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#i think is stupid and is illogical. Yes! i’m only human! but i can still love and appreciate the whole CREATIVITY of it all. and the whole

thrashkink-coven · 4 months

Text

Okay I’m going to say it because I’ve seen like 10 posts about this in the last week and it’s kind of aggravating.

Before you start practicing paganism or dual faith or anything of any kind PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE learn the meaning and history of Syncretism. PLEASE.

Please stop saying that Christmas is only a Christian holiday, please stop saying that Christmas was stollen from the pagans. Please stop insisting that Yule and Christmas are the same holiday! Please stop saying that pagans cannot celebrate Christmas or that Christians shouldn’t celebrate Christmas! Christmas is many things to many different groups of people and ideas and customs evolve through time!!! There is NUANCE to these very complex ideas!!! Christmas does not need to be reclaimed, please stop.

Please stop saying that it belongs or doesn’t belong to any given group especially when humanity is so prone to spread messages and customs amongst eachother!!! “Similar” does not equal “the same” and different does not equal “the enemy”. Please stop trying to create these illogical divisions where they do not exist!!! Please read about the history of faith !!!! I beg of you!!!!

So often we see the blending and unity of concepts as “appropriation” and I’m sick of it. Our beliefs connect us so much more than they divide us. We learn so much about the world from each other and our different interpretations.

Likewise, just to touch base- nearly every single mythology or faith in the entire world takes its inspirations from somewhere. You are no superior to a Christian because you think your faith and customs are “older”.

We live in a paradoxical universe where multiple things can be true at once. You DO NOT get the authority to tell a Christian that their God is XYZ just because you’re a pagan. You do not get the authority to redefine how a group of people sees and interacts with their personal name of God. And you by no means get to claim credit for how different cultures interpret the natural world.

Yes, Christians obviously have a lot of practices that mirror pagan ones, they are not pagan, do not call them pagan. I don’t care how you feel about the Abrahamic God. So many of us hold a deep resentment towards Christianity because of religious trauma and I completely understand that, but when you try to massively oversimplify such complex topics like religion and faith, you not only risk sounding like an asshole but you make yourself look straight up stupid because you’re just wrong.

I am a devotee of Lucifer and I believe him to be the divine masculine aspect of mother Venus. I still need to understand and respect that for Christians, Lucifer represents something entirely different and that’s okay. They’re not necessarily wrong even if I fundamentally disagree. I disagree with what Lucifer is among other Luciferians and Satanists. That’s OKAY.

We have GOT to stop talking about mythology and folklore so literally. It leads us to have this “one or the other” mentality when more than one thing can be true at once! These myths are flexible and meant to change with culture. We can have respectful debates and conversations but holy moly please stop insisting that Christianity has “stollen” from you, and please for the love of God please stop trying to ruin a day that is significant to them by telling every Christian you see that Christmas is actually a pagan holiday.

(- and when I say this I am not referring to the atrocities of assimilation and slavery that forced pagan cultures to become Christian/catholic due to racism and xenophobia, that’s obviously very bad. My argument is simply that the entire Christian/Jewish/ Muslim faith cannot be discounted simply because historically, bad people used it to do bad things).

Thank you. 🙏

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thementalillnessstore · 6 months

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I miss you.

Three stupid little words that carry so much. Considering the time we spent together likely amounts to less than 24 hours, it feels somewhat laughable to be sad in the way that I am right now, looking at your tagged on Instagram. And also, considering the fact that you have seemingly shut me out for no reason at all, it feels downright illogical to miss you.

Nevertheless, I persist.

I feel like I always come back to Phoebe Bridgers in moments of longing. She has hallmarked many moments of sadness in my life. You told me you had never really listened to her much, but a high school teacher of yours dug her. That was the first time we hung out, when I thought there was still a chance of an us. You know, the romantic kind. Not that there seems to be any inkling of an us in existence right now.

And I still don’t fucking understand why.

If it’s really because I passed out on your floor, like I initially thought, you can frankly go fuck yourself. In all honesty, I should be the one mad at you for the situation. But I’m not. Instead, I apologized for scaring you after giving you my weed and fixing your mistake and sulking back off alone to my room despite having passed out from dehydration and hunger and the sudden onset of being high.

What is it about you that attracts me?

Maybe I’m just into people who are doomed to disappoint me, to fuck me over and leave a lasting scar and at the very least give me something to complain about. Am I a beacon to these people? Do I just enjoy having a doomed relationship around me at all times, waiting in the wings to send me into a spiral and make me want to pull my skin off so I can finally breathe without wondering if you’re breathing at the same time and what your breaths sound like and if you ever might have harbored even a teensy amount of feelings that mirrored what I felt so ferociously and violently?

I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.

Am I pining after you? Am I waiting until you decide to put in the effort? Am I just forgetting about you and pretending like our fleeting friendship never happened, despite the fact that you demanded I come over when I told you we were in each other’s immediate vicinity? Or maybe it’s D: all of the above. It always ends up that way on multiple choice tests, doesn’t it? The obvious answer. The convenient avenue. The easy way out. Is ignoring my existence like this the easy way out for you, so you can go back to your skateboard and your girlfriend and your cooler friends who don’t pass out on your floor when they smoke weed?

Everyone hates you.

I mean, everyone in my life who knows of your shitty little existence. My best friends. My therapist. My mom (well, not really; she said that some people just aren’t good at texts; of course she fucking did, why wouldn’t she). Hell, I’m sure my dog would hate you if she knew what you did. I’ll tell her when I go home next weekend. I wish everyone actually hated you. That would make my life easier, instead of having to imagine you living a perfectly normal, happy life while I rot in my bed at two in the goddamn morning. I have class tomorrow. I should be asleep right now, sleeping off the last of my infection and trying to be a functioning human being so that my sociology professor thinks I give a fuck about his class. Instead, I’m awake, listening to sad music and thinking about if your light will be on in your window. Because yes, I do know which window is yours despite having been in your room only twice.

I’m sorry.

For all the mean things I just wrote about you, for passing out on your floor and scaring you, for wishing for you to die a satisfying death daily for the last three weeks. Maybe that was a bit much per the situation, but I honestly don’t care. So maybe I’m not sorry. Maybe it’s you who should be a little fucking sorry. I mean, you left me hanging for nine days (NINE. DAYS.) and you didn’t even have the decency to seem like you really cared about the situation or explain your odd fucking behavior? I personally would be groveling for forgiveness right now, but maybe that’s because I understand empathy.

Maybe this is the sweetest torture one could bear.

#midnight thoughts #gay #im hurtin #creative writing #writers on tumblr

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zi-i-think · 3 years

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Practicing

Pairing: Jade West x fem!reader

Rating: SFW

Word Count: 1800+

Warnings: mention of drugs

Request: no

AN: I know I’m still not done with requests, but I just really wanted to get in a Jade West oneshot. I don’t think Jade is out of character all that much, but I’d love feed back.

Things sucked. Like. They royally sucked.

When Beck and Jade broke up for the second time, it felt like a dark, ominous was looming over the group of talented teens. No one needed to be a genius to realize that both Jade and Beck with miserable. Not just because they were no longer together, but the breakup was emotionally draining.

And despite it all, y/n couldn’t help but feel a little bit hopeful. She and Jade had been friends since middle school when Jade pushed a boy off his seat because he was bullying Y/n. They were pretty different. Actually very different personality-wise. Y/n was what Jade described as a hippie fairy. Which contrasted Jade’s vampire personality completely.

But there were just enough similarities to keep them together. Their hatred for the patriarchy. Interests in a feel-good green herb. They both started practicing Wicca together. And they were killer on the mic.

It was a fine balance.

And over the years, Y/n couldn’t help but fall for the girl. Snarling personality and all.

She still recalls when Jade and Beck started dated. How at first she just thought she was annoyed at how Jade didn’t spend as much time with her but later realized that she was indeed feeling jealous.

She knew it was terrible to be glad they’re no longer together, but she couldn’t help it.

The first thing she saw when she approached her locker was the dark clothed girl waiting for her; standing cooly against the wall of lockers.

“Morning.” Y/n greeted her with a smile. Jade hummed her greeting in response, waiting for her friend to get her things from the locker. “How you doing?” Jade sent her a glare, knowing that Y/n what trying to get her to talk about the breakup.Y/n mumbled a “nevermind” and closed the locker.

“Do you have plans later?” Jade grumbled as the two started to walk to Sicowitz’s class.

“Uh, yeah. I’m finishing up my script for my play.”

“The one about the girl who turns into a dragon and then the prince who’s supposed to save her kills her on accident.”

“That’s the one,” Y/n finger-gunner. “I’m trying to figure out how to make the finally really pull at the heartstrings.”

“Make it gruesome,”

“I’ll make a note of it.”

The class was already about to start by the time they entered and most people were engaged in their own conversations. Y/n saw Jade and Beck make eye contact. The same longing look on their faces. But stubbornness kept either of them from saying anything.

“Hey, uh do you want to come over? Help me with the play?” Y/n asked, getting Jade’s attention again.

“Sure. It’s not like I have any plans.” Jade shrugged before taking a seat upfront.

Y/n smiled and took the seat next to her friend. A nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach grew as she already started to expect her friend’s arrival.

“Good day, class!” The eccentric teacher barged into the room. “Your a pack or wolves engaged in a dance party!” He announced, prompting the teans to get up from their seats and act out the prompt.

Knock Knock Knock

The front door of Y/n’s house sounded. With a furrowed brow and her hair still wet, the girl opened the door revealing Jade with two coffees

“You’re early,” Y/n stated the obvious.

“Only cause I got bored. Now you want your coffee or not?” The dark haired girl outstretched her arm to hand her the tall cup.

Y/n smiled appreciativly, taking the cup and stepping to the side.

“Alright. So what does your play need?” Jade asked, already getting down to business. She walked straight to the living room and plopped herself on the blanketed couch.

“Well, uh. It's mainly the last scene. Where the dragon turns back into a maiden and the prince realizes what he's done.” Y/n described, sitting next to Jade and grabbing the laptop from the coffee table.

“Ah, so it’s angsty.” Jade smiles and leaned closer to Y/n to get a look at the document with the script.

“Yeah.” Y/n’s voice cracked as she tried to compose herself over her friends close proximity. “So, I was thinking that once he realizes his mistake, he holds her close. I want him to have a monologue. Describing how he'd never get the chance to talk to her, see her, you know typical human relationship things.”

“Alright so what's the problem?” Jade asked, not seeing why Y/n needed her there. Not that she was mad, she loved being around her. And truthfully, she missed hanging out and not having Beck in the back of her mind.

“It just feels like it's missing something. You know.” Y/n said with a tinge of frustration in her voice. “Like. There's something that isn't making the plot complete enough for him to have that monologue. He loves her, but it doesn't feel like he does enough.”

Without warning, Jade took the laptop from her lap.

“I’ll read it.” she grumbled. “You go dry your hair or something.”

“Good idea.” Y/n agreed, leaving the couch and beading back to her bathroom.

“And order a pizza!” She heard Jade shout.

It didn’t take long for Y/n to dry her hair and put the pizza order in. And by the time she got back into the living room, Jade was finished with reading over the script. Instead, she was now holding her new pair of scissors and examining the blades.

“Figure anything out?” Y/n asked, getting the girl’s attention.

“Yeah.” Jade put down the scissors and turned her body to face Y/n as she came in and sat down. “Your characters don’t kiss.”

Y/n month dropped and she bit her bottom lip awkwardly.

“Well, I was thinking about putting one in, but I thought it would be better if there weren’t one. Think about the symbolism behind it. Without the action, it’s expressing how the two never truly experienced being together.” She explained.

Jade hummed and nodded as if she were understanding.

“That’s stupid.” she said. Somehow both calmly and aggressively. Y/n furrowed her brow and tilted her head. Asking without words for Jade to go on. “Y/n the script is good, the storyline is paced well, blah blah blah. But the only thing that isn't good is the way you're presenting that they are in love. You want the audience to be heartbroken for the guy, show them that he loved her.”

“Okay, so, where do you recommend it goes?” Y/n asked, grabbing the laptop and scrolling through.

“Obvious. Scene 4, during the confession, I think after she falls from the tree.” Jade said. Y/n quickly went there and read it over, thinking about how to go about it.

“You don't think it's a little fast?” Y/n asked, twisting her face as unsureness creeped into her mind.

“Course not. You've already presented their infatuation for each other, and after that scene their relationship is already escalating more quickly. If anything it makes more sense.”

She was right. Y/n knew it. But she couldn't shake the fact that having this discussion with Jade felt unreal. Perhaps because Y/n was crushing on her, but also because while Jade was very knowledgeable in entertainment, relationships were more of a ‘on the surface’ knowledge.

Typing quickly the placement of the kiss, Y/n let out a heavy breath.

“And it’s in.” She announced mainly for herself.

“Good.” Jade nodded, now smirking at her friend. “You wanna see how it flows with the scene?”

Y/n kept scrolling down the document to the ending, avoiding looking at the vampiresque girl.

“Uh, ” She cleared her throat to avoid cracking her voice. “What do you mean?”

“Well do the scene, me and you. As then you can make the final choice on whether you like it or not.” Jade explained casually.

“Yeah, okay. We can do that.”

Despite sounding calm and nonchalant on the outside, Y/n was screaming on the inside. Surely Jade wasn't actually intending on kissing her right? They’d work up to it and then stop, right? No kiss?

“Cool, I'll be the guy and do you have it all memorized?” Jade started, grabbing the laptop and placing it on her lap.

“Yep, it's all in my noggin.” Y/n knocked on her head awkwardly, receiving a disapproving look from Jade.

“I’ll start at the beginning of the confession.” The dark haired girl announced, reading the lines. Then she looked up, right into Y/n’s eyes. “Tell me, Ayleth, do you feel what I feel.”

“Why, I'm not quite sure what you mean, my prince.” Y/n continued, swallowing her nervousness.

“When you look into my eyes, do you as well feel that fire? The one raging inside of your heart and coursing through you. Making you think illogically, wanting nothing more than to be consumed completely by you.”

“One shouldn't think illogically. One must think about their duties, their-”

“That wasn't the question.” Jade acted, her usual roughness and anger dropped as she said her lines. “Do you love me?”

“I suppose it would be unwise to try to divert the conversation.”

“Most unwise. Especially to your prince.”

“Well. Yes. I believe I do.”

There was silence between the two. This was where the kiss was written. In the quiet, they both seemed to be questioning whether they would actually kiss or not. They both leaned in, slowly but surely. Y/n’s heart sped up and she wondered whether Jade was feeling the same. No, of course not. It's part of the scene. She's just acting, obviously.

The inches between them soon turned to fractions of an inch. And their lips were so close to meeting.

Knock knock knock.

They were interrupted by the door. “Y/n pulled away immediately.

“Pizza. I’ll get it.” She chuckled nervously and got up.

“They can wait.” Jade said instead. She grabbed Y/n’s wrist and pulled her back down on the couch.

Before Y/n knew it, Jade placed a firm kiss on Y/n’s lips. Though shocked, Y/n quickly reciprocated the kiss. Jade placed her hand on Y/n’s cheek, while the other girl’s hand went to Jade’s waist. By now, Y/n’s heartbeat was going a million miles per minute and both girls forgot about the person waiting at the door.

Until they knocked again.

“Give us a minute!” Jade shouted angrily before turning back to her, uh friend? Y/n was giggling at her rage over small things like that. Jade noticed not only that her dark blue lipstick had smudged onto Y/n’s face, but that she also had a deep red blush that covered her face almost completely.

“Should we practice again?” Jade asked instead of bring it up. And when Y/n nodded, she didn’t waste another second to lean in again, kissing her with more depth than the one before.

#jade west #jade west x reader #jade west x y/n #victorious #victorious imagine

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spacewizardtrek · 3 years

Photo

WARNING: This post will ruin you. Like Medusa; look at your peril.

But here is is. It’s the one you’ve all been waiting for.

Kirk bod appreciation #7: The RIDICULOUSLY BEAUTIFUL FACE. A highly technical and academic review.

This is a rather nebulous one. And not, on the face of it (pardon the pun) very philosophical, as it’s essentially about Kirk being stupidly pretty. This post probably will (it will) descend into just screaming and sobbing, but there will be, I promise, *some* meaningful insight into the meaning of ‘beauty’ and textual analysis of its role herein.

Beauty is subjective. But look at him. It’s not just being aesthetic, but it’s the *way* he’s aesthetic. Here I might repeat myself a bit, but stay with me. I may have mentioned before once hearing him described as ‘beautiful in the way women are often described as beautiful’. He is PRETTY. He is indeed often conveyed in the way the women stereotypically (not necessarily rightly) are on screen: perfect, smooth skin; soft, big eyes; luscious lips (his body is sensually curvaceous and furthermore it’s emphasised). He’s not androgynous though. He’s masculine. And yet I still sense what was meant in describing him as ‘beautiful in the way women are often described as beautiful’. He is a rather uncommon form of gender fuckery. He is a form of stereotype-subversion not commonly acknowledged. He seems to be everything at once, ALL THE GENDER; combines whichever traits he desires from those categories, and yet is undeniably a man and masculine whatever the ingredients. HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE, one might wonder. The fact of the matter is, that it IS. And it teaches us something.

The FUCK. nO. You are not allowed to be that pretty, and you are NOT allowed to look at her like that. We’re trying to have a SENSIBLE DISCUSSION here.

Sorry, that was a non-sequitur / nothing to do with what we learn by Kirk’s embodiment; I was just ambushed by my own gif. Only the control of a Vulcan. ONLY that could possibly withstand this onslaught. And even that won’t hold up forever AS WE WELL KNOW

God.

This is going well, as you can tell.

OK. So, it’s claimed he has Eyes and Stupidly Long Weakness-Inducing Eyelashes. You know, from all that fanfic that goes on about ‘big, sparkling eyes’ and him fanning his ‘long, copper eyelashes’. I mean, yeah right, tropey mc tropeface -

IT’S TRUE. HE IS LITERALLY AN ANIME PRINCESS.

There are some moments where he just BLINKS and, how to describe it...how does a BLINK have that effect. It’s NOT ALLOWED.

...I’m sorry. It IS allowed. All of it. I am not shaming you your beauty. Never change, Jim. Never.

OK. I’m ok. 3 pics down, we can get through this -

Oh you are joking. Stop.

I don’t understand how anyone can be so beautiful. Life is a lie. Reality is fake -

- you did NOT just turn your big anime eyes on Spock. You do know this is why he ran away to PURGE ALL HIS EMOTIONS?

And for that matter, you know when Kirk looks his most beautiful? Literally WHEN HE’S LOOKING AT SPOCK. Spock talks some bollocks and Kirk just sparkles like a fucking angel:

Unbelievable. But utterly undeniable.

Sigh. Moving on.

Oh - someone once suggested I talk about The Lips. Lips are so wonderful aren’t they. So many wonderful things they can do.

And Kirk’s. They’re there in every picture: perfect, rosy, soft and madness-inducing. My advice is just...don’t think about them. But since I’ve been asked to draw attention to them, well, you’ve just sealed your fate. Scroll down at your peril.

I WARNED YOU.

I am pulling NO punches.

I’ve seen this great meme going around:

Excuse me though....CUTE?

That’s the understatement of the 23rd century.

Try impossibly beautiful, mind and body: heart of solid gold, soul deep in love with you. Those eyes and all their passion burned into your memories a thousand times over, along with - maybe, suggestibly, idk I’m extrapolating from all the goddamn tension - even the one unforgettable time he laid between lily-white sheets and gave himself to you; every gift of the mind, body and soul - and your ostensibly-forced Vulcan conditioning, that completely ignored how incompatible one part of you was with it, caused so much dissonance that you thought the only possible course of action for you both to survive was to BREAK UP, tear yourself from this beauty and love and sweetness to PURGE ALL EMOTIONS because nothing, nothing equipped you for this; you were set up specifically to fail, and fail hard in the face of transcendental love and beauty by those who rejected such things and didn’t understand you and could never imagine this for you and who instead of helping your beautiful neurodivergent brain flourish taught you to repress and caused you pain and shame and Gol was so hard and Kirk was so sad, so very sad and depressed and hurt and yet he couldn’t stop loving you with a bond so strong he called to you across the stars and Gol was all for naught yet you still didn’t know how to live like this, it was torture, torture until the mind meld with the living machine flashed your BIOS and you knew, love.exe was suddenly running with no errors and he came after you and held you and you held hands and, and -

*sobbing*

just...give me a moment

YOU WONDER WHAT THE SUBTEXT (FRIKKIN’ MAIN TEXT) OF STAR TREK: THE MOTION PICTURE WAS ALL ABOUT???

The pain?? The angst?? The two logical entities seeking contact, love, THIS SIMPLE FEELING? That fucking moment when spock walks on the bridge and the only way he can control himself is to be SUPER Vulcan, while his love gazes at him with those EYES, fucking huge and glittering and hurt and loving?? Is it so much a mystery what memories these two are carrying, what’s behind the searing tension???????

Love him. Love him Spock. Take him in your arms and love him. He’s for you. All for you. Fucking hell guys. The fuck. This movie.

ok.

ok I can do this

CAN U NOT

those damn eyes I swear

It’s obviously not all just superficial physical beauty. What IS beauty? Narratively we do sometimes find this ‘prettiness’ enhanced and emphasized like the old vaseline lens to set the tone of a scene (he’s vulnerable and delicate, or someone’s indeed in love with him so we see their ‘lens’ on him); but it is somewhat intangible and nebulous and changeable. I don’t think aesthetic beauty, if one deems it so, on its own, would be enough for the likes of Spock (indeed, no woman could charm him thusly); it's about something deeper. It’s about who he is. Who he is inside: the beautiful AND the imperfect. How his good and bad - how his ‘all’ - chimes with Spock’s 'all’. The Enemy Within deals with this, and shows how Spock loves all of Kirk, wants him complete, with both his light and shadow. The beauty of all of us is this totality and variance, not one intangible quality.

I’ll bet Spock’s parents knew immediately. Can you imagine Sarek trying to be a total bitch over Kirk, having heard the rumours and just wanting to have one more thing to reject Spock over, immediately projecting onto Kirk as some blow-up pretty-boy and how Incredibly More Disappointing My Son Is for being Obviously In Love With Stupid Illogical Human Doll Face Bubble Butt Bimbo Captain, and Amanda’s like, stfu, let me remind you Kirk is actually a Fucking Amazing Highly Decorated Starship Captain who Saves Your Life and don’t you DARE resent him just because he’s got tits/ass/tum/lips that won’t quit and is obviously the freakin’ sun Spock orbits. Mr ‘I married a human but that was special because it was logical’ or some bullshit. How is Kirk an illogical choice? I mean literally, Spock is a Science Genius™ on the federation’s FLAGSHIP whose well-matched Genius Captain™ understands him, accepts him, brings the best out of him, helps him fulfil his whole potential and is in love with him in the deepest and purest way and will be his bonded soulmate for ALL OF TIME and that fucking sour-faced bih at the start of that ep, ffs.

Of course Amanda stays in touch with Kirk, adores the fuck out of him, sends him old Vulcan lit on t’hy’la bonds (yes sarek, a T’HY’LA bond, so revered freakin’ poets write about it) etc because frankly her son could do FAR FUCKING WORSE.

FAR. FUCKING. WORSE.

Don’t...just don’t slip the bod into the equation, the face is enough for one post. We’re all in therapy for this already, let’s not relapse.

Oh, what’s the use. I’m gonna die. This is it. This is like the Monty Python joke that is so funny it kills you. This man is lethal. I need to stop this thread and purge all my emotions

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

That’s it. I’m dead. You’re dead. We’re all dead.

I hope, however, seeing this post was worth it. See you at Gol everyone.

The Forbidden Texts, DO NOT READ:

Kirk bod appreciation #6: The Curves. The Front. The...chest. AND THE AMAZING GREEN WRAP

Kirk bod appreciation #5: The Paws

Kirk bod appreciation #4: The Curves. The Back. Poetry in motion.

Kirk bod appreciation #3: Season 3 (Part 1)

Kirk bod appreciation #2b: The Gluteus Maximus

Kirk bod appreciation #2a: The Gluteus Maximus

Kirk bod appreciation #1: The Tum

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lucycola · 3 years

Note

Hey could you do a Spock X reader where she knows nothing about Vulcans and like keeps accidentally doing taboo things e.g touching hands or touching his ears

I thoroughly enjoyed writing this! I accidentally made it gender neutral, because I forgot what pronouns, you used. I’m sorry! I hope you like it.

WARNINGS: Fluff, affection, ignorance of affection in Vulcan culture idk. Maybe Spock is slightly OOC but who cares. I took a little liberty of giving the reader a pinch of background.

To say you were oblivious was an understatement. You weren’t a complete idiot, or anything, just innocently scatterbrained. Perhaps that was the explanation why you didn’t flinch when every you were chastised for a mistake or given a strict order by your commanding officer. As a blue shirt, you fell under the command of the Enterprise’s first officer, and his reputation as a stony, unfeeling, authoritarian preceded him. You were never bothered by this. He was most terrifying, others noted, when Captain Kirk left him in charge when unable to take the chair. You were warned about him-to never cross him and always do exactly as he said. Spock was a hard-ass. He was handsome and perhaps at first you wondered, but it had been made clear to by others he wasn’t interested in anyone.

You had met more terrifying people. You had nine brothers and a strict, often unfair and bully of a father. Commander Spock was a piece of cake. It was in your nature to be gentle, welcoming, and comforting despite the constitution of your upbringing. It was your personality. You didn’t like to let people bring you down.

You were elated alone to be living your dream, anyway. You weren’t going to let the attitude of anyone around you affect your nature or happiness.

You obviously didn’t know anything about Vulcans either.

The first touch was accidental. It always is.

You never took the Vulcan to be clumsy, but on one occasion while discussing your current assignment in passing he dropped his holotape. You both reached for it, and in a cliché manner brushed hands. While your boss pulled away, you did not and picked up the tape.

“Here ya go!” You cheerily patted the tape in his hand for good measure, “I’ll have that report in the morning like you’ve requested, sir.”

Bypassers gawked as you cheerily skipped away. Your commanding officer only quirked a brow and went on his way.

The next time was less on purpose and more out of your kindness as your commander internally lamented about his captain’s safety during an emergency situation. He had donned the chair and even while appearing composed and direct you had an eye for spotting worry in well kept men. In an brief moment you pressed your hand to his wrist and said softly, “He will be okay. You’ll make sure of it.”

He tensed under your touch and you removed your hand a smiled.

“Report to your station, Ensign,” he said in his usual tone, no hint of distaste or approval in his voice.

“Yes sir.”

The third time was even worse. Somehow you had been suckered to prompting Spock by Doctor McCoy into reporting to an impromptu physical. Confidentiality be damned, the Vulcan’s stress levels were unusually high and it was affecting his demeanor. You accidentally overheard the nurse and the doctor whispering something perhaps about pon farr happening again, but no it hadn’t been seven years yet. Whatever that was.

“I don’t think he’ll listen to me, but if you say it’s important, I’ll try.”

