#doesn’t he kiss James Cordon at one point too?

[bazberkker]

This is what each “Makes History” or “First-ever” article feels like

[bijoharvelle]

it’s the ‘dean definitely has ptsd’ deancasbenny thing i’ve been promising! just, like, soft domestic DCB. warnings: ptsd & anxiety related mutism, nightmares mentioned

Some days, Dean doesn’t talk. It’s the halfway point between won’t and can’t – Benny can never be sure which side it lingers closer to. 

Either way, when Dean startles awake, eyes darting, the only noise he makes is the harsh push-pull of air through his chest. Benny chants a quiet, “Hey, hey…” and puts a hand through Dean’s hair. In the artificial predawn, Dean looks around like he expects to be alone, or expects to be somewhere else. Part of the kink in his spine soothes at Benny’s touch, but not all of it.

Between them, Cas sleeps like the dead. (On his own, the angel won’t stir for hours. Benny generally loiters in bed for an hour or so before getting up. He’s teased Cas and Dean about it before, says he has a whole day, practically, before either of them pull themselves awake.) Dean shivers, crushes himself further into Cas, closer to Benny. 

The unfortunate thing with Dean’s life (with all of their lives) is that it could be any number of things. Hell coming back to haunt him? The time he spent locked away while Michael ran point? The time he spent fighting every minute to keep Michael cordoned off? Building his own water-proof coffin? That stretch of him as a demon? Any number of childhood traumas coming out to play? Knuckles painted with Sam’s blood, with Cas’s, with his own, Benny’s arterial spray Pollocking over his face? Frankly, Benny thinks they’re lucky it manifests as nothing more than a few days of selective mutism, a Dean that’s a little more touch-hungry than usual.

After a minute of Benny humming quietly, pretending it’s not to give Dean something solid to focus in on, Dean shifts. He carefully uncurls from Cas, levies his weight, fits himself between Benny’s legs and presses the whole of their chests together. Cas makes a snuffling noise into the pillow, adjusting to the loss of body heat, and Benny lays one big, warm hand directly center of Dean’s back. “Hey there, sweetheart.”

Dean hides his face into Benny’s shoulder and Benny lets him.

The better part of an hour passes that way.

Benny eventually climbs out of bed. By turns, he coaxes  Dean to stay there a little longer and jostles Cas awake. The angel shoots him a look brimming with piss and vinegar until he clues into the way Dean is holding onto his wrists, the way Dean’s eyes won’t quite focus. Benny doesn’t amble out to the kitchen until Cas is fully alert and muttering Poco lyrics into the creases over Dean’s forehead. They share a look over the mussy peaks of Dean’s soft bedhead and Benny circles back to press his nose into Cas’s temple.

Sam makes an appearance about halfway through Benny’s breakfast preparations. He always, somehow, knows. Benny has tried to figure it out -- is it the weather or the cast of the moon or some shift in the atmosphere? But there’s nothing to track. Maybe it’s just from the puzzle-piecing of their families trauma, maybe it’s some pluck on the threads of their brotherly bond, maybe Dean feels it coming and gives Sam a heads-up. Either way, like always, Sam fusses with the coffee pot for a minute and then sighs, loosens the hinges of his shoulders and looks over to Benny. 

“Is he okay?” he asks and his voice is rough and worn like he hasn’t gotten enough sleep, or has gotten too much (it’s a fine line for the younger Winchester).

Benny nods, whistles a low tone. Says, “He’s with Cas; he’s all right.”

Sam nods and gets through preparing the coffee. He watches a minute as Benny cooks, a little bleary around the edges. It’s not expectant, his gaze, but Benny shoves the first plate of food into Sam’s hand and directs him to sit down and eat it, before he collapses. Sam finds a genuine, if tired, smile at that and does as he’s told.

Not much later, Cas and Dean shuffle in, Dean following in Cas’s shadow, one hand just trailing along the hem of Cas’s flannel. Once they clear the threshold, though, Cas immediately goes for the coffee and Dean immediately goes for Benny.

“Heya, cher,” he greets low, putting a gentle hand to Dean’s waist, just for a moment. Behind them, Cas and Sam’s voices drone about translations they want to get done that day. Dean stays close -- his hair has been smoothed, by Cas’s hands if Benny had a guess. He tips a hand through the back of it and asks, “Would you get me some coffee?”

Dean does as he’s asked and when he hands a mug over to Benny, he has one for himself in his hands. He watches, silent and crowded into himself, as Benny finishes off two more plates. Handing them over to Dean, he tells him sternly, “One of those is for you, got it?” Dean nods, manages half a smile. He slinks to the table and slides one of the plates to Cas, comes back for his coffee, and then sits in front of the other.

Sam asks if Dean wants to help him and Cas with their research. Normally, it’s a question that doesn’t need asking -- of course Dean doesn’t want to help with research. Especially when they don’t have a case, when Sam and Cas are just doing their codexing, translating thing. But days like this, Dean is happy to have a place between his brother and his angel, specific tasks that he can see the other side of, that he can complete successfully. Getting coffee, delivering a plate of food, fetching books, looking up references.

So Dean just finds his brother’s eyes and nods and sets about eating his breakfast. 

*

Superhuman strength means there isn’t much need for training, but the routine of it is close to meditation for Benny. He’s so far into his own mind, and Cas steps so softly, that Benny doesn’t notice Cas’s presence until he’s standing right next to his bench in what passes for the bunker’s weight room.

“Personal space,” Benny teases, a joke he wrung dry from Dean. Sitting up, he catches Cas between his knees and presses his face into the former-angel’s stomach. Cas keeps one hand on Benny’s shoulder, gentle, while the other tucks up through his hair.

“Where’re the Winchesters?” Benny asks, not pulling away so his voice is muffled. His arms tighten around Cas’s waist, holding him close so he can nose along the span of his torso, tip his face to trail toward his chest.

“Into town. One of the texts reminded Sam about strawberry rhubarb pie and they went to get ingredients.”

“Weren’t y’all reading about witchcraft?” Benny asks, leaning back to pass a quizzical look up.

