#it says 'trail buddy' on it. it has a cork handle.

[hopefulqueer]

If I had a nickel for every time somebody asked me if my bright purple cane is "like what blind people use?", I'd have two nickels. Which isn't a lot but it's extremely annoying that it's happened twice.

[randomoranges]

Anniversaire [40]

i remembered i forgot to do this one that i’ve had in mind since - eum, a year ago? anyways good thing i never write anything in order lol

end may/early june 2020

 It’s a few days before Étienne’s heading home and they’re making the most of the last of their time together. Therefore, Edward is sitting outside on the back porch with Étienne. The back porch seems to have become Étienne’s go to place when he’s not sprawled on the living room couch and Edward feels as though he’s never spent so much time in his life simply sitting out in his backyard. It’s not terrible, just different.

 “I don’t know if you remember,” Étienne starts and spares him a glance, “But this year – well, this summer marks a – milestone of sorts for us. Sort of.” He shrugs, looks away and Edward notices the colour that marks his cheeks. It’s not from the sun and Edward needs a moment for his brain to kick back into gear.

 He’d never ever ever expected ever Étienne to ever even remember ever.

 Ever.

 He blinks and looks at him with surprise, completely astounded. Part of him wants to pull him in close and kiss him silly; another more sensible and logical part of him says that maybe he should check to make sure they’re both talking about the same thing.

 “It’s – well, it’s forty years since we –”

 Edward cuts him off, afraid of what Étienne is about to say – of how he’ll react to whatever extremely ridiculous thing his boyfriend is about to say.

 “Became special friends?” Edward offers instead and holds himself from wiggling his eyebrows in any suggestive way whatsoever. It’s best to make light of it and joke. He’s not sure he can handle Étienne say something meaningful and deep.

 Étienne shoves at his shoulder and laughs. “Yeah – special friends, fuck buddies, since we – well, I guess started spending more time together and seeing each other more.” He shrugs again, shy smile splayed on his face. Edward thinks it’s a beautiful smile. Likes the softness of it. Loves to press his lips to it. He indulges and leans over to kiss his boyfriend and Étienne sighs into it, forgetting for a moment the conversation they’d been having. When they pull away, Étienne reaches for his pack of smokes as a diversion. He offers him one mostly out of habit, and also because he knows Edward still goes for a smoke every so often despite what he claims to others. Edward’s dropped the pretenses with Étienne, tired of the patronising looks he was getting. He does however decline the cigarette, but steals the second drag from it instead.

 “I had remembered,” Edward finally offers softly. Étienne busies himself with the cigarette and hands the rest of it to Edward before he lights another one for himself. They smoke quietly, lost in their own thoughts of what had been forty years ago. A lot had changed – they had, in many ways – hopefully for the better. Some of it has remained the same.

 “I mean – we didn’t see each other for nearly half of it – but – yeah, forty years...” Étienne trails off, still trying to find ways to make this seem less important than how he truly feels about it, as if ashamed – or maybe even afraid that he feels more about it than Edward does.

 “My feelings for you never changed – I never stopped loving you.” Edward counters and only nearly stumbles the last few words of his sentence. He blames it on the cigarette in his hands and nothing else.

 “I – yeah, me neither.” Étienne finally adds. Edward nods and they leave it at that for a moment, quietly smoking and observing the slowly growing plants and the leaves that are starting to come in with their full greens.

 “In that case then, it is an – anniversary of sorts.” Edward stubs out his cigarette and plays with what’s left of it, rolling it between his fingers, lost in memories of younger versions of themselves, still both as stupid around the edges and stumbling their way through their relationship. If he knew then what he knows now... He sighs – no sense if crying over spilt milk and such.

 “You know, I had a – plan. For this. I – if you came over – I had a plan.”

 Edward is surprised and he’s starting to tell himself that he shouldn’t. Étienne, for all that he says he doesn’t do romance, seems to be really good at it, in his own way. In his gestures and attentions – in the quiet spaces that exist between all the things he says and doesn’t. It’s a good thing Edward has been in his orbit for so long, for he’s gotten exceptionally good at deciphering Étienne. (It also helps that they’ve spoken about this to some depths and that other things have been admitted to.) Still, something warm and pleasant makes itself comfortable inside of Edward at the thought of Étienne planning something special.

 “Did you now?”

