#NOW THE ANTIS CAN SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT IT BEING BAD BECAUSE ITS 'STRAIGHT' BECAUSE ITS LITERALLY NOT STRAIGHT

[roodles03]

HOLY SHIT HUNTER WAS JUST CONFIRMED TO BE BI AND WILLOW WAS CONFIRMED TO BE PAN.

BY DANA.

OH MY GOD I'M SO HAPPY I WAS RIGHTTT

[isa-ghost]

I need qPhil to tell Sunny how awesome and swaggy she is so she stops thinking he hates her and so Tubblings that clearly don't watch any other POV besides Tubbo's shut the FUCK up about Phil hating her and stop posting the most rancid, untrue, one-sided & illiterate ass takes I've ever seen.

IT'S MISCOMMUNICATION. THAT QPHIL DOESNT REALIZE IS HAPPENING. BECAUSE NO ONE HAS TOLD HIM. BECAUSE QTUBBO'S STUPID ASS (I SAY THIS AS A TUBBLING MYSELF) DOESN'T FUCKING SPEAK UP FOR HIS DAUGHTER. AT LEAST NOT OFTEN ENOUGH. NO ONE ELSE BESIDES HIM REALIZES SUNNY IS FEELING THE WAY SHE IS. AND HE SAYS NOTHING ABOUT IT TO ANYONE. AND SUNNY DOESN'T REALIZE SHE CAN SPEAK UP HERSELF. OR SHE'S AFRAID TO BC SHE'S JUST A KID, WHICH IS COMPLETELY VALID. SUNNY'S ADMIN IS FANTASTIC AT PLAYING A CHILD THAT DOESN'T UNDERSTAND THIS SOCIAL STUFF.

TUBBLINGS NEED TO PULL THEMSELVES OUT OF RP FOR 2 SECONDS AND REALIZE A CHILD'S PERCEPTION OF THE WORLD ISN'T WHAT'S ACTUALLY TRUE. FOR A BUNCH OF CHRONIC METAGAMERS, THEY FUCKING SUCK AT THINKING META WHEN IT ACTUALLY FUCKING MATTERS. I SAY THIS AS SOMEONE WHO WATCHES STREAMS REGULARLY. I SEE CHAT.

AND IT SHOULDN'T BE ONLY SUNNY'S JOB TO SPEAK UP FOR HERSELF WHEN SHE'S FEELING A BAD WAY ANYWAY. PARENTS SPEAK FOR THEIR EGGS ALL THE TIME. TUBBLINGS MAY NOT HAVE WATCHED QSMP BEFORE TUBBO WAS ON TO KNOW THAT, BUT THEY'RE METAGAMING LITTLE FUCKERS ANYWAY. SO IF THEY'RE SO PRESSED ABOUT THIS, THE LEAST THEY COULD DO IS THINK OF PROPOSING COMMUNICATING ON SUNNY'S BEHALF AS IF IT'S AN ORIGINAL IDEA THEY HAD, SINCE THEY LOVE SUGGESTING META OR BACKGAME-Y SHIT SO MUCH.

OR THEY SHOULD THEMSELVES OUT OF RP FOR 2 FUCKING SECONDS TO REALIZE ROLEPLAY IS ABOUT COMMUNICATION. AND TUBBO IS NOT COMMUNICATING THAT THERE IS AN ISSUE. SO THIS IS NOT PHIL'S FAULT.

Also Tubblings & Phil antis in general have this habit of assuming he's being fucking rude when That's Just How Northerners Talk. So good job, you dumbasses are stereotyping. I've seen so many UK northerners speak up about how they hate seeing people from their region labeled as assholes for talking the way they talk. But I digress.

REGARDLESS OF FANDOM ISSUES.

QTUBBO SHOULD HAVE TOLD PHIL BY NOW THAT SUNNY FEELS THIS WAY. INSTEAD OF LETTING THIS FUCKING FESTER. WORSE, SOMETIMES HE STRAIGHT UP TALKS TO SUNNY LIKE HER PERCEPTION OF PHIL HATING HER IS TRUE. RATHER THAN REASSURING HER HE DOESN'T. FROM PHIL'S POV, TALLULAH & SUNNY GET ALONG NOW SO THERE'S NO TENSION BETWEEN THE DEATH FAMILY & THE UNDERSCORE FAMILY. HE HAS NO FUCKING IDEA THAT SUNNY DOESN'T RECOGNIZE HE'S TEASING. OR THAT HE CAME OFF A WRONG WAY. AGAIN, HE JUST TALKS THE WAY HE TALKS. AND SUNNY DOESN'T REALIZE THAT. AND THAT'S OK BC SHE'S A KID.

I hope to god this is ccTubbo playing his character this way intentionally bc I'm down for imperfect/flawed characters. Even if this is aggravating me SO MUCH and even if I HATE characters that think everyone & everything is against them when it's clearly not true. Bc at least then that means there's time for qTubbo to learn he's severely fucking things up going about things the way he is. There's opportunity for the narrative to progress and for the conflict to resolve. qPhil is imperfect and flawed and I snort that shit like crack. I'm down to ride out qTubbo's character development just the same even if I don't enjoy it.

BUT UNDER THE ASSUMPTION THAT THIS IS NOT A MATTER OF META VS RP AND NOT AN INTENTIONAL CHOICE ON CCTUBBO'S PART.

QTUBBO SHOULD BE SUPPORTING SUNNY WHETHER THAT MEANS SPEAKING UP FOR HER OR ENCOURAGING HER TO. INSTEAD HE BASICALLY GOES "DAMN THAT'S CRAZY, WE'RE BOTH SO HATED" AND MOVES ON. WHEN. IF YOU WATCH PHIL OR FIT OR PAC OR MAYBE EVEN BAGI BC SHE'S ON "EARLY" SOMETIMES. THEY ALL CARE SO MUCH ABOUT THEM BOTH. THEY CARE ABOUT EVERY ISLANDER. EVEN THE ONES THAT DON'T SHOW UP FOR FUCKING MONTHS. ITS THEM VS THE FEDS. ALWAYS. EVEN AFTER FUCKING PURGATORY, THEY WILL ALL STILL DROP EVERYTHING TO MAKE SURE EGGS ARE OK OR ASK IF PEOPLE NEED HELP WHEN MESSAGES POP UP IN CHAT. THEY STILL PANIC EVEN WHEN MESSAGES OF SOMEONE GOING DOWN POP UP BECAUSE THEY'RE PLAYING AROUND. IT HAPPENED JUST THE OTHER DAY WITH RICHAS AND MIKE. NOT EVEN BEING FORCED TO BETRAY AND HURT EACH OTHER, AND BEING PITTED AGAINST EACH OTHER FOR WEEKS HAS BROKEN THE BONDS THEY ALL HAVE. THIS ISLAND HAS ALWAYS BEEN AN "IT TAKES A VILLAGE" ISLAND. EGG NEED HELP, EGG SAD, PARENTS SCRAMBLE TO HELP AND COMFORT. SAME WITH FELLOW ISLANDERS. EVERYTHING THE ISLANDERS DO IS TO A) PROTECT THE EGGS NO MATTER WHO'S EGG IT IS, B) PROTECT AND SUPPORT EACH OTHER, AND C) TO FIND ANSWERS FROM THE FEDS TO GET CLOSURE. OR ESCAPE THE ISLAND. THE DAY TUBBLINGS LEARN THAT IT'S NOT AND NEVER HAS BEEN TUBBO VS EVERYONE IS THE DAY I KNOW FUCKING PEACE.

SO I AM BEGGING. THAT IF QTUBBO WON'T FUCKING SPEAK UP FOR SUNNY. AND IF SHE'S TOO AFRAID TO SPEAK UP FOR HERSELF. THAT AT THE VERY LEAST, PHIL FUCKING DOTES ON HER SO SHE REALIZES HE DOESN'T FUCKING HATE HER. AND THEN TUBBLINGS REALIZE HE DOESN'T FUCKING HATE HER. HE DOESN'T HATE ANYONE ON THE ISLAND THAT ISN'T A FED OR A PURGATORY FUCKWAD. AND BY DOTING ON SUNNY AND TELLING HER HOW COOL AND FUN SHE IS, TUBBLINGS WILL FINALLY SHUT THE FUCK UP. AND SUNNY AND THE CROWS WILL ALL KNOW FUCKING PEACE.

[fandom-monium]

I JUST READ KITCHEN CATASTROPHES OMG ITS SOOO CUTE UGH MY HEART SO SOFT CAN YOU PLSSS DO A PART 2? THANK YOU KEEP DOING WHAT YOU DO

AN: thank you, anon! i dont plan to make a sequel to KC. But if i did:

For Valentine’s Day

Summary: In which you throw a wrench in Spencer’s plans: you don’t like Valentine’s Day. “If it’s with you, I guess it’s not so bad.”

WC: 2.9k (whoops)

Tags/Warnings: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader, fluff, cussing, semi anti-valentines day, Spencer tears up but dont worry were there to fix that, established relationships (blegh), Garvez if you squint, post-For the Holidays

Fuck cooking, Spencer thinks one day.

It's an irrational thought. The kind that strikes through his mind in a flash of irritation like a scrape of the knee as he is perusing the internet. Yes, he is using a computer willingly. He has to because he's desperate.

Cooking is stupid. Who really needs it, right?

…

He needs it. God, he needs it so bad.

His need to learn cooking wasn't as incessant until recently. Until you came along.

Spencer is a meticulous person and a romantic if you'd ever met one. Makes sense considering how he grew up, reading the classics and all that. He's read all the gooey literary shit old people write and while he never understood those meanings it all dawned on him one day. Quotes written like 'the stars in their eyes' and 'sunshine glowing off them like a halo', suddenly makes sense once he meets you. Or at least, after coming to know you, months into your newfound friendship.

It's because of this he plans accordingly the weeks leading up to Valentine's day! Because again he's meticulous and a romantic and a genius so he plans every step and makes a back up plan in case A, B, and C fall through.

Is he going overboard? 

… Nah. No way. Not when it comes to you.

But fuck with a capital F, man.

It's your third date. Or what is supposed to be your third date if you would just stop being you for a second.

Then again, he loves you a lot and he wouldn't love you if you weren't, well, you.

Although—pardon his french—what the fuck. 

Spencer knows he needs to learn to cook. You've tried plenty of times to teach him and he loves learning and he especially loves it when you are the teacher (wait, does he have a teacher/student fantasy? Maybe. That’s something he'll look into later. Preferably with you). 

Unfortunately, he's terrible at it.

He's made progress and he knows it's true because you said so but the miniscule progress he's made is. Not. Enough. And it's all your fault! Because he gets so distracted by you during your lessons, like when you put your hands over his to show him proper slicing techniques—holy fuck, he wanted to combust right there—or just watching your deft hands at work, lips and brow scrunched in concentration in that adorable way. And you smell like cooking oil or whatever you're making and you're hot.

He's so into you it physically hurts. Ugh. How is he so lucky? 

You're also the first person he's been this into since Maeve. And everyone knows how well that turned out.

So he tries to dial it down for Valentine’s Day. Morgan told him once he tends to throw himself into everything he does, including love. And when you two got together, he promised the universe he will not fuck this up. He ends up combining Morgan’s advice with Luke’s, trying to be casual like Luke says because apparently you're just as into him as he is of you. 

The thought makes him grin uncontrollably. Luke says it makes him look like a clown but a lovesick clown. A lovefool, Luke hehs.

Spencer doesn’t get the joke, but it does nothing to deter him.

As Luke advised, Spencer does “not” make a dozen back up plans and does “not" plan weeks in advance. Because that wouldn't be casual, would it?

But now the day’s come and as Valentine’s Day turns to Valentine’s Night, Spencer wants to pull his hair, rub his frustratedly stinging eyes but he can't because he's in the middle of work, in the middle of the bullpen, in the middle of his desk and he refuses to be that guy. Not again.

Why does he feel like sobbing? Like a loser? 

Because you don't like Valentine’s Day. No, you abhor it.

It happens in the middle of the work day. It's like he tried to open a door only for a bucket of ice water to be dumped on him and now he looks like a drowned rat. He definitely feels like one.

You're talking with Garcia about her Valentine’s Day plans as you multitask, switching between putting together packets and stacking them aside. Then taking them under the hole-puncher and stapling them together because the BAU isn't all kicking down doors and catching freaks. 

It makes sense that you’re chatting with Garcia during your break. The two of you have become two peas in a pod after you came out of your shell. Now you're inseparable. Only you make Garcia leave her batcave as much as she does now.

Out of sight, he catches tidbits of your conversation when he hears distinctively: Fuck Valentine’s Day.

Okay, you didn't say that verbatim but you might as well have, grimacing as you three hole-punch a packet and his heart. Then a nail on his coffin only it’s with a stapler. 

Thump. Chick.

Spencer winces; there goes your his Valentine’s Day plans. 

It shouldn't sting as much as it does. You've been dating for over a month and Valentine’s Day is definitely not his favorite holiday either. It's not even top 3. And as you rant he can’t help but silently nod in agreement, all the facts straight: yes, it's an eyesore. Yes, it's a capitalistic holiday. Yes, people should do nice things for their significant others no matter the time and not because it's expected on a specific day. Yes, it doesn't compare to Halloween—

The thing is, you two aren't that “couple-y”, at least in a traditional sense. Not like Will and JJ who got a babysitter so they could go out or like Luke and Garcia as they plan to go to a special Valentine’s Day event she wants to check out (she vehemently denies anything going on between them but he doesn't need to be a genius to see the affection they have for one another. Just kiss already, damn).

So yeah, Spencer hoped to spend the romantic holiday with you. For once, he'd have Valentine’s Day plans, aside from exchanging cards with the team and his mother.

But apparently you hate Valentine’s Day! So there goes plan A, B, C, and D!

Spencer feels the tears spring at the corner of his eyes. He sniffs as subtly as he can, raising an open case file to his face. Of all the plans he hadn't thought through this was not one of them. IQ 187, his ass.

He should've known. Or at least ask your thoughts on Valentine’s Day. That was inconsiderate on his part. He blinks back tears, withdrawing into himself despite his hurt because he is a lovefool and only for you. He just wants to impress you, make you happy even if that means canceling your first Valentine’s Day together.

Now if you'll excuse him, he has to call off a few reservations and make some returns. Several actually.

Can you return a dozen donuts in the shape of hearts?

… Yeah, he better ask Emily for the rest of the day off.

—

"Hey Newb, have you seen Spencer? I haven't seen him since his break," You ask, resting your chin in your hand as you squint at another form. Your eyes are beginning to tire. 

Spencer asked you several times over the course of the last week, checking to see if you were free today. You are, so you planned to hang with him after work, but he hasn't returned from his break and he wasn't answering your calls or texts. Not unusual but still odd for your boyfriend (you still can’t believe you get to say that).

Luke sighs, his smooth voice reaching over your shared divider, "You know at some point I'm just not going to respond. You guys can’t call me Newbie forever."

"Keep telling yourself that," You snort without looking up.

Another sigh and you smirk: you win.

"For your information," Luke grumbles, words punctuated with sass, "Doc went home."

You pause. "Home?" He didn't tell you.

"Yeah, probably to get ready for your date."

"Our date?" You frown and stand up, leaning over the divider to see if Luke’s fucking with you.

He isn't. Luke shrugs, humming wistfully as he rests his cheek in his hand, "You should've seen how excited he was, being it your first Valentine's Day and all. I told him to chill out because you'll love whatever it is no matter what but I'm sure he ignored that and planned something spectacular for you guys." Sitting back, he twirls around in his chair.

You grimace, recalling your earlier conversation with Garcia. 

Shit.

"Meanwhile, I have to spend Galentine's Day with Garcia because all the ladies of the BAU are taken and I have nothing better to do—" Luke comes to a full 720, catching the tail end of your coat as you whip it on and make for the door. "—um, excuse you?"

"If Emily asks, I had an emergency!" You manage to call back, throwing open the glass door.

"Okay?"

"Thanks, Newb!"

As the elevator door dings shut with you inside, leg jumping because you have a sneaking suspicion you fucked up, Luke slouches in his chair and grumbles.

He's not a newb. Or a newbie.

—

You rush over to Spencer's, catching your breath as you stumble to his front door. There's shuffling from inside, the faint sound of clanking and crashing and your heart swells because this is the man you’ve fallen for, the first one you've ever felt this way for. Here he is, being all considerate and romantic. And here you are, fucking it up when your relationship’s barely even started.

God, you're an asshole, you berate yourself as you turn the doorknob and push open the door. You're an asshole you're an asshole you’re an asshole—

Then your eyes widen and your jaw goes slack. 

Immediately, you slap a hand over your mouth and nose as your favorite scented candles hit you like someone shoved a bouquet in your face. The description isn't too far off considering there's a lovely bouquet of your favorite flowers still in its wrapping, haphazardly set next to a dozen donuts on the coffee table like no one's business. Its petals are strewn across the floor, a few in tiny piles like they were hastily swept to the side. Red and pink and dark green fill your vision.

Who gutted Cupid and tossed his organs around, holy fu-

"(Your name)?"

Startled, you crane your head to find Spencer, beautiful hair askew and his tie hanging loosely around his neck. His sleeves are pushed up to his elbows as he clutches flowers to his chest. In his other hand, he grips the colored strings of several shiny red and pink balloons in the shape of hearts and—fuck—your heart might actually float up from your chest and into your eyes.

This is your man. Your partner. Your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend panics, fumbling for a second before stuffing the balloons and trimmed flowers back into the room behind him and slamming the door shut. He turns back to you, eyes wide.

"What-what are you doing here?" Spencer stammers, wringing his hands together.

You blink at him, dumbly holding up your phone. "You-uh-you left early and didn't return my calls."

"I'm sorry. I think I left my phone at work," Probably because he left in such a rush, Spencer groans, looking anywhere but you. The petals scattered over his floor are quite pretty in this light. "And I was a bit busy."

"I'm sure you were," You gawk openly at the strings of fairy lights hung around his living room. It's a clash of aesthetics. Spencer always rocked dark academia, but despite how ugly the combination of red and pink decorations with his nature green walls and dark wood is, it leaves his apartment a little brighter, a little cozier, and you love it.

You love everything about this.

But as you take in the ugly beauty of it all, Spencer fidgets at the doorway, mistaking your awe as shock and disgust. Wiping sweaty palms on his trousers, his eyes dart around, trying to focus on something, but every place he lays his eyes on makes him cringe. He catches all the things he couldn't clean up or put away in time. No doubt you do too. All the leftover flower petals, the donuts he can’t return, candles that haven’t blown out because he has the lungs of an 8-year old asthmatic. 

Spencer can't imagine how appalled you are.

And the longer your silence stretches on, the more nervous he gets so he blurts out, "I'm so sorry, (Your Name)!"

Your brow shoots up as he begins to ramble.

"You must hate this. I'll put everything away."

"You really don't have to—" You stop him, and your heart nearly crumbles as Spencer's does when he finally meets your worried gaze. 

His eyes gleam with unshed tears. He swallows, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"Doc—"

"At least not without asking you—"

"Doctor—"

"I understand if you want to break up—" His voice cracks, as if the idea itself will destroy him (it definitely will). 

"Spencer—" His voice, wobbly and dripping with unnecessary guilt, draws you to him.

