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roosterforme · 1 year ago

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How You Play the Game Part 8 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley was miserable without you, and the pain just wasn't lessening even though you left him weeks ago. He needed to find a way to move on, because you didn't want him, and you weren't coming back. But he should have known there was no substitute for the best thing he'd ever had.

Warnings: Swears, broken heart, angst, consensual sex, sex with a condom while intoxicated (18+)

Length: 5000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! How You Play the Game masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

Weeks later...

As you flew to Vancouver from Detroit, you thought about that six hour flight to Boston where you hadn't stopped crying for a single minute. You thought about leaving San Diego and how it broke your heart to move on to the next city and the next assignment. At least this time you had a window seat instead of the middle seat in the last row. And this time you weren't continually wiping your tears on Bradley's Padres jersey.

You had his jersey on again today, but this time you felt calm as you reached into your bag to take out your computer and read over the research you'd outlined about the Vancouver Canucks. Your eyes caught on the blue golf ball, and after a second of hesitation, you reached for that instead.

You'd taken it everywhere with you. It joined you in every hotel room, on every flight and in every rental car. You had it with you in your tote bag when you were in Boston about a month ago working on the exclusive with the Bruins' coaching staff. You were carrying it when you bumped into Abigail Archer for the first time in person.

With your article completely forgotten now, you dug your phone out of your pocket. It was in airplane mode, but you took a deep breath and unlocked it. You had to scroll a bit to get to the text thread with Bradley, and then you tapped his name and you almost let the tears rise to the surface. You held them back as you read the series of sporadic messages he'd sent you since early November.

I miss you.

Did you make it to Boston safely?

Ace, please call me back. I miss you so much.

I have this whole weekend off, and I can't help but think it would be easy for me to fly to wherever you are. If you would want that.

I still miss you.

I hope you're doing well.

You hadn't responded to a single one of them. And you never called him back either. But sometimes, when you were in a hotel room in a city that you couldn't even identify without looking at your calendar app, you'd get lonely enough to listen to his voicemail message. See ya, Ace.

It took until you met Bradley Bradshaw for you to really understand just how lonely you were. Going back to your apartment in New York City didn't feel like going home. There was nothing there that made you smile. There were no baseball cards or too small Angels tee shirts. There was no Bradley making sure you were taking a break when you needed one.

And he was part of the reason why you let yourself start to be convinced that you could have more out of your career. Maybe he was right. Somebody else might have something better to offer than Greg or the New York Times. When you talked to Abigail and started to test the waters, it wasn't as terrifying as you thought it would be. Making some calls to see what else was out there ended up validating one fact for you: Bradley was right, your writing was in high demand.

But you had to complete your contract with Greg before you could do much else. And that included Detroit and Vancouver. But you hoped after this, your work-life balance might improve. If you decided to take this information back to Bradley, you hoped he would listen to you. Maybe he would even see what you wrote about your career change in your Detroit Red Wings article. If he was even still reading your articles. There was a chance he might still miss you now, and maybe he'd understand that you needed to see the bigger picture for yourself first.

Before you left him alone in his bed, he told you that you knew where to find him. He made you feel like it was still okay to go there.

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

Bradley walked past his coffee table dressed in his flight suit with his travel mug of coffee in his hand. He paused at the front door and looked back at the mess he still couldn't bring himself to clean up. You left him weeks ago, damn near a month ago, but he just couldn't bring himself to clean up all of the fucking baseball cards.

He closed his eyes and took a calming breath. He was being ridiculous. He was never ridiculous before he met you, so you must have made him this way. Every time he tried to clean them up and put them back out in his garage, his hands faltered and he left the cards out on the table. It was like some sort of sick reminder that you'd really been here with him. It was a way to convince himself he didn't imagine up the perfect woman in his mind and then have to live through the aftermath of watching her leave.

He tightened his fingers around his mug and rubbed the heel of his other hand against his eyes. Then he took his phone out. He knew he shouldn't do it since you never answered his other messages before, but he texted you anyway.

I hope you're doing well.

When he re-read what he'd sent, he started to panic. It sort of sounded like he meant it with an air of finality. The last thing he wanted was for you to think that he didn't want to hear from you, because it was quite the opposite. There were times when he felt so lonely, he'd have done anything for you to write to him or call him back.

He swore he could still smell you in his house, and right now it felt a little too much like you were there. He wrenched his front door open and slammed it closed behind him, breathing in the crisp December morning air. He had to start making some changes, and he needed to do it this week. You weren't going to respond to him. After four weeks he should accept that as a fact and stop bugging you.

He'd been skipping Hard Deck nights and leaving the locker room after work without really talking to anyone. Nat knew why he was miserable, but even she seemed surprised it had gone on for this long.

A few days ago, she said, "You've never behaved like this over a woman before. This has all just been very surprising, and I don't know how to help you."

Bradley had shrugged and laughed sarcastically. "Well, I fell in love with her. First time for everything, right? I'll know better for next time."

And that was the truly fucked up part. He had fallen in love with you over the course of ten days. As he drove to work, he thought about your face and your voice. He knew exactly how many miles he put on his Bronco driving back and forth to see you at the games in Anaheim. He knew exactly how much money he spent on all the tickets. He knew how badly it hurt right now to be without you. And he knew he'd repeat everything all over again if he could see you for five minutes.

Just like every other day, he had to collect himself before he could head inside to the locker room. There was no getting his time with you back. There was no second chance. There was no communication. He needed to stop. He took off his aviators that you'd liked so much and set them in his cup holder. When he checked the time on his phone, he had a notification that a new article from you had been posted eight minutes ago. It was like this every day. He'd wait to see each morning if you'd written anything, and then after it was posted, he'd read it at least three times.

Your final World Series article was the worst one. It was released two days after you left. He must have read it a hundred times. He'd even take a screenshot of the short passage he was certain was about him.

This World Series was exciting and dynamic for so many reasons. We witnessed some of the best major league pitching in the last decade, and there were more stolen bases than the past three finals combined. Professionally, I may never witness anything like this again. And I can even tell you that on a personal level, I was profoundly changed for the better by everything I allowed myself to experience and enjoy between San Diego and Anaheim over the course of the series.

Bradley looked at his phone screen now. It had to stop. He desperately wanted to read your article on the Detroit Red Wings, but he needed to make this feeling stop. It was like he was constantly in pain every time he thought about you or even simply read your name on his phone. Your written words were never going to help him move on, so he needed to do something about it right now while he felt like he could.

He deleted the New York Times app. He thought about deleting your number as well, but he needed to save some of his strength to get through his workday. So he just tucked his phone in his pocket and climbed out of the Bronco.

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When Bradley walked into the Hard Deck on Friday night after work, he felt defeated and exhausted. He managed to delete the app you wrote for, but he still couldn't bring himself to delete your phone number. Moving on was a necessity right now. He didn't even know why he bothered to come to the bar, but staying home and looking at baseball cards on his coffee table didn't seem to be helping him.

"You're here!" Nat called out as soon as he walked inside. The bar was decorated for Christmas. Was it that close to the holidays? He'd completely lost track of the weeks, but at the same time, he knew exactly how many days it had been since he'd seen you. His mind was too aware of that number, and it tacked a new one on each day.

"Hey," Bradley managed to grunt when his friend came over to him and wrapped him up in a hug. The Christmas tree and the strings of lights blurred, and he had to close his eyes. He was missing the feel of your arms around him and the way you smelled. None of this was Nat's fault or anyone's fault really. Bradley didn't even blame you. He couldn't. You and he were nothing.

"Let me get you a drink," Nat whispered, and she took him by the hand. He recognized the upbeat Christmas song, and he saw the guys waving from the pool table. But when he turned to face the bar, Shannon was right there with her usual smile and a pint glass in her hand. He didn't know why he wasn't expecting her. The last time he saw her was when he brought you here, and he'd give anything to go back to that night.

