Everything that followed became so reasonable.

Cheng Yixie was clever, and when clever people did bad things, they were naturally adept.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing, Cheng Yixie." Ruan Nanzhu very quickly figured out Cheng Yixie's deviancy, and he and Cheng Yixie had their very first explosive argument. "You're going to get Cheng Qianli killed, as well as yourself!"

Against Ruan Nanzhu's accusations, Cheng Yixie chose silence.

"Stop this, while you still can," Ruan Nanzhu said. "Don't wait until it's too late to turn back…"

Cheng Yixie gave Ruan Nanzhu an answer. He said, "Cheng Qianli's not even eighteen yet."

He held onto the railings, looking out over the lush green yard where Cheng Qianli and Toast were chasing each other around in play.

"If only one of us can survive, I hope it to be him."

Ruan Nanzhu, "but there are other ways. You're choosing the stupidest method—"

"But it's the most lucrative." Cheng Yixie was no older than fourteen, but there wasn’t any trace of a child's innocence to be found in his eyes. His pupils were deep lakes, in which were hidden things even Ruan Nanzhu couldn't comprehend. "Sorry, Ruan-ge, I really can't just watch Qianli die."

Ruan Nanzhu knew he had no chance of convincing Cheng Yixie. He said no more, and walked away.

At this point, the worst that Cheng Yixie had done was let people go to their deaths. But after…Cheng Yixie closed his eyes. He never wanted to talk about what happened after anymore.

Once someone broke their bottom line, it was like plunging into a quagmire; you could only keep sinking.

Had it been anybody else, Ruan Nanzhu would likely have already kicked Cheng Yixie out of Obsidian. But Cheng Yixie was just a kid. He was like a fresh-grown sapling that, before it could even grow up straight, got snapped at the waist by the battering rains and winds.

Cheng Yixie began to sink deeper and deeper in to the abyss, until he had no way of ever getting out.

Everybody said what went around would always come back around; Cheng Yixie thought that he would be the one to pay for the things he did. Once people do wrong, they had to pay a price. Cheng Yixie was willing to pay for his sins with his life.

But on the day retribution truly came, Cheng Yixie finally learned that some things didn't happen as easily as he's imagined.

The tenth door was hellishly difficult.

Even with the special hint slip, Cheng Yixie was running on the last of nine lives inside.

Just as he had Cheng Qianli, and the two were stumbling their way to the door, they discovered that where the door should have been was instead a giant green bronze statue. The statue was beastly and looked like a demon, and the green bronze encasing it was beginning to crack, revealing hard skin as black as lava rock underneath.

Seeing such a scene, Cheng Yixie knew the monster before him was about to wake. Though the door was right behind it, they still couldn't make their way through.

"Gege," Cheng Yixie spoke quietly, standing behind Cheng Yixie. "I'm scared." The hand he held Cheng Yixie's with was covered in sweat, and there was a helpless tremor in his voice.

"Don't be scared, I'm right here," Cheng Yixie comforted Cheng Qianli quietly. He took a deep breath, and then stuck a hand in his pants pocket, settling on the sharp dagger folded inside. "Just listen to me, and it'll be fine."

Cheng Qianli scooted closer. He seemed to have sensed something, and wrapped Cheng Yixie up in a tight embrace. They were twins, after all; they felt everything together. Through the thin clothing between them, Cheng Yixie could feel the heat of Cheng Qianli's body as well as the anxiety in Cheng Qianli's heart.

"Gege." Cheng Qianli's voice was filled with woe, and even sounded a bit choked. "Is it about to come to life?"

The monster behind them had already exposed the blood red of its eyes. The giant jaw packed full of fangs began to savagely snap. It looked ready to pounce at any moment.

"Mh," Cheng Yixie said. "But it won't be able to hurt you."

"Why am I so stupid?" Cheng Qianli said. "If only I were smarter." His tone of voice was agonized. "If only I were smarter, then Gege wouldn't have to work so hard…"

Cheng Qianli's arms around Cheng Yixie slowly began to loosen, and his voice too grew faint.

"But no matter how stupid I am, I still know what Gege wants to do…"

Cheng Yixie felt that something had gone wrong. His voice froze for a moment, and he slowly turned his head.

"Qianli…"

"Hey, I brought one too," Cheng Qianli said. "I hid it in my pants pocket, just like you."

He was smiling, but was likely also in agony—this smile was particularly hideous.

Cheng Yixie’s head inched down, and he saw a dagger stuck in Cheng Qianli’s chest. Bright red blood was flowing like a babbling brook down his chest, soaking his clothes and puddling on the ground.

Cheng Yixie saw that dagger, and felt himself reeling. He opened his mouth to say something, but the image before him appeared to have utterly stolen his ability to talk. He couldn't say anything, and his body slowly slumped forward.

"Ge…it hurts…" Cheng Qianli collapsed in Cheng Yixie's arms, black eyes big and staring. His pupils reflected Cheng Yixie's figure. He called, "Ge…"

"Aah…Aaaah!!" A wretched scream came out of his mouth, and Cheng Yixie could only watch as Cheng Qianli's breaths grew fainter. The roar of the monster behind him came from a spot directly over Cheng Yixie's head, but Cheng Yixie didn't turn around. The monster lunged at him and—

A black shadow enveloped Cheng Yixie. He ought to have been torn to pieces by the monster, but a faint sheen of light was emanating from his body. It partitioned the monster's attack directly away from him.

In Cheng Yixie's arms, Cheng Qianli's chest had stopped moving. With a numb expression Cheng Yixie turned around, spotting that huge black door behind the monster. He saw that door and stumbled to his feet with Cheng Qianli in his arms. He made a run for that door, unlocking it with the key drenched in blood. He still wanted to see Cheng Qianli again. There were still so many things he hadn't said to him.

Cheng Yixie sprinted out that tunnel like he had gone crazy, grabbing the Cheng Qianli outside in an embrace. The moment Cheng Qianli offered him a smile, mouthful after mouthful of blood began pouring out of Cheng Qianli's mouth. Cheng Qianli touched his face, called him Ge, told him not be sad.

Cheng Yixie was wailing. His Qianli, this was his Qianli—the kid he loved the most still hadn't been able to grow up. Hadn't even passed his eighteenth birthday. Certainly hadn't gotten to see all the beautiful sceneries of the world like he'd hoped.

What came afterwards, Cheng Yixie didn't really remember. He didn't really remember how he got through that time. By the time he came back to himself, he'd already left Obsidian, and was crossing doors with Zhuo Feiquan.

Zhuo Feiquan, like him, was a person left behind at the end of the world. Zhuo Feiquan no longer had a sister, and Cheng Yixie no longer had a brother. Zhuo Feiquan's luck was just a lot better than Cheng Yixie's, that's all—he had a pendant that his sister's soul laid in.

"Hey, you're not planning on getting me killed inside the doors and stealing my pendant, are you?" Zhuo Feiquan spoke frankly. "I'm telling you, I'm hardy as hell."

Cheng Yixie looked at him, answering faintly, "forget it. I thought about it, but it's better not to do it."

"Why not?" Zhuo Feiquan asked.

"I'm afraid he'll have to pay for the bad things I do again." Cheng Yixie's tone was cold. "Look, isn't that the case now?"

He didn't even dare to die, because his life had been traded in for Qianli's. That little fool had to be smart just this once, but this one time was all it took to torture him to death and back.

Zhuo Feiquan threw back his head and laughed.

To have experienced the same pain of losing family, the two actually had an odd resonance. Only those days didn't last. Zhuo Feiquan died in his own tenth door, and before dying, he placed his pendant in Cheng Yixie's hand. He didn't say anything, because both of them already knew.

Cheng Yixie clutched the pendant that Zhuo Feiquan gave him and managed a smile, meaning he had accepted Zhuo Feiquan's good will.

Once he had the pendant, Cheng Yixie wondered if he should use it to summon Cheng Qianli. But after thinking about it, he didn't do it. Because he remembered that Cheng Qianli was scared of ghosts.

If he wasn't there, Cheng Qianli could only wait around inside the doors. That was probably another kind of torture.

Cheng Yixie wouldn't do that to him.

The days went on one at a time. So Cheng Yixie thought that this would be the end of his and Cheng Qianli's story. He still went through doors in a state of numbness. He might die inside one of these days, but to the him right now, death seemed more like a merciful blessing and escape.

This continued on like this until Cheng Yixie went into his own eleventh door.

In his eleventh door, when he saw Tan Zaozao on television, Cheng Yixie became conscious of something. He left the hospital that he'd entered the door through in a hurry. He went back to his house and knocked on that familiar door.

Moments later, the door opened to reveal a face completely identical to his. And when he saw Cheng Yixie, he looked on with a stunned expression.

Cheng Yixie began to laugh, ignoring Cheng Qianli's shock completely and wrapping him up in a hug. He said, "idiot, Gege's been looking for you for such a long time." I thought that once I'd lost you, I would never get you back.

Good thing that now, he was finally found.

And since he was found, staying in this illusory world of the door seemed to be…not all that bad.

The once-split soul merged back together then, from two to one, just like the moment they were birthed from their mother's body. A satisfied smile appeared on Cheng Yixie's face. He dried the tears at the corners of his eyes and watched as the sun outside the window slowly descended beneath the horizon.

Translator’s Note:

Look, I need those of you who have even a passing understanding of Chinese to suffer this passage with me: 程一榭嚎啕大哭，他的千里，他的千里啊——他心愛的小孩還是沒能長大. The original is simply “HIs Qianli, his Qianli ah...” Just a fucking WAIL. Like me. Just fucking head back, sobbing at the ceiling.

[Extra: Twin Lives, Twin Deaths(2)] | [Extra: Bai Ming and Zhang Yiqing]

[totiredtowrite]

sakusa who genuinely doesnt like reader for a big while but we hang aruond him anyways. by the time we realize that he doesn't like us and we start to move on, he starts catching feelings for us

happy endings bc the sakusa angst was ouch :/

【ｆｌｉｐｐｅｄ】

Warnings - Sakusa no like you at first

Note: In light of 🖕🏽 getting a boyfriend im writing this. definitely projecting D: oops, no happy ending? ill make a part 2. out here making this inspired by Flipped by Wendlin Van Draanen because why not

FEMALE AND FEM ALIGNED READERS (SHE/HER, SHE/THEY), DO NOT INTERACT

Not everything in the fanfic circle is yours smh. I don't care if you like reading it, back off. Don't think I'll allow it under any circumstance.

Sakusa Kiyoomi was perfect. At least, to you he was. (And about a million other people). He was tall, he was mysterious, he was determined, those black eyes of his were like a well of secrets that you were sure you could unlock. After all, those lingering glances your way had to mean something! You never saw him looking at other people like that, right?

All throughout junior high and then your first year of high school, you were convinced he could do no wrong. You signed up to be manager in your first year, thinking that 'hey, he's shy! I can help make him comfortable!' You were always so bright and cheery, yet he was the opposite.

To him, you were annoying. That silly boy who kept following him around, who wouldn't just leave him alone. He dreaded going into practice just because he had to see your all too bright smile and hear your annoyingly happy 'Good morning Sakusa-kun!' Fuck, he hated it. You never seemed to just get the hint that he wanted you to leave him alone.

So now he's left here, wondering why everything changed in your second year.

~ "Good morning, Kiyoomi-kun," You said to yourself in the mirror, practicing how to greet him. "No, that's too flat." You rubbed your temples and tried again. "Good morning, Kiyoomi-kun!"

You let yourself grin toothily in the mirror. You didn't know when you started practicing to say good morning to him. It used to be natural every morning, but now you find yourself not wanting to mess anything up.

As the years wore on, you started to get a little...discouraged. Sakusa was so handsome. Not even in a gay way, you were jealous. You weren't oblivious to how many confessions he got as time continued. You weren't oblivious to how many people were talking about him, the strong, tall ace. You knew he would grow to be something amazing, but you always thought you would grow with him.

With a sigh, you threw your bag over your shoulder and pulled your manager jacket on, trudging out the door. Even with all of this, you were still excited to see Sakusa every morning and evening. He didn't text you often, (Because of how shy he is, you figured), but you broke out into a stupid smile whenever he did. You borderline skipped all the way to school, waiting to see him.

"Good morning, Kiyoomi-kun!" You said without fail once you spotted him. You instantly hated how it came out, frowning softly before breaking out into a smile again. He visibly tensed, because of the shock of course. He nodded gruffly, not sparing a glance at you.

In truth, Sakusa hated you. You and your stupid, obvious crush on him since the first day of junior high. Of course Motoya always egged you on, giving you his number. He wasn't even into guys, but you never got the hint and never stopped pursuing. As the years wore on, he hated you more. How you wouldn't stop greeting him in the morning, giving him hand sanitizer when he forgot his or wearing a mask around him. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't complain about you intruding on boundaries.

He considered getting a girlfriend in hopes that it would throw you off, showing you that he was straight and not interested. That was ultimately too much work though, and he decided against it.

"Here, Kiyoomi," you handed him a water bottle at the end of practice first. "You did great!" He looked away, muttered a strained thank you, and turned around. You didn't miss how he handed the bottle off to Lizuna.

In the afternoon practice, nothing changed. Except you got to walk home with him in the evenings. "Sakusa-kun!" You called happily, running up to him. You looked around. "Where's Motoya?"

"Helping his teacher." He responded. You nodded, feeling yourself flush softly. Whether he could tell or not, you were flustered. You were walking home with him, alone, for the second time.

After a couple minutes you broke the silence, not missing the agitated tic appearing in his forehead. "So, how was your day Omi-kun?"

"Fine," he gritted out.

You played with your hands. He didn't try to talk to you further. "Omi," you start, feeling your voice get shaky and your heart start hammering in your chest. Moyota wasn't here, the afternoon sky was painted with pink and orange- it was perfect.

You waited a beat before speaking.

"Do you- do you like me?" Romantically or platonically, you didn't care. He stopped in his tracks, causing you to stop after him, turning around to face him. It felt like hours before he responded, icy silence freezing you in your tracks.

Finally, he looked up from the floor, meeting your eyes. (When was the last time he looked you in the eyes)? You didn't miss the hatred in them. You shook, waiting for his answer. You were glad your mask was on, or he'd see your lips shaking.

"No."

There it was. It felt like everything you had thought for the past five years shattered before you. You managed to force out a weak "Why?"

He didn't even change his tone, flat and uninterested. "You're annoying. When have I ever asked you to show me all this attention?" You didn't get a word in before he continued. "I'm not gay, (y/n), when have I ever showed interest in you? What do you even see in me that prompted you to annoy me for five years?"

You held your hands in a death grip. "But I- " I love you. "I just thought that-"

"You thought wrong." He rolled his flat black eyes, once so mysterious and deep, moving to walk away. He stopped just behind you, facing away. "Stop bothering me."

~

That hurt.

That hurt like nothing in the world had hurt before. His cold black eyes glowering down at you, voice flat and uninterested. Was he always like that? So devoid of emotion? So cruel? Had he always looked at you like...that. Like you were a burden on his strong back. You brought a hand up to stifle a hic. A sob.

Now that you think about it, he never really did try, did he? Scrolling back through your texts. He never sent more than one at a time, a curt, two to three word answer. You always started and ended conversations, the blue bubble always being longer and bigger.

He wasn't all that, was he.

Just a guy- a guy who wanted nothing to do with you.

You let your finger hover over the block button. Somehow though, you couldn't do it. Instead you turned your phone on vibrate, not being able to completely disconnect. Maybe it was a mistake...maybe he would apologize, say he was being foolish and that he couldn't bear to lose your smile and your laughter.

You sobbed again.

No, he wouldn't. Because he didn't care for you. Motoya would apologize for him. Because Sakusa was handsome and talented and all you ever wanted. All you wanted. You were nowhere near what he wanted. You wanted to be his somebody- the person he calls at 2am when he can't sleep. The person he randomly texts during the day, the person he lets his guard down to hold hands with.

You thought that maybe all the care you showed him- keeping your distance, wearing masks near him, caring for him- you thought that would thaw him a little bit. Get him to open up, to see the beauty inside you that you saw in him.

Pulling yourself together, you gently stood up. Maybe it was a rash decision on your part. Still, the only reason you joined was for him right? And he didn't want you. He didn't need you. You folded your manager uniform neatly, placing a note on it. You'll return it to the gym tomorrow before morning practice, then you'll wait in the library for school to start.

Sakusa Kiyoomi turned out to be far less than the sum of his parts, and you didn't know how to feel about that. He got you so high, so giddy.

Turns out you were nothing more than a stain on his boot.

~

Do not repost, translate, or copy my work on to other platforms.

[vee-is-a-clown]

My first post received a pretty good response so I'm here with part two. Link to part one is below:

I'm screwing around with formatting so it looks better (hopefully)

These take place in the same universe as the others.

Anyways, to the head canons!

Ok so first of all, I want to add that Keith has anxiety and a touch of ADHD. Like specifically the kind that makes you fidget.

Keith's ADHD causes him to fidget with his fingers and bounces his leg a bit. Sometimes he can be heard snapping his fingers (a way he fidgets, he does it without thinking) while walking down the halls. Everyone has mainly gotten used to it but Lance starts snapping as well and this can cause a chain reaction that leaves everyone in the castle snapping their fingers.

Keith's anxiety makes it so he has a hard time around the whole crew and often isolates himself from conversation during meal times and such. This is why he has the reputation of the lone wolf. Allura is trying to make a habit of asking Keith questions as a way to include him in the conversation and the paladins learn something new about Keith.

Keith usually doesn't have anything to do at meal times but eat so he's started making mental note of things the others say in hopes he can use it to get closer to them at some point. Things like how Hunk is really proud when he learns a new recipe or some of Coran's old stories. He especially likes hearing the crew talk about the things dearest to them.

The crew are suprised when Keith approaches them (individually) to talk about things that they like. Keith has sat through many a demonstration of Pidge's programs and quite a few mechanical explanations from Hunk. Coran is always eager to talk about old Altea or some weird space animal. Keith has even tried to use this on Lance but it doesn't work as well. Keith can't seem to find something Lance will talk about with him.

Keith treats Allura like a sister and is really close to her. He would sooner die than see Allura hurt and knows things about her that not even Coran knows. When she was kidnapped, he advised that they don't rescue her right away because he knew she could handle herself and wanted to be more prepared against the Galra so further damage didn't come to their team. He'd rather Allura not come back to a shattered crew.

Keith had a crush on Lance back at Garrison but could never get close enough to Lance to get to know him better. Lance was always abrasive but Keith couldn't understand why. All his offers to "hang out" were met with rejection or competition. Keith tried to forget Lance but nothing could dull his feelings. Lance's cheery disposition, beautiful smile, and bad comedy that left everyone laughing made Keith admire him from afar.

Keith ended up trying to bury his feelings on the ship as well but they only grew stronger as Keith got closer to him. Lance was daring and flirtatious and not afraid to be stupid. He openly showed emotional weakness regardless of how vulnerable it made him to the crew.

Allura is the only one on the ship that knows how deep Keith's crush for Lance goes. Shiro only knows of the crush. Keith never would've told Allura but one night she kept asking about Keith's love life because he knew so much about her and she wanted to learn something about him. Keith ended up going on a tangent about Lance and his feelings until he realized that he had been talking for an Earth hour. Allura has now made it her side mission to see if she can get Keith and Lance together.

Lance's feelings for Keith get triggered every time Keith does anything really. Keith smiles and Lance is out. He zones out at the dinner table and stares into nothingness? Oh dear god Lance adores that. Every little thing that Keith does deepens Lance's feelings for him. It's like Lance's personal corner of hell. He's slowly falling in love with the boy that he's designated to be his rival. It doesn't help that Keith keeps approaching Lance and trying to befriend him.

Keith has a collection of string that he uses to make bracelets. They're usually pride themed and he has one that he usually wears (Masc gay pride flag). He's afraid of how feminine the bracelet thing makes him seem so he hides it from others. He even wears the bracelet in a way that isn't visible with the outfit he's wearing with it. He views it as a weakness.

The truth is revealed about Keith's craftiness after he makes a bracelet for Allura with the lesbian pride flag on it. Lance goes up to Allura thinking she made it but is understandably surprised to learn that Keith made it. You better believe that Keith was surprised to see Lance come up to him later to ask if Keith could make one for him. Funnily enough, Lance asked if he could make a pride flag themed one (specifically bi), not realizing that Allura's was a pride flag (Cut him a break, he hasn't seen it in months).

Lance asking for Keith to make something for him was the highlight of the week. He got to work on it, making sure it was perfect. He even put seed beads on the ends of the string to make tiny pride flags. He wanted to make it the best for Lance even if he wouldn't notice or appreciate the smaller details. Lance totally noticed and appreciated the small details.

Lance: "So Allura told me that you made the bracelet for her"

Keith: "Oh uhhhh"

Lance: "The fact that you can do that is really cool and I was wondering if you could make one for me."

Keith: "You want me... to make something... for you?"

Lance: (Now worried he overstepped a boundary) "Yes?"

Keith: (With stars in his eyes) "I'll do it."

[oneletteredwondered]

One of the Boys

Virgil is a new tenant to an apartment complex and his landlord seems real nice. He told Virgil that should he ever need anything fixed to just give a call. He managed to get over the anxiety of calling someone for help, now he needs to get over the gay panic he experiences every time his landlord sends ‘one of the boys’ over.

Pairing: Everyone has a crush on Virgil who is also gay for everyone.

Warnings: panic descriptions from talking over the phone/to new people. Possible second hand embarrassment, swearing

Prompt pic at the end.

--

In all fairness, Virgil loves his new place. Way more than the old place he used to live at least. At least here the walls weren’t cracked and seemed sturdy enough that he wouldn’t be able to hear his neighbors through them. While he does his sweep of the place, writing down anything that might be wrong so the landlord can’t blame them on him, there’s barely anything broken or messed up. A clear step up from his old apartment.

