#but maybe this response will help other bisexuals stand up for themselves too

[emptygclds]

‘ priscilla quintana, cis woman, she/her, 30/300, high fae ’ ― cauldron save you. it seems NEVA MORA has finally made it to the capital, the EMISSARY from THE NIGHT COURT is said to be PERCEPTIVE and is said to describe themselves with MOONLIGHT SHINING THROUGH HEAVY CLOUDS, FLOWERS GROWING BACK AS THORNS, STRUGGLING TO FIND THE RIGHT WORDS and with all of this in mind their DISTANT nature always seems to get them into trouble. may the mother hold them as they navigate this unthinkable time.

𝑮𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑹𝑨𝑳 full name : neva mora. nicknames : nothing she'd accept. pronouns: she/her. sexuality: bisexual.

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑰𝑵𝑺𝑷𝑰𝑹𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 jung haein ( queen of tears ), evelyn hugo ( the seven husbands of evelyn hugo ) , shoko ieiri ( jjk ), cecily herondale ( the infernal devices )

𝑭𝑨𝑴𝑰𝑳𝒀 keir mora ( father whereabouts unknown ), esmeralda mora ( mother ), tba mora ( adopted sibling , wanted connection !!! )

𝑯𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝒀 murder tw

the pristine image of the mora’s had been painted with a cold touch,  haunting the family and its members.  even neva,  still so young and supposed to be naive, grows up with it and it isn’t the cold that would make her shiver but warmth that she’d never get used to. neva spends most of her time alone, surrounded by grand halls and wasteful displays,  yet it seems that all that space barely offers any room for mistakes.  the moras not only expect a lot from their daughter but everything exceeding that.  it doesn’t matter that her mind is too fragile, crushing under expectations she has to prove that she’s worth bearing her name. neva doesn’t believe in miracles despite everything surrounding her . all of it was her own hard work driven by the shameful desire to leave her family, her life behind.  and perhaps that’s why the cold air surrounding her is almost suffocated by her pride. or she’s just another one who’d fallen victim to that damn pride of a mora. another doll painted on that perfect family portrait.  and that perfect facade would be passed to her,  a hint of pride gracing her father’s lip for the first time about his daughter being an emissary for the night court.  miracles still didn’t exist and only she could make them happen. perhaps love had to be earned and she finally managed to get it.  however, soon neva would learn that fate rarely changes and carried whispers could so easily break the illusion of impeccability.  her father vanished; leaving them with bloodied hands and a tarnished name, accused of murdering his best friend but more importantly to others a fae of high rank.  to this day,  she still doesn’t know about his whereabouts and even if she did, she wouldn’t search for him. after all, he has abandoned them and she’d do so, too. 

𝑴𝑰𝑺𝑪

she’s devoted to the night court and takes her responsibilities seriously. she knows that some people might talk behind her back and perhaps even believe that she helped her father, thus she’s even more determined to prove them wrong.   while neva doesn’  care about the gossip surrounding her,  she  tends to be a littl  vain sometimes.  she has quite an exaggerated beauty routine and love  pretty dresses. despite he  abilities, neva isn’t exactly beloved by the people  around her as she isn’t a particularly warm person.  she tends to be blunt and rarely sugarcoats anything. although vehemently denying  it,  neva likes romance.  she often asks her lady-in-waiting abou  any kind o  gossip regarding  romances within the court.

𝑾𝑨𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑫 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑵𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵𝑺 anything angsty with a lot of drama pls <3 but also

the child(ren) of the person her father has murdered people at her court (or have to work with her) who absolutely cannot stand her people who suspect her of being as shady as her father a friend someone she has a soft spot for and is one of the few people she cares about childhood friends

ex betrothal: someone who broke the engagement off because of her father or maybe neva was the one who just ended it suddenly angsty exes, exes with lingering feelings whose relationship might have ended because neva didn't want to deal with her feelings and now they're in this very weird inbetween ?? something based on this post !!! or on this tiktok

anything your heart desires <3

[puzzlingxisxlove]

Hi, guys, welcome to my Yu-Gi-Oh OC rp sideblog. :) You can refer to me as Bast/Bastet, Ghost, or Envy! I'll be your host through this wild ride. Also, all likes/follows will come from my main blog.

All rules and character information will be under the "read more" tab. :)

I hope you all have fun with this.

Rules!!! First and foremost, the most important information for all people wanting to interact.

All messages and posts in this blog will be completely in character, unless DMs are questions or posts are about updates. In which case, things will be tagged with OOC at the beginning of the post.

Nsfw is. Just please no. Not on Tumblr. Discord, maybe, but I have to get to know the character and Player first. Steamy romance, jokes, and things of that sort are fine, but no outright sexual content.

All images of my OC, Reza Ketto, will be either things I have commissioned or things I made in avatar makers. I can't draw, guys, cut me a little slack, please.

Please send me things with at least decent grammar and punctuation and spelling. I understand typos, but I need to actually be able to read the stuff.

Also! Please send at least 3-5 sentences for RP. I can't do oneliners or responses that are too short, I won't know how to respond.

Angst is like. My favorite genre ever. So there will likely be quite a bit of that mixed in with silly posts. You have been warned.

All ships must first also present possible chemistry before it is made official. This includes people with canon muses.

More rules will be added as needed. Be sure to check back often.

---

Cool, character info now!

Name: Reza Ai Ketto

Age: 16 (main canon of YGO DM), 18 (postcanon)

Sexuality: Bisexual Polyamourous

Gender: Demiboy

Pronouns: He/They

Occupation: Daycare attendant and College student (postcanon)

Physical description: Reza stands at 5'9 and has a fairly lean and fit body with black hair that reaches just past his shoulders and electric blue eyes. He typically wears clothes that fall under an androgynous punk/alt style, including leather harnesses, plenty of belts, collars and chokers, several wristbands and rubber bracelets, spikes, chains, etc. He also wears makeup fairly often, mostly a lot of eyeliner and exaggerated lips. He likes to stand out.

Personality description: He's a pretty laid back guy, and they love kids. As the eldest of 6, they grew up taking care of kids, and so that carries over often. They may seem like they're talking down to people, but they may actually just be trying to deescalate or teach something to someone. He's very kind, but he's also very blunt at times. He doesn't hold his thoughts about things to himself, and if he doesn't like you, you'll know. They try to help everyone, regardless of how they feel about you, too, and this often leads to them burning themselves out. They're also a very fast learner, though they tend to put things off until the last minute.

Background: As a child, Reza was a very gifted child. He was consistently ahead of his peers. However, he was not very active, other than playing games with their younger siblings as they came along. This led to a lot of bullying as a child, and not just from his peers. His siblings were harsh, as siblings are, and his parents did little to stop this. This led to his developing a few different mental illnesses he still struggles with. Despite knowing that the things he's struggling with aren't good for him, he refuses to seek therapy. He went to public school for the majority of his life in a small town near the coasts of Japan, but he eventually moved to Domino for college and better work opportunities. He now studies behavioral sciences and game design, and aspires to be a child psychologist and create games to promote good mental health and habits to build for a healthy lifestyle. He still keeps contact with his family often, despite the verbal abuse from his siblings and lackluster parenting.

• Reza suffers with depression, EDNOS, R-OCD, BPD, and chronic migraines. These things will likely appear in roleplay. This is your warning.

• All posts with content warnings will be tagged appropriately. Feel free to block these tags.

• I am not attempting to glorify or romanticize any of these disorders or illnesses. These come from a place of experience and are simply aspects of the character that are crucial to who they are as a person. If you are struggling, please reach out to a professional who can help you.

•All rps will either take place during Reza's highschool years or during his college. College is postcanon, highschool is during the canon events of DM and S0. He doesn't know about the canon events other than the tournaments that Yugi and Yami participated in that were broadcast on TV. He does not know how to play Duel Monsters, however it is something he has enjoyed watching since his highschool years. He has collected cards, but he does not actually know anything about building a deck. Duels iirp are not available for this reason (and because I don't feel like using online dueling platforms, I prefer physical cards-/lh).

[rantingcrocodile]

Tbh you're being pretty dramatic.

im bisexual myself and its so horribly obvious that we arent oppressed. My muslim parents think bi people are just straight people who are confused. My cousins and friends don't give a shit about bi people because we can just date the opposite sex.

Arabian countries hang and behead gay people, not bi people. Homophobic countries arrest, fine, and beat gay people, not bi people. A bi person won't be killed in an alleyway for being bi. Nor would we be beat up by a gang of people because we're bisexual. Nobody threatens us because we're bisexual. We don't get kicked out of our homes and we don't get bullied into suicide by our classmates. We won't get fired for being bi and we are allowed to join the army. We won't have food, garbage, and rocks thrown at our heads after being called slurs—and we don't even have any slurs. We can get married to someone we love. We can date or kiss someone we love. Nobody says bi as an insult. Nobody says bi like they say h*mo or l*sbo. We aren't sent to conversion therapy to be turned straight.

Nobody hates us, that's a good thing. You should be happy that nobody hates us instead of trying to convince other people that we are hated.

We're fine. Stop trying to play victim here. Bi people arent treated like shit. The people who are really suffering here is gay men and lesbians. All of the mental health stuff shouldn't mean much, because men have higher suicide rates than women and are more likely to get mental disorders, but that doesn't mean they're oppressed, are they? And besides, people typically come out as bi AFTER they get abused or raped, so those things didn't happen to them because of their sexuality.

You saying biphobia so much sounds like christianophobia, misandry, or heterophobia. Why? Because like those three examples, bi people arent oppressed, and there is no need for a word to talk about our non-existent oppression. That word is empty and is starting to get sickening.

It genuinely depresses me that there are bisexuals who write out long paragraphs like this and genuinely don't see the biphobia that they're literally describing while pretending that biphobia doesn't exist.

This is how bad biphobia is and just how much internalised biphobia is.

For those that don't believe me, I'll go step-by-step through this mess.

Tbh you're being pretty dramatic.

I'm really not, you're just used to seeing bisexuals who are doormats and won't stand up for themselves.

im bisexual myself and its so horribly obvious that we arent oppressed.

You're about to be up for a rude awakening, then.

My muslim parents think bi people are just straight people who are confused.

Huh. I wonder how bisexuals who are taught that bisexuality isn't "real" and it's just "confusion" will end up affecting bisexual people mentally?

It's almost like straight people oppress and want to erase everything that isn't heterosexuality, and that damages bisexual people.

I wonder where your internalised biphobia has come from? Right, the people in your life that have clearly spent time telling you that you're "basically a confused straight who can just closet yourself."

Yet you unironically sit there and think that isn't a sign of oppression, right in that first sentence?

My cousins and friends don't give a shit about bi people because we can just date the opposite sex.

"Bisexuals don't matter because we should closet ourselves and pretend to be straight and that clearly isn't another incredibly obvious sign of oppression and harm towards us."

Arabian countries hang and behead gay people, not bi people.

Arabian countries hang and behead people who are attracted to the same sex. Are you seriously going to start pretending that a same-sex couple caught having sex are somehow exempt from being murdered if they say, "Wait a second, we're bisexual!" because no, that isn't how that works.

Homophobic countries arrest, fine, and beat gay people, not bi people.

Please re-read the above to save me repeating myself.

A bi person won't be killed in an alleyway for being bi.

Are you sure about that?

Nor would we be beat up by a gang of people because we're bisexual.

Are you absolutely sure?

Nobody threatens us because we're bisexual.

You only think that because you think "bisexuals just have to pretend to be straight and then that's fine" like that clearly isn't an indication that there's oppression going on.

If we weren't "threatened" and abused for being bisexual, then there would be no fear in coming out, straight people would accept us and we would be able to be in the relationships with the people we love freely, but you're arguing against that and pretending that it's somehow "fine."

We don't get kicked out of our homes

Yes, we do.

and we don't get bullied into suicide by our classmates.

What.

We won't get fired for being bi

You really don't think so?

and we are allowed to join the army.

Seriously?

We won't have food, garbage, and rocks thrown at our heads after being called slurs—and we don't even have any slurs.

I didn't realise that "not having slurs" because of deliberate erasure and invisibility was somehow being "privileged."

The violence out there is real, even if you haven't seen it or experienced it.

We can get married to someone we love. We can date or kiss someone we love.

So you're arguing that the lesbians and gay men living in countries where same-sex marriage is now legal are no longer oppressed?

You're also pretending that there isn't a full range of bisexuals out there, like the bisexuals who are only really interested in the same sex or the bisexuals who don't want relationships. Oppression isn't based on who you're in a relationship with. It's based on straight people wanting everyone to be straight.

Nobody says bi as an insult. Nobody says bi like they say h*mo or l*sbo.

That's meaningless, because that isn't all that homophobia is, and biphobia exists in different ways. Pretending that biphobia isn't real doesn't help anyone.

Like the fact that you think it's somehow "fine" that we're seen as "confused straights." Or the people that treat us like we're predators, whores, that we "ask for" rape and sexual assault because of our sexuality, that we don't have real human emotions, that we can't make real human connections, that we're cheaters, that we're more likely to be criminals because we don't care for others, that we're sociopathic, that we're attention seekers, etc etc etc.

We aren't sent to conversion therapy to be turned straight.

4% of gay and bisexual men in Canada disagree with you, for one.

Nobody hates us, that's a good thing.

You have to be joking, especially when you sent this kind of ask, seeing the statistics and abuse that happens on this blog, where even online in this safe space that are women who will hide or deny being bisexual to escape from harassment.

You should be happy that nobody hates us instead of trying to convince other people that we are hated.

I would love to believe that others don't hate us, but that's simply not true.

We're fine. Stop trying to play victim here. Bi people arent treated like shit.

I'd love to live in that world.

The people who are really suffering here is gay men and lesbians.

"How dare you talk about breast cancer when ovarian cancer exists?!"

All of the mental health stuff shouldn't mean much, because men have higher suicide rates than women and are more likely to get mental disorders, but that doesn't mean they're oppressed, are they?

That isn't even remotely the same. Men have higher suicide rates than women, but women have more suicide attempts because even when wanting to kill themselves, female socialisation has women worrying about who will find them and who will clean up their bodies.

Pretending that "bisexuals want to kill themselves because of their sexuality and the biphobia that comes with that" is somehow comparable to men is just obscene.

And besides, people typically come out as bi AFTER they get abused or raped, so those things didn't happen to them because of their sexuality.

Pretending that that's the truth out of nowhere to discredit bisexuals is downright evil. Like it suddenly doesn't matter that so many bisexual rape victims exist because you've told yourself, for no reason, that we must all somehow have been in the closet, so it somehow doesn't matter.

I was sexually assaulted by a "friend" and her boyfriend after coming out as bisexual and trusting her with that. I felt safe, we drank, and I was assaulted while they put a webcam on, and you have no idea how traumatic that was. I have no idea if there's video of my sexual assault online somewhere. It was 100% because I was bisexual, because they thought that I'd be "up for a threesome" and that it was fine to do all of that to me because bisexuals somehow give consent purely by being bisexual.

That ignorance and evil should make you feel ashamed.

You saying biphobia so much sounds like christianophobia, misandry, or heterophobia.

Bisexuals are oppressed by straight people for not being straight, and you think we're comparable groups? Is that how stupid you are as an individual?

Why? Because like those three examples, bi people arent oppressed, and there is no need for a word to talk about our non-existent oppression.

I can only say that I'm grateful at least that I have more basic common sense and decency than some ignorant, disgusting person such as yourself.

That word is empty and is starting to get sickening.

This ask is exactly why I talk about and prioritise bisexuals, particularly bisexual women, because of just how fucked up and callous systemic biphobia is, and how much it encourages bisexuals to hate and belittle other bisexuals if we dare talk about our experiences and our oppression.

You're so far into the "bisexuals can't be oppressed!" that you parrot homophobes.

How are gay men and lesbians oppressed if they can just be celibate and tell everyone that they're straight, hmm?

No? Forcing a sexuality-based minority into the closet clearly is damaging and shows just how oppressed they are? But somehow, it's different for bisexuals?

Maybe think about how the invisibility of bisexuality means that when people talk about the LGB, it's gay men first, lesbians thrown to the back and bisexuals only allowed to speak if it makes up the numbers.

Maybe think about how, even online and in a so-called feminist space, there are constant sneers about "bihets" and witch-hunts against lesbians who other women are somehow convinced are "secret bis" to discredit them, and even examples of so-called feminists jumping onto gay men talking about how there are gay male predators in their community for absolutely no reason to accuse bisexual men of being the "real" predators instead.

Maybe think about how your entire, biphobic and unhinged rant is balanced on the blatantly biphobic and ignorant, "bisexuals are just half-straight-half-gay" and a denial that our sexuality is a unique and discrete sexuality on its own.

Maybe think about how, even as a bisexual, you don't even understand what bisexuality really is, and then tell me that we're somehow not oppressed.

You literally don't know that bisexuality isn't "really being straight," forgetting that bisexuals are just people who can be attracted to and love both sexes, with a huge variety of individual ways to express that bisexuality, and think that it isn't oppression to demand we're silent and pretend not to exist. Then scoff at the bisexuals that try to do that, who end up being part of the higher addiction statistics, who have lower self-esteem, who are more likely to be domestically abused and raped.

Maybe think about who taught you to hate yourself and the rest of us so much that you think that all of this doesn't matter.

You won't ever change my mind on this because I know that I'm right.

I might be in the minority, but the future will bear me out.

If being confronted with the truth is too much for you, crawl back to the parts of Tumblr that hate you and continue to hope that they decide that you're a "good bisexual." Make sure you parrot all the right things and stay on edge by not stepping a foot wrong. Feel accepted while throwing other bisexuals under the bus, and just pray that they don't eventually turn on you, too.

When you do wake up, either I'll be here or someone else like me will be here, and then remember to have the courage to apologise and make amends for the harm that you're perpetuating against fellow bisexuals.

Until then, you can block me and avoid my blog entirely.

[forthehpfanboys]

Dance With Me

Pair: Draco Malfoy x Reader; he/him.

Summary: Draco really wishes he asked you to the Yule Ball. He wishes his father wasn't such a prude. He wishes you were on his arm, not Potters.

Warnings: Swears, like usual, small homophobia??

Notes: Requested! Bisexual! Harry is the only Harry in this blog. Also, Harry is supportive and I shamelessly put some Blaise/Ron in this but it’s like the smallest mention possible. Anyway, enjoy!

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

-

Draco watched on with a glum expression and prayed to whatever wizard gods are up there that it wasn’t noticeable. He glanced down at his polished shoes before shifting weight across between his feet. He cleared his throat, and rolled his shoulders back, trying to shake off the jealousy he felt deep down. This was the very last place on the entire planet he wanted to be standing in. He did not want to have to stand here next to Pansy Parkinson, listening to her go on and on while his rival danced and laughed with his long term secret crush.

He really should’ve asked you. The thought kept spiraling in his head, causing him to white knuckle the glass in his hand. He really should’ve ignored his father and just asked you. His icy eyes watched Potter dunk you playfully- since when did that git learn to actually fucking dance? His eyebrows furrowed when he saw your laughing expression and Harry’s sly smirk into a similar grin. The blonde really wanted to gag at the sight.

“So then (L/n) tried to do this stupid spell and it only blew up in his face, literally. Stupid mudblood really shouldn’t have been excepted into this school.” Pansy went on, giggling at the story. “He really is pathetic, isn’t he, Draco?.. Draco?”

“Don’t call him that.” Draco grumbled. He wasn’t fond of his ‘date’ talking smack about the male he’d rather be spending time with. 

“Oh, please. Don’t tell me you actually think he’s got talent or like.. Potential.” She was giggling again and the sound was almost more annoying than watching the pair dance and laugh.

“I don’t- Just- Oh for fucks sake, go get a drink or something.” Draco rolled his eyes, fixing his suit collar. He didn’t even watch his date strut away in her dark green cocktail dress. Instead, he turned from the sight and slammed his glass down on the table behind him. He resisted his urge to run his fingers through his perfectly combed hair.