“You’re his favorite, so you’re my best bet.”

“Mister Spock doesn’t have favorites,” you laughed, “But I’ll do it anyway. Someone has to draw the shortest straw. I never mind it being me.”

“Thankyou, Ensign. And good luck.”

You skipped along to the your commander’s quarters. You had never been inside and only rarely had delivered your reports to him in person when requested. He couldn’t always come to you and that was understandable.

At the chime the door slid open and though it was subtle, your boss clearly wasn’t expecting you.

“Hello, Mister Spock,” you greeted, “Doctor McCoy-”

“I am aware of the doctor’s request. As it is not mandatory I do not find it necessary to attend.”

It wasn’t like him to interrupt you. He was tense and though he stood perfectly erect like a statue there was a little shake in his right hand. Without thinking, you grasped it to still the quiver.

“Are you alright?”

Many would expect his to snatch it away, but he didn’t and stood there. If he was caught off guard, it wasn’t apparent. His expression was unmoving and his eye contact never wavered.

“I am fine, Ensign. Report back to your duties.”

“Doctor McCoy said it was important.”

“I am not here to entertain the doctor’s every illogical human whim.” He pulled his hand away, “There is no empirical evidence to suggest I am ill.”

“You’re shivering.” You put your hands on your hip and gave him the most mothering look you could muster.

“Multiple factors such as the natural low temperature of deep space can illicit such a reaction,” he retorted.

“It’s broiling in your cabin, Mister Spock. Only people with fevers do things like that.”

“Humans, Ensign. Humans,” he corrected, “I deduce you are not aware of Vulcan biology or customs.”

“Please don’t lie to me,” you requested softly, “How am I supposed to work efficiently under an ill commanding officer?”

The way you spoke nearly convinced him to do your bidding, but still he remained stubborn.

“I do not comprehend how that would deter your work efficiency.”

You grabbed his hand again, “I am going to worry myself to death if you really are ill and you’re just trying to act like you’re alright. That will keep me from working like I’m supposed to. Efficient crew needs an efficient captain.” You winked at him.

“But Captain Kirk-”

“It’s a metaphor, Mister Spock. Now please come so the doctor can stop paging me and I can work on my report concerning the Althenian plant’s healing properties and various uses from its sap.”

“I yield,” he said after a small beat and without releasing your hand, followed you to the medbay. More people inwardly gawked watching to drag him down the hall. His face was tense, albeit slightly amused.

After reaching your destination you waved him and the doctor off sweetly and made your way back to the lab. You heart wrapped around the thought of him being ill and you hid that worry ill. A little heat bloomed in your chest at his previous touch. You brushed it away. No, you told yourself.

The doctor was only a little surprised. His suspicions were confirmed.

“I had my doubts at first, Spock, but now I see it’s true.”

“Despite Vulcan’s telepathic abilities, I cannot automatically read your mind. Elaborate, Doctor.”

The doctor chucked, “That ensign is your favorite.”

“I do not understand.”

“Who else could have convinced you to come here to let me scan you? Probably not even Jim-”

“I am inclined to follow the captain’s every order.”

“You don’t let anyone touch you like that. Especially not for a long time. If I’m not mistaken you two were practically kiss-”

“That will be enough elaboration, doctor. Please proceed with your medical assessment, as I have much work to attend to.”

The doctor chuckled again. “It’s too bad I can’t tell with that one. They act like that towards everyone.”

“Everyone,” Spock repeated flatly although it was intended to be a question.

“Sweetest soul I’ve ever met. Lights up a room as soon as they enter it.”

“Indeed,” Spock nodded, familiar with the colloquialism.

The doctor’s eyebrows raised and he grinned, “I knew it.”

You of course were oblivious to all of this as you continued through your work, happy as a clam.

After some deliberation one of your coworkers decided to explain the delicacies of Vulcan culture after viewing a friendly hand grasp as a greeting between you and your commanding officer. You were elated to see his shivering had stopped and once again he tensed under the touch, but nodded his head at your greeting. You had blushed while doing so. It was sweet, but your coworker had to break it to you as they had before when warning you last time about him not being interested in anyone.

“Vulcans don’t like to be touched, you know,” they said to you, taking you aside.

“What do you mean?”

“They’re very sensitive to skin to skin contact. They guard themselves mostly, but hand touching is extremely taboo the way kissing in public or other sexual acts are.”

“You mean...” you blushed, “I’ve been--! I hope he’s not offended.”

“Normally he’s not afraid to explain things or clear up-“ you coworker coughed,”-unwanted affection. I’ve seen plenty girls get a talking down to.”

“What are you saying?”

“Perhaps he’s forcing himself to be polite.”

“Oh, I’ve got to apologize right away!”

You felt so stupid! How could you be so offensive to him or his culture? You should have read up on his customs before truly interacting with him. It would seem like a smart thing to do-but you were so lost to the world it was embarrassing.

You paused in front of his door for the first time in your life, afraid to speak to him.

The door open quickly and you stepped back, surprised. He had looked like he had been going to leave and you sheepishly smiled, “I’m sorry for interrupting you, sir. I need to speak to you.”

“Come inside.”

You blushed at the request, wringing your hands as you entered.

You turned to him and blurted, “I had no idea what I was doing, sir, I swear. Had I known that touching you was wrong I would stop. I’m so used to being touchy-feely on Earth I forgot that not everyone-”

“Ensign,” he said firmly.

“Yes?” you squeaked.

“Had those interactions provoked me I would have made it known. I should be the one offering an apology. I should have explained what such interactions mean on Vulcan before anyone else claimed the opportunity. I assume someone took the liberty of doing so.”

“Yessir. I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologize.”

“Why not?’

“Because your actions did not provoke me, but precisely did the opposite.”

“What-what do you mean?” Your face was fully red and you obscured it with your hands. He let out a sound that was the closest Vulcan thing as a sigh and stepped closed to you.

He grasped your hands and lowered them from your face. His eyes were soft and the most vulnerable as you had every seen them.

He pressed his right hand that was shivering terribly to the side of your face. It stilled instantly.

“I am aware of your affection for me and I return the sentiment.”

You couldn’t find your voice and after a long moment of studying your features he leaned down to give you a kiss, warm and firm.

You gasped into his lips and pressed back.

He released you and you looked at him starry eyed.

“So it was true, what the doctor said, you said in a hushed tone.

Spock’s arms were around you gently, “Elaborate.”

“I am your favorite.”

“Affirmative.”

FIN

#spock #spock x reader #spock x gender neutral #startrek #star trek #tos #ask #request #mister spock #mr spock #s'chn t'gai spock #doctor mccoy #bones #leonard mccoy

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ordinaryschmuck · 3 years

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Starkid Musicals Ranked from Worst to Best

Salutations to you, random people on the internet who most certainly won’t read this. I am an Ordinary Schmuck. I write stories and reviews and draw comics and cartoons.

Welp. I finally did it. I've watched the entire Starkid musical library, and I must say, most of these plays fit my writing style perfectly:

Humor that is cynical yet random

Leaning in with comedy while sprinkling in some well-executed drama

An understanding that any type of story works as long as the cast of varying personalities of characters is dynamic enough to result in some phenomenal chemistry.

This is in almost all of their plays, excelled through fantastic writing and stellar performances driving the overall quality. And it inspired me not only to review each musical, but also ranking them all from worst to best. Or, more accurately, least good to most good. Because even at their "worst," Starkid still provides a funny, enjoyable experience that will keep you laughing with its comedy and your toes tapping with its catchy music. So strap in as I go in-depth into how Starkid proves how they are the masters of humor and melody.

(I'll also provide links to each musical, which is all for free on YouTube, so you can check them out yourselves. Just know that their early work is impossible to enjoy without subtitles, so you might want to have Closed Captions on when watching.)

#12-Holy Musical B@man-Everything about this play makes it seem like it's the weakest to me. The jokes, songs, and characters in Holy Musical B@tman just don't hit as hard as Starkid's other plays. It's still good, but compared to their best, the cracks show a lot more. That is, except for the ending. Not only is there a great speech that shows what makes superheroes so beloved, but "Super Friends" might just be my favorite finale song Starkid has ever put out. Holy Musical B@tman may not be the best, but it's at least worth the time.

#11-Firebringer-This was stupid. Really stupid. Funny as f**k, but still pretty stupid. Although I will give credit to one of the central pairings being LGBTQA+...Even though it makes little to no sense based on the characters' previous interactions. But in fairness, Starkid really sucks at writing good romantic relationships, so at least Firebringer has the benefit of being gay. And as we all know: The gayer, the better. The play is still stupid, though.

#10-Me and My Dick-The world in this musical makes little to no sense. Penises and vaginas are sentient and can communicate with their humans. And yet the penises and vaginas can also talk with each other, form relationships, leave their humans, and reinsert themselves into others--Yeah, it makes no sense...But, DAMN, is it funny! Every joke and innuendo Me and My Dick has about human anatomy works, and I could not stop laughing at each of them. Especially the names that were given to the vaginas, which are just...I mean, I'm laughing just by thinking about them. That should tell you how funny they are. This play might be illogical in every way, but if you turn your brain off and watch it for the humor, you'll definitely be in for something fun.

#9-ANI: A Parody-What's weird about ANI is that its best qualities are also weaknesses. A good chunk of the jokes are hilarious and expertly delivered. The issue is that most of them are about taking potshots at the Star Wars prequels, which might be the laziest jokes to make in a Star Wars parody. Then there's the soundtrack, having several songs that are a bop to listen to. The problem is that ANI suffers from the same issues as Tarzan and Brother Bear: Yes, technically, it is a musical, but it's one where none of the characters sing, and some people in the background do all the singing instead. It's all an odd balancing act of quality content made through questionable choices. ANI is still an entertaining play, but the force isn't as strong with this one.

#8-Black Friday-This might be the least funny play that Starkid has ever put out. Not just because it leans extra hard into drama, which was pretty effective during certain scenes. It's just when there are jokes in Black Friday, they tend to fall flatter more here than they did in other plays. Also, the plot of Black Friday might not be the best one to play straight. The serious moments work best when focusing on the characters and their personal struggles, but through the big bad that's supposed to be threatening? Not so much. Even if it was meant to be funny, well, I wasn't laughing. And believe it or not, I consider that to be the best judge of whether or not something is funny. That being said, while Black Friday isn't the most humorous Starkid musical, it's still pretty good. The characters are excellent, the songs are awesome, and the story is somewhat easy to follow. I would have appreciated a few more laughs, but I can respect these talented people wanting to challenge their strengths.

#7-Starship-This play feels very...Disney. It follows a familiar formula we've seen several times: The main character wants more than what he has in his crappy life, miraculously gets the exact thing he wants, falls in love with a girl in a short amount of time, faces off against a campy/over the top villain, realizes the hand he's been dealt isn't so bad, and in the end, gets what he wants anyway. Starship is still pretty entertaining through its jokes, characters, and songs, but it also feels weird that Starkid leans into these tropes when they would eventually make a much better play by making fun of them. The end result is not bad in the slightest, but it's also nowhere near their best.

#6-A Very Potter Musical-Starkid's first production, and boy, what a start to something wonderful. Every one of their gimmicks and motifs is present in A Very Potter Musical. The use of parody to playfully mock characters and stories they love, making songs that are as funny as they are emotional, and creating characters that work because of their lines and the actors' performances. Oh, and also, it's funny. And it’s not just through a parody angle, like making Cedric be a perfect boy who's always smiling. It's also funny through its jokes that work, even if you ignore the fact that it’s a parody altogether. Case in point, there are these two bits, one involving Voldemort and Beatrix with the other involving Ron and Hermoine, that are written and delivered so well that I was in tears much more than with any other Starkid play. When watching A Very Potter Musical, you'll not only understand how parody works, but you'll also gain an understanding of why Starkid turned out as successful as they did.

#5-The Trail to Oregon-What can I say? I'm a sucker for comedic dysfunctional families. And seeing a family of idiots make their way to Oregon via The Oregon Trail parody? Yeah, that's a win for me. The play may be another family road trip narrative, which some people might get sick of at this point. But because the dynamics and comedic chemistry everyone has with each other are on point, the end result proves that you don't need an original story to tell an entertaining one. Although I will say that out of all of Starkid's productions, The Trail to Oregon has by far the worst ending. Without giving anything away, the play spends way too much time on this one stupid joke that any of the characters could make. Comedy is defined by personalities, as are most things, so making the joke work for anyone is a bad move when this one, in particular, doesn't fit as well for some characters as it would for others. Plus, the finale song "Naked in a Lake" is a really poor choice to cap off this musical. It's catchy, but to me, a finale song should encapsulate everything about the story, characters, and themes. Not paying off a joke that I honestly wouldn't want the payoff for. So while the ending could have used a lot more polish, that doesn't change how The Trail to Oregon is a pretty funny play that I won't mind revisiting when I have the chance.

#4-A Very Potter Sequel-Hey, sometimes a sequel is better than the original. Sure some jokes don't land, and some story beats aren't as impactful as they thought they were (Serious Black's introduction, for example), but there are far more improvements to this play than the last one. The performances are stronger, the jokes are funnier, the music is catchier, and the characters are much more entertaining in this play than in A Very Potter Musical. Especially new additions like Lupin and Lucious Malfoy, who provide great comedy and sublime drama at times. And Umbridge. Sweet Mother of all that is holy, Umbridge. While A Very Potter Sequel never made me laugh to tears as the first play did, twice, Professor Umbridge carries the comedy so well that she surpasses all of that. Plus, on top of it all, this play nails its ending through a bittersweet note that really captures what makes Hogwarts so special to these characters. I always feel like Starkid's plays tend to lose steam during the last few minutes, but A Very Potter Sequel is one of the few instances that it just builds and builds to a perfect ending. A Very Potter Sequel might not always hit the right marks, but the results are just magical when it does get it right.

#3-The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals-This one is pretty clever. The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals is one of those stories that manages to be explicitly hilarious yet implicitly disturbing. For instance, people suddenly bursting into perfectly choreographed musical numbers in a world where songs are exclusively diegetic is pretty funny (especially through the characters' reactions to it). However, knowing what happens to these people and why they sing and dance so expertly helps make the whole situation pretty dire. It's an excellent balancing act that not many stories can accomplish. And while The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals leans one way or the other at times, it's still all handled really well. Oh, and also, you know how most people say the villain song is the best one in any musical? Well, technically speaking, nearly every song in The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals is the villain song. Including the finale, which is just too brilliant for me not to give a round of applause. If you're a person who unfortunately doesn't like musicals either, I'd say be more than willing to give this one a chance. It's funny, catchy, and if you think of the implications, pretty damn disturbing.

#2-A Very Potter Senior Year-...You know how Avengers: Endgame is a bit of a mess, yet people still love it for how much of a perfect (sort of) finale it is? It's the same regard with A Very Potter Senior Year in my eyes. It's far from a masterpiece, but the many, many solid scenes that cap off this series help make me willing to overlook the mistakes. The characters, callbacks, and overall message about how things end was done so expertly well that I physically can’t hate this one. I can understand how it's more of an ok play when compared to the rest of Starkid's productions, but sometimes, ok is wonderful.

#1-Twisted: An Untold Story of a Royal Vizier-...It's Twisted. Everyone loves Twisted! And how could they not? Everything about this play just screams Starkid at their best. The comedy is uproarious, added with the fantastic delivery of the actors and the characters' personalities. Everyone feels as though they have one step in reality and the other in insanity. This, to me, seems like the best type of character work when going for the parody angle. Parody is about giving slight yet snide remarks toward the work you're mocking, which I feel works best when characters drop the suspension of disbelief audiences have when enjoying such a story. And Twisted definitely nails its satire in not only poking fun at Aladdin but also making jokes towards Disney as a brand. From their movies to their inside jokes to their formulas to even their corporate dealings with Pixar, nothing about Disney is sacred in Twisted. But on top of being funny, Twisted might just be the most successful Starkid has been with telling some really compelling drama. The jokes allow themselves to take a back seat to let serious moments play out, and even comedy is added, it provides more for the experience rather than taking anything away. You see this not only through the actors giving it their all but even through some really gorgeous and heart wrenching musical numbers. Oh, and also, Twisted has the best Starkid soundtrack, featuring songs that are epic, funny, and, as I said, heartbreaking. You cannot get better than this and, if you want to get a friend interested in Starkid as a whole, this might be the play for them. Scheherazade may have a thousand tales, but his one is a tale I wouldn't mind hearing for a thousand nights.

And that's about how I feel about Starkid and each and every one of their plays. Odds are your ranking would be much different from mine, and I'm all for that differing opinions. Feel free to make your own ranking if you want because I'm honestly curious where fans would place these plays above or below others. I'm relatively new to enjoying their work, so I have no idea what the consensus is. I do know one thing, though: If Starkid can still be incredibly entertaining through over ten years of content, then I am excited to see what they can accomplish next in another ten years.

#starkid #holy musical b@man #firebringer #me and my dick #ani: a parody #black friday #a very potter trilogy #the trail to oregon #the guy who didn't like musicals #twisted: the untold story of a royal vizier

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intyalote · 3 years

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What makes a good ending?

not what shl did that's for sure

this is my analysis of the novel vs. drama ending, and why I don't think the drama had a good ending (not happy, but mainly not good in a storytelling sense).

below the cut there will be spoilers for all of shl and the 7-minute "extra," as well as the ending and extras of tianya ke. also, though i've seen the raws of both drama endings, my chinese knowledge is very imperfect, so do let me know if I say anything actually wrong in this post.

Before I talk about why shl's endings make no sense, I'm just going to list what I consider the three different "canon" endings.

Drama "sad ending" : Wen Kexing opens the armory and uses the Six Harmonies cultivation to heal Zhou Zishu, but can't bear it and dies as a result.

Drama "happy ending" : Same as above, but Wen Kexing is successful in cultivating to immortality. They go live half-lives on Changming indefinitely, until they decide to die.

Novel happy ending: The armory is not opened because Wen Kexing destroyed the key a long time ago. Wen Kexing goes to finish his plan during the second Heroes conference, with Zhou Zishu saving Wen Kexing's life at the end. Wen Kexing never had the stupid idea of faking his death, so afterwards Wuxi can heal Zhou Zishu and they spend the rest of their normal human lives wandering with Chengling.

ok. now for the actual point. there are three main issues I have with the drama endings.

The first is that given what we know about Ye Baiyi and Rong Changqing, healing Zhou Zishu that way should not work. I can go into detail on this but I won't, because this is honestly not as big of a deal as the thematic problems.

The drama ending is inconsistent with many of the themes of the story. The whole point of the fight over the liuli armor is that what everyone wants is fabricated by their greed - the armory is forever inaccessible, the key is destroyed, no one will ever get there. By having the key still exist, even if the only people who enter are WenZhou, it weakens the idea that greed is ultimately pointless - after all, if someone had been strong enough to beat WenZhou and known that the hairpin was the key, they could have been the one to enter.

The other main theme of the novel is escape - to quote the last extra:

"Ye Baiyi had wanted to jump out of that curse of being one with the Heavens. Madam Rong had wanted to jump out of the iceland that was Changming. Wen Kexing had wanted to jump out of being an evil spirit and return to the human world. Zhou Zishu had wanted to jump out of Tian Chuang and be free." (tl credit to chichilations)

So in the drama, Zhou Zishu succeeds in escaping Tianchuang and Wen Kexing succeeds in escaping Ghost Valley, only for them to be trapped in the same hell as Ye Baiyi. May as well die, reincarnate, and be together in the next life like Gu Xiang and Cao Weining.

The entire point of Ye Baiyi's subplot is that the Six Harmonies cultivation is not a blessing, but a curse - everyone wants it, but they don't realize that it's really not a good thing. The drama even acknowledges this with "If it was such a good thing, how could I not have given it to him?" But in the end, he still gives it to Wen Kexing and Zhou Zishu - what was the point of that whole conversation with Long Que then? It's not like WenZhou are somehow different or more deserving than Rong Xuan or anyone else. That they manage to "escape" in the novel is largely out of pure luck, which works because they want to escape not in order to become ~special~ and immortal but in order to live and die normally (as one fic on ao3 says, they have "mundanecore" fantasies). Them being immortal removes so many layers of complexity from the story of Ye Baiyi and the Six Harmonies method, and doesn't even add anything to their own story - it just feels empty.

What makes a good ending? I've seen a lot of people say that as long as WenZhou live and are together, then it's all fine. Though I see where they're coming from, especially after Guardian, I have to disagree. In my view, an ending is happy if the main character gets what they want, and an ending is good if it wraps up the plot and themes of the story in a satisfying and coherent way. "Cultivating to immortality" was never a goal for our main characters and does not qualify as an escape. And as we've seen, opening the armory and having Six Harmonies cultivation save Zhou Zishu is thematically incoherent. So, sorry scriptwriter, but this is a bad ending.

The worst part of all of this is that it's not like these issues are deeply rooted in the drama plot. The entire pointless, nonsensical ending is because of the contrived drama around Wen Kexing faking his death, something that was unnecessary, illogical, and OOC. How hard would it be to just have Wen Kexing tell Zhou Zishu his plan, or have Zhou Zishu figure it out? Only a couple scenes would be majorly different (no nail removing scene, no armory scene, and a scene where Wuxi cures Zhou Zishu), and a few more would have minor differences without all the fake, contrived angst. If they really wanted more angst, how about having Wuxi's initial treatment fail before he thinks of something else? There are so many options. This whole thing is just... why... you were doing so well...

#山河令 #word of honor #shan he ling #tian ya ke #faraway wanderers #meta #shl meta #ye baiyi #op

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enigmainvestigations · 3 years

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ENI Season 1 Finale (episodes 8 - 14)

AO3 post: ??? Series link: ???

Episode 8 - A New Client

The man on the ground before him was out cold. Edward knelt and checked the hitman’s jacket pockets and found a pack of Lucky’s, which he pocketed. Next, he checked the man’s pants pockets, but those turned up empty. He pivoted on his feet to check the condition of the hitman behind him, hovering his hand near the man’s nostrils. This one’s breath was faster than the first, and Edward figured he must be coming to. But he didn’t need to worry too much about that; they all looked too beaten up to be much of a threat. Edward rolled the man over to get to his jacket pockets, and, as he did, the man groaned under his breath. Stuffing a hand into the man’s jacket, he found a small piece of paper. His eyes scanned it -- it looked like a phone number -- and he pocketed it to keep it out of the rain. Checking the other pocket in his jacket, Edward heard the man groan again. He looked down and saw the young man’s eyes staring up at him.

Edward grinned as he continued to search him. “First time, huh?”

The man moaned in pain, and rolled over, his motions stiff and weak. Edward patted him down, checking for a firearm. The man attempted to push his arm away, but Edward swatted at his hand to stop him. “Oh, stop complaining. Let me let you in on a little secret, it hurts much more the second day. I’d take it slow if I were you.”

Moving up on his feet, Edward made his way down the alley to the third hitman, who was also beginning to stir on the ground. Checking him, he pulled out a photograph from the man’s jacket. It was a photo of Edward himself -- it looked like it was taken on his night out at the local bars. A small smile crossed his lips, and he pocketed the photo; the man didn’t seem to care, instead focusing all his attention on an attempt to stop the blood gushing from his nose. As he stood, Edward looked down at the men who were writhing in pain, one rigidly attempting to sit up.

“Well boys, you’re on his bad side now. I wish you luck,” he tilted his hat to them, a wide grin on his face as he turned to head out of the alley.

He traveled away from the area, taking a few side routes just in case they’d gotten to their feet and made the idiotic decision to try to kill him a second time. He knew better than to assume the Bat had moved on. He was sure the dark figure was watching him, following him from above like a stalking predator. Edward assumed the Bat had left to see what he would do in his absence. It was a test, something he did frequently to observe people’s behavior. He hated to admit it, it was an intelligent move. But Edward hadn’t touched any of the men’s money, even though the thought had crossed his mind. He could consider it payment for trying to take his life. However, that wouldn’t have been a smart thing to do. If he’d done it, then the Bat would come after him once he was at a safe distance from the alley. That was still a possibility even now though, and his eyes scanned the rooftops around him as he walked and listened to his surroundings for any motion.

Edward hoped Batman wouldn’t reappear -- that whole encounter had been quite jarring and confusing. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that Batman would show up, let alone assist him. His mind kept trying to figure out why the vigilante had entered the fray. The logical answer was that it was because Edward was a civilian now, a citizen that had a hit out on him, and the Bat did what he always does in that situation. But that concept felt too simple, too foreign for him to accept. So, his mind continued to speculate what Batman’s play could’ve been.

He had to admit, it was quite frightening to see the man in action from a different perspective. The spine-chilling tales that surrounded Batman made more sense now. He could only imagine what that encounter must’ve been like from the perspective of a regular citizen. Edward had always seen Batman as a foe -- not quite an equal, but close. The fear he instilled in others had always been something he’d considered the woes of lesser men. But now, the chess pieces had moved, and they were both playing on a different board. Perhaps that was it: he was one of the lesser men now, a regular citizen that needed a phantom to swoop in to save him. Edward felt a wave of emotion hit him abruptly; the sensation of not belonging once again invaded his mind. He tried to keep himself focused on his route rather than waste the time letting it control his thoughts.

Edward couldn’t use the underground shortcut to return -- it was too risky with Batman tailing him. Instead, he opted to make the trip as boring as possible, especially now that he was too far for the men to follow. It made his walk longer, but he needed the time to think over the stark amount of new information he’d acquired.

Two of the hitmen had been young and inexperienced. The man he’d crossed paths with in the loading alley appeared just as surprised to see Edward as Edward was to see him. The thing about young and inexperienced hitmen is they’re cheap, and easy to find in Gotham. Ignorant boys trying to make some quick cash, though any real criminal in the city wouldn’t waste their time on them. Those two facts boded well for him. He was dealing with someone who didn’t know what they were doing, and surely this wouldn’t be the only mistake they made. Whoever they were, the need to hire hitmen showed they were afraid, and fear makes people do stupid things. Stupid things like tilting their hands too much, letting information slip, or jumping out into the open in an illogical attempt to hide. It was a human trait Edward had preyed on frequently during his criminal career, an easy emotion to exploit under the right circumstances.

However, what he hadn’t expected was that whoever this culprit was would take the drastic action of trying to kill him. Nothing in the evidence pointed to such behavior being a predictable reaction. To the culprit it was only a bunch of empty buildings, and he couldn’t fathom what payoff could be involved that would be worth murder. Then again, they were playing a dangerous game and were clearly out of their league. Edward poking his nose around might have been just enough to scare them into making such a silly mistake. Though, he doubted they knew very much about him, or they wouldn’t have been so foolish. Nor would they have made the classic mistake criminals did regularly in this city.

They didn’t hire one hitman, they’d hired three -- the logical fallacy that greater numbers mean a greater possible outcome of success. It was a mistake many in the underground made with the Bat. One guy with a gun couldn’t stop him, so get twenty guys with more guns and the plan will be successful. No one ever considered the obvious: the guns didn’t work, no matter how many you added to the scenario. The more men you used simply meant you wasted more money. It was a mistake he’d never made when dealing with Batman, and it was one of the first riddles about the man he’d solved.

