#and the way that people like hate him for being socially obtuse just reminds me of why i don't particularly like to socialize lol

[slime-crafters]

Out of all the people to hate in Pelican Town (cough pierre cough), hating Demetrius seems like a wild choice

[dykeulous]

tw ed mention

i get so unbelievably frustrated when i see radfems relentlessly mock female enby people or non-transitioning feminine transmascs who are generally otherwise gender conforming, indulging in the same old transmed rhetoric that i always tried to turn away from. transmed spaces hurt me very deeply on an interpersonal level, and having seen that side of the trans community, constantly competing about who’s “more dysphoric”, “more trans”, romanticizing the hell out of dysphoria…… it pains me when i see the same rhetoric resurface under the guise of radical feminism. “haha the theyfab she/they who wears makeup and dresses and pushup bras is whining about being misgendered haha xD”– come on gyns. what the hell do we get out of being mean and unnecessarily cruel? it really reminds me of all the first-hand trauma i endured at the hands of my toxic transmed ex, who abused his ability to pass as cis better than i could, to be extremely transphobic, lesbophobic & overall cruel to me. transmedicalism is not healthy. while it might seem generally logical on the surface, as you dig deeper and deeper, you come to find that most people in those spaces are unbelievably misogynistic, homophobic, racist and transphobic. it might seem logical & useful to just go, “oh well transmedicalism helps trans people because it recognizes dysphoria as a condition”– but that is not the one & only component of transmedicalism. transmedicalism is quite literally built on strict assimilation, gender roles, eurocentric expectations; not to mention the overt bullying & abuse going on in transmed spaces. mocking someone’s dysphoria, and trying to prove that “You’re True Trans™” & “One of the Good Ones” is not going to bring about trans liberation. or anyone’s, really. you cannot know how much someone is suffering, and trying to tear someone down & intentionally trigger their dysphoria is cruel on a level i cannot ever sympathize with. i just can not. no matter how many times you are going to want to tell me that “it’s just a joke”, or how you’re only making fun of the obtuse & socially unaware gender conforming people– it won’t ever make sense to me, and i won’t ever understand why some of you are so set on trying to push disordered people’s buttons, specifically female dysphoric people’s. “haha the whiny non-passing transmasc got sooo dramatic over me misgendering him the other day xD so now i gotta keep it shut because of wOkE”, has been the sentiment circulating around self-hating trans spaces for the longest– why are we recycling their arguments?

i grew up pretty gnc. while i was with my mentioned ex, i passed the best i ever did. it didn’t help my dysphoria. i was under constant pressure. i hated myself. i hated spending time in an unhealthy environnement filled with edgy self-hating trans people who put passing on top of everything, who mocked those who couldn’t pass, who encouraged transitioning & regarded everyone who couldn’t– either out of economical reasons, unsafe environnement, or even just personal reasons (which were uniquely frowned upon & mocked, obviously)– as fakers, liars, deceivers, and attention seekers. i was pretty gnc for most of my life, and even when i did “pass”, i still looked more like a super masc woman than a man. i developed an eating disorder later in my life, and additionally discovered i had an autoimmune condition that disadvantaged & fucked with my metabolism to a high degree. that fucked with my ability to be as gender nonconforming as i would like to otherwise be. my hair was falling out, both due to the ed, and due to the mentioned condition; and now that i’ve more or less recovered from the ed, and have started taking meds for the mentioned condition; i started growing my hair out, so i could observe the way it was/if it was healing & growing out properly. i am no longer as gnc as i used to be, and my experiences are somewhat different, but my dysphoria is still debilitating. measuring suffering by appearance will never be a good tactic nor metric. it just falls in the unnecessarily snide category, and i won’t ever see it as anything else other than rude & mean commentary made at the expense of people in severe pain.

it’s really no surprise that they’re mostly coming at transmascs. not to say that they aren’t also super condescending & mean to transfems, but this sort of mockery is almost always directed strictly at transmascs. both from the trans & radfem community. i’m so sick of it. i’m so sick of people finding ways to reinvent misogyny to mask it as something funny or harmless or acceptable or even progressive. “shut it zippertits”, “cannot be mad people are misgendering you when you go out fully dolled up”, “am i going to be canceled for misgendering a big breasted feminine transmasc”, “you aren’t as trans as i am and you are fundamentally suffering less than i am!”, “you annoying little whiny dramatic theyfab ftm fakeboy stop being such a karen ugh”. your transphobic & misogynistic behavior isn’t any less transphobic & misogynistic when directed at a transmasc you personally find annoying or unlikeable. do better.

it's okay to call out a dysphoric person being comically out of touch, not realizing how gender conforming their lives are irl and how they benefit from it… but you can't assume that the person is inherently suffering less from dysphoria internally. dysphoria is a disorder. and like any other disorder, the ableist rhetoric - both for mental and physical disorders - that you can easily tell how much someone is suffering merely by their appearance actually can cause harm to people invisibly suffering. and that includes dysphoric people.

the very stereotypical visibly gnc trans person might face more gncphobia and overt transphobia yet suffer less from dysphoria, or not at all. yet a more gender conforming trans person might be suffering like crazy internally and be extremely debilitated, even housebound from dysphoria. both people need support and need to be good allies to one another. both people can be out of touch and say batshit crazy things about experiences they don't understand.

people who don't face overt gncphobia & transphobia have privilege from it and need to be aware of it and acknowledge it.

people who suffer less or not at all from dysphoria need to uplift more dysphoric voices, even if those dysphoric voices are conforming irl.

dysphoria is an often debilitating disorder. just like any mental disorder, they need the same amount of reasonable accommodations as we would give any other dysphoric person. just because this person is a they/them female person who identifies as a nonbinary woman doesn't mean she internally suffers any less than a more stereotypical trans guy. at my very worst dysphoria-wise, i sometimes looked outwardly more conforming than in my healthier days. this is also because i had worked hard on unlearning internalized sexism and teaching myself that men can be feminine and women can be masculine, and that trying to wear more masculine things wouldn't make me any closer to being male bc clothes say nothing about one's sex. i know other trans people who did a lot of that inner work, and now are told they must be fake, they must not be dysphoric any longer for being transmasc femboys or transfem tomboys etc. if we want the trans community to fight its sexism problem, we need to welcome those who no longer associate clothes with sex yet still have dysphoria. we need to welcome the transmascs who are more feminine yet still have top/bottom dysphoria, and the transfems who are more masculine yet still yearn from hrt & surgeries. if we are to treat dysphoria as a disorder, and want it to be properly treated, and heal the dysphoria that can be healed to prevent detransitions, we need to apply the same logic that disabled activists & mental health activists advocate for and dispell the myth that invisibly disordered folks inherently suffer less. i may be in a wheelchair but someone else might have worse pain and worse struggles than me in many areas; i may have more serious sounding disorders mentally but the person with generalized anxiety might suffer a trillion times more than i do on a day-to-day basis.

we radfems on the more tirfy side, or simply radfems who care deeply about dysphoric people - a big amt of us having a history of dysphoria ourselves or dysphoric friends - need to work on creating a stable balance between calling out the comically out-of-touch takes trans people who don't face gncphobia irl often say, and being aware of our own kneejerk ableist reactions to someone not looking "dysphoric enough" who talk about their personal suffering.

[faketextsfromlastmight]

Best of tags #09

A compilation

@awesome-milkshake-blog on Iida, Bakugou and Kirishima: (Link)

#i hope their dynamics are more relaxed like this#in their second or third year

Plot twist: All For One slips in his jail’s cell shower and dies. The rest of the series is just a sitcom.

@jay-catsby on Aizawa complaining about politics at breakfast: (Link)

#hfjdjshdhs hes that guy in the dining hall who you overhear getting too real at 8am

He’s the guy who brings up child labour laws when you receive a pair of Nike shoes on Chritsmas morning. Just kidding, he’s not that socially obtuse. But a lot of characters mentions he’s very critical of society and we see in the “Vigilantes” spin-off that he had an... interesting relationship with law enforcement. My guess is that he used to be overly political but that he mellowed out over the years.

@awesome-milkshake-blog on Bakugou wanting Todoroki’s attention: (Link)

#thats it#thats the sports festival

Yeah, Todoroki’s and Bakugou’s relationship (or, at the present, the lack thereof) is definitely a development I’m excited for in the upcoming chapters of the manga.

So far Bakugou pretends to be indifferent towards his classmates’ opinions of him (although it’s painfully clear he’s actually obsessed with the way people perceive him and reacts violently whenever things don’t go his way). There are exceptions, however. He definitely changes behavior around Kirishima (to whom he listens more) and Deku (whom he can’t help antagonizing), but Todoroki is maybe the third classmate towards whom he shows interest. I think Todoroki represents a social class in which Bakugou wants to fit in, so naturally he can’t help showing some partiality. Todoroki is also one of the few classmates Bakugou feels could beat him one-on-hand, so there’s that. Basically Todoroki was born in the superhero scene and will undoubtedly be a superhero (he got into U.A. through recommendation, unlike Bakugou who had to pass an exam), he’s a natural professional. As much as he hates to admit it, Bakugou wishes he were in Todoroki’s place.

However so far Todoroki acts very indifferent towards Bakugou’s antics. My guess is that he dismisses him as a petulant man-child and finds him too unpleasant to try to build a friendship. But that could change.

Horikoshi has already laid the ground for deeper interaction when he put Bakugou and Todoroki in the kindergarten arc. We know that Bakugou knows Todoroki was horrifically abused by his superhero father (although Todoroki doesn’t know Bakugou knows that). He looks uncharacteristically disturbed when he overhears that. Bakugou idealized the superhero scene and learning of Todoroki’s terrible childhood is his first glance at the dark side of superheroics. We do know that Bakugou respects Todoroki’s outlook somewhat because he begrudgingly obeyed Todoroki when he told him how to handle little kids. Bakugou was willing to use violence to discipline them because that’s the way he was raised, but Todoroki reminded him that there was a better way of doing that.

My guess is that this is groundwork for how Todoroki and Bakugou are going to grow closer. Horikoshi didn’t picture Mitsuki hitting Bakugou for nothing, it’s a way to explain Bakugou’s irrationally violent nature. Although Bakugou’s childhood was better than Todoroki’s, his parents failed him and he needs to realize that to become a better person. I guess a deeper Bakugou/Todoroki conversation on child abuse is upcoming. Their emotional journeys complement each other. My hope is that Bakugou, following his conversation with Todoroki, will call out his mother on her casual violence (and his father on the way he enables it). The reason Bakugou acts so horribly is that the violence he experienced at home is framed as something normal. Bakugou is unable to recognize the harm he does to others because he can’t even realize the harm he suffered himself. Once Bakugou comes to terms with the damage his parents did to him, he will be able to acknowledge the damage he did to other people (such as Deku when they were in middle school). His interactions with Todoroki will be key in this development.

@greenvalleybroccoli on Bakudeku: (Link)

#all might would never ship bakudeku though

I don’t know, he seems pretty invested into the Bakugou/Midoriya rivalry in general. He clearly seems potential in their teamwork. Personally I think Boku No Hero Academia will end on Bakugou and Midoriya becoming a superhero duo in the same agency. The status of All Might as the symbol of peace is constantly decried in-universe as problematic because it’s too much to handle for one person. Furthermore it tends to evaluate raw strength as what it takes to be a hero rather than good behavior. So in order to truly change things for the better, I think All Might will not just choose Midoriya as a successor, but also Bakugou. The new “symbol of peace” will be a duo rather than a single hero, and their true superpower will be teamwork. Bakugou is used as a foil to Midoriya because it’s a yin/yang relationship. Duality is often a form of unity.

@demiboydorito on Kirishima eating a diamond: (Link)

oh god i sure hope op meant fantasy au bc the image of a 15 yr old child just c h o m p i n g a DIAMOND is killin me

You forget Kirishima has a hardening quirk. The joke is that his body is so resistant he can actually munch and digest diamonds. Maybe he’s part Goron?

@xxwolfydoodlezuwuxx on Todoroki hanging out with Shinsou: (Link)

#todo no-#being emo with shinsou is not gonna help u man.

Shinsou’s not emo, he’s old-school goth. His design is based on the character of Cesare from “The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari” (a movie about brainwashing/hypnotism).

@principle-of-parsimony  on Monoma copying Shigaraki’s quirk: (Link)

He'd only decay if he copied the power from like, a High-Five, since all five fingers need to be touching the object in question in order to make it decay. Now Shigaraki though, if Monoma copies his quirk and isn't careful when copying it, Shigaraki himself may start to disintegrate.

What if they touch each other at the same time? Do the quirks cancel each other out? Or do they both decay?

@paradis-smash on Bakugou’s future hero name: (Link)

#if his hero name is Kacchan i fucking quit!#I'm kidding#but please don't let it be Kacchan

I’m sorry to alarm you but I’m actually pretty sure that’s where the series is headed. Bakugou accidentally gave Midoriya his hero name (Deku), so there would be poetic justice in Bakugou embracing the name Midoriya uses for him (Kacchan). Bakugou’s arc seems to mostly revolve around him slowly realizing how his terrible behavior affects others and why it actually prevents him from progressing as a hero. His remedial internship at the kindergarten is actually all about that. Basically Bakugou is set back in his hero work by a massive P.R. problem. He’s not as approachable as Midoriya who just radiates positivity (like All Might). Actually most oh his hatred of Midoriya could stem from the internal realization that Deku’s personality is more suited to hero work than him. His aura of goodness makes Bakugou feel insecure in his own abilities. So he needs to get over that and try to learn from Midoriya, not only to imitate his social intelligence but also to realize his own qualities.

Bakugou probably hates that nickname but I don’t think he realizes it’s actually IRONIC. The “-chan” suffix is usually used by young women and children for people they find cute, but Midoriya actually finds Bakugou pretty macho and awe-inspiring. Calling “Kacchan” is his way of saying “you’re a badass, but you’re also my friend, and that makes me feel SAFE”. If Bakugou wants people to trust him more, choosing that cutesy nickname as his hero name would actually be a good P.R. move. It would subvert the expectations people have when his more irritable persona manifests.

@tis-i-the-frenchiest-fri on the eternal Endeavor debate: (Link)

Twice is probs arguing with himself in the background

It is a truth universally acknowledged that any panel of BNHA is automatically improved by a silhouette of Twive arguing with himself in the background.

@sassyakimichi on Endeavor’s dating preferences: (Link)

the last one I literally screamed "oH sHIT" so much for library discretion x-x

So now we can add “library discretion” to the list of things Endeavor’s ruined.

@missmarj on Shouto’s poem: (Link)

E. Coli and broccoli does not rhyme shouto but dammit that was beautiful

The poem as written is supposed to be bad so let’s all just pretend my mistake is actually Shouto’s!

[randomoranges]

companion piece to Oranges as Peace Offerings

Look at Me [And Tell me Why]

 Edward is having a pleasant chat with a friend, when he stops mid sentence and nearly does a double take. He can’t say that he is necessarily looking forward to this meeting, but he’s come to enjoy them – somewhat – or at least, see their potential and he is catching up with a friend he hasn’t seen in a while, when he spots him from the corner of his eye.

 At first, he doesn’t think it’s possible.

 At first, he thinks for sure his mind is playing a trick on him.

 At first, he almost wants to run to his old friend. (At first, he almost wants to punch him in the face and ask him if he ever meant anything to him. Shake him by the shoulders until the anger and sadness inside of him get justice.)

 Then he remembers that they haven’t really spoken in far too long and a myriad of conflicting feelings rise in him. (Anger. Hurt. Worry. Bitterness. Resentment. Frustration. Longing. Longing. Longing. Longing. Damn it – he still misses him even if he’s moved on and closed off that chapter of his life. What happened to their friendship? What happened to late night promises and whispered secrets? What the fuck happened to Étienne?)

 But all of that is secondary to the shock he feels.

 There are two things that shock him and they both happen simultaneously.

 One, Étienne has shown up to a meeting. Two, he doesn’t look good.

 Edward politely excuses himself from his friend and goes to take a seat. He watches from the corner of his eye as Étienne looks around, hesitates, and then sits at the far end of the table, away from everyone else. He watches as Étienne shirks off someone who approaches him and Edward frowns – this isn’t like Étienne.  He knows what Étienne is like (or at least he knew – once upon a time he knew the smell of Étienne and the taste of Étienne – once upon a time he could recognise the sound of his laughter in a crowded room – once upon a time...)

 He knows Étienne usually comes to these things for the social call. He knows he doesn’t particularly care for these meetings. (He remembers a time when they’d go just to spend the day together. Play hooky and run away together. He remembers times when Étienne would take him out to these delightful restaurants and shops he had found out over the years. He remembers always being impressed at how much Étienne knew about the places they went to. How charmed he had been. How much he had loved him then. How much – no. He was done with that.)

 It pains Edward to see Étienne isolate himself so much. He’s known Étienne for a long time. He’s seen and been with him through some of his lows (Étienne opened up to him – they’ve opened up to one another – over the years. (Does Emma even know as much? Does Élyse?) He knows about the marriage. Knows about the pregnancy. Knows about lost love and lost hope. He knows the weight and burden Étienne has carried. The punishment he’s inflicted upon himself. He’s known his euphoria and his sorrow. How many people can say they truly know Étienne Maisonneuve? Let the person who knows about Étienne’s past and knows him best stand tall, he wants to say.) – Has heard of some of the others, but he thought... he thought Étienne was doing okay. And the shocker comes when he realises Étienne isn’t doing okay.  

 There are so many visible signs that immediately jump at him that he sort of wants to mentally kick himself for not having checked in sooner and he briefly wonders why no one else in Étienne’s entourage has bothered – until he reminds himself that maybe they have and that maybe Étienne is being obtuse – again – and that Étienne is not his responsibility. Anymore.

 (Étienne has never been his responsibility and maybe that’s the problem. There came a point when his friend felt more like an obligation than an escape. When the easiness went away. When the atmosphere hung heavy around them and whatever had brought them together felt more strained. And to this day he has no idea what brought it on. How it went from bad to worse. How an image on his feed sends his heart reeling and his mind spinning. (How did they even become friends? Had he been bold? Desperate? Had Étienne tried to reach out to him and he hadn’t noticed?)

 He has theories – with time he’s mulled it over and he’s been able to point to some things – events, distance, time, errors, but there are so many bigger gaps that make him wonder if Étienne hasn’t been some drug induced dream (nightmare?). But before he can go down that path again he reminds himself of the good times – because there were many of those and – that’s what angers him – that the good times got swept up in their chaotic mess – that apparently, they weren’t worth the bother – that the good times couldn’t sustain them through the bad parts, until the tide changed again.)

 That it’s over. Really and truly.

 Still – it hurts and stings to see him so closed off. So disengaged. Étienne is bright and funny and full of life. He’s smart and curious and has a craving for local culture. He’s easy with a crowd and makes others feel at ease and – and he’s a great friend and Edward fucking misses him. (And it’s taken up until this moment – up until Edward has really allowed himself to see Étienne that it dawns on him. There’s no more contact between them, Edward has no idea what’s going on in Étienne’s life (except for those nights when he binges through Étienne’s profile and holds back from reacting to everything – from asking about everything) and it fucking hurts and he’s supposed to be beyond that.) (He’s beyond that. He’s beyond that. He’s beyond that. He’s moved on, Christ! He’s done! Étienne means nothing to him. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing. Nothing.)

 And yet...

 And yet nothing. They had their chance.

 There’s a slouch to his shoulders Edward is too familiar with, paired with dark circles under his eyes that have him wondering when he last slept properly. His hair isn’t its usual artful mess of curls, but instead looks unruly and unkempt. He looks haggard, he looks sad and Edward wonders where the usual bright and easy-going Étienne went off. He wonders what broke him and what’s been plaguing his mind this time around.

 Really, he wonders if he has anyone he can talk to. (Would Étienne even want to talk to him? Does he deserve Étienne’s trust? Would he want Étienne to trust him? Does he trust Étienne? Would he trust Étienne? Has he ever trusted Étienne?)

 They used to talk – before. They used to talk through letters. (Letters had been easy. Letters had always been easy. It was so easy to write one’s feelings on paper and then forget about them. It was so simple to grab a sheet of paper, jot down thoughts and whatnot, seal it off, have it delivered, and regret it later, instead of second-guessing every word. Maybe they should have kept at it. Maybe they would have had a chance if they would have locked each other up in different rooms and written everything out. Before they got to this sad and pathetic point. Why was it so hard to reach out to one of his oldest and dearest friends? (Were they even still friends? Did he even want them to still be friends?) (He did – he really did.)

 For so long that’s all they had. Letters that would come every now and again – letters that somehow or other made the trip from one part of the country to the other – letters that became more frequent over the years as technology evolved – letters that turned into meetings that turned into phone calls that turned into actual visits – and now that they had all the tools in the world to communicate all fucking day if they so wanted to – they weren’t. (How was it, that it had been easier to be in touch with Étienne in the goddamned nineteenth century, than right now?! How?)

 And – he supposes he hasn’t been the greatest of friends either, has he? He could have been a bigger man about it and Done Something – but he needed, for once, to think about himself first. (And that’s important, he reminds himself.) He needed to focus on his needs and his life and face his own goddamned music. (It had paid off. Quite nicely, actually. He is happy. He is. He is happy. He has taken risks. He has finally made the choices he needed to – has literally aired out his closet and it has worked out. For the best. He has a boyfriend. He is in love. His boyfriend loves him. He knows where he stands with his boyfriend. He doesn’t have to second guess his feelings or what they are. They work at their relationship. It isn’t always easy, but they actually fucking talk to one another about things. Calvin is good to him. He tries his best to be good to Calvin. On most days, he believes he’s doing it right. He’s doing his best. He’s overcome most of the demons of his past. He’s embraced his past. His family doesn’t hate him. Even when the going gets tough he knows that deep down, they don’t hate him. He is working on himself – he is doing things he wants to – he is embracing his quirks – being himself – being true to himself and his heritage, he is working on –being authentic...)

 Authentic.

 An old word.

 It has to take Étienne actually sitting through a meeting for the word to resurface. He isn’t going to think about it.

 It doesn’t mean he had to ignore his friend nearly two decades down the road though, right? (And what about Étienne – he could have done something –said something too. This wasn’t a one way avenue. Issues put aside, Étienne could have said something – at any point – over the last few years, but he hasn’t and Edward supposes that should be a big enough sign for him. He didn’t even deserve a fucking postcard from Mexico. Or from anywhere Étienne travelled to. No letters. No calls. No nothing. (Edward briefly wonders if Étienne moved – if he changed his number – remembers he doesn’t even have Étienne’s cell number, ignores the ache it causes in his heart.) He should take that to mean Étienne is done with him and really move on, but it still stings and he still yearns and he hates that fact.

 And sure, there were moments, from before, that could have meant something, and sure, for a moment Edward thought they could start bridging the gap in their friendship, but then that had fizzled out as well. (Maybe that had been another dream. Maybe Étienne had tried to reach out to him then. Maybe he had failed to read the signs, too caught up in his own new life and ignoring the ache he still feels for parts of the old one.) Just because they want different things, doesn’t mean they can’t still be friends, right? They’re their own people – they have their own lives, but... is there still room for each other in them? (Sometimes, he still wonders why someone like Étienne was ever even friends with someone like him.) (He has to remind himself that he no longer thinks that way. Still, though. He wonders.)

 Now he just feels angry. And sad. (And the longing for the easy friendship of before still lingers and tries to claw its ugly way out of his body.)

 On most days, he’s fine. He has moved on from whatever clusterfuck the end of the century was. He’s a better person now and he’s able to recognise that he was in a bad place for a long time. Étienne was both terribly good and terribly bad for him at the same time, but before all that, Étienne had been a real and dear friend to him. The loss of that is what he really misses.

 He’s scared they can never go back to that – that no matter how hard they try (if they ever do) they’ll always be a little awkward around each other. Maybe it’s why he’s held back all these years. It’s easier to pretend – easier to ignore and miss the Good Old Days (part of them, anyways) than have an actual confrontation and receive confirmation that Étienne has shelved him for good. But even though it’s easier, part of him still screams for validation and for answers. He wants to know and yet he’s afraid to know. A never-ending cycle that leaves him unable to face this particular fear.

 What if Étienne has meant more to him than he has ever meant to Étienne? (Would Étienne have humoured him for that long though? There’s being polite and then there’s overkill.) However, something in the back of his mind tells him that he’s wrong – it replays moments from the past that could have meant something else – shows him those evenings when they stayed in, comfortable around each other, enjoying each other’s company and nothing else – those times Étienne had been vulnerable around him – reminds him of the warmth he had always felt from Étienne.

 He doesn’t care if he and Étienne never kiss again. He doesn’t care if Étienne never romantically loves him back. He doesn’t care if Étienne meets someone else and actually settles down with them. He doesn’t care. But he does care about their friendship and he doesn’t want to lose that. Étienne still means a whole fucking lot to him and he’s just sad he’s waited this long to admit to it and attempt to do anything about it. He’s going to do something about it. He’s going to be brash and brave and forget about old Edward and reach out and – and hope for the best. (He already knows he’ll be a mess if Étienne shuts him down.)

 Edward knows what he has to do. He needs to reach out. Someone needs to do it and maybe that person has to be him. Maybe Étienne has tried in the past. Maybe he wasn’t ready then. Maybe he needed to see Étienne look miserable to remember how alienating these meetings can be. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what it is, but Edward decides that he’s done with this wishy-washy nonsense. It ends today. (One way or another.)

 It ends today, but he has to wait a little longer for lunch break to track Étienne down. He politely declines an invitation to lunch from a friend and instead tries to find Étienne. He curses himself when he loses track of the other man and lingers a little, in case Étienne isn’t far.

 He starts to think Étienne has used an escape route to avoid everyone and he kicks himself for having lost sight of him. Edward figures he can always try catching Étienne later and instead starts heading out towards the main lobby, thinking maybe he can catch up with his friend, when, for the second time of the day, he spots a familiar mass of curly hair.

 FIN

[pepsiiwho]

@muuurder asked for more Lee character assassination so that is what they will get. Mwah.

Lemme preface all of this by saying I barely got through a few shippuden episodes before remembering I have a finite amount of time in this life, and I shouldn’t waste it on self-inflicted punishment. Which is just my way of saying that I didn’t finish it and just watched Lee’s episodes and general best moments.

So I (personally) have a problem with ten ten and Neji in the original run of Naruto because of how they’re constantly restating Lee’s whole problem and then, in a clunky way, making him reframe his own thesis statement in the text.

When I say this, what I mean is that in the original show there’s so many moments where Lee will attempt to do something or just talk about doing something (and because of Lee’s… everything, it comes off as dead serious but yaknow more on that later—) and Neji or TenTen (1010) in response will verbally, and loudly, comment about how inept Lee is [in comparison to his contemporaries] with something to the effect of “Lee you can’t do [ninja thing here] you have no ninjutsu/chakra paths!”

Now on a meta, intellectual level as not only a conscious viewer but a fellow writer, I can see this and understand that it’s an attempt at humor and banter and more broadly just a way to set up something insanely intense Lee is about to do. I don’t think it’s good, or useful in either thing but I recognize what it’s for. As a human being that personalizes everything, as humans are ought to do, and a Daniel who has long since passed the barrier of ‘obsessed’ with rock Lee, I hate it. And it’s horrid.

Lee is a very sound and very, imo, unintentional allegory for neurodivergence/disabled people attempting to make a place for themselves and move up in a world that is not made for them. At every turn Lee is reinforced to be different from everyone else in every conceivable way. He’s an orphan, he’s destitute, his chakra paths are all fucked, he can’t do gay ass ninja magic, he can’t socialize correctly with his peers, he looks weird and off putting, he’s too much in one way and not enough in another. He’s been told no his entire life in someway or another and the phrase has been seared onto him so completely it basically shaped him into what he is today. Lee knows he’s (functionally) disabled. He knows he’s different. I promise you he doesn’t need reminding. He is so haunted by this fact, he routinely pushes himself to degrees impossible for anyone else because he so badly wants to be defined by MORE then his short comings.

So, having said all that, how does it look when what are supposed to be his closest friends and teammates, are always shoving his disability into his face. Always reminding him of how he can’t do something. He doesn’t have the ability like they all do. You can never beat Neji Lee, you can never take Naruto Lee, you can’t win against XYZ Lee. How can you [flawed] do it if we [normal] can’t?

To me, the generous read is that 1010 and Neji are just children and obtuse about the language they use and unable to imagine what their words could be implying. My read is … in bad faith so there’s no need to explain it (lololol), but either way his ‘friends’ are still helping clip those wings of his. His dearest friends at that. If the people closest to you say this, what enemies could u possible need?

(another reason this hurts so bad is that Gai never talks down to Lee like this. It’s always to uplift and support him further. So clearly it’s possible to not rub his nose in it. That isn’t necessarily something Lee needs to be told constantly to see results)

So all this builds a nice (evil) picture of a Lee that can understand how people talk about him and to him and he resents them for it as much as he resents himself. Ultimately I don’t think he’s capable of hating them for it, I think his own self hate would dwarf that and rationalize other’s behaviors as “oh they’re just doing their best to protect me and remind me of my short comings, that’s what friends do right?”. Which sucks but yaknow fuck me.

But it’s MY ao3 so I get to write what I want. Ha ha. And in MY story Lee is allowed a moment of honesty between himself and Gaara because that weird freaky ass sand boy is the only person who hasn’t talked down to him. Sees him as an equal and maybe gets it. So yeah, he gets being talked down to and being angry all the time. Lee drowns in his own anger. And he feels guilt for it. And Gaara wouldn’t know what to do about this, he’d not know how to deal with the perfectly happy Lee being anything but happy and content with the people around him. But it isn’t really about fixing it, really it’s just about being there and listening and nodding and understanding with him. Which Gaara can attempt to do. For Lee.

Uhhhhh Naruto DIE au huzzah. Let’s see

This is the bad end 😔😓🥲

Lee is my baby my tiny my guy of all time ever— but he has molded himself in such a way that he overcompensates for what he views as personal failings (LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER SOUND) by upholding the status Quo that sought to clip his wings so completely. So in a bad end where Gai is no longer in the picture he leans back entirely on the militaristic system that ruined his life in the first place for support and guidance. And we all know those systems don’t support for free, but for a machine? They can be negotiated with.

Lee in this is similar to a child who was failed by the system they were raised in and instead of growing up and changing it from the outside or going in to fix the problems, they instead try to reinforce it, seeing thsemleves as the problem. So yeah when they say “kill your kinda childhood friend Naruto” he just smiles and nods and says of course I will. This story would be a comedy, because everything I make is, but more then that it’s so fucked and evil forever.

Gaara and Lee are ex’s in this and still in love but that’s besides the point frankly—

God I never stop talkin… I’m sorry gang,.. I literally could go on forever

That a very vivid dream of nothing so have rock Lee fic ideas, might make this a one shot

Originally I was gonna do sm dealing with the prompt “Lee is tasked with locating Naruto (and sasuke, as they are attached at the hip) and “neutralizing” him— preferably in the field and without significant retaliation” because I find the concept of Lee being taken seriously as a ninja and possible machine of incredible, pointed violence, or an expendable tool of the machine that can easily be replaced, either works— to be very very compelling. In this story it would be Lee and probably shikamaru because I think it’s funny to put the apathetic one with the hair’s trigger for a reflex.

But digressing, it would explore Lee’s relationship with being a ninja, an object of violence and warfare. He’s never been anything else and everyone he knows is one as well, but the violence has only been funneled outward to the ‘enemy’ not towards someone from his own home base. Would that stir something in him? (Yes). Would he struggle with the moral guilt? (Yes). Would he complete his mission? (Yes, to the detriment of his psyche).

I want to watch him squirm. Worse, I want to watch him have to go through his ex-gaara to get to Naruto. More feelings come from that.

This version of Lee is stuck to his duty, to his fighting and the personality that is so deeply tied to fighting. He’s formed himself around this identity, this need to prove himself and ‘better’ himself through strength and there’s no natural way to do that without moral discomfort when you’re being used to worsen lives. In this bad end Gai probably died in the war, or whatever (hand waves) and he’s reeling writhing that constant there. He’s obviously aged out the system and works as a remarkable ninja and has money and a support system, or enough of one, but that doesn’t replace gai or fill the hole. Shrugs. I so love my doomed guys

But I’m thinking instead of something so deeply canon divergent I think a small character study on Lee and possible resentments he’d have to his peers and friends and how they interact with him. Making all my favs resentful is like a reward idk. They deserve to feel bitter, even if only fleetingly. Maybe this can come at the hands of Gaara asking something something to the effect of “how are you not mad at me?” And Lee responding “… I think I’m just mad at everyone” and it branching off from there.

(Projection and AU levels of extrapolation incoming) He isn’t allowed the agency to be too mad usually, not even just bc of his own self restraint, he’s an orphaned child with little to himself— he has to keep himself in line and do his best lest he lose his father figure or his teammates or his work or whatever, so on so forth. It’s as much an active thing as it is a trauma response and way for him to preserver. Sigh

My fucking thingie….

[migleefulmoments]

lmao Abby is losing her shit because Darren is gonna be singing White Christmas with Lea on her new Christmas album. Apparently that song is "sacred" and can only be sang by Darren and Chris. She seriously needs to get a grip.

Anonymous said: "I can be upset, I think it is a complete slap in the face. there are like 3000 christmas songs, there are THREE that are sacred.   And yes, D should have sad no." Oh look Abby doesn't approve of something Darren is doing AGAIN. Seriously she claims to be his biggest fan but yet complains about everything he does.

Man, I didn’t see this coming. I’m amazed at how deeply emotional they are about a scripted, tv-show couple and a really old song! I might understand  if Abby was a lesbian teenager and this was 2011. It was empowering for gay, lesbian and bisexual kids and young adults to turn on network tv and see people that looked liked them. But times they have a changed. Klaine and Brittana pushed boundaries, but in 2019 there are LGBTQ characters on many shows, Netflix has LGBTQ programing and Ryan Murphy continues to create shows that specifically tell LGBTQ stories-ie Pose and he has created LGBTQ characters for all of his shows because that’s life. He’s continues to normalize LGBTQ characters on his shows: 911 has a main character who is a married lesbian, The Politician has gay characters and its been reported that Rock Hudson will be a character in Hollywood. 