“It isn’t too late, ya know.”

Draco didn’t have to look to know it was Zabini. The blonde sat down in his chair before grumbling back a response.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Draco really just didn’t want to be here. Every time he closed his eyes he saw you, clad in a suit that he desperately wanted to tear off you, dancing with The-Chosen-One. Merlin, he felt his heart ache.

“Draco.” A hand came to rest against his shoulder. “We know you took Parkinson just because your dad is a little traditional.” 

“A little?” Draco couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “My father is far from only a little traditional, Zabini, we both know this.”

“While it’s true, I think you should talk to him. The dance doesn’t end for a good few hours, mate. I’m sure he’d be down for at least one dance with you.” A silence fell over the friends for a few seconds before the blonde spoke up again.

“You don’t hate me? For liking a muggle born?” Draco clarified with clearing his throat.

“Draco.. For a Slytherin who gets O’s on almost all his exams, you sure can be dull sometimes. I’m your friend, like I have room to judge you.” 

“Oh, right, Weasley-”

“Anyway, have fun whooing him. Invite me to the wedding.” 

Draco watched his friend retreat into the crowd, choosing to ignore the blush burning into his cheeks before turning his attention back to the pair dancing. He watched you shed the top coat of your suit, sliding it onto a chair and rolling up your sleeves. The heat must be getting to you.

Draco knocked back the rest of his drink. Merlin, it was hot in here, or maybe it was just you. The blonde subconsciously licked his lips as he watched you go back to the dance floor. He just when a drink slid across the table and Pansy sat down next to him, effectively blocking his view of you.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, sipping her own drink.

“Nothing.”

“Do you wanna dance, then?”

“Not particularly.” Draco didn’t bother hiding the venom from his words. He wanted you on his arm, you asking him to dance, not her. It was always you. You should be tired with how often you run through his head.

“Fine, I’m going to find Blaise.” the Slytherin female stood up, watching Draco’s face for hints of any emotion.

“He went off with his date, good luck.” He shrugged, simply turning back to his drink. With a groan, Pansy left once again, taking her drink with him. His blue eyes went back to you for the umpteenth time that night, desperation hidden behind the irises. 

The blonde could imagine the look on his father's face if he ever brought you around. He could practically hear the disapproval and the pure disgust in his voice, stating he no longer had a son when it shouldn’t matter.

His happiness should be what matters the most. He wasn’t happy with Pansy, he was happy with you. He didn’t want a pureblood witch ready to follow him like a lost puppy. He wanted the muggle-born wizard who was now slow dancing with Potter. His eyes followed Potter’s hands that seemed to be heading south far faster than they should be for a slow dance. That was what snapped the final straw. 

He set his glass down, adjusting his suit once more before making long strides over to you. Harry noticed him first, his face scrunching up in confusion, causing you to turn around and look at the blonde. The way you innocently titled your head should be considered a criminal offense.

“Malfoy.” Harry spoke up.

“Potter.” Draco spat out as his icy eyes trailed up and down his rival.

“(L/n)!” You shouted, throwing your hands in the air, trying to disperse the awkward tension. You knew Harry was holding back a giggle. “Are we good? Did I defuse the tension good enough?”

“Like a professional defusing a bomb!” Harry chuckled out, his hand going around your waist.

“Say, Potter.” Draco spoke up quickly, his eyes glued to the hand on your hip before moving swiftly to meet your eyes. “May I steal your dance partner?” Draco held his hand out to you, his other going behind his back as he bowed, like the gentlemen he was.

“If that’s what he wants.” Harry tried to hide his grin. He’d known how you felt about the blonde for a while so he was so down for this interaction to take place. After all, he only danced with you to get Draco’s attention. Once Zambini became a low key friend, he’s gotten to know the Silver Trio a lot better from a distance and about Draco’s little crush on you. The whole plan was just made Draco jealous; fair and simple.

“Hmm, I’m not sure.” You teased, biting your bottom lip as your eyes trailed along his monochromatic suit. He looked good. In fact, he looked down right sexy- Holy shit- He should wear white more often. 

“Dance with me, (Y/n). Wouldn’t want to ruin my reputation would you?” Draco smirked, clearly joking as he pushed his hand closer to you.

“Oh, so polite and totally not self centered!” You placed your hand in his, doing a pathetic curtsy in your dress pants. You tried to ignore the primal urge to just hold the man's hand, maybe gaze under some stars with him. “Mom always did say it would be rude to say no to anyone who wishes to dance.”

Draco smiled and whisked you away. He led you into a spin before pulling you back into his chest, quickly taking the lead like his mother taught him too. One hand was resting gently against your waist while the other gripped your hand. 

“So.. Um.. What’s up?” You asked as the two of you began to sway to the music. Your cheeks were starting to hurt from the grin.

“Not very good with small talk are you?” Draco snickered out. He hated to admit it, but he really should’ve fucking asked you to dance sooner. Your body fit perfectly against his and he couldn't stop staring at your sparkling eyes.

“Well, you are quite intimidating.” You giggled out when he spun you around again. You couldn’t stop the blush from spreading across your face when he pulled you against him, but his chest was pressed against your back.

“You don’t have to be scared of me, love. I don’t bite.” His sultry voice whispered right by your ear, causing you to shiver.

“I never said I was scared of you, Draco.” You craned your head to glance at him over your shoulder. I actually like to think you're not as tough or bad as you play out to be.” 

“Wha-” Draco blinked a few times before spinning you back around and tugging you roughly against him. “What do you know about me?” He couldn’t help how his grin morphed into a sneer or how his hands tightened their grip on your waist.

“Draco, come on. Everyone knows you got shit going on at home.” Your hands were running through his hair, ruining Pansy’s hard work, not that he cared. He loved feeling your hands run through his hair so much he didn’t notice himself sighing. “See? You’re just a misunderstood softy stuck between a rock and a hard place.” You giggled out. It was cut short when Draco was suddenly pushing you back, forcing you to walk backwards by the grip on your waist. He didn’t stop maneuvering you backwards until your back bumped into a wall, leaving you stuck between the male and a hard place. You stared into his icy eyes, your hands pressed against the wall to steady yourself.

“I’m not a softie. I’m not a teddy bear! I’m a bloody Malfoy! I make my own bloody choices and I do what I want!” Draco pressed his chest against yours as he spoke. It was clear he was trying to intimidate you. His mood shifted a bit when your arms moved to wrap themselves around his neck.

“So kiss me.”

“What?!” His eyes got wide, his pale cheeks tinted a soft pink. He opened his mouth to speak again, but you were already going.

“It isn’t exactly a secret you fancy me, Draco. You’ve been staring at me since the dance began.” You smiled at his shocked expression. “That and Blaise told me. So, if you truly do what you want, you’d kiss me and maybe take me back to your dorm room.”

Draco stood shocked, his inner battle event on his face. Go against his father, his own bloodline and everything he’s been taught just over some feelings? You were a mudblo- muggle born wizard for fucks sake. His parents, his father, would disown him for the wizard bit alone! 

But did his dad have to determine everything he did? Did he really have to follow this bullshit code that should’ve died ages ago? Did he really have to be a pawn in his father's stupidity? 

His eyes watched your tongue trail across your lips and he made his decision. Draco’s hands tightened their grip once again on your waist before he quite literally slammed his lips against yours. He pressed his body harder against yours, if it was possible when you kissed back and shuddered when your fingers threaded through his ruined hair.

You truly didn’t know how badly he wanted you. You didn’t know the inner turmoil the poor male had been fighting since the stupid ball was announced, but the kiss. The kiss helped Draco express his passion for you, his love. He would charge into battle for you, put up with Potter for you, hell, fight his father for you. He’d ignore the stares of shock from the crowd and the unamused expression of his forgotten date.

You got under his skin and stole his heart. You were worth more than the stars in the sky and he wouldn’t let anyone separate the two of you. That night, he made sure you knew how much you meant to him.

[floatingbook]

I loved your blog but I unfollowed for all the het-partnered shaming. I understand your view that it's problematic, but you can voice that without laying it on thick enough to make your comrades (even if not 100% ideologically aligned) feel guilty for existing. do you honestly think we're the enemies of separatism or feminism at large? divisions, unproductive divisions.

“For all the het-partnered shaming”. I’m laughing. Anon, you’re hilarious. All the het partnered-shaming? I’ve posted a few things on the subject this week, as a response to the anon I got in my inbox earlier this week, and before that I’ve publicly given my opinion on the subject in that one post. So it seems you have really thin skin and cannot stand any questioning of heterosexual relationships.

“Laying it on thick enough to make your comrades feel guilty for existing?” You need to stop crying every time someone points out how illogical it is to keep dating and marrying men when on the other hand you apparently understand that men are oppressing us. It is illogical. None of you, coming to whine into my inbox about how mean I apparently am, seems to be able to give some justification as to how what you are doing is not setting back women’s liberation. I’m still waiting. Men are still oppressing women, and no amount of loving men will change that. Reformism doesn’t work. It hasn’t worked so far, except to give women some half-hearted rights, enshrined in law but disregarded everywhere or hard to access, and even those are at risk from backlash today.

And yet you come here, on a lesbian’s blog, to complain about how I’m not here validating at every turn your coddling and endorsing of my (I’d say ours, but apparently women being oppressed doesn’t really bother you…) oppression? What should I do to be “good” in your opinion? Be a nice, meek lesbian, post everyday “let’s celebrate het-partnered women!! they are so brave!! so stunning for dating men!!”. Society is doing that already, everywhere. All of you are already swapping tips on how to be a “good feminist” even if you’re dating a man. Are you saying that you’ll only tolerate lesbians like me if we shut up and stop pointing out the dissonances in your reasoning? A good lesbian is a silent lesbian? A good separatist should be barely seen and certainly not heard?

You come across as extremely insensitive. No one forces you to follow me. I’ve said it before, I’m here to offer any insight I might come across in order to move towards women’s liberation. The whole world already thinks women’s liberation is a bad thing. Men would rather we stay shackled, and so do you apparently. Do I think you’re “the enemies of separatism or feminism at large?” In fact, I don’t think you’re helping, or that you really care to help. I just have to see your contempt every time separatism is mentioned. I just have to see you flock to my inbox when I dare to say that maybe you should stop propping up our oppressors. I just have to see heterosexual (and some bisexual) women be horrifyingly lesbophobic and call themselves “feminists” or “radfems” the next breath. Feminism isn’t a fun little quirky club. It involves actual change, not just going home to your boyfriend.

“Divisions, unproductive divisions”. You’re the ones clinging to your men instead of listening to other women’s voices. You’re the ones putting men above the relationships you could have with the women around you. You’re the ones shooting down separatism. You’re the ones satisfied with calling het-couple therapy feminism. The divisions are there. I’m not going to start pretending that I love men just to get into your good graces. Pointing out the root of women’s oppression is not unproductive, unless your sense of productivity is a happy heterosexual couple. I get it, you love men. I don’t, and I’m not about to shut up just for you.

Note that if any of you just wants to cry about this subject in my inbox, don’t expect an answer. You’ve made me write way too much this week about something I don’t care for. Everybody else is fine with you dating a man. You don’t need my validation.

[poormeowmeowcollector]

Two Gals Sitting On An Elevator Because They're Not Gay

Pairing: Lady Loki/Female Reader

Warnings: claustrophobia, panic attacks

Summary: with the power cut off, you get trapped in an elevator with Loki.

Notes: after being tempted by a certain lady *coughcough* @lucywrites02 *coughcough*, my bisexual thirsty ass needed Lady Loki, okay?

Read On AO3

You're pacing down the corridor, the shoes slamming rhythmically on the tile floor. It's just your first meeting and you're already late.

You slide into the elevator right before it closes, pressing the button and staying put in a corner.

"Good day," a posh voice greets. You turn to face a woman around your age, black locks of hair framing her sharp and pale face, her green eyes scanning you. She's also dressed nicely, a black leather jacket and jeans with old boots and a green tee, some gold jewelry here and there. And she is holding four cups of coffee, the biggest ones the shop inside the Tower has to offer.

"Good day," you smile and nod, eyes still on her. You can swear she looks familiar, apart from illegally attractive. "Excuse me, but have we met again? You look familiar," you mutter, already regretting it. Gosh, you sound like a freak.

"Perhaps from the TV, when the attack took place," she answers, voice low and deep. You stop and think for a bit. The only women on the TV from back then were Agent Hill and Agent Romanov, and this woman is much taller and paler than both of them. You're ready to ask for more information, in hope of recognising her.

"Apologies, I looked different then. I'm Loki," she explains, a tint of anxiety in her eyes.

"It's fine, don't bother with it. Oh, by the way, what're your pronouns?" you ask, secretly glad to see that anxiety dying out.

"Thank you, she/they for now," she smiles, still small and distant. You nod and stay silent, feeling that there's nothing more to add to the convention. Loki agrees with it.

There is a silent agreement among humanity, one that says that we cannot stare when inside an elevator. But your eyes can't stop trying to steal glances. It's not the superhero fact, you knew very well that you needed to acknowledge the fact that you're on the tower and respect those people's boundaries the moment you got the job. It's how damn beautiful they are, even though she's just standing there.

Then, you can't stare altogether, because the lights are out and the elevator comes to a halt.

"What just happened?" There's an obvious panic on Loki's voice, accompanied by a small breeze.

"Probably the power was cut off. A second generator or the reactor will turn on again soon, don't worry. We just need a light so we don't bump into each other…" you mutter, trying to find your phone.

Which you, apparently, forgot at home when you rushed here. Great!

"Do you happen to have something that can light up the place?" You ask, trying not to groan. A small lantern appears on the centres of the small box, lighting it up with a green light.

"Nice, relaxing," you smile at Loki, watching as they nod from their tiny corner. You sigh and go to the door, trying to open it.

"Allow me," Loki appears from behind you and digs her fingers into the small split, the metal bending around them. With one flex of their hands, the doors are torn apart, only to reveal a wall. There's no light or air coming from below or above, you're trapped exactly between the floors.

"JARVIS, tell Stark that we're here," she sighs and turns towards the black screen that is supposed to be the board. Nothing happens.

"Maybe the AI needs power to work. They'll find us. Until then, we should get comfortable," you suggest as you sit down, facing the green lantern. Loki hums but doesn't sit. Instead, they walk around in circles like a caged animal and mess with their fingers (the coffees are on a corner), an obvious nervous gesture.

Without thinking about it, you grab your fidget toy from your bag and wait until Loki walks in front of you so you can kick her gently. "What?" They ask, glaring at you. You smile and offer the toy, watching her expression becoming softer as she takes it and starts messing with it instead of her fingers.

"I apologise, but I don't have the best experience with closed rooms, they're like cages," they laugh, the nervous kind of it.

"No need to apologize," you shrug, mentally trying to think of a way to make it more bearable. Damn, you should have searched for it while you had the chance…

The elevator gets colder, distracting you for the mental barade on how ignorant you are. "Could we run out of air?" Loki asks, stopping the walk and staring at you.

"There's a vent on the ceiling and air coming from the holes in the door so, no," you take it literally. It probably won't help but she still nods and tries to smile.

They sit down, opposite to you, and keep playing with the toy, eyes lost. Her lips are muttering things in a language that comes to your ears as a combination of trills, groans and gagging sounds. Their skin becomes clammy and pale and their eyes glassy, shoulders jumping up and down faster than before.

You're not an expert, but this is not a good sign.

Your breath comes out visible from the cold as you call Loki's name. She doesn't respond. Instead, they throw the toy down and curl into a ball, head hidden and something between wheezing and sobbing coming out of them. Her hands, tight around her curled feet, have a green glow on the fingers, like fire threatening to burn everything down.

You move closer and call their name again, hoping you won't starle them and make it worse. She doesn't flinch, but doesn't respond either. "Hey, it's okay. It's okay. You're safe. You will be fine, alright? You'll be fine," you whisper, again to no avail.

You try to run your hand against the green flames, still repeating those words and warning her. It covers your fingers too, giving you a numbing sensation of a sleeping limp.

Then, Loki literally grabs you like you're a teddy bear and squeezes you, but gives you enough freedom to do the same. You're afraid to apply pressure but they squeeze you back, almost asking you to mimic them.

So, you hug each other for dear life, your hands drawing patterns on her back. Against your body, their heart pounds like it's going to break out and their lungs move faster than light, their whole body shaking and feeling clammy and cold. She's resting her head against your shoulder, tears streaming down as she fights for air.

"Shhhh, it's okay, it's okay. You'll be okay. It will pass, I promise. Just try to breathe and wait, okay? You're not alone in this one, you're not. Everything will be okay," you whisper again and again against their ear, hoping to help somehow.

It takes time and effort for Loki to finally draw a full breath, even though a shaky one. You smile and praise her for it, happy to hear the next ones being more full of air and feel her body steady.

But there's a cold wave again.

"Sh- I'm so sorry… I-I… I had no control…" they mutter and break the hug, head hanging down with shame.

"Since you're better, it doesn't matter," you smile, trying to find her hand again. She's quick to cup yours with hers, squeezing and tracing lines with her thumb.

"Then, thank you," they raise their head and give you a weak smile, eyes still glassy from the tears.

"Don't mention it. Em… do you want me to step back, give you space?"

She nods a no. "Actually, I would ask for the exact opposite," they whisper, trying to maintain the smile. You turn around and sit beside her, your upper body resting against the metal wall.

"You're free to go ahead, you know," you let them know. Without a warning, not that you needed one, she tangles her hand against your and lays on your shoulder, breathing heavily. You move your own hand against their waist, bringing them closer.

"Can I ask, why do you feel so safe with me? You're literally a goddess," you ask.

"You aren't a threat. When you," she stops to take a breath, "when you touched my seiðr, it felt safe," they explain, voice wheezing just so.

"The green fire thing?" You furrow your brows. Loki gives you a hum.

Neither speaks for a long time, you stay put where you are. But it's not awkward at all. In fact, it's quite comfortable. She stays there, the small and occasional squeezing on your side by her hand is the only proof that she hasn't fallen asleep, but it's obvious how the attack drained her.

Then, they start humming a tune, completely foreign to your ears.

"What's that song?" You ask out of the blue, praying you won't starle her.

"An old lullabye Frigga used to sing to me and Thor when we were small. She said it has a protection spell to keep creatures of the night away," they sigh. Only from the myths, you recognise the name.

"It probably is inappropriate to ask, but do you mind singing it out loud? The melody sounds sweet," you suggest, voice small. Loki chuckles.

"My singing is terrible in this form, I was unfortunately trained to sing only with the male voice and there's no way I'm turning into him anytime soon,"

"Oh, okay then," you nod at her response, convinced that that's the end of the discussion. Loki stays silent for some long moments, and then they straighten themselves against the wall.

"Come, lay here. If I am to do it, better do it the way she did," she argues, petting her thigh. Whatever bisexual alarms exist in your brain start beeping like bomb sirens from the WWII, so loudly that you swear they can hear them.

"We're strangers…" it's all you manage to say. Loki responds with a shrug.

"Yes, and?"

You nod and do as she commanded, your eyes put on hers. They smile and take some deep breaths, you don't know if it's to gather courage or air.

Then, she starts singing. The sounds are still rough and hard, like their mumbling earlier, and the melody is completely foreign to your ear. It doesn't stop it from being magical. You soon close your eyes and find yourself relaxing in her lap, drunk in her voice.

Their foot jerks, hitting your head and making you groan as you land face–first on reality. "You could at least pay some attention," she scolds, icy eyes glaring at you.

"I'm sorry, I got lost in the song. But your singing is stunning," you try to explain yourself, but their face doesn't seem to soften.

"You could use a better lie, I sound like a dying goose," she maintains her serious face, or façade, even though you start grinning.