“What you say Oogies?” Virgil nods to the black cat lounging on the cat tower after he’s finished his walk through. The cat stares at him, he stares back. They blink slowly at the same time and Virgil puffs out a breath. OogieBoogie wasn’t fond of the move. Complaining loudly at every jostle of the cat carrier. Virgil wanted to let her out but couldn’t until all his stuff was moved in for her safety. Seems like he’s forgiven.

“Come on lazy bones,” He finagles the cat out of the tower and she curls over his shoulders, paws dipping into the hood of his hoodie, and purrs. He smiles and scratches at her chin. For the most part she blends into the patterned fabric, her grey stripes the only thing that pop out, and even then only barely.

Virgil locks the apartment door, cat on his shoulders, and walk-through papers in hand. They walk their way around the complex and to the main office building. Virgil almost hesitates, thinking maybe he should go tomorrow morning at a better time, but OggieBoogie nuzzles his head encouragingly.

“Yeah okay,” He whispers to the animal, knowing she’s smug as he opens the door. It’s fluorescently bright. There’s no one at the front desk. Virgil takes two steps, and nearly backs out, when a friendly face pops out of one of the offices.

“Oh Virgil!” Virgil lets out a sigh of relief. He recognizes the elderly face 

“Hey Mr Sanders,” He gives an awkward wave. The cheery man laughs.

“You may call me Thomas you know,” He says smiling at his cat and waving to the animal. She blinks at him.

“Right, yeah, course, Mr. Thomas yeah,” Virgil says. Thomas gives him a fond smile but doesn’t correct him. Thank god. Thomas helped him fill out lease papers when he first came to check out new apartments. Honestly a blessing as Virgil had no idea what he was doing. Bonus that Thomas professed the place to be queer friendly as well. Virgil hung up his rainbow flag in the window the moment he found it.

“Oh I brought the walk through papers back,” He hands them over and Thomas takes them happily. 

“Everything good so far?” He asks. Virgil nods, nothing on there that he thought needed fixing, at least right away.

“Oh,” Thomas says softly. Virgil tenses and Oogie starts purring on his shoulder to comfort him.

“Are you having problems with the lights?” Thomas asks, very sincerely. Virgil shrugs a little and Oogie shifts to accommodate his motions.

“Not really, nothing serious,” He tries to play it off. Thomas pouts at his papers.

“Some of the plugs not screwed in properly, not working, a light out in the laundry area,” Thomas ‘tsks’ as he reads off Virgil’s writing. He perks up and offers Virgil a bright smile.

“No worries at all! I’ll send one of the boys over to fix it.” He offers Virgil a wink and riffles through his pockets. He pulls out his wallet and inside it a business card for the office that he promptly hands over.

“You ever need anything fixed, do not be afraid to call ya hear?” Virgil just nods, taking the card with him.

“Wait the boys?” He finds himself questioning. Thomas smiles again with a flippant wave of his hand.

“It’s the name of the contractor company I have hired here for the apartments. Someone should be over in about an hour to help you with the lights.” And with that Thomas is walking away to his own office, leaving Virgil to go back to his new home.

“Shit,” He mutters as he now realizes. Company coming over, and his new home is a mess. He walks quicker than he normally does to try and clean a little before ‘one of the boys’ makes it over. Oogie is not as impressed.

--

Virgil does well distracting himself. He organizes the boxes and even rearranges the hazardously brought in furniture to his liking. Oogie is lounging in her cat tower again, watching him try not to be frantic. He’s in the middle of putting some tupperware containers in the cabinets when there’s a knock on the door.

He wipes his hands on his jeans to make sure they’re not sweaty, and opens the door. Somewhere in the back of his mind he debates slamming it shut but in the end remains frozen with the front door wide open. Cause there in front of him is an absolutely gorgeous guy, hair slicked back and a cunning smile.

“Good afternoon, my name is Damien. Mr. Sanders said you needed help with some of your lights?” His voice sounds like silk and though there’s a long scar across side of his face, it takes nothing away from his beauty.

“Uh yeah.” Virgil says awkwardly.

“Yeah, yeah,” He says even more awkwardly and moves to the side to let the guy in.

“Much appreciated,” The guy, Damien says. Virgil can’t tell if the dude is cheeky or not, but damn is he flustered trying not to stare at his arms and the way he moves in those white jeans. Who wears white jeans to fix things? Virgil should send them a thank you note.

“Which plugs were having issues?” Damien asks then and Virgil decides words are not needed just this moment and deigns to gesture as best he can. Damien smiles at him and sets to work straightening some of the plugs out and replacing one in the corner when he notices a crack in the casing.

“Excuse me, miss.” He hears Damien say and peeks over his kitchen counter to see Damien gently nudging Oogie away from some of his tools. Virgil whines.

“Oogies come on let the man do his job,” Virgil goes over and scoops the cat up, petting her head to keep her from getting annoyed that she couldn’t continue with her curiosity. Damien laughs though and stands, now taking out the walk through Virgil so diligently wrote not 2 hours ago.

“You said that some of the plugs don’t work and that some of the switches don’t lead to anything?” He glances at Virgil with just a hint of a smirk. Virgil hugs Oogie a little tighter to keep his gay panic from spiraling.

“Yeah just seemed weird? I didn’t know if it was something wrong or what,” He says with a shrug, trying to seem nonchalant. Damien lets out a small laugh and waves Virgil to follow. He pulls out a small plug in light and pushes into one of the sockets Virgil said wasn’t working. He flicks the switch on the wall and the light pops on.

“Oh,” Virgil says and wants to die of embarrassment. 

“Well now I feel stupid as fuck,” He says. Damien lets out another laugh, flicking the light twice more to demonstrate.

“It’s to save power that some of the switches lead to the plugs. Nothing broken there. You’re not stupid because you didn’t know.” He takes back his light and once more gives Virgil that sly smile. The worst is he smiles in a way that makes it seem like he knows what he’s doing to Virgil, which is just rude. Except he’s not, Damien is insanely polite which does not help Virgil in the slightest.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” Damien asks as he puts the last of his tools back in the case.

“Nah. I’m good, thank you,” Virgil says, determined not to make a fool of himself this time. Damien nods his head.

“Have a good rest of your day then. It was a pleasure meeting you,” And this smug bastard winks at him and closes the door behind him. Virgil lets Oogie fall to the floor, picks up the nearest pillow, and screams into it. At least he can do it with proper working lights.

--

Virgil is freaking out. There’s no other way to put it. He is freaking out. So he got a little lazy and didn’t do his dishes. He’s been working so often and never found the energy to keep up. He decided he had a dishwasher for a reason, and even though he felt bad because the machine wasn’t even full, he ran it, and now there is water over the floor. Shit.

He sits on the couch, legs bouncing, with his phone in his hands. Thomas’s number is on the screen, ready to be dialed at the press of a button. Virgil still isn’t sure if this counts as a proper emergency. He managed to clean up most the water with some of his towels, but water is still coming out. Maybe if he just keeps rinsing out the towels and waits for the cycle to be done, he can pretend it never happened.

OogieBoogie jumps into his lap. She kneeds at his leg and is put out when he doesn’t move right away to pet her or give her proper access to his lap. She bumps her head against him and pushes her way to his chest, knocking his phone with her foot in the process.Virgil hisses at the action and ruffles her face in revenge.

“Hello?” A very faint voice calls out. Virgil swears softly and picks up his phone.

“Uh Mr Sanders Thomas?” He says into the receiver, then pulls it away to stare at the ceiling to briefly wonder what is wrong with himself.

“Yes?” Thomas says on the other line.

“It’s Virgil from Unit 16 B.”

“Virgil! How are you?” Thomas doesn’t sound put out that Virgil is calling him, which is a good sign so far. Virgil takes a deep breath, hands working methodically though Oogie’s fur.

“Doing okay yeah, how are you?” He says, it’s important to be polite. Thomas laughs.

“Doing good over here. What can I help you with?”

“Uhm, my dishwasher is leaking? And there’s water on the floor and I don’t know how to fix it. You said I could call if something is wrong and I just, yeah.” Virgil shrugs to himself. Thomas gasps on the other end.

“Oh no! That won’t do. I’ll send one of the boys over to help clean it up.” And Thomas hangs up. Virgil stares at the phone, then at his cat, then back at the dishwasher. He really doesn’t want Damien to see him embarrassed like this  again. He buries his face in Oogie’s side and lets her purr calm him down. He must be there for a while because soon enough there’s a knock on the door.

Thankfully, it’s not Damien on the other end. However, it’s another incredibly attractive guy with a wild smile and even wilder hair that makes Virgil tense up because how. This one wears a shirt with the sleeves ripped off to show how ripped their arms are, and again, white jeans, though this time, the jeans are not as white as they once were, evidence of the work that has been done in them.

“Afternoodle! I’m Remus. The Sander’s Man said something was wishy-washy with your dishy-washy?” His smile in untamed and Virgil stares at him dumbly trying to understand what the hell just came out of his mouth.

“Yes?” He ends up asking more than saying, and moves over so Remus can come inside.

“Much appreciated, now what is gong on here?” Remus smirks down at the mess of the kitchen with his hands on his hips.

“I just ran the dishwasher and water started coming out. I was in the kitchen when I felt it on my foot.” Virgil explains as Remus moves some of the soaked towels over. He finagles the machine to open, something Virgil was too scared to try.

“Oh boy, I see. Give me one hot second here hot tamale, and I’ll get this all cleaned up.” Virgil isn’t sure what he should be more flustered by. Being called hot by a hot guy, or the fact the dude flexed while talking and there is some serious definition in his arms. So Virgil just nods as Remus skips out to the maintenance golf cart outside the door, and brings back in a tool box.

Virgil watches from over the counter as Remus pulls out the racks and practically crawls his way into the dishwasher. Virgil decides it’s a good time to walk away so he doesn’t end up staring at Remus’s ass while he works. That’s not proper behavior for someone who is trying to help.

It’s a few minutes, one colorful yet not quite a swear, and a victory noise later that Virgil feels okay going back to the kitchen area.

“Oh! Hello~ pusspuss!” Virgil gets to watch the exact moment Remus looks up to see Oogie staring at him working. Virgil scoops the cat up.

“Sorry she’s really into strangers.” He says. Though really, she hides from everyone. Remus lets out a cackle of a laugh.

“That’s fine, I’m into strangers too. So I fixed the problem here, no more soggy floors for you. Make sure to run it every so often so it keeps things going clean and unclogged.” Remus says far too quickly for Virgil to respond properly. He picks up his tools and returns them to the case. Virgil does a half-assed job of not staring at his back which is now water soaked.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” Remus asks at the door. Virgil shakes his head.

“As long as it works I think I’m good,” He says. Remus smiles openly.

“Have a good rest of your day then!” He says and closes the door behind him. There was really no reason for him to flex as he said that but Virgil enjoyed it and no one else has to know.

--

“Shit shit shit,” Virgil is fumbling. He had to go grocery shopping and get some cat food for OogieBoogieBaby. And no self respecting trash panda such as himself would dream of carrying it back inside in more than one trip. So he’s fumbling with his arms lined with bags that would be cutting into his skin if not for his hoodie sleeves, but even then, those are falling and he wishes it wasn't so hot out.

He manages to make it to his door, shift some bags around so he can get his key out, when the bag of cat food starts slipping. Virgil can see it now, cat food all over the front porch to either collect ants, or other cats, or any other large animal. He wouldn’t feed it to Oogie, to afraid of what is on the ground and if it’ll upset her stomach. He braces for impact and for another quick trip to the store.

“Whoa!” Virgil feels the weight leave him but not the crash. He blinks at the ground, then at a pair of white jeans, then at the bag of cat food in someone else’s arms, then up to the face of a bespectacled stranger with brilliant blue eyes.

“Are you alright?” Stranger asks calmly and takes another bag from Virgil that looks ready to topple at a second’s notice. Virgil snaps out of it once it’s out of his hands.

“Shit yeah thanks,” He breathes out in a rush, thankful as all hell as he manages to finally get the door open. He pushes it with his hip and Oogie is waiting at the door for him, meowing up at him. He coos a greeting to her and sets the bags down in the kitchen, the stranger follows only to the inside door and puts the bags down there to not intrude.

“Thank you so much,” Virgil says once he’s done pretending he can carry that much. The stranger just offers him a small smile, kneeling down to let Oogie sniff his gardening glove covered hands.

“It was my pleasure to help you. My name is Logan, I’m one of the workers on site.” He says and stands. His voice is low and calming, it would make for a great audio book, and Virgil is not going to spend the rest of the day thinking about that.

“Though I do apologize for suddenly grabbing your things, I know that can come across as ‘creepy’ and I do not wish for that to be my first impression.” He pries a glove off and holds out his hand. Virgil takes it and gives it a small shake.

“I’m Virgil, and this is OogieBoogie,” He introduces himself and his cat who has deigned to jump on the counter and sniff at the contraption on Logan’s back. He gently pushes the cat away with a soft look in his eyes.

“Pleasure to meet both of you. None for you I’m afraid,” He chides Oogie gently. Virgil swallows because damn, someone interacting gently with his cat more of a heart throb than originally intended. And Logan is nothing if not simply scholarly stunning.

“My apologies again, be sure to let someone know if there’s anything we can help you with. Have a wonderful rest of your day,” Logan nods his head softly and there is just the smallest crinkle around his eyes hidden under his glasses and Virgil is so weak as he closes the door to his apartment. He’s come into contact with one too many pretty people at this complex and it will be the death of him. Still, it is nice to wave to Logan every so often as he preens the landscaping around the buildings.

--

Virgil watches as water drips down the window. It started the other day after some rains. He put a towel under it to keep some of the water from ruining anything, but it’s still going the next day. Virgil sighs and looks at his phone, Thomas’s number on the screen. He takes a deep breath and presses call.

“Hello?” Thomas answers.

“Hey Mr. Thomas it’s Virgil, from Unit 16 B.” A practiced line. Thomas gives a happy gasp.

“Virgil how are you?” Thomas always sounds excited to speak to him. It helps.

“Doing okay, how are you?” He asks, absently petting Oogie’s back.

“Good good! How can I help you?” Thomas asks in turn. Virgil looks at the window.

“Something’s up with my window? It’s like.. leaking.” He explains but not really. Thomas hums.

“Did this start up with the rain?”

“Yeah, I’ve tried cleaning it with towels but it keeps going.” Virgil says. Thomas makes another hum noise.

“Sounds like a problem with the roof. I’ll send one of the boys over.” And Thomas hangs up. Virgil isn’t as put off with the abrupt ending, expecting it this time around. He glares at the window and goes to wait for ‘one of the boys’. Oogie follows over and demands pets. It a decent distraction till a loud knock comes from the door.

Virgil opens it and it's just unbelievable how down right beautiful this guy is. His hair in perfect waves and a charming smile on his face. His sleeves are also cut like Remus's were, but far less frayed.

"Wonderful morning, my name is Roman. Our dear Mr. Sanders told me there were some ill issues with the roof is that right?" He speaks with such confident flamboyance Virgil is a loss for words.

"Yeah," Is all he manages to say. He's pretty. Way too pretty for this.

"Yeah, sorry it's over here," He turns and leaves the door open for Roman to follow. Roman laughs loud and proud and does just that. Virgil shows him the window and does not bit his lip as Roman jostles the frame showing off muscles that are illegal.

"The panes seems closed but I'll check outside as well." He turns and heads out the door. Virgil follows.

"And the roof?" He asks. Roman offers him a dashing smile, checking his tools that he attaches to his belt, holding up pristine white jeans.

"You may hear some noises for a while as I'm up there, but fear not, I'll find the problem." He gives Virgil a wink and with ease, he finds a ledge on the building and hoists himself up. Virgil does not squeak. Certainly not cause he's scared that Roman will fall, and certainly not cause he rolls his shoulders and Virgil can see his body move and god damn it he’s so not straight.

So he goes inside and pretends there’s not a real attractive guy fixing his roof. The noises of fixing continue for an hour or so, Virgil keeping busy with cleaning and some mild work emails. Then the noises stop. Virgil glances at his ceiling curiously.

"Uh, Roman?" He calls from his front door, making sure the dude didn't fall off and die.

"Be down in a moment fair tenant!" He hears. Virgil rolls his eyes and barely turns when Roman suddenly lands in front of him.

"Roof is all set. There were a few shingles out of-"

"Did you just jump off the roof?!" Virgil interrupts. Roman blinks at him and has the nerve to smiling so dashingly again.

"I dare say I did," he says as if it's no big deal. Virgil sputters at the reckless, careless, brash attitude. Roman is far too entertained by it.

"I'm honored by the concern, dearest. Just one more moment to check the window from the other side." He winks again and is walking around the building before Virgil can say anything.

He grabs Oogie and plants his face in her fur. Too gay to function. He talks to her plainly about how unfair it is that pretty boys plague his life, only to find out he can absolutely be heard through the window by Roman asking in a muffled voice.

"You think I'm pretty?" Virgil screams and hides in his room, hearing Roman laugh through the wall. This is how he dies, he decides. This is even worse than the time Damien had to tell him his lights weren’t broken, he just didn’t know how to use them. This is so much worse.

He groans loud and dramatically when there’s a knock on his front door. He doesn’t want to open it. But he does, cause it’s rude other wise.Roman stands there, smug expression and a bright smile.

“Checked everything and cleaned up some water. A few shingles out of place and a loose vent, got those all patched down. If it continues to leak it might be a bigger issue so be sure to call if it does. Anything else I can help you with?” He asks. Virgil takes a steady breath to say no.

“I think I’ve dug my own grave enough for today,” He says, further digging his own embarrassment grave. Roman gives another laugh.

“Enchanted to meet you pretty boy, have an amazing rest of your day.” And then Roman honest to goodness bows and drives off in the golf cart. Virgil closes his door softly and looks at Oogie who stares back from her perch on the counter.

“Don’t even start,” He tells the cat. She looks away like she doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

--

“Boogs! No!” Virgil does not like shouting at his cat. He doesn’t like shouting in general. But it gets OogieBoogieBitchBaby away from the wall she is using as a scratching post. She scampers off as he approaches, fingers going over the claw marks in the wall. He groans to himself.

He moved her cat tower because she kept getting onto his work papers. In revenge for disposing her from her favorite perch and sights of the room, she clawed at the wall instead, leaving a few nasty scratches behind.

“How am I supposed to fix this?” He asks where she’s run off, hearing her run around. He bangs his head on the wall. This is not how he wanted his night to go. In the end, he has Thomas’s number on his phone and piece of paper he tore to shreds in worry over what he could possibly say.

“Hello?” Thomas answers.

“Hey Mr. Sanders, it’s Virgil. I-”

“Virgil! How are you?” Thomas asks. Virgil takes a deep breath.

“I’m- I’m so sorry Mr. Sanders. It was an accident I swear.” He needs to apologize, cause if Mr. Sanders kicks him out, he’ll have to go hunting for places to live again, and who is going to take him with a cat who destroys things, and then because no one will take him, he’ll die on the streets and Oogie will eat his toes.

“My cat Oogie she got upset with me and she clawed the wall and I’m so sorry,” He says in a rush.

“Hey, hey Virgil it’s okay. It happens, our furry friends do funny things. I’ll send one of the boys over to help fix it right up, okay?” Virgil swallows a lump in his throat at Thomas’s easy solution.

“Okay,” He croaks out and then hears the click of someone hanging up. He lets his phone drop and then puts his head in his hands. He doesn’t want to be kicked out his apartment, or to have Mr. Sanders think bad of him as a tenant, or as a bad pet owner. He throws himself back on his couch. He feels so dumb.

Thankfully, there’s a gentle knock to his door. Hopefully his savior in this mess. He opens it to bubbly boy in round glasses, giving him the most cheerful smile Virgil’s ever seen.

“Hey there, evening to you, my name is Patton. Mr. Sanders said we have some kitty claws on the walls?” He asks. Virgil lets his shoulders drop.

“Yeah, I’m so sorry about it.” He says Patton waves his hand.

“It’s not a cat-astrophe, it happens. Can you show me where it is?” He asks. Virgil nods and steps back to let the boy in white jeans in, then pauses.

“Did you just make a pun?” He deadpans. And Patton giggles.

“Sorry, sorry, just slipped out. I’m pawfully bad at them.” He says with a bright smile. Virgil stares at him, then snorts into his hand.

“That was really bad,” He says but Patton just beams at him.

“Got you to laugh though.” And Patton should not sound so proud of making a stranger laugh. Virgil coughs to cover his awkward and shows him where Oogie got to the wall and Patton ‘tuts’ in response, putting down a bag of tools on the floor.

“I have just the thing to get this back in purr-fect conditions.” Patton opens his bag and pulls out some paint and calking. Virgil steps back to let him do his job, very aware that Oogie is hiding somewhere away from him. It makes him nervous to not see his cat in the area. Sure Oogie isn’t a registered therapy animal, but she does a good job of keeping him calm.

“There, al-meow-st done!” Patton smiles at him over his shoulder and adds another coat of paint to the wall, looking good as new. Maybe it’s the puns or the cute, but Virgil does relax.

“Thanks for that.” Virgil says as Patton cleans up. He giggles once more and waves Virgil’s concern off again.

“It’s no big deal, it’s what we’re here for.” He reassures. Virgil sighs and turns to the small meow behind him. Oogie is on the table staring at him. Patton lets out a squeal of happiness.

“Oh she’s precious!” He says in syrupy sweet voice. Virgil snorts again and looks between the two.

“Wanna pet her?” He asks and before he finishes Patton is shaking his head.

“Un-fur-tunately I’m allergic. But she is paws-itively adorable.” Patton coos and waves to the cat, Oogie does nothing in return but that’s to be expected. Virgil rolls his eyes at the both of them.

“Thanks again for your help,” He says. Patton beams and there are freckles on his cheeks. Freckles, too cute, not allowed.

“Of course! Anything else I can help you with?” He asks. Virgil’s turn to shake his head.

“I think we’re good now,” He says. Patton giggles once more.

“Have a claw-some rest of your night,” And that shouldn’t be funny but Virgil snorts again and Patton is proudly walking off.

