Just Some Advice
No Allies. No Straight-Gay Alliance. No they were just queer demigods with too many narcissistic habits to realize that it does matter and at the same time it doesn't.
A/N: What is this? Who knows? I just have this idea of queer demigods helping queer demigods because queer demigods are really important to me.
Int., Shot of girl about 17 sitting on a bunk bed, reading a book titled "The Fall of Rome (and its impact on magic)"
The girl is wearing an orange shirt torn at the sleeves that showed her scarred brown skin and her hair is cut in a fauxhawk and dyed green; she has a thick jersey accent which she claims "is better than your white ass Midwestern accent"; whatever the hell that means; she takes notice of the approaching camera and immediately grins.
Hey Malcom!
She takes a moments' pause as she notices the camera
What's up with the weak mortal camera?
A muffled voice is heard obviously agitated and the girl laughs, which is a dry coarse ugly laugh.
All I am saying is that Nyssa could whip you something up with like 1270p or something. What do you want?
More muffled talking is heard and the girl laughs again.
Advice? Honey, I am the wrong person for that. What do you want? The "Hawaiian Lesbian perspective"?
She really did the air quotes.
Listen, all I have to say is that it matters. It matters more than you think. It matters more than your race or your godly parent or your fucking camp. Because this is who you love. And some people don't get that. Like my dad.
The girl turns away just as her voice cracks and she puts her hand over her mouth. The hand is just as scratched and scarred as the rest of her body, the nails chipped and broken beyond repair. But that isn't the only thing scathed.
Stop doing your stupid inner monologue and go ask Mitchell. The kid's good at this stuff. Even if he isn't good at being a fucking demigod. But really (she turns to look at the camera) who is?
N. Shot: A boy about 14 was sitting on the Ping-Pong table flipping through a scrapbook filled with pictures of demigods from the 1980s; his dark brown hair was at his shoulders and his orange shirt had the logo scratched off with sharpie with the word "QUEEN" scrawled harshly at the bottom; he likes to claim it was a last-minute Pride Parade outfit but the screenwriter doubts it; he notices the camera and lights up, his brown hair quickly becoming bright blonde and curly.
Malcom! Look what I just found. Please tell me we are allowed to ridicule them within every gay whim we have.
Muffled talking is heard and the boy face fell and so did his hair now turning to a sharp red that fell below his now sharp cheekbones.
Oh wait you don't do that sorry.
So what do you and the camera want?
The cameraman spoke again and the boy's hair got a bit duller and folded itself into tight curls and his cheeks got a bit softer
What do I want to tell the closeted demigods?
I want to tell them that it is better at camp.
Don't laugh, it is!
Come on. Don't act like you would have gotten beaten up at your Old Catholic school for being gay.
Yeah, yeah I know don't rag on St. Joseph. The Catholic faith is metal. Like people died for that. They have their faults. Like I don't know that clause or quote or something that says, "Man shall not lie with man for it is an abomination."
But to be honest, but it sounds more like you can't tell a boy that his pants look good when they really don't.
But you would tell me.
Right?
Whatever Malcom go ask Abidemi, he is better than me at this stuff.
: Alone in the amphitheater, A boy about 16 was laying on one of the stone benches near the stage. The boy had tight black curls very close to his scalp and his orange shirt was a bit too tight, showing off his defined muscles rippling through his dark skin, which in this light almost looked blue. His camo pants were worn and only came up to his knees. He notices the camera and nods to acknowledge.
It's only a week since the operation, Malcom. And I feel so different. It's a good different. But different all the same.
The boy laughs
Do you know how lucky I am that African names aren't boy-girl specific? I got a lucky break.
: The boy has sat up and is looking at the camera which is now beside him. He speaks with an almost forced tenor voice like he isn't quite used to his vocal chords yet.
Hm…advice to the demigods to the demigods that don't really know right now?
Labels don't matter.
Fuck society and finding out where "you belong".
Fuck the people that say that you are too young to know.
But if you feel more comfortable in a label.
If you feel like that is you and that label brings you this sense of hope and belonging.
Stay there.
Because being as comfortable as possible is important.
Especially when you turn 18 and move out of camp.
Because really how comfortable can a demigod be without being dead?
Whatever my hormones are out-of-whack; go ask Nico, I bet the kid can get even deeper than this transgender with a chemical imbalance.
: A New York coffee shop; sitting near the window a boy about 14 was looking down at his coffee with closed eyes. The boy had his dark hair under a beanie only a short curl peeking out. His pale skin looking almost translucent as he pulls at his giant aviator jacket out of anger.
If they play Tracy Chapman again, I will shoot them down.
The camera shook as the camera man laughs. The boy just looks at him with a smirk.
Advice, Malcom. I only have one thing to say to the proud and queer demigods of the United States of America.
He took a pause as he looked out the window. The cars and people walking past reflecting on his dark eyes.
Don't get a crush on a Percy Jackson. Get yourself a Jason Grace. Much nicer.
Then the boy left, leaving a 10 dollar bill on the table and walked out the door. Not making a sound.
(A/N: Malcolm Brankovich is a little shit. RT if you agree. Anyway if you didn't catch on the whole bias of the story is Malcolm, trying ((and failing because his friends hate him)) to make a documentary about being queer and a descendant of the Greek and Roman Gods. In order, the demigods in this are Lou Ellen Ka'aukai, Mitchell Kadar, Abidemi Umaru Musa Yaradua, Nico Di Angelo. Don't worry there is more. And with that I leave you with a word of wisdom from Lou Ellen "I am here. I am queer and I am eating your pastries." All I can say is that Malcom doesn't take her to his church functions anymore.)