#we should call them that

[charlieisnotokay]

slimebit? I’m so crazy about them? hwat the fuck? they are so toxic together? they should be able to kiss?

[mythicalmagical-monkeyman]

(Semi) Wholesome moment between Logan and Mateo was not on my bingo sheet. Under cut and @fruity-legos look i’ve got more food

Summary:

The world was tough sometimes but good thing Mateo had friends to help him along, to remind and tell him things, or to just be there when he needs them

Or

Five plus one times Mateo accidentally got good advice from his friends/had wholesome chats with them

Additional Tags:

Wholesome. Just Mateo talking to his friends and seeing parts of what make them tick. Logan Chan has DID - Dissociative Identity Disorder. These chats will come back later in the series. ambiguous time periods, idk when these would fall on the timeline. DID terminology used so feel free to ask if your curious about some of the terms. No Beta we technically die as symbolism for death and rebirth. Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Chapter One: Logan—

It was raining. 

Gross, was his first thought, and usually Mateo was a big rain lover, but that was of course on the days when he was inside and hadn’t forgotten his rain jacket at home. 

Groaning, Mateo looked out as the rain beat down on Brooklyn from his spot under the covered entrance to the school. 

Most of the other kids and teachers had left already, including Izzie, Cooper, and Zoey, as school had ended almost two hours ago. Mateo had stayed late though to finish up one of his art projects that was due soon and surprisingly his art teacher was kind enough to let him stay late. 

Really late, to the point where Mateo felt himself growing weirdly sad at how quiet the school campus had become.  

Mateo pulled out his phone and brought up his dad’s contact, he probably wasn’t off work yet but it wouldn’t hurt to give a quick call just to see if he could get a ride. 

His phone vibrated as it rang but eventually it clicked off. His dad hadn’t picked up so he must’ve still been busy. 

Disappointing. 

Ok then, all he had to do was run and hopefully he’d get home before the rain soaked through his backpack and wetted all his supplies. 

Mateo inhaled deeply and steeled himself. He was just about to run when he heard a click. 

With a hum of confusion Mateo turned to his side and saw Logan standing there, a closed umbrella in hand.  

Logan looked at him, raised an eyebrow, and let a, “Sup Matty?” Slip from his lips. 

Mateo glanced Logan over, he was dressed the same as always but Mateo could see sweat stains growing in Logan’s armpit areas. 

Ew. 

Apparently Mateo accidentally let that thought slip however as Logan scoffed at him. 

“You try not working up a sweat during basketball tryouts weirdo,” 

Well that explained everything. 

Logan rolled his eyes and popped open his umbrella, moving it to hold it above his head before walking out into the rain. He only got a few feet away when he suddenly stopped, grumbled to himself angrily, and turned back around with a loud sigh. 

He came back over to Mateo and held out the umbrella slightly like he was offering it to Mateo to take. 

Mateo took a hesitant step forward, “What are you doing?” 

Logan grumbled something that sounded like Mandarin under his breath and forced a small smile, “Do you want to walk home and get soaking wet?” 

Mateo paused and then responded, glancing down to watch himself kick at the pavement, “No,” 

“Good, now come on, my mom is making spring rolls and I don’t wanna be late,” 

Mateo glanced back up just in time to watch Logan turn and begin to walk off again. A small surge of panic darted through Mateo and he bolted over to join Logan under the umbrella. 

Instantly Mateo felt an uneasiness settle over them. Being this close to a sweaty Logan under a small-ish umbrella made him definitely feel a little uncomfortable and it wasn’t unlikely Logan was feeling the same. They weren’t exactly the best of friends. 

They walked in silence for a while, with Mateo deciding to keep his attention on his sleeve where he watched it grow slightly damp from the rain. 

Logan spoke first. 

“Why do you look so depressed?” 

Mateo shot a quick glance at him, “I’m not depressed,” 

“Sure you are,” Logan insisted, “I mean just look at your face bro,” 

“Very funny,” 

Though he wasn’t facing Logan, Mateo swore he felt Logan’s eyes on him, “I’se serious though, if you need to talk about shit I’m here. I might tease you for it if it’s lame but hey, still good to get it out.” 