Cas looks just as incredulous but it melts to a smile. “Yes. I stopped being surprised about their associations awhile back, though.”

Benny grins and nips playfully at Cas, getting more shirt than anything else. “Fair enough.” He lets Cas scritch fingers through his hair, sighing at how good it feels, how Cas goes against the grain. “How’s our boy doing?”

Cas makes an elegant gesture with his shoulders that’s half-shrug and would be half the spread of wings, if he still had them. “Well enough, I think. Still…” He waves a hand to indicate the general circumstances. “But he seemed enthused at the prospect of pie, when Sam brought it up.”

“Dean Winchester excited by pie, news at eleven,” Benny jokes. Cas gives an amused huff that isn’t quite a laugh. Benny stands, then, crowding into Cas’s space and pressing their bodies together. “Y’know what we haven’t done in a minute? Spar.”

There’s a dangerous look to Cas’s eyes because he’s human now and Benny is decidedly not. Cas is not lightweight when it comes to hand-to-hand but still. He blinks up at Benny but all it takes is a well-timed smirk to undo his hesitation.

Benny lets Cas topple him in the first few minutes and Cas would be indignant about it except that he wraps his legs around the former-angel’s waist to hold him still and kisses him like that’s what they had been doing in the first place.

Cas laughs at him but goes easily, presses into Benny’s front, plants his hands on either side of his head, kisses him until they hear the sounds of Sam and Dean coming home.

*

They end up making the pie right then because Sam’s puppy dog eyes paired with Dean’s earnest look is pretty unstoppable. Besides (Sam whines) it has to cool overnight and that means they can have pie for breakfast. Benny takes helm, directing the brothers easily and nudging Cas aside playfully when he attempts to sneak tastes from the bowls. Even with Dean still silent the brothers manage to bicker through the process but all it does is bring a fond smile to Benny’s smile. When he looks back to raise eyebrows at Cas, the former angel has a similar smile on his face, warm and worn-in. 

They drink beer and eat leftovers in between checking the oven until Dean deems the pie finished. Sam scoops some of the filling out and suffers a burnt tongue for his trouble. Cas volunteers himself and Sam to clean up and Benny redirects Dean to his “cave.”

They’ve barely stepped into the hallway before Dean stops him, shoves him against the wall, fits his body against Benny’s. It’s not aggressive, or at least, there’s no heat there. No teeth and tongue and fierce movements. Just Dean slotting himself into Benny’s space. Benny leans back against the wall, easily taking the hunter’s weight. “Yeah?” he hums, keeping one hand slung low on Dean’s waist while the other trails over his shoulder blades.

Dean huffs a heavy sigh through his nose and it brushes warm along Benny’s throat. They breathe together, three long breaths, and then Dean murmurs, “Yeah.” Benny’s eyes slip shut because it’s an encouraging sign -- sometimes it’s days before they get even a sound out of him. He tries not to react beyond a bit of positive reinforcement, a dry kiss to Dean’s temple. Sometimes if they get too excited, Dean clams back up further from the pressure of it.

They end up sprawled on the couch, Benny with his head in Dean’s lap and Dean silently mouthing along to The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance. Cas comes in just as James Stewart (supposedly) kills Liberty Valance and wastes no time in settling himself atop Benny. The vampire huffs a little but easily rearranges himself so they’re more comfortable. Dean ends up with a hand in Cas’s hair, the other petting at the hollow behind Benny’s ear.

Once they learn the parable of the West (when the legend becomes fact, print the legend), Cas shuffles them off to bed. Dean goes without complaint but he lazily mouths against Cas’s neck as they change and get washed up. Benny drowsily watches as Dean gets the former angel against the wall and noses along his jaw. Maybe he dips off, because the next thing he knows Dean is pocketing himself into Benny’s side and Cas is sinking along the hunter’s back. Dean sighs, Cas has his fingers through his hair.

Maybe he’ll be back to speaking tomorrow morning. Maybe he’ll laugh and cut himself a slice of pie for breakfast and kiss them through the tangy-sweet. Maybe it’ll come gradual through the day, half-words and short answers. Maybe it’ll be a few days down the line before he finds his voice, maybe next week.

Benny drops his forehead to Dean. Feels Cas’s fingertips tease over his temple. He kisses Dean deep and slow and mumbles into his mouth, “Good night, cher.”

Dean hums and closes his eyes and falls asleep.

*

tagging ppl i know are into that DCB life/those who expressed an interest in this particular piece: @good-things-do-happen-dean | @vcastiel | @prayedtoyou | @gracefuldean | @cherryberrynice | @navajolovesdestiel

[beyoncesdragon]

Sunflowers (Harry Styles x Reader)