Bradley just shook his head. "Something stronger. Please." Shannon raised one eyebrow at him and set the pint glass down in favor of a whiskey tumbler and a bottle of Johnnie Walker. "Yeah."

"Haven't seen you around in a few weeks," she said, watching the amber liquid slosh neatly up the side of the glass as she poured. "Kinda missed you." She met his eyes as she pushed the glass across the bar. "You look so sad."

He held eye contact with her, trying his best to push the intrusive thoughts away. "Maybe I'll be around more now," he muttered, downing the whole drink in one go and setting the glass down again.

Shannon was familiar to him. Comfortable. He'd been messing around with women for damn near two decades without any deep feelings. You were really his first foray into something... more. But you were gone. You didn't want to talk to him. You weren't coming back.

She refilled his glass and said, "Take this one a little slower, Bradley." He nodded before downing it just like the first one, and she kind of smirked and shook her head. "You'll pay for this in the morning."

He laughed sardonically. "That's the idea." He left the empty glass on the bar with a little nod indicating that he would be back. He desperately needed to clear his head, but he'd been trying everything for weeks. Taking a walk outside, having a cold shower, going for a drive. Nothing fucking helped.

He needed to forget the feel of your body and the sound of your voice. So he drank an extravagant amount of Johnnie Walker on Nat's tab, and he started to feel looser. He laughed at her when she asked how many he had so far.

"Don't worry. I'll pay you back," he rasped with a smile that he knew could charm every woman except for his best friend.

She just rubbed her hand up and down his arm and said, "I hope you know what you're doing. Let me know when you want me to get you home."

He kissed her cheek. "I'm fine, Nat. Just fine." He finished his tumbler and tried to remember if that was his fifth or his sixth, but it didn't matter. He was warm now, and his lips were a little numb. This was exactly what he needed tonight. After he shot a round of pool and lost, he flipped through the jukebox, but it was all bullshit Christmas music. He wasn't in the mood. He thought about playing the piano, but there was an empty stool at the bar now, so he headed in that direction.

"One more?" Bradley asked Shannon as he sat, and she reached out to touch his cheek.

"You sure you really need one?"

"Yep," he said, swallowing against the lump in his throat as she swam out of focus for a split second. "Just one more. It'll make it easier."

She turned away from him to get one more clean glass. Then she filled it for him. "Thanks, Shannon," he muttered when she set it down in front of him. He was leaning on his propped up hand, and he knew she was kind of pretty. But he knew you were prettier and funnier and smarter.

"You can't have what you want," he mumbled to himself after Shannon walked away. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, unlocked it and just looked at the screen. Delete it. He had to. He opened his contacts, and there you were right at the fucking top.

Ace

You'd always be at the top, wouldn't you?

Instead of deleting your number, he sent you a text before he could reconsider.

Ace, I fell in love with you.

Fuck. Fuck! You didn't want him. And there was no way to take that message back now. He closed his eyes and shook his head, because he couldn't tell if he was about to cry or laugh. He was fucking miserable. Truly, he'd never experienced this before, and it hurt like hell. His thumb hovered over your name once again, but he couldn't delete it. He drank the whiskey and tried again. But still nothing.

He watched Shannon move around behind the bar. She wasn't you. She wasn't what he wanted, but when she announced that it was last call, she made her way over to him.

"But no more for you," she teased, reaching to take his glass away. But he had her wrist in his hand before he registered what he was doing. She looked a little surprised. The tears were in his eyes again, but maybe it wasn't so obvious to her. He couldn't say the words. He needed her to be the one. When he licked his lips, she leaned a little closer. "I'm done in fifteen. Are you interested? Or are you too drunk?"

He took a deep breath as his eyes closed. He needed to try to move on. The pain needed to stop, or else he didn't know what he would do. Right now he was numb enough. It was now or never. "I'm interested."

Bradley was very aware of what he was doing, it just vaguely seemed like someone else was doing it. He gave his keys to Shannon once they were outside. "Remember where I live?" he asked, walking toward the Bronco.

"Of course I do," she whispered.

He found himself with his back against the passenger side door with Shannon's lips on his. It felt fine. Would probably feel better the more he got used to it again. He could do this. He kissed her back and told her to drive, because he knew he shouldn't.

She drove and parked and took him by the hand, leading him inside his house. As soon as he saw the baseball cards, he wanted to upend his coffee table. He wanted to do this and get it over with and go to sleep for a week. And if he didn't feel better after that, then he didn't know what he was going to do.

When Shannon tried to turn on his bedroom light, he took her hand in his and guided it away from the switch. "Too bright," he mumbled, and she started to get undressed. He stumbled across the hallway to the bathroom and closed the door. When he looked in the mirror, he'd never seen anything quite so pitiful. He splashed a little water on his face, but it just made his flushed cheeks stand out more. He dug around under the sink for some condoms he thought he still had. When his hand closed around the box, he sat back against the wall and cried.

He had no idea how long he was in the bathroom. He took his shirt off and used it to wipe his face. You didn't want him. He went back to his bedroom where Shannon was naked on his bed, her skin glowing in the light filtering in from the bathroom where he forgot to flip the switch off.

"Fuck," he grunted, running his fingers through his hair. But she must have taken that as a sign that he was ready to go. He wasn't, but he told himself he was. She touched him, and he let her. She kissed him some more, and he let her do that, too. He reciprocated. He knew to do that much. But it didn't feel like anything. He fucked her, but it just wasn't right. And then he fell asleep with a throbbing head and an aching heart and the wrong woman next to him.

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

It had been years since Bradley had a hangover. When he opened his eyes, his left arm was hanging off of his bed, and his face was halfway smashed in his pillow. His mouth was completely dry, and he tried to press his lips together and swallow. He had no idea how he got home or what time it was.

"Oh, shit," he groaned. He texted you last night. When he was sitting at the bar. He was pretty sure he told you he fell in love with you. He knew you wouldn't write back. You must have blocked his number by now. He was probably texting nobody by this point, but it still hurt like hell that you didn't want him the way he wanted you.

Then he remembered what he did after he texted you, and the bile rose in his throat so quickly. Shannon was right there next to him when he turned his head. He let her sleep over. He never let her sleep over before this. She was in your spot. He needed her gone immediately.

"Hey," he grunted, his throat like sandpaper. "Shannon. You need to leave."

She rolled over and glared at him. "Still tired," she whispered, completely naked in his bed.

"Please," he begged. He was so fucking stupid, it was incredible. Now he was miserable and hungover and angry with himself. "I need you to."

She sighed and stretched, and Bradley made a beeline for the bathroom, stepping on a condom wrapper on the way. At least there was that. Then he emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet. He sat back against the wall for a few minutes, afraid there might be more he had to throw up. He knew his head was throbbing due more to the fact that he regretted everything he did last night with Shannon than him drinking most of a bottle of whiskey.

There was tapping on the door. "If you want me to leave, I need to use the bathroom."

"Give me a minute," he groaned, standing up and looking at himself in the mirror. There were dark circles under his eyes and he looked pale. When he brushed his teeth, he felt the tears burning behind his eyes once again. Was this ever going to stop? It had been more than a month.

Bradley rinsed his mouth and opened the door, barely looking at Shannon as she walked past him, still naked. He went back into his bedroom for a pair of clean underwear and some gym shorts and fought the urge to put all of his bedding in the washing machine. He couldn't even be in here right now, so he left for the kitchen. And he passed the fucking baseball cards again. He would have to throw them away or ask someone to come get them, because he needed them gone as much as he needed Shannon to leave.

As he turned on his coffee maker, he heard someone knocking on his front door. He already wanted this fucking day to end. He tried not to look at the baseball cards as he passed the table and wrenched his front door open, and then his jaw dropped in surprise.

"Bradley. Hi."

He braced his hand against the door frame as he looked at you standing there on his tiny porch. You were wearing his Padres jersey. He had to be hallucinating. This had to be a dream. You were here.

"Ace."