"But I want you to know that I—"

With an exasperated sigh, you grab his hand as yours finds the nape of his neck, pulling him into a soft kiss. 

For a second, Spencer doesn't respond because who kisses the person they're about to break up with? Strange, really. But then he kisses you back. His hands remain frozen, unsure of where he stands, but he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. He figures this is a new social cue he has yet to learn. And if this is the last time you kiss him, he'll treasure every second of it, take whatever you'll give him because again he's a lovefool for you. 

And when you pull back, he's too dazed he nearly misses the look you give him. Suddenly, he can’t breathe.

You look at him like he hung the stars instead of cheap fairy lights around his apartment. 

Spencer’s confused. "I-I... Wha—"

"I'm not breaking up with you," You chuckle, and you nearly burst out laughing as genuine puzzlement takes over his face. You tug him behind you, plopping yourselves on his couch. You smile, appreciating the way he organized the cushions and throw-pillows; there's now space for two people to lay down.

You take a breath. "You wanna know why I don't like Valentine’s Day?"

Spencer slouches, though his body is angled towards you so you suppose that's good. He sighs, "Because it's a capitalistic holiday that reinforces the idea of doing the bare minimum…"

He begins listing your reasons, and your eyes soften. Of course he listened and remembered even if you mentioned it offhandedly.

You nod once he finishes. "Yes but before that—and I can't believe I'm telling you this—back when I was a little kid, I didn’t get any Valentines."

Spencer's brow furrows at the newfound information. You continue, "I'd get some from my friends and stuff but that's not what Valentine's Day is about. At least not when you're a kid. When you’re a dumb kid, it’s about couples and romantic shit, and I didn't really have any of that growing up." You purse your lips and glance away, face flushed with embarrassment. It's really not that big a deal, but putting it into words makes the idea seem more intimate and personal.

It takes a moment for your words to sink in as Spencer can't believe his ears. How could you not have been showered with love and affection and presents on Valentines Day? It's like water doesn't make things wet or fire doesn't produce heat; it just doesn't make sense. Because you deserve that much and more.

"So every Valentine's Day, I lowered my expectations and eventually I stopped caring. I'd tell myself those things and I started to believe them," You bite your lip, eyes crinkling as you give Spencer a sheepish smile. "But now I have you."

At that, Spencer returns your smile, letting you take his hand. Any tears he had seem to evaporate instantly.

“So, I'm sorry that I hurt you. I stand by what I said before, Valentine’s Day sucks. But if it’s with you,” Blushing deeply, you play with Spencer's hand, large and veins defined compared to yours, shrugging, “I guess it’s not so bad.”

Spencer’s smile broadens, and he intertwines your fingers together. "So what you’re saying is, you don’t hate this?” He looks around his living room.

You shake your head, unable to stop the grin crossing your lips. “No. In fact, very much the opposite. Honestly, thank you for this, it’s beautiful. I have no words.” You breathe it all in; the candles, the flowers, the— Your nose wrinkles and you snort, “Did you burn something?”

Bashfully looking down, he scratches his chin. “I-uh-tried to make your favorite dishes. Though, I was hoping the candles and flowers would mask it.”

You giggle and pull him into you, snuggling into his side. “That’s okay. I’d much rather have you anyway.”

With Spencer a blushing, stuttering mess in your arms, head resting on your chest, you press a kiss to his hair and conclude; yeah, you don’t like Valentine’s Day. 

But you sure as hell love Spencer more.

—

AN:  FtH status: finished - 7/5. yes 7.

I realize this was not what anon requested but oh well i wrote this at 2 am 

I’m not that anti v day but i stand by the capitalistic aspect.

yes this takes place after For the Holidays.

also included luke bc hes my bro and i honestly think he deserves so much more than what the show gave also garvez ftw

happy post valentine’s day!!

Song: Lovefool by The Cardigans

[whump-town]

You Dance With Tears In Your Eyes

Summary: a college AU set up in the late 80s/early 90s with football star and quarterback Derek Morgan and his secret boyfriend Hotch-- it's not a happy story but I don't think I really have to warn you guys about that anymore

Also, a little based on a story my grandmother told me about my great uncle and his partner. Never met my great uncle but everyone says I'm a lot like him, I think they just mean gay but don't know how to say it

Warnings: homophobia, violence, racism *I mean it when I say homophobia*

Pairing: Derek Morgan/Aaron Hotchner

@yourlocalheartbreaker

The title is from Frank Ocean's song Self Control

Now and then you miss it, sounds make you cry Some nights you dance with tears in your eyes I came to visit, 'cause you see me like a UFO That's like never, 'cause I made you use your self-control And you made me lose my self-control, my self-control

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

Living shouldn’t be reduced down to what it is, the bare bones of things that don’t even make Derek Morgan who he is. He lives by them anyways, stupid rules. Social norms, Aaron always clarifies because even when those silly rules drown them Aaron needs to be concise. Social norms dictate every inch of life and for once Derek wishes he were the type of person who could be given that inch and take a mile. They’re the reason he can’t hold his boyfriend’s hand in public. Why he can’t kiss Aaron on New Years’ and why he is reduced down to loving his roommate. Why, at this rate, he’ll never marry or adopt children, or why he could lose any career he goes into because some nosy asshole finds out his partner isn’t a woman. And, yes, he knows there are anti-discriminatory laws but he’s a black gay man. The world is stacked against him.

It makes him so angry. He’s blinded by the irrational of it all, why nothing can just be simple for them. Aaron tries to comfort him but Derek’s anger scares him, he doesn’t understand it. Aaron has long lost the ability to decipher the complexity of human emotions. Still flinches at loud noises like he’s expecting each bump to be accompanied by the pain that laced his childhood and has to ask, around every turn, if Derek’s angry with him. He can’t tell. Everything looks like anger. With Derek, it frequently is. They cope in very different ways, Aaron chooses nothing. Shutting down all his emotions until he cracks and that’s worse. It’s worse than Derek’s anger. That doesn’t mean Derek doesn’t hate the way he quakes with fury. If not because it feels childish to be blinded by emotions then because it scares Aaron.

There are a million other things, at twenty there always is. It’s his philosophy class with all this bullshit reading he doesn’t understand. He has to ask Aaron for help and Aaron has to ask him for help with things too but it makes Derek feel stupid. It’s philosophy, it can’t be that hard. That’s the same way Aaron feels about calculus. There’s maintaining rent and going grocery shopping and football (games, practice, gym, and training).

College had been a learning curve. Getting up at four in the morning to go to the gym for football had been the hardest thing in the world without his mother flicking his bedroom lights on and off or Desiréecoming in to smack him in the face with a pillow. There’s no one in the entire world in charge of getting him out of his bed other than him and, in his freshman year, while he had thought sleeping on that impossibly hard mattress would leave much to be desired, and it did, he found himself glued to his every morning. Not wanting to leave the safety of its flimsy comfort.

Sharing an apartment worked wonders, having a workaholic boyfriend was really the best trick. An unexpected answer to his problems but, also, a very cute one. He managed to add one person to the list of people that cared about where he was, that made sure he got up in time to make it to the gym and practice, and asked if he had a bad day or rub at his sore muscles.

Derek rolls over in bed, not as surprised as he should be to find the other half empty. “Aaron?” He still searches, runs his hand over the sheets as if he doesn’t know that if Aaron were in the bed he’d be right there. Hogging the bed and the blankets, pressed up against Derek’s back snoring like there’s no tomorrow. “Aaron?” Derek sits up and squints, grimaces at the light trailing in from the open door.

Aaron’s hunched over the beginnings of an essay, pen ink smeared across his left palm and steadily chugging along. He can write a full essay in the span of a night, five hours for about 3,000 words but if it’s a short synopsis sort of thing then about an hour. Despite this astonishing gift, Aaron still makes himself write all his essays weeks in advance and spends days upon days proofreading and combing through them for the tiniest mistakes. He’s a straight-A student so he’s doing something right but Derek gets mostly As too with far less hastily. Aaron is just extra.

Derek steps up to the desk, doesn’t make a sound as he leans up against the side of the chair. He wraps an around Aaron’s shoulders, leans down to kiss his head. “It’s two,” Derek informs him, “come to bed. Please?” Derek’s exhausted. He feels the regret of being pulled from his warm bed. Each second feels like twenty minutes, the world sluggish and too cold. He leans closer to Aaron, wrapping himself around him. “You always smell so good,” Derek whispers. He presses his face into Aaron’s hair, catching the mix of scents.

“Bakery,” Aaron grunts. His answer as simple and concise as he always is but even more so now that he’s tired. Aaron had worked an on-campus job for the entirety of their freshman year but after he got a scholarship that would roll over each year after that (so long as he kept a certain GPA) he started at a bakery down the street from their apartment. Derek had always liked the way Aaron smelled, gently masculine in a way only Aaron could ever be, and it had mixed with the scents of softly, perfectly made baked goods he works around all day. Cookies and cakes. He’s picked up a few tricks, Aaron can make moist cakes and perfectly round cookies but his bread… It’s the best food Derek has ever eaten.

The first time Aaron made bread Derek got down on one knee and confessed “Aaron Hotchner if I could marry you I’d take you to the damn chapel right now”. To which he was lovingly pushed and told to “shut up” but fresh-baked bread (even if Aaron had taken a single bite and concluded he hadn’t ratioed the sugar right) is heavenly. He’s gotten much better since and it’s really hot when he’s standing there in one of his dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up taking his stress out on the dough.

And he can’t tell anyone. Can’t boast about his hot ass boyfriend or the bread he makes from scratch.

Derek crouches down by the chair, knows he’s winning when Aaron breaks from his work just enough to glance at him out of the corner of his eye. “Can’t this wait just a little bit?” he asks. “I want to sleep with my boyfriend and he’s out here writing an essay that isn’t due tomorrow and likely isn’t due for the next month.” Derek reaches up, strokes a strand of hair back behind Aaron’s ear. His fingers graze an open wound and Aaron flinches away, the pain unexpected.

The bare bones of Aaron Hotchner are the along the same in principle to Dereks-- all things that he cannot change. Even as he stands as tall as Derek, their bodies are not the same. Derek is lean from years of football, his arms stretch his shirts. He looks like an athlete, has the benefit of the doubt whenever he’s around men. His teammates walk naked in front of him, no one for even a second thinks anything of it. No one suspects him of the atrocities he commits within his apartment.

Aaron doesn’t have any of that. His hair is a little too long, hangs down in his face when he’s studying or reading. Nothing about him is hulk-ish, he’s delicate with his movements and while it had been something that Derek was immediately drawn to it also draws other’s attention. Bad attention.

The same boys that play around with Derek, snapping towels at him while he walks, terrorize Aaron.

Derek wishes there was something he could do because if this were anyone else- if Aaron were a girl- he could. It wouldn’t be dangerous, not the sort of thing that would cost him his football scholarship or get him stabbed and left to bleed out in an alley or beat within an inch of his life. He would have to out himself to protect Aaron, to stand in front of his teammates that coach keeps calling his family and tell them to keep their fucking hands off his boyfriend. No. No, because something like that would be death. It would be worse than what’s already happening. And Aaron won’t allow it.

All Derek can do now is await the next attack, leave Aaron someplace to come home to. Give him a place to be, without burden, without hesitation. It’s not enough. They’ll kill him. Derek knows they will and it’ll be fun for them, only a matter of time.

“Come to bed with me,” Derek asks one more time. He doesn’t want to sound entirely needy but he really doesn’t want to go to bed without Aaron. The bed is lonely.

With a sigh, Aaron nods and Derek stands up, moves out of the way so Aaron can throw pens in his textbooks to mark his place. He steps away, from the desks, yawning as he makes lazy lurches forward towards their bedroom. “Turn the damn--” Derek rolls his eyes and reaches over and turns off Aaron’s desk lamp.

He passes Aaron in the doorway, places his hand on his hip, and reminds him of their objective. “Bed,” he mumbles and Aaron nods, jerking back to life as he steps further into the bedroom.

Derek lays down on the bed, crawls over to his side, and gets comfortable while he watches Aaron lazily strip down to his underwear. He gets caught in his head again for a moment, standing there just blankly staring at the dresser. Trying to figure out if he should put on pajamas or not. Derek calls his name and opens his arms. “Come here, “ he says and Aaron smiles. Sheepishly he comes, blushing as he crawls into the bed and where Derek instructs him. Humming, pleased, when Derek brings the blankets up over them. His eyes are already closed, head tucked under Derek’s chin when Derek wraps his arms around him. Pulls him close, tight.

He’d read in a book about deep pressure, its effect on the parasympathetic nervous system. He’d studied Development Psychology for some time, thought about all the ways in which it checked every box of his interests. He thinks he might want to be a teacher. That’s where he learned about the importance of the bond between guardian and child. Where he learned a hug sometimes really is a fantastic answer to the most startling problems.

It’s also the fastest way to get Aaron to sleep.

“Tighter,” Aaron whispers. He can’t quite feel Derek’s bones pushing into him, the hammer of his heart still too strong. He groans, choking up a laugh when Derek does just that. Holds him tight, makes him ache with the proximity, his inability to move.

Derek doesn’t mind, he’s got an armful of bakery boy. Couldn’t be more content with anything else.

0000000000000000

All things considered, Derek didn’t actually face that much scrutiny when he told his mother about the stupid twisting and turning feeling in his stomach when Martel Harris put his hand on Derek’s back. Leaned in too close and Derek could smell the cologne he wore and feel his proximity like lightning across his skin. He’d thought it was just nerves but at the end of a football match Martel lifted him up, threw him up in the air, and God that had felt better than flying. Lit him up inside like he was something, someone.

Desiréecried and Sarah wouldn’t speak to him for a week, opposite reactions because of the same fear. Their mother always said the two of them were two halves of the same coin-- too alike to get along and too different to ever get away. They came around, their mother’s gentle hand always the voice of reason. Three stubborn as all hell kids, too much like their father. That’s what she tells the three of them, tears swelling in her eyes as she proclaims that none of it matters. Orders Desiréeto stop crying tells Sarah to get over herself. She loved and married a black man despite the death threats that followed them everywhere they went. Despite the people that called it blasphemous. Called it sin. As if love could be such a thing.

Her mother told her not to come home, not to call. She wouldn’t do that to her son, she knows it won’t change a thing. There’s something about love that makes you blind to the small pains. She never looked back twice, never reached out to her parents. She chose love and Derek will too.

But that doesn’t mean the fear goes away.

It doesn’t actually change a damn thing.

Standing in the tiny bathroom attached to Derek’s friend’s bedroom Aaron leans over the sink, letting Derek rub

shampoo through his beer-drenched hair. “I just don’t understand why they have it out for you,” Derek mumbles, his voice has deepened, his frustration laced confusion evident. They’re in a rather suggestive position, Derek’s body keeping Aaron bent over the sink-- ass to groin. Aaron shoots him a look out of the corner, a pretty clear “look at us right now and take a guess at why”. Derek ignores the look, he’s rather good at ignoring Aaron’s sharp looks. He shakes his head, grumbling some more to himself and gently working the shampoo out of Aaron’s hair. He leans closer, Aaron groaning as the sink bites into his stomach, and smells his hair. Derek groans, unsatisfied with what he finds. “Smells like strawberries with a slight undertone of beer.”

Sounds about as close to a win as they’re getting. “That’s as good as it’s going to get,” Aaron mumbles, grateful when Derek sits back up. While Aaron’s come to terms with the particular hand he’s drawn in the terms of college social lives Derek isn’t as quick to accept. He feels hopeless, a feeling he thought he’d escaped upon leaving Chicago and everything Carl Buford. Aaron can’t stand to see that look, the one he’s grown so used to seeing after events like this.

He pulls a towel down off the rack, starts trying to dry his hair. This isn’t the reason he keeps his hair short but it’s certainly a helpful addition to keep in mind. “Don’t overthink it, it’s not your fault.” Aaron could go blue in the face trying to keep Derek from coming up with a mile-long list of all the reasons why that’s simply not true. The truth is, it’s really not Derek’s fault. No one even knows about them. Their relationship isn’t the reason why Hunter Whatever-his-last-name-is poured his cup of cheap, smells like piss, beer over Aaron’s head.

Not that what happened downstairs can just be so beautifully summed up as just that. Hunter Whatever-his-last-name-is had grabbed Aaron as he was walking in, doing as Derek instructed by coming in the screened-in door at the side of the house. “Who’s dick did you come to suck?” and Hunter Whatever-his-last-name-is cupped Aaron’s cheek. Dug his thumb into the wound he created and smiled, grinned happily at the sight of Aaron trying so hard to getaway. Hunter’s grip relaxed and as soon as it did Aaron was blinking the beer out of his eyes. “Get the fuck away from me,” Hunter shoved him, hard. “Faggot.” Aaron hit his hip on the counter but said nothing, he’ll leave the bruise for Derek to find another night.

“I should say something to that pig,” Derek’s distracting himself with putting everything back in the bathroom the way it was before they came in. Straightening out the rug and fixing the other towels. “Let me catch him trying something--”

Aaron can’t take it, all of Derek’s pointless anger, his stupid guilt. He’s just had beer poured down his back. He can’t even accept Derek’s sweatshirt to replace his smelly shirt, can’t walk out of here wearing his boyfriend’s sweatshirt without getting shanked. The beer smells awful but he’s fairly certain getting stabbed is a whole lot worse. Derek doesn’t have to deal with that. No one messes with him because no one thinks to. “It’s because of how I look!” He’s shaking, bangs hanging down in his face still damp but no longer dripping water down his face. “You? You look normal. You get to walk around with all your football buddies, no one bats an eye at the quarterback, Derek. At least you like women too!” He points to himself, digs his finger into his own chest. “Me? I look the part. I can’t even pretend. Everyone knew, the whole world knew before I did!”

Derek just stands there, caught in the headlights trying to figure out what to say.

He wipes his eyes, jerks away from the hand Derek tries to put on his arm. “No. No!” he can’t do touch right now. Not like this, not when his body won’t hold still and his knees keep trying to buckle. It happens, this panicked cornered feeling, and usually Derek would hold him down. They’d sit on the floor and Derek would hold his arms down to his chest and they’d just sit like that until Aaron can breathe again. Bones against bones until Aaron feels the fractures of his humanity coming back together but for now, right now? He can’t do it. He can’t be touched.

“I want to go home,” he manages, lower lip quivering despite how much he wants to hold it together. “Please take me home.”

Derek just stares at him, stands there, and watches Aaron cross his arms over his chest and curl in, trying to squeeze the panic out himself. “Okay,” he caves. “Go on, I’ll follow you down.” It’s degrading, humiliating the fact that they can’t even leave this room together. Aaron’s upset and Derek can’t do anything about that right now. It’s not safe until they’re home.

It’s never safe.

With his hair dripping into his face Aaron stumbles in the dark. His shirt is soaking wet, stuck to his skin, and freezing him as tramples down a thin stretch of grass between houses. He wishes he had Derek’s sweatshirt. Something warm. At least something to cover his arms. It had been a stupid idea coming here right after getting off work. The bakery is so impossibly hot and after getting off his shift all he wanted was to be with Derek. To sit in whatever little room Derek could guarantee was safe and drink whatever cheap crap Derek brings him from downstairs. Just sit and listen to the music filtering in from downstairs.

“Hotchner!”

