#I’ve always had gay coworkers. and like a lot of them. shout out to the first girl to ever flirt with me <3.

[theboost]

The other day I was at work and I had this table of all old women dressed to the nines and there was one in this little zebra print number with some sort of feathered something it was truly a wonder to behold and my (heterosexual) (presumably not terminally online) coworker goes “what is she wearing” and without really thinking I go “it’s called cunt and she’s serving it.” You can’t imagine the look I got

#JUST REALIZED MY PROBLEM WITH THIS JOB BTW. NONE OF MY COWORKERS ARE GAY THAT I KNOW OF #I’ve always had gay coworkers. and like a lot of them. shout out to the first girl to ever flirt with me <3. #there’s probably someone who’s gay but listen I have. the worst gaydar.

[nightlilly0110]

Give me your headcanons on Fair Game-

Also what's your plans so far for FG Weekend?

Headcanons? Ooooooo boy. You asked for it. You’ll find a lot of this stuff in my fics.

Shameless self-promo? Where?

- I tend to think up a lot of scenarios where FG are either washing each other’s hair or sharing a bed. Ignore the fact I did this with Shigadabi too. It’s very clear what I was trying to do for Luck Be a Fickle Thing and shout out to the commenter that said “there’s only bed” because yeah. It’s that (and if you liked that you’re gonna enjoy “two bros chilling in a hot spring, five feet apart cause they’re not gay” when I get around to it). I just like them being soft and happy and I imagine that they like physical affection. They like to cuddle. They don’t want to let each other go.

- Going off of ^^ all that - Qrow is very touchy with people he likes. So family, mostly, and this stemmed from being friends with Summer, who is a hugger and would always hold his hand.

- Clover, being someone who is oriented around orders, is more comfortable with giving verbal affirmation. So Qrow is a doer, Clover is a talker. Good for Qrow, who has a praise kink.

- QROW IS FLUFFY. HES FLUFFY DAMMIT. HE GETS MISTAKEN FOR A FAUNUS AND CLOVER LIKES TO PET HIS FEATHERS. FIGHT ME ON THIS I DARE YOU.

- Qrow has never been in a serious, committed relationship before because he thinks his bad luck would’ve hurt them (or they would’ve hated him for his bad luck). Clover has never been in a long term relationship because a lot of partners try to use his good luck for themselves (that, and his job is a bit too demanding to make time). So they’re both dorks, but Clover is a little more well adjusted to having a partner at all.

- Qrow just gets nervous. Like really nervous. He thinks he’s gonna screw it up. Clover holds his hand? Panics. Clover kisses him? Panics. Clover tells him he’s pretty? Panics (Which is a mood. I think if I had a boyfriend I’d spontaneously combust Robyn if you read this don’t call me a Qrow kinnie I know I am just let me live). He also blushes hard. It’s just pink and red all the way down.

- Qrow likes gardening and finds it relaxing even though it’s a lot of work (as mentioned in Bound to You). Clover does know how to fish but he doesn’t consider it a hobby. He likes card games and learning especially complicated ones to ensure his luck won’t be able to effect the outcome. He prefers games of pure skill as well, but card games pass the time in the back of a truck. He likes those rigged games at carnivals because he knows if he loses then that’s him at his best without his luck (but he will not object to winning Qrow a plushie).

- Qrow has a few bird traits and he gifts random things to Clover (if you’ve read Birds of a Feather, you know what I’m talking about). Clover keeps each one and treasures them, even if it’s like a bottle cap or something.

- Clover knew Qrow’s name before they met. I like the headcanon that he’s like the Tony Hawk of Remnant. He geeked out a little when they were partnered (and it kinda lines up with Clover’s questions about STRQ on their first mission).

- Clover thought Qrow was handsome when they first met, but did nothing about it because he’s been fooled by pretty faces before. It took Qrow a while to see Clover as anything but a coworker or friend because he was still a little sore about the Ops arresting them, and then unsure what to do after finding out about Good Fortune.

- Clover’s grandfather, a fisherman, was an alcoholic, so he feels sympathetic to Qrow’s desire to get clean.

- Qrow is first to kiss Clover, but Clover is the first to say I love you.

- Qrow knows all the special dates in their relationship because he’s sentimental because he’s never has a relationship like this and wants to remember everything (this plays into Day One of Fair Game Weekend)

- They’re both absolutely disgusting with their affection. They don’t do PDA because it makes Qrow nervous but they are a bit mushy and once the excitement of them getting together wore off a lot of people start telling them to cut it out.

- So. Many. Luck. Puns. Tai would really like Clover.

- People think because Clover is wider that he’s the big spoon. Yes, but he also likes it when Qrow holds him. He sits in Qrow’s lap whenever possible.

- Qrow will sometimes turn into a bird and then tuck himself inside Clover’s shirt because Clover is a human heater (Why else would he be wearing a tank top in that weather?). One time he popped out of the neck hole during a meeting and Marrow started wheezing so hard he couldn’t breathe.

EDIT: I CANNOT LISTEN TO I HEAR A SYMPHONY WITHOUT SOBBING BECAUSE ITS LITERALLY HOW QROW FEELS TOWARDS CLOVER.

Okay. Fair Game Weekend.

So I chose the prompts Anniversary, Tattoos/Family, and Wishes.

I don’t want to give too much away, so I’ll start with titles. In order, they are-

All My Days

Bloom into You

Paper Stars

I’ve mentioned something as to what All My Days is, and one of my headcanons goes along with Bloom into You (and it’s not that hard to guess what it is). Paper Stars is a magic AU with fae Clover.

If you want anything specific, send another ask but my answers may vary depending on how spoiler-y they are. As of now, Bloom into You and Paper Stars are finished, but All My Days is still a WIP.

#asks #rwby #fair game #qrow branwen #clover ebi #headcanons #long post #fairgameweekend2021

[tthael]

I apologize if you’ve already written about this before, but one thing I’ve been wondering about your Indelicate version of Eddie is in regard to his occasional tendency toward more (for lack of a better/less serious-sounding term) “aggresive” actions (e.g., throwing the lotion bottle, throwing the water, etc.) directed toward Richie. I know it was hinted at that the urges to aggress may sometimes be/have been the result of repressed or misconstrued attraction, but I’m wondering if some of it is also a result of Eddie’s injury and the related feelings of a lack of control over his own body? Like hypothetically, if Eddie were never injured or if we fast-forward to him completely healed, do you think that moments like that would still happen? Or am I just really reading too much into the fic and making up this aspect of it? Hope that makes sense - I just love your characterization of Eddie and I want to make sure I’m understanding as much as I can!

I actually haven’t written about this before, and I think that it’s a good thing that I take the time to meditate on it now, because I don’t want the idea that throwing things at your romantic partner is, like, a good thing.

So a lot of my thoughts on Eddie’s aggression derive from two specific aspects of his portrayal. The first (chronologically in Eddie’s timeline) is the portrayal of Eddie as high-strung, snappy, and verbally combative in IT Chapter One (2017).  Within the last year and a half I saw a post that pointed out that some of Eddie’s aggression--especially in interacting with Richie--probably derives from the high-stress situations of a) being hunted by an alien clown demon and b) being abused at home. I had a college professor discussing a history and trauma class point out that, “Traumatized people don’t always behave well.” There are the usual caveats that explanations are not excuses; however, I think that the constant knowledge that he has to return to Sonia’s house and the persistent alarms telling him when he has to take medication, so that even when he’s apart from her he can’t get away from her interference, means that Eddie’s under high pressure. And then you get to the point where all of the children in Derry are being hunted by an actual monster, and it’s a wonder that Eddie behaves as well as he does, because I certainly wouldn’t.

I usually like to incorporate some of book!Eddie’s dreamy introspection into his internal narrative in Indelicate, and I think that some of his pressures are relaxing now that he’s a) no longer living in a house with Sonia, b) acting specifically in ways that maximize his own agency (going where he wants with whom he wants, eating what he wants, actively rejecting much of her influence). However, he’s still got a lot on his plate, and some habits die hard. This is why I have moments of Eddie waiting with the perfect snappy comeback on his tongue, and then stopping himself because he knows it’s something he doesn’t mean. He doesn’t actually want Richie to never talk again, he loves it when Richie talks, and he’s struggling towards sincerity. I personally have a lot of difficulty letting go of the put-down jokes in favor of being sincere with the people I love, so I thought I’d give Eddie several moments of consciously choosing to be honest and kind with Richie.

The second influence on Eddie’s relationship to physically “lashing out” is his introductory scene from IT (1986), where he’s leaving home and Myra is chasing after him demanding explanations and wailing about how terrified she is. I know that there are lots of analyses of this scene and thoughts on Myra versus Sonia, and I’m not interested in those right now; however, what caught my eye was that Eddie sees Myra’s distress and his first thought is something along the lines of “you might as well hit her”--not that he wants to hit her and he has nothing to lose, but that his causing her emotional distress is as bad as physically abusing his wife. (I can’t recall at the moment whether Eddie’s section comes before or after Bev’s introduction, but I want to say that it’s before, and I don’t think that it’s a coincidence that Bev and Eddie’s very different home lives are contrasted.)

So I thought, that as a boy child without a father, raised and abused by his single mother--and considering his issues with (as I write it) suppressed gay feelings, and the sort of “glass closet” I write him with--Eddie’s concepts of masculinity are probably pretty toxic. I think that in order to maintain control over Eddie, Sonia probably got very emotionally manipulative when he resisted her at all, especially as he got older and taller and physically stronger than her, and that she probably cried out things like “Eddie, you’re hurting me, how can you hurt your mother like this?” and made Eddie feel like the abuser (which is, I’m given to understand, a frequent tactic of abusers: reversing the roles to make the victim feel apologetic and guilty). I’m specifically thinking of the way that Gillian Flynn writes manipulative white women who weaponize white women’s fragility--Adora in Sharp Objects, since that’s actually the only Gillian Flynn book I’ve read so far. I think that Eddie would be very conscious of what he perceives as his capacity to be an aggressor, and it would be one more way that Sonia could keep him docile.

Later, with Myra--and I’m writing Myra more sympathetically in Indelicate than I did in Things That Happen After Eddie Lives, so I’m not interested in getting into the “is Myra abusive?” conversation right now, because I’ve written her both ways--I think that Eddie likely had a sort of learned helplessness about his own agency with Sonia that he then transferred onto his relationship with Myra. In Indelicate, I write him with a lot of reluctance to volunteer any information towards her, or his emotional state, or to make any of his wishes known (frequently she shoots them down as too extravagant, the way that I talked about Eddie’s relationship to money and luxury and Myra refusing a larger bed).

I write Eddie as largely unaware of his attraction to men until his near-death-experience, but only because he did not allow himself to connect the dots between what he thought of as physical symptoms (tunnel vision on hot man in coffee shop = optic nerve impairment, see doctor); but I think that Eddie was profoundly aware of his unhappiness in his marriage and just tried to reason with himself that everyone felt like that, and everyone was miserable and suppressing their own wants and needs, because that’s just what marriage is, and any other approach to his marriage would make him abusive, so Eddie and Myra’s marriage was emotionally volatile and extremely stressful.

Which is to say that Indelicate Eddie is a powder keg when Richie gets to him.

Again, I don’t think that throwing things at your romantic partner is an acceptable mode of interaction and I don’t want any readers to get the idea that that’s the underlying message of Indelicate, because it’s not. The scene with the moisturizer is derived from something that happened to me years ago (I was Richie, the guy I had a crush on was Eddie) involving a wayward Frisbee; the scene where Eddie tries and fails to throw a drink at Richie is derived from an anecdote of the early days of my parents’ marriage (my mother was Eddie), one that my father’s coworkers and boss loved to talk about and his best friend still brings up when they hang out.

However, Eddie’s relationship to physicality is also deeply informed by a tumblr post I saw over a year ago that talked about how Eddie grew up being told that he was fragile and delicate and sickly, and how Richie did not give a shit about any of that and was more than willing to just grapple him. For this fic, I decided to lean into that idea: that Eddie longs to be treated as though he’s solid and healthy and strong, and he finds a lot of relief in Richie <i>not</i> treating him gently. But because Eddie is actually physically injured in Indelicate, Richie is being careful not to break him while also dealing with Eddie’s very real (and largely unvoiced) desire for physical contact. It’s not an accident that at the end of the chapter in which Richie and Eddie have a shouting match that Richie wrestles Eddie to the floor and pins him and blows a raspberry on his belly--which is incredibly juvenile at the same time that it’s a display of Richie’s physical capabilities and Eddie finds that bizarrely attractive.

So, on top of Eddie’s desire for physical contact, his extreme stressors, and his lifetime of maladaptive coping mechanisms--the other thing that I consider when I write his dynamic with Richie is that Richie is not physically intimidated by Eddie at all. This is not because Richie is stronger than Eddie (he is) or larger than Eddie (he is). This is because there was a time in which Richie and Eddie found it perfectly acceptable to grapple each other as a form of interactions, because Richie and Eddie have known each other since they were seven years old. I even like to think that at one point, Eddie was the taller of the two, because Richie hit a really ridiculous growth spurt somewhere around the start of puberty and Eddie was something of a “late-bloomer,” and Eddie silently seethed about it through their entire adolescence.

So when Richie and Eddie lash out at each other--largely Eddie, because I think Richie, with his fear of the werewolf and of losing control and hurting someone--they’re building on sort of a lifetime of informal physicality. Stitchy does something similar in their Richie/Eddie fic where elements of roleplay always appear in their romance, because they were kids who played pretend games together, and when you have a bond like that with someone, it does permanently shape what sort of interaction you do and do not find acceptable. I also included a flashback into childhood where Richie gets angry with Eddie and very deliberately and methodically pushes him down on the ground and Eddie cries, not because Richie physically hurt him (he didn’t), but because it wasn’t in good fun there, that was Richie deciding to throw him around because he knew it would upset him.

So there’s a lot going into Eddie’s physically aggressive responses in Indelicate--the toxic masculinity that dictates the way that men are allowed to express anger and the ways in which they are allowed to touch each other; the profound stress that Eddie has endured for his whole lifetime without getting many better coping mechanisms; the feeling of lack of control of his physical body; a regression to childhood habits; and a deep sense of relief that Richie (being big, strong, and a man) is not vulnerable to him in the way that Sonia convinced him she (and later Myra) were.

I hmm’d and haww’d over a scene in the most recent chapter in which Eddie strikes Richie with an open hand (it’s a little slap on the chest, and I wanted it to come across very like the sort of corrective smack to the back of the head that I can imagine any of the Losers issuing to Richie back in 1989 when he shoots off at the mouth), because that’s not something I’d be comfortable doing to a romantic partner myself. Richie thinks nothing of it and turns it into a dirty joke, but I do need to get more into Eddie’s decision to touch Richie in kind ways in direct refusal of that “you construct intricate rituals that allow you to touch other men” facet of toxic masculinity.

I know it’s a ridiculously long answer, but it’s a serious issue and I wanted to give it the greatest possible consideration instead of writing something flip. Because both the incidents you named (ones I didn’t even realize formed a pattern, to be honest) are drawn from real life, I can’t say that they’re moments that are influenced by Eddie’s physical disability, but I do think they’re more influenced by his emotional state. I also think that as some of his stressors come off his plate and he gets more comfortable having an adult relationship with Richie, he’s going to stop throwing things at him. I even had Eddie stop after throwing the water, not just because it was ridiculous but because he realized how out of line he was in that moment. Recognizing when you’re out of control in an argument is, I find, an important part of self-improvement; and learning to walk away or to reset is a valuable skill.

Thank you so much for reading!

#anon #my fic #indelicate #indelicate spoilers #now what i'm gonna say may sound indelicate #nwigsmsi

[dontasktheradiodemon]

Orientation Talk

Alastor realizes he and Telly @usedhearts have, in fact, never discussed with each other how they see their sexualities. Which seems like a rather important thing to know about the person you're dating.

From there they segue into talking about their experiences with antemortem queer communities and drag.

Alastor

The door slams open. “SEXUALITY!” Apparently this is how Alastor is saying “hello” today. “That’s the word of the decade, isn’t it! Everyone wants to know what everyone else’s sexuality is! There’s thirty new labels and all of them are color-coded!” A wave of his hands and a bunch of magical miniature pride flags flutter around like confetti and then disappear. “And for all that, I’ve made the ghastly error of just—taking for granted that I already know yours! So!” He looks around. He got through that monologue confident that Telly is, in fact, in the room, without actually checking.

THERE he is. “So!!” Alastor crosses the room to plop a hand on Telly’s shoulder. “You... what do you consider yourself? Anything in particular? You ARE inclined toward both ladies and gentlemen, aren’t you?”

Sir Pentious

At the slamming door and the sudden shout, Telly's hood flares and he lets out a mighty hiss!! Look at him, how scary!!!

Oh, it was just Alastor. Alastor asking about his.... sexuality? Well, alright, that was new.

"Yes, of course. I thought that would be plain to see? I think the modern term is 'bisexual'? Yes." His head tilted. "Why the sudden interest, darling?"

Alastor

“Well, I thought you were!” A shrug! “But your alternate thought you’re only inclined toward men, so...!” ANOTHER SHRUG. “I thought I ought to check.”

Sir Pentious

There was a slight, momentary BWUAGH at that revelation-- Penny had thought he was only into men? How? But he shook away the thought to focus back on the conversation.

"For a while I thought I might, honestly-- be just into men, that is. But well...." He smiled sheepishly and shrugged. "Ladies...."

Alastor

Alastor nodded slowly in comprehension.

Then shook his head slowly. No. The nod was a lie. He didn’t comprehend. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Sir Pentious

"I always liked ladies, but the only one I truly fancied before I died was Olivia. But well we....you know. And then I fell for George." A shrug. "So until I died, I didn't really think of it. And then after, it wasn't really important for a good, oh, decade or so."

Another shrug. "What about you?"

Alastor

He nodded again, taking mental notes. So that was attraction without the full-blown romantic feelings? Outside of Hollywood, attraction was such a mysterious, malleable thing—

—oh, but now Telly wanted to know about *Alastor’s* mysterious malleable thing. At least Alastor’s was a lot smaller. “Well, that depends! Would you extrapolate an orientation from a sample size of one?”

Sir Pentious

Telly tilts his head, thinking about it. "Not really? If there's only one, than that's an outlier and shouldn't be counted."

Alastor

"That's generally what I think about it! And going by that, my preferences are for none of the above, thanks, I'm just fine—which these days I'm told is called 'aromantic and asexual'—you need both those terms, apparently—which, sure, fine, they get the job done. But you *do* have to throw out that outlier."

Sir Pentious

Telly thought a moment. "Am....I the outlier? Or, rather, Sir Pentiouses?"

His head tilted, his claw tapping at his chin. "Hmmm..."

Alastor

"Yes, sir, you are." A crooked smile. "So, count the outlier, and I'm stone cold gay. All the people I've ever been attracted to have been men, all one of 'em. So, it depends on the qualifying criteria for all the different terms—and that's out of my hands. The terms belong to other people, not me."

Sir Pentious

"Well, the terms are there for you to slap on yourself and say 'this is me'. But if you don't wish to slap any on, then, who can _make_ you? No one!" Telly smirked, leaning closer to kiss the tip of his nose.

"It'sss none of anyone elssse'ss business anyway! You don't want anything with anyone but me, that's fine by me." He snickered.

Alastor

Alastor shakes his head. “No, no—the terms don’t exist for slapping on yourself, they exist for showing off to other people. That’s the *only* reason they exist. It’s like a soldier wearing a uniform—you don’t wear one because you like it, you wear one to ensure your side doesn’t shoot at you and that you get let into the mess hall for food. The terms tell other people which groups you belong to. It’s the business of the groups to decide which criteria qualify individuals for membership, and the business of the individuals to learn the criteria and whether or not they qualify. So that’s the question, see. Not ‘am I gay’ but ‘would the gays consider me gay.’” He slings an arm around Telly’s neck—not for any particular reason, he just feels like hanging off of Telly. “Personally, I don’t much care, but! You asked about me, and those are the closest labels I can get without knowing how the population at large handles outlier cases.” He shrugs.

Sir Pentious

"Perhaps more research is required. I'm _sure_ you're not the ONLY person to ever exist who's been like this when it came to romance and sex." He flicked his tongue against Alastor's cheek. Get licked.

"I find the term bisexual works for me. And I say that whatever you are, I like it. The terms change so much, who's to say if we will not have new ones in a few decades anyway!"

Alastor

“What, a man who fell for one man but nobody else? Oh, I’m sure there’s been more! There’s certainly enough pulp novels about them. Although they’re usually about repressed men having their gay awakening. I don’t think that applies to me—I considered that I might be inclined toward men long before I considered that I might be inclined toward no one.”

He gets licked. That shouldn’t make his heart flutter, *and yet.* Just ignore how goofy his smile looks for a couple seconds, he’s TRYING to focus here. “Oh, I’m sure we will! They’ve got to reshuffle all the categories every couple decades or so, haven’t they? In my time I would have gone by ‘confirmed bachelor.’ Told people exactly what to expect from you without telling them a thing about what you got up to. Category X was my favorite descriptor, though—it sounds like something out of a science fiction horror picture show.”

He leans more heavily on Telly while he gestures with his free hand, like he’s indicating the words on a movie poster: “‘The Mystery of Category X!’ ‘The X Category from Outer Space!’ ‘You can run, but you can’t hide, from... Category X!’” He laughs, then glances up at Telly. “I suppose you haven’t always gone by ‘bisexual’ either?”

Sir Pentious

"I like that one, too. Category X has pizzazz!" He let out a hissing laugh, squishing his cheek into Alastor's.

"Oh, certainly not, I don't think they had a term for it in my day! I started hearing it sometime in the 1900s, I'm not sure when exactly." Telly shrugged briefly.

"I never really encountered anyone else who was like me, at least not one that I wasn't ensconced with at the time! I never had that sort of 'community', I suppose."

Alastor

“Really? No one?” Had Telly died thinking he and George were the only men in the world who wanted to sleep with other men? No, that couldn’t be possible—he was an upper-class gent, surely he’d at least read Greek poetry and such? Homer? “Never crossed paths with Oscar Wilde’s crowd?”

Sir Pentious

A slight BWUAGH at the mention of Wilde and Telly blinked rapidly. "Wilde? No? He was an artist, I was an engineer. We hardly ran in the same circles. I was also a recluse and generally only socialized, when forced, with people that my mother approved of, and she certainly did NOT approve of him."