“Thanks Logan,” Mateo muttered as sarcastically as he could. 

Logan snorted, “No problem bro,” 

Mateo couldn’t help the sigh and eye roll that came from him at Logan’s response. 

A second awkward silence was just starting to crop up as the boys came within sight of Mrs. Castillo’s food truck, which surprisingly still seemed to have life going on inside, when Logan exclaimed, “Oh I know what it is!” 

This time Mateo turned to look at him, his eyes narrowing in confusion, “What?” 

“Why you look all poopy,” Logan said back, jerking a finger towards the other boy’s face, “you still don’t like me,” 

Mateo frowned and in an act of protest argued, “Well you still do call me Lunchbox,” 

As much as he still felt a little irked by Logan it felt wrong to agree to full on dislike. They weren’t… enemies anymore. 

“Ha! Yeah ain’t ditching the nicknames any time soon,” Logan admitted but he still did look a little guilty, “but I get it you know. I’ve been told I’m not exactly easy to get along with,” 

“No crap,” Mateo grumbled, turning away and missing as Logan tilted his head to the side as if he was listening to something Mateo couldn’t hear. 

Logan let out a low whistle, “Alright fine, I’ll ask. Luka’s wondering if it is us though, he doesn’t like when people are mad at us,” 

“I…” Mateo trailed off for a moment, glancing at Logan quickly as his brain reminded him that Logan had other people in his head, “it’s not really you. I know we don’t exactly get along but, well, after everything we’ve been through. We’re cool.” 

“For reals,” 

They continued on for a few more steps, words on the tip of Mateo’s tongue that he felt like he had to get out, “I’m just… sad? I suppose. I’ve just been feeling really alone lately.” 

He wasn’t really. He knew that he had his family, his friends, Z-Blob, teachers too if he really felt like stretching it but he couldn’t help the feeling that had persisted for most of the week. The weird feeling that left him feeling empty, a bit alone. Yet with how everyone had been that week, doing their own things and relaxing in the face of a peaceful dream world, he guessed that made sense. People were allowed to have moments of space away from each other and while feeling alone wasn’t particularly fun it existed as a part of human nature. 

“Alone eh?” Logan hummed, “Well you ain’t,” 

“I know it’s just this feeling, you know?” 

Logan nodded, “Yeah, I get that. Sorta,” he added. 

“Sorta?” Mateo wondered, noting how his house was suddenly in sight. Talking really did pass the time, didn’t it? 

“It’s hard to feel truly alone when you’ve got … people,” Logan explained, pointing a finger at his head. 

“ Oh ,” 

Mateo really had to stop letting that slip his mind. 

“But, hey listen Matty…” Logan started, only to shake his head and start again, “Mateo, if I’ve learned anything from having headmates my whole life it’s that you’re never alone. Even when you’re at your lowest and think that there’s no one else out there… there are. There are people out there that will have your back, and that will come for you when you're hurt. Sometimes you may feel like you’re alone but you’re not. Not forever at least,” 

Mateo squinted, he was talking to Logan right? He didn’t just switch on him did he? He turned and looked long and hard until Logan turned and stared back. Logan then reached his hand up and flicked Mateo on the forehead. 

Yep, that was Logan alright. 

Mateo let out a small groan and rubbed at his forehead while grumbling, “That was… really profound for you Logan,” 

Logan snickered and grinned, his weirdly sharp canine teeth on full display, “Thanks, I have a gift,” 

After a few more steps the duo reached the front steps of Mateo’s house and Logan proclaimed loudly, “Welp, welcome home poop face!” 

Mateo grimaced and glanced around to look for other people who could’ve overheard. When he found no one he reached over and punched Logan in the arm. 

“Oh shut up,” Mateo huffed, only semi-annoyed, “you just had to ruin the moment didn’t you?” 

“Yep!” Logan agreed, stepping away and letting the rain hit Mateo full on. Mateo pouted as he began to get pelted and scrambled up the steps to hide from the rain in the doorframe of his house where he was offered little relief. 

