#i would rather donate blood to some guy down the street than do my fucking taxes every year

[youryanderedaddy]

Hello, do you accept order? If yes, you could make a single one shot of Yandere! Brat Spoiled, please...

What would it be like if Yandere were the son of wealthy parents who always have everything they want, when they don't always get what they like, always act like a spoiled brat (and also his parents are afraid of their son, as they have already seen what he is capable of when he gets angry)... that's where the reader comes in. She is a new student at school, a nice and kind person, so the yandere knows her and falls in love so strongly that she never felt that way in life, but the reader is always rejecting her advances for being a spoiled brat and the way he treats the people around you.

What happens next?

Title: Eat the poor

Tw: non - consensual touching, obsessive/possessive behavior, violence, low-key bullying, blackmail / coercion, reader is in university

Part 2

It had started during your very first year of college, back when you still felt motivated to go to school and meet new people. You had heard the rumors about him before ever meeting his gaze and oh, did they disappoint.

You met Gabrielle for the first time when the snowdrops bloomed and the birds returned home – in the early autumn, at night, in a small crowded room reeking of alcohol, sweat and cheap cologne which you quickly realized wasn’t his. The man smelt like the cigarettes he never got bored of and sweet caramel. He was wearing a big leather jacket and a pair of dark jeans, yet the simplicity of the outfit seemed to suit the expensive brands displayed on the clothing. In a way the student represented the typical youthful boyish beauty with his golden locks, eyes the color of the sky and frame tall and well – built. Yet his face remained motionless the whole night and his body stayed still despite the mass of bodies dancing around in rhythm. But then some poor unfortunate fool managed to bump into the male, spilling his drink all over him, and his pretty face quickly twisted into a mask of disgust and anger.

“You stupid piece of shit!” The male yelled shortly after as his fist connected with the stuttering boy’s stomach. His clear eyes were now two wild thunderstorms pouring rain and lightning over the tipsy guy who was nervously apologizing and promising to pay for the damages done. “Do you know how much this costs?” Gabrielle spat with venom and pushed the other onto the floor, bringing his black sneakers to that white shirt until there was a mark of dirt formed on the otherwise clean fabric. Everyone else in the room had stopped drinking now and all the eyes were pinned onto the two men yet no one had the courage to do anything. Your own heart was beating hard in your chest at the sudden display of unnecessary violence but you had always been a calm kid, a kind soul too scared of its own shadow to learn how to fight properly. So you had no idea what to do.

“My father can have you expelled, you know.” The blond man suddenly spoke out in a quiet eerie voice as he pressed his foot harder into the shorter boy’s stomach causing him to whimper and squirm. “Unless you are willing to beg for my forgiveness, that is.” The bully proposed with a sly smirk on his pink lips as he glared at the victim underneath. The student on the ground was clenching his eyes tight so no one could see the tears in them when he shook his head no. You finally decided you couldn’t let this inhumane scene go any further.

“Stop this madness right now!” You shouted manically, drawing all the attention to yourself as you made your way between the two men. Gabrielle immediately pinned his burning gaze on you in unhidden intrigue. “This is too cruel. He didn’t mean to bump into you. Please, leave him alone.” As much as you had wanted to curse at the spoiled rich boy there was this suffocating feeling in your lungs telling you to be careful and play the mediator. The others quickly started gasping and some were already gossiping at your reaction proving your point that the guy was indeed dangerous.

Then he looked you straight in the eyes with his deep blue ones. He chuckled softly before smacking his lips in an unpleasant way, his “tsk” sending shivers down your spine. You had fucked up. “Well, well, well… Looks like the new girl wants to play hero. How cliché.” The bully grinned as he let his gaze roam up and down your body, your cheeks turning red in return when having realized he was handsome even while doing something so vulgar. “But if you do want to help him so badly…” The golden – haired man paused for a moment pretending to be deep in thought. “Maybe we could have a little deal, bunny.” He moved his leg away from the sobbing boy and stepped in front of you. From this close you could feel the warmth of his skin and the sweet aroma of burnt sugar it radiated. Gabrielle tilted your chin up almost gently and whispered in your ear “Kiss me.”

You tried to break free from the uncomfortable pose but the student simply squeezed your jaw line harder, his eyes cold and calculating, following your every move. You mind went blank and foggy at the forced intimacy and you couldn’t think straight with his breath on your neck. It felt like the time had slowed down just so the sadistic snob could mess with you a little longer. You opened your mouth to voice your protests but fortunately you didn’t have to say anything because at the very same time the host of the party appeared, ready to stop the fight.

“Gabrielle, I’d have to ask you to leave.” The dark – haired junior growled enraged as he pushed the taller male away from you. You couldn’t help but smile at him in appreciation. He was the only one brave enough to help you after all. “You are ruining the party for everyone. ” The stranger continued. The blonde seemed irritated at the sudden interruptance yet it was obvious he was powerless against the owner of the house. Still he grit his teeth and signed in annoyance as he turned to face the host. “Fuck you, Jackson!” The man cursed but eventually moved towards the door, red with anger. “My father will hear about this.” He looked at you as he reached for the golden doorknob, his features softened. “See you around, bunny.”

This was the first time you met Gabrielle. You already wished it was the last.

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

After the incident the snob seemed interested in you, blatantly so. He would eye you up in the halls like you were a shiny new toy in a claw machine and try to strike a conversation no matter how much you ignored him. The man never once apologized for what happened at the party but at least he didn’t bring it up so you counted it as a small victory. You gradually understood just how much power and money the heir had. His father owned casinos, hotels, banks and apparently even the university you two were studying in received major monthly donations by the big businessman. This explained why everyone was so scared of the blonde, especially when he did nothing but flaunt his status at the slightest inconvenience. And now he wanted you.

In your eyes the boy was just an annoying brat who lived off daddy’s hard work, there really wasn’t much to him that intrigued you. The male was handsome, pretty even, but his grades were terrible and his interests were bland and shallow, mostly involving expensive brands and grand parties. But the worst thing about him was his personality. The snob treated his friends like servants and his enemies like dirt, but you he rather saw as a challenge. Gabrielle would ask you out every time you were unlucky enough to run into him. The first time the man gave you so many roses you couldn’t even count them, the second he demanded your affection with a silver necklace in hand ready to cover your neck in his mark of ownerships. You couldn’t recall all the other gifts the blonde used to try and court you with but you remembered refusing each and every one.

“Why can’t you just give me a chance?” He exclaimed one day after you had just returned the expensive bracelet you had found in your locker. It was a dark winter night and the heir seemed irritated with you for the first time, his eyes a deep electric blue just like the sky. The man had you cornered against the wall but you were used to his pathetic attempts at intimidation. Yet today there was something different in the air around him, some small voice at the back of your head wondered whether this time he wasn’t just joking around. “Are you still angry about that little wimp I expelled, bunny?” Gabrielle asked contemptuously yet his pupils remained cold and distant. Once again he was too close for your liking, too close for you to function properly, but that was probably exactly what he wanted. You to be compliant and obedient like all the others who crawled and kneeled at the very sight of him. “Or are you sulking because I beat up Jones after he asked you out, hmm?” What? The blonde man was the one who gave Tony the black eye? But he had told you it was just a street fight… Why had your friend covered for the bully you both hated?

“Why would you do that to him?” You whispered, staring at the twisted boy in front of you. Your heart was beating fast and your blood was boiling hot in your veins but you couldn’t let him win by showing him how much his actions affected you. Gabrielle reached out and cupped your cheek gently before smirking mischievously. “He was trying to take something that belonged to me.” The heir said casually as if he was talking about the weather. His fingers were cold against your warm skin and you fought the urge to vomit right then and there. “I am not yours.” You spat out with poison and pushed his hand away from your face. Next thing you know his knee was separating your thighs, lifting your short black skirt up, his breath lingering on your neck. “S-stop.” You stuttered and tried to squirm out of his hold but the man easily caught your wrists and brought them above your head, pinning you further into the wall. He was stronger than he looked and you felt so small and helpless in that moment you could have cried if your stubbornness hadn’t prevailed.

“What don’t you like about me?” The blonde suddenly spoke out, his voice unnaturally broken and needy, bordering on a whine, crying out in desperation. You weren’t sure whether he was trying to manipulate you now or if he actually wanted you to answer so you decided to be honest anyways. “I hate the way you treat other people. I could never love someone as cruel as you.” You inhaled deeply, ready to voice all the painful thoughts you had kept inside since the beginning of the semester. “You are spoilt rotten. Metaphorically and literally.” The man was breathing sharply like a wounded animal after hearing your words and as much as you wanted to sympathize with him, you couldn’t bring yourself to after everything he had done to you and your friends. He was irredeemable. “Let me go.” You finally demanded, hoping to use him weakened emotional state to your advantage.

Instead Gabrielle clenched his teeth and squeezed down harder on your already bruised wrists causing you to whimper in dull pain. His eyes were wet but the tears had finally stopped just like his willingness to show you his vulnerable side. The man had tried being nice and sweet to you, patient, then mean and patronizing, and neither worked. So obviously it was time to become the terrifying bratty monster everyone was so keen on believed he was.

“Have you noticed how many people seem to go missing after talking to you just once?” The heir whispered in your ear as his free hand traveled down to your waist, drawing you into his hard chest. You groaned at the sudden realization that the snob was actually right, less and less guys seemed to show up to your shared lectures in the last few months, but you had always assumed they just needed a break from school. University was stressful after all. “Did you…” You started off but couldn’t find the right words. Did you force your father to expel them? Did you harm them? Maybe a part of you didn’t want to know the answer. “I did.” Gabrielle responded before you could even finish the sentence. The sly smirk you knew way too well adorned his lips and it wasn’t hard to see he had already won. “And I will keep doing it until you agree to be mine and mine alone.” The man stated confidently as he sucked the sensitive skin of your neck until you arched your back in shock, your eyes rolling up to the ceiling. “N-nhgg.” You whimpered as you felt his teeth dig into your warm flesh leaving a scarlet mark for all to see. “Come on, baby, we both know you are too good to let them suffer because of your own selfishness.” He taunted you as he left a line of small wet kisses along your exposed collarbone. You wanted to argue, to yell at him how you weren’t the crazy, selfish one, but deep down you knew it was pointless. Gabrielle had power and you had nothing to bargain with. He could have anyone yet he wanted to torment you. “Give into me. I promise I can make you happy if you let me.” The blonde uttered softly as his lips brushed against yours, almost touching them, following your reaction with his clear eyes. Your own were puffy and red from the tears but he didn’t seem to care much about your misery and discomfort. The man wished to own, not to please, but you couldn’t do anything. And of course you wouldn’t let him ruin the lives of the innocent. Of course your stupid heart was too good and human for your own good. So you closed your eyes and slowly connected your lips with him even though they tasted almost metallic, like blood and defeat.

“I knew you would come around, bunny.”

#yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere male x reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere male #yancore #yandere oneshot #yandere oc #male yandere #yandere concepts

[evienyx]

DSMP Citizens POV 3: The L'Manburg Librarian

Got an ask requesting a dsmpsona, specifically from someone who wanted to see a part of this series with @thesmpisonfire and their dsmpsona. Luckily, I follow them, and so I'm well-prepared for this one. I took a bit of liberty with their canon deaths, so I hope that's all right. Mostly that they weren't blown up for the first one.

- - -

DSMP Citizen POV Masterlist

- - -

Everyone knew that the L'Manburg Revolution was a turning point for the server. It marked the first nation separate from the Admin's rule. The Revolution was a celebration when people reminisced in the streets of a freed L'Manburg.

Still, many people failed to remember that there had still been a war for that freedom.

Of course, those who fought in that war would never forget the blood that was shed, the lives that were lost for the sake of their freedom. Included in these numbers was the L'Manburg Librarian.

Also known as Des, the L'Manburg Librarian had been a part of the country since the beginning, joining the nation as soon as word of it reached their ears. Unlike some, the Librarian fought hard and true for the new country's independence, and when a sword was shoved through them as a splash potion of poison ate away at whatever was left of their life, they simply grinned and returned their enemy's blow with one of their own. Their dogs came to finish the job, and then sat with the Librarian as they sprawled back on the grass, watching the clouds pass by with the sun on their face and a smile on their lips until their body finally gave out and the server returned them to their bed, one life ticked off of their count.

The Librarian shuddered, steadied their trembling hands, grabbed their weapon, and sprinted back toward the battlefield.

When L'Manburg's independence was finally secured with VP Tommy's sacrifice of his discs, Des was sure that they cheered the loudest.

For a while, things were peaceful. Des was given confirmation to build a library up within the country, and people donated books or they would gather them themself, building up a collection that stretched to the ceiling.

When the Election arrived, the L'Manburg Librarian didn't care much for it until SWAG 2020's campaign was announced. Suddenly, then, there was weight to the election, and they weren't about to watch the country that they had died for go up in flames without them having a say in it. So, they listened to every debate there was, mulled over the campaigns and what each party promised. They were partial to Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit, of course. President Soot had led them in the revolution. He had build this country with his own two hands, surely he would know how to care for it.

Then, though, COCONUT 2020 announced their candidacy, with Fundy Soot and Niki Nihachu, who promised free cookies and ice cream for all should they be victorious, and Des abruptly knew exactly who they were voting for.

(And it wasn't President Soot.)

When the results came in, though, much to their chagrin, COCONUT 2020 hadn't won. In fact, they had been disqualified entirely for supposed hacking.

It was announced that POG 2020 had gotten the majority, and Des was satisfied, until the word 'coalition' left President Soot's mouth and everything seemed to come crashing down at once.

Des whirled around as ex-President Soot and ex-VP Tommy were forced to flee, the older giving one last shove to his right-hand man before falling to the ground. A moment later, Wilbur Soot disappeared, and a heavy feeling swept over the citizens of L'Manburg. The man who had built their country from the ground up, who had led them all to freedom, was now on his last life.

The L'Manburg Librarian swallowed, listened with clenched fists as the country that they had died for was renamed 'Manburg,' and then retreated to their library. At least they could find solace in their books.

Until, a week-and-a-half later, while Des was sorting their book collection on one of the lower shelves and stroking a cat at the same time, the door opened and in stepped President Schlatt.

"Mr. President," the L'Manburg Librarian said, inclining their head just a bit. After what had happened at the inauguration, they didn't really want to get on this guy's bad side.

"Librarian," Schlatt said, his voice hard. He took another step forward, and Des noticed then Secretary Underscore standing behind the president on one side. Vice President Quackity was nowhere to be seen.

"What can I help you with?"

"Cut the shit, already, I know what you are," Schlatt said, his voice dropping and eyes narrowing. The L'Manburg Librarian felt a pounding in their chest at his words, and leaned back despite the fact that he was not very close to them at all.

"What... What are you talking about?"

"You're a rebel," the president hissed.

"A what?"

"Oh, don't play dumb! You think I don't know what you're doing here in your little 'library,' spreading propaganda, telling lies to the people."

Des blinked. "These aren't lies, Mr. President. They're history books."

Eventually, it seemed as though as long as they stood their ground, they weren't getting banished anytime soon, which was nice.

(Their taxes were still increased, though, the same way that Niki Nihachu's were, and the L'Manburg Librarian didn't find that particularly fair in the slightest.)

Still, despite the whole thing with the taxes and constantly being accused of being a rebel (which Des totally would be, were they not so thoroughly entertained by the Manburg Cabinet), life in Manburg was all right. It was dreary, sure. Everyone seemed a bit downtrodden, everyone walked a bit quieter, their shoulders a bit more tense, but other than that, it was all right.

(The L'Manburg Librarian still cried when the flag went up in flames. They had been there when that flag was first hung. Now it was gone, like it had never even been there in the first place.)

(The number of visitors to their library increased after the burning for a few weeks, and the number of tears shed were enough that Des started just offering tissues at the door.)

(They understood, of course.)

(That was why they did what they did.)

After the execution of Secretary Underscore, one that the L'Manburg Librarian both hated to watch and couldn't look away from, jotting down every detail in a notebook before running as soon as Technoblade turned on the crowd, Des felt that there was more tension in the air than there had been before.

Then, one day, as they went for an evening walk through Manburg, they heard yelling coming from the White House. They ducked behind a pillar, and watched as Vice President Quackity jumped on the President and beat him to death.

"Holy fucking shit," Des breathed. Schlatt's body disappeared, Quackity fled from the scene, and the L'Manburg Librarian found themself a bit disappointed that most of the original Manburg Cabinet was gone. The drama would be drastically decreased, now, and that was one of the only reasons they stayed in this Prime-forsaken country to begin with.

During the war between Manburg and Pogtopia, Des joined up with the Pogtopia forces, if only because they had never been accused of being a rebel by having historically-accurate books when they were under the previous administration.

"Take that, Emperor Fuck-Face!" They exclaimed, laughing as they set fire to a Manburg flag.

"Language!" BadBoyHalo, the head of the Badlands, cried. The L'Manburg Librarian, fully done with everyone's shit and excited to have their country back, raised a middle finger to the sky and dashed back into battle.

They watched as TommyInnit passed the presidency to Wilbur Soot, who then passed it to Tubbo Underscore. Des grinned, wide and a bit manic, as the teenager gave a speech, promising to build the country back better, to heal from the wounds that the previous administration had caused.

Then, they all heard the hissing in the ground below them, and the crowd barely had a chance to run as the nation exploded around them.

The L'Manburg Librarian went at the Withers that Technoblade spawned with a ferocity that surprised both no one and everyone.

It didn't stop their library from being destroyed, though. Nor their house.

President Tubbo, though, gave them government-allocated funds to rebuild, and so they did. And maybe then some. Hey, if the government was paying for it, what was the harm?

Des grinned and wiped the sweat off their brow as they finally rebuilt their library in New L'Manburg. The first night, though, they dropped down the ladder from the second-floor to find someone sifting through their books.

"Uh, hello?"

The face turned to them, and it was that of President Soot. Who was dead. His body was grayed out, save for his bright-yellow sweater and the blue that was splattered across it, the same color leaking from his eyes, so dark that it was as if Des was looking into the void itself.

"Oh, hello!" President Soot said, with all the pep that he hadn't had in life. "What's your name?"

The Librarian was a bit taken aback. President Soot had always been rather supportive of the work that they did, collecting books and keeping tabs on the events that happened, so that future generations could read about the history of their nation. "Uh, I'm Des. Most people know me as the L'Manburg Librarian."

"Nice to meet you, Des the L'Manburg Librarian!" President Soot said. "I'm Ghostbur. You might have known me as Wilbur Soot, but I don't remember much about being Alivebur, so I couldn't really tell you anything."

"Oh. You're dead?"

"Yep!" And with that, the ghost went back to sorting through their books.

"Uh, sorry, the library is closed right now," Des said, moving forward to put a hand on the ghost's wrist. The skin was cold, and they were sure that if they put a bit more pressure, their hand would slide right through him.

"Oh, no, I'm just getting books to take back to my sewer!" Ghostbur said, as if his words weren't absolutely insane. "I'm making a library there. I want to collect all the books on the server, so that they're protected and the history can be read about for generations!"

The L'Manburg Librarian blinked. "There's no need for that. That's what I'm doing. I collect these books so that people can always learn about the country's history."

Ghostbur frowned, looking rather confused. "That's what I'm doing."

And so began one of the oddest competitions. Ghostbur would steal books from Des's library, Des would steal them right back. This went on for months until the day came that President Tubbo announced to the people of L'Manburg that their country had one day left to live.

"Technoblade, Dream, and Philza are all coming tomorrow to destroy our country," the teenage president said to the people gathered. "Get everything valuable, everything that you wouldn't want blown-up, all of your pets, all your friends and family, and evacuate. King Eret has graciously offered all of our people sanctuary. You may move everything to the land of the Greater SMP, where we have erected a temporary campsite for everyone to leave at." The president cleared his throat, and it hit the L'Manburg Librarian just how exhausted the teenager looked. "We are going to be trying to fight against them. Anyone who wishes to join us in the battle, may, but know that there are incredible risks. It is likely many of us will lose lives. We will do our best to keep our nation standing, strong and free." His words were broadcast through the communicators, and the whole of the country could hear them.

Des moved their pets to the Greater SMP that night, not wanting to take any risks. As they called their friends who lived in other nations to assist them in transporting the books from their library, Des did their best to reminisce on the good memories that they all had back before the L'Manburg elections.

"Des," their friends all said for what felt like the hundredth time, "We are not fighting for L'Manburg again. We have lost too much shit, and over half of us have lost a life, and we don't even live there anymore. That country is going to go down."

"Not if we fight for it!" The L'Manburg Librarian exclaimed. "Guys, c'mon! It stands for freedom! You remember how we fought for it in the Revolution! How we built it together!"

"Yeah," their friends said, deadpan. "And we died. Because of Dream. Who is coming with Technoblade, the Blood God, and Philza, the Angel of Death, to blow it down to bedrock."

"Whatever. I'm still going."

Their friends frowned. "Just... don't die, Des."

Des had never been the best at listening.

The next day, in the afternoon, with a grid of obsidian dropping TNT from the sky and more Withers than they could count soaring through the skies, the L'Manburg Librarian launched themself at Technoblade with a scream.

Before they could even reach him, a bomb from above fell on their head, exploding and launching them backward. Their ears ringing, spots dancing in their eyes, Des flew through the air, down, down, down into the crater below. They heard a crack through the ringing, and then everything was gone.

They sat up in their bed at the campsite once the server reclaimed their soul and brought them back, tears streaming down their face and hands shaking. They gasped on their breaths, and their face felt as if it was on fire. Their fingers ran over their skin and felt bumps, scars from the explosion that had rocketed them back into the crater. Des took a deep breath, dug their nails into their palms, grabbed their weapons, and set off back toward the battle.

When all was said and done, L'Manburg was gone. The nation that they had fought for, that twice they had died for, was nothing more than a hole in the ground. There was no rebuilding from this, and the L'Manburg Librarian knew this. They built up a cottage, technically on King Eret's land, moving their books and pets into the new home.

One day, about a week after Doomsday, they returned to the cottage to find King Eret there, standing outside of their door with one of his knights at his side.

"Hello," King Eret smiled, adjusting her sunglasses. "How are you, today?"

Des shrugged.

King Eret hummed. "Well," they said. "I was wondering what you were doing on my land?"

"I lived in L'Manburg," the Librarian said, their voice level, emotionless. They were rather drained. "Fought for it in the Revolution. Died for it. Twice. I... I didn't realize that this was your land. Sorry."

King Eret furrowed his eyebrows, face turning sympathetic. "I did many things to wrong L'Manburg," she said, hands moving to adjust her sunglasses. "Now, it's gone. The least I can do is help the people who used to live here." King Eret offered a soft smile. "Feel free to stay here as long as you like."

Des nodded, their throat a bit dry. King Eret inclined their head before turning to head up to the castle, the knight following close behind.

The Librarian stood there for a moment before pushing open the door to their cottage and stepping inside.

They adopted two more dogs, within the following few weeks, after seeing the animals on the street for a few days. Des focused in on caring for their pets, both old and new, helping both the animals and themself through the trauma that seemed to be a given with living on the Dream SMP server.

A bit after the destruction of L'Manburg, though, the Librarian was sitting in their home, stroking one of their dogs, when there was a sound from the other room, where their books were contained.

Des had learned to not take chances. They grabbed a splash potion of poison, one of harming, another of weakness, and their sword. The dogs followed them as they moved quietly toward the small library where their books were. They pushed open the door, saw someone standing in the shadows, hands reaching toward the books, and immediately threw all three potions.