--

What the fuck, what the fuck. Virgil stares at the door knob in his hand. He just went for a late walk to get his mail, Oogie joining him on his shoulders. Something rattled in the door knob when he opened it, having to actually shove the door open to get back inside after unlocking it. When he went to close the door, the handle came off in his hand before he could close it proper.

What the fuck.

He stares at the space where the door knob was and his open door. His mind immediately races to all the creepy people who can break in and steal things or kidnap his cat. Or even all the bugs that will make home in his food and hair. Nope. None of that.

“Hey Mr Sanders?” Virgil says first, his anxiety over the open door he can not close for fear it won’t open again overriding his normal fear of calling his land lord.

“Virgil! How are you? It’s very late,” Thomas yawns on the other end. Virgil winces. He probably should have thought this through considering the time.

“I’m okay, so sorry to wake you, it’s just. My door handle uh, fell off?” There’s a pause.

“Well that’s not good.” Thomas says.

“I’ll send one of the boys over.” He hangs up plainly. Virgil has enough time to worry if he made Thomas upset by calling so late, and worry Oogie somehow got out only to find her cuddled in her tower, when the bad lights from the maintenance golf cart shine through the crack in the door.

There’s an awkward knock and Virgil pulls the door open. He’s not sure who in their right mind has sunglasses on this late, but at least this gorgeous person isn’t using them to hide their bright eyes. They give him a quirky smile.

“Well this isn’t something you see every day.” They remark and Virgil has to huff out a laugh, some of his panic subsiding.

“Evening babes, I’m Remy. What happened?” He asks and goes about unscrewing the rest of the door knob, kneeling down and scuffing his white jeans that nearly glow in the darkness. Virgil tells him the lead up and Remy scoffs out a laugh of their own, giving Virgil a glance, that turns into a once over, that shakes him to the core.

“No worries, I can see the broken piece. Easy fix.” He winks at Virgil and gets a spare doorknob from the golf cart. Virgil stand idly by as he fixes it, keeping Oogie from getting too close.

“Wassup cat?” Remy asks and gently puts his knuckles to her head in greeting. She makes a noise and then trots off, satisfied with the attention.

“What’s their name?” Remy asks while he screws things back together.

“That OogieBoogie, Oogie for short, though she’s been more of an OogieBoogieBastard lately.” She meows at Virgil from the top of her tower. He hisses back at her. Remy snorts.

“Nice, I have an orange cat named Pumpkin.”

“Nice,” Virgil says back. Remy smirks at his response and keeps working. Vigil pretends the look on Remy’s face didn’t give him reckless night vibes, that he would take Remy up on if he asked, cause damn, the dude’s hot.

“May I borrow your key for a second babes?” Remy twists the knob a few times and with Virgil’s borrowed key, closes, locks, and opens the door with no problems.

“All good to go, anything else I can help you with?” He asks as he hands back the key. Virgil shakes his head.

“Nah, I’m good, thanks for that,” He says. Remy gives him a wink.

“Have a good night babes.” Another wicked smirk and Virgil does his best to close his door at a proper speed. His heart is pounding and these pretty boys will be the end of him.

--

“Hi! Welcome in, how can I help you?” Cute, is all Virgil can think when he enters the office. Pastel, is second. There’s a new receptionist at the desk, freckles and a mega-watt smile.

“Hi uh, I got a notification I have a package?” He stammers out. Oogie purrs at his shoulder, reminding him it’s okay.

“Sure! What apartment number?” Virgil rattles off his numbers as the receptionist looks in the package closet.

“For Virgil?” They ask. He nods and takes his box, keeping it away from Oogie as it’s a surprise for her birthday.

“Oh! I’m Emile by the way. I’m working in the office now so if you need anything just give us a call okay?” They’re so earnest. Virgil ends up just nodding his head, only speaking when Oogie bumps her head to his.

“Yeah, thanks,” He says and before he can make an exit Thomas appears from inside one of the offices.

“I thought I head you! Virgil, how are you?” He asks. Virgil gives him a soft smile.

“Good, and you?” It’s only polite. Thomas lets out a laugh.

“Good here too. Say, the staff is hosting a tenant party here, some games and some food, you should join us if you’re not busy.” Thomas hands Virgil a flyer with some gaudy colors. Virgil does a good job of not letting his dislike of the idea show.

“You should totally come!” Emile beams at him and it does something gay to Virgil’s heart. Virgil glances at the two of them smiling at him.

“I could stop by?” He offers not waiting to make them mad at him. They cheer and turn back to their jobs. Virgil walks back to his apartment, petting Oogie as he does.

“What did I just get myself into?” He asks her. She bumps her head to his hand in response.

--

It’s not a bad turnout for an apartment complex party. Virgil does show up, Oogie situated on his shoulders. Even though its closer to summer, He’s still wearing his hoodie if not just to give her a place to put her paws should she wish to.

There’s those plastic cheap tables lining around the pool area, boxes of pizza and some crinkly plastic containers of mini sub sandwiches sit on top. There’s a section for drinks and cups right next to. Virgil gets himself a cup of lemonade.

He glances about. Some people are playing some bean bag toss game, others are playing on the mini putt putt area Virgil didn’t even know they had. Lots of people are in the pool, messing around and splashing water at each other. He sticks to the sidelines.

“Virgil!” Or maybe not. He looks to who called his name and though he’s happy Logan called for him so he doesn’t have to be alone, he’s lamenting the fact that not only is it Logan, he’s also with Patton, Damien, and Remy. Fuck. Virgil goes bug eyed, giving himself a pep talk, helped along by Oogie making a ‘mrrp’ noise in his ear, and walks to his doom.

“Hey Logan,” Virgil says once he’s close. Patton waves as best he can with hands full of pizza.

“Sup babes?” Remy asks with damn smirk, sunglasses appropriate now. Virgil rolls his eyes.

“Damien, if you don’t remember,” Damien holds out his hand. Virgil of course remembers embarrassing himself in front of freaking sleek attractive Damien, but he isn't about to say that. Virgil takes his hand to shake and Damien flips it to bring a kiss to the back of Virgil’s hand. Virgil’s jaw drops as Patton giggles helplessly.

“Dee don’t do that!” He says but there’s not force behind it. Damien just smiles like the cat that got the cream.

“I didn’t know you two were familiar?” Damien turns the attention to Logan now. Logan just pushes up his glasses.

“I admit to helping Virgil carry in groceries more than once.” Logan says, giving Damien a look that Virgil doesn’t have the power to decipher. Patton whines.

“Kiddo you could have asked for more help,” He says. Virgil shrugs.

“Two trips are for the weak.” He and Remy tap their glasses together in a cheers.

“Yes and I’m sure dropping your groceries is also for the weak.” Logan chides and it does hit a little harder, but still Virgil taps his glass to Remy’s again in a cheers.

“Virgil!” Someone calls and Virgil is blinded by the force of Emile’s smile so suddenly in his face.

“You came!” He’s excited. Virgil nods and takes a step back. Oogie murmurs upset on his shoulder.

“Yep, I said I would and hey, free food.” He ignores the looks the others give each other and Emile just bounces.

“Well I’m glad you’re here. Me and Patton were gunna play corn-hole later, you should join us!” Patton gives an equally excited gasp as Emile gestures to the bean bag toss.

“Uh sure,” Virgil says. Emile bounces and waves, and is off to say hi to other residents as soon as he came. Virgil is reeling from the interaction and it only gets worse.

“Is that pretty boy??” Virgil hears the splash before he sees anyone but then Remus is there in his face, shirtless and in swim trunks and dear god, he has a tramp stamp.

“Hello again stranger~” He coos. Virgil musters up a hi when suddenly another shirtless person is standing next to Remus.

“It is pretty boy! How are you darling?” Roman says. Virgil has officially hit gay panic mode. If the earlier mix of suave and cute wasn’t enough to do him in, the pure amount of muscle now is going to do him in.

“Fine,” He chokes out. Remus and Roman both laugh at his answer. Great. If he hoped for any kind of saving from the others, it’s surely a dashed hope by the amused looks on their faces.

“Are you joining us in the pool?” Remus asks excited. Oogie hisses from his shoulders. Vigil raises a hand to calm her and she nuzzles his knuckles.

“Uh not today.” He says, which is the wrong thing to say.

“But another day?” Remus asks all wild excited. Roman shoves him.

“Like he wants to spend time with your gross ass!” Roman shouts playfully. Patton huffs and calls him for his language but he is ignored. Remus gasps offended with a wild smirk on his face.

“Sure he does, can’t keep his eyes off these guns,” And Remus flexes. Virgil smacks a hand to his face. Oogie dips to hide in his hood. Roman lets out a laugh and firmly shoves Remus back into the pool.

“The only gun he needs is a glock to the face.” Roman puts a fist in his hand, flexing as well. The pun does get Patton to giggle though and Damien rolls his eyes.

“Virgil I am going to get some food, would you like to accompany me?” Logan asks finally done with the nonsense.

“How do you know his name!?” Roman screeches.

“I asked.” Roman let's out an outright offended gasp for whatever reason. He doesn’t get to say another word as Remus from out of no where, runs and tackles Roman back into the pool with no such boundaries.

“Food sounds good,” Virgil says. Logan smiles softly at him.

“I think I shall join you,” Damien says looking into his cup which doesn’t look empty but who is Virgil to judge. 

“Come find me and Emile when you’re done okay?” Patton interjects before they can leave. Virgil offers him a two finger salute, and then leaves Patton and Remy to go find Emile, while he finds food.

“Idiots,” Logan mutters once they are away from the pool. Damien hums in thought.

“But not wrong,” He says.

“They aren’t right either.” Logan snaps back.

“Should I go?” Virgil asks as they are clearly not talking to him. Both Damien and Logan look at him scandalized.

“Certainly not!” Damien says and gives him a slick smile. Virgil swallows down his lemonade to keep his throat from clogging up. He spends some time talking to the two of them, making sarcastic comments and opening up. Oogie pops out to lick his hair at one point.

At that, Virgil finds Emile somewhere, letting them know he’ll be right back, wanting to drop Oogie off at home. He’s comfortable enough here to not need her reassurances, besides, she’s tired from napping and needs to go home to sleep. With some ‘hurry back’ wishes, he’s off back to his place.

He makes sure Oogie is comfy and goes to leave, finding Thomas waiting in one of the golf carts outside his door.

“Need a ride?” He offers. Virgil laughs and joins him in the small vehicle.

“Virgil if I may, I have a favor to ask of you?” Thomas says seriously. Virgil nods his head as his lungs refuse to let him breathe for fear of the favor.

“Please be kind to my grand kids yeah?” Thomas asks, an earnest look in his eyes. Virgil isn’t sure what he’s talking about, but then he looks up. All of the boys who have been coming in and out of his life to fix his home are there staring and waiting for him to get back with the same look in their eyes.

Oh. Virgil thinks.

Oh no.

--

AN: Lol that multiship life

Edit: now with a part 2

[sokkas-honour]

Let’s say #10 of the Spotify wrapped writing for Korra :)

ANON HOW DID YOU KNOW

girls - korra x reader

pairing: korra x fem!reader

wc: 1.7k with lyrics

warning/notes: i can’t think of anything, but if there is fee free to message me!

taglist (message me/fill out form): @draqondance @biqherosix

i've been hiding for so long, these feelings, they're not gone, can i tell anyone?

you stared at her from across the room, god she was beautiful. the way she laughed and joked around with your brother made you heart soar, the sheer sound of her joy making your day.

you snapped out of your staring when your older brother came by, a stack of empty boxes in his arms as he dropped them on the ground, the thump getting your attention.

“oh thank god you found the boxes mako.” you sighed in relief at the fear of not finding the boxes to put back all the decorations used for varrick and zhu li’s wedding.

“they were in ikki’s room for some reason.” makos discovery caused a laugh to come out, your brother following your lead.

“how in the world did they end up there?” you wondered as you grabbed some of the decorations off the tables and placed them delicately into one of the boxes.

“no idea.” he answered, taking the decorations off of the other tables and copying you.

“you two need some help?” you felt your cheeks heat up and heart pick up as you heard the voice of the woman you loved dearly. you met her eyes and smiled.

“i wouldn’t say no to it.” you joked, smile growing bigger as you watched her laugh.

mako called bolin over for help as korra worked on the same tables as you did. working in unison, your hands accidentally landed on top of each other’s as you grabbed the same center piece, a blush erupting on both of your cheeks.

once you were done and your brothers went to bring the majority of the boxes to where varrick wanted them to, you were left alone with your girlfriend.

“i saw you staring before, you’re not very discreet.” korra teased once the both of you were alone which just made heat rush to your cheeks which just made her laugh at your flustered expression.

“yeah well youre insanely cute when you laugh.” you answered, arms wrapping around her waist and head being placed on her chest as you breathed in her comforting scent.

“i’m always cute.” she joked, earning a small chuckle from you as you looked up to her, loving smile adorning her face.

when you thought you heard someone coming, you quickly unwrapped yourself and jumped back, afraid of them seeing you two hug. you looked around frantically only to find that you were still alone. with a sigh of relief, you returned your attention to the avatar whos expression had changed to one of slight disappointment.

“y/n, we can’t keep sneaking around like this. one day or another, we should tell the others. you especially should come out to your brothers.” she sighed. you two had gotten together right after defeating kuvira but she had come out a while before leaving for the south pole after zaheer.

it hurt korra to see you living some sort of double life, lying to your brothers who tried to get you to bring someone to th wedding about you seeing someone, your brothers still fully thinking that you were only interested in men which would be the opposite of the truth.

“i know, i’ll tell them one day but i just, don’t know when.” you shrugged off your concerns and told a white lie to the girl in front of you.

afraid of what they'll say, so i push them away, i’m acting so strange

“y/n, you’re not telling the truth. i’m your girlfriend, we may have only been together for a little over two weeks but we’ve been friends for years, i can tell when you’re lying.” she informed, placing her hand over yours that was limp next to your hip. you grabbed onto it and sighed, you knew you were going to caught and have to voice your fears eventually but some part of you had hoped that your girlfriend wasn’t as smart as she said she was, she unfortunately wasn’t.

“sometimes i forgot how much of a genius you are.” you smiled half heartedly as she looked at you concerned, wanting to know the reason why you were still in the closet after supposed years of knowing your sexuality.

“babe come on, you can tell me.” she insisted, giving your hand a little squeeze from encouragement.

you took a deep breath in and let it out it, coming yourself in order to tell your girlfriend the reason why you hadn’t come out yet.

“i just. i don’t know how mako and bolin will react.” you finally admitted, feeling as though a huge weight was lifted from your shoulders when suddenly, the girl in front of you starting laughing. you quirked an eyebrow, wondering why the hell was she laughing.

“y/n! you saw how they reacted when i came out! they were completely and utterly fine with it! hell they were super supportive of me!” she reasoned once her laughter died down.

“i know but i’m their sister, it’s different.”

“no y/n it isn’t. why would it be any different.” she asked, confused at your stupid reasoning:

“i mean for one, they’re going to be mad i never told them anything, especially since i’ve already dated a girl or two. two, they might find it a tad bit weird when we tell them we’re dating.”

“well your first reason could’ve been avoided if you’d told them in the first place.” she pointed out, earning a small blush from you. “and second, they won’t, trust me. mako might be a bit stunned but he’ll be 100% supportive, don’t even get me started on bolin.”

“you’re right, i should probably tell them.” you sighed in defeat, head turning slightly to stare at the building on air temple island where your brothers probably were.

“if you want ill be there.” she proposed, her free hand placing itself on your cheek to which you gladly leaned into.

“yeah, i’d like that.”

they're so pretty, it hurts, im not talking 'bout boys, I'm talking 'bout girls, they're so pretty with their button-up shirts.

after dinner, mako, bolin, and you were on kitchen duty to clean the dishes, giving you the perfect opportunity to finally come out to your brothers and stop hiding.

as you finished drying a plate, you decided that it was time. especially since bolin was bringing up the idea of setting you up with someone.

“okay so y/n, i found this great guy that you’ll love. super sweet, super nice, super good looking, bolin approved guy.” your younger brother told you, scrubbing the food off one of the dishes.

“that’s nice bo but i’ve got something to tell you both.” in an almost perfect synchronised moment, both of them stopped what they were doing and turned to you. with both of their eyes on you, you froze a bit.

“sure y/n, what’s up?” mako encouraged, seeing your slightly stunned state and helping you snap out of it.

“i’m gay.” you blurted out. mentally smacking yourself for saying it so bluntly and straight to the point.

“knew it.” mako smirked as bolin let out a big ‘ohhhhh’.

“okay then, i think i know this one really nice, sweet, bolin approved girl that i believe also likes girls.” the earthbender quickly responded, correcting his previous date proposition to adjust it to the news.

“thanks bo but that’s not necessary.” you smiled gratefully at the youngest of you three before turning your attention to the eldest.

“what makes you say that mako?” you inquired, curious as to why your brother wasn’t very surprised at the news.

“well um, i.” mako stumbled over his words, slightly unsure of how to go about it but he recomposed himself. “i think you forget that as your older brother, i was able to see things that you didn’t.”

“go on, i’m intrigued.” it was now your turn to smirk.

“at first it was probably the constantly stealing mom’s kyoshi book, only to stare at the pictures of kyoshi warriors.” he joked.

“hey i still know a lot about kyoshi warriors!” you protested, half joking about the reason why you were addicted to the book.

“yeah but i literally walked into your room when you were about five only to see you open at the same page for a solid ten minutes. also, you couldn’t read!”

“i’m surprised mako caught any of it because it’s news to me. good news though!” bolin inserted himself back into the conversation, a cheery grin on his face.

“i think the longing stares between you and that waterbender from the red sands rabaroos could’ve also been an indication. and the constant cheering for them.” mako teased, resuming his dunking of plates in the water.

“yeah, umi and i didn’t last too long but it was fun while it lasted.” you reminisced over your first girlfriend, and followed your brothers lead to return to drying plates, leaving a dumbfounded brother to connect the dots.

“wait, you dated someone in an enemy team? y/n!” bolin gasped, accusing you in a joking manor.

“guilty as charged.” you smirked.

“okay well, let me set you up with someone! i’m sure i know another lesbian or bisexual!” bolin persisted with his idea so you thought that you might as well come out about korra and you.

“well bo, mako, i’m kinda seeing someone right now.” you started but were interrupted by someone barging in, the exact person you were about to mention.

“are you idiots done yet? we figured we’d all go see a probending match tonight but if you slowpokes aren’t done we might miss it!” korra informed the three of them. the two boys quickly returned to work but your gaze lingered on the avatar.

“so are you going to tell us or?” mako asked as korra left.

“i think you’ll figure it out.” your eyes stayed a little too long in the direction that your girlfriend left, a smirk on your lips at the idea of making your brothers wait.

when you all made your way to the probending arena, you caught up with korra and asami in the front, making sure to interlock your fingers with the watertribe girl.

“im guessing you told them?” asami asked, a knowing smile on her face at the romantic gesture.

“not exactly.” you guiltily admitted as you heard two gasps behind you. one was almost dramatically loud while the other was a bit more subtle.

“y/n!” you heard from the two boys behind you, and korra gave you a knowing smile, your idiot brothers had figured it out.

[happyandticklish]

No Matter What

Notes: For the request by @ticklish-sidekick who requested a fic with Simon and his dad. Hope you enjoy! :)

Summary: Jack Spier takes his son rock-climbing in an attempt to bond with him. When Simon’s own insecurities get in the way of that, the former decides to take measures into his own hands to show his son how much he loves him.

Simon didn’t want to be here.

He hadn’t gone rock-climbing since he was ten, back when his dad had, for some reason, held the notion that he was even remotely athletic. He remembered hating it back then as well. Watching all the other dads with their sons, all of whom were bravely climbing up the wall and laughing over inside jokes. Meanwhile little, petrified Simon stood staring up at the expansive slope of hand holds and ropes and ran crying to the bathroom halfway through. It took his dad half an hour to coax him out of there and he never even got on the equipment. 

When Simon’s dad suggested the idea again, seven years later, everything in Simon had inwardly rebelled at the idea. Still, he hadn’t wanted to seem like a pussy so he smiled and said yes. It wasn’t that he was scared of the prospect now that he was older, but the memories of that day couldn’t help but haunt him as they drove down to the Climbing Gym, his heart pounding in his chest.

“I think we’re gonna have a lot of fun,” his dad assured him. “Just like when you were little.”

His voice was a bit too cheery in that way it had been for the past couple months now. Simon hadn’t yet built up the confidence to tell his dad he was gay (see again, pussy), and even though he hadn’t said anything, he felt like his dad could sense his weakened masculinity. He’d been trying to get the two of them to “bond” for weeks now and this blast from the past was yet another flimsy attempt at connection.

“Sure, dad.” Simon flashed a fake smile of assurance at the other, wishing he could say what he really felt and not sound like the worst excuse for a man that ever was. “I’m sure it’s gonna be great.”

From the car ride there, every step of the process seemed to get worse and worse. As it turned out, that specific establishment didn’t take cards which meant an agonizing five minutes of his dad and him digging around in their collective wallets to sum up the measly thirty dollars for it. After that Simon had to use the bathroom, but there was a line of people leading up to it and they spent another ten minutes dealing with that mess. By the time they finally got around to hooking up the gear, they both came to the sad realization that Simon’s gear didn’t fit because they had ordered a size too small.

By this point, Simon was ready to give up and call it a day, but Jack Spier was determined to have a fun outing with his son.

“We’ll get a new one,” he promised him as the harness continued to not go around Simon’s waist. “Hello—” he waved one hand out, beckoning an employee over to assist them—“we need a new harness please!”

“Dad, it’s fine—” Simon protested, but the lady was already walking over, flashing them the same helpful grin that all the staff here seemed to wear. Simon sighed in exasperation, dropping his face in his hands.

“Can I help you with something?” she asked, her gaze flicking down to the discarded harness and back up to Simon. He flushed, knowing she was probably taking in his slightly pudgy frame, not muscular by any means. It wasn’t that he was super self-conscious about his body, but it was moments like these that made him worry about it.

