#and it's held together by two disaster queers

[hetagrammy]

There are two wolves inside my brain:

Serious interpretations about the encounters young nations had with the church during the medieval period and how their existence was rationalized/interpreted vs. "Haha constant papal dispensations for gay nation marriages go brrr"

[nysocboy]

Gemstones Episode 3.8: Is Peter a woman? Are Kelvin and Keefe lovers? Does Jesse dye his hair?

Episode 3.7 was the worst in the series due to its chronological disaster, plot incongruity, annoying misdirections, and assertion that the guys were just good buddies.  Maybe that was intentional,  to disorient the viewers so they would not be expecting Episode 3.8 : It is intricately plotted, and gives us a huge number of queer codes, including one that most fans consider definitive.

Reunited with the Loved Ones: After their rescue, the siblings are taken to Rogers Regional Medical Center to be examined.  Gideon must have finally phoned the family, because the partners and kids burst in, coincidentally in the order they need to be in to reach their loved ones without bumping into each other.  

We cut to the siblings being interviewed by the police.  BJ and Gideon stand in front of them.  Amber is not present. Keefe waits by the door, still not included in the family; but he does get a bit where he knocks over a trash can and yells "I hate what you had to endure."   They all hate Eli, who left them to suffer and possibly be killed. 

Next, having established that May-May wasn't in on the kidnapping plot, she and Eli bond.  

Which of you is a woman?: With the marital problem plotlines nearly over, we have time for a deep-dive into the Militia. 

Peter and Chuck are driving a U-Haul full of explosives, followed by a ragtag caravan of militia men. Marshall and Dakota (Sturgill Simpson, Quinn Dunn-Baker) complain that they don't know where he's going.  

Does Peter know?  Two compounds have been destroyed.  The kidnapping scheme has been foiled. Everyone has forgotten the first scheme, which required the truckload of explosives.

They stop at Dodge's Fried Chicken, a real fast-food place on Savannah Highway in Charleston (next to a KFC, har har).  Marshall continues to grumble. Peter asserts that complaining is "like a woman," and Marshall retorts that he drives "like a woman."  They continue to call each other women until Chuck gets tired of it and tells them to focus on the new plan.  Whatever it is.

Peter re-asserts his authority: if they rebel against him, they are rebelling against God, because he is the Keeper of the Word. Uh-oh, another Messiah.We see again parallels between the Militia and Kelvin's God Squad in Season 2: both societies devoted to the masculine, suspicious of women, informed by homoerotic or homosocial desire. run by a messianic figure. The militia is the dark side of Kelvin's God Squad  We can go even farther and juxtapose Kelvin's bodybuilder fetish with the militia's fetishization of the soldier.  

Seasons 1 and 2 featured gay-subtext friendships to counterbalance the development of the Kelvin-Keefe romance.  I was surprised to not find one in Season 3, but maybe it's here, in Peter and Marshall's bickering.

Sexy Time:  With almost no sleep, almost nothing to eat, and only a bucket to poop in for 36 hours or several days (depending on the chronology), I'd be interested in dinner and bed rather than sexy time, but after two militia scenes, we cut to the two couples having sex.

First, BJ and Judy take a bath together. BJ: "The whole time you were in captivity, I would light candles and just cry."  It sounds like they were held for longer than a day.  Also, his eye, puffed out from his fight with Stephen, is almost healed. Maybe a week? 

He continues: "The best way to reset is with a really good, deep f*king."  They play a game of helicopter-penis with an incest motif.  You can sort of see BJ's dick, actually a prosthetic, in the swirling water.

Next it's Kelvin and Keefe's turn.  Keefe has changed into a sleeveless leather top with gold studs from the Jim Morrison Mr. Mojo collection.  Kelvin has showered and restored his top wave.  After keeping his body under wraps all season, he displays his backside and butt, again becoming an object of homoerotic desire.  Keefe pretends to give him a massage, but slides right past his shoulders to concentrate on his butt. 

After being invited to fondle an ex-boyfriend's bare butt, most people would assume that he wanted to get back together, but Keefe has received so many mixed signals in the past that he has to be very careful.  His questions are skillfully designed to push Kelvin to a decision: are they going to be post-breakup pals, good buddies with benefits, or lovers?

First he eliminates the post-breakup pal option by asking if Kelvin and Taryn are dating.  Immediately after asking, he has Kelvin spread his legs, feels up his inner thighs, and starts"taking liberties," as Adam Devine reveals.  The actor needed to be semi-aroused so his penis would look bigger for a cut scene with frontal nudity.  In-universe, Keefe is answering his own question.

Kelvin: "Nah. She ain't my type." I've heard gay men say "You're not my type" to reject a flirtatious woman without coming out, but why would Kelvin feel the need to be closeted with his ex-boyfriend?  This must be a structural ploy to avoid having him say "gay."  

He continues: "I hated all the forced claps and laughter and fun times.  I like doing claps and laughters with you."  I've analyzed this scene in detail, and I still can't think of an in-universe reason for bringing up Taryn's work performance. That wasn't the question, and besides, Kelvin quit his youth minister job, so he's in no position to hire Keefe back.  

But Keefe assumes that he's talking about the assistant youth pastor job, and responds in kind: "I love getting the children zazzed up and excited to learn about Jesus with you." 

Now Kelvin clarifies that he was answering the "Are you and Taryn dating" question, not "Can I have my old job back?"    "I mean, Taryn was nice and all, but she's not you." She was nice, but you can't build a romance from niceness.  You need passion. 

Keefe understands:  "She tried to replace me, but it was a failed try." They're going to be romantic partners, combining eros and phileo, trying to "build something" for the future., reguardless of its impact on Kelvin's career.  Which shouldn't be a problem.  He's not working for the church anymore.  They can move to Atlanta and march in Pride Parades.

Cut to Gideon driving Eli somewhere while they discuss how the siblings still aren't talking to him.  

Eli explains that he would have paid if he thought they were really in danger; "I knew they weren't."  Dude, Peter killed a man, tortured another, and sent his guys out to assault his own sons.  The militia was planning to kill one of them "after church."  Their lives were definitely in danger.  Besides, the church paid $500,000 to avoid a scandal.  $1,000,000 to get its pastors back seems like a bargain.

Next they discuss what Gideon is going to do with his life.  He doesn't know.  Eli notes that when he was a young man, he never would have imagined becoming a preacher, hint hint. You want the succession to skip over your children and go straight to Gideon, Pontius, and Abraham?  Gemstone Brothers Ministries.

Back at the mansion, Chuck sneaks a phone call to his brother Karl, to complain that escaping put him and his dad in a bad spot with the militia. Oh, was not wanting to be murdered inconsiderate?  Terribly sorry, Bro.  He insists that he wouldn't really have killed his cousins. Everybody's got excuses.

I can be true to myself:  The siblings meet for lunch at Jason's Steak House, and discuss how the kidnapping ordeal has changed them.

 Judy: "Things are better than before the kidnapping." You and BJ having a second honeymoon?  

Kelvin: "Makes everything snap into focus, that's for sure." You and Keefe having a second honeymoon?  

Jesse: "I can be more honest, true to myself." He's stopped dying his sideburns, letting the natural gray appear.

Jesse asks them to return to their jobs at the church, and they agree. They don't mention Keefe returning as assistant youth minister, but it's implied: everyone has apparently forgotten about the Smut Busters scandal. Then they hold hands.  In this season, holding hands has been awkward and uncomfortable for the siblings, so this is an important milestone in their relationship.  

Not much left in the episode, but what's left includes most important scene in the series. 

Military fetish photos, Kelvin's butt, and BJ's dick on RG Beefcake and Boyfriends

[thecleverqueer]

Are you going to do Chuchi on the Kinsey Scale? She’s a strange one because she’s popularly shipped with someone she never interacted with on screen.

Hmm. Okay, I’ll have a go at it.

Star Wars characters on the Kinsey Scale…

Riyo Chuchi.

So, she’s tough one to peg… because Riyo has had maybe an hour of screen time total, but if I could take a wild guess, I would say she is a 1 (Predominantly heterosexual, only incidentally homosexual).

As a general rule of thumb, I see all characters through a heteronormative lens until something convinces me otherwise. It generally has to be a moment where a character all but screams “holy shit, I’m gay!”

I know some folks like to ship Riyo with Ahsoka. Not to say that Ahsoka didn’t have crush on her (as Ahsoka does… Ahsoka did get a little flirty with Riyo in the “Sphere of Influence” arc where they rescued the Chairman of Pantora’s children together. Ahsoka was kinda touchy-feely with Riyo when they were hiding under the table from the trade federation in that one scene and was clearly a bit, um, “impressed” when Riyo threatened the trade federation officials in the holding cell block where one of the kids were being held prisoner), Riyo just doesn’t give me really clear queer vibes.

I know a lot of folks have also shipped Riyo with the Clone, Fox… I honestly don’t ship them personally as I need to see chemistry between two characters to do that, and they haven’t shared time on-screen. Riyo does clearly have a soft spot for clones though. But, I also tend to think that Clones are, by and large, asexual. It doesn’t make a lot of sense to create a super soldier with a sex drive. I know I’m not at my best or even remotely focused when I’m sexually frustrated, and the clones would be no different. Why not remove that drive if given the opportunity? On top of that, there are anywhere from 2-8 million clones, which would make for an epic genetic disaster over time should they all decide to go out into the galaxy to procreate. But, hey… what do I know?

So, yeah, based on my limited knowledge, I’d say Riyo is all but straight. Ahsoka probably thought she was cute, but in Ahsoka’s defense, Riyo is kind of cute. Riyo likes clones, I don’t know if she LIKES likes them… but she probably does like men.

[queer-starwars-bracket]

Queer Star Wars Characters (Round 1): General Bracket Match 54

Losha Tarkon | Identity: wlw | Media: Bounty Hunters comic

A former bounty hunter in her own right, Losha was the wife of the bounty hunter T’onga. The two of them retired to a farm, but when the news that Nakano Lash- the bounty hunter T’onga thought killed her brother- had resurfaced reached them, T’onga left for one last job to kill Lash. T’onga was instead “killed” by Boba Fett, and Losha found her on Ruusan where she recovered. There, Losha bonded with one of the local’s nexus. T’onga was recruited by Mourner’s Wail to track down Cadeliah, their heir. She formed a crew of already established bounty hunters as well as her wife, who was a skilled sniper. They captured Vukorah, who had assumed control of the Unbroken Clan with the help of Crimson Dawn, who told them Cadeliah was being held by Qi’ra. They traveled to the Vermillion, and while the rest of the crew fought the Knights of Ren, Vukorah escaped and killed Losha’s nexu. When Cadeliah explained she wanted to stay with Qi’ra, the crew left to do other jobs. Eventually, they rescued T’onga’s friend Valance from his forced service to the Empire. But with Inferno Squad on their tail, T’onga drugged and abandoned her wife in a friendly port to protect her.

Cohmac Vitus | Identity: mlm | Media: The High Republic Phase I

Cohmac Vitus was a Jedi scholar with an interest in folklore and cultural studies. Due to the Great Disaster, his trip to Starlight Beacon was disrupted and he, with his friend Orla Jareni, the two Jedi padawans, and the crew of the ship they were traveling with were left stranded on an ancient Drengir infested space station. Mistaking the Sith alchemy keeping the Drengir dormant for a disturbance in the Force, he was part of removing the statues sealing the beasts and then putting them back, at least slowing the spread of the Drengir across the galaxy. During that adventure, he grew close with the padawan Reath Silas, and took him as his padawan after Reath’s master’s death. They spent their time traveling the galaxy, securing cultural artifacts from planets experiencing conflict and doing comparative folklore studies- a good way to get the studious Reath out into the field. Together they investigated a Nihil plan to build a mass shadow generator and the raiders’ infiltration of Corellia. 

Ever since the death of his master when he was a padawan, the Jedi’s pro-death theology never felt right with him. He spent over a decade pushing down his grief (the one emotion the Jedi actually aren’t allowed to feel), and while his adventures on the Amaxine Statione allowed him to come to work through his feelings, it left him even more uncertain of his path as a Jedi. He also doubted the idea that the Dark Side wasn’t to be studied. He also didn’t think the Jedi Order was suitable in a galaxy consumed by the Nihil. After hearing Kantam’s story about leaving the Order and feeling Orla’s death during the destruction of Starlight Beacon, he decided to leave the Order. He knighted his padawan and then gave Reath his lightsaber before hitting the bricks.