The Librarian rushed in and slashed at the figure, who just barely managed to raise a shield and stop their blade.

"Leave," Des said. The dogs entered the room, flanking either side of them, growling at the intruder.

"I was hired to destroy everything that remains of L'Manburg," the figure said, and the Librarian recognized the voice as the mercenary, Punz.

"I don't care," they replied. "You are in my house, threatening my property."

The mercenary repeated what he had said.

"I am under the protection of King Eret," Des said, trying their luck at something that they weren't quite sure of the validity of. "And you are trespassing on their land. If you even touch these books, I will be forced to contact the authorities." The Librarian's hand tightened around the hilt of their sword. "And you best pray that they get here before I can finish with you."

Punz was still for a moment before slipping out the open window and disappearing. Des sighed, shoulders untensing just a bit, and they ran their fingers over the spines of their books before leading the dogs out of the room and closing the door.

The Librarian began to borrow money, after that, to build a new library, one with good security. King Eret allowed them to construct it next to the Museum, where the history of the server could all be in one place. In the process of borrowing the money, though, Des ended up accidentally falling into debt with Quackity, the old Vice President of L'Manburg and the current leader of Las Nevadas, a new power on the server.

"It's easy," Quackity said when he confronted them. "You owe me. You work for me, and that will repay your debt. If not, I might be forced to consider... other means."

The Librarian, though, knew what this man could do, and they nodded and took the job.

(Maybe, though, it was also because they wanted a purpose. They wanted something that made them feel the way they had when they lived in L'Manburg.

They wanted a nation that they could care about. They liked living on King Eret's land, but they didn't care about the Greater SMP. The library was still under construction, and would be for a while, especially in order to be secure enough to protect so much history. Des had nothing, at the moment.

And so, they moved their pets over to Las Nevadas in order to work off their debt.

And maybe they also did it because they wanted to start anew.

When they saw Wilbur Soot again, though, alive and well, with a shock of white in his hair, and when they saw Fundy Soot, walking at night in the woods with troubles on his lips and fear in his eyes, and when they saw Foolish, a god who helped others because he didn't want to face his own problems, and when they saw Charlie, a guy who definitely knew how to be a person, they realized something. This nation was for people who had nowhere else to go.

And now, with L'Manburg gone, with a library unfinished and land that wasn't even their own, Des the L'Manburg Librarian counted as just another person on the server with nothing left at all.)

#dsmp #dream smp #dsmp citizen pov #dsmp citizens memes #tw blood #tw death #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #tubbo #dream #eret #fundy #nihachu #mcyt #the lmanburg librarian #i enjoyed this one a lot if you couldnt tell #the most difficult thing was making sure things lined up with whats been said about des's dsmpsona #anyway yeah if you have a dsmpsona yourself or know of someone else's that you want to see in this little series #go ahead and lmk #no guarantees ill write it in #but if im interested i might give it a go

[itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto]

Cause baby you’re a firework.

A/N: Hi everyone! This is a bit of an angst heavy fic. Reader gets hurt on a case, and Spencer, her best friend worries he didn’t get the chance to admit his feelings. It has a fluffy ending!

Trigger warnings:  Explosions, bombs, swearing, mentions of violence, blood, surgery details.

“So, my loves, bit of a heavy one for a Monday morning but there have been a series of explosions in Dallas, all big companies, 50 dead and counting.” Garcia said.

“That’s not as high as I thought it would be.” Emily says.

“Some have life threatening injuries.” J.J said as Garcia quickly went through the photos trying not to look at the horror of the blast and the injured victims.

“Why have we been called in baby girl?” Morgan asks

“The un-subs have been in disguise, a different one each time and seem to pose very professional so security doesn’t question them.” Garcia said, “We need to find them fast.”

“Wheels up in 30.” Hotch said closing his case file.

Everyone nods and grabs their go bags. “You okay Spence?” You ask your best friend

“Yeah, just these victims didn’t deserve this. No one deserves this.” Spencer says

“We know kid.” Rossi says to the 30 year old, “Let’s roll.”

On the plane

“Y/N, you used to be a bomb diffuser, didn’t you?” Hotch asked

“I did. Why?” You ask. Before the FBI you used to work dealing with this stuff every-day and have saved thousands of lives.

“Do you know what bomb this is?” Hotch asked showing you a photo of the last bomb used.

You look for your glasses before Spencer lends you his, as you have the same prescription, “Yeah, it’s a T148. It’s used mainly in Afghanistan and 3rd world countries where there are wars still going on. Small put powerful. Could kill anyone within a 10-mile radius.” You say handing Spencer his glasses back. “I’ve diffused a couple.”

“Y/N, how old are you?” Rossi asks, “I don’t like to ask women their ages, but you are very young.”

“I’m 24. I diffused one exactly like this when I worked for the MI5 in London. This bomb is poorly constructed though. The wiring is badly put together, probably explains Emily’s theory on why not as many people died in the buildings, only those about 2-3m from the bomb would have died and everyone else life-threatening injuries as J.J said earlier.” You say. “I’d say our un-subs are young, similar aged to me and doing this because they are being forced to for some reason such as their families being threatened.”

“How awful.” J.J says

“I’ve seen it before, it isn’t pleasant.” You say, not really keen on talking about your past but know the team wouldn’t ever judge you, or force you into saying something that made you uncomfortable but their facial expressions tell you they want to know what happened. “Last case I did in London, before transferring here, a family were held hostage in their own home and the un-sub wouldn’t let them go unless their son blew up their family home with them all inside. It was horrible.”

“What happened?” Spencer asked

“I ran into the house, and diffused the bomb, but the unsub found me stabbed me in my stomach and back multiple times just as I diffused it. He got shot dead outside, the next thing I remember is the family thanking me for saving them and the doctor saying I was in a coma for 7 days as I lost that much blood. One of the family members had the same blood type as me and donated the blood I needed as a way of thanking me for saving them or I would have died in surgery.” You say getting out of your chair, showing your scars on your stomach and back from where you got stabbed and had surgery.

“Shit.” Emily said.

“Did your family come to see you?” JJ asked

“I don’t have a family. I’m adopted and I don’t get on with my real family, or my adopted ones. I moved out when I was 18.” You shrug, not really bothered by it. “And before you all give me your condolences, I don’t need them. You are all my family now.” You smile as some turbulence occurs.

“Y/N are you okay to look at the diffused bombs when we arrive into Dallas?” Rossi asks you softly

“Yes, of course.” You say and get some sleep, but still dream about that day once a week and it keeps you up at night.

“How old was she when that happened?” Spencer asked, referring to the house bomb you just referred to.

“18.” Hotch said, “It’s in her file. She saved not just the family but the whole street as it was late at night.”

“Poor kid.” Rossi said as some turbulence hit the plane. “I didn’t realize she’d joined us when she was 18.”

“She really doesn’t act her age.” Morgan said, “When I was 24 I was doing stupid shit like getting drunk with my buddies and playing socker.”

“I didn’t know you were a bad flyer.” Spencer said noticing Rossi looking uncomfortable

“I’m not, I just hate turbulence.” Rossi said, holding onto his seat.

“You know turbulence very rarely causes planes to crash.” Spencer said looking up from his file.

“That does me absolutely no good at the moment. Thank you.” Rossi said through gritted teeth

“What we really need to worry about are microbursts - a sudden downburst of air associated with thunderstorms - but small craft like this one, if we hit one of those at the wrong altitude... Get pulverized.” Spencer said as he sipped his coffee.

“I beg of you to make him stop.” Rossi said to the rest of the team

“You can’t silence genius.” J.J chuckled

The team arrives into Dallas

“Wake up sleepy head.” Spencer smiled, gently waking you unaware you had the horrible dream again.

“Yeah.. Coming.” You say rubbing your eyes looking for your go bag.

“I got it.” Spencer said

“Thanks, and for lending me your glasses earlier.” You yawn.

“No problem.” Spencer smiled at his best friend.

You smile back as you get into the car and drive to the police station.

“Hi I’m J.J, these are my colleagues, Rossi, Hotch, Morgan, Y/S/N and Dr Reid.” J.J said shaking his hand, “You must be detective Smith.”

Smith nods, “Sure am. Set y’all up a conference room with donuts and coffee.” He says in a British accent.

“Donuts and coffee? To what to we owe the pleasure of food?” Morgan said as Smith shrugged winking at you.

“You know him kiddo?” Rossi asked

“He was in the same foster home as me.” You sigh, he beat you up a few times and eventually you learnt to fight back telling Rossi what he did to you.

“Just remember you are so much better than him Y/N, you’re in the fucking FBI and he’s a lame detective.” Spencer said, “And you have a donut.” He smiled shoving it in your face which made you laugh.

“And I have a family, and a dork of a best friend.” You smile, trying to hide your crush on Spencer, unaware he feels the same and start to eat the donut.

The team deliver a profile

“Hotch, can I go to forensics and check out the old bombs?” You ask

“Yes, of course Y/N. Spencer, Morgan, go with Y/N.” Hotch said

“Road trip with two nerds, come on Hotch.” Morgan rolled his eyes

“Hey!” You and Spencer both say

“We’re not nerds, we’re limited edition weirdos.” You smile

At forensics, you are chatting to the lab assistant, making chat about things, unaware Spencer is getting jealous.

“Just ask her out pretty boy.” Morgan said sipping his coffee.

“No! I can’t… She’s too perfect. I bet she has a boyfriend.” Spencer said

“Hey love birds, so this bomb is the same as the others, the first was done perfectly, but the last one, less so. So, I’m thinking something happened to him or her, and the other two are now working alone.” You say to Morgan and Spencer

Spencer’s cheeks flush at the mentioning of the words ‘love birds’ and phones Hotch with your findings as Morgan phones Garcia.

“Has he asked her yet chocolate thunder?” Garcia asked

“Not yet Mama, soon hopefully.” Morgan chuckled

“Keep me posted my love.” Garcia giggled

“Will do baby girl. Bye.” Morgan laughed and hung up, as Spencer’s cheeks got redder.

A few days have passed, and the case isn’t going anywhere, there is little information and all DNA left at the scene has been too small to get a sample.

“Guys… I think I got something.” You say looking up from the computer you were reading from.

“What is it Y/N?” Hotch asked

“Big new building having a grand opening today, over 1000 people attending. This could be the next one.” You say.

“Let’s go.” Hotch told the team

In the car

“Hotch, if it comes to it, you realise I will want to find the bomb and diffuse it.” You say, feeling the tension in the car.

“Y/N, you can’t risk you own life again.” Morgan said

“1 for over 1000, I’d rather that than my family and all those people die.” You say bluntly.

“You can’t.” Emily says as Spencer nods agreeing with her.

“I will.” You say through gritted teeth.

“Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.” Hotch said as you arrive into the building.

Outside the building

“Prentiss, J.J, Morgan, you take the left side. Rossi, Reid, Y/S/N and I will take the left. Meet in the middle.” Hotch says as you all nod putting your vests on and holding your guns out ready.

“Ready?” Spencer asks you.

“Yeah, let’s go.” You say.

“FREEZE FBI!” You announce, noticing the un-subs who set the bomb to go off and run. “After them, left stairwell, 6th floor, going down.” You say, “I got this.”

“Y/N…” Spencer began

“Spencer, fucking go. I’m fine.” You say shooing him away.

Spencer nods, not really wanting to leave you and goes after the un-subs with the team.

“You forgot about one thing princess.” You suddenly hear behind you.

“Smith?” You say, recognising his voice. “What the fucking shit?”

“Never were the smart one was you…” He said stomping on your arm and you scream out in pain trying to grab your weapon as he stomps on your leg and starts to tut. “Oh Y/N… So helpless… So innocent… Never could take my punches…” He said as you quickly notice a gap and grab your weapon, as he stabs you in the chest. You take your chance, whilst screaming in pain and shoot him dead then quickly tell the team you are hurt and continue to work on the bomb.

30 seconds until it goes off.

You take some wires apart. 20 seconds left.

“Y/N!” You hear the team call your name.

“Up here!” You call back, as you manage to stop the bomb going off and collapse next to Smith, blood pouring out of your chest.

“Y/N… Breathe… You’re going to make it…” Spencer says scooping you up and putting pressure on the wound as you close your eyes. “You’re going to make it…” He says again as tears go down his cheeks as the paramedics arrive to take you to surgery. “I’m going with her.” Spencer tells Hotch who nods.

“Keep us posted.” Rossi says as Spencer just keeps his head down as Morgan tells Garcia what happened.

“Oh my baby… Please bring her home.” Was all that she managed to say.

You ended up having surgery.

“Dr Reid?” A doctor said coming out in scrubs full of blood.

“Yes.” Spencer says quickly getting up, he hasn’t left the hospital since you went in 5 hours ago, twice to have a stress cigarette and to get a coffee.

“She’s strong that girl. Her heart stopped beating in surgery, but she’s out now and she’s awake if you want to speak to her.” He says

Spencer nods and follows the doctor to your room as he tells the team the news.

“Oh thank God.” Garcia says, ��Bring her dessert. She needs chocolate pudding.”

Spencer walks into your room. “Hey.” He says softly

“Hi pretty boy.” You smile.

“Nice to see your memory wasn’t affected.” Spencer says

“If I’d been stabbed 5cm closer. I’d be dead.” You say, “I think my bomb days are over.” You chuckle then wince noticing the stitches.

Spencer sits down. “Are you okay, besides the pain?” He asks giving you the chocolate pudding.

“Yeah, I mean, I got my best friend right here and my favourite pudding. Can’t complain.” You say smiling

“I was really worried for you.” Spencer said

“Me too.” You admit

“Can I ask you something?” Spencer asked biting his lip

“If it’s for a stress cigarette, I already know you have had one.” You say, “We have the same habits Dr Reid.”

“No.” Spencer laughed. “I like you Y/N. I love you actually, more than just you being my best friend… I have for the last few years… Would you like to go on a date with me?” Spencer asked looking down.

You smile, cupping his face with your hands. “I’d love to, but maybe when I’m not wearing a hospital gown and we have an audience.” You say referring to the team all there, and Penelope on Skype, waving at you.

“Audience?” Spencer asks then clocks the team. “Fuckers.” He says as they all come in to hug you and bring you more pudding.

“She’ll be out tomorrow morning.” The doctor said

“Thank you Doctor.” You smile at him

“Don’t do that again Y/N.” Hotch whispered to you, you’re like the daughter he never had. “You saved 1000 people, and we caught the other two un-subs.”

“My bomb days are over.” You assure Hotch and make grabby hands for the pudding Spencer has started to eat.

“Hey pretty boy, better make sure pretty girl gets her pudding or she’ll put a bomb on it.” Morgan said as you all laugh.

“I love you guys.” You smile.

“The feeling is mutual.” Rossi smiled as they all left you and Spencer alone.

“Stay the night?” You asked him quietly.

“I’m not leaving you.” Spencer smiled kissing your cheek and holding your hand.

“I thought you had a thing with germs.” You say

“I make exceptions for my Mum and my date.” Spencer smiled, “Now get some rest.”

“As long as you don’t eat my pudding.” You say as you close your eyes getting the best nights sleep you have had in a long time.

“Deal.” Spencer whispers as he sings you your favourite song, Firework by Katy Perry.

'Cause baby, you're a firework

Come on, show 'em what you're worth

Make 'em go, "Oh, oh, oh"

As you shoot across the sky

Baby, you're a firework

Come on, let your colors burst

Make 'em go, "Oh, oh, oh"

You're gonna leave 'em all in awe, awe, awe

Tag-list: @pumpkin-goob , @jpegjade , @andiebeaword , @hopebaker , @hotchsbabygirl , @hercleverboy , @cupcake525 , @gubetube , @aperrywilliams , @cosmic-psychickitty , @marleyhotchner , @gubler-me-up

Requests are open! 

Let me know if you want to be on my tag-list!

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #spencer x reader #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #jj #Penelope garcia #my fics

[succubusphan]

Everything I Wanted

Summary: Dan dreams and dreams of what his life could have been if he had gotten everything he ever wanted - the what ifs that pale in comparisson to what he had now.

Based on the Billie Eilish song.

Rating: G

Word count: 4.9k

Tags: Mild Angst, fluff, established relationship, lots of love and support, My best attempt at being poetic with quite a bit of help. Mild references to homophobia.

A/n: This fic was written for @thoughtathought for winning the charity auction for Dan’s Birthday. Thank you so much for your donation and for being extra amazing! And thank you to @schnaf  for being my support and grammar beta and @icequeenjules26 for adding to the grammar and poetry aspect of the fic. Thank you both for your opinions and unthank you to both of you for roasting me (I’ll see you in hell.)

This is an accompanying piece to If I Ain’t Got You but can be read as a stand alone.

Read on ao3

Rain fell mercilessly upon the streets of Wokingham. Dan sighed and brushed a wet strand of hair out of his face - he hated this fucking weather. His hair was already ruined, but there was no way around it. He pulled his jacket tighter around his body and made his way to school. 

 Dan walked down the hallway of The Forest School confidently. For once in his life he was on time to meet his friends before the first lesson of the day. Some of the people standing off to the side waved at him as he made his way to their usual meeting point. He waved back with a smile even though he didn’t know them. He didn’t mind. It was normal for less popular students to look up to the more popular ones and want their attention in whatever form they could get; he honestly felt a bit bad for them. Luckily for Dan, he had fit into his group right from the start.

 He found them outside the library, as usual. Not because they used it, though. “We’re too cool for that,” Thatcher had said, so the group never went inside. In fact, Dan didn’t know what the inside even looked like. 

 He leaned against the wall, trying to look cool. “Hey, what’s up?”

 “Nice hair, Howell,” Thatcher said. 

 The rest of them laughed - as they usually did - but Dan didn’t mind, they were his friends after all. 

 Thatcher didn’t drop it, though. “You look like a drowned rat.”

 “Thank you, Thatcher! When I want to look like a wanker I’ll ask you for hair advice,” Dan elbowed him. 

 The group laughed even louder and that made Dan’s heart soar a bit; he enjoyed making people laugh like that.

 “Oi, at least I do well with the birds!” Thatcher laughed, wrapping one arm around Dan’s shoulders. “Are you going to call Lara back? She keeps asking.”

 “Uh, yeah. I- ” Dan tried not to let his smile falter. “I will, when it’s time… you know, you gotta let them wait so they want it more.” He winked and his friend roared with laughter again. This time he felt empty. He wasn’t going to call Lara, but he didn’t want to admit that. They accepted him as they knew him, a straight boy who did kind of well at school and was funny; a cool guy. They didn’t need to know that it wasn’t the truth - nobody did. 

 “Damn right! Smart move, Dan. Come on, let’s visit our little friend over there.” Thatcher pointed to a scrawny looking boy. 

 Dan didn’t speak to him, but he knew him. They sat together in math class. If Dan closed his eyes, he could see that shining black hair and those piercing blue eyes just as clear he saw them in front of him now… his rosy lips and long pale fingers tracing over Dan’s skin.

 He shut his eyes, dreading it already. He wanted to leave, he wanted to disappear off the face of the earth, but of course, he had no such luck. Thatcher grabbed his arm and pulled him along. Bullying was a mandatory group activity. 

 “What’s up, Gaylord? What’s it like being lord of the gays?” Thatcher spat. 

 Dan tried his best to seem invisible, to fall behind the rest; he didn’t want any part in this. 

 The guy, Richie was his name, rolled his eyes at them. “What’s it like being Lord of the ignorants? Will you need me to tutor you again, Thatcher? Will you start begging me to -”

 Thatcher’s fist cut him off. It wasn’t a real punch, Dan knew. Thatcher could do a lot more damage if he wanted to, but he seemed conflicted. 

“You have no right to speak to us like that. If you do it again, you will regret it.”

 Richie sighed in defeat. He suddenly looked much older. Dan felt like crying, but he didn’t - he couldn’t. Richie stared into his eyes with unshed tears; as if he knew. He knew that Dan was just like him, but he was also a coward. Someone who would rather be with the bullies instead of being their victim. 

 It was true, but he was their victim too, just in a different way. Richie wiped some blood from his lip and looked at it as if it was a foreign object, then back at Dan. ‘Aren’t you going to do anything?’ his eyes pleaded, but Dan just lowered his head.

 He felt as if the world was crashing down on him like a breaking wave, drowning him, suffocating him in the process, so he did what he usually did when nothing felt right: he ran. He turned around and exited through the back door. He could no longer keep the tears from falling; he was such a piece of garbage. He ran until his lungs felt like they were about to explode. Oh, he was going to be in so much shit for bailing, he was going to be found out, he was - 

 He reached the corner of the street and tried to set foot down on the pavement but he found no support so he fell and fell and fell, into a never-ending dark pit, swallowing him whole.

 Dan jolted awake, his heart pumping in his chest, he was covered in sweat and could feel tear tracks on his cheeks. He sluggishly wiped them off with the back of his hand and tried to calm himself with a breathing exercise. He looked to the right where  Phil laid at his side, undisturbed, and smiled.

 The sunlight coming in through the window formed something like a halo around him. Dan’s smile deepened as he examined Phil’s face - the face of the man that had been his companion for eleven years now. He saw their entire story on Phil’s face, in the signs of ageing he loved so much. The stray grey hair, the smile lines, they spoke of so many adventures, arguments, laughs and love; they reminded Dan of their history together, their history as partners, as best friends. 

 Phil pouted in his sleep and Dan’s heart swelled in his chest. He was so in love with him, even to this day. There was no other way to describe Phil than as his soulmate. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, the remnants of the nightmare gradually fading from his memory. 

 Dan shuffled closer to Phil and placed his head on his shoulder, softly running his nose against Phil’s neck and breathing in his scent. He smelled like home. 

 Phil started to stir, unconsciously pulling Dan closer to his chest with a hum. Dan kissed Phil’s neck, causing him to finally crack one eye open and look at him questioningly. Dan just kept running his fingers through his chest hair, absentmindedly tracing little patterns without a notice. 

 Phil smiled and closed his eyes again, scrunching his face at the sunrays blinding him. “Mmm?”

 “Good morning,” Dan whispered. 

 “Morning.” He placed a kiss atop Dan’s head. “Why are you awake so early?”

 “Mmm. A dream.” He pulled at Phil’s chest hair a bit too hard, making him wince. “Or more like a nightmare… Bullies.”

 Phil frowned and held him a little tighter. “Dan, you know they can’t get you anymore.”

 “I know.” He sighed.

 “Wanna tell me about it?”

 “I guess it was how things could have gone if I’d been able to pass as straight as a teenager. That was everything I wanted, to just fit in.” 

 Phil hummed in acknowledgement. “Did they still bully you?”

 “No, I wouldn’t say they did, but they did something worse.”

 Phil stayed silent, giving Dan the time to process what he wanted to say. 

 “I was weak. They pressured me into being like them. They bullied my friend, Richie. In the dream, he wasn’t my friend, but he was gay and he knew I was too. He looked at me when Thatcher punched him.” Dan’s voice quivered; he suddenly felt like crying again. He allowed himself a moment to breathe. “He was pleading with his eyes, asking me for help and I did nothing.”

 Phil ran his hand up and down Dan’s arm comfortingly. “You wouldn’t have been like them, Dan. You know that, I know you do.”

 “How do you know? How can you be so sure?” Dan lifted his head and looked into Phil’s eyes.

 Smiling, Phil laced their fingers together. “Dan, I know you. We’ve been together for over ten years. I know you better than you know yourself.”

 Of course, Dan settled back down without replying. He wanted to deny that. He knew that Phil was right, but part of him always told him that he was not as great as people seemed to think, that he was just a great pretender. 