He had confided, once, in Leah about it, and she had merely laid her head on his stomach affectionately and replied, “I like your body. It’s soft—like a pillow.”

Simon did not want to be a pillow.

“Yes you can,” his dad continued, oblivious to his inner turmoil. “My son here needs a bigger harness, and we were wondering if you had anything—”

“It’s really alright,” Simon mumbled, his cheeks burning. “I’ll manage with this one, there’s no need to bother you—”

“Oh it’s perfectly alright,” the lady assured him, waving her hand as if to magically push the problem aside. “We get mix-ups like this all the time. I’ll take this off your hands and grab you something from the back.”

She disappeared to the supposed “back” with his mess of tangled gear while Simon stewed in his embarrassment and disappointment over another failed attempt to end their trip early.

Fifteen minutes later, gear on and harnesses attached, Simon was once more faced with the daunting wall of multicolored handholds. He swallowed audibly.

“It’s fairly simple,” his dad explained, hands in his pocket as he surveyed the sight with a satisfied grin. “If you go slow and watch your step, you should be fine. I have the rope to levy you back down right here, so don’t focus on falling. No matter what happens, you’ll be fine.”

“I know that,” Simon snapped irritably. His dad was talking to him like he was still that scared ten-year-old that was too afraid to go trick-or-treating alone. He was older now, and even though the thought of going hundreds of feet up in the air with only a rope to protect him was making his knees weak, he was going to prove that to his dad.

He grabbed onto the first handhold, resting a foot on another. So far so good. Now to pull himself up. He grunted, pushing off with one leg and flailing for another hold. He repeated the steps again, and again, and again, until his nervous smile started to become one of genuine enjoyment. He was doing it. He was actually doing it!

“You’re doing great,” his dad called up to him, and despite himself Simon felt almost bolstered by the comment.

Why had he ever been so scared of this as a kid? Simon kicked off once more, his hand already reaching for the next hold—

“Shit!”

All the breath in Simon’s body left him as his foot slipped and he fell backwards, all his attempts to save himself rendered useless by the sweat collected on his palms. The fall backwards lasted a mere second, and yet Simon’s entire life managed to flash before his eyes in that time. His blood rushed to his head and he was jerked back by the force of the fall.

He hung suspended upside down by the ropes tied around his waist, flailing around like a fish out of water but unable to right himself.

His dad rushed forward, concern written over his features. “Si, are you okay?”

The panic that had been spiraling through Simon moments before was quickly transformed into hurt at those words, spoken with such tenderness that it made him want to punch something. “I’m fine, alright? I’m not that delicate.”

His dad’s brow wrinkled into a frown. “What are you talking about?”

“I know what you’ve been thinking,” Simon grumbled, crossing his arms with difficulty given his position. “ ‘Oh, take him rock-climbing, that’s sure to toughen him up’. But I can’t even do that right, can I? Can’t even climb a stupid wall with my dad. That’s Simon for you. Pathetic, weak, crybaby nonathletic Simon.” And gay, he filled in mentally though he didn’t say it out loud. 

“Simon.”

His dad’s voice was firm in a way it wasn’t usually, the consonants shortened at the end. Simon forced his gaze to meet the other’s. “I don’t think you’re any of those things. This—” he pointed to Simon’s swaying body—“doesn’t make you weak. It makes you strong. It means you were willing to try something and you failed.”

“Exactly—” Simon started, but the other interrupted him.

“You failed this time,” his dad corrected him. “You can only learn from your failures. And son, I don’t care if you climb some stupid wall. I don’t care if you never do anything athletic in your life. I don’t care if you sit around writing made-up stories about books you read with your friends.”

“You know about that?” Simon asked, flushing.

“Yes,” his dad confirmed. “And I don’t care. I didn’t ask you to come here with me today because I wanted you to prove yourself to me, or whatever other misconceptions you might have formed. I asked you to come with me because I wanted to spend time with you. Whether we’re climbing walls or writing about Harry Potter characters kissing. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“Oh,” Simon said, softly, shame flushing through him at the way he had acted. All his fears, his insecurities, everything he had been building up in his head was crumbling around him as their structures proved to be shaky. Simon had never been so glad to be proven wrong in his life. “You really… you really don’t care?”

His dad shook his head.

“Even though I might still be a little scared of climbing up the wall?”

“Nope.”

“Even though my harness doesn’t fit because I’m not super buff and ripped like you?”

His dad chuckled in amusement, raising an eyebrow. “Not even then. Besides, if you were all ripped and buff, I wouldn’t be able to do this.”

He reached out and scribbled his fingers teasingly over the other’s stomach like he used to do when Simon was still a kid. Simon yelped, hands jumping down (up?) to protect himself, though it was difficult in his current position. “Dad!”

“What? I’m just trying to cheer you up.” His dad dug fingers gently into his sides, a spot that had always made Simon squeal, and giggles fell hopelessly from the other’s lips. “Is it working?”

“Noho, dahad, i-it’s ehembahaharrassing!” Simon protested, glancing around him, worried that someone might be looking. “Stahahap!”

“No can do,” his dad said, clucking his tongue. “I’m afraid I cannot. You see my body is no longer my own anymore.”

Simon’s eyes widened with realization as he realized where his dad was going with this. “Ohoho m-my gohod, dahahad, noho!”

“I’ve been possessed,” his dad continued, grinning as he squeezed rapidly up and down his sides. “By the spirit of the Tickle Monster. I can’t stop until I make my victim understand that I love him. No matter what,” he insisted, emphasizing each word with a poke to his stomach.

“Thihihis ihihis sohohoho stuhuhupid!” Simon shrieked, flailing around wildly as he attempted to somehow smack away the hands tormenting him. His shirt had ridden up due to the influence of gravity, and his dad took advantage of it to softly spider his nails over his bare stomach. “Ah! Wait, wait, wahahait, nohohoho, thahahahat’s nohohot fahahahair!”

“What’s not fair? That you’re still this ticklish after all these years?”

“I-I’m nahahahat—Ihihihi mehehean—ahaha—stahahap tihihickling mehehehe fohohor ahaha sehehecond! Ahahaha, fuhuhuhuck!”

“Simon Spier!” his dad exclaimed, pretending to be offended. “Language. That’s it—you’re gonna have to be punished for that.”

Catching both of his hands in his grasp, his dad moved the soft spider tickles down into his armpits. Simon squawked, writhing back away from him but ultimately unable to escape.

“Nohoho, nohoho, nohoho! Nahahahat thehehehere! Stahahahap!”

“Do you apologize for cursing?”

“B-Buhuhut yohohou cuhuhurse ahahall thehehe tihihime!” Simon pointed out, struggling to get his words out through the desperate laughter pouring out of him.

“Yes, but I’m your father,” his dad reminded him. “I’m allowed to.”

Simon knew his father didn’t truly care about the cursing, as he had done so a million times in front of his parents before. He used to do this when he was little too, chasing him around the house and making up fake crimes that he needed to be “punished for”. Simon would always protest, but he never truly minded. He knew it was just his dad’s way of making him happy.

Even now, choking over strangled giggles, Simon couldn’t help but feel nostalgia warm his chest, a grin forming on his features that had little to do with the tickling. Despite everything, this was helping.

His dad knew he had his limits however. After a couple more minutes he backed off, allowing the boy a moment to breathe, which Simon did, in grateful gulps. Leftover giggles spilled from his lips, and his nerves sang with phantom sensation.

“That was not nice,” he said, glaring up at him though there was no venom behind his gaze.

His dad smiled, and in that one gesture was the love collected over seventeen years of Simon’s life. “Do you wanna try again?”

Simon looked back at his dad, the man who loved him despite everything, despite his appearance, despite his habits, despite anything that the world could throw at him. Maybe he wouldn’t tell his dad he was gay now. But when he did, he knew he would be ready for it. And for the first time in a long time, Simon wasn’t scared. 

He smiled back.

“Yeah. I think that would be alright.”

[mistletouchunderthetree]

in honor of eddie month, i’m releasing a collection of WIPs that will never be completed (usually because i just ran out of momentum writing them). they’re all eddie centric and canon divergent. here’s the third!

  this is about 3600 words! featuring a lot of internalized homophobia, a gay crisis, and eddie’s issues from the book with religion and worrying about going to hell and how that ties into his sexuality

“Meet back in half an hour?” Mike’s voice was cheery as he looked around at the six other Losers that stood in the hotel lobby.

Beverly and Eddie spoke at the same time – Beverly suggesting they do breakfast instead so everyone could get some rest, and Eddie loudly saying: “You expect me to get this nasty shit off of my body in less than thirty minutes?” He noticed Richie wince next to him. “What?”

“Dude, you’re screaming,” Richie told him, just as Mike agreed with Beverly.

“No I’m fucking not,” Eddie countered, frowning.

“As much as I hate to agree with Richie,” Stan said, “you are. Clean out your ears while you’re in the shower.”

Eddie gaped at his friend. “My… my ears?”

“Bet you got leper puke in there,” Richie added, grinning. Eddie was horrified. He hadn’t realized everyone else had already headed upstairs to their respective rooms to shower – except Beverly and Ben, who seemed to have entered the same room. He wasn’t even sure where Mike had gone.

“While you guys argue, I’m going to take a shower and call my wife,” Stan said, an embarrassed expression crossing his face. Eddie wasn’t sure what to say; they all knew the story: Patty had caught Stan in the midst of writing seven letters, stopping him from making any permanent decisions and calling Mike to find out what had been so awful that her happy husband had decided to calmly sit down and write suicide notes for the people he loved. Mike and Stan had explained the situation to her as well as they could; in the end, it had been his own wife who convinced Stan that he couldn’t turn his back on a promise.

“Well, I’ll see you in thirty minutes, Eds,” Richie said, when the door closed behind Stan. He started up the stairs when Eddie’s voice stopped him.

“There’s… I don’t have a shower curtain anymore,” Eddie told him, voice still too loud. “Or, it has a knife hole and blood on it…”

“Eddie Spaghetti, are you trying to get naked with me?”

Eddie floundered, face turning red. “Wh – I – No! I just. Shut the fuck up, Richie!”

Richie laughed, gesturing at Eddie to follow him. “C’mon, dumbass, you can use my shower. I’ll even let you go first.”

“Wow, my knight in shining armor,” Eddie muttered, following Richie up the stairs. He’d already brought his luggage back up and left it outside his own room, so he grabbed it and entered Richie’s room. Richie was already digging through the one small suitcase he’d brought.

“You know…” Richie started, then paused. Eddie looked at him, dropping his toiletry bag on the bed next to Richie’s luggage. Richie looked back, biting his lip. He finally shook his head. “Never mind.”

“What?” Eddie asked.

“Just take your shower, Eds,” Richie sighed. Eddie felt his stomach drop and knew there was disappointment on his face. Richie was looking down at his bag, still moving clothes around like he was looking for something, but Eddie was sure it was just a way to avoid eye contact. He waited for Richie to say something for a few moments, and when he didn’t, he rolled his eyes and went into the bathroom.

It was disgusting work, peeling off the clothes he’d been wearing for over 24 hours. He realized this outfit had been on an airplane, in a rental car, at a restaurant, in the basement of the pharmacy, covered in Leper puke, bled on from his own stab wound, through the Derry sewer system, into It’s lair and finally into the Quarry.

He already began making plans to burn all of it.

The shower in Richie’s bathroom was exactly the same as the one in his own, down to the ugly green color of the curtain, and the sight of it made him shiver. He stood under the water unable to close his eyes, constantly checking to make sure a crazy escaped inmate wasn’t waiting on the other side of the curtain with a knife. He’d seen Bowers’ dead body, but he couldn’t help but think the sharp end of a knife was going to tear through the curtain at any moment.

He started by cleaning out his ears, steadfastly avoiding looking at the gunk that he removed, then moved onto his hair, because he knew he’d have to keep his eyes closed the longest to rinse out shampoo and he wanted to get it over with. It took three washes before his hair felt sufficiently clean, and he’d only peeked around the shower curtain four times. After that, he used a washcloth from the hotel, lathered in his own antibacterial body wash, to scrub every inch of his skin until he was bright red but clean. He checked for an intruder only twice as he did so. He washed only the bottom half of his face with his face wash, choosing to scrub his forehead with the washcloth so as not to risk soap in the eyes. It wasn’t until he had opened the curtain and begun to dry off that he realized how hard his heart had pounded the entire time he’d been showering.

He was going to have to find a place with a walk-in shower, the kind with a glass door and glass walls, once he decided where he was going to live after he left Derry. Not only did his house in New York have tubs with shower curtains, but it had Myra and years of unhappiness, and he had already decided he was not going back.

Once he was dry, he stepped out of the shower and frowned, wincing when it pulled at his cheek. He wrapped the towel around himself tightly and exited the bathroom, already planning to avoid Richie’s gaze and letting his eyes go directly toward his suitcase on the bed.

However, they landed on Richie in nothing but a white t-shirt and boxers on the bed, instead. He was clean, hair wet against the pillow, and he grinned wolfishly at Eddie.

“Oh,” Richie said. “Do you have something you need to tell me, Eds? You sleep in the nude? I’m sorry, but I’m not your wife, so – “

“Shut the fuck up,” he groaned, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. “I forgot to bring a change of clothes with me. How did you shower?”

“I used Ben’s, since he’s busy fucking Beverly in hers,” Richie answered casually.

“Christ, Rich,” Eddie muttered, shaking his head. “Don’t… You can’t say shit like that, they’re our friends.”

“Just because they’re our friends doesn’t mean we have to pretend like they’re not absolutely having sex right now.”

“I’d prefer not to think about it, actually,” Eddie said, kneeling down to the floor where Richie had placed his luggage and looking for something to use as pajamas.

“I’d prefer to think about it,” Richie grinned, waggling his eyebrows at Eddie, who had glanced up to give him a disgusted look.

“Stop thinking about Beverly naked, Richie.”

“Oh, it’s not Beverly I’m thinking about,” he said.

Eddie whipped his head around, clutching a t-shirt in his hand.

“Oh, come on,” Richie said, looking in the opposite direction. His fingers fidgeted where they rested on his chest. “Ben’s super hot now, and Beverly’s like… my sister.”

Eddie wasn’t sure what to say. Was this a joke?

“Um,” he cleared his throat when his voice cracked. “What?”

“Don’t act all oblivious now, Eds,” Richie continued, though Eddie could hear the discomfort in his voice. He always resorted to that fake laughter, to jokes that didn’t quite land, when he was nervous.

“Uh – Is this…” Eddie trailed off, staring at Richie’s poker face. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious about Ben. Like, are you actually attracted to him?”

Richie glanced to the side. “Attracted to him how?”

Eddie felt the urge to stomp his foot. Richie was being difficult on purpose and he wasn’t sure how, but somehow this was a ruse to make fun of him. “Attracted to him the normal way, Richie. Like, physically. Sexually. Whatever.”

“Well I certainly wouldn’t say no if he offered,” Richie shrugged.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie said, “but is this you coming out to me right now?”

“I thought I did that at dinner when I talked about how hot Ben was.”

“Can you be serious for like, five seconds?”

“I am being serious!” Richie insisted, sitting up. Eddie pulled his t-shirt over his head without removing the towel from his waist. “I mean… if you’re okay with that?”

“If I’m okay… With you being attracted to Ben.”

“No, you fucking dumbass!” Richie rolled his eyes. “I don’t give a shit about Ben!” He paused and shook his head. “Okay, no, I give a shit about Ben, just not like that. I just meant… if you’re okay with me being… not straight.”

“Oh,” Eddie breathed. He was clutching his towel.

“I uh, probably should’ve done this at a better time, huh?” Richie said, cheeks red. He laid back down, staring up at the ceiling. “Like, when you’re not naked.”

“I’m not naked,” Eddie argued weakly.

“You’re naked enough,” Richie muttered.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“God, Eddie, please tell me you’re not this fucking stupid.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Eddie asked angrily.

“Nothing,” Richie answered, shaking his head. “Just go back to your room, Eds. I’m sure your bed doesn’t have blood on it.”

“Dude, no,” he said.

“I’m not asking, Eddie. You need to leave.”

Eddie stared, eyes wide. He’d never heard Richie’s voice like that and it made his stomach drop. He felt glued to the floor, watching as Richie sat up and put his feet on the floor.

“Eddie,” Richie said, his voice still cold. “I can’t do this right now, okay?”

“Do what?” He knew he sounded whiny but he couldn’t help it, Richie wasn’t making any sense.

“I can’t talk about my fucking feelings with you, Eddie,” Richie yelled, standing up from the bed. “Not when I just came out to you and you had no fucking reaction, and you’re either stupid or purposely ignoring what I’m trying to tell you, and you’re fucking naked!”

Eddie exhaled heavily. “You said you were attracted to Ben.”

“Oh my God,” Richie laughed to himself, though there was no humor in it. “So you are actually just that fucking stupid, then.”

“I’m not stupid, Richie, I understand what you’re telling me!” He shouted, finding a pair of underwear and gripping them in his hand. “I just – I don’t know what to say! I don’t know what you want me to say!”

“Just say you don’t hate me,” Richie choked. He looked up and there were tears in his eyes. Eddie’s heart lurched. His eyes drifted down, taking in the way Richie’s t-shirt was tight on his broad shoulders, the way it was so thin he could see the pink of his nipples and the black of his chest hair, and even lower than that more black, leading down… “Eddie?”

His head snapped up, heat crawling down his chest. “I-“ He took a moment to regain his thoughts. “I don’t hate you.”

“You sound very believable,” Richie snarked, falling back down onto the bed. “Now that we’ve had this shitty conversation, can you please just leave?”

He was trying to sound unbothered, even verging on annoyed, but Eddie could hear the hurt underneath. He didn’t know how he felt, but he knew he hated to hear Richie sound like that. Gathering his resolve, he found a pair of pajama pants in his luggage and marched back into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He made short work of dropping the towel and dressing, ignoring the way his hands were shaking.

He'd never thought of another man like that. He’d never –

But that was a lie, and he knew it.

He had thought, he’d just ignored it. Even though he’d told Myra he wasn’t coming home, she was still technically his wife. And for his entire life, he’d technically been a straight man.

(Straight men don’t want a better look at their best friend’s happy trail, his brain told him, and he shut his eyes tightly to try and make the mental image go away.)

So he occasionally spent a little too long looking at other men. And he occasionally thought of strong thighs and broad shoulders and low groans when he got off. But it wasn’t…

He thought back to childhood. Had he felt like this about Richie then, too? He remembered how close they had been, physically. Had he been leading Richie on, all those times he climbed into the hammock with him? All the sleepovers where they shared a twin bed? The movie nights where he hid his head in Richie’s shoulder during the scary parts?

Was it leading someone on if you wanted it, too?

What if you didn’t even know you wanted it?

Did he want it?

He didn’t notice he had begun to wheeze loudly until there were two knocks on the bathroom door. He jumped, gasping for breath he didn’t have. He felt dizzy.

“Eds? Are you okay in there?”

There was concern in Richie’s voice, none of the hurt from before. Eddie yanked the door open to find Richie standing on the other side, his worried look exactly how Eddie had pictured it.

“I’m sorry, Eds,” he mumbled, stepping back so Eddie had room to get through the doorway without getting too close. Eddie didn’t move. He tried to breathe in deeply, gripping onto the door handle. “I didn’t mean to freak you out-“

“Can you help me?” He asked, interrupting Richie’s apology. Before he could answer, Eddie went on. “When I – When I breathe, can you count? Slow; 4 in, hold for 4, out for 4?”

He wasn’t sure if Richie could even understand what he was saying, but Richie was nodding, grabbing his hand and leading him to the bed. Once he was sitting he closed his eyes against the dizziness and gasped for air, ignoring the tears that leaked out the side of his closed eyelids.

Richie’s voice was quiet as he counted. It only took a few minutes before Eddie was breathing on time with Richie’s count, and it was only then he realized they were holding hands. With his free hand, he wiped the stray tears from his face. Once he felt like he could speak again, he turned to Richie.

“Panic attack,” he whispered. “Not asthma. Myra always just made me use my inhaler but… I saw a therapist, for a little bit. She taught me how to… How to make it stop, without it.”

“Why would she still think you needed your inhaler if it’s not asthma?” Richie asked, keeping his voice at the same quiet level as Eddie’s.

Eddie huffed a laugh. “Because it makes me weak. She likes me weak.”

“Eds, you’re not weak. You’re probably the bravest of all of us.”

He shook his head. Richie didn’t say anything else, just sat next to him while he focused on keeping his breathing even. He didn’t want to think about Myra, or about the kinds of things you need to be brave for. Richie was still holding his hand, and he let his eyes wander his direction, past where their hands lay in between them and to Richie’s legs, bare in just his boxers.

He’d never paid much attention to his own legs, or really the legs of other men. It wasn’t something that had crossed his mind

(except maybe it had, when he was younger and laying in a hammock, but it wasn’t really about legs then, it was about skin, the electricity he felt on days they both wore shorts)

Except in his dreams, the fantasies he pretended he didn’t have, the ones where thick, hairy thighs were wrapped around him, around his waist, around his head, on either side of his own – and he pretended not to think about what was in between, either, how lightheaded he felt when he got fucked up enough to really let himself think about it, to think about what was inside Richie’s boxers

(but it wasn’t Richie’s cock he dreamed about (wasn’t it, though?) when he took enough of those anxiety meds that his filter turned off)

And he could see it now, at least the outline, where thin material didn’t do enough to hide what was inside.

He was breathing too quickly again.

“Eddie-“

“You need to put pants on,” he choked out, taking in a deep breath.

Richie stood up immediately but Eddie couldn’t look at him as he spoke, embarrassment evident in his voice. “Fuck, Eddie, I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about it – I – fuck, I swear I’m not – I really don’t want to make you uncomfortable-“

“It’s just-“ He sucked in another deep breath, clenching his fists. His mouth started moving without his permission. “It’s – It’s hard to have a fucking gay crisis when your legs and your – your fucking dick are right there and I want-“ he closed his eyes when he heard Richie’s breath hitch. “I just… want. And I can’t have because the second I do I’m – I can’t – It’s wrong, Richie. It’s wrong, right?”

