#twelve bar it's all love the chemical brothers

[spencers-renaissance]

you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy

Summary: Spencer's gay. He joins the BAU and befriends the team, but it is 2003. It's a secret he has to keep. He just didn't expect it to be this hard.

Tags: gay!spencer, coming out, hurt/comfort, insecure!spencer, misunderstandings, angst with a happy ending, dad hotch, protective!hotch, protective!derek, childhood trauma TW: one instance of explicit homophobia, but it is referenced a lot, as is Spencer's internalised homophobia at the start of this fic. A shit ton of heteronormativity but tbh that's just canon lol

Pairing: Spencer Reid/OMC, Spencer Reid & Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid & Aaron Hotchner, The BAU Team & Spencer Reid

Word Count: 6k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Consider this my contribution to pride month 😌 I've waited so long to post it and I'm so glad I'm finally doing it because it's definitely one of my all time favourites <3 Gideon is here somewhere but just like with all my early season fics he's not really part of the plot I combined my moreid and gen taglists bc it was hard to know the audience for this, but just ignore it if you're not interested!

you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy, unless he keeps his mouth shut, which is what you didn’t do, because you are weak and hollow and it doesn’t matter anymore. — richard siken, a primer for the small weird loves

Spencer has only told one person in his whole life.

His mother guessed. For as long as he can remember, she’s used gender neutral pronouns when talking about his future partner, read him all the gay literature she could find, promised him that he’s perfect just the way he is.

The trouble is that Spencer only believes her until the first grade, when Ryan Sampson shoves him over in the playground and calls him gay. His mom had only ever used that term in a sweet, loving way, taking care to associate such words with positivity, as long as his dad wasn’t around to hear. When that word comes out of Ryan Sampson’s mouth, it is not said with sweetness and love; it is said with venom, and Spencer learns quickly that his mom is wrong. He is not perfect just the way he is.

And so, he keeps it a secret. When his mom notices him getting uncomfortable at the mention of future partners, she stops bringing it up, though she refuses to give up the diverse education she provides for him outside of school. His dad tells him that one day he’ll be a strapping young man and marry a nice girl in a church, and Spencer nods along. He ignores the way his stomach turns with anxiety at the thought. Ignores the screaming match his parents have that night. Ignores the fact that it started because Diana chipped in with ‘or boy’.

He’s in high school by the time he’s twelve, and the only part he’s grateful for is the absence of pressure to get a girlfriend. His dad’s out of the picture now, and Spencer tries not to let himself think that maybe if he wasn’t like this he might have stayed. Diana’s so out of it most days that she doesn’t remember what she noticed about him when he was a child, only recalling the last few years of shoving himself so far back in the closet he can hardly see the door anymore.

It feels like he’s lost his last ally.

(He hates that a small part of him feels relieved she doesn’t remember; that he almost feels assured by the fact that the last person to know who he really is has forgotten. There is only this version of Spencer Reid now. No other exists.)

He makes the mistake during his second undergraduate degree. He’s just turned eighteen but he is already a doctor and, fortunately, this alienates him from most of his peers, but someone manages to slide past his defences. Ethan Miller is twenty, in the second year of his (first) undergraduate degree in Chemical Engineering, and he’s nice. Spencer doesn’t have a lot of experience with friendship, but they get on well and Ethan makes him laugh. For the first time, he feels comfortable in the presence of anyone other than his mother.

They slip into an easy friendship: waiting for each other after class — Spencer back in the undergraduate buildings now he has his first PhD under his belt — and going out for ice cream and pizza and Thai food. Ethan goes to parties while Spencer studies, and then they reconvene to watch Doctor Who and play cards.

For almost a year, Spencer keeps his secret carefully locked up, hidden behind the mask he’s perfected after so many years. Even though he’s eighteen, nearly nineteen now, he doesn’t try and explore that side of himself. No, that’s far too risky. He doesn’t try and pretend any other way either, he just stays silent and lets people’s assumptions lie for him, but he can’t help the longing that claws up his throat when he locks eyes with a passing guy on campus. One time, he’d seen two men kiss on a bench in the city, and he’d run back to his dorm and had a panic attack. Why couldn’t he have that?

The feelings don’t stop, and he doesn’t know how to make them. He hates that he isn’t normal, but still longs for the touch of a man, the feeling of being wrapped up in strong arms, of being kissed by dry, chapped lips, and falling asleep to a heartbeat approximately 11% slower than that of a woman’s.

It’s a constant battle inside him, emotions raging, and he struggles to control it, suppress it, tame it.

He pays a sorry price.

Ethan makes him feel comfortable, and that turns out to be a detriment. He relaxes around the other boy: he tells him about growing up as a pre-teen in a high school, about how a child feels living 260 miles away from home, even about his mother’s illness.

And one day, it slips out. They’re on the beach, lying on towels as they look up at the blue sky, talking about what their futures will look like: Ethan will be a successful chemical engineer in Berlin, and Spencer will work for the FBI, profiling serial killers.

“You’ll have to marry a German girl,” he tells Ethan. “It’ll be tough to convince an American girl to move all the way to Germany as soon as you graduate.”

“Yeah, and what about you? You’ll be off fighting crime around the country, not much of a life for a family.”

“Oh, I imagine my husband will be the type to—”

“Husband?”

Spencer freezes. It shocks him as much as it shocks Ethan. He doesn’t even pay much attention to Ethan’s disgusted face and his outraged tirade. He hears slurs and insults, hears him say that he can’t believe Spencer tricked him like this, that he was probably waiting to make a move on him, that he was never to look in Ethan’s direction again, but Spencer is frozen in time.

He’s never allowed him to think much about what his personal life might look like in the future, but he’d said ‘husband’ on instinct, without thinking, and it’s clearly something he actually wants. Ethan’s words sting, but the moment brings about a realisation Spencer is thankful for; it instigates a journey of self-discovery and self-expression, of the joy of living as your true self.

He loses his first and only friend, but he gains something much more valuable. He visits gay bars — nervously sipping a non-alcoholic drink in the corner at first, before soon becoming confident enough to respond to the men who sidle up to him and ask for his name. He lets go and dances the night away, sometimes going home with one of the many dance partners he acquires during the night, sometimes heading back to his own dorm happily alone.

Makeup and dresses and skirts and heels make their way into his wardrobe, and he befriends girls and drag queens and other gay men who encourage him to be exactly the way he is. And the best part is, he never has to come out to any of them. All of them know, and that’s good enough for everyone.

The fun comes to a sad sort of slow, however, when he joins the BAU. Everyone knows law enforcement’s relationship with the LGBT community is less than adequate — Spencer’s seen it with his own eyes: butch lesbians and men in dresses getting roughed up by angry police officers for ‘lewd behaviour’ or ‘drunkenness’ when they’re just being themselves. It’s not safe for him to tell anyone, so he doesn’t.

He still goes out with his friends when he’s in town and wears makeup and dresses and crop tops when he’s at home, but presents as rigidly straight Dr Spencer Reid to his team at the BAU.

The hardest part about it is that he loves his team. He’s known Gideon for years — and he wouldn’t be surprised if he suspects something after coming over to his house unannounced one night, only to have a man other than Spencer open the door — but he settles into a comforting dynamic with Hotch. He can’t help but see him as something of a father figure, and he knows Hotch has a soft spot for him, always looking out for him and taking him under his wing without a moment’s hesitation.

Elle, JJ, and Penelope all take a shine to him, too, teasing him without a hint of malice in their tones, only the kind of playful kindness that reminds him of his mother. He forms a special bond with Penelope and they spend hours watching Doctor Who together and geeking out on all the areas their interests overlap, and the comfort he feels with her matches the comfort he’s found with his new group of queer friends.

(She doesn’t hold a candle to Ethan, he decides one night, after he’d cried at a movie she’d made him watch and she felt so bad she made him hot chocolate and jam toast and cuddled him until he felt better.)

Derek becomes a brother to him. He puts him in a headlock at least once a day — which Spencer has been reliably informed by multiple sources is a very brotherly thing to do — and teases him relentlessly, while simultaneously being fiercely protective of him. Enough so, that Spencer sometimes wonders if he even has Hotch beat in that department.

He loves his team and his team loves him. It should be simple. It is still 2003.

He comes in one morning late for a briefing, his shirt buttoned wrong and his hair is a mess, and he’s fairly sure that his attempt to cover the hickey at the base of his neck with concealer has been ultimately unsuccessful. It’s obvious why he’s late. Gideon is too engrossed in the case file to notice, but Hotch raises an eyebrow, an amused look on his face as everyone else immediately takes to teasing him.

“Who’s the lucky lady, pretty boy?”

Elle raises an eyebrow to match Derek’s shit-eating grin, “Someone definitely got some strange last night.”

“When do we get to meet her, Spence?” JJ asks, smirking as he takes a seat.

He’s bright red — as if he needed to look any more debauched — and Spencer tries to ignore the hurt that seizes his chest at the reminder of his need to stay quiet. This team respects him, and he can’t throw that away just because Spencer gets too comfortable.

God, he wishes Penelope was here.

“None of your business,” he mutters, trying to keep his tone light. He fails.

Naturally, Hotch notices and swiftly moves the briefing on, and Spencer keeps his gaze locked on the case file, not missing the absence of a reprimand from his superior. He’s constantly thankful for the older man, but in this moment, he wishes he could hug him.

(A voice that sounds dangerously close to Ethan’s rises up and taunts him in his ear: he wouldn’t want a dirty homo like you anywhere near him—)

Derek doesn’t let up on the case, continuing to bug him about the special lady in his life. He does concede that it could’ve been a one night stand, which is one front he’s right on, but a couple more concessions are necessary before Derek comes close to the truth of last night.

Eventually, Derek stops, and Spencer notes that the cessation of comments comes suspiciously close to the last time Derek and Hotch were alone together. He doesn’t have it in him to feel angry at Hotch for stepping in when he had it handled; doesn’t have the energy to act as though his pride is wounded, because really, neither of those things are true, and he doesn’t need to add another item to ‘Spencer Reid’s List of Things He Pretends to Be.’

The situation is forgotten, and time moves on.

Things change when he finds his first proper boyfriend. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the giddying rush of emotions it turns out to be, and Spencer spends his days smiling as he daydreams his time away.

His name is Oscar Wilkins, a History professor at Georgetown University, and Spencer falls quickly in love with him. Ever since their mutual friend had introduced them at a gay bar one evening, they’d spent all their free time together. He’s kind and gentle and understanding of Spencer’s hectic and unpredictable job, and he finally has the chance to experience everything he quietly and shamefully longed for as a teenager.

The only downside is the silent breaking of Spencer’s heart that the most important people in his life can’t meet his boyfriend. He longs to show Oscar off, to hold hands in front of his team, lean up to press a tender kiss to Oscar’s lips. He wants to put a framed picture of the two of them at the Washington Monument on his desk to remind him of why he needs to get through the hard days; he doesn’t want to have to sneak out of the hotel room he shares with Derek to whisper hushed, loving goodnights over the phone.

But he’s too scared. Too cowardly.