So here we are in 2019 and Abby is devastated that the sacred White Christmas will be covered by Darren and Lea on her new Christmas album. First off, why is the song sacred? Abby mentioned the “Bryant Park riot”-a riot we know never happened. The people “holding the fandom together” were not in the cc fandom when Chris and Darren filmed in Bryant Park. Their “memories” of that day have all been created by watching a few moments of the 11-hour day. I’ve come to realize that the cc theory is built on slowed-down gifs and screenshots. Reality looks nothing like cc so they manipulate the facts to fit their needs. It’s a powerful method because it is so easy to con people into believing inane facts. I am sure that Abby and Flowers and Cassie and Leka fully believe everything they hold near and dear about CrissColfer.  It’s all a lie but they fully believe they are throwing out tried-and-true proven facts. Abby in particular is really baffled why we can’t see what she see. The difference between them and us is that we don’t listen with our eyes. We don’t get information about Darren and Mia by piecing together gifs. That’s it-gifs and screenshots from videos! Can you imagine if a lawyer a police officer  used a gif as evidence? 

Nobody set out to con the tinhatters into believing a fantasy that doesn’t exits-in fact, nobody is conning the fandom-they are conning themselves. They don’t look at the  evidence and form an opinion- they literally create the evidence. Zoom in a photo until you can crop out what you need or clip 1-2 seconds from a longer video, slow it down, add some text and suddenly *BAM* you have proof! Proof with all the drama and emotion to make it feel so much more important than it was. 

How the shit hit the fan:

Leka:

jaci3

I will definitely be purchasing this album! So much talent! Cynthia!! Darren!! Jonathan and Lea!!

notes-from-nowhere

I’m going to take this as a good news👍🏻

ajw720

But no, no, no no. Do not get me wrong, I am thrilled D is on the album, but no, no, no, not a K/laine song. Why?  There are so many Christmas songs out in the world and they chose a K/laine song?  

I have no interest, it can never live up.

I hate 2019.

DRAMA MUCH?

Thanks, but it’s a hard pass for me.

ajw720

I actually have tears in my eyes. This feels like a complete slap in the face. Sorry, but it is and it should not have been this song and I don’t care what you believe, Those songs are sacred to the K/laine fandom whether you think he is married to her or with C or something completely different.  

How many Christmas songs are there to choose from? If she wanted WC, she could have sang it with someone else.

With you @cassie1022 hard pass.  It may seem silly to be this upset about something, but this actually makes me angry.  I feel like K/laine fans are being discarded. That is his LEGACY, something he should be proud of, through that character and that pairing, he and C made a difference, and I do not understand why it needs to constantly be chipped away.  

I have to say the thing that strikes me the most is how obtuse she is about what Glee was the end. It was a mess. I loved Glee but most of the fun by the end was the amazing fanfiction, Fanon Klaine and fandom itself. It was fun to get the song sneak peeks and BTS photos and videos. It was amazing to be a part of a fandom of people who loved what I did. It is amazing to be part of the Chris and Darren stanclub.  But Glee...it was a disaster. .

Leka proves some context for “White Christmas is Sacred” and notice how how many are gifs: 

leka-1998

Excuse you.

WC is so much more than just a song.

(She does know this is a scripted moment right? Darren didn’t actually travel to NYC from Lima with Chris’s dad and someone told him when to skate, what to say, what to sing.). 

“It’s been a whirlwind, but amazing. We got to film at the ice skating rink in Bryant Park, which was just incredible. It was one of the best filming experiences I’ve ever had.”

- Ch/ris Col/fer

(Yes, Darren laid down on the carpet and took a picture of Chris which was  about the most cc thing that happened in 11 hours)

(I have no doubt that these three gifs were created from 1 or 2 seconds of real-time video. These images created the false impression that they spent the day together, gleefully skating and being intimate. Not too long ago, I read a cc post that claimed “Darren spent the day taking care of Chris”.  No, not true- see the videos below for a more realistic representation of the day). )  

#truly this really upsets me

(I guess she is reminding us of how much they mean to the world- eye roll.)  

I tried finding a long video on YouTube-ideally much of the day or even just big chucks of the day but *surprise* nobody bothered to upload that snooze fest. If the day was actually the cc riot the posse believes it was, there would be an 11-hour complication video.

I did find some video that accurately represents what I remember. Basically just imagine 11 hours of the following: 

Chris was pretty shaky when they started skating but by the time they filmed, he was much better. I cannot imagine being on skates for 11- shaky- hours.

Chris skating alone, trying to get more comfortable with skating before filming.

That’s it! That s the totality of what is posted on YouTube from the “Riot”.

The conversation continues; 

Anonymous asked:

White Christmas is literally one of the most cliché christmas songs. The album is just Lea's favorites. Darren has sung White Christmas before and he sounded amazing so it's only natural she would invite him to sing it with her. I get the a lot of things can be frustrating, but good god you all being THIS upset about it is the reason why everyone mock our fandom. It's not even baby it's could outside. At least we know for sure chris is going to be mentioned at some point during the promo.

ajw720 answered: (in victim mode)

Why do you care if I am this upset?  Seriously, let them mock me, they have blogs dedicated to hating me and posts multiple times a day.  I am over it, they are the ones with the sad lives who actually give me power.  

(Nope, not dedicated to “hating you”, I simply debunk your “facts” and “proof” beaus they are not evidence of CrissColfer; Yes, this is unfortunately a negative side effect to disproving your lies- you don’t care if the attention is negative or positive- you just like the attention. But pointing out the lies and misinformation is more important to me ) 

I can be upset, I think it is a complete slap in the face. there are like 3000 christmas songs, there are THREE that are sacred.   And yes, D should have sad no.  We sit here and swallow everything, including having “D” himself mock and yell at our fandom on SM.  And I virtually defend everything he does, probably to a fault, including holding out that person as his wife. This was easily avoidable.

(well at least you acknowledge that Darren calls out your fandom for their bad behavior on social media. Now would be a good time to really analyze why you think that is. Really sit down and think about why Darren would mock your fandom without a gif or a screenshot to zoom in on. What would drive him to be angry at a ccer?) . 

Sorry, not sorry, don’t like, post on your own blog and stop reading mine if you don’t like the way i represent. Happy to pace the torch. 

(Wow she is happy to pass the torch? Right. ) 

notes-from-nowhere

(Notes comes in and tries to soothe Abby’s fragile nerves).

So, I feel the need to say something. I’m not that much upset for the song mostly because I think it may be the song D picked out if those presented to him so I don’t fully like the idea but it could have been worse. At least all of the involved knows the meaning of the song.

What bothers me though is this kind of attitude, anon. This urgency to come here and to tell to another person what/how/when she should feel about something. Trying to put a weight on it or to dismissed the rightfulness of her feelings.

If this is how she (and everyone else) feels about this, she has the right and the freedom to say it out loud without having to face someone else’s judgement because maybe she has another opinion.

(and the anon has the right to say what she feels-see how that works?)

There are different ways to approach a person to communicate so please next time, think better.

ajw720

Thank you @notes-from-nowhere, hard to believe, the above was at least more respectful than this anon:

This is why I left the fucking fanbase. I still very much agree with the same views and ideas that all of you have, but jesus christ, it’s a SONG. Calm down. I’m just happy whenever D does something that doesn’t envolve PBB. Getting so upset because D is singing a song that he sang with C. Maybe he’s doing it because it reminds him of the Bryant Park shoot? Maybe? Good god, everything is the apocalypse to you guys. Leaving was the best thing I’ve ever done.

I want to remind everyone, I am the one, with a handful of people, keeping this fandom alive and supporting D&C daily,. And just like i can praise them, i can tell them when they hurt me.  This hurt. Maybe I am being overly dramatic and if this was isolated, i would say yes. This is not isolated, it is a continued effort to erase K/laine and CC.  As has been pointed out, not only did they offend K/laine fans in general, it is a knock at our fandom who still to this day celebrate the skating riot.

(Oh lord, she reminds us she is the HBIC, sacrificing everything to keep the fandom together. I love that she believes this is “supporting D&C daily”. Nobody needs to be told the suck everyday.  She support them and so she can criticize them but nonnie cannot criticize her. That makes perfect sense) 

Again literally THOUSANDS of songs to choose from.  Not even sure why L would EVER want to compete with C, but in this case, the fault doesn’t lie with her.  D should have said no.  

(I don’t think Lea is too worried about putting up her vocal chops against Chris’.  The both have great voices)

I am not going to say anything else and just accept that yet another of D’s 2019 projects is something i won’t ever see or hear.  

(once again it’s all about her and her hurt feelings. But this response is at least rationale-if you don’t like the project- skip it. It isn’t Darren’s responsibly to provide 100% Abby approved content)   

I really hope things are going to change, I really, really do.

(But they aren’t..they really aren’t.  This is Darren’s life and I know it’s super stressful because you are trying to hard to make his life work with yours and it just won't You both have very conflicting and opposing goals for Darren’s life. Here’s a protip: Go on a gif-free and zoomed-photo-free diet for a few months. Analyze the information at face value. Learn what PR really means and see how things look.If for no other reason than your own sanity. Stop trying to shove the square peg in the round hole 

#please do not send any more asks on this topic

#i am very upset

ajw720

My feelings aside, WHY in the world would LM EVER want to compete with this? Sorry, but it won’t be half as good. Stupid move and that is trying to remove my bias.

(Her thought processes never ceases to amaze me. Abby and Trump- they start criticizing and they just can’t stop. Lea gets to make her own decisions about what songs she sings, who she’s competitive with, whether she wants to take a chance and put herself out there or not. It just isn’t anyone else’s business. Chris has a beautiful voice but Lea has a stunning voice-she isn’t worried. This is right up there with her criticisms of TSG’s air conditioning, drink names, theme nights and every comment she’s made about a bar she will never go to. 

[dumdeeedum]

Here we go with the bullshit from the show-runners and the fandom.

No, stop it. What we’re not going to do is pretend that the show-runners and producers have any good will toward you now, do not start coming with the bullshit and excuses for these people just because they tossed you some nonsense pr “apology.” 

This was a premeditated act over year in the making, over a year in the making! Please fucking hear me! This is a team of very well off people who have the resources to have gone and spoken to experts and gotten advice and feedback on what they were planning to do to make sure they weren’t handling it in a completely insensitive way, instead they thought they were above it and this is the result.

They betrayed their cast and most egregious they betrayed a queer cast member and forced him (he’s on contract) to participate in baiting and betraying the community he belongs to. All of this, over a year in the making and with no remorse.

They didn’t have to include any of the poorly thought out content they did but creating shock value was more important to them than their own integrity, the integrity and relationships of the cast members with their higher ups and with one another, and the integrity of the story they were (barely) trying to tell.

Make no mistake, this was all done for shock value and to fuck over certain marginalized communities after courting the views of said marginalized communities with the illusion that they’d give them good representation and the delusion that people give enough of a shit about spoilers for this show that they had to apply a gag order on one of their core cast members and hide this from the rest of the cast. 

They wrote a story-line where they fucked over almost all of their main female characters, including diving right back into consent issue territory, queer-baited the lgbtqa community, and then made a clinically depressed character they’d (poorly) revealed as being queer decide to kill himself using entirely too many don’ts from any “how to depict suicide responsibly in media” handbook. They did all of this happily, proudly, and with intent. And now they’re lying about it by pretending they “hear you,” by pretending they give a shit about what their audience thinks about their choices as show-runners, and by pretending they give a shit about how it affected the communities they intentionally fucked over.  

Remember that even as they claim they were “away from social media” they were basking in the small amount of praise they got for their decisions by liking the positive commentary and ignoring the negative or blocking people who gave them negative feedback. That’s not giving a shit.

They’re trying to gaslight the communities they fucked over into believing that they give a shit about said communities when they’ve spent a year planning to betray them; please understand that!

The intellectual dishonesty and readiness to excuse this behavior is fucking baffling to me. For the life of me I cannot understand why people are so eager to accept the responses from these show-runners and producers that clearly contradict everything they’ve been setting in motion, intentionally, for a year!

They had a year to hear members of these communities but they didn’t even seek the advice! Their egos are so inflated that they knew you’d do just this and try to find ways to excuse their behavior when they give you these half-assed, obtuse apologies! This is psychopathic, abusive behavior!

Frankly, I’m surprised the network hasn’t stepped in at this point and asked them to step down but seeing as how one of the executive producers is coming with the bullshit caping, I’m completely unsurprised that these people will keep their jobs and continue to thrive after this.

And the worse part of all of this is that this was intentionally homophobic, sexist, and ableist behavior that they are now trying to excuse. And they’re not even just trying to excuse this behavior they’re trying to convince you that it was actually good for you and that you’re somehow fucking crazy or stupid for not seeing it their way and accepting it. That’s gas-lighting, that’s abuse. They want you to thank them for using their power against marginalized communities to hurt them. That’s what this is and every single thing they’ve said during this and in its aftermath speaks to just this. Go read those interviews with these show-runners again if you need a reminder of what they think of you and what they think of themselves.

I, for one, am convinced that these people are racist, sexist, homophobic, and ableist trash and they know this about one another and encourage one another because that’s the only reason I can think of for why this was allowed to go down the way it did. Even if I thought intent mattered when you put this ugly shit into the world, I believe this was intentional, this was not accidental, they didn’t do this not understanding the negative consequences for the communities it impacted. Why else do you all think that no one, no one can figure out why they did this from a narrative or social standpoint without delving into a nonsense, easily debunked reason for it or a to be deliberately cruel reason for it! Look at the overwhelmingly negative reviews of this season if you don’t believe that people can’t make sense of this! The only people who see this as some sort of good direction for this show are the people who belong to the hegemonic groups that don’t get it either because they don’t want to get it or because they agree with the mean-spirited intent. Period.

Try to think of one good reason why they, for example, even had to have episode 4.5 go the way it did, I’ll wait.

No, if you’re trying to find excuses to watch next season or to justify what they did let me tell you: don’t. There’s no good reason for either one of those things and you’ll just be doing yourselves and your communities a disservice. They need to experience negative consequences and you have to see yourselves and your communities as powerful enough to bring those consequences about even if you’re not sure it’ll do anything because they’re counting on your complacency to continue to behave this way while wielding the power they do. 

Please believe me when I tell you that I’m not looking to “hate” or start shit. I don’t identify as queer but I am a woman who has severe depression along with other disabilities and I understand the hideously negative impact these things have on the lives of people who experience them. I understand the desire for an escape that doesn’t go out of its way to undermine my experiences and my feelings for shock value and profit. 

I also go out of my way to understand the perspectives of other types of people and to try to empathize with their feelings when they’re fucked over in a world already set up to work against them. I do not take this lightly; seeing people suffer is not fun for me the way it is for these show-runners. 

So take all of this how you will and make your own decisions about how you’ll proceed but do so by applying critical analysis to this situation because these things are perpetuated when people don’t respond in thoughtful, impactful ways.

[superrman]

The One Where Superman Doesn’t Realize He is Dating Batman

Clark Kent lived an ordinary life, and he liked it that way. He was perfectly content in the background. And even though Superman was one of the most recognizable heroes in the world, he was just a straightforward guy. Nothing out of the ordinary ever really happened to him. Clark was able to predict almost every event in his personal life.

Yet somehow his life changed considerably without him even realizing it.

It all started on the Watchtower.

A03

Clark loved watching Batman in the tower. It was so interesting, he was trying so hard to publicly keep everyone at arm's length, but he couldn’t fool anyone. It was clear he knew everything that was happening in everyone's life, and not just because he was Batman, but because he cared.

Batman was always first to check how that sick relative was doing or to see how that new self defense move was going. Need a costume upgrade? Batman already has three designs in the works. For a man who said he was a loner, Batman sure did care about a lot of people. Clark loved constantly reminding Bruce he was the most popular league member.

Clark knew he had been head over heels in love with Bruce for years. His feelings just creeped up on him one day and since then Clark had just accepted them as a constant. After all how could he not love Bruce, his partner, his friend. Clark was also aware that Bruce didn’t love him back. The potential for romance was there as Bruce was quite open about how he was attracted to all types of people and aliens. But attraction was almost always all Bruce was able to handle. He avoided anyone who he could possibly have a relationship with. Clark knew the second Bruce figured out Clark had feelings for him, he would slowly try to discourage him. Clark was sure telling Bruce was not an option. His heart couldn’t take it, but he still wanted to spend more time with Bruce, just as Clark and Bruce. Clark couldn’t let go of the hope of one day.

Batman spooked easily. Even after years of fighting side by side, he was still skittish when Clark approached him about just personal business. But Clark knew that Bruce cared about him. He had complete access to the Batcave, he was one of two league members that ever really ventured into Gotham, and, of course, Clark knew that Bruce was Batman. Batman safeguarded his identity so fiercely, not to protect himself but to protect others. The original seven weren’t allowed to reveal who they were to others. Clark could remember the meeting like it was yesterday.

So many junior league members were up in arms, they felt as if they were left out. Batman was not one to let a meeting get out of hand, especially because of a Lantern.

Batman stood up so firmly and said, ‘every villain wants to be the one to take down one if not all the original members, but it is common knowledge that even other members don’t know our identities, this protects you more than it protects us. Do you want to have a target on your back that’s the size of Superman? You get tortured enough about your business you don’t want someone torturing you to figure out who Superman is?’

Clark had wanted to laugh as if he was the biggest target of the league, as if it wasn’t Bruce that was the biggest threat. Bruce sure had command of room then, and even now, Batman emanated control and leadership.

Clark just knew in his bones friendship wasn’t enough, that they could be different...better even. He just had to move things forward...somehow.

Clark hadn’t really thought past the first step, but he had to start somewhere, spending time with Bruce regardless was a plus. Clark was always happier with him than without him. They had done it more and more since Clark had come back from the dead, but still, it was always after a mission or just on the Watchtower, Clark wanted more normal events...he knew he’d have to ask though.

“Any reason you’re staring at Bats again?” Barry asked.

Clark hated being snuck up on, and the fact he was Superman meant that it was very rare. He really had to be distracted.

“I’m not staring at anyone.” Clark said knowing full well this wasn’t the end of the conversation.

“Sure, sure,” Barry laughed. “Why are you looking with all your focus at Batman, so hard that I was able to get right next to you without you noticing, then?”

Clark sighed. “I’m walking away now, Flash.”

“Have fun not staring at Batman!” Barry shouted, clearly loud enough for Batman to hear.

If Clark didn’t love Barry so much, he’d sure be annoyed by the kid.

Batman walked over to him, no indication that he heard, let alone cared that Barry said Clark had been staring. Hell, Clark was sure that Bruce was already aware that he had been staring.

“Superman,” Batman started, stoic as ever. “Something on your mind?”

Clark rubbed his neck, a nervous Clark Kent habit; despite being suited up, his personal ticks never quite disappeared all together. Super spy he was not.

“Oh, nothing, really, I was actually wondering, no, hoping that you wanted to grab coffee with me?” Clark put on his best smile, the one his Ma said that no one in their right mind could turn down. Lois always said dimples could bring any man to his knees.

“Coffee, really?” Bruce said. If it was anyone but Batman, Clark would think that the tone conveyed slight nerves. Clark was sure Bruce was just confused.

“Well, yeah, we have been spending a lot of time together recently, and it's been pretty amazing.” Clark didn’t want to beat around the bush, he wanted Bruce to know that he was his friend, and that meant spending time outside of costumes was mandatory. “I think we have finally progressed past just crime fighting duo, we should take the next step.”

“Which is coffee?” Batman said.

Clark wanted to laugh. Man, could Bruce not handle social situations sometimes, he was so obtuse in certain cases. “Well it's a possible step, it gets us out of these costumes, and lets us be together just as two guys, you know. I mean I am up for other things, but coffee is a classic.”

Batman frowned for a moment, and that made Clark hesitate, maybe he had read the situation wrong, and late night Gotham rooftop chats were just that. Or more likely he had pushed friendship on Bruce too fast. It looked like Bruce was weighing the pros and cons, Clark couldn’t imagine what cons Bruce had come up with.

But then Batman smiled, a soft smile, Clark wasn’t used to that smile very often, it was mostly reserved for the batkids, or when Barry did something unbelievably cute. It was so endearing

“Coffee it is, then. I’ll let you know when some time frees up this weekend?”

Clark beamed he wanted to do a little fist pump, but that would just weird Bruce out, and he’d probably back out.

“Fantastic, can’t wait. You can pick a good spot, since you know Gotham like the back of your hand. I can just meet you at the manor.”

Batman nodded, and walked away back to being full on business mode.

***

Clark stood in front of his bedroom window in Metropolis, he was on the phone with Lois, telling her about the fact he was grabbing coffee with Bruce. Despite Batman’s no telling identities rule, Lois knew everyone's. Clark had reasoned with Bruce because if he didn’t tell Lois, she would have investigated on her own and found out, which would have been a bigger problem for Bruce. Lois didn’t let anything stop her from finding the truth.

“I don’t know where we are going, Lois, I trust him to pick a good spot in Gotham,” Clark responded.

“Well, I mean, you asked him, it's customary for you to have picked the spot, that’s all I’m saying,” Lois retorted on the phone.

“Please, I know Bruce, the more control you give him, the better,” Clark laughed.

Lois laughed with him, which was a positive sign Clark thought. “Well, as long as you know when to take the lead, that's all that matters.”

“Don’t worry, Lois, it's just coffee, I’ll be fine,” Clark mumbled. “Anyways, I gotta get to the manor.”

Clark climbed out of the fire escape, and scanned as always to see if anyone was in the alley below. When he didn’t see anyone around, he took off his shirt and pants, stuffed them in his bag, and took off.

Clark slowed down and settled right in front of the manor. He was careful to land so as not to disturb even the smallest of the flowers. Clark knew the amount of effort that went into maintaining the grounds, he was not about to get on Alfred's bad side now. He had finally gotten to Master Clark, instead of Master Kent.

Not as gracefully, Clark put on his pants, and began to button his shirt. Contrary to popular belief Clark didn’t purposely wrinkle his clothes for his Clark Kent persona, they were just a byproduct of the fact he stuffed all of his clothes in his bag for when he was Superman.

Clark finished buttoning up his shirt, and after two failed attempts to get out any of the wrinkles, he knocked on the door. But he was sure that Bruce knew he was there from the moment he touched down.

Surprisingly, though, it was Bruce that opened the door. Bruce was not in any way disheveled. His shirt was perfectly pressed, and his pants the height of fashion, his shoes cost more than Clark could make in a month. He looked the picture of billionaire playboy.

“Just on time, Clark.” Bruce smiled. “You look good.”

Clark was sure Bruce was teasing him, and laughed. “You look perfect, as always.”

Bruce smiled slightly, and nodded. Bruce clearly knew he looked perfect.

Bruce led the way to one of his many cars. “Mind if I drive? I don’t really plan on flying anywhere today.”

“Not a problem, where are we going?” Clark asked.

Bruce slid into the driver's seat. “This little cafe near Wayne Enterprises, it's a nice quiet spot in the city, makes a mean apple pie, which I know you love.”

Clark loved when Bruce paid attention to small things. “I am sure it’s good for Gotham, but nothing beats Kansas pie.”

Normally, Bruce would defends Gotham’s pie, but instead he chuckled quietly. “You will need to prove that to me one day.”

Clark was ecstatic, he had always wanted to take Bruce to Kansas for something non league or his death related. “Count on it.”

Clark fiddled with the radio, while Bruce drove far above the speed limit. They had been partners for so long that they were so comfortable in each others silence.

They arrived at the cafe, far faster than they should’ve.

“Don’t you ever worry that you draw too much attention with your driving?” Clark asked.

“Please, as a billionaire with sports cars, if I drove the speed limit, it would be the news story.” Bruce smirked.

“I bet you say that because you're incapable of driving reasonably,” Clark laughed, as he got out.

“I always drive reasonably, farm boy,” Bruce laughed.

The pair walked into the cafe. Clark was expecting a lot of head turns, but no one really noticed. Clark assumed it was because Bruce did come here often. It was right next to his office.

They settled into a booth in the back. After they ordered their coffees and pie.

Clark was glad that the conversation moved beyond the basics of small talk. Bruce was surprisingly open. Whenever Clark asked a question about Alfred, or the kids, or just what Bruce liked, he would answer. It was so nice to have Bruce so relaxed for once.

Bruce just finished telling a story of how Dick would always climb the big backyard tree as a kid, and when he saw Damian do the same thing, he nearly had a fit, saying how unsafe it was. Bruce was always the most sincere talking about his kids.

“Did you remind Dick that he used to do the same thing?” Clark smiled along,

“Of course, but that didn’t calm him down, he went on about how it's different cause the tree is older now and it has to be more brittle, and that I should watch Damian more closely he is just a child. Never mind when he was ten, Dick felt like he was ready to face the whole criminal underworld, and I had to constantly hold him back.” Bruce smiled fondly at the memory of easier times.

“They grow fast, huh?” Clark noted.

“They do.” Bruce smiled, it reached his eyes, and there was such a twinkle in them, Clark wished he could freeze this expression on Bruce’s face. It was who he was behind all of his various masks.

Clark was forced back into reality, when Bruce’s phone went off.

Bruce sighed and pulled it out. Gone was his smile. In its place was a harder expression that only meant trouble.

“Bat business?” Clark asked.

Bruce nodded.

“Don’t worry, we can pick this up another time.” Clark smiled. Out of costume bonding was too amazing to not be repeated.

“That sounds nice.” Bruce smiled. Bruce pulled out his wallet, Clark waved him off. “I invited you out, and I am pretty sure I can afford some coffee and pies.”

“Fine, but next time is my treat.” Bruce responded.

“Then we definitely should do dinner.” Clark laughed.

“Done. I’ll text you.” Bruce smiled and moved forward, leaning in. Clark instantly froze, was Bruce Wayne actually going in for a hug? But his phone buzzed before Clark could find out.

Bruce groaned. “Next time.”

Clark watched as Bruce rushed out, pleased at how well the night had gone.

***

Clark was sitting at his desk at the Planet, not really working, just re-reading an article he had finished. Clark hated the waiting part of journalism, there wasn’t much he could do for his next story until his source got back to him.

His phone buzzed, Clark looked to see who it was. Better than his source, it was Bruce.

Bruce: Sorry our night got cut short again. I was hoping to take you to dinner tmw night if you are free?

Clark was euphoric, he didn’t even need to remind Bruce, Bruce wanted to hang out again all on his own!

Clark: Sure sounds like a plan, I am done work around 6:00pm, I can be in Gotham around 6:15?

Bruce: I thought I’d come to your city this time. I will pick you up at the planet, wear something nice.

“Texting your boyfriend Kent?” Lois approached, smirking at him.

Clark laughed. “No, just Bruce, we’re grabbing dinner tomorrow.”

Clark: Just how nice are we talking, I think our definitions vary.

“So why are you smiling so much?” Lois asked.

“I just like that I don’t have to push anymore, I think Bruce actually likes spending time with me. It’s a good feeling.” Clark wondered why Lois was smiling like that, she always looked like she knew more than him, which was normally the case, but still.

“Okay, Smallville, have fun at your not date with Bruce.” Lois walked off, she probably had a million things to do for her stories anyways.

Bruce: Nothing wrinkled and a tie, but don’t worry you always look great, even in off the rack.

Clark: Well I will try to look my best, since I have to be seen with the Prince of Gotham, you always look like you stepped off the pages of a magazine.

“Kent, if that isn’t story related, I am going to throw your phone out a window!” Perry yelled, he had popped his head of his office for his mid morning screaming fit. Clark: Got to focus Perry’s looking for his daily target, can’t wait to see you tmw.

Bruce: Have a good day at work Clark :)

Clark couldn’t believe that Bruce texted him an emoji. But then again, the man had teenagers he was probably better versed in emojis than he was, after all it was just a smiley face. Clark had to get over the idea of Batman texting a smiley face, he would burst out laughing in the middle of the Planet, and Perry would kill him for sure.

The next day Clark brought a change of clothes with him to work, he wasn’t going to risk letting his shirt get wrinkled if there was a surprise Superman emergency. Knowing Bruce this restaurant was going to be super fancy, and not a place that they’d respond well to dishevelled Clark Kent.

Thankfully, no supervillain, or regular criminal decided to mess up the day for Clark. At 6:00pm on the dot Bruce in a different but equally expensive car pulled up.

It looked like Bruce was about to get out, but Clark just got in.

“I’m starving, been looking forward to this dinner all day.” Clark smiled at Bruce, who did indeed look like he had gotten his outfit out of the pages of Vogue.

“Why Mister Kent you do clean up nice.” Bruce said after he gave him a once over. The way Bruce looked at him, Clark couldn’t deny he got a little hot under the collar. Clark always seemed to be reminded that Bruce was indeed attractive, the man oozed sex appeal, and Clark wasn’t above being affected. He wondered how Bruce was able to always be so potent?

“Why, thank you, Mister Wayne.” Clark laughed, hoping he wasn’t blushing. He had done his best to always keep his attraction to himself, he was not prepared to always be teased about this by his best friend. Not until he was certain that Bruce thought of him in more than just a friendship way, and right now, Clark knew it was a pipe dream.

“The reservation is for six thirty, at the Plaza,” Bruce smiled. “I also have a room there for the night.”

“Of course you do, you know you are always welcome at my place.” Clark reminded Bruce, though he couldn’t imagine Bruce crashing on his couch, it seemed too crazy.

“That’s good to know.” Bruce smiled, there was a certain intensity in his eyes Clark couldn't quite place.

Bruce shouldn’t have been able to make the reservation but even in Metropolis traffic he was somehow able to do the impossible.

The valet opened the door for Bruce.

“Evening, Mr. Wayne, everything is ready for you.”

Clark wanted to laugh, he couldn’t imagine the kind of connections Bruce had. It still floored him that Bruce risked all the luxury in the world to help people, he put his life on the line, when he could live like a King. Hell he probably could live better than royalty.

Clark looked at the Plaza Hotel, it was beautiful.

Clark felt Bruce’s hand on his back guiding him in. Bruce was never one for patience.

“Don't worry I am not that distracted.” Clark said to Bruce.

Bruce just chuckled in Clark’s ear. “I just want to get you all to myself.”

They sat down at a table in the corner, it was gorgeous. Clark knew he’d never be able to afford even an appetizer here.

“I knew you’d pick a place where if you have to ask how much it is you can’t afford it.” Clark laughed.

“I wanted to treat you to something special.” Bruce smiled. “Is that so bad?”

Clark’s heart swelled, “Not at all, I have been thinking about this meal all day.”

The meal was amazing, Clark really didn’t understand the complexities of the wine and veal pairing, but he knew that he liked it. The conversation was so wonderfully normal, Clark was having the time of his life. Clark talked about the stories he was working on at the planet, how his friends in Kansas were doing, the funny things Perry had yelled at people that week. Bruce told him how the board at Wayne Enterprises was hounding him as always, the fact his kids were driving him crazy, and the newest charity Bruce had decided to spearhead.

“Did you enjoy yourself Clark?” Bruce asked, as they finished up this fantastic French dessert that Clark couldn’t even pronounce.

“Of course, Bruce, this was fantastic.” Clark smiled.

“Good, Alfred was worried I was picking a place you wouldn’t like, but I told him that I am a grown man that can pick a place for a dinner date.” Bruce chuckled. It always amused Clark that no matter how old Bruce got, Alfred always treated him as if he was still 12 years old. He was the only man in the world who could get away with it.

Wait, did Bruce say this was a date?

“Alfred was teasing you about this being a date too, it must be going around. Lois was on my case for a few about you as well.” Clark laughed.

“Yes, well you think that’s bad, when my kids find out we are dating, they’re going to have a field day,” Bruce stated, so matter of fact that Clark felt his brain short circuit comically.

“What do you mean, when they find out we are dating?” Clark spluttered.

“Don’t worry, Clark, they won’t threaten you too much, but they are going to find out, hiding who Bruce Wayne is dating is a lot of work, it seems unnecessary at this point. I was thinking we have a family dinner of some kind, that way it's out of the way.” Bruce took a sip of his wine.

Clark just sat there for a moment, what was going on, was Bruce playing some joke on him? Did he find out about his crush, and didn’t understand this wasn’t funny?

“We are dating?” Clark asked again.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “What else do you call this? Really, Clark, I didn’t think you were the kind of guy that was scared by labels, especially those as simple as dating.”

Clark was working double time to control his features, he didn’t want to convey the internal panic he was currently experiencing. “First off, I have no fear of labels, I am perfectly fine with labels, in fact, I love labels.”

“Good, so why are you freaking out right now?” Bruce asked, he was clearly amused.

“When did we start dating?” Clark took a deep calming breath.

“When you asked me out, and I said yes,” Bruce explained slowly as if to a child.

“Was I there?” Clark asked because he swore he would remember asking Bruce Wayne out on a date!

“Clark, are you serious right now?” Bruce laughed. “You asked me out for coffee.”

“Yes, coffee?” Clark repeated.

“You wanted to see me out of the costume,” Bruce airquoted. “Everyone knows asking someone out for coffee is a universal metaphor for I’d like to bone in the future.”

“I didn’t,” Clark muttered. “I thought coffee was just coffee.”

Thinking back, Clark realized he was the one that was obtuse.

“I can’t believe I didn’t realize I asked you out.” Clark felt so defeated, like his carefully laid plan of first friendship, then gradually testing the waters to see if Bruce was even interested, and then maybe, maybe, asking him out was completely out of the water. So, it wasn’t a good plan but still.

Bruce didn’t look amused anymore, he looked worried. “Wait, did you not want to ask me out?”

“Of course I wanted to ask you out, but I also wanted to be aware of the fact I did. Like I always complain that you can’t read social situations, and yet here I am on our second date, and didn’t even realize it.” Clark huffed.

Bruce cracked and laughed, a good loud laugh, he so rarely let go that often.

“Haha, laugh it up, Wayne.” Clark mumbled. This was great, he was never going to live this down.

“I mean, this is hilarious, but you are a great date without knowing you’re on a date, what's Clark Kent like when he does know that?” Bruce was still chuckling.

You know, if it made Bruce this happy, Clark was perfectly fine with it, he loved making Bruce laugh regardless of what he was laughing at.

“Well, I always walk my date home, and there are always flowers involved,” Clark began, which made Bruce chuckle more.

“Classics, of course, I should have been tipped off from the start,” Bruce smiled.

“I am a classic man,” Clark stated without any shame.

“That’s good to know,” Bruce smirked. Bruce reached out and held Clark’s hand, stroking it softly. “As it turns out boy scouts are my type, especially the ones who are so charming that they don’t realize it.”