Richie had put on a pair of sweatpants while he was talking, and now he knelt next to Eddie, making sure to keep some distance between them. His face was red, and Eddie could tell his breaths were harsher than normal, could see his own hands clenched into fists. But he didn’t say anything, just looked at Eddie, who choked out a sob. “Help me,” he begged, though he wasn’t sure what exactly he was asking for. He just wanted, and he needed that to be okay.

“It’s not wrong, Eds,” Richie finally said. He sounded breathless. One hand came up to rest on the mattress next to where he sat. “I know it – it was fucking hard growing up when we did, right? Getting called names and listening to people talk about AIDS like it was punishment, and even now, hearing all the bullshit from people who swear it’s all a sin, like it’s something we chose. But we didn’t, okay? You didn’t do anything wrong, and if you… If you choose to act on it, you’re still not doing anything wrong.”

“How do you know we won’t go to Hell?” Eddie whispered, grasping the comforter in his hands. He felt young, like a child asking for reassurance, but he felt trapped in his own mind.

“I don’t, really,” Richie answered. Eddie looked at him, helplessly. “But I think… You go to Hell for doing bad shit, right? For being a bad person. But there’s nothing – there’s nothing bad about love. I’m not doing anything bad by loving you.”

“What about sex? That’s – that’s the bad part, right? Love is great and whatever, but when it’s sex…”

“That’s not bad, either,” Richie promised. Eddie jolted when he grabbed one of his hands, uncurling his fingers from the blanket. “It’s natural and normal. But I don’t – I really don’t know what else to say, Eds. That’s probably more suited for like, intense therapy.”

Eddie nodded jerkily, laughing a little and squeezing Richie’s hand.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, “for talking me down. You were always the one that took care of me.”

“Yeah, well,” Richie shrugged, voice still soft. “I love you, so I’m gonna take care of you no matter what.”

Eddie wanted to tell him, wanted to say he loved him, too, but the words felt stuck in his throat.

“I’ll always let you take care of me,” he said instead, and hoped Richie understood what he meant.

“What are you going to do next? With – As far as, you know, your marriage?”

Eddie sighed. “She already knows I’m not coming home, but… I still have a job in New York. I guess I’ll have to find an apartment. I don’t know. And you’re right, I should go back to therapy, because I clearly have some shit to work out.”

Richie nodded. “I don’t think there’s a single one of us that doesn’t need to go to therapy weekly for the rest of our lives.”

Eddie snorted. “I don’t know how well a therapist would take it if you walked in and started talking about how you fought and killed an evil alien clown.”

Richie laughed. “Eh, I’ll write it into a standup routine instead. Comedy is basically therapy, anyway.”

“No,” Eddie said, vaguely alarmed. Richie was grinning at him. “No, Richie. It’s important to me that you understand joking about your trauma onstage to a bunch of strangers is not the same as therapy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie said, waving him off. He crawled backward until he was leaning against the pillows again, the same way he’d been when Eddie had gotten out of the shower. The bed was big enough that if Eddie were to lay next to him, they wouldn’t be touching. He thought about it. “And if you want, I have an apartment in the city. I’m not there very often, I spend most of my time in LA or on tour, but. There’s two more bedrooms than I need and… I mean, we could split rent or whatever. Even if it’s just til you find a place for yourself.”

Eddie looked at him. He wasn’t avoiding eye contact, but he wasn’t making an effort to look at Eddie, either. His hands were folded on his chest.

“Okay,” Eddie agreed, taking a leap and situating himself next to Richie on the bed. His head hit the pillow and he sighed. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about how close Richie was. He fell asleep to the soothing sound of Richie’s even breaths, and when he woke he felt more rested than he had in years.

[phykios]

honesty and promise me, part 2 [read on ao3] [co-written with @darkmagyk]

Goth isn’t really Annabeth’s scene—hasn’t been since she was twelve, hiding in her room and blasting Evanescence or Avril Lavigne so she didn’t have to spend quality time with her brothers, or even talk to her stepmother at all—but Percy had insisted. She could almost picture his pathetic, baby seal-eyed face as he wheedled and whined at her over text, until she eventually (not at all reluctantly) gave in.

She’s only known him for a few weeks. It’s a little embarrassing how quickly her willpower had crumbled.

Thalia, for whatever reason, had decidedly not been game, even when presented with a large, post-bartending hangover coffee as an opening salvo. “This is a bad idea,” she had said, glaring at the sun so intensely that, were it not for her thick, black sunglasses, she probably would have vaporized it.

“We don’t have to go.”

“No, the show will be great. Pluto’s Daughter is great,” she said between sips of her too-bitter-to-be-real black coffee. “You and Percy, is a bad idea.”

“Protective of your baby cousin?” Annabeth asked, raising an eyebrow, her eyebrow ring awkwardly bumping up against her hair, sorely in need of a shave. She was thinking of getting a second ring. Her mother had once told her that they were the epitome of trash—but Thalia had two, and they looked so badass.

She scoffed. “He’s not the baby.”

“Then there’s no problem.”

Thalia narrowed her eyes, really considering Annabeth. Annabeth’s own eyes had been described more often than not as storm clouds, dark and heavy. If hers were storm clouds, then Thalia’s were lightning, electric blue, piercing, beautiful, and dangerous, with a temper to match. “Before you started seeing him,” she said, “I’d have said that you’d eat him alive.”

Annabeth smirked. “I have done no eating yet.”

“Ugh,” she rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, now I’m going to be honest with you. He’s going to eat you alive—and your self-esteem is never going to be able to recover. Honestly, I shouldn’t even let you two within ten feet of each other.”

She scoffed, taking a long drink of her own coffee, black but with just enough sugar to make it bearable.

As if a ballerina would ever intimidate her. A fucking ballerina.

The conversation hadn’t exactly ended the way either of them wanted, but Annabeth was still going to keep fucking Percy for the time being, and Thalia was going to let herself be dragged to the damn concert.

The night of, the bar has a line, but Thalia alternately sweet-talks and intimidates the bouncer, and he lets them in. Having tended bar for any place that would take her and not put her on the payroll, Annabeth assumes that she just has dirt on everyone in the service industry in New York City, so they skip a lot of cover charges, and get a lot of free drinks.

It's fucking crowded inside, too, packed to the brim with sweaty bodies and heavy boots. Just another day in paradise.

Thalia glances at her phone. “They’re at the bar, up front?”

“They?”

Thalia doesn’t hear her, apparently, just wraps her mesh covered hand over Annabeth’s wrist and pulls her through the crush of people. Annabeth has her eyes peeled for Percy’s typical blue hoodie or orange muscle tees, thinking that they would stand out like a sore thumb in this place, but she can’t see a goddamned thing.

Now, punks aren’t exactly known for their radical use of color, but this was another thing entirely, a sea of black and lace and leather. Looking for his black hair is a waste of her time. “So many bad bottle jobs,” she murmurs.

Thalia pauses for a second, frowning at her. “What?”

“Everyone here has decided that they just had to dye their hair black. How original.”

She is silent for a moment, squinting, then looks away. “I see them, come on.”

Her blunt nails dig into Annabeth’s arm as she yanks her even harder.

There, at the end of the bar, a tall guy stands, dressed to the nines—the nines of this particular scene, anyway.

He looks kind of familiar: curly black hair in a sharp undercut that Annabeth definitely admires, extremely tight, black skinny jeans that leave nothing to the imagination and really went out of style with My Chemical Romance, a t-shirt with a skull on it (because goths, obviously), and a leather jacket, covered in patches. She spots the Italian flag, several for Pluto’s Daughter and a handful of other bands, a pride flag, a couple of music notes, and one that says, “Not gay as in happy, queer as in fuck you.”

“Annabeth,” says Thalia, “you remember Nico.”

Annabeth blinks. The last time she’d met Nico, he’d been wearing a three-piece suit that had cost as much as her rent. Now the hand she shakes has black fingernails and a skull ring, leading up to a face with eyes lined heavier than either Thalia’s or Annabeth’s, with a septum ring and a line of studs up one ear. “Hey.”

“Where’s our prima ballerina?” Thalia asks as Nico offers her a glass of something brown.

Thalia likes—and cannot often afford—expensive booze, which means that Nico must be paying. Unwilling to be caught in another embarrassing little social snafu, Annabeth tries really hard to remember what it is that he does. Hadn’t he sold his soul to some law firm or other?

“He went to consign himself to a slow and agonizing death,” says Nico.

“What?” Annabeth asks, glancing between the cousins.

Thalia rolls her eyes. “He means Percy went out for a smoke. Nico doesn’t approve.”

“It’s bad for you! This is not a controversial topic,” he says. “I don’t like that he does it, I don’t like that he got you to start, and I’m not going to like it when I go to both of your funerals. But I am going to tell you I told you so.” Then, seemingly as if to undermine his point, he throws back the rest of his own drink, holding up the empty glass to the bartender. “Another,” he calls, “Godfather, if you please.”

If drinks were on Nico tonight, maybe Annabeth could use the cover of the goth crowd to order a glass of red wine instead. It would certainly be a nice change of pace from the shit-ass beer she sucks down on the regular.

“There he is!” Thalia calls, bursting into applause. “The hell took you so long? Wardrobe malfunction?”

“Yeah,” she hears Percy’s voice. “Someone stole my best pair of tights.”

Turning, Annabeth is suddenly very glad she hadn’t yet ordered a drink, because then she would have dropped it, spilling it all over not only the dirty bar floor, but also her second favorite pair of boots.

It’s definitely Percy, but she never would have spotted him. Having gone to a dozen or so shows with her and Thalia so far, he had always dressed pretty consistently in baggy jeans and whatever stupid dance pun t-shirt Annabeth hadn’t pilfered already to wear to breakfast: very normal, and just a little bit out of place for the goth/punk scene.

Tonight, he is not dressed like that.

She can’t focus on everything all at once, so she starts with his too tight t-shirt, with the logo for Pluto’s Daughter splashed across it, like the artist had taken paint and hurled it at the fabric from a mile away. Ripped and sleeveless, she can see every single ridge and line of his biceps, his forearms, his shoulders, even a bit of his decolletage. His pants are black, per the unspoken dress code, and baggy, but he has belts wrapped up and down his legs, emphasizing the size of his muscular thighs and calves. And that isn’t even the worst part. Neither are the studs in his ears, or the black liner around his eyes.

The worst part is the blue lipstick painting his mouth, making his eyes pop, making his troublemaker smile look that much more depraved.

The worst part is how that blue lipstick will almost certainly be all over her thighs by the end of the night.

Thalia’s advice was never going to win out, but now it has no chance.

Despite being dressed up like the goth ballet prince of her dreams, the hero of an angsty, middle school novel Annabeth might have dreamed up instead of paying attention in class but had been too embarrassed to ever write it down, he smiles at her, cheery and bright as ever, kissing her so deeply her mouth must turn blue. In the corner of her eye, she sees Thalia and Nico exchange a capital-L look, one that Percy can’t see, because all of his attention is focused on her. She doesn’t know what that means, but she’s too far gone to ask.

Percy moves away, still close, still oriented around her, but she has to clasp her own hands together to keep herself from reaching out and pulling him back to her, biting her tongue, rubbing the ring along the inside of her teeth to keep from letting the word “please” escape her lips.

She doesn’t think she’s ever been so instantly taken with any guy—ever. Not even the almost one night stand her sophomore year was college, nineteen and fresh-faced and totally unprepared for the heartbreak that would follow. Last time, Luke had suggested wine to help her get over her mystery man, so that’s what she orders now, taking too big sips and ignoring the slight concern in Percy’s too pretty eyes.

It’s all packaging, she thinks, packaging designed to make the product more desirable. Basic marketing and design. She knows him, and she knows what he can do with his teeth and his tongue and his hand and his dick. She recognizes it, sees it coming, so she won’t be affected by it.

“I didn’t know you were coming, Nico,” she says, wrangling her thoughts together. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Never miss a show,” he says.

“Flew back from London just for it,” Thalia says, bumping him with her shoulder.

“I flew back because my business trip was over,” he corrects. “…But I did take the redeye so I’d be here on time.”

Percy beams at that, so hard she can actually feel it. “Anyone else joining us I should know about?” Annabeth asks.

It’s so weird to look at them all together—all dark hair, strong jaws, cheekbones carved from stone, sexy and just a little bit intimidating. “Any other cousins, maybe?”

Nico glances at Percy, suddenly apprehensive. “Actually, Percy,” he says, “I’m pretty sure I saw—”

“Perseus Jackson!” A whirlwind of blue-green silk assaults her senses as a woman sweeps over to them, headed straight for Percy, almost knocking Annabeth out of the way, wrapping him up in a hug and ignoring everyone else. “How’s my darling little brother?”

Percy awkwardly pats her on the back, shooting a grimace at the rest of them. “Uh, hey, Kym. I… didn’t know you’d be here.”

“It was a last minute thing, I had a free night for once in my life and was casting about for something to do, you know how much I hate not working, and I thought I’d come by and support our dear Hazel.”

Nico raises an eyebrow. “Since when have you been into goth rock?”

It’s not an unwarranted question. She looks wildly out of place here, in her sleek, silk dress and the scent of Dolce and Gabbana’s Light Blue coming off her like waves, in sharp contrast to the sea of ripped jeans and sewed up shirts that surround them.

Kym, again, ignores him. “Mojito, Perseus? I know it’s your favorite.”

Annabeth’s eyebrows shoot up past her hairline. Percy? Percy half-a-cider-no-thank-you-I-don’t-care-for-any-more Jackson likes to drink mojitos? “Ah—” He grimaces, trying to extract himself from her grip, “no, thank you—"

“Oh, you’re no fun anymore.”

“I just don’t like to—”

“Well it’s not like this place will have any rum worth drinking anyway,” she sniffs.

Thalia rolls her eyes.

“Here, take a selfie with me.” Her phone is already raised, thumb poised for action.

“Kym, come on—”

But she pulls Percy close, shoving his head against hers, mouth already pouting. Thalia sighs, turning back to the bar.

After a moment of refusal, Percy sighs too, giving into his fate, and mustering his best vogue for the camera. They make an odd pair, her with her perfect Instaglam and him with his blue lipstick and smudged liner, but with the two of them pressed together like this, it’s easy to tell that this Kym is another cousin. Same eyes, same brow, same inky black hair, she looks exactly like Percy, only whiter.

Satisfied with her selfie, it’s only then that she notices Annabeth staring at her. “And you are?”

Percy sighs, rubbing his eye. “Kym, this is Annabeth. Annabeth, this is my sister Kymopoleia.”

Kym does not reach out her hand. “And what do you do?”

Thalia, from nowhere, slings an arm over Annabeth’s shoulder, whisky in hand. “Nothing that would interest you, leech.”

“I’m an architect,” Annabeth offers.

“My friend studies at Bartlett, in London. Did you go there?” Kym asks.

“No,” Annabeth says, biting back an automatic retort about Bartlett’s global ranking in Forbes. Ninth in the world, not even top five.

Kym curls her lip a little, like she knew what Annabeth would have said anyway. “What have you designed? Anything I would know?”

“She designs community gardens and stages for festivals.” Thalia says.

“Oh, so not a real architect, then.”

“The Man doesn’t have to approve of something to make it real. No, her name isn’t on file in some state office. She’s an anarchist architect.” Thalia says. Annabeth bits back a line of her own retorts.

Kym sniffs again. “Thrilling.” Then she turns back to Percy, writing her off entirely. “Perseus, it was lovely to see you again—will you be coming to Santorini this year?”

“Depends on my rehearsal schedule.” The words sound very rehearsed. He’s said this exact phrase a lot.

“Well get that sorted out! You know how mother likes her itineraries.”

He nods, beleaguered. “As soon as I can, promise.”

“See that you do.” Then with a final kiss on Percy’s cheek, off she flounces, disappearing into the dirty, grungy crowd, leaving silence in her wake like the wreckage after a storm.

“Okay,” says Annabeth.

Percy sighs, turning to the bar to order his own drink.

“Sorry about that,” says Nico. “If I had known she was coming, I swear I would have told you.”

“You can’t just go around saying the word ‘cousin,’ Annabeth,” says Thalia, returning to her own space. “It’s like Beetlejuice. Say it three times and you summon one of Percy’s douchey relatives.”

“They’re your relatives, too.”

Thalia scoffs. “Barely.”

“Oh yeah?” asks Percy. “How’s Hercules?”

“Hopefully dead.”

“At least he doesn’t show up out of the blue in wildly incongruous places,” Nico points out.

Percy takes a pull of his drink, and Annabeth does not watch his neck as he swallows. “Yeah, what was up with that? Since when has Kym been into goth rock?”

“That’s what I said!”

“She’s planning something,” Thalia mutters, glaring angrily into her drink. “I don’t know what it is, but she’s planning something.”

“So, I’m guessing this isn’t usually her scene?” Annabeth asks.

“Art is her scene,” Thalia replies, gesturing widely, nearly smacking someone in the shoulder. “The whole of the New York art world.”

Looking back around to the half-lit bar full of badly dressed goths, she thinks maybe calling this the “art world” might be a little bit generous.

“She’s kind of like an art world barometer,” says Percy. “Wherever she goes, the critics follow—like little baby ducklings.”

“Too bad she’s a fucking snob about it.” Thalia tosses back the rest of her drink, slamming the glass down on the wood, signaling for another with a toss of her head.

“Shame she has such good taste,” Nico muses.

“She has such good taste!” Despite her bravado, Thalia is absolutely a tiny bit of a lightweight, the whisky already going to her head, slurring her speech just a little. “Whole fucking family’s so goddammed good at art.”

“Not the whole family,” says Percy, shaking his head. “Kym can’t make art, she just appreciates it, like Jason. And Triton can’t do either.”

Annabeth has never seen Thalia so much as draw a picture or pick a song at karaoke, but she had been left out of Percy’s little list. In all Annabeth’s years of knowing Thalia, she never even thought that it had bothered her. “I mean,” she says, “if you like art, you could—”

As one, Nico and Percy both shake their heads. Insistently. Violently.

Staring at her empty glass, Thalia doesn’t notice. Nico replaces hers with his half-finished one, and Thalia drinks without missing a beat. “What about you?” she turns to Annabeth, blue eyes wide. That’s another thing that the cousins all have in common; their eyes are a variety of colors, but they’re all the same wide, almond shape, made more pronounced with heavy, grungy liner. “Got any artistic cousins?”

“No,” she says, wondering how little she can get away with saying. “I only have one, and he’s not.”

Everyone stares at her.

She capitulates, just a little. “His partner is an artist,” she offers. “Alex is a sculptor.”

Percy looks at her, half-smile on his face. “What does your cousin do if he isn’t an artist?”

His question makes it sound like there are only two types of people in the world to him: artists and non-artists. Given that Annabeth had been sketching buildings since the time she had the dexterity to hold a crayon, it might be true. “He’s in med school,” she says, “fourth year, at Harvard.”

“Ew.” He wrinkles his nose.

“Okay, smartass,” she says, “you talk to your podiatrist like that?”

“You still fucking that med student?” Thalia asks Nico.

“Dating him, actually.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Dinner,” Nico says. “Sometimes lunch. This is going to shock you, but you can actually spend time with the people you sleep with, and even develop feelings for them.”

They glare at each other for a long moment, then, as one, turn and glare at Percy.

“No,” he says, “I am not getting in between this.”

Nico, somehow, glares even harder. “Come on, you’re—”

“I’m not talking about this,” Percy says, his face a hard mask, lips set firmly in a frown.

For the first time ever, it occurs to Annabeth that this ballet dancer could be scary if he wanted to be.

That is… so not a problem.

The cousins continue glaring at each other, the family telepathy practically brimming with unspoken pasts. A part of her really, really wants to hear where it’s going. She wants to know what Percy’s feelings are on romance, just to make sure that they are on the same page. Casual sex, fun nights, the occasional concert—that’s where they are now. If the arrangement is going to change, she’s going to need to know about it.

Then, the lights flicker, dimming. A roar takes over the crowd, and when Annabeth can see again, Pluto’s Daughter is onstage.

There’s no introduction, no greeting, the band diving right into their first number, an intense, high-octane whirlwind of drums and bass and screaming. Percy screams right alongside them, hands raised and jumping, Nico and Thalia close behind, every unintelligible lyric learned by heart. Even Annabeth can’t help but get swept up in it, her typical aloofness melting away into the crowd.

It really is a great show.

“That was amazing!” Annabeth is almost breathless at the end of it. Her throat feels raw, like sandpaper, her cheeks aching from smiling.

Percy hands her one of those little plastic cups of water, knocking his own back like a shot, wiping his mouth with his knuckles. “Aren’t they awesome?”

“I had no idea you were such a fan,” she says. “Your Spotify Wrapped must be a mess.”

“I like all music,” he replies, glib. “Even rap and country.”

“Oh, how well-rounded of you.”

“But Pluto’s Daughter is special,” he says. “You know the drummer is my cousin?”

“Very funny.”

“No, really,” says Percy. “Hazel is Nico’s half-sister.”

She blinks at him. “You have too many cousins.”

He just laughs, throwing his head back. “Tell that to our parents.”

Whatever else he might have said gets lost as a small bundle of leather and fishnet emerges from the crowd, launching herself at Percy. “You came!” cries the drummer for Pluto’s Daughter--Hazel. “Oh, I’m so happy you came!”

In stark, stark opposition to how he had been Kym, Percy swings his little cousin around in a big hug. He probably has close to a foot on her, even in her black platform boots, their broad smiles so uncharacteristic in such a dour crowd. Annabeth hadn’t been able to get a good look at her up on stage, but now she’s flush with adrenaline, her dark skin glistening with equal parts sweat and glitter, baby hairs escape from the artful crown of bantu knots, septum ring shining in the dim light of the bar.

“Of course I came,” says Percy, somehow still hugging her. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Ms. Hazel Levesque!” Thalia crows, well and truly wasted. “There’s my gal!” And she rushes over to join them, almost bowling them both over.