It’s different being who he is with his gay group of friends littered with wlws and drag queens and other gay and bisexual guys. They understand.

But Derek and Hotch are two extremely masculine, alpha men: Derek’s a ladies’ man and Hotch is married to a woman he met in college with a baby on the way and both have a strong and dominant energy that still sometimes manages to intimidate Spencer even after all these years. And Elle and JJ are lovely — some of his closest friends, really — but sometimes they remind him a little too much of the mean girls he went to high school with.

The hardest person to keep his secret from, though, is Penelope. She’s his best friend and he desperately wants to give her all of him, but he’s so scared. He’s lost a best friend to this secret before, and even though he’s certain she’d be fine with it, what if she accidentally let it slip to Derek? What if Hotch found out and didn’t see him in the same light anymore? What if the girls started teasing him? What if Gideon didn’t want to mentor him anymore?

The fear paralyses him. And it’s a cycle he doesn’t know how to break.

Fear, though, doesn't stop everyone from noticing his daydreaming, his dopey smile when he checks his messages, his urgency to get home where he would’ve stayed until the small hours of the morning before. As excellent as he is at hiding his sexuality, he’s fucking terrible at hiding the fact that he’s in love: it was easy enough to pretend he was straight, but hiding something this all-consuming is an impossible ask.

Derek comes over to perch on the edge of his desk one afternoon, sighing as he sits down. “Pretty boy, this is getting ridiculous,” he says, snatching Spencer’s attention away from his phone. “You’ve been grinning like an idiot for the last twenty minutes as you’ve texted Future Mrs Reid. When are we going to meet her?”

(He hates the new nickname the team has given his mystery significant other, although Oscar had found it hilarious. “It’s funny because when we get married, we’ll hardly be able to tell,” he’d argued through his laughter. “Neither of us will change our name because of our academic profiles, and we’ll both still be ‘Dr’. Our wedding rings will be the only indicator.”

Spencer hadn’t argued back, because he’d been too tongue-tied and flushed pink at Oscar’s use of ‘when’ in regards to their hypothetical nuptials. It was only made bearable by Oscar kissing him gently and tucking him under his arm, not embarrassing him any further as Spencer had sort of anticipated, warmth settling over his chest at the thought of their future together.)

“You won’t,” he replies, perhaps a little too curtly.

Derek starts at that, clearly not expecting it. He definitely should’ve tried to play it off as a joke. “What— should I be offended, pretty boy?”

You wouldn’t call me that if you knew who I really am.

“That’s up to you, Derek,” he says calmly, although he still can’t meet his eyes, “but you won’t meet the ‘Future Mrs Reid, so I think it would probably be best if you left it alone.”

“Damn,” Derek mutters under his breath, clearly pissed off and probably more hurt than Spencer ever intended. “Suit yourself.”

And with that, he gets up and leaves his desk. Spencer’s only solace is the text message he sees on his phone when he picks it back up: I love you so much. You know that, right?

The light-hearted ridicule comes to an abrupt halt after the incident with Derek, and it’s clear that he had been the biggest contributor to the teasing. He’s thankful that the jokes have stopped, but he wishes desperately that it didn’t come with the growing distance between him and his team. Loneliness takes the place of his previous irritated anxiety, and he isn’t sure what’s worse.

It all comes to a head at the end of a case in Michigan. They’re stuck in the lounge of the small inn they’d stayed in the last few days, a snowstorm having blocked them in and grounded the jet, although Gideon had long since retreated to his room. The fire’s going and they’re the only guests around, so it’s cosy enough, but Spencer can’t help but feel sick at the idea of another night away from home.

It’s only been two weeks since he’d snapped at Derek, but the chasm between him and the team is only widening with each passing day. He knows it’s not a case of ‘pick a side’, but the team’s morale relies on light-hearted banter and teasing, and him not being a part of that anymore has only brewed awkwardness. Everyone’s trying to give him space when space is the last thing he wants.

Oscar’s keeping him company over the phone at least, but it’s not quite enough to quell the loneliness swimming around his stomach, and the 'discrete' sideways looks he gets from the team only make him feel worse.

“At least it’s nice and toasty in here,” JJ sighs as she takes a sip of the hot chocolate the kindly inn owner had made for them all.

Elle hums in agreement. “There are worse places to be grounded.”

“I dunno, man, I just wanna get home,” Derek says, not taking his eyes off the fire. Spencer can’t help but agree.

“Oh, come on,” Hotch muses, considerably more jovial now the case is over, “we’re here, and that’s not going to change any time soon. We should make the most of it.”

“It’s at least nice to be somewhere sort-of Christmassy now it’s December,” Elle points out. “We could be stuck in a dingy police station like we probably will be next week.”

“Ooh, I noticed that Jemimah and Kiran started planning the Christmas party last week,” JJ says, smiling at them. “I offered my help, but they seem to have it covered.”

Hotch raises an eyebrow“That’s probably a good thing. You don’t need more work on your plate.”

“Not gonna argue with that,” she murmurs, smiling as she brings her mug to her lips again.

Spencer doesn’t miss that Derek is still stewing on the opposite side of the room.

“Are you looking forward to the Christmas party, Spencer? Will you come?” Hotch asks, clearly trying to rope him into the conversation, which he appreciates. He’s been making a lot of effort with him the past few weeks, and it’s just about the only thing that’s getting him through each day.

Before he can reply, though, Derek erupts from the other side of the room; an already pissed-off man being pushed over the edge. “He won’t even let us meet his fucking girlfriend, Hotch, he’s not gonna want to come to the Christmas party!” he yells, throwing his hands in the air as he glares at Spencer with a stormy expression raging across his face.

Suddenly, Spencer can’t stay silent anymore, and his retort shocks himself just as much as it does everyone else. “I don’t have a girlfriend!”

It might be the loudest he’s ever shouted in his whole life. He’s always been quiet and restrained, the type to state his feelings as calmly as possible no matter how he’s feeling on the inside. Even in the biggest fight he’s had with Oscar, his voice was barely loud enough to qualify as a shout.

There’s a brief stunned silence, but Derek quickly slices his way through it, voice raising to meet Spencer’s fiery emotion, fierce and loud. “Oh, don’t even go there, Reid, you’re really gonna try and argue that? You’re gonna lie about her as well as not let us meet her? What a boyfriend you are.”

“I don’t! I don’t have a girlfriend!” he repeats, voice catching this time as tears rise unbidden to the backs of his eyes and all the emotions of the journey he’s taken with his sexuality over the years flood him in a wave of intensity he’s not prepared for.

“You’re fucking lying—!”

“I have a boyfriend!” he yells. “Alright? I have a boyfriend. I’m gay.”

The anger and emotion quickly dissipates, and he’s left standing alone in front of the team he’s put so much effort into hiding this from, watching shock spell out across everyone’s expressions. He’s never felt smaller than he does in that moment, and he quickly grabs his phone before running upstairs to his room, locking the door behind him.

“Oh God, Oscar, I fucked up so bad,” he cries over the phone as soon as his boyfriend picks up.

“Hey, hey, breathe, baby,” Oscar says gently, but Spencer can hear the anxious concern in his voice, “it’s gonna be okay, I promise. I’m here. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I just— Oh God, I just told the team.” A new wave of horror rolls over him as he realises what he’s done. Times might be changing, but it’s still only 2006, and he doesn’t know each and every nuance of his team members’ political positions and, fuck, he hates that his existence is a fucking political position.

Oscar’s been so understanding of his reluctance to not tell the team, even though Spencer’s met pretty much everyone in his life. He isn’t sure what he’s done to earn such a gracious and understanding boyfriend, but he’s not about to question it.

“Baby, I know it’s scary, and I know you’re really worked up right now,” he counsels, voice soft and reassuring, using the nickname he knows Spencer loves the most to make him feel as safe as he can from 700 miles away, “but it’s probably not as bad as you think. From what you’ve told me about the team, they love you so much, and even in the case that in the past they've had some issue with gay people, I can't imagine they’d ever actually think of you any differently when it comes down to it, Spencer.”

He’s crying too hard to reply, and Oscar understands immediately, gently transitioning into a story about his day that slowly starts to calm him down, and by the time he’s wrapping it up, his tears are starting to subside.

“Thank you, Ozzy,” he whispers into the phone, lifting himself up off the floor and making his way to sit on the bed instead.

“You know I’d do anything for you, sweetheart,” he murmurs warmly. “Do you want me to stay on the phone for a bit?”

“Yes please,” he whispers again, holding it as close to himself as possible, drawing all the comfort he can from his boyfriend’s voice.

He lies there listening to Oscar’s voice and trying not to think about the disaster downstairs for a good ten minutes before there’s a tap at the door.

“Oz, there’s someone here,” he says, voice panicked.

“I think you should probably speak to them, baby,” he urges. “I’ll stay on the phone with you while you do, if you like?”

“Please.” He gets up from the bed gingerly, keeping his phone tightly gripped in his right hand as he slowly unlocks the door with his left, revealing Hotch on the other side.

“Hey, Spencer. Do you mind if I come in?”

He’s riddled with nerves, but Hotch is smiling warmly, and he’s never said a harsh word to Spencer, so he steps aside and lets him into his room.

Hotch quickly notices the phone in his hand, visibly still on a call. “Is that your boyfriend?”

Spencer nods.

“Do you mind if I talk to him?”

His brows knit in confusion and his lips part slightly in surprise, but it’s all he can do to hand the phone over, watching Hotch carefully.

“Hi, Spencer tells me this is his boyfriend?” Hotch inquires politely into the phone, his tone still warm. “I’m Hotch, Spencer’s boss.”

He can vaguely hear Oscar speaking on the other end of the line, and he worries slightly that Oscar will somehow give away the familial feelings he holds for Hotch, but the conversation doesn’t last long enough for the anxiety to really take over.

“Everything’s fine here, I just want to have a conversation with Spencer, so is it alright if we hang up and I talk to him alone for a minute? He can call you straight back afterwards.” After a brief pause in which Oscar says something, Hotch looks back up at him. “Are you okay with that, Spencer?”

He nods hesitantly, and Hotch says a quick goodbye to Oscar before surging forwards and wrapping Spencer in a hug. It catches him off guard, but he doesn’t waste any time in burying his face into Hotch’s neck and soaking in the comfort and warmth that always radiates from his father figure.

“Come on,” Hotch says softly as they pull away a good minute or so later, “let’s sit down, shall we?”

“You’re not mad?” Spencer can’t help but ask, the question burning his tongue as anxiety — however quietened from Hotch’s hug — still swims around in his stomach.

“There are many things that could make me mad, Spencer,” he says earnestly, “but this is not one of them. I would never be angry at you for being who you are, okay? I might… I might be overstepping here, and if I am, then tell me and I’ll back off, but I’ve always seen you as a mentee, and over the years that’s developed— well, I see you more as a son these days. And part of that is wanting to protect and support you no matter what you do or say or who you are.”

Spencer wastes no time in diving back in for a hug, clinging onto Hotch for dear life as he hugs back, rubbing his back gently.

“I’m so sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell us sooner, Spencer,” he says in a voice soft with affection and regret. “But I’m so glad you’ve told us now.”