He watched your face light up at the nickname, and you laughed softly as you examined him like you'd been dying to see him. He gripped the doorframe a little harder as he reached his other hand out to cup your chin and feel your silky skin.

"Holy shit, Baby. What are you doing here?" His heart was pounding, but he felt somehow normal again. Just like he had five weeks ago before you left him in a state of panic.

"I came to see you." He stroked his thumb along your lip, but you didn't back away. In fact you took a tiny step closer as you added, "I have to be up in Anaheim tomorrow afternoon for some Ducks interviews, but I wanted to see you first. I thought we could talk."

Your eyes were open and earnest, and Bradley felt weak as he looked at his jersey on you. He let his hand drop away from your face, because he had no idea what to say to you right now. He had convinced himself he'd never see you again. "Did you get my texts? Or did you block my number?"

You pressed your lips together and then whispered, "I got your texts. And I've listened to your voicemail a lot. I've missed you." Bradley watched you smile tentatively and give him a little shrug.

"You missed me," he said in disbelief. "And you got my messages. And you missed me. And you're wearing my jersey."

You looked down at yourself and laughed. "I've been wearing pretty frequently, actually. Turns out I don't have a dress code at my new office, which ironically is in Houston now, but I hardly ever have to be there in person."

When you met his eyes again, he asked. "New office?" He was so confused as he reached out and stroked your cheek with his fingers again just to try to make sure you were still real.

"Yeah," you said softly, taking another step closer to him. "I have you to thank for that. I have you to thank for a lot of things." You bit your lip before you said, "I left the New York Times. I just finished my last assignment for Greg yesterday. I'm working on a brand new piece now. I actually begged my new employer to let me come back to California for the Anaheim Ducks article even though it's a bit of a fluff piece, because it meant I could come here and tell you that I'm happier now."

"You are?" he asked, unsure what you meant by that. He was having a hard time listening to your voice and looking at your face at the same time, and he wondered how he'd managed ten days in your presence for the World Series. You were just so overwhelmingly perfect.

"Yes, Bradley. You made me think about my career, and I kind of took the time to change some of my priorities. Because if there's a man as incredible as you who is willing to take a chance on me, then I can take the same kind of chance on myself."

"Ace."

You smiled up at what he was sure was a look of longing on his face. "I'm working for Velocity Report now, and I'm going to have a lot more time off between assignments. Which is important, because you reminded me that I need to take breaks and eat and take care of myself. Even when you're not around."

"I loved doing that for you," he gasped, suddenly dying to kiss you.

"Yeah, well, you were really good at it," you said as your smile faded a little bit. "But that's why I'm here. To tell you all of this in person. You deserve to hear it in person instead of over the phone, especially since I never responded to you. I wanted to, but I just wasn't ready until now. And I don't know if you read what I said about you in my Detroit Red Wings article... but, I still miss you. And I love you."

His heart was pounding so hard, he thought he was going to pass out. "You love me?" he asked, absolutely needing you to say it again for him as your eyes drifted to where the box of baseball cards was still out on the coffee table.

Your smile grew as you reached out for his hand and tugged him closer like you were going to kiss him. "Yes, I do. I love-"

Bradley heard a noise behind him, and his heart sank as his eyes went wide. You were looking off to the side, and he heard Shannon's voice. "Oh, sorry." He turned to see her with a puzzled look on her face. He had completely forgotten she was even here. After a few minutes in your presence, you were the only thing that mattered.

"Oh my god," you gasped, wrenching yourself away from Bradley. "Oh, fuck." You looked at him with your hands on your forehead and tears in your eyes. "You know what? Forget I was even here. I'm sorry," you gasped, turning on your heel and walking full speed across his yard to the black car that was parked at his curb.

It took him a second, but then he was right behind you. "Ace! No, Baby, you don't understand." But it didn't look like you were listening as you dug the keys to your rental car out of your pocket. "Ace! Please!" He ran barefoot out onto the street to try to beat you to the car door, but you were too fast. When he reached for your hand and spun you around to face him, you had tears streaming down your cheeks.

He was frozen, clinging to your hand as you whispered, "She's the bartender. I should have never come here."

"No," he begged, stepping into your personal space, but you kept dodging him. "It's nothing. I want you here. I need you here."

But you pulled your hand free and reached for the door handle as you sobbed, and it broke Bradley's heart. "I need to go."

He was ready to drop to his knees. "She doesn't mean anything, Ace! Please! I missed you too, Baby! I've been miserable without you, okay? You have no idea."

You wouldn't even look at him now as you pushed him out of the way so you could climb in the car. He felt all of his dreams slipping through his fingers twice now as you slammed the door closed, started the engine and drove.

"Ace!" he shouted running alongside your door until you hit the accelerator and left him standing in the middle of his street without shoes on. "Ace. I love you," he whispered as you turned left at the end of his block, and then you were out of sight.

Bradley sank down until he was squatting with his face buried in his palms. "Fuck!" he screamed, the sound only slightly muffled as he jumped up to his feet and made his way back to his house where Shannon was standing on his porch. She looked disgusted as another car pulled up in front of his house.

"Why are we sleeping together if you're clearly in love with her?" she asked, barely looking at him as she headed toward her Uber. "You should go take care of that."

As Bradley watched her away, he tried to pinpoint exactly how he'd fucked all of this up. He wondered if there was any way to fix it. Once again, he couldn't breathe correctly as that crushing feeling returned to his lungs. This feeling has vanished for those few minutes he was with you again.

"Maybe you don't even deserve her," he told himself as he walked back inside alone, thinking about how for a minute there, you'd loved him back.

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

Oh, Bradley. Oh, you sweet thing. Should I add one more part? Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 9

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mosneakers · 3 months ago

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Any typical paranoid conspiracy theorist wouldn’t even dream of snagging a coveted invite to Jill Smith's exclusive election party. But Erwin is lucky. His best friend, Tycho Curious, just happens to be the potential president-elect's cousin, and Tycho really went out of his way to ensure Erwin gets in.

The ground-level entrance to The Spot is heavily guarded with high-profile security and helicopters swarming overhead.

Appearing disheveled and visibly anxious, Erwin approaches the entrance, fumbling through his wrinkled suit jacket to find the pass for entry. Despite assuring Tycho he'd be arriving with Coni, he approaches the building alone. Focused on his quest, he’s about to face his first obstacle.

Sydney: PRIES! There you are. Blocking his path, the Mother In Red Association (or M.I.R.A)—rival cult group to Erwin's conspiracy club—gathers around with a mission of their own.

Erwin: Oh... it's you.

Sydney: We've been waiting out here for you, hoping to catch you before you went in.

Erwin: [Still searching for the pass] What? Why? How did you know I’d be here?

Sydney: We track Strangerville rental car records and saw your name come up in the database. Narrowed it down from there.

Erwin: Of course. So why did you feel the need to follow me?

Sydney: [Leans in and lowers voice] Ongoing Bella Goth investigation. We're following a lead... it's confidential. Erwin: [Frustrated sigh] Look, I don't have time for this, okay? There's something very important I need to do. And it's time sensitive.

Sydney narrows her eyes at Erwin, studying his frantic demeanor. Sydney: Okay, fine. If you help us get in, we’ll disclose to you what we’re after.

Erwin: [Scoffs, finally locating pass and softly waving it around] No chance. I barely got myself in because of my connection to Tycho.

I... I just got lucky. Sydney: Damn it! You sure there's not anything you can do? Erwin: Sorry. [Shrugs] But if I were you, I'd get out of here. Tune into the news, if everything goes according to plan— Bella Goth will only be a small fraction of the story.