A truly affectionate Thalia is rare, like a four-leaf clover or snow on Christmas. It does happen on occasion, if she’s gotten enough sleep or enough to drink, but the moment is usually fleeting, meant to be treasured, kept close to the heart. Annabeth can count the number of times Thalia has been sweet to her on one hand--never cruel, or mean, but just… brusque. Sarcastic. And yeah, sometimes mean, but never in a demeaning way. Just in a Thalia way. It’s one of the many, many things she loves about her.

The only downside to affectionate Thalia right now is that it leaves her alone with Nico.

She doesn’t not like Nico, she just doesn’t really know him. He’s swaying a little, not dangerously so, just vibing to the noise and the booze he’s already had.

“Hey,” he says, lurching over to her. “Got a question for you.”

“Okay?”

“I was. Working on those permits. For your show.” He waves a hand. “Whatever. You know that stage set up for that show in the West Village last winter?"

The first time she had met Nico, Annabeth and Thalia had been helping out one of her friends with their outdoor theater, and had needed a little legal assistance with getting the venue all squared away, as they were technically trespassing on some private property. It was nice to flex her creative muscles, though. She didn’t always get the chance these days.

She nods. “Yeah?”

"Your New York State architect license was on the paperwork."

Annabeth's blood runs cold.

Swallowing away her anxiety, she takes another sip of her water, hoping he’s too buzzed to notice. "What, was I supposed to try and impress Kym with my license?"

Nico snorts. "God, no.” Taking another sip of his drink, he goes to hug his sister, and Annabeth quietly berates herself for not taking care of that sooner.

Yes, her license is still on file with the state, because it’s so much more convenient to leave it like that, rather than let it lapse and reapply every time she has to do something bigger than a birdbath in a tiny community garden, and being registered still means she has access to the network and can apply for certain grants and it always looks good on her portfolio and she didn’t think the two worlds would ever collide, especially not in a place where Thalia, of all people, would ever find out--

“So,” says Percy, sidling back over to her. “Working on anything good?”

She blinks, the spiral of her thoughts coming to a screeching halt. “Huh?”

“Any cool projects on the docket?”

Projects. Right. “Sorta in between projects right now,” she says, tapping her fingers against the bar. “I finished up that community garden a couple months ago, now I’m just… waiting for the next thing coming along.”

He nods. “I feel that. The precarity’s a bitch, isn’t it.”

“Totally. Almost makes you want to work a 9 to 5 just for job security, right?”

“Absolutely not,” he says. “Wouldn’t give up ballet for the world. I could never work in an office; sitting for so long might actually kill me.”

It might--even now he can’t help but move, shifting around on heel to toe and back again. Everything about him is about movement. Even an office where everyone was on their feet, like hers had been, wouldn’t have been enough for Percy Jackson, she thinks.

“What about you?” he asks. “How would you fair in an office?”  

“Been there, done that,” she says, before she can even think it through.

“Really?” She sees him scan her. Normally when he does that, he’s thinking of her without her clothes on, but now, she’s pretty sure he’s thinking of the ink that runs up and down her legs, and how that might all look forced into some sort of pencil skirt.

 "Once upon a time,” she says.

 “Was that before or after you decided to become an anarchist architect?”

Long after she decided to become an architect, but before anything about an anarchist crossed her mind, though her freshman Poli Sci professor, or maybe that sophomore philosophy TA, would probably argue that she isn’t actually an anarchist now. “Before,” she says. “I once tried to be very very different.” Tried and failed, oh so very spectacularly.

 “How so?”

She looks at him for a moment. There are layers of mystery that need to be upheld. But she can’t spill her life’s story to Percy after only a few weeks of knowing him, no matter how easy and disarming he may be. She isn’t that girl anymore, and she doesn’t want people to know she ever was. Especially not these people: Thalia, Percy, Nico, even Hazel, who she hasn’t properly met. She can see, standing here, how very genuine and clear they are about themselves. They probably have actual skeletons in their closets, real, agonizing pasts, so much worse than her own.

She doesn’t want them to know she had an honest to god debutante ball. Murder would be vastly preferable. But still, Percy’s eyes are so bright, even in the dark light. His smile is so non-judgmental.

“I used to dream about adding to the skyline,” she says, eventually, “designing something so cool and so fresh that even after I died, everyone would look up and they would know my name.” For a second she thinks he might actually understand. And then she remembers Kym, and his utter distaste for his own sister, whose friend had only managed to get into Bartlett. “But I realized that kind of ego wasn't going to do me any good. And office work wasn’t going to take me anywhere I wanted to go.”

That bruise to her ego still stings, on occasion. That, and the loss of the only thing she’d ever wanted as much as something permanent. They were separate dreams, really, but two years ago, in that little Upper East Side café, they had seemed like one and the same. Failing so spectacularly in one had felt like she might as well throw in the towel about the other.

Percy in blue lipstick, eye liner, and a very tight shirt makes her think it might have been the right choice.

Maybe.

Possibly.

Assuming she never got another call. Though after that award she and Leo got earlier this year…

No, she reminds herself. She shouldn’t dream big anymore. She wasn’t going to get there, and she had to be ok with that.

He smiles, lopsided, sympathetic. “I know what you mean. Like, after so many amazing dancers, you have to be crazy to think that you can add something to the canon, something that’s never been done before. But here we are.”

“Here we are indeed.” She clinks her glass against his, and they drink.

He finishes with a long gasp, licking his lips.

“Wanna go be somewhere else?” she asks.

“Damn right I do,” he says, grabbing her hand, lacing her fingers together with his.

An hour or so and a few orgasms each later, they lie side by side on Percy’s bed, soft and sweaty.

“So your sister is kind of… intense,” Annabeth says.

Percy snorts so hard, Annabeth can feel it vibrating into her. “Yeah. That’s a word for it.”

“What was it like, growing up with her?”

“Oh, I didn’t grow up with her. I grew up here with my mom; she grew up in Athens with our father.”

“In Athens? Cool.” She’d done a study abroad in Rome, but she’d never made it out to Athens like she had wanted. Too much Pantheon, not enough Parthenon. “Have you ever been?”

He screws up his face, thinking cutely. “A few times. They’re not… great memories, exactly. In retrospect, it’s nice that my dad wanted me to feel included, but bringing his mistress’ kid on the annual family vacation to Santorini probably wasn’t his brightest idea.”

Annabeth’s eyes shoot up to her hairline. “Wow.”

“Kym was actually always pretty cool about it,” he continues, thoughtfully. “She likes to pretend she’s this ice queen alpha bitch type, but she’s got a secret soft spot. And my dad’s wife eventually came around--she even sends me a birthday card each year. My half-brother, though.” Percy blows out a breath. “He’s always been a douchebag.”

Dropping a kiss to his bare shoulder, she squeezes him. There’s a story there, but she knows better than anyone about not wanting to talk about bad family relationships. Percy likes Kym, though, and that makes her safe territory. “Tell me more about Kym. You said she was some kind of art collector or something?”

“No, she’s not a collector.” Percy bites his lip, considering. “It’s kind of hard to explain. I guess you could say that she’s, like… a professional socialite?”

Annabeth sits up, squinting down at Percy. “Are you trying to tell me that your sister is a courtesan?”

He sputters, completely taken by surprise, choking on his inhale. After thirty seconds, Annabeth is afraid she’s going to have to try CPR, before Percy starts to calm down. “No,” he wheezes, coughing. “No, she’s not a courtesan.”

“So, what does a ‘professional socialite’ even do?”

“You know, she… socializes.” Percy waves a hand in front of him. “She goes to parties, meets people, facilitates meetings--she socializes.”

Annabeth frowns. “What does that even mean?”

“I literally don’t know how else to explain it to you.”

“What, is she a spy?”

He opens his mouth to argue, then pauses. “Not… technically.”

“Not technically?”

“Think more corporate, less political.”

Okay, now she’s even more confused. “Huh?”

Percy sighs. “My dad runs this big shipping company that does business all over the Mediterranean. Pretty much the whole family works for him in some way: Triton is some kind of assistant executive, and Kym and my step-mom do, you know, outreach or fundraising or whatever.”

She’s silent for a moment, collecting the information presented to her. “Is this some kind of mob thing?”

He grimaces. “Maybe we should change the subject.”

“Is your dad a mob boss, Percy?” Objectively, she knows that the mob is a terrible organization responsible for many different types of atrocities, but honestly, the idea is kind of exciting, Annabeth hooking up with the secret lovechild of a mob boss. It’s romantic and sexy in a film noir kind of way.

“No, he just--does some light smuggling. I think.”

“How does one engage in ‘light’ smuggling?”

“Okay, so his business is totally legitimate, but he may also smuggle art on the side. Or oil. Or both. I don’t know and I’ve been told never to ask.”

And she thought her family was weird. She tells him as much. “That’s wild.”

“Honestly? That’s not even the wildest thing about my family.”

She flops back down on the bed, already exhausted. “Percy, I don’t know how many more revelations about your mob family I can take.”

“They’re not part of the mob!” He laughs. “But,” he smirks, looming over her with a familiar desire, “I can neither confirm nor deny that I had to swear a blood oath to the family when I turned eighteen.”

Rolling her eyes, she still easily submits to the heady feeling of his lips on hers, tilting her head back as he travels down her neck. “Okay, I did not sign up for any Don Corleone bullshit.”

“But you’d make such a great mob wife. Though we would have to kill the rest of my immediate family.”

Annabeth giggles, only partly at the ticklish feeling of his lips between her breasts. “I’d help you kill your douchey half-brother any day.”

He glances up at her from her belly button, long lashes fluttering. “That is legitimately one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. Full disclosure, Thalia has already called dibs.”

“That’s fair.” Then she pushes his head down further. “Now get to work, Godfather.”

[halfincubus]

got tagged by @riosgoodgirll for this game like [checks notes] almost two weeks ago, sorry it’s super late but it got long because I ramble about ladies I like

rules: list 10 different female faves from 10 different fandoms, then tag 10 people 

under cut, because it really did get long

1.       Farscape – Aeryn Sun Where do I start with her? She is everything. She’s one of the earliest examples that I can remember seeing on tv of a strong female character that has trouble connecting to her emotions, while the male counterpart of her pairing is the one who wanted to talk about his feelings. She’s also a tough soldier for a dodgy race of militant space-humans (but not really humans) whose sole purpose in life is to fight and die, and through her relationship with her fellow shipmates, learns that there’s more to life than following orders and killing people. I just love her more than words can say. She definitely broke the mould.

 2.       True Blood – Jessica God, she’s so sweet. I love her character growth. She goes from this god-fearing teen girl, to spoilt, angry goth baby vamp, to total sweetheart with a serious vicious streak when it comes to protecting those she loves. Also she’s more beautiful than I have words for and I am so gay. Like, I could look at her for hours, wow what a face.

 3.       Buffy the vampire slayer – Buffy The OG strong female lead, the first of many in my life. Also one half of my first foray into enemies to lovers shipping – you never forget your first, as they say! I love her cheery wisecracks as she kicks vampire ass, the way she mimes staking, and her bouncy shampoo-commercial-hair

 4.       Harry Potter – Hermione I saw so much of myself in her when I was a young, frizzy-haired bookworm that I immediately identified with her, hard, and she’s left a permanent mark on my heart. I only liked her more as the series went on and more of her ‘flaws’ were layered onto her character, which really brought her to life in my mind. I say ‘flaws’ because I fucking love how vindictive she is and how much of a flaw is being intelligent enough to find dirt on people that you can blackmail them with, really? Especially if they’re sucky people. When she doesn’t like someone she absolutely destroys them, mad respect.

 5.       Penny Dreadful – Vanessa Ives I have a type, and she is it. Dark, brooding and with otherworldly good looks (I still remember Eva Green as the witch Serafina Pekkala the best) I still can’t recall her character without getting a pang in my chest. The show’s ending DID HER SO DIRTY but we won’t get into that, I’m just gonna talk about why she’s my fave, I promise. She is so mentally strong and yet simultaneously so fragile at the same time, I want to take care of her so bad. The Devil with a capital D has been trying to possess her all her life, and she is in constant mental battle against him, and she just never stopped trying (until the stupid finale but we aren’t talking about that!) and she’s so strong, I adore her. When she does a tarot card spread you can’t look away, her gaze is so piercing and haunting.

 6.       LOTR – Éowyn This is another one that got a strong hold of me in my formative years and shook me to my core. From the moment I read the ICONIC ‘what do you fear my lady?’ speech I was a fan for life. I strongly identified with her attitude to life (I, too, fear growing old and useless) and her totally boss moment against the Witch-King (more like BITCH king) made her my hero. Whenever I rewatch LOTR I have a stupid sappy expression on my face when she’s on screen.

 7.       The Walking Dead – Michonne Back when I watched this show, and when she graced our screens for the first time I was shaking with excitement. She had such an iconic look – the dreads, the bandana, the katana slung over her back. Her strong & silent archetype was something I was very into, and enjoyed watching. She just oozes cool. The only one on the show with the skills to use something other than a gun on a daily basis, so her kills were not only skillful but super stylish too! Oh and I really liked the vibe she had with Andrea – they should totally have been gfs but network tv are cowards

 8.       Killing Eve – Villanelle the inherent eroticism of a woman who is trying to kill you. I find assassins sexy, always have, don’t judge me. I really enjoy the fine line Jodie Comer straddles playing her as a sociopath with feelings that can get hurt. Also the chemissssstry with Eve is *chefs kiss*

 9.       Lirael – Lirael She spends her entire life up until early young adulthood feeling out of place and wondering why she doesn’t belong, and I just want to hug her. She is so lonely that she teaches herself a spell to MAKE HER OWN DOG (which is 100% relatable tbh) and then she and the dog strike out on their own adventure, which is super cute and heart warming to me. She’s so shy and withdrawn at first but then she really grows into herself with time, and teaches herself to be more confident in her own abilities, despite the fact that these don’t necessarily match up with the powers she has dreamed of her whole life.

 10.   GLOW – the whole cast Ok so it’s cheating a bit but how can you choose one favourite woman from that whole cast? Everyone is amazing and has their own strengths and character flaws, their own little quirks… it’s such good writing, real shame the show was cancelled (another ‘rona casualty)

and I’ll tag anyone who sees this and wants to do this because I can’t think of 10 whole people lol

[midnightmarev]

Just To Pet My Dog?!

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Pre-Moxiety

Word count: 2285

AO3 link

Notes: Based off of an incorrect quote by @ssslimyboy

Summary: Whatever Virgil had imagined would happen today, it most certainly wasn’t this! This man nearly died, just to pet his dog! Like, what? Okay, let’s rewind the day a bit to see what actually happened, shall we?

Just To Pet My Dog?!

“Alright, Ann. It’s 4:30. We gotta head out now if we don’t wanna be late for the vet’s.” A whine was heard. Virgil chuckled. Anastacia really didn’t want to go the vet. Virgil couldn’t really blame her. He himself never liked going to the doctor’s office either.

“Wruff!”

“I know, Ann. But it’s just a check-up,” he said, finding the leash as well as some of Anastacia’s favourite treats. She starts wagging her tail when she catches their smell. She was a beautiful albino German Shepherd, and he’d had her since she was a pup.

After another minute of dosing her with love, they were out of the door. It took about 15 minutes to get to the clinic, and their appointment was at 5 pm, so they would have some time to spare once they got there.

They were walking peacefully down the street when Virgil was abruptly pulled out of his thoughts at the sounds of tires screeching. Virgil looked up and saw a bespectacled man with curly honey-brown coloured hair. And he was crossing the road at what one would call superspeed without a care for his life. All Virgil could do was stand there and stare. What the actual hell was going through that man’s head?! The road was heavily trafficked this time of the day with people just wanting to get home from work.

Virgil visibly winched when a bus nearly hit him. Luckily the bus driver stopped just in time to not hit him. What was this guy thinking?!

Oh no! A car! Virgil stands there in silent terror and anxiety, praying to any and all deity that the man stops before he’s run over. He doesn’t, but the car does, and he slides across the hood. And a second. And third. And suddenly he’s standing on the pavement in front of Virgil, out of breath. But he’s smiling like a goofball? He seems super excited. Why?

“Oh my gosh!! Can I please pet your dog??” he asked, looking like he had to physically restrain himself from attacking Anastacia with love and pets and cuddles.

The question catches Virgil entirely off guard. What?

Anastacia also seems baffled. Humans were weird, but she never thought they would want to risk dying just to pet her.

“Um… sure?” Virgil hesitantly answered. And the man began to pet Anastacia, who gladly, but very confused, accepted the soft strokes to her fur.

“Did you just- did you nearly get hit by a bus and slide across the hood of three cars just to pet my dog?” Virgil asked incredulously after he broke out of his stupor.

The man giggled while petting Anastacia and getting concerned face licks from her. “Obviously.”

Now, Virgil wasn’t really the type to fall for people just like that, but the only thought that crossed his mind after that response was ‘is this love?’ and Virgil was in a daze. Here was someone who risked his life to say hi to Anastacia, because he thought she was the most important being in the world. Just like Virgil did.

All Virgil did for the next two minutes was stare at the man. The man who nearly got himself killed to pet Anastacia. The man who almost died and was now cooing at Anastacia like nothing had happened. The man who now casually told Virgil his name. “I’m Patton, by the way.”

And instead of answering Patton politely with his own name all Virgil could say was “You could’ve died! Are you out of your mind?!” And Virgil, anxious, awkward Virgil, internally facepalmed at his own words.

“Hmm?” Patton looked up at Virgil, eyes widening. “Oh my, I’m terribly sorry for distressing you! I can be a bit impulsive at times,” Patton sheepishly admitted. “And I’ve never seen a white German Sheperd before, and I kinda let my impulsiveness take over.” He looked down to Anastacia again, emphasising it by scratching her behind the left ear. He looked very guilty. That would not do.

“Uhm, I get that. Not many have. Well, she’s not just white, she’s albino. And albino German Shepherds are rare, to say the least.” Virgil scratched his neck, not knowing what to say next. “Where were you headed?” he then asked, feeling extremely awkward.

“Nowhere in particular, really. Just needed to clear my head. Had a small argument with my brother.” Patton looked, and sounded, sad at that. Why did Virgil always screw things up? Patton had been in a good mood for getting to meet Ann, and now Virgil made him think about something bad that happened to him. Stupid Virgil.

“I- I’m sorry to hear that. But that happens sometimes, right? Between siblings?” Virgil asked, trying to help. He didn’t have any siblings, so he didn’t really know the feeling. And he never spoke to his parents. They had basically disowned him at this point. But that wasn’t the same as having an argument with someone you loved and who loved you back.

Patton nodded. “I suppose. It’s just not often it happens, but it’s too often for my taste. I hate fighting with him,” Patton said, just as sadly. “But enough about me!” His cheery smile was back. “Where are you two cuties headed? Maybe I can join you?”

“Uhm, we’re just going to the vet for a check-up. But uh, sure?” Virgil stammered out, still trying to process the innocent nickname.

“A check-up? Has she been sick?” Patton asked worriedly. They started walking together.

“No no, she hasn’t. It’s just standard procedure with albino dogs. They just need to make sure her immune system is alright, and no genetic errors have popped up, or something like that. Anastacia’s as healthy as can be.”

Anastacia whined at the mention of them going to the vet. Strangers groping on her body was not her pack of treats.

Patton chuckled. “Sounds like someone doesn’t want to go, though. And that’s such a beautiful name! Anastacia.”

“Yeah, she’s been complaining a lot today because of it,” he smiled down at her. She responded by looking up at him, innocently. Their interaction made Patton giggle, and oh if that wasn’t the most beautiful sound Virgil had ever heard.

“Well, I don’t blame her. Going to the vet isn’t the most fun thing to do with your afternoon. You know? If it’s the vet just down here, you might be lucky, Anastacia. My old friend, Logan, works there, and there is no one as gentle as him!” Patton happily exclaimed, bending down to her to scratch behind her ear.

“Really? Do you think you would be able to make him do the check-up? She’s not very comfortable with most people, and last time she bit the vet we ended up with…” Virgil trailed off, remembering the day. He was very picky with who got to examine Ann, and they went through several vets before ending with the one she bit.

“Really? Patton asked, looking down at Ann, who purposely avoided looking at him. “So she chooses who get to examine her, or what?” Patton enquired.

“… and I’m also really “picky” with who is allowed to examine her,” Virgil sheepishly admitted.

“As you should be. She deserves only the best and most caring hands to do the examination!”

Virgil was glad he wasn’t the only one who thought her a treasure to the world. She was his emotional support animal and had helped him get through some of his roughest times and a lot of panic attacks. He would only accept the best for her.

Before they knew it, they were at the clinic. Virgil sat with Ann next to him while Patton was talking to the receptionist about getting Logan to do the examination. They had arrived ten minutes before the check-up, so they had some time to themselves while waiting.

Patton and Virgil held a light conversation, talking about anything and everything. They really hit it off.

“Anastacia?” someone asked. Virgil looked up to see a man dressed in the usual vet attire. He had a tie around his neck, making him look even more professional than any of the other vets. He had glasses on, similar to Patton’s, and black hair slicked back.

“That’s us,” Virgil answered. He encouraged Ann to stand up and say hello. He really hoped this Logan was to her liking. It seemed so.

“Salutations. Please, follow me,” the vet, Logan, said, motioning them towards a room down the hall. “In here, if you will.”

Virgil nodded. He went inside the examination room with Ann following on his heel.

The human vet the nice, but crazy, human had introduced her to was not so bad. She still didn’t like it here though, and would much rather go home.

“Patton told me she bit the last veterinarian to examine her?” Logan inquired.

Virgil looked a bit sheepish. “Yeah, she’s not all that crazy about going to the vet, even if it’s only a check-up.”

“I see,” Logan mumbled. He then went to a basket to search for something. When he emerged, he had a plushie in hand. “Here, this should help her with what I assume is her anxiety.” He handed the plushie to Ann. “It has helped my own canine companion a great deal.”

Virgil watched as Anastacia cautiously sniffed the plushie before slowly taking it, accepting coordinated and gentle strokes to her fur by skilled hands. No other vet had ever been like this with her. He faintly smiled.