Clark smiled. “Bruce Wayne would you like to go out on another date with me?”

“Who says this one is over?” Bruce chuckled.

Bruce raised his other hand, signalling for the check.

“I have plenty of plans for tonight remember.” Bruce’s electrifying smirk, made Clark very glad he hadn’t know this was a date, he would have worried too much and not enjoyed what was the most normal feeling in the world: spending time with Bruce.

***

Clark opened his eyes slowly, for a brief second he didn’t recognize where he was, and then he realized he was in the plaza hotel. Clark closed his eyes immediately, afraid it was all a dream.

The way Bruce kissed him, so gentle, unimaginable hands that could cause such pain could grant such pleasure. The way Bruce laughed as he had taken his glasses off. The slow, but powerful fall into ecstasy between the two of them.

Clark was almost sure it was a dream, except for the fact that he had accidentally asked out Bruce, it was so ridiculous that Clark knew it must have happened.

Clark let his sense absorb the room, he could smell Bruce, hear his heartbeat, his footsteps meant that he was already awake. There was the smell of coffee, and eggs. And the soft hum of a laptop. Of course Bruce was working, the man had no concept of sleeping in. He heard the dip of a couch cushion.

“Good morning.” Clark moaned softly. He finally opened his eyes properly

“He’s awake, finally,” Bruce said, lounging on the sofa across from the bed. Clark didn’t think he had seen a more beautiful sight; Bruce wearing an unbuttoned shirt, and black boxer briefs, sipping coffee, with disheveled hair.

“I could get used to waking up to such a gorgeous view.” Clark smiled. Perfectly content in this moment.

Bruce looked at him so intently. “Hopefully you do get used to it.”

Clark laughed. “I can’t believe we are dating.”

“Well, we are.” Bruce said matter of factly, as he walked over to Clark, smiling as he leaned down and kissed him.

Clark moaned into the kiss.

“Even better than the view,” he murmured slowly as Bruce pulled away.

“Not to cut the moment short or anything, but don’t you have a day job that you can get fired from for being late?” Bruce asked innocently.

Clark panicked. Shit, shit, shit, the clock showed he had 3 minutes to get to work.

Without even thinking, Clark super sped to the shower, and grabbed his clothes as quickly as he could. In 45.9 seconds he was ready to go.

“That was very amusing.” Bruce chuckled softly. Clark just huffed, not everyone was their own boss. “Are you always this disorganized?”

“Well, sorry, my first priority wasn’t setting an alarm last night, I do have to run though.” Clark stated, he had to fly home and grab some additional papers before he went into the office.

“Just so you know, the planet is one of the papers I own, you have job security.” Bruce laughed as he turned back to his laptop.

Clark just rolled his eyes, he was pretty sure Bruce bought as many companies that league members were employed at as he could, just so no one would lose their job on account of their extra curricular activities, not that they knew that it was Bruce Wayne keeping them from being fired.

“Oh, and yes to that family dinner, I don’t want this to be another secret to keep.” Clark said before he flew out the window, fast enough that no human would be able to see him.

--0--

Clark made into work just in time. He couldn’t keep the giant smile off his face, he was just so happy. Everything in his life seemed to be working out perfectly. He had gotten the man he loved to date him by accident, that man who always seemed to run the other way from emotional entanglements was the one who was moving the relationship forward. Everything seemed perfect.

The elevator doors opened, and every head turned. Clark had a initial moment of panic, he was out, everyone knew he was Superman.

“Dude, are you boning Bruce fucking Wayne?”

Clark felt a sigh of relief come on, it wasn’t that bad, wait….how did people already know?

“I...wait….what?” Everyone was staring which meant this wasn’t a joke, how did people already know?

“GET BACK TO WORK!” Perry shouted. “AND KENT IN MY OFFICE NOW!”

Clark wondered if dating the technical boss could actually get him in trouble with his real boss.

“Umm...hi Perry...Good morning.” Clark tried to smile.

Perry was sitting behind his desk, already annoyed at him.

“Do you know how annoying it is to get scooped in the gossip section?” Perry asked.

“Um...do you really care?” Clark asked. Perry never gave a damn about gossip, he always said you could make something up in an hour so it wasn’t news worth his attention.

“Well I do care Kent! I care very much when the competition finds out that Clark Kent, a Daily PLANET REPORTER, MY REPORTER, IS DATING BRUCE WAYNE!”

Wow Clark thought, if he wasn’t getting reamed this would be pretty funny. Who reported that they were dating?

“Just quickly, how do you know we are dating?” Clark asked timidly.

The question clearly pissed Perry off more. “You idiots went to the Plaza, and never left, his car is still there! Every gossip reporter knows when Wayne comes to town, you looked like a fucking romcom come to life!”

“In my defense Perry, I didn’t know we were dating till last night either, so I couldn’t really have given anyone the scoop.” Clark saw Perry roll his eyes.

“Are you shitting me, Kansas?” Perry asked.

“Look I hadn’t realized I had asked him out, we were friends after all, but if you want an exclusive or something, I am sorry but I won’t use Bruce for a story. You know me, Perry, so if that’s all, I have a source to vet.” Clark said.

Despite Perry’s many tirades at Clark’s expense, he and Perry were friends.

“I know Kent, if he breaks your heart, I’ll rip him a new one, even if he owns the damn place.” Perry mumbled. “Just don’t let Cat get scooped again,just text her or something,or else she will have my balls.”

Clark laughed. “I’ll do my best.”

Clark walked out to the bullpen everyone was staring, but he ignored them and went to work.

He stealth texted Bruce

Clark: Cat’s out of the Bag, everyone knows we are dating

Bruce: I saw, and it looks like TMZ knew we were dating before you did

Clark: Har Har Bruce, we can deal with everything later I have story to finish, xx

Bruce: I knew you’d be the kind of guy to text xx, its adorable, have a good day x

Clark laughed, even if Bruce teased him, he reciprocated.

As the day went by, the stares died down. Clark knew they were all whispering about him, but he could easily tune it out.

Clark could almost pretend things were normal until the elevator opened and Dick Grayson walked through the door.

Dick was instantly recognizable. The first child Bruce Wayne ever adopted, the heir to the Wayne fortune turned cop. Despite, Dick’s lowkey life, he was still a Wayne. Heads turned when he entered a room.

Clark was instantly worried, was Bruce okay. The moment he heard Dick’s heartbeat, perfectly steady, he calmed down.

Dick walked right over to Clark, more serious then Clark was used to. Dick loved him, Clark knew that: the boy had Superman underwear, for crying out loud.

“I would like to talk to you Clark,” Dick stated, so business like that Clark was more than slightly confused.

“Sure Dick.” Clark nodded and led Dick to the rough top, away from prying eyes of the Planet reporters.

“What brings you to Metropolis?” Clark asked.

“Well, Clark, that's really simple.” Dick said. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?” Clark asked.

“Bruce of course, now that there is a change in your relationship, certain things have to be made clear,” Dick stated.

“Wait, are you here to threaten me?” Clark asked, smiling. Bruce had warned him.

“Threatening is so aggressive, just a warning really.” Dick stated.

“Seriously.” Clark laughed.

“Did I ever tell you the story about the first time Bruce talked about you?” Dick asked, now fully staring into Clark’s eyes. He had the Bat stare down pat, Clark thought.

“No.” Clark said. “But considering how our first few meetings went, I can bet it wasn’t pleasant.”

“He talked about how much of a threat you were, and that you could destroy the world on a whim,” Dick said cooly. “I thought you could do no wrong, but I was still a kid.”

“Well, I hope recent events have changed your view of me.” Clark said awkwardly, this was less cute.

“I am not a kid anymore, Clark. I know that Bruce isn’t perfect,” Dick stated. “But one thing he does better than anyone is train. He trained me to be able to take down any opponent, he entrusted me with every contingency he has.”

Shit, Clark thought, Bruce was one of the few people that could probably kill him, and he passed down that knowledge clearly...

“Dick, do you really think I would hurt Bruce?” Clark asked.

Dick shrugged. “All I know is that despite everything, I won’t let Bruce get hurt, and whenever he puts his heart out there, that tends to happen.”

“Well, I am pretty damn good at protecting things, I will do everything I can to keep him, and his heart, safe, as always.” Clark saw the flash of trust, and sighed in relief, Clark had a feeling that threatening anyone that was serious with Bruce was just a tradition.

“I’m sure you will, Clark, but just know this, Bruce can’t keep his nose out of our lives, and we return the favor, so this is a friendly reminder that I was always Bruce’s best student.” Dick flashed the signature Wayne smirk.

Clark sighed. Bruce clearly taught the kid how to threaten effectively.

“When you say our lives, does this mean I can expect threats from the rest of you Bats?” Clark huffed.

“Come on, Clark, you knew what you were getting into.” Dick laughed at him. “The only people allowed to hurt Bruce are in the family, he’s off limits to everyone else. This was a gentle reminder.”

“Well, it’s nice to see that you clearly love Bruce a lot,” Clark sighed. “I just hope you do know that I am not going to hurt him.”

Dick laughed. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings Clark. I guess I just worry about the old man. But I think finally going out with you was the smartest thing he has done in years, I am going to remind him not fuck this up too.”

Clark wondered if any of the Bats could do things casually.

“Buck up Clark, friendly warnings are all part of being a part of the family.” Dick slapped him on the back as he exited.

Clark sighed, he had a feeling this wasn’t the last threat of the day. But he was happy that he was a part of the family.

Clark pulled out his phone and called Bruce.

Bruce picked up on the third ring. “Hello, Bruce Wayne speaking.”

“Hi Bruce, just thought I’d let you know your son came here today and basically threatened to spear me with Kryptonite if I hurt you, just the way you taught him.” Clark laughed, god sometimes he forgot how much Dick was like Bruce.

“I see,” Bruce stated cryptically. “I did teach him to kill you but that was before I knew you, if that helps.”

“Bruce I know that, the more important thing here is apparently, I should expect all of your many children to threaten me.” Clark stated.

“They tend to do that, it drove Selina crazy.” Bruce chuckled slightly. “But I am sure Superman can handle a few kids that like to embarrass their dad.”

“I think you should teach them that most kids show embarrassing pictures not threaten murder,” Clark stated. “Not that I am telling you how to parent.”

“Noted,” Bruce responded, “But I want them to be creative.”

“Sure don’t want to quash that murderous instinct,” Clark moaned. “Especially when it’s not aimed at you.”

“Don’t worry about it, I doubt anyone will hurt you for real, they know who you are,” Bruce stated. “But I will let them know threatening you isn’t necessary.”

“Thanks.” Clark sighed, that was the best he was going to get. “But it is cute how much your kids protect you.”

“Bye, Clark” Bruce stated.

“You’re cute too.” Clark laughed as Bruce hung up on him. Threatening murder was fine, but acknowledging that you loved each other, that was too much for the Wayne crowd.

***

Clark had to deal with even more whispers and looks. Dick’s appearance had fanned the flames. Clark opened the Daily Planet Website, and there was his own paper reporting on his love life, mentioning how ‘Wayne’s infamous Ward paid the mild mannered reporter a visit, confirming the serious nature of the relationship.’

Clark looked at Perry’s office, he must be glad he wasn’t scooped this time. Clark sighed, and saw Lois walk over, no one would dare fuck with her, for that Clark was glad.

“Please protect me from my so called colleagues” Clark moaned.

“I can’t and you should know better than to let Dick Grayson visit.” Lois laughed.

“Do you think I asked, he came to warn me not to break Bruce’s heart, or else.” Clark rolled his eyes.

“Was it effective?” Lois asked.

Clark thought about how many ways Bruce had planned to kill him, he was pretty sure with the metric ton of Kryptonite he had stashed around, Dick would be able to finish what Bruce started. “To be honest, Lois, the kid could probably take me out.”

“And Dick’s the one that likes you the most.” Lois laughed. “You will have to give me details about this date, like all of them, we haven’t had a good old fashioned bitch session in a while. How about next week, we get wine and greasy food?”

“Perfect,” Clark smiled, what would he do without Lois Lane. “If Bruce’s kids let me live till then.”

“I am sure you can take it Clark,” Lois smiled, and headed back to her desk.

Why did neither Bruce or Lois take this seriously, Clark thought. Bruce’s kids had a penchant for causing maximum damage, even as Superman, Clark was sure that he did not have the upper hand.

Clark ducked out the parking garage, and cheated by using superspeed to avoid the reporters that were now interested in him.

Clark opened his front door, glad there were no reporters at his place.

Instantly he knew he wasn’t alone.

“Jason, I know you are here.” Clark sighed, the next kid up. No matter how many times Jason said he hated Bruce, and the entire family, here he was up next to remind Clark that being superhuman was no defense.

Jason came out in full Red Hood gear. Prepared, as always.

“How you doing Kent?” Clark wanted to laugh at how absurd this was but that would just annoy Jason more.

“Good, and yourself?” Clark asked. “Clearly having no problems breaking and entering.”

“Not really high on my list of worries.” Jason smirked

“I have cookies if you’d like some?” Clark asked, might as well have snacks while Jason threatened to murder him if he ever hurt Bruce.

“Anyone else and I’d say you are being condescending, but not sincere country charmer Clark Kent.” Jason rolled his eyes, and didn’t say no.

Clark went into the kitchen grabbed some cookies put them on a plate, and for good measure poured two cups of milk.

“Make yourself more at home, than you already have Jason!” Clark hollered.

When Clark was back in the living room, Jason was sitting on his sofa, it was so comical, all that armor, but his eyes still light up at the cookies, and he had no problem pigging out on them.

“So, not that I am not happy to see you, but you don’t have to worry about ensuring that I know not to hurt Bruce, Dick already got that covered.” Clark knew it was pointless, but he was hopeful that maybe somehow the kids would take pity on him.

“Please, Grayson has been obsessed with you longer than Bruce has,” Jason huffed.

“How long has Bruce been obsessed?” Clark asked. “Just out of curiosity.”

Jason just rolled his eyes.

“These cookies were good, but we should get down to business.” Jason smirked, they all had that same signature I am going to fuck you up smile.

“I thought Bruce was going to talk to you,” Clark sighed.

“He sent an email it was hilarious.” Jason pulled out his phone and showed him.

Clark couldn’t help but chuckle. The email Bruce had sent had the subject line ‘no threatening my boyfriend’ and the content was just please.

“Now, that is not as effective as this is going to be.” Jason stated.

“Okay, then, Red Hood.” Clark looked back at Jason.

“Look, the Old Man is an asshole, and watching him be heartbroken is hilarious, but sadly, as a Bat, can’t have the good name soiled, you know,” Jason started.

Clark cut him off. “More like you all love each other but just can’t admit it. But okay.”

Jason glared at him. “Please, this is about professional rep.”

“Can we please get to threatening, your milk is getting warm,” Clark fretted.

Jason while still directly staring into Clark’s eyes, chugged the entire cup of milk. Clark thought that was a tad excessive and in no way a display of dominance, as he was sure it was meant to be, but he didn’t want to hurt Jason’s feelings.

“As I was saying, Dick doesn’t have the guts to fill your apartment with Kryptonite and watch you die, and then launch your body into the sun for good measure, but me, I don’t have a weak constitution, and don’t mind doing the dirty work.” Jason smiled.

Clark scanned his apartment. Sure enough, on his pillow was a lead lined boxed. So Jason brought ammo with him to illustrate his point. He was going to have to talk to Bruce about securing his stash of Kryptonite.

“Btw, I can see that you figured out where my little gift is, and I wanted you to know that the moment we realized you two were dating we snaked some of Bruce’s stash, so do you feel moderately worried now?” Jason asked.

Clark laughed. Not the reaction Jason was expecting, Clark tell by his eyebrows alone. “I am not because as I told Dick, and I will tell you, I am not going to hurt Bruce. So I won’t have to worry about you all killing me over this, but I am keenly aware that you have all planned my murder well, and I am sure you could do it.”

Jason grumbled, under his breath about annoyingly earnest Kent, ruining a perfectly good death threat.

“I heard that, Jason, now can you please take your box when you leave.” Clark smiled. “And anytime you want to eat cookies, and not talk about how much you care about Bruce, let me know.”

Jason got up and grabbed the box, as he waited by the window he turned and said, “Seriously, though, Kent, you might be Superman and super nice but Bruce is more fragile then he looks, don’t hurt him, he couldn’t take losing you again.”

Clark sobered at that line, he knew his death had done a number on all of his loved ones but this was far more effective than any threat of murder, and Jason knew it.

Clark watched as Jason disappeared, and took a deep breath, he knew he’d love and cherish Bruce, but knowing how much his kids worried about his heart started to worry Clark, just how badly had Clark unwittingly hurt him.

*** Clark had just finished a sweep of the apartment, it was just a precaution but when the batkids were involved, nothing seemed excessive. Confident that there were no traps or explosives, Clark took out his laptop.

Clark opened his email, and saw one addressed from Barbara Gordon.

Clark sighed. Here we go again.

Dear Clark,

I am so happy to hear the news that you and Bruce are dating. Me and Tim are just so pleased.

Clark was pleasantly surprised - of course Barbara and Tim would be more civilized, he should have expected this. As he skimmed the next line, he knew he had spoken too soon.

Dick and Jason have already made it clear to you that Bruce has a team of highly skilled people ready to physically end you. Now that isn’t our style. There are far worse things than death for you, Clark Kent. If we find out that you treated Bruce in any way that is undeserving, Clark Kent will be wanted for murder in every state, your bank accounts gone, or worse you will just cease to exist altogether, gone will be the life you love so much.

Of course we hope to not use this option, but be aware the world has changed, and the Oracle sees all.

Lots of Love,

Barbara and Tim. Clark wasn’t beyond admitting this particular threat had him the most worried. Murdering someone was personal, it was hard and as much as he knew Jason and Dick would never have cause, even if by some shock of fate there was a reason, he knew that they didn’t have it in their heart to kill someone, but this type of threat, it had weight, it was impersonal, easier to do as you didn’t have to confront the person. It could be done in the heat of the moment.

Clark called Bruce.

“Okay, first of all, I thought you kept that Krypotian secure,” Clark began. He heard Bruce wince.

“Look, I didn’t think they’d take it.” Bruce sounded apologetic. Clark wasn’t really mad, but the stuff was dangerous.

“But they did. Oh, don’t worry, Clark, you’re Superman, you can handle their threats.” Clark rolled his eyes as he plopped down on his bed dramatically. “All of twenty minutes ago, my bed had Kryptonite on it and Jason was eating my cookies, talking about how he’d launch my body into the sun.”

Clark could imagine Bruce cringing at that information. “Now that’s not even the worst part, your former partner in crime Barbara and sweet little Tim Drake promised to destroy Clark Kent, and not going to lie, that’s terrifying.”

“I’ll make it up to you, and make it more clear to the little monsters that threatening you is off limits.” Bruce sighed. “Please don’t be mad.”

Clark laughed. “I was never mad, mildly scared for my life yes, but never mad. I have become accustomed to how the Wayne Household shows love and it’s never been what others call normal.”

“Still, I would never let anyone hurt you, no matter what.” Bruce said, with a little more feeling than Clark expected. “I will be getting that Kryptonite back, and rewriting the code that Tim and Barbara wrote, making it clear no second attempts will be tolerated.”

Clark sighed, he remembered how Jason had alluded to how Clark’s death had really hurt Bruce. He had a feeling the kids were more scared of that version of Bruce than him hurting Bruce.

“Don’t worry about it Bruce,” Clark said softly. “Since I won’t be giving them a reason to use any of their fail safes, so to speak, let them have the comfort of thinking they can protect you. After all, that’s all they are trying to do.”

“Fine,” Bruce huffed. “I still might do it though, I hate the thought of you even remotely vulnerable.”

“I am the Man of Steel, I am never vulnerable.” Clark laughed off, hoping to sooth Bruce a little.

“Ten bucks says I could make you vulnerable,” Bruce murmured, a different kind of heat behind that phrase.

“I’ll swing by the manor now, let’s see if you can earn that ten bucks.” Clark stated, as he dropped the call, and speed through the window fast enough to be invisible to the human eye.

Clark landed on the manor lawn, as gently as possible. Walking towards the front door, Clark smiled, he was so surprised how normal flying to see Bruce for more than just league business felt. Somehow they had already settled into a new partnership, Clark was sure.

Clark knocked, expecting Bruce to be at the door, but little Damian Wayne opened the door.

“Hi Damian,” Clark said softly, lowering himself to Damien’s height, normally Damian liked that, but he was glaring at him. Great, the final Wayne ready to threaten him.

“So, Alien, Alfred informed me that you are dating my father,” Damian stated. Clark nodded gently.

“I am.”

“Mmmhhhhh.” Damian said with an air of disapproval.

“Are you not okay with it?” Clark asked, very much afraid of the answer. As much as the others joked or were slightly serious, Damian didn’t trust anyone, and if he didn’t want this, Clark was sure that Bruce would put Damian’s happiness first, and Clark wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Would it matter to you if I was not okay with it?” Damien asked, those keen eyes much more aware than any eleven year old had the right to be. Clark thought it was a test.

“Of course it matters,” Clark said. “I want to be a part of your family, so you have a vote.”

Bruce had come to the stairs and he was watching with clear intensity, the answer mattering to him as much as it mattered to Clark.

Damian stared at Clark defiantly for a moment, and then half smiled. “Fine, then. But I shall not call you father.”

With all the dramatic flare of a Wayne, Damian nodded at Clark and his father and walked off into the manor.

Bruce came down the stairs. “I think that’s official, you have everyone’s seal of approval.”

Clark laughed. “It's official, then, we are dating.”

Bruce wrapped his arms around Clark’s waist. “Last chance to run, Clark, after all you weren’t even aware of the first dates, this is a lot….I know.”

It had started as a joke, but Clark could see fear in Bruce’s eyes. He might have joked about making Clark vulnerable, but clearly Bruce was worried. After all, the Wayne household was all or nothing. “I have never been so sure about anything.”

Clark gently kissed Bruce, trying to erase any worry that Bruce could have.

“If you’d like, I love to take you out tomorrow.” Clark laughed. “I’ll bring flowers, for sure.”

Bruce chuckled. “I would love to go out with you, Clark Kent.”

Notes:

I wanted this to be a fun lighthearted take on Clark and Bruce's relationship. I love how push comes to shove the batfam always closes rank, no matter who it is.

[alicedoessurveys]

loooooong survey

Childhood

Did you spend your childhood time with mostly real or imaginary friends?: real. I spent most summers/half terms with my cousins and my neighbour’s grandkids. Did people consider you an odd child?: not odd, just shy  Do you have memories that go back to when you were only a few months old?: nope Do you remember any thoughts you had when you where very young?: not really nope  

Were they intricate or simple thoughts?: probably simple but I can't remember 

If you answered “intricate”, give an example of one of those thoughts: n/a

Were you dreams very vivid as a child?: yes, still do. I also used to get really bad night terrors a lot as a kid What is the strangest memory you have from early childhood?: can't think of anything strange.. Were you a child prodigy or did you display any gifts at a young age?: I drew a lot, but I was no prodigy What was the most “grown-up” thing you ever said as a child?: I have no idea What were your favourite TV shows in early childhood?: I grew up on Fairly Odd Parents, Rugrats, Tracy Beaker Were you afraid of monsters?: yes, especially zombies Did you believe that fictional characters were real?: yes Were you more quiet and artistic or loud and physical? quiet and artistic  Issues and stuff Do you eat meat?: yup, but only beef, chicken and bacon/sausage  If you do, what is your justification for it?: I dont feel I need to justify it, just like I wouldn't expect a vegetarian to justify why they dont eat meat. each to their own.  If you could legalize 3 things in the US, what would they be?: I dont live in the US, I dont really know their laws and I dont really care  Do you believe in the death penalty?: nope Did Mumia do it?: do what..? If you had a choice, which country would you have chosen to be born into?: I like that im English, I just wish I was born in a different part of England cause Birmingham is a shit hole What are your opinions of Michael Moore?: I dont know who that is  Describe your feelings about marijuana legalization: I think it should be for those who need it for medical stuff Red, White and Blue is a ghastly color combination, right?: nope What television news coverage do you detest the most?: all of it, I dont watch the news What will you do if Bush is re-elected? Im British, I dont care  Which state do you think will drop off into the ocean first?: idk Who do you consider “American Heros”?  I feel like these questions are very aimed at Americans  Completely Obtuse And Silly Questions Have you ever taken something apart just to see how it worked? yes  Do you ever yell at the television while you are alone? Reason?: not yell, but talk to the telly yeah. and not even just while im alone.  Name a few things (if any) that you bought on Ebay recently: I cant remember the last time I bought something off eBay  Are the Muppetes sinister? Think about it.: nope... o.O Do you watch the Science Channel (Discovery) on a regular basis?: no ive never watched it  Ever gotten into an “in person” argument with a total stranger? Discuss: yup. basically I was at this event thing where they had boats and pretty floating lights and shit on a river. we had waited all day to see them and when they were finally coming past we couldn't see them because it was so crowded and there was a “security guy” stood in the way. There was kids infront of me who kept saying they couldn't see because of him so I yelled “MOVE” and he turned around and started arguing with me. Long story short, he eventually moved out the way and found a space where he wasn't blocking anyones view and the people around me thanked me. I felt so awkward after cause im not a confrontational person at all but I was so tired & irritated that I just snapped.  Sugar or Honey?: Sugar What’s on your desk right now?: im not sat at my desk atm  How many e-mails do you recieve a day?: about 20 Do you think that time travel is a possibility?: no Are you slightly addicted to online tests and surveys?: not addicted, I just enjoy doing them to pass time San Francisco or New York City?: ive never been to either, but I would like to go to New York  What are your favorite color combinations?: grey and light blush pink looks nice Close your eyes and type the first random image that pops into your head: I cant because im listening to hairspray so thats all I can see right now  Do you enjoy night or day better?: depends what im doing  Favorite animal: Dogs   Have you ever been to a protest?: Nope, but ive ended up in the same place as a protest was taking place and it was horrible Aggravated a cop on purpose?: No Ever gone train hopping/ridden the rails?: Nope If you could choose a time period in which to live, which would it be?: I’m fine with this one Ever put your hand through a window?: no List a few words you hate the sound of: the c word And a few you like the sound of: idk Are you sick of this survey yet? not really  Emotions And Such Have you attempted suicide more than once?: No  Cutting?: Yes Do you get violent when you are angry?: Not with people, just with myself or just like throw stuff on the floor like a brat  Which emotion are you most consumed by?: fear Are you highly emotive?: Yes Do you discuss problems or keep them to yourself?: keep them to myself, and if I do discuss them I downplay or make jokes Do you fall in love easily?: not in love, but I do fall for people too easy What age/year was the most difficult for you?: around ages 19-now How do you channel your anger/sadness?: shut myself away and cry  Ever been addicted to alcohol or drugs?: No

Ever been homeless?: No List a few simple things that make you happy: playing sims, Tumblr, theatre When were you most recently your happiest?: hanging out with nick and Addison the other day  Do you consider yourself empathetic?: yes Friends Do you have friends that are drastically different from each other?: my main group of friends is only like 3 people and they have their differences but not drastic differences List a few key traits that all of your friends have in common: my friends are all into gaming, watching films & eating Do you keep in touch with friends from high school?: yes, two of my best friends are from school Have you lost touch with many of your friends?: almost everyone I become friends with end up losing touch in the end but ive been friends with Addison for 10 years and Rhys for 20 years Are they mostly local or long distance?: local  When you go out with friends, what kinds of things do you do?: usually go to the arcade, cinema and get food Have you ever been betrayed by a close friend?: yes If yes, are you still friends with that person?: no Are your friends mostly your age, younger or older?: rhys & Addison are 23, nick is 25, I am 22

Do you have a hard time making friends because most people bore you?: no, I have a hard time making friends because im socially awkward Do you like to hang out with friends one-on-one or in groups?: groups, it takes the pressure off in conversations Which of you online friends do you have the most in common with?: I dont have any online friends Family Are you close to your family?: yes What traits are you glad you inherited from them?: faithfulness & a good sense of humour  What sitcom does your family most remind you of?: I cant think of anything other than that me and my mom are a lot like Miranda and her mom from the sitcom ‘Miranda’ Does your family live locally or far away?: local Have you ever stopped speaking to someone in your family?: yes Have either of your parents died?: no, thank god Is your family very much like you or are you opposites?: a lot like me  How many siblings do you have?: one older sister Has your family ever thrown food at each other?: yes, every christmas season we throw chocolates at each other from the Quality Street or Roses tins Are the holidays a nightmare or a time of joy?: I love Christmas Day and I normally love christmas shopping but this year I found it all very stressful because I was so busy at the theatre and I had no money to buy gifts  Do you look like your parents?: ive been told I do List one interesting fact about your family: apparently my dads side of the family is descended from royalty Lovers Gay, Straight, Bi-sexual or no idea?: Straight Married/partnered?: Single Ever gone out with someone you were embarrassed to be seen with?: no Ever broken someones heart?: someone I “dated” in infant school told me when we reunited in senior school that I broke his heart. but I didn't actually do anything so I dont know where he got that from  How many serious relationships have you had?: none Have you ever lusted obsessively over someone you knew you couldn’t have?: not obsessively lusted, but I have fancied guys that I knew nothing could ever happen.  Do you believe in the theory of soulmates?: yes Ever cheated?: No Been cheated on?: No Thrown someones stuff out on the lawn/stairs/etc.?: Nope Had your stuff thrown out on the lawn/stairs/etc.?: Nope Most important emotional qualities of a lover?: someone who makes me feel happy and can make me smile, makes me feel comfortable, is caring, trustworthy, honest, affectionate  Most important physical qualities?: I dont think physical qualities are super important but I do fall for peoples eyes & smile Food & Drink Non-alcoholic beverage of choice: cherry coke or caramel hot chocolate Alcoholic beverage of choice: cider Foods you crave on a regular basis: chocolate

Salsa and Chips or Pita and Hummus?: neither Meat or Tofu?: Meat Soup or Salad?: soup Soda or Juice?: Soda Can I get you anything else?: You didn't get me anything..? :’) Favorite candy:: chocolate in general Favorite food to make: lasagne 

Food brand that you hate?: idk Do you try to buy all organic?: nope  Favorite fast food?: mcdonalds Final Questions Ever had a great song ruined for you after it was used in a commercial?: yes

Ever yelled at an SUV?: nope A Hummer?: Nope Ever faked being sick to get out of going somewhere?: yes If you could turn back time and change one thing, what would it be?: stay in college Bambi or Nemo?: Nemo List 3 things that are worrying you right now: 1, money. 2, a meeting I have to go to next week that im absolutely dreading. 3, I have this constant annoying anxiety that tells me my friends dont actually like me and that I get on everyones nerves.  Do you think you’ll ever have children if you don’t already?: not my own now, but I hope to adopt Do you think there is life on other planets?: no Have you ever broken a leg or arm?: nope Would you rather stay in the house or do things outside: depends on my mood David Letterman or Jay Leno?: I dont know who they are  Last words?: Bye

[myheartmightexplode]

Love on the webways

Summary

"As a writer, Grant supposes he could have considerably worse habits than trolling his own message boards." A totally ridiculous AU vaguely inspired by You've Got Mail.

Kris would give him hell, but she always made him stay off the Barbelith boards unsupervised, too. He can’t help himself. It’s part genuine pleasure in seeing what readers make of his work, part morbid curiosity.

Right now, he’s spoiling for a fight, which is never a good way to go into this. The times he’s found it the most enjoyable were when he didn’t give a fuck, when he could let the vile shit people said slide right off his back. Right now, he cares entirely too much about everything.

It’s too easy to find the thread he’d been following last week. Too easy to notice all the new replies. And if he’d been really serious about swearing off this board, he’d have made sure he was logged out. And he’s not.

The thread’s instigator is the kind of bloke that Grant occasionally comes across at signings or conventions; highly opinionated, sure of himself, and a complete and utter arse. Grant always wonders where these people find the time to pay so much attention to something they hate. But at the moment, he’s being no better. The guy is a frequent poster. Most of the other posters clearly want to kiss his arse. Grant starts grinding his teeth after about the third inane reply.

Grant doesn’t give a shit about people disliking his work; everyone’s entitled to their own opinion. But there’s something uniquely irritating about the way this uppity fucker is deliberately misinterpreting, and denouncing, his last book. IMHO, the post starts. Grant snorts. This guy is anything but humble about his opinions. He’s already composing his belligerent reply in his head as he scrolls down the page, then lets go of his mouse.

The most recent post in the thread is from a user who goes by DannyTheStreet–clearly a fan of Doom Patrol, at least. There’s a little star beside the username, indicating that this person is one of the forum’s moderators. He’s interested that Danny chose to respond at length with his own argument rather than simply wield modly power. Danny is fucking sharp, too; Grant is selfishly pleased that he (Grant assumes) seems to really grasp what Grant had been doing with the story that this so-called “_DrManhattan” is being horrible about.

Danny seems to have softened his ire, so he goes downstairs to put the kettle on and hopes that by the time he gets back up, there will be a response.

*

Most of them must be Americans, he realizes when he wakes to a new flurry of replies. Including Danny, his defender even though he doesn’t know it. Danny’s responses to the other posters continue to be both well-reasoned and hilariously scathing. Grant finds himself laughing aloud more than once. Now, all thoughts of leaving for good are gone. He wants to see more of Danny’s conversations.

He types the username into the search bar, previous annoyance at the jackass commenter nearly forgotten. Danny, it appears, is not a frequent poster. But the posts he does make are more of the same: smart, funny, and oftentimes a bit snarky. Grant goes back to the original thread and starts a post. He almost wants to play devil’s advocate, just to see how Danny would react. But he doesn’t.

 DannyTheStreet has the right idea. Morrison has made it clear in dozens of interviews that he believes the exact opposite, and it definitely shows up in all the books Danny mentioned. Can’t think of anything else to add.

He sits back and laughs at himself, a bit ruefully. As a writer, he supposes he could have considerably worse habits than trolling his own message boards. And he can’t deny the pleasure he takes in discovering fans who truly seem to understand his work.

A few minutes later, there’s a response. Thank you, TheOldFox! It drives me crazy when people are deliberately obtuse for no fucking reason.

Grant chuckles and opens a private message. Nice of you to assume it was deliberate.