Though, Edward wasn’t very happy about having a hit out on him. He was sick and tired of people trying to kill him, and the fact that he’d have to spend even more time looking over his shoulder just made him feel drained. As he crossed the bridge to the south island he checked his watch; it was three in the morning. Much later than he’d intended to be out, but it didn’t appear that anyone had seen him out and about -- anyone other than the Bat, that is. He could only hope Batman wouldn’t pull some passive-aggressive move and tip off some officer to his activities this evening. By the time he’d unlocked his office door, he was beginning to feel very exhausted. So exhausted, in fact, that he might not even have to drink tonight to get his mind to quiet down.

He was correct in that belief, and he didn’t have to lay on the couch for very long before sleep took him. His rest was deep, and by the time he was awoken by the ringing of the phone the next morning, he had impressions on his skin from the cushions on the couch. In a haze, he pulled the phone down beside him, picked up the handset, and rubbed his face, trying to wake up.

“Isn’t this late for your check-in call, officer?” he muttered into the phone.

There was a short pause on the line, “Excuse me?” Edward could hear quite a lot of noise through the phone, and the voice wasn’t officer Blue 334. “I’m sorry, is this Edward Nigma’s residence?”

Edward yawned, fumbling with his glasses on the floor beside him, “Yeah? Who is this?”

“This is officer Wilkes, I’m --”

“Ahh, Wilkes the snitch. How’re you this fine morning, Wilkes?” Edward propped his glasses on and ran a hand through his hair as he continued to wake.

“I-I’m fine?” He seemed confused by the question, but he cleared his throat in an attempt to regain his professional demeanor. “Mr. Nigma, I’m calling you on behalf of the Commissioner --”

“Is that right?” Edward interrupted.

“...Yes, he would like to speak with you, it concerns a case he’s investigating --”

Edward let out a groan of annoyance.

“-- he would like for you to come to his office this evening.” Wilkes finished, a slight twinge of irritation in his tone.

“This evening?” Edward asked through another yawn.

“Yes, he’s very busy, but he can work you in at eleven tonight.”

Edward rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure, whatever. Tell him I’ll be there,” and he dropped the handset back onto the receiver on the floor.

Immediately, he drifted back to sleep. When he woke again, he adjusted his glasses -- as they’d started digging into the bridge of his nose -- and checked his watch. It was one in the afternoon, and he struggled to pull himself off the couch, his muscles sore from the exertion of the night before. He went through his normal morning routine: he grabbed one of the apples from the kitchen and picked through the new pieces of evidence he’d acquired on his desk. The photo was still a source of amusement for him, and the paper with the phone number didn’t have any other useful information on it. Tossing the apple core into the trash bin, he picked the receiver up off the floor and dialed the number on his rotary phone. He was surprised when the operator picked up the line and asked him to check which number he was calling. Reciting the digits to her, he waited as she checked it again, but, unfortunately, the line was a dead end. He thanked the operator, and, as he set down the phone, he began to fidget. Perhaps they weren’t as foolish as he’d thought, or the number wasn’t a phone number at all.

He flopped into his desk chair, took out one of his notepads, and began working the number through any variation he could think of. He tried to see if there was any alphabetic translation, or if it was some kind of cipher, but everything ended up being nonsense. He flipped the paper over and over in his hand, trying to figure out what else it could be, before tossing it back to the desktop. He was applying too much intelligence to this, there was no way it could be this complicated. The events of last night had proven that, and every time he tried to look at it through a more skilled lens he ended up at a dead end. He was starting to get the feeling that the answer was easy, and it was right under his nose. But right now his mind was foggy -- he was sure he’d gotten too much sleep. He slid the paper and the notepad into his desk drawer and shut it with a flick of his hand. He needed more coffee.

The rest of the day was uneventful. He’d taken a trip down to the diner closer to Old Gotham, thinking a change in environment might help his brain get in gear. A morning paper had been left in one of the booths, and so he’d spent most of his time drinking coffee and scanning the classifieds for any potential work. There hadn’t been any fires yesterday, though that might be because whoever was responsible for the others was now focused on him. After he left the diner, he was feeling more alert and much more energized. He started to make a mental list of places he needed to visit to further the fire investigation, or at least to see if he could get his hands on some records to find a connection between the buildings. He swung back by the office in the evening and grabbed his coat and hat. Then, he headed down to the underground train station.

Once he got onto the platform, he checked his watch; he was early. Just how he liked it. When you weren’t sure what a meeting was for it was best to show up much earlier than the agreed time. It gave the other side less time for preparation and made it more likely that you would enter the discussion at an advantage. He was lucky today -- the trains were on time -- but as he got into the car, his leg muscles tensed. He’d certainly exerted too much energy last night in his malnutritioned state. Edward watched as the lights on the tunnel walls flashed by the windows as it continued on its track, the ambient rustle of the train car almost relaxing. The woman in the car with him kept sneaking glances in his direction. He was sure she recognized him. At one point he caught her staring and stared back, but it was immediately obvious she wasn’t another hitman. He saw nothing but fear in her eyes. Eventually, she got up and moved to the back of the car to put more distance between them and to place herself closer to an exit.

As the train finally approached his stop, Edward stood up and headed to the door, grabbing hold of the railing above to keep his balance. He noticed the woman in the back of the car watching him as he exited the train; at least now she could be at ease. The station was much busier here, and he watched the crowds of people migrating to and from the train around him. He found himself gathered in with the night workers as they traveled up the stairs to the street level. Some of them looked in his direction, but most were too preoccupied with their morning routines to worry. Getting up to the sidewalk, Edward looked around. The traffic was much busier here, even at this late hour. He remembered that this part of the city was very chaotic during the territory wars, but it looked as if it hadn’t suffered too much of the destruction. The streets looked much the same, and to a tourist it would look like it had been nothing but business as usual here. It felt like a photograph, almost like a time capsule.

He looked across the street to his destination, the GCPD headquarters -- the new one, he reminded himself. They had a bad track record of letting these buildings get destroyed, or at least become unusable. He hurried through a break in the traffic and made his way up the wide stone steps to the entrance. He’d only walked through the front doors of this particular building twice, and he was barely conscious at the time. Once inside, he stopped and looked around the small entryway, spotting a plaque on the wall with office numbers. He barely looked at it, just skimmed, knowing the name would catch his eye. And it did. Commissioner and 3rd were all he needed, and he hurried up the steps on his right.

He wasn’t sure what this meeting was for, but he did find it odd that Gordon hadn’t made the invite call himself. Having Wilkes do it could be interpreted in different ways, some insulting and some logical. He assumed Gordon was going to try another tactic to question him about the events inside the Narrows, and he was more than willing to show up for that game. He’d grown tired of his frequent phone calls, and the idea of Gordon trapped in his office with an unrelenting Edward sounded like a good way to spend the evening hours. He wondered how long it was going to take Gordon to figure out that most of the people affected weren’t going to speak. It was Jim’s job, yes; Edward knew that, but it was too ugly of a thing to look back at.

As he climbed the stairs, he noticed many nasty looks from the officers he passed. Some of them looked angry, but others just looked disappointed. Probably that you’re still breathing, Edward thought. Good, I hope it ruins their day. Finally getting to the third floor, Edward began a slow stride down the long hall. The open area to his left was filled with mostly empty desks, and only a few detectives spotted the area, hunched over paperwork or clicking away at their typewriters. He noticed one staring and felt a burst of excitement in his chest. Bullock was sitting at this desk, staring him down, their last encounter clearly not forgotten. Edward noticed he had a new haircut, and that, like last time, he didn't look as rough for wear as Edward was used to. Maybe he finally quit drinking, probably not the best decision in the current climate. With a tilt of his hat he gave Bullock a smile, but Harvey only let out a groan Edward could barely hear and turned back to his work in a huff. Thanks, Bullock, he thought. That at least told Edward he wasn’t here for some empty threat of arrest; Harvey wouldn’t be able to contain his joy if that was the case. That was good, he was tired of that boast.

Getting to Gordon’s office door, he knocked in a rhythmic pattern and entered after hearing an invitation from within. The room was dark other than the lamp on Gordon’s desk, and as Edward entered he noted the slight look of surprise on Jim’s face. Edward closed the door behind him and watched Jim sit up in his chair, and the annoyance on his face made Edward’s mood fly into jubilation.

Jim looked at his watch. “I guess eleven o’clock is ten-thirty in Arkham time.”

“Early bird gets the worm, Jim. I’m a working man now, being overly punctual looks good on all my paperwork.” Edward responded, happily nestling his hands into his coat pockets.

Jim let out an exhausted breath. Taking the work folder off his desk, he shoved it into one of the drawers, but not before Edward could catch a few words off the pages. Jim lit a cigarette as he stood, making his way over to the filing cabinet by the window.

“You want a coffee or anything?” Jim mumbled as he pulled a few files out.

“Got anything stronger?” Edward prodded.

“Yes, but I’m not wasting it on you,” Jim said as he moved back toward his desk with a stack of files in hand. As Jim moved past the window, Edward spotted a tall dark figure there, blocking the moonlight shimmering through the panes. In an instant, his jubilation was gone. Edward glared at the white eyes staring at him from the darkness, and he felt his chest tightened at the realization he hadn’t noticed earlier that the Bat was there.

“Have a seat, Edward,” Jim said as he sat back down at his desk.

“I’ll stand.” Edward blurted out, his eyes still fixated on the dark corner.

Jim’s eyes shifted between the two men, but he decided to ignore the clear animosity Edward held, “Whatever makes you more comfortable, I guess.” He took a deep drag from his snipe and looked Edward square in the eyes, “Alright, Ed. We know --”

“Edward. We’ve been through this, you don’t get to call me that.” Edward interrupted.

“...Edward, I know that you’re investigating the fires.” Jim finished.

Edward stuffed his hands deeper into his coat pockets, giving Jim a stern look. “Is that what this meeting is about? I’m not telling you a damn thing, Jim.” He gave the commissioner a smug grin. “If that’s all, can I go now?”

Jim narrowed his eyes, leaning forward over his desk a bit and piercing Edward with a stern look that only fathers could muster. “How about you let me finish? You think you can keep that smart mouth of yours shut long enough for me to explain?”

Edward gritted his teeth, “Fine.”

Jim puffed on his cigarette, and Edward could tell he’d already gotten on the man’s nerves, which would’ve been enjoyable if it wasn’t for their third wheel. Letting out a deep sigh, the smoke flew around Jim in the bright light from the lamp.

“Edward, I know you’re investigating the fires. You’ve been spotted at a couple of the scenes, and --”

“They weren’t locked down.” Edward interrupted again, but a swift look from Jim made him shut his mouth.

“And, I don’t know how much you’ve figured out on your own. I know this is going to sound strange, but I’m not asking you to divulge all your intel to us. I asked you here to tell you what we know.” Jim finished.

Edward frowned in confusion, then laughed under his breath. “You can’t be serious. You want to tell me what you know?”

“To be honest, this case is pretty complicated,” Jim mumbled around the cigarette in his mouth, “We both decided that the more eyes we have looking at it is a good thing. And then, you’ll have a better idea of what to look for should any new evidence crop up.” Edward could tell he was trying his best to remain professional, to ease any suspicions that Edward had. But the detective knew this was a trick, it had to be. There was no way on Earth either of these men would confide information to him. Edward opened his mouth to speak, but Jim cut him off.

“And, before you say it, no, this isn’t some scheme to get you to tell us what you know. And, again, before you ask, yes, there’s a catch. There’s something we’d like to ask for in return.” Jim huffed out a puff of smoke. “C’mon, Nigma, you’re used to this. We help you with your investigation, and in turn, you help us with a problem we’ve been running up against. It's been causing us some trouble and slowing down progress in the investigation.”

Edward looked between the two men, running through possible options in his mind. He felt out of sorts again, unsure what guise would be the best strategy for this situation. He couldn't play his tried-and-true Riddler shtick, that could ruin everything. But he was too flustered to act out the know-it-all attitude, too put-out for the calm and collected better-than-you routine. The offer was intriguing, but it was sending off every alarm bell in his mind. Then the Bat stepped out of the shadows, and as he got closer to the desk the lamplight made more of him visible. It was much different seeing him in the light than in the dark alley the night before. Edward felt his pulse quicken, and then that grating deep voice finally filled the room.

“Nigma.”

“Don’t,” Edward interrupted, yet again.

“Nigma --”

“I’m here to talk to Jim! I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. If I knew you were going to be here, I wouldn't have come at all.” Edward’s breath hastened, and he cursed himself mentally. That came across less direct and more childish than he’d intended, but the Bat remained silent.

He hated that, he’d always hated it. That expressionless, silent stare always grated on his nerves. Edward hated it even more now that he knew what it was, and that, before, he’d fallen for it so easily. It was an interrogation tactic: remain silent to entice the other to continue speaking. He wasn’t going to fall for it this time, he’d learned this tactic as well, so he simply stared back. Which seemed like a good idea at first, but the longer he looked, the more uncomfortable he became. The light showed him how different the cowl was now, and the cape had changed as well. It always annoyed Edward when the Bat would show up with a whole new suit -- keeping up with all the variations was tedious work. He saw a small nick in the cowl on one side, Hit with something no doubt. Edward’s first thought was that he hoped it hurt, but that thought brought on a strange melancholy sensation. He remembered that the Bat had been hurt a lot recently, and he had no idea how badly since he wasn’t there to see it. He had been... preoccupied at the time.

He’d heard some of the stories, but when it came to the Dark Knight those were mostly untrue. He wasn’t as extravagant as the tales made him out to be. Then, all of a sudden, one of those stories flashed in his memory. They said he’d stayed outside the barricades for a whole week, trying to find a way to break in to save people. But, all his attempts were unsuccessful. Edward hated that one in particular; it sounded exactly like the sort of thing the stubborn idiot would do, and the thought of it made him uneasy. He broke the long stare, his eyes wandering around the room as he tried to look unbothered.

Jim’s gruff voice broke the uncomfortable silence. “Edward, we need your help. That’s what he’s trying to say, that’s why we called you here.”

Edward froze and attempted to hide his shock at that statement, but his gaze darted to Jim’s. He saw genuine pleading in the commissioner’s eyes, and he let out a howl of frustration. Jim arched a brow at the sudden outburst but only watched as Edward reached up and removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes in annoyance. Placing them back on, he stomped over to the chair in front of Jim’s desk and sat down with a completely defeated look on his face. Jim seemed to relax at this development, his eyes rested on Edward for a few moments before standing up, “I’ll get you that stiffer drink.”

“Yeah, you better.” he replied, ignoring Jim as he walked past him toward the front of the office. Edward took his coat and hat off, tossing them in the vacant chair beside him. He flinched; suddenly, there was a large file being slid in front of him by a gloved hand. It opened the folder and flipped through some of the pages before stopping on a pile of photographs. As the hand retreated, Edward began to sift through them. There were a lot more fires than he’d known of. But it was what he’d come to expect: the fires all started on different floors, there were different levels of damage, and they were in all different areas of the slums. He heard Gordon pouring some liquid into a glass, which he placed next to him. Flipping through the investigation notes, Edward noticed that they’d already answered one of his questions. The building’s owners had no connection -- at least that was one lead he wouldn’t have to waste his time on.

“You’re sure they’re all connected?” Edward’s question was directed at Jim, and he hoped he’d take the hint.

He heard Jim’s voice move across from him as he sat back down. “That’s what he says. There are some connections, but not many, on paper at least.”

Edward kept that in mind as he continued to read through all the statements from those involved, noting the lack of actual witnesses. He took a sip from his glass without thinking, scotch, he noted. Of course, he’d have scotch. A familiar address jumped out on one of the pages: Mrs. Hattie’s previous residence. He noted the lack of a witness report from her as well as he took another sip from his drink and removed his cigarette pack from his jacket pocket.

“You think it's arson?” Edward asked, though this question was directed at Batman.

There was a pause before that grating voice spoke. “It's possible.”

“It’d have to be someone who had direct access to every building.” Edward stated plainly.

“Not necessarily. A lot of the buildings have been vacant for an extended time.”

“So there isn’t a lot of foot traffic. I get it, but you’d think that it’d be in just one area. It's up north, south, all over.” Edward slid a snipe into the side of his mouth and lit it with a match.

“That’s one of the issues with that theory,” the Bat said. “It's possible, but someone blending in in that many neighborhoods would be difficult.”

“Unless they’re some public servant or something. No one ever suspects the mailman.”

“It's possible, but there are other theories as well. I’m sure you’ll figure them all out.” said Batman. The tone of his voice sounded rather final, as if he was putting an end to the questioning.

Edward put the file back on the desk, taking a drag on his snipe. “Have somewhere to be, do you?”

“Is that satisfactory, Edward?” Jim cut in, Edward shifted his gaze back up to the commissioner and gave him a tired nod.

“Good. Feel free to take it with you, and give it a good look over. Not sure how many of those folks are your clients, but hopefully it helps.” Gordon leaned back in his chair, and Edward could tell he was about to be put in an uncomfortable situation. Jim rubbed his mustache, giving Edward a stern yet pleading look. “We’re having trouble getting people to cooperate with us on this. The owners of the buildings are the only ones speaking to us, the people who lived there or even nearby don’t want to talk. It puts us in a tough spot, and we’re really strapped on any potential witnesses. That leaves us with just paper trails, and stakeouts to see who shows up at the scene. As you can see, it's not much to go on.”

Edward saw the opportunity for a dig right away, and his eyes narrowed, as he took another drag on his snipe. “Did you expect any other reaction than that? Only a fool would think the people in those areas would cooperate with you two.” Edward noted Jim’s quick glare and held up a questioning hand. “What does that have to do with me?”

Jim took a deep breath, snuffing out his cigarette in the tiny ashtray on his desk. “You didn’t seem to have too many issues getting them to talk to you.”

Edward’s eyebrows raised, a knowing smile crossing his face. “Ah, I see. Were you all tailing me on my bar crawl the other night?”

“Maybe. And you didn’t appear to have too many issues. People were willing to talk to you --”

Edward waved his hand in a flippant gesture. “Jim, they’re a bunch of working people. They get off their shifts, and head to the local watering hole. They only talked to me because they were intoxicated, and, well, because they live in the damn slums. They’re not used to us flashy people who are all over the news showing up in their area.”

Jim raised a brow. “You think they talked to you because you were a super-criminal?”

Edward shrugged, draping his arm over the back of the chair. “Is it that hard to fathom, Jim? They’ve only read about me in the papers, seen me on the television. Or they’ve seen my mugshot on wanted posters plastered around the city. I’m sure they never thought I’d show up in a tiny dive bar in the slums wanting to talk to them.” Edward looked between the two of them, a smug grin crossing his face. “I know you two think I’m terribly dangerous, but you need to understand that to some people, dangerous is exciting.”

Jim contemplated his reasoning and briefly looked to Batman, who nodded in response to his questioning look. Edward’s eyes shifted between them again, and he took one final drag on his cigarette before snuffing it out in the ashtray. “So that’s it, huh? You want me to go bar hopping for you two?”

Jim rested his elbows on his desk, his fingers brushing his mustache. “Do you think they’d speak to you again? Would more people talk to you if you tried?”

Edward shrugged, crossing his arms across his ribs and his ankles under Jim’s desk as he slumped in the chair. “It's an idea. I could canvas the areas, but it will require some door-to-door visits. That’s not exactly the safest situation to put myself in.”

Jim nodded and looked to Batman again. “We should do some thorough background checks on these people, make sure none of them are sympathizers or supporters.” Batman nodded in agreement, and Jim looked back to Edward. “We'll send along a list of people to avoid. I guess we’ll try to take another crack at them while you’re gathering intel.”

Edward pressed his lips together, fixing Jim with a serious look. As long as they were agreeing to do that for him, it wouldn’t hurt to see what else he could get them to agree to. “So, how much am I getting paid for this job? And who is buying my drinks? I’m not spending my own money buying booze for people all night long.”

Jim huffed as he leaned back in his chair, gesturing towards Edward as he looked to Batman. “See? I told you.”

Edward smirked, but Batman shifted his gaze down to him. “You’ll be compensated, Nigma.”

“Oh, you’re paying for it? How do I know this isn’t some scam to get a bug into my office?” Edward’s eyes narrowed, but the Bat didn’t react, still giving Edward that silent, annoying stare.

“You’ll be compensated.” he said again, and Edward let out the breath he was holding. That had been too easy, and he decided to see how far he could go until he encountered some push-back.

“Fine, but there’s one more thing. I’m going to need some help.” Edward uncrossed his arms, draping them over the armrests of his chair.

“What kinda help?” Jim asked, giving Edward a suspicious look over the rim of his glasses.

“Well, some people do find chatting with me to be exciting, but others might need a little push to be more upfront with their information. Sometimes it can take people a while to start opening up to me --” Edward decided to ignore Jim’s eye roll of agreement to that, “and since time seems to be a factor in this, it would be smart to have some backup. Some... persuasive backup.”

Jim frowned. He could tell this wasn’t going anywhere good, and Edward was attempting to manipulate the situation. “Alright then, who are you suggesting be your persuasive backup?”

Edward grinned, his fingers tapping out a rhythm on the armrests. “Robin.”

Jim’s eyes widened. “Really, Nigma? You’re gonna pull that kinda shit?” Edward could feel the Bat’s intimidating presence grow as the mood in the room drastically shifted.

He quickly held up his hands. “Calm down, gentlemen! I have my reasons.” Both of the men were glaring at him with anger so tangible he felt like he could cut it with a knife, and his mood improved in an instant. “Okay, number one. He’s,” Edward flicked a finger toward Batman, “too intimidating. He’d just scare the shit out of them and they’d clam up. Number two, I’m unwilling to work with him under any circumstances.” Jim rested an elbow on his desk and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “Number three, the kid can actually take direction. He has ears and he knows how to use them. He doesn’t interrupt me every couple of seconds. Number -- whatever, look, no matter how much I hate to admit it, the kid isn’t a complete imbecile. He can keep up with me, at least, he seems like he can. He’s not going to slow me down, and I’m sure he can take a clue if things get too sketchy.”

Jim’s expression was still very untrusting, but now he appeared to be listening to Edward’s explanation. The Bat, on the other hand, wasn’t buying it, though Edward didn’t blame him. The more obvious solution to this problem would’ve been one of Gordon’s detectives, and Edward was sure Batman could see right through his weak reasoning. “Robin carries the impression of Batman being involved, without all the messy consequences of Batman being involved. I’m sure he can be persuasive enough with people that might need it, and I’m more than confident he can handle himself when I inevitably piss off the wrong person. It’d only be minimal involvement, I want to be around him about as much as he wants to be around me. Another perk is, I don’t have to talk to him during this whole investigation.” Edward concluded, flicking a thumb in the Bat’s direction.

Jim was mulling over what Edward had said, looking at Batman with an exhausted look. “I’m sure it’s just bullshit, but it does make sense. You two would just be at each other’s throats the whole time.”

Batman gave Edward a piercing glare, “No.”

Edward scoffed. “Why? What do I look like to you? I’m not the Joker --” he quickly held up his hands as Batman’s fists clenched at his sides, a light growl leaving his lips. “Okay fine, that was too far. All I’m saying is, you let the kid follow me around, break into my house, but actually putting him to work is too much for you?”

“Him tailing you and monitoring your movements is completely different than having him be in a situation where you are expected to watch his back. You know that, and you’re pushing my patience.”

Edward rolled his eyes. “Stop being so dramatic. They’re just a bunch of people who lay down tar, or dig ditches for a living. It's not like they’re hardened criminals. All I need him for is to be a second pair of eyes, and to be there in case someone thinks it's more exciting to talk to a vigilante than an ex-super-criminal.”

Batman continued his intense glare, but he went back to being a silent presence in the room. Jim let out an exhausted sigh, rubbing his temples with his hand. “Sweet lord, you two are tiresome.”

The Bat leaned closer to Edward. “Fine. Minimal involvement.” With that he turned and climbed out of the open window, gliding off into the night without a sound.

Edward leaned over the side of his chair to stare at the vacant window, surprised. Jim just waved a hand, “He does that, don’t take it personally.”

Edward looked back at Jim as he grabbed his belongings off the chair next to him. “Good to know he’s just as rude to you as he is the rest of us.” Putting his hat on, he downed the rest of his drink with an uncomfortable hiss and stood up to put on his coat. “So, do we schedule our next team meeting now? Next time, do we meet at the bat-signal?”

Jim let out another tired sigh, handing the large evidence file up to Edward. “Nigma, just leave. I’ve dealt with you enough tonight. We’ll be in touch.”

Edward snatched up the folder and tucked it under his arm. He gave Jim a slight tip of his hat as he exited the office, a proud smile crossing his lips the moment the door clicked shut. He headed toward the stairs to leave, a happy air to step as he went. But his good spirits were short-lived. By the time he’d gotten to the ground floor, a sense of anxiety had started in his chest. As he stepped out of the front doors, he could feel the thoughts trying to pry into his consciousness. He tried to push them down, to ignore them, but that only made them press even harder.

After all these months you finally get to see him, and you messed it all up, as usual.

Continue reading:

Ep 9 * Ep 10 * Ep 11 * Ep 12 * Ep 13 * Ep 14

#writing post #Season 1 episodes #Season 1 Finale #Edward Nigma #batvillains #Batman #S1 eps 8 - 14 #zorasublime #fic

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to-boldly-nope · 4 years

Text

Late Nights and Vulcan Kisses

Pairing: AOS Spock x Reader

Plot: Reader has a nightmare and Spock helps them go back to sleep.

Words: 919

Warning: nah fam, we good

You slept next, well, actually on the Vulcan while he stayed awake, reading something on his PADD. You were laying on top of him, your back on his stomach, and the back of your head on his shoulder. He informed earlier that it would be uncomfortable for you, but you ignored him.

You stirred a little, making Spock look up from his PADD. "(Y/N)?"

He heard no response and went back to his reading, but you moved again and whimpered.

"(Y/N), is something wrong?"

Your eyes opened and you saw the dim room.

"(Y/N)?" Spock repeated for the third time.

"I'm fine," you said, your voice raspy and low. "Just a nightmare."

You got off of him, your bare feet touching the carpet of Spock's quarters.

"I will make some tea," Spock said while setting his PADD down and following you.

"Spock, are you capable of dreaming?" You asked as you sat down at the table.

"Yes, I am. Dreaming is important to sentient beings."

You placed your hands on the table and stared at them, trying to remember what happened. What did happen?

You looked up and saw Spock's back as he tried to look for the tea bags.

That's what happened, he tried to rescue you, but you were safe. Spock wasn't in the end.

You bit your lip as you hid a sob. It was illogical for you to cry over something that didn't happen but you couldn't help yourself.

"T'hy'la?"

"I'm fine, Spock, just still spooked after everything, that's all," you sniffed as you quickly wiped your tears away.

He carefully slid the teacup over and you took it as he sat across from you at the table. "If it would make you feel better to ta-"

You shook your head as you dragged your finger over the rip of the cup. "I'm fine."