He snorted and shook his head. "Probably thought he would've queered me up even more, if we had crossed paths."

Alastor

“Hah! I suppose that makes sense. Inventors and and entertainers aren’t frequent bedfellows, are they?” A wink; yes, he realizes the irony. “I suppose I’m the lucky one—I fell in with the *theater crowd.* From 1922 on, the only straight people I knew were my mother and my coworkers, and I’m not sure about my coworkers!” He laughs. “No, that’s an exaggeration. Not by much.”

Sir Pentious

"Ah yes, _actors_ the bane of my parents' existence! How they loved to talk about how _actors_ 'corrupted the youth' and all that hogwash! Looking back, it's funny to think about." He laughed again, leaning against Alastor.

"But tell me more about it, I'm dreadfully curious."

Alastor

“And they were *right!* Why, I hung out with actors in my youth, and look where I am now!” He gestured around himself. At Telly’s room. “... I meant ‘in Hell,’ but our present surroundings don’t quite convey that, do they.” He laughed.

“What, the theater crowd? Or the queer crowd? Granted, there’s a lot of overlap...”

Sir Pentious

"And yes, I, who never did, am also here! Though perhaps that is more because of the whole murder and blowing up half of London thing." He laughed more.

"Oh both! Or either! I don't know much about either one, both sound fascinating."

Alastor

“Well, if you weren’t hanging out with *actors,* I guess all that murder is the only explanation left, isn’t it?”

Oh, if only they had the time to sit together while Alastor told Telly every single detail of both his theater career and the queer scenes he’d been involved in—and then the rest of his life—and then get Telly to share every detail of *his* life. But for now, he’d have to narrow it down.

“When I first got involved in New York City, the scene was a little bit of both—theater *and* queer! The crowd I fell in with was very performance-oriented. You know, drag balls, that sort of thing. They started drawing in tourists, even! Straight folks would pay money to come to the balls and be entertained by the men in dresses—that was how we were referred to then, ‘female impersonators’ they were called. If I ran into the souls I knew back then today, I think some would still consider themselves that, but others by now might consider themselves transsexual women who decided to make a show out of their transformations—but those weren’t different categories yet. All of us wore trousers at our day jobs and wore skirts at parties, and that made us the same as each other, even if our private reasons for putting on a skirt were different.”

He’d let go of Telly and started pacing around as he spoke, gesturing, playing snips of party music, briefly summoning up shades wearing the silhouettes of elaborate gowns, dancing with them for a measure or two. “It was such a big tourist draw that if you showed up with a skirt and an Adam’s apple, you could get into a ball at a discount! It was a *thrilling* party scene, but... well, it was a party scene.” The energy of the music and shadows started dying, like a wound-up music box slowing down. “It got exhausting. New York wore me out. Or I wore myself out in New York—one or the other.”

Sir Pentious

Telly watched the show-- and what a show it was! Alastor was always the entertainer, even now, with an audience of one. He settled onto his coils, eyes following Alastor's every gesture, smiling when he twirled with shades.

"Yes, it _does_ sound like that would get exhausting after a while! I could hardly stand the stuffy balls that I went to in my day, I can't even imagine what ones intended for FUN must've been like, especially doing it all the time." He set his chin on his hands, now resting on his tail.

"What about New Orleans? What was it like there? More parties?"

Alastor

“No! Well, *some*—it *was* the twenties—but it wasn’t like New York’s scene. All the masculine women and feminine men sort of clustered together in the *Vieux Carré*—now *there* was where the *artists* hung out—and you’d have your speakeasies and your rowdy nights, but it wasn’t a *spectacle.* New Orleans was very laid back, always had been.” And just talking about it, Alastor looked more laid back himself—less frantically energetic and more comfortable. Like he’d actually *come* home instead of just talking about it. He even stopped waltzing around and plopped down on Telly’s coils.

“They were very French about the whole thing, which primarily meant ‘mind your own business.’” He laughed, conjuring up a shadow pantomime of a couple of gossips whispering to each other. “Try to tell one neighbor about spotting another with his tongue down a man’s throat, and the neighbor’s more likely to be offended that you’re spreading this around than they are to be offended at what the other neighbor’s been up to.” One of the gossips silently scolded the other for bringing up the subject, and then the shadows dissolved. “It wasn’t wholehearted *love,* by any means—but you get a little extra privacy when nobody wants to know about everyone else’s affairs. That’s what New Orleans was like.”

Sir Pentious

Telly hummed, nodding along. "Yes, that sounds better to me too. I like the New Orleans way, but then again, I always did like the French!"

He laughed a little. "That's not very English of me, is it? I should hate the French! But here I am, with a French lover-- or at least, French adjacent. How scandalous!" Another, louder laugh, as he wrapped his arms around Alastor's waist.

Alastor

“A *French lover!* Me!” He laughed loudly. “Well, aren’t we a pair fit for a saucy short story! You could be the unworldly English student studying abroad in Paris, and I’d be the pretty French girl who keeps throwing you come-hither looks. You’d fall for my mysterious sexual allure and I’d fall for your... you know, none of those short stories ever explain what it is the French girls see in the English students. Probably because they tend to be written by British men.”

He tapped Telly’s chest, “Did they have those stories when you were alive? There’s this *one* author I read who only wrote two things: bone-chilling horror, and artists falling in love with nubile young French girls. I couldn’t *stand* when he wrote about French girls.”

Sir Pentious

Telly couldn't help laughing at that. "Oh, sounds like every young man I knew who went to spend a year abroad. They _all_ wanted a French mistress, or an Italian one, though those seemed to be harder to come by."

His head tilted as he thought. "It's not ringing a bell, but I'm sure if I saw his name I would recognize him. I've always been a fan of horror." He flicked out his tongue. "But back on topic! You joined in with the balls and such in New York, but what about in New Orleans?"

Alastor

Alastor dragged his head back from trying to remember the name of a war story by the same author and an entirely unrelated book about a *male* French lover—to be continued later, maybe—and back to the question at hand. New Orleans balls?

“Oh, New Orleans didn’t have balls, not like New York. Not that I got invited to, anyway. There were *professional* ‘female impersonators’—they were on stages all across the country in the twenties—but that was show business. In the *Vieux Carré* bars, anyone dressed unusually was doing it for themselves rather than for an audience.”

Sir Pentious

"Did you ever join in there?" His head tilted, and he flicked his tongue at Alastor. A fully captivated snake, that's what he had on his hands right now.

Alastor

“In *New Orleans?* Goodness, no! Far too close to home! It was Prohibition! What if the Mabel men came knocking? If my mother had to see me locked up in a cell, I wanted to give her as few questions to ask me as possible!” He laughed. “Anyway, the New York scene burned me out for the next couple of decades. Once I left the North, I didn’t pick it up again until I’d been dead a while.”

Sir Pentious

"What, the 'female impersonation'? Or just generally being more openly a part of queer spaces?" Cue a head tilt, but this time in the OTHER direction. Such versatility.

Alastor

“Female impersonation—although I don’t like to call it that when I do it. I’m not trying to impersonate a female, I’m... well, whatever I’m doing.” A vague shrug. Thoughts. “I prefer ‘drag.’ It... implies less about one’s motivations, I suppose.”

Sir Pentious

When Alastor said that, something finally clicked in Telly's mind and he sat up suddenly, letting out a loud "Oh!"

"SO _THAT'S_ WHAT DRAG IS! I'D BEEN MEANING TO ASK YOU AT THE BALL BUT WE GOT, WELL, DISTRACTED!" He laughed.

Alastor

“Y... you didn’t know—?” Alastor blinked at him, then wheezed in laughter. “Telly, *mon roi,* YOU were in drag!”

Sir Pentious

Telly rolled his eyes (all of them) and crossed his arms, giving a huff. "YES, I KNOW THAT _NOW_. BUT AT THE TIME, I HADN'T HEARD THE TERM BEFORE! OR I HAD AND JUST NEVER CONNECTED IT TO THE WHOLE SUBCULTURE OR SOME SUCH THING!"

A couple more huffs. Huff huff. And then he settled. And he pouted.

Alastor

Oh no, not the pouting. Alastor tried *very hard* to stop laughing. “Well—“ a giggle escaped, “—you know now.”

Sir Pentious

He huffed again but then relaxed a little more, reaching to take Alastor's hand and play with his fingers.

"Well, you've seen ME in drag, when do I get to see _you_ in it, hm?"

Alastor

“Oh?” THAT got Alastor to stop laughing, although it didn’t do a thing to banish the mischievous sparkle in his eyes. “In ten minutes, if you want.”

Sir Pentious

Telly's tongue stuck out and he blinked, before grinning. "Really? Just ten minutes? Doesn't it usually take a long time to get into drag? I mean, it took me _hours_ to get fully ready, and that was before the paint!"

He chuckled.

Alastor

“It depends on how you do it. I’m a bit more minimalist in my approach.” He was going to take that as a request to see. He winked, slid off of Telly’s coils, and ducked into the false bathroom to change. He slipped of his shoes and used them to wedge the door a couple inches open so they could keep talking. “It’s why I can’t get into the whole drag *scene.* It gets so competitive! Even more than it was in the twenties! Some crowds are laid back about it, but other crowds treat you like you’re going to get scored 1 to 10 on how feminine you are and your objective should be to hit a 12—and then other crowds still actually *will* score you. And oh, it’s a fantastic show to *watch*—but that’s not why I do it. And not how I want to do it.”

Sir Pentious

"Hmm. Yes, I think I agree with you there. I wouldn't want to be scored on something like that." He made a face-- not that Alastor could see. Telly leaned against the bed, chin resting on his arms.

"I do think it would be fun to watch, though-- maybe we can see if there's ones to watch here in Hell sometime!"

Alastor

“Oh, sure, there are drag shows and balls all the time! Competitive and otherwise. Just let me know what kind you want to see, and if I don’t know where one’s happening within a month I’ll know somebody else who does.”

Sir Pentious

"Perhaps sometime in the future, both our schedules are fairly full currently!" He chuckled.

"I never thought of drag as a performance before, but after the masquerade, I can see why some would want to put on a show! It seems fun..."

Alastor

“Maybe in a few years you’ll be the one getting on stage!” Running water sound~ He’s got to wash out and restyle his hair. In the sink, apparently. “When did you start doing drag? Surely the masquerade wasn’t your first time?”

Sir Pentious

He hummed again, giving a soft sigh.

"I wanted to, in life, but of course, Mother and Father would never allow it. They'd punish me if they saw me trying to try on any of my sister's gowns. And my elder sisters would tattle on me, too. So I stopped trying.

"But then, once I got to Hell, I realized that not only was it easier now, but also more practical, considering I don't even wear pants anymore. And there was no one around to tell me no! I had a few dresses commissioned-- they're still in my closet. But I only ever wore them in private. It was still the late 1800s and early 1900s at the time, after all, and I had a reputation to keep.

"I got more and more as time went on, and started wearing them casually whenever I didn't need to wear my suit. But still, I only wore them out a couple times before the ball. And I'd never worn one as extravagant as that costume!"

Alastor

Oh, he’s got to ask to see those older dresses sometime. “You certainly wore it well!”

The running water stopped as he got to work combing out and styling his wet hair. “And... what does it *mean* to you, when you do it?”

Sir Pentious

Telly fell silent, thinking on the question. He puzzled over it for a good bit before he answered.

"I'm not sure, really. I just like wearing them! But they're just clothes. I'm as comfortable in them as I am in my suit, or even nothing at all. I _do_ enjoy the way they swish around me, though."

Alastor

Alastor wasn’t sure what he was expecting—or even if he’d been expecting anything at all—but somehow the fact that it was that simple disappointed him. What *had* he wanted to hear?

He could wonder about that later. He kept his disappointment out of his voice as he asked, “So it’s just another fashion option, nothing more nor less?”

Sir Pentious

"Yes, I suppose. They make me happy, though, and that's what's important! Though, honestly, so do my novelty snake themed tee shirts!"

He hissed out a laugh.

Alastor

“I *am* a fan of those shirts!” And not just because he’d started stealing them to serve as his undershirts. What was he wearing now? He pulled out his collar to check. Ah! The bananaconda. One of his personal favorites. “I especially like the ones with puns! Some of them are... *hiss-terical.*”

Sir Pentious

Another, louder, and hissier laugh!!! "Oh yes! I adore them! They're so comfortable and give me a good guffaw!!"

Alastor

Okay, he was on the finishing touches. He slipped his shoes away from the door and back on, and... “Ta-daaa!”

Not a whole lot changed. He redid his hair, added eyeshadow (he was already wearing lipstick), removed his coat and bow tie, unbuttoned his top a little, and switched his pants for a skirt and his socks for stockings. Most of his time in the bathroom had been spent on rinsing out his hair, combing it into a slightly more feminine bob, and gelling it in place. It was, as he’d promised, very minimalist drag.

Sir Pentious

Oh, but the changes, no matter how small, added up to a lot in Telly's eyes-- which were currently blown wide like a cat seeing a new toy. He got up and slithered over, cupping Alastor's face in his claws.

And he just leaned in and kissed him.

Alastor

Alastor returned the kiss, then leaned back and winked. “You know, I *thought* you might say something like that.” He had a very convincing Southern Belle voice he used when fully dolled up.

Sir Pentious

Oh. _Oh._ That voice. That voice!! It did things to him. He grinned lifting Alastor off the ground, arms wrapped tight around his waist.

"Madame!!! You are lovely and charming, and I am filled with adoration!!"

Alastor

“Well, aren’t you just the most *flattering* gentleman!” Alastor pulled out a fan (the ray gun fan) to “cool off.” “You’re going to put me in a swoon, talking like that!”

Sir Pentious

"Of course! What gentleman _wouldn't_ be caught up by such a darling belle!"

Telly leaned in, kissing all over Alastor's face and neck. He simply couldn't get ENOUGH.

Alastor

*Oh—* Alastor returned as many kisses as he could, peppering them across Telly’s face and hood. When he finally started laughing, it was in his usual voice. “Amazing the difference a little eyeshadow and re-parting your hair can make, isn’t it?”

Sir Pentious

He needed a moment to come back to himself, his grin face splitting.

"Oh, yes! It's quite amazing!" And he's going to nuzzle right into the neck and start purring. He lives here now.

Alastor

Alastor will waive the rent if Telly keeps paying in purrs. It’s like a free neck massage. He laughs. “Do you like it that much?”

Sir Pentious

"Well, I think if it wasn't you, then I don't know. But it IS you and so, yes, I like it very much." He pressed kisses to Alastor's neck, still purring there against him.

"The accent is very cute, too."

Alastor

Alastor slung both arms around Telly’s shoulders to keep himself steady under the barrage of kisses. “Oh, the accent was a hit in New York, let me tell you! I never was decorated enough to turn heads, but if I could get someone in a conversation, I’d have a whole crowd hanging off of me in five minutes! It’s even better now that I can **play with my voice.**” Radio Demon, bass boosted.

Sir Pentious

Telly laughed at the bass boosting, his hood flaring out-- this time with delight! That's a new one, but a good one.

"Yes, I bet you can do all SORTS of things with your voice now, can't you?"

Alastor

Most people were freaked out by the sudden bass boost. The fact that Telly laughed gets a wide smile that crinkles the corners of Alastor’s eyes. “Truth be told, I mainly use it to discourage fights or sing a little better. Not *that* much better, mind. I’ve always been pretty good.”

Sir Pentious

"I _do_ like it when you sing, you should sing more!" He leaned in to pepper more kisses onto Alastor. Mostly on his neck. Smooch, smooch, smooch, and then....his mouth opened and he scraped his fangs against his skin. Time to be a tease.

Alastor

“Oh, *should* I!” Dangerous words around the Radio Demon A musical backing track started up...

And sputtered, and started and stopped again, as he was distracted by the teeth scraping. “... Gladly, when you’re not giving me something else to do with my mouth.” He tries to catch Telly’s mouth so he can get those teeth on his lips.

((And after this they get raunchy, so part 2 tomorrow))

#usedhearts #chat log

[my-whumpy-little-heart]

Best AU Part 2: The Pining Awakens

This is a fanfiction written with the permission of @spookyboywhump and @ihaventwritteninsolong. This chapter features Allen’s characters Wren and Zander, with plenty of references to Edwin’s character Cathal.

Wrote this pure, unadulterated fluff to help get out of the writing block I got driven into near the end of May. A nice, happy palate cleanser if you will. Linked here is the previous part to this with proper explanation as to what’s going on with this universe lol.

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

Zander hadn’t moved from his one spot on the couch since he’d come in some twenty minutes earlier. At first, Wren thought he might have just been in a mood. He got quiet like that sometimes after a particularly bad day... would sit on the couch, curled up as he broke down slowly, and Wren could only hope Zander would open up and talk a little so he could help.

But today was different. He’d been curled up, staring intently at his phone, typing and scrolling at odd intervals. A vaguely frustrated expression was set into his face, but there was something softer behind it. Slowly, carefully, Wren walked over from the kitchen and sat on a chair across from the couch.

Zander didn’t even look up.

“Soo… how was your day?” Wren asked softly, and Zander jerked in surprise. It was like he hadn’t even noticed his presence. 

“Mmh, good,” he hummed, and Wren had to hold back a smile at his transparency. 

“Anything... particularly good happen?”

“No.” Zander bit back a guilty smirk, but he saw the beginnings of it on his face. As he stood from his chair, Wren was sure he’d never heard a worse lie in his life. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“So I’m guessing there’s also no reason you’ve had your nose buried in your phone since the minute you got here?”

Zander sighed heavily, breath hitching with barely contained laughter, clicking off his phone and shooting a tired glance at Wren. The shorter man had the height advantage for once, and walked over to stand above Zander as he curled further back into the couch. He had his hands on his hips and the smarmiest grin plastered on his face.

“C’mon. What’s their name, Zander?”

“Huh? Whose name?” he asked, still feigning ignorance.

“The cute person you met today and can’t stop thinking about, obviously.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Zander said quickly, almost too quietly for Wren to hear.

“And I don’t know your phone password so I can catch you off guard and verify my theory,” he smiled, and his friend sighed. They’d played that game before, and Zander had always lost in the end. He could change the passcode or leave entirely, but he knew he was fighting a losing battle at this point.

“So~” he sing-songed, “What’s their name?”

“I dunno, I didn’t catch it,” Zander shrugged.

Wren gave him a pointed glare.

“Cathal.”

The glare intensified.

“Ugh, Cathal Weber. That’s his full name. Happy now?”

“Very,” Wren grinned devilishly, flopping on the couch next to him and snuggling up close so he could stare at the glowing phone screen. It was open to the Instagram search bar, no results showing. “Did you find all his social media accounts yet?”

“Literally the opposite,” he groaned, “Sir Cute Hot Chocolate Man has apparently never seen a computer in his life.”

“So you met him at work, then,” Wren declared.

“Ugh, yes. And before you yell at me, he was new, and I did ask for his last name even though I didn’t need it,” he muttered. 

“Zander…” he adopted a serious expression, voice heavy with false concern, “you can’t keep doing this...”

“Fuck you, I do what I want.” Zander grabbed a pillow and swung it weakly at him as the younger man snickered.

“Alright, so tell me more about this Cathal “Hot Chocolate Hottie” Weber,” he mimed quotes with his fingers, and Zander went red.

“Hey, don’t call him that!” he pouted indignantly.

“Oh right, I forgot. The cute nicknames are just for you lovebirds,” Wren teased.

“I just met him!”

“And look at the mess he’s made of you already…”

“I’m perfectly put together and can absolutely banish his glorious fucking face from my mind whenever I want to, thank you very much!” Zander shouted, face almost completely red at that point.

Wren let the silence hang in the air for a few seconds.

“So.”

“So, what?” Zander crossed his arms.

“You have a lot to say right now and you’re not letting it out.”

“Maybe.” Wren raised a brow, waiting for him to go on. “Okay! So, imagine the hottest, most angelic human being you’ve ever seen, then-”

“Zander, you lost me already.”

“Aghhhhh, are you seriously gonna make me describe him?”

“Listen, unless you want me to picture a person on fire every time you call this boy hot because that’s all the word hot means to me, then I’m gonna need some words to go off of,” Wren said, waving his hands animatedly as he spoke.

“Alright. Imagine this boy; he’s only a little shorter than me-”

“Aw come on, not another giant in the family!” he whined.

“Do you want to hear or not?!”

“Oh no, go on, go on. I’ll be crying in Short over here.” Wren sank back into the couch, and Zander sighed heavily before he spoke again. 

“...okay. A little shorter than me, and cute kinda wavy hair that just looked really soft. It was sort of blond-ish, but a little sandier? Hard to describe, but he had the most breathtaking blue eyes and wore this apron in the same color that really brought them out...” he trailed off, expression dreamy and caught up in the memory of Cathal.

“Sorry, apron? You didn’t say he was a new coworker, unless...”

“No, he works at that flower shop down the street. Sunflora.”

“I still can’t believe they named it after a Pokémon,” Wren laughed. “But cute boy? Likes flowers? I can telepathically sense that he’s a twink? Might as well have taken a boy and printed ‘Zander’s type’ on his forehead.”

“Oh my god, Wren, shut up. You can’t just break into my mind to get a look at the hot guy, that’s a breach of privacy.”

“Hot, shmot. I wouldn’t waste my mind reading powers on that,” he waved a dismissive hand. “Now tell me about his alluring personality.” Wren wiggled his eyebrows jokingly and Zander rolled his eyes.

“Well, okay first off, he was super polite and nice, and he did the cutest thing where he forgot he was wearing his work name tag, right? And I felt really bad for reading his name off of it at the time and I think it freaked him out a bit, but it was really charming how genuine he was too you know? And then he ordered his hot chocolate with marshmallows, and that was just- really fucking cool of him. Like, could you ever get the courage, as a full grown adult, to ask for marshmallows in your drink and not immediately feel like someone’s gonna look down on you?”

“Zander, I still get carded for buying wine at the grocery store. I’ve transcended embarrassment and risen into a plane of pure indifference.”

“Okay, well that doesn’t apply to you. But still, even just working at a flower shop? Screw gender roles and societal norms and all that, but that doesn’t mean people aren’t gonna be climbing out of the woodwork to drag you for being a man who dares to get anywhere near flowers. I just- He had the most beautiful laugh. And he was wearing the cutest sweater too, with a collared shirt under it in these nice pastel colors and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more confident and fucking badass than that…” Zander trailed off, tears glistening in his eyes.