 But Phil pulled him away from that thought process right away. “Why do you think you had that dream?”

 The sunlight shined through the room, reflecting off of their sparkly nicknacks. Colourful circles danced on the far wall, vibrant shapes and patterns that created the illusion of a magical world. Dan kept running his fingers through Phil’s chest hair and followed the lights with his eyes. 

 “I guess writing about my childhood brought some memories back, and some doubts too,” he finally said. He hadn’t actually thought about it. His mind had been a bit more prone to … distress since he dived into his past and his mental health. 

 “Yeah, that would do it.”

 “Yeah,” Dan smiled softly, closing his eyes and placing a kiss on Phil’s chest. 

 “So it’s not because you think you actually would have been like that,” Phil pushed.

 “No, it’s not,” Dan said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

 Phil cupped his cheek and guided his chin up, pressing a kiss to his lips, his jaw, his dimples, his eyelids. Dan sighed and allowed himself to be loved, to feel happy and supported. Nobody could take this away from him. He was safe now.

 --

 The hail smashed against the window of his 35th floor office, Dan looked out into the London sky with a heavy sigh. He had managed to push through university somehow, graduate at the top of his class and become a Senior Partner by 30. 

 He loved his career, he really did: the competitive aspect of it, the debate, and helping people. Sometimes he could even go as far as to say that he was happy, but most days he felt merely content. 

 Everyone had praised him for having so much drive and ambition, which was, in great part, the reason for his success, but sometimes he didn’t want any of it. 

 He had achieved what most people would want in life: A career, success, money, a loving boyfriend; but when he got home, when he crossed that door, he wanted to leave it all behind. He didn’t want to be a lawyer or discuss laws, or his cases, of the state of the world. He only wanted to be Dan; just Dan.

 He got on his Porsche and not five minutes later he was parked in front of his beautiful home. Then, he pushed the alarm button, locking it for the night and with the twist of a key, he was inside. 

 He removed his shoes by the door with a sigh and the noise of the TV coming from the lounge made him smile so he followed it. Richard sat on their sofa with his legs close to the side, gently moving his glass of wine in circles, letting the air mix with its contents. Dan walked up to him with a smile and cupped his cheek as he kissed his lips tenderly. “Hi,” he whispered against his boyfriend’s lips.

 “Hi,” Richard said immediately, letting his eyes return to the TV. “Why don’t you get changed? Dinner will be ready soon.”

 “Thank you, do you want to play Mario Kart while we eat?”

 Richard scoffed without even looking at him. “Dan, you know I do not like that sort of childish game and neither should you. You are a lawyer, and 30 years old at that. It’s time to grow up.”

 Dan’s smile vanished, he swallowed thick and his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. “Right.”

 Richard heard it in his voice before Dan could say anything, he stretched his hand towards Dan and Dan held his out as well. Richard laced their fingers and pulled him onto the sofa. “I love you, Dan. I just think it’s time to let all those childish things go. We’re adults.” He ran his fingers on Dan’s chin gently. “And you, my love, need a shave.”

 Dan frowned; he felt so lost. He wanted to run. He was fed up with all the constrictions, the responsibilities, the eternal office hours and society’s demands on how he should behave. He just wanted to be happy, even for a little while. Why wasn’t that allowed? Why didn’t he have the right to play videogames and wear stupid pyjamas and have fun? He let out a heavy sigh. He felt so drained all of a sudden; if he’d had any energy, he would’ve cried, but he put on a little smile instead. “Could you shave me?” He asked. 

 Richard smiled widely. “Of course, love. Go change and meet me in the bathroom.”

 Dan smiled a little wider and went into their bedroom. It was their little thing, Richard liked to take care of Dan and Dan took care of him too. Maybe he was right, maybe Dan needed to stop wasting time. 

 Dan grabbed his pizza themed pyjamas, but then he shook his head, choosing to put on his Armani pair instead. Then, he grabbed all of his dorky pyjamas and video games and went into the kitchen; he stood beside the rubbish bin for a minute, finally shoving them in before he could regret his decision. The anime would be next, but that was a task for another day.

 He let Richard shave him, lost in thought with his head resting back on the chair. “Do you ever think about switching careers?”

 Richard raised an eyebrow at him and continued slowly dragging the razor on his chin.“No, of course not. Why?”

 “Sometimes I think this is killing my soul, like I’m slowly wasting away.”

 Richard stilled his hands. “Don’t be silly! And what would you do?” He asked with a smile before continuing.

 “I don’t know. I used to act; I’ve always loved theatre and comedy… something related to art, I guess.”

 Richard clucked his tongue and rolled his eyes with an amused smile. “Of course,” he kissed Dan’s head. “Tell you what, if you still want to do that when we retire, I will support you. What do you think?”

 Dan sank in his chair feeling even more empty than before. “Yeah, you’re right.” In a way, he was always acting to be the version of him that everyone expected.

 He stayed up until 4 that night, watching stand up comedy specials and dreaming of a better life that would never come. Maybe achieving your dreams was not all that people made it out to be. He wished he would have allowed himself to make mistakes, but now it was too late. He should have dropped out when he got the chance. Now he was trapped.

 Trapped was the first word clearly standing out in the jumbled mess that was Dan’s thoughts when he woke up.  He opened his eyes and tried to focus on his surroundings. He felt paralyzed, unable to move a single muscle, and a dull feeling of panic enveloped him like a heavy blanket, suffocating him; it rested on his chest like a boulder and made it hard to breathe. ‘Is this sleep paralysis?’. He blinked repeatedly, trying to make sense of the situation, until his eyes finally found what he sluggishly identified as source of his predicament: A very cuddly, sleeping Phil. 

 He was draped over Dan almost completely, his arms tightly wrapped around him and one of his legs tangled in Dan’s.

 Dan tried to move his feet, but that only caused him pins and needles. Disrupted by the movement, Phil wrapped his leg over his and hooked his foot behind his knee.

 Unable to contain himself, Dan snorted. Even in his sleep, Phil wanted to stake his claim on him. Dan sighed - he really loved that silly goose. Unbeknownst to most, Phil was also a cover hogger, which often left Dan feeling cold and vengeful. 

 Taking advantage of Phil’s state, he did the only thing he could think of: he rolled them back onto Phil’s side of the bed and smiled. Now it was his turn to wrap himself around Phil tightly and enjoy the warmth, but he used the covers to shelter them both from the chilly morning air. 

 The first rays of sun peeked above the horizon and Dan couldn’t help but feel incredibly grateful that he had pursued his career with Phil at his side - Phil, his partner in crime, his number one supporter, his companion through life. They had been a great duo for so many years, allowing them to grow as a pair but also as individuals in a secure environment. Now they got to stand beside each other in support and pride. 

 Phil hummed in his sleep as Dan caressed his arms softly, feeling the texture of the hairs there. It felt rough but comforting, like the pavement under the palm after a fall, reminding him he was still alive - overall, it felt real. It reminded him that even though his life felt like a dream, like a fairy-tale someone had written about his life, that was not what it was. It was his reality, no matter how unbelievable it seemed. 

 He sighed. This is what he wanted now. Cuddles in bed with his boyfriend, a career in a field he truly enjoyed, he truly felt himself in, and respect from the people in his life. He had it all, and he was well aware that without Phil’s love, support and encouragement he never would have made it. “Thank you,” he whispered into the quiet of the room, the words building up in his throat and breaking free entirely without his consent.

 “Mm?” Phil mumbled, not opening his eyes, obviously still in his dreamland.

 “Nothing, go back to sleep.” Dan smiled.

 “K. Make me breakfast.” Phil requested, clearly still asleep. “Don’t - let the unicorn eat Norman.”

“Ok, I won’t,” Dan said, dropping a kiss to his chest and settling back to sleep with a sigh. 

 --

 A fine snowfall accompanied his trip through familiar streets, but even the delicate, white flakes did little to turn the scenery more pleasing. They couldn’t cover the piles of old snow at the side of the road, the dirt making them look like a brown slush that just served to make Dan’s inner child very sad. 

 He still remembered when his dad filled his room with artificial snow for his birthday and they had an amazing time playing in it; their laughter had woken up his mom and baby brother who had joined their games. Everything had been perfectly white, but no such luck today.

 Returning to the family home for christmas was always an emotional ordeal and this time was no different. 

 He sighed happily, wiping off the taxi window with his finger to be able to see out. He couldn’t wait to see them all. Once the car reached its destination, he paid the driver and dragged his suitcase out of the trunk. Before he could make it to the door, his dad stepped out, smiling widely and ready to take his suitcase - not without giving him a hug first, though.

 “Hello, son. How was the trip?” his dad asked, already dragging the suitcase to the door.

 Dan shoved his hands in his pockets to shield them from the cold and smiled. “It was good, thank you. Where’s Mum?”

 “In the kitchen with grandma. Adrian went for a run in the woods with Colin.”

 Dan shook his head fondly. “Same as usual then. Popsy? Watching the TV?”

 His Dad laughed. “Yes, I’m afraid.” 

 They made their way inside and shut the door behind them. Robert took the suitcase upstairs while Dan shook his granddad’s hand and went to the kitchen to greet the rest of the family and receive some hugs. He had been craving them more than ever lately. 

 “Oh, Daniel, it’s so good to see you. Come here,” his grandma said, opening her arms for a hug. 

 Dan hugged her tightly. “Hi, I missed you so much.” He never wanted to let go. It was silly, but he felt emotional at being able to see his family again after six months. 

 “That’s easy enough to solve, come visit more often!” his mum said, her arms stretched for an embrace already. 

 Dan hugged her and placed his chin atop her head. “Hi, mummy. How are you?” 

 “Quite well, my dear, but we were looking for someone to help us with the cookies!” she said, stepping away and rubbing his arm. 

 Dan sighed and rolled his eyes with an amused smile. “Ok, but I want real butter.”

 “Ok, she laughed. “It’s in the fridge, let it soften on the counter.” 

 Dan nodded and started to work on the recipe he had been taught so many years ago. At this point it was more a matter of muscle memory than thinking, so he relaxed into his baker role. 

 His grandma placed a hand on his arm trying to get his attention. “Daniel, how is this semester going? Did you get the extension you wanted on that paper?” 

 “No.” He smiled tightly. “Everything is going well. I need to improve some grades but I think I can manage to keep my score.” 

 His mum scoffed. “Of course you can, you always do.” 

 “Certainly, that’s why we never worry about you. How is that boyfriend of yours doing?” 

 “Thank you, grandma.” He kissed her temple. “He is doing well, he is working on his thesis so he will be spending the holidays on campus.” 

 The conversation slowly dissolved but they continued to work in an enjoyable silence. 

 Once the tray was in the oven, Dan finally decided to go back to his old room and flopped onto the bed. He huffed and sat back up, reaching for his suitcase and getting his laptop out. 

 He settled against the headboard and pulled up the latest video from his favourite youtuber, amazingphil. Phil was so gorgeous and fun and smart. Sometimes Dan wondered what would’ve happened if he had actually replied to him on twitter. Sending that dm had been risky enough, so he had dropped it immediately. Besides, he’d had a boyfriend at the time. There had been no reason to go looking for someone else; it wasn’t like Dan to do something like that.

 Dan pouted, ‘Would we have gotten along? What if we would’ve actually become boyfriends?’ He snorted. That was ridiculous. It’s not like someone famous like Phil was going to be interested in Dan, and he had to go to Uni anyway. Once he arrived at campus and settled in, he felt less lonely. It was at university that he opened his heart again and met his current boyfriend. He pressed his lips into a line thinking about the horrible breakup with the previous one. Dan didn’t even like to mention him by name so everyone called him “Voldemort.”

 ’Would Phil have cheated on me? Would have he broken my heart?’ 

 Dan left his computer on the bed beside him and laid down, looking around at the rainbow decorations, some put up by him, some added by his mum after he left. The pictures of them at Pride as a family were his favourites, he was tempted to bring them back to campus with him.

 He was already dreading going back. Oh, how he wished he would’ve stayed a happy child forever, but the older he got the more his loving family expected of him. He was the first child, pampered to no end, every opportunity at his fingertips, and they expected nothing but the best from him. They told him that often enough. 

 They didn’t demand it of him, they just expected it, out of love and support for him. In his family’s eyes, there was nothing wrong that Dan could do, and failing uni was one of those things. So many times during high school he had secretly pulled all nighters to keep his grades up, but now, at university, it was completely different. He felt like he was constantly trying to catch up but he never did. 

 Every single aspect of his life was crumbling, his grades, his health, his relationship and… his mental health. He didn’t have a reason to be sad, he knew that. So many kids wished they had what he’d had all his life, but he was still struggling. He was caving under the pressure, it was pathetic. 

 His boyfriend was going to break up with him, he could feel it coming. His family had been so disappointed when his highschool boyfriend dumped him right before Christmas, they had had to return his presents and all. And now, they had a family vacation coming shortly but it seemed like Dan couldn’t hold a man - or find the right one - he didn’t know anymore.

 His phone dinged, he checked the notification wearily. It was his boyfriend. “This is not working, Dan. I think we need to talk.”

 There it was. Of course, he waited until Dan was away to do this. Dan felt like he was hyperventilating and for a moment he thought that he was going to faint but instead, he started sobbing. Everything looked hazy but he could make out the water coming in from all the windows and doors flooding his room the more he cried. He was drowning in his own sorrows. He stood in an attempt to escape, but before he could even call for help, he found himself in a lake, kicking, trying to swim towards the surface, but he could never reach it. His lungs hurt more and more with every passing second. 

 “Dan? Dan!” a comforting voice called him, he swam to it. A ray of light broke through the water. 

 “Dan, wake up,” the voice whispered.

 Phil brushed his lips against Dan’s face. Dan was crying in his sleep so Phil shushed him and tried to chase the tears away, leaving a trail of kisses as he whispered: “As long as I’m here no one can hurt you.”

 Dan stirred awake and held onto him, continuing to sob so desperately it scared even himself. Sadness rested on his chest like a body of water, like he was trapped at the sombre bottom of the ocean, slowly but steadily getting crushed by the pressure. 

 “What’s wrong?” 

 Dan shook his head and kept on weeping, clutching at Phil for dear life, as if he was the anchor that kept himself from floating away, from sinking even further down into the darkness.

 “Dan, talk to me. Please, you’re worrying me.”

 “Sorry,” Dan tried to let out between his sobs. He struggled to get a grip of himself, to calm himself down, but it still took him a few minutes. 

 “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” Phil pressed their foreheads together. 

 Dan swallowed, but nodded. “I had another dream.” He settled onto Phil’s chest, both for comfort and to avoid the piercing stare that only served to rile him up further. 

 “A nightmare.”

 “Mhm. I was home for christmas and everything was perfect.” 

 “That doesn’t sound too bad, what happened?” 

 “They loved me, and accepted me and they thought I was the smartest guy ever.” 

 Phil hummed but let him continue. 

 “In the end, the pressure became too much. Even the fact that they accepted my boyfriend turned into something else they could judge me on.” He sighed and finally met Phil’s eyes. “And the worst part was that I never messaged you back on twitter. We never met. I kept bouncing from one unhappy relationship to another.”

 Phil raised his eyebrows at him but said nothing. 

 “So this boyfriend started to break up with me over text -” 

 This time, Phil interrupted him. “Ouch.” 

 Dan smiled softly. “Yeah, so I started crying and my room flooded. Water kept coming in from everywhere and then it turned into a lake, so I tried to swim but I couldn’t. I was about to drown, but then you called me and I followed your voice. It was like a ray of sunshine flickering through the water.”

 Phil grinned and tightened his hold on Dan. “I knew you loved me. So, what does it mean?” 

 “I think it relates to the other dreams - or nightmares. In each of them I get things I wanted throughout my life so I end up in a very different place than I am right now.” 

 “Would that be so bad?” Phil asked him. 

 “Yes. Everything is as it should be. If I could go back in time, I would do it all over again. There is no life I would rather have than what we have right now.” 

 “I love you so much,” Phil said and kissed him oh so sweetly, their lips barely touching, just letting them rest on his with the weight of a feather. 

 “Love you,” Dan mumbled into the kiss. And he did, he really did. As long as he had Phil’s love and support, he had everything he wanted. 

#Phanfiction #phanfic #phan #dan and phil #phan fluff

[bigskydreaming]

Thank you for the boosting and the donation! Got the rest of the rent there now, which let me sit down and whip out my first commission, yay! Someone who said they didn’t need to be credited asked me for 2K about the idea of “what do I think Dick’s opinion would have been of the Felipe Garzonas situation at the time.”

Which is a fucking awesome premise, and not one I’ve spent a lot of time thinking on, but it hit me right away....like, you know I’m always talking about how Jason and Dick have a lot more in common than most people think, IMO, and also that Dick isn’t nearly as incapable of understanding the impulse to kill as he’s normally assumed to be.....but thinking about Jason as Robin and whose side Dick would fall on that, if he’d been asked to weigh in....and given that he was still on iffy terms with Bruce and thus probably more inclined to side with the kid in his literal shoes, who he could remember being in certain ways, at certain times...

It made my mind jump straight to Robin: Year One, and how when Bruce fired Dick as Robin that first time, after the Two-Face incident, he kinda pinned the judge’s death on Dick, like as a direct result of Dick’s choice there...and this definitely affected Dick throughout the entire rest of the mini...which all culminated in him being trained at Shrike’s Vengeance Academy and literally holding a gun on Two-Face himself, having been ordered to kill him by Shrike, and wanting to...because of how Two-Face had so recently hurt him, and in Dick’s eyes...also been the direct result of his fallout with Bruce, the thing that made Bruce run away.

And so with all that in mind, here’s what I came up with. It’s open-ended, because my commissioner said they would rather me leave it unfinished if I felt there were more places I could take it, if other people wanted to commission further additions to it or I wanted to finish it myself later when I had time.....so here’s 2,695 words of Dick and Robin!Jason in the week immediately following  the Garzonas case. I got in a groove with it so went over the commission mark, lol, (I don’t charge extra for that, FYI, lol) but also I wanted to make sure I left it in at least a somewhat place for a break, rather than just in the middle of a thought.

This is definitely something I’d come back to on my own, just to finish it, no further commissions required, but like.....being able to use the commission to pay towards food or rent instead of waiting until I have the time and energy to bang out actual fic, like...definitely would make that a sooner rather than later thing, not gonna lie. LOL. I mean hey, I wrote this in the last hour. 

(Which also means its unbeta-ed, but they said that was okay and I think it still reads pretty cleanly as is). Anyway!

********

UNTITLED FOR NOW

The way Jason Todd warily eyed the device in his hand, one might think it was an instrument of great and terrible destructive power, rather than just…his own personal cell-phone.

To be fair, he was Robin, and pretty used to the idea that even the most unlikely of things could be used for evil in Gotham. It could’ve been stolen and replaced at some point by a henchperson of Mr. Freeze, and using it could unleash some kind of cryogenic freeze ray that would turn him into a Robinsicle. Mad Hatter could be up to shit again, and dialing the phone at this very minute might mean syncing it up with a remote radio signal that would override his natural brainwaves and turn him into Tetch’s mindless minion of like…doom and stuff. Or…or…

Or sometimes, even in Gotham a phone is just a phone, and Freud is still a dumbass. And neither of the above possibilities had anything to do with why Jason was being a giant freaking pansy about entering the last digit of the phone number he would never ever admit to having had memorized for months now.

Nightwing had said to call if he ever needed to talk. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t actually want Jason to call, right? Like, its not as if Jason had remotely been expecting him to do that, so its not the sort of thing someone did just because it was ‘expected’ or shit. He was pretty sure. Rich people manners were weird though. Had to factor that in.

But Nightwing had also even made a point to say not talking to people about stuff was Bruce’s problem and that Jason shouldn’t let it be his problem too, and even though months ago Jason had been a starry-eyed dumbass who was totally drunk on the Bruce is the Bestest Kool-Aid or whatever, ‘Wing had definitely known what he was talking about there. So maybe he’d get it, and having this conversation with him wouldn’t be. Like. The actual worst idea in the history of ever.

Deductive logic said that Jason was getting worked up over nothing and there was no rational reason for him to be this nervous about dialing a fucking phone number. And he’d gotten pretty good at the whole deduction shit, given all the work he and Bruce had put into training his mind to view the world through entirely new paradigms, so Jason was pretty sure his math on that checked out. But on the other hand, Bruce was a hypocritical asshat that Jason was currently not speaking to, so what the fuck did he know about anything?

Aaaaand he was back to square one. Well damn. This was excellent. Very productive. Good hustle out there, Jay.

Sighing gustily, Jason flopped back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and trying to pretend he hadn’t gotten used to how luxurious and cushion-y his ridiculously expensive mattress was. He’d gotten soft, he told himself. Then he scoffed at the idea that the past year and a half of rigorous Robin training and patrols had made him less tough than the pipsqueak he’d been back when living on the street, getting his ass kicked by bigger and badder on the regular. That hadn’t been hardness, that had been bravado.

But it had gotten him this far in life, so maybe there was something to be said for it after all?

Ugh. Decisions were hard. He objected on principle. He also really wanted to understand why he was this nervous…if he could literally fill the guy’s shoes and kick supervillain ass as Robin, what freaking sense did it make that he couldn’t even call him up on the phone?

Maybe you just know better than to ask him questions you don’t really want to hear his answer to, a smug voice said in the back of his mind. It sounded suspiciously like Willis Todd, which was all kinds of weird and fucked up, cuz Jason was damn sure his abusive a-hole of a deadbeat dad had never said anything that insightful in his life.

Which meant it was his own screwed up subconscious - presenting in the voice of his not so dearly departed douchebag dad, no less - that had Jason reacting out of spite, entering the last number and hitting Talk, all while totally on autopilot. Because apparently we’re all making healthy life choices in this Chili’s tonight, Jason snickered somewhat hysterically while his phone rang once, twice, three times.

Ugh. Was he always this fucked up in the head and he just never noticed, or was it a side effect of running around rooftops in a cape. Inquiring minds wanted to know.

“Hello?” Someone said then, answering on the fourth ring. Jason sat bolt upright, his nervous humor vanishing as quickly and unexpectedly as it’d hijacked him in the first place. For all that he’d only actually interacted with the older man a few times, his voice was instantly recognizable. As was his slight confusion.

Right. Because why would Nightwing have the untraceable number of the latest burner phone Bruce had given Jason, when the ever paranoid Bat had him swapping out phones every freaking week? Duh, Jay.

“Uh, its me,” Jason said hastily, as if he could somehow catch up to and overtake the epically long ten second silence he let lapse before his mouth started making words again. “Jason?”

“Jaybird! Hey! What’s going on?” The older vigilante’s tone instantly morphed into one of surprised delight, so apparent even across the phone that Jason actually pulled it away from his ear and stared at it, as if that could explain Nightwing’s inexplicable giddiness. He’d literally only met the dude three times. Give or take a concussion he was forgetting about maybe? Weird.

Then again, the older man was a circus performer from birth. Might just be good at faking being super excited to hear from people? Whatever. Still weird.

“Uh, you said to call if I was ever having, I dunno, issues with Bruce I guess? So I kinda had a question? I mean, if you’re not busy or anything.”

Just one question? Willis’ voice asked snidely, echoing in time with the rapid tripartite beat of Jason’s heart. Since apparently everything Jason said was trying to come out with a question mark attached to the end of it at the moment. Ugh, fuck you, subconscious, Jason thought forcefully, even as he ransacked the recesses of his mind for that bravado he was thinking about earlier. It had to be in here somewhere…

“No worries dude, I’ve got time. Hit me!” Nightwing said cheerfully. His lighthearted cadences were so at odds with the sweat suddenly breaking out on Jason’s forehead, the younger teen couldn’t help but wince in anticipation of its inevitable change once he got his actual question out. This was a bad idea, he decided, way too fucking late for it to make a difference. He had a hunch Nightwing wouldn’t be content to ‘just forget it’ or whatever even if Jason chickened out now.

