#top ten dream homophobia moments

[lumosinlove]

Sweater Weather

WARNING: struggles with homophobia and past abuse.

part xv

Remus had his head in Lily’s lap, the TV on a commercial break from the All-Stars game, when there was a knock at the door. Remus’ head ached, but he raised it anyway at the delusional thought that it might be Sirius, despite knowing exactly where he was. He remembered a similar knock, one that had actually revealed Sirius, who had fallen straight into his arms. And Remus had been there for him.

“Do you want me to get it?” Lily asked gently, her hands in Remus’ hair.

“I will,” Remus sighed, and sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry that’s probably not a comfortable position for you and the baby.”

James appeared from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. “Do you want me to get it?”

“I’ll do it,” Remus smiled a little, standing. “Thanks for getting the dishes, Pots, really.”

“No problem,” James shrugged.

Another knock sounded and Remus called out that he was coming.

“Probably just one of those salespeople,” Remus sighed as he turned the lock. “Someone always falls for it and lets them in—”

Remus’ words died in his mouth in surprise.

Finn sent him a hesitant smile from the other side of the door, Leo mirroring it.

“Sup, Loops,” Finn said.

“I…Hi, boys.”

James poked his head around Remus to see.

“Cubs?” James questioned.

“Pots?” Leo said.

“And Lily!” Lily called from the living room.

Remus stared at them. “What are you doing here? Are you…”

And Remus realized. How could he have forgotten? Logan.

He didn’t know what was going on with these three, but maybe he was about to find out.

Finn held up a bag. “We brought tacos.”

“You just missed it, I made dinner,” James said.

“Oh,” Finn lowered the bag slowly. “Well…phew.”

James scoffed. “Thankless little rookie babies.”

“I’m not a rookie,” Finn pointed out. “More tacos for us.”

“Still.”

Remus blinked back to life. “Jeez, sorry, come in, guys.”

Finn walked past him only to receive a slug on the arm from James, and Leo put his hand on Remus’ shoulder as they followed James and Finn back into the living room.

“How are you?”

Remus looked up at him with a shaky smile and raised a shoulder. Leo nodded, understanding.

“We haven’t talked,” Remus found himself saying, throat closing a little at just the words. “I don’t really—Things are really just…busy right now.”

“I’m so sorry, Loops,” Leo said quietly.

“Don’t make excuses for him,” Finn said as he unpacked the take-out containers.

Lily spread her hands. “Thank you, O’Hara.”

“I’m not,” Remus said. “I didn’t expect smooth sailing, alright? Look, it’s…” Remus sat down. “It’s more complicated than that. Is there a point where I’m going to stop cutting him slack? Of course. But I need you guys to trust that I know when that point is. That point isn’t now, when he got brutally outed, which he was terrified of, and then had to go to one of the most public events in hockey in the same fucking breath.”

Remus stared around at them all. Finn was still holding the same take-out box.

“Okay?” Remus said.

“You got outed, too,” Leo said quietly.

“Yes,” Remus said over an exhale. “But I was ready. Not the way I would have chose, but I was. That’s the difference.”

The room got quiet again. Remus glanced at the television, but a commercial was still playing.

So,” Finn began slowly. “Is this a good time to say that me and Leo—”

Lily gasped, clapping her hands to her chest. “I knew it. Wait—”

“…are dating Logan?”

Lily’s gasp turned to one of surprise, slow and drawn out. She put her hand on her belly, eyes wide as she looked between them.

“Oh,” she breathed. “Yes.”

James put his towel on his head, pulling at it by his ears. “The cubs?”

Finn gave James a confused look. “Yes? What are you doing?”

“How did that happen?”

“Lots of misunderstanding,” Leo sighed. “And time.”

“Eight years in some cases,” Finn added.

Lily cooed. “Since college, aw, babies. Nut, are you wearing Logan’s hat? I’m going to cry. I’m pregnant so I’m allowed to cry at this.”

Everything Remus wanted to say felt lodged in his chest. He blinked and he saw Sirius’ haunted expression.

“Re?” Leo said hesitantly.

Remus snapped his head up. “Hm?”

“I know this is probably the last thing you’d want to hear,” Leo continued with a glance at Finn. Through the glass coffee table, Remus saw Finn put a hand on Leo’s thigh. “But we really have you to thank. Logan was sort of our missing link, you know? He was…” Scared, Remus knew Leo was about to say. Just like Sirius. But he shifted at the last second. “You really got through to him.”

What Remus couldn’t do for Sirius.

Remus smiled at them, knowing it was probably shadowed with everything bouncing around in his head and chest right now.

“I’m so happy you guys worked it out,” he said, and it was true. “Really, that’s…”

Sirius turning away, disappearing.

“That’s amazing.”

Sirius, the morning after.

Who I love has nothing to—

“Sorry,” Finn said. “Maybe that was…”

“No,” Remus said. “No, I’m glad you told us. I’m glad you’re comfortable, of course I am. I don’t want any of this making you feel like you can’t be yourself.”

“I think it did the opposite, Re,” Lily said gently.

Remus nodded. “Exactly.”

There was another knock on the door. Remus turned around.

“Um,” he said. “I’ll get it? Again, I guess?”

“What’s up, Fruit-loop,” Natalie said when Remus opened the door. Her blonde hair was pulled into a high, messy bun and she was wearing pajamas. “I brought face masks.”

“I brought alcohol,” Kasey said from behind her. He held up a bag. “And candy.”

Remus stared. “I…”

“We brought tacos!” Finn yelled from the living room.

Natalie clicked her tongue, smiling. “I knew I liked that red-head.”

“Sup, Nat,” Remus heard Finn say as he and Kasey watched Natalie walk into the living room from the door.

“You are a walking freckle, O’Hara, but you brought tacos, so it’s okay.”

Finn snorted, and Remus turned back to meet Kasey’s dark eyes.

“Hey, Bliz,” Remus said softly. “Uh, thanks for bringing—”

“He was selfish,” Kasey interrupted him. “And you’re allowed to think that and love him at the same time.”

Remus almost laughed. It seemed that everyone knew Remus loved Sirius except Sirius. Kasey’s words hit like stone, but they were soothing, too. The ache of pressing on a paper cut.

Kasey smiled a little, just a closed upturn of his lips.

“Come on,” he said, and nudged Remus inside the door, closing it behind him. “I make mean cocktails.”

Walking back into the living room, Remus stared around at them all. They were spread out, Kasey in the kitchen unloading what seemed like ten bottles, Natalie and Lily with their arms around each other on the couch. James and Finn seemed to be seeing who could build the biggest taco, Finn leaning back into Leo’s chest and feeding him chips.

Natalie pointed between them. “When?”

“A while,” Finn said. “Logan, too.”

Natalie’s smile was approving. “Hot.”

Leo pressed his finger over his lips, and Natalie pretended to zip her mouth closed.

Remus let out a breath. He had thought he would want to be alone, but this felt—better. The chatter, the laughter…it distracted him. Sirius wasn’t his entire world, no matter how big a part of it he occupied. Remus liked being reminded of that.

He took his place back on Lily’s other side and leaned into her.

“And welcome back to all our viewers,” the television said. “To our 2020 All-Star Weekend, where you can see your favorites present their best skills, and dream lines compete against each other.”

Remus sucked in a breath.

“You gonna be okay?” Lily said quietly. “Watching this?”

“Yes,” Remus said firmly. He wanted to see Sirius’ face.

It was true, Remus did have a point when he would stop cutting Sirius slack.

He would wait, but not forever. And not for the wrong reasons.

He had told Sirius that himself.

“Red carpet first, right?” Finn asked through a mouthful of chips.

“Yep,” Leo said.

“Okay,” James said, staring at Finn and Leo. “I love this. Where would Logan be sitting right now? Like, does it get crowded?”

“Imagine if you had two Lilys, James,” Finn said with a raised eyebrow.

James blinked for a moment, then flushed behind his glasses. “Fuck.”

Finn grinned. “Yeah.”

James took another bite of taco and chewed slowly. “That’s so much love.”

“Yeah,” Leo said softly, and pressed his cheek to the top of Finn’s head.

“What we’ll be doing tonight is welcoming all of our players, who were voted in by the fans, of course,” said the announcer. “And there is our nice red carpet. We’ll see who arrives first shortly, I’m sure.”

“I am so excited to see Crosby,” Lily sighed. “That man’s butt, my god.”

James made a disgruntled sound.

“Love you, Potter,” Lily smiled.

“It is a legendary ass,” Kasey said.

“Me and Kase rate asses every year,” Natalie said. “I think Crosby won.”

“He wins every year,” Kasey said. “Deservingly so.”

“That’s true.”

They watched the Stars arrive, then the Bruins. Zibanejad  and Panarin came from the Rangers.

Sirius and Logan were one of the last team members to show up and, ironically, they did so at the same time as the Snakes.

“Oh, Jesus fuck,” Finn breathed. They had finished their tacos and Finn was still sitting against Leo’s chest while Leo leant back against the couch, their hands laced on Finn’s stomach.

Remus watched, holding his breath, as Sirius and Logan got out of the car.

“Our boys,” Kasey said. “And…”

From just beside them, Snape and Regulus emerged, straightening their suit.

James and Finn hissed loudly.

“The snakes,” Leo finished.

Remus only half heard them, too focused on the camera flashing to a close up of Sirius’ face. His heart positively yearned.

Sirius looked exhausted. His eyes were a dull gray, hair curling agonizingly soft over his forehead. He was wearing a black suit, lapels velvet.

“Sirius Black with the fashion statement,” one of the announcers laughed. Remus couldn’t even tell them apart. “I guess we should expect that now.”

“Oh, fuck you!” Natalie yelled. “Fuck you, you stereotyping ass-hat.”

It rolled Remus’ stomach, but not as much as Sirius’ expression when he saw his brother and Snape. It was only on the screen for a second, his clenched jaw and unsteady eyes, before it switched to Logan.

“Oh, baby,” Finn sighed. “Look at that glare.”

It was true. Logan’s stare, aimed at Snape, was menacing.

“And there’s the League’s oldest and most famous rivalry right there,” the commentators said with a laugh. “Arriving at the same time. And, of course, Sirius Black who, as you all might know, has made a bit of a splash in the news recently when photos of him kissing another man were leaked to the media and turned out a major Twitter trend. That man is Remus Lupin.”

Remus’ stomach clenched. He had known they might bring him up, but he didn’t really think—

“Now, what do we know about Remus Lupin?” the announcer continued. “Not much. He’s on the Lions training staff, working, shall we say, closely with the players. And, well, the man was one heck of a hockey player himself. Let us play you the tapes we dredged up from Lupin’s college days at the University of Wisconsin.”

“What the hell,” Remus breathed, tucking his knees to his chest and hugging them. He felt Lily glance at him.

The screen faded away from the carpet and suddenly Remus was staring at an old memory. The footage was a little grainy, but he saw himself—could remember the feeling of himself—sprinting up the ice, skates cutting in. He took one player down, another, and scored. The tape cut and he won a Face-off, knocking it back to—

“Is that Greyback?” Finn leaned forward. “Fenrir Greyback?”

Remus swallowed. “Yes.”

“You played with—”

The announcers came back into view, grinning at each other.

“Pretty great. Unfortunately, Lupin was injured just before his draft eligibility, but, rumor has it, he was set for first. Would you look at that, Rob?”

“I know, John. Well, looks like he found another way to get some fame, eh?”

The two laughed. The living room was dead silent.

“Up next, we’ll get to talk to some of the stars. We’ll be right back after this break.”

“Excuse me,” Remus managed.

“Remus,” James called.

But Remus was already up, walking quickly out of the living room and into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Remus squeezed his eyes shut, then open. He fumbled for his phone, sinking down to the floor against the door with his knees against his chest. His thumb missed the call button twice, but finally the screen went dark with the call display.

It rang and rang. And rang. Remus rubbed his thumb along his neck. Of course, Sirius wouldn’t answer. Look what he was in the middle of.

“Hey.”

Remus closed his eyes.

“You’ve reached the Sirius Black,” James’ voice said on Sirius’ voicemail. “I can’t come to the phone because either girls are proposing marriage, or I’m scorning a hat trick. Maybe both! Leave a message!”

The beep was piercing, for the thirty-seventh time. He’d never left a message before.

“Sirius,” Remus whispered into the speaker. He pressed his forehead to his knees. “I know you’re—busy and I’m not going to beg you to talk to me, I…”

Remus took a breath.

“Just re-watch your arrival. I’m not going to beg, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to fight for you to see. See if you really care what those sort of people think about you.”

Remus hung up.

“Remus?”

It was Leo’s voice through the door.

Remus let out a steadying breath, scrubbing his face before standing and opening the door.

“Sorry,” Remus said. “I’m good, I just—I haven’t seen those in a long time, and then the two guys… I just needed a second.”

Leo had his hands in the front pocket of his sweatshirt, Logan’s hat backwards on his head, his blond hair fluffing out over the adjustment strap.

Leo nodded. “Do you want us all to clear out?”

Remus shook his head. “No.” He looked to the living room where the soft faces of his friends were peering at him. “No, I really don’t. C’mon let’s watch. I—Crosby does have a good ass and, you know…at least I can say that out loud now.”

Kasey laughed, pumping his fist in the air.

Remus settled himself on the couch again as they waited for the commercials to end.

“We’re cuddling too much,” Remus heard Finn whisper to Leo.

“No,” Remus said, hands out. “Please cuddle. Really, that’s not what’s wrong, I’m so happy for you guys.”

“It’s so cute,” James mumbled. “Lily, can we cuddle?”

“No, I’m cuddling Remus. We’ll cuddle later, baby.”

James nodded. “Kasey?”

Kasey raised an eyebrow from his chair. “You want to sit in this chair with me?”

James shrugged. “You can come on the floor.”

“I am a net minder,” Kasey said. “We do not sit on the floor.”

Natalie laughed, peeling a face mask out of its package. “Snob.”

Kasey winked at her.

Remus let out a breath, and smiled at Lily when she smiled at him. Things would happen, one way or another.

The ball was in Sirius’ court, the puck in his zone.

~

Sirius eyed the photographers and interviewers. His stomach churned. He had barely said two words to Logan, who had basically gotten right off the plane, into his suit, and into the car with Sirius, Minnie, and Logan’s agent, Clyde. They’d bumped fist, but the most Sirius had received from Logan was a hello and a serious of unreadable looks. It was those looks that disquieted Sirius more than the reporters. If Logan hated him—

“Hey,” Logan said as they were ushered forward onto the red carpet. Sirius was tense with Snape and his brother at their backs.

He looked at Logan.

“We’re talking later, okay? If we get split up, text me when you’re back at the hotel.”

Sirius blinked. It was—harsh for Logan. It was the way he spoke on the ice.

“I—okay. Yeah, let’s talk.”

Dread pooled in Sirius’ gut. But Logan wouldn’t want to talk if he didn’t like who Sirius was anymore, right?

Logan clapped him on the shoulder. “I have your back, Cap,” he said, and then he was pulled away to do his own run of interviews before Sirius could respond. Minnie approached him while Sirius was still standing there, mouth open, expression still changing.

“Right,” she sighed. “Well, here we are.”

Sirius shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry, Minnie. I’m such a headache.”

“Stop that nonsense, Sirius,” Minnie said, patting his arm. “You are the most real person I have ever met. Snapping at stupid questions instead of being a drone. It was unfair how the world thanked you for it, but I believe in you. You have a game plan, I’m assuming, although you refuse to tell me anything about it?”

Sirius sighed. “Sirius Black being gay is news. Sirius Black telling the media to go fuck themselves isn’t.”

“Excuse me,” an aid came up to them, headset on. “We’re ready for you on the carpet now.

“Thank you,” Sirius said, and he had just started forward when Minnie lay a gentle hand on his chest.

She pressed her lips together. “You remember what Alice said. This could be important to a lot of people. That includes yourself, my boy.”

Sirius swallowed hard. He nodded, quiet, and then followed the aid into the camera fray.

~

“Logan Tremblay, holding his fucking own,” Kasey slow clapped.

“You mean holding his fucking tongue,” Natalie said. “That’s kid’s a fire cracker.”

Finn, gestured to the television with his ice cream. “He was the perfect medium between civil and simmer. And now I can tell you all that I bought him that suit when we were eighteen. Well, I was eighteen. He was seventeen.”

“Does Tremz know we all know?” James questioned.

Leo nodded. “His plan was just to start making out in the locker room. I thought we should go for more of a verbal approach first.”

“I was okay with either,” Finn added, then looked at Remus. “I’m sorry I’m eating all your ice cream.”

Remus waved him off, heart still ringing with Logan’s words to the third interview he had.

You guys wouldn’t care if he had a girlfriend, Logan had said with a shrug. Why are you asking me that question with such a crazy look on your face? And then, finally. I support my Captain.

Sirius had been too far away to hear. He hoped Minnie played it for him later.

“But if that was one of Logan’s first interviews, that means…” Lily trailed off.

Sirius.

“I hope he knows what’s coming,” he said instead. By the looks of him, shoulders hunched, eyes guarded, he did.

All Remus wanted was for Sirius to talk to him about it. It was like a single, hooked claw dragging its way through him.

The screen flipped to Sirius, his gray eyes focused on the reporter’s grin. His own smile was small. The reporter threw him softball after softball, and Sirius answered them shortly. Remus waited, waited for it to happen, for the interview to take the turn they all expected.

But the reporter held out his hand. “Great to have you in the League, my friend. Have a great weekend, eh?”

Sirius stared at the hand, the camera zooming in a little.

“Ah, yes,” Sirius said haltingly, and took his hand. “Thank you.”

Remus sat forward.

“Well, that was okay,” Leo said, sounding out of breath.

“Yeah…” Remus said. He wasn’t ready to believe it was over yet, though.

“So, Sirius,” another reporter said. “You’ve been in the news lately, huh?”

“Oh, here we fucking go, eh?” Kasey gestured angrily at the screen.

“I’m in the news a lot,” Sirius said blankly. “More than I’d like.”

She laughed. “But first openly gay NHL player. That’s got to feel good?”

Sirius stared at her.

“He wasn’t,” Remus sat back again, cheeks hot as he stared at the microphone that was being held closer and closer to Sirius’ mouth. “You fucking lunatic, what is open about this to you?”

“Preach, Loops,” Natalie said, leaning over to pat his knee.

“I’m looking forward to a good weekend,” Sirius said. “Playing some good hockey.”

“I—”

But Sirius was already walking away, in fact, walking past all the cameras. The television camera caught some reporters staring at Minnie with alarmed eyes, angry at missing their interview with Sirius Black.

They could just see a glimpse of Minnie’s head following Sirius as the camera tracked his back all the way into the building.

Commercials filled the room.

“Wowza,” Finn said. “Okay.”

“I think it’s good he didn’t stick around for those guys,” Leo said. “I mean, he shouldn’t be made to talk about it like that, you know?”

“Yeah, maybe he should talk to me first,” Remus grumbled and took a long sip of his cocktail.

“Yes, Lupin,” Natalie clapped. “Bitch all you want, we know we all love him. It’s all good.”

Remus did want that, at least a little. It even made him smile, Natalie’s words. But most of him was longing for Sirius, for his phone to ring. He kept it close, even as the screen played another two hours of Sirius and all the other All-Stars signing puck after puck, doing stupid game after stupid game, preparing for the skills competitions tomorrow, and the three-on-three games the day after that.

~

Sirius was exhausted. The day had been camera after camera, signature after signature. He could have fallen asleep on his feet, but Logan’s promise kept his adrenaline up. Remus’ text, too.

Thankfully, he and Logan had shared a car back to the hotel.

“Your room,” Logan said simply, and pressed the elevator button.

They were mostly quiet on their way up, and Sirius’ hands fumbled a little with the keycard as he let Logan in. His suitcase was still zipped up where the bell-boy had left it, and Logan took his jacket off, tossing it onto the bed. Sirius heard the door shut behind them, and then it was quiet.

“Là,” Logan sighed, crossing the room and then turning around to face Sirius. “Straight to it, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Sirius breathed.

“I don’t want to sound like I know more than you. Because I don’t. I really, really don’t, but, this is just something I think you should know.”

Sirius looked at Logan carefully, wondering what he meant.

“Knowing about you, knowing that you’re…” Logan raised an eyebrow.

“Gay,” Sirius said.

“Gay,” Logan finished. “Cap, it,” he looked around, but they were alone. He took a step forward. “Sirius, it did more for me than I could ever tell you.”

Sirius felt the words sink in slowly. He looked at Logan. Really looked at him. Brighter. He stood straighter. He looked more focused.

“You mean you’re…”

“I get that you think you’re the only one, that you’re alone in all of this,” Logan said. “I thought that. I felt that. It nearly crushed me. But you aren’t. I’m not alone, either. Neither of us are alone, but…but you’re on one hell of a precipice.” 

Sirius knew what he meant.

“I ran from him.”

“Yeah,” Logan said. “What the fuck, Sirius?”

“I know,” Sirius felt like the air was leaving the room. “I’m horrible.”

“You aren’t,” Logan said, and looked up at Sirius. “But, that was. That was horrible. But you must have talked, I mean, it’s been…what? Two days?”

Shame burned Sirius through and through. “No,” he choked out. “We haven’t. He’s—he’s waiting for me—”

The words hurt. Remus seemed always to be waiting for Sirius, and Sirius always asking Remus to wait. It had seemed romantic, under the veil of Christmas and gifts. It didn’t feel that way now. Sirius felt selfish and cruel. He was.

“I left—” Logan reached up, as if to take off his hat that wasn’t there, and then smoothed his unruly hair instead. “I left Finn so many times.”

Sirius jerked his head up. Finn.

“And I was so scared and guilty because of that, that I left Leo, too.”

“Leo?” Sirius said, confused. “You…wait, I don’t—”

“Both of them,” Logan said simply. “Yeah, it’s…” despite everything, Logan smiled. “It’s…yeah. It’s us.”

Three, Sirius thought. On his own team, and he—he had thought—

“How could you do that?” Logan said softly. “How could you do that to him?”

Sirius stared at Logan, throat closed. He swallowed over the bile.

A mistake. He had made a mistake, of course he had made a mistake, he always made—

“Cap, I saw you,” Logan stepped forward. “I saw you every day and I didn’t know why, but you were happy. You were so fucking happy and I thought maybe you were just…I don’t know. I was jealous, to be honest,” Logan let out a short laugh. “I wanted to know how you did it. And now I see because I did it. I found my…” Logan took a breath, as if this was the first time he was saying it aloud. “I found my two.”

I lost my one, Sirius thought.

“You’re like my brother,” Logan said. “And, growing up with three sisters, I’ve always wanted a brother. I’ve looked up to you since I was, what, in high school? And you deserve that, Cap. You’re good, and you’re kind, and you’re a hell of a hockey player.” Logan shook his head. “But fuck what you did to Remus.”

“I don’t know what to say!” Sirius shouted, and Logan blinked at the suddenness. It had burst out of Sirius, the words hiding until he couldn’t, he couldn’t—

Sirius sat on the end of his bed. He was exhausted, and Logan hated him, and—

The bed dipped beside him and Logan’s arm wrapped around his shoulder. The sudden warmth at his side made Sirius close his eyes, dropping his head.

“Cap,” Logan’s voice was soft. “Merde, this is coming for someone who didn’t say a word about how they felt to the boy the loved for eight fucking years, but, yes, you do know what to say. I always knew what to say, I just couldn’t.”

“I can’t,” Sirius said.

“Sirius, fucking think for yourself,” Logan said, taking hold of Sirius’ shoulders and turning him to the side to face each other. “I said I couldn’t, that doesn’t mean you can’t. We can now. Who the fuck knows what your fucking family said to you all your life, but that doesn’t mean they’re right. All the shitty things Twitter said are wrong—everyone is allowed to be wrong but what the fuck are you doing if you can’t fix things?”

Logan was breathing hard by the end. He swallowed over a dry throat and Sirius watched, stunned. Logan shook his head, eyes bright.

“I saw what happened to you and I got angry and scared. You saw what happened to you and you got scared. You need to get angry. Drop the fucking gloves a little, Black, lose your temper. I’ve seen it before. It’s like a dead point streak mid-season. You fucking accept that you can’t score anymore? No.”

I don’t know how many times you’ve heard that you aren’t good enough. But I’m going to make you forget each one.

“I’m fucking mad at you,” Logan said. “But it’s because I love you. Not because you’re bad or because you’re hopeless, or because you made a mistake. You aren’t a bad person. And you’re allowed to make mistakes.”

Do not make any mistakes, his mother had said.

Logan let go of him, then, and the sat there shoulder to shoulder, quiet. Sirius felt—lighter. He’d never felt that after being yelled at before.

“Tremz,” he began shakily, then cleared his scratchy throat. “I’m…I’m proud of you, you know? If that means anything right now.”

Logan’s voice was thick, too. “Of course it does.”

“You’re right,” Sirius whispered. “You’re right, I…I made a horrible mistake. I had never been so terrified in my life. If I lost the team, I—I don’t know what…” Sirius pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “You all are the only family I ever…”

Logan was quiet for a moment, and then his hand replaced itself on Sirius’ back.

“It’s not just about Remus, huh?”

Sirius let out a sob, let it tear through him, and shook his head.

“Cap,” Logan hushed, and Sirius felt him press his forehead to Sirius’ temple, like they did after a goal sometimes, in a scrimmage, only there was no helmet. No hockey. This was his friend. “You’re our Captain. We gave you that, and we keep you there. We want you there, you’re our leader. You’re our friend.”

“Have you talked to the boys?” Sirius wiped at his eyes, looking at Logan. “Have they said anything?”

“No one’s texted you because Leo thought we should all let you tell us in the way you wanted to,” Logan said. “Not because no one supports you. To be honest, we didn’t think you’d go radio silent for this long when we made that decision, but… And after you didn’t let James in…”

“I have a lot of people to talk to, huh?”

Logan smiled. “Not right now. Right now, you have one person to talk to.”

Sirius smiled, too. “Yeah.”

Fuck, he hadn’t looked at his phone all day.

Logan got up and stretched with a groan. “That media run was hell. Fuck this weekend. If I so much as pull a muscle tomorrow I’m going to murder someone.”

“That’s what we all say,” Sirius stood too. “Tremzy.”

Logan looked up at him.

“I’m really happy for you. You and Finn…and Leo,” Sirius laughed a little. “How did that work out?”

“So much drama,” Logan rolled his eyes. “And moping. And, what’s the word, destin?”

“Fate,” Sirius said.

“Right, fate,” Logan smiled. “See? Not so different from you.”

“Guess not, no.”

“I’m going to call my boys,” Logan said, and held up his phone, shaking it at Sirius. “You call yours.”

Sirius’ heart lurched with guilt, but he nodded. “I will. Really, though, I…I don’t know what I’d be doing now if you weren’t here.”

“Spiraling, like you did after that failed cup run?”

Sirius laughed. “Yes.”

Logan swung his jacket over his shoulder. “See you tomorrow, Cap. I’ll be ready to defend your honor.”

“No, you aren’t allowed to fight because of this.”

“D’accord, d’accord,” Logan waved him off and shut the door.

Sirius stood there, feeling strangely light, given everything. He blinked after Logan for a moment, and vowed to call James, too, who had pounded on his door for hours. He felt stupid and selfish still, but he wanted to apologize. Not hide. But only after. After Remus.

Sirius took his phone from his pocket.

He had a voicemail. Remus hadn’t left a voicemail before. Sirius thought of the cold, formal text. He didn’t know if he could bare to hear that in Remus’ voice, but he clicked listen anyway.

“Sirius,” Remus’ voice came after a second, and Sirius sat down heavily.

I know you’re—busy and I’m not going to beg you to talk to me, I… Just re-watch your arrival. I’m not going to beg, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to fight for you to see. See if you really care what those sort of people think about you.

The phone went dead and Sirius scrambled for his remote.

~

Everyone had left for the night, but the apartment still felt warm from their presence. Remus decided to make himself a bowl of ice cream, but found himself eating straight from the carton instead. Finn really had made all-gone.

He was watching the melted part pool in his spoon when his phone rang. Everything, even the air, seemed to still and cool.

Sirius.

The name flashed at him. He hadn’t dared to put a contact photo, a picture of him that Remus had taken, bare in bed, sleepy eyed and smiling—

Now, maybe he could. One day. Soon. 

Remus pushed himself up to sit on his kitchen counter. He set his ice cream down, feet swinging nervously against the cupboards, and answered the call.

“Hi,” Remus’ voice was shot.

“I didn’t have my phone,” Sirius sounded desperate. Remus’ heart broke. “No, that’s not an excuse, I…Remus—”

“For the last thirty calls, or…”

“I know,” Sirius whispered. “I know, I know, Re, oh god, what they said about you—”

“I’ve been defending you to—to everyone,” Remus’ voice was thick. “Everyone, but I don’t…I can’t…”

“I’m coming home,” Sirius said. “Fuck these games, Remus, I’m coming home.”

Remus didn’t say anything for a long moment. He could picture Sirius there, alone in his hotel room. “I don’t know what to tell you right now, I’m… It hurt, Sirius. You left. You left and then you ignored me.”

“I know I did,” Sirius whispered. “But—”

“You aren’t the only one who this happened to,” Remus said, hushed, and then, even surprising himself, let out a sudden sob. He tried to reign it back in, but he couldn’t. It burned now, hearing Sirius’ voice, being alone. It hurt more than it had. He didn’t know if he had been ignoring it, or pushing through it, or if it was just hearing Sirius know that he had been wrong.

“I know that,” Sirius said. “I do, Remus, I know that. I made a mistake. I made a mistake. The meeting. I should have taken a later flight, too, I should have talked to you. I shouldn’t have run out, that was—I’m—”

“I don’t want to do this over the phone,” Remus replied with a hitch in his words. He stirred the spoon in the melted ice cream, just for something to do, then gave up and fisted his sweatshirt by his neck. “I know I said call me, but I really—I really want it to be us together talking, okay?”

“You mean…after the games?”

Remus took a slow breath. “I’m not just going to say everything’s okay, Sirius. It fucking hurt. All of it. And I know you’re hurting, too. I hate that you’re hurting, too, but…”

“You don’t have to explain,” Sirius felt guilt like it was something crawling inside of him. “I’ll—let me wait for you now.”

Remus let out a breath, remembering the words.

“I…I understand why what happened happened,” Remus said. “I do. Of course, I understand. And all I want is for you to be okay. For us to be okay. I just need my own time, too.”

“I want that. Please, just—let me tell you one thing,” Sirius said. “Is it okay?”

“Yeah,” Remus said softly, curious. “Go for it.”

“I talked to Logan. Well—he also talked to me. Really gave it to me. I deserved it.”

“Don’t put yourself down to me right now,” Remus began, but Sirius cut him off.

“I’m not, no, I’m not,” there was a sound like Sirius sitting down on the bed. “I…I won’t explain it all to you now, but I just need you to know that things are clearer for me. I’m…I’m not alone.”

“You never were,” Remus managed.

Remus listened as Sirius’ breathing changed into cries. Remus wanted to hold him tight.

“It’s so good to hear your voice,” Remus said softly. “Be careful, okay? With everyone this weekend. Snape. Regulus.”

Your mother, Remus thought.

“Logan will be with me,” Sirius said, and then added, as if remembering, “and I’ll be with Logan.”

Remus nodded. So Logan had told him.

“Protect each other.”

Sirius nodded. “And everyone else who needs it.”

Remus sucked in a breath, and cradled the phone closer, eyes soft.

“Yeah,” Remus said. “Yeah, baby, everyone else, too.”

At the name, Sirius sounded all but torn apart. He let it out, lungs out racing his heart.

“I miss you,” he choked out. “Am I allowed to say that?”

“Yes,” Remus hushed him. “Sirius, I’m mad, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you. Of course I want you, you’re mine. You’re my wish, okay? This happened because we’re each other’s. We can be—we can be something good that comes out of this, can’t we?”

“Oui, yes, yes,” Sirius said. “I’ll tell you everything, okay?” He sniffed, taking a moment to breathe. “It’s different, hearing these things from my friends. From you.”

“You haven’t had a lot of support, Sirius. I…I get that it’s going to take a second. And so…I’m here, okay? But I’m not here to run back to if you keep leaving me. That wasn’t good. That was…” Remus would never forget that feeling.

“I’ll be better,” Sirius said, and then sucked in a breath. “I mean…for myself. For you.”

Remus nodded, even though he knew Sirius couldn’t see him.

“I’m going to try and sleep,” Sirius said.

“I miss you,” Remus replied.

“I miss you, too,” Sirius said. “So much.”

~

Sirius stepped out of the tunnel and immediately his eyes were drawn by flashes of color near the glass. There were six teenagers standing there. Their cheeks were decked out in painted on rainbow flags, and they were wrapped in them, too, holding paper versions up to the glass with the words HERE FOR #12 on them.

All Sirius could think about was going over there and maybe crying. Instead, he picked up a few pucks to sign.

The locker room had been—intense. There was no way Sirius could have missed the way some guys had moved away from him, avoided him. But others came up and shook his hand. They didn’t say much, but Sirius didn’t really want to be congratulated. The support, even quiet, was enough to keep him on his feet and focused enough to feel like, sure, he could perform some hockey tricks today.

And Remus’ words. We’re each other’s.

“Sometimes I think hockey just isn’t colorful enough, you know?”

When the voice spoke, Sirius’ eyes found the stick that had come into his vision first. The tape wasn’t the usual white or black, but all colors, neatly wrapped and waxed off.

Sirius looked up to find Alex O’Hara grinning widely at him.

“What’s up, Lion?”

“Hi, Alex,” Sirius said faintly, as they tapped helmets.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he gestured to the tape.

Sirius, to his own surprise, let out a laugh. “Of course I don’t, I… I should have thought of it, maybe.”

“You want some?”

Sirius looked at the pucks he was holding, then back at the kids at the glass.

“Yeah,” he nodded, setting the pucks aside for a moment. “Yeah, I do.”

“Alex,” Logan stopped hard in front of them with a spray of ice. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

Alex laughed, and then leaned in close. “Oh, yeah? More than my brother?”

Logan flushed pink beneath his tan skin. Then, he grinned and punched his arm. “How long have you known?”

