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creamypudding · 2 years ago

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Well, since no one’s asking me anything I’ll answer the ones I want to answer because I’m proactive like that.

🎥If you could make a movie/tv show for one of your fics which one would you chose? I’d love to see Shoegazing be a movie/tv show. Maybe on like HBO Max because they are cool with that gay shit and nudity. I think it’s got some great cinematic imagery in it and I mostly write my stories as if I’m viewing them through a camera lens, so I can imagine it very well.

🎤what songs remind you of [insert fic]? Most of my fics - especially multichaptered ones, have playlists. So all the songs on those playlists remind me of their corresponding fics. But just to name a couple of songs - Satellite by Nickleback and Firework by Katy Perry will forever remind me of Shoegazing and Iris by Goo Goo Dolls reminds me of Kintsukuroi.

✈️if you could be transported into one of your fics which would you chose? The vast majority of my stories are set in the real world or an alternate kind of real world. So I will choose one of my more fantastical stories for this... I think I’d choose Ocean’s Call because sea creatures are fun and the world feels fantastical when you know where to look. I’d enjoy exploring the oceans and going island hopping.

💀if you had to write an alternate ending to [insert fic] how would you end it? Probably wouldn’t mind reworking The Clock Tower, which is part 3 of my ‘In Pursuit of a Normal Life’ series. Maybe make Axel grovel a bit more and reform a bit more and have Roxas be less accepting of what happened. So no major changes. But just something a little more developed and refined.

😡which fic did the characters control the most I’ll level with you... any time I’m in for a slow burn the characters arc up and just want to get it on with each other instead of waiting patiently. The Two Penguins and Kintsukuroi had this happen a fair bit. At least in Kintsukuroi I got it out of my system by writing a lot of alternate scenes, which I added to the author notes as special bonus content for my mutually suffering audience while we all waited for the bozos to get their shit together.

🧍‍♀️what fic is begging for your attention right now but you refuse to give it? The Anomaly Part 3. I’m sorry, bby!

😨 describe in FULL detail the first fic you wrote I don’t have to describe it. You can read A Small Glimpse on my AO3.

🫦what is your biggest regret in one of your fics whether it be something you wish you didn’t do, or you wish you did do? I already mentioned The Clock Tower so my other regret is in A Place To Belong. It doesn't sit right with me what I did with Irvine and Cloud and I would love to rework it somehow. Still keep them doing what they were doing but maybe rework the rationale behind it? I don’t know. If I had been able to find a better path forward I would have used it instead.

🎁if you had to give one of your fics as a birthday gift to someone which one would you give? They are all treasures in their own right. If I had to choose it would probably be Kintsukuroi because it has a lot of heart and is about going through adversity and letting that change you for the better. A lot of my stories are like that, but this fic is very near and dear to my heart and I know it’s touched a lot of people, so that’s my choice. 😐which of your fics did you think a lot of people would like but didn’t? Probably Finest Treasure. I don’t know about ‘a lot of people’ liking it, but at least some would have been nice. This story has the lowest kudos of any of my fics and hasn’t gotten a single comment, which is unheard of for me. It didn’t even get a comment from the person it was for. I think it might not be as popular because of the tags and Axel being a shapeshifter so it kinda goes from vaginal to penile sex, which is a turn off for people. But yeah, I’m genuinely surprised that there isn’t a single comment. Like even that one Soriku thing I wrote got two comments 😅 so that’s really a major flop in my books. But it’s ok, because I didn’t write that story for me. 😀which of your fics did you not think a lot people would like but they did? I know the story is good because I enjoyed writing it, but I’m still blown away with how much people loved BFF. It’s a relatively short story but has lots of hits and more kudos than other stories with similar viewership, so I assume that means something. 🙃if you only had a certain amount of parachutes and couldn’t give it to one of your fics which one are you letting die? Out of my multi-chapter fics I would definitely let The Third Time We Met meet a ungodly pancake demise. It’s unpolished. I had major editing plans for it, but then life completely changed for me and I couldn’t devote time to this baby as I had another, much more important baby to look after. So I would definitely let TTTWM go.

FIC WRITER ASK GAME

I got myself thinking I've done enough of these I want my own. Also I'm supposed to be writing but don't want to :) I feel like one of those mom bloggers who write this LONG ass thing before their recipe... so I'm gonna shut up before this becomes excessive. also these questions are so fucking weird I'm sorry-

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👶 if your fics were children what order/age would they be (ie. youngest, middle, oldest, the weird kid who's always at your house but just isn't your child)?

🎥If you could make a movie/tv show for one of your fics which one would you chose?

🎤what songs remind you of [insert fic]?

✈️if you could be transported into one of your fics which would you chose?

💀if you had to write an alternate ending to [insert fic] how would you end it?

🪦 if you had to turn one of your fics into MCD which one would you chose?

😡which fic did the characters control the most (like you wrote a whole ass plan AND THEY DECIDED TO FUCK IT UP)?

🤔 which fic do you want to send in time out?

👀what's a fic written by someone else that you REALLY wish you wrote yourself?

🧍‍♀️what fic is begging for your attention right now but you refuse to give it?

😨 describe in FULL detail the first fic you wrote (yes I'm talking the wattpad shit we all did it).

🫦what is your biggest regret in one of your fics whether it be something you wish you didn't do, or you wish you did do?

💋do you have any guilty pleasure ships that you really want to write for but are scared to?

🎁if you had to give one of your fics as a birthday gift to someone which one would you give?

👁 have you ever accidentally foreshadowed something you fully didn't intend to happen?

😐which of your fics did you think a lot of people would like but didn't?

😀which of your fics did you not think a lot people would like but they did?

🙃if you only had a certain amount of parachutes and couldn't give it to one of your fics which one are you letting die?

👹if all of your fics were in a horror movie which one would die first?

🌻if your fics were all ______ what would they be (cym but with fics)?

#ask meme #writing #fanfic meme

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pftones3482 · 3 years ago

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Sometimes Stupid

Commission for @randomfandomfan from one of their many prompts they gave me. Took forever bc of work and life and also???? Now I have a cat??? So that's fun. But this was fun to write. Read it here on AO3

Set post TLO and pre HOO (and a little bit post HOO). Under a cut for length.

Contrary to popular belief, Leo Valdez was not stupid.

He was an idiot, at times – for instance, maybe running away from his seventh (fifteenth? He’d really lost track at this point) foster home wasn’t the best decision he could have made, especially given that it was the middle of summer and oh, also, hurricane season. And okay, maybe he should’ve taken more with him than a single change of clothes, a box of Ritz crackers, a pocketknife, and a water bottle that had definitely seen better days, but he was in a rush, okay?

But he wasn’t stupid.

When he ran away from his foster homes, Leo tended to stay away from people where he could. And if he had to be around them, he cleaned up, smiled brightly, “Yes ma’am”ed and “Yes’sir”ed to an obnoxious point, and lied his pants off. People were less likely to call the police on a Hispanic kid if they thought he was just a darling little angel waiting for mom at the grocery store, and the last thing he needed was the cops in his business.

Not that it hadn’t happened, of course. He’d dealt with cops of all kinds – nice cops, bad cops, black cops, white cops (WAY too many of those, in his opinion), the occasional cop who would speak Spanish with him, cops who were just there to write a report and move on with their days – cops.

He tried to stay away from them.

Which meant sticking to beaches and forests, lakes and campgrounds, middle of nowhere places with no people for miles. Leo was good at disappearing. Hiding.

But there were always times when he needed an adult. When he needed to hitchhike, or when he needed food to the point of near passing out. Once for serious medical attention. There was a system to what adults you could trust.

Never cops. You could never trust the cops, no matter what naïve white parents thought. Leo had been in cuffs enough to know that was false.

You also couldn’t usually trust priests. They meant well, sure, but they always ended up calling the authorities in the end. That, or they tried to convert Leo to Catholicism, and while one of those encounters had ended with a swiped bottle of watered-down red wine and a night that made him vow to never drink again, he wasn’t trying to contact the church.

(THAT night, Leo would say he had been stupid. He could admit that)

Homeless people were usually okay. While a lot of them were very suspicious of everyone, almost every homeless person he’d ever met would point him in the direction of food, water, free showers, free clothes, or a library (his saving grace during the heat of the summer and the cold of the winter). The times when he came across gay homeless people were when he felt safest – they especially never pressed him about his background. Ironic, really, that he felt safer with strangers on the street than his foster homes.

Moms were sometimes okay. Especially if they were Hispanic, or black, or just anything but white. They, at least, wouldn’t call the cops on him. But they were also hit or miss – sometimes they helped in way of a meal, or a new bottle of water. One mom even took him to the store and got him new socks and underwear (he had cried that night). But other moms rushed him away from their precious babies. Some moms called him ungrateful for the “space he had.”

Dads were a never. Leo never went to men if he could help it, even if they had children with them. He didn’t trust them as far as he could throw them, and that wasn’t very far.

But it was hurricane season. And he was on the coast. And it was downpouring, and he was starving, and the only people he had seen for miles were a white couple, a man and a woman, standing on the porch of a somewhat rundown shack that Leo would’ve probably thought was abandoned if he hadn’t seen them there.

The man was tall, peppered hair that was shifting more to salt, with a rough beard and a pair of glasses perched on his nose. The woman at his side was short, probably Leo’s height, with dark curly hair and vibrantly blue eyes. It was streaked with gray, but she was, admittedly, a very pretty woman. Something about her smile put Leo at ease.

He clutched his backpack tighter in his fist and stumbled over the sand towards the shack, ankles rolling uncomfortably on the wet ground. He was sure he looked atrocious, sure that the moment they spotted him, they’d shriek and cuss him out and lock the door.

But then he coughed, hard, his shoulders shaking, and the woman whipped her head around. He watched her eyes widen, watched her tug at the man’s sleeve, and then she was bolting – barefoot, Leo noticed – down the steps and over to him.

He flinched when she wrapped an arm over his shoulders, jolting out of her grip more from habit than anything else. She froze, holding both hands up and relaxing her stance. “Hey, honey. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Somewhere deep down, Leo’s brain was scoffing at the patronizing words. But on the surface, he focused on the words, and then sharpened his eyes onto the man as he approached, phone in hand. “I-I c-can’t-”

The woman looked back, down at the phone, and her shoulders stiffened. “Paul, put the phone away, please.”

Her voice held an intonation that Leo couldn’t decipher, but the man – Paul – instantly shut the phone off and pocketed it. The moment it was gone, Leo let his shoulders loosen, and he looked at the woman anxiously. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I-I just…”

“Hey.”

Her arm was more cautious this time, sliding around Leo’s shoulders with a pace that would let him move if he wanted. He didn’t, just let it happen, and then the woman was easing him over the sticky sand and up the steps of the shack, Paul close behind them. He stopped at the door, pushing back hard against the woman’s guiding grip. “I don’t want to ruin your house,” he managed.

The woman’s laugh was…well, to be perfectly honest, it made Leo feel warm. Like she could never hurt him.

Those are usually the most dangerous people, his mind tried to reason with him.

“Sweetheart, it’s just a rental cabin. Besides, I’ve had far worse than a little sand and water on my floors before.”

Before he could wonder at that sentence, she opened the door and nudged him inside. The second that Paul closed the door, the sound of the wind died down and the chill in the air evaporated. Leo realized he was shivering.

The woman’s hands were warm on his cheeks. “My name is Sally, hon. You are-?”

He usually gave a fake name, but – “Leo, ma’am.”

“Don’t you ma’am me,” she scoffed, her voice easy as she helped Leo to the couch. “I’m not that old, am I Paul?”

Paul put his hands up. “I abstain from answering.”

Sally scoffed and pressed a cool hand on Leo’s forehead. “Can I take your backpack, sweetheart?”

Something like panic flared in Leo’s chest, and Sally must have seen it, because she pulled her hand back and held it up. “I’m not moving it far, I just want Paul to dry everything out for you, okay?”

Fingers shaking, Leo shrugged off his bag – the one he’d been carrying for nearly three states – and passed it over to her. She took it like it was a priceless artifact, and handed it to Paul with more tenderness than Leo had ever seen given to an inanimate object. “I think my son might have left some clothes here while he was with us last week,” she said, voice soft. “He’s a little older than you, so some things might be big, but is it okay if we give you some of his clothes while we dry out yours?”

Leo swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Um. Yeah.”

She stood up and left with Paul, giving Leo a moment to be alone and take in the cabin around him.

It was old, but obviously well taken care of, with weathered planks of wood gracing the walls and the floor. He was in the living room, full of mismatched couches and chairs and a bookshelf stacked full of books and games. He didn’t see a TV in sight, but he wasn’t expecting to find one. He stood shakily, suddenly very aware of how wet he was getting the couch, and wrapped his arms around himself as he explored the rest of the main room.

The kitchen was small and cramped, but he could smell something full of tomatoes and spices in the oven that made his tastebuds water. He didn’t dare look for fear of getting caught, so he stepped away and into the tiny dining area. There was sand on the floor, spread thin and fine, and it was such a small thing, but it made Leo relax even more – Sally meant it when she said she didn’t care about him ruining her floors.

But she and Paul had been gone for a while, and Leo wasn’t stupid, okay? It didn’t matter how well intentioned someone was, they always thought they knew better, and if they were gone too long, it meant they were trying to decide for him. So he crept towards the hallway they’d vanished to, praying that he didn’t step on a squeaky board. Old homes always had them in the most inconvenient places.

“-not answering?” he picked up Paul’s voice saying.

“No,” Sally said, a sigh in her voice. “He did say he and Annabeth were on a date, but I didn’t expect them to be in Paris of all places. How did they even-?”

“Can you get ahold of Chiron?”

Not the police, then, Leo reasoned, unless they knew an officer by that name. He leaned a little closer.

“No – I try not to call the camp unless I need to. Phone lines and all that, you know?”

Paul huffed. “I know. And Rachel is at art camp, right?”

“Yup,” Sally said, and Leo heard a sound like a blowing raspberry. “He clearly isn’t aware of anything, Paul. He’s terrified.”

“Probably a runaway,” Paul hummed, and Leo flinched at the damning statement. “Met a couple kids like that teaching.”

He looked like a teacher. You couldn’t trust most teachers either, Leo had learned. They were just like priests. Tried their best, but they always inevitably called someone.

“What did you do? Who did you call?” Sally asked, and Leo stiffened. Here it comes, his brain taunted.

“No one,” Paul said.

Leo blinked, taking a slight step back. What?

“Kids don’t run away for no reason, Sal. Especially not kids like him. Perce taught me that. I mean, maybe in my early days of teaching, I might have called the authorities, but ever since this summer I…how could I risk that? Even before then, I mean…the stories I’ve heard from some of these kids I’ve talked to. We don’t know anything about him. If he ran away, all this way, in this weather? It was bad, love.”

Leo’s throat ached.

He’d never, the whole time he’d been in foster care, ever heard an adult admit that they were wrong to call the authorities on him. Never heard an adult take his perspective into account, especially without even knowing him. Never had an adult admit that his life could be anything other than ideal.

He took another step back and oh shit, there it was, the cursed piece of wood in every old house to ever exist. He cussed under his breath and ducked his head as Sally stepped into the hallway. He refused to look up at her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You were just gone for a while a-and I thought you might be calling someone.”

No verbal response. Instead, a soft bundle of fabric was pressed into Leo’s hands. He startled, gripping onto the clothing, and looked up at Sally and Paul with wide eyes. Paul shook his head. “We’re not calling anyone, son. Not if you don’t want us to. But we do ask that you get cleaned up, before you catch pneumonia.”

Sally tilted her head towards the door across the hall. “Let me know when you’re done, I’ll toss your clothes in the dryer. Paul was just finishing up dinner when you came along. Do you like lasagna?”

Leo’s mouth watered at the thought of eating any kind of food that wasn’t stale crackers and canned tuna. “Yes ma’am.”

“What’d I say about that ma’am nonsense?” Sally scolded.

Leo ducked his head, trying to press down the tears. “Yes, miss,” he chuckled.

Sally laughed as Paul headed for the kitchen. “It’s a start, love.”

Sally’s son’s clothes were soft, well loved. They smelled like sea water and lavender detergent, and though the t-shirt was a gaudy orange with letters so faded that Leo couldn’t read them, he sank into the fabric with a sigh. Sally had also passed him a pair of sweatpants, and Leo hoped that her son wouldn’t be mad if he ever found out that some random foster kid had borrowed them.

If he was anything like Sally, though, Leo had the feeling he’d like him.