So he took a deep breath, shrugged and did what Jason Todd did best. Said fuck it, put pedal to the metal, and drove at full speed for the metaphorical police barricade that was his way of picturing all the things telling him He Should Definitely Just Not.

“Do you think I’m someone who could kill somebody in like, cold blood?”

Aaaaand there went the lightheartedness. Well, he’d definitely stone cold killed that, Jason thought grimly into the silence that followed.

“Huh,” Nightwing said at last. “You’re gonna have to give me a second to switch gears here, Jay. I was kinda expecting something along the lines of ‘how do I avoid Bruce giving me the safe sex talk.’”

Jason flushed and nodded jerkily, not that the older man could see it. Still, it’d been enough of a workout just getting to this point. He didn’t trust what might come out of his mouth next if he kept trying to force it. Thankfully Nightwing didn’t make him wait too long before continuing.

“I think anyone’s capable of killing somebody in the right circumstances,” Jason’s predecessor began carefully. Except that was not remotely what he wanted to hear. Or helpful.

“I’m not looking for platitudes,” Jason grit out, not angry at the other vigilante so much as the whole fucked up mess and his inability to think about anything else at this point. “It’s just a simple fucking question. You’ve met me, do you think like, I’d be capable of just killing somebody or not.”

“I’m not offering platitudes,” Nightwing continued calmly, as if he wasn’t phased by the younger boy’s interruption or sudden aggression at all. “And its not a simple question at all. Speaking from experience, most people wouldn’t think of an eight year old as a cold-blooded killer, but that’s what I could have been if Bruce hadn’t stopped me from killing my parents’ murderer when I first tracked him down. And yet that’s still totally different from when I held a gun on Two-Face barely a couple years later, about to shoot him because somebody else told me to, and because I wanted to hurt him like he’d hurt me. Wouldn’t you agree those are two different situations and two different ‘kinds’ of cold-blooded killer? Context is kinda a big deal here.”

Huh. First off…what the fuck? Jason stared blankly up at the ceiling, trying to hurry up the processing functions of his brain because, again, what the fuck? He was like ninety nine percent positive none of that had been in the Dick Grayson Is The Greatest and Here Are All The Reasons Why brochure he’d had read to him every time someone new found out he was Wayne’s newest stray, and like. Uh. Yeah, that part would have definitely stood out. Because once more, with feeling:

“What the fuck?”

Oops. That hadn’t been supposed to be out loud. Bad mouth. Bad.

Nightwing just did a weird kinda half laugh half sigh combo. Rueful, Jason would describe it, if he were describing it to someone else, which it kind of felt like he was, relaying the conversation to himself now that it’d taken a hard right turn into the surreal.

“Blindsided you with that, huh? Sorry, should’ve figured neither of those are the kinda stories Bruce would want to share with you. Then again, I don’t really have any idea what Bruce has told you about me.”

“Not much,” Jason admitted. Which was a major source of irritation, if he was being honest. The much sung praises of Dick Grayson came from literally everyone he met except for Bruce. Who usually just got a pinched expression whenever Jason brought him up, and a rapid subject change that was not nearly as subtle as Bruce seemed to think it was.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Nightwing sighed. “I hope you haven’t put too much stock in anything else you’ve heard about me then. I’ll admit to a bad habit of enjoying my mystique, so secondhand hearsay tends to lose my best nuances.”

Despite himself, Jason’s lips curved up and he let out a rueful huff of his own. “I mean, this definitely isn’t where I saw this conversation going.”

The older man chuckled. “Thought I was going to just assume the worst and chuck the book at you?”

“Well. Yeah.” Jason shrugged, even though he knew it wouldn’t come across. “Bruce did.”

Nightwing heaved an exasperated breath. “Yeah, that’s kinda the thing about B. Sometimes, he’s great. Other times, he’s an ass. Its kinda an either or thing. He’s never really mastered the art of finding a midpoint between two extremes. Mostly because he’s never seen the point of aiming for middle ground.”

“Well its not like he’s ever really had to,” Jason griped. It just slipped out before he could stop it, leaving him feeling guilty for bad-mouthing B when he wasn’t around to defend himself. Especially since he knew Nightwing wasn’t the guy’s biggest fan these days. But he couldn’t deny it also felt good, in a way.

To his surprise, Nightwing just laughed. And not even in a malicious, spiteful kind of way, but almost relieved.

“God, thank you. You’d think that ‘hey, so my billionaire guardian kinda has entitlement issues’ would be a water is wet kind of revelation, but try saying something like that to pretty much anyone else…”

“And they look at you like you’re an ungrateful asshole?” Jason finished for him. Not that he’d ever actually tried saying that to anyone before, though he’d definitely thought it a time or two. But he could all too easily imagine the reactions he’d get, which was pretty much why he’d never gone so far as to speak the words.

“Yup,” Nightwing drawled, dragging out the p and popping it with emphasis. “And its not about being grateful or not, its just…there are some parts of everyone that just aren’t up for grabs, for other people to weigh in on or take charge of, you know? And a lot of people just don’t get that…because nobody’s ever tried it with them, or had to deal with expectations that…overstep, let’s call it?”

“Is that why you left?”

Jason winced the second it left his mouth. Too far. Definitely way too far, but he’d just gotten unexpectedly comfortable with the back and forth, and now he’d done the overstepping thing himself and was left with just dead air.

But ten seconds of heavy silence stretched into twenty, and went no further, as Nightwing sighed into his side of the phone again.

“The spiteful part of me wants to say it was more of a push than me just up and leaving,” he laughed again, but this time with unmistakable bitterness. “But even while that’s true, its not really the right answer to your question, because no matter how much of a clusterfuck that was at the time, its not…I mean, I knew at the time how to fix it. Where and how I needed to cave in order to make up with him and let things get back not quite to normal, but at least close enough.”

The pause wasn’t as heavy or tense this time, as Jason could almost sense the older man gathering his thoughts, trying to put them into words. He bit his lip rather than risk any more unexpected utterances escaping. This might not have been where he’d thought his phone call would lead, but now that he was here, hearing the answers to questions he’d wanted to ask for over a year and finding them almost comfortably familiar, he wasn’t going to risk distracting Nightwing or shutting him up for well. Anything.

“But it would have meant me caving. Settling in ways that I just…couldn’t. So in a way, yeah, I did leave, it was still my choice. And all of that was definitely a big part of it. I love Bruce, I do. I just couldn’t live with him anymore. Not without feeling like I had to give up my own autonomy and just be what he wanted. Or what he’d expected me to grow up to be, back when he first took me in. And as grateful as I am to him for that, I can’t honestly say I would have stuck around back then if I knew that was the price tag attached. I’m not…I don’t do well with people trying to force me to stick to one place, one thing. I was born on the road, you know? When I was a kid, I expected to spend the rest of my life living like that. Home was people. Not places. And so Gotham…its never fit me quite right, the way it does him, or even Barbara. Its not like I was miserable there, its just.”

“It wouldn’t have been your first choice,” Jason finished again, quietly. There was silence again for awhile.

“No. No, it wouldn’t have been. Not then.”

[kinomiakai]

i know it's a lot to ask but i'm very sad at the moment and don't know how to handle it - and i have birthday on the 9th august. would it be possible to get a (vampire) one shot from you? it would be so great but i understand if that's too much to ask for. ahh its a dumb thing to ask but it would make me very happy so i wanted to try sorry!!!

    Sasuke was tired.

    Not because of the night classes—no, he was pretty well-suited to those. He’d been nocturnal for as long as he could remember. And what they were doing wasn’t particularly challenging—just some poses, and Sasuke was acquainted well enough with the human body. It was nice to look at, Sasuke thought, and he liked to spend the time to learn all the different shapes that people could be. He liked to spend the time to look at them. There wasn’t much that made him feel motivated, nowadays, and it was hard enough for him to live on the schedule he’d come to have as it was. This was the first hobby he’d managed to have since…well, it was the only one he had now.

    So—no, Sasuke wasn’t tired from class.

    He sighed again, forcing himself to move on for once. He’d spent thirty of the last forty minutes drawing and redrawing the model’s neck, over and over again. He already had a tendency to do that, and he was trying to learn not to. Everyone else had managed a full…

    “Alright, that’s it for today!”

    Crap.

    Sasuke sighed, and packed his things into his small, well-worn bag. He’d quit his job last week—or, well, they’d politely asked him to get the hell out of there once his I.D. had finally fell through. He’d very much appreciated the dim lights of the bar, especially alongside the added bonus of drunk, half-conscious people, but Sasuke had been starting to think the constant alcohol was getting to him. It tasted worse from them. Easier to get, though, and he didn’t have to hurt anyone too badly to get it, but he tended to need…more of it.

    He hadn’t liked that.

    Of course, now, he didn’t have that option as accessible. It was still there. He could still do it—still prowl the streets to look for easy targets and stifle the part of his mind that hated every second of it. It was a last resort, though, which is why he was so…

Tired. 

Tired and hungry and a little bit dizzy, and staring at a naked man’s neck for the past three hours really hadn’t helped. Go figure.

    He put his hood up and slipped through the door, keeping an eye on the ways everyone went—groups of three, four, five, six—one person there? No, a couple. Shit. 

    Sasuke leaned against the wall and pulled out his phone—which he’d naively continued to pay for, with the little money that he had, in spite of having a grand total of zero numbers to call—pretending to scroll his way through some screen or another. There were still a few students left in the class, so with just a bit of luck—

    A body breezed past him, tucking two earbuds in. Good sign. A casual jacket hung off his shoulders, left unzipped—no necklaces to watch out for, either. Sasuke watched as the man walked a few more lazy steps, staring down as his phone as if picking a song, before promptly turning down the alleyway Sasuke had had his eye on for weeks.

    Alright, then. The blond it was.

    Sasuke pushed himself off the wall and imitated his own slow, distracted walk. He turned his phone screen off as he continued to stare down at it, letting his eyes get used to the night again—it took longer when he was tired, when he was like this, and he only had about another two minutes before the two of them would be back in the public eye again—he sped up his pace. He had almost mastered getting to them before they could notice—

    “Wh—hey, the fuck are you—”

    Shit. Sasuke was sloppy and stupid and the man wrenched his shoulder from Sasuke’s grip as soon as he’d felt the heat of his skin at his lips—Sasuke grabbed at him but only caught his jacket—the man spun around with a punch that Sasuke would have dodged if not for the jacket wrenching him in—

    His nose would have bled, if he’d had enough blood left. As it was, he was dizzy and desperate and too far in to—

    The man pinned Sasuke to the wall with his forearm, keys in his other hand. And a swiss army knife? For god’s sake. Of all the—

    “Picked the wrong person to…what the hell?”

    The man flinched back. Whether it was Sasuke’s eyes or his fangs that did the trick, he didn’t know. At least he hadn’t stabbed him, though.

    Still—

    “The hell’s wrong with your eyes?” the man asked, eyes wide, brow furrowed, knife in his hand.

    “Probably the same that’s wrong with your brain, moron,” Sasuke snapped, sliding down the wall. He’d barely had the fight in him for that, and now his nose fucking hurt on top of it all. He felt slow and exhausted and fuck this—

    “Wh—you—I’m the moron?! I just kicked your ass!”

    “And you’re sticking around to find out what happens next?” Sasuke spat, pulling his hood back up. “Get out of here.”

    Sasuke closed his eyes.

    “I’m not going to turn my back so you can get another go, you know. I’m not stupid.”

    “Great,” Sasuke said, tucking his head between his legs. “Stay here forever then.”

    The pain pulsed between Sasuke’s eyes—in time with his consciousness, waving in and out. He’d been spacing out and losing his vision and—

    “Are you…okay?”

    Sasuke looked up, incredulous.

    “Are you serious?”

    “Well I’m not gonna let you die here—I’ll—there’s a hospital near here—”

    “I don’t need a hospital,” Sasuke snapped, “either kill me or leave.”

    There was a pause.

    Sasuke closed his eyes again.

    “What were you going to do to me?”

    Oh, for god’s sake.

    “What do you think, genius?” Sasuke asked, keeping his eyes closed. Maybe if he just fell asleep…

    “You—come on. There’s no way.”

    “You’re right,” Sasuke said. “There’s no way. So you should leave before the unhinged lunatic wakes up again.”

    “…Is the unhinged lunatic going to wake up again if I leave?”

    Sasuke opened his eyes only to glare.

    “Your eyes are back to normal,” said the blond, knife still in his hand.

    “And yet your brain remains firmly rooted in insanity. Leave me alone.”

    “I’m serious,” the blond said, stepping forwards—and Sasuke flinched back, hitting his head to the wall, as the knife moved closer, “I—oh, shit, no, I’m not gonna—I mean I—”

    The man’s mouth opened and closed, as if trying to decide whether to appease Sasuke’s delicate sensibilities, or continue to defend himself from an obvious threat.

    “You know I attacked you, right?”

    The blond continued to watch him.

    “You don’t look too happy about it.”

    Sasuke rolled his eyes.

    “Yes,” he drawled. “It ended rather differently than intended.”

    The man’s head inclined to the side, as if he was scanning Sasuke for something—

    “I would have expected you to run,” he said, “after I—y’know—pulled a knife on you and all that.”

    Sasuke didn’t reply.

    “You can’t run, can you?”

    Sasuke didn’t reply.

    “Can you even stand?”

    “Are you getting off on this?” Sasuke snapped, the wave of anger making him feel even more light-headed than before. “Leave.”

    The man crouched in front of him. Sasuke flinched back.

    “Hey,” he said, reaching out an empty hand. “Make your eyes do the thing again.”

    Sasuke stared at him. The man’s wrist came closer. And he could hear the blood humming under his skin, feel the heat of it, he—

    “You don’t know what you’re doing,” he said quickly, desperately—

    “Hey,” said the guy, “they do glow. Cool.”

    “You’re insane,” Sasuke breathed.

    “I’ve still got a knife and I’m not gonna let you die. I save your life and you won’t turn me into one, yeah?”

    “I have no idea how to even do—are you—” Sasuke stared at him, “are you serious?”

    The man waved his wrist in front of his face—Sasuke snatched it out of the air before he even had another thought.

    “Ooh, fangs too—wh—o-oh…”

    Finally. Finally. Sasuke nearly collapsed with relief—he fell forwards, clutching the wrist to his mouth, groaning into the warmth—god, he’d been so—

    “Okay—that’s—that’s enough. That’s—”

    Sasuke let out a small half-strangled noise as the wrist pulled itself away. As the man pulled his wrist away, fuck, it was like he lost it in moments like this—

    “That’s—I mean, uh, was that enough…?”

    The haze in Sasuke’s mind slowly, slowly cleared.

    “I…” he said, staring up into the blue eyes he hadn’t even noticed before—and the marks, on his cheeks, oh— “oh. You’re the one who’s always in class.” 

    The blond pulled back.

    “Wh—yeah, ‘cause my dad owns the place—that’s the thanks I get for saving your life?”

    The man waved his wrist in the air and stared Sasuke down expectantly. 

    The corner of Sasuke’s lip twitched.

    “…Thanks,” he said finally. 

    “That’s better. S’weird though,” he said, bringing his hand back to him, “it didn’t hurt at all. I barely felt anything.”

    Sasuke let out a breath, feeling the weight in his body slowly, slowly draining out of him. He hadn’t felt that bad since he’d woken up.

    “That’s the general idea,” he said quietly. At least, he thought it was. He hadn’t gotten good enough to pick the arteries from the veins, but he’d at least minimized his impact as much as possible…when he wasn’t entirely desperate. “You should go.”

    “Hm?”

    “You’re going to be light-headed for a while. Go make it home.”

    “Oh—well—yeah, I’ve donated blood before, I know that. Are you gonna be—?”

    Sasuke snorted and shoved himself off the filthy (and wet, ugh, he hadn’t noticed it had been wet) floor.

    “I’m fine,” he said, giving the blond a challenging look. In debt or not, Sasuke was dangerous. Surely the man knew that.

    “Hey—can I see your teeth again?”

    What the hell—

    “You have the self-preservation of an opossum in the middle of a road.”

   The man laughed and moved closer.

   “Yeah, I’m a real dumbass—my friends tell me all the time. Open your mouth—lemmie see.”

   He moved closer, and—

   “Oi—you—” Sasuke said, flinching back, “get your hands out of my mouth—”

   “Ooh, they are kinda sharper, aren’t they? Not as much as when you bit me, but—”

   “They will be in a second if you don’t stop shoving your fingers at them—”

   That did the trick, and Sasuke stared him down with a significantly sharper gaze. Just because he was satiated didn’t mean he was full, and this idiot was waving himself in front of him like a—

   “Oh,” the man said, staring at him as if— “you’re scared you’re actually going to hurt me.”

   “Wave a steak in front of a rabid dog and see how it ends for you.”

   The man’s head tilted to the side, watching him with eyes that seemed too serious for that smile—

   “You don’t seem too rabid to me.”

   “I just,” Sasuke started, speaking slowly as if explaining something to a small child, “drank your blood. As food. With my mouth. I attacked you about two minutes prior to—”

   “And you let me win. You could’ve bit me anywhere—I only punched you once and you backed off.”

   “I wasn’t thinking straight.”

   “Yeah, you were,” the man said, “you were making sure you didn’t hurt me. You didn’t want to do it unless you knew I’d survive.”

   Sasuke glared at him. Fine. Fine, yes, he was utterly terrified one day that he’d completely lose himself, and he’d spent more than a few hours in a night making sure every person he knocked down could get back up again—

   “Fine,” Sasuke said, clenching his teeth together. “You’re right. Are you going to let me go, now?”

   “What am I, holding you hostage? You can go any time.”

   “You had a knife.”

“Still do, actually,” the man said, flicking it into his hand only to fold it away, “so don’t try anything, vampire.”

   Sasuke rolled his eyes.

   “Hey,” said the blond, “wanna help me find the headphones you so rudely ripped out of my ears?”

   He stuck the keychain into his pocket and shot Sasuke a wide, innocent grin. Sasuke sighed, but let his eyes flicker to life again, just for a moment—

   “They’re over there.” Sasuke nodded at them.

   “Aw, fuck that’s cool,” the man said, trotting over to unabashedly grab at the disgusting floor. “What else can you do? You got like—super speed or something? Do you age? Wh—I feel like we would’ve noticed if you had no reflection in class—”

   “That’s only a thing if the mirror is laced with silver, idiot.”

   The man’s mouth made a small ‘o’ shape. Sasuke’s lips twitched again.

   “And, uh, if it is?”

   “I don’t know,” Sasuke said. “I’ve never found one where I know that’s the case.”

   “Huh,” he said, “don’t you guys have like—a coven or some shit to teach you this stuff?”

   Sasuke’s good mood faltered. (He hadn’t known he was in one.)

   “None of your business. I’m leaving.”

   Sasuke turned on his heel, walking back the way he’d come. He’d be fine for at least a few days, now—and he really needed to find a new job before he was kicked back the gym membership he’d called rent—

   “See you next week, vampire!”

   Sasuke flipped him off.

    And he’d have to find a new hobby.

#sns fanfiction #sns fic #sns fanfic #sns #fics #tumblr writing #ep3otp #asks #anon #kinomi talks #bite me #vampire au #text post #long post #apologies if the formatting sucks I'm rushing!!! #apparently the internet is down for like my whole area dsjkfhfkds #rip my cell data #anyway let me know if you guys like this!! #and everybody say happy birthday anon!!

[rockindragonz]

Home Is Where the Taaco’s Are

Angus McDonald would never allow himself to be a burden on anyone, so he tries to make it on his own following the Day of Story and Song. He ends up in an orphanage with too many kids, too few caretakers, and too little money. When Taako and Kravitz find out, they will not let that stand any longer.

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 4333

Chapters: 1/1

Read on Ao3

No one really talks about what they saw, or rather didn’t see, that day.  It's never mentioned when the Day of Story and Song comes around.  For many, it is a day of celebration, but, for many more, it is a day of mourning and loss.  So many died to the monsters before anyone could see them.  So many husbands and wives, mothers and fathers, children and grandparents.  Everyone knew someone who had died without being able to see their attacker, all they felt was blood spilling from them by the gallon.  What they do talk about is the story of the seven birds and how courageous and wonderful these people were.  They talk of the Bureau of Balance and some speak of Carey, Killian, and Angus who had the privilege of fighting beside the old adventurers.

Its weird for a while for Angus.  Going to school and trying to have a normal life all while being so related to the seven people who saved countless realities.  When he’s first recognized on the street as Angus McDonald, member of the Bureau of Balance, he is in shock.  People crowd him and ask him so many of questions about the IPRE crew that he loses track of them.

For the crew, the year immediately following the Day of Story and Song was the hardest.  Taako and Kravitz had rushed headfirst into their relationship and had spent as much time together as possible.  Magnus began to rebuild Raven’s Roost after the destruction it had faced.  Lup and Barry joined up with the Raven Queen, so they weren’t around much.  Lucretia spent all of her time trying to fix all the mistakes she had made and created the Bureau of Benevolence to aid in repairation efforts.  Merle moved to the beach and became the leader of a city he now ran.  And Davenport all but disappeared off the map.

As for Angus, he no longer had a home.  He was alone once again, without a mother or father to speak of, and his grandfather’s grave had been destroyed in the attacks.  He applied to Lucas’s school and got in with no problems.  But now he was living in an orphanage where there were too many kids, not enough caretakers, and not nearly enough money.  Many children had been orphaned on that fateful day.  Despite everything, Angus found himself happier than he had ever been.  He was learning new and challenging things and he was visiting constantly with Taako and Kravitz who lived so close to his school.  He was finally living the life a child deserves to live.  No one knew where Angus was calling home, no one even really knew that Angus had no family in Faerun that he could have lived with.  Whenever the subject was brought up, he changed it quickly with a dismissive answer and tried to focus on something not related to his living conditions at all.

That’s how it went for the first year.  Everything was calm and quiet and everyone had a new appreciation for life and love.

It's been almost three years since the day or Story and Song now and Angus is still in the orphanage.  Prospective parents have been few and far between for the orphanage this year and donations haven’t been large enough to support the displaced children so there wasn’t enough food to go around.  Besides that, Angus had some massive finals coming up that kept him locked in his shared room most days.  Those two things combined over the course of a month meant that Angus was starting to show some bone in his ribcage.  He was constantly hungry now, but he ignored it and continued working towards his goal of becoming as good of a wizard as Taako was.

His final for the year was held on the day before the Day of Story and Song, so the day after was when he finally found himself with enough time to once again visit Taako and Kravitz.  Normally the gang would gather in one house to celebrate and relate stories, but the party had been put off for a day or so because Davenport had gotten stranded briefly in some remote part of the world and refused out of dignity to let Kravitz help him.  Before knocking on the familiar wooden door, Angus hesitated.  He knew Taako was more on this day and he really didn’t want to bother him, but his decision was made for him when a surprisingly casually dressed reaper opened the door.

Kravitz blinked down at Angus twice before grinning ear to ear.  “Angus!  I was just about to head to the store to get some stuff for dinner, will you be joining us?”

“Oh, no sir, I wouldn’t want to bother you two, I know you’re both very-” he was cut off by a loud growl from his stomach that caught him totally off guard.  The growling had stopped weeks ago but apparently the mention of Taako’s delicious food reactivated it.