#ts4 #ts4 story #sims 4 #the sims 4 #Erwin Pries #MD4 #MD4season10 #M.I.R.A.#Sydney Spaulding #Election Night-The Spot #GIF #SalientRecollectionDoc #md4s10finale

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nieded · 3 months ago

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what are Ezira and AJ like on a long road trip? Which car from their garage would they take? What snacks do they bring? Which one gets pulled over for going eighty in a thirty?

aj and ezira did go on a road trip across california when they were first starting out as a couple! though of course, it would have taken a lot of work to import a car to the states, and so they had a rental. if they could have taken one of their cars, they would have settled on the la ferrari, which could handle the switchbacks of the serria nevada.

maybe someday they will take the road trip that newt and ligur talked about from montpellier to cologne.

the actual reality is that they would take the gti, if they had a choice from their own garage. hypercars are notoriously unreliable. they are not meant for road trips. they aren't really meant to be driven, honestly. replacing brakes on a la ferrari (which is a common maintenance item!!!) costs 40k. the SO works next door to an italian repair shop that exclusively does ferraris, lambos, alfas, and fiats. they have had a lamborghini aventador sitting in the shop for months because it requires a new set of special tires, which they only release every couple of years. so it's just waiting for a random shipment that may or may not come in the next year. the lifespan on hypercars for maintenance items like oil changes and brakes are much much shorter than the average car.

also, where would their luggage go? they will definitely need boot space. crowley's a pain to fly with because he always has extra luggage for stuff: skincare, haircare, nail polish, nail polish remover, extra hats that he will not wear, extra shoes that he will also not wear, but he has them just in case they do the beach or a hike. (and still, he wears his boots.) chargers for his electronics and back up batteries just in case. and weed. road trips are excellent when transporting the goods.

but crowley has no opinion on snacks. thankfully, ezira has all the opinions on snacks. healthy choices such as snacking peppers and carrots and seaweed chips to just cake. lots of biscuits. he has a kettle in the back so they can make periodic petrol stops to boil hot water. and should they stop and pick up more ice for the cooler? just in case? and in the end, they only eat half of it because every four hours, he's on google maps researching local restaurants and cafes for nibbles.

and realistically, neither of them will get pulled over for speeding, but if one of them had to, it'd be crowley. ezira hates driving around civilians. it's much safer to be going 190 on a race track. but average joes are unpredictable. get off your phone! use the indicator (to the beemer, i'm looking at you). oops you missed your exit and are now crossing six lanes of interstate... everybody's out here being lance stroll. ezira absolutely hates it, and if you spend 15 minutes on r/idiotsincars, you will too. there's very little ezira sticks his nose up at, but civilians. *shudders*

but they wouldn't drive over the speed limit, not too much. that's for work. crowley will take it slow through the alps so ezira can take pictures of the clear blue lakes and snow-capped mountains. they'll take turns with the bluetooth, donna summer and pink floyd for crowley, abba and death cab for ezira, and they'll talk about the race season and the spots they want to revisit in america and italy and japan. they'll wonder what ceres has destroyed at marnie and lili's and what the nibling is up to. if she's crawling yet because that means she's almost walking and if she's running they can stick her in a go kart.

but the silence would be good too at night, windows down, one of crowley's feet out the window when it's ezira's turn to drive (less people, more deer, but he will take his chances). and they'll stop on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere between two cities and look up and up and up at the sky, stars twinkling above. and crowley will think about how he's crossed finish lines filled with fireworks, stood on the platform in monza once upon a time when the tifosi flooded the track, sat in the cockpits of wheeled rocketships, unbelievable feats of engineering from mankind, and think nothing could compare to the darkest night in the quiet with his beloved.

it's not about going fast. it's about drawing it out, sitting in the cabin with each other and no one else, as if they could sneak one more minute, one more hour together before they're pulled across the globe in opposite directions. they love it. they love the racing and the adrenaline and the fireworks (but not the jet lag and missed calls and wondering if the other is sleeping ok). they love that feeling of peeling their racing gloves off after hours of sweating and swearing, the long drink of water after a long drive. but. but they love each other more.

#ni answers #rainbow road

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curiositydooropened · 11 months ago

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Late Checkout • Teaser

The cursor blinked.

A writing retreat at an exclusive 5-star ski resort. A New Years Eve party in the moody lodge bar. A handsome heir. A bratty bad boy. A snowstorm blocking every guest from the outside world.

Pairing: Rich!Steve Harrington x Writer!Reader, Eddie Munson x Writer!Reader

Wordcount: 1328

Warnings and Tags: Modern AU, femme!reader, strangers to lovers, angst, smut, voyeurism, fantasizing, longing, isolation, snowstorm, skiing, writer's block, murder, blood, gore, recreational drug and alcohol use. This is an 18+ blog, minor DNI please and thank you. Please check chapters for further warnings.

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Your thoughts drifted back out to the veranda. Sun poured over the mountain side and bounced off stark white snow. Golden rays cast down and carded through his chestnut hair. Your fingers ached.

He tilted his face into it, eyes closed, lashes fluttering freckled cheeks, ecstasy evident as his features softened.

You licked your bottom lip.

The woman with him reached for his cheek and procured an eyelash, holding her finger skyward.

His eyes opened, amber and honey. A smile pulled at the corners of his pink lips before he pursed them to blow. His cheeks puffed up and hollowed, dotted with freckles, bone structure immaculate. Wish sufficiently made, his face lit in amusement, brows raised.

What did man like him wish for? He had the money, the looks. You hadn’t seen his car in the lot, but you were sure it was as luxuriously as the parka stretched over broad shoulders. The woman by his side was stunning, a Scandinavian supermodel with legs and curves for days.

So what was it then?

He swirled his glass in an ungloved hand, tips of his fingers reddening as he brought the amber liquid to his pink lips for a drink. What did a man with mid-afternoon Scotch wish for? Maybe he wished to bag a new account at the firm. Maybe he wished for his offer to go through for that rental on the Cape. Maybe he wished for his secretary to wear that YSL skirt again, with those pantyhose he could tear off with his perfect teeth.

You sputtered a cough, accidentally inhaling some of the saliva filling your mouth. Face warm, you mopped at the corners of your lips with a sweater cuff.

At your bistro table, your laptop screen had gone to stand-by. With a sigh, you clicked the track pad until the screen revived. On the blank page, the cursor blinked.

“You done with your coffee?” A busgirl approached, cheeks pinched pink and a smile across freckled features.

“Oh,” you handed her your mug and saucer. “Thank you.”

“Sure,” she nodded, and you were surprised when she leaned in. She smelled of espresso and vanilla. “Hey, this guy in the corner? The cute one with the man bun and the leather jacket? He paid me a really big tip to give you this,” she slipped a drink napkin in front of you.

Beneath the lodge’s bright orange logo were chicken scratched letters in black ink.

I hope the novel you’re working on has a better ending.

“He also offered to buy you another drink,” the barista informed, taking in your reaction with wide eyes. “But if you’re totally disgusted, I will be more than happy to call security and get his ass escorted right out of here.”

You snorted and glanced over your laptop at the far corner of the room. Your Critic from the previous day sat in his same corner, long limbs draped over the sides of the furniture like he he lived there. Slender hands folded the spine of a new novel, decorated in silver rings. His curls were pulled up into a loose bun, exposing a prominent widow’s peak, and a playful smile pulled at the corners of plump lips.

“You don’t need to kick him out,” you smiled, crumpling the napkin into your discarded mug in her hand. The last drops of coffee soaked into the paper. “But tell you what. Why don’t you and your coworker buy yourself lunch on his dime? I’ll double his tip.”

“You got yourself a deal,” she flashed a grin and made her way back behind the counter.

You went about closing your laptop and packing your things into your bag, avoiding the gaze on you from across the room. Zipper zipped, you schlepped the bag over one shoulder, adjusting your sweater beneath the strap. Your table was cleared, save the pen you capped. When you finally looked up to leave the little cafe, you found yourself leveled under a honeyed stare.

Mr. Harrington, the handsome stranger on the veranda, had noticed you through the window. Well that, or the windows were tinted enough to capture his attention, and judging by the darkening of his eyes and the soft smile etching itself onto the corners of his perfect lips, he enjoyed his own reflection. He waved, almost imperceptibly, and mouthed a hello.