He gets a reply about twenty minutes later. I figure that when you pick that many fights, you’ve gotta be a deliberate asshole, you know? I’d love to just ban him, but I don’t want to be That Mod. Thanks for the backup, though.

Any time, Grant replies. He was starting to get on my last nerve. You were a ray of light in the darkness.

That sounds a bit daft, and Grant regrets it about five seconds after sending, but Danny replies promptly with a cheerfully punctuated

 Any time!!! :)

Grant laughs and clicks away from that window. He has tea, and he’s in an infinitely better mood than he had been. Now to start those revisions. He keeps checking back, though. At least once or twice an hour. Just to see.

**

Gerard hums under his breath as he shuts his laptop. He’s been online for…well. Longer than he should have been. He scrubs a hand through his hair and looks at the clock. Fuck, he’d meant to be in bed an a hour ago. But he’d gotten into a discussion with TheOldFox about Britpop and he can never fucking stop when someone gets him started about fucking Morrissey or Blur.

When he’d offered to mod for The City of Whispers, he’d been sure it couldn’t be any worse than wrangling a pit full of hormonal teenagers. He’d been both right and so, so wrong. But he’d never taken into account that maybe he’d make some friends. And maybe it’s stupid, but… he likes the anonymity. He’s a normal person on here; one who was never in a world-famous band that decided to call it quits after their most popular album.

Well. That’s not exactly true. He is those things all the time, but the people he’s talking to don’t know that. And it’s nice sometimes. He just gets to talk about comics. And religion, and politics, and art, and sometimes, well, Britpop. But TheOldFox started that.

Gerard grins as he gets up and herds himself towards the bathroom. He’s been trading messages back and forth with TheOldFox for a while now. The guy seems to be on Gerard’s wavelength in a way that a lot of other people aren’t. He’d checked him out out of curiosity when Fox had first messaged him, and found that he’s a longtime but sporadic poster. Gerard hopes he sticks around.

He finishes brushing his teeth, double-checks his stuff for tomorrow morning’s meeting with Scott, and gets in bed. He can’t stop thinking about Fox, though. He hasn’t had that much fun talking to someone in a long time. Not someone he didn’t already know. At least the asshole in that thread seems to have moved on to greener pastures.

The next morning, Gerard inhales a cup of coffee, pours himself a second cup to savor, and checks his email. There’s a new private message notification from the board. Gerard grins and clicks the link.

Thought you might like this if you haven’t seen it, it says, along with a link to a recent Morrison interview with some foreign blog.

Gerard saves the link and clicks ‘reply’. Awesome, thanks! I never would have found this, can’t wait to read it. Gonna save it as a reward for making it through this morning’s meeting with my boss.

Hope the boss doesn’t give you too hard a time, comes the reply. Any way to butter them up? ;)

Not being perpetually late with things would be a start,Gerard types back.

Funny how bosses seem to frown on that, Fox returns.

Seriously. And if I’m late, that messes with other people’s work and it’s all a mess. I’m getting better, but deadlines are killer, Gerard replies.

Good luck, Fox messages back.

Gerard glances at the clock, sighs, and downs the rest of his coffee. He packs everything in his bag and drives to Milwaukie. He has to parallel park on the street behind Dark Horse, which is never a good time, but he manages. He’s totally going to reward himself with a trip to TFAW for it, though.

Scott and Sierra are nice about his scripts being late, which makes him feel worse about it. “Make it up to me by coming to dinner Thursday,” Scott tells him. Scott and his wife are part of a network of people in Portland who have decided that Gerard needs looking after. It’s baffling, but it’s nice. And Elisabeth is a fucking amazing cook, so Gerard would be particularly stupid to say no.

“Okay,” he says. He should probably alternate playing Warhammer Quest and arguing with people on message boards with socializing, anyway.

Scott rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. “Aren’t you glad you let us talk you into moving up here?” Scott asks.

“I like it here. It’s not too hot, and no one cares who I am. Was.” It’s not totally true, but things haven’t been too bad.

“The benefit of living in a city filled with hipsters,” Sierra laughs.

Gerard smiles. “That and the coffee. Pizza’s shit, though.”

“Cry me a river. What else do you have going at the moment, Gerard?” Scott asks, refilling his water glass and sitting back in his chair.

“The usual. Comics,” Gerard shrugs.

Scott lifts the script Gerard handed in and points out some words in the margin, something Gerard jotted down absentmindedly at one point. “Sure you’re not writing lyrics again?” he asks with a smile.

“Maybe a few,” Gerard replies. “Got some melodies stuck in my head. Or maybe they’re poetry. Dunno.”

“A Renaissance man,” Sierra says dryly.

Gerard shrugs. “I guess I can do both. Got nothing but time.”

“If you have time, maybe finish those scripts on time more often,” Scott needles with a fond smile.

Gerard fakes a sigh. “I’ll do better, I promise. I just get distracted real easy.”

“We know,” Sierra smiles. “Which is why we keep inviting you in here.”

“Well, it works. I get a guilt trip and new comics,” Gerard says with a grin.

“Everybody wins,” Scott agrees.

“Sadist,” Gerard says. “All right, I’ll get out of your hair now, guys.”

“See you at dinner, Gerard,” Scott says. “I’ll call you an hour before to remind you.”

When Gerard gets home, he makes himself another cup of coffee and settles at his computer, opening the interview Fox had linked him to. He’s smiling almost instantly. Fuck, Morrison is funny. This is a good one.

Gerard opens the message board and clicks the link to the private messages. That article was amazing. Haven’t laughed that hard in a while. Meeting went well. I even got an invite to dinner with the boss and his wife.

There’s no reply, but that makes sense; Gerard is pretty sure Fox is in Europe somewhere. He clicks over to another tab instead and tweets a quick “Good afternoon.” He answers a few questions from kids and gets to work.

**

If you’d told Grant that he would ever be a person who looked forward to checking his email- well. All possible universes, and all that. But he still has to laugh at himself a little. He has plenty of friends, there’s no denying that. But he tends to hermit himself away when he’s at his country house and it’s an extra little thrill after sitting at his computer all day, to have a nice conversation.

He thinks he’s finally discovered what it is that people love about the internet. Fifteen years late. It’s very sad how misguided you are, he types, grinning at his keyboard.

He doesn’t get angry at people on The City of Whispers anymore. He has a partner in crime. As a team, they shut down the stupid assholes and it’s fun. He suspects that this isn’t the kind of trouble people had warned him against, back when he’d first discovered the message boards dedicated to his work.

There’d been Barbelith, back in the day, and Warren had always had the WEF. Warren managed to meet some truly amazing people through that. Grant had never had quite the same success.

Now, he pulls up the PM thread that he and Danny have going and types, Nicely done. By the way, you were right about that band you linked me. Brilliant stuff.

Music is my thing, Danny replies. Well. When comics aren’t my thing. Or like. Obscure eighties cartoons.

Grant laughs aloud. And when art isn’t your thing? he sends back.

One of my supervisors called me a Renaissance man the other day, comes the quick reply. I feel like I need a costume for that, though.

Renaissance Man would be an interesting superhero, perhaps, Grant returns. Just mind the tights, they pinch.

Believe me, I know, is the reply. I was Peter Pan in a school play when I was a kid. I also dressed in drag in art school.

Grant almost starts typing the story of his own foray into drag, but pauses; that’s a story that he’s told in interviews before, and Danny will probably be familiar with it. Not the best strategy for maintaining his anonymity.

 Ah, art school. I never went, myself. You are quite the well-rounded chap, Danny.

 I try to be. Gotta admit, I fail when it comes to math any more advanced than basic algebra.

We all have our blind spots, Grant agrees. I’m quite terrible with technology, myself.

You’re on a computer, right? Danny asks. Not doing some mystic ritual or something?

Grant laughs. Would that I were. Perhaps I could more easily get other things done while chatting with you.

 So multitasking is also a blind spot?

 Like it isn’t for you?

Don’t make me give up all my weaknesses. That’s a total supervillain thing to do, Fox.

Grant laughs and rubs a hand over his head. If he only knew. Supervillainy is overrated. And I enjoy vices in my friends. Makes them more interesting.

I’ve got my share of vices, but I’m still pretty boring, writes Danny.

I doubt that. Grant realizes he’d be flirting if this was in person. That’s…he doesn’t know how to feel about that. People meet and flirt on the Internet all the time. He just never figured it would happen to him.

He laughs at the absurdity of the whole thing. At least Danny doesn’t know who he’s talking to. Anonymous flirting on the Internet is infinitely better than the alternative, he thinks.

*

A week later, he and Danny are in the middle of a heated back-and-forth about the X-Men when Grant’s mobile rings. He searches underneath a stack of notebooks until he finds it. “Hello?”

“Hi, Grant,” Janelle sounds apologetic, which is never a good sign. He takes a breath.

“Word from on high?” he asks, tone as light as possible.

“I’m afraid so. It’s not as bad as last time, at least?” Janelle offers, and Grant scrubs a hand over his face and sighs.

“I’m not going to put you in the middle of this,” Grant tells her.

“And for that, I thank you,” Janelle replies. She proceeds to outline the changes they want. Janelle is right, they’re not that bad, not really. But it’s the principle of the thing.

As they talk about the best way to edit the script, Grant erases the sentence about Magneto he’d started and writes, Apropos of a work call I am currently on: sometimes I don’t know why I bother.

He switches away from his browser window to make some notes. When he finally ends the call with Janelle, he’s a bit lost in his own head, but not so lost that he doesn’t click back, just to check in.

Tell your boss to shove it. Or at least imagine it in great detail, Danny has replied.

Grant smiles. I do. Frequently. They day I can actually tell him to shove it will be a banner day.

He turns his attention to the script, reading through it and deciding how best to effect the changes that DC wants and occasionally swearing under his breath. He doesn’t check his notifications for hours, but when he does, Danny has sent him a macro of Darth Vader force choking some unfortunate that says, “Good Luck.” Grant laughs and laughs, then saves it to his desktop so he can look at it whenever he’s feeling grumpy. And if he’s imagining Dan DiDio in the place of Vader’s victim– well. Probably best to keep that to himself. Grant has learned a bit about discretion over the years. Mostly when he did something dumb and Kristan rolled her eyes at him.

He smiles fondly. He misses her, misses her help, but it’s better this way. In the end. If she were here, she’d tell him to stop fucking working and get a bite to eat, so he pushes away from his desk and goes down to the kitchen.

**

Gerard pushes back from his computer and sighs, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes to try and stop his vision swimming. This is becoming a habit. Especially the past month or so. He’s going to end up wearing glasses at this rate.

The problem is, Fox gets up for the day while Gerard is still awake and they end up exchanging messages into what are the wee hours for Gerard. At least he sets his own schedule. Mostly. Except on days where he has meetings, or Skype calls with his collaborators.

He’s been finding it difficult to sleep much lately. His brain is very busy.

His therapist seems to find his friendship with Fox interesting and seems to think it’s generally good for him, though. So that’s something. Gerard happens to agree–though, he maybe hasn’t been completely honest with his therapist as to exactly why. But she’s not dumb, and she knows all about Kat and Eliza and Bert and Lindsey - and Frank - so he really has no reason to think she doesn’t have ideas about his reason.

He’s always been really good at self-sabotage and he’s really fucking determined that it’s not going to happen this time. Even if it is an anonymous cross-continental friendship. And it’s a fucking good friendship, anonymity and distance be damned. He doesn’t ask Fox super personal questions, because he wouldn’t feel right not being able to answer the same questions. So they talk mostly about other things - ideas, feelings, stuff going on in the world - and it’s nice, really. Despite the lack of personal details, it feels really fucking intimate. Like he’s never shared this much of himself with anyone before. Not really.

It’s even different than what he had with the guys in the band. They’re his brothers–always will be. And they’d known him at his worst, and at his best. With Fox, though, Gerard feels like he doesn’t have to live up to either of those things. He can just be Gerard. Or, well. Danny.

He likes being Danny pretty well. Danny can email Fox about politics in the morning and about Blade Runner in the evening and get a great discussion about either. Fox just gets him. He never has to explain himself to Fox like he does with others. Or well, he tries to explain himself and they misinterpret that too.

“The aftermath is secondary,” he mutters to himself.

He looks around. His apartment looks like the scene of a particularly colorful explosion. There are sketches, notes, random paintings that he’d done at odd hours of the morning when the inspiration struck. And every time he closes his eyes, he sees the story lit up in technicolor.

He texts “the aftermath is secondary” to Shaun before he forgets it and makes sure his laptop is plugged in before going upstairs to get ready for bed. He sets about ten alarms so he definitely gets up on time tomorrow and falls face-first into bed.

*

When he logs on to Skype at eleven AM Portland time, Shaun’s already online, and the first thing he does when the call connects is burst out laughing.

Gerard frowns at him. “What, dude?”

“Your hair. Also, you have ink on your face.”

Gerard wrinkles his nose. “As if you haven’t seen it all before.”

Shaun grins at him. “You’re a special kid, Geeway.”

“Shut up, Simon,” Gerard says. “Where were we with the outline?”

“We are…halfway through issue four,” Shaun replies. “What was that text from last night about?”

“Just something I thought of last night, I don’t know.”

“I know you, it’s either lyrics or dialogue. Hope you have a notebook handy,” Shaun grins.

“I think it’s…a slogan, maybe? For BLI? Maybe the Killjoys adopt it and subvert it too. I dunno,” Gerard says.

“I like it,” Shaun agrees. “Shit, yeah. That totally sounds like something BLI would try to spin.”

“We need like. A whole ad campaign, slogans like that that can go either way. I was reading this book that a friend of mine recommended to me the other day, about the Invisibles, you know? ‘Our sentence is up?’ That kind of stuff.”

“Totally,” Shaun enthuses. “Damn, this is going to be so fucking amazing.”

Gerard couldn’t hold in his grin if he tried. “Fuck yeah, it is. I’m going to start a file just for this, okay? Loop Jon and Becky in. Maybe we can make some cool viral shit.”

“Twitter accounts and a fucking badass website, maybe,” Shaun suggests.

“BLI merch,” Gerard suggests, laughing. “Fucking coffee mugs and shit. Gabriel and Fabio will want one, anyway. They love the Umbrella stuff.”

Shaun is grinning wide and Gerard grins back. He’s so fucking excited about this project. Even with the pain of deadlines and shit. Later, he writes to Fox. Meetings aren’t always horrible. I always forget how fucking fun it is, when a new project starts coming together. And I get to work with an old friend, which is going to be fucking awesome. Not for the first time, he wishes he could give Fox the specifics.

He can’t. He’s dropped enough specifics in the press that a bored Google will probably turn them up. It’s a shame. Maybe he can tell him something anyway. He’s not sure what, though. He’ll think on it. Maybe they can just discuss dystopias and corporate culture and shit.

There’s no response, which isn’t a surprise–it’s ass o’clock in the morning over in the UK. He comments on a couple public threads on the boards, instead. No truly interesting discussion going on, but Gerard hangs around for a bit anyway. Fox will wake up in a few hours. For now, Gerard closes out his browser window and pulls up his scripts.

Interviewers like to make hay out of him saying Black Parade was the last thing he had to say through My Chem. It makes the fans gnash their teeth, too. But this new stuff…it’s not that subtle of a middle finger, really. But he loves it. He loves it a lot. Working with Shaun makes him miss the band a little, but he calls them whenever that happens and they talk about everything under the sun. He gets stories about video games and producing, stories about D&D groups, stories about toddlers and demos played over the phone. He loves it. Loves them.

*

“Is it stupid that I wish I could tell him?” Gerard asks later, tapping his fingers against his phone case.

Frank laughs at him from three thousand miles away. “It’s not stupid. It’s just… you, Gee. All your alter egos turn into you eventually. Hey, you said he was an older dude, right? Maybe he’s never even heard of My Chem.”

Gerard has to laugh. Frank loves to deflate his ego. “Why do I even talk to you?” Gerard asks.

“You love me,” Frank replies. “And my diaper stories.”

“I do,” Gerard agrees, because there’s not really any point in denying it. “My love to Jamia and the girls too, okay? I should probably get back to work.”

Frank says goodbye and hangs up. Gerard smiles at the ceiling for a moment, with a little sigh. He’s lucky Frank loves him back, after everything. Learning how to be friends without the band to bring them all together had been hard for Gerard at first, but he eventually got the hang of it. And he’s really fucking glad of that.

Later that evening, Gerard’s clicking around the boards–there’s a user who’s been known to stir up trouble hanging around in a couple of the threads, and Gerard’s keeping an eye on it–when he sees that somebody’s posted a link to a new Morrison interview.

Typically, the next few comments are all jokes about not understanding a word he says. Gerard rolls his eyes and listens to the podcast carefully. It’s fucking fascinating. He fucking loves the way Morrison’s mind works. He’s always wanted to meet him, but has never quite been able to swing it. “Maybe next year,” he always says to himself after each Comic-Con where his schedule is too crazy or Morrison isn’t in attendance or…something.

Maybe this will finally be the year the stars align. He needs to bug Neil for an introduction or something.

“Rock star perks,” he mutters to himself. He ignores the voice that tells him he hasn’t been a rock star for two years. He’s still writing music, mixed in with everything else. It’s just..his, now. Maybe he’ll book some studio time when he and Shaun are done. Or something. He misses making music. Scott was right, those were totally lyrics.

He needed time. A lot of it, actually. His therapist spends a lot of time helping him to be okay with that. Mostly he is now. Sometimes he feels like he failed his guys, failed the kids, by not continuing, but they said what they needed to say.  

In the meantime, he pushes back from his desk and goes back over to his art table where he has a couple mock-ups in progress. He fiddles with one for a few minutes until he hears the ding of his phone indicating he has a new email. He sits back down at his desk and checks.

Can’t sleep, hello, Fox writes.

Hi! Gerard replies. I’m sorry you can’t sleep. I’m knocking around my house kind of aimlessly this evening.

 Not going out? Isn’t it Friday?

Gerard laughs and starts typing. I don’t drink anymore and my Magic group couldn’t meet this week.

I’m happy to keep you company, Fox replies, until or unless I fall asleep again, mind.

 I won’t begrudge you falling asleep, I guess. Any particular reason for the sleeplessness?

 Overwork, as counterintuitive as that seems. And too much tea.

I have trouble with insomnia. My therapist tells me I need to cut back on coffee, but since I quit drinking and I managed to quit smoking, I just can’t bring myself to.

I did a lot better when there was someone around to monitor my sleep schedule. I’m shit at it on my own, sadly, Fox writes back.

The confirmation that Fox doesn’t have anyone makes Gerard’s stomach flop over. This is really stupid. Gerard is still staring at the computer like it is going to tell him something else. He takes a deep breath and starts typing. I know how that goes. I have a cleaning lady, a therapist, and a boss who’s more like a big brother to me and I still suck at basic shit.

And friends, Fox replies. Gerard’s not sure if it’s meant to be a question.

 And friends. Great friends. I moved away from a lot of them a couple of years ago. It was the best decision for me, but I wish I could see them more.

I’ve lived mostly in the country since my divorce, Fox writes back. It’s quiet, and I like that, but I understand.

Gerard takes a breath. You have one up on me. If I lived in the country I would die and my home would be invaded by a pack of wild dogs that would eat my remains.

That would be appropriately dramatic, Fox writes back. I’ve just scared a cat with my laughter, by the way.

Gerard grins. Sorry, cat. I used to think the only way I could possibly go out would be dramatically. I like to think it’s a sign I’ve grown as a person that I think I could just as easily have a boring death.

 You’re a morbid little bastard, aren’t you, my friend?

I like to think it’s part of my charm. If nothing else, I’ve kind of built my career on it, in a way. A part of him hopes that Fox will ask him to be more specific.

The rest of him knows that he’s being stupid, and is relieved when Fox’s next message reads, I understand finding your niche in places that others don’t necessarily like to look. It’s certainly served me well, though it can be difficult at times.

I’ve had a lot of difficult, Gerard writes back. and once I crossed the bridge of ‘alive past thirty’ I sort of had to look around to see where the bar was set.

The next message takes a couple of minutes to arrive, but when it does, it makes Gerard’s breath catch. I’m very glad you did cross that bridge.

Gerard considers, and discards, a dozen different replies before he finally settles on, Me, too. After a moment, he sends another message. I actually love my life, but I can’t get through a day without knowing I’m disappointing people. It’s easier to be anonymous guy on the internet, but.

I understand completely, is the reply. Gerard believes him.

The conversation turns to other things, and they end up in a discussion about the mythological functions of Lord of the Rings. Fox has a lot to say about mythology in fiction. He says he never went to college, but he’s clearly well-read.

For the first time in a long time, Gerard wants to talk about Parade and everything he was trying to do with it. Maybe someday, he thinks. Someday, he’ll be able to tell Fox everything. Maybe Frank’s right, maybe Fox has never heard of MCR. But he thinks of all their conversations about music and thinks he’s just fooling himself.

He’s working on another message, struggling to say something like what he really wants to say when another note pops up. Finally winding down enough to sleep, I think. Good night, my friend.

Gerard breathes out, not sure if he’s disappointed or relieved. Sleep well, Fox, he sends back.

Be good to yourself, is Fox’s reply. Gerard smiles and takes a deep breath. Maybe he needs to zone out in front of Fellowship of the Ring.

**

It isn’t as though Grant hadn’t known that he was being a bit ridiculous about the whole thing. But when he finds himself contemplating buying a smartphone–something he’s avoided for years–just so he can more easily check his email while he’s in London next week, he has to laugh. It’s not like he can’t afford it, after all. Or figure out how it works. He’s not got one foot in the grave quite yet.

The more he thinks about it, the more he likes the idea, which is even more ridiculous. His instincts say to go buy one now. He forces himself to think about it for a few days. Finally, a few days before he’s set to leave for London, he gives in.

He sends Danny a message that same night. Going out of town for a week or so. Sure to be tedious at times. Here is my email address if you’d like to keep writing. He includes his shiny new gmail address and hits send.

The next message he gets is from dannythestreet@gmail.com.

Grant grins. Perhaps this will be faster than going through the private message system on the board.

Possibly less distracting, Danny agrees. Where are you off to?

London for some meetings and to see some friends, Grant replies.

I fucking love London, Danny says. One of my favorite cities.

Grant grins broadly, pleased to discover something else they have in common. It happens frequently even without sharing specifics about themselves, which they’ve managed to do despite having been talking for a few months now.

He climbs into bed with his new mobile and starts a new reply. You never told me why Danny the Street, you know. Out of all Morrison’s characters, and well, a lot of other ones.

 I love everything about Danny. Honestly, Danny might be one of my favorite characters ever.

Grant knows it’s foolish, but he still feels a burst of pride in his chest. Not just the crossdressing thing, then? He holds his breath as he sends it, but Danny replies immediately.

 I told you my only crossdressing story already, Fox. There were some ladies’ jeans in my past, too, but these days it’s just jeans and plaid. Sorry if that’s a letdown ;)

Not in the least, Grant sends back. My own crossdressing days are behind me and I seem to confine myself to wearing sharp suits to special occasions these days. This is flirting, he’s almost sure. This is- there isn’t anything else this could be called.

Any special occasions in London? Danny asks after a nail-biting pause.

A party or two, Grant replies. One will be dull. The other may actually be entertaining.

 Let me guess–the first party is for work?

 I’d hate to speak ill of my employers. Actually, no. I enjoy my British team, it’s the American wing I find trying. No offense.

 None taken. I’m not even surprised. How about the other party?

Old friends, Grant replies. This party is the thing he’s most excited about during this visit. The chance of debauchery is high.

 Oh really? That good of friends? ;)

It will be an interesting night, Grant replies. No Magic: The Gathering, but I think you’d enjoy yourself as well.

 You’d be there. Pretty sure that would be guaranteed.

And oh, Grant feels that in the pit of his stomach. He’d do a lot to make it happen. Too bad he can never admit to Danny who he really is. Not that Danny has been particularly forthcoming with his own identity, but he could very likely be taking cues from Grant in that regard. Grant sighs.

He’s tempted to let Danny’s last email go unanswered– it wouldn’t be the first time that one of them had fallen asleep in the middle of a conversation. Wish you could be, he writes back after a long pause.

Danny doesn’t send a reply after that. Grant supposes one isn’t necessary.

He does fall asleep after a while, and he wakes up to a new email from Danny on a completely unrelated subject. Grant supposes that’s a pretty clear signal. He forces himself to get up, eat breakfast, and pack his luggage before answering. It’s the start of a long discussion, Grant can feel it. He’s suddenly even more glad he gave in to his flight of fancy and got himself a smartphone. He’ll be able to keep up on the train down to London.

A few hours later, he’s in his seat on the train, fiddling with his sketchbook in between answering emails. He’s just sent off a rather long one to Danny, answering a question he’d asked about dystopias, and somehow types in Kristan’s address instead. I joined the modern world.

I can see that from your “Sent from my iPhone” signature. comes her reply a good ten minutes later. Finally realize it’s necessary since I’m not there to carry a mobile for you?

He knows Kris and he knows she’s just taking the piss. He smiles. Something like that. I admit, it’s certainly making the train journey to London more interesting.

 You’re a menace, Grant. How are you doing?

I’m doing well. Working non-stop, as usual. He wants to tell her about Danny, but he’s not sure how.

A reply from Danny arrives in his inbox a moment later. Is it strange to be friends with one’s ex-wife? he writes to Danny before picking up the thread of their previous discussion.

I don’t think it’s strange. It’d probably be strange for me because I have a tendency to burn bridges, but I don’t think it’s strange in general. Who could possibly know you better? While Grant is still trying to process this, Danny sends him another message. Sometimes things end, but that doesn’t mean that the people who were part of them aren’t still important to you. Spoken like someone who’s spent a lot of time in therapy, right? Haha, another email adds, Everything okay, Fox?

Grant smiles softly at his phone. Yes, I think so. Just…contemplating the unexpected turns my life has taken.

He gets another email from Kris, then; a bit about her job and a play she and a friend had gone to see the week before. The kind of thing they would have talked about over morning tea, once. Grant is fiercely, selfishly glad that he still has her in his life, even though they’re both happier like this. Keep me posted on your life with 21st century technology, she closes.

Of course, he replies. I’d never deprive you of the opportunity to mock my failures with it. He sends the email, and sees that there’s a response from Danny in his inbox–more thoughts on dystopias, with a side-helping of post-apocalypse.

He’s so fucking smart. Grant smiles helplessly at his phone.

Grant manages to reply and then forces himself to put down the phone and pick up the book he brought for research. It’s amazing how quickly the train journey seems to go by.

Next station is mine, he tells Danny. Thank you for the conversation.

Any time, Danny responds. Talking to you is the best part of my day sometimes.

Mine, too. The train coasts to a stop, and Grant tucks his phone carefully away and gathers up his things. He’s reminded rather uncomfortably of something Kristan had said before their divorce, about how there were multiple ways to be in love. The giddy joy of of seeing an email from Danny in his inbox certainly reminds him strongly of what being in love feels like for him.

It’s ridiculous–has to be. He’s being ridiculous. He has no idea who Danny really is, where he lives, or what he does, or even his fucking name. He’s rather shit at this anonymity thing, it looks like. He shakes his head. It’s not worth thinking about, he decides. He’s certainly not going to stop and until Danny reveals himself, Grant will keep quiet. It’s all he can do.

The next few days are long, filled with interminable meetings. They’re necessary, and productive, but that doesn’t make Grant loathe them any less. He whines at Danny, who takes to sending him a series of photographs of random things around his neighborhood. His tennies, his coffee cup. A flower. Weird graffiti. Each one makes Grant smile. For all they’re strange and random, they’re weirdly compelling.

In return, he works out how to use the camera on his new phone and takes photographs around London. Danny replies with emails like, I like Selfridges better ;) or My favorite club in the city is down that street. He’s clearly spent a fairly good amount of time in London. Grant determined early on that he was on the west coast of the US, and then Danny kept talking about rain, so Grant decided he was probably in the Pacific Northwest somewhere. Grant wonders what brought him to London. He doesn’t ask.

He checks his email a lot, and tries to weather the teasing about his new enthusiasm for technology with grace. Danny helps him survive his work party with three hours’ worth of constant quips. It’s…above and beyond. There is no denying that. Grant adores him for it. When he’s finally back in his hotel room, he sends his thanks. You saved the evening. Thank you. If I can ever do similar for you, let me know.

That would most likely be in the middle of the night for you, Danny replies.

It doesn’t matter; I’d do it gladly.

You’re a good friend, Danny tells him.

As are you, Grant responds. If you ever need me, just tell me. I shall stand by with interesting conversation and whatever ridiculousness you desire.

*

Grant has spent much of his afternoon winding Danny up about the party he’ll be attending tonight, spinning tales of an orgy of debauchery the likes of which haven’t been seen since the Romans. His meeting this morning was irritating, and he’s dealing by trying to provoke Danny into some sort of equally provocative response.

What he gets makes Grant feel like an ass. My days of drunken debauchery are over, so you’ll have to party for me.

I’m sorry, Grant replies. I didn’t think.

Danny’s response is immediate. No apology necessary. I knew you were teasing. No amount of teasing can goad me into a relapse. It happened once and it was all me. All my own stupid choices.

There are a dozen things Grant wants to say in reply. I’m still sorry, he repeats.

You act like drunkenness is required for debauchery, Danny replies. Last I checked…

Grant grins at his phone. It’s true. Sober debauchery is highly encouraged at all times.

Well, maybe not all times, Danny returns. Although it certainly would have livened up those those meetings you’ve been stuck in.

I don’t think I’ll be trying to pull any of my colleagues any time soon, Grant replies with a laugh.

 Probably a good thing? I mean, having fallen for one of the people I worked closely with before, I can’t say I recommend that. Dunno about just hooking up, though. THAT, I have never attempted.

Either proposition would be a horrible idea, given some of the people I work with, and my own disposition, Grant replies.

He doesn’t get a return email for so long that he almost gives up on one. Then Danny writes back, What about tonight?

Tonight…tonight will be predominantly people I genuinely like and some I find rather attractive, but none I am particularly interested in beyond lively conversation. And it would be lively, especially if Kieron and Jamie were both there; no one had quite the same the talent for winding Warren up.

 The debauchery is a lie, Fox? I feel so betrayed.

Debauchery involving ME is unlikely. One never does know what sorts of debauchery will be witnessed, however.

At least there’s that, Danny agrees, and Grant tucks his phone away and goes downstairs.

Within an hour of his arrival at the party, he’s well on his way to drunk. He’s having an excellent time, truly. The company is infinitely better than the last party, the food is good, the alcohol is top notch. It’s Warren’s party, after all. He can’t help but wish he had someone here with him, though.

After the second drink, he’d moved his phone firmly into an interior coat pocket, difficult to reach. He’s lost track of the number of conversational gambits he’s made that have started with “I was talking to a friend of mine,” though.

He forces himself to pay attention to the party for now. Particularly when Warren and Jamie start taking the piss out of each other. Everyone is practically rolling on the floor at that point. He’d been right, Grant thinks. Danny would enjoy this. He wishes he could turn and share a smile with him, introduce him to the lads.

He can’t, so he might as well get drunk instead. It’d be a shame to let Warren have all the good whiskey, after all.

**

The problem with time zones is that, when Fox goes to bed, Gerard still has quite a bit of day still to go. Today that’s more of a problem than usual. He’s honestly not mad. Or upset. What he is, is - oh, such a problem. He’s jealous of everyone at Fox’s party, for one.

He wants to sip a Diet Coke while he listens to Fox talk to his friends. Wants to just…be in the same room with him. Their digital friendship has been fucking amazing. Unlike anything Gerard has ever really experienced. He wouldn’t trade it for the world. He just wishes it could be non-digital as well.

He wishes a lot of things.

It’s not late, and the Oemings probably won’t have put Ethan to bed yet, so he calls Michael. “Cup of coffee?”

“Sure!” Michael replies. “Meet at the usual place?”

The usual place is a little coffeehouse tucked away in a corner of a converted industrial building near the river.

“Hey, man,” Michael says when he walks in and sees Gerard sitting at a corner table. “Emerging from your lair?”

Gerard smiles. “I was feeling pretty restless, so I was like, hey, I can do something about this.”

Michael laughs, sliding into the seat on the other side of the table. “Naturally, your answer was coffee.”

“Wild and crazy, I know. Thanks for meeting me.”

“No problem. Anything specific making you restless, or is it generalized discontent? Or boredom?” Michael asks.

Gerard sighs and looks into his coffee cup. “Nah. Just… my head, you know?”

“Giving you grief?”

“In a weird way. It’s a long story,” Gerard replies.

Michael nods solemnly. “Sounds like I’ll need one of the big coffees, then.”

Gerard waits while he orders one, folding a napkin into squares. When Michael slides back into his seat, Gerard grimaces and says, “This is sort of a poor-me story. Fair warning.”

Michael chuckles. “Lay it on me.”

Gerard tells the whole fucking thing. His brother and the guys know, but this is the first non-family type person he’s told about this. “It’s stupid,” he concludes, head in his hands. “I don’t even know his fucking name. He could be a serial killer. I just…”

“If he’s a serial killer he’s playing a pretty long game,” Michael laughs. “If you’ve been talking as much as you say, you ought to be able to decide if you trust him and if you do, just…lay it out there.”  

Gerard nods. “The thing is, not having the baggage of who I actually am to be a factor has been really nice. I don’t want to scare him off now. What if he’s one of those assholes who hates my band for no real reason?”

“Ah, I see. You want to make sure he’s sufficiently wooed by your stunning personality and intellect.”

“I warned you this was a poor-me story,” Gerard says witheringly.

Michael is still laughing. “Way, take it from someone who met the rockstar and is having coffee with him on a Saturday night. You live up to the hype in lots of ways, but you’re the same kind of weirdo as the rest of us in this biz. He’s not going to judge you for your adventures in eyeliner.”

“Maybe not,” Gerard concedes. “But like. He hasn’t said anything about who he is either. I know he lives in the UK, but not London. That’s it. Maybe we’re just fated to be anonymous friends for all time.”

“Maybe he’s a spy,” Michael offers, thoughtfully. “Maybe he kills people for a living, and you’re the one connection he has left to his humanity.”

“Oh my god, I’m pen pals with Jason Bourne,” Gerard exclaims.

Michael snickers. “There, did I make you feel better?”

Gerard sighs dramatically and then grins. “Yeah. Thanks, dude.”

“Any time,” Michael says. “Are you good? Can we talk about comics now?”