"Now who's lying?" you tease, rising up and going back to your previous position beside them. Her cheeks go pink and then red, the blush spreading to her ears and her lips turning into a thin line.

And gosh, they're so adorable!

"I-" she stammers, seconds before hiding her burning face between her fingers and muttering in Old Norse.

"Hey, are you alright?" you ask, worried you might have triggered another attack. They nod and sigh, revealing their now pinkish face.

"I apologize, it just started to hurt," she whispers, eyes looking down at her hands. You shrug one shoulder.

"You have nothing to apologize for." They smile at the answer, laying back at your shoulder and digging their nose in your neck, long cold fingers grabbing your hand and playing with it as tickling fire comes and goes. She digs her head out, watching carefully your hand's reaction to the fidgeting.

"You have a beautiful hand, you know that?" they mutter, almost you themselves.

"Thank you," you don't know if you giggle from the comment or the tickling coming from her seiðr. They hum, consecrated on your hand and maintaining a second wave of comfortable silence for several minutes.

"What do you plan to do when we get out?" she asks out of the blue, leaving your hand alone and hiding back to your neck.

"Make sure I'm not fired, apologize to my boss, probably get something to eat since I didn't have time for breakfast…" you whisper, scared of breaking the silence.

"If Stark fires you, he dies, slowly," they don't break the calm with the threat, but you still giggle at it.

"Thank you, sweetie. What're you planning to do?" you beam and move some hair away from her face as she turns around.

"Move to a balcony, smoke the whole tobacco industry, never use an elevator again, and kill Stark," they shrug, gazing at the metal wall in front of you.

"Sounds like a plan," you grimace and fail to hold back a shiver. When did it get so cold again?

Loki starts to quiver too, but you bet it's not from the cold.

"Loki?" you keep quiet, hoping you won't scare her. They don't respond.

Instead, she just sits there, like a statue, vacant eyes on the wall.

"Loki, you're safe now. Okay? You'll be alright. I promise, you'll be just fine," you start whispering again, raising a hand to hold them.

Your head gets slammed against the wall. Loki stands in front of you, her eyes glowing green and filled with rage and a flaming punch being ready to launch in your face. You raise your hands in surrender, praying that they'll see them instead of the way you shiver from fear.

Her eyes soften, and then water up. "You're not- Oh Norns, I'm so- Oh Gods!" they stammer and walk back, their whole body shaking. She stops on the neatest wall, her feet collapsing and making her fall down.

They need space, you know that, but you still walk closer. "It's okay, you didn't mean to," you whisper, now careful not to touch without permission.

"I almost…" she mutters, hiding her face behind her hands.

"Almost. You didn't do it," you debunk, hoping it will somehow help.

Plus that punch couldn't be so bad. Expect that they're able to bend metal… minus the magic… Nevermind, you'd break your skull.

"Hey, did you listen? You didn't do it. It was close, yes, but it didn't happen," you repeat, sure that her thinking was louder than your speaking.

"Could you… could you stop talking? Please?" they whisper, removing their hands from their face to glare at you.

You nod, waiting for another way to help. She pats the metal beside her, and you move there, letting her lay on your shoulder again.

"You know, I never thought of you as a cuddler…" you comment.

"If you tell anyone, I will kill you," they growl. You nod, sure she didn't feel like joking.

You stay still as they move around to get more comfortable, ending again on your shoulder but this time their body is relying on yours and their nose brushing your neck. For someone as thin, you didn't expect her to be that heavy, but you're not getting crushed, literally, so you don't complain.

"What happened? Did the snake eat your tongue?" they purr, and you get to feel their sinuses vibrating as they speak.

"You asked for silence," you shrug your free shoulder, turning to face her. They hum and go silent again, pressing their face harder on your neck.

"Oh, apologies," she whispers, after a yawn so soft you thought it's just a sigh, her voice dragged and half asleep.

"It's fine, you can even sleep," you whisper back, smiling as they smile at you and dive further down.

And maybe five minutes later, her breath evens out and deepens. You stay even more still, they had maybe three panic attacks, they must be exhausted. So, in order to entertain yourself, you decide to daydream and maybe count the deep sighs she releases against your neck.

At about ten sighs, the elevator starts moving down, which is enough to wake them up. "They're getting us out?" she asks and yawns, eyes on the wall that reveals the door of the lower floor.

Someone digs their fingers on the other metal wall and opens it. The sunlight makes you cover your eyes.

"Sister, are you well?" Thor's voice literally bombs as he runs inside.

"Be quiet, you idiot…" they respond, basically jumping up before Thor can realise that you were cuddling. You follow her path.

"Oh, a Mortal. Are you well?" Thor turns his eyes on you.

"Yes, yes. Is Mr Stark here, by any chance?" you mutter. The characteristic sound of the suit walking towards you is enough of an answer.

"Yes, miss. Don't worry, you're not fired. In fact, since you are now needed more spontaneously, you'll move here. And before you ask, yes, that's a promotion," he moves the metal mask out of his face to deliver the good news.

"Also, how did Loki not kill you?" Captain America pops up and asks.

"They were hugging when I opened the door," Thor answers before you can muster a lie. Your first reaction is to bite your lip and turn to Loki, whose face has gone all pink from the shame.

"No, no! She was scared and asked for it. I committed out of pity!" they make up a lie. All three heroes turn to you.

"Yes, yes, exactly. It was terrifying. Now, if I could… pack up my things? Yes… Gotta go, sorry…" you stammer and walk back, towards the staircase.

"Wait, I… I can help you. With the seiðr and superstrength and all…" Loki also stammers and follows you.

You walk down a level in complete silence, waiting to be 100% sure no one is listening. "They will never let that die out…" Loki sighs, her hand brushing her bright red cheeks.

"Definitely… in order to make up for the embarrassment, may I tempt you to dinner? On Friday? I know a nice place," you smirk, hoping to appear less messy.

They offer you a mischievous grin, her eyes shimmering in the dark staircase. "Temptation managed,"

[wonder-womans-ex]

Curtain Call

Act One, Scene Seven

Sirius stands there for what seems like hours—though it’s probably only a few seconds—just standing there, staring through the window. Maybe he should forget the whole thing and leave now.  

But Alice pushes the door open, waving when Remus and Lily look up. Before he can protest, Dorcas pulls him in by the elbow. 

It’s like time slows down when Remus’s gaze flickers past Dorcas and settles on him. He blinks, as though trying to clear his vision, and then he does the last thing Sirius expects. 

He smiles. 

It’s like Sirius’s brain just glitches. He imagines James’s voice in his head—as he so often does when he’s faced with situations similar to this one—saying ‘Padfoot.exe. has stopped working,’ and the thought is so ridiculous it actually shocks him back into the here and now. 

“This is Sirius,” says Dorcas for the second time in under ten minutes, and he waits, practically holding his breath, for Remus’s response. 

He’s prepared for anger. He’s prepared for indifference. He’s prepared for maybe, just maybe, ‘Yes, I know.’ 

He is once again surprised, because he is most certainly not prepared for Remus to lean across the table with his hand out and say, “Nice to meet you.” 

“I—um—nice to meet you, too?” 

It’s clear to Sirius that no one else—save Lily, of course—has any idea of the significance of this moment, especially because he’s not actually sure what that significance is. Obviously, they’re wiping the slate clean, but is it so they can start over again?

Or so they can pretend there was never anything written there at all? 

This is the only thing he can think about as Dorcas slides into the booth next to Lily, motioning for Sirius to sit across from her, and he does, even though it means he’s right next to Remus. Frank squeezes in beside him, and Alice behind Frank, and Mary hesitates a moment before she sits down, too, shoulder-to-shoulder with Dorcas. For a moment, he wonders where Fabian and Caradoc are going to place themselves—there’s no way two more people are going to fit in the booth—but then Fabian pulls two chairs out from a nearby table. He sits down in one, then abruptly stands up again. 

“I’ll grab menus,” he says, gesturing with one thumb towards the counter, and Sirius watches him go, if only for something to look at. 

Dorcas grins. “So, Sirius, tell us a bit about yourself.”

“Um—”

“Invitations to these get-togethers are rare, you know, but you know what’s even rarer? Second invitations. So start talking, buddy, and let the high council judge your crimes.”

“Dorc,” Alice reprimands, “you’re scaring him.” 

“Nah, it’s fine. My brother’s pretty, um, intense, too.”

Sirius’s confidence swells slightly at the laugh that earns him from the rest of the group. “I’m Sirius—I’m twenty-two, but I’m only in first year university because reasons. My favourite food is butter chicken. I was kicked out at age sixteen after I came out as bisexual, and I moved in with my best friend, who also happens to be my brother’s ex-boyfriend. Oh, and I’m an actor. I think that’s the basics? 

Except for Remus, who knows most of this already, everyone stares at him, expressions ranging from stunned to well then. Remus is either trying to break the tension or goad Sirius into something embarrassing when he says, “An actor? Have you been in any movies?”

Deja vu smacks into Sirius like a cement truck. If he recalls correctly—and, honestly? There’s no way in hell he doesn’t—that’s exactly what Remus said the first time Sirius introduced himself. So, of course, he responds in the same way he did then, too. “Ew. Absolutely not. Stage life all the way for me, dude.” 

Immediately, he wishes he could pull up google. Key words: is it socially acceptable to call your ex ‘dude’? Is that, like, legal? 

But Remus just grins and tips his head back in laughter. After a moment, the others follow him in ways that range from a distracted smile (Mary) to a laugh so explosive he imagines Frank would have spit out his tea if he had any.  

They’re still laughing, all eight out of nine of them, when Marlene arrives at their table, one pencil tucked behind her ear and another between her fingers as she taps it absentmindedly against her coil-bound notebook. 

“Hi,” she says, glancing from person to person. “What can I get you tod—Sirius?”

“Hiya, Marls.” 

“Fancy meeting you here.” They both smile a bit at this, because it really isn’t that surprising—neither of them ever spends a whole lot of time away from Frankie’s, really. “Where’s James?”

Sirius gasps, pretending to be affronted. “I do have other friends, I’ll have you know. He and I aren’t joined at the hip.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“Well,” he says, deciding to change the subject, “I’ll get the, uh…” it feels wrong to order fries without James there, and he’s only just now realizing that he hasn’t actually tried anything else on the menu. “The BLT. And a Nanaimo bar, please.” 

“Branching out a little, are we?”

“Shut up.”

“Okay, okay. And for you?”

Without even thinking about it, he, too, turns to look at Remus, who’s got his nose buried in the menu. “A croissant,” he says, just like Sirius knew he would. “Wait, no. Two croissants.” 

“Plain? Chocolate? Cheese?”

It seems as though Remus sits up straighter. “Chocolate?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Marlene jokes in typical Marlene-fashion. 

“Telling. Croissant. Chocolate. Yes.” 

(A month ago, Sirius would have leaned over and whispered that he thinks the embarrassed blush colouring Remus’s cheeks and nose is cute. But now is not a month ago. Now, everything is different.)

Lily orders a Greek salad and an iced coffee, but Sirius isn’t paying attention to her. No, he has eyes only for the way Remus, seemingly out of sheer boredom, takes his phone out of his hoodie pocket and unlocks it, grinning at whatever he sees. Sirius wonders, somewhere in the back of his mind, whether that’s the same way Remus used to smile when he got a text from him. It doesn’t matter anymore, but he can’t help but hope that once upon a time he, too, made Remus that happy. 

He doesn’t speak again until everyone else has ordered, too (grilled cheese and a sundae for Alice, poutine for Dorcas, and bagels for both Mary and Frank; Fabian and Caradoc say they’ll share a banana split (could those two get any cuter, honestly)) and even then it’s only because Dorcas asks him a question. 

“What?” he says, shaking himself out of his thoughts. 

“Marlene—is she your friend? Girlfriend?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re friends. We’ve known each other for years. Community theatre, mostly, and I see here when I come here, which is probably way too often. But no, we’re not together—Marls swings completely the other way.”

Dorcas nods. “Cool. Think I have a shot? Am I her type?”

“Depends. Do you like Titanic?” 

“The movie? No.”

“Then yes, you’re her type.” 

He laughs under his breath when she adjusts her collar and tucks her hair behind her ear. It’s the classic ‘Preparing-to-ask-a-girl-out’ routine—he’s gone through it himself on many an occasion; here’s to hoping she has more luck—and he looks away to one side to hide a smile. Unfortunately, Remus has had the same idea, and their eyes connect for a few painful seconds. 

This time, Sirius makes himself look away first. 

He finds his gaze drawn to Lily, who’s scrolling through something—probably Instagram—on her phone. He tongue flicks out every once in a while to nudge at her lip ring, and he finds the movement almost mesmerizing.

Just out of curiosity, he thinks about kissing her. Her hair would be soft between his fingers. For some reason, he imagines it smelling like citrus. Her lips look soft, but in his head they’re slightly chapped, cool and warm at the same time as they press against his, and he pulls away to look into those shining amber eyes—

Wait, Lily’s eyes are green, not amber. He is most definitely thinking about someone else—someone with twelve freckles on his nose and golden hair that curls around his ears. 

Three guesses who it is. 

But no, he scolds himself, he is not here to mope over cute boys he used to date. Or any cute boys at all, for that matter. He’s here to have fun. To make friends. To eat good food. If Remus wants to play strangers, they’ll do just that. 

“So,” he says, turning his head sideways. “You’re John, right? John Lupin?”

Maybe, just maybe, someone will explain the whole fake name thing. 

And for once, his prayers are answered. 

“Well, no,” Remus says, and Sirius searches those beautiful eyes for any trace of the fact that they both know he knows this already. He’s not sure whether to be bitter or hurt or simply sad when he finds none, so he settles for a bit of all three. “Actually, John’s my middle name. My first name’s Remus. But if you’re a literature student with a name like Remus Lupin, the only people who are going to take you seriously are the ones—well, the ones with names like Sirius Black. So I started going by John, and it just sort of stuck.”

“Remus.” Sirius twists his mouth around it, enunciating both syllables carefully, like he’s saying it for the first time. He supposes he is, in a way—after all, by unspoken agreement they seem to be starting over. 

“It’s like—do you ever get—do people ever think your name’s just a stage name? 

“All the time.” He can’t quite be sure whether or not they’ve had a conversation like this before; it does seem familiar, but most things do these days. Even if they haven’t really discussed this already, they almost certainly have in Sirius’s head. Or something similar to it, anyway.

 “It’s like that. People assume it isn’t my real name, so I changed it.” 

“Huh.” Tilting his head slightly, Sirius puts on an ‘innocently curious’ air that he knows Remus will be able to see right through. “Anything else I should know about you? 

“I turn into a bloodthirsty werewolf on full moons,” Remus says without skipping a beat. It’s impressive, really, how long he holds a completely straight face, and Sirius watches carefully to try and catch even a glimpse of a smile. “All right,” he says when it becomes clear none will appear. “Monsters are people too, I guess.”

And there it is—that wide, oh-so-brilliant grin that still makes his breath catch in his throat. No, he reprimands. No. Absolutely not. You are not going to fall in love with him again. It will only end in pain. Your pain. 

That’s right. He’s not in love. He’s not even in crush. He’s just becoming friends with someone he used to date. No biggie. Plenty of people do that, right? James and Regulus broke up almost a year ago, and they still hang out. 

Sufficiently reassured, he plows bravely on. “What else? Have you, I dunno, killed anyone?”

“No, but I do have three tattoos.”

Sirius blinks slowly. He can picture one of them—the crossed ski poles on the inside of Remus’s ankle—but he doesn’t think he’s seen the other two. “Really?” 

“Yeah. I’ve got a pair of ski poles on my foot—I’m from Whistler; practically grew up on the hills—and here, on my wrist—” he pauses, rolling his sleeve up to expose his inner arm “—I’ve got the Illuminati symbol.”

There’s a beat of silence as Sirius waits for the ‘just kidding.’ None comes, however, and apparently none will, because now he can see the small triangle inked there, plain as day. 

“I was eighteen, okay?” continues Remus. “And I hadn’t slept in like four days and I might have been slightly drunk. Everyone who has tattoos also has tattoo horror stories, and this is mine. Don’t judge me.”

“I’m not judging you.” And he’s really not. He knows what it’s like to make bad decisions when one is young and tired—he fights off the flashbacks of a sixteen-year-old James piercing his left ear for him at two in the morning—and hey, at least Remus has learned to laugh about it now. “What’s the third one?” 

“The third tattoo?”

“Yeah.” 

Pulling up his sleeve even farther, Remus points to a patch of tiny lettering on the inside of his elbow. “It says ‘Leviticus 18:22.’” 

“What’s that?”

“It’s a bible verse. You’ve probably heard it before, or some version of it—'thou shalt not lie with mankind as with womankind, ‘tis an abomination.'”

Sirius feels as though his thought process has been unceremoniously dumped into a blender. What? Remus can’t be a homophobe. Remus dated him, for heaven’s sake. 

(He’s also right—Sirius has heard that before. As soon as she found out he was queer, his mother pulled a bible out from he’s not sure where and read that verse out to him. It was, like, a whole thing.)

The only thing he can think of to say is ‘what,’ so that's what he says. “What?”

“Don’t worry,” Remus hurries to assure him, “I’m not a bigot or anything. I like guys, too. I just did it for the edge factor, y’know? It’s ironic; it’s supposed to be funny.”

“You have a really weird sense of humour.”

“I know.”

Slowly, Sirius shakes his head in disbelief. “So three tattoos—ski poles, Illuminati, and bible reference?”

“Yep.”

Then he hears, from the end of the table, “And the one on your neck.”

Both Sirius’s and Remus’s gazes dart to Fabian, who has stopped fiddling with the salt shaker and is looking over at them quizzically. “That constellation thing. The one you only got a couple months ago. 

Remus does not look like a deer in headlights. He looks like an escaped criminal caught in the flashlight beam of a police detective. 

Matters are only made worse—or better, Sirius reasons, depending on how you look at it—when Alice joins in. “Yeah, Moony! That’s the coolest one, if you ask me.” 

Remus blushes. It’s only because of the close proximity that Sirius hears his mutter “No one did,” under his breath. 

“This fucker here,”Alice says, seemingly oblivious to humiliation radiating from Remus’s corner of the booth, “Came home—we live together, Lily and Remus and Caradoc and me—in… what was it? January? With yet another tattoo, and he wouldn’t tell us why. My guess is that he just walked by and saw the design in the window and decided he liked it. Impulsive one, our Moony.”  

Sirius decides that he’s not going to ask where the nickname comes from. He has a sneaking suspicion he doesn’t particularly want to know. 

“It’s kind of funny, actually. Took him like a week for us to bully him into letting us see it, and it turns out he’s got the Sirius constellation right there above his collarbone.” She pauses. “Sirius. Huh. I guess Remus just, like, subconsciously decided you two should be friends, even though he hadn’t even met you yet. Maybe he’s psychic or something.” 

Even if his life depended on it, nothing in the world could make Sirius look at Remus right now. If he does, something terrible is almost definitely going to happen—one of them will drop dead of a rare kind of heart attack, or Frankie’s will blow up and kill them all before their food gets there, or Sirius will start crying. 

A tattoo. A fucking tattoo. It doesn’t make sense to him, no matter the number of times he adds it up in his head, because tattoos are something for people who are forever. 

It’s one of those things you just grow up learning—you don’t get tattoos of another person’s name (or the thing they’re named after; potato, potahto) unless you’re absolutely sure, and sure does not mean kissing other people at parties. 

Unless, apparently, you are Remus John Lupin. 

“Really?” Sirius asks. “Huh. That’s cool. Aren’t neck tattoos supposed to hurt, like, a shitton, though?”

There’s a pregnant pause, like the universe is holding its breath. Finally, Remus smiles tightly and says, just barely loud enough for Sirius to hear, “It was worth it.”