“...you need a minute?”

“No, no I’m good I just-” Zander sat up, wiping at his eyes, but when Wren wrapped him up in a hug he fell apart completely. “Wren… oh, Wren, he’s fucking incredible…” He tucked his head in the crook of Wren’s neck, arms shaking and eyes glassy, “...and I know he’s never gonna like me back, or I might never see him again, but I’m never gonna forget him for as long as I live…”

“Woah, hey, slow down,” Wren said, rubbing circles into his back absentmindedly. “You can’t just make assumptions like that before you know more. We’ve talked about this.”

“But every time, I swear, all the pretty guys are straight, and all the nice girls are gay, and if they aren’t any of those then they’re aro, or they’re taken…” he rested his full weight against Wren, who laid down sideways with a small ‘oof’, wrapping his arms tighter around his friend.

“Let me ask you a question then. How much time did it take him to say a word when he first stepped up to the counter?” 

“Well… probably thirty seconds at least? But that was definitely my fault for tripping over my line, and then that whole name thing…”

“Mmhmm, right,” Wren nodded, “I’m only gonna take your first sentence into account there. So when he did speak, how much did he trip over his words?”

“Oh, a lot actually, but I think he just had a stutter.”

“Okay, fair,” he conceded, “different question then. What was he staring at when he wasn’t talking?”

“Uhhhh…” Zander trailed off, trying to remember. “I don’t know, he kinda looked around in front of him without moving his head very much, like he was lost?”

“That’s called ‘checking you out,’ dumbass. He’s definitely into you.”

Zander made an unbelieving ‘hmph’ sound and wrapped himself tighter around Wren, making sure to move further to the side so he didn’t suffocate him. 

“Alright, you gotta move though so I can cook-” he started, but cut himself off when Zander looked up, his dark eyes silently pleading. “-but on second thought, I’m really hungry for pizza tonight. Wanna order out?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Zander sighed, tucking his head back down as Wren dug out his phone and dialed their favorite restaurant. He was silent then, except for a quick whispered reminder to request an extra turn in the oven so their pizza would still be nice and crispy when it arrived.

They were quiet for a long while after that, and by the time the doorbell rang Zander’s breathing had evened out and he slept peacefully, still holding on to Wren.

Bonus: here are the only notes I made before writing this chapter.

“Plans: hmm wren. Then they get to cuddle because allen can’t fucking stop me. But wren is still being petty because i love him“

and that’s the tea, really.

#fluff #fanfiction #best au #zander/cathal #all my love to edwin and allen #no whump only love #pining #mutual pining #but zander doesn't know that #he is merely a Fool and will not listen to wren #wren: you two are in love #zander: very funny let me mourn now #dramatic man is dramatic #cuddling #no strings attached /allen/ #i see you over there with your angst and cuddling but what if just. this. #ya know? #anyway posting time have fun with the happy things you wonderful people

[pilot-boi]

Shouting In Cafes: Chapter Eight

After Thoughts

Sun hasn’t shown up to the coffee shop in awhile, and Neptune might have caught slightly more feelings from their drive than he is prepared to deal with.

AO3 LINK

“I don’t like him, Jaune.”

“Really? Because after your little joy ride with him, you texted me freaking out about how you were admiring his beautiful hair and his beautiful eyes and his beautiful hands and-”

“Monster hands! Monster hands that need to see a nail salon. He probably just sticks them in his mouth and rips them off, God help me.”

“Hey! The point is, is that because you were scared about it doesn’t make those feelings go away.”

“They weren’t feelings! They were just observations that I overthought.”

“Really? Because now you’re asking where he is. And looking forlornly towards the door.”

Neptune was in fact doing both of those things. He leaned on a broom, peering past the pinkish autumn evening light and into the parking lot. Sun had stuck to his word. He hadn’t turned up at The Daily Grind since two weeks ago, the night of the race that wasn’t really a race.

Not in a million years did Neptune expect that idiot to stick to his word, and yet there he stood. Alone with Jaune. And annoyingly worried.

Neptune dropped his broom to the side and turned his gaze towards Jaune. His cheeks were puffed out in annoyance at a lock of hair that kept falling in front of his eyes. 

Neptune sighed and leaned even further onto the broom if that was even possible. “Look. I’ve seen how he handles his own well-being now and I’m not really set at ease by it. I haven’t seen him at school.”

Jaune crossed his arms. “You never saw him in the first place.”

“Yeah, but the deal was that he wouldn’t visit me here. At work.” Neptune ran a hand through his hair, fixing it in the reflective side of the coffee machine. “I assumed he would’ve tried to visit me at college.”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure his exact wording was ‘I’ll leave you alone.’”

Neptune snorted, glancing over at him. “Your Sun impression is awful.”

“It’s not that bad!”

“You sound like the Green Giant.”

Jaune hit him in the arm. Neptune winced. He always forgot that under his awkward nerdy exterior, Jaune was fucking strong as hell.

“Anyway!” he huffed, giving Neptune a look. The one where he tried glaring but ended up smiling good naturedly through it. “So what if you like him? What’s the big deal?”

“He’s a dick.”

“Not really.”

“He’s straight.”

“You don’t kno-”

“He’s straight, Jaune,” Neptune said firmly.

“...Yeah,” Jaune sighed dejectedly.

“I’m not crushing on another straight guy. Not that I found him attractive in the first place. But even if I did, I’m done with straight guys. No thank you.” He said this with as much conviction as he could muster. Almost managed to convince himself.

“Neptune.” Jaune looked incredibly doubtful.

“I’m fine.” 

Jaune put his hand on his shoulder in a gesture that would’ve been awkward and condescending if it had been coming from anyone else. “Dude, if you really care that much, try to find him at school tomorrow.”

“I don’t care,” he insisted, shrugging off his hand.

Jaune gave him another look. The one with his brow lowered and his hands on his hips in a move that had to be adopted from one of his sisters. 

He shoved his hand into his apron pocket, his name tag attached upside down. Unintentionally, Neptune was sure. The flowers and smiley faces surrounding his name were a sure sign that at some point either Nora or Ruby Rose had gotten hold of it. Possibly both of them.

Jaune produced his phone. He swiped to messages, and cleared his throat, glancing meaningfully at Neptune.

“‘Jaune, help! I think I just thought Sun was hot!’” Out came his approximation of Neptune’s voice. It was lowered too far and sounded a little like he had a cold. He also used a surfer dude accent.

“That’s not at all what I sound li-”

“I asked ‘what happened?’ like a good friend,” Jaune continued, flicking up his eyes from the phone. “You replied: ‘I don’t know! We jumped a hill in his bright blue Mustang and I started laughing because of the panic and then I passed out and I woke up and he was right by my face. I noticed his eyes and hair and hands and stuff. It was really weird and I don’t know what’s going on.’”

Jaune stared at him. Neptune stared back. He was silent. Then, “I was really tired, obviously, that doesn’t prove anyth-”

“I said,” Jaune interrupted. Neptune closed his mouth. “‘Wow, Neptune. That’s pretty gay of you.’ You said, ‘I know.’” He looked up at Neptune again, and tilted his head.

Too smug.

“I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Jaune snorted. “You sure weren’t.”

“Jaune!”

“What?”

“Stop smiling! I am not gay for Sun Wukong!”

“But you could be.”

“Oh my God.”

“Run to him, Neptune,” Jaune declared dramatically, doing an incredible impression of Nora.

“Remind me why we’re friends?”

“I act as a restraint on your personality.”

“Yeah right.”

Neptune pinched his brow, puffing out a sigh. “Jaune, please believe me when I say that I don’t like him.”

He glanced over at Neptune with narrowed eyes, scepticism painting every line of his face. Finally, he let out a breath and rolled his eyes, slipping his phone back in his pocket. “Fine! Fine. I believe you.”

“Thank you.”

“But when you two start making out in the backroom, don’t c-”

“Jaune!”

“Fine!” He nudged Neptune away from the counter before taking up residence beside him, planting his chin in his hands. “Then why are we still staring at the door?”

“It’s… Weird,” Neptune began at a crawl. “You would expect someone like him to just come in anyway. So why isn’t he?”

“Maybe because you don’t actually know him,” Jaune posited. “You met him like a month ago, and the only words you’ve exchanged were over shitty coffee.”

“Language, Jaune!”

“I can curse! Shut up!” he exclaimed, standing bolt upright and flushing pink. 

Neptune snorted. “Yeah, sure you can.”

“Besides,” Jaune sighed, plowing ahead despite the interruptions. “The only things you’ve said about him were how he was the dick frat boy stereotype. People aren’t really stereotypes, man.”

“He is.”

Jaune glared at him. “No, he’s not.” He paused. “Probably.”

“Fine,” Neptune conceded, leaning against the back wall and crossing his arms. “He still doesn’t really seem the type to hold up his end of promises.”

Jaune shrugged. “Maybe he just likes you.”

“Jaune,” Neptune said, warningly.

“In a friend way.”

“Sure.”

“I’m being serious!”

“Oaky, okay.”

“Or in another way, hypothetically speaking, who knows right?” Jaune said, smiling cheekily and jumping away to dodge Neptune’s swipe.

Or he tried to jump away. All he actually managed to do was jump to dodge the hit, cheer in triumph when he succeeded, and then promptly slip and fall onto the ground anyway. After helping his coworker to his feet, Neptune sighed and leaned back onto the wall, raking his eyes over the coffee shop.

The coffee shop was nearly empty, the air filled with the aromas of coffee beans and caramel, yet somehow it still remained stagnant. The soft bass of the coffee shop playlist pumped through speakers overhead. 

The clacking of nails against laptop keys issued from Weiss’s distant corner. Calm light was streaming through the unopening glass cafe door, staining the floor with the colors of fall. He didn’t miss him. He was just bored.

As if reading his mind, Jaune’s expression softened and he said, “Dude, if you miss him-”

“I don’t miss him.” He might have responded slightly too quickly. But who was there to call him on it?

“Okay. If you’re worried about him…” Jaune amended, watching his face for any sign that he was going to get cut off. When Neptune said nothing, he plowed on. “...Just find him at school.”

“No.” No way. No freaking way was he going to voluntarily look for that idiot during the little free time he got.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want him to think we’re friends.” Neptune shrugged.

“Do you have friends?”

Neptune turned to him, expecting malintention to show up on his face. But no. It was just a gentle smile, curling blonde hair that didn’t stay put, and a smattering of freckles across his nose. A kind face. An approachable face. A face Neptune didn’t let anywhere near him for the first few months of knowing him.

“I have you,” he said, more sincerely than he thought himself capable of being.

Jaune rolled his eyes. “Besides me.”

Neptune thought for a second. Scarlet? Probably. Weiss? Less than probably. Most of the people he could maybe say he was friends with, they were really friends with Jaune. He was friendly with many, flirtatious with more, but did he really have any friends other than Jaune? “Not really,” he said finally, and more than a little sullenly.

“Yeah,” Jaune said and gave him a smile. A sad smile. Jaune wasn’t one to hide his feelings. Neptune hated pity even at the worst of times, but somehow Jaune was so genuine it made it okay. “Make some friends, dude. Please. He seems nice, and he has good intentions.”

“He does?”

“Totally. I’ve got a good sense about these things.”

“What about that Winchester dude?”

“We don’t talk about him, shut up.”

Neptune looked over at Jaune, still keeping his arms crossed. Jaune meanwhile, just looked hopeful. Like a puppy.

“Fine,” Neptune huffed and rolled his eyes. “But not for him.”

“That works for me!”

#rwby #neptune vasilias #jaune arc #sun wukong #seamonkeys #weiss schnee #nora valkyrie #ruby rose #cardin winchester #mine #my writing #writing wednesday #shouting in cafes #chapter 8 #coffee shop rwby

[altumvidetur]

Hotch/Reid Fic Recs

Previously: Haikyuu!! Fic Recs, DCMK (Kaishin) Fic Recs

So, I was thinking about the coronavirus pandemic and what I could do to help people out. I’m isolated because I’m at higher risk, so I can’t really offer to go out for my elderly neighbors or my family… but I thought I could try to help keep people entertained.

Because I don’t have an AO3 account right now, I’ve been compiling fic recs for my own amusement for a year or so. And I thought – maybe that’s the time to share these with everyone? So everyone will have plenty of things to read while they have to stay at home, or even to escape anxiety a little bit if you’re forced to go out.

Of course, these cater to my own tastes, so you may find stuff you don’t like around here. I never include works in progress. The Mature and Explicit works will be in italic. I ask you to READ THE WORK’S TAGS before continuing, so you won’t find anything that makes you uncomfortable.

When it comes to Criminal Minds, I only had one OTP, one that’s been carrying me through the first seven seasons and which will, hopefully, carry me towards season 11 (and what am I going to do once Hotch leaves the show? I have no idea). So, here are my Hotch/Reid fic recs:

A Kiss Is..., by bowie28

For a Renaissance man such as Dr. Reid, a kiss can mean a lot of things.

First Kiss, by Lenore

To solve the case of who's targeting gay couples, Hotch and Spencer need to go undercover. But first, they have to practice.

Making Whoopee, by kuriadalmatia

12 days was the longest Hotch had been away from Jack since Haley's death. He's not adjusting well.

P is for Pie, by kuriadalmatia

Spencer knows what Aaron is doing: offering up a piece of himself—a very private piece of his childhood that never talks about—so that Spencer has the opportunity to reciprocate.

Nothing In Between, by travelinthedark

Aaron doesn’t know who he’s supposed to be anymore.

5 Mandatory Events at the FBI Regional Training Seminar, by travelinthedark

“Hey guys!” Jeff’s voice is just as upbeat as it was when he was telling the entire conference room about the wonders of community stewardship and his volunteer work as a ‘Big Brother.’ It’s also just as loud, and Hotch wonders if the guy realizes he doesn’t have to shout at people who are less than five feet away from him. “Are you ready to come up and add your ideas to the aspirations board?”

Conversations in Transit, by travelinthedark

Three conversations about (or sort of about) the way that Hotch and Reid are together.

Your Shadow at Morning, by travelinthedark

Aaron's world is a mess, and it falls apart more every time he tries to fix it.

Q is for Queen Bee, by kuriadalmatia

The last thing Reid remembered as he was speaking gibberish to Kimura as they raced to the hospital. Losing the capacity for language was terrifying...

L is for Lipstick, by kuriadalmatia

Aaron finds a cache of lipstick-imprinted business cards tucked away in Spencer's desk. He doesn't react well.

Catatonic, by bowie28

Spencer Reid is a man of habit.

The apple and afterward, by Lenore

What if Reid hadn't managed to kick his Dilaudid addiction? What if he needed a job on the side in order to afford his habit?

Five Times Spencer Reid Kept His Hair, and One Time He Didn’t, by bowie28

Why Reid finally had his hair cut. 

Love Songs, by Gorgeousgreymatter

(Summary by me: Hotch pining for Reid, both of them getting together and being cute.)

The Tradition of Sprigs, by kuriadalmatia

Hotch holds the sprig of mistletoe by the stem, cocks an eyebrow, and waits for an explanation. Because, in the four months Spencer Reid has been on his team, Hotch knows that there’s going to be one. What he doesn't know is that it will become a tradition.

The Best for Last, by blythechild

This is a gift fic based on the prompt: "It's Hotch and Reid's first Xmas together and Hotch wants to get Reid a gift that he never received as a child - Jack suggests asking Reid’s parents about what he’d like."

House Call, by blythechild

Jack is ill and wants to be comforted by Reid instead of Hotch.

Not Included In The Brochure, by blythechild

[Crossover with Sherlock (BBC)] Sherlock was standing over the body… Sherlock finds himself in the middle of a B.A.U. investigation, much to his delight and John's frustration.

Something Less Ordinary, by blythechild

A year after Reid voluntarily leaves the F.B.I., Hotch discovers that Diana Reid is dead and he must find his former colleague and friend in hopes of setting a few things right.

we’re reeling through an endless fall, by bittereternity

lead me to the truth and I will follow you with my whole life. Back then, Spencer had replied, "I love you too. I love you very much." This could be a love story someday. [spencer reid, aaron hotchner, reid/hotch, reid/maeve]

Five Dinners Series, by Daylyn

(Summary by me: Hotch and Reid’s getting together, plus some moments during the series.)

The Moment In-Between, by Daylyn

In the Criminal Minds novel, Killer Profile by Max Allan Collins, there’s a scene where Prentiss sends Reid to wake up a sleeping Hotch and Hotch enters the conference room a moment later looking rather mussed. This is what happened during that missing moment in-between.

The Secret Marriage, by blythechild

Hotch has a new ring, Reid has a new tattoo, and everyone is wondering about everyone else's secrets.

yesterday’s seven thousand years, by bittereternity

“What if I can never love a child?” “If it’s your child, Spencer, he will be the easiest person in the world to love.”

Reid thinks about the idea of a child in his life, and turns to Hotch for help.

the lies we weave are oh so intricate, by bittereternity

Maybe they were always supposed to fall apart, because there was nothing stopping them from being happy. In a world where everyone is Dominant or submissive, Aaron Hotchner meets Spencer Reid, who simply wants to be neither. In the process of getting to know him, he never expected to a. fall in love b. fall in love with his team member and c. fall in love with a man so infuriatingly unwilling to reciprocate.

Written for the Criminal Minds Big Bang 2013.

Vigil, by red_river

"Part of Hotch knew Reid was an FBI agent, and perfectly capable of taking the bus. But the other part couldn't imagine letting him - not after this case, of all cases." Post LDSK, Hotch gives Reid a ride home, and which leads to pizza, old TV, and helping him face a few of his demons. Episode tag, S1E6, "LDSK." Friendship or pre-slash.

Refuge, by red_river

"She’s my mom,” Spencer murmured, and Aaron couldn’t help thinking how young that word made him seem. “But sometimes it’s like there’s…almost none of that person left.” In the aftermath of the Fisher King, Hotch flies to Las Vegas to bring Reid home, and tries to make something new out of all their broken pieces. Episode tag to S2E1, "The Fisher King;" friendship or pre-slash.

Call me whatever, I just want to be yours, by surrenderdammit

“Let’s get dinner, just the two of us, next time,” Aaron comments, helping her into her coat because he is ridiculous like that, and he is apparently partial to the fond exasperation he gets in return, which is usually in the form of her huffing or rolling her eyes.

A love story told in parts, from the first time they met to the first time they fall into bed together.

Serendipity, by red_river

"You've been watching over him." In the aftermath of a difficult case, Hotch searches for a way to lift Reid's spirits, and someone notices. Episode tag to 2x13, "No Way Out."

I Hope You Kept the Receipt, by blythechild

[Crossover with Sherlock (BBC)] Hotch and Reid get trapped in an elevator with Sherlock Holmes. And then Sherlock does what he's best at: pissing people off.

Speechless, by blythechild

[Crossover with Sherlock (BBC)] Reid has an uninvited guest at the worst possible moment.

Desert Mirage, by merle_p

Long story short, there is a high probability that he is doing it for altogether selfish reasons, but when Reid looks at him with an expression of such sincere, helpless gratefulness, he cannot find it in himself to regret.

Twice Shy, by blythechild

Seven years ago, Hotch and Reid had a brief affair. Now, Hotch wants to try again, but can they make it work with less impediments and more baggage? (Spoilers through season 10)

Three Letter Agency, Four Letter Word, by merle_p

The NSA is interested in Spencer Reid. They are not the only one.

Late Nights ‘Verse, by EloquentDossier

Summary by me: Hotch pining for Reid, Reid probably pining for Hotch, a lot of UST and people being dense.

Time-Out ‘Verse, by EloquentDossier

Summary by me: Hotch and Reid’s cute shenanigans.

Chain Reaction, by EloquentDossier

"(Mon 12:20 pm) Which is why you text the stranger instead of talk to coworkers.

(Mon 12:20 pm) Yes. (Mon 12:28 pm) Is that weird?"

xxx

A dialogue-only AU in which Hotch texts what he thinks is Rossi's new number but is actually the slightly eccentric stranger whom Hotch knows only as "Spencer." What follows is something neither man could have ever quite expected.

Golden Letters ‘Verse, by EloquentDossier

Summary by me: Soulmates AU in which everyone gets a tattoo with a sentence that their soulmate will eventually say.

Bright, by EloquentDossier

"There were several things in Aaron Hotchner's life that had never made sense to him. He didn't understand why nearly everyone in his family (minus his son Jack) couldn't quite fathom why he felt drawn to the BAU. He didn't get how so many people in the world had such depraved mindsets. And he wasn't entirely sure why he still hadn't drug-tested his team's tech analyst, Penelope Garcia. (He was also confused about her relationship with Derek Morgan, but he wasn't going to touch that with a ten foot pole.)

But what baffled Hotch the most was how someone who was as intelligent as Spencer Reid could be so inherently oblivious."

xxx

Written for the prompt: I've seen a lot of oblivious!Hotch fic, but how about Reid being oblivious of his own feelings for Hotch? Hotch is aware, and reciprocates. Fluffy journey of realization maybe? Bonus for Garcia being helpful.

Affinity, by margarks

Right now just a couple of drabble about the way Spencer and Hotch see each other, but it seems like I might add on to these, so I created this series.

Psychosexual Developments, by dissolvedingirl

Hotch and Reid, between all the moments you see.

Limbo, by kehlee

There's a place in between kissing and dating; there's a place between heaven and hell. This is it.

Just When You Least Expect It, Just What You Least Expect, by blythechild

Hotch has been Reid's boss for ten years, and his friend for almost as long. He thinks he knows him pretty well, but a random event during a random case has the chance to change all of that. It's just a matter of whether Hotch can accept it or not.

In Two Hours (And Not a Minute Later), by dissolvedingirl

Reid finally decides to confront Hotch about those intense looks he's been giving Reid for years.

The Wall, by blythechild

Hotch can't decide what he finds more shocking: going out clubbing at 50 or seeing a phone number he knows scribbled on the bathroom wall...

You’re the Boss, by blythechild

Hotch finds himself in the unfamiliar position of relying on Reid for guidance in their kinda/sorta/not really relationship. or Why casual sex is never all that casual.

This One Is Not Like The Others, by blythechild

(Summary by me: Tentacle-Monster!Reid. It’s way better than it sounds.)

Beneath, by blythechild

Everyone is exactly who you think they are until something comes along to throw your perception off track. After ten years, Reid and Hotch discover this for themselves.