He only presses closer at that, tears springing back to his eyes. “I didn’t want to lose you.” He knows what he’s implying, and even in a roundabout way, he’s glad he’s telling Hotch.

“Oh, Spence,” he sighs sadly, “you couldn’t do a single thing to lose me. I’m in it for the long haul.”

“Really?” he asks, hating how insecure he sounds.

“Really,” Hotch promises, pulling away as Spencer does. “Now, you have a whole team of agents downstairs who are feeling very sorry for themselves and really want to see you.”

Nausea rolls in his stomach and panic springs back up as he looks at Hotch, desperate for some sort of grounding. “Are they angry at me? Do they hate me now?”

“No one hates you, Spencer,” he says firmly. “I promise you that. Everyone just wishes that they’d made you feel more welcome and comfortable. We all hate that you felt you had to lock up something so integral to who you are, and we can’t help but feel we played a part in it.”

“No,” he protests — the last thing he wants is family blaming themselves when it has nothing to do with them, “it’s not your fault, it’s just…”

Hotch nods. “I understand, it’s okay. Now, do you want to go down and see them? You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but it might help ease your mind to see that they really don’t hate you.”

Spencer pauses, taking a moment to think. “Can I see Derek first?”

“Of course,” Hotch says understandingly, and the comforting smile that crosses his face makes Spencer feel safe and taken care of. “I’ll send him up?”

Spencer nods and Hotch hugs him once more before leaving the room almost reluctantly. He wastes no time in picking up his phone and sending a text to Oscar. You were right. Hotch is fine. He’s just sending Derek up before I go and see the team but he says that no one’s angry and I think I believe him. Thank you, Oscar. I love you.

Not even half a minute goes past before his phone lights up with a text back. I’m so glad, baby. Call me later, okay? I want to make sure you’re okay before I go to bed. I love you more.

Before Spencer can argue that actually, he is the one more in love with the other, a hesitant knock sounds on his door. Nerves suddenly flip his stomach, and he clenches and unclenches his fists a couple of times before forcing himself to cross the room, revealing a very worried and regretful-looking Derek.

“Oh, pretty boy,” he says sadly, before crushing Spencer in a warm and tender hug. Immediately, he relaxes into the arms of one of his best friends, and relief courses through his blood at Derek’s reaction. “I am so sorry that I ever made you feel like you couldn’t tell me that you were gay or had a boyfriend. That’s completely on me. I don’t care who you love, Spencer, I just want you to be happy, okay? And if this guy makes you happy, then that’s fine by me. But if he ever lays a hand on you or—”

“Derek, Derek,” he laughs, “it’s fine I get it. Thank you, though, I’m… I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you earlier and for snapping at you in the bullpen that time…”

“I understand, Spence,” he promises. “It’s in the past, okay? And I’m sorry for pushing so hard. I mean, I’d love to meet him but if you don’t feel comfortable or you don’t want to, that’s fine, too. It’s your life, man.”

“No, I… I think I want you guys to meet him. It’s been so hard to keep him away from the people I consider my family, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. Maybe after Christmas, we can all have dinner or something.”

Spencer smiles shyly. “Well, Oscar’s a great cook, so I reckon we could work something out.”

Derek grins, throwing an arm around his shoulders as he immediately jumps back into teasing him as they make their way to the door to go downstairs and see the rest of the team. “Ooh, lover boy’s got him a chef, hey? What else does this Oscar have going for him?”

Spencer chatters eagerly about his boyfriend to Derek, barely skipping a beat when he joins everyone downstairs, his friends taking his cues and joining in with the conversation seamlessly. He’s had enough fuss for one night, and the warmth and understanding on everyone’s faces tells him everything he needs to know.

“Do you have any pictures of him?” JJ asks, raising an eyebrow with eager expectancy as they all settle back into their seats by the fire, a warm and unbelievably happy feeling settling in Spencer’s stomach.

He blushes, digging out his phone from his pocket and unlocking it. “More than a few, I think.”

He finds the most recent picture of his boyfriend — a candid shot of him cooking in the kitchen, spatula aloft, and a huge grin on his face — and hands the phone around.

“Oh wow, you like them buff, huh, pretty boy?” Derek teases as soon as he gets his hands on it, and Spencer’s stomach twists in a sudden bout of fear, expecting to see some hesitancy or even disgust on his friend’s face. What if he thinks that Spencer has a crush on him? What if he’s uncomfortable around him now?

But if Derek’s having any of those thoughts, they don’t show on his face. He’s smiling widely and openly, all the pent-up anxiety and frustration borne from hurt gone from his body language, and he looks completely comfortable sat next to Spencer, his arm stretched out behind him on the back of the sofa.

They sit happily around the fire for a couple of hours, settling into a happy, intimate familiarity Spencer hadn’t realised was missing when he was hiding something so integral to his being from his family, and he’s still smiling when they finally part ways to head to bed, the clock ticking closer and closer to 1 am.

He gets ready for bed quickly, brushing his teeth and throwing on the top he’d stolen from Oscar the first time he’d stayed at his place; a welcome change from his worn and wrinkled suit. As soon as his teeth are brushed and the lights are all off except for his bedside lamp, he pulls out his phone, knowing there’s one more thing he has to do before he goes to sleep.

“Spencer?” Penelope’s voice sounds down the line, clearly concerned. “It’s almost 2 am here, are you okay?”

“I’m gay,” he says, getting straight to the point. The main reason he ever kept it from her was because of his fear of it accidentally getting out to the team rather than fear over her reaction. After all, multiple of his drag queen friends are also hers.

“Oh my God,” she says in that small voice she uses when she’s not actually talking to you, before finally actually replying to me. “Spencer, I’m so happy you told me!”

He doesn’t miss her choice of words, or the way she says them and he tilts his head suspiciously. “You already knew, didn’t you?”

She sighs. “Yeah. I’m sorry, a couple of months ago I saw a text from Oscar on your phone when you went to the bathroom during one of our Doctor Who marathons, and it wasn’t hard to figure out the relationship.”

“And… wait, you’re not mad at me for not telling you sooner?”

“Spencer! Of course not. I was waiting for you to be comfortable enough to share it with me. I felt awful that I knew without your consent but I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to catch you off guard or make you feel uncomfortable. It’s fine that you waited, baby genius, I’m just so happy you told me now. What finally gave you the courage?”

“Well, it might have slipped out in front of the team this evening,” he admits sheepishly, “and the only reason I never told you was because I was scared that it would slip out somehow — accidentally, of course, I didn’t think you’d tell anyone on purpose — and now everyone knows. It’s been killing me not to tell you, Penelope, it really has because I love you so much and you’re my best friend and I trust you with my life, it’s just…”

“Whoa, slow down, Spence,” she laughs fondly, “you don’t have to explain yourself to me, I understand. But I’m glad you finally told everyone and you can be yourself completely with us, now. We all love you no matter what, you know that right?”

“I do now.”

“Good. You should get some sleep, baby boy, it’s late and you’ve had an emotional evening.”

Spencer smiles. “Yeah, I know. You should, too, Pen. I’ll see you when we can finally make it home, okay? Love you.”

“Love you, too, 187,” she says softly, and Spencer can hear the smile in her voice. “Goodnight.”

As soon as he hangs up, he settles down into the bed, turning off the light and pulling the duvet up over his shoulders before dialling one more number.

“Hey, baby,” Oscar says, voice as gentle and caring as it always is, although thicker with tiredness now. “I take it everything went okay?”

“Yeah,” Spencer murmurs, already feeling tired as the safety he always feels at the sound of Oscar’s voice settles into the fibres of his being. “It went so well. I can’t wait for you to meet everyone.”

“I can’t wait either, sweetheart. Are you in bed now?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Can you talk to me as I fall asleep?”

“Anything for you, Spence,” he says softly, before transitioning seamlessly into a story about the professors on campus, and his gentle comfort and the knowledge of the unconditional love his family has for him finally lulls Spencer into the best sleep he’s had in weeks.

taglist : @criminalmindsvibez @moreidstrobed @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @sbeno22 @temily @enbyspencer @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids (add yourself to my taglist via this form!!)

[writerseven]

Can i politely request a little snippet of props? No problem if not! I hope you're doing well!

I have been offline and have no idea when you sent this, but you absolutely may ♥

It goes like this:

He has clothes on but he doesn’t remember dressing, and his body aches but he doesn’t mind it so much. Bruce wraps him under an arm, and walks him down, and sits him at the kitchen counter, and Catalina drags him down the fire escape to his bike and has him drive until she finds a B&B. Alfred serves breakfast. Cat helps him wash the blood off. Bruce ruffles his hair. She took him out to a bar. He doesn’t like drinking, doesn’t do it a lot. He’s a lightweight, and it’s as incautious as it is embarrassing. He drank the shots she put in his hand anyway. He eats the food on his plate and doesn’t taste it. Tim sits kitty-corner him, three hundred miles away. The kitchen is sunny. It’s late. She wants to get married so they go to a courthouse. Dick really hates Atlantic City. He wishes she would stop calling him Richard. He’s not even considering Ricardo or baby. Or son. He sits across from a thing that looks like his brother but isn’t, more certain than ever Jason is dead.

When he went to therapy, back when Jason was Robin and then Jason was dead, he mostly talked about Bruce and the Titans and the self-hatred of unshakable inferiority. They talked about trauma a little bit too though. Touched on his parents briefly. He talked about Two-Face in one session, the judge and the baseball bat, and how he blacked out and can’t remember the end of it, and his therapist talked about brains protecting themselves.

When he didn’t go to therapy after he got Cat arrested and failed to get himself locked up too, he imagined himself back in Dr. Parker’s office. Tried to mimic how she would help him work through it. Trauma and not being a person and brains protecting themselves. It was nice to have an explanation. It is nice to have an explanation. And no drive to examine it further.

(He really should have gone back to therapy, and not just in his own head. That would have been a smart idea.)

It goes like this: Alfred gushes at the family all together, and Bruce glows, and Dick feels nothing. Bruce speaks and directs and puppets, and they all watch movies together, like Dick is twelve again and they don’t just love but still like each other. The carpet is different from the one Bruce fucked him on but reminds him of it anyway. Tim is an orbiting ache on the side of his ribs. He lost control and beat someone to death, and he let Blockbuster die, and he let Tim get hurt, and he deserves this. He tries to focus on the movie. He doesn’t want to look at the thing that looks like Jason.

He beat someone to death, he beat the Joker to death for it, and it doesn't matter. He irreparably stained his soul and it doesn’t matter. Bruce didn’t want his son to be a murderer. The thing that looks like Jason doesn’t even care.

Maybe it cracked open Dick’s skull and picked apart his motivations, and realized he didn’t do it for a dead boy after all. That he just did it because he’s broken and awful and lost control. This is a place for broken and awful people.

And Tim. Tim’s not awful, but he’s here too. Dick’s stomach twists. But his brain shies away from the thought and he lets it slip off like oil on water.