[finishinglinepress]

FLP CHAPBOOK OF THE DAY: Metal House of Cards by Amanda Maret Scharf and Hannah Smith

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Metal House of Cards explores the interconnections between place, #relationships, and the environment. These collaborative #poems weave together two voices to tell a single story about #queer #love. In the wake of a lost relationship, the speaker recounts memories, weighing the costs and possibilities of seeing and being seen. This chapbook was written during a midwestern power outage, and its poems speak to the electric nature of collaboration and surprise. #pridemonth

Amanda Maret Scharf is a poet from Los Angeles. Her poems have been published in Pleiades, Poetry Northwest, The Iowa Review, and elsewhere. She is the co-founder of small press and artist collaboration, mixedgreens. During her MFA at Ohio State, she served as Poetry Editor for The Journal.

Hannah Smith is a writer living in Dallas, Texas. She received an MFA in poetry at the Ohio State University, where she served as the Managing Editor of The Journal. Her poems have been published in Gulf Coast, Ninth Letter, Mississippi Review, and elsewhere.

PRAISE FOR Metal House of Cards by Amanda Maret Scharf and Hannah Smith

In the beautiful collaborative chapbook, Metal House of Cards, Amanda Maret Scharf and Hannah Smith explore place, queer love, and the art of seamless intertwining of two distinct voices. Written through a Midwestern power outage during a scorching summer, these poems wonderfully weave together environment, relationships, and self—comfortably moving from the past to present with lines like “In college, / I was told patience was a virtue, but I kept looking / for a different kind of goodness” to “I live below sea level and pretend / I’m ok.” These poems become snapshots speaking to each other with energy, yet also playfulness. Witnessing two voices come together so flawlessly, leaves us as readers with stunning poems where Scharf and Smith gracefully blur into one another through their words, lines, and imagery. This book reminds of the importance of collaboration—it was a joy to read!

–Kelli Russell Agodon, author of Dialogues with Rising Tides (Copper Canyon Press)

When I read this book, I was constantly reminded of those model towns built on nuclear test sites—those strange smiling dolls and their picture-perfect homes, moments before disaster. The poems in Amanda Maret Scharf and Hannah Smith’s Metal House of Cards are of the same universe, each of them beginning with familiar portraits of life before lifting the lid on a darkness lurking beneath. Scharf and Smith wrangle with the experience of being human, of the complex emotional landscape that comes with loving and losing. And this book beckons us to witness, tells us to “make me / throw something sharp while [we] watch.”

–Taylor Byas, author of I Done Clicked My Heels Three Times (Soft Skull Press) and Bloodwarm (Variant Literature)

In this mesmerizing collaborative chapbook, desire and grief are synesthetic and spatial. A gaze becomes a violin, body a bouquet, words held to the light. Together, Scharf & Smith weave a voice at once vast and singular, shedding inherited narratives and cataloguing “the long burning / of before” with gorgeous fervor. These poems dream of big love—the kind that refuses any script, returns “color to the throat,” makes us endless.

–Patrycja Humienik, author of Anchor Baby (Tin House, 2025)

Set in a blackout during a heatwave, Metal House of Cards opens in the first-person plural and splinters off into an epistolary exchange, into a duet of anticipation and restlessness. Amanda Maret Scharf and Hannah Smith’s poems are perpetually in motion, churning forward while looking backward, existing in the space between waiting for something to begin and “zoom[ing] in on everything I might miss.” Compressed, associative, lucid, both fractured and eloquent, Metal House of Cards is a literary pas de deux to the generative power of friendship.

–Jacques J. Rancourt, author of Brocken Spectre (Alice James Books) and Novena (Pleiades Press)

Please share/please repost

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[eliwray]

As I get more down on paper, it’s all connecting together in directions that are hard to separate out into sections! I feel like the what’s-his-face meme with the conspiracy board with all the strings!

Anyway, let’s talk about sociability and masking.

So there have been studies done on “likeability”, where nonautistic interviewees are shown photos/videos of various folks in social settings -- some of the depicted folks autistic, some not. Within seconds, interviewees would decide that they liked the autistic folks less than the others, and that perception did not change with longer exposure. Interviewees also reported less interest in pursuing social connection with the autistic folks than the nonautistic ones represented. This held true when interviewees were shown audio, visual, or audio and visual footage. Intriguingly, written transcripts of the interactions gave similar scores of likeability across autistic and nonautistic folks portrayed. This indicates it’s not content but style of communication that puts off NTs.

And. Well. *gestures at Wolfe*

But let’s look more closely at this unlikeability of his, a trait he wears as both curse and badge of honor. He knows he rubs people the wrong way. He knows others know of his reputation of doing so. He uses it sometimes to make his own life easier, pushing away social obligations, but he also has to swim through that to have the impact he wants to have politically. It also seeps into his own sense that he’s a good partner for Nic, or is at least a part of that equation.

But! This is also the man who tells Naomi just what she needs to hear in a war zone. Who emotionally supports a hurt Izumi on the translation platform. Who organizes the prisoners in book 4. Who negotiates with the Welsh, and has a history of doing so with many armies on battlefields. Who sends pivotal and persuasive letters to find allies. Who gives Nic what he needs. Who - once he decides his remaining postulants will be served better by education than by removing them from the Library’s grasp - is an engaging and exciting teacher. When the students become his friends, we often see his charming side.

He is certainly not ineffectual or a disaster in all relationships or social situations. He is not lacking the capacity to persuade and sometimes inspire others. What he lacks are fucks to give specifically around everyday social expectations that are, to him, superficial. (I initially just called them superficial in that sentence but hey, I’m autistic. They mean more to other people, I forget!)

Some of the difference in the two categories above is how much leeway loved ones give him in intimate settings to be a curmudgeon, sure. But also, sometimes the difference is masking.

Autistic masking is camouflage, behaving the way others want or expect us to behave. Someone like Wolfe, who builds his understanding of the world on patterns of power and consequences he sees around him and in history, he can adapt his behavior for short periods of time to communicate better with friend or foe. He can behave as someone who will get the best outcome at the negotiating table. He can be someone who communicates love and care that someone needs. It doesn’t matter whether it came naturally to him to put a hand on Izumi’s head when she was frightened; he knew channeling his care and pride into that might communicate his message to her that she was not alone.

Devon Price in their amazing book, Unmasking Autism makes the point that afabs, people of color, queer folks, and folks who overlap those categories are culturally expected to show some level of submission, more so than cis white men and even boys. This leads to a much higher level of masking for us, and is why so very many of us went under the radar as kids, and got no autism diagnosis. Structurally, autism is overwhelmingly defined as how cis boys present with it.

This relates to Wolfe’s situation in that pivot point of submission. Even as an adult male with considerable privilege, he must submit to the Library. That has shaped what he shows others of how he functions. He hasn’t chosen his mask by some random definition of strength. He has shaped it to survive his very specific situation. Masking is deeply exhausting, and he pours his efforts into only what gains him what he values. Likeability be damned.

Once one knows the rhythms of masking, you can also see it in how he and Nic handle public displays of affection. We’ve discussed how they aren’t really in the closet. Everyone seems to know about their relationship, especially their superiors who would be the biggest threat. But Wolfe compartmentalizes. Because for him, he’s masking or he’s not. And his affection for Nic is authentic and real and not part of any camouflage he wants to use to accomplish anything.

Keep this in mind - Wolfe shaping what he shows about his ND - when we talk about the next thing.

Hi there! So this series of posts is written by an autist - nearly a year out from a late diagnosis - and I am sorting out a looong resonance with Christopher Wolfe and building a case for him being autistic.

The idea that Wolfe is autistic isn’t going to surprise anyone ever! But my reasons for it might surprise you, depending on what you know about autism. So, without further ado, let’s start what will inevitably be a lot of words on this topic.

First, a few words about autism. Like many things in oppressive systems like ours, a personal perspective of autism built on information passively gathered in our culture can easily be chock full of misinformation. Autism has been overwhelmingly defined by non-autistics describing how autistic kids’ trauma-induced behavior impacts other people, rather than the lived experience, gifts or needs of actual autistic people of any age. I would encourage actively seeking out input from actually autistic people, in order to be informed.

Quick terminology note: ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder) is a list of problems made by non-autistics and put in the DSM. Autism is a neurodivergence that I have a lot of pride in. The largest overlap of the two is, again, what non-autistics get bothered by in autists with PTSD from being mishandled all our lives. Living and thriving with and inside autism is a whole other ball of wax from that.

I’ll mention this too, because it’s the largest misconception and it impacts Wolfe’s characterization. Non-autistics decided at some point that autists have no empathy, when in fact most autists are easily overwhelmed by an abundance of empathy for other people, animals, and even objects. Check out “the double empathy problem” for further information, but the gist is, empathy works VERY differently for autist and nonautist brains, and communicating across that gap is fraught and complicated. And nonautists have the power to define most everything about mental health. And they decided a long time ago that the miscommunications mean autists have no feelings or compassion. That is incorrect.

Okay. Next up, Christopher Wolfe, autist. This will be a nonexhaustive list of ways he embodies autism, which I thought would come with a reread later this year but my brain wouldn’t let go of until I started writing it!

More to come.

[goongiveusnothing]

i read your post with the anon about the liam interview on that godawful paul brothers podcast, and i agree with you and the anon that there were massive overreactions about it and the reaction was mostly fueled by harries who were just waiting to shit on one of the other members. but, i think there was some actually questionable stuff in there like the comments he made about zayn’s family not being supportive. i’m not muslim or brown but a lot of fans who are felt embarrassed and offended that he would comment on the way that zayn was raised by his family, especially bc it was probably way different from the way liam was raised. also, i’m pansexual, and he’s done some weird stuff before with praising the duck dynasty family after they were homophobic, and that song he wrote sexualizing bi women. i still don’t think all that was cause for the reaction it got, and the biggest thing i took away from that interview was that liam wasn’t in a great mental place and i genuinely hope he gets better, in spite of all the harries who just love to tear the other members down. still, he should be held accountable for the actual bad stuff he does, not stuff harries make up.

Obviously I think the entire interview and sitting down with a Paul brother to begin with was a disaster and a mistake and the entire thing is so cringeworthy to even watch, but this fandom wants Liam to be hated so will seek out things about him or anything he does and twist it to justify why they bully him.

The thing about Zayn's family is none of us knows that situation and maybe Liam does. Was it his place to comment on it? No. But let's not pretend we know if Zayn's family were supportive from the offset or not.

Liam has obviously also done things like the Duck Dynasty comments and that awful bisexual song, but he's also been much more openly supportive of LGBT people than Harry has. He's been very publicly supportive of transgender people in a way Harry never has. One of Harry's best friends is a political TERF in the UK, and he's never spoken about that or denounced him. Imagine if that were Liam. Liam's never spoken about how a movie about gay men being together isn't about gay men or how most gay sex is "two guys going at it". He's never tried to profit from the idea he could be queer like Harry has.

It's like the way Harries and the fandom go after Olivia and portray her as akin to Weinstein, but never criticise any of Harry's own shady or bigoted or bad moments. If we spoke about all the crap Harry has said and done like we did with Liam/Olivia then he'd sound awful and people wouldn't stan, but nobody does it because they've decided Harry is an angel and everything he does is pure. They will try and seek out the most generous explanations for Harry's actions, blame everyone else around him for them, so he's never held accountable or looks bad. We could do the same for Olivia/Liam but his fans never would, because they need punching bags and his mean girl fandom thrives only when they get to punch down on someone.

Louis's response also shows so much growth and maturity. It's sad to say but I suspect Harry's reaction to that interview was much like his fans, in which he relished watching one of his ex bandmates being destroyed because he knew it made him look better in contrast. He's always been very petty and sneery about them and I suspect he really enjoyed the backlash. Just look at what his friend Lizzo said about Liam afterwards.

[cactusprincewrites]

A Million Possible Outcomes:

Well, this was incredible! With a final Word Count of 5,258, this is the first short story I've ever properly written, and It was Fun! Read onwards if you like: Gruff mentors, MAGIC POWERS, critiques on Chosen Ones, people slowly learning to stand up for themselves, and a strangely large amount of metaphors.

For those who don't know, AMPO is a writeblr challenge run by @chaotic-queer-disaster & @strawberrie-faerie and I'd highly recommend getting involved! The prompt this is based on is “Do you understand, darling, how often immortals do so wish to die?”

Without any further ado:

The snap of Szelta's heels on the sharp marble floor was broken glass in Nicolas's head, excruciating in the heavy silence that hung over the hall. And it didn't come alone.

No, it had allies—the pounding of his heart in his chest, his panicked breathing, in-out, in-out, breaths too shallow to fill his lungs, and, above them all, the slow, sweeping drag of Szelta's dress against the floor as she walked.

It fell over her in waves, golden and black, glittering like she'd stitched it from the sun itself—something that he was sure she could do if she tried.

It was impossible to try calm himself down, futile even, when the sound echoed from all around him, clinging to the wide, sweeping arches between the floor and ceiling, making its home amongst the great radius windows embedded in the walls.