He freezes-- a deadly mistake.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

He knows what happened to Derek. In the hush of the night, laying facing each other in the dark, Derek had told him. Each word a puff of hot air against Aaron’s face, hitting the hot tears rolling down his cheeks. It was supposed to be even, Derek’s intention was to express alikeness. He’d seen the scars, no matter careful Aaron was about the light when he thought things were headed in the direction of nakedness, Derek saw them. He hadn’t said anything that time, run his thumb over the one on Aaron’s chest but kept up his ministrations. Acted as if he didn’t until that moment in bed.

Aaron still hasn’t found the courage to be honest about his own childhood.

Derek comes around the back, half-expecting tonight to go like it always does. Except Aaron hasn’t had any alcohol and he doesn’t come stumbling around the porch to greet Derek from the darkness. There are no stolen kisses or hushed laughter. No Aaron. Derek has half a mind to shout out for him, he couldn’t have gone off far, but then he sees him. Derek sees them. The moonlight shining down casting this awful hue between the houses. He sees Hunter draw his foot back and he can’t hold it back. Won’t let this go on. “Hunter!”

The second that Hunter’s attention is away from him, Aaron slumps to the ground. His blood smeared against the house. He’s still breathing, awful ragged breathes that shoot blood off his lips. He sees Derek in the moonlight, rushing past him. Aaron wishes he wasn’t a coward. Between each blood speckled breathe, he wishes that he wasn’t a coward and had just told Derek. That way he would understand Aaron can take it. He spent his childhood taking beatings for just being alive. At least now it was something coherent. Being beaten for being gay requires at least knowing something about him. His father couldn’t even bother with that.

But Derek doesn’t understand.

Aaron never told him.

He’s pulled down, out of orbit, and back to Earth when Derek squats down beside him, cradles his head in his hands. “Aaron?” he calls out, but Aaron can’t force his eyes to move from the dirt. “Can I--” Derek doesn’t know where to put his hands. If he can put his hands anywhere. “I’m going to-- to lift you, okay?” It’s not a matter of if he’s strong enough. He benches more than his own body weight and that’s significantly more than Aaron’s. He’s just not sure if Aaron’s going to fight him and if Aaron fighting him is good or bad.

“Lean forward,” Derek whispers, cupping the back of Aaron’s head and directing it into his shoulder. He turns, manipulates both their bodies and winces each time, no matter how gentle and calculated his movements are, Aaron still cries out. He still hurts him. “I’m sorry,” becomes his mantra. The only words he can manage out around the tears, the only thing he can get past the thickness in his throat.

Sorry he didn’t stop this sooner.

Sorry that he keeps hurting Aaron.

Sorry they couldn’t be other people. In other places. In another time.

Sorry that it’s all for nothing, that there’s no way this ends well for either of them. They’re going to end up dead or alone but certainly separate.

The second Derek has him in his arms Aaron grips his shirt tightly in one blood-stained hand. He rests his head on Derek’s shoulder, soaking in his warmth. “Home?” he asks, voice breaking.

“We’re going home.”

Aaron wakes up alone in bed.

He’s completely naked, laying with three blankets pulled up over him. One that he recognizes is from the living room. There’s one of Derek’s homemade sock heating pads digging into his sore ribs where he rolled over onto it, he can feel more of them underneath him. He’s been laying here for a while. None of the socks are warm anymore. He’s on Derek’s side of the bed, facing his nightstand, and watches Derek’s blurry alarm clock change time. 1:36 passing to 1:37 to 1:38 just waiting for the fuzzy fingers in his brain to ease up. To allow him to think.

It’s Saturday.

Derek’s off at a football game, not due back for hours. Not until tonight, long after Aaron’s gone to bed.

For an overwhelming moment, his eyes fill with tears, desperation, and solitude creating an awful twist in his stomach. He doesn’t want to be alone. Protectively he draws his knees up, tries to knot himself up, and create a mangled ball. His heart picks up, anxiety increasing as he lays there. He wants Derek. He doesn’t want to be alone.

On the phone’s first rings he curls in tighter, overwhelmed by his own crying that he presses his face into Derek’s pillow and ignores it. He’ll let the machine catch it-- that’s the whole reason Derek bought it. With a sharp end, muffled by the blanket he pulls up over his head, a voice comes through. The machine catching the voice mail.

“Aaron, sweetheart? This is Fran, Derek’s mom? I’m sorry to keep calling sweetie but Derek’s awake now. He’s worried, says you should have woken up by now. I can send Sarah to come get you, Derek told me what happened last night. Please call me back? I hope you’re okay.”

He lays in confused silence, trying to process why Derek’s mother would call him. She calls all the time and occasionally he answers to tell her she’s just missed Derek-- he’s off with friends, at the gym, or at class. They know of one another Derek talks about him to Fran as much as Derek talks about Fran to him. But Fran call him? That’s never happened.

Then he catches it-- “Derek’s awake now”-- and he sits up. Pushed from his mind is the pain, his ribs scream and the blood he can see he’s left on Derek’s pillow. Derek’s awake now. Hunter Whatever-his-last-name-is is on the football team. An offensive lineman. A guy whose entire job is to protect Derek but now he knows, he has to know.

Derek’s awake now.

He throws himself out of bed, clipping his already sore hip on the nightstand and staggering for the phone. Tears spilling over his face. What happened while he was sleeping? What did Hunter do?

Fran picks up on the first ring. “Aaron, is that you sweetheart?”

He sniffles, rubbing at his nose with his finger. “Yes, ma’am.” He knows she can hear him crying, his choked sobs as he falls in the direction of the closes chair.

“You had me worried sick,” she says and he can hear that unmistakable fondness in her chastising tone. That must be where Derek gets it from. It makes him smile, even if it’s weak. “How are you feeling, baby? Derek told me what happened. I’m sorry. If I see that boy I’ll wring his neck. Give him a piece of my mind for bothering my boys.”

He just nods, despite the fact that she can’t see that. He knows he should answer her question but he has no idea what he feels. Nothing. He feels nothing as he sits here holding his breath as he waits to ask about Derek. To know what happened because of him. “Is Derek okay? What happened?”

Hunter told a few other team members what he saw. Most brushed him off, Hunters a douchebag, and they like Derek. Others just hate Aaron enough for it to matter to them, enough to what to do something. Or, rather, not do anything. It only took one tackle, a limb bent the wrong way under the weight of three boys.

It was Derek’s knee. A career-ending injury.

A scholarship losing injury.

“Can I--” Aaron chokes. He’s afraid of what happens if Fran says no. “Can I see him?”

“Of course you can.”

Aaron turns away Fran’s offer of a car ride but Desirée still shows up.

He answers the door in a sweatshirt and jeans and knows immediately who it is when he opens it up. Desirée just stares at him for a moment, he can feel all of the seventeen-year-old judgment sizing him up. “You look… awful,” she tells him. She lets herself in, walking past Aaron with one more look. “Mom says I can drive but if you want to do it I have to let you.” She puts the car keys on the counter, sighs as she looks around. “Derek says…” she chews her lip, as she sizes him up again.

He wonders how intimidating he could possibly look to her. Hunched over and wearing a sweatshirt that’s too big for him.

“Would you teach me how to make bread?”

He can’t help but smile, nods without any hesitation.

“Really?”

Aaron nods, “it’s not that hard. More of a-- a waiting game. You have to give the yeast time to rise.”

Desirée has no idea what that means but she nods, “cool.”

He lets her drive. Mostly because his vision is swimming but because he tosses the keys back to her, a clear okay that she can drive, and she beams at him. She likes him. That’s so weirdly important to him.

She has to wake him up when they get to the hospital. The first thing she tells Fran is that he let her drive and Fran smiles at him, shakes her head, and says “you must have a death wish.”

Aaron blushes under the attention, eyes falling to the floor. He barely manages, “drives just like Derek.”

Fran laughs, nodding her head, “she does. Too heavy on the brakes.” Her smile fades a little when she sees Aaron’s sweatshirt, recognizes it from home. Knows it’s Dereks. “Will you let someone look at that,” she asks, too many of his wounds look deep. Cuts that need stitches and a nasty black eye that she knows he hasn’t iced. She’s reminded a little too quickly that Aaron and Derek are still very much kids. Tricky kids. Too old to be told what to do but still wanting direction.

Aaron nods, shying away again from the attention, but nods.

They leave him when the nurse steps in, doesn’t need to say a word. Fran sees him hesitate to lift his shirt and knows. Derek had managed to tell her most of what happened but the morphine made his speech slur, made him emotional. He’d sobbed, high and in pain. Told her what he’d seen the night before. Hunter hitting and kicking at Aaron, the way Aaron slumped forward. How he’d carried Aaron home. Washed the blood off him with a rag. She knew what was under Aaron’s shirt wasn’t something for them to see.

Derek wakes sometime in the middle of the night. The drugs from the surgery are wearing off and with it his blissful escape from the pain. Licking his dry lips he looks around the room, spotting his sisters and frowning as he tries to find his mother. She’s leaning over another cot, on the other side of the room. He watches her, hears the familiar chorus of Blackbird, and watches her stroke Aaron’s forehead, following the line of the relaxed brow.

It makes him smile, his mother used to sing Whitney Houston to him and his sisters to sleep. He told her about Aaron’s obsession with The Beatles, how of all the records the two of them own that’s the only one Aaron will play. Desiréebought the album, his mother told him a week later. She saved up to get it and was eager for her moment to speak to Aaron about it. To be able to befriend her brother’s boyfriend. That’s about the same time Fran began to hound him about bringing Aaron home, to Chicago. She wanted to meet him.

Fran kisses Aaron’s forehead, waiting another moment just to make sure Aaron’s truly asleep before she stands. “He was having a bad dream,” she tells Derek. In truth, he’d been crying in his sleep. In pain, she could tell, and restless. He’d settled with her there and it made her sad to think that maybe he’d just grown too used to sleeping beside someone else. She’d pulled his blankets closer and sang, just as she did with the other three when they were little. Even when they’re twenty, it still works like a charm.

Fran smiles, tries to soothe Derek’s nerves so he doesn’t worry about Aaron. He’s fine for now, sleeping soundlessly. She sits down on the edge of Derek’s bed, cups his cheek, and asks “how are you feeling?”

Derek just looks over to Aaron, his pale parted lips parted and the bandages holding him together. “Is he okay?” He’d been so scared last night watching Aaron sleep. No amount of Tylenol was doing a thing for his pain. Several times he’d sat up in the night and searched for a pulse, counted the far too many seconds separating each of his breathes. Derek thought Aaron might die right there beside him but he’d been more afraid of what might have happened if they went to the hospital.

Fran sighs, stupid love. It’s cute, she has to admit, but so senseless. “He’s sleeping, he’s okay.” She tries to redirect him, “how do you feel?”

Derek looks back over to Aaron. He looks. There’s more than just those pale lips and the bandages. It’s Aaron. He’s sleeping under multiples blankets and looks like himself. How he always looks when Derek rolls over to face him. He believes his mother, she never lies. “My leg hurts,” he whispers, voice cracking. It’s like the entire thing is pulsing, a continuous stabbing feeling. He cries but not from the pain. They betrayed him. The people he so stupidly thought of as his friends. They hurt him like they’d been hurting Aaron.

He should have known better.

He shouldn’t have been so stupid.

This is his fault.

“Derek?” Aaron sits up, hesitating under the combined attention of Derek and Fran.

Fran stands up, nods Aaron over. “Sit with him,” she offers. “I’ll go get a nurse.”

Aaron nods, still waiting, still hesitating to be where he wants to be. Derek motions him closer, manages to move his body over in the bed. Just enough room for Aaron to squeeze in beside him.

“I don’t think I”m supposed to--”

“Lay down.” Derek can see all the bruises and cuts up close again. He brushes his fingers through the hair above Aaron’s ear, turning his palm to his cheek. Gently tracing the outline of a bandage. “Runaway with me,” he whispers. He thought about it all night long while he watched Aaron sleep. “There’s only four more weeks left of the semester.” Aaron’s smart, he’ll get in anywhere he applies. “We’ll transfer someplace else, anywhere else.”

Aaron frowns, he doesn’t like the idea of this impulsivity. Mostly the number of uncertainties that it creates and the questions. Where will they go? How will they know it’s safe? Are they dropping out? Where will they transfer to? What Aaron can’t get into the college that Derek does?

“Hey,” Derek hushes, he strokes his thumb across Aaron’s cheekbone. “Hey, whatever you’re thinking stop. I’m not leaving, not going anywhere you don’t. We do this together, alright?” He smiles, leans forward, and softly knocks their foreheads together. “Four weeks and all of summer break, okay? That’s plenty of time for a smarty pants like you to figure out where we can go.” It had taken less time for Aaron to conclude Illinois was close enough to home for him to go if something happened to his mother but too far away for her or his brother to come to him.

They’ll figure it out.

“Runaway with me?” he asks one more time.

“Okay.”

[girldraki]

ngl, ase discourdse is how we learned to curate our dash the hard way. we joined tumblr right before its peak began, and had were actually considering the label at the time. Then its started showing up, at first we did nothing because we were severely uneducated on most lgbt stuff, and later because we thought we were supposed to have multiple opininons on it and respect people even if we disagree.

As you can imagine, big mistake, not only was there frequent invalidation, but straight up hatred, which negative affected us. It actually began a spiral of psychological self harm where we would go to the tag to see what they said, even after realizing I was ace and didnt agree with them

eventually i decided to unfollow the most violent and upsetting ones, but it still hurt to see what the others reblogged so eventually i unfollowwed them too. I slowly purged them from my dash and learned to frequently searcg their blog before following.

the anti-mspc stuff has been really similar, so its caused a lot of those memories to resurface, as ive had to begin purging again, although im not that myself.

i gotta thank ya for being positive about it frequently, your blog has remained throught the years because of that, love yall(/parasocial)

(thank you for the search censors btw ^_^;)

honestly we had very similar experiences to you and it’s … basically why we stopped talking about ace disco?

like mod ided as ace by the time they started their first acc so we came down as inclus immediately but YEAH the whole… deeply unhealthy spiral of emotional self harm thing was a real issue, especially because ace disco was so fucking inescapable if you placed any importance on your aspec identity at all — like you put it in your bio or you tried to look in aspec related tags and you Would see it (we didn’t know about discord servers at the time.) , and also block didnt really work at that point and we constantly had Funnyman Squad on our dash

and. yeah we learned to block and unfollow and /search-ace /search-asexual and we also blocked j*hnny (lol) and our self harm tapered off now that we weren’t constantly stressed and… concurrent to this (1) the block started hiding people’s posts on your dash (2) people mostly shut up about asexuality? but anyway when the emspec stuff kicked in and we evaluated with a normal base stress level we were able to go ok yeah this is bad we’re not going to directly engage. so we haven’t lol and we have mostly been fine

[spaceshipkat]

i think so much of writing respectfully and inclusively is being aware of what you’re putting down on the page. what do i mean by this? what better author to focus on than sj///m, right? i’ll start with CCity on this, since it’s the one where it’s most obvious she’s trying so hard to fix her mistakes, but the problem always comes back to her fundamental misunderstanding of why and how her shit is problematic in the first place and what she must do to fix said problematic shit. 

i’m sticking this under a cut bc, surprise surprise, i rambled 😌

take, for instance, Hunt: i think it’s pretty widely-accepted he’s coded as a MOC, (potentially an Asian-coded man) since he’s given “golden-brown skin” and “angular” eyes. sj//m was trying to be more inclusive by writing him in such a way that he shouldn’t be perceived as white, but what she failed to realize is two big things: 1) the fact he’s a slave of centuries who is constantly tortured, mutilated, and manipulated by his oppressors, and 2) the fact he lusts after and is demeaned by Bruce, a white girl. furthermore, Bruce constantly makes comments about how Hunt should fight back, shouldn’t allow himself to remain a slave, and taunts him into either disobeying Micah (the man he’s enslaved to) or killing for her. it’s made clear time and time again that Hunt doesn’t like that he’s an assassin for Micah, and yet there are so many instances of him wanting to kill or hurt someone for Bruce, which not only makes his characterization inconsistent, it plays into the problematic trope of the dark-skinned aggressor (a trope that sj///m seems to be particularly fond of, what with the Illyrians). 

(on the topic of Hunt, a quick side-note: the idea of the “alphahole” that comes up again and again in CCity and that antis have critiqued up the wazoo (though not with the “alphahole” colloquialism until CCity came along, but i don’t think many antis actually use “alphahole” as anything but a joke when talking about her obvious love of the hypermasculine alpha male). sj///m is clearly trying to call out her past mistakes and work to rectify them going forward, but she completely fails bc she only succeeds at 1) mocking her readers, who are often fans of hers bc they like the alpha male douchebag sj///m is infamous for, and 2) making herself sound like an idiot when she calls out “alphahole” behavior while actively writing “alphaholes” and making them (possible) endgame love interests (i say possible bc it’s anyone’s guess if sj///m will actually subvert everyone and their mother’s expectations by making Hunt endgame). Hunt is an “alphahole,” even if he’s not quite as bad as riceman or rowboat and even if sj///m thinks she’s not actually writing an “alphahole”. with his aforementioned behavior toward anyone who’s mean to Bruce (aka wanting to kill them for her), he still falls under the “alphahole” category.

but i digress.)

another example of sj///m writing without being aware of what she’s actually putting on the page is her inclusion of queer rep. sj///m queerbaits quite a lot with Danika, thanks to lines she has involving Bruce and her relationship with Bruce, not to mention how many times others wonder if Bruce and Danika are “just” best friends and not actually lovers. we have Hunt wonder about it, after all, several times iirc. one that stands out the most is when he says that they have to be more than “just” best friends because Bruce doesn’t mourn Danika like someone mourns “just” their best friend, thus implying that Bruce is mourning Danika like a lover and/or spouse (bc obviously people can’t be torn to pieces over losing their best friend in a horrific attack, right?). 

here’s some lines that have romantic connotations bc i am nothing if not a historian who likes citations: 

page 38 of my ebook: 

Danika just said it. “If he grabs his phone to check his messages before his dick’s barely out of you again, please have the self-respect to kick his balls across the room and come home to me.” 

page 45 of my ebook: 

But it was Danika’s added “Love you” as [Bruce] slipped out into the grimy hallway that made her hesitate with her hand on the knob. 

It’d taken Danika a few years to save those words, and she still used them sparingly. Danika had initially hated it when [Bruce] said them to her—even when [Bruce] explained that she’d spent most of her life saying it, just in case it was the last time. In case she wouldn’t get to say goodbye to the people who mattered most. And it had taken one of their more fucked-up adventures[...]to get Danika to utter the words, but at least she now said them. Sometimes. 

page 258 of my ebook (aka the line of Hunt’s i referenced above): 

The silence pressed on [Hunt] enough that he asked, “Were you and Danika lovers?” 

He’d been told two years ago that they weren’t, but friends didn’t mourn each other the way [Bruce] seemed to have so thoroughly shut down every part of herself. The way he had for Shahar. 

[...]

Hunt turned in place as [Bruce] padded around the other end of the kitchen island, flinging open the enormous metal fridge to examine its meager contents. “No,” [Bruce] said, her voice flat and cold. “Danika and I weren’t like that.” 

page 696 of my ebook: 

[Bruce] swallowed, looking at the ground that was not earth, but the very base of Self, of the world. She whispered, “I’m scared.”