 Étienne nods and flicks his lighter, “I was going to take you to some nice terasse and then go down to the Old Port and catch the fireworks. Highlight the occasion and such. Treat you to a nice dinner.” He sighs to himself and scrubs a hand over his face and then through his hair – it’s getting a little long; Edward silently loves the way it looks. Loves the way the curls are a little looser yet still just as pretty.”Guess that’s all shot now.” The sobering comment brings Edward back to the present moment and he reaches out for one of Étienne’s hands. He laces their fingers together and thrills when Étienne sits closer to lean his head on Edward’s shoulder. At least, even with everything – from the heavy misunderstandings and breaks, they get to have this again.

 “Y’now, for a guy who claims to be allergic to romance...” Edward teases and nudges at Étienne’s shoulder playfully.

 He does it to get a rise out of his boyfriend and it works. Étienne’s cheeks are even redder now and he shoves back at Edward, “Shut up...”

 Edward manhandles him and pulls him closer until he can kiss the top of Étienne’s curls and hold him to his chest. Étienne wiggles about in his arms until he can lay proper claim to Edward’s lips and kiss him. Edward goes pliant and soft and cups Étienne’s face with his hands. He’s warm and ever so lovely and Edward knows he can get lost in these moments – could never get enough of them even if they were to make up for all the lost time and missed opportunities.

 “Don’t worry; you’re secret is safe with me. No one will ever know you have a heart.” He murmurs against kiss-swollen lips, moments and days and weeks and months later.

 He means it as a joke, but of course, Étienne has to go ahead and deliver the killing blow. “S’yours anyways. Always has been.”

 This time, Edward’s cheeks turn a lovely shade of red. Luckily, Étienne doesn’t comment and instead settles in his embrace for a moment. It’s nice and quiet and for a while they simply sit together. Edward has always liked this part of their friendship and relationship – the quiet moments when they never needed to do or say anything, content sharing the same space. There’s more of that now and Edward has to admit that he likes it a lot.

 “We could still highlight the occasion,” He says after a while. Étienne gives him a curious look and Edward pecks his nose before disentangling himself from him. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

 Étienne watches his retreating figure and Edward heads back inside. He returns moments later, as promised, with a small bottle of champagne and two flutes. “It’s not whatever fancy terasse you wanted to take me to, but I think the company is just fine regardless.” He pops the cork and pours out two glasses before handing one to Étienne.

 Étienne cant’ really believe this is happening, but he’s endeared and touched by this sudden spontaneous little celebration. It’s not much – not what he wanted to do, but Edward does have a point – at least they get to highlight the occasion together. “To us,” He offers as a toast, bringing his glass to cling with Edward’s.

 “Here’s to forty more?”

 Étienne chuckles softly, “May they be without interruption this time.” He adds. He can do forty more years – hell, he can do a lifetime more, but forty seems like a good benchmark to aim for. Forty more years of teasing and loving Edward. It sounds like the simplest task he’s ever been handed. He looks at his boyfriend and smiles softly and openly and it only grows bigger when Edward smiles back at him.

 “I’ll drink to that.”

 FIN

[kirayaykimura]

Scott has been staring longingly at a girl across the bar for two hours and forty-nine minutes. Stiles knows. He’s been keeping track.

“This is ridiculous, man,” Stiles says, not for the first time. “You’re a catch. You’re amazing. You’re perfect. Just go talk to her. I’m sure she’ll be happy if you do.”

Scott turns to him, wide-eyed. “But what if she’s not happy? What if I’m just another creep in a bar hitting on a pretty girl? I want her to know I respect her.”

“By completely ignoring her. Solid plan, Scott.”

“I’m not ignoring her! I’m respecting her boundaries.”

Before Stiles can point out they’re in a bar, she’s clearly made an effort with her appearance, she doesn’t appear to be on a date with the friend she’s with, and she’s been eyeing Scott basically since they arrived. All signs point to, at the very least, talk to me. 

Well, fine. Scott is obviously going to be useless. Stiles turns so his back is to Scott and he has a direct line of sight to the girl who’s making his friend drool all over the table. Thankfully, they’re in a small bar that’s frankly a bit of a dive near closing, so there’s hardly anyone else in the room. Stiles is able to catch the girl’s eye fairly easily.

He widens his eyes a little and tilts his head towards Scott, hoping she’ll get the hint.

“Dude,” Scott says. “Are you okay? What’s wrong with your neck?”