Requested: nO

Warnings: uh, fluff? TYPOS

My Masterlist

„What are yeh thinking about?" I snapped out of my thoughts and focused on the wonderful man in front of me again. „Oh nothing really." Harry took a sip of his water before placing his hand on the table between us. His rings flashed up in the sunlight and I carefully laid my hand into his. "Are you enjoying yourself love?" I nodded and sighed in joy as I took in my surroundings. Harry had just finished his worldtour and had now decided to take a well deserved break. We had decided to just travel around a little bit, meet a few people and relax. Finally relax. Right now were had been invited to spend a few days on board of the Eos, a very luxurious schooner owned by Barry Diller and his wife, designer Diane von Furstenberg. Also attending the trip was Karlie Kloss, the super model who frequently made my body insecurities bubble up. But Harry's loving looks always made them disappear. Everything had just been so perfect the last few days. Everything, apart from me not really enjoying ships and maybe the choice of flowers on this giant yacht. "What?" Harry asked immediately, observing my face carefully. "Sunflowers. I don't like them." He frowned and brushed with his free hand over the bright yellow petals. "How's that?" "I just don't like yellow all that much. And my mom already hated them so I probably got it from her." Harry had his eyebrows high as I finished, eyeing me with a slightly reproachful look. "Yeh don't like yellow? But since when? I even wore several yellow suits on tour and one, I can remember, one which was light yellow." I grinned as I saw his pouted lips. "You always said I looked beautiful?" I squeezed his hand softly. "So you did. You are not a sunflower after all, are you?" he just hummed and pressed a quick kiss on my knuckles, hiding a smirk. I couldn't help but adore my boyfriend of now almost a year. He looked completely relaxed, his hair a bit longer and slowly curling itself again, a hint of something like a beard on his cheeks and top lip. A whole month of growth how he disclaimed. "Take a picture it will last longer." He remarked cheekily before turning slightly to Karlie who sat next to him. He didn't let go of my hand however, not a single second. And he was perfectly right, a picture would indeed last longer, so I grabbed my phone and opened the camera as quick as possible. "Harry..." I called him softly, pointing the camera at him. He immediately gave me a lazy, tiny bit amused smile. It wasn't a full blown smile, more like a curl of his lip corners, but it reached his eyes and he looked very satisfied. "You look handsome. If just those flowers weren't on the picture..." he chuckled lightly. "And yet they are. Ignore them or crop them out if they bother you that much...and yeh look beautiful as well." I smiled at him. "It's alright they don't look too bad on it." He smiled before turning back to his previous conversation. "How has your summer been?" Diane suddenly appeared next to Harry and sat down. I smiled friendly at her and hoped that she hadn't heard Harry and mines previous conversation about sunflowers. "Oh apart from Harry being away, it had been quite wonderful." Diane nodded understandingly. "I can imagine. For how long hade he been gone?" my finger carefully tapped against the glass of my now empty drink. "About ten month all in all. With a quick break for the Europe tour...yeah around that." Diane nodded again before her eyes fell on my empty glass. "Oh dear, you are finished already...I am sorry. Would you like something else?" my cheeks slightly heated up when everyone suddenly looked at me and my empty glass. Karlie had merely sipped at her drink, Harry was halfway through. I must look like an alcoholic or something. I caught Harry's amused smirk as he drew small circles on my hand with his thumb. "Stressed love?" I shook my head quickly. "Of course not why should I?" I looked back at Diane. "If I could get a water...but I can get it myself..." but Diane already turned around. "Bruno! One water please. With ice?" I nodded. "Yes please. And quiet please." Diane just nodded and instructed the waiter they had on the ship. "So..." she said with a smile, "What are you doing in all that time?" well what was she expecting me to do? "I work at Columbia Records as an artist's services manager in Milan currently. But mostly in the UK. Which is also where I and Harry met." In this moment, Bruno the waiter approached us, balancing a platter with a cooled glass of water. He placed it in front of me and took my empty glass with him again. I thanked with a short nod and then looked back to Diane. "Really? Interesting...so what exactly is your job as an artists services manager?" I took a sip from my water, noticing Harry still drawing circles on the back of my hand. "Well you have to identify potential artist and management targets for example. You also have to be able to build a strong relationship with artists. You work as a help to get through the industry basically. You negotiate about fees, terms and service commitments...and so on." Diane looked over to Harry. "So you were his manager?" I shook my head. "No, we weren't really supposed to even properly meet. I was just the one who brought the contract into the room as he signed. And polite as he is, he immediately got up and introduced himself." Diane's eyes sparkled and she leaned forward a little bit. "Oh really? And that's how you met? How sweet." I nodded a bit shy, before feeling Harry's eyes on me. He looked at me with a small smile and rose my hand again to press a kiss on them.

The next day we left the ship early, because Harry, Karlie and Barry and Diane were invited to Google Camp. Me, being Harry's girlfriend was invited as well...very kind. The Camp, as it is known is a three-day conference combining tech, fashion, and music. Mornings are filled with spirited discussions from education to human rights, how to extend human life and the design of cities of the future, all blending the greatest minds and visionaries, while the afternoons are for pure relaxation and lots of food and drink. The evening however we spent outside, enjoying a beautiful firework. Harry wrapped his arms around me from behind as I watched along the other A-List Celebrities who were invited how the colourful light spread over the sky. "Have you said hi to James?" he mumbled into my neck and I nodded. "Sure have Harry. He is the only one I know." Harry straightened himself up immediately. "You know no one else? Love you must have been bored to death..." I only laughed and turned around. "Bored? Harry can you hear yourself? Look where we are, look what we have...there is nothing to be bored about! And you clearly enjoyed your time so why would I complain?" Harry eyes me carefully. "Yeah but..." I just cut him off with a quick peck. "Shut it Harry. I also enjoyed my time and that thanks to you." He chuckled softly. "So it does have his advantages to have me as a boyfriend? Even if I am hardly ever at home?" I smiled I wrapped my arms around his neck. "You mean having a music and style icon as a boyfriend who is the most loving and sweet person on this planet? Yeah it doesn't hurt, not really." He laughed. "Music and style icon?" I threw him a look. "Yes? Six billboard music awards, seven brit awards and I don't know, but I think it was Harry Styles who won the British style awards...oh and not to forget your participation in Dunkirk..." Harry ended my speech with a quick kiss. "Stop it you get met all...nervous here. You know sometimes I forget how much of a fan you are..." I only huffed. "Of course I am? What kind of girlfriend would I be if I wouldn't support you?" Harry frowned. "A normal one? You are not obligated to like my music as a girlfriend, nor approve of my choice of music." I rose my eyebrows at him. "Really not?" he shook his head. "Nope...hold on is that your way of telling me that you think my music is shit?" I laughed and quickly shook my head. "No! I love it! And I love you." He just smiled down at me. "I love you too. Glad I have you." He pressed another sweet kiss on my lips. "So glad." I just smirked and returned his kiss. "Look at you two. Such a beautiful couple!" I heard Cordon's voice and we broke off. "She is beautiful right?" Harry said with a proud smile before pressing a kiss on my forehead. Lord knows how much I loved this man.

[writsgrimmyblog]

Ficlet: Straight Through Crew

Here’s the third of my Wednesday Night Drabbles/Ficlets which have turned into Thursday Ficlets. The first two are Chicken and Chips (Louis/Nick) and Always You (Harry/Nick) and there are a few more to come. This one is for the lovely @alligatornyc who left some amazing prompts for me to choose from. I tried to combine two of the prompts, Louis returns to Radio 1, Nick wears a track suit in his honor, and the booth pictures capture an unexpected soft moment between them and Nick and Louis are seated next to one another at the Brits. Cordon roasts them and dares them to kiss. I hope you enjoy it!