Danika grabbed her hand again. “That’s the point of it, [Bruce]. Of life. To live, to love, knowing that it might all vanish tomorrow. It makes everything that much more precious.” She took [Bruce’s] face in her hands and pressed their brows together. 

page 700 of my ebook (and i was torn on including this one, but it’s from Danika, so i think i should): 

Danika had whispered, “I love you,” before fading into nothing, her hand sliding from Bryce’s.

page 703 of my ebook (also torn on this, but it does sound a little queer, so): 

But it wasn’t okay. Not even close. What had happened, what [Bruce had] done and revealed, the Horn in her body, all those people dead, Lehabah dead, and seeing Danika, Danika, Danika—

Her breathless words turned into pants, and then shuddering sobs.

also, not for nothing, but the fact Danika dies without an actual male love interest to make Her Straightness Obvious kinda also implies she’s queer, but *sips tea*

furthermore, there’s the way sj///m writes Fury and Juniper: we see the two women together in one scene, in which Juniper is fetishized and goes to sleep with some random guy. for the rest of the book, they never interact on-page and thus we are never given the chance to see their dynamic, which would provide crucial context clues to what their relationship really is by the time this exchange happens between Fury and Bruce on page 494 of my ebook:

“And yet you can still talk to Juniper?” Bryce’s throat closed up. “I wasn’t worth the risk to you?”

Fury hissed, “Juniper and I have something that is none of your fucking business.” Bryce refrained from gaping. Juniper had never hinted, never suggested—“I could no sooner stop talking to her than I could rip out my own fucking heart, okay?”

“I get it, I get it,” Bryce said. She blew out a long breath. “Love trumps all.”

i’ve talked about this scene to death, but this is written in such a way that it can be read as “just” best friends or as two women in a romantic relationship, depending on the reader. the fact that Bruce “gapes” (which faerug also does to Mor, and which i talk about below) implies that being openly queer isn’t accepted in this world, that it’s not very likely you’ll see two women holding hands as they walk down the sidewalk or kiss at a romantic restaurant. it also implies that Bruce, no matter that she says about “love trumps all,” might not be as accepting as sj///m would like us to believe. maybe sj///m has never had a friend come out to her before, but if i came out to someone and they gaped at me (and i’ve come out to several people several times now, both about my sexuality and my gender, so i have some experience here), i don’t think i would be very happy with them/want to remain their friend. 

on the note of queer rep in sj///m’s work, Mor is another fantastic example of trying to be inclusive through a response to criticism without sj///m being aware of what, exactly, she’s writing. Mor comes out because faerug all but forces her to by not shutting up what a good guy Azriel is and that Mor should just give him a chance. that right there is fucked on so many levels, not just because Mor is a lesbian, but bc she’s supposedly faerug’s friend. no one should ever force their friends to date someone they don’t want to (i’ve had this happen to me! i had to literally snap at my friend to get her to back off bc i wasn’t going to go to the dance with this one guy who ignored my every rejection and bought us tickets to winter formal, just bc he’s a nice guy and i might like him if i gave him a chance), but i don’t think sj///m could figure out how else to write Mor’s coming out scene, largely bc she has no fucking clue how disgusting the scene we’re given is. the problem with Mor being a lesbian is threefold: 1) she’s a woman who was tortured by her father and left to die bc she was no longer a virgin; 2) Azriel spends centuries lusting after a woman who makes it clear time and again that she does not reciprocate his feelings and yet he cannot take the fucking hint, so much so that sj///m has to now dangle Elain in front of him like a piece of meat to get him to let go of Mor; and 3) sj///m was obviously setting up Mor and Azriel to be an endgame couple in ac0maf, as evidenced both in canon and in her pinterest board: 

even stans picked up on it, what with their vocal outrage over how Mor “led Azriel on” for centuries instead of just outing herself to a man she obviously does not feel safe around, and posts like these: 

and fanart like this: 

the tl;dr of this ramble is this: if you want to write inclusively and respectfully, you have to be 100% aware of everything you’re putting on the page. when people ask for advice on this kind of thing, my first comment is to always say they’re already on the right track bc they’re already thinking of this, rather than being unaware of problems bc a state of unawareness is where the problems begin to appear. Hafsah Faizal has talked about this before on her twitter (i wish i could find the tweet, but this is from eons ago), but if you write a character of color when you yourself are white, you have to be wholly conscious of how your white character talks to this character of color. if the character of color is constantly yelled at or ordered around or ignored by the white character, that’s a big problem. if you write a queer character when you yourself are straight, you have to be conscious of how your queer character comes out, is perceived by the reader, and is treated by the straight character. if the queer character comes out by comparing their bisexuality to forced prostitution, as is the case with Aedion and Lysandra in t0g, that’s a big problem. 

the moment you share your work for public consumption, it no longer matters what your intentions are (something sj///m has a lot of trouble understanding, hence why she over-explains everything in her interviews and on tours, not to mention why she force-feeds us her opinion of her characters in canon so we’re forced to share the exact same outlook on them) bc all that matters is what you’ve put down on the page. your words, at that point, have no choice but to speak for themselves, and if they do any of the above, your work is going to come under warranted critique, and unless you learn from that critique and do more than half-assed jobs to write more inclusively and respectfully, you’ll run into the exact same problems that sj///m has with CCity. 

[commander-diomika]

Ah fuck it. Let's get this started. Fandom: Rusty Quill Gaming Pairing: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde Rating: Gen Word Count: ~1000 Additional Tags: Slow Burn, 18-Month Time Gap (Rusty Quill Gaming), Rating Will Change to Explicit in Later Parts, Opposites Attract Summary: Zolf and Oscar Wilde find their way back together as the world falls apart. This is the first in a series of scenes through the time skip and beyond with eventual canon divergence, exploring trans masc Oscar Wilde, with background Barnes/Carter.

Posted as a series as most scenes will be able to stand alone as snapshots, and different scenes will have different ratings.

The Meritocratic Offices, Cairo.

“Wilde.” Zolf leant on the doorframe, arms crossed. They’d made him leave his glaive at the front, but his flat eyes and tone still managed to exude a threat. “Got your letter. Can’t say I was pleased to hear from you.”

Wilde looked up from the desk with tired eyes. It was not the face of the man that Zolf had met in London only six months ago. His hair was too short, for one, and it made his face look thinner, once-soft features sharp. Zolf was willing to bet if he’d cast Detect Magic, there wouldn’t be a speck of illusion on the man. Zolf hid his shock, lips barely twitching. After all, Zolf wasn’t the same dwarf either, sporting stark white hair and standing on two seemingly good legs.

“Ah, but you came, didn’t you?” Wilde’s smile, on the other hand, hadn’t changed. His smile said he was winning a game you hadn’t even learnt the rules to yet, and not for the first time Zolf wondered why he’d let the Harlequins talk him into dropping his investigation to heed this man’s summons.

“Of all the people in the world you could’ve tracked down, why me?” Zolf asked flatly.

Wilde stood. “Shut the door, if you please.” Zolf stepped in, obliging.

Unlike some of the other lavish appointments Zolf had seen Wilde take up residence in, this office was cramped, undecorated, and its walls were in need of another coat of whitewash. There was only one chair on this side of the desk, and it didn’t look like it would hold up to Zolf’s bulk. He stayed standing.

Wilde leant his hips on the front edge of the desk. He was moving gingerly, as if recovering from an injury, but as he leant back Zolf could see his demeanour shift, that insufferable entertainer’s persona wrapping around him like a cloak.

“I heard about the work you were doing for the Harlequins, on the weather abnormalities. I also heard that you were stalled, somewhat.”

Zolf grunted by way of reply. When Wilde didn’t continue, Zolf felt his impatience spark. “That’s not really Meritocrat business, now is it? What's really goin’ on here? Your letter weren’t exactly illuminating.”

Wilde examined his nails.

Zolf resisted the urge to Create Water over the top of Wilde’s head. When he’d decided to come here, he promised himself that he was going to be better. He’d changed. The fact that this was the man most able to get under his skin would only help make those changes stick. Hopefully.

“Those labels are meaning less and less, these days.” Wilde’s eyes met Zolf’s as though searching for something.

Zolf closed the small distance between them and grabbed Wilde by the lapels. Well, six months wasn’t a very long time for a dwarf, and change was hard. “Stop. Stop bein’ enigmatic and tell me what I’m doin’ here, Wilde. I know you could’n give a straight answer to save your life but if you don’t give it a shot, I’m leavin’.” Wilde flinched as he was pulled into a stoop, eyes skittering off Zolf’s face, now mere inches from his own.

He took a deep breath. “The Meritocrats have been compromised. Cult of Hades. Badly.”

Zolf let go. “… Alright then,” he said. It was half acknowledgement, half peace offering.

Wilde straightened, smoothed hands down his lapels, wincing slightly. “It’s true. There’s almost no one here I can be sure of. I asked you to come and work for me because, quite frankly, things are breaking down, and you’re the only one left.” The mask slipped and for just a flash, there was something so vulnerable on that face. The only what left, Wilde didn’t specify.

“Your old mercenary group left untapped leads, and I think I know the next steps. I’ve been trying to play the game from the inside, but any usefulness that might have been wrought here, is coming to an end.” His voice was high, emotion cracking through. He shifted back to lean against the desk again, tried to regain his usual composure, and failed. “On top of all that, I’m being hexed from a distance and have to wear anti magic cuffs twenty-four seven.” He knocked his ankles gently together with a metallic clink. Ah. That explained the lack of illusions, then.

Wilde took a shaky breath, and Zolf could see that he was dragging words up from a place rarely accessed. “I need help, Zolf. And I need to not be in this alone.”

Zolf felt a brief flash of guilt for manhandling this shadow of Wilde’s former self.

“Is that straight forward enough for you?” Wilde asked with a bitter drop.

That was a lot of take in. He’d known things were bad from his work with the Harlequins; but it was one thing to hear rumours and theorization, another to hear it straight from the inside. Heedless of his earlier assessment of the chair, Zolf sat heavily. “I… yeah. That’s rough.”

Wilde flicked his head as though to stop the kind words landing on him. As far as Zolf was concerned, it worked. He promptly abandoned his brief foray into sympathy for Wilde, and straightened back up.

“Also, back up a minute. Work for you?” Wilde started to smile again, his face becoming one that begged to be dunked in a bucket. Gods but this whole interaction was setting Zolf back. “Let’s get one thing clear. If I’m helpin’ you - and I’m not saying that I am - this time we work together. I ain’t gonna be your lackey, and I don’t need a handler. You keep me in the loop, you talk to me, and we work as a team.”

“Of course, Zolf. I accept your terms.” Wilde held out his hand primly, once again the picture of a man accustomed to making deals. Zolf saw him tuck that vulnerability back inside, and felt a flash of emotion that was either respect or resentment. “Partners, then?”

Zolf eyed the offered hand. Despite everything Wilde was going through, it was still remarkably well manicured.

“C’mon Zolf. Haven’t we always gotten along swimmingly,” Wilde implored with a tilt of his head and a waggle of his fingertips.

“Don’t.” Zolf said warningly. Resentment, definitely. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Wilde threw back his head and laughed. “Now Zolf, when have I ever given you cause for regret?”

Zolf growled, took the offered hand in his, and shook.

[nightswithkookmin]

I am a hard Taekook shipper but recently Jikook have been melting my heart by being so cute and cudly and loving. I understand and i am sorry for so mhch hate from Taekookers but trust me Taekookers are a bit shaken right now. I cannot disclose my name here but i would like to say if Jikook is real or they decide to come out which i higly doubt then i am 100% in support and also ur page helped me open my eyes and see a diff sude of shipping which is needed alot more. I am Loving Love ryt now.

C'est la vie!

So sorry for the late response love. You've always been on my mind.

I get not every Taekooker is wild and rabid just as not every Joker is sane and fake woke. Lol.

I mean I'm still holding on to my grudge against your people for storming my business pages and leaving shit reviews on my books- and laughing about it? What was that? Damn. Had to change my author name and everything and I've since been publishing under an alias- let me tell you, it's no fun at all.

In retrospect, I shouldn't have called y'all's ship dead- but honestly it dead, it dried up like a drop of sweat on a dessert. What can I say? People just don't want the truth, lol- had these angry thirteen year olds and fake woke Jokers coming for my ass and my business ass on the flamingo app. Chilee. Your people don't want to be civil. Sigh.

Some people just have no sense of personal responsibility and when they get called out for it they slap you with the whole, 'no one asked you to put yourself and your business out there' - this creepy behavior and mental adroitness is not far from rapists blaming girls for wearing short shorts and mini skirts or thieves blaming people for not putting up a fence and shit to protect their property. It's fucked up.

And don't get me started on what they do to Jimin or JK... or even Tae- not to make you feel bad or anything. It's just my people suck, your people suck, we all suck square- don't apologize for it unless you plan on doing something to change it?

As for Taekook, yea I don't think there is anything wrong with shipping them. They have a beautiful bond, they are both visuals and both funny as hell. If you won't ship them I will. Lol.

Just know the reason you are shipping them? If you are shipping them because you genuinely believe they are a couple too then you need to stop shipping them and start supporting them?

And once you start supporting them then I think you'd sooner realize there isn't anything there to support in the first place. Lol.

I support Jikook because I believe with my full chest they are real and are closeted- emphasis on closeted. And for the record, they are the only queer couples in BTS.

Tae lost his queer card when he accidentally outed Jimin on that radio show. 'I think he likes men' yea, straight up het behavior. Lack of homo sensitivity.

Did you see JK's reaction when JM was asked to spill tea on their pervy behaviors behind cams? My butt quivered. Chilee, I thought he was gone out JK too. Damn.

I think the word real and closeted have come loose and cheap on these streets these days. I don't think most of these shippers when they throw it around fully understand the term or realise what it means and what it takes. If they did, they wouldn't randomly be labeling every ship as 'real' within the fandom.

If you believe Taekook is real and that they are equally hiding their sexuality as well as their relationship within the group, then you should understand how severe and traumatizing this fact is and would be for them as gay men?

The thing is, they are not just hiding parts of themselves and their identity for the sake of their careers or military or whatever if they are real, they are lying to millions, millions of people at a time about who they really are by keeping their identity a secret. Secrets are lies honey, however way we want to see it.

If they are real then they are concealing their true identity away from not just their families and friends- if they haven't come out to them, but acquaintances from work, businesses who wouldn't work with them otherwise, brands, sponsors, Heads of states, their fans....

It's one thing for a heterosexual to keep their heterosexual relationship a secret, it's another for a queer person to keep their queerness and or queer relationship a secret.

A lie as heavy as this is bound to take a toll on them, no matter how good they are at hiding it. A secret gets heavy before it gets easy. Not to sell you on anything but do you see any such secret taking a toll on Taekook? Because I see it taking a toll on Jikook.

Do you believe Taekook are closeted? Because I believe Jikook are.

Being closeted means they have to carry the guilt of knowing that each time they pander to heteronormative roles in variety shows or interviews, or imply by omissions that they are straight, or make generalizing statements about their sexuality to avoid addressing their sexuality directly or give it away, that they are lying to people and spewing half truths- seven years in a roll.

Being closeted is not a joke. It's heavy. I think you need to grasp this before you claim it for anyone.

People like to throw the 'closeted' phrase around willy nilly but fail to comprehend its weight and complexity and consequences especially for people that they believe are actually queer.

It's not easy lying to people about who you are. Unless you are a pathological liar and a psychopath, it's like drowning each day you wake up. You die a little each time. Your sexuality is a huge part of your identity and when you deny it for so long by lying and suppressing it, it's like shutting out a peice of yourself and silencing your own voice. The more you push it aside the louder it screams and the harder it fights to come out.

It's a state of constant internal struggle. You wake up everyday contemplating whether to risk the perfect life you've spent years building just so you can turn off the guilt that comes with keeping a secret of this nature.

And each time you get better at omitting or generalizing and evading questions that hint at your truth, the more you hate yourself and the more guilt you feel. This guilt can become a driving force that pushes you to make risky moves and take impulsive actions such as 'borderline outing your relationship'- does that sound like Taekook to you?

If you are not driven by the love you feel for your partner, you are driven by the guilt and neither is a great place to be if you are queer.

You lie everyday, you get caught up in the lies and soon you start believing in the web of lies you've woven around yourself such that you don't even recognize who you are or why you are, anymore. As such, you are constantly searching for yourself, to reconcile the bits you've hidden away and perhaps forgotten, and you keep exploring your identity because you are unsettled- honey, that sounds more like Jikook than Taekook to me but c'est la vie.

Being closeted is not about moments that get cut by editors, or less interactions, or being seperated or seated further apart from eachother. These are just ship street parlance. Being closeted is an attitudinal, internal attribute rather than external manipulations or influences- it's a science. Lol

Coming out may be risky for any of these boys if they are real, but I promise you hiding is much harder for them.

And so When I look at Taekook, and I see how beautiful they are yet I don't in God's honest truth see them 'dealing' with any or all of these struggles Jikook deal with or have dealt with at one point, in my opinion- forget the homophobia, the wanting to come out, the low key microaggressions they deal with even within the group- 'the Jk never stops crying,' 'the real men don't do this and that talk' talk, the toxic masculinity and internalized homophobia traits JK and Jimin used to exhibit in their early days talking about 'real men don't twerk,' 'real men don't wear rings on their pinky'- all the times Jimin have had to defend his masculinity or even femininity, or stand up for Kook's within the group. 'Men, men, men. What is men?'

Jikook are the only two within the group that in my opinion have struggled most with their identity, with embracing aspects of themselves; you hear them complain about 'living a lie' 'tired of hiding, lying' and all these are themes consistent with closet behavior that they've both explored in one way or the other and even as of 2020 they are still dealing with or 'exploring' their identities perhaps as a means to reconcile their true selves? I'm really struggling with this post because I don't wanna get salesy on your ass. Lol.

Don't get me wrong, Tae struggles and deals with issues too- mostly with loneliness, lowkey depression in my opinion, lowkey bullying- sometimes, lol and he often expresses a desire to find someone and be happy and yet 'his supporters' don't recognize that...

You can wait till Jikook come out officially as queer, if they ever chose to, to support them- Or you can choose to support them and love them now because that's what they need in order to officially come out as and when they choose to? Ok I'm being salesy. Lmho. I'll stop. Don't mind me. But think about it.

Ship whatever ship you want but support Jikook. It's all I'm asking. And by support, I mean don't exhibit any anti homosexual attitude towards them- deadass. You and I gone fight, square up toe to toe, if you do. Lol.

People don't need to be afraid of Jikook. They just need to treat them as human beings and not reduce them to a mere ship. They are a ship too yes, but they are more than that if you ask me.

You sound nice. I love you. I'm glad you enjoy my posts. Merry Christmas and cheers to our ships.

Keep supporting Jikook. Jikook is real.

Signed,

GOLDY

[valpus-writing]

I love you

Its your lucky day for your pleasure I will be posting this story in parts here until it is finished and fully uploaded on AO3

Characters: Antisepticeye, Actorwkm, ActorMark, Chase brody, Marvin the magnificent, Henrik/Mention/ Jackaboy man

Pairing: Anti/Actor, Antisepticeye/ActorMark, Marvelsepticeye, Marvin/Jackaboy man.

Rating:PG

Warning: None

Description: What happens when a creature who thought he couldn’t feel love and someone who never wanted to love again fall in love?