Alex scoffed. “Please.”

And so Sirius found himself, sitting beside Logan as they re-taped their sticks with rainbow tape, while millions of cameras and cell-phones watched.

It was terrifying. And wonderful. It was something that went along with the phrase never in a million years, in Sirius’ mind. Only, it was happening now.

“Could I get some of that maybe?”

It was Mika Zibanejad, his hair pulled back beneath his helmet, dark eyes kind and soft.

It was the flood gates.

Sidney Crosby, Kris Letang. Braden Holtby, Nate MacKinnon.

Not every player did it, not by far, but they did have to ask for another roll.

Sirius’ breathing was working against his pounding heart when he took to the ice again, throwing a puck down and watching it bounce darkly between the colors. He smiled, and looked up at the kids behind the glass again.

Silver sharpies were not in short supply, and he fired off six signatures before skating over with them balanced within his arms. They began to pound on the glass as he approached, and he nodded to them. They were hard to hear over the crowd and the announcer’s noise, but he smiled and mouthed thank you, and they seemed to understand. He flipped the pucks over the glass easily, and bumped his fisted glove to it.

They loved him for who he was.

And Logan had been right. His team would, too. The thought that they wouldn’t still chilled him, but there were two sides of the coin now.

It even made him forget about—

“Stop this,” Regulus was there, hissing at him and grabbing him by the arm as he skated back with Logan, who had wandered over to a little boy with a Tremblay sign and jersey.

Sirius stared at his brother, surprised that he’d even approached.

“What are you—” he began, but Logan cut him off.

“Back off,” Logan growled, and gave him a little push. Sirius cursed internally. He didn’t want to start a fight right now.

Regulus ignored him.

“Sirius—” Regulus said quietly. “Think about—”

“Don’t tell me to think about the family,” Sirius practically snarled. “I’m thinking about myself for once. What I want.”

“Think about what you’re doing,” Regulus said, glancing at Logan desperately, like he wanted him to leave. “This is it, if you really—”

Sirius shook his head, yanking out of his brother’s grip. “I tried to take you with me, Reg. I tried so hard. And what did you do?”

“Fuck you,” Logan spat in Regulus’ face. “You call yourself his brother? When was the last fucking time you acted like that? Oh, right, was it when you trashed talked him?”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Regulus growled. He had switched to French now.

“Rookie,” Snape said in English from the outskirts of their triad, eyes on Regulus. “Come on.”

“Daddy’s calling,” Logan snarled.“La marionnette.”

Sirius watched his brother swallow, pale eyes wide and fierce.

Puppet, Logan had said.

“Tremz,” Sirius said, and put a hand on his shoulder.

Regulus looked to Sirius, then.

“Microphone?” he asked.

Regulus was asking if he was mic’d up. Sirius shook his head, and Logan scoffed.

“Little late,” Logan said.

Regulus, once again, ignored him. “Maman est là.”

“Je l’ai deviné,” Sirius had guessed as much.

Logan was still standing between them, but he looked like he wasn’t sure if he should be now.

Regulus pushed forward one stride, and Logan’s glove pressed against his chest. Regulus glared down at him, then turned back to Sirius. He was nearly as tall as him now, but for a single moment, Regulus’ expression flickered. Sirius saw his brother again, his little brother, the boy who had snuck him a Lions hat and hugged him and told him he’d miss him more than anything, and please don’t leave me alone in this house, with them—

“Fais attention,” Regulus bit out.

Be careful.

Regulus shoved Logan with his stick and Logan cursed again, but Sirius barely heard. He watched Regulus skate away, back to Snape’s side. Sirius and Snape looked at each other, across the ice, for a brief moment.

Sirius didn’t think Regulus would ever forgive him for leaving. Especially not with Snape at his side.

Snape’s lip curled, and he turned away, over the boards.

~

“That’s my big brother!” Finn shouted.

Remus laughed, hand on his throat as he stared at the screen, at Sirius, sitting on the bench beside Logan and Alex O’Hara, Zibanejad, Panarin, Crosby, Letang, Holtby…

Sirius, camera honing in on his focused face as he scribbled the signature that Remus knew well. The camera had been showing the fans wrapped in rainbow flags off and on, and it showed them now, too, as Sirius skated over with a wide, if not a little shy, smile on his face. He sort of talked to them, mostly just nodding and bumping fists as he passed the pucks over.

The camera saw Regulus coming before Sirius did.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Finn sat up in Leo’s arms, pulling him with him. “Black brothers, Black brothers.”

“Fuck,” Remus said, and felt Lily grab his wrist nervously.

Regulus and Sirius were talking furiously at each other, at least until Logan got between them.

“I swear to god, someone’s gotta get that kid out of Slytherin,” Kasey grumbled. “He’s like the Captain was, but on steroids.”

Remus nodded slowly, eyes on Regulus’, or at least what sliver of his face the camera was able to get.

Kasey hit Remus’ couch with his fist when they showed a long shot of Snape and Sirius. They were practically staring each other down.

“Can I just,” Kasey gestured at the television. “Can I kill him? Or shave his head?”

“Fine with it,” James nodded.

Leo glanced at Kasey. “I like that that’s your next worst fate after death.”

The cameras moved on relatively quickly as the skill events began. Hardest shot, accuracy, puck handling…

“So, Cap is accuracy, and Lo’s hardest shot,” Leo said, staring at his phone as he scrolled through the website.

“I wanna see how hard Logan can shoot,” Finn mumbled, and Leo whacked him on the head. Natalie nearly cackled and gave Finn a pat on the head.

Remus couldn’t stop looking at the tape on Sirius’ stick.

“Quite a display of camaraderie, seemingly begun by Alex O’Hara, older brother of Finn O’Hara who is Black’s teammate,” one of the commentators began. He was a new voice from yesterday’s red carpet. “It’s good to see that, eh, Tom?”

Remus liked him.

“Sure is, Nate,” replied Tom. “Sure is.”

“Well, that’s more like it,” Remus sighed.

No matter how fun it was to watch Sirius execute a perfect score as he dangled a puck between tight cones and flipped it through tiny slots, Remus itched to talk to him. He itched to see him.

He loved seeing the sticks tap for him, see other boys knock helmets with him like nothing had changed, but still. Remus wanted him home. He wanted him away from Regulus and Snape, and here in Gryffindor, or anywhere where support was strong. Remus had spent hours last night after the team had left scrolling through articles and Twitter. His mind was filled with the messages telling Sirius that he’d changed their life.

He couldn’t believe he had to sit through another entire day of this, watching Sirius play three-on-three games—possibly against Snape.

“Hey, Leo, did they announce the lines for tomorrow yet?” Remus asked. “Would you look it up for me?”

“Sure,” Leo said, looking around Finn’s head to get at his phone.

“The boys aren’t going for fastest?” Lily said disappointedly.

James snorted. “Um, I think we know Remus wins that one, Lils.”

Finn shook his head. “I’m still like, at family skate…I fucking fell over. I haven’t fallen over since, like, I don’t even know.”

Remus smiled. “Sorry about that, Harzy.”

“You really tore Kasey up, Fruit-Loop,” Natalie laughed, reaching up to push her hand through Kasey’s hair.

“Look, he’s really good, I was surprised, and I hadn’t warmed up, okay? I was surprised.”

Remus laughed. “I did have that up on you, Bliz. I’ll admit it, and give you a free pass.”

“No,” Kasey huffed. “I don’t want a free pass, I want to play again and stop your shot.”

“Fuck,” Leo breathed, and Remus stopped laughing.

“What? Is it Snape? Did they put them on the same line?”

Remus knew they liked to do that at All-Stars, put rivals on the same line. Sidney Crosby and Claude Giroux were frequent victims.

Leo looked back at him, then up at the television where Regulus was taking his mark for the fasted skater loop.

“Not Snape,” Leo said. “Regulus.”

As if on cue, the announcer spoke up.

“And here’s Regulus Black getting ready to skate. We’ll be getting a real treat tomorrow, Nate. We’ll be getting to see Sirius and Regulus Black, hockey’s most famous brothers right now, play on the same line with Mathew Barzal. That should be quite some hockey.”

“Oh my god,” Remus heard someone breathe.

Quite some hockey.

Remus wondered if Sirius knew.

On everyone’s way out, Lily squeezed him in a hug. “You seem better today. Did you guys…”

Remus nodded. “We talked. It was…you know, it’s hard. It was good.”

“Yeah…”

“But I said I want to talk about it mostly face to face and so…all I can really do is wait now. I’m probably going to call him again now. See if he wants to talk about Regulus.”

Remus was absolutely going to call him again now.

“Okay,” Lily sent him a smile. “See you tomorrow for three-on-three?”

“Hang out at Lupin’s,” Finn hollered in the hallway and was immediately shushed by Leo.

“Jesus, Harzy,” Kasey groaned as he hit the button on the elevator.

Remus was in the middle of doing dishes when his phone rang. He wiped his hands quickly and picked up, nearly fumbling his phone into the sink.

“Hi,” Remus sounded breathless even to himself.

“Hey,” Sirius said. “Do you want to FaceTime?”

“Yeah,” Remus said. “Yeah, yeah, one second.”

Remus more or less ran to the couch, socks sliding on the floor, and sat down just in time for his phone to light up. Sirius’ face filled the screen. His hair was wet from a shower, and Remus didn’t know if it was the light, but the bags under his eyes looked worse than Remus had thought.

“Hi,” Remus said softly, smiling. “God, I’ve been staring at your face all day on TV but I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

Sirius smiled, rubbing one of his eyes before stretching back on the bed. “Wish I could stare at your face all day.”

“You’ll be home soon,” Remus said. “Hey, I…today was pretty amazing.”

Sirius laughed and reached out of frame for something. His hand came back swinging a roll of rainbow tape around his finger. “A fan gave me this.”

Remus grinned. “I’m so proud of you.”

Sirius looked at him for a moment, like he wasn’t sure what to say. Then, he smiled again, but it was quieter this time, less at Remus and more at himself.

“Me too. Today was—good. I mean…you probably saw Reg, but…”

Remus nodded. “Did you see your lines for tomorrow?”

Sirius shook his head. “Not yet. Why, are they up?”

Remus took a breath. “Yeah. They’re up.”

~

The All-Stars management seemed to enjoy the idea of putting Sirius and his brother together as much as possible, even going so far as moving their lockers beside each other. It felt like there was always a camera trained on the two of them, and Sirius had never been more on edge. The only good take away from this, it seemed, was that people weren’t asking him about his sexuality anymore.

“You’re welcome,” Minnie had said when Sirius had mentioned it to her in the car over to the arena that morning with Logan and Clyde.

Sirius raised an eyebrow.

“I had to give them something, Sirius,” Minnie said. “They need their publicity. I hate it as much as you, but I thought this would be better.”

Sirius had to give Minnie some credit for that PR move, actually. At least with his brother, Sirius was used to dealing with the hounding.

“As Harzy would say,” Logan said from his seat, headphones on one ear and making his hair stick up. He raised his sickly-sweet coffee at her. “Bitch-ass move, Minnie.”

“Why, thank you for that assessment, Mr. Tremblay.” 

Sirius was just as thankful for Remus’ heads up about the game lines, even though he would have found out this morning anyway.

He only wished he had had one about Greyback. Sirius’ line, consisting of himself, Regulus, and Barzal, were set to face off against Greyback, Tom Wilson from the Washington Capitals, and Tony DeAngelo from the New York Rangers.

There was no fighting in All-Stars, which was a shame.

Cameras had followed him all the way into the locker room, where Regulus had cleared his throat awkwardly as he sat down beside Sirius and started dressing. Sirius felt a strong pang in his heart. They had done this with each other a million times. He hated that it felt so strange.

“Maman—”

“I don’t give a damn,” Sirius whispered lowly, using French so there were at least fewer people around them who could keep up. “And you shouldn’t either.”

Regulus laughed, and he made it look mirthful for the sake of the cameras. So, he was learning. There was no humor in his eyes.

“Do I have a choice?” he said.

“I did.”

“Yeah, well, I think we all know how you chose.”

“Regulus,” Sirius sighed.

“Drop it,” his brother bit back.

But this was the longest they had been and would be together in probably months. Maybe years, if Sirius counted his family. He didn’t want to drop it.

Sirius pulled him aside in the locker room while the cameras had to follow the stream of players leaving for the tunnel. It was a brief moment of privacy.

“I would have done anything to get you out with me,” Sirius whispered intently, and pressed his glove to his little brother’s helmet, keeping them close. “Anything. But I couldn’t help you if I was trapped there with you. Maman’s, the Snakes, either one. I had to get out. And then—”

“You don’t know what it was like,” Regulus’ voice came out shaky, and Sirius realized he had tears in his eyes. Regulus closed them quickly, head bowed so that their helmets tapped together. “You left, they lost you, and so they doubled down. I couldn’t—I couldn’t breathe. I can’t breathe.”

Sirius stared at him. In some ways, this hurt more than anything that had happened in the past few days. This hurt more, his little brother, his to protect.

“Reg…” Sirius began.

“You don’t know what he’s like,” Regulus whispered, and then, like he was afraid to say the words aloud. “Snape. Malfoy.” He swallowed, and added, even quieter so that Sirius could barely hear. “Riddle.”

“Mon étoile…” Sirius said. He hadn’t said the old nickname since they were little, and Regulus jolted to look at him. Stars, the two of them. “I’m sorry. Please, let me help you.”

“They made me hate you,” Regulus said. “But I never did.”

They both looked up when the locker room was beginning to empty out. Their moment was over.

“Let’s play,” Sirius said. “Let’s play, and then let’s talk, d’accord?”

“They made me delete your number, but I memorized it,” Regulus said. “Is it the same?”

Sirius closed his eyes, then nodded. “Oui.”

“D’accord,” Regulus said, then jerked his head towards the tunnel.

Sirius tapped Regulus’ chest with his glove. “Allez.”

Sirius followed him towards the tunnel, going out last. People would play it off as a strange superstition, but Sirius knew there would be pictures of him and Regulus talking anyway. He felt different this weekend. For obvious reasons, and not.

His life had always had a path, and that path had always been set. If it changed, the breaks had been slow. A trade deal. A contract. Longing for Remus. Everything had happened with time.

Not this. He was out. He was proud. It was an earthquake, a fault slipping. Regulus needed him, he didn’t hate him, after so long believing otherwise. An aftershock.

He was half way to the tunnel when he saw her.

Another slip.

His mother stood against the wall, her too thin body all in black, hair inky. She spared a short look to Regulus, but followed Sirius with her eyes. Minnie was standing beside her.

Sirius stopped walking.

Regulus, seeming to sense that Sirius wasn’t behind him anymore, stopped, too. Sirius held out his stick, telling him to stay put, and made his way over to the two women.

Sirius’ mother’s lip curled in what maybe appeared to be a smile. “Sirius,” she held out her arms. “I have so much to say to my son—”

Sirius turned at the last minute, minutely. It was a classic play, a fake out right in front of the net. He watched his mother realize his side-step at the last moment when it was too late.

Sirius hugged Minnie close to his chest.

“Regulus,” he whispered, and let go.

“Sirius?” Walburga’s laugh was high. “I beg your pardon?”

“You can’t have it,” Sirius said, and looked her straight in the eye. He towered over her. He didn’t know how he hadn’t realized that before. He looked to Regulus, then at Minnie, and then back at the dark woman.

“Never contact us again,” he said, and then turned towards the tunnel and into the bright lights, eyes on his brightly colored stick tape, and on his brother walking ahead of him.

~

“Welcome back to the 2020 All-Star weekend, everyone! As you can see, the players are out on the ice and this news has just reached us. It seems that Sirius Black has just thrown his own mother out of the arena.”

“Say what?” Natalie yelled.

The commentator laughed. “I know, Nate, this is very…well, there have been rumors about the Black family. I really thought they were, you know, classic hockey parents. Sirius seems to have taken matters into his own hands. He deserves to, honestly, after what he’s been through these past days. What a kid, I—oh, man, hold on everyone, we’ve got a fight!”

Remus and Lily both yelped when the camera cut away quickly from where Patrick Kane and Artemi Panarin had been joking around, and to Sirius—beside Fenrir Greyback, to Remus’ horror—throwing a punch.

~

“Sirius Black,” a voice said, and Sirius took a long breath through his nose, and turned.

Fenrir Greyback, American, had perfectly straight, light brown hair, cropped short and sticking up in the front. His face was scruffy, and when he smiled, his thin lips revealed sharp canine teeth. The teeth beside his jolly laugh made for an eerie sight. Knowing he was the same age as Remus unsettled Sirius. He didn’t look it. He had the timeless look of a corpse, skin waxy and smooth safe for a bad scar, a skate cut, raking over his left cheek. Greyback leaned against his stick, smile in place.

“We have a game soon, don’t we? You and your cubs will be coming to Vegas.”

“Looks like.”

“Ready to lose?”

Sirius smiled wryly. “What sort of question is that?”

Fenrir shrugged. “How is Lupin these days? He was quite a player.”

Sirius could feel the cameras on them, but decided he didn’t care if they were mic’d. The crowd was roaring, he had seen Vegas fans taking pictures with Fenrir. They deserved to know who they were supporting.

“Before you destroyed his career, you mean?” Sirius said evenly.

Logan looked up, eyes wide, from where he had been re-lacing his skate.

Fenrir laughed. “Still pushing that story, huh? Look, man, if you watch the tape it was a clean hit.”

“How the fuck could it have been clean? You ruined his shoulder.”

“Oh, his shoulder. Well, that’s a different story,” Fenrir nodded, as if remembering, and then looked at Sirius, his sick grin still in place. “And there’s no video of that.”

Sirius’ entire bloodstream went cold. He thought of Remus. His panicked expression whenever any conversation got close to his hockey career, his mom’s worried one. But Remus had said, a bad hit, Fenrir…

“No proof,” Fenrir shrugged, and then gripped Sirius’ shoulder, fingers digging into his pads. Louder, so that the other players around them could hear, he said, “Really sorry that he had to stop playing, though. I heard it was one hell of a car accident.”

A fourth shock-wave, rocking his Earth.

~

“Holy fuck,” Finn said loudly. “What is happening? What is happening?”

Remus couldn’t look away from the screen, from where Sirius basically had Fenrir in a choke hold, the momentum of their swings propelling them in a slow, oblong circle as the other players backed away from the sudden fight.

“Jesus, what do you think he said?” Finn asked.

Kuny, who had decided to join them today, shook his head. “Shit-head player, doesn’t matter. Go Cap. I punch him also, when we play Vegas.”

“Remus, you said you played together?” Leo questioned. “Was he a shit-head in college, too?”

“I…” Remus began, and the whistles blew on screens, refs skating forward to pull the two players off of each other.

“Well, man-oh-man, Rob,” one of the commentators said. “I wonder what he said.”

“One could guess,” replied Rob.

Remus felt dread swirling in his stomach. They couldn’t guess, but Remus could. Remus was the only one who knew aside from Greyback.

Remus could still taste the bile from the biting pain of Greyback’s fingers, ripping into the muscle between his neck and shoulder. His hand covered it instinctively.

You hurt it in the game and didn’t tell anyone, Greyback had spat at him. That’s your lie. Remember, I know about you.

He hadn’t, of course. Remus knew that now. It was a bluff, an easy sentence that could mean anything to anyone. Everyone had secrets. Greyback had simply put faith in just how powerfully Remus’ secret would hold him.

Enough for Remus to tell his training staff that he had been hiding a very serious shoulder  injury. Festering muscle tears, dislocated, would heal wrong for sure, not a worthy investment, not anymore—

“Remus?” Kasey said.

Well. Remus’ secret was out now. Fenrir’s could be, too.

“He’s the reason I don’t play anymore,” Remus said quietly.

Lily sat forward, hand on her belly. “What do you mean, Re?”

“He was your bad hit?” Finn asked in a hushed voice. “Was it—on purpose?”

Remus pressed his lips together, trying to steady his breath. “It wasn’t even on the ice. He cornered me in one of the recovery rooms. My routine used to be long, I would stay after the other guys, cool down, stretch, you guys know.” Remus kept his gaze steady on the television where they were zoomed in on Logan and Sirius speaking with their heads close together. Sirius would no doubt have a black eye in a few hours.

“Ripped my shoulder apart,” Remus said softly. “Told me if I told anyone he’d tell my secret.”

“He knew?” Leo said. He sounded horrified. “And that’s what he did?”

Remus shook his head. “He didn’t know. I was too careful. But everyone has secrets, don’t they? I guess he just put his bets in the right place. Some people do.”

“And you never said anything,” Kasey said. “Jesus, Loops.”

“Well, now everyone knows my secret, eh? And I didn’t want to be that guy, blaming the end of their career on someone, some other player. No one would have believed me. And now, it’s so long ago, what does it matter?”

“It matters,” James said urgently. “It does. We can—we should do something.”

“Maybe,” Remus said. “But not now. Not with all of this.”

“And Sirius? He know?” Kuny asked.

Remus looked at the television. ““I think he just found out.”

Which was stupid of Greyback, really. What did he expect Sirius to do? Laugh along?

The game had resumed. Greyback, Wilson, and DeAngelo were lined against Sirius, Regulus, and Barzal. Sirius and Regulus were talking. They bumped fists before taking position. Remus blinked. That was new.

“What the fuck, are we friends now?” Kasey mumbled, intent on the screen.

Sirius scored easily, like a fire was at his heels. Remus loved that look he got in his eyes. The camera zoomed in on their celebration. Sirius wasn’t smiling, but he clutched Regulus and Barzal to him. Barzal looked a little hesitant, like he could sense he was in the middle of something that he knew nothing about.

As Sirius skated towards the bench for glove taps, he found a camera and stopped. The camera held, of course. Sirius Black was looking right at it. Sirius wedge his glove under his arm and reached for his neck.

“What’s happening,” Finn whispered again. He had his hands in his hair, like everything was too suspenseful.

Meanwhile, Remus’ heart was clattering down his ribs.

Sirius withdrew the silver and gold number twelve necklace, gray eyes steely.

He pressed the numbers to his lips.

“Oh…” Remus whispered, hand over his neck.

Sirius’ eyes grew soft as he tucked the necklace, Remus’ gift, safely back into his jersey. Like he knew Remus was gazing at him, too. Remus felt his entire world zero in on this moment. That was for him. Sirius was defending him.

An animal sound came from James.

“Necklace,” James shouted. “Fuck me!”

“Yeah, you’re the only one who was still working on that, sweetheart,” Natalie said.

Lily laughed. “But we love you.”

“We do.”

Remus gripped his watch, thumb rubbing over the face.

I love you. I love you IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.

He would be home tomorrow.

Remus’ chest was a scrap of feeling. His heart was warm, his blood cool, his neck hot, his hands shaky.

Home tomorrow.

~

The cameras that had swarmed Sirius a moment ago now swarmed Regulus’ stall. Regulus had a towel around his neck, sweat dripping into his eyes. They were lighter though. He kept looking at Sirius, and Sirius remained seated in his stall, showing him that he was staying right where he was. He wasn’t leaving him.

“Regulus, do you have any…” the reporter glanced at Sirius and seemed smart enough to make his question vague. “…thoughts on your brother? Or, what was it like playing with him today? How long has it been?”

Regulus was slow in answering. He wiped his face, adjusted the hat he had on backwards. They look so much alike it’s scary, Sirius heard a reporter whisper to her friend. Finally, Regulus cleared his throat, and looked up from where he had been picking at the label of his water bottle.

“I’m very proud of my brother,” Regulus’ voice was steady and deep. He was unblinking. “It was very brave what he did, especially given the—the intrusive situation. No one deserves that. I wish him all the best, and Lupin, too. I look forward to spending time with him this summer in Gryffindor.”

Sirius’ smiled. And he knew the cameras caught it.

Sirius was sitting in Regulus’ stall this time when his brother got out of the showers. He stayed seated, the two of them silent among the other changing players, while Regulus got dressed. Sirius slipped his phone out of his pocket.

Call you in twenty, he shot a text to Remus.

“Hey, Cap,” Logan said from the doorway. “I’m going out with some of the guys. You’re…” he glanced at Regulus.

“See you on the plane,” Sirius said, and Logan nodded, understanding.

Regulus sat in Sirius’ stall. He had a Snakes sweatshirt on, and the sleeves were picked practically to pieces, fraying and ratty. It hurt to look at them.

They were alone.

“Alors,” Regulus said hesitantly.

Sirius turned to him. “Come back to Gryffindor with me. Minnie got you a seat with me and Logan. Tomorrow.”

An expression of relief so pure crossed Regulus’ face, that Sirius watched him ache with it. Sirius stood and pulled his brother into a hug. The first in a long, long time.

“Okay,” Regulus said into Sirius’ neck, voice thick. “Okay."

#sweater weather #sweater weather lumosinlove #wolfstar #wolfstar au #hockey!au #harry potter #Harry Potter au #sirius black #remus lupin #sirius x remus #remus x sirius #lumosinlove #lumosinlove oc #sweater weather part 15

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game - CH136 (Final)

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 136: Goodbye, Neverland (Extra)

{cw: religious homophobia}

Would you fall in love with such a person? You have the same sex and different beliefs. It is a sin to love each other.

For the former Ning Zhou, this was unthinkable.

But fate had played a cruel trick on him, making absurdity become reality.

Neverland was in a world of ice and snow. The shortest day had not yet arrived, but the coldest time of the year was almost over. Ning Zhou, who had just stepped out of the spiritual barrier, knelt on the glacier in exhaustion, and the hot tears that had just flowed out of his eyes froze into ice. Neverland was just around the corner, but it seemed as if he would never reach it.

In the face of the coldness of death, he had finally put aside all his hesitations and concerns and shouldered his guilt, even if he would fall into hell after death and bear the punishment of eternal fire.

Ning Zhou slowly stood up from the glacier, watching the bright lights that were like the eternal kingdom of heaven was on the ground. Amidst the ice and snow the Vatican stood on the ice sheet, majestic, holy, and ethereal.

He knew that this was the last time he would see Neverland.

Ning Zhou walked down the glacier and walked into the Vatican with awe.

Through the row upon row of buildings, the noise of the world rang again in his ears. Several children ran past him laughing and frolicking. Because they ran too fast, they almost ran into Ning Zhou. Ning Zhou took a step back, avoided the children, and watched them run away laughing.

Ning Zhou could hardly remember what he was like when he was as small as them. He was thirteen years old when he’d come to the Vatican, and Maria had just died. According to her last wish, he was sent here by his teacher Arnold and met the Pope for the first time.

He was a kind old man, his eyes were full of wisdom precipitated by years, and he had taught him a lot of things, not only the knowledge of survival, but also the truth of life. It could be said that after Maria died, it was this wise old man who had shaped his personality. In Ning Zhou's eyes, he was not only God’s speaker on earth, but also an elder whom he respected from the heart.

But today, he wanted to tell the old man who had raised him that he was in love with someone whom he was not allowed.

Ning Zhou passed through the city of ice and snow without a face. In order to welcome the residents of the Holy City who would come here soon, this polar city was expanding. It was like the projection of the divine world onto the living world, full of prosperity and warmth everywhere, far away from all the evils in the world, just like the home he dreamed of.

But after everything, he was going to leave this pure land, and from then on he would wander in the wind and rain all his life.

Stepping into the border of the Vatican, bathed in the power of ethereal and holy power, Ning Zhou's abdominal wound once again burned with pain, which combined with a stabbing pain all over his body. He frowned and strode forward regardless of the pain. Through the huge snowy square, countless ice sculptures silently guarded the heaven on earth, soaking in the cold air together with the guards patrolling back and forth.

Ning Zhou looked toward the deepest part of the Vatican, a magnificent cathedral, where the Pope was standing as he completed a prayer alone under the huge cross, the Canon spread out on the podium at his side. Gold and silver points of holy light were faintly visible in the cold, fluttering up and down.

Ice benches ran on both sides and in the middle was an aisle covered with gold and red carpet. Ning Zhou walked along it towards the Pope and looked up at him from the base of the stairs.

The Pope turned around and gazed at Ning Zhou kindly: "A few days ago, the will of the blazing angel returned to the Holy See and told me that your faith was shaken. Son, tell me what happened?"

Ning Zhou bowed to him and said calmly, "Under the crown of the Pope, I... fell in love with someone."

"You are embarrassed about this." The Pope saw through his heart.

Ning Zhou replied honestly: "Yes. The person I fell in love with is a man like me. He comes from another world and is an non-believer."

The Pope's voice suddenly became severe and solemn: "The Lord said, 'Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination'; If a man sleeps with a man, just like a woman, they have done an abominable thing and so they must be put to death, and the sin should be attributed to them. You know this is a sin, and if you blindly obey these rebellious feelings and desires, you will be punished by eternal fire."

"Yes, I understand," Ning Zhou calmly replied.

"Then repent. God will forgive sinners who are willing to repent. Tell me, are you willing to repent?" the Pope snapped.

Ning Zhou raised his head and looked him in the eye: "No, I cannot repent under the crown."

The Pope was silent for a long time, and the high crown on his head and the red vestments on his body seemed to overwhelm the old man. He said wearily, "Your mother chose to entrust you to the Holy See before she died, not to let you go the same way as her. You kept the last name of your foreigner father, the name your mother gave you, and... a heart lost for love like hers.

"Ning Zhou, my child, I give you one last chance: give him up and confess to the Lord."

Ning Zhou closed his eyes and a wind seemed to blow past him. He seemed to return to the Garden of the Holy Tomb in the afternoon, quietly staring at the lover sleeping in the tree stump full of petals, watching while every minute and second his heart was suffering in the fires of guilt, a kind of desperate pain, yet it happened that he felt the sweetness of sin.

His memories suddenly fast-forwarded and came to an abrupt end in the Garden of the Holy Tomb at dawn. His lover had returned there again, but was never to open his brown eyes again... He suddenly understood that his heart, which he’d tried to persuade, cheat, and block, had already fallen into hell.

He was guilty of a crime for which he did not wish to repent.

"I'm sorry, crown, I can't. I tried, but I couldn't. He sacrificed again and again for me, refused the temptation of the Devil for me, and died because of it. I’ve failed his life once, and I can't fail his love again. I am willing to accept eternal torture in hell after death, but please allow me to be loyal to my heart in the short time when I still live in this world." Ning Zhou opened his blue eyes and spoke succinctly and firmly.

"Even if you will lose everything the Vatican has given you, even if you must leave this country forever?" asked the Pope.

Ning Zhou lowered his eyes, untied the buckle, put aside the dagger and the pass order given by the Holy See. He knelt in front of the cross on one knee: "I am ready."

After the anger reached its apex, it became a deep disappointment. The Pope came down from the high platform with a scepter in his hand. The cross-shaped scepter inlaid with gems pointed to the top of Ning Zhou's head: "The glory given to you by the Lord will be fully recovered."

Ethereal music came from the cold air and the golden light fell from the sky like raindrops. Behind Ning Zhou, it painted and wove into the shape of a blazing angel with six wings. He watched all this sadly, spread his wings silently, flew to the ice sculpture of an angel in the church, merged with it, and was no longer inspired by him.

The holy power flowing in his blood was taken out a little at a time, and the pain of it being torn from his soul made Ning Zhou sweat like rain in the extreme cold of tens of degrees below zero, feeling as if he were dying.

The scepter left Ning Zhou's head and the Pope sighed, "Is it worth it for a dead foreigner?"

Ning Zhou struggled to stand up, his face pale, but his eyes were still bright: "I can't deceive my heart. Does love dissipate when its object dies? No, the Lord said love never stops. From the day he died and every day from now on, this feeling will be precipitated by time and memories. The longer it is, the stronger it will be. I can't pretend that I’ve let go. This would be the most unforgivable shame."

He seldom said so much, but every word came from the bottom of his heart: "Under the crown, love should only be love. I have never lost my piety because of love. I will only be stronger because of it. It should not be a sin. If it is a sin, please let me bear this sin and fall into hell after death... I don't regret it.

"I still believe in my Lord, I abide by all the commandments except that one, and will continue to fight against the Devils. My heart will always belong here no matter where and when."

This was the last sentence Ning Zhou said before he left.

He left everything given by the Vatican and left alone. The Pope watched his distant back and sighed deeply: "Those who fight against the Devils should be careful not to become a Devil. 'If you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.'"

Ning Zhou didn't answer again. At this moment, he firmly believed that he wouldn't fall in the current, because his soul had already docked in his own harbor.

The road to leave his hometown was longer than the one to enter it. He had lost the power of faith. It was tantamount to seeking death to trudge through the extreme cold with human frailty alone. Only a body that had carried out severe training all the year round could cross the vast ice sheet by its own strength.

Ning Zhou walked alone in the extremely cold ice and snow. Under the vast expanse of the starry sky, he recalled the scene when he’d passed through the spiritual enchantment of the Holy See not long ago - while walking through this heavy enchantment, everyone would be eroded by past memories and those distractions contrary to faith would be magnified hundreds of times. If you couldn't wash yourself of it here, you would be lost in the ice sheet forever.

Ning Zhou thought he would get lost here. However, when he really set foot on the ice sheet under the starry sky, an illusion he’d never imagined appeared in front of his eyes.

He saw that the ice sheet was covered with white roses, from one end of the world to the other, and the overwhelming white under the pure starry sky seemed to announce that the love between them was pure.

It was not evil, it was not immoral, it was not unnatural, it was not perverse - this desire, it was just love.

The deep and remote green aurora danced on the horizon, illuminating this empty and cold wasteland. From stepping into the spiritual barrier to finally leaving this white rose sea, Ning Zhou never saw Qi Leren again, not once.

-He was no longer his distraction, he was his whole world.

-----　

The author has something to say:

PS: Some lines refer to Christian teachings, but they are not the same religion, just refer to it; The man who fights the devil... This sentence is Nietzsche's; In the face of cold death, he finally put aside all his wandering worries and shouldered his guilt, and turned to Yeat's "The Cold Heaven": And I took all the blame out of all sense and reason.

PPS: a little nonsense after the end. When conceiving the Nightmare Game, the author wanted to find out the feeling of writing this kind of piece before completing the Egg Game and prepared to write a simple story of a fast-paced horror game, in which the attacks are coming from the environments and the victim is constantly dying.