“I’ll take that as a yes.  Go ahead and go inside, Taako is just in the kitchen getting some things prepared.”  Kravitz clapped him on the shoulder and stepped away from the wooden door and past Angus.  Hesitantly, Angus stepped into the warm home.

“Sir?  Mr. Kravitz let me in,” Angus said, calling towards where he knew the kitchen was.

“Angus, I’m in the kitchen, do me a favor and come give cha’boy a hand,” Taako responded.  Angus nodded to himself and dropped his book bag on the cozy couch that stood facing a lit fire.  He stared for a moment at the flames that licked up and around the logs burning, and he thought of Lup immediately as he stared.  Honestly, Angus was surprised she and Barry weren’t here; the twins were usually inseparable today.  Shaking his head, Angus walked to the kitchen to lend Taako the hand he had asked for.

“How can I help sir?”

“Just hand me stuff and put things I give you in the sink or something, I don’t really care as long as they get the fuck out of my way,” Taako said, passing him a dirty dish.  Angus nodded and dutifully placed it in the sink and ran the water to clean the bowl out a bit.  “Ango, gimme the salt.”  And so Angus did.  Things continued like this for a while, both of them existing in comfortable silence, despite the teasing that usually occurred at Angus’ expense.  Taako said nothing besides a few short words to indicate what he needed next for the recipe.  At one point, Angus got the feeling that Taako didn’t really need his help, he could tell in the way Taako would go to reach for something and then hesitate and ask Angus to grab it for him.  Honestly, Angus had no idea why the usually flippant man would allow him to help out, but he wasn’t complaining, anything was better than being stuck at that orphanage ny longer than he had to be.

“That’ll do boyo, we can chillax now and watch Fantasy Queer Eye if you want, though Krav might kill me if we watch a new ep without him.” Taako spoke loudly, almost as if he were trying to get someone else in the house to hear him, as he dried his hands off on a dish towel.

“Whatever sounds great to me sir!” Angus said with a smile he hoped was convincing.  The food he could smell that was now baking kept causing his stomach to growl loudly, but if Taako had noticed, he hadn’t said anything about it.  Taako plopped down on the couch in what Angus knew to be his usual place and waved his hand at the small TV above the fireplace.  A rerun episode of Fantasy Queer Eye came on, one where they were trying to help a gay man get a sense of style that he obviously didn’t have.  Occasionally, Taako would scoff at the clothing choices one of them would make for the client and he would mutter things like “Oh so you think you know everything about clothing, don’t you Tan?”  In these instances, Angus would only smile to himself in a fond way one would if one’s father was acting silly.

“So...how’re...things?” Taako said.  He had obviously grown bored with the rerun and was now trying to rope Angus into a long conversation about his life.

“Things are good, I am doing very well in school!”

“Yeah, no surprise there, boy wonder,” Taako said with a snort, “what are they feeding you over there anyways?  You look like skin and bone my dude.  I’m gonna have to take that up with Lucas and make sure that shithead is feeding you guys right.”

“There’s no need for that sir, I’m just...sick is all.”

“No, no, no, I know sick and this is not that,” he said with a scowl, “have you eaten a proper meal in the last few weeks?  I’m talking something other than a shitty ass school sandwich and a granola bar.”

“Oh sir, the shows back on!  I love this part of the episode, it’s so funny.”  Angus turned his face to watch the TV and rested his head in his hands, hoping to mask the bit of bone that had begun to show around his jaw area.  With no warning, the TV was shut off.  Angus turned to look at Taako only to be faced with a serious look that he had rarely, if ever, seen on Taako’s face.

“Angus, what is really going on?  I’m not a moron you know, I know malnutrition when I see it, and boy, am I seein it right now.”  Angus sighed and let his hands fall into his lap.  He was torn between telling Taako the whole truth and lying about his whereabouts and his food intake.  Lying seemed to be the better and less inconvenient option.  “Don’t bullshit me or I will get Merle to pop over here and cast Zone of Truth.”  Again, Angus sighed a deep sigh.  Taako wasn’t going to give up until he was satisfied with the answer, was he?

“Okay, well, I’m living in a home where they don’t have a ton of money right now and we haven’t been able to get much food together.  Most people have spent their money on the rebuilding efforts so donations are low.”

“Wait a second there boyo,” Taako said, his eyebrows raising rapidly, “donations?  What, are you living on the streets now?”

“No, I have a bed sir, I’m not sleeping on the streets anymore.”

“Anymore?”

“Um, well yeah, after the Day of Story and Song three years ago, I had nowhere to go, so I was on the streets for a few weeks, but an orphanage took me in.”

“An orphanage?!  Are you fucking with me?!” Taako yelled, “You’ve been living in an orphanage with barely enough food, if any, for three fucking years and no one even bothered to check on you?”

“I didn’t want to impose on anyone, sir.  I felt wrong aking anyone from the BoB to take me in because I’m not their responsibility,” Angus said, voice soft.

“Well fuck that noise!”  Taako stood violently, knocking into the coffee table as he rose.  Kravitz chose that exact moment to enter the room carrying a small bag of rolls with him.  He looked from Taako to Angus and back with a look of total bewilderment.  Taako’s face was pure rage and Angus was sure his was one of fear and shock.

“What is going on here?” Kravitz said, his voice unnaturally calm given the current situation.

“Angus here hasn’t been telling us the whole fucking truth for three fucking years!” Taako shouted.

“What ‘whole truth’ is he talking about, Angus?”

“Ango here has been living in a fucking orphanage with nothing to eat for three.  Fucking.  Years.”  Taako spat.  “That shit doesn’t fly.  Krav, take us to the orphanage where Angus is staying so I can get those fucking adoption papers now.”  With those words, Taako stormed off to the kitchen.  Angus could hear some banging as he grabbed the dish out of the oven and dropped on one of the counters.  He heard Taako swearing a muttering to himself just loud enough that he could hear the noise, but couldn’t make out any of the words, he just knew that Taako was furious.

“I-I-I didn’t mean to make him angry Mr. Kravitz, I promise I didn’t, I’m just really tired and I’m not thinking straight and I couldn’t come up with a believable lie in time to tell him,” Angus said as he stood, “I just didn’t want to force anyone to take care of me, that’s-”  Before he could finish his sentence, he was wrapped up in a tight hug from Kravitz.  Despite Kravitz being dead and his skin being cold, Angus had never felt warmer in all his life.

“Angus, shhh, it’s okay, he isn’t mad at you,” Kravitz said in a soft tone, “he’s mad that he didn’t notice you were going through exactly what he and Lup had gone through back on their home world.”  Angus was stunned.  This information was new to him.  Of course, he could infer it what with how jumpy Taako seemed to get in a new place and how he always seemed to know the fastest exit out of any room, but he had never had such clear confirmation.  For a long while, they stood there, Angus wrapped up in Kravitz’s arms with his own down at his sides in shock.  It took him a moment to process all that was happening and, when he finally did, he felt tears begin to streak down his face.  He wrapped his arms tightly around Kravitz, who pulled him down onto the couch, never letting go of him for even a moment.  Kravitz combed his fingers through the thick and curly locks as Angus sobbed harder than he had in years.  Taako returned at some point and wrapped his arms around the other side of Angus, but no one could tell you when or exactly how it had happened, it just did.

Once Angus had finally calmed down fully, he pulled away from Kravitz, but was unable to escape Taako’s tight grasp.  It seemed as if Taako was unwilling to let go for fear that he might lose him or something.

“Don’t you ever do something like this again, okay Ango?  We are your dads now, and thats final.”  Taako spoke with such finality that Angus was once again overcome with emotions.  He wrapped his arms tightly around Taako’s neck and buried his face into it and found himself crying once more.  Not out of stress or fear but out of so much happiness that he couldn’t handle it on his own.  Taako was happy to oblige him, wrapping his arms tight around his magic boy.  They sat there for what felt like forever.  Kravitz eventually stood up and went to get something, and Angus faintly registered talking in a room a ways away, but he wasn’t coherent enough to process any of it.  After what felt like hours, Taako and Angus let go of each other and only stared.  Taako’s eyes were red and puffy just as Angus knew his were, but this was more of a comfort than anything to him.

“How’re you doing kiddo?” Kravitz said as he took his place on the couch once more.

“Better.”

“Good.  I just finished speaking with the lady who owns the shelter and she is aware that we are coming to get your things.  She sounded drunk.”

“I did some detective work while I was there and I think she knows that I found out she stole all the money we had for food this month to pay for her alcohol.”

“That would explain it,” Kravitz said with a laugh, “when we get there, grab your things and do not say a word to her.  Taako and I will deal with her and her employer.”

Angus only nodded in acknowledgement and went to stand up, but was stopped by a hand on his knee.

“Angus,” Taako began, “you are never a burden on any of us, remember that.”  His face was stone cold serious.  He hadn’t seen this look since three years ago when he was preparing to kick the shit out of Lucretia for lying to him.

“Okay.”

Once the three were calm and collected, they gathered a few bags and waited for Kravitz to rip a tear for them to travel to the orphanage with.  Upon their arrival, the woman was standing in front of the building with a scowl on her face.  She was yelling at a younger girl who was covered in mud.  Once she had been incredibly sweet and loving to all the children, but that was when people were giving all they could to the ‘poor little children who had lost their parents to the Hunger’.  Now she was bitter and mean and crude to all the kids she came across.  Taako cleared his throat as he stared her down.  She waved her hand dismissively and continued to berate the girl for getting her clothes messy, but Taako was having none of it.  He grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her to face him fully.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” she demanded before she laid eyes on him.  It was almost comical how wide her eyes got when she was Angus standing behind one of the seven birds.  She had known that he was related to them, but they never visited or even contacted him at the orphanage, so she thought they had forgotten about him completely.

“I’m Taako from TV,” he said.  And, with all the rage and anger he had pent up, he punched her square in the nose with all the force he had in his body.  Granted, it wasn’t much, but she fell backwards, out cold all the same.  Kravitz only whistled as she went down and the girl stared at Taako in awe.  Taako turned to the young girl and, with a wave of his hand, her dress was pristine again.  “Don’t hit people, kid.”  He gave her a genuine Taako (™) smile and strode into the orphanage.  Angus was left shocked with Kravitz by his side.  The man laughed quietly and shook his head, but followed after his husband.  Angus followed suit, trying to keep up with him so that none of the other kids would wonder why a Reaper was here with one of the seven birds.

When they stepped inside the house, papers were flying everywhere as Taako searched for the forms he needed to sign.  Kravitz nudged Angus towards the stairs and pointed towards where Taako was obviously beginning his search.

“I’ll help him, you go get your stuff, if you need me, just yell.”  Angus nodded and began the climb to the shared bedroom for all the boys.  He frowned as he got to the top and all the kids in his orphanage were hiding in the room.

“It’s okay,” he began, unsure of how to help the kids, “it’s just me.”

“She said to stay here and out of sight or else, so we did.  What’s all the commotion downstairs?” one girl said.  Her voice was soft, so Angus could barely understand her, but he smiled anyways.

“Taako is downstairs,” he said.  Before he could even finish speaking, the children were scrambling to get down there to meet one of the famous seven birds.  Angus was left alone in the giant room with only his thoughts and his stuff to grab.  He pulled a chest out from under his bed where he kept all of his things and began to unpack it and put it in the bags Kravitz had given him.  He took extra care to cushion his most valuable items: his spell books for school, his journal where he kept all of his detective notes, and a single silver spoon that had belonged to the set his grandfather had entrusted him with that he knew Taako and the other two had stolen on the train.  This spoon meant more to him than almost anything else he owned so he put it in the safest spot he could imagine.

With a smile, he looked around the room one last time, gathered his things, and went downstairs to tell the two he was ready to go.  It was no surprise to him that Taako had been surrounded by the children.  What was a shock was seeing Magnus and Merle there trying to act as decoys.

“Hey guys!  Look it’s me, Magnus Burnsides!” he shouted, striking a pose and flexing.  Immediately, all the children who had been surrounding Taako flocked to talk to Magnus who took it all in stride.  The attention was something that the three of them had gotten very used to in the past few years, so it was nothing for Magnus to be messing with a few of the kids and trying to lift them while Merle tried his damndest to even see over the sea of children.  It seemed that none of the kids noticed Angus follow Taako and Kravitz to a side room where they could hopefully have a moment to process everything.

“Thank you for getting those two for me Krav, I couldn’t handle those brats for a second longer,” Taako said with relief evident in his voice.  Kravitz only nodded with a fond smile to which Taako rolled his eyes.

“So, Angus, shall we?” Kravitz said.  He gestured to the desk where Taako and he had already signed the paperwork.  The ink was fresh with their signatures, but that of the orphanage’s owner’s was not.

“She must have signed all of the forms forever ago,” Taako said with disgust, “she wanted ou all out of her hair so badly, I bet she would have gladly given one of you to anyone with cash.”

“Sirs?” Angus said, voice small, “Are you sure about this?”

“Of course we are, Angus,” Kravitz said with a gentle smile, “we love you, and we want you to be happy.  Do you want this?”

“Absolutely,” Angus said with a gigantic grin on his face.  His eyes had gotten a bit teary and his vision was getting slightly blurred, but he was happy.  Taako handed him the pen to sign that he agreed to be adopted, and Angus drew his signature over the line with the biggest smile he had had in years.

The rest of the day was a whirlwind of things.  Taako and Kravitz took him to the nearest city hall to turn in the paperwork and make it fully official.  The secretary there was shocked by Taako’s sudden appearance with a literal reaper’s scythe that dropped them in the middle of her office.  Once there, the woman only nodded in awe to the questions Taako asked.  When they brought up the lady in charge of the orphanage, the secretary shook from her stupor and began writing things down.  She assured them that the woman would be fired promptly and a new person would be instated as the caretaker.  Taako also insisted on making a hefty donation to the orphanages that fell under the jurisdiction of this city, to which the woman humbly accepted and tucked away.

“If I find out my money has gone to anything except the kids,” Taako spoke, his voice suddenly deep and filled with anger, “all hell will break loose.”  The woman only nodded, pupils blown wide in fear.  Satisfied his money would be used well, Kravitz tore open another portal, this one to their home.

As Angus stepped foot into their living room with all of his things in hand, it finally settled in his mind that this was real.  This wasn’t just a dream, this was actually happening.  He would be with a family, a real family, and he would finally be safe for the first time in three years.

“Your room is upstairs, I’m gonna heat up dinner real fast,” Taako said, all but sprinting away to the kitchen.

As if Kravitz could hear Angus’ concerns, he spoke, “Don’t worry about him, okay Angus?  He loves you, I promise, he’s just really bad at showing vulnerability sometimes.”  Angus nodded with a small smile.  He knew Taako loved him, he knew the trio loved him, because they teased him so often but they were also softer to him than anyone else.  Kravitz patted him on the head and started for the stairs to lead Angus to his new room.  When they entered, it was basically empty save for the massive bed against one of the walls and a dresser with a mirror on top.  Despite the lack of furniture in the room, Angus had never felt so at home.

“Welcome home kiddo,” Kravitz said, “I’ve always wanted to be a dad, you know.  So has Taako.  The last time he got drunk, actually, he talked about adopting you, but you hadn’t shown any interest in being adopted by anyone, so he dropped it quickly.  He’s really fucking happy about this.”

“I know sir, I am too,” Angus said, “thank you, sir, for adopting me.”

“Angus, you don’t have to call us ‘sir’ anymore.  You can call me dad if you want, or if you don’t want, whatever works for me.  I just want you to be happy here.”

“Okay, sir,” Angus paused, “dad.”  Absolute joy took over Kravitz’ face and he had to seemingly restrain himself from wrapping Angus up in a bear hug.

“Get settled in, and then come down for dinner, okay?”

“Alright.”  With that, Kravitz turned and retreated down the hallway and downstairs.  Angus watched him go for a moment, before he stepped into his new room and into his new life.

And he truly couldn’t have been happier if he’d tried.

#taz taako #taz kravitz #angus mcdonald #magnus burnsides #merle highchurch #the mcelroys #mcelroy family #griffin mcelroy #travis mcelroy #justin mcelroy #clint mcelroy #found family #family #fan fic #taz fanfic #the adventure zone #taz balance #writing #rockin writes #archive of our own

[prismatic-bell]

How-Tos of Protesting: Student Walkout Edition

Hey guys! So I’m going to do something I don’t normally do, and ask you guys to blow this up, blow it out of the water, destroy my notes. (If this succeeds, I’ll probably end up deleting the original post to save my own sanity. That’s okay.) Here’s why: I used to be a protester, and I still would be if I had the time/money/energy/a job that wasn’t shit. I’m not going to tell you not to protest or talk down to you--I’m going to share the tricks and tips I learned over three rather volatile years in the queer rights movement, and those I’ve picked up from other large protest movements. Please consider this a basic guidebook, a gift from your pissed-off Millennial aunt to you, to protest safely and effectively. This guide is aimed at the upcoming gun violence walkout protests, but feel free to adapt and use as necessary for other movements.

(Just in case this does blow up to every corner of the internet: you don’t need to credit me. This isn’t about me. This is about something much bigger than me, or you. Just help these kids do what they need to do.)

THE MONTH BEFORE THE PROTEST:

1) Ready yourself mentally. Even when you’re pissed and ready to go, standing up to speak very brutal truth to power can be intimidating. Do what you need to do to center yourself and be angry, but calm--write things down, make private Tumblr posts, take some photos or make some art that explains how you feel. NONE OF THIS NEEDS TO BE PUBLIC AND IN FACT ANY WRITTEN RECORD SHOULDN’T BE. The reason is simple: during and after the protest, the media will be looking for a way to discredit you. Don’t give it to them. This is your chance to get your head in the game.

2) Start assembling a protest kit. If you are a student or teacher, this should fit easily into your backpack or briefcase. You’ll want bandaids, neosporin or triple-bac, an Ace bandage, a liter of potable water, some light nonperishable foods (I recommend Belvita biscuits for nutrients-to-size ratio), about $20 in emergency funds, and a portable charger if you have it. DO NOT TAKE ANY MEDICATION. If you have any kind of disorder or illness that would require you to take medication during the day--even if it’s something as innocuous as a sugar pill--it’s better for you to either sit out the protest, or stay home. If the protest fails, or the administration allows it to proceed but insists on their own security measures, and you are found with medication on you (yes, even your own), you can be in a LOT of trouble. We’re talking expulsion, legal problems, and so on. The only exception to this is if you have school clearance already (for example, for an emergency inhaler), and you should take only the medications you have clearance for.

3) Choose a book to read, if you’re doing a sit-in/walk-out with sit-in, and put it in your protest kit. For this purpose I strongly recommend books like Battle Royale, Firestarter, and The Hunger Games, which contain the themes of “our children are forced to die because we’re too fucking power-hungry.” There’s a triple reason for this: one, if it’s a successful sit-in, you’re going to get bored. (Sit-ins are literally a lot of “hurry up and wait.”) Two, a group of students sitting around rebelliously READING? There’s not much the media can do with that, and for this reason I also recommend you leave your DS or other handheld video-game device at home. And three: a sea of books about rebellion seeking justice? That is pointed. That’s deliberate.

4) If you plan to have a sign or banner, start planning it now. Because the majority of protestors are going to be students, I strongly recommend you paint your sign on cloth, which can be folded or rolled up to carry in your backpack and also would be very difficult to miscontrue as a weapon. Please remember that while it is a very old and time-honored tradition to share the names of previous victims on your sign, it is considered to be in extremely bad taste to use their images; this decision should be reserved for siblings or parents only.

5) Select a “buddy network.” This doesn’t have to be composed of your closest friends, as long as the people in it get along tolerably well. The purpose of this group is to ensure that everyone within it stays calm and hydrated, and to watch each others’ backs in case of emergency. This means everyone in the group knows where everyone else is at all times, and is prepared to give pertinent information to emergency services if necessary. Which relates to my next month-out point . . . .

6) We’re going to get kind of somber now, sorry. As an adult, the first thing I thought when I heard about these mass protests was “fucking YES!” and the next was “Jesus. Oh, fuck. Sweet G-d anybody planning a shooting knows exactly when to plan it for now.” Ready yourself mentally for the fact that a shooting may happen at your protest, and make yourself a prep kit for this. Save an ICE (In Case of Emergency) number in your phone. Make a clean document that contains your full name, ICE number, parents’ names (and phone numbers, if they’re different from your ICE number), and pertinent medical information (including “NO BLOOD DONATION” if that applies), and the day before the protest, take a clear screenshot of this and make it your phone lockscreen. For example, mine would look like this (although I rather obviously changed my parents’ names for privacy reasons):

NINA LASTNAME EMERGENCY CONTACT JILL DIFFERENTNAME [My mother’s phone number] PARENTS JACK AND JILL  DIFFERENTNAME BLOOD TYPE O+

I take citalopram 20mg and Zyrtec daily and routinely take Aleve for inflammation. I have a severe allergy to sulfa and sulfa-derivative drugs. I am positive for genetic blood clotting disorder Factor V Leiden. I suffer from blood sugar crashes, but have no formal diagnosis. I am autistic and may be nonverbal under severe stress.

In an emergency situation, this information can save your life. Have it on hand, and make your buddy network save this information as well. Hopefully, you won’t need it and at the end of the day you’ll feel it might have been silly--but if you need it, you have it, immediately.

THE WEEK BEFORE THE PROTEST:

1) Check in with your buddy group. Be sure everyone has their kit assembled, and choose a meetup place for when the protest begins. The ideal buddy group should be no more than eight people; above that, it starts getting muddled. If your group is larger than that, I recommend splitting in two, and being clear about who belongs to which group. I know high school is a time of cliques and fitting in, but make it clear this is NOT about who likes whom--it’s for the safety of everyone involved. A smaller group is easier to keep track of. Period. If you’re a main organizer at your school, that’s great! You’re the head of a much larger body--but that body needs to have tiny bodies within it. You can’t be expected to watch over a few hundred or thousand of your peers alone. That’s ludicrous.

2) Select the clothing you’re going to wear. I recommend you go with “comfortable, but also dress for the job you want to have in ten years.” You want to be a teacher? Wear dress slacks or a dress skirt and a button-down. You want to be a programmer? Neat and clean jeans or cargo pants are fine, but wear a polo or button-down, no tee-shirts. You’re going into business? Slacks, button-down, tie. Your life plan is to be an artist with their own pants-optional studio? Wear the clothing you’d wear for your first big gallery opening. You want to be a singer? Imagine you won American Idol or The Voice, and this is your first big post-show interview. Your dream job requires a very specific uniform, like “chef” or “beekeeper”? Go with a nice shirt or sweater and good pants--the kind of thing your parents will call “an interview outfit.” If your school has a uniform, make sure yours is ironed. Be sure your hair is neat and clean.

Homework time! I want you to read this article. Ladies, if you’re wearing skirts, aim for knee-length AT MINIMUM, and tea-length is better. This isn’t me trying to crimp your style--it’s that you will be sitting and walking a lot, and a longer skirt will be easier to sit on the ground in. Remember: you are the future. You are our lawmakers, politicians, teachers, doctors, innovators, artists. Dress so that the media is forced to show images of hundreds, thousands, of teens who look like they got up that morning ready to kick ass and take names on Wall Street. There’s nothing wrong with tee-shirts or ripped jeans on your day off or in the classroom, but you want to show the image of “we’re here, your bright young minds of the future. How many of us will be here next month? Next week? Tomorrow?” A lot of people, especially those interested in shutting you up, won’t be willing to look past your clothes. Force them. You wanna really go the extra mile? Dress up and take your homework. It says “I’d be happy to learn, if only the teachers could worry about my grades instead of my life.”