Gerard throws a napkin at him. “Yes.”

Michael grins and launches into a story about a hilarious miscommunication between him and the colorist on the book he’s working on. After that, they talk about the good shit that came out on Wednesday. “You’re reading Joe the Barbarian, right?” Michael asks.

“As if I would miss it. Sean Murphy is hitting it out of the park, isn’t he?”

“He really fucking is. And the writing is great too. Though, can we talk about how even Morrison’s failures are more interesting than a lot of the stuff out there?” Michael says. Gerard has a moment of total defensiveness and he has to laugh at himself a little.

Michael grins, and Gerard squints at him accusingly. “You totally just did that to wind me up.”

“You’re just such a fanboy,” Michael smirks. “Spending all your time on Morrison message boards.”

“I’m a mod,” Gerard huffs.

“That doesn’t make you sound like less of a fanboy, dude,” Michael grins.

“Fuck off,” Gerard says, but there’s no heat in it. “You said it yourself, man, he’s got fucking fascinating ideas.”

“That he does. Anything else on your radar this week?”

“Been obsessed with this band called Sleigh Bells lately,” Gerard says. “Can’t stop listening to their album.”

“Cool. Send me a link later, you always find the good stuff.”

“This one might have been Frank, I can’t really remember,” Gerard admits.

Michael shrugs and says, “You surround yourself with people of excellent taste, I guess.”

Gerard laughs. “I assume you’re including yourself I that?”

“Duh,” Michael replies.

“Frank is extra good at finding new music I’ll like. I dunno how a kid with such a punk, do-it-yourself attitude about music, who has been through what we did with the band, manages to stay so fucking pure-hearted and enthusiastic about music,” Gerard says.

“You find good people,” Michael replies. He raises an eyebrow and Gerard knows what he’s trying to say.

They talk for a while longer, until Michael says he needs to get home for dinner. They say goodbye, and Gerard heads back to his apartment feeling a lot lighter than he’d felt when he’d left it. It’s good. And he managed to not check his phone the entire time he was out. He does now, though.

The bottle of whiskey had a hole in it, Fox writes. There was but one thing to do.

Gerard grins at his phone. Water, he types back. Lots of water. And painkillers, and maybe a banana.

I called room service for a banana. I’m fairly certain the young gentleman who brought it was laughing at me.

Poor Fox, all alone in your hotel room with your room service banana. Gerard is going to fall off his fucking couch laughing.

What a filthy mind, Fox replies. Perhaps my only consolation is that the other partygoers were just as done-in as I was.

That’s good. Being hammered alone is never fun. Are you drinking water? after a beat he adds, Also, are you actually surprised I have a dirty mind?

Absolutely not, Fox replies.And yes. No, reverse those. I must sleep, Danny.

Goodnight, Fox. Keep a glass of water by the bed, just in case. A few minutes later, Gerard gets a reply: a blurry photo of what is clearly a hotel room bedside table, and the glass of water sitting atop it.

Gerard smiles wide and settles onto his couch with his sketchbook. Strange that he’s taking care of someone from thousands of miles away. Or maybe not strange at all.

He doesn’t hear from Fox again before he finishes for the night and puts himself to bed, but that’s not too surprising, considering how late it was UK-time when Fox had fallen asleep.

The next morning, the first thing he does is check his phone. The message from Fox makes him laugh. My feelings upon waking can be best summed thusly: uuuuuggggh. But I believe it would be much, much worse had you not intervened. Thank you, friend.

Thank you for listening to me, Gerard writes back.

Fox sends him another picture message about ten minutes later: a white diner plate with a proper English fry-up, minus the meat. Hangover food. Proud of me? Fox asks.

Absolutely. And now I’m hungry, he replies. Maybe I’ll go out for brunch. Pretty sure I’m even out of pancake mix.

Tragedy, Fox writes back. Are we keeping one another company at restaurants now?

Gerard feels that same pang in the pit of his stomach, and he thinks about his talks with Frank, and Michael. They’d both seemed to think that it wouldn’t be the end of the world if Fox figured out who he was. He doesn’t let himself think too much about it, just replies, Come to Portland sometime, and I’ll take you out for brunch like you’ve never had before.

 Portland. Home of Dark Horse Comics. I feel as if I should have known that. I have heard rumors that Portlanders like their brunch.

 It’s a religion. And a comics-friendly town. Good place to make a name for yourself if you can.

There. It’s not exactly admitting what he does, but Gerard is pretty sure Fox is smart enough to infer. Gerard feels weirdly giddy.

Someday, you’ll have to show me. What made you choose Portland when you moved?

I’ve always loved it. The atmosphere is great, the people I knew through Dark Horse are great, the coffee’s great… He stops typing, unsure of how much further to go. Maybe he’s revealed enough for today.

Coffee is important, Fox replies. I’m glad you’re living somewhere that can provide as much as you need, as often as you need.

Gerard laughs. That’s what it will say on my tombstone, Coffee Is Important.

He is hungry, so he starts getting ready to venture out to find breakfast. There’s a nice little cafe a few blocks away. They have wifi and free refills on drip coffee. Maybe he’ll take his laptop and do some work.

**

Grant figures he’s about as recovered as he can be from the Hangover from Hades when the bottom of his coffee cup stops looking like the most fascinating place in the universe. He’s incredibly thankful for the fact he’s finished with his damned DC meetings, and that he’s not taking the train home until tomorrow morning. He’s also thankful for Danny, and his intercontinental mother-henning.

He’s thankful for Danny full stop. And absurdly pleased that Danny told him a fact or two about his actual life. He’s involved in the comics industry somehow, clearly. Reason enough to withhold them, Grant supposes. Until now.

He contemplates his sketchbook thoughtfully. Why now, though? He supposes their conversations have become more deeply personal of late. Perhaps it’s inevitable. He certainly wants it to be.

Things are. Different if Danny is in the business, he thinks. Maybe he won’t be…maybe…. He sighs, frustrated, because he has no idea what Danny’s reaction would be to discovering who he is.

But…perhaps he can share a few details too. He doesn’t want Danny to think he doesn’t appreciate his disclosures.

 It was raining when I left home. It’s raining here, and it will likely be raining when I get back. I have the unique bad luck to travel most during the spring and summer, when Scotland is at its best.

He deliberates, but decides to leave it at that for now.

 It took me a long time to get used to the grey and the rain of Portland, but I kind of like it now. Honestly, I like the excuse to stay in my apartment.

Hermits, both of us, Grant replies. And if the lines he’s doodling in his sketchbook are shaping into a grey city skyline, rainclouds bursting– well. He smiles. It pleases him in a strange way that they both enjoy the rain.

 I can’t believe you never told me you were Scottish, by the way! I’m half-Scottish. I tell everyone I’m half-Scottish. I mean, fuck, it’s just cool.

Grant laughs aloud, and wavers before just making the obvious joke. Which half is which?

I’m rolling my eyes at you. Just so you know. The half that’s not Italian.

Ach, the fact that you like to talk so much becomes entirely clear.

You know what they say about people in glass houses, Fox, Danny replies.

My house is made of stone, thank you very much, Grant returns. Also I believe what they say is “…are the most shameless exhibitionists.”

That saying must be different in the UK, Danny responds a few minutes later.

Perhaps, but that doesn’t make it any less true.

A minute later, he gets a message with a picture attached. This is the front of my condo. Judge for yourself if I live in a glass house. Grant has to laugh. It’s basically one huge window overlooking a small park.

Are you an exhibitionist then, Danny? Grant writes with a chuckle.

I’m a bit of a performer, comes the reply, and oh, isn’t that interesting?

Grant blows up the picture and studies the bits of Danny’s condo that he can see. He can see the edge of a dining table on one end of the photo and one wall appears to be all bookcase. There’s a comfortable looking leather chair next to the bookcase, angled toward the view. Despite all the glass, it looks cozy. Cozy, but expensive. Grant would love to see the inside.

Biting his lip to keep himself grounded, to remind himself to move slowly, Grant decides that a change of subject may be in both their best interests at the moment. Speaking of performers, he begins, and goes on to tell Danny about a performance he’d seen at the Fringe Festival the previous year.

Danny returns with a story about seeing Bon Jovi in New Jersey one time. I’m sure they put in a decent show in other places, but there’s nothing like a Jersey crowd for a hometown band.

Everyone from New Jersey talks about it the same way, Grant replies. It reminds me of home.

They trade stories back and forth. Grant does his best to avoid anything that he’s talked about in interviews, but that leaves a surprising wealth of material. He talks ancient family history, ridiculous childhood stories, nearly anything that pops to mind. He shares the bad days with Danny, and Danny does the same.

*

One day, Danny is particularly quiet. Grant tries to draw him out with little success. Before he goes to bed, he sends one last message. I’m getting the sense that, for whatever reason, today is a hard one for you. Be good to yourself, friend.

When he wakes up the next morning, there’s a reply waiting. He’s oddly nervous about opening it.

 Two years ago, I was standing somewhere I never thought I’d be. Like, an actual dream come true. And I walked away. I’m not sorry about it, but I can’t help remembering how it felt. Sorry if I was an ass. It was…nice. To have someone to listen to.

Like many of the pieces of information about their lives they share with one another, it’s vague enough that Danny could be talking about anything. And yet, Fox gets the feeling this is one of the most personal things that Danny has told him. Any time, and I mean that, Grant types back.

Thank you, Danny replies. You helped more than I can say. You and the pint of ice cream I picked up from the store.

Well, now I’m a bit upset. I didn’t have any ice cream.

I’d offer to share, but aside from the obvious issue of distance, I may have polished it off last night while watching Labyrinth for the millionth time.

Grant smiles. David Bowie’s outfits being a main draw, I presume?

Maybe now, Danny answers. Then his email turns serious. In high school I was a chubby art kid with lots of Iron Maiden tee shirts. My survival strategy was being invisible. But I had girlfriends, even in art school. I didn’t fall for a guy for real until I was twenty-four.

Grant takes a deep breath and stares at the screen. That’s… personal. It’s probably too much to hope that it’s also pointed, but fuck if Grant doesn’t want to read it that way.

My younger years were full of experimentation. I’d do anything with anyone, just to say I’d done it. I didn’t fall in love with a man, really fall in love, until ten or so years ago. But he was married and then I met the woman I would marry and well. The love I felt for him faded away for a variety of reasons. I hate him now, he admits. I don’t hate her, in fact, I still very much love her. Relationships are…complex.

The answer, when it comes, is equally revealing. The guy I fell for was a good friend; still is. So is his wife. But there are other exes I’d be totally happy to never see again, so I know what you mean. Nothing is ever as simple as it is on paper, is it?

No, it never is, Grant replies. We can only learn from it, I suppose. Though, the lessons can be unimaginably painful.

I hope you haven’t had too much pain, Fox, Danny replies.

Grant thinks about it for a long moment. Then he types, I’ve had my share, but it was worth it to be where I am today.

I’m really glad, is Danny’s reply. I feel the same way about my own life. I don’t really have time for regret. Too many other things to think about and do.

What’s the most exciting thing you’re doing right now? Grant asks.

It takes a while for the answer to come. I’ve been working on a project with a couple of friends of mine, Danny answers. It’s pretty different than the work I’ve done before, but I’m really fucking excited about it. It launches in November, and I can’t fucking wait.

That…was telling. Given all the other things he knows about Danny, he’s pretty sure he can figure out who he is from that. He’s not actually sure if he wants to or not. He supposes he doesn’t have to decide right this second. Instead, he emails Danny back. There’s very little more satisfying than collaborating with people you like and work well together with.

 Oh, I definitely know all about that.

Grant thinks about the script currently waiting on his own computer. Speaking of which, I’m afraid I need to focus in on a project of my own, otherwise my collaborators may come after me with creative implements of torture.

I suppose I can let you get to it, then ;), Danny replies. Good luck!

To you too, Grant replies, setting his phone aside. He’s not going to be able to work on his script. He can’t concentrate on anything but Danny.

He takes a deep, steadying breath, and then another. He goes for a walk instead and leaves his phone on his desk. He’s the one who’s maybe said too much now. If Danny knew who he was, he’d know exactly who it is that Grant hates so much. No one knows that story in its entirety except for Kristan. “Trust,” he mutters to himself.

Mark hadn’t been deserving of his trust. But even with all the reasons that it’s absurd, he thinks that Danny is. He takes a breath. He doesn’t need to borrow trouble. The days are getting warmer and it’s nice to walk when the sun is out.

*

He doesn’t look. Weeks go by and he doesn’t make the searches, pull the strings he knows will get him answers. He just keeps talking to Danny, idle and meaningful and irreverent and sweet in turn. Then he gets an email from his publicist. Mentions of him in the press, mostly pre-San Diego press stuff, most of it interviews he at least vaguely remembers giving; but lost in the forest of links is “Rocker Gerard Way’s Colorful Future” and Grant - stops.

Something vaguely remembered is teasing at the back of his mind. He clicks the link. It’s an article from the Oregonian and the subtitle makes everything suddenly clear. Portland resident Gerard Way talks about life since the breakup of his massively successful band and how going back to his comic book roots has helped him ground himself.

He scans the article for where his publicist has highlighted his name. The ostensible villain of the series is an assassin named Korse, who Way admits is drawn to resemble comic-book scribe Grant Morrison as a kind of homage to his biggest influence.

Grant lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Then, he scrolls back up to the top of the article, and reads it from the beginning.

The quotes from Gerard Way are what really give the game away. This is his Danny. Their words are the same. And the comic sounds like everything he would have expected Danny to write. The thing is, Grant knows this band. He listened to their last album for hours on end when he first started writing Batman. He even remembers when he’d read about their breakup, right after a - massive gig at Madison Square Garden, two years ago. His stomach feels strangely untethered, his insides twisting like snakes.

The pieces of Danny’s life that he’s gathered over the last several months, previously free-floating, slot neatly into place. His reluctance to share personal details makes sudden, perfect sense. His reasons have been the same as Grant’s.  

Well. Grant has the added embarrassment of trolling his own fan board, cannot forget that wee detail.

“Gerard,” he murmurs, trying it out. Before he can talk himself out of it, he does an image search. The majority of the photos are of Gerard Way, frontman; standing on stages all over the world, feet planted, arms raised. He remembers something that Danny had said once, about being invisible, and he can’t help but laugh. He laughs more when he remembers Danny–Gerard–calling himself “a bit of a performer.”

“Only a bit, eh?” Grant asks the man in the picture, the man so clearly in command of his audience. Grant is fascinated. As if he wasn’t before. He clicks over to a new tab and pulls up the video that had been his first introduction to the band.

He watches it again with the knowledge that the man with the white hair is also the man he’s spent the last few months talking to as often as possible. It’s a heady feeling. Danny finally has a face.

And fuck, why not; Grant does another image search, looking for something more recent. He finds photos from late in the previous year of Gerard Way at a signing, hair dyed back to black, smiling at the kid across the table. Grant’s breath catches in his chest. He’s fucking beautiful and his smile makes Grant feel all lit up inside. He can’t imagine what it will be like when it’s actually directed at him.

It doesn’t occur to him until later that if Danny - Gerard - meets Grant Morrison, he’ll have to lose Fox. Grant doesn’t know what to do. Should he come clean, and tell Gerard that he’s put the pieces together?

After a while, he gets so busy, he forgets to think about it and his days seem to revolve around work, preparing for travel, and talking to Danny. To Gerard.

**

Gerard feels like he spends most of the month of June prepping for Comic-Con. Scott wants Killjoys front and center in his fall lineup - not that Gerard blames him, and the third series of Umbrella Academy just gets pushed farther and farther back as Gabriel is more and more in demand - and that means all hands on deck. Meetings at the Dark Horse offices, Skype calls with Shaun and Becky, polishing what they’ve got until it fucking gleams. Gerard’s got permanent butterflies in his stomach.

He’s excited, though. He fucking loves Comic-Con. Loves that it’s a thing he can do every year, now. Loves that he meets new, awesome people every year.

Fox has been busy too, but a few weeks before the con, Gerard emails him. Do you ever go to Comic-Con?

I assume you mean the yearly madhouse in San Diego? Fox writes back. Yes. I’ve been many times.

Are you going this year? Gerard asks. I’ll be there. Maybe we could meet up? Have coffee or something?

I would love that, Fox replies. Before Gerard can reply, a second email comes on the heels of the first. I would, however, understand if you were too busy, or needed to keep a low profile.

My schedule is pretty fucking packed, Gerard replies. But if we can swing it, I’d like to meet.

Then he reads the email again. “Low profile”… does Fox know who he is? His heart kicks at the possibility. He’s dropped enough hints–fuck, this is what he’d wanted.

He can’t quite bring himself to ask. He doesn’t know why. He’s not ashamed of his past as an international rock star. But Fox is important to him in ways he can’t even define at this point. He realizes that this is something he’d rather talk about in person.

Maybe play it by ear? Fox writes back.

Definitely, Gerard replies, relieved. He’s got plenty of other shit to sort out before he leaves for San Diego. But he can’t deny that the butterflies just got a little bit bigger. He takes a deep breath and goes back to what he was doing. An hour later, Fox sends him a news article and they spend the rest of the time Fox is up and awake chatting about it.

Gerard is willing to put it all on the back burner, if only because he’s so fucking nervous about the promo. And Fox seems - not distant, exactly, but distracted. A few days before the con, Gerard writes to him again. Here’s my cell phone number, probably the best way to get in touch with me for the next week. Text anytime.

*

On Tuesday, Gerard’s phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number. Flying is hell.

Always, Gerard answers. Hi, Fox.

Hello. Sorry for the lack of introduction, I had to get that out.

Gerard grins. Understandable. I have done more than my fair share of flying and I hate it basically every time. Time zones, also. Time zones are horrible.

Also jet lag, although I can’t even say I’ve even reached that point, Fox replies. Time to find my hotel and collapse.

I fly in tomorrow. Can’t tell you how glad I am it’s a fairly short flight. For once in my life, Gerard replies.

The next morning he wakes to a brief message from Fox, wishing him a safe flight. You’re up already? Gerard teases.

The meetings have already started, Fox responds. There isn’t enough caffeine in the fucking world.

Gerard frowns. Meetings? He supposes it wouldn’t be surprising if Fox worked in the industry. Scotland is almost as saturated with comics people as Portland. And it would be a good reason for him to want to keep his own anonymity.

I’ll think of you fondly as I drink my in-flight beverage, Gerard writes back.

May the shitty airplane coffee be marginally less shitty, Fox returns.

Gerard forces himself up, gathers his bags together, and goes downstairs to meet the car service he ordered to take him to the airport. His stomach is still full of butterflies and he’s pretty sure they’re just not going to go away.

When he touches down in San Diego, he turns his phone on as soon as they’ll let him. There aren’t any texts waiting, so he sends one. Friendly skies, flown. Can’t decide if my first stop is hotel, coffee, or tacos.

I’m sure there’s a place you can procure both tacos and coffee, Fox replies as Gerard waits for his bag.

"Thank fuck for San Diego, Gerard types, grinning at his phone.

There’s a reason they pay me the big bucks, Fox replies.

 For having the brains to remind your flight-addled friends they have options? Absolutely worth at least a few big bucks.

He does find burritos and coffee, and he sends Fox a triumphant picture. Fox sends him back a picture of a tea service set up in his hotel room, but nothing else for hours.

Gerard checks into his hotel room and texts five million people to see where they are. Scott replies first, so Gerard makes sure he has his all his con stuff together and heads down to the convention center. The floor is already bustling with people getting ready for preview night. Gerard finds Scott at the Dark Horse booth.

“Gerard!” Scott says, sounding pleased. “Come look at the graphic, it’s amazing. How was your flight?” He leads Gerard around the side of the booth to where an entire panel is taken up with Becky’s art.

“It was good. Way better than say, Portland to Japan,” Gerard says. “Or Portland to the UK. And anything is better than the flight to Australia.”

Scott rolls his eyes. “You realize there are only a few people in the world who have been all the places you have, right?”

Gerard grins sheepishly, and Scott claps him on the shoulder, laughing.

“What do you think of your big debut?” he asks, pointing at the poster.

“Shit, it’s gorgeous,” Gerard replies. “Has Becky seen it yet?”

“She and Shaun were in here earlier, and they both freaked out,” Scott confirms.

Gerard takes a picture of it with his phone. He’ll tweet it later if Shaun or Becky haven’t.

“What are your plans tonight?” Scott asks him.

“Nothing? Thought I’d get here and then find out where everyone is hanging out,” Gerard replies.

Scott laughs. “Well, I want to sit down with the three of you and go over some stuff before the madness begins tomorrow. And then maybe take you all out for dinner.”

“Hey, big spender,” Gerard teases, and Scott grins at him.

“Says the guy who can walk into any party he wants,” Scott says, and Gerard snorts.

“No, I can’t. But maybe…” He should call Jim and see if he can get an invite to the DC party.

Scott just laughs at him. “You really can. If you decided you wanted it, you totally could. I know you’ve never been that guy, but you could do it.”

Gerard makes a face at him. Before he can respond, his phone buzzes. He pulls it out of his pocket instantly, but it’s Shaun. Where you at?

Dark Horse booth with Scott.

 Don’t move. We’ll be right there.

“Shaun and Becky incoming,” Gerard reports.

Scott nods, but one of his people calls him over so Gerard goes back to poking at his phone. I like seeing all the booths in disarray, he texts Fox. Makes how everything looks all set up more interesting.

He doesn’t get a response right away, which isn’t surprising given Fox’s radio silence over the past hour or so; he’s probably in another meeting. Gerard deliberates for a moment, and then he’s pulling up Jim’s name in his contacts.

Already busy working the con? he texts.

Feel like I’ve been in meetings for a year already, Jim replies. And they continue all day. You should come to the DC party so I can actually see you.

I guess I’m not doing anything else tonight, Gerard types back, grinning at his phone.

“What are you plotting?” Becky asks from beside him, making him jump.

He grins. “Got an invite from Jim to the DC party tonight.”

Becky laughs at him. “You dog! You’ll give me all the dirt, right?”

“Of course I will, what kind of friend do you think I am?”

She beams at him and pulls him in for a hug. “The best sort, usually.”

“Missed you too,” he mutters against the top of her head. “New York is a fucking long way away.”

“I barely see Shaun, and he’s just across the river,” she replies with a wink at Shaun.

Shaun grins and scrubs a hand through his hair. “I’m all work and no play unless it’s with my kids,” he says.

Gerard smiles and gives Shaun a hug. “It’s good to see you guys. I’ve missed you.”

“You’ll be sick of us by Sunday,” Becky predicts.

“I wasn’t sick of Frank after seven years,” Gerard points out. They both laugh.

“So. Discuss shit now, or wait and do some wandering while we still have the chance?” Becky asks.

It’s Scott who answers. “I still have some things to finish up here, but come back in an hour and we’ll talk.”

Gerard exchanges a look with Shaun and Becky. “Where to?”

“Coffee,” they say in unison.

Scott laughs at them and they go off to find the nearest Starbucks kiosk. This is why he fucking loves Comic-Con. So many things to see and do, friends to hang out with, new friends to meet. As he waits for Becky and Shaun to order, someone taps on his shoulder and shyly asks for an autograph. Gerard smiles wide and scrawls his usual “xoxo g” on the woman’s badge.

They wander around, watching the setup and stopping frequently when they run into people they know. Gerard knows it’s his last chance to wander around without a security person nearby. It’s kind of nice to feel like a normal person for an hour. At least Mehdi still comes out with him for this shit.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he fishes it out. Oh fuck, save me from this goddam meeting.

Gerard can’t help but beam. I would, except I don’t want you to get in any hot water with higher-ups.

I’m rapidly reaching the point of not giving a fuck, Fox replies.

Think happy thoughts? Gerard offers.

Haha, Fox replies. I’m forcing myself through today, but tomorrow, I want to play hooky and have coffee with you.

Gerard grins stupidly at his phone and replies, YES. Which is, of course, when Becky catches him.

“What’s got you so attached to that thing, anyway?” She prods his side where he’s ticklish.

He squawks and moves away from her. “I. Um. Have an internet friend,” Gerard admits. “We’re planning on meeting tomorrow.”

“An internet friend, huh?” Becky asks, raising an eyebrow at him. Gerard tries, and fails, to school his face into something less giddy.

“Frankie told me about this,” Shaun says, folding his arms over his chest with a matching eyebrow. Gerard’s friends are terrible. “I think that means I’m supposed to threaten this guy Jersey-style.”

Gerard laughs and rubs his cheek with his palm. “Frankie has a big mouth. And if he told you, that’s probably exactly what he intends. But like. We’re just friends. It’s not–” Except that for Gerard, it’s exactly like that.

“Mmm hmm,” says Becky, clearly not buying it.

“If coffee goes well tomorrow, I’ll maybe bring him to the panel,” Gerard says finally.

“And then I can go all Jersey on his ass?” Shaun asks hopefully. “I need the practice for my kids.”

“I’ll help!” says Becky, and she and Shaun high-five.  Gerard buries his face in his hands.

The next time they get distracted, he texts Fox. My friends are giving me a hard time.

In my experience, that’s what friends are for, Fox replies.

 That’s what they tell me. Anyway. I have a meeting and a dinner and then I have to go to a very fancy party and hope I don’t embarrass myself. So if I don’t talk to you again, have a good night!

You as well, Fox replies. We’ll hammer out coffee details tomorrow.

Definitely, Gerard agrees. Tomorrow. He can’t fucking wait.

The meeting and dinner with Scott - for which he manages to also collect Eric and some of the other Dark Horse people, which is cool - goes as well as Gerard could hope for, and when they’re done, Shaun walks back to the hotel with him and they catch up in person for a little while longer. It’s really great to see him. And Becky. He needs to get back east again soon. He misses a lot of people.

When Shaun leaves to go back to his own hotel room and call his wife, Gerard starts rifling through his suitcase. He comes up with a white button-down, a black waistcoat, and dark jeans. Totally fancy, at least for a party of comics people.

He texts Jim, Hope I’m on the list! and goes downstairs before he can get too nervous.

He finds the party easily enough and Jim is standing near the entrance, which makes Gerard’s life easier. “Gerard Way!” Jim waves, and the attendant at the door waves Gerard through.

“Jim!” Gerard beams. “I hope you weren’t waiting for me?”

“Only a little,” Jim replies. “I’ve got some people I want to introduce you to.”

Gerard frowns at him. “I thought you wanted to hang out with me! I see how it is.”

Jim just laughs. “Let’s get you something to drink and see who’s hanging around the bar.” He weaves through the crowd and Gerard follows. “I’d like a Diet Coke and a Jack and Coke,” Jim orders. He hands Gerard the Diet Coke and suddenly Jim waves his hand. “Grant!” he calls.

Gerard’s eyes go a little wide. Because that’s… That’s Grant Morrison, holy fuck. He struggles to keep his inner fanboy from freaking out.

“You two haven’t met, have you?”

“N-no,” Gerard answers automatically. Morrison comes over immediately, eyes sweeping over Gerard, face wreathed with a smile.

“Grant Morrison, Gerard Way. If you two have never met, it’s a crime.”

Gerard smiles and reaches out to shake Morrison’s hand. “Hi. I’ve been a big fan of your work for a long time.”

Morrison shakes back and his smile widens. He really is a fucking attractive man, even more so close up. And his suit is as fabulous as advertised. “I listened to The Black Parade for hours on repeat as I wrote Batman,” Morrison says. “And I fucking love The Umbrella Academy.”

“Your Doom Patrol was a huge inspiration,” Gerard admits. “I’ve always wanted to talk to you about -” He catches himself. “Jim, this was mean, I’m going to totally embarrass myself here and monopolize Mr. Morrison.”

Morrison leans in a bit, conspiratorially. “It’d be a favor to me,” he says, shooting a dark look across the room to a knot of people in suits. “And please, call me Grant.”

Gerard bites the inside of his cheek and grins. “Well, Grant, in that case, I have been reliably informed that I’ll talk someone’s ear off if given half a fucking chance. The Suits will never get the opportunity.”

Grant crosses his arms over his chest. “Do your worst, Gerard Way.”

“I knew you two would get along,” Jim says brightly.

“So did I,” Grant says. Gerard grins wider.

Gerard is pretty sure he talks Grant’s ear off for at least an hour. A couple of times he traces the outline of his phone in his pocket, but there’s no way he’s interrupting this conversation for anything. And Grant gives back as good as he gets. Gerard can’t quite tamp down the giddy thrill in the pit of his stomach, because not only is he talking with one of his heroes, but Grant is familiar with both the band and Gerard’s comics, and has plenty of questions of his own.

They literally spend the entire party talking. Gerard never wants it to end. Jim leaves them to it after a while, and Gerard never does find out who exactly Jim wanted him to meet. Their conversation isn’t without other interruptions either, but Gerard barely notices. He’s just delighted to have made such a connection with one of his heroes.

Fifteen-year-old him is breathing into a paper bag right now. Hell, thirty-three-year-old him is trying desperately to keep his eyes from going too wide. When someone with a camera comes around, Grant wraps an arm around his shoulders for the photo and Gerard tries not to squeak.

Grant grins at him. “I look forward to seeing that all over the Internet tomorrow: ‘international rock star Gerard Way with some bald guy,’” he says with audible air quotes.

Gerard rolls his eyes, though he’s pretty sure he’s blushing. “Yeah, right. ‘Comics superstar Grant Morrison with some emo dude’ is way more likely.”

Grant smiles. “A friendly wager? Perhaps the loser buys the winner coffee?” Gerard opens his mouth, then shuts it again. “No?” Grant asks quietly.

Gerard lifts his chin automatically. “Sure.”

The grin that splits Grant’s face is– fuck. “Tomorrow afternoon? Everyone needs a mid-afternoon pick-me-up,” Grant says.

Gerard smiles back. “Absolutely.” He’ll just arrange for the morning with Fox.

He realizes that if anyone is going to have to end this conversation, it seems it will have to be him. “I should probably call it a night soon,” he says, regretfully. “But it was, fuck, so amazing to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Grant replies with a grin. “I’ve felt as if we were ships passing in the night for several years now. It’s been a pleasure to finally meet you. Let’s meet at that coffee shop down the road at three, yeah?”

“Prepare to buy me a very fancy coffee,” Gerard says dramatically, and Grant laughs.

“We’ll see.” He offers a hand and Gerard shakes it.

He’s pretty sure he grins the whole way back to his hotel room.

**

Grant watches Gerard, Danny, walk away and grins wide. He’s charming and just as articulate in person as he is in his emails. About five minutes later, his pocket buzzes. You know how they say not to meet your idols because you’ll always be disappointed? So not true.

Sometimes not true, Grant corrects. I take it you had an enjoyable evening?

 I had a fucking amazing evening. What about you?

I also had a fucking amazing evening, Grant replies. Good food, good drinks, better company. But I’m looking forward to coffee tomorrow more than I can say.

Coffee twice, Grant thinks with a smirk. As long as he doesn’t fuck up the first.

He’d been idly wondering if he’d run into Gerard this evening, after Danny’s comment about going to a “fancy party.” But he couldn’t have hoped that things would have worked out as perfectly as they had. He slips out of the party and makes his way back to his hotel. Yes, it was the perfect evening. He won’t spoil the rest of the night by staying.

His mobile is lit up when he gets out of the bath after his nighttime routine. What time tomorrow?

 I’ll be able to escape my meetings by mid-morning. Would eleven suit?

That would be perfect, Gerard replies. Near the ATMs by the escalators?

Which ones? Grant texts back with a chuckle.

…Fair, Gerard replies, and texts again a moment later with a specific location, far enough off of the main drag that Grant isn’t terribly worried about being interrupted. Grant is betting he’ll have security with him if he has any sense whatsoever, at any rate. Grant hopes he has security with him, else he’ll start worrying about Gerard’s self-preservation skills.

Perfect, he replies. Sleep well.

You too, Fox, Gerard replies. I really, really can’t wait for tomorrow.

Neither can I, Grant replies and puts his phone down for the night.

He sleeps relatively well and dresses in his grey pinstripe suit for the day. He goes down for a couple of short meetings, chats with fans and fellow creators, but he can’t stop thinking about how in a very short time, all will be revealed.

He’s nervous as fuck, actually. He doesn’t think his worst-case scenario will happen, but it doesn’t stop him picturing it. If this goes badly, he’ll lose someone who’s managed to become one of his very closest friends. Someone, Grant thinks, who could very easily be much more than merely a friend.

When it’s nearly eleven, he takes a fortifying breath and makes his way toward where they agreed to meet. He catches sight of Gerard’s neon hair right away. He’s got a big guy in a black polo standing next to him who he’s chatting animatedly to, but no one seems to have spotted him yet, or else the red hair just blends into the sea of cosplay.

Grant sees the moment Gerard spots him by the way his eyes widen. Grant smiles and walks up to them. “Hello, Danny,” he says. Gerard’s mouth drops open.

“No,” he breathes. The big guy next to him shifts and Gerard lifts a hand, palm out, and says, “It’s fine, Mehdi, just - ” His eyes dart around the lobby and Medhi points.

“Maintenance corridor.”

Grant deems it wise to keep his mouth shut until they get the privacy Gerard is clearly looking for.

“…Fox?” Gerard asks, when there’s a door between them and the bustle of the con. “But- Grant? I don’t-”

“I was having a bad day and lurking the message board, because of course that’s a good idea when you’re having a bad day. And there you were talking as if you had a window into my head, and I couldn’t not talk to you,” Grant explains quietly. “I always wanted to talk to you, and after a while all I wanted was to tell you, especially after I figured you out -” Gerard twitches slightly, though he’d had to have known his own cover was blown for a while - “but best case is, I look like a self-obsessed twat, and worst case you hate me for lying, so -” he shrugs expressively.

“So you wanted to do it in person,” Gerard says, slowly. “I get that. I… had a feeling that you knew who I was, but I didn’t want to ask you about it until we met.” He’s still looking a bit wide around the eyes. “I- you’re Grant Morrison.”

“I am,” Grant replies with a smile. “And you are one of my dearest friends, and I’d dearly like that to continue.”

“We have a date later,” Gerard says. “Um. Or. Not a date, but.”

“Guess we do. If you’ll forgive me for…”

“You didn’t do anything wrong!” Gerard blurts. “You didn’t do anything I didn’t do, I mean, shit, I’m a mod on your board, I -” He’s turning as red as his hair.