However, when the story of Novice Village was gradually perfected, when the predetermined characters were getting fuller and fuller, and when the brain hole was getting out of control, the author couldn't help but want to dig down. So the world view became bigger, the setting became more complicated, and the emotional drama became more tortuous. Finally, I finished the outline of the first Nightmare Game with the idea of exercising how to write emotional drama. At that time, the author thought: Yes, I just want to write such a story.

When conceiving the end of the first part, the author seriously considered several options, and also thought about setting it so Qi Leren wouldn’t die, and instead Ning Zhou would share his life with this person forbidden by the Holy See and take him to Neverland; or he would become a demon, follow Su He to the underworld, and they would both love and kill each other from now on. But in the end, I chose this ending, which is actually the best ending and the best beginning for these two people. They can abandon their stubbornness, face up to themselves, and start over. This is death and a new life, which perfectly conforms to the aesthetics of the author.

Qi Leren is not dead (those who will be resurrected are certainly not dead), but Ning Zhou has firmly established that his love was swayed in the end, and with this in mind + all alive + destined to be together = HE, so please touch your chest and tell every little friend loudly that this is a happy ending full of love and hope. As for why it doesn't end with the two people meeting again after seven days, it’s because the two people can't meet for the time being even after seven days, as Ning Zhou went to Purgatory... This is the second story.

Although it's my first time writing CP*, when I look back, all the sugar I sent is poisonous… But it doesn't matter, we have the second one! In the second part, Chen Baiqi's sister has a saying "God assists", which she likes very much. She announces in advance: "How much courage does it take for a person to deny his past, destroy his present and future with his own hands, and make himself struggle to abandon his faith before and after his death, just for his right to love. From now on, you are his God and his sin. You should heal him, redeem him, be his scabbard, be his armor, and become his faith. Qi Leren, you should take good care of him."

*{EN: Character Pairing}

I give full marks for this assist.

Thanks to the readers here, I really appreciate your support. Sometimes I am really not a good author, and I often write willfully regardless of the market. However, the author thinks that although I can't make readers like every work, at least I can make myself like it. If my brain waves are lucky enough to keep pace with the readers while satisfying my cute point, it is the greatest fate.

Here, once again, I love the master reminder with a stupid face. She must regret dating me because of the Nightmare Game now, but it's too late to get on the false boat.

The plan for the second half of the year is tentatively set as Egg Game 3 and a silly white sweet medium-length brain hole. The outline of Nightmare Game 2 will be carried out synchronously, and the second one will be opened as soon as possible. In addition, the manhua of Nightmare Game 1 is also being done. The pre-sale time depends on the progress of the two artists, the art being set, and my writing. You can pay attention to my Weibo @ 薄暮冰轮, or directly pay attention to the @ secret newspaper in charge of agency.

The text has been roughly revised, and I'll pack a TXT and send it to Weibo later. Goodbye until the next story, love everyone, Mwah~

-----

Editor’s Notes: 

We still have one non-canon extra left, but I know not everyone reads those so I will put my final comments here. 

Thank you to everyone who has read, commented, and spoken to me directly! I’ve really enjoyed working on this and have appreciated the engagement my little pet project has gotten. With that said, I will be taking a one month break before I begin posting Nightmare Game II, so the first chapter will be up on May 10th, mark your calendars and check back here then. If the date changes for whatever reason I will announce it both here and on [my twitter]. Sorry to leave you all on such a cliffhanger ending.

To fill the Nightmare Game-shaped holes that I know must be in all of your hearts, I have two novel recommendations. The first is that I want to once again urge you to read BMBL’s other trilogy The Easter Egg Game if you haven’t yet, as its connection to Nightmare Game will become more prominent in Part II. It is much shorter so I promise it won’t take as much time to read as this one has. My other recommendation is Kaleidoscope of Death, which is actually the reason I started reading Nightmare Game in the first place as I had finished reading Kaleidoscope and was desperate for something similar. I would say the horror in Kaleidoscope is honestly much better than in this, though I prefer Nightmare Game’s overall story. (A warning though that it includes quite a few crossdressing jokes.)

Thank you again for sticking with this series and my editing of it all the way! I hope you’ll continue reading in the future. Until then, farewell ( *・∀・)ノ゛

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#Welcome to the Nightmare Game #欢迎来到噩梦游戏 #danmei

[darkverrmin]

Do You Like It? Pt. 2

Link to Part 1:

warning: people saying mean stuff to Jaskier, mentions of homophobia, light smut.

They walked out of the tavern and turned to a narrow path, shaded by trees. Jaskier chattered about nothing in particular and Geralt found his voice soothing. Their shoulders occasionally brushed by accident and it sent shivers down Geralt’s spine. Geralt sneaked glances at Jaskier when he thought the bard wasn’t paying attention. The Witcher still couldn’t calm himself about how good Jaskier looked with that black eyeliner and the unbuttoned shirt, revealing his chest hair. It was an odd mix of masculinity and femininity that sent a wave of arousal through Geralt’s body. When Jaskier caught him looking and smiled at him, Geralt imagined himself pushing Jaskier against a tree and kissing him breathless. But in reality, Geralt averted his gaze to the ground, his face hard and impassive.

They walked like that for half an hour, Jaskier talking and Geralt deep in his thoughts. They were already close to the inn when they passed a group of five men, leaning against a fallen tree trunk and talking loudly. Geralt glanced at them briefly, looking for any signs of danger. He instinctively took a step closer to Jaskier, ready to drag him away if anything went wrong. The men stared at them, but didn’t make any moves.

Just as they passed the group, a drunken voice called them from behind.

“Hey, pretty! My friend here is wondering how much you take for a blowjob!”

They stopped. The men burst out in loud laughter. Geralt felt a wave of rage washing over him. Jaskier turned at the offender, regarding him with a dismissive look, before rolling his eyes and turning away. “Such clever words from such a clever man. Let’s go” he addressed Geralt, resuming their walk.

“Hey! I’m talking to you! The twink with the makeup! Why won’t you come over here and we show you how a real man looks like!”. The men laughed again and someone whistled. Geralt glanced at Jaskier who raised his eyes to the sky, his expression showing exasperation and half-amusement. “Thank you, dear” he threw over his shoulder “But I like my men a little less thick headed”.

Some of the men laughed again and Geralt noticed from the corner of his eye that the offender launched in their direction, his face furious. “What was that, you little fucking-”

Geralt turned on his heels to grab the man, but he was too late. Jaskier gave him a firm kick in the groin, sending him to the ground howling. The other men jumped to their feet and one of them tried to grab Jaskier by the throat, only to be punched in the face by Geralt. Geralt shielded Jaskier with his body and growled at the men. One of them took a step backwards, whispering to the others “shit, it’s that damned Witcher”. The others lowered their fists and weapons, slowly backing away.

The offender stumbled back to his feet and tried to slip away from them. Geralt grabbed him firmly by the collar of his shirt and pushed him back to the ground again. The man tried to get up, but Geralt stepped on his shoulder, causing him to yelp in pain.

“Geralt!” Jaskier was staring at the scene with wide eyes. “Geralt, it’s not worth it!”. But the Wicther wasn’t listening to him. He pressed his boot harder against the man’s shoulder, causing him to groan.

“Apologize” Geralt growled. The man turned his head to look at Jaskier, blinking rapidly. “I-I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”. Geralt turned his head to look at Jaskier. “Do you accept his apology?”

Jaskier looked at Geralt before looking back at the man on the ground and nodding. “Yeah, I do”. Geralt stepped away from the man, still glaring. “You’re pathetic” the Witcher snarled. “And about being a man... You can be sure that he’s ten times more of a man than all of you will ever be, combined”. Jaskier almost gaped at those words, remaining silent.

Geralt walked away, shouldering past Jaskier. “Let’s go”.

Jaskier stared at the man who stumbled to his feet for another second, before turning away and following Geralt into the dark.

***

Geralt walked at a fast pace, his fists clenched at his sides. Jaskier caught up with him quickly, walking beside him and looking at him worryingly.

“Geralt”.

No response.

“Geralt, please slow down”.

Geralt ignored him, continuing at the same pace. Jaskier jumped in front of him, grabbing him by the arms. Jaskier’s forehead bumped painfully against the Witcher’s nose.

“Ahh, fuck” Jaskier groaned, rubbing his face. “Sorry”. The Witcher dropped his hand from his nose, still glaring. “What, Jaskier”.

Jaskier sighed, tilting his head to look into Geralt’s eyes. Geralt felt something stirring in his chest. Jaskier sighed, dropping his gaze to the ground. “I just wanted to say thank you, for what you did back there… And also, I’m sorry”.

Geralt blinked at him. “What the fuck are you sorry for?”

Jaskier still wasn’t looking at him. “Should’ve kept my mouth shut. Ignored him”.

“He was calling you a whore”.

“Well, it was kind of expected”.

Geralt blinked again, exasperated. “What?”

“I knew I might get shit from people if I walk around looking like this”

“That doesn’t make it okay for someone to speak to you that way”. Geralt paused, sighing quietly. “You know that, right?”

Jaskier shrugged, looking at the buttons of Geralt’s shirt. He realized he was still standing very close to the Witcher, so he took a step back. “I guess” he mumbled.

Geralt tilted his head to the side, incredulous. “You guess?”

Jaskier shrugged again. “I guess I’m just used to it”. When Geralt didn’t respond, Jaskier continued speaking. “I got a lot of shit like that when I was a child. And a teenager. Even in Oxenfurt. Playing the lute isn’t exactly considered popular among young men”. Jaskier paused, sighing and scratching at his cheek. “Neither does being with other men”.

Geralt gulped. “Being with other men?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Being. Sleeping. Yes, I sleep with men, too. Want me to spell it out for you? I think you understood me well the first time”.

“I didn’t know that” Geralt muttered quietly. He felt a knot of anxiety tying itself in his stomach.

Jaskier chuckled. “Well, I wasn’t exactly exclusive about it. But I thought you figured it out by yourself already”.

“No”.

“Right. Um, okay. Well, um, now you know. Hope it doesn’t change your opinion about me”.

Geralt sighed, getting angry again. “Why would it change my opinion about you?”

“I don’t know” Jaskier’s voice sounded small and Geralt immediately regretted raising his voice at him. “You aren’t exactly easy to read, Geralt. I was worried you’d think something bad of me because of the makeup”.

“It looks good on you”. The words came out of his mouth before he realized what he said.

Jaskier gaped at him. And then his face lit up. “Huh. Wow. Thank you. Sorry, caught me a little off guard there... Unless you’re lying”.

Geralt rolled his eyes. “I’m not lying, Jaskier”. Geralt met Jaskier’s gaze, who was looking at him softly. Geralt felt his heart hammering against his ribcage.

“That’s very sweet of you, Geralt”.

“You don’t need my confirmation to wear something you like”.

“I know, but it’s still nice to hear. Especially from you”. If Geralt had looked away in that moment, he wouldn’t notice Jaskier’s gaze flickering momentarily to his lips. But he didn’t.

Realization struck Geralt hard at that moment. Jaskier liked men. Jaskier was staring at him softly, calling him sweet. Jaskier was looking at his lips.

Geralt stopped thinking as he walked over to Jaskier. He went with his gut. Jaskier slowly uncrossed his arms, dropping them to the sides of his body. He stared at Geralt with raised eyebrows, but didn’t move an inch, when Geralt stopped right in front of him.

Feeling brave and stupid, Geralt slowly raised his hands to cup Jaskier’s cheeks. Jaskier closed his eyes momentarily, leaning into the touch. He opened them again, staring at Geralt with expectation. Geralt hummed softly, stroking Jaskier’s cheek with his thumb.

“I lied” The Witcher murmured, leaning in closer, his lips almost touching Jaskier’s. Jaskier let his eyes fall half closed, parting his lips slightly. “About?” Jaskier whispered.

Geralt looked at his lips before looking back to his eyes. He moved one hand from Jaskier’s cheek up to his hair, fingers tangling themselves in the soft, brown locks. Jaskier sighed quietly in pleasure.

Geralt titled his head to the side, his nose brushing against Jaskier's. “I don’t think you look only good like this. I think you look beautiful”. Jaskier closed his eyes and leaned in, brushing his lips softly against Geralt’s. Geralt responded by gently catching Jaskier’s lower lip in his mouth, sucking on it lightly. Jaskier pressed his body against Geralt’s, tangling his fingers in the Witcher’s long hair and tugging lightly.

Geralt was sure at this point that he was dreaming.

He licked at Jaskier’s lips and Jaskier parted them, allowing Geralt’s tongue to explore his mouth. When Geralt’s tongue met his, Jaskier moaned into the kiss and the sound of it drove Geralt crazy. He slowly walked Jaskier back, pressing him against a nearby rock. Jaskier responded by sitting on top of it and wrapping his legs around the Wicther’s thighs, pulling him even closer. Geralt groaned into Jaskier’s mouth as their erections pressed together. Jaskier started to feverishly unbutton Geralt’s shirt, his hands slipping over the Witcher’s broad chest. Geralt responded by gripping Jaskier’s ass and grinding against him.

“Fuck,” Jaskier gasped. “I want you. Here. Right now. On the grass”.

Geralt chuckled low in his throat, moving down to kiss Jaskier’s neck. “Not here. Too dangerous”.

“I am not waiting all the way back to the inn, Geralt”.

“Why not? It will give us something to expect for, once we arrive”.

Jaskier pouted at him and Geralt looked up and felt his heart melting. He stood up straight, leaning his forehead against Jaskier’s, his eyes boring into his. Jaskier chuckled, sneaking an arm under the Wicther’s shirt and stroking his hip bone. The touch made Geralt visibly shiver.

“I should’ve worn makeup a long time ago” Jaskier murmured with a smile.

Geralt rolled his eyes fondly, kissing Jaskier again. He pulled away momentarily to say “You’re a fool to think that this is just because of the makeup”.

He gave Jaskier’s ass a firm squeeze, causing him to gasp into his mouth.

“You. Me. My bed at the inn. Now”.

(to be continued!)

#geraskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt x dandelion #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #gerald #jaskier #witcher netflix #geralt the witcher #witcher #the witcher #julian alfred pankratz #geralt #geralt × dandelion #dandellion #dandelion #geralt z rivii

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

Royal Growing Pains - Chapter Thirty One

Warnings: Homophobia, transphobia, misgendering, sympathetic Deceit

Royal Growing Pains Tag

Roman was literally shaking as he sat in the car with Damien and the Queen, with Virgil in shotgun and the Queen driving. “Roman, are you okay?” Damien asked softly.

“Yeah,” Roman said, continuing to shake. “I’ve just dreamed of this day for years now. I get short hair again.”

“Any plans?” Damien asked. “In terms of haircut?”

“Probably a quiff,” Roman said. “Not very original, I know, but if it works it works.”

“Very true,” Damien said. “You’d look rather dashing with it.”

“Shut up,” Roman said, blushing.

Damien kissed Roman’s knuckles and said, “Never, my love.”

Roman took as deep a breath as he could in his new binder and sighed. He had insisted on wearing it when he tried on clothes, purely so that he could ride the euphoria of gender-affirming clothes and body at the same time. But all the happiness and nervousness building up in his system meant he was shaking rather violently, and couldn’t see any signs of stopping soon. “You know, between your comments and the plans of the day, it’s not unlikely for me to just faint.”

“I’ll catch you before you hit the ground, my love,” Damien said with a soft laugh. “But I’ll also try to go easy on you for a little while, just until you calm down.”

Roman nodded. Part of his shaking was out of sheer nervousness. What if his mother was right? What if this wasn’t what he wanted? What if the haircut turned out poorly? There were so many ways that this could go wrong, and Roman knew it wasn’t healthy to focus on them, but they were difficult to push from his mind.

As they pulled into the parking lot in the shopping center, Damien growled and Roman swallowed. There were people pointing at their car and pulling out phones, presumably to take pictures. “The drawbacks of being royalty,” Virgil snarled. “The fucking papparazzi.”

“I don’t want to deal with questions,” Roman said faintly. “If I have to hear one more word about my mother today, I’m going to burst into tears.”

“I’ve got you, my love,” Damien said, grabbing Roman’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “It’s a ten-foot walk to the door. And no one will bother you once you’re inside. If anyone so much as think s about interrogating you, they’ll have me to answer to.”

Roman looked at Damien, noticed the sincerity in his eyes, and smiled softly with a small nod. Damien would be there for him, he didn’t doubt that.

They let go of each other’s hands to step out of the car, and Roman gave the obligatory polite wave to the people before walking past the car to Damien, linking hands with him as they walked into the barber shop.

“Prince Damien!” one man who was cutting another’s hair exclaimed, hastily bowing. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I’m afraid my fiancé is in need of a good haircut, Vince,” Damien said with a grin. “My mother and Virgil are right outside, so no funny business, understood?”

“Of course! I never shave the heads of newcomers unless they ask for it!” Vince laughed. “Have a seat, Your Highnesses, anywhere you like, and I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Damien practically dragged Roman to a chair in the back, while two barbers puttered around the shop, and Vince finished the haircut. “I only trust Vince to deal with the bird’s nest that is my hair,” Damien explained to Roman. “Not that the other barbers here aren’t excellent, but Vince was the only one I trusted as a child to not yank on my hair when there were tangles, and since then he’s always gotten top priority on my haircuts.”

Roman nodded, not letting go of Damien’s hand for a moment. “Good to know he’s experienced,” he said.

Vince finished brushing hair off the other client, who quickly left, and Vince turned the sign on the door to “Closed.” “For just a bit of privacy, Prince Roman. I know that you must be going through a lot right now.”

Roman smiled nervously as Vince came over. “I appreciate it, thank you,” he said.

Vince draped a sheet over Roman’s shoulders and tied it in the back, pulling his loose ponytail out from under the knot. “Your hair is very healthy,” he complimented. “How short do you want it?”

“Chop it all off,” Roman said. “Much as it’s healthy, it’s entirely too long for my tastes.”

“Oh, I understand that,” Vince said. “Any style or length you want?”

“Quiff please, no longer than four inches. Three would be ideal,” Roman said.

“You’ve got it, Your Highness,” Vince said, taking a pair of scissors out of a drawer and straightening Roman’s ponytail.

Roman clutched Damien’s hand tightly as the scissors went to the base of his skull, and with two high-pitched and expertly placed snips, his ponytail fell to the floor, hair coming to rest above his shoulders in a bob. Roman looked at the mirror and laughed. “I look like a bisexual,” he joked.

“Not for long,” Damien laughed back.

“Taper fade on the bottom?” Vince asked.

“Please,” Roman said.

“Hang on one moment,” Damien said, pulling out his phone and pressing a few buttons. “Hey, Remus?” Damien asked into his phone.

“Yeah, you’ve got me!” Remus’ voice came over the phone, and Roman’s face broke into a relieved grin. “What’s up?”

“I think there’s a moment Roman would like to share with you,” Damien said.

When the flash on Damien’s phone came on, Roman waved to the camera. “Guess who’s finally getting his hair cut!” he crowed.

“Hell yes, my man!” Remus exclaimed. “I want to see them shave your head!”

Roman laughed as Vince grabbed a razor and began to get rid of all the long hair on the back of Roman’s head. With Remus on the phone he felt so much more relaxed, and more self-assured. He knew he was trans, and so did Remus. Remus never questioned him for a second. This was what Roman needed, and it was nice to be reminded that this was normal, this was healthy, this was good.

Remus was giving running commentary in the form of compliments, and Damien just sat back in his chair with a pleased grin. When the fade was complete, Vince took a pair of scissors to the hair that was left on the top of Roman’s head, combing it so the short strands left were pointed towards the front, rather than to the sides. Roman watched this process in the mirror in awe, finally looking at his reflection and seeing someone resembling himself. When Vince took off the sheet after brushing the last of Roman’s hair off his neck and shoulders, Roman stood slowly, observing his new look in the mirror.

“How do you feel, Roman?” Damien asked.

Roman broke into a wide grin. “Gone are the days of Veronica Sarah Ayer!” he crowed. “You are looking at none other than His Highness Roman Augustus Ayer, prince and soon-to-be-husband of Damien Byron!”

Damien whooped and high-fived Roman, and Roman felt tears coming to his eyes as Remus cheered and clapped over the phone. “You did an amazing job as always, Vince,” Damien said. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Vince said with a bow. “I hope the two of you have a great rest of your day.”

“You too,” Roman said as Damien paid Vince and the two walked out.

The Queen gasped as she saw Roman and exclaimed, “Oh, dear, your haircut is perfect!”

“Thank you!” Roman said, grinning. “It feels amazing to look like myself.”

“Are you ready for an updated wardrobe?” the Queen asked.

Roman nodded, blinking back tears. “So ready to figure out what styles I like in men’s clothing,” he said, voice watery.

Damien kissed Roman’s cheek and Roman squeaked, whacking him lightly.

“Damien Janus Byron, if you do not behave with your fiancé, you will not get to help him pick out clothes, and that’s a promise,” the Queen warned.

Damien turned away and swore under his breath, and Roman blinked in shock. “That is...quite the middle name,” he said mildly.

“It was his father’s choice of name for him. I told him simply that if he didn’t want his son to be bullied for a majority of his childhood, we would give him a more common first name. Damien was what we agreed on. But Janus is a family name,” the Queen explained.

“I see,” Roman said. “Sort of, at least.”

The Queen smiled. “Are we ready to keep shopping?”

“Yeah,” Roman said, smiling. “I think I could even brave a couple reporters if I had to. Still hoping I don’t have to, though.”

“We’ll try and avoid it,” Damien assured him.

They walked to the stores just a couple buildings away, and Damien swept Roman into the most upscale of them all. Damien looked around, waving off the associates who tried to walk up to the three of them. “He’s fine,” Damien said. “Just give him a moment to soak it all in.”

Roman looked around, feeling all the air leave his lungs. There were mannequins with suits in the windows, button-up shirts on the shelves, nice pants, both of the dress variety and ones more appropriate for a relaxed dress code. And not a dress or skirt in sight.

“The women’s equivalent is across the street,” Damien said. “But I figured you’d much rather be in a men’s store, at least to start.”

“Thanks,” Roman said faintly.

Damien nodded with a smile. “Go wherever your heart tells you,” he said. “I won’t judge...too much.”

Roman laughed, but dutifully walked further into the store. There was a pastel green button-up that he picked up, looking around. He grinned when he saw T-shirts, knowing that territory much better. He grabbed a shirt with Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon album art on the front because rainbows, duh, and then went for a pair of dark skinny jeans, and called, “Damien, I’m gonna try on a look, I want your opinion when I walk out of the changing room!”

“Copy that,” Damien called into the racks. “I’ll meet you on the far right where the changing rooms are!”

Roman sprinted through the aisles, grin splitting his face. He was a fashion disaster sometimes, bue he had a good feeling about this. He tore off his shirt and caught his breath for a moment inside the changing room. He shouldn’t make a habit out of running in his binder, he saw now why Remy was so strict in his instructions.

When he had his breath back, he took off his pants and put on the shirts first. The green was a stark contrast to the gray, so he had a feeling he was on the right track. He pulled on the skinny jeans, up over both of the shirt’s ends and made sure they were tucked properly. Roman did the bottom two buttons of the green shirt and looked in the mirror, giving himself some nervous finger guns. The shoes on the other side of the door were undoubtedly Damien’s. Roman took a deep breath, ran his fingers through his hair, and unlocked the changing room door, walking out with his hands in his pockets. “Thoughts? I need something more iconic than that time Remus went out on Halloween dressed as a stripper—complete with rippable tuxedo. This do it?” he asked Damien.

Damien said nothing, looking Roman up and down for a moment, before he said, “Fuck, I’m gay. If we weren’t in public I would jump your bones.”

Roman squeaked. “So you’re a fan, got it,” he said with a laugh. “This is going to be my ‘ultimate boy mode’ look.”

Damien managed a strangled laugh. “Yeah. Mother is grabbing you some dress shirts and pants for special occasions. But as for style...looks like you’ve got at least one look. Now go on and take it off, we’re getting that and anything else you might want.”

“I have good stuff in terms of T-shirts already, aside from a disparaging lack of rainbows. I might buy a flannel and some pants, but let’s be real, I’ll be stealing your shirts most days.”

“At least you’re honest,” Damien huffed as Roman retreated back into the stall.

Roman changed back into his regular clothes and walked out, new outfit in hand. “I’m wearing that combo to Pride first chance I get, I hope you realize,” he informed Damien.

“Fine by me, so long as I get to scare off any pretty boys who try to make a pass at you,” Damien said, just a hint of huskiness still in his voice.

“You’re not as discreet as you like to think you are,” Roman said, glancing down and then up meaningfully at Damien.

“Hey, be careful who you tease,” Damien warned. “I’m most likely going to be the one teaching you how to position when you get a packer, and if you keep this up I’ll make tasteless jokes every time your packer shifts.”

Roman sighed. “Okay, I see your point,” he allowed.

The two of them got a few more pants for Roman, and Roman picked up a yellow and red flannel, and then went to the front of the store, where the Queen was waiting for them. Once everything had been rung up and they were walking out of the store, Roman laughed. “God, this doesn’t feel real,” he breathed. “I’m free. I’m genuinely... free.”

“Glad to hear you feel that way,” Damien said, kissing Roman’s temple.

Roman turned to Damien and smiled. “Am I free to kiss you?”

“Ah...” Damien glanced away, turning red. “I don’t know how to feel about that. It’s not a no...”

“If it’s not a yes, then it’s a no,” Roman said. “It’s okay. Hopefully you’ll be okay with it by the wedding.”

“I do as well, I do not want to disappoint the people waiting for us to kiss,” Damien laughed nervously.

“Even if you aren’t, I know ways to fake it,” Roman said with a shrug. “Besides, we don’t even have to use tongue. That’s not a requirement for a kiss at the altar.”

“I would be slightly concerned if it was,” Damien laughed. “I do not need all my relatives to watch me kiss using tongue.”

Roman snickered. “Remus would make disgusting gag noises every time I kissed a boyfriend when I was younger. It was never appreciated at the time, but looking back on it, it’s a little endearing. I mean, he’s still a little shit, but...”

Damien laughed genuinely and a few people turned their way, before one brought a camera out of her bag. “Oh, no, the paparazzi are after us!” Roman hissed.

“To the car?” Damien offered.

“To the car!” Roman agreed, and the three of them rushed to the car and order Virgil to drive, narrowly dodging the woman as she tried to cross the street and get a good picture of them.

“Are we going to continue to risk the commonwealth tearing us apart or are we heading back to the castle?” Virgil asked.

“Back home, please,” the Queen said. “I need to make some calls before the wedding rehearsal tomorrow, see if we can change plans that involve Roman’s parents, and ensure that Remus leaving the country won’t endanger his security to the throne.”

“What, no dance practice?” Damien questioned.

“Oh, you two will get plenty of dance practice in,” the Queen assured. “I just won’t be there to oversee it. I trust Logan to keep you two from killing each other.”

“Hey!” Damien squawked indignantly, while Roman just tittered next to him.

#royal growing pains #deceit sanders #roman sanders #sanders sides fanfiction #roceit #our creations

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection Day 25: Slow Burn

The difference between living and existing (WIP) | @lucy-is-alive

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 6052 Main Tags/Warnings: John Winchester's A+ parenting, College AU, Sexuality crisis, PTSD, Childhood trauma, Recreational drug use, Angst and hurt/comfort Summary: As soon as he got the chance, Dean left his father behind and went to college. However, he never anticipated that the absence of the person who had disrupted his entire life would make it worse. With the help of his friends, he tries to navigate through the emotional hurricane that comes with complex PTSD.

Celestial | @deservetobesaved

Rating: Mature Word Count: 10585 Main Tags/Warnings: slow burn, mutual pining, fluff, emotional affair, bottom!dean Summary: Dean is in a less than stellar marriage, but he assumes things will work themselves out. At the same time, Mr. Castiel Novak becomes his new co-worker at school and Dean has to rethink everything he thought he had figured out.

Welcome to the Badlands (WIP) | @cr-noble-writes

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 15386 Main Tags/Warnings: graphic violence, dystopian au, fusion, into the badlands au, slow burn Summary: The wars were so long ago, nobody even remembers. Darkness and fear ruled until the time of the Barons, seven men and women who forged order out of the chaos. People flocked to them for protection. That protection became servitude. They banished guns and trained armies of lethal fighters they called Clippers. This world is built on blood. Nobody is innocent here. Welcome to the Badlands.

Profound Kisses | @verobatto-angelxhunter

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 20700 Main Tags/Warnings: Destiel, post 8x07 canon divergent, mutual pining, explicit sexual content, angst with a happy ending, clueless! Castiel, pining!Dean, Top!Dean, Bottom!Cas, slow burn, love confessions, first kiss, french kiss, Sammy knows. Summary: Dean knows he's screwed. He discovers he is in love with Castiel in Purgatory, and now he can't even have the angel in front of him, because he knows it's a one sided love. It’s Valentine's day and Dean tries very hard to hook up as always, but he can't get Cas out of his mind. So he drives back to the motel, drunk, and he finds Castiel trying to help him. Then, when Dean asks Castiel for some experimental kisses and the angel accepts, Dean starts a very dangerous game… finding in Castiel's kisses the most delicious experiences, but also, his own perdition. Will Castiel fall in love with him? Or will he stay emotionless as always?

Hate me, but love me too | @notfunnydean

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 23310 Main Tags/Warnings: Virgin!Dean,f hate spell, hate curse, younger!dean, older!sam, Grace Sharing, First Kiss, First Time, Hate Sex, Dubious Consent, Mildly Dubious Consent, Cas is cursed, (not really MCD but Cas isn't alive in the beginning), Castiel has sex with somebody else in the beginning(and Dean sees it), Heartbreakbut I will fix it! Summary: Dean’s whole life changes when his mother tells him that John isn’t his biological father and he needs to save the world from his sibling Adam, who is the King of Hell. But he can’t do that alone, he needs the best Hunter earth had, Castiel Novak.

Starstruck (WIP) | @peanutbutterjelly-pie

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 40860 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Slow Burn, Actor Dean, Single Parent Castiel, Pining Summary: From the outside Castiel Novak looks like a regular guy: a good job, two teenage kids, a nice house and a crappy car he’s way too attached to. But there’s one thing no one knows about him: that, over twenty years ago, he used to live next to no other than Dean Winchester – back then a brash and loud-mouthed boy and nowadays a huge movie star and Hollywood’s sweetheart. Castiel never bothered to tell anyone about his childhood friend because frankly, who would believe him? Probably even Dean himself already forgot about his former awkward and weird neighbor, so Castiel seriously doesn’t see any point in mentioning the whole thing ever. But then an interview on national TV happens where Dean reveals way more about his past than ever before … and Castiel - as well as the rest of the world - suddenly realizes that he left a much bigger impact on Dean’s life than he originally thought.

Letter to Dean Winchester (WIP) | @castielsangel-blade

Rating: Mature Word Count: 44182 Main Tags/Warnings: Past Lisa/Dean, Past Aaron/Dean, Past Castiel/Dean, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Mentions of Past Cheating, Mentions of Past Toxic Relationship, Gray Romantic Castiel, Asexual Castiel, Epistolary, Bisexual Dean Summary: Castiel writes and sends a letter to Dean Winchester. He wants closure for the toxic relationship they had in high school.

Falling Apart | @cr-noble-writes

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 49204 Main Tags/Warnings: minor character death, sam deceased when fic starts, alcoholism, drug misuse, addiction, rehab au, soulmate au, flashbacks, ptsd Summary: Sword & Cross Resident Rehabilitation is a last-ditch effort for Dean Winchester to move past the drug and drinking problems he developed to bury his guilt over the fire that killed his brother. Not to mention the wild visions and smoky, sentient shadows that have plagued him his entire life. It's supposed to be the best Savannah has to offer, but one look at the crumbling tile floors and dangling crown mouldings, and Dean has his doubts. Enter Castiel Novak. He’s rude, aloof, and a total dick from the moment they lay eyes on each other but Dean can’t help but feel a mysterious connection to the man. Maybe he really has lost his mind. But when Castiel starts making appearances in Dean’s vivid visions of the past, he knows there is more to their link than meets the eye. Even if Cas keeps telling him otherwise. It seems everyone at Sword & Cross knows what’s going on except for Dean. Trying to conquer his mountain of guilt and doubt and figure out the connection he is certain he shares with Castiel is only made harder by the “accidents” that seem to follow him. Not to mention his attraction to Gadreel. Whatever secret Castiel is trying so hard to keep, Dean knows he has to uncover it.

Will you be my ten inch hero? | @notfunnydean

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 57468 Main Tags/Warnings: Bullying, Homophobic Language, Abusive John Winchester, Canon-Typical Violence, Smut, giving a baby to adoption (not between Destiel), Rape/Non-con Elements, John kicked Dean out, Virgin!Dean, surprise guest appereance, Minor Crowley (Supernatural)/Bobby Singer, Minor Charlie Bradbury/Jo Harvelle, Minor Rowena MacLeod/Gabriel, two surprise pairings, not Ketch or Mick Davies friendly Summary: When John Winchester kicks Dean out, after he saw him kissing another boy, and Dean sees that Sam has a perfect life at Stanford without him, Dean starts a new life in Santa Cruz. He works at a tiny shop as a cook, has found some friends there, and is overall happy enough. That changes when Castiel comes into his shop and his Co-worker Azara, who has a different man every night, starts flirting with him right in front of Dean. Not that he would be jealous or anything, but there is something about Castiel that makes him weak in the knees. Only that Castiel would never want him back, right?

Roll With It | @saltnhalo

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 72818 Main Tags/Warnings: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Boss/Employee Relationship, Secretary Dean, Alternate Universe - Not Hunters, The Proposal AU, Alternate Universe, Romantic Comedy, Romance, Editor Castiel, Fluff and Angst, Sam Winchester at Stanford, POV Alternating, Geek Dean, Russian Castiel, Sharing a Bed, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Top Castiel, Bottom Dean, Misunderstandings, Tattooed Castiel, Love Confessions, Slow Burn Summary: For two years, Dean’s been slaving away beneath his boss – many label him a secretary, but he fucking hates that and feels like it only applies to someone wearing a pencil skirt, so he insists on his title of Executive Assistant. And for what? In the vain hope that one day he’ll manage to become an editor for Sandover Publishing, and that he’ll see the manuscript that he’s slaved over since college finally realized in print. That’s the dream, anyway. Right now, he’s fucking late. Dean wants to be an editor. Castiel just wants to stay in the country. ‘The Proposal’ – as you’ve never seen it before.