“Ok byeeeeeeee,” Mateo heard Logan call. 

Mateo turned to wave the other boy off only to find him stopped a few feet away. Logan turned slightly and added, “Also if anyone asks I didn’t walk you home!” 

Mateo snorted, “Oh definitely, never admitting to that,” 

Logan threw back his head as he barked out a laugh, “Ha!” And with that Logan grinned before running off towards his own home. 

[akanemnon]

THAT'S A LOTTA DAMAGE (emotional damage that is)

FIRST - PREVIOUS - NEXT

MASTERPOST (for the full series / FAQ / reference sheets)

[forgettable-au]

FORGETTABLE-AU (page 82-85)

THAT LAZYBONES!!

[BEGINNING] [PREVIOUS] [CONTINUE]

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Normal boy spotted.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[xxplastic-cubexx]

what kind of underwear do you think Erik and Charles wear (i'm not asking this to see them half naked) ((please believe me)) (((PLEASE)))

My Personal Belief is charles is a briefs guy while erik's a trunks guy. trunks/briefs kinda couple because i can

and idk just a lil bonus or somethin. as i do.

[sarasade]

One of the most generally useful things to come out of Hbomberguy's plagiarism video and Todd in the Shadows' similar video on misinformation is how they bring transparency to the internet phenomenon of "I made up a guy to get mad at".

Seriously, I've seen people make up a lot of stupid shit on the internet over the years and it's often just a manipulative attempt to paint a group of marginalized people in a bad light.

That's the TL;DR version of this post. 

ANYWAY here is the long version

Those videos are mostly about James Somerton's plagiarism of other queer people's work. However I'd like to talk about that 20-30% of Somerton's original writing- and oh boy. It's mostly about complaining about White Straight Women and misgendering well-known trans creators such as Rebecca Sugar and calling Becky Albertalli a straight woman while it's pretty common knowledge that she was forced to out herself as bi because she received so much harassment over "being a cishet woman who appropriates LGBT+ stories".

One thing that irks me especially is how in his Killing Stalking and Gay Shipping videos Somerton brings up how straight women/ teen girl shippers exploit gay men for their personal sexual fantasies. This gets brought up several times in his videos.

Being all up and arms about Somerton being a "White Cis Gay Who Hates Women and Queer People tm" is not that useful because the kind of rhetoric he's using is extremely common in fandom and LGBT+ spaces on Tumblr, TikTok and Twitter. We really don't need to bring Somerton's identity to this since he is in no way an unique example.

It's hypocritical to make this about an individual person when I've seen A TON of posts, tweets and videos where queer people talk about these Sinister Straight Women who are supposedly out there fetishizing and exploiting queer men. It's pretty clear to me that this is just an excuse to shit on women and queer people for having any sexual interests. At worst these comments are spreading misinformation about BL, a form of media that has been excessively studied by both Asian feminists and Asian queer women.

This all sounds really familiar and I think it's good that people are calling it out as what it is: misogyny and transphobia. I'd also point out the potentially racist motives behind being this hypervigilant about Asian media.

People can absolutely be misogynist regardless of gender or orientation. I really don't know why we need to create some kind of made up enemy to get mad at. I actually think it's almost sinister how "anti-fujoshi" people call Slash shippers and fujoshi misogynists or claim that they have internalised misogyny while being dismissive about women's interests and creative pursuits under Japanese obscenity laws, China's censorship, book bans in American schools and various other disadvances that are part of being a queer and/or female creator.

I think we shouldn't be naive about the bad faith actors who want to turn queer people against each other. For example Fujoshi.info mentions anti-gender (TERF, GC etc) movement using this kind of rhetoric as well.

Anyway if you want to read more:

- about the false info around BL fandom fujoshi.info

-There is the scholar Thomas Baudinette who studies gay media in Japan. Here is a podcast with him and the scholar Khursten Santos

-James Welker is a BL scholar as well. Here is a podcast interview about the new international BL article collection he edited.