Even as the sunlight seeped through, it withered beneath her steely gaze, paled beneath the hues of her dress. Nicolas didn't feel warm. He felt cold all over like his stomach had already bottomed out and was trying to go even further, crawl its way into hell.

Szelta stood two people away from him now, looking the girl who quivered before her up and down with barely a movement of her head. Silently judging. She clicked her tongue and turned away, focus switching to the next in line.

Nicolas averted his gaze.

She clicked her tongue again in barely audible derision, and only the snap of her heels signalled that she stood in front of him now.

Nicolas gritted his teeth, held his breath, and squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for her short dismissal. He would return to his family knowing he wasn't the one—he'd done his part, but it was over now. He'd never have to be in this horrible, empty place again, never have to find himself in the middle of an endless line of faceless people, never have to stand beneath Szelta's burning gaze again.

The hall remained silent.

He cracked open his eyes to find her looming over him, straight-backed and regal, hands clasped together and eyes narrowed.

"You," she said coolly—Nicolas could feel the moment all his hopes shattered in his chest. "You are the one."

"Me?" He croaked.

"Who else?"

Nicolas gestured silently to the line, stretching out across the entire hall, uncountable eyes locked in on them.

"I don't see anyone of importance here," Szelta replied. "Now come, Chosen One. You have much to do."

She turned sharply and strode away. The line held its ranks, a hundred thousand breaths caught in a hundred thousand throats. Nicolas remained frozen in place.

"Come!" She bellowed, still sweeping away.

He swallowed and hurried after her.

--

Nicolas watched from a distant balcony as a hundred matchstick men busied themselves with lowering the scarlet flags hung from the Citadel walls—the mourning period for the last Chosen One was over, and the celebration of the new one was about to begin.

The Uberfrast was upon them, and Nicolas was about to experience it like no one in his lineage could have even begun to imagine. Alone.

He sucked in a shaky breath, filling as much of his lungs with the cool evening air as he could. It was sweet, too sweet to be natural. Even the Sunset Roses in the fields he'd grown up in were more plain, like even the air was royal in Szelta's Palace.

"Enjoying the view?"

He whipped around.

Szelta stood in the doorway to the balcony, almost silhouetted in it by the glowing crystal chandelier he knew to be hanging in the room behind her.

"I—" He whispered. "Where did you come from?"

"I wouldn't spend too much time out here," she replied, ignoring his question entirely. "Arrows tend to wander when new targets arise."

Nicolas's back met the gold-plated railing when he took a step away. "Arrows don't wander. They're arrows. They're aimed."

"You're so close to getting it. And yet..." She waved a hand in the air. "...not nearly close enough."

Nicolas swallowed.

"You've put a target on your back, and it's only a matter of time until someone will aim for it. Is being the One not danger enough? Is it too small a burden for you? Do you want the sky to hold on your shoulders too, little Atlas?”

"I don't want any of this."

A beat of silence.

"You might be the slowest Chosen One I've rooted out," she said slowly. "You want to know where I came from? I walked through the door."

"I locked it," Nicolas whispered.

"I own this place." She waved a hand. "What do locked doors do to stop me?"

"They're—" Nicolas started, but he cut himself off at the sight of the simmering fury in Szelta's eyes.

"Oh, don't stop on account of me."

"Nevermind." He shook his head. "Don't worry."

"I'll let you do that for me," she said, turning away, and resting a hand against the doorframe. "You might find your balcony access withdrawn until you can manifest an Eirenfast."

"A what?"

"Keep up," she said, "and come inside. They got Emmeline that way."

"Who?"

Her face twisted slightly. "Chosen One circa. 763 years ago."

"How old are you?"

"Don't you know never to ask a woman that?" She sniffed.

"I'm sorry," Nicolas said, hands rising to put a barrier between them, no matter how small. "How many Chosen Ones have you found?"

"Enough to know you are not the One who will take down the Dark Enchantress."

--

He ate his evening meal, the last before Uberfrast, seated in the centre of a grand table in a cavernous room. It was empty save for him, and he didn't half feel the absence of life around him.

The Last Meal was usually a time for family, and yet he was here, as far as he could be from them, as they celebrated his ascension without him. Worse than bittersweet, it was wrong.

A servant poked his head through the door, wizened and grey, crows feet around his eyes crinkling as his mouth moved. "Everything to your taste, sire?"

"Sire?" Nicolas repeated. It was barely a question. "Sire?"

"Is this not an appropriate form of address?"

"I'm not a sire. I'm a person."

"You're the Chosen One.

"I can't be both?"

"I wouldn't know, Sire," he shrugged. "I am but a servant."

Nicolas rose shakily from the table, plate in hands. "I'm going to eat in my room."

"I don't think you are permitted to—"

"I'm going to eat in my room," he repeated.

The Servant bowed his head. "As you wish."

Nicolas brushed past him, and his meal jostled slightly. He'd joined the Line like all of the thousands who fulfilled this particular prophecy for the Chosen One—a vague birthday, some nonsense about hobbies, and a line about farmer's lineage. He was duty-bound to, but he'd never expected to be the One. He wasn't ready.

Being the One was a curse as much as it was an honour. They all died in the end, and none of them naturally. He wasn't ready to go.

Not yet.

--

He woke to the sharp, violent sound of something shattering, and he burst into action before he could process the situation, instinct dragging his body from the bed with as much speed as he could muster. His hand wrapped around the dinner knife he'd tucked under his pillow, and he wielded it in two hands, holding it out towards the door.

Szelta blinked.

"Good morning," Nicolas said, refusing to lower the knife.

"A plate on the door handle? Really?"

"It worked, didn't it?"

"I could have killed you in the time it took for you to heave your heavy bones out of bed, little Atlas."

"That's not my name."

"Shame. It suits you so well."

"This is my room," Nicolas said. "It was locked."

"It's my Citadel," Szelta said. "Nothing is locked."

"It's my room," he snapped, "and it is locked."

"I came to get a boy up from bed, but look what I've got instead." Szelta's face broke into a smirk. "Someone's found their spine."

--

Nicolas crested the hill. The sight stopped him in his tracks; he stood staring down at a sea of rolling plains, long green grass swaying in the gentle breeze. Peppered between the strands sat vibrant, butter-yellow flowers, petals drooping ever-so-slightly, glistening beads of dew caught between them.

The entire view was contrasted against the backdrop of a clear blue sky, the sort you’d only ever see in the very height of summer, where not even a wispy cloud drifted past, and the sun was still creeping its way up the skyline.

“Saints of the Night,” Nicolas breathed—this was like nothing he’d ever seen on the fields he'd spent his life in, a level of beauty reserved for paintings and dreams, never meant to be experienced in real life.

Of course Szelta had it in her back garden.

"Eirenfast," she said, snapping him back out of his trance. "The first of many abilities you will need to master, a personal shield formed from your own energy. You need a certain strength of will to make one, and since you've now discovered yours, it is finally time to begin."

"Finally? It's been a day."

"A day too many, Atlas."

"Not my name.”

"Not my issue." She snapped her fingers, looked him up and down. "You need to be able to draw energy from around you. Once you start the exchange, the landscape has the potential to draw energy from you instead, sucking you dry and leaving you a husk of a man."

Nicolas couldn't help but shiver, even with the sun on his back. "How do I stop that from happening?"

"Simple: be stronger."

"Than the earth?" Nicolas asked incredulously.

"Than this patch of it."

Nicolas dragged his foot over the earth—a clod of it stuck to the toes of his boot.

"See? Not so hard," Szelta said. "But don't brush your feet lightly along the surface. Plant yourself in it. Weigh yourself down. If you can hold the sky up, you can hold the earth down."

"I can't hold the sky up!"

"You're the Chosen one, of course you can," Szelta said airily. "Now close your eyes."

"Which one am I doing? Sky or earth?"

"Close your eyes," She repeated.

Nicolas closed his eyes, fought back against the urge to flinch when Szelta placed a palm on his heart and a finger on his forehead, talon-like nail pressed into the soft skin there.

"You are unlocked," she whispered.

Nicolas gasped as the feeling seeped into him. It started as a tingling sensation, buzzing at the tips of his fingers, in the corner of his mind where he couldn't quite grasp it, but knew it was there nonetheless. And then, well then it grew, consuming him entirely—and it was electric, taking over him, wrenching the breath from his lungs, but he couldn't be angry. There was honey on his tongue.

He was warm and cold at once, the heat of the beating sun on his face and the ice of oceans at his back. He could feel everything, all at once, the spinning of the planet beneath his feet, millions of heartbeats in his chest, the blood of princes and paupers alike flowing in his veins—the pained cries of every One who had come before him as their light was snuffed from the world.

Everything went dark.

A voice sounded, echoing through his head, curling like thorns around his heart: "A new Chosen One. How petite. How fine your bones. Brittle. We will get along, I know it. A project."

There was ice in his veins, darkness in his eyes and he was falling, falling, falling. Blood seeped from him; he could feel it as it poured down like tears from his eyes, from between his lips so that it spurted out as he struggled to breathe.

"Do you have what it takes to defeat me? To finally rid the world of the Dark Enchantress?"

His muscles screamed for release, but they found none.

"Let's see," she whispered.

Nicolas jerked backwards, blown clean off his feet. He was burning, burning, burning. He was out.

--

It had been a week, and he was back at the field. Apprehension made its home in his chest, curled into his gut—he could feel it in the sweat beading on his forehead, in his clenched fists at the sight of the charred circle of grass he had stood at last time.

"Let's try this again," Szelta said. "Pick a different patch of land. That one is dead."

"Won't it grow back?"

"From what? That land is dead. Dry. All the way down, right to the core."

"How?"

"Easily," she said. Then, "You need to try harder this time."

"I can't."

"That's a lie," Szelta said simply. "I've unlocked you once; the door is ajar now. Open it yourself."

"I can't—"

"Wrong."

Nicolas clenched his fists and sucked in a deep breath. He was unlocked. He was unlocked.

The world burst into focus, cheers all around him, the buzz of alcohol pounding in his head. The final feast of the Uberfrast, glasses clinked together, songs being shared around a table. From behind his eyelids, his mother raising a toast.

How he wished he could be there with her.

"Don't!" Came Szelta's voice, but it was too late. Everything was silent.

--

"A toast, to—"

Nicolas blinked. He stood on a large table in the centre of a familiar garden. He knew without looking that he was surrounded by tall pines that stretched their noble spines far up into the skyline. The ruffled tablecloth was soft beneath his bare feet, and people stared up at him in open-mouthed wonder, glasses frozen mid-toast.

But these weren't just any people. These were family.

"Nicolas!" Ma yelled, leaping up onto the table and wrapping him in a warm embrace. "My Nicolas!"

The floodgates were open.

"You're here," came his Aunt's shrill voice as she hoisted her flowery dress up over her knees and clambered up onto the table too. "Nicolas, darling, you're here! Never in a million years—"

"Nicolas," his Father breathed. "How— What—"

Ma carded her fingers through Nicolas's hair, and he melted in her touch. "I didn't think we'd get to see you again. My son, all grown up. My son, the Chosen One.

"But—" His Father blustered. "How are you here?"

His uncle's gruff voice: "The boy's just as nosy as always. Heard us toasting him and just couldn't keep away."

"He's magic!" Cried his nephew, flashing him a gappy smile. His tiny fingers closed around a stool and he wormed his way up to the table, clinging to his leg.

"Be careful, Codi!" Someone called.

"Magic!" Codi clapped his hands together. "Show us your magic!"

Nicolas chuckled and stepped back, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. "I can't really do it on command. I haven't had enough training."

That was the moment reality hit him. He took another step back and almost fell straight from the table.

"Nico," His Mother asked carefully. "Are you okay?"

Nicolas looked them all up and down. "I wasn't here a second ago."

"We're well aware," his uncle said drily.

"And now I'm here."

"Magic!" Codi grinned.

"I thought about it and I'm here," Nicolas breathed. "I was trying to make an Eirenfast, and now I'm here—"

"Nico..."

"That wasn't meant to—" Nicolas's hands flew to his throat. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe and the world was spinning around his head. "How did that—"

"Nico, darling, I think you should get off the table."

"I think..." There was something in the air. He felt it coming before he saw it. Tingling. "I think you should duck!"

Ma's eyes widened and she leapt to one side. The arrow whistled past her, grazing her arm and leaving a bloody gauge streaking through her sleeve, then landed square in Nicolas's chest.

He blinked. "Oh."

"Nico!" Ma cried, pushing herself up from the floor. "Nico, I didn't mean to— I just—"

Nicolas blinked again and shook his head, trembling hands reaching up to close around the arrow. "Get everyone inside," he whispered.