***

If Sirius was held at swordpoint and told to recount what the rest of their conversation entails, he would say ‘stab me.’ All he can say for sure is that whatever discussion is had, it stops as soon as Marlene arrives with the food. 

“Two croissants for you, Sir,” she says, placing Remus’s plate in front of him. “And an iced coffee and Greek salad for you, my lady; a banana split for the two utterly charming earls here; a grilled cheese and triple hot fudge sundae for our duchess and one whole grain toasted bagel with cream cheese for her duke, a plain untoasted bagel with cream cheese for the princess with the colourful hair, and one serving of poutine for the absolute queen I see in front of me.”

Sirius is positive Dorcas actually swoons a little at the ‘queen’ comment. Were this a cartoon, her eyes would now be comically large pink hearts. 

“Oh, and how could I forget. A BLT and Nanaimo bar for our resident court jester.” 

He sticks his tongue out at her. What can he say—he’s immature. And dramatic. The best combination, truly. 

Dorcas watches Marlene turn with a smile and walk back to the counter, and, once she’s sure the object of her affections is safely out of earshot, she sighs. “I think I’m in love.” 

“She snores,” Sirius tells her, to no avail. “Like a pig.”

“I love pigs.”

“No, Dorc.” Fabian’s eyes are glittering. “You love bacon.” 

“You guys are teaming up on me! This is homophobia!” 

“I’m literally gay.” 

“Fuck off.” 

Sirius catches Fabian’s eyes across the table. The ginger waves his ice cream spoon around his ear in a ‘crazy’ motion, and Sirius agrees wholeheartedly. Dorcas is, indeed, crazy. 

“You’re crazy, Dorcas.” 

“Crazy in love.” 

(At this point, he could probably tell the whole story about the tomatoes—acting out the best parts, no less—and it would not change her mind in the slightest.) (That’s a good thing, actually; no one deserves Marlene unless they can accept the tomato story in full.) 

Beside him, Remus is already halfway through his first croissant. Some would say he must be hungry, and those people clearly do not know Remus Lupin. He’s not hungry—well, he might be—he just loves chocolate that much. There were times during their relationship that Sirius joked about Remus loving chocolate more than he loved Sirius himself. 

Well. He supposes that now, after everything, it’s probably true. 

(No! Bad Sirius! No moping!)

His sandwich, he finds, when he takes a bite, isn’t actually that bad. It tastes—well, it tastes like bacon and lettuce and tomato and bread, which it is. It’s quite a good combination, he thinks, and he wishes he’d thought of it first. 

Finally, Dorcas motions for Mary to move out of the booth into the aisle. “I’m going for it,” she says, holding her hand up like a microphone. Sirius can’t help but laugh at the announcer voice she uses, and laugh more when she adds, “Wish me luck, my friends.”

“You won’t need it,” Remus assures her through a mouthful of croissant. 

“Who cares if I need it? It’s about the principle of the thing.”

“Good luck, Dorcas.”

“Thank you, Lily.” 

It would seem fitting, Sirius reasons, if they had popcorn right now. They’re certainly all watching intently, as if it's a movie, the shy way Dorcas and Marlene smile at each other before they start talking too quietly to hear. When Marlene starts twisting her blond hair around her index finger, Remus leans over to him.  

“You’ve certainly come on the right day—episode one of ‘Dorcas tries to woo the girl of her dreams.’”

‘You’re too close!’ Sirius screams in his mind. ‘How am I supposed to not fall in love with you when you’re whispering in my ear and your breath is warm on the back of my neck and if I turned my head we would be kissing and—’

“Look, she’s handing her phone over,” he says instead, and Remus moves away to rest his elbows on the table. 

“Would you look at that. It seems that Operation: get Dorc a girlfriend has progressed past stage one,” Alice jokes. 

Sirius leans forward to look over Frank at her. “What’s stage two?”

“Make sure said girlfriend doesn’t find out about the cactus shrine.”

“...I don’t think I want to know.” 

“No, you really don’t.”

But now Dorcas is walking back over to them, and she’s beaming, and she holds out her phone excitedly. “I got her number! She saved her contact in my phone, too—’Marlene; red heart emoji; parrot emoji.’” 

The first one to start is Lily, and Remus follows soon after. When Alice, too, brings her hands together, Sirius joins in, and soon they’re all slow clapping. He can’t quite be sure whether this is a sincere slow clap or an ironic one, but, judging by the way Dorcas’s grin only grows wider, he’s going to go with the former. 

“Thank you, thank you!” She bows dramatically, and Sirius looks around him at the other smiling faces of booth seven, and he can’t help but think, ‘Oh my god, I have friends.’

[youlooklikeasixtiesqueen]

I made a Destiel fic rec list

Some of these are S15, some of these are a bit older. It’s not a long list, but I felt like making one.

Rated G:

If The World Was Ending by Chipper99 (set in S15, 8k)

“So,” Dean gets out once he slams his glass back down on the table. “Last night on earth. Any plans?”

Castiel smiled fondly at the familiar words, tracing random designs on the side of his glass with his fingertip. “This one right here. If I only have a short time left here before… I like quiet moments like these. With you. Whatever time is left, I’d like to share it with you. If you’ll have me.”

They both liked to play this game. Throwing out words that could have entirely different meanings. Nervous looks exchanged between the two of them, wondering if the other is going to take up the offer that’s hidden, no, intertwined within words that are balancing on the line between “brothers” or “lovers”.

Rated T:

Hell Or High Water  by SwingGirlAtHeart (post 15x20, 20k)

Dean keeps his gaze on the shadows. “He told me he loved me.”

Sam makes a noise of acknowledgement in his throat, but says nothing, waiting for Dean to continue. Dean turns around, confused by Sam’s lack of response. Sam is watching him sympathetically, expecting more details, and there’s no trace of surprise on his face.

“You knew?”

At this, Sam does look surprised. “You didn’t?”

Dean lets out a long breath, trying to stave off the ache in his chest, and looks back up at the sky. “I guess not.”

build me a city and call it jerusalem by starsandgutters (15x19 coda, 5k)

They win. The heroes save the day, and ride off into the literal sunset on their metaphorical horses. They win. They win. They win. Then why does Dean feel like he’s lost everything?

A coda to 15x19, featuring Dean coming to terms with a few truths he's known all along.

Apple Pie by Anythingtoasted (post S8, 7k)

“So, uh. What now?” He asked them both, and whereas Sam’s face was blank, and the word ‘Amelia’ was clearly just behind his teeth, Castiel spoke up immediately.

“I think we should revisit your ‘Charming B&B’ idea.”

Rated M:

miracles by foolondahill17 (15x20 fix-it, 20k)

Before Jack fades into a glowing light in the middle of the crowded street, Dean has one last demand. The kid owes them, dammit.

“You’re bringing him back, right? Cas?”

Cleansed by tlakht (15x19 coda, 1k)

A ficlet/coda for 15x19, set after Dean gets Cas back from the Empty. Now that Dean knows how Cas feels about him, Dean deals with his own feelings while he's in the shower. With Cas.

That Red Skirt by angelofthequeers (S14, 5k)

When Jack realises on a shopping trip that he's non-binary, leading to a confrontation with a stranger who can't mind their own business, Dean starts to have a few realisations of his own. And his angel is there to save the day and provide answers and comfort as Dean ends up knee-deep in working out stuff he's repressed to be John Winchester's Perfect Son. Sam's just a little shit, but then, when isn't he? At least the overgrown moose is accepting as well.

Rated E:

Four Letter Word For Intercourse by bendingsignpost (AU, 195k)

As a grease monkey turned college freshman, Dean's constantly three seconds away from being stressed out of his mind. It hardly helps that he's finally figuring out his sexuality in his thirties.

What might help with that stress is a little phone number (and a big credit card bill). If he can't figure out how to be bisexual in person, he can at least give it a go over the phone, right?

(It's probably a bad idea, but he really can't help himself.)

We’ll pretend until we won’t by flyingsolo_flyingfree (post S9, 15k)

There's a vengeful spirit, so Cas drops in to play the role of Dean's fiancé. Then there are Girl Scout cookies, and dusters, and Sam makes lots of friends while Dean and Cas earn themselves the reputation of the obnoxious bickering couple.

Reality in Dreamscapes by anastiel (S15, 22k)

When Castiel wakes up in a strange world married to Dean, he thinks it may be Chuck showing him a version of the future. As days pass he quickly learns he's trapped there with a version of Dean similar to the real one, but jarringly different at the same time. Once he escapes, Cas grapples with the consequences of keeping what he saw a secret or telling Dean the truth.

Too Many Lovers (Not Enough Love) by tlakht (unspecified, 5k)

When a cocktail waitress propositions Dean and wants Cas to watch, it's the beginning of what will become a habit involving several other people - and maybe something more?

Excerpt: They don’t talk about it during the walk back to the motel, which isn’t far away. Dean is making sure to keep at least a few inches between them as they walk, but he can’t help but glance at Cas every now and then to make sure things didn’t get weird between them. He can’t stand the thought of losing over a decade of friendship over… whatever the hell it was that just happened. Cas seems perfectly fine, however, meeting Dean’s gaze with ease; Dean would even say there’s an almost secretive smile on his face that Dean could swear wasn’t there before, and it’s… good to see.

So Very by Sass_Master (unspecified, 12k, Human!Cas)

“I’ve never seen you wear these,” Cas says slowly, glancing down at the delicate garment he’s holding. Dean feels his pulse ratchet up a notch when Cas looks at him again, holds his gaze with magnetic intensity. “I would remember.”

“Well, y’know, it’s usually—” He struggles to find the appropriate word for it, for when he slips on a pair when he’s by himself, choking on shame and arousal, barely gets a hand on himself before he’s coming hard, gasping and staining the fabric. “…Private,” he decides. He’s officially flustered at this point, and Cas’s doubt and confusion are being rapidly overtaken by an interest so sharp that it feels dangerous. “Just… for fun,” he adds.

Cas eyes the panties in his hand again, eyes Dean, understanding dawning on his face. “Wearing these excites you.”

Home, At Last by tlakht (post canon, 18k)

Dean and Cas spend the holidays in Vermont with Sam and Eileen, who retired from hunting years ago and now have two adorable kids who are too curious about the exact nature of the relationship between their Uncle Dean and Uncle Cas for Dean's taste.

But then again... Dean's kinda curious too, and, well. It's about time he came out to his family, right?

[dexiao]

Reminiscence (m) | Lee Taeyong and Kim Doyoung

Synopsis: Doyoung and Y/N have been dating for some time and just moved in together on the day they ocasionaly met Taeyong, Doyoung’s old fuck buddy at a café. Doyoung just didn’t expect to still have feelings for him.

Pairing: Kim Doyoung x female reader x Lee Taeyong

Words: ~3.3k

Genre: non idol!au,  a little bit of angst, fluff, smut

Warnings: polyamorous relationship, dom!Doyoung, sub!Taeyong, handjob (male receiving), oral sex (male receiving)

This is a work of fiction. It does not portray the real personality of any of the members.

The day Y/N accidentally first met Taeyong, she and Doyoung had been dating for almost a year.

She and Doyoung had just moved in together into a new apartment, close to Doyoung’s office, and were still getting to know the neighborhood – at least the parts you don’t get to see when you visit a district with work purposes only.

The couple entered a café, not so small, with something between half a dozen and ten tables, not to mention the seemingly enormous variety of sweets of all different colors that were displayed in the glass counters. They chose a more reserved table, close to a wall, and sat facing each other and holding hands on top of the wooden piece of furniture.

After deciding to order a mocha, Y/N lifted her gaze up to meet her boyfriend’s face, noticing his attention focused on a point behind herself. His eyes and mouth were open, eyebrows lifted in what Y/N interpreted as a surprise expression.

Since there were only a couple of tables taken besides yours, it was easy to discover what Doyoung stared at – a pale man with bright red hair, a slit in his left eyebrow and ears full of piercings, heading towards the counter with a soft expression after shyly smiling at an employee. His outfit was all black.

“Lee Taeyong?” Doyoung spoke loudly, standing up from his chair. At his call, the man turned his face towards their table, ears and face going immediately as red as his hair.

“Kim Dongyoung?” the man asked. His voice wasn’t as rasp as Y/N imagined based on his appearance. He approached the table as Doyoung reached out for a handshake. He shyly bowed at Y/N as Doyoung introduced the woman.

“This is Y/N, she’s my girlfriend Y/N, this is Taeyong, an… old friend of mine.”

“It’s nice to meet you” I said with an open smile. His expression made his discomfort evident.

“Nice to meet you too. You two are a beautiful couple.”

From his posture, it seemed to Y/N that things couldn’t become weirder, but then Doyoung sat down again and invited Taeyong to stay and have a coffee with them. He promptly refused to, due to a supposed appointment he had within a few minutes.

“Oh, so do you work nearby?” Doyoung asked.

“Yes, my studio is just a block away. Why do you ask?”

“Y/N and I just moved to an apartment a few blocks from here. Maybe we’ll see you around.”

“Sure” Taeyong responded, holding a closed smile. “But I really do have to go now, I’m sorry. It was a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.”

That night, Doyoung told Y/N about his past with Taeyong.

Of course she knew about his bisexuality even before they started dating, but they never really talked about past relationships. At least not mentioning names.

Just as Y/N experienced while dating Doyoung, he was more on the dominant side with Taeyong as well. Both the boys went to the same college and lived in the same floor of a building, eventually meeting in the hallway and the elevator. Their relationship, however, wasn’t serious.

They were obviously attracted to each other, to the point Taeyong broke up with his girlfriend straight because of the guilt he felt from having a crush on Doyoung, his neighbor.

As weeks passed by, they got into a friends with benefits-like situation. Casual one night stands, in an agreement to not nurture feelings towards each other.

And it worked pretty well.

Taeyong was really submissive to Doyoung, leading him to explore dominance and to experience having an amount of control over someone else he didn’t think of having before. Both of them discovered a lot about themselves during this time.

As the semester ended, Taeyong graduated and moved out to the UK for specialization, and Doyoung stayed in South Korea. They lost touch. It was natural, as each of them continued busy with their own stuff, not wanting to disturb the other in his pursue of success.

Three years later, here they were. Taeyong apparently still hadn’t gotten over what Doyoung used to call ‘a phase’ of constantly changing his hair color – though Doyoung had never seen him with red hair before.

Also, now Doyoung had a serious commitment with Y/N and their relationship.

But it didn’t stop him from getting butterflies in his stomach at the sight of Taeyong becoming so flustered in front of him. As shy and softhearted as before. He couldn’t help but let his mind wander to whether Taeyong would still have the same behavior under his touch.

About a month ahead, the couple managed to meet Taeyong again at the same café more than a dozen times before he finally gave into their persistence of having him over for dinner.

Y/N and Doyoung had an amazing homemade Italian style pasta almost done by the time Taeyong arrived. His hair was now a light tone of brown and he wore a black turtleneck with black pants, a brown coat hanging over his shoulders. Doyoung dressed pretty similar to him – black pants and gray sweater – while Y/N had a long sleeved bright yellow dress.

The three began drinking the wine Taeyong brought from the moment he stepped inside. All of them were noticeably nervous, but Y/N and Doyoung tried their best to not make Taeyong feel left alone. Y/N asked him about his work, college and personal life, since she didn’t know him besides what her boyfriend chose to say about the older man.

At first he seemed uncomfortable, releasing nervous laughs until the wine started making effect and relaxing him up, letting him be more spontaneous.

After they ate the pasta Taeyong had complimented a thousand times during the meal, a long silence settled as each of them stared at the empty plates and half empty glasses. The table was round, so they sat in a triangular shape.

Y/N’s hand reached for Doyoung’s on top of the table. The move didn’t go unnoticed by Taeyong, who didn’t have the self-awareness to not look at Y/N.

He was so confused.

It couldn’t be possible to like so much the person who literally dated the person he secretly wanted to date. Y/N’s personality was so captivating and bright, but still as caring and nurturing as Doyoung’s. And she was pretty. Of course she was.

And she noticed as the older man absentmindedly gazed at her, fingers playing at the edge of his glass.

Y/N pressed her boyfriend’s hand tightly before standing up, removing Taeyong from his daydream.

“I guess it’s my cue now” she stated, smiling softly.

The woman leaned and left a chaste kiss on Doyoung’s lips, to which Taeyong felt guilty to but watched happen nonetheless. Then she turned to Taeyong, whose face and ears were red (it was impossible to know if due to the wine of to the scene he just witnessed). The older’s eyes followed her movements as she leaned and pressed a kiss on his cheek before heading to her and Doyoung’s shared bedroom.

After a few steps, she stopped and turned to Taeyong again.

“It was great having you here. I really wish you can come more often.”

Then she left her boyfriend and his old crush alone, drunk, mildly turned on and facing each other.

That night, Taeyong and Doyoung had a long and drunk talk. Doyoung explained how things were different from college, how he and Y/N started dating and what they expected for the future. Taeyong couldn’t understand why Doyoung was telling him all this, after all, he owed him nothing.

That went on until the younger spilled out how he felt about Taeyong. That he wanted to become close again and that it was okay if Taeyong did not want to, but Y/N felt just the same way as him and if he wasn’t committed to anyone, what's wrong with trying?

The matter was that Taeyong’s mind was slowed down from all the wine and nothing Doyoung said from that point on made sense to him. He left the apartment without giving Doyoung an answer and thinking he could just avoid the subject if they met again.

Doyoung, whose mind was clearer, noticed how he scared the shit out of Taeyong. Of course that was not the way he hoped the night would end, but he and Y/N came to an agreement before on Taeyong being fully aware on the ground he was stepping onto if he actually accepted to try this thing.

From that night on, the couple changed their approach.

They stopped going together to the café. Instead, since that was the only place they were sure they could meet Taeyong, they decided it was best to not see him together, in an attempt to make him feel less pressured.

The dinner night was never mentioned again and they avoided talking about each other with Taeyong.

Eventually Taeyong accepted to sit and have a coffee with Y/N, then with Doyoung. And then again with Y/N and so on.

He got more and more responsive to subtle touches on his skin, becoming confident to do the same as time passed on. Fingers brushing as he passed the menu, light touches on arms in the middle of a conversation.

Y/N invited Taeyong to a date in the park, and that was the first time they kissed.

It started so slow, as if they were afraid from one another, lips touching very lightly. After a few seconds, Y/N noticed the man release a heavy breath, which was enough to convince her it was okay to go on, that Taeyong did enjoy it. So Y/N pressed her lips harder against his, sliding the tip of her tongue over his bottom lip and deepening the kiss. Her hands cupped Taeyong’s face and determined the pace, while Taeyong used his only as support for his body.

Y/N found him to be a lot different from her boyfriend. While Doyoung was more dominant, Taeyong was the complete opposite. Even when it was clear as water that he wanted it, he wouldn’t make the move. She enjoyed being in that position and taking the lead, though they did nothing but kiss for hours, until both had lips so swollen they actually hurt.

The following day, Doyoung casually met the older at a flower shop. It was a surprise for both, and Doyoung felt afraid of Taeyong trying to avoid him or feel ashamed because of what happened between Y/N and him. Nevertheless, Taeyong was completely in his normal self.

Doyoung walked him back to his studio and asked if he could give him a kiss before going back, which Taeyong didn’t even reply with words. The older just closed his eyes and nodded, opening his mouth in expectation. Watching the scene, Doyoung couldn’t help but feel as he needed Taeyong in his life again. He was so innocent and precious Doyoung wanted to keep him in his pocket and protect him from the world.

For Taeyong, the man’s kiss tasted different. Not only different from Y/N’s, but also different from the past they had together. Doyoung’s lips were still has soft, his mouth still as warm; still, he could sense the carefulness irradiating from the younger man.

Other times he’d meet either Y/N or Doyoung at the café, they would greet him with a kiss so close to his mouth (still not on his mouth) it was frustrating. Taeyong tried his best to show them with touches and gazes that he wanted more, but it seemed to him that neither of them noticed his effort, and voicing it out was a big challenge.