His hair was still wet, but this time from a shower, and Leo couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten to stand under an actual stream of hot water without people literally timing him to make sure he didn’t take too long. He stood in front of the mirror, sighing a little at how skinny he’d gotten. He’d always been small – being skinny only made him more of a punching bag for the bigger foster kids. His hair, untamed from weeks of running, hung in his eyes, and he wondered briefly if Sally might have a hair tie he could borrow.

He left the bathroom and crept into the dining room, where Sally was setting the table and Paul was pulling one of the most beautiful lasagnas he’d ever seen out of the oven.

“-texted me, said they’d be back tomorrow morning. He offered to come back sooner,” Sally was saying as Leo stood in the doorway, “but I know he and ‘beth haven’t really gotten to go on any non-monstrous dates recently.”

She blinked when she saw him standing there, and her smile softened into something warm and inviting. “Come on, hon. Paul was just getting dinner out.”

Maybe it was the malnourishment, or Paul’s cooking skills, or Leo’s exhaustion, or a combination of the three, but Leo had never tasted such good Italian food in his life. He downed one, two, three pieces and a full salad before he finally slowed down. To his relief, neither Paul nor Sally gave him any grief about how many pieces he took. Honestly, he thought he watched Paul actively make his slices bigger than theirs.

They’d clearly been talking about their son when he came in the room. This guy was in Paris, on a date with his girlfriend, and he was coming back tomorrow. Leo wondered just how rich this family was – the dad was a teacher, but Sally hadn’t said what she did, and Leo was a little afraid to ask.

When Paul brought out a pie for dessert, Leo almost cried. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had any dessert fancier than a stolen Ding Dong from a corner store. Paul definitely gave him a larger slice than them, and as he ate it, Sally poked at her own pie.

“Leo, we’re not going to pry,” she started, gentle. “Your story is yours, and I know how tricky it can be to share yourself and your past with new people.”

The sad smile Paul shot her didn’t go unnoticed by Leo, and he internally bristled at the thought that this wonderful mom in front of him could understand anything about how he felt, because that meant that she’d gone through shit she didn’t deserve. He said nothing, though, just nodded.

Sally eyed her pie thoughtfully, stabbing a blackberry that had escaped the crust. “But I feel like…well, I feel as though my son especially can relate to how you’re feeling, or at least some of it. If you’d be willing to wait for him to come home, maybe we can figure some things out together.”

Leo felt lost. He’d been lost a lot before, but this was the first time it was mental and not physical. “What?”

Sally looked up, seeming to realize that she’d baffled him. “I mean…”

She looked at Paul, and Leo looked between the two of them, tightening his grip on his fork. They were having a silent conversation. Leo hated when adults did that. “You mean you want to wait until I’m asleep so you can call the cops o-or foster services or-or just wait until your son gets back so he can tell me to get out.”

He shoved his chair back from the table, tears prickling at his eyes. Every time. Every time. He always got his hopes up, always thought he’d found the perfect people, people who got it, and every fucking time, he-

Hands settled on his shoulders, and he ripped away, scowling at Sally. Her eyes were sad, and Leo felt an unwelcome stab of guilt in his chest. “That is not what we were suggesting, ever, honey. I would never call foster services, first of all. They’re atrocious, especially for kids of color.”

Leo jolted back. He’d never had a white woman actively acknowledge his race so bluntly before – it was usually partnered with some demeaning comment about “his kind” of people. He eyed Sally warily.

She lowered her hands, keeping them on her hips where he could see them. “Second, I’d never call the police either. You’re not a problem, and my son has had enough unfortunate encounters with them for me to…distrust them severely, to say the least.”

Her son had-?

“I just…we know a place. Where you would genuinely be safe, hon. No foster homes, no cops, with people who get it.”

She was lying. She had to be lying, no matter what Leo’s heart said. But she wasn’t going to let this go, and he knew it. So he sighed, fidgeted with his fingers. He wished he had something to build. “Okay. I’ll wait for your son to get home.”

Sally relaxed, and Leo gave her a thin smile.

He helped her and Paul clean up the kitchen, put away the leftover lasagna. Sat with them and did a puzzle, played a game of Clue with them. Fixed their radio for them, much to their surprise, and then watched with a small smile on his face as Paul and Sally danced around the living room together. They tried to get him to join, but he’d never been much of a dancer, so he declined.

They bid him goodnight around 11, and he shut the door of their son’s room, let the hours tick on.

At three am, he got up, changed back into his own clothes, left the borrowed ones folded neatly on the foot of the bed. He took a flashlight from the bedside table and slid it into his backpack, stepped out of the bedroom and avoided the squeaky floorboard.

The tool kit from fixing the radio was still on the coffee table, and he picked it up with only the slightest feelings of guilt. Went through the cabinets and pulled out sleeves of crackers, a box of granola, eyed the leftover lasagna with a sad gaze. He found a roll of toilet paper under the sink, a bottle of hand sanitizer in a junk drawer.

He paused by the game of Clue, left out on the table from their match, and let his fingers trace over it sadly. His gut screamed at him to leave. His heart screamed at him to stay. He wasn’t stupid.

Leo had always trusted his gut.

He pocketed the candlestick piece and turned for the door, flinching the second his eyes landed on Sally.

Her hair was done up in a braid, her pajamas wrinkled, and the moon shining through the window reflected the sadness in her eyes. Leo opened his mouth, but couldn’t find it in him to speak – the lump was back.

She stepped forward and he shut his eyes, expecting a lecture. Instead, her hand cupped his cheek. Her other hand pressed into his, and he gasped as he felt the telltale touch of money in his fingers. He looked down at the wad of cash – he couldn’t see how much it was, but he knew that he didn’t deserve it. He looked up at her, panicking. “I can’t-”

“Stay, I know,” she whispered, and that wasn’t what he’d been planning to say, and he knew that she knew that. “I understand, Leo. I understand, sweetie.”

The sob slipped out before he could stop it, and Sally’s eyes softened. She bent at the hip, pressing a soft kiss to his curls. “When you end up meeting my son,” she murmured, “come visit, okay?”

Leo had no idea what that meant, but he nodded, if only to appease her. “I’m sorry,” he croaked.

She squeezed his shoulder. “Nothing to be sorry for, honey. Be safe.”

Sally watched him go, watched him shut the door behind him, and he looked down at the money in his hands with a choked feeling in his chest. It was more than he’d held in his entire life. He couldn’t take it, but he knew she’d be upset if he didn’t. And if there was one thing Leo refused to do, it was make Sally more upset than he already had.

So he pocketed it and, with an aching heart, stepped off the porch of the cabin. The storm from earlier had died down, and, fingers tight on his backpack straps, he started making his way up the beach.

Percy was bouncing up and down at the entrance to Camp Half Blood, fingers curled around Annabeth’s hand. “Do I look okay?” he asked for probably the thousandth time that morning.

Piper rolled her eyes. “Percy, it’s your mom. She doesn’t care what you look like.”

Percy shot her a mock glare. “I haven’t seen her in over a year, McClean, sue me.”

“You look fine, Perce,” Annabeth laughed, kissing his cheek. “She’s gonna mostly care that you’re alive.”

“Okay but this tattoo-”

“Sorry, you vanished on me for over a year, crossed the globe, and you got a TATTOO?” came a very scolding, very obviously Mom Voice, and Leo snickered, turning to see who was about to absolutely whoop Percy’s ass.

And he stumbled on his own feet, lips parting as Sally (Sally Jackson, his unhelpful brain mocked) appeared at the top of the hill. Her hair was a little grayer than it had been when Leo met her, her hips a little wider, but her smile was the same, her laugh as Percy launched himself at her the same peal of delight Leo remembered on his toughest nights, and when she caught his eye over Percy’s shoulder, her smile only widened.

Okay, so sometimes Leo Valdez was kind of stupid.

#percy jackson #pjo #leo valdez #heroes of olympus #pjo fanfic #my writing #sally jackson #paul blofis #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo

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venteamocha · 4 years ago

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Hello! Sometimes I see you post stuff from IF blogs and I've recently started playing some IF games, which I've enjoyed so far. Do you have any IF stories you'd recommend in particular? I'm not attached to any particular genre and I don't need romance or a self-insert main character, (though I'm not opposed to either). Though, it's a definite plus if it's LGBTQ+ inclusive! I'm not really sure what the "cornerstones" are of IF so I'll take any and all recommendations haha

Oh god, I play so many IFs. So many. And it’s not even close to all of them, but I’m trying!!

Tbh IFs without romance seems to be very rare, I think because when I think IF I think Choice of Games, and those pretty much always have romance in them. At least, the most well known ones do. But a well done one without romance would be nice too!

Okay, this is a list of my favourites! They’re all LGBT+ inclusive, and most have gender selectable love interests, or at least ones that change gender depending on the gender and sexuality combination you pick. In no particular order, of course. Behind a cut because I’m gonna give them each a mini review. Because I haven’t done that yet.

(There are so many.)

Mind Blind: I absolutely love our big brother Nick, I love how witty and sharp so much of the dialogue is, I love how the MC clearly has a rather large handicap, but is still such an important person to so many people and not looked down on in the slightest. And when they are, we all know it’s because that person is a jerk! They’re not defined by what they aren’t, but what they are, and that’s a great message.

Shepherds of Haven: Part of why I love this one so much is I just love fantasy settings and this one just pulls it off so well. The cast is full of amazing characters, and I gotta say I die inside pretty regularly for not being able to afford the patreon content, lol. The author puts so much amazing stuff on there, and gives us so much great content in the game and through answers on tumblr, and you can tell this whole thing is just the best thing ever to them, and that makes it the best ever for us readers too!

The Wayhaven Chronicles: I’d be shot if I didn’t mention this one, the series that literally killed dashingdon when the book 3 demo dropped!! Again, another author that cares a lot and does their best to do right by their fans. We’ve been given drip after drip of these amazing characters backstories, and I just cannot wait for more! It’s definitely very romance centered, but the overall plotlines are also very good, and I have to say that no matter who I romance, I just feel like the group as a whole is a family. And that’s wonderful.

Speaker: I really like the lore. I really like the lore. I can’t wait until we get more of the overall plotline. Mostly I want my Speaker to get in deep trouble so Seb, Li and Seer (best sister ever) go off and beat the shit out of whatever is causing it. This probably says something about me, but what can I say, I thrive on angst and inflicting near death injuries on my OCs. Sometimes I even kill them, although all of this is offtopic. Or is it? I guess we’ll find out, although I doubt we’ll actually be able to kill off Speaker. And yes, I am definitely playing the Seb & Li poly route. I love them both so much.

Wilhelmina: I love vampires, ok? Ok? And this one is based off Dracula!! The OG!! And you can choose Drac’s gender!! Shit, sign me up forever!! Yeah, she might be literally killing my bff, torturing my fiancé and low key fucking with my mind, but vampires are hot!! Let me live! Or not. But yeah, this is a really well done retelling of the Dracula novel and I like how well it works as an IF. Did I mention I like vampires?? Especially when they get all monstery?? (This one has an MC with a set gender, as it’s based on an already existing literary figure. Mina can have a same sex relationship with dracula, if you make drac a female, or with Lucy, a female love interest.)

More Things in Heaven and Earth: Hi Nell!! First off, I gotta uncover a deep shame of mine. My family literally has a Shakespeare heirloom collection. As in, my greatgrandfather passed down through the family a collection of Shakespeare that was published in 1911. In ye olde englishe. I tried to read it when I was like 10 and was like what language is this?? What the fuck? What the fuck??? And ended up reading As You Like It, a bit of Romeo and Juliet, and a little of Hamlet. Didn’t touch the rest of it. I only got into the other stories through trashy ya reimaginings. That said, this retelling of Hamlet inspired me to go read the whole of the original and now I have a lot of fears for these characters that I’m so much more attached to, oh god I hope my Ophelia has a happy ending. I hope Hamlet himself has a happy ending. The dialogue is so well done, everyone is engaging, and yeah it made me finish an old af book when nothing else did. (This one also has an MC with a set gender, female, for the same reason. However, there are two gender variable love interests, so you can very much play a bi or gay Ophelia if you so choose.)

Guenevere: I love King Arthur. All the myths. I have so many books based on the King Arthur mythos, oh dear god. I love pretty much every version of it. All the movie and tv shows too! I just can’t get enough of those knights. I could go on for paragraphs about how courtly love worked and how all the different social castes were, but I’ll try not to. This series lets you customize Guen as a character to an amazing degree, considering that she’s also based on an actual literary figure like the other two I mentioned above. It really feels like she becomes your own character, and yet she still exists within this world very very well. I worry quite a bit that the author might have bit off more than they can chew with the current book they’re working on, what I’ve seen of it looks absolutely massive in scale. What is out so far is a wonderful read though, full of drama and laughter and lots of chances to make the story your own.

Bastard of Camelot: Yep! Another King Arthur series! Sue me! This one lets you set Mordred’s gender though, so it’s more inclusive in that way. It is very interesting to play as one of the “bad guys” of the King Arthur mythos. You can play them as straight up evil, as good, or you know, a bit of column a and a bit of column b. Or they can just be a rude little shit. It’s got dragons too! You get a dragon pet! Dragons are cool. It can be a bit tough to play sometimes, since a lot of people dislike Mordred quite a lot because of prejudices. Hopefully this will change a bit later in the series if you’ve been a fairly good person up to that point. Gotta say though, as a warning, that Mordred is a product of incest. It’s not glossed over, and it does cause a lot of problems for them in the story.

God of the Red Mountain: I just love that this inspired me to read more chinese mythology tbh. There is just so much here! And it’s just such a good read. I wish I was better at describing things. The MC being a spirit that you can define, the whole setting, most of the love interests also being spirits, the massive amount of history and culture and lore, how it all fits together. It is such a well done story. I really wish it got more attention than it does. I still miss Big Sister. I still can’t wait to find out more about the foxes, and how we can heal our MC.

The Nameless: Another one that lets you play as something otherworldly. I love the lore behind this one, and I love all of the cast I’ve met. I kind of like that our MC isn’t loved right off the bat, that we’ll have to win over all of our love interests and even the other npcs. I’m up for the challenge! Everything I’ve read on the tumblr for these characters just makes me love them all more tbh. I love how much they’ve written for all of them! Most of all though, I love Oisein. All the art of them is just *chef kiss* and their personality is magical.

A Mage Reborn: This is a really recent one but!! Wow, it’s really well done! That cliffhanger!! Oof!! Not many books literally start with killing your MC off! That takes guts! I told the author this already, but I love the way they formatted this, the way it starts with the end, so to speak, and then fills it all out. It just made everything feel so poignant, how MC is literally looking back at all these moments in time in the last minutes they have before they die. Shit. That’s powerful. And there’s gonna be more??? Can’t wait for that angst. Give me that drama. Of course I picked the one who had me killed, that’s just how I am!

These are all just the COG type games, there are a few twine games with graphics I’d throw on here, but the list is long enough as it is and they feel like they’re in a different category to me. Maybe it’s just me?

#if #if recs #rivi's recs #interactive fiction #there are more than these that i like too!#these are just the ones i feel the strongest about #and as i said these don't include the itchio twine ones #there are amazing ones there too but that feels like it should be a separate post?#i'd put links but i think it won't show up anywhere if i do #because tumblr is A Site #i can pass them on though if needed

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hadtochangemyurlquick · 3 years ago

Note

can u write more leachel please

no but i can fuck ur bitch

Leah’s first public reading was not packed. Of course, the seven of them all filed into front row seats and of course her parents, grandparents, Ian, and most of her teachers were scattered throughout the audience. Even Emily, her friend from middle school who she hadn’t really talked to since she went to private school, showed up. It was a sweet gesture but beyond the people who knew Leah personally, only around fifty or so were actual fans. It was fine and Leah did an amazing talk and afterwards Rachel slapped her hand against her thigh, wishing she could actually clap.

Leah’s tenth public reading was standing room only.

The National book festival was held once a year in DC and while there were two panels Leah was put on, they also asked her to do her own talk because she had a new book coming out. It’d been called by the New York Times book review “the most anticipated book of the year!” And Rachel had only been allowed to read the first draft of the first chapter, which was slightly killing her. But her girlfriend had a process, even if that process was to solely talk to Nora about it. Nora and sometimes Toni.

When Leah walked onto the slightly raised platform the entire room erupted into applause. It was a standing ovation and Leah looked beautiful and also incredibly embarrassed. Her eyes found Rachel’s immediately and they were so fucking intense, Rachel just wanted her to keep looking at her forever. Forever and a half.

“Wow,” Leah began when she reached her microphone. “I haven’t even said anything yet.” There was laughter, more cheers, gradually people sat down. “Thank you all for coming, I know there’s some pretty amazing panels going on right now. There’s still time to go to Roxanne Gay’s talk, it’s a few rooms down.”

More laughter, more cheers, a “We love you Leah Rilke!”