“Now, if you will guide her to lie here?”

The examination went well. She was calm all throughout and not once did she growl at Logan. When the examination was over, Logan declared that she was much healthier than most dogs her age.

During the examination, Virgil learned that Logan had a husky named Laylin, but whose pet name was Star. He learned that Patton and his brother, Dee, were really close and it hurt Patton a lot on the rare occasions they fought. He also learned that Patton was very much gay and very much single. And he was waiting for Virgil and Anastacia.

“Salutations, Patton,” Logan greeted when he recognised Patton, sitting and waiting for Virgil.

“Heya, Lo! How did it go?” he asked. He looked genuinely worried. It was sweet. He already had formed some sort of connection to both man and dog.

“Anastacia is as healthy as a dog her age should be. It’s not many dogs that have the optimal health, but it seems like you are excellent at keeping her at peak health,” Logan said, the last part directed towards Virgil.

“Ooh, that’s good to hear! OH! Maybe we could set up a playdate so that she and Star can meet each other! And Nini could join too! She’s Dee’s snake! She’s sooo cute!! They would love each other!” Patton exclaimed, making some of the other patients look at him with various expressions; pet and owner alike.

Virgil and Logan chuckled at Patton’s antics. “You know, it would be good for Anastacia to interacts with other dogs, and to have a healthy experience with animals that aren’t dogs,” Logan pondered to Virgil. He already knew Patton would win. Nobody could resist his puppy dog eyes, and once he’d made up his mind, there was nothing that could deter him.

“Why not. My friend, Roman, is always on my ass about me having to leave the house more,” Virgil shrugged. They seemed like kind people, and his anxiety wasn’t telling him not to.

“Language!” Patton scolded him. Virgil was so surprised he first stood with his mouth open like a goldfish before bursting out laughing. “What? There are innocent ears here!”

When Virgil’s laugh died down to a giggle and had gotten a hold of his breath again, he looked incredulously at Patton. “You just do that? Scold people for their language? At the vet’s?” Virgil giggled.

Logan leaned over. “You’ll get used to that. And no, not just here. Anywhere,” he stage-whispered.

They laughed with each other before exchanging numbers. Logan had to get back to work, and Virgil urged Patton to go back and clear things up with his brother. Virgil could see the strain in Patton’s smile and the pain in his eyes.

Patton insisted on following him and Anastacia home, though. “Just to make sure no one else tries to cross the busy road to pet her,” he joked, bumping his shoulder into Virgil’s.

They said their farewells at the door, Patton declining the invitation to come inside for a glass of water. He needed to get back to Dee and Nini. Patton gave Virgil a small hug instead, saying thank you for being allowed to befriend Anastacia as well as being a well-needed distraction from his thoughts.

After Patton had left, Virgil gave Anastacia some of the promised treats for being so docile with Logan, before letting her trot into the living room and jump onto the couch. She was proud of herself. She had singlepawedly made sure her human got new friends. And a love interest. Dogs above knew he needed love from another human. And if she got new animal friends out of it, who was she to complain?

Virgil sat next to her, scratched her behind the ear, and grabbed his phone from his pocket. He was so going to text Roman about his crazy day. He wrote a short message saying he so needed to talk face-to-face because his day had been beyond absurd. Before he pressed send, he looked at Anastacia, smiled, and thought about Patton’s smile and adorable giggle. Only one thought occupied his mind. Ann looked at him and voiced it:

“Yeah, this is love.”

[writteninsunshine]

I Pretend It Doesn’t Bother Me - Owl/Azuma Genkaku - SFW

Title: I Pretend It Doesn’t Bother Me Author: Donnie and Autumn Fandom: Deadman Wonderland Setting: Infirmary at Deadman Wonderland, Übermusic Pairing: Owl/Azuma Genkaku Characters: Azuma Genkaku, Tamaki Tsunenaga, Owl, Nagi Kengamine, Nagi’s Wife Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Romance Rating: T Chapters: 1/1 Word Count: 766 Type of Work: One-Shot, Prelude to Reincarnal Status: Complete Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, Reincarnation, Removal From Life Support, Tamaki is an ass, Owl and Nagi are separate people, Akari is Nagi’s wife, Genkaku has Anemia, AU - Canon Divergent Disclaimer: I don’t own anything. Summary: Genkaku didn’t know which way was up, but he did know he shouldn’t have woken up from that. AN: So, this is the first little bit, kind of a prelude into a series that I’m writing with input/editing exclusively done by my friend Maidenofchains! I got her into Deadman Wonderland and we were both wounded so we’re fixing it. This one will be kind of short and sweet, to the point, even if it’s a bit bitter-sweet. I hope it kind of leads into what we want to do with the series when it gets going a bit more.

Deadman Wonderland Fic Masterlist I Pretend It Doesn’t Bother Me ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ That damn beeping always seemed to be in the background of whatever he was doing. It was honestly driving him up a wall, but he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed what he was doing these days. Perusing through Übermusic, something he most definitely could agree with, seemed to be most of what he did lately. Occasionally, a man would slide up behind him, kiss his neck and gruff something soft in his ear. It felt both familiar and foreign in the same breath, but he wasn’t really complaining. He felt safe in this man’s arms, like he belonged there. A clowder of cats frequented the shop, happy to come to rub on his legs or accept ear scratches, and life seemed… Good. Too good, almost.

A muted conversation, as if he heard it through a wall or a door, happened somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice he recognized but couldn’t quite grasp the identity of its user. As he had been about to pick up a particularly vocal kitten, yelling for attention or treats, surely, the world seemed to drop around him and his eyes shot open to see a white ceiling speckled with gray above him. That stupid, long face with a sadistic twist to the smile stood over him, peering at his gray eyes and clapping when he noted Genkaku was awake. “It’s about time, Genkaku.” Tamaki told him, that usual cheery tone to his words, “We’ve been trying to wake you for a few days.” Had he been able to, Genkaku would have raised his hand and smacked him right out of his space. Instead, he was strapped down, and upon watching him struggle, Tamaki chuckled. “Sorry, it’s for your own good. You were pretty well in pieces when we scraped you off the floor.” Tutting as he shook his head, he walked two fingers up the veritably numb left arm of the Ubermonk, stopping at his cheek and to give him a gentle caress. “I’m afraid you’re not going to be of much use to me anymore.” Not to mention that there had been a pretty intense jailbreak after The Undertaker’s failure to stop Scar Chain entirely. “So,” Genkaku’s voice cracked from misuse, his throat dry as he peeked to the bedside table to see if there was water, “Why am I awake?” There wasn’t, but it wasn’t like Tamaki would give him a drink without drowning him. “I thought it was best to tell you that you’ve been fired. That way you don’t question anything in death.” “Dea--” “Yes, sadly, that’s all we can afford to do with you. With Wonderland,” My game, “Coming to an end, it seems that keeping you on life support is just costing us too much money. So… I guess I just wanted to tell you…” He leaned over to the main plug on all of the equipment hooked up to the ex-Undertaker, “Game over.” With that, the plug was pulled and the last thing Genkaku remembered as he convulsed in the uncomfortable hospital bed was the intense shriek of the heart rate monitor. What felt like an eternity later, he was pulled back into the world, sunlight spilling in through the large picture windows of the store he remembered never actually being in. He lay mostly on the floor and somewhat in the arms of a man speaking above him, who hugged him the second his eyes fluttered open. “Don’t you ever do that to me, again.” The voice spoke, lips pressed to the shell of his ear, “Scared me half to death.” “Better not get that scared again, then, Owl, or we’ll be down the best bounty hunter in Tokyo.” For a minute, none of these details sounded right. Brain swimming as it caught up to what was happening, he simply hugged the other slowly, carefully turning in his arms. “What happened?” “I came in during your lunch break.” Owl informed him easily, “And then you just… Collapsed.” Holding him that much tighter, Owl kissed his sweaty forehead and he sighed, “It’s probably time for you to eat, isn’t it? I bet that’s what happened. When was the last time you ate?” Genkaku had no better explanation, his life swimming into view of his mind’s eye as he nodded. “Food sounds good. We should go to Nagi and Akari’s place.” He offered lamely, to which Owl rose a brow. “You’re going to walk that far after fainting?” The grin on Genkaku’s lips told him that the answer was a resounding ‘yes’. “I’m probably fine. I just need to get food in me. If you have to, you can always carry me.” He purred, nuzzling the elder man’s chest. After a few seconds of debating, Owl sighed and nodded. “Let’s go get you fed, then.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ AN: Alrightyo, we have that done finally! I’ve been somewhat procrastinating for a day or so, but I’m pretty happy with how this came out. I hope you guys are ready for this big AU, this is only the first part. I hope you enjoyed it!

[minnuet-archive]

I’m Sorry, Logan

(I'm not talking about Logan Sanders, but I do have a character named Logan that’s based loosely off of him. TW: Suicide)

I wake up to my alarm blaring in my ears. My eyelids refuse to lift and the world is a blurry mess.  I stumbled into my uniform, the alarm still blaring.  Eventually my patience ran out and I shut off the alarm. My backpack is lying in the corner and I shove it on. I grab a granola bar from the pantry and run to the school bus that’s already parked outside.  

I jump into the bus. I walk down the aisle and all of the noise, ranging from random conversation to yelling and fighting, fill my ears and overwhelm my mind. I almost want to plug my ears, but someone’s bound to take offense. As I sit down in a seat next to the seemingly quietest kids, the horrible stench of  7 year old raisins with a generous side of sweaty gym socks permeates my nose.  I hate the bus. I decide to try to space out.

When I arrive at the school, I went into the girl’s bathroom and wait until everyone had left the bathroom. I look really weird waiting for people to leave, and I kind of care. I kind of don’t though. Once everyone had gone, I slipped out of my catholic school uniform skirt and into pants.

My mother had refused to get me anything but the “girl’s” uniform which consisted of a tight, long skirt and a blouse. I hear the bell and run to class. I burst into the classroom and slide into my seat directly after my name is called.

“Late.” I  groan and get out my homework. Why must it be me?

Vanessa and her friends snicker across the classroom. “Hey look, the plant’s here.”

My ears burned and I clenched my teeth. Those assholes. I’m not a plant. “My name’s El-” My eyes widen as I catch myself. “-Ellie.”

Vanessa gasps overdramatically and then says, “It can talk?!”

I don’t respond and give her what she wants, but it takes all of my strength not to. God, how am I so stupid? I don’t care if I’m using the Lord’s name in vain. I already let them know I was asexual! And if I let it slip? My name’s Elliott. I could just imagine the crap they’d do and say to me. What would I tell them? Oh yeah, by the way, I’m pangender. That would totally work.

I take deep breaths. I look at the teacher and zoning out is easy for me. The lunch bell rings after a while and I walk towards the courtyard, finding one of the trees in the corner that no one ever sat by. It’s kind of sad and droopy, just like me.

“Hey Elliott!” I flinch at the noise. He smiles and sits down next to me.

I relax and say, “Hey Logan. How was the class?”

“How was class? Class was bull crap,” I crack a smile and when I do, he adds “as always. I love how you did your hair today. It’s pretty.”

As I eat my brought-from-home lunch, I look at him and blush. He’s way too cute. I now turn even redder and look away as I shove my sandwich farther into my mouth. Too far. The lunch bell rings after a few minutes. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow Logan. Bye!”

He high fives me and starts walking towards his classroom. I walk towards mine. After Mr. Simon takes role call and I answer one question, I figure I’m safe and promptly space out for the rest of the day.

The bell rings and right as I’m about to walk out of the door, I heard Mr. Simon say, “Eleanor, may I speak to you?” A collective ‘oooh, you’re in trouble’ type sound comes from what’s remaining of the class as I walk up to his desk.

“Can I help you Mr. Simon?”

“Do you remember the dress code guidelines we went over at the beginning of the year?”

I start to panic. “Uh, yeah.”

“Then you remember that girls are to wear skirts and a blouse and that boys are to wear a button down and pants.”

I mutter that I might remember something like that. “Why can’t I wear pants? I’m not wearing anything completely out of school uniform.”

“Yes, but we have a strict dress code and you, as a girl,” I flinch at the word girl. Of course, I can’t correct him. “are to wear a skirt. If you come to school tomorrow wearing pants, I’ll have you change back into a skirt, confiscate the pants, and then call your parents.”

I nodded my head as if I understand, which I don’t, and then walk out of the classroom. I know he hates me, but I had no clue he would go to these lengths to get me in trouble. I really don’t want to wear a skirt and that was only the first time I wore pants. On the other hand, I don’t want them to get taken away because I had to save up for months to get them and I don’t want to have to deal with my parents.

As I walk home, I approach the entrance to the Golden Gate Bridge and smile. It’s so beautiful. Late afternoon fog is quite unusual this time of year and most people don’t like it, but I’m secretly happy about it. Walking the bridge is a really nice way to clear your mind in the morning. The breeze makes my clothes flow in the wind. The smell of salt water in the air fills my nose as I approach one end of the bridge.  

I start to cross the bridge and into the fog. It’s peaceful and the moist air feels cool and nice against my skin.

After around 45 minutes, I come out on the other side of the bridge. I continue to walk towards my house.

I can’t wait to lay down on the couch and not worry about homework.  Not because I finished it, but because I’m a procrastinator.

I turn down my street and see my house. As I approach it, I realize that my house has been egged. I see a note on the door and run up and grab it. Leave our school, you faggot. You don’t belong here.

Vanessa, her boyfriend, and their asshole friends were right about the last part. I don’t belong here. I wish I could leave, but it isn’t exactly possible. I rip up the note and look up at the eggs that are covering my home.

Ugh, I don’t want to clean this up… but my parents will ask why it happened if I don’t. Plus, they’ll make me do it anyway. I sigh as I slowly walk inside to grab a mop and some other cleaning supplies.

I open the closet door and grab everything I think I might need. I’ve never cleaned up eggs, so I’m just guessing.

I walk back outside and start to wipe the door with a random rag that I found. Once I finish cleaning everything that I can reach from the ground, I place all my supplies on the roof overhang. I awkwardly climb onto the overhang. P

I got on my knees shakily and started to clean the roof. Damn, could these kids throw. It takes what seems like years, but was really a couple hours to finish cleaning the house.

I take a risk and jump from the overhang. I didn’t break any bones! Yay!  I grab all the cleaning supplies and shove them in a closet as I walk to my room. I get changed into some paint stained jeans and a band t-shirt that my parents begrudgingly bought me for Christmas.

I walk back out and throw myself on the couch. I log into an app that’s similar to tumblr except not as widely known. It has less asshole-ish people. I open a chat with one of my best friends,  AchillesWasTheOriginalGay™ also known as Bentley or Ben. Sometimes I call him Benjamin because he hates when people assume his name.

Me: What’s up, Benjamin?

He responds almost immediately.

Ben: You’re an ass. But not much. You?

Me: House got egged. Assholes at school.

Ben: Oof that sucks, dude.

Ben: Hey I gtg do homework. Talk later?

Me: Sure.

I turn off my phone and put it down. I hear my mom pull up so I sit up and take out my school binder. I place my homework from yesterday in front of me so I look like I’ve been doing homework since the second I got home.

Directly after I finished setting up my fake homework station, she walked in. “Hey, mom!” No, too cheery. Calm down.

She smiles happily, “Hi, Ellie!” I cringe at my old name, but she didn’t seem to notice my overly excited greeting. “How was your day?” My little sister, Adia follows her in and then runs to our room.

I consider telling her that it wasn’t great for a second but decide against it, because she’d just ask questions. “It was good. Yours?”

“It was fine. Busy as always.” I give her a knowing nod and then I see her smile slowly fade. I tilt my head in confusion. “What did I tell you about those jeans? You can only wear them when you’re painting. They’re disgusting and baggy. Wear some nice tights next time.”

I roll my eyes and she scoffs as she walks into the kitchen. She puts her bags down. Adia runs back out of our room with a stuffed animal in her hands and she sits down next to me.

“Hi Adia. Did you have fun at school today?”

”Yeah!! I played with Sammy.”

“That’s fun.” She smiles proudly as if having a friend was something to be proud of, which in my case, is true, but in her case, not so much. She has lots of friends.

I’m contemplating this when I hear my mom start to reheat leftovers from last night. She slaps all of the food on three plates and we trudge over to the table and sit down.

My mom turns on the T.V. and we watch a sitcom as we shovel food into our faces. Eventually, the episode ends. We're too lazy to change the channel, so we leave it.

My mom is seated facing the screen and I watch her chuckle. I turn to the T.V. and freeze. It's a pride parade. All of a sudden I hear Adia’s excited voice.

“Ooooh! Rainbows!” I look at her and smile a little bit. She doesn’t even know. Sometimes I wish I don’t know about LGBTQ+.

“Those rainbows are for gay people.” My mom says gay as if it’s the worst thing you can be.

Mom continues, “You don’t want to be gay. Being gay is bad. You’ll go to hell if you’re gay.”

Now she just looked confused. “Why is it bad?”

“Because a man is supposed to be with a woman. That’s how God created us.” Mom says.

I finish eating my food as fast as I can to escape this horrible conversation and then interrupt. “Can I be excused? I’m getting tired.”

Before my mom can respond, my father swings open the front door.

This time, it’s not just me who’s frozen. He’s holding a beer bottle. His tie is loose. The top button of his shirt is unbuttoned and it’s stained.

What makes it most obvious that it’s happened again is his eyes. They’re huge. And not in the caring way.

He smiles goofily and stares at Adia and I. “No hug? No ‘Hi daddy!’ or ‘Thanks for working your ASS off every day to provide for us’ ?”

My first instinct is to pull Adia closer to me and step one foot in front of her. My second instinct is to throw something at him so we can all run.

I hold back. Mom’s too close to dad. She would never be able to run away in time. He could hit her. Even break a bottle over her head and kill her. She’s not a good person, but she doesn’t deserve that.

“Go. To your rooms. Now.” I turn to my mom in utter surprise.

“But mom-“

“GO. NOW.”

I grab Adia and make sure she’s safe and locked in her room before running to mine. I press my ear against the door because I might be able to get an idea of what’s happening. I can’t hear anything.

I slump down and hang my head in my hands. Holy christ, what is wrong with my family?? Why doesn’t she just kick him out when he’s hungover? Why don’t WE leave?

I can't deal with this.

I'm sobbing now. I clench my teeth to trap the noise in my mouth.

Over the course of a few minutes, I draw myself up onto my knees and then stand up, walking over to sit down at my desk and start to scribble words that seem right on a paper. After a minute of writing, I reread it. It's not good enough. I crumple up the piece of paper and throw it in the trash.

I hug my knees tightly, trying not to make any form of sound. My breathing slows back to normal the longer to sit there and I grab another piece of paper. I start to write once again, this time neater.

I wake up the same way as yesterday. I put on my pants and blouse. I don’t care if Mr. Simon tries to force me to wear a skirt. I’m not taking any bullcrap on my last day of school. And life.

I walk onto the bus and don’t even pay any attention to the kids that are already on it. I hear a kid yell “Get off, dyke!” and I resist flipping him off… well, I try to resist flipping him off.

   I take my time walking into the classroom and I sit next to Logan. A kid comes up to me.

“You’re sitting in my seat.”

“Yeah. I know. My seat’s over there. Feel free to take it.” He looks as if he’s about to say something more, but he turns to walk towards my actual seat.

   Logan looks at me. I wonder if he knows something off. That taking some other kid’s seat isn’t something I’d normally do.

   If he notices, he doesn’t mention it. “Hey. How was your day?” He laughs and then adds, “Holy crap that was such a mom question.”

   I snort and answer, “Oh my god, you’re right. But it was good. I’m tired as heck though.”

   “No kidding.” I grin at him as Mr. Simon looks at us again. I don’t really pay attention in math. I just talk to Logan. It’s relaxing to not have to care. To not have to worry about the consequences to my actions.

   When we walk to lunch, I start complaining to Logan about how much of the day we have left.

   “Uhh, you know that we have an early day, right?”

   “Oh! I do now.” He chuckles and smiles. I feel my cheeks get a little bit warm. He starts to talk about some fandom of his and I try my hardest to pay attention.

   I don’t really know what triggers this, although I have an idea, but I realize something. I’ve never kissed someone. Ok, this needs to change. Dying a virgin is one thing, but never having kissed someone? That’s a whole other level of sad. I feel weird thinking this, but I know exactly who I want to be my first and last kiss.

   He’s about to start another thought, but I interrupt him. I don’t care. “You’re amazing.”

   He looks at me as if I said the strangest thing that could possible said. “I mean it. You’re always there for me and you talk to me about things we like. I feel I don’t thank you enough for that.”

   He still looks weirded out but smiles warmly. “Right back at you,” he responds as he fidgets with his hands and looks down at his shoes. I gesture for him to continue and, without hesitation, he does.

   Logan sighs and packs up his lunch as the bell rings.

“Hey, will you walk home with me? I know you normally hang out here for a while but I want to talk to you.” I know this is a risk.

   Just like before, he doesn’t say anything, but now I’m sure that we both know something’s wrong. “Yeah, of course.”

   We grab our stuff and we start walking. He starts walking faster and gets ahead. This is not acceptable.

   I break into a full sprint and he starts to chase me. We’re laughing so hard we can barely breathe. When we reach the bridge, were both out of breath. We bend over and start panting like dogs on a hot day.

   I break into a full sprint and he starts to chase me. We're laughing so hard we can barely breathe. When we reach the bridge, were both out of breath. We bend over and start panting like dogs on a hot day.

I stand up straight again and look at him. His face is glowing and his brown eyes are big and happy. He runs his hand through his slicked back (with both gel and sweat) hair and adjusts his glasses. He even tightens his tie. What a dork.

I know this is the moment. I move closer to him and pull his tie towards me with one arm and put the other around him as I kiss him.

The salty air blows through my hair and I feel on top of the world. After a couple of seconds, I step away. He looks confused. He wasn't ok with it. Oh god, what have I done? I'm about to keep running down the bridge when he hugs me.