3) Do an overview of relevant court cases, in case your right to protest is challenged. Here is an ACLU page on student protest in general to get you started. Here is their page on Tinker vs. Des Moines, which is a case you will DEFINITELY want to read about (the specific case was about the Vietnam War, but it will apply to you). I’d recommend not involving an American flag in your protest because it stands to overshadow what you actually want to say, but if you choose to do so, you’ll want to read about Texas vs. Johnson. To be sure what you’re saying and doing stays within legal safety parameters, read up on Bethel vs. Fraser. And while it’s not directly in line with the exact topic at hand, it’s always worth a look at West Virginia State Board of Education vs. Barnette. KNOWING THIS STUFF IS IMPORTANT. I know it seems like boring makework, but seriously, being able to say “with all due respect, Mr. Smith, the Supreme Court decided in Tinker vs. Des Moines that you may take my protest sign only if it’s disruptive in class” is important. When I attended protests in the late 2000s my group actually made Tinker required reading. You need to know this stuff.

And to top it off: at the March for Marriage Equality in 2009, we literally used the second half of the First Amendment as a protest chant because there were groups that had tried to block our license for the march. You can find the full text of it here, with annotations explaining its meaning and court cases related. It’s a very dry read, but please at least take a look at “Speech Plus” and “Rights of Assembly and Petition.” There’s no test on this stuff, I’m not going to quiz you to see if you got it right, just kind of . . . skim. See the background. Better still, have it bookmarked on your phone so it’s readily available if needed.

4) In case your group is questioned by the media, decide who your spokesperson will be. This should be someone who can speak clearly, is confident looking into a camera, and who can give a brief prepared statement without stuttering or sounding scripted and stilted. Why prepare the statement? Because you can be sure you’re including all relevant information without getting flustered, circling back, or being unclear, as may happen when speaking off the cuff--imagine having to give an English presentation in front of your class with no notes and no chance to go over it in the bathroom mirror. A good statement should be something like “My name is Nina Lastname, I’m a senior here at General McLane and we walked out of class today in protest against unchecked gun violence nationwide. Today is the 19th anniversary of the Columbine massacre. This year alone there have been over two dozen mass shootings, but in 20 years not a single piece of logical and meaningful legislation to protect students, moviegoers, church worshippers, or simply unarmed people on the street. It’s time that changed." The average local news piece is 32 seconds long (yes, I’m serious). You need your soundbite to be 15 seconds or less if you want to avoid it being edited, and 10 seconds is better. If your school has had a mass shooting of any kind, address it in your statement: “I’m a senior here at General McLane, where we had a mass shooting 20 years ago.” (Yes, that really happened in my school.)

THE DAY OF THE PROTEST:

1) When the protest begins, proceed calmly to your meetup place. Your school may have additional security measures in place, because make no mistake, I will not be the only adult who recognized the danger inherent in a walkout. If this is the case, be patient and calm with the adults who are doing the screening, lockdown, etc.; it’s very likely that they’re doing the only things they can do to keep you safe. Do not proceed until everyone reaches your meetup place.

2) Exit calmly. Don’t yell, swear, make threats, etc.; basically, pretend you’re getting on an airplane. If you want to play or sing protest songs, go for it, but steer clear of anything with cursing or language that could be taken as violent. (My go-to when I want to get good and pissed off and ready to fight is “Uprising” by Muse, but I’d never sing it at a protest because of the line “it’s time the fat cats had a heart attack/their time is coming to an end”.) If your school is in the South, consider “We Shall Overcome,” which was a very prominent song in the civil rights movement of the 1960s. Singing it in the South today would be a very clear and pointed reference. Since I am An Old, I’ll direct you to some older songs you may find relevant or a useful starting point:

Pink feat. Dixie Chicks, “Dear Mr. President” Sam Cooke covering Otis Redding, “A Change Is Gonna Come” Willie Dixon covering an old folk song, “Down By The Riverside” Crosby, Stills, and Nash, “Ohio” (trigger warning: this song is about a school shooting, linked video contains disturbing images of Kent State shooting)

(Please take note that each of these was used predominantly by a different protest movement, and be respectful. Respectively: the anti-Iraq War movement, the Civil Rights Movement, the anti-Vietnam movement, and I’m sorry to say, the fucking “can we stop shooting our kids at school” movement but in the 1970s.)

3) Keep tabs on your group. Ensure everyone is hydrated, and, if necessary, fed. If someone needs medical attention for any non-emergency reason (e.g. mild allergic reaction, overheated/too cold but not yet hyper/hypothermic, panic attack), assign a group member to help them seek care; if someone needs medical attention for an emergency reason, assign two people in the group who will call 911. (Why two? Because if your designated caller is the one with an emergency and you don’t have a backup, people will panic.)

4) If the media seeks a statement from your group, have your spokesperson speak. If they request to hear from other members of the group, be sure you deliberately echo what your spokesperson said--so if they say you walked out to protest gun violence, you would say “we walked out to protest all of the shootings that are happening nationwide.” The reason for this is because it’ll be a lot harder to paint the group as confused if everybody knows what it’s about. The “divide and conquer” method was used very successfully on Occupy Wall Street--don’t let it be used to undermine you.

5) If anyone asks to join your buddy network and you don’t know them at least by face (”I have algebra with that kid”), be polite, but cautious. Don’t be paranoid, but if you don’t know them, you can’t be sure they’re not an agent provocateur. If they say things that strike you as more than just a little bit weird, be doubly cautious; if at any time they hint at or suggest violence toward administrators, police, or other students, politely but firmly say “we aren’t having that kind of talk. We’re here for a peaceful solution to a violent problem, not to add more violence.” If they persist or say something explicit (e.g. “yeah? Well what if I told you I had a gun with me right now?”), find a safe way to exit the group, like going to the bathroom. Call law enforcement immediately. (If your school is doing a sit-in rather than a walkout, call the front office.) “My name is Nina Lastname and I’m a protestor at General McLane. A student none of my friends know has joined my protest group and [is threatening staff, says he has a gun, etc.].” THE ABSOLUTE LAST THING YOU WANT is for that person to be serious and either talk your group into a violent action, or to take a violent action against you. I know the police are kind of shit on Tumblr right now, and I understand why, but please believe I do not make this recommendation lightly. You want to keep your protest peaceful and organized. If the police need to be in the loop, please put them in the loop. They’re not going to want the bad press involved with hurting you guys, especially given what you’re protesting. Let them do their jobs. (This serves a second purpose: if that weird student is an agent provocateur placed by law enforcement, this tells them you’re not playing their game.)

6) If law enforcement tells you to move, be polite, but know your rights. “I’ll comply with your request, Officer. I would like to know where I may exercise my First Amendment right without compromising public safety.” It’s super-tempting to sass back. Believe me--I’ve been spit on and called “an animal” and “one of the whores of hell.” I know how tempting it is to fight back. Don’t do it. The only reason, the only reason, you should be engaging in physical or verbal violence at the protest (and that includes posts you may make on social media before, during, or after) is if there is an active attacker situation, and you are attempting to disarm the attacker. Otherwise, be polite. If your group is heavily nonwhite and you are white, use your privilege to their advantage: “My friends and I will comply with your request, Officer, but we’d like to know where, etc.” This avoids further confrontation. Intersectional problems at a protest are always bad news--they turn into thinkpieces, and thinkpieces are why people think my generation is a bunch of whiny babies. Don’t become a thinkpiece.

7) When the protest is over, ensure everyone in your buddy network is able to leave safely. Be responsible about your protest--discard any water bottles, food wrappers, or other trash you may have generated during the protest, and offer to assist nearby groups in doing the same. This is part of respectability politics--it goes hand in hand with the whole “show up in your Sunday best” thing. Don’t skip it.

Be safe, you guys. I have nothing more substantial than this to offer you. I wish I did. All I can say is this:

If you’re making a list of victims, make sure you go back to 1966 and the Texas Tower massacre. You’ll find fourteen dead, and a similar number wounded. Had they all lived, many would probably be grandparents today.

It needs to fucking end.

[potatosa-cks]

The Guiltless

“The realms of day and night, two different worlds coming from two opposite poles, mingled during this time.”

Jeon Jungkook // Character Introduction

Rated: M+, Mature Content;Warnings: Events of murder, street fighting, sexual relations.

I felt the sweat run down my face soaking my mask. My grunts and my motions became louder and rougher; I’m not sure who she was or how she ended up underneath me, but I could honestly not care less. Probably another one of those junkies trying to get off.

Outside I could hear the crowd chanting my name-

Playboy! Playboy! Playboy!

The match was about to begin and I was still here boning this girl, who honestly was another waste of time. Frustrated I pulled out, finishing with my hand while she looked at me clearly upset, “What about me aren’t you going to help me out?” she smiled. I didn’t respond moving over to the sink to clean up. She dressed fast and rushes out slamming the door,“You really are an asshole all those rumors about you are true!” God, annoying. I looked in the mirror, my mask was dripping with sweat and the bunny ears were hanging lower than normal. “Playboy you have to get out here no one’s willing to wait any longer.” I turned looking at the small man and nodded. I walked passed him going up the railing, the stage lights becoming brighter. Finally.

Playboy! Playboy! Playboy!

The crowd threw coins and flowers, women throwing their underwear. They were all here to either: see me get beaten black and blue or watch as I destroy the person in front of me. This was my life, the crowds cheers and curses became faint, the fighter in front of me warming up slowly came to a pause. At this moment, I’m reminded of my sweet, loving parents, who think I have been in college these past two years trying to become a successful doctor like my father. I let out a soft chuckle as I took in my surroundings; What would they say if they saw their youngest son fighting death matches in the streets?

The referee blew his whistle.

The man was obviously bigger than me. He seemed skilled from the way he ran and held his fists, I could tell he was a boxer. I didn’t bother moving a muscle, simply watching as he threw his right fist attempting to hit my right cheek. I sighed knowing this wasn’t going to be fun. I shoved my hands in my hoodies pocket and bent my knees avoiding his attack effortlessly. He brought his knee up and I made a quick sharp back flip landing quickly on my feet. The man kept throwing punches and kicks at lightening speed. I could see how tired he was getting, this was going to be an easy fight. The first ten minute round was over and he went to his corner sweating, drinking water, while his friends and coach pumped him up. I stayed put there since was no reason to return; I knew there was no one at my corner. The next match began as he circled around me: “What’s wrong little bunny? you have yet to throw a punch, are you only good at running away?” He let out a deep loud laugh trying to taunt me, hoping I would go after him but I wasn’t stupid. If I wanted to win this match I had to wait until he became tired. He came after me with a swift sharp kick but I quickly rolled to my side. Dodging the attack as I was still rising, he elbowed the back of my neck “Shit.” He let out another laugh, “So the little boy does talk!” The crowd cheered him on and I could see people betting on him, this motivated me even more. Either way, The more people voted for him, if I win, I take home the most money. He grabbed my hoodie, pulled me up to his face and he smiled: “Why are you always wearing this annoying mask show everyone who you really are.” He reached for my mask but I slipped out of my hoodie exposing my topless chest. The women cheered and the man chuckled, “What? are you ugly? is that why you wear it?” He shrugged and threw another punch but I was quick to move making it grace my jaw.

Before his leg touched my ribs, the referee called the second round over. He winked at me going to his corner and I turned looking at my corner pondering on whether or not to take a drink of water. “The match has received a huge donation from a wealthy man if both fighters are willing to turn this into a death match the winner takes home 5 grand!” The announcer spoke and the crowd cheered disgustingly. I needed the money so I rose my hand without hesitation. My opponent chuckled raising his hand making the crowd go crazy and we were called back to the middle. This wasn’t my first death match I rather enjoyed them a lot. The referee went through the rules then the cage was brought down trapping us in. The man laughed, “I’m going to murder you kid, then I’m going take off that mask soaked with your blood and put it on my wall,” He licked his lips and I rose the bottom of my mask to show a smirk, “You better wipe that shit eating grin off before I do it for you.” For the first time in forever I spoke: “I triple dog dare you.” he cracked his knuckles, “You brat!” Running towards me, I grabbed his shoulders and jumped very high. he looked up and while the heavy stage lights blinded his vision a smirk grew on my face  I straightened my legs as both my feet landed on his face and then I pushed up to jump again. Feeling his nose crack I smiled and became slightly aroused. I flew into the air as he grabbed his face blood spilling out onto the floor. I could hear his muffled scream making me want to hear it out loud. I stretched out a leg slamming the back of his head to the ground. He cried out and the crowd went wild while his friends pleaded for me to stop. I sat down on his back and he attempted to grab me but I turned back and popped his ankles out of the sockets making him cry out in pain. I smiled and started to laugh, I grabbed his face with my hands and repeatedly slammed it into the ground; blood stained my topless chest the white fur on my mask becoming red. Once he stopped moving, I felt how hard I had become standing there, drenched in this man’s blood the crowd cheered my name once more-

Playboy! Playboy! Playboy!

The cage was lifted and the referee came to my side a bit timidly much to my liking, I looked down at him from the eye holes still wearing a smirk he gently grabbed my wrist and lifted it declaring me the winner.

After it let up a bit I found myself in the small room cleaning off the blood. I showered pumping myself, feeling the adrenaline of the events from before and after trying to find some relief, I heard a loud knock. I grabbed a towel and wrapped myself and put on my stained mask. A man came in with two others. He smiled “Hello, killer.” He stretched out his hand and I shook it, “Here’s the bet money and the five grand I promised it all rounds off to seven grand.” He threw the bag to the pile of clothes, “I wanted to stop by and see you if you ever need work, call me.” He placed a black card with a number on my bag. Once he left I changed and left the building. As I walked down the alleyway, a group of guys stopped me. They were the friends of the man I had just killed, the rush coming back to me as I pushed my urge to smirk, “We are looking at everyone’s bag to see who that bunny freak is so lets see your bag, little man.” he ripped my bag from my shoulder the man next to him looked at his friend, “This poor boy looks like he’s but a child, he wouldn’t even know what we are talking about.” The other man glared, “You never know they say, the most innocent looking always end up being freaks.” He gave me a nasty look and opened my bag to see the bloody mask. “I fucking knew it!” He took it out. Even though my mouth was covered with a face mask my eye wrinkles clearly showed that I was smiling. “You piece of shit wipe that shit eating grin off before I do it for you!” I burst into laughter, “Funny your friend said the same thing.” I kept my composure but I was laughing and right when the man grabbed my collar and my adrenaline was hitting, “HEY! What the hell are you doing to that child?” A pale thin, man who seemed to be smoking with arms covered in tattoos came to the scene. “Let him go before I call the police, you piece of shit.” His voice was covered in venom it frightened me a bit. “This boy is a killer! Stay out of things you don’t know!” My attacker pushed the thin man, knocking his cigarette to the floor. He looked down before punching the man straight in the face knocking him out. He turned and glared at the other man who ran away. Sighing he looked at me, “Go home kid it’s-” Before he could finish, I felt my world become blurred and everything went black.

<The Liar: Kim Namjoon>    <The Guardian: Min Yoongi>

#A supplementary story #jeon jungkook #bts #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #bts scenarios #bts texts #bts reactions #bts imagines #bts fan fic #killer jungkook #bts au #bts angst #bts wings #bts i need u

[thotyssey]

On Point With: Honey LaBronx

This truly inspiring Sober Vegan Warrior of the drag world has a long history of both entertaining the masses and fighting for the civil liberties of humans and animals everywhere. Now she’s bringing a play that she’s written about her life before drag to a major theater festival in the city, while lighting up the internet with podcasts and video cooking shows. Lets enjoy this sticky-sweet moment with playwright Ben Strothmann, aka queen Honey LaBronx!

Thotyssey: Hello Honey! You must be real busy this week, fine- tuning things for a brand new production of your autobiographical play Virtual Memory, which premieres Friday as part of Dixon Place’s HOT! Festival! What is the most surprising thing you’ve learned about theater production from this experience?

Honey LaBronx: Honestly, I'm learning how much work goes into getting butts in seats! When I first presented a staged reading of Virtual Memory, I asked very few people to come. It was really something--I thought I was just doing for myself. I was hoping that maybe 20 people would show up; but somehow we had 85+ people there. It was full to capacity, and people had to stand in the doorway and watch from the hall!  

This time around, I just assumed "Okay, so those 85 people will show up--plus, a healthy fraction of the new people I've met over the last three years!"  Not the case--especially in August! I forget that August is dead for theater. So many people leave NYC in the summer, and it seems like everyone is going out of town that very weekend.  

So I actually made a spreadsheet to track each and every person I contacted about the show. So far, I've texted/ emailed/ Facebooked 591 people. I have 88 confirmed butts-in-seats, 9 uncomfirmed, and 107 maybes. Not bad, considering the space holds about 120 people. I really want to make a strong first showing at Dixon Place; it's the only way I can truly show my gratitude for this opportunity. Tom Amici (director) once told me the secret to selling tickets is making personal phone calls to invite people... but I just haven't had the time. 

I ended up spending the better part of two weeks just promoting the show, rather than actually working on it. Now, it's three nights before I take the stage, and I'm still worried about putting everything together and doing the work as an actor.

Many nightlifers recognize your drag persona Honey LaBronx from gigs, or from your online vegan cooking web show. Why did you decide to make Virtual Memory a Ben Strothmann production, and not a Honey LaBronx production?

Well, the show is just about Ben Strothmann. To be honest, Honey LaBronx didn't become a part of my life until roughly where this play ends. So who knows... maybe there will be a followup play. Becoming Honey, or something like that!

Without giving away too many juicy details, since I’m sure much is discussed in the play… where were you raised, and what was life like growing up gay and fabulous?

I was born in Milwaukee, and raised in Wauwatosa, a suburb of Milwaukee. Growing up gay was pretty lonely. I'm not that old, but I can already say it was a much different time back then. The internet wasn't really a thing until I was 11... and even then, most people didn't really get online til about two or three years later. So I grew up not really knowing any other gay people. 

It wasn't until I was 11 that we got the internet, and after a few years, once I was out to myself I started finding other people like me. I think that was really scary for my parents, that I was using the internet to find other gay men when I was barely a teen. But through it, I found fabulous friends in New York who worked in the theater, a friend who traveled the world and was able to expose me to so much culture, and I really got that I was okay and accepted.

How, when and where did Honey get born?

Honey was actually born in the apartment of Alexis Michelle from Season 8 of RuPaul's Drag Race. Alexis (Alex) and I were in a production of The Cradle Will Rock and he mentioned that he does drag. Some friends were organizing a drag pageant for charity, and I asked if they needed help. I wasn't expecting to be in drag, but they said it would be great if I could be there in drag to help sell tickets and work the crowd. 

So I went to see Alex, he painted me, and after 11 years of already having my drag name picked out, Honey LaBronx walked out that door and onto the streets of Manhattan. I didn't know what to expect! I wore a large men's raincoat to hide my drag underneath. I must have looked so awkward. I was convinced that people would stop and say something to me...  like, I'm not allowed to do this, or like I was breaking some rule, or something! 

I got to the venue, and backstage I met a guy named Caldwell who was putting his face on, and asked if his highlights were even. They weren't, and I was the only one willing to tell him. We became best friends and roommates for four years. He asked if he could be my drag mother and I said yes, somewhat reluctantly as I thought maybe letting Alexis paint me made her my mother by default. 

Caldwell / Kittin Withawhip later changed her drag name to Bob The Drag Queen -- and we all know how that worked out for her.

How would you describe your drag performing style, or Honey’s stage persona?

Midwestern mom drag. A slightly less brief description would be to say: Honey LaBronx -- the Whitest Lady Ever.

If I must elaborate, I would say that Honey is a comedy queen, a singer, and when people aren't expecting it, a shock queen. I've pulled a few stunts in my day. I may have been involved in an incident with an apple at The Ritz but that's another interview.

There's something I've observed about my performances: behind much of what Honey says or lip syncs on stage, there's usually an attitude of "--and I shouldn't even have to be saying this..."

You were involved in the staged gay weddings of couples on the street that Bob, Frostie Flakes and other friends used to oversee, as a public protest to anti-gay marriage before it was legalized. What’s your “favorite” memory from those times?

Yes! Those were started by Bob, Frostie, and Azraea. I used to be a waiter at... *sigh*... I used to be a waiter at Dave & Buster's in Times Square.  And so I could never join--nor even see them on Saturdays. For the first many months, I would be at work knowing that my best friends were fighting for our rights just blocks away. Finally, I worked out my schedule so that I could join them.

My favorite memory was the first time Bob and I walked down the "aisle" together. It was a pretty well-staged and scripted event. We walk towards the "priest" as if down the aisle, and then we exchange "wishes" instead of vows.  We wish for a world where foster children aren't refused parents, where gay men can donate blood, and other protections for LGBTQ people.

As we were walking the aisle, Bob said to me, "get ready for this moment. When you turn around, there are going to be about 200 people hanging on your every word.  It's a really powerful experience."

I turned around and held Bob's hands, wedding style. We started the ceremony. What seemed like hundreds of people from all over the world gathered around, listened, took photos, applauded...  and I was raising my voice to describe the kind of a world I wanted-- no, DESERVED to live in...  Bob was right. It was an incredibly powerful moment.

Bob made me an activist.  One day, I came home and Bob said "You know what? Too many gay people just accept the fact that they don't have equal rights. I am not okay with that." And from there, he devised his plans for the Drag Queen Weddings -- and later for blocking traffic as part of Queer Rising.

I discovered veganism around the same time--and because I already had an experience of myself as an activist, it was only natural for me to carry on fighting and demonstrating for animal rights. After working so hard and fighting so fiercely for marriage equality, does it boil your blood to see this monster in the White House so recklessly piss away queer civil liberties?

No. What boils my blood is to see how many friends and family are complicit.  Hearing "We love you -- we support you" all my life from so many people, not only my family, only to see them support a man who would piss away my civil liberties. I have never been this angry in my life. I still don't know what to do with that anger.

Honestly, that's what fueled me to bring back this show, and to tell my truth as a gay man. Hearing about the gay holocaust currently taking place in Chechnya, and watching the world just allow it, made me finally say "Fuck it -- why am I sitting back and not giving the world every ounce of me?"

I don't see how the two correlate. But the idea that there are men like me in Russia who...  I can't even let myself think about what is happening to them right now. I have an opportunity to live my life that they don't have--and only because of geography, not because I am more deserving of my freedoms.

I refuse to squander those freedoms, so long as I have them.

What specifically motivated you to become an animal rights activist and a vegan?

The book The Face On Your Plate by Jeffrey Moussaieff Masson. My friend John J. Oliver recommended it to me, and after I read that book I knew that I could no longer justify taking the life of an animal for the sake of my palate. And that's all it is. 

We don't need to eat them. There is nothing a human being needs from an animal. I actually believed we had to eat them. We don't. But we continue doing so--despite the fact that it causes heart disease, cancer, stroke, diabetes, and all sorts of illnesses that almost never happen to humans who simply don't eat animals.

It really angers me that there are people out there who say "But I could never give up fill-in-the-blank...” meanwhile, their "personal choice" is decimating the only planet we have.

Non-vegans are like Uber passengers who decide to loudly and generously fart in your car, and when you tell them you can't breathe, they tell you you're pushing your beliefs on them.  Sorry, not sorry.

So then, what would you say to someone who states they would never become a vegan because it would be too impractical of a lifestyle?