Rachel shook her head, smiling. Leah could pretend all she wanted, but Rachel saw what was happening. The entire world was slowly coming to life under her touch. The English language was being shaped to fit Leah Rilke.

Every think piece, ever op-ed, every review, mentioned the words Leah Rilke somewhere in there. Every teenage girl was talking about her like they’d talk about the Bible. TV studios and movie execs sat in rooms and discussed about how they could capture her writing style. Publishing houses wanted to find their very own Leah Rilke. Tattoo artists were adding to their pre drawn collections symbols from her books.

It was happening slowly, a little at a time, but time happened all at once. And history textbooks were being printed in Texas for the year 2032 that had an entire chapter about Leah Rilke.

The world was changing, and for the next half-century it’d be one where Leah Rilke was alive. And after, it’d be one where everyone was looking for the next Leah Rilke, however futile.

Leah didn’t see it, but Rachel could. And Nora. They talked about it sometimes, when a Dolly Parton song came on or Tolkien happened to come up in conversation.

“I’m not really afraid of public speaking,” Leah continued. “But can you all look somewhere else for a minute? I just need a break, I feel like you all are staring.”

There was more laughter and Rachel felt her phone buzz. Her eyebrow furrowed and she ignored it, instead focusing on the woman wearing her engagement ring.

It’d taken her a minute to propose, insecurities thriving with Leah off giving talks or going to conventions like this one. In a big empty house it wasn’t hard to feel less than, especially with one hand.

It’d been Dot who talked sense into her. Dot surprisingly sensible when she herself had eloped with Fatin, annulled it, and eloped again.

“Okay,” Dot said. “Maybe she’s too good for you. So what? She doesn’t know that.”

“Exactly,” Rachel said. “That’s my fucking point. She’s gonna find someone better and realize that I’m just… me.”

“Yeah,” Dot nodded.

Rachel glared at her. “You aren’t making me feel better.”

“I’m not Fatin, or Shelby, or Martha.”

“I know that,” Rachel said.

“It sounds like you wanna marry her,” Dot said. “So fuckin’ marry her. Then she won’t be able to fuck off with someone else.”

“But I want her to be happy,” Rachel said.

“So fuckin’ make her happy,” Dot said. “I don’t get what the fuckin’ problem is.”

So she proposed. Leah said yes immediately, not even a moment of hesitation, and they were planning a small wedding with a rabbi they both knew and a Huppa but not a Ketubah. Some sort of halfway for the both of them.

Rachel’s phone buzzed again and she turned it off, slipping it in her backpack to focus on Leah.

“This is probably the hardest book I’ve ever written. Not because its deeply personal or anything, just because I had to do so much research for it,” Leah said. “I even had to dedicate it to my sister in law because she spent hours with me looking at flight patterns and chess strategies. Do you guys know how many different kind of tulips there are? I can’t say I don’t understand the dutch a little better now.”

Nora squeezed her wrist and she looked over at her. Shelby caught her eye from beside Nora and passed her a phone, the notes app open.

Jeffs here.

Rachel frowned. Jeff Greene? The book review guy? Or maybe Jeffery Wilson, the Sony guy. Didn’t they have a neighbor named Jeff who liked to complain about their noise level to the police?

“Jeff?” She mouthed back.

Shelby was stone faced when she nodded and something sunk in Rachel’s gut.

Fuck. Jeff.

Leah was still talking but Rachel couldn’t hear her.

Where?

Shelby took the phone back.

The back.

Rachel clenched her jaw and Nora squeezed her wrist again, eyes wide.

Has Leah seen him?

Shelby shook her head and Rachel let out a breath of relief.

She got to her feet, and cast a quick smile back at Leah who’s brow furrowed at her. She kept talking though, stumbling a little on her speech. Behind her, Fatin, Martha, and Shelby followed.

Jeff wasn’t hard to spot. He was the washed-up has been, with the fraying hair and dark circles under his eyes.

“You need to leave,” Rachel spat.

“I’m just here to apologize,” Jeff said. “I don’t even—”

“You’re leaving,” Shelby cut off. “Now. Or I’ll call security.”

“Take this outside,” Someone hissed and Fatin dragged him out, shoving him roughly through the open door. Several more people waiting outside slipped inside, entirely grateful.

“Listen, I know I fucked up, I want to apologize,” Jeff said.

“She was a child,” Fatin said. “You’re a fucking predator.”

Jeff paled.

“Wait,” Martha said. “Are you here to apologize for dumping her, or for raping her?”

“I didn’t—”

Maybe it was Shelby that threw the first punch, or maybe Rachel. Maybe they both came at him at once. But Martha didn’t hold Rachel back like she normally would’ve, and Fatin snapped at some people to put their phones away.

Leah said it was ironic later, that Fatin was telling people to put their phones away, while Martha urged on a fight.

But it wasn’t a fight, it was a beat down.

Shelby had taken Toni to enough kickboxing lessons over the years to know how to throw a punch, and Rachel had been picturing this moment with Jeff for too long.

No one intervened once Martha pushed a couple people away explaining he was a pedophile who prayed on teenage girls. One person said, “Isn’t that Jeff Galanis?”

And Martha said: “Yes.”

Jeff Galanis hasn’t published a book in five years at that point, he wouldn’t publish one again. Leah wasn’t happy Rachel broke her only hand, and Toni started going to kickboxing lessons alone.

“It was stupid,” Leah told her, when she met her outside after they’d all been thrown out. “I don’t give a shit about him anymore. I just wanted you there.”

“I know,” Rachel said. “But it wasn’t stupid to me. I wanted you to know you wouldn’t have to see him again.”

“Rach,” Leah sighed. “You remember how when we were driving here a Smith’s song came on?” Rachel nodded. “I realized then I literally couldn’t remember his last name.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Leah said. “We’re getting married in a few months, my new book is coming out, your starting your new job. We’ll probably be aunts as soon as Toni and Shelby finish those foster parent classes. Jeff is like—probably the least important person in the universe right now.”

“Sorry I missed the talk,” Rachel said.

Leah kissed her, soft and easy like they’d never once been.

“It’s okay,” she promised. “There’ll be others.”

There were.

#gus writes #leachel fanfic #leachel #leah rilke #toni shalifoe #some post canon hcs for you my love #the wilds fanfic #the wilds #gus answers

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wonder-womans-ex · 4 years ago

Text

Curtain Call

Act One, Scene Eight

“I’m home!” Sirius calls, unlocking the door.

It takes a few seconds, but then, “In here!” comes James’s voice from the living room.

(‘Living room’ is probably a bit of a stretch, really, because ‘living room’ implies that there are also other rooms, and the fact of the matter is that they have two bedrooms and then a kitchen with a couch and a TV in one half and a table in the other.) (James is, evidently, in the designated couch half of the kitchen.) (Sirius had originally suggested calling it the ‘lounge,’ and it is a sad sign of how determined James is to grow up at least partially that this suggestion did not become a reality.)

Bending down to unlace his combat boots, he shrugs his backpack off and leaves it there on top of James’s checkered Vans and a pair of black sneakers he doesn’t recognize but probably belongs to him.

He walks past the fridge, glances at the schedule held up by the J and S magnets they got from Peter when they moved into the apartment, and makes a mental note that he has his first rehearsal for Oliver tonight.

“What’cha watching?” he begins, noticing the flicker of the TV screen, and then stops dead.

There are a few moments of silence before Sirius grabs one of Elvendork’s catnip mice off the floor and chucks it at his younger brother. “You fucker!”

Regulus sits up from where his head had previously been resting on James’s lap. “Hello to you, too, Sirius.”

“You came to visit! And you didn’t tell me!”

“In my defense, I didn’t even know I was coming until, like, ten this morning. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

“Hey, they didn’t tell me, either. Just showed up at the door an hour or two ago, knocking like their life depended on it. I thought it was the police coming to tell me you’d been arrested. Or found dead in a ditch.”

“Shut up, James,” Sirius says, rolling his eyes. “Of course they didn’t tell you—I’m his brother.”

“Well, I’m the love of his life.”

Regulus buries their face in James’s shoulder. “Why did I tell you that?” he groans, and Sirius glances between the two of them, blinking.

“Wait. Are you two—”

“No,” they say in unison, which clears up absolutely nothing.

“...I think I’m missing something.”

“You’re definitely missing something.”

(Yes, but what?)

He watches nervously as a significant look passes between them. It’s a conversation, really, but instead of words everything is communicated with eyebrow raises (mostly Regulus) and exaggerated winks (all James).

Finally, Regulus lets out a huff of breath. “All right,” they say. “Fine!”

James protests when Regulus climbs off the couch—not at the climbing off the couch part, but because he takes the blanket with him. The two stick their tongues out at each other, and Sirius feels his heart swell. He loves them both so fucking much, and he’s never been so glad that Reg managed to get out of that house, too. He’s not sure what he’d do without his little brother.

The walk in silence towards Sirius’s bedroom, and Regulus immediately jumps onto the bed once the door is opened. They bounce slightly when their body hits the springy mattress, and they flop over onto their back to stare at the ceiling.

“I came out to James,” he says, not bothering with pleasantries or preamble. Regulus never has been one for that—straight and to the point is the only way they really know how to do anything.

“You dated James.” Tact, Sirius, he reprimands himself immediately inside his head. Just because your brother is a conversation heathen you don’t necessarily have to stoop to their levels.

“Yes, I know I dated James. But… I’m not gay.”

“Okay.” Sirius pauses, waiting to see if Regulus is going to elaborate further. They don’t, so he prompts, “Do you know what you are?”

“Yeah.”

(So they’re doing this the hard way, are they? All right—Sirius can work with that.)

“I’m not gay,” Regulus says again. “I’m not pan or bi or any of those things. I’m… I’m asexual. And aromantic.”

Sirius blinks. He takes this in. He nods.

He says something that, in fifteen years, he will look back on and want to dunk his head in very cold water for. “But… James.”

“James.” Regulus nods, sighing heavily. “James is different. I don’t know how to explain it—I don’t love him anymore. But… I did. I used to. And I haven’t felt like that about anyone else, well, ever. Yeah.”

Before Sirius can say anything, Regulus starts talking again. “It’s like—what was it you used to say? In high school? ‘Having a crush on James Potter doesn’t make you gay. It makes you human.’ I loved James, but that doesn’t make me allo. Make sense?”

“Yeah. Wait, actually, one thing—so, James is the only person you’re ever loved? Romantically?”

“Uh huh.”

“And you told him this?”

Regulus brings his hands up, covering his face. “I know. It was a mistake, okay? I should have known it would only inflate his ego even more. I feel like an idiot.”

“Yeah, because you are an idiot.” Sirius reaches over, swatting them on the shoulder. “But at least you’re not as big of an idiot as the guy who knowingly and willingly flirted with his ex today.”

“What?!”

“Mm hmm. But that’s a story for another time.” Smirking, Sirius glances over his shoulder before beginning to walk backwards out of the room.

“You fucker!”

Reg chases him all the (admittedly very short) way back to where James is sprawled on the couch, clearly making good use of his friends’ absence. Finally, Sirius can see what’s playing on the TV—it’s Ocean’s Eleven, and it’s already at least a good half hour in. He and Regulus look at each other, identical smirks etched onto their faces. Together, they jump, and James yelps.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” Regulus tells him jokingly, and there comes a muffled groan from where James’s face is smashed into the pillows.

Sirius makes sure that James can actually breathe before he starts to make himself comfortable. He’s perched on the small of James’s back; Regulus is settled in the gap between James’s feet.

“Is this really,” James laments, “how you want to treat your best friend?”

“Yes,” Sirius says, and smothers a laugh.

“And you, Reggie—have you no respect for the love of your life?”

Regulus pretends to think for a moment, then, “No,” they say.

The muscles in James’s back tense suddenly, but Sirius doesn’t think much of it. He should, really, because barely an instant later, James heaves himself over, tipping both Black brothers onto the floor.

“Ouch,” Sirius says, pouting. “My ass hurts.”

Regulus has an unbelievably shit-eating grin on their face. “Loser.”

“I thought you were on my side!”

“I’m on no one’s side but my own.”

This is a mistake, and Regulus knows it. His eyes widen when James and Sirius look at each other, nodding, and lunge forward. There is only one weakness to Regulus Arcturus Black, and the two of them know it better than anyone else in the world.

Because Regulus may be coolly confident with a sharp sense of humour, but they are also extremely ticklish. Their shrieks and laughs are interrupted by the occasional ‘No!’ or ‘Mercy!,’ but it does nothing to quench Sirius and James’s combined ruthlessness. They are unstoppable, and Regulus can do nothing to beat them.

George Clooney is shouting about something onscreen, but the three young men tussling pay him no mind. The movie plays on, forgotten, and Sirius lets himself forget—just for a moment—that Remus or heartbreak or that fucking writing class exist at all.

***

“So,” James says through a mouthful of chow mein, “How was the class?”

“It was good.”

Regulus raises an eyebrow. “‘Good?’ You sound like a kid coming home from school to overly inquisitive parents.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’d know all about that.”

“Fuck off, they didn’t talk to you, either.”’

“Touché.”

“Go on, Sirius,” James breaks in. “How was it?”

“It was better than last week, at least. Worse, too, I guess, but then it was better.”

“...Elaborate.”

He’s glad for the excuse to. He needs to talk to someone, and therapy’s an obvious no because he doesn’t have the money and also he has a bad track record of scaring therapists away on the first session, so James and Regulus are kind of the only options. (He’s not kidding anyone. He’s been dying to tell the two of them, specifically, for like forever, but Regulus hasn’t visited in ages.) “Well, I found out why Remus broke up with me. And then I met up with his friends at Frankie’s, and apparently they’re my friends now, too, which is cool, because at the moment my only friends are, well, you guys. Oh, and I helped set Marlene up with a girl.”

There is a pause as both Regulus and James look at him, taking in this information. “Okay,” James says. “Do I want you to tell me more?”

Sirius pokes at his rice with one chopstick. “I dunno.”

“I—um—you mentioned you made some new friends?” continues James. Regulus stifles a laugh, and Sirius has to admit that the phrase ‘make some new friends’ sounds more fitting for a conversation with a grade three than a university student. “What are they like?”

“Well, there’s Dorcas—the one who’s into Marlene—and she’s, like, the most extroverted extrovert to ever extrovert. Then there’s Frank, who doesn’t talk much, and Mary, who talks even less, but Mary’s got dyed hair so she’s all right, I guess. Alice is pretty cool, too, and then there’s Lily, who’s pretty but terrifying. Oh, and Fabian, who seems to be allergic to not being a nice person, and Caradoc, who I’m almost positive is related to Angelia Jolie because his cheekbones are just that sharp. And Remus, of course, but I’m sure I’ve told you guys enough about him to last a lifetime.”

When he’s met by only silence, he scrambles for something to say. “They all strike me as the kind of people who would wear ‘gay rights’ t-shirts unironically, which is sort of my only prerequisite when it comes to friendship. Our resident emo not included, of course, because I would never want to force them into anything that isn’t some sort of My Chemical Romance merchandise.”

Regulus looks down at the shirt he’s currently wearing—it’s got the American Beauty/American Psycho album cover on the front—and then back up at Sirius. “Actually, this is Fall Out Boy.”

“Same difference.”

“How dare you.”

Laughing, James spears another piece of broccoli and gestures with it between the two of them. “Reg, you can’t exactly blame him for his ignorance around your obsolete music tastes.”

“Says the guy who listens to the fucking Monkees—”

“Fuck off! The Monkees were an icon; a legend—”

“The Monkees are trash.”

“You’re trash!”

“Whoa, there,” Sirius breaks in. “I dodged a bullet when my only two friends in the world had a friendly breakup instead of an unfriendly one, and the last thing I want is to find out that that bullet is actually a boomerang.”

Regulus groans. “Okay, first of all, we’ve always spent like fifty percent of our time arguing about music, even while we were dating—which you’d know if you hadn’t started avoiding the two of us like the plague the instant we got together.”

“Shots fired,” James says under his breath, but he’s immediately silenced by a glare from Regulus.

“Secondly—and more importantly—if you ever make another analogy remotely like that one, I will hurt you. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” Sirius assures them, but he’s struggling to hold back laughter.

There’s a pause, and then Regulus crosses his arms, pouting. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re laughing.”

“Because you’re funny.”

“I’m not funny!”

“You’re cute.”

“I am not cute!”

“Yes, you are!”

Regulus turns on James once more. “James, am I cute?” Clearly, they think better of this, because they quickly add, “Wait, no, don’t answer that.”

“See, you’re cute! And you know it!”

“I give up!”

Sirius sits back in his chair. “You’ve lost, Reg. Admit it. And then get me a fortune cookie.”