Breaking Point, by EloquentDossier

There was this thing about Aaron Hotchner's voice.

Reid couldn't quite pinpoint when it had started. Perhaps it had always been there, hovering just beneath the surface and waiting for him to recognize it for what it was. Or maybe it had simply been a recent, sudden development. For once the "when" wasn't as much of a concern as it typically would be. No; instead Reid was more interested in trying to discern just what he was going to do about the fact that Hotch had discovered it so quickly. Possibly even before he himself had.

xxx

In which Reid really should have just admitted he liked Hotch's voice when he realized it.

Birthday Woes, by EloquentDossier

It didn't bother him when the call came in. Really, it didn't. Or at least not initially.

xxx

In which the team gets called away on a case and forgets Hotch's birthday.

Of Cowboys and FBI Agents, by severity_softly

Aaron catches Spencer in the act.

In the Silence, by Brumeier

Posted to LJ Comment Fic for Kink prompt: Criminal Minds, Hotch/Reid, silence is a big kink for Hotch

Two Seconds, by blythechild

Time catches up with Aaron Hotchner when he realizes that the person he's always wanted - Spencer Reid - is actually beyond his reach.

Maybe Tomorrow, by orphan_account

The one where Aaron Hotchner wasn't in love with Spencer Reid, until suddenly he was.

Give and Take, by blythechild

Everyone has human moments and for some reason Reid is hiding his. Because Hotch is who he is, he decides he needs to figure out why.

Shepherd of the Damned, by Deejaymil

They're called to Alaska on a desperate last-ditch effort to find seven missing hikers. They don't even think twice about going. This is their job. They put themselves in danger every day to protect the people that need them. But never like this.

They number six. It begins with one.

It's not going to stop until they're all consumed.

See The Love There That’s Sleeping, by blythechild

Reid didn't know that when he leapt into a burning building his life would change forever. But love is sneaky that way.

December 1st: Mistletoe or Give Us a Hug, by NimueOfTheNorth

Spencer may say he is getting enough cuddles, but Derek knows better. A mistletoe makes a convenient option to test both arguments. Derek gets quite a bit more than he bargained for.

Come Undone, by EloquentDossier

When Spencer Reid forgot to take his suppressants two mornings in a row, it really shouldn't have been a big deal. He had them in his bag at the hotel, and as long as he took one that evening, he'd be fine. What he couldn't have prepared for, however, was the lab the latest victim worked at going into an at least twenty-four-hour-lockdown while he was in it.

When Aaron Hotchner was asked to aid his subordinate through what would otherwise be an agonizing heat, he'd had several reservations, one of which had been the consent issue: Omegas couldn't legally consent to sex during a heat unless it was twenty-four hours in advance. With every concern rebutted logically (because of course the Bureau had an Agent Consent form in case of emergencies), he finally agreed.

Of all the possible repercussions, however, neither man expected the one they received.

xxx

Or that one time no one expected the Alpha to accidentally bond to the Omega while the Omega remained unaffected.

Fireproof, by blythechild

[Crossover with Supernatural] Hotch and Reid's friendship ends suddenly when Hotch abruptly quits the Bureau and disappears. But Reid won't let him get away with it.

Halcyon Mine, by Deejaymil

What if a lonely boy meets a friend in a lonely quarry... and what if he loses him without warning?

unmoored, by 28ghosts

“When it’s kids who end up our killers, you know,” Reid says, unprompted, pulling his coat close against his body, “I always end up feeling...bad, you know? I feel bad. I know I have no cause to, not really. I’m not one of them.”

Hotch stops for a second, walking down the airfield. The cold Virginia air whips around him as harsh as judgement. He’s surprised to see Reid, ahead of him, slow to a stop, head tilted back towards the gray sky.

“Let’s get a drink sometime,” Hotch says, before he can overthink it. “If you’d like.”

Indispensable, by Deejaymil

Dave's a damn good guardian angel, one of the best. And being one of the best means he gets the worst jobs: the important, the clumsy, the reckless, the difficult-to-keep-alive. The indispensables. But he's never before quite had anyone like Spencer Reid.

Within the first two seconds of meeting his new charge, the kid gets hit by a car; it really only goes downhill from there. His only consolation is that Emily is having just as much trouble with her new charge, Aaron Hotchner.

If only they could somehow combine their assignments...

Acutely Us, by Deejaymil

This is the part where a story is told. There are ferrets, mistakes, birthdays, apologies, and dances. There is Spencer and Aaron and Jack and the life they make together.

And it all begins with a goat.

Rise Again, by blythechild

Aaron Hotchner has been on the run for five years, but that all comes to an end on a beach in Australia.

Religiously Unaffiliated, by ghoultown

(Summary by me: Hotch/Reid with Reid deliberating about his atheism.)

Don’t Make Me Talk You Down, by ghoultown

The night was heavy because it was humid on top of the bridge in between highway I-90 and I-80, the semi-trucks that passed messing with his balance, almost toppling him over if it hadn't been for his grip on the railing.

Rain, by orphan_account

He almost died today, and Hotch is determined to ensure it doesn't happen again.

Against All Odds, by ghoultown

Spencer is upset because the way he and Hotch met and started dating wasn't as special as Hotch and Haley's story. Hotch begs to differ.

Under My Protection, by ghoultown

Hotch and Reid never met. Reid is in danger. The government puts Hotch in charge of Reid's safety.

Empty Places, by Mystical_Magician

All wishes have consequences, and when Spencer makes one to save lives, he knows and accepts the price. The rest of his team does not. What the mind forgets, the heart remembers, and in Foyet's wake they all know that something is missing. Aaron Hotchner refuses to ignore the aching, empty spaces.

Genuine Need, by NimueOfTheNorth

It would have been nothing more than Aaron buying Spencer a cup of coffee. Good thing Garcia is there to pull the right strings or those two would be lost.

Swan Song, by Deejaymil

At some point they’d become caught in each other’s orbits, lost in a sea of almosts. Neither of them realized that their time was finite, not until their world turned to flames and threatened to tear everything apart.

For Spencer Reid the grief was too big, too impossible to believe that four BAU members and a treasured friend had fallen in an instant. When faced with the opportunity to get back what he’d lost, he has to decide if it’s fate or madness that beckons him.

For Aaron Hotchner, madness would almost be welcome. At least then the world would become logical again, turning the impossibility of what had happened to them into something tangible. But even madness doesn’t change the fact that they’re trapped.

They’re not even sure if anyone is still looking for them.

i hope you’re waiting at the end, by soloecal

Sometimes, Spencer thinks too much. Post Season 12.

-

A month later, on a singularly insignificant night, Spencer sits Hotch down after dinner, and presses a ring into the palm of his hand. “This isn’t working,” Spencer says. “I think we should break up.”

Expiration Date, by blythechild

He goes to Vegas to meet a friend but ends up married. The time-honored way to make these kinds of mistakes is to do it while incapacitated, but Hotch waits and does it sober instead. An interesting choice...

Conclusive Proof That You Have a Terrible Boyfriend, by blythechild

Hotch is proving he's an awful boyfriend. Via text messaging.

He’s A Bad Boyfriend Too, by blythechild

Aaron and Spencer have a relationship issue that Spencer thinks is best solved via drunk texting. This is a sequel to Conclusive Proof That You Have A Terrible Boyfriend.

Apodyopsis, by NimueOfTheNorth

If he is forced to listen to boring lectures for three days, Spencer really can't be held accountable for his imagination going wild, now can he. Reality might proof even better.

(i know you’ve tried) but something stops you every time, by wintrs

Prentiss can't help but overhear Hotch and Reid's conversation on the jet.

Faces, by blythechild

Every three days, a man wakes up in a different body. There's no controlling it and no way to prepare for it. All he can do is make the best of his new face with the time he has.

First, by orphan_account

The first time Aaron tells Spencer he loves him is an accident.

L’Homme Mystere, by orphan_account

Even if he’d been waiting for this in a state of barely contained arousal since early this morning, when Aaron had bumped shoulders with him at the coffee pot in the breakroom and whispered in his ear about how he had a surprise for him later that night... well.

Spencer wasn’t that kind of guy.

How to Get a Hard Pass, by Deejaymil

There's an FBI trainee named Spencer Reid in the class Hotch is teaching, and that'd all be just fine if Hotch wasn't completely distracted by wanting to be in Spencer Reid instead. But there’s no way he’s going to give his student an inch - or eight - until he’s good and ready to do so on his own terms.

Spencer Reid has other plans.

The Longest Road, by Deejaymil

They’re taking the longest road to get there, but, in the end, it doesn’t really matter. What they are to each other has always been inevitable.

A Horse Named Rabbit, by Deejaymil

Aaron Hotchner is riding West on a borrowed horse, hiding the man he used to be behind a shortened name and a beard he only sometimes thinks of shaving. His desire to keep on running until he hits the setting set is waylaid by an unexpected meeting with a man on a mule who says he's looking for his lost luck.

When they part, Hotch realises that's a mistake. There's something about Spencer Reid that reminds him that he's more than just a man on a horse going nowhere—that he was once the kind of person who could help a stranger find what he's looking for. There's just one problem with that.

When Spencer had said he was looking for his luck, he’d never mentioned that he planned to steal it.

for mortals: there is a share, by ifnot_winter

Reid could find no precedent in his experience for so gentle a seduction. Or so effective.

+

An exploration of moments and intimacy through three consecutive fragments of text paired with fragments of Sappho's lyric poetry.

the safety of objects, by ifnot_winter

Fumbling his glasses right off the edge of the table, he managed not to step on them en route to snatching up the phone as the third buzz gave way to ringing. Bending to retrieve his glasses, he caught his shoulder on the corner of the nightstand and managed to press the answer button, cutting off the shrill electronic wail mid-ring. "Damn--Hello?" Glasses shoved firmly into place, he watched the cufflink skitter in concentric, diminishing circles across the scuffed polish of the hardwood floor and come to a leisurely halt a few feet away.

"Reid." Hotch.

+

Somehow the fragments of Sappho struck me as a great mental framework for CM fics. This was the first completed result, mostly an attempt at exploring Reid and flexing rusty writing muscles.

Pretty, by blythechild

Hotch thinks Reid is pretty and then is forced to explain it.

Good Enough, by blythechild

Aaron has plenty of kinks, but he can't figure out Spencer's.

#criminal minds #hotch/reid #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #fic recs #hotchreid #they need a better ship name #please warn me if any links are broken #and reblog it if you can so more people will see it #otp: what i want i'm not going to get

[nowlemmehearyourguns]

Did someone ask for... Murder-fluff?!

I’m finally done, y’all!  I hope you like it!!

i do apologize for how ridiculously i type out his lisp in advance.

((oh hey, this is the internet’s first introduction to my OC, Venus.  She’s a rascal and i hope you like her too. lol))

. . .

‘Party pass cash in!!! <3’ The text came through on the five musicians phones.  Why she always alerted them all, no one knew.  William heaved a dramatic sigh tossing his dethphone back onto the couch.

“Not like sche’sch gonna hang out with anybody but Picklesch anyway…” He mumbled to himself.  He couldn’t rightfully be upset.  One could only assume someone preferred to spend time with their significant other, hence the significance.  But man were they annoying, flaunting their couple-hood all the time.  And knowing his pouting would be seen as invalid only made him angrier.  By the time the whoosh of the dethjet neared Mordhaus, he was nothing short of thrilled to tell Venus the rest of the band was out for the day.  That’d show her and her stupid good mood!

“DK!  Where we goin’ tonight?!”  The booming command for attention echoed in the empty front room.  Venus stood; arms stretched above her, her head thrown back to properly shout her excitement to the skies.  After a moment of realized silence, she lowered her gaze to observe her surroundings.  “Fellas?” She questioned.

Her klokateer escort attempted to scoot his way out of the awkward scene.  “3713.”  The number froze him in place.  “So, like… when you say ‘my masters await your arrival’ is that just a spiel?  Did Mr. O tell you thatcha have to say that?” Venus inquired.

The chill that went down his spine was nigh visible.  “Ma’am?” He managed to utter the word cautiously.

“No, but really.  You don’t lie to house guests and fly them out from New York knowing they’ll be left bored and they’ll absolutely have to pester you and several coworkers into entertaining them and then you find yourself in trouble because you aren’t supposed to be drinking on duty ‘but mean old V made you and it wasn’t your fault,’ right?”  She quizzed mockingly.

“I do apologize.  It was my understanding that-”

“Where do you get off ordering around OUR schervantsch?”  Murderface butted in.  The klokateer himself never expected the bassist to be his savior.  

“Oh there you are sire! Miss Remeldtindrinc has arrived. The uh- less scary one.”  The near-groveling gear was quickly dismissed with a shove and a trademark ‘fuck off’ as his far-from-benevolent master stood staring the small woman down.  Venus thought to call the worker out on his comment, but recalling the last time she’d upset Abigail, she concluded he was well within his rights to title them as such.  

“In all fairness, he was assigned to me.  But enough about that.” Venus eased off her cutting tone, directing a genuine smile and greeting at the man.  

“What’re you schmilin’ at?”

Venus, consistently unfazed by textbook Murderface behavior, sauntered over to the couch, her backpack thrown over one shoulder.  “Can’t be happy to see a familiar face?  It feels like it’s been ages!”  

“You schtayed for a month and went home for a week.”  He pointed out, following her.

She ignored the factual assertion. “Where’re the rest of your heathen friends?”  

He crossed his arms. Right, he was supposed to be laughing at her misfortune.  “They’re not here.  Looksch like you flew all this way for nothing.  But hey champ, better luck nexsht time!  I’ll be scheein’ ya!”  He began to motion her back to the door.  

Venus stood her ground, causing William’s force to become apparent.  She turned to face him.  “You… don’t wanna hang out with me?”  The less chipper tone caught him off guard.

“Well ahhh-  What?”  He backpedaled, unsure of what upsetting his band mate’s girlfriend would beget.  Not to mention, the hurt looked pretty genuine. “I’m not- I juscht figured…” Now he was the one sounding pouty, much to the young woman’s amusement.  

“Figured I wouldn’t want to hang with the legend: William Murderface just cuz the rest of the guys aren’t here? Get the fuck outta here, goofy!”  She nudged him in the ribs.  “You wanna party?  Let’s go party!”  

Before he could respond she was dragging him back to the drummer’s room.  “Just lemme change and we can be on our way.  What’re ya thinkin?  Dive bar?  Upscale joint?  Karaoke?” He was overwhelmed already, internally questioning how Pickles could tolerate this ball of enthusiasm on a regular basis.

She dumped the contents of the backpack on the drummer’s bed observing the pile as if even she wasn’t sure what all she’d stuffed inside.  “We could go hang with some bikers.  I brought my leather pants!”  Venus exclaimed, clutching the pair to her chest, expressing aloud how ecstatic she was to be able to fit them again.

William propped himself against the wall with his shoulder, defeated in his quest to disappoint the woman. He supposed this was fine.  It was a rare occurrence for him to feel welcome.  Why not make the best of it? “Well there’sch thisch bar in Shcotla… what are you doin’ there?”  He asked as Venus spritzed her curls.

“Hm?  Oh, ya see with hair like mine or Abigail’s, it gets dry faster than say, Skwisgaar’s.  So I have this handy little mixture of conditioner and water to keep the ‘fro in check.”  She’d gotten accustomed to explaining these things due to her favorite stoner’s curious nature and lack of self-maintenance on what hair he had left.  

“Condishioner?”  

She rolled her eyes. “Willy, come on.  Even good ol’ boys have conditioner.”  He raised an eyebrow.  “You’re joking!”  She turned to him, her mouth agape.  A slight headshake led her to begin plotting.  “Come here.” She waved him over.

“Why?”  William grew defensive again.  Venus tapped on the trigger of the spray bottle and imitated the spritzing sound effect.  “What? Why would I wanna do that?” He inquired.

She shrugged, going back to her own routine.  “You get a lot of shit for your hair, don’tcha?”  He couldn’t disagree.  “But hey, you won’t catch me upset about being able to save on product, so to each their own.”  She chuckled, scrunching the spirals to her liking and going back to mumbling to herself. “Kind of a ponytail night…”  

He spoke up, his interest piqued by the open options.  “What’sch the big deal?  Doesch it feel that different?”

Venus grabbed his wrist and patted his hand against her mane, having him compare the sections she’d worked on against the rest.  “I’d say so, wouldn��t you?”  

The bassist found himself relaxing again.  “Alright. I’ll try it.”  He agreed, with less hesitation in his voice.  “But this doeschn’t mean I’m schome nancshy boy, ok?  You get that thought outta your head, if that’sch what your angle isch!”  He reminded her with a threatening index finger.

Venus snickered, motioning for him to have a seat on the bed.  “Lemme ask you somethin’, Murderface.  What exactly constitutes homosexuality?  To you?  How can you‘tell’ someone’s gay?”  She humored his admittedly irritating notions as she begun attempting to part his hair.

“Well that’sch obviousch!” William rolled his eyes; confident he had the world figured out.  “You alwaysch see those dudesch with their fancshy clothesch and their two-hundred dollar haircutsch.  Never wanna get their nailsch dirty.”  He listed off.

“So Offdensen?”  She teased.

“No!  Not Offedenschen!  I mean- I don’t think scho.  No, like thosche pretty boy asscholesch with tight pantsch!”  He attempted to specify.

“Skwisgaar and Toki then?”

“Nooo!  Or maybe!  I don’t fucking know what those Schcandinavian baschtardsch do when no one’sch lookin’!”  He shuddered at the thought.

“Nate’s pants are pretty tight.  You think he’s gay?”  Venus giggled, working the leave-in spray through the dehydrated mass atop his head.

“Ok, no, Nathan’sch not gay.”

“Why isn’t Nathan gay?”

“Cuz he likesch pusschy!”

“Skwisgaar likes pussy more than anyone I’ve ever met.”  Venus countered.  

“He’ll fuck anything that movesch.”  William noted.

“You are dangerously close to understanding my point, bud.”  Venus giggled.

“What are you talking about?!”  He sighed in exasperation.

Venus attempted again to run the comb through his hair with only the slightest avail.  “Alright, hear me out. You know who else likes pussy and women in general?”  He gave her a questioning gesture.  “Yours truly.”

“Ok grossch, too much informatschion.”  He noted. “But you’re dating Picklesch which obviouschly meansch-”

“I get more now than ever in my life because the boy’s a master of the ménage.  You are correct, sir!”  She said cheekily.  “But I also love my little Irishman.”

Murderface raised an auburn brow, grunting slightly as she struggled with her task.  “Scho you don’t do threeschomesch just becausche he wantsch you to?”  

“No, dude.  I wanna bang who I wanna bang and I don’t worry about what’s in their pants until I get there. And then, I’ll happily make use of whatever awaits me.”  Venus smirked.  “Hell Nona’s mostly a lesbian.  So’s Abigail. Nathan is an outlier for a lot of girls I know...” She trailed off, distracted by pondering why that may be.

“So what’sch your point?” He huffed.

“I’m saying your sexual identity is based on who you wanna have sex with.  It’s that easy.  For some of us it can be anyone.  For some of us it’s none.  And you can’t be 100 percent sure who likes what unless an individual tells you.  So knock off that stereotyping shit.”  She threatened with a tug at his hair.  

He shrugged.  “I just have a sixschth schensche about thesche thingsch.”

“We call that gay-dar. It tends to be a lot more effective when used by our kind.”  She snorted, spraying his locks again.  

“Agh, don’t schay ‘our’ kind!  Feelsch like you’re lumping me in with ‘em.”

“I wasn’t. But if the shoe fits.”

“I don’t think I appreschiate the inschinuation.”

“Again, I’m not doing anything.  Maybe you’re projecting?”  He cast a furious gaze her way.  “And whether that is or is not the case, who. the hell. cares?  Honestly, what business is it of mine or yours what anyone does with another consenting adult?”

William sat in silence for a bit as she worked away at his unruly mane.  He pondered many deep-seeded thoughts he had never confronted before.  “Scho if I thought a man was…”

No sooner than he parted his lips, a nasal voice called into the room.  “Oh look at that, I didn’t know anybody else was here. Venus, babe, how the hell are ya?  Murderface, what are we doin?  Getting a makeover?”  Dick enthusiastically approached; shutting down any revelations the bassist may have been coming to.

“Knubbler!  Hi, doll!  Long time no see!”  Venus turned giving him a peck on each cheek once he reached her.  

Murderface returned to his defensive posture, annoyed with the new presence.  “What are you even doing here?  We don’t have any schesschions today.”  He pointed out in a grumble.

“Well ya see, I woke up on the recording room floor, figured it was a good night and thought you guys might wanna hang again!  Maybe get some sushi, hit the bar. What do you say?”  The engineer suggested.

Venus gasped, finally finagling the wide-tooth comb through a portion of William’s knots.  “Great minds think alike!  That’s why I’m here too.  But everyone bailed on us.”  

Knubbler gave her a set of finger guns.  “Well it’s your lucky day.  I can take you to one of my favorite places since nobody is here to object.  Bright lights, beautiful people, the whole nine yards, babe!”   He trusted she’d be in full agreement.  They had similar tastes based on some of their previous chats.  

“Excusche me, I might fuckin’ object!”  Murderface turned; offended by the assumption he shared their affinity for the club scene.

“Aw come on, Dick’s cool! He’ll show us a good time.  Old timers always know the best spots!” Venus goaded the brunet.

The man’s robotic eyes flashed red.  “Hey who are you callin’ old?  I’ll have you know, I can run circles around you and everybody else!  I’m a fifth of vodka in right now and you wouldn’t even know it!”

Venus giggled at the notion. “Sounds like something old man Pickles would say too.”  

After a heated battle with William’s coif and a few skincare pointers, the three of them found themselves in the deth limo, a bottle of champagne passing between them.  

“So what’s the scoop, Knubbles?  The suspense is killing me.”  Venus questioned, hoovering a line off the mirrored tray to her left.  

“This place is fucking amazing.  Drinks are a little pricier these days than I’d like, but what are you gonna do, right?” He chuckled.  

Murderface shook his head. “You’d better hope scho.  If it’sch lame, you two can say goodbye to your inschtant accessch passch.”  

“Grumpy, grumpy. Here, put some more liquor in you and get chipper, motherfucker!”  Venus slurred lightly.  

“Hot girls are instant access either way, Willy.  Don’t worry about us.”  Dick added on.  “And if you need a pick-me-up, I know a guy.”