I tell them if I can do it, they can. There is nothing about me that would ever suggest I'd become a vegan. I am born to a food business family in Wisconsin. My mom is a dairy celebrity. My dad's family owned a German American restaurant that was in our family for four generations. There is nobody alive who was brought up on more meat and cheese than myself. Anyone, from any culture, can point to any aspect of that culture and cite reasons why they "could never" be vegan. And yet, there are people from every single one of those cultures who are making it happen.

No, it isn't more expensive. No, you don't have some blood type or rare disease that requires you eat animals. No, you wouldn't have to learn to cook all your own food.

How am I so certain?  Because I've already been in the other person's shoes.  I lived the first 30 years of my life arguing the opposite point.  I am delighted to have learned I was wrong.

Tell us a little about your cooking web show, The Vegan Drag Queen.

I became a drag queen about a month before going vegan (though I had already been vegetarian a few months, transitioning to veganism and doing all my research).  When I finally made the switch, I was living in a remote part of Brooklyn (Sunset Park) where there was a dirth of options for groceries and restaurants. I didn't have specialty vegan products. 

So, I had to rely on YouTube videos to learn how to make things. That's just how I learn. I'm not a reader. I mean, I'm literate, but I can't stand looking at words on a page. I'd rather watch it than read it. I hadn't yet discovered awesome vegan cooking channels like The Vegan Zombie or Black Metal Vegan Chef. I was lucky if I could find some hippie making a cooking demo and filming it with their iPhone. 

Some of the YouTubers had engaging personalities. Some had good production values. Some had good personalities. Few had all three. So I decided I could do better.  As soon as I thought of a drag queen offering vegan cooking shows online, I knew it was my calling.

My original mission was to show people how to make stuff for themselves without having to rely on specialty products. Why buy seitan or almond milk, when you can make it yourself?  But as the show continues, I'm discovering there is also a need for people who just want quick recipe ideas, or creative ideas for putting together the specialty vegan products they already know and love. So, I'm enjoying broadening the show's scope, bringing on guests... and I would love to tell you some ideas I have for future episodes but...  I'm sorry... those details are only available to my supporters on Patreon.

And you also host the Big Fat Vegan Radio podcast!

I'm sorry, the what? Did you just mention my Patreon? Why, thank you for asking! That's right, internet queens can't take your cash tips through the screen. So the only way to support your internet queens is to tip them on a monthly basis! What's three dollars a month to you? You know it won't make or break you. You don't need guac, anyway.

If one out of every five of my Facebook friends supported my Patreon at $3 a month, that would be $3,000 a month! I would be able to afford to do nothing but make content, tour, do shows, offer classes, give speeches...

Seriously, you people! What gives?

Oh, and you probably don't know I also have a podcast. That's okay. I'll tell you about it anyway.

Big Fat Vegan Radio is my baby. I started it just about five years ago with my dear friend Laura, and we just dish about vegan food, culture, and news. About half of our episodes are interviews. We occasionally do silly stuff, like vegan song parodies. 

What people like about our podcast is that it's just fun. There are better podcasts out there for hard hitting animal rights news. There are better podcasts out there for information on health and recipes and whatnot. But Big Fat Vegan Radio is your best bet if you just wanna plug in and pretend you’re hanging out with your best friend who happens to be vegan, and who happens to think he's better than everyone else because of it.

Congratulations on being sober and continuing to work in nightlife and the arts… not an easy lifestyle, to say the least. What’s the history of your sobriety?

Thank you. This month I am celebrating nine years clean and sober. You hear more about my pre-sobriety life in Virtual Memory, but if I have an opportunity to talk about my sobriety, what I'd really like to express is that I was (and am) a marijuana addict, first and foremost.

I say that because I want to dispel the myth that marijuana isn't addictive. It's not a matter of whether or not marijuana is addictive as a substance. It matters whether you have the disease of alcoholism.

Not everyone with alcoholism drinks alcohol. The disease is just named that way because problem drinkers were the first group to help us discover that addiction is an illness. If you suffer from addiction, then you can't use marijuana safely. Period. 

 What you can do is waste a good chunk of your life trying to prove you don't have a problem and that you can manage it.  But here's the question to ask yourself honestly: if marijuana has become a priority in your life--if you're running out of money, and you make sure you have marijuana before making sure you have food--well, we're holding a seat for you. There is hope.

I once shot headshots for one of Broadway's greatest leading ladies of all time. I have admired her since I was a young teen, and here I was sitting across from her at Joe Allen's, going over her photos after our session. She was even comforting me as I gushed about my recent breakup. And despite the fact that I am lunching with a Tony winner, all I could think was "How long before I can get out of here, go home, turn off the lights, close the blinds, put my sweats on, crank the AC, pack the bong, and just zone out watching TV?"

If that's all I wanted to do with my life - I didn't need to move to New York.

Also, if I never knew that marijuana addiction stems from alcoholism (whether or not you're a drinker), I never would have known that there was help for me in the 12 steps. People split hairs between alcoholism, drug addiction, or other compulsive behaviors. But the truth is -- there's ONE common solution to all of those problems.

I thank God for my life in Sobriety. I got sober at 29 (right in the middle of my Saturn Return), and I wouldn't trade my best days then for my worst days now. I can't believe how useful I feel today, and how much purpose life has. Not just "my life," but life.

What’s your connection to Iceland? You go there lot to perform and to give lectures, and I recently saw you at Star Search accompanied by a lovely young Icelandic queen.

YOU WERE THERE??? Did you say hi?

I have no real connection to Iceland. I'm just an enormous fan of Björk. After seeing her film Dancer In The Dark, I became even more interested in her, and I really started examining her music more closely. This will sound ridiculous, but I heard something in her music calling to me. Speaking to me. As if it were my ancestors trying to deliver an urgent communication from centuries past. Okay yeah, that's dramatic. But you get the picture.

One day, I found an album of hers I didn't know about: Gling-Gló, It's a jazz album almost entirely in Icelandic. I never knew Icelandic was even a language. Now as a singer, I learned many languages: Spanish, French, Italian, German... I've never heard one of those languages sung before, and thought "My God! What is this I'm hearing? I need to hear more of it!"

But when I first heard Björk sing in Icelandic, I asked myself "Am I going to translate these songs and learn what she's singing about, or do I just let go and listen passively?" The next thought was this:  "Ben...  FOUR year olds know what she's singing about!!!" It made no sense, but it convinced me. 

In 2002, I started teaching myself Icelandic... which is tough, not only because it's the 10th most difficult language, but there are very few resources for it. Especially back then (nowadays, surprisingly, there are many more people interested in learning it.)

I visited Iceland first in 2003, then again in 2006, then not until 2012. I returned last summer, and I am going there next week for my fifth visit.

By now, I have so many friends in Iceland that it doesn't make sense not to go there often. I've also connected with Drag-súgur, a local drag group there, and so I'll have an opportunity to do a few drag shows. I spoke there at the second annual Reykjavík Vegan Festival last year, which was such a treat because when I visited in 2012 people acted like they didn't know much about veganism. Four years later it was much more prominent, and I'm told that since last year, it has grown even more. So I can't wait to see what's in store for me -- especially on my cheat days!

Okay, let’s talk more about your one-man-show Virtual Memory. How would you describe the play?

I hate calling it a "coming-of-age gay play,” but it's a coming-of-age gay play. In short, it's about everything that's "wrong" with me--and learning to love myself exactly the way I am.  But the show is not as trite as that last sentence was.

Mark Finley is directing me and lending his vision to the writing. Thank God I have someone to help me edit.  Could you imagine if my play read like the answers to this interview?  I mean, come on! How have you been handling the challenge of acting in a work of your own writing? 

It's kind of weird, acting in my own stuff. I keep thinking of what Elaine Stritch said about her one woman show At Liberty. Watching the show, it just looks like she's acting natural up there. Like she couldn't possibly go up on a line, because she's just telling her story.

I realize now what she meant when she said "I am an actor playing the role of myself."  It's very different. I don't just get to be myself. I am still very much playing a character, in the sense that I'm not today who I was at the time of whatever scene I'm playing.

Fortunately, I'd say it's been a lot easier memorizing lines when I wrote them myself.  Except the question has become "which VERSION of the line is it by now???"

We’re all highly anticipating this play. What else is coming up for you?

Did I mention I have a Patreon?  Because I do.  And people can support me. Because who doesn't love tipping drag queens?

Seriously. There are so many creative projects just languishing on the back burners of my brain, because instead of creating, I'm busy schlepping to pay the bills. If the people who enjoy my work -- and who can honestly afford to do so -- would pledge a dollar, three dollars, ten dollars, whatever they can per month...  It would make it possible for me to devote 300% more of my week cranking out content and creating things that change the world.

Lastly, you want plugs?  Here are some random things I'm proud of that people might not ever know to look up...

 My White Christmas (White Privilege) parody song

My favorite drag performance ever (with Miz Cracker)

Me draining the water on my knee with help from Bob The Drag Queen

Check out my cooking show!

I just launched my merch store! So buy some shit!

Last question… if “Virtual Memory” ever gets a big Broadway—or even big screen--treatment, who should play Ben?

Judy Tenuta.

Thanks, Honey!

Honey LaBronx aka Ben Strothmann’s play “Virtual Reality” will be performed as part of Dixon Place’s HOT! Festival on Friday, August 4th (7:30pm). Follow Honey on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, YouTube and Patreon.

On Point Archives

#onpointwith #honeylabronx

[thisgingerneedsherjinglejuice]

Beca Mitchell hadn’t ever pictured kids as part of her life. She realizes that that’s probably not a shocking thing to hear, given one look at her.

Successful producer and artist who has a busy life in the music industry? A propensity to always don leather on her person in some form? Multiple tattoos and a blatantly displayed “fuck off” attitude? A habit of getting in trouble for lashing out at paparazzi? Check, check, check, and check.

Oh, and, you know - a wife.

But, truth be told, Beca wasn’t really completely opposed to the idea. Beyond her plans to make a career out of music, Beca’s idea of the future had always been incredibly vague – probably marry some cute guy, maybe not, and live in a house in the LA hills with room for a home recording studio. Beca didn’t actively dislike children, but she was absolutely unwilling to ever be pregnant or carry a child – the very idea horrified her - and so kids hadn’t ever been part of the nebulous idea of her American Dream.

But the day Beca agreed to hitch her cart to Chloe Beale for good, Beca knew that everything she had tenuously drawn out for her future was out the window. There was no way in hell that bubbly, happy, “squeals and coos over random babies in public” Chloe Beale was going to be satisfied with a house full of music and recording equipment instead of irritatingly noisy light-up toys and scattered legos.

So Beca redrew her plans. As long she wasn’t going to have to do any of the hard work of growing a human being and dealing with her body essentially being under the control of an invader for the better part of a year, kids were fine. Sign her up!

Of course, Chloe did. Literally. She waited until they’d had two years to settle into their new life in LA before signing them up for some ridiculous workshop for LGBT couples and their “family building options”. Beca hated every moment, making no attempt to hide her scowl or how she tuned out the lecturer, and daydreaming about how she’d rather be spending the gorgeous summer day at the beach. At the end of the 4-hour prison sentence, Beca turned to Chloe in the car and stated that (obviously, Beca thought, but tactfully left that part out) they would find a sperm donor and Chloe would carry the baby and that would be that.

Chloe simply nodded.

What it came down to was that Beca didn’t mind kids, but she wasn’t super invested in the idea… and she kind of wanted to strangle Chloe when it took her six extra weeks of indecisiveness to choose between donor #21NHS and #TRC12. Because, “21NHS had a grandfather with heart problems, but TRC12 only has his BA in anthropology compared to his Ph.D. in biochemistry!” Beca patiently discussed the same points over and over so not to upset Chloe with a “lack of interest” in the overly clinical part of the process, but the twelfth time reminding Chloe that the donor’s financial status, educational level, and even his height wasn’t directly heritable was starting to feel a lot more like torture than starting a family.

Chloe’s goal was to select a donor that resembled Beca as much as possible, and despite Beca pointing out the flaws in that logic (such as the fact that any man who met the minimum 5’9” height requirement to donate meant that they’d have little in common with her tiny 5’2” form), Chloe was excellent at maintaining her selective hearing and attention.

When Chloe finally made up her mind about which donor to choose, Beca rejoiced – until Chloe immediately started dithering about the decision again. Beca, thinking fast, managed to distract Chloe before they hit the critical point.

“Chlo, isn’t it sort of bizarre that we could pass by our future kid’s father in the street and never know? I’m kind of weirded out about that.”

“Beca, ten million people live in LA. That’s statistically unlikely. And… I don’t know, Becs, being half of the genetic makeup of our kid doesn’t mean he’s the father, you know? Being a dad isn’t just about genetics -“

“Yeah, and my dad is case in point on that one. I know what you’re saying; I’m not, like, feeling insecure about being displaced by some mystery dude or blah blah blah, it’s just… weird. That someone can be part of something so momentous and not have a clue, you know? …And now I want to know what the actual statistics are. I’m texting Jessica.”

“Beca Mitchell, do not tell her why you’re asking!”

The next day, Beca stumbled out of their bedroom after a nap to find Chloe sitting at the kitchen table. Spread in front of her was enough paperwork to have used at least one full tree, separated into several individual mounds. Chloe looked up and smiled at Beca, who made quite a sight with one side of her hair – the side she normally sleeps on - smooshed up and tangled around one of her ear piercings, the other side still in the neat waves she’d styled to go to the studio earlier that morning.

She held out her arms and Beca let out a yawn as she sunk into Chloe’s lap, slumping into her chest for warmth as she shivered slightly in the cooler air of the open room. Chloe folded her arms around Beca’s slight form and pressed a kiss against her hairline, and Beca hummed in contentment as Chloe’s warmth seeped into her.

“What’s all this?” Beca gestured at the papers, her voice still hoarse from sleep.

“Well, this is the paperwork to deal with our insurance for the fertility coverage stuff – pretty much done, we just have to fill a few more things in – and the booklet of in-network doctors we have to choose from. So I looked them all up and pulled up information about their practices, success rates, pricing if I could find it, all that good stuff.” Chloe explained. Pointing at each stack as she listed it off, Chloe gestured to the rest of the piles. “So we have to choose between Dr. Jabara, Dr. March, Dr. Rodi, Dr. Beavers, Dr. Marrs, and-“

“Wait!” Beca interrupted her recitation. “You’re telling me we can choose a doctor named Doctor Beavers?!” Chloe just nodded in response, a smile playing at her lips as Beca laughed uproariously. “Yeah. Okay. Decision made.” Beca said once she gained control of herself, resolutely scooping up the appropriate mound and making a show of knocking the stack against the table until it was perfectly aligned. “There’s no way in hell that we’re not going to have someone named Dr. Beavers help make our kid.”

Chloe acquiesced with the choice– partially because she was well-familiar at this point with Beca’s whims and stubbornness, but also partially (largely, if she was being perfectly honest) because she also found “Dr. Beavers” hilarious.

Beca was happy to let her juvenile reputation take the fall for that one, though.

The IUI process was…. much stranger than Beca had been anticipating. Somehow, she’d never put much thought into exactly how that whole “insemination” thing actually happened. (Perhaps on purpose?) The tanks of frozen sperm that they’d ordered were one of the strangest things Beca had ever tried to wrap her head around. And the sight of a balding middle-aged man between her wife’s legs spread in the detested stirrups, shooting some stranger’s spunk all up in there was extremely awkward to be privy to. And for all her amusement about their reproductive endocrinologist being named Dr. Beavers, of all things, Beca soon realized that she was far too awkward to actually use his name at all when he was about to be in her wife’s vagina. Chloe had a difficult time restraining her laughter every time Beca, tongue-tied, tripped over her words trying to talk in circles to avoid the necessity of directing the doctor by name. (And Beca suspected she made a point of using his name more than necessary to see how many times she could get Beca to blush, but she couldn’t prove it unless Chloe chose to confess, which she hadn’t - yet.)

And when the first month wasn’t successful, Beca still wasn’t any more prepared for her discomfort with the whole situation on the repeat attempts as summer slipped into fall.

A few days after Thanksgiving, Beca was hard at work in her office deeply zoned in to the track she was fiddling with, when a message alert popped up on her computer – the only person who was set to bypass the “do not disturb” filter was Chloe – and pulled her out of her total immersion. Chloe’s message contained nothing but a picture, and not one of the selfies Chloe was prone to sending her throughout the week. It was a conglomeration of numbers and big words and Beca, still coming out of her daze, blinked blearily at it as she tried to decipher what she was seeing.

Chloe-hcg.gif

It took her a full twenty seconds to realize what she was looking at, and once the realization hit her, the shock kept her frozen for thirty more.

Then she moved. She tapped on Chloe’s name as she swiped the phone up to her ear, then shook anxiously in her chair and chewed on her finger as she waited for Chloe to answer. It only took two rings before Chloe picked up, obviously having been waiting just as anxiously for Beca to call. She didn’t even squeeze out a hello before her flabbergasted laughter sounded in Beca’s ear.

“Chlo. I need… Tell me what I’m looking at here. I need you to tell me.” Beca pleaded.

Chloe let out one more breathless laugh before she could form words. “Dr. Beavers –“

“Chloe!” Beca growled out ominously, and Chloe had to let out a giggle at her own inability to miss taking an opportunity to rile Beca up before she could continue.

“That’s the result from my blood test. My hCG level is 69 which Dr. Beavers said is ‘a positive result’, Becs.”

“Positive? Positive for… So… that means…” Beca whispered in shock.

“I’m pregnant, Becs.” Beca swore she could feel Chloe’s indubitable grin through the phone. “He said that my beta level is perfectly average, smack dab in the middle of the range. We’ll have to test it again a couple of times in the next few days so we can make sure it’s rising appropriately, but he said based on this first reading he thinks it’s viable and that having twins or something is unlikely.”

“Oh my god, Chlo!” Beca breathed out, still stunned and struggling to keep up with Chloe’s words. “That’s – I – So… We’re having a baby? Oh my god, we’re having a baby!” Beca couldn’t even begin to contain her elation over the news.

“We’re having a baby, Becs.” Chloe sniffled in confirmation.

Hearing Chloe lapse into tears broke the little restraint Beca had left, and the water she had been blinking back spilled over. She searched her desk frantically for a tissue, giving up when she couldn’t find any and letting out an embarrassed sniffle instead.

“Becs, are you crying?” Chloe asked incredulously.

“No!” Beca denied, and then sniffled again. Chloe let out a watery laugh, shaking her head even though she knew Beca couldn’t see her.

“Okay, Becs.” Chloe teased. “You can cry about having a kid, that’s not going to wreck your ‘badass rep’. No one’s going to judge you for that.”

Beca let out a watery laugh of her own, slipping easily into the familiar dynamic.

“Whatever, Chloe. You can’t prove anything. Maintenance of my reputation is very important.” Beca paused for a few seconds, thinking, then continued a little more soberly. “I’m coming home, Chlo.”

“What? Right now? Becs, it’s only 3:30. Aren’t you supposed to be there for another… what, three hours today?”

“Chlo, I can do whatever the hell I want. I’ll work from home later if it makes you feel better, but I’m coming home.”

Chloe capitulated right away, already on her way home herself. Beca scooped up her stuff and waved at Gia as she scampered out the front door of the studio, shouting that she’d explain later but she was headed home for the day and not even waiting for a response before letting the door slam shut behind her.

Beca managed not to leave work particularly early the two times in the following week when Chloe reported to her the follow-up results – numbers rising perfectly, according to Dr. Beavers. But even the new band she’d been working with for all of three weeks noted her obvious distraction. She had to work at not being too obvious as she played it off; she and Chloe had decided not to share the news with anyone until the safety of the second trimester. And as the media had started showing more interest in Beca as Grammy season approached, she was particularly worried about the news being leaked to the tabloids. That meant – Beca sighed to herself as she calculated – another two months of explaining away her weird behavior at work.

Beca was in for a rough couple of months; but then, Chloe wasn’t much better. She almost slipped up at least twice a week, and the only reason her fumbling cover ups were taken at face value was how accustomed everyone was to Chloe being, well, Chloe.

Chloe’s first ultrasound ended up being scheduled right on the day Chloe hit six weeks, and both women took the entire day off to devote to the appointment and each other. Beca insisted there was no way in hell she was going to miss it. The clinical, research-oriented part of the whole process they’d started during the summer was – well, book learning had never been Beca’s favorite thing, to put it lightly. But now that the baby – their baby - was an actual living thing, Beca was all in. They were able to hear the heartbeat for the first time, and Beca was even able to look past the awkwardness of the ultrasound wand having to be inserted for a transvaginal ultrasound – Beca had thought the time of “watching old dudes stick things in my wife’s vagina” had passed, but apparently she was wrong – to get emotional about the momentous occasion. This time it was Beca’s tears that set off Chloe’s.

If Chloe caught Beca crying over the print-out of the ultrasound several times later that week, or caught a glance of Beca’s email account filling up with “Your baby week-by-week” emails from multiple different sites – well, it’s likely she just smiled and didn’t mention it.

When Chloe reached eight weeks without incident they decided it wasn’t really failure if they shared their news with a few select people. They wanted to deliver the news as “face to face” as they could, what with being across the country from everyone else now, so they Skyped with Chloe’s parents and then each of her brothers in turn. When they Skyped with Aubrey next, Beca summed up the first experience with the Beales with an eyeroll and an explanation of “there were too many tears.” (Chloe couldn’t resist pointing out that some of which were hers; Beca ignored this and moved the conversation on with her chin held high.)

When they told the rest of the Bellas the following week – Chloe needed the extra time to figure out how to work a Google hangout so they could video chat with the whole group at the same time – the reactions were pretty much as expected. Amy immediately started listing off weird pieces of advice that were “Australian tradition” (Beca very much doubted that feeding the baby nothing but kangaroo milk for the first two years was a common Australian custom, for instance). Stacie made a couple of vagina jokes and then immediately started checking with her industry contacts about which doctors to refer them to. Emily, Jessica, and Ashley all cried, and Lily asked about the dimensions for the future nursery and how sturdy their current weapons cabinet was.

So, it went well.

Everything was going well, actually. And it kind of freaked Beca out. Chloe was nearing the end of the first trimester and all of the email subscriptions and websites and okay, yes, even a few books, were full of reassurance that “morning sickness will start waning soon.”

But Chloe hadn’t had… any, really. Occasional nausea, but nothing particularly disruptive, and she’d only puked twice the entire pregnancy – one of which she still insisted was due to bad food. Her boobs were a little sore, and maybe marginally bigger, but they couldn’t really tell and she was still fitting into her usual bras so it didn’t really matter. She was a tiny bit more tired than usual – but only capitulated to that by heading to bed about a half-hour earlier than she used to. There was none of the “bone-deep weariness” that other women of the same gestation were complaining about, and Chloe hadn’t taken up the napping habit that Beca had halfway expected.

So, Beca did what she did best and worried. She worried that Chloe not feeling sick meant that something was wrong, and then she felt awful for basically wanting her wife to feel terrible and vomit all the time and not have enough energy to get out of bed. When she started worrying that her worrying was going to make her a bad mom, Chloe stopped her in her tracks by grabbing her and forcing her to eat a few marshmallows before making out with her for awhile, so at least the last worry got put to bed for awhile due to distraction.

And Beca found it really helped when the worries literally got “put to bed” when Chloe attempted to sidetrack her.

They saw Dr. Beavers for the final time when Chloe was 9.5 weeks along. He did one last ultrasound (everything looked perfect, he repeatedly assured Beca) and Beca was the only one who cried while hearing the heartbeat again, something the doctor looked a tiny bit disconcerted about, before cheerfully discharging them from the practice to start seeing a regular OB/GYN.