“All right. Fine. I’ve lost. But I hope your fortune cookie tells you you’re going to get struck by lightning tomorrow.”

“Sweet; maybe I’ll get cool powers.”

“It doesn’t work like that, moron.”

“Whatever you say.”

For a moment, he thinks he’ll have to get the fortune cookies himself, because Reg isn’t going to, but then his little brother stands up and reaches into the brown paper bag on the counter. “Here,” they say, tossing the cookie at Sirius’s head.

“Hey!”

James gets a cookie, too, but his is placed on the table in front of him, not at all a threat to his health, well-being, and quite possibly his life. Sirius points this out, labeling it ‘favouritism,’ but Regulus only takes a bite of his cookie and calls him dramatic.

“You first,” James says, nodding at Regulus, causing Sirius to gasp in betrayal. The other two pay him no mind, however, and Regulus clears his throat.

“You will,” they say, “come into fair fortune or good will in the near future.”

Almost immediately, James starts clapping. It’s tradition—after a fortune cookie reading comes the raucous applause. For them, it’s half the fun of ordering Chinese food.

“All right, my turn.” James squints at the slip of paper in his hands. He holds it up to the light, and then, “Something will happen soon that will change how you look at the world.”

This time, Sirius and Regulus know to wait before they applaud. James always adds something funny after his fortunes, and they’re curious to see what it is he’ll come up with this time.

“What,” he says, after a brief moment of thought, “will my glasses prescription change or something?”

Sirius looks at Regulus, and they both laugh as they clap. It’s cheesy, entirely too predictable, and basically the most James thing possible. Neither of them knows what really caused them to want to befriend James all those years ago in—oh fuck, it was grade four, wasn’t it?—but it sure as hell wasn’t his sense of humour.

“Sirius?” It’s said like a question, and Sirius is quick to answer. “On it, Reg,” he says, and breaks his cookie in half with both hands. (Well, he says ‘half;’ it’s really more like a quarter and then the other three.)

He reads out his lucky numbers first, without even looking at the fortune itself—that’s his tradition; he’s the only one of the three of them who does it. “Three, thirteen, seventeen, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, forty.”

“Isn’t that, like, the fifth time in a row you’ve gotten thirteen?” Regulus says. “That’s gotta mean something.”

“Shut up,” Sirius tells them, and finally he lets his eyes find the tiny lettering that is his fortune.

Without letting himself hear the words in his head first, he reads them out loud. “You have forgiven easily in the past; it is time to do so again.”

There’s a silence. What is this? It’s not a fortune; it’s a statement. Advice, maybe, but even that’s stretching it a little.

“Well.” James says, and claps, Regulus following quickly after, but Sirius can tell it’s strained. They’re all obviously thinking about the same thing—Remus.

Somewhere in his head, he knows that this doesn’t necessarily mean anything. It’s a fortune cookie, after all—what does it know? But… maybe it does mean something. He’s not sure which he’s hoping for.

Seemingly just for something to say, James asks, “Don’t you have rehearsal tonight?”

Sirius is, in a way, glad for the excuse to stand up. “Yeah,” he says, “at seven-thirty—which is twenty minutes from now—so I should probably get going.”

“Probably,” agrees Regulus, as they begin to clear the table. “Need a ride?”

“Nah, I can take the bus,” Sirius begins, and then stops. “Wait, why are you offering? You don’t have a car.”

“Um—”

“Reg, is there something you aren’t telling me?”

“...Maybe?”

“You have a car?”

“I mean, technically it’s a rental, so no, but—”

“Whatever.” Sirius doesn’t need to hear any more. “Yes, please, take me to rehearsal.”

James makes a noise of protest. “What, and leave me here alone?”

“Yes, James; you can survive on your own. You’re an adult.”

“I don’t feel like one.”

“Or act like one,” Sirius adds under his breath, which earns him a definitive not helping look from Regulus.

“You’ll be fine as long as you don’t burn the house down. Goodbye.”

Sirius grabs his script and his blue hoodie with the picture of a rubber duck on it from his bedroom, and when he walks back through the kitchen to the front door, Regulus looks him up and down once and hands him his backpack.

The only sound that accompanies their walk down the hall and subsequent elevator ride is the faint jingling of the key ring in Regulus’s hand. It’s not until they’re in the car and pulling out of the parking lot that Regulus says, “And you’re all right with this?”

“All right with what?”

“Me being… you know.”

“A total asshole? No. Aroace? Yeah, of course. I’m your brother. I’m here for you, Reg.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

(Sirius ignores the ‘I guess.’) “Is James cool about it? Because if he isn’t, I’ll kick his ass.”

“No, he’s fine. He’s great. He made a couple jokes about himself having raised my expectations so much I could never be with anyone else, but that’s just James.”

“That’s just James,” Sirius repeats. “And you know that you can always talk to me, right? If anyone tries to mess with your head?”

“Yeah. Now, enough about me. Let’s talk about the guy who ‘knowingly and willingly flirted with his ex’ earlier.”

Damn. He’s hoped Regulus had forgotten about that.

For a moment, Sirius is trapped between the want to stubbornly refuse and the need to actually talk about his feelings. He settles on the latter, but not until they’re close enough to the rec centre where rehearsals are held that he knows he can hop out of the car and walk the rest of the way if need be. “He’s just… he’s everything, you know?

“And I know that he doesn’t want to get back together, and I know that we really shouldn’t even if he did. But he’s Remus. And I’m constantly flip-flopping back and forth between wanting to be his friend because we’ll never be anything more than that, and…”

“And what?”

“Being so in love with him it hurts.”

Regulus glances away from the road ahead for a split second, eyes flickering over Sirius's face, their expression unreadable. “Sounds like a you problem,” they say finally.

“Reg?”

“Yeah?”

“Not helping.”

“Sorry.”

“I just—my eyes basically turn to hearts whenever I look at him, but it also hurts, you know? Because he broke up with me, obviously, but also because today I found out that the reason he broke up with me was that he kissed someone else, so obviously that’s kind of shitty, and I don’t know how to feel about any of this because he’s basically the nicest person in the world, and can one mistake really change who a person is? But he also hasn’t tried to make up or anything, and we’re apparently pretending we’ve never met, and did I mention he’s got a fucking tattoo of the Sirius constellation that he never told me about, and… this is my stop.”

Regulus pulls over, wincing a little as the tire grates against the curb, and then turns to meet Sirius’s gaze. “So, it sounds like you’re not in a great place right now,” he says. “And I get that. You know this goes both ways, right? You can always talk to me, too.”

“I know. Love you.” He grabs his backpack, making sure it’s got everything he needs in it—phone, script, highlighter and pencil for notes and directions, bottle of red Gatorade—and closes the door.

The window rolls down slightly, and Sirius watches his own reflection disappear with it and be replaced by his brother’s faint smile. “Love you, too,” Regulus says, and then he is gone.

#wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #sirius x remus #james potter #regulus black #cw food #james and sirius are bros #he/they regulus black #regulus black is an emo I don't make the rules #university au #muggle au #post-breakup #actor!sirius #I don't know how I feel about this chapter

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transromansanders · 4 years ago

Text

We Can Live Forever, If You’ve Got the Time: Chapter One: Roman’s Life Does a Backflip Unsuccessfully

AO3: Link

WC: 3,229

Ships: Rosleepxiety, Intrulogical, Moceit, Pintroverts

Warnings (chapter): homophobia, gun violence, minor character death, blood

A/N: Hey, So this has been in the works for a while. I’m finally in a place motivation-wise where I feel like I can get out at least the second chapter in a timely manner. Also! I’m looking for someone to beta read for errors in grammar and continuity. If you feel the urge to volunteer, please do so, I need help ;-;

Chapter 1 under the cut

"Daddy!" a small voice whisper-yelled. Roman groaned, rolling onto his back from his side. "Daddy!" the little voice whined. Roman managed a sleepy smile, but then little hands and knees were pressing into his bare chest and stomach.

"Oof! Emile, you little monster," he groaned, capturing the three-year-old in his arms and rolling back onto his side with Emile next to him, between himself and Alandria, who was snoring, her dark hair framing her face and haloing out on her pillows. Her steel-grey eyes were hidden behind closed lids, and she smacked her lips when Emile rolled over and poked at her face. Roman wished he loved his wife.

Roman spared a look at the alarm clock on his bedside table, groaning again at the time: 3:43 AM on a Monday. "Can we sleep a little longer, Bud?" Roman asked Emile tiredly.

Emile nodded, turning over to face his dad again and curling up against his chest.

Roman wrapped an arm around his son with a smile, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Emile's head. Then he dozed back off again.

----

Roman smacked at the alarm clock as it blared at him, whining softly. Finally, he managed to turn it off, and he began sitting up, rubbing at his eyes.

Next to him, Emile sat up as well with a cute little yawn and Alandria was running a hand over her face, looking at her husband and son with a little smile. "Good morning," she slurred sleepily.

Roman chuckled. "'Morning, sleepyhead."

"Mommy!" cheered Emile, crawling on top of her now.

She groaned a little, sitting up to hold him in her lap. Roman stood, bare toes curling for a moment against the cold white floor. The whole house was cold, cold and impersonal. Roman wished it was warmer. He wished Emile had a home, as a child ought to have.

He lifted the blinds so the sunlight could shine in.

Then he turned back to the bed, smiling. "I'm going to make us some breakfast. How does cinnamon toast sound?"

Emile cheered, and Alandria smiled and nodded. Roman clapped his hands together, grabbed a shirt, and headed to the kitchen, pulling the garment on.

Soon they were sitting around the table with plates of cinnamon toast with fresh fruit in front of them. Emile ate messily, getting strawberry juice and cinnamon-sugar all over his face and hands. Alandria got a wet paper towel and cleaned him up.

Then they were off, Roman and Alandria going to shower and get dressed, Emile sat in front of the TV with cartoons on until one of them got to him to make him put on real clothes rather than pajamas.

Roman showered and dressed first, in a pale red button-up, a black tie, and khakis with black leather shoes. Once he was done, he scooped up Emile, ignoring his protests and wiggling. "Come on, Emmy, gotta get dressed. Then you can ask Mommy if you can watch more cartoons."

Emile let Roman maneuver him out of his pajamas and into a shirt and some pants, giggling away the whole time. Roman poked his nose when he was done. "I bet Mommy's dressed now. Wanna go ask if you can watch more cartoons?"

Emile nodded vigorously and went in search of Alandria, while Roman poured a thermos of coffee to take with him.

Alandria and Emile met him at the door, off to run some errand or another.

"I'll see you tonight," Roman said, pressing a kiss to the top of Emile's head.

"Love you," Alandria said.

"Bye," Roman answered.

----

"Roman!" Patton Casey greeted.

"Morning, Pat!"

That was the extent of his usual personal interactions with the red-haired receptionist, though he relied heavily on Patton for matters of business.

He walked into his shared office, and his partner, Logan Hubbard, was, of course, already there.

"Did you hear about the execution tomorrow?" Logan asked.

Roman raised an eyebrow. "What execution?"

"It's a teenager. They say he was stirring up rebellion among the other youths. And he's openly gay," Logan mentioned. Logan was Roman's closest friend, and one of two people in the whole world who knew Roman's secret. But he had the exact same secret, too.

"Shit," Roman remarked. "Are we going?"

"You are scheduled to be there on behalf of the Governor's office, so yes, you are, but I am staying here," Logan answered.

"Damn, can we trade?" Roman asked.

"Not a chance in hell. Get to work, Picani."

Roman sighed and set about his daily tasks.

One thing that came across his desk caught his eye. An execution order for one Thomas Sanders, age 15… He signed it with a grimace on behalf of his boss, then scanned it and sent it to the other Governors' offices.

Soon lunchtime rolled around. He ate with Logan, and he longed for one of their nights out in the underground gay bars that dotted the bad parts of the city. He and Logan had tried the secretly dating thing, after Logan had started this job, when they'd run into each other at one of said bars. It hadn't worked out; they were better as friends. Today, they talked about how Emile had woken Roman early and different ways Logan had read about to keep kids from doing that. Logan did not have a wife or children; he just liked to read. And, truly, he did want to be a parent one day. That was one thing Roman knew about him from their drunken nights together in Logan's apartment early in Roman's marriage.

When lunch was over, they had a meeting. With Governor Baines. Roman hated those. Governor Baines was a thin, gaunt man with balding grey hair. His skin may as well have been grey, too, with how pale he was.

The conference room was grey as well, unrelentingly so. Roman and Logan each told him the notable things that had been delivered to the office. Governor Baines often asked in a dull voice what they had just said and if they could repeat themselves.

"Oh, and the Sanders execution order came in today," Roman said, trying not to wince.

"Sanders…" Governor Baines mumbled. "Tell me about this Sanders."

"He's fifteen years old," Roman told him. No reaction. Roman sighed. "He's openly gay and has incited rebellion among the kids at his school."

"I presume you signed it."

"Yes, Governor Baines."

"Good lad, Picano."

Roman frowned a little when the Governor got his name wrong. But he didn't correct him.

Then the meeting was over. The next several hours were filled with filing and organizing. Roman talked at Logan about a TV show he and Alandria were watching as they worked. When he finally left, giving a little goodbye to Patton, he was exhausted. It was a good job, but not a fun one.

----

"Daddy!" Emile cried as Roman opened the door, his tie loose around his neck. Roman laughed and bent down to catch the speeding toddler.

"Hi, Emmy! There's my little man!"

"Hi, honey!" Alandria called from the kitchen.

"Oh, let me help!" Roman offered, carrying Emile into the kitchen. "What can I do?"

"Get the chicken in the pan, babe?" Alandria requested.

Emile played on the floor as his parents cooked dinner.

"How was your day?" Roman asked when they were finally sat down to eat.

"Oh, fine," Alandria said. "We just did some shopping, then Emile and I worked some more on the alphabet, isn't that right, Em?"

Emile nodded excitedly. "I can go all the way to 'O'! Listen! A, B, C, D, E, F, um, G, H, I, J, K, um… M N O!"

"You skipped 'L', Baby, but very good job," Alandria said as Roman clapped.

Emile giggled and went back to his food.

Roman didn't know what else to say, nor did Alandria, and Emile was too busy eating to keep up the conversation. So the rest of dinner passed in silence.

When Alandria was finished, she wiped her hands and face on a paper napkin, then stood up. "Okay, Em, bathtime!"

Roman was going to offer to do it, but something stopped him. He wasn't sure what, just that they needed this time together, but he just finished his meal, letting them go. When he was done, he went and got into pajamas and got the show he was watching with Alandria queued up. Finally, he met Alandria outside Emile's bedroom to put him to bed.

They wrestled him into pajamas, Emile giggling and squirming the whole time. Then Roman scooped him up and dumped him on the bed, chuckling. "Okay, Monster. What story do you want tonight?"

"The Tortoise and the Hare!" Emile cried, and Alandria retrieved it from the shelf.

Roman opened the book and began reading in a silly voice. Emile yawned.

By the time Roman was done, Emile was sound asleep.

Roman quietly put the book up and crept out of the room with Alandria.

They sat down on the couch and started their show, the TV on a low volume. Two episodes went by before they decided to go to sleep, wordlessly. They crawled into bed, and Roman was out in moments.

----

"They're having an execution today," Alandria said the next morning after Roman had gotten dressed in his white button-up, khaki pants, dark red tie, and black dress shoes.

He had to wince. "I know. You're not taking Emile, are you?"

"Why wouldn't I? It's a part of life. He has to learn these things at some point," Alandria said.

Roman sighed and nodded. He didn't want to argue. "Maybe I'll see you there. I'm scheduled to go."

The drive to work felt long. He stared at the road ahead of him, feeling irritated for a reason he couldn't place.

Then he was walking into work, coffee in hand.

"'Morning, Pat," he said, voice a bit strained.

"Good morning, Roman," Patton answered, sounding concerned. But Roman had ducked into his office before Patton could ask.

"Good morning, Roman," Logan echoed Patton.

Roman just grunted, sitting down at his desk.

The rest of the morning went along monotonously. Then it was time for lunch. And the execution. He ate, but he didn't taste. He honestly wouldn't have had any idea what he was eating if it hadn't been labelled 'cranberry spinach salad'.

Then he drove to the Execution Courtyard. The parking was a nightmare, as always on execution days. He spotted Alandria's car.

It took him a little bit to find his wife and son, as they were toward the other side of the crowd from the parking lot. "Hi!" he greeted, taking Emile from his wife when the child reached for him with a squeal of "Daddy!"