When the Magnolias bloom (WIP) | @flurryflair

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 92951 Main Tags/Warnings: slow burn, angst with a happy ending, mutual pining, human!Castiel, divorce, infidelity, middle aged destiel, explicit sexual content, top Castiel/bottom Dean Winchester, top Dean Winchester/bottom Castiel, POV alternating, unresolved sexual tension, denial of feelings, porn with feelings, anxiety attacks, manipulative relationship, unhealthy coping mechanisms, canon-typical violence, case fic, bisexual!Dean, demisexual!Castiel, semi-canon, minor Castiel/OMC, minor Dean Winchester/Lisa Braeden Summary: It's been ten years since the Apocalypse. Ten years without talking, without knowing one another. Castiel has a company to handle and a wedding to plan, Dean has a broken marriage and a decision to make. They have separate lives, lovers and families of their own, they aren't supposed to meet again, to mess it all up. And yet they do, when they least expect it, and maybe when they most need it. A story about second chances, about hope and resilience, and a love that feels both doomed and inevitable.

Unsung Melody (WIP) | @toomanyships-sendhelp

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 177617 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon Character Death, AU Slaves, Slow Burn Summary: Dean runs a busy bar and grill in Lebanon, Kansas. Semi-retired from hunting, he'll still catch a case when one blows his way or the urge to hunt strikes him again. It isnt until a case that opened decades ago claims another victim and Dean has to get back in the game a little more than he expected.

#destiel trope collection 2020 #destiel trope collection #destiel #slow burn #day 25

[gatheringbones]

hey, can i ask what you mean by "the immersion method of gender language?"

Immerse yourself in whatever medium you can, in whatever medium you can swim in best, increase your stamina, your language, your field of empathy, and keep finding deeper and deeper waters to swim in. 

It's easy for me to say "Read everything you can get your hands on" as a hyper-literate creature with a howling need to consume every book article or treatise ever written, so, take me saying that with the world's largest grain of salt (I'm not autistic, I don't have sight/hearing issues, I don't have a common learning disability, I was encouraged to read by nearly every caretaking adult I ever encountered in childhood, I'm white, I worked in a university library for long enough that tracking down materials is easy and instinctive, etc.) but, if you can, if you remotely can, read everything you can get your hands on. Familiarize yourself with the concept of samizdat, with forbidden literature, with the newsletter; disconnect from gender-based samizdat for a minute and explore black samizdat, native samizdat, every form of forbidden literature that was ever cobbled together to combat a common enemy. Explore how complicated the idea of a common enemy is in the first place when it comes to this many people with this many different race and gender and class backgrounds, then pivot; dip into trauma theory, become consciously trauma-informed, learn how to watch and track and trace trauma down through two or three or thirty generations and study what systems evolve around it to channel it, control it, exploit it, and double-down on it. Pivot again (you can do that, you're Bruce Lee, you’re both like the water and in the water, you've got this) and pay attention to your feelings. Sometimes you'll have an Outsized reaction to something you read (or watch or absorb in some fashion that isn't reading; I'm predominantly a reader so please when I say "read" substitute any verb you want, I don't want to make reading be what bars you from engaging in this process!!!) and that Outsized reaction feels dangerous in the moment but it's such a gift because with me, nine times out of ten it was because my latent racism/transphobia/classism/ableism/homophobia knocked up against something that scared or embarrassed the hell out of it and its reaction was to start squawking at the top of its lungs. Know what you do when that happens? You keep reading. But you keep your eye on that piece of you that starts squalling in outrage and terror when you overturn the rock it's been hiding under, because that fucker is part of a fungal network connected to something huge and nasty and cultural that controls far more of what you do and think and say than you'd ever dare dream and over time, the more you familiarize yourself with that reaction, that response, that impulse, you start to realize when people are speaking to you, and when they're speaking to It. 

Why? Language acquisition. The more language you have the more you can talk about it and the more organized your thoughts become around it. And you've been reading James Baldwin, you've been reading Gabor Mate, you've been reading Octavia Butler, you know a fraction more than you used to about how language and trauma intersect, you've got this. 

So say you took a break from the gender reading, maybe it was too much for you, so for a while you studied colonialism instead, you studied addiction and the war on drugs, you studied prison systems and environmental history and the civil rights movement and suddenly you have all this language boiling inside of you surrounding systemic exploitation and domination and control and you're starting to figure out how to tamp down on your "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" response to the point where you can actually soothe and disarm it. Because you've acquired language. You can look at it, you can talk to it, you can talk about it. You've started to realize how much control can be exerted over parts of you that you lack language for. You start to realize how much language and control go hand in hand. 

And you go back to the gender reading. You go back softer, less arrogant, less scared, less threatened, less easily confused. You go back with words for what it looks like when a person who belongs to a group considered worthless by the predominant culture starts to haul themselves and everyone they love out of that pit. You go back with words for what it looks like when people from that predominant culture try to trick you into thinking that those people are gross or dirty or a threat to you personally. You know at least something of what abuse looks like, what coercion looks like, what genocide looks like, and what it looks like when you're being recruited to take part in those things. You have the language for these things. And you go back to the gender reading, and you swim hell for leather right off the edge of the map. 

#terra preta #gender stuff #'is this geared towards someone with your exact blend of neuroses and privilege' Unfortunately Yes #(I lack a GREAT DEAL OF LANGUAGE)

[perryavenue]

Hollywood on Netflix

Hopefully not too late to the party. Sharing my thoughts about Hollywood on Netflix. Putting them below the cut for those of you who haven’t yet seen all seven episodes. Long post, don’t judge me!

I loved it! Hollywood was the perfect escape while being confined at home. All the 1940s glamour, beautiful clothes, great cars, cool music, and pretty people. Plus the underbelly of homophobia, racism, sexism, blackmail, bullying and harassment. I have quibbles with a few things (explained below), but there’s so much in Hollywood that’s really, really good.

Let’s start with the “goods”

Number one on my list was the ensemble acting. Unlike ACS Versace, were Darren had the lead and the story was built around Cuanan and his murders, in Hollywood, no single person carries the weight of the story.  Instead, there are something like ten actors who have roles of similar size. My faves were Joe Mantello as Dick Samuels, Dylan McDermott as Ernie West, Jeremy Pope as Archie Coleman and Jim Parsons as Henry Willson. They were given such great material to work with! I think there could be an Emmy race between Dylan McDermott and Jim Parsons.  I don’t mean to slight Patti LuPone as Avis Amberg and Holland Taylor as Ellen Kincaid, because they were excellent. There were so many good performances across the board!

Number two was the great chemistry among the actors. Darren, Jeremy and David just clicked in their scenes together as Raymond, Archie and Jack.  I was completely sold on the relationship between Darren and Laura Harrier as Raymond and Camille, too. Speaking of Laura, how many saw her in Spike Lee’s BlackKKlansman? She was terrific in that film, and totally unrecognizable.

Next is my list of “Um, what just happened?”

Some of these may be why Hollywood got mixed reviews, but although my eyebrows went up a time or two (or three) I still LOVED the series.

Number one on this list was the one actor/role that just did not click for me. It’s Jake Picking as Rock Hudson. A number of people have mentioned it. I don’t know if the problem was his acting, the direction he was given, or both, but TBH, there were moments when it was painful to watch him.  In the last episode, he tells Henry how badly Henry traumatized him, but I never felt we really got to see it (except for possibly Henry’s Isadora Duncan dance). I just wasn’t able to convince myself that the character was believable.

Number two was Henry’s redemption arc in the final episode. He was apologizing to Rock, and seeking Rock’s forgiveness. I can understand how being in therapy can include the need to apologize to those you’ve harmed. But although my problem might have been more with Jake Picking’s acting (because Jim Parsons was incredible) I had trouble buying what Henry was selling in that scene.

Number three was the decision by Jack, Raymond, Archie and Rock to pimp themselves out so they could raise the $25,000 to pay back the “Meg” budget overrun. Then Jack declines, leaving only three to get it done. I decided to do the math. That’s a LOT of sexual trysts if you base it on three guys taking in either $100 or at best $200 a pop. Ernie was right to tell them no, call in some pros, and generously make up the rest with his own funds. Maybe the shark didn’t quite jump at that plot line, but I saw it circling.

Number four was the request by the photographer to take nude pictures of Camille and Jack. Jack says “yes,” but Camille’s response is ambiguous. Should we assume that she declined? I kept thinking of the harm those pictures did to actors trying to get ahead in their careers. It’s a piece of plot that was left dangling.

Number five was the Oscar ceremony. So many nominations and SO many wins! Fun to watch, but kinda over the top, maybe? Also, Camille was able to claim her front row orchestra seat, yet Anna May Wong ended up in the balcony? What was that about?

Last is my list of “loves”

Right at the top is the Darren of it all. He wasn’t the only reason I watched Hollywood, because the subject matter and the fact it was a Ryan Murphy production had plenty of pull. Darren was great as Raymond. He nailed Raymond’s ambition, his naivety and inexperience as a newbie director, his romanticism and his passion. Plus, the guy should wear those wide brim hats all the time. He wasn’t the lead, but he was great in a supporting role. Just one question… the publicity still of Darren with the thin mustache was used multiple times, yet we never saw a mustache during the series. What was up with that?

Second on this list was the curmudgeonly film editor, Harry Golden, who took no shit from anyone and hid a spare copy of “Meg” when all the others were burned. That was William Frederick Knight, an actor I’ve never heard of before, and he had the best lines in the series. Hands down!

Number three was “Meg,” the film within the series. Just when I thought it was going forward, something completely unexpected would happen. It kept me on my toes. “Meg” had more lives than a cat!

Number four was the closing credit, “The Beginning.” Bring me season 2 ASAP!!

Seven episodes of transactional sex, ambition, and overcoming adversity to follow your dreams.   Worked for me!

#Hollywood #hollywood netflix #hollywood spoilers

[saezutte]

yuletide letter 2020

Dear Yuletide Writer, 

Oh, hello again. I didn’t see you there.

This year, I have transcended earthly desires and struggled to find any fandoms to request. I want nothing. I wish my cat was nominated as a Yuletide fandom so we could all write stories about her life. 

Nonetheless, I have some small requests!!!! I believe you can make me happy in ways I’ve never been happy before. I trust you. Happy end of 2020, the cursed year, I hope you are blessed with rest. 

My AO3: saezutte

My public twitter: juncassis

My tumblr: here but I do not use tumblr much anymore, sorry.

Do Not Wants

[note: I have no actual triggers, nothing you can write for me will make me any more depressed or anxious than I already am]

Death (of major/important/beloved characters)

Suicide attempts, self-harm

Rape (outright; OK with dub con, manipulation, noncon short of violent-rape-for-violence-only)

Eating disorders, body shaming

Angst without a happy ending, really too much angst at all

Established relationship

Cheating

Actual Unrequited Feelings

Pregnancy (the actual process; breeding kink is fine)

Scat or watersports

Hard BDSM or any kink complicated enough that the characters would have to discuss it ahead of time

Homophobia as a plot device

Excessive attention to identity or politics, sometimes known as “issue fic”

Note on AUs: I am ok with the usual popular AU tropes but I do not want them combined, e.g. A/B/O is fine and coffeeshop is fine, but I don’t want an omega barista getting his scent all over the lattes he makes for some alpha lawyer who comes in every morning. (Ridiculous example, but you get the point.) For AU/modern settings of fandoms with magic, I often like it when the magic is still there in the AU setting. I also like AUs which maintain the general outlines of the character’s relationships, like if the characters are childhood friends in canon, I like to keep that intact.

General preferences:

I am a pretty basic bitch when it comes to fanfic: I like it when two clueless boys pine for each other through some shenanigans and then lock eyes/lips/dicks.

If you fed a neural net every fanfic written in Stargate Atlantis fandom between 2005 and 2010, the result would probably be some nonsense I’d enjoy.

I love many tropes. Tropes! Bed-sharing. Sharing an umbrella. WASHING EACH OTHER’S HAIR? Confessions where they are having an argument and then one of them yells “Because I love you!”

I love situations where characters are forced to spend time in close proximity and find themselves with feelings.

I love fakeness: fake dating, fake marriage, arranged marriage, marriage of convenience, fake lust induced by sex pollen or heats, aliens make them have sex, whatever.

I love porn, if you want to just write me some quick porn, that’s great. I do prefer (per the established relationship DNW above) that it be first time or get together porn. I know that can make it hard to just write porn, but I don’t need much to be convinced of sex.

Nirvana in Fire (TV)

Requested characters: Mei Changsu, Xiao Jingyan

Note: I also love Lin Chen so if you want to write some MCS/LC or LC/Fei Liu or LC/MCS/JINGYAN OT3??? go for it. I am also a Nihuang/Xia Dong shipper so if you want to put that in… somehow… my gay little heart would be happy. I also like Nihuang/MCS/XJY or MNH/MCS + MCS/XJY but I’d like the focus on the men in that case!

I watched this show because someone recommended this show to me as, like, Chinese Game of Thrones but good. I think it’s genuinely one of the best TV shows I’ve ever seen. I love plots and revenge and good people doing bad things for justice. Even the ending is good for me though obviously it left me unsatisfied on several points.

I am deeply into sickly doomed genius MCS and every time he got even more deeply ill, I fell deeper in love. Every time he coughs up blood, my heart would race. I love his terrible schemes and stupid self-sacrificing choices. I find watching this show very soothing because I knew he would always come out on top in his schemes. I trust him. I love handsome clueless Jingyan and how he’s just so good (it’s terrible.) I love his mom and how much he cares for her. I love him but he is useless, he needs his Xiao Shu and I need fanfic to restore him to him.

Note: So my limited research on this says that male/male sex practices were accepted and well-known in this time period in history, so I really don’t want them thinking “oh no what are these weird gay feelings.” There are other barriers to them being together, like a ruler or official being overly attached to one person was considered very bad. I am also a big supporter of the socially-approved polygamy of this time period, so I don’t need Jingyan to refuse to sleep with his wife or something out of loyalty to MCS—he has to do it! Or all their plans are ruined! And he can enjoy spending time with her or the concubines without affecting his feelings for MCS—you could explore that complexity in fic if you like.Prompts:

Mei Changsu isn’t dead, he’s hiding again, Jingyan searches for him

They start having sex during the series, the ending is averted [somehow]

Post-canon, MCS is alive and Jingyan hides him in the palace with his consort/concubines to keep him on as an advisor without anyone objecting

omega verse where MCS was an alpha before he “died" but an omega after he came back.

AU where male/male marriage is customary (maybe aristocratic men are expected to have one male and one female consort?) and so MCS decides the best way to influence and help Jingyan in the capital is by becoming his wife or one of his concubines

anything just get them together and happy.

Tokyo Babylon 

Characters: Subaru, Seishiro

I read Tokyo Babylon as a child and I imprinted on it deeply, now I love politics, ghosts, stalking, age differences, magic. Within the CLAMP canon, I love TB for its episodic focus on smaller stories, the commentary on contemporary society, and Seishiro being an outright creep. I love onmyojutsu and exorcism and Subaru’s innocence getting ruined. I love the city of Tokyo (where I currently live! but do not be intimidated, I don’t know the city well because we’ve been in quarantine most of the time I’ve been here and won’t judge you for details.) I’m open to fics that comply with X canon or not.

With Seishiro/Subaru: It’s bad but I love that predator/prey dynamic where the predator ends up being hopelessly entranced/obsessed/in love with the prey. My read was always that Seishiro lost the bet and couldn’t admit it—he’s just, you know, killing twins to avoid dealing with his feelings! Relatable! (?!?!) Subaru, I love particularly in his evolution from innocent to adult in love to betrayed. I’d prefer post-TB fic to during-TB fic (so Subaru knows Seishiro’s deal and loves him anyway.) I am also a fan of Hokuto and you should feel free to bring her back to life to troll if you desire.

Prompts:

AU or reincarnation plot where they are Heian period rival onmyoji

Because this is such a heavily place-based series, if you are a writer who likes to play with details of real life locations, I’d be interested in versions of different “Babylons” if you have an idea for it.

Tragic first times post-TB lol

Seishiro is a virgin the first time they have sex

I’d probably love some fucked up dub con for this, however you want to play it

Honestly, do whatever you want as long as you don’t fuck me over like CLAMP did.  

プリティーリズム | Pretty Rhythm

Characters: Hiro, Koji

Pretty Rhythm came to me at a weird time in my life. I lived in a house of spiders in Yokohama and did nothing for eight weeks. King of Prism cheer screening transformed my life and I didn’t even know what it was. Then I got weirdly deep into Rainbow Live and the Pretty Rhythm franchise overall. I am a scientist of prism theory. Idk why I like it, it’s just wholesome and crazy and there are penguins and DJ Koo. I love every TRF song because I’m a 90s gay at heart. It’s truly the end point of all media development. The prism world represents the fearsome power of virtual/digital+real hybrid life. Yes, I know I’ve lost my mind. I went to one of the real Prism Stone stores, the one in Harajuku.

Hiro Hayami: one time a fujoshi asked me to describe what types of anime boys I like and the first type I listed was “prince but bad” and my example was Hiro. Hiro is the crazy gay stalker disaster of my heart. He overcomes great hardship to achieve his dreams and foolishly falls in love along the way and he does everything wrong and Koji keeps leaving him. The moment when Hiro is crowned King of Prism in Pride the Hero was one of the top ten moments of my life. I made friends who don’t even know Japanese watch the movie unsubtitled with me on my birthday.

With Koji, I’m a bit guilty of “I want to give the character I love the most the character he loves the most” so I do like him less (it would be impossible to like him equal to how much I love Hiro). But he has many good points that make him perfect, like how he also sucks underneath his chill exterior. I love to see him go apeshit.

I also love everyone else in Rainbow Live, no exceptions. I love all the girls. If you do write the girls, I would prefer they not be paired with the OTR boys. I would prefer they be paired with each other, any combo is good.

Prompts:

this is the sort of pairing where I love fic where they split up and then 15 years later meet again as washed up has-beens but there’s still time for them to find each other

Canon-compliant companion piece showing the “background” of them getting together romantically over the course of the series.

AU where Koji is a prism world fairy sent to inspire Hiro but Hiro is kind of a mess

dirty, dirty porn… let Hiro get fucked

I have a lot of doujinshi with multiple copies of Hiro (a la the Mugen Hug jump) but I’d like something where Hiro gets overwhelmed by many Kojis

They start fake dating as a publicity stunt and have to keep doing it… especially good if it starts when Koji is at max hating Hiro level

Ring Fit Adventure 

Characters: Dragaux, Ring

Keeping this one simple: I like to be encouraged to exercise by a storyline and a trainer that never mentions weight loss, lol. The world is fun and pretty and I love that buff dragon.

AND THEN THE PAIRING. I’m sure Nintendo has some market research that told them a certain subset of users are very motivated by enemies who seemed to once be lovers or best friends. I am that user.

What is up with these two? They were so in love! Now Dragaux is a horrible swole bro (not in a good bro way) and Ring is training me instead? I can’t compete with their love. It’s the only time the game makes me feel inadequate.

You can keep Dragaux and Ring as dragon/ring-like as you like. Obviously I’m down with dragon fucking but you can also make him a human fucker too. I play with Ring on the masculine voice setting for maximum BL vibes as I exercise, but, you know, it’s a ring, I don’t think it has gender. Feel free to incorporate the player or other random characters too.

Prompts:

AU where Dragaux and Ring owned a gym together and Dragaux sold out to a big chain of gyms

What happened between them when Dragaux was still captured, pre-game? Bondage… literally??

Ring is always bossing me to train, but I’m really doing all the work. Why doesn’t he fight Dragaux on his own for once?? (because the sexual tension is too powerful.)

Tragic flashback to their dramatic break-up ending with their present day reconciliation.

Player/Dragaux/Ring threesome??? I’ve unlocked the sexercises???

With all fandoms, you are free to disregard the prompts and do your own thing. If you’re not sure about me, you can probably dm seriesera on twitter, she knows what I’m into. 

Well, I suppose that’s all for now. Please stalk me online to get more details on my bullshit. I hope you have a nice time.

Best,

Caitlin 

#yuletide

[whats-my-newest-obsession]

I NEED MY ANTI-LARRIES, LARRIES, HARRIES, LOUIES, AND EVERY OTHER GROUP INVOLVED WITH THIS GOD FORSAKEN SHIP TO PLEASE GATHER AROUND UNDER A FLAG OF TRUCE!

I ASK YOU TO PLEASE TAKE A FEW MOMENTS TO HEAR ME OUT, REMEMBER ASSUMPTIONS WILL BE KEPT OUT OF THIS DISCUSSION AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE!

So I'm sure you guys have looked at us Larry shippers like we are completely delusional. Even I have been blown away at the reaches some shippers will make. I can't really blame you for being skeptical, but I want you to understand why there is such a vast majority of us that doesn't think the idea of Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson secretly being in a relationship or have in the past is an all that crazy idea.

(Please take note I'm going to be as FACTUAL and as REALISTIC as possible using the GIVEN FACTS I already have.)

Why do you think Harry and Louis are together?

I'm keeping this portion extremely small as it can be annoying to look at, but I just want to show some weird things us fans have noticed between the two that caused all the research I'm about to show you. (THERE WON'T BE MORE THAN THREE LITTLE SNIPPETS I PROMISE, ALL THREE BEING COMPLETELY RESPECTFUL TO THE TWO OF THEM)!!!

Now this video does actually exist on the internet today (I'll leave a link) and it does arise some questions. It seems a little strange to answer yes to this question while looking completely serious, especially since the dating rumors were already in full blast at the time. All things considered, it really just doesn't make sense.

(X)

This tweet can definitely be explained. Louis could have gotten hacked that day. But the weird thing is, is that the tweet still exists on his Twitter account today and has picked up quite a bit of noise (being the 4th most retweeted tweet in history). Again, I'll leave a link so you can access it.

(X)

Harry deliberately turned his entire body to face Louis and sung a very romantic line, neither of them laughing or trying to make a joke of it. Some people claim they hear "I'm in love with Lou" and "All his little things" which is entirely based off of ear so I'll let you decide. Unexplainable at best. Link:

(X)

How realistic can a situation like this actually be?

The thought of two boys who are both gay/bi/other being put into the same band and just happen to want to be together is already a pretty crazy thought to have, now add the theory that their wealthy and incredibly professional management team wants to cover up any remnants of an ongoing relationship between the two of them who also happen to be in a worldwide successful music group entirely appealing to the female audience and the thought has basically become an unrealistic fantasy.

But it's happened before.

I'm sure you've heard of the Irish pop band Westlife, who also have very impressive record sales. 13 major releases, 11 of which are albums, over 1,000,000 subscribers on YouTube, have sold over 55 million records worldwide, and over 550,000,000 streams on Spotify. Their achievements range from Top Album Sales of the 2000s in the UK to holding the Guinness World Record for 'First to Achieve Seven Consecutive Number One singles in the UK'.

But the most important resemblance this band has to One Direction is that they were signed by Simon Cowell, and Louis Walsh became their manager. They were signed with a Sony BMG company, very similar to One Direction's.

Little known fact about one of the old Westlife members Mark Feehily who later left the band, is that he is gay. He got engaged to a male British Fashion Photographer without any public awareness. In fact, everyone seemed to believe he was straight, as he was 'dating' women at the time.

The band has come out and said that while being signed under Louis, they suffered mistreatment and relationship cover ups.

I would highly recommend reading the article, the band members talk a lot about being forced to keep a squeaky clean image for the ladies and they even warned One Direction that they had a storm coming being signed under Simon. (X)

I understand that Mark and his ex fiance's situation was different than Harry and Louis' but it proves that the entire corporation Simon Cowell and his team run is not afraid to cover things up if necessary.

So even if this conspiracy is true, how would Sony realistically cover something like this up?

For the record, you can't count on me to understand what goes on in celebrities lives' especially when it comes to image management. I tried my best to do as much research as possible and get reliable sources, but this is a tough one to answer.

One thing that's true is that Hollywood has been proven to use fake relationships to boost Public Relations and create drama within the celebrity gossip world. These are called 'PR stunts'. While there aren't many celebrities who have come out and told the public that the relationship they were in wasn't actually real, a Hollywood publicist Jack Ketsoyan has exposed PR stunting in all it's entirety:

Many fans have long suspected that relationships Louis and Harry have been in were actually just stunts to hide the fact the two of them were together, specifically Elounor (Louis and Eleanor Calder). While the reasons these fans believe this doesn't seem logical, they also directly correlate with what Jack says defines a PR stunt:

Link to the article: (X)

So PR stunting is nothing new in Hollywood apparently. Now if Larry Stylinson is true, this would be a really good way to cover it up.

Why would Harry and Louis agree to this?

Life is very different nowadays then it was ten years ago. Gay marriage in the United States wasn't even legal until after One Direction disbanded. Homophobia was still extremely rampant in 2010, it wouldn't have been a good idea to announce that two boys in an incredibly famous band were actually gay and with each other.

It wouldn't be just about record sales. The band had a reputation of being girl loving and constantly available. Statistics show that 80% of One Direction's fan base was female. This is not saying that every single fan was a teenage girl who lived and dreamed about being with a One Direction member, but it was enough of them to build a brand around.

Even now, actors and singer still shy away from coming out immediately. There are still a lot of people who don't support it, and that kind of hatred, especially to somebody young, can be detrimental to their mental health.

Conclusion:

This post was NOT made to make you a Larry shipper. This was post was also NOT made to start a debate in the comments or through reblogs on wether or not Harry and Louis have/had something more than friendship.

This post was however made by a TIRED Larry shipper who just wants you to know that we are not crazy, or delusional, or even stupid to believe that this situation can be entirely realistic based on the circumstances

If you've made it this far, let me know in the comments if I've changed your viewpoint on us shippers or if this post opened your eyes a little on the secret mistreatment of celebrities.

Thank you so much for taking the time to read this, you are an absolute legend! TPWK!

-Andrea xx

#once i tag this theres no going back #fuck it #larry stylinson #harry and louis #harry styles #louis tomlinson #anti larries #anti larry #harries #louies #dark larrie #haylor #<thats a risky one #houies #larry shippers #im sorry #celebrities #music #simon cowell #louis walsh #westlife

[lana-b-bana]

31. "you haven't lost me." for Lana x Reader. thanksss ❤

A/N: There’s some pretty serious stuff in this. Homophobia, getting kicked out, mentions of guns, the d slur, the f slur, the q slur, swearing, the typical 1950s lesbian stuff. Be careful, please.

The experience of being a youth, fully enamored with the world, is like no other. You are alive every day, living your best life, and you let out a big laugh simply because you can. Sorrows hit you, and they drown you sometimes. But that’s alright because drawing and swimming is part of the human life. The best feeling in the world, though, is when you are with Lana.

The word “girlfriend” doesn’t even accurately describe what you are with Lana. She is your best friend; you can laugh into the rising hours of the day with her, but there is also fiery romance. She is your lover; there is that love, but the word “lover” suggests she is some kind of mistress, but you two are practically married in everything but law. Wife is more like it, even though you two are ridiculously young. But who cares? You don’t. She loves you, and you think her eyes are made out of stars.

One of the seven wonders of the world is her lips. You are sitting behind your house, and she is sitting on top of you. Lana can’t stop giggling, and her laugh is something Sappho dreams to write about. Her eyes are a warm brown as she says, “Keep quiet, baby, I don’t want our parents to find out.”

You tug her hair, bringing her even closer to you. “Like your bob doesn’t let everyone within a ten-mile radius know that you’re gay.”

Her roar of laughter is muffled by your playful kisses. Your hands intertwine. She is so beautiful, all you want to do is shout to the streets that she’s yours. You don’t want to hide anymore. Even then, the world cannot damper your enthusiasm for life and for Lana.

“What the fuck is this?” Your father’s loud voice makes you and Lana jump away from each other. Your heart is in your throat, or is it in your ears? All you can hear is blood pumping. It lets you know you’re alive, but you feel like you are going to die. “Y/N Y/L/N, explain to me why you’re acting like faggots with this queer! You better have a good fucking explanation!” 

You risk a glance at Lana. For the first time you’ve seen her, she looks scared. Terrified. Her eyes are wide open, and you are struck with the fact that she is young, like you. “S-Sir, please—”

“Don’t talk to me!” Your dad has a vein popping out of his neck as he howls. “No dyke will talk to me!”

“Dad, please. Please don’t do this.” You’re going to cry. You’re going to start bawling in front of your dad and girlfriend. “It’s not what you think, Daddy, I swear.”

“It’s not what I think?” If you thought your father was mad before, he’s furious now. “I saw you two with your tounges down each other throats! Tell me what I thought, then!”

Things can’t get any worse. Oh, but they do. Your mother comes outside, glancing between the three of you. “What’s happening here, sweetheart?” She directs her question to you, and your breathing slows. It’ll be fine. Your mother has always loved you, even when you cut your hair short, even when you stole a necklace from the store (it was a gift to Lana), even when you went through your teenager puberty phase. She was kind and gentle and couldn’t even hurt a fly.

“Momma, I—” You glance at Lana. Are you going to just be a coward and blame it on Lana? 

You would never. She’s your world. You knew what you were getting into, but you hoped for differently. You love her, and that means sticking with her through anything. “I’m in love with Lana, Momma. Daddy caught us kissing. I hope you understand that I’m a lesbian, but that’s how it is.” You grab Lana’s hand, even though she’s gaping at you. You know she would rather take the fall, but you choose the truth. You choose her.

“We love each other, we really do. Please don’t hurt Y/N—”

“You have one minute,” your father says. He’s quiet, for some reason. This sends more shivers down your spine than his anger. “One minute.”

“Daddy?”

“Don’t call me that.” He glares at you like you’re a pest. An annoying dog that got in his way. “You’re no longer my daughter. You love this dyke? Then you can live with her.”

You turn to your mother. Your loving mother. She doesn’t meet your eyes. “Momma, please ...”

“I think you better go.” She bites her lip, but that’s about it. Your mother cannot even face you as she practically disowns you. “We raised you as a good Christian girl, and you know what the Bible says.”

You do know what the Bible says. You’ve practically memorized the paragraph she’s referring to: “and man will not lie with man, as that is an abomination”. But she’s your mother. She can’t do this. She’s supposed to love you, no matter what. 

“Momma?” You’re crying now, and you fall to your knees in front of your parents. You try to hug your mother’s knees, but she backs away like you have a disease. To her, you do. “I love you, but I love Lana, too. Please understand. I can’t ... I have nowhere to go. Please ...”

“I think we better go,” Lana whispers, tugging at your arm. You follow, but you can’t stop crying as reality hits you. Your parents love their prejudices more than their own flesh and blood. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s go.”

Your father shoves past you, and his long strides lead to one place. His rifle. “You have thirty seconds.”

What the hell? Your own dad isn’t going to shoot you, right? Still, he’s still glaring at you. “Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight. Twenty-seven.”

You run upstairs. Your hands are shaking as you think. What do you bring? There’s not enough time. One set of clothes. A photo of you all together. You wear a bracelet Lana gave you. Any spare cash you see. Your favourite book. That’s it.

“Nineteen. Eighteen.” As your dad keeps counting, you hear Lana interrupt him. She’s a genius, but you have no idea what her brilliant mind is thinking of.

“Sir, ma’am, before we leave, I’d like to say something. I don’t care if you listen but I’m going to say it anyway. Y/N and I are in love. Our love is stronger than anything else in the world, including your hate. You’re her parents, and you’re tossing her out? I hope that sometime along the line, you think about this moment and you cry. You weep because your Neanderthal minds are too dimwitted to understand that our love is pure and good. And most of all, I hope you’re ashamed. I hope you’re ashamed because you’re tossing out your daughter because she loves me. You think I’m the Devil, sent to tempt Y/N? Well, the Devil sure does look a lot like the both of you. No one has the right to judge us, not even God. He sure has a hell of a lot more sins than we do. So fuck you all to hell.”

Your Lana always has a fiery tongue.

Your parents are stunned into silence. You would laugh if you weren’t crying.

Lana spots you and her hard, nasty sneer melts as she gives you a gentle smile. “Let’s go, my love.”

“Yeah. You dykes are going to get the hell out of my house.” Your father starts to bring up his gun to his shoulder.

You look back. This is the last time you’re ever going to see them. Your father, with his gun pointed at you, a dark scowl on his face. Your mother, crying into her sleeves. Your house, already quiet and suddenly empty. You can’t muster up the energy for a speech like Lana, so all you say is: “Goodbye, Daddy. Goodbye, Momma. I love you.”

They don’t say it back.

— — — — — — — —

When you stop running, you start crying again. How could you not? Everything you’ve ever loved is left behind. Your school, your parents, your friends, your home. Nothing will ever be the same. You say something similar to Lana, and her eyes soften like chocolate on a summer day as she says, “Hey. You haven’t lost me. Not now, not ever.”

She’s right, you think. Even though this wasn’t how you wanted things to go, all you have is Lana. That sounds terrifying but exhilarating. She’ll be your home, your love, your life. And she’s left everything behind too. “I love you,” you tell her, eyes watering, but mouth in a shaky smile.

“I know. I love you too, sweetheart.” Lana smirks. That cocky asshole.

With that, you start running again, hand-in-hand. It’ll be a tough life for you two lesbians, but you’re running towards a better future. A future where your love is not forbidden. A future where you don’t have to hide. A future where you don’t have to tear down your gay flag. A future where it stands unfurled, uncaged, unclosed, standing bright and tall, just like you and Lana.

Behind your backs, the sun rises. A new day, a new life. Young love. There’s nothing like it.

#i wrote this in 30 minutes and im SOBBING #lana winters x reader #lana winters #ahs lana winters #sarah paulson #ahs sarah paulson #ahs fics #ahs #american horror story fic #american horror story #ryan murphy #sarah paulson x reader #sarah paulson x you #asylum #ahs asylum #american horror story asylum #d slur #q slur #f slur #prompts #ask #anon

[lovelylogans]

where you lead, i will follow

chapter one / next chapter

here’s the whole thing!