The trigger was the day he sat down with Doyoung and ordered a cappuccino.

As Taeyong rambled about something that happened at work, the flow of his words was suddenly interrupted by the realization Doyoung was bringing a hand to his face. The younger brushed his thumb over Taeyong’s bottom lip, wiping a little cream spot. Taeyong closed his eyes at the sensation and tried to not react, but it was impossible when his heart beat so hard and fast as if wanting to break his chest. He wanted to lean his head and suck Doyoung’s finger into his mouth, to show him how needy he was, to make Doyoung feel pity for putting him in this situation.

However, he waited some more seconds to open his eyes again and start breathing again as well. Doyoung stared at him seeming worried and asked if everything was okay. Of course things weren’t okay.

As they walked out of the café some minutes later, Taeyong closed his eyes to expect the torture of Doyoung’s kiss on his cheek, but it was his lips that felt the touch.

This time he wasn’t able to contain a sigh as Doyoung distanced himself. When Taeyong opened his eyes again, his vision was blurred and he felt a lump in his throat preventing his voice to come out normally.

“Please, Doyoung” he begged. “I can’t take it anymore.”

Doyoung brought one hand up to caress the older’s left cheek.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to push you” he said softly.

But that wasn’t what Taeyong meant and he got more frustrated, tears unwillingly escaping his eyes.

“It’s not that” he spoke, looking down.

Doyoung calmly asked what was the problem, gently making Taeyong face him again and wiping his tears away.

“I want you, Doyoung. And Y/N as well” he said in one breath. “I want you both to take care of me, make me feel good. It has been a while now” tears kept rushing down his face, even when Doyoung kissed him and told him he and Y/N would be more than happy to do whatever he asked for.

Four months after that episode, Taeyong woke up in the middle of the night with an uncomfortable feeling between his legs. Involuntarily, he ran his right hand through his clothed crotch, realizing he had an erection.

Though he tried to for some long minutes, Taeyong was unable to go back to sleep, so he sat restless and leaned his back against the headboard of the enormous bed. The dim light from the street allowed him to observe Doyoung peacefully asleep in a white t-shirt on the other side of the bed, as well as Y/N in a nightgown in the middle of them.

Taeyong was getting more used to sleep in their bed than his own. He was getting used to be their baby.

It’s not that the man couldn’t take care of himself. Not only he could, but he did it for a long time. He wasn’t a child. He knew his body, he was able to recognize his necessities. Taeyong was an intense person, and that was noticeable at first sight. He was used to commit seriously to whatever he proposed to do, especially when it came to work; he worked hard to be the best, to do the best job.

But at the moment, he just felt helpless as his cock began hurting from the erection while the people he loved slept right next to him. He needed relief, and still couldn’t avoid the thought that jerking off right now to the amazing sex they had last night was wrong.

Mindlessly, the man reached for his phallus inside his clothes, bringing it out and just holding it, feeling the warmth of his palm against the pulsating member. Taeyong was decided to not jerk off, though he couldn’t keep his hips totally still, slightly thrusting into his fist, eyes closed to make the most of any sensation he could get, biting his lip to avoid releasing any noises.

And since he closed his eyes, he wasn’t able to realize the moment Doyoung woke up and watched the older quietly whimper for a few seconds before waking Y/N with a kiss at the nape of her neck, squeezing her waist with his right hand.

Y/N woke up with low hum that went unnoticed by Taeyong, who remained focused in the sort of failed attempt to please himself in silent. Doyoung’s body pressed against Y/N’s back and she suddenly became conscious of his hip upon hers.

The woman brought her right hand to Taeyong’s thigh and gently squeezed it, making him immediately open his teary eyes in surprise. His gaze shifted between Y/N and Doyoung, seeming desperate for help.

“Shh… Do you want help, baby?” Y/N whispered.

As Taeyong nodded and mouthed an almost inaudible “please”, she moved to Taeyong’s left, kneeling by his side, leaving him in the middle of her and Doyoung. The other man also moved closer to Taeyong, with a caring look in his dark eyes and a soft smile.

Y/N’s head rested on Taeyong’s shoulder for a moment, caressing his thigh and gazing at the hard cock, red tip glistening. She turned her head to face him, guiding his face towards hers with her left hand.

“Can I kiss you, baby?” she asked.

Taeyong hummed and closed his eyes, leaning in to reach her lips. The kiss was gentle as Y/N rushed her hands over his torso.

After watching the view for a while, Doyoung decided to join the couple, kissing Taeyong’s right thigh without getting up. His right hand reached for the other man’s erection, pumping it softly, taking whimpers from Taeyong’s lips into Y/N’s mouth.

One of her hands went under his t-shirt to play with his sensitive nipples, squeezing them one at a time; her kiss dropped to his jaw and neck, freeing Taeyong’s moans and needy whimpers.

Doyoung removed the man’s hand from his own member in order to properly please him, tightening his grip over the flesh. Taeyong was already so aroused that even small touches made him feel like tumbling down, which was perfectly visible for the other two.

“Y/N, spit” Doyoung demanded.

The oldest growled as Y/N’s kisses abruptly stopped, opening his eyes to watch as the woman let a long string of saliva drip from her tongue onto his pulsating shaft. Y/N knew it wasn’t necessary since Taeyong’s cock was already wet from the pre-cum oozing from his tip, but her boys loved it messy.

She kept just watching as Doyoung started jerking Taeyong again, as the man closed his eyes again and made small hip trusts into the younger’s touch.

Then he reached Doyoung’s busy arm with her left hand, signaling him with her eyes to stop movements and let go of Taeyong’s dick. As he felt the touch vanish, Taeyong opened his eyes in despair, right in the moment Y/N bent in front of him and took the head of his member inside her hot mouth, sucking it lightly before pulling off to look at Taeyong’s face.

Doyoung raised himself and supported his torso in one elbow, the other hand still resting against the other’s leg.

When Y/N leaned in to lick at Taeyong’s cock again, Doyoung went in as well, both sticking their tongues out and licking it up and down repeatedly.

Taeyong whined and bucked his hip up, the sensation and the scene in front of him triggering his orgasm. His eyes fluttered shut involuntarily as spurts of cum trailed out of his cock. Y/N and Doyoung alternated the leaking member into their mouths, both eager to taste Taeyong’s seed.

As his climax ended, Taeyong squirmed in overstimulation as Y/N kissed the head of his softening cock before dropping it and kissing Doyoung, mixing the cum in their mouths. The couple moved to allow Taeyong into the kiss, having him taste himself.

“Now let’s go back to sleep, huh? You were so good to us, love” Doyoung whispered, kissing the other’s cheek and laying down again. By the time Taeyong recovered his breath and laid down again, dick back into his clothes, Y/N and Doyoung were drifting into sleep, caring to cuddle the oldest who laid in the middle of them. Doyoung rested his head by Taeyong’s, and Y/N positioned herself in the curve between his shoulders and neck. Taeyong mumbled a "thank you so much", and feeling Y/N's warm breath hitting his skin, he finally went back to sleep again.

A/N: I chose to put this by the end of the fic since there is a huge spoiler lol this is the first of all poly fics I worked on that I feel confident on posting (even though it does not involve a threesome or more than one person being pleasured). Also, about the disclaimer about not portraying their personalities - can you imagine Taeyong, as the cleaning maniac he is, just going back to sleep? LOL Feedback is always welcome!

[swearwolf-writes]

Sunset Curve not Sunset Straight (pt. 7)

It’s still dark. Alex is still crying and the boys are about to lose their minds. They would speak up every now and again, trying to remind them that they were still together despite everything.

Then there it was. Their song. The music fills their ears, deafening them. They stand up only to find the floor no longer under their feet. And then they were falling, flashes of light blinding them after so long in darkness, their screams drowning out the song.

They hit the ground heavily, grunts of pain escaping them as Reggie groans loudly, Luke gasping for breath as Alex pulls his cap back on. They stand and turn, looking around in surprise at their old studio. “Whoa! How did we get back here?” Luke pants only to be cut off by loud screaming. They turn and see a girl- a screaming girl-?! How in hell is there someone there- They scream in response, jumping in surprise at seeing another person in God only knows how long. She continues screaming as she runs away, the boys still holding each other.

“What the heck-” Reggie exhales deeply, studying the room intensely but wishing he was at the pier and that this was all one long nightmare. One moment he was here then he’s there - Santa Monica Pier.

----------

Luke and Alex look around, wondering where the hell Reggie went. “Reggie!” They shout and grumble, wondering how on Earth he disappeared, wishing to hell they were with him. And then they were. They gaped at the bright lights, shivering as people walked through them.

“Dude,” Alex stares at the swarm of people, holding onto Luke and Reggie, “we’re ghosts.” “What happened to the pier-?” Luke walks across the boardwalk slowly, taking in his surroundings in confusion. “We need to get back, to that girl who can see us. Maybe she knows what’s happening.”

They close their eyes and poof back into the garage, finding the curly haired girl with her backs to them. “.... saw something. I’m not crazy.”, she says to herself, lowering her cross to her side. “Well, we’re all a little crazy.” Luke responds playfully making the girl turn around in surprise, screaming again and pointing her cross at them. The boys jump and raise their hands defensively. “Oh my God! Please stop screaming!” Alex yells back, a hand over his ear. She quickly closes her mouth, the cross still aimed at them.

Once the screaming ceased, they tried to explain their situation to her, about how they were just ghosts who were very glad to be home. Reggie was very happy at being called a cute ghost and they were all so confused about having been dead for an apparent 25 years. Then finding out they could still play? Even though no one could see them, it was pretty amazing knowing that people could still hear their music and see them when they performed with the girl with the curly hair. Julie Molina.

She was special. She couldn’t see all ghosts but she could see them and because of her, people could see them. She saved them from so much, from themselves and from Caleb Covington. She saved them somehow, helped them play the Orpheum. They don’t know how they survived Caleb’s stamp or why they didn’t move on but they were so glad to still be with her.

Alex has Willie and Luke has Julie. And Reggie? Reggie…. has himself?

It’s 2020 and things couldn’t get any better. Or worse. Reggie can’t really tell some days. Thankfully, it’s currently the former.

Reggie has once again stolen Carlos’ laptop, researching Pride after hearing about it from Flynn. His eyes widen as he scrolls through page after page. He beams and runs into the studio, taking the laptop with him and completely forgetting that if Ray walks by, he’ll see the floating laptop. Oh well.

“Luke! Luke, Luke Luke! Check this out!” He plonks himself next to Luke, flushing when he leans in close to see the screen properly. “It’s, uh- it’s a load of stuff about Pride and like, there’s a bunch of names and stuff for different people and I, uh, I think I figured it out. Me, I mean. I think I figured me out.” He avoids Luke’s proud look as he flushes and scrolls down the page. “I think that’s me. ‘Bi is an umbrella term used to describe a romantic and/or sexual orientation towards more than one gender.’ Fun fact: my parents refused to let me know that bisexuality was a thing so this,” he points excitedly at the screen, “is awesome.” Luke shoots up and takes the laptop from Reggie, ignoring his offended ‘hey-!’. “Wait, there are names for this stuff-?” “Well, yeah, what did you think I came to tell you?” “That you finally admit you like guys.” He grins, staring at the screen intently as he reads through the definitions. “Everyone has a name, there’s one for everything.” “Wait, did you not know-?” Luke looks up at Reggie, flabbergasted. “Wait, you did-?” He looks offended, pouting slightly as he continues reading. “My parents didn’t want me knowing so I obviously had to know what it was. I just didn’t know I was it.” He slouches, watching how Luke’s eyes sparkle at this new world. “I mean, I knew people were cooler with all this stuff but like it’s a whole thing! We have names and flags and- holy shit, this is wicked!”

“Language.” Julie sits at the piano, reading through some songs she and Luke were working on. “Sorry-” The boy grins sheepishly, Julie and Reggie chuckling at how cute he was. “But this is awesome. I like this one, look: ‘pan refers to a person whose romantic and/or sexual attraction to others is not limited by sex or gender’. I think that’s me.” He glances back at Reggie, smiling widely as Julie shakes her head fondly at them. “Hey, check this out.” Reggie rests his chin on Luke’s shoulder, looking at the screen and ignoring his burning cheeks. “‘Polyamory refers to the practise of, or desire for, intimate relationships with more than one partner, with the informed consent of all parties involved’. There’s a name for that-?” He stares, entranced.

“Is that a thing? With you, I mean?” Julie sets the song book down, watching the boys intently. “When I was 16, I had a crush on this girl-” “Oh, Marlene-!” Reggie laughs quietly as he remembers his friend’s pining. “-and I used to think that we would be cute together but I thought that she and Doug-” “Her boyfriend at the time.” Reggie adds helpfully, winking at Julie’s amused smile. “-that they looked cute together. And I was just like ‘are you supposed to think you’d look cute with your crush and her boyfriend’ and then a year later, I realised I had a crush on Marlene and Doug so….” He trails off, blushing at the pair’s smitten looks. “What?” “You’re just…. cute when you’re excited.” “This makes sense to be excited about! There’s names - names that anyone can find just by searching it - that’s awesome!” He’s practically bouncing as Alex and Willie poof into the room.

“Hey.” Alex looks at Luke, raising an eyebrow. “He looks like that time he had 6 packets of Fun Dip-” “He’s got Pride fever.” Julie explains, grinning. “He joined the pan squad.” Luke squints at her, tilting his head. “I joined a squad-?” “I’m pan too.” She continues, jumping at the boys overlapping questions about why she didn’t tell them. “I thought I mentioned it?” “Yeah, no -  I would’ve remembered that.” Luke shakes his head in confusion. “I told Willie.” “Before your own bandmates-?” Reggie seems almost offended. “You can’t even see Willie.” Luke points out, his arms crossed. “Pen and paper.”

Alex turns to Willie. “How come you didn’t tell me?” “I was supposed to out your friend?” “Okay, fair enough. In which case, thank you for not telling me.” Willie chuckles at his strange not-boyfriend-but-more-than-a-friend. “You are the weirdest ghosts I’ve ever met.” “That’s fair.” Reggie nods, poofing into the corner when Carlos storms into the studio.

“Stop stealing my computer, man.” He whines, taking the device from Luke who gapes, whining when he turns the tabs off. “They’re your ghosts, they can steal your laptop.” He points at Julie, the young girl nodding seriously as she fights off a smile. “See ya later- or not- boy band.”, he calls, leaving as Julie and her phantoms burst into laughter.

[makaylajadewrites]

Almost Heaven

Summary: “You’re a very fascinating man, Spencer,” Hotch said simply in response, a suggestive message going unsaid. Reid frowned a bit, looking down to see that his wine was already more than halfway gone. When did that happen?…

This wasn’t mindless sex. This was love, existing between the two of them at degrees unquantifiable by mere human tools. It was perfect, and Spencer tried to imagine the rest of his life without experiencing this moment.

Pairing: Hotch/Reid

Potential tws: Smut, unrequited love, cheating/infidelity, angst

Word count: 3727

Read on AO3 here

--

Hotch had been staring at him all day. He could feel those dark, dangerous eyes tracing the shape of his figure while his nimble fingers worked over the map, pushing in color-coordinated thumb tacks. Red for dumpsites, blue for locations of interest, and black for local hotspots. That was only relevant because their four victims all happened to be teens and young adults, so by determining where they spent most of their time, they might be able to determine the common denominator between each victim.

But he couldn’t concentrate with Hotch’s constant and unwavering gaze. It was enough to make Reid somewhat uncomfortable, and the squeak of weight lifting off of a chair was enough to send a shiver up his spine. He didn’t look back, trying to keep his attention on the map in front of him when Hotch came to stand directly beside him. The lack of space between them was anxiety fueling for Reid, and he slowly turned his head to acknowledge his superior with a quirked brow, though the way his bottom lip caught between his teeth didn’t go unnoticed.

Hotch eyed him with an intense, yet oddly expressive look, and it sent a shiver directly down his spine. “Sir?…” he questioned, his voice cracking from his nerves. They had both been making predictions and voicing theories, and the sudden change from Hotch was a little disconcerting for Reid. He didn’t let it show though, save for the apparent confusion on his face which Hotch barely even paid attention to.

“I have a proposition for you, Spencer,” he said out of the blue, and Reid jerked his head upwards in surprise towards his unit chief, the mere two inch height difference now seeming bigger than ever. He felt small, insignificant beside his superior, but the eye contact between them never wavered.

“A proposition?” he parroted, feeling his heart racing in his chest now, faster than ever before.

“Yes,” Hotch confirmed, his voice low, enough to make Reid aware that he was being quiet on purpose. “After this case… We should blow off some steam together. Maybe some drinks at my place,” he suggested, and Reid swore his eyes had bulged out of his head from the shock of the statement, and a familiar tingling built up in his stomach.

“Wh-Wha-Sir, th-that’s… we can’t—“ Reid’s incessant rambling was cut off by a finger pressing to his lips, and Hotch acknowledged him with a strangely humored quirk of his lips and rise of his brows. Spencer felt his cheeks burn, and the blush on his face and neck was prominent. “Reid, if we aren’t at work, we can be friends. You’re friends with Morgan and JJ right?”

“And Penelope and Emily…” he hummed in embarrassment, and the chuckle that rumbled above him was uncharacteristic enough for Spencer’s eyes to fly upwards again.

“Exactly my point. Relax, it’s not worth stressing over. You can always say no, of course,” Hotch reminded gently, his hand gently coming up to cup the curve of Reid’s elbow, and Spencer couldn’t help the instinctive flinch at the unexpected contact, but Hotch’s hand didn’t move and he felt an odd sense of calm from its stabilizing hold. He nodded and swallowed nervously, forcing a smile on his lips since it was very difficult to tell a man like Hotch no.

That lingered on his mind all day, and Reid found himself both nervous and excited at the prospect of spending time with a man like Hotch.

~

Spencer had known he was abnormal for a long time. Ever since he was a kid, really, since he had never been able to fit in with the others. But that probably had something to do with the age gap between him and his peers, because while Spencer was barely on the cusp of puberty, the teens in his graduating class were nearly full grown adults. They had explored their sexuality, grown into themselves and expanded on their ability to network with others. But Spencer? Spencer was still just a child; he had no idea who he was yet, despite the fact that he could solve the most complicated of equations within a matter of seconds. He was inexperienced even now at the age of twenty-four. He had never kissed anyone before, not a man or a woman.

Aaron was definitely handsome to Spencer, even if he was ten years his senior and, most importantly, married with a baby. But growing up the way he had, he was more accustomed to spending time with people who were older than him, which probably explained why he found older people more attractive. They were mature, grown up, and much more responsible than young adults like himself. Even he was an old soul, preferring a good book and a cup of coffee over blinding club lights and sickly sweet alcohol.

Spencer, despite his participation in sexual activities, liked to identify himself as bisexual. The older he got though, he realized he had a lean towards men over women. Women were pretty, men were handsome, but something about being with a man seemed more appealing to him. A lot of women were attracted to the typical alpha male, and Spencer was honestly no different. He found Derek attractive for one, but they were better off as brothers than lovers. Besides, Derek was as straight as they came, and he couldn’t possibly hold any interest in men, least of all Spencer Reid. But Aaron? Aaron Hotchner was on a whole other level. Even if he was married.

That was probably why Spencer had been able to convince himself that spending time with Aaron might not be so bad. He sat in his car, parked across the street from the Hotchner house while scrubbing his sweaty palms over his dress pants. He still had on his clothes from work that day, although his sweater vest and tie were absent and currently on his bedroom floor. His coat was wrapped around himself, his thick glasses perched on his nose. He was biting his lip, gnawing the sensitive flesh between his teeth while staring at the lighted porch, noticing that only one car was in the driveway - Hotch’s car. This was beginning to look more and more like a suggestive escapade, and he was growing anxious.