“Awwww, Dick, you sweetheart.”  She waved a hand at him coyly as the vehicle came to a stop.  

They stood outside the disco, gazing up at the neon sign.  William fiddled with his wavier ‘do, suddenly worried about his appearance.  He wasn’t one to dress for this environment, after all. “Just relax.  You look great, man.”  Venus put a reassuring hand on his shoulder before they journeyed inside.  

Dick teleported to the bar, making a shady transaction beneath a napkin as he ordered a round for the three of them. He waved William and Venus over for extra hands.  

Climbing into an empty booth, Dick displayed the napkin in his half-closed hand.  “This shit will make you have a good time whether you want to or not.”  He grinned.

A weary Venus motioned for him to slide her the thin paper.  The small pouch wrapped inside contained 10 blue pills with tiny dolphins stamped on the sides.  “Ohh. Good.  This I can work with.”  She nodded in approval.

“What?  What isch it?”  William leaned over to get a better view.  

Venus removed a pill from the bag and gave him a closer view.  In a loud whisper she informed him.  “It’s ecstasy.  You should take it.”   She handed him the drug with a big grin.  “Thanks, by the way, Dick.  You didn’t have to do all this.”  

Knubbler shrugged. “What can I say?  I’m a nice guy.”  He boasted, tossing three of the pills into his mouth.  The younger pair stared in awe.  “Hey I don’t keep up, I do laps.”

Thirty minutes later and William felt himself loosening up.  Of course he’d experimented with many things over the years, but X wasn’t really his forte.  Call him old school, but booze and coke was a failsafe combo.  No need to complicate things, to hear him tell it.  

He panicked as he slipped the cocktail waitress a five and felt the fibers slide from between his fingers. Venus and Dick stifled laughter. “Hey you two schut the fuck up. Thisch is your fault!”  He whined.

“No, no, Willy, babe. We’re not laughing atcha.  It’s just a happy high.  Come on, let’s go dance!”  Knubbler bounced in his seat as the electronic bass bumped.  

“I don’t dansche.” Murderface insisted.

Venus slid him her cup of water.  “Come on! You pretty much gotta on this stuff. Look.”  She pointed to a woman lurking near the dance floor.  “She’s not having the time of her life.  Let’s go change that.”  She insisted, grabbing a hold of William’s hand and tugging lightly. “My friends pull ass when we go out. You’re not exempt.”

Murderface sighed, downing the remainder of the water and succumbing to the excess energy and peer pressure.  What was new?  He wondered to himself as they approached the colorfully lit tiles.

Dick immediately went into disco king mode, doing the hustle into the bustling crowd and leaving the metalhead and his tormentor to fend for themselves.  Venus shrugged, offering a hand to Murderface.  “If ya can’t beat ‘em, join em!”  She cheered, urging the bassist to twirl her.  

The lonesome looking woman flashed Venus a smile, seemingly amused with her dramatics.  She was a bit older, dressed in business casual wear.  Venus motioned for her to join them in their awkward boogying.  She initially declined, but Murderface, now fully immersed in his high, trapped her in an air lasso.  The woman hid a shy grin behind her hand as she hopped toward them, allowing herself to be pulled by the imaginary rope.

Venus took the opportunity to spin both of them, taking her cues from the confident blonde across the room. “Ok!  I see y’all” She cheered them on as the woman showed William her adorably dorky robot.  He countered with the sprinkler earning hoots and hollers from fellow patrons nearby.  The crowd loved the silly display, starting a wave of all the best throwback moves.  And all hell broke loose as the DJ caught wind of the group activities and slowed it down for the electric slide.

A few younger adults stood in confusion.  “What’s wrong?  Never been to a wedding before, kiddos?”  Knubbler attempted to spur them into action.  Venus ran to the front of the group of 20-somethings and helped them get the hang of things.  It was quite the show to behold.  

By the end of the line dance, the bar was in a happy uproar, requesting more oldies and running on nostalgia fuel.  Knubbler downed a water and got back to work, while Venus stopped by the shy pair to announce she was going for a smoke break.  “Oh wait, me too.”  The woman chuckled.

“Me three!” Murderface, followed, needing the fresh air more than anything.

“So what brings the infamous William Murderface to a place like this?”  The gruff-voiced woman queried in the quieter smoking area.

William repeatedly failed to work his zippo as he tried to formulate a response.  

Venus stepped in, lighting everyone’s cigarettes for them.  “Everyone likes a night on the town.  And nobody likes the same old, same old all the time.”  

“Yeah, what sche schaid.” William pointed a thumb at his slightly more social comrade.

The woman brushed choppy blonde bangs out of her face, enjoying the cooler night air on her forehead. “You’re right.  I’m getting too old for this myself.  But it had been a while since I made a public appearance so here we are.”  She motioned to her surroundings.  “The two of you don’t strike me as 808 fanatics though.”

Murderface leaned against the railed enclosure.  “Fuck no we’re not.  Thisch was all Knubbler’sch idea.  Just makin’ the bescht of a bad schituatschion.”  He rolled his eyes.

“Oh shush, Murderface. We’re having fun!  You can’t pretend you’re not.  Was that the lawnmower I saw back there?”  Venus teased.

“Ok, ok, schut it.” He chuckled lightly, releasing a small smoke cloud.

“And you’re the drummer’s girl, right?  Sorry, I’ve just seen you in the tabloids.”  The woman clenched her teeth, worried she was saying too much.

Venus chuckled, squatting down to the woman’s eyeline.  “They still don’t know who I am?  What a drag. I was hoping to be a household name by now.”  She giggled. “Yes I am the not-so-mysterious ‘Yorko Ono’ here to ruin the band or whatever tripe they’re sellin’.  My government is Venus.”  She offered the woman her hand.

“Marta.”  The woman shook Venus’s hand.  Murderface leaned over the table and received a shake as well. Boy, was her grip strong.  Murderface waved his hand, silently cursing at his now sore fingers.  

“Nice to meet you, Marta.” Venus smiled, forcing herself not to laugh at poor William’s crushed bass-playing hand.  “And if ya don’t mind me pointing it out, you don’t look much like one for the disco yourself.”  

“Oh, I’m definitely not.” She chuckled, taking another hit. “It’s my little sister’s birthday and she lives for this shit.  I’m more for the beer drinkin’ than the booty shakin’.”  She said with a matter-of-fact tone.  

“What do you normally lischten to then?”  William chimed in.  

“Hmm...  Thrash.  Though I guess I don’t look the type for that these days either.”  She raised devil horns with a sinister grin.  

Venus squealed in excitement, internally of course.  She was determined to hook them up now.  “A thrash gal, huh?  Who’s your favorite?”

“Fucking Exodus.  Holy crap man, I saw them in ’89 and I’ve been in love since.”  

“The Fabulousch Dischastour?!”  William chimed in excitedly.  “Fuck, man, that schit was fucking aewschome!”  He sat next to her and proceeded to gush about the bands he saved up for or snuck in to see in high school.  Venus flicked her cigarette into the ashtray and quietly departed, convinced her work there was done.

A few hours passed and the younger squadron of dancing machines tracked down team mom Marta, who’d been chatting up Murderface all night.  Venus sloppily knocked back a jack and coke as she approached the table to check on her match-making project.

“We’re ready to hit the next spot.  Are you coming?”  A long-haired woman questioned Marta.  

Venus watched Marta’s eyes dart between the girl she assumed was the aforementioned little sister and her new friend.  “Actually I was thinking I might head out.  But I’m glad you invited me!”  

The birthday girl cheerfully waved her off, giving her friends a suggestive smirk about the whole scenario once she was out of her sister’s sight.  

Knubbler approached, sweaty and still raring to go.  “Where to next, VR?”

She looked at the incoming call on her phone.  “Ahh, I’m being summoned!”  Venus flailed about, excited to see her beau but also in desperate need of updates on the William and Marta situation.  She answered Pickles’ call.  “Babe ohmygod, this is too cute, you need ta see it!  I’m not drunk, you’re drunk!  I mean yeah I am but thass irrelevant!”

She fluxuated between swears and giggles as one of the klokateer’s threw her over his shoulder, holding the phone to her chest as she screamed back to her small posse.  “Go on without me!  Remember me, brothersss!”  

Marta chuckled waving to the excitable woman.  “It was nice meeting you, Venus!”

“Nice meetin’ you, you won’erful badass of a lady! Be safe ok, I love you guys dearly!!”  Her words faded out as she was carried away. “Dick, you’re my hero!  Murderface, be good! Marta!  I know we jus’ met but be my first child’s godmother!”  Venus shouted holding onto the doorframe.  “Alas, I must go!”  She shouted in defeat as she was pried away for the night.

A month later, Venus was en route to Mordhaus giddy over a text from her bassist pal.  He seemed to be much more cheerful than usual.  

“Yeah he hasn’t been around much dese past few weeks, but dat can’t be why!”  Pickles asserted.  

“You’re just awful!” Venus snorted, attempting not to laugh aloud and encourage the drummer’s shit talking.  “Be nice to your band mate.  Also, I have no reason to lie. Look!” She shoved her phone toward his face.

“Yeah I really feel like Marta gets me.  Hell, I think I get myself more now. Thanks for the assist, bro.” And so it read.

He lowered the phone. “You tryin’ ta tell me dis chick was haht, single, inta metal, AND interested?  In fuckin’ Murderface?  Yer fuckin’ with me.  Or you must’ve passed out and dreamt dat shit up!”  Pickles shook his head in disbelief, pulling her into his lap.

“You’ll see when we get there! I didn’t even black out!  I remember everything.”  She settled into her place atop the cozy redhead’s thighs, examining the small image on her finger.  A devil emoji.  “Except the part where you convinced me to do this, you ass.”  Pickles snickered at the thought, recalling the actual events of her threatening to personally torture a series of klokateers if one of them didn’t come forth and admit to any tattooing experience.

“Yep.  Dat’s my bad.  You betcha.”  He rolled his eyes.

Once inside, Marta excitedly ran to hug Venus at the door.  “Long time no see!”  

Venus returned the excited embrace.  “So what’s the scoop, girl?  Will I be seeing you around these parts more often?”  

“Oh, about that.  I mean yeah, but not for… ah what was it you call it?  Murderface-sitting?”  Marta chuckled.  Before Venus could ask any more, she summoned over a blonde man.  He sported a septum ring and a series of lovely art pieces on his arms.  “Venus, this is my brother, Max.”  Venus stared at the man, mildly perplexed as she shook his hand.  “We’re twins, biologically and in spirit.”  

Murderface approached the huddle.  “’Schept he can do tattoos and piercingsch, so technically he’sch the cooler twin.” He joked.

“You dick!”  Marta laughed, punching the bassist in the arm.

Venus finally managed to read the room.  “Oh… OH! Well I am psyched to meet you Max!” She retried her handshake.  “And welcome to the gang!”  She winked.

“Nice to meetcha.  And thanks.”  Max said, happily accepting the pleasantries.

Marta clasped her hands together.  “Well! Now that intros are out of the way, I actually have a few errands to run, so I have to get goin’.”  She apologized for not being able to hang for longer.  

“Oh next time for sure!” Venus smiled waving her off.

“Well, an ass beatin’ on wheelchair bound is callin’ your name, motherfucker!”  Max bragged, turning to the bassist.

“Oh you’re fuckin on, dude!” William shouted, flashing the pair a genuine smile as Max pulled him away.

Venus swooned as she and Pickles made their way down the castle’s corridor.  “Must be spring.  Love’s in the air.”  

Pickles blinked at her in confusion.  “Arite maybe I’m missin’ sumthin.  Dat chick just bailed.  Whut’s so lovey-dovey about dat?”  

She turned to him with a sigh.  “I… am not at liberty to say.  Not our business what two consenting adults do.”  The short girl smirked, placing a light tap at the tip of his nose.

“No, wait, wut da fuck am I not getting’ here?”  Pickles whined.

“He’s my boyfriend, you fuckin’ dumbassch!”  Murderface shouted down the hall.

“Yeah, ya fuckin’ dumbass.” Venus snickered throwing her beanie in the speechless Pickles’ face.  

“Ohhhh!”  Pickles had a laugh at his own expense.  “Well good fer him!”

#metalocalypse #fanfiction #mtl #william murderface #sorry it's so long! #i always get carried away lol #i just wanted to write my son being a happy boi

[a-book-dragon]

A Valvert fic

Ok.. This piece was quite hard. Please, I BEG YOU, don’t judge my style, English is not my native language though  I try to improve every day by reading other people’s works. I write a lot better in my own, Bulgarian.

This is a Post-Seine fic; the characters areValjean, Javert, Cosette and Marius. I label it as fix-fic, a little fluff, a little hurt and comfort, much shipping.

There is no explicit violence or sex here. Only a kissing scene (my first one, wohoo!). So I would rate it “teen and up”.

It’s also the first gay relationship I’ve written (yay for awkward, hot, virgin, probably asexual, but defintely romantic old gay dudes!).

"He isn´t here... how strange", Jean Valjean thought to himself. He quickly got out, just in time to see a shadow disappear behind the corner. The man followed it carefully. He was dirty, exhausted and overwhelmed of all the emotions and dangers of the day, but he suspected that Javert was going to call reinforcements, arrest him and probably attack his home. He didn't care about himself, but Cosette, Toussaint and the rest of the inhabitants were also there. And he knew what Javert was capable of to fulfill the law.

Jean followed him to the bridge. There the other man stared in the river for a long time, entered the police office, went out again (alone, thanks God)! After staring in the river again, Javert suddenly stepped on the guardrail and jumped.

Jean Valjean was puzzled and shocked. But without hesitation, he ran under the bridge. If he jumped right from it, he would collapse hitting in the cold water. The man took off his coat and shoes and dove into the river. In the first moment he felt like all his blood vessels, muscles and bones were frozen. His heart started pumping and he had trouble breathing even before gulping water. It was a torture for his body to hold his head above the lightning-fast waves, let alone save another person.

When he had almost lost hope, Valjean noticed a big black thing (Javert!), grabbed him by the hand, summoned all of his strength and pulled him out of the whirlpool that was about to suck him in the deep. Luckily, he was near the other side of the river and in a desperate attempt caught at a stone of the bridge and climbed on hard ground, dragging the body of Javert. For a long moment, Valjean was just sitting there, coughing loads of water and thanking God, just like he had done earlier this long, long night.

It took him some time to remember that he had a dying man next to him and hurried to do CPR and loosen his clothes. Javert was still alive and breating, so Jean put his own coat on him, lifted him and headed home. All the hospitals were closed at the time, so he decided to bring him to his home. He also had to decide how to explain Cosette the unfortunate event.

"Cosette... I have no choice, I'll reunite her with that guy, Marius. I hope she won't forget me, a miserable man, whom she calls Father without him deserving it...".

These sad thoughts were interrupted by something even more depressing - the weight of the unconscious Javert and his own body, which already refused to function. Gosh, was he tired of carrying fainted guys around. The night wind was biting him, as he was soaked with water. Gladly, they were at the front door of his home. After stumbling against the door, forgetting to open it in the first moment, Valjean brought the body upstairs, entered his apartament silently and put Javert on his bed. He changed him in his own old clothes and put all the blankets he found over him. Then he made a big fire in the fireplace and moved the bed near it.

All of a sudden, he started trembling uncontrollably and collapsed on the ground, almost unconscious. He could only pull the carpet and wrap himself with it before he fell in a dreamless sleep.

…

- Papa! PAPA! - Cosette woke him up, banging on the door.

Gosh. He needed several seconds to remove the carpet, get off the floor (what was he doing there?) and hurry to open the door.

- Cosette, don't enter! - he shouted, got out and slammed it.

- Papa, you never oversleep and always look preppy - the girl, stylish even in her everyday dress, looked critically at the creased and still wet clothes her dad had slept in. – What’s up?

- Umm honey, I had lots of work to do and fell asleep in my chair. And my room is a mess...

- Shall I call Toussaint?

- No, no, I'll sort it out. – the old man cringed. – Isn't it time for you two to do the groceries? By the way, I assure you Marius is now safe in his home, though he has a serious injury. He will be very thankful if you sew some bandage for him.

- Oh yes! Can’t wait to help Marius! First gotta go, but I'll talk to you later, dear monsieur!

He smiled. He used to call her "dear mademoiselle" when she was young to boost her confidence when the girls in the convent bullied her for being ugly. He never understood them. His daughter was the most beautiful girl in the world!

"I'm really getting old, I shouldn't get lost in memories", when Valjean made sure the women were gone, he returned to his room. He was glad to see that Javert was better and his breathing and heartbeat were back to normal. Jean removed all the sharp objects from his sight (the man had tried to commit suicide, after all).

…

Javert opened his eyes while the other man was sitting on his chair with a book to fill his time waiting for him to wake up.

- What? Where am I? - he looked around in confusion.

Valjean peered above the book.

- Ah, at last! You are awake. Do you need anything?

- AAAARGHHHHHHH! - Javert tried to escape, but fell onto the floor, groaning in pain. He lifted his eyes, full of more hate than fear. - JEAN VALJEAN! I only wanted to die, but you´re here to torture me again!

- Stop. - Valjean said firmly, forcing him to go back to bed. - You will hurt yourself.

- Why would you even care - Javert hummed, letting Valjean put him in bed because he had no strength to do anything else. - In your eyes, I shall be a criminal. Like you were in mine.

- Were... well, I'm happy you won't arrest me. – Jean replied with a grin. – And whatever you’ve done, you’re a human in trouble. Isn't it enough? I was actually ready to get arrested. It was your right.

- First, I’m not a “human in trouble”. I am – was – completely capable, it was you who were creating me trouble. Second, stop pretending to be so freaking pure and shaming my own selfish ass! I refuse to talk to a weird person like you. Just give me a knife, ok? Or better, a gun.

- I have a better idea. – Valjean rolled his eyes. – Going to prepare some tea and food. Then I’ll decide what to do with you and how to explain Cosette everything.

- Just throw me in the river, where you took me from.

- I don’t think to do that. All lives are important and no matter if you see the meaning of yours, it has one. God has created humans like that.

- Except your life, right? You threw yourself in a river for a person who WANTED to die, you fake righteous shit with no self-respect!

Javert had no idea what he was saying - he had seen Jean doing lots of crazy and risky things, but he never could've known how the former convict’s memory always turned back to the person he was once. Back then, he was ready to kill, rape, steal, hurt, lie... And what he did was unforgivable. He totally deserved rotting in jail, but he would be more useful raising Cosette, helping the poor and saving people's lives. He hoped to wash away his crimes that way. But he knew he never could.

- You have no answer, your “morals” are so shallow!- Javert turned to the other side.

“Said the one who attempted to end his life because his value system failed him”, Valjean did his best to keep this to himself.

- Oh, I'm such an idiot! The food! – he facepalmed instead, ran to the kitchen and quickly prepared some sandwiches and tea. Brought them to Javert who reluctantly accepted to eat a bit.

Just after that Cosette and Toussaint returned with grocery baskets.

- Umm… I have to tell you what happened last night - Jean said to them after opening the door. – I couldn’t sleep and went for a walk. Then I saw a man in the river, near its side – he had probably fallen of some bridge. I took him here, he’s in my room and will probably stay there for some time before I take him to the hospital. Any objections?

- Of course not, papa! – Cosette smiled. – It’s great that you helped a person!

- He saved me – the girl jumped out of fright, hearing a hoarse voice. – This bastard risked his miserable life to take me out of the river.

Cosette, outraged (in the convent where she had grown saying words like “bastard” was a major sin), stormed into Valjean’s room where Javert was lying.

- How dare you insult my father? If what you’re saying is true, you better be thankful! He has always deserved better than he received, don’t make things worse!

- Young lady, you make me want to end my life even more – Javert rolled his eyes. – Could you please shut up and go play with your dolls?

- Javert, stop. – Valjean interfered, hiding his clenched fists in the pockets of his coat. – My daughter Cosette just loves me too much, she has done you no wrong.

- What an amusing couple are you two! I just have to insult one of you in front of the other and see when I’ll get killed.

- Well, you’re also much more amusing after “falling” in a river. You probably discovered your sense of humor there – Valjean knew this was passive-aggressive, but when it was about Cosette…

- Do you know each other from before? – the girl raised her eyebrow in suspicion.

- We were… coworkers once – this wasn’t a lie, right? When he was Monsieur Madeleine, Javert was his subordinate.

- Whatever, losers. Just let me sleep now. – Javert, who already didn’t care about his pride, image, laws and even life, now had let all his anger and frustration out in the form of sarcasm. Or at least Jean Valjean thought so.

- Geez, papa. I would punch this man, if he wasn’t sick.

- Annoying coworkers, they are everywhere – Jean shrugged.

- By the way, I’m going to prepare some bandage for Marius!

- I’m happy… You will see him soon – her dad had many feelings thinking of this particular moment, but happiness wasn’t one of them.

- Ok, see you at breakfast! – The teenager stormed to her room.

Jean used his time to call a doctor, who took Javert to the hospital. No more sarcasm! But at times he checked how the other man was going, despite of being physically and emotionally busy around Cosette and the wedding preparation.

SOME MONTHS LATER...

Jean Valjean turned back home, sat in his chair and desperatelly covered his face with hands. He wanted to cry, but had no more tears left. Every sign for Marius that he shall leave them alone, every "Mr. Jean" from his dear child Cosette, every refusal for any affection from him... it was killing him. He was doing it to himself, he knew. But who needed him, an old criminal, anymore? He had done his job. And deserved nothing else.

He felt an almost physical pain. The end was near... Then he heard loud banging on the door.

- Enter! - Valjean said.

And they entered. First - Cosette, then - Marius (both handcuffed) and lastly - Javert!

- What is the meaning of that? - Valjean felt as if he was dreaming.

- Papa! - Cosette started jumping around him like a girl. That long-forgotten word soothed the wounds of the old man's soul - You know what happened? Inspector Javert helped us research who had saved him, interrogated my terrible "keeper" Thénardier and all the evidences point to you! Now, inspector, can you remove the handcuffs so I can hug my father?

Javert did it with something that looked like a slight smile. Cosette didn’t seem to hate him anymore.

- Accept my apologies. You're a hero, Mr. Valjean - Marius was all red. – If only I could repay you…

- No problems! You're like my own son - Valjean said sincerely and tears filled his eyes. He was overwhelmed by emotion and unable for stopping them running down his cheeks.