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: food mentions, complicated parental relationships, mentions of transphobia and homophobia, verbal fighting, top surgery mention, classism, 

pairings: moxiety, logince

words: 11,088

notes: so, remember these posts? this was the fic. it’s a gilmore girls au. i thought it was gonna be a bullet list fic, which is why it’s written Like That. anyway it’s ballooned into a ten chapter fic. i know, okay, i know.

(extra note: i haven’t watched all of gilmore girls, and what i have seen was a while ago. however i have read some a+ fics with this concept. if you are in the check please! fandom please see this one, and also read all of shellybelle’s works because they’re That Good. and if you are in the 100 fandom please read this one, and also all of layalioness’ works. layalioness also introduced me to the concept of a practical magic au, which i also wrote in the sanders sides fandom. we stan.)

all right so picture this: very tiny town. let’s call it uhhhhh... sideshire. why not. the tiny town of sideshire. it’s early morning. there are certain things that happen in sideshire every morning. ms. prince and her son are leading the sunrise yoga class in the dance studio the prince family has owned for nearly fifty years. other small town stuff. you get it. i’d set the mood but this is a bullet list fic. but the most famed is patton pleading with virgil to get one more cup of hot cocoa/coffee.

(yes. hot cocoa/coffee. it is a mixture of hot cocoa and coffee. it is specific to virgil’s menu. patton attempts to consume enough of it on a daily basis to match the amount of blood in his veins so that his body runs only on hot cocoa/coffee. don’t you mean a mocha? you ask. no, i say, and refuse to explain further.)

logan, on the other hand, is using the distraction of his father pleading for caffeine/sugar to feed his burgeoning coffee addiction.

“DO NOT THINK I DO NOT SEE YOU, LOGAN SANDERS,” virgil bellows, as if he is not already slipping logan a half-caf to-go cup across the table. “YOU WILL GET AN ULCER AND I THE ONLY THING I WILL TELL YOU IS I TOLD YOU SO. CUT IT BACK.”

he is also passing logan a chocolate chip muffin baked with protein powder even as he is lecturing very loudly. it is baked with protein powder because he tends to hide healthy things into food that is probably not healthy otherwise alongside the other things. the ones he tends to reserve for the people he never sees eat a single vegetable, and also for literally every person in the town who could be seen as still growing. virgil loves likes patton a lot, but he also knows that patton has a sweet tooth and adores junk food and is not much of a cook. so he tends to save a lot of the sneak-attack healthy stuff for them.

also perhaps he has a soft spot for logan, probably because logan has grown up in this diner: he’s fallen asleep in every booth, sat in every seat while he colored pictures or did homework or made his own copies of a newspaper out of printer paper, took his first steps on this tiled floor. it’s hard not to develop a soft spot for someone you’ve known since he’s been three weeks old. it’s a Thing. logan only abuses this power sometimes.

“—but i just want a liiiiiiiiittle more hot cocoa/coffee,” patton pleads, trying for his best puppy dog eyes. they always work eventually. “c’mon, i’ve been so good, i even ate your super healthy breakfast—”

“—patton, that was an omelet and i put in maybe two vegetables among the bacon, ham, and absurd amounts of cheese, and do not think i did not see your grocery run last night how can one fully grown man only know how to make box macaroni and ramen and microwavable meals you have a growing son who needs things like vegetables and protein—”

“—but the past is the past! and if i don’t have enough caffeine, i might crash, virgil. i will crash asleep in the middle of this diner. and then you will have to steer all of your customers around me. and then you’re going to have to deal with me eventually waking up and pleading for more hot cocoa/coffee. so if you just give me a cup right nowwwww...?”

virgil folds. he always does. he has the world’s biggest weakness for the way patton’s eyes light up when he gets his way, as if virgil would truly deny him anything (within reason, obviously. if left unattended patton would have the dream diet of a six-year-old.)

“....you’re getting this smoothie to take with you to work.”

virgil has stocked it with protein powder and spinach and literally as many healthy things he can shove into the blender without overpowering the flavor of mango and pineapple. he chose those fruits specifically because they are more powerful than banana and strawberry to mask the flavor of more healthy things. literally all of patton’s healthy eating falls to virgil. it is Kind Of A Problem. virgil has no idea how he hasn’t gotten scurvy.

“deal!”

“you are drinking ALL OF IT, do you understand?”

“yesyesyes, now hot cocoa/coffee!!!”

“....fine.”

“you are an angel sent down from heaven, virgil, i swear.”

at this moment, roman prince attempts to stroll casually into the diner as if he has not just sprinted from the studio for the sole purpose of walking logan from place to place. patton and virgil exchange knowing glances over their heads.

logan obliviously looks up from his newspaper (it is a small town newspaper, as in, it is about six pages and printed on cheap newsprint—most of it a glorified pta newsletter nestled in along stories brought in from the wire around the state, and ap stories for national/international stories. he has underlined and circled various errors in red pen. there are cramped notes along the sides of each column. he will drop it off at the town’s excuse for a “press” on the way back from school. he has been doing this since he was seven years old. he got his first byline then too. patton has every single one of his bylines framed/otherwise in a scrapbook.

when he drops off the paper every day, the sole reporter/editor/photographer of the sideshire courant will attempt to not throttle him, mostly because he’s a good part-timer/intern/free labor. the whole town knows he will work for some bigshot city paper someday. but for now his know-it-all-ness is lovably infuriating. emphasis on infuriating.)

and he says “good morning” as if he does not notice how roman lights up when he says it.

patton and virgil exchange an even more knowing glance.

virgil does give roman a good meal that is easy to eat to-go and is also good for replenishing calories after a workout, though. virgil also might have a soft spot for roman prince. this particular soft spot is mostly overridden by bickering. no, virgil is not too proud to engage in bickering with a teenager. shut up.

roman, vaguely related, has also somehow become virgil’s sole confidant when it comes to his crush on patton??? it has also applied vice-versa when it comes to roman’s crush on logan??? how did this happen, you ask? virgil literally could not tell you. he just knows that sometimes roman will come into the diner to Scream about logan sometimes and then will say something along the lines of “sanders men, amirite,” and virgil will grumble at him in commiseration. 

logan and roman depart soon after to walk to do their summer shenanigans (today, roman will win out their argument, and logan will dangle his feet in the town’s excuse for a swimming hole as he reads poetry aloud to roman, who’s diving to get what he hopes are pretty rocks for logan. most of the time they’re covered with moss. logan appreciates the effort. not that he’d ever say it.) patton whips his head around, looking over each shoulder in the most obvious way that he could possibly telegraph I AM ABOUT TO TALK ABOUT SENSITIVE THINGS I DON’T WANT OVERHEARD in a town full of gossips, and ducks closer to virgil, as if he can somehow avoid the town’s eavesdroppers that way. virgil does NOT find it cute.

“i got the letter,” he whispers conspiratorially.

“did you open it???” virgil demands immediately, ignoring the old man gesturing angrily for a coffee refill down the bar, because he could wait and honestly if he didn’t get how patton had priority by now did he even live in sideshire???

“no, i was waiting for you,” patton admits and virgil’s heart does NOT melt a little.

“well?? open it,” he demands.

patton takes a breath and unearths the envelope from chilton.

(backstory: patton started the campaign for logan to get a spot since his freshman year, since his son is so smart and deserves every single chance to succeed. logan does not know his dad has been applying for him, because he would inevitably start fretting about money and transport, but patton’s the dad, okay, he can worry about that stuff. but it’s now hit logan’s sophomore year and it’s the first week for chilton next monday and this letter came and WELL.)

patton does open it. and then patton starts screaming. and then virgil shouts a little too.

BECAUSE LOGAN GOT IN!! but of course he got in, he’s so smart and his grades are so good and of COURSE he would get in but logan would be so excited and virgil virgil VIRGIL MY SON IS GOING TO AN IVY LEAGUE—

patton is maybe crying a little he’s so excited. chilton wasn’t for him because he wasn’t the traditional kind of “book smart” they valued, and he never wanted to go to an ivy, and he’d never really fit in with the whole ‘high society’ thing, plus he was the first openly trans student there, plus like teen pregnancy, but all these opportunities for his son—

and then his face falls a little.

“what??” virgil says, already running through literally every single worst case scenario in his mind. “what is it?”

patton slides over the letter and silently underlines the tuition with his finger. virgil cringes away out of sheer instinct.

patton is a bit late to work that morning because he’s tried to talk out every possible way to make it work with virgil (sell something? sell a lot of things? mortgage? sell all the things???) but he knows there’s a surefire way to get that money without putting himself into major debt.

enter emily and richard sanders. (yes, i’m keeping the names emily and richard. they work too well and i can’t think of anything else. i’m handling it)

so they were a little rocky with accepting that their son is trans, but they’ve always had a... not the best kind of relationship? so they aren’t specifically transphobic (after patton ran away and had logan and they were trying to make amends, they actually paid for his top surgery) but they... well, let’s go with patton wasn’t the kid they were expecting (read: wanted) to have?

they’re v attached to their high society lifestyle, and they expected a kid who would follow that, they expected a kid who was book smart and would be in the top of his class, and they expected a kid who would want to go to an ivy league and settle down in a very cis/hetero-normative relationship and uh it was clear p early on that patton Wasn’t Gonna Do That. so patton’s whole childhood was him chafing against these all expectations, and then he came out, and then pregnancy, and he felt like he’s done everything possible to disappoint them, and the final nail in the casket was running away to sideshire when logan was barely three weeks old in the dead of the night when his parents were out at their first public appearance since logan’s birth, and he took a car and packed up everything and left, the only goodbye a note left in logan’s crib.

but again, they tried to make amends. it has only worked a little. they have stilted contact on holidays. it is polite and frigid. neither patton or logan like it.

so patton begs off work early and makes the drive to their massive mansion. he is very aware that he is in a holey, stretched-out sweater and jeans that are messy from him running around in the kitchen and playing on the grounds with the group of kids that had come up for a debate tournament. he wonders if he has gotten too old to feel rebellious about things like that, and then he deliberately messes up his hair too. just to complete the image.

it’s for logan, patton reminds himself constantly as he squeaks up the stairs in the sneakers that have a hole in the left sole that he’s duct-taped over, it’s for logan, it’s for logan, it’s for logan. his son, who he loves more than anything in the world.

he knocks. his mother opens the door. patton kind of has the feeling that he’s about to sell his soul to the devil.

he talks with his parents. he makes it very clear that it is A Loan He Will Pay Back, and that it is For Logan. patton escapes with three slightly barbed comments about his hair, five about his wardrobe in general, and eleven about his life choices, but he gets out knowing that he and logan are going to have to have weekly dinners with his parents and that he’s going to have to call his parents every week to talk about logan’s schooling, too. but he definitely got the tuition money for chilton.

so, he definitely kind of sold his soul to the devil. just a little.

he also wonders if this knowledge is gonna deplete logan’s excitement over chilton.

patton slumps into virgil’s diner. virgil immediately pours him a hot cocoa/coffee, because patton should never ever look so much like a drowned, kicked puppy.

“so,” he says, tracing the circle of the mug with his pinky, “good news, i got the tuition money.”

“you starting with good news implies there’s bad news,” virgil says, leaning against the counter. his part-time workers, used to this, scoot around him in the quest to serve the other customers.

patton grimaces. “so you know my parents.”

(virgil had a brief run-in with patton’s parents one easter. virgil might have thrown some dyed eggs at their fancy car. it was not a particularly great run-in, even if nine-year-old logan had shouted “COOL!” with delight in his eyes because he was young enough then to not worry about looking serious all the time and patton to this day looks a little smug whenever he sees people starting to dye eggs.)

(virgil had met them one other time before that, actually, but patton wasn’t in a place to remember it and logan was too little to remember it, so.)

“aw, patton, no,” virgil says, putting the pieces together.

“patton yes,” patton says unhappily, “and patton and logan will have to go to weekly dinners until patton is dead, probably, and patton might not escape it even then.”

virgil wordlessly dishes up some of the double chocolate fudge layer cake. it is a mark of how patton feels right now that he does not start crowing about dietary victory over virgil’s extremist vegetable agenda.

(he maybe spends a little too much time hosting roman prince in his house, but hey, any kid is welcome in his house, okay? especially when they’re definitely absolutely in love with his son. patton might have a bet going with himself on who confesses first. his money is on roman, because bless his son, but he is Terrible With Emotions which he probably inherited from patton but in, like, a whole new different way. genetics, right?)

“i mean,” patton sighed, dragging his fork through the icing, “it’s worth it. for logan, anything’s worth it. it's just—”

“your parents suck,” virgil finishes bluntly.

“they don’t suck entirely.”

“not being as much of a transphobe as they could be is a low, low bar, patton. it is literally the most basic bar they should be able to clear, because they’re your parents.”

“...yeah. okay.”

patton finishes the cake, tries to shake off his mood, and asks virgil for an order of takeout so that he can get dinner ready at home for logan, to tell him the good news. virgil sighs a little and barely even makes a comment about how they better eat the side salads he’s included for each of them.

⁂

logan walks into the cheerful yellow clapboard house his dad bought as soon as he could afford it, after a morning at the swimming hole and an afternoon spent 1. heckling the one-person staff of the sideshire courant, 2. pestering the librarian for the latest shipment of books she said would be in last week, and 3. reading quietly on the wooden pews that the princes repatriated from the old church before the church got the nicer ones with cushions and sits outside of the prince dance/yoga studio, glancing through the windows to watch roman laugh and spin with little girls who are wearing matching tutus with him, doing ballet lifts with them when they shout and plead MISTER ROMAN MISTER ROMAN MAKE ME FLY PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE! and squints at the table.

“did you... make dinner? you never make dinner. you made sure the smoke alarms were on, right?!”

“how can you not recognize virgil’s spaghetti and meatballs, i’ve literally been feeding this to you since you grew teeth?”

“i’m just used to it in takeout boxes. wait. why did you put it on actual plates?”

“can you just sit down for dinner, please?”

“is someone dead?”

“logan!”

“it’s a reasonable question!”

“no! no one is dead! it’s a celebration dinner!”

“... that doesn’t mean someone isn’t dead.”

“logan!”

so logan sits down, squinting suspiciously at his father. usually they just go to virgil’s. or they stay in and make stuff that takes less than fifteen minutes and would probably give virgil heart palpitations from stress.

this is Not Normal. which means something Abnormal has happened. and usually Something Abnormal means Something Bad.

his dad takes in a deep breath, and says, “you’re so smart.”

logan knows this. no one ever accused him of being humble. he cannot possibly pinpoint why this lead to a celebration dinner, though.

“you’re so smart,” his dad repeats, “and you work so hard, all the time. and i know you have such big dreams for the future.”

“dad,” logan says.

patton takes a breath in, and slides a piece of paper across the table. (the tuition sheet, he triple-checked, is not included.)

logan takes it, flips it over, and takes in the coat of arms. then dear mr. sanders, we are happy to inform you we have a vacancy at chilton prepatory for this school year. due to your son’s excellent grades and recommendations, and your enthusiastic pursuit of his enrollment...

he can’t keep reading from there, though. because his eyes are too blurry and his throat is too tight. he probably needs a new prescription and he might be coming down with strep. or an upper respiratory infection. maybe some variant of throat cancer that is also making his eyes too hot. that’s all it is. he should make a doctor’s appointment.

“dad,” he manages to say.

“oh, hey, hey,” his dad says, and he crosses the table to kneel by logan’s chair and pulls logan down into a hug, and logan shuts his eyes tight.

“you applied to chilton for me?” logan whispers.

logan, of course, knows about chilton. the franklin is consistently rated the best student paper in the state, winning awards both at state and national levels. a diploma from there’s practically a gilded invitation to an ivy league. seven chilton graduates have pulitzers. he knows how good their programs are. he also knows the limited stories his dad has told of his two years at chilton before he dropped out to have logan.

“and i’m... you... i’m in?”

“yeah, kiddo,” patton says. “you’re in. they were practically foaming at the mouth when i showed them your gpa, plus your bylines. they wanted you there so bad. ”

“but it’s so—” expensive, far away, you hated it so much there...

“hey, i’m the dad, okay?” patton says, drawing back and wiping his thumbs under logan’s eyes, offering his own watery smile. familial allergies, maybe. logan should check the filters and possibly update any medical files. “let me worry about all that stuff, that’s my job. your job is school.”

“i’m going to chilton?” he repeats.

“you’re going to chilton,” patton says, and hugs him one last time before rising to his feet and sitting back in his chair. “plus an ivy.”

logan’s cheeks hurt. “i’m a sophomore.”

“yeah, but you’re my sophomore,” patton says, as if that makes sense as a term of endearment, “and you’re gonna get into any college you want, because you’re logan, and you’re so smart, and you work so hard, and you deserve a spot at chilton or any old ivy league that you want, and i am gonna bend the earth and sky to make sure you have all the opportunities you could ever possibly need.”

if logan gets up to hug his dad one more time... well, his dad would never tell.

"eight, dad," he mumbles into his shoulder.

"aw, kiddo," patton says gently, and holds him tighter. "sixteen."

⁂

so, patton isn't a particularly strict parent, but logan has the feeling that if patton knew how much logan snuck out that his windows would probably be bolted shut and he’d be treated to a lecture about how “sideshire is a small town but that doesn’t mean it’s always safe all the time, okay???” as if logan hasn’t written the defining articles on the crime statistics of sideshire for the past two years, since he was old enough to see pg-13 movies and thereby old enough to see pg-13 statistics.

patton would probably be even less pleased if he knew that logan had perfected his sneak-out route at the age of ten. there’s a trellis of ivy that’s very easy to climb down from his bedroom window, and logan has been hopping the backyard fence since they’d moved into this house. and from there’s it’s just following the well-worn trail to the middle of the town, to the fairy-light-strung gazebo. it’s the perfect halfway point between their houses, and so it was Their Place.

roman grins up at him from where he’s sitting on the gazebo steps, waving his phone at him. “usually i’m the one who calls midnight crisis meetings,” he teases. “i figured that you might want something.”

he holds up two styrofoam to-go cups that logan’s sure are full of milkshake. see, logan is a virgil’s diner man through-and-through, it’s a family thing, but when it comes to ice cream/milkshakes/other ice cream based products, he has to get it from lucy’s. virgil gets it, he gets all of the ice cream he serves from lucy’s.

anyway, he and roman have been getting milkshakes from lucy’s for years: we-gotta-do-these-book-reports milkshakes, screw-the-bullies milkshakes, just-cause milkshakes, logan-i’ve-been-trying-to-teach-a-class-full-of-toddlers-a-waltz-routine-for-two-hours-let-me-have-this milkshakes. so on.

logan accepts his (salted caramel to roman’s chocolate-covered cherry) and sits on the gazebo steps, stretching his legs out. roman sits next to him, shoulder-to-shoulder, and logan’s heart does that strange squeezing thing that it’s done around roman for as long as he can remember.

(they met like this: they were both in mr. geller’s kindergarten class, and there’s no one with a q last name in their grade, and the only r in their grade was in ms. lansing’s, so he and roman ended up as table buddies. they were supposed to decorate the nametags that were taped onto their desks. logan drew leminscates on his, and roman drew an expansive, wild garden of red roses that leaked over onto his. logan had gotten mad. roman had drawn blue and orange universes over them in apology without ever actually saying the word sorry and he told logan a story about how the flower-world had been populated by aliens and a brave scientist touched down to try to get the prettiest flowers in the universe for his husband, the most handsome prince there ever was. at snacktime logan had traded his strawberries for roman’s jam cookies. they’d been inseparable ever since.)

(logan’s nervous about a lot about chilton, but he’s most nervous about changing this. losing this.)

logan takes off the lid, and drags his straw through the whipped cream, attempting to eat it first, so that the whipped cream wouldn’t sink down and prevent him from finishing off the milkshake with a mouthful of caramel-tinged whipped cream. roman steals his maraschino cherry. that’s all normal. it’s all so normal, sitting here together in the gazebo in the dying heat of summer, the only light from the stars and the fairy lights, and logan stares at his shoes—his formal-ish black shoes—and how they look next to roman’s red high-top converse, scrawled all over with multicolored sharpies because roman was a horrible fidget, and he was most prone to drawing all over the nearest surface (paper, his hands and arms, his legs if he’s wearing shorts, his shoes, logan, sometimes, if they manage to get seats close enough together in class and sometimes when they lay in the gazebo in silence, chasing sugar highs and enjoying the stars—)

“i’m going to chilton,” he blurts to their feet. “my dad’s apparently been trying to get me in since last year, but a spot opened up, and—and it starts monday.”

there’s silence. logan almost can’t bear it, before an arm slings over his shoulder.

“logan,” roman says, and he’s... smiling. maybe.

“you’re not mad?” logan says, confused, and roman blinks at him.

“why would i be mad?” he says. “i mean, you didn’t know, right?”

“right,” logan agrees tentatively.

“so,” roman says. “i mean, i always knew you were gonna, like, go off to stratospheres of academic excellence, it’s just happening a little earlier than expected.”

there’s something wrong with his smile. something brittle. logan doesn’t like it.

“roman—”

“i’m happy for you,” he says, and there’s something biting there.

“roman.”

“look, i just—whatever,” roman huffs. “you’re going to fancy prep school. good for you. it’ll be great. you’ll be great. tell me about the stupid franklin.”

“the franklin isn’t stupid,” logan says, shaking off roman’s arm. “it’s one of the best student-produced papers in the state. that includes high schools and colleges.”

“right,” roman snaps, “of course. the franklin’s fucking perfect. my mistake. like your stupid chilton uniform’s gonna be perfect, and all your new snooty chilton friends are gonna be perfect, and your ivy league is gonna be so fucking perfect, because you’re just too perfect, right?”

“i—what?!” logan says, trying to shake off his confusion like it’s something as physical as roman’s arm. “you said you weren’t mad!”

“i’m NOT!” roman snaps, and then he falls silent.

“i thought you would be happy for me, because that’s what friends do,” logan snaps right back. “i want to go to the best place for my future, what’s so wrong with that?!”

“nothing,” roman spits, getting to his feet. “absolutely nothing’s wrong with that.”

“then act like it!” logan hollers back, surging to his feet because he hates anyone looking down at him, literally or metaphorically. “what is your problem?”

“my problem??? my problem????”

“yes! YOUR problem!”

“fine! i guess it is my problem! because i’m not smart like you, logan sanders, otherwise known as mr. right-all-the-time—“

“wh—i don’t even know why i cared!” logan snaps. “it’s just that this is important to me, roman, i’m not going to apologize because i’m doing something that’s going to be good for me, that’s—”

“going to get you out of sideshire?” roman says, bitter.

“fine! yes! i want to do things, i want to write about important things, and i can’t exactly win a pulitzer covering the latest town meeting for the courant, okay?!”

“oh, so some fictional pulitzer’s important to you, but i’m not?” roman snaps, and logan’s mouth snaps shut, and his voice catches in his throat, and his brain runs over the conversation because when had he said anything that could possibly be interpreted like THAT?! but he realizes when roman’s face drops and then screws up that he’d taken too long to answer.

“wow,” roman scoffs. “i—you know what? have fun at chilton, walter crank-kite. i hope you and your imaginary pulitzer become the best of friends.”

“roman,” logan manages to say, but roman jostles his shoulder on his way out, and he slams both the salted caramel and the chocolate-covered cherry shakes into the trash, stomping back toward the prince studio and apartment.

and logan’s left standing in the middle of the gazebo, wondering what just happened.

“emotions,” logan huffs, and kicks one of the railing posts.

⁂

when logan slouches down the stairs the next morning, hair mussed and scowling, patton doesn’t really question it. sanders men aren’t morning people. it’s a fact of their nature. he figures it’ll get better after a mug of coffee from virgil’s.

it does not get better after a mug of coffee from virgil’s.

patton gently mentions how it’s his last friday of summer, and logan makes vague mumbling noises, stabbing his scrambled eggs with his forks more than actually eating them.

“well,” patton says, keeping his voice chipper. “no matter what you decide to do, be back at the house, okay? we’re having dinner with my parents at seven.”

logan stiffens. he drops the fork with a clatter. “it’s not a holiday,” he says suspiciously.

“well, no, but—”

“we only see grandma and grandpa on holidays.”

“it’s about chilton,” patton says. “they’re excited that you’re going. it’s a celebration—”

“we already had a celebration dinner,” logan grumbles. he picks up his fork and starts stabbing his eggs again. “i liked that celebration dinner. dinner with grandma and grandpa is a punishment dinner.”

“hey,” patton says, trying to be a little stern, but, well, he’s right. “they’re excited you’re going to their alma mater. they want to have us over for dinner more often. it’s like a peace offering.”

“did i do something?” logan says suspiciously. “you said no one was dead. i should have rephrased—is someone dying?”

“logan, what?! no!”

virgil, swinging by, frowns at logan’s plate.

“you need more protein,” he says. “eat your eggs, don’t kill them. they’re already dead.”

“i don’t need more protein.”

“yeah, i see the vast majority of your meals, kid, that’s not gonna fly,” virgil says. “eat the eggs.”

“words can’t fly and you sneak protein powder into every pastry i eat anyway,” logan mutters, and rebelliously shoves a forkful of eggs into his mouth. virgil nods in approval and goes to drop off a plate of pancakes for the nearest gossips.

“no one is dying,” patton says exasperatedly. “what makes you think someone is dying, anyway? why is that always your first thought lately?”

“statistically—”

“let’s not get into depressing journalistic statistics first thing in the morning, huh?” patton says hastily, because he has made that mistake before and spent the rest of the morning in the throes of an existential crisis or general misery about the state of humanity or the planet.

(not even just, like. generally depressing statistics. journalism-specific statistics can be plenty depressing too! i went digging for some and then it turned into a couple paragraphs of me presenting paragraphs of statistics about journalists. and then i tried rewriting it like three more times. it basically boils down to me lunging through your screen to scream “support journalists,” okay???)

anyways, to get back into the fic, patton is aware of these statistics. he has rambled nervously about them to virgil, who has internalized these worries. am i basing that instance off people in my life who similarly care about me but aren’t Into Journalism like i am? yes. buzz off. i said i was getting back to the fic.

anyway, patton briefly mentally flashes through the “photojournalists can be as likely as combat veterans to develop ptsd/journalists tend to self-medicate with caffeine and alcohol and sugar/the job market isn’t great/you absolutely Do Not go into journalism for the money” statistics that i just summed up for you instead of ranting for five paragraphs you’re welcome, and says,

“do you want more coffee? you’ve barely had any.” because, you know. he’s a sanders. caffeine’s gotta work some kinda magic. and also the whole “journalists love caffeine” thing is Real Okay it’s Backed By Statistics.

virgil, on his way back to dump an armful of empty dishes back in the kitchen to be washed, is about to start lecturing, before he stops and frowns.

“yeah,” he says. “i... logan, i haven’t even caught you trying to sneak a refill.”

this is a cause for Concern. logan has usually attempted to get at least one refill at this point in the breakfast.

logan jerked up a shoulder in a shrug, and shoved another forkful of eggs into his mouth.

virgil frowns, tops up his mug, jabs a finger in patton’s direction and says, “not a word,” before he vanishes to drop off the dirty dishes.

“do you know what you’re gonna do today?” patton prompts. “there’s some debate kids in the inn. i’ll look the other way if you want to totally wreck them.”

this is usually a temptation for logan, who gets into arguments the way cats get into any visibly box-shaped object. debate kids in town on tournament meant kids being ready to practice arguing, and logan tended to delight in taking on their arguments and poking holes into their arguments, their fact-checking, their general take on debate—

“maybe,” logan says listlessly.

“i saw that the courant had a spelling error, right on the front page,” patton offers encouragingly, because he is getting more and more worried about his son right now. “i bet rudy’s been waiting for you to storm into the office since he noticed it.”

this is also usually a temptation for logan. he’s usually gleefully ripping the courant to shreds at this point in the morning. he hasn’t even glanced at the paper dispenser or asked patton for a spare quarter in case he forgot to grab something from the family piggy bank to be able to buy the paper.

logan never forgets to get change to be able to buy the paper.

logan shrugs again.

“are you feeling okay?” patton says abruptly. “let me feel your forehead. do you think you’re coming down with something?”

“i’m fine,” logan says sharply, ducking aside so that patton doesn’t have access to his forehead.

except even being sick wasn’t an excuse for logan to not want to look at the paper, patton realizes, because what delights logan most when patton stays home to look after him when he’s sick is when patton brings back the spare copies of the new york times and the washington post and the wall street journal from the inn, and will be confined to bed rest as long as he has something to read in his hands.

“are you okay?” patton repeats, and logan sneers at his eggs.

“i’m fine,” he says.

“if you keep making that face it’ll stick like that.”

“that doesn’t make any sense!”

which is typical for logan to say, whenever patton busts out a dad-ism like that, except logan doesn’t usually yell it and slam down his cutlery loud enough to make half the diner look in their direction.

“whoa,” patton says, “kiddo, hey—”

“nobody is making any sense,” logan seethes, and grabs his stuff. “i’ll be back for the stupid dinner.”

“hey!” patton says, stern, but logan’s already storming out of the diner, the bell above the door jangling, discordantly cheerful.

“what,” virgil asks, coming up behind the counter, “was that?”

“i,” patton begins, and frowns. “i have no idea. i mean, he’s been in a bit of a mood all morning, but i just thought it was a morning thing, but i mentioned the dinner and he got all...”

(oh, patton, bless. you have no idea. keep working under that assumption, though.)

“he and your parents only sometimes get along, right?” virgil says in an undertone.

patton lets out a slow breath. “usually, it’s like a flip of a coin,” he says. “either they’re all thrilled that he’s, you know, as smart and talented as he is, and he preens under all the attention. or, well. they say something about how smart and talented he is, and how we could work to apply it better, and he...”

“gets snappy,” virgil says, because he bore witness to quite a few of toddler/little kid logan’s temper tantrums and has seen them age, like really terrible wine. “yeah.”

patton hesitates, before he looks at him out of the corner of his eyes. “can i get another hot cocoa/coffee to deal with my son going very teenager, all of a sudden?”

virgil snorts, and fondly snatches logan’s freshly-filled mug away, holding it out of patton’s reach when he jokingly tries to jump for it, and that’s a little better.

⁂

so. logan’s not having a great day.

he couldn’t sleep because he was too busy trying to figure out what the hell happened with roman. he bit his tongue so hard it bled when his dad had off-handedly mentioned going to the prince studio as an idea for what logan does with his day. he apparently has to go to dinner with his dad and his grandparents.

logan’s relationship with his grandparents is, in a word? stilted.

(logan may be terrible with emotions, but he knows his dad well enough to spot the way his shoulders tighten up and hunch over whenever his parents say something with that particular twist of their lips, to see how he starts absently rubbing the sleeves of his sweater or cardigan between his fingers or over his face like he needs comfort, the way he always makes sure to hug logan tight and firmly tell him that he supports logan, always, no matter what he wants to do, as if logan has not known this since he was capable of knowing anything at all.

logan may be terrible with emotions, but he knows the way his other father slips up and starts to call patton something that doesn’t share any of the syllables of his name and the way the blood drains from his dad’s face, every time, and he can count the times his other father has remembered his birthday on the day of and contacted him that day on one hand, whereas his dad wakes him up every birthday morning at 4:03 am to tell him all about how he was born no matter how much logan groans about it.

logan may be terrible with emotions, but he knows that’s not a man his dad should have been married to, ever, no matter how much his grandparents insist on how good it would be for the three of them, how they both needed someone to take care of them, as if patton hasn’t been taking care of the both of them on his own since logan was three weeks old.

logan may be terrible with emotions, but he has grown up surrounded by the people of sideshire who love and support his dad, who have never called him the wrong pronoun or name, and logan may be terrible with emotions but he is smart and so it’s been easy for him, over the years, to compare high-class to the town that his grandparents seem to look down upon, and logan may want to leave sideshire but he still loves it.

logan is terrible with emotions, so he gets snappy when his grandparents get snappy, but that’s not the way a proper young man should behave, logan, because he’s more obvious with his barbs than they are.

oh, they love him. he knows that. they fawn after his school work and exclaim over his bylines and send clumsily impersonal gifts for each holiday and take him out to a fancy dinner within the week after his birthday every year, he knows that they love him. he knows that they love his dad, too. it’s just hard to remember that when his dad got into the driver’s seat after last christmas and burst into tears because his parents had sprung a visit from his other father on them without any warning at all, and his other father had messed up and called him by the wrong name, again, and how his grandparents always call the inn a motel, and how they always look down on the cozy yellow clapboard house patton bought them, and a million other little things in their lives that become targets, and how it wasn’t the first time logan had ever seen his dad cry after a family function but it had been the first time since logan was a little kid, and it still hurt to see that his dad, who probably had more capacity to love people than logan had ever seen, had grown up with people who always had terms and conditions to their affection and their presence in his life and yet still had the audacity to insist that they were trying, patton, can’t you meet us halfway?

so. yes. stilted is certainly a word for it.)

so when he gets back from hiking angrily around in the forests surrounding sideshire, and sulkily takes a shower, and puts on the most formal look that his grandparents will probably be displeased with but cannot actually disapprove of (he’s particularly fond of the trans flag tie part of it, in addition to the rainbow handkerchief he’s put in his blazer pocket) he’s still in a bad mood.

“ready to go?” his dad says, from where he’s nervously tugging at all his clothes. he always dresses a bit extra masc whenever they go to his parents’ house, and he usually spends the next couple days in his coziest sweaters with his hair as messy as it possibly can get like he’s trying to reassure himself that he can be a bit of a mess without people lecturing him for it as long as he’s comfortable, and logan really, really hates going to his grandparents, along with the world in general right now.

“if i have to be,” logan says.

the whole car ride there he sits with his arms crossed and glaring out the window, not engaging with his dad’s slightly subtle “so how was the rest of your day?” to his more telling “you know you can talk to me about anything, right?” to his very obvious “if you aren’t okay, i can call and tell them to push it off to another night.”

when they get there, patton shuts off the car.