-I've already talked about this Youtube channel by KrisPNatz and his great Killing Stalking video that actually engages with the themes of the manhwa

- There is also HR Coleman's thesis DO NOT FEED THE FETISHIZERS: BOYS LOVE FANS RESISTANCE AND CHALLENGE OF PERCEIVED REPUTATION where she interviews 36 BL fans and actually breaks down why fetishization has become such a huge talking point in the fandom discourse. Spoilers, it's mostly about young queer people and women being worried that they will get judged and pathologized for their interest in anything sexual.

-Great podcast about Danmei and censorship with Liang Ge

[puppetmaster13u]

Who wants a prompt entirely in memes.

[dukeofthomas]

Here's my controversial opinion; if you're trying to write Bruce as a non-abusive, good parent, you should also write him respecting his kids' privacy, boundaries, and not stalking&surveying them.

[floofle-universe]

Joyxiety or something

[somegrumpynerd]

A few more Freaky Friday au doodles, Dream is trying to keep up the act and Nightmare has been worn down

[bittasol]

smile, iruma! | hey ive been here before

[grif-hawaiian-rolls]

Blue Team movie STORY night!

This week it's Junior's turn to be narrator

[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

not enough discussion about the gavins' complicated relationship with feminine-coded/beauty products, i don't think.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

jin guangshan and lan qiren yaoi perhaps? since their shapes create a perfect balance?

Two old men perform worlds first successful 96.

[m1d-45]

room 11-13

summary: albedo is weird. no, not just weird- disgustingly strange.

word count: ~2.5k

-> warnings: implied stalking [him -> you] ; he is a weird creep!! brief + non described mentioned nudity (of reader, within a drawing)

-> gn reader (you/yours) in a modern au !

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

your roommate was… interesting, to say the least. not that you really had many expectations—unlike apparently everyone else, you didn’t come to university with a plethora of friends packed in your bag. you had no names to list on your housing contract, no familiar faces to look forward to when you came home, just you, a handful of cardboard boxes and a lingering sense that you’d forgotten something.

there was nothing you could pin about him. nothing in specific, no one catalyst you could point to. sure, you don’t see him often, but that isn’t inherently a bad thing. there’s nothing wrong with not going out much, there’s nothing wrong with being a quiet person when you’re living with a stranger. the common room is clean, the sink is (relatively) empty, and none of your things in the fridge have been eaten. he really, by all standards, should be a perfectly fine roommate, but…

albedo was a quiet man. you first met him when you moved in, delicately pouring exact amounts of water into a small tins over the sink without a single sound or stray droplet. he looked up, you exchanged names, and that was that. the rest of your day was spent unpacking in your room, barely hearing the click of his door closing.

you never quite asked what he was doing that first day, but you could put two and two together. he had a habit of leaving pencils or erasers or other supplies on the coffee table, and you often ran into him when he came out of his room to fetch them. you’re not quite sure how you never see him in the living room when you never told him your schedule, but… well, whatever. it didn’t take a genius to know that the guy with charcoal smears across his hands was an artist. and, if you’d somehow missed those, you sometimes ran into half-used palette in the fridge, beads of paint in a myriad of colors sealed neatly in plastic containers, changing every time you checked.

you weren’t sure why they were always there, as you’d definitely seen one when he was in the dorm, but… well, it’s not really your business, is it? maybe he’s busy, maybe he doesn’t want to paint, maybe he’s taking a nap, who cares. you grab what you need and go back to your room; there’s more important things to worry about than a stranger’s hobbies. honestly, you shouldn’t spend so much time thinking about him. you could hardly claim to know someone you never saw.

well, except when you did see him.

you grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge as you came back from your chemistry lab, not minding the usual palette of paint beside it. also as usual, you heard his door open as he remembered some random item, not minding the sound of his footsteps as you receded into your own room-

“wait! ah- please…”

you forgotten what his voice sounded like. it’s mostly out of shock, not recognition, that you turn around, seeing him lingering in the entrance to his half of the dorm. his hair is loose around his shoulders, catching the light from the window and glowing gold. his apron is stained with a rainbow of paint, matching the perpetual lines across his hands, and he seems a bit too nervous to be talking with someone he’s been living with for a few months now.