“Cramp.” Stiles waves him off, not taking his eyes off the girl.

She looks…a little concerned. Crap. Not what he was going for. He holds his hands up in what he hopes is a gesture of innocence. Then he nods towards Scott again and winks.

“Seriously, Stiles, we can go if you’re in pain or whatever.”

“Yes!” Stiles shouts, probably a bit too loudly, because the girl is coming over to them. He quickly turns back to Scott and desperately hopes the girls and her friend didn’t see or hear that. He also hopes it’s for the right reason and not to mace him.

“Hi,” the girl says when she reaches them, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “So, your friend wanted me to come over?”

Scott looks at Stiles, horrified and betrayed.

Stiles matches that look and turns it on the girl. “You were supposed to be cool.”

She laughs. “If it helps, I’m glad he did. I’ve kind of been hoping you’d come talk to me all night,” she tells Scott.

“Really?” Scott breathes. “I’m love. I mean, I’m Scott. What’s your love? Name? What’s your name.”

Oh, god. This is painful. It’s like he’s never talked to a girl before. Stiles cringes a little, and sneaks a glance at the girl.

Against all odds, she looks charmed.

“I’m Allison,” she says, a hint of laughter in her voice. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Yeah, I’m going to go,” Allison’s friend says from behind her. She takes her phone out of her purse and starts texting someone.

“No!” Allison pleads. “You have to stay. Please? Just a little while longer.”

The girl looks up at Allison like she can’t believe she’s still here, but eventually says, “Fine. But only if these two buy us drinks.”

Stiles hops out of his seat. He almost stumbles into the girls, but manages to catch himself at the last second. So he’s maybe a little over-eager. It’s been a while since he and Malia broke up. Maybe something good can come of all this after all, in the form of a tiny, angry red-head. 

“What can I get for you,” Stiles asks.

“Oh, you really don’t have to do that,” Allison says.

“Sauvignon Blanc,” her friend says. She flashes a smile that does not look friendly. “Thanks.”

“Really, Allison,” Stiles assures her. “It’s no problem. I was just about to get us another round anyway.”

He wasn’t, but that’s fine. He’ll just make Scott buy him dinner for the rest of the week. Things will even out eventually.

“Um,” Allison says, “okay. Just beer for me, please. I’m not picky, so whatever you two are drinking is fine with me.”

“You got it. Be right back.”

Stiles leaves as the girls are pulling up chairs to their table. He has to admit, he’s feeling damn good about himself. It’s with a pep in his step that he walks up to the bar and puts his order in with the bartender.

And then the bartender immediately crushes that pride by saying, “You’re not getting lucky tonight.”

Stiles’ jaw drops, completely offended. “It’s not even about me. This was all about Scott.” Then, “What makes you think I’m not getting lucky?”

The guy behind the bar raises his eyebrows. “Please. The red-head couldn’t be less interested in you if she tried.”

Those judgmental eyes. That flat, no-nonsense voice. Stiles knows this man.

“Boyd?” Stiles asks.

Boyd nods. “Stilinski.”

“Wow,” Stiles says, because wow. Boyd looks like he dropped about forty pounds of fat and then gained it all back in pure muscle. And then gained twenty more. “You look great, man.” 

“Are you going to hit on everyone in the bar tonight?” the guy sitting next to Stiles asks dryly.

Stiles turns to protest, and promptly forgets language the moment his eyes land on the guy. Well, he forgets most language. All he can remember is, “Oh no.”

The guy raises an eyebrow at him, then turns to share a look with Boyd.

“Guess that’s a yes,” Boyd says, sounding very much like he’s making fun of Stiles.

That gets Stiles back with the program. Good old righteous indignation.

“Hey, I’ll have you know I was not hitting on you,” Stiles says to Boyd.

Boyd stares at Stiles. “And what is wrong with me?”

Stiles sighs. “Would you just get me the drinks, please?” 

Boyd finally, blessedly starts filling pint glasses.

By the third glass, Stiles has used up all his silence minutes and asks, “So what have you been doing since high school?”

“Don’t do that,” Boyd says.

“Don’t do what? Ask an old friend an innocent question?”

“We weren’t friends.”

“Okay.” That was fair. Boyd was never very receptive to Stiles’ attempts at conversation. That one time he tried.

Boyd sets three full pints on a tray on the bar and says, “I have to go get a new bottle of wine from the back. Hold on.”