You smiled and nodded.

Then, the women he brought with him came into view, all freckles and blue eyes, stunning, full lips.

You turned on your heel and left before you had a chance to wither under her scrutiny, staring at the orange and cream hexagonal tile as you walked through the threshold and back into the lobby.

“Hey,” another voice startled you, impossibly close, the sting of cigarette smoke mixing with espresso in the air.

“So the last book inspired you after all.” You sighed, halting before a head-on collision with a family of seven.

“What?” Your critic crashed into you, capturing your shoulders in large hands to stop you both from barreling into the last set of twins.

You huffed him off with a shrug. “The Vanishing was about a stalker.”

“Oh,” he flashed that charming grin of his, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “How do I know you aren’t stalking me?”

You snorted and swept past the convenient store, the pro shop, narrowly avoided a sled dog near the exit to the veranda. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Your stalker barked a laugh and managed to trail you past the bar and ballrooms and into the back hallway. “Alright, sweetheart, you caught me. I’ve been following you for weeks.”

You stopped in front of the resort gym. Two middle aged women chatted on ellipticals in matching leggings. “What?”

He didn’t seem like the usual incel fan of yours. They were less clean, less put-together. The ones who managed to weasel your real name and location through hours of research on the dark web usually showed up to a local coffee shop and sent a text message to your laptop from a restricted number.

This guy had a charcoal sweater made of cashmere and designer cologne. His jacket smelled of real leather. You spotted the glint of a silver watch beneath one sleeve.

The Cheshire Cat grin fell from his face when your reaction sunk in, and he shook his head, eyes going wide. “I’m totally kidding. That’s probably creepy and terrifying, I’m sorry. I promise I’m not stalking you. I don’t even know your name.”

Instead of offering it, you turned and headed back down the hall.

“Hey, okay. My name’s Eddie,” he scrambled to catch up, all the bells and whistles jangling on his leather jacket, “and if you want me to leave you alone, I swear I will. But if you’d be at all interested in letting me buy you a drink tonight, can you let me know? Because I’m scaring the spa receptionists.”

You glanced at the two girls behind the nearest desk. They giggled behind their hands.

“I’m sorry I insulted your favorite book.” Eddie’s voice softened.

With a sigh, you tucked yourself into a nearby alcove. “It’s not my favorite.” You’d published a handful of others you liked better, all of them less popular.

“Well what is your favorite?” The smile slid itself back onto his features. He remained a few paces away, giving you a respectable amount of space.

You weighed your options. You’d planned evening room service and sweatpants and drafting, endless drafting. Or, you could let someone else pay for your martini, and maybe his refreshing (albeit rude) perspective on your library of work could spark some much needed inspiration.

“I’ll tell you over drinks tonight.”

“8 o’clock?”

Your stomach flipped at the proud look on his face, and you nodded.

“See you then, princess.” He bowed so low his bun flopped, and he backed out of the alcove, wagging fingers at the giggling spa receptionists. He whistled as he left.

#steve harrington fic #steve harrington teaser #eddie munson fic #eddie munson teaser #late checkout fic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #steve harrington angst #eddie munson angst #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader

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racefortheironthrone · 1 year ago

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Re zoning regulation reform: could you go into detail as what that would look like in terms of wiping the slate clean. I feel like it would be better to go the houston route and just be zoning free

You do not want to go the Houston route.

youtube

Houston may claim to be "zoning-free" - and to be fair, it doesn't have some of the more common regulations on land use, or density, or height restrictions (more on this in a minute) - but the reality is far more complicated and the status quo is not one that's friendly to the interests of working-class and poor residents, or to the possibility of sustainable urbanism.

The answer to NIMBYism isn't to abolish all regulations and let the free market rip, it's to surgically target zoning, planning, and litigation that is used against affordable housing, public/social housing, mass transit, clean energy, and walkable neighborhoods, and to replace it with new forms of regulation that encourage these forms of development.

So let's take take these categories in order.

Zoning

As I tell my Urban Studies students, zoning is both one of the most subtle and yet comprehensive ways in which the state shapes the urban environment - but historically it has been used almost exclusively in the interests of racism and classism. Reforming zoning requires going over the code with a fine-toothed comb to single out all the many ways in which zoning is used to make affordable housing impossible:

The most important one to tackle first is density zoning and building heights limitations. The former directly limits how many buildings you can have per unit of land (usually per acre), while the latter limits how big the buildings can be (expressed either as the number of stories or the number of feet, or as both). Closely associated with these zoning regulations are minimum lot size regulations (which regulate how much land each individual parcel of real estate has to cover, and thus how many how many housing units can be built in a given area), and lot coverage, setbacks, and minimum yard requirements (which limit how much square footage of a lot can be built on, and what kinds of structures you can build).

the other big one is use zoning. To begin with, we need to phase out "single use" zoning that designates certain areas as exclusively residential or commercial or industrial (a major factor that drives car-centric development, makes walkable neighborhoods impossible, and discourages the "insula" style apartment building that has been the core of urbanism since Ancient Rome) in favor of "mixed use" zoning that allows for neighborhoods that combine residential and commercial uses. Equally importantly, we need to eliminate single-family zoning and adopt zoning rules that allow for a mix of different kinds of housing (ADUs, duplexes and triplexes, rowhouses/terraced houses, apartment buildings).

finally, the most insidious zoning requirements are seemingly incidental regulations. For example, mandatory parking minimums not only prioitize car-dependent versus transit-oriented development but also eat up huge amounts of space per lot. The most nakedly classist is "unrelated persons" zoning, which is used to prevent poorer people from subdividing houses into apartments, which zaps young people who are looking to be roommates and older people looking to finance their retirements by running boarding houses or taking in lodgers, as well as landlords looking to convert houses from owner-occupied to rental properties.

So I would argue that the goal of reform should be not to eliminate zoning, but rather to establish model zoning codes that have been stripped of the historical legacies of racism and classism.

Planning

Similar to how zoning shouldn't be abolished but reformed, the correct approach to planning isn't to abolish planning departments wholesale, but to streamline the planning process - because the problem is that right now the planning process is too slow, which raises the costs of all kinds of development (we're focusing on housing right now, but the same holds true for clean energy projects), and it allows NIMBY groups to abuse the public hearings and environmental review process to block projects that are good for the environment and working-class and poor people but bad for affluent homeowners.

As those Ezra Klein interviews indicate, this is beginning to change due to a combination of reforms at both the state and federal level to speed up the CEQA and EPA environmental review process in a number of ways. For example, one change that's being made is to require planning agencies and environmental agencies to report on the environmental impact of not doing a project as well, to shift the discussion away from petty complaints about noise and traffic and "neighborhood character" (i.e, coded racism and classism) and towards real discussions of social and environmental justice.

At the same time, more is needed - especially to reform the public hearing process. While originally intended by Jane Jacobs and other activists in the 1970s as a democratic reform that would give local communities a voice in the planning process, "participatory planning" has become a way for special interests to exercise an unaccountable veto power over development. Because younger, poorer and more working class, and communities of color often don't have time to attend public hearing sessions during the workday, these meetings become dominated by older, whiter, and richer residents who claim to speak for the whole of the community.

Moreover, because community boards are appointed rather than elected and public hearings operate on a first-come-first-serve basis, an unrepresentative minority can create a false impression of community opposition by "stacking the mike" and dialing up their level of militancy and aggression in the face of elected officials and civil servants who want to avoid controversy. (It's a classic case of diffuse versus concentrated interests, something that I spend a lot of classroom time making sure that my students learn.)

Again, the point shouldn't be to eliminate public hearings and other forms of participatory planning, but to reform them so that they're more representative (shifting public hearings to weekends and allowing people to comment via Zoom and other online forums, conducting surveys of community opinion, using a progressive stack and requiring equal time between pro and anti speakers, etc.) and to streamline the review process for model projects in categories like affordable housing, clean energy, mass transit, etc.