"I have learned that when humans say that, they mean the opposite."

"Spock, please, I'm fine," you told him softly while bringing the teacup to your lips. "I just-I just have to think about my nightmare."

"I agree you should think about it, what would have you this distraught?"

You sat the porcelain cup down on the table and sighed, "I was on an away mission. It was like when Vulcan was destroyed, the planet was about to become a black hole. Scotty was about to beam me up but he couldn't find me so you went after me."

You deeply inhaled, trying to keep yourself from breaking down. "You beamed down to where I was, but buildings and rocks were falling. You told Scotty to beam the two of us up, but only I made it."

"I see," he muttered.

"So, yeah, it's nothing to worry about."

"If it affects your mental health, then it is something to be concerned about," Spock told you as he placed his hand over yours. "I want to help you in any way I can."

"Thanks," you smiled at him as you looked at him with admiration. "You know, I wish to be like you, Spock."

"Pardon?"

"I wish to be like you," you repeated with a shy smile, "I wish I could purge all emotions. Emotions make me feel weak at times like right now. The chief of security sitting here and crying over some stupid nightmare, it's ridiculous."

"Sometimes I wish that I could show emotions only so I can understand what you go through," Spock whispered. "But it's the Vulcan custom."

"Spock, you wouldn't want to understand these emotions. They make me angry and sad. I feel helpless and hopeless and-and I can't do anything right and the world's after me and possibly wants me dead. Spock, if you would show emotions, then I wish you would show and feel happiness and love."

Spock slightly smiled at you as he held your hand tighter. "Your tea is getting cold."

You smiled back as you picked up the cup with your free hand. "I'm just being overemotional."

You felt two fingers trail across your hand and you froze. You never received a Vulcan kiss from Spock before. Spock noticed you freeze and he stopped.

"(Y/N)?"

You shook your head and sat down the cup, "I'm fine."

You flipped your hand over and put two fingers against Spock's fingers. You gave him a small smile as he slightly blushed green.

"I appreciate you staying awake with me. I know this is weird for you but I'm just glad that I have someone to help me when I'm like this."

"I feel like that you will bottle up these emotions if I wasn't here to help, is that correct?" He asked.

"Yeah," you laughed. "Yeah, I'll do exactly that."

"How are you feeling now?"

"Better," you said before yawning, "And tired."

"Then I should suggest that we should return to bed. If I recall, you have an alpha shift soon."

You slowly pulled your hand back and stood up and Spock did the same. The two of you walked to the bed and before you both laid down, you hugged Spock from behind tiredly.

"Thank you," you whispered in his shoulder blade. "Thank you for loving such a flawed human being."

"You are my t'hy'la and I will still love you when every sun in the universe burns up and there's nothing left. Now, go to sleep."

He reached down and pulled your hand from his torso and put his fingertips against yours. You smiled tiredly before reaching up and kissing below his ear.

#spock #s’chn t’gai spock #aos spock x reader #spock x reader #aos spock #star trek aos #star trek imagines

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itsclydebitches · 3 years

Note

Sorry to be agitated in your asks, but I just finished catching up on V8 and I'm hung up on a LOT but one of the big things I haven't seen many people talk about is the attitude towards Atlas? The way the show has constantly beaten in that Atlas is BAD, the city as just being the wealthy (and the irl association that that brings to fill in the gaps), with no redeeming qualities and actual decent people being few and far between (hello, Cinder backstory), makes it horribly difficult for us as an audience to connect to its current peril. I had a group of fans I talk with genuinely say that the civilians of Atlas deserve to be slaughtered because, really, "are they even innocent?" - like, what??? How does a show gaff up so badly that the massacre of a city is cathartic or wanted?

You’ve come to the right place, anon, because we’ve indeed been discussing that over here! Not that I can easily point you towards any posts because my blog remains a disorganized mess lol.

In all seriousness though, yeah. All of the above. The more I think about it, the more I’m leaning towards the claim that the current treatment of Atlas is akin to the current treatment of Ironwood. Which is to say, made illogically, simplistically evil because RWBY does not know how to write (or is simply uninterested in tackling) a situation with this much gray in it. I say this because Atlas wasn’t treated as this #evil city up until late Volume 7/Volume 8. Originally, Weiss represented Atlas, which means we came to think of Atlas as we thought of her: flawed (very much so), but with a good core. Then the Vytal festival introduced us to Atlas students and we learned that Weiss, as the privileged Schnee, really is an exception rather than the rule. Atlas is also (perhaps even mostly) made up of those who are her opposite. Here’s a working class son whose family was screwed over by the Schnees. Here’s a fun, energetic faunus decked out in rainbows. Indeed, Weiss’ comment that she expects military-focused, highly organized fighters is blown out of the water, telling us that her view of the city (and what she as an individual supposedly represents of that city) isn’t accurate. Our other characters reinforce this. Winter appears to be the strict, military official... who eagerly greets her sister and cares that she’s making friends, not succeeding in her studies. Ironwood is the scary-seeming general... who actually listens to his allies and is 100% out to help others as much as he can. Time and again Atlas was shown to be a complicated, but ultimately caring place and that was shown to us through the people it produced and sent out into the world. Even when we hit Volume 7 and were introduced to a very dystopian looking Mantle, the story undermined that simplicity by having the group realize oh, Ironwood is crafting a plan to take out Salem and taking logical precautions to ensure his kingdom survives until then. He’s not just screwing over the city because yay rich people and boo the poor. Things began to fall apart when the group assisted in perpetuating these sacrifices (Amity), became an official part of this flawed system (huntsmen working under Ironwood), and actively undermined Ironwood in his attempts to get something good out of all this (secrets, lies, betrayal) while trying to paint them as the Good Guys to his Bad Decisions, but at least that complexity existed for the viewer to engage with, even if the show refused to acknowledge it.

But then... late Volume 7. Ironwood shoots an unarmed, allied kid for no reason and with that about-face came a slew of anti-Atlas writing. Whereas before things were a bit more balanced (such as showing us racism in Mantle too) now Atlas is the Bad City to Mantle’s Good one. See how everyone talks about how awful Atlas is, only worthwhile for the protection it can give Mantle citizen? See how the Happy Huntresses have moved from being pro-Mantle to anti-Atlas? See the lack of scenes that give Atlas a human, sympathetic face? Mantle gets that with toys lost in the streets, or abandoned family photos. Atlas has privileged folks having picnics during the end of the world and military men so stupid they run out of the room - right past the heroes! - screaming about coffee on their pants. Atlas is now the transphobic city when transphobia was never introduced in this world before, and it’s the place where our villain was sold as a slave and horrendously tortured with a shock collar for years. Are there at least other, redeeming characters in this story? Only one and the fandom has decided to hate him.

To be clear, I’m not out to claim that Atlas wasn’t framed as “bad” prior to this, but it’s crucial that nearly everything was filtered through Jacques Schnee. Ballroom full of idiotic, privileged folk who don’t care about the Fall of Beacon? They’re all Jacques’ guests (with Weiss and Ironwood standing as their contrasts). Awful brand on Adam’s face? That’s from the Schnee Dust Company too! Atlas was a city with wealth and that wealth not only created disparity, but allowed a few really bad individuals, like Jacques, to exploit systematic problems. Major flaws to be sure, but otherwise a city like any other, producing good that the audience is meant to love even as it grapples with its problems: Weiss, Winter, the FNKI group, and yes, Ironwood. It’s only when the story decided to turn Ironwood into a villain that we likewise saw this extreme turn towards Atlas as a fully corrupt, irredeemable city. Which makes a certain amount of sense to me because Ironwood represents Atlas and the city represents him in turn. They are are intimately connected. RWBY wanted simplicity despite failing to write a simple problem, so if you’re going to claim, “Ironwood wanting to save the people he feasibly can” is an objectively bad stance, you can’t make those people sympathetic. The audience can’t want Atlas to survive because that makes Ironwood too sympathetic in turn for trying to help them. The general trying to save a city filled with plenty of good people is a hero. The general trying to save a city filled with nothing but rich, racist assholes? Oh, he’s OBVIOUSLY evil.

You’re right that the way Atlas has been presented makes it difficult to care about its peril. I think that’s the point. It’s really easy to take what RWBY is currently saying at face value and I think that’s why so much of the fandom has reached a “are they even innocent?” mindset. You need to take that second step of asking things like, “So if Atlas is all irredeemable trash, does that mean we should hate Weiss too? If Weiss is an exception because of what Team RWBY taught her, does no one else in the city deserve the chance to learn what she did? What about Winter still working for Ironwood? What about the group’s friends still in the academy? The non-Atlas students attending school? People from other kingdoms who were in the city when the borders closed?” etc. Getting to the point of realizing, “Huh, I don’t think an entire city deserves to perish because of systematic problems largely outside of individual citizens’ control and a few, heinous assholes,” but that requires thinking past what the show is saying right here, right now.

RWBY now banks almost entirely on its audience believe whatever the claim of the week is. Starting with Ozpin in Volume 6, the show has made a habit of arguing things that are unsupported by the writing that came before this moment, or even, sometimes, the writing that’s happening right now. The latest in this long list is Atlas and, though disappointing, at this point I can’t claim I’m surprised.

#rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby volume 8 #mymetas #Anonymous

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enbeemagical · 3 years

Note

Any hc about our sparkly elf, Aaravos?

If not him, Runaan and Ethari?

OHHHH YES

OH YES INDEEDY

you see, I rp Aaravos, which means he likes to talk in my head even when I would rather he shut up so I can go to sleep. And he has Lots Of Opinions. Occasionally I learn things he’d rather I not know, and that’s where I build from.

okay! Headcanons!!

Due to his experiences, Aaravos doesn’t just hate Avizandum, he’s actually dracophobic.

He’s aroallo-- aromantic and allosexual (pan, usually). (I’m not entirely certain if I show that well in my rp, since Aaravos is so different from me. We’re both arospec, so that probably helps, but he’s allo and I’m ace and the blog is SFW, so idk anything lmao)

Yeah, Aaravos is good at flirting, but it’s never anything serious, you know? Flirting =/= attraction, and in fact flirting = no attraction. He’ll flirt with anything and anyone, but when he flusters and doesn’t quite know what to say, when he cuts the nicknames and teasing? That’s when you know he’s fallen.

Nicknames are just how he talks. He doesn’t bother remembering names unless they’re important to him. He’s sort of like Diana Wynne Jones’s Chrestomanci/Christopher Chant in that, except instead of calling Mr. Baslam “Mr. Bislow” he’d call him “dark mage.” He’ll use nicknames anytime on anyone, but name-names are only for people he respects/cares about. So he might call the dragon king “Avizandum,” because as much as he hates him, Avizandum imprisoned him, and Aaravos can’t help but respect the power it took to imprison him, an Archmage. (I still haven’t convinced him to call Amaya by her name, even though he says he respects her. Wait a sec--)

Revised nickname headcanon: He uses names when he feels close to someone. Not just respect, though that has something to do with it. Names aren’t something he takes lightly.

Okay, this got long, so there are two dozen more headcanons under the cut. They’re just in the order I thought of them, so they kind of jump around a bit, sorry. Angst and fluff.

Aaravos is basically a faerie. Not fairy like Tinkerbell; faerie like the high fae, like Oberon, Titania, and Puck. He’s extremely powerful, ethereally beautiful (though not all fae are), and he’s very careful with his wording.

Either Aaravos can lie and simply doesn’t, or he cannot lie and doesn’t want that to be known. (I choose to ignore the option of “he was lying when he said he never lies” because that hurts my brain.) “I’m not lying. I never lie.” Never, not cannot, which. Details, details.

He was betrayed. He ended up in the mirror because he was betrayed. They drugged him to seal away his magic so Avizandum could imprison him. I have several scenes of this in my head, but @alls-fair-in-pride-and-prejudice and I are using this is TSATS so I don’t want to give too much more away.

Ziard was Aaravos’s apprentice. They were kind of like Halt and Will in Ranger’s Apprentice. Only they invented dark magic together and Halt and Will didn’t use magic.

Dark magic causes nightmares until you learn it, if you don’t have training. Aaravos’s nightmares? The other Startouch elves leaving.

He’s afraid of being alone. He used to like it, spending hours and days and weeks alone with his books quite happily. But after he literally could not interact with anyone for three hundred years, he’d break if he had to be alone again.

He actually did break during those centuries. Multiple times. Screaming, crying, throwing things, trying to break things, windows, the mirror, anything. Even himself.

They’re antlers, not horns. Horns are one point, you get one (1) set for life, like adult teeth. Antlers have branches, and you get a new set every year. Aaravos... has feelings about this.

Startouch elves spoke like a Shakespeare play. This one’s kind of silly, and entirely based around the line, “Yes, it’s well appointed, but make no mistake, this has been my prison these past few centuries!” and me thinking that “well appointed” sounded very Shakespearean and he could just as well have said “Yes, it’s quite nice, but make no mistake” etcetera (and a bit that I keep wanting to write “thou” when writing him lately). Anyway. Moving on.

Aaravos is a good animal trainer. He’s got the patience for it, and he’s smart. He’s probably trained lots of animals, of many different species. Clicker training, probably; definitely primarily positive reinforcement.

The horse? Is not a horse. It’s a couch. (I only go in for this one because I love the image of Aaravos jumping around on his couch like a little kid, draping himself all over the room. Funnily enough, how he rides is entirely plausible, given that I’m not even drinking age and I can ride my horse very similarly to how Aaravos rides. He’s millennia older than me; he could absolutely ride like that.)

Aaravos killed Queen Aditi and Queen Luna Tenebris. That’s a big reason why he was imprisoned. Yeah, the dark magic was part of it, but Ziard lived 1,000 years ago and Aaravos was only imprisoned 300 years ago. Either he managed to evade the authorities for 700 years, or something else was the tipping point. Maybe a bit of both.

Aaravos has killed a lot of people, for various reasons. Sometimes for revenge (I’d like to think Aditi killed Ziard, which is why Aaravos went after her), sometimes just for being in his way (he discarded the poor Sunfire priest way too casually).

If he really cares about someone, he will kill for them? Die for them? Nah, not really, he’d have to be absolutely crazily stupid with love for that. Kill for them? Absolutely, any day.

Oh and he does the murderously protective thing where he’s like, “Oh, and if anyone hurts you do let me know. I will be happy to talk to them about that. 💖🔪😇 ”

He doesn’t like children. Like, there are a few he cares about, but by and large he’s like “children? ugh, no, yuck.”

He doesn’t fall in love easily, but when he does, he is in love. Period, fullstop.

For all his flirting and teasing, he knows how to respect no. I mean. Look at Xadia’s culture. Being queer is a total nonissue, women are actually treated as equal to men. Sure, it’s not perfect, but it’s hella better than here. Aaravos grew up in Xadia. He’s gonna respect people as people. Will he flirt insanely with everyone, whether they’re into him or not? Yeah. If he talks, he flirts. Will he make a move on someone who doesn’t want him to? No.

He loves cats. Need I say more?

He didn’t get any kind of trial, no chance to defend himself, to tell his side of the story. He was just betrayed and imprisoned.

Aaravos’s arrogance and vanity is a cover over some major self-esteem issues. Maybe he didn’t always have those, but during his imprisonment there were times he believed that he deserved it. That he was a monster, a soulless demon (like they said he was), and he didn’t deserve freedom. That he had no heart, that all he could do was hurt people, and anytime he tried to help he only ended up hurting more. Destruction and tragedy was all he could bring. He’d try not to believe that, forcing himself to remember good things he’d done, telling himself over and over again that he can help people he’s not a monster he’s not-- and he just. can’t. because he’s tried to help, yes, he saved Elarion and he killed for those he loved, but he killed, and not always to protect, and he even enjoyed it. He knows he’s done bad things, but he enjoyed them. Maybe he did deserve to be put in here, alone. Because if he deserved it, maybe when he’s suffered enough to atone he can be free, but if he was truly unjustly imprisoned then there will be no freedom. And this doesn’t make sense, and he knows it’s illogical, so he pulls on a mask of pride and confidence, hoping ‘fake it til you make it’ will work eventually, but underneath. Aaravos. Is. Broken.

Aaravos likes humans in general more than elves in general. They tend to be less judgey at him and they look up to him. Nice ego boost there, the admiration.

He also likes animals, especially now. They don’t judge him based on any criteria a human, elf, or dragon might use. They just care how he personally treats them specifically, and he’s good to them so they love him. They don’t ask anything more of him than that, no relentless demands on his time, and they can just happily coexist in companionable silence. Humans tend to be less good at that.

His favorite fiction books are romance novels. He does like the different ones, the cliche-benders that turn tropes on their heads, but sometimes there’s nothing like curling up with a cheesy, predictable, well-loved story and a cup of hot chocolate.

So, anon, this live up to your expectations?

#an ask! for me!!#anonymous ask #the dragon prince #aaravos #tdp aaravos #aaravos tdp #tdp theories #headcanons #okay about that super long one IM SORRY #i was listening to ''you will be found'' and ''battle cry'' while i was writing that okay #and battle cry was like ''i have no heart just ice and stone made up of nails and teeth and bone'' so OW oKaY #aNyWaY #tw self harm mention #tw murder mention #tw death mention #elarion #idk what else to tag #hope you liked this!

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averykedavra · 4 years

Text

Too Far Gone

(Hey y’all! I’m back with some Logan angst, because that’s all I’m capable of writing. You can find this story on Ao3 here!)

Summary: Logan Mackenzie doesn't quite understand feelings, but he does care about his friends. That's why he ended up playing matchmaker for his three oblivious best friends.

Getting Roman and Virgil together is hard. Getting Patton to admit his feelings is harder. The hardest part, however, is when he realizes he care a little more than a friend would.

But they're happy together. Roman-Virgil-Patton. 1+1+1=Relationship.

What Logan wants isn't part of the equation.

Ships: eventual romantic LAMP

Warnings: self-deprecation, self-confidence issues, self-isolation, sacrificing happiness for the sake of others, a TON of pining you guys, some denial to spice it up, deceit is only mentioned, self-hatred issues, yeah Logan has some feelings, swearing, insecurity about being polyamorous but it’s very brief, crying, arguing, lots of crying. (that makes it sound really angsty but there’s a ton of fluff too I swear)

Word count: 16,845 (it’s still a oneshot if I post it all at once, shut up)

Logan Mackenzie knew a lot of things. He knew the name of every Agatha Christie novel in alphabetical order. He knew the capitol of every country and a few that weren’t countries anymore. He knew how to calculate the sine of an angle, identify the signs of dehydration, and communicate—albeit rather haltingly—in American Sign Language. He’d maintained good grades through high school, college, and now, graduate school. He wanted to be an astronomy teacher one day, but if that didn’t pan out, a doctor, researcher, or physicist were not out of the question.

As Virgil once put it, the size of Logan’s area of expertise was only eclipsed by the size of Roman’s ego. This led to Roman attacking Virgil with a spatula and declaring that their friendship was over, Virgil was a coward and a fool, and he could not reasonably stand for this heresy. Patton suggested that if Roman couldn’t stand for it, he should just sit down. And that pretty much summed up Logan’s three best friends.

But despite Logan’s knowledge of all things philosophical, scientific, linguistic, and everything in between, he did have one rather large Achilles heel.

He did not understand emotions.

He had them, of course. He could hardly avoid them, being a homo sapiens of ordinary mental health with supremely emotional beings as his friends. Roman was always bursting with drama, exuberance, and Disney songs. Patton was sunshine incarnate with a perpetual smile and endless dad jokes. Virgil was more laid-back and sarcastic, but his issues with anxiety and his not-so-secret softer side still placed him firmly in the Has Feelings category.

Logan had feelings too. Joy when opening a fresh jar of jam, pride after receiving a good grade, frustration when Roman said something particularly dense. He just didn’t seem to…comprehend them as the others did. He often didn’t even realize what he was feeling, only noting the physical symptoms of the emotion.

For a while, he’d asked Patton what he was feeling and Patton had done his best to deduce the answer from the symptoms provided. That was a figurative hit-or-miss endeavor, however, and Logan found his stomach clenching at the sympathetic look on Patton’s face. He knew Patton meant well, but the experience of being pitied—was he being pitied, or was that a cognitive distortion, like the ones he always talked Virgil out of—the experience of feeling pitied was an unpleasant one. These days, he usually researched the symptoms on his own. It was even less accurate, but avoided the cloying feeling of vulnerability.

Logan tried not to be bitter about the situation. He understood so many things, it only made sense for life to give him a figurative handicap. And emotions were hardly the most important thing to understand anyway. He’d much rather know CPR than whether he was angry or merely annoyed. Those sorts of subtleties could be handled by his friends.

They didn’t seem to mind Logan’s…inexperience. They liked him just fine. More than ‘fine,’ in fact. Virgil and him had been friends since high school, back when Logan was even more unmanageable and walled-off. And Patton and Roman both helped him through the stress of college without judgment. The four of them worked, illogical as it was. Their different personalities didn’t clash, they just complemented each other like different shades to a painting. Logan couldn’t imagine having another friend group, and he didn’t want to imagine the circumstances in which he would be forced to find one.

For now, things were all right. Patton cheered them up, Roman pushed them forward, Virgil kept them safe, and Logan educated them. When Patton was sad or Roman was insecure or Virgil was panicking, they’d watch movies or practice breathing or simply talk until the problem was solved. Logan could handle the rational, intellectual part of the issue and Patton or Roman would cover the emotional side of things. Even Virgil, cynical as he was, had a sense for understanding insecurity and fear. Their system worked. If a problem was too emotional for Logan to handle, he could always call Patton or Roman or Virgil. It was simple.

Then came a problem he couldn’t get backup for.

Virgil had a crush.

No, that understated the issue. A simple crush would have been bearable. Virgil had a deep, desperate, all-consuming crush on Roman. It was the sort of crush that made him blush when they were in the same room. The sort of crush that sent him into hyperventilation when Roman said hello. The sort of crush that made him rant endlessly about Roman’s “stupid perfect face and stupid beautiful voice and stupid nice lovely wonderful smile—” until he resorted to simply screaming obscenities into his pillow.

And who did he rant to? None other than Logan Mackenzie, the singular most unqualified person in perhaps the entire Milky Way.

Logan understood Virgil’s predicament. He couldn’t talk about it to the object of his affections, of course. Patton was also out of the picture—him and Roman were thick as figurative thieves, and Patton would never keep a secret from anyone. He’d try, maybe, but he was a terrible liar and Roman would surely catch on.

Logan was the only possible option. They were roommates, they were friends, and Logan could keep a secret. And Logan, good friend as he was, did want to support Virgil through this emotional time.

However, he couldn’t say it didn’t get…tedious.

Especially as the crush showed no signs of fading, and Virgil still refused to tell Roman about it.

“Virgil,” Logan said, poking at the mop of purple hair he knew possessed his best friend. Virgil merely mumbled something that sounded like “stupid wonderful personality” and ignored him.

“Virgil,” Logan repeated, louder. “I’d like you to explain—"

“Why I don’t tell him. I know.” Virgil batted Logan’s hand away, poking his face above the covers. A residual blush still lingered on his face. “You’ve said that a million times.”

“Yes,” Logan agreed tautly. “Because it is the only possible conclusion to this fiasco and I don’t see why you can’t just get it over with.”

“Not the only possible conclusion,” Virgil grumbled. “It’ll probably go away soon.”

“Virgil, remind me how long you have had this crush?”

Virgil glared at him and didn’t respond.

“Fine, I’ll tell you the answer myself.” Logan adjusted his glasses. “Eighty-three days and five hours.”

“You remember that?”

“Hard to forget,” Logan snapped, “when you have spent the majority of those eighty-three days complaining about Roman’s perfect eyebrows.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “But…have you seen his eyebrows, L?”

“As a matter of fact, I have. Because I see him every day, Virgil. He is my best friend.”

“Then you should appreciate my struggle.” Virgil rolled over, covering his head with a pillow. “I’m completely doomed.”

“Just tell him!” Logan burst out. “This crush will not end of its own accord. You need to confess your feelings, if only to lay your mind at rest. Roman is not currently in a relationship with anyone. He is pansexual and panromantic and could very easily reciprocate your feelings. Give me one good reason why you shouldn’t just tell him how you feel.”

Virgil groaned. “Is ‘everything’ a reason?”

“No.”

“Is ‘I just can’t’ a reason?”

“Also no.”

“Is ‘I’d rather die’ a reason?”

Logan raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Sometimes I don’t comprehend humanity.”

“Look, L, I…” Virgil struggled out from under his covers, pulling at a sleeve and avoiding his gaze. “What if he doesn’t like me? That way?”

“Then you will at least have some clarification instead of being stuck in a figurative limbo state.”

“What if it ruins our friendship? What if he thinks I’m weird or creepy or—”

“Virgil.” Logan carefully placed a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “Roman is a good friend who values you deeply. I sincerely doubt this would ruin your friendship. Things may be different for a time, but you will not lose him over this. I promise.”

Virgil looked a little consoled. Still, he squeezed the blanket with both hands. “What if—what if he—”

Virgil fell silent. Logan tilted his head. “Yes?”

“Never mind, it’s…it’s stupid.”

“If it is bothering you, it’s not stupid.”

Virgil seemed to struggle with his thoughts for a second. Finally, he burst out: “What if he feels forced?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Logan said. “Could you elaborate?”

“What if he feels like…just ‘cause I like him…he needs to…” Virgil pulled at his sleeve, biting his lip. “I dunno…pretend? Date me to be nice? Out of pity? I don’t want…I don’t want him to feel…like he has to sacrifice his happiness so I can feel better.”

Something ached in Logan’s chest. It was a hard, sharp ache, with heat but no anger. Compassion, that’s what it was. Platonic love for his insecure, anxious, wonderful best friend.

“Virgil, look at me,” Logan instructed. Virgil slowly looked up, his brown eyes dark with worry. Logan reached out and brushed his purple bangs out of his eyes.

“Roman is not a cruel person.” Logan kept his voice soft, comforting. “He cares deeply about you, as I have said before. He would not string you on a figurative wild goose chase no matter his feelings for you. He is not a liar and he would not do such a thing out of pity for you. Roman does not, and never will, pity you.” Logan laughed quietly. “And sacrificing his own happiness for others sounds more like something you would do, Virgil.”

Virgil huffed with irritation. But his prickly expression soon faded. “Thanks, L.”

“It is my pleasure.”

Virgil nodded to himself. Then his face lit up, but just as soon as the excitement crossed his features, it flickered away again.

“What is it?” Logan asked, leaning forward on his chair.

Virgil bit his lip again. “Well…um, I had an idea…but it’s probably stupid and you don’t have to—um. Well. Maybe you could…see if Roman likes me? Ask him?”

Logan blinked. “Are you asking me to…clandestinely investigate whether Roman has romantic feelings for you as if we were back in high school?”

Virgil shrugged sheepishly. “…Maybe?”

“Unbelievable.” Logan sat back and crossed his arms. “Virgil, I would do many things for you. But I am not going to play matchmaker.”

“C’mon,” Virgil said. “I’ll let you have first pick at movie night and do your share of the dishes for a week and give you back your Alice in Wonderland puzzle book.”