“…i couldn’t make it to the lab today,” he starts, words measured and not at all like his original call, practiced instead of panicked. “could i borrow your notes?”

…you’re in the same chemistry class? you’d never noticed. then again, you’re not sure you could pick him out of a crowd—it’s not like you two were exactly close… but giving him your data was honestly a non-issue. normally you wouldn’t think twice about it, except if he was in your lab section then he should know the rules about missing them.

“you’re going to have to retake the lab anyway, aren’t you? my report won’t help you at all.”

he blinks, like he’d forgotten that fact, and you half hope that’ll be the end of it. you still have your own work to get to, after all.

“still… it would give me something to reference, so when i do it i’ll know if my results are reasonable.” his brows are drawn, genuinely worried, crystal blue carrying a surprising amount of emotion despite the careful cadence of his words. “i’d greatly appreciate your assistance on this matter… i don’t have a reliable way to contact anyone else in the class.”

it only takes you a few moments to weigh the pros and cons. at worst, your partner can back you up if he tries to steal your work. at best, nothing happens and you’ve earned a bit of goodwill.

you shrug, taking off your bag and setting it on the counter, unzipping the main pocket and digging for your lab manual. you find it and flip to today’s lab, mentally wondering what an artist would think of the irritated scribbles down the side of the page. whatever the case, you hold it out toward the hallway he was before, only to find him barely a foot away. he’s stood over your shoulder, letting your manual bump into his chest without a flinch, without an ounce of the worry from before.

without an ounce of anything at all, really. his face is flat, empty, just staring down at the words in front of him without seeming to read them at all.

“…sorry,” you start, “i didn’t hear you-”

“don’t be sorry.” with a blink, he’s back, taking the manual with a gentle smile. “thank you for your help. i’ll return it by tonight.”

“…yeah, take your time.”

you’re not going to question what or why whatever happened did. it’s.. just easier if you don’t. you grab your bag and go to your room, focused on anything else.

you don’t find it in the common area, on the coffee table or by the sink or in any reasonable area. he doesn’t knock on your door to return it. no, instead, you trip over it the next day as you leave your room, squinting in the dark to see it laying on the carpet, a note taped to the front.

yeah, you’re not reading that. not now, at least. you’re certain albedo is a nice guy, if socially awkward, but… you can give him the benefit of the doubt later. you shove the note in a drawer and forget about it, going to class. if you just ignore it, you won’t have to deal with it.

it must not have been anything important, because he doesn’t ever bring it up again. it’s almost as if nothing happened. there’s a new pencil on the common room whenever you walk by, he ducks his head and smiles sheepishly when grabbing it, and nothing is new. you try to look for him in the lab, if only to be courteous, but never find him. it’s not a big class… but whatever, you’re not too familiar with his face anyway. after a week or two, you stop trying.

it’s wishful thinking, really.

you have to do a double take when opening the fridge one day, the paint on the palette looking, from the corner of your eye, like a human hand. it’s just skin-toned paints, delicately mixed into a color that somewhat looks like yours.. by the looks of it, he must have fussed with the tint for a while. normally there’s only small bubbles of paint, but this is excessively fine refinement.. he must just be a perfectionist.

you can’t leave your room without running into him. not just like before, with brief intersections as he grabs what he’s forgotten, but actual interactions. he sits on the couch, drawing in a small notebook, asking you about your classes like he’s not supposed to be in his own classes. sure, he could be taking some online, but it’s like he never leaves the dorm.

he asks as usual, one day, what class you’re going to. when you finally gather your courage and ask why he himself isn’t going to the lab, he startles, like he’d forgotten he was attending. there were plenty of reasons why he wasn’t going—maybe he was in a different section of the class, or he had a car and had reduced travel time, or quite literally anything other than silence. but he sat there, staring at you like you were the one who had mixed up your schedule, with the same painfully empty look as before.

you left soon after that.

if asked to describe albedo in three words or less, you’d fumble for a few moments before landing on “fine, but weird.” if asked to do so with any other level of detail, you’d probably end up saying the exact same thing.