Litigation

Alongside the main planning process, there is also a need to reform the litigation process around development. In addition to traditional tort lawsuits from property owners claiming damage to their property from development, a lot of planning and environemntal legislation allows for private groups to sue over a host of issues - whether the agency followed the correct procedures, whether it took into account concerns about this impact or that impact, and so forth.

As we saw with the case of Berkeley NIMBYs who used CEQA to block student housing projects over environmental impacts around "noise," this process can be used to either block projects outright, or even if the NIMBYs eventually lose in court, to draw out the process until projects fall apart due to lack of funding or the proponents simply lose their patience and give up.

This is why we're starting to see significant reforms to both state and federal legislation to streamline the litigation process. The categorical exemptions from review that I discussed above also have implications for litigation - you can't sue over reviews that didn't happen - but there are also efforts to speed up the litigation process through reducing what counts as "administrative record" or by putting a nine-month cap on court proceedings.

Again, this is an area where you have to be very surgical in your changes. Especially when the politics of the issue divide environmental groups and create odd coalitions between labor, business, climate change activists, and anti-regulation conservatives, you have to be careful that the changes you are making benefit affordable housing, clean energy, mass transit and the like, not oil pipelines and suburban sprawl.

#public policy #housing #zoning #policy history #urban planning #public housing #social housing #yimbys #yimbyism #affordable housing #urban studies #urbanism #houston #nimbyism #nimbys #environment #climate change #clean energy

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wellourgerdes · 10 days ago

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martinclark21 · 9 months ago

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itsaash · 1 year ago

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unsatisfyingly satisfying part 2: shivers

Set sometime in the future when our beloved Coops are married and on vacation in Banff :))) prompt and cover art credit to @noots-fic-fests, character credit of Coops to @lumosinlove And shout out to @girlwithcurls96 for helping me and reassuring me about this whole story, and who is the type of friend when you say, "what kind of tattoos should this character have?" comes through with the perfect pinterest board of style inspo to create the OCs of my dreams

“You got the camera baby?” Remus called as he shut the trunk of the white rental car.

“Ouais, et j'ai les collations là.”

Remus smiled as he translated in his head. Being in Banff National Park, or Parc national Banff as Sirius exclusively called it, with signs and boards and everything in French as well as English, had set Sirius into a firmly French state of mind. Remus was absolutely not complaining, the melodic sounds scratched his brain just right, even if he couldn’t replicate them. He just beeped the car, pocketed the keys, patted his pocket to feel his phone, and caught up to Sirius and took his hand as they walked across the parking lot.

It was early in the morning, the gondola would be just starting up. They planned their visits to touristy places for the least busy time of day. A good half hour had been spent signing autographs at the Calgary airport when they arrived a few days ago. Canadians knew their hockey players, especially ones who would certainly be on the next Canadian Olympic hockey team. Neither of them minded , per se, but also if they could blend in, well they’d rather prefer that option.

Typical outdoorsy MEC outfits like every other tourist were their outfits, with a pretty generic blue ball cap for Sirius, and Remus had chosen a fashionable flat brim hat after Sirius had gone silent and staring when Remus had tried it on in the store. While any claim they had to disguise was low, their main hope was that most of the people who rode a gondola on a Thursday morning wouldn’t also be hockey fans. Banff had been great so far, busy streets of tourists to blend into while eating elephant ears, a hike yesterday to lakes the most fucking amazing color of turquoise where everyone nodded their head and said hello as they passed on the trail, and today they were heading up the gondola. It was a warm July day and Remus knew heat would start to gather soon, but it felt so fresh here in the mountains, always a breeze, really it was nearly idyllic. Even here, in a busy parking lot, dozens of cars already and pavement for hundreds of meters, it still somehow felt rustic. That was the influence of the towering rough mountains he supposed. They were everywhere here, he had never been in the mountains like this. He squeezed Sirius’ hand as they walked, his head turning to take it all in.

“The view doesn’t get old, eh,” Sirius laughed as he took in Remus’ wide eyes.

“Literally never. There’s just mountains everywhere .”

“And here we go, up another one,” Sirius said.

“Can’t wait,” Remus said, squeezing Sirius’ hand with excitement again, taking in the grey of Sirius’ eyes and comparing it to the grey of the mountains. The mountains were undeniably majestic, but that blue grey gaze was still his overall first place favourite.

Remus scanned the tickets on his phone for the agent with the usual “bonjour, hello” passed between them and joined the small line of people waiting to board the gondolas. They wound through the roped off area, back and forth across the loading area as the line moved, reading the information placards as they went. Remus challenged himself to read the French versions and asked Sirius for help with some words, just to hear him say them, to see Sirius’ eyes smile when he heard Remus say the words back as best he could. They passed the time in the line quickly like this, passing words in French back and forth to each other quietly, almost like bubbles of love being traded between them, like emotional kisses, like whatever the sounds are that are in my mouth, they always mean I love you.

Remus vaguely knew from the corners of his attention that the people who worked for the Park were working with the line, fitting groups together into gondolas in the most space efficient way, calling for single riders to come join groups of 3, putting two couples together, keeping kids with their parents. There was a large family ahead of them and Sirius and Remus had been half-hearing conversations about snacks and who would sit by who and where’s my water bottle and dad, what if we see a bear ?? So when the attendant called, ‘next group of two? Un groupe de deux?’ looks travelled down the family and passed like dominos to Sirius and Remus.

“On est deux,” Sirius said, knowing everyone who worked for the Park spoke at least some French, and he was loving using it at every opportunity.

“Allez, on y va,” the attendant said, waving them over. Sirius and Remus kept their hands clasped as they snuck past the big family, Remus murmured an, “ope, sorry,” as they made their way to the front of the line. They boarded the open gondola, sitting down on one side together as the doors slid closed and the gondola started moving.

Remus was just starting to look out the floor to ceiling window, seeing the expanse of nature below them, all around them once they were past the loading area of the building, when he heard,

“Sirius Black?? ”

Oh shit. They were on a gondola with a fan. Well, hopefully a fan, god, imagine if it was someone who wanted to lecture them for the whole 8 minute ride. Sirius would give them his stony cold game face, and inevitably the person would back down, but it would be so awkward.

But Sirius hadn’t said anything. He was just staring, mouth slightly open. Time passed in frozen silence, enough time that Remus darted his eyes back and forth, from Sirius’ frozen form, to the two girls sitting across from them. One had a ball cap on with a dark ponytail floating out the back of it and her tank top showed clearly well developed biceps and deltoids, hiking shorts and shoes. She was nearly as slack jawed as Sirius. The other girl was much more fashionable, in pants that were somehow loose but still fitted, and a cropped shirt (sports bra? what did Remus know about women’s fashion), clean white runners, long curly blond hair pulled into a messy half bun. It was still Banff and hiking appropriate except everything about her outfit and hair seemed to be on purpose in a way that none of the rest of them could claim. She seemed to be trying to read the situation as much as Remus was, and after long seconds she was the one to break the silence.

“Rebecca? You know him?”

The other girl, Rebecca? Almost literally shook herself out of her surprise and laughed, a smile coming over her face.

“Oh my god, what are the fucking chances? Yeah, well, I mean, Sirius and I, well, yeah, we’ve met.”

Remus felt his eyebrows raise at her faltering tone and he looked to Sirius who didn’t seem ready to say words of any language yet. So Remus spoke first.

“Oh, well hello. I’m Remus. It’s nice to meet you,” and he put his hand out to Rebecca to shake. She smiled more, her eyes taking him in and she took his hand.

“Hi Remus, I’m Rebecca. Nice to meet you. This is my girlfriend Claire,” she said, gesturing at the well dressed girl. “We’re just touring the area, on vacation, I guess you must be too. It is the offseason I guess? I can’t believe we’re on the same gondola as you, what even is this.”