“i know your grandparents’ aren’t—”

“i’ll be civil,” logan says, cutting off the pep talk, and gets out of the car before he can get the whole lecture. he hears his dad sigh before logan shuts the car door.

logan straightens his tie, puffs up the handkerchief so that it’s blatantly in the line of their vision, and patton gets out of the car. they walk in silence to the front door.

logan mutters, “let’s get this over with.”

his dad laughs, breathlessly and nervously, and knocks.

his grandmother opens the door almost before they’ve finished.

“logan!” she says, fondly. “patton,” she adds, less enthusiastic.

“mom,” he says.

“right on time,” she says.

“traffic was... fine,” patton says lamely, and they both walk into the house.

“i can’t tell you what a treat it is to have you boys here,” she continues, and patton looks cautiously optimistic.

“yeah, we’re pretty excited too,” patton says.

“now, let me look at you in the light, logan,” emily says. “oh, look at how handsome you are. growing up all the time. just the picture of a proper young man. it’s so good to see you.”

she gives logan a long hug. logan stiffly holds his arms in place, looking to his dad as if to say, help. patton shrugs. logan rolls his eyes to the heavens and pats her once on the back.

“it’s, um. it’s good to see you too,” he says, lying through his teeth.

“so!” she says, drawing back and grabbing logan’s hand, pulling them toward the Fancy Fancy living room. “tell me all about chilton.”

“i haven’t started yet.”

“richard! look who showed up!”

logan’s grandfather looks up from his paper and squints at him. “you’ve gotten tall.”

“i suppose.”

“what’s your height?”

“five eight.”

“tall. still growing, i assume. i’m on the edge of my seat to see how tall you become.”

he looks back to his paper. logan, not for the first time, thinks he knows where he gets it from.

“hey, dad,” patton says.

“patton,” he says, without looking up. “your son is tall.”

patton grins. “yeah,” he says, remembering how he shot up nearly six inches after he got back on t after logan was born, and how logan’s probably going to get even taller than him soon. “remember when he used to fit in the dresser drawers?”

“dad,” logan complains.

“champagne, anyone?”

“oh, um,” patton says. “champagne, wow. fancy.”

“well, not every day i have my boys here for dinner on a day the banks are also open. a toast?”

she does not ask patton if logan should have champagne. he probably would have said yes, but still. it’s the principle of the thing. patton grits his teeth for a moment.

“to logan entering chilton,” she says, raising the glass. “and an exciting new phase in his life!”

“here here,” richard says, still reading the paper, and they all drink the champange.

“this is so exciting,” emily continues, “an education is the most important thing in the world, after family.”

“and cookies,” patton blurts out.

his parents both look at him.

“joke.”

“ah.”

logan hesitates, still staring at the paper. the front page isn’t visible but the design styling’s so obvious logan already knows, but—

“is that the times?”

"yes,” his grandfather says. “interesting article about the effect of delivery on local restaurants and grocery stores today, have you read it?”

“no,” logan says, “i haven’t really read much of the news at all today.”

richard, without looking up, hands logan a copy of the washington post from where it’s folded up beside an already-read copy of the wall street journal and the latest copies of national geographic and time. logan, smirking a little, takes it.

“can you please wait to read until after dinner,” emily says wearily.

“oh, let them have their bonding time,” patton says, grinning widely now, and picks up the national geographic (pretty pictures!)

patton likes to imagine that his mother barely quashes the urge to throw her hands up in defeat.

the dinner, however, is much more awkward than all of them reading their publications of choice in quiet (patton’s mother had selected ladies’ home journal, in a move that patton isn’t quite sure was a masked hit or not) and he absently tears a roll to shreds in his hands, ignoring the way his mother is glowering at the little bread bits he’s littering on the table. 

“logan, how do you like the lamb?” she says instead.

“it’s good,” logan says, as if he has not been poking it with his fork more than eating. patton figures it’s better than stabbing, but he would prefer if his son actually ate.

“too dry?”

“no.”

“hm. shelby always leaves it in too long. i’ll have her make something else.”

“please don’t,” patton says hastily. 

“it’s fine,” logan says, when it looks like emily is about to mow over patton again.

“well. all right, then.”

a pause.

“how are things at the motel?”

“inn,” logan and patton correct simultaneously.

“i’m the executive manager now,” patton continues. “run the whole place.”

“oh,” emily says. both his parents startled. logan looks offended on patton’s behalf. patton tears off another chunk of the roll.

“dad’s done a great job with the inn,” logan says, defensive. 

“speaking of which,” emily says, “your father called the other day, logan.”

logan goes stiffer. “my father’s right here.”

“he’s doing very well, out in california,” emily continues. “he’s got his own practice now. very talented man, your father.”

“i know,” logan says, glowering. “dad’s worked his way up to executive manager. he’s the youngest executive manager in the whole inn’s history and he’s getting his business degree. he’s thinking of buying an inn of his own someday.”

“logan,” patton murmurs quietly. a please be civil. 

“well, that’s a bit different, isn’t it?” richard says. “christopher was always a smart boy. top of his class at chilton, and then at stanford, you know. you must take after him.”

“excuse me,” patton murmurs very quietly. he goes into the kitchen. logan gets to his feet, and so does his grandmother.

“i’m going to—”

“please keep your grandfather company,” she says, and goes into the kitchen. logan sits down reluctantly, before he says directly, “have you ever heard of howard gardner?”

“no.”

“he identified the seven distinct types of intelligence.”

“hm. seven, really.”

“yes. seven. linguistic, logical, kinesthetic, spatial, musical, interpersonal, and intrapersonal,” logan finishes, jabbing at the lamb. “dad might not be traditionally book smart, but he’s very smart in his own way. intrapersonal, specifically, but interpersonally too. i’d be proud if i inherited any of his particular types of intelligence. clearly he’s the only sanders man to have them.”

richard is about to retaliate, before there’s noise from the kitchen.

“—how could i have possibly taken that the wrong way? what was left open to interpretation?!”

“keep your voice down.”

“no! why do you pounce on every single thing i do that isn’t enough for you?”

“you’re being very dramatic.”

his father laughs bitterly. logan digs his fingernails into the silver of the knife and fork he’s still holding. 

“dramatic. right. of course. i’m always the dramatic one. silly me, i must have forgotten, like i forget everything else, because logan gets any smarts from him, right? i’m the one who raised him, but any good part of logan, it always gets credited to him!”

“well, that’s not true—”

“why else would you bring him up like that?”

“we like christopher.”

“yeah, well, i remember you having a very different opinion when he got me pregnant.”

“oh, please. you were sixteen, what were we supposed to do, throw you a party?! you had such bright futures, we were disappointed.”

“yes, and by letting him go to california and having me raise logan, we got to keep those bright futures.”

“when you get pregnant, you get married! a child needs a father and a—“

she falls very silent. logan feels what little lamb he had churn in his stomach.

“finish your sentence,” his father says, and he sounds cold. like logan. he sounds like logan when he gets angry.

“i didn’t mean—“

“yes, you did. you did mean it. you were about to say a child needs a father and a mother, weren’t you?”

“patton—”

“logan was never going to have a father and a mother. he was always going to have two dads. and i’m a good dad. i have done fine with logan on my own.”

“that’s right. far away from us.”

“mom—!”

“you took that boy and you completely shut us out of your life!” emily shouts, and logan is very pointedly not making eye contact with his grandfather right now. “we came back to a note in a crib in the middle of the night, no idea if you were safe, if you and logan would have gotten hurt—”

“i would have suffocated here.”

“oh, and you’re so perfect, and i was so controlling, hm? i put you in good schools. i gave you the best of everything. i made sure you had the finest opportunities. and I am so tired of hearing about how you were suffocated and i was so controlling. well, if i was so controlling, why couldn’t i control you running around getting pregnant and throwing your life away?”

“mom, if you don’t stop, i’m leaving. i swear. i will leave, and i’ll break out agreement, and you’ll be lucky to get christmases ever again, do you understand me?”

“what?!”

“i’m not going to keep trying to rebuild a relationship with you if you just keep telling me i threw my life away!” patton snaps. “i have a life. it has a little color in it so it might be a bit weird to you, but it’s a life, mom. and if i hadn’t gotten pregnant i wouldn’t have had logan.”

“you know that’s not what i meant—”

“maybe i was some uncontrollable terrible child like you said but logan isn’t! he’s smart and careful and ambitious and a hard worker and a good kid, and i raised him, mom. he’s my son.”

“you were still a child raising a child.”

“that stopped as soon as that test went positive. i figured out how to build a life, i found a good job—”

“as a maid,” she hisses.

“housekeeper, actually, which is a perfectly fine living, for your information, but in case you didn’t hear your grandson, i worked my way up. i run the place now. we have a good life with no help from anyone.”

“yes, and think where logan could have been if you accepted a little help from anyone, hm?”

“why do you think i’m here right now?” patton shouts. “i opened my life back up to you when i established myself enough in sideshire. i accepted the top surgery that you gave me instead of an apology. i have been coming for holidays for years. and now i’ve asked for help for logan. now logan is going to chilton. you have your weekly dinners. i’m back here. you win. aren’t you thrilled about it?! isn’t that all you want?!”

logan sets down the silverware. he thinks he might be a little sick.

“is that what you think?”

“yeah, well. you haven’t really done anything to show me otherwise, have you?”

“i have no idea when you became so sensitive. you used to be such a pleasant child.”

“...you seriously just didn’t listen to a word i said, did you? for your information, being sensitive is one of the things i love most about—you know what, forget it. fine. let’s just have dessert. logan and i can go home, we’ll try again next week, i’m sure we’ll fight again then. and then you can keep telling me all about how i used to be so pleasant without thinking about how maybe i got some things from my parents, too.”

the door opens back up. logan looks back to his grandfather in a panic, only to see his head tipping forward onto his chest.

how could he have possibly fallen asleep during that? logan thinks in disbelief.

⁂

patton gets into the car and lets out a breath he feels like he’s been holding since he walked into that house, logan buckling his seatbelt.

“do you want to stop at virgil’s for coffee?” he says, a little timid. like a peace offering.

patton chews his lip. “how much of that did you overhear?”

“...snippets.”

“all of it, then.”

“just from her telling you to keep your voice down,” logan says, and patton huffs out a humorless laugh as he puts the car in reverse, glancing through the back windshield as he carefully backs the car out.

“okay, yeah, all of it. sure. coffee sounds good.”

they’ve been driving in silence for about three minutes before logan blurts out, “maybe chilton isn’t such a good idea.”

“what?!” patton demands, and immediately pulls over to the side of the street so he can park and look at his son, face-to-face. “no way, chilton is a great idea!”

“it comes with these dinners as a condition for my tuition, the bus ride is forty minutes both ways which i could be using to study or helping you at the inn or working at the courant, we don’t know if i can’t get into an ivy if i stay where i am,” he lists off, but patton’s already shaking his head.

"these dinners might be bad sometimes but not all the time, you can still read on buses because i know you don’t carsick like that, you’re going to be harassing rudy at the courant for as long as you live in sideshire because you have been doing that since you were seven and i’m pretty sure it somehow works as stress relief for you, and isn’t it better to improve statistics than risk it?”

“i don’t like the way they talk to you.”

“i can handle it,” patton says gently. 

“you shouldn’t have to handle it,” logan grits out.

“look,” patton says. “the dinners are mostly so they can keep tabs on you, okay? they want to get to know you a bit better. and you know that they aren’t always like that. tonight was a bad night.”

“dad—”

“right, i’m the dad. and i know that most of the time i make sure this house is a democracy, but i gotta pull the dad card here, okay? chilton is a good idea and you’re going. it offers too many good opportunities for you to not go. and sure, going to these dinners isn’t... the best, but i can handle it. i handled it for years before you were born, and it’s better now than it was then. besides, i already paid tuition, so.”

logan lets out an irritated sigh.

“so,” his dad repeats. “you’re going to be great at chilton, and i’ll be okay going to dinners. if there’s a day where i can’t handle, i’ll call out sick. promise.”

logan looks back out the window.

“is it just the dinner that’s bugging you?” patton tries. “because you’ve been in a bit of a mood.”

“i’m not in a mood.”

patton lifts his eyebrows silently at his son, until logan turns to see the expression on his face, scowls, and looks back out the window.

 “i thought we’d said we’d go for coffee.”

“yeah, sure thing. it’s just that i’m worried about you, and i want to make sure you’re okay. if it is the dinner, fine. if you want space, that’s okay too, as long as you know i’m here to talk it out. i know emotions aren’t your favorite thing.”

logan pauses, scuffs his shoe, and mutters, “emotions don’t make sense.”

patton briefly flashes back to that morning in the diner, thinks about nobody is making any sense! and the only other person who could get his son in such a state, and has an aha! moment. “yours, or is it someone else’s emotions that have you like this?”

logan hesitates. just long enough that patton thinks he might get it. (also, okay, he knows that needling logan isn’t the Best parenting move, but sometimes logan needed to be prodded until he blows up and rants about everything that's bothering him, like the world’s most cathartic volcano.)

“...a certain dance teacher’s assisstant, maybe...?”

“coffee,” logan grits out.

patton obligingly puts the car in drive and keeps going. also logan is still trapped for thirty more minutes, so patton will get there eventually. he loves his son dearly, but patience is not one of his virtues.

“someone who shares a last name with a royal title? that rhymes with wince?”

logan almost audibly grinds his teeth.

“someone whose first name is also the longest lasting empire in history?”

“the longest lasting empire is the empire of japan, then the byzantine empire, then the holy roman empire which is different from the roman empire,” logan blurts out, and then he snaps his mouth shut.

patton stifles his grin as he signals to turn onto a new street. gotcha.

“so,” patton says innocently, “definitely not him, then?”

logan is inhaling. patton has to pay attention to the road but he would have money on his son practically inflating on a pufferfish, which meant that in three, two, one—

“he’s infuriating!” logan howls, and boom, yes, there’s the volcano. 

patton is treated to about ten minutes of ranting about how roman prince is the sole cause of emotional distress, not only to logan, (”i mean—if i had emotions,” logan scoffs, and patton quietly saves that talk for another day because they’ve had it before) but to every person in sideshire and possibly the whole world. patton, knowing his son and his best friend, mostly lets this slide in one ear and out the ear, nodding and “mhm”-ing in the appropriate places.

“so,” patton says, when this dies down, “what did he do to cause a rant of those proportions?”

“i told him about chilton,” he says. “somehow that turned into him saying that he wasn’t my friend anymore.”

“okay, whoa,” patton says, “did he say that exactly?”

“...basically.”

“you’re a journalist, you know all about the dangers of having a bias, plus paraphrasing versus quoting directly. give me some context.”

“how dare you use journalism against me,” logan mutters, before he starts telling him about it. (unbeknownst to patton, logan changes the story so that he gave roman a phone call instead of sneaking out. he has to have some secrets.)

they’re nearly to sideshire by the time logan tells him that he was trying to figure out where he went wrong and didn’t answer roman immediately, and patton has been gently cringing for the past three minutes but that turns into a full-on wince that logan could not possibly miss.

“what?” logan says.

“sweetheart,” patton says gently. “he’s scared.”

“what???” logan says. “that’s ridiculous. what could he possibly be scared of? he’s the one staying at sideshire high. he’s always had other friends. he’ll probably make more friends now that i’m not going to be at school taking up all his time.”

“scared, or jealous, maybe?” patton says. “think about it. you’re going off to a great new school. you’re going to get way more opportunities to pursue your interests. there are going to be other people who have those same interests, who you will probably get along with very well, and you’ll make new friends. he’s staying here. he’s scared that you’re going to forget about him and leave him behind.”

“but—but that’s absurd,” logan says, but he’s a little less defensive now.

“he’s going to go to school without you for the first time since you both started school, you know? same as you. it’s like he has to re-evaluate his whole school social circle,” patton says. “plus, i mean, then he asked if he was important to you, honey, and you hesitated, which when you add in all that other stuff...”

logan’s quiet.

“he’s scared of losing his best friend too, kiddo.”

logan heaves a massive sigh as patton turns onto the sideshire main road. patton also notices that logan does not deny that he’s scared of losing his best friend.

“i have to apologize, don’t i?”

“i mean, he said some not-great stuff too, but yeah, you should probably initiate.”

logan groans to himself, dropping his head onto the dash, and patton pulls into the parking lot of virgil’s.

“what do i even say?” logan says miserably.

“you’re a smart kid,” patton says, shutting the car off and opening the door. “i bet you can figure it out.”

logan follows, and virgil looks up at them, squinting at their slightly-fancier dress.

“so, dinner with the hellbeasts?”

“they’re my parents,” patton scolds at the same time logan says, “yes, they were terrible,” and hops up onto the barstool.

“coffee,” he says. “and fries. plus a jam tart.”

“logan, you’re killing me,” virgil says. “could i possibly steer you toward ordering something healthy? for once?”

“i only said i wanted coffee, fries, and a jam tart, in no way is that tantamount to murder. plus i get salads all the time.”

“yeah, after i tack them onto your order,” virgil says.

“you know what,” patton says. “make that two jam tarts. and maybe make logan’s order to go?”

logan looks at him, panicked. “what, now?”

patton shrugs. “why wait?”

logan sighs, and repeats, “to go.”

“plus a coffee and a bowl of vanilla bean ice cream for me, please.”

“...plus a salad?”

“virgil,” logan says, anguished, “we had lamb for dinner. that included a side salad. and grandma was mean to dad. let us be unhealthy.”

“...do you want a warm brownie with that ice cream?”

patton smiles a little bit, directing it down at the counter. “if you wouldn’t mind.”

he passes over a twenty to pay. he then hands the change to logan.

“maybe lucy’s wouldn’t be a bad call?” he says to logan, under his breath, and logan nods, taking it.

virgil dishes up their coffees, and then hands logan a bag.

patton pats him on the back. “you got this.”

logan gives him a jerky nod and takes the bag and his travel cup, heading out of the diner.

“so,” virgil says, leaning on his elbows, putting his chin in his hand. “going to see roman?”

“going to apologize to roman,” patton corrects. “he was in a mood this morning because he and roman got into a fight.”

“ahh,” virgil says. “well, they’ll, you know. patch it up.”

“they always do,” patton says, “but, well,” he glances around, “it was about chilton, and logan might have implied that roman isn’t important to him, so.”

virgil flinches.

“yeahh,” patton says. “i mean, he didn’t mean it, obviously, but. jam tart. lucy’s. him going to actually say sorry.”

“yikes,” virgil says. “um. speaking of yikes... do you wanna talk about...?”

patton shrugs a shoulder. “just my mom disapproving of my life, as usual, and crediting any of logan’s achievements with his other dad, as usual, and she nearly said something pretty trans slash homophobic before catching herself, which, you know, was a new kind of not great, or at least a kind of not great they haven’t been bold enough to say to my face until now,” he says, like it doesn’t hurt. “plus i lost my temper and actually, like, yelled at her, which logan of course overheard.”

“you?” virgil says. “yelling?”

patton nods, drooping.

“jesus,” virgil says. 

“yeah,” patton sighs, and takes a huge gulp of coffee. 

“if you want me to egg their car again—”

patton nearly snorts coffee out of his nose, and then there’s, like, what would be the closing scene of an episode that makes viewers think oh they’re in LOVE love, all fond smiles and laughing at each other as the camera slowly zooms out, showing them looking like they’re wrapped up in their own little world in the middle of virgil’s diner.

#my post #my fic #sanders sides fanficiton #moxiety #logince #wyliwf

[katekarnage7]

First Ten

As promised, here are the bottom ten of my top 100 Destiel fics! There will be short explanations as to why I have put these fics on the list. Thank you and enjoy! (Disclaimer: There may be spoilers. I will put any spoilers in parentheses).

#100: If - CainYouTube.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4067512/chapters/9155722

Author’s Summary: Castiel is in a terrible car accident that leaves him in a coma, his chances of waking up are slim to none. His spirit is forced to possess a young woman to prevent his own death.

My thoughts: This is a lovely fic. The concept is really good. I think that writing-wise a few things could’ve been better, but overall, it was pretty good. It ranks 100th on my list for good reason, but it’s not bad.

#99: The Hornet’s Nest - followthattardis.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18599422/chapters/44094511

Author’s Summary: While on a hunt, Cas winds up on the receiving end of a gender-swapping spell. He intends to simply wait it out, but Dean has other ideas. Sam is unimpressed.

My thoughts: Okay. So, I had some pause before reading this one because of the gender-swapping spell. I thought ‘Oh, my god. This is gonna be one of those fics, isn’t it?’ but it actually ended up being good! It’s got a bit of smut, so if you’re uncomfortable with that, steer clear.

#98: Get Your Kicks - LoversAntiquities.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18671893

Author’s Summary: A five year veteran of the porn industry, Dean Winchester is at his wits' end with his employer and the business in general. Incidentally, five years after Castiel Novak's retirement, Sainted Angels finally reels him in for one last film—on one condition: Dean has to be his partner. With retirement on his mind, Dean agrees to film with his idol—but what happens when a dream business partnership turns to something more?

My thoughts: This is basically porn but it’s amazing. I don’t know how to describe it other than that. It was actually a fun read. And there’s art, too! Quick warning for homophobia. The homophobia is over pretty quickly. I would definitely suggest reading this.

#97: Anti-Cuddle Curse - noiproska.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16377716/chapters/38330003

Author’s Summary: When a witch curses Team Free Will, Dean realizes how much being able to touch Cas really means to him.

My thoughts: So, this is just really, really cute. Honestly, it’s adorable. The amount of fluff and sweetness will probably give you multiple cavities! Enjoy!

#96: No More Nightmares - Lindylaura.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5080147

Author’s Summary:  Dean's nightmares plague him, and Castiel comes to the rescue.

My thoughts: Super short. Super sweet. Will probably give you cavities. I feel like I’ve said all that needs to be said.

#95: Angeleech - noiproksa.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16559213/chapters/38798051

Author’s Summary:  It was supposed to be an easy hunt, but then everything goes sideways. Dean and Sam have to take care of an injured Cas and find out what is going on with the angel before it is too late.

My thoughts: I actually really like this fic. Dean and Cas are a little argumentative in the beginning but that’s just because they’re husbands.

#94: Under a Witch’s Spell - noiproksa.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18009083/chapters/42547076

Author’s Summary:  Cas is under a spell and touching Dean seems to be the only thing that can help him focus his powers.

My thoughts: This is the sequel to Angeleech, but I actually like it better. You should definitely read both though. I really enjoyed this series. I’m a big fan of fluff and angst, so this series was a big hit, as far as I’m concerned.

#93: Unthought Known - noiproksa.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17326364/chapters/40760243

Author’s Summary: Dean wakes up in an abandoned mental institution with no memories and two strange guys, ‘Sam’ and ‘Castiel.’ They have to work together if they want to find out who they are and what happened to them. And what the hell is this profound bond he seems to share with Castiel?

My thoughts: This is a fun little fic. It’s full of Dean’s denial and Cas’s adorable angelic self. I would definitely suggest reading it!

#92: If You Were The Ocean - LetThereBeDestiel.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15393150

Author’s Summary: Castiel's new life begins with falling in the captivity of the weirdest pirate ship he's ever seen. He expects its crew to give him a slow and torturous death. Instead, he finds the most ridiculous and brave person in its captain. This is a story of a wonderful treasure, of adventure, of bravery - but most of all, it's a story of true love.

My thoughts: This is a really sweet story. And it has references! Let me know if you caught all of them! I really did enjoy this story. It has some amazing art and some dorky moments. Enemies to Friends to Lovers will never not be one of my favorites.

#91: How To Save a Life - dreamofflight.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636543/chapters/1153105

Author’s Summary: Having lost both of his parents in a terrible car accident, Dean Winchester lives a life filled with guilt and self-hate. That is until he calls a suicide hotline and the soothing voice of 'Cas' turns his life upside down...

My thoughts: This is a fic that made me come close to crying. This fic does describe self-harm, alcohol abuse, and suicide. Please do not read this fic if you aren’t comfortable with any of that. It’s amazing though. It did break my heart but it was worth it.

Okay! That was my first ten! Thank you so much for reading! The next ten will be out sometime during the next week.

Tag list: @ladywaywarddsc, @destielsangel, @stargeek727, @madsmeetsmisha, @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover, @fannishknitter, and @avidbkwrm. Please let me know if you want to be added/taken off of the tag list!

#destiel #deancas #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #top 100 fics #destiel fanfic #first ten

[lets-talk-appella]

i’m nobody’s but yours

Chapter 21/25 - Chloe

Summary: Beca is straight as an arrow. 100%, totally, completely straight. Except for one problem that 100%, totally, completely changes everything: Chloe Beale.

Title borrowed from Calum Scott’s “If Our Love Is Wrong.”

Word Count: 3.5k

Rating: M (for dark themes, homophobia, masturbation, and eventual smut in later chapters)

AO3, FFN, and below.

Chloe stares at her laptop screen in shock.

Everything around her fades away; the music from the playlist Beca made for her, the occasional evening traffic sounds from outside, and even the muted voices of the Bellas downstairs. At this moment, the only thing that matters in the entire world is the email she received ten minutes ago.

Dear Ms. Beale:

Congratulations! Please consider this your formal acceptance to the Brooklyn Animal Care Veterinary Internship program!

We were impressed by your attention to detail in your application, as well as your optimistic attitude and record of community service. What most made you stand apart from other applicants was your impressive amount of leadership experience; we believe this experience makes you uniquely qualified for a potential Intern Manager position with our staff during the duration of your time here.

Though your training will not begin until September 1st, we had several other highly-qualified candidates and would appreciate notice of your acceptance or denial of our offer no later than August 8th.

Please don’t hesitate to reach out should you have any questions about the position or the hiring process.

Sincerely,

Brooklyn Animal Care Staff

 She’s read it end-to-end seven times, the meaning sinking in slowly. She glances at the date in the corner of her laptop screen: August 4th. That gives her four days to decide.

It’s not like she really has to consider other offers. Though she’d applied all over the country, the Brooklyn program had been her top choice; their program is the best of those she applied to, and the idea of living in New York sends a thrill of excitement shooting through her. It’s novel and ensnaring and something she’s wanted for herself for a while.

The only thing that’s keeping her from immediately accepting is Beca. Or, more exactly, the relationship she has with Beca and how much it means to her.

Beca has heard back from exactly one of her many job applications so far. Two days ago, a music producer based in Houston, Texas, offered her a position with an acceptance deadline of August 10th.

How far away is Houston from New York? A thousand miles? More?

Chloe pulls up Maps online; the distance from Brooklyn to the center of Houston is 1,419 miles.

It’s too far.

Chloe pulls her lower lip between her teeth and opens a new internet tab: veterinary internships Houston TX. There are more than 60 results. She could do it. She could fill out an application right now.

Her hands twitch on the laptop keyboard, and for an instant, she seriously considers it. It wouldn't take long. She just has to copy and paste a lot of the information from her other applications.

Chloe leans forward with a groan to rest her head in her hands.

It would never work. Even with her application materials prepared, there’s no way she could complete multiple applications, the subsequent phone interviews, and hear back from them in the span of the four days she has to either accept or decline the position in Brooklyn.

Chloe groans again, frustrated. She’s fully aware that the rational thing to do in this situation is for her and Beca both to accept their offers, as long as no one else contacts either of them in the next few days. They need jobs, and their lease is about to end. The “adult” thing to do would be to say yes to the offers.

And yet.

They do still have some time before they have to decide, and it’s possible that they might actually manage to get offers from within the same city. Maybe. If the aca-gods are in their favor.

Chloe’s eyes prickle and sting. It’s not fair. They should have all the time in the world to be together, rather than potentially having to live across the country from one another. Chloe knows that in reality, Beca’s job prospects are much more limited than hers; every city needs veterinarians, and those veterinarians need internships. Big-name music production jobs are much less common. If she really doesn’t want to live apart from Beca, then it makes the most sense to follow Beca to wherever she goes.

It’s just. Brooklyn’s program is really the best, and Chloe knows Beca would want her to follow her dreams and go there.

They haven’t been dating long, but already, Chloe can’t imagine a future without Beca. She thinks it might have to do with how long they’ve known each other, or maybe even that she’d stayed at Barden all this time to be with Beca. Either way, she’d never liked the thought of leaving Beca, and now that Beca has made her into the happiest person in the world, the thought of separating from her is borderline unendurable.

The words “Beca” and “forever” are linked in her mind, no matter how impractical that may be this early in their dating relationship. Chloe knows it should probably scare her – being this dedicated to someone so soon – but it doesn’t.

It has all become alarmingly simple.

Chloe and Beca, Beca and Chloe, Chloe and Beca, Beca and Chloe.

***************

Telling Aubrey is probably the worst part about not graduating the second time.

“What do you mean you ‘failed again?’” Aubrey practically screams over Skype.

“It’s fine,” Chloe says, trying not to wince at Aubrey’s volume; if Aubrey senses weakness, she’ll pounce. “I’ll just try again next year.”

Aubrey groans, the computer mic distorting her voice and making it crackle. “Chloe. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

“I don’t –”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Aubrey insists, looking at Chloe seriously through the camera. “You know exactly what you’re doing. You’re too smart to have actually failed anything, much less – what was it?”

“Russian Lit,” Chloe mumbles guiltily.

“Russian Lit?!” Aubrey repeats loudly. “Chloe, seriously? I know for a fact you have Anna Karenina almost memorized. Don’t pretend you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I mean, Dr. Zhivago is really a hard novel to analyze –”

“You’ve read it three times,” Aubrey says, sounding exasperated. “Be honest. It’s the same reason as last year, isn’t it? The Bellas?”

“They’re my family, Bree,” admits Chloe, dropping all pretense. “I don’t want to leave her – them. Them,” she says firmly, kicking herself a little and hoping Aubrey won’t notice the slip-up.

Unfortunately, Aubrey always has been too astute; even through Skype, Chloe can see her eyebrows lift and expression turn satisfied.

“Mhmm. So how is the little goblin?”

“I’ve asked you not to call her that,” Chloe snaps, more defensively than she’d meant to.

It makes Aubrey’s sly grin widen, and Chloe knows she’s given herself away.

“But you still know who I mean, even when I call her things like that,” Aubrey replies with a dismissive shrug. “Does she know you’re purposely failing to stay with her?”

Chloe feels herself flush, and stutters out, “That’s not – I don’t – you’re –”

“Why don’t you move on, Chloe?” Aubrey interrupts, shifting at her desk to lean closer to her laptop. “She’s still with Jesse and – unless you haven’t told me something – she’s still straight.”

Chloe looks away from the screen, stung. She doesn’t need Aubrey to tell her these things. She already knows them, painfully well.

“I – you never know, okay?” she manages after a moment, still unable to look back at Aubrey.

“Chloe,” Aubrey sighs after a moment, her tone softening so that Chloe’s able to look at her again. “I – I’m sorry, but... you have to know how unhealthy this is. You do see that, right?” she speaks delicately, as if worried Chloe’s going to start yelling at her.

Chloe’s stomach plummets and she looks away again.

“I mean… you just… Chloe, if she’s straight, there’s no point in continuing to feel like this. It’s a little – well, it’s unfair to both of you, really.”

Chloe swallows hard, Aubrey’s unspoken words screaming in her ears. She can read between the lines. She knows Aubrey is calling her creepy and obsessive.

On Skype, Aubrey starts to backtrack. “Okay, maybe unhealthy was a little –”

“Let’s talk about something else,” interrupts Chloe, not really listening. “Have you heard anything from your dad?”

Aubrey stares at her disapprovingly at the blatant subject change but doesn’t comment on it. Chloe breathes a little sigh of relief when Aubrey goes along with it, albeit reluctantly, and starts detailing some of the last postcard she’d gotten from her father concerning probably confidential military operations.

As she half-listens, nodding and smiling in all the right places, Chloe tries very hard to ignore the faint stirring of guilt in her stomach.

Aubrey doesn’t need to know she’s already planning on graduating with Beca. She’d probably think that was totally crazy.

***************

Beca and Chloe forever. At least, that’s how Chloe sees it.

In a few days, though, separation might be their new reality.

A light knock on her door breaks her concentration. It’s okay, though; she can tell by the knock it’s Beca. Smile already spreading over her face, Chloe calls, “Come in!” As she does, though, she minimizes her email, not wanting to ruin Beca’s mood by bringing that whole mess up. She’ll tell Beca, just, not yet, at least if she can avoid it.

The door opens and Beca slips in, leaving it cracked open behind her. Chloe relaxes at the familiar sight of Beca’s crooked grin and giggles at the dramatic way she throws herself on Chloe’s bed, bouncing against the mattress before sitting upright.

“Hey,” Beca says, “you busy?”

“Not really,” Chloe shrugs, careful to keep her tone light and casual. “What’s up?”

“Not a lot. Just got off the phone with my dad,” Beca answers, rolling her eyes, but without menace. “He’s been taking every chance he gets to ask about you and – and us,” she adds, suddenly looking nervous.

“How’s that going?” Chloe asks tentatively.

Beca shrugs, looking up at the ceiling. “It’s… not bad,” she says slowly. “I mean, we’ve been talking for a little bit, since your parents came over, and he’s kinda getting it?” Beca says, her voice rising like it’s a question.

“That’s good, though, right?”

“Yeah. It’s – he’s been slowly getting better about it. He didn’t say anything totally offensive this time, anyway,” Beca huffs.

“That’s good. Uh, and…?” Chloe trails off, uncertain.

“Sheila?” Beca asks, and Chloe nods. A corner of Beca’s mouth lifts contemplatively. “I mean, she’s – radio silence,” she says grimly. “It’s like my dad said – she’s just kinda like that, and I’m not sure she’ll change. He’s trying to talk to her, though, a little at a time. We’ll see,” Beca finishes in a tone that tells Chloe she’s done talking about it.

“Okay,” Chloe says. “So, we’ll, uh, we’ll work with that.”

“Yep,” Beca says, tracing her fingers over Chloe’s bedspread. Chloe has to suppress a smile and ignore the natural swoop in her stomach at seeing Beca on her bed; Beca’s been spending most nights in her bed lately.

“But, anyway,” Beca clears her throat, and Chloe hauls her mind out of the gutter so she can listen. “Was also wondering if you wanted to come shopping with me,” Beca asks. “Just to the mall or something, maybe.”

“Did you have something in mind?” Chloe asks, pushing away from her desk and moving to sit next to Beca at the end of her bed. It’s not often that Beca willingly goes to a place involving large amounts of other people.