Dick has no idea what they watch, but he does get to focus on the incredibly soft blanket Bruce puts over him. Faux-fur. Meaning microfiber. It’s probably polyester or maybe polyamide, though he doesn’t know which. Maybe a combination. Strands thinner than a hair, thinner than silk. There’s microfiber in his suit, too, made to be tough and durable and protective, and there’s microfiber in this, made to be soft and warm and comforting. The most synthetic cloth there is, made to look like the most natural. It’s a fascinating breadth of usage. He should have studied chemical engineering instead of making a cursory pass at the business degree Bruce wanted him to get. He could have identified the carpet his father raped him on.

[scapegrace74-blog]

Dopamine

A/N  We’re going back in Metric Universe time to when Claire and Jamie were only flatmates with the unrequited hots for one another!  Set around the same time as Halo, so early October 2017.

With special thanks to @gotham-ruaidh for the prompt!

All other parts of the Metric Universe are available on my AO3 page.

Friday, October 13, 2017

Spittalfields, London, England

“Argh!”

Jamie heard Claire’s frustrated cry through his wireless headphones, even over the thrum of MotoGP.  He faced away from where she sat at her desk, ostensibly studying for a biochemistry mid-term, but it was hard to miss the tickertape explosion that skittered across the hardwood beneath his feet.

When he turned, Claire was leaning far back, staring up at the ceiling with hands tangling through her unbound curls.  A stack of cue cards, each containing a neatly drawn organic compound on one side and its name on the reverse, now lay strewn across the floor in an arc of momentary outrage.

“Somethin’ the matter, Claire?” he ventured tentatively after pausing his game.  He generally tried to ignore his flatmate while she was studying, leaving her to mutter arcane medical terminology under her breath and brew endless cups of tea in peace.  This latest event seemed outside the norm, however.

“Nothing an extra twelve hours in the day wouldn’t fix,” she replied tartly, looking his way.  The usual amber warmth of her gaze was dim and lined with strain.  “I apologize for disturbing you with my outburst,” she added.

He bent down and started to collect the dozen or so cards that had slid as far as his perch on the sofa.

“Dinna fash.  I was only killin’ time until my shift.  I gather yer studies arenna goin’ well, then?”

“I can’t seem to wrestle my brain into focusing.  Every nucleic acid looks exactly the same, and don’t even get me started with amino acid chains, with their bloody polypeptides and...   Jesus, I’m sorry, Jamie.  You aren’t interested in hearing about my biochem headaches.”

He approached the window, collecting cue cards from the floor as he walked.

“Nah, tis interesting.  I barely recall Sixth Year Chemistry, save fer the fact that my lab partner was a budding arsonist.  I canna imagine all the compounds and such ye’re expected tae ken.  The exam’s Monday, aye?  Why don’t ye take a wee break, tae recharge yer mind?”

Even as he said it, he knew it was a lost cause.  Claire’s will was indominable, and conceding defeat, if only by way of a temporary reprieve, was out of the question.  It was the warrior’s spirit he’d recognized in her from the start, far too cherished to wish away.

“What’s this do, then?” he asked, holding up a card where she could see the molecular structure.

“That’s dopamine.”

“Aye, I ken that fine.  It says it right here on yer wee note.  I asked what it does,” he goaded.

Claire huffed and rolled her eyes, but he knew she couldn’t resist the urge to put him in his place.

“It’s a neuro-transmitter associated with certain executive functions like motor control, reward motivation, lactation and sexual arousal.  Often referred to as the love chemical,” she recited drily, eyebrow lifted in provocation.

“Ah,” he replied, shuffling the cards in his hands to avoid further eye contact.  “And this one?” he asked, leaning back against the surface of the desk.

They carried on in this way for another fifteen minutes until it was time for him to leave for the fire station.  As he donned his boots and jacket he could hear Claire humming along to a phantom tune while she drew on the back of a fresh cue card, a spare pen stuck into the crow’s nest of her newly upswept hair.

“Have a good night, Jamie!” she called out as he opened the door.

“And you,” he replied, waiting until he was safely in the hallway to quietly add, “mo nighean donn.”

***

Claire woke late the next morning, grateful for twenty-four hours without work or classes to really knuckle down and finish studying.  After her brief tantrum the day before, she managed to complete a full preliminary review before finally succumbing to sleep.  Even after Jamie left for work, she found herself reciting the characteristics of each compound aloud, finding the detail made the names and corresponding structures easier to remember.

You see, Jamie, carbon, hydrogen and oxygen form the core bonds of every carbohydrate, from simple sucrose all the way up to complex polysaccharides...

The door to her flatmate’s bedroom was shut tight, and she knew from experience that he’d sleep until noon after working a graveyard shift.  Making herself some toast and fruit, she set the coffee on to brew, knowing Jamie would want it later.

Rather than sit at their tiny table, Claire stood beside the wall-to-wall windows while she ate, and watched the improvisational theatre of the street life below.  She enjoyed these quiet mornings, watching the city come to life, in solitude but not solitary.

Once she was fully awake and fortified, she settled into her chair and prepared to do battle with her biochemistry notes.  Next to her stack of textbooks, a small piece of paper with Jamie’s distinctive cursive caught her eye.

Spotify Playlist, Dopamine by JAMMF

Intrigued, she opened the app on her phone and typed in the search bar.  As she read down the list of songs, she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry, so she ended up splitting the difference with a watery giggle.  The ridiculous, precious man had made her a mixtape, and its theme wasn’t subtle.  She plugged in her headphones and began to study.

Several hours later, the door to Jamie’s room cracked open and he emerged blinking like a bemused russet owl.  He shuffled towards the kitchen, where she knew he’d drink a mug of black coffee in long, bracing draughts before truly waking up for the day.  Her eyes sheered away from watching his progress as  he lifted the torn hem of his favourite Mogwai concert t-shirt and absently scratched the line of hair that bisected his taut belly.

By the time he returned, she was engrossed in a chapter about protein sequencing.  A fresh cup of tea was deposited near her left elbow.

“Thank you,” she smiled up at him.

“Ye’re welcome.  How is yer studying comin’ along?”

“Really well, actually.  This playlist is amazing!  It must have taken you forever to pull together.  Was it a slow night, then?”

“Aye, more or less,” he demurred.  

“Well, it worked a charm.  I may actually survive this mid-term.  It was incredibly thoughtful of you, Jamie.”  Bashful under praise, he raised his free hand to rub through his sleep-mussed curls, doing nothing to diminish their resemblance to a rooster’s comb.

“Weel, I’ll let ye get tae it, then,” he muttered, turning back towards his bedroom.

“Wait!” Claire startled.  “I... uhhh...  I could use a little break, actually.  Did you want to watch the Australia Fiji match for a bit?”

“Aye.  Aye, that would be excellent.”

***

Jamie’s Playlist for Claire

And for those without Spotify, here are the songs:

The Scientist - Coldplay

Chemistry - U.N.K.L.E.

Neutron Dance - The Pointer Sisters

The Light Behind Your Eyes - My Chemical Romance

Weird Science - OINGO BOINGO

Let Forever Be - The Chemical Brothers

She Blinded Me With Science - Thomas Dolby

Better Living Through Chemistry - Queens of the Stone Age

D.N.A. - The Kills

Radioactive - Imagine Dragons

Natural Science - Rush

Sounds of Science - Beastie Boys

Novocaine - Beck

Synthetica - Metric

[mychemicalficrecs]

!!!! could you rec some killjoys fics that actually include the girl? (so many dont :(((( ) just no waycest please n thank u

Sure!

The Killjoys and the Girl

measured out in miles by orphan_account, Gen, Fun Ghoul/Party Poison, 3k, Teen And Up Audiences. motorbaby learns how to drive.

Hugs Gimme Hugs by jedusaur, Gen, 2k, Teen And Up Audiences. Grace learns the lyrics to Queen's entire oeuvre when she's two, how to kill a drac when she's four and a half, and what a flush toilet is for when she's nine.

The Getaway Mile by strobelighted, Gen, 4k, Teen And Up Audiences. Fun Ghoul, Jet Star, and Grace have left the City Slums to live in the desert with Kobra Kid and Party Poison, but desert life doesn't sit so well with Fun Ghoul.

Family Always Comes Back For You by ChokolatteJedi, Gen, 1k, Teen And Up Audiences. As she plays with the ball, she remembers the first time that Poison taught her how to make a Molotov cocktail

Sparrow by Go0se, Gen, 7k, Teen And Up Audiences. They never meant ‘dust angel’ literally, but apparently whatever Powers That Maybe do not give a fuck for their literality or lack of it. Five times the littlest Killjoys' wings were noticed.

Missile Kid by Psyche, Gen, 12k [WIP], Teen And Up Audiences. 'It wasn’t that she wanted to die exactly, because she didn't, not really. It was just that every single time she woke up she would wish so fervently that she hadn't. When she closed her eyes she would dream that she was safe in bed in Battery City. Her parents were in the other room and Luna, alive and safe, would sneak in to play with her and tell her stories. Then, without fail, she would wake and be hit with a sucker-punch of despair; realising that it wasn’t real. That it would never be real again. ' The zones, 2017. How Grace came to be a zonerunner.

Life Lessons with Ghoul and Grace by casesandcapitals, Gen, 2k, General Audiences. Grace needs a favor from Ghoul.

Four Killjoys and a Baby by forgoo, Gen, Fun Ghoul/Party Poison, Cherry Cola/Kobra Kid, 19k [WIP], Teen And Up Audiences. "We are not keeping a baby!" "How hard can it be?" The story of how four teenage outlaws became the guardians of a tiny helpless baby and then raised that baby to be the tiniest Killjoy, messiah of the Zones.

Make A Wish When Your Childhood Dies by Tempxtempx, Gen, 4k, General Audiences. "Yeah, that's it," Dr. D said to The Girl, wiggling the finger that she'd latched onto with her tiny hand. "You're okay now. We've got you. You're going to be just fine." Five times the Phoenix Witch crossed paths with The Girl, interspersed with four scenes from The Girl's life in between.

The Girl, Signing Off by Fame_Is_Now_Injectable (DaisukiRose), Gen, 2k, Teen And Up Audiences. The year is 2079, and I can honestly say that the zones hold no more surprises. The draculoids move in a pattern, the motorbabies are all the same, and the radio station still pumps out the same slaughtermatic sounds that it did when I was growing up. Jet Star told me that Dr. Death Defying had ran the radio station for as long as he could remember, and when he returned to the Phoenix Witch, Show Pony and I ran it. That was after the Killjoys were exterminated by the dracs, naturally, and I had been on my own for a few years by then. Nineteen year old motorbabies don’t usually survive the zones alone, but I was never alone. I had Show Pony, I had the wind and the sand and the Joshua trees. You were never alone, if you really looked.

Like my mother's by queen_of_shanath, Gen, 784 words, General Audiences. The days in the desserts can be hard - especially when you have a hungry little girl by your side and you cannot cook.

Aftermath by kryptidkat, Gen, 7k, General Audiences. After the escape they holed up in the bunker for a week. Licking their wounds. Barely able to believe they made it out. When they’re finally forced back into the desert sunlight, none of them are the same. Will another rescue mission help the Four regain the spirit they lost? Or will it just reveal how shattered they've become? The aftermath of Sing.