Straight Through Crew (Nick/Louis)

Content Warning: Hint at past Louis/Harry, straight Harry

“Evening, Louis Tomlinson.” Nick slips into the seat next to Louis and he reaches for a beer. “Looking lovely tonight.”

Louis narrows his eyes at Nick and takes in the blazer (velvet) the shirt (silk) and the hair (taller than the fucking Empire State). He rolls his eyes and has a drink. “Evening, mate.”

“You’re in the cheap seats tonight if they put you next to me.” Nick nudges Louis with his elbow. He’s all arms, legs and quiff. He’s loud, annoying and Louis doesn’t like him at all.

“Seems that way.” Louis gives Nick a smile. The sort of smile that says why the fuck are you wearing velvet? He turns his chair away from Nick and tries to hear what James Corden’s saying. Something funny, apparently. The crowd clap and holler and of course Nick’s turned up just in time to ruin a perfectly good joke. “You’re late. They’ve given out half the awards already.”

“Had another gig.” Nick leans forward and his breath is hot on Louis’ neck. Louis absolutely doesn’t shiver. “Going to straight through crew it tonight. Fancy coming on the radio tomorrow?”

“Pretty sure that’s not going to happen.” Christ, Louis needs another beer. Coming on the radio makes Louis think of Harry drunk and stupid, giggling with Nick about the air conditioning. He doesn’t need reminding of that, thanks. Not when Harry’s up for three awards tonight and Louis is stuck next to Nick bloody Grimshaw in a suit that itches around the collar. He used to love the Brits. These days they just remind him of the things he used to have.

“Might be fun.” Nick sounds like he’s shrugging. “We’ll have pizza.”

“Well, if there’s pizza.” Louis turns his eyes to the ceiling. It’s dark, covered with pin-point lights that make it look like they’re underneath the stars. “Shut up. I’m trying to listen.”

Nick mutters something about Louis being a dick and Louis pointedly ignores him. James is on good form tonight. He’s in his element and people are lapping it up.

“He’s good, isn’t he?”

Clearly Nick doesn’t understand the concept of shutting up and Louis gives up trying to focus, turning back to look at Nick. “Yeah, he’s good. Also, why the fuck are you talking to me?”

Nick raises his eyebrows at Louis. “Because we’re mates?”

Louis laughs. “Yep. Great mates. When’s my birthday?”

“I don’t fucking know.”

“What’s my number?”

“No idea. Why don’t you give it to me?” Nick tips his head to one side and he gives Louis a wide grin. There’s something predatory about it and it makes Louis strangely hot.

“Because I don’t want you to start sending me a thousand pictures of your dogs and posh friends. Get enough of that on Instagram.” Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Louis doesn’t follow Nick on Instagram. Not that he knows of, anyway.

“Been creeping on my social media, Louis?” Nick sounds delighted. He’s probably going to go on about it on the radio tomorrow.

“You wish,” Louis mutters. The crowd goes quiet and the notes from a familiar song filter through the room. Harry. Louis needs a fag but he can’t get up in the middle of Harry’s performance. He can just imagine the tabloids having a field day with that. He pulls the bucket of booze closer and gets out the Grey Goose, pouring himself a shot.

“Give us one, then.”

“Get your own.” Louis glances at Nick’s outstretched glass and pours, despite his words.

“Does it bother you?”

“What?”

“Watching Harold up there.” Nick doesn’t sound like he’s taking the piss. He sounds genuinely curious and a bit too fond when he says Harry’s name. “Not sure I’d be able to listen to all of those love songs about someone else.”

The air around Louis gets cold and he stares at Nick. “What?”

“You and Harry.” Nick waves his hand. “Bit of thing, wasn’t it? Back in the day.”

Harry can’t have told Nick that. Not when it was all Louis, trying something in a moment of madness that Harry shut down after a few sloppy kisses and an awkward hand job. It wasn’t anything. Louis isn’t even out to many people and he definitely isn’t out to Nick.

“He told you?” Louis can hardly speak he’s so furious and Nick gives him a curious look.

“I’m teasing, darling. Talking about the fans thinking you two were love’s young dream.”

Louis’ racing heart slows and he doesn’t realise how tightly he’s gripping his glass until he follows Nick’s gaze to his white knuckles and his clenched fist on the table.

“Oh.” Louis knows his voice shakes around the edges. “Good one, mate.”

“Louis.” Nick’s voice is soft and uncertain. “I didn’t mean-”

“Let’s just listen, yeah?” Louis turns back to the stage and he stares at the brightest light to the left of Harry’s ear until he gets stars in his eyes and the dull noise in his head replaces the sound of Harry singing about a woman Louis doesn’t know.

*                                          *                                        *

“I’m over here with Grimmy and Louis Tomlinson.” James makes his way through the crowd, stopping next to Nick. He’s grinning, like he’s going to say something Louis really isn’t going to like. “Remember when you sat on my lap and pretended to my evil cat, Louis?”

“Remember it well, James.” Louis gives the camera a smile and tries to ignore the way his heart thuds in his chest.

“Remember when I sat on your lap and snogged you, Grimmy?” James points the microphone at Nick who seems far more relaxed than Louis – completely nonplussed.

“Highlight of the Brit Awards 2013.” Nick grins at James. “We snogged again, if you remember. I begged you to leave your wife. You rejected me in front of the nation.”

“I remember.” James laughs and he looks between Louis and Nick. No, Louis thinks. Please no. “So I’ve sat on Grimmy’s lap and Louis’ been on my lap…I think Grimmy needs to get on Louis’ lap and give him a snog.”

Louis twists his hands and gives Nick a pleading look, hoping his discomfort isn’t clear on camera.

“I think he’d be better in my lap.” Nick gives Louis a wink. “That’s how I always imagined it.”

The crowd whoop and laugh and Louis wants to crawl under the table. James shoves the mic back in Louis’ face. “What do you reckon, Louis?”