He needed to get himself together.

This was just two friends hanging out after work, having a few drinks, doing guy things.

That was all it could be. Hotch wouldn’t cheat on his wife and Reid would never let it get that far.

With a deep breath, Reid got out of his car and stepped foot on the porch, his trembling hand wrapping against the mahogany. God, he was nervous, more nervous than he should have been, and he was afraid of embarrassing himself in front of Hotch, a man he found both attractive and admired deeply. This was a terrible idea, but he didn’t have the chance to back out, because soon, the door opened and there stood Aaron, as casual as could be, wearing a pair of jeans and a dark, v neck tee shirt.

Spencer felt like a fool, more than he ever had in his entire life. He was so insignificant compared to Hotch, even now, outside of work hours. Hotch was a handsome man, married with a kid, he owned a house all his own, a nice car, and still, he could look at Spencer and make him feel things he had never felt before. It frightened him a bit, and it made him somewhat worried about what was to come. He paled in comparison to Hotch, and Reid was definitely feeling that now, dressed like he was while Hotch was as comfortable as could be in normal out-of-the-office attire. He should have just left when he had the chance, just drove away and gone back home where he felt safe in his little bubble with a book and—

“Come inside,” Hotch said as friendly as could be, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. Reid’s lashes fluttered in slight apprehension, but he entered the house and stood awkwardly in the foyer while Hotch closed the door behind him. “I have bourbon and wine. The wine is Hailey’s, but she won’t mind,” he said dismissively, and Reid watched incredulously as Hotch strode across his living room in the direction of the kitchen as if this were the slightest bit normal.

“I-I can do a glass of wine…” he settled eventually, Hotch’s inquisitive stare meeting him from the kitchen.

“Good. Make yourself comfortable,” Aaron said calmly, and even though his nerves were on high alert, Spencer did just that. He slipped his coat off before sitting on the couch, holding it awkwardly in his lap while he waited tensely for Aaron to return. Alcohol was definitely sounding better and better. He needed something to help him relax anyway. Aaron eventually came back, carrying two glasses; wine and bourbon. Spencer took the wine glass hesitantly, and the second their fingers brushed together he felt a spark shoot up his arm, but he knew it had to only be him since Aaron didn’t react at all.

“I’m surprised you came,” Hotch said, sitting beside him on the couch, angled towards him with one of his legs crossed over the other. He regarded Spencer with an expression that was not unkind. In fact, it lingered somewhere near fondness and warmth. Spencer took a sip of the wine, hoping that one drink alone would settle his nerves some.

“Me too, actually,” he murmured rather embarrassedly, and Hotch let another rare smile form on his lips. Spencer smiled back shyly, reaching a hand up to push his bangs back, even though they seemed quite fixed, over his forehead.

“I’m glad you did though,” Hotch countered, and Spencer gulped down another drink before even bothering to think of a response.

“Why?” he questioned then, turning his upper body to face Aaron, his brows raised a bit since he genuinely was curious as to why Hotch would want to spend time with him of all people. It seemed to him like Hotch would have a much more enjoyable time with someone like Gideon, but for some reason, he was interested in Spencer. He didn’t quite understand it, and regardless of Hotch’s response, he doubted he ever really would.

“Do I have to explain my every motive to you?” Hotch said almost teasingly, and Spencer was realizing how much he liked to see him smile. He looked down and shrugged a bit, a smile lingering on his own face.

“I guess not. I just never would have imagined you would willingly want to spend time with me. Not many people do,” Spencer explained briefly, as deprecating as it was. But it was the truth, and Hotch must realize how odd it was for him to spend time with the young doctor outside of work.

“You’re a very fascinating man, Spencer,” Hotch said simply in response, a suggestive message going unsaid. Reid frowned a bit, looking down to see that his wine was already more than halfway gone. When did that happen?…

“Am I?” He asked, his voice a bit quieter. He looked up towards Hotch again through his dark lashes, and Hotch’s hand slowly came over to rest on his thigh. And the worst part was that it wasn’t unwelcome either.

“You are,” Hotch clarified, his own voice dropping as that hand slowly slid up and up and up to the juncture of his hip and thigh, and then back down to his knee where it squeezed just slightly. Reid’s eyes followed the movement very closely, his tongue flicking out over his lips. He downed the rest of his wine, and Hotch’s hand gently took the glass from him, setting it aside in favor of touching Reid again.

“We shouldn’t, Hotch,” he said, finding his voice eventually even if it was nearly a whisper. His hand came over top of Hotch’s on his leg, but Hotch didn’t waver at all. “What about Hailey?”

“What about her?” Hotch murmured, and the young doctor gasped in surprise as Aaron’s lips attached to his neck, suckling gently and trailing kisses up to the curve of his jaw, nearing his chin.

“She’s your wife,” Spencer reminded through quiet hums, and Hotch’s hot breath exhaled over his collarbones as he sighed.

“Forget about her,” Aaron murmured, rising his head up and cupping Spencer’s cheek with a warm palm. “Only think about me.”

The second their lips connected, Spencer felt all previous apprehension and hesitance leave his body. He was caught up in a whirlwind of desire and Aaron Hotchner, and although it scared him, he couldn’t back out now. This was happening, and Spencer was enjoying it far too much to even think of pulling away now. Hotch’s lips were warm against his own, and despite his own inexperience, he was guided through his first kiss very carefully and slowly, and he never knew that it could be that nice. “Come here,” he heard in a whisper, and Spencer instantly slid closer, Aaron’s hands leading him gently on top of him. Spencer’s legs straddled Aaron’s lap, and he looked down from his newly elevated position at Aaron’s face. Aaron looked more pleased than ever, his dark eyes locked onto his face while his hands found purchase over his bony hips.

A hand rose to his chin, gripping it gently and bringing him down so that their lips could meet once more. It was brief at first, just a gentle pressure, but soon it turned into something much more. Reid shuffled above Hotch as they kissed, and he moaned into the other man’s mouth as their hips slotted together, their arousals evident to one another. Hotch pulled back slowly, not saying a word as a hand danced down the column of buttons on his shirt, and one by one, they were undone and his chest was bared. Spencer shivered at the warm hands that touched his cool skin, and he felt more alive than he had in a long, long time. A muted moan burned in his throat as fingers flicked over his nipples and pinched the sensitive buds, and Aaron rumbled in laughter beneath him. “Sensitive, hm?” He murmured teasingly, and the younger man bit his lip, nodding his head frantically.

“A-A little…” Spencer confessed embarrassedly, his hands gripping onto Hotch’s shoulders. Hotch didn’t respond immediately, running his fingers over every inch of his torso before stopping suddenly. A hand came to his neck, the thumb brushing over his jaw.

“Bedroom?” He suggested, and despite the moral contradiction raging on inside of Spencer’s head, he nodded his head.

It felt wrong, to be laying half naked in Hotch’s bed where he slept with his wife. But his mind was taken elsewhere as a hand swiftly undid his pants and slipped inside to pay attention to the heat built up in his groin. Spencer moaned as that hand cupped his arousal, and he gazed up at Hotch, pupils blown wide with lust and kiss-swollen lips parted erotically. Hotch must have liked what he saw, because he loomed over him and bowed his head for their lips to meet once more, his hand fondling his cock through the wet fabric of his boxers.

“Oh god,” Spencer heard himself breathe, the friction of his boxers over the head of his erection enough to send him over the edge. He whimpered, evidence of his climax now coating the inside of his boxers. His face glowed red in embarrassment, but Hotch didn’t view him with any negative judgement. Instead, he smiled and slipped his hand out of his pants, stroking down his side and letting his fingers dip into every indent of his ribcage. Spencer panted quietly, looking away to hide his shame.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“Don’t apologize,” Hotch said without missing a beat, licking his lips, “You are gorgeous, Spencer.”

Spencer’s eyes widened a bit, and he grasped onto the front of Hotch’s shirt to drag him upwards, craving his attention once more. He had yet to initiate a kiss on his own, but he did this time, and while it was a bit sloppy, it was still passionate. Hotch didn’t seem to mind either, moving to take off Reid’s pants and soiled underwear. He pushed them over the edge of the bed before returning his focus to Spencer’s now bare body. They both moved back from the kiss, and the young doctor pouted a bit beneath Aaron, his lanky legs spreading almost on instinct while his arms dropped to rest over his head. “I don’t like being the only one naked,” he hummed, and Aaron chuckled, leaning in to kiss his cheek almost affectionately.

“I guess we’ll have to change that then,” he mumbled, sitting up on his knees between Spencer’s thighs and slipped his shirt off over his head, his toned abdomen making Spencer feel so small yet again. Hotch’s pants and underwear soon followed, and Spencer bashfully looked over Aaron’s body, his own insignificance shining through to him, although he didn’t bother to voice it. It was too humiliating, and he was just glad that Aaron didn’t seem to think of him that way.

“It’s never too late to say no, Reid,” Hotch reminded him gently but sternly, running a hand up his leg, from his calf to his thigh, and letting it rest there steadily.

“I don’t want to say no,” Spencer admitted, and that was enough for Hotch. He reached over into the bedside table, withdrawing a gold-packaged condom and a bottle of lube. Hotch wasted no time in squirting the lube over his fingers, smirking slightly at Reid as they slipped between his legs. A digit circled his puckered entrance and Spencer gasped at the sensation, looking up at Hotch nervously. Hotch didn’t say anything, but he made sure to maintain eye contact between the two of them. Spencer realized then that this was so much more than a measly one-night stand. This was genuine affection, and Hotch’s gentleness and concern for his wellbeing made him aware of that. That didn’t mean this was any less wrong.

A finger slipped in slowly, twirling against his tight walls in hopes of helping him relax. Spencer took a deep, shaky breath, exhaling slowly to aid that process, and soon, one finger turned into two. Aaron’s other hand had raised to his cock by then, pumping him slowly while his fingers scissored open his hole. Spencer was not a quiet man in bed, he had learned. He was very vocal, very responsive, and that seemed to egg Hotch on more.

A third finger breached his entrance soon thereafter, a breathless moan passing Reid’s lips. Hotch brought one of his legs over his shoulder, pressing kisses to the side of his kneecap while his fingers slid in and out of his ass with audible wet noises. Before Reid could slip over the edge again, Hotch’s hand stilled and he withdrew his fingers, his tight body barely letting them go. Hotch leaned down to press their lips together once more, their foreheads knocking together gently. “Are you ready?” Aaron asked in a whisper, and Spencer quickly bobbed his head yes without even considering the consequences. Aaron made him feel real, and he never wanted that to go away.

It was more painful than Spencer had remembered. His body fell apart in Aaron’s hands, his walls stretching around the other man’s cock as he bottomed out within him. Spencer was already a panting mess, their eyes never straying from one another.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Hotch breathed against his lips, giving Spencer all the time in the world to adjust the intrusion. Spencer had no idea sex could be this good, but Aaron’s constant praises probably had something to do with his new realization. They lazily kissed each other while giving the pain time to subside, and when it did, Spencer’s hand came up to Hotch’s face. The older man instantly moved to press his face further into his palm.

“Move,” Spencer breathed, and Hotch’s hips instantly began to rock back and forth at a slow, steady rhythm, his cock slipping in and out of his body with little resistance. This wasn’t mindless sex. This was love, existing between the two of them at degrees unquantifiable by mere human tools. It was perfect, and Spencer tried to imagine the rest of his life without experiencing this moment. His lips parted, moans slipping from him effortlessly as Aaron picked up the pace, moving much quicker than before and essentially turning Spencer’s brain to mush. This was almost heaven, and even though he was being fucked by a married man, he wouldn’t have it any other way, because this was close as he could get to heaven.

“Aaron… Touch me Aaron,” he begged in between his cries of pleasure, his voice reaching octaves unheard before. Aaron’s hand wrapped around his weeping cock once more, and that was pretty much the breaking point. Less than two minutes later, he was coming hard, sobbing out loud as his release spurted over Aaron’s fingers and onto his own belly. Hotch continued his own movements, gradually growing sporadic while his own grunts and groans grew in volume. Soon, he reached his own climax, milking himself in Spencer’s tightened passage for several thrusts. He pressed kisses across Spencer’s face, their lips meeting on several occasions until he rode out his orgasm, slipping out unceremoniously. He rolled the condom off of his softening cock, reaching over for a few tissues to clean up his younger partner.

He laid down after and gathered the younger man in his arms, a hand rubbing up and down his back. “Good… That was really good,” the older man murmured lowly into his hair, now damp with sweat. Spencer was faced with the realization of his actions, his eyes wide and watery, the emotions coming in shockwaves. Despite this, he huddled further into Hotch’s chest, the older man falling asleep shortly after. The overwhelming feelings of guilt and despair manifested in his very being, tightening his throat and collapsing his lungs until he was caught in a silent fit of sobs besides his temporary lover’s sleeping form.

This wouldn’t last.

It wouldn’t be forever, but perhaps it was never meant to be.

[crystalstar8]

Knights of the Night (Epilogue)

Epilogue

Ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8, ch 9, ch 10, ch 11, ch 12, ch 13, ch 14, ch 15, ch 16, ch 17, ch 18, ch 19, ch 20, ch 21, ch 22, ch 23, epilogue 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139240/chapters/71536491

pairing: Jungkook x oc

genre: vampire au, college au, twilight, romance

word count: 1,587

warnings: blood (obviously), kidnapping, child kidnapping, needles, France, human trafficking

notes: vampires, vampire au, college, college au, so many twilight references, blood, needles, kidnapping, children, homelessness, dance, ballet, flashbacks, romance, slow burn, probably no smut, idk yet tho, France, French things, attempted genocide, inaccurate French history, bisexual main character, @strawberriewithchocolate-blog @mozy-j  @daechwitad-2​ @zobadak​ @fallenstar-7​​​

summary: Catalina starts college in a small town all the way across the country. She doesn’t know anyone and isn’t exactly looking for friends. She just wants to focus on dance. But when she meets fellow dance major, Jimin, and adventurous, fellow freshman, Jungkook, Catalina ends up discovering a whole new side to the small college town; one that is dangerous but oh so enticing...

                 Catalina took one last glance around her room before heading downstairs. She heard Jimin’s voice, which put a wide smile on her face. Him and Taehyung were back on time, which meant they’d be able to come with everyone that afternoon.

               She ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time, before landing in the foyer. Taehyung and Jimin were taking their shoes off and setting their bags down, chatting with Hoseok and Namjoon. Catalina threw her arms around Jimin and asked him, “How was your trip?”

               He pulled away and smiled wide, his eyes disappearing. “It was incredible. I’ll tell you all about it later.”

               “I can’t wait,” Catalina said, smiling just as wide.

               “We were gonna go to the beach later,” said Hoseok. “Do you want to go with us?”

               “Sure! I think we’ll mostly just relax, though,” said Taehyung.

               “Here, I’ll help you unpack so you can get yourselves settled before we go,” Hoseok said, following them back out the car. Catalina left the foyer and went into the kitchen. The kitchen was beautiful, so different from when she first came into this house. They had it remodeled, actually, they had a lot of the house remodeled. Everything was a bit more modern, but their antiques were mostly still around. Even Yoongi redid his bedroom, saying he didn’t want to sleep in a rat’s nest anymore. He made an incredible amount of money on the antiques in that room, the museums practically begging him to part with them.

               The light was on in the kitchen when Catalina entered, which meant Jungkook was in there. Sure enough, he was standing in front of the fridge, staring into its contents with bleary eyes. His hair was a floof on top of his head and his pajamas were rumpled. Catalina came up behind him and wrapped her arms around him. She laid her head on his back and listened to the steady rhythm of his heart, something she’s become so very familiar with.

               “What will you have for breakfast?” she asked. He grunted in response, shifting some containers around on the shelf. He finally chose a container of leftovers and cracked the lid to sniff it. He sniffed it three times before deciding it was edible and dumping it on a plate. While it was heating up, he turned and opened his arms, letting Catalina settle into him.

               “Are you gonna surf today?” he asked.

               “You asked me that yesterday,” Catalina said with a giggle.

               “And you said no yesterday!” he said. She could feel his laughter in his chest where her head was resting.

               “Maybe,” she said. “I heard the teaching process is very hands on.”

               He chuckled and said, “Where did you hear that?”

               “Hm, I don’t remember,” she said. The microwave beeped and Jungkook let Catalina go so he could grab his food. She pulled a blood bag out of the fridge and sat down with him at the dining table, sipping at her drink while he ate.

               “What are you guys doing up so early?”

               Yoongi wandered into the kitchen with messy hair and tired eyes.

               “It’s beach day!” Jungkook said, much more awake now that he was eating. “You’re coming, right?”

               “No.”

               “Yoongi, you don’t have to swim or surf or anything,” said Catalina. “You can just sleep on the beach. Or drink wine on the beach. You need the fresh air, you’ve been at your piano for days. Plus, I think everyone would really like to spend some time with you.”

               “When are you going?” he asked.

               “We’re heading out around eleven,” said Catalina.

               “Oh. I’ll think about it,” Yoongi said. “Are Taehyung and Jimin back yet?”

               “Yes, they just walked in a little while ago,” said Catalina.

               “Good,” he said. “I’m glad their flight wasn’t delayed.”

               With that, he left the room.

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

               During the drive to the beach, Catalina made sure to sit in the back of the Jeep with Jimin.

               “So, tell me about the trip,” she said, a giddy smile on her face.

               “Ah, it was perfect!” said Jimin. “I’ve never been to Arizona before so I didn’t really know what to expect about the weather or anything. It really is very dry there. The heat is like heat from an oven. And the places we saw were so beautiful. We camped in the Grand Canyon and… it was insane. The Grand Canyon is insane. Everything was so incredible. And at night, you could see the stars perfectly. When we camped in Death Valley, there was absolutely no light pollution for miles so the sky was amazing. We saw the Milky Way.”

               “Oh wow,” Catalina sighed.

               “You and Jungkook should go next summer,” said Jimin. “You’d love it.”

               “Yeah, I would do that,” said Catalina. “That sounds like a lot of fun. We need to make up for our last trip.”

               They sat in silence for a while before Jimin said, “I can’t believe we’re going to France in two weeks.”

               “I know!” said Catalina. “I can’t believe it! This is something I’ve been waiting for my entire life and I’ll finally be able to do it!”

               “Is your solo ready?” Jimin asked.

               “I mean, as ready as it’ll ever be,” said Catalina. “You know how it is.”

Her and Jimin had both taken the winter semester off to recover from their transformations and to get used to their new bodies. Catalina used that time to choreograph a solo worthy of an audition in France. By now, the beginning of summer, she had perfected it as much as she could.

“I’m going to the studio to practice it tomorrow,” said Catalina. “You should come with me. You can help, or just watch. You haven’t seen it finished yet.”

“What time? I’m babysitting tomorrow,” said Jimin.

“Oh right! You’re doing that every Tuesday now, aren’t you?” said Catalina.

Jimin nodded and said, “Yep, Caleb’s sister has dance on Tuesdays, so I’ll just be there for a few hours.”

“Are you still gonna do that when classes start? You’re signing up for classes in the fall, right?” she asked.

“Yeah, I don’t want to fall behind any more than I am,” said Jimin.

“Me too,” said Catalina. Then she smiled and grabbed Hoseok’s shoulder over the driver’s seat. “And you’re starting classes with us too, aren’t you?”

He laughed and said, “I sure am!”

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

The weather was perfect, and according to Jungkook, the water was ideal for beginner’s surfing. They got set up on a relatively empty patch of the beach. The family closest to them had a few kids, who were building a sandcastle near the water. It was Monday, so thankfully there weren’t too many other people there. Yoongi laid out a beach blanket and immediately laid down, covering his face with his sun hat. He was almost completely covered, with long sleeves and long pants. Catalina figured he was trying to protect his pasty white skin.