After they spent a week looking through their options and speaking to a few different practices on the phone, Chloe turned to Beca with an anxious look on her face one night over dinner.

“Becs, don't freak out. I don’t want you to freak out when you hear what I’m about to say, okay?”

Beca stared at her unmoving and eyes wide for a moment before responding. “Erm, Chlo, when you start off with that, it just makes me want to freak out before I even hear it.” She took a deep breath and held it for a second before blowing it noisily out. “No, okay, I lied actually. I don’t want to freak out. Now I already am freaking out so I need you to spit the rest out, like, now, okay? Are you okay? Is something wrong? Oh my god, is the baby okay? Is something wrong with the baby? Do we need to go to the hospital? What do you need me to do?” Beca spat the questions at her wife in rapid-fire, getting more and more worked up as she spiraled down into the grip of the worst-case scenarios she harbored in her mind.

Chloe gaped at how quickly the situation had deteriorated before jumping out of her chair and crossing around the table to where Beca was seated. She gripped her firmly and turned her so that Beca was looking straight at her, and then Chloe cut off the frantic queries that Beca was still regurgitating.

“Becs! BECA! No! Everything is fine, I’m fine, the baby is fine. God, I’m so sorry. Take a breath, please.” Chloe pulled her into a tight hug and Beca shuddered a ragged breath into her shoulder.

“Fuck.” She breathed weakly on her next exhale, trying to match her uneven breaths to Chloe’s more steady rhythm. “Don’t ever do that to me again, Chloe.” She said as she lifted her head off Chloe’s collarbone a couple of minutes later to look her in the eye.

Chloe looked more contrite than Beca had ever seen her, clearly cut up about the panic she had unintentionally sent her wife into. “I’m so sorry, babe. I was just trying to prepare you for an idea that I’m not sure you’ll like. I was not trying to freak you out like that, I swear.”

“I know, I know.” Beca soothed her now-distraught wife. “It’s not even your fault, really. I’ve just been… kind of on edge about something going wrong. It only took a tiny nudge to send me over that edge since I’ve been dangling myself off of it for weeks.”

Chloe snorted. “Yeah, hon. You haven’t been doing a good job hiding your anxiety at all, just for the record. Who would have suspected that out of the two of us, you were going to turn out to be the helicopter parent?”

Beca shot Chloe a mock glare at the teasing, then her expression morphed into something almost – entreating? “Yeah, I just, uh… “ Beca swallowed twice before she was able to bring herself to continue. “I’ve just been… it’s like, I still can’t believe I’m married to you, Chlo. I’ve spent every single day of the last nine years in total disbelief that I get to have you because I have never been the person that lucky things happen to. And you are the luckiest thing that has ever happened to me. And then here we are in LA and I got my fucking dream job by some random happenstance… and now we’re having a baby. Chloe Beale and I are having a baby which just… My life is so good right now, Chloe. Our life is so good it’s fucking amazing and I can’t even really wrap my head around it, so I’ve been sitting here for the last 2 months waiting for the other shoe to drop because it has to drop at some point, right? I’m not a lucky person, things can’t just stay this good. And I want to be prepared, I don’t want to be taken off guard when the shoe finally drops. I won’t be able to take that, not again, Chlo.” Both women were openly weeping by the end of her outburst, and Chloe could feel her heart breaking for her wife as Beca’s last sentence sunk in.

Of course, this was about her parents. The parents that maintained a cordial but distant contact with their only daughter because of the life choices they disagreed with. The parents that had passed down a lifetime of anxiety and mistrust to their daughter through their own poorly handled relationship troubles. Beca had spent quite a bit of time in therapy dealing with the legacy of her broken childhood and troubled adolescence, and 99% of the time it was possible to forget how far Beca had come and how much she had grown in the last decade.

But this was the 1% of the time, when Beca’s past clung tightly enough that she was afraid to trust her happiness for fear of lurking instability.

Chloe briefly felt a swell of pure, hot rage at Beca’s parents, immediately tamping it down before Beca noticed and assumed it was directed at her. She tugged a stiff and still silently crying Beca out of her chair, sitting down in her place before pulling Beca back down into her lap and cradling her into her body. Beca fought it briefly, rigid in Chloe’s embrace, before giving in and curling into Chloe with a strangled sob.

“Beca, Beca, Beca.” Chloe murmured as she brushed Beca’s hair back with her fingers soothingly. “Honey. I don’t… I can tell you that nothing is wrong right now. Actually, everything is perfect, because you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I thank the stars every day for you. Literally, you know? Every morning when I wake up with you sleeping next to me, your hair in my mouth at all, I spend a minute smiling at the sun and thanking whoever or whatever might be listening that this gets to be my life. That you get to be my life. And now I get to wake up in the morning and be thankful that I get to have you and this baby in my life from now on, and I literally cried with happiness yesterday, Becs. Which was why your hair was a little damp when you woke up.” Chloe laughed through her tears. “And I can’t promise that nothing will be wrong in the future, I’m not clairvoyant…. But I can promise you that if that shoe of yours ever does drop, I’m going to be right here next to you helping you catch it. You’re not the only one that has to hold it up any more.”

Beca’s emotions were still running high – higher than any other time Chloe had been witness to, with two exceptions – and she could only bring herself to nod several times against Chloe’s body while the sobs continued to rip out of her unbidden. Chloe sat and waited patiently, sporadically rocking in a calming motion and hugging Beca tightly to her the whole time, even as her legs went numb. All she could do was offer comfort while Beca struggled to rein in her tumultuous emotions, her heart hurting for Beca’s internal struggle. Eventually, Beca cried herself out and fell into an exhausted sleep in Chloe’s arms. Chloe carried her to bed, smiling sadly to herself as she did so, at the scene that had become so familiar over the years – although not usually tinged with so much sadness.

Chloe returned to the kitchen to choke down a few bites of the cold and long-forgotten dinner – she wasn’t hungry after all of that, but she felt obligated to eat at least a little bit due to that whole “growing a human being” thing. She tucked the rest of the leftovers away into the fridge before heading back to their bedroom. She changed into her pajamas and brushed her teeth quietly, peeking in on Beca twice while she did so, although Beca didn’t stir even a bit. It was barely eight, but Chloe was just as exhausted from the emotional evening and she gratefully crawled into bed; but before she could cuddle into her tear-stained wife, she had one last thing to do. She grabbed her phone off her nightstand and shot an email off to Beca’s therapist back in Georgia, inquiring about the possibility of setting up a Skype session in the next week. The check-in would do Beca good, Chloe knew, as much as it upset her to admit that she wasn’t able to be everything Beca needed sometimes, that she wasn’t able to just fix it.

But Beca didn’t need rescuing, she just needed an objective party to remind her of her own strength.

That taken care of, Chloe nestled happily into Beca’s side, the tinier figure automatically shifting to wrap herself around Chloe. As Beca’s hair landed in her mouth, Chloe couldn’t help but laugh even as she sputtered.

Yeah, this was right where she wanted to be, Chloe thought, as she drifted off.

Chloe woke, as always, before Beca the next morning and started cooking up Beca’s favorite Nutella French toast. She deserved something special after the previous night, after all. She was almost done when Beca walked out of the bedroom, still yawning and eyes tiny from sleep. She stole up behind Chloe and wrapped her arms around her midsection and planting her chin on Chloe’s shoulder – as best she could, anyway. She made a show of a dramatic sniff and hummed happily when she realized what Chloe was making.

“Good morning. Nutella french toast? Fuck, this is the best day ever.” Beca said, as she moved to plate a couple of pieces already cooling on the stack, sighing in pleasure as she stuck her nose in the small pile to take another big whiff. “Thank you.” Beca pressed a kiss to Chloe’s temple. She wrinkled her nose a bit when Chloe just hummed contentedly in response. Beca gently angled Chloe’s head towards her with her free hand, meeting her eyes intently. “Thank you, Chlo.”

Chloe nodded and simply gave Beca a quick kiss, clearly aware of how little she liked making a big deal of emotional matters.

Halfway through breakfast, Beca awkwardly cleared her throat before broaching the topic weighing on her mind. “So, uh… what were you even going to say last night?”

Chloe’s mouth dropped into an “O” shape – it had completely slipped her mind, to be honest. Now it was her turn to swallow nervously before answering.

“Oh. Uh. Right. Well, after looking into all those OBs this week… I just don’t get a great vibe off of any of them? I mean, at least one of them was clearly homophobic. They all seem to be paternalistic older guys and… I really can’t imagine that feeling patronized the whole time is going to be conducive to easily pushing a human being out of my vagina, you know?.”

Beca grimaced at the mental image Chloe was evoking, but nodded for her to continue.

“Right. Well. Along with the OB recommendations she sent us, Stacie included a couple of… other recommendations.” Frankly, the tone Chloe was using and the way she stressed the last two was about to send Beca’s eyebrows up into her hairline.

“Okay… so, what ‘other recommendations’ did she send? The baby can’t be delivered by, like, a sexologist or whatever.” Chloe snorted at Beca’s theory.

“No, not a sexologist, Bec. But she did include information for a couple of local midwives.”

[analogscum]

CHRISTMAS EVIL (1980, d. Lewis Jackson)

MERRY SCUMSMAS! Welcome to the very first installment of our 4-part Christmas series, in which we’ll be covering some truly twisted holiday flicks! Now, if you’re anything like me, you may find the Christmas season to be a difficult time of year. Sure, there are decorations and hot cocoa and all of your favorite animated TV specials return for their yearly viewings, but something about Christmas just feels…sad. Hollow. Disappointing. The opposite of Halloween, if I really had to put a finger on it. Maybe all the cheer only reinforces what a crappy year you’ve had. Or you find splurging on gifts to be a financial strain. But what I really think it all boils down to is a human problem. It’s hard to wish for peace on Earth and goodwill towards your fellow man when your fellow man seems dead set on making sure that Earth is anything but peaceful. Hell, it seems like most people don’t even care enough to put in the effort to simply just be nice. They’d rather just settle for naughty. Well, wouldn’t you know it, that very problem is addressed, albeit by a maniac in a dirty red costume, in our very first film, 1980’s Christmas Evil!

We open on Christmas Eve, 1947. Two little boys, Harry and Phil, and their mother sit on the staircase and watch as Santa Claus shoots down the chimney. Now, this is the first instance in which I was genuinely surprised and confused. Does this film exist in a universe where Santa Claus is real? I saw that motherfucker shoot down the chimney, don’t try to gaslight me on this one! Or, is this supposed to be viewed as just a childhood memory, laced with some magic realism? Don’t worry, we never quite get a straight answer. Anyway, Santa leaves a bunch of presents, hears one of the boys giggling, gives them a wink, and shoots back up the chimney (again, do NOT try and gaslight me here!) Then all of a sudden the boys and mom disappear, like that one shot in Blue Velvet after Frank Booth yells “I’ll fuck anything that moves!” Now Phil, the younger of the brothers, does not believe that that was the real Santa that they just saw. Harry, however, still believes that the big man exists, so he heads back downstairs for some unspecified reason, and what doe he see? It seems that Santa Claus has snuck back into the house, and Mommy is, um, doing a little bit more than kissing him underneath the mistletoe. In fact, Mommy is writhing in pleasure while Santa Claus says hi to the little man in the boat. Yikes! Harry, totally traumatized, runs upstairs to the attic, where he smashes a snow globe and slices his hand open with one of the shards of glass, spilling blood everywhere. And thus, the horror movie trope of Santa Claus as a lecherous old creep was born!

Now it is present day. Harry, despite the fact that he saw Chris Cringle feasting on his mom’s lady sandwich all those years ago, seems to be totally well-adjusted and normal. Well, there is the fact that he listens to Christmas music all year round. Oh, and his apartment is furnished with Christmas decorations even when it’s not Christmas. Right, and when he shaves in the morning he gives himself a shaving cream beard and goes Ho Ho Ho! into the bathroom mirror. Yup, totally well-adjusted and normal. Another hobby Harry has that is very healthy and not deeply disturbing at all is spying on the neighborhood kids from the roof of his apartment building via binoculars. Don’t worry, he’s only doing it so that he can record which of them have been naughty and which of them have been nice! And c’mon, it’s not like he’s whispering incredibly creepy things to himself while he watches them, like oh what a sweetheart and oh my dear little angel and…wait, no, never mind, he’s definitely whispering those things to himself. One boy takes out the trash, so he’s good. A girl is brushing her doll’s hair, which strikes me more as neutral but Harry seems very taken with it. However, this one little bastard named Moss Garcia is looking at the centerfold of a Penthouse magazine! Ooooh, does that ever burn Harry’s grits! How he hates Moss Garcia! In his book of naughty children, he notes that Moss “throws rocks at dogs, uses profane language, picks his nose, impure thoughts, negative body hygiene.” Ummm, hey, at least the guy is observant?

Would it surprise you to learn that Harry works at a toy factory? I didn’t think it would. Over at the Jolly Dreams toy factory, Harry is bummed out. On one hand, he’s been promoted to an office job, but he misses working on the factory line, because he cares about the quality of the toys. You know who doesn’t? The fat cats in corporate, that’s who! However, his former coworkers on the factory line aren’t much better, they’re portrayed as lazy and cynical. In fact, one such working stiff, a guy named Frank, basically bullies Harry into working his shift so that he can leave for vacation with his family early. Harry begrudgingly agrees, but when he’s walking home later that night, he passes by the local redneck bar, and who does he see? Why, it’s Frank! And he’s knocking back some brewskis and yukking it up with his roughneck buddies, laughing his head off about how he lied about leaving for vacation and shoved his shift off on that schmuck Harry! Harry handles this incredibly well, i.e. he runs home like an embarrassed child, then angrily hums “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” while crushing a doll in his bare hands. Could this be, I dunno, some sort of fancy pants foreshadowing? Well read on, college boy!

It’s Thanksgiving, and now we get to meet Harry’s younger brother Phil, who is played by one of my favorite character actors, Jeffrey DeMunn! This seems to be one of the first in a series of uptight assholes that DeMunn made a career out of bringing to irritated, deeply caucasian life, and for my money, few out there play an uptight asshole better than Jeffrey DeMunn. In the case of Phil, he’s always yelling at his kids to turn down the volume on the TV, and he seems to be offended by the very existence of his brother Harry. He thinks that Harry is a loser and an emotional cripple, which is kinda harsh. But at the same time, his wife makes up for this by going TOO easy on Harry, and is basically like, hey, Jeffrey DeMunn, when Harry comes over for Thanksgiving dinner, could you maybe not bring up the fact that he works in a factory and lives in a shitty poor part of town and is clearly mentally ill and possibly a pedophile? To which Jeffrey DeMunn is like, grumble grumble grumble I’m Jeffrey DeMunn! As it turns out, he needn’t have worried, because literally a minute after having this conversation, Harry phones up the house and is like, hey, it’s me Harry, I can’t make it to Thanksgiving this year, because I’ve got to take some nascent steps into full on Santa psychosis, ok byeeeee.

Harry goes about setting his plans into motion. The guy’s a bonafide craftsman; he’s sewing himself a Santa Claus suit, he’s in his basement like, smelting his own toys, he’s painting a sled on the side of his creeper-ass Econoline van, he even manages to smear some mud on his face and hands and terrorize that little shit Moss Garcia, ooooh he’s just the worst with his potty mouth and nudie mags! Anyway, now it’s time for the Jolly Dreams factory Christmas party! Everyone is getting super schwasted and dancing to a terrible disco version of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” (does this now qualify as a motif?) when Harry is introduced to a new exec named Gordon. Gordon, it turns out, spearheaded a project wherein Jolly Dreams is going to donate a bunch of their surplus toys to a local children’s hospital. Harry is like, this plan seems really nebulous and non-specific, like, how many toys should we be setting aside, how many children are at this hospital, etc. And Gordon is just like, hey, I dunno, it’s just a publicity thing, who cares about those sick kids, it’s the me decade, babe! As you can probably imagine, this does not sit well with Harry. He storms out of the party, stealing a bunch of Jolly Dreams products on his way out the door, goes home, and immediately attaches a fake beard to his chin. He laughs and winces in the mirror, mumbling to himself, “it’s me!”

Now, I’m going to jump ahead a bit, usually I reserve final judgments for, well, the end of these pieces, but I’ve gotta say, I really enjoyed this movie, and part of what makes it hold together so well is the lead performance by Brandon Maggart as Harry. Maggart usually played supporting or cameo roles throughout his career, but here he truly gets to shine, totally revealing the wide range of Harry’s psychosis, and making you ultimately sympathize with him, even when he goes totally off the deep end and starts straight up murderizing people. Speaking of which…

Hey everyone, it’s Christmas Eve! But instead of St. Nick, it’s fuckin’ Harry Claus roaming the streets in his creeper-ass Econoline van. He breaks into Phil’s house and swaps out all of the presents for the kids with his homemade presents. He goes to the children’s hospital and almost gets shot by a hundred year old security guard, but then everyone is like look he brought presents what an awesome Santa Claus! He even gets in one final swipe at that rotten shitheel Moss Garcia by leaving him a giant sack full of dirt! Haha, take that you little pervert! Things kinda go off the rails a bit when Harry finds himself in front of this ridiculously gigantic church that looks straight outta Tim Burton’s Gotham City, and these three upper crust preppy assholes decide to poke fun of him for absolutely no reason. Sho what does Harry do? He pulls out a hatchet and butchers these people to death right there on the church steps in front of at least a hundred witnesses. Do any of them try to stop him? Nope!

So Harry is on the lam, and he finds himself at a very cheery Christmas party. All of the adults are super nice to him, and the kids are happy to see him, so he just plays along for awhile, and he’s in his element. He’s dancing the polka and giving the kids presents and knocking down shots that people are handing to him, they’re lovin’ this Papa Nöel, and apparently don’t notice the giant blood stains on his robes. When he decides it’s time to leave and go pay Frank and his family a visit, Harry Claus leaves the children with the following speech:

“Be good little girls and boys. Listen to your parents and do what they say. Obey your teachers and learn a whole lot. If you do this, I’ll make sure you get wonderful presents every year...But if you’re bad little girls and boys then your name goes into the bad little girls and boys book. And I’ll make sure you get something...horrible."

Shit, if that ain’t genuinely chilling, then your chill-o-meter may be broken.

Harry is really feeling his Santa Claus oats at this point, so he hilariously tries to actually go down the chimney, and nearly breaks his back. So he just breaks in through the back, the kids see him leaving some presents, and then Harry makes his way back to the master bedroom. Frank wakes up and is like, uhhh, Harry? What are you doing here, ya schmuck? And Harry starts to smother him with his bag full of toys! Whoa! Somehow this doesn’t wake up Frank’s wife, and Harry starts to get bored, so he grabs the star from a miniature Christmas tree next to the bed and fuckin’ SLASHES FRANK’S THROAT WITH IT! The wife wakes up and starts screaming, the kids watch as Harry Claus flees the premises. Ummm, Merry Christmas?

Christmas morning arrives, and Phil has an uneasy feeling. He just knows that Harry was somehow involved with these murders and break-ins last night. His wife, of course, is like, you’re being too hard on Harry, you’re totally blinded by your disappointment in him as a brother, you need to be nicer to him, to which of course he replies, grumble grumble grumble I’m Jeffrey DeMunn! Meanwhile, the cops are on the hunt for a murderous Santa, pulling in all sorts of drunken reprobates and mall goons for lineups. Harry, apparently realizing that the jig may be up soon, goes over to Jolly Dreams and destroys the rest of their toys. When he’s driving his creeper-ass Econoline van home, it gets stuck in a snowbank, and he finds himself on a gorgeous, picturesque suburban street lined with beautiful Christmas lights, and a bunch of kids are like, Yaaaay it’s Santa! He’s like oh, hey kids, here are the last of my presents from my murder satchel! The parents of these kids, meanwhile, realize that this guy must be the murderer, so one of them, this fuckin’ guy who’s dressed like a 1920s street tough for some reason, pulls out a switchblade and is like, the show’s over, Cringle! You make one move towards those tots and I’ll box your ears, seeeeee?! And Harry is like, you dumb asshole, you’ve forgotten the meaning of Christmas, children need an adult figure to look up to, who can teach them the difference between right and wrong, and the whole goddamn world seems to be in dereliction of that duty. Our 1920s street tough, of course, understands none of this, and despite protests from both the children and the fellow parents, who just wanna let the cops handle it, this guy lunges at Harry, and a minor brawl ensues, but Harry gets away.

Now, here’s where things start to get a bit…loopy. All of a sudden, these adults have formed a LYNCH MOB, and they’re chasing Harry down the streets while brandishing TORCHES AND PITCHFORKS! Where the hell did all of these Frankenstein-esque accessories come from?! So Harry hightails it to Phil’s house, where they finally duke it out once and for all. Phil is like, I always wanted a normal, strong older brother to look up to, and you let me down, and now you’re murdering people you sicko, to which Harry is like, you broke my heart by not believing in Santa Claus and I saw some crazy shit that you wouldn’t understand, to which Phil, quite understandably, is like, all of this shit is because of something I said when I was six years old?!?! THAT’S BULLSHIT, HARRY! GRUMBLE GRUMBLE GRUMBLE, I’M JEFFREY DEMUNN!!! And he fuckin’ chokes Harry out until he’s unconscious. He brings Harry’s lifeless body out to the van, at which point Harry wakes up and hilariously sucker punches Phil in the face, and goes speeding off. But oh balls, he’s surrounded! He’s got the angry mob coming from this direction, his angry brother coming from that direction, so what does he do? He drives his creeper-ass Econoline van off of a bridge. So that should be the end…but hark! What is that I spy? A dirty white van, and it’s starting to fly! In the light of the moon, all the townsfolk are stunned! They’re totally speechless, even Jeffrey DeMunn! “And I heard him exclaim as he rode out of sight, Merry Christmas to all! And to all a good night!” GODDAMN WHAT AN ENDING!

So yeah, I highly recommend Christmas Evil. Based on the title, I was expecting your typical high body count, gory slasher faire in the vein of the Silent Night, Deadly Night series, but instead I got something way more special: a dark character study about a vigilante loner who just so happens to be obsessed with Santa Claus. Like Travis Bickle but with a red stocking cap instead of a mohawk. And it helps that this is a genuinely well-made film too. The pacing is on point, the camerawork is full of really good tracking shots, and the soundtrack is buzzing with industrial Lynchian madness. It’s too bad that the director, Lewis Jackson, never made another film aside from this one. Still not convinced that Christmas Evil deserves to be a weirdo holiday classic? Well, here’s what no less an authority than John Goddamn Waters had to say about it, in his 1985 essay “Why I Love Christmas:”

“Forget White Christmas, It’s a Wonderful Life and all the other hackneyed trash,” Waters tells us. “Go for the classics: Silent Night, Bloody Night, Black Christmas or the best seasonal film of all time, Christmas Evil (“He’ll sleigh you”).

This true cinematic masterpiece only played theatrically for a few seconds, but it’s now available on videocassette and no holiday family get-together is complete without it…I wish I had kids. I’d make them watch it every year and if they didn’t like it, they’d be punished.”

Well that settles it, Scumbags! If this movie is good enough for the Prince of Puke, then it’s sure as heck good enough for me!

#ANALOG SCUM #Merry Scumsmas #Christmas Evil #1980 #Lewis Jackson #Brandon Taggart #Jeffrey DeMunn #horror #thriller #slasher #gore #drama #vigilante #exploitation #John Waters #low budget #cult #cultmovie #vhs #vhsishappiness #vhsisnotdead #feedyourvcr #bekindrewind #tapehead #tapeheads