“Well,” Beca tilts her head and reclines back to an elbow, her torso twisted toward Chloe. “Mostly I want to check out what they have for, like, uh, parting gifts? I guess? For the Bellas.”

“... Oh my god.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

Chloe can’t stop the huge smile she feels spreading over her face. Chloe wants more than anything to tease Beca (and mercilessly) for being such a softie but decides to take pity on her pinkened cheeks and stubbornly set jaw.

“We can do that,” she says. “It’s a great idea. Did you have anything in mind?”

“Nah, I just want to see what they had, you know?”

“Oh, uh, okay, yeah, we can probably –”

“Are you okay?” Beca interrupts, leaning forward, her eyebrows drawing together in concern.

“Hmm?” Chloe feigns innocence while panicking internally.

Beca’s frown deepens and her eyes flick between both of Chloe’s intently. “You seem a little… I don’t know. Not quite here, I guess. Just kinda off.”

“I mean, it’s nothing.”

Beca shrugs. “If you don’t want to talk, it’s okay, I just want to make sure everything is, you know, chill, or whatever.”

“Oh, it’s okay, I just, um…” Chloe hesitates. She hadn’t planned on telling Beca quite like this, but she doesn’t like the idea of keeping anything a secret from her. “I’m… I was accepted to the Brooklyn internship,” she finally expels in a rush.

Beca’s eyes fly wide and her mouth pops open in what Chloe knows is excitement. “Dude, you got in!” she exclaims, bolting upright.

“Yeah,” Chloe says and grins despite herself.

“Dude! That’s awesome, congrats!”

Beca lunges forward, reaching for Chloe’s face, and pulls her into an excited and somewhat sloppy kiss. Through it, Chloe can tell Beca is genuinely happy for her, and that both invigorates and saddens her. It makes her decision that much harder.

Beca pulls back first, her hands still cupping Chloe’s cheeks.

“I’m so proud of you, Chlo,” she says sincerely.

“Thanks, it’s really… I’m excited,” Chloe says, then winces internally at the obvious strain in her tone.

Beca’s smile falls slowly and she pulls away, dropping her hands from Chloe’s face to she can study her more closely.

“Are you?” Beca asks, softly this time. “Excited, I mean?”

“Yeah, it’s just…” Chloe half-shrugs, and looks away from Beca and toward her desk, where her open laptop almost seems to mock her. “It’s kinda far from Houston.”

Beca stills next to her, and Chloe glances over to see her looking down at the bedspread between them.

“Why does that matter?” she asks carefully.

“Beca, you know why it matters,” Chloe says.

Beca’s hands twitch in her lap.

“I mean… it – yeah. Brooklyn kinda is far away from Houston, yeah,” Beca agrees after a second.

“I could turn it down, maybe try for something closer,” Chloe’s quick to say, but Beca’s already shaking her head seriously.

“No way, Chloe,” she says firmly. “No way. I thought you’d always wanted to go to that program, right? You said it has a super high vet school acceptance rate.”

“Yeah, it – it does…” Chloe admits slowly, grateful Beca had remembered that detail about her program search.

“Okay, so you should go there, right? So you can get into vet school later?”

“Beca –”

“Look,” Beca cuts her off gently, “Chlo, I don’t want to be that couple that holds each other back from doing what they really want to do.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Baby, I’m worried I would,” Beca says, staring down at her lap. “You’ve been talking about their program for a while. Isn’t it what you want?”

“Yeah, but I want you, too.”

“You can have both, Chlo.”

“Beca –”

“What if we were switched?” Beca asks suddenly, looking back up. “What if I had wanted to go to LA and gotten an offer there?”

Chloe refuses to look at her. “That’s not the same,” she says.

“Yes, it is.”

“I…” Chloe sighs and rubs a hand over her face. She knows exactly what Beca’s doing, and she knows she’s right.  “I’d tell you to go,” she finally concedes.

“Yeah,” Beca nods, reaching for Chloe’s hand to pull into her lap. “So this is me, telling you that you should follow what you’ve been working for.”

Chloe pulls her lower lip into her mouth, worrying at it with her teeth. When she doesn’t say anything, Beca runs her thumb over the back of her hand.

“What is it?” she asks softly.

“I just...” Chloe starts, then has to pause to swallow the lump in her throat before she can continue. “It’s not fair.”

She knows it’s childish – life isn’t fair to anyone – but she wants to complain, at least a little bit.

“What isn’t fair?”

“This!” Chloe exclaims, finally looking up at Beca. “This whole stupid thing! We just got together and now we might be pulled apart! It’s not fair!” she finishes, her voice cracking.

Beca stares at her for a long moment, eyes wide. “I – yeah, I know,” she finally starts, and Chloe watches as determination take over her features. “It’s not fair. But, listen – having a long-distance relationship is not the end of the world.”

“I didn’t –”

“I know it’s not ideal, but it’s not the end of the world,” Beca repeats, speaking louder. “We don’t have to end just because we’re not living together, okay? There’s – there’s text, and calls, and Skype, and – we have options,” Beca says. “And, you know, lots of people make it work. We can too, okay, if we have to. And it won’t be forever.”

Chloe shrugs, then nods slowly. A trickle of hope moves into her chest.

“And,” Beca continues, “I still haven’t heard back from, like, a ton of jobs. I’m not gonna go to Houston if I can help it, okay?”

“Okay,” Chloe whispers, squeezing Beca’s hand.

She’s right. If anyone can do it, it’s them. It’s not ideal, but it wouldn’t be forever.

“Besides,” Beca adds a second later, her tone lighter as she nudges their shoulders together playfully, “Houston gets, like, super hot in the summer, and you know I don’t do well in the heat.”

Chloe snorts at that, and a small smile grows on Beca’s face. Chloe doesn’t say anything, but Beca’s still watching her, her expression tender.

Reaching forward to push a strand of Chloe’s hair behind her ear, Beca says, “And, um, if you’re really not sure… think on it for a bit, maybe, and we’ll go from there? I might even hear back from some places by… when do you have to tell them?”

“The 8th.”

Beca’s eyebrows lift, but then her expression arranges itself into something more neutral.

“Okay, so, the 8th,” she says, and Chloe can tell she’s forcing her casual tone. “That’s… yeah. I still think you should do it, though, because it’s what you’ve been wanting for a while.”

It sounds so simple coming from her mouth. Chloe knows Beca is just as terrified by the looming moves as she is, but she sounds so confident and assured in that moment that Chloe instantly relaxes.

“Sounds good,” she breathes, some of the tension lifting from her chest.

“Good,” Beca says, then stands from the bed, still tugging on Chloe’s hand. “And, in the meantime, would you like to dance with me?”

“What?” Chloe blinks up at her, surprised.

Beca’s grin only widens. “We need to celebrate this, and I don’t have any cake with me, so… dance?”

“You’re so weird,” Chloe says, but then she allows Beca to pull her to her feet and into a quick kiss. Beca’s lips move languidly against her own, their familiar taste reminding Chloe of crackling campfires and warm movie nights and exhilarating performances and home.

After a moment, Chloe has to pull back, slightly breathless. “Do you have music?” she asks.

Beca tilts her head, mock offended. “Duh, who do you think I am?” she asks incredulously.

Chloe smiles as Beca waggles her eyebrows overdramatically and pulls her phone from her pocket. She scrolls for a second, then taps on the screen, turns up the volume, and La Roux’s “Bulletproof” fills the room.

Chloe’s lips lift at song choice – even though at one time, it had nearly torn the Bellas apart – and Beca sets down her phone face-down on Chloe’s desk so that the music can full the room. Beca takes both of Chloe’s hands in her own, and with one more crooked grin, Beca starts dancing.

She leads them in a kind of jerky swing dance that doesn’t really match the song, but Chloe doesn’t mind; all she can think about is Beca’s hands in hers, guiding her back and forth and side to side in the middle of the bedroom.

They take turns spinning each other, Chloe’s eyes following the trails Beca’s whirling hair makes in the air. Beca backs her into her bed once, and Chloe wobbles dangerously, but Beca tugs her back with a glint in her eye that tells Chloe it might not have been an accident, but an excuse to pull their bodies closer together. As the music ends, Chloe spins Beca one final time and tugs her close to rest their foreheads together, breath mingling and hearts beating in tandem. Beca’s hands slide up her arms to loop around her shoulders, and Chloe rests her hands around Beca’s waist.

Even though the music is over, they revolve slowly on the spot, Chloe’s mind calming and heart racing. Beca nudges forward to brush her lips against Chloe’s, even that barest touch between them sending sparks cascading through Chloe’s entire body. She hums into the kiss, pressing forward just enough to add pressure before easing away again.

“Say yes to New York, Chloe.”

It’s quiet, whispered against her lips, but it still shakes Chloe’s world.

“I’ll need a roommate,” she breathes back.

“Ask the group chat.”

It’s a smart idea. Most of their futures are so up in the air that one of the Bellas is bound to be willing to move to New York with her.

(She wishes it could be Beca. More than anything, she wants it to be Beca.)

But she has to think practically.

“Okay,” Chloe agrees. “I’ll ask them.”

“Okay,” Beca smiles, then pecks Chloe’s lips again. “So… about that shopping trip?”

“You got it,” Chloe whispers, and she lifts a hand to trace her thumb along Beca’s cheekbone before she (reluctantly) pulls from Beca’s arms to text the group chat and find her purse.

#bechloe #bechloe fic #my writing #beca mitchell #chloe beale #pitch perfect fanftic #i'm nobody's but yours #chapter twenty-one #we're so close to the end!!! #also this is being posted later today than usual sorry!

[thevintageconnection]

My Favorite Vintage Music: Part I

All graphics created with Canva

Hey, guys! Before we get into some of my favorite vintage music, I want to introduce myself and this blog!

Welcome to The Vintage Connection! I’m Morgan, a college student studying Digital Media and Spanish, who loves vintage aesthetics and content. After helping my grandma at my hometown’s historical society since I was ten, as well as growing up influenced by my grandparents’ and parents’ tastes, I developed my own interests in old music, movies, fashion, and more. 

I am often known for recommending old artists like Fleetwood Mac and Sinatra over most current popular music and am ready to share some of my vintage favorites from the 1940s and on to a wider and younger audience via this blog, The Vintage Connection! The blog introduces audiences––anywhere from vintage novices to diehard vintage fans––to my favorites, and how to incorporate history and vintage aesthetics into the modern-day. 

As an advocate for equality and activism, I also analyze the relationships between my vintage favorites and similar things today. What does it teach us in the present day? How do we feel about it now? How can we access or incorporate this content into our lives today?

The Vintage Connection is all about the various ways that we are still connected to the past, and how we can ensure that connection remains strong.

If you’re a newbie to the vintage world, or you’re a huge fan, or you are older and actually lived through some of these times, welcome! There’s room for everyone here.

Alright, let’s get into some of my favorite music from each decade, beginning with the 1940s, and how these connect to today!

While I’m not well-versed in much music from the 1940s, I couldn’t leave out some of my favorite pieces of all time!

Billie Holiday - “I’ll Be Seeing You”

What an absolutely gorgeous song to begin the list. It makes me feel a certain nostalgia for a time and a love I’ve never experienced. The piano, the trumpets, her melancholy tone, and the crackle of the old recording all produce such a calming and languid sound that makes you melt into your seat.

Édith Piaf - “La Vie en Rose”

Even though I’ve never been to Paris, I have an enormous adoration for that city. It’s at the top of my travel bucket list. This song makes me feel as if I’m strolling down the cobblestone streets of Paris at night, cafés glowing around me, while the Eiffel Tower shimmers in the distance.

Frank Sinatra - “I Fall in Love Too Easily”

I have no clue how many times I’ve listened to this song. Whenever it pops up on my playlists, I’ll repeat it over and over and over again. Sometimes when I think of it, I’ll search on YouTube for the clip of him singing it in the movie Anchors Aweigh. I had to link it for you guys so you don’t live any longer without seeing this gorgeous scene. What a beautiful soul. I have a soft spot for young Sinatra, especially in this song.

Ugh. So many favorite songs and artists from this decade! 50s music is often so dreamy. 

(Be prepared to read “dreamy” a lot from now on in this post and on the rest of my blog and other social media. It’s one of my favorite words, and I love dreamy content!)

Billie Holiday - “Blue Moon”

Here Billie appears again with another song! I have a particular fondness for the moon, and this song also makes me feel like I’m daydreaming when I listen to it, so it will always be one of my favorites.

Ella Fitzgerald - “Dream a Little Dream of Me”, “I’ve Got a Crush on You”, and “These Foolish Things (Remind Me of You)”

I meant to choose just one to share, but I love Ella too much. Her music is always so dreamy and wistful. I can listen to it when I’m doing homework, just hanging out, or doing literally anything.

Paul Anka - “Put Your Head on My Shoulder”

THE EPITOME OF DREAMINESS. This song makes you reminisce of young love, even if you’ve never experienced it. My favorite version of this track is the 1959 version, which features a young Anka. He definitely maintained a beautiful voice in the years following, and still maintains it today, but there’s just something about the original version that is so endearing and calming. Just like with Sinatra, young Anka holds a special place in my heart.

The linked video above is a live performance from 1962, a few years later than the 1959 recording, but it perfectly captures just how people––not just women––were so enamored of him.

Elvis - “Love Me Tender”, “Are You Lonesome Tonight”, “Can’t Help Falling in Love”, and “Suspicious Minds”

Okay, here I ran into the same issue as I did with Ella Fitzgerald. I tried to not list too many tracks in one decade, especially several from each artist, but I couldn’t help myself with these. And of course, some of my favorites of Elvis’ are his sad songs. I have a weird obsession with sad songs, and even have a Spotify playlist full of sad music. My love for Elvis definitely comes from my dad, who loves him so much. Thanks, dad! ♥

What a beautiful time for music. I have waaaaay too many favorites from this decade, but I managed to narrow it down to a few!

The Beatles - “Here Comes the Sun”

Do I even have to explain why I love this one? This song always gives me that euphoric feeling of that first day in spring where it’s finally sunny again, you don’t need a winter coat, and the snow is mostly melted. 

The Drifters - “This Magic Moment”

As expected from the title, this track is pure magic. The swirling instrumental at the beginning before the vocals come in, and that repeats often during much of the number, reminds me of a Disney movie. This is one of those songs that I would love to twirl around to in a 1950s a-line dress until I fell over from getting too dizzy.

Frank Sinatra - “My Way”

Sinatra appears again, this time with one of his more well-known songs. If this music doesn’t make you want to get up and scream the words, I don’t know what to tell you. This track was an original power anthem.

Etta James - “At Last”

Ah, everyone’s favorite wedding song, even to this day. I love how timeless it is. Even if you’re single this song will make you feel like you’re in love. 

Ben E. King - “Stand By Me”

To end the first part of this list here is one of my absolute favorite songs of all time. I don’t know exactly what it is about this piece, but it is one of my favorites of all time. This is another one I can play on repeat nonstop for an hour. Hearing this song always puts a smile on my face, no matter how I’m feeling.

This is a section that I will feature on most, if not all, of my posts, that connects my vintage favorites to today!

I think when people look back on old songs, they tend to focus on the popular white artists of the time and forget about the minorities who often paved the way for various styles of music. I’m always looking for different music to listen to, especially by lesser-known artists and minorities, so if you have any suggestions––and not for just songs––send them my way!

When I listen to some of these songs, especially “This Magic Moment”, I always picture a 1960s dance floor filled with dancing couples. Images like these from movies and old photographs make people of younger generations wish dating, and sometimes life in general, was still like how it used to be back in the day. I do still sometimes yearn to be at a 1950s/60s dance, wearing a gorgeous a-line dress, but I try to not hop on the bandwagon of “I was born in the wrong generation”. I think most of this wish comes from the want to experience a time without modern technology, so I can kind of understand where people are coming from. I never sympathize too much, though, as society is still full of issues today, and I could do without the extra racism, sexism, homophobia, etc. of the past.

Thankfully, all of these classics are fairly easy to find online today: on YouTube, Spotify, iTunes, Apple Music, etc. 

For convenience, here’s a link to my Spotify playlist of these songs!

If you are looking for a more comprehensive list of vintage music from the 1940s to 1960s, check out this other playlist of mine, called “Darling”, that features almost 100 vintage tracks. I add to this playlist all the time!

I absolutely adore creating playlists for different moods and situations. Follow me on Spotify (it’s on my personal account for now) and check out any of my 50+ playlists!

Stay tuned for Part II of my favorite vintage music, which will continue from the 1970s to 1980s! I’ll update the Top Vintage Favs playlist when I post Part II!

Thanks for reading!

Until next time,

Morgan 💕

Social Media Links!

Twitter: @connect_vintage

Instagram: @connect_vintage

(Personal) Spotify: Morgan Krull

#vintage #music #vintagemusic #sinatra #elvis #records #ella fitzgerald #billie holiday #the beatles #ben e king #at last #etta james #paul anka #la vie en rose #1940s #1950s #1960s #spotify #playlist #thevintageconnection #put your head on my shoulder #retro

[thedarklordmegatron]

Gilgardyn Week: Day 7

Prompt: Ardyn brings Gilgamesh out into the modern-day world.

Rating: General - there are mentions of period typical homophobia fyi.

@gilgardynweek2018 - Also Available on AO3

The idea had come about as any thought of Ardyn’s often did, over a shared bottle of wine and some Lucian cheese he had managed to ‘procure’ that morning. They were sitting on the canyon’s edge, backs pressed up against the rocky outcrop behind them, watching the sunset whilst Ardyn complained about corrupt scientists and awful Emperors who presumed themselves to be gods. 

“The man truly believes that he can wield the power of the Crystal!” Ardyn said in disbelief, throwing one hand in the air, his other holding an aged, wine-filled goblet. Shaking his head he muttered something intelligible, draining the remainders of his wine.

“I would be inclined to let the man obtain the Crystal and the ring, if only to see the look upon his face when the Six refuse to grant him their power.” Gilgamesh hummed “Though perhaps that would do little to prevent his mad delusions.” His words prompted an almost manic laugh from his partner. 

Grinning Ardyn looked over at him “My dear Gilgamesh, you have not witnessed the punishment those not of royal blood receive when they try to harness the power of the Lucii.”

“Punishment?” He enquired.

“Should someone they deem ‘unworthy’ put the Ring on, they will quite literally burn.” Smirking Ardyn swung one leg up onto the ledge, leaving the other to hand precariously over the edge. “Eos knows how many ‘unworthy’ souls I have seen burn over the years. One would think that someone would have been smart enough to make the warning public, it would at least prevent multiple assassination attempts I’m sure.”

“And you cannot be that person?” 

“Of course not,” Ardyn chuckled, winking at the other man “That would ruin my fun. Besides, who am I to stop mortals from trying to better themselves?” Gilgamesh rolled his eyes, drinking the last of his wine. He had never and likely would never, understand how Ardyn’s mind worked, it was far .easier just to leave him be. 

“If you detest Aldercapt as much as you imply, then why do you remain in his service? You are resourceful, it would not take you long to establish yourself elsewhere.”  Ardyn looked at him thoughtfully as he tapped his fingers on the rim of his goblet. 

“I am not as anonymous as I would have liked to be.” He admitted “Twas not my intention to be in the public eye when I joined the Imperial ranks, I just needed access to their scientists, but of course nothing ever goes according to plan.” The sun had set over the horizon by the time they had finished talking, the only light being that coming from the natural glow of the Crag itself. “I must ask,” He continued after several minutes as he moved to close the gap between himself and Gilgamesh, lifting his arm to cuddle into his side. “In the two millennia you have been down here, have you ever once left?”

Shifting around, Gilgamesh tightened his grip on Ardyn’s shoulders. “I have not. I could not bring myself to live in a world without you. It was far easier to hide away down here and test those who came looking for me.”

“You sentimental old fool.” Ardyn said fondly, wrapping his own arm around Gilgamesh’s waist and squeezing gently. 

“Indeed.” The two fell silent for a brief moment before Ardyn spoke up once more. 

“I do believe it is time we get you reacquainted with the world beyond this canyon.” He said firmly “We still have several years before dear Noctis will be old enough to fulfil the prophecy, which gives us plenty of time to explore the luxuries this world has to offer.” 

“You have an ulterior motive” Gilgamesh responded.

“Of course I do!” Ardyn laughed “But it is a pleasant one, I promise.” 

Blinking slowly, Gilgamesh observed the outfit Ardyn had laid out before him. A pair of ‘jeans’, a strange top that looked similar to one of the knitted blankets Ardyn had brought during one of his earlier visits, and some simple black boots. It was hardly something he would have chosen for himself, but according to the other man, whom for the first time in the months he had been visiting, was dressed in something other than his usual ten layers. 

“This is ridiculous.” He sighed before reluctantly reaching out to pick up the ‘jeans’. “This is utterly absurd. How can anyone be expected to wear such...useless clothing? There is no flexibility to these and they provide no protection." Glaring at the offending clothing Gilgamesh turned them around, poking his fingers through the tears on the knee. "No. I am not wearing these."

“Darling,” Ardyn purred, sidling behind him and wrapping his arms around his waist. “You possess a lot of gifts but a taste in fashion is not among them.” Oh he was one to talk. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course I do." The red-haired man moved to stand before him, taking hold of his wrists.

"Then trust me when I say you will look most handsome in these garments. "Besides, you cannot possibly wander into Insomnia looking as though you have just walked out of a history book, it will attract for too much unwanted attention."

With a heavy sigh, and having resigned himself to his fate, Gilgamesh nudged Ardyn aside.  “I cannot dress myself when you are hanging onto me.”

“What can I say? I have a weakness for a man with muscles.” There was a small voice in the pack of Gilgamesh's head that wondered if these 'jeans' would be strong enough to strangle a man with.

Gilgamesh had of course, known that the Insomnia of the present day would be nothing like the small and relatively inconsequential city they had left behind. What he could not have predicted was quite how much it had changed. His memories of a small city filled with shacks built by the inhabitants was long gone, in it’s stead stood buildings of greater magnitude than he could have even his dreams could have conceived. 

“By the Six...” Gilgamesh muttered in awe, stopping in the middle of the bustling city to simply take it all in. The people, an eclectic mix of cultures, were nothing like those they had once served; very few interacted with one another, bar obvious friends or families, their gazes instead focused on small rectangular items in their hands. The sprawling roads, no longer formed of rough stones and dirt, cut through the lines of buildings with ease,  the vehicles that travelled upon them equally as foreign as the land they explored. 

Looking around his eyes landed upon the vast expanse of businesses, their glass windows containing a variety of bright and luxurious-looking products; something one would never have seen in their times - very few could afford to feed themselves regularly, let alone spend money on material goods. It was a city of opulence, of that he was sure.  

Beside him Ardyn stood with his hands tucked into the pockets of his obscenely bright ‘cardigan’, his hair tied back into a loose bun and a pair of what he called ‘glasses’ upon his face. 

“Magnificent is she not?” He queried “Whilst I might not have any positive feelings about those in charge, I find that one cannot feel anything but awe when faced with their creation. Am I loathed to admit it, but the Mystic’s descendants have done a splendid job.”

“I-” Gilgamesh shook his head in disbelief “It does not seem real. It is so...”

“Different?” Ardyn supplied, looking at him with a quirked eyebrow.

“No. I do no believe there is an adequate word to describe my thoughts.” He reasoned. 

“Perhaps it is something that does not need to be described through mortal words,” Ardyn began, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear “But is instead something that must be experienced in order to comprehend the full magnitude of it all.”

Chuckling Gilgamesh nodded “Of that I believe we are both in agreement.”

“There is one other thing I enjoy about these modern times.” Opening his mouth to reply, Gilgamesh was immediately silenced as Ardyn linked their arms together, intertwining their fingers. Paralysed and eyes wide with terror, the Shield looked around, waiting for someone to notice, for someone to cry out in disgust; yet nothing happened. People passed by without a word, very few even sparing them a glance. No one cared. There was no judgement, no guards rushing to arrest them. Just...nothing. 

A hand upon his face gently encouraged him to turn to Ardyn “Relax,” He said gently, a warm smile upon his face. “Crepera legalised such relationships centuries ago. We no longer have to hide in the shadows Gil.” Ardyn’s thumb gently caressed his cheek. “They cannot touch us.” He whispered before pulling Gilgamesh into a chaste kiss. Laughing giddily Gilgamesh swept him up into his arms, spinning him once prior to setting him back on his feet and pulling him into yet another kiss. 

“We are free.” He laughed against Ardyn’s lips.

“Indeed we are.” Was the joyful reply “There is one other thing I should like to introduce you to.” 

“I cannot think of anything that could top this revelation.” Gilgamesh shot back with a bright smile “But if you believe it to be worth my time, then I shall endeavour to enjoy it.”

“You shall not regret it, I promise.” Ardyn replied, freeing himself from Gilgamesh’s to take hold of his hand. Pulling gently he encouraged the man to follow him. “Now, allow me to introduce you to the life-giving gift that is a Salted Caramel Mocha.” 

#Ardyn is a low-key hipster who wear's his hair in a bun and lives on salted caramel coffees #Fight me #gilgamesh #ffxv gilgamesh #Ardyn x Gilgamesh #Gilgardyn #gilgardyn week #ardyn izunia #ardyn lucis caelum #final fantasy xv #ffxv #Vex Writes

[mistleto-3]

After All This Time

When Misaki realises one of the members of the clan he’s just joined is an old childhood friend from before he came out as a trans man, he expects things to very badly. 

Pairing: Kamamoto Rikio/(trans male!)Yata Misaki

9,207 words. Fluff, angst, smut. CW: mentions of internalised homophobia and mild transphobia. Mentions of past unrequited saru/mi, and of miko/totsu. 

For @k-rarepair-week 2018, Day 2: Alternate Universe. 

AO3 | Ko-Fi

Ah, shit.

As Tatara introduced Misaki and Saruhiko to their new clan, it finally clicked in Misaki’s head why that blond guy looked so familiar.

“I’m Kamamoto Rikio, nice to meet you.”

His best friend when he was about 7 years old had been called Kamamoto, too. Except back then he’d been chubby and meek, and now he was tall and lithe, his hair reaching down to his collar, and a welcoming smile spreading across his handsome face. Then again, Misaki had looked very different when they were kids too. He greeted the two new members with kind confidence. Misaki hadn’t seen the spark of recognition he was dreading in his eyes yet, but maybe Rikio just had a good poker face.

Still, Rikio didn’t say anything aside from that, so the brief jolt of fear that Rikio would out him to his new clan slowly subsided as the rest of the members introduced themselves.

Or at least, it subsided until Rikio approached him later on in the day. Misaki was by himself – Saruhiko had left not long before, saying his PDA battery was nearly dead so he wanted to head out to get his charger (though Misaki thought it was likely someone would have a compatible charger handy, but Saruhiko had left before Misaki had a chance to suggest he ask around). The moment Rikio sat down beside him, out of earshot of the rest of the patrons of the bar and a conspicuously short while after Misaki had been left alone, suspicion flared in Misaki’s gut.

“So… I thought you looked familiar earlier but I couldn’t quite put my finger on where I knew you from…” Rikio began, and Misaki felt himself tense, like a dog raising its hackles. “And it clicked a little while later but it seemed like something that should be discussed privately. We were friends when we were kids, weren’t we?”

“What’s it to you?” Misaki wondered in the back of his mind if maybe he shouldn’t be so snippy towards his new clan members if he was supposed to be making friends, but it had just sort of slipped out that way. The alarm he’d thought had vanished had flared up again with a vengeance, and he quickly found himself on the defensive. Panic was beginning to constrict his chest; Homra was supposed to be his new start where nobody knew, where he could just be himself without having to worry about the looks he’d get behind his back. To have it ruined so soon…

“Well, I remember you as, well, a girl, but Totsuka-san referred to you with masculine pronouns, and I just wanted to make sure…”

“Yeah, I’m a dude now, so what?” Misaki hissed. “You lost a bunch of weight but I ain’t gonna go around telling everyone you used to be fat when you were a kid, and if you know what’s best for you…”

Looking somewhat taken aback by Misaki’s aggression, Rikio interrupted: “Oh, no no, I won’t tell anyone, don’t worry. I just wanted to make sure I really had gotten the right person, and so I knew how to refer to you – you still use the same name, right?”

“Yeah, but I don’t like people calling me by my first name…” Admittedly, Misaki was a little caught off guard by how Rikio was handling this – he didn’t have much experience with people just accepting that he was transgender like it was no big deal.

“I can’t say I know much about this kind of stuff, but we were friends, so you can trust me. I won’t tell the others. Can’t say I ever really saw you as a girl anyway… you were always different to Ayumi and everyone else I knew. But like I said, I’m not super educated on all this stuff…”

“Ask away,” Misaki grumbled. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to be so accommodating; he supposed he felt bad for snapping at Rikio pre-emptively, and part of him was just… weirded out by how nice he was being. “But not about any weird stuff!”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Just Fushimi. We went to the same middle school before I was out. I don’t figure anyone else needs to.”

“And… pardon me if I phrase this wrong… how do you look so much… well, like a guy?”

“I get a shot of testosterone in my ass every few weeks.”

“Ahh, I didn’t know that was a thing people could do… I almost didn’t recognise you, it was only when Totsuka-san said your name that I realised who you were. I won’t ask you too much about the details, just… is there anything you don’t want me to say or call you, or anything you don’t want me to do…?”

“Just don’t say girly shit about me, and call me by my family name and not my first name, and obviously don’t tell anyone, otherwise it’s fine.”

Rikio nodded, seeming satisfied, and then to Misaki’s relief he changed the subject. “I always wondered what became of you after I moved away, you know. I missed you, and I’m glad you’re at Homra; it’s good to see you after all this time. We should catch up some time – I just bought a bunch of new games in the sales, do you still like playing video games?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You could come over some time and we could hang out… Maybe not exactly like old times ‘cause we’re grown up and stuff now.”

“You mean you’re thin and I’m a guy?”

Rikio chuckled. “I’m not always, you know. I just lose my appetite in the warmer months, but as soon as autumn rolls around, I put it all back on again.”

“That’s weird.”

“Says you,” Rikio poked back, but his tone was gentle and he was smiling. It was a bit like the playful but harmless banter he’d seen the other clan members exchanging all day. He seemed genuinely happy to see his old friend, and for the most part unperturbed by how different he looked now. He just spoke to him the way he spoke to everyone else.

It was then that Misaki realised that, for the first time, he was really one of the guys. And it felt good.

Maybe it was that feeling that made Misaki leave Saruhiko on the backburner, but he was just so quiet and gloomy all the time, and it was difficult to include him when he sat off in some corner of the bar on his PDA, while Misaki wanted to hang out with his new guy friends, and with Rikio. It was refreshing to reconnect with his old friend again, especially when Rikio had seemingly taken it upon himself to be as supportive as humanly possible. He had obviously done hours of research after learning that Misaki was a trans man, and started doing things like reminding Misaki to take his binder off when he’d been wearing it too long, offering to teach him how to shave his facial hair when pubescent stubble started to sprout across his jawline, and yelling at the other clansmen whenever they made jokes in poor taste, even though they were never directed a Misaki.

Misaki even eventually started to feel comfortable talking about that sort of stuff with him – asking Rikio if his voice seemed lower, going to him to celebrate the little bits of progress, like the muscle gain he’d been noticing, and the trail of wiry hairs leading down from his belly button. Rikio always greeted the announcements with enthusiasm and support. He had even offered to travel with Misaki to Thailand for top surgery out of his own pocket when Misaki could afford the procedure, and he’d gently advised Misaki to speak to Izumo about helping to fund it, but hadn’t pressed the matter when Misaki had refused.

As worried as Misaki had been when he joined Homra, Rikio’s kindness had eased his fears as he got settled in the clan and got to know everyone, and nobody gave him odd looks or snickered behind his back. He was one of the guys – nobody treated him like he was fragile, or offered to carry heavy things for him, nobody pulled their punches because they were worried he couldn’t hold his own, and it was a dream come true. It wasn’t long before Misaki started to feel like he belonged, rather than feeling like some imposter who everyone just saw as a girl. For the first time in a really long time, he was truly happy.

And then Saruhiko betrayed him.

It took Misaki a long time to finally wander out of the dark alleyway where his old friend had left him; he had stood there for ten minutes in shock after he’d walked away, so numb he could barely move, barely even think.

When his limbs finally started cooperating again, the first place he thought to go to was Rikio’s. When he arrived, his shock had given way to rage, and he was pissed, ranting and raving and pacing around the living room as he yelled about the nerve of him, how dare he disrespect Homra that way. It was only when he’d shouted himself hoarse that he finally collapsed onto the couch beside his friend, and suddenly hot tears were pricking in his eyes and there was nothing he could do to stop them spilling over. Rikio put his arm around him and pulled him in to weep against his shoulder.

Misaki didn’t know how long he cried for, but nothing he did would stop the flood of tears, stop the ragged breaths tearing up his throat. Every sob mortified him a little more.

“Y-you better not tell anyone about this,” he warned weakly, when he’d finally cried himself out, his voice still thick with tears.

“Your secrets are safe with me,” Rikio reassured. “But being upset doesn’t make you any less of a man, you know. Men are allowed to feel emotions too, you’re allowed to be sad and cry, especially in a situation like this. Don’t bottle it up. If you need to cry, cry – even through tears, you could still beat up anyone who dared to make fun of you.”

Misaki felt a little better after that.

Slowly, he started to heal, but feeling better only came with a lot of help from Rikio. Misaki spent a lot of nights at his friend’s place in those first few weeks, ranting or drinking or crying or distracting himself, doing whatever he could think of to try and take the edge off as Rikio listened without complaint. And when Misaki had shown up on his doorstep one day, teary-eyed with a sharps container and a vial, mumbling about how Saruhiko had always given him his T shots before and Misaki was no good at it, Rikio agreed without hesitation to take over the duty.

Eventually, all the yelling and crying and not thinking about it kind of worked. Missing his friend didn’t hurt all the time anymore, and the keen pang of the knowledge that he was gone, which sometimes had hurt so much that Saruhiko might as well have burned off Misaki’s insignia as well as his own, slowly faded into an intermittent ache. Eventually, it subsided to the point that sometimes, it didn’t bother him at all, like a broken bone that had healed up, but when you moved just so the scarring would twinge, reminding him impatiently not to forget about the pain all together. Some days it hurt worse than others. Some days it really stung to remember that the first person who had known about him and supported him for who he was, the person who he’d thought would be by his side forever, was gone now.