Louis stares at Nick and tries to block out the crowd. If he says no everyone’s going to think he’s not able to take a joke. If he says yes…

He takes a breath and he slips from his seat into Nick’s lap. He cups Nick’s jaw in his hand and gives him a peck on the lips as the crowds cheer, the cameras pan away and James moves on. Louis hopes Nick can’t feel the tremble running through his body. Nick’s arms are firm around Louis’ waist and he squeezes them tighter just for a minute.

“Fancy coming out for a cig?”

“Might as well.” Louis moves awkwardly from Nick’s lap and follows him outside.

*                                         *                                    *

“I didn’t mean anything earlier. I was trying to be funny. I really didn’t know about Haz.” Nick looks into the distance, taking a drag on his cigarette.

“Doesn’t matter.” Louis lights a cigarette and breathes out the smoke with a slow exhale. “There’s not really anything to tell. It was one time and even then, it wasn’t much.”

“Isn’t Harry straight?” Nick says, quietly.

“Pretty much.” Louis looks up and meets Nick’s eyes. “It’s me that maybe isn’t.”

“Okay.” Nick nods. He takes another puff on his cigarette. “Seeing anyone?”

“No.” Louis glances at Nick. He’s not entirely sure why Nick wants to know that of all things. “Planning to make fun of my love life, Nick?”

“Would be a bit much coming from me.” Nick stubs out his cigarette and he faces Louis. His eyes drop to Louis’ lips and up again. “Just wondered if you maybe fancied giving that last kiss another go. I think I got performance anxiety.”

Louis stares at Nick. He’s tall, annoying, he’s wearing fucking velvet and Louis strongly suspects those birds on his shirt are flamingos. He’s loud, ridiculous and he doesn’t even know how to shut the fuck up when someone tells him.

“Shut up.”

“Fine, I just thought I’d-”

Louis cuts Nick off by dragging him into the shadows, shoving him against a wall and pressing their lips together. Nick turns them so Louis is the one pressed against the wall and he slides one hand into Louis’ hair. He wraps his arm around Louis’ waist and he’s warm and solid against Louis. The kiss is slow and then fast, deep and urgent as Nick presses against Louis. It’s a much better kiss than the earlier peck on the lips and Nick smells good. Even the velvet doesn’t seem so offensive, when Nick’s mouth’s works over Louis’ and he gets to stroke his hands over Nick’s back and tug him closer. 

Nick is the first to pull back, giving Louis a dark stare. “That’s one way to shut me up.”

Louis grins. “Thought it might be.”

Nick gives Louis another kiss, slower this time. “Sure I can’t convince you to stay out? Might be fun.”

Louis lets out a breath and then shrugs. “Might as well. I’m not doing the radio, though.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Nick smiles at Louis. “As long as I get another snog.”

“You’ll get more than that if you play your cards right.” Louis winks at Nick and makes his way back inside. 

Nick talks to Louis through the whole fucking show, but Louis can’t say he minds.

*                                        *                                       *

Louis does the radio after all. All he really wants to do is stay in Nick’s bed and cuddle up to one of Nick’s amazing dogs, but Nick gives him this look and it makes Louis feel like a dick for refusing.

“It’s only fair. It’s your fault I didn’t get anyone else to come in.”

“How the fuck is it my fault?” Louis really isn’t good in the mornings. He made Nick order his Uber early so they could get a McDonalds breakfast and a large cup of coffee which Louis has been nursing on the drive to the studios.

“How the fuck isn’t it?” Nick leans in so the driver doesn’t hear him. “Too busy making you want to come home with me to bother chatting to anyone else.”

Louis elbows Nick in the side, smiling around his coffee as he takes a sip. “Well at least something worked out for you.”

“Something worked out for you, too.” Nick winks at Louis. He looks far too smug for this time in the morning.

Louis’ cheeks heat. “Shut up, Nicholas. Eat your McDonalds.”

Nick munches thoughtfully on a hash brown. “I wore a tracksuit to make you feel at home.”

“Thanks, mate.” Louis rolls his eyes. Thank fuck they had time to stop at his. Doing the walk of shame in last night’s suit really wouldn’t have been a good idea.

“You doing anything after the radio?” Nick tries to sound casual but Louis can tell he’s nervous.

Louis pointedly looks Nick up and down without saying a word.

“Oh,” Nick says. His smile gets even wider.

*                                       *                                       *

“Nicholas.” Louis swallows as he stares at the picture Nick’s posted on Instagram.

“What?” Nick comes into the room, carrying two cups of tea. He puts one on each side of the bed and collapses onto it, grabbing Louis’ phone to see what he’s looking at. “Oh. The Instagrim pictures from this morning. Good, innit?”

Louis stares at the two of them. There’s one picture where Louis is looking up at Nick and he’s laughing. His eyes are bright and he’s pretending to push Nick away. Louis hasn’t been pictured laughing like that in ages and he looks light and carefree, shoving Nick around. Then there’s the last picture. The one where Nick’s looking at Louis. For once he’s not pulling a stupid face and his gaze is soft and warm. He’s smiling as if Louis has taken him by surprise. He looks so unexpectedly fond, it makes Louis’ heart thrum in his chest.

“Yeah. Good.”

“I got you a proper copy if you want. It’s downstairs.”

“Thanks.” Louis stares at Nick. He wonders if Nick sees everything Louis does in the photos. They’re on display again with everyone watching - just like the kiss at the Brits. It terrifies him. “Nick?”

“Louis.” Nick takes the phone and puts it next to the bed. He seems to sense the panic radiating from Louis and he tugs Louis close. “Shut up.”

“But-”

Nick kisses Louis firmly and it’s a long time before Louis can start worrying about the photos again.

[aslightstep]

19 - Winteriron

I’m not their hero/But that doesn’t mean that I wasn’t brave

This is honestly a little bit away from the prompt.

Song is:

I’m Not Your Hero

“Take a trip with me,” Tony says, collapsing on top of him, grabbing the remote out of his hand before Bucky can stop him and turning off the TV, cutting Megyn Kelly off mid-sentence on another one of the seemingly endless roundtable discussion on the Winter Soldier’s place on the Avengers roster.