Everybody's Just Full of Surprises by Oncemorewith_tension, Gen, 3k, General Audiences. For a request calling for Ghoul babysitting the Girl and despite popular predictions, doing quite well.

Yesterday, Today by Arowen12, Gen, 3k, General Audiences. It starts with a whisper. Whispers travel fast in the desert, there’s nothing to stop them, just the wide-open plains with scraggly bushes and they cut through it all like a dry wind, on radio waves, on word of mouth at little burnt out trading posts from zone 1 to 6 and beyond. And suddenly, if its true, everything is different. Motorbabies stare at the horizon each morning and imagine the hull of white creaking through the sand, the Crash Queens in their little strips of insanity mutter to each other over cigarettes but they watch the same horizon just as intently. What’s left of the Killjoys, the outlaws, the rebels, all begin to stir.

Blood and Water by costumejail, Gen, Killjoys & Motorbaby, Cherri Cola/Kobra Kid, 20k, Teen And Up Audiences, Mature. Sometimes, a family isn't a mom, a dad, and a couple of kids. Sometimes, a family is a couple of teenagers, a barely-23-year-old, their younger brother's boyfriend, and the baby that they stole from under the nose of a tyrannical megacorporation.

no rays from the holy heaven come down by Nightwing_Hunter, Gen, Killjoys & the Girl, 25k, Not Rated. You watch as the world burns away, again and again around you. You see the rise and fall of the Fabulous Killjoys. You see the soul of the desert change over time. You are the one that sets BLi ablaze; you are the bomb that turns it to dust. But every bomb starts as scraps—metal and batteries and chemicals set into a chain reaction. The metal is your childhood. The battery is the power you never realize you have. The chemicals are the truth that you spend years uncovering and learning. This is how you build a bomb.

Killjoys Never Die by viviqueen, 21k [WIP], Teen And Up Audiences. "What do you mean, 'they're not dead'?" "I mean that somehow... The original killjoys... They're alive." ~~~ A story that takes place after the events of the comics of The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys. The Girl (also the protagonist) gets caught in a chain of events that unravels a conspiracy. Almost all the named characters from the comics appear at some point, it focuses mainly on The Girl and her own internal battle with her guilt, while she fights for a better future and to protect those she loves that are still alive.

Keep the Chain Going by Flick (raynon), Gen, Jet Starr & Motorbaby, 2k, General Audiences. The Girl finds a rare commodity, and she gets Jet to tell her a story.

Superstar by That_One_Wierdo, Fun Ghoul/Party Poison, 8k [WIP], Not Rated. The Fabulous Four are a lovely little catastrophe. A bunch of teenagers with laser guns and a kid are bound to have some wild rides. Let's just hope that The Girl doesn't find out some of their antics.

Choke by Teethteethteethteethteethteethteeth, Gen, Fun Ghoul & Motorbaby, 1k, Teen And Up Audiences. Fun Ghoul and the Girl walk into a bar(n). And it’s on fire

burning down the batteries by KilltheDJ, Gen, 8k, Teen And Up Audiences. It's been twelve years since the Fabulous Killjoys died for the Girl. Twelve years since they fell from grace, and twelve years since family has been a word in the Girl's vocabulary. Tonight, though, she's not a little girl anymore, and she's more than what Better Living Thinks she is. She's a Fabulous Killjoy, and she's going to save the same Fabulous Killjoys that raised her

[hopeaterart]

Some more Broken Ballet Incorrect quotes

Hills: CHRIS! Is that a weed!?

Chris: No, this is a crayon-

Hills: I'M CALLING THE POLICE!

*Hills composes 911 on a microwave*

Gioia's voice, as Christian frowns in confusion: 911, what's your emergency?

-

Jona: Be careful, it's really muggy outside today!

Korey: If I go outside and all the mugs are on the front lawn, I'm gonna kill you.

Jona: *sips coffee from bowl*

-

Alek: Brittany is at that very special age where she only has one thing on her mind.

Jill: Boys?

Brittany: Homicide.

-

Yui, to Willy: Oh, I see! I can say 'please' and 'thank you' as many times as I can, and you'll never repeat it. But Dellilah says 'ass-face motherfucker' ONCE-

-

Rosaura to Jona, talking about the Asshole: I just don't think our dad would want his kids to become murderers.

Rosario from the afterlife: Kill the bitch.

-

Sadao: Are ya bearing the weight of the full spectrum of human emotion with no chemical buffer, son?

Jotaro, lying face-down on the floor: Yes, dad.

-

Gioia: I need a four letter word for betrayal.

Christian: Jude.

The entire Viola company:

Gioia: It fits.

-

Jona: OH GOD HE'S LOOSING SO MUCH BLOOD-

Yui: QUICK, WHAT'S YOUR TYPE?

Ronan, looking at Irving: Short, black hair, dark eyes, has a plan for everything-

Korey: YOUR BLOODTYPE, STUPID!

Ronan: Oh. *looks down at wound* Red.

-

Irving: I'm cold.

Ronan: Here, take my jacket.

Jona: I'm cold too.

Alois: 'Well, damn Jona, I can't control the weather.'

-

Chen: You wouldn't know. You haven't been through hell.

Sadao: I'll have you know I worked in a seedy bar overrun by yakuza who kept mistaking me for a twelve years old girl for four years. So not only have I been through hell, I served cocktails here.

-

Korey: You can't go, you'll die.

Ronan: Sometimes to win at chess, you have to sacrifice your king.

Yui: That's exactly how you lose at chess.

-

Nicole to Rosaura: I am way too sleep deprived to deal with your negativity right now.

-

Hills: Love is dead and never existed. All you did was betray me as I lay sick and festering. You are the definition of dread.

Stephane: Are you okay???

Hills: Nicole stole my fucking garlic bread.

-

Rosario, to Gioia: Birth is a curse and existence is a prison.

-

Ronan: What was it like, dating my brother?

Irving: Once, I asked Jona to bring me a glass of water when he was mad at me. He brought me a glass full of ice cube and said 'wait'.

-

Jona: I want you to sign those three little words.

Alois: 'I love you'.

Jona: That's sweet, but try again.

Alois: 'Fine. I will behave.'

-

(AU where there's no BS)

Sadao, to Jotaro: Your aunt's husband passed away about nineteen years ago.

Rosario: Quite telling everyone that I'm dead.

Gioia, completely deadpan: Sometimes, I can still hear his voice.

-

Willy: I made a marshmallow Brittany. Her arms are crossed, because she's mad at the other marshmallows for making fun of Daddy. Do you like it?

Brittany, tearing up: It's fine.

-

Dellilah: Are we sure we should be listening to these guys? I mean, who died and left Aristotle in charge of ethics?

Korey:

Korey: Plato.

-

Stephane: You ever wanna talk about your feelings, Chen?

Chen: No.

Rosaura: I do.

Stephane: I know, Ros.

Rosaura: I'm sad.

Chen: We know, Ros.

-

*police sirens in the distance*

Irving, who has never done a single crime in his entire life: They've found me.

Sadao, who they're actually after: You gotta run, kid.

-

Gioia: It's nothing against you, Ros. It's just that I only said 'I love you' to eight people in my life, all related by blood to me beside your father. And one of them I regret.

Rosaura: Who?

Gioia: My grandmother, who I thought at the time was on her deathbed due to getting hit by a car. She healed, and Hamon means she's not gonna die of old age before at least hitting her 100, so now I look like an idiot.

-

Hills: I don't feel well, I have this headache that comes and go.

Nicole: *enters the room*

Hills: Oh look, here it is again.

-

Ronan: You're mad at me.

Korey: I'm not mad, just disappointed.

Ronan: Oh come on, everyone knows that's worse!

-

*Hills accidentally locks his car keys in his car. Sighing, he calls the police to retrieve them*

Bianca from the window: DOCTOR! Is that a police!? *Hills frowns up at her in confusion* I'M CALLING THE WEED!

*Bianca composes 420 on the microwave*

Rosario's voice coming from Stephane's Degenerations, who's just sitting at the table: 420, what're you're smokin'?

[ghchgc]

He would sit and stare at me as he had at Adam Ivanitch

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[ellanainthetardis]

Hey there! Sorry for the delay, I was running everywhere yesterday! Okaaaay so, are you reaaaady ? Let me know your thoughts!

[FF] or [AO3]

23. Twenty-eight Weeks

It was uncanny how the woods hadn’t changed.

When they had first come back to Twelve, everything had been in ruins and Haymitch hadn’t been able to breathe properly. He remembered feeling stunned and almost shocked that Katniss could walk among the rubble without flinching every two steps – although Katniss had been back twice before that when he had carefully avoided looking at any picture of the destroyed District. He remembered thinking he had been sentenced to hell once more and thus he had locked himself again in that tomb of a house, devoid of any hope for a better life.

He had had plenty of hopes before the end of Katniss’ trial, before her mother had run and they had been short of a guardian, before he had stood up and volunteered because he was the only one of the three of them who hadn’t yet. He had been thinking about moving somewhere else, somewhere new, where new beginnings would have been possible. Wherever Effie wanted, really, because at that point he had stopped deluding himself into thinking he didn’t want her to feature in his life. Wherever the kids would have liked because there was no way he would have left them behind.

Twelve…

Twelve had never been on the table for him.

However, after the few first horrendous weeks, after the first couple of months… Twelve had risen from its ashes, the same in many ways but different in enough of others that Haymitch had finally felt comfortable venturing. The District was completely different from before, now. More modern despite what Effie’s mother had to say about it, crammed with shops nobody needed, no longer the poorest in Panem or, at least, not so visibly that people were starving in the streets…

It was actually a nice place to live nowadays and, sometimes, not often but sometimes, he even forgot that it hadn’t always been that way. It looked like that somewhere else he had vaguely let himself dream about, somewhere new.

But the woods were exactly the same as in his youth, untouched by the war and the Capitol’s chemical fire, and the more he roamed them, the more difficult it became to leave the past behind. And yet he came back every day under the pretence of walking the dog who quite enjoyed the trek, running around and barking, exhausting himself enough that he wouldn’t be restless in the house…

Haymitch had been returning to the woods every morning for close to a week and he stuck to them most of the day, simply walking around at random – or seemingly at random because there was the clearing where he used to meet Mabel, there was the lake where he and his friends swam in, here and there were his favorite spots for snares, and finally where the forest met the old mine, there was where the electrical fence used to stand and where they used to sneak out…

He didn’t know what he was trying to achieve by revisiting those memories every day because they hurt, each and every one of them. He had long buried the torch he had carried for his girlfriend, accepted that although he had clung to the idea of a lifelong love as much as he could, he had only been sixteen and chances were things would have been very different in the long run. He would forever feel guilty about her death because it had been senseless and his fault, his love for her alone had been a death sentence. Thinking about Mabel still hurt because of the pointlessness of it all. Thinking about the friends he used to spend his days with also hurt because, aside from Hazelle, most of them were dead. Thinking about his brother…

He whistled because Snowball had disappeared between two dead bushes five minutes earlier and he couldn’t see the puppy anymore. He was hard to spot in the snow that still covered the ground. The weather wasn’t so bad for early February, he was ready to bet there would be more snow coming down but, for now, the thick coat had finally thinned and they had cleared the roads enough that Effie could reach the town if she was motivated enough to attempt the walk.