“Tempting,” Logan admitted. “And if I do such a…juvenile venture, and find out that Roman holds romantic feelings for you, will you tell Roman of your crush?”

Virgil rubbed his face. “Do I have to?”

Logan gave him a level stare.

“Fine!” Virgil threw his hands in the air. “Fine. You win. If Roman likes me…maybe I’ll tell him. Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Logan echoed.

“It’s the best you’re getting, Pocket Protector.” Virgil grinned. “Take it or leave it.”

Logan mulled over the question, but truly, it wasn’t much of a debate. He wanted Virgil to step up and take action. He wanted the pair of them to get together, if only to end Virgil’s ceaseless complaining. And…truly, he was a little curious who Roman did like. He often proclaimed that he wanted to sweep someone off their feet or slay a dragon for them or simply be in a romance, but Logan never heard a specific name attached to those fantasies. In fact, he couldn’t remember Roman ever talking about his crushes—strange indeed, when Logan had always thought of him as a romantic.

“Deal,” Logan said.

“Thanks, L. You’re a lifesaver.”

“I don’t think your life would be in jeopardy, unless you can die from pining—”

Virgil chucked a pillow at Logan’s head. “Shut up and get matchmaking, Cupid.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Virgil grinned like a cat who’d eaten a canary. And Logan wondered just what he’d gotten himself into.

It took a little work to find time with Roman alone. Patton stuck to him like a barnacle—they were roommates and both were extremely clingy. In fact, they often acted like they were dating, but Logan supposed they were just very touchy friends.

Perhaps they were dating in secret. Or Logan just didn’t know about it because they’d chosen not to tell him because he didn’t understand relationships and—okay, he was starting to sound like Virgil. They were not secretly dating. Patton couldn’t keep a secret to save his life, and neither of them had any motivation to hide such a thing from Logan or Virgil. Roman was single and therefore, could possibly like Virgil back.

Logan just wanted Virgil happy and not pining sadly in his bedroom. Was that too much to ask for?

Finally, he managed to get Roman alone. It was during their traditional movie night, between Mulan and Pocahontas. Patton had realized they were out of popcorn and Logan convince Virgil to go with him to get some more. Virgil gave Logan a suspicious look, but after Logan motioned to Roman and quickly signed ‘I’ll ask him,’ Virgil let himself be dragged to the store with Patton. He didn’t seem entirely upset with the situation—though Virgil would deny it, he loved Patton. Though Patton never denied it, he loved Virgil back.

“Well, it’s just you and me, Specs.” Roman ducked behind the counter and came up with two mugs. He handed Logan the one that said ‘Best Mother Ever’ and kept the ‘I Drink Coffee to Hide the Pain’ mug for himself. Rooting around in the cupboard, Roman pulled out some hot chocolate mix.

“I’m not the best with this stuff—Patton’s a miracle worker, I swear—but I think it’ll do.”

“Hot chocolate in March?” Logan asked. “It’s fifty degrees outside.”

“Silence,” Roman ordered. “I’m bored and I wanna have sweet stuff. Don’t rain on my parade.”

Logan smiled as Roman began to make them the hot chocolate. Soon they both had a steaming mug of sweet melted chocolate. Logan stirred his and watched the steam curl in the air. Roman watched him out of the corner of his eye, a tentative smile on his face.

“What?” Logan asked.

Roman shrugged. “…Are you gonna drink it?”

Logan blew on the cup and took a sip. The sweetness warmed his throat, and he could feel it traveling to his stomach, making every extremity of his body warmer. Roman had stuck a sprig of peppermint

“It is…satisfactory,” Logan said, taking another sip.

Roman grinned. “Glad you approve, Microsoft Nerd.”

Logan sighed. “Why must you always insult me?”

“Hey, this is how I show my love!”

Jumping on this auspicious phrasing, Logan decided to put his plan into motion. Carefully maintaining his nonchalant tone, he said, “Is it now.”

“Yes!” Roman put his hands on his hips. “You may be insufferable and annoying and completely idiotic sometimes, but I care about you!”

A smile played around Logan’s lips. “Is that how you treat your princes and princesses? Insult them as you rescue them from the tower? I can’t imagine they’d like that very much.”

“Rude.” Roman shoved Logan, almost knocking over his ‘Best Mother Ever’ mug—why did they even have that mug? None of them were female—and giving him a roguish grin. “My romantic endeavors go just fine, thank you.”

“Oh really?” Logan tried to bridge the line between teasing banter and honest curiosity. Come on too strong, and Roman could get suspicious. “I wouldn’t know, you never talk about them.”

Roman shrugged. “I have to have some secrets, don’t I?”

Logan snorted. “Don’t tell me you’re dating someone in secret? A Romeo and Juliet situation, perhaps? I’m sorry to say that Patton might be a bit upset if you were banished for manslaughter.”

“I’m not dating anyone,” Roman said, laughing. Quietly, he added, “Not for lack of trying.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. Roman fidgeted uncomfortably before taking a large sip of hot chocolate and avoiding Logan’s gaze. Unfortunately, that hot chocolate seemed to be too hot. Roman swore, jumping back and batting at his tongue. Logan poured him some water, which he downed. Roman soon recovered enough to begin moaning about his injury and threatening to “get my revenge on this accursed cocoa by any means necessary.” Before Roman could bring out his sword and challenge the mug to an Agni Kai, Logan decided to ask his big question.

“…Roman, do you…I mean, you don’t have to tell me, but…”

Curses, why was this so hard? Roman’s face wrinkled in confusion and concern, eyebrows high.

“…Do you have feelings for anyone?”

Roman laughed lightly. “I have a lot of feelings, Specs. Be more specific.”

“Do you have…romantic feelings?” Logan clutched his cup. “I’m curious. You never speak about relationships in the specific…and you mention trying to date someone. It’s okay if you don’t want to disclose this information, but I would like to understand better.”

Roman sighed, staring into his cocoa. “It’s complicated, Specs.”

“Try me.”

“I…” Roman rubbed his hand across his eyes. “I don’t know. Yes, probably? There’s…someone I have in mind…but…oh, I don’t know. Why do things have to be so confusing? Where’s the line between they’re-just-a-friend and I-may-wanna-date-them? In stories it’s always so clear-cut, and they always fall for just—I mean, it’s always obvious that they like someone. It’s…it’s never been that way for me.”

Logan watched Roman with sympathy. “I can understand that. The line between platonic and romantic attraction is often blurry.”

“I know.” Roman was hunched over, tracing circles on the rim of his mug. “And I sincerely doubt anyone thinks of me that way, so it’s a moo point.”

“…a moot point.”

“That’s what I said.”

Logan chose not to comment. Instead, he said simply, “That’s not true.”

Roman’s head jerked up. “What?”

“That’s not true,” Logan repeated. Maybe he was breaking Virgil’s trust, just a little bit, but he could be vague. And how was he supposed to find out if Roman liked Virgil without bringing Virgil up?

“You mean…someone likes me?” Roman looked disbelieving, far too disbelieving, and Logan reminded himself to have another talk with Patton about Roman’s self-esteem.

Logan nodded. “Yes.”

“Who?”

“I can’t say,” Logan said, raising his mug. “They wouldn’t want me to tell their secret.”

“That’s fair,” Roman said.

Logan took a sip of hot chocolate.

“…it isn’t you, is it?”

And Logan almost spit out said sip of chocolate.

Roman thought—wait, he thought—

This was not good.

Instead of being rational, instead of thinking this through, Logan’s heartbeat skyrocketed and he panicked.

“What?” Logan yelped. “No! No, no, hell no. I would never want to date you.”

Roman looked like he’d been slapped. Hurt blossomed over his face. “Wow, thanks,” he said, the sarcasm sharp with wounded pride. “Glad you think so much of me.”

“No!” Logan set down his coffee and ran his hands through his hair. “That…didn’t…I didn’t mean it like that. I have nothing against you. You’re just…” Excuse, excuse, something, something! “…not my type?”

“Not your type?” Roman looked slightly mollified, and, oh no, now he was smiling in that teasing way of his. “What is your type, then?”

Logan sipped his cocoa and tried to maintain a figurative straight face. “Someone who doesn’t light their hand sanitizer on fire by accident.”

Offended noises followed that statement. “That was one time!” Roman protested. “And it was Remus’ fault!”

“Of course it was.” Logan rolled his eyes. “You two are natural disasters and threats to the peace of this nation.”

“Thank you!”

Logan sighed into his hot chocolate. Silence fell, slightly uncomfortable but not grating.

Finally, Roman asked, “Who is it?”

“I told you,” Logan said, finishing his cocoa and setting down the mug. “I can’t say.”

Roman pouted. “Meanie.”

“You were the one who said it was fair!”

“Well, now I’m curious!” Roman complained. “Can’t you give me a hint?”

Logan looked into Roman’s eyes. “Who do you want it to be?”

A blush rose to Roman’s cheeks. He hurriedly looked away. “I dunno…I mean…”

“I won’t tell anyone.” Logan walked over to the sink and began washing out his mug. “And I do not judge.”

Roman sighed dramatically behind him. “Must you force me into this confession, oh heartless one?”

“I’m not forcing you into anything.”

Another dramatic sigh. “Fine. I—I like—”

And then there was an indistinguishable mumble. Logan turned off the water and looked behind him. “I didn’t catch that.”

“I like Patton,” Roman whispered.

Oh.

“…and Virgil.”

Oh.

Logan tried not to let his excitement show. “I…didn’t realize you were polyamorous.”

“I didn’t tell anyone.” Roman shrugged. His voice was strangely brittle. “Until…now, I guess.”

“Well.” Logan walked over and leaned on the counter next to Roman. “…Thank you. For telling me.”

Roman gave a small, insincere smile that quickly vanished. “You don’t think it’s…weird?”

“Of course not.” Logan channeled all his certainty into his words. “Many people are polyamorous. It’s not ‘weird’ any more than it is ‘weird’ for some people to be bisexual, or aromantic, or demisexual. It’s a way of experiencing sexual or romantic attraction that is no less valid than any other.”

“Huh.” That small smile returned, more sincere this time. “Thanks, Specs.”

“It’s no issue.”

“Thanks.” Roman fidgeted slightly. “It’s not fun, you know.”

“What isn’t?” Logan asked.

“I dunno.” Roman waved a hand in his usual flamboyant gesturing, but something about it was ragged. “Liking two people gives double the heartbreak. I’d settle for one of them—I’d love to be with one of them, but it’ll never happen.” Recovering himself, he pressed a hand to his forehead and wilted. “Woe is me, I shall never be loved by my loves.”

Logan chuckled. “How do you know?”

“Well, I did,” Roman clarified. “Now you’ve cruelly given me hope.”

“Cruel indeed.” Logan traced his fingers over the counter. “Imagine, one of the two people you’re closest to might have romantic feelings for you as well. How improbable. It’s not like platonic relationships often lead to romantic ones.”

Roman laughed. “I think you’ve been hanging out with Dee too much.”

“Roman,” Logan said. “It is not out of the picture for at least one of your objects of affection to reciprocate your feelings.” He avoided Roman’s eyes. “I, for one, think you are…a good person. Kind, smart, funny…I can see how someone might fall for you.”

Okay, this was getting into territory he didn’t like. Time to backtrack. “In fact, as you and I know, someone does hold those feelings for you.”

“Is it…one of them?” Roman asked. The hesitant hope in his face was almost heartbreaking.

“I couldn’t tell you,” Logan said. “Even if it was one of them, I wouldn’t know the feelings of the other.”

“Hmm.” Roman furrowed his brow. Then his face lit up. “Hey, Professor Plum?”

“Don’t call me that, the character in the movie Clue is a scoundrel and a disgrace to academia—”

“Miss White,” Roman corrected.

“Hardly better.”

“Wadsworth,” Roman settled on. “Could you—since you know about this—could you find out if either of them—”

Foreboding filled Logan. “Please don’t say you want me to—”

“—play Matchmaker?” Roman smiled sheepishly. “Maybe?”

“Oh, Newton.” Logan rubbed his eyes. “Roman, please say you’re joking.”

“I’m not!” Roman seemed pleased with the idea, the exact opposite of Logan’s feelings on the matter. “You could just ask Virgil and Patton if they like anyone, and see if either of them like me.”

“Roman.” Logan sighed loudly. “There are several fallacies with this plan. For one, I may already have information on them. For another, I would be betraying their trust by telling you. You could not gain any information from this venture and I am not going to be complicit in it—”

“…Please?” Roman asked. “You can just find out if they like anyone else, and then you can tell me if they don’t, if I have a shot, and—”

Something fiery and hot was growing in Logan’s chest. Annoyance or anger? Probably the former, since Roman didn’t mean to do this. Still...it burned.

“—and most likely I won’t, but there are two chances, right? And—”

“Roman.”

“—I’m just really curious now, I’m tired of pining—”

“Roman!”

“—this is turning into a romantic comedy, it’s painful—”

“Roman, Virgil likes you!”

Roman immediately froze. His eyes widened, then widened even further, until there seemed to be more whites than irises.

Something heavy and cloying twisted in Logan’s stomach. Shame? Guilt? Fear? Something, definitely. He’d betrayed Virgil’s trust.

But on the surface was still annoyance, and Logan let it out.

“He sent me to find out your crush and get me to play Matchmaker! Now you’re asking me to do the same thing, and I am most certainly not creeping behind both of your backs and being a double agent for your silly romantic antics! Please just communicate with each other like adults before I go insane!”

Roman’s mouth was hanging open. He closed it, swallowed, and opened it again.

“…Wait,” Roman said. “…Virgil likes me?”

“Yes.” Logan felt his anger fade.

“…Are you sure?”

“He’s been ranting about your beautiful eyelashes for months, so I’d say I’m pretty sure.”

Roman looked like Logan had smacked him in the face, let loose a flash grenade between his eyes, and began singing All Star in an Elvis costume. “Really?”

Logan wanted to chuck Roman at the wall. “Yes, really. I do not propagate falsehoods, Roman.”

“Wow.” Roman still appeared shell-shocked. “I didn’t expect…I mean…wow.”

“Wow indeed,” Logan said, pushing himself off the counter and heading to the couch. “Do what you will with this information, Roman. My part here is done.”

“Logan…” Roman followed, tossing himself on the couch and grabbing a blanket. “Thanks.”

“It was no problem. In fact, it was my pleasure.” Logan placed himself on the other side of the couch, reaching for the bowl of chips. “I am glad this ordeal is over with.”

“Well, it isn’t yet, Teach.” Roman smiled. “I still need to ask him out. I’m thinking the first day of spring, a garden—”

“Do it now.”

“What?”

“Do it now,” Logan said. “As soon as Virgil comes back. Before you can A) talk yourself out of it or B) design some ridiculously complicated endeavor that would most likely leave Virgil overwhelmed.”

Roman scoffed. “When have I ever done something like that?”

Logan pointedly glared at him.

Roman sunk into the couch cushions, crossing his arms petulantly. “Fine.”

“Good.”

Roman grabbed the TV remote and turned the TV back on. The loading screen for Pocahontas showed. He pressed play.

“They’ll miss it,” Logan complained.

“We’ll start it over.” Roman’s face was determined in the light of the screen, which accentuated the flop of his brown hair and the firm jaw that swept under his crooked smile. Logan narrowed his eyes, trying to see whether Roman’s eyebrows were anything special. They appeared normal, brown and defined, but maybe from another angle—

“What are you doing?” Roman asked, turning and meeting Logan’s eyes.

“Nothing,” Logan said. “Let’s watch.”

They made it fifteen minutes into the movie before Patton and Virgil returned. Patton had gotten sidetracked with petting a cute dog and the store had a long line. Virgil dumped the popcorn in a bowl and Patton gave Logan and Roman hugs despite seeing them only half an hour before.

“You started already?” Virgil complained.

“Rest easy, Maleficent. We’ll start over.” Roman’s face darkened with a slight blush. “But um…actually…could we talk for a sec? Alone?”

Panic flitted over Virgil’s face. He glanced at Logan, who gave him an encouraging smile.

“O-okay,” Virgil agreed, fidgeting with his hoodie. “Sure.”

“Cool.” Roman led Virgil down the hallway to Patton’s bedroom. “Pat, is it okay if we go in here? My room’s a mess.”

“Sure thing, kiddo!” Patton called. Roman smiled and they walked through the doorway, Roman shutting the door behind them.

“What’re they up to?” Patton asked, settling on the couch next to Logan.

“Can’t tell you that,” Logan said. “I’ve spilled enough secrets today.”

Patton looked at him curiously but apparently decided not to comment.

And they sat in silence, Patton munching on the popcorn, Logan watching the clock and praying whatever was going on, it was good.

After five minutes, Virgil and Roman emerged. Roman was beaming, and Virgil had a small, shy smile on his face. Logan noticed their hands were brushing each other—not intertwined, not yet, but comfortably side-by-side.

Virgil sat next to Logan and Roman sat next to Patton. Patton’s questions about their conversation were brushed off, and Patton soon conceded the issue and turned on the movie again. As Pocahontas sang, Virgil leaned over to Logan and punched him in the arm. Logan hissed in pain. “What was that for?” he whispered.

“Telling him.” Virgil was smirking, however, and Logan knew he was forgiven.

“It worked out, didn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Virgil looked over at Roman, whose smile still hadn’t faded. Roman saw Virgil and smiled even wider, getting a smile in return.

“Yeah, I think it did.”

Something was wrong with Patton.

It was about three months since Roman and Virgil had begun officially dating. The amount of pining-based rants had sharply dipped. Unfortunately, they were replaced by what-do-I-wear-to-a-coffee-date rants and holy-shit-we-kissed-Logan-we-kissed-help rants and what-if-he-secretly-hates-me-should-I-break-up-with-him-before-he-does rants. What’s more, he also began receiving more calls and texts from Roman along the lines of “What’s Virgil’s favorite food” and “Does he like park dates” and “He hasn’t texted me back yet does he hate me is he going to break up with me,” so Logan resigned himself to his fate. Dating they might be, adorable and sweet and supportive they might be, but Logan would still have to deal with their gay panic.

However, his somewhat inept support of them had apparently deemed him “Emotionally Competent.” It was a false label and a new label, replacing his old one of “We Ask Him About Stars, Not Feelings.” Logan didn’t feel he deserved this new designation, but like it or not, he was now someone who could Help With Feelings.

That’s why he was the one talking to Patton.

Well, that wasn’t the whole story. It was also because Patton’s strange behavior was mostly limited to Roman and Virgil. He was kind and sweet and cheerful, but his smile always seemed strained when in their company. More often than not, he excused himself from group activities early, only talked to Logan, or even—according to a concerned Virgil—being strangely distant one-on-one. Sometimes Logan spotted Patton staring at Roman and Virgil, an inexplicably sad look on his face, but when confronted he immediately smiled and said it was nothing. Roman and Virgil, worried they had done something wrong, enlisted Logan to discover the source of the problem.

And the newly Emotionally Competent Logan couldn’t say no.

It was Patton, after all. Sweet, lovely, amazing Patton. If something was truly wrong, he would not hesitate to attempt assistance. He cared deeply for Patton. And although his recent behavior didn’t extend to Logan—in fact, by process of elimination, Logan actually ended up being with Patton more than on average—he still wanted the old Patton back.

So, after an afternoon in Patton and Roman’s apartment that consisted of a violently competitive game of Monopoly—Roman tried to place a hotel on a railroad, Patton traded properties with everyone to help them win, and after Logan collected the Free Parking money totaling 564 dollars, Virgil chucked a shoe at his head—Logan decided to stay behind, help Patton clean up the mess, and ask him a few questions.

Patton seemed to be his normal self. He gladly assisted Logan with the cleanup, cracking jokes and telling the story of a very nice cat he’d met at the animal shelter he volunteered for.

“You’re allergic to cats,” Logan pointed out for the twenty-seventh time.

“I know,” Patton said with a pout. “But she was so cute! And her little fluffy ears…she was purr-fect!”

“I do hope you took your medicine.”

“Of course I did, kiddo!”

Logan smiled. “Roman reminded you, didn’t he?”

Patton giggled and booped Logan’s nose. Had they been with company, Logan wouldn’t have allowed such a thing. But Patton was exhilarating, energetic, so full of life, so contagious—and no one could see anyway. He didn’t mind. In fact, he leaned forward and booped Patton back. Patton’s delighted squeal was worth it.

Tossing a few more pieces into the box, Logan debated how he would tackle the issue. He didn’t want to alarm or upset Patton, or force him to tell anything he didn’t want to. What’s more, Patton would probably deny the problem like he often did, pretending everything was fine. Getting around Patton’s emotional wall would be a challenge.

It was a good thing Logan liked challenges.

But he’d been silent for too long. Patton’s face furrowed in a frown, and he leaned forward, tapping Logan on the shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” Logan said.

“You just…kinda spaced out there for a sec.” Patton tilted his head. “Anything you wanna talk about?”

Logan closed the box. “Yes. I think so.”

“Well, then.” Patton sat on the carpet and patted the spot next to him. “I’m all ears!”

Logan hesitantly sat next to Patton. “You’re not all ears, you consist of many different organs—”

Patton giggled. “So I ‘ear.”

“Alright then.” Logan decided to let the pun slide. “Patton…I…”

“It’s okay, kiddo.” Patton’s voice was soft. “You can talk to me.”

Then Logan realized. He couldn’t think of this like a puzzle or a mystery like with Roman. Patton responded to emotion. If he wanted results, he needed to have an honest, emotional conversation.

Shit.

Well, here went nothing.

“Patton, I’m worried about you.”

Patton blinked. A startled laugh escaped his mouth. “Wha—me?”

“Yes.” Logan maintained eye contact—Patton’s eyes were blue, contrasting with his curly blond hair. They reminded Logan of freshwater pools, teeming with life, or the shade of the Earth when seen from space. “You’ve been behaving strangely, and I’m worried. Is everything alright?”

“Well, shucks!” Patton smiled. “I appreciate the concern, kiddo, but I’m doing fine-and-dandy over here. Why are you worried?”

“Because you’ve been distant.” Logan’s eyes were beginning to sting from the prolonged eye contact, but he kept looking at Patton. “You’re avoiding Roman and Virgil. You’re talking to me instead of them. They’ve noticed too, and they’re worried they did something to hurt you. Something that made you…wary. Closed-off.”

Patton’s smile faded for a second. “Ro and Virge? They think I…I’m mad at them?”

“They want to make sure you’re okay.” Logan finally dropped his gaze. “So do I.”

Patton made a little sad noise in his throat. “I…I’m not mad at them! I never meant them to think—they didn’t do anything! They’re wonderful!”

“I’m glad, and I suspected that,” Logan said. “So could you tell me, if they haven’t done anything…why are you avoiding them?”

Patton pressed his lips together. His smile was completely gone now.

“It’s okay if you’re not ready,” Logan said. Carefully, he reached out and touched Patton’s arm. “But I care about you. We care about you. If something is hurting or inhibiting you…we want to help.”

Patton gave a short, shaky nod. “I—”

“Take your time.”

“I—” Patton’s face crumpled. “I’m being stupid.”

“I hardly think so,” Logan said. “If it is distressing you, it is not stupid.”

“Right.” Patton gave a watery smile. “You know, Logan, I never told you how much I like that tie of yours! It adds a lot to your a-tie-re, you should knot think of giving it up en-tie-rly!”

Logan ran his hand down his blue tie. “Thank you, Patton.”

“You’re welcome, kiddo!”

“…but you’re deflecting,” he added softly. Carefully, letting Patton stop him if he wanted to, Logan placed his arm around Patton’s shoulders. “I’m not asking you about my tie. I’m asking about you, Patton.”

Patton’s shoulders began to shake under Logan’s arm, and before he knew it, his best friend was crying into his shirt.

Logan didn’t interrupt. He stroked Patton’s back gently, letting Patton release his tears. After a few minutes of sobbing, Patton hiccupped twice and began to apologize.

“Stop,” Logan murmured. “It’s not your fault. You needed to get that out.”

“I—” Patton began to cry again. “I’m being so selfish—they’re so nice, and wonderful, and they care about each other, they love each other, and I want them to be happy—they’re happy!—so why am I—why do I feel—"

“Breathe, Patton.” Logan lay a hand on Patton’s head and began stroking his hair. Patton clutched Logan’s polo shirt tighter, almost hugging him as he cried. At this point Patton was almost in Logan’s lap, curled into his chest, pressed against Logan’s heart.

“It’s okay,” Logan said, letting Patton’s curls cascade around his hand. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I’m going to ruin it for them—”

“You love them.” Logan kept his voice quiet, giving Patton a chance to back out. “Yes?”

Slowly, Patton nodded.

“Then that is not your fault,” Logan assured him. “You cannot control your feelings any more than…any more than one can stop a river from flowing. Yes, you can dam up the river, but eventually it will break through and cause more damage. The only way to deal with the problem is to go with the flow.” Logan tenderly brushed a few locks of hair from Patton’s head. “You need to ride with the current, Patton. Ignoring the problem and pushing away people you love in the process…that’s repression, and just like with the dam, it will only make things worse when emotions do break through.”

Patton gave a watery giggle. “You’re so smart, Lolo.”

Logan felt something twitch at the nickname—annoyance, probably. Annoyance that made his face burn red. But now was not the time.

“…I have to tell them, don’t I?” Patton asked quietly.

“You don’t have to do anything.” Gently, Logan took Patton’s hands and pulled them from his shirt, folding their fingers together and rubbing his thumbs over the backs of Patton’s hands. “But I would recommend it.”

Patton’s lip wobbled. “What if they hate me? Or they think I’m weird, or—”

Despite himself, Logan smiled. “Any excuse you give me, believe me. I’ve heard it before. When Virgil and Roman didn’t want to confess their feelings. I think we both know how that turned out.”

He got a small, hesitant smile in return. A smile that could outshine the sun.

“They’re so wonderful…” Patton sighed wistfully, staring into nothing. “Virgil…Roman…they just—everything they do, they’re so strong, they—you know how wonderful they are, right, Lo?”

Logan thought of Virgil’s snappy retorts, Roman’s overblown theatrics, and how they seemed to fit together like puzzle pieces. Night and day, moon and sun, yin and yang, opposites that complemented each other and helped each other grow. Virgil, with his wry smile and astute observations and sewing skills. Roman, with the theater he loved so much and the friends he loved even more, always ready to seize the day and create something new. They couldn’t see the worth within themselves, the light that shone in their eyes, but they could see each other’s. And Logan could see theirs.

“Yes, I know.” Logan smiled into Patton’s hair. “At least, I’m starting to.”

Despite Patton’s worries, the conversation went well. Roman, of course, was thrilled—he’d loved Patton for months. Virgil, although he admitted he had never thought of Patton that way, was still open to the idea. And after a few months, it was clear he was falling head-over-heels.

It was the three of them now. Virgil-Roman-Patton. Virgil and Roman’s snappy banter and nervous kisses were now complemented by Patton’s boundless compassion and propensity for snuggling. It was not uncommon for Virgil to spend the night at Roman and Patton’s apartment, the three piled on the couch amidst various blankets and pillows, The Emperor’s New Groove playing as they fell asleep.