- Oh, Papa! So glad we learned it now! - Cosette noticed them and hugged him. - Sorry for causing you so much pain! You stupid man! You should have told us the whole truth!

- One more month without you would kill him – Marius agreed.

- In reality, he caused the pain to himself, right? - Javert, who was just watching the scene up to now, interrupted them. – This is dumb, because “All lives are important. No matter if you see the meaning of yours, it has one.”

- You're right. I shall forget the past. Thank you, thank you very much! - Valjean stood up and shook Javert’s hand so tightly that he almost broke it.

- No porblems... friend - this word was new for Javert and he stumbled a little. He left the happy family in the room with a little smirk on his face. His first happy smile from years.

2 MONTHS LATER…

In the next 2 months, Javert had been visiting their house so often that he became a part of the family. A quiet and strict part, but still a part. Him and Jean Valjean had long conversations about politics, sociology, economy and law. For Valjean’s surprise, non-fanatic and non-suicidal Javert was a trustworthy and interesting person.

As for Cosette and Marius, they were still living their love bliss and were adorable in their naivety. The old men were often joking about them – good-intentionally, of course.

One evening, when everybody else was sleeping, they were sitting on the balcony, snacking on fruits, wine (and, of course, bread) and having a conversation about the smallest details of their past.

- Amongst the criminals, I was constantly beaten, because they hated my attitude. Once I scolded them to the police and then couldn’t move one week – Javert gulped a big mouthful of wine. – And the decent citizens never paid attention to me, for them I was no more important than a stray dog.

- Sounds terrible – Valjean shook his head and tapped Javert’s shoulder.

- Sorry, you don’t have to listen to my self – pity. I think I’m drunk…

- But you just drank one glass – Jean laughed.

- I have never drank. Probably once… I don’t remember. And what about you, Mr. Righteous? – Javert laughed hoarsely.

- I had to drink all the winters in prison, otherwise I would freeze.

- Really sorry for causing this to you…

- No problems. Now it’s time for you to go home.

- You’re right – Javert lifted himself from the chair, but staggered and convulsively caught to his friend’s collar to not fall on the ground. His breath stopped. Jean looked surprised – but not unpleasantly.

Heat raised to Javert’s head. He leaned forward until their faces were centimeters close. Jean Valjean was blushing hard and his heartbeat could be heard from a meter away. He hesitantly lifted his hand and ran his fingertips up to Javert´s neck. His hand was fiery hot, but it sent shivers down the other man´s spine. Then Valjean stood on his toes, being too short to do otherwise, and pressed a gentle kiss on his lips.

Javert was hanging there awkwardly, not knowing what to do with his hands, grasping for air. Suddenly he grabbed a handful of Jean´s hair and pulled him into a passionate, devouring kiss.

The men didn´t realize how their hands twitched together.

A/N –  Though society back then wasn’t tolerant to LGBT people, it was no problem for Jean Valjean and Javert, because they acted like friends or soulmates, loving and respecting each other most of the time, as most old, long-married happy couples do. Their time for mad, perfect love had already passed. Though Cosette suspected something, she just nodded and smiled, happy for her father.

#fanfiction #lesmis #les mis #les miserables #lesmiserables #jean valjean #javert #valjean #valvert #cosette #marius #marius pontmercy #shipping #fanfic #please don't kill me

[carryonmylovelies]

Oh my gosh first of all, happy one year! Second of all, fic request or headcanon request? I have this mad fluffy hc that they (I mean specifically baz but honestly both of them) do this ‘it was a long day so I want human contact from the one person I don’t hate’ thing. So do you agree with this hc? And like, if you wanted to obviously, would you maybe write a fic for this idea?? Much love

OHMYGOSHBAYLEEIAMSOSORRYTHISTOOKSOLONGTOANSWER seriously though you sent me this before we really started talking back iN MAY and now we’re friends and its awesome and i really hope you like it because i love you so much belly clavicle!!!!! it took me awhile to write this tho because i actually don’t have a laptop (i caved and stole my dad’s laptop to write and post this sorry dad) but i hope i’ll have a new one soon so i can start writing again! please feel free to send me more requests just know it’ll take me a little bit, yall. shoutout to @somberlysad who encouraged me and is the entire reason this was finished and @bazypitchandsimonsnow for just always being there for me. i love you, you wonderful people! enjoy guys :D (read here on ao3)

that’s gay

Simon is fourteen minutes and thirty-three seconds into seeing how long he can hang off of the couch for without passing out when the front door bangs open. The door then closes, keys are thrown down on the kitchen counter, and light footsteps enter the living room. Simon suddenly finds himself at eye-level with a gorgeous pair of legs and expensive shoes.

“Hello Baz,” Simon wheezes, his face bright red and his smile wide.

Baz takes one look at his upside-down boyfriend, messy curls spilling onto the floor, a small timer now displaying fifteen minutes and twelve seconds, and covers his face with his hands.

Baz shakes his head sadly, but soon warm laughter pours out of his mouth and fills the room. He can’t believe he’s dating a twelve-year-old.

Baz stares at Simon with fond exasperation. Who knew he would get so lucky.

And because he can’t stand it any longer, Baz lets everything he’s holding carelessly drop to the floor, pulls Simon upright, and plops himself down on Simon’s lap, his head thudding against Simon’s broad chest in one exhausted but fluid movement.

Simon dizzily wraps his arms around Baz’s slim frame as all of the blood rushes from his head, and sweetly kisses Baz’s cheek. Or maybe it was his nose; Simon couldn’t tell because the room was still spinning.

Baz sighs softly, “Hi, Simon.”

Simon’s breath hitches; he’ll never get over the way Baz says his name, his first name, like it’s something special.  

“Hey,” Simon responds, a little breathlessly, but not enough for Baz to notice. “What’s up?”

Baz’s face falls and he groans dramatically.

“Work is terrible,” he mumbles into Simon’s jumper. “Everyone is stupid and no one listens to a bloody thing I say. I work harder than everyone else there, but do I get any credit? No, of course not.”

And to prove his point, Baz flings himself away from Simon, the back of his pale hand against his forehead, and he sighs.

“I’m so unappreciated.” He punches each word out in more sighs.

Git.

Simon drags Baz back into his lap and he doesn’t protest in the slightest.

“And to top it all off, Brittany is driving me up the bloody wall because no one should have that many fucking pictures of a chihuahua. It’s basically a rat with a bedazzled collar. I should just eat the damn thing. That would shut her up.”

Simon tries really hard not to laugh. Baz does not need to be encouraged.

“Baz, we’ve had this conversation. You really shouldn’t eat your coworkers pets. That won’t make them like you. The opposite, actually.”

He pouts, “But I don’t want them to like me! I hate them. I hate them all.”

Simon takes Baz’s cool face in his hands and kiss the top of his nose. Baz rolls his eyes, but a smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Oh come on, there must be someone you don’t hate–”

“Nope. I hate them all.”

Baz pushes his face back into Simon’s chest and Simon runs his fingers through his silky black hair.

“At least I’m home now, and I can be with the only person I don’t hate.”

Simon scoffs.“Wow, thanks. So glad that after being in a very happy and loving relationship with you for almost three years, you don’t hate me.”

Baz bursts out laughs at that. Simon scowls. “What are you laughing at, you prick?”

“‘Very happy and loving relationship.’” he says, mockingly. “That’s gay, Snow.”

Simon growls at him and shoves Baz off the couch so he falls to the floor.  “You’re gay!”

But before Simon can do anything else, Baz stands up and suddenly he’s back on Simon, pushing him down and straddling Simon’s hips with his stupidly long legs. Baz is dragging his hand down Simon’s chest, the other tugging at his curls, and he leans down to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss on his neck. Simon gasps and his hands immediately find their place on Baz’s waist, his fingers splayed out and gripping Baz’s hips tightly. He’s moving tortuously slow, and by the time he’s hovering above Simon’s lips, Simon is desperate for it. But instead, Baz bites Simon’s ear and whispers, “I wouldn’t do that again, if I were you.” Then Baz sits back, admiring his handiwork and smirking as Simon tries to catch his breath.

Cocky bastard. Baz is funny if he thinks Simon isn’t going to do exactly what he said he shouldn’t do.

Simon lunges forward and pushes him off of the couch again, harder this time. Baz looks up at Simon, lying on the floor, looking all hurt and dejected, and Simon can’t help but shout with laughter. He falls into the couch face-first, laughing so hard that his stomach aches.

Simon lifts his head up from the cushions in time to see Baz sulk and flip his hair behind his shoulder, those cool grey eyes and haughty eyebrows telling Simon how much he’s going to regret that.

Baz wordlessly grabs a pillow off of the floor, raises it above his head, and neatly brings it down on Simon’s arse with practically inhuman force.

Simon shrieks like a banshee and catches Baz’s pale wrist as he makes the lame attempt to run away. Simon yanks him back and he trips, falling onto Simon in a tangle of thrashing limbs.

Simon quickly grabs Baz’s flailing arms and pins them above his head. Swinging one leg over him, Simon plops himself down on on top of Baz.

He makes an ‘oof’ sound and weakly struggles against Simon’s hold. Baz soon realizes that Simon isn’t about to let up and goes limp. But then Baz grins up at Simon, like getting Simon on top of him was his only plan for the day. What a prat.

Simon leans down and bites his lip.

“Ow,” Baz whines, but it doesn’t look like he minds that much.

“That’s for destroying my arse with a fucking pillow, you vampire brat.”

Baz shrugs and smirks at Simon cheekily. “Your arse is fine; I’ve done a lot more with a lot less and you know it.”

Simon’s face heats up and he slams his lips against Baz’s, furiously kissing him as Baz’s hands slither out from where Simon had them pinned so Baz can dig his nails into his back and rake his fingers through Simon’s hair.

They make out feverently for a while before Simon pulls back, and Baz hisses at him.

Simon presses a chaste kiss to his cheek and knocks his forehead against Baz’s.

“Sorry you had such a tough day today, but I really do think it will get better. I’m sure you can find at least one person you don’t hate. And if you can’t, I’ll just start beating people up until they’re begging to be your friend.” Simon says resolutely, a burning look of determination in his eyes.

Baz laughs quietly and looks up at Simon with one of those rare, adoring looks that absolutely floors Simon every time he sees it.

“Not only do I not hate you, Simon Snow, but I also love you. A whole fucking lot. You never fail to make my day one million times better.”

Simon smirks at him. “That’s gay.”

#you ask raegan answers! #raegan writes a story #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #carrry on fanfiction #fluff #this is just snowbaz being goofy and in love what more do you need #i wish it was longer tho #and better #oh well #i just want it out of my inbox and into the world!!! #great-merlins-beard

[destroyyourbinder]

looking at instagram

There are hazy pictures of children having fun in spring-green new grass, the sun or maybe the filter sparkling. A photo of a man laughing, relaxed, he's wearing a soft cotton shirt, and it's not wrinkled. Dynamic black and white photos of people my acquaintance knows, a coworker, herself, their skin texture looks like granite, like muslin, like acrylic sculpting medium, like something under lights that's very "Interesting," to men in glasses holding wine and pontificating like bowerbirds strutting over little pebbles and bits of fur.

I'm angry. I look like dough, like a laundry pile at the end of a week, maybe two. I'm custard piled on itself, dingy men's shorts pulled up way too high over the bottom dollop. Nobody's captivated by my pock marks or my uneven peach fuzz. I look like who my mom was afraid I was going to be, except I'm not even that exciting, I'm a monster made of felt cut out by shaky kindergarten hands and unraveling tape. Dandruff gets under my fingers when I scratch my head. There's no social media where I can post the sensation of my stomach gurgling after I eat fistfuls of mozzarella from the fridge, and nobody would Like it anyway. When I shave my head there is no confident, bold, sharp picture I can take, tattooed and muscular arm curved up over my new haircut to casually hold the phone. There's just tiny bits of hair in the bathroom rug and yellow light that makes my face look puffier than I thought it was.

I feel the bile rise in my throat. So-and-so bought a house, my sister bought a house, friend after friend after friend is having a dinner party, moving to California, getting married at a place with "Estate" in the name. There's pictures, lots of pictures, of breezy nights and big smiles, a colorful world of delight and ease, everything I wanted from life incarnated in the bodies of straight people and lesbians prettier and happier than me. I pull a piece of cat hair out of my teeth and listen to the neighbors shouting at each other on the street, and I imagine what it would be like if my body didn't ache, didn't feel like a jumble of nonsense the consistency of dogshit and balsa wood. My apartment smells like mold. I make nine-sixty-something an hour after taxes. I don't know how to use Instagram because at twenty-whatever I've managed to become both old and out of touch, but I do know how to let Instagram make me feel bad.

In the photo, a guy I know looks rugged, cheeky, like a man with a story to tell but who might pull a quarter out from behind your ear instead. In reality, he's an old gay guy who both lurches and flops about at the same time, his too-large T-shirts hanging off his hunched shoulders. When he's feeling sprightly, he does a little ungainly but joyful Charleston, a grin on his face goofier than his little kicks, which show off the dirty bottoms of his fluorescent Converse shoes. I see him a lot in the back office at work or the break room, which are dim and yellow, making his ruddy face and greying stubble an undifferentiated jowly mass. But this guy also has lots of pictures of his own, that he shows me sometimes, of himself when young, with friends all dressed up in alternative 80s gear, all eyeliner and teased white hair. He smiles when he flips through the pictures. I don't know what he is remembering. I see a lot of cool people I've never met; he tells me this picture was even used in an ad for a local fashion hotspot back in the day. Then, swiping up and down with his fingers, still smiling but using a tone of voice that's a particularly terrifying variety of cheerful sarcasm, he tells me most of the people in these pictures are dead.

He knows I know why.

When I scroll through that woman's Instagram I am angry, maybe, because there's nobody to see me, nobody to remember what I did. The endless dullness that characterizes my days is not something I myself remember; I have the barest sense at all, even, that it is too dull for memory. There is something particularly disgusting to me that this is how most women have lived their lives, a parade of dishes and diapers, the inside of their heads taken up by minutiae about the state of the carpet and lists of birthdays. I've fallen headfirst into it, softly, like a particularly cushy pie on a grandmother's windowsill or the pillowy bosom of a schoolmarm. As a child I was particularly offended I was not noticed for who I was, or who I thought myself to be, at least, and what my mom did manage to notice was a nitpicking ritual of continual impropriety; what was on the floor but shouldn't be, what spot I missed on the counter with a sponge, which hairs were out of place and what crumbs were in the corners of my lips, what smile wasn't on my face and when. In retrospect I don't know if I was more offended on my behalf or hers, and if I was a selfish little shit about it whether I was more enraged by the idea that I was lost under her omnipresent fussing or that my proper development into a woman involved filling my head with such an eye.

I used to scream at her that I would not become like her, and I guess I didn't. I'm gay, for one, and live in a city, full of the types of people she imagines when she neurotically checks and rechecks the locks on her doors. I don't have children, a husband, a credit card, a mortgage, but I do have what I never wanted from the legacy of women, which is enormous spans of time where I fiddle with a sponge, a spoon, tiny meaningless papers, buttons on a cash register. As a child-- and embarrassingly, as an adult ill-prepared for reality-- I screamed because I insisted by the declaration of my lungs that my life would be different, it would be about intensity, perceptiveness, truth, integrity, adventures, journeys, big huge concepts that would bowl me over and spill out of me like a living mystic channeling forces of the universe. I used to read for hours and hours as a child, usually epic fantasy or science fiction I probably shouldn't have been allowed to put into my prepubescent brain; sometimes I used to hang upside down off the couch and read upside down just for the hell of it, to shake my world up a bit. I moved onto philosophy and hours of mopey music through headphones in the dark when I got older. I was delusional about what my life would be like, about what life would make me into. The big huge concept that would end up bowling me over was mediocrity, mundaneness, the stuff men on Reddit call women "vapid" for.

Hannah Arendt was a really smart woman, the kind of woman I thought I might be someday. She said a whole lot of shit that was really deep, and when I was still chasing the highs of thinking that there were neat-o discoveries to be made in this world that made you Somebody to see them, I thought that "the banality of evil" was the most profound thing I ever heard. When I encountered it for real it wasn't profound, just banal indeed. Evil is soul-sucking in a special fucking way, it sucks the life out of you in the way that alcohol shuts off first the part of your brain that lets you know you're drunk. Something's gone and you're all screwed up about it but you're gone in a way that won't let you know what left, there's just rage disguised as irritability and crud on the counter and a bus that doesn't show up. Sometimes you get to look right into the sucking hole, a yawning abyss of multi-generational societal depravity and institutional apathy, when you're sitting next to a homeless woman on a bench downtown with legs so swollen she couldn't go anywhere even if she had someplace to go. I gave her five dollars on most days of my commute because I hoped at least she could eat something, and she deserved the dignity of being seen by somebody, but honestly she needed somewhere to sleep and a bunch of somebodies to do something about her health. A lot of fucking evil had to happen to a lot of people for buildings full of suits to exist on the same block as this lady. A lot of fucking evil had to happen for people to accept this as normal.

What evil has to happen for women to accept their lot, whether it's accepting that the cumulative buzz of your life-inspiration be directed towards holding up a glass in a particularly enrapturing photo on Instagram, or whether it's accepting that you're gonna have to spend another night on the bench? I cry sometimes knowing that no one will remember my mother; all she will leave behind is a gravestone next to a man's and a legacy of psychological scars on her daughters, who nobody will bother to remember either. My mother's life is worth a book or two, but I couldn't get it out of her even if I tried. I don't think my mom even knows she has a story, just petty dramas she tries to escalate into a validation that she hasn't disappeared yet because she can hurt somebody. I don't know the homeless lady's story or how she ended up begging on a bench downtown each day. I hope with all my heart she finds a place to live out her life, a little home where she can use a scooter and have enough to eat, where five dollars isn't the difference between confirmation of the world's cruelty and God's presence. She showed me a video once on her phone of a preacher that she followed, a woman who she said she saw at a big church event in the South; she could go places once, and I don't know how she ended up so she couldn't go anywhere anymore. Maybe she doesn't know-- maybe when you can't go anywhere anymore the point is that you don't think you got there and you don't think you're getting out, you're just there right now, but also always were and somehow forever will be. Maybe you're watching buses go by all damn day and feeling your tongue go numb from saying "spare a dollar", or maybe your finger's getting red from wiping the snot under your kid's nose, time passing only when the tissues are gone. They don't take shots of this shit. There's no filter for "life's over, but not yet."

I wish what I felt could become great art, maybe even just shitty art, that it could mean something, that I was something; dudes have generations of scholarship-worship trailing behind them because they wrote paeans to being existentially bored, because they discovered what it's like to look at a damn soup can and slapped it in a museum. Maybe I'm just jealous, but, you know, I used to stock groceries, and I spent a lot of my time looking at damn soup cans. I think I now know why Val shot him.

#writings

[sea-of-sunlight]

Pride Month Week One: Aro Identity

Aka the month where I overshare and everyone applauds. Also, today is day three of my headache, so apologies in advance for assumed incoherence

1. How did you realize you were aro/arospec? How long have you known?

I refuse to scroll all the way back on my blog, but if you want to spend some time going through my “personal” tag, you’ll find a Raven Cycle fanfic college AU (if Tad is trans, That’s The One) and as I was peacefully reading my way through the latest update mid-summer of 2017, the author personally came into my home and shoved my brain into the word “asexual” and some other pretty terms in a particular order I had never heard before, and to this day I still haven’t read past that point bc it shook me so badly. 

Found the term, found the related terms, went through some depressions and questions and tacked on “probably aromantic” somewhere around February 2018.

2. Have you come out to anyone? Share a coming out story.

A handful of friends know, and my siblings, and like two coworkers in a bit of an accident.

So there I am, March 2018, gushing about Love, Simon, to a couple coworker friends, one of whom happens to be trans and previously ID’d as lesbian. And I’m New To This, so I’m just like, “Yeah, it’s so queer! It’s such a great queer movie!” like, on and fucking on. Like, trying to get them to realize through gay osmosis I’m one of you love me please. And this trans coworker deadass looks at me and goes, “Are you an.........................Ally?”

And this is hysterical in hindsight but at the time all the clocks in the store stopped and I spent eternity contemplating how to phrase my identity so I wouldn’t be, like, yeet-ed out of friendship or whatever. 

I finally settled on “Er, I’m actually Bi. And Ace. And Aro.” And both friends were just like, oh okay, although both later cornered me with questions. It ended up being incredibly fine.

3. How/why is your aromanticism important to your identity?

I mean, why is any part of my identity important to me? It’s a huge part of the lens through which I view the world, and has shaped me just as much as the rest of my experiences have. I’m fiercely protective of it, actually, because now that I’ve found this word that helps define my experiences, I’m torn between keeping it under lock and key so my life stays mine, or shouting it at every passerby so eventually, I won’t have to constantly redefine myself to strangers.

4. What are some misconceptions about aromanticism that bother you?

Like any group, aromantics have a huge variety of relationships to that label and what it means for them. Personally, I grew up religious and relatively romance positive, with strong senses of both aesthetic and sensual attraction, and I didn’t start teasing it all apart until my late 20s. Others hit 15 and are squicked and that’s that. But we tend to all get lumped together under one poorly conceived stereotype, and it gets old. It’s like saying every single gay man must do drag, and every trans woman longed to wear dresses as a child. It’s reductive.

5. What’s something you like about being aro/arospec? Something you dislike?

I feel like I avoided a lot of drama in high school and college by nature of my aromanticism. I recognized flirting et al, but I never understood the drive to date a specific person or to put up with the bullshit expectations of conservative Southern men because I just loved them.

I still have a hard time redefining my future without the likelihood of a monogamous, devoted, passionate partner though. Growing up in the Catholic Church I always thought I had been called to the sacrament of marriage, and realizing my aromantic identity didn’t automatically erase the baseline for that desire.

Challenge created by @aromantic-official; thanks, y’all 🌻

#aromantic-official #aro pride month #aro #aromantic #about the author

[thecinephale]

Redefining Romance with The Shape of Water and On Body and Soul

By the time Katharine and I met in November of 2015 I didn’t care about romance. This word that had consumed me since I was a child no longer made any sense. My celibate adolescence was spent scribbling love poems and consuming movies like (500) Days of Summer, Beginners, and Annie Hall. But I’d since realized my poetry sucked and that Woody Allen’s body of work was nothing to admire. I was casually sleeping with a close friend and grappling with the absence of a core part of my identity. Ever since I was four and told my sister’s best friend I had a crush on her, liking girls and turning that like into a personal narrative was part of me. It was my way of being close to women and how I’d come to terms with what kind of man I could be. I wasn’t effeminate, I was sensitive. I wasn’t girly, I was romantic. 