At this point Bucky is pretty sure he can do an accurate impression of both sides of the debate. Bucky the Victim vs Bucky the Assassin. Rarely, they get creative and add in the ever popular (and Bucky’s personal favorite) Bucky the poor unstable woobie, those brave Avengers for taking him in, I hear Tony Stark’s dating him, how precious, now lets keep him away from the weapons but no need to lock him up, of course!

(It’s rarely used because its hard to sum the position up in a snazzy caption, you see. Tony calls it the ‘Bucky the Dog’ argument. ‘You’re like a rescue,’ he’d explained. ‘Apparently we need to feed you, house you, but not let you out because you’ve been raised badly and don’t know any better, and might go gnawing off some poor kid’s arm for looking at you the wrong way.’

Tony hated Bucky the Dog.)

“Ignore the crazies,” Tony wheedles. “Pay attention to me.” He makes grabby hands that Bucky grabs up and uses to drag his boyfriend closer. “So take a trip with me?”

“Why?”

“Because I want to take a trip?” Tony says, affecting an innocent expression. “Because the Tower has access to too many 24 hour news channels? For the opportunity of new and exciting places to have sex? Bucky! Stop with the patient eyebrows.” Bucky mouths ‘patient eyebrows’ to himself, shaking with laughter. “It’s a surprise.”

“Oh, God,” Bucky groans. The last ‘surprise’ of Tony’s was a cake filled with strippers. For Natasha.

Tony seems to read his mind and points an accusing finger at him. “You cannot deny that was amazing and she loved it.”

Natasha had loved the strippers. She knew at least eight new ways to bend now.

“Alright,” Bucky agrees, and accepts his boyfriend’s gleeful, slightly sloppy kisses with a smile.

“It’s not an argument of what James Barnes deserves, that’s a complete strawman. It’s a question of what he can handle. The man has had an incredibly difficult life, one that’s produced well documented instances of PTSD and dissociative attacks. This is not a man equipped to handle the kind of stress the Avengers are put under every day-”

“He was a monster, plain and simple. And maybe we can believe Mr. Stark and Captain Rogers here, maybe the monster has been taken out, but what kind of scars did that leave-”

“I mean, in all honesty, how can he ever be trusted? How will we ever know?”

“Hey.” A foot kicks at his own, knocking Bucky out of his miserable recollections.“I know that face. This plane is a That-Face Free Zone.”

He kicks back at Tony. “It’s nothing, Punk,” he says, mustering up some semblance of a smile. It just makes Tony grimace, then crawl over so he can sit beside him.

“How ‘bout just no faces at all?” he asks as he settles. “For a former super spy you have horrible facial control.” Bucky stiffens up beside him and Tony sighs, taking his hand. “James.”

James. That’s all its ever taken from Tony. His name, said in that fond, slightly impatient tone. “James,” Tony had said, finding James in the aftermath of a panic attack that had ended in the destruction of his living room. “James,” he had said when he built a new arm and the first thing Bucky did with it was play fetch with the bots. “James,” he had said when Bucky had finally surrendered and kissed him. “What took you so long?”

Now Tony sits with him, patient, staring out the window so James feels distinctly unenclosed. He hadn’t been like this at the start of their relationship and its nice, sometimes, to think that Bucky has taught him some things, too.

“They’re not wrong,” he finally says, and Tony takes that as his cue to finally turn and look. “The news. I’m a complete mess three days out of five. I remember all of it, everything I did, so it’s all still there in my head. I can’t be trusted.”

“I trust you,” Tony responds immediately. “Am I an idiot?”

“No.”

“No, James, I am very smart.” Bucky smiles painfully and Tony clenches his hand. “Look, you being an Avenger? That’s always your choice. I’m sorry if we’ve pressured you-”

“You haven’t-”

“Oh, we totally have. Especially Steve. But you’ll need to discuss that with him. As for the rest - those vultures have only ever seen skin-deep, trust me on this. If I listened to them, let them dictate my life, I’d’ve ended up face down in a ditch bleeding Patron by the time I was twenty five.”

Bucky pulls his hand away so he can wrap his arm around Tony and hold him close. “You hate tequila,” he mutters, and Tony laughs.

“See? They don’t know anything. All they saw of me was a drunken overgrown fratboy and all they see of you is the Winter Soldier. Thing is, yeah, they’re not wrong every once in awhile, but they never have all the story. The Winter Soldier is not everything you are. You’re Buck, you’re James, you’re Sergeant Barnes.

“And by the way, you’re only a mess two out of five days. At most. The other three?” Tony smiles at him. “You are the best, the bravest man I have ever known.”

“Jeez, Tony,” Bucky breathes, because he never knows what to do with these pep talks. He wants to believe him, but he is constantly surrounded by heroes nowadays, and he is always reminded of his bloody past and how painfully he falls short, how impossible it seems to ever come back from that, even when he sleeps every night next to a man who did just that. He drops a kiss on Tony’s head and leans back into the chair. “So where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise, Buck. A surprise. Your dementia is showing again, old man.”

“I’ll show you old-” Bucky tips his boyfriend over in the seat.

“Oh God, I’m so glad you believe in stubble-”

“Believe? Facial hair’s not like Santa Claus, doll-”

“James.”

They touch down in Washington, DC. Tony takes them to a hotel first to freshen up, which for some reason means busting out the baseball caps and shades for both of them. Then they hope in a car that drops them off at the Mall. Tony leads them to the National Museum of American History and Bucky stops dead.

“The Smithsonian? Tony, I’ve been here before…”

“Yes. When you had just broken your brainwashing. Somehow I’m thinking you weren’t exactly absorbing all that you could.” Tony looks at the ground, the space where Bucky has taken a step backwards, and grabs his hand. “I just wanted you to see something, but we can leave.”

Bucky stares up at the building. The last time he’d been here was a blur of memories without context and a constantly building terror at what had happened to him. He had been scared. But Tony is with him now. “No, I’m fine. Show me.”

The Captain America is as busy as ever, and this time Bucky notices how many of the exhibits bear a tiny inscription under the description: Donated by Howard Stark and the Stark family.