Remus felt himself relax, girlfriend, ok so they weren’t in for an 8 minute lecture. That was something at least. He turned to Claire and shook her hand too. His eyes travelled up and down her tattooed arms, all thin lines and curling shapes. He especially noticed a beautiful one of a star surrounded by a circle on the inside of her elbow, but the whole thing was made of flowers and vines in light colours.

“Nice to meet you too Claire. Are y’all hockey fans then?” he asked, glancing repeatedly at Sirius, who was still seemingly frozen. He pressed his palm against Sirius’ thigh, hoping to ground him with touch. Feeling more than a little bit like he needed that too.

Claire laughed, a high, bright sound.

“No, I can’t say I am. Is that how you know him, sweetheart?” Claire asked her girlfriend.

“I, um, well yeah, kind of. We met at a media weekend where they were doing stories on a bunch of athletes for a magazine,” Rebecca explained, her gaze bounced between Sirius, Remus, her girlfriend, back to Sirius.

Remus nodded. Well that made sense. What didn’t make sense was that Sirius hadn’t said a single fucking word. He turned toward him, angling his body towards his husband so he could mouth as much as say, ‘ça va, baby?’

Sirius started bobbing his head. Remus saw him take two purposeful breaths, close his eyes for a long moment, and then open them again with his media smile on.

“Désolé, sorry, sorry Rebeccca. You just surprised me,” he took off his hat, ran his hands through his hair and replaced the hat. “Wow, yeah, it’s good to see you. Like you said, what are the chances?”

“What media thing was it that you did?” Remus asked lightly, hoping to soften whatever the fuck this atmosphere was.

“That one in New York that Pots and I went to? During your third season with the team, I think?” Sirius said. He looked deep into Remus’ eyes and took and squeezed his hand. Remus didn’t know why Sirius needed comfort, but he clearly did. So he scooted as close to Sirius as he could on the bench, held his hand, and tried to send comfort like osmosis. It seemed Sirius may have received the offering because he seemed to relax a degree or two.

“Rebecca was on the olympic rugby team that got a medal at that olympics a few years ago,” Sirius supplied, gesturing to her. “Or maybe you still play?”

“Yeah, I do actually!” she replied. “I’m not a starter anymore, but I still have one more Olympics in me. The team has been doing so awesome, it’s been such an sweet ride.”

“Oh wow, that's amazing!” Remus said, meaning it, and hoping to take the conversation in safer territory. “Are you on a break from training right now? Being a tourist for a bit?”

“Yeah! It’s so beautiful out here. And it’s nice to have time to take in the sights. We travel for matches all the time, but it’s never very long in one place. We played a match near here last season, and it was so beautiful I knew I needed to bring Claire back here.” She smiled at her girlfriend and took her hand.

“So you’re a hockey player?” Claire asked Sirius. He smiled a small smile and nodded, maybe started to say more while gripping Remus’ hand, but Claire continued, “that’s nice, but you two obviously slept together, right?” she said, gesturing between Rebecca and Sirius.

Rebecca just laughed, Sirius’ mouth dropped open, and Remus startled like he’d been shocked.

“That’s what this weird vibe is?!” he asked Sirius, half laughing, half horrified. “Oh my god, well, I get it now.”

Sirius dropped his head into both his hands, shaking his head, and then his shoulders were shaking, until his whole body was quivering with laughter.

“Mon dieu, sorry, Rebecca… Re, I’m sorry.” Laughter bubbled out of him. “I don’t know why I locked up, I got thrown back in time there for a minute, in my head. I’m ok now, sorry. Rebecca, it really is good to see you, I just was so surprised.”

Remus just shook his head. He’d be pretty shocked in the same situation too. The air already felt clearer, Sirius’ laughter had dissipated most of the awkwardness.

“So you’re bi too then?” Rebecca asked. “Or pan maybe? I saw you two in the news of course, oh god I didn’t mean to bring that up, I just mean, obviously you’re married now! Congratulations,” she seemed to force herself to stop talking and Remus laughed.

“Yeah, we got married last summer, it was amazing.”

Sirius smiled at him, the smile they always had when they thought about the lake house and their friends and family and the perfect haze of happy memories that surrounded that day. Sirius took a deep breath and turned to Rebecca.

“Yeah! But, um, no. Uh, I’m actually gay. That’s probably why I froze up there for a minute. But if you’re queer too that makes me feel a lot better, I think I panicked for a second that there would be flirting? Sorry, sorry.” he said, looking back and forth between both Rebecca and Claire.

Claire laughed, “Oh there could still be flirting, I’m afraid. You’re just her type in guys. I’m gay too, but my sweetheart here had a later in life bi awakening, much to my benefit.” She got closer and closer to Rebecca’s neck as she said this, and ended with a soft kiss to her jaw. Rebecca smiled a soft smile at her girlfriend, but then turned to Sirius, more serious.

“Wow, so, um, that night must have been hard for you then? I feel like I should apologise. I think I kissed you first that night.”

Sirius shrugged his shoulders like his shirt was too tight, and Remus studied his reaction, taking his hand in both of his now, and drew circles in Sirius’ palm with his thumb. Sirius rubbed the back of his head with his other hand before answering.

“No, please don’t apologise. You couldn’t know, I didn’t know. Well I knew, but I didn’t know . It’s not like you were the only girl I was with. I thought I just had to meet the right girl. And actually you helped with that, because you were so amazing. Beautiful, and fun to be around, and athletic and funny. And it was still… fine.” Rebecca laughed and faked hitting her heart with her fist like a stab. “No, I don’t mean it was bad! It was fine! Shit I keep saying fine… it was…” Sirius trailed off, looking to Remus, clearly now developing an aversion to the word fine.

“Sirius, Sirius, it’s ok. I get it. The comphet comes for us all, doesn’t it?” Rebecca said. She started off half laughing, but her voice was full of authenticity by the end of her sentence.

Remus kept running his thumb over Sirius’ palm in soothing circles, and Claire lifted her arm up to trace the edge of the window, and then put it around Rebecca’s shoulders, hugging her close.

In the moment of silence that followed, the gondola slowly swung to stop. They all looked around, looking down at the magnificent view really for the first time since they got on the thing.

“Huh, they must be stopping it to help someone on or off, I guess,” Remus said. A shiver had come over him as they swung to a stop, but it passed. The others nodded in acknowledgment as they swayed gently.

“You were my last,” Sirius said into the silence. “My last time with … with a woman.” Remus raised his eyebrows at Sirius. “Well, I kissed other girls after that, only in public, but I knew after that night with you that I wanted to be with guys. Even if I didn’t let myself actually do that for a long time yet, at least I knew.” He paused. “Sorry,” he said again.

Rebecca laughed. “Honestly Black, it really is ok, stop apologising. I’m a little surprised, for sure, because for me it was really good. Like, really good. Like I-never-found-a-guy-as-good-again good, despite giving it an honest try. Had to fully just move onto women, good. So I might be questioning my perception of reality a little bit over here, but you don’t have anything to apologise for.”

Remus was processing, hardly believing the turn this gondola ride had taken, but had to smile at that.

“He is pretty good, isn’t he?” Remus said, gazing up at Sirius with mischief in his eyes. “From our very first time, he knew what he was doing. Fuckin knocked my socks off,” Remus laughed. Rebecca joined him and Sirius buried his head in his hands again.

“Right?! His hands –”

“God, tell me about it. And his back?”

“Divine,” Rebecca sighed, tone half teasing and half serious. “And just his size, you know, when he’s on top, fully covering you?”

Remus faked a swoon, back of his hand to his forehead. “It’s amazing. Might be my favourite place in the world to be.” Sirius sat up and smacked Remus’ shoulder. “Re! Stop it,” he laughed.

“Did you get to experience his mouth?” Remus asked, leaning forwards to Rebecca. “Or how his eyes get so intense it’s like they glow?”

“Remus!”

Rebecca sighed dramatically. “I didn’t experience his mouth unfortunately. And I think he must be the only man in history to have turned down a blow job! It was mostly hands and some lovely dirty talk and … well, you know.”