She was starting to waddle – not that he would tell her that. Or anything, lately.

He hadn’t visited the town in a week, not since he had found her in the attic, rummaging in boxes that should have remained closed. The bar was a little too attractive. He had taken the piss that night, when she had asked if he had drunk, but the truth of the matter was: he had gone in and by the force of habits had ordered a glass of whiskey.

He had stared at that glass for hours.

It had been untouched when he had stood up and left.

He didn’t feel particularly proud about it, not when the thirst was stronger than ever. He had finished the treatment Larcher had prescribed him so perhaps it was the reason why… Perhaps without the help of the pills he had dutifully been swallowing for the last couple of months he wasn’t strong enough not to yearn for alcohol at every waking moment. Or perhaps it was what lurked in the attic that had him drifting…

Effie had gone back up.

She had done it when he hadn’t been home but he knew. He could tell. He could always tell when she was plotting something.

He reached the lake and sat down on a mostly snow-free boulder, watching the glimmering ice without truly seeing it. Snowball brought him a big heavy stick and they played tug, then fetch. The puppy was having a grand time. Haymitch was distracted.

He wasn’t exactly surprised to see Katniss emerge from between two trees after a while. There wasn’t much game to catch those days, although she always managed a few squirrels, but she needed the daily moments of solitude almost as much as he craved them lately.

“Looking for me?” he asked because that had happened a few times over the last week. Katniss tracking him down in the woods or Peeta making sure he wasn’t dropping drunk dead somewhere… Effie had been very good at not pushing his boundaries and respecting the fact he wanted space – then again, she had always been good at knowing when to insist and when to retreat with him – but the kids didn’t get it.

The girl’s mouth was set in a serious line as she came closer, barely stopping to awkwardly pat the dog on the head – she wasn’t fond of Snowball, he reminded her too much of the mutts that had appeared at the end of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games – and he knew she was done humoring him.

Hell, he had lasted eight days without anyone trying to pressure him, it was more than he had thought he would have.

“What’s going on with you and Effie?” she asked, never one to choose diplomacy over efficiency.

“None of your business.” he spat.

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared. He tried not to notice she was wearing the green scarf Effie had knitted for her… “You’re not going to bolt, are you? Because too late, Haymitch. You made your choice. You told her you wanted the kid, you don’t get to change your mind now. I won’t let you. Parents should always stick with their children.”

Her little speech started firm but ended up pained and he sighed, rubbing his eyes, wondering why he always had to make a mess of everything. “I did a lot of shit, sweetheart, but I always stuck with you and the boy. Don’t drop other people’s mistakes on me. That’s not fair.”

“We’re not talking about me.” Katniss argued, harshly enough that Snowball let out a small warning growl.

Haymitch tossed the stick if only to keep the overprotective puppy occupied.

“Aren’t we always?” he snorted.

“You’re being an ass.” she snapped. “You’ve been an ass for a week. To me, to Peeta and to Effie. She’s carrying your kid. It means nothing to you?”

You knew things were bad when Katniss Everdeen took the champion’s mantle for Effie Trinket…

“I want a drink.” he admitted. “Badly.”

That shut her up, at least.

Katniss hesitated and then joined him on the boulder, not offering any of the platitudes someone else would have. Reassurances, encouragements… The girl didn’t know how to do that so she simply sat  there, her side pressed against his in a not so subtle reminder that she was there, and she watched him play with his dog, lost in her own thoughts.

They remained like that for the longest time.

He was relieved not to have to explain himself. Peeta had been probing the issue without really voicing his concerns. Katniss understood him in ways the boys didn’t though, which was why he found himself talking in the end.

“I’ve got stuff in my attic.” he said, at last. And wasn’t that just the best metaphor. “Stuff from… before. I used to cram boxes up there every year when the Games were still on. I never even really went up all the way, I just pushed the boxes up there and forgot about them.”

“What’s in the boxes?” Katniss frowned.  

“Leftover clothes from the season that were too fancy to wear around Twelve.” he shrugged. “Some pictures, I guess… A few magazines… Any reminder, really…”

He didn’t even know why he had kept all the stuff in the first place instead of just dumping it in the bin. He had stocked the clothes because there had never been enough of them in his youth and it seemed almost criminal to him to toss perfectly good fabric away when people were dying of exposure in the Seam – he would never have been able to just give them away, the Capitol would have frown on that but just dumping them in the trash had been out of the question, just like wasting food would have been. There had been less items he truly didn’t want after Effie had come on board anyway. She had a knack to dress him the way he liked and the boxes from her years mostly contained suits and mementoes.

Those were the things he had never quite been able to explain to himself. There were a few promo pictures from Twelve’s team, stuff he had been given and had usually buried at the bottom of his luggage, out of sight out of mind, until he had found them while unpacking. He had burn them in the beginning but with the years… Photoshoots had never been something he enjoyed but Effie had made it fun, some of those were actually good. There were more genuine pictures too… Of him with the other victors, either at Games events or in the privacy of one of their apartment in the Center… Of him with Effie… He was sure there was a stack of Polaroid somewhere on which she wasn’t wearing much if anything at all…

The people on those pictures, they had been having a good time. It was usually why you took pictures, to remember the good times. And every time he had come back to Twelve, to the overwhelming misery, to the reality of two more dead kids he somehow always managed to push at the back of his mind with booze, women or friendly company while in the Capitol… He had felt ashamed. So the pictures had ended up in the boxes. Out of sight.

“Okay.” Katniss nodded as if it made sense. And, to her, it probably did.

“There’s stuff from my old house too.” He rushed the words out, as if he was tearing off a particularly resistant band-aid. “Effie found that.”

“And you’re mad because she looked at it?” she asked in a knowing voice. He remembered the stuff she had been carrying everywhere from Twelve to Thirteen to the Capitol and back. The picture of her father, his jacket, the pearl Peeta had given her, the pin… She understood clinging to things like talismans.

Peeta had kept nothing from before.

Effie had lost almost all her belongings but she was the kind who dutifully kept everything from a movie ticket to beads he had won at a poker game and had tossed at her just to shut her up. She was a collector. Everything and nothing, every little thing.

Haymitch didn’t consider himself to be a nostalgic person but he still wore the battered golden bangle despite the weird looks people had tossed him at first. The bangle was his token. It had been a reminder during those months in Thirteen that she was out there, somewhere, and he needed to find her. Wearing it had been a promise to himself.

Some objects were more precious than others.

Others though…

“I forgot it was there.” he said and it was the crux of the matter, really.

He had forgotten. He had thought he had put his family to rest. He had bought geese because it had been Hayden’s dream to have a farm. He had planted irises for her mother, to remember her by because the graveyard was gone, destroyed in the bombings. He had find stability with the kids, had opened his door to Effie, had settled in this new family unit and, later, had even felt confident they could add a baby to the mix with relative safety.

He had thought the grieving process was finally over. And then he had climbed up to the attic in search of her, grumbling under his breath about ladders and potential accidents, only to be confronted with a past he had completely forgotten he had stashed there.

“I miss Prim.” Katniss confessed after a long moment of silence. “Every day, I miss her. It’s never going to go away.”

“No.” he confirmed. Because he still missed them. Hayden, his mother… His girl too. Chaff, Finnick, Mags… The list went on and on…

“But sometimes I forget.” she whispered, looking down at her feet. “Sometimes I’m happy and I forget I miss her. It makes me feel terrible but then I realize… She wouldn’t want me to be miserable so… I think it’s okay if I forget from time to time. Doctor Aurelius says it doesn’t mean I’ve stopped loving her, that it doesn’t mean I will forget her for good.” She shrugged and grabbed his hand, squeezing once before letting go. “I don’t think it means you forgot them for good, Haymitch. It doesn’t mean you’re replacing them.”

Hadn’t he, though? Replaced his dead family with a brand new breathing one?

He snorted and shook his head. His mother would have whacked him at the back of the skull so hard for even thinking that way…

“It’s the only thing that matters.” he mumbled awkwardly. “Family.”

“Yeah.” she agreed without any embarrassment. “You should never turn your back on them, never give up on them, never leave…”

“I ain’t going to leave my kid.” he growled. He wasn’t his father. He wouldn’t just abandon them and run away because he was too much of a coward to face his life, no matter how difficult. “Any of my kids.”

“I know.” she said, matter of fact. “I trust you to never leave. You’re the only one who never did.”

“Sweetheart…” Her mother’s defection still hurt her and their contacts were seriously limited to a phone call every six months as far as he knew. She hadn’t forgiven her and, to be honest, neither had he nor Effie. He wasn’t sure what to answer to that so he threw caution to the wind and simply hugged her. They didn’t do that often and it was always special.

She hugged back for dear life and he heard a suspicious sniff but when she talked her voice was steady. “You’re a great dad, Haymitch. You’ll be fine.” She drew back and punched his shoulder. “But you should stop acting like a jerk and go home now. And tell her about the drinking thing… It’s Effie, she’ll get it. Maybe she can help distract you or… whatever.”

Distract him would involve fewer clothes and a lot less pregnant stomach but he didn’t think Katniss meant it in that sense anyway.

“Yeah.” he sighed. He supposed he had brooded enough. He had been in and out of the house for days now, barely talking to her at all… It wasn’t fair on her.

They walked back to the Village together, mostly in silence, both of them dealing with their own ghosts.

She spotted the car first. It was hard to miss, neatly parked in front of his house as it was. “Why’s the doctor here?”

Haymitch’s blood ran cold and he rushed inside, dashed straight to the living-room where she was lying on her side on the couch, awfully pale, with Peeta perched on the armrest behind her head and Larcher packing up his medical bag. Everyone looked at him but he only looked at her, wide eyes, heart hammering in his chest.

“I am fine.” she said immediately. “It was nothing. Peeta was just overcautious.”

“You fainted.” the boy protested, almost accusatory.

“I didn’t faint, I was simply dizzy.” she argued.

“It was just some hypoglycemia.” Larcher confirmed. “Nothing a hot chocolate didn’t fix. Now, Effie, try to take it easy today.”

“It won’t be difficult, I am exhausted.” she grumbled.

And for the first time in days, Haymitch noticed the dark bags under her eyes. He knew she hadn’t been sleeping well because on the rare nights he had consented to go to bed with her she had tossed and turned for hours. But sleep had evaded him as well since the attic and he had spent most nights in the living-room, trying to focus on a book or staring at the fire to resist the temptation of getting wasted enough to close his eyes without having nightmares.

He waited until Larcher was gone to kneel next to the couch, barely noticing Katniss gesturing at Peeta to come with her – and away from the house, he assumed. He pressed a kiss on her stomach first and on her lips next.

“I’m sorry.” he mumbled.

He expected some anger because it was Effie – and if Effie was forgiving she also liked to make him grovel for it – but she simply looked relieved.