Tony smirks when he notices where Bucky’s gaze is lingering. “Yeah, let me tell you there is nothing quite like meeting the men your dad quite literally collected.” Bucky waits for a moment to see if his smirk goes sharp and sad, but Tony just wanders on. He’d let go of his anger about Howard around the same time he’d let go of his anger towards Bucky.

They stop in front of the glass wall bearing his name, date of death (which bears a new addendum in tiny print of his miraculous recovery in 2016), height, serial number, rank, and a summary of his life. 

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Tony murmurs.

“Five hundred words or less,” Bucky says. He doesn’t mean to sound as bitter as he does, but Tony just smiles sympathetically at him and takes his hand, leading further.

They pass wall after wall of Steve Rogers, Captain America, Brooklyn’s Favorite Son, and American Legend. Bucky can see where the facts have gotten muddled: for example, he knows for a fact that the assault on the HYDRA base on the border of Luxembourg was planned by Dugan, not Steve, and was a smashing success, but facts rarely stand up to myth. “Bet Steve hates that.”

“He does. We’ve been petitioning to make them get their asses in gear and change that for years,” Tony groans lowly. 

Tony tugs him further, further into the exhibit, a part Bucky never visited before, too skittish about lingering last time. There is a wall with a long line of booths cordoned off by black curtains. The Howling Commandos: From the Other Side, a banner reads overhead, and Tony leads Bucky into one. They squeeze onto a seat, Tony puts his arm around Bucky, and then he presses play.

An old man appears on screen, looking to the side as if listening to someone. He nods, and chuckles. “My name is Peter Montcourt,” he says, his French accent extraordinarily thick. “I was nine years old when the Howling Commandos liberated the town of Bayeux from Axis control. My hometown.”

“I had lost a brother, a father, already. My town was overrun with Nazis, Italians. People disappeared during the night, never heard from again. Everyday we heard - it might be you. You might be next.

“Then one night we heard gunfire and explosions and I remember thinking that this was it, they had grown tired of watching us, now they were killing us all. A soldier burst into my house with a gun, and I stood over my mother, but the shot never came. He was gunned down.

“I never met Captain America. Steve Rogers did not liberate Bayeux. He was leading another push. Bayeux was liberated by-”

“It was me,” Bucky breathes, tears in his eyes as he remembers, and Tony’s hand smooths down his arm.

“Sergeant James Barnes. The same James Barnes who gunned down the man who wanted to hurt us. He came into our house after that, he told us who he was and that he was a sniper, and asked us kindly if he could take a position in my room upstairs, because it had good sightlines. We of course agreed. He told us to hide, but I stayed and watched him. He remained calm, and efficient. He never panicked. He was very brave.

The man grows a little teary-eyed. “People do not talk about Bayeux much, because the very same day Captain Steve Rogers freed a POW camp near Lyon. But I do not forget. None of us in this town do. We owe Sergeant Barnes and his men our lives. I was very sorry when he died. He was a good man.”

The video freezes and Bucky lurches forward, pressing his hand against Montcourt’s face. “He grew up, James,” Tony whispers. “Had a family. All because you saved him.”

“I’m not him,” Bucky says hoarsely, tears nearly blinding him. “I’m not the sergeant.”

“Mm. But he is a part of you.” Tony intertwines their fingers. “I just…I wanted you to see, know, I guess, that you are…more than the Winter Soldier. More than whatever they call you. That there’s as much greatness in you as darkness. You were a good person, Buck and…we can’t all be war heroes. Sometimes we’re just victims. It doesn’t diminish you or what you did or what you can do. I’m - shit, I’m sorry, I’m so terrible at this. I just thought you should see.”

Bucky is quiet for a very long time, staring at Montcourt. He remembers that little boy and his mother. He had remained in their home for three days, defending it and taking out enemy soldiers. The woman had brought him food that he never ate. The boy kept him awake with conversation. They had been the brave ones.

He withdraws his hand and places it over Tony’s. “Thank you,” he tells him, and the other man smiles tentatively. “I - I get it.” He isn’t the Soldier or the Sergeant. He’s just Bucky now, with shades of all of them thrown in, but maybe…maybe that isn’t so bad. At the very least, he remembers how to be strong and good. And if he needs a reminder, he has Tony and Steve and the Avengers.

They don’t get to decide what he is or isn’t. Only Bucky does that. And he doesn’t have to be a hero. He can just be…an Avenger.

“Are there more?” he asks, gesturing towards the screen. Tony’s smile goes full-blown and Bucky can’t help it, leaning forward to kiss him soundly. “I love you.”

“You, too,” Tony replies softly, pulling away. The moment goes soft and sweet for a moment, but that was never Tony’s particular style and sure enough he pulls away, his grin going positively wicked. “Ninette three booths down tells a charming story involving you, her, Dugan, my dad, two goats, and a modified washing machine. I would love to hear your version of it.”

Outside the booth an old man is waiting his turn with his wife. He steps aside for Bucky and Tony but freezes dead when he catches a good glimpse of Bucky’s face, looking back over his shoulder at the Barnes Memorial for a moment before turning back. Bucky freezes when the man raises his hand, but he merely salutes.

Bucky returns it, sloppily, then heads for Tony, who has been lowly calling his name: “James.”

[edivupage]

The Importance of Creating a Nurturing, Safe Environment for LGBTQ Students

If you have been following my work, you know I spent 7 years a K-12 teacher and 7 years as a university professor, eventually becoming the dean of a school of education. As a teacher, I was passionate about helping students reach their academic potential and become productive citizens. As a professor and education dean, I was devoted to developing the next generation of teachers and education administrators. For the last two and a half years, I have been an education entrepreneur, launching an education company, Lynch Educational Consulting, which also manages the following web properties: The Edvocate, The Tech Edvocate, and Edupedia.

However, I often miss being in the classroom, and when I do, I usually channel this energy in an article, resource, or project that will benefit educators everywhere. This time I decided to create a series of case studies that are meant to help pre-service teachers get a glimpse into the problems and issues that they will encounter in the field. These case studies will also give them a chance to reflect on how they can use each scenario to inform their own practice. Let’s get started.