and that’s fine. you didn’t really expect to become best friends with your roommate. but for archons’ sake, he’s just so… uncanny.

you’ve never seen any other food in the fridge but yours. you cannot remember ever seeing or hearing him leave or enter the dorm, or ever remember not seeing some sign of him being there. his door was perpetually closed, the faint sound of scratching coming from behind it, and he’d just… freeze at random. like he recedes into himself, leaving a hollow husk until he returns, eyes left as flat disks set into an unfeeling face. there’s nothing inherently wrong with not showing many expressions, but whatever he’s got going on is far more concerning than that.

so really, who could blame you for being curious? his sketchbook is just there, laying open on the table, only partially masked by the small bag of supplies next to it. the door to the bathroom is closed, you really shouldn’t be invading his privacy like this, but it’s not like he even bothered to close it.

still, it’s wrong.

still, having something solid to point to could really help if you ever need to make a complaint to an RA.

oh archons, this is such a bad idea.

before you can convince yourself not to, you walk over and sit in his usual place on the couch, picking up his sketchbook and gritting your teeth through the fact that there’s no way this is morally justified.

the current spread is plain. it’s entirely in pencil, repeated iterations of different kinds of jewelry. rings, with ornate spirals and diamonds along the sides, leading into a gem of many different cuts. some simple stud earrings, some hoops, a necklace draped around a half-drawn bust, the chain sketched to look like blooming flowers strung together. there’s some notes in another script, but other than that, it’s entirely normal. there’s nothing weird about a guy that draws bracelets in his spare time. but your mind itches to find a justification, searching for proof, and you’re already in too deep. despite your better judgement, you turn the page, doing your best not to drop it when you do.

it’s you.

you, at least six times on two pages alone. smiling, waving, fixing your hair, by the seven you feel faintly sick, fingers digging into the pages as you try to rationalize what you’re seeing.

it could just be a one off. maybe you have a particularly interesting face to draw? except the next page is the same, and so is the next, and you flip through them all with the edge of your thumb and it’s all you.

all of it. every single page that has ink on it has your face. from the very front to the very back, with only a page or two of white left, and it’s clear that the jewelry was an intentional decoy. there’s a spread dedicated to just your hands, one to various outfits he’s seen you in, one- archons, one in various stages of undress, barely granting you the dignity of keeping them from the waist up. the worst part, really, is how accurate they are, clear proof of just how much time he’s spent staring at you.

you recognize his voice now, quiet and measured as he calls your name. that could just be your heart in your ears, though.

he has that same blank expression again, standing in the doorway, looking between you and the book. you’re certain he can see the paled fingertips of your grip on the cover. “do… do you not like them?”

“…what?”

he settles back into himself, sad, shoulders slumping and eyes downturned. “they’re just practices, i promise. the actual painting looks much better…”

bile threatens the back of your throat. “the painting?”

“yes, the painting. the one i mentioned in my note…”

…the note. his note. the one you didn’t read. the one he gave you after a grand total of one significant interactions, before which you all but considered him a ghost. and he decided that making a painting of you was a normal thing to do?

“…it makes sense you forgot it. i can’t imagine i’ve ever come close to properly capturing your beauty… it doesn't matter the medium, i never seem to get it right...”

he crosses his arms, picking idly at his lips with one hand, like he’s discussing a particularly annoying problem on his homework and not the fact that he has drawings of you topless. after a few moments of mumbling, he shakes his head. “i’ll do better. i promise i will. one day i'll draw something that finds even a fraction of your perfection.”

you don’t care. all you want is to get out of here, to lock your doors and try not to call the cops while he’s in earshot. “it’s fine, albedo”

the lie is a poison that seems to sting him upon arrival, a ripple of shock crossing his impassive expression. “it's not fine, not at all. how can i call myself an artist if i fail to impress my muse? please, give me time, i promise i can do better-”

“it’s fine,” you repeat, setting the sketchbook down and realizing with another stab of disgust that he’s written your name on the front cover. you stand, hands buzzing with the echo of what you’ve witnessed, not caring for the crestfallen look on his face. “…you’re a talented artist,” you grit out.

and you’re going to be sick.