Of course, despite Logan’s new status as the figurative Fourth Wheel—a misleading term, because four-wheeled mechanisms of transportation were far more common than three-wheeled ones—they still made sure Logan felt included. They still had movie nights, one-on-one conversations, friendly walks to the park or to the store. Logan didn’t begrudge their new need for only-the-three-of-them days. It made sense—they were dating. They wanted time on their own. And it made something in his chest loosen with warmth when he saw them together, smiling and laughing, fitting together like pieces in a puzzle. They were his friends, and he was happy they were happy. Even if ridiculous levels of PDA did make his chest sting a bit.

The day things changed wasn’t a day at all. It was a night, and it was a night in the city, and it was the night Logan realized something very important.

The problem was, it would have been a great night if he hadn’t.

It was fall. The air was nippy and chilled, leaves beginning to lose their chlorophyll and reveal the fiery shades underneath. Virgil was already counting down the days until Halloween—Logan came home from school one day to see him draping spiderwebs across every available surface, bopping along to This is Halloween.

Roman had just landed a part in a local production of Into the Woods—Prince Charming. Virgil jumped on the opportunity for a nickname and soon Prince Charming, or Princey for short, was his pet name for Roman. Roman acted offended, but it was a term of endearment and a reminder of his success as an actor, so Logan guessed he didn’t really mind.

To celebrate, Patton decided they should all go out for dinner together. He recommended a Mexican place downtown, and Virgil and Roman were thrilled. Logan, assuming it was going to be a date, didn’t respond to the invite. That got him yelled at.

Princey: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU THOUGHT YOU WEREN’T INVITED

Princey: WE MADE THESE PLANS IN THE GROUP CHAT

Princey: THE GROUP CHAT THAT YOU ARE IN

Princey: IF WE DIDN’T WANT U, WOULD WE HAVE TOLD U WHEN/WHERE/WHY IT WAS HAPPENING?

Pattoncake: Calm down Ro!!

Pattoncake: it was just a misunderstanding

Pattoncake: but you’re coming right Lolo?

Princey: You’d better

Princey: This is a night to celebrate MY AMAZINGNESS and ALL my favorite people must be there

Emo Nightmare: if u don’t come i’ll probly end up murdering princey for singing agony too much

Princey: IT IS A GREAT SONG AND I WILL FIGHT YOU WITH MY BEAUTIFULLY MANICURED SWORD

Pattoncake: okay let’s calm down, no murder on Roro’s big night!

Emo Nightmare: ok I wont kill princey

Emo Nightmare: but ill kill L if he doesn’t show up

Pattoncake: That’s not really better.

Princey: I stand with you Virgil! The nerd shall come or be PUNISHED BY DEATH!

Emo Nightmare: yep

Pattoncake: No!!!!

Pattoncake: if he doesn’t come, that’s okay

Pattoncake: I’ll just eat all his crofters! I’m sure he won’t mind!

Emo Nightmare: holy shit patton’s bringing out the big guns

Lo-bot: Fine. I will come. Please do not threaten me or my jam.

Princey: Wait that worked?

Pattoncake: I know Lolo well!! ;)

Emo Nightmare: okay that was actually kind of terrifying

Lo-bot: Also, please stop calling me LoLo.

Emo Nightmare: quiet lolo

Princey: LMAO already changed your name

Lolo: …Pardon me while I scream.

So Logan went to the date—the not-a-date-anymore, the date-except-Logan-is-here. He met up with Patton and Roman and Virgil, the brisk autumn wind making his cheeks red, wearing a woolen greatcoat and grey checkered scarf. Virgil said he was overdressed for the temperature. Patton said he looked like Sherlock. Roman said that the eighteen-hundreds called and they wanted their nerd back.

Patton was wearing a pale blue shirt and a cardigan with soft jeans. Little cat patterns were sewed on his knees. Virgil had his usual black-and-purple hoodie, and Roman had a red-and-gold jacket over a plain white shirt. They made quite the team, walking down to the restaurant, Roman waving at everyone and Patton running up to pet every dog in the vicinity.

The restaurant’s food was delicious. They got several plates of food and shared them—a pile of roasted chicken, a bean soup, a salad, a bowl of yucca fries, and other wraps and dishes. Roman only sang Agony once, and he kept his volume low.

“What else?” Patton asked as they stretched, bellies full, and made their way to the door. “It’s dark but it’s still early.”

They decided to walk around the city for a while. The lights were on, windows glowing in the dark. Streetlights illuminated their skins, creating halos of light around Patton’s curly hair and Virgil’s smug smile and Roman’s breathless grin. The sidewalk was busy, the roads even busier, but they still had stretches to themselves. It was a wild night, the sort of night that seemed separate from any day before or after it, crisp and clear and alive.

Laughing and talking, the four walked down a few blocks. They had no destination in mind, but there was something to see around every corner. Even though Logan knew this city like the back of his hand, everything looked different in the dark.

“This is wonderful,” Patton breathed. His hand was intertwined with Virgil’s, and he was leaning slightly on Roman’s shoulder. “Thank you guys.”

“No problem, Pop Star,” Virgil muttered fondly.

“Thank you!” Roman exclaimed. “It was your idea, after all.”

Logan opened his mouth to add something, but instead, he stayed silent. He had noticed, all of a sudden, that he was slightly apart and slightly behind the three of them. They walked like a single organism, intertwined and in-step. Logan was tacked on at the end, out of sync.

Not a fourth wheel, but a fourth point on a triangle. A fourth leg on a tripod. A fourth Musketeer. There was a fourth Musketeer, he vaguely remembered from English class, but he wasn’t important. He certainly wasn’t memorable.

The Rule of Three. Everything came in threes—heaven earth underworld, comedy tragedy history, reduce reuse recycle. Virgil-Roman-Patton.

So what if he was the fourth wheel? They wanted him here. They asked him to come. They were still his best friends.

Logan shook off the thoughts and walked faster, joining up with the others again. Conversation had moved on without him, and he struggled to get a sense of the discussion.

“Anywhere we want to go?” Roman was asking.

“I need more ramen,” Virgil said.

“We’re not going grocery shopping on a date—on Roman’s day,” Patton quickly amended. Logan ignored the stab he felt at those words. “And I can just cook some real noodles for you! You need to eat healthier food anyways.”

“Ramen is healthy,” Virgil grumbled.

Logan looked around and saw a bookstore nearby. It was one of his favorites, actually, and the lights were still on. They’d been there before, the four of them looking for birthday presents for each other, hiding books behind themselves and trying to clandestinely pay for them, finding strange books and funny books and books for kids and simply having fun. Patton squealing as Roman picked him up and deposited him on a beanbag, Virgil doing a dramatic reading of Fifty Shades of Grey, Logan purchasing a Ravenclaw robe and refusing to take it off. It was one of Logan’s favorite memories, and afterwards, he’d returned to the bookstore because when he closed his eyes, he could hear their laughter and watch Patton blush and Virgil smirk and Roman gasp and all of them together.

Logan opened his mouth to suggest they go to the bookstore, but Patton had already suggested something else, and Roman was pressing a kiss to Patton’s head and leading them on, and something was twisting in Logan’s throat. Something ugly, choking, white-hot. He remained silent.

Slowly, he drifted away.

Finally he was almost six feet behind them, watching them glow in the street lights, snatches of conversation and laughter drifting back to him. He watched Virgil shove Roman and Roman shove Virgil back, Patton inserting himself between the pair and chiding them.

Logan felt…he felt like something was clawing at his insides. He felt like his breath was labored, something jammed in his throat. He felt a terrible fire kindling in his stomach, and another burning sensation around his eyes. His mouth was dry and his hands were clenched so his knuckles showed white caps of bone.

This wasn’t feeling left-out. This wasn’t just feeling like a fourth wheel. It was something more.

Carefully, Logan peeled back the anger—was it anger? Just pain? Sadness? Fear? He didn’t know, he couldn’t tell, but something was definitely hurting, shattered and broken and piercing his veins.

It was want, crawling through him.

Of course. He wanted things to be normal, he wanted them to be friends without crashing a date every time he came with. He wanted time with them, he wanted—he wanted—

He wanted to be there, under the streetlights, as Patton shivered and Roman pulled his jacket off. Soon Patton was wearing it over the cardigan, a ridiculous combination that he managed to pull off. He wanted to be with them, not six feet behind, getting no glances or acknowledgments. He wanted to slot between them like a piece to their puzzle, feel Roman’s arm as it wrapped around Patton and Virgil, link hands with Patton like Virgil did with Roman, let Patton give a kiss to his cheek like—

Oh.

Logan stopped dead on the sidewalk.

Oh, shit.

Frantically, he tried to think of another explanation for his feelings. But now that he’d admitted even a sliver of it to himself, a figurative dam broke in his mind. Hundreds of glances, touches, flutterings in the chest, suddenly made sense. Patton, Roman, Virgil, his best friends, who he’d spent years with. Patton’s smile, Virgil’s laugh, Roman’s voice—they were as much a part of Logan as his DNA.

He loved them. He always had.

But…he didn’t just love them as friends, did he?

Friends didn’t want to hold hands with other friends. Friends didn’t want to kiss other friends. Friends didn’t want to walk down a gleaming sidewalk at night, shoulders bumping together, steps all in sync.

Logan was still motionless. Lights glowed around him, but the world seemed blurry and off-kilter. He couldn’t feel the cold on his cheeks or the warmth of his scarf. He closed his eyes and opened them. The world was still disorientating, swimming around him, lights dancing like fish in the ocean.

Up ahead, Roman-Virgil-Patton had stopped at a crosswalk. After a few seconds, Virgil looked back, probably assuming Logan was a few steps behind them. Alarm crossed his face when he realized Logan was still standing in the center of the sidewalk.

Logan tried to shake some sense into himself as Virgil approached. He couldn’t just stand there! They’d get concerned! He took a wobbly step forward, then another. His feet seemed disconnected from his ankles.

“Lo?” Virgil asked. Roman and Patton were behind him, identical expressions of worry on their faces. “Everything okay?”

Logan opened his mouth to say he was fine, they should just continue. But did he want to keep walking with them? Did he want to keep crashing their night, keep staring at what he couldn’t have? They didn’t need him here, that much was obvious. He should just make it easy on them and leave of his own accord.

“I am adequate,” Logan said. “However, I have just realized it is later than I expected. Due to my classes tomorrow that necessitate an early rise, I must ask for permission to conclude this venture.”

Here he went with the overly complex words. Although Logan had a naturally sesquipedalian nature, he noticed a marked increase in long sentences when he was nervous. Hopefully the others would dismiss the verbal tic as ‘Logan being Logan.’

Patton checked his watch and gasped. “Oh my goodness, it is late! Almost ten o’clock already! I’m so sorry, Lolo!”

“It is no trouble,” Logan assured him. “It is only natural that you lost track of time.”

Virgil shrugged. “I guess that’s it, then? We can head back.”

“Aw, come on.” Roman pouted. It looked far less cute when he did it than Patton. “Can’t Specs miss one class for me? The night’s just getting started. Who cares about proper education when you could be with us?”

“My teachers,” Logan pointed out. “And myself.”

“Boo.”

“Now, now, Roman!” Patton waggled a gloved finger at his boyfriend. “You gotta respect Lolo’s decision. He’s his own person. And he was very kind to take the evening off to support you.”

“Ugh, fine.” Roman sighed. “Let’s go back.”

Logan frowned. Something tugged at his stomach when he thought about them ending their adventure early on his account. “You can continue on without me. I do not mind.”

“No, it’s okay!” Patton smiled. “It’s about time to turn in!”

“I insist,” Logan said. “I do not want your evening to conclude preemptively due to my own scheduling.”

“It won’t be the same without you,” Roman complained.

Logan couldn’t resist snapping back. “Somehow, I doubt that.”

Virgil and Patton glanced at each other. Fortunately, they decided not to comment. Virgil only said “Be careful walking home on your own. Text me when you get back.”

“I will. Thank you for your concern.” Logan stuffed his fingers in his pockets and turned away. “I hope you have a wonderful night.”

“Bye!” Patton called, waving frantically.

“Farewell!” Roman proclaimed.

Virgil gave his customary two-fingered salute.

Logan simply raised a hand in return, turning the corner and walking out of sight.

And the universe granted him a small boon—it began to rain, softly and gently on the concrete. Soon Logan was dripping wet, droplets sliding down his face.

When he began to cry, he knew no one could tell. His tears were hidden by the rain.

So Logan Mackenzie let himself cry.

Logan could not avoid the others. He lived with Virgil, after all, and Roman and Patton both loved attention and were intuitive enough to pinpoint when something was wrong. So Logan knew it was fruitless to try and push them away. They would only get suspicious, concerned, and hurt.

Still, illogical as he knew it was, he tried.

For three days he didn’t answer his phone. He didn’t speak with Roman or Patton. When Virgil knocked on his door or asked him questions, he fielded them with monosyllabic replies and assertions of “Everything is fine, I am just caught up with studying.” Virgil didn’t buy it—of course, of course he didn’t buy it, he was so smart and perceptive and that was one of the millions of reasons Logan loved him, and here he went down that rabbit hole again.

It was like realizing his feelings had opened a figurative floodgate. Roman, Patton, and Virgil were on his mind all the time. He drank coffee and was reminded of Roman’s cocoa. He wrestled with math equations and remembered tutoring Virgil in high school. He closed his eyes at night and thought of Patton, curled up by his side.

Logan couldn’t take it.

Once in a while he checked his phone. The long lines of worried texts from Patton and Roman made something squeeze in his chest. He waited for them to inevitably peter out and stop. They didn’t.

They probably thought he was sick or dying or something. Hadn’t Virgil told them he was perfectly fine? Sure, they may have assumed he was suffering from some sort of emotional problem, but did that really deserve all this concern?

Finally, after a particularly desperate bout of texting around midnight, Logan wrote back. He kept it short and simple.

Lolo: In response to your queries, I am doing well. Please cease your attempts to contact me. Thank you.

Logan honestly didn’t expect them to write back. He’d given them an easy out from the situation. They no longer had to feel guilty about him and could go about their lives.

But—

Princey: WHAT

Pattoncake: Kiddo are u okay?

Princey: LOGAN WE’RE NOT GONNA STOP WHAT

Pattoncake: u know we love u, right?

Emo Nightmare: call me

Pattoncake: you’re our friend

Princey: YOU CAN’T JUST DO THAT

Emo Nightmare: logan please call me

Emo Nightmare: now

Logan swallowed. Slowly, he dialed Virgil’s number.

Virgil picked up on the first ring. “Dude, what the hell?”

“I—”

“No. Shut up. I’m going to keep talking.” Virgil paused and sighed. “L…we’re really worried about you.”

“Where are you?” Logan asked.

“Ro and Pat’s.”

Logan bit his lip. “Of course.”

“I can come home.” A loud rustling sounded from Virgil’s end. “I’m putting on my jacket, I can be there in ten—”

“Not necessary, Virgil.” Logan ran his fingers through his hair. He’d prefer it if he didn’t have to see Virgil’s face at all, with the soft purple bangs hanging over his dark eyes and the light freckles he pretended he didn’t have and—

Off topic.

“I just…” Virgil’s voice was soft and concerned, and Logan cursed himself for making that worry appear. “This is so sudden, L. Did we do something? Are you mad?”

“I’m not mad!” Logan hastily said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then what?” Virgil asked. “I…look, L, if we made you feel—uncomfortable, or anything, I’m sorry…”

“Uncomfortable?”

“You seemed pretty out-of-it when we celebrated with Roman, I guess I just assumed.” Virgil paused. “You’re my friend too, and I care about you. No matter if I’m dating you or not.”

“Right.” Logan swallowed. “What about Patton and Roman?”

“What about them?” Virgil asked incredulously. “They’ve been texting you frantically for the past three days, Patton’s stressbaked enough food to end world hunger twice over, and Roman’s temper is on a hair trigger. You really think they don’t feel the same way I do?”

Logan ran his thumb across his phone case. “No, I—”

“You what, L?” Virgil’s voice dropped. “Please. I’m worried about you. Just…talk to me.”

What could Logan say? That he suddenly realized he had been harboring crushes on his three best friends for perhaps a year and a half? That he didn’t want to see them again because it would only deepen the infatuation and he was bound to give himself away or look like a fool? That he didn’t want to make his friends uncomfortable, because it would be nothing but awkward if the truth did come to light?

“It’s complicated.” Logan sighed. “I…I have a few things I need to figure out, Virgil. Just…can you give me some more time? A week?” That wouldn’t be enough time to suffocate his affections entirely, but it could allow him to think of a better game plan. “Stay at Patton and Roman’s apartment for a while. I know you do that often anyway. I just…I need some time alone.”

Virgil was silent for a few seconds. “Can you promise Patton’s three rules? You’re not hurting anyone, no one’s hurting you, you’re not hurting yourself?”

Logan channeled all his certainty into his voice. “No one is being harmed. This is not a matter of such grave importance. It is just an—identity issue.”

“Well, alright. If you say you need it.” Virgil didn’t sound fully convinced. “You can always call me or Pat, okay? There’s extra food in the freezer, make sure you have your full meals and go to bed at a reasonable time, okay?”

“Virgil, it is currently one in the morning.”

Virgil paused. “Huh. So it is.”

Logan clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter.

“Whatever. My point still stands. Go to bed.” Logan could almost hear Virgil’s smirk. “Always keeping me on my toes, aren’t you, L?”

“You don’t need any help with that,” Logan said.

“True, I’ve got the anxiety.” Virgil clicked his tongue. “So…well…I guess that’s that, then? Call me anytime, eat your veggies, brush your teeth, listen to your parents?”

Logan huffed. “I should be telling you that instead.”

“Shut up,” Virgil said. “You’ll be okay?”

“I…” Logan hesitated. “I hope so.”

“Me too,” Virgil muttered. “Because I love Patton’s baking, I promise, but I’ve eaten more cookies than should be humanly possible. I don’t think my hoodie will fit anymore.”

Logan laughed again. “I will take that into account.”

“All right.” Virgil’s voice dipped. “Love you, L.”

It was a simple phrase. They said it all the time, platonically. It was a way of expressing affection, and although Logan had trouble verbalizing feelings and Virgil had trouble showing emotional vulnerability, they had both gotten better at the phrase over the years. It slipped out easily now, with barely a second thought. Of course he loved Virgil. And Patton and Roman.

But in light of recent revelations, even such a simple phrase made Logan’s heart simultaneously speed up and stop altogether. These cardiopulmonary abnormalities were highly irritating.

“I…” Logan’s mouth was dry. “Thank you, Virgil.”

Before Virgil could respond, he tapped the End Call button and tossed his phone on the desk, closing his eyes and rubbing his hand down his nose. That was a disastrous phone call if he’d ever participated in one.

At least he got a week to figure things out. Perhaps he could find a way to hide his feelings or better yet, get rid of them altogether. Perhaps he could land a job in Tokyo and move across the world and never have to face them again.

Perhaps he was being a tad dramatic.

A week without the others. This would be good for him, he told himself. He would enjoy it. It didn’t matter that he found himself dreading a week without Virgil’s dry sarcasm and tendency to sit everywhere except on chairs, Roman’s incessant singing of Disney songs and inability to remember history if it wasn’t events in Hamilton or Les Miserables, or Patton’s favorite cat hoodie and his weekly “experiment” meals where he added lots of cumin or onion to a dish and the others had to taste the aftermath. It didn’t matter that he would eat alone, do his homework alone, watch movies alone. That was exactly what he wanted.

Suddenly, the apartment felt very empty.

Logan turned off his lights, changed into his pajamas, and tucked himself into bed. It was a long time before he slept.

He did not spend a week alone.

He spent the first four days of the week alone, burying himself in his studies and rereading Murder on the Orient Express whenever he got too bored. Despite his promise to Virgil, he stayed up later and later and mostly ate energy bars, leftover ramen, and a few strawberries from a jumbo pack of strawberries Patton had bought. Virgil did not call or text him. Roman called him once, leaving a voicemail that said “Is the Mona Lisa only famous because it was stolen? Virgil and I disagree on the matter.” Logan did not call him back.

Patton kept texting him, however. Perhaps Virgil hadn’t explained that Logan wanted to be left alone, or perhaps Patton had simply disregarded the instructions entirely. Whatever the case, Patton continued to send him Patton Texts™ at random times. A Patton Text™ was a text sent with the express purpose of cheering someone up, usually consisting of a cute animal picture, a clean meme, a fun news story, a dad joke, or, occasionally, a dirty meme. Patton Texts™ didn’t require a response, a purpose, or any sort of context. They just existed. It was, Logan had to admit, rather sweet.

On the fourth day, Logan woke up to a photo of a kitten with its head stuck inside a box, a horrible pun (What do you call a country where everyone drives a pink automobile? A pink carnation!) and a reminder that he needed to ‘TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF OR I WILL PHYSICALLY FIGHT U.’ Throughout the day, Patton sent him several cute cat videos. Despite himself, Logan always paused and watched them.

One part of him whispered that Patton only watched cat videos when he was sad. Logan tried his best to ignore that part.

It was late that evening when he got a text. Assuming it was another Patton Text™, Logan paused the documentary he was watching and pulled out his phone. However, it wasn’t Patton. It was a direct text from Virgil.

Virgil Conroy: L call me

Logan frowned. Why was Virgil contacting him? He had promised to respect his wishes. He wouldn’t text him unless—

Unless something was seriously wrong.

Quickly dialing Virgil’s number, Logan sprung up from the couch and tugged on his shoes.

It took five rings for Virgil to respond. When Logan said “Hello?” he got no answer.

“Virgil?” Logan asked. Listening closely, he could hear Virgil’s breathing. It was far too fast and frantic. In the distance, there was a loud thud, then another. Virgil began to breathe even faster.

“Virgil, can I assume you are suffering from an anxiety attack?”

There was no response.

“Virgil.” Logan grabbed his keys and dashed out the door, practically flying down the steps. “Tap the phone once for no and twice for yes.”

A pause, then a hesitant tap. Then another.

“Okay.” Logan walked down the sidewalk, weaving around people and taking the crosswalks at a run. “Can you breathe for me? In for 4, hold for 7, out for 8?”

A shuddering, deep breath. Logan started counting, still going as fast as he could. He barely needed to focus on the route—he knew the way to Patton’s apartment as well as the way to his own.

“You’re doing so great,” Logan said, rounding a corner. “You’re doing wonderfully, Virgil. Can you tell me five things you can see?”

“Um—” Virgil’s voice was shaky. “Uh, floor. Bed. My…my Nightmare Before Christmas posters. Window. Door.”

“Good. Four things you can feel?”

“Hoodie.” Virgil swallowed. “Floor. H-hair. Um…tears?”

“Okay.” Logan watched the traffic lights and bolted for the other side as soon as the walk signal glowed white. “Three things you can hear.”

“Traffic outside. B-birds.” Virgil sniffed. “Roman throwing stuff in the bedroom.”

That wasn’t good. Logan kept his voice level. “Two things you can smell?”

“Popcorn and burnt cookies?”

“And one thing you can taste.”

Virgil sighed. “Popcorn.”

“Great.” Logan slowed down as a mass of people crowded past him. “How do you feel?”

“N-not great, L. Obviously.” Virgil chuckled. “Um. Sorry for texting you, it was on instinct, I know you didn’t want to be bothered—”

“It is no trouble,” Logan insisted. “Your wellbeing is extremely important to me and I am glad I could assist.”

“Huh.”

“Virgil?” Logan asked.

“Yeah?”

“You do not have to, but…could you tell me what happened?”

Logan heard Virgil shift. “Argument,” he finally said. “Bad one.”

“Oh.”

“Ro and Pat were yelling a lot. I think Pat started crying. He’s in the bathroom now, I wanted to help him but all the yelling set me off, and—”

“Take a deep breath,” Logan said. “You did everything you could. Taking care of yourself is important, and you were very brave in reaching out. I’m—I’m proud of you.”

A siren wailed next to Logan as he jogged down the sidewalk. He was only a minute from Virgil’s apartment now.

“What was that?” Virgil asked.

“Siren.”

“Wh—” Virgil paused. “L, where are you?”

“I—” Logan looked around. “Oak Street?”

“Why on earth are you—”

“Give me a second, all right?” Logan pulled the phone from his ear. “I’ll talk in a second.”

Then he ran, leaping over cracks in the sidewalk and hurtling past trees, ignoring the confused looks of bystanders. The streetlights flashed above him, the sidewalk sparkling in the neon glow. Cars raced past him, careening through the night, headlights illuminating the haze. The windows and doors of the city rowhomes blurred together.

Finally, Logan skidded to a stop and climbed up the stairs to a brownstone at the end of the road. Slipping his hand under the small dog statue, he grabbed the key and turned it in the lock. The hallway was empty as he crept past the downstairs apartments, taking the stairs two at a time.

Patton’s apartment was unlocked. Logan didn’t bother knocking. The living room was empty, the TV still playing a paused scene from Lilo & Stitch, an abandoned popcorn bowl and pile of blankets on the couch. The kitchen lights were on, a few cookies left on the stove. The bathroom and bedroom doors were closed. A loud thump came from the bedroom on the far side. It sounded like someone punching a pillow, and indeed, that was probably the cause.

Logan pulled out his phone again. Talking quietly so as not to disturb anyone, he asked Virgil, “You’re in the bedroom?”

“Yeah—”

Logan walked forward and knocked on the bedroom door.

There was shuffling behind it, Virgil muttered “Just a sec,” and the door was opened. Virgil stood there, hoodie half-fallen from his shoulders, eyes red and hair mussed. He looked Logan up and down, mouth falling open.

“Did you—run here?”

Logan shrugged. Now that he was standing still, he realized how out-of-breath he was. “Yes.”

“I…” Virgil stared at him. “Wow.”

“You…” Logan reached out. “May I touch you?”

“Yeah.”

Logan placed a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “How do you feel now?”

“Better.” Virgil fidgeted with the sleeve of his hoodie, but Logan noticed he leaned into the touch. “Definitely calmer. I—hearing your voice helped.”

“I’m glad I could assist.” Logan pressed a thumb gently into Virgil’s back. “Can I get you some tea? You can sit on the couch while I make it, maybe listen to some music?”

Virgil paused and nodded.

“Good.” Logan led Virgil to the couch and gave him a few of the blankets and pillows. Virgil rolled his eyes but dutifully cozied up in the corner. Logan spared a moment to appreciate the adorableness of Virgil curled up like a burrito, pulling on his headphones, before he was off to the kitchen and brewing some tea. Chamomile, he decided, would be just the thing. As the water boiled, he pulled out his phone again and texted Patton.

Lolo <3: Patton, could you come out of the bathroom? I am making Virgil some tea and I assume you could benefit from it as well.

After a minute, his phone vibrated with a response.

Patton O’Rourke: ur here????

Patton O’Rourke: I thought u were havin alone time

Lolo <3: Circumstances change. Please emerge whenever you are comfortable.

Logan returned to the tea, finding four mugs and setting them out. Behind him, he heard a door creak open. Without turning around, he said, “Hello, Patton.”