He stood his ground as his family fled into the house, as Codi screamed and wailed from his uncle's arms. The sky was empty; no more arrows came arcing his way.

"Well," he breathed, "you weren't aiming for me, were you? You could have gotten me a hundred times over if you were."

Silence. Something inside him clicked into place. Or maybe snapped out of place, a pillar collapsing under crushing weight until it was nothing but a mangled pile of rubble. Either way, it coursed through him.

"You were aiming for my mother," he whispered, then screamed, blood flecking his chin as he did, pain lancing through him, hot as the anger boiling in his veins. "But arrows wander!"

A bird chirped in the distance, then fell silent like it could feel Nicolas's rage, knew not to encroach on it. This feeling was new, powerful: a weapon he could mould into whatever shape he needed.

"You want to send me a warning, don't be a coward," he spat. "Don't use a coward's weapon. Arrow's wander! They wander! Come out and give me your warning yourself!"

A lone man stepped forwards from the trees, bow and arrow clasped in his gloved hands—he wore all black, only his silver eyes visible through the dark fabric, dressed like the masked heroes in tales of old. Or, more recognisably, like one of the Dark Enchantress's foot soldiers.

Nicolas's hands closed around the arrow lodged in his chest, hands stained a deadly red, and yanked it from him.

The soldier's eyes widened.

"You're not meant to kill me," Nicolas whispered, "She's still testing me, seeing what I'll do, how I react. It's too early. So, unless you want me to bleed out, I recommend you do something pretty quickly."

The last thing Nicolas saw before he blacked out was the soldier hurrying forwards, bow and arrow clattering to the floor.

--

He was afloat on a sea, drifting in and out of consciousness like the ebbing of a tide.

"Wake up."

Nicolas rolled over. The voice was sharp and drawn, but it was too distant to pierce through his defences, instead washing over him, dreamlike and faint.

"No, that's rolling over," the voice said, louder this time. "Your injury wasn't a head one; you can understand me just fine. Wake up."

Nicolas got the sense this person was important somehow, that what she said was meant to matter to him.

"If you can lift the sky on your shoulders, you can lift the bedsheets up and face me," came the voice.

Nicolas jolted. Szelta.

She loomed over him, gaze deadly. "Look at that. Our baby boy, raised from the brink of death."

Pain wracked through his chest, and his hands flew to it, hands splayed out over his chest, fingers grasping at the bandages pulled tightly over him.

"Are my family okay?" He blurted.

Szelta cocked her head. "I can't think of any reason they wouldn't be."

Nicolas sucked in a shaky breath, then winced at the rush of pain it sent spasming through him. "The foot soldier, the Dark Enchantress foot soldier. He was there—"

"He was where?

"Home."

"I suppose that's the place that was so appealing it convinced our little Atlas to release his burdens and scurry away." She mimed walking with two fingers, tapping them along his shoulder. "How touching."

"I've never wanted this," Nicolas replied. "But since you’ve thrust it on me, at least have the decency to answer me this: are they okay?”

“I wouldn’t know. You vanish, then appear again in your bedroom, of all places. You’re lucky one of the Servants was cleaning. You’d have bled out before I got to you.”

“How could I get here?”

“Probably the same way you left,” Szelta replied drily. "In the middle of something."

Nicolas rubbed his eyes. “There’s no way I had enough energy. I was dying.”

“Well, it’s not like the soldier brought you here.”

“He must have,” Nicolas responded. “You need to get to my family, make sure they’re okay.”

Szelta watched him coolly. “What happened?”

“I was there, with them, and then there was a foot soldier. He aimed for my mother, got me instead. Then he panicked, because he wasn’t meant to get me. I’m being tested, taunted, watched for reactions, I don’t know. And then I was here.”

“You think the Enchantress just happened to attack your family the second you arrived?” Szelta hissed. “They were clearly tracking your magic, following you. They can’t get to you by harming your family if you cut ties with them. You keep them safe by staying here. Your balcony privileges are officially cut. You eat in your room. You stay in your room, unless accompanied be me directly.”

“That’s not fair,” Nicolas cried. “You can’t do that.”

"Do you think there is a thing I can’t do?”

“You can’t kill the Dark Enchantress.”

Szelta froze. “You are the Chosen One—"

"And who chose me?" Nicolas snapped.

"If you’re trying to make me feel guilt, you can stop wasting your time,” Szelta said with a wave of her hand. “Better men than you have tried and failed. Better women too.”

“Emmeline?”

Szelta clenched and unclenched her fists, talons digging crescent-moons into her palm. “She was kind. Too kind. She couldn’t kill the Enchantress when it came to it. None of them could. Is that my fault? Are their failures mine to mourn?”

“How many have come and gone under your watch?”

She paused, watching him carefully. “2367.”

“Would you have kept track if you really didn’t care?” Nicolas asked. “There were five sheep born on my farm this year. Would I have counted if I didn’t care about them?”

“That’s not—”

“Yes it is,” Nicolas interrupted.

“You don’t know what I was going to say,” Szelta said curtly.

“I can figure it out.”

“Because you’re the Chosen One?”

“Because I’m not,” Nicolas said coolly, eyes narrowed. “I’m done.”

He rose from the bed and took a clear step away from her. Then a second.

“You can’t just give in,” Szelta snapped as he took a third. “You can’t let her win.”

He looked back to her. “But you can?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Szelta's hand flicked forwards to grab him by the shoulder. The air crackled around her, golden lightning tearing through her hand. She whipped it back.

“Eirenfast," she breathed.

“Stay away from me,” he said. “We’re done. Find someone else to kill. I’m going to be the one who lived.”

“You can’t be, you won’t be,” Szelta spat, “I’m the only one who lives. Every time, it’s me. Every time, they die and I’m left to pick up all the pieces. The only one she can’t kill is me.”

“Then kill her.”

“I can’t either,” Szelta snapped. “It’s a curse. We’re linked. Only a warrior of my choosing can kill—”

“Then why didn’t the first? Why did you drag all these innocent people down with you?”

Szelta shook her head. "It's not that simple."

"Then make it simple."

Szelta scoffed. “I’ll explain it in your farmer terms.”

“Don’t say it like it’s an insult,” Nicolas replied. “I’d rather be a farmer than a pawn you’ve already marked for death.”

“I have 100 people,” Szelta said, ignoring his curt comment entirely, “and I give 99 of them pebbles and 1 of them a seed. They all bury them, but only one has the chance to grow. If there’s a terrible winter, that one still won’t grow. And so, you give them all out again.”

“Think of this as a terrible winter then,” Nicolas said. Arms tucked around his chest to keep the pain at bay, he walked through the door.

--

Nicolas sat in the Szelta’s field, letting the sweet breeze fill his lungs. He’d made an Eirenfast, and not through any conscious effort of his own. It had just happened. And then he’d walked here, again not through any conscious effort. His feet led him, one step after another, to the top of the hill.

He lay himself down, gently, careful not to pull at his wound, and the long grass swallowed him up. The sun was setting above him, and he closed his eyes.

Everything was quiet.

And then, a cruel evil voice in his ear. The dark enchantress. “Your mother survived. Quite lucky, but oh, how quickly she consigned you to death.”

“She would never,” Nicolas whispered, and his voice echoed all around him like he was in a deep, dingy cavern rather than a beautiful field. He fought the urge to open his eyes.

“You know, instincts are how you truly judge a human. All that fuss and philosophy bogs you all down. Really, it comes down to this: when it’s between you and your son, who lives? Your mother chose herself.”

“You’re wrong,” Nicolas said. “Instinct is just that. A spur of the moment action. It’s what you decide to do next that matters.”

“All that noble talk from someone as frail as you. What do you know, really? What have you seen in your decades that I have not in my millennia?”

“I’ve seen a way out,” Nicolas said. “I’m walking away. You don’t get that chance, do you, Szelta?”

A pause. Nicolas opened his eyes.

He was in a cave, pillars and throne carved into the deep black wall like dark marble, lanterns hanging like stars above their heads. And sitting on the throne, bound in shackles, dress torn and tattered, was Szelta.

“Where are we?”

“What sort of answer are you looking for?” Szelta asked. “Because you’re not getting a simple one. A manifestation of my inner consciousness? My deepest desires? My base urges?”

“I’m in your head.”

“If you want to put it in such simple terms, yes,” Szelta said. “Farmer terms.”

“Everything sounds better in farmer terms.

“Does it?” Szelta asked, but the voice wasn’t her own—Nicolas’s mother’s voice burst from between her lips. “How’s this, then?”

Silhouettes flickered in and out of focus behind her. There for an instant, then gone.

“Keep her voice out of your mouth,” Nicolas snapped.

“Keep that tone out of yours,” Szelta replied, “Little Atlas.”

“So, you’re the Dark Enchantress?”

Szelta frowned. “No. But, if you want Farmer Terms, yes.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“I was cursed, a long time ago, with immortality. There would be no natural death for me. No old age would thwart me. No fall, no jump, no blade in my hands. People saw me survive again and again and again, and they put me on their front lines, in their schools, on a pedestal, proclaimed me magic and strong and their saviour for all eternity.”

“What changed?”

“Nothing, at first. I wasn’t their magical princess, just some girl. And I was lonely.” She clicked her tongue, and the silhouettes flickered into life behind her. One stood taller, clearer, than the others. A girl, blonde hair smooth and silky, hanging down. Arms limp at her side. Gaze dead and cold. Emmeline.

“I don’t understand.”

When Szelta spoke again, it was in Ma’s voice. “Do you understand, darling, how often immortals do so wish to die?”

“Watch it.”

Szelta shrugged. “I would never achieve the release of death unless someone I chose did the deed. So I chose my lover, someone I could trust. He couldn’t do it, wouldn’t do it. I was too important to him. So then, then I chose a member of my court. They declined, thought me mad. I ran away, plucked the first person on the streets who looked strong enough. But they couldn’t do it either. They couldn’t kill a nobody.”

“So, you made up an Enchantress to kill?”

“If someone is threatened, they will kill. It’s instinct, and every inch of it is true. I waged war on the world, then declared it must end. I found a group of oracles, got them to make up some criteria. And then I’d choose someone out of all the people who fit the list, someone I thought could do it.”

“Why me?”

“Because we’re the same.”

Nicolas took a step backwards. “We’re nothing alike.”

“We’re nothing alike,” Szelta repeated, in his voice this time, stressed in all the wrong ways, hoarse and drawn. “You didn’t want to be the Chosen One. You wanted it to be someone else more than I could believe. So I knew you’d understand my situation, knew you’d relate. I knew you could kill me.”

A blade appeared in Nicolas’s hands, black as the night sky and specked with the same shimmering stars, hilt worn and curled between his fingers.

“But you were too similar. You were too much in your own shell. You wanted the doors locked, you wanted home, you wanted this, that, everything. I could see on the balcony you would sooner consign me to life than death. You didn’t have the heart to end me.”

“And what, you wanted to give me that heart?” Nicolas ran the blade along his bandages, and they fell away, revealing the wound, red raw and pulsing on his chest. “How did that go for you?”

“I had to switch up tactics. I went for the long game instead, threatened your family. I was going to build up the war for longer, make sure you were strong enough that you could take the great evil down. You’d never even know we were one and the same.”

“You went for my family. You went for my mother.”

“And even then, you didn’t do it right,” Szelta ignored him. “You forced me to save you, then threatened to abandon me entirely. But I couldn’t let you go. So, here we are. Just end it.”

Nicolas flexed his fingers around the hilt of the weapon.

“Kill me, just do it,” Szelta hissed. “I’m ready to go.”

“What happens to me?”

“You wake up.”

“And them?” Nicolas gestured to the silhouettes.

Szelta flinched. “This is my consciousness, and they are suspended in my last memory of them. They are the smoke in the air after the candle has burnt out. The dead petals on the field. Once I leave, they can rest. So give them their rest.”

Nicolas walked forwards, so that he stood before the throne, staring down at Szelta. He took her chin and tilted it up, pressing the blade against her neck.

“I’m not doing this for you,” Nicolas said. “I’m doing it for all the people you lied to. All the people who are really like me.”

“Emmeline,” Szelta breathed.

Nicolas slashed the blade across her throat.

--

The news came out two weeks after Uberfrast ended. The Dark Enchantress was dead, finally, and Szelta had died in the battle. She had sacrificed her life to save Nicolas, and he’d delivered the killing blow, ending centuries of war.

She was buried in a golden coffin, lowered into the ground on the top of her favourite hill, and the country mourned her loss.

Nicolas set down a single black orchid on the freshly dug earth by her grave. He’d been allowed to choose what it said on her gravestone. He’d gotten strange looks, lots of strange looks, but they went with it in the end, and he was glad.

Here lie Szelta and Emmeline, finally at peace.