This is based on Billie Eilish’s song I love you and it doesn’t follow the whole story Just Actor and Anti realizing that they are in love and the feelings that go with that because I was too lazy to write everything. Not to mention I’m sad and there are not enough stories with these two

Word count: 1,621

It was early morning and the only reason Anti knew that was because he could hear the sound of Marks’s alarm going off on the other side of the bed and then the groaning of the man next to him. Soon enough the sound stopped as the actor rolled over and turned the alarm off before turning back so he was face to face with Anti. The virus looked at him for just a moment enjoying this time next to him surprised he hadn’t been asked to leave yet. It was a rare treat to be able to be this close with Mark, at least in this calm of away. He watched as Mark looked him over for a moment before moving closer to him moving a hand up to gently run his hands through Anti’s hair.

The virus smiled contently wrapping an arm around Mark’s waist and pulling him close. It was a nice moment of peace between them something neither of them got to see very often. They stayed like that for a long time before the second alarm went off about fifteen minutes later. Mark got up this time and turning it off. Anti opened his eyes admiring the bites and marks that started on the human’s neck and moved their way down his body. As Mark slipped his robe on to cover himself of the way to the shower he caught a glimpse of the smirking demon on his bed and huffed.

“Proud of yourself are you?” He says and Anti could hear the annoyance in the voice but it didn’t have the same harshness to it as it used to. He couldn’t quite remember when that harshness had faded from the other’s voice but he knew he hadn’t heard it for a while.

“What can I say I’m good at my job.”

“That ‘job’ is getting me no fans in the makeup department on set.”

“My bad,” Anti responded but he didn’t mean it and Mark knew he didn’t so he just shook his head and turned to the bathroom before stopping as if he forgot something. He looked at Anti who was just getting out of the bed. He opened his mouth to say something before shaking his head and going into the bathroom. Anti was surprised he hadn’t been kicked out but he wasn’t going to push his luck and stood all the way up stretching before grabbing his clothes off the floor and getting dressed. His form glitched harshly and he was now in his bedroom at the Septic house.

The fact that the Ipliers didn’t live together had always surprised him. He could understand why Actor didn’t stay with everyone else being as almost any of the other Ipliers would kill him given the chance but other than people who were together the Ipliers all lived on their own. But he supposed when you had that many egos that were prone to infighting it made sense. For the most part, the Septics all lived together the only exception being when someone was away for work, or himself he supposed. Anti had a room in the Septic house but it was more like a pocket of void he had put in the attic, and besides he hadn’t been there lately as he had been for the most part at Mark’s manor.

Anti shook his head at the thought of the actor and grabbed some clean clothes before making his way to the bathroom hoping it would be empty. Thankfully it was and the virus made quick work of showering. When he got out of the shower he stopped to look at himself in the mirror and the dark purple spots that covered his own neck. There weren’t nearly as many marks as what he had left on the actor not to mention they were harder to see considering most of them were right above the gash in his throat. He let out a bit of a sigh before getting dressed. He was growing soft for that man and he didn’t know how to feel about that.

Anti was never very good with feeling, so he would push this down just like he did everything else as he made his way out of the bathroom with a yawn and a slight glitch. He made his way down to the kitchen where coffee had already been started, likely by Henrik as he was normally the first ego up due to having to get to the hospital early. In the kitchen, he walked past Chase and grabbed the bottle of whisky out of his hand before he even got the chance to pour it in his coffee.

“Hey!” Chase protested although he didn’t fight hard for it back just glared at the glitching male who was taking a swing of it straight from the bottle.

“You don’t mix whisky with coffee, we have coffee liquor for a reason,” Anti replied capping the bottle of whisky and putting it on top of the fridge. He then went into the fridge and pulled out the bottle of baileys; sliding it over to Chase on the counter. The virus grabbed out the jar of eyes from the back of the fridge and cracked it open as he shut the door of the fridge with his foot.

“I see someone is back from their boyfriends,” Marvin says as he walked in and saw Anti who snorted at the other’s comment.

“Mark is not my boyfriend.”

“And JJ can talk.” Marvin shot back and the virus rolled his eyes as he moved to sit at the counter across from Chase.

“If you aren’t careful you won’t be able to talk cat.” Anti hissed at him and Marvin just smirked as he made his way to the fridge to make his own breakfast.

“You would never,” He teased and Anti rolled his eyes again knowing the other was right.

“Your right but I’m not above cutting off that tail of yours.” As he said this he could see the magician’s tail wrap around his leg as if to keep it safe as he pulled out the eggs from the fridge.

“Okay, okay so you’re not dating him, then why are you over there all the time?”

“Sex.”

“Oh come on you are over there more than for that to be the only reason you are there.” Marvin fired back as he cracked his eggs into the pan on the stove.

“How is your relationship with Jackie going?” Anti asked deflecting what Marvin had said altogether. He didn’t want to think about what his relationship with Mark past just being fuck buddies. Marvin could tell what Anti was doing as his tail flicked behind him in annoyance but let it happen.

“As good as it can be considering he is a reckless idiot at times and insist on going out even when hurt so that’s been a mess.” He says and Anti popped an eye in his mouth before responding.

“Well, he’s a hero and will put everyone before himself. You know if you want him to stay home to rest you could always just make yourself the damsel distress.” Anti suggested and Marvin tilted his head in a way as to make it seem as though he was considering it. “I could even help if you wanted me to, or teach you one of the more complex trap spells.” He was more than willing to help as he needs the distraction.

“Sounds good to me.”

“What sounds good?” Jackie says walking into the kitchen with a yawn.

Chase opened his mouth to say something before Anti shot him a glare and he shut up as Marvin spoke. “Nothing. You going to want some eggs?”

“That sounds great,” Jackie says walking over and wrapping his arms around Marvin’s waist and Anti made a gagging sound. “Oh shut up you can complain when you have enough dignity to cover your neck Demon,” Jackie says but pulled away after a kiss to Marvin’s cheek choosing instead to sit on the counter.

“Boohoo,” Anti says a smirk on his face knowing he was doing it just to get under the other’s skin.

“You are completely annoying you know that,” Jackie says looking over at the virus who had opened his mouth to reply to the hero before his phone went off. Anti pulled it out of his pocket and although he didn’t have the number saved he knew it was Mark’s. Not wanting to seem desperate he waiting a moment before answering it.

“Hello, jackass.”

“What the fuck is the point of you having a phone if you don’t answer it?” Mark snapped and Anti just smirked.

“I knew it was you and you are so used to getting what you want I figured I would make you wait.”

“Prick,”

“You love it.” There was a slight pause from Mark at that comment but before Anti could tease him about it or think more about what that could mean Mark spoke up again.

“There is a cast party tonight and we are supposed to bring our partners and I’m not going to look single. So dress nice, and be at my place at five.”

“Is this a d̴͔̓á̸̬t̵̢̓e̵̟̿?” Anti asked both his voice and body glitching at the word date.

“Hardly.”

“And if I don’t dress nice?”

“Then I will change you myself.”

“Kinky.”

“You are a horribly dick-minded creature.”

“You didn’t mind that last night.” There was a click on the other end as the Actor hung up on the virus.

“Not my boyfriend you said.” Marvin teases before ducking at the knife that was thrown at him and got stuck on the cupboard door.

[haec-est-fides]

How to start Discourse TM about Octavian:

Discuss.

This struck me at like 2am so I apologize if it comes off as rude? But hear me out.

This stupid chart is a gross oversimplification ofc, but at its most basic this captures the issue regarding Octavian’s characterization / how the fandom perceives and understands him: his ambiguous motivations.

Octavian fans, as far as I’ve seen, tend to write redemption AUs and characterize Octavian as a misunderstood victim -- which isn’t to say that they excuse his crimes or anything like that! There’s actually a really good understanding of “this kid did horrific things but there’s more to it than that and he deserved better” among them tbh.

The thing is, most Octavian fans (box II / top right if you’re following) are from Heroes of Olympus and may not have read Trials of Apollo. They know, from their reading, that Gaea influenced Octavian somehow, but not about the Triumvirate. They also probably read into Will Solace’s “anemic” comment / other “unhealthy” descriptors of Octavian and think his death was a complete failure on Riordan’s part like what the fuck. What I’m getting at is that if you’re sympathetic to Octavian, want to be able to explain why he does what he does, and hear that Gaea -- the big bad of the series -- is messing with his head? You’re going to put a lot of weight on that manipulation. It colors your entire understanding of his character.

Octavian haters, which I’ll admit make up the dominant chunk of the Riordanverse fandom, are box IV / bottom right. They also largely come from Heroes of Olympus and may or may not have read Trials of Apollo. More importantly, they don’t care. These are folks who read Heroes of Olympus and didn’t stop to think about Octavian or his motives. These are people who missed or didn’t bother to think about the mention of Gaea’s involvement. As a result, they obviously don’t see how he was pushed into what he did and so they blame it all on him. To them, there is no rational reason Octavian acted like he did. He’s just “crazy” and a jerk.

(I’m also gonna say it: The most insistent Octavian haters are Percy stans / Camp Half-Blood 4 Lyfe types who think everything that isn’t Percy Jackson and the Olympians is meh at best, people who read Trials of Apollo for Percabeth content and then get big mad because they were “cheated”, people who still get upset about the pillow pet in 2020. I bring this up because even if you don’t know that Octavian was influenced by Gaea or the Triumvirate, you could conceivably find a motive by understanding Camp Jupiter / the entire idea behind New Rome -- but the graeci don’t spend any time thinking about New Rome ever. Riordan himself is notoriously shallow about Camp Jupiter and the whole series is framed as anti-Roman tbh. That’s its own discussion.)

Box III / bottom left is a wild card because I’m pretty sure I’m like,,,the only person in that box. Basically, what I got from my reading of Octavian in Heroes of Olympus was “oh wow this kid walked straight out of Rome, c. 27 BC” and ���omgs, he’s Augustus II”. Trials of Apollo only confirmed that interpretation more for me. The main cause of his strife with everyone around him is that he’s trying to act like a full blown ancient Roman in a modern, mini Rome. Almost everything held against him is literally nothing when you come at it from a Roman mindset. Anyway, I hear you saying, “That’s all well and good, but box III says he WASN’T influenced by Gaea! Isn’t it canon that he was?” Truthfully? I really don’t think Gaea had all that much to do with Octavian’s actions. Maybe a nudge here or there, but nothing that would remove his agency as a rational actor in what he did. Why? Because we only ever -- and I mean ever, Trials of Apollo included -- hear that Octavian was influenced by Gaea from extremely biased speakers who admit they don’t know what happened, namely Apollo himself. Apollo, whose ego is so big he would never admit to being played by a teenager. Hell, this should get its own post one day. Moving on.

Box I / top left is really the most rational place to be. It isn’t very popular because it’s just,,,complicated. It allows for sympathy and understanding, which the Octavian haters can’t or won’t consider. It allows for blame and agency, which many Octavian fans prefer to avoid. All in all? It’s likely that the Triumvirate (which is honestly just shorthand for Extreme Romanness) played a role in Octavian’s worldview and therefore his motives. It’s also likely, if you take the text at face value, that Gaea pushed Octavian over the edge to divide the camps. If all of that is true, he’s a complex person who got dealt a bad hand but still played dirty with it.

Now, before I shut up, I want to make clear that I’m not actually trying to start shit. All interpretations of Octavian are wonderful and valid! He’s a very badly-developed character on Riordan’s part and that means you can hc almost anything. (That’s why there are so many readings of him in the first place, and there’s nothing we can do about it.) Also, I know that a lot of Octavian fans project / see him as a comfort / coping character, and I did not mean to demean that or otherwise upset y’all with this post. <3 I just wanted to share an observation as to why Octavian, as b-plot villain as he is, is such a divisive character in the fandom.

[iamtheempress]

A Vegeta x OC Fanfiction (part 4) ¤ ¤ ¤

Calamatta managed to roll out of bed and redress herself. Pulling on the suit and grabbing a spare to bring with her on her trip to To-Rot. Leaving her room she met with Nappa. "There she is!" He chugged a caffeinated hot beverage down like it was nothing, Raditz stood beside him counting his wad of cash and stuffing it in his armor. 

"Pay looks nice." She yawns and stretches making her cute tail curl and back arch abit. "37,000. Not bad but could be better. Vegeta got the most of it." Nappa nods and pushes the yawning female saiyan a mug of the hot beverage. "Thanks...gonna need it." "Damn right you are! Vegeta is still sleeping. Weird he said he was gonna get up before us.. eh whatever. Lets get your pod and stuff ready then well worry bout him." Nappa said as Calamatta shined off the mug and pushed it away.

Upon going to the pod, her coordinates were set and everything was packed into there Raditz, who was standing besides her piped up, leaning against the pod with his massive arms crossed. "Dont take this the wrong way Calamatta but… why are you so…" he moves his hands in an hour glass shape and tilts his head. Calamatta went wide eyed and fixed her suit where her ass is. 

"If thats how you flirt with women that was a strike out, good lord! And I have know idea why! Its just my body shape idiot…" she comments hearing Nappa wheeze as he fixes some wires within the pod, followed by him clanging his head leaving. "Im not! I d-dont flirt its just that… well… shes got… n-nice legs and … a great fa-" Calamatta thwipped her tail like a nervous cat. The bay door slid open and Raditz's poor excuse for flirtation was stopped DEAD in its tracks. "Stop harassing Calamatta on her body type Raditz, Saiyan women were given bodys to kill, shes built like a fine tuned weapon whether you see it or not." Vegeta points up at Raditz who scowled with a full face of blush. "Oh so you look at her too Vegeta?" Calamatta slaps her forehead and raises her voice flicking Raditz in the forehead for his really stupid comment. "Can yall stop talking about me like im not fuckin here??" She snapped annoyed and heard Nappa close up the oxygen port.

 "Ready boss?" She asked Vegeta, who nodded and got into his respective pod and punched in the coordinates manually. "Later guys!" She got in and Raditz and Nappa left the pod evac room. 

Vegeta's voice sparked to life on her scouter. "Theres a hidden base by the most recent Frieza Force there.. we should make it there in an hour so that will be our base of operation. No breaches from outside forces." She nods and for the 2nd time in her life the pod flew straight out of the mothership into the cold vacuum of space. 

She crossed her arms and watched Vegetas whiz right past her hurtling with effort and ease to the planet that only seemed to become larger.. if that wasnt already more possible.

 She marveled at it… it was amazing. It was a shame she was there for a job to do. 

It was under 50 minutes where there pods broke entry to the planets atmosphere, careening and becoming hot to the touch, cold metal heating up faster, and faster becoming scorching red hot. Then the mountain range came into view, with the ship in sight the two pods crashed right into a large cave system. 

Welding their pods into the hard rock walls to jut through with 0 damage just enough room for the pods to open on the opposite side of the mountain. Calamatta and Vegeta pushed the button to open the pod bay doors, they took one solid whif of the atmosphere and Cala sighed. "To-Rot huh.. so wheres the base ship?" Cala steps her boots onto the alien planets surface. "5 miles that way. Stay within the tree line, follow my lead." The prince cracks his neck and blasts away leaving a trail of dust and debris behind him.

 "Say no more.." she stated following close behind Vegeta. Vegetas eyes were trained ahead. Toa ship that was covered in dirt and over growth. He tapped his scouter to be sure. "Perfect.. no signs of power levels. Excellent!" He smirked, the prince and Calamatta landed outside of the ship. Vegeta punched in a code and they were both let in. "Good.. now.. lets have a look around. The recent failed mission logs should have data from their logs. Have a look around for food and whatever else when i find the log ill call for you"  Vegeta announced as the hangar door shut behind them locking followed by a robotic voice. 

'Systems Armed'

Calamatta turned on her heels and scampered to the back of the ship. Vegeta watched the eager Saiyan trot away, with a sigh and a roll of his eye he headed towards the command deck of the ship. 

Collected with dust and opened up first aid kits, Vegeta scanned the surrounding area cautiously. 3 lone scouters covered in blood sat on the front of the deck. An ominous reminder of the past couple of grunts who died here. 

He snagged the three up and turned to call for Calamatta "Found them! Get up here!"

Calamatta dropped this box of rations she found and walked quickly to the front to see him plugging in the scouters logs. An unfamiliar voice chimed to life. 

"F-Force log number 1, we have arrived at To-Rot, this area is to be our base of operation since the inhabitants cannot scale plateaus or fly. We will commence terraformation and return in a week." Vegeta clicked the 2nd video, a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. 

"F-Force Log number 2… uhm.. Que, Roa, and Gil went missing yesterday. We have been here for 3 days now and i have seen hide nor tail of them... ill send a distress warning to the mother ship but i will go and find my crew." 

He pressed the last one and the room suddenly became much heavier. "F-Force number 3… i found my crew.. w-whats left of them…" he held up baren bones and armor. "This planets fucked up… if you know whats good for you send the Saiyans.. theyll do a better job.. i couldnt save my crew! This is Nutte signing off… i'm going to look for Roa.”

"Thats… not good.." Vegeta groaned and plugged in the next scouter, A new crew came up on the screen, a crew of ten. The crew was looking around, brows raised and sweat on their brow. “So we are the 4th crew to come to this planet alone, from what were aware these uh… the main population of this race is highly hostile and we need to utilize lethal force...Well update as we go along.” After that log there was no update, no commanders log. He stepped away and swiped a hand through his hair. “Last log…”  He clicked on it which was 7 full days ago. 

A Log List of all the times this one computer has been logged into popped up. It was far more then 4.

10 Crew lists came through. Crews of upwards of 5 being the smallest to 30 being the most. All vanished within days of arrival. All of them mentioning, to send someone stronger, someone more capable. The Saiyans, they begged for the Saiyans help and they were all sent on suicide missions back to back to back to back.

Vegeta slammed his hands down on the console making it glitch the screen. “Of course theyd call for us…dammit!” He barked and kept his back turned away from her. “So they sent them on suicide missions because… they didn’t want to send us?” She questioned, furrowing her brows trying to wrap her head around the situation. “Frieza didnt want to send me and the other two… He sent US on a suicide mission.” Vegeta turned quickly and stared daggers into Calamatta, the overwhelming feeling of concern rain heavy within her head, and sat uncomfortably in her stomach like something she shouldnt have eaten.

Vegeta crossed the room and pointed his finger right into her chest a deep growl emanating from behind his bared teeth. “He went and sent ME with YOU so we can both perish!” “Hey hey what the hell! Calm down abit, well make it out of here ill follow orders.” Vegeta’s vein popped out on his forehead, eyes narrowed furious.

 “Thats not my point. Your optimism is the closest thing we have to any cocky behavior! It doesnt surprise me why Frieza sent me to a month long mission..” She put up her hands and once again her heart sunk; she went wide eyed staring into the princes heartlessly infuriated black eyes.

Friezas words rattled in her skull ‘your life is as forfeit to me as it is Vegeta…’

“I dont get why he would send both of us to die.” He turned back around and walked to a table with a map on it. “You stood at Frieza’s side for as long as you have been able to speak, you wanted freedom from him, now you might as well see the harsh reality, he never had any good intentions for you Calamatta. He wants you dead, so much so hell send the both of us to a lethal planet to terraform on our own…” He said flatly, Calamatta remained silent her tail loosely hanging from her waist. Her dignity and pride feeling like it was oozing out of her very pores. “Now get over here and lets get an idea of the land… this moon has two moons and we have to plan accordingly.” The map is very detailed of the entirety of the planet from the red deserts to the lush green forests and then to the grayed out city scapes. All of them giant hot beds of activity, teaming with life as they knew it. 