“Gerard,” Grant says, testing out the feel of the name in his mouth. He finds one of Gerard’s hands and takes it in his own. “Everything I said last night, about how the things you inspire me? All of that was true.”

Grant sees Gerard swallow. “I…that means so fucking much to me. You mean a lot to me. As Grant Morrison the creator and Fox, my friend from the Internet.”

“Let’s edit that down to ‘my friend Grant,’” he suggests gently.

“Okay,” Gerard says softly. They’re staring at each other. Grant realizes that he’s still holding Gerard’s hand, maybe a little bit too tightly, but he can’t make himself let go. A grin stretches across Gerard’s face. “You’re Fox. Fuck. That’s amazing.”

“Amazing is better than any of the words I expected,” Grant says wryly. He can’t take his eyes off of Gerard. His fucking face…he’s beautiful, especially when he smiles.

“How could it be anything else?” Gerard asks.

“I was mentally prepared for any number of reactions and fully prepared to woo you with the promise of more coffee and maybe a script or two that no one has seen. Also begging, if need be,” Grant replies.

“Maybe I’ll hold out for the scripts,” Gerard said, chin going up in that same gesture from last night. Grant doesn’t think he’s imagining him leaning closer, though.

“Only if you show me this character based on your ‘biggest influence,’” he murmurs.

“Oh my god,” Gerard moans, scrubbing his free hand over his face, cheeks going even redder. “I knew that was going to come back to bite me.”

“I love it,” Grant replies with a big grin. Gerard hasn’t let go of his hand yet. “I seem to recall promising you coffee.”

“I seem to recall promising my friends that if coffee went well, I’d bring you to my panel this afternoon,” Gerard admits.

Grant thinks about his schedule for the afternoon, pleased when he realizes that he’s not got any meetings or panels of his own. “My panel is at five,” Grant says. “So I can accommodate that.”

Gerard beams at him. “Awesome.”

“Assuming coffee goes well,” Grant murmurs.

“Call me optimistic, but, uh. I’m pretty sure it’s going to,” Gerard says. He squeezes their joined hands.

Grant smiles wider. “That was my feeling as well. And don’t forget, we have a bet to settle.”

“I’m thinking of asking for higher stakes,” Gerard says.

“Oh?” Grant asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe dinner and coffee?” Gerard asks hopefully. Grant hopes he’s not imagining the breathlessness.

“Acceptable,” he nods with a small smirk he can’t quite contain. “Now, is your friend in the black polo out there cracking his knuckles or anything like that? It’s been -” Grant feels like it’s been forever, because he hasn’t taken his eyes off of Gerard’s face since he hit the lobby.

Gerard grins. “Nah, it’s fine. He’s been giving me shit all morning because I couldn’t shut up about meeting Grant Morrison last night, or about meeting my internet pen-pal today.”

“I take it the two of you have a history?” Grant asks.

Gerard nods. “He was one of our security guys for several tours. He still comes to help me out when he can.” This is one of the reasons Grant is sure one Gerard Way will be buying him dinner tonight. Needing - and being used to - security guys trailing you everywhere is not in Grant’s playbook.

They should go back out. And, much as Grant is loathe to admit it, they likely shouldn’t be holding hands when they do. He laces their fingers together briefly and forces himself to pull his hand away. “Come on, Gerard Way. Let’s go get some coffee and find somewhere we can continue our conversation.”

“VIP lounge?” Gerard suggests, with the faintest twist of a smirk.

“Glass houses,” Grant replies, watching the smirk blossom and knowing they’re on the exact same page. He opens the door for Gerard and waves him through.

After the quiet of the hallway, stepping back out into the noise of the lobby is a bit of a shock. The man in the black polo, standing next to the door with his arms crossed, gives Gerard an exasperated look.

“Sorry!” Gerard says. The man rolls his eyes as if this is an oft-repeated exchange. “Mehdi, this is Grant Morrison. Who also happens to be Fox.”

“Convenient,” Mehdi says, offering a hand to Grant.

“I think so,” Grant says evenly, because he’s pretty sure Mehdi’s bicep is the size of Grant’s thigh, but he really does think so.

“Me too,” Gerard agrees, beaming. “Now. Coffee?” He sounds so hopeful that Grant has to laugh.

“Coffee,” Grant confirms. “Upstairs.” They walk toward the escalator and Mehdi follows a couple of feet behind. When a group of teenagers approaches Gerard, he steps in to keep them from mobbing him and produces a Sharpie for Gerard to sign with from the depths of his cargo shorts.

Grant stands to the side and watches until someone actually notices him. He poses contentedly for a photo and signs a Batman print someone pulls out of one of those giant bags, and Mehdi sighs and extends his efforts to keeping both of them moving. Gerard looks beyond amused.

“You’re the best,” Gerard tells Mehdi once they’ve made it into the VIP lounge. “I’m buying you the biggest coffee ever.”

“Damn right you are,” Mehdi replies. They go up to the small Starbucks kiosk and order.

Gerard hands Mehdi his coffee and Mehdi points at a chair near one of the doors. “I’ll be over there.”

Grant and Gerard just stare at each other over the tops of their coffee cups for a moment once they sit down. Grant can feel his lips twitching, and Gerard huffs out a laugh. “How long have you known it was me?” Gerard asks him.

“Since I came across your interview with The Oregonian in an pre-con email from my agent. I could have figured it out much sooner,” Grant replies.

“But you didn’t,” Gerard says.

“I…in so many ways, it didn’t matter,” Grant says. “Until it did.”

“I wanted you to figure it out,” Gerard admits. “I mean, not at first? But then talking to you was so good, and I felt like it would maybe be okay.”

Grant smiles. “I never really believed I could find a friend like you on the Internet. I’d seen too many like the arse who posted the thread where we met. I’ve never been happier to be proven wrong.”

“And the embarrassment -”

“I’ve made an arse of myself more times than I can count,” Grant says. “Risk versus reward.” He reaches across the tabletop and nudges Gerard’s fingers with his. Gerard taps Grant’s fingertips with his own once, twice, three times, grinning up at Grant through his eyelashes. Fuck. Seeing photographs hadn’t anywhere near prepared Grant for how stupidly attractive Gerard is.

Gerard takes a deep breath. “I keep thinking about how it was you all along and it’s blowing my fucking mind.”

Grant takes a sip of coffee and does not say anything dirty. What he does say is, “It’s a bit strange, to feel like you know someone before you ever find out their name. But… that made it easier, sometimes. To tell the truth.”

Gerard nods. “It totally did. I can just be…me. With you. I felt like that last night, too.”

“And I liked it. Like it.” Grant looks him over.

“Me, too,” Gerard says softly.

Grant wishes Gerard were closer, that they had a little more privacy. He settles for reaching out to squeeze Gerard’s hand again. “You’ll have to fill in some of the details of some of your stories for me at some point,” Grant says.

“Of course,” Gerard says. “You too, you know. I just want to - listening to you is -” he gets a little pink again.

Grant decides to change the subject, because otherwise they’ll both be blushing. He makes a mental note, though. This is absolutely a discussion they could come back to. He asks about Gerard’s panel instead. Which is the correct choice. Gerard even gets out his iPad and shows Grant a folder full of sketches and concept art. The character based on Grant is immediately apparent. Grant rubs a hand over his own head and grins.

“I also storyboarded a music video for ‘Mama’ in which I wanted you to play the devil,” Gerard says. “It would have cost too much money.”

“I would have said yes in an instant,” Grant says with a grin.

“Yes, that is the perfect expression right there,” Gerard tells him. His eyes are climbing all over Grant and he’s not bothering to hide it. All of the nervousness Grant had been feeling this morning has been completely replaced by warmth low in his belly. He can’t help but beam at Gerard. He can’t quite believe his luck. “What are you thinking?” Gerard asks him.

“I’m thinking about how stupidly fortunate I’ve been, that this is my life,” Grant says, truthfully.

Gerard smiles wide. “Good thing to think about.”

“Particularly,” Grant adds, “Because you are now part of it.”

“I was before too, Fox,” Gerard says with a twinkle in his eye.

“Ah, but now I get all of you.” Grant only barely even attempts to keep the suggestiveness out of his tone. Gerard turns red regardless, which is entirely gratifying. He wonders how much of the remainder of the weekend he can get away with spending with Gerard. He won’t lie; he’s hoping for all of it. He’ll settle for a few meals.

They finish their coffees and keep talking for several minutes, until Gerard makes a face and fishes his phone out of his pocket. It’s buzzing somewhat angrily. He rolls his eyes. “Becky,” he says and answers. There’s a bit of a cacophony on the other end and Gerard laughs. “No, I’m not fucking dead in an alley. Yes, I’m having a good time. The twins? Lunch? Hold on.” He pulls his phone away from his mouth. “Wanna go to lunch with me and my friends?”

“Of course I do,” Grant tells him.

Gerard reports this back to his friend and glances slyly at Grant once he’s hung up. “They’re going to shit themselves.”

Grant grins back. “Well then, we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

Gerard smiles and stands. He reaches out a hand to help Grant up. He doesn’t let go as he walks toward Mehdi. “Going to lunch,” he says.

Mehdi nods. “Cab or walking?”

Gerard laughs. “Cab, if only so you don’t have an aneurysm.”

Mehdi still walks them to the cab stand, which Grant finds amusing. Gerard seems to expect it, and he waves his phone as they get in and promises, “I’ll call when I’m on my way back for the panel, but I’ll be with Becky and Shaun so…”

“So you’ll be even more likely to wander off chasing a fucking butterfly,” Mehdi tells him darkly. “I’ve met you, Way.”

Gerard laughs. “Fine, fine. I’ll call no matter what.”

“I’ll pretend to be his surly, bald bodyguard should the need arise. I’m nobody away from the convention center,” Grant offers.

Mehdi eyes him. “Scrawny, but it might work.”

“I’m from Glasgow, scrawny is a technicality,” Grant replies with a smirk. Mehdi favors him with the hint of a smile.

“We’ll be fine,” Gerard insists, as he climbs into a waiting cab.

“I’ll believe it when I’m shutting you in a hotel room for the night,” Mehdi says.

A hotel room, huh, Grant thinks.

“He doesn’t really,” Gerard says when they’re on their way, cheeks stained pink. “I don’t get locked in. I’m an adult.”

“I certainly hope so,” Grant drawls.

Gerard looks straight at him, lips parted a little bit. His cheeks are flushed, and he looks determined. “You flirting with me, Fox?”

“I am absolutely flirting with you. Tell me to fuck off and I will,” Grant replies. He is almost certain Gerard will do nothing of the sort.

“That would be really dumb of me,” Gerard smiles, “since it’s all I’ve wanted to hear for months.”

Grant’s grin gets broader. “Me fucking too,” he murmurs, lacing their fingers together and squeezing. Gerard squeezes back. The rest of the ride through the Gaslamp District is short and the cab pulls up in front of a small Mexican restaurant tucked between a chemist and a clothing store. There’s a noticeable lack of costumes, which makes Grant assume it’s enough of a hole-in-the-wall to escape heavy convention business. Also, it’s not the weekend yet. But a large round table in the corner is filled with people who immediately wave at Gerard - then start staring.

Gerard tugs Grant over, muttering, “Sorry in advance.”

Grant laughs. “They don’t scare me.”

“Good. Just…I’m pretty sure Shaun swore an oath to Frank that he’d give you a Jersey-style talking to, so. Watch out for that,” Gerard warns.

Grant laughs. “I’ve given a Glasgow-style talking to, I expect they’re much the same.”

Gerard grins. “Probably.” They keep walking. Gerard doesn’t let go of his hand.

“Well, this is unexpected,” says the redhead Grant assumes is Becky Cloonan.

“Everyone, this is Grant,” Gerard says cheerfully. “Grant, this is everybody.”

“Oh my god, Gerard,” Becky says and laughs. She holds out her hand and introduces herself and the rest follow suit.

“I hope I don’t need to introduce myself,” says a familiar voice behind them.

“Jill,” Grant turns and beams.

“Hullo, Grant,” Jill says, wrapping him in a one-armed hug.

“I’ve missed you, beautiful,” he tells her.

“Always the flatterer,” she replies with a grin and turns to Gerard. “You look like you tripped and fell into an anime. Looks good on you, Gerard.”

“Gerard decided to turn himself into a character from our comic for inspiration or something,” the guy who’d introduced himself as Shaun says. Grant snorts.

“You can’t talk,” Jill warns.  

“I can laugh precisely because I’ve done it,” Grant replies with a grin and runs a hand over his bald head. Everyone laughs, but Grant turns the conversation to Korse and Becky and Gerard are only too happy to go on about him for a while.

“Also, wait until you see Gabriel’s variant cover for him,” Becky says, gesturing at one of the twins.

“I’m familiar with your work,” Grant tells Gabriel. “I’m sure it’s stunning.”

“We’ll have to get you a print,” Gerard says with a grin.

“I would love that,” Grant replies.

No one actually brings up the elephant in the room - or on the message board - other than in sidelong looks and a few jokes, which makes Gerard seem to relax a lot. It’s nice to see him with his friends, but it’s nice to be a part of the conversation too.

Unsurprisingly, Gerard’s friends are a delightful, whip-smart group. He’s fairly certain he’s going to be spending a good amount of time with them over the course of the weekend, and it won’t be a hardship.

They split up after lunch, the twins and Jill choosing to walk back while Gerard, Grant, Shaun and Becky catch a cab as Gerard promised.

In the cab, Shaun turns a stern eye on Grant and says, “So. What are your intentions towards our Gerard?”

Grant laughs, utterly delighted. “To be an excellent friend and companion to him for as long as he’ll let me.”

He can actually see Shaun bite down on an additional question. “You realize that you’re never going to live this down,” Becky says, cheerfully bumping Gerard’s shoulder with her own.

“I’m okay with it,” Gerard replies. “Who else gets to say Grant Morrison was their pen pal?”

“Was?” Grant questions mildly.

Gerard takes his hand and looks up at him meaningfully. “I don’t think it’s still pen-pals if you’ve, like, met,” Gerard tells him.

“As long as you still write me, I don’t care what we call it,” Grant says.

He’s fairly sure the repeatedly clasped hands mean it’s something else entirely, but he’s being a gentleman. Such a gentleman. It’s…difficult. Dinner. Gerard has promised him dinner. What happens after that, well. They’ll see. Grant laces their fingers together again anyway.

“Shaun,” Becky whispers loudly. “They’re being gross.”

“I’m texting Frank. I’m out of ideas for threats, I suck at this,” Shaun mumbles from the middle seat.

“Does Frank know that Gerard is being gross with Grant Morrison?” Becky asks curiously.

Shaun grins at her. “Not yet. I’m trying to decide how to do it. Picture, you think? Or something else?”

“I know where you live,” Gerard tells him, but there’s no bite behind it.

Grant feels his lips twitch and can’t quite control it. “You could let me talk to him,” he suggests smoothly.

Becky and Shaun share matching expressions of unholy glee. Gerard laughs helplessly beside him. “Do it. Troll the fuck out of him.”

Grant doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone place a phone call so fast in his entire life. Then again, he hasn’t had a mobile for his entire adult life like these three. Gerard thrusts the phone at Grant, and he puts it to his ear just in time to hear a voice with a Jersey accent even thicker than Shaun’s. “Gee?” the voice asks. “I figured you’d be so deep in Comic-Con shit that you’d forget the rest of us exist.”

“He’s in the trenches,” Grant replies. “Fighting the good fight and all that shit. Frank, is it?”

“Who’s asking?” Frank replies.

“Grant Morrison.” Frank’s initial response is a scoff. “Also known as Fox,” he adds.

“Okay, now you’re really fucking with me. Did you lose a bet? Poker game? Gerard’s poker face is nonexistent, can’t be that. And who are you really? A Shrek cosplayer? Come on, you can tell me, I’m a nice boy.”

“I’m quite serious,” Grant says, solemnly. The other three are grinning at him.

“Oh yeah? Prove it.”

“I’m going to have my friend Mr. Simon here send you a picture,” Grant tells Frank and slings an arm around Gerard’s shaking shoulders, squeezing him tight and blowing a kiss at Shaun’s phone.

A moment later, Grant hears, “Holy fucking fuck.”

Grant laughs and the rest of the cab does too. “I did tell you,” he says.

“How in the fuck was he writing to you for months and didn’t have a clue?” Grant looks at Gerard, and tries to think of something witty to say about his own intelligence, but Frank just keeps talking. “Never mind, it’s Gerard, of course he didn’t have a clue. You -” he hauls in a breath like he’s lighting a cigarette or something - “You be good to him,” he says, soft and far less intimidating that Grant had expected.

“I will,” Grant says, equally soft. Sure.

“Good,” Frank replies. “If not, I will fucking come all the way to Scotland or wherever it is you live and make your life hell.”

Grant smiles into the phone. “I have no doubt.”

“Now that that’s over with,” Frank says, “We3 is one of my favorite comics ever.”

“Mine as well,” Grant tells him. “Thank you.”

“Also, you made me like Superman, for which I will never, ever forgive you.” Frank sounds hilariously put out.

Grant laughs. “If it helps, it took me a bit to wrap my head around him and what he stood for.”

“But you did,” Frank says. “You understand - a lot of complicated people.”

“I try,” Grant replies. Gerard taps him on the arm, and Grant looks up to see that they’re approaching the convention center. “We’re about to get back to business. I’ll give you to Gerard,” Grant says. “It was nice to talk to you, Frank.”

“You too,” Frank says automatically, though he does sound a bit stunned.

Gerard takes the phone back. “Hey, Frankie,” he says, and then, “I know! I know, I know. Only me. Okay, I gotta go. I’ll call soon, promise. Love you too. Bye.” Becky and Shaun are still smirking, but Gerard looks different now. More - in command, like the man with the microphone in front of thousands. He smiles at Grant, serene. “Time to go work.”

Mehdi meets them at the cab stand and ushers all four of them briskly through the crowds. It’s rather novel. Not that Grant has never had security with him for anything, but it never feels quite this natural to him.

Scott Allie gives him a double-take when he walks into the staging area for Gerard’s panel, which is sort of gratifying. Gerard, Shaun, and Becky are standing in a tight knot, heads bent close together. Grant smiles and looks out at the crowd. The portion of young women in the audience is certainly higher than most of the other panels he’s been part of. It’s refreshing. He’s very much looking forward to talking with Gerard about his experiences, now that their secrets are revealed.

Gerard in front of a crowd is… incandescent. His smile lights up the entire room. He has the room in the palm of his hand. He makes them cry, makes them laugh, all while making sure Becky and Shaun say their piece as well.

“He’s so good at this,” one of the Dark Horse staffers murmurs.

“A born performer,” Grant agrees softly.

“Suppose it makes sense,” the staffer goes on. “He’s a great writer too. Some people get all the talent.”

She shoots a look at Grant after she says it and he snickers and shrugs.

He can’t take his eyes of off Gerard for the rest of the panel. Fuck, he wants– wants to tangle a hand in Gerard’s hair and pull him close. Wants to mouth at the skin of his throat. Wants to take him back to Grant’s hotel room and do wicked things to him. He smiles to himself. He’s fairly certain Gerard will let him. But one thing at a time.

His mouth twitches with a smile a few times during the Q&A when something out of Gerard’s mouth is particularly…Danny. And he can help his laugh at Gerard’s expression when somebody asks, “Does Grant Morrison know you’ve based a character on him?”

Gerard sneaks a look over at him with a wide grin. “I don’t know, does he?” Then he refocuses on the fan asking the question. “He probably does if he reads the papers.”

“I’m sure he’s thrilled,” Shaun adds, dryly.

Grant can’t help it. He walks up behind Gerard and leans toward the mic. “He is, thank you.” The whole crowd laughs and cheers. Grant waves and goes back to where he was standing. Becky takes over the mic and starts talking about character design, and Grant’s phone buzzes a second later.

 Exhibitionist.

He huffs out a laugh and responds, Glass houses.

Gerard gives no indication that he’s doing anything other than listening attentively to Becky. Grant fucking adores him.

The Q&A ends after two more questions. Grant watches as the kids come up to talk to the three of them. They stand there signing autographs and answering questions until a con staffer speaks to Mehdi and he moves in to get them. Becky breaks off from the rest of them to go back to her booth, but Mehdi deposits Shaun and Gerard, along with Grant, in the closest VIP green room.

“That was fucking amazing,” Gerard says. Shaun goes in for a high five, and then the two of them hug.

“From an outsider’s perspective, I thought you were all wonderful,” Grant tells them. “The first thing I noticed about the room was how diverse the crowd was, and they loved you.”

“I can’t fucking wait for November,” Shaun says, grin splitting his face.

“It’s gonna be great,” Gerard says confidently.

“I am more than certain that it will,” Grant says. “And I can’t wait to see the finished product.”

“You don’t have to wait,” Gerard says. “You’ve got an in.” He pours himself a cup of coffee from the bar in the corner. “So your panel is next.”

“It is,” Grant agrees. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and checks the time. “I have some time. You’ll come?” Grant asks. He doesn’t want to let Gerard out of his sight. Not yet.

“We both will,” Shaun says, “if that’s okay?”

“Absolutely,” Grant says firmly.

Gerard beams at him and reaches over to take his hand again. “And then we have a bet to settle.”

Gerard smirks. “You mean you have a bet to lose.”

“We’ll see,” Grant tells him, smirking back.

Gerard leans close and holds out his phone to take a picture. “Selfie Friday,” he explains with a smile.

Grant laughs. “Twitter is too much pressure for me.”

“You gotta make it work for you,” Gerard tells him sagely, tapping at his phone. “I can say that because it took me a long time to actually use it. Finally I just said ‘fuck it’ and jumped in.” He looks up and smiles. “There.” He holds up his phone so Grant can see the picture.

“Gerard Way, International Rock Star, and some comics bloke,” Grant jokes.

“Whatever,” Gerard says, smiling down at his phone.

Grant rather desperately wants to kiss him. “You don’t believe me?” Grant pulls out his own phone and opens up his Twitter app. Gerard makes a show of tapping his fingers and checking the time as Grant navigates through the process of retweeting the photo, and Grant has to try hard to keep a straight face. “You have ten times the followers I do, mind, but we shall see.”

“You’re on,” Gerard agrees.

Shaun just laughs. “You’re both ridiculous. Though, for the record, my money is on Grant.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Shaun, but you’re not invited to dinner,” Gerard says.

Shaun pats Gerard’s cheek companionably. “I think I’ll survive.”

Gerard rolls his eyes, but his cheeks have gone pink. It only makes Grant want to kiss him more.

“I have a meeting to get to,” he says sadly after a moment. “You’ll come to my panel?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Gerard promises.

Grant stands and squeezes Gerard’s shoulder. “See you later, love.”

Shaun starts laughing before he’s even out of the room. Grant suppresses a smile.

**

Gerard watches Grant leave, aware that he’s probably smiling like an idiot but unable to muster up any ability to care. Shaun is laughing at him and he doesn’t really care about that, either, but he kicks Shaun in the shin anyway.

“Ow,” Shaun complains. “You gotta admit it’s a little funny, though.”

Gerard concedes the point, because, well. “This is kind of the greatest day,” he says, slinging an arm across Shaun’s shoulder.

Shaun grins and squeezes back. “I’m pretty fucking stoked on my life and I’m a little jealous of yours. Only you, Gerard Way. Only you.”

Gerard ducks his head and scrubs a hand through his hair. He’s really, really looking forward to seeing Grant’s panel. And to dinner. And… whatever comes next.

“So. Is this, like, serious?” Shaun asks.

“I don’t know,” Gerard replies. “It feels like it might be? But I don’t know for sure.”

“Guess you can take your time,” Shaun says, but he sounds dubious. Gerard can play a long game, but he’s really not all that good at being patient. In this case, he’s pretty sure he’s not going to have to be. Grant had been pretty forward, back in the cab.

“Guess so. He’s already my best friend, though. So like. I don’t know. We’ll talk and shit. Maybe even tonight,” Gerard says.

Shaun is still shaking his head. “Only you.”

“You love me,” Gerard says, laughing.

“I do, my friend. But ridiculous, amazing things happen to you,” Shaun replied.

“Call me crazy, but I’m okay with that,” Gerard tells him.

Scott tracks them down eventually, and they debrief about the panel a little bit. Then Scott gives Gerard shit for surprising him with “Grant fucking Morrison, Way, warn a guy next time, especially if he’s going to be a special guest.”

“In my defense,” Gerard says, “I had no idea that would happen until eleven this morning.”

Scott stares. “Eleven was your coffee meeting with your online pal.”

“Yes, it was,” Gerard murmurs. And waits.

“You are fucking kidding me,” Scott says, flatly.

“He’s not,” Shaun says. “His life is exactly that charmed and absurd.”

Scott tugs at his fringe. “Of course it is. Oh, Gerard.” Gerard just grins, aware that he’s probably blushing. Again. Dammit. Scott laughs and squeezes his shoulder. “Well, I’m glad it clearly went well.”

“Me too,” Gerard says fervently. So fucking glad he hardly knows what to do with himself. Gerard checks his watch. “I’ve got a panel to catch,” he says with a grin.

“Me too,” Shaun reminds him. “Let’s go.”

Predictably, the room for Grant’s panel is completely packed. Gerard peers out from the staging area in awe. It’s a much bigger room than the one Gerard’s panel had been in. There’s a higher percentage of dudes, but a not-insignificant number of women too. They all look as thrilled to be here as Gerard is. Well, maybe not quite.

Grant is standing at the other side of the staging area, head bent together with someone Gerard doesn’t recognize. Gerard stands back and watches him. He’s amazed at how familiar Grant feels to him. Having a conversation, yeah, that makes sense. But Grant’s physical presence feels normal to him as well.

Actually, most of the time it feels fucking distracting. He’d felt it last night, even when he hadn’t known that Grant was Fox. Now, it’s ten times more intense. He likes it, though. Likes it a lot. He wonders if Grant feels it too.

Okay, he doesn’t really have to wonder about that.

Across the room, Grant straightens up and turns. He lights up when he sees Gerard, and Gerard’s breath catches. Grant comes over to them immediately. “So glad you’re here.” He smooths a thumb over Gerard’s cheekbone. “Enjoy.”

Gerard catches Grant’s hand before he can pull away and squeezes their fingers together. Grant smiles at him. “Break a leg,” Gerard says.

Grant nods and stands there for a few more moments while he’s introduced. Then he takes a deep breath and bounds up onto the stage. The crowd fucking screams.

Gerard beams and spends the next hour listening to Grant talk, listening to every amazing thing that comes out of his mouth. Sometimes it’s touching and sometimes the entire room roars with laughter. Once or twice Gerard is pretty sure Grant is talking about him.

It strikes him all over again as he watches; Grant is Fox. The intelligent, hilarious, insightful man who’s become one of his very closest friends over the course of the last several months… is one of Gerard’s heroes. It’s a heady and incredible feeling. All Gerard can do is stand back and feel so fucking proud of and amazed by his friend.  

“Your face is really dumb right now,” Shaun tells him. “Like, in a sweet way. I can’t believe I just said that.”

“Shut up,” Gerard says, but his heart’s not really in it.

Grant answers audience questions and when the moderator indicates the end of the panel, he signs things and answers questions for several minutes. He glances offstage at them several times, and Gerard just grins and chats with Shaun.

Finally, Grant makes his way off the stage and back into the staging area. He doesn’t come over right away; there are people back here waiting to talk to him, too. Gerard tries to be patient. He can tell he’s failing when Shaun elbows him in the ribs. “You’re staring.”

“Do you blame me?” Gerard says.

“Nah, guess not,” Shaun laughs.

Finally, Grant takes his leave of everyone talking to him and comes their way. Gerard beams at him.

“Thanks for waiting,” Grant says. “That was a bit mental at the end. Nothing like yours,” he laughs.

“Whatever, big shot,” Gerard teases. “You were fantastic.”

“Thanks,” Grant says, running his hand over his head. It’s not quite a nervous gesture, but it’s in the same family and Gerard finds it completely endearing.

“What next?” Gerard smiles.

“I told Becky I would go bother her at her booth,” Shaun says. He holds out his hand for Grant to shake. “Great panel, man. Thanks for the invite.”

Grant smiles and shakes his hand. “I’m sure I’ll see you again over the course of the weekend.”

“Bet you will.” Shaun chuckles and squeezes Gerard’s shoulder and leaves the two of them alone. Well, not alone; there are still at least a dozen people milling around the staging area. But fuck if the way Grant is looking at him doesn’t make Gerard feel like he and Grant are the only two people here.

“So,” Grant says. “I’m mostly free the rest of the evening.”

“When’s the not-free part?” Gerard asks.

“I should put in an appearance at the Image Gala tonight,” Grant replies. “But other than that…”

“I could go with you?” Gerard offers, then adds, “Or you could skip it. We could just. Hang out.”

“I’d probably enjoy it, but I think I’d enjoy being with you more,” Grant says.

Gerard takes a deep breath, trying to settle the butterflies in his belly. “Then… We should see who’s buying who dinner.”

“What’s the best way to do that, do you think?” Grant asks.

“Retweets? Google ourselves for the last twenty-four hours and see whose name pops up in the search for the other more?” Gerard suggests. “Also see what the photo services have to say. Pretty sure that was a pro, not some random DC staffer.”

“Sounds like a lot of work. Coffee?”

“Always coffee,” Gerard agrees.

They make their way to the nearest VIP room and while Grant gets them coffee, Gerard pulls out his iPad and starts checking. And starts making more and more dismayed faces at his screen. “What the fuck.”

Grant leans over to put a cup of coffee in front of him and stays there. “You’re losing, aren’t you? You young, pretty thing, how shocking,” he murmurs in Gerard’s ear.

“But - you’re Grant fucking Morrison!” Gerard is aware that he sounds kind of petulant, but.

“But you are Gerard Way. Far more people in this world know your face, love,” Grant says with a smile.

“Well, I can afford to buy you dinner, anyway,” Gerard concedes.

Grant reaches over to pat his shoulder consolingly; Gerard catches Grant’s hand in his own. “It won’t be a hardship,” Gerard admits. “Even if I do think you should be way the fuck more famous than me.”

Grant just smiles at him. He seems perfectly happy with the outcome. To be honest, Gerard is, too.

“So. Where are we going?” Gerard asks. “I’m into anything.”

“Let’s go up to Old Town, find someplace quiet, yeah?” Grant murmurs.

“Yeah,” Gerard agrees. He feels like the air between them is crackling, charged. He almost wants to skip dinner, go straight to one of their rooms. But they have a bet to settle and he is getting hungry again.

“D’you need to let your Mehdi know you’re leaving? Or anyone else?”

“I’ll call him,” Gerard says, tucking away his tablet and pulling out his phone. He makes the call and Mehdi doesn’t even harass him that much. Gerard knows he’ll get it later, though. “Let’s find someone to get us a cab,” Gerard says.

It’s not quite as easy as that- they get stopped a few times on their way out, mostly by people they know. But soon enough they’re in a cab, and Grant is directing the driver towards Old Town. It’s a fucking gorgeous evening. But then, it’s San Diego. That’s not really a surprise.

They’re still not alone, but Grant’s warm fingers cover his. It’s good.

“I’m still having a hard time fucking believing this,” Gerard murmurs, as they watch San Diego going past the cab windows.

“Magic is like that,” Grant replies seriously. Gerard fucking believes him. “It’s easier to just believe. It’s fucking punk to believe. Everyone expects the terrible things. I choose to accept the great ones.”

Gerard really, really wants to lean in and press their lips together. It would be so fucking easy, and he knows, knows that Grant would kiss him back. He wants, but he knows if he starts, he won’t want to stop for a long fucking time. So he squeezes Grant’s hand in his.

“What does your weekend look like?” he asks.

Grant huffs. “Busier than I would like. Today was the eye of the storm, relatively speaking.”

“We’ll work around it,” Gerard says. “I have a signing tomorrow. And another the next day. And I promised to help man the booth for a while.”

“I have plenty to do myself,” Grant chuckles. “But we ought to compare schedules.”

The cab lets them off in Old Town, and they wander around for a few minutes before deciding on a little Mexican restaurant tucked out of the way in a corner. There’s a candle on the table and the whole thing is terribly romantic. Gerard grins at Grant over the table.   “Hope this is an acceptable prize,” he says.

“More than,” Grant agrees. “This is- it’s perfect, Gerard.”

Gerard smiles broadly at him and reaches across the table to take his hand. “What I really want to know is if a bet payment can count as a first date.”

Grant laughs, interlacing their fingers. “As long as it’s the first of many, I think.”

“That’s pretty much guaranteed,” Gerard replies.

Grant smiles. “Do you mind if I have a drink, love?”

“Not at all,” Gerard says, because it’s true. He trusts himself, and he trusts Grant, too.

Grant gets a Mexican beer and Gerard orders a Diet Coke. They keep holding hands. They keep talking, too, some about friends they share or friends they think they ought to share. Some about San Diego. And some conversations that they’d started months ago, back as Danny and Fox, and have been carrying on periodically ever since. It’s different but so fucking amazing to not have to wait for a response, to see Grant sitting across from him as they talk.

Gerard is pretty sure Grant is right. Magic is the only thing that can explain this. He loves the sound of Grant’s voice, the way he talks with his hands, the way he smiles.

When the food arrives, Gerard finds himself very unhappy about having to let go of Grant’s hand.

Grant laughs at him. “Tacos, Gerard. You want to eat them.”

“I do.” Gerard looks at them sadly, then at Grant.

“I’ll be here,” Grant promises.

Gerard laughs a little because he’s being ridiculous and he knows it, and lifts his taco to his mouth to take a bite. They enjoy their food silently for a few moments and then start talking again. Gerard is pretty sure they’re never going to run out of things to say to each other.

They eat. Grant has another beer, Gerard a spicy and amazing cup of coffee. Grant notes the time, but shows no regret at missing the night’s party. They linger over coffee and dessert for a long time, until Grant finally says, “Well, I am prepared to consider this bet more than satisfactorily settled. And… I think we should go back to the hotel now.”

The way he says it makes Gerard shiver. He takes a deep breath, nods, and gestures for the check. As he’s writing out the tip and signing his name on the credit card slip, Grant squeezes his thigh. He jumps. This isn’t the innocent hand-holding from before.

“Too much?” Grant asks quietly.

“Fuck, no,” Gerard says vehemently. “This is- I’ve been waiting for months.”

Grant smiles softly at him. “As have I. Let’s go.”