[ladyyatexel]

Something that’s really getting me about the She-Ra finale is that, for what feels like the first time in my media life, the heterosexual couples were left with the ambiguity the queer ones usually get.  They had no full on kisses, they had declarations that people are saying, ‘I thought it felt platonic’ about, and some  were kind of not mutually even explicitly expressed.  

It just feels like one of the first times we didn’t have to write essays featuring an extensive list of the times they held hands or did everything that is coded romantically had they been a hetero couple.  In Star Trek: DS9, where we all spent hours raging that the sweet goodbye exchange of chocolates and cute smiles would be instantly read as romantic if it had been the male/female Riker and Troi duo the show so often trotted out in its prior incarnation, TNG.    We don’t have to ask the actors if they ‘played it gay’ or ‘thought there was something more’ or even be terrified or embarrassed to do so.

She-Ra’s last season we got one woman saying, “My wife,” when referring to the partner people were still managing to read as her girlfriend at best, roommate at weirdest.  We got ‘I love you,’ and ‘I love you, too’ and a world saving center stage unambiguous Kiss from the main characters after enduring trauma after trauma.  

Have I ever watched a queer romantic relationship become canon??  I don’t think like this.  I watched Adventure Time, and was I psyched about Marceline and Bubblegum?  Yes!  But the story hadn’t been about them and a long term complicated relationship, even though they had had that both by word of god decree and the few little snips we got as unaddressed background.  We got Marcie and PB by on the fumes of ‘this would be read as a hint if they were two different sexes’ and whoops this kiss is here annnnnnnnnd now it’s from the back and you can’t see the whole thing and we are cutting back to the world ending disaster.   They did the same getting by on fumes with Korra and Asami in Legend of Korra.  Was I astonished Korra got to have Asami in the end and not Mako?  Yeah, because I had never been given that.  But I also wasn’t even sure I was given it because it was given as, ‘we can’t give you this directly, we haven’t even been allowed to focus on it or build it up as falling in love, but you can have it be in literally the same shape as the hetero wedding that fades out before it, that’s the best we got’.   

I’m so used to  us all being ‘already established background’ or ‘developed on the fumes and desperate clinging hopes in the background only to rear a head like Nessie at the 11th hour before vanishing again’ and not several seasons showing obvious connection, obvious distress at being separated and each other’s bad decisions, obvious re connections and longings, jokes and clear joy being together when the worldwide war and abusive parental figure isn’t creeping in all around them. 

I wanted that for Pearl or Peridot in Steven Universe, I wanted ‘now here is the story of me falling in love with someone, complete with my obvious crush on them and our progression through those feelings, from start to finish.’   We got close, and that’s in no way ragging on Steven Universe because I love it and it brings me such joy, it was just still that the safest way to go is ‘pre-established relationship’, and not ‘watch these two have complicated feelings that finally get to be an explosive kiss for several seasons’.  I”m sure there are essays being drafted as I type this about toxic and problematic left and right, I’m just choosing instead to marvel at a thing that brought me great joy and more feelings about people like me look like in media than I had expected, even with how gay it had been up until this point, which was Pretty Gay.    

It’s all the stuff we write in fanfiction, and I mean that in the positive way. not the pseudo insulting derogatory way it’s often trotted out as.  What do people make in fanfic?  Long stories with lots of emotions and connections and elaborate, ‘here is how these two idiots fall in love’ scenarios.   How wild to see it in a show.  And be there and important.

 So yeah, that kiss hit me like a meteor and a mass extinction event. 

(Please don’t yell at me or throw a disc horse, I just want to have some head boggling emotions about a show I really love!)

[facelessoldgargoyle]

The Doom Generation (1995) was a great time, and I totally recommend it to fans of Heathers who think The Clockwork Orange was a little too heavy and had too much of a plot. The thing about this movie is that if you go in expecting a horror movie, you’ll have a good time and be surprised by how funny it is. If you go in expecting a comedy, you’ll have a bad time and be offput by how much violence there is.

There’s not really a plot per se. It’s a series of cyclical motifs drawn into a rising spiral by gay, polyamorous love that gets cut short by violence. The same violence happens over and over again, it’s kind of funny, but it’s not interesting. A stranger thinks Amy, a tiny goth chick on meth, is their ex, and try to kill her or her boyfriend over it. Her boyfriend, Jordan, is an incredibly sweet stoner, who just wants everyone around him to feel good and have a nice time. The two of them save the life of Xavier, a smokin hot disaster bisexual. After that, Xavier keeps saving them, although he is a disaster, and always fucks up the rescue and frequently escalates the violence he’s trying to save them from.

From the second Xavier rolls into Amy’s car to get away from a gang of dudes beating him up, you can cut the sexual tension between him and Jordan with a knife and spread it on toast. What follows is an hour of escalating tenderness. The two of them fuck Amy instead of fucking each other, which, been there, lmao. Jordan finds out Amy cheated on him with Xavier and is just like, “hey it’s fine.” The three of them cuddle in bed with Amy in the middle, and when she leaves, Jordan scoots closer to Xavier, and hums the itsy bitsy spider and walks his fingers down his back. Even though the movie is billed as “sex drugs rock n roll nihilism,” the queerness feels very sincere. My heart grew three sizes.

And the queerness is what gives the story somewhere to go! The trio always has to move on after someone new tries to attack them, and it’s the building affection that’s the throughline. The climactic moment of the movie is when they finally have a threesome, and Amy gets up to pee, and Jordan and Xavier look like they’re about to kiss, when all of a sudden the fire is put out and they’re attacked. Jordan is killed and Amy kills the nazis with garden shears. Amy and Xavier sitting in the car together is the final shot of the film, and it’s so sad, because Jordan was the glue that held them together.

Honestly, I highly recommend this movie because the aesthetics are to die for. One hotel room is 100% pink. Another hotel room is all black and white checkers. A bar they go to is totally covered in tinfoil. The tenderness of this movie kills me. You have to know that there is a lot of violence, and although it is treated pretty lightly, it is still omnipresent. Also, I think a character calls a Japanese man a slur, and the Nazis call the boys the f slur, so content warning for that. If it helps, the writer/director is a gay Japanese American man, so it’s not a Quentin Tarantino situation.

8/10 beautiful, absurd, surreal.

[xtattybye]

STARTER FOR @FAYOFAVALON

“ My god, it reeks to death in here… ” Reaver murmured. A rather dramatic more than audible exhalation tirelessly emits midst a rolling of his eyes as he sticks the dragonstomper.48 back to its holster. His deep brown eyes then briefly hover at the blood that still gushes out of the newly digged fatal hole in the back of one of staff' head, who of course had been shot by no one else than Reaver simply because no one could ever get their heads around his ridiculously unpredictable and immoral rules. A sight so gruesome, yet enough to spark that smug smirk that seems to forever linger onto Reaver's devilishly handsome visage, now an indirect indication to his inner masochism. “ Oh don't look at me like that! ” He snapped, baring his front brilliant white teeth by raising his upper lip in a muted diva snarl. “ I told you not to bring me that wine, specifically… the obsolete vin ordinaire. My what a disaster that one is, how dare you hurt my feelings like that, thinking I would even bare the smell of such a peasant' beverage. Yuck! ” Reaver then carelessly stepped over the butler's corpse as he snaps his fingers to command one of his maids to clean up the mess he just made whilst he just stood there balancing on his golden cane, checking his nails and living in his full queer diva rich bitch moment. “ Oh by the way, I'm taking myself on a little holiday starting today. I want this manor to be all neat and tidy once I return, no finest of little tiny particles wasting my expensive floors. Oh and refill all rooms their storage compartments with some condoms, there have been enough little accidents knocking on my door so far and I'm way too much on a budget these days to be paying any child support. Not that it's much of a budget, I just don't like to see some peasant use my well-earned money on something as idle as a piece of bread. Very well then, I'll be back in one month, perhaps two if this new world keeps me interested. Make sure everything I've written down on this list will be done in perfect form and don't you dare forget getting me those 1.2 million golden toilet paper rolls. ” And just like that, Reaver waved his staff a tattybye before disappearing out of his study, having taken his favorite maid called Misa along to be his pack mule as they both headed out of the manor into the forest. It was quite a bit of a walk to get to the shore where they could sail his ship to some island he once discovered back in the pirate days. But luckily for Reaver, he didn't have to carry any of his unnecessary stuff as his maid was doing all the work for him. Even though she was the only maid whom he considered somewhat close enough to consider a friend, he'd still treat her just as equal as the rest, even after they had shared quite the conversations and nights together; he liked to keep her anywhere but near getting her hopes up, as considering him anything more than just her master would be one big no go.

The ship sailed off to the island that'd eventually make a start to his holiday. He was in desperate need of a new world, not only to explore and learn new things, but to escape his past also. Albion always held certain memories in the back of his head which he'd find harder and harder to escape with just some wild partying. Sometimes he needed to change up his surroundings completely and what better way to do it than to travel to a whole other world? He never believed that portals where a real thing, not until he came across one himself and this was the first time he'd be taking Misa to another world with him. Not that he'd expect her to survive in it, not without him. She was fragile, both physically and mentally. But what he didn't know was that when it'd really come to it, she'd have quite the surprise for both of them, perhaps the entire kingdom, as she had yet to discover herself that she was the missing princess of Albion. Amnesia still had her in its grip and King Logan and everyone else probably thought that she had long been dead after Logan had gotten rid of her when she was younger, not knowing that she had found her way into Reaver Industries before becoming his headmaid.

After a while sailing, the island slowly made its presence known before them as Reaver would sail further towards it. Eventually as they arrived, he was quick to be the first to set foot onto the land and didn't waste mere second on waiting for Misa to catch up on him as he'd find his way towards the entrance of a cave. Misa had been trying to catch up on him by running as fast as her legs could take her while carrying all of his stuff, the poor maid was out of breath once they finally arrived and yet still would have to follow him around the cave not to get lost. Normal people would already have quit working for him and prefer death over slavery, but in her case the poor girl had fallen in love with her master, thinking she could find the good in him and change him. But that was something Reaver would never allow to happen, not even when there was a time where he too felt something for her. But that was something he's kept a secret for a long time now and feelings exist to be suppressed.

Finally after going through this maze of a cave they arrived at the portal. And of course Reaver had to be the one to get through first, with Misa hurriedly following him to the new world; Camelot.

[queerbutstillhere]

Tim steals clothes.

That's just how it is.

Everyone has come to accept it.

He steals Kon's hoodies, and Bart's t-shirts and Cassie's sweatpants and Cissie fuzzy socks. Somethings fit better then others, but Tim has never cared. He just steals clothes.

He is a certified clothes thief, or borrower, rather, because he generally gives them back after a few days.

And after a certain time, they all kind of came to accept it, always having extra clothes on hand, because this boy does not know how to pack his own clothes.

He'll just slump around the tower in a pair of stolen sweatpants and a giant hoodie, no socks, and his mask, just looking like he came out of a three week back packing trip with no showers.

At some point, Kon had this realization.

If Tim loves his hoodies and shirts so much, he might as well just give him one.

The only problem was which one? Because he didn't want to give one that he really loved, but also he didn't want to just give him one that kinda sat in the bottom of his drawer.

He finally decided, one day. Tim was sat on the Teen Titans sofa, tapping away at a laptop, and psychically shaking. Kon looked down at the red plaid flannel he was wearing, and then walked over, pulling it off and draping it over Tim's shoulders.

"Wha?" Tim said, startled, looking up.

"You looked cold," Kon said, smiling and tucking the flannel around Tim.

"Oh. . . Thanks."

"Yah. No problem. You can keep it, by the way."

Tim just mumbled something, that not even Conner's superheating caught, and then immediately zoned back in on work. Conner laughed, gently ruffling Tim's hair and then walking away.

A week later, Bart had giving him one of his hoodies. It was some cartoon merch, but with Tim it never really mattered. Bart was slightly smaller then Tim, but Bart also had a habit of wearing oversized hoodies, so it fit just fine. Kon couldn't help the mild spikenod annoyance, when he saw his flannel be replaced by Bart's hoodie, but this wasn't that surprising-

And wait, why was he annoyed?

Months of this passed. To the point that Tim had successfully accumulated multiple of Kon's shirts and overshirts and hoodies, as well as several of Bart's. Tim could make a whole outfit just out of clothes he had gotten off them. Tim even had one of Bart's beanies.

Tim didn't really seem to remember what was his and what wasn't. When he crashed at either of his best friends houses, he'd just dig into their dressers until he found the most comfortable clothes to borrow, and sometimes they were never returned.

Kon wasn't really sure what was happening anymore. Neither was Bart.

Here's the thing, folks.

Timothy Jackson Drake has this habit of just, sitting on people's laps. People being Conner Kent. And he had this habit of holding Bart's hand. And he has this habit of cuddling during sleepovers.