“Oh the French dirty talk,'' Remus fawned, fanning himself with his hand, smiling evilly at Sirius. “It’s so hot.”

Rebecca faked a dramatic gasp. “Is this why you wanted me on my hands and knees??” she asked, gesturing dramatically to Remus. “So you could pretend I was him!?” The words might be accusatory, but the tone was pure glee. “Did you know him then?” she asked Remus.

Sirius moaned into his hands and ground out what might have sounded like kill me now.

“I just knew him as the hockey obsessed, tough as nails, never an emotion to be seen hockey captain back then. And I saw him make out with multiple girls at bars after that, so he clearly wasn’t ready for me yet back then,” Remus teased.

Claire and Rebecca both nodded. “We all have to make our journeys of self discovery in our own time, don’t we,” Claire said.

“That we do,” Remus said, letting the last of his laughter bubble out of him. They all took in a minute of happy silence, admiring the view. Even Sirius cautiously poked an eye out of the safety of his hands and looked past Remus to see towering snow capped mountains which they were almost eye level with up this high, this ground was really quite far away. Deep green trees transitioned into bright green grass in places, the buildings of the town looked like dots from here, and the fluffy white clouds seemed much closer than he had ever experienced before.

The peace of the mountains seemed to sweep into the softly swinging gondola and Rebecca turned back to Sirius, still snuggled into Claire’s side.

“I am sorry though, that society or whatever made you think you had to sleep with me. I’m sorry if I played a part in that,” she said.

Sirius wasn’t frozen like the snow tipped mountains now, he tried to let his words flow like the breeze instead.

“I appreciate that, Rebecca, I do. But I could’ve said no, and I knew that. I went upstairs with you because I thought I should want to, but I was so deep in the shoulds, that in a roundabout way I did want to. And I’m honestly so glad you thought it was good, that’s like all I cared about.” “I never would’ve known you weren’t into it Sirius, really, it was good.” Sirius rolled his head on his neck, looking sheepish but happy.

“It’s not that I didn’t think it was good. It did feel good, you’re amazing. I just was also really busy, in my mind. My thoughts were just going in bad circles with pressure and doing the right thing and what you might tell your friends and what I’d tell my teammates … so of course it was harder for me to just enjoy it. But like I said, you were the last time I did that, so I’m also really thankful for that, and for you. If you couldn’t be the right one, I knew there was no point in trying anymore.” He switched his gaze to Remus and his grin turned dopey, “until this one told me he was gay, and that I’d be worth it.”

Remus squeezed his hand. “You are worth it. Every day.”

“If I may,” Claire said, “it sounds to me like you’re both right. You’re right, my love, to feel a bit weird about learning the guy you slept with doesn’t actually like sleeping with women. But it’s also ok that you still enjoyed it, because you’re always allowed to have your own version of a situation, based solely on your own experience of it. And he was actively trying to have you enjoy it, for different reasons than you thought. There’s no way you could have known his every inner thought.” Rebecca smiled and rested her head on her girlfriend’s shoulder.

“And you Sirius,” she continued, “it could be interpreted as misleading to have gone upstairs with her, but Rebecca and I, as women who love women, know the strength and seeping nature of comphet, as I’m sure you do too, as a man in a traditional masculine field. It gets into your bones and bosses you around and ties your thoughts up in knots. I’m really glad you freed yourself from expectations to let yourself live. I can tell the two of you are really good together,” she smiled.

Remus nodded his head along with her and kept drawing calming circles with his thumb around Sirius’ palm.

“Merci, Claire,” Sirius smiled, “and for what it’s worth, Rebecca, I’m sorry for putting you in that situation.”

“Forgiven, Sirius Black. And thank you for ruining me for other men, so that I could find this goddess,” she leaned up to kiss Claire on the lips, deep and sensual. Sirius thought that looked like a really great idea, and leaned in to Remus.

“Ça va bien, baby?” Remus repeated, their lips close, breathing each other in and out. He had been pressed up against Sirius’ side this whole conversation, clutching his hand. And now they blocked out the mountains, the uncomfortable seat, the shining sun, and only focused in on each other.

“Oui. Je vais bien. Etonné. But … also good. Glad to have you, like always.”

“I’ll never be anywhere else, mon mari,” Remus murmured as he leaned in to kiss Sirius. Lost in their kiss, they didn’t notice that Rebecca and Claire were watching them with soft smiles on their faces, Rebecca’s head still against Claire’s shoulder. Claire twirled her hand around and then threaded her fingers through Rebecca’s ponytail, smiling.

The gondola started moving again, startling Sirius and Remus apart with a smile. They squeezed each other’s hands with a shiver, they both had goosebumps from a brief chill. They all rode the last few minutes how they all had thought their whole ride would go. They pointed out the tallest trees, saw shapes in the clouds, basked in the chance to be so high up and see the world from such a different perspective. Funny how that makes a difference for so many things.

They all saw the loading area approach, and stayed quiet while they slowed to a stop and the doors opened. They filed out into the visitors center. When they rounded the corner and were away from most other people, Rebecca folded herself into Sirius for a hug, squeezing him, her cheek pressed into his chest. He rested the side of his head against her and held her for a long moment.

“Despite the shock, it really was good to see you, Sirius. And super good to get to clear the air with you about our night together. I, selfishly, hope you don’t regret it, but it’s ok if you do. I’m still happy to know you. Maybe you can actually text me back now that there’s no big secret swirling over you, eh?” she swatted him in the stomach at the last, and he dodged with an oof and a laugh.

“Rebecca, honestly, I’m really glad to have run into you like this. Sorry if I was weird. I don’t regret it, how can I, when it was a stop on the path to me finding my husband?”

Rebecca turned and gave Remus a hug too. “Sorry for having your husband before you,” she teased. Remus huffed a laugh, and hugged her back.

“Good to meet you Rebecca. I’ll forgive you, I suppose .” he joked. “Since I’m the one he’s going home with, I can’t complain.”

“Nope, you have absolutely nothing to complain about, I would know,” Rebecca teased as she took Claire’s hand again. “And I have this goddess now anyways. Bye, guys, take care!” she said as they started to turn away down the boardwalk.

“Enjoy your vacation!” Claire said with a wave, and Remus and Sirius waved as well, standing with their arms around each other’s backs. When they were a good way down the boardwalk Sirius turned and collapsed into Remus’ arms. They stood there amidst the beauty of the mountains. Tourists walked past and around them, taking pictures. They stood long enough for clouds to form and reform shapes, until Sirius could huff out a laugh. “What the actual fuck are the chances.”

“Of you stepping into a 6 foot square enclosed space with the last woman you had sex with? Really, really, really low I’d imagine. Even if we changed the odds to include all the women in general who have seen you naked, the number still has to be…” Remus trailed off as Sirius stood up and pushed him away, grumbling and laughing.

“Stop teasing me, mon loup, this was traumatising ,” Sirius pouted.

“Oh baby, I know, I know, come here,” Remus laughed, and gathered Sirius in tight for one more hug. “Let’s look around? And then we can walk down? So we don’t accidentally get trapped with the next least likely person in the fucking world? I can’t quite imagine who that could be at this point, but we’re probably safer on a hiking trail.”

“Let’s get trapped with your college boyfriend, and I’ll make comments about your mouth, tabarnak , that was embarrassing,” Sirius laughed under his breath as he turned to take in the view.

“I was trying to cut the tension!”

“I’ll cut your tension,” Sirius muttered back.

“Can’t wait, baby,” Remus said with a suggestive eyebrow waggle. Sirius rolled his eyes, and then they did enjoy the view, thoroughly. And they took the hiking trail back down the mountain.

#characters by lumosinlove #when you write OCs and then want to be best friends with them #fic-o-ween 2023 #sweater weather #coops #sirius/remus #conversations in confined spaces #did you catch what the shivers were?#PLEASE feel free to message me and correct my french

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