As teachers, we must be champions of all our students, regardless of their race, religion or sexual orientation. We must treat them with respect and make our classroom and the entire school a safe zone, where they feel protected. Read the case study below entitled “Amanda: Classroom Climate to Support Student Individuality and Safety,” where a teacher is confronted with an instance of LGBTQ bullying and fails to handle the situation in an appropriate manner. This could potentially lead to physical harm being done to the student being bullied. Afterward, reflect on the questions below, using your thoughts to shape your own practice.

Consider Tom Gates’ remark. Is Josh “asking for it” by wearing a dress? What might this reveal about Gates’ attitude?

How does Amanda respond to Ben’s remark?  Is her response specific enough to address the issue? How might she have handled this more effectively?

What hints does Amanda have based upon Josh’s behavior toward Ben, after Ben’s remarks?

What action, if any, should Amanda take at this point? Whom might she speak with, about the situation? An administrator? A counselor? What might be an appropriate intervention?

Amanda didn’t respond to Josh’s comment that being called gay was “insulting.” How might Josh ’s comment be hurtful to other LGBT classmates?

West Ridge High School was buzzing with excitement. Student government officers had received permission from the principal to arrange “spirit days” the week before homecoming. Each school day, students could wear outfits with different themes, as long as they didn’t violate the dress code. Skirt lengths had to be within regulation, and off-the-shoulder tops were forbidden. Boy’s torsos had to be covered, and shorts had to meet length requirements. Within those parameters, students were free to be expressive.

Although the celebration required a little extra diligence and supervision, teachers and administrators agreed it was a fun tradition that promoted school spirit. For the most part, it didn’t interfere with instruction, and all accepted it with grace. Some teachers joined in the fun and dressed up as well. Amanda had taught American History for 6 years at West Ridge and looked forward to spirit week. She enjoyed working with the junior class officers to coordinate their float.

Monday was “cartoon character day.” Students dressed as Looney Tunes characters, SpongeBob, and other favorites. One group organized themselves and represented the cast of Scooby Doo. Tuesday was “kindergarten day” and Wednesday was “career day.” Most wore business apparel or uniforms, but a few were extremely imaginative.

A group of boys wore blue coveralls and hard hats. They cordoned off a section of hallway with striped tape, orange street cones, and a “Men Working” sign. Between classes, they redirected “traffic” around the “road work.” Thursday was “movie character day.” Some were instantly recognizable: Rambo, James Bond, and a few Lara Crofts. One girl was a dead ringer for Elle in Legally Blonde. It was a lot of fun.

That morning, Amanda’s students filed into first period, laughing and admiring each other’s wild attire. Amanda enjoyed their outfits but had carefully prepared lessons that week, to ensure that students were focused on academic content for most of the period. Students were expecting a quiz, and, in good spirits, they settled in for some last-minute studying.

Just before the late bell rang, someone appeared in the doorway, in a white sleeveless dress that flared at the knee, red pumps, and a glamorous blonde wig—the perfect picture of an Asian Marilyn Monroe. It took a minute for Amanda to recognize Josh. Students were speechless as he posed suggestively, framed by the doorway. As the bell rang, he tottered into the classroom in his high heels. The class reacted with giggles, whistles, and sneers.

“That’s quite a costume, Josh! You’re a looker.” Amanda said with a smile and a giggle. “Let’s get ready for your quiz; you’ll need to use your time wisely.” Josh nodded and smiled at the class as he pulled paper out of his backpack. Students continued to snicker as they found pens and paper.

“Dude, you look totally gay!” Ben bellowed from across the room. “Did you shave your legs too?”

Josh puckered and blew a big red kiss in Ben’s direction. “Thanks for looking, but I didn’t have to shave. I’m Japanese; we’re not all hairy like you.” Students laughed. “Anyway, just because I wore a dress doesn’t mean I’m gay. That’s insulting. Marilyn was totally hot!”

Amanda cleared her throat and began to distribute the quiz. “All right, boys, that’s enough! A quiz means silence! Any talking will result in a zero.” She raised an eyebrow at Ben and handed Josh a stack of quizzes. “Please take one, and pass the rest back.”

As Josh complied, Ben whispered audibly, “She said boys. Not fags.”

“Ben! I will not tolerate insults in my class. We will talk about this later.” Amanda said emphatically, her eyes locked with Ben’s, as she handed a stack of quizzes to Gabrielle. “Take one, and pass them back, and no more talking until everyone has finished with the quiz.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ben nodded, but cut his eyes menacingly at Josh. Students worked quietly for the next 30 minutes. Amanda walked around the room, checking their progress. She eyed Josh cautiously. He seemed agitated, glancing furtively at Ben, who seemed oblivious. Amanda continued to watch as students finished the quiz. Afterward, there was a brief discussion of the Alien and Sedition Acts, and students had time to talk about the group projects due the following week.

Josh took off the wig and joined his group, taking charge of their planning. He made several suggestions about their skit, which his group adopted eagerly. They agreed to meet over the weekend to rehearse. Amanda saw that Josh was still keeping a close eye on Ben, as the bell rang. The class gathered their belongings and bustled out the door. Josh seemed to take longer than usual to get his backpack arranged. He put his wig back on and rearranged it carefully.

“Josh . . . is everything okay?” Amanda asked.

Josh smiled apprehensively, and nodded.

“I really like your costume,” she smiled. “You went to a great effort. I think there were people who were surprised by it. Maybe it made some of them feel uncomfortable with you.”

“Will I get in trouble?” Josh winced.

“No, Josh, probably not. Technically, you’re decently covered and not violating the dress code,” she said, trying to put him at ease. Josh looked a little nervous. Amanda escorted him to the hallway. He checked to see if Ben were lurking nearby, and then made his way down the hall through the crowds of other “movie stars.” Tom Gates, an administrator, stopped at Amanda’s door to chat as he wandered through the hall on his rounds.

“That boy is going to be bloody by the end of the day,” Tom said, shaking his head. “But he’s asking for it, dressing like that. What a terrible idea.”

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