And Bart and Kon? They're just two queer disasters.

So you can't really blame them for thinking they were kinda maybe dating.

All three of them.

But here is the problem.

It was never directly addressed.

No one went "hey! We're dating!" and there wasn't much PDA or anything (or rather, with Tim). So Bart and Kon were more or less operating on the thought that this was just how things were with Tim.

Sometimes they got questioned, like people who would just kinda know them would say things like.

"Oh! Well when did you three get together?"

And Tim would answer like "oh a few years back"

And so they just thought they were dating, okay? Can you blame them?

Max was the first one to directly address it. They were all three at Max Mercury's house for the weekend. Kon had already been there all day, but Tim had shown up just in time for supper, they ate, and then the boys just crashed onto the sofa together. Tim was half in Kon's lap, while Bart was curled up under Kon's arm.

"So, are you guys dating?" Max asked casually, as he was putting a movie into the DVD player.

And Kon said "Yeah."

At the same time Tim said "No?"

A very awkward silence draped heavily over the room for a moment.

"Wait what?" Max asked, turning to face them.

Bart and Kon both slowly looked down at Tim, eyes wide. Tim looked up at them, confused.

"Wait, wait, what?!" Tim asked, blinking at them, then at Max.

"Wait, we're not?" Bart asked, also looking confused.

"We're- WHAT?" Tim exclaimed, gaping at them.

"We both kinda thought we were?" Kon explained, frowning.

"I'm-" Tim looked away from them, then at the floor. "How?!"

"Well, we go on dates all the time," Bart started.

"And stay at each other's houses a lot."

"And cuddle a lot."

"And you wear our clothes, a lot?"

"And we hold hands?"

"And you sit in my lap like, all the time."

Tim just stared at the floor, processing this, then he looked up at the two again.

"You thought we were dating and didn't tell me?!?!?!" Then he looked at Max. "You thought we were dating?!"

Max shrugged. "Well I knew they were so-"

Max gestured vaguely at Kon and Bart.

"You two are dating?!'

"We thought we were all dating!" Bart exclaimed in exasperation.

Tim blinked at them.

"You dumbasses!"

"I'll just give you a minute," Max said and slid out of the room.

Tim shuffled back, out of Kon's lap, sitting up properly to look at them.

"You thought we were dating. We- we haven't even kissed!!"

"Actually-" Kon started

"WHAT!" Tim screeched.

"We have, but you may or may not have been high on knock out gas."

"Oh god. But the rest of the time?"

"I just kinda figured it was a boundary issue for you," Bart said with a shrug.

"You gotta admit, the rest of the stuff is kinda boyfriend-ish."

Tim held up his hand to silence them, staring at his lap for a bit. Kon looked down at Bart, who shrugged. Minutes passed of silence.

"I can't believe you two. You thought we were dating and you DIDN'T TELL ME!"

Bart shrugged. "Oops?"

Then Tim was lunging forwards, grabbing Kon's hoodie and tugging him in, kissing him quickly before reaching down, tilting Bart's head up and kissing him as well.

"You two are so dumb," he huffed out, shoving them off and falling back down to the other side of the sofa.

"So are we actually dating now?" Kon questioned gently.

"Well, duh."

"MAAAXXXX!" Bart yelled.

"Yeah?!"

"WE'RE DATING!"

"Oh! Good!"

Bart looked up at Tim, and then lunged forwards, falling over Kon and onto Tim to kiss him again. Tim just laughed and caught the speedster, happy to accept the kisses.

For @binarystarkillers ask and yee shall receive

[jasontoddiefor]

Summary: As a Jedi, you had to formally accept your new apprentice and your new Master.Obi-Wan, Anakin and Ahsoka from the beginning of their apprenticeships to their ends. AN: It's 1 am but I am here and queer and crying about baby Padawan disaster lineage. Read on AO3!

It was in the aftermath of their disastrous situation that Qui-Gon said the words Obi-Wan had been dreaming of hearing for such a long time. He always thought it would be in the aftermath of a tournament, perhaps after he had shown great courage and self-control, or maybe during a meditation session in the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

Never, not even in his wildest dreams, had Obi-Wan thought he’d be clinging to his new Master’s robes, bloody and full of dirt, tears running over his cheeks as he tried to get a grip on his emotions and panic. In the moment Obi-Wan had not once thought about his fears. There was only what was and what must be done. He had focused only on his task and now that he was finally allowed to reflect on his actions, it all came crashing down on him.

His shoulders wouldn’t stop shaking and he couldn’t calm his breath and the world wouldn’t stop spinning. Obi-Wan must look like a youngling, helpless and overwhelmed, but no matter what shame befell him, every other emotion was much larger, the size of a sun.

“It’s alright, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon soothed him, running his hand in circles over his back. “You have done well.”

He had, hadn’t he?

Obi-Wan had finally proved himself. He knew he was meant to be a Knight someday. He saw it in his dreams sometimes, flickering images of calling out to a Padawan or two, never clear enough to see their faces, but Obi-Wan knew they were his.

He had to be there for them.

“Obi-Wan, I want you to listen well,” Qui-Gon said. “Padenji foh keelak chareu leoah foh. Leoah foh keelak Padawanir.”

The words, so kind and full of hope, almost made Obi-Wan cry even more. He bit on his lips and forced himself to take a deep breath.

"Mimayaah foh keelak mipadananal kat fehl. Leoah foh keelak Jaiehir," Obi-Wan replied.

Qui-Gon smiled down at him, happy, and everything was exactly as it was meant to be. The weight of every world finally left Obi-Wan’s shoulders and he knew he was on the right path.

X

Obi-Wan took in the sight of little Anakin Skywalker. The seamstress of the Royal House of Naboo had put together a proper outfit for him. The boy looked the exact part of a Jedi, even if his robes were admittedly a little fancier than the typical Padawan robes. There was no use to get extra clothes for younglings likely to tear them and outgrow them within a month, but the look suited Anakin and Obi-Wan had almost smiled when the boy had put on the robes, amazed at how soft they were.

“I’m tired,” Anakin said, yawning, and rubbed his eyes.

They had decided to stay on Naboo for another month so they could sort out Anakin’s legal paperwork. As it turned out, freeing a slave wasn’t as easy as just buying them. They had needed to get his chip out and get him the right citizenship. Anakin Skywalker had been granted the Naboo citizenship, gifted to him by the Queen herself. Not in an official ceremony, it couldn’t reach the Senate that Naboo royalty had bought a slave but Obi-Wan was sure that Anakin had appreciated the informal dinner more than he would have anything excessively festive. It all was very overwhelming to him.

Obi-Wan opened up the doors to their quarters and against all expectations, Anakin did not head to bed immediately. Instead, the boy went to their little kitchen to make tea. Obi-Wan had gotten used to Anakin’s habit by now, and yet it struck him how rigorously he stuck to it. Anakin picked out the one tea brand that they had been able to find that was to both their tastes, spicy but sweet, and slowly filled two cups with the tea. He gave one to Obi-Wan and took the other for himself.

The first night they had slept in these rooms, Anakin had only hesitantly offered a cup to Obi-Wan, cheeks hollow and pale, and then, hours later, quietly asked for permission to sleep next to Obi-Wan. They had come far already in such a short time. Anakin had gained some fat and spoke more freely.

His Padawan was doing well.

Obi-Wan let out a low breath.

“Anakin,” he said. “You know you are part of the Jedi Order now, right?”

Anakin nodded quickly as if he were afraid Obi-Wan would take it away if he wasn’t fast enough. This wouldn’t be a problem had Obi-Wan already gone through with it. “Yes.”

“And you are my Padawan. Do you know what that means?”

“You will teach me?” Anakin replied, his statement more a question.

“Exactly. Nobody has told you yet, but we have a tradition.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the taste of the tea. He wondered how Qui-Gon had felt when he’d taken Obi-Wan on. Had it been similar to this? He desperately wished his Master was still here so that he could ask him for advice.

“Padenji foh keelak chareu leoah foh. Leoah foh keelak Padawanir,” Obi-Wan said slowly.

Anakin frowned ever so slightly and tiled his head.

“I said that I will teach you everything I know and I know you as my Padawan,” Obi-Wan repeated in Basic. “It is something a Master swears when they take on a Padawan. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you our language as well.”

“Oh.”

Anakin held his cup in his hands and Obi-Wan supposed that if not for it, he would be fidgeting and pulling at the hems of the sleeves.

“Is there- is there anything the student swears as well?” Anakin asked carefully. He was looking at Obi-Wan’s hands, not daring to meet his eyes,

“Yes, there is,” Obi-Wan said. “Very good, Anakin. Try to repeat this: Mimayaah foh keelak mipadananal kat fehl. Leoah foh keelak Jaiehir.”

Anakin stumbled over the words, his tongue unused to the vowels and soft melodic lift. Half his words were unidentifiable, and yet Obi-Wan felt his heart warm. This journey wouldn’t be easy, but they had taken the first step. Tomorrow would be another day and life would go on.

For the first time since the fight against the Sith Lord, Obi-Wan actually thought of the latter as a positive thing.

X

Anakin wasn’t sure what to think of the youngling. He hadn’t wanted a Padawan. He was barely twenty, much too young for being responsible for a child, never mind for one stuck in a battlefield. If he didn’t teach her well, she’d die and it would be his fault. The weight of the responsibility on his shoulders was almost too much. And yet, as Anakin looked at Ahsoka Tano with her slumped shoulders, he thought maybe.

The fact that the Council had just assigned him a Padawan, even if he could refuse her, still irked him and he’d be having words with them. This was not the Jedi way, but as his Master had pointed out endlessly over the last few months, none of this was the Jedi way.

“You're reckless, little one,” Anakin told Ahsoka.

She, somehow, managed to look even more saddened by that. They’d definitely need to work on that if she was to be Anakin’s Padawan. He couldn’t have an adorable youngling commanding his men. Not that she’d be in command for a long time.

“You never would have made it as Obi-Wan's Padawan. But you might make it as mine.”

Ahsoka quickly lifted her head, staring up at Anakin with disbelief written all over her face.

Anakin cracked a smile. Maybe this could give birth to something great.

“Padenji foh keelak chareu leoah foh. Leoah foh keelak Padawanir,” Anakin told her seriously.

Ahsoka beamed at him and quickly hurried to her feet to do a proper bow.

“Mimayaah foh keelak mipadananal kat fehl. Leoah foh keelak Jaiehir,” Ahsoka replied, almost stumbling over her words in her hurry to get them out.

Anakin smiled at her and then, remembering the warmth of Naboo, threw an arm around his new Padawan, hugging her from the side as he slowly guided her back into the direction of their company. He was glad this campaign was over. He needed to figure out what he was actually supposed to do with a Padawan and Ahsoka was likely going to crash within the hour from all the excitement.

New beginnings, Anakin thought, were worth it.

Translations:

“Padenji foh keelak chareu leoah foh. Leoah foh keelak Padawanir.” - I will teach you everything I know. I know you as (my) Padawan.

"Mimayaah foh keelak mipadananal kat fehl. Leoah foh keelak Jaiehir." - I entrust you with my education. I know you as (my) Master.

[connorandersons-blog]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Connor/Gavin Reed, Hank Anderson & Connor Additional Tags: Pride, Pride Parades, Nonbinary Character, Bisexual Character, Gay Male Character, Hank is an ally, Good Parent Hank Anderson, First Kiss, Coming Out, Gay Disaster Gavin Reed, Gavin Reed Being Less of an Asshole, Connor Deserves Happiness, Deviant Connor, Post-Pacifist Best Ending ,Gay Disaster Connor

Summary:

Connor comes out to Hank who takes it very well and decides to take his android son to his first ever pride parade. Connor wasn't expecting to see a certain coworker there and what happened after he did.

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

He knew it was silly to be so nervous, acceptance of the queer community had gone up quite a bit, but there was still so many people who hated them. Who’d hate Connor, but he had to believe Hank wouldn’t be one of them. The man was one of his closest friends, he saw him as a father figure, but Hank could be a little old fashioned on some things. He had really hoped this wouldn’t be one of them. 

He had made Hank dinner that night, not fancy at all, just food he knew Hank would love. He sat at the table watching him eat, trying not to tap on it when Hank told him to just spit it out. 

“I’m bisexual,” he blurted, ducking his head. It wasn’t the only thing, but this was more accepted than the other thing he needed to say. 

Hank took a second, putting his food down which said a lot. “Thanks for telling me, kid. I know I can be… fucking stubborn but I fully accept you, no matter who you love.” 

Connor smiled and opened his mouth to speak before closing it again. He tried again and again until finally the words came out. “I’m also non-binary.” 