It was about time for the execution to start. So where…? They were near the entrance where the guards would bring in the prisoner. That's when Roman realized what was happening. There was the boy, Thomas, and another guy, beautiful, with dark hair and sharp features, small and cute, but harsh-looking… and the guards on the ground, and a gun pointed at Thomas. The other guy was trying to pull the teenager away. The gun turned to him. Later, Roman couldn't have said why he'd done it. But suddenly, he was between the man and the gun, Emile gently placed on the ground next to him. And Alandria was between Roman and the gun before the guard had the chance to fire.

Roman, surprised to not be dead, covered in a spray of blood, and largely in shock, picked up his son quickly and cradled him close to his chest, not letting him see his mother on the ground.

"Come with us!" the dark-haired man hissed, grabbing Roman's arm and dragging him and Thomas through alleyways. Roman followed numbly, clinging to his son, who was crying in fear and confusion. They stopped in a dead-end alleyway behind some dumpsters. "Can you get that kid to quiet down?" their savior asked impatiently.

Thomas held out his arms wordlessly, and Roman hesitantly passed Emile over. The toddler quieted pretty quickly, sticking his thumb in his mouth and curling up against Thomas's chest.

"We stay here for two hours, 'til things quiet down, then our ride comes. Get comfortable," the other man said. He looked to be about Roman's age, now that Roman had time to really look.

"Who are you?" Thomas asked slowly.

The man held up a finger to his lips urgently, and several guards ran past their alleyway. A few moments passed, then he said quietly, "Name's Virgil. I work with some people who have a vested interest in keeping you alive, Thomas. Now, I want to know who he is."

Roman gulped. "Um, my name is Roman Picani… I work for Governor Baines's office… except I probably don't do that anymore."

"Probably not," agreed Virgil. "Someone, uh… Someone did get shot back there… Do you know—"

"My wife," Roman said, trying unsuccessfully to blink back tears.

Thomas gasped softly. "I'm so sorry…"

"Can we not talk about it in front of my son?" Roman requested, and Virgil nodded in agreement, looking away.

"Well, you'll be wanted now, Roman. Looks like you and the kid are stuck with us."

Roman nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. "I just ruined my life…" he said softly.

"Maybe…" Virgil answered quietly.

"If it makes you feel any better, I ruined mine a few weeks ago," Thomas contributed.

Roman couldn't help a small, bitter chuckle at that. "So… what now?"

"I'll leave it to Patton to explain that," Virgil answered.

"Patton… Not Patton Casey?" Roman asked.

"Yep, Patton Casey. My big brother," Virgil said. "You already know him from the office, then."

Roman didn't know Patton had a brother. And apparently, Roman didn't know a lot of things about Patton, as he was to find out when Patton pulled up at the entrance to the alleyway two hours later in a non-descript black car.

Patton was surprised to see Roman and his son, to say the least. "V, what happened?"

"Almost got shot," Virgil answered quietly. "Roman here tried to take the bullet. His wife took it instead."

Patton covered his mouth with a hand in shock. "Oh, Roman, I'm so sorry."

Roman just took his son back from Thomas silently as they quickly got into the car.

"Well, um…" Patton said. "I guess… Welcome to The Resistance."

----

The Resistance headquarters was a dilapidated house next to Housing Development Number 1. Patton led them all inside, having put Thomas in a baggy hoodie so he wouldn't be recognized. They stopped in the kitchen. The walls were painted yellow, the cabinets were white, and the appliances were old. The backsplash was a gaudily painted tile, and the countertops were light blue porcelain. There was a battered wooden table with mismatched chairs in the corner.

"Alright, Thomas. You can take the room next to Virgil's and mine. Roman and Emile the one next to that," Patton said. "Sorry it's not that much, guys, but… it's what we have." He sighed. "This is always the hardest part. Settling in, getting all new clothes and things. Don't worry, Roman; we can get some toys for Emile."

Roman nodded, holding the now-sleeping toddler closer to his chest.

"You'll stay here for as long as you like, Roman. Until you're settled into this new life, then we can move you to another safehouse that's not so close to the action," Virgil said.

Roman raised an eyebrow. "Exactly how big is this operation?"

"Oh, we have branches all over the country," Patton answered. "This is just HQ for our province's branch."

"Who's in charge here?" Thomas asked.

"You're lookin' at 'im, Kiddo!" Patton said cheerfully.

Roman sputtered for a moment. Sweet Patton was the head of The Resistance in Shaw Province?!

"What?" Patton asked, directing his attention to Roman. He kept up his cheery demeanor as he asked, "Thought I was just the mild-mannered receptionist?" There was a hint of amusement to his tone. "Come on, we'll show you your rooms, then, um… then you can go take a shower, Roman," he said, gesturing for Thomas and Roman to follow him. "Virgil, send Gio or Perce to the store for clothes. Oh! What sizes are you guys?"

Thomas and Roman listed off their clothing sizes, then Roman told them Emile's size as well. Virgil wrote it all down on a pad of paper he grabbed from the table.

"Got it. See ya at dinner, Pat," Virgil said with a little wave.

Patton showed Roman his and Emile's room, and Roman laid Emile down on the bed. The room was fairly empty, aside from bookshelves. When Roman looked a little closer, he realized it was mostly banned books.

He turned back to Patton and Thomas in the doorway, and Patton looked nervous.

"Um, Roman, there's something I haven't told you…"

Roman bristled a little, unsure what to expect at this point.

Patton took a deep breath. "Your brother, Remus, he works with us sometimes."

"Remus… God, I haven't seen him in… years…" Roman mused sadly.

"I know. He told me," Patton said, sounding sad.

Roman nodded. "I… I need to rest…"

Patton nodded. "Of course. But shower first, okay? The bathroom is the door just across from this one. You can borrow some of my clothes for now. Should I wake you for dinner?"

Roman shook his head. "No, no, I'll eat in the morning," he answered.

Patton smiled worriedly. "Okay, well… I'll go get you those clothes!"

"Goodnight," Thomas said before he and Patton left.

Roman kicked off his shoes and sat down on the bed, petting Emile's hair; the toddler whined but didn't wake.

Soon, Patton was knocking on the door. Roman stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

"Thanks, Patton," he said as he took the clothes Patton held out to him.

"Are you okay?" Patton asked gently.

Roman nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, yeah, I just…" He sighed, running his free hand through his hair. "...What about Emile? What is he gonna do? I can't send him to school, he doesn't have his mother anymore, he can't go home…" The tears spilled over, and Patton was quick to hug him.

"Hey, hey, it's going to be okay, Kiddo," Patton said, rubbing Roman's back. "I know it's a lot, but it's gonna be okay."

Roman wiped roughly at his eyes. "Don't get me wrong, I'm… I'm glad Virgil is okay, I just…" He sniffled. "I've sacrificed my life for his."

Patton nodded sympathetically. "...Roman, do you believe that the government we live under is oppressive?"

Roman laughed bitterly through his tears. "I'm a gay man who's spent my prime married to a woman I didn't have any feelings for. I've signed death warrants for people like me and Thomas for a living for years. I know we live in an oppressive system."

"Maybe you should stay with us, then. Fight it," Patton suggested.

"I'd like to… I have to do what's best for my son… I just need to figure out what that is," Roman bemoaned.

"Well… We're all here to help. You're not alone," Patton assured him. "Shower and get some rest."

And Roman did.

For the second night in a row, he was asleep within moments of his head hitting the pillow, exhausted.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #roman sanders #roman centric #virgil sanders #logan sanders #emile picani #patton sanders #thomas sanders (character)#character thomas #remus sanders #i promise janus will be in the next chapter #blood #gun #gun violence #gunshot #minor character death #homophobia #roman writes

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sorry-apsalar · 4 years ago

Text

I Kissed a Bot and I Liked It

I started watching Futurama recently on a whim (currently only a few episodes into season 4 so if things aren't consistent with stuff that happens later in the series, that's why) and I'm really enjoying it so far except for a few things. Mainly the compulsory heteronormativity that's present in every episode (that I've seen so far) that deals with romantic relationships (with sort of one exception but it doesn't really count in my opinion). Which is mostly whatever, it's to be expected, especially since it's an older show but the Fry/Leela stuff is frustrating because personally I feel like they don't have good romantic chemistry (I'm open to this changing later but I doubt it will) and this is just another case of 'there's a male main character and a female main character and they're friends, therefore they must have romantic feelings for each other' that I've seen a hundred times before. It's aggravating enough that it spurred a fic idea for an AU where Fry is a repressed gay man. I decided to make it an Xmas gift for myself for reasons and because why not?

So Merry Xmas everyone, especially me!

The future was great. Everything about it was grand and exciting and Fry had friends now. Yeah, sure he was still a delivery boy but he was delivering a variety of things across space alongside his friends. And yeah, sure his living area was smaller than he would’ve chosen and it was technically a closet but he was roommates with his best friend and despite being a closet, it was still a little bigger than his old apartment had been. So, the future was great in every possible way even if parts of it made little to no sense.

Luckily, he had friends so some of those things that made no sense, he could ask about and have explained to him. Sometimes they didn’t even make fun of him for not knowing. There was one thing though that he was afraid to ask about. What exactly made it a scary thing to ask about he wasn’t sure of but it wasn’t because he worried they’d think him stupid because everyone already thought that and honestly it was true, brains weren’t his thing. The more often it popped up though, the more he wanted an explanation. He finally reaching a breaking point on that one evening when watching TV with Bender after returning home from work.

In an episode of All My Circuits two of the side characters ended up hooking up. Which wasn’t weird in itself, it was a soap opera, everyone was pairing up and breaking up all the time, but what was odd was the fact that it was two dudes. It was far from the first time Fry had seen such things in the past month or so he’d been here for, in other shows, movies, and even in prior episodes, same-sex couples popped up fairly frequently and if there was ever any issue with the couple, that was never one of them. So…

“Hey Bender,” he said as the credits for the episode rolled, glancing over at Bender sitting on the couch next to him, “those two robots that got together at the end there are both uh… men, right?”

The look Bender gave him reflected how stupid of a question that was. But how else was he supposed to broach the topic? He wasn’t good with words. “Man-bots yes, what else would they be?” Bender replied, sounding annoyed as he looked.

“Well uh… I don’t know but…” Unable to maintain eye contact, Fry looked away, instead focusing his gaze on one of the many crumbled cans of Slurm on the floor by the coffee table. He shouldn’t have brought this up because it was… uh… awkward or something. But it was too late now and he needed to understand because he just did. “If they’re both man-bots then why are they a couple?” And why wasn’t that viewed as remarkable by anyone else? “Isn’t that a thing normally only men and women are supposed to do?”

“Wow Fry, of all people I didn’t expect you to be homophobic.”

“What?” Fry snapped his gaze back to look at Bender. “I’m not… whatever you just said, I don’t even know what that means.” Which meant it could describe him but the context made it sound bad so it wasn’t him… probably. ‘Phobic’ meant fear, right? What did ‘homo’ mean though?

“It means you hate gay people,” Bender said as he pulled another cigar out of his casing. “Though I suppose that was common back when you came from now that I think about it.” After lighting up, he blew a cloud of smoke in Fry’s general direction. “I forget how primitive you are sometimes. That’s fine though, I hate humans so we both harbor hatred for an entire group of people. Though my hatred’s justified while yours isn’t.”

Fry coughed, waving a hand in front of his face to clear the smoke. “I don’t hate gay people.” He never had even if that’s what he’d been lowkey taught at the church he’d been forced to go to as a kid and young teen. “I just… it’s supposed to be a sin, right? Like… you go to hell forever if you chose to be gay. Though… I guess I don’t really believe in God anymore so… I don’t know. But still… that’s normal now? Or uh… or least acceptable? To choose to be gay, I mean?”

The look Bender gave him this time might’ve been a concerned one if it had come from almost anyone else. “You don’t ‘choose’ to be gay. Did you meatbags really used to believe it was a choice?”

“Uh… that’s what I was always taught. Or that like… gay people are confused and think that being able to recognize that another man is attractive means you’re attracted to him.” And that that was wrong and shameful and should never be admitted to once one was cleared of that misunderstanding. Because marriage and love and all that was supposed to be between a man and a woman for the sole purpose of making babies or whatever. The fact that that viewpoint was no longer common a thousand years later wasn’t surprising now that he really thought about it but somehow it seemed significant.

Bender took another puff from his cigar before replying. “Well, it ain’t a choice. Now shut up, the next episode’s starting.”

Fry sighed as he pulled his legs up onto the couch to hug to his chest as he turned his attention back on the TV. But now that the topic had been brought up, he didn’t seem able to fully focus. The fact that the episode dealt with the gay romance and treated it like every other side romance in the show made it even harder not to think about. Not that there was even a whole lot to think about, just that that kind of thing was socially acceptable now. Which was… a good thing, yes, definitely a good thing. It didn’t affect him any of course, he was attracted to women and only women, but it was good for the people it did affect. …

“What about robots?” he eventually asked.

“What about them?” Bender didn’t even look away from the TV.

“Is it a choice for you? Or are you manufactured that way? And if so is it a choice whatever or whoever is making you makes or is it like random or something?”

“Oh, you’re still thinking about that, huh? That kind of thing develops at the same time as our personality so it’s not a choice anyone makes. It’s complex stuff, you wouldn’t understand.”

That was undoubtedly true but before Fry could drop it, he wanted to know one more thing. … “What about you? Are you uh… you know?”

With the start of the ad-break, Bender finally turned his head to look at Fry again. “Are you asking if I’m gay?”

Fry nodded. How rude was it to ask that kind of thing? Surely it had to be mostly chill since it was socially acceptable now.

“What’s it’s to you? Why do you want to know?” Oh no, he seemed offended. Though that might just be him being him.

“I’m just curious.” There was no harm wanting to know that kind of thing about one’s best friend, right? “We’ve been best friends for a whole month now and I don’t even know what kind of people you’re into.”

“Very well,” he relaxed, seemingly taking that as an acceptable answer, “if you must know, I’m pansexual.”

“Um… does that mean you’re attracted to pans?” What else could it mean? This was the future and lots of things were weird and Bender was a robot so maybe that was just a thing.

“No! What kind of idiot would even think that? It means somebody’s gender plays no role in whether or not I find the attractive. For me the only thing I care about is if they’re a robot.”

“Okay, I guess.”

“What about you Fry?” Bender pointed an almost accusing finger at him. “Now it’s your turn. Are you gay?”

“Uh… no.” It almost sounded like a question even to his own ears. But he wasn’t gay, he was normal, always had been even if he had been picked on in middle and high school with accusations of being gay.

Bender gave him a skeptical look but seemed to shrug as he turned his attention back onto the TV; the ad-break was over. With a sigh, Fry followed suit. He was more than ready to stop talking about that subject now.

Later that night

“Wake up Bender,” Fry said, shaking Bender by the shoulders.

Bender groaned as the metal flap that covered his eyes when he slept lifted. “Huh? What?” Understandably he both looked and sounded sleepy. Which Fry felt bad for but this was urgent.

“If I was gay, which I’m not, but if I was, it’d be okay with you, right?” After the thought that it might not be okay with Bender had come to him while he lay in bed, waiting for sleep, he hadn’t been able to get any rest so he needed to know for sure.

“Are you kidding me? That’s what you woke me up for? To ask a dumb question like that? Man, Fry get out of her and go back to bed.” Bender put a hand on Fry’s shoulder to push him back into the closet, hard but nowhere near as hard as he was capable of so really it probably counted as gentle.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Fry said, putting his foot in the door before Bender could close it. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Bender rolled his eyes. “Yes Fry, if you were gay, I’d be fine with it. Happy?”

“Uh yeah, thanks pal. Sorry for waking you up, I just wanted to know. Even though I’m not gay so it doesn’t really matter, I just wanted to know if you’d accept me even if I was because… I don’t know. I just wanted to know I guess.”

“Yeah, whatever. Go back to sleep meatbag.” With that Bender pulled the door closed, seemingly little caring that Fry only barely managed to get his foot out of the way in time.

A few months later

‘~ I kissed a guy and I liked it…~’ Fry had to admit it was a bop. More so than a lot of the other songs he’d found while trying to catch up on some of the music he’d missed in the last thousand years. Who would’ve thought so much bad music would be what persisted throughout the years? Yeah sure it was one of those opinion things but his taste in music was great and no one could convince him otherwise.

As the second chorus hit, he found himself half singing along with it as he resumed scrolling through the song list on the tablet, searching for more titles that caught his eye. … What would it be like to kiss a guy? Would it be like kissing a girl? (Not that he had much experience with that even despite having had a girlfriend once upon a time. The few kisses they had shared had been meh at best.) Probably not, right? It had to be different. … He kind of wanted to find out for sure now that he’d thought of it. Maybe it would even be not terrible. Who could he kiss to try it though? …

The sound of the door opening prompted him to look up as Bender strode in. Ah, he’d be perfect because he was a guy. And they were best friends so there wouldn’t be any confusion about intentions.