               Jimmy K settled down beside Yoongi with a thick book. Catalina had assumed he would be surfing with them that day; he seemed like the type to surf. Jimin and Taehyung lathered themselves in sunscreen and took their spots near the cooler, relaxing and watching the fun just like they promised. After shedding her shorts and tank top to reveal her new white bikini, Catalina lathered herself in sunscreen, since she could already feel herself burning. Then she grabbed her board and met the others down by the water.

At some point, the family next to them left and they were left to themselves on their private stretch of beach.

Catalina, Namjoon, and Hoseok kept their eyes on Jungkook and Jin, who were teaching them the basics of how to surf. They all had boards, rented ones for the newbies, and Catalina was excited to get out on the water. With every glance at the ocean behind her, she felt nervousness twist in her stomach. She had to keep reminding herself that she wouldn’t drown and she wouldn’t get hurt. Her body was stronger than it used to be, which was something she still hadn’t completely gotten used to.

                They were standing on their boards, Jin showing them how to position their feet. Jungkook went to each of them, giving them pointers or fixing their positions. He stepped onto Catalina’s board behind her and nudged her right foot forward a bit, hands on her bare waist.

               “Just keep your knees bent and your legs spread a bit more,” he said. His bare chest was pressed up against her back.

               “…And if you guys fall off, just let the current roll you until it’s settled, then come up,” Jin was saying. “But you guys won’t drown anyway, so no harm.”

               “Right, no harm,” Jungkook said, his hand sliding down to her butt.

She giggled and turned around to face him.

“Did Hoseok get this treatment when you helped him?” she asked with a wide smile on her face.

“He would probably like that,” Jungkook said with a laugh. “But this is only reserved for my favorite students.”

“Ooh, so Namjoon got this too,” Catalina said, winding her arms over his bare shoulders. He threw his head back and laughed. This was her favorite song. The sounds of his laughter, the waves hitting the beach, The seagulls calling overhead, his heart beating in his chest.

Catalina leaned up to press her lips against his, the board wobbling in the sand beneath their feet.

She never wanted this song to end.

[we-are-inevitable]

modern art // javid (ch. 1)

A/N: hi !! so some of you may remember an old songfic i did in march of last year, titled ‘modern art’ after the song “IDK You Yet” by Alexander 23. well, i’ve always thought that that one shot would work great as a stand alone fic, and here we are! i have ch. 1 edited and SO MUCH of it as changed- like, for example, the fic is a chapter fic now !! regardless, i hope you guys like this !!

WARNINGS: depression, anxiety, self-deprecation, past addiction, mentions of addiction, just general Bad Times- pls be mindful when reading !! it’s just very Not Happy rn ADDITIONAL INFO: all characters are in their mid-twenties in the fic. oh also this is probably important but it’s a soulmate au !!

Read On AO3!

tag list: @bound-for-santa-fe @wannabecowboypunk @shippingcannons @yahfancyclamwiththepurlinside @smallsies @deliciouspeachpirate @newsies-is-my-erster 

Jack doesn't know what’s going on with himself, but he knows that he could really use his soulmate right about now.

They’ve communicated before. Never verbally, and never enough to reveal who they were. Perhaps they are both just... dealing with some unspoken fears, dealing with the worry of rejection sitting heavy in their chests. Perhaps they both like this mystery- the uncertainty that came with the notes scrawled across their bodies in a handwriting that isn’t their own.

Or perhaps they just aren’t ready to take the plunge. To grow up and face the harsh fact that, as soon as they meet, wherever and whenever that may be, a new chapter of their life will unfold. Consume them. Change anything and everything they’ve ever known or held dear.

They had been braver when they were children, that much was true. Jack remembers staying up late often, writing notes on his skin and watching in awe as the replies appeared. He remembers the giddy rush of trying to quickly wash off the ink on his wrist when they ran out of space to talk, and, oh, how they talked. There were school days when Jack would go to class exhausted, feeling like he’d been walking through quicksand for miles on end, but all of it had been worth it. The exhaustion he felt had been worth being able to talk to them until two, three, four in the morning. Sometimes he regretted it, of course, but only because it was harder for him to focus in class. Never because he was upset at them.

He could never be upset with them.

Even now, Jack remembers a lot about his soulmate. They liked music. They knew how to play the piano. They were into a few video games, even some that Jack had never played, and said that they always tried carrying a book with them wherever they went. Jack remembers that, as a younger kid, they liked Harry Potter and Percy Jackson, but also liked analyzing Shakespeare and Edgar Allen Poe and a bunch of other fancy authors that Jack had never even heard of. They were intimidatingly smart, and sometimes, would carefully correct Jack’s grammar whenever he misspelled a word or something- but they were never mean about it, they were just… there. A steady presence that he could count on.

Fifteen year old Jack dreamed of finding them one day. But now, twenty-five year old Jack is losing hope.

He can’t exactly help it. For starters, he and his soulmate haven’t communicated in… well, shit, it had to be nearly a year. Maybe nine months or so, but there’s no way to tell for sure, and even then, their conversations since reaching adulthood have been dull, for lack of a better word. A few positive comments here, a ‘have a good day’ there- it’s all so mundane, and neither of them can be blamed for it. They both have busy lives- or, well, Jack does, at least. His job as a graphic designer is hard enough on its own, but the added pressure of doing freelance work and commissions on the side has been eating away at him for weeks, coupled with debilitating self-doubt and lack of motivation for… anything.

Saying that he’s overwhelmed is the understatement of the century.

There is always another design, another client, another meeting, another deadline, another sleepless night as he stares at a blank canvas and prays for a spark of inspiration from whatever God is listening. Usually his inspiration comes from the world around him- his friends, city life, even the quiet confines of his apartment, but right now... Jack is stuck. He had holed himself up in his room days ago, trying and failing to get out of bed every morning when the time came to work- and thank God that the majority of his work could be done from home. His boss was understanding, too, to an extent.

Still, though, there’s a constant heavy weight on his chest that prevents him from moving most days, and he’s lucky if he even gets up long enough to shower or eat or do literally anything aside from lie in silence and count the cracks in his ceiling.

Nothing had happened to him recently to bring this on, from what he can tell. Jack has always been the happy-go-lucky leader, the man with a plan, the guy who always knew just what to say to motivate others into doing the best thing for themselves, but when that responsibility is reflected back onto himself, Jack feels helpless. There are words waiting to be said, sketches waiting to be drawn, designs waiting to be sent to clients… yet Jack lies there, motionless in his room for three days before he even has the energy, the willpower, to pull back his curtains and allow the sunlight to shine through. There is so much he wants to do, so much he needs to do, but he can't bring himself to do any of it.

In all twenty-five years of his life, through all of the things he’s been through, the ups and downs and foster homes and graduations and birthdays and funerals and therapists and rehab facilities and whatever the fuck else life decided to throw at him, Jack has never felt so worthless, so… lonely. His closest friends are all moving on with their lives. Many have already found their soulmate, have settled down and hidden their rowdy, rambunctious pasts behind skeletons in a closet. They’d all gotten their adventures done and over with in high school and college, and most are moving onto bigger and better things in life. They have careers. Families. Some have children, others have pets, a few have an insane amount of plants to care for.

All have seemingly left Jack behind in the dust.

No one told him when to flip the switch.

No one told him when he had aged out of adventure.

Now, they would never say it, but Jack knows. He knows. Saturday hangouts and trips to the bar had been replaced by Sunday church services and playdates for the kids. Rather than hearing yelling from his living room after his friends had all been teetering just on the edge between tipsy and fucked up, Jack hears the news, and documentaries, and podcasts, and the ghosts of a past life that he still seemed to be desperately clinging on to.

Katherine had been the one to tell him that he needed to grow up, though she didn’t put it in such a blunt manner. No, she’s just.... gently urging him to find a bigger apartment, or buy matching furniture from a place that is not a thrift store, or purchase dishes that weren’t of the plastic Walmart brand. She says it was because she wants to see him in a more professional, "adulty" lifestyle, but he knows it’s really because she can see that he’s a mess.

Deep down, Jack knows she’s right. She’s always right.

He just can’t help but feel cemented in place, dreaming of the past while dreading the new future ahead of him.

Jack never asked to feel so broken for no reason. All of the hope and optimism he had felt as a teenager was gone, lost in a sea of uncertain plans and shitty jobs and bill extensions and canvases dropped onto the floor with no rhyme or reason. And, yes, maybe Jack would look dramatic to someone who didn’t know his situation, but Jack knows what dramatic feels like. Dramatic feels like watching his best friend, Charlie, belt onstage in front of a backdrop that he helped create for the school play. Dramatic feels like laughing at the top of his lungs while walking through a random gas station at two in the morning, joined by Race and Al, all while higher than a kite. Dramatic feels like driving to the outskirts of the city with Katherine, climbing onto the roof of an old building and screaming about all of their stress, their anxiety, their insecurities, just to have some form of emotional release.

Dramatic doesn’t feel like sadness. It’s not supposed to.

Not for Jack.

He had been so… so happy, as a teenager. Proud and defiant and carefree. He was the kind of guy to skate and smoke weed in Central Park until midnight and take a math test at eight in the morning the next day. He was the kid who stood on a table in the cafeteria and came out as bisexual to everyone around him, just because of a dumbass bet that he didn’t even get paid for. He was the boy who wasn’t at all good in an academic sense, but who always knew how to talk himself out of trouble, who always came up with the most ridiculous- or most believable- lies to cover his ass when he needed it, who was always the class favorite, the teacher’s pet without meaning to be.

Jack had felt on top of the world back then, but now he’s struggling to even get off of the ground. The longer time goes on, the more lost Jack feels inside his own life. He feels like something was missing, something big. Something bigger than himself.

When his mother was alive, which now felt like lifetimes ago, she would often echo this old wives’ tale about how it’s best to find your soulmate while you’re younger, just to save them- and yourself- the pain of being alone for a long time. Jack had always kind of believed her; logically, he knew it was true, but he had always told himself that it wouldn’t happen to him. That he would be fine alone, though it wouldn’t be ideal, and that he would have plenty of time for soulmates after he got out and made a name for himself.

He’s starting to think, though, that maybe she was right. Maybe Jack had waited too long to make a move, to make contact again, because now, he just feels nauseous even thinking about it.

Don’t get him wrong, he knows the negative effects of self deprecation and not taking his own mental health seriously, he’s been to rehab before, blah, blah, blah, but, fuck, how could he put his soulmate through something like this? This fucked up state of mind he has now. Jack can’t even imagine talking to Katherine about this, and Katherine had been his best friend for over a decade. He can’t just meet his soulmate now- it’s been too long, he’s too messed up, they won’t like him, they’ll hate him for not trying hard enough, and Jack will just end up alone again, wasting away in his bedroom because no one fucking cares. No one cares. He has nobody.

That’s not true. He has Medda, his mom, his savior, his impulse control, but the thought of telling her that everything is acting up again makes him want to scream. He has Tony, but Tony has Al, and Tony and Al have a kid- a sweet little five year old girl who calls Jack ‘Uncle Jackie’ and takes no shit from anyone. He has Katherine, but Katherine has her soulmate- this dude named Darcy, who Jack doesn’t have much of an opinion on because they just met, like, a month ago, and Jack hasn’t exactly been emotionally ready for a hangout session between the three of them. He also has Charlie, and Charlie has certainly seen him in worse times- like when Jack was kind of hooked on pills for the entirety their freshman year of college- but Charlie has grad school to worry about and Charlie would hate him if he bothered him with this.

Still, there are other people who would listen, probably. He could easily talk to Elmer, or Romeo, or Specs, or Jojo or Finch or Sean or a fucking therapist but that’s just it, isn’t it? If he talks, he burdens, and Jack Francisco Kelly would rather run himself into the ground than be a burden anyone.

So, he makes a vow.

He makes eye contact with his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He’s gripping onto the sink, holding on for dear life, as he stares into his own sunken eyes. He takes in his appearance. Damp, messy hair, falling down to cover his forehead. Pale skin, which isn’t normal at all. Dark circles have taken their place around his eyes, and his smile- one of his favorite things about himself- is… nonexistent.

Distantly, Jack registers himself dumping a full bottle of ibuprofen into the sink. And then, he does the same thing with the bottle of melatonin from his medicine cabinet. The valium follows. He lets the water run for a long time. It's not that he doesn't trust himself- he'd done so, so good in rehab, and he doesn't even feel urges that often anymore- but it's better safe than sorry, especially since he's like... this.

This is not the Jack Kelly he’s used to anymore. This is not the Jack Kelly he wants to be.

But this Jack Kelly is the one who vows not to reach out. The one who vows to only answer when his soulmate is ready, and maybe not even then.

He doesn’t have to wait long, though.

Not when a heart appears on the back of his hand the next morning.

It’s there when Jack wakes up, and, honestly, it almost brings Jack to tears- but not necessarily for happy reasons. Sure, Jack wants to be happy. Who wouldn’t be happy after seeing something like this? A lopsided heart drawn in red ink, right on the back of his left hand- it was the definition of a symbol, of a romantic gesture, and Jack wants so badly to write back, to strike up conversation, to draw a goddamn heart, but… he can’t.

He can’t, and that’s horrible of him, and he knows it.

Right now, though… Jack can’t even work up the courage, the energy, to call his mom.

His soulmate, whoever they are, is going to have to wait.

[captainjimothycarter]

So it's a silly image but I like to imagine Steve realizing that Peggy was responsible for what's now one of New Yorks first gay bars, but back until the 90s it was an underground secret no one knew about. "Everyone needs a place to be themselves."

i don’t think this was silly at all. I love the HC so much and I hope I did it honor. Thank you for sharing it with me.

--

“What’s this?” Steve asked the second Natasha flung an old file down on top of his sketchbook. His nose wrinkled from the dust, fingers brushing over the frayed edges. This thing had to be decades old, but the same could apparently be said for him in this new century.

It was an old, unmarked file with the edges starting to yellow and fray. He was afraid if he picked it up by the edges or flicked it open, the thing would crumble apart in his hands. There wasn’t one single, distinguishing mark on this thing. It was odd, considering most of the files that Natasha had tossed his way recently were marked with some sort of SHIELD symbol or even the SSR. This one was null.

“What do you think it is?” Natasha huffed, sitting herself down across the table from him. She nearly blended into the gray walls with her outfit, the only part of her that stood out, as always was the bright, red hair. Her voice was kept down low, not in a this is a shared secret sort of way, but more of we’re in public and in a library so don’t you dare we loud.

Even if this was SHIELD’S library.

“I don’t know. Looks like a file.” 

Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes, dropping it down so it laid on top of the book he was reading. Natasha complained he spent far too much time in the library but given the circumstances of waking up in some new century where everyone you knew was dead (including the love of your life), then you sort of became a shell of yourself and hid away in Shield’s library. One, to read all you can about missed events, and two, to hide away and distract yourself with the knowledge of the fact that you had to play catch-up of the last 60-something years.

“Just open it, Steve. I think you’ll find the contents interesting.”

His mouth opened but what could he say? Argue? Insist? Nothing. There would be nothing that he could say that would get Natasha to take this file away because she knew she’d won. She had plopped it in front of him, an unmarked file, and sat down and at him expectedly. Curiosity would get the better of him, even if Steve didn’t want to admit it. 

Natasha’s eyebrow rose in a manner that reminded Steve of his mother, that insistingly asked him if he was really done with telling the whole story. Instead, she silently waited, arms crossed over her chest.

Steve reserved his sigh for another day when she might care more about his wants and just did the quickest thing that would get her to leave him alone. He opened the damn file and immediately wished he didn’t.

Front face and center was the love of his life. Or well, there was a photo of her. Actually, there were several photos of her. Photos that he wasn’t even aware that existed. Peggy must’ve been shortly after the war, standing next to who could’ve only been Angie. She was smilingly brightly despite the shiner and he could hear her laughter echoing in his head, see the red lips despite the black and white photo. They stood with a group of people he didn’t recognize either. People that she looked friendly or even close to given how one guy was holding onto her waist. 

Steve wasn’t jealous, not by much. Maybe a small flicker of jealousy flared to life inside of him, but it instantly cooled down when he made the connection. Or, one connection. Just hidden between them, he could see the guy holding her waist was also holding hands with a gentleman that was smiling brightly at the camera. 

Oh. 

It reminded him of the gay clubs he and Bucky would risk visiting when Steve was in the better days of his illnesses when there wasn’t a risk of them being seen and ratted out by neighbors or when he wouldn’t risk coughing up a blood-clotted lung.

Sadly, there was nothing on the other side of the photo. Not that Steve expected much, Peggy had her manner of keeping things organized, and being a spy meant you left little untraced. So why she allowed herself to be photographed was beyond him.

No answer came with the next photo.

Even if in this one, he could make out the bruise under the makeup she tried to hide it with. He could see her eyes crinkling in the corners when she laughed and smiled at the camera. Her red lips instantly claiming his attention. Despite the crowd of men around her, some familiar to the old photo and some new, Steve didn’t look at them. He looked at her eyes, the warm, honey-coated eyes that were a sign to him that screamed welcomed home.

Natasha wouldn’t give these to him to stare at the photos of his beloved, she wanted him to see something, but what?

There were still men and women around her, some dressed in stylish outfits, some with funky-looking ones. Angie was still beside her and despite the closeness of the pair, one man each hung from their shoulders. The same two men who held hands in the photo before. They stood in front of a brick wall, one that looked familiar to him, but why?

It was an itch in the back of his mind that he couldn’t quite scratch.

There were more people in the next photo, more than enough to sit two photos side by side so he could cram them together to see the full photo. Still, nothing. Still, Peggy and Angie and a group of people. Men holding hands, a little braver to be outside the frame of the two women. And still that same brick wall, but why was that brick wall familiar? Why did that little notch right above Angie’s left ear hit him like, well, a stack of bricks?

And why did the next few photos, each following more, and more people, until Peggy stood by herself in front of the building, silver in her hair, a wedding band on her fingers, but pride radiating in those fierce eyes, frustrate him more?

Steve just wanted to slam these photos down and take a walk, take a breather. He doubts Natasha did this to be cruel, to throw his reminder that he had loved and lost into his face. He did that enough to himself.

Sighing, Steve ran a hand over his hair and dropped his hand beside the last photo of Peggy. Older. Shortly before she died of old age. Silver in her hair, wrinkles on her face but a fierce, determined look. 

It hit him then, why those bricks frustrated him so much, why that notch in the brick made his heart drop.

That very notch was made from Bucky using a slingshot to scare off the bees because they terrified his baby sister. 

Those red bricks belonged to the apartments that he and Bucky grew up in.

There was more in the file but Steve didn’t want to look. He wanted to shut the damn thing and turn away. Instead, he swallowed and picked up a newspaper article from the 1990s. Peggy was on the cover, holding onto a cane, looking dead in the cameras as if she was daring a soul to challenge her.

Peggy Carter: Fighting the Unseen Fight is what the title read.

“It was a gay bar,” Natasha murmured, drawing Steve from his thoughts. She must’ve seen how his hand was shaking around the article. “Peggy Carter assisted in running a few underground gay bars in New York, up until the 1990s where...the one she is standing in front of is one of the first public gay bars to open.”

“I…” Steve swallowed, his throat feeling dry. It felt like he took in a mouthful of dust. “I don’t know...why?”

“I think you know why,” she mused, giving him an almost loving look. “Because she wanted to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. I wonder where she got that from?”

“She’s always had that,” Steve snorted, forcing himself to let go of the files. “Always fiercely protective of her loved ones. I had nothing to do with it.”

“Yes, but you stirred the fires inside of her. She might not have done it because of you, but she did it in your name.”

Tapping the newspaper, the woman sat back and Steve sighed as he looked back down at it. He forced himself to read the last few questions and answers.

Why did you do it?

“Everyone needs a place to be themselves. If no one else was to protect the innocent, then I had to step up to the plate to do so. I’m only lucky that some of my connections had agreed to protect us when things got bad. During the movement, we became safe houses and safe havens for those who needed protection. Not once do I regret my actions.”