“Alright, that’s cool too, you wanna go by a new name? Oh and pronouns, what do you want?” Hank picked up his fork and took another bite, watching Connor carefully. 

“I like everything as it is now! I like my current pronouns and name. I just… I know I’m not a guy? But I’m ok with being called one. I kind of want to try feminine clothing but I also like my current clothes.” It had been so confusing, still was honestly but he felt comfortable with saying he was non-binary 

Hank nodded, smiling slightly and reaching out to pat his arm. “That’s alright kid, you do what makes you happy. Fuck knows the world needs some happy in it.” 

And that was that. Hank took him to the mall the next time they had off from work and let Connor pick out a few new clothes. It wasn’t much given their salaries but he still got two dresses, two skirts, a shirt, and a pair of heels. 

He was too terrified to wear any of it to work even though Hank promised no one there would be a dick about it. He didn’t say it outright but Connor could tell he was implying that Connor wasn’t alone in being queer. Connor did wonder who there was but apparently his ‘gaydar’ was subpar and he couldn’t tell with anyone. 

That was until Hank took him to his first ever pride parade. 

It shocked absolutely no one when the queer community welcomed androids with open arms, and the parade was filled with a wide range of people and android. Connor stared wide eyed at how big it all was, all the colors, all the scents from the food stalls, so many people. They were all dressed differently, some finally able to dress how they want and Connor is no different. 

He had decided on one of his skirts, a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows to keep cool. He had decided to not wear the heels given there would be so many people and he didn’t want to stumble or step on anyone. 

Hank and him found a good spot to watch the parade and Connor felt so light and jittery. There was this energy in the air of complete acceptance and joy that Connor couldn’t stop smiling. Even Hank had grinned a bit seeing Connor so happy, pointing out different areas of the parade. There was the vendor area, the food area, and the main parade route. It was all in or right near Hart Plaza so there was plenty of room to just stand and talk with friends too away from the parade. 

Connor got quite a few compliments from those around him, and each time made him blush and duck his head. He almost didn’t see him going by because of it, but he glanced up and there he was. 

He didn’t know what organization he was walking with, but Gavin Reed was strutting down the road like he owned it. He had a rainbow flag on like a cape but that certainly wasn’t what caught his attention. No, that was the chest harness, pants so low and open that it showed off the trail of hair down towards his crotch and if the pants were any lower everyone would be able to see his dick. He also wore very tall boots that had at least nine inch heels. The collar he had on was leather and had a chain attached to it that he held, but he let some take in and drag him along with a laugh. 

He had rainbow eyeshadow, silver eyeliner, and fake lashes on. Not to mention the amount of glitter that had already gotten all over him. He looked damn good and Connor’s jaw was on the ground. 

He was so used to seeing Gavin hidden behind slightly baggy clothes, his leather jacket too, hiding how wide his shoulders really were. At work he kept himself hunched a bit but now he had his back straight and looked so confident. 

Gavin didn’t see him or Hank, and Connor was far too distracted by the sight of him to see Hank’s raised eyebrow at Connor with a small smirk on his face. 

The person beside him noticed Connor’s expression, snorted and bumped his shoulder. “Good choice, he’s always a favorite, comes every year.” 

Comes every year? To… pride. That meant Gavin was queer in some way? Or maybe he was just a very enthusiastic ally. “I, yeah, wow.” Was all he managed to get out before shaking himself. He tried to focus on the rest of the parade but soon Hank was dragging him towards the food stalls. 

Hank almost spit his new food out when someone came up to him and asked if he was single. Though, they also called him ‘daddy’ and Connor decided he’d rather never think of that ever again. Hank did knock over his drink, just a little close to the person which Connor saw as purposeful. 

“I’ll go get you a new one, Hank.” Connor said, patting his shoulder. 

“Yeah kid, I’ll go look at the vendors a bit while you do that. I thought I saw someone I knew.” Hank waved him off and Connor only tilted his head when he recognized the lie. It was fine, if Hank didn’t want to say why he was actually going over there. 

Connor jogged back to the stall they had gotten Hank’s lunch, waiting in line patiently for it. He laughed off the situation, but the person gave him a free replacement. 

Connor glanced around the crowd and suddenly it felt like too much. The heat was beating down on him, he was too aware of his clothes and the people accidentally brushing against him as they walked past. 

He moved quickly away, finding a nice big tree to lean against. Hank wouldn’t be upset if he took a few extra minutes, he’d probably think someone stopped Connor to talk once again. 

He wasn’t too far away, he could hear everything very clearly still, but the tree’s shade helped cool him down and he felt himself calming. That was until he heard someone walking up to him. He opened his eyes and looked at the man, he had a chest harness on like Gavin had but it didn’t look nearly as good on him. Not that appearance made much of a difference, it was still nice to see beautiful people. 

“Hey pretty boy… or girl, or whatever you are.” The man grinned, winking at Connor. It reminded him of Gavin trying to wink and it brought a grin to his face without thinking the man would think it was for him. “What are you doing all alone?” 

“I just got a bit overwhelmed,” he wasn’t sure what else to say. The man kept looking at his LED and licking his lips. Connor had a bad feeling but had no real evidence to back it up. Hank had taught him he didn’t always need evidence to be right. 

The man nods, stepping a little closer. “Aw, well I can keep you company. You know… you’re one of the few ‘droids that I’ve seen that’s kept their LED in. I like it, shows the real you.” 

From anyone else Connor may have taken it at face value but every scan showed the man was aroused and Connor felt even more uncomfortable. “I’d rather be alone. I'm… waiting for my boyfriend. Thank you, though.” 

“Come on baby boy, don’t be like that. I like your kind, don’t worry. I’m sure your boyfriend is willing to share.” He stepped forward again and Connor held his hand up to stop him. 

“I said no. Please leave me alone.” The panic was coming back, and he didn’t want to get violent. 

“I don’t see him around here either. Just a little fun, no one has to know.” The man was sneering now, and Connor got ready to run or defend himself. 

“He’s right here, jackass!” A voice said, and then an arm was going around Connor’s waist. Connor froze, glancing over to see Gavin Reed of all people glaring at the man. “Now get lost.”

Connor went along with it, leaning into Gavin, the heels making him taller than Connor, and even placing a hand over his chest like he was scared and needing comfort. He wouldn’t say anything, he didn't want the man to get aggressive. 

He glanced at Gavin, before scoffing. “I could give you so much more, but if you say so. Just come find me if you get tired of him.” 

Connor wouldn’t, they weren’t actually together, but he’d never go to someone like that. Gavin gently rubbed a hand up and down Connor’s side as they watched the man walk away. 

“Ok, can you take your hand off my chest now?” Gavin asked, letting go of Connor. 

He jumped back, face turning bright blue. “I’m sorry! And thank you, that could have gone a lot worse.” He smoothed down his shirt and skirt, running a hand through his curly hair. 

“Yeah, no problem dipshit. So you actually have a boyfriend or just wanted that creep gone?” Gavin leaned against the tree, showing off his very nice abs, and Connor tried not to follow the trail of hair down. 

“I don’t, Hank brought me here after I… came out.” It felt so odd to say, but Gavin was here too. “I went to get him a soda but it all got too much.” He picked up the drink, glad it hadn’t gotten knocked over with everything that had happened. 

Gavin nodded, rubbing his hands together almost anxiously. “Congrats then, takes a lot of guts to come out.” 

Beaming at him, Connor ducked his head quickly. “I was very nervous but Hank has been incredibly kind and supportive. Can I ask, well, are you here as an ally or…” he trailed off. 

Gavin actually laughed at that before motioning to himself. “Do I really look straight? Nah, I’m hella gay.” 

Of course, Connor couldn’t help but follow where his hands motioned, trying to not let on just how affected he was by Gavin’s appearance. “I’m bi, and non-binary,” he blurted, and even though he was still nervous to say it, it felt good too. He motioned down to his skirt, copying Gavin slightly. 

Gavin glanced at the skirt, smiling slightly. “That looks good on you, and thanks for telling me. Are you going by a new name or pronouns? I won’t use them at work obviously, unless you say so… not that we see each other outside of work.” 

“No, I like my name and I’m still using he pronouns. Thank you for asking.” He wished he could say they should spend time outside of work, but he could barely consider them friends. Gavin hadn’t been outright rude to him, their bickering was more good natured and teasing than anything else. 

“Cool cool, well you wanna go find Hank? Don’t want him thinking you got kidnapped or trampled in the ground.” Gavin pushed away from the tree, nodding back to the stalls. Connor followed after, watching how well Gavin walked in the heels even in the uneven grass. 

“This your first pride parade?” Gavin asked as they made their way back into the crowd. Connor reached out and very carefully put a hand on Gavin’s arm so they wouldn’t get separated. 

“It is, I love all the colors and happiness, you can just… feel it everywhere. It’s a lot of fun… I saw you in the parade and was a bit shocked, you know. Someone said you come every year?” If so then maybe they could make this a thing. They could come together, spend some time outside of work. 

Gavin grinned, waving at someone before nodding towards Connor. “I do, Tina comes with me normally but she had work. I came with Cecil Sunshine… or well that’s his drag name. He’s somewhere around here.” 

Oh. Well Tina wasn’t too much a surprise given the two were best friends but he’d never heard of the drag queen. Were they together? “I see, that sounds fun. I love your makeup, I’d love to learn to do that.” 

Gavin perked up even more, turning around to grab Connor’s hand. “I can teach you! If you want, of course, if we find Sunshine, she has my makeup.” 

Connor’s pump was pounding, having Gavin hold his hand, and he nodded mutely. He tried to clear his throat, glancing around. There were so many people, but off to the right side was a very large group. “What’s going on there?” 

Gavin looked over, then frowned. “Protesters. Those that can will surround them to protect the kids and everyone else from them. Wanna go see? If not it’s ok, I couldn’t be around them for a while, now I like messing with them.” 

Connor nodded and Gavin kept a hold of his hand as he led him over. He could hear those screaming about god and repenting, how unnatural this was. He could also see the signs, some of them were also specifically anti-android. 

“How do you mess with them?” He was pretty sure that they weren’t allowed to touch each other, which helped both sides. 

Gavin smirked a bit. “Find someone willing and kiss him right in front of them. Freaks them out a lot.” Gavin was looking around, probably trying to find someone that would be willing. 

“We could,” he mumbled, probably not loud enough for Gavin to hear over the yelling but his head whipping around said otherwise. “We don’t have to! I just, considering they are also anti-android it would add to the effect, right?” He reached up, tapping his LED. 

Gavin stared at him with wide eyes before grinning. “Definitely. Come on, let’s get to the front.” He dragged him forward, politely pushing his way through until they were right in front of the group. 

They stood so Connor’s LED was facing them, and Gavin carefully reached up to cup his cheek. It was clear he was giving him time to back out, but Connor wouldn't. Those that were queer or supporting started cheering realizing what was happening. 

Connor leaned up, pressing his lips against Gavin’s. They were warm and a bit wet given the lipstick he was wearing. It sent a buzz from his lips down his spine as he pressed closer. He ignored the anger shouts of the protesters and even the cheers, just focused on Gavin pressed against him. 

It was hard, and long, sweet and indulgent, over far too quickly. Gavin broke it, panting, and then pushed back in for another, this one far more heated. Connor grabbed the chain connected to the collar he wore, keeping him close that way. It got wolf-whistles and catcalls, all in good nature though. Connor reached to hold Gavin by his waist with his other hand, titling his head to help deepen the kiss, their tongues sliding together. 

They pulled back slowly, both grinning widely. It was Connor’s first kiss and one he would never forget, not that he could, given he was an android. “That was fun,” Connor giggled. Gavin nodded and dragged them away from the group, getting a few pats for the show. 

Once away Gavin paused, reaching up and swiping his thumb across Connor’s lips, he froze, licking his lips without thinking. His tongue brushed against Gavin’s thumb, and he stopped breathing. 

“Sorry… had lipstick on you.” Gavin murmured, pulling his hands away. 

Connor reached up to touch his own lips, feeling how they still tingled from the kiss and now from the touch. “It’s ok, I don’t mind. Listen Gavin, I-“ 

“Connor!” Hank called and he spun around to see the man come up. “Damn kid, I couldn’t find you anywhere. You good?” He glanced at Gavin who looked like he just got caught stealing. 

“I’m ok, Gavin found me and we messed with some protesters! Here’s your drink,” he held it out, smiling widely at Hank. 

“Huh. At least you didn’t get lost… I uh, got you something too.” Hank shrugged, trying to play it off nonchalantly. 

Connor tilted his head, seeing how Hank had one hand behind his back Connor figured he was hiding something. “Oh?” 