His orders were direct and bland. Calamatta dragged her feet, depressed. Feeling less and less like a Saiyan by the moment, it wasnt so much Vegeta.. it was how quickly she was starting to realize Frieza was right, and goddamn did it grate her nerves to know that... The idea of freedom is going to be lightyears more heavier then she could imagine, shes not even close and this is what she has to deal with. Calamatta tightened her tail back up around her waist and listened to her Princes expertise plan of attack.

¤ ¤ ¤

Tags:  @memevember @dragonblobz @gonuclear @msgreenverse @fallen--lilith ​ @jimbobslurpnchug @dragonballcollector @nikabriefs @lilhemmo @supremeleadershitlord @thotful-writing ​ @chickiedinner @anti-jaina @lizardhipsdontlie @dragonball-hcs-or-sum-shit ​ @solidsock​

[jeffhane]

dynasty live watching: an incoherent post so that i’m not spoiling people on the twitter tl (i doubt any of this will be chronological or coherent enough to actually contain spoilers but better safe than sorry!)

oh my god the “previously on” - i forgot abt fallon and evan....

Theyre at a FUNERAL??? this was actually predicted but oh my god. if its steven i am going to be so mad. what an unfitting end to the- WAIT WHAT SIX MONTHS? what was that font;;;;:; whes sueiwjwk

copper arch🥵🥵🥵

this is cute. this is cute i like faloon pretty women so true

BYE I FORGOT ABT THIS VASE

fallon is genuinely such a bad person this is so bizarre,,,, i think she needs to calm down about oiterally everything ever

“This wedding is our chance to break the cycle of craziness” babe ur literally the one making the cycle of craziness

w. was that an ikmenn of liam getting his head off

JEFF MY BELOVED HE LOOKS STUNNING IN THAT OUTFIT. WHYS ALEXIS HERW “POWER COUPLE” YOU WERID MANIPULATIVE PERSON GET AWAY FROM HIM LOL

alexis is up to no good. bad bad jpeg. why do they write her dialogue like this

adam is acted so well lmao he’s the most unhinged person to ever exist *screams*

ohhh dominique, i don’t remember much abt her 😭😭😭 this woman she’s with is beautiful

ITS LAGGING????? i cannot Believe tjis

~rebrand~ ok girlboss!!!!!!!!! can we ship this businesswoman i dont recall her name with fallon???? id like that i think

too many plotlines have happened in too many minutes, i’m already forgettint things that have happened... isn’t blake supposed to be in prisoj? no? Ok: sure

adam is constantly doing this expression that is like 👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁👁 HI SAM HI SAM HI SAM BEAUTIFUL MAN I LOVE HIM WHOS THIS MAN

raf is so stunning ughhhh i’m loving the costumes this season, everyone looks great! is this man a sam love interest? nervous? that is kinda cute. i miss stevej though. sadness. so many emotions

UHHHH hi alexis sure ig ur here

~OMENS~ babe that’s a tad dramatic don’t you think?????????? “Ignore the lore at your own peril” alright

WHOS THAT? WHOS THAT? OH HER OK

bye everything is going wrong for this......:..:::... *rubs hands together evilly* that will certainly be entertaining

credit scene!!! such a beautiful cast! where’s anders, oh how i miss him... i miss monica too wasn’t she supposed to be BACK🤔🤔🤔🧐🧐🤨🤨

its a commercial break... havent had to watch the show with these for so long😑😑😑. getting american ads is so funny bc the vast majority of them are Not at all relevant... at all

BACK TO DYNASTY!!!!!! was that a slinky? huh? oh ok that’s why the marriage is happening at the manor. #whenyouonlyhaveoneset oh hi ok monica so shes not going to be here?????😑😔😳

WHY IS SHE GETTING A CAR I FEEL LIKE THATS FORESHAWDOIWIJG FOR UMMMMM.... NOT GOOD THINGS ..... ITS LAGGING AGAIN 🤨

blake having dinner... ok hi cristal,,,,; is the priest subplot back? that was a weird one

adam???? how on earth does adam work his way into everything? NEXT GUEST? HUH? are you cheating on your wife? HI CULHANE! HI!

“straight people are exhausting” i mean yes, objectively, absolutely, but culhane is #notstraight .... idk how i feel about sam and this man. also what? huh? staying here? ok cool ig

OHHHHH he got married i see i see

“Haven’t you milked the carrington cow already” but....... she is literally the person who deserves the stuff..... k......... i don’t like dominique but she was given the short end of the stick also blake stop manipulating people just bc they tell u the truth😶😶😶😶😶😶😶

frustrated that we haven’t seen fallon in any non-wedding related stuff yet i always liked her more ~dramatic~ plots . like she’s a sweetheart but i do want her to evolve beyond thsi. idk if that makes sense. ok bye

“A relative’s happy marriage” uh???? we live in a society😔📈

who is father lynch<3333 oh he is in the hospital that’s not great oh adam upset that’s new /s

y is kirby dressed like an elf. god bless.

ughhhh i just think adam is not good for kirby. he’s not good in general. so true . what is he up to. ads again hhhhhhhhhh💯

omg we are back!!!!! blake wear the suit!! hi liz!!! i’ve seen pictures of this outfit, it looks nice. “I really want things to work out with liam” now that would be great but you’re in a soap opera so the chances of that are .... I DONT EVEN ONOW IF U CAN WEATHER ANYTHING W CRISTAL...)))))!$$ NOT NECESSARILY THE BEET CHOICE????

~technically it wasn’t cancelled~ alright love i feel as though you’re not telling the full truth here. ok his name is ryan . we know that now . cool . this relationship is awkward but it could be sweet

what the Fuck is dominique talking about this is so creepy😭😭😭 please do not market lingerie to ur niece 🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂🙂 why does no one in this show know how to be polite

“You want me to stake my personal assets” i’m sure this would be meaningful if i knew anything about finance????? WAIT WAIT WIAT WAIT WAIT DHE REHEARING THE SAM DONS G THE SONG ALEXIS DONT INTERRUPT HER SINGING THE SONG🧐😔😔😔🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬🥰🥰🤬😤😤😤😤😤😤

~duplicitous sham~ that’s quite a juicy phrase ms fallon. alexis i dislike your marriage. and you in fact. yes x . “We were just like any other newlyweds” except the newlywed factor........:

anders. oh my god i adore him so much. he reminds me of my grandfather . YES adam is dangerous. anders i love you so much. be my grandfather figure. top 10 cool old dudes of all time.

liz is so beautiful how am i suppised to “Focus” on the “storyline” kirby just went 🥰🥰 also hi culhane ily babe

“My father’s convinced adam is pure evil” you see, that is......... trueeeee...........:.::: im sorry culhane ily love

this dialogue unfortunately does not flow all that well LOL . people dont think up things like this on the fly “my love is like that boutineer” sir i guarantee that metaphors r not going to save ur relationship... HI sam. so true. hi ily. samhane? culsam? 😳😳

DONT STEAL ANDERS SPOT OH HI JEFF YOU LOOK STUNNING.......... BEAUTIFUL BOY ....... HI!!!! ~you are the only family you’ve ever needed~ shit none of this wouldve happened if the Carringtons werent so greedy ij the first place

~true love has many faces~ how many anti liam omens can they sneak in into the episode 😭😭😭😭 hi laura whats up

the poor waiters at this establishment...... why does laura look like a rlly young version of my grandma........: huh.... wont think abt it /... alexis bad mom.jpeg

“I don’t want to miss my sons special day” ok bye i don’t #care she’s kind of rude

fallon trying to avoid future drama is confusing to me as that used to be her ENTIRE THING? HUH??? everyones talking to their moms today what the heck do that many people talk to their moms???

jeff hiiiii <333 that maroon suit!!!!! love!!!!!

Dont hurt anders you strange little evil man!!!!!!!!!!! (Adam, for reference)

fallon likes to ~e n u n c i a t e~ her dialogue. Drama Teachers Love Her

FIRBY SCENE! WELL THEY R TALKINF! UWU ! UWU ! smiles:) smiiiiiles:) the height difference i cannot do this😑😊😊😊🕯🕯🕯 BYE

BueirHWIIDWJDIWIFJWIFJWJJFWJFJWJDJWJDJWIFJWJFJWJDKWJDJWDJJWHDWHDHWHEHWHDHWJDJWJRJWJEJWJDJQUEUWJEJWJEJW CRIES SOBS SCREAMS THIS OS SO FUCKING FUNNY

Kirby you dumbass😭😭😭😭😭 ALEXIS WUDIWNDJW JEFF CAN YOU NOT HEF FCANKREMTIWN WHY IS THIS DIALOGUE IM SCREAMIGNRJFJD

kirby babe you are the kist imorjri WHQT? HUH? when all the characters have the maturity of a 13 yr old <33333 DID THE SHOW JUST END?????? OK.... DAMN.... they were really 2 minutes away from the end and remembered that things are supposed to happen in tv show episodes.... i cannot tell whether it os over actually?????? huh??? going to keep watching because it would be so embarrassing if i missed a few minutes oh yeah theres more

IM SORRY WHYBARE THESE PEOPLE SO STUPID. every single one of them. ih my god l. ohhhh my god . “I never meant to hurt you” you cheated on him. both of them are bad people. 🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨 kirby darling what were you thinking . this dress on kirby is STUNNING ugh, she’s so charming . adam Shut the fuck up. He hasn’t said anything but shut the fuck up. OH MY GOD ADAM SHUT THE FUCK UP. OH MY GOD I HATE ADAM SO MUXH. OH MY GOD HOW IS HE THE WORST PERSON TO EVER LIVE 😑😑😑😑😑😑😑😑😑😑😑😑😑😑😑😶😶😶😶😶😶😶😶😶 HES SO EVIL

“I didn’t want to tell you because i didnt want you to think of me as a monster” why did you do that stuff then bro . Kirby you SHOULDNT trust someone after they say that? How naive? Huh ?

omg hello jeffs grandma!!!!! she deserves better than every shitshow in this family... god🤨 dominique being a good person? i like to see that. she seems so genuine. ok this is nice . wait... SAFE? 😳😳😳😳 💴 💵 #money i miss monica

why do they never have sufficient lifhting in WAIT..... HER?????? #dumbofass HI JEFF <33333333 HI you can scam and whatever ur allowed to i support u

ooohhhh GORGEOUS fallon outfit

“Such a fail” IS THIS 2012 . CRINE HEIDJWJFIWNDWJDNWKFJW ENJDJSDJWJNDJWJD they keep saying folklore and im thinking its some sort of reference to the album and i get confused. wheres scheming fallon. need scheming fallon. do a scheme. do it

“We are that lucky couple” press x to doubt .... wait who is this🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔 this seems cincerning im cocnentwd why did it zoom in on this random man

[izupie]

As loyal as a... Hellhound?

I don’t know where this came from. I was supposed to go to bed 2 hours ago. But I like it.

Witch!Eddie and Hellhound!Familiar!Richie or something ah a h a aa 

enjoy my sleep deprivation!

-------

The magic circle on the floor pulsed a dull purple - barely light enough to add even a slight glow to the room. Eddie squinted at the book open on his desk, pushing his nose close enough that he could smell the musty pages. He shot back up and rubbed his face, even though it hadn’t touched the book anyway. Fucking library spell books – Creation only knew how many students had touched these pages in the past. He shuddered and rubbed his nose harder.

“What the fuck is with spells requiring candlelight anyway – how’s anyone supposed to ever see a fucking thing?” Eddie pushed up the sleeves of his black robes and moved a candle closer to the book. The last thing he needed was for his robes to catch fire. He’d seen the results of that when the new kid had got overenthusiastic lighting the fire under his cauldron in Potions class. Not that it had been much a problem for him, because even though he had transferred into their class late into the year he’d already summoned himself a familiar, and he was lucky that it was a fire-aligned Hellcat. The flames had disappeared in a blink.

Eddie grabbed a glass shaker half full of salt from beside the spell book and shook it more vigorously than he intended to into the faintly glowing magic circle on his wooden floor. Four shakes exactly.

He’d just about managed to drag his desk and his bed against the walls to give himself enough room to draw the summoning circle and set it off, but it was cramped now, and he was having to stand almost wedged between the edge of desk and his door – (securely locked of course) – to make sure nothing was touching the chalk marks. He’d only managed to steal a few nearly entirely burned down candles from his classrooms without anyone noticing, so he had a very limited amount of light, and one of them had already sputtered out in the time it had taken him to prepare the ingredients for the spell.

“Make sure you don’t mess up any of the steps, perform the spell exactly as it is written,” Eddie muttered under his breath, in a poor imitation of his Summoning Teacher, “but you’ve got to do the whole spell by the shittiest amount of candlelight you can imagine – good luck!”

He flung a pinch of the herbs he had crushed earlier (ground in an anti-clockwise motion, for three exact minutes) into the circle, and it pulsed dully again as the powder disappeared into the spell.

Eddie gave a small sigh as he read the words he would need to add to the spell, since reciting incantations had always made him feel like even more of a loser. “I summon thee,” he whispered, desperately hoping he wasn’t going to wake any of his neighbours. “I summon a creature to be my balance. I summon a creature to be a conduit of my power.”

He felt dumb even though he was alone, but he wasn’t going to be the only one in his year without a familiar anymore. It was his last chance before he graduated.

Eddie couldn’t wait to see their faces when he walked out of the dorms in the morning, with a Hellcat familiar trotting beside him. He didn’t even care which element it was aligned to. The only reason he hadn’t been able to summon one during class was because they were all watching him, he knew it – he knew it... But he could still hear his mother’s voice in his head whenever he failed a spell, telling him that he’s too weak to perform magic. She’d already held him back for a year before he’d started at the institute, but then he’d finally worked up the nerve to go anyway without her permission. She had cried and begged him not to go, telling him his weak constitution would kill him if he performed magic – just like his father. Well, too bad for her, that’s what had convinced him to go. Just knowing he was following in his father’s footsteps made him feel closer to him somehow, and he wasn’t going to die.

Eddie let three rose petals drift out of his fingers into the circle.

He was stronger than that.

The petals disappeared and the circle finally began to glow a little brighter. Not exactly what the book was saying it should look like, but there was one more ingredient to go and he was sure it would all come together after that. Eddie felt a bubble of excitement in his stomach, but he tried to keep a straight face while he prepared to throw in the final sprig of holly – magic was serious business and he’d always been told the importance of treating it with reverence and respect when it was being performed. Eddie let out a little huff as he realised that taking it seriously was probably why Stan was top of every class. He frowned as he felt the familiar tug of pride for his friend that mixed with the jealousy at the ease that he aced every spell.

Not the time!

Eddie pushed away thoughts of Stan as he tried to focus again.

One ingredient left.

Then he would have a special familiar of his own, finally.

Eddie swapped the sprig of holly to his left hand, ready to throw, but yelped as one of the points of the leaf pricked his finger. “Ow!” He shook his hand out of reflex and watched in horror as the spiky green leaves flew out of his injured fingers almost in slow motion – straight into the circle. “Shit!”

But nothing happened.

Eddie could feel his heart pounding in his chest, hear it booming in his ears, and shuddered as his body ran hot and cold all over.

But still nothing happened.

Eddie desperately wanted to pluck it back and his fingers twitched restlessly at his side in response to the impulse but crossing into a magic circle would be even worse than adding blood into a summoning spell. He was only just about mentally prepared for one potential absolute fuck up.

Eddie barely breathed as he stood still for a few agonising minutes. But still the sprig of holly, with one drop of red on one of its spikes, sat innocently in a circle that was growing dimmer by the second.

Oh. Well. At least nothing happening was worse than something terrible. He supposed.

But Eddie couldn’t help but feel disappointed that he’d gone to all the trouble of foraging for all the ingredients himself, stealing candles, sweet talking Mike into letting him borrow out of the restricted section of the library, moving all his heavy furniture (what was with witches and stupidly heavy old fashioned wood) and trying to wake anyone or arouse suspicion. For nothing.

Eddie squeezed his tiny cut carefully, his attention drawing away from his failed spell, and watched as a bead of red welled up. He cringed, even at his own blood, and pulled a band aid from the fanny pack beneath his robes. He’d washed all of the ingredients before the spell, just in case any residual dirt on the plant matter got into the circle, so he at least knew the cut was clean and was unlikely to get infected if he kept it covered.

Something flashing red caught Eddie’s attention.

He looked back at the summoning circle, but horror crawled down his spine as he realised that the holly had finally disappeared and the circle was glowing a bright, blood red. It flashed again in a pulse that lit the entire room. Eddie jumped back with such force that he hit his hip against the desk he was still wedged by and gasped with pain.

“Shit!” he hissed. “Shit, shit, shit!”

The circle was so bright Eddie could no longer keep his eyes open, so he scrunched them closed tightly and held his hands up to shield them. What was happening? The light finally faded, and Eddie lowered his hands slowly. He opened his eyes even slower, barely daring to look.

The summoning circle he’d drawn in chalk was gone, but in its place was a large black dog with shaggy, messy fur. Bright, dark eyes regarded the room curiously, and a pink tongue lolled out of its mouth as it looked around. It was much larger than a regular dog – like the size of a wolf, with long lanky legs and a thick bushy tail. Eddie took one sharp breath and its eyes immediately snapped over to him as its tall, pointed ears both perked higher on its head. The tongue stayed flopped out of the side of bright canine teeth, as the dog’s mouth seemed to open even wider in something almost like a smile, almost offsetting how terrifyingly large and dangerous the creature looked.

Eddie tried to take another breath, but it came in wheezy and tight. Oh, no. He gripped a hand to his chest as he tried again, twisting the fabric of his robes in his fist, but he gulped on nothing and couldn’t even back any further away.

The dog’s tongue retreated into its mouth as it tilted its head curiously.

Eddie fumbled with the zip on his fanny pack, having closed it again after putting on his band aid, and distantly wondered if he’d prefer death by asthma (panic) attack or death by the teeth of whatever demon he had accidentally summoned.

The dog barked – just a small yipping sound – and Eddie waved his hands rapidly in a shushing motion. “You’ll wake the dorm asshole!” he wheezed, then paled because he’d just told some unknown demon to shush and called it an asshole, because he was worried he’d wake his classmates when that should be really fucking low on the priority scale right now.

The dog huffed in the way that dogs do, but there was almost an amused ring to it. Its tail thumped on the floor twice as it wagged a little.

Eddie reached again for his fanny pack. “Fuck,” he muttered, feeling his chest constrict even tighter.

The dog nodded its head and huffed again, and a flash of red light sparkled in front of its paws.

Eddie froze at the sight. It was his inhaler. He’d know it anywhere. With shaking fingers Eddie finally freed the zip from where it was caught and reached inside his fanny pack – no inhaler.

“How did you…?”

The dog’s tail thumped on the floor again. Did it expect him to reach over for it? Eddie squeezed his eyes shut. Well, he either picked up his inhaler or suffocated. But that thing’s teeth looked huge and sharp and it could just be waiting for an excuse for him to get close so it can snap its jaws around his neck.

The light from the few candles left burning was getting low, but Eddie looked over at the dog again. For some reason he just didn’t get the impression that it was unfriendly or wanted to hurt him. He supposed that if it had wanted to hurt him it had had plenty of opportunities so far. Hadn’t it even somehow teleported his inhaler out of his fanny pack for him?