“You should not have shut me out.” she chided him gently but without heat, cupping his cheek, her thumb running on his bottom lip.

“I know.” he admitted, pressing a kiss against the pad of her thumb. “I just… It got too much.”

He sat down with a sigh and let his head fall on the couch, in the curve between her breasts and her belly.

“Do you mean us?” she asked uncertainly, her hand falling on his shoulder.

He entwined their fingers. “Never us, Princess.”

They were too much. Had always been too much. Together, they were like an inferno and it sometimes felt like more than he could handle. But it had been years since he had thought they were a bad idea. They were complicated. But he had told her once and he still meant it: good things sometimes came out of complicated.

“You have been struggling.” she pointed out cautiously, clearly afraid he would get mad again. He had no energy left in him to get mad. “With the drinking.”

“Yeah.” he admitted, his voice more fragile than he would have liked. “Haven’t touched booze though. I won’t.” That promise was fierce, it was directed not to only to himself but to her and to their baby. “Don’t worry.”

“Of course, I worry.” she sighed. “But I do not worry about the drinking, I worry about you. Haymitch, I am…”

“Don’t say you’re sorry again.” he cut her off. “Wasn’t your fault. This is your fucking house, there’s no out of bounds room. I was just…” He let that sentence trail off. Staring at the ceiling instead of looking at her. “Just… One moment we were there, getting ready for the shrimp and everything was… Good… And the next… I forgot all that stuff was up there.. The furniture… The ashes… I forgot. And then it hit me that… I can picture what our kid will look like, I can picture him so fucking well, sweetheart… Down to the dimples… But my mom and my baby brother… I can’t remember their faces, their features…”

He felt her fingers slowly running in his hair and he closed his eyes, letting the familiar gut wrenching sorrow wash over him. He clenched his jaw and tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

“You do not have any picture?” she asked softly.

He shook his head once in denial. “The only one burned. I’ve been trying… I’ve been trying so fucking hard to remember…”

His voice broke and he bit down on the inside of his cheek, keeping himself together by sheer force of will only.

“Oh, my darling…. It is alright…” she breathed out, wriggling on the couch to push herself up.

He wanted to tell her not to move because she needed to rest but then she awkwardly hugged his shoulders from behind. Her stomach was in the way and she grew frustrated enough that she pulled on his arm until he consented to haul himself off the floor to sit with her. Then she draped herself over him, crawling on his lap, because, pregnant or not, hugging was her favorite form of comforting.

A part of him bristled at this open show of weakness, another part simply marveled he could be so open with anyone after everything. But it was Effie. And Effie had been with him for almost sixteen years. She had seen the good and the bad. She had been there for most of it.

They were intimately acquainted with each other’s demons.

“You’re heavy.” he complained for the sake of it.

She laughed but there were tears in her eyes that she hastily blinked away. She kissed his cheek and then his mouth, a peck that was far from innocent and that went a long way in making him feel better. His first instinct when he was hurt was always to seek a lonely place but it was always her touch that ended up soothing him.

“We will take thousands of pictures.” she declared, resting her forehead against his. “We will record every moment for him, for when he is older.”

He nodded his assent, his hands gently rubbing her back. “You’ve been cleaning up there.”

He felt her hesitation but she didn’t try to lie.

“I sorted the boxes that did not seem to have sentimental value.” she explained. “There is no use keeping clothes that we could give to some charities… I made bags if you want to go through them.”

“No, it’s fine.” he shrugged. “They were up there ‘cause I didn’t want them.” He took a deep breath. “I should probably get rid of the rest…”

“It is a big attic.” she argued. “There is no need for hasty decisions.”

“It’s nothing but junk.” he scoffed.

“It is all you have left.” she whispered. “It is alright to want to keep it. It does not even take that much room… Leave it there. Who knows… Perhaps you will want to show it to our son someday…”

“Nice depressing talks you see us having.” he chuckled bitterly, but her offer was more than tempting and thus he dropped the matter, tugging a little on her low ponytail. “How come you were dizzy? You skipped breakfast?”

“Nothing appealed to me so I simply had a toast.” she pouted. “I really wanted scrambled eggs but we didn’t have any in the fridge and I was not sure I could manage without burning the whole house anyway so it did not seem worth it to brave your birds.”

“We don’t have eggs ‘cause you’ve been puking at the sight of them for months.” he mocked. She pouted deeper and he snorted. “You still want scrambled eggs?”

She flashed him a beaming smile and he shook his head at those weird cravings of hers. He was mostly grateful it had hit her late because he wasn’t sure he could have taken nine of months of requesting strange food at every hour of the day.

“Do we have bacon?” she asked hopefully.

“Think so.” he shrugged, nudging her off his lap – with some relief because she really was heavy. “Lie down for a bit, yeah?”

“If that was that easy.” she huffed. “I haven’t been able to find a comfortable position in days. I am too big!”

“You’re beautiful.” he countered automatically.

She tossed him a dark knowing look that he chose to ignore in favor of getting her food ready. He made two plates, figuring they might as well have an early lunch. She was lying on her side again when he came back, propped on pillows, Snowball spread over her feet, and she was still pouting.

“I cannot take two more months of this.” she told him. “My back aches, my ankles are swollen and I cannot for the life of me get comfortable… My clothes are too tight again. Those pregnancy pants are supposed to be stretchy. Why are they not stretchy? I would get naked if it wasn’t so cold.” A naked Effie was never a bad thing and he smirked but, clearly, it wasn’t the right reaction. “Oh, do not get any idea… I am too big for that.”

“Never back down from a challenge, sweetheart.” he teased, handing her a plate. “Here, get some food into you.”

She sat up to grab it, disturbing the puppy who grumbled but hopped down to the safety of his own bed where nobody would annoy him, and she eagerly planted her fork in the eggs. She brought it to her lips and immediately dropped it without even placing it in her mouth.

He watched as she turned green and he snatched the plate back, hurrying to dispose of the eggs. He came back with more crispy bacon and some warmed up fish leftover they had had for dinner the previous night.

“I like eggs.” she whined, accepting the new plate.

“I know.” he sighed.

“Your shrimp is a pain.” she hissed, ignoring the fish to pounce on the bacon.

“Our shrimp.” he corrected, tossing a piece of bacon to Snowball who was suddenly less interested in sleeping. “But, yeah. Probably.”

With the two of them as his parents…

What else was she expecting?

[msfcatlover]

Day 8: Favorite Character You Have Played

(D&D 30 Day Challenge)

Oh geeze, how do I choose?! I love all my girls equally...

Who is the most interesting? Well, that’d be Bessera, who hides her non-organic nature out of reasonable paranoia, makes a party of +6ft characters (bar one) look short, learned to use an obscure sword because it was a gift from her ex, got her hands on a modern-day pistol in a typical fantasy setting, has a crush on a 600 year old vampire (honestly, her type is “Gorgeous women, twelve times as intelligent as I am.”) was declared a “chosen one” to save the land from the darkness despite having no faith in the gods, keeps meticulous notes which are steadily spiraling into a mess of confused scribblings as their adventures become more insane, and somehow as a Neutral Good guard known for looking the other way and bending the rules where it felt right manages to fill the stereotypical “Paladin role” as the group’s Lawful and Goodly compass.

Who is the most fun? Toss up between Anna and Moreen, for completely different reasons.  Moreen’s a devious Torture Inquisitor, who specializes in living vivisection; the creative, horrible things I can do with her can push the envelope on our “hard-R” Evil Campaign (and honestly playing her makes me more creative in other areas of my life.) There’s also a certain delight in how creepy I can make this gentle, soft-spoken, grandmotherly Halfling, and how every moment she’s not making someone’s skin crawl is immediately hilarious (established when the gargoyle picked her up by the scruff of her neck, and just held her there while she balefully pouted.) Annalise is the only one of my characters who was created specifically for the story she wound up in, and she is marvelous for it: a tiny, professional Tiefling thief for hire, with extreme anxiety, a nervous stammer, and a habit of slipping into Infernal when upset. She’s honestly just as scared of the party she’s travelling with as she is of the employers she sorta-kinda betrayed in a moment of terror and trying to save her own skin, but has quickly identified which ones are moderately friendly... well. Which one. When combat happens, Anna hides, and when sneaking needs to be done or a lock needs to be popped, she’s there to help, and when all else fails, this 4′10″ Tiefling woman will absolutely hide behind the Aasamir Cleric, who reminds her way too much of her big brother. (Helps that our Cleric can totally tank better than our Paladin in that campaign. It’s kinda awesome.)

Who do I miss the most when I’m not playing them?  Well, Elisah is a Gnomish Paladin, sunshine child, and precious cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure, and I can’t wait for the day I can bring her back to the table and see how long she can hold out.  Revie is my first character, a non-magical heir to a famously magical family, who designs wondrous items, experiments with dangerous chemicals, and explores ancient ruins primarily to try and win the respect she didn’t receive as a child, and she Deserves Better. I adore her, in all her stereotypical complexities. Anna, again, is just too much like me for me not to want to love... and protect... and break her in equal measure.

And I just can’t bring myself not to bring up Callaster, an albino Lamia raised by Fey, who changes masks as fast as any situation can change, and while she’s no good in a fight, is a terrifyingly effective manipulator... but then, Mesmerists tend to be that.

[unpublishedbooks]

Okay but the greek gods as high school stereotypes

Zeus is the homecoming king, date-rapey, wears crowns to school half the week, football star, wears a lot of red clothes, daddy issues, dating Hera but mad cause she won't put out, cheats, has fathered 3 kids but payed the moms off, unliked by fathers, doesn’t read, “No you’re stupid” “I know you are but what am I?”