Hank shrugged again and held out a package. Connor gasped when he saw what it was, looking between them and Hank. “Thank you!” It was the non-binary flag. He could hang this up in his room! He stepped up and threw his arms around Hank, pulling him into a tight but quick hug. 

Hank glanced at Gavin who had a fond look on his face before it quickly turned into a scowl and he looked away. Connor saw none of that, but stepped back from Hank. “Yeah, no problem kid.” 

Connor showed the package to Gavin who gave him a small smile and nod. Then he glanced down, biting his lip before unclipping the flag and pulling it away. He hesitated only for a second before putting it over Connor’s shoulders, using the two holes meant to put it on the pole to clip it together to make a cape. 

Connor went completely still as Gavin did so, feeling like his thirium pump was pounding away in his chest. He brought a hand up to touch where it was clasped together, his fingers brushing over Gavin’s. 

“Happy pride, Connor,” Gavin muttered just loud enough for Connor to hear over the chaos around him. 

Connor could help but beam at him, touched beyond words. He felt so loved here, so accepted by people who didn’t even know him, by Hank and Gavin. It was one of the most wonderful feelings in the world. “Happy pride, Gavin.”

(my art do not repost)

[emilywaters]

2021 Pride Month Oneshots - Day 3

30 Queer Oneshots in honour of pride month

Day 3 - Soukoku

Ao3 - https://archiveofourown.org/works/31735966

Wattpad - https://www.wattpad.com/1080421227-2021-pride-month-oneshots-day-3-soukoku

Summary - Dazai and Chuuya create a react video together. That's it. That's the fic.

When I was trying to come up with ideas for this chapter I couldn't decide between - https://www.tiktok.com/@ded_midorich/video/6918991434267757825?lang=en&is_copy_url=0&is_from_webapp=v1&sender_device=pc&sender_web_id=6948319693262308865

and -  https://www.tiktok.com/@mellowmess_cosplays/video/6968870386083564806?lang=en&is_copy_url=0&is_from_webapp=v1&sender_device=pc&sender_web_id=6948319693262308865

So I just did both 🏳‍🌈✌🌈🦄

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Is it recording? Yeah, okay."

Chuuya waved at the camera. "Hey, girls, gays and non-binary baes! Welcome to another episode of Double Black React." Dazai squealed in the background, spinning around in a wheely office chair. "Last week, I asked you to comment some assumptions about us, and you delivered. So today, we'll be reacting to them." He pulled the brunet next to him, "Behave." He muttered in a low voice.

"Oh, we already started recording?" Dazai grinned excitedly, "Hey girls, gays and non-binary baes! Happy pride month! In honour of pride, he's a video of us making out."

Chuuya pinched Dazai's side, making him yelp, "We are NOT posting a video of us making out-"

"So, you admit there ARE videos of us making out!"

Chuuya rolled his eyes, but he didn't deny the claim. "Let's get back on topic. Okay, first comment; 'Chuuya and Dazai are one hundred percent dating, I take no criticism."

Dazai gulped his coffee, "Yeah, no. I have a thing called standards."

"Oh please, you will date any pretty girl willing t die with you," Chuuya snarked.

"Exactly. You neither a girl nor pretty."

"Believe me; I wouldn't date you either. I prefer people with souls."

"You pain me, Chu-chu," Dazai draped himself over Chuuya dramatically.

Chuuya snorted, "Pack it up, Oikawa kinnie."

Dazai recoiled in indignation, but Chuuya had already moved onto the next comment.

" 'Idk if you are dating, but you have fucked at least once'."

Dazai winked, looking directly at the camera, "That would be telling."

Chuuya pushed him away from the camera, "NO, we haven't had sex. He'd be awful in bed."

"That's not what you were saying when you were moaning my na-"

"MOVING ON; 'Chuuya puts cereal first, milk second, Dazai puts bleach first, tide pods second'."

"Believe it or not, this happens monthly," Chuuya smacked Dazai, probably for some disturbance out of the camera's view. " I actually had to buy a lockbox for all the poisonous cleaning products in the house."

"It's true," Dazai nodded sagely, "it's called tide pod Tuesday."

"So, this is not about us, but I'll read it anyways; 'Are White tiger and Rashomon dating?' If you didn't know, White tiger and Rashomon are two of our friends and fellow YouTubers. And to answer your question, no, they are not dating."

"They should, though," Dazai added, "The sexual tension is beginning to overwhelm me." Dazai swallowed a cookie whole then gagged on it. "That cookie is homophobic." He stated after chewing and swallowing, glaring at the plate of cookies in offence. "It tried to choke me."

"Choke on it and die."

"How about you choke on my-"

"You are insufferable. Next comment; 'Dazai is a chaotic bisexual with a preference for women and Chuuya. And Chuuya is omnisexual with a preference for Dazai.'"

Chuuya took a sip from his mug, "Well, what do you think, Dazai? Are you bi?"

Dazai leaned back on his chair, "I don't know, Chuuya. Are you gay?"

They turned their attention to the camera.

"I guess we'll never know," they chorused.

Dazai grabbed the phone from Chuuya and began rapidly scrolling, "Now that we have seen all the normal comments, let's look at some of the more interesting ones."

"Oi! Shittydazai, give me back the phone!" Chuuya tried to grab it, but Dazai jumped on his chair and held it out of reach. "I swear to god if you pick some obscene comment, I will fucking murder you."

"Oh please, like I have to be obscene with your filthy mouth around." Dazai tripped, and the wheely chair whizzed under him. Dazai crashed to the ground in an untidy heap. "I think I broke something," he groaned.

Chuuya cursed under his breath and rushed next to Dazai. "Where does it hurt?" He demanded.

"My ego," Dazai groaned. "And my wrist."

Chuuya helped Dazai sit on a chair and gently placed his hand on the table. "I can't see anything because of your damn bandages," Chuuya grumbled, unravelling them. He carefully examined Dazai's wrist, noting the redness and swelling. Dazai winced whenever his fingers grazed his skin. Chuuya finally got up and disappeared out the door. He returned with an icepack, bandages and scissors.

"Lucky for you, it's just a sprain." Chuuya returned to his seat. "I've told you so many times not to climb on the chair. Maybe this will teach you to listen to me more often." Chuuya continued reprimanding Dazai as he placed the ice pack on his wrist. Once the swelling went down, he wrapped his hand with fresh bandages.

Chuuya glanced at the camera still recording the duo. "We're going to have to edit this out," he remarked, releasing Dazai's wrist from his care.

"Oh, if we are going to edit this out, might as well do this," Dazai leaned forward and kissed Chuuya's cheek. "Thanks, babe."

"Don't call me that." Chuuya's face turned red, and he busied himself putting the things away. He didn't speak until the two were reseated and ready to continue recording.

"So to recap the crash you heard, Dazai stood on his chair, then he fell off it and sprained his wrist, but he's fine now. Let's pick up from where we left off." Chuuya picked up the phone. " 'Dazai is actually the better cook, but Chuuya is amazing with desserts and sweets'."

Chuuya gaped at the screen in shock. "Where are the cameras? Where are the fucking cameras?" He checked the username, "Dear Chuuyaisabaker, how tf did you know this? Like where are the fucking cameras?"

"Chuuya once burnt a pot boiling pasta. He also added salt instead of sugar. To." Dazai gave a shit-eating grin. "And this one time, he put soy sauce instead of syrup on his pancakes, and he was too proud to admit he made a mistake, so he ate them."

Chuuya poked Dazai's injured wrist, making him shut up. Chuuya glared at his partner, "You don't get to talk, Mr substitute-whipped-eggwhites-with-whipped-cream. Not to mention the time you got a stomach bug from eating the cake you baked."

Chuuya was about to retell every one of Dazai's baking disasters, but the brunette cut in, "And that's our cue to end this video! It was great fun seeing us from your pov. Keep sending us comments, Like and Subscribe, if you haven't already. Bye, hoes!"

Dazai stopped the recording and relaxed onto his chair. He kept glancing at his wrist and wincing. Chuuya sighed to himself. He knew the stubborn asshole would never tell him if he was in pain, which is why he had acquired the acute ability to sense Dazai's thoughts through mild changes in posture and behaviour. Dazai no doubt could read Chuuya like a book, so of course, he picked up on the redhead's worry.

"Don't worry about me, Chuuya," Dazai said tersely. "I'm fine. It barely hurts."

Chuuya rolled his eyes, "You're a terrible liar."

Dazai laughed, "Actually, I'm an amazing liar. So much so you don't believe me when I'm telling the truth."

"I'm going to the pharmacy to get painkillers," Chuuya stated, standing up.

"Oh, do you have a headache?"

"It's for you, you dumbass," Chuuya huffed before walking out the room. Dazai heard the familiar click of the front door and the usual slam of Chuuya leaving.

He smiled softly to himself, fingering the delicately wrapped bandage. Chuuya had him wrapped around his thumb, and he didn't even realize it.

[jae-writes-fanfiction]

Some Kind of Disaster

Poly!Mashton x Plus Size!Reader   -   772 Words   -   Part  1 of 1

Notes: Written for the 5SOS Collab Event, read the other fics here! My AU was University, and the challenge prompt was “ I don’t know if you noticed, but I have no idea what I’m doing. I almost never do.” Warnings: ‘Fuck’ and other swear words are said a few times, other than that this is my fun contribution to the event.

- - -

The soles of your canvass shoes slapped against the brick pavement as the clock tower sounded overhead. You were officially late to your own presentation. You groaned wondering how you were supposed to get up in front of the entire lecture hall full of students and go over some dumb paper seconds after running across campus. It didn’t help that the new overalls you’d bought were brand new and still stiff rubbing uncomfortably on your thighs.

Despite the room’s size everyone still turned to look as you rushed inside. A flush set out across your face and you bit your lip trying to quietly catch your breath as you navigated around the rows of desks to your seat.

You smiled at Ashton and Michael as you went to take your seat between them. Before you could relax and wait for your turn to present the professor, Dr. Bernstein, called your name.

 “Late again? If you weren’t so obviously out of breath I’d make you go first.” He was a portly old man, who still felt the need to harass any student that wasn’t specifically straight, white, or conventionally attractive.

You’d learned earlier in the semester the best thing you could do was ignore him- there wasn’t a damn thing wrong with you and the argument wasn’t worth it. You rolled your eyes and sat down without responding.

“He has no fucking right to talk to you like that,” Ashton said wrapping his arm around your shoulders. You shook your head and smiled as Michael covered your hand with his.

Michael and Ashton were a couple when you met back in Freshman year. They’d been so in love you were surprised when they asked you out- not that you could say no. They were so attractive, Ashton oozed confidence and Michael was so much fun that together they were irresistible.

When it was your turn to present you stood and smoothed the wrinkles out of your overalls, and shuffled your note cards. You queued your presentation on the projector and turned to stand behind the podium. But mid step your foot caught on the wiring and you stumbled. The note cards scattered, and you heard Dr. Bernstein scoff as you quickly tried to gather them. Finally ready to start you turned to face the class, and whatever light you had behind your eyes faded. Confronted with a sea of sleeping students and cellphones, you knew the passion and fire behind your assignment was for nothing.

Later after the rest of your classes had ended, the three of you were gathered around the island that doubled as the kitchen table. Michael had brought home a pizza after his shift working at the library, and you couldn’t help but bring up the day’s events.

“I can’t believe I fucking tripped,” you said chewing on your lip unable to shake the feeling that you were the odd one out in the relationship. “It was fine,” Michael said shrugging as he grabbed another slice of pizza. You scoffed, “Seriously I don’t know why you’re with me. This shits my fuckin’ major and I don’t know if you noticed, but I have no idea what I’m doing.” You sighed and pushed your plate away, unable to look up at your partners as you said, “I almost never do.”

The stunned silence hung over your kitchenette, making your already melancholy outlook worsen. When you finally made up your mind to laugh it off and apologize for ruining the mood- you couldn’t. Ashton and Michael had never looked so concerned before, each of their faces showed a measure of shock and uncertainty that you didn’t know what to do with.

“Fuck guys It’s not like a big deal, I really don’t give a damn what people like Dr. Bernstein thinks but,” you couldn’t help the short laugh, “you have to admit I’m some kind of disaster.”

You relaxed instantly when Michael leaned over conspiratorially with a smile and held your hand. “Y’know you are the best disaster.”

Ashton nodded and jumped in, “He’s right. You’re so fuckin cute, and smart-“

“-And sexy, and funny,” Michael continued , pulling you closer.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you said smiling, “I’m a sinner, I’m a saint- I’m the best damn thing to happen to you boys.”

Ashton stood and walked over, putting an arm around both you and Michael. “You’re both fuckin’ perfect.” You both blushed and you knew that no matter your size, your style, or how much you struggled- you had two people who would always see the best parts of you- even if you thought they were the bad ones.

- - -

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