“Hey Bender,” Fry said as he placed the tablet, still playing music on the coffee table and hopped up off the couch. “Would it be all right if we kissed?”

Bender froze mid-step as the door swung shut behind him. “Uh… what?”

“Well, I’m listening to this song here and it’s about a guy kissing another guy and liking it and it got me thinking what that would be like. It has to be different from kissing a girl, right? But like how different? So I’m curious and I want to find out and you’re a guy so… yeah. It’s fine if you’d rather not, I know it’s a weird request. I could always ask someone else, I’m sure it wouldn’t be…”

“Yes!” Bender interrupted with a surprising amount of intensity as he lowered his foot. He let out a nervous chuckle as his eyes darted away. “I mean if it’s just one kiss, it should be fine. Nothing wrong with experimenting a little and satisfying some curiosity, it’s not a big deal.”

“Yeah! This is the year 3000, things like that aren’t a big deal anymore.” It was so freeing and wonderful. So without further ado, Fry pranced over to stand in front of Bender. Hmmm… he was a robot though so kissing him wouldn’t be like kissing any human – or humanoid alien – guy or not. But he was still a guy so the basic idea was still there so…

Fry put his hands on Bender’s shoulders as he leaned in for a kiss. Bender’s mouth was cold and unsurprisingly tasted of booze, in a good way though. A slight tingly sensation hit Fry’s lips as Bender’s hands reached up to light touch his sides. Odd but not necessarily unpleasant, he could probably easily get used to it.

They lingered like that for several long seconds before Fry pulled back, letting out a shaky sigh. “Uh… that was interesting, huh?” he said, tugging at his shirt collar a bit because it was suddenly a bit hotter in here for some reason. They were still standing a bit closer than they normally did too. How had he never noticed that Bender was just a tad shorter than him? … The perfect height for a forehead kiss if Fry were inclined to do so.

“Eh, I’ve had better.” Bender avoided eye contact as he stepped back. Which seemed to release the sudden tension in the air as if an important moment had just passed by them.

Fry looked away too, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah sorry, I’m not a great kisser. I don’t really have much experience.”

“So, curiosity satisfied?”

“Uh… yeah. Thanks.” It had been nice actually if a bit weird. … That meant he was into guys though, wasn’t it? …. Oh well, that kind of thing was perfectly fine now so yeah, he was into guys and not ashamed of it.

“Good, now… let’s move on and pretend this never happened, okay? We don’t want anyone thinking we’re dating when we’re not.”