And yet after years of crafting yarns from ordinary, or even non-existent, experiences, I was about to have my first truly cinematic meet-cute. Katharine and I met at Sleep No More during her very first performance. A friend of mine who worked there had been trying to get me to go for nearly a year and finally this night, for some reason, I caved. During the show I had four one-on-ones, immersive show lingo for private moments with performers, and I was more than satisfied with my experience. The show was just about over when I saw her, sitting on a suitcase at the end of an empty hall. Unsure if she was a performer or a tired audience member I slowly crept toward her. She stood up, took my hand, and we had a one-on-one. Later at the bar, my friend introduced us and we spent the rest of the night talking. A week later we were on a train together headed upstate.

This story is romantic in every way I could’ve hoped for as a teenager. And yet what I remember most from these weeks is the joy I felt getting to know Katharine. I was honestly a bit embarrassed having met her at Sleep No More since that place thrives off of people’s sometimes toxic fantasies. Especially because none of it felt that grand. I didn’t even think our first conversation could possibly be romantic until my friend asked me why I didn’t get her number. Our first date was upstate because she mentioned wanting to get out of the city before it got too cold and it seemed like a good idea. I didn’t know that she was the one. It was a date. I’d been on many first dates and planned to go on more. And while I did like her, I wasn’t obsessive. I liked her more on our second date than our first, and on our third date than our second, and today I’m more obsessed with her than I’ve ever been before.

There is a really simple explanation for this. Something about maturity and real, adult relationships. But this alone assumes that what I’d grown out of was romance, when in fact what I was really grappling with was male, heteronormative romance. I’d confronted the behaviors I’d copied for so long and realized they didn’t fit with who I was. But now what? A year and a half after Katharine and I met I came out to her and began transitioning.

***

It’s been a relief coming out, like I was holding my breath my entire life and can finally inhale and exhale like everyone else. So much of my life makes sense now in a way that it never did and I never thought it would. And one of the most rewarding aspects of my personal transition has been transitioning Katharine and I’s relationship as well, going from a seemingly heterosexual relationship to an openly lesbian one. There’s both liberation and emptiness in a relationship that is free from the vast majority of messaging received. Everything from fairy tales to Cosmo to the oeuvre of a known child molester has a lot less power when none of that stuff was ever meant to represent you. But there’s a reason why people enjoy that stuff. It feels good to be seen and it’s a relief to sink into fantasy. And while I’ve embraced the general umbrella by binge watching The L Word with Katharine and finally understanding my deep connection to Fun Home, Carol, and The Watermelon Woman, there’s still a searching for a love story like ours. A love story that feels outside of normalcy, that feels confusing and difficult and complicated yet ultimately just as fantastical and lovely. And it can’t just be solved by, say, a trans love story. I’d certainly welcome more of those (for now shout out to Sense8 and Her Story), but it’s deeper than that.

***

Guillermo Del Toro’s The Shape of Water is a ridiculous movie. That it’s currently the Oscar frontrunner is honestly astounding. Yes, it’s impeccably shot, designed, scored, written, and acted, but it’s also a movie that I’m at a loss to defend. On his podcast Keep It wonderful culture writer Ira Madison III was making fun of the movie and impersonated Octavia Spencer’s character with a simple “You fucking that fish?” I burst out laughing. Because it’s hilarious and because the scene in the movie isn’t actually that far off! 

For anyone who hasn’t seen it, the film is about a mute woman named Eliza (the always great Sally Hawkins) who works as a cleaner at a government facility during the Cold War. The US attains a creature simply called “Amphibian Man” and Eliza falls in love with him (them?). So it’s sort of like Beauty and the Beast if Beast never really spoke, there was explicit sex, and Belle had a black best friend and a gay neighbor. There’s also a subplot with some Russians. And a musical number.

It’s goofy as hell and yet I spent a large portion of the movie in tears. It reached its scaly arm down my throat and grabbed my heart. Any moment where the Amphibian Man was on screen I had a voice in my head that just kept repeating, “That’s me. That’s me.” Now I don’t know what it says about where I’m at in my transition that I have an easier time relating to a fish man than Jamie Clayton’s awesome trans hacker on Sense8, but alas it’s the truth. Because if I’m being honest, I usually don’t feel like I’m being perceived as a woman, I rarely even feel like I’m being perceived as trans, but I do feel like I’m being perceived as a creature.

Watching Eliza not only fall in love with Amphibian Man but be the instigator of the relationship felt revolutionary and comforting in equal measure. Returning to Beauty and the Beast (also King Kong, also everything like this), it’s usually the creature that kidnaps or captures the virginal lady and has to convince her to love him. This always feels a little gross and undercuts the message of acceptance. But here Eliza is a sexual woman. From the beginning it’s shown that masturbation is a part of her daily routine. She doesn’t fall for the Amphibian Man because of a repressed desire. She falls for the creature because she feels a connection. She wants to help them live a life of freedom alongside her. She wants to teach the Amphibian Man how to live in her world because it would bring her happiness. 

Katharine didn’t rescue me from a lab. But she has helped me escape… something. She has helped introduce me to a confusing world of feminine expectations and desires that feel comfortable and natural and also confusing and impossible. And above all else she has done this because she loves me. She isn’t still dating me because she’s a good person (no matter what other cis-es like to suggest). She’s still dating me because she sees me for who I am and loves me. I’m insecure about a lot of things, but I know this to be true and it means everything to me.

***

Ildikó Enyedi’s On Body and Soul, another Oscar nominee (a longshot in the Foreign Film category) has faced a similar reaction to Del Toro’s film. It won the Golden Bear at the Berlin Film Festival, yet almost every review even when positive points out the film’s silly weirdness. Also a love story, this time between two humans, Enyedi’s first film in 18 years is about a pair of employees at a slaughterhouse who realize that they’re somehow having the exact same dream about two deer. The people are Endre, the emotionally detached manager with a disabled left arm, and Mária, the new quality control inspector who is autistic and quickly becomes the butt of her coworkers’ jokes.

Again, I understand the reaction. The very concept of a love story at a slaughterhouse (featuring graphic scenes of slaughter) is already a stretch. Add the hokiness of nocturnal destiny, a subplot involving stolen bull Viagra, some deeply unpleasant narrative turns, and a formal approach as reserved as its leads, it’s unsurprising that many don’t know how to receive this film. It’s too open-hearted for the arthouse yet it’s not exactly fine-tuned for Nicholas Sparks. But for me, this film lived up to its title and infiltrated my body and soul, I connected deeply, and wept softly. And I’ve been unable to shake it, that initial feeling only growing since the first viewing.

There is an obvious contrast between the dream sequences with Endre and Mária as deer and the real life sequences of animals in cages having their guts torn out. It’s easy to read this simply as a statement between the purity of their love and the harshness of the rest of the world. But this ignores the unreality of the deer scenes and the specificity of animal imagery. Because a main thread through the film is that Mária and Endre don’t know how to be animals. Or in other words: Endre does not know how to be a man and Mária does not know how to be a woman.

The two male foils to Endre are his best friend, Jenö, and a new hire, Sanyi. Jenö is married and despite proselytizing the merits of keeping women in their place he does whatever his wife wants. Endre watches with the remove of a scientist as Jenö carries out a charade where he is able to assert his supposed masculinity while filling his more passive role. Sanyi, on the other hand, is naturally alpha, flirting with every female co-worker and ignoring his male superiors. Endre seems to pity Jenö and resent Sanyi, but it quickly becomes clear that who he has the most disgust for is himself. He grows wildly defensive when he is caught ogling a woman, insisting that he simply looked like all men would. The woman didn’t even seem to notice and doesn’t seem to care. He then declares multiple times later in the film that he would prefer to remove love and sex from his life rather than deal with the impossibility of filling the role of “man” in these encounters. He’s given up on it all until he meets Mária.

Mária also has two foils, Klára, a voluptuous psychologist who interviews everyone after the bull Viagra incident, and Zsóka, the oldest employee at the slaughterhouse. Klára is everything Mária is not. She’s comfortable in her body and comfortable around men. She expresses her feelings, sometimes even to the point of aggression. When Mária retells Endre’s dream, she is unable to push back against Klára’s anger or defend herself. Zsóka, who is even more comfortable with her sexuality than Klára, is much kinder to Mária. Instead of judging, she attempts to coach her in the ways of womanhood. This, of course, means posture, how to walk and talk, and, most importantly, what clothes to wear. Mária attempts to master these skills, like she does later with sex, with an obsessive precision.

Mária’s experience of gender is intrinsically tied to her autism. Her lack of awareness in how to act as a woman is similar to her struggle to generally fit in as a person. I’m hesitant to find symbolism in her character or draw parallels between our lives since her experience is so different from my own. But in my unqualified opinion the film treats Mária with a respect and fullness that leaves her as open to analysis and connection as any other character. It’s not autism that becomes ingrained in the semiotics of the film but rather the world around this one autistic character, the world around Mária. And I couldn’t help but feel parallels both to Endre’s attempts at manhood and Mária’s learning of womanhood. I couldn’t help but watch this relationship unfolding in a harsh world and think of my own. Mária and Endre’s budding romance faces plenty of conflict throughout the film but there’s an overwhelming feeling of destiny between them. The conflicts are not a result of their incongruity but rather the difficulties and pressures of their surroundings. Any conflicts within themselves are related to their individual difficulties with the world at large.

The dream sequences aren’t just beautiful and serene. They are otherworldly. Literally. The plane on which Mária and Endre connect is outside of real life. Their connection is dependent on both of them finding it within themselves to detach from their discomfort with society. In their dreams it is easy, but in life that’s really hard. Because it’s not healthy to completely detach (as fun as rainy days cuddling can be). The necessity is being able to carry on normal life with your partner and face a mutual unbelonging from our world. From our ableist world. From our gendered world. From our heteronormative world. From our transphobic world.

My connection to this film is reliant both on its silly romanticism and its severe honesty. Because that’s how I feel. Being with Katharine feels like it’s on another plane of being, in how I feel about her, in how happy it makes me to be near her, and yet real life can be really hard. This film shows the beauty in getting through that hardship with another person, the pressures it can place on a relationship, and the ultimate reward of working through it all together.

***

The Shape of Water and On Body and Soul have allowed me to articulate something about myself and my relationship that I’d previously failed to do. They taught me that romance, not just love but gooey-eyed, goofy capital R Romance, can be for all of us. That romantic doesn’t have to mean arrogant poems or chasing after girls in the rain. It can mean connecting with somebody when you feel less than human, it can mean facing a society that doesn’t want you with the help of another. And, most importantly, that this can all be silly and over-the-top in a way that will make half the audience laugh and half the audience cry. These films destroyed a line between romance and mature relationship that I’d taken as fact even though my own relationship is such an obvious combination of the two. They allowed me to see myself in a new way, to see Katharine in a new way, and to appreciate our relationship even more than I already did. 

So I’ll say it here. On social media, like an adolescent that will someday regret such an embarrassing overshare. I’m deeply, madly, overwhelmingly in love.

Happy Valentine’s Day, y’all.

#Valentine's Day #The Shape of Water #On Body and Soul #love stories #queer love #Guillermo Del Toro #Ildikó Enyedi #LGBTQIA #trans #transgender

[morrisondauthor]

“Rules of the Game” – Part 4

           After work, I went straight home and took a shower. I then put on some decent clothes and made sure I looked great before heading back out. I drove to a place where I always purchased my wine and bought a few bottles for my friend Cortez’s dinner party. He was having the party to impress his new boss and some of his colleagues from the marketing firm he worked at. When I arrived there, I knew both he and our friend Kody would notice I’d gotten some dick the night before. I just knew it.

           “You let him fuck, didn’t you?” Kody asked me as he helped me carry the bottles of wine into the house.

           “No,” I lied. “We just spent the night together.”

           “Yeah right, more like you spent the night fucking!”

           “You’re glowing, Julian,” Cortez told me. “You might as well spill the beans. Kody already told me the guy’s name. It’s Kenton, right?”

           “That’s right,” Kody confirmed with a smirk. “So tell us J, does Kenton have one of those fat British uncut dicks or what?”

           “I can’t stand y’all,” I said with a laugh. “Yes, we got intimate last night. And his dick is slightly above average in length but it’s pretty thick and yeah, he’s uncircumcised.”

           “I knew it!” Kody shouted. “Them British brothas always have fat uncut dicks. Uncut dick be so damn good, too. There’s nothing sexier than some pretty foreskin.”

           “I prefer circumcised men,” Cortez said as he checked on his Cornish hens baking in the oven. “Some dudes do not know how to properly clean their uncircumcised dicks.”

           “Ooh, Ken passes in that department,” I told them. “That dick was clean enough to eat off of. His ass, too.”

           Kody’s eyes opened wide and he asked, “He likes to get rimmed?”

           “He told me he likes it every now and then. His dick got so hard while I was rimming him, too. He told me to get nasty while I was licking on it.”

           “Marry him,” Cortez told me. “Do you know how hard it is to find an open-minded top who you could one day talk into becoming vers with you? You better hang on to him, Julian.”

           “I’m trying to. I don’t want you nosy bitches to ruin it for me. That means no giving him a hard time. I know we give each other’s partners a hard time to test them sometimes, but I really need y’all to be chill with him. He’s not from here so you might scare him off.”

           “We’ll be on our best behavior,” said Kody. He then looked at Cortez and they burst out in laughter together.

           “I’m serious, y’all. I ended my celibacy with him because I truly believe he’s the one. I know that sounds crazy because I’ve only known him for a few days but…”

           “No, I believe you,” Cortez said while looking into my eyes. “Julian, we all know what it’s like wanting something serious but constantly hitting a brick wall with these promiscuous ass niggas in the gay community. If you truly believe you’ve found the right guy then we’re gonna have your back.”

           “That’s right,” Kody added. “We’re happy for you and we hope it works out.”

           I smiled and told them, “Thanks, guys. Now, let’s get to it. The quicker I help y’all the quicker I can go pick up Ken from his hotel.”

           “Pick up?” Kody asked. “Bitch, you couldn’t find you a man with a car?”

           “He’s visiting here from London, Kody. Remember?”

           He laughed and said, “Oh, yeah.”

           We fixed up Cortez’s place and helped him prepare all of the food. Once most of the important work was done, I headed out to go get Kenton. I admit, I was still very nervous about him meeting my friends. I felt like it was too soon for him to be around them. We hadn’t properly defined what we were yet. He made that joke about being my boyfriend that morning, but I wasn’t sure how serious he was about it. Could I call him my boyfriend that quickly and after just one night of sex?

                                               Me (Julian Baxter)

           “Are you nervous?” I asked him as we walked up the brightly lit walkway that led to Cortez’s front door.

           “Not really,” he replied. “Should I be?”

           “No. Well…no.” I stopped walking and so did he.

           “Okay, you’re definitely nervous.” He took my hand in his and told me, “Just relax, baby. It’s a dinner party. All we have to do is talk to a few people, eat some food, drink some alcohol and then go back to your place and get naked.”

           I laughed and playfully hit him before relaxing and saying, “That somehow made me feel less nervous. Thank you.”

           “That’s what I’m here for, love.” He kissed my lips and then resumed walking alongside me up to the front door.

           The moment we entered the house, I became somewhat nervous again. There were only about eleven people there including Kody and Cortez but I was still nervous. Kody spotted us immediately and hurried over. He smiled and said, “Aw, look at you two holding hands. Cute.”

           “Kody Ashford,” I said, “this is Kenton Clarke. Kenton, this is my friend Kody.”

           “Nice to meet you,” Kenton said to him while shaking his hand.

           “Ditto,” Kody replied with a fake British accent.

           “Okay, now I understand why you two are friends,” Kenton said with a laugh. “Baby, you do that same fake accent to mock me all the time, yeah?”

           “Yeah, I do.”

           “There you are,” Cortez said as he approached us. “I was wondering when you’d get here with…” He looked at Kenton and said, “Oh my. Damn Julian, you didn’t say your new man was so handsome.”

           Kenton smiled and said, “Thank you. I’m Kenton.”

           “And I’m Cortez Johnson. Nice to meet you. Would you happen to have an identical twin brother?”

                                                Kenton Clarke

           “No, but I do have a brother who is a year older than me. But unless you have double-D breasts and a vagina, he’s not gonna be interested, bruv.”

           “Too bad you’re not post-op trans,” Kody joked, causing Cortez to nudge him in the side.

           “So, what do you all do?” Kenton asked them. “Because this house is nice.”

           “I’m the assistant manager of the mortgage department at Bank of America downtown,” Cortez told him.

           “And I help run my mother’s boutiques,” Kody told him. “She has two in downtown Miami and one out in Miami Beach.”

           “You’re all so successful. If I weren’t playing football I’d probably be living at home with my mum and dad.”

           “Do you make a lot playing soccer?” Cortez asked.

           “Cortez,” I snapped, “don’t ask him something that personal.”

           “It’s fine, baby,” Kenton told me. He then looked at Cortez and answered, “I don’t make as much as some of the premier league players make and I’ll be taking a bit of a pay cut if I decide to play for an American league. They’re offering a three hundred and fifty thousand dollar signing bonus which is much lower than the British pounds I get for signing with an English league.”

           My knees nearly gave in when I heard him say that. Yes, it was lower than what NFL and NBA players made but $350,000 is still a lot of money compared to what I made a year. Pretending as if hearing it didn’t faze me, I giggled and joked, “Hopefully I’m worth the pay cut.”

           He smiled and replied, “I’ll take a job paying two dollars an hour if it meant I could see you when I want to see you.”

           “Aw,” Kody said.

           The more we talked and made our way around talking to Cortez’s colleagues, the less nervous I became. The food was delicious, everyone had a great time, and I found myself even more attracted to Kenton’s personality. He really knew how to fit in with his surroundings no matter where he was. By the time the dinner party was over, I was ready to take him back to my house and suck and ride his dick until he had at least three orgasms.

           “Thanks for the food and fun,” I said to Cortez. “We really had a great time.”

           “Yeah,” Kenton agreed. “I’m glad I tagged along for this.”

           “Well, you’re welcome any time,” Cortez said to him. He then looked at me and said, “And I will talk to you later.”

           “Okay.” I hugged him and told him, “Goodnight. And tell Kody I said goodnight. He’s in there too busy flirting with your coworker to come out here and say bye to us.”

           “I’ll tell him. Goodnight, guys.”

           “Goodnight,” Kenton said back. He then grabbed my hand and walked with me to my car. As we climbed in, he asked me, “Are we going back to your place?”

           “You bet. I need a little time before I can clean myself out, but I’m definitely down for some naughty fun tonight.”

           “I hope most nights with you will be like this when I move here.”

           “I don’t know. I mean…” I caught on to what he said and the biggest smile formed on my face. “Are you serious right now?”

           “I’d already made my mind up before the dinner party but I stuck with it when I saw how happy you were to hold my hand in front of your friends. Julian, I’m going to sign with the Miami team. I wanna see where this goes.”

           “Aw, baby.” I threw my arms around him and hugged him. I then quickly pulled back and asked, “You’re not just doing this because of the sex, are you?”

           “No. The sex is amazing, but it’s not the main reason why I’m making the decision to move here. I feel like I’m not going to be able to find someone like you back in London. Hell, I’ve never met anyone like you anywhere I’ve been. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity and I’m gonna do the right thing and take it. And I’m gonna do right by you, love. So, are we boyfriends or do I have to actually propose to your or something? Because I’ll do it if you need more of a commitment.”

           I laughed and told him, “You’re crazy.”

           “I sure am. I’m crazy for you.” He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me. “Now, let’s go back to your place and solidify this thing.”

           I laughed again as I started my car and pulled away from Cortez’s house. We went back to my place and talked and had sex and talked some more until late at night. For the first time in a long time, I went to sleep with so much hope. I wasn’t sure what was ahead of me but I knew as long as I hope in the foundation I was starting with Kenton, I’d be alright. We’d be alright. As for my rules, I was going to keep them locked away in the back of my mind. Now I needed to unlock the rules to keeping a good boyfriend.

[Disclaimer]: Pictures used do not reflect the sexuality or personality of people in the pictures. They only serve as visual examples of the characters.

© D.A. Morrison 2017

#D.A. Morrison #short story #Morrison'sSummerSeries #love #romance #dating #taking chances #new relationship #British Black #Black European #athlete #black lgbt #lgbt fiction #fiction

[thepheonixesorphanage]

30 Day OC Challenge

So my friends and I decided to do a 30 OC Challenge just for fun! I’ve decided to post the first 10 days here. Feel free to read and give me any feedback. I’d love criticism or comments on what you think of them. Very much looking to improve on my writing.

Days 1-10 below the cut. 

DAY 1: Introduction

Elliot was red. She was cherry lollipops and red vans. Her skin was tan and freckled like constellations, but inside she was burning a dark red that was hot to the touch. Her personality singed skin and left marks that you wanted to show off. With determination and confidence, she owned herself and didn’t let anyone forget that. She was a touch of spice you didn’t know you wanted until you got a taste. And it burned. But oh was it just right. Elliot Katherine Demarco. Even her name rolled off the tongue like waterfalls crashing onto rocks, or the sheathing of a newly forged blade. She was the jump out of an airplane, the start of an avalanche, the build up of adrenaline, and you couldn’t get enough.

June was just as June as her name portrayed her to be. She was vibrant in an array of colors only she could see and outgoing like a bird eager to take flight. She was dark skinned with soft edges that made you want to get lost, with hair just as all over the place as she was. A standard unto her own that no one could take. Her mind was scattered, tangled in thought and question that never seemed to stop. She was warm summer nights that left imprints of curiosity and wonder, a desire unspoken on the tip of the tongue. Her dark brown eyes were filled with a never ending burst of excitement and fascination that you didn’t want to look away from. June was warm, sweet, intoxicating, and everyone craved more.

DAY 2: Job

Lulu’s Cafe was that small coffee shop in downtown San Francisco. It had a cute hipster vibe on the outside with a calm rustique charm on the inside that was always thriving during lunch time no matter the day. Lulu’s cafe was the place that attracted the young teens and hipster wannabes. Mason was made for Lulu’s. A coffee enthusiast, with a love for the simple things in life, and not to mention, a hipster girls wet dream. Mason was a doc martin’s, plaid shirt and leather jacket kind of guy, complete with a close shave and thick, wavy, brown hair.