Why here? Why open the first gay bar here?

“I…could think of no place better. Steven Grant Rogers was an inspiration to me, the driving force as to how I actually met my wife. During the war, we’ve seen men, great men being sent back home for being in love with people of the same sex. I’ve seen Captain Rogers step up to the plate to put a stop to it, to take falls for kissing men and women when all of us knew that he was far from the situation at the time given the nature of the job. I’ve seen him lie straight to people’s faces, no matter their position in the government or war to keep our men’s feet on the ground. I’ve seen him harbor his best friend’s secrets until the day they both died. I protected those men and women before I met Captain Rogers again and even after he died, but Steven...gave me the courage to do more.”

“I…” Steve, this time had to open and close his mouth, to force his brain to think. “I don’t know what to say..”

“Don’t then,” Natasha breathed, reaching over to take Steve’s hand and give a gentle squeeze. “She knew you were bisexual before you even knew.”

“I think that can be said about a lot of things.”

Natasha’s lips twitched into a small smile before it disappeared. “Would you like to see the bar? It’s still functional to this day. I think it’s written into some post SSR, pre-SHIELD clause that it has to be protected and kept open. It’s still in the same spot.”

Sitting back, the blonde let out a long sigh and picked up his jacket. He might as well, he was getting nothing else done today. Not when his mind was on Peggy, on everything she’s done. “Sure. Just...what is it called?”

Natasha paused, leading them out of the empty library. Her head craned over her shoulder to watch Steve carefully tuck the file inside of his coat and follow after her. “Captain’s Commandos.” 

[bl-garbage]

taking back our story.

How does one put it without sounding like a cliché? The story just hits too close to home. I guess I’m also in a daze from how, like me, so many people have been touched by this groundbreaking show - from friends to strangers online, to those both quiet and loud with their loves, we are all the same. The finale itself is but a straightforward ending, one that we had probably seen coming, despite our blind hopes. Perhaps, it may have left some of us wanting for more, yet it does not put the dot on a sad note, but a hopeful one: a promise of a better tomorrow as we round up courage, save up strength, bide our time, wait for that perfect moment.  

I have to concede to my friend’s observation: Gaya sa Pelikula is a story just like any other, only that it was masterfully told. It is in its crafting where its magic appears: through its nitty-gritty, the story becomes much more vivid, told through a lens we were not accustomed to.

On the other hand, Gaya sa Pelikula did so much more. It felt like a warm embrace; a long-sought refuge from the turbulent reality that had spelled our lives. To tell the truth, I never realized how tired I was, before having watched this. For far too long I had been exhausted: from having to feel alone, unable to speak out my thoughts, accommodating other people’s preferences, falling into others’ expectations, feeling like I had been silenced even if I’m already the loudest person in the room. Then there are some more: the relentless fight for change, the everyday struggle of explaining my entire existence to others, even when I myself struggle to figure that out; the little things to those who wouldn’t listen; the regret for the times I could have done something, said something, prevented something; the times I forced myself to live in the moment when I know, at the back of my head, that tomorrow would be twice as hard. 

The thing is, I know for certain that this is not a unique feeling, and what I felt from the show is the same as what other had felt. What Gaya sa Pelikula teaches is more than a story. It tells a lesson, like a dear friend with warm coffee on one hand and the other outstretched within my reach: It’s okay to be scared. It’s okay to be tired. It’s okay. 

See, these are things that I know all too well, and have already been preaching to other people like a broken record. And yet, just like any other gay or lesbian or bisexual or pansexual or any other member of our community, even I still needed to hear it. Even the bravest ones who had long come out needed to hear it in the same way as those who have yet to do so. Every day, it is something we crave: that confirmation, that simple gesture of solidarity that links us together, that promise that things will change. Not soon - it doesn’t have to be rushed - but perhaps, one day, our once-alternate endings will turn into the canon of our lives. 

Have we not at one point wished for things to have turned out differently, too? In the finale, Karl had invented this alternate ending where things are okay, and where he is the effortless protagonist, and where no one is bad - or someday soon maybe there will be bad people but he will trample on them just the same - and things are perfectly in place. The smiles, the pictures, the hugs, they won’t have to be hidden in this alternate ending. Someday we won’t have to fear our own shadows anymore. Someday we can step out into the light, finally, in all our bare glory, and we won’t have to return in the dark, dingy corners of our own closets. One day we will find ourselves sitting on a couch, watching the film of our lives roll, and in it we will have been happy and content. 

But that is a future we have to create for ourselves. And until that day comes? Well, we can just find comfort in each other, can’t we? 

Gaya sa Pelikula does not free us of responsibility, either. It guarantees solidarity, but it also counts on us to be brave - not just for ourselves, but for others. Just as one person will encourage us to be true to ourselves, we must pay it forward and create a safe haven for those in the same predicament. It is from this tireless effort that we can create a community that no plot antagonist can ever hope to dismantle. 

For his part, Karl, with Vlad’s help, has begun his journey. The truly remarkable moments for me were when he admitted to Tito Santi, to Vlad, but most of all, to himself, that he is gay.

From here on, Karl can always, always come back to rest, to stop and just let the world revolve without him, leave things be for a while. But in time, he will have to step out again. 

If nothing else, the note at the end credits does not mince words: Nasa labas ang tunay na laban. Sasalubungin ka namin ‘pag handa ka na. The real fight is on the outside. We will welcome you when you’re ready. 

There is a storm inside me that I cannot quell just yet. And I hope, for everyone who’s reading this, dear reader, that Gaya sa Pelikula has brewed a storm inside you as well. Tears will flow in the meantime, but we have a whole lifetime to fight. We may feel paralyzed at the moment, taken aback by the sheer gravity of it all, but we will stand and face these struggles anew, just as those before us had done, and those after us will. It is our duty to be part of this struggle. For members of the LGBTQ+ community, for allies, for those who, like Karl, are only discovering themselves and are from time to time stumbling, Gaya sa Pelikula is for us. We will take back our story, yes. But more than that, we will create new stories, one that we can call entirely our own. 

The actors, creators, production crew, and the people who had given the green light on this show should be proud. They not only created a series; they created an impetus for the industry to follow suit, and served as a reminder for anyone who watches, that we are not alone.

On a personal note, I am late to the party, but I’m so glad I got to tell my thoughts and feelings on this platform. This has truly been cathartic. Thank you to everyone who has shared their own stories and feelings below each post. We may seem few and far between, but the world stands with us. I believe it.

[one-leaf-grimoire]

“triad”

Chapter 14: the sleeping world

Shorter chapter than usual, but get ready to see the result of all that secret true time magic training!

“Jesus Christ, you’re with a WOMAN now?!” Both Augustus and Sekke look like their eyes are about to bulge out of their faces, gazes snapping back and forth from me and Adeline’s clasped hands and our faces. Augustus splutters incoherently before pointing his sceptre at me accusingly. “I knew it! I knew  you were just using Julius for the power! And now that he’s gone-”

“Your majesty-” I cut him off before he can actually start to upset me. “There’s such a thing as bisexuals, you know.”

“JFDSKL WHAT ON EARTH-”

Adeline bites her lip to suppress her words, and gives my hand a squeeze. I glance up at her, noticing that she’s starting to get a little uncomfortable. It’s fair, given that her history with Augustus is less than pleasant. I smile and squeeze back before continuing to walk past Augustus as he has his tantrum. We’ve just arrived on top of a large overlook, in the same area where the Royal Knights exam took place months and months ago. I had some of the royal mages terraform it, creating a large lake, plain, and forest. But from up here, we can see it all perfectly. What is this all for, exactly?

In order to increase morale and get some intense training in, I decided to make the Captains fight each other in a crystal destruction tournament. Not the most original idea, I must admit, but it will do its job. These last few weeks have been absolutely insane. The Devil Banishers/Believers incident was a real hassle to get through, and ended up costing us more than we thought. But it’s all over now, and it’s time to get some real work done before we send our representatives over to the Heart Kingdom.

And for me… 

Today, I’ll see if my own intense training has paid off.

“Hey, where’s Fluffy?”

Yami crosses his arms before looking around. He and the other captains are already here, milling around awkwardly. I haven’t told them their teams yet, but everyone is already shooting each other dirty looks. “Huh, that’s weird, Rill didn’t tell me he was skipping.”

“Of course that brat skipped! At his age, he’d be skipping school, too, Keh Keh!” Jack cackles, licking his lips. “I was looking forward to slicing him up…”

“Well, what if he ended up on your team?” Charlotte points out.

“... did I stutter?”

“Please, save the fighting for the battlefield,” Nozel steps in before Charlotte can retort. “You’re going to need all the energy you have.”

Fuegoleon looks very eager to go, bouncing on the balls of his feet and flexing his fiery arm across his chest. I eye his movement suspiciously, getting distracted. “How come your shirt doesn’t catch on fire too?”

He shrugs, but gives me a grin. “Maybe today will be the day I burn so hot it does char my clothes.”

I clear my throat awkwardly before turning away to look at everyone. “Anyway- if Rill is a no-show then it’ll be 4 on 4. Now…” Admittedly, this changes my plans a little, but no matter. “Team one will be Yami, Jack, Nozel, and Kaiser.”

“WHAT? I have to be on a team with this stinkbug-” Yami immediately objects, but cuts himself off as I shoot him a glare. “Fine, whatever.” He catches Charlotte’s eye and suddenly grins. “Heh, looks like you’ll have to fight me, prickly-queen.”

“Good. I’ve been looking forward to teaching you a lesson.” Charlotte’s eyes only harden.

“Ooooh, why do I kind of like the sound of that?”

“Why-” Charlotte quickly turns pink. “You vulgar-”

“SO! Those are the teams!” I step in between them, smiling brightly despite the mounting tensions. “Marx just gave me the go-ahead for the broadcast, so I want you all to go down there-” I gesture out onto the plains. “-and await my signal!”

“Thank you.” Without another word, the eight of them split apart and jump down to their stations, gearing up for what promises to be a spectacular fight. I let out a sigh before turning to walk back to my chair, where Adeline, Augustus, and Sekke are waiting. William didn’t say a word… I don’t even remember him looking me in the eye while I was talking to the captains. Well, that’s just another thing I’ll have to do today.

“Hello?” A screen suddenly opens up next to me, and I see Marx’s face appear. “Are we ready to go?”

“Yep!” Before I sit down, I turn back to the arena. I raise my arm, two fingers pointing up, and set off a powerful blast of magic, a bolt that goes careening into the air with a loud whoosh. It’s the signal to go, and boy… do they GO! 

The battle that commences is like nothing I’ve seen before. Each of them knows they’re being watched by the entire kingdom via Marx’s communication magic, so they hold nothing back. Fire, mercury, darkness, plants, and everything in between goes flying, each of them desperately reaching for the other’s crystal while keeping theirs just out of reach. Half of the fight moves into the forest, the trees warping and billowing as William builds his own path out of his magic. Nozel and Fuegoleon only have eyes for each other, Salamander burning so hot that the lake starts to evaporate and steam up underneath it and Fuegoleon.

Their magic heats the air, sends vibrations through the earth, and towers high into the sky.

For a moment, I can’t help but feel guilty.

All three of them… would have made wonderful Wizard Kings. They are men who put their duty first, men who wouldn’t get caught up in the cycle of grief and greed like I would.

They are human men… they could care for this Kingdom far better than I could.

A soft hand squeezes my shoulder. Somehow, Adeline always knows what I’m thinking.

But… at the end of the day… the responsibility falls to me. Maybe I’m running out of time, maybe I’m compromised emotionally, but I made a promise, to Julius, to Adeline, and myself. 

I am the Wizard King… and today, I’ll show everyone why!

Right then, without warning, the entire earth rumbles. I reach up and grab Adeline’s hand with one of my own, the other grasping the arm of my chair. Augustus yowls with fear, and Sekke goes tumbling to the ground. “What on earth is that?!” Adeline gasps.

My eyes widen, and I quickly point out into the forest. “Look!” A giant slash of darkness appears, tearing through the trees. A chill shoots through the air, causing every hair on my arms to stand at end. Oh shit! That’s Yami’s Dimension Slash! A grin grows on my face as it dissipates as soon as it appeared, leaving nothing but an eerie silence in its wake.

“Um… are they okay?” Adeline asks, narrowing her eyes as she scans the area. “I can’t hear any more fighting?”

“Huh… did Yami kill everyone?”

Just as I ask the question, I spot a group of people emerge from the forest. A few minutes later, they’re back up on the platform, and drop the shards of their crystals at my feet. I arch a brow, glancing between their faces. “What happened, exactly?”

“It’s no fair!” Dorothy grumbles. “I had Yami trapped in Glamour World, but then he just cut his way out!”

“And he destroyed both crystals while he was at it.” Kaiser gives Yami the side eye.

“Hey! I think our team should win. I did destroy the enemy’s crystal, after all.” Yami looks terrible; he’s covered with bruises and his white shirt is stained with what looks like dirt. His hair is so out of place he looks like a different person.

“BUT! You destroyed your own as well,” Fuegoleon objects loudly. “That lack of care should lead to a loss for your team!”

I can’t help but laugh, drawing their attention back to me. “This sure is a weird circumstance that I didn’t see coming… but…” I smirk as I start to realize my plan. “Maybe we should do a tiebreaker instead?”

“What is she doing?” Augustus was watching from his chair, talking to no one in particular. He glanced over at Adeline for a moment, who started to look very worried.

What is she up to?

“A tiebreaker?” Yami almost laughs at the suggestion. “Do any of us look like we’re ready for a tiebreaker?!”

“For once, I agree with him,” Nozel adds. He doesn’t look as bad as Yami, but his trademark braid is barely holding together after the furious exchange he and Fuegoleon just traded. Fuegoleon’s clothes are crisped at the edges, soot and smoke clinging to every part of him. During this tournament, even his own flames scorched through whatever usually protected him.

“I know you’re all exhausted! At least, you look exhausted.” I smile cheerfully between all eight Captains. “But, like I said, ending this with a tie isn’t all that satisfying… but!” I hold up a finger, finally getting to the point. “You’ll like what I have in mind! It’s easy!”

“Oh yeah?” Despite how tired he looks, Yami manages to grin, his hand already moving to the handle of his katana. “Spit it out, then.”

I keep smiling, almost giggling at his eagerness, but when I speak, my words are deadly serious.

“All you have to do to win… is make me move from where I’m standing.”

The earth stands still for a moment as my words sink in. Yami’s lighthearted expression suddenly fades into worry. Out of everyone here, he’s the only one who knows I’m pregnant, I think, maintaining my smile. He’s probably a little hesitant about attacking me… but the others…

“So…” Fuegoleon frowns. “We just… hit you? Knock you down?”

“If you want!” I reply cheerfully. “I’m sure some of you are angry at me for one reason or another, so…” My gaze sweeps over and lands on William. His eyes widen just the tiniest bit, but for once he doesn’t look away.

“Take out your anger. Make me move, if you can.”

Each of them is tired, exhausted, beaten and bruised, but that gleam enters their eyes as I tell them to come at me. That gleam comes back into William’s eyes. Because, above all, these Captains are the best in this Kingdom… and they want nothing more than to prove themselves. For glory, and for death.

All at once, their Grimoires are out, their faces shining with determination. Spells are being cast, and eight bodies move towards me with as much speed as they can muster. A moment of frenetic fury, because the first of them to hit me will be crowned the victor.

If they can hit me. This is my time to prove myself.

With a deep breath, I close my eyes before any of them can reach me. As soon as darkness falls, I can feel it; mana pulsing from the earth, up through my legs, and out with each breath I release. 

The laws of nature… Time is at the center of them all.

I open my eyes, and the spell activates. Mana words, glowing whitish-blue, burst to life around my head in a spectacular double halo. Mana courses through my body; a body that was made for the purpose of holding mana. The body that deems me as inhuman, that houses a broken, dying soul, yet gives me the power I want more than anything.

“True Time Magic… Domain of Thanatos.”

Each rune circling my body spells out the same word: Stop.

And that’s exactly what happens. 

------

This ability is True Time Magic: Domain of Thanatos.

Thanatos… the god of peaceful, non violent death.

Julius’s Time Magic had the power to steal and give time as he wished, from any object that he could please. But he could not control TIME itself. Time as it exists in nature, a rushing river, always moving forward.

But even a river can freeze.

This magic gives me control over that river, over the speed that it flows. Although I cannot force it backwards… I can slow it down until it stops.

With this ability, I put the entire world to sleep.

With this ability… no one will ever stop me.

-------

The moment my spell activates, all eight of the captains freeze, and their attacks become suspended in midair. I let out a slow breath, allowing a smile to grow on my face. My hand stays frozen in the air for the time being, because I have to calculate every single move with the upmost precision.

See, the catch to stopping time is that it doesn’t last very long if I just start moving. Maybe two or three seconds at most. However, I managed to find a condition where I can stretch the length of time within Domain of Thanatos; I allow time to start to flow with my movements, so slow and smooth, but just fast enough that I can do what I want.

So… easy now…

One finger. Then the next. And another. Until I’m no longer reaching out; I’m pointing. My first target is Yami.

Sorry… this’ll only hurt for a second.

With each finger, he only twitches slightly, moving forward a mere millimeter. 

Flame magic: Solar Bolt.

My attack shoots through him, as fast as outside of this spell.

And now… the others… 

I move in a half circle, one by one, casting my bolt and watching them fail to react to being hit. It’s surreal, being here all alone in some weird little world. But I remind myself that this solitude is because I am in control. 

Finally, William is hit, the last of my eight targets. I let out a shaky breath, my smile widening. So… now I just have to worry about their spells. Each of them have only moved a few inches, but are now getting dangerously close. With each Solar Bolt I fired, they clipped closer, sped up in time with my spell. I can feel my control weakening, and something that smells like blood is starting to bubble up in my nose. Despite that, I stay calm, letting Blazing Spear materialize in my hand. 

And…

I take one last breath of air within Domain of Thanatos. 

Release.

My arm swings through the air, bringing the spear along with it, and I slash through the spells, my trajectory carefully calculated due to the observations I made earlier. I have to duck once though, avoiding Yami and Dorothy’s spells. I look up just in time to see the eight of them stumble back and fall, stunned by the instant attack that came from seemingly nowhere. 

“Look at that… I’m still standing.”

Yami groans and rolls back up into a sitting position, a curious glint in his tired eyes. “What the Hell was that?”

“I’m wondering the same thing.” Nozel winces, clutching the spot where my bolt hit him. “How fast did you just move?”

I let out a little laugh, a twinkle in my eye. “Actually, I moved very slow… I made everything move very slow.” 

Most of them have sat up by now, all of them still shocked and disoriented, but now they’re looking at me in a new way. The look in their eyes is familiar; it’s the same way they all used to look at Julius in battle. The shock, the awe… the admiration.

Are they really looking at me?

In that moment, my pride deflates. Despite the fact that now, maybe, they can see me as more than just Julius’s replacement, I feel so… humbled. These eight amazing people accept me.

Even William, the one I manipulated and betrayed, sits there with a smile on his face. An easy, happy smile that I remember from our days together long ago.

Finally, I clear my throat.

“That… that was true time magic.” I take a step towards them as I explain. “I developed it by applying the Heart Kingdom’s methods to my Time magic. There’s still a lot to explore, but one thing is certain.”

I come to a stop in front of William, then hold out my hand.

Please William… forgive me.

“We can all get stronger… think carefully about who you send to the Heart Kingdom.”

William’s smile fades, but the expression on his face is one of understanding.

Of course I forgive you. You’re my friend.

“This magic is our hope.”

He takes my hand, and I pull him to his feet.

NEXT TIME!!!! Chapter 15: the devil comes knocking. A short time skip into the future, and shit is about to go DOWN.