“Um… yeah.” Fry nodded, holding his smile even though for some reason Bender’s words made him a bit uncomfortable. If it wasn’t a big deal, why did they have to pretend it had never happened? “Let’s watch some TV, huh? All My Circuits should be starting soon.”

~~~

Despite how it was supposed to have just been an experiment and not a big deal, Fry thought about that kiss a lot. He wanted to do it again and do it better so that maybe Bender would like it too. How did he even go about that though?

That wasn’t all he thought about. Now that he was comfortable and willing to accept that he liked guys like that he allowed his mind to go to other places to. Like dating and holding hands and cuddling and sometimes even sex. What would all the be like with another guy? A robot? Specifically Bender? He wanted to know. He lay in bed at night thinking about it more nights than not. Often it turned into barely remembered dreams that left him more unsatisfied than anything.

He’d never find out though, would he? Because Bender didn’t like humans like that. He’d said so himself directly and had implied it in other instances too, always insisting he hated humans and all that – even if he didn’t really act like it most of the time. So… Fry didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell with him.

Damn! He was finally in a place where he was comfortable with his sexuality and in a time when he wouldn’t be persecuted for it and the first man he fell for was unattainable. That was just his luck, huh? … But then again, this was the year 3000 and almost anything was possible with today’s technology, right? …

Waking up early and getting out of bed was absolutely terrible, even worse was going into work that early. But he had no choice if he wanted some time to talk to Professor Farnsworth without Bender around or hopefully anyone else.

As he knew from the handful of weeks he’d lived at the Planet Express building, Farnsworth should be one of the first people here. He typically went straight to his office … and lo and behold, that’s where Fry found him this morning; asleep in his office chair.

Fry walked over to prod his shoulder. “Hey Professor?”

The only response was a loud snore. How he slept so soundly faceup in his desk chair like that, Fry would never understand. But it was important so Fry poked him again, harder this time.

“Wake up, I got something important to ask you about.”

With a grunt, Farnsworth jerked awake. “Huh? What?” He looked blearily around for a few seconds before his gaze settled on Fry. “Oh, you’re here early… I think.”

“Yep because I got something important to ask. You see I’m uh…” Fry gulped, suddenly regretting this a little bit but he’d already come this far so putting his hands behind his back, he soldiered on. “I think I’m gay, well uh… I don’t just think, I know… I think. I’m not entirely sure yet but do I do know I like guys and I’ve never really got girls, you know? Like I thought I was supposed to so I would flirt with them and stuff but it never really felt good even when one finally agreed to date me, you know what I mean?”

“That’s what’s so important you came to work early to tell me about? Well earlier than normal. This is the year 3000, no one cares if you’re gay Fry. The fact that that was ever viewed as a reason to hate people is astounding when there’s so many more actual reasons, such as their taste in music or sports teams.”

“Uh… that’s only part of what I came here to tell you. What I need to ask you is um… well in discovering that I like guys I also discovered that I got a thing for Bender. A kind of big thing. I’ve never felt this way before so I don’t really know what it is for sure but I really want to kiss him and hold his hand and stuff. I know that probably sounds weird because he’s Bender and…”

“Just get to the point,” Farnsworth interrupted.

“Oh uh… sorry. I don’t think he likes humans, not like that anyway. So I was thinking would it be possible to upload my mind into a robot body so that I might have a real chance with him?” Fry had seen such things in movies and stuff a few times, surely that was possible with today’s technology, right?

“Hmmm…” Farnsworth lifted a hand to tap a finger on his chin. “I suppose we could give it a try. You’d be more useful as a robot anyway.” … Wow he’d agreed to that without any need for convincing.

“Awesome, let’s go.”

With a grunt and crack of his old bones, Farnsworth pushed himself off the chair and led the way out of his office. He seemed to know where he was going so Fry followed. In the hallway, they ran into Leela.

“Oh hey Fry,” she said, “You’re here on time for once, good job.”

“Thanks! The Professor’s about to turn me into a robot, you want to watch?”

“Uh… what?”

“I’m turning him into a robot,” Farnsworth replied. “Now come along Fry, we need determine what kind of robot will be most useful to us. I’m thinking one with built in weaponry.”

Leela fell into step with Fry as Farnsworth resumed leading the way presumably to the lab. “Why exactly do you want to be a robot?” she asked in her suspicious voice.

“Because um… well uh…” Fry wasn’t ashamed to admit it or anything but he wasn’t ready for her to know especially when she was looking at him with that looks of hers she always had on her face whenever she caught him doing something stupid.

“He’s in love with Bender or some such bull crap,” Farnsworth said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Is that true Fry?”

“Uh… I think so, yes. I don’t really know what love feels like but… regardless he won’t be interested in me as long as I’m human so… I’m becoming a robot. Don’t tell him though please. I want to be the one who tells him.” … What if even becoming a robot didn’t work though? What would Fry do then? He didn’t have time to think on that much as they reached the professor’s lab.

“All right Fry,” Farnsworth said. “You go sit on the table while I work on getting you a good robot body and then when Doctor Zoidberg gets here we’ll call him in to help remove your brain from your skull.”

Oh! Fry didn’t like the sound of that. Before he could voice a protest though, Leela did. “Uh no, that’s not happening. Come on Fry.” She grabbed Fry by the arm and dragged him right back into the hallway. She then closed the door, cutting off Farnsworth’s groan of disappointment.

“But Leela,” Fry tried only to be interrupted as she kept pulling him away.

“Have you even tried talking to Bender and telling him how you feel yet?”

“Well, no but…”

“That’s what I thought. Try that first before going and doing something dumb like having the Professor turn you into a robot. Seriously what were you thinking? It’s the Professor, there’s no way that could ever turn out well. Now come on, we’re going back to the main room and when Bender shows up, you’re going to tell him how you feel, okay?”

Before Fry could even try to answer…

“What’s this about Fry telling Bender how he feels?” Hermes asked as they entered the main room.

“He’s in love,” Leela replied as if it weren’t a big deal.

“Really?” Oh great, Amy was here now too. “I guess that makes sense though, huh? Since they’re roommates and all, the romance practically writes itself. Congrats on realizing it sooner rather than later though Fry.”

With a groan and free Leela’s grasp at last, Fry slunk over to sit at the round table so he could hide his burning face in his arms. He was never going to live this down. Basically everyone knew now and it was only a matter of time before that ‘basically’ was no more. His only solace was the fact that Bender wouldn’t be arriving at work for at least another hour or two so he had some time to figure out what he might say… not much though, nowhere near enough.

The next couple hours were awful. Hermes lectured him about the risks and dangers of workplace romance and what was and was not allowed as if proper romance were a foregone conclusion and not the vain hope it actually was. Amy quizzed him about what he even saw in Bender because Bender was an ‘egotistical kleptomaniac’, whatever that meant. Zoidberg came in and was immediately told and expressed joy that his friends were ‘in love’ and that it was beautiful, again as if it wasn’t just Fry with these feelings which was far more likely to be the case, right? Leela was the only one who left him alone about it despite the fact that she was the one that let the cat out of the bag to everyone else.

The awfulness of all that came to a point when Bender finally arrived. Everyone in the room froze as they looked up at him. Amy let out an excited giggle that made Fry kind of want to die.

“Uh… hey guys,” Bender said as he strode into room. “Why’s everyone looking at me?”

“No reason,” Leela as she stood up. “Fry’s got something important to tell you though. Come on guys, let’s give them some privacy.” She led the way out of the room, quickly followed by everyone else, leaving Fry and Bender alone together within a matter of seconds.

Bender looked after them as they closed the door for a few seconds before turning to look at Fry. “All right, that’s weird. What’s this you want tell me?” he said as he strode over to sit at the table next to Fry. He bent legs up to rest his feet on the table as he pulled out a bottle of booze.

Unable to maintain eye contact, Fry looked away, focusing his gaze on the table instead. He rubbed his finger idly over the little scratch on it that he somehow hadn’t noticed before. What was he supposed to say? He wasn’t ready to tell Bender… more like wasn’t ready to be rejected. How badly was this going to hurt their friendship?

He couldn’t brush it off as nothing, could he? … No, now that Bender knew there was something, he’d probably take offense to any attempt to keep it from him. He’d likely assume the worst too – whatever that might be in his mind – and thus be quite angry. So Fry either had to come up with a convincing important thing to tell him or the truth. The former would be difficult but…

“Out with it meatbag, what is it?”

“Uh… um… it’s uh…” Fry had never been good with words.

“Just spit it out. Am I fired? You don’t want to be my friend anymore? You moving out? … That’s what it is, isn’t it? You hooked up with Amy or Leela and you’re going to move in with them now, huh?”

“What?” Fry jerked his gaze back up to meet Bender’s angry glare. “No, no, no, that’s not it at all.”

Bender didn’t seem much placated. “Then what is it?”

Fry had never been very good at lying or coming up with convincing tales so… with a deep breath he stood up. “You um… remember a couple weeks ago when we kissed and it was supposed to be an experiment to see what it was like to kiss a guy and nothing more?”

Bender’s expression softened a little, though the suspicious anger didn’t leave completely yet. “Yes.”

“Well uh… I’d like to do it again sometime if that’s okay with you. Maybe uh… multiple times.”

“Uh…”

“What I’m saying,” Fry quickly interrupted before he could be shot down before even really saying what he meant, “is that I um… really like you and stuff. So uh… do you maybe want go on a date sometime and like… see what happens?” Fry forced himself to meet Bender’s gaze again. He seemed more surprised than angry now. Was it pleasant surprise though or the opposite? It was hard to tell.

Before replying, Bender took a long drink from the bottle still in his hand, finishing it off and slamming it onto the table as he stood up too. “Is this some fetish thing? You want to fuck a robot and I’m the only one you know so you’re getting all sweet on me to try to get in bed with me?” Right back to being angry, suspicious, and wanting to believe the worst. Why was he like that?

“No, Bender, that’s not it. I like you for you.” Fry pointed at him to emphasize his point. If he were in a less delicate situation he might’ve pointed out how Bender kind of resembled a walking trashcan and therefore wasn’t exactly sexy enough to be worth going to so much trouble for just the purpose of sex. “You’re great and you’re my best friend. And I love spending time with you whether we’re off on a space adventure or just lazing around the apartment watching TV together. So, I’d like to be more than just friends if that’s what you want too. If not, that’s… okay too, I’d understand.” And hopefully this confession wouldn’t hurt that any.

“Oh, hmmm… what else do you like about me?” Well, he was chill now and even grinning, that was good.

“You’re always fun to talk to and you’ve got great ideas for ways to pass the time when we’re bored. And even though you steal my wallet all the time, you always give it back eventually. And you’re a robot and that’s still super cool even if I’m used to robots by now because you were the first one I met and I wasn’t lying when I said I’d always wanted a robot for a best friend. So really by being my pal, you’re fulfilling a lifelong dream of mine. I’ve never thought about dating one before now though, it just never occurred to me until after that uh… kiss experiment we did.”

“Go on,” Bender said in the pause that followed, leaning in eagerly.

Fry sighed. “You’re also very confident, especially in yourself.” Too the point of annoyance at times but even during those instances Fry still wished he could have even a fraction of that level of confidence. “And you’re also super strong, you can bend metal like it’s made of paper which is super cool. And sometimes you use that strength to open jars for me and sometimes you don’t even make fun of me for not being able to open it myself. Also, even despite our occasional disagreements, we always make up eventually and then we’re friends again like nothing ever happened and… that’s really nice.” Fry had never had a friend that would do that for him before, normally one disagreement was all it took for someone to decide they didn’t want to hang out with him ever again. “So… will you go out with me?” Forcing a grin, Fry held out a hand in hopes of Bender taking it.

Bender stared at him in silence for a few horrible seconds that seemed to drag into eternity before finally speaking. “Well, if you’re going to butter me up that much, I suppose we can go on one date and see what happens.” Looking away awkwardly, he even put his hand into Fry’s.

With a rush of giddy relief and grinning so wide his cheeks hurt, Fry use that grip to pull him closer so that their bodies were almost touching, earning a small but very satisfying surprised gasp from him. “Can I kiss you again? For real this time, not just as an experiment?” One was always supposed to ask before doing such a thing, right?

“I just agreed to go on a date with you meatbag, what do you think?”

Fry didn’t answer or make a further move because he didn’t know what to think. He’d never done this before, not with someone he actually wanted to be with.

Bender sighed. “Yes moron, you can kiss me again.”

Fry did so before any self-doubt could get in the way. Bender’s mouth plate was still cool, the taste of beer even stronger than last time. The slight tingling buzz was still there too, just as odd but nice.

“Better than last time?” Fry said, letting out a heavy breath as the pulled apart a few seconds later. He was a bit lightheaded and wanted to sit down but that would mean letting go of Bender’s hand and moving away from him.

“A little.”

Fry took a breath, intending to suggest maybe he needed some more practice but he didn’t get a single syllable out before a small squeak to their right drew his attention. He glanced over just in time to see the door close, silently as whoever was on the other side did so carefully.

Bender had clearly noticed too; he let go of Fry hand and left him to sneak over fling the door all the way open. Perhaps not so surprisingly Leela, Amy, Hermes, Zoidberg and even Professor Farnsworth were gathered in close on the other side. The looks of guilt on their faces made it quite clear what they were doing there.

“Uh, hey Bender,” Leela said with a slight grimace. “What you up to? We were just uh… passing by.”

“And we’re quickly moving on,” Hermes added before turning to flee. The others wasted no time in following suit, Amy dragging away Zoidberg and Leela dragging away Farnsworth.

Bender sighed as he turned back to Fry. If he were as embarrassed as Fry, he was doing a good job of not showing it – though as a robot he couldn’t blush so maybe that had something to do with it. “They’re a bunch of disgusting voyeurs, ,” he said with a scoff as he walked over back over to Fry. “Let’s go to the break room and watch some TV. They should be ashamed enough over being caught spying to not yell at us to go back to work for at least an hour or two.” He put an arm around Fry’s waist to guide him out of the room. Fry was more than happy to go along with it. And maybe, just maybe, they could practice kissing during the ad breaks.

#my writing #futurama #Frender #Mentions of homophobia #internalized homophobia #Fry is gay AU #Bender is pan #kissing #Leela is mom-friend

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ivanshatov · 4 years ago

Text

what the fuck, gay little edgar

(also on ao3)

wc: 1.5k

i havent written about king lear in a while huh. anyways funny gay people

Something the peace of an isolated country town offered was the lone coffee store. Maybe there were no fantastic shops, or entertainment, or places to go, but at least there was the coffee shop, right on the corner and hidden in the basement of an older building. It was the perfect meeting place, and the perfect refuge for a shivering and rain-soaked Edgar, struggling with his bag as he stumbled down the steps. His arrival was announced with the chime of a bell, and the door swung shut behind him.

He was greeted immediately by Cordelia, who accosted him by the arm and dragged him to their corner table before he could even so much as look at the cashiers. “I thought you might have forgotten!” she exclaimed, mary-janes clicking on the tile floor.

“No, it was just rainy. Very rainy, as a matter of fact.”

She looked him over before plopping in her booth. “I can tell.”

“Ahaha. Thanks,” he replied. Pushing his wet hair out of his face and flashing a pointed eye roll, he took a seat across from her. “I already got you a coffee. You can pay me back later, don’t worry,” she announced proudly, sliding him the paper cup with a smile.

He stared blankly into the cup and loosened his tie. “Thanks.” Then, “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yeah, I know, Dad’s been dragging me everywhere but school,” she replied, raising her eyebrows and lifting the coffee to her lips. “How’s your studies?”

“Oh, you know, great…” Edgar muttered, sheepishly turning his gaze to look out the window. Rain pattered down on the fogged glass. “I don’t know. Haven’t figured out anything I want to take my A-Levels for.”

“There must be something that interests you. History? How about French? Science? Anything you particularly enjoy?”

“I don’t particularly enjoy academics as it is,” Edgar huffed, blowing off the steam that had gathered above the cup. “Edmund says I’m a mean footballer. He’s better at that academic crap.”

Cordelia shifted at the mention of his brother, crossing her argyle tights and smoothing her skirt. “How is Edmund, anyhow?” She glanced out the window, then eyed Edgar again. “And perhaps you should get him to tutor you.”

“My snot-nosed brother has more interesting things to do than tutor the likes of me, such as a production of Anything Goes to attend to,” he snorted.

Cordelia grinned, fidgeting with one of her earrings as she spoke. “I didn’t know Edmund could sing.”

“He can’t, actually. Assistant stage manager,” Edgar winked. “Boosted his ego more than ever before. Trust me, you don’t want to hear him sing, unless you’d like to go to the doctor’s for an ear infection.”

“Ah, yes, the unadulterated ego of a primary school theatre kid,” she said wistfully, holding her paper cup to the light.

Edgar leaned back, raising his eyes to the ceiling. “And how are your studies?”

Cordelia huffed, pushing her cup aside. “Nonexistent. Dad and his advisors would prefer me to be fawning over dresses. At least I get to spend time with my sisters, but—” she cleared her throat. “I’ve been thinking of applying to go to school in the states.”

“The states?! Talk about creating distance. You’d go that far to get away from this?” Edgar asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Uh, yeah. I don’t want to do this obsolete crap. I’d rather go to California, or something, and wear what I want,” she grumbled. “Certainly not ballgowns. Well, maybe you should consider football. Soccer, whatever. Come to Cali with me.”

“Eh, I don’t really have a choice. Dad’s been waiting for me to inherit the earldom since day one,” Edgar replied, folding his hands. “Would be fun though.”

“Why can’t Edmund just take it?” she asked, innocuous, drawing her finger over the rim of the coffee cup.

Edgar rolled his eyes again. “You know as well as I do that that won’t happen.”

“In a perfect world…” Cordelia said, drawing out another long and wistful sigh and batting her fake eyelashes. “Now, why have you called this meeting here, your grace?��

He cleared his throat, fidgeting with his tie and collar and sitting up in the proper way. “I’ve come to discuss certain romantic developments that’ve happened.”

“Oh, who?!” Cordelia squealed and grabbed Edgar’s hand, swinging it back and forth. “Your first partner! What’s their name? Are they at court? I must know this instant. I can get Mr. Kent to arrange a date if so. My goodness! My little godbrother, finding the love of his life!”

“No, it’s not like that,” Edgar mumbled, his face hot with embarrassment. “It’s something else. Plus, you are but nine months my senior, Cordelia.”

“Nine months makes but all the difference in the world. Now tell me, what is this regarding?” She leaned forward in interest, hands folded.

“Oh, Cordelia.” Edgar looked away sheepishly, tugging at the loop of his tie before turning back and keeping his gaze on her mary-janes. “I think, I think, I may be, um…” He looked up, a shade of red, before turning away again. “I may be unable to carry on the bloodline of my father.”

Cordelia cocked an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

Edgar hushed his voice and placed his hands on the back of his head. “I think I’m gay.”

Cordelia sat, dumbfounded, as he continued in a panic. “You see, I took this quiz, and, and, it all made sense. That’s not the reason I think I’m gay, though, you know, I think I’ve always known, because every time my dad tried to set me up with some girl from the court I just feel nothing. I look at those women on TV and I feel nothing. You must understand, right? I mean, you’re—” Edgar cut himself off, hiding his face in his hands. “I didn’t mean it that way. I just always thought, well, you, maybe, were, um, like me. And, well, Edmund has experience with this too but I always thought that, well…” His tirade drew to its close and he inhaled a sharp breath. “I’m sorry.”

They sat in silence for a few moments before Cordelia started to laugh. “No, no. Don’t apologize, you’re fine. You’re right. Thank you for trusting me. I’m bisexual myself, so, yes, I do quite understand your struggle,” Cordelia waved her hands and winked. “My sisters know. They don’t really understand, of course, but they know. My dad, on the other hand…” She trailed off and smiled halfheartedly. “So, Edmund knows?”

“We use the same computer so he at least suspects something,” Edgar coughed. “Well, I’m confident he won’t judge me. But my father, oh, my dad! I don’t know what he’ll do! His first son, his proudest achievement, killing off the Gloucester bloodline forever!”

“Edmund can still have children though, no?” she asked, eyebrow cocked.

“Well, um, I suppose— Cordelia,” he mumbled, shoving his face back into his hands. “I don’t know what I’ll tell him. He’s already disappointed that I don’t know or care for the first thing about politics, and now, well, I just don’t know.” Edgar shifted in his seat, hands drumming on the table. “God, I’m sorry to be dumping all of this on you.”

“Don’t apologize. You don’t have to apologize to me,” she insisted, smiling. “If there’s one thing I know about your father, it’s that he loves you. Very much. He may not always show that love in the right ways, but I can assure you he does. Trust me, I’ve learned that the hard way.” She outstretched her hand and linked it with his. “It’s really your decision. If you feel safe or not, it’s your choice, and I can’t make it for you. Just remember, he’s your dad.”

“Yeah, my dad,” Edgar muttered, rolling his eyes. “Stupid fucking dad living vicariously through his son.” He slurped the rest of the coffee and slammed the paper cup down. “I hate it here.”

“Not the coffee shop, though?”

“No, I just hate it here,” he grumbled, puffing his cheeks. “You’re right, monarchies should be obsolete.”

Cordelia threw her head back and laughed. “And I thought you knew nothing of politics, Edgar!” Her eyes sparkled as she tossed her hair back over her shoulders. “At least you have the right idea about it.”

An anxious look crossed Edgar’s face, and she grabbed his hand. “Hey. You’ll be fine. We’ll make it out sooner or later.” She leaned forward and cupped her hand around his ear. “Or, escape to the States with me and we can go surfing or something.”

Edgar closed his eyes and snorted. “Right, surfing. That’s on the top of my bucket list.” He sighed, resting his head in his hands and gazing back at Cordelia’s warm gaze. “You’re right. We’re going to be just fine.”

“Just fine,” she repeated. “Promise.”

#edgar of gloucester #cordelia #king lear #lear #my writes #shakespeare #william shakespeare #ahha #i like it when the characters from the 1600s are funny and gay

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clean-bands-dirty-stories · 4 years ago

Text

The Best Things ~ J.V. (part 11)

A/n: Don’t mind me, updating a series no one cares about lol. I’ve been toeing the line of what he’s like in other fanficiton and fans’ minds, but with this one I may just cover a side of Jerome y’all might really believe is out of character. I don’t care though. I’m having fun exploring a character and I’m having fun.

Word Count: 5400+

MASTERLIST

There was something different about waking up in the morning to Jerome still being asleep next to you. Or at least that's how Harley felt. Especially because this never happened, and considering what had happened last night. Maybe that was it. The night before was the main thing on Harley's mind as he slowly woke up, his head immediately filling with the memory as if denying him even a second dog bliss from it.

If he was being honest, it made him both terrified and exhilarated. They'd never had sex like that before. Slow and tender and soft. Words of praise had poured from Jerome's mouth nonstop, and it had sent Harley's body in a different way. Rather than fireworks, it was more like lava under rocks. Searing heat that crept through Harley's veins like it was trying to sneak. It made Harley feel infinitely close to Jerome. Made him feel tethered to Jerome. He'd never felt anything like that before, and from Jerome's reactions neither had he. It also gave both men a new fear. Or, a deeper rooted hold on a fear that already existed at the very least.

What if this ended?

What if neither man felt this ever again?

What if they'd unveiling something in themselves last night... and now, in the day time, the other didn't like it?

It was then that Jerome turned, facing Harley, where he'd had his back turned before. "I'm sorry about your friend." His voice was quiet, and Jerome wouldn't look at him.

Harley was surprised by that. He scooted closer, resting his forehead on Jerome's chest. The red head pulled the other man's body closer, tucking Harley against Jerome's own frame. He held onto him, protecting him from the world for a second. It was empowering when Harley leaned into it immediately, reaching his hands so he fisted Jerome's shirt so hard his knuckles turn white.

Jerome had never been comforting before. Safe. He'd never had someone take refuge in him before. It was intoxicating. It made him feel strong and unbreakable. It was more of a high than he'd ever felt before. Maybe just as good as when he put his little shows on and watched people panic and squirm. Harley finding safety in this moment was on par with all the moments other people had found danger in Jerome.