The customers loved Mason. His customer service routine was equipped with big smiles, laughter, and pleasant conversations between him and the guests. This is what made him so good at his job. Everything he did was genuine. But that’s the kind of guy Mason was. Lulu’s was happy to have Mason, and Mason was happy to have Lulu’s.

Monty’s theater was a fifty plus year old theater in the heart of San Francisco with the charm of a typical grandmother’s home. The type of home with a bowl of strawberry candies and pillow mints that no one knew where they came from or how long they had been there for. The theater smelt of fresh popcorn and at times, the vague lemony scent of furniture polish. As anything over fifty years would be, it was falling apart, with its fading carpet that looked like it belonged in a blockbuster video store, and cabinets that were barely hanging on to its last nail. Even though the theater was a bit “outdated”, to Kam, it was home. Or at least a second home. He had become close friends with the people he worked with and enjoyed his time there. Even though the pay wasn’t the best, Kam treasured the small theater for the people he met and the coworkers he had befriended, and goddammit, he knew he would be stuck there forever.

DAY 3: Hobbies

June spent 90% of her time with Jamie her best friend. At school, after school, before school, at home. They did everything from getting coffee to sleeping over to sneaking out at night. June typically had free range to do whatever she wanted when it came to her dad as long as it wasn’t illegal and she was home before 11pm. June often followed Jamie around after school. Instead of doing her homework she had taken to accompanying him to his improv practices in drama club on tuesdays and thursdays. Every other day, she spent the remainder of her time in her room either watching tv or “attempting” to do homework with Jamie. When Jamie was busy, June didn’t really know what to do besides watch TV or sit on the computer. Hobbies weren’t something she picked up on. Sure she didn’t mind reading but her attention span didn’t really allow her to sit for too long on one thing.

DAY 4: Family

Adopted from Hawaii just after birth, June was very much loved by her mother Stella and her father Aaron. Or so June thought. Four years later, June began to wonder how much her mother really loved her when she left them for another man and his family. Over the next 13 years, her mother kept in contact with her father but June wanted nothing to do with her. So much so she purposely went by June, the abbreviated form of her middle name Juniper, instead of her first name Stella; of course named after her mother. Just saying it was like vile in the back of her throat. June however, loved her father very much. He worked long and hard hours as an accountant to provide for her and gave her a wonderful life full of everything she could want and she saw that everyday when he came home from work with tired eyes. It was just the two of them, and that was how she liked it.

Two older brothers, one younger, her grandmother, a rather young mother and father, and of course, Elliot. The Demarco household was always full. Together Elliot and her family lived in a tiny trailer park that barely housed the lot of them but nonetheless, they made it work. There was never a dull moment. Noah and Liam, the two oldest fought over the dumbest of things. “Those are my fucking socks!” Liam would shout. “We have the same fucking pair!” Noah would shout back. Their mother would simply shake her head. The youngest Ben was always going on about the latest fad or interest. One week would be painting, the next would be basketball. Her grandmother, Camille, hogged the one tv they owned in the living room, always watching TLC or HGTV. Between that, or talking to her friend Janice on the landline from her weekly knitting club. John and Theresa, Elliot’s parents worked early in the morning and came home in the afternoon. Family time was important to them and even though they didn’t have a lot of money, they were happy. It was crazy and loud, and sometimes Elliot thought she’d go insane, but it was home nonetheless.

DAY 5: Friends

June was rather well known in school for her loud and funny personality. She didn’t care what people thought and loved making people laugh. She had a few people she might consider friends but they weren’t really the friends she went to for things or asked to hangout with on a daily basis. Jamie however, was her best friend. Like her, he too, didn’t care what anyone thought and just like her, had a big mouth, except he didn’t have a filter. They were the comedy duo of Ulysses Memorial High School. Jamie was openly gay and proud. He wore collared shirts buttoned at the top with pants in various patterns that changed depending on the day of the week. Every conversation he had usually consisted of, “So listen hoe,” or “Honey you did not?”, and 90% of the time, “Okay sunshine, calm down.” Sunshine was his nickname for June. No real reason in particular. Jamie happened to say it one day and it just stuck. He was the God of nicknames. June tried one day by calling him the “Full Moon” to her “Sunshine”.

“Are you calling me fat? Juniper Martell, calling her best friend full to his face. Okay hoe, I see.” Needless to say it didn’t catch on. Despite the terrible nickname, their friendship was like that of the sun and the moon. They both came with a strong force that brought them closer and no matter what came at them, they would always be there for each other.

It was Linda, Martin, Chris, Jack, and Elliot. Always together, anywhere in town, anytime of day. Besides school of course. Elliot shared a class with all of them except Martin, but they spent enough time outside of school that it didn’t matter. Most of the time they could be found in The Main, a small part of town where a lot of the local businesses were located, one in particular being Fun Center USA, their favorite. Linda and Martin always competed for the top score on Space Invaders. This typically took hours with a small crowd joining in to see the new record. Jack talked to the girls that came in on friday nights, and when there were no girls dumb enough to feed into what he had to say, he hit up the arcade. Elliot and Chris went straight to the batting cages. There was nothing like the rush of the impact and the sting of the bat in their hands. Seeing the ball shoot across the field made Elliot’s adrenaline pump and they constantly fought to see who could hit the ball harder and farther. Chris always said it wasn’t a contest and didn’t matter, but Elliot liked to argue it was because he couldn’t admit to losing. Elliot wouldn’t say she was exactly close to them all, but as far as friends went, she guessed they were a pretty cool group to run the town with.

DAY 6: Guilty Pleasure

Elliot could spend hours upon hours watching TLC. She blamed her grandmother of course but like she said, “You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make them drink.” She was right of course, but Elliot wasn’t going to admit it. Cake boss was the shit. The cakes where beyond amazing. How in God’s name do they create these sculptures that you can EAT?! And the drama??? The show consumed her. She could care less whether it was real or not, that shit was entertaining. That and Four Weddings. Elliot never knew if she wanted to get married, or if she’d even get the option, but that didn’t stop her from rating other peoples weddings and seeing how terrible or great the night went. Some of the women on that show went all out spending thousands on a dress they’d only wear once, and the perfect venue they spend maybe five hours of their life at. Her favorites where the more bizarre brides. The ones with a halloween theme, or a batman themed wedding, or a fucking underwater theme. The list could go on. She would never outright tell anyone, but she had a soft spot for family and home channels.  

DAY 7: Casual Outfit

It was all bright colors for June. From yellow polka dotted pants to blue dresses to checkered skater skirts with bright purple tights. June’s closet looked like a rainbow exploded in her room. She accessorized with sparkly rings and necklaces that caught the light and large bangles that matched the days color scheme, if you could say she even had one. Her favorite shoes where a pair of basic black flats that buckled at the ankle and match anything and everything. Her go to pair for any outfit. June’s clothing was loud and bright just like her personality. It wasn’t a secret that she stood out in school, but if she was going to, she was going to own it.

Three pairs of ripped jeans, one nice for special occasions. Graphic tees galore. That was mostly what people gave up to thrift stores, but Elliot was happy to take them off their hands. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure right? Her favorite piece however, was her shoes. Red checkered vans, a birthday present from her parents. She wore them everywhere and anywhere. The only other pair was a beat up pair of off-brand black vans that she wore for when she was running out for something real quick. Elliot wasn’t one for accessories but she was always seen with a faded red backwards hat. It was against school dress code of course, but that didn’t stop her from carrying it along with her for when she decided to leave. Fashion and clothing wasn’t Elliots main focus. They were second handed and worse for wear, but her style was hers and no one could take that from her.

DAY 8: Formal Outift

Elliot was a same four outfits a week kind of person with only one formal outfit for whatever special occasion it called for. If it weren’t for her mother, Elliot would roll up to a wedding with ripped jeans and faded graphic tees, unfortunately her mother nagged to the point they spent a whole day at Goodwill and various other thrift stores looking for the perfect outfit. After trying on a skin tight, yellow mini dress, and a pant suit that made her look like she belonged in a Michael Jackson music video, Elliot found pants that just so happened to work perfectly with the top and shoes her mother found. Everything about the outfit was perfect. The pants were a navy blue with matching suspenders. The fabric stretched ever so slightly fitting the curve of her hips and buttoning at the waist. The top was a white and navy blue striped button up that Elliot tucked into the pants and rolled the sleeves to just below the elbow. The top was soft and lay perfectly over her shoulders, dipping into the curve of her waist, accentuating her feminine figure as the suspenders gave her a hint masculinity to the outfit. It was subtle but much needed addition to the outfit. Elliot felt beautiful and confident and thought maybe this wasn’t so bad afterall.  

DAY 9: Spirituality

June had been raised in a non-denominational church her whole life. Her father was a deacon at a reasonably big church a few miles downtown, and June participated in the choir like she had been doing since she was ten. She was religious, but when she discovered she was attracted to girls, she wasn’t so sure anymore. It’s not that she instantly decided God wasn’t real, but most christians preached such things as sin and that you’d end up in hell. Her church had never preached against it, it was just never really...brought up? June believed in Heaven and Hell, she believed in God, but to her something didn’t add up. Her father was a very religious man. Not the kind to drill the word of God into sinners of the world, just one proud to be Christian and expressed that through crocheted pillows and inspirational wall art. One day June would tell her father how she felt, but not for a while. Maybe when she went off to college? Or moved out of state? Or when the people of Earth decided to colonize Mars? Whichever came first.

Elliot’s family wasn’t the religious type. If anything, they’d call themselves agnostic. They knew something had to be out there, but what exactly, they didn’t know. The Demarco’s were quite possibly the most open minded and non-judgmental family anyone could meet. Elliot had come out to her family when she was thirteen. When she told her parents she thought she liked girls, her dad responded with a handshake and a, “Welcome to the club!” The oldest brother Liam responded with, “Wait, so you’re a fa-” but didn’t get to finish before their grandmother slapped the shit out of him, and never again did Liam say another word like that again.

DAY 10: Broken Temper

Mason was a calm type of mad. Not much angered him. Some days he didn’t get enough sleep, skipped coffee, or just wasn’t in the mood. When he was like this he mostly kept to himself. Slight nods, silent treatments, snappy answers. Kam knew not to bother him too much on days like that. Kam had seen Mason truly angry only once. The day began with much begging and a million please’s as Kam finally talked Mason into going to a free concert at a downtown bar. It was open to the public with local performers playing throughout the night. Everything was fine until Mason left to use the restroom and came back to find a man pushing himself on Kam. With a beer in one hand and the other holding on tightly to his shoulder, Mason’s expression changed in a heartbeat. The man leaned in close to talk to Kam, who in return, looked very uncomfortable. Mason knew Kam was too nice to tell him to leave him alone. He was about to politely pull Kam away, until the stranger moved his hand down the small of his back before pushing himself onto him. Mason was there in seconds, shoving the man off Kam. Mason’s voice was loud and harsh. “Hey, get the fuck off of him!” Mason could smell the alcohol on his breath, clearly drunk. “Fuck you man! You don’t own him!” He retaliated, stepping up to Mason who had a good few inches over him. Mason had him by the collar when he felt a light tug on his shirt. He turned around to see Kam holding on, his eyes soft and pleading. Mason turned back to the guy and let go, taking Kam by the hand and leading him out without another word. His grip was tight and firm as he made a beeline for the door. Kam’s only thought after that night was to see aggressive Mason more often.

No one could stop Elliot when someone made her mad. This isn’t the complaining and cursing about life and dumb people type of mad, but the type that actually made her snap. It wasn’t a surprise when people heard that Elliot was caught in a fight at school. Guys liked to test her and push her buttons and Elliot damn well made sure they knew what they had gotten themselves into. 90% of Chris and Jacks responsibility as her friend was spent keeping her out of fights or, when they were too late, pulling her off the poor guy that decided to say the wrong thing to her.

Unfortunately Chris was absent the day Elliot had overheard a conversation between Caleb and his friends over another kid a seat away who could clearly hear every word they were saying. Elliot wasted no time walking over to tell him to “Shut the hell up!” This led to some words being passed back and forth before Elliot took her fist to his face, leaving the giant man baby, as she called him, on the floor, stunned. The end result was a broken nose and a fractured hand, which Elliot thought was well worth it. When questioned by the principal as to why she did what she did, she answered with, “Well maybe if he had left Tyler alone and not decided to call him a, ‘faggot little bitch who can shove a ruler up his ass’, to the entire cafeteria, then maybe I wouldn’t have.” Elliot said holding onto her hand, her voice harsh, brown eyes sharp.  

The principal sighed, rubbing her hand down her face. Elliot had gotten to know Mrs. Larsen really well over the past few years.

#mine #write #writing #ocs #original characters #elliot #june #mason #kam #oc challenge #30 day challenge #30 day oc challenge

[hefellforfiction]

Sleepover

Kara looked at the simple gray clock on Lena’s wall. It ticked away quietly, practically silent to the human ear. She saw it was about one. They had been binge watching a cartoon Kara herself was obsessed over and Lena casually liked. They had talked about little scenes, their favorite pairings. They argued if any of the villains were redeemable. Little things one faces in a fandom. Kara banned herself from looking through the tags on Tumblr. They picked it up after it ended, so she feared to get it spoiled.

They had watched most of it before and were finishing up the series that night.

Lena was currently in her kitchen making them hot chocolate. She was humming a song Kara didn’t recognize. It was recent and she kept her tastes more nineties or early two thousands. Stuff Alex would listen to religiously when Kara first showed up on Earth

The outside weather was heavy rain and the flash flood warnings had spurred Kara to bring her super suit. Though she worried what she would do if a disaster occurred. She hadn’t told her girlfriend yet of her secret identity.

Part of her was scared to tell her. She wondered what reaction she would get from her girlfriend. Would she laugh? Would she cry? Would she be happy? Scared? Angry?

She shook those thoughts away as Lena walked into the living room. “Now, time to finish this.”  

“I’m not ready,” Kara groaned as she took her mug from Lena.

“I am. This is where it gets good.”

“This is where it gets gay,” Kara said. She had caught the vague ending from a coworker whose kid watched the show. Lena raised her eyebrows, saying “that’s why it’s good.” “I’m seeing why you and Maggie are becoming close. You two own your sexualities far too well.”

“You Danvers girls should too.” Lena smiled and kissed Kara’s cheek. They cuddled as the rain poured and action took place on Lena’s television.

A scene switched. Kara chuckled. “They’re doing the thing!”

Lena sighed and stroked her fingers through Kara’s curls. The woman was what happened when gay nerds grew up. A little.

“They were engaged. Of course, they are.” Lena sipped her drink as Kara let out a series of squeals.

“They’re alone! Are they going to kiss? I think they’re going to kiss!” Kara shouted.

“Shh…”Lena kissed her forehead.

“They’re going on a trip. There’s the portal.” Kara covered her mouth and squeaked. “They’re holding hands! What’s going to happen? Lena? I’m unable to handle this!”

She rolled onto the floor with a thud. “Where’s the rest of it?” She was making noises Lena could only describe them as a dying whale’s final testament.

“It’s a kid show. They wouldn’t put a kiss in there.”

“They should have! Kids are gay.” Kara sat up. “I was a gay child and never knew! Girls are so amazing. Have you seen them? Lena, you are a girl. You should know.”

Lena chuckled. “Let’s get ready for bed.” She helped Kara up.

Lena went up and worked through her nightly ritual. She washed her face and then put on a bright blue mask to hydrate. She came out of the bathroom as she set a phone timer.

“Whoa! What’s wrong with your face?” Kara’s eyes were wide.

“It’s a face mask?” Lena looked down at her. “Have you never used one?”

“No?” Kara had a block of text on her phone screen and was trying to hide it. It didn’t take an expert to know she had ventured onto some fan fiction website. Lena grabbed the blue jar from her bathroom. “What are you doing?”

“Sit still.” Lena started to smear the thick concoction all over Kara’s face using a brush.

“It’s cold and sticky.” Kara scrunched up her nose.

“Don’t crinkle your face.” Lena put the jar on her nightstand.

“How long do I have to wear this?” Kara whined.

“Fifteen minutes.” Lena looked at her girlfriend. In an odd way, she looked cute. It was the least put together she had seen a lover. Her relationships were never so comfortable. But with Kara, it was like she was dating the human manifestation of the feeling one gets when they climb into a bed with clean and still warm sheets.

“Why are you smiling?” Kara asked. “I look terrible, so I know it’s not that I’m beautiful.” She looked back down at her phone.

“One, I can tell you’re reading fan fiction about Korra and Asami. Two, you look like an alien. And three, you do look beautiful. You always look beautiful.”

Kara blushed and started to stutter out. “What—no—I’m not—“ She started to laugh. “You’re funny, Lena.” She sucked in a bit of air. Will I be caught because of this mask? She looked at her girlfriend. Fuck, she’s staring. I’m caught. It was nice while it lasted. Goodbye Lena.

Lena laughed and kissed Kara. It was a quick peck, cautious to not get a mouth full of the mask on Kara’s upper lip. “You’re the best.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not perfect. And before you get offended, I mean it in the most sincere way.” Lena pushed her hair, trying to keep it from brushing across the mask. “I’m not intimidated about dating you. I just can jump in and live in the moment with you. That is a luxury for me. I’ve been taught to stand on the edge. I’m supposed to think about every damn thing I do and wonder how it reflects on me.”

Kara looked down, fighting a smile. She wanted flail helplessly, unable to take how perfect Lena was. “So can I take this off?” She asked awkwardly, not knowing how to reply.

“Oh…yeah.” Lena looked down. She started to peel away the blue mask on her own face.

“Wait! What is that?” Kara gasped and started to pull at hers. “My gods! This is so cool!”

Lena raised an eyebrow, but Kara was distracted. It was similar to how Rhea spoke she noted.

Kara had gotten every bit off. “Can I do that again?”

“Next time you sleep over.” Lena smiled and took off her own. She tossed the remains and slumped back in the bed.

Kara cuddled up to her side and looked at her phone screen. “My OTP.”

“I thought that was JT and Britney.”

“I have more than one OTP,” Kara deadpanned, not looking up from her phone screen.

“Then it’s not an OTP.”

“Watch me have multiple OTPs, Luthor. Sit back and watch.” Kara shut her phone and put it down on the nightstand.

“If you start writing fan fiction, I’m taking away your internet.” Kara simply pouted. She reached and turned off the lamp on the nightstand.

“You’re a villain.”

“It’s in my blood, Miss Danvers.” Lena kissed her cheek.

“No, it’s not. I’m convinced it skipped over you. You didn’t get a pinch of evil, but a whole bucket of lesbian.”

Lena snapped her fingers. “Drat, you’re right.” She chuckled and kissed Kara’s cheek. “You have the mask in your eyebrows.”

Kara sat up. “What?” She started to aggressively rub the arched brows, managing to mess them up and smear in the blue mask. “Lena, help me.”

Lena stood up and walked to the bathroom. She came back with witch hazel. She worked it through the blonde brows, getting the bits out. “What would you do without me?”

“Not have face mask in my brows and be reading Korrasami without harm.”

“Ouch.” Lena touched her chest over her heart and scrunched up her brow. “That’s just cruel.”

Kara flopped onto the bed. She held Lena close when the woman settled in. “It’s weird to think…that months ago I was about to vow to never fall.” She looked up at the ceiling, a line of city light skewing across it. “Now, I’m here. Our first time sleeping in the same bed. It’s…warm.”

“It could get warmer,” Lena whispered. Her fingertips brushed over Kara’s bare hip as her t-shirt rode up. She reached and put her hand on Lena’s.

���I want to wait a bit longer. I like this.” She smiled, hiding some nerves and apprehension. “To just watch tv shows and mess around. I want to do a face mask with you, bicker, and kiss you until you fall asleep. I want to make your coffee for you in the morning and give you a kiss after you drop me off at work but before I have to take the third degree from Snapper.” She cupped Lena’s cheek, cradling her cheek.

And I fear what my strength could do to a mortal. Kal has had a normal life, but he’s had a chance to figure it out. I don’t want to hurt you.

The thought called at the back of her mind. The moment gave her realizing there were tears prickling in Lena’s eyes. “Hey, why are you crying?” Kara whispered. She kisses away the tears sliding over her cheekbones. “That was sappy! Be happy. Laugh and call me a ridiculous woman.”

“You are!” Lena laughed and sobbed. She hugged her tight. “It’s perfect. I just said you weren’t, but then you do perfect things…”

“I’m just saying, I want to live with now. The future will be good if we just go on. Our lives will be busy and complicated. If we do little things when we can, we will last longer than if we tried the broad strokes all the couples do in the movies.” She smiled.

Lena kissed her. There the kiss was longer. It should’ve been a lazy kiss before they settled in. Yet, it wasn’t. A bold pressure was applied and they held each other with the silent fear of losing each other. Their lips weren’t greedy, as both feared to scare one away with their neediness. In the moment their anxieties thrived and calmed.

Kara cupped Lena’s whole face, her fingertips touching the remaining tears. She screwed her eyes tight and pulled Lena back into the kiss when she started to pull away. She wanted to kiss until the woman smiled. Until her cheeks were pink and she would giggle and call her silly. Lena Luthor…was her most important mission.

Kara pulled Lena on top of her. The weight in a way was reassuring as their lips parted. It sated her so she didn’t immediately pull Lena back down for a kiss. They just lied there, breathing a bit heavier than a resting breath. Kara stroked her fingers through Lena’s dark hair, the long and straight strands easily allowing her digits to pass.

She opened her mouth, three words hanging off her tongue. She bit them back, knowing quietly she could express them a lot better. She pressed her lips to Lena’s forehead. She tucked a lock of dark brown hair behind a pale ear before kissing the tip of the ear. She got a pleased hum in response. Her hands stroked over the brunette’s back, rubbing soothing circles into the skin. Her touches held no haste or lust. They were lazy, a gentle sign of her affection.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be tonight,” Kara whispered, not truly realizing how much those words calmed anxieties and had potential to end wars in Lena’s mind. She could tell outside the rain had slowed, pelting the windows gently and leaving phantom patterns on the wall as light refracted through the droplets.

“Me either,” Lena mumbled, half asleep. Kara pulled the duvet over them. She looked and saw Lena’s eyes drawing closed. She smiled and shut her own.

#supercorp #lena luthor #kara danvers #cute lesbians #fluffy #wlw