But no matter what, Rikio was always there for him, even on the worst days. And Misaki was sure he wouldn’t have healed as fast if it wasn’t for him.

And then all of a sudden Rikio started acting… weird. It was a few months after Saruhiko had left when his personality seemed to morph completely in the space of a few days. He became oddly quiet, he didn’t ask Misaki to hang out so much anymore, he seemed distracted, almost nervous, and whilst he was unfailingly there for Misaki when the rage or the sadness bubbled back to the surface, the rest of the time he seemed weirdly distant. Like he was uncomfortable or something. Misaki immediately jumped to the worst conclusions – maybe he was embarrassed by Misaki getting upset, or he was uncomfortable or didn’t want to help him anymore, maybe he was weirded out by giving Misaki his T shots, weirded out by Misaki being trans in general, maybe now he’d had some time to think about it he wasn’t cool with it after all, maybe he still saw Misaki as a girl and was uncomfortable around him because of it, maybe, maybe, maybe…

It was a while before Misaki snapped – as much as the worries about why his friend was acting like this chased each other around in his head, equally, he was almost embarrassed to say something about it. After a couple of weeks or so, he reluctantly came to the conclusion that he was scared of losing Rikio too, of him leaving just like Saruhiko had left, and confronting him would make all of this real. It might even be the last straw in making Rikio abandon him too.

Since Misaki joined Homra, Rikio had slowly become his best friend, the person he trusted the most, the person he always thought of first to talk to about stuff, and now he was withdrawing and Misaki was terrified to admit he was terrified. Confronting Rikio about his weird behaviour would mean acknowledging he really was pulling away, and Misaki was growing more and more petrified of losing him, because he was coming to the uncomfortable conclusion that he cared about Rikio more than anyone else in the world. Rikio was like his safe place, his comrade in arms, the person who always had his back no matter what. It was sort of scary to care about him this much, after the last person who he’d gotten this close to had abandoned him…

Was he as close as he’d been to Saruhiko?

That was kind of an alarming thought.

Because, if Misaki was completely honest with himself, he had sort of had a crush on his old best friend. And by ‘sort of’ he meant he was almost definitely in love with him, which was why it had broken him so much when he left.

Of course, Misaki was never honest with himself, partly because he had this idea in his head that being in love with a man was a girly thing, and that being gay meant being effeminate and having a lisp and all of these things that made Misaki really uncomfortable. Manly guys went out and picked up hot girls, right? (Not that Misaki could do that seeing as women mildly terrified him – he had never been good at relating to them before he came out, and the other girls had always picked on him for being tomboyish, and now he just felt awkward around them because he knew he was supposed to think they were hot, but the feelings just wouldn’t come no matter how hard he willed them to.) Besides, guys also didn’t talk about their feelings with their guy friends, so he resolved not to talk to Rikio about how he felt about his behaviour, no matter how much it stung.

But as stubbornly as he pretended not to feel the feelings, no amount of pretending they didn’t exist would stop them gnawing at him, and as summer rolled around, he found himself sitting grumpily by himself in the corner of the bar as pretty girl after pretty girl flirted with Rikio, and Misaki found himself resenting every flutter of their eyelashes and every flirty giggle. He practically exuded irritability as he seethed quietly by himself, the aura of malice warning away anyone who might have dared come near.

When Rikio finally seemed to notice his sour mood, he disentangled himself from the girls keeping him company and came over to sit beside his friend, Misaki was almost taken aback that he even bothered.

“You alright?” Rikio asked softly, and something about his caring tone made Misaki bristle.

“Yeah,” Misaki grumbled unconvincingly.

“What’s bothering you?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Is it about Fushimi?”

“No,” Misaki hissed.

“Would you feel better if we got out of here?”

“I wouldn’t wanna pull you away from your friends over there.” He couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm out of his tone.

“I’m not really interested, Kusanagi-san just likes me to chat the female patrons up a bit, then they buy more drinks.”

Misaki clicked his tongue.

“There’s no harm in it.”

There was a moment of quiet.

“Are you jealous…?” Rikio hazarded.

Misaki panicked for a moment before realising that Rikio was probably asking if Misaki was jealous that Rikio was getting all this attention and he wasn’t, and not if Misaki was jealous over Rikio being flirted with.

“N-no!”

“Because you’re a handsome guy, you’re just a little more intimidating, it isn’t that girls don’t like you, they’re just a little nervous talking to you.”

“I don’t care if girls don’t wanna talk to me.” The words escaped before Misaki intended them to, but thankfully Rikio didn’t look too far into it.

“Shall we go back to mine and play video games or something? It’s kinda stuffy in here anyway,” Rikio asked again, seemingly ignoring the implications of what Misaki had just said.

“…Fine,” he conceded, giving in to his sudden desire for Rikio to be as far away from the flirtatious patrons as possible. But for the rest of the way back to Rikio’s, Misaki was deathly silent, almost suspicious of his friend’s kindness, and Rikio made no further attempt to pester him for an explanation.

Indeed, they barely spoke at all the rest of the afternoon, besides Rikio offering him a drink and asking if there was a game he preferred to play, and the silence grew more and more unbearable until Misaki finally tossed his controller down onto the couch in frustration.

“Yata-san, are you okay? You’ve been acting weird all day…”

“Well you’ve been acting weird for weeks!” Misaki countered hotly. He hadn’t meant to bring it up, not in that moment, or indeed ever, but the words bubbled up in his throat like bile before he could swallow them back. “What is it that’s bugging you? Why are you avoiding me? Do you think I’m pathetic for being hung up over that asshole, do you think I’m weak for being upset? Do you want me to just get the fuck over it already? Or did you finally figure out you’re weird about me being trans after all, and you just didn’t know how to say it?! Why are you treading on eggshells around me?!”

Rikio simply looked shocked by the outburst and he said softly: “No… It’s nothing like any of that…”

“Then what is it?!”

“I’m just… nervous…” the quiet sadness in Rikio’s voice almost made Misaki feel bad – he’d never seen Rikio subdued like this before, but his vision was still tinted a little too crimson for the guilt to break through.

“About what?” he snapped.

Rikio seemed hesitant for a second, and in that moment, dozens of awful possibilities of what he might say thundered into Misaki’s consciousness all at once.

Rikio inhaled deeply, then released it in a shaky exhale before finally saying: “Since Fushimi left, we’ve been spending so much time together, and at first I didn’t really realise what it was… When we were kids, I sort of had this puppy crush on you, but obviously nothing ever came of it because I was too shy to say anything… We were kids anyway, it’s not like anything could have happened… Anyway, being with you all the time I sort of felt like that again, except it was stronger, a lot stronger. I didn’t even know I was really into guys that much but it’s kind of… I don’t know, I’ve had crushes and girlfriends before but this felt… different. More intense. And I had a lot of figuring stuff out to do – like I said, being into a guy was kind of a shock, and I needed some time to think over it all, but I didn’t want to leave you alone if you were still having a rough time of it so I just didn’t say anything…” His pauses between phrases were lengthy and uncertain, as though he was having difficulty stringing the words together and directing them out of his mouth, and he didn’t make eye contact as he spoke. “S-so yeah… now you know…”

Misaki stared at his friend, dumbfounded. Even if he had the slightest idea what to say, he couldn’t have mustered the ability to form coherent speech if he tried. His anger had evaporated, leaving behind nothing but astonishment. Of all the things Misaki had worried his friend was going to say, he hadn’t even considered this.

At his friend’s silence, Rikio seemed to wilt, taking it as a bad sign. “S-sorry…” he began.

At the expression on Rikio’s face and the kicked puppy look about him, Misaki’s ability to speak rematerialized all at once, and he interrupted: “N-no! Don’t be…” He paused. “Sorry for being a dick.”

“You had a right to be upset with me, I shouldn’t have let it affect my behaviour.”

“I get it…”

“I don’t even know if you’re into guys…”

“N-...” Misaki opened his mouth to deny it, but even the first sound rang false, as much as he didn’t want to believe it. “…I dunno. Aren’t most gay guys like… really into Lady Gaga and girly shit and they talk like this,” Misaki said, putting on an exaggerated impression of the stereotypical gay lisp.

“Not necessarily. There are some men like that, but you don’t have to be like that to be gay, or to be interested in men at all. And you don’t have to be gay to be into guys, you could be bisexual or pansexual or something like that.”

Misaki pursed his lips. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t remember ever having a crush on a girl. Even when he was figuring out his gender and toyed with the idea that his disconnect with his own identity might be because he was a lesbian, even then he had never really been attracted to girls. But still…

“I’m into guys, apparently, and I’m not effeminate…”

“Are you sure, though?”

“Yata-san, since you first joined Homra I haven’t seen you as anything but a guy, okay? Besides, I’m not the only guy in Homra who’s into men and isn’t all those stereotypical things you mentioned - so is Mikoto-san,” Rikio pointed out.

“Mikoto-san is gay?!” Now that was a revelation.

“I don’t know if he’s gay or something else, but he does like guys. You didn’t know that? Have you not seen the way he looks at Totsuka-san?”

Misaki looked at him blankly.

“I guess you aren’t all that experienced with that stuff, so you might not have noticed...”

“J-just looking at a guy doesn’t make someone gay…” Misaki grumbled.

“I’ve walked in on them making out more than once.”

“…Okay yeah I guess that does.”

“If you are into guys, you don’t have to change anything about yourself, you can still just be you how you are now. There are lots of masculine gay men. And liking men doesn’t make you just a straight girl masquerading as a guy or fetishizing gay men or anything, I know there are people that say that but they’re talking out of their asses.”

Misaki nodded slowly, chewing over what Rikio had said.

“Obviously, there’s no pressure to give an answer on what I’ve said right away, or to say yes… If you’re still figuring yourself out it’s okay not to want a relationship or anything,” Rikio said quietly. There was an air of nervousness about him.

Misaki let out a long sigh, looking at his friend. Knowing that Mikoto had a boyfriend but was still strong and cool and didn’t do girly stuff had completely altered his perspective. Whenever his crushes on Saruhiko and then Rikio had flared past the point of idle fantasy and wandered into the territory of actively daydreaming about what it’d be like to be with them, it had always sort of stoked his dysphoria. He supposed it had something to do with the idea that he hated the idea of being the “girl” in any relationship, or needing to be effeminate in order to be with a man. If that wasn’t the case…

Now, when he let himself imagine kissing his friend or holding his hand, the twinge of discomfort kept quiet.

After a long moment, Misaki finally piped up quietly: “D-do you wanna go for coffee together…?”

Rikio blinked in surprise. “Like a date?”

“Y-yeah…”

A small, genuine smile crossed Rikio’s lips. “I’d like that.”

They met the next day (after Misaki had spent far longer than he intended fretting over what to wear) outside a café not far from Homra, big enough that they’d have some privacy beneath the chatter of the other patrons, but still cosy. Rikio ordered some fruity iced coffee frappé thing that Misaki didn’t understand the appeal of, and Misaki just got an ice tea. They sat together in a booth near the back of the shop as Misaki teased Rikio gently about his weird girly drink.

“It’s good, I promise. Here, you shouldn’t knock it until you try it,” Rikio said, pushing the cup across the table for Misaki to take a sip.

“Fine, fine,” Misaki said, lifting the cup to his mouth, but it was only when he wrapped his lips around the straw that Rikio had just been drinking from that he realised this counted as an indirect kiss. A blush blossomed across his cheeks and he took the quickest sip he could before setting the drink back down.

“You did that on purpose, d-didn’t you?”

Rikio tilted his head. “Did what?”

“The indirect kiss!”

“O-oh… I didn’t even think of that…” Rikio confessed, a faint blush colouring his cheeks.

Misaki clicked his tongue bashfully, and he noticed Rikio smiling. “What?”

“Just think it’s… I dunno, I like it when you do that tongue click thing. It’s kind of cute.”

“S-shut up…” Misaki had always hated being called cute when he was younger, but when Rikio said it it was oddly flattering. Mostly mortifying, though.

“Anyway, what do you think of the drink?” Rikio asked, still smiling.

“It’s… not as bad as I thought, I guess,” he confessed.

Rikio smiled. "You shouldn't knock things until you try them."

Misaki rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine, the girly drink is okay."

After that, they changed the subject, mostly chatting about idle stuff as they sipped their drinks. Misaki found himself unreasonably anxious the entire time, even though he'd gotten a drink with his friend countless times before and chattered away with him exactly like this, putting the label of "date" on it suddenly made him very self-aware, and very aware of Rikio, every time he tucked his hair behind his ear, his every little smile, the way the glimpse of his collarbone above the neckline of his tank top made Misaki's heartbeat flutter... He tried to put it out of his mind, but he couldn't quite stop himself from staring, and he knew Rikio had noticed by the way he was blushing and shifting under his gaze.

The topic of conversation drifted after a little while onto Misaki's irritability yesterday, as Rikio tried to make sure he had really been okay, and Misaki was forced to admit (in a grumble) that Rikio had been more correct than Misaki had let on in his assessment that Misaki was jealous. Just wrong about what he'd been jealous over.

"It really bothers you that they act like that?" Rikio still didn’t seem to have caught on.

"W-well yeah, I hate how girls fawn over you in the summer and then pretend you don't even exist in the winter as if you're any less attractive." It was the truth, but it wasn't the entirety of the reason.

"I am though..."

"H-hey! You're still hot in the winter, alright?! Anyone who says you aren't just 'cause you put on a few extra pounds doesn't deserve to be able to ogle at you in the summer!" Misaki hadn't intended to be quite so vehement about it.

"You really think so?"

"I know so," he replied sternly.

A small, genuine smile flickered across Rikio's lips that made Misaki's chest feel funny, and suddenly he felt obligated to admit the truth - Rikio had been honest about how he felt for Misaki yesterday, but Misaki hadn't actually said he felt the same in so many words yet, and he wanted his friend to know that he cared about him, that he didn't have to feel self-conscious because Misaki felt that way all the time... for longer than he'd really admitted to himself, in fact.

"M-most of the reason I was jealous was because... I-I didn't want you to be flirting with anyone else...!" The confession had taken physical effort to force past his lips.

"Are you saying...?"

"I-I like you, idiot. And it pissed me off that they were all goo-goo eyes over you."

Their hands were resting on the table, and Rikio moved his own ever so slightly so that his fingertips were loosely tangled with Misaki's. "I’m glad…”

"S-so... what, are we like b-boyfriends now or something?"

"If you want to be." A glimmer of hopefulness that made Misaki's heart feel like it was melting crossed Rikio's face.

Misaki couldn't quite summon the strength to say the word yes - his head was spinning too quickly with the shock of all this, of his first real relationship, of admitting he cared about his best friend and his best friend cared about him the same way, so he just nodded, and Rikio's grasp on his hand tightened as a look of joy crossed his face.

"I want that too."

Despite how anxious and how embarrassed Misaki was to be in this position, where everything was so foreign to him and he had no practice or experience to guide him, he found himself smiling. Yeah, he didn't really know what he was doing, or how relationships worked or what one was supposed to do when they were dating someone of their own gender and how to navigate coming to terms with his sexuality or how his gender identity would fit within all this, but he found himself excited to figure it out along the way if he could have Rikio by his side.

By then, their drinks were empty, and the pair made a move to leave, though as they wandered out of the café, Misaki found Rikio once again twining their fingers, and when he looked up at his friend - boyfriend in surprise, Rikio merely smiled, and moved to loosen the grip in case Misaki was uncomfortable, but Misaki squeezed his hand tighter. Holding his hand felt good; his fingers were warm and soft and seemed to fit perfectly between Misaki's own, and Misaki found he enjoyed the sensation more than he ever expected to. The realisation that they were together, that he could do this whenever he wanted, took caught Misaki off guard. It had all happened in such an understated way that he could barely even process that it was real. Suddenly his head was filled with a whirlpool of fantasies that he hadn't dared think about before - what it would be like to cuddle with him, not just a friendly hug or an embrace when one of them was upset, but proper romantic cuddling, and then there was kissing, which Misaki couldn't even think about without turning red.

"I d-don't wanna go home yet," Misaki blurted out suddenly.

"Me neither. Where do you want to go?"

"Anywhere…"

Rikio gave this little affectionate smile, obviously able to tell Misaki was a little overwhelmed, so he took the lead and guided Misaki to a park not far away, where the two of them took a seat on a bench in the shade of a tree.

They were quiet for a moment, and then Rikio spoke up tentatively. "I don't wanna make this a focal point of our relationship or anything, but I want to ask now, just so I don't mess up or hurt you or make you uncomfortable... Is there anything... like, are there any ground rules you wanna set in regards to you being trans? Anything you want me to do or don't want me to do?"

"Not that you aren't already doing. Just... don't treat me different than you would any other guy, and don't talk about me the way you'd talk about a girl; don't call me pretty or anything like that. And don't like... look at my chest when I don't have my binder on. O-obviously if we're spending a lot of time together I won't be able to wear it all the time..."

"That's fine. I can do that. If I do anything that you don't like, don't be afraid to let me know."

"Okay, thanks."

Rikio gave him that comforting smile again, then slid his arm gently around his shoulders. There was an air of shyness about the way he moved that somehow made Misaki feel better - at least he wasn't the only one who was embarrassed about all this. Rikio had more experience than him, though, and he found himself incredibly self-conscious as he worried for far too long over where he should put his hand, before finally settling on wrapping it around Rikio's waist.

"You know... there's something people generally do on dates that we haven't done yet..."

"Like what?"

"Kiss..."

Misaki spluttered in surprise. As much as it was an obvious first step, and he had at least considered it as a possibility, he wasn't emotionally prepared in the slightest, and the mention of the word made his heartbeat stutter.

"We don't have to..." Rikio reassured immediately,

"N-no... I just... n-never kissed anyone before..." Misaki admitted.

"Really?"

"W-why the tone of surprise?!" Misaki found himself more defensive than he'd intended.

"Well, you're a nice guy, and you're handsome, I thought somebody would have by now..."

"I was never interested in dating, I guess, too much other shit going on, and then by the time I had that stuff sorted I didn't really have any friends or anything."

Rikio nodded. "That makes sense."

"I-I'm kind of glad you'll be my first though..."

Rikio met his eyes with a genuine warmth in his smile that made that funny feeling in Misaki's chest resurge with a vengeance, and without him really even noticing, he found that the two of them were leaning in towards one another; it caught him by surprise when he felt the whisper of Rikio's breath on his lips. There was a drawn out pause, and then the space between them seemed to close without either of them really deciding to make it so. Rikio's lips were softer than Misaki expected, warm, gentle as they moved against Misaki's. His whole body tingled at the sensation, like static on a television, and he lost himself in the shock that he was really kissing his best friend. There was none of the stereotypical fireworks or a sense that everything was suddenly okay with the world or a feeling that he was seeing in colour for the first time, but in a way Misaki hadn't really expected that; it sounded like romance novel crap. In a way, this was better. The warm surrealness of the contact, the care in the way Rikio's lips guided Misaki's own, the way Rikio's grip on Misaki's shirt was just a little too tight, as though he was trying to make sure this was really happening... it felt good, safe. As much as Misaki's heartbeat was thundering in his ears from anxiety and how new and dreamlike this all seemed, Rikio made him feel grounded.

When they finally broke apart, Misaki's cheeks were flushed, but he could feel himself grinning.

"I could get used to that," Rikio concluded, and Misaki nodded in eager agreement.

When they eventually, after many more tentative kisses and a very drawn out goodbye (and the insistence from Rikio that Misaki text him when he got back home safe), parted ways and headed back home, Misaki couldn't stop smiling the whole way.

And then the flash of familiar royal blue fabric showed up to ruin a perfect day. He saw it rounding the corner as he headed down a shortcut through an alleyway, and froze in his tracks as his ex-friend came into view.

"What the fuck are you doing in this part of town, monkey?!"

"Clan business. I wouldn't expect you to understand, just don't get in my way."

"Are you calling me stupid?!" Misaki fumed.

"Mi-sa-ki, if I was going to insult you, I would be more overt about it so I could be sure you'd get the hint."

"Get the fuck out of here before I beat your ass to a pulp. And I told you not to use that name!"

"I'd like to see you try, Mi~Sa~Ki~! What's got you so happy today, anyway? Having fun being Mikoto's pet?"

"None of your fucking business."

"Finally gotten yourself a girlfriend?"

"What if I have?!" Misaki spat.

"Please, you're a terrible liar." Saruhiko stood with his arms folded in Misaki's path, drumming his fingers against his elbow with a sly grin.

"I am dating someone, asshole. What, you think nobody would want me? You should take a look in the mirror!" A part of Misaki felt a twinge of guilt using his relationship as ammunition, but the red mist had descended over him once more, and he felt himself coiling up to strike, tensing as his aura sparked around his hands. Bloodlust rose in his throat.

Saruhiko clicked his tongue. "I didn't want to waste my time on you, Mi~Sa~Ki, but you haven't left me much choice," he hissed, reaching for the hilt of his sword and drawing it with a flourish. "Fushimi, ready for emergency battle."

"Fuck your excuses!" Misaki's aura burned in earnest around his palms now, and he leaped forward to swipe at his old friend, his attacks fierce and brutal. If anything, what pissed him off the most was that Saruhiko had dared to show up to ruin this day, after they hadn't even spoken in months. It wasn't fair; just when he was finally really happy, that this happened.

The battle was intense and fiery, their auras clashing with brilliant flashes as they dodged through the narrow alleyway, attempting to avoid one another's attacks. More than once, both of them came very near to inflicting serious wounds, but Misaki was too hyped up on the adrenaline to feel the ache of the bruises.

It was only the sound of a shout echoing from the other end of the passage that drew their attention away from one another long enough for them to break apart.

"Yata-san?!"

Saruhiko clicked his tongue in irritation as Misaki whirled around to see his boyfriend, looking concerned.

"Stay out of this," Saruhiko spat.

"You're the one in Red Clan territory. If this gets escalated, it's you who'll get the short end of the stick. You should get out of here before Awashima-san or someone hears about this."

Saruhiko paused for a moment, narrowing his eyes and examining the proximity between the two Red clansmen, the way Rikio lay his hand protectively on Misaki's shoulder.

"...Oh my god, is it really Kamamoto that you're dating?" Saruhiko burst into peals of mocking laughter.

"Shut the fuck up, Monkey, just because nobody wants you," Misaki bristled, and Rikio tightened his grip on him to stop him leaping forward and attacking him again.

"You should get out of here," Rikio warned again.

Still in fits of hysterical cackling, Saruhiko turned on his heel and headed back the way he came.

"What the fuck is his problem?" Misaki muttered.

"Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine. How'd you find me?"

"You hadn't let me know you were home safe and you weren't replying... I panicked, I know I shouldn't, I just worry about you, and now I have a duty to take care of you."

"I don't need protecting."

"I know you don’t, but I also know how you get around Fushimi, if someone doesn't break you apart, you won't stop fighting until one of you has done the other serious damage. I don't want you to get hurt, or to have to live with hurting someone you once cared about that badly."

"Fine, fine..."

Rikio kissed Misaki on the forehead, then the pair of them started walking back to Misaki's place together.

"It's okay to be pissed at him," Rikio murmured.

"I'm fucking beyond pissed. How dare he make fun of you? His beef is with me and he doesn't have the right to drag you into it."

"I think maybe he's just jealous."

"What the hell of?"

"He seemed upset about 'losing' you to Homra, and I guess you dating someone in Homra is the ultimate symbol of that."

"Still doesn't give him the right."

"No, you're right, it doesn't."

"It gives me the fucking creeps the way he says my name as well. He has a lot of fucking nerve, and one day it's going to come back and bite him in the ass."

When they  arrived at Misaki's apartment, Rikio set about making both of them a cup of tea in the hopes it might calm Misaki down a little, and the two of them sat down together to watch a movie. As they relaxed together on the couch, sitting much closer together than they normally would have dared to, Misaki’s fury slowly began to subside, and he allowed himself to sink into Rikio's embrace as the frustration faded. Rikio wrapped his arm around his shoulder just like earlier, and Misaki relaxed into the touch, letting his irritation out in a long, slow sigh. The gentle affection calmed him much faster than usual.

By the time the movie had gotten into the meat of the action, Misaki felt noticeably better, and he secretly attributed a fair amount of it to Rikio's patient affection. Normally, it took him much longer to simmer down after he was pissed off.

Once the last of his irritation had dwindled, Misaki finally got to process that he, once again, was in a much more intimate, much more romantic position with Rikio than he had ever really been in before, and his rage was quickly replaced by the same bashfulness as earlier. As the movie progressed, they ended up snuggling in closer to one another, almost unconsciously, but at the same time Misaki was incredibly aware of every inch that closed between them, every stroke of Rikio's fingers running through his hair absentmindedly. If anything, this felt better than the kissing - the closeness and the contentment, the almost calming effect that Rikio's gentle attention had, were all wonderfully new and electrifying. Misaki hoped he never got used to this.

Rikio, meanwhile, was distracted. He did his best not to show it, and he didn't think Misaki had caught on, and don't get him wrong, he was relishing in the casual intimacy he'd craved and dreamed of for he didn't know how long, but he was... disquieted by the interaction he'd seen between Misaki and Saruhiko earlier. Saruhiko had really gotten under Misaki's skin, and yes Misaki had said some things that were below the belt too, but there was something about the look in Misaki's eyes when Saruhiko had drawled his given name, something like a spark of pain.

Technically it wasn't Misaki's dead name - he had kept his birth name despite its feminine connotations, but it was no secret that it being used without his permission bugged him. Not that most people knew why, but Rikio would have been very surprised if Saruhiko didn't at least have an inkling about the reason. In which case, Rikio didn't know how he could in good conscience continue to use it as ammunition. He knew Saruhiko still cared about Misaki, maybe more than he'd care to admit - if he didn't, he wouldn't go to the trouble of pissing him off so much.

Without really meaning to, Rikio found himself resolving to confront Saruhiko at the nearest opportunity about his use of Misaki's name. He had no idea how it would go and whether it would be effective, but he had to at least try, for his partner's sake.

For now though, he was more than content to enjoy being settled in with the person he cared about, only half-able to concentrate on the movie playing because he was so absorbed in savouring the affection.

The next day, Rikio found himself outside the imposing gates of Sceptre 4's headquarters, sweating slightly as he rehearsed what he'd planned to say in his head. He didn't intend to tell Misaki about this little visit, per se - he knew dishonesty was a bad start to their relationship, but he knew Misaki would just resist and pretend it didn't bother him, but it wasn't like Misaki was going to have this conversation with Saruhiko himself, so something had to be done.

Rikio took a deep breath to steady himself as he rang the bell on the intercom.

"State your business."

"I'm Kamamoto Rikio of the Third and Red Clan, Homra. I've come to see Fushimi Saruhiko."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No."

There was a pause, and then: "Someone will be with you shortly."

The intercom went dead, and another long moment passed. Rikio tapped his foot, trying not to overthink what he was about to do. It was too late to turn back now. Eventually, he spotted someone crossing the courtyard - a red-haired figure in the traditional Sceptre 4 uniform. As he approached, the gate swung open, and the Blue Clansman offered a polite smile. "Kamamoto, right?"

"That's right."

"Come on through. I'm Domyoji Andy," he said with a bow. "It feels weird to meet a Red clansman and not be fighting with them."

Rikio returned the smile. "I know what you mean."

"I'll take you up to Fushimi-san's office - may I ask what business this is on? Normally our number twos coordinate stuff between clans if there's anything that needs doing..."

"It's... a personal matter, I guess."

"Ah, that's fine. I didn't think you and Fushimi were exactly friends, though? Especially not seeing as you and Yatagarasu are so close."

"No, not really... I don't think he's particularly friends with anyone in Homra."

"Yeah, none of us really know what the whole deal is with that. He doesn't talk much about it."

"Not much of a change from when he was in Homra then." Rikio couldn't help but be a little intimidated as he was led through the towering double doors into the ornate foyer of Tsubaki-Mon, across the marble tiled floor and up the stairs. Everything was gold leaf and elegant colonial architecture, it felt a world away from the homely cosiness of Bar Homra. Thankfully, Andy seemed fairly friendly, so it could have been much worse.

When they arrived at the door of the office Saruhiko was working in, Rikio took another steadying breath as Andy knocked and announced his arrival.

The "come in," that issued from behind the mahogany door couldn't have sounded any less enthusiastic if Andy had announced that someone with a highly contagious illness was popping by for a visit.

"Good luck," Andy whispered with a sympathetic smile as he opened the door for Rikio and took his leave. Rikio grimaced in return.

The office was dim as Rikio entered - the blind was still half-drawn, and Saruhiko's face was lit with an eerie blue glow by the screen of his laptop.

"What." The single blunt syllable dripped with as much disinterested animosity as Rikio thought any one person could imbue into such a short utterance.

"I came to talk to you about Yata."

"You wasted your time."

"Look, you can bullshit me all you like, but I know you care about him. He was your closest friend for a long time, and even if you hate him and hate me, there are some lines you just... shouldn't cross, because it makes you kind of a dick, even if you have a valid reason for disliking him."

"What are you talking about?" Saruhiko hissed.

"You know his first name bothers him, and if you don't know why, then you're an idiot. I know you've known him long enough to know he's trans, and I know I'm probably overstepping and being that dumb cis guy, but I don't think it's right, as much as you hate him, for you to knowingly trigger his dysphoria just to get under his skin. I think you're getting into the territory of being transphobic there, and I know that isn't you, so you should cut it out."

Saruhiko was quiet for a moment, like a stubborn child scolded.

"I'm not asking you not to hate him or not to fight with him or not to hate me for being his boyfriend and having the audacity to come here and confront you, just... there's a line, okay?"

"Whatever." As much as Saruhiko tried to play it off as though he didn't care, Rikio could tell by the flicker of what could have been shame on his lips that he got the message.

"Thank you. I'll leave you to your work."

Saruhiko merely clicked his tongue as Rikio left the room, satisfied that his old clanmate had listened to reason.

When Rikio arrived back at the bar from Sceptre 4, he immediately took a seat beside Misaki, who was chatting with Tatara – Tatara was talking animatedly as he held his new camera, and as Rikio sat down, his face lit up.

“Can I have a picture of you two together? I’m trying to take photos of everyone.”

A flicker of alarm crossed Misaki’s expression until he realised Tatara was talking about the two of them as friends, rather than as a couple, and he nodded his assent. Tatara bounced to his feet and took a couple of photos, handing one of the polaroid printouts to the pair of them before heading over to Shouhei and Saburouta to continue his quest of taking pictures of everyone.

“You alright?” Rikio asked.

“Yeah… For a second there I thought he knew about us or something…”

“Well, do you want people to know?”

Misaki looked thoughtful. “I mean, if the monkey has figured it out then it’s not exactly a secret anymore… not like he has any friends to gossip about it with or anything…”

“We don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t want to.”

“No, I think I want to… Fuck anyone who has anything bad to say about it. I don’t think anyone at Homra would have an issue with us both being guys… Besides, maybe if those girls who always flirt with you know you’re taken then maybe they’ll lay off.” There was a bitterness in Misaki’s tone as he tried his hardest not to say anything disrespectful, and Rikio smiled, finding his jealousy endearing.

“I want people to know too. I’m proud that you’re mine.”

“Jeez, don’t say embarrassing stuff like that…” Misaki’s face flushed red at the cheesiness of Rikio’s sentiment, but he was smiling ever so slightly.

“Besides, I don’t want to have to not be affectionate with you at the bar. Obviously if you aren’t comfortable being public about that kind of stuff that’s fine, but if I wanted to hold your hand or something..”

“T-that’s fine with me.”

Rikio grinned again, and wordlessly, he lay his hand on top of Misaki’s.

A moment later, Tatara flitted back over to the pair of them. “Can I see how that picture came out?”

Misaki handed him the photo to look at.

“You really like your new camera, huh?” Rikio said.

“It’s nice to be able to have a record of all the memories we make here,” Tatara replied cheerfully, handing the photo back, but before he could turn to leave again, Misaki called out:

“W-wait.”

“Hmm?”

“We, uh, wanted to tell you…” was as far as Misaki got before the embarrassment of talking about this kind of thing stopped up his throat, and he couldn’t force any more words out. He looked at Rikio meekly for assistance.

“Yata-san and I are a couple. We got together yesterday.”

Tatara beamed. “That’s so wonderful! I’m so happy for you! You two were childhood friends too, weren’t you? That’s such a sweet story, I’m glad Homra could bring you two together again after all this time. You make a cute couple.” He seemed so overjoyed by the revelation that he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. “You know, I had an inkling you two had something going on between you… Sorry, I’m making a fuss, aren’t I?” He said sheepishly, noticing the way Misaki had turned bright red. “Well, congratulations!”  

“Thank you,” Rikio said.

“Y-yeah, thanks,” Misaki mumbled bashfully as Tatara flashed them another smile before heading off. He turned the photograph Tatara had given them in his fingers, then looked up at Rikio, letting out a bashful sigh. As jittery as he’d felt, it was a relief to start getting out in the open. It made it feel more… real. The last few days had passed in a blur, and Misaki found himself pinching his arm more than once just to make sure he hadn’t imagined the whole thing. Not that he’d really dared to fantasise about this sort of thing before. The two of them actually being an item had never really occurred to him as a possibility; he never expected Rikio to feel the same way, and there was no way Misaki could have confessed to him first.

Rikio shifted his hand to interlock his fingers with Misaki’s, and Misaki found himself smiling against his will. Around the bar, a few people had noticed the gesture of affection and were giving them curious looks, whispering, but to Misaki’s surprise, he didn’t care. As surreal as it all seemed, and as much as he really hadn’t gotten used to the idea that this guy, this amazing guy who had never judged him and who cared about him no matter what, was his, he was glad things had played out this way. When he’d joined Homra, he’d gotten a feeling in his gut that he’d found the place he belonged, and the people he belonged with. He only wished he’d realised sooner how right he’d been.  

#krarepairweek2018 #yatamoto #yata misaki #kamamoto rikio #k project #k fanfic