I guess when all you get is the same thing all your life, even if it's good, something new can have a strong effect on a man. Jerome had always been fear personified. He'd been a walking weapon of death and destruction, and somehow in that chaos Harley found himself making a home. It made Jerome feel incredible. Maybe he wasn't as bad as everyone thought.

"Can I see those drawings you did last night?" Harley leaned back so they were looking at each other. Jerome had an odd expression on his face. Not the one Bruce and Jeremiah wore when they looked at each other, but a very close approximation. It made Harley's heart pick up.

"Sure." He slid out of bed to pad to the living room, snagging his drawing pad and returning with it. He sat in bed this time, extending the drawing pad so Jerome could grab it.

The red head say up as well, taking the pad from Harley and beginning to slowly look through it. He took longer than Harley though he had the attention span for, drinking in the different angles and shadows of his own face. He seemed to be scanning it. At one point he reached up and touched his face, his eyebrows coming together. "What are you thinking, J?"

Jerome looked up, a look of concern and confusion on his face. "Is this really how you see me?"

It was Harley's turn to be confused. "What are you talking about?"

He seemed to struggle to explain a few seconds before weakly offering, "I'm beautiful." He immediately scowled. "You make me look... good looking." A deeper scowl. "I mean, I know I'm sexy don't get me wrong, but the way you draw me looks... looks..."

"Pretty?" Harley offered.

"Yes," Jerome groaned, like it hurt him.

Harley bit his lip for a second, thinking. "To me, you were always a work of art. Even before I drew you." He looked at the bed, fingers fiddling with the blanket. "You used to come to my mind all the time when you were dead. I thought of you constantly. Went to therapy over it because they thought it was a side effect of trauma." He snorted, shaking his head. "Turns out I was just infatuated with you." He looked back at Jerome then. "You came to me in dreams when I finally learned how to control my thoughts when awake. Even before we met that day, in person, I was obsessed with you. I used to draw you all the time. I told myself that it was to deal with the trauma of my parents dying, my fixation on death and murderers. People that were considered psychotic and dangerous. And maybe it was, in part. Maybe it began that way. But ever since the first second I saw you, you became this beacon of hope. Hope that in some world, with someone, I could be free from expectation and restrictions. That I could be wild and have fun and be GAY and not have to worry about what other people thought. You stood for the happiness I've been denied since the first day time I ever found anyone attractive." He paused. "Helped that you were incredibly attractive." Jerome giggled at that and Harley's smile widened. "You're so silly." Jerome scooted closer, kissing Harley so deeply he lost all of his breath. He leaned away after too short a time though, tilting his head. "Let's do something fun today."

"Like what?" Harley asked. He was getting good at keeping track with Jerome's zipping thought train.

Considering, Jerome grew quiet. "I want to take you on a date. Something nice." Harley deflated. "It's not smart to go out right now. We're trying to convince Bruce and the police that you're dead. If you're seen it'll all be over."

Jerome pouted. "Let me take you somewhere."

A long sigh came from Harley. "Do you want to die?" Jerome shook his head no. "Do you want to get caught and sent to Arkham?" Another silent no. "Then what the hell do you suppose we do that won't require any people, when we're in the middle of a huge city?"

Quiet groans and Jerome was flopping back on the bed, making Harley smile fondly. "I can't stay here forever, Harley! It's BORING. You get to go out all the time and check in on our dear brothers. Why don't I get to?"

"Because you'd be found out," Harley reminded patiently. "And entrapped. Or killed. Or entrapped and then killed."

There was a pause where Jerome was quiet. "You must go to Jeremiah's again and get me new information." Harley nodded, moving to get off the bed so he could get ready to head out. Jerome was suddenly moving though, pinning him before he could leave all the way. "But before you do that, I would like you to leave me with something to think about. Something to make this day a little more worth it." He licked his lips. "Entertain me, Harley." His eyes darkened and Harley shivered.

"Yes sir." - "Hey Harley!" Jeremiah greeted brightly. Harley chuckled at the boy. How was he twins with Jerome? That lightness and energy came so easily to this man, where Jerome struggled to even accept the idea of adorableness, let alone embody it constantly. But this wasn't the time to think about Jerome. "How did your date with the boy wonder go?" Jeremiah was bouncing on his toes. It was genuinely adorable. "He kissed me."

Harley launched to his feet. "What?" He was grinning, hands outstretched as if deciding on whether to grab him or pump into the air victoriously.

"Yeah!" Jeremiah squeaked.

"That's awesome!" Harley gushed. "Tell me everything! Wait- where's Ecco?"

"I already told her," Jeremiah dismissed, waving his hand through the air. "She picked me up afterward and I filled her ears with it all the way home.

Harley giggled, his nose scrunching in amusement. "I bet she loved that." Jeremiah blushed and Harley winked, nudging his friend playfully. "Okay well now it's my turn. Every detail Jeremiah, I'm serious."

And the red head eagerly delivered. The two boys talked for hours, going from the date and all that happened right into Harley waltzing around the room dramatically planning the wedding and the house and family that would follow. "You'll definitely need at least one dog. You both seem like cat people, but I bet your ass that you two raise a kid willing to rough house with a dog. It's got to be huge then. Like so big toddlers can ride on its back, and whenever it wants to go anywhere it'll just drag you along even if you want to go somewhere else."

At this point Jeremiah had covered his face, laying his hands on the counter and his head in the palms of his hands. "Please stop," he groaned, but both boys knew he had to hide his expression or risk showing off the radiant smile he'd hinted at earlier.

"Fine fine fine," Harley sighed, finally sitting back down. He chuckled, sitting back in the chair. He was lounging, legs spread and arms over the back of his seat. He looked comfortable. It was so different than the Wayne boy that had been seen on TV for years. The one Bruce talked about even. Harley really wasn't Y/n. He was... too much like Jerome to ever be that boy again. "What's with the frown?" Harley asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jeremiah debated on whether he should share his thoughts, but Harley leaned forward, showing that he knew Jeremiah was thinking something and that he wouldn't let it drop. Having gotten to the point where Harley could always pry information out of Jeremiah, the redhead didn't even bother fighting him. "I was thinking about how much you remind me of Jerome." Harley hesitated and Jeremiah rushed to add, "Not in a bad way. But your confidence and ease. Your very presence is so much bigger than it used to be. I didn't know you back then, but Bruce has mentioned how you guys used to be. Mostly because he obsesses over the worry that Jerome is still alive so it comes up often, because I always listen. Once he mentions Jerome, then we talk about how things were in my childhood and then it goes to how his childhood used to be and then you come up." He looked away, obviously self conscious about the way Harley's eyes were drilling into him.

"Do you lie to him?"

That caught Jeremiah off guard. "What?" He looked back with an expression like a deer in the headlights, or a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

"Jerome talked to me a lot." Harley watched his words carefully, being sure not to reveal that Jerome STILL talked to him just as much. "And that day in the tunnels, when Jerome tried to kidnap you. He said you lied about your guys' past."

Jeremiah was quiet for a long time. "I don't lie to him." He paused again and Harley waited for him to continue. When Jeremiah realized Harley wasn't going to let it go, he continued. "I don't tell him what I used to tell our mom. I'm... ashamed. You were right when you said I contributed a lot to how Jerome turned out. But, you have to understand Harley he terrified me. He never threatened me per say, but I was the one who always found the bodies of the animals he mutilated. I was the one he talked about to his fantasies about other people. He... He used to say he was joking, and he never did anything until our mom, from what I know, but he was curious and he didn't have the same empathy as everyone else did. For animals at least."

Harley sighed. "He loved me." Jeremiah looked up sharply. "He told me so. And- and you know what, I believed him." Harley swallowed. "Did I ever tell you how we found out where you were?" Jeremiah hesitated before shaking his head. "Would you like to know?" There was a darkness in Harley's voice. One that made Jeremiah want to shy away. But, he was curious too. It was one of the fatal flaws him and Jerome had in common. So, even though he wanted to run, he nodded instead. "We went to your Uncle Zack's."

Immediately Jeremiah cringed. "Oh god."

"So you know what that man is capable of then," Harley eased, even though his expression had not changed at all. It was the same forced calm that Jerome had perfected. The similarity between Harley and Jeremiah's lost brother in that moment made anxiety twist in the redhead's chest. "You know, if I hadn't been there..." He shook his head. "He heated soup to boiling. He wanted to pour it into Jerome's mouth. Thank god I was there to stop that one. What would it have bee like, being a child against grown adults. No where to run, no one to turn to, and no mercy in sight. No reprieve. If I was Jerome, I probably would have killed that bitch you called your mother too."

Harley expected Jeremiah to snap at him, but he didn't. It made the air get even more thick with dark tension. It set into reality not only what Harley had said, but what Jeremiah wouldn't. That he would have too. "I think I'm going to go work on my prototypes." Harley didn't say anything, so Jeremiah left him alone in the quiet.

There was a part of Harley that felt bad for ruining the mood after they'd both been flying so high earlier, but there was also a part of him that didn't care. So he stood up and left through the maze, standing outside to get some air. To breathe after the stifling pressure inside. He hesitated too long, though. If he had just left right then and headed back to Jerome and forgotten about the conversation for the rest of the day, he would have made it out of there with plenty of time. But he didn't. He hesitated and and he breathed and he closed his eyes and felt the sun on his skin.

That was what gave Bruce the time he needed to pull up to Jeremiah's front door just to see Harley standing there. The boy tripped as he got out of the car, his eyes wide and lips parted. "Y/n?"

Harley jerked at the name, flinching away from it. It eyes slammed open, his gaze hard and angry. After the conversation he'd just had with Jeremiah, he was not in the right place to face his brother. Yet, here they both were. "Mr. Wayne," Harley greeted bitterly.

Bruce looked like Harley had slapped him. "Where have you been?" He shook his head. "Where's Jerome?" He then remembered where they were and looked between Harley and the door that lead to the maze where Bruce's boyfriend was. "Why are you here?"

The chaotic barrage of questions made Harley relax. He had the control in this situation. "I'm here because Jeremiah lets be stay here, when I want to. I check in sometimes and talk to him." Any other answer would get him in trouble, and he didn't feel like setting off his brother so he stayed with the truth, ignoring the other two questions.

The Wayne boy stepped forward, settling on angry between the emotions he'd been battling before. "You're friends with Jeremiah?"

"Sort of," Harley shrugged. "And by the way, it's Harley."

Hands curled into fists and Harley found himself slipping into a sort of distant amusement. His stance solidified, arms relaxing and fingers twitching at his sides. Bruce got hit with the same thought Jeremiah had been before. Harley looked a lot like Jerome in that moment, but more sane. In control. He didn't have that same unhinged factor, which left him far more unpredictable. Harley had the air of someone who would kill everyone in the room and then get away with it. Not for chaos' sake, but because he simply didn't care. Seeing sanity int he face of someone so cold and distant and confident sent a chill down Bruce's spine. What had happened to the brother who radiated sunshine and painted the most odd paintings with even weirder origin stories? The brother that couldn't handle even a little confrontation, let alone stand empty handed and still look dangerous? "I guess it is." Bruce's voice was soft and broken. His anger had fallen away, exchanging for a heart break that made Harley shift away from it like it burned him.

The door behind Harley opened. "Wait wait wait!" The voice belonged to Jeremiah, who was scrambling between the brothers as if trying to stop a fight. Maybe it would have eventually turned into that, but as of now all that was happening was Bruce was staring a Harley, looking for answers, and Harley was looking anywhere except at his brother as he refused to give them.

"You know," Harley mused. "I seem to be ruining the mood a lot today. You two love birds spend time together and I'll keep my distance so that my unhappiness won't affect you. How does that sound?"

Jeremiah launched forward, catching Harley's shoulder. "Please," he begged softly. "Don't go."

"Do you want him to leave instead, because I can promise it won't be pretty if we're both here," Harley spat viciously. Jeremiah recognized a deeper level to the boy though. A hurt that was curling into his face. There was more than just anger driving him to run now. There was fear, and pain. Jeremiah had seen that look on Jerome's face far too many times to let Harley go now.

Jeremiah looked at Bruce. "Listen," he sighed heavily. "You're both important to me. I have three friends, and one of them is more of a body guard who's paid to hang around, and another is... more than a friend, if I'm lucky." Bruce couldn't help how his face softened. Jeremiah cleared his throat. "I need as many people in my life as I can get, because I already basically have no one. You guys are brothers, for goodness sake. Don't let life tear you apart like I let happen for me and Jerome." This he directed at Harley. The words seemed to confuse Bruce, but he stayed quiet despite that.

Harley on the other hand looked ready to go. "He doesn't want me here."

"I didn't say that," Bruce rushed before he could rein his self control.

Jeremiah perked up. "You're the one person that can actually reassure Bruce that Jerome is dead."

Ah, how wrong he was. Harley could not honestly reassure Bruce that Jerome was dead. He could, however, convince Bruce that Jerome was dead- and he was also the only person who could. No matter how much of Harley Bruce saw, every time the Wayne heir looked at the man who used to be his best friend, he would always see Y/n. Y/n, who had never once been capable of hiding his emotions or even considering telling a lie, let alone delivering one convincingly. Y/n, who had always valued honesty - especially when it came to family. Who valued trust over power. Who had been abused and pushed around and broken and destroyed, replaced by someone who used lies to get what he wanted like one uses hammers to drive in nails. Harley would lie without hesitation or regret, and Bruce would believe him because Y/n wouldn't lie, and even if he did, Bruce would be able to tell.

"I killed him myself," Harley reassured, looking Bruce in the eye without hesitation.

Bruce formed an expression that spoke of disbelief and doubt, but Harley could see through that into the desperation in Bruce's eyes. "You killed him?"

Harley sighed. "I do that now."

Obviously Bruce didn't like that, but he seemed to accept it at least. "Why?"

This part was easy. "Because he hurt you." Harley shrugged, kicking the dirt under his foot. "He had no reason to involve you. He just did. He didn't even consult me, and he didn't because he knew that if he had I would have said no. We had a deal- no touching you. He might be my partner, but you're my brother and that's more important. No one hurts you. I made that clear since the beginning." He swallowed. That wasn't totally true. In fact, that day he had encouraged Jerome to mess Bruce up a little. Even kill him. But there had been a hesitance to hurt Bruce since the first day even if it had faded over time. Because the truth was, above even Bruce and Alfred, Jerome was the most important person to Harley now. "He was jealous because I cared more about you. He's kind of an attention whore." That was true. Not that Jerome was jealous, but that he was a slut for attention. The more time Harley spent with him, the more obvious it became. Harley didn't mind in the least though.

Bruce seemed to take a moment to consider this and choose his next words before he spoke again. "He sounds obsessive."

Jeremiah scoffed. "If I had to describe Jerome in one words," he mumbled.

"When I was caught with Jerome at the fair, I only ended up there because the first thing Jerome thought about when he came back from the dead was that the last thing he'd thought about when he was alive was that he'd wanted to kill me." Harley scoffed. "He took his wanting to kill me through death with him. If that doesn't spell obsessed, I don't know what does." That was another truth, but yet again Harley didn't mind. He liked to think of being on Jerome's mind, haunting him as the red head had haunted Harley. He liked the thought that not even death could do them part. Or however that line went, whatever.

There was a sort of melting slouch of Bruce's shoulders. He'd given in. Harley had succeeded. "We're not just going to be brothers again. Neither of us are the same."

"The last time I saw you my boyfriend was trying to kill you, and before that I was convinced you'd been brainwashed by some cult, so yeah we have some catching up to do."

Bruce looked at Jeremiah who perked up. "Wonderful! Dinner, anyone?"

"Actually," Harley edged. "I think we both have a lot to think about. Maybe rushing it all tonight wouldn't be the best idea." For the first time in a long time, Bruce nodded in agreement with Harley. In fact, it had probably been the first time Bruce had agreed with Harley since he had stopped being Y/n Wayne.

"Fine," Jeremiah sighed. "But I expect you two to have a dinner together within the next week. I won't let you just avoid it."

Harley sighed and nodded, turning away from the other two boys and heading toward his car. "Use protection!" Harley called, smirking when he heard the boys behind him groan in unison. Before they could curse him though, he slipped into his car and closed the door, cutting off any attempts of communication. He turned his car on and drove away, letting his smile melt away when he was positive he was out of view. His hands tightened on the wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white. His jaw locked, beginning to hurt after a few seconds it was cemented so. Not wanting to get pulled over when he was in a car that wasn't technically in his name - he'd gotten it a long time ago when he still worked with Penguin - and was, more importantly, a wanted criminal. Focusing on safe driving only got him to the front door though. He slammed it closed, standing in his doorway glaring at the floor.

And then he snapped.

A scream ripped out of him as he reached for the closest things light enough to pick up and began throwing them across the room. Some - a vase, a few dishes that hadn't been taking to the kitchen yet, a table decoration - shattered, while most of it landed safely after crashing into more things - books slamming into chairs, pillows knocking things off the wall, a shoe hitting the edge of a full length mirror hard enough that it tilted, so on. Altogether, he was creating a lot of noise, destruction, and chaos.

Jerome ran into the scene, looking rather startled. Harley wasn't the angry type. He had never been, except the rare times Penguin had been able to unlock long since buried trauma that he wasn't dealing with. Oswald had taught him to both control AND channel his emotions, so that they could be expressed but also make you look more terrifying rather than show as weaknesses and wear you away to nothing. No one had seen this side of Harley except him yet, and Jerome wasn't quite sure how to handle it. In fact, it reminded him a little of... his mom.

When Harley finally stopped, he turned away from Jerome, curling his fingers around his short hair very tightly, tugging as he planted his forehead against the wall furthest from Jerome. The redhead paused before slowly making his way over. "Harley?" His voice was soft. The anger in his boyfriend had unlocked a fear in him that he hadn't felt like this since he was a child. He was scared of Harley losing it again, both because he didn't want to have this feeling get worse, and also because if Harley was upset enough to melt down like this, he might get destructive with himself rather than loose objects.

Or worse, Harley might get destructive with Jerome.

"I'm sorry," Harley croaked. He took a deep breath, finally dropping his hands and leaning away from the wall before turning to Jerome. This was closer to the Harley Jerome knew. A little exhausted from his heavy emotions, but otherwise solid and in control. "I'm sorry J." His voice was stronger now. More fluid and solid. He saw Jerome's expression and slowly approached. Jerome didn't move away. When Harley touched him, Jerome didn't flinch even though his pulse skipped a beat. Not something totally new with Harley, except that this wasn't a good spike. The emotion he felt was new when it came to Harley. "I'm sorry," Harley said again, pulling Jerome to him until their foreheads touched. "Did I upset you?"

Jerome's brain had short circuited a bit. After being free of his mom for years, he'd grown a solid defense against things that reminded him of her. But Harley had waited until he was past all of Jerome's walls and defenses. Until he had become Jerome's home and safety embodied. Seeing such anger now threw Jerome for a loop. How would he leave Harley now if things got bad like it used to be with his mom? I had taken Jerome eighteen years to kill his mother and get away from her, and she had been... terrible. How would he do the same to Harley, who had claimed all of the most important parts of Harley and become essential to Jerome's insanity. Harley was the one who calmed him after nightmares, and defused a situation that set off something that triggered backlash from Jerome's past. Harley was the one who saved him from his uncle and his brother and his past. How would he get rid of someone like that?

"You looked... like her." The words were soft.

Harley froze. "Jerome-"

Jerome turned away and left. He said some joke but didn't hear it, too busy trying to think about how to backtrack and defend himself again from these emotions with Harley's help. "Never mind," he breathily dismissed, waving his hand in the air.

Harley wasn't having it though. He caught the hand, forcing Jerome to stop and face him. His face was serious, but his eyes were soft. "I would never hurt you, do you understand?I might what I said that day I pulled you from that ledge, Jerome Valeska. You lead, I will follow. I love you and I will do anything you ask of me. You don't have to be afraid of me. Even if i get angry and break shit, you are still safe with me."

"You're so dramatic," Jerome sighed, looping his arm over Harley's shoulders. His body had relaxed though. Even if he did a fantastic job of brushing things off and playing like nothing effected him, Harley's words had brought him a sense of peace he would never admit he needed. "I mean, anything? You won't even let me leave or kill our brothers."

Harley blew air out of his nose upon remembering Bruce. "If that's what you really want."

"Really?" Jerome faced him, surprised. Harley had been so adamant about doing neither for the last several weeks. Why change his mind now? Unlike Harley, Jerome was not a good people reader. Not for details, at least. He could tell when someone was scared of him, or when they were intrigued or interested or disgusted. He couldn't read Harley's micro signs though.

Harley rolled his eyes. "Ran into Bruce on my way back today." His lips curled but this time it didn't make Jerome nervous. He couldn't even think why Harley would remind him of his mother. Jerome broke things when he was angry too. Harley hadn't even know Jerome's mom. He was getting side tracked, but Harley spoke again, pulling his thoughts back as Harley's voice always did. "Jeremiah wants us to make amends and catch up. Wants us to spend dinner together. Ugh."

"My brother trying to make the world perfect for him?" Jerome joked. "Never."

Harley chuckled softly. No matter his state, Jerome could always make him laugh. "Yeah. I just- Bruce stills wants me to be that weak little scared boy I used to be. I'm better now. Happier and stronger. Maybe that scares him because I didn't succeed the way he wanted me to, but that doesn't change the fact that I can fight for myself now. I don't just settle and lie down and take shit. If he had it his way, along with everyone in this stupid city, I would sit in a chair in the corner of every room and sit in Bruce's shadow, there to talk to him when he needs company but otherwise be ignored and be okay with that. Alone, by myself, maybe with a girl who I can have kids with." He shuddered and Jerome followed with a scowl. Neither liked the idea of that, "Even worse, I'd be working for my younger brother. Working at Wayne incorporated, or as some sort of side kick as he stop bad guys or whatever." He grunted in disgust. "As if they even know what bad is."

Jerome pulled Harley toward the couch and next to him. When they were both seated, Jerome continued to tug on Harley until the boy curled into the redhead's side. All cuddled up, both seemed to feel a lot better with the words of a future that made both of them sick still ringing in their ears. "You know, if we're going back to being gay and doing crime and all that fun stuff, it might not hurt to be around your brother."

Harley sat up, eyebrows pulled together. "Why him? He's just a cop wannabe."

"He's friends with Gordon though, isn't he? Can you imagine how much power you had at your fingertips when everyone thought you were good and harmless and not even a wisp of a threat? Now you're none of those things, and the only person who knows your true potential is Mr. Penguin." He shrugged, his smile growing. "I've seen you do it before. Heard stories about your escapades with the Little Man, and you've told me before how valuable sneaking is. Never something I did because I never could have pulled it off, but you..." He pointed at Harley, getting excited now. "Why isn't Bruce following you around, or questioning you, or taking you to the police in an attempt to find me?"

Tracing the pattern of the couch, Harley tried not to smirk. "I told him what he wanted to hear."

The smirk that Harley was repressing shone on Jerome's face like light from the sun. Brilliant and bright. He hopped up onto the couch into a crouch, his fingers dancing in the air like he was constructing an orchestra. "What a clever boy. Deserves a reward..."

Now Harley grinned. "What did you have in mind?"

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