“H-hey, Lolo.” Patton shuffled forward. “I can help with the tea.”

“That is fine,” Logan said, shooting Patton a reassuring smile. “Thank you for the offer, but I would rather you just sit with Virgil. I’m sure he’d love the company.”

Patton looked apprehensively at Virgil, as if afraid he would deny it. Virgil gave Patton a small wave and scooted over on the couch. Patton delicately sat on the other end, clutching his hoodie.

Soon the teapot whistled and Logan poured the tea into the four mugs. Bringing three of them to the couch, he handed one to Virgil and one to Patton. The third he placed on the coffee table.

“Is that for you?” Patton asked.

“Roman.”

Virgil gave Logan a disbelieving look. “He’s been throwing shit around for the past half an hour. You’re not getting him out for tea, dude.”

“Not immediately, no.” Logan sat on the floor across from them. “Drink. It’ll help.”

Virgil sipped at his tea. Patton stared into the mug and didn’t move.

“Patton?” Logan reached forward and placed a hand on his leg. “Would you like to talk?”

“I—” Patton clenched his teeth. “No, I—I’m fine—”

“Patton.” Logan stood up again and sat next to Patton on the couch. “You just went through an upsetting situation and many harsh words may have been exchanged. It is perfectly reasonable—in fact, it is encouraged—to react and experience emotions about this event.”

Patton shivered. “I—”

“Would you like me to hug you?”

Patton paused and nodded.

Logan carefully placed an arm around Patton’s shoulders, taking the mug of chamomile tea from his hand. Virgil politely avoided staring as Patton fell into Logan’s side, burying his face in Logan’s shirt. His shoulders began to shake, and Logan heard him start to cry.

Tilting himself carefully, Logan pulled Patton into his lap and placed a hand behind his head. One traitorous part of himself noticed how close they were, but Logan successfully shunned it. Patton seemed very small in his arms.

“Thank you, Patton,” Logan murmured.

Patton hiccupped. “F-for what?”

“For crying. It sounds like you need this, and I’m proud of your ability to release your emotions.”

“Sure.” Patton laughed bitterly into Logan’s chest. “You’re proud of the fact I can cry. That says a lot about me, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, but that is not necessarily a negative thing.” Logan reached over and began stroking Patton’s hair. “You have struggled with this in the past, and for you, this is an achievement. That doesn’t mean you’re lesser than anyone else. Your problems are your problems. Everyone has issues with some things.” Logan smiled. “Look at me, for instance.”

“If you—” Patton sniffled. “Talk bad…I will fight…”

“I know.” On instinct, Logan leaned forward and placed a kiss on Patton’s forehead. “Why don’t we leave that for later, okay? For now, do you think you could give Virgil a turn? Though I love cuddling with you, I need to check on Roman.”

Patton didn’t move. “Virgil…don’t wanna…wanna bother…”

“He’s right here, Patton.” Logan glanced at Virgil, who was still pointedly giving them space. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“He…” Patton hiccupped again. “Is he mad?”

“What?” Virgil gave up on pretending to ignore them. “Pat, no!”

“I know we…we were really loud…” Patton began to cry again. “And you got upset, and I couldn’t check on you…and I w-would understand if you h-hated me, we w-were s-stupid…I-I…”

Virgil looked shocked. “God, Pat, are you kidding? I couldn’t hate you!”

Patton simply cried louder.

“Can I…?” Virgil motioned to Patton, and Logan carefully uncurled Patton’s arms from his torso and shifted him down the couch to Virgil. Virgil reached out and Patton immediately collapsed into him, tucking his head into Virgil’s shoulder.

“Oh, Pat.” Virgil rubbed Patton’s back. “You made a mistake, but that’s okay. I’m not mad. I could never be mad at you, you’re the best fucking boyfriend ever. Don’t tell Roman.”

Patton looked up and gave a watery chuckle. “L-language, kiddo.”

“There he is. There’s my favorite Pat.” Virgil smiled softly and wiped a tear from Patton’s face. “I love you, okay?”

Patton smiled back and snuggled into Virgil’s hoodie. “Love you too.”

Logan quickly looked away, ignoring the rush of emotions in his stomach. Getting to his feet, he took the final mug from the coffee table and headed to the bedroom. The door was locked and he could hear nothing behind it.

Logan knocked on the door. “Roman?”

No response.

“Roman, could you please open the door?”

After a pause, someone mumbled “Go ‘way, Virgil.”

“This is not Virgil,” Logan said. “This is Logan.”

He jumped out of the way as the door flew open. Roman stood there, pajamas rumpled and eyes red, looking at Logan like he was the reincarnation of Nikola Tesla.

“Where—” Roman closed his eyes and opened them again. “When did you get here?”

“A few minutes ago. Virgil texted me.” Logan held out the mug. “Would you like some tea?”

Roman squinted suspiciously at the tea. “What kind?”

“Chamomile. I thought it would help calm everyone down.”

“Oh, that’s my favorite—” Abruptly, Roman shook his head. “No! I’m mad at you!”

“You are?” Logan kept his voice level.

“Yeah!”

“I was unaware.” Logan glanced towards Patton and Virgil, but they didn’t seem disturbed by the yelling. Virgil had slipped his headphones over Patton’s ears and was watching him fondly. “Why are you angry with me?”

Roman folded his arms and his face flushed. “’Cause you’re a fucking asshole!”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. Why do you think of me this way?”

“Don’t give me that sarcastic shit.”

“I was not intending to be sarcastic.” Logan waved a hand at himself. “You know I am not the best with sarcasm.”

“Shut up!”

Logan mimed zipping his lips and tossing the figurative key.

Roman rubbed his eyes. “You just waltz in here after like eternity days and knock on my door like ‘Hey what’s up remember me I exist.’ Like, what the fuck, Specs?”

“Unless I was mistaken, you agreed to the temporary separation,” Logan said. “Could you explain why it upset you?”

“I’m not upset!” Roman snapped. “I’m pissed! Can’t you tell?”

Logan looked at the tear tracks running down Roman’s face and his angry red snarl. “The two things are not mutually exclusive.”

“Get out of here with your science talk!” Roman growled. “Actually, hey, good idea! Get the fuck out in general. Leave.”

“Patton and Virgil wish me to be here,” Logan said, taking a deep breath and retaining his calm tone. Getting exercised would do no one any good. “Unless you have a solid reason for my departure, I shall remain.”

Roman frowned and violently scrubbed at his eyes. “I don’t want you here.”

“I’ve gathered.” Logan clasped the mug of tea in both hands, steam warming his fingers. “I understand your feelings about the situation. But I would like to understand the cause better. Why did my abstaining from social contact upset you?”

“’Cause you can’t just do that!” Roman burst out. “You can’t just up and walk out of the friend group! It’s not a normal thing to do!”

“Were you worried about me?” Logan asked. “Were you worried about my emotional or physical wellbeing? You should know that if something was seriously wrong, I would always tell you and the others.”

“I know, I—” Roman sighed. “I just—it came out of nowhere.” His voice tightened. “And what am I supposed to think? That you suddenly decided you wanted to be a hermit?” Roman’s hands balled into a fist. “I just don’t get it! If I did something wrong, have the fucking decency to admit it to my face!”

The last sentence was almost a shout. Virgil looked over at Logan, concern in his eyes. Logan gave him a reassuring nod before turning back to Roman, who looked about to throw something.

“Is that the problem?” Logan asked. “Do you think it was your actions that led to the situation?”

Roman glared at him.

“It wasn’t your fault, Roman.” Logan took a step forward, and Roman’s hands dug into the doorframe. “It was a personal issue of mine and I should have conveyed that better.”

Roman’s glare deepened.

“Is that what led to the argument?” Logan murmured. “Because you don’t need to stake your personal worth on my actions. I currently, and have always, considered you an amiable companion and a wonderful friend.”

Something in Roman’s expression broke.

Logan carefully set the mug down on the carpet. “Roman, would you like a hug?”

Roman eyed him warily. Logan opened his arms.

Roman rocketed into his grasp, grabbing at his shirt and burying his face in Logan’s shoulder.

“Alright. Alright.” Taking a page out of Virgil’s book, Logan rubbed circles on Roman’s back. “I have you, okay? I’ve got you.”

“I—” Roman’s voice choked up, and now he was crying. He cried differently than Patton, loudly and almost dramatically. “I—I th-thought you decided you d-didn’t like us anymore—I thought I—d-did something—you f-finally got t-tired of me—”

“I could never get tired of you,” Logan said. “Who else can debate about iambic pentameter with me? Patton still thinks it’s a weird flavor of ice cream.”

Roman gave a choked laugh that soon dissolved into more sobs.

“I love you,” Logan said, ignoring the flip in his stomach. “I love you, Roman. I love all of you.” His heart ached to leave it there, but his traitorous mouth added “You are my best friends.”

Roman’s hands squeezed tighter around Logan’s waist. Logan slipped one of his hands under Roman’s and grasped it lightly.

“Do you want to go to the couch now?” Logan asked. “You are rather heavy and I feel we could best continue this hug sitting down and perhaps with your boyfriends.”

Roman froze. “I don’t wanna.”

“Are you worried they’ll be mad at you?”

The way Roman pressed his face into Logan’s shoulder was answer enough.

“Virgil! Patton!” Logan called. Virgil looked over and Patton took off his headphones. “Roman has something he would like to say to you.”

“I d-do?”

“Yes.” Logan pulled his chin up. “You will apologize, and they will forgive you. Then you can cuddle together.”

“I—” Roman glanced at the others. “I—Pat? Virge?”

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“I—” His face crumpled. “I’m so sorry, I—I got insecure and I was mean to you and I love you, I love you so much, I’m so sorry—”

Patton smiled. “I love you too, Ro. I forgive you—if you’ll forgive me?”

Roman wiped his eyes. “Of course.”

Virgil gave him a half smile. “It’s alright, Princey. I’m an idiot sometimes too.”

“C’mon over!” Patton added. “There’s more than enough room.”

Logan nodded, picking the mug back up and placing it in Roman’s hand. “Go ahead.”

With a grateful glance, Roman shuffled over to the couch. Patton held out an arm and Roman fell next to him, cuddling into his side. Virgil smiled and took Roman’s hand.

Logan spared a moment to watch them curl closer—they were so sweet—then walked over to the TV.

“You’ll probably be tired,” he said, grabbing the remote and closing Lilo & Stitch. “So we should put on something relaxing so you can fall asleep. Do you want to try a nature documentary? I find them quite calming in times of distress, as long as we choose to avoid the parts about global warming. Here’s an episode about lemurs. Would you like to watch that?”

Patton nodded, already dozing off in Virgil’s arms. Roman gave Logan a thumbs up.

Logan started the player. “Okay. Since you’ll be falling asleep here, we should minimize the uncomfortable nature of the couch.” He walked down the hallway and opened the linen closet, bringing back some extra blankets, comforters, and pillows. “Feel free to use these. If Virgil wishes, I can bring him anything he needs from our apartment. I’m aware you already have your headphones, but do you want your weighted blanket?”

Virgil paused and shook his head.

“Alright, thank you for clarifying.” Logan turned down the brightness of the TV. “That won’t hurt your eyes as much—Patton, take off your glasses, there you go—and I can turn off the lights throughout the apartment and lock the door on the way out. Is there anything else you need?”

Roman took a sip of tea, pulling a blanket over his legs. “Um, I think we’re good, Specs.”

“Lolo?” Patton shifted, hair covering his face. “Can I—um, I’d like—”

Logan smiled. “Let me guess. Your panda pillow?”

Patton smiled back.

“Of course. I’ll be right back.” Logan walked into Patton’s bedroom and took the soft panda pillow from the bed. Patton immediately brightened when he saw it and tucked it under his head, nestling into place with a soft sigh. The three of them were entangled now, legs intertwined. Patton rested on Virgil’s shoulder, Roman curled into Patton’s side, and Virgil’s arm stretched across the back of the sofa so he could hold hands with Roman.

“Is everyone all set to go?”

Roman sleepily nodded. The TV showed lemurs hopping back and forth. Virgil’s headphones were on again, his eyes trained on the screen.

“Good.” Logan turned off the kitchen lights and closed the open doors. “Then I will be going. I hope you have a pleasant rest and you can call me if you need me.”

Patton shifted, frowning. “You’re…leaving?”

“Well, yes.” Logan pressed his lips together. “The problem is concluded to the best of my ability, so I assumed I would take my leave.”

Virgil met his eyes. “Stay? Please?”

Heat seared across Logan’s face as Patton reached out and made little grabby hands.

Sighing—he couldn’t tell them no, he knew that, it was a physically impossible concept when they were so sleepy and soft and adorable and Newton was he hopeless—Logan moved back over and carefully placed his glasses on the coffee table. Patton tugged him into the pile of blankets, and after a few moments of maneuvering, Logan was secured firmly in the middle of the couch. On his left, Patton cuddled up to him, pressing into his shoulder and humming with contentment. Roman wrapped an arm around his shoulders and Virgil gave Logan’s hair a ruffle. On the screen, the narrator talked about the eating habits of lemurs. Everything was a blur without his glasses. The blankets and pillows were soft and warm and heavy. Patton was breathing slowly, his hair rustling with each exhale. Roman was watching the lemurs, a small smile on his face. Virgil closed his eyes and bobbed his head to his music.

Logan hadn’t realized how tired he was. It was probably the lack of sleep and his ruined circadian rhythms. Definitely not the comforting weight of others near him, reminding him that he was safe, not alone, loved.

Closing his eyes, Logan succumbed to sleep.

Logan wasn’t really awake.

He wasn’t asleep either, because he could hear Virgil shift and the strains of the credit sequence for the TV show—it wasn’t the same show he’d left on, he noticed, so time must have passed. But he was tired, and warm, and happy, and he didn’t want to open his eyes. He just wanted to sink back into sleep. The blankets were heavy around him, something soft was under his head, a comforting weight in his hair and oh, it was moving, someone was scratching his head, why hadn’t he tried this before it felt absolutely heavenly—

The fingers pressed into his scalp and Logan whined, leaning into the touch. When was the last time he let someone near him? He’d started refusing hugs a while ago after the three of them started dating. He didn’t realize he missed it so much.

Someone chuckled above him. “You’re so adorable when you’re sleeping.”

“Who’s adorable?” said another sleepy voice.

“Look at Logan.”

A muffled squeal came from his left. “Aww, he’s all curled up!”

“Watch this,” Roman said—that was Roman, right? Oh no, was he cuddling with Roman? He needed to wake up, he needed to stop being in this compromising position—

Roman was scratching his head again, and all coherent and rational thought flew out the figurative window.

Logan whined again. He couldn’t help himself. Patton squealed even louder. “He’s so adorable!”

“I know, right?” Roman’s voice was softer than Logan had ever heard, except maybe when addressing Virgil or Patton. “He’s the cutest.”

“And so helpful,” Patton added. “We need to thank him later, guys. Like, serious surprise party thank-you cookies and fun-times thank you.”

“He fixed everything, didn’t he? He knew exactly how to help.” Roman shifted, and before Logan knew it, he’d gotten a small kiss on the bridge of his nose. “Thanks for everything, you amazing little nerd.”

“Yeah,” Virgil said. Right—Virgil. Virgil was there. His voice was hoarse with sleep. “I don’t know what we’d do without him—”

Virgil paused.

“Kiddo?” Patton asked. “You alright?”

“Shit.”

“What?” Roman asked, jostling Logan. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” Virgil hesitated. “I think I figured something out.”

“What is it?” Patton asked.

And Logan tried to prick his ears for the answer, but sleep overcame him again, and he fell into darkness with Roman holding him upright.

Logan needed coffee.

Extricating himself from the blankets, he saw that Virgil, Patton, and Roman had already left the couch and were discussing something in one corner of the kitchen. Blearily, he wiped his eyes and placed his glasses on his face. The sharper focus revealed a pensive look on Virgil’s face, an excited look on Patton’s, and a nervous look on Roman’s.

Logan stumbled to his feet and headed for the coffee maker. Their conversation was none of his business. He also had a vague memory of cuddling up to Roman, which made his face flush every time he recalled it, so he would rather avoid talking to them until the embarrassment wore off.

The conversation abruptly stopped when Logan approached. That was odd, but Logan was too sleepy to remark on it. Wow, was it nine o’clock already? Good thing he had no classes until three.

Filling a mug with coffee, he downed a few mouthfuls and felt the caffeine buzz through him. Feeling more awake, he turned to the others, only to find they were staring at him.

“What?” he asked self-consciously. He touched his hair to see if it was mussed. It was. He combed it roughly with his fingers, but a few locks still stuck up in the air.

“Um—” Roman squeaked. “Nothing!”

“Do I have something on my face?” Logan looked between Patton, who had a sheepish grin, Roman, who was blushing furiously, and Virgil, who stared at the ground. “What is happening?”

“Just tell him how you feel,” Virgil muttered to himself, clenching his fists. “There’s no good reason not to.”

“What?” Logan placed his coffee on the counter. “Is everything alright? Is there a problem?”

“L?” Virgil glanced at the others, who gave him encouraging glances. “I—we. We need to tell you something.”

“Yes?”

“Well.” Virgil fiddled with his jacket. “I guess I’ll just spit it out then? I…we…why did you make me do this, guys? I’m terrible at it!”

Roman snorted. “Well, I’m certainly not doing it!”

“You can do this, kiddo.” Patton smiled at Virgil. “We’ve got your back.”

“Take your time, Virgil.” Logan looked at him with concern. “There’s no pressure.”

“I just—” Virgil screwed his eyes shut. “I don’t want this to ruin anything.”

“I doubt it would ruin anything,” Logan said. “Unless you’ve committed a serious felony or have secretly been a flat-earther this entire time, I think our relationship will survive.”

Roman snickered.

“Right. Okay.” Virgil bit his lip. “Well. On the subject of—relationships…”

Logan nodded and ignored the jolt that passed through his subjects.

“It’s like a Band-Aid, you’ve just got to rip it off.” Virgil clenched his fists. “Weallfiguredoutwekindasortalikeyoumorethanafriend!”

Logan blinked. “What?”

“We like you,” Patton clarified. “Romantically.”

“Oh, there you are,” Virgil mumbled, eyes still closed. “You couldn’t have stepped in earlier?”

Logan’s brain seemed to have short-circuited. Logan.exe had crashed. “What?”

“I don’t know how we could make it clearer, Specs.” Roman was smiling, but his tone betrayed a hint of nervousness. “You’re cute and we wanna date you.”

“Only if you want to!” Patton added hastily. “We don’t want to pressure you into anything and I know you probably don’t think of us that way, or at least not all of us, but we thought we should clear the air and admit it.”

Logan opened his mouth and closed it.

“So…” Virgil shifted. “Yeah, L. What they said.”

Finally, Logan found his voice. “How long?”

“What?” Patton asked.

“How long have you…felt this way?”

Roman laughed. “About two years? I fell for you when I fell for the others. It was all three of you at once—a triple-whammy crush cavalcade, if you will. It was a nightmare.”

“Two years?” Logan repeated. “Why didn’t you mention it?”

“I felt awkward about it.” Roman shrugged, looking away. “And you made it very clear you didn’t like me back.”

Hell no. I would never want to date you. You’re just not my type.

Shit.

“I started more recently, I think?” Patton tapped his chin. “Soon after Roman and Virgil and I started dating. It was lovely, but I always felt like something—someone—was missing.” He shot Logan a soft smile. “Turns out it was you, Lolo.”

“I…er, I only figured it out last night.” Virgil shrugged sheepishly. “But yeah. For a while, probably. Maybe even before Roman. You’ve just—you’ve always been there, constant, and…I guess I never knew how much I relied on that. I—yeah. You’re—yeah.” He rubbed his blushing face. “Sorry, I’m—I’m bad with words.”

Logan tried to wrangle his thoughts into a coherent sentence, but his cheeks were burning, his chest was flaming, and his eyes were stinging.

“So that’s that, I guess?” Roman rubbed at his arm. “You don’t—you don’t have to like us back, dude. We just wanted to get that out in the open. Like you advised, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Patton agreed with a smile. “Can you imagine if we just bottled up our feelings and avoided the situation altogether? You’d be very disappointed in us, Lolo.”

Logan stared at him. Laughter bubbled up in his throat, and before he could stop himself, he began to chuckle.

“What is it?” Roman asked.

Logan shook his head, laughing harder. He grabbed onto the counter for support as he cracked up. His eyes were leaking fluid now as he doubled over.

“What happened?” Virgil asked. “L, you good?”

“I—give me a sec—” Logan tried to pull himself together, but soon he lost it again. “I—the irony, I can’t believe this—”

“Um…” Roman frowned. “Much as I hate to interrupt a laugh session, especially because this is undeniably endearing, could you enlighten us on the cause of this ruckus? Or have you just gone full Joker?”

“I-I’m fine—” Logan kept laughing, rubbing at his eyes.

“Uh, you sure, kiddo?” Patton said, his voice far too concerned for the situation. “’Cause, um, you’re—"

A tear slipped down his face, and oh. He wasn’t laughing anymore. He was crying.

“L?” Virgil asked.

Logan was crying openly now. He covered his face with his sleeve and tried to wipe away the tears, but whenever one dried, another fell. His face felt hot and sick and disgusting. He wanted to stop crying, to stop looking so foolish in front of them, but his breath refused to be caught and his crying refused to cease.

He didn’t even know why he was crying. This was good news! There was nothing to be sad about!

“Lo?” Patton stepped forward, arms open. “Do you need a hug? It looks like you need a hug.”

Logan couldn’t speak, but he managed a nod.

And Patton was hugging him, cradling him against his chest and the contact just made Logan cry harder because this is what he could have had, this is what he was missing—

“I’m an idiot,” Logan choked out. “I am a complete, foolish idiot.”

“What?” Roman asked. “How dare you slander yourself like this! I don’t quite know why you’re saying that, or why you started crying, but I can assure you that you are a very smart human!”

“You don’t get it.” Logan wiped his eyes. For some reason, he was still smiling. Was he happy? Were these happy tears? He felt terrible, but there was a glow in his chest and he couldn’t stop smiling.

“What don’t we get?” Patton asked, squeezing his shoulders.

“I—” Logan looked around at them all, concerned and compassionate and beautiful. “I’ve been in love with the three of you for more than a year.”

Roman made a noise like a squeaky toy being stepped on.

“What?” Virgil stared him down. “You’re kidding.”

Weakly, Logan shook his head.

“But…” Patton frowned. “Lolo, you got us all together!”

“Y-yes.” Logan scrubbed his face. “You seemed happy with each other, I was glad to play the figurative matchmaker if it was what you wanted.”

Patton pressed a hand to his mouth, eyes wide.

“Shit, L.” Virgil shook his head. “Shit.”

“What did we do to deserve you?” Roman mumbled.

“In fairness,” Logan said, “I only figured it out last week.”

“A-at Roman’s evening?” Patton looked about to cry as well. “I—I thought you were acting off, I didn’t realize—”

“That’s why you avoided us, wasn’t it?” Roman seemed to search Logan’s face for denial. When he found none, his face crumpled. “You avoided us because you liked us?”

“I—I did not want things to become awkward between us. I wanted time to sort things out and see if those feelings would—” Logan waved a hand. “Dissipate of their own accord. But I was too far gone, and I—then you called me, and I couldn’t leave you alone, I couldn’t—”

“Shit,” Virgil said again.

“You know,” Patton said with a soft smile, “if you’d have just taken your own smart advice, we could have started dating weeks ago. Maybe even months.”

“Doubtful,” Logan admitted. “Feelings are not my strong suit. I would not have figured it out any earlier than I did.”

“And that’s okay.” Virgil reached forward and took Logan’s hand. “You’re doing alright, L. Better than alright.”

“You got us together, after all!” Roman agreed. “Even if that was unnecessarily self-sacrificing on your part. And you helped us last night, too. I suppose only one question remains…”

“Will you,” Patton finished, “consider being our boyfriend?”

“You don’t have to,” Virgil immediately added. “If you don’t feel ready, or you want to try dating one of us at a time, that’s completely fine—”

Logan began to smile. “I—I think I can give it a shot. All of you. I want to engage in romantic relations with you. If—if that’s alright.”

Patton squealed, and Roman’s smile was wider than Logan had ever seen it. Virgil just squeezed Logan’s hand, and Logan squeezed back.

“Group hug time!” Patton proclaimed.

“Don’t we have to eat breakfast?” Logan asked.

“Oh!” Patton giggled. “Right! I’ll make us some pancakes. Then we can have some cuddles!”

“Perfect!” Roman proclaimed. “Maybe watch a Disney movie? We’ve got a lot of missed movie-nights to make up for!”

Virgil smiled slightly. “Only if we can watch The Nightmare Before Christmas. And only if Pat lets me supervise the pancakes.”

Patton frowned. “Don’t you trust me?”

“I trust you,” Virgil said, “but Princey here would totally add like five containers of sugar or set the entire thing on fire when your back is turned.”

Roman gasped. “Rude! I’ll have you know that was one time, and the firefighters were very nice about it!”

“We can all help with the pancakes,” Patton compromised. “Lolo can read the instructions, ‘cause he’s good with books and Virge can help me mix ingredients.”

“What about me?” Roman asked.

Virgil smirked. “You can play your Disney songs and sneak bits of batter while pretending you’re helping.”

Roman opened his mouth, shrugged, and smiled. “Sounds good to me.”

“Great!” Patton grabbed Logan’s hand and pulled him over to the kitchen. “Let’s go!”

And Logan spent half the morning making pancakes, getting flour in his hair, Roman placing batter on his nose so Patton would kiss it off, Virgil sitting on the counter and refusing to get off. The pancakes turned out delicious, and after eating a very late breakfast—it’s brunch, Specs, how do you fail so hard at being gay—they curled up on the couch once more and started on their Disney marathons. It turned out that Roman and Virgil shared Logan’s proclivity for discussing the movie while watching it, but Roman geared more towards insults and Virgil just threw popcorn at all the sappy scenes. Patton remained quiet, toying with Logan’s hair and snuggled into Roman’s side, smiling at them like they were his favorite things in the world.

Logan Mackenzie didn’t understand his feelings, not completely. But he did know that he loved them. He knew that they loved him back. He knew that he had never felt happier than now, sitting on the couch with his boyfriends—boyfriends! They were his boyfriends! The novelty still hadn’t worn off.

He loved them, and he could figure the rest out another day, with a little help.

Logan loved them. For now, and forever, that was enough.

387 notes · View notes

pinelife3 · 3 years

Text

An investigation: if supermodels are so dumb and vapid, how do they pull artistic geniuses?

This is a picture of Nick Cave and his wife leaving the inquest into their son’s death. Their 15 year old boy fell from a cliff after taking acid and becoming disoriented.

I cannot even conceive of how terrible it must be to lose a child. The drugs and the cliff make it an episode of Skins (or Euphoria for the zoomers) but that’s your little boy. It was a stupid accident and now you never get to see him again. A teenaged tragedy. Unendingly unfair.