Gerard pulls out his phone and calls for a cab. As they wait near the entrance to the restaurant, Grant pulls Gerard into his arms.  

“Is this where you kiss me?” Gerard breathes.

“Is that all right?” Grant asks. Gerard sees him dart a look out into the night, the people walking past.

Gerard nods. “Well, I might explode if you don’t.”

Grant laughs softly. “In that case…” He cups Gerard’s cheek in his hand and leans down to kiss him softly. Gerard sighs and lets his eyes slip closed, reaching up to rest his hand on the back of Grant’s head. It starts slow and soft and Grant’s fingers slip under the hem of his shirt to stroke the skin of his back. Everything about it is gentle, but in a way that promises later won’t be.

Grant’s hand finds the small of Gerard’s back and rests there. Gerard gasps into Grant’s mouth. “Where’s that damn cab?” Gerard murmurs against Grant’s lips.

“Don’t much care,” Grant replies.

“I want to be touching you,” Gerard says. “The kind of touching I can’t do right here because of public indecency laws.”

Grant laughs. “I understand. Soon.”

“Months, Fox,” Gerard says. “Months.”

“I know. You aren’t the only one who’s been counting.” Grant pulls back and swipes his thumb against Gerard’s palm. “Did you think about me?”

“So much,” Gerard admits. “And not just… I wanted you to be where I was, you know?” Grant smiles and pulls him closer until their hips are together. Gerard gasps.

“I do know.”

The cab arrives. Gerard is about ready to kiss the driver, but he settles for curling against Grant instead. Grant wraps an arm around Gerard’s waist and presses a kiss to his temple. Gerard leans into him. The ride back to the hotel is both the longest and shortest of his life. “Schrödinger’s cab ride,” he mutters to himself.

“I don’t think that’s what that means,” Grant laughs.

“Whatever,” Gerard huffs. “You know what I fucking mean, Mr. Quantum Mechanics.”

Grant smiles and kisses his cheek as they pull up in front of the hotel. “I know precisely what you mean.” He settles the cab fare then follows Gerard into the hotel and into the elevator.

Of course, because it’s Comic Con, there are already six people in the elevator. One man’s eyes go wide when he sees Grant, but he doesn’t approach them. Gerard can see the hints of a smile around the corners of Grant’s mouth, but they play it cool and just get off the elevator on Gerard’s floor.

Gerard is good; he only fumbles his key card once. And then they’re through the door, and it’s closed behind him, and that is fucking it. He pushes Grant against the wall and kisses him like he’s been wanting to, with tongue and teeth on his bottom lip and hands under his suit jacket.

Grant gasps and pulls him in, letting Gerard press against him, push a knee between his thighs. “Fuck,” Grant moans, hands coming up to cup Gerard’s ass.

Gerard rolls his hips against Grant’s and tugs his shirt out of his trousers. He kisses him hard, like he’s never going to stop. (He might never stop.) Grant tries to get Gerard’s jacket off of him but they’re both all fumbling hands, so eventually they pull apart. “Fuck,” Gerard gasps, panting into the hollow of Grant’s throat.

“My thoughts exactly,” Grant murmurs. “Gerard, let me undress you.”

“I get to return the favor,” Gerard says, firmly.

“Of course,” Grant replies.

Gerard reaches up to slide Grant’s suit jacket off his shoulders. “You always look so good in these,” he murmurs. “I always thought so.”

“Always?” Grant asks softly.

“I’ve been attracted to you since the first time I saw you,” Gerard says.

“When was that?” Grant asks, helping Gerard with his cuff links.

“Fuck, I don’t know,” Gerard murmurs. “Long time. First time I saw you in person was while you were writing The Invisibles. I was an intern at DC and you came in wearing the full King Mob deal. It was fucking amazing,” Gerard explains.

Grant’s cheeks go pink. “That was so long ago.”

“Didn’t matter. Doesn’t. You’re fucking gorgeous, Grant.”

“I liked going into the offices feeling like I was king of the world,” Grant confesses with a smile. Gerard starts working on the buttons of his dress shirt.

“I’m pretty sure you still are,” Gerard murmurs. He leans in to kiss Grant’s chest as it’s exposed.

“You make me feel like it,” Grant says softly.

Gerard lifts his face to smile at Grant. Grant puts his hands in Gerard’s hair and leans in to kiss him again. Less frantic this time, but soft and fucking intense. When he breaks it off, he tries again and this time Gerard stands docilely while Grant strips off his jacket and shirt. He makes a little involuntary noise when Grant continues on to his jeans.

“Soon, love,” Grant promises, slowly drawing down the zip. Grant pushes his jeans down his thighs and crouches down to take off his shoes and socks and pull his jeans the rest of the way off. He kisses Gerard’s thigh, and Gerard whimpers a bit and tugs at his shoulders.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Gerard murmurs.

Grant slides his hands over Gerard’s shoulders and down his chest. “You are so fucking beautiful,” Grant murmurs.

“I, I -”

“You know you are,” Grant adds softly. “You’re used to people looking at you.”

“Not when they’re you,” Gerard gasps.

“I intend to give you plenty of time to get used to it,” Grant promises.

Gerard smiles. He feels weirdly shy and he fucking knows he’s blushing. He takes a breath and tugs Grant back until they get to the bed. He sits and puts his hands to Grant’s button and zip. Finally.

Grant bends down to bite at Gerard’s ear, gently. Gerard gasps. He takes a breath and pulls Grant’s pants down. Grant toes his shoes off and steps out of them. He sits on the bed next to Gerard and peels off his socks. He’s completely unhurried about it all, and Gerard is so nervous he can feel his pulse in his throat.

“Hey,” Grant murmurs, tugging Gerard up towards the pillows. “Come here, love.” Gerard settles into his arms. His skin is warm and he’s looking at Gerard in a way that makes him swallow hard. “I’m nervous too,” Grant tells him. “I’d never even thought to imagine this.”

“I’m so fucking glad we’re here,” Gerard says, hiding the words in the skin of Grant’s throat. Grant strokes Gerard’s hair behind his ear and slides his hand down to cup his shoulder. Gerard presses his lips to the underside of Grant’s jaw.

Grant hums and slides his hand up and down Gerard’s arm, then pulls Gerard on top of himself. Their cocks line up, and both of them moan. Gerard wants their briefs off right the fuck now, but he doesn’t want to move. He settles for rolling his hips against Grant’s and sucking at the base of his neck, just below his collar line.

“You ought to make it higher,” Grant rumbles. “So I can walk around knowing everyone is wondering who’s been giving me lovebites.”

“Exhibitionist,” Gerard murmurs.

“Glass-” Grant begins, but Gerard bites him a little harder and he trails off on a moan. Gerard would smile if he weren’t so busy sucking a hickey into Grant’s neck. Well above the collar line. He can’t deny he likes the thought of people wondering who marked Grant like that.

Grant settles his hands onto Gerard’s ass and urges him to keep moving. Not that Gerard needs much in the way of urging.

They move together for a minute and then Gerard pulls himself away. He gets rid of his briefs and reaches for Grant’s. Grant lifts his hips and Gerard slides them down his legs. He can’t help fucking staring, once he gets them down. “Jesus fuck.”

Grant props himself up on his elbows and smirks. “Is this where I ask if you see something you like, love?”

Gerard laughs. “I see many things I like a whole fucking lot.”

“How would you like them?” Grant asks, oh so politely.

“Hmmm,” Gerard murmurs, ducking his head down to mouth along Grant’s chest.

Grant puts his hands in Gerard’s hair. “That’s not an answer, but I’ll take it.”

Gerard gets his lips wrapped around a nipple and sets out to make Grant moan. It doesn’t take long. Grant is gratifyingly vocal, and he twists his fingers lightly in Gerard’s hair to hold him where he is. Gerard keeps licking and sucking. Grant only gives him enough leeway to switch to his other nipple. Gerard is fine with that. He can feel Grant’s cock against his belly. He’s as hard as Gerard is, now. Fuck if Gerard isn’t drooling.

“Have you decided what you want, love?” Grant rasps.

“I wanna suck you,” Gerard replies immediately. He shoots a look up at Grant, who’s smiling. The fingers in Gerard’s hair tighten, then release.

“Whatever you like, love,” Grant says.

“I fucking like,” Gerard replies and moves down Grant’s body. He kisses Grant’s soft stomach and the jut of his hipbone, shifting to take the head of his cock in his mouth.

Grant gasps, head falling back against the pillows. Gerard feels really fucking smug for a moment before taking more of Grant into his mouth. He tastes good and he’s stretching Gerard’s lips just right. This is one thing Gerard knows he’s fucking good at. It’s more gratifying to do this for Grant than it usually is; Grant is gorgeous, flushed, fingertips catching on the sheets.

Gerard brings his hand up to wrap around the base of Grant’s cock. He shifts his hips against the mattress just for a little bit of friction. He could get off on this, easy. He goes down further, taking Grant in until his lips meet his fist.

“Fuck,” Grant moans. “Oh, fuck me, you’re really fucking good at this.”

Gerard presses his tongue against the base of Grant’s cock and squeezes his hip with his free hand. He drops down to mouth gently at his balls, too, then noses back up his shaft to lick along the underside, being deliberately teasing this time. He loves everything about this: the smell, the taste, the feeling of Grant underneath him.

Gerard takes Grant’s cock in his mouth again. This time, he goes down as far as he can, until he’s swallowing around the head of Grant’s cock. He still doesn’t have Grant all the way in. Clearly he’ll have to practice. Gerard is okay with practicing. Repeatedly. He moans quietly, happily, and starts to bob his head.

Grant keeps up a steady stream of encouragement, moaning and swearing and running his hands over Gerard’s hair. Gerard pulls off giggling hoarsely a few moments later. Grant gives him a look that’s half amused, half impatient. “Sorry,” Gerard gasps. “Just. In the comments of one of my interviews, someone asked, ‘Could he be sucking Morrison’s cock more?’”

“At the moment?” Grant drawls. “Yes. With an option on fucking now and getting back to the cocksucking later.”

Gerard licks his lips. “You wanna fuck me, Grant?”

“Fuck, yes. Get the fuck up here,” Grant growls. Gerard grins and takes his time about it, feeling wicked. He wraps his hand around Grant’s cock and strokes. He moves up slowly, kissing his belly, his scar, his chest. When he finally gets to Grant’s mouth, Grant’s eyes are practically black.

Gerard dips his head down to claim a kiss, light and teasing, biting at Grant’s lips until Grant growls again, fisting his hands in Gerard’s hair and pulling him down properly.

Gerard moans against his mouth. “Grant,” he gasps.

“Do you have condoms?” Grant asks.

“I…yes,” Gerard says, turning red. “I brought some.”

Grant chuckles against Gerard’s throat, voice husky when he says, “You were hoping for this, hm? I was, too. So fucking much.”

“I didn’t even know if we’d be attracted to each other or if we’d get along in person. But fuck, I hoped. So much,” Gerard replies.

“Do you date much?” Grant asks, running fingers through Gerard’s hair, rubbing gently at the shaved sides.

“Not for a while,” Gerard admits. His eyes slip shut at the feeling of Grant’s fingers carding through his hair, and he practically has to bite back a croon. Grant clearly notices, because he chuckles again. “For a long while,” Gerard adds. “Meeting people is complicated for me.”

“I understand,” Grant murmurs and leans in for a kiss. “Get me the stuff,” he whispers against Gerard’s lips.

“You’ll have to let me go first,” Gerard reminds him, teasingly.

“I suppose,” Grant replies and gives him another kiss before releasing him. Gerard gets up and grabs the stuff from his suitcase.

Gerard stretches out on his side next to Grant and balances the lube and a condom on Grant’s stomach.

“Oi,” Grant says, frowning down at him.

“What?” Gerard asks innocently.

“Some audience participation, if you please,” Grant replies. Gerard smiles and grabs the condom. He tears open the wrapper and leans up on his elbow to slowly roll it down Grant’s cock. The little noise Grant makes when he does it makes his stomach flip. Gerard grins and presses the lube into Grant’s hand. “Get me ready?”

Grant smiles back and leans down to kiss him. “It would be my pleasure.” He moves down the bed and settles between Gerard’s spread legs. He goes quickly, sinking one slick finger in to the second knuckle and thrusting it at an even pace.

Gerard moans. It feels fucking incredible; “Grant,” he pants.

Grant kisses the top of his thigh and slides a second finger in next to the first. It’s maybe a little fast, but Gerard wants Grant in him.

“Is this-” Grant begins, and Gerard gasps “yes” and rocks back against Grant’s fingers, just in case he’s getting any ideas about stopping or slowing down.

Grant wraps his free hand loosely around Gerard’s cock and crooks his fingers to drag over Gerard’s prostate as he thrusts them.

Gerard moans. “Fuckin’ - more.”

“Whatever you like,” Grant murmurs, and he teases at Gerard’s hole with a third finger. Gerard gasps and writhes, hands clenching in the sheets. “Impatient,” Grant chides, laughing softly as he slides the third finger in beside the first two.

“You have no fucking idea,” Gerard moans. “Fuck. Please.”

Grant moves fast, when he finally decides to move - withdrawing his fingers and pushing Gerard’s thighs apart, only pausing when the head of his cock is snugly pressed against Gerard’s ass.

“Now,” Gerard gasps, grabbing for Grant’s hand and lacing their fingers together. Grant’s other hand finds Gerard’s hip, and Gerard moans loud and long as Grant presses inside of him.

“Gerard,” Grant gasps in his ear. “Oh, fuck.” He sounds undone, but he keeps his hips steady and slow.

“Please, Fox,” Gerard whispers. He feels electric, needy, shaken, as undone as Grant sounds, but there’s one person who can give him what he needs.

Grant chants a low, steady stream of filth into Gerard’s ear, fucking into him over and over again. Gerard arches and writhes and gasps. He’s probably making too much noise, but fuck, he doesn’t give a shit, it feels too good. He wraps his arms around Grant, grips his shoulders instead of the sheets.

“My Danny,” Grant whispers in his ear.

“Yes,” Gerard moans. “Fuck, touch me.”

Grant doesn’t waste a second, hand sliding down from Gerard’s hip to wrap around his cock. Gerard moans and thrusts his hips up into Grant’s hands and then back against his cock.

“That’s it,” Grant rasps, “More. Again. Come for me.”

“Almost there,” Gerard tells him, eyes closing against the wave he can feel building in the pit of his belly. They keep moving. Gerard pulls Grant’s head down for a desperate kiss just as he starts to come. He moans into Grant’s mouth, fingers tightening, and Grant speeds up his thrusts, sloppy and desperate.

Gerard doesn’t have any more words; he just moans, over and over, riding the aftershocks of his own orgasm and panting against Grant’s lips. Grant thrusts hard one last time and comes, moans muffled against Gerard’s mouth.

Gerard chases his tongue, kisses him until neither of them can breathe, until Grant is slumped heavily over him.

“Darling,” Grant murmurs in his ear, tightening his arms around Gerard’s waist. Gerard swallows and tightens one arm around Grant and slides a hand up to cup the back of Grant’s head. His body is humming, spent. In awe of what just happened.

They lie together for long moments. Gerard takes a deep breath, and then another. He turns his head and presses his lips to Grant’s cheek. “God,” he mumbles.

“Not last time I checked,” Grant jokes.

Gerard huffs out a laugh against Grant’s shoulder. This is Fox in his arms. Grant. It’s blowing his mind a little bit.

“This would have to happen the busiest weekend of the year,” he sighs.

Grant is quiet for a moment. Then he says, a bit hesitantly, “I… had been thinking. About perhaps not returning immediately to Scotland, after the convention.”

“Wanna come back to Portland with me?” Gerard asks. “I bet you’d like it.”

“I’d love to. Want to come to LA with me first? Just to visit a few people I rarely see.”

“Definitely,” Gerard says, pressing a kiss to the nearest bit of Grant he can reach. “You get to tell Scott, though.”

Grant laughs. “I can do that. I feel like he won’t find me particularly intimidating, though. Unless you’re using me as a shield?”

“No, I just like to render him speechless as often as possible,” Gerard laughs, then gasps as Grant shifts and pulls out. He retreats to the bathroom and comes back in a moment with a damp washcloth.

Gerard hums, pleased at the attention, but it’s nothing compared to how good it feels when Grant climbs back into bed and wraps Gerard in his arms again. “I feel really fucking lucky right now,” Gerard tells him.

“So do I,” Grant replies.

Gerard grins, and Grant bends down to press a kiss against his lips, and they kiss and kiss until Gerard’s eyes are drooping closed. He falls asleep warm and comfortable, with Grant’s lips pressed against his cheek.

**

Grant wakes to the immensely irritating sound of his alarm and is groggily confused to find someone in bed with him. Having stolen all the covers, no less. He fumbles for the telephone and turns off the alarm. When he looks over at the pile of blankets at the other side of the bed, he finds a pair of sleep-bleary eyes blinking at him.

“You stole all the blankets,” Grant says. “I have a vision of my future and it includes a lot of me waking up freezing.”

Gerard makes a grumbly noise, but rolls toward Grant with his arm up, blankets in hand. Grant meets him in the middle and Gerard wraps the blankets over his shoulders and snuggles against his chest. “Sorry,” he breathes against Grant’s skin.

“I’m just pleased to wake up with you,” Grant tells him.

“Me fucking too,” Gerard says, smiling at him. Grant feels warm in a way that has very little to do with the blankets. Grant wraps his arms around Gerard and kisses his temple. He thinks waking up cold because Gerard has stolen the covers might be the best possible future. “What time is it anyway?” Gerard mutters.

“Earlier than either of us are given to rising,” Grant tells him. “But the press never sleep, it seems. I’ve an interview in an hour.”

“Ugh,” Gerard mutters.

“It was as late as I could book it, too,” Grant says with a sigh. “You can go back to sleep if you like.”

“No, I have to get to the convention center too.” Gerard stretches and drapes himself more fully over Grant.

Grant laughs. “This isn’t terribly conducive to me getting up, love.”

Gerard sighs heavily. “Ugh,” he repeats.

“I promise to make it up to you,” Grant murmurs.

“I like the sound of that,” Gerard tells his neck.

They lie there together for a few minutes more, just breathing. “It’s fucking weird not to be checking my phone right now,” Gerard laughs.

Grant laughs. “Did I tell you I bought a smartphone for you? I didn’t have a mobile at all until just before I went to London.”

“For me?” Gerard repeats.

“Because I couldn’t stand the thought of missing any of your messages,” Grant confirms.

Gerard beams at him. “I was horrible. Scott threatened to confiscate my phone every time I was at Dark Horse for meetings, because he could always tell I was itching to check my texts.”

Grant laughs. “The lads in London gave me so much shit. Especially since they knew I didn’t have a mobile previously. Kristan, too.”

Gerard looks at him curiously for a moment, before comprehension dawns. “Your ex. The good one.”

He nods. “She used to handle everything that could possibly require a mobile. I resisted getting one myself for a very long time.” “What happened with her?”

Grant is quiet for a moment, thinking. “I…was too much of a workaholic for her, I think. When it came down to it. We had other problems, but if I’d been able to pull away from work more often, I think those other things would have been bearable for her,” Grant explains. “Sadly, not much has changed.” Grant frowns a bit.

“Hey,” Gerard says, wriggling so they’re face to face. “You talked to me pretty much all day every day for months,” Gerard reminds him. Grant smiles and kisses the tip of his nose. “You’re right,” he whispers. He has no idea what this thing that he and Gerard have been building together is going to become, but it already feels so fucking strong. Like maybe they’ll be able to sort it out, between the two of them. He leans up to kiss Gerard. He forces himself to keep it brief, but it’s difficult. “I’ve got to shower and dress and get moving.”

Gerard takes a deep breath, fingertips gentle against the back of Grant’s skull, pulling their foreheads together. “If we have any matching free time, we should meet in the VIP lounge,” Gerard suggests.

“I’ll text you whenever I do,” Grant promises, giving him a kiss he intends to be quick. Naturally, it doesn’t work out that way. Both of them groan when they finally pull apart. Grant forces himself to pull away and get out of bed. He wants to do anything but. He pulls on his clothes and checks his pockets to make sure he has everything. “Talk to you later,” he murmurs.

“Definitely,” Gerard says. He presses his finger to the mark he’d left on Grant’s neck the night before, grinning when Grant hisses a little bit. “Get out of here,” Gerard tells him. “Knock ’em dead at the interview.”

Grant smiles. “I shall do my best.” He heads back to his own room to change with a spring in his step. He needs a Red Bull and something to eat, but he feels shockingly good.

He has to laugh when he gets a glimpse of himself in the mirror in his own room. Gerard hadn’t been at all subtle. He’s not going to have time to shave, but that’s all right. Kissing Gerard was entirely more important. He showers quickly and dresses. Nice suit, stubbly face, that’s just what people get today. He’s going to get plenty of shit from the people who know him, and that’s fine. He’ll take it gladly, knowing what he’s getting in exchange.

And really, gloating to his friends about his hot young boyfriend is not outside the realm of possibility. Boyfriend. Fuck, that’s amazing. He grabs his phone and types out, Can’t stop fucking grinning.

It takes a minute for Gerard to respond. I’m gonna look like an idiot all day. I don’t even care.

Same, but. The idiot who has you has the last laugh, Grant replies.

He arrives at the interview green room with ten minutes to spare, and sends up a prayer of thanks to whatever gods watch over the comics industry that someone’s thought to provide energy drinks. He guzzles one down and cracks open another for sipping and sits where he’s meant to sit.

“You’re early,” the interviewer, an old friend, says when he arrives. “Kudos, Grant.”

Grant raises his energy drink in salute. He sits down and they start. Grant’s happy, so his answers tend to reflect his mood. He walks through everything he has going on right now - his comics, the documentary, writing his book - and the last question is, “What are you most looking forward to this weekend?”

Grant laughs. “Honestly? Spending time with friends.”

His friend’s eyes light on the hickey and he lifts an eyebrow. “Friends, eh?”

“Good friends. Amazing friends. It’s been too long.”

“Enjoy,” the interviewer concludes with a laugh.

“I shall,” Grant says, grinning privately to himself. They shake hands and Grant gets up. He checks his schedule. He has another interview soon and a meeting a little after that.

He has enough time to grab a breakfast sandwich and text Gerard. Suspect I smiled like an idiot for the whole of that little chat. Good thing it’s a print interview.

Haha. Had a breakfast meeting with Gabriel. He gave me so much fucking shit.

 I’ll be in the building at eleven.

Dammit, I’ve got an interview at eleven, Gerard replies.

Grant has to laugh. And I have a panel at noon. And a signing at two.

I’ll come to the end of your signing and bring coffee, Gerard offers.

Sounds perfect, Grant replies. I shall see you then. He tucks away his phone, grinning to himself. Because fuck, he will. He’s spent months wishing that he could meet Danny face to face, and now… now he gets Gerard.

He’s never fucking going to stop grinning about that. Not ever. Gerard is worth every giddy grin.

His second interview goes well–the interviewer is a sweet kid, clearly a bit starstruck and too worried about being professional to make any comments about Grant’s appearance. He gets a coffee before heading to his panel. It’s a fun time and there are lots of good questions in the Q&A portion.

Dan DiDio is waiting in the wings when he finishes. “Grant,” says Dan, holding out his hand. “Caught the end of your panel; good stuff. You’re getting them excited.”

Grant smiles and hopes Dan can’t tell how very little Grant wants to talk to him. “All in a day’s work,” he says.

“I’d like to steal you before your signing,” Dan says.

Grant winces internally; he’d been hoping to avoid such a fate. But he’s not stupid, so he says, “I have some time,” and allows Dan to lead him off. He thinks of Gerard who will be waiting for him later and squares his shoulders.

Trapped in meeting with boss, help, he texts.

Weirdly, now that I know you mean Dan DiDio, that’s even more terrifying, Gerard sends back.

Sigh. Grant replies and turns his attention to Dan. This would be so much easier with caffeine. Thankfully, he’s able to charm a runner outside the meeting room that Dan leads him to into bringing him a Red Bull.

The meeting isn’t as bad as Grant fears, but it’s still a meeting with Dan. Luckily he has a good excuse to escape, and signings are something he truly enjoys.

He always loses track of time during signings, so it’s a surprise when he looks up to see Gerard smiling softly at him, holding two Starbucks cups. Mehdi is standing, arms crossed, a couple of feet back. A few people seem to recognize that Gerard is someone, but most of the ten or so people left in his line don’t notice him.

He waves Gerard over, but Gerard shakes his head and stays back, going over to mutter something to Mehdi. The next person in line steps up, and Grant gets caught up in talking with her.

The last person in line is a sweet girl who talks about how much she loves Doom Patrol. She keeps glancing over Grant’s shoulder.

“Are you an MCR fan?” Grant asks her.

“I- yeah,” she admits, blushing a little.

“Oi,” Grant calls over his shoulder. “Get your arse over here.” Gerard grins at him, hands off the coffee to Mehdi, and walks toward them. “I think this young lady wants to say hello to you, love,” he says. “And she’s waited all this time -” he nods to the guy running his line, who moves the stanchions to close the queue, “so.”

“It’s fine,” Gerard says. “Hi.”

The young woman looks more than a little bit starstruck. “Hi,” she replies shyly. Gerard sticks out his hand to shake hers. She glances between him and Grant. “I. Um. I read Doom Patrol because you said in an interview a few years ago that it was a big influence.” Gerard grins and Grant knows his face looks similar.

“Look at you, getting me new readers before we ever met.”

“Which you deserve,” Gerard replies. “It’s great to meet you. Did you -”

She blushes and rummages in her bag. “I didn’t get a ticket for your signing. Maybe you can sign this?” She flips open a sketch book to a page of characters Grant recognizes from Umbrella Academy.

Gerard’s face lights up. “Fuck, these are awesome!  Did you do these?” Her blush deepens and she nods. “Damn, they’re amazing,” Gerard gushes. They are, Grant thinks. He’s fairly certain Gerard would be genuinely enthusiastic no matter what, though.

Gerard scrawls a little note and his signature, giving the girl an encouraging smile. She squeaks her thanks and lets a staffer escort her out of the booth. Grant turns to Gerard. “Well, then.” Mehdi walks over with the promised coffee, which Grant accepts gratefully.

“So, how long do we have?” Gerard asks and bites his lip. Grant takes a sip of coffee, pulls his phone out of his pocket, and opens the calendar app.

“Hour and a half?” Grant hazards.

“I’ll take it,” Gerard announces.

Grant grins at him. “Have you eaten anything? We could have lunch somewhere.”

“Yes, that’s…perfect.” Gerard beams at him like he’s the best thing in the world, and Grant feels a great deal of sympathy for the girl from before. He’s feeling a bit starstruck, himself. He only just stops himself from taking Gerard’s hand right there in the middle of the DC booth.

“Let’s go, then. Tacos again?” he asks with a wink.  

“We are in SoCal,” Gerard comments. “Mehdi?”

“I’ll let you two have your alone time,” Mehdi says, dryly.

Gerard rolls his eyes. “So basically your answer is, ‘Take a fucking cab and text me on your way back?’”

“Also, don’t fall in the harbor,” Mehdi says. “Does that cover it?” He leads them to the cab stand. Before he tucks them away in one of the waiting cabs, Gerard hugs him, and he laughs and pats Gerard on the shoulder. “I love you too, Way. Remember what I said about the harbor.”

“I’ll keep him from the water,” Grant promises with a grin.

Gerard’s hand finds his as soon as the cab starts moving. “Kidnapped by the boss, huh?” Gerard asks, a grin in his voice.

“Yes,” Grant replies with a sigh. “It wasn’t actually bad. Partly because he just wanted to re-hash some things I already knew.”

“How exciting.” Gerard runs a hand through his hair. “Am I glad I never followed through with my Batman pitch?”

“Batman pitch?” Grant asks, curiously. Gerard blushes a little, and that’s their conversation for the rest of the cab ride sorted out.

“I want to fucking see everything you’ve got,” Grant says.

“When we get to Portland,” Gerard promises.

“I’ll remember,” Grant tells him.

Grant has to kiss him, then, though he keeps it light in deference to their cab driver. He squeezes Gerard’s hand as he pulls away. He can’t remember a time he felt this happy. Happy down in his bones. Happy to steal this ninety minutes out of a busy day.

They find yet another Mexican restaurant. “Do you have dinner plans?” Gerard asks, as they look over the menus. “A bunch of friends are getting together, if you want to join.”

“I’d like that,” Grant replies with a smile. He wants to meet all of Gerard’s friends. “And I have another party invite after, if you -”

“I think I’d probably enjoy it, as long as you’d be there,” Gerard says, thoughtfully. “And… as long as we didn’t have to stay too long.” The look he gives Grant over the top of his menu sends a flare of heat straight to Grant’s belly.

“I’ll be there and we can leave early,” Grant tells him. He even manages to keep his voice steady.

“Deal, then,” Gerard says with a grin.

Really, it’s probably for the best that they only have a limited amount of time for lunch. If Grant had his way, he’d be taking Gerard straight back to one of their rooms.

Grant busies himself with the chips and salsa for a moment to distract himself from his thoughts. Then Gerard nudges his foot under the table. “Your face right now…”

Grant grins ruefully. “Can you blame me, love?”

Gerard giggles his slightly croaky smoker’s giggle. “Not really.”

“Tease,” Grant says.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Gerard says, voice pitched low. “I promise I’m good for it.”

Grant swallows. “Thank the gods for that.”

“I still think I am the lucky one,” Gerard adds.

“I think we can share the title,” Grant says, reaching across the table to lace their fingers together. Gerard smiles at him and it takes Grant’s breath away. The moment is interrupted by their waiter, but that’s probably a good thing.

They get to talking about electronic music over lunch, which is sufficiently distracting. All too soon, it’s time to start heading back. Gerard calls a cab as Grant takes care of the bill.

As they ride back, Gerard leans against his side. “I’m glad we could do this. It’s like a little island of sanity in the middle of everything.”

“You’ve always been that to me,” Grant tells him. “Since that first day, on the message board. My light in the darkness.” Grant laughs a little, remembering. He tightens his arm around Gerard’s shoulder and kisses his temple.

“I’m glad,” Gerard says. “You’ve helped me too. So fucking much.” He tips his head against Grant’s shoulder. Grant lets his eyes close, just for a moment. Just to savor this feeling.

*

Gerard meets him in the lobby for the party looking every inch the rock star he is, from the leather jacket right down to the combat-style boots. Grant is no stranger to tight jeans, but Gerard puts him to shame. And is clearly enjoying Grant’s once-over.

“Ready?” asks Gerard, grinning and bouncing on his toes. Against the all-black background of his clothing, his hair stands out even more.

Grant laughs and takes Gerard’s hand. “As I’ll ever be. Let’s go.”

Dinner with Gerard’s friends had been pleasant. Low-key after a long day. Gerard hadn’t been at all subtle about their relationship, this time, and they’d received their share of good-natured teasing. Grant enjoyed every moment, if he’s being honest. He had Gerard, after all. And he’s going to enjoy showing up to this party with Gerard on his arm as well, even though the gossipmongers will be out in force. He doesn’t much care what the internet thinks about this. Gerard clearly doesn’t either, which is gratifying, even if Gerard refuses to believe he’s a bigger celebrity than Grant will ever be.

There’s actually a red carpet at this one, which Grant finds hilarious since he’s still unshaven and sporting a massive hickey. As they approach, he can feel the shift in the way Gerard is carrying himself. His shoulders move back, his chin lifts. There’s an air of defiance about him. It’s still his Gerard, just…amplified.

It’s really fascinating. Grant regrets never seeing him perform live.

Grant leans over to press his lips against Gerard’s ear. “After this, I’m going to take you back to my hotel room and suck you off until you beg.”

He can hear Gerard swallow. Gerard’s stride transforms into a cocky swagger after that. Grant watches him pose for the obligatory photo op with appreciation. Tonight is going to be an exercise in patience. He’s grateful he already promised Gerard they could leave early.

Gerard is watching him back with a very similar look on his face. It’s almost a relief when he hears, “Grant! Oh, and Gerard, too!” and turns to see Phil and Jim waving them over.

Grant grins. He always loves seeing Phil. The look Phil gives him when he spots his and Gerard’s linked hands is pretty great too.

“Look at you,” Phil murmurs. Grant squeezes Gerard’s hand and grins. “I’m not crazy thinking this is pretty new, right?” Phil asks.

“This is the first time we’ve met in person,” Grant says, quirking an eyebrow at Gerard, “but we’ve been friends for a while.”

Jim looks confused. “I thought– last night, you said you hadn’t met him before. You were so embarrassed!” he says, pointing an accusing finger at Gerard.

Gerard grins. “We hadn’t. We, uh, just found out it was each other we’d been talking to this whole time. It’s pretty wild.”

“Oh my god,” Phil says. “That is fucking adorable.”

“Not a word, Philip,” Grant says. “Or you, Lee.”

“Technically, I’m your boss, you know,” Jim points out.

Grant scowls, but he’s having a hard time summoning up very much irritation. Gerard is laughing in Grant’s ear, tucked against his side like the spot was made for him. Phil just grins at him. “I’m happy for you, Grant. You deserve it.”

“So does Mr. Rockstar,” Jim adds with a smile. Gerard huffs, but he’s clearly pleased.

Jim wanders off and Phil sidles up closer. “No, but seriously. Tell me how this happened.”

Grant laughs. “Like Gerard said.”

Phil gapes at them, and Gerard laughs again, hiding his giggles in Grant’s shoulder. “We are never going to live this down,” he says.

“Seriously, it was…we met in a comics forum because I was in an awful mood and wanted somewhere to direct my anger,” Grant explains. He has a feeling he’ll be explaining this a lot as time goes on. Phil shakes his head and tsks. “I know! And Gerard being brilliant saved me from looking like an arse - more like an arse - and he’s been brilliant ever since.”

“And Grant was fucking smart, and he got into arguments with me about Britpop at three in the morning,” Gerard picks up.

Phil grins. “His three or your three?” They all laugh.

“Both, sometimes,” Gerard replies. “Grant thinks it was fate,” he adds matter-of-factly.

“He would,” Phil replies, eyes twinkling. Grant just inclines his head, because, well. Fate might not be exactly the right word, but it’ll do. And anyway, he’s pretty sure Gerard agrees, so that’ll do too.

“What else? Tell me all the dirt,” Phil says.

“No dirt,” Grant insists.