Could be part of the trap though, Eddie thought again, his mind racing in circles.

He let out another wheeze. “Fuck it. Don’t bite me.” He crouched down and reached forwards. In one jerky movement Eddie had straightened back up and breathed in a huge puff of his inhaler. He made a face at the taste.

Which started the tail wagging again. The dog was definitely amused.

“What are you?” came tumbling out of Eddie’s mouth before he could stop himself. The dog opened its mouth and Eddie quickly placed his hand on top of it. The fur there was soft and velvety. “No, shh, don’t bark.”

The dog pulled its snout back and sneezed. There was another flash of red light, which Eddie had to shield his eyes from, and when he turned back there was now a person where the dog had been. The candlelight was even worse, but it was easy to see that he was taller than Eddie, with long limbs like the dog, almost lanky and out of proportion, messy black hair that looked just like its fur, and the same amused, dark eyes.

He was also naked.

Eddie immediately turned his face to the ceiling. “Oh for the love of Creation, put some fucking clothes on.”

A chuckle answered him and there was another brief flash.

“Better?”

When Eddie looked back, he was wearing ripped black jeans and a black t-shirt, with a bright yellow button-down shirt open over the top. A pair of large glasses stood out on his pale face.

For some reason it was the glasses that made Eddie lower his guard. Did demons need a prescription?

As if sensing that’s where Eddie’s attention lay the stranger pushed the glasses higher up his nose and tousled his hair, almost self-consciously. “Shitty eyesight,” he said with a shrug. “Which reminds me…” He clicked his fingers and the candlelight strengthened even though the candles stayed the same. The room was cast into a comfortable amount of light and Eddie realised that the demon looked almost the same age as himself.

Eddie’s eyes narrowed again. It was funny how a bit of light made him more confident, but whatever was going on, he wanted absolutely no part in it anymore. “Demon… be gone,” he said grandly, though still quietly, slashing his hands through the air as if that would help somehow.

“Uh… What are you doing?” The demon tilted his head in the same way he had done as the dog.

“Trying to un-summon you. Send you back to wherever you came from,” Eddie explained, turning back to the book on his desk and hoping there was an undo spell for blood related summoning mishaps.

Fuck.

The demon laughed. “Wait, did you like, butt-dial me?”

“Butt-? What-?”

“You didn’t mean to summon me?” he clarified.

“What the fuck? No! Why would I want to summon a demon? I was supposed to summon a familiar. A Hellcat.”

He laughed again. “I’m not a demon, man!”

Eddie looked him up and down, his eyes even narrower than before. Scrutinising. Trying to find the truth. “Uh-huh,” he finally replied, unconvinced.

“Hey, I’m not. I’m a Hellhound.”

“Never heard of them.”

“Uh, yeah, because we’re super rare and cool.”

“Sure, okay. Well I was actually after a Hellcat, so…” Eddie wasn’t sure what had possessed him to be this rude to the creature he had summoned, but there was something about the easy way he was looking at him, his relaxed posture and the amusement dancing in his dark eyes that just rubbed him the wrong way. His smile was a grin, all teeth, like when he’d been a dog – hellhound – before. He would bet that if his tongue were long enough that he would let it loll out of his mouth like a dog too.

Focus, Eddie!

“If you could just go back to where you came from, that would be great, thanks.” Nobody would need to ever know that he had botched the spell this badly. What the fuck was a Hellhound anyway?

“That’s gonna be a problem, actually. I should probably introduce myself” – he cleared his throat – “the name’s Richie Tozier, Hellhound, and the new familiar of one Edward Kaspbrak.”

Eddie opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Then finally settled with a quiet, “What?”

“Congratulations,” Richie said with a wink. “You got yourself a catch. Can I call you Eds?”

“-No. Get out.”

“-I’ll call you Eds. You sealed the summon with a blood pact. So, I’m here to stay – lucky you!”

“A blood pact?” Eddie managed, in a high panicked voice.

“Yup,” he replied with a pop on the ‘p’. “I require long walks and fresh human flesh twice a day.”

Eddie paled.

“Oh fuck, Eds, I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” He waved his hands in the air in surrender. “I’m your familiar, so as long as you don’t use up all your magic, I’m good.”

Eddie let the words ‘your familiar’ sink in for a moment before he finally let out a breath. “Don’t call me Eds.”

Richie laughed, which didn’t bode well for him taking any notice. Weren’t familiars supposed to do what their witch said? But then again, he’d never heard of a familiar that could shapeshift. He’d never even heard of a Hellhound at all until five minutes ago. He was in way over his head. What kind of accidental magic did he just do?

Eddie groaned and raked his hands through his hair. “I have no idea how I’m going to explain you to the teachers tomorrow. Like, what do I do? Confess to performing restricted magic unsupervised?”

“Well, you’re stuck with me, either way,” Richie said with another wink, and he even added in finger guns afterwards.

Eddie groaned.  

[ins0mnia-an0nym0us-au]

re: getting told i have borderline nazi-ideology

I very recently had an interesting experience that I wanted to share.

I use Discord, a communication program that’s main purpose is an instant messaging feature, you can create a server, which can have multiple “rooms” in it for different topics of conversation. It also has various other features, like voice chatting, video-calling, screen-sharing, etc. 

There are lots of uses for it but mainly I use it just to hang out with people. Recently, I started branching out and joining different ‘fandom’ discord servers. I first joined an Arrowverse server, then just a server for people who ship a certain couple on one of the tv shows. 

But then I binged all of Agents of Shield and I wanted to find somewhere to talk about it, make some friends. So I joined a server and it started off pretty great. Everyone was very kind. We all love Marvel and Agents of Shield. 

Here’s where it turns into an experience (SPOILERS FOR AGENTS OF SHIELD) -

In Agents of Shield and the Marvel Universe in general, there is an organization called Hydra, which was founded by Nazis. Agents of Shield deals with Hydra a lot and one of the main cast members turns out to be a member of Hydra hidden within Shield. The actor Brett Dalton seems like an absolute sweetheart, I’ve actually seen him in person at Dragon-Con a few times and he’s one of those actors that refuses to sit behind his table, he stands in front of it to talk to his fans, give hugs, handshakes, etc.

People were talking about how apparently because of him being a Hydra member in the show and saying things like ‘Hail Hydra’ with fans or maybe even randomly (I’m not sure the context of that - if someone asked him to say it with them or whatever), that people cancelled him and that’s why he only does Hallmark movies now. Which is something I find ridiculous for a few reasons. 

Brett Dalton is an actor. He is given a role and he plays it. If that is a good guy or bad guy, it doesn’t matter, he reads the lines and acts the part. The fact that people ask him to repeat lines or certain lines get more famous than others is not his fault. 

This brought into question why certain people would even have ‘Hail Hydra’ as a favorite line. Which was incredibly stupid of a question in my opinion. 

Hydra is an iconic enemy organization within the Marvel Universe

‘Hail Hydra’ is a quick and easy line to say vs longer quotes

It comes from many iconic scenes in the franchise itself - both within comics & the cinematic universe

Then they questioned why anyone would be a fan of Hydra at all when it’s a Nazi run organization - a fictional, Nazi run organization. I pointed that out and they scoffed at that and said it doesn’t matter. So instead I tried the following reasons -

Some people just love to root for the bad guy - no matter how bad

Favorite actors/actresses play the villains

It’s ‘edgey’ to root for the bad guys

In the end they didn’t buy any of that as good enough reasoning and said that deep down every person who was a fan of Hydra must secretly be a Nazi or Nazi sympathizer and that even if Brett Dalton was a nice guy, he shouldn’t go around saying ‘Hail Hydra’ because some Jewish people have stated it makes them uncomfortable. 

Listen, if something makes you uncomfortable, you have the right to say that it does and if it is a good enough reason then maybe that person will change what they are doing, hell, maybe everyone else will agree with you. But I find this entire thing incredibly stupid. If you watch anything from Marvel and expect not to run into something referencing Hydra then you are either naive or incredibly foolish. If Hydra triggers you, if Nazism triggers you, just stay away from Marvel.

“But we should make Marvel available for everyone!”

No, we can’t make everything available for everyone. That is literally impossible. Should some Marvel content have less Nazi references in it for those triggered by it? Sure, I’m sure there is something out there for them. 

But this isn’t even the end of this experience I had on this server. I thought we ended this conversation on good terms. But I’ll never know if they were secretly reporting me to the server owner or not. The next bit is when I was given a ‘warning’ not to open my mouth again on my beliefs or I would be kicked from the server. 

It started when I saw people just saying things like “America is such shit” and “Yeah, America is such garbage” - even the Americans were saying this. Now I’m a proud American but I understand that the media is very influential, so I tried to be diplomatic in my approach. I entered by saying something like - “America definitely has its problems, that’s for sure, but so does every country - still, look how far we’ve come!”

Responses were not kind to that. They were insistent on just pointing out all the flaws in America. From apparently rampant racism, a fascist regime, terrible public education.

I once again tried to approach diplomatically. I simply said that there is racism everywhere, I don’t think I touched the fascist regime comment, and I agreed on the terrible public education comment. Which spiraled into a talk about our public education system. We all pretty much agreed that our public education system is shit… which I still don’t understand how someone can want more government when the government fucks everything they already run up. 

I’m not sure how it went from that to talking about being able to choose who to serve at your business. It’s hard to remember exactly. I just remember the whole Christian Baker thing being brought up but it turns out we were talking about two separate cases. 

They were talking about a case where a baker was contacted by a lesbian couple and that baker released their information to a hate website, later they sued the baker and won. Which - yeah, that baker deserved to be milked for every last dime. 

But I was talking about a baker that was contacted by a gay couple to make a ‘gay cake’ - this baker said no because it was against his religion, and even told them that he doesn’t make Halloween or Anti-American cakes but he’d happily make them other desserts. But they still sued him and originally the gay couple won but it was taken to the Supreme Court and the baker won the suit. I think it’s a good thing the baker won that case. 

No one should be able to tell you who you should or should not serve. If a gay baker is contacted by a homophobic person and is asked to make an anti-LGBTQ+ cake, they should have every right to say “no, I will not.” in the same way a Christian baker should have every right not to make a ‘gay cake’ or a cake covered in penises or an anti-Christ cake. 

Do I think it’s dumb not to make a cake for someone just because it’s gay? Yes. Take the business. In the same way I think if a gay person turns down someone just for being straight it’s dumb. But that is their right. 

But apparently because this is how I believe, I have borderline Nazi ideology and was told that if I didn’t keep my mouth shut when they spout off about politics, I would be kicked from the server. The message I received was laughable at best. All about making a ‘safe-space’ for members of the fandom from all ages, genders and orientations. 

How impressionable young people are around (a few sentences ago it was children - which, there are no children in this server, teenagers, they are teenagers) and that it may influence their minds and opinions in the future - as if their spouting off about how much they hate America and all of their political opinions won’t? The hypocrites. 

Then came the point in the message where I was basically called a Nazi. Which… really? I’m autistic, non-binary, lesbian, with several disabilities. The Nazis would have put me in the front of the line to be executed. The gall these people have to think that I could ever agree with Nazis or Nazism. I’ve been to the Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, DC. I’ve watched unfiltered footage from WWII of the Concentration Camps and what they did to people like me. It’s disturbing to me how ignorant these people are of what Nazism actually is but mostly it’s sad because of how intolerant they are of anything but their own point of view.

The final bit of the message was about how I had treated people flippantly despite how they expressed their discomfort. Again - the gall of these fucking people. Not one person ever fucking said they were uncomfortable when we were talking. I would have stopped talking about politics immediately if one person spoke up. They just kept talking, kept responding to my messages, but instead they went and tattled on me to the server owner. 

So, instead of staying in a server where I was told to just sit down and shut up, I messaged the owner back and told them exactly what I just told all of you. I also told them that they are exactly what is wrong with everyone today, why everyone is so divided and why no one talks to each other anymore. That going through life being unable to hear opposing opinions when they don’t do you any harm is a sad way to live. That it did make me sad that they had just assumed the worst in me because I did enjoy my time there, I even spent a solid month editing a photo as a Christmas gift to the server.

I apologized for making anyone uncomfortable but also told them that no one ever said anything. Then told them I won’t apologize for anything else and that I wouldn’t bother sticking around. Why would I? Everyone had been secretly talking about me it seems. No one had the same opinions as me and no one wanted to hear them. What was the point? So I just left the server. 

Being autistic makes it so hard to understand social queues in real life, doing so online is pretty much impossible unless you use emojis that have certain connotations linked to them. I generally have to take people at face value of what they are saying. If no one says that they are uncomfortable - I assume they aren’t. If no one tells me that I’m breaking a rule or doing something wrong, why would I assume differently? Mostly though it hurt me that they all just sat there and decided that I was pretty much a Nazi when I’d been nothing but nice to them. I thought we were becoming friends, some of us anyway. 

It just proves that once more, the crowd of ‘tolerance’ is the least tolerable. Now I have no Agents of Shield server and I miss my almost friends. 

[cdyssey]

Miscalculations

Summary: The toll of being in the multiverse for too long finally exacts its price on Olivia Octavius. A/N: I've been babysitting for family friends these past two days, and the little one made us watch *Into the Spider-Verse* five times over, so I wanted to write something.

AO3 Link At the end of Olivia Octavius’s world, there is blood, so much of it, too much—staining her shirt dark around her midsection where old incisions are prying themselves loose, and dribbling warningly down her mouth in a thin line.

Cellular decay.

Accelerated decomposition.

As her erythrocytes continue to implode upon themselves, her organs will shut down one by one until the lack of oxygen finally squeezes upon her tired heart like a vice.

She was out of her own dimension for too long.

If you stay in this dimension too long, your body’s going to disintegrate. Do you know how painful that would be, Peter Parker?

She thought she could have control of the multiverse if only she could stabilize her body with exposure to gamma radiation, theorizing that the treatment would do as it had done for the infamous Bruce Banner and reinforce her cellular structure—but she miscalculated.

And Olivia never miscalculates.

No, that isn’t true, an awful voice in her head says, right here and right now, on her fucking death bed. Her conscience has always gloated rather than informed. You miscalculate all the time.

“No, goddammit,” May Parker growls. “You do not get to leave like this.” 

Surprise jolts through her unpleasantly considering everything that is happening to her body; with an effort that isn’t minimal, the physicist opens her eyes to see a familiar shape kneeling by her side, pressing gnarled hands to her stomach wounds, desperately trying to staunch the bleeding.

But there is so much of it, too much.

Out of the periphery of her eye that isn’t blackened, she can see the shadows of the various Spider-Fools simply standing a few feet away, watching. For they understand, better than maybe most, that there is nothing to be done, no more fight to be had.

May Parker’s hands are vivid with her blood, drowning in it.

“What?” Olivia attempts a bloodied smile that doesn’t quite cut through the pain in her eyes. “You want me to walk away in cuffs? Cheeky, cheeky, May Parker. I thought you were oh-so-straight-laced.”

“Shut up,” May snarls, and the scientist is startled to see that there are tears in her cornflower blue eyes, threatening to spill over, to leak, to pour.

And then she knows.

She knows, she knows, she knows.

That May Parker still loves her, too.

That maybe she never stopped.

And the realization of it takes her breath away, what little of it is that is left.

“May,” she says, her voice surprisingly soft, even though her shivering hands are firm as she slowly brings them up to rest upon the other woman’s. “Cellular decay. Multisystem organ failure. Within a few minutes, I'll likely go into cardiac arrest. It will be quick, maybe even painless.”

“No,” May mutters. “No, no, no. We could get you to a hospital, offset the worst of your symptoms until we can regenerate cellular life in you. An ambulance is coming. ETA five minutes.”

“You’re thinking with that big, ‘ole heart of yours again.” The thing Olivia loves and hates most about the old bat—how much she cares. It’s sickening. It’s stupid. It’s wonderful. “I’ve lost too much blood, and my exoskeleton implants are compromised, which—“

But May cuts across her with an explosive swear.

“—likely means that your spine is also compromised,” she finishes, eyes closing in horror. 

Liv smiles weakly, a gesture which ends in her coughing up phlegm and blood.

“Correct.”

Doc Ock’s comeuppance has finally arrived, both decades late and years too soon. It is quieter than she imagined it would be, less of a kaleidoscope of many colors than it is a coagulated darkness. She can see black beginning to edge upon her vision, eradicating the excess, eliminating anything that isn’t May Parker.

How fitting.

“I went to twenty-seven different dimensions, May,” she whispers, “and they were all so beautiful—vivid, unique, and extraordinary, each a fully realized universe unto its own...”

When she closes her eyes, she can conjure them even now, the shapes of them, their textures, their scientific impossibility... and it is with awful reluctance that she pries them open again. The darkness is so soft and inviting. Oblivion isn’t as scary as she had imagined it to be.

Maybe she can explore its expansive confines, understand it in the same way she does quasi connectivity in dimensional warping.

Or maybe Olivia Octavius can simply rest.

That might be a nice change in pace.

“Liv...” May whispers, though, and it’s more than enough of a reminder for the sole reason she’d ever stay if she had a choice.

(She doesn’t have a choice.)

“And in every world, I did what a scientist just a tiny bit full of herself would naturally do. I searched myself out. In every dimension... and I asked myself, damn, do I really look like that? In eighty-nine percent of the worlds, I had a bowl cut, May! A godawful bowl cut!”

“Is this really what you want to talk about?”

“Yes—I mean no. No.” Olivia’s dark brow furrows as she herself tries to remember the point of bringing up the twenty-seven universes and the self-exploration and the bowl cuts. Her brain’s a little wonky at the moment, dull and heavy, like a rock sunk in a lake.

But then it hits her.

Realization and remembrance.

Dimension 24. Earth C-432.

The cats. The apartment in Brooklyn. The cozy sweaters. The peace.

“In the 24th iteration of Earth I visited, I looked a lot like I do now—geeky, foxy, big hair, and less than enviable eyesight... I was intrigued naturally, and so, when I found out where I lived, I paid myself a little visit.”

She knocked politely on the door before not so politely letting herself in, tentacular extensions swarming.

She always did like a dramatic entrance.

Fuck, Olivia J. Octavius moaned. I invented inter-dimensional travel again.

May E. Parker looked up from her mug of coffee and simply raised an unimpressed brow.

Well, at least you didn’t smash the door this time.

“I'd... she’d never gotten the implants, so she was paralyzed from the waist down... do y’know what that means?”

Of course May does.

Beneath Liv’s hand, her knuckles tense, the ridges warm against her cold palm.

“We never separated then,” she rasps, her voice strained, a hundred emotions thick. “I must have taken you home from the hospital, like I told you I would.”

“Yeah.”

A single tear leaks out of the corner of Olivia’s blackened eye, dripping down her cheek and falling away. If she'd been able to, she would have tried to wipe it away before May Parker could see.

“Were we happy, Liv?” She whispers, and she looks guilty about it. She has never cared much for hypotheticals, while Olivia built her entire career upon them—a delicate balancing act, always doomed to collapse one day.

She just never wanted to admit it.

Indeed, she just wanted to see how high she could go.

She didn't want to touch the stars.

She wanted to rip open the fabric of the fucking universe.