Ghosteen, the 2019 album from Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, is a complex, existential album in conversation with the death of Nick’s son and his feelings of loss and grief. Nick Cave is an artist - his life’s work is to share how he feels and what he thinks. What he’s expressing with Ghosteen is sorrow and longing - and some larger angst about the purpose of existence.

Through all this tragedy, I’m sure you couldn’t help but notice... who’s the babe with the shiny hair and the fabulous gazongas? That’s Nick’s wife, man! Susie Bick - or sometimes Susie Cave. She was a major model in the 80s and 90s. A model and an artist - it’s actually fitting.

And what’s more, Susie is the founder of The Vampire’s Wife - a label which has become super popular in the last couple of years. (Fashion people eyeroll The Vampire’s Wife because every dress has the same silhouette, but that’s out of the scope of this blog.)

There is a perception that models are are vapid and unserious. Their job is to look good, keep their mouth shut, and move merchandise. They cannot offer anything profound because their value is surface level. Men and women both push this way of thinking.

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For example, when Brad Pitt was recently revealed to be dating 27 year old model Nicole Poturalski, people were disappointed. Brad Pitt has been a cultural fixture for decades - after all this time, people still find him fascinating. And they expect him to date someone who is equally compelling. Clooney married a human rights lawyer - why is Brad dating someone who makes posts like this on Instagram...

This was Lainey Gossip’s take on the new girlfriend:

A model, younger, it’s so predictable it’s almost boring.

Nice! I guess we’re all feminists until the woman in question is young and hot.

It's easy to assume the worst of a person who is unknown to us, but is beautiful and hooking up with someone famous. A million mean thoughts spring to mind. “A model, younger”. That’s scorn. You know exactly what she’s saying: hot but dumb. An uninteresting person. We know what Brad really wants her for...

If Brad Pitt is compelling to you, how compelling must Nicole Poturalski be to have won and held his attention? Brad Pitt has not been celibate in the four years since he separated from Angelina Jolie, but not until Nicole did we have confirmation of someone who he was definitely seeing. He allowed himself to be photographed with her en route to his French chateau. And what ensued was a weird story - she’s in an open relationship with some old German restaurateur and she has a son? She’s a sugar baby? Why would Brad fucking Pitt get publicly involved with someone who has a messy personal life: why hook up with a married 27 year old and weather months of stories about her open marriage if he didn’t actually like her? Why even be seen with her? The relationship is a little weird - but the reporting on it has been nasty. The new sugar baby angle which has emerged in the last week (late October 2020) is basically calling her a whore. This is the level of suspicion and derision directed at a model dating a public fixture like Brad Pitt. The notion that Brad Pitt would pay for female company or sex is patently absurd.

If our assumptions about models are correct, why do so many models end up with artistic geniuses? I don’t care about the Victoria’s Secret models who hooked up with the bassist from Kings of Leon. I’m talking about beautiful women who made it with icons, the premier humans of the past century:

MUSICIANS

Nick Cave and Susie Bick

David Bowie and Iman

Kanye West and Amber Rose

Bob Dylan and Sara Lownds

Mick Jagger and Jerry Hall

Mick Jagger and Carla Bruni

Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin

Eric Clapton and Pattie Boyd

George Harrison and Pattie Boyd

Madonna and Jesus Luz

MISC. POWERFUL PEOPLE

Salman Rushdie and Padma Lakshmi

Donald Trump and Melania (lol)

Nicolas Sarkozy and Carla Bruni

Evan Spiegel and Miranda Kerr

Hitler and Eva Braun (What?! She had a brief career an artist’s model...)

Michael Jordan and Yvette Prieto

Rupert Murdoch and Jerry Hall

ACTORS (perhaps not artistic icons... but still creative and interesting)

Matthew McConaughey and Camila Alves

Johnny Depp and Kate Moss

Bradley Cooper and Irina Shayk

Bradley Cooper and Suki Waterhouse

Robert Pattinson and Suki Waterhouse

Vincent Cassel and Tina Kunakey

Halle Berry and Gabriel Aubrey

Leonardo DiCaprio and half the VS roster

Huge congrats to all the models with more than one entry on the list. You’ll note that there is a dearth of female icon/male model pairings - this is kind of interesting but not something I feel like getting into.

To some extent, the prevalence of the artist and model pairing makes sense. Men like good looking women. Rich, powerful men are high status and have access to good looking women. Plus, an artist needs a muse.

Many of the models in the list above are actually iconic in their own right. Like, when someone is having a great day on RuPaul’s Drag Race and looking sleek and skinny and flawless RuPaul might compare them to Iman. People pay $10,000 USD for handbags named after Jane Birkin.

Conversely, in the case of Amber Rose, she became the most desired woman in the hip hop industry c. 2010 because she was with Kanye. And most especially because she broke Kanye’s heart. Everyone wanted the girl from “Hell of a Life”. People point to that song as being about Kim - it was prophetic, yes, but not written about her.

Anyway. Could an icon, a legend, a genius, make it work with someone who had nothing to offer but a fast metabolism and a beautiful face? Do poreless skin and puffy lips make up for never finishing high school?

Wouldn’t being with someone superficial or unserious mean the artist was fundamentally boring in some way too? This is increasingly the assumption about Leonardo DiCaprio - seen above photographing his 23 year old model gf for her Instagram. Even Reddit mocks him for his age gap relationships with models.

And here’s where I try to make my point:

Kate Moss’ daughter, Lila, recently had her modelling debut during Paris Fashion Week. It was big news because she’s celebrity spawn - and of course her mother is one of the most iconic models ever. She was eviscerated.

On The Daily Mail, the comparisons to her mother flowed. What’s interesting is that Daily Mail readers do not like Kate Moss but they will defend her 90s modelling career with their life. They laud her bone structure, her waifish figure. An irresistible, undeniable face.

It seems silly to praise someone for the shape of their head and the way their skin fits over it... it’s not a talent, is it? Maybe it is! There is no shortage of hot girls in the world - but there may be a shortage of girls with preternatural charismatic beauty. Lila Moss (left above) is attractive - she even looks quite a bit like her mum. Perhaps in the pic above she even looks hotter than her mum (right above). But Kate Moss is more interesting: less perfect - half her eyebrow is missing, she’s less manicured. She exudes some kind of darkness, newness. Lottie Moss, Kate’s younger half-sister, is a similar story. Obviously attractive, obviously interested in modelling - but she’s lacking something.

Bella Hadid came from a similar-ish background to Lila Moss (Bravoleb parents, frequent appearances on Real Housewives of Beverley Hills in her teen years, groomed by her ex-model mother) but Bella Hadid has it. She may have risen through the ranks due to nepotism and cosmetic surgery but she is someone people want to look at. She is sought after - not foisted upon us. Again, it’s not because she’s the hottest woman on the planet. She is gorgeous, but on top of that, there’s something beguiling about the angles of her face.

What’s this thing that clicks in your head telling you that Kate Moss’s face is more interesting than her daughter’s? It’s an intrusive thought: her skull shape is pleasing, let your eyes linger. A command: you will not forget that face.

Iman has it. Look at her. On meeting Iman, Bowie said: "I was naming the children the night we met... it was absolutely immediate." How many beautiful women had Bowie met in his life? How many had this effect?

Can you imagine trying to keep David Bowie or Bob Dylan interested in what you’re saying? Or Madonna? Or Michael Jordan? Most of us do not have a single thought in our head which would be of interest to these people. The models I listed earlier transfixed them. Mick Jagger could have romanced every woman on the planet - but he only wanted Jerry Hall (pls disregard affairs so I can make my point).

When a model hooks up with an artistic genius, it’s illogical to assume she’s vapid or that the icon is with her for shallow reasons. What we should assume is that she is the most interesting woman that icon has crossed paths with in a long time - which would make her very interesting indeed.

#david bowie #iman #brad pitt #nick cave #amber rose #Kanye west #kate moss #lila moss #leonardo dicaprio #bob dylan

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faemytho · 3 years

Note

If you're not too busy, I need some LGBTQ+ related advice. I was talking to someone earlier today, and I mentioned the topic of transgender people. I gave an example of "just because someone has the chest and (other parts) of a female doesn't automatically make them a woman", but they said it didn't make sense. They're older than me, so they know what a transvestite is, and they told me their work involves understanding brain development, but they only think of this as an opinion, (1/2)

(2/2)not an identity. I don't want to accuse them of being a t**f, but I don't know how to prove my point without simply calling it intuition. As someone who was a she/her but isn't anymore, do you know how to/if you can help me/anyone else that can have this problem?

(here’s a good post that debunks the ‘gender is in the brain’ myth)

Note that I am not a professional, nor do I claim to speak for all trans people, but I am a trans person and I have a lot of experience with other trans people (I think I can count on one hand the amount of cisgender friends I have). So here’s my essay. Clowning in the notes will get you blocked on sight.

Also I’m not typically an advice blog but sure, I can answer this. Your friend actually is spouting t**f rhetoric, but that doesn’t necessarily make them a t**f. They probably genuinely do not understand the difference between sex and gender. So let me tell you, there’s a huge difference.

Gender as it pertains to our biological sex is a social construct. In other words, “sex=gender” is an incorrect formula. It’s not true.

As far as gender identity is concerned, it’s important to stress the fact that feeling an inherent sense of ‘this is incorrect’ when a trans person’s gender is associated with their birth sex.... is not an opinion. It’s not a choice a trans person just decides to make, nor is it a choice they even can make.

Thinking from this standpoint through a logical lens, if trans people could choose their genders, they likely would not exist as “trans people” if they could just choose to be cisgender. So why do so many trans people exist if it’s all just “a choice”? Do they choose to be part of an oppressed group that has no set in stone protections (in America) so they can make themselves targets of discrimination so they can wallow in self-pity about how they’ve reached rock bottom because of how discriminated against they’ve been? Why would they do that, that’s stupid. That is what makes no sense to me. It’s illogical, so why would people choose to do it?

Because it’s not a choice. Sex and gender identity are not the same; they are far from it. It has been proven before and it can be proven again.You can’t chose your sex, and you can’t choose your gender identity either.

A personal experience of mine, I used to know a trans person who encountered a xenogender label they absolutely adored. It catered directly to their special interest, they said it was a fantastic label with a beautiful flag and a beautiful definition... but it wasn’t their gender. They wanted so badly to identify as this gender but they couldn’t, because it just didn’t match their gender identity. “It’s not me, no matter how badly I want it to be.” It would be just as bad as forcing themself (a trans person) to identify as the same gender as their assigned sex at birth. It wasn’t them.

And that was that. I’ve actually encountered several labels like that myself; where I just loved them to death but I couldn’t identify as them because they weren’t me. Because it would feel wrong if I just decided, “you know what? Fuck it! I’ll use this label!” It would feel just as bad as being forced to be a gender I am not.

Would I benefit from identifying as a man? The answer is yes, I would! We live in a patriarchal society, I would reap a ton of benefits by identifying as and presenting as a man. But I don’t, because the idea of being male is inherently incorrect to me. I can’t choose it, even if I wanted to.

I love the female label. I love feminine things. I love them a lot, but I don’t love them when they’re used to refer to me. I can’t force myself to be female, nor would I want to, because it’s not what fits; it’s incorrect. It’s incongruent with me.

Here’s a roughly paraphrased transcription from one of my textbooks:

Biological sexes are the genitals and sex characteristics one is born with (when those sex characteristics may not fully match up as entirely of the male sex or entirely of the female sex, that person is considered intersex). Gender identity is defined as one's innate, inner sense of being male, female, something other, or something in-between. Gender expression is how one chooses to present themselves to themselves or others, which includes their appearance, dress, mannerisms, and speech patterns. Gender expression and gender identity do not have to match.

Here’s something you can choose: Gender expression. Dressing in drag, for example! Let’s break this down.

Transvestism is the practice of dressing in a manner traditionally associated with the opposite sex. (Why do we associate clothes with specific sexes? Why have we given specific clothes a sex assignment? Clothes are clothes; they can be worn by anyone regardless of sex and it’s not going to change someone’s sex. If women can wear pants and suits, why can’t men wear skirts? It’s actually the misogyny and toxic masculinity, but that’s a whole other rabbit hole).

Your appearance, your clothes, your personality, and even the way you talk, those are all things you can consciously influence and change. Expression is something you can change, but gender identity is not. An identified woman in a suit is still a woman. An identified man in a dress is still a man.

Food for thought. An intersex person exists, and stands before you. How do you answer the question, “What’s their gender?”. It cannot be answered by applying the “sex=gender” formula. Their sex is intersex; they are not completely, entirely, or just male or female. If one is supposed to go off of biological sex, how then do you determine their gender?

Logically? The “sex=gender” formula holds no weight. It just simply isn’t true. Another example. We insist on giving non-human characters genders, even when there is no biological component to go off of.

Wall-E and Eve, for example. They may be male and female coded respectively, but they don’t have any biological sex; they’re robots! How then does the “sex=gender” formula hold up? There’s no “sex” variable to equal the “gender” variable. So then it stands to reason by this formula that as robots, they have no gender, yet we insist on calling Wall-E a boy, and Eve a girl. Why would we do that if we, hypothetically, intend to uphold the “sex=gender” formula? They have no sex, so why would we call them male or female?

Because “sex=gender” is not true. What parts you were born with do not define whatever gender you may end up being.

There is a desperate need to differentiate between the female-sex, the female-gender, the male-sex, and the male-gender. They are not co-dependent; and they can exist without “matching up”. They don’t even have to exist in a person at all; take me, I’m trans-nonbinary person and I use a ton of xenogenders, but male and female? Those aren’t me. Would identifying as one of those make my life easier? Sure would! But I refuse to live as someone I’m not; I can’t live as someone I’m not.

Your friend should also probably come to terms with the fact that there are 7 billion people on this planet. The odds of all 7 billion+ of us fitting into one of two categories? Statistically, very unrealistic. We are unique individual people, with our own experiences and our own thoughts and beliefs. Why wouldn’t our genders adhere to our individuality? Even our biological sexes don’t adhere to a binary; they live on a spectrum, and anything within that spectrum isn’t entirely male or entirely female! Our sexes are as individual as each of us.

My experiences with my body, and my gender, are going to be different than anyone else who may even use the same label as I do! That’s just how it is. Our sex does not define our gender. Our gender identities cannot be chosen. We are who we are, and that in itself is pretty unique.

#queer stuff #queer support #fae rants #fae rambles #ask #anonymous

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storytime-with-moth · 4 years

Text

Writing the Zukka weighted blanket oneshot

Zuko was draped over Sokka who has spread out on Zuko’s couch, the tv was still playing softly next to them but the hand that was drawing circles into Zuko’s back for the past hour had finally stilled and gone heavy against is back.

Zuko smiled into Sokka’s neck nudging the other awake. Whispering softly into his boyfriends ear.

“Stay here tonight.”

He felt Sokka stiffen ever so lightly beneath him, realizing that was a bit more forward than he had meant Zuko backtracked as he sat up.

“Nothing has to happen, we can just sleep! But it’s late and you had an early shift today and I really don’t want you falling asleep at the wheel and it’s raining - and I got pancake mix…” Zuko trailed off as Sokka sat up grabbing Zuko’s flailing hands with his own.

“Zu, take a breath. Of course I want to have pancakes in the morning with you. Let’s go get comfy.”

With a sigh of relief Zuko walked to his room to make sure everything was tidy and find a t-shirt big enough for his boyfriends broad shoulders.

While Zuko rummaged around for sleep clothes Sokka took a steadying breath and put his hand over his heart lightly pressing against his chest.

Everything is going to be fine, it’s one night. You haven’t had any nightmares or stress dreams in months, you can do one night.

Zuko walked back out of his room to be met by Sokka looking him up and down smiling coyly. He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Zuko scoffed and relaxed more “In your dreams Sokka, you have been up for 17 hours, you need sleep. Plus I don’t want you falling asleep in the middle of making out, that’s a hit to my ego that I don’t need.” he said holding a soft grey t shirt, boxers, and an extra toothbrush towards Sokka.

Sokka laughed tiredly “fair enough buddy.”

“I though we talked about this?”

“What? Oh right! I’m not allowed to call you buddy if I’m making out with you on the regular.”

Sokka winked as he walked into the bathroom.

______________________

Zuko was already settled under a light blanket when Sokka made it out of the washroom dressed and teeth brushed he climbed in next to his partner.

Sokka shuffled around for a minute trying to get comfortable in the new bed, after five minutes of shifting Zuko wiggled close wrapping and arm around Sokka. “Is this okay?”

Sokka tried to keep his voice from wavering in relief “Ya perfect Zu.”

“I warn you I run hot so I’ll probably shift back to my side once I’m asleep, push me off if I make you to warm okay?”

Sokka nodded into his pillow. Like he was going to ever push Zuko let alone give up a human weighted blanket.

Eventually Zukos breathing evened out and Sokka was left awake surrounded by his boyfriends warm embrace trying to calm his anxious mind.

Now Sokka and Zuko had known each other for a while, but it was always as “we’re both friends with Aang and see each other at his house parties and events” sort of thing.

They had only started going out two months ago, when a very nervous Zuko asked Sokka if he wanted to grab a tea sometime, and a very surprised and eager Sokka said yes.

They had clicked right away, but Zuko told Sokka early on that he needed to take this slowly whatever this was going to be.

Sokka sighed heavily.

Zuko had been so brave, on their fourth date he sat down Sokka and set boundaries and laid out triggers, informing Sokka that he was working through his own trauma from his abusive Dad to his toxic Ex. And it was by no means Sokka’s responsibility to fix it but if they were going to date this is how he could support Zuko.

He should have said something then, but that is the case with anxiety. Given the opportunity to talk about you get nervous about being a burden or that you're making it all up or you overshare everything making it all about you. Or at least that’s what ran through Sokka’s mind while Zuko calmly shared how to help during a panic attack.

Sokka numbly nodded along, noting that what Zuko needed during a panic attack was different from his needs. Guess that’s the difference between anxiety and just straight up PTSD.

Then he immediately felt selfish, here he was worrying about his illogical, irrational anxiety when his boyfriend and gone through actual trauma.

So he listened and asked questions, never telling Zuko about the prescription of Xanax beside his bed or why he always went home at the end of the day no matter how late it was, to his own bed with his own weighted blanket that helped keep him asleep. Keeping away even the most subconscious worries.

But now it had been two months, and Zuko was right it was too late to drive home and he was so tired.

If only he was too tired be anxious

Finally after two hours of overthinking, counting sheep and willing sleep to come Sokka was swept up by sleep.

——————————

Zuko slowly started to wake. It wasn’t light out yet. The clock read 4am, what had stirred him from sleep?

It was then that he registered the soft shaking from behind him. Zuko turned over to see Sokka’s face twisted up in despair, his breaths coming in shallow and quick and his whole body jerking every few seconds.

Just before Zuko could reach out to comfort his partner Sokka shot up gasping clothing at his hair and his chest.

A soft whine escaped the crying boy’s mouth, in that moment Zuko was wide awake and gathering up his shaking boyfriend in his arms.

“Shhhhh, it’s okay…. You’re okay” He said softly over and over again while petting Sokka’s hair.

Sokka continue to shake as tears fell on Zuko’s arms.

“Sokka, Babe are you having a panic attack?” Zuko asked a little surprised.

The other boy nodded unable to speak.

“Okay, ummm, you’re in my room, you were staying because it was late, we were watch Lilo and Stitch earlier, uhh can you feel my hands in your hair?

Sokka nodded and tried to stop crying only for his breaths to stutter and stumble as his body heaved another sob from him without his consent.

“Sokka, how can I help?”

When the question finally registered with Sokka’s racing mind he grabbed his boyfriend’s hands and wrapped them tightly around himself in a constrictive hug. Zuko picked up on the nonverbal message and rearranged themselves so Sokka was between his legs with his back to Zuko’s chest and his arms wrapped tightly around him.

He kept a tight grip, continuing to speak to Sokka with soft reassurances that he was safe.

After sometime Sokka’s quick breathing began to slow and his tense body melted into Zuko’s, eventually he laid his head back against his boyfriends chest and quietly looked to the ceiling.

Zuko getting the message that he could loosen up relaxed his grip but kept himself loosely wrapped around his partner.

A minute of silence later Sokka said in a rough voice “Sorry for waking you up….”

Zuko looked flabbergasted “You’re Sorry? Sokka it’s not like you have control over your dreams.”

“Ya…. I know.”

He sounded so resigned and disappointed Zuko figured there was more than just a nightmare at play. He maneuvered Sokka around so they were facing each other, Sokka’s hands wrapped in Zuko’s.

Sokka was still resolutely looking at the bed and away from Zuko’s burning gaze.

“What’s going on in there Sokka? Please talk to me.”

Sokka nodded and open his mouth a few times before any words came out.

“So ever since my Mom died and my Dad started to go on longer leaves with the Red Cross - I started to worry about Katara and my Gram Gram, and basically every single thing. I had back up plans for my back up plans. I made us a tornado kit that I made Gram Gram keep under the sink. We lived in Nunavut, we don’t even have tornados!”

Sokka stopped for a moment trying to figure out what to say next. Zuko could see his partner was feeling a little lost so he started rubbing soft circles into Sokk’as hands as he held them.

“And then I was applying for universities and it stared to get really bad, panic attack after panic attack…. Sometimes for no reason, and sometimes they would last for days just one rolling into the next. Then I would feel hungover the next day without the fun drinking part before hand.

So Katara made an appointment and took me kicking and sternly refusing to the doctor, they uh… Well - So I have Generalize Anxiety Disorder and starting in uni I was also diagnosed with a panic disorder…”

Zuko clenched Sokka’s hands a little tighter in support to keep going.

“I have meds, that I take for actual panic attacks but I was able to stop taking chronic stuff a while back. I have a routine, I go swimming, I take that stupid joy through dancing class with Aang because it makes me laugh, I have my weighted blanket, and I paint. So I’m good right now. I wouldn’t have said yes to going out with you if I wasn’t okay, that wouldn’t be fair to either of us. I just didn’t know how to talk about it with you be-“

“Did you not tell me because you didn’t think I could handle it or because you thought I would think less of you?

Startled Sokka’s head snapped up to make eye contact with Zuko. “Spirtis no! I think you’re the strongest person I have ever met…. I - I guess I thought less of myself, like I was less worthy of your love because I feel all these things for no reason, like even when I’m good right? Even when I’m good it would still bubble up in my sleep and I would wake up - well like that. It was only after I Katara bought me that weighted blanket that I started actually sleeping through the night.”

“Wighted blanket?”

“Ya I know, turns out actual science to back it up! Pressure to help relieve anxiety, like a hug, or -“

“or me laying on top of you on the couch! That’s why you got so relaxed and sleepy isn’t it?”

Sokka smiled sheeplishy “Ya, once I figured out that pressure and touch kept me grounded I started getting really clingy with everyone. Toph had to start laying boundaries down, I now have to request a hug and she can and will deny them if she’s not in the mood.”

Zuko smiled softly “Ya that sounds like her.”

There was a silence as both of them tried to figure out what to say next. Sokka began to pick at his nails his hands still in Zuko’s.

Realizing his partner’s mind was beginning to wander somewhere away from him Zuko guided both of them back down onto the bed Sokka’s head tucked into his chest and for good measure he threw a leg over the taller man.

“Can I ask what it was about?”

Sokka spoke without looking up at Zuko “Their usually all over the place sometimes its me in my high school math class and everyone knows the answer except for me, or the gym teacher is teaching us how to write essays, those ones I just wake up stressed and a bit confused about what year it is…. Other times I’m being chased or I need to help Katara or my Dad but I just can’t seem to reach them.

Once last year I had this really bad one where I was babysitting my cousins toddler and we were out for a walk and then I just walked away and left them in the snow…. I couldn’t find them for hours. I woke up thinking I had walked away from a kid and left him to die, I had to call my cousin to make sure the baby was okay. She was so confused because Tu is five now and I haven’t babysat him in four years.

I have had a few where I make Aang cry and Katara yells at me and they leave forever. I always bring a coffee and a hot chocolate for them the next day, because I feel so bad about hurting them even if it was while I was asleep. And tonight… I don’t really get them much anymore with the blanket so I haven’t had one since we started dating, and uh you talked about me falling asleep at the wheel just before we went to bed, and when I was brushing my teeth I could see that it had started raining so I guess those thoughts stuck around because…”

Sokka clung tighter to Zuko as if to protect them both from an unseen force. Zuko kept rubbing his partners back and kissing the top of his head.

“I thought I was driving home from your place tonight, they always feel so real. But for some reason you were with me and then car was spinning and the air… When it landed I could hear you asking for me, saying you were bleeding. But I couldn’t move, I was frozen in place paralyzed and all I could do was listen, and then it was really quiet and I wasn’t sure if you were okay or - or if you had left or what. And it was raining and dark and all I wanted to do was turn around but I couldn’t.”

Zuko was a little thrown, Sokka was worried about him? About Zuko leaving Sokka?

“Hey babe look at me, Sokka love?”

Sokka tilted his head up to look at Zuko, he looked so apologetic like he had actually killed Zuko with his mind.

“Sokka I am okay, I promise. We didn’t go driving tonight. We stayed in at my house, we watched a movie. You made me so happy tonight, like you do everyday. I am so lucky to have you in my life. Okay?”

“kay.”

“But - and this is important. I want a partnership, I’m not looking for a therapist that sleeps with me I am looking for a relationship where we lean on each other. I need you to talk to me, trust that I will tell you my boundaries, I need this to go both ways. So from now on you have to start telling my this stuff okay?”

Sokka couldn’t look away, his eyes were twinkling with a few tears.

“You are amazing Zu, you know that?”

Sokka tilted his head asking for a kiss which Zuko happily obliged.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I just didn’t want to mess this up. I really like you.”

“Well lucky for you I really like you to, now do you think you can sleep some more? I think I have a duvet somewhere in the closet.”

“Just hold me… please”

“I can do that, good night Sokka.”

“G’night Zu…”

—————————————————-

The next morning they had a long talk over pancakes, which ended with Sokka falling asleep on the couch with his head in Zuko’s lap while Zuko read.

And if next time Sokka slept over there was a brand new weighted blanket on his side of the bed, and if Zuko a typical little spoon was big spoon during exams, and Sokka kept his meds in an overnight bag now, well that was no one else’s business except their own.

Fin

___________________________________________

Feel free to use any of this! I love reading fluffy modern AU’s of these two supporting each other. Two intense lads making each other laugh is my weakness. So I would love to read a long fic where something like this happens.

For more of my prompts take a look at - Send me anything you create fanart or fanfic! - https://archiveofourown.org/works/26162617/chapters/63657982

I wrote Sokka’s experience with anxiety and stress dreams from my own experience (not everyone feels and deals with anxiety the same way) But I also hate sleeping away from home, I have nightmares in every hotel when I’m on vacation.

#zukka #ZUKKA NATION #zukka RIGHTS #zukka prompt #modernAU #Modern ATLA #avatar fanfic #Zuko x Sokka #sokka has anxiety #supportive boyfriends #fluff #oneshot prompts #i'm sad and queer #under pressure #i need a cuddle #avatar fluff

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