“None,” Gerard agrees, his best angelic expression firmly in place. Phil raises an eyebrow, like he doesn’t believe them for a second.

He doesn’t have to look at Gerard to know he has a smirk on his face.

“Fine, you two can be the mystery power couple,” Phil sighs.

They get into a discussion about the con, and eventually a few other people Grant knows join up with them. It’s a good party; Grant is enjoying himself. The last party he’d attended had been Warren’s, and he’d desperately wanted Gerard to be with him. Now Gerard is and it’s exactly as wonderful as Grant expected it would be.

At ten o’clock, Grant’s phone tinkles with its annoying little alarm. Grant looks at Gerard. “Is this your doing, love?” Gerard grins at him slyly. It’s one of the most appealing things that Grant has ever seen. “Time to make our excuses, then,” he murmurs.

It’s easy enough to escape; everyone is either drunk or tired or both. This time, there’s no one in the elevator. Gerard doesn’t waste any time; he pins Grant to the wall and kisses the fuck out of him.

Grant wraps his arms around Gerard’s shoulders and kisses him back.

“You should be illegal, with the suits and the hands and the accent and the jokes,” Gerard pants against his lips.

“You should talk,” Grant growls. “Your fucking jacket, your fucking hair, your fucking hips, I could hardly fucking take my eyes off of you.”

Gerard smirks. “That was the point.”

The elevator dings and Grant steers him out the door, hands tight on his fucking hips. He leads them down the hallway and to the door to his room. He has to let go of Gerard to fumble for his key card. It takes three tries to get the door open. When they get in and the door closes behind them, Grant presses Gerard back against the door.

“This is so much better,” he murmurs against Gerard’s neck.

“Grant,” Gerard gasps. He tilts his head up, so Grant has more skin to work with.

Grant slides his hands under Gerard’s shirt and sucks just under his jaw. “Did you spend the day thinking about this? I did,” he says.

“Fuck, yes,” Gerard pants.

Grant sucks a little harder, just to hear the breathy little moans that Gerard can’t quite bite back. He moves one hand to the warm skin on the small of Gerard’s back and one up into his hair. “I don’t know if I have the patience to get us to the bed,” Grant admits.

“Fine by me.” Gerard curves a hand around the back of Grant’s skull and pulls him in for another kiss.

Grant blindly reaches for the button of his jeans and manages to get them undone. He reaches into Gerard’s fly immediately, finding tight cotton and the hot ridge of Gerard’s cock.

Gerard gasps into his mouth. “You gonna- ah- you gonna make good on your big promises, Fox? Gonna suck me?”

“Absolutely,” Grant replies with a smile and sinks to his knees at Gerard’s feet. Gerard’s fingers are hot and gentle on his head. Grant bends down and mouths at the shape of Gerard’s cock through his briefs.

“Fuck,” Gerard whispers. Grant tugs Gerard’s briefs down and pulls his cock out. He looks up. Gerard’s watching him with an expression of astonishment and hunger together. Grant wraps his hand around the base and slides his tongue over the head. “Fuck,” Gerard moans, low, filthy, sliding down Grant’s spine. “Oh fuck.”

Grant would answer if he could. But Gerard has voice enough for both of them.

He laves his tongue up and down all around Gerard’s cock and strokes the shaft a few times as he sucks on the head. Gerard is gratifyingly forward about telling Grant what he wants, and Grant is more than happy to comply. He’s good at following direction, even if he’s normally the one scripting.

Gerard wants more of his mouth and Grant gives it to him, taking his hand away and sinking further down, until the head of Gerard’s cock nudges the back of his throat. Grant feels Gerard’s hips twitch, and he can feel Gerard trembling, holding himself back. He rubs with his thumbs along the cut of Gerard’s hips. He looks up at Gerard and starts moving his mouth back and forth, pulling Gerard’s hips toward him every time until Gerard gets the idea and starts thrusting.  

“Oh my fucking fuck,” Gerard moans.

Grant keeps rubbing his hipbones and lets his mouth go soft. Gerard finally lets go completely and starts fucking his mouth. Grant moans around him.

Even now, though, Gerard hasn’t lost his words. He’s panting, swearing, murmuring praise and instruction and nonsense alike. Through it all, he keeps his fingers gentle on the curve of Grant’s skull. It’s the sweetest fucking thing Grant has ever felt. He’s slumped back against the door, barely holding himself up. Grant closes his eyes, focuses on his lips and tongue, on the noises Gerard is making. On the way Gerard is gasping his name like it’s a fucking prayer. He tastes and feels like he’s close, so close.

Grant keeps sucking, keeps swallowing around Gerard’s cock. He moans again.

“Please, please, please,” Gerard gasps. “Just- I’m so fucking close- Grant, please, fuck-”

Grant leans as close as he can, tugs and strokes the skin behind his bollocks. Gerard shudders and moans loud. His hips stutter and he starts to come. Grant pulls off just far enough to swallow, letting Gerard completely overwhelm his senses.

He leans his forehead against Gerard’s stomach. Gerard’s fingers gently slide to his cheek and he tips Grant’s face up. The expression on Gerard’s face… if Grant’s breath wasn’t already coming in quick gasps, that expression would do it. Its a dangerous business being someone’s idol. But this is more than that. For them both.

They’re friends. Amazing fucking friends, first and foremost. He turns his head to kiss Gerard’s palm.

“Grant,” Gerard murmurs, softly. “Come up here.”

“You might need to give me a hand up,” Grant laughs softly.

Gerard smiles and holds out his hands. Grant puts his in Gerard’s and stands with a bit of assistance from Gerard, who tugs Grant into his arms.

Grant tips their foreheads together. “How are you so fucking perfect?” he asks.

“You ought to turn that question on yourself,” Gerard tells him breathlessly. Grant smiles and kisses him. Gerard wraps a hand around the back of his neck. “What can I do for you?” he whispers.

“I think I want those clever hands of yours,” Grant tells him.

“Do you want the bed first?” Gerard asks.

Grant laughs. “Probably best for my old knees.”

Gerard huffs at him, rolling his eyes. “Fuck you, old.”

“Sufficiently,” Grant answers.

“Whatever,” Gerard says. Grant laughs, kisses him, and then starts shedding clothing. Gerard follows suit, shrugging off his jacket and bending down to kick off his boots. Grant finds himself distracted enough by the sight that he pauses in the middle of unfastening a cuff link.

“No, go on,” he murmurs when Gerard notices.

Gerard smiles and keeps going, pulling his shirt over his head and moves to get rid of his jeans completely. He has to shimmy a little to get them down his thighs, even after several hours of wear. Grant wants to lick the red marks on his belly and thighs.

He’s fucking gorgeous, flushed and radiant. Grant wants to get him on the bed and then never let him leave it. And he’s staring at Grant, looking challenging and making a little hurry-up gesture. Grant smirks and continues taking off his shirt, then his trousers. He gets rid of his shoes and then he’s standing in front of Gerard in just his briefs, his hard cock an obvious shape against the cotton.

“Enough?” he asks.

“Just about,” Gerard says, gesturing him to the bed. Gerard is close behind him and rubs a hand over the front of his briefs. Grant moans. Gerard tugs the elastic down over his cock. He hums appreciatively, wrapping his fingers around Grant’s cock and giving it a few leisurely strokes.

“Impatient,” Grant manages, though fuck, it feels good.

“You’ve been very patient, I think,” Gerard tells him. Grant moans and Gerard rubs his thumb over the head of Grant’s cock and kisses his shoulder. “Bed,” he murmurs. “C’mon. Gonna put my hands all over you, baby.”

“So glad you can,” Grant tells him, shoving his briefs off and tossing the covers to the foot. Gerard crawls onto the bed after him and leans in to kiss him as he wraps his hand around Grant’s cock again.

Grant tangles one hand in Gerard’s ridiculous hair and kisses back. He closes his eyes and arches into Gerard’s hand. He loves the feel. Loves that Gerard keeps his hand firm, even if he’s going torturously slow. Loves the way Gerard kisses him like Grant is the only thing there is.

Gerard is the best thing there is. This he knows.

Gerard kisses down his neck, sucks the mark he made, and then down Grant’s chest to suck on his nipple. Grant hums, arching up into Gerard’s mouth. His eyelids are heavy, his skin humming. Gerard keeps stroking his cock. He’s speeding up by increments and Grant is torn between begging him to speed up more and not wanting it to end.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, all spread out for me like this,” Gerard murmurs. “Everybody gets to see you in those perfect fucking suits, but I get you like this. I’m the luckiest motherfucker on the planet.”

“Are you?” Grant murmurs, running his fingers through Gerard’s hair.

“Yeah, I fucking am,” Gerard replies. “So fucking lucky.”

Grant bites his lip and squeezes his eyes closed against the look in Gerard’s eyes, trying to to hold out a little while longer against the feeling gathering in the pit of his belly. He’s breathing hard, and Gerard kisses lightly along his shoulder.

“Gerard,” he breathes. “Oh fuck.” He thrusts up into Gerard’s head.

“That’s it,” Gerard murmurs, scraping his teeth against the hollow of Grant’s throat. “C’mon. Come for me.”

Grant rasps in a breath and calls Gerard’s name. He comes with a final thrust into Gerard’s hand. Gerard kisses him, and keeps on jacking him until Grant is completely spent.

Grant lets himself slump into the mattress and kisses back. He can hardly breathe but he doesn’t want to stop kissing Gerard.

“You are- the very best thing,” Gerard murmurs, between kisses. He’s breathless, too. He’s so beautiful. Grant slides his fingers into Gerard’s hair and pulls his forehead to Grant’s.

“Gerard,” Grant breathes. There are a hundred things he wants to say, but his ability to form words is… somewhere else, at the moment. So he just says, “Gerard,” again, hoping that his voice conveys what he means.

Gerard curls up against him and kisses his cheek. They lie there together for a long while. Grant thinks he could probably spend the rest of his life exactly like this.

“Danny,” he says contentedly.

“Fox,” Gerard returns, a smile in his eyes. His lips twitch, and finally he can’t quite hold back any longer and starts giggling.

“What?” Grant asks, when Gerard buries his laughter in Grant’s chest. Grant smiles at the top of Gerard’s head and strokes his shoulders as he laughs. Finally Gerard sighs and kisses Grant’s sternum.

“Just,” he manages, “I can’t fucking believe this, you know? That- that I met you on a fucking message board. You should be a serial killer.”

He smiles and slides his hand up to cup Gerard’s cheek. “And you should be sixteen with spots. And yet here we are in this magical world where neither of those things is true.”

“I like it here,” Gerard says with a contented grin.

“So do I,” Grant agrees, leaning in to kiss Gerard again. They trade sweet, sleepy kisses until Grant can feel himself falling asleep. “We should clean up a bit,” he murmurs.

Gerard murmurs assent and rolls out of bed. He takes care of them both quickly and insinuates himself back into Grant’s arms. Grant doesn’t resist for a moment. Tomorrow is another ridiculously busy day at Comic Con. There will be interviews, and meetings, and one last panel– a signing, and plenty of chances to talk with people who’ve connected with his work. Connecting with old friends. The Eisners. And he’s looking forward to it all, despite the fact that a large part of him would rather stay right here in this bed with Gerard all day.  

They’ll have time for that later, he supposes. There will be LA and then Portland after that. Then who knows where the winds will take them.

He’s already hoping it will be somewhere together. Maybe it’s a bit mad, but then, nothing about this whole thing has been anything else. It’s worked out anyway. Grant has a good feeling that the rest is going to sort itself out.

He’s looking forward to seeing exactly how it does sort itself out.

**

 Six Months Later

“Wake up, love,” Gerard hears, then a kiss lands just below his ear. Gerard hums in appreciation, but doesn’t open his eyes just yet.

A moment later, he hears Grant’s soft laugh. He runs a hand over Gerard’s chest and tangles their legs together. Gerard smiles and turns his face back for a kiss, but he still doesn’t open his eyes.

“Are we doing the thing where you think you can ignore that it’s morning if you don’t open your eyes?” Grant murmurs in his ear.

“Are we doing the thing where you’re a freakish morning person?” Gerard mumbles, reaching up to cup Grant’s cheek.

“Time zones, love,” Grant says; the same excuse he’s been using since he arrived back in Portland three days ago.

“Whatever,” Gerard mutters and turns in Grant’s arms. Grant cups his cheeks and leans in to kiss him.

“I missed you so much,” Grant tells him.

“Missed you more.” Gerard finally opens his eyes. “There you are.” Grant kisses him again, soft and sweet. Gerard sinks into it, wrapping an arm over Grant’s waist. “It was lonely,” he says eventually. “And wet. And I ate my body weight in donuts.”

Grant laughs into the skin of his throat. “Scotland was just as lonely. And, I think, equally wet, and I had no donuts to comfort me. Next time I go back, you’re coming with me. I’m kidnapping you if I must. Scott will have to understand.”

Gerard smiles. “I think Scott mostly wants to make sure I’m being looked after by someone.”

“I will always volunteer,” Grant says, nuzzling him.

“I like the sound of that,” Gerard replies, grinning. He pulls Grant in for another series of slow, warm kisses.

Grant kisses back happily, slides his hands down to cup Gerard’s bare ass. Gerard wriggles closer and their hips press together. Grant was fucking delighted when he moved in to find out how often Gerard sleeps naked. It works out pretty well for both of them, though. “Good morning, Mister Morrison,” Gerard says, laughing into Grant’s mouth and thrusting against his thigh. Grant laughs too, rolls Gerard over onto his back, and slides on top of him. Gerard wraps his arms around Grant’s neck. “When are you going to be sick of waking me up to have your way with me?” Gerard asks him.

“Never,” Grant says, licking a long stripe up Gerard’s chest. “Never, never.”

“Works for me,” Gerard gasps. He rolls his hips up against Grant’s and kisses his neck. Grant hums and tips his chin up. He’s stubbly - they’ve had much better things to do than shave the past three days. Gerard fucking loves the feel of it. He fucking loves Grant.

Grant puts his hands into Gerard’s hair and kisses him briefly, then pulls back to look in his eyes. Gerard takes the time to look back. Just look. Dark eyes, the curves of his skull, the little scar on his cheek. There have been a lot of times, these last six months, that Gerard has been sideswiped all over again by how fucking lucky he is. This is one of them.

“Grant.”

“Yes, love?” Grant murmurs and leans in to kiss him again.

“Nothing, I just - love you. And all that sappy shit.” He closes his eyes as Grant strokes his hair.

“I love you, too,” Grant tells him. His fingers scratch lightly at Gerard’s scalp, and he pushes into the touch like a cat. Fuck, Gerard is glad Grant is back. For a lot of reasons, but the fact that he’s here to touch Gerard like this is a fucking massive plus. “We have brunch with Scott at eleven,” Gerard murmurs. “What do you want to do until then?”

“Hmmm,” Grant rumbles, kissing Gerard’s chest. “I think… I think I want to fuck you again.”

Gerard stretches and smiles. “I could be convinced.”

“Always putting me to work,” Grant sighs, kissing across and up to Gerard’s collarbone. Gerard cups his hand around the back of Grant’s skull and arches up hopefully; Grant laughs and obligingly closes his mouth around one of Gerard’s nipples.

Gerard moans and hooks his ankles over Grant’s legs. Grant moves his hips against Gerard’s.

“How do you want it?” Grant asks him. “Anything you want.”

It’s not a difficult decision, really; Gerard fucking loves lazy morning sex. So he tugs at Grant and rearranges them until they’re on their sides, with Grant spooned up against his back. Grant reaches for the lube and strokes a hand down Gerard’s side. He slicks himself up and rubs his fingers over Gerard’s hole.

“Do you need anything, love?”

“No,” Gerard moans. “Just you.”

“That you can have,” Grant tells him, lining up and pressing in with one slow slide. Gerard sighs in pleasure, moving his hips a little so Grant can slide deeper. Grant presses his hand to the center of Gerard’s chest and Gerard covers Grant’s hand with his.

“Gorgeous,” Grant tells him. He keeps his thrusts short, pulling out and then pushing back in again in a slow, steady rhythm. Gerard moans, because he doesn’t think he’s ever going to get over how fucking good Grant is at this.

Grant’s lips slide against the back of his neck. “So fucking good,” Gerard moans.

“Missed this,” Grant tells him, rocking his hips. He’s so warm against Gerard’s back.

“Missed you,” Gerard gasps. Grant shifts, and it changes the angle of his thrusts just enough to send sparks up Gerard’s spine.

Gerard moans Grant’s name. Grant slides his hand down to Gerard’s hip and grips it tight. Gerard feels constantly smug that he’s the one who gets the benefits of Grant’s fucking incredible cock.

“Good, love?” Grant murmurs, kissing the skin behind Gerard’s ear. “What else do you need? What can I give you?”

“Always good,” Gerard replies. “Just keep going exactly like you are. I’ll…” He trails off and reaches down to take hold of his cock.

Grant makes a little disappointed noise, followed by a gasp as Gerard rolls his hips back hard.

“I’m sure you can- ah- think of other places to touch me,” Gerard teases, breathlessly.

He runs his hand over Gerard’s chest, twists his nipple, then moves it down to Gerard’s hip. All the while he keeps rocking in that same infuriating rhythm.

“I fucking love you,” Gerard says, twisting back to kiss whatever bit of Grant he can reach.

“Love you too,” Grant gasps. “So much.” He kisses back and starts thrusting harder.

Gerard groans and starts jacking himself faster. He can feel his orgasm building, barreling towards him. He squeezes his eyes and lets it wash over him.

Grant moans in his ear and keeps thrusting into him. His fingers dig hard into Gerard’s hip. His lips fasten on the side of Gerard’s neck.

“Grant,” Gerard manages. Now that he’s come, every thrust is sending little sparks of almost-too-much up his spine. “C’mon, c’mon.”

Grant moans again and Gerard feels him come. He grabs Grant’s hand and holds it tight. “Fuck,” he mutters several times against Gerard’s ear.

“Mmmmmm,” Gerard agrees, twisting to find Grant’s lips so he can kiss him. Their fingers lace together and Gerard smiles against Grant’s lips. He fucking loves waking up like this.

Grant pulls out and leans over Gerard, pushes Gerard’s hair out of his face. “Stay here and I’ll go get us coffees.”

“I love you,” Gerard tells him, leaning up for one more kiss before settling happily back against the sheets. He smiles broadly up at his ceiling, then looks at the clock and laughs. Eight fucking AM. “It had better be a big cup of coffee, Mr. Jet Lag,” he calls out to the kitchen.

Grant’s laughter is his only response.

Gerard doesn’t have to wait long for Grant to come back with two huge, steaming mugs of coffee. “At your service, love,” he says, presenting one. Gerard takes it gratefully and sips while Grant slides back beneath the covers, pressing up against Gerard’s side and kissing his temple.

He almost missed this part more than the sex. Missed the coziness, the love. They way they can just be together.

“Sorry it’s so early,” Grant says ruefully.

“S’okay,” Gerard promises, leaning his head against Grant’s shoulder. “I’ll get you back on Portland time soon enough.”

“Very likely. And you have to admit, eight is a rather substantial improvement on five,” Grant says.

“I like to think it’s just because I wore you out last night,” Gerard says matter-of-factly.

“That may have had something to do with it,” Grant allows.

Gerard grins smugly into his coffee. “Good. I worked really fucking hard at it.”

“I could tell,” Grant says, kissing Gerard’s temple.

Since it’s still three hours before they’re set to meet Scott, they linger in bed for a long while. Gerard enjoys every moment. They trade kisses and talk about anything that pops to mind. They still talk all day when they’re apart, but being face to face is so much better.

In a lot of cases, it’s the same conversations they started having over a year ago as Danny and Fox. They just keep thinking of more things to say. And when he calls Grant, Fox, he gets one of Gerard’s very favorite smiles. They’re all favorites, though.

And now he has Grant in his apartment, in his bed. Grant’s spent four out of the past six months in Portland, and they’re working on figuring out the best way for Gerard to come and live with Grant in Scotland for part of the year. Sure, it’s difficult sometimes, because they’re both workaholics who can get lost in their own heads a little too easily. But in spite of that, Gerard is so happy he sometimes feels like he’s going to explode.

“I love you,” he murmurs against Grant’s newly smooth cheek as they get ready to leave for brunch. Grant turns his head and they share a minty kiss. Gerard plucks the keys to his Mini off the hall table and ignores Grant’s fondly mocking look. “Can’t keep Scott waiting, let’s go.”

There’s a line for brunch, because there’s always a line for brunch, but since moving to Portland Gerard has learned to appreciate this as a feature, rather than a bug. He just hunches down in his jacket and leans against Grant, who wraps an arm around him as they talk to Scott. Grant plays with his hair - freshly dyed neon red but not really getting him any more double-takes than anyone else in the crowd - and Gerard practically purrs.

They talk a bit about Killjoys, which is doing better than any of them had ever expected that it would. Shaun and Gerard are already talking about plans for a second series. Scott and Grant have been throwing around ideas for a series with Dark Horse. Gerard loves listening to them.

Scott smiles at them both when they finally get to a table. “You two,” he shakes his head.

“What?” Gerard asks, trying for innocence. He’s not trying particularly hard, though. Scott rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on,” Gerard says. “Like you and Elisabeth are any better.”

“Elisabeth knows how to bake,” Grant says thoughtfully.

“Morrison makes an excellent point,” Scott declares. “Anyway, it’s not like I’m complaining, Gee. It’s good to see you stupidly happy.”

Gerard beams at him. “It’s pretty great, I have to admit.”

Grant clinks their coffee mugs together. “The greatest.”

“And the message boards haven’t rioted?” Scott asks, with his own attempt at an innocent look.

Gerard rolls his eyes. “Technically, I’m still a mod. I do try to do my duty every once in a while. No rioting seen yet.”

“What about the other boards?”

Gerard knows he means the music boards, but he just shakes his head. “I don’t read those.” They haven’t tried to keep their relationship a secret, but for the most part, the kids have been really sweet about it. And the ones who haven’t, well. He doesn’t give them the time of day. They’re good for a laugh on the phone with Frank sometimes, though. Gerard laughs more than Frank. Frank is a little too fierce on Gerard’s behalf to find it that funny. It’s sweet.

“Earth to Gerard,” Scott teases, tapping Gerard’s water glass with his spoon.

Gerard grins and takes a sip of his water. “Gerard reporting in.”

“Repeat after me: I will stop mooning over my boyfriend and pay attention to my boss.”

Gerard laughs and takes Grant’s hand under the table. “Not a chance.” Grant tangles their fingers together and squeezes, giving Gerard a gorgeous smile. Gerard can’t help but smile back.

“Well, at least I’m not trying to compete with your fucking iPhone anymore,” Scott says philosophically.

Both Grant and Gerard burst out laughing and just then, the waiter brings their food.

“Nope, I’ve got something better in my pocket now,” Gerard jokes. Scott makes a face at his omelette. Grant leans in for a kiss right there at the table.

After they’ve cleaned their plates, Grant excuses himself to go to the restroom. Gerard and Scott continue their conversation about Hellboy, but a minute later, Gerard’s phone buzzes. It’s a text message from a number that’s still programmed in under “Fox”.

 There’s a new print outside the bathroom you’ll like. Also, I love you and if we hadn’t promised to treat Scott to lunch, I’d have you come back here and I’d blow you.

Gerard smiles at Scott and taps back, Write down the artist’s name, and I’ll get the check. We can be home in fifteen minutes.

I like the sound of that, Grant texts back.

Gerard laughs and tucks his phone away in his pocket, grinning when Scott rolls his eyes. Fuck yeah. He likes the sound of that, too.

[anthonybialy]

Critical Drinking

We don't give a rat's ass who approves of our opinions.  That's the textbook term, at least if this column is being used in schools as it should.  People ticked off by both parties are free to speak their minds.  This sucks.  There you go.  An election that was supposed to stick it to the establishment reinforced it.  The bright side is how fun it is to bitch.

Every complaint ticks off the executive branch.  There's your specific fun. An independent challenge is just what the president doesn't want, which means it's necessary. Bitching about whatever the government does is the fourth branch, so serve your constitutional role.  Let me suggest some snarky phrases to use on Twitter in reply to the White House account.

The boss needs more training.  Yelling at Donald Trump when he screws up like a trainee is how we hold insiders like him in line.  He shouldn't have even been promoted to unpaid intern.  The next-best thing is yelling at the addled CEO.

Be as stingy with praise as is comfortable.  Like most of the good things Trump does, his positives are inadvertent. Still, he should semi-credit him for stumbling into correct decisions.  Bill Belichick became a genius because the president's pal Tom Brady, which I note only to infuriate Patriots fans, happened to get a shot.  But he still gets the dang wins.  If the president signs a bill because a random Republican reminds him who he's portraying, then it counts as half-credit.

Trump's roulette number only comes up so often.  You'd think he could've exploited that in Atlantic City.  Blame the utter unwillingness to have thought out anything ever. Shia LaBeouf looks stable by comparison, which should motivate the alleged actor's next protest to be spoiled by 4chan. The incumbent's erratic nature keeps things fresh, which is the consolation prize for everything being criminally stupid.  Still, it'd be nice if he'd go crazy and remember he's pretending to be familiar with the Constitution.

Irked conservatives can't just consult the checklist.  But at least it's a chance to remember why we signed up for this.  Those loyal to ideas have to think out each position. Oh: so that's why I think that.  Thanks, I guess, Mister President. The Wheel of Misfortune means not automatically cussing at him even if he probably deserves to be scolded for something.  It's a pleasant surprise when he does something right, which makes it like life.

Parties are not cults despite them being treated as such.  Like gender, modern definitions don't change indisputable truths.  Modern men exacerbate their idiocy by deciding that everyone who came before was Biden-level obtuse.  Technology just makes people dumber more quickly.

Sorry to be insolent, but the president may deserve criticism.  I can hear the guillotine being sharpened.  Nonetheless, this is not a time for reflexively thinking an amateur White House is acting professionally.  We may have voted for members of the same ostensible party in a previous euphoric life where we dreamed that debt may someday spiral downward. But past performance doesn't guarantee future results.  At the same time, we can pat on that legendary pompadour the occasional times he gets something right.

Both defenders and attackers are repulsive, which is the closest we get to bipartisanship these days.  Presuming that a pompous twit who backed his way into fame and semi-success is the ideal conservative won't make it so.  But keep acting confused on social media.  By comparison, liberals compensate for how often he thinks like they do by flailing their limbs with extra vigor. Michelle Obama is pleased by the movement.

Judging him by each issue is one way to make the news less despondent.  Think through why, probably, the incumbent just did something unfortunate. If he managed to blunder into success, then acknowledge like an adult.  He could use the example.

Independence is now conservative.  It's different from how liberals think everything they hold is centrist, which is how they ostracize everyone who disagrees as an equality-hating Hitler-hugger.  Find a Democrat pleased that, say, there's still a law that insurers must sell their product for a rare instance if intellectual honesty.

The president should remember he's in the party that was once vaguely welcoming to those who liked making money.  Or he should learn. Those already familiar are naturally ticked that he's making it harder to elect future Republicans.  Voters now presume every right-winger is a sullen fan of massive spending and exhausting orders.  Praise him on the intermittent occasions when he remembers what side he pretended to join out of exploitative convenience in order to encourage more.  Now there's a deal he understands.

There are a finite number of ways to cope with everybody fighting for the same dumb goals.  Those who hope vainly federal spending could actually decrease fear that our booze tolerance may rise above the level of consumption.  Even the most experienced political observers can only do so many shots in a row.  It's hard to keep sharp when dullness is the cure to the disease that is politics.  Having to think if we agree is how to keep brain cells active.

[migleefulmoments]

Trouble in CrissColfer?

This comment posted today is TOO good to pass

on and since she ignores my ASKS- whether I am ANON or not-I am forced to air my thoughts here.  I just have to call out the outrageous hypocrisy..... 

Let’s set the stage.... Darren did an interview with Vulture that was released today. In the piece- Darren Criss on Playing Serial Killer Andrew Cunanan in ACS: Versace and Passing As White- Darren spoke very candidly about his feelings regarding his own sexuality, how he feels being straight has impacted his portrayal of gay characters, and whether he considers himself as Asian-American. 

This Tweet that ANON mentions which was “LIKED” by Chris (although it is no longer on his list of “likes” so IDK man, again the shady weird Tweets that cause chaos in Darren’s and Chris’s fandom and then disappear.....)

My comments are ITALICIZED... for fun.

Anonymous asked:

oh GREAT now here comes the chorus of people (including even some d "fans" i bet) saying c is shading d by liking that tweet. UGH. anyway i hate how tired and generally unwell d looks in the red carpet pics tonight. i feel like this past week might have been the most difficult for him in awhile.

Anon. I just said the same to a friend. D doesn’t look good.  He looks like a shell of himself.  It’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen him look this exhausted.  I think it’s been a long week with OS, the team of babysitters at an interview, and the love Simon premiere.  Add the Steve interview airing which must be painful to deal with.  And ofc travel again.  I get tonight wasn’t optional but this much constant travel takes a toll. I’m including at the end f the post all of the photos from this evening that I could find. That includes the Red Carpet photos they are talking about as well as the photos taken inside the event. 

It cracks me up every time the CCers talk about how tired Darren is because diagnosing something like exhaustion or mental illness from  photographs is simply ridiculous. The fandom skirts the labels, but what they are insinuating with their comments “he doesn’t look good”, “he is a shell of himself” or “his eyes are dead” is depression. You don’t diagnose depression from one or two photographs. They single out one or two photos from the many photos taken then plaster those all over their Tumblr and simply ignore the dozens of Happy, present, engaging, goofy Darren pics- and they hope you do too. Diagnosis mental health by photo is bad enough but it is even more ridiculous in light of  Darren’s photophobia and the fact that the red carpet photos are taken in front of dozens and dozens of camera flashes. Darren has spoken many times about how much it bothers his eyes. FYI- I might just have some credentials after my name that show I have studied assessing and diagnosing.. 

I also crack up when they talk about how exhausting his air travel schedule. What is it that Dr. CC said? Oh right, that “this much constant travel takes a toll”. That’s funny  because my husband flies for a living and  going coast-to-coast and back again  in two days is a regular activity for him. Sometimes he goes BACK agin the next day!  No way!.WAy!!!!!  It never “takes a toll” and he is not as young as Darren. 

On the twitter like.  I feel like people are constantly looking for C to mock D in some way.  I’ve seen it a few times since the engage.   I assume yes it’s tied as the quote is too similar to the goto quote team inhumane adds to every print article.  But it’s clear to me it’s the situation being shaded, not D.  Ok, seriously.?  It continues to blow my mind how there is a complete lack of self- awareness in this fandom. First of all, as I mentioned above, the Tweet isn't on Chris’s “Likes” page so IDK what happened or if it ever was. Maybe someone is just trying to stir up the shit. BUUUUTTTTTT if he did “LIKE”. it then I don’t know how you could take it any other way than for its face value. To say it is NOT shading a straight actor for playing a gay character AFTER Darren just did an interview where he spoke at length about this very topic is just being obtuse. Either Chris is shading Darren or Chris has NO clue that Darren did the interview released today and it is just a coincidence that he “LIKED” the Tweet today. To say that the Tweet is instead shading the “entire situation” is contorting the facts so far I am sure the author sprained her brain coming up with it. Reminds me of a Trump Pundit tonight on CNN who tried to argue that Trump fires his team members frequently because he hires them to meet an agenda and then once that is met, he needs new staff to meet the next goal.  

I wish people would realize. D&C are a couple.  A partnership.  Together for 7+ years.  Ofc they are normal & have disagreements.  If they didn’t I’d be concerned. But C is certainly not using SM to express this.  He has way too much respect for D to use a public forum in this manner.  If he has an issue.  I’d imagine he addresses D in person, through “"real life.” You WISH that people would realize D & C are a couple? It won’t happen because they aren’t a couple.  My proof? because Darren just announced his engagement....because Chris has called Will his boyfriend....because Darren has said over and over and over that he is straight.... because Darren has been photographed living his life with Mia for 8 years ...because Chris has been photographed living his life with Will for 4 or 5 years...because Chris said point blank that he and Darren were not in a relationship, that Glee was not a documentary and the “shipping” bothered him.  ...because the CC fandom lost their shit when Chris and Darren were in the same room together last week indicating how little they have been at the same event in a town as small as Hollywood- it takes a lot of work for them to avoid each other and anyone who is watching knows they are not at the same events.  ...because Chris and Darren lead entirely different lives and to imagine they are together as a couple is simply WISHful thinking.  Darren and Chris have nothing in common, they have none of the same interests and none of the same friends. Your WISH will never come true because Chris and Darren simply aren’t in a relationship.  BUT the most asinine point of your statement is that Chris wouldn’t use Social Media to express himself. YOU claim all the time that Chris is speaking to YOU and the CC fandom via social media. YOU claim all the time that the very PRIVATE Chris Colfer uses public forums to send you-literal strangers-secret messages. You don’t get to claim over and over that he is speaking to you via Twitter and Instagram and then claim he would never express himself that way.  Maybe the last sentence above is in FACT true- YOU IMAGINE.  Exactly... You IMAGINE.  That is all that there is.  Even if Chris and Darren were in fact in a relationship, you would have no details about their individual behavior or their behavior as a couple. You would just IMAGINE.

I personally think C has used SM to show an abundance of support for D during this incredibly difficult time for them both.  I continue to maintain they are standing strong together.  And if SM hints weren’t enough.  The show of solidarity at the EJAF screening should speak volumes to anyone aware of the truth. It is literally ridicules that you are still losing your shit that they sat together at a big fund raiser... then again if that is all you get for 2 years I guess you NEED that moment to MEAN something BIG. Whatever you tell yourself to get through the next two years before they share a meal across a 15  foot table again   The CC Fandom has literally been saying the same crap for 8 years.  

For 8 years we have heard you all rant that “this is going to be over soon” and Chris and Darren would be riding off into the sunset “soon” and yet here we are with both couples seeming to. be closer than ever. To take one’s straight  relationship more and more public right before one breaks up with her and comes out as gay seems like a really weird pla when you are doing this on the world stage.

You claimed they would break up before ACS, that Fox and RM had a deal with Chris and Darren and you got burned when nether happened.  You’ve hesitated to predict a new break up date and stopped talking about the “deal” but yet you still claim there won’t be a wedding. The fact is that neither you nor I has any intel or control over that and either it will happen or it won’t . You learn your lessons slowly don’t cha?