“We have two cats, one called Marie and the other Curie... and we live together in an apartment in Brooklyn. Nice place. There’s a Dunkin’ Donuts just around the corner. Parker visits at least three times a week unless he’s busy saving the city or the world or whatever the hell else he has it in his mind to save. He has a kid—a boy named Ben, but everyone calls him Fox because of the hair.”

We like to beat each other at Scrabble, even though we’re both sore losers. Four times a week, we head up to Columbia to do guest lectures on particulate matter and cellular structure and quantum physics. You’ve organized all of our medicines in alphabetical order, and I tease you about it because of course I do. Once a month, we replace the flowers on Ben Parker’s grave and have a picnic in the cemetery. We’re thinking about moving to a tiny house on Long Island that’s more wheelchair accessible, and we can hear the ocean every time we wake up in the morning side by side. There are wedding bands on our fingers, simple, understated, even though I'm pretty fucking sure they're made of anti-metal. In a different world, in an entirely separate universe, we are together forever, as long as we both shall live.

“I think so. I think we were happy,” she finishes quietly, “but I didn’t stay long enough to know for sure.”

“Too bad,” May Parker finally says, her tears falling freely now.

With the last of her strength, Olivia squeezes her hand.

“I... I heard myself say one thing, though, right as I was leaving.” 

By leaving, she left a gaping hole next to their door just for the hell and spite of it. 

“I chose correctly, it seems.”

In that warm apartment, May E. Parker laughed bluntly before she returned, quite dryly, You never miscalculate, do you?

“Never.”

Always.

Olivia Octavius miscalculates all the time.

[snarkybluechristian]

Hazbin Hotel: Yandere Alastor x Vaggie Chapter 47

After a long day of therapy with only breaks to use the bathroom or eat and a break before lunch to work out on a cycling machine, Angel finally was allowed to go to bed.

Angel had spent the whole day pretending to watch porn.  Under ordinary circumstances, it would have been considered a good day, but since Angel had spent the whole day thinking, he was relieved to finally get to rest his brain.

Of course, Doctor Red was there to make sure Angel complied to all his rules, including what he had to wear to bed.

Just as before, Angel complied to all the rules.  Once he had brushed his teeth, dressed in his white undershirt and gray boxers, taken a sleeping pill, and used the bathroom a final time, Angel let the gargoyle demon to strap him to his bed, cover him with heavy blankets to keep him warm in the cold room, and pull up a stool next to his bed so that he could brainwash him with a final bedtime story.

Angel felt exhausted and beyond humiliated.  All day and all evening, Doctor Red had been infantilizing him in every way imaginable as a “way to make up for the attention his father never gave him.”

The spider demon had complied the best he could, but the effort it took for him to hold his tongue and keep a straight face while he planned was draining, even with the medicine inside him to keep him calm.

It was Angel could do to keep a straight face while Doctor Red read him his disturbing anti-gay propaganda.

“And the gay witch burned at the stake and all her victims lived happily ever after,” Dr. Red read, before dramatically closing his book.  “The End!”

Angel let out pretend moan of pain to gain the doctor’s sympathy.

“Oh, Anthony, what’s the matter?  Why so blue?” Dr. Red said, gently rubbing his stony fingers through Angel’s hair.  “You won’t be burned at the stake.  You’re going to be straight in no time.  You’ll see.”

Angel merely replied with another fake moan.

“Just have faith, my good boy,” Dr. Red replied just as he looked down at his watch.  “Oh, it’s getting late.  It’s almost 8:30.  It’s time for me to eat dinner with your father and time for you to go to sleep.”

The gargoyle smiled, ruffling Angel’s hair a final time before picking up his stool and carrying it out of the room.

Angel remained still and expertly maintained his catatonic expression.

“Alright, Anthony,” Dr. Red said as he pulled the blankets more evenly over Angel’s restrained body.  “Your sleeping pill should take effect in an hour.  Sleep tight.  I’ll be back for you in the morning…”

Kiss.

Dr. Red kissed Angel on his forehead.  It felt like he was a toddler getting tucked into bed.

Angel was so surprised he almost lost his composure, but the gargoyle made his way back to the door and turned out the light without missing a beat.

“Goodnight, Anthony,” Dr. Red said softly with his ruby eyes sparkling to reflect the light outside the room.  “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, doctor,” Angel replied as emotionlessly as he could muster.

The good doctor shut the bedroom door, made his way up the stone stairs, and exited the basement.

No sooner had Dr. Red left the basement than did Angel unleash his third pair of arms and vigorously wipe the kiss away.

Angel sighed and laid back on the bed, basking in the irony.  He was rejecting kisses from men.  Maybe he was becoming straight after all.

Angel breathed another deep sigh and settled back under his covers to enjoy a long night of sleep.

He relaxed that way for a few minutes until the air conditioner shut off.

Then Angel heard a familiar voice echoing through the vent, “You call this shit food?!  Why don’t ya let me outta here so I can really give ya something to feast on…Oh, yeah?!  If ya fuckin’ hurt Angel, I’m gonna come after ya after I finish off Sir Pentious tomorrow!”

Angel knew that sassy voice anywhere.

“Cherri!” Angel practically screamed.

In less than a minute, Angel loosened all his straps and ran over to the vent grating.

“Cherri!” Angel called through the vent with a smile of relief.  “Cherri, are you there?!”

“Angie?!” Cherri asked from the other side of the vent.  “Angie, is that you?!”

“Yeah,” Angel said with a sigh of relief.  “Thank God!  I thought they would have sent ya back to Sir Pentious already.”

“That ain’t happenin’ till tomorrow,” Cherri replied.  “I’ve been here since last night.  But never mind me, how are you?!  Are you okay?!  I thought I heard ya screamin’ earlier.  What have they done to ya?”

“They gave me electroshock therapy earlier when I was putting up a fight, but besides that, not too much,” Angel said with a slight chuckle.  “They gave me drugs and made me watch porn after that.  Then, after he strapped me into bed, Doctor Red read me a bizarre homophobic bedtime story.  They’re doing everything they can to turn me straight.

“Holy fuck, Angel,” Cherri replied anxiously.  “How can you be so calm about this?  They’re really tryin’ to mess you up.”

“Blame the anti-anxiety medication Doctor Red made me take,” Angel replied.  “What has been happening with you?  My Dad and brother told me what happened between you guys, Charlie, Alastor, and them, but they wouldn’t tell me what happened after that.”  

“After your Dad dropped off Alastor and Vaggie at his mansion, he drove to Molly’s apartment and forced her out of the car.  She was furious.  The poor thing tried to chase down the car, but your Dad drove like a bat out of hell and lost her pretty easily,” Cherri explained.  “I would have helped, but I was restrained with a straitjacket and your unconscious body…”

“Sorry about that,” Angel interrupted.

“No problem,” Cherri replied before continuing.  “Your family brought me here, removed the straitjacket, and shoved me in this stupid room with its stupid bombproof doors, windows, and walls.  They’ve kept me here all day and have only entered the room to give me plates of food and water bottles at gunpoint.  Apparently, Sir Pentious isn’t going to be ready for me until tomorrow.”

“Goddammit, Cherri,” Angel said with angry tears at the corner of his eyes.  “I’m so sorry.”

“It ain’t your fault, Angie,” Cherri said sarcastically.  “Besides keeping me locked in an empty guest room with only a mattress on the floor and giving me plates of food and water bottles at gunpoint, they’ve been pretty nice to me.  Except for your brother.  He offered me freedom in exchange for certain favors.”

Angel busted out laughing and replied, “My libido-less brother tried to get you to sleep with him?!”

“I swear to God.  I’m being completely serious, Angie,” Cherri said with a chuckle.  “After they tossed me in here, your brother showed up around an hour later wearing heavy cologne and holding a bottle of champagne and asked me if I’d like to spend some time with him in exchange for freedom…”

“And?” Angel asked curiously.

“I threw a smoke bomb in his face,” Cherri said with a proud smirk in her voice.  “That got him out of my hair really quick.”

Angel chuckled out loud and said, “That little shit.  I’m so sorry, Cher.”

“Don’t be, dude,” Cherri said reassuringly.  “This room ain’t all bad.  It has a bathroom with magazines in it.  I got to have a bath and wash my underwear and sock.  Your Dad said this was a guest room they had renovated and hadn’t moved the furniture into yet, but that is bullshit.  What kind of guestroom has bombproof walls, windows, and doors?”

“You’d be surprised with our line of work,” Angel replied.  “But besides that, they’ve been treating you well?”

“Yeah, but never mind about me, Angie,” Cherri said, her tone shifting back to serious.  “What about you?  They’ve been trying to brainwash you all day to turn you straight!  Jesus, man, that is really fucked up!”

“Yep, my therapist Doctor Red is a real piece of work, too,” Angel said.  “God sent him to Hell for for doing this shit to other people and he thinks it was because he failed to convert anyone.  He's gullible as hell though.”

“What do ya mean by that?” Cherri asked.

“Let me put it this way,” Angel explained.  “Doctor Red thinks he can fix me, and I’m just playing him into my hands.”

“I gotcha,” Cherri replied.

“The plan was to have a meal with my father and brother before they went to Alastor’s wedding if I behave for the week,” Angel explained.  “Then, when the end of the week comes, I take the opportunity to bust outta here and run to the wedding to save Vaggie.  That was the plan anyway.  Now, I gotta help you.”

“Aw, you don’t need to worry about me, Angie,” Cherri said.  “I can break out of Edgelord’s place easily.”

“Cherri, I ain’t leaving you with Sir Pentious,” Angel protested.

“Angie, you don’t need to worry about…” Cherri tried to protest back.

Angel quickly cut her off, “Cherri, listen to me!  Sir Pentious is an over-ambitious, incompetent simp, but you and I both know he is still strong enough, smart enough, and dangerous enough to be a threat to you and most other demons.  If Sir Pentious didn’t take you right away, that means he is setting up something special to deal with ya.  You couldn’t take him on alone before and I doubt you’d be able to this time.  I am not letting that happen and that’s final.”

Cherri sighed loudly and said, “I know there’s no changing your mind, ya overprotective nut, but what are we gonna do?  Sir Pentious will be here to take me tomorrow, you’re gonna be tortured in the basement, and I’ll have to fight a legion of your family members alone.  I don’t even have a hope of breaking out of here before then with this fucking bombproof room.  God, I should have just said yes to your brother.  If your Dad thought we were a couple, I would have been allowed to stay.”

A lightbulb went off in Angel’s head.

“That’s it,” Angel said.

“What?” Cherri asked.  “What’s your plan, Angie?”

Angel sighed deeply and said, “I know you ain’t gonna like this, but how about we get married?”

“What?!” Cherri asked incredulously.

“Hear me out,” Angel explained.  “If I pretend that I’m madly in love with ya, Dr. Red and my family will be inclined to keep you around to spend time with me to aid in turning me straight.  Then when I’m finally let outta here to spend time with my family, they’ll let you out, too.  Understand?”

“Yeah, I got it,” Cherri said with a smile in her voice.

“All you gotta do is pretend to like me back,” Angel added.  “Do you think you can do that?”

“Ugh,” Cherri groaned.  “You’re like my older brother.  This is gonna be so weird.”

“Cherri…” Angel pleaded.

“Alright,” Cherri agreed with another groan.  “I ain’t no actor like you are, but I’ll try my best.”

“Just follow my lead, baby girl…” Angel said just as a sudden noise got his attention.

It was the sound of the cellar door opening.

“Shit,” Angel muttered to himself.

“Angie, what’s the matter?” Cherri asked in concern.

“The doc’s back, gotta go!” Angel replied in a rush.

Without waiting for a reply, Angel quickly hopped back into his bed and reshackled himself.  He then made his third pair of arms disappear and shut his eyes.

Thankfully, the doctor reached the bottom of the stairs without taking any notice of any noise.

As soon as Dr. Red walked past his door, Angel tossed and turned as loudly as he could while keeping his eyes shut and began calling Cherri’s name.

“Cherri!” Angel called out while dramatically tossing himself to one side of the bed and then the other.  “Cherri!”

Angel heard Doctor Red opening the door to his room and asking himself, “What in the world is this?”

Angel smiled internally and kept up his performance.

“Cherri!  Cherri!  Cherri!  Cherri!  Cherri!”

Angel kept his eyes shut and continued calling Cherri’s name repeatedly while Doctor Red took notes on his note pad.

“Interesting,” Doctor Red muttered in a pleased tone.

Suddenly, another voice called out from the top of the stairs.

“Hey, doc!” Arackniss’s voice called.  “Have you found your notes yet?  The Don’s waiting for ya!  What’s goin’ on?”

“An interesting development,” Dr. Red said gleefully.  “You must come and see!”

Angel didn’t hear a response over his own cries, but he heard his brother walk down the stone stairs.

“What’s going on?” Arackniss asked.  “What’s Anthony doing?”

“He’s calling a woman’s name in his sleep,” Dr. Red said excitedly.  “Please observe.”

The pair were silent while Angel continued pretending to sleep and call Cherri’s name.

Arackniss scoffed and said, “Oh, he’s calling for his gal pal, Cherri Bomb.”

“Cherri Bomb?” Dr. Red asked.  “Oh, right!  The kingpin who tried to help Anthony and Alastor’s fiancée run away.”

At this point, Angel ceased yelling Cherri’s name and pretended to settle back down so that he could listen to the conversation.

“The very one,” Arackniss replied.  “She’s locked in the guest room on the first floor.  We’re selling her to her rival Sir Pentious tomorrow in exchange for weapons.  Anthony hasn’t seen her since that night, so he’s probably just worried about her.”

“Interesting,” Dr. Red said writing more notes in his notebook.  “Have they known each other long?”

“Anthony’s helped her with her turf wars for about 40 years from what I’ve gathered,” Arackniss said.  “From what I’ve heard, they’re pretty close.”

“Interesting,” Dr. Red said.  “40 years is more than long enough to develop a romantic attraction.  It seems that the treatment is working faster than we thought.  My scientific opinion is that Anthony is developing a longing for this demoness.”

Arackniss snickered under his breath and said, “After only a day of therapy?  There’s no way.  She and Anthony are only friends.”

“Don’t be so sure, Arackniss,” Dr. Red said confidently.  “Perhaps your brother and Cherri were only friends, but I’ve found that often in pursuing homosexual relations a patient might be suppressing desire for a heterosexual partner.  Now that we’re pushing away the homosexual attractions, the suppressed attraction to his female friend.  Oh, this is so exciting.  I must get this demoness involved in the therapy.”

“How do ya plan on doing that?” Arackniss asked.

“Gradually, of course,” Dr. Red replied.  “We mustn’t throw Anthony into it.  We must ease him into the heterosexual relationship like a glove.”

“I still don’t know about your theory but easing Anthony into a heterosexual doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” Arackniss said, making a puffing noise that let Angel know that he was puffing on a cigarette.  “So, what do we do first?”

“First, we must discuss this with your father,” Dr. Red replied.

Arackniss and Dr. Red then shut the door and headed upstairs.  Angel waited until the moment he heard them both shut the door to the basement before he unstrapped himself and dashed back to the vent.

Angel reached the vent and said, “Cherri?!”

“Angie?!  What happened?!” Cherri replied concernedly.

“Dr. Red came down to retrieve his notes, so I started crying out your name,” Angel said with a smirk.  “He came in to watch me, called my brother down, and now, they’re going to talk to my Dad to get you integrated into my therapy.”

“Hot damn, Angel Dust,” Cherri Bomb said with a proud scoff.  “How’d you pull it off?”

“Thank my 50 years of acting, sugar tits,” Angel bragged.  “Dr. Red is now convinced that you’re my repressed crush.  My brother ain’t convinced, but it doesn’t matter.  Either way, you ain’t going nowhere.”

“Holy shit,” Cherri said.  “You never cease to amaze me, Angel.  I owe you one.”

“Don’t mention it, Cher,” Angel said.  “Now, we just gotta act our way out of here.”

“Oh, God,” Cherri said in a sudden panic.

“What’s the matter?” Angel asked.

“Do you think they’ll make us have sex while they watch?” Cherri asked.

Angel paused for a moment and said, “Oh, God.  I didn’t think of that.”

Just then, Cherri heard some hands fiddling with the locks outside her door.

“Angie, they’re here, talk to ya later,” Cherri muttered out in a hurry before she zipped back to her mattress and curled up into a fetal position, pretending to be asleep.

Arackniss pushed open the door, and Dr. Red flicked on the lights and entered the room.

“Doc, what are you doing?  You’re gonna wake her up,” Arackniss protested in a whisper.  “We put her in the bombproof room for a reason, you know.”

Dr. Red ignored Arackniss and continued to look around the room and grimace at the conditions.

“Doc,” Arackniss whispered again.

“I heard you the first time, Arackniss,” Dr. Red said.  “I know very well what Miss Cherri Bomb is capable of.  I do not intend to wake her.  I only intend to make observations...”

Dr. Red took a moment to look at Cherri and continued, “Cherri Bomb is a scrawny little thing, but she is pretty.  She looks cold and hungry though.  You must improve these conditions.  A man who falls in love must be comfortable.”

Arackniss sighed out his cigarette smoke and said, “I suppose we can add some blankets in here.”

“That’s not enough, Arackniss,” Dr. Red chided.  “You need to furnish the room, give her proper beauty products, give her books to read, and clothes to change into.  You need to feed her better as well.  Women are delicate creatures, Arackniss.  You need to take care of them.”

“If you’re sure,” Arackniss replied skeptically.

“Of course, I’m sure,” Dr. Red retorted.  “I used to give courting advice, you know.  Now, we must go speak to your father, but for tonight, fetch Miss Cherri Bomb some blankets to put her in a more pleased mood.”

Arackniss grumbled, “Very well.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Dr. Red asked.  “Hop to it.”

“Hey,” Arackniss protested.  “Watch your tone, doc.  We’re employing you.”

“And your father told you to do whatever I asked,” Dr. Red quipped.  “Now, go.”

Arackniss silently stewed for a moment before he rolled his eyes and left the room to find the blankets.

While Arackniss was looking for the blankets, Dr. Red sat down on the mattress next to Cherri’s sleeping form.  Cherri felt him sit down next to her, but she managed to maintain her relaxed composure.

That was until Dr. Red started stroking her hip.

Cherri made a yelp of dislike and twitched her leg away.

“Oh, dear,” Dr. Red said apologetically taking his hand away.  “I’m so sorry, love.  I didn’t mean to wake you.  Go back to sleep.”

Cherri turned over to the side of the mattress facing away from the doctor and pretended to try to go back to sleep.

Fortunately, just then, Arackniss entered the room with a stack of blankets and a pillow.

“I’m back,” Arackniss announced.

“Good,” Dr. Red replied taking the pillow out of his hands.  “Now, let’s get her more comfortable.”

Dr. Red gently lifted Cherri’s head and placed a pillow under it while Arackniss covered her body with the blankets.

Once the blankets covered her form, Cherri pretended to relax in her pretend sleep.

As Dr. Red shut out the lights and left the room, he said, “She’s a good one.  I can tell.  Miss Cherri Bomb is extremely sensitive to the touch of a man.”

Arackniss groaned jealously as he left the room and shut and locked the door behind him.

Once she was sure they had gone, Cherri zipped back to the vent to explain what had happened to an anxiously waiting Angel.

The pair shared a few laughs and discussed some more details of their plan before they finally parted for the night and went to sleep.