Hera is the super protective, top of the class, teaches home ec to underclassman, willingly takes the robot babies for fun, vintage sundresses, homecoming queen, loves reading, abstinence advocator, 

Athena is tiptop of the class, v v smart but will fuck you up, wears blazers, vegan, will not hesitate to tell you she is vegan, started chess club, is president of chess club, is the only one in chess club, Quiz bowl, 

Apollo is designated gay guy, throws the best parties, always lit, super tan, spends summers in Tahiti, really likes hummus, shitty poetry slams at the local bars, “come to my poetry slam Tuesday night!” Drums on everything, takes more time on his hair than his homework

Artemis, super gay, wears a lot of jewelry, blogs all night, skips school for first day of hunting season, wears white camo, eats meninists for breakfast, loves the bell jar, dog person

Dionysus wears Hawaiian shirts 24/7, drinks before school, does everything but heroin because that is too far, water bottles filled with vodka, dabs ironically, puts Monster in his coffee and drinks it, spends all his money on booze, eats two bags of Doritos a day

Poseidon-- captain of the swim team, ironically doesn't like fish, has sea food allergy, has a shark stuffed animal, wears board shorts to school, talks about surfing but can't surf, talks with Californian accent but is from Ohio, “radical”, bucket hats, orange spray tan, cried watching finding nemo

Hades, oldest but his family hates him, wears nothing but black, still in the scene phase, secretly likes Justin Bieber, girlfriend goes to a different school, “you wouldn’t know her”, spikes hair every day but always brushes it out because “it doesn’t look good”. every day. “welcome to my twisted mind” blog title, guyliner, joined theatre as a joke, is really good at it, under appreciated, watches one tree hill in his free time

Persephone-- flower child gone goth, irrational fear of pomegranates, dog person, “It’s complicated” relationship status. only drinks long island ice teas, flower crown and punk edits, wears crop tops and ripped jeans, in love with my chemical romance, cosplay youtuber

Aphrodite-- settler in the relationship, cheating on her boyfriend, tells people she is in an open relationship, has had so many abortions her next one is free, wears pink ever Wednesday, spends all her money at Victoria’s secret, Instagram famous, personal relationship with Kylie Jenner, wants to be a model, wears crop tops and skater skirts, makeup youtuber, “I was the sidechick”

Hermes-- meme trash, works in school office, wears cardigans, on the track team, studied abroad, afraid of heights, wears nike sandals with socks, wants to be a doctor, tweets for a living, Dabs unironically, trolls everyone

Hephaestus-- Girlfriend is cheating on him, reacher in relationship, loves star trek, relates to Spock, makes model airplanes, mommy issues, kind heart, hard worker, pure cinnamon roll. wears a lot of flannels, and work boots 24/7, hates his brother Ares, only reason there is a handy cap entrance, 

Hestia--Possible arsonist, dad is an asshole, cozy fire aesthetic, slut-shamer, obsessed with disney movies, always has tea, wears cardigans, “too hot for you” mug, still sleeps with a stuffed animal at 18, best tipper

Demeter -- mom friendTM, seasonal wardrobes, texts you to make sure you ate, loves a good nude lip but is always down for a plum, goes by Demi,, hates when people rhyme her name with things, has a life style blog, minimalist.

Hypnose-- Deadass, sleeps all day, failing all classes because he doesn’t do his homework, anxiety, loves camomile tea, loves catcher in the rye, binge watches a new tv show every week

Ares-- only drinks fireball, head of the wrestling team, tried to fight teacher, will fight you, will fight his dog, will fight your dog, claims to have wrestled a bear, motorcycle, also wears guy liner, has a designated detention seat, calls the principle by first name, really good with little kids, makes a child army, WOW, rage quitter, texts Hephaestus that he stole his girl 24/7

@barackohanameansfamily @trainer-of-mischief @twelve-percent-pepper

[scannain]

Dub Web Fest, Ireland’s only web series and short content festival lands again with a diverse schedule for its third edition (24th -26th November) in the Generator in Dublin’s vibrant Smithfield district.

The exciting programme of events includes web series, short film, music videos and virtual reality from South America, Australia, Japan, USA, France, Belgium plus the best of home-grown Irish talent, encompassing genres such a comedy, horror, sci fi ,drama and LGBT.

Short Film

This year the festival introduces short film to their schedule and among the work screening is Terminal by Natasha Waugh, winner of Best Short at Cork Indie Film Festival 2016. Terminal is also nominated for Best Short at the Dub Web Fest this year. Actor Billy Bob Thornton takes the lead role in Stand Down, a silent short film by L.A. directors Kario Salem and Dana Tynan.  During the festival, attendees will have an opportunity to experience virtual reality by watching a selection of short films via their mobile phones using special VR goggles. There will also be animation shorts from Iran, USA and Australia including Flutter directed by Vladimir Todorov, a talented animator who has worked on many Sony productions such as Stuart Little, Stuart Little 2, Harry Potter and The Philosopher’s Stone, as well as the Academy Award winning animated short, The Chubb Chubbs. He was also worked as the character design supervisor on Robert Zemeckis’ Polar Express.

https://vimeo.com/217060264

Students

With its young outlook and accessible opportunities for networking with filmmakers and industry professionals from around the world, Dub Web Fest is always a big draw for students of media and film. This year, thanks to support from Dublin City Council, the festival are offering 20 free weekend passes for students. Colleges and students are encouraged to follow and engage with the Dub Web Fest on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram pages for a chance to win the passes. All students can avail of half price tickets by contacting the festival for the promotional code.

Tony Kearns

Among some of the workshops lined up , there will be a music video editing workshop with Irish editor Tony Kearns. Tony has an impressive resume of productions under his belt from his recent work on The Lodgers, Black Mirror and Cardboard Gangsters to acclaimed work on music videos for artists such as the Prodigy, Radio Head and the Chemical Brothers.

Other highlights…..

Eighty Sixed is a web series which gives an insightful look into millennials and their digital-era neuroses .It is written by and stars Cazzie David, daughter of Curb Your Enthusiasm’s Larry David; its clear from her talent that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Dragon Race,which premieres at the festival, is a thrilling French made series about a group of people who wake up together in a prison in South Korea not knowing how they got there or why. Soon they discover that to save their lives they must take part in a new kind of race, the Dragon Race, broadcast exclusively on an online illegal gambling site.

Sponsored by the French Embassy in Ireland, the French Touch screening block will showcase a number of French language web series. Le Myriapod is a comedy web series by Matthieu di Paolo about a group of thirty-somethings and their struggles with friendship, love and sex. Woke, by Maxime Potherat is an LGBT drama about Hicham who runs away from his home and comes to Lyon, looking for Thibaut, a young man who tried to kiss him a few years before.

Manchester set web series Early Days , directed by Harry Sherriff and written by Sherriff & Jim Harkness will have its festival world premiere at Dub Web Fest. It follows the day to day musings of two struggling creatives as they daydream about their future careers whilst worrying if they have what it takes. .In 2016 Harry made twelve short films in twelve months. His work regularly screens at short film nights around the North West and his films have been selected two years running for the prestigious Liverpool Film Night at FACT Cinema. He is a vehement proponent of using the power internet to find new and creative ways of making and distributing film.

I’ve always had a love for filmmakers that do things differently in the production or the distribution of their work. Proper trailblazers like John Cassavetes and Steven Soderbergh

Harry will participate in the Comedy Panel on Saturday 25th at 3.15pm, joining Karen Healy from Pondering Media (winner of last years Best Comedy Sketch in 2016 for her series Listen to the Experts),  Misha Calvert ( Tinder is the Night) and actor/writer/director Phaldut (Paul) Sharma (The Office, Eastenders and Gavin & Stacey, Gravity and Children of Men).  Phaldut comes to Dublin to present his series I Gotta be Me, a comedy/ documentary series about a present day Rat Pack impersonator group, which takes a comic look at the entertainment industry.

The Comedy Panel is a must for aspiring comedy writers or actors or anyone in the comedy scene in Ireland.It is free to attend but pre-booking is advised.

https://vimeo.com/226699067

  Opening Night will take place on Friday 24th November with a drinks reception, music and special guests in the funky surroundings of the Generator followed by World Premiere Festival screenings of a selection of web series and then a party till  late with DJ in the Generator Bar.

The Closing Awards Ceremony will be held on Sunday 26th November, MC’d by Lisa Casey award-winning Irish comedian. Lisa is a regular at Electric Picnic and the Laughter Lounge and described by David McSavage as “So weird she makes me feel normal. Very Funny”

More information and tickets can be booked here  and you can connect with Dub Web Fest on Facebook , Twitter and Instagram.

Phaldut Sharma

Lisa Casey

Cazzie David in Eighty-Sixed

#Festival: Dub Web Fest returns for its third edition Dub Web Fest, Ireland’s only web series and short content festival lands again with a diverse schedule for its third edition (24th -26th November) in the Generator in Dublin's vibrant Smithfield district.

[hellohellobrooklyn]

Fun Home: a Family Tragicomic a comprehensive reread

The first time I read this graphic novel by Alison Bechdel, I really didn’t feel much at all. Couldn’t feel much at all. Probably because of all the shock. 

Y’see in the week between ordering this book on Amazon and it arriving at my dorm room in Brooklyn, my father died due to complications from a heart surgery. No joke, the day it arrived was the day I had to catch my train to go to the funeral. 

I remember reading it on the train and zoning out for long stretches of time. Smoking a lot of pot at the time surely didn’t help, but so was Alison right there on the pages in front of me, going through the same troubles I was trying my best to disassociate from. The book wasn’t much of a distraction, more like a shield. My family knew to leave me alone when there was a book in my lap - it was how I recharged in crowded environments. Both a hint and a red herring all in one. 

Fastforward a few years and I’m finally on the cusp of moving into my first Real Adult Apartment(tm) and Fun Home catches my eye again, along with its companion that I barely flipped through when I got it, Are You My Mother?. 

Page to page I had conflicting thoughts and memories, so writing it all down became a necessary part of the process. Some notes have nothing to do with the page I reference, some have too much to put into words, but here’s me trying my best - 

pg 28 - Albert Camus A Happy Death

pg 32 - A father’s death brings Papa Bechdel home from Germany where he’s starting his family, effectively ceasing to question his own queerness. His death brings Alison home from college just when she’s coming to terms with her queer identity. 

pg 46 - Alison’s manic grin at her brother before the funeral. Absurd, a solution to the absurd by smiling and ignoring, changing the subject. Between Todd’s funeral and the wake (unsurprisingly, at a dive bar) instead of addressing my mother’s pain I instead ‘came out’ as polyamorous, even though I wasn’t living with my two partners yet, or even certain that I would in the coming year. In a private moment with my mom I just wanted to feel something other than confusion or anger, knowing full well that she was dealing with the insurmountable loss of a man who spent seven years as her friend, seven years as a lover, and seven years as a husband before the divorce.  Bless her, she did the Mom thing and made room for my stupid declarations of love.

pg 54 - At time of reading & writing, I spent Christmas night at my parent’s. To be clear, mom and stepdad Tom’s house. I wonder when the day will come to visit Dad’s ashes in Baton Rouge. Uncle Kenny went to place them, Mom broke away from Mardi Gras to see the Bertrand mausoleum. I think of this when my stepdad has just finished his twelfth round of chemotherapy, and all twelve of those times I opted to stay home. The only dad I have left is threatening to fade away, and I’m keeping an eye on the cat.  I’m able to do this because everyone assumes I’m too fragile.  Really, I don’t want to see him fragile. In pain, physically and emotionally changed by the pressure to stay alive. Todd had it easy - go under on an operating table and never wake up. Tom on the other hand, he’s got years of suffering in front of him, and that’s just the chemo. The diets, the doctors, the medicine, the vitamins, the advice and books and documentaries all about cancer until that’s all he can ever be- the Guy Who May or May Not Beat Cancer. I didn’t go because after knowing how those chemicals changed him on a good day, I couldn’t bear treating him like he might die. Someone had to treat him like a person instead of a patient. I didn’t go because I couldn’t go.  At 16, I spent the night at a friend’s instead of sitting at my maternal grandfather’s deathbed with the rest of the family. Two younger cousins, aged 12 and 13 at the time, were there at their parent’s insistence to say goodbye. I said goodbye already, so my parents insisted I go be anywhere else. 

TO BE CONTINUED...

[twelvebar-blog]

Twelve Bar fans from the start - The Chemical Brothers. http://www.twelvebar.com #itsalllove