“Is he supposed to just leave the bar unattended?” Stiles asks as he watches Boyd disappear behind the back door.

“He knows I’ve got it covered,” the guy next to him says. He’s pretty sure Boyd said his name was Derek?

Stiles wants to make a joke, but Derek is almost as muscular as Boyd. He probably could handle himself in a situation.

“So,” Stiles asks, “do you and Boyd work out together?”

Derek gives him a confused look. “No. We live together.” 

“Oh.” Stiles pauses. “Like, roommates, or…” he trails off. He doesn’t remember Boyd being into dudes, but then again he hardly remembers Boyd at all. It’s entirely possible.

Derek looks amused when he answers, “We’re roommates.”

“Oh,” Stiles says again. “Cool.” 

Stiles starts drumming his fingers on the bar as the conversation withers in dies right before his very eyes.

Thankfully, it’s only another thirty seconds or so before Boyd makes a triumphant return with an already de-corked bottle. He pours the glass, runs Stiles’ card, and says, “Derek, you should probably help him. He’s clumsy.”

Stiles makes an offended noise as Derek says, “I don’t actually work here, you know. And I’m already doing you a favor just by being here tonight.”

Boyd just stares at him, impassive.

Eventually, Derek stands and grabs the tray.

“I can carry it myself, thank you,” Stiles huffs, and is naturally completely ignored.

When they get to the table, Allison and Scott are deep in conversation and don’t look up. Allison’s friend, however, looks up and zeroes in on Derek immediately. Because of course she does. Stiles just went from third wheel to fifth wheel. He should just invest in Life Alert now because he is definitely going to die alone.

“Why hello there,” Allison’s friend says, practically purring.

Derek completely ignores her as he sets the tray down on the table.

That is unexpected.

It’s a combination of Derek blowing off the most beautiful girl in the bar, his ten second freak-out about dying alone, and booze that make him say, “Wait,” when Derek turns to go back to the bar.

When Derek turns to face him, he says, “So I know you were doing your whole loner thing over there at the bar, but if you wanted to not do that anymore you could join us. Here.”

Derek stares at him for an uncomfortable amount of time before he says, “No.” And then he leaves.

“Awkward,” Allison’s friend says, smirking, as Stiles takes a seat at the table.

Instead of responding, Stiles takes a big gulp of his beer.

They stay for another twenty-five minutes, when Boyd comes over to tell them he has to close up for the night.

“Oh thank god,” Allison’s friend – Lydia, Stiles learned eventually – says. “Give the boy your number so we can finally leave.”

Allison programs her number into Scott’s phone with a sweet smile and a, “Text me sometime, okay?” and then they’re gone.

“I think I’m in love,” Scott says, sounding dazed.

“That’s great buddy,” Stiles says. “You can tell me all about her when we get back to the apartment. Boyd’s trying to lock up. Oh, also this is Boyd from high school. You remember him, right?”

“Sure. Hey, man,” he says to Boyd. “How have you been?”

“Scott. Fine,” he says. Then he hands Stiles a slip of paper and tells him, “That’s Derek’s number. Use it. He may not seem happy about it, but he will be.”

Stiles blinks down at the paper in his hand with seven digits on it in proper phone number format. He does not comprehend what he is looking at. 

“Oh,” Boyd adds, “and if you hurt him, or try to murder any of his surviving family members, I will hunt you down myself. You got that?”

Stiles finally breaks his staring contest with the paper to give Boyd an incredulous look. “You know that’s concerningly specific, right?”

Boyd points at Stiles’ hand. “Use that. Now go so I can mop the floor.”

Stiles just stands there for a few more seconds before Scott starts gently pushing at his shoulder, saying, “Come on, let’s go. You can tell me all about that at the apartment.”

Probably not, Stiles thinks, because he has no idea what just happened. 

Outside, he looks down to see that, yep, he still has the paper. He didn’t dream that. And then his eyes catch on the name. Derek. Who was borderline rude and devastatingly attractive and completely his type.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and types the number in as a new contact. 

Hey. This is Stiles from the bar tonight, he types. 

Then, because Derek did say no earlier and Stiles isn’t a monster, he types, Boyd gave me your number, but say the word and I’ll lose it.

He’s almost home when he feels his phone buzz in his pocket.

Boyd is a busybody, is all the text says.

Stiles grins.