This time, I'm the unprepared one. After a minute, he lets go and slides his hand into mine. We continue walking across the bridge. There's nothing we need to say and it feels amazing.

We don't have to explain ourselves. We can just walk quietly together. And it's not awkward.

   My happiness fades away as I realize this is the first and last time I’ll be able to do this. I couldn’t change my mind if I wanted to. I already taped the note on to his backpack when he hugged me. This has to be the last time. Nothing good can last forever. Nothing can last forever.

   We reach the other side. “Goodbye, Logan.”

   He laughs. “You say it like this is the last time I’ll ever see you. This is just goodbye for now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

   I feel my heart shatter a little bit more than it already had but I cover it up with a soft smile. “Yeah. It’s just goodbye for now.” He leans in and kisses my cheek and then whirls around.

   He starts to walk towards his house. I turn towards the water.

Tears spill silently down my face. I put my hand over my mouth to muffle my sobs. I want to run to Logan and scream his name, but I can’t. This has to be done alone.

I lift one foot onto the railing and then the other. This is it.

One last tear slips down my face as I whisper raspily, “I’m sorry, Logan.” I know it will be peaceful. A quiet ending. Not that I deserve one, but I guess it’s a favor to myself. I let go of the pole that I had been holding onto.

And then I’m falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Gone.

[namorres]

target.

pairing | derek morgan x reader

word count | 2417

warnings | none yet. (i’m sorry).

part one | part two | part three | part four

criminal minds masterlist

|

Pulling himself up from the bed, he smiled as her hand slid away from his chest and he walked downstairs. Clooney greeted him at the base of the stairs and he gave a quick scratch to the dog’s ears before looking back up at the door.

It was closed.

|

His eyebrows furrowed, and he looked around the house, his hand resting on the holster of his gun. He looked around the hallway, then walked quietly into the kitchen. Nothing had been touched or otherwise disturbed, and a sudden fear grasped at his heart. “Baby?”

“Yeah?” She called back from their bedroom.

“Nevermind, baby girl,” Derek looked around the rest of the first floor, cautious as ever, then walked slowly back up the stairs. As he stepped back into the bedroom, he made eye contact with y/n, relief suddenly flowing back through his body. “Is there, uh,” he cleared his throat, “is there any wind out there tonight?”

She furrowed her eyebrows, “You would be the one to know, babe. You were just out there.”

He shook his head, pulling his phone from his pocket and checking the weather. No wind, not even the slightest bit. “What the hell?”

“What’s up?”

“Did you close the door?” He knew the question was ridiculous – she couldn’t teleport from the bedroom to the front door, and she didn’t walk down there with him.

“What? No, I was up here,” she raised a shirt, “folding clothes?”

“When I came in, the door was open,” he looked at her, “when I went back down there, the door was closed.”

She laughed a little, a breathy giggle that, given any other situation, would’ve put him at ease, “Derek, sweetheart, you probably closed the door when you walked in. Everything’s okay.”

Blinking, he nodded, smiling and laughing at himself a little, “Yeah, yeah. You’re right. Need anymore help?”

She pointed to the closet, “Hangers, if you would.”

He walked into the closet, grabbing what he felt was enough, then walked back into the bedroom. As Derek set the hangers down on the bed, he took that time to unbuckle his belt and get comfortable, setting his gun on the bedside table before helping with the laundry. They talked about the other parts of their day, including Kyra’s forever struggling relationship, Hotch and JJ’s sons, and then later about what kind of movies they were going to watch.

Just as she handed him the last t-shirt, which was his, she smiled up at him and sighed, “You know that one is, like, definitely one of my favorites on you.”

“Really, now?” He raised an eyebrow, giving her a smirk.

“Really,” she laughed, “first, it was the shirt I met you in. Second, red is a hell of a color on you. Third, it’s super comfortable and so easy to steal.”

“You remember the shirt you met me in?” He held the cloth in his hands, making a subconscious note to wear it more often.

“Uh, yeah,” she said, like it was obvious, “I remember a lot of random things like that. Like, for instance, whenever you used to completely shave all of your facial hair off, simply because you couldn’t stop thinking about the one time I said it was scratchy. Also, those pants with the pockets on the thigh, you love those – you wear them twice a week, and I think it’s because you like having your phone on your leg.”

He listened to her speak as he changed into more comfortable clothes, and when she finished, Derek blinked, his head coming back just a bit as a surprised smile filled his face, “Wow. Remind me not to pick a fight with you, beautifull. Don’t know what typ’a dirt you got on me.”

She laughed, walking into the bathroom and kissing his cheek, “You have no idea, Agent Morgan.”

They both laughed and she walked into the closet after he walked out, changing into her pajamas. She heard Derek let out a whistle before he placed a kiss on her bare shoulder, “What did I do to deserve someone like you, baby?”

“I have no idea, man,” she shrugged, “definitely wasn’t somethin’ good.”

“Damn,” he whispered, “okay. Okay.”

She laughed, grabbing the red shirt off the rack and slipping it over her head. Turning, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, “Now, how about that movie?”

Derek nodded, placing one last, rather slow kiss on her lips before turning so that she could walk in front of him. They went downstairs, her walking into the kitchen, and him walking into the living room. “What kinda movie you wanna watch?”

She hummed in thought, “I dunno. You pick.”

He turned, looking at her back as she moved around, “You sure about that, beautiful?”

“Positive,” she smiled, turning towards him, “just don’t put on 42 again. We’ve watched it at least six times within the last three months. I know the scenes by heart, now.”

He put his hands up, “Okay, okay, no 42. How ‘bout… Imitation Game?”

She let out an ooh, “Interesting. What’s it about?”

“This mathematician works on this thing called Enigma, a Nazi code, but he’s completely disgraced ‘cause he’s gay,” Derek said, nodding and turning. “What’cha think?”

“Sounds good to me,” she nodded, “popcorn?”

“Yeah,” he set down the remote and shuffled out from between the table and couch, “I’ll go get some blankets.”

As he left the area, he heard the door, then the beeps of the microwave as Y/n put their snack in. The smell of popcorn filled the house as Derek grabbed the blankets, taking only a moment to fix everything in the closet before closing it and walking back into the living room. He threw them onto the couch, looking up into the kitchen to see that Y/n wasn’t there. He raised his eyebrows and looked around, “Babe?”

There was no response from anywhere in the house, so Derek called again, “Y/n?”

When his words were left hanging in the air, Derek rushed into the hallway, checking the bathroom, then the laundry room. The thuds of his feet and the beat of his heart were the only things he could hear, and it was terrifying. She wasn’t anywhere.

He ran upstairs, checking each room up there, and coming up empty, before running back down to the kitchen. Just as he got down there, his phone vibrated on the coffee table in front of the couch.

Quickly walking over, he read the number that went across the top of the screen and clenched his jaw, inducing a dull pain in his temple that could only be labeled as angry. Answering, he pulled the phone up to his ear, “Where is she?”

“Agent Morgan!” He answered, a cheery attitude with his tone, “How are you, tonight?”

“This isn’t a game, you son of a bitch,” he growled, “where is she?”

“If I told you, that would be no fun,” he said, mocking a sad tone. “You gotta find her, makes everything more… exciting!”

Derek felt fury bubble through his throat, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He was so furious, so angry, that he was speechless. And Robert Freeman got off on it.

He let out a laugh, high-pitched and just as sadistic as his personality, “I’ll give you a clue, Derek. 454.”

The line went dead and Derek cursed, looking down at his phone as he tried to think of what 454 could possibly mean. Quickly, he dialed Hotch, giving him a quick explanation, and got into his car, driving to the Quantico building right after. There was so much running through his mind, so much he was trying to figure out.

As he pulled into the parking lot and raced into the building, he couldn’t stop thinking about what he could have done. Maybe if he had paid closer attention to her, maybe if he hadn’t have turned his back on her. He should have been protecting her, but instead, he let his guard down. He thought that he was safe, that everything was going to be okay. Now, here he is.

He was so stupid.

As the elevator dinged and opened, Derek shook away his thoughts with every step he took and walked into the briefing room. Hotchner, Reid, and Garcia were already there. Prentiss, Rossi, and JJ were on their way. The entire team, whether present or not, was more than worried for y/n’s safety – they all saw her as family, and to know that she was in danger, it was terrifying for them.

So, as soon as they all sat down, Derek briefed them the same way he briefed Hotch. At the end of his explanation, they sat in silence. How had he done that? How had Freeman gotten in the house, entirely undetected, and slip away within a matter of minutes? How had the dog not barked?

“The door,” Reid said, “you said it was open? And you went downstairs, and it was closed. That was how he got in. Obvious, yes, but if that was how he got in, then that’s more than likely how he got out. Statistically speaking, serial kidnappers or killers are eighty-four times more likely to use their point of entry as their point of exit. Was the door unlocked whenever you went downstairs and checked it?”

Derek stared down at the floor, thinking about what he saw. “Yes,” he said lowly. “I didn’t lock it. I didn’t think to. I was just thinking about getting back up to y/n.”

Hotch nodded, “If it were anyone else, Morgan, they would’ve thought the same thing. This is not your fault.”

Derek looked up, “Why is it so hard for me to believe that, Hotch? Why is it so hard for me to believe that my carelessness didn’t get my fiancée abducted from my own house, with me in it?”

They all looked around the room, Derek rubbing his head and trying to think. It was so hard to think of anything but Freeman hurting her, so hard to think of anything but her needing his help when he wasn’t there.

“Garcia, see if y/n’s phone can be tracked, if there’s anything about the whereabouts of Freeman within the last week. Morgan, do the numbers 454 mean anything to you, at all?” Hotch turned to him, his eyes expectant.

Morgan couldn’t think, rubbing his eyebrows and trying to clear his mind, like he had been since he got in the truck and drove here. “No,” he said lowly, “no. It doesn’t mean anything to me.”

Reid watched Garcia type on the keyboard, pulling up various windows and GPS tracking services. “Her phone is pinging at their house, and there aren’t any signs of Freeman anywhere. At least, not under that name.”

“Wait, Morgan,” Reid said, eyes moving to Derek’s as he came upon a realization, “what’s your house number?”

“448?” Derek couldn’t see why that had any significance – it was just a house number. 

“And the street?”

“Princeton,” within moments, Derek was starting to put the dots together, eyes widening as he looked up at Spencer.

“Do a search for 454 Princeton,” Reid said, a knowing tone starting to coat his voice, “Derek and Y/n’s address is 448, and if I’m correct, 454 is another address on the same street.”

Garcia went silent, eyes darting around the screen, “Yes, yes it is. 454 Princeton, recently bought by the bank, previously owned by a Sarah Reynolds. Oh,” Garcia breathed, “she died about four months ago, they found her body in the house. After that, they took it off the market, and ever since, it’s been abandoned.”

“Perfect place for our unsub to sit and wait for a moment to strike,” Hotch said, looking at the rest of the team, “let’s go.”

Morgan stood up, JJ and Prentiss following shortly behind him. Within minutes, he was out of the building and in the SUV, starting the engine and peeling out of the parking lot. His foot floored the pedal, his focus solely on the road ahead. JJ and Emily sat back against the seat, the entire car in tense silence. 

Then his phone rang.

The three members of the team all looked down at the phone on the console Derek looking up at the road before grabbing it and answering the call. “What?”

“Have you cracked my code?” The happiness put a lilt in his tone that was unmistakable, and it made Derek sick to his stomach.

Derek chose to not answer, to not give in to the man’s sick pleasure. He glanced over to Prentiss, then to JJ through the rear-view mirror before the Freeman started to talk again.

‘I’ll take your silence as a yes,” he let out a breath, “but, either way, it won’t be worth it, Derek. You won’t like what you see.”

The line went dead again, Derek punching the steering wheel in frustration. He let out a huff, feeling a knot form in his throat. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, to choke Freeman out, but all he could do was find a faster way to get to that damned house before Freeman hurt Y/n.

“Morgan,” JJ said softly, doing her best to try and calm him down – when all three of them knew that it wouldn’t work that easy, not when y/n was involved, “what did he say?”

“The son of a bitch is toyin’ with me,” he said, jerking the wheel to the right as they pulled onto Princeton. “Just said I wouldn’t like what I saw, and the line went dead. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

The two women in the SUV had nothing to say, no answers to his question. You couldn’t really do anything with what Freeman had said. 454 was the only lead they had, and even then, there was no chance that it would come through – especially with Freeman’s words of it won’t be worth it.

They pulled into the driveway of 454 Princeton, and Morgan was the first out of his car, weapon drawn and moving fast. He busted through the door, looking through the empty house. It was kind of like his, laid out in the same way. But the colors were drained, and the floors were caked in layers of dust. 

Derek walked through the first floor, flashlight illuminating the dark rooms and corridors. Nothing was there, no evidence of anyone having been in the house at all. He went up the stairs, eyes darting across the floor, then up to the walls. He froze in his tracks as he looked across the hallway, to the master bedroom door.

Blood.

[the-desolated-quill]

A Good Man Goes To War - Doctor Who blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

It’s been a long time since I’ve seen A Good Man Goes To War. I remember at the time thinking it was dumb, but I had forgotten just how dumb it actually was until now. I’ve seen bad Doctor Who before. I’ve seen stupid Doctor Who before. But A Good Man Goes To War reaches new levels of bollocks I didn’t even think was possible to reach. It’s really quite astounding.

So Amy is trapped on Demon’s Run with Eye Patch Lady about to steal her child. And already we’ve hit our first problem. I’ve mentioned in the past how rubbish Moffat is at writing female characters, and this episode is where its most obvious. Eye Patch Lady is taking her baby away and all Amy does in response is throw sassy putdowns at people. Now if someone were to take away my child, I’d be in fucking hysterics. I’d be shouting and screaming and trying to put up a fight. But as I’ve said in the past, Amy isn’t a character. She’s a plot device. And Moffat writes her as such. She is pretty much nothing but a walking womb.

Meanwhile the Doctor is travelling around time and space and calling in markers in order to save Amy. And here is our second problem. Does this sound like the Doctor to you? Expecting favours from people as a repayment for helping them out in the past? Again, I find myself asking, has Steven Moffat ever actually watched Doctor Who before? The Doctor helps people because it’s the right thing to do. He doesn’t do it with the cynical expectation that they’ll return the favour at some point down the line. It’s just wildly out of character for him.

I suppose I’d be a little more comfortable with it if we actually got to know the Paternoster Gang. Find out how they met the Doctor and why they feel they owe him a favour, but we don’t. For some strange reason people really seem to like the Paternoster Gang, but for the life of me I can’t see why. They’re complete non-entities. There’s nothing remotely interesting about them. Strax is basically just the shit comic relief, diminishing any possible threat the Sontarans could have in future stories with every unfunny one liner, and we learn precisely fuck all about Madame Vastra or Jenny other than they’re gay (on a side note, why do they keep casting Neve McIntosh to play Silurians? Don’t get me wrong. She’s a good actor, but the Silurians aren’t like the Sontarans. They’re not clones).

At this point it seems appropriate to talk about LGBT representation. Specifically how rubbish Moffat is at doing it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful that Moffat is willing to put gay characters into his stories, but the way he does it is a tad dodgy to say the least. See, when you’re writing a gay character, there needs to be a lot more to them than just being gay. Russell T Davies understood that perfectly. There were a number of queer characters during his tenure as showrunner, most notably Captain Jack Harkness, and they were all written fairly well for the most part. What I especially appreciated was how their sexuality was never the primary focus. Rather it was just another aspect to their character. Look at Jack Harkness. He’s openly pansexual, but they never make a big deal out of it. It’s just casually mentioned and treated as any other character trait. Plus there’s a lot more to Jack than just being pan. He’s an outgoing adventurer. He seeks redemption for his conman days. He puts on a cheery facade to hide the dark traumas he went through during his long, immortal life. This is good LGBT representation because what it does is it normalises his sexuality. The show treats him as any other character. There’s nothing special or different about him. He’s no different from a heterosexual person. He just has different sexual preferences, and that’s fine. There’s nothing wrong or strange about that, and so the show doesn’t treat it as such. I think that’s a really good message to send to kids.

Then we come to the Moffat era. Madame Vastra and Jenny are gay. That’s their sole defining character traits. That’s not representation. That’s tokenism. Whereas the queer characters of the RTD era felt like real people, the ones in the Moffat era feel like cardboard cutouts with the word ‘gay’ written on their foreheads. And it just gets worse when those two Cleric marines show up:

“We're the Thin Fat Gay Married Anglican Marines. Why would we need names as well?”

Ugh! Okay, let me tell you precisely why I hate this line so much. It’s incredibly important, particularly in a kids show, to represent and normalise the LGBT community. My issue is this. If being gay is perfectly normal (which of course it is)... why is Moffat drawing so much attention to it? That would be like me making a big fuss about the colour of the sky. The only reason you would do that is if there’s something unusual about it, which is precisely the opposite thing you should be conveying. It’s heavily implied that the Thin Fat Gay Couple are the only ones who are gay, and that’s treated as a novelty. They’re such a novelty in fact that they don’t even have names. The reason I hate this so much is because they’re not characters in their own right. Rather they’re the equivalent of a carnival sideshow attraction with Moffat as the ringmaster inviting spectators to pay tuppence to poke the freaks in the cages. Rather than putting in the effort to write gay characters that are actually well developed and complex, he’s just using these shallow caricatures to boast about how seemingly progressive he is. He’s more bothered about winning brownie points and massaging his own ego rather than providing compelling representation for minority figures. 

He treats his female characters the same way. He boasts about how strong Amy and River Song are, but they’re really not. Yes they’re seemingly independent at first glance, but they very frequently fall into the same, tired old sexist tropes we’ve seen dozens of times before and we never actually learn anything significant about them outside of their lives with the Doctor. Look at this very episode. Amy loses her baby, but she never reacts in a believable or empathetic way. She just resorts to her sassy putdowns and pointing guns at people because that’s the only way Moffat knows how to write women. In fact Amy isn’t even that independent. In a rather telling scene, the Doctor asks Rory’s permission to hug Amy as though she’s Rory’s property as opposed to the strong, independent woman she apparently is. Moffat keeps insisting he’s a feminist and yet he doesn’t see anything wrong with a woman not being able to hug another man without her husband’s permission first.

This is the biggest reason why I hate Moffat as a writer so much. It goes beyond the plot hole riddled stories, the convoluted series arcs and the bad characterisation. Moffat is a man more concerned with looking progressive rather than actually being progressive.

So anyway, the Doctor and Rory (who is dressed in his Roman gear for some stupid reason) manage to save Amy without a single drop of blood being spilt (you know, if you don’t count the Clerics that got killed by the Headless Monks during the Doctor’s deception or the millions of Cybermen that the Doctor kills just to make a point. Brief side note, why would the Cybermen know or care where Amy is? Okay their Legion monitors everything in that particular quadrant, but somehow I doubt that extends to pregnant women. Plus it’s highly unlikely the Cybermen would want to divulge any information after you’ve just blown them up).

Actually it’s a shame that the Headless Monks were wasted on this stupid series arc because I actually thought they were a pretty cool idea. The theology is well thought out and it could have potentially served as a damning criticism of organised religion (thinking from the heart as opposed to the head. I like it). Instead we get treated to more bollocks. So the Monks, Clerics, Silence and Eye Patch Lady have all teamed up to kill the Doctor because apparently he’s a very bad man. Why do they think that?

I don’t know! I’ve got no fucking idea! I mean I’m not going to pretend that the Doctor is a saint, but if you want us to believe he’s a dangerous warrior, you’re going to have to show us some actual evidence. And that’s the problem. There isn’t any. Yes the Doctor has killed, but it’s always been for the greater good. To help others who couldn’t defend themselves. He may not be perfect, but he’s a good man at heart. Unless you give me a compelling reason to believe otherwise, I’m just going to snort and roll my eyes. Obviously Moffat isn’t giving us the full story until much later, but all it does is negatively impact this one. Basically, in this episode, the only reason we’re given as to why Eye Patch Lady thinks the Doctor is evil is ‘trust me. He just is.’ Not good enough.

Also, if you want to kill the Doctor, WHY NOT JUST KILL HIM?! He’s standing right there! Don’t let him finish his monologue! Just shoot the fucker! (Also raise your hand if you saw the Flesh baby plot twist coming. If you didn’t, you’re lying).

And it just gets worse when River shows up at the end to lecture the Doctor about how he’s too violent.

Now I’ll repeat that.

River Song, the gun toting archaeologist who massacred a bunch of Silence in her last appearance and clearly enjoyed every minute of it, is chastising the Doctor for being too violent. Fuck off!

And then the moment none of us have been waiting for. Who is River Song? She’s Amy’s daughter.

Um... I mean... OOOOOOH! Well I did NOT see THAT coming! And here’s me thinking she was Rassilon’s second cousin! Silly me!

Yeah, not only was this head thuddingly obvious what with the aquatic surnames and everything, but also Moffat gave the game away right at the beginning. Melody Pond. get it? Give me fucking strength.

What’s even weirder is that the focus is all out of whack. The reveal is directed more at the Doctor than Amy and Rory (you know, her parents). But why would the Doctor care? And more to the point, why should we care? Okay, River Song is Amy and Rory’s daughter. That’s some interesting information, but that’s hardly mid-season finale material. What we really care about is who River is in relation to the Doctor. And I suspect that’s what the Doctor is more concerned with too. And while I think of it, how is the Doctor learning about River’s true parentage constitute as ‘his darkest day?’ He doesn’t seem to take the news badly or anything. In fact the opposite.

It’s all so mind-bogglingly stupid. A Good Man Goes To War represents the point where Moffat officially starts to disappear up his own arsehole, weaving a convoluted web of bullshit whilst forgetting all the ingredients that make a good story. The answers we’re provided for some of the series arc mysteries are painfully obvious, unsatisfactory and just plain daft, none of the characters act like actual people or behave in a believable way, and crucially I don’t give a shit about anything that’s happening onscreen because at no point does Moffat ever give me a reason to care. Better get used to this folks because these issues are going to become